#indescribable horror from beyond the stars

[malinastharlock]

There really are not enough eldritch horror memes out there, so here you go. 🐙

[mageofspacemultiverse]

E! E WE HAVE THE SPELL! your bones are ready, arceel is waiting, please please don't be evil okay? or attack the imp when you see him, he's been helping. be nicies i beg you

part the watery depths of hell find a vessel a corpsed shell glide across infinity

dance on the head of a needle point silver tongue beckon the king anoint

there's no place i would rather be resurrect return

These next moments, they knew, would be indescribable. The Voidmage could feel its spirit yearning toward the crack in reality. Gravity was reversing. Their universe was calling.

         At long, long last.

𝕥𝕖𝕝𝕝 𝕞𝕖 𝕚𝕥 𝕚𝕤 𝕗𝕚𝕟𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕪 𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕣.

       Seized by fire, Ynygme let the spell that surrounded their body dissipate. Yllyth’r’s special gravity carved around it, swirling and changing in a whirlpool of metachromic molasses.

         THERE YOU ARE.

         As expected, the Council sensed the disturbance, aware of the swirling magic, howling and gnashing their wordless, manic ire. They had only a moment. All the time in the world, and no time at all.

         They dove across the path to their salvation one last time, pressing their spirit into the crack. It shimmered, flexing and warping in jerky and illogical directions, roaring to life. Its disarray drove through Ynygme’s metaphysical self, impaling it with a tendril of starlight.

         A FOOLISH NOTION TO THINK YOU WILL ESCAPE. WE VOWED YOU AN ENDLESS SUFFERING.

         Fear blossomed in the pits of Ynygme’s nonexistent stomach at the Subjugate’s taunting. Were they truly escaping? After all of this - biding its time, bonding with the voices, a hope rekindled after nothing existing - what if this wasn’t real? If they found themselves still at the mercy of the Messiahs after everything, they knew they would be broken.

         ...no. They were already broken beyond repair. They had come so very far. This was no life, only hell. What more harm was a leap of faith?

         𝕚𝕝𝕝 𝕥𝕒𝕜𝕖 𝕞𝕪 𝕔𝕙𝕒𝕟𝕔𝕖𝕤 𝕒𝕨𝕒𝕪 𝕗𝕣𝕠𝕞 𝕪𝕠𝕦, 𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕞𝕤. 𝕃𝔼𝕋 𝕄𝔼 𝕆𝕌𝕋 𝕆𝔽 ℍ𝔼ℝ𝔼.

         ENOUGH. THE AUTHOFHUJKVGH̷̗͆͠U̸͍͇̾̅D̶̢̫̍͘J̶͚͎͒̎F̷̡͒Ȳ̷͗ͅH̶̨͐͜W̷͙̐U̵̯̎͜J̵̱̟͛Į̵͘H̴͍́̉J̴̟͇̐̋I̶̥͒̀K̵̤̾̄.̷̼͇̔.̶͙͖̀̀0̷͇̓K̸̡͍̓Õ̶̮P̴̞̌L̴͈̋̏W̸̢̬̒̕;̶̠͎̏W̴̛͙̟͒;̶̥̈́ͅ1̸̙̬͌7̶̳̋͘Ù̷͇2̵͚͍͋̓É̸̢̟̌Y̷̜̟̾̌7̷̰̅8̴̣́̓U̴̹͛2̵͈̀I̵̠̯̍O̷͕͓̊̉2̷̠̿2̶̖̮̒̊7̸̛̞͎̊Ủ̸̞̣̉Ȅ̶͉Ĩ̷̼2̵̤̣͛Ő̴̯ ̵̶̩͚́͑͑̓^̵̲͆͘T̷̨͈̈́&̸͙̺͒͆Y̴̝̰̑Y̸͚̭̅͘^̴̯̌͆#̶͔̀͂Y̴͔̕&̷̺̟̂U̶̸̳̪̥̐̾̕I̴̭̍̃J̵̟̈K̴̨͍̆͊H̶̞͓̊̊#̷̣͈̓̕G̴̛͙̺̉&̶̮̫́̍Y̶̫̕H̴͈͛͗Ū̶̧͚̑J̶̩̕I̴̲̰̔K̸̲͌O̷̮̍̋D̵̢̳͌P̵̦̫̄L̸̞̭̑P̸͇̝̕

         Reality suddenly collapsed. Its body was wrenched away. They felt heat, gasses cascading across never-ending plains of the inky ichor. The profound, unknowable sky was rushing past, consuming it in a boiling cauldron of formation. The strobing lights of known and unknown galaxies perpetually flickered in and out of Ynygme’s vision.

         It felt its phantasmal body squished into a pinprick the size of a tear drop, and then stretched and expanded until they were the universe itself.

         They saw the jailors’ faces grow great in horrific, amorphous ambiguations, then disintegrate into the dust that grew into stars.

         Ynygme tasted the concept of chalk, and the first flake of flesh, and radiation from a cold, abandoned sun. They were petrified with joy, and horror, and more than all sensation.

         Through it all, it heard a trillion, black, dripping voices, singing in chaotic harmony. All was alien and familiar, and forever and never, and it was beautiful, and it was inevitable. And one of them spoke to them, and said: ‘I miss you’.

         As the carousel of reality suddenly stiffened, and Ynygme lost sense of everything, in their last moment of understanding, they thought the voice sounded familiar.

. ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔

In the gut of the Kirada ruin, time seemed to stand still. Arceel Obelis blinked blankly to the etched tombstone that fiercely guarded Ynygme’s remains, not sure the signal he was meant to be waiting for. Despite his immortality and the apathy it usually brought, impatience and anxiety swirled in his chest.

         These past few days were cyclonic in their revelations. He’d been gifted with the memory of his lover, lost in the stars; and with aid from the Authors - his ever-bitter rivals - and the self-absorbed Watch’r, Ntrepi had a chance to escape. Was this hope? Arceel had left hope in the days of the Mage War.

         The imp’s chattering and cackling split through the air like razor wire, and Arceel grit his teeth in distress. He was near always unbearable, but it felt thousands times worse here. Part of him wished that the cretin had been struck by the Antimordial that encased the Mage’s tombs. Perhaps there was a spell that could’ve done the trick. Or simply a well-timed push?

         Then again, the imp had just saved his life from the Messiahs. Though it hardly made up for the ages spent together, something was changing in Watch’r. Since the first contact with Ynygme, he was acting suspiciously...helpful. Watch’r and ‘helpful’ was no combination in Arceel’s book. Could it be more of the Authors’ meddling?

         “Ahahahaha! Oh, the anticipation is tearing me apart, old man!” Think of the devil. The hat-adorned sprite patted Arceel’s shoulder, but he refused to acknowledge it. Now was not the time for the usual games.

         Even as Watch’r twirled his oily-black hair and continued some joshing remarks, Arceel looked to the Demoness, divorced from it all even as she mumbled the tethering spell. There was someone he owed an endless gratitude towards. Despite her initial resistance, this wouldn’t have been possible if not for the kindness of a stranger. Though, was it truly kindness? Boredom? Intrigue? In the interest of serving another? She seemed completely numb to everything. The Mage could relate.

         They met blank gazes for a second, cold and lonesome. Then the Kirada’s head shifted slightly, barely at all, and she lifted her scythe in the direction of the tombstone.

         “It’s begun,”

         So it had. Arceel spun back in alarm to find the runic text on Ynygme’s epitaph bursting with neon light, pulsating chartreuse. Time seemed to stand still. Watch’r had shrunk away to look on, in uncharacteristic silence. The magic that billowed amidst the tomb filled Arceel like a breath, making his body tingle and pulse and beat.

         The light grew and grew, turning opaque, turning shapely. Glittering like the milky depths of the sky, green became white, then white became grey. Arceel fell back as the magic’s intensity amped up, exploding through the room and blinding them all. Ages of dust and ancient soil swirled at the force.

         Until, as soon as the spell had come, it was also completed. The light faded as though it had never been there, and in its place lay the body of an unconscious troll. Arceel’s eyes landed on them, and they were not what he had expected to see.

         They were tall, nearly matching Arceel himself in height. White hair, short in the back with bangs in the front. Six closed eyes, two torn fins, four slender arms. Cracked brands on their forehead and chest. They were an oddity; a sight to behold.

         Arceel didn’t believe that Ynygme looked like this. Then again, it had been so long he didn’t remember what Ynygme looked like at all. It had been millions and millions of sweeps. Their memory: something else robbed from him by the Messiahs. Could it really have been them?

         “...Ynygme?”

. ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔

         Then what came after a spell was the sensation of a mild darkness. Dark blue and flickering, intense as the midnight. Ynygme could feel-

         They-

         They could feel themselves breathing. They could feel their heart beating.

         With the realization, came heat rushing down what they could only imagine to be their face - two searing streaks, cascading down the darkness. They were blind in the moment, and overcome with emotions they could not begin to put words to.

         Ynygme wished to keep their eyelids shut; to stay in the deep blue uncertainty for longer, for so much longer than the world would live for, to enjoy the immortal innocence of the moment before the truth was revealed. But at the sound of more breathing, they dared to let their unfamiliar eyelids open with a twitch.

         It indulged in the feeling of their body pulsating with blood and flesh and life.

They were alive, weren’t they? It had worked, hadn’t it? It wasn't in the Messiahs’ cage. They were alive. Freedom, at long last. The brands on their horns and chest no longer seared. They were alive.

Ynygme looked down at their body, six eyes wide and twitching in the fuzzy grey vision. It examined their arms - all four of them, and both its legs. This new body was certainly bizarre. Their gaze glazed upwards.

         The sight before them bloomed confusion inside them. There were three onlookers standing over it, expressions hard to describe. The think-pan in their head was confused, searching through its decaying memories for reason.

         Grey-skinned, the lot of them. Horned, clothed, yellow eyes. One of them floated in the air. Trolls? Was Ynygme back on Alternia? Then that would mean-

         Balerion?

         "Eeeyuuuhhhuuhhb--"

         They tried to speak, but so not used to the action yet, their throat croaked out an odd sound, curdled and pained. It rubbed its hands together, skin tingling with lightning at every touch. Teal tears fell down their face as their other hands reached up to clasp into their hair, pulling and tugging and weaving their digits into the silver-white streaks.

         "Bhhhhhh...eeeehhhgb..." It wasn't unlike the noise of a wriggler, struggling to concoct its first words, but they slowly pointed one shaking, twitching, exhilarated finger to point to the tall Purple that approached them. The other’s mouth cracked and twisted, and a whisper came out. They were not all there still, not used to reality. But in time, understanding bled into what the troll had said.

         “Ynygme!”

         Ynygme was alive. Balerion was here. There was a line, long snapped, that reformed once more between them. Ynygme's body was suddenly swarmed with the sensation of Arceel's embrace, staring past him into the world around them.

         It was so much to take in. So overwhelming. Their name felt unfamiliar on Arceel's lips, but their fins could not lie and rob the elation that erupted from them.

         An eternity of pain and sorrow gushed from Ynygme's shivering body. It was enough to make them nauseous, head hurting. They closed their eyes and buried their face into Arceel's shoulder, sobbing silently, shoulders racked with emotions that words simply couldn't encompass.

         “Aaaaaaaa..." he burbled, gradually letting his arms wrap around Arceel, holding him back, tentativeness becoming desperate as though his Mage King were to be ripped away from them again any moment.

it's over it's over it's over it's over it's over it's over. he's here he's here he's here he's here he's here he's here. oh, bless the authors.

         They made a diamond with two of their hands and pressed the symbol into the small of Arceel's back, lovingly branding the immortal with what strength they had. From a cloud of endless shadow emerged a message made of silhouettes. Doing so suckled some of the energy from Ynygme, like a siphon from a bottle. As minor a spell as it was, the body they inhabited was not used to void magicks yet, evidently. Their face went pale slightly, but it was worth hearing Arceel's confirmation, and his ecstatic relief.

         𝔹𝕒𝕝𝕖𝕣𝕚𝕠𝕟

         “Yes.”

. ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔

"Yes," Arceel's voice was barely above a shaky breath as he saw the letters form. The smile wouldn't leave his face, an almost alien sight for anyone who knew such a usually serious and stoic man. "Yes, yes, it's me. That is me. I'm here. You're here... Ynygme."

         He couldn't help but let out a chuckle of disbelief as he gathered up Ynygme's hair in his hands and pressed the other troll so tightly against him, squeezing, so afraid to let go in case this was all a dream.

         Eventually his hands slid to either of Ynygme's cheeks and he planted a long, firm kiss on the other's head. Ynygme's name fell out of Arceel's mouth in praises and chants, making up for lost time, making up for lost memory. The name was soon lost in his own sobs, though no tears could come. He felt the pained warmth in his chest, the tingle in his face; he almost felt alive again.

         Matild herself looked as if she was contemplating, considering a reunion of her own, perhaps. She glanced over at Watch'r, whose back was now turned to the reunited couple. The Imp covered his mouth, an aura of gloom hanging over him, an occasional quiet sniffle that could not be heard over the couple's joy. Without a word, she rested a hand on his shoulder, and he turned to look at her in awe while black, sludgy tears ran down his cheek. He shook her off, embarrassed, and turned back to the embraced lovers.

         Once again, more letters materialized from the void, swinging in the air.

         𝕀 𝕜𝕟𝕠𝕨 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕡𝕝𝕒𝕔𝕖

         The sight of Watch'r though, dripping with black Primordial, seemed to cause Ynygme's body to harden and stiffen, fins flattening against their head. They buried themselves into Arceel more, confusion and fear adding to the cumulus over emotions. Arceel held onto them, hushing them gently and stroking their hair, their fins, the traces and edges and curves of their body.

         "Iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiippp," they groaned fearfully, squeezing their eyes shut and curling into Arceel more. "Nnnnnn....iiimppp."

         "That's Mr. Imp to you, pfaahaha!” Watch'r's gaze snapped to Ynygme, a too-wide of a grin spreading across his face to hide the blurred emotions he felt.  “Aww, that's so sweet, the first word out of this idiot's mouth after reanimating is the thing it fears! My, aren't I flattered? Hahaha!"

         "Enough!" Arceel growled, then looked apologetically at Ynygme. "That is my watcher. Despite what you may think, Ynygme, as unlikely as the thought is, he... he did help me find you and bring you back."

         Arceel swallowed in thought, then looked over this shoulder at Watch'r once more, "....Thank you."

         Though Ynygme did not speak any further, they held up their hand and crossed their thumb over their pinky and shook it like a wriggler's rattle - a sign from their time to mean 'thank you', echoing Arceel’s own gratitude.

         Watch'r was at a loss for words. He sputtered and fidgeted, even flushed, as his gaze turned to the ground. "Uh, y-yeah. It's. It's whatever. I dunno."

          A moment later, Ynygme slumped more in Arceel's hug, breath slowing exhaustedly. One of their hands cupped Arceel's cheek as they put a needle of energy into summoning one more message to materialize into the air. It glimmered like starlight, half a plea and half a question.

         𝕊𝕥𝕒𝕪 𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙 𝕞𝕖?

         "Of course," it was hardly a voice that came from Arceel's lips, but something breathless and desperate. He could stay like this forever if Ynygme asked him to. There would be no hesitation, no questions asked, no objection. Arceel pressed his lips to Ynygme's temple again. What mattered was that their souls were reunited, and Arceel couldn't be happier. He kissed Ynygme again and again, half in disbelief that they were here at all.

         "My love, nothing will separate me from you again. I will stay. I will always stay by your side."

         𝕄𝕪 ℝ𝕒𝕧𝕚𝕟𝕖

         They returned the volley, landing a kiss on Arceel's collarbone.

         "Sheesh, this is sappy," Watch'r rolled his eye. Matild ignored him and turned away, opting to give everyone privacy.

         Four red eyes in the shadows savoured the scene, silent and unknown to the rest.

         With a yawn, Ynygme's breathing began to slow and their eyes drooped shut, settling fully into the crook of Arceel's shoulder. They clearly didn't want to go, struggling to stay awake, gripping at Arceel's clothes. But eventually, they drifted off into slumber, fully pressed into him.

         “Ynygme...my starry sky,”

         He was too happy to question it, or to think of the consequences. The joy and pain, for once, made him feel so young and mortal again.

         “It is done,” Matild droned, having approached the entwined mages from the side, tilting Arceel’s head up with the tip of her scythe. “If you have no further business here, then we must return. There are beds upstairs to recover before you leave.”

         Kicking them out already? He didn’t want the moment to end, but her expression didn’t seem to offer much sympathy.

         “Thank you. If there’s anything—”

         “There is nothing you can offer me. I have defiled the last duty required of me. Even though it makes no difference to me, do not make me regret this.”

         “I understand.” Adjusting his grip on Ynygme’s body, Arceel lifted the troll under their back and legs before rising to his feet. “Let us go, imp.” But there was no answer. “...Watch’r?”

         Glancing side to side, Arceel surveyed the surroundings, but the imp was nowhere to be seen. Snorting, he shook his head. It shouldn’t have been a surprise; with Antimordial abounds, he must have been more eager than anyone to get a head start. Whatever he was up to, Arceel knew he would show up himself at whatever inopportune time awaited.

         “Nevermind. Let’s just go, then,” he sighed, glancing back down to his friend’s body.

         Matild nodded, turning with a ghostly grace. “I will guide you back. Don’t fall behind.”

         Arceel followed, hands gripping onto Ynygme’s body with a quiet desperation as they extracted themselves from the pit of her castle. The Voidmage had returned. He didn’t know what it would mean for any of them. The Messiahs were unlikely to do anything other than be furious about this. There would be consequences, he knew. His sentence was still far from complete. But with Ynygme here, it was hard to think it could not be faced.

         Stopping his tracks he looked to the ceiling, at wherever the Authors might be looking down at him, unsure of what to say. But then, with a trace of a chuckle, it was obvious.

         “Thank you. I don’t know who, or why. But thank you,”

. ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔

YNYGME NTREPI, The Voidmage, is now available for asks

[eyrieofsynapses]

so many fic authors talk about how the Force screams, sings, rings, etc., but I hardly ever hear hide nor hair of how it feels when it does that, so… have a snippet I wrote to explore that. no context, just this:

when the Force screamed it was a shudder, heart-deep, as though horror had picked you up by the scruff of your neck and shook, the way disgust rattled your bones and filled your throat with bile. it was an electrocution, it was being pinned down with frozen limbs while someone pressed a burning brand to your skin, it was the universe itself rocking with unspeakable pain.

and when it sang—oh how it sang, and that was perhaps the best way of putting it, the indescribable high of music that resonated with your soul and stood the hairs on your arms up on end. it was standing in a cathedral when the choir's power met the orchestra, met the air's waves, met your eardrums, met your mind, met your heart. it was the carnal pleasure of climax, the blossom of perfectly brewed tea or a favorite dessert on the tongue, the fuzzy softness of a faultlessly woven blanket, the shock of awe at a shooting star. it was the pluck of a string in the depths of your body that you barely knew was even there, a flawless harpist strumming at your chords.

and when it whispered, it wasn't a whisper so much as it was an image at the edges of your vision, something you had forgotten that now floated a finger's breadth from your grasping hand. it was the strains of a conversation in the room next door that just crept in through the crack in the door. it was the knowledge of skin millimeters from yours, barely not touching, yet so close it was impossible not to know it was there. it was the hair rising on the back of your neck. it was glimpsing the blurred words on a sign that was too far away to be read properly, yet knowing what they said anyway, your mind unconsciously detangling shapes into words and phrases.

and when it shouted, it was not a yell in your ears but in your ribcage, rattling your lungs and organs, the rumbling pound of your heart thudding too loud, a flush of adrenaline that raced through your veins and snared your breath and shook your hands and shivered your skin and shocked you to the bone, left your knees as jelly and your eyes rolling wild as a colt first mounted.

a Force-shout wasn't an order, it was an unearthly demand that you listen—not a promise that if you didn't hear you'd be destroyed, but the utter and complete certainty that you would know what it wanted you to comprehend.

and when it wept…

the Force's sorrow was a grief that was not a flood, not an ocean, but floating in the center of a moon with a core of molten water. it was all-consuming—nothing else was thinkable—it was the drowning nothingness of depression turned up a thousandfold. it did not draw tears from your eyes but instead stole every drop of breath out of your lungs and drug you to the ground in a millisecond.

there was no room for a single spark of a sentient being to cry mere saltwater tears; it was the suffocation of the soul, racking chills that shocked you from star-hot to atom-still-cold in the space of a nanosecond. it was the bending of your ribs into your heart, bones shattering like glass stretching over the course of a hundred years. it came of the universe that knew its heat-death would come some day and did not shake in that knowledge, yet despaired not only sentient lives but the eventual cooling of the very last star.

so…

what was it to feel each of the Force's delighted sentient nerves, each sensitive that acted as a way to taste and touch and know itself, torn out of its body in an eyeblink?

what scars does it leave upon one's soul—whether you be minutes or centuries old, whether you have felt the deepest grief or only know the pain of exposure to the world beyond the womb—when you are one of those nerves, and know in intimate, gross detail how the universe felt when your thousands of fellows were ripped asunder from the fabric of its present? when your mouth is filled with the rotting copper blood of the death of something infinite?

and what does it do to a person, when you are woven so that when the strings of the universe are plucked, it is not only your mind that is aware of it, but every centimeter of your skin, ever drop of blood in your body, every neuron, every tiny mitochondria, every bit of bacteria that keeps the ember of your being burning, every atom of yourself shivers in sympathy with each swaying step of the vastness of everything that has ever existed?

