#cw: stylized brain

[vixymix101]

Plague puppies!~

[thecosmicsailor]

Something about trauma and how it just seems to stick.

(Or: sure would suck if your bone marrow got turned to ash with the rest of you, huh)

[patchwork-crow-writes]

88 - Help Yourself

(Inspired by the official Deltarune Halloween/6 year anniversary artwork by Temmie Chang. It's really cute, go and check it out if you haven't done so yet!)

(content warnings for stylised gore and suggestive language)

Trick-or-Treat! I made lots of delicious candy for you to eat, so please help yourself to as much as you want! That's what it's for, after all!

What do you think of my costume? I worked very hard on it, so I'd look as sweet and yummy as possible! Wouldn't you say I look good enough to eat? Haha, there's no need to be shy, I can already see you licking your lips...

...but how rude of me, after you've come all this way! Your costume is to die for - robes black as night, collar crimson like jelly... and what adorable little fangs you have there! All the better to take a bite out something delectable, wouldn't you say?

Oh, and isn't that... a knife? You should be very careful around me with that, because everyone knows that cakes are weak to knives, haha! ...b-but if you really wanted to, I wouldn't say no if you were to help yourself to a slice or two...

...don't think about it too hard, my light. It's okay, none of this is real anyhow... so go ahead and treat yourself!Run your greedy fingers through my immaculate frosting, sink your blade into my crumbling sponge and cut yourself a second, third, fourth helping. That's it, take as many mouthfuls as you please... doesn't it taste good? And oh, dare you lick the jam and crumbs from your knife, for just one last little taste of me? Don't fret about the mess, my dear - someone else will clean it up.

And when you've had your fill and I am nothing more than a memory, tell me... will your appetite have been satiated then? Will I have finally fulfilled my purpose and made you happy, even if only for that short, sweet while? Will the taste of my love linger on the tip of your tongue, or shall it fade away the moment you find another treat to devour?

...regardless, I hope that you enjoy me to the fullest. It's what I'm for, after all.

______________________________

The Dark Menagerie No. 88

<-<-First || <-Prev || Next-> || Index

[syoddeye]

kinktober - day 30 - sex pollen

nikolai x f!reader | 1.3k words cw: dubcon because sex pollen, mean nikolai, that line is the only line featuring ‘daddy’ apologies, we love italics, dirty talk, piv a/n: he makes me unwell. russian language bits are stylized with italics and strike-through: example summary: nik is so selfless. banner by @/cafekitsune | kinktober list

“Come on then, princess. Show Daddy how much you need this."

“Do not call yourself that, do not call me that.”

“Apologies, it’s the compound—“

“It is not. You’re fucking fine.”

Straddling Nikolai, you shudder, feeling yourself dripping onto him. The product of a manufactured and unnatural surge of arousal seeping into his thatch of dark hair. Grasping his cock with one hand and planting the other on his chest, you bite your lip hard as it slips through your folds.

“Christ,“ he chokes. “On with it already.”

“I can’t—My hands are shaking.”

Fucking bastard.

You grit your teeth, finally notching the tip to your hole. It’s a tight fit, practically a negotiation with your sopping albeit neglected cunt. Of course, it’s just your luck that some mysterious glitter bomb-esque chemical cloud is the thing to end your months-long dry spell.

The sensation is overwhelming—tight, hot, and unbelievably wet—and you hiss a string of curses, watching Nik’s jaw clench so hard you think he might crack a tooth.

The vein at his temple pulses and color fills his cheeks. His eyes narrow to slits the further you sink down, and his mouth, which never smiles for you, curls in a mean smirk.

When Price paired you with Nikolai for this op, you wanted to protest. To tell him you barely stomach Nik’s company on a good day. The man hates you, and lets you know it every chance he gets. He’s never uttered a word of thanks or praise in your direction. All you are is the weak link, the rookie, and a pain in his ass.

An unprepared one, too. You’re still kicking yourself for forgetting your gas mask while gearing up. You could’ve sworn you had it. Price shouldn’t have allowed you to board without it. Nikolai chewed you out as you fumbled your scarf over your nose and mouth, his deep voice booming from the cockpit as the exposed chemical billowed into your face. He used his native tongue, but you didn’t need a translator to get the gist. In the end, the fabric hadn’t been enough, it burrowed into your mouth and sinuses, absorbing quickly through the sensitive membranes. Nik was forced to ground thirty minutes outside your rendezvous point to prevent further exposure, and due to the interesting effects of the powder. The onset of which was rapid. 

As to what you inhaled, the compound is a mystery for the moment. One second, you were a little dizzy but fine, the next, yowling like a cat in heat. You writhed in your jumpseat, clawing at the steel wall, trying to catch the seatbelt strap just right against your clit. You listened to Nikolai barking at someone over comms, another burst of expletives, and the resigned sigh as he unbuckled and hauled you to the floor.

Which led you here, poised to ride him to hell and back. You, naked as the day you were born, thanking the powers at be for your IUD, and Nik, fully clothed with his gas mask discarded beside his head.

“Your cunt’s like a tap. Might need to secure some of this for future use with prettier women.”

“Shut up!”

On the heels of your anger, raw, visceral need scrapes your throat in a whine. Rocking your hips, you take him as deep as you can, struggling with the loss of finesse you normally pride yourself on. Nikolai mutters, his hands sliding from your thighs to your hips, bringing you down to meet a buck. You groan, wincing as his cock rams in the rest of the way. Glaring, you rake your nails uselessly over his shirt, hoping the pressure conveys your distaste. Bad enough he’s the man ‘taking one for the team’—he doesn’t need to assume charge.

“It’s either we fuck, or your fever worsens, you go crazy, organs fail…”

“You? Me fuck you?”

“Oh, your brain must be going already. Come on. Would you really rather die than fuck me, darling?”

Heat and synthetic lust propel your movements after that, driving you to ride him at as frenzied a pace as your body allows. You think it must be part adrenaline, from booking it out of the lab to the helicopter, and partly your internal systems fighting the chem-based intruders. You’re not a doctor, not a medic—you simply choose to believe the comfort your brain extends. Lay the blame at the feet of an unnamed psycho of a scientist who clearly needed to get laid.

Sweat gathers at your forehead, and streams down your back and limbs in sheets. A sheen coats your exposed skin, heat hugging you from the inside out.

Your eyes flutter open at the removal of one of Nikolai’s hands. He rips the velcro of a glove with his teeth, then pries it off his hand by a fingertip. He flings it away, then reaches, taking a greedy handful of a tit.

“Yes, yes.”

Nik squeezes and hums, brows knitting as you slow to grind, bending to push further into his palm. “I suppose these are decent.” He grunts as you wind up again. 

“Better than decent. You g-got lucky.” 

He pinches your nipple before groping its twin. “That so?”

“Wouldn’t be on top of you, ah, if it wasn’t for some, f-fuck, fucking aphrodisiac shit. I hate you.”

You can tell he wants to flip you the moment you utter the words. His mouth twitches like it does on poker night. Mind scrambled and syrupy, your hand swiftly finds his neck with a flash of clarity, cupping his jaw and forcing his head up. A flicker of surprise passes over his features, and sweat sticks your fingers in place.

He snarls, a filthy laugh rasping from his throat. “If it were up to me, you wouldn’t be on top at all. I’d take you on your hands and knees, darling. Fuck you like the bitch you are.”

Nik drops his hands from your chest, slotting it over the bend of your thigh to stretch a rough thumb to your clit. He digs his fingers in hard enough to bruise and yanks you down to meet his sudden, annoyingly precise thrusts.

“You’d like that, yes? Ah, I think you would.” He pants, his snide facade giving way to something raw and unbridled. “Come on, you crazy bitch. Take your medicine.”

If your life didn’t seem dependent on coming, you’d knock his teeth out.

Sparks shoot down your spine to join the heat coiling in your gut, narrowing your focus to his playing with your clit and the battering of his cock. The remaining clarity you possess chases off unhelpful questions as to how long the compound lasts or how much of this is you and not it.

“Fuck, Nik, fuckfuckfuck—”

Your body joins your voice in its stutters, jolting over him as your orgasm rips through. Your hands fist his shirt, holding on for dear life as he continues, uncaring about your sensitivity, and the little yips his cock punches from your mouth. He comes with a curse, his face screwed up in an almost angry expression. When his eyes eventually open, he stares, chest heaving. The gold in his chain glints in the dimming light from outside.

He swallows, and you watch his throat bob. There’s a question in the notch of his neck.

Instead of prompting him, you pull off with a wince and shakily rise with your fever and artificial lust abated.

“This never happened.” 

“You’re welcome for saving your life.”

“Yeah, you’re a real martyr.”

Nik just breathily chuckles. By the time he shuffles to the cockpit, you’re dressed and checking the shipment’s containers a third time. 

As he passes, you ask over your shoulder, “Did you mean it? The, ah, hands and knees...Have you…thought about this before?”

He drops into his seat and reaches for his headset in the copilot’s seat. He shoots you a smug smile. “Why? You want to bark for me, darling?”

Fucking bastard.

[the-s1lly-corner]

*blows up your wall* the horror writer reader gave me an idea! what about jeff the killer x horror writer!reader? :3

Jeff the killer x horror writer!reader

OOOHOHOHO this ones gonna be fun! Please fix my wall :(

Notes: Reader is GN

CWs: canon typical violence

Books arent really his thing but you might be able to win him over with the content you create!

He takes his work very... seriously.. so if he spots any inconsistencies or stuff that simply isnt possible hes going to point it out, you might not even have to ask

Now dont get him wrong he loves stylized and exaggerated stuff, but if you're aiming for something more realistic he can give you some pointers

Hes not very.. verbally praising.. but he does let you know he thinks you did good!

Open to letting you ask him questions, and it's likely that if you ask him something he doesnt have an answer for he might.. go experiment.. and see what happens

Quick warning he WILL go into deep detail about how a human body reacts and how long it'll remain alive after getting stabbed twenty seven times- same with most other.. hypothetical injuries

Slow reader so if you ask him to proof read or if he reads the finished product for fun it's going to take some time- generally struggles with reading as well as generally not having much time to sit down and read a novel

^not because hes dumb but because his brain struggles <\3

Flattered if you make a character based off of him

He has to refrain from making said character OP...

[neevblanc]

„spiders and scarves” ♡

a/n — hi hi! miguel is such a complex character and my feelings for him are similarly complex lol. i hope i did him justice!!

૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡

-ˋˏ’✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Miguel O'Hara x GN! reader

Tags— fluff, pre-relationship, christmas time cuz yay!! (ur spider name is azure bite cuz i imagined ur suit to be blue)

CW/TW— implied boss x worker...thats it

“Oh, please!” Spiderbyte whines, clasping her hands together. Her eyes presumably widened under her mask as the stylized eyes widened comically in a version of puppy eyes you’d seen many times before. You gave her a look and shook your head.

“No, dude. It’s not my fault you didn’t finish that report. I did all of my work and won’t do yours.” You replied, leaning back into your office chair. Spiderbyte, or Margo, whined and deflated. The younger girl hid her face in her arms, crossed on the desk before her. The girl was smart as a whip, but might as well have been allergic to formal paperwork. 

“Not even as my Christmas gift?” Margo pleaded, her voice muffled. You smiled, biting back laughter.

“Nope. Already got you one.” You said, leaning forward to turn off your hologram desk and log out of the Spider Network. Margo perked up at the mention, her mask disintegrating into little pixels and exposing her face entirely.

