#either he had some bizarre hallucinations

[ljf613]

The question is, did Van Helsing contact Mina purely because of her friendship with Lucy, or did something in her correspondence with Lucy make him suspect that she and/or Jonathan had had some contact with the Count? Maybe she mentioned Jonathan's visit to Transylvania?

[creedslove]

I've got one:

Established relationship between Javier Peña and f!reader

She's looking for some Halloween stuff and finds some Javi's porn magazines with some girls wearing costumes (can be cheerleader, cat or anything interesting that you think).

She doesn't say a thing and wears it to a party that Connie and Steve are throwing. Javier will be INSANE, reader provoking him all kinds of things, quickie at the party and then Javier punishes her REALLY FUCKING GOOD (overstimulation).

Javier Peña x f!reader

A/N: bestie it's been two days and I'm still barking like a bitch in heat over this request honestly I'm so tired of being Javier Peña's slut (actually I'm not xD)

• you were sure there were still Halloween props from the year before as you went through the boxes in the small storage room in his apartment

• you couldn't complain, Javi was very organized and unlike most male apartments, his was always neat and it was easy to find stuff and you clearly remembered asking him to put away the stuff you both had used the year before

• Connie and Steve had planned on throwing a Halloween party and even if Javier resisted putting on a costume, you always liked to dress up

• so fumbling across the room to find your stuff, you stomped on a box you didn't remember seeing before

• so you opened it to find what was inside

"oh Javi..."

• you mumbled to yourself the moment you found his stash of porn magazines; you knew Javi enjoyed sex, but it hadn't really crossed your mind he could enjoy porn until that moment and just then you realized how naive you really were

• you were caught by your curiosity and you decided to take a closer look at the magazines, feeling a mix of embarrassment, amusement and shock as you learned more about your boyfriend's hidden kinks

• you were relieved he was just into good old fashion cheesy porn and nothing gross or bizarre, but you couldn't help noticing he had many different issues of magazines starring a certain... Well, model... Wearing nothing but a slutty kitten costume and it made you realize that maybe Javi way into it

• as you went through magazine after magazine you had a brilliant idea and suddenly the Halloween props you were after didn't matter any longer, after all, you had just found out your ideal costume for the party

• you had memorized pretty well the colors and fabrics you would need for the costume and it was fairly easy for you to find it: one trip to the sex shop downtown and you managed to find it all

• the second step of your plan was actually pretty simple: you would tell Javi to go straight to the party so you would meet him there by giving him some shitty excuse saying you'd work until late

• because you just knew you wouldn't be able to leave your apartment if he saw you in that outfit before the party: either for being too turned on or just straight up jealous of you

• so when Javi got to the party, it was fairly crowded and he hadn't even taken his leather jacket and sunglasses off he was just checking things out and looking for you, hoping you wouldn't take too long to arrive and therefore you both wouldn't have to spend too long at the party

• he had nothing against parties, but he could think of several more interesting activities to do with you than to stand there among other people he didn't really care about

• he grabbed a drink and greeted some people, thinking of going after you at your shared apartment when he stopped dead on his tracks at the sight of you

• Javi took off his sunglasses and squinted his eyes, wanting to see if you were really looking like that or if he was just hallucinating

• but there you were: standing the sexiest he's ever seen in a slutty kitten costume, exactly like all those porn magazines that kept him company during lonely times

• he walked to you without a single word, gripping your arm and pulling you to him, your bodies bumping into each other's

"what is this about? This costume?"

• he asks and places his hand on his waist and looks at you, his breathing was accelerated and he looked around not wanting anyone taking peeks at you

• you chuckled and wrapped your arms around his shoulder, caressing his cheek and pecking his lips so slightly, just a faint kiss

"well, I found some inspiration in your closet, you didn't like it?"

• you frowned disappointed but he shook his head, pulling you closer

"you shouldn't have done that, not in front of everyone, you wanted to be my kitten? You should've done it for me only"

• you smirked, the way he was clearly bothered and agitated sent a pool of arousal down your core as the sexy costume made you feel so bold and confident, you simply took your hand to his crotch, catching him by surprise as you squeezed him making Javi jump with the shock and surprise

"Yeah? And how mad at me are you exactly?"

"I'll show you how mad I am"

• Javi dragged you to the bathroom, locking the two of you up and making sure to shove his fingers into your panties; he rubbed and teased you, fingering your tight pussy, seeing how wet you were for him and kissing and nibbling your neck

• it didn't take very long for Javi to lift your ridiculously short skirt and move your panties to the side, getting his cock out and rubbing himself in front of you, before getting into you and loving how you tightened around him

• his hand over your mouth so he would muffle your sounds of moans and plead as he fucked you fast and intensely

• he released his load into you, not letting you cum, as he wanted you so worked up for him

• then, he helped you clean up and sent you to the party, where you couldn't stay longer, as you were so needy for his touch

• you begged him to go home, and he agreed, seeing you were at the right point where he wanted you to be: begging for his cock

• you both went back to your apartment and spent the night together, Javier making all of his dirtiest kitten fantasies coming true

____

[karniss-bg3]

Hi! I love your writing. As a request, can we get Tav helping/comforting kar'niss through a bad mental episode? I love fics out there that comfort him and help him, but I feel like sometimes people forget that progress doesn't always move in a straight line. Thanks!

Tav managed to drift off after a long day of travel, falling into peaceful slumber. This moment of repose would be interrupted by the heavy sound of pacing nearby, frantic stamping that seemed to increase in speed with time. They opened their eyes, vision still blurred, rolling over enough to see the darkened silhouette of the drider near the tree line. Tav crawled out of their sleeping bag to approach Kar’niss, observing the bizarre behavior with a frown. He was walking back and forth, his clawed hands clutching either side of his head while mindlessly muttering to himself.

“S-Silent, they must be silent! Be still damn you!” Kar’niss growled while clawing at his scalp.

Tav’s brows knit with concern, taking a cautious step closer to the agitated beast. “Shh Kar’niss, it’s alright.” They held up their hands defensively, not allowing themselves to bridge the gap too quickly.

Kar’niss didn’t seem to hear them, or perhaps he simply could not in this state. To him, Tav’s voice was just another of many vying for his attention and he couldn’t hone in on it. His legs bore into the dirt beneath him while he panted profusely, walking back and forth with no signs of slowing down.

“Stop, just stop! We are tired. Please, Majesty. Allow us rest. Too many speaking, cannot focus on an...an answer.”

Tav had seen this before since they pulled Kar’niss from the hold of the Absolute, one too many times. The artifact did well to block the Absolute’s influence but it could do nothing for the many voices that occupied his broken mind. They tormented him, followed him everywhere, and while some days he could block them out others were a hard won battle. They stood by and watched as he devolved into a fit of sobbing, his entire body dropping to the ground while legs scraped helplessly at the dirt.

“RAH! We cannot endure more! It’s agony, I beg you.” Kar’niss whined, his tear stained cheeks glistening in the moonlight. He began to dig his claws into his tender scalp, digging into the flesh which stained his white roots red.

Tav grimaced and rushed over to Kar’niss’ side, reaching up to grab at his arms in an effort to pull them away. “You’re hurting yourself, don’t!”

But he didn’t hear them, actively fighting against their hold in an effort to keep his head clutched. Tav continued to wrestle with the drider whose episode put them in high alert, adrenaline surging through his veins. He’d use his shoulder to shove Tav away with such force it made them stagger and fall onto their backside. Kar’niss snarled and raked his claws down his face nearly puncturing one of the eyes on his forehead leaving a trail of red lines in his wake. He’d lift himself and back-up at a rapid pace, his round abdomen crashing against a heavy tree trunk. A soul ripping screech ripped from his throat which echoed throughout the forest and beyond, a heartbreaking sound of anguish. He couldn’t hear or see anything else, consumed by the hallucinations dominating his perception.

They sucked in a sharp breath as they witnessed the display, devastated by the harm Kar’niss was doing to himself. Tav knew that they couldn’t get through to them with words alone while he was like this. They needed something else, something to break through the endless mantra which played in his head non-stop. They bolted away from him back to the camp where the commotion had stirred the others. Tav shook his head toward them to show that they had this under control, furiously digging through their bag until they found what they wanted. With item in hand Tav bolted back to Kar’niss, practically tripping over themselves along the way.

They’d return to find Kar’niss hovered over a nearby boulder scraping the side of his face against it as if that would somehow clear out the mental intruders. All the while he wept and contorted his body at an uncomfortable angle, slamming his fist in the side of the rock out of frustration.

“Fuck!” Tav hissed.

Tav couldn’t spare a moment more. They pulled out their flute, the same they had lulled Kar’niss with at Moonrise. With the instrument aligned with their lips they started to play a soft, gentle melody. They made sure it was loud enough for Kar’niss to hear but not so sharp as to compound an already fragile issue. They ventured close without invading his space, their gaze locked on him to judge if this would help or hurt him more.

At first it seemed as if the music had no effect. The drider shuffled his legs to push his torso against the boulder with more force which scraped what skin wasn’t protected by the chitin plating. A moment would pass and he seemed to ease up on the struggle, his eyes opening, startled. He grew uncomfortably still, his gaze searching the area as if confused, unsure. The music seemed to overpower the nagging chatter giving him something to focus on, something that wasn’t a voice. His upper lip curled, stained with crimson, his body steadily relaxing. He’d lean back and peel his upper body from the rough rocky surface, finally able to see Tav, truly see them. His hair was matted and bloody, his body scratched and marked, but all of it was damage that would heal.

Tav didn’t stop playing even when it seemed Kar’niss was coming around, knowing that the voices could return if given ample time to do so. Instead they opted to approach him, inching closer little by little, until they were at his side. Tav made eye contact with Kar’niss and he could see the well of emotion in their eyes. Both the relief that he’d ceased hurting himself as well as the fear of what would’ve happened if he didn’t. Kar’niss took in a ragged breath, still sitting on his belly, putting his attention on the music and little else.

“Yes...we hear them. What sweet melodies they play,” he rumbled, his muscles growing lax.

Tav nodded, their fingers hard at work to strike the right notes, keeping the sound soft but profound. This went on for several minutes allowing Kar’niss time to calm down and find his center once more, or as much of a center as his fragmented mind could maintain. He began to grow weary both from days without adequate rest and the number he’d done to himself during the violent episode. He leaned back over the boulder to give his torso proper support, lulled toward a relaxed enough state to fall into a trance. His eyes closed and with a shaken exhale Kar’niss drifted off.

They watched carefully, continuing to play for a bit after to make sure he was resting. Once they stopped they’d clamp a hand to their forehead, their body shaking and on edge. It had been a harrowing thing to experience much less be directly involved in. They needed their own time to decompress, a growing worry still churning within their belly. Approaching Kar’niss hesitantly they’d look over his body and see the damage done, frowning due to the carnage he caused himself.

“Oh Kar’niss…” Tav whispered.

They reached over and ran their palm over his blood stained locks in a gentle caress, deeply concerned for his well being. They wished to clean him up but also didn’t want to risk disturbing him now that he’d finally found respite. Instead they returned to camp to put their flute away and collect something else. They returned with a blanket and a pillow. With a cautious ease they lifted Kar’niss’ head, slipping the pillow beneath it so he’d not rest it on such a rough surface. They then draped the blanket over his back and shoulders to keep him warm. Tav leaned in and ghosted a kiss to his forehead, the drider shifting with a tired rumble to follow.

“I’ll help you through this, whatever it takes,” they murmured.

Tav then backed away and returned Kar’niss’ space to him, retreating to camp. After reassuring the others that all was well and to go back to sleep Tav found it was difficult to take their own advice. Even as they climbed back into their bedroll the harrowing scene they’d witnessed replayed in their mind without end. It was all they could think about, what could’ve been done differently, what could’ve gone wrong and how such episodes caused Kar’niss eternal grief. Tav wouldn’t be deterred, they wouldn’t abandon him like so many have. He would be taken care of like he deserved to be and loved in equal measure.

They’d make sure of that.