[wilt3d-r0zes]

Fic Name (and link): Paranoia Sucks Balls Series: Teen Wolf Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Kira Yukimora (kinda) Pairings: N/A Trigger Warnings: Paranoia, thinking someone is in your house waiting to kill you Important Tags: N/A

Summary: He cursed himself for a lot of things, in the next five minutes. For moving his desk so it wasn’t up against the wall, for playing a horror game so late at night, for staying up when he can’t get anybody to protect him, for turning the lights off at all.

Or, I had a really bad paranoia bout last night, and wrote this as a result just now.

Paranoia is not a new thing for Stiles. He’s had moments of indescribable levels of paranoia since his mother started getting sick, started loudly shouting about all the horrible things that were out to get them. It used to be a lot worse, as most things regarding his mental health did. For the years following Claudia’s death, he and his dad were both in terrible places.

Stiles found himself locked in a closet or the bathroom several times, back pressed against a corner and eyes unable to move away from the door lest he drag himself into a panic attack because he couldn’t get the feeling, that horrible, bone chilling feeling of being watched, being followed, off.

It tapered off for the most part, didn’t seem to return even when supernatural happenings began. Never to that degree and never without reason, at least. Until now.

Another thing that isn’t new to him is staying up late, more often than not he’d stay up researching or aimlessly trying to entertain himself in a bout of insomnia. The clock was nearing toward five in the morning and he was playing some cheap horror flash game on his phone with the lights off.

It just seemed smart, when he stared into the disconcerting darkness of his room, to turn them back on. At least, to flick his lamp on so he could see something. Curses of being human and unable to use nightvision for anything.

The cheap light with rips in the lampshade flickered on, crackling for just a moment in a sign that meant it was going to go soon. His bedroom bathed in warm light, and for a moment just a moment Stiles swears he sees a face disappear around his desk. He stills, staring like something would pop out at him.

Nothing does.

(He cursed himself for a lot of things, in the next five minutes. For moving his desk so it wasn’t up against the wall, for playing a horror game so late at night, for staying up when he can’t get anybody to protect him, for turning the lights off at all.)

Logically, he knew nothing was there. Something couldn’t even realistically hide in that spot without him seeing it. He wanted to listen for breathing, just to be safe, but beyond the heatwave California was going through he didn’t want to leave the willful obliviousness of having a fan turned on full power covering that potential sound.

So he stared.

Paranoia and anxiety grew in warring pillars, tightening his chest and trying to bring tears to his eyes. He wanted nothing more than to call someone, anyone, to give him support in making sure nothing was there. Just so he could move, look around the edge of his desk and under his bed, and out into the hallway.

(Do you know how many stories there are of people hiding under beds, laying in wait with a knife to kill the inhabitants? Because he could think of at like three, and he doesn’t even research regular killings.)

But nobody he could think of would be awake. At best, Kira or Malia might have been awake a couple of hours prior, but likely aren’t anymore. Even Malia gave into her sleep before this late, and she used to be nocturnal.

Still, he grabbed his phone. Screw wasting his minutes, he felt absolutely paralyzed with the fear that something was there and he didn’t have it in him to sit and stare at the corner for the next several hours until school started or his dad came to wake him up.

(And wouldn’t that be pathetic?)

u up? he sent to Scott, knowing that the star player and attempted health nut would by zero means be awake but feeling safest in his best friend regardless. Then he sent the same thing to Malia, then Lydia, and when none of them responded and he found himself staring at that spot again, he sent it to Kira.

What’s up? he got in response maybe five minutes later of trying not to have a panic attack. He flinched violently at the vibration on his desk, wanting to loudly shush it as if the potential someone in his room didn’t already know he knew they were there.

what r u doin? he replied after several deleted responses. No need to seem desperate, he barely knew Kira. At least if Allison were still alive (fucK) then he could’ve texted her, she always pitied him enough for things like that.

Playing with my lightbulb.

eufanism?

Euphemism*? No.

o lol

Why are you awake?

ah. demons in my room

What??

not litrally

That doesn’t explain anything?

just paranoid thought i saw a face

Oh.

how r u

Bored. Thankfully not haunted by demons.

cringe

Kitsune powers are annoying.

sounds btr than none

Sorry.

joking dw y r they anoying

Controlling the output is hard. I’m trying not to explode this light bulb, but if I get too close it starts to regardless.

o sounds anoying

Yeah.

hav u tried imaginin ur made of wires

…What?

imagin ur powers work like a cord/phone so theirs lim output 2 certain things & spreds thruout the phone

Your spelling is atrocious. But I will try.

cool. im gonna keep tryin 2 find some1 2 call so i can look 4 demons

RIP. I would if I could, but my parents would hear me.

ya ik. itd b weird anyway bc i barley know u

Yeah… Sorry. I’m going to test that theory, good luck with your demons.

thx

5:58am. He sighed and clicked the power button, before tossing his phone to the side. That didn’t help. If anything, he might’ve felt worse afterward, aware that nobody was going to help. He knew his best option was to just get out of his room, go sleep in the living room for the night. The problem was, regardless of any weapons he might have head within reach, he was still paralyzed with the fear that something is there.

His hands fumbled at the side of his bed, trying to grab the bat nestled between the nightstand without getting his hand near the underside of it anything. What if someone was down there? Waiting for him to put his hands of feet within reach.

The bat clattered loudly against the metal bedframe, but he successfully got it up and held like the weapon it was. He grabbed his pillow, tucking it under his arm, and then looking down at the floor with a glare, “If anything reaches out and grabs my feet when I get up, I will beat you to death with this bat,” he announced. Again, likely there was nothing there, but if there was maybe that would deter it. If nothing else, it made him feel better.

Carefully, oh so carefully, he stood on the edge of his bed frame to leap off of, in theory out of reach. The only place left was making sure nothing was behind the desk, and then getting the hell out of his room and into the living room. No easy feat, because he couldn’t help but feel like something was going to crawl out from under the bed while he wasn’t looking.

Nothing was behind the desk. He took his time getting out of the room, constantly looking back to make sure nothing was there. The hallway posed a new threat, and he refused to shut the door for fear the he would have to open it the next morning and something would be there, but there are cracked doors and closets in the hallway. Not to mention, the only light was a cheap plastic nightlight that his dad put by the bathroom five years ago when Stiles would have panic attacks in the dark.

The hallway creaked under his feet the entire walk to the living room, something that reminded him so aggressively that his dad was asleep and he was walking around the house clutching a pillow like it would save his life and holding a baseball bat in preparation to hit something at five in the morning.

He must look absolutely nuts.

The first floor was no less terrifying, but once he managed to get on the couch with his back against a wall and eyes on all entrances or exits, he relaxes. Even if his eyes lingered on the bottom of the stairs, or flickered between all the closed curtains and doors, he managed to get at least a couple hours of sleep before his dad woke him up with poorly concealed concern and told him to get ready for school.

[karimthewriter]

Black Cab Film Review

Who doesn’t love the classic British ghost story? Lonely, mist-filled moors; crumbling castles; dark, foreboding mansions; haunted libraries; and ancient curses smoldering beneath a land steeped in history, change, and war. The British ghost story is, if anything, a legacy of a nation that has contributed disproportionately to world history, both good and bad. Perhaps M.R. James, the conservative English medieval scholar, perfected this genre, captivating his students with ghost stories on Christmas Eve. These tales were infused with unseen forces sneaking through the decaying walls of academic halls and libraries filled with dust-covered tomes—malevolent, tentacled entities that crept up on the rational, the educated, the modern mind struggling to make sense of a world barely detached from its ancient past. Slowly approaching, the horror would gnaw at the mind until the final, indescribable terror struck with a vengeance. The Anglo-American writer Henry James’s The Turn of the Screw also comes to mind, a story embodying the classic elements of the British ghost tale: old secrets that resist containment by walls or time, breeding and festering until they fuse past and present, collapsing all sense and reason. The horror of it all is, above all, very subtle, working on the psychological level rather than the visceral. To blood it bluntly: more scares and less guts.

These classic elements, of course, have been adapted to film—sometimes successfully, but often morbidly disappointing. Like many, I love horror films because good ones are challenging to make; they require a rare genius to understand the metaphysical and visceral horrors that haunt our waking lives and dreams. Nightmares, after all, aren’t limited to sleep. The imagery of a good horror film reflects our innermost fears, the deepest shadows lurking in our subconscious, sometimes transforming into real, tangible horror. Different cultures may portray these fears uniquely, but our minds universally recognize them.

Watching Shudder’s 2024 horror film Black Cab, I noticed echoes of this imagery: lonely roads, oppressive mists, and shadowy figures on the edges of vision—yet none of it cohered into a complete whole. The film stars Synnove Karlson as Anne, a young, pregnant woman at odds with her abusive boyfriend, Patrick, who relentlessly bullies her. They are picked up by a talkative, seemingly cheerful cab driver, played by comedic actor Nick Frost. Frost’s character initially seems friendly, if unsettlingly creepy, until he shocks Patrick with an electroshock device and kidnaps them both, taking them on a journey that grows more baffling as it progresses. Patrick, his toxic masculinity muffled by the electroshock, stays true to himself as a beloved film stereotype—the wealthy, abusive boyfriend, now barely a character beyond an occasional groan or whine, lingering on the screen like a ghost himself. We already know he’s a jerk from the beginning, and that seems enough for the rest of the film.

Anne, too, is underdeveloped, doe-eyed, frightened, and tearful in line with the script’s demands. She is a blank slate, only there to entertain the cab driver and attempt unsuccessful escape attempts. A final girl, she is definitely not. The characters lack any real secrets, deep longings, darkness, or strengths. The film initially teases a thriller with a mysterious cab driver en route to an unknown destination, but soon shifts into a ghost story when Anne begins seeing visions of a ghostly woman standing at the roadside or entering the cab when convenient. But why is this happening? The cab driver’s non-stop, over-the-top, abusive rambling quickly becomes caricatured, slipping into obnoxious self-pity over his marital issues. It isn’t frightening; it creates no tension, no path into unfolding darkness. Instead, it grates on the nerves, like a chainsaw from a much better horror film, before culminating in a twist that makes no sense in terms of character motivation or horror storytelling.

Spoiler alert: We learn that the ghostly woman wanted the cab driver to harm his own child for some reason, so he struck a deal to bring her another child. Is he delusional? Was he a violent psychopath all along? Did the ghost make him unpleasant? What happened to his wife and child? Why would a ghost want an unborn child, and how does one strike a bargain with a ghost? None of this adheres to the classic formula of slow buildup and reveals. Instead, it’s an American horror film disguised as a British ghost story—and a poor one at that. The setting and atmosphere serve only as distractions, and the ending, intended as a twist, only twists itself into a corner. Anne, who it turns out was never pregnant, storms off to confront the ghost woman over her “baby,” but how do you punch a ghost? Meanwhile, the cab driver, exhausted from a day of kidnapping, marital problems, and negotiating with a ghost, finally receives a call from his long-lost wife and drives off happily—only to accidentally run over Anne, turning her into yet another ghost passenger.

The film leaves us with a string of unresolved questions: How did Anne die? Was it the cab, the cold, or something else? Why did the cab driver’s wife remember him so suddenly? Has the pale ghost lady finally become a Mum? These unanswered questions underscore the film’s lack of coherence. The living and the dead fail to connect meaningfully, and Black Cab becomes a confusing “pretzel” of its own making, moving aimlessly between fragmented plot points. The film ultimately fails to honor the legacy of the British ghost story it claims to champion. The only great aspect is the synopsis—an irony since, as we all have come to painfully learn, that alone does not make a good film.  Skip this one if you can. Our darkness deserves better.

[jonathanvik]

Luyten V - Chapter 1

Pain lanced through Rosemary’s legs as she dragged herself through the ruined building. She warily eyed the ceiling, fearing the rickety structure might topple at any second. Half had already collapsed, making her trek to the basement nail-biting.

But Rosemary pushed ahead anyway. After all, dying early would doom humanity forever. She gave her left arm a quick glance and winced. The infection had already spread to her shoulder blade, the thick glowing purple undulations sickening to behold. Rosemary figured she had an hour remaining until the parasitic infection consumed her whole. But that didn’t matter. She’d complete her task well before then.

“Well, shoot.” Rocks had collapsed over the door leading to her destination. Refused to be deterred, metal squealed as Rosemary pushed against it with her infected arm. Sweat dripped down her brow as she forced open the metal door, beaming as she spotted what she hoped would be the home of humanity.

“There you are, girl. You can’t imagine how pleased I am to see you.” She tapped at some keys, grunting in satisfaction as all systems read green. It won’t do to send her creation if it didn’t work.

“Still, doing this will doom me and everything I worked towards for the last twenty-odd years,” she mumbled to herself. This wasn’t a decision she made lightly. Heck, this half-baked scheme might not even work. Or worse, doom all history in a paradoxical tangle. Still, she had little choice. The Altair had ruined her precious planet beyond repair. It’s only a matter of time until they spread their infection across the entire galaxy.

“Macauley better be right about this.” With more taps of the key, everything was ready. She only prayed this would work. They hadn’t exactly tested this yet. Oh, well. Nothing for it, she supposed.

“Hey, kiddo. I’m sure you’re surprised to see me,” Rosemary said in her final message. She couldn’t send the Luyten V without explaining its purpose. “Now listen to me carefully. The Earth’s fate hangs in the balance.”

---

“I don’t like the looks of this corridor.” The avatars on Rose’s computer screen said. The animesque girl’s eyes darted from side to side, her animated expression turning pensive.

“Creepy. Maybe you should turn back?” Rose said, tensing with her favorite Vtuber star, Stella Kilonova, as she explored further down the pitch-black corridor. The dilapidated industrial complex sent waves of unease through Rose, its metal rusted into an ugly orange. 

Rose hated horror games, never having the nerve to play one herself. She watched as Stella directed her character past some pitch-black window. Rose tensed, fearing something jumping out at any second.

The horror came as expected, bursting from the window in an explosion of glass. The indescribable horror lumbered forward, and Stella screamed. Her avatar, a blue-haired girl with twin starburst hairpins froze, pupils widening in utter terror.

To illustrate her fear, Rose posed a scared emoji with Stella’s face in the chat. Similar reactions zipped through the chat log as the Vtuber’s other viewers dreaded what might happen next.

“No!” Stella’s player character tried fleeing for his life, but the monster moved lightning fast, its jagged claws lashing forward to gut him. Much to Rose’s astonishment, the blow did nothing. The character bounced back several steps, but seemed otherwise unharmed. Huh, what was happening?

In response, Stella broke into a high-pitched giggle, her avatar laughing and clasping her stomach. “Gotcha!”

“Huh?” Rose posted her confusion in the chat.

The monster attacked again with a terrifying single-minded determination. But its efforts to bash Stella’s character proved futile, the video game character receiving no damage.

“Before I started the game, I entered a cheat code that made my character immune to all damage,” Stella said, amused at the monster’s futile attempts to hurt her, and broke into another laughing fit.

“Hilarious,” Rose said, scowling and voicing her annoyance in the chat. Typical. Stella loved playing these unpredictable practical jokes.

“The monsters should never win,” Stella said with absolute confidence. Her chat remained unamused, many claiming she’d ruined the game. They’d been looking forward to her streaming this game. But, ever the entertainer, Stella showed other fun tricks you could do with this game, demonstrating amusing glitches if the player character hit a wall just right. She had an impressive knowledge of the game.

After closing the game, Stella returned to her default star-filled background and answered some questions from her viewers. She answered each super chat donation with her usual humble gratitude. The cute smile of her avatar made everyone’s previous annoyance with her evaporate like smoke.

“Rose!” Her mother said, yelling up the stairs.

“Yeah, Mom?” Rose yelled back.

“I need help with the groceries.”

“Okay, coming.” Rose frowned, but did as instructed. She’d just watch the VOD repeat later.

“Ugh,” Rose grunted as she lifted the bags onto the kitchen counter, panting as she finally relieved the weight. 

“Mom, look at this.” Rose’s youngest brother, Dan, said, holding up a collection of sticks he’d glued together. Much to Rose’s dismay, the sticky substance covered him everywhere.

“That’s great, dear.” Their mom paused, her tongue clicking when she spotted her son’s mess. Like her mother and little brother, Rose shared her mother’s raven locks. Only her older sister had inherited chestnut hair. Typical. His perfect always needed to stand out. “Look at you. Clean up before dinner, young man.”

“Must I?” Dan said, pouting.

“Rose, can you wash up your brother?” Her mom asked. “I need to put away groceries and start dinner. Dad will be home soon.”

“What? I was in the middle of something. Make Sophie do it!”

“Sophie’s studying right now.” Her mom replied. “She’s studying for her SAT. Lacerta University doesn’t allow just anyone in.”

“Yeah, yeah. Wouldn’t that be a crime?” Like her Miss Perfect older sister even needed to study!

“Rose.” Her mom’s tone contained a warning.

“Okay. Come, Danny boy, let’s get you washed up.” She led her brother by the hand to the bathroom.

The dinner table was a hive of activity as they prayed and dug in. With her father home for once, her mom wanted a happy, idyllic family get-together. Danny was making a mess as usual, while her father sang Sophie’s praises as she recounted a scholarship she’d gotten for her fantastic grades. No one paid Rose much attention as she picked at her Parmesan-crusted chicken. Rose wished she could eat it in her room, as was her habit, and finish watching Stella’s livestream.

Family dinners are the worst. And her father hadn’t even bothered asking about her week, like he didn’t even remember his middle child existed. Noticing Rose’s pensive expression, her mom elbowed her husband hard in the stomach.

“And how have you been, Rosemary?” Her father asked, finally getting the hint. His gaunt face extended into a facsimile of a smile. Rose had always thought her high cheek bones made him look downright skeletal. 

“The usual.”

Undeterred by this bland response, her father pressed the conversation. “Mother tells me you’ve been working on a special project. How’s that going?”

“That? I finished it yesterday.” While not as smart as her perfect older sister, Rose had her talents. She’d worked on it while listening to Stella’s stream. “Got it ticking down to the second.”

Ever since she was little, the mechanical had fascinated Rose. Much to her parents’ exasperation, she’d loved taking apart anything she could get her hands on to learn how it worked. Then she’d reassemble it, making the contraption work better than ever. Her newest project was building a working clock from random scraps she’d collected.

“That’s wonderful. You’ll have to…” Her father paused as his phone buzzed. He quickly dismissed himself to talk in the other room. After a quick apology, her father rushed out the door. There’d been some commotion at work, and his immediate presence was required.

“I’m sure you can show him later when he returns home.” Her mom said, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“Why bother?” But Rose shrugged it off. “I’m going to my room.” Her sister seemed ready to say something. But she closed her mouth, deciding against it. The door slammed behind her as she reentered her room. Much to her annoyance, Stella had already ended her stream.

Rose flopped on her bed, not interested in doing much anymore. She listened as her makeshift clock ticked and tocked. She’d always loved the sound of old-fashioned clocks. It reminded her of her grandmother’s house, a wonderful jumble of random knick-knacks, many dating back a hundred years or more. 

“Should I just go to bed early?” Rose wasn’t interested in socializing. Unlike her perfect, beloved sister, she possessed poor social skills.