“Really? What is it?” She asked, grinning widely. You gave her a baffled look as you hung your bag on your shoulder, putting on your scarf and gloves.

“Why would I tell you that, Margo? You’ll see on Christmas, like everyone else does with Christmas presents.” You laughed, disregarding the dismayed whine that left the girl.

“I’ll see you next week, bye.” You said, sending Margo a little wave as you left the area. Pressing your palm to the reader next to the door, the door slid open easily. 

You grimaced at the amount of light leaking from the windows in the main area. Spiders bustled around, some running and some lounging around the chairs and tables laid out. The door closes behind you, leaving you in the hall surrounded by other spider people (and a hilarious number of Peter Parkers!)

You settled your headphones in their place and started walking, thumbing at your phone screen to find the playlist you were feeling most for the bus ride home. Well- home. You’d be making a trip to your apartment in this world to get some things in order before going back to your earth. 

It’s just your luck that only two minutes into the search, your spider-sense goes wild, and you’re turning on your heel faster than you could even think of. 

You stumble backward, face contorting in surprise when you come face to face with a…horse.

31913- or Cowboy Spiderman- stared back at you, sheepishly trying to get his horse to back up from where it was whinnying two centimeters from your nose. Begrudgingly, you shove your headphones down to rest by your neck. 

“Sorry, Azure Bite. Got a little too close there,” he drawled, patting his horse’s shoulder as it finally took a few steps back and allowed you to crane your neck upward to look at him properly.

“You’re good. Is there…anything you need?” You asked, starting to feel the awkwardness settle in the interaction. Your brain had just started preparing for no conversation, and the interruption left you reeling slightly.

“Uh...have you happened to see Miguel around?” He asked, voice growing small and nervous.

“Nope. Not for a few hours; he should’ve gone home at 3. Why?” You frowned, shaking your head. Cowboy nodded, tongue clicking in dissatisfaction.

” Ah, I had a question for him. Pav and Jess said they hadn’t seen him leave. Sorry for botherin’ ya. Happy holidays!” He said, nodding his goodbye and taking off at a moderate trot. You stood still, mouth pursed.

‘Miguel isn’t the nicest boss,’ you reasoned. ‘He’s a grown man. It really is none of my business. He likes to be mysterious, and who am I to interrupt?’

…

You turned around, shoving your headphones back on, and quickly approached the center elevator in the middle of the floor. Other spiders send you waves and quick acknowledgments, and you do your best to answer them slightly despite being on a mission.

You rush into the elevator, closing the doors before anyone else can enter. Pressing your palm to the reader on the console and waiting for the extra buttons to show up, you hoped no one needed to get on this specific elevator.

The panel lights up, and five extra buttons quickly emerge from the metal, sliding into place seamlessly. You quickly pressed the second one and waited for the elevator to jolt to a start before tilting your head toward the ceiling.

“LYLA, you there?” You called, squinting at the bright light of LYLA’s projection despite having anticipated it. LYLA hovers near the button panel, on a special little square section just for her. She grins, crossing her legs as she files her nails.

“Yessum, Bite?” She crooned, fluttering her eyes from behind pink-tinted glasses. You waved lightly, leaning on the back wall of the elevator.

” Is Miguel in his hiding hole again?” You asked, to check. LYLA paused her filing and pursed her lips, tilting her head.

“Not sure I can tell you that! The boss said no one should bother him.” LYLA hummed. You gave her a look, vaguely amused.

“Since when have you listened to Miguel?” You laughed. LYLA grinned sharply and nodded, her holographic form standing up as soon as the elevator doors opened with a ping.

“You’re right! He’s up here, ‘been moping for hours. Have fun.” She waved cheekily, the hologram quickly shutting off as you stepped onto the floor.

The five extra floors you had clearance to were Miguel’s personal floors. Few other people had access to them (including Margo and Jess, to name some), which made them prime real estate for when Miguel needed to run from people.

“Miguel?” You called, cautious of how dark the living space seemed to be. You almost thought LYLA had lied when a gruff voice startled you out of your head.

“What are you doing here.” He answered, voice low and angry the way it usually was. Your ears quickly clock the direction it came from, leading you toward the balcony part that wasn’t visible through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The door was left open, cold air billowing into the room. The chill immediately nips at your nose and cheeks when you step out.

“Sorry. People were looking for you, apparently. I thought you left hours ago.” You shrugged, shoving your hands in your coat pockets. Miguel glared at you from where he sat, slumped into an oversized patio chair. He’s nursing a glass of whiskey, the knuckles on his hands turning a prominent pinkish tone due to the freezing air.

“Who?” He asked, bringing the glass to his lips. His cheeks and nose are flushed from the cold, too. Despite his black knit sweater, Miguel had foregone any essential layering that would have saved him from the cold.

” 31913. Didn’t tell me why, though. He seemed a little nervous.” You said, clenching and unclenching your fists in your pockets. ‘Shit, it’s so damn cold out here.’

“You didn’t ask?” He said accusingly, face sour. Your face screwed up.

” I’m off the clock. Whatever he’s got going on has to wait until I come back in next week.” You defended, disregarding the scoff Miguel let out. Your brow furrows, making a point to let your eyes rove over his form. 

” You should head inside, you know. You’ll get a killer cold out here with no layers.” You said, not unfamiliar with his unhealthy habits. Miguel ignored you and brought his cup back to his mouth, lowering his head.

You sighed heavily and stepped closer to him, ignoring how Miguel stiffened and shifted to face you like you were a threat. With one quick motion, you unloop the scarf around your neck and weave it around his, leaving it folded neatly and covering his mouth.

“I really don’t want to deal with you sick. Merry Christmas, Miguel. I’ll see you next week.” You say, leaving the stunned-still man on the balcony and making your way back to the elevator.

You hear the chair screech backward just as the elevator doors click shut, and LYLA’s back on her little perch without prompting.

“Thanks, he’s been brooding outside for hours. He’s the worst when he’s sick.” She whines, pulling at her short hair. You laugh, nodding. 

“Of course. I hate him sick too; it’s like he’s four years old when he’s got a runny nose.” You say, grimacing. LYLA beams.

“Yeah, yeah! Exactly. I’ll remind him to give that scarf back, by the way. Have a Merry Christmas!” LYLA yells, waving bye enthusiastically as you arrive on the ground floor and start your trek back to the bus station as initially planned.

You walk to the station with the wind biting at your face, and when you return to the HQ a week later, you adamantly refuse to tell anyone about the snotty nose you had the entire week prior.

ago.

note — there's not much miguel in this, ironically. i had a ton of fun just writing the spider world so, sorry!! i think it fits, though. Miguel is a very guarded man and this little fic is sort of a view into how you manage to worm through his walls (without even trying to, really.) p.s i love lyla

©neevblanc 2023 // do not plagiarize or repost

[jayisroleplaying]

Frankenstein AU Headcanons

CW/TW for main character death, possible allusions to body horror, mental health struggles

Little collection of headcanons I have for my Frankenstein AU:

Inspired by the original Frankenstein, Doc also experiences nightmares, anxiety, and depression from what he's done. He didn't truly think it through, so blindsided by the thought he was helping a friend out, that he doesn't take in the severity of what he's done until after the event.

Doc helping Marty find adequate fashion to cover up the scars left over from being reanimated. At first, Doc's very basic in just using bandages, but along with Marty's help, he begins to stylize the attire to Marty's liking.

After being reanimated, Doc noticed subtle differences in Marty's behavior and unexplained memories. He attributes this to the use of other brain matter to bring his friend back.

When Marty's brought back, he strongly disapproves of Doc's decision. He immediately considers the consequences, unlike Doc, particularly as a result of his experiences with time travel.

Doc lacks the ability to think of these consequences in the process of reanimating his friend due to his own grief and self-blame, feeling as if he had a responsibility to his friend to bring him back.

Doc goes the route of reanimation out of fear of being unable to recreate the time machine with parts from 1885. He doesn't even attempt to build the time train until Marty's brought back, assuming it's a problem to be dealt with later.

Doc doesn't get with Clara in this AU. Doc becomes so hyperfocused on bringing Marty back that he neglects the relationship he built with Clara, and Clara decides to keep her distance.

Clara also strongly disapproved of Doc's decision to reanimate Marty when she found out what he was doing. Of course, Clara had read Mary Shelley's Frankenstein as a young girl, which formed her disgust and disapproval with Doc's actions. This main difference in opinion caused her to go separate ways with Doc.

When Doc finally comes up with the time train, Marty had decided that he wasn't going home. His fear of what would happen when his family and Jennifer saw his appearance made him feel better remaining in the 1800s.

Marty likely found himself getting involved often in outlaw activity behind Doc's back. After his change in appearance, he found himself more comfortable in that position, surrounded by outlaws, rather than among townsfolk.

I think that's all the headcanons I have right now. Maybe I'll add more later.

[vampyan]

Hello! Do you have any ideas for Yandere!reader x Shinjuro? Thank you so much.

𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐉𝐔𝐑𝐎 𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐎𝐊𝐔 𝐗 𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄! 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐇𝐂𝐒

✮ an ⨟ i do >:) this got long my bad. i'm not used to writing for yandere!reader, but i hope i did ok! it's also relatively tame? def more soft yandere coded.

✮ cw ⨟ shinjuro rengoku . yandere!fem!reader . stalking . possessiveness . obsessive behavior . manipulation . gaslighting . suggestive . dubcon in places . stylized lowercase .

✮ you met by chance, stumbling into one another in the market a few years after his wife's passing. shinjuro scarcely remembers the interaction, but you can recall it in vivid detail.

✮ what he was wearing. his drunken wobble. his warm body knocking into yours. his prickly stubble grazing your cheeks as you nearly topple over. his bulging biceps in your hands as you rush to steady the man. his molten golden-red gaze searing into yours, making your heart stutter and your brain give pause.

✮ he was quick to pull himself away from you, warning you to "watch where you're going." something in you changed that day, or maybe this is who you always were, but kept it buried. you hadn't spoken a word to him, only stared in amazement after him as he stumbled off, and yet his gravelly voice rung in your ears days after your encounter.

✮ you make sure to bump into him several more times after that, actively seeking out his flame-colored hair in crowds. you always played it off as a coincidence, but it was far from it.

✮ you follow him home, shadow him wherever he goes. just observing from a distance and memorizing his schedule. you have a few awkward run-ins with his sons whilst snooping around the premises of the rengoku estate, but both were too young at the time to suspect anything malicious of your uninvited visits.

✮ you gradually weaseled yourself into his life, insisting on walking him home, initiating conversation whenever possible, and listening to all his gripes and troubles he'd let slip in his drunken stupors.

✮ eventually, he grew less irritated by your presence, allowing himself to look forward to your company.

✮ soon you're staying for dinner a few nights out of the week, showing up with gifts for shinjuro and his sons, and shinjuro can't help but be surprised every time. it's been years since he's had a woman around, especially one so outwardly kind and caring towards him and his family.

✮ he's naturally suspicious of your intentions and more than a little skeptical of the flirtatious comments you throw his way.

✮ but when you don't disappear or grow bored of his attitude, he softens, becomes more compliant, and starts thanking you. the ecstatic glimmer in your eyes when he so much as acknowledges you makes his stomach flutter.

✮ his sons have taken to you like ducks to water, overeager to have a motherly presence in the home after so long. shinjuro gets this warm feeling in his chest when he finds you caring for them as if they were your own, looking all too domestic.