[bots-and-cons]

Welcome My request is about a human female

She can change hir size and become the size of robots, and she meets the robots by chance, and the two are shocked by the other, and when they try to talk to her, she just turns away, and they cannot find her. With

——————- Ratchet ,Optimus ,Megatron

I've got these HCs about an s/o with size altering powers as well, but these are a bit different to that

~Megatron~

•When you and Megatron met, you were just staring at him, but you were the size of a normal human at the time

•You weren’t really sure what the hell you were seeing, but you did get the feeling you might be in danger

•Megatron doesn’t really care about humans at all, so he pretty much tried to kick you out of his way

•But you quickly changed your size and suddenly you were looking at him in the eye

•Megatron of course would not admit that was startled by that, but he did have to blink a couple of times to make sure he was seeing correctly

•A human that was his size? Had he been shrunk down or had you gotten bigger? And if so, how?

•You then turn really small so you can make your getaway and Megatron is left standing there, angrily rumbling “Where did you go?”

•He’s more interested in your powers rather than you, but he is pissed that you managed to get away, because you could’ve been useful

~Ratchet~

•You’d been keeping your powers hidden since you’d figured using them would just get you in trouble

•Either with the government or with some other party like M.E.C.H

•So you hadn’t used them before, even to help the bots, but the circumstances demanded it

•It was during the scraplet incident and you saved Raf from a falling piece of pipe by changing your size and shielding him

•Ratchet is just looking at you like “Mmmmm, what in the name of Primus?”

•You just turn away and basically disappear because you turn small enough to hide away from him

•You’re kind of scared now that the bots know about your powers, but when Ratchet finally finds you, he acts like it’s no big deal

•He assures you no one is going to tell Fowler and it’s going to be kept a secret and he has sworn the kids to secrecy as well

•You thank him and he does tell you if you want to talk about it he would be interested to hear about it

~Optimus Prime~

•Optimus wasn’t really sure how to react when he met you, it was basically in the middle of the woods and he had no idea what a human was doing there, let alone why you were almost his size

•He had just come there for a walk and to clear his head, but now he was standing next to a huge human

•He sort of figured you would be okay even though you saw him in his robot form, because he thought you were one of those cryptids that Raf had talked about and that you didn’t want to be seen by humans either

•Like you were about as much of a mystery to him then he would be to normal humans

•You actually lived pretty close to where you were so it wasn’t as remote of a place as one might have thought

•You just stared at him and you thought you were hallucinating or something

•Optimus tried to greet you, but the moment the first syllable left his mouth, you disappeared

•He thought you had teleported or turned invisible or something, but you had actually just turned very small and hid behind a nearby rock

•You peeked out from behind it, but the giant mech didn’t seem to notice you, even though he was looking around

•You kept hiding until you heard his footsteps disappearing into the woods

•It was a bizarre encounter and you weren’t really sure what to make of it

[willowbird]

If you’re still taking prompts, would you do another uncle andreil? I’ve read the one that’s up on ao3 and it’s so cuuute!! Could you maybe write about the foxes seeing Aaron and Katelyn’s kids having these two terrifying assholes that are Andrew and Neil just absolutely wrapped around their fingers?

Of course!

I think this was sent to me like... two years ago? ^_^;

Better late than never? I hope it was worth the wait!

----

Dan Wilds was not quite sure what she was seeing. It was entirely possible that she was actually hallucinating. Maybe, on the way into town, she and Matt had actually gotten in a car accident - and the bizarre apparition in front of her right now was just, like, a side effect of the anesthesia as the doctors fought to save her life.

Far fetched, sure, but that still made more sense than Andrew Minyard in a frilly, child-sized apron holding a child-sized plastic teacup daintily on its saucer.

"Uh," said Matt beside her - which at least meant she probably wasn't actively hallucinating. Unless Matt was a part of her hallucination, which, well, was still more probable than what she was actually seeing.

"Sorry," Matt continued. "Did we uh, interrupt?"

"Yes," said Andrew blandly, his expression it's usual apathetic emptiness that only made the whole scene that much more chilling. Despite this confirmation, though, Andrew still stepped back to let them into the house.

This is probably the beginning of some weird twisted horror movie, Dan thought as she stepped inside - trying but failing not to stare as she noticed that the apron said "Princess Chef" in glittery letters across the front. Six months from now they're going to find out my bones were artistically crafted into a new tea set or something.

As if he knew what she was thinking, Andrew met her eyes and - while maintaining creepily unblinking eye contact - lifted the teacup to his lips and took a sip.

Matt made a choking sound beside her that turned into anxious spluttering when Andrew turned his silent, serious gaze onto him next. It had been years since either of them were genuinely afraid of Andrew Minyard, but though they had become as close as family (closer, really, when you consider the "family" any of the Foxes came from...) there was still a sense of... apprehension that came about unbidden whenever Andrew gave anyone his full attention.

Well, other than Neil and Renee - they seemed pretty unaffected, but Neil was just as bad as Andrew and Renee was Renee so...

Matt attempted to cover up his awkwardness with a cough and a laugh that didn't help at all. Then he said, "So uh, was the tiara taken, Minyard?"

Dan's eyes went wide and she snapped her attention over to her husband, catching the very moment Matt realized what he'd just said and who he'd said it too.

There was a beat of heavy, static silence. Dan felt as though all the air in the room had suddenly become caught in her throat and it was slowly ballooning out until she would either before to release it or choke, the pressure building and building until she was too tense even to gasp.

Then Andrew said, "Yes. It was Piper's turn." He lifted his (again, and it cannot be stressed enough, child-sized) teacup, took a sip, then turned and walked away from the foyer. Just as he was about to turn down the hall, he paused and looked back. "Oh, and it's Minyard-Josten. Either get it right or use my first name."

Andrew was gone before that registered. Before any of that registered.

Two beats after he vanished, Dan wheezed, pressing one hand to her chest and grabbing onto Matt's sleeve with the other to provide additional support to her suddenly jellified knees. "What--?" she gasped, at the same time Matt squeaked, "He!?" Then, in tandem, they both looked at each other and said, "Wait."

"Tiara," said Matt.

"Teacup!" implored Dan.

Both of Matt's hands landed on her shoulders, his eyes wide. "Minyard-Josten," he whispered. Then he paused, frowned, and said more firmly and with greater awareness. "Minyard-Josten!?"

"Wow, that was... I don't know what that was, but it was definitely embarrassing. The twins can do sentences better than you and they're not even three yet."

Both Dan and Matt jumped, their yelps of surprise mingling in a jumble of inelegant noise.

Aaron Minyard stood in the entryway that led to the kitchen, drying his hands on a towel. He looked good, Dan decided as she forced her mind away from the fuckery of whatever fever dream just let her and Dan into the house. Years of practicing medicine rather than exy, of the more recent adventure of parenthood, had done a lot to change his outward appearance from his brother. Aaron was a bit rounder now, his hair longer and the curls of his blond hair full and wild in a way Andrew never would have allowed. He looked... friendly, warm - the complete opposite of his entire definition back when they were in college. Even with the bemused smirk he wore now, he had a very... fatherly vibe about him.

Of all the OG Foxes, they got to see Aaron and Katelyn the least. With both of them being doctors, and then very quickly parents only a few short years after medical school, they had a stricter schedule and much less mobility when it came to travel and visit availability. This would be the first time Matt and Dan would be seeing the twins since right after they were born, though they'd dialed in for a New Years zoom several months ago.

Matt cleared his throat, then grinned. "Aaron. Hey! C'mere man." Dan waited her turn. Then also hugged Aaron.

"Where is Katelyn?" she asked, both because she was genuinely curious and also because if she didn't ask that she was going to ask--

"What the fuck was Andrew wearing just now!?" Matt hissed in an urgent rush almost before she finished asking her own, much more reasonable question that definitely had a much less terrifying answer. "Ow!" Matt grunted with a pout as Dan smacked him in the shoulder. "I call spousal abuse! You were thinking it too!"

"I'll show you spousal abuse," she muttered darkly, then turned to Aaron. "But yeah, he's right. What the fuck?"

Aaron chuckled, then shrugged. "Go see for yourself. They're in the play room. It's tea time."

"Tea time?" Matt rasped, and now that Andrew wasn't there, the hilarity of the whole thing was finally beginning to dawn.

Dan looked at Matt, and could feel her own face stretching into a grin that matched his. "Tea time," she breathed. "With toddlers. Andrew... and Neil?" Dan made it a question, looking at Aaron.

Aaron sighed, and the familiar "oh that asshole" affectionate disdain was all Dan needed to know that Neil Josten (Minyard-Josten?) was also participating in toddler tea time. Dan met Matt's eyes, and the next second they were both half-tripping over each other as they scrambled down the hall that Andrew had disappeared down.

There was only one open door at the end of the hall, and Matt and Dan skidded to a stop right in the doorway, eyes wide and mouths in identical, open-mouthed grins - because no matter what was there it was going to be fucking once-in-a-lifetime.

And there. There they were.

Two adorable, cherubic little blonde toddlers sitting at a table that was surrounded by toddler-sized chairs, dressed up in what appeared to be a Ninja Turtles costume and an Elsa costume (both with tiaras). The Ninja Turtle was sitting on Princess Chef Andrew Minyard-Josten's lap, chattering away in mostly-unintelligible babble that Andrew appeared to completely understand. The little Elsa was sitting in her own chair, but she was turned toward the inhabitant of the seat immediately to her left, holding a tea cup up to it's large, inflatable snout.

"Neil. Josten," Dan croaked out, much louder than she meant to - startling the little girls but of course neither of the adults. In all her years knowing them she'd never been able to surprise Neil or Andrew.

That big flimsy head turned her way and Neil's voice, steady and unbothered, said, "I'm a tea-rex," as if it was the most reasonable thing in the world to say. Then, on Dan's way down to the floor, her knees giving way slow enough that she was at least able to grip the doorframe as she crumpled, he added, "Oh, and it's Minyard-Josten."

Some time later, once Dan had collected herself enough to look at them without fucking losing it (she had to leave the room twice - Matt just sat on the floor in a stupor for fifteen minutes until one of the girls brought him a teacup) she demanded to see the rings, which both tiny menaces instantly produced.

And, fuck it, she couldn't even be mad. Because here was Andrew fucking Minyard and Neil fucking Josten, married and having a tea party with a couple of toddlers - and if that wasn't the kind of personal growth and fulfillment that a Fox deserved she didn't know what was.

[epilvgue]

「𝔟𝔞𝔫𝔤 𝔟𝔞𝔫𝔤!」 - The display screen of the phone lit up his face, harsh and unforgiving. It was barely even light out when he woke to try and do his morning training. An attempt to keep some routine, to ground himself in some manner. However, then he had decided to mess around with the bizarre little device he had received when he first arrived here. He hadn't managed to figure the thing out the day before so he had thought he might try now when it lit up from the bedside table. What a mistake that had been -

His throat felt drier than it ever had back in the desert wastes of No Man's Land. He held the phone so tightly that it creaked in his grip. And he stared at that contact name for what felt like hours on end as if that would make it disappear. Or perhaps make it feel more real?

Millions Knives. - Legato Bluesummers, he saw that too but he already knew that he was here…

Blue eyes stared at the contact that was reflected back at him. Terror and joy. Bitter anger and overwhelming confusion. Even a sense of betrayal that cut deep into his heart.

Deep and primal.

And for some reason, he could not sense his brother at all. Normally, where he would have been able to feel that familiar presence… he couldn't. Just another thing that made him feel dull and dim and blind in this place. He couldn't reach out to him in the slightest.

Vash crossed the room in several lengthy strides and pulled on his red duster. He buttoned it haphazardly and flew out of the door in a whirlwind of coattails. He looked at the phone in his hand again and again, every few moments checking the device as if Knives' name would just disappear from the list if he looked away for a moment too long.

Was Knives really here? Had he also ended up in this place? Or was this some sort of cruel joke? Someone sharing his brother's name somehow? Had whatever dragged him here done this to toy with him? - But then why not make it sting more with Wolfwood as well? Or Livio? Or Meryl or Milly? …Or Rem? Why not go even more straight for his heart? Why only these two people?

