#it speeks to us somehow

[catiuskaa]

The rain falls [the sky doesn’t]

rain sucks. for you, to the very least, it’s a major problem. but your boyfriend knows something is wrong, and is determined to help you, because even if rain falls, the sky doesn’t.

because it rains a lot where I live and the prompt ‘i am afraid of something + taking care of s/o’ has me weak on my fluffy lil heart. and because i’m nervous of my exams. teehee.

word count: 1.3k

「♪♪ ♡ 🌃 ♡ ♪♪」

It wasn’t the same.

He knew he could be overthinking it, but something had to be wrong. He knew it the moment he heard the door close and there was no sort of welcoming— no “honey, I’m home!” said with a giggle, no hugs or kisses. You hadn’t even moved to your shared room—, where he had been resting, waiting for your arrival.

You two had moved together not too long ago, so, whatever was going on, he hoped that it wasn’t a problem related to how busy his schedule had been or something that he couldn’t fix.

Even if most of the people he knew would say “Hyunjin? Clueless, the man can’t get a thing,” this was right in front of him, like a missing center piece of a puzzle that is almost done. And it was you the one on the core of the issue, so of course, this was maximum priority.

Silently confused, he tilted his head on the doorframe, in a kind of cartoonish way. His eyebrows shot up when he noticed your figure on the sofa, coat and bag still on, feet hanging off the couch so you wouldn’t get it dirty.

Oh, it was that bad? He winced silently. It tugged at his chest, tightening feeling growing slowly.

“Hey there, lovely.” He greeted in a murmur, bending down on his knees, stroking your hair softly. He noticed how wet and damp it felt under his touch, as if you hadn’t bothered to use the umbrella that you carried around and that rested right in front of the door, left to dry.

You let out a strange sort of whine, and that gave out your unsteady breathing, his face quickly displaying innocent worry.

“F-fuck,” you cursed, sniffing, quickly brushing away your tears, yet more came to replace those.

“Oh, baby,” he cupped his face with your hands, wiping your cheeks with his thumbs, stroking in a soothing motion. “Lovely, why are you crying?”

You sobbed, pouting, stopping your failed attempts on hiding your face as he sweetly caged your face in his big hands, almost directly in front of his.

“I-it’s stupid.”

He frowned, a gesture almost unnoticeable.

“Yeah. And Seungmin says I’m intelligent.”

You snorted softly, and that made some of his worry go away, smiling at you softly. He pressed a small kiss on your forehead, so warm, so home, so Hyunjin, that your smile stayed in place, even if tears were still coming out.

“S-so… I uh…” He nodded, encouraging you to keep speeking and you sniffed, trying to look for the correct words.

A lightning illuminated the room, but it was the sound of thunder that rumbled under its walls, and for you, it seemed that the place had shattered into pieces. You squirmed in your place, hiding in the arms of Hyunjin, who hugged you, passing his hands, warm to the touch, under your cold and wet coat, quickly taking it off and covering you both with the blanket you kept to watch movies on the couch.

He cooed softly, your head hidden on the crook of his neck as he pecked you so tenderly, so sweetly, that you couldn’t help but let out a sigh full of anxiety, now curling up on Hyunjin’s lap, the sounds of the storm feeling further away as his slow-paced breathing calmed you down.

“My little taco.” He hummed with a cheeky smile as he had wrapped you in the blanket, only your face free from the soft fabric. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You thought about it, then shook your head sideways. Somehow, saying you were afraid of storms made them more unbearable. As if you couldn’t hide or escape from them anymore.

He moved both of you, now laying down on the sofa as he took your shoes off and then rested his head on your lap.

But, umpromptedly, his eyes shined as he looked at you.

“Lovely, I’ve been wanting to do something with you for a while,” he started. “If you feel too afraid, we don’t need to do it, we can always come back inside.”

He hesitated. Should he say it out loud? He had felt how putting your fear to words made you even more anxious. So, instead, he didn’t.

Standing up, he went to get his raincoat and his boots, taking another for you, the one you were wearing at the moment being far too drenched to wear again. He hung it close to the radiator and then helped you in your boots. And also threw one of his sweaters over your head, and you gripped the sleeves, feeling as long as always.

Hyunjin took your hands in his, walking backwards to the door, but not taking any umbrella. He stared at you lovingly as he waited for you to ask or refrain from leaving, but you nodded, still quite unsure.

He giggled, hands cradling your face and planting a big smooch on your lips, his fruit flavoured chapstick lingering on you.

Without letting go of your hand, like a kid on Christmas day, he excitedly went to the entrance of the building, now both of you standingin front of the main door, rain pouring down on the other side of the glass.

He took his phone and pressed play, happily handing you a pair of headphones, connecting both his and yours with the adaptor that you had teased him for buying a while ago.

The known melody tingled in your ears, Frank Sinatra’s voice filling your ears and your chest because Hyunjin looked so cute as he stared at you, unsure of opening the door until you gave him a sign, looking so squishable and —god, you could bite him he looked so cute—.

You let out a sigh, but with the music, hearing the rain was almost imposible, and that helped with your nerves, the instrumental on the track setting a beat for your nervous heart to follow.

“I chose this because you played it yesterday, and uh, I, well…” Hyunjin said, failing to hide a quiver in his voice.

“It’s a good song. It’s ok.” You smiled, and squeezed his hand. “It’s cheesy. Like you.”

He laughed, more relaxed. “You were the one who was screaming the chorus the other day, shouting ‘fly me to the moon’ so loud the neighbours though you were an astronaut.”

You both chuckled out of nervousness, out of a weird excitement that he glued to you.

You nodded, and both of you got out to the rain.

You flinched at the wet and cold feeling, your skin shivering at the sharp feeling of it, but you were too bothered, looking at Hyunjin, smiling, laughing, having fun, that you smiled too.

Hyunjin smiled back at you cheekily.

“Now we dance, because I’m so cheesy and you love it.”

He held you closer by your waist, lulling your body softly to the music in your headphones.

Hyunjin rested his forehead against yours as he started singing, and you lowered the volume of the headphones to listen to him better.

The rain had never looked so beautiful until he appeared on the frame.

soft hours.

「♪♪ ♡ 🌃 ♡ ♪♪」

~Kats, who lives in a place that could rain all month and because it has been raining so much got inspired (and also because procrastination is the king of good ideas to write)

ps. I seriously wrote this in 30 minutes without making any sound. I hadn’t written anything in months. I’m so fucking proud of myself.

[grim-faux]

X6 _ The Fiercest Hunter

First _ A Small Quiet

It was one of those sort of times. The rain of the Pale City wasn’t falling heavily as it did other times, but the steady dripping and plopping pellets and the sound of water plinking gave the city a sort of mood. It wasn’t that hard to see through the roads and endless city blocks stretching forever, but that could be part of the problem too. The pods of Viewers had gone elsewhere, and their eerie presence wasn’t missed, but somehow the sound of rain made the city feel that much more expansive and empty. A forever realm of winding streets, dark hallways, and rooms upon rooms that went nowhere.

What other way would the city be?

Viewers used to clustered into narrow alleys to watch the televisions. Most times they barreled into whatever was in their way, usually getting caught inside buildings after slamming into a wall enough times. Either they collapsed from crushing the face in (more than it already was), or they found and opening and tumbled into the rooms. If enough stampeded around, they could bulldoze a brick wall.

Mono aimed his eyes towards the mist swirling above the highest skyrises. The falling rain obscured the clouds and it made him feel like if he got high enough, he might be able to walk upside down on the mist. Or maybe, there was a world above the mist, and it was solid enough he could wander on it safe from the icy roads he scurried through.

That was a silly thought. He gave his coat and hat a shake, casting off some of the swollen droplets sagging on the edges. He had a lot to do before going back to the alley, and he shouldn’t leave the Thin Man alone for too long.

Wandering along the broken concrete, he evaded the heaps of ruble from the building face high above and the sogging mounds of garbage. He couldn’t find a way through the wall on this side, but if he got to a clear spot maybe the Thin Man could teleport there and find an opening. The Thin Man didn’t need a lot of help finding his way around, he went wherever he wanted. Mono just made everything was safe and no monsters lurked.

A Viewer crashed into the pavement just as he was crawling out from under a slab of cement. It startled Mono into shuffling backwards on his toes and hands, a tinge of static bristled in his spine. Or that was the frigid water sploshing his whole body.

He huddled there for a while, shaking and feeling more soaked than sitting in the drilling rain during the worst storms. The Viewer clicked and gurgled, one arm bent at an unsettling angle beneath its hip, and it was knotted like a bedsheet rope. One eye in the folds of its malformed face glared at him, it had a strange red tint in it.

Carefully, he shuffled around the inert body and stayed far out of the other arms range. The Viewer was quiet and unnaturally still, but it was stupid to be careless. Once he was safe enough away from it, he did pick up a rock and chucked that at the body. Still nothing. Good.

The middle of the road was splint by a narrow crack, it wasn’t large or a problem even without a teleport. He lunged to the other side and hurried over to a short set of steps leading up to a door. Unlike the other side, most doors and stairs stayed intact and the brick was solid. He climbed up one set of steps and pulled a crate over. Unsurprising the door was locked, the base was rotted and panels frayed away, but a bunch of ruble had been crammed into the opening.

It was the same with the other stairways and doors. If he found an unlocked door and entered, he was met with too much clutter for safe navigation. He didn’t want to get trapped, and worst he didn’t want to get separated from the Thin Man again.

He worried about the Thin Man and waiting in the alley, doing nothing. When Mono returned from a scout, he might poke his hat – mushing it onto his head – stare at Mono and say nothing, except eat smoke. If he tugged on the man in the hat, he brushed him away. No speek. Just scooting Mono away, or not looking at him. It was making Mono more anxious. Did the Thin Man stop? Was no move? Like cold children?

Some children never laid down for stop. They could sit upright forever, even when the last traces of light faded from their eyes. All kids knew not to bother children that stopped. If children couldn’t move, then they stayed where they were.

With the creeping alarm chasing him, Mono returned to the place he left his Thin Man. At least a chain-link fenced kept stuff from wandering on this side. It was easy for Mono to slip through the narrow opening on the floor, and race to the place where the man and his hat waited.

He rushed to the Thin Man’s side and grabbed onto the tail end of his suit jacket. High above, a thread of smoke wound away from the tip of his burn stick. That didn’t mean anything, he saw the stick swirl its wispy white enough times while it sat abandoned on a table (he knew better than to chew on the burning ones). He couldn’t find the dark eyes in the shadow of the hat, and the face didn’t twitch. He tugged harder on the suit, grumbling at the man and his hat.

“Hey. Psst.”

At least a hand did move to nudge him away. No speek. Just move him.

“You.” He snagged the hand by the wrist and held on with every fiber of is being. The static buzzed through his bones, he wasn’t sure if that was how it always was or if the Thin Man was angry at him again. “Am have. Go. C’mon.” The hand lifted and shook him like he was oozing mud that wouldn’t drip off. “Up. Y’up.”

The air coughed out of him when the other hand latched onto his waist. He kicked his legs and wriggled, but couldn’t squirm away. Even his mighty arms failed to anchor him when the fingers applied pressure, and with a firm tug he was snapped off. He was prepared for another wriggle match, but the hand popped open and his feet pads slammed to the concrete.

This time he sprang over to the man and his hat, shoving at his hip. “Hey. Okay?” He stared up at the Thin Man, but nothing was offered to him. The tallest monster in all the city simply tucked his arms over his middle and stayed put. Like a pouty child. Mono would be infuriated, if he wasn’t so conflicted about this state.

He did his best to comfort his Thin Man. He reminded him how important he was, how Mono would protect. He made sure to tell him that he was Mono, and he was the best child that looked at him and kept. He tugged on the crisp jacket, or pushed his face into his side. Sometimes he reached up to the hand draped over the Thin Man’s middle and pet his fingers. No biting. His Thin Man needed so much reassurance.

But again, the hand brushed him away.

He tumbled backwards and fell flat on his back. Rather launch back into his efforts, he sat up and stared at the tall figure hunched over. These moods usually passed like nothing, but they didn’t last like this.

Before leaving his Thin Man, he inched over to his hand and patted his fingers. “Am scout. Shhh.”

No reaction. Nothing.

They came from the other direction of the alley, the ground wrecked by cracks and splints that tore through the cement and made the high buildings arch sharply. It was quiet with the dome wilted above, only a few fat drops slapped onto carboard shelters built by travelers and other rubbish cast from the windows. His feet swatting against layered papers sounded so forlorn. No noise but the prattling rain, no televisions chattering with the scrambled images flashing knives or big water. Just lonely rain, his soft steps, and the walls stretched around him.

Some of the cracks he could climb down into, rain water collected in the bottom and sloshed around his knees as he wandered. It was stifling and even colder with the gravelly walls glaring back at him, sometimes he was slipping among the narrow crevices to keep going and find a space where he could climb up. The water stung when it hit him, maybe loaded with grit from the sides. Pebbles and chunks of rocks would plunge into the water – one smacked into his hat, but the cushion protected him from any serious harm. It reminded him to be alert, even if monsters could find him down here he could still get buried by whatever was up above.

In one of the under channels he was crawling through, fierce splashing made him flinch back and wait. In the gloom, he couldn’t see anything and definitely not anything crashing into the shining surface of the water. The water rolled and frothed for a bit, then calmed down. Mono held on a bit longer, focus on the walls and possible shifting. When nothing finally happened, he waded forward in the water.

Something smacked against his shin!

At once the water was a foamy mess. He toppled over, and a slimy mass flopped onto his lap. Another beamed him in the shoulder, nearly knocking him out.

It didn’t take him long to realize what the thing was. A fish! A big fish! A lot fish!