✮ shinjuro isn't dumb, he sees those longing looks you send his way. he notices all the little things you do for him, all the effort you put into maintaining your relationship. he admits he's made it hard for you intentionally, pushing you away whenever you got too close.

✮ but your persistence makes it all the more clear that you're interested in him, and he can't deny that your feelings are far from one-sided.

✮ you're kind- too kind, suspiciously kind. he realizes that, but he's a weak man, and you are a beautiful woman consistently making the first move. it was only a matter of time before he gave in, seeking you out for comfort instead of looking for it at the bottom of a bottle.

✮ your friendship quickly escalates into a clumsy romance. shinjuro is rusty, but you balance out his awkwardness with your burning passion. it's as if all your inhibitions disappeared the moment he indicated your feelings were reciprocated.

✮ you praise him for every little thing he does, and he's absolutely unequipped to handle all the attention.

✮ he's got a few years on you, but you don't seem perturbed in the slightest- in fact, he gets the feeling you like it. you can't go five minutes without complimenting him, in that poetic (and midly disturbing) way you always did. his looks, his voice, his taste in literature. you found it all so captivating, and shinjuro can't help but get flustered by how outspoken you are about it.

✮ you court for a while, move in together shortly after, settling further into domesticity within the span of a few months. a year passes by, and shinjuro is still left reeling from how truly happy he feels. he lashes out less, and when he does, you're always patient with him, never screaming back at him no matter how nasty he gets.

✮ it's a little unsettling how content you always look, even when he's being awful to you. it's as if you're simply happy to receive his attention. it only deepens his guilt when he sobers up again, pulling you aside to hold you and murmur his reluctant apologies. you shouldn't forgive him so quickly, he often tells you after you make up.

"i know you didn't mean it, dearest. please, don't worry yourself a moment more over it," you croon, stroking your fingers through his flaxen hair. "i'm not going anywhere."

✮ you're too good at putting his concerns to rest. he isn't proud to admit how easily he folds underneath your tenderness. he's all too aware of how reliant he's become on your affection, and he fears what would happen to him if you were to ever leave.

✮ you're not like his ruka, he realizes. you don't hold him accountable for anything, not for acting out, or being defiant, or rude. he's always 'just tired', or 'must be hungry', or 'having a bad day.' at first, he's grateful for your understanding nature until he puts two and two together that you don't take him seriously.

✮ not his emotions, his protestations, or his input. even as you begin to overstep more and more boundaries. insisting that you dress him, feed him, and even brush his teeth for him. you're insistent on not letting him raise a finger. any opposition on his end is veiwed as a tantrum and not to be concerned with.

✮ you pout and tsk when you catch him brushing his own hair or bathing himself, quickly taking over any tasks he attempts.

"i thought i told you i can do that for you, darling," you hum from the doorframe, startling him as he fumbles with his obi. you waltz into the room, sliding the shoji door shut with your foot and replacing his shaky hands with your own. his joints don't quite work the same after long years of wielding a sword and beheading demons, but he can surely dress himself. his pride demands he be self-sufficient, but you're always so convincing. your acts of service are appreiciated but... embarassing. he can't help but feel infantilized by your smothering behavior, but can never quite tell you no when you give him 'the eyes.' "i'm not a child, love," he grouches, rouge blooming across his cheeks as you tie his obi and straighten his kimono, smoothing over any wrinkles like a doting mother would. "i could've done that myself." "i don't want you to," you snap, your facade slipping for but a moment and his thick brows raise in surprise. your smile is quick to reappear, and you snake your arms around his waist- noting his increasing plumpness with delight. he was a bit scraggly when you first met, having cared more about drinking his sorrows than eating regular meals. but look at him now! healthy... and soft. "maybe i just want an excuse to touch you." you flutter your lashes at him and just like that he folds, lips parting as you pull him closer by the obi until your hips are flush. "j-just ask then. don't gotta baby me s'much. i'm a grown man," shinjuro stutters, his gold gaze falling to where your bodies meet. "do i have to ask to touch my husband? your body's mine to do with as i please, isn't it?" you asked with a smirk, your voice intentionally seductive as you knead his hips in your hands. your head tilts, entertained by the way he shivers. "well, i suppose not..." shinjuro rasps, his adam's apple bobbing as your lips find his throat. but you aren't satisfied yet, you want to hear him validate your claim over him. that ugly piece of you that you keep buried paces like a beast in a cage, gnawing at the bars, trying to claw its way out. your fingers tighten on his hips and you grip becomes bruising. "say you're mine," you demand in a near growl against his neck and his breath hitches, thick brows furrowing. he's helplessly aroused and slightly unsettled by the way you're handling him. "i... i'm yours. yours to use and to touch." he gulps, and you nearly moan in response, suckling a dark mark just below his ear. "hnn, yes. all mine."

✮ you're good at that too. making him forget why he was uncertain about your behavior. and when he asks you about it after the fact, you raise a brow, claiming you didn't remember the conversation.

"you must be sleepy, darling. perhaps you dreamed it?" you dismissed, continuing to chop vegetables and busy about the kitchen. and with shinjuro's tendency to get pass-out drunk, he can't help but doubt his convictions every time. you wouldn't steer him wrong, no... he must've dreamed it like you said. "yes... yes, perhaps you're right about that." you only smile at him over your shoulder, humming a cheerful tune as you make dinner for your perfect family.

✮ you know you're taking things too far. setting curfews, not letting him go out without you, smothering him like an overprotective parent would... but you just can't stop- can't control yourself. you ache for him so profoundly that being away from him is like torture. if anything ever happened to him, you'd never forgive yourself.

✮ you want him to need you like you need him. desire you half as much as you desire him. maybe what you feel for him is too messy and twisted to be love, and maybe your love is more like a festering sickness, but you can't let him go.

2024 © vampyan ; do not modify, translate, or repost my work onto any platform. reblogs & comments are greatly appreciated!

[falins-dragon-meat]

More mental illness on main cw unreality/ocd/intrusive thoughts (nothing graphic just kinda talking about them)

My ocd has been really bad recently. My intrusive thoughts have been kinda different and almost stylized which is like kinda cool in a sense cuz I can remember them and be like "woah that definitely wasn't real but I can see it." OK this post is me in real time remembering what psychosis is LOL. OK this whole ordeal has literally given me a tummy ache :/. Um one of my go to thoughts is that I am constantly about to be electrocuted, kinda triggered if I have a taste in my mouth ever or anytime doing anything near a plug or running water during rain. It's actually kind of infuriating how my brain defaults to things purely bc I heard them when I was young and ofc I had a whole conveyer of bullshit coming from both my mom and my gma bc they are both also sosick. I feel incredibly legitimately psychotic when I drive it's like the only way I can... drive? You drop a sponge in water, it gets wet; you belt me into a seat in a metal box moving 30-80mph next to some of the most infuriating people on the planet, I DO NOT FEEL SAFE, EVER. don't even get me started on the grocery store, grocery store is hell on earth a literal torture chamber.

Here's to hoping I can go outside or open a window tomorrow clearly I need it :P

[justasimpsons-sideblog]

me making dead bart fanart (?) in 2021? yes, unfortunately (/hj)

cw for (cartoony) gore under the cut, lemme know if i need to add more cws

some design notes ig:

the original story never really gave a description of what bart looked like (beyond “hyperrealistic” of course), so i just kinda based my design off that pic of homer that accompanies it and took the rest into my own hands. he definitely doesn’t look like he fell out of a plane, but i wasn’t going for realism anyway.

on the subject of the original story, i have really mixed feelings about it because there’s some genuinely creepy elements to it, but i can’t say i found the story as a whole actually scary (and i’m p easily scared lmao). hell, if it weren’t for the fact that it’s played completely seriously, the basic premise wouldn’t be out of place in a treehouse of horror segment.

i gave him his blue shirt, i felt it looked more fittingly “gloomy” over the red/orange one.

i stylized the part around his exposed brains to look more like his hair so he’s still recognizable as bart bc c’mon, the image associated with this creepypasta isn’t even a picture of him. a lot of the horror of a corrupted version of beloved character relies on keeping them recognizable enough to invoke that horror. it’s also kinda based on this one vinyl toy of him as a zombie.

[iloveyoutotype-moonandback]

CW: gore, abuse and rape mentions.

So I recently played the original Tsukihime visual novel (it’s being remade so I might as well check out the original right?) and I wanted to talk about some of my general impressions and thoughts on it. 

TL;DR for people who don’t wanna read any spoilers (or if you just don’t wanna read through my long-ass post): I thought it was good and there were lot of aspects and themes that I found interesting. I did have problems with certain aspects of it however, and I wouldn’t recommend it to everyone since it’s really violent and...well just see the CW for yourself. But if none of that deters you, then I think it’s worth checking out!

So, like I said above the cut, I enjoyed it overall. The story was interesting, with the focus being on vampires and some more information on the church for example (fate tends to focus more on the grail war, so other aspects of the Nasuverse are inevitably glossed over or not mentioned at all). This also had a psychological horror aspect, with Shiki having dreams where he kills people just to give one example. But then there are certain indications that what he’s seeing is real, leading him to believe that he could be unconsciously killing people. And he doesn’t WANT to see these dreams, he actually hates them to the point that there are a few scenes where he straight up avoids going to sleep altogether. The problem is that he has no idea how to stop seeing them, or even what’s happening to him. Also other characters often hide stuff from him or lie for his “protection”, so that really only adds to the uncertainty (this dude kinda gets gaslit a lot, come to think of it). 

I remember seeing some people say that the artwork for this vn isn’t as good as what you get in fsn, which makes sense given that it’s older and thus earlier in Takeuchi’s art career. And I can see what they mean, but there’s legit some good CG’s in this one. Also it does this interesting thing where instead of drawn backgrounds, it has real life pictures that have been edited/stylized. I can’t quite articulate it, but it gives the vn a different vibe that really works for it imo. I like it.

In terms of characters, I gotta say that Hisui was one of my favorites. I guess I just kinda relate to her in a weird way. She’s quiet, isn’t super expressive (or at least it seems that way initially), and doesn’t like being touched. I used to be like that (I’m still like that sometimes but I’ve gotten a lot better), though obviously she has....very different reasons for being that way. But at that point my brain had already gone “that one” with her.

Speaking of Hisui, I really like Kohaku too. If we’re comparing Nasu’s works here, I feel like she’s kind of comparable to Sakura. Mostly in a thematic sense, seeing as how she’s someone who appears normal enough but there’s a lot brewing beneath the surface that we don’t fully see until her route (and by that I mean she suffered sexual abuse from Shiki and Akiha’s father when she was a child). I don’t want to compare them too much tho, since they are different characters at the end of the day. It’s just something of a common thread I noticed. Though with Kohaku, you do actually get a glimpse into what her deal is in Hisui’s route (mainly in the epilogue), which then leads right into Kohaku’s route. 

Outside of the two maids, Arcueid was another favorite of mine (if Hisui is my favorite, I’d say Arc is a close second) because she looks elegant at first but then you realize she’s a fuckin dork the moment she opens her mouth (and I love her for it). Ciel was cool too, and it was interesting to have a member of the church who’s more sympathetic than Kirei Ketamine over there (though as her route reveals, the church is still kinda fucked). I liked Akiha as well. It was really interesting seeing her develop across the 3 “far side of the moon” routes. At first you think she’s normal then op, turns out she’s part vampire and is actually pretty fucking powerful! That said, I did have a few problems with her route...