Ragged coattails fluttered as he hurried through the sleepy dawn streets without purpose or direction. It didn't even pass through his mind to try calling Knives (he hadn't quite figured that out yet) - his feet just carried him forward, the walk soon turning into a run. A sprint. Where would Knives even go in a place like this? His mind raced, trying to think of something yet the more he thought the more he realized that he hardly knew his twin anymore.

Long legs vaulted him over a thick rope that cordoned off the entrance to a small garden area of a park. The place wasn't open yet and he was at least relatively careful to dance around the flowers and shrubbery. He didn't want to end up either wrecking the garden or show that he had been there. However, soon he found stumbled upon -

"...Knives?"

Underneath a tree was clearly the form of his brother, fast asleep. Yet still something at the back of his mind wondered: what if this was a hallucination again?

@angelictragedy || starter call

[my-intrusive-stories]

Vampire! Engen x Female! Reader: Holding On To You Part 2

Word Count ~ 5313 Warnings: Canon-Typical Violence and Death Notes: I'm so sorry for the delay with this chapter. I wanted to give it the ending it deserved but kept rewriting parts. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it! I'll try to have my next work done at some point on Monday, but pls bear with me since I have midterms this week.

Hours? Days? Weeks? It was hard to keep track of time when everything was pitch black. After getting shot by the Hunter, Cyrus, you’d been in this strange place for god knows how long. Either this was the afterlife, or you got stuck in a bizarre limbo between life and death. Hopefully, it was the latter.

Another indeterminate period passed before you got tired of staying in place. If something was going to happen, it would have already happened. So you picked a direction and walked. The dark abyss seemed endless. No matter how far you walked or looked, there was only inky darkness.

More time passed, and you were beginning to feel disheartened. Nevertheless, you pressed on. Dying wasn’t an option. People were waiting on the other side. Suddenly, there was a small glimmer of light in the distance. You blinked, thinking it was a hallucination, but no, there was something there. Excited by the prospect of a way out, you started to run toward the light.

Meanwhile, three days had passed in the real world. Everyone in the castle was becoming more worried. You were still unconscious and running a high fever. Even the doctor, Vector, was nervous. Usually, patients would have some semblance of consciousness after several days.

“I’ve never seen a case like this,” the pumpkin-headed man told the anxious onlookers. “(Y/N)’s wounds healed at a rate faster than an average Supernatural, yet she won’t wake up. Her current condition may have something to do with her memory loss.”

“She isn’t in danger of dying, though, right?” Rachel asked apprehensively. If another one of her loved ones died, she wouldn’t know what to do.

“Luckily, (Y/N) seems stable, minus the fever. The best I can do now is put a cold towel on her head.”

“Thank goodness,” Baekji breathed out. You’d risked your life to save hers by getting animal blood in Hunter-infested woods. If you died, she’d feel unbearably guilty.

“Alright,” Vector clapped. “Everyone get out. Crowding in this room is bringing up the temperature. Especially you, Bagna.” He shot a look at the fire spirit. “If you want (Y/N) to recover, give her space to breathe.”

There was some grumbling from the masses, but who were they to disobey the doctor’s orders? Slowly, the Supernaturals filed out of the room. All except for two.

“When I said everyone, I did mean everyone, Engen,” Vector said sternly. His tone softened when he continued, though. “I know you’re worried, but standing over her body won’t do any good for either of you.”

The brown-haired vampire remained silent as he looked at your unconscious figure. Had it not been for the sheen of sweat covering your body, he’d think you were sleeping peacefully. Engen preferred the serene expression on your face to the one he’d witnessed when the Hunter put a bullet through your chest. Guilt tugged at his chest as he remembered how he couldn’t do anything to prevent this. Giving one last glance toward you, Engen retreated to his room to stew in his emotions.

Nearly a hundred years had passed since everyone he loved died. Engen thought he had moved on, but then you showed up. Everything about you was practically identical to his first love. From looks to personality, you were the spitting image of his (Y/N). The only solace was that your eyes were (Y/E/C) and not golden. Still, when he heard Rachel call you (Y/N), Engen nearly punched a hole in the wall. It was as if the world was playing tricks on him.

Bringing you back to the castle was a selfish decision he instantly regretted. Associating with Supernaturals as a human was a death sentence. Still, he clung to the ghost of his (Y/N). Now, you were suffering for his choices. As he lay sleeplessly on his bed, Engen decided he’d do anything possible to keep you safe. No one would touch you again.

Back in the strange, dark world, you were still running. Little by little, the light got brighter. It spurred you on. Had this been the real world, you’d have collapsed from exhaustion, but things functioned differently here. One step at a time, the finish neared. After what felt like an eternity, the end was right in front of you. Right before you could pass through, though, the brilliant glare blinded you. It caused you to fall through. Instead of bracing for impact, every muscle went limp.

When you tried to open your eyes and get up, nothing happened. There was only a stinging pain in your knees and the feeling of grass on your face. Where the hell was this?

“What did you do this time, (Y/N)?” a voice suddenly asked. It sounded like a young boy– a very exasperated young boy.

“Well, I tripped on a rock.” That was your voice? Why did it sound so childish? And who was it that asked the question? Only the Supernaturals at the castle knew of the temporary name Rachel gave you.

That query didn’t last long since you glanced upwards and saw a brown-haired boy with blue-grey eyes. He looked uncannily similar to Engen. Even the slight frown was the same, though the child didn’t have a scar.

As abruptly as he showed up, the Engen look-alike turned to leave. An arm reached out toward his back.

“Don’t leave me again,” you whined involuntarily. It was as if you were a passenger in your own body while someone made decisions for you.

The boy let out a sound of annoyance but turned around anyway. He wasted no time putting you on his back and walking toward a house. Apparently, you shrank because there was no way a child could carry you. This situation was like a strange hallucination.

After carrying you silently for a few minutes, the boy arrived at the house. Before he could knock on the door, it swung open, revealing a cheerful woman and someone you assumed to be her husband. They looked just like you.

“Hello, Engen,” the woman exclaimed cheerfully. “It’s nice to see you. What brings you here?”

“Hello, Mrs. (L/N). (Y/N) fell again, so I brought her back.”

“Again?” she sighed. “Thank you for bringing my clumsy daughter home.”

The woman scooped you up and placed you on a chair. A light flick landed on your forehead, but all you could think about was the information you’d just hear. According to Rachel, Engen was close to one hundred years old. Why would this weird dream involve both of you as children? You weren’t even alive back then, right?

Bandages wrapping around your knee snapped you out of your thoughts. You watched as the woman who claimed to be your mother tenderly wrapped your knees. Her eyebrows furrowed as if she was doing the most delicate of tasks. It made your heart swell. If this was a dream, it wasn’t a bad one.

Suddenly, everything began to blur. The scenery changed from inside your home to a tree near a lake. Sitting near the edge of the water was a slightly older Engen. He stared into the shimmering expanse of liquid with a serene expression. In all your time at the castle, you’d never seen such a peaceful expression on the vampire’s face. You honestly didn’t want to disturb him, but that wasn’t your choice to make at the moment. 

“Hey, Engen,” you shouted while sprinting up to him. The boy turned toward you. From behind your back, you produced a book. Engen’s eyes lit up ever so slightly when he recognized the cover. How cute.

 “Happy birthday!” you panted out. “Just wanted to give you this. I’ll get going now.”

Once you handed him the book, you turned to leave, but a grip on your wrist stopped you. Engen’s demeanor seemed softer than before.

“I don’t mind if you stay for a bit,” he mumbled while avoiding your eyes. A bright smile spread across your face. Together, you admired the sparkling lake. As you looked into the reflective water, you realized with a start that instead of (Y/E/C), your eyes appeared to be golden.

With that discovery, the world blurred out once again. Another scene played through. And another. And another. Each scenario felt nostalgic for some reason. You dismissed those thoughts every time, though. The gap between your childhood and Engen’s spanned decades. Whoever’s eyes you were seeing through must have been your ancestor or something. If these were real memories, you were simply a spectator in someone else’s body.

Slowly, you let yourself be immersed in this girl’s memories. Using the recollections, you pieced together her life. The golden-eyed girl’s father was an apothecary, and her mother bounded books. They were best friends with Engen’s parents. As it turns out, only Engen’s father, Davon, was a vampire. He’d wandered around before falling in love with a human and settling down.

Using his status as an apothecary, (Y/N)’s father helped explain away Davon’s strange habits as a result of an illness. Instead of human blood, Engen and his father consumed animal blood. They also filed their canine teeth. Since the Supernatural panic hadn’t begun yet, no one in the village suspected a thing.

(Y/N)’s life was actually quite happy. There was never a dull moment, as she constantly sought new things. Learning medicine? Done. Swimming? Been there. Knife-throwing? That was just a Friday. And through it all, she dragged Engen, much to his chagrin. Even though he pretended to be uninterested, the young vampire never declined your invitations. He was obviously smitten with (Y/N) but oblivious that she reciprocated his feelings.

Everything seemed great until you were transported into a new scene. (Y/N) was dragging Engen into her home. Just as she opened the door, Davon’s voice resonated through the living room.

“They’re going to kill us, dammit. And if they discover that you’ve been helping us, you’ll die, too.”

(Y/N)’s eyes widened. Her father’s and Davon’s heads whipped toward their children. They hadn’t expected their early arrival.

“What’s this about?” Engen demanded. Of the two teens, he was the calmest. (Y/N) tried to mask her concern, but she was still trembling slightly.

The two fathers tried to shrug it off by saying, “It was nothing” and “Don’t worry about it,” but (Y/N) was having none of it. A frown slipped onto her face.

“Don’t say you’ll die, then tell us it’s nothing. Engen is already nineteen, and I’m about to turn eighteen. We have a right to know. You can’t keep us sheltered forever.”

Silence filled the room. Frustrated by the lack of communication, (Y/N) spun around and left the house. She didn’t know where she was going, but anywhere away from that situation was good enough. Engen followed her until she sat down near the lake. He saw the shake of (Y/N)’s shoulders as she tried to conceal her crying. Not knowing what to do, the vampire sat next to her and offered (Y/N) his shoulder until her tears ran out. Silence followed as the two watched the sunset on the lake. 

“Hey, Engen,” (Y/N) murmured. The young man let out a quiet hum. “I love you.”

Wasting no time, Engen tilted her head upward and pressed his lips to hers. The kiss was filled with years of unspoken feelings. It was so raw and emotional that you felt guilty for intruding by watching through (Y/N)’s perspective.

When the two finally pulled apart, they looked into each other’s eyes. Gold bore into blue, and blue bore into gold. Engen then stood up slowly and offered his hand to (Y/N).

“Let’s go back. Our fathers should be ready to talk now.”

(Y/N) reached out and grabbed Engen’s hand. “Sounds good,” she agreed while standing up. Before she could stand up fully, though, Engen pulled her into a hug.

“I love you, too,” the vampire whispered in her ear. Heat filled (Y/N)’s face while goosebumps covered her skin. Engen wasn’t usually one to verbalize his feelings. Her heart felt like it was trying to escape its confines.

A dazed look was plastered on (Y/N)’s face. How was she supposed to function properly after that? Seeing the flustered look on her face, Engen smirked mischievously. That only served to make (Y/N) even more embarrassed. He was too damn attractive. Using her mental state to his advantage, Engen swept her off her feet and carried her back home.

When they arrived, their mothers had joined the meeting as well. The women noticed Engen and (Y/N)’s slightly swollen lips and began to snicker despite the grave atmosphere. It helped relieve some of the tension.

“So,” your father began, “I’d like to start by apologizing for not telling you this as soon as we learned about it. You deserved to know sooner, but we didn’t want you to worry. In the end, it made you worry more.”

(Y/N) nodded as if to say she accepted the apology.

“With that, let’s get down to the issue at hand,” Davon said seriously. “There’s this new group of people who call themselves Hunters. They hate all Supernaturals and want to eradicate them. Your father,” he looked at (Y/N), “has heard from some patients that some will be coming to this village. If they catch wind that Engen and I are vampires and you helped keep us concealed, they may kill us all.”

“On whose authority?” (Y/N) questioned. “There isn’t a single law stating that you can’t associate with Supernaturals.”