Mono caught his hat before it got thrown aside, and fumbled to get onto his feet. This was a challenge with the fish – he didn’t know how many – kept smacking into his knees. Instead of get all the way upright, he lunged at one of the flashing fins sweeping through the waves. Missed! His sleeves gurgled as the water surged up his arms. Without wasting a second, he pounced for another vague shape hurtling through the water. Water gushed up his nostrils as he nearly got the flailing creature pinned, it sent a wave cascading across his face as it bucked beneath the water. The panic sent the other fish into a frenzy, in all the confusion and onslaught he couldn’t bury in fingers into the hard scales. The rapids became too much and he was sent rolling, the fish he had pinned catapulted him out of the water.

He snagged the hat before it could get away and slapped the sodden thing back onto his head. Without pause, he sprang at vague swells on the water. Somehow swinging his arm under the surface, a fish slapped against his palm. He managed to grapple with the powerful tail and haul backwards, at the same time crawling to his feet. This didn’t last long and the aquatic beast wretched from his grip. He tried to reclaim it, but very nearly collided with one side of the jagged wall.

Spearing himself through the water was cumbersome with his coat dragging at his back, or wrapping up around his ankles when he made a sharp twist left or right. He didn’t know where the fish might have come from, but they could easily slip away before he realized with how the water was kicked up. All the thrashing cut at his feet too, bits or rock and granite sliced at his toes as he fought the murk for a hold of some slick body. He cut his knuckles when he jammed his hand down, unaware that a crop of rock was right beneath the surface.

After only a few moments – which felt like ages – at last, he crammed his arms against one of the fish and shoved his entire hand into its gill. Of course the fish wracked its body fighting with getting snared, and having something jammed into it. But Mono locked his arms together and heaved himself up from the water. The arm through the fish gills locked over its snout, and he dug his fingers into the soft lip. His other arm looped under the fins, and with his prize secured he squeezed back under the low cement ceiling he first scooted through.

The fish still fought, beating against his knees with every ounce of its strength. Six would have fought him for it! He managed to keep it locked in his embrace, his splintered nails serving the most vital function by shearing through the soft fish lips. It was not getting away.

He used the fish like a ski board, its body helped him to climb through the narrow gaps he would have had to go over before. This was the best to happy with the dreary rains. He knew the Thin Man would like the fish, everyone liked fish. It was how he showed Her how he was great with sharing and providing.

Climbing up from the depths of a crevice was much trickery than he thought, given he had a massive fish speared on his arm. By unlocking his fingers from its lips, he could mostly use his other arm to pull up and the fish helped keep him from knocking into the jagged rocks with his chest. Climbing down was so much easier. But thinking about sharing with the Thin Man made it all worth it.

He clambered over the edge, adjusting his grip on the fish and holding into the gummy lip. It took more effort to get traction under his feet, he scrambled over plastered flyers practically cemented to the ground. He rushed to crouch and crawl under a pile of crushed furniture and slipped when he tried to break into a run on the other side. Keeping his balance became a struggle with the fish renewing its flopping. He perched on top of his catch until it wore itself out, then resumed his trot. He didn’t get far before the fish went wild, its whole body writhing as he fought to keep his balance while inching across a section of concrete between mounds of garbage.

Somehow! The fish knocked his feet out from under him, they both went down. With all the thrashing and wriggling, the fish tore free of his grip and went skidding across the ground.

On the other side of the trash pile opened another crevice, with crushed furniture dangling over the side. No-No-No! Mono scrambled after his catch, managing to lock his fingers into its fins. It wasn’t enough to overpower the frenzied creature, and the tail walloped him the face in three rapids successions before he relented and leapt away from it. The mean fish went flopping towards the crevice—

And disappeared forever.

Mono was still reeling from the harsh assault on his face, his face buzzing in the worst way, and warm liquid ran down his lips and chin. He rubbed at it and sniffled. That hurt.

Despite how angry he was about the fish being a jerk, he wandered over to the edge and peered down. Nothing was below but darkness. How far did the crack go down? It didn’t matter, he wasn’t going to risk falling into the depths of the city for a terrible fish. He was sure it would’ve tasted like mud.

Giving a hiccup, he swiped the warm wetness off his chin and turned away. Who needed a stupid fish? Not him. He could find better food for the Thin Man – no bird, he didn’t like bird. As he navigated the cavernous trenches of the alley, he wondered about better things. Like what he could find for the Thin Man to cheer him up. He liked the book. But books were heavy, and he didn’t always like the ones Mono could drag around.

But first he needed to check on his Thin Man.

Right where he left him. Like Mono knew he would be. He raced over to the hunched figure and clambered up onto his side, then onto one long arm. The Thin Man began uncoiling, but Mono stumbled onto his chest and grabbed him by the front of his suit seam.

“C’mon. We go. Up. Up.” He held onto the coat when the fingers slipped around his soggy body and tugged. “No. Y’up. Up. We.” With a firm yank, his gunky fingers snapped loose. He growled and wriggled in the hand holding him firmly, not setting him down or doing anything but keeping him up and out of the way. He couldn’t do anything for the Thin Man if he wasn’t allowed to go around and search.

“Down. Down.” He beat at the hand with his fists, not really doing anything. It did make him feel better. He couldn’t lean far enough over to bite. “Want… down. Lemme.” He hissed when the Thin Man pinched his face with his thumb and forefinger. “No. Y’hurt.” It wasn’t really hurting, but he didn’t like his head griped and his thrashing restricted. It was too confining. The Thin Man still wasn’t great with soft.

“What happened here?”

He stopped wriggling and tried to look away from the eyes gleaming beneath the shelter of the hat. A bubbly snort got out of him when he tried to swallow. “Leggo.” He pawed at the fingers, but the Thin Man did whatever he wanted. “Down,” he whimpered.

“How did you manage this?”

Mono ducked his head down when the Thin Man shifted his hand around his shoulder and secured him better, then slipped his other hand beneath his feet. He didn’t mind sitting on his palm, as long as he could tuck his head down and hide his face. In all the excitement for his fish, he didn’t realize he lost another hat. Lost a dumb fish AND another hat.

“Let me see.”

The static buzzed in his ears. Mono didn’t want to look at the Thin Man. He shook his head, while burying himself into his knees. The terrible sounds came out of him, despite his biggest effort to hold them in. What was wrong with the Thin Man? He didn’t bother with anything Mono did to make him happy, unless red marked up his face, or arms. Or anything else Mono was trying to bandage and hide away. The memories brought another rattling sound from his mouth, all smothered by him burrowing into himself. His shoulders wouldn’t stop quivering.

Sure, he fussed over Her. But She was bad about taking care of her hurts. She rather limp around for a long time, before he managed to pounce her and fix a messed up foot.

But Mono was great at wrapping his hurts. He never had anyone that would do that.

“L̶o̸o̵k̶ at  ̵M̷e̸.̵”

He shook his head behind his legs and tightened more into his ball. That didn’t shield him from the prying fingers that nudged into his ribs and pulled him out of his safe coils. The typical custom of prodding and pinching, tugging and turning went on. Mono knew by now fighting this didn’t work, so accepted the detached examination. Like he was some sort of puzzle to figure out. When finally satisfied, the Thin Man flipped him over to face him and rubbed a scratchy sleeve against his nose.

“Y̷o̴u̴ ̵ D̸o̷ not seem  ̶T̸h̶a̷t̷ ̵ D̵a̵m̸a̵g̸e̴d̴.̴ ̵There is no need for such D̸r̷a̴m̴a̵.”

Mono sputtered at the itchiness dragging on his nose. He tried getting away, but the Thin Man kept his free hand locked around his ribs while finishing with scrubbing at his chin. With no other option, he turned his eyes away and watched the brick wall rising behind the Thin Man glistening with the rivers of rain. It was better than trying to avoid the shining eyes scrutinizing all the things Mono did wrong. Like make… po-tent’shun work. Or whatever.

“You are bleeding quite a bit.” Mono did like the thick smoke smell on the sleeve. It was overpowering and made his eyes water, but not in the bad way. “I do not comprehend how you tumble into these S̷i̷t̶u̸a̴t̸i̴o̸n̴s̷.̵ I would suspect that you….” The crackling voice trailed off. Mono snuffled, every time he exhaled a fresh warm wave slipped down his cheeks.

“Does it hurt T̷h̶a̴t̷  ̴M̸u̷c̸h̷?̵”

Mono closed his eyes and shook his head. The Thin Man moved him, and he whined a pitiful sound that didn’t sound much like a brave kid. The soft fabric of the Thin Man’s jacket met his face, and it felt very soothing on his sore and bloodied nose. Firm but careful fingers pressed into his spine and forced him to unroll his limbs a bit more, until he could knit his arms into the folds of the jacket and its creases. Another soggy sound spilled out of him. He was such an idiot. Losing the fish. That would’ve made everything better.

“Shush-shhh-shh…” fizzled the static in his ears. “It will get better. The bleeding will stop and you will feel better. It does not look bad.”

He didn’t care about the hurt or all the copper filling his nose. He lost the fish for the Thin Man. It was going to make him happy and they would share it. Who let food get way? Six fought him when he couldn’t catch the fuzzy animal. But a fish? It didn’t even flee. It fell into a stupid crack. Like an idiot boy.

“Do your breathing. It will help.”

He had so much to do for the Thin Man. This wasn’t the time for being silly and dawdling over a hurt. The roads were brimming with danger, and he still hadn’t found a pathway that went anywhere – not through the roads, or through a collapsing buildings. If he tried, he might still have a chance of finding his way back to the creak and dragging out another fish. The Thin Man hadn’t gone anywhere in forever, he had to eat something other than smoke. But when he tried to squirm away the Thin Man held him.

“I want that B̷l̵e̵e̸d̵i̸n̴g̵ ̵ under C̶o̶n̸t̶r̶o̸l̸ foremost.” Mono grumbled under his breath, but the Thin Man wouldn’t listen. “That feistiness can W̶a̸i̵t̴.̶ Indeed. You are F̸e̷a̸r̷s̷o̶m̸e̷.̵ Whatever shall I do with you?”

The way his Thin Man made that speek… it sounded sad. He didn’t know why he thought that, it was the same creaking hum he always used that made Mono feel especially small and silly. Maybe it was the way the static prickled under his skin, the way it did when some lost thought bothered the Thin Man. Like how Mono couldn’t make powers work, and the Thin Man’s outline sputtered or flashed.

“Am wrong,” he murmured, on impulse. The crackle of static mingled with the prattling rain dancing on minced cardboard and fliers. It filled his ears like cold bubbles and silt.

“You are N̶o̸t̶ wrong. You are just….”

For ages he waited, his hands tightening on a seam of the suit lapel. The fingers worked on his back, unknotting the kinks in his muscles with delicate threading. He rubbed another coating of blood off on the Thin Man’s suit, but he never got whatever speek was had.

Mono was just Mono, and that was a problem for the very tol man.

He wanted to tell the Thin Man how much he did, how hard he worked to make everything safe. The long scouts he did in drafty rooms, how he tricked the worst monsters or found the best hide places for shelter. He collected all the best treasures in rooms, shiny things and interesting trinkets, or bones and boxes of wrapped food. The Thin Man liked wrapped food. Why was everything wrong for the Thin Man? Was it for powers? Them not work? Mono tried. He did work when the Thin Man wasn’t around. Eventually, he would surprise his Thin Man.

This wasn’t that time. He wasn’t ready. He wasn’t ready for the Tower, and he wasn’t ready to show the Thin Man how great he was.

“Are happy… t’Mono?” The static softened to a dull hum in his ears, and he tightened his fingers more into the suit lapel.

“Am I̴ ̸ H̸a̸p̸p̶y̴ to Mono?”

He sighed and rubbed his nose. The blood was sticky and pulled on his upper lip. “Have keep Mono? To happy?”

“N̶o̴t̸ ̶ R̵e̸a̷l̴l̷y̸.̴” A careful finger smoothed the hair on the back of his head. “N̶o̸t̴h̴i̴n̷g̷ you could do will W̵i̸l̸l̷  ̵E̸v̵e̸r̷ ̴make me H̴a̵p̸p̷y̸.̶”

Mono snorted and snapped his face up to those gleaming eyes. “Am make do. For work. Mono will.” For his credit, the Thin Man’s expression was flabbergasted. Good! He should know how much this was for Mono and how resolute he was for this mission.

Then the Thin Man snapped his head back and crackled with a screechy timber. If not for the Thin Man technically being ‘happy’, Mono would be devastated. He still didn’t feel great.

“Oh for the Tower, T̸h̶e̶ ̶ S̸p̵e̴e̸k̷ ̴ you M̶a̵k̷e̶.̴” The Thin Man lifted him up higher and studied his face. Mono always hated being so close to the Thin Man’s face, and being restrained so tightly. But the intense inspection never stopped until the Thin Man was done being curious.

“The bleeding has stopped. That is good. Do you feel better?”

He had no worthwhile response, lest the Thin Man fall into another giggle fit. “You are not happy. H̷m̷m̵?̵ ̷ That is T̵o̴ ̴ B̵e̸ ̵ E̷x̵p̶e̷c̶t̷e̸d̶.̵”

His feet met the icy pavement and a whirlwind of frigid air seeped into his soggy coat. “Am Mono. Have you.”

“And that there I̶s̴ the  ̴P̸r̶o̷b̸l̶e̸m̸.̸” The Thin Man uncoiled from leaning back against the wall, his silhouette glimmered as his posture adjusted into a kneel. “When I am G̶o̴n̷e̸—”

“N̸o̶!̶ ̶” Mono shut that down and threw himself at the knee braced to the cement ground. “No! No leave! Not gone. N̸o̶! Am keep! For Mono. Am have’oo. Mine! Mine! Mono s’keep.” He shouldn’t be so loud. Noisy children die. That was law.

But he couldn’t help it. What did the Thin Man no understand? He knew. He knew the Thin Man didn’t like him, and never wanted him around. He promised himself, those mistakes wouldn’t be repeated. He didn’t need the constant reminder.