...which leads me into one of my criticisms of this vn. Akiha’s route was my least favorite out of the 5. Again, and I cannot stress this enough, it is not because of Akiha herself. Akiha good and cool. The issue here is Akiha and Shiki...basically fall in love and also fuck at one point. Did I mention that Akiha is Shiki’s little sister? Because she is. “Well Shiki was adopted so it’s not technically incest” don’t make me tap the sign:

Like yeah, I know “romance happens between Shiki and the main heroin of the route” is a common thread here but I’d like it if they made just one exception. Sibling relationships are good too, you don’t need to resort to romance. 

And, well, now that it’s been brought up already: this vn has sex scenes! And they were just as bad as I expected! I did read through one or two, but after that I just started either skimming through them or skipping entirely. A lot of them don’t really effect the story much (except for like, one which is actually kinda important) so most of them aren’t really worth it unless you just want to laugh at the weird lines. Not a big deal but I felt like it was worth mentioning at least.

Moving on, Tsukihime did have some problematic elements outside of the whole incest thing. Fate/Stay Night had its own issues and obviously Tsukihime will have them too. Tbf to Nasu, he did say he later regretted some of the stuff he wrote in this early period. It’s good that he’s grown as a person and a writer, because looking back there are definitely a few lines here that are really fucking bad. One that stuck out to me was this line from Arcueid’s route where Shiki is arguing with Ciel and then he just suddenly says something along the lines of, “if you try to stop me from going, I’ll rape you right here”. It’s right the fuck out of nowhere too. And like, the reasoning was that he could barely walk at that point so he just came up with some super threatening thing to say, but it was just really unnecessary. 

Actually, I think the same could be said about some of the sexual violence depicted. Like, there’s a whole recurring thing where Shiki will just suddenly get possessed to murder someone (because his vampire step-brother basically lives in his mind rent-free) and he mentions the arousal he gets from doing so. At several points he even acts on these impulses, and winds up getting hard and cumming as he cuts someone up into pieces. It’s...really fucking weird and I’m not sure what it adds by being there. It adds a creep factor for sure, but ig it’s a question of how necessary it actually is. Some of it is integral to the story, as is the case with...certain aspects of the Arcueid and Kohaku routes for example. So don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying remove it entirely, I’m just questioning some of the extra stuff that doesn’t seem totally necessary to me.

So all in all, while I did have some problems with it, Tsukihime isn’t bad by any means. Like I said before, I think it was good overall and I enjoyed it.  You can acknowledge the problematic elements of something, but still otherwise like it. But yeah, certainly not for everyone, but still worth playing in 2021 I think.

[exmo-freakshow]

a rant (CW: mentions suicide, religious trauma, and queerphobia)

I love the church I grew up in but I also hate it. I grew up feeling accepted by a wonderful community. Now I can't tell how deep their kindness goes. I feel like I have to hide my identity in order to be accepted, because I am unsure if my church leaders would ostracize me - strip me of privileges, or tell me I lack faith or that I've been deceived - if I lived truthfully. Church leaders speak words that are 99% beautiful and uplifting and 1% scary or offensive. The church spends millions on humanitarian aid while spending billions on stocks, real estate, and lobbying. It shaped my life for the better. It's now arguably making my life worse.

I love the BYU/Provo community but I also hate it. People are incredibly friendly and invite you to parties and bring you food and also whisper the word “queer” like it's a dirty word. They'll talk so much about loving everyone - and they really try! - but see any act of acceptance as "condoning sin". They are quick to serve but they also speak of people who have left the church or identify as LGBTQ+ or struggle with addictions with a strong "hate-the-sin-love-the-sinner" tone. They are very wholesome and will defend their values to their dying days yet many will bristle at being told to wear a mask. Many of them have never met a Black person before, or a queer person, or a person who is not a member of the church. They are essentially the only friends I have. I love them. I hate it.

I love BYU itself but I also hate it. It’s given me an amazing education, and its tuition is very affordable for anyone - and through scholarships, it’s technically paid me to attend. But its standards are in many ways absurd. Modesty I can understand, to a point, but a ban on beards? no colored hair? and don't even get me started on the ban on "homosexual behavior" or the outright transphobia/enbyphobia. It offers free counseling and formed an official committee for diversity and inclusion yet condemns groups for shining rainbow lights on Y mountain, refuses to issue a statement after a church leader told students to resist LGBT inclusion with proverbial "musket fire", refuses to change a problematic honor code even after sustained protests, and boasts a student body of which a whopping 0.4% are Black. In a year and a half or so I will get my degree from BYU. My time here will shape my life forever. It already has - in good ways and bad.

I love Mormon doctrine but I also hate it. There are so, so many wonderful elements to it - eternal families, personal revelation - but also enough about its shaky history - polygamy, child marriage, racism, queerphobia - that it can be hard to balance. It talks about how God’s love is unconditional but then sets conditions on how to feel that love. Much as it repeats "you don't need to be perfect," it's easy to feel like you can never measure up. And its only answer to not feeling the way you're supposed to - having doubts, not feeling like your prayers are being answered - is to just keep going. Don’t trust outside sources, they could lead you astray. Throughout my life, through my mission, it gave me hope and comfort. But when questions came, it had few answers, and when the depression and mental health struggles came, there were fewer answers still. And then, when at the ripe old age of almost 23, I finally realized I was queer, it seemed like the nail in the coffin given the Church's history and vague doctrine surrounding queerness.

I love God but I also hate Him. I still fundamentally think He exists, and that He had a hand in my life once upon a time. When I was a child, and occasionally as a missionary, I truly felt He loved me and guided my life. I loved Him back and did the things that Mormons do not because I felt I had to, but because I loved God. But it seemed like His love and closeness expired when I hit 16. Although I did not doubt God’s existence, everything was suddenly harder, and answers to prayers seemed few and far between. And then shortly after returning from missionary service, everything stopped. I was struggling with my identity and with burnout - if there was one time I needed God's love and help, it was then, but He was gone. I nearly ended my life because I felt so abandoned. It’s been a year. There’s been no indication that He cared, or was there at all. I love God for what I truly believe He's done for me in the past. I resent Him a little now.

It's General Conference time, when Mormons everywhere tune in to watch church leaders give sermons for 10 hours or so over the course of two days. It's a big deal, especially around here where you'd be hard-pressed to find a non-Mormon within a mile radius. Everyone's excited. It's wonderful. It's also conflicting, and terrifying, for some of us. I've listened to 1.5 hours or so of the 6 hours that broadcasted today. Some of it resonated with me. Some of it made me feel sick. The same thing that used to make me feel so loved is now the thing that often makes me feel unloved.

That's the end of my rant. I want to use this blog for fun rather than an outlet for religious trauma and identity crises, but with my roommates blasting Conference on the living room TV, my social media full of #ldsconf and stylized quotes, and virtually no non-Mormons in sight, it's what's inevitably on my mind. Hopefully in a few days my brain will be off its bullshit and back onto its desired path of shitposting and memes.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

The Fight

CW: Ableism against a child, references to attempted noncon/assault of a survivor, religious references to the Bible, conditioning, trauma recovery, trauma response

TIMELINE: Immediately post-Creepy Pet Lib Guy. Links in piece.

She hears his footsteps, the soft motion of him through the living room and into the den, where a single lamp is on in the corner on the side table next to the old couch Paul never could bear to throw out. Ronnie doesn’t look over at him, instead picking at a bit of duct tape affixed over a ripped spot while sipping her beer straight from the bottle.

There’s a show on the television - they have a new one finally, but Ronnie’s never thrown out a damn thing that wasn’t broken just because it got replaced and she’s not about to start now, so she moved it in here - but she’s not watching it. Not even sure what the show is, only that the laugh track is tinny and never seems timed to the moments of actual humor. 

The house is mostly silent, this late at night. There’s no sound but the occasional gurgle from the ice machine in the fridge, the soft hum of electronics that she never notices except when the power goes out, and then only because of its sudden absence. 

No sound but the television’s off-key laughter and the footsteps of her son, creeping up behind her. 

“Mommy?” His voice is so high and soft, fuzzy with sleepiness, and she turns with a tired smile to see him dragging his favorite blanket behind him along the floor. It’s a quilt she bought at a church’s Christmas market when he was two, and it had buttons sewn in with the patches, giving the cats the quilt is decorated with three-dimensional button eyes. 

His face is rounded and so like his father’s, even so, his face and eyes and his hair are all Paul’s, through and through. He’s an echo, a clone of his father, in a lot of ways… up to and including navigating a world that has already labeled him as difficult, and he’s only six years old.

“Hey, baby. What are you doing up?” She’s twenty-three with a six year old son, and doesn’t that seem strange, some days? So many of her friends from high school are still out until dawn, posting photos of their drunken shenanigans on Facebook, and here Ronnie sits… twenty-three, with a husband who works nights, and a six-year-old son whose teacher calls him hopeless, right to his fucking face.

“I, I, I had a bad dream,” He says, and his eyes are so, so big in his small round face. Paul’s eyes are like that, big and green and soulful. She’d fallen into them, her junior year, and she’d never wanted to climb back out. No matter that her friends thought he was weird, no matter that yeah, okay, he is weird - he’s her kind of weird, and she and Paul understood each other right from the start. 

“Oh, no.” She pats the couch cushion beside her and he clambers almost eagerly up to tuck himself in beside her. Her throat nearly closes as he carefully spreads his blanket out to cover them both, the simple gesture of care and love. How do you look this boy in the eyes and tell him he can’t do something? “What was your bad dream about, do you want to tell me?”

“Monsters,” He says, as if that single word relays all the information she could possibly need. Maybe it does, really - at least the monsters her son dreams about are easier to vanquish than the ones Ronnie has to help him learn how to face on his own as he grows.

“Good thing I monster-proofed this house before we moved in,” Ronnie teases. She moves her arm around his shoulders and he smiles, faintly, eyes closing as he leans his head against her collarbone, his ear right where he’s always wanted it, ever since birth - over her heart. Listening to her heartbeat. Sure enough, his fingers find their way to her stomach and start to tap in time with it, and Ronnie sips her beer again.

“Monsters aren’t, aren’t, aren’t real, actually,” He says, speaking quietly and without opening her eyes, and Ronnie thinks if her six-year-old well, actuallys her one more time… she read all the parenting books and has a whole shelf of parenting memoirs she’s picked up and not a single one mentioned that little kids are fucking know-it-alls. Not one.

“Well, if they’re not real, then why are you buggin’ Mommy at midnight because of dreaming about them, huh?” She keeps her voice light and affectionate, just this side of teasing. Tristan doesn’t react well to any kind of perceived anger or rejection, moping for a day or more around while his brain tries to process that she didn’t stop loving him just because he did something that bothered her. Tris as a toddler broke her heart more than once with terrified insistence that you, you, you don’t even like me anymore after time-outs or discipline.

He’s just being manipulative, her mother had said once, but Ronnie knew better. 

He’s three years old, Mom. He’s not trying to manipulate me, he’s scared.

He’s just doing what works, Veronica, you can’t always give in to it.

Mom. He is a little boy. Do you realize how you sound?

Now his teacher is repeating the same tired circular logic that cycles round and round her son without ever seeing him. Ronnie is staring down the barrel of another round of meetings, talking to administrators to try and get around the teacher’s rigidity and hostility, arguing for Tris to get moved into a new class, and all the while he’ll fall further and further behind in his in-class work - while at home he rockets through the homeschooling workbooks she buys, a six-year-old already doing second-grade reading and writing work, first-grade math, obsessed with a kid show about science that they have to watch every single day or he has seriously informed her he might die.