Engen’s mother chimed in. “They have connections and money. Most places turn a blind eye to their actions.”

“So what can we do? Move somewhere else? If they’re as well connected as you say, they’ll probably have stations in other villages.”

“We’ll just have to carry on as we usually have. Any sudden changes to our behavior may arouse suspicion. A Hunter won’t stick around if there are no signs of a Supernatural.”

The idea of passively waiting for the Hunters to leave wasn’t optimal, but there weren’t any other reasonable options. Everyone in the room looked grim. How could they not? Their lives were being threatened by strangers with a hatred for people they’d never met.

“That settles it then,” (Y/N)’s mother concluded. “We’ll have to prepare before the Hunters arrive, but I’m sure everyone here is getting tired. Tomorrow morning, we can sort out the finer details.”

Nods of agreement were shared. With that, the meeting was adjourned. Engen’s parents said their goodbyes and left, but Engen lingered around the door. He seemed to be waiting for (Y/N).

She quietly slipped out of the house and looped her arms around the vampire’s neck. In response, he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her into a kiss. (Y/N) pulled away breathlessly but was brought back into another kiss almost immediately.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Engen whispered against her lips. One of her arms unwrapped from her lover’s neck as she cupped one of his cheeks. 

“I’ll be waiting,” (Y/N) smiled. The two released each other from their embrace slowly. Neither wanted to go. After lingering glances, Engen turned and started back to his home.

Despite the grave situation, (Y/N) felt giddy. After years of pining, she and Engen were lovers. The lovestruck expression on her face didn’t leave as she went back inside. Unexpectedly, her mother was waiting for her.

“Did you have fun?” Heat flooded (Y/N)’s face. “Don’t answer that. I’m just teasing you. What your father and I really wanted to do is give you this. If you find yourself in a dire situation, follow the instructions here.”

She handed her daughter a notebook. When you saw it, shock ripped you from your immersion in (Y/N)’s memories. That was your notebook. Why was it here? An uneasy feeling filled your chest at the sight of the familiar item. Before you could question it too deeply, the world blurred, and you were thrust into a new memory.

This time, (Y/N) was in the forest. She seemed to be looking for a specific plant, but it was nowhere to be found. Sticks cut at her knees as she crawled around. A groan of frustration left her lips as the plant evaded her.

“Is this the right plant?” Engen questioned as he crouched next to (Y/N). The plant in his hand had bright red berries and thorns along the stem. You recognized it as hellebore.

“Yes, it is,” (Y/N) exclaimed happily. She pecked her lover’s cheek. “You’re brilliant. Once we get home, my dad and I can make the extract you use to dull your eyes. It’s sad, honestly. Your eyes are so pretty when they glow, but we wouldn’t want any Hunters to see them.”

What? Your notebook said hellebore extract was supposed to be used once a week to relieve stress. What’s this about it being used to reduce the eye glow of Supernaturals? Something was wrong either with your notebook or these memories. These slight idiosyncrasies were becoming more and more unnerving.

Once again, the scene shifted. (Y/N) was at the marketplace buying groceries. Nothing seemed significant about the memory until a Hunter approached her. He was trying to flirt with her but would not take the hint.

Done with hinting, she dropped premises of subtlety and stated, “I already have a lover. Leave me alone.”

“Wouldn’t you prefer a Hunter? We’re quite powerful, you know.” 

She’d prefer to retch on his shoes. Had (Y/N) not wanted to arouse suspicion, she’d have caved the bastard’s nose in. As she attempted to walk away, Engen appeared out of the corner of her eye. He looked downright murderous. (Y/N) tried to signal to him to not intervene, but when the sleazy Hunter grabbed her arm, the sound of a fist connecting to a cheek filled the street. Even in the daylight, Engen’s strength was nothing to scoff at.

“How dare you touch a Hunter,” the man screamed. His cheek was already swelling.

“How dare you touch my lover,” Engen countered. He’d wrapped his arms protectively around (Y/N)’s waist. She was trying desperately not to laugh. “Let’s go home.”

The Hunter’s screams of “I won’t forget this” faded as they walked away. You had a sinking feeling that he wouldn’t.

That festering feeling followed you into the next memory. In your experience, a Hunter only left a grudge alone once it was paid back tenfold. You could only hope the following memory was a happy one.

The beginning of the memory gave you hope. (Y/N) and Engen were on a walk through the forest. (Y/N) would spew facts about plants while Engen simply listened. Every few minutes, he’d press a light kiss to her knuckles. Each time, without fail, the vampire’s actions caused (Y/N)’s face to heat up. It made him chuckle.

“You’re such a jerk. Constantly teasing me. How would you feel if I just–” (Y/N) grabbed his collar and pulled him into a kiss. When they pulled away, Engen paused to think for a second.

“I think you need to do that again, so I know how I really feel.” A teasing grin was plastered on his face.

Unable to look at her lover, (Y/N) smacked him lightly with her bag and stepped out of the forest. Right before she made a witty comeback, the young woman looked toward her house. All coherent thoughts disappeared from her head as two familiar figures were being dragged out of the building. Those were her parents. Following closely behind were Engen’s. The silver shackle on Davon’s ankle gleamed in the sunlight.

As they were hauled outside, the older vampire’s booming voice could be heard across the field. He yelled at the Hunters not to touch his wife or (Y/N)’s parents. His pleas were all for naught, though. Four gunshots rang through the air. 

(Y/N)’s knees gave out. Everything went fuzzy. This couldn’t be happening. Bile rose in her throat. Dull pounding filled her ears. Nothing was processing correctly.

Meanwhile, Engen was shaking (Y/N) to snap her out of her daze, but it was futile. The shock of watching her parents die was too strong. With no other options left, the vampire picked up his lover and ran back into the cover of the forest. One of the Hunters spotted them, so it was only a matter of time before they’d catch up.

Engen ran for several hours before he found a cave to rest in. He gently set (Y/N) down, then leaned against the cold stone walls. Reality set in and filled his eyes with pain. Next to him, tears streamed down (Y/N)’s face. Their parents had been ripped away from them in mere minutes.

“I’m sorry for freezing back there,” (Y/N) croaked. “I just… I don’t know. What do we do now?”

Engen absentmindedly stroked his lover’s knuckles. “Let’s just rest for now.”

“Okay,” she murmured. “Love you.” Almost instantly, (Y/N) dozed off, but not before feeling Engen pull her close and kiss her forehead. 

Hours later, they were on the move again. The Hunters were undoubtedly on their trail. It put the couple on edge. Every rustle in the bushes made them jump. Every shadow looked like an enemy. 

“I feel paranoid,” (Y/N) whispered. “Like at any moment, a bunch of Hunters could jump out.”

No response. Engen had a faraway look in his eyes. So (Y/N) poked him.

“What’s wrong? You seem distracted.”

“I need blood. It’s been too long since I’ve eaten.”

Not hesitating, (Y/N) presented her neck toward the vampire. Engen looked conflicted, but before he could do anything, a bullet flew dangerously close to his head. The Hunters had found them. Wasting no time, they ran as fast as their legs would take them. 

Escape seemed attainable, but as fate would have it, they came across a cliff. There was nowhere else to run. 

One of the Hunters stepped into the clearing. It was the man from the market. A sick grin spread across his face as he said, “I told you I wouldn’t forget.” Three other Hunters appeared in quick succession. They moved to subdue Engen. Usually, three humans would be no match for him, but the sunlight and his weakened state were disadvantageous. (Y/N) tried to move toward Engen and assist him, but the sleazy Hunter had other plans for her.

“Eyes on me, sweetheart, or else I’ll blow that bloodsucker’s brain out.” (Y/N) complied. “See, that’s not so hard. Now,” he slid behind her and pointed the gun at Engen’s head, “I want you to watch him suffer.”

(Y/N) watched in horror as a Hunter poured holy water on their hand, then gripped Engen’s face. Holy water burned the skin of Supernaturals. Horror turned to rage. Like hell were these bastards going to kill someone she held dear. 

Using his temporary distraction to her advantage, (Y/N) grabbed the hand that held the gun and tried to wrestle it away. At the same time, Engen bit the hand that covered his mouth and didn’t let go until he ripped off a chunk of the hand. Lingering holy water burned his tongue, but the blood he consumed gave him the strength to shake off the assailants. The once cocky Hunters were scared now.

(Y/N) continued to fight for control of the gun. Every second, the edge of the cliff got closer. One particularly forceful pull nearly sent them both over the ridge. It gave (Y/N) an idea.

“Let go,” the Hunter snarled as he reared up for another tug.

“If you say so.” She let go of the gun. Not expecting the lack of resistance, the Hunter stumbled toward the cliff’s edge, but not before grabbing the strap of (Y/N)’s bag in a flailing panic.

Together, they careened over the rocky overhang. Engen dove to grab (Y/N)’s outstretched hand, but he was too late. 

The memory cut out. You thought that was the end. Few people could survive a fall of that magnitude. Much to your surprise, things didn’t stop there. Instead, (Y/N) woke up at the bottom of the cliff. She was unscathed, other than some rips in her clothing and a missing shoe. How was that possible? If the mangled Hunter to her right was any indication of what she should like, there was no way she should have survived.

Well, since she survived, finding Engen was the first priority. That would be difficult considering the size of the forest. For now, gathering supplies would be essential. The notebook her parents gave her was filled with advice on survival. Soon enough (Y/N) had a shelter. She flipped to the next page and saw a drawing of a flower labeled “Sleeper’s Azolla.” Underneath, it said, “Pollen from the Sleeper’s Azolla can be used to clear your head. Seal it in a vial and use it once every ten years, but never in your village.” Strange instructions, but if her parents had written them, it was good advice.

While looking for food, (Y/N) came across a small patch of flowers resembling the Sleeper’s Azolla. Using the tools in her bag, she tried to extract pollen from the flowers without smelling them. She was successful in bottling and labeling the powder, but some of it had unknowingly gotten on her hands. One slight rub to her nose was all it took to accidentally ingest the pollen.

“What the hell?” (Y/N) muttered as her consciousness faded. Even though she passed out, the scene didn’t change. This had never happened before.

Hours later, (Y/N) woke up, but something was wrong. She couldn’t remember a thing. The uneasy feeling you’d been suppressing came back stronger. This was what had happened to you: waking up with no knowledge of who you were or where you were.

 Everything went black.

Back at the castle, Vector was doing research. Your quick recovery from the bullet wound was suspicious. Humans don’t heal that swiftly or that well. There wasn’t even a scar where you were pierced. He had to inform Engen about this.

“What is it?” Engen grumbled. From a distance, the vampire looked put together, but Vector knew better. Deep bags had formed underneath his eyes, and he constantly lingered around the medical room. The fearsome Engen was worried.

“It’s about (Y/N).” Now, that caught his attention. “I don’t think she’s a human. Her healing rate is abnormal in every sense of the word. I overlooked it before because I was worried, but I can’t do that anymore.”

Engen gripped the armrest of his chair so hard that it broke. “So then what is she?” he asked lowly. His eyes were glowing a dangerous shade of blue. It made Vector nervous.

“I-I don’t know,” the pumpkin-headed man stuttered out. “That’s the problem. There are plenty of Supernaturals who can pass as humans. (Y/N) would have to be awake for us to check.”

“Then you need t–”

Without warning, Rachel ran in and accosted the doctor. “Vector, I found stuff in (Y/N)’s notebook that may help you.” She glanced at Engen, whom she’d interrupted. “Sorry, but this is important. Look at these pages.” The dryad presented the pages on hellebore and polkweed. 

“Rachel, those are drawings and descriptions of plants.”

“They’re incorrect descriptions, though. It says here that hellebore and polkweed extract is used to relieve stress, but that’s not the case. Hellebore stops our eyes from glowing, and polkweed changes eye color. I talked to Bagna and Ihwa, and they confirmed that (Y/N) was drinking it weekly.”

“That would corroborate my theory that (Y/N) is a Supernatural,” Vector mumbled.