“Am keep,” he burbled, while pressing his face to the Thin Man’s leg. He couldn’t be close enough. He couldn’t keep him long enough. But this moment was everything. The rain prattled on the walls, the harsh gale sliced across jagged corners. The static hummed softly in the back of his head. That was the best noise.

“N̴o̴t̴h̴i̸n̷g̷ lasts forever,̵  ̸C̵h̶i̸l̷d̵.̵”

Mono nodded against the dry fabric. The Thin Man was always dry, he always smelled of smoke (the good kind), the crackly noises felt good purring in his ears. But the Thin Man would not be his forever. Still, he would never let the Thin Man forget how much he was wanted.

Careful fingers coiled around his shoulders, but there was no pinching or indifferent scrutiny. He was pressed to the Thin Man’s boney shoulder, and the edge of his jaw settled beside the back of his head. The warble of static crowded out the sounds of icy rain, it felt like the whole world was caged away and it was just him and the Thin Man.

“For a L̷i̶t̷t̸l̷e̶ ̶ W̸h̵i̶l̶e̴ longer, you will have me,” the voice vibrated through his mind.

“Mm hmm,” he murmured, and nestled into the tight embrace. As if the Thin Man thought he would dissipate into the rain if he released him. That was a wonderful thought. “Important. See?” The Thin Man rumbled a sigh through his tiny chest. He should be scared. He should be worried that the Thin Man could forget to do soft, and might crush him.

He didn’t care.

“Y̶e̶s̵.̸ I see.” A dizzying sensation rushed through Mono, and soon after he felt the gentle rock of the Thin Man’s movement. His steps snapped across the high stretching walls around them, until the alley faded away. Then it was only rain dazzling the streets.

“I̵  ̷S̶e̶e̶,̵” repeated the Thin Man’s wistful speek. “You are a silly little child. Yet, here we have each other. Is that not something?”

Mono did his best to nod and grumbled. “Im’port-ant. S’why.” He smiled when the Thin Man chuckled against his shoulder. For once, that was a good noise.

“Yes. Very important.” The Thin Man shifted his face away from Mono, but the wide rimmed hat kept the rain from pelting his head. “And There Will Come Soft Rains. Mono? Would you like a story?”

He suspected this was coming. The Thin Man had other children to look at and visit, after all. But Mono’s eyes were already slipping shut, his thoughts cradled in the hammock of familiar smells and sensations of the Thin Man lulling into a quiet state of nothing thoughts with his warmth and presence.

“Mm,” he hummed.

For a listless spell, the Thin Man tried to describe something of a place with food and warmth that was called an hearf – it was a fire that was caged, and if tended well would keep a place dry and cozy. The ones that tamed the fire were called nomes, but that was as far as Mono got before the noises of static blurred in the dark space of his mind. None of the dream haunts that lurked in the cracks of his doubts awaited, instead, he was bundled in rags and left on a couch. It was very similar to a time forever ago, when the Thin Man first caught him and left him alone.

This time, the Thin Man was waiting for him. Very softly, the back of his fingers glided across Mono’s side. He knew Mono was awake, but didn’t hurry to rouse him or demand anything. He stayed, doing the company and giving Mono a chance to bask in this fleeting comfort.

Next

[musicarenagh]

Guitari Debuts With A Captivating Single Elon Musk Hey guys get ready to embark on a music journey with GUITARI, the creative genius behind "Elon's Musk." This collaborative masterpiece is not just another track; it's a symphonic odyssey that blends GUITARI's intricate guitars with iLL Gates' mesmerizing drums. "Elon's Musk" isn't your typical song; it's a vibrant fusion of progressive and classic rock, reminiscent of Tipper's intricate style. With over 40 sound layers, including live guitar and cellos, this track creates a multi-dimensional soundscape that takes listeners on a unique auditory adventure. We're diving deep into the heart of "Elon's Musk" with Guitari himself. From the inspiration behind the track's creation to its evolution as a spatial audio experience, Ari shares insights into his artistic process and musical influences. Join us as we uncover the stories behind the music, from his childhood memories of music to his vision for the future of the industry. It's a conversation filled with passion, creativity, and a whole lot of soul. So, tune in and get ready to be inspired by the magic of "Elon's Musk" and the artistry of Guitari. It's time to let the music take you on a journey like never before! Watch Elon's Musk below https://youtu.be/SCkGu0LExhI Follow Guitari on Facebook Twitter Spotify Bandcamp Youtube Instagram What is your stage name? Do you ever think about names, and who silly they are in a way. Aren't we all connected somehow? Part of me wants to just take every name that ever was and just be one big unit, sharing art and energy. I am the oracle lol. Yes, I have gigged under a few names, for the EDM thing, I often go by Guitari, and for most other music, it's Ari Joshua. Is there a story behind your stage name? Guitari was like a novelty at first, it was a nickname. My friend Carlos made a logo for me with the Atari logo and furnished a guitar neck in the middle. It was amazing! Those were those years where you really got into a lot of fun stuff. I kept with it. I want to make a product line, I actually made my own custom guitar picks which I have been using for like 20 years that have the logo there. You can buy some at my store at www.arijoshua.com. I think slippers are the most popular item, bu there is a whole bunch of cool items to buy. Ari Joshua is my first and middle name. There isn't a story there that I really want to go into. I think I just wanted to have a cool name that looked good on a poster. I love rock posters and poster art. Maybe some day I’ll add a few more names. Where do you find inspiration? I get my inspiration from the nights I spent under the stars away from the city lights, pondering how it all fits together. I get my inspiration from the pain I have from childhood pain that in some ways will never be resolved but some how that is ok. I get my rock n roll fuck it feelings by tapping into that time period which really wasn’t my fault—divorce. I get my inspiration from seeing how much humans seem to miss the mark in society, how both we can see ii, and in so many ways we all just turn the cheek. I get my inspiration from those that stand up and speek the truth. I get it from being heard and seen and from thinking about my dream of sharing my feelings and connecting with others. To explain it all in an interview, even with a library's worth of words I can’t begin to finish my inspirations list. I get inspiration from sharing my ideas in interviews, and I get my inspiration from reading interviews with people that I respect, admire, love, and from finding layers of truth in their words, and wisdom in their actions. I also get it form kids, and from all the artist I grew up impacted by. What was the role of music in the early years of your life? I love this question. I grew up singing a lot. We had weekly get-togethers with families before the days of the internet, before cell phones, and we sang songs every week. That was from age 2 to age 10, and I have memories of banging on tables and singing. By 12,

I was obsessed with the blues, jazz, and rock n roll. I was exposed to some really amazing records, and I had a library up the street that let me check out albums. Also, I would go down to Cellophane Square and Tower Records and other stores to listen to new music that was coming out, and you know, I had an allowance for doing chores at my mom's house. Not a lot, but enough. A funny memory is there was a Sunday school that my family wanted me to attend, and I didn’t find anything there for me to learn about, I was a well informed pre-teen year old. I wanted to learn about music. I was 12 years old, maybe 13, and they decided to hire me to teach a class on music. I made $15 per class, and the deal was I could buy a new record each week with that money. Music was always very special to me. Maybe not in a traditional way, like I played from a young age; it was more like an outlet and something I thought was beautiful and inspiring.It kind of blows my mind that I moreless have been the same person since I was about 11. [caption id="attachment_54307" align="alignnone" width="2000"] I was obsessed with the blues, jazz, and rock n roll[/caption] Why did you choose this as the title of this project? I have been working on this batch of EDM music forever. I found some seeds from this track 'Elon’s Musk' going back to 2010. There really are at least a few albums' worth of seeds, but I would need to probably find a way to finance the completion. I spent probably 100, maybe as much as 500 hours on this one, I just can’t quantify it. I was going through a phase of trying to find my voice with Ableton Live, and I wanted that progressive sound I heard from artists like Sixis, Tipper, The Glitch Mob, and Bassnectar. I was going to Burning Man and really having some divine inspirational moments. I heard in my head a sound where I could mix the guitar and compositional ideas in there, and I knew the cats making that music often didn’t have that sensibility, so I was all in for a few years, honing a craft. I would print and reprint using guitar pedals, fx, and plugins to emulate those sounds. There wasn't a lot in the way of tutorials back then. I was never a tutorial person anyway, unless to solve an issue I was stuck on. It was sitting in an almost finished state forever, and I have been doing this vault thing where I am sharing new music from the vault. In 2021, I reached out to iLL Gates, who works with my bestie KJ Sawka from ASD. Don’t worry, I am bringing this home here; iLL Gates runs a mentor, coaching program for EDM producers called the producer dojo. I immediately felt a connection to him because I have a music school as well - The Music Factory, and frankly, iLL Gates is a genius and he is full of potential and wisdom! I asked him if he could help with the process of finishing some of my EDM tracks, and he was super sweet about it. He offered to bring me into the dojo and have the dojo remix the tracks, something I still want to do! Anyhow, iLL Gates ended up graciously mixing the song and putting his drums on there to glue it all together, and what he did was subtle and perfect. It totally made the whole thing slap harder. The song was always about space and time travel. It was always about spaceships and spacetime, but with iLL Gates in there, it had to go with the name Elon’s Musk. It was on a few drafts, and it just is perfect. Also Elon is my South African connection club, I was there the same time he was, he was a bit older, but when I was a toddler he was probably a teen. Being born in Africa is a vibe. I wish I could articulate that but the title is great. Love it. What are your plans for the coming months? I have been trying to book some shows and build some systems to get the right folks to hear the music. Also, we are queuing up more releases, spending more time in the studio, getting summer camps and other school-related things in order, as well as considering a second location for the school. I try to let the muse take me between my art with the label and The Music Factory on the education side.

Also I plan to play Cuphead, my new favorite video game and spend time with my family out in the woods. Do you have any artistic collaboration plans? Always. Working on some affiliations for new works and also this fabulous crew of people are all over the soon-to-be-released stuff I am working on in the studio all the time. Joe Doria, Barrett Martin, The Benevento Russo Duo, Reggie Watts, Robert Glasper, ill Gates, Skerik, Russ Lawton, Ray Paczkowski, Delvon Lamarr, Marco Benevento, John Medeski, Billy Martin, Joe Russo, Jason Fraticelli, KJ Sawka, Andy Hess, Eden Ladin, John Kimock, and more. These cats are all over my hard drives, and I can promise that it’s coming, more music is coming I promise you. if I am breathing, I’m working on it. Are you from a musical or artistic family? My grandfather and his lineage of the family were all singers. More than singers, they were cantors, like they would lead services on holy days in the temple. It’s kind of a whole history that I need to save for another interview, but I feel that presence in my music, in my spirit, in my soul. My maternal grandfather dreamed of being a jazz pianist, but his family and he were all fishermen. He would come visit from Cape Town and record the radio to take home with him because they didn’t have any programming like that. When he passed away, he left a suitcase of cassette tapes for me, a little bit different there, but we shared that passion in a way. My mom and dad were not musical, but I looked at them and even at a young age, I thought about what it would be like for them if they did more music. My sister and I loved our music collections, though, and I had lots of friends that did as well. I never met my paternal grandfather but I met his little brother in France. He was a painter and I learned a good deal about the family from him. Who inspired you to be a part of the music industry? Chronologically Hendrix, old blues guitarists, all Seattle rock like Pearl Jam, Soundgarden, Alice in Chains, Nirvana, then jazz, then Grateful Dead, then Phish. That takes me up to about age 14 or 15. That was enough, really. There was so much other music in between, but that was the roots. Also my high school jazz teacher Scott Brown, and all the kids I made music with and all the teachers I had from ages 12 -22. How did you learn to sing/write/to play? I learned to make music directly from the records. I used to play along with the radio and play a game to see if I could get it by the end, or figure out if I could add a part to it. I would love when a song would come on 2x in a day or a week cause I would have a head start on it. When the music got more complex, I would dive deeper into the nature of what made it speak to me. Songs on rock records and blues came faster as I learned to pick apart Miles Davis, Coltrane, and Thelonious Monk. I always wrote my own music. In fact, if I had more projects, I would write more. I enjoy writing a lot; that was always baked in. Basically it was 99% trial and error with lots of grey area for what was an error, and what was rock in roll, or a happy mistake. The play pause stop buttons where pretty worn out on my stereos. I had a music problem I guess you could say. What was the first concert you ever went to, and who did you see perform? It’s a bit foggy what was when. I mean, I saw a lot of music before I went to concerts on my own. I saw Sesame Street on Ice in MSG as a kid. I can still remember it, actually. We took a bus from Hershey, PA, and it was an adventure. I met Big Bird! But yeah, outside of that, Pearl Jam’s Drop in the Park was a big one. Around that time, there were a lot of little shows. The Dead Milkmen at the OK Hotel was a great time, and Nirvana was great to see; we saw them a few times as kids. I did see a lot of music though! My dad took me to a Stevie Ray Vaughn show among other stuff. How would you describe your music? My music is coming from my heart and soul. It's expressing how I feel in the