Before she could decide, Rose almost toppled off her bed as her entire room shook. “What the heck?” After the rumbling stopped, she regained her bearings.

“What was that?” Rose checked her phone, trying to figure out what had happened. They didn’t live near a fault line, so it couldn’t be an earthquake, could it?

“Are you okay, Rose?” Her mom yelled up to her, concern evident in her voice.

“Fine.” She shouted back. The rumble made her room a total disaster. Rose spent the next few minutes righting everything as she checked the newsfeed. 

“Was it a meteor?” It must have been enormous to cause that kind of tremor. The news claimed it’d crashed about four miles away from her house. The news advised that people stay clear of the crash site. Thankfully, it’d only crashed in a nearby field. No one had gotten hurt.

“I have to check this out.” Rose grabbed a jacket, running out before her mom noticed she’d left. At a hurried pace, she dashed towards the distance crash site. 

Spectators already filled the street as she approached. Police cars and police tape cordoned off the crash site. Officers waved people away, telling them to return to their homes. She tried peering around the crowd, but her short stature made the effort useless.

“I wonder what they’re hiding.” A familiar voice said.

“Oh, hi Hans,” Rose said, her tone neutral. “What do you mean?”

“You haven’t heard?” Unlike her, her classmate stood tall, almost dwarfing her by a foot. Some called him tall, dark, and handsome, but Rose only considered him a jerk. He was brusque with everyone by nature, especially to her.

“What?”

“Before the meteor crashed, something like an aurora borealis lit up the sky.”

Rose only snorted. “No way. That’s stupid.”

“You think? They’re hiding something. Why are they here, then?” He pointed to some men in black in shades. They looked like government types.

“Okay, you might have a point.” Rose scowled. She hated being wrong. “But what are you saying? That it was a UFO? Now that’s stupid.”

Her classmate didn’t reply, lost in his own thoughts. Annoyed by his rude dismissal, she tried to slip past the crowd to get a better glimpse of the crash site.

But her efforts proved futile, a police officer pushing her away. “Return to your homes. Nothing to see here.” Dejected, Rose did as instructed. She spent the night visiting various social media sites for more information. This mystery fascinated her. It was a bright spot in her usually uninteresting life. Whatever it meant, something interesting had finally happened in her incredibly dull town.

---

“What is this?” Agent Millar said, combing a hand through her blonde hair. “It just crashed, but it’s already cool to the touch?” Whatever it was, it wasn’t anything she’d ever seen on Earth. But it couldn’t be a UFO from space. That’d be crazy! The “meteor” sat in the crater, curled up in a ball, its form vaguely humanoid. Could it be some sort of weird new drone?

“Washington has already sent its best minds to the scene to investigate.” Her partner, Agent Gaddas, replied. He adjusted his shades for the fifteenth time, a habit he displayed when nervous. “We’re seeing about moving it. But I doubt it’d be easy.”

The UFO had to weigh at least 250 tons, standing almost the size of a two-story building. She frowned as something caught her eye.

“What’s wrong?”

“I thought I saw a light.” Something on the UFO’s surface had flashed purple. Not from the UFO itself, but from the odd grim covering it.

“What? D-did it just move?” She could have sworn the grim had just undulated. 

“We have a problem, I think.” But her partner never finished his words.

The odd ooze leaped from the UFO, plopping to the crater floor. Whatever the substance was, it was alive. Its body became more solid, taking the vague outline of a great cat. A single eye cracked open on its forehead, studying them with alien intelligence. Her partner reached for his weapon. But that’d been a mistake. Sensing his hostile action, the creature lunged with impossible quickness. Gaddas didn’t even get to scream as the monstrosity consumed him, the poor man flailing as the monster’s body absorbed him on contact.

Much to her confusion, the UFO lit up, emitting a sound like an engine starting. But Millar never got a chance to consider what the sound meant before the monstrosity pounced, her body dissolving in seconds.

---

“Did you see the crash last night?” Vera asked, leaning over to talk with Rose over her seat. Since class hadn’t begun yet, students took full advantage to socialize.

“Not much,” Rose said, shaking her head. “When I’d gotten there, the FBI or whatever had cordoned it off already.”

A sly look overtook her friend. Her mouse-like face turning mischievous, She knew something. Vera paused, waiting for her friend to squeeze the information out of her.

“What is it?” Rose said, finally relenting after an awkward few seconds of silence.

“I live nearby, right?” Vera said, her voice a conspiratorial whisper. “I saw the lights everyone’s been talking about. I was out walking Mr. Fluffy when it happened.”

“You saw something? Really?” The red-haired boy sitting next to her said, pushing up his glasses with a finger. His name was Georges, he’d been her next door neighbor forever.

“Oh yes! And not a giant rock, either. More like a giant man forged from metal, like a titan from myth. It had battle paint over both eyes. Its face was something fearsome, like a demon!” 

“Now I know you’re pulling my leg.” Rose still wasn’t buying the story.

“Cool.” Georges, however, seemed more inclined to believe this fanciful story. 

“The light appeared way high in the sky! The figure fell at least fifty feet! It curled up into a ball to protect itself.” Vera said, continuing her tale.

“So, it’s not from space? Wait, are you saying? It’s a giant robot?”

“Exactly!” Vera wanted to elaborate more, but Mr. Lynn cleared his throat to get the class’s attention to start class. He was a balding, middle-aged man with a slight limp in his left leg, a result of a terrible football injury thirty years earlier. 

Rose, however, was only half listening to the history lesson. Had a giant robot crashed in their sleepy little town? It sounded hard to credit, though it sparked the imagination. While taking her notes, Rose doodled tiny robots in the margins, each more fanciful than the last.

“Okay, class, read Chapters 3 and 4, and don’t forget the chapter questions at the end. They’re due tomorrow.” He wished to say more, but a sudden, ear-piercing crash interrupted him. It wasn’t like the impact from yesterday. It sounded closer. Had a building just collapsed?

“One moment, class.” Without another word, Mr. Lynn retreated from the classroom. He spoke with another teacher, each reading something on their phones. The entire class was on the edge, their nerves fraying. 

“A monster attack?” A student said, his phone out, despite this breaking the rules.

“What? Impossible! Monsters don’t exist!” Another student cried, incredulous. Arguments broke out as everyone declared their own theories, each more outlandish than the last. After twenty minutes passed, their teacher returned, clearing his throat to catch everyone’s attention. 

“Class, school is canceled.” While his outward expression remained calm, a fretful look hid behind it. “In a calm, orderly manner, follow Ms. Sagan outside. A school bus will be ready for you.”

This earned confused glances from his students, but his expression brooked no argument. “There’s no time to explain. We’re taking you to somewhere safe. There’s nothing to fear.”

Someone screamed, and everyone turned to what Vera was pointing at through the windows. Her heart caught in Rose’s throat, she froze like a deer caught in a headlight.

The creature was enormous, dwarfing the surrounding buildings. It was a creature from a nightmare, a cross between a feline predator and a ferocious lizard. Spikes ran across its spine, its scales the ugly color of bruised flesh.

“Go, now!” Mr. Lynn said, pushing his students towards the exit. 

Rose screamed as the monster turned to face their direction. This was impossible. This had to be a nightmare. With a casual sweep of its tails, it demolished a nearby building. Dear God, she’d passed that store every day without thinking, and now it was gone, history. The monster stomped in their direction, mouth open to gobble them whole.

A deafening howl resonated through the school as the monster cried out in pain. A jagged line ran across its scales, blackened like coal.

“What the heck?” Rose’s breath caught as a red figure appeared from behind a building.

Much to her astonishment, it was the metal creature Vera had described. Its appearance was fearsome. Yet Rose got the distinct impression of a metal sentinel, a guardian here to protect humanity. It wore armor shaped like a knight’s chest plate, its body an orangish red hue. It stood even taller than the monster, strong and proud. The fearsome, proud face was like Vera described, with two horns pointing from its metal skull.

Instead of dealing with the stunned monster, it stomped right towards them at frightening speed. Stupid. Why had she assumed the robot was there to protect them? Rose turned to flee, but a hand reached out and smashed through her classroom’s wall. She collapsed, shaken by the sudden impact.

The metal colossus’s chest opened, revealing an impenetrable black void. A fretful Georges screamed her name, reaching out to grab her hand so they might escape. But tendrils shot out from the metal creature, grabbing Rose in a vice-like grip. Try as she might, they were impossible to escape from.

“Rose!” Georges’ frantic plea was the last thing she heard before darkness consumed her.

----

“What the?” Rose shook her head, confused. Much to her relief, she wasn’t dead. Something soft sat under her. Cushions? 

“Where am I?” Everything was pitch dark. Rose flailed around, trying to find a light. Illumination suddenly blinded her as a screen turned on. A woman of early middle years greeted her, her raven-colored hair in a short bob. 

“Mom?” No, but something about the face displayed on the computer screen seemed familiar. Wait. Rose’s heart dropped into her stomach. This was her face, older, more battered but clearly her own visage!

“Hey, kiddo. I’m sure you’re surprised to see me.” An eye patch covered one of the dark-haired woman’s eyes. She looked haggard, like she’d suffered through terrible starvation. Yet, her single eye blazed with intensity, a candle that refused to be blown out.

“Now listen to me carefully. The Earth’s fate hangs in the balance.There wasn’t anyone else I’d trust my Luyten V with. Use it to fight, defend the world. Or else, everyone is doomed!”

[theharpermovieblog]

#HARPERSMOVIECOLLECTION

2023

I watched The Visitor (1979)

A science fiction horror movie starring many well known actors and directors. A movie I never knew existed until recently.

A conspiracy to once again impregnate a woman who can give birth to demonic superpowered children draws out a strange man from beyond, sent by jesus.

At about 8 minutes into The Visitor I said out loud, "Wait....what the fuck is happening?" I then realized that for the last 8 minutes I had been watching and hearing things I didn't understand at all. Well, other than the fact that Jesus was there and there was terrifying girl with bird feathers covering her and then there was a basketball game where the little girl was controlling the players....maybe? She definitely exploded the hoop. I think.

Anyway, despite not having any idea what I was watching, I was unbelievably interested. It's bad storytelling for sure, but I wanted to know more. There's something very watchable about the things that are happening on screen at first. I wasn't frustrated by the things I didn't know. I felt like I was just drifting along with the movie. That enthusiasm lasted about halfway to a little more than halfway.

I chose to watch this weird movie because the cast includes directors John Huston and Sam Peckinpah, along with other big names like Franco Nero, Lance Henriksen, Shelley Winters, Glenn Ford.....this is a wild cast for someone who loves movies. Especially in a 70's Italian style sci Fi horror.

The plot is a mish mash of movies like the Exorcist, the Omen and Rosemary's Baby with the addition of Jesus Christ and, what is described in summaries of the film as, an intergalactic warrior. Toss in a big and bold funky 70's score and you start to get an idea of what the movie is, but it's also indescribable. Things happen in this movie that kept me saying "Wait...what the fuck is happening?" Long after the first 8 minutes.

There are some great wide shots in this film along with a pretty ok performance from the "evil child", which really helps a movie like this. It's pacing is fever pitch and then suddenly becomes like mid at one point.

As much as I've talked about the strange and confusing nature of the movie, I followed along just fine as far as the basic premise. I don't really know what the movie was trying to say thematically, but I don't think the director did either.

Is this a good movie?

Good movies are not this confusing for no reason and don't have characters who react to being crippled by just smiling their way through it.

This movie feels like an idea someone thought of during a come down from a mushroom trip. It's not all there, but it sounds cool.

This is an enjoyably bad movie for the most part, besides getting pretty slow near the end. It's entertaining and fascinating at points and sometimes it's pretty funny.

But it's not a good movie. Which is a bummer because this movie drips with talented people and the beginning draws you in.

If you're going to watch this for any reason it should be to listen to the How Did This Get Made podcast episode that covers it.

[leaguesbottombitch]

Wait hold up hold on a minute

Is the Cosmic/Dark Star universe supposed to be part of the lore, and the battle between the cosmos and the cosmic horror that is the void???

Like maybe i’m late to the party but???

“The Void has existed for millennia. Before the first stars were kindled in the emptiness beyond this world, we simply were. Perfect, singular, and silent. And then, there came the sound.

“Reality was born from those whispers, and it consumed us. We were twisted by its influence. Broken. Transformed. We could not go back to what we were no matter how we struggled. My progenitors—the Watchers—attempted to invade and destroy existence, but they were tainted by it. Driven to desire worship, to gain greater understanding... 

“And in an instant, they were betrayed. To change so forcefully... so completely... only to be cast aside. It filled them with an indescribable hatred. They would annihilate all of reality without a second thought.”

Which reminds me of and extremely calls to....

“The Dark Star tumbles through space and time unbound, all consuming.”

“Quiet the noise of creation, unweave the fabric of being.”

“The whispers never go away.”

"There is only the nothing. I... am the nothing."

[cryptidcryptic]

Headcanon: Kurogiri tucks everyone in the league in at night, he makes custom bedtime stories for them all.

Magne: Ms Magne always gets epic drama romcoms that always star phenomenal women going on graduous adventures and having a giant poly relationship with 100 gorgeous people! Think Sex in the city but with a little extra fantasy and murder.

Sako: Sako and Kurogiri’s tuck in time features more discussion, Sako isn’t one to sit quietly doing anything, he doesn’t even sit quietly when he sleeps, notoriously bad Snorer. His stories are 100 different variations on Robin Hood with him as a self insert. Honestly from the outside this looks a lot more like rp then your average story structure but it’s sakos bed time and he’ll choose the story!

Toga: Toga is a very, horror movie kinda kid. If the story doesn’t have blood she’s not interested. Lucky for Toga Grampa Giri is used to making violent stories, what he wasn’t used to was the casual way Toga wanted blood included. Everything from using blood and love to power cars to something called a rainbow kiss, that last one Giri did have to put his foot down with, and he learned never to ask questions with togas likes.

Dabi: unlike everyone else on this list, ya boi Isn’t really big on the whole violent story before bed thing, he doesn’t really see the point. Bed time stories are supposed to make you comfortable enough to sleep not keep you awake. Mx logic over here opts for stories about a cute little kitten that was burnt from a house fire and is trying to find a family that will love him regardless. Dabi is also unique in being the only one who has the same story over and over, after all this time his never actually got to the end of his story because he always falls asleep at the half way mark every time. Don’t tell but his grampas favourite person to tuck in based on how calming he is to read to him, how cute the story is and how quickly he falls asleep.

Shu: a long drawn out comic structure story with a all powerful lizard swordsman who defeats hero’s and saves damsels, think your average power fantasy wish fulfilment story. Shu just wants a world where he gets to be a winner, and why shouldn’t he? Let sweet boy dream about saving cute people called babi and Gomura (that totally aren’t related to anyone outside of the story), going on epic weekly adventures with them and romancing them, let him have it.

Twice: You thought Dabi’s story was cute, that’s got nothing on Jin’s. It’s soft kitty meets magical girls in candy land levels of cute. It’s turn off your brain and ignore all the horrors outside levels of cute, he just wants stories with a happy ending, maybe if he sees enough of them he’ll be able to keep his own.

Mustard: his the one that tells Kurogiri a story, he’ll sit up in bed with a hot chocolate and tell the most graphically violent stories, when Kurogiri looks sufficiently horrified the little shit wishes him good night, rolls right over and goes straight to sleep. Voted grandpas least favourite tuck in of the day.

Tomura: and then we get to king Mura, this lil brats (complimentary) has these stories for pretty much his whole life, his had stories about pirates, zombies and indescribable cosmic terrors beyond even the most gruesome child’s imagination. But out of all of those beautiful tales, Mura’s favourite stories are the ones about a cool black haired, child saving knight, he always seems so tired by everything but his really loving underneath that scruff. Whenever Grampa starts talking about the knight in question he looks so far away. Like his seeing something just outside of his vision. He wondered, just who Giri saw under that onyx armour.

Kurogiri: after all that story telling, all Grampa needs is a small glass of wine and the knowledge that all his babies are happily asleep in their beds to send him right off.

[sunlightxing]

Show Me Some Respect

After working for years as a secretary to General Hux aboard the ship, the Finalizer, life could not have been better for you.

That was until Hux informed you that Commander Kylo Ren would be joining you on that ship. Almost immediately, you both resent eachother, but after being forced to spend more alone time with him, you begin to wonder, what's so bad about him after all?

Chapter 4: Filthy Little Thing

An unexpected trip to Starkiller Base alongside Commander Ren takes a strange turn when you find yourself in his quarters, with an outstretched hand clenching your new uniform. A uniform only meant to be worn, by his secretary.

It had been almost a week since you began working directly under Commander Ren. Yet, things hadn't gotten any easier. Though he had described your work on the Command Shuttle as serving some sort of purpose, that was hardly the case. You felt like a complete waste of space, spending your time doing nothing but twiddling your thumbs. The only thing keeping you going was a strong, desperate longing to be back on the Finalizer. There you had a purpose, and you wanted it back.

"Will you stop that?" Commander Ren groaned from the pilots' seat. You slowly shifted your gaze onto him, rolling your eyes as he continued to stir. Every little thought that crossed your mind, he was there listening to it, searching for it. It didn't matter what time it was, or what exactly you were thinking about. He was listening, thirsting after every little intimate detail.

"I can't really stop thinking, Commander," you responded harshly. The last thing you wanted right now was an argument, but you were sick of his crass behavior. You didn't have to be here on this shuttle, stuck with him. He acted as if it was a chore to bring you along, as if he didn't want to. But obviously, he did. He could've waited to get a new secretary. He could've picked anyone but you.

"I didn't choose to bring you," he hissed, the words shooting off of his tongue and into your ears like thorns from a rose.

"Well you actually did, sir, and I doubt you'd like to return me, unless your ego can handle admitting Hux was right." You batted your eyes at him with playful sarcasm, hoping that would gain his silence for a long duration of time.

He paused, clenching his fist tightly against the arm of his chair. "Hux wasn't stuck listening to your ridiculous pondering," he responded, pulling himself away from the controls. You scoffed, viciously biting your tongue as to not lash out and throw numerous amount of insults and curses at him.

"Then why don't you just take me back?"

"I can't."

"Uh, yes. You can," you replied, crossing your arms with the same level of intimidation as that of a youngling. The Commander sat up from his seat, switching the ship's function so it would now be on autopilot. With a grunt of displeasure, he walked away towards the door, turning back to face you for a brief moment before his exit.

His breath was stagnant, heaving in his chest with an indescribable amount of rage. Tension built between the pair of you, a fiery sensation wafting over your back and surging across your spine. He was waiting for you to look at him before you left, but a tiny voice in your head was begging, pleading with you not to. Against your better judgement, you did, staring at his corpulent figure as he stared back at you with dismay.

"There's an alarm on that," he stated, gesturing towards the switch he had flicked to engage autopilot. "So if you touch that, or anything, I'll know."

You shook your head at him, rolling your shes as you slouched back in your seat. "You really don't trust me?" You questioned, throat burning hot, stinging your tongue with every word that floated off your breath.

He paused, now standing maybe a couple of inches out of the doorway. A rapid twitching arose from his hand, shaking and rather convulsing as he held his tongue, trying not to snap. "No," he projected, an asthmatic hissing noise protruding from his breath, "I don't."

Before you could get a word of rebuttal in, he violently slammed the door shut, the clashing of the metal causing you to flinch. Yet again, Commander Ren had very over-dramatically left you all alone, of course making sure that he had the last word. You sat back in your seat, stunned that this was your life now. It was uncertain as to how long this trip would last, and if you'd ever return back to the Finalizer at all. The Commander had made it clear from the start he wanted you away from the home you had known for so many years, but none of that made sense.

Yet, the fact you wanted to return back to that ship made no sense either. The thought of Hux raising his hand to strike you kept flashing into your mind. The terrifying look in his eyes, the way his teeth gritted against themselves. It had been so long since he had responded to your mistakes in that way, roughly two years ago.

You remembered that day like it was any other, though it wasn't even comparable. The morning had started off as anything but smoothly. Your alarm had failed to wake you, the shower water was simply not in function. Nothing was going right, and to top it all off, you had shown up to the bridge five minutes behind schedule. Hux stared at you blankly as you tumbled into the room, hair disheveled and uniform improperly fastened. You tried to explain to him what had happened, but he didn't care. His hand rose and struck you hard across the cheek. His cold, raw skin sensing a horrid stinging sensation throughout your whole face. That day he hit you, it had been the first, and the last.