“Wait, there’s more. I also found this,” Rachel exclaimed as she produced a vial full of pollen. “It’s Sleeper’s Azolla. One whiff of this, and you’ll forget everything you’ve ever known. This damn notebook says it’s for ‘clearing your head.’”

Everyone went silent. Who would benefit from creating a notebook with false information, and why did you have it? A wail from the medical room yanked them out of their thoughts. All three Supernaturals ran to check on you, but Engen was the fastest by far.

Inside the room, Engen found you curling into a ball as you sobbed. The screech of the door made you turn toward him. Instead of (Y/E/C), your teary eyes were bright gold. It took all of his self-control to stay standing.

“(Y/N),” he whispered. There was no longer any doubt in his mind. You were the same (Y/N) he fell in love with many years ago. Unable to hold himself back, Engen pulled you into a comforting hug.

You cried into your old lover’s chest. You cried over your dead parents. You cried over the loss of Engen’s parents. You cried over the memories that had been repressed for so long. Every emotion crashed over you in an overwhelming wave.

Engen hated seeing you in so much pain, but what could he do? Even after all these years, he still didn’t know how to comfort you. After half an hour, you passed out. Vector was waiting outside the room when Engen left. The scarred vampire wanted to stay, but for the sake of your health, he allowed Vector to do his job and retreated to his room. 

Three hours later, Vector rushed into Engen’s room. “After I confirmed that she’s an Immortal, (Y/N) went missing.” Panic surged through his veins. In an instant, he’d descended the stairs, where he was stopped by Baekji.

“(Y/N) is at the lake,” the female vampire stated. Nodding in acknowledgment, Engen rushed to the lake, where he found you staring at the stars.

“Why did my parents want me to forget? I’ve lived so many lives not knowing who I really am. Each time, I wandered aimlessly, trying to find a purpose. I hoped that one day I would remember who I was, then I could see them again. But it was false hope.” You turned to Engen with melancholy eyes. “It hurts, Engen. It hurts so damn much.”

The vampire sat next to you. He gazed at the gleaming stars and remembered the silver shackle on his father’s ankle.

“I might not seem like it, but I’ve been mourning you and my parents for almost a century. The pain of losing someone never completely goes away. You just learn how to manage the hurt until it doesn’t bother you. Honestly, I was never able to do that for you. When I saw you again for the first time in that forest, I thought my heart was going to burst. I don’t want you to deal with that kind of pain by yourself. Everyone in the castle is happy to be there for you, especially me.” Engen said the last part a little quieter, but you still heard it. Almost one hundred years, and he was the same man you’d fallen in love with.

“Hey, Engen,” you murmured. The man let out a quiet hum. “I love you.”

Wasting no time, Engen tilted your head upward and pressed his lips to yours. The kiss was filled with years of longing and desperation, but most of all, it was filled with pure love.

Engen had spent so long clinging to the ghost of you, but now that you were actually here, he’d spend the rest of his life holding on to you.

Thank you for reading! Hopefully, I'll post again in a timely manner soon!

- Mis

[sincerely-sofie]

I'm not sure how weird of a question it would be to ask, or if it's one i should ask, but if you could choose to hallucinate one of them again without any kind of drawbacks just to talk with them, would you? And who would you talk to?

Not a weird question at all, and it's one I've actually asked myself a lot over the years! If I were able to hallucinate one of my old Brain Roommates™️ again, but without the intense anxiety that is required for me to hallucinate in the first place or the actual damage to my brain that hallucinations do, I'd be very, very interested in it. However, my answer for who I would speak to in this hypothetical scenario has changed throughout the years.

Originally, I wanted to talk to the Black Clock. He was the most consistently distressing hallucination, and was a sort of manifestation of my intense perfectionism and high standards for myself. I wanted to ask him if I was enough. It was a question that haunted me for years, and either answer scared me. If I was enough, then that meant I wasn't living up to my potential and that I was "sinful, irredeemable filth" according to the script I told myself back then. If I wasn't enough, then I didn't deserve anything good and I was an active blight on all that I loved, somehow. Nowadays I don't have anything to say to him. I'm enough for myself and I'm enough for God. The opinion of some misfiring synapses doesn't matter.

After that, I wanted to speak to the Red Woman. She expressed remorse after I found my first set of medications that partially stopped me from hallucinating, and she apologized for what she put me through and told me goodbye. I held her the night I took those medications while she cried and said she was scared to die. I never saw or heard from her again, at least as a hallucination. I wanted to tell her I forgave her and that I hoped she was okay, wherever she was. I don't have that same anxiety over the speculative mortality of the voices in my head anymore, so I wouldn't say I would want to talk to her again. There's not much point to it in my eyes. She hurt me and said she was sorry. That's a full sentence. I don't need to open it up for anything else.

Later on, I wanted to talk to the Lime Hands because, in a very bizarre exchange, he expressed to me he was depressed and didn't want to exist. I wanted to see if he was feeling any better, as strange as it was to ask that of a hallucination. Now, though, I hate that freak and make no apologies for what the dang thing put me through, and the only way I'd want to reunite with him is in some wonderland scenario where I could tangibly interact with him. And that's only because I'm punching that sucker's teeth in and breaking his pinky fingers.

As for the present day answer: If I were to choose any of my hallucinations to speak to without consequence, I think I'd like to speak to Doc Brown, or the Marigold Girl.

Doc Brown was the most cordial of the hallucinations and actually stepped in to advocate for me on occasion when the pain was really bad. I liked him a lot. He was a friend to me when I had very few people to talk to. We joked together and he gave me advice and words of comfort during some of the worst nights of my life. I think it'd be fun, in a very surreal way, to catch up with him— ask him how he's doing, how he's been, if he and the Marigold Girl are still buddies and if the Red Woman and him ever got over the hump of their flirtatious hatred for each other and actually became an item. It'd be a nice little send off to the guy. He was one of the first hallucinations I stopped experiencing, and his disappearance was very abrupt. I'd like to be able to say goodbye properly, thank him for his help, and smile and kindly say I hope I never see him again.

(also, the guy's whole shtick was anxiety over disease / contamination and the possibility of me infecting others with whatever bug I caught at the time. I stopped hallucinating him WAY before 2020 and I think he would lose his mind if I told him about COVID-19. That was his time to shine and he missed it. Poor thing.)

The Marigold Girl was a very difficult figure for me to handle when I was hallucinating. On the one hand, she was a lovely, if somewhat unsettling, little girl. She liked it when I read books and explained the plots to her. She always wanted to be held. She was scared of the dark. She adored my stuffed animals and would whisper to them while I was trying to sleep. I enjoyed being around her for the most part, but she was a very weepy hallucination, and the Black Clock would deal out punishment without fail whenever she cried— it was always my fault somehow, and so I suffered the consequences of her being a bit of a crybaby.

Looking back, I feel bad for her. She was a good kid, or at least as good of a kid as an unhealthy cocktail of neurochemicals in a weary brain can be. She once said she didn't want to cry all the time and wished she knew how to stop because I got in trouble because of it. I think it would be nice to comfort her and tell her it wasn't her fault that I'd be hurt. She couldn't control things anymore than I could back then.

I'd really like to show her the new stuffed animals I've collected over the years and read her one of the short stories I've written. I think she'd like Winter Came and Went if she didn't have to worry about the consequences of crying during the sad parts. She'd definitely enjoy Bibbidy Bee Goes to the Library. If possible, I'd like to ask what her favorite color is. I think she'd have a lot of fun answering, and I'd like being able to get to know this part of my psyche that was scared to let herself show any sadness for fear of hurting others with it.

[collectionoftulips]

My two cents on the season finale of The Way Home

Okay, so thoughts on the finale of season two…

First and foremost, it probably has to have been one of the most rushed episodes I have ever seen. Rarely was there ever a point where a major plot point was allowed to breathe and it felt like they were trying to squeeze three episodes into one. This caused some issues. I’ve already made a post about how absolutely bananas Elliot’s behavior around the coins were, and I stand by that, especially as this show works overtime in wanting us to see Elliot as Kat’s soulmate and/or someone we want to see Kat with. I am personally not entirely convinced by a love interest that either doesn’t seem to catch or (more likely) chooses to ignore the emotional weight of something just because it indicates that the person they are interested in might also have feelings for someone else. Elliot might not have been told everything about Thomas, but he knows that Kat cares about him (enough to feel threatened by a man in the 1800s) and that she was given those coins as Thomas’ dying wish.

I’ve probably said more than I should about that particular plot point, but the way the episode bulldozed through that, for example, felt extraordinarily strange as a result of the just never-ending plot dumping and wrapping-uping that was happening. Most likely they were uncertain whether or not they were going to be renewed for season three, so they were trying to tie up as many loose ends as possible and hint enough about potential future directions (hence the new pond theory, finding out about Colton and Casey showing up out of nowhere), but if that was the case, they really ought to have changed the pacing of the season (in my opinion). The beginning part of the season was far too slow and if they had hastened some of the plot points. For example, Elliot’s relationship to his dad and the whole subplot about his wall could have been given less time and the show could have spent that time actually making the viewers connect to Jacob and not have his sudden 180 on returning to his own time happen off-screen in the most bizarre way possible.

The (maybe) last point I will say about Elliot is that it should NOT have taken him his own timetravelling experience to be able to apologize to Kat for being an absolute asshat about Colton. I’m tempted here to draw parallels to a certain man in the 1800s, but might make a separate text post laying out that particular argument, in case people want to read?

Continuing on the theme of characters treating Kat very badly and getting away with it: Del. The whole Victor-not-giving-the-letter thing was the cheapest possible device to get some sort of reconciliation between Del and Kat that they could have possibly done and I was so angry about it. Particularly because the show sort of half-acknowledges that DEL COULD HAVE DONE SOMETHING EVEN IF SHE HADN’T GOT THE TICKET, but the show just go ’oh look over here!’ and chooses to not dwell on that fact in order to get that sense of closure in case the show wasn’t picked up for a third season. Both Del and Elliot are treating Kat badly by doing the smallest amount possible and it feels like the show is letting them get away with it. Particularly as the show really hasn’t shied away from complex and nuanced family dynamics, that particularly annoyed me. #Justice4Kat

Thomas not having a tombstone makes me feel very hopeful that he might maybe do some time traveling in the future (I am still not convinced by the ’you can only go back not forwards’ theory). Plus the flashback with Colton looks way older (in terms of dress and style) to make that theory make sense to me.

If for some reason, in the future, I cannot have Kat/Thomas, I would happily accept Susanna/Kat at this point.

On the topic of my new favorite ship (Thomas/Kat), I think it is highly relevant that (from what I can remember) we have only really ever gotten romantic hallucination conversations between Del and Colton (there are those that are now more recently with Elliot and his dad) and now we get them between Thomas and Kat. We also get flashbacks through Thomas and Kat’s relationship when Kat thinks that he has died (to the point she can’t even look at the Goodwins’ gun any more because it upsets her so much). The show very clearly, I think, wants to position Thomas as a very legitimate rival to Elliot’s affections.

For the record, I’m not one of these people who thinks ships should only be about those two and not allow space or feelings for others; I don’t see Kat loving Elliot as taking away something from Thomas/Kat. I don’t know about the rest of you, but I sort of feel like Kat (to some degree) feels like she ’should’ love Elliot - because he loves her so much and so clearly, and she loves him too, but there’s just something that isn’t working out between them. The feelings she has for Elliot are very complex and nuanced because they have known each other a really long time. Thomas, on the other hand, I think evokes this larger than life feeling in Kat. Their connection wasn’t something she was looking for, not anything that entirely makes sense, but it’s there. When she thinks he has died, there isn’t really a reason for her to go ’yeah no I would have run off with you’ or whatever it would be. It doesn’t invalidate or validate any one ship, I just think it wouldn’t really make sense given the context (and Kat’s disposition). Plus, when she finds out Thomas survived and she gets half a second to react (yes, I am bitter about this aspect of the episode still) she gets the face of someone who thought ’oh shit my life just got more complicated’.

I will never not be annoyed that Jacob’s choice to return was an off-screen decision. #Justice4Jacob

I might write a massive post laying out the case for my pro-Kat/Thomas stance later, even if people didn't ask for it 😂

[terrence-silver]

For kinktober what about Terry + sex while high? Since he was apparently a huge coke fiend in the 80s according to the show I thought this prompt would fit him well lol. Also, do you think he would ever snort coke off of beloved?