moment, and it's a frequency that comes from somewhere else and from inside me at the same time. The music is a mixture of all the music I have ever heard and that has impacted me. It's part of the story of who I am and what I have lived through. It's a freeze frame of what it feels like to be alive in the moment that gets captured in real-time by those in the room and on recordings for future enjoyment. I think describing the art is for other folks to do. I really feel like it is just what it is because I don’t even want to start to put it in a box. If I am playing with someone that plays in a certain style, I want to have my music fit with theirs, but I want to do it in my way. Describe your creative process. It really depends on what day it is, what week it is, what time of day it is, and who I am working with. If I am working with someone I really admire, I want to bring out the best in what they have, and I try to focus on that sometimes. As an overview, if I have a purpose to compose for, any purpose, I sit down and start to write. About 1 in 100 ideas will ever get out to the world. This part of the process is relatively natural but requires presence and focus and purpose. Once the ideas are there, depending on the timeline, I either record them as an idea for later, or I develop them. Then I go to play with a band or in the studio and flesh out the form and the feels. Once that is done, we either record a basic version, and it evolves in the studio, or I hold on to it, and like I said, about 1 in 100 or maybe less than that even gets out of my personal sphere. What is your main inspiration? Nature. What musician do you admire most and why? Currently, Stone Gossard. He has taken the time and energy to share advice about my music school and the industry, and I had a year to watch how he manages things, and I was truly impressed by his essence and integrity. He has something I was able to learn from and that I would love to learn more about, that ability to keep things moving and keep growing, both as a family person and as a business person, and as a creative person. As well as John Medeski and Billy Martin, two folks I got to work with last year who have such a prolific body of work that is just so brilliant to me. The way they really just put their art first and approach the moments. Really, between those three, that’s what’s up for me right now. I am also just feeling blessed to have had that chance to work with all of them. I want to do more music with more people and get more people listening and playing music, and inspire kids to learn, and musicians to teach. Did your style evolve since the beginning of your career? My style evolved and is evolving all the time. The only thing I would say is the general public is seeing the evolution in the past tense. For example, a lot of the evolution was already complete by the time I was 25; it's just been trying to navigate the systems. Something like Elon’s Musk, this track with iLL Gates and Cory Cavazos that just came out, I imagine would sound totally different than almost any of the music I have shared. There are a few reasons for that, to be honest: depression, and drug use, relationships, so many things, family stuff. I mean, I had an ex-girlfriend take her life. There have also been some amazing times and revelations and moments of spiritual clarity, times where I was really working hard at the art. I think there are a lot of dimensions to all this. I think it would be more clear if I were able to see that from a third-person perspective. I am not sure I can. My wiring is really made to be in the moment. https://open.spotify.com/artist/3C9Z1YhnRr08CKRSZ7nEuV?si=jDOqMdlpSIGoPagh66qdNA Who do you see as your main competitor? I don’t see competition. Not like that. I think we are all different, and the competition is really more an internal thing. We are our own worst enemies and our own best friends and allies in a way. I can speak to the business of education,

my school, The Music Factory, that has seen competition sneak up in our vicinity in various forms that I really don’t need to mention, but it has taught me that there is more to life than comparing and more to life than being worried about competition. It’s not a good use of mind power, I would say, or rather it has not proved valuable to me to focus on. I also see Gannon from Zelda as my main competitor, Zelda is my spirit warrior. What are your interests outside of music? Outside of music, I am focused on education, family, relationships, business, becoming better, learning to focus thoughts, ideas, intentions, and learning how to use time more efficiently. I like to walk every day, and I like to solve problems, and to rest. I also like space I love space. Space is music, music is harmony and rhythm and harmonics and vibration. If it wasn't for a music career, what would you be doing? I would hope I would be a doctor or a spiritual leader. That was always the aim before I started to play. Music seemed to be in the middle. In a way, I had a hard childhood. I had a really hard time, and if I had a better time, I would be out there doing computers, medicine, or building a community somehow. The music just kept me together and gave me a purpose and a mission, so in this lifetime, that’s it. That's the only career. What is the biggest problem you have encountered in the journey of music? The biggest obstacle I have encountered is wanting to make a really special connection with other players, wanting to have a band, and having it not work out. I would say the obstacle was communication. I think I tried in most cases to be the best I could, to really be there, to be there to have the conversations, to work out any issues, and put the music first. I really value those relationships. I think this time is a time where folks have so many options, maybe too many options, and you learn that it makes things really hard to keep going at a collaborative level. I know I am signed up for it, but I also get it. I am also pulled in many directions. So the problem is both the solution and the obstacle - potentiality. On the one hand, I see so clearly the vision of what can happen if we all work together, and on the other hand, maybe I have tried too hard to hold on to some of those ideas, but yet on another hand, some of those notions have led to all the great amazing things that have happened as well over the last 15 years. If you could change one thing in the music industry, what would it be? Dang, there are 1000 things I would change. I wish I was president; I would run on an artists-first platform. A society that takes care of its visionaries and artists is a society that the rich and the poor and the middle class all appreciate much more. I would change the streaming paradigm, take big tech money and the bank loan money, and be real about how much they are undervaluing the arts. Give artists 0% loans for the arts, and make an art tax so all artists can get medical, dental, holistic care, and make art and be able not to need a day job. I would also want to get help resonating with new audiences. The industry doesn’t make that easy unless there is some financing involved. I often see that touring acts have at least one member getting love from their families to make it work. It should be based on the core value the art and artists bring to the world as the driving force. Also I would change mp3’s I get it is convenient but the quality is not as good as flac, or tape. What message would you like to give to your fans? It’s a wild world we are in here, but it may be better than we think. I think if there is a way for you to access the better moments in life, honor that way, amplify it, share it.

[frabbitx]

My interpretation and theorys about tommys season 1 dsmp final!

SPOILER WARNING FOR TOMMYS "The last stream" LORE STREAM!!!!

After tommy was revived, he finally made sense of the core of dreams desire for the server, he cannot understand why dream had to do the things he did to make that happen, why simplier times had to be the way he wanted them to be or why he hurt everyone in an attempt to achieve it, but he gets the core desire of his views, just showing how compassionate tommy is despite dream having tortured and abused and killed him for the past 2 years.

Dreams sees that and imidiently tries to use it into manipulating tommy to join their side, pretending to be all simple and just wanting to be friends. Of course that is untill he realizes that he is gonna die and that it was a trap.

Tommy saying "I'm sorry" wasnt him apologizing to dream for what he did but more for that he had to kill him, bc in the end, tommy never wanted to kill anyone, but to save the server he had to.

The nuke only hit the prison, like it intended to do.

However somehow the 5 people that were in the prison woke up somewhere else. Prehaps it was still the same server, just far away from everything or maybe it was a completly new world. They all had their memory wiped, but prehaps memory can be recovered?

(Also a lil theory im case that the whole server was nuked and everything was reset)

What cdream and ccwilbur said about the server got me thinking

Cdream said "how do people just apear on the server?" And ccwilbur said "prehaps ctommy and cwilbur met on another world, parted ways but met again on the dream smp."

It makes it seem like the server just started existing at one point and one after another, people joined. That doesn't make sense tho considering certain people have memorys from befor them officially joining the server that played on the server tho? (Like ranboo, puffy, eret) or that karl can go back in time to stuff existing on the smp and also the egg existing for a long time on the server. It makes no sense!

But what if the server is a loop? What if this isnt the first time that the server existed? What if dreamXD just resets the server everytime things go bad?

It would mean everyone has amnesia, but only some are aware that they have a past they forgotten. And that would mean that while the server gets reset, its possible to regain the memories of the past loop.

I would also like to think that there is people who were/are not part of the loop bc they came from somewhere else. Techno came from somewhere, so he would have no memories of a past life he forgotten. Same goes for phil and wilbur. However, phil might be part of the cycle now considering he was on the server when it was reset. Or prehaps he is not. I'd like to belief that wilbur isn't effected by the loop since he is not on the server, so if he ever returns he would be the only one who can remember the old dream smp. Maybe also foolish keepe his memories considering he is a demi god. He just didn't interact with anyone befor beside eret so he would not know that the server gets reset. Maybe also connor bc it would be funny.

------------------------------------------

Even if I am wrong about all this, a saw a lot of takes on the ending that kinda saved it for me? Considering that tommy raged about cdream defenders in his offline chat before I think it wasn't intentional made to sympathize with cdream. Was it well executed? Not at all but again, the people on the dream smp are not writers in any way and I can see how it was hard to convey the message they wanted to give. I am already happy with alot of stuff that happened and the way ctommys character was handled. Because after all, ctommy is a compassinate person who always tries to see the best in people(we have seen that many times in people like techno or wilbur) who tries to belief there is good in everyone and that even small speeks of good are worth fighting for. No matter how much cdream hurt ctommy, he wanted to do all he could to not have to kill him in the end. Unfortunatly it was too late the moment tommy stepped into that prison.

[tratserenoyreve]

outta curiosity, have you read/enjoyed any other LN fics you'd be willing to rec?

hmmm kinda!

Sacrifices of Blood and Bone expands on mono and six being literally ride or die best friends. friendship powers to the max. there are others in the series and while i personally am mixed on how the author chooses to resolve the series overall, it’s a sweet take on the kiddos and how they interact. Big warning for injury, the driving force of it is that mono is injured badly and six tries to take care of him, while also getting injured badly. (finished)

A Loop and its Spiral is an exploration of “Thin Man takes care of Mono instead” that uses a unique clipped and sometimes confusing kind of “speek” that emphasizes the kind of cut off kind of communication an unsocialized kiddo may have while trying to interact with an adult figure who is also woefully unsocialized but trying to be responsible and understanding. there are lots of sweet moments, but it also makes your heart hurt. (unfinished)

Rewind & Remix is really cool. But painful. But a neat ride. The length can be intimidating, and somehow the author has made the Pale City -even more- surreal and decrepit and horrible and haunted, but watching the development of mono and runaway/seven’s friendship is neat. as are the dives into mono’s warped perspective on the city. like the first, Major warning for graphic injury descriptions, it is still a horror series and man does this story emphasize that. (unfinished but nearly done)

A Tower for a Grave takes place after everything, all the other nightmares have happened and reached their ends. six is still going and she’s on a mission to take down the thing that haunts her past. six goes back to the Pale City, a place that is hardly even there anymore, to put that past to rest only to find a familiar face that shouldn’t be there, couldn’t possibly be there. in the Tower, a tall Thin Man picks up a video tape. watch out for graphic character death in this one, only they don’t stay that way and that somehow makes it sting worse. (unfinished)

basically a bunch that emphasizes platonic friendship + “oh this is some genuine cosmic horror that will haunt me”

[a-moment-an-eternity]

Yashahime season 2 episode 10 ( ep 34) thoughts and opinions:

doing this a lil more generally this time!

I haven't done any recently, because I honestly didn't have much to say...

the shows every Back-and-forth with episode quality. I do think this season Is better than the last. but plot moves really slow and there's a lot of retcons or rather things said that don't match up with Inuyasha lore.

A few eps were really good so I'm still enjoying it, just trying not to think to hard about it haha!

but I have alot to say here....so

Some weird things that I didn't like/sit right with me:

Kagome and Sangos dancing...seemed ooc. but I guess if it was for an act that's ok...but still seemed odd

Miroku calling Kagome -Kagome sama...thought yinz were closer than that but whatever.

perfect opertunity for Moroha to meet Miroku and Sango comes up and...oh have a bird do it.

windscar...sucks?

whys Setsuna so tired?

why would Towa having one similar moment to Zero...involving normal emotions...mean she will go down zeros path?

That said Towa is so over dramatic...but maybe I just don't like her?

Why does everyone know who Sesshomaru's daughters are? very rarely if ever did a demon smell inuyasha qnd go "oh the great dog demons child ...easy prey". this actually really annoys me. Is sesshomaru somehow now more notable? like stfu...

does Setsuna speek kirara?

Things I liked:

Sango and Miroku's bit ...I actually chuckled lol reminded me of good times.

Zero using the pearls to know Towa is human.

Setsuna actually transforming during the new moon.

Kagome actually getting credit for her own power. Instead of kikyo getting all the fucking credit...

So yeah, I'm mixed on this episode...It definitely wasn't a favorite, and alot of little things annoyed me. Hopefully next week will be better! preview seems pretty ok!

Score : 3/10

also ...they really said fuck shippo ey ?😭🤣

[lorypox-blog]

smth like that

Why? Whyyy my english always so good in my head, but if i want to say something my brain is just “you stupid bla bla bla”

Soooo..I came here to practice my language. I dont have any friends to speak with, i usually use translator and i love kpop. Yeah. That’s it. So if you, yes, you, somehow see and read this, and you like ‘oh i love kpop and speak with this silly girl looks fun’ message me haha

Let’s talk and scream about music and boys and girls in english. And maybe. Just maybe one day somehow i would speek much better then i can now 

(for the record to future me: i dont use translator for this post)

[nutslovesdolts]

F IT FLUFFY WHITEROSE BECAUSE I'VE LOST CONTROL OF MY LIFE

(I HAVE A MASSIVE HEADACHE FROM STARING AT MY PHONE WRITING THESE ALL DAY BUT I STILL NEED MORE FLUFF AFTER THOES 2 EMOTIONALLY STRESSING ONES!!)

**preface... F#&K IT, IT NEVER... EVER GOES THE WAY THE OREFACES START OUT AS, IT SOMEHOW A L W A Y S TAKES ON A MIND OF ITS OWN... PREFACE WEISS GETS RUBY A GIFT F IT IM GOING FROM THERE******

********NOPE ALREADY CHANGED IT, FIRST SENTENCE F I R S T AND NOW ITS ABOUT RUBY AND WEISS TRYING TO HIDE THE FACT THEY BONES F IT ALL, THEY AT THE SCHNEE MANNOR HOUSE PLACE AAAAA**********

Weiss: *walking out of her and Rubys room rubbing her eyes* what a night *she said under her breath, unknown to her, she was wearing Ruby's shirt*

Klein: what was that miss?

Weiss: AAH Klein, oh god you scared me *she blushed deeply realizing what he had said* o..oh I said what a knight! As in the statue over there!

Klein: *eyes changing to red* ya know... if I didn't know any better I'd say you were hiding somethin *eyes change back* but thats not possible now is it snowflake?

Weiss: *full on blush* n..no?

Klein: you do realize my room is directly below yours don't you? Not to mention the air ducts that connect them, that we used to talk through when you were a child?

Weiss: oh $#^t...

Klein: yes indeed, you and that Ruby girl make quite the pair if I may say

Weiss: please stop talking *now utterly flustered beyond redemption*

Jacques: *over the phone* Weiss get you and your friend down here this instant, your breakfast is getting cold and were all here at the table for once, except you

Ruby: morning weiss!

Weiss: *grabbing Rubys arm* WE GOTTA GO TO BREAKFAST BYE KLEIN

Ruby: Woah! Weiss! You're as enthusiastic as you were last night! Also

Weiss: stop talking!