There was no immediate regret after what he had done. Instead, he turned back to the window of the bridge, and after taking the time to pull yourself together, you did to. There, standing in front of you, was Starkiller Base. It was the first time you had seen it, and you were speechless, captivated by its' expert craftsmanship and beauty. Both you and Hux went aboard that ship, where you sat outside a vast meeting room, unable to enter because you were so new to your position. Tens of other Generals and Captains' flooded out of the room, but Hux did not, not until much time later. He came out looking as if he had just been mugged. His hair was unkept, his lip was busted and bleeding, and his left eye was swollen beyond belief.

You gasped in horror upon looking at his face, but before you could ask if he was alright, he cut you off, simply apologizing for his behavior that morning. The pair of you walked back to the Finalizer, and never spoke of that day since. From then on, Hux treated you with nothing but care and compassion, until last week, when history repeated itself. Maybe the stress of having to see Commander Kylo Ren made Hux act on that hidden rage, as you knew, all high ranking officials were taught that violence was the way to demand respect, and punish misbehavior. Though that didn't excuse what they had done, or continued to do, it offered an explanation. Deep down every one who faced that scrutiny, especially yourself, knew the abuse you ensued was not even close to that of the men enacting it.

It was why you had such an understanding for why both Hux, and Commander Ren, behaved the way they did. But, you never even tried to call out Hux on his shortcomings, yet for the Commander, you did every chance you got.

It didn't come off as much of a surprise. From the get-go, you despised him. You still did, you hated him. Hated his attitude, the way he gave out orders, the way he seemed to care for no one but himself. He was the opposite of everything you valued, and yet, he had managed to infiltrate your built-up walls, and knock them down with his temptations.

There was weakness in you, and he sensed it, the aroma wafting off of you, so strong he could taste it, and he wanted to. Every time he looked down upon you, no matter the mask that blocked his eyes, there was this hunger, this pining that presented itself on his face. You liked it, invited it, never wanted it to stop. Yet, you still hated him, but the thoughts, your mind was what really said it all. Every second you were around him, thoughts danced through your mind of inappropriate and unspeakable acts the two of you could perform together, and on one another. You tried so desperately to make them go away, but they refused to leave, just like the Commander.

It was wrong, so disgustingly wrong that a part of you wanted to stay with the Commander. There was no real motivation, except for the longing to act out on all of your whoreish dreams and fantasies. You didn't understand how you managed to get where you were. Lusting and thirsting after someone so horrid, immature, selfish, and unkind to everyone he knew, even you. It was ridiculous, and you hated yourself for it. Absolutely hated that your life had been reduced to that. A filthy, disgusting, little slut who wanted nothing more than a man, who was your boss, to fulfill all of your unholy desires.

You stared out the large glass window that sat above the control panel, looking for some answers in the stars. Life had seemed so black and white before this trip, before you gazed upon the Commander. But now, it was a whirlwind of technicolor, confusing and confounding every part of your mind. Nothing made sense anymore, nothing you did made sense anymore. It was almost as if that day you met Commander Ren, you lost apart of yourself.

Or maybe, you had gained the loss back.

"You're putting too much thought into it."

You darted your gaze from the galaxy and beyond to the doorway, Commander Ren standing there rather menacingly, back from whatever little trip he was just taken.

"I'm glad you were never one of my school teachers," he remarked, walking over to reclaim his seat.

"You, went to school?" You questioned, a large amount of surprise exuding itself from your voice. "Was that separate from your little sith training?"

The Commander groaned in annoyance. You always knew just the right things to say to tick him off. "Before I," he paused, nearly choking on his words as he went to speak. You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion, was the man having a stroke? Or did he just suddenly forget how to speak?

"I used to, and I hated it," he responded harshly. His hands gripped the sides of his seat, almost denting them. You could sense by the tone of his voice, and also by his violent demonstration on the arm of his chair, that he didn't wish to speak more on his past, and you weren't gonna try and force him to.

"I went to school a bit when I was younger," you quickly responded, trying to change the subject onto your past instead of his. Though yours did hurt to talk about, it wasn't to the point you were going to enter a fit of rage and break a chair with just your hand. "I didn't like it much either, it was boring. I'd much rather have been outside running around with nothing but a wooden stick" you said, thinking back on all those good days, playing with your friends in the forest.

Commander Ren didn't respond, but his grip loosened on the arm of his seat. You let a muffled sigh in relief, happy that you were somewhat able to get him to calm down. A smile began to curl up on your lip, one of satisfaction and praise to yourself. The Commander turned around to face you, and you quickly tried to change your expression to a more plain one, as he would call you out for smiling at him.

"Do you miss it?"

"Miss what, sir?"

"Your old life," he said, keeping his gaze on your now pale white face. You hadn't thought about it in a while, but you didn't know if it was best to.

Sure, your old life was grand. With your village, your parents, and your friends, but it was gone now. You were apart of something much bigger now, and more important. "Sometimes," you answered, staring off at the wall, thinking of your mothers' warm embrace, and your fathers' contagious laugh. "It was good for a while, and it helped make me who I am, but it's gone now. I'll always miss it, but I'm happy I even had it at all."

The Commander rose from his seat, standing above you. Your eyes quickly shifted upwards, so you wouldn't be staring at his belt. He gazed down at you, reaching out a hand for yours. You batted your eyes at him, slowly taking your hand off of your thigh, and gently laying it down on his gloved palm.

"There's some business I need to finish at Starkiller base. We'll be going there," he stated as he wrapped his hand around yours, completely engulfing it.

"Yes, Commander." Your gaze darted from his eyes to his large, leather-coated hands, your mouth watering at the sight of them

He let out a grumble in amusement. Sadly for you, he overheard every little thought that just presented itself in your mind. He turned away from you, removing your hand from his own as he headed for the doorway. Before you could even get a word of defense in, he was out the door yet again.

You frowned, turning back to the ship's control panel. Just when things got enjoyable, he decided to storm out, leaving you to your own devices.

Much time had passed since the Commander had dramatically left you alone in the cockpit, and it wasn't getting any easier to stay awake. It felt as if 10-pound weights had been tied to your eyelashes, and you struggled to keep them open. You could've been in your room an hour ago, drifting off into a deep sleep, and yet you chose to stay sitting in the cold and musty cockpit. The Commander made it very clear he wanted you to stay put, which made little to no sense since the entire point of having a secretary meant you would be following him around. It was no wonder the fool couldn't manage to keep one for more than a couple of weeks.

You felt yourself slowly drifting off, and there wasn't any stopping it. Besides, a quick nap couldn't do any harm, and the ship's alarms would wake you up when you were close to Starkiller, and the Commander would come strolling back in and land the damn shuttle. Wrapping a blanket you found on a shelf near the back of the cockpit, you turned back to your seat, and flipped back into the metal chair, resting your head against the control board. Gently, your eyes shut down, and all noise around you began to fade, until there was nothing.

"Cadet."

"No," you groaned, burying your head into your arm. "Just five more minutes."

"We're here. Now get up."

You sighed, picking your head up off of the control grid, imprints from the ship's buttons had molded into the side of your face from how deeply you had sunk into the panel. Even though it seemed like the most uncomfortable place to get some shut-eye, that nap was probably the best dose of sleep you'd had in years. You looked out the window groggily to see the landing bay on Starkiller, it was so much bigger than you imagined.

You turned to face the pilots' seat, expecting to see Commander Ren staring at you in dissatisfaction, but he wasn't there. In fact, there was no seat.

You spun your head around the other way, seeing the co-pilots seat, your seat, completely empty. You slapped your hand over your mouth, turning around slowly to see Commander Ren sitting in the pilots' seat, with you on his lap. You let out a shriek in panic, stumbling out of the chair, and flopping onto the floor, and directly onto your ass.

"You fell asleep," he stated plainly. "I needed to fly the ship."

This was completely embarrassing, how could you have fallen asleep on the job in the first place? It was only supposed to be a short nap, and the ship was supposed to go off, and you expected it to be loud enough to wake you, and cause you to wake before the Commander even entered the room.

"I shouldn't have fallen asleep, sir. I'm sorry," you whimpered, hoping this wouldn't land you in a monstrous amount of trouble.

He sighed, rising out of his seat so powerfully it nearly caused you to choke. "I expect that it won't happen again," he said bluntly, outstretching a hand to pick you up from the ground you laid helplessly on.

"Now come on. There's business to attend to."

The part of Starkiller Commander Ren was taking you through was a completely foreign area. Though the times you had been there having only been for repairs, you still felt a moral obligation to know more than you did, especially since you were there with someone so high up the ranks, he made Hux look like a joke.

Unexpectedly, he took you by the arm and dragged you into a dark, but vast room. A large glass table sat at the center of it, lined with at least a dozen chairs, with the one at the head of it looking more like a throne. The area reminded you of his quarters you had visited all that time ago. A glint of light caught your eye from across the room. A bed frame, the headboard a shiny, black material, and the sheets followed that same color pattern, but with a matte texture.

Breath escaped you as you finally put the pieces together, this was his living quarters.

"Stay put," he instructed, waltzing off into another room connected to the one you were in. You gave a nod in agreement, though he was out of sight before you managed to get that signal out. Like a child in a candy store, you gazed up at the tall, chandelier decorated ceilings, your mouth drooling at the sight of them. The room seemed so plain upon first glance, but the craftsmanship put behind it was unlike anything you had seen, far greater than anything you had seen on the Finalizer. It was majestic, elegant even. How could he ever afford to leave such a gorgeous and comforting place, just to venture out into such horrid wasteland?

The Commander presented himself from behind a large, blackened metal wall, with a mirror placed directly at the center of it. You looked at him, realizing nothing had changed about him. There was no file in his hand, no confidential reports. But there was one thing, and once you had noticed it, he slipped it from behind his back. In his hand was a solid black uniform, a small black cap alongside it. This piece of clothing was exactly like what you were wearing, but with his insignia on it instead of Huxs'.

"Your new uniform," he stated, reaching his hand out to bless it upon you. "If you're going to work as my secretary, you'll need to look the part."

You reached your hand out, ready to take it from his grasp, but you paused. Levitating your hand above the uniform, you tried to force yourself down to take it, but some unknown entity wouldn't allow it.

"Why do you hesitate?"

"I- I don't know," you whimpered, straining yourself in an effort to push your hand down to take the uniform. He stood there for a moment, watching you struggle to grab it from his hands. But after just a few more seconds, he grew tired of the waiting and snatched it away from you. The fast and rapid motion sent you flinching away from him, worried a gloved hand would slap you across the face like before.

"After all this, and you still want him?"

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, staring upon him with a lack of understanding. "Sir, what do you mean?" You asked, watching as his body began to shake with rage.

"Hux. He still infects your mind like the mangy vermin that he is."

"Don't call him that."

An invisible force wrapped around your neck, ripping you off of the ground and into the Commander's grip. His gloved hand tightened around your vocal cords, cutting off the blood circulation to the rest of your body

"And what will you do about it, pest?"

Your spit curdled in the back of your throat as you tried to painfully intake even the slightest amount of air. The seems on his gloved hand dug into the sides of your neck, practically slicing it open.

"P-put me down," you stammered, unable to move any part of your body to fight back. He shook his head, clicking his tongue as the grip became so tight your vision became hazy. So much pressure was building up in your head it felt as if you were seconds from explosion.

"Take the uniform."

You wanted to scream for help, get anyone who might be outside his quarters to rush in and stop this. This wasn't supposed to be permanent, you would go back to Hux soon and finally be rid of the Commander. But Gods, you foolishly didn't want to be away from him. Part of you wanted him in such an unholy and disgusting manner, more emotion than you had ever felt for another man. If getting him to stop behaving towards you in this way, meant you had to wear a new garment, then so be it.

"Fine," you choked. "I'll take it. J-just please, put me down."

He purred in excitement by your agreement, this time carefully placing you back on the floor of the room. You massage the parts of your neck that his gloves grip had dug into, hoping that with somewhat soothe the pain. His hand returned into an outstretched position, displaying the uniform to your gaze once more. You snatched it out of his hand, showing him this wasn't your actual choice to take it.

"I need to change," you stated, looking around the room for any place to go. "You got like a bathroom or something?"

"No. You can change in front of me."

You paused. "I'm sorry, what?"

He raised his hand up in the air, causing the invisible force to swirl around your body. It squeezed at almost every inch of your body, including the most intimate parts. It paused on your throat, stroking down your gullet like a knife. "Would you like that wrapped around your pretty little neck again?" He asked bluntly. "Do as you're told."

You nodded, knowing that again, you had no choice in the matter. Bending down, you slipped off your long, black, and shiny boots from off of your feet. Since you didn't receive a change of socks with this new uniform, Commander Ren would not be seeing your bare feet. If he was into that sort of stuff, you might have to run.

It was a slow effort to remove your belt that was tightly fastened to your waist. A pool of sweat began to form against your brow bone, and your back felt burning hot, practically on fire. This was the most degrading task you ever had to complete, and what purpose did this serve? Was this an act of ridicule so the Commander could show you were in submission? Or, did he genuinely want this?

Commander Ren walked slowly towards you, reaching down for your belt as he hastily unfastened it.

"Is it that hard to remove?" He asked, now having it fully unbuckled. With a loud clatter, he dropped it to the floor beside you, and with a swift motion, your pants were long gone too. He groaned with pleasure as he stared down at your bare thighs, studying them with lustful intent.

"Now, the top," he grunted, reaching for the bottom of your shirt as he lifted it up over your head. The cold air of the room brushed against your exposed breasts, giving you flashbacks to that day in the washroom. You hated this, you knew you hated this, and that you wanted nothing more than to put that new uniform on and be done with this whole ordeal, and yet, the way he gazed upon your body without judgment or ridicule made you feel so...

Wanted.

You stared back at him with a feeling of lust sparkling within your eyes, and he could sense it, see it. His hands rode up against your body, his chest pressing against your own. Firmly, he squeezed both of your breasts, flicking your nipples in search of a playful response from your throat. He got it. You let out a soft moan in response. Gods, he knew how to get you off.

"How unnerving," he groaned, grinding his length against your extended thigh, pressing himself deeper into your flesh. "If only Hux could see what a filthy slut you've become." Your face flushed with red, embarrassed of how much pleasure and excitement you were getting out of this. Whimpers protruded from your lips as he circled his gloved fingers around your body, his concealed cock pressing against you, filling your clit with unmatched desire.

"You want this so badly," he whispered, biting sensually at your ear, causing all breath to escape your lungs. "Tell me how you want it."

You could hardly speak. Your legs were trembling, the only way you were still on your feet was the fact Commander Ren had pressed you up against a wall. "I-" you went to speak, but another moan escaped your lips as he began to claw at your neck, his fingertips coated in leather gliding over your veins, squeezing on every inch of your bare flesh.

"Say it, pest."

"I want- I want you, Commander.."

"How do you want me?" He insisted, pressing himself deeper into your legs, his cock pulsing against your trembling body. You weren't ready for that mass to enter your tight cunt, he knew that, he had to know that. No matter how many lustrous thoughts danced through your mind, it wasn't time, you couldn't handle it. Despite the fact your body craved it, your clit throbbed for it, you simply couldn't.

"Mm. Can't take it? Can you, whore?" He grunted. "There's still, something else you can do for me." With abruptness, he forced you down onto your hands and knees, and you knew what was coming next. You looked back up at him with that same, filthy look of desire in your eyes.

"Commander..."

You went to speak, but he cut you off by shoving his thumb, coated in his leather glove, down in the back of your throat. The initial forcefulness of the blow caused you to gag as a response, even more embarrassing. You tried to play it off like it didn't happen, now sucking and swirling your tongue around his thumbs tip, treating it as something else.

"Filthy little thing," he teased. "You must've dreamt of this."

You couldn't speak with that mass in your mouth, so a simple nod sufficed. Though you could've afforded to get off on ducking nothing more than his thumb, and maybe he could've as well, the leather encasement dried out every part of your mouth, making it impossible for you to gain anymore saliva to continue the act.

"Not a fan of the leather?" Commander Ren asked, pulling his thumb away from your mouth. You reached out in displeasure, not wanting him to take it away from you just yet. You were needy, hungry for his blissful touch, and lusting to satisfy his needs.

"Hush, little one. So clingy," he remarked. Reaching for his waist, a terror filled expression spread across your face. "I have something better to fill that filthy mouth of yours," he purred, unsheathing his hardened length from the inside of his trousers.

You kneeled there in horror as you gazed at his monstrously sized cock, completely speechless at the fact you would have to fit that mass inside of your mouth. The first thought that crossed your mind was "I'm going to choke on that." But the Commander liked to choke you, so that shouldn't be a real issue.

"Don't think you can take it?" He cooed, gripping the back of your head as he pulled you closer to his cock.

"You will."

Without another moment's hesitation, Commander Ren wrapping his hand up in your hair, and burrowed his cock deep inside of your throat. You gagged the second it rubbed against your uvula, it seemed so much bigger on the inside. "Flattering," he chuckled, sliding his cock in and out of your mouth as if it was your hole, violently face-fucking you.

You encased your lips around his length, trapping him inside of your mouth. He moaned out in pleasure as he began to thrust harder and faster into your throat. Your clit began to pulse, a stream dripping out of your entrance and onto your underwear. His breath grew heavy, his throat producing huffs in between his groans as your tongue swirled around his tip, hoping for him to bust all over your face. You reached a hand up, wrapping it around the part of his cock your mouth was not encased around.

"Fuck," he huffed, his breath growing more sporadic with every thrust. This was beyond fucked up, you knew that, he had to know that. You, down on your knees in nothing but your undergarments, your Commander, your bosses' hands wrapped up in your hair as he fed you his cock. It should've never happened, any of this, but you wanted it to, and he knew that.

His cock began to surge inside of your mouth, his legs trembling in place. One last time, he forced your jaw open by ramming himself inside of your throat, his tip gliding down the hull of your esophagus. With another powerful grunt, his seed burst in your mouth, the taste stinging your lips. Such a salty, yes sweet sensation gliding over every single one of your tastebuds. He pulled out gently, tilting your chin up to face his.

"Swallow," he instructed, now squeezing your jaw with his hand. You did as you were told, swallowing every bit of his cum that filled your mouth. "Look at you," he purred as he reapplied the bottom half of his uniform. "To think I believed you would be a waste of my time."

You rolled your eyes at him, thinking back on your midlife crisis that took place in the cockpit earlier that day. Your assumption was completely and utterly correct. His cock was all worth the degrading and abuse, so fucking worth it.

The new uniform he had lain out for you was now scattered throughout the room. You bent over to pick up it's pieces, wrapping each layer of clothing over your nude body.

"Come now," Commander Ren asserted, ushering for you to join him at his side once your uniform was finally fastened over every inch of your body.

"We aren't finished yet."

[elyella]

How MewGulf saved me

¤Sorry I don’t speak english, it’s poorly written¤

They call this ↓ ↓ ↓ fan service.

They know exactly how to act, how to show us the right “lover look“. They are well aware about every move they have to make so we all believe this ship is real. They care about the smallest details; the way their lips move, the gazes, every touch, every blink, every smile... Everything is calculated.

But you know what? It’s one thing to be a good actor, and it’s an other to fake All. The. Time. Seriously, they never get a break, they are always together, always working: photoshoots, interviews, live events... It goes on and on, endlessly since.... last year? So, if this is all fake, as an actor, I would be EXHAUSTED right now. And as an individual, human being, I would be MENTALLY EXHAUSTED too. Always pretending just to please all the fans? No way, my brain would have exploded long ago. I would be screaming for a break, for vacations, for freedom, for rest.

So, why those two didn’t become insane yet? Well, maybe because all of this is not 100% fake. Maybe they are not pretending all the time. Maybe part of them enjoy this shipping thing a little because... Well, I would not say they have fell in love with each other, but there is a genuine connection for sure and a true friendship between those two that could explane the obvious pleasure and easyness they have in playing their role as a couple.

Of course we wish that this relationship could be real. But why do we want this? Why do we wish them so bad to be a real couple?

Maybe because since the beginning they created a real bond, not a fake one just for the sake of their job? Maybe because whenever they are together, in front of a camera or not, they always act natural, always stay themselves and genuine?