Oh, yeah, he would snort coke off of beloved.

Off of their chest. Their ass.

Their legs. Their fingers. Their back. Their thighs. (The length of their cock, or that soft place where beloved's pussy meets the lower end of their belly) They're his own, personal powder tray, in effect --- and yes, it is sexual. It is territorial. It is his own, weird, chaotic brand of intimate. A very strange showcasing of trust where he is allowing beloved to see him under the influence of anything, and all the after-effects and burnout the comes afterwards. It has shades of the erotic for him. It is just as raunchy and typically decadent and 80's as it sounds.

Really, not limited to just cocaine either.

Placing an ashtray on the outline of beloved's naked spine as he smokes a cigar in bed? Maybe on their head or derriere as they kneel down, or having them balance it in their hands for him if we want to add the aspect of living furniture into this, which is another kink Terry relishes in? Heck, yeah! He'd do that. When he is out to dish out pain, discipline and punishment he might just douse the hot, residue tobacco ash into the palm of their hand or on their tongue. Maybe, blowing weed smoke into beloved's mouth through a kiss to get them high via the contact, or merely into their face to tease them and watch them erupt into a fit of coughing and feed the lecherous sadist in himself? Pouring some expensive liquor or champagne unto their body and licking it off of them or pouring it on his own and having them worship him, even though that verges into food-play? Maybe having them drink that same champagne out of his shoe because he's the master here and they should feel grateful for the honor? If Terry ever had a penchant for any other vices, substances or narcotics, which is highly possible, I can imagine him drawing patterns in the various pills he'd consume for a single session like mosaics drawn out on beloved's naked body as he'd take them in, one by one, lapping them off with his tongue playfully, off of beloved's nipples, an ecstasy pill out of beloved's belly button. One, inside of the hollow where the collarbone meets the neck. One, safely guarded for him on beloved's perched out tongue, awaiting him, in the midst of all this nudity. Occasionally, he finds himself writing out his name like this, or perhaps, his initials. Yet, beloved never consumes drugs themselves. Beloved is never under the influence of anything stronger than perhaps weed or the basic drunkenness that comes from getting tipsy on some expensive Martini. I can see Terry simply prohibiting it. Why? Because a control freak narcissist would find it hard to contend with his love being addicted to anything more than they're addicted to him. Craving anything more than him. Simply put, Terry would get jealous of the mere concept of beloved's attachment to narcotics. It is difficult to compete with the Mad Hatter one hallucinates when one's under the influence and Terry doesn't share like that, not even with illusory phantoms. But, rather beloved's only just a vessel through which Terry himself gets high. Or rather, high on. He likes to envision that he is getting spiked off of beloved themselves as well as the crack and he might even say it in an odd bout of very bizarre romance --- but this is just the beginning. Just the foreplay.

He is not just a coke-fiend. He's a sex-fiend too.

Especially when the mania, excess euphoria and all that energy kicks in.

He would literally be capable of fucking several times a day.

And just as much at night.

[thathopelessromantic]

i fell hard in your arms tonight (it was nice) (1/?)

His body is heavy and hot and there seems like very little reason to keep fighting the heavy droop to his eyes. Except, there’s this strange tugging somewhere deep in his chest. Like an anchor settled just behind his ribs, reaching back out of his body towards something Eddie can’t place. And it keeps pulling at him. Not painfully, but insistent. Stay awake. Stay alert. Tug. Almost there. Pull. Safe. Calm.

Eddie Munson wakes up from his expedition into the Upside Down to a broken guitar, some new scars, and Steve Harrington's voice in his head.

AO3: (X) Next (chp. 2): (X)

1. i slipped through into the afterlife

Eddie Munson doesn’t dream. At least, not in any way he ever remembers. Once, in junior high, when he had mistakenly taken just a little too much cold medicine trying to battle a head cold by himself while his uncle was at work, he had had some wild ass hallucinations. And when Chrissy Cunningham had started floating above his head and dying in his living room, he had wished with every fiber of his being that he had suddenly developed a tendency for intense, vivid, lucid dreams and he would wake up in a few minutes back in Mrs. Richards’s English class with that particular nightmare nothing more than a bizarre reaction cooked up in his brain from his earlier conversation with the cheerleader.

But that was not a dream, and he has a feeling this isn’t either.  Though it feels kind of like a dream, or what Eddie thinks dreams might feel like. And the alternative is that he’s dead, and this is whatever the afterlife is. That thought is decidedly less comforting than the idea of him unlocking some kind of latent dreaming ability.

He’s lying on a bed, as if just waking up, and he has the strangest sensation that he is forgetting something, but the harder he tries to remember, the vaguer the sensation becomes. He’s in his room, but not his room. Between the gaps in the pictures and posters where the grungy, off-white of the trailer walls should have been, and the empty space where there was normally a window, and opposite, a door there is just an endless expanse of nothing. The empty black space stretches in every direction around him, buffered only by the pieces of his bedroom. Tentatively, he sits up, swinging his legs around off the side of his bed to reach for the empty blackness that used to be his floor. It’s solid.

Eddie stands up, taking a few nervous steps across the cramped space of his not-room. His steps make a quiet splash that echoes ominously in the endless space and each one ripples in the darkness, as if he was stepping into water, but he can’t feel anything wet. His feet are bare, which is strange in and of itself – he rarely ever went barefoot – but also makes the solid ground reacting to each step like he’s wading through a puddle extra disorienting.

Hesitantly, he reaches out to the space just outside the empty doorway. But the ground there is solid too. He takes a few steps outside the empty doorway, looking around. For a moment, all he can see is more of the empty nothingness, but then a few feet away something comes into focus. Tentatively, he starts towards it.

It is another not-room like the one he came from, but unlike his room plastered in pictures and posters and ticket stubs, there is very little decoration to make this space actually resemble a room. There is just a carefully made bed and a plain white dresser. And the fuzzy, vague shape of a person – a child – crumpled on the floor besides the dresser. Unlike the inanimate objects in the room, Eddie can only just barely make out the person, as if he’s watching them from far away rather than the few short feet actually between them. They have brown hair and are maybe wearing blue. Their small child fists beat against the non-existent door, half-hearted, as if they have been at it for a while and are losing steam. He can hear the quiet, stuttering breath of someone who had been crying.

“Hello?” He steps closer. “Hello?”

If the child can hear him, they don’t react.

Eddie looks around. His not-room is a few steps behind him, but other than this child’s not-room, he can’t see anything else in the dark space.

Except…there.

Floating just on the edges of his vision. It seems impossibly far away compared to the few feet separating his not-room and the child’s. He also can’t look directly at it. It’s little more than an unclear suggestion of something in the distance, just colors and a fuzzy outline, but it’s something else to try. He starts towards it determinedly, stopping every few feet to look around to make sure he is still heading in the right direction. It seems like he is, but whatever it is that he’s reaching for stays frustratingly far and vague in his peripheral.

He isn’t sure how long he’s been walking – 10 minutes? An hour? – when he stops. It feels like he hasn’t made any progress at all. And when he looks behind him, to see how far he’s come, he’s standing directly in front of his not-room, as if he had only just stepped out.

Eddie looks to the right, searching for the other not-room, suddenly afraid he imagined that as well. It’s still there, thankfully. A new picture frame hangs on the invisible wall closest to him, so he can’t see what it’s supposed to be of. The maybe-child is still there, though the fuzzy colors along their body suggest they may have changed clothes while he was distracted…They seem taller too.

Just how long had he been walking?

The maybe-child paces restlessly around the room, giving the impression of being just as trapped as before.

Eddie glances nervously back through the doorway of his not-room. Normally, that was his safe space. Somewhere he could retreat to when everything became too much. It’s possible that he would never feel truly safe in the trailer again, after everything he had experienced so far with Chrissy, and the Upside Down, and whatever other hell came along with these interdimensional monsters, but some part of him still thought – or at least hoped – that there was some kind of bubble of safety surrounding his room.

It was his space. The first place he could relax and take a breath and not worry about having to pay for the air he wasted with pain. But suddenly, he feels nervous to take a step back inside. Would he become trapped like the maybe-child? Could his sanctuary become his prison? His hell?

Eddie.

The voice echoes through the empty space with a startling clarity.

Eddie looks around for the source of the sound, but nothing about the vast, black space has changed. He can’t make out the voice, unsure if he recognized it or not, but at this point he’ll take fucking anything.

Eddie. Eddie.

He glances to his right again, but the maybe-child isn’t looking at him. They seemed to be trying to find a way through their window now. It didn’t seem like they could hear this voice either.

Edwin Munson.

Oh, absolutely fucking not. Eddie feels a little fit of hysterical laughter bubble up from his chest. It’s Edward, he thinks hopelessly. He’s fucking dead and god isn’t even omnipotent and he comes by that discovery in literally the stupidest goddamn way possible.

“Eddie, please.”

Like an electrical shock, suddenly Eddie recognizes the voice. Or at least one of the voices. With the clarity of one, he realizes there were multiple, all echoing on top of each other into an unrecognizable cacophony. But the one he knows; how could he have forgotten it before? Dustin. That fucking kid. But no, he was supposed to be safe, back in the real world. Eddie had cut the rope. Eddie. Cut. The. Rope.

He remembers now, where he had been, right before he opened his eyes in some weird bastardization of his bedroom. And it seems impossible that he could have forgotten something like that. That kid better not have followed him into the afterlife as demobat dinner or Eddie is really going to give it to him. Whenever he finds him.

“You’re not fucking dying, Munson.”

That’s a new voice in the chorus. That is…a new voice. That is Steve’s voice. Steve Harrington. Oh no, no, no. He isn’t supposed to be here either. Eddie makes a silent…plea, a prayer, a demand, all of the above, to whatever or whoever might be listening. Steve is not allowed to haunt Eddie’s afterlife too. He’s already spent his last few pitiful weeks on earth obsessing over the fallen King Steve and his fucking nail bat, and that was actually enough, thank you very much.

But…Steve also just isn’t allowed to be dead.

Just this once. Just this once.The chorus of voices swear around him, but its Steve’s voice echoing louder than all the others. Just this once, please, let everyone live.

“What part of ‘don’t be a hero’ did you not understand?”

Eddie looks around again, hopelessly. Does he expect him to answer?

The maybe-child is small again when he turns towards them, sitting in front of the door in the same hopeless, slumped position of the first time Eddie had seen them, but he notices their head is turned now. As if they can hear what is going on out here. As if they have finally noticed him.

The longer Eddie stares at them, the more they come into focus, slowly, bit by bit. It starts at their feet, barefoot like Eddie, inching up the awkward, bony legs of a little kid with limbs they’re already unsure of. One knobby knee has a crisscross of band-aids over it like they had slapped them on themselves, unsure of what else to do for the large scrape he can still see peeking through the tan bandages.

When their face finally comes into focus, their temple is rested against the non-existent door, as if all their energy, all their fight has left them. And Eddie’s eyes could absolutely be playing some fucked-up tricks on him, but he is almost positive he is meeting the blood-shot eyes of little Steve Harrington.

Right before he wakes up.

Or comes back to life.

Or…something?

But he’s suddenly, very, painfully, aware of himself. He’s half-draped over someone’s back. Probably Steve’s, though one eye is swollen shut and the other has blood or demobat guts in it or something equally gross and horrible and that particular combination makes it very hard to focus on anything. But, whoever it is, they’re hauling ass through the Upside Down, despite how he’s almost definitely weighing them down. Dustin is rapid fire swearing and panicking somewhere to his right, but when he tries to reach for him, his arm just kind of flops uselessly against his side.

“Jesus,” Steve swears beneath him, stumbling from Eddie’s sudden movement. “Finally, with us again, Munson?”

What he wants to say is, that he’s pretty sure they left some of his literal guts somewhere behind them, and the rest are getting smeared over his vest that Steve is probably still wearing (and he’s not sure if he should apologize to Steve for that or be offended on his own behalf for his vest), but it was perfectly reasonable for him to be unconscious, thank you very much.