Ruby: but Weiss *blushing* its kinda importan-

Weiss: not another word...

Ruby: oh boy

.............

*the table had been silent all through breakfast with no one making eye contact with Weiss the entire time*

Weiss: is something the matter? What is wrong with everyone? Did I miss something important

Jacques: ... your shirt darling...did you... no nevermind, I'm not sure I want to know

Weiss: what do you mee- *looks down to see Ruby's nightshirt on* ... oh s#&t...

Jacques: Young lady there will be none of that language in this house! I should slap you just for that!

Ruby: pfft *trying to hide her laughter

Jacques: and WHAT exactly is so funny!?

Ruby: I'm sorry haha, it's just, I said that exact thing to her last night

Weiss: ... ... ... ... ... ... *is a gay disaster*

Winter and Whitley: *burst out laughing*

Willow: *smirks*

Jacques: WHY I NEVER... YOU...

Weiss: Daddy...

Jaques and Ruby at the same time: YES WEISS?

Winter, Whitely and Willow: *absolute manic laughter*

Ruby: THATS RIGHT WEISS CALLS ME DADDY NOW

Literally everyone in the staff Klein included: *gasping for air from laughing so hard*

Weiss: *feels her soul leave her body from embarrassment*

Ruby: also this breakfast is absolutely wonderful thank you so much for housing me during break so I may fornicate with your lovely daughter, your entire family could do for some sexual release sometime, like Winter and my uncle Qrow

Winter: *Spits out her tea as a crow flys out from under the table and into a closed window before flying out of an open one*

Ruby: and lets face it, both you Jacques and Willow have both had Ironwood

*both blush and glance at eachother*

Ruby: you're not denying it, and Whitely... uhh

Whitley: eeh I'm really focused on my career right now... but there is this-

Ruby: NOPE, I already know too much, I draw the line here

Jacques: you know what *he took a deep breath* f#&$ it, Welcome to the family Ruby Rose, you're as cold and ruthless as the best of us, just do me a favor and never speek of this again *he walked over and shook her hand*

Weiss: f#&k me... this did not just happen...

Ruby: gladly! *she said grabbing Weiss and dragging her back to the room* like I said, you all have way too much repressed sexual tension

Weiss: kill... me...

Ruby: ok I wont stop for nothing

Weiss: ... wait... Ruby no... thats not what I ment... Ruby please, oh god

Klein: shall I prepare the ice packs miss?

Weiss: ...

................

Winter: I'm going to the garden to go... birdwatching... bye *leaves*

Willow: well

Jacques: well... threesom

Willow: it beats couples therapy

Whitely: right... I'm gonna go do something too... yeah.... totally... right

.................

This was a massive s#&t show... my brain feels like it's melting, I may never reread this... and yeah, as always have a great day/night wherever you may be!

[grim-faux]

In the wake of a corrupt and uncertain time loop, the Thin Man entertains the prospect of looking after his younger-self. All children are independent to a fault and self-sufficient in a chaotic, unhinged world eager to erase their existence. Those that endure are hardwired for navigating the malicious terrain, and become especially leery of its traps, pitfalls, and especially the adults. Mono is no exception.

Despite being the same entity, the Thin Man and Mono are polarized opposites. The two now struggle to coexistence in a timeline that is cruel and petty, and does not forgive transgressions against certain ethereal laws. The Thin Man does not feel adequate to the task; whereas Mono's greatest drive is to outrun the misfortune that has plagued his entire existence.

2 _ 1 _ The Patience of Singularity

First

 The last he saw of the girl was her shaded face, under the hood of the clever raincoat. He tried to read the expression, understand what happened. In a blink She was gone.

 And he kept falling.

 But WHY?

 The air whipped past his shoulders and thrashed his coat, faster and faster through the unstoppable descent. Darkness boiled around him, crowding out the last scrap of light he would ever see in his short life. As certain as time ticked onward, unhindered by events and mortal struggles; nothing could negate the reality of his situation.

 She let go. Tore Her hand out of his grasp, and he was still falling.

 At some point in the longest, darkest, most painful plummet in all his little world, he knows nothing. Mono only knows that he was falling, then somewhere he was not, but now he is mostly awake. He was not dead or hurt, only asleep or unaware for a short time. Somehow, he survived what should have shattered him, and it felt as if a force beyond his meager grasp cackled at the pain his unscathed plunge now brought. A cruel trick, wicked and mean.

 Yes, he was all right. Oh, how he wished that were not so.

 The floors and walls writhe and churn, the air boundless in humid reek, thick with the sour stench coating this awful the place. It was alive - with massive and puffy eyes glaring out of inflamed tissue, searching, hungry, likely insatiable.

 The boy leapt up and scrambled across rolling hills of the squirming landscape, his feet generated a flat plap-plap with frantic, erratic movement when he charged one way or stumbled another, to no gain. A thick film of sweat clung to the greasy surface, preventing him from scaling in numerous directions that might’ve been safe-eR. At best they were not, but the restriction maddened him and heightened his fear. The manner in which every visible surface flexed with purpose, it was impossible to deny it was not guiding him to somewhere.

 While running with all the turmoil he could muster, he swept his view toward the above. The loathsome air made his eyes water, that was the only reason why they stung and hurt. Made his nose prick and itch, the back of his throat tightened. A little whine trilled out, but he stifled it. Tried to. His presence was known, everything here knew that he was. It didn’t matter if he screamed or shouted, wailed into the gloomiest most isolated depths. Nothing would find him here; nothing that wasn’t already aware.

 She did this. Left him. Let him… tore away. But….

 W̵̜̹̃͑H̷̥̚Y̴̱̰͆͗?̴͉̒̾!̵͈̥͘!̷͚̈́͘?̷̻̾!̷̪̯̆̍?̸̙̯̉̏

 Nothing but darkness persisted between the churning fabric, and somewhere within the wriggling depths, more of the flesh rolled inward. Folds upon waves descending. Closer. Groaning.

 Snickering.

 Time was nonexistent. He didn’t know for how far he went, let alone where he was going. What he should hope to reach. He had no idea where he was, let alone what this place was. This… this was the Signal Tower, wasn’t it? The same Signal Tower he wanted to challenge, so they could fix the world, cleave it from all the nightmares and horror which robbed him of friends. All of them. This was that very same p̸̨̋l̵̝̖̕ã̷̲̳̈c̷̖͋͒ͅẽ̷̙!

 The reflection crushed him, almost as much as it devastated him when She wrenched her hand out of his grasp. It was no grand machine, there was nothing to smash or break, no button nor a fuse. Just the gross mass of raw tissue, eyes, teeth. The putrid bloated body of a creature lodged into a tall building, a living and breathing thing that desired nothing but to feed, and constantly. Devour mindlessly whatever was cast into its pit without thought, no remorse.

 Everything he did, all the trials endured, the pain suffered; all of it so he could chance saving the most important person in the world. Risked everything, because he couldn’t live with himself if he abandoned her to this horrible fate. Only to wind up here in the pit of famine and emptiness.

 Left for dead. Abandoned. Unwanted. And he didn’t understand why. What to reason? If there was reason, and she didn’t plan this from the very beginning. None of this made sense. He didn’t understand. Why?! Why any of it!? Why stay with, if not want?

 Odd things crossed his path as he wandered aimless, lost and miserable. Items that might’ve elicited hope, if not for their bizarre situations. Partially buried window frames, lamps of every shape. The stray shreds of a door, sinking slowly. Scattered cement chunks, all fading into the pulsating tissue. Various bits and pieces of television parts, but nothing substantial, nothing he could make use of. Not that he needed a television, not that he….

 At last, he stumbled upon a chair. Unmoved and bothered by its precarious placement in the heaving flesh. As prior to the other items he dismissed, he left it and kept searching for somewhere that was not here. No matter how far he went, the direction he stumbled into.

 The chair would always be waiting.

 The flesh surrounding it, anchored beneath it – grinning – beseeching him. Safety. Sanctuary. Promises that a child would die for.

 Bugling walls lurched inward, the air became stifling and burdened by the foul odor, he couldn’t deny the chair. He couldn’t risk rejecting it a… however many times this was.

 Mono clawed his way across the steep mound and hoisted himself onto the flat, grainy, solid surface. He stood there at the summit, as a dozes eyes bore out of the rippling walls. Blinking, oozing, sweltering boils that swiveled and gawked at the child – a child unwilling to lie down and submit. They eyes rolled and the walls caved inward, chewing through the pitiful little space untainted yet, sipping greedily at the child.

  F̴͕͐̾Ļ̴̫̓͆I̶̒͋͜M̶͓͚̈́Š̵̥Y̸̗͋̚ ̴̡̎L̸͚͓͂͂I̴̮̪Ṯ̵͉̿͠Ţ̵̹̊̌L̷̼͆É̷̙̘̆ ̸̧̙̑M̷̖̈́O̷̫̔͜R̶̦͐̈́S̴̯͋Ẽ̴̢͕L̸̹̑ ̵͔̦̑̔ ̵̦̓͒

̷͚̟̉B̵͍̽Ȃ̷̛̹R̵̗̾̊Ḙ̶͇͗L̷̪͑̑Y̷̰̩͛ ̴̜̋Ä̸͓͒ ̴͇̙͝M̸͖͖͒O̸̩̜̐U̷̞̟̔̈́T̸͓͆H̴̼F̷̟͕͑U̵̯L̵̜̻̀͠ ̸̡̱́͗

̷͇͇̈W̵͍ͅH̶̬̐̆Ȁ̵͍T̷͎̈́̓ ̴͈̐Ḑ̸̫̂Ǒ̷̼̂Ȅ̶͇͜S̷̬̈ ̵̣̮͌͂ ̵̺͑̒

̴̼͆͝Ï̴̥͕̓Ţ̷̩̂̈ ��̧̻͛͠Ḧ̸̤́Ŏ̶̰̖͝P̶͈̈͝Ė̷͎ ̸̧̖͗

̷͙̙̍T̸̫͉͋Ȯ̴̧̼̽ ̶̘͈̃

̸̧͐A̶̢̝͗̚C̷͙̫͂Ḩ̵̅I̴̫̯͛͠Ȇ̶̥V̸̖̑̆E̶̺͊͠ ̷̭̍ͅ

̷̨͙͍̜̘͖̜̃͛

 “Look at someone—” Mono threw his arms out, “—E̸͟͏̤̲̤̗͍̩̘L̡̝͉S̢̬͕̬͖̗̱E̶̮̠̟̟͓̯̰!̝̟̞̥̹͓͜ͅ”

 The whole chamber flashed in a surge of white, so blinding and intense it seared his bones within his skin.

__

 With a jolt the Thin Man realized he was no longer in that tiny cement room, secluded away from the world and all its petty complexities. He was no longer biding away the years and waiting, watching a door he barely acknowledged aside from face it. For whatever positive it allowed, he had survived all encounters with his child self. As perplexing as each of those incidents was, the smaller one did not fair the better for it.

 The rain drummed gently on the remaining glass of the rooms window, curious light distortions tinged the corroded walls. By the illumination piercing the clouds, it must have been midday; the hour was certainly not dead of night.

 A bowl of water and some scraps of food always stayed on the windowsill. A habit he came unto, while Mono recovered from another incident utilizing his… powers. That might’ve been the closest the child was willing to come to harm the Thin Man – ironically, harming his own self more than the shadow that was subconsciously drawn to his whereabouts. A fact the Thin Man felt deep shame of, given how driven the child was to avoid him, and the volatile reaction when revealed how hopeless that effort was.

 Speek of he, and he shall materialize.

 There is the child, slinking in from the doorway as if he had committed some heinous crime. His only crime seemed to be existing where he wasn’t wanted.

 From where he slouched beside the dresser, the Thin Man inched his hat up a fraction. He silently observed Mono ark out beyond his range and padded over to the furthest side of the open drawer. Likely out doing another walk of the apartment. He did those periodically, when his mind couldn’t settle. Around the small room, a few of the treasures sat out. Though, the child never took to any of them – not like the bear, which he arguably favored. Some of those gifts the Thin Man put into the drawer, even if Mono didn’t seem to care for them, the boy didn’t reject them irrefutably.

 The child wound up into his coat and propped his chin on the rim of the dresser drawer, gaze fixed on the Thin Man. As always, it unnerved him. This incessant watching. Waiting. Expectant. Reluctant to make speek, and whatever speek remained limited and simplified. He – the child – was always so proud of speek, of making his voice. It was a rare day when he could get Mono to respond to a question, but the child seemed to be coming around. In no great haste, but at least at some choice times he could hear the little voice.

 With a crackly sigh, the Thin Man leaned over and reached across the open drawer. The child twisted at his grasp and tried to get away, but the Thin Man looped his fingers around the torso and plucked him out. For whatever reason Mono resisted, and that was… odd. The child wasn't typically opposed to being lifted or moved, and more than once he had to deal with the child knotted into his side like some little... needy thing. He didn't understand this sudden contrast, or the reluctance he was experiencing now. That was all it was, mediocre objection. He had seen firsthand a panicked and terror stricken Mono, writhing upon the brink of utter desperation. Thankfully, this was not that. Annoyed more than anything.

 The Thin Man shifted the child between his palms, keeping his fingers curled carefully in case the little one tried nipping or succeeded in squirming loose. Once Mono accepted he wasn't getting away, his flailing ceased. That was better, he could view the face proper now – animated, curious, a little put off at being disturbed. So much better than lost to a coma.

 He held out hope he’d find something… familiar, in the child’s face. Someone he’d seen while staring into a muddy, rainbow lashed puddle, or the corroded refracted distortions in shattered mirrors. A ghost of a reflection in a foggy window, as he gazed out toward the Signal Tower awaiting endlessly in the yonder distance. He studied the eyes, the blank expression, searching for a spark of familiarity in those strange depths. Who was this child? Why was there such a... disconnection? No kindred tether existed between he and this boy. The face was vacant, devoid of something so instrumental to his youth. He would almost wager he – the elder – was disenchanted.