The knowledge is there, and his love of learning hasn’t been throttled by school yet, and Ronnie can’t do anything but try to work within a system that tells her that her son needs to be changed or cured in order to not be kept locked away from everyone else.

Monsters are pretty fucking real, in Ronnie’s experience. 

One day her son will have to learn that all the monsters are human beings.

God, she’s so tired of fighting, and so very aware that she’s not going to stop until the whole damn world remakes itself to give space for Tristan, until the world deserves how unreservedly her son loves it.

She takes another drink, then sets the beer bottle carefully down on the coaster - she ordered them last year, and they all have little stylized drawings of the three of them on it, faceless sketches of a man, a woman, a child - man and child red-headed, woman with brown hair. 

When she’d gotten the positive pregnancy test, right before Thanksgiving her junior year, she’d thrown up and cried for a week and been sullen and silent at the holiday table, trying to figure out what to do next.

But Paul had never hesitated. When she told him, his response had been to go home to his dad and ask to start working part-time with the Garden, running packages he never looked into, playing lookout outside of bars while the Garden met inside. His first pay - cash handed to him in an envelope - he’d spent some of it on a onesie, a baby blanket, and a stuffed puppy with fur so soft Ronnie could barely stand the fluff. 

Then he’d spent some more on ginger chews and ‘Preggo Pops’, lollipops that were supposed to help with Ronnie’s morning sickness, and three books on pregnancy for her and one book on becoming a dad for him. 

Paul did what Paul always did - took one look at a cliff he had to cross and simply leapt headfirst and hoped for the best. That impulsiveness that she loved and that had gotten him in so much trouble in life, the enthusiasm that carried her long with it.

There are monsters in the world, Ronnie thinks, running fingers through her son’s fine, soft hair. But there are people who help you fight the monsters, too. Even if the monster is just the stares from other students at school as her stomach grew, the way her friends’ parents stopped letting her come to their houses, the thin-lipped disapproval of the principal handing her a high school diploma as she half-waddled across the stage, refusing to be shamed, engagement ring on her finger. Even if the monster is a world that tries to shove her son into boxes that he can’t fit into, or a teacher who sends him home in tears convinced he’s too stupid to learn anything.

Her jaw sets.

Veronica Higgs has been headstrong since birth, and she’s never made a decision she didn't follow through on. Never turned away from a fight. She’s not about to start now, not when it’s her son.

Ronnie has never turned away from the sweet baby that had looked at her with such dark-eyed seriousness when he was born, the infant who cried for reasons Ronnie couldn't’ fathom, the toddler who screamed that the lights at Target hurt his skin, the little boy who lined up dinosaurs and cars and toy horses in perfect color gradients, the boy who rocks in her arms and hums when he’s happy, the boy she hopes will one day be able to live on his own without her, because…

Because if only Paul and Ronnie are going to fight for him, then they’re going to have to be a fight so fierce that everyone else can’t possibly hold out against them.

The doctors said he might not talk - and he talks a mile-a-minute, about any-fucking-thing that comes into his mind. They said he wouldn’t make friends easily, but he goes on sleepovers with his gymnastics buddies, just went to a party at Chuck E. Cheese with a little preparation so he wasn’t scared of the games and lights and noise when he got there. They said he would struggle in school, and-

Well, he does. But only because of the adults who refuse to understand that Tris learns just fine… if you let him listen in his own way.

“Hey, Tris?” She smiles down at him and he turns those big green eyes up to her. There’s a chapped spot on his lower lip that looks like he might have messed with it until it opened into a sore, and she reminds herself to get some vaseline on it. “You want to stay here with me for a bit? We’ll watch one of your shows, and then back to bed. How’s that sound?”

He smiles at her, and nods a little, still tapping along to her heartbeat. “Oh, oh, okay, Mom. Can, can, can… can-can… can we watch Dino King?”

“Yeah, sure.” Ronnie hates that show, but really - he loves it, and it’s one night, and she could use the way his open, brilliant happiness helps her forget that he’s going to have to work harder and harder to hold onto it as he grows.

She picks up the remote, brings up the menu, switches to a streaming network, and listens to the grating, familiar theme song start to play as her son’s eyes move contentedly to the screen. 

He watches the show, but he never takes his head away from her heartbeat.

---

Natalie Yoder has had easier nights than this one, that’s for fucking sure. She leans over the kitchen table, papers spread out in front of her, trying to figure out where they went wrong. This is one of their biggest grants, it’s a bit of funding that she has always relied on, and… denied approval for the upcoming fiscal year. 

Thousands of dollars she needs to feed and clothe and house her rescues, gone up in smoke, denied with a bloodless email and no ability to fight back, not for this one. Not this year. It could be a simple error, something she overlooked, sure. Or maybe the association that gives out the grants is suspicious of her story about transitioning homeless people into permanent housing, which really is exactly what she’s doing, isn’t it?

Just… not the kind of homeless people the grant givers are imagining.

She’ll have to call Vince to beg for him to help her fill in the gap, and that will mean time for him to speak with his finance guy and get another couple of shell companies to funnel the money through so it doesn’t go back to him. He’ll give it to her, to be sure - Vince could give her the money to run this place flat out for the rest of his life and still be one of the wealthiest men in America, thanks to his low-key lifestyle and strong work ethic meaning he spends more time filming or producing than he does doing anything else.

Nat knows why Vince doesn’t want to be home, to sit up alone with a bottle or a glass in his hand. She knows his work ethic is simply escaping the demons that will never stop haunting his footsteps, what he traded away for his success, what he lost, what the money and fame can protect him from but can’t remove the stamp of it already written over his soul.

He’s famous, and rich, and Owen Grant can’t touch him now… but the tradeoff of Vince’s survival was that some innocent kid was abducted and turned, through drugs and torture and horrifying assault, into Kauri.

Kauri, who hasn’t answered the phone or sent a text in a week.

Not since that fucking group meeting where Chris was assaulted and Kauri stood up for him. Not since Kauri’s intuition that Kyle had some less-than-savory interest in Chris had proven correct, because… it wasn’t intuition at all.

It was experience. 

Nat groans, rubbing her hands over her face, closing her eyes and reminding herself, teeth ground together, to try and stay calm. It’s not unusual for Kauri to disappear for a while, a week or more. It’s not a sign that something is wrong. He was hurt by Nat pushing him, he needs time to think. 

He’ll pop right back up again, smiling like nothing happened, like he isn’t giving Nat gray hairs (well, new ones, anyway) trying to tell herself he’ll be okay.

All she can do is trust that he’ll come back when he’s ready.

... and castigate herself for letting that fucking predator get close to Chris without picking up on what he was planning, and for not realizing Kauri wasn’t just being overprotective of a younger rescue, but - in his own way - waving giant red flags that Nat, and Jake, and everyone else just didn’t see.

That, and then losing the grant, have made for one hell of a fucking week.

Nat takes deep breaths. Her hands smell like dish soap and a hint of the roasted garlic she’d put in the soup for supper lingering. The kitchen still smells like the garlic, roasted parsnips and rosemary. Chris had never had parsnips before-

Not that anyone knows if he really hasn’t or not.

“Oh, Nat, you are a mess tonight,” She mutters to herself. “Just full-on moping, huh? That’s how we’re gonna play it?”

Then she hears the soft scrape of a foot on the tile and looks up, blinking, to see Chris in the doorway, leaning against the wood of the frame, the big purple fuzzy blanket she’d gotten him a few weeks back wrapped around his narrow shoulders, the hints of faded muscle that still linger there. Usually he’s draped in Jake’s clothes but tonight he’s only wearing his basketball shorts, no shirt at all.

The rare glimpse of so much of Chris’s skin - she hasn’t seen so much of him since the night he arrived in the pouring rain - tells Nat more than anything else that Chris isn’t okay, either. 

“Hey, Chris. What’s up, sweetheart?” Nat glances over at the oven, squinting at the clock, and then groans. “Jesus, it’s nearly 2 am. I lost track of time, I guess.”

Chris doesn’t move from the doorway, not at first. He’s gone quiet again, since the assault, regressing back into periods of stillness and silence that they were so sure he’d gotten past. Jake says he’s testing again, trying to push Jake and Antoni into repeating the patterns that were tortured into his mind as normal, reacting with relief at their rejections - and then testing again, within hours, reminding himself that they’ll never say yes.

Nat looks at him, the shadows under his green eyes, and tries, “Did you have a nightmare?”

He slowly nods, and she watches his hands twist a little into the soft fabric of his blanket, rhythmically twisting to the side and back, nearly invisible with how well he can hide what he does to soothe himself, a skill taught in all the worst ways, learned in a desperate attempt to keep himself sane.

“Hm. I can see that. Was it about the meeting, the other night?”

His eyes dance away from hers, move to the ceiling, and he’s staring upwards at the rough texture up there as he nods, chewing on his lower lip with his top teeth, worrying at a spot that she knows he’ll eventually work to bleeding, sooner or later. He pauses and says, softly, “Kauri… didn’t come find me. That was, was my... my dream. And... it. It hurt.”

His voice, slow drips of speech, hits Nat like a knife to the heart. She nods, slowly, and pushes herself up, chair scraping back across the tile. Chris flinches minutely at the sound, curling a little into himself. “I understand, sweetheart,” She says, softly. “I’m so sorry we didn’t know sooner.”

She thinks, looking at him, of Daniel in the lion’s den, an old Bible story that’s never left her. Daniel trusted God and walked out unscathed, but she’s always thought maybe he wasn’t quite as unscathed as the Bible wants you to think he was. 

It’s one thing to have faith that you’ll survive being thrown in with monsters - it’s another to be so inhuman that you don’t wake with nightmares, for months or years after, that you were never saved at all. She is certain, deep down inside of her, that Daniel dreamed of a lion’s teeth and a promise broken, a prayer unheard.

The stories talk about Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego in a furnace walking out of the flames untouched, but of course the flames had still touched them. Scars aren’t always written openly on your skin. 

Of course they dreamed of flames scorching their skin, curling their hair, smoke stealing breath from their lungs. They, like Daniel, must have woken gasping, certain that their faith had been misplaced, that their trust that someone stood between them and the monsters who would destroy them had been betrayed.

They must have breathed, panting, in the middle of the night, and sworn they could still see the smoke in the air, feel the heat against their skin. 

They must have needed to come fully awake to remember - and believe - that they had been rescued. They must have needed the reminder.

Chris has no scars from walking with monsters - all his scars are inside his head. Chris’s scars come in his fear that she will not want him, that no one really wants him, when he can’t fight back or say no or defend himself, when he needs someone else to be his defense, to go to war. They come in his insistent, constant testing of Jake, pushing to see if it’s all been a lie, if they only want to use him the way he has been taught he is made to be used.

“Kauri was smarter than any of the rest of us,” Nat says, feeling suddenly exhausted. “We should have listened. I shouldn’t have had to step in. You deserved better.”

Chris deserves a fucking angel to lead him untouched out of the flames.

All he has is Jake - and Nat. 

She fills a saucepan with cold milk while he watches her, his eyes on her back a tangible, palpable weight, and pops a lid on, turning the dial until the flames flicker up from the burner to start heating it to a simmer. 