Instead, comes out is something like: “Ugghhhhhmfft.”

“Yeah, bites from those things hurt like a bitch,” Steve agrees calmly as if Eddie had actually managed to make conversation.

“Oh my God. Eddie you’re okay!” Dustin exclaims and then swears some more. Eddie still can’t figure out where he is, but he nods against Steve’s shoulder and hopes Dustin can see it. “Okay” feels like a little bit of a stretch at this point, but he can hear the desperation in Dustin’s voice and he apparently doesn’t have the faculties to correct him, even if he wanted to.

“Henderson!” Steve shouts after a moment and a quick movement jostles Eddie against him.

Eddie makes another inhuman sounding grunt in place of what he wants to say. Which would probably be something along the lines of “Motherfucking sonofabitch” or some other colorful language that could accurately depict the searing pain that just shot through his side.

“I know you’re excited, but let’s get all of us out of here alive before any tearful reunions, okay?” Steve keeps talking, but his voice is considerably softer than before, almost apologetic.

Dustin says something else in reply, but Eddie can’t make it out this time. He feels clammy all over, his hair or bandana, or both plastered to his face and neck by sweat or blood or guts or a mixture of all three and the feeling (and the thought) kind of makes him want to throw up a little. There’s also that searing, throbbing pain that seems to be…everywhere. But despite all that, he kind of wants to drift back off against Steve. His body is heavy and hot and there suddenly seems like very little reason to keep fighting the heavy droop to his eyes.

Except, there’s this strange tugging somewhere deep in his chest. Like an anchor settled just behind his ribs, reaching back out of his body towards something Eddie can’t place. And it keeps pulling at him. Not painfully, but insistent.

Stay awake. Stay alert. Tug. Keep moving. Almost there. Pull. Safe. Calm. Tug. Safe. Calm.

The blood loss is definitely getting to him, because Eddie’s almost positive the strange new mantra echoing in his head is Steve’s voice, instead of his own usual internal narrator. But it works. Eddie stays conscious as they meet up with Nancy and Robin a few minutes later. Eddie realizes, faintly, they were probably clearing a path for them while Steve was out of commission carrying his limp ass though the Upside Down.

Not for the first time since finding out about all of this, Eddie thinks badass Nancy fucking Wheeler deserves a goddamn theme song as he hears her reload and fire a rifle somewhere to his left. If he makes it out of this, he is definitely going to write her one.

He’ll probably write Steve one too, but that one’s going to his grave with him.

Steve huffs under him, almost like a laugh, except that’s insane given their current situation.

Robin starts talking, rapid-fire dropping questions and updates and names Eddie couldn’t keep straight even if he wasn’t fighting off unconsciousness. The mantra in his head picks up, not in speed, the steady, even pace never even hiccups, but in intensity. In conviction.

Safe. Calm. Pull. Safe. Calm. Tug. Almost there.

“I’m freaking out a perfectly reasonable amount, Steve!” Robin whisper-yells shrilly. Eddie is pretty sure Steve didn’t even say anything, except for the weird Steve-like voice in his head that Robin probably can’t hear, but those two regularly seemed to have complete conversations with only a few actual words ever passing between them, so he probably didn’t need to have said anything.

They finally reach the trailer, and Eddie does his best not to be a total dead weight to help Steve haul him up the rickety stairs. By the time they’re inside, he’s not sure his efforts didn’t just make it that much harder. Steve lowers him gently to the gross Upside Down couch and looks him over.

“How you feeling, Munson?”

Eddie lifts his head as high as he can manage to level Steve with an unimpressed look. Despite the situation, Steve laughs at the expression.

“You must be feeling better already if you can sass me again.”

“Guys, how the fuck are we getting out of here?” Dustin asks, limping over towards the two of them. Wait – limping? Why is he limping?

“You are going to sit your ass down and let the adults worry about that for the moment,” Steve instructs sharply. “Before you break any other bones. Your mom is already gonna kill me.”

Dustin bitches back at Steve, some smartass comment Eddie’s in too much pain to follow, but he still drops heavily onto the couch besides Eddie, sending him a quick, apologetic look when the sudden movement jostles him. So, he must have been in some pretty serious pain too, because that was the quickest he’s ever seen the little punk back down.

Steve seems satisfied that the two of them will stay put for the moment and stands back up, joining Robin where she’s keeping watch at the door. There are some more muffled gunshots before Nancy rushes up the stairs, nearly bowling them both over as she climbs insides and slams the door shut. Steve and Robin both reach an arm out to keep her from falling.

“We need to get out of here, fast,” Nancy looks around the room and her expression shifts, brow furrowing. “What happened to the rope?”

“Eddie happened,” Dustin mutters bitterly besides him.

“I was saving your ungrateful ass,” Eddie huffs back, though he’s not entirely sure the words actually make it out of his mouth.

Dustin lights up again, like he’s ready for another argument after giving into Steve so quickly, but with one sharp look from Steve he settles back against the back of the couch – though more gently this time.

Steve, Robin, and Nancy turn away from them to figure out a plan and Eddie lets his mind drift again. There’s no way he’s going to be any help with planning in this state. He doesn’t even think they’re going to be able to get him out of here. They should just leave him to succumb to his wounds or whatever demo-creatures are left roving around outside the trailer, but he has a feeling that suggestion wouldn’t go over well. And even as he has the thought, as he mentally shakes his head at their self-destructive hero complexes, there’s a curl of warmth that settles deep in his chest, right next to that insistent feeling of Safe. Everyone is safe.

Never in a million years would he have thought he would mean enough to someone to risk what they all have for him, and certainly never the local Hawkins High royalty.

Robin and Dustin maybe had more of a chance of caring about him, even just a little, as fellow nerds. But the bond this group – the Party – had and their shocking willingness to let someone else into the fold even after everything they’ve been through, it was unlike anything he had ever experienced.

“Thank you,” Dustin suddenly whispers, leaning close to Eddie, his voice softer than Eddie has ever heard before.

He has to turn his head to have even a chance of seeing the freshman, and even then, its mostly just a blurry, dirty outline of something vaguely Dustin-shaped.

“It was stupid and crazy and completely against what we agreed on. But thank you for doing that for me, for all of us.”

And fuck, Eddie doesn’t want to cry again. He’s pretty sure somewhere between getting eaten alive by the demobats and waking up in that weird-ass not-dream-scape, he and Dustin had already had one tearful heart-to-heart and that was enough for tonight. And frankly, between the blood and the first batch of tears, he probably didn’t even have enough liquid left in his body to spare if he had any hope of getting the fuck out of here alive.

Still, he reaches for Dustin the best he can – little more than inching his hand across the couch cushion. But Dustin seems to understand anyways, reaching the rest of the distance to hold his hand, squeezing Eddie’s cold hand between both of his clammy, shaking ones.

Steve turns away from the planning huddle to eye them, as if some kind of alarm bell for emotional moments was going off in his head. He stares at them for a moment, or at least Eddie thinks he does, before he seems satisfied no one is dying or crying without him, and turns back around.

Eddie would be lying through his teeth if he claimed to have any idea of how they managed to get out of there. He’s pretty sure Nancy and Robin managed to scrounge up enough materials to make another rope back to the real world, but he was drifting in and out of consciousness while they put it together, only coming back to awareness every few minutes when Dustin poked him awake.

With help, Eddie gets back on Steve’s back and Nancy secures him with more of the ripped-up fabric like a weird, dingy harness. But Steve basically has to haul his dead weight up the rope. (And in any other situation, at any other time, Eddie would have had to take some very private, personal time to dwell on that particular feat.)

But then, the drop back into the real world is so jarring, Eddie blacks out from the pain the moment his back hits the mattress.

Things are really unclear after that. There are flashes of awareness – voices and the sensation of being moved. At some point they’re in a car.

But most of the time, Eddie finds himself slipping back into that strange not-dream of before.

At first, he’s back in his not-room, lying on his bed again as if just waking up. But before he can move, the room shifts around him. It’s a bedroom he hasn’t been in – hasn’t even thought about – in years. Then a bedroom he’s never seen before, but might have been the child’s – Steve’s? – room. Then a…bathroom?

Finally, at one point, he sits up and he’s in the passenger seat of a car. Without the actual car part around him. Static comes out of the old radio system, loud and jarring. Mostly, it’s just noise but every once in a while, a word comes through.

Safe…Together.

Eddie?

We need…

Max?

…who’s alive?

Together.

Safe.

Safe.

Eddie turns his head and realizes he’s not alone. The child is in the driver’s seat, barely tall enough to see over the steering wheel, and in a sailor’s suit for some ungodly reason. They turn to look at him and Eddie knows then that he was right. He was dreaming – hallucinating? – about child-Steve.

Approximately ten-year old Steve Harrington reaches over and turns up the radio. The static fills the empty space around them until it’s almost deafening. He never flinches and he never looks away from Eddie.

Suddenly, someone else shoves between them, crowding onto the bench seat. A teen girl with a shaved head forces Eddie to look at her.

“You cannot stay like this,” She and little Steve say in unison. “You have to wake up now.”

[dollypardonne]

the coldest ground for recreation.

ft. @roniahn

the gust of the winter wind felt like thorns constricting his airways, along with his ears inflamed and in pain just as much as his ice-cold hands frozen even inside his pockets. he's always blindsided by the weather. he'd be thinking spring was approaching as the climate decides to function backwards. this generation really ought to start caring, he thought, though he'd sometimes be guilty himself of believing nothing else but humans possess intrinsic value. where this belief serves purpose, however, is that he's of the opinion that all other beings hold instrumental value.

oddly enough, amid his musing he finds a bag of what looked like food waste. taking a gander and seeing some of the nasty content in there, he could immediately tell because of the general rule that if an animal will eat it then it goes into food waste. it was embedded in him since his landlord had to constantly yell at him to remember where specific garbage go. but he can't really be blamed, can he? every district had it different and he's constantly moving around. who could even remember that much information? not him anyway. as does the person who left this bag too. that collector was either brutal, forgetful, or maybe a saint for abandoning it because this would have been a hefty fine (depending on whose it was).

as it stands, it was a sort of finders-keepers situation. this was haru's responsibility now. and in the name of reducing carbon footprint, he takes it with him. in the cold, no disposal in sight. he's been walking a while he doesn't remember the path he's taken anymore. he couldn't be bothered to take out his phone for a gps direction because that means two hands becoming victim to what felt like hypothermia at this rate.

"why is it so fucking cold?" he muttered under his breath that was absent of water vapor, creating the fleeting, misty cloud that his eyes focuses on until a figure sprouts out of nowhere, as if through the curtains of that same fog. he squints, furrows his eyebrows, and purses his lips trying to decode what his vision was showing him and why they seemed so familiar.

and there she was. the same woman who's been playing cat and mouse with him for months now.

"roni?" saying her name out loud gradually turns his almost-glower into his high cheeks puffing into a wide smile. "is that you forreal?!" he had to make sure in case he was hallucinating again. what she was doing in the middle of the night, in the cold, in a playground, was still a mystery to him but he brushes it off. it was the least of his concerns. the bag he was holding was probably just as much of a mystery to her. the entire situation was harrowingly bizarre. but he takes it in stride. he's had a hard time trying to reach her, after all. this would have been the first time they're seeing each other face to face. the constraints of digital communication has hindered this encounter long enough.

the rest of the night was filled with unnerving silence and the occasional kicking at his feet type of awkwardness. since when have their friendship gone this bad? he thought he'd done enough apologising but clearly not the case. her forgiveness just had to come in her own time. he has to respect that. ironically, getting there would only be possible if he had an instrumental value to her. much like the swings stagnating in the chill of the night, unable to oscillate due to its rusting chains, haru's value to roni seemed to be diminishing. with the band gone and their social circles scattering, he figures she was starting to outgrow him.

fair enough, he thought. he wouldn't want to force anything on her; not a surprise birthday party or a plus-one invite that could go wrong again at best. he figures he could just wait for her to come to him. in her own terms. besides, haru has always been good at waiting. it'll be a pleasure when it's roni. her existence is her intrinsic value.