 Mono coiled his arms around his head and leaned back as far as his spine would allow. The Thin Man debated shifting the thin arms aside, but cast out the thought. The child didn’t like being the subject of such scrutiny, and the little body was quivering.

 The Thin Man leaned away from the wall and set Mono back into his corner of the drawer. The child cringed down, tightening the grip on his head when the Thin Man withdrew his hands. The Thin Man settled one of the plush toys beside Mono, and pulled a shirt sleeve over the smaller one so he could be hidden until he was ready to emerge.

 In a glitchy surge, the Thin Man stood tall. He paced out of the room, in a deep bow as always. He’s aware of the haunted face peering out from beneath the shirt, but reframed from acknowledging it.

 This was all his doing. Every ounce of it, whether intentional or not, regardless intent. Everything that came upon the child, was due to his masterful deviation from the uncontestable loop.

 What always has been, shall always be.

 An accidental misstep unhinged everything he thought he knew of the endless coiling cycle. What he knew, from his own experience of the cycle – when he was a child, racing recklessly in the same steps as his predecessor, and he before him. Etcetera, etcetera, et-cetera….

 He wouldn’t watch the child fall from a measly train cart, he couldn’t bear to witness his final plunge into the very same pit he was cast into, when he naively leapt and trusted without doubt. Without choice. He whisked Mono from that very banishment, yet he began to question if that was the most benevolent impulse. The boy knew by the Thin Man’s meddling, he was averted from certain destruction, but never saw entirely what he was salvaged from. Knew nothing of the horrible fate awaiting him in the pit, a fate worse than the certain death he feared.

 But was it so?

 Through his unintentional first intervention, he managed to deprive Mono of the initial drive and resolve he gained, which would equip his younger self to contest the Thin Man at the doors to the Signal Tower. Thus, the Thin Man’s uncontested fate was for the time postponed.

 Out of curiosity he accompanied the child to the Tower, with no promise that the stolen friend could be found. The problem being, the Thin Man knew Mono would stumble upon Her. Would succeed in tearing Her from the influence of the Tower, and liberate his friend from imprisonment. After everything he overcame, the pain he suffered, and during his most desperate time of need – the child would be cast away into the void. No rhyme or reason. It was arguably the coldest, most ruthless form of treachery.

 In the Thin Man’s second intervention, he snatched Mono from the pit, tore the child from the sanctuary he was promised. A prison for his capabilities. A cage for his rage. A shelter which would allow him to age and flourish in peace, beyond the reach of an ugly world that did not deserve such a resilient soul.

 Through his aimless wanderings of the city, mindful of items and treats that Mono might take to, the Thin Man did reflect how unfair all of this was to his child-self. How contradictory it was that he was so quick to accept his fate in the Signal Tower, yet expected Mono – unaware of the true nature of the haven he was whisked from – to resume pace in the unforgiving, petty and cruel world. Children were capable and self-sufficient, to a fault. But the boy remained confused, decimated by betrayal, hunted ruthlessly, and perhaps unfit to deal with the world and these certainties established.

 The Thin Man doesn’t even recall what he initially sought when he attended Mono's quest to the Tower. His presence was not necessary, so long as the child arrived as scheduled. The paradox continued, binding the loop – for whatever reason, the child never leaves the Signal Tower; he is sheltered, he is saved from the world, and the world is safe from him. As of yet, Mono remained cloaked from the truth of his paradoxical destiny. The life sentence awaiting at the Tower.

 In the distance, the Signal Tower loomed. The Thin Man stood at a window within a vapor of smog and sizzling particles, observing the impassive monolith through mostly intact glass. Tumescent clouds swirled the spire, as if the rainfall evaporated before hitting the surface of the unnatural structure. It seemed to sway and leer like cradle, mocking the figure studying it miles and miles away, hidden in another uninspired, mostly normal structure.

 His presence alone nearly killed the boy. Nothing in his possession and no item he could dredge up, would be enough for this… boy, he didn’t know. Yet Mono appeared very anxious by the prospect of his departure. He didn’t understand. Mono was repelled to him, while at the same time tormented by his absence. What was he meant to do? If he was not dubious for his chances of survival, he might consider returning Mono to the Tower himself. Regardless the fate awaiting him, when the boy assumed his role. The potential existed that Mono might even follow him to the place, without question. Or, if he explained the situation. If. If the child trusted him.

 The Thin Man was no fool. The child didn’t trust him in the slightest. Merely, accepted his proximity.

 Delivering the child was an option. The easiest solution by far. One to considered, before the irreversible happened. He didn’t… if it was even possible, and the worst came about, he couldn’t carry on existing if the child was…. Mono deserved better.

 Or, he could look after the smaller one himself, for the time. That was pure lunacy, a child and an adult coexisting. What would that even be? He wasn’t meant to be a part of any child’s life, much less his younger-self. He was not equipped for this debacle, the whole situation was doomed. Mono didn’t need him, nor protection (maybe from his self). The whole drama of if the child was receptive to remaining in his company, was another matter entirely. He was disinterested in chasing after the boy, given how that went when he wasn’t even trying to locate Mono.

 No easy answer existed. And in the heart of the city, in the distance, out there, its beacon light blazing through and through the storm – the Signal Tower waited. It only needed to wait, looming above the city, promising everything but relinquishing no solace. A snare with irresistible bait – unavoidable certainty.

 After a long, endless trek through the city and nothing to show for it, the Thin Man returned to the desolate little area where he stashed the child. The other apartment rooms, abandoned, and nothing to spare in necessities, he passed languidly as he made the trudge to the one door to the furthest end of the corridor. As always, the door is unlatched, should the child decide for himself to leave and go to wherever his heart desired. Anything could break in, but enough windows are available within for Mono to make his escape.

 No such event has transpired. The whole living space appeared abandoned, but once he ventured to the apartments secluded end and the desk room within, he discovered the location of the child. For whatever reason, Mono is trying to hoist himself up onto the desks top. Nothing of child interest is stashed there, aside from interesting curios and a few books he elected on a bored whim.

 Upon alert of his reappearance, the boy scrubbed the mission and let himself fall all the way to the floor. The desk was not low, but it was not a height that would harm a child. In a flash, he vanished under the table somewhere.

 The Thin Man wasn't paying attention. He sat down at the chair and propped his legs on the desk, trying to remind himself why he didn't just shut that door. Then again, remind himself not to dismiss the child with shut doors, and to permit some association if Mono was so inclined. And then come to regret that all in the same instant.

 A meek tug pried at his coat from the side, and he had to restrain the glare he wanted to inflict. At times the child was brash, and that ounce of defiance exhausted him so.

 Mono inched along the chair leg as he would a storm gutter, and reached high enough to snag the Thin Man's suit end. With this leverage, he fitted his feet upon the chair seat, then hoisted himself up to the Thin Man's midsection. The child kept his sight locked on the man in the hat, for signs of hostility or intolerance. When none are revealed, Mono crawled up as if enduring a crafty scheme and nestled into the Thin Man's coat. He was a little out of breath following the exertion, and his coiled shape trembled.

 The Thin Man tentatively reached over—

 It didn't take much to spook an anxious child. What was meant as a placating touch, was evidently deemed as something else entirely by Mono. The barest brush, and the child launched off the Thin Man and crashed to the floor. Stunned, the Thin Man sat up a little but reframed from uncoiling completely out of his posture. He glanced down in time to see the coat tail snap out of sight beneath the table. Once again, he reset his view to the doorway and leaned up, only at the instant the coat flittered out of sight. 

 No insight, no comprehension or suggestion existed to give due directions into this utter nonsense. He was not up to this, whatever it was. He flat-out did not understand, what was he meant to do?

 He pressed his hand over his eyes and hissed through the vibrating particles. It could be the child liked to torture him with random bits and unknowns. Who could say? They were devious little things at times.

Next

[young-writer1787-blog]

Scene 2 of The Fallen

In the time I spent in the cramped, dank cell, drowning in the moans, I plotted. I set the rules for my little game. It was funny. I shouldn’t have laughed given the circumstances, but I did. I drew up the gameboard in my head. I had to lest I go mad. I couldn’t kill myself. That was out of the question. Guards watched me with careful eyes. When I slept, when I shit, when I ate. And there were the chains. Everyone feared the fallen gods and wouldn’t risk disobeying Edam. Let them be afraid. I knew I had changed. I did not know whether it happened the moment I killed Him, or whether it had been slow coming since the incident. Regardless, the fact remained. They came for me in the dark of night, at least I thought it was night. One could never tell down here where the sun was too repulsed to shine. Would they kill me now? Would the gods show mercy, just this once? Rough hands groped at me in the darkness. They found my shackles. I rubbed my wrists where the metal cuffs had been moments before. They were tender, but I had grown so used to the steel digging into my skin that it felt almost natural. I was hoisted into the air, as if I weighed nothing. That was probably close to the truth. I had hardly eaten. I felt too sick to eat, sick at what I had done; what I had failed to do. The only reason I didn’t starve to death was because my guards wouldn’t damnwell let me. The dim torchlight burned my eyes as if someone had brought all the stars in the night sky hurtling towards my vulnerable face. As my vision adjusted to the harsh light I took notice of three figures stanidng outside my now vacant cell. My two guards who had gotten to know the insides of my throat quite well by now, and Haldar. He looked older than the young seventeen he had been when I last saw him. A short and well kept beard spotted his jawline, chin, and lips. Haldar leaned casually against the rough stone wall of the narrow corridor. There were the usual moans and cries and shrieks from the other cells, but Haldar did not seem preterbed. Haldar looked up as the larger guard, Joggen, brought me to him. At one point in my captivity, I had shoved my own food down his fat neck after he tried to break open my jaw. Joggen knew how to make enemies. He, naturally, became the first piece on my game board. I spat in Haldar’s face. I wanted to kill him, right there. He had ruined everything. I knew that the Brotherhood were a treacherous organization, but never would I have thought that one would work for the Watchers. I didn’t think I could trust anyone from that point on. “How could you?” I hissed. “They were your brothers.” “Look,” Haldar said. “You were a fool to think that everything would go as planned. You of all people should have known. They see everything. It isn’t simply good and bad. It just is. You yourself hired killers. I just happened to see the truth first. Now, the King would like to see you.” The King. I had killed a High Priest, yes. But the King wouldn’t have time to sort out internal issues. That was the job for the--well, the priests. Haldar led me with fat Joggen and the other guard--I hadn’t asked for his name--at either side of me. With us were five knights; quite an honor if I do say so myself. I half limped, half clumbed up a tall winding staircase and into the cellars. We walked down several long corridors before stepping out into a small and ornately decorated courtyard. The light of the sun didn’t affect me as much as when I first came out from my cell, yet pain erupted in the back of my eyes nonetheless. The throne room lay past the fountain depicting quite attractively dressed men and women kneeling before the Fallen Lord, the mantle of the Head Priest. My breath lost itself as we entered the vast room. It was huge. The dim light, rather than festering a sense of dark foreboding, it cast an awesome attitude. This was the home of the man who ruled your home, it said. Bow before him. I had to resist the urge to drop to my knee the second we entered, but somehow I knew that would be wrong. One of the knights stepped forward. The men and women, the Nobles’ Council, crowded around the high table below the throne became silent. The knight adressed the figure in the marble throne, “My King, we bring Gared of House Bowman, convicted of treason and disturbing the peace. He is here as requested.” “Thank you Ser Tel.” The man in the throne was far more impressive than the royal seat he sat upon. He did not wear the plentiful robes that one would expect of a king. Nor did he wear the royal blue. Rather, the King sat in simple dark leather armor, the sygal of his house upon its breast. He was lean and well built, an impressive man no doubt. Put a leather duster about his shoulders and he would look much like Cog. The King gestured silently to the nobles at the table. They packed up quickly and scrambled out, carrying maps, parchment, pen and ink, in their arms. “Send for the High Seat,” the King said, adressing a stout man at the base of the throne’s dias. There came a mumbled “yessir,” and the man left. The King was obviously in control. He did not strike fear, but I could see more than feel an air of intense respect that the nobles held for their Majesty. “I will speak to him now,” the king said to no one in particular. They brought me forward. Before, I would have been nervous, my heart leaping out of my chest. Now I felt calm, confident, in control, just as Loth had before he died. “Why in all hells uncle?” The King asked. I looked into his tired eyes, he seemed older than I at the moment; commanding yes, but tired. I felt sorry for my nephew, he probably didn’t care that his son had died, but how could he when the weight of the kingdom perched on his head, hiding itself as his crown. I was just lucky enough that my sister’s son had married the most powerful woman in the kingdom. The King had had a fairy tale romance, one that could only come from a god more merciful than the Fallen. “The only thing keeping me from letting you rot for as long as possible is the fact that I was already planning on killing that sick sadist Edam.” Not even because we were family. I found myself disliking him, just enough. They say isolation can change a man, turn them mad. That is likely what they will say of me, in time. But it is not solitude. No, isolation kills. Isolation destroys the economy as it did Rodau. Isolation breaks, but it does not change. We are changed by our experiences, isolation is the product of those experiences. So yes, in a sense, isolation turns people. But when you look at the root of it, it is the people you failed to save. The hearts you broke. The bittersweet knife of betrayal in your back. “How?” I said. I probably wasn’t allowed to speek, but I needed to know. I glared at Haldar. He had taken up a position just to the left of the dias, by one of the large stone pillars. The King noticed my look. “How should I know? I’ve been too damn busy trying to keep Boraus from breething down my neck. They want us, the other countries. We have technologies they don’t.” Guns. “I am tired uncle,” the King continued. “Go to the docks. Continue working. The economy can’t run itself.” “But--” “Now!” “Kyde, I--” “Your Highness,” the King bellowed. I bowed then, not from my knee, but a slight nod of the head. I hoped the message was clear. “Yes, your Highness.” I said it coolly, a touch of anger in the back of my throat. I left through the large doors that I came in from. The guards scrambled to follow but when the door shut, no one made chase.