“I’m going to have hot chocolate the old fashioned way,” She announces, pulling down a bag with some discs of melting chocolate in it. They cost too much and mostly nobody notices the difference, but tonight… tonight, she thinks the extra effort is worth it. “You want whipped cream on yours, when it’s done?”

“Yes, please,” He whispers, and she looks over at him with a small smile. His hair is mussed still from sleep, a hint of red on his cheek where he must have had it pressed into a pillow. His freckles stand out in the thin light of the kitchen’s overhead light fixture. 

Next door, at Miss Ruth’s, a light turns on, and Nat glances through her own window to see it. Jaden, probably - that kid sleeps about as little as Chris does.

“Well, good, because I’m having some, too.” She pauses, leaning her back against the kitchen counter. There’s a long silence that draws out between them. The milk heats, bubbling just the tiniest bit around the edges in the saucepan, and Nat carefully drops in the chocolate discs to melt whisking until the liquid is a rich brown, thickened, ready for her to pour carefully into two mugs and top with the spray-bottle whipped cream she keeps in the fridge.

Nat sets the mugs down on the kitchen table, pulling Chris a chair up right next to hers. He relaxes a little at the tacit, silent request for closeness, drops into his chair with a slight smile playing over his face. He picks up the mug with both hands and takes a sip, getting whipped cream at the end of his nose, wiping it off with a scrunched-up expression that lifts some of the fatigue that dogs Nat’s muscles in the early-morning hours.

“I know the dreams are scary,” Nat says softly, reaching out to lay a hand on his back. He looks over at her, with those giant green eyes in his narrow face, searching for something in her. Maybe just for certainty that the promises she’s made to him will be kept. “But Kauri did come to help you. And you’re safe here, with us. We’ll always come for you, Chris, no matter what.”

He leans over, with slow inevitability, until the top of his head brushes against her neck, his head just at her collarbone. She lets her arm slide around his shoulders, her hand moving to run fingers slowly through his fine, soft coppery hair. “I, I, I forgot how to say no,” He whispers, and presses his head against her. 

“I know, honey. But that’s okay, we get back up and try again, right?” Nat sips her own hot chocolate slowly, and Chris holds his cupped warm in his palms, but even as he keeps taking sips, he doesn’t pull away from her. Eventually, he puts the mug back down on the table and shifts a little, so his ear is just over her heart.

“We, we, we try again,” He whispers. “But, but, but I don’t want to, to, to, I don’t-... want to be, um, to be scared again, to… have someone-”

“I know.” Nat swallows, her throat closing, briefly, but she fights it back and keeps her voice - and her hand through his hair - steady as she speaks. “There are going to be bad people out there, Chris, who want to hurt you. But you’re not alone.”

She thinks again of Daniel, waking from nightmares of gnashing teeth, maybe kicking off blankets and pacing a room, his skin written invisibly with the aftermath of a terror that never punctured skin. She thinks of three men in a fire, dreaming again and again that the fourth never arrived to lead them out of the flames.

She thinks of promises made, and kept. Prayers spoken in desperation, and answered, although so often far too late.

She thinks of the prayers for mercy, in the cold white rooms, that are never heard at all.

She’s tired, but she loves them - all of them, who have passed through her doors and gone on to other places - and she can’t imagine being anything but their army, their defense, the wall they can hide behind to rebuild themselves until they fight on their own. 

Not on their own, though, never really on their own.

She may never know what happened to him, to bring him here to her doorstep - but she knows that he doesn’t have to face the monsters, the flames, the danger alone. Not anymore.

“You’re safe here,” She says, gently, and turns her head to rest her chin on top of his head. “You’re safe here, and loved, and there’s nothing we won’t do to make sure you’re safe. Whatever comes at you, sweetheart, we’ve got you. And we’ll fight it for you, every time, until you can fight for yourself.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then he asks, in a whisper, “Do, do, do you you-you promise?”

“Promise, Chris. Cross my heart and hope-”

“Don’t-... don’t say the, the end of it.” His voice weakens. “Please.”

“Sorry, sweetie.” She tightens the arm around his shoulders a little, and feels him snuggle closer in response, a low sigh of relief at the reassurance in the embrace. “Swear on everything. I’ve got you, and Jake has got you, and we’re not gonna disappear. I don’t-... I don’t know if we can always save the day for you, Chris, but I can promise you that we will always try.”

He hums, eyes closing. One of his hands slides over her stomach, and begins - slight, soft, barely-there - to tap. 

It takes Nat a few seconds to realize that he is tapping along to the beat of her heart.

---

Tagging: @burtlederp, @finder-of-rings, @endless-whump, @whumpfigure, @slaintetowhump, @astrobly  @newandfiguringitout  , @doveotions  , @pretty-face-breaker, @boxboysandotherwhump  , @oops-its-whump  @moose-teeth  , @cubeswhump  , @cupcakes-and-pain  @whump-tr0pes  @whumpiary  @orchidscript, @itallcomesdowntopain

[stray-tori]

TPN S02E06 - Initial Thoughts (anime-only)

hhh everything went wrong with my reaction video this time - the video is lagging (so i replaced the screenrecording with the actual episode), also facecam broken so my friends won’t get to see me tearing up and the wrong mic input was recorded so I’m sorry for the shitty quality. I’m so upset :(

Edit: Google Drive Link! :)

.

I don’t even know what to really talk about because I liked everything?? it was such a good episode and I just... AHHH. I wish we had so much more of THIS. please give them more seasons.... ik its already too late for that but pleaseee fidusdj- they just... do so well when they adapt imo. the whole comparison panels I’ve seen of the interactions with Norman, I just... genuinely think it’s such a highpoint and they did so friggin well.

I just... I’m so sad this will likely be the last season. I hope we’ll get more, in whatever form. I know there’s the manga and unless we get an announcement about more anime content at light speed, I do plan on reading it! I just... I love the anime. And it’s art. The manga’s art is unique but the style isn’t my jam and some stuff just looks a bit too stylized for my liking hhhh-

That won’t stop me but... it does make me emotional, I guess.

Let’s hope they stay on this path now that they’ve joined back in with the manga, somewhat (still, you couldnt even give them 12 episodes??).

.

. the reunion

It gave me flutters!! it’s so nice and intimate and sweet and dusdhj- THE NORMAN SQUISH. And him noticing Emma’s ear is gone TvT Her sweet, kinda embarrassed “I left it back at home” efiojsd

also the clothing line here separates the two groups, alluding to the conflict between them later in the episode. They’re strangers on two sides, and Norman is the only connecting piece.

I didn’t really dislike anything aside from Ray being left out. I just wanted them both to run for him I guess :( though it makes sense to be more distant, he also was at the shipment itself but idk, it just makes Norman seem so,,, rude that he doesn’t acknowledge Ray at all until Emma is like “hey btw I brought him too” :”D

Slap kinda deserved, on multiple fronts haha-

Though the mutual “baka” calling between Norman and Ray was adorable duihdasjdas

.

. Emma’s arc

a few days ago, I made that whole “anime emma’s arc” post about her feeling useless and how that might come into play - and I do hope they address it and I think they kind of are? Because GF arc Emma was always ready to have her way, even if it seemed impossible.

Either way, I feel like part of why she didn’t speak up is kind of as alluded to, that she doesn’t feel like she has the right to when she doesn’t know any other way right now. And I hope that in the next few episode we will see her headstrong and do things and be pro-active and kind of challenge that and Norman.

.

. Norman (+ his crew)

It was kind of on the nose when Norman held that whole speech about what she had said before, a small hint to it would have been enough I feel like, for the audience -- because I think realizing that part of his motivation in all of this was just her words and that he wanted to do that for her (I think that’s the implication) is really sweet. He is kind of the carrier here and I hope that will change because it feels like we haven’t earned this bio weapon at all - which is okay, because it probably won’t be the solution, so it’s more of a plot-moving element than an actual solution. And I hope that whatever the solution really does entail will feel less like an ass-pull and more deserved.

I feel it may have been interesting to have a pov switch somewhere in ep4 or ep5 to Norman and what he’s been up to. The reveal was kind of “...? okay?” anyway so I feel like that would have made things a little interesting, but I also really enjoy getting to know his squad now.

I’m also HIGHKEY SUS (all alarm bells are ringing) at Norman being like “Oh I just did tests” like.... BABY. PRECIOUS SON, ARE YOU PRETENDING EVERYTHING’S FINE AGAIN?

The fact that Norman didn’t bother explaining further just solidifies (to me, anyway) that he’s avoiding talking about it somewhat. He spoke about it very distantly and from an objective viewpoint.

Alone getting that tattoo on his chest must have hurt a lot. So. Please, give me a lot of angst, CW.

I hope both him and his crew will get some flashbacks or trauma moments to really solidify how badly they’ve been treated (and deliver some juicy angst).

I really loved the close-up on the meat Barbara was eating in that scene too. I felt like it didn't even have to spell it out for us that they're eating demon meat but. Oh well - it was well conveyed but I guess the characters had to confirm.

I also love that whole part about how he’s always cold to them auidhjhs - I really do feel like making a gif out of that haha.

Lambda person: “Boss?” Norman: “What? :/” Emma/Ray: “Norman!” Norman: “Yes? :)”

Also only vaguely related but what’s with people who are made to be eaten, in a state of “dead??? who knows” and then coming back as a “boss” :D Yes I’m talking about beastars.

.

. Mujika

Norman called her the “evil-blooded girl” and the old guy called the temple “evil-blooded” too. And he said it wasn’t a place for kids to be --- and he likely assumed that they were demon kids.

Also some nice clue before we even know to connect Mujika with the temple.

A demon temple that’s “evil-blooded” and too dangerous for demon kids?

It could just be because it’s a ruin, but he IS praying for the world to change there. Mujika seems to be able to maintain her form without eating humans, so maybe that’s what this is all aiming towards.

I guess it also means that the statue with the violet veil is Mujika??? She does have purple hair I suppose.

At first, I was surprised that Norman recognized her just by the description - there’s more than one demon girl :D but I guess only one demon girl who doesn’t need to eat humans? - and I thought he may have crossed paths with her.

But for that to be the case AND for him to assume she’s alive because Emma and Ray have met her, it can’t mean he actually MET her. Because well, RayEm met her like 2 months after his shipment. Assuming he didn’t break out immediately, he couldn’t have met AND tried to do something to her (likely kill). So my guess is that she’s some sort of legend or diety or just like, commonly known and she’s supposedly dead and he’s shocked because she isn’t.

He also first asked “where did you hear about that?” assuming he also only heard about it. Norman's reaction to them having met them also isn't "when?" (so he could confirm if it was after or before his supposed encounter with her), it's shock that they met her AT ALL. Which to me, implies that she's supposedly dead (which lines up with the temple in ruin, so something happened to her line, or whatever she's a part of). And since Norman couldn't have met her before their escape (Mujika hasn't seen a human when they meet the GF escapees), that's my conclusion.

Assuming she’s dead also makes sense since her (religion’s) temples seem to be in ruin. maybe that’s why no other demons seem to have that ability (that we know of), because it was lost when her presence was destroyed (therefore the ruins) or something of the sort.

She’s never seen a human before apparantly though, so I’m not sure what exactly that means. She doesn’t seem to have wanted freedom for humans prior to meeting them either (she only seemed hesitant about eating them after all that), so I’m not sure what her own motivation in having that sort of religion would even be.

There’s of course also sonju, so maybe it is after all a religion-thing? Who knows-

.