[mittensmorgul]

from a chat with scylla9726, because the universe is NOT giving me enough time to type my thoughts out coherently this week, and I’m way behind on rewatch notes for the Winchesters already... 

(slightly edited for coherency and to make it a readable format)

i was hoping to get out my thoughts about djinn at least before tonight's episode, and I am definitely not gonna have the time now it's incredibly frustrating! but I'll be livewatching tonight!

scylla9726 Oh i can remember djinn are a big deal in your meta usually. Just so you know, I’m incredibly frustrated that I can’t read yours thoughts. scylla9726 Hope you can get the time someday. I’ve read some meta linking to the mother ship and it’s so delightful

mittensmorgul yeah, and these djinn, which everyone very casually is like "oh yes, this is what all djinn are like" but these djinn? are NOTHING like spn original djinn. they're... bafflingly... completely different in how they operate and I think that's a MAJOR clue as to what is actually big-picture happening, but I can't puzzle out how yet :'D

scylla9726 You’re talking about the monster at the beginning of the episode ? Because Ava’s son can be explained be the fact that he’s half human. I’m not sure I understand. He’s the same one or not ?

mittensmorgul just how djinns functioned as a baseline in our universe, they had to have access to their victim. they kidnap people and keep them in a warehouse. they don't just "invade dreams" of random people still walking around town, you know? yet this political candidate was like... experiencing djinn hallucinations when he was asleep in his office, still functioning.

scylla9726 Yes. But Ada s son different somehow. I can’t remember if he the one who killed in the cold open

mittensmorgul original djinn (and even the "bastard offshoot" djinn) literally needed physical contact with their victims

scylla9726 Yea it was bizarre

mittensmorgul and EVERYONE-- mary, ada, carlos, lata-- they were all like "yeah, this is how djinn work" and i was like... no the heck it is not? and it feels so intentional! like we're supposed to be going wait... why are djinn able to do this?

scylla9726 Ooooh i understand. In their world it airs sense to them but for us it’s strange. You’re right

mittensmorgul it's much closer to the boosted power that AU!Michael was able to give the djinn to affect people in reality, than it was to original djinn of any variety

scylla9726 So… alternate reality maybe ?

mittensmorgul i sincerely hope it's not, and don't really think it's an alternate reality. I think either the akrida are actually creating some sort of instability

mittensmorgul heck i might just copy paste these messages to just put it out there and I have a whole long essay with references etc. to explain this, but I haven't had time to write it ;_; mittensmorgul or if it is an alternate reality, it's somehow meshing with original spn reality because of the akrida, and it's up to dean telling the story to untangle truth from the akrida warping

scylla9726

The fact that they’re pulling uncommon monster. It remind me of something from spn ? mittensmorgul yeah, the "monsters not where they're supposed to be/acting weird" is very s6

[we-pay-for-everything]

So I’m watching Angel for the first time and I cannot be the only one who is extremely confused about the Angel and Cordelia pairing.

I really don’t understand why Angel is acting the way he is at the beginning of season 4 when Cordelia is in the higher plane. You would think he just lost his wife of 50 years or something. I get that Angel can be obsessive but there is just no basis for this bizarre and kind of childish behaviour, especially when the Connor love triangle starts (which wtf is that even?). I can buy into him having feelings for her in season 3 and her being oblivious but them pushing this as some kind of great love in season 4 is absurd to me. There was absolutely no build up to this, there was nothing. They’ve never even talked directly to each other about their feelings for each other, they’ve never even kissed each other, there was never a romantic relationship at all and every single one of their love scenes was either when they were under possession, in a hallucination or a dream and I’m expected to believe that this is some grand love story? It just does not come off as a love story, it comes off as a story about misunderstanding and miscommunication and honestly, delusion. Like was it ever actually going to be a thing or were they just going to do the will-they-won’t-they forever? Not that I was ever rooting for it in the first place but it feels like the show is doing everything it can to make people NOT ship this. I’m starting to get very irritated by this in an otherwise much more interesting season than season 3…I hope this doesn’t drag on for much longer as I just watched the episode awakening and Angelus just returned and I just really want to enjoy Angelus.

First of all, I hope you're enjoying Angel! Do let me know what you think, especially about the ending of season 4 and season 5!

Secondly, I feel you and I agree with you. You haven't finished season 4 yet, but, in my opinion, season 4 is the season that most effectively "undermines" Cangel but highlighting how destructive, selfish and OOC Angel behaved because of Cordelia. He put his son second and that's not Angel. He was a mess and clinging to a delusion. Like you said, it was a delusion. Angel spent a summer dreaming of his perfect family. It wasn't really about love, it was about making that dream that had been permanently engraved in his brain a reality. We know Angel has a tendency to grab onto one ideal or dream that he thinks will lead him to salvation or happiness, and pursue it to the point of obsession and self-destruction (ie. Shanshu and Darla in season 2). Season 4 is just another example of that. I think seasons 2 and 3 have a lot of continuity in that sense. He wasn't in love with neither Darla nor Cordelia and sleeping with them was not perfect happiness (one was perfect despair and the other didn't even happen).

After you finish season 4 (or before, if you don't mind spoilers), I've written so much about Angel and Cordelia's relationship, particularly in season 3: x x x x x x, etc. I could only find old asks... You can look through my ATS asks if you ever feel like it though, haha. Sorry that I couldn't find my best posts. I don't really have time to hash it out now so I'll just have to refer you to my blog if you want my thoughts. And thank you for at least appreciating season 4 more than season 3! Season 4 packs one hell of a punch, especially after the Angelus arc.

Thanks for the ask! Feel free to come vent anytime! I'm curious about your first time reactions :)

[allthemusic]

Week ending: 4th August

A linguistic curiosity this week: two songs both with the contracted form of "ev'ry". That's not something you see much nowadays. I don't know when it faded out, either - I guess you only really see it in songs, otherwise there's no reason to specify that you're using the contracted version, outside of lyrics? I wonder if Americans were also doing it, or if this is a specifically British type of stuffiness?

Ev'ry Day of My Life - Malcolm Vaughan (peaked at Number 5)

Malcolm Vaughan was a Welsh singer who I had absolutely never heard of before this entry, but apparently alongside the McGuire sisters, he did a version of this song, later popularised by Bobby Vinton in the 70s. So I'm hoping for a serviceable pop standard, fresh enough for people 20 years later to want to revamp it. Is that too much to hope for?

We start with some very dramatic violins, and then a rather operatic slow-down into the main lyrics. And what lame lyrics they are, right out of a book of clichés, about how Every day of my life, I'll be in love with you / Every day of my life, I promise I'll be true. Et cetera. Malcolm will prove his love every day for the rest of his life, he'll prove it over and over, he'll be devoted always to you. Honestly, it smacks of either desperation or protesting too much. There's such thing as too much effort, Malcolm!

The only really notable thing is the bizarrely RP accent on youuuuu at the end of certain lines. Malcolm was Welsh, but you wouldn't know it. I feel like the Beatles might have been a tipping point here, with regional accents suddenly becoming okay in music, but I'm excited to see if somebody else comes along sooner to prove me wrong.

He has a set of pipes. You can't deny that. So of course we get a Big Old Ending. It's tolerable, because Malcolm really can sing, but that doesn't mean I have to like it.

I have nothing else to say about this, but researching it I found out an excellent fact about a song that will appear on this blog in the 1956 section. So look forward to that, I guess.

Ev'rywhere - David Whitfield (3)

In any other entry, I feel like I'd have a sense that the only was was up, at this point. But it's David Whitfield, so I suspect we're going to get more of the same, but with less vocal chops. I'm open to being proven wrong, though. Maybe this will be the David Whitfield song that I finally love?

We start with some gentle violin melody, and then - and I am not making this up - an even more ridiculous version of the silly RP "you" that Malcolm used. Even worse, there's a pronounced "h" sound in the titular "ev'rywhere" and a distinctly reedy-sounding "meeeeeee" at the end of the line. So the first line sounds like Youuuu are everyHwhere, / EveryHwhere youuuu're there / Night and day youuu share with meeeeeeeeee.

This carries on throughout the song - if there's a choice between pronouncing a word normally or in an irritatingly affected fashion, you know which one David has chosen. There's a bit of his trademark strangled delivery on other lines, and then of course, the Biggest Oldest Endings of Big Old Endings, because David will not be outdone by some Welsh upstart.

You know, this made me wonder if David also has an accent he's suppressing, and wouldn't you know, he's from Hull. So probably also a bit of an accent-based classism dynamic. Which really ought to endear him to me a bit, as a fellow Northerner, but somehow doesn't.

It doesn't help here that the lyrics are super creepy. They're meant to be about how David's love is always on his mind, but it also sounds plausibly like they're dead and he's hallucinating their ghost? How else should I take lyrics about how Now I know you’re gone / You still linger on / You’re a haunting memory, or about how, walking down an empty street his love is still there, For now I’m on my own / I’ll never walk alone.

Actually, I think the ghost interpretation maybe improves this song. Otherwise, it's just about a break-up that David's hung-up on. Which is much less interesting. But ghost love following you around? That's some good material, metaphorical or otherwise.

Well, those songs were cut from very similar cloth. But my distaste for David Whitfield cannot be stifled! I cannot wait for him to no longer be scoring top 10 hits.

Favourite song of the bunch: Ev'ry Day of My Life

[rollirealtor]

Polybius rom snes

#Polybius rom snes Offline

#Polybius rom snes series

In 2006, a man named Steven Roach claimed he had been one of its original programmers and that his company developed a game with very intense and cutting-edge graphics. The article declared the existence of the game to be "inconclusive", helping to both spark curiosity and spread the story.įollowing the appearance in GamePro magazine, a number of people claimed to have some involvement with Polybius. This is the first known printed mention of the game, exposing the legend to a mass-market audience. Polybius then appeared in the September 2003 issue of GamePro, as part of a feature story on video games called "Secrets and Lies". Some time prior to September 2003, Kurt Koller, owner of, submitted a message to the American video game magazine GamePro about Polybius. The remainder of the information about the game is listed as "unknown", and its "About the game" section describes the "bizarre rumors" that make up the legend. The author of the entry claims in the description to be in possession of a ROM image of the game, and to have extracted fragments of text from it, including "1981 Sinneslöschen". The entry mentions the name Polybius and a copyright date of 1981, although no such copyright has ever been registered. The earliest confirmed record of the legend is an entry for the title added to arcade game resource on Februalthough lists the page as originating in 1998, journalist Stuart Brown states that it appears to have defaulted to that time due to a database error caused by a lack of input.

#Polybius rom snes Offline

Some anecdotal accounts claim that the legend originated on Usenet circa 1994, or earlier through offline word of mouth, though no recorded evidence exists for either claim. Origins ĭue to the viral and anecdotal nature of the legend, an exact origin is unclear. Historians and journalists studying the urban legend note further that the name of the purported arcade game itself, "Polybius", is also the name of a classical Greek historian born in Arcadia and known for his assertion that historians should never report what they cannot verify through interviews with eyewitnesses. The word's meanings are derived from the German words Sinne, "senses" and löschen, "to extinguish" or "to delete", though the way they are combined is not standard German. The word is described by writer Brian Dunning as "not-quite-idiomatic German" (a word constructed outside the norms of German-language usage and grammar) meaning "sense delete" or "sensory deprivation" if it were a German term of actual use, "Sinneslöschen" would be pronounced like. The company named in most accounts of the game is Sinneslöschen. Approximately one month after its supposed release in 1981, Polybius is said to have disappeared without a trace.

#Polybius rom snes series

Players supposedly suffered from a series of unpleasant side effects, including seizures, amnesia, insomnia, night terrors and hallucinations. The legend describes how the machines were visited by men in black, who collected unknown data from the machines, allegedly testing responses to the game's psychoactive effects. The game is described as proving popular to the point of addiction, with lines forming around the machines often resulting in fights over who would play next. The story tells of an unheard-of new arcade game appearing in several suburbs of Portland, Oregon, in 1981 this would have been something of a rarity at the time. A mocked-up Polybius cabinet made by Rogue Synapse