[hallawia]

The older I am the more I think that Jesus was an alien and all that Christianity is just the misunderstanding.

I started to think about that when he need to go on a desert to pray/talk to his father. And was unconventional in every way (like teaching woman). And healed a lot.

So here are my headcannos:

The obvious reason why aliens would visit the earth is to tell about space federation (Aka The Kingdom of Heaven... kingdom seems less StarTrek but still).

The Jesus want's to tell about joining the Kingdom of Heaven if the humanity grow up to their standards of being good and peaceful.

Jesus was having the high-tech healing abilities. He could give that device/ability to the people around (his disciples).

I like the woman suffering from hemorrhage story. She was healed by touching Jesus and he was like "who the fuck just drained batteries in my devices"? Even so he was again companionate and good for her.

Angel visiting Mary was the alien communication. They need a human vessel to send humanity their ambassador. So the Jesus was engineered human alien hybrid that could be possessed by alien ambassador. (Have you watched Avatar?)

Star over Bethlehem? More like a shiny spaceship. Because why would star hang for months in the same place than supervising the born of valuable hybrid.

Jesus vessel was bounded to the ambassador at least once when it was 12 and amazed everyone in Jerusalem Temple. Then he was active ambassador it's 30s for 3 years.

It's so suspicious that he needed to pray in the isolated places everyday. And he was calling god his "dad". Then I realized that spaceships are often called "mother". But that makes only sense in human reproductive system. Maybe aliens calls their main spaceship "father".

That reminded me of how Jesus started his ambassador activity. He started with meeting the John the Baptist (another miraculous child, probably the human hybrid beta - in the end this hybrid could only eat locusts and honey). So Jesus was somehow guided or activated by Saint John. Then he need the synchronization with Dad ship so he spend 40 days in the desert to do so.

Jesus is telling people that he will come back. Obviously when some of the humankind reach the potential to be part of Kingdom of Heaven, they will be chosen to join it.

His take home message is love yourself and your mates. It look like this is universal galactic knowledge.

I still struggle with the rest of story. Obviously I've seen some analisys before why God choose this time period to put the Jesus on earth. It make common sense as the Mediterranean Sea is in for the first time in one country. There is an amazing net of good Roman roads. And everybody speeks Greek. The best time to spread informations (but not for the whole globe unfortunately).

I also struggle with the Messiah being foreseen in many prophecies. Did aliens use the prophecies of the Israel or they really helped them through history and talked to their prophets? Not a clue.

The last but not least problem. I don't get the whole crucifixion point. The ressurection is fine. Reviving a dead body is cool and possible for aliens. The power will for sure make wird stains on turin shroud.

But why? Why they need to make him killed? And not making big reveal after but just show him to some people. Because the Jesus know he will die and he says that to his disciples. The closest ones. Was he talking about something else? When he told that they can destroy the Jerusalem Temple and he will build it back in three days, was he talking about actual temple? Was the whole crucifixion his plan or it was just accident? So many questions.

Hope you're gonna enjoy my headcannos. Love yourself and you fellows. Bye!

[xxreadersxx]

So... Anime character teleported to the real world with Asahi Azumane, please. Longer fic and shy!reader would be perfect.

{Your wish is my command! ✩°｡⋆⸜(ू˙꒳​˙ ) Enjoy your ‘real’ Asahi!}

Closing the anime website for the night, you lean back in your chair. After re-watching all three seasons of Haikyuu!! over again, you can safely say that your favorite character is still the tall softy: Azumane Asahi! Imagine how cute a relationship with him would be! Your eyes open, and sparkle at the prospect of meeting someone like that. But alas, this is the real world, and anime characters are made to be perfect. Closing your eyes, and standing up, you stretch out your arms. You happen to miss the weird error message that popped up on you screen.

Just then, your thoughts are interrupted by an ear-splitting ringing. Grasping at your ears to shield them from the wretched noise, you open your eyes to squint at where the ruckus is coming from. Looking to your laptop, you now notice the error pop-up. Getting close, you read the message:

System Function enabled—Summon Protocol initiating …3 …2 …1 …successfulCapturing Personality … acceptedQuantifying Data … successful … Arranging 3D configuration … successful Transplant soul … acceptedInitializing Matter reformation … successReleasing … 3 … 2 …

Just inches from the screen, your eyes glued to the words, trying to make sense of what it is you’re reading. Then, the screen bubbles and turns convex. Your arms push you away, falling onto the floor, as something pops through the once solid screen. You open your mouth to scream, but no sound escapes. As you scramble to stand back up, and your mind registers that the thing that tore through your screen, is a hand. It looks pixel-y, like it is being created from graphics. You freeze in wonder as you continue to watch a body crawl from the screen.

First came a hand, then the arm that is attached. Not long after the arm had made its way through, that another hand stretched out of the tiny window. Whatever is coming through the screen, is muscular, that much you can tell. Then, you notice deep brown hair breech the tear, but it wasn’t the hair that amazed you the most, but the head attached to it. Though still slightly pixeled, it had an uncanny resemblance to your favorite Haikyuu!! Boy. Your mouth dropped open. As you sputter out ‘hows’ and ‘whats’, the being looks up terrified, and speeks.

“He-help, please! I…my shoulders are too wide! I-I’m stuck!” The voice is the same deep, soothing voice as Asahi. You spring into action, your mind deciding for you. You grab his thick arms, and pull as hard as you can. With a pop and a fizzle, Asahi is released from the computer, and slides off your desk, landing on you hard. You gasp at the weight, and clench your eyes shut in surprise. Upon opening them again, you looked into the face of Asahi, and immediately blush. His eyes are beautiful, his skin just the right color tan. He looks back at you, and then his face goes white.

“A-Ah! I-I’m sorry!” He said, scrambling to get off. You sit up, leaning on your arms for support, as he starts doing a dogeza. You giggled at how he is the perfect recreation of Asahi. He looks up, and his cheeks take on a deep red. He leans back up to rest on his knees. Rubbing the back of his head, the room goes quiet. You cleare your throat.

“Um…is your name Azumane Asahi?” You ask, unsure if he even knows anything. He scratches his cheek and with a small smile, nods. You continue your interview.

“Ooooh kaay then…um…do you know how you got here?” You ask, your eyes searching him.

“N-not particularly. I just remember being at my computer…watching a show…and then being sucked in the screen.” He says, avoiding eye contact. You tilt your head to the side.

“Watching a show?” You ask. He nods, opening his mouth once to take a deep breath, then continue.

“Yes, there is this one show…I really like it, and I absolutely love the main character…and…she looks a lot like… you…” He fades out towards the end. You sit there, your mind a blank.

“M-main character?” You say quietly, your mind now beginning to connect the dots.

“Yes…(L/N)(F/N)…it was a show about her daily life. I was watching it and had a thought and –“

“You thought ‘man if only I could meet them?’“ You ask quickly. His eyes widen. You blush at your pushiness, but the answer as to ‘why’ he was here was clear.

“I had the same thought. I was watching a show about volleyball players, and thought ‘If only I could meet Asahi!’ and then you came through my laptop. He sat stunned into silence, looking down at the ground. “I’m (L/N)(F/N).”

At that proclamation, he looks up suddenly, and makes eye contact. Then, noticing that both of you are staring, the two of you get flustered and look somewhere away from each other, a blush painted on both sets of cheeks.

Wait, how are you supposed to get this to work out? Asahi is from a different world. He doesn’t have a family here.

Then, as if reading you mind, the computer spits out more: three pieces of paper, and a key. Walking over to them, you pick them up and begin to read, as you walk back over to sit beside Asahi on the floor.

Dear newly united,Congratulations! You two, Azumane Asahi and (L/N)(F/N), are now united in one world. Your existence continues in both worlds, so you are still in the shows that you admired so much, it’s just that now you each have two versions of the same person. This is a chance of a lifetime, that is only, and will only, be granted to you. Use, and experience, it wisely. Best Wishes!

The letter was left unsigned. You flip it over, but there isn’t a back. Looking now at another slip of paper, you see that it is a birth certificate. The date of his birth was two years before your own. You look at him and see that he is still reading the letter, he then grabs the certificate from your grasp, and his eyes widen. He then looks up at you and is speechless. The third sheet of paper is the title to an apartment, to which the key belongs, for Asahi to live. The two of you sit in silence for a while, contemplating what to do, now that you are together. You are about to ask if he’d like something to drink, but he gets his words out first.

“So, this means that it was mutual?” He asks, you look at him and give him a tiny nod. He speaks again, “Ok…so, I’m in your world now…so I guess we can maybe start from the beginning?” He stands up and offers you a hand. You grab it and he pulls you up, but doesn’t let your hand go. Instead, he turns it and shakes.

“Hello! M-my name is Azumane Asahi. It’s nice to meet you.” He says, flustered. You smile at the way his tongue fuddles the words as he spoke them. You greet him back and shake his hand. You then ask if he’d like a drink, to which he nodded. Walking with him behind you, you make your way to your kitchen and get him water. He accepted gratefully and drank the whole cup.

The two of you go back to your room, and sit down. You sigh, a little tired at all the happenings that evening. The two of you talk, just a bit, about your school and how he should apply to go, to which he agrees that that would be the for the best. As the clock continues to tick, the two of you get more comfortable with each other, and slowly, you fall asleep next to him.

The next couple of weeks went smoothly, you help Asahi find his apartment, which was somehow stocked with food and clothes, and he started attending our school. You found out, gradually, that you were right: that a relationship with Asahi was cute and gentle, just what you wanted.

Bonus: Suga bursts in the doors of the gymnasium. Morning practice had just started but the young man was not dressed for practice, in his hands was his cellphone, and on his face, an expression of shock.

“A-Asahi! Did you see last night’s episode?” He asks the giant.

““No, I missed it! What happened? W-wait, don’t tell me!” But Suga had already made his way over to the other third year, and stuck his phone beside Asahi’s face. He calls for Daichi, which draws everyone’s attention.

“Just as I thought! Don’t you think the new character has an odd resemblance to Asahi?” Suga says, looking from the stunned ace to his captain.

“Y-yeah…they do look alike. Asahi, how did you manage that?” Daichi asks.

“Whaat?!”

[personification-of-anxiety]

But sometimes you pick up an animal expecting to see just that, but instead they look back, right into your eyes, into your soul and you feel it's power digging deep into your mind, crawling in and makeing itself at home. You almost hear them speek in ancient, long forgoten language. You don't understand it, but somehow just know that this speech is forbidden to use by human kind. You try to resist but you can't, it's not you anymore it's them. After what fells like eternity you finally let them go, now aware of their power. But even now when your paths have divided you feel something alien yet familiar living now inside you.

my favorite thing is when you pick up an animal and you look them in the eyes and you can tell nothings going on behind them. you look at them and theres just elevator music. stupid animals really are like the fucking best, the lights are on but no one is home

[agent-85]

Thank you, Mary:) 1. This time the writing is good - strong storytelling and interesting concept, encouraging a deep philosophical debate and a social commentary. Brilliant acting, I like so much scientifically sceptical Jemma:), the hero Mace and good dad Mack. I'm not convinced about May's story and even more Fit'z change. Maybe it's exhausted part of myself who speek, but until now and what we know, it's not so clear, but they weren't brainwashed?, programmed to forget who they are?

2. and … Framework Fitz is a sadist. Framework could be interpreted as a “reality” where people can discover their potential without the limitations of their past/limitations in the real world (Mace). The writers maintain the interpretation that a minor event can completely reverse the course of our lives and that different experiences can change us to unrecognizable version of ourselves. I don’t know, I just feel like they just switched Ward and Fitz. It’s like Fitz had Doctor in him.

3. For Fitz with his vulnerability it’ll be like his worst nightmare. And until now I don’t seem to find “the truth behind Fitz’s turn” as convincing explanation that he’s a monster. Things will get ugly if they don’t treat carefully this plotline. I can hope for some twist, fuller background, but once (you know, season 3 mess) I had such hope, in vain;) I don’t see how this is ever going to be okay again for now.

4. I hope it’s not over, but the AoS writers usualy put the closure and make the caracters healing offscreen:(, so, I don’t expect believable closure, there are only four episodes left, a lot of it of it won’t be addressed properly. Finally, for Fitz’ mental health I need RealFitz to come through by himself, not by Jemma, especially after Daisy’s remarks that Fitz became a Doctor in a world without Jemma.

Hey there, Mary! Somehow this turned into a jumbled mess, but bear with me.

I really do like the writing, despite how much it hurts! They are really doing a good job of balancing all the characters and showing how all of them are trying to get through the world that AIDA put them into. 

And they definitely WERE brainwashed, just as much as those kids in that facility. They have been programmed to play the roles that they play. I think the greatest evidence of that is that this isn’t just the world that would happen if a handful of people had made different choices—it’s a world in which AIDA/Madame Hydra is the supreme ruler of the universe. That’s not an accident. And it’s DEFINITELY not an accident that Jemma’s dead, and that AIDA has Fitz as her Ken doll. AIDA is framing this world to be what SHE wants, and some are under more control than others. Coulson, Mack, and Mace didn’t have to drink the Kool-aid, but Fitz and May definitely did. 

It’s not just that they have different memories—they have different morals. Coulson is a person who’s afraid to stand up until Daisy comes along. Mack is, too! Mace is exactly the opposite in that he’s NOT the coward he was before. And May and Fitz? They believe that what they’re doing is the right and best thing.

That’s why I don’t see Fitz as a sadist. He’s not doing it because he enjoys hurting people. He does it because he thinks it’s necessary. Daisy tells him that he doesn’t want to torture her, but he does because a) she’s a threat and b) he thinks she’s lying to him. And yet, when he kills Agnes, he asks himself: Did I have to? Was it necessary? Or was she a person I should have protected? That is a man who believes that what he’s doing is RIGHT, it’s just that someone went into his brain and changed what right and wrong mean. It’s the same thing that happened to Kara Palamas.