As I’ve talked about before, I think it makes a lot of sense if the demons are part of the solution, I’m just really curious what that solution actually entails for the demons / what exactly Mujika is. I still think it’s plausible that another promise between Mujika and Emma will happen, considering the narrative mirroring TPN does a lot.

.

. other random stuff

there’s mass production farms! I shouldn’t be surprised, but I hope we get to know more about those (likely not since yknow 5 episodes left and all that)

I also liked how they showed the different plants while talking about it, mirroring how we too mutated plants and some animals to further benefit our needs and exploitation...

The pep talk from Ray was good and the sunrise was SO BEAUTIFUL, TAKE ME NOW ANIMATORS

generally the animation, especially in the trio scene and the lambda squad hideout scenes, was so BEAUTIFUL

I liked that I kept joking about how the WM system was rly insecure if a random guy just dropped the pen for Krone to find, but NOW WE HAVE CONFIRMATION IT WAS INTENTIONAL and Smee is truly the MVP / big brain puppet master of this series.

It did seem kind of weird that Norman just left like "yeah this will probably be discovered soon. anyway, I'm leaving you here to go to my base, see ya" - LIKE BRO TAKE THEM WITH YOU SO YOU CAN PROTECT THEM IF THEY SHOW UP LIKE, TONIGHT

[iwrestlenow]

Many More To Die (Chapter 3)

TITLE: Many More To Die (Chapter 3)

FANDOM: Sanders Sides (Necromancer AU)

SUMMARY: Roman is now king--and not in full control of his actions. Being kept alive by Logan's magic alone, he heads into the dungeons to see the necromancer for the first time in ten years.

Logan, a little out of control himself, uses his magic to bring the Green Man to his cell, not realizing he's compelling the new king of the Kingdoms. He discovers a strange, unknow power is still actively trying to kill him, uses his powers to try and regain some control over the situation...

And discovers something impossible.

SHIPS: Logince (Logan/Roman), future Moceit (Patton/Janus) and Dukexiety (Remus/Virgil)

WARNINGS: lots of death because necromancy, slash, and more to come as I figure it out ‘cause it’s late and I’m tired. CW in this chapter for some disturbing, vaguely graphic imagery involving blood, fluids (nothing sexual, YET), and a stylized version of a panic attack as well as touch starvation. I experience some mild symptoms myself, but I will admit I haven't done much in the way of research for more extreme samples, but this chapter does feature someone that has literally never experienced human contact doing so for the first time. Ergo, their reaction is a little extreme. Just be safe, mindful, and know that I am eager to learn anything that can help me treat issues like this with the respect and accuracy they deserve.

Also, no betas, we die like men.

NOTES: This is based on the gorgeous piece of art by @gretacticdraws that can be found here. I ended up writing a ficlet for it, and then my brain got swallowed up. Breathe at me wrong, and I’ll write more…hell, who am I kidding? I’ll write more anyway because this? Is self indulgent drivel. XD

Also located at AO3 over here.

“Your Majesty! You have to stop!”

Roman remained silent as the guards trailing him called out, relentless as he stalked through the palace halls. Even as the words made him visibly flinch, cutting into him like a knife, he pressed onwards.

Your Majesty.

Because he was the king now. King Thomas Roman II—with his father (his body, he's just a body now) laying in his rooms to prepare for internment.

He could still see Remus's face...

“Remus—I can't--”

“Roman? Roman, look at me.”

“Father is...he's...”

“Dead. Our father is dead, big brother—and this is why the gods invented necromancers. Go.”

He hadn't trusted it, when his first impulse sent him bolting from the guards that dragged him away from his father's body and into the palace, everything in him screaming to find the dungeon, straining towards the necromancer. It probably wasn't his own thought, he still wasn't in control of his own body, lungs full of cool fog, mind thick and clear and so soft, so light. It seemed wrong to feel that way, heavy morning mist and the air above the clouds, atop the mountain, where not a single speck of dust or vapor could impede his vision.

He needed that, Remus to tell him, to hear someone else that wasn't in the Necromata's thrall having the same idea.

Remus pushed him further into the palace. Roman hardly needed the prompting.

“Stand aside.” he instructed as he reached the gate leading down into the dungeons. Two fully armed guards flanked the relatively small door, and neither of them moved at his command.

“With all due respect, Highness--”

“It's--” Roman's throat clogged around the words, unable to let them out despite the fact that his hands still shook from the chill of his father's skin.

“Let him pass.”

Roman glanced over his shoulder, startled by the sight of the man approaching them. He was dressed in a gentleman's bowler hat, and the black and gold cloak of an assassin, its gleaming clasp a perfect compliment to the scales that graced his otherwise handsome features.

“Lord Janus, you know--”

“How dearly I adore being flouted? Yes, of course, nothing makes me happier than having my subordinates disobey a direct order in front of the king.” Janus managed to purr through the sibilance of every word. Distractedly, Roman swore he could hear the crack of ice forming in the wake of the assassin's frigid demeanor.

The word 'king,' however, seemed to do the job. The moment it was spoken, both guards flinched, shared a look, and the one on the left moved to open the gate.

Roman descended the stairs, slowing down for the first time since he'd left the balcony. As a boy, he'd been in the cell nearest to the stairs, and in the dreams it was the same...

He was nearly to the bottom when he saw him.

He was standing in front of the bars, hands wrapped around them...and totally absent. Behind his glasses, the eyes that Roman remembered being glittering chips of ice had been swallowed up by a soft blue light that reminded him of every terrifying story he'd ever heard about the Animator with his sightless eyes, white as bone and crackling with the fury of lightning.

There was no crackle to this glow—more like the sinuous curl of flame at the edges, sweeping back against his temples, barely tinted blue and pale as moonlight.

Stopping dead, he was so consumed by the otherworldly beauty of the image he cut that he almost didn't notice the much younger man beside him—only just reaching the necromancer's shoulder with a mop of brown curls and an expression fraught with worry as he focused entirely on the...

...on Logan.

Roman forced himself to take those last few steps down, drawing the attention of the younger man. When he turned to Roman, he saw that his eyes were blue as well—but dark, vivid as the first crop of wild blueberries at the edges of the village that sat in the valley just beneath the palace.

He squinted into the shadows that blanketed the area around the stairs, the same one Roman had hidden in so long ago—and gasped, choking audibly on his own breath.

“Oh...oh, it's—it's you.”

Taken aback, Roman stilled again. “You...know me?”

“The Green Man—well, sure! Logan's told me all about you! But...what are you doing here, kiddo?”

Taking a deep breath—deep as he could manage with magic still forcing his chest to expand and contract, Roman stepped forward into the light. Almost immediately, the boy's eyes widened.

“...oh, ohhhhh, sweet baby, he didn't tell me you were the...the...”

The boy looked half ready to cry as he realized who he was speaking to, catching Roman just a little off guard with the display of empathy. A sudden, irrational urge to reach through the bars and hug the poor kid gripped him so powerfully it hurt—to hide his face in Roman's chest and protect him, to hide his face in those curls so no one could see Roman's tears in turn.

The boy's overly shining eyes hardened just as abruptly as they filled. Turning away from Roman, he laid a solid hand on Logan's shoulder.

“Logan.”

Roman opened his mouth to ask what was happening, what he was doing to Roman...

Then Logan's hand lifted, fingers unwrapping from around the bars, arm extending, and only then did Roman realize he'd closed the distance and walked straight up to the bars with no memory or awareness of even moving.

Everything in him was well past straining, was now screaming for him to take that offered hand, to plow straight through the bars and into something--

“Go on, kiddo.”

“Patton.”

“It's okay, Janny...it's okay, Your Majesty. He won't hurt you.”

The voices—Lord Janus, the boy, Patton—they sounded like they were coming from the end of a long hall, underwater.

The world was growing so quiet. Early morning dawn, cold mist, thick as soup and light as cotton.

Hold on.

He watched, from the heart of the fog bank, as his hand drifted up to mesh with Logan's—just like the dreams. That hand, those fingers, long and lean and surprisingly powerful...as familiar to him as his own name.

Do not let go.

I never have. I never will.

Roman looked from their joined hands to stare into Logan's face—no longer that of a frightened boy in pain, but lean and angular and marked by his imprisonment. Skin just too pale, cheekbones just too prominent, eyes just too shadowed.

Roman decided, with the last of his free will, that it was the most beautiful face he'd ever seen.

He breathed in, clear and deep, a breath of his own volition.

This time, the world only went dark when he closed his eyes and let go his final breath.

**********

Logan was in agony, and he didn't understand why.

It happened suddenly as the Green Man approached, followed the compulsion he'd been pushing since the moment his power had taken over. Logan had only been able to regain his senses once he'd found it and grabbed on, caught the thread of power buried deep in the Green Man's blood and marrow and replaced it with his own magic.

He'd never done this before, not really—but his magic seemed to know the way, seemed to know that this one, this death, belonged to Logan alone.

There wasn't time to wonder before everything began to burn and scream within him, demanding that he turn and run for safety.

Logan didn't listen. He pushed through it, pushed towards the sound of Patton's voice, towards the Green Man, and leaned forward just in time to draw his last gasp deep into his own lungs.

Immediately, it burned. The power in there was foreign, alien and other, too hot and too bright. It was straining towards its target, terrified of its new prison within Logan's body. He could taste lightning on the back of his tongue, lightning and knives and thick, sweet-savory blood.

...and underneath, honey mead. Fresh grass and sweet roses, sunlight and the clash of swords. Loamy earth and the clean grit of damp stone. The Green Man.

He was in so much pain, he barely felt it as he bit the inside of his own cheek and sucked, replacing the savory-sweet of the alien magic with old pennies and sour larvae. Rolling the flavor of those three across his tongue, Logan breathed through his nose...and opened his mouth.

The blue-white light spilled from his lips and slithered past the Green Man's, returning his final breath to him with a fresh thread of power to combat the one that was trying to leech away his very essence. With an icy knot in his chest to clash against the fire ravaging his nerves, he blinked his vision clear, banishing the last of the spirit-blindness from his eyes and begged the gods for aid.

The Green Man stood, eyes shut, still as the grave—then tensed and came alive, greedily sucking air into his lungs.

Something inside Logan's chest relaxed...but everything, everything still hurt like hell.

Only then, dimly, did it register that the Green Man stood before him in the red, white, and gold of the royal family's military dress.

The Green Man...oh, Shadow's Balls, the Green Man was the king's son.

“Logan? Say something, please Logan...” Patton's voice, thin and vaguely panicked.

“Easy.”

The prince—the new king—gasping and coughing, those green eyes riveted to Logan's face.

“Berry.”

Janus—that was definitely Janus, somewhere beyond Logan's vision, which was starting to narrow. It hurt, it hurt, why did it hurt? He was in pain, he was dying...he was on fire. He was being consumed and crushed--

“Logan, stop pulling.”

Blinking, Logan's vision blurred and cleared. Tears? He was...

Was he weeping? He had to be, he was struggling to breathe.

Looking around, Logan realized Patton was crying (his fault, his fault he knew somehow it was his fault) and, standing beside the new king, Janus had a hand on each of their wrists.

The prince still held Logan's hand. Janus's fingers around Logan's wrist were a barely there buzzing awareness, not even that ghost of pressure because Logan couldn't feel anything beyond the fire consuming him, concentrated...

The prince tried to take his hand back. Logan's fingers convulsed around it.

“Don't let go.”

It took Logan a full minute to realize the broken sounding whine had come from his own throat.

“Logan!”

“Patton, easy. It's fine...Your Majesty, are you all right?”