And, well, look at them. Look at this chemistry.

How can we not ship them? Body language is natural behind the staged behavior. We want them to be together because they give us the illusion that what they share is real happiness. Illusion or not, I think fiction became somehow reality. They transcended their characters literally. Unlike a lot of BL actors, they never give the vibe that what they have to do for fanservice is a trick so it is very easy for fans to fall in deep fantasies. And with other BL couples, there is often an awkward moment, a second of hesitation, before they move and oblige the fans. But MewGulf? Never they hesitate, and they go for it, they even anticipate what fans are expecting from them, but never we feel that they force themselves; they respect each other. They are natural and authentic.

It is obvious that they get along very well in their everyday life. Moreover, we can feel the harmony and goodwill even when it comes to play silly games and promote products such as tooth paste (!) or talking pillows (!?).

It is often said that this couple had brought fan service to a next level. Indeed, they did. But to me it is not just about the way they are inconsciously so clingy and touchy to each other. Nah. Without realising it, they brought fan service to a much esssential level and they did it without calculating anything, without measuring anything, without preparing anything, unlike those staged stances during fan meetings. And I’m going to tell how they did it.

I discovered those two little sunshines in the middle of the world confinement. Unlike almost everyone else, I couldn’t stay safe at home. At that time, I was scared, I was working on what we called the first line, I was depressed, tired. And those two little sunshines kept entertaining their audience as the whole planet was on lockdown. They made me laugh, they made me smile, they made me forget about all my worries, all my fears, each time they appeared on the Net.

I found them in a pretty random way -I didn’t even know that thai drama existed at that time, much less BL! - but I like to say that destiny brought them at the right moment.

We live in a world full of horror and madness, a world uncertain and fragile, and to see them singing along with a weird microphone, for example, was a ray of light in the darkness of reality. As for me, I needed this. I needed to witness such a beautiful relationship.

The lover thing is fake or is not –who cares? what happens in their personal life is not of our business, cause YES they do deserve some privacy even if they are big stars- but there is definitely a real bond, a real friendship, a real brotherhood between them that makes each live session unique and endearing.

They give us ... hope? Yeah, hope it is. Hope that love (and I’m not talking about love as a couple concept. I’m talking about love in its purest form; a strong link between two spirits regardless gender, age, race) can overcome everything, can be powerful and genuine, pure and innocent, true and blissful. Both their characters and the men behind them have taught me a lesson; true love has no gender, true love has no frontier, true love can have many aspects, many descriptions, many meanings.

“Two brothers that love each other” That is the way they described their relationship. Well, I think what they share, what they show to us, is beyond the word love, beyond the word brother. It’s something stronger and purer than that. And I don’t think there is a word that had been invented yet to describe that kind of relationship, simply because we have never seen this before. It is unique and indescribable and that is why they reached our heart deeply as no other BL couple had ever done.  “Soulmates” sounds too cliche to me, but it is the closest word that could describe what I see when I watch all those “fan services” stuff.

Now let’s hope one thing: I know, in a near future, those two will have to move on. One day, life will lead them to different paths. It’s a fatality. But I hope they will always be thankful for what they shared together. I hope this duo will survive their own aura of success, because this industry can be really cruel and so toxic. I saw too many partners fall apart and end up their relationship in bitterness. I wish they will learn how to deal with the pressure and how to protect their bond from the dark side of celebrity.

Over all, I hope that they will be aware that they made people like me happy. Even though all of this was just a game for them -a job, an act- what they brought to me was real and precious.

They saved my life in many ways. Last spring, during lockdown, all I was doing was work-work-work, in an environement considered not safe and at the end of each day, I was confined at home, feeling lonely, exhausted, and stressed out. Many people around me at work had medical prescriptions for anti-stress pills, or started drinking alcohol or started using drugs just to calm down their nerves. We had a lot on our plate, but we could not give up, people needed our help more than never in this great time of need, so we all found our own way to deal with the situation and stay operational.

As for me I found the perfect cure for anxiety: MewGulf. I didn’t know I needed this. Didn’t know that two guys living on the other side of the planet had somekind of healing power over me. But it happened anyway.

You can be a hero by doing simple things; sharing a live from home while baking cookies

and playing videos games, or singing along with a weird microphone,

or wearing an Hawaiian skirt dancing Baby Shark

or putting stickers and flashy make up on your face

and so much more goofy stuff like that ;) Just by being themselves, with their happy energy, together they became my heroes. I’m glad and I’m grateful to have found them when I was really in a bad state. Each night, after another stressful day at work, they recharged my batteries. God, I don't even speak Thai! I don't get a word of what they're saying, but just the sound of their voices, their sweet laughter and their beaming face had the effect of a lullaby that sang me to sleep.

I hope they know that they have made a real difference. Difference between salvation and depression, between hope and despair, between life and death. And that is the ultimate fan service level they could reach. 

Thank you my little two sunshines.

Be happy. Stay safe.

Ely

[robbyrobinson]

Cthulhu Mythos villains: Least Evil to Most Evil

Inspired by WickedBinge. 

H. P. Lovecraft is considered one of the masters of horror being the one who introduced the world to the dreaded Great Dreamer of R'lyeh who would one day awaken and spell destruction for mankind. Lovecraft and his contemporaries crafted the Cthulhu Mythos, a shared collaborated effort. While the various gods of the Mythos are meant to be incomprehensible by human standards (and they don't fall under conventional morality), there are a few actively malicious gods that are fully aware of mankind and exert their powers over them. When ranking, it is best understood that there is a division between the gods such as the cosmic level Outer Gods, and the lower-class gods known as the Great Old Ones.

Most Evil of the gods would be the Defiler, Y'golonac. Created by Ramsey Campbell and appearing in his short story The Cold Print, Y'golonac is the god of depravity and carnal sins. He has complete knowledge over every perversion known to a sapient being and hunts out specifically those who indulge in closeted depravities by offering them forbidden literature. Oftentimes when Y'golonac's name is said aloud, it is enough to summon him. He manifests as a fat man with mouths on his hands and headless. If summoned, he would ask the summoner to be his priest; if they refuse, he eats them.

Silver medal of evil would go to the Crawling Chaos Nyarlathotep. The son of Azathoth, Nyarlathotep is the closest thing the Mythos has to the Devil. He travels the world sewing nightmares wherever he went, manipulating people into worshiping his thousand forms and oftentimes committing mass murder and other evils. First appearing in the 1920 poem of the same name, Nyarlathotep appears out of Egypt resembling one of the pharaohs of old. He entices several people with his supernatural charms but cast them out of their city to the country and beyond when he was being heckled. Nyarlathotep enjoys bringing suffering to humans and driving them mad his ultimate goal being to release the other gods. While he could destroy the world anytime, he staves it off to further indulge in mankind's suffering.

Bronze would go to Eihort. Once again a creation of Ramsey Campbell, Eihort is a large, oblong creature resembling a spider that lives in a world spanning labyrinth. If it were to capture a human, it would give them the option of either accepting its brood or being killed. If they accept his brood, they are killed once Eihort's brood hatch from their bodies.

Ghroth is next. An Outer God much like Nyarlathotep, Ghroth is a floating entity that resembled a one-eyed planet that much like Nyarlathotep, is not imprisoned like the other gods. Ghroth would travel from planet to planet and sings a song known as The Music of the Spheres. The intended purpose behind this is to awaken any gods living on the planet up, culminating them in destroying all life on the planet having once done so with Planet Shaggai. 

Ithaqua is where many people received the inspiration for the Wendigo of Algonquin mythology and the Yeti. It stalks the woods in the Arctic where if it catches a human, preferably a female, it whisks them away to its frozen world of Borea. He then uses them to bear him children that eclipse him in power so they could one day defeat the Elder Gods.

Hastur is another addition to the Cthulhu Mythos. He goes by many names, the most prominent being the King in Yellow. Much like his eldritch brethren, Hastur's motivations are uncertain, but it can be best assumed that he wants to spread his influence on the Earth. He does so through his Yellow Sign. The half-brother of Cthulhu, many speculate he wishes to wage war with Cthulhu and his followers. He makes deals with humans known as the Unspeakable Oath where he transforms human beings into bloated, scaly abominations that he also possesses. 

Old Whateley is an insane worshiper of the Old Gods who willfully gives his own daughter up to Yog-Sothoth resulting in the birth of the twin brothers Wilbur and the titular Dunwich Horror. There is never an explanation given as to why Old Whateley wants to free the gods, but it can be implicated that it would be bad.

Wilbur Whateley first appears in Lovecraft's story The Dunwich Horror being a hybrid conceived from Yog-Sothoth. He was indoctrinated by his grandpa to use the Necronomicon to open the gates to allow Yog-Sothoth and the other gods to enter the physical realm. 

Keziah Mason is an old hag of a witch who serves the Dark Man/Nyarlathotep and sacrifices children to him. 

Least Evil. As I have said, many of the eldritch gods do not fall under our conventional terms of morality as many Great Old Ones can easily wipe out civilizations without giving much thought to it. We are ants to them. They are potentially destructive, but they are also not overtly malicious either.

Azathoth is the supreme being of the Mythos known as the Blind Idiot God. Azathoth isn't much of a character as he is utterly mindless. He goes by many names like the Daemon Sultan or the Nuclear Chaos. It is called the Blind Idiot God because he is unaware of everything that goes on outside his mind as everything is his dream. Once he awakens, he would be clueless that there was ever something else because all of existence would end.

Yog-Sothoth would be next. He is considered the Keeper of the Gate and the All-in-One who is space-time itself. The second powerful being after Azathoth, Yog-Sothoth tends to be depicted as not being as "evil" as his brethren often taking affable forms when dealing with humans. But he is indirectly responsible for the events of the Dunwich Horror when he mated with Old Whateley's daughter.

Yig, oftentimes the Father of the Serpents, loves snakes and considers them his children. As such, if a human were to kill a snake, Yig would send his children to either kill the human or transform them into a snake-like person as an act of retribution. 

Glaaki is a slug-like monster from space created by Ramsey Campbell in his contributions to the mythos. Glaaki dwells in a lake and can transform people into his servants through spikes on his back. 

The Dunwich Horror was the offspring between Yog-Sothoth and Old Whateley's daughter. Like any of the Lovecraftian horrors, the Dunwich Horror is mindlessly hostile and breaks out of the Whateley residence towards the end and devours two families whole. 

Shub-Niggurath, or the Black Goat of the Woods, is next. She is also an incomprehensible entity who constantly births abominations dubbed her "Dark Young" whom she also eats. She is often worshiped as a fertility goddess by cults. 

Lastly is Cthulhu himself. The octopus-headed, winged humanoid of indescribable form who is introduced in the novel "The Call of Cthulhu" by Lovecraft. The ruler of the city of R'lyeh, Cthulhu used to rule the world until being locked away and his city sunk. If he were to awaken once the stars have aligned, Cthulhu would emerge from his city to bring ruin to the world. Should the great Cthulhu ever be truly destroyed, a contingency plan is that he would be reborn through his daughter Cthylla. 

[ianthedisastrous]

In my Father's Eyes

People assumed Edward doesn't recall his father, perhaps thought of him only in the sense of another story. Truly, shouldn't the author who penned that tale be Edward's parent? His creator? The thought had puzzled him, from time to time, but always he returned back to several certainties. 

His father was a fair man, one who listened to the pleas of his people; the sort of king that Edward wished to be, if he were to ever be given the chance. Many boys idolize their fathers as much as they adore their mothers, with childishly blind eyes; but Edward had always known the image his father held in his eyes as true for more than only himself; a man who earned the praise of his kingdom. 

"A good king," his father's voice comes back to him sometimes, with warmth in the memory of being very small and sitting before him with expression filled with wonder at what he might learn, "must be kind."

"As kindness is stronger than any terrible deed, stronger than evil men and frightening beasts; kindness can give hope and that is the most important gift that can ever be given. 

You hold the faith of your kingdom in your hands and you must always take care with it." 

And Edward believed, with a strength of conviction that could not waver, believed every word spoken was the guidance of a wise man. 

His father taught him to wield a sword, another memory upon the pages, a young boy with palms sore from gripping too tightly the hilt of the blade that was both exciting and frightening. A weapon that felt so much more unforgiving than he knew how to carry. 

"Steady your arm higher m'boy, lift your chin, for if you must be the one to bring harm to another you must carry the burden of meeting their eyes, their pain you too must see; this is the weight of the blade you hold. 

This is the responsibility of a just man, if he must spill blood. You must remember them, for they too have fought for their cause."

It was a truth Edward never forgot, a memory that gripped him each time he drew his blade, knowing that it was never to be done in jest. And never once did he walk away in victory without solemn respect given to the loss.

Yet, the lesson that pained him the most, filled him with an indescribable peace, was the hardest to learn.

A brave man stricken with grave wounds and tired, hands grasped weakly around the firm grip of his trembling son, a smile spared for his lovely wife and her soft tears, for the sleeping infant cradled in her arms.

A man Edward thought neither sickness nor time could touch, that no injury might slow; in the end was simply just a man. 

"A good king sees his legacy grow brighter in those he leaves behind when his time is spent. There is no shame in weeping only a short while, do not be afraid of giving your grief a voice; it lives in you the same as every happiness and with just as much to teach you.

But you will be a good king one day, as you are a good man grown from the eager child who once begged for bedtime stories of dragons and knights. 

Love, m'boy, is what makes a man the best he can be; for his family, his kingdom, and himself. You and your sister are my proudest moments, Edward."

The words had never left him, not in the days that followed with eyes wet from the ache of that grief, nor ones beyond it when pain gave way to joy at the recollection of good times and gratitude.

What did it mean then when those memories were penned to the pages of a story? Chapters in a novel that held a past truly real to him? Edward returned to them now and then, fingers swept over the words with an indulgent smile. 

Because it was not only a story, it was his story. 

That is what his father taught him, and what he faced with his head held high; his had a legacy to carry with pride. 

Slightly's life, however, had never been a fairytale. 

Kindness had never been the litany of the world they resided within, but their father had urged them to never lower their eyes in spite of the snarl and snap of the darkness; even fairytales have monsters. And monsters have purpose, if only for how they craft it from their own darkness. They were brilliant, they were strong, they would survive. 

He was proud of his brood. 

"You should never forget where you belong, why you were born with claws rather than lofty ambitions.

I expect you to do great things, things that you must do in places others are afraid to walk."

Perhaps the most loving thing their father had ever uttered was how high those expectations were; he believed in a child many would not have. In those early days the words sounded like a demand ushered unfairly upon the child who had no want of it, but with time the purpose unraveled into truth better understood.

Slightly knew more of being a father than they did of their own; the chores of the Mountain Prince were never finished, they cannot recall ever seeing him at peace. Never remember a moment at rest, no more than a fleeting encounter before the call of the Court drew him away. A shadow of a figure that would with time grow fuzzy at the edges of their memories. 

But what other way was there aside from necessity?

"Is father angry, because of me?" So small, Sorrel was only a child filled with foolish questions, dangerous questions, questions Slightly was old enough to know better than speak out loud and settle doubt in the air around them. Doubt could wound far too deeply. Eyes as blue as still waters begged to know, eyes that did not belong to the Mountains.

"No, he isn't. He's mad at other people for arguing about differences," Slightly had shushed the boy and drew him close with claws laced with Sorrel's own, tiny creature nestled in the spot against their side. Secrets carried a burden one so young did not fully understand. "Because no amount of difference means more to him than you do." 

And it was a truth Slightly saw and knew, each time their father gathered up in his arms the boy who was not his own but he would accept as no less. Each time he stepped between him and some threat, the vicious ferocity the Mountain Fey protected their young with fueling an inhuman anger. 

Their father never spoke it in so many words, but he taught that lesson well; those who are your own simply were, no matter where the world's opinions might fall. 

The crueler lesson came too soon; what loss can do and what sacrifices are worth. 

Day by day Slightly saw their father fade to a terrifying emptiness in his voice, the horrors of giving too much of himself to the pain of having his eldest ripped away from him. 

He gave up, hour by hour, until the light was all gone away into a stillness that lay glassy and hollow in his once fire-bright eyes and Slightly was left choking on the rage of being abandoned. 

How dare he choose to mourn one child so intensely that he left the others behind. To make the decision to fade away rather than fight after all his demands that his children must always do so.

"Keep your eyes open, you must always be ready." 

The words of the one who had not been able to do the same, the one who Slightly trusted and found themselves suffocating in the wake of what they could not understand.  

Slightly locked away the memories; his voice, his lessons, every moment buried deep and soaked with a bitter pain. They had no choice; Sorrel needed to be looked after and mother was taxed with a role meant for two. 

Their father taught a poignant truth with his death; leaving those behind to fend for themselves was the cost of some choices.  

But even so, Slightly could not bear to truly hate him, not when they missed him so very, very much. Children do not simply forget the ones who were their world.

It took long years to find the truth in the pain, to shift through and see that all joy has a shred of sorrow within it, that all love carries a bitter core of fear in the loss; that sometimes a sacrifice is not written so much in blood as it is in a broken heart. 

Slightly learned to grieve from the one they called father, to value those near more than anything that could be won, and most importantly; that sometimes loving someone means you cannot save them from their own demons. That you must accept, and forgive, that they may fail you. 

But shadowy creatures and skies filled with unfamiliar stars never crossed Ian's mind much as a child; he couldn't concern himself with storybook monsters when he knew far too many real ones waited for him in the cold gazes of his classmates. People who didn't understand him, people who were taught to never dare to understand.  

And his mom tried so hard; every day it seemed like she came home just a little more exhausted than the one before. Her soft smile might not have wavered but Ian knew her heart was still just a little too broken to tell her why he was afraid of the world.

She needed him to be brave, but he could only pretend to and hope it was enough. She urged him to speak but he remained as silent as he dared; it was her tired eyes that hurt him at the thought of asking too much of her.   

But his dad always listened. Whenever he needed him, even if he never answered.

As a child, barely tall enough to reach the desk where his mother kept her glossy albums, Ian believed that somehow his late night conversations, hands tightly gripping the only photo he had of the man, did not go unheard. 

"Please come back. Mom is sad all the time and I don't know how to make it better," he would speak in no more than a breath of sound, eyes dropped and half shut to hold back the tears. "I know they're wrong at school. That...that you didn't leave because you wanted to, not because we're...different from everybody else. But if you could just come back? Nobody could say those things anymore."

Some places, his mom explained, people could not come back from, as she kissed his forehead one day. It was a day he could barely recall later his age or the other details, only the words she spoke when he voiced what he had really wanted for his birthday. 

Children so young still believe that magic could do a great deal more than it ever should. 

"He wanted so badly just to meet you," and with the words Ian saw a gravity in her eyes that he never had before, "He loved you boys more than anything in this world, but he just didn't have the chance to stay."

Ian learned that love was powerful, but sometimes it was very unfair, and it was why a person had to be strong for those who needed them the most. The world was scary, it always would be, but people had to try. 

He didn't ask his mom again, he couldn't stand to see that sorrow. 

His dad always was there; never judgemental in that silence. And as a child it had been too easy to overlook that silence could only exist without judgement and find the best in that. It felt safe, so much safer than risking speaking the doubts to anyone else. Silence was patient, and so too then was Ian's dad in his memories of a man who could not be there.

"We have to leave soon,'' quiet moments in his room had long since given way to rooftop vigil under the sprawling skies; maybe somewhere in that expanse of forever his father resided just beyond his reach. "I..I thought I'd be happy to leave this place but I'm just scared. I'm always scared; I wish-" He sighed and drew his knees up with the tired words. "-I wish I were like you, not afraid of anything." 

But Wilden had been afraid; of the sickness that stole his life in small measures, of the world moving on without him, of missing so much of it, and most of all of his boys never knowing who he was. 

Ian had been surprised when he discovered that, as his mom reassured him that it was okay to be afraid sometimes, but just as often she spoke of his bravery in the face of those fears and that it rooted itself down deeply into Ian's mind.

The man he had never had a chance to hear speak taught him that everyone was afraid sometimes, that everyone fights their battles, and the best a person can do is to find a reason to. 

But it wasn't right to let that fear turn a person cruel; time and again he heard of his dad's forgiving nature. And bit by bit Ian learned what parts of himself he wanted to be so much like the man, and what parts he had to let go, for his own sake.