To contrast, let me tell you a little about Star Trek. In Star Trek: Voyager, there’s this episode called The Killing Game, in which these aliens abduct the characters, implant false memories, and put them in an alternate reality: Nazi Germany. Sound familiar? There’s a difference, though: the characters gravitate to the same roles they have in their real lives. The captain becomes the leader of the Resistance, the married couple starts to flirt with each other (even though he doesn’t know her baby is also his), and the team ends up defeating the bad guys in a way that’s authentic to them. They were given false histories, but they were still the same people, even though they didn’t have to be. That’s because no one was purposefully trying to change who they were.

[This got long, so the rest is under the cut!]

And I don’t know if you’ve ever tried to fundamentally change yourself, Mary. I have. I got to a point in my life where I had to change everything down to my thoughts and my perception of the world, because depression goggles can really mess you up. It took me almost a decade of constant, intentional, hard work to change myself that much. You can’t change Fitz that drastically with a flip of a switch. It might look that way when he’s in public, but have you noticed that he’s different in private settings? When he’s alone with Ophelia or his father, he’s completely different. That’s where we see the real Fitz peek through—when he doesn’t have to put on a show. And what happens then? The brainwashing continues. Madame Hydra and his father reinforce the lies he’s been told, with the silent threat that he will lose their love if he doesn’t step in line. That’s not a sadist. That’s not even The Doctor. That’s someone in more than one relationship that’s deeply abusive. 

As for Mace, yes he did get a chance to be a hero. BUT, you can’t say this is a world without limitations. The moment he became an actual threat to her, AIDA killed him. Like I said above, everyone is under her control. This is a prison in disguise. No one is living their true potential, and I think Mace and Mack are the only ones who are getting anything close to what they actually want, and the price for them is STEEP.  

As for if one event can change your entire self, we actually have two conflicting viewpoints: Radcliffe and Jemma. Look at these two people and what they think about accountability. One most definitely believes he is the victim of circumstance, even though this whole predicament came from his choices. The other believes that if you want something in life, you have to work hard and earn it. She believes that people are more than their programming, even though a SERIES of events might give a person an opportunity to go another way.  We are seeing this debate play out, but I think it’s obvious who’s winning. If this world were the natural consequences of one different event in each person’s life, AIDA wouldn’t need the thought police to keep them in line.

Also, I personally have a moral objection to this deterministic idea that one thing can happen to you, and you have no way of overcoming it. That’s what we’re saying, right? It changes you forever, and that’s that? A bad father means you’re going to be a bad person? A mental illness means you have no chance of being happy? I refuse to accept that idea, because it means that people don’t have any actual agency, and if you take away someone’s agency, you’re taking away a large portion of their personhood. We each have the responsibility and power to change ourselves, to rise above our circumstances. Coulson is doing that right now. May did it, in a large part, between seasons one and three. If we don’t have the power to change ourselves, there is no actual meaning in life. There’s no reason to vote or have children or try to help a stranger. We’re all just a victim of our circumstances, right? Why make any kind of effort of nothing’s going to change? 

So, I mean, yes, a character did say that onscreen. I wouldn’t take it as gospel. That character is also the supreme idiot whose lack of morality and accountability got us in this mess in the first place.

As for the truth behind Fitz’s turn, I think you’ve hit the nail on the head here: it’s not convincing that he’s a monster. He maybe a man playing at being a monster, he may be a man who believes that he NEEDS to be a monster, but like I said, a monster wouldn’t worry about killing Agnes. It’s not that the Doctor was in Fitz—it’s that Fitz is in the Doctor. He HAS been brainwashed, but there’s a part of him that’s fighting back. There’s a part of him that’s drawn to Jemma. There’s a part of him that’s rising above his circumstances. The problem he has is that he has two people who are actively trying to keep him down. Coulson, May, Mace, and Mack don’t have that. They have the environment in general keeping them down, but they aren’t being targeted by specific people. Fitz doesn’t just have to rise up. He has to conquer AIDA and his father first.

You know that I agree with season 3 being a mess, but this season had a masterful setup. This isn’t Jemma having PTSD one episode and not having it the next. This is Jemma and Radcliffe having competing viewpoints from the start! She’s trying to grab power to help her friends; he’s trying to skirt his responsibilities in order to help himself (and pretending he’s helping others to assuage his guilt/get other people to help him). That’s 4x01! And Fitz, this whole time, has been caught in the middle. You don’t have that kind of storytelling in season 3. Jemma is going to have her moment, she is going to make her own arguments, and she’s going to win because she’s actually right. So I mean, yes, we’ve seen the writers royally screw up before, but all they have to do is follow the exact course they’ve already set, and we’ll end up with some of the most powerful storytelling we’ve ever seen. I’m cautiously hopeful.

I think you’re right, though, that the characters won’t get as much closure as we’d like. They’ll probably get a hug and cut to black, a short conversation if we’re lucky. My real OTP for this show is myself x closure, so I get how frustrating this is. We should prepare for headcanon to fill in the gaps.

Finally, the good news is that Fitz has already come through with the help of Agnes. Agnes is the one who’s making him question himself. Daisy, too. I think that Jemma has contributed a little bit, but it’s mostly Agnes that is weighing on him. And if he has to fight May, his most trusted soldier? If Madame Hydra gets sick and can’t influence him? If he find out about the brainwashing of teenagers (I’m not convinced that he knows) (or maybe there’s something else he doesn’t know about)? It’s all going to fall apart. Jemma might be the final nail in that coffin, but it’s not just going to be her. In the end, we’re going to get Real Fitz back because Real Fitz is going to rise up. That’s what it’s looking like, at least!

[up-and-around]

Samuel Yal, WERISMAYMAYND (extract), 2014, video, 2 mn, color, stereo.

What lies beneath

The creepiest spot in Nantes recently hosted an interesting group art show from Spain. Indeed, eight of the Casa Velazquez residents took possession of the Manoir de la Touche, an old edifice owned by bishops on the XV century, now related to The Dobrée museum.

The exhibition was linked to the Spanish Cinema Festival of Nantes although no guide line or direction drove the artists to built the show. Multiples artworks such as videos, drawings, installations, sculptures and photographies were thus, display all around.

Let’s name Aurélia Nardini who allows the spectator, through handmade sophisicated small embroider boxes, to listen stories about magical connection to the city, people from Madrid eventually shared with her. From then on, these sound cases full of memories reveal a hidden part of Madrid. Somehow, Nardini gives a chance to the City to speak for itself. If walls could speek, what would they say ? Charles-Elie Delprat chooses to draw ghost towns arising from the real estate speculation around Madrid, Nelo Vinuesa produces universe with saturated colors that can be composed, recomposed into a set of referent symbols which create a playful city, also tinted with chaos since it can be destroy or transform as quickly as it rises. Marjan Seyedin shares etchings in which she anthropomorphises animals (a serie of owls here), great sensitive work, half way in between the darkness of Goya and the lightness of Chinese art. Samuel Yal makes fun of fate in a WTF video (on top of this post). A skull sings Where is my mind from the Pixies (although there was no sound at the opening). A parody that questions what remains of the knowledges we stored during our existence and the vanity of things.

Great show. Reminds us that yes, every once in a while, some good exhibitions can be presented in Nantes.

// Artist’s websites availbale through their names //

[grim-faux]

2 _ 34 _ The Other Child  

First

 The building was falling apart. The upper floors ravaged by the elements and the fine tooth of time, barely held together. In some rooms the outer walls collapsed, revealing the storms and surrounding landscape of the city spanning forever into the thick mists. No handholds or scaffolding from the under skin of the building side, offered safe methods to reach the lowers floor let alone the ground itself. Somehow through all the down trek they managed, it was too high for the group – let alone one solo – to scale safety.

 This came, after they located what must’ve been an entry out of the building. One. The frame and walls collapsed, maybe from walls crumbled out of the higher stories, or another building. In all the upheavals the city endured, some buildings merged together, and likewise made the outside world tricky to find. Still, it made no difference where the ruble came from or how it happened, this was no way out. Not safely. Not even Mug could crawl through the tight crawlspaces.

 It was decided. There had to be another opening or better yet a window, and they just had to knot up a braid a rope to climb down from. The searching was going nowhere, and they were running out of chances.

 Several times already, the trope inadvertently crossed paths with the monster. And that kid. Close calls that could have ended in disaster. No one really knew what the Broadcaster did to children, but some speek on the walls showed the sad little shadows. Even Rye insisted, in a rare moment of share speek, that he had seen a the hint of a not real child (a memory, a nightmare?), perched high and alone on a road edge. The fragments of the ones cornered, tricked out of existence. The group was lucky, managing to cue in on the foreshadow of the Broadcaster's approach; either by the flashing of faulty bulbs or the steady click of his shoes on the floor. The group kept on high alert, and when even the suggestion of the tall thin man sprang loose, everyone darted for cover – ducking beneath furniture, crowding behind garbage, shoving into any space. At one point Wisp had to be quick and tuck all of himself up into his hoody and lay, like a discarded heap of clothing, in an among other articles of too large laundry.

 The child though. That kid made Lope nervous. He was certain the boy must’ve been aware of them at one point - while he and Mug flattened into the shadows within a bookcase. The kid could’ve overlooked them, but it was hard to believe that they would have that sort luck. Not after so many close calls.

 Once or more, when he was stuck in a position that enabled him to keep an eye on the tall-tall figure striding by, he thought the kid stalled and glanced about. Curious? Suspicious more likely. The Ferrent might be waiting, until they could all be cornered. That had to be the reason. Wait for the best moment. They wouldn’t stand a chance. No hint or warning, just stole. All of them. It could happen at any moment, they couldn't keep away from the monster. It was a matter of time.

 By some good fortune, they tumbled into a room from a crack in a wall. The door might be unlocked and inviting for all they knew, but the kitchen still had some food things left behind. The former occupant had recently perished, and hung by a rope tied to a distressed and tangled ceiling fan; the whole device torn clear out of the plaster, and lay with the body on the floor. Wisp and Mug had a fight over the remote, over who could click the television off. The televisions concealed noises, but the Broadcaster watched from them too. Or, could appear from them. A lot of speek stories showed the Broadcaster, but at times the nightmares confused children. Some forgot what was real and what was not. Televisions were bad, and it was a triumph to shut one off.

 All of them remained on edge, listening keenly as they raided cabinets for anything that survived, stopping every so often to listen for the creaking walls. The former occupant was still fresh, and most of the cabinet stuff was packaged bars and whatever else. Mug and Rye took armfuls of something and went off, probably to check out the other rooms. For the time, he stayed with Wisp, competing with how much they could stuff their faces.

 Lope was distracted by the thought of the child, following the monster everywhere. Chasing. If the monster really did not suspect his pack was around, then they were fortunate to go this long without detection. Someone should already be dead, or worse. One of the benefits of being in a number pack, your chances of survival were highest if you were fastest.

 A few times while he ate, he glanced Wisp’s way. His packmate was something like angry, but more sad. Since showing the story, he’d been like this. He decided the other kid had to be this Ferrent, and for all of them, it was a bad.

 That was why Lope decided to leave. When Rye, Mug, and Wisp found a wall to nest in – not far from the kitchen but supplied plenty of space to shoot out of, if a threat came skulking. Lope waited until his group was settled in, curled up in their preferred positions beside their preferred nest buddy. Once the bundles got quiet and the nudging stopped, he slipped away. Seamless, gliding, vacant of sound or presence. While he scooted out of the crevice, Rye gave him a look, but nothing was done. For all Rye knew, he was going for a bathroom. It wasn’t like Lope to leave in the middle of nest time, though.

 The crevice they first tumbled down from had wear in the wall beneath, from water that gushed through in the past. Water didn't use the opening now, so Lope could climb the boards and reach the space without assistance. It was the exit, in case something large and tall came creeping through the main door. The others would be fine.

 He was curious about that kid. He didn’t really think the Broadcaster needed a kid to Ferrent out other kids, like Wisp implied. The man in the hat was crafty and set traps, always just appearing, could be everywhere. However, there was never mention of a child being a part of the chase. It didn’t make sense. The whole thing was perplexing and... frightening.

 Traveling through the rooms wasn’t much easier on his own. Most the doors he couldn’t reach the handle, but, as he recalled, the doors would be locked anyway. Even the ones that held nothing but quiet. An eerie stillness, as if the world beyond was torn away. He shuddered and kept moving, completely lost in the big corridor. The others would be lost too, when they went out search. Maybe on his own he can find a way out, a safe and fast exit that didn’t require a scary climb.

 Some of the passageways through walls and below dusty floorboards are not new, he and the others trekked this way, searched endlessly and backtracked too often. He still checks though, while being extra cautious when he poked his head out of cracks. At times the lamps above pulse, but nothing drastic or alarming. The storm raged on. He’d rather be soaked and in the rain, than scrambling shadow to shadow in these narrow tunnels with too many dead ends.

 The Broadcaster must know his pack is here, and is only biding his time until he collected them. If the creature sprang its trap while he was away, maybe two will get away. He hoped that the monster wasn’t on its way now, to surprise his pack. He felt bad for thinking those sort of things about Wisp, but there was only a narrow opening to get out of the room – unless there was a second or other gap Rye and Mug found. They wouldn’t stop and wonder where he was, if the Broadcaster appeared.

 While creeping through a space within a wall, he’s spooked badly by the dull rustling and a piercing shriek. He rushed behind the plaster, squeezed between tightly woven planks, narrowly bypassing a crevice torn into the outer layer. Faint radiance peeked through, and with a little digging, he managed to get a space open enough that he could peer through unhindered. It sounded like a television was prowling across the room, the oppressive hum drilled at his skull.

 Dark bars blurred past his hide place, he almost recoiled on reflex, nearly missing… the kid! The crazy kid was right beneath the monster, making noises. That was speek, wasn’t it? The kid did speek at the monster, and darted around its feet! With muscles tense