“I...yes. I am unharmed, I'm...I'm back in control.”

“Back in control?”

“Whatever killed my f—whatever killed the king, it nearly killed me, too. I have reason to believe this man saved my life.”

“This man is Necromata, and he's clearly found a way to use magic on you.”

“Which, I repeat, he used to save my life, and if we're very lucky, may yet be able to use to save F...the rightful king. Logan.”

“Don't let go...please.” Logan's breath was coming in short, shallow gasps now. He was trying to take back his hand and begging to be restrained...

Logan was dying. Logan was electrified.

“Young man—Patton--what's wrong with him?”

“I don't know, Your Majesty...Logan? Can you take a breath for me, kiddo?”

Breath. Breathing. Logan could breathe. He shut his eyes...

...two...three...four...

...hold...

...three...five...six...

Logan drew in a breath.

Held it.

Let it out.

Again.

Logan drew in a breath. At some point, he stopped fighting the grip on his hand, drifted somewhere between the present and elsewhere, the core of his power...

Breath. Berry. Breath, br...other. Berry.

He opened his eyes when it started to hurt again. The Green Man was right there, both of his hands wrapped around Logan's one. He felt boneless, but when he looked to the side, he saw Patton pressed against him, one arm around his waist, the other holding Logan's arm across his shoulders so he could support his weight.

“Hey, kiddo. You back?”

Logan could only nod, turning back to stare at the hands engulfing his. Hesitantly, he tried to plant his feet, take his arm back from Patton, and reached out to touch one of the prince's hands.

His fingertips barely grazed his knuckle, and the pain intensified.

“Lo?”

Logan drew a shaky breath.

“Your Majesty...your hands are callused.”

The Green Man blinked, visibly confused. “I...thank...you?...”

“Your hands...are callused.”

“I don't understand...” The Green Man trailed off, then after a moment his eyes widened.

“Wait. You...”

Logan felt his hands tighten around his. It hurt worse, and somehow it was all that was stopping him from shattering into a million glittering pieces.

“Your hands are callused.” Logan repeated. “I can feel them...I can feel it. Your touch...I can feel it.”

[pennypeabody]

Mädchen Amick teases Riverdale directorial debut, and what she learned from David Lynch

Mädchen Amick wasn't planning to direct the Riverdale season 4 finale. But when the coronavirus pandemic halted production across the world, her directorial debut on the CW series moved into the coveted spot.

"You want it to be exciting and climactic and really building its energy, so I wanted to honor that," the actress tells EW of her fateful episode. "There was a little extra pressure."

Amick has been directing since 2015, beginning with one of her daughter Mina Tobias' music videos. And while Riverdale has kept her busy playing Alice Cooper, the uptight, haunted mother of Betty (Lili Reinhart), since 2017, she has long dreamed of stepping behind the camera as well.

She finally got her shot for "Killing Mr. Honey," which was originally intended as the 19th installment of the 22-episode season. Now it will have to stand as the conclusion — and Amick warns that it ends on a cliffhanger.

In the photos above and below, EW has an exclusive behind-the-scenes look at Amick's directing days on Riverdale. And ahead of the episode's May 6 airing, we called up Amick to discuss her experiences calling the shots, what it was like pulling double duty, and how working with David Lynch early in her career inspired her as an auteur.

ENTERTAINMENT WEEKLY: How long have you had an itch to direct, and how did this episode come about?

MÄDCHEN AMICK: I moved to L.A. at 16, and got Twin Peaks at 17. I would say around my mid-20s, I had it in the back of my mind that I wanted to be more than just an actress and be a storyteller, but so many things in my career made me busy and made me feel like, "Oh, I don’t have time to step behind the camera. I have to keep busy and focused on staying in front of the camera." This was in the mid-'90s, and there were a few female directors — one in particular was Diane Keaton on the original Twin Peaks — that showed me there are women doing this, but [now] there’s a little bit of this movement to get more diversity behind the camera that I benefitted from. I have to give credit to my husband and my daughter. She asked me to direct her music video, and I was honored and jumped right in. I’ve done a few music videos. I’ve directed and produced a docuseries pilot. At the beginning of Riverdale when I did that first thing, I’d started asking around and asking [creator Roberto Aguirre-Sacasa] and [producers] Sarah Schechter and Greg Berlanti. I said, "Hey, guys, I really would love to direct an episode." They were super-supportive and excited. So it was this season that Roberto said, "You want to direct this season?" And I was like, "Yes!"

Riverdale has a very specific, highly stylized aesthetic. Did that make directing easier or harder, especially when it comes to putting your own stamp on the episode?

It was easy for me. I know the show so well, inside and out. I really enjoy the storytelling and the filmmaking part of it. So I know what Roberto likes, as far as the way he likes the story to be told and unfold. That was a great template that was already in place, and I wanted to honor that. Then, I just wanted to elevate it as much as I could and get as strong as performances out of all my fellow actors, which they were great and supportive. And just push the visual boundaries as much as possible. Presenting new ways to shoot scenes, but still staying within the world and the visual look to it, and just hoping that Roberto loved it.

I remember Roberto and I had a conversation: It might’ve been season 2 or season 3, but there was an episode and he said it didn’t feel very inspired. That really gave me an insight into [that] he really wants directors to come on board and love the show and be excited about the show, and then bring an inspirational take to it. That made me feel I had a little bit of freedom to run with it, and he didn’t want a cookie cutter, just make everything the same. It was nice to hear he wanted something that was inspired.

When you directed the episode, it wasn’t meant to be the season finale, but now it is. Is that exciting? Nerve-racking?

Since it's [episode] 19 of 22, you are getting to the end, so there’s usually a lot of climactic things happening. That’s a lot of responsibility, just because I want to get it right. I know we’re getting toward the end, and those last few are really important to start tying up loose ends or building to a cliffhanger. You want it to be exciting and climactic and really building its energy, so I wanted to honor that. There was a little extra pressure.

Did it lead to any last-minute adjustments or changes in the storytelling?

The episode that I shot was the last episode that we completed as far as filming. We were halfway through 20 when production stopped, so I was editing when production stopped. At that point, we didn’t really know that the season would be done. It was a little bit of a holding pattern of, "Are we just pausing and we’ll get back to it, or will our season end a little short?" Now knowing my episode will serve as the finale for this season, obviously we’ll pick up back up next season. They’ll have to adjust some storytelling with what they had planned at the end of this season. As far as my episode, it pretty much stayed intact the way it was written. There was a new layer that came into the story that now serves as an interesting cliffhanger.

You also appear as Alice throughout the episode. What was it like having to pull double duty?

I’m not gonna lie, it was a huge challenge. My brain was so much behind the camera that it was hard for me to switch over to being in character. I could easily slip into Alice, but I could not remember my lines, and I’m usually really good at that. I was really struggling. In one scene in particular, there’s a big confrontation that Alice has with Mr. Honey and she drives the whole scene with all of the parents, and I could not remember it, to the point where my fellow actors were whispering the lines to me to try to help me get through it. Man, it was rough. I know I’ll continue to get better with that with practice, but my brain was not in that space at all. I was full-on thinking of shots and directing my other actors, so it was a big challenge.

This episode is going to have to hold us over for a while; what can you tease about it? Would you say it’s a satisfactory end to the season?

The whole theme of the episode is the big confrontation between the kids and their awful Principal Honey, who’s just been tormenting them the whole season. So lots of really, really fun stuff. There’s a mixture of some fantasy of what they want to do to Mr. Honey and some reality of what ends up happening to Mr. Honey. So that’s the big tease.

The back half of the season angered so many Varchie and Bughead fans, and it doesn’t seem like the same instant regret Archie and Betty have had over previous kisses. What can you say about where those relationships and feelings are headed? Might Riverdale be exploding some of its most beloved relationships?

[Laughs] Why? Why were they upset? No, but don’t they always teeter on that? I think Roberto loves to torture the fans, quite frankly. That’s the fun dynamic, and that is what’s classic to the Archie Comics, is you have this love triangle that’s always been between Archie, Betty, Veronica, and now we’ve thrown in Jughead into the mix. It’s complicated, but we’ll see what ends up happening at the end of senior year and where relationships really go. I know the plan for the next season is we were going to jump forward in time and see where everybody had landed, but I don’t know if that’s gonna adjust now that our season changed a bit.

Both Skeet Ulrich and Marisol Nichols had announced they were leaving at the end of this season, leaving you as the only original Riverdale parent left standing. Now that filming has ended early, does that alter their plans? Will we get any hint of where F.P. and Hermione were originally headed?

As far as the episode I directed, there wasn’t really anything different happening for their characters. It was the same story line going on. But with technically three more episodes they had planned, I’m assuming they had plans. I also know Roberto really loves Skeet and Marisol, and he told me he hopes their characters can come and go from the show depending on everyone’s availability. It’s always funny whenever some of our characters die on the show, it’s like, "Oh, well that guarantees you’ll be on more often." Nobody’s ever really gone on Riverdale.

Does it feel weird to know Alice was going to be the last one left? And what might that mean for her going forward? She seems so happy with FP, it’s really sad to imagine that ending.

I know! They were finally doing good. I don’t know what Roberto has planned, but yeah, poor Alice. She’s really going to be alone now. Maybe she’ll just be ruling the town, who knows? Maybe we need to start a new campaign, Mayor Alice. Obviously not until next year, but just even thinking about coming back next season and having all my O.G. homies not around on a consistent basis, it’s definitely going to be really sad. I’m absolutely going to miss them, but I know that won’t end our friendship.

Earlier in the season, we had evidence Chic and Charles are working together. Will we see any answers there, and what might it mean for Alice to discover her long-lost son has betrayed her once again?

We hadn’t gotten into that for my episode. I think that was in the next few, so she hasn’t experienced the betrayal yet. I know she’s really resilient, but there’s been a lot of betrayal in this woman’s life. I think Alice is going to need some therapy next season.

And not of the Farm variety.

Real, good old-fashioned traditional therapy.

We were setting up for high school graduation to round out this season, and the characters going off to college or other futures. Will we ever get some taste of graduation, and have you any hint of where the kids will end up next year?

No, I don’t. I know the idea was we were going to jump forward in time a little bit to see what they had done. I’m assuming something brings them back to the town of Riverdale.

Can you point to moment or visual choice that you felt defined your identity or artistic choices?

Jughead and Betty have a fantasy going about what they would do to Mr. Honey, and so Betty’s revenge fantasy inspires Jughead to write an essay for college submissions. We get to go into and reenact Jughead’s fantasies and his writing. I wanted to push the envelope in those scenes. You don’t want to go too far out of the way where you’re totally getting rid of reality, but I wanted to visually have some fun with breaking the rules of what you’re supposed to do with shots and how you edit them together. Jughead is all about classic storytelling, so my inspiration was Alfred Hitchcock and Citizen Kane and that kind of stuff. We did a lot of twisted shots and shots that moved in weird [ways], very Vertigo- or Citizen Kane-inspired.

How much were you influenced by the visual artistry of working with David Lynch so early in your career?

He was my mentor from the very beginning. I didn’t really know too much about filmmaking until I worked on Twin Peaks with him. He showed me you think outside the box and do things that feel and look right to you. It wasn’t until I went into the business after Twin Peaks that I realized how different and what an innovator he was. That’s always been in there as my base, to just not be afraid of taking risks. He sent me a really beautiful email my first day of directing, and just reminding me to make sure I did every single thing I want in every single shot, and to have fun.