"I don't want to have to be you, dad. I'm sorry." Ian whispered to the darkness as the morning crept so steadily closer; every star in Swynlake glittered in watchful attention to that conversation from the balcony. Twenty years to his life that very day. "I don't know what I want to do from here but you won't be mad if it's not what you expected me to, right?" 

The night could not speak, ghosts belonged in days and years behind him, but it did not mean their presence was any less wanted. Ian could not think in the past tense, not when he still felt there was too much more left to learn. 

He knew what his dad had already taught him, how many times that memory had held vigil to his unsteady words, and he was not nearly done yet. His dad had never been there, not so much the way other people could have claimed, but he had done what any good father strived to; he had listened. 

"I miss you."

[naughtydaaikon]

Wonderstruck

Title: Wonderstruck 

Also on Ao3!

Fandom: Jibaku Shounen Hanako-kun

Rating: T (warnings for some spicy kisses)

Word Count: 9,282 words (funny story, this was supposed to be like 3,000 words HAH.)

Summary: 

Hanako had never specified the time for when she would die. He didn’t seem to know either, other than the fact that it would definitely be this year. What if this is it? She thinks, icy horror stabbing at her heart like the honed blade of a butcher’s knife. What if this was the moment of her death?

Alone…

In an unfamiliar place…

Without Hanako-kun.

Was she going to die without even being able to say goodbye to him? Without even being able to see him one last time? The villagers squabble amongst themselves around her, but their voices seem far away, the sound of her own heart pounding more loudly than a large hand against a drum drowning them out.

----

Nene has some important realizations in the midst of a precarious situation, and Hanako is amazingly stubborn about all of them. (Post Chapter 67 fic).

Notes: So, I’ve taken the plunge and written by own chapter 67 fic. I just couldn’t help myself. This entire arc I’ve been dying for some Hananene development. Okay. Let me be honest, I’ve been dying for a Hananene kiss in an unfamiliar place -- just like Nene described in her idealised love event. So, here I am! I hope that you all enjoy the fic. Please leave a comment on ao3, or here -- or in my inbox if you enjoy the fic! I love talking with other Hananene fans~

----

“It’s one of those famed love events you always get to hear about! At an unfamiliar location! Then, a gentle kiss!”

 ----

Yashiro Nene had always been a dreamer.

It wasn’t uncommon for her to weave all kinds of intricate fantasies, whimsical daydreams in which she was the star of some fantastical romantic plot. The role that she chose for herself was often the same — always the beautiful heroine of her own dashing love story to be whisked off of her feet by some stunning prince who adored both her and her chubby, thick ankles. Heroines in stories always found themselves at the center of a magical adventure, whether that adventure was being spirited away by some powerful evil or experiencing the painfully sweet throes of first love. So, Nene couldn’t be blamed if she often craved a little bit of that for herself, too, right? 

Then, she wonders as she is surrounded by the unnerving masks of indifferent villagers while standing near the ledge of a very tall cliff. Why does it feel like I’m being punished for wanting those things?!

Nene had always been a little too idealistic, easy to mess with, and impulsive. Those were the characteristics that had first drawn her to Hanako-kun’s bathroom in the first place. She had wanted a wish granted — had craved love — at any price. Nene had wanted that affection even if it meant offering a part of herself to an apparition that she hardly knew. She hadn’t thought of the consequences of those actions, not until she was already covered in wet scales and breathing through slitted gills. Still, she likes to think that she hadn’t done anything quite so foolish since that point again! 

Well.

Then again, there was the time that she had nearly gone off to become a fish apparition for the chance at her own harem… and the time that she had gotten tricked by Natushiko-senpai because he was hot… and the time that Nanamine-san and Tsukasa-kun had nearly sent her off to nowhere because Nanamine-san was just a little too beautiful and the cakes she had been given were just a little too good… and…

Okay, but I didn’t do anything like that just now! 

She holds her hands up as the villagers advance all around her. They argue amongst themselves as Nene struggles to figure out just what was happening. Today had to have been the longest she had ever experienced. It was right up there with the time that she had gotten stuck in Shijima-san’s picture world and that really hadn’t been all that long ago. She had simply wanted to spend time with her friends at night during study camp! She would be able to make some good memories with Aoi. Maybe she had even hoped that someone special (who definitely didn’t have Hanako-kun’s face in her fantasies, no sir!)  would ask her out and pull her away from her friends for a little alone time. It was possible that she’d even get her first kiss if she were proactive enough! Though, most importantly, she would be able to distract herself from dwelling her shortened life span for just one night of peace and fun. 

Clearly, that was not going to be the case. Then again, since coming to Kamome Academy, was anything ever just simple?

Instead, Aoi had been kidnapped and was now behaving...strangely. She’d pushed them into the pit that had led them to this strange feudal hamlet that seemed to have been cut out of the fabric of time. It was a place that went against everything that Nene understood about boundaries. Shijima-san’s boundary was like this too. It was almost normal until something sticks out like a sore thumb, something that reverberates within one’s soul that this wasn’t quite right. Like a moon and stars that are far too visible to have been from Kamome’s rooftops in the brightly lit city of Tokyo, or in this case, a small town that was more at home out of the history books that she sometimes perused for friends.

No water that nipped at her heels, soaking her legs and bringing forth scales — no crooked and misshaped atelier that didn’t belong — just a small village filled with people who wore masks of kindness, so twisted by their own fear that they forced young girls to smash their bodies onto the jagged rocks at the bottom of a cliff in what was a vicious mockery of marriage. 

So much for a fun night with friends! 

A night that was supposed to be filled with fun and games with her classmates had quickly dissolved into a nightmare that she wasn’t sure that she could escape. Nothing was ever just normal at Kamome. Even taking classes, the most normal and boring part of being a high school student could quickly shift into something sinister amongst the sturdy halls of the school. She’s been sick with worry for Aoi from the moment that they had ended in this awful place.

It’s not fair! That thought plays on a loop track within her mind just as the mask clad villagers seem to finally realize that she wasn’t actually Sumire-chan. “I’ve been saying all along that I’m not Sumire-chan!” Nene screeches, hands balling into fists in a rage. Why is this happening? It had all happened so fast, and now, it only seemed to be spiraling even further out of control. Her belly aches, legs still weak from when she had been punched. This isn’t a wedding at all!

No, Nene knew weddings — they were beautiful events where two people would be joined in love forever. This… her eyes drift back to the cliff. She can hear the waves of the ocean crashing against the cliff-side and shivers. The wind shrieks, howling as it buffets her body. One wrong step and she might go tumbling over into the frigid waters below. The bride of death. 

This wasn’t love. 

She isn’t sure what this is, but Nene knows that without a shred of a doubt. Sumire-chan…. seemed so happy when she was talking about getting married to Number 6! She couldn’t have known… 

Nene suppresses a shiver, swallowing thickly as her legs wobbled. “What’s with all of this?” Then, they had meant to throw Sumire-chan from this ledge? They had meant to kill Sumire-chan like this? They had manipulated her feelings to lead Sumire-chan to her own death? She thinks of Nene’s sweet, forlorn smile back in the bath. She had thought that she seemed lonely back then, a melancholy permeating her features that Nene hadn’t been able to understand. Tomorrow is a very important day, after all. 

Had she known?

Had she known that the only groom that would embrace her beyond the large arched torii on this cliff was the frigid ocean waters as it swept her into the abyssal dark?

Her face grows indescribably hot, teeth clenching. “You call this a wedding?” Her pulse quickens, fury ballooning inside of her at the injustice of it all. “Don’t tell me you were going to kill--” she’s silenced with the threat of a sharpened bamboo staff being brandished towards her. “Kyaaaaa!” Nene had been met with many dangerous situations while in boundaries, but never anything that ever felt quite this real. The edge of the shaft looks as though it’d make quick work of her if she even so much as tried to struggle any further. One jab of that and… 

She doesn’t want to think about it.

Unease rolls like corrosive sludge in her chest. She hadn’t wanted to think about her own mortality during her study trip. It’d been plaguing her from the moment that she had learned of her fate while in the painted world even though she’d been showing a brave face off to Hanako and Kou. She’d only wanted one day to be a normal teenager, having a fun night with friends, cooking, and playing games without acknowledging the swinging pendulum that inched ever closer over her head. 

What if this was it?

Hanako had never specified the time for when she would die. He didn’t seem to know either, other than the fact that it would definitely be this year. What if this is it? She thinks, icy horror stabbing at her heart like a honed blade of a butcher’s knife. What if this was the moment of her death? 

Alone… 

In an unfamiliar place…

Without Hanako-kun.

Was she going to die without even being able to say goodbye to him? Without even being able to see him one last time? The villagers squabble amongst themselves around her, but their voices seem far away, the sound of her own heart pounding more loudly than a large hand against a drum drowning them out. 

She thinks of Hanako’s kind smile last night as he patted her head sweetly, bidding her goodnight. He’d probably stayed up all night to keep watch. She should’ve insisted that he sleep, but he had taken precautions to keep her safe, once more. He never worried about himself, after all. He viewed himself as nothing more than an afterthought. He was so gentle and she hadn’t even trusted him enough to tell him about Sumire-chan. 

I said I’d protect him, she thinks, blinking back tears, throat burning as a sob builds there. But I just let him take care of me again. I didn’t tell him about Sumire-chan and now I might never see him again!

No, she thinks, raw panic spiking as one of these villagers grab her wrist with a frigid hand. “No! Wait!” She’s pulled back against the person, but they were just too strong. “Stop! Let go!”

The voices of the villagers grow louder, echoing around her into a crescendo of sound that encircles her like a ring of fire. It’s deafening. Her knees feel as though they’re going to give out, palms growing slick with sweaty terror. 

“Well done catching her.”

“Drop her off just like that!”

“Congratulations, Kannagi-sama!”

“Congratulations!”

When had congratulations ever sounded like a eulogy? 

No, no — no! She can’t do anything like this. She can’t run, and even if she did manage to break away from this man, she’s sure that she wouldn’t be able to fight off the crowd. She’s trapped, nothing but a weak high school girl with no special powers besides her own impending death. She’s going to die. They’re going to trap her or make her walk off of that cliff, and Hanako was nowhere to be found. 

Nothing familiar was anywhere to be found.  

If she’s going to die, then she at least wants to see Hanako. At least once. There was still so much that she hadn’t told him or thanked him for. She hadn’t thanked him for agreeing to grant her impossible wish back in the painted world. She hadn’t even managed to thank him for protecting her from the moment that they had fallen into this den of spiders. She hadn’t even told him how she felt about it. Not properly, at least. She’d only whispered that secret to a boy who she had thought was nothing more than a copy in what was just a happy dream. No, she didn’t just like Hanako. This emotion was far greater than that. She can feel it filling up her heart, no -- her entire being like helium. 

Nene knows what this is.

She knows it by the way that she can use at least 50 different colorful adjectives to describe the exact hue of his eyes -- from the way that his smile sends her into near cardiac arrest. She’d grown so used to the unnatural coolness that emanated from his body that she had come to crave it. She felt safe in his arms. It felt right to be with Hanako. As though that was where she’d always belonged. It was almost funny, she was a girl who was always a little too silly -- a little too clumsy and a little too overly romantic to fit in fully with her peers, and yet the affection that she always craved -- that sense of this is where I’m meant to be -- came from the cold embrace of a ghost. 

And the last thing I said to him was good night. 

He… didn’t know that she loved him.

I love him, and the realization is so simple, so natural, that she wonders why she didn’t realize it sooner — and she’d never even get to tell him. It’s not fair! She’d realized that she truly loved a boy and he’d never even get to know? She’d die without even being able to tell him? That was the only thing that she’d ever wanted for as long as she could remember, and knowing that it was all about to be taken from her was just too much to bear. She was already going to die and couldn’t even do the one thing that she’d always wanted? Maybe it was a selfish desire, but it’s choking her, clogging her throat as she screams. 

“No! Hanako-kun!”

The wind howls, cloth fluttering all around her as she is suddenly pulled against the sturdy, cool chest of the person who’s captured her. The mask falls away from his face, revealing hooded eyes as golden as the incandescently lit full moon in the sky and the too-wide, almost feral smile that she never failed to make her heart feel as though she’s just finished running a marathon. Time seems to slow to a snail’s crawl as his hand entwined with hers, just as cool and comforting as it always was. 

“I’m heeeeeeere!~” He drawls, voice airy and cheerful, as though they weren’t caught at the mercy of a violent mob. Her throat tightens, tears of pure relief prickling at the corners of her eyes. Was she… dreaming? Perhaps this was some kind of elaborate hallucination just as she was pushed over the edge?

No —

He feels just as solid and cool as he normally did. A body that emanated no warmth, and yet Hanako himself was nothing but the balm of summer in the way that he made her feel. That was the same. It was really him!

Hanako-kun was here?

Perhaps it’s because he’s dressed in the same manner of the villagers and maybe it’s because the wind is still buffeting the two of them, but Nene is caught up within the magic of the moment. Hanako looks like something out of a storybook or a manga -- a powerful knight protecting a princess. She blinked back tears. He was here! He was okay! “Hanako-kun…?” She whispers, and this feeling that swells in her chest is more intense than the punch to the gut that she had received earlier. It feels as though she’s breathless, eyes still blurry with tears as she looks up at him. Had his smile always been this soft? His eyes, always so bright and filled with kindness — and perhaps… relief? 

He wraps his arms around her tightly then — so tight that it feels as though he doesn’t want to ever release her. There’s a slight tremble in his voice as he murmurs, “Sorry I’m late.” His cheek nuzzles against her throat, and she can almost feel the slight brush of his lips. It’s ticklish, but also so inviting that she almost melts into his arms. Hanako-kun was here. Relief rushes through her. Hanako-kun was here. Everything would be okay, now. She wouldn’t die with him around. Hanako-kun always kept his promises, after all.

She closes her eyes, sagging against him. She isn’t going to die. 

I’m not going to die… She repeats that thought to herself even as her knees buckle as her tension evaporates.

Maybe she’d even get to tell him —

“Sorry, but,” he flings the mask into the face of one of the more vocal villagers. The man cried out in pain as it collided with his skull, knocking him off of his feet from the force of the blow. “--The wedding is canceled!” The arms around her loosen, as one of his hands sliding down around her waist as he uses his other hand to rip the formal clothing off of himself, revealing his normal gakuran attire. Then, he squeezes her tightly, arm pressing her against his side. His cheek brushes against hers, much like a needy feline demanding affection. “I can’t just let some nobody out there take my assistant as a bride, right?” 

He speaks with such conviction, brandishing his knife towards the crowd. He’s still smiling, but the arm around her waist holds her securely.  Nene relaxes against him. If Hanako was here now, nothing could possibly go wrong. He squeezes her in a reassuring way and there’s something possessive about the action, as though he’s the one claiming ownership of her. 

Or -- perhaps, that was wishful thinking on her part. She so badly wants to be claimed by him. Her cheeks grow warm and she can’t help herself from throwing her arms around his shoulders and clinging to him just as tightly as he had done to her earlier. 

He’d saved her again. 

“You’re here, Hanako-kun!” She pulls back, and cups his cheeks, squeezing and stretching them out to make sure that he was really real. “It’s really you!” He laughs outright, then, eyes still focused on the people that were surrounding them. His voice sounds so merry that it’s enough to soothe some of her fear. 

“Yashiro, at least wait until we’re alone before you feel me up,” he teases, smile hardening as some of the villagers close in, finally regaining their bearings after Hanako’s sudden appearance. “We still have an audience of nosy pests here, after all.” He nuzzles her cheek again and she has to struggle to suppress the embarrassing whine that wells up in her throat. “You naughty daikon, you!” Nene flushes indignantly. He was really going to tease her right now? And was now really the time for daikon jokes!? “I’m not feeling you up!” If her voice was any higher at this moment, she’s sure that only dogs and small animals could hear it. 

Though, she can’t deny that there’s a part of her that wants very much to kiss him at this very moment. He just looks so heroic -- almost majestic as he bravely faces off against their enemies. It was at times like this that Hanako seems just as dashing as a prince out of her favorite novels. It didn’t matter that he was shorter than her, or that his cheeks lacked the angled sharpness of the men that she typically preferred. 

He was just Hanako -- the boy who was entirely dedicated to keeping her safe. The boy she loved. Her heart hammers. At least it was getting easier to say now. 

“Retrieve the Kannagi!” One of the villagers shouts loudly. It’s chaos as the angry group attempts to rush them. Weapons are drawn, pointed at them -- all manner of spears, swords, and sharpened bamboo as they jab the weapons towards the pair. “She must not escape!”  Hanako frowns, leaping backward as the crowd continues to approach. They were determined to have their sacrifice one way or another, it seemed. 

They’re trying to push us to the edge of the cliff! Nene realizes, horrified as they draw ever closer to the edge. 

“Yashiro?” Hanako asks, hand gripping even more tightly around her waist as her feet hit the edge of the cliff. “Are you scared?” 

She swallows anxiously, wondering just what kind of question that was. “O-Of course I am!” She tries hard not to look behind her. The rocks at the bottom of the cliff looked so sharp… “B-But, you’re not going to let anything happen to me?” She pauses. “Right?”

The grin that he gives her is more blinding than the sun itself. “Of course not!” He says, voice filled with confidence. “So, there’s no reason for you to be afraid, alright?” He nods as though confirming that simple fact to himself as well. His other arm joins the one tucked around her waist, eyes darting towards the cliff. He looks back at her, his smile growing wide and cat-like as his eyes take on a hooded appearance. 

“You trust me, don’t you?” Nene’s brows furl. Why was he asking her all of these questions all of a sudden? This was beginning to feel all too familiar, even if she couldn’t put her finger on why. 

“Y...Yes?”

“Good.”

The knife in his hand dissipates as though it hadn’t even existed. Why was he putting that away? Wasn’t he going to fight the villagers--

Oh no.

Nononononono.

He wasn’t —  

“H-Hanako-kun--” she says worriedly, “Hey, wait a second — AAAAAAAAAAAAH!” Nene screams wildly as he suddenly scoops her up into his arms, carrying her bridal style before he turns away from the villagers and takes and leaps off of the cliff. It feels as though her heart has leaped into her throat, as though her stomach had just dropped right out of her body. Hanako laughs merrily as the wind pushes against them like an assault. “Look out belooooow!” He calls out. If Nene weren’t currently screaming at the top of her lungs and clinging to him with all of her might, she would’ve wrung his neck. 

Her vision spots, a sort of fog entering her head. It’s as though she’d been thrust into static, white noise crackling in her ears.

Well, she thinks as the last traces of her consciousness begin to fade away. I’ll have time to strangle him later...

Among other things. 

-----

Nene awakes sometime later, groaning as she rolls onto her back. Something soft is cushioning her and she’s wrapped up as though bundled in a blanket. Her clothes are still wet, leaving her shivering as she grabs the edges of the blanket, holding it tighter. She can hear what sounds like dripping water, as though a glass of water has been spilled. There’s a rhythmic beat to the drip, one that is almost calming enough to lull her back to sleep. Her vision blurs as she opens her eyes, sitting up as she rubs the tiredness from her eyes. Wherever she was, it was dark. Only a small amount of light seemed to slither through openings that were in the ceiling or roof of this place. There’s some kind of stone surrounding her, as well. 

Was this… some kind of a cave?

She looks down, discovering that what she wasn’t actually a blanket, but heavy layers of clothing. They resemble the clothing that the villagers had worn. No, not the villagers… Hanako-kun had been wearing this as well when he had rescued her, hadn’t he? 

“You’re awake? Good,” she jolts at the sound of Hanako’s voice. He’s sitting beside her, knees drawn up to his chest. He gives her a small smile, cheek resting against his knees. His hands brush over her bangs. “You know, Yashiro -- it’s probably not normal to pass out like that all of the time. Those fainting spells can’t be good for your heart. Were you just that excited to be in my arms? For shame!” 

In his arms?

She’s puzzled before memories of leaping into the icy water below assault her. She must’ve turned into a fish! She was still drenched and her eyes narrow as she glared at the boy beside her. Jerk! It wasn’t the fainting spells that weren’t good for her heart, it was him! “A little warning would’ve been nice!” She barks back, sitting up fully now. She jabs an accusing finger towards him. “Why are you always throwing me from high places! That’s what’s not good for my heart!” she hits his arm, causing him to wince and rub at the abused skin. She chooses to ignore his innuendo-laden comment. Honestly! Did she have to be in love with such a perverted person?

Her heart flinches.

Right. 

She’d realized that earlier, hadn’t she?

That knowledge makes her grow strangely rigid. She covers a hand over her heart. It was pounding so loudly now that she worries if he can also hear it. Throughout that entire ordeal, she’d been afraid of dying and never seeing Hanako-kun again. She can still feel all of those emotions, taking up space inside of her, threatening to explode. Nene isn’t sure that she’d be able to put the lid on them again. 

Or if she even wanted to.

She’d made a promise to herself earlier, hadn’t she? 

It hangs over her head like a guillotine. Nene’s face grows redder, palms clammier as she sits rigidly. She had made that promise — and now she would need to make good on it. She casts a cautionary glance towards Hanako, who had already slid closer to her. “Hmm? I did give you a warning, didn’t I?” He wraps one of his arms around her, snaking it around her waist as his chin moves to rest on her shoulder. She’d long since grown accustomed to this kind of invasion of space from him. Though, with her earlier revelation in mind, it’s as though she can feel his embrace that much more. 

Even with their bond, Hanako’s body rarely had a solidness to it that seemed real unless he was touching her. He was like the moonlight filtering in through the cracks in a window. If she reaches out to touch him, he’d slip right through the gaps between her fingers fading into nothingness. 

But now? It’s as though every nerve within her body is heavily aware of him. As though she’s realized something, so vital, so crucial that she’s stunned that it’s taken her this long to realize that he’s always been right there. Solid. Firm.

Real. 

She only needs to reach out —

“You didn’t,” it’s an olympic feat to keep her words from jumbling together. It feels like her heart has been replaced by a drum, being struck with violent force. Did he hear it? He had to hear it! It was more like thunder than a heartbeat at this point! 

“You just asked if I trusted you and then flung the both of us off of a cliff, mister!”  She jabs an accusing finger against his chest, making him yelp and flinch back. Good, she had space. Space to think. Space was good. In fact, she scoots her butt a few inches in a different direction, putting even more distance between them. “Speaking of which, where even are we?” She’s sure that her voice is getting squeaky again. Kind of like she’s just breathed in a tank full of helium gas. 

Not good.

He casts a glance towards their left, amber eyes narrowing towards that direction and she sees the shining of sunlight in the distance. “I found a cave along the bank at the bottom of the cliff,” he explains, following her like a needy cat would. Nanamine-san really had been onto something with that comparison. Hanako captures her in his arms again, rubbing his cheek along the exposed clavicle of her throat and she’s sure that at this point, her heartbeat best resembles the rolling thunder of a storm. 

“I think we should stay here until it gets darker. Those people might have given up the chase by that point.”

It was a solid enough plan. The last thing Nene wanted was a fight, but the idea of staying alone with Hanako for that long was doing odd things to her insides. She feels all twisted up, like she’s a rag being rung dry as she sits behind him. Then again, she’d already spent an entire night alone with Hanako on the previous night. All alone in a darkened room, with nothing but the slight, dim lamp of a lantern to illuminate both of them. Come to think of it, that had been pretty intimate, hadn’t it!?

She hadn’t even considered —

“Aren’t you Gon’s lover?”

SKDFSLKDFS;KDFSKFIJS;LEDFSLFSF’S!

“At that point, we can search for Number 6’s Yorishiro,” Hanako continues, oblivious to her internal meltdown. “I’ll make sure that we escape as soon as possible. If I’m not careful you might just nearly end up as someone’s bride again,” his eyes sharpen as he glances at her out of the corner of his eyes, his smile dropping. He pinches her cheek as though to admonish her and Nene winces, releasing a whine of pure mortification. 

“It’s not like I wanted to get married! Everything just happened so fast — and where were you all that time, huh?” She turns in his arms, her annoyance enough to make her momentarily forget all about her dilemma. 

He had been beside her when she had first fallen asleep, only to be gone by morning. She couldn’t imagine that he had left her side after insisting that he’d stay awake in order to keep watch throughout the night. Hanako had been on edge ever since first arriving at this strange place, after all — not that she could blame him. Nothing had gone right since they had arrived. Even Hanako, who was normally as powerful and brave as a dashing knight had been subdued by Sumire-chan earlier. 

Nene can’t remember ever seeing Hanako so quickly bested, not even when he’d been beaten by Yako-san back in her boundary. Even then, that had been temporary. He’d been able to hold his own until she had finally found Yako-san’s yorishiro. 

To her relief — disappointment — she doesn’t know anymore — Hanako releases her, dropping his hands down to his side. He leans his head back against the wall of the cave, staring up at a small slither of light that peaks through an opening in the ceiling of the cave. “Our retainer friend found it prudent to incapacitate me while you took her place,” he’s dropped the teasing tone, voice going flat as his hands ball into fists, filled with tension. He uses one hand to pull the bill of his hat down, obscuring his eyes. “For a moment, I thought I wouldn’t make it in time.”

Large doe eyes widen, “You mean… Sumire-chan knew what was going to happen?” 

Hanako makes a soft sound of affirmation.

No — she’d seemed so genuine when speaking of her love for number 6. She’d wanted to marry him. She didn’t think that kind of emotion could be easily faked. Wait -- hadn’t the villagers said something about that? It was difficult to remember most of what was being said during all of the shouting and confusion, but one thing had stuck out. “To run from your duty… What a failure of a Kannagi you are. 

Duty.

If it was the duty of a Kannagi to literally wed death, then it made sense that a mortal would need to die to be with her betrothed. The villagers had all escorted her to the torii gate, speaking of marriage and showering her in congratulations, but had all grown panicked and angry when she had tried to run. Come to think of it, one of them had mentioned they hadn’t want to use the strange drug that they had poisoned her with. It all aligned in her mind neatly like pieces of a large puzzle being arranged.

“She… tricked me?” Nene asks faintly.

“She tricked us both,” he reaches for her hand, giving it a firm squeeze. “Remember what I said? She’s a retainer. Nothing but a puppet on strings--

“No!” Those words swell in her chest and then burst out of her before she can even stop them. “I — I know Sumire-chan isn’t like that!” 

Sure, it wouldn’t have been the first time that Nene had saw the good within someone who didn’t deserve it. She’s oftentimes naive, easy to trick, and impulsive, ignoring red flags that were waving right in front of her face. Hanako had told her that she was a sucker for hot guys and apparitions and with all of her past experiences, she knows that he’s right about that. 

Still.

She’d seen Sumire’s memories while in that dream-like state. At least, that’s what she thinks those feelings were. Glimpses of a life that had been cut far too short. Of feelings that had been manifested, and yet never fully requited. At least not in the way that Sumire-chan would have wanted. They had to have been her memories, right? It was like whenever she removed the seal of a yorishiro. Nene’s face scrunches up, lips pursed tightly and nose wrinkled as she thinks. Number 6 hadn’t shown a slither of remorse as he watched Sumire march steadily towards death. She tries to imagine what she would feel like in a similar situation -- if the person that she loved -- if Hanako had watched her die without even batting an eyelash.

Pain as sharp as a stab wound to the chest all but knocks the wind out of her. 

She can’t even imagine it. No — she doesn’t want to imagine it.

Those feelings… they couldn’t be just an illusion? She knows…. She just knows that Sumire-chan was no mere puppet. 

Hanako’s fingers cup underneath her chin, lifting her eyes towards his. “There’s no need to defend her,” he admonishes, lips pressing downward in apparent displeasure. His eyes harden. “You were nearly killed because of her. You understand that, right?” His voice has gone flat, like he got when there were all kinds of dark emotions swirling inside of him. She didn’t always understand it, but this was the side of Hanako that always unnerved her. He’s normally so playful, so kind to her that she often forgot that it existed at least until it appeared once more. He holds so many secrets, keeping his emotions bottled up inside of him, displaying them to no one but his own demons. 

It’s only at times like this that Nene truly feels her age. She’s nothing but a silly, 15-year-old teenaged girl. She’s Yashiro Nene — dreamy, reckless, and totally gullible and he’s the honorable Hanako-san of the Toilet. He’d lived a life that was drenched in blood, sin and now walked a solemn path of duty and  atonement in death. It’s always a little hard to wrap her head around. 

It was… frustrating. 

“That’s true,” she mumbles, sighing in a pleased way when he moves his hand up from her chin, cupping her cheek. It’s cool, lacking body heat as usual, but she appreciated the gesture, regardless. “But — I just… don’t think that she’s just a puppet, Hanako. She feels like she’s...real,” and if Number 6 had made her into his yorishiro — a real, breathing person with thoughts and feelings — then she must’ve been important to him? Had he changed his mind? If they had tried to make her take her place, then perhaps they were trying to save Sumire-chan from her fate?

Could she blame her for that?

If she could only be with Hanako-kun at the expense of another person, then…

She isn’t sure what choice she would’ve made.  She didn’t think that she could actually hurt someone knowingly, but also couldn’t be upset with Sumire-chan for her betrayal. There’s an ache in her heart that hasn’t subsided since she’d been drugged. A lonely longing that nearly swallows her heart entirely. 

Sumire-chan’s feelings...

She averts her eyes from Hanako’s oche ones, pulling the decorative haori snuggly around her shoulders and staring down at her knees. 

“She must’ve had her reasons,” Nene says confidently. That had to be it. She’s absolutely sure of it. 

“Yashiro.”

Hanako sounds disappointed, tone morose as he says her name like a parent scolding a child. “The only reason that she feels real is because she is a manifestation of Number 6’s memories,” he explains, though she can tell that there isn’t much patience within him at the moment. “She is a reflection of who he thought she was, but in the end, her will isn’t her own,” ochre eyes harden as his hand falls from her cheek and back to his side. She falls quiet, choosing to listen to him speak.

“He is looking for a kannagi,” he says softly. “To take her place. That’s why he took your friend Aoi in the first place. She’s not actually real. He wants to change that, as ridiculous as that even is,” when Hanako got like this, his words could become as corrosive as acid. 

“Why is it ridiculous?”

“Huh?” Her question clearly catches him off guard as his eyes are drawn back to hers. 

“Why is it ridiculous that he’s trying to find a way to keep the person that he loves by his side?” She asks quietly. She touches her heart; it’s throbbing with an emotion that wasn’t her own, and yet was so familiar. It’s a borrowed emotion, but it’s also her own. She understands Sumire-chan. She can even understand Number 6. “I think he’s being selfish like Yako-san was… and like how I used to be when I first sought you out for a wish, but I don’t think wanting to be with the person you love is ridiculous.” 

Her near-death experience was still too close. She’d been desperate to see Hanako, too. Just to see him one last time. Had that been a selfish wish? 

She’d even made a promise. 

Hanako’s brow furls, “Yashiro… what they’re doing is putting people in danger,” he says, this time taking her shoulders in his hands. He squeezes them, as though pleading with her to understand. “It put you in danger.” 

— And there it was.

Nene blinks, and the answer seems so obvious that she’s surprised that she hadn’t noticed it sooner. “You were afraid that I’d die.”

He nods, sighing as his head drops down, forehead brushing against her shoulder. “I.. thought that I wouldn’t make it to you in time. She had used her spiritual powers on me in the morning so there was nothing that I could do to stop those people when they came to get you. If I’d been any later…” 

If he’d been any later… 

That possibility remains unspoken, even as her chest grows tighter, something itchy forming in her throat. Words are lodged there and when she parts her lips, it’s hard to force her voice through them. “I would have died.”

“You would have died,” he repeats, nodding against her. His forehead is just as cool as the rest of his body. “We still don’t know when your lifespan will run out.”

That was true. 

Then, he lifts his head, smiling in that gentle way that never failed to make her belly throb with yearning. It’s such a kind, sad smile. It was less Hanako and more like Amane, the boy that she had seen in Tsuchigomori-sensei’s memories, though that wasn’t exactly right, either. Hanako was a role that he plays, and he hadn’t been Amane in many years. Or perhaps this smile was the real him? The person beneath the role. The person that Amane had become. 

He’d said before that the dead had no future — that nothing new could happen for those who had died, but… Nene’s not so sure that she believes that. He’d grown — changed, hadn’t he?

“Besides,” he tells her, giving her a playful but light flick on the forehead. “I told you that I’m going to grant your wish for you. You don’t doubt my abilities do you?” He pouts, donning the Hanako-san mask again effortlessly. A flirty gesture of a playful joke from him has always been an effective distractor for her, after all. She’s not sure why, but it makes her kind of angry. He’s rarely truly honest with her, not about his feelings at least. 

Perhaps that is what spurs her on.

She’s not sure where her confidence comes from. It surges in her chest, making her grab the collar of his gakuran as she tugs him forward and all presses her lips against his. 

He releases a startled gasp, even when their teeth clink together. It kind of hurts, honestly. 

I messed up! She thinks, absolutely panicked. Her lips were throbbing from where she had all but headbutted (lipbutted?) him, and she goes rigid against him. Their lips were still mashed together, but neither of them moves an inch. Nene can’t help but think that this was nothing like the books or even her own fantasies. Hanako’s lips were cold, and he was stiller than a block of eyes, his entire body taut with tension. He seems shell shocked, but she can’t exactly blame him.

She’d moved before her brain had even had a chance to catch up with her body, after all. Nene was a lot of things and a quitter wasn’t one of them. I promised, she thinks to herself, steeling her resolve, even if she wants to pull from the badly aimed first kiss and run for the hills. She promised that she would tell him how she felt about him, and she couldn’t continue to have cold feet.

After all, he’d been just as scared as she had been before… right?

He hadn’t wanted to lose her, either.

And if a first kiss ended this pathetically, she thinks that she’d actually drop dead from humiliation. So, she pushes through it, softening her lips so that the kiss became less of an aggressive assault and more of a chaste peck. Come to think of it, his lips were rather soft, weren’t they? They feel nice, inspiring a warm, pleasant feeling in her chest. She pushes closer, lips pressing more firmly against his own and Hanako makes a sound that sounds remarkably like a dying, yowling cat. 

It’s only then that she pulls back, face burning hot from her own boldness. “I’d never doubt you,” she says firmly. “I was just afraid before, back at the wedding. It was really scary but -- and for a second I thought I wouldn’t be able to see you again. That was scarier than when I thought I was doing to die,” she admits in a rush of words. Her heart thrums loudly, and suddenly it feels like the cave has grown excessively hot. She chances a glance at Hanako and nearly gasps herself at what she sees.

He’d been red back when she’d kissed his cheek before, too.  Though now, it was though his skin had been dyed with the color, splotches of color burning across his face. He gapes at her, as though she had grown a second head. It’s like his body has turned to stone. It feels like an eternity before he finally speaks. “Yashiro,” his voice is barely a whisper, trembling the entire time. “What are you doing?”

The answer seems so obvious to her that she almost laughs. Well, she would’ve laughed if she didn’t feel nearly just as faint. She’s sure that her face looks just as comical as his own. Though, his reaction brings her some relief. He’s just as out of his element as she is. “What do you think it means when a girl kisses someone, Hanako-kun?” She wants to sound sophisticated and sure, but her voice is chipmunk high. She’s sure she sounds just like Black Canyon-chan right now. She still can’t quite believe herself, either. She’d kissed him! She kissed Hanako! 

“I --,” he swallows like thick sludge is lodged in his throat. “You shouldn’t--.” he pauses as though trying to collect his thoughts. He tugs at the collar of his gakuran, fidgeting as though ants had crawled into his clothing. “You shouldn’t do things like that. I’ll get the wrong idea.”

Wrong idea? That statement throws her mind for a loop. How would he get the wrong idea from a kiss? She thinks that it’s pretty self-explanatory! Kisses usually only meant one thing, after all. He can’t be this dense, right? She had even told him that she liked him back in the painted world. She’s sure that he knows that, right? 

“W-What’s the wrong idea?” She demands, small hands balling themselves into frustrated fists. “I told you before, right? I like you!” The words are out before she can stop them, but she’s far too annoyed to even care about that right now. Her first kiss and he has the nerve to look like his favorite hamster had just died. 

His two index fingers press together as he fidgets, “I know,” he mumbles, then glances back at her, almost shy. “I just -- it’s probably not a good idea, you know.” She can tell what he must be thinking. He’s dead and she’s...not. Even if her wish is eventually granted, she will eventually need to leave the school and move on from Kamome academy. Her life would go on, and his wouldn’t.

It isn’t much of a future.

Nene had already thought about all of that.  If it wasn’t her shortened lifespan, she’d often spend her nights agonizing over her feelings for the ghost boy. It was love, but a doomed one. A relationship with a supernatural had a time limit, even in the best of cases. 

“There’s so much that you deserve,” he continues, and her breath hitches when he leans forward, lips brushing against her cheek. He hadn’t done anything like that since the incident with the confession tree. Her belly works itself into knots, especially when he wraps an arm around her waist. “I can’t give you any of that. I’m dead, Yashiro. I can only promise to fulfill your wish so that you can live to your 90s and go marry some lame fantasy prince.” He moves his free hand to ruffle her hair, smiling in that frustratingly self-sacrificial way. As though that was that. Like the discussion was over. 

It feels strange to hear him echoing her previous desires. True, before meeting Hanako, all she could dream about was being swept off of her feet by a tall, stunning prince-like boy. All of those wishes feel hollow now, like emptiness gnawing at her heart. 

She still wants love.

It’s just --

“I don’t want any of that unless it’s with you, Hanako-kun.” His eyes grow as wide as saucers, the light filtering from the top of the cave makes the gold within them sparkle like moonstones. He opens his mouth and she knows that he’s going to try to keep fighting her on this. He had so many reasons why this wouldn’t work.

I’m dead, Yashiro.

I can’t take you on dates, Yashiro.

I can’t grow old with you.

I’m bound to Kamome. 

You deserve better than me.

Unfortunately for him -- she doesn’t want to hear any of them. 

Nene surges forward, kissing Hanako again. This time, she sits up onto her knees, invading his space and taking his face into her hands. If she can’t convince him with her words, then perhaps she can convince through action? Nene tilts her head and parts her lips. There, that feels a bit better than just kissing with her mouth squeezed closed. Hanako’s lips are slightly moist. They shiver as she carefully another kiss to the corner of his lips, and then the other.

This didn’t feel as awkward as last time, but Hanako is still far too rigid for her liking. “We can go on dates in the boundaries,” she says as she pulls away. She loops her arms around his shoulders and moves to kneel in between his parted legs. Sometime in between her kissing him again, he’d sprawled back slightly, legs splaying and arms reaching out as though he wants to grab onto something, though he isn’t quite sure what. 

She brushes her lips against his lips again, softer this time as she opens her mouth experimentally. That feels… kind of nice, actually. There are no fireworks, but she begins to feel a slight, almost ticklish feeling in the pit of her stomach. “Even if you can’t grow old with me. I’m sure that we’ll figure something out. I just… I just want to be with you, Hanako-kun,” she draws back and makes direct eye contact this time.

She needs him to understand that.

None of those superficial things mattered to her anymore. It would all feel empty without at least trying to pursue her feelings for him. “And you -- you keep saying that I deserve better. But what about you, Hanako-kun?” He tenses at her words, and she knows that she’s nailed the true crux of the problem. Her eyes soften, and she presses her forehead against his. “Don’t keep saying that I deserve better than you. When I want you — and you — don’t you deserve some happiness, too?”

His eyes squeeze shut, pained. His voice sounds raw, as though he’d cry at any second, “I don’t -- Yashiro. There’s so much you don’t know--” “And I’m telling you that I don’t care!” She yells, cutting him off. It hurts to hear him speaking that way about himself. She knows that he’s killed -- his own brother, no less. But, she’s seen enough of his past self to know that he wouldn’t have taken such drastic action without there being some sort of reason. She didn’t know what that reason was, or if there was any excuse for murder. He’d promised to tell her everything when he was ready to and she was more than prepared to wait for him. 

There’s so much that she doesn’t understand about Hanako.

— But she can’t bring herself to judge him for any of it. 

His expression is one of slack-jawed shock like he can’t quite believe that she exists. She kisses him again, harder this time. She wants him to understand. No — she needs him to understand. Luckily, it’s this kiss where Hanako seems to finally regain some of his brain’s function. Or at least, his body has finally caught up to what was happening. He releases a soft, almost strangled sigh as his hands wrap around her. It’s a tight, almost desperate sort of hug. It’s like he’s never hugged anyone before in his life like he’s starved for her.

He clutches at her back, fingers digging into the fabric of her kimono as he finally returns the kiss. His lips part, mouth opening as he draws her bottom lip into his mouth. Nene whimpers, a thrill of pure heat blossoming in her chest. One of Hanako’s sharper teeth caught on her lips. It drags along the swell of the tender flesh, and while it stings, it also inspires a feeling inside of that that is so sharp that she can’t help but shudder.

What -- is this?

“Yashiro,” Hanako murmurs against her mouth. “Do you really mean all of that?” His question is a probing one. He sounds nervous, excited, and terrified all at once. He changes the angle of the kiss, inclining his head as his tongue swipes along the underside of her lip. If her insides had been jumbled up before, it was as though one thousand tiny butterflies had all been jammed inside of her belly now. She can’t stop the soft whine from escaping from her. He’d -- he’d just spoken, hadn’t he? 

“Y-Yes,” she admits, hands moving from their position up to his hair. She’s not sure why, but it feels right to do that. His hair is soft to the touch, like satin on her fingertips. Nene swipes his hat off of his head in her enthusiasm, and she’s not sure where it falls off to, nor does she care. “I want to be with you, Hanako-kun,” she repeats, feeling as though she is in a haze. Her brain feels like it’s filled with cotton candy or clouds as soft as the ones that had been in Shijima-san’s picture world.

She’d wanted to kiss him then, too.

He groans, this time ducking his head away from her mouth. She wants to protest from the lack of contact. Why had he stopped kissing her? Kissing had just started to feel very nice and she beginning to see what all of the fuss was about —  

He kisses the underside of her jaw and she whines. She wants to cover her mouth. She’s sure that sounded pretty embarrassing, but Hanako doesn’t seem perturbed by the sound at all. If anything, it spurs him on, his lips dragging down from along her jaw as he peppers kisses wherever he can find exposed skin along her throat. The collar of the kimono was high, and he couldn’t get as much access as she would’ve liked. 

Oh.

What is she thinking?!

“Yashiro — Yashiro,” he whispers her name against her skin. His lips part, open-mouthed as he draws the skin of her neck into his mouth. She trembles, goosebumps breaking out along her flesh from the feeling. Now that feels like fireworks. 

She finds herself on her back, Hanako sprawled out on top of her and she’s not quite sure how they ended up in this position. Her heart feels so full -- like it might burst at any moment. Hanako runs his fingers through her hair, combing his fingers through her scalp and it feels so nice that she can’t help but close her eyes and moan. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, but she grabs both of his cheeks, tugging him down to kiss him silent once more. 

“Don’t apologize.” Why would he be sorry for this? For making her feel like this.

For being as close to death as she was, she’d never felt more alive. 

“I just — ,” he struggles with his words. “I want this — I want to be with you, too,” his eyes burn, and as he draws away. No, she thinks breathlessly. I want more. Kiss me more — “I feel like I’m dooming you. If — if we’re together… then can I really grant your wish?” His hands tremble as he moves a hand down to cradle her cheek. “What if I want to keep you all to myself? I just...feel so selfish.”

More. More. More —

She kisses each of his cheeks and then finds herself fumbling with the buttons of his gakuran, if only to gain access to his throat. He sounds so stunned, head falling against her shoulder as he presses his body against her. Did he feel the same way that she did right now? He had been covered in so many bruises in the past when he was alive. She wonders if anyone had ever touched him with the intent of causing joy — and not pain. 

A tornado storms inside of her, feelings too intense for her to even put a name to overwhelming her. She can feel tears prickling at the corners of her eyes. Their situation wasn’t exactly a fair one. Two doors were set before her. Death or life. Both options would take her away from him. Though, when he holds her this way — and says such sweet, honest things, Nene thinks that she’d be alright with dying. At least if it was like this. 

Was this -- how Sumire-chan felt? 

“Then have me,” Nene whispers. “Let’s be together.” 

He chokes on what sounds like a sob, eyes glittering with unshed tears as he smiles down at her. He chuckles.

“So many wishes. How can I keep up with granting all of them?” He uses his fingers to wipe at the tears that had begun to fall freely down her cheeks. He brings one of her hands to his lips, brushing them against the back of her palm. “You’re so needy, Yashiro.” 

“It’s a boyfriend’s job to grant his girlfriend’s needy wishes,” she returns his smile. Then, she kisses him again, opening her mouth he can suckle on the tip of her tongue. She shudders -- yes, this is where she is meant to be. 

“Is that so?” 

“It is,” she affirms, quieting him again.

She isn’t sure how long they were meant to last -- but Nene does know this. 

She’d brave it all for him. 

---- 

The end.

----

[sasorikigai]

❛  no ,   nooo  -  come  back  to  bed .  ❜ ( for fire hubby, have a needy sunshine )

𝑫𝑨𝑾𝑵 - 𝑭𝑳𝑨𝑽𝑶𝑹𝑬��� || @sonxflight || accepting 

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 || Hanzo Hasashi does not often harbor this urge to run away from all the throes of surmounted tribulations, to run untamed like wildfire scorching the entire expanse of forest. There is no peculiar place other than where it will take him, for he can never put himself without this ritual, without him melting like sand, without the pale rose of Harumi’s lips stilled in motionless forever beneath the entombed glacier prison. He would often remain in an emptiness, a perpetuated silence which could never be breached and perforated, an absence of mind and soul, where his existence itself would float amidst the vacuum of nothingness. Perhaps it was his obsessive mania for her having become a black hole; slowly consuming everything real about what he used to have with her, and like Icarus, Hanzo Hasashi would chase her nonexistent body, mind, and soul up high, but how that futile attempt would melt his Phoenix wings, making him flightless. 

The metanoia of a dead star, once Betelgeuse let the light of Scorpion’s madness shine like the very luminous red of the celestial body above. For she is the tidal wave inside his senses, and there is no escape from her, ever and beyond as her death has left a hell in him. All he hears now are screams reverberating against his chest, along with Satoshi and Koharu’s, and the familiar mountains, rivers, and valleys encasing the Shirai Ryu permeate with sanguine perpetuity and deathly veil. As disparate sensation of being anchored in his beloved’s coalesced limbs, along with the dissociation of reality separating him from his own corporeality and steeled nonexistence, Hanzo Hasashi gently frees himself from the comforting familiarity of halcyon beauteous sensation. Love may know no bounds when such love is genuine and beyond themselves on both ends, as Hanzo pours into Ryou, and vice versa, but how could he ever conquer the oozing, crimson ghost of grisly, humiliating death of his family when the shattered ivory of their fragile, brittle bones tremble and weep; helpless to do nothing, but plead on broken sobs? 

The perpetuated nightmares foreshadowing only a broken wail as he would helplessly trail rended screams, horrors certain following the bloodstained trail of Hanzo Hasashi Compounds, as a shrill and desolate scream of Harumi’s voice would only reveal the eternal landslide of his heartbreak and despair. “There is an exhaustion in my bones, in my heart, and in my soul - emotions ache like old wounds picked incessantly open. A blade twisted in-between the ribs. I feel myself rapidly dying, as my heartbeat explodes and grows cold beneath the ache indescribable to even my battle-scarred physique,” the quiet sigh of his breathing would become graveled, from the geyser deep within the chambers of his lungs. He feels as if he is a ghost possessing his own body sometimes, and as a pair of large hands encompass the disheveled swell of his bronzed visage, Hanzo Hasashi’s erect, once solemnly austere form trembles and writhes, every chiseled musculature pulsating with swallowing burning sensation of inferno ablaze, sweeping through his tormented breaths. 

Regardless, the overwhelming emptiness gravitates Hanzo’s frame to seek purchase against Ryou Sakai’s pectorals, as a splayed hand feels the thumping strength beneath it, as his barest essence breaths against his lover’s neck as he sheds magmatic spill of tears; bearing witness that this traumatized man has the greatest of courage; the courage to suffer. 

“私はこの努力全体に無関心でいられたらいいのにと思います. 私たちの間のこの距離は...私の心に圧倒されます. 一緒に私の現実を和らげる必要がありますが、それがもうない場合はどうなりますか？[ I wish I could be apathetic towards this whole endeavor. This distance between us... is overwhelming to my heart. Together should sooth my reality, but what if it doesn't anymore? ]” ▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 ||

[curiousconch]

Scarlet Letters

Chapter 2 of Ricochet (An Open Heart AU)

Catch up here: Prologue | Chapter 1

Chapter Synopsis: Grappling with the aftermath of her breakup with Rafael, Heather is faced by yet another threat, forcing her out of her apartment. Bryce and her other friends come to her aide.

Pairings: Rafael Aveiro x MC (Dr. Heather Song) | Bryce Lahela x MC (Dr. Heather Song)

Words: 2.4k+ | Genre: Crime, Mystery, Thriller, Romance

Rating/Warnings: Mature (16+) / language, hints of violence

Author’s Notes: Majority of the characters are owned by Pixelberry, except the main character Heather Song. Please let me know if you want me to tag you in the next chapters. Comments and suggestions are certainly very welcome! Thank you for reading!

Heather can't remember how she covered the distance to her building, nor how she arrived in front of her apartment door. Grateful for the silence that embraced her as she got inside, she went directly to her room. Once the door shut closed, she finally let go of the flood that brimmed from her eyes. Crouching down on the carpeted floor, in that dark rainy night, she sobbed like never before.

What she can only remember is how hopeful she was tonight before it all ended.

She planned the surprise for him on the first day she landed in Maryland, coming to the realization that she was waging an unnecessary war against him and his efforts to comfort her. It never occurred to her that she will be too late.

She squinted at the picture of the bodies entangled in Rafael's living room couch. She can still vividly see it, along with the sound of the breaking bottle of wine she bought at the airport.

She heard rumors. That's all she thought it was - baseless whispers of people seeing Rafael with someone else. Even her friends Sienna and Elijah tried to warn her of what was happening, but she was so deep in denial that she didn't dare to listen. She trusted him that much.

Her sweet and charming Raf. Her savior. Her love. She never wanted to be so wrong as badly as she did at that moment.

The man whom she thought she exactly needed and wanted was the same person who wreaked havoc in her soul.

She wanted to forgive him, in her heart she wanted to give him another chance. But her brain screamed against it, her past life bursting in all shades of red inside her mind.

The portraits of her teenage years flashed before her eyes one by one, like horrific creatures escaping from her personal Pandora's box:

That fateful day she came home early because she was sick during her junior year in high school, the sound of voices in the master bedroom.

Her dad and a strange woman enamored.

The bags and boxes containing her father's belongings. The divorce and its fallout.

Her mom working night and day to put her through school, leaving her alone most of the time.

Cancer. Losing her mom because of it. The reason why she wanted to be a doctor.

It cost her half of her life to submerge those experiences in the trenches of her adolescence. But now, all of it was bursting over the surface, like large waves in the sea of her present. She felt like drowning.

Helpless, she wailed, wanting nothing but the indescribable hurt to fade away. But it didn't, instead, it stayed, for how long she have no idea.

With her ears ringing and her whole body sore, she fell into a troubled slumber. It wasn't until the next morning that she saw the scarlet letters painted on her walls.

***

Jordan huffed as he jogged away from the sidewalk into the alley nearby. His black hoodie cast a shadow dark enough to hide his face.

He discarded the plastic bags in the dumpster, a soft thump sounded as the spray paint canisters rattled against the bottom.

He found his way to his parked car nearby and jumped in, removing his leather gloves and shoving it into the compartment. He briefly looked at his watch - 10:36pm. He roughly had about 24 minutes before the meeting.

Backing up from the alley, he drove out to the main street and made sure he wasn't being followed. He took the next turn to the highway, flipping on his radio, humming along the music.

When he arrived at his destination, he found a nearly-empty parking lot. He found a solitary Lexus near the back fence and parked his car several meters away. He took a discreet path towards the black car and hopped inside, pulling the hood off his head.

"It's done," he spoke to a man in a suit at the back seat, and showed a picture of red spray paint on blue walls. "You'll hear it on the news tomorrow."

The man beside him silently nodded, sneering at the image. He withdrew a thick manila envelope from his side and gave it to Jordan.

"As requested,"

Jordan peeked into the contents, revealing a thick wad of cash and a glint of black metal.

Contented, he stepped out of the vehicle and got back to his own. Turning on the ignition, he thought to himself - Phase 1 check. Time for phase 2.

***

The sound of scrambling footsteps overlapped with the loud and panicked shrieks within the walls of Heather's bedroom.

Jackie came in first, ready to curse the abomination of Heather's screams as she came in to the apartment, after pulling an all-nighter. She stopped in her tracks darting at the direction where the other's frightened gaze was fixated.

After hearing Jackie's panicked shouts, Sienna and Elijah followed suit into Heather's bedroom. Upon entering, all their eyes shot across the pale blue wallpaper, a scene right out of a horror movie, coming to life in front of them.

LEAVE BOSTON NOW, OR ELSE.

The characters were sloppily written in red spray paint, as if someone spelled it in haste.

Sienna was the first one to rush to Heather's side, sliding an arm around her in an attempt to comfort her. Elijah got out of the room to call 911, muffling Jackie as she cursed with a mouth of sailor.

Within 15 minutes, the police arrived.

Elijah also sent a text to their group chat, alerting Aurora and the rest of their friends as to what just transpired.

A flurry of replies came in right after. Bryce's was among those text messages.

His face crumpled with anxiety as he sat staring blankly at his phone. He was in his office, his oak desk was filled with case files, all of which he recently dug out from the records department to assist on the reopening of the investigation.

This recent attempt to terrorize his star witness made him speechless. The person behind this is getting bold, he observed.

He decided to abandon his attempt to work on a Saturday, unable to quell his worries. He stood up, got his leather briefcase and made his way to the parking lot.

He drove as fast as he could, plying through traffic effortlessly, navigating the familiar route using muscle memory. He ran into their apartment building, and practically raced to the closing elevator to bring him to the penthouse.

When the familiar door came into view open, he let himself in, his eyes darting around.

Gone was the serenity of the brunches he shared with the group. The scene he stepped into was just chaos.

A barrage of yellow markers were strewn in the apartment, while several people were trying to collect any traces of evidence left behind by the perp. Police tape marked one doorway, a few voices discussing possible theories as to how the events unfolded.

In the middle of it was a frail figure wrapped in a thick gray blanket, and he instantly recognized who it was. "Hey," he managed to say coolly as he strode towards her.

Heather looked up at the towering figure who just crossed the living room. She offered a weak smile, trying to hide the turbulent emotions inside her.

Bryce could see right through her though, but he just smiled back, understanding that she wasn't quite ready to open up yet. As he reached out to touch her hand, he was interrupted by the sound of Rafael's booming voice as he stormed into the room.

"I came as I heard, are you alright?" Heather's boyfriend said as he rushed in to kneel down in front of her, looking very much concerned.

"What are you doing here?" The hatred in Heather's quiet voice made Bryce's eyebrows shoot up.

He saw Rafael immediately retreat, an apologetic look in his face, as if he forgot who he was. He saw Raf's instantaneous shift, then went to leave them to talk to the police at the now cordoned room.

He gently nudged Heather, a wordless question in his face. She shook her head and frowned, peeking at her roommates and the CSI team moving about the apartment.

Clearly, she didn't want to discuss it with strangers around, Bryce figured. He nodded, his eyes softening as he realized that there was more events to uncover beyond what he can see.

After an hour, the deputy in charge motioned for the group to gather in the living room. Once they were all there, he began to explain that Heather's room will be a designated crime scene indefinitely.

"I strongly suggest staying somewhere else, we don't know the and exact nature of this, at least not yet. Choose a place that offers the the most security, but preferably somewhere nearby."

With this, Bryce saw Rafael about to raise his hand. Seeing the panic in Heather's face, he quickly blocked the other man's attempt.

"Keiki's in boarding school, so I have a spare bedroom. You can stay there temporarily," he winked at Heather, assuring her that he got her back.

"Why should she stay with you? Rafael's an FBI agent. She should stay with him," Jackie contradicted as she stood behind Heather, unable to see her discomfort.

"But that's what exactly the attacker expects. We have to get one step ahead of them." Bryce countered.

"But Rafael's her -"

"Enough." One stern look from Heather was all it took to shut Jackie up, her other roommates visibly confused. She shot them each a pleading glance, making all eyes shift to Rafael's tall figure across the room. He immediately hunched his shoulders as if in concession.

"I'm staying with Bryce temporarily. He's right, we have to be at least a step ahead if I want to stay alive." She mouthed a thank you to Bryce, then turned back to her other friends. "Sienna, can I please borrow a few of your clothes? I can't touch anything in my room, except the suitcase I brought in from my trip."

"Of course." Sienna left the room while the others still shared a puzzled look between Heather and Rafael.

Agreeing to her new housing arrangements, the deputy nodded and excused himself, stepping out the apartment. He beckoned the rest of his team out before leaving behind his card, asking them to give him a call if they remember anything new. Taking that as his queue to leave, Rafael left after, looking deflated.

When the group was all that's left in the penthouse, Heather told them about the breakup, clearing the awkwardness from the room. She told them everything - from catching an early flight to surprise Rafael, to her ending up being the one surprised, witnessing her boyfriend's betrayal.

"That son-ov-a-bitch!" Jackie cussed, Elijah only shook his head. Bryce's reaction was a mixture of speechlessness and confusion.

"I-I know I've told you about my suspicions, but I had no idea Rafael had it in him to prove them right," a meek Sienna told Heather, her firm hand rubbing against her arm.

"Well however you look at it, he fucked up. So bad." Bryce whistled, his mouth stiff with the effort to wrestle with the truth bomb Heather just dropped.

"For once in this life, I agree with you, meathead," Jackie nodded to his direction, her eyes softening as she turned to comfort Heather in her own way.

They each tried to console her, but Heather insisted she was fine. Bryce saw her defensive body language, so he made it his mission to provide Heather an escape route.

"All right people, don't you have sleep to get to? Gotta keep you all well-rested. Can't have you bitten off your asses by Dr. Ramsey, am I right?" Apparently, the mention of the infamous grumpy attending was more than enough to make them back off.

He grabbed the duffel bag Sienna produced and grabbed her black suitcase along. Heather removed the thick blanket around her and replaced it with her brown trench coat hanging on the couch.

After what seemed like endless hugging and assuring each of them that she'll be fine, she followed Bryce into the elevator to the garage.

They loaded the bags onto his silver Camry's trunk in silence, and got into the car. Heather instantly sighed in relief as she settled into the passenger's seat. Bryce navigated his way out of the basement and into the street, his amber eyes alternately darting from the road to his friend.

"Well, you look like shit."

"Thanks?" she smiled back at him, unable to stifle a chuckle.

"No problem. You know I'm not one to give false commentary." He grinned, before finally focusing in his driving.

It wasn't long before they arrived in Bryce's sleek condominium complex. She knew the building was newly-built and probably the most secure residence in the city money can afford. Bryce called it Boston's Fort Knox, so when he offered his place, it seemed to be the best solution.

It was initially a bachelor's pad, with enough space for a kitchen, a living area with floor to ceiling windows, and two bedrooms. But over the past few months, it transformed into something more homey, a place where the Lahela siblings can call their own.

It wasn't Heather's first time there. She spent many of her day offs there, all just to help him with his relationship with Keiki, Bryce's teenage sister. She also had the most hand in how it looks inside now.

As they stepped into the condo, Bryce couldn't help but notice how Heather's looked around. The sight of her in his place brought back fond memories.

After a few moments, he urged her to move forward, and led her to the bedroom across the hall.

He unlocked the door and let her in, a mixture of yellow, blue and white interiors welcomed her. It was a homage to the sun, sea and sand of their native state Hawaii.

"Do you want anything? A drink? Something to eat? Boxing gloves to punch someone with?" Bryce leaned on the room's doorway, watching her as she settled in.

As if on queue, her stomach rumbled, and he can't help but laugh.

"Do you still have a pack of ramyun here? I'll come out to cook once I don't look like the piece of shit you just called me." Heather rolled her eyes at him, grabbing a towel from the nearby dresser.

"Nah, I'll whip it up myself you just make yourself presentable to eat my majestic korean noodles." He bowed to her like a butler would before setting course back to the kitchen.

She snickered as she stepped into the shower. Leave it to Bryce Lahela to lighten up the mood.

Tags - @choicesficwriterscreations @eleanorbloom @ramsey-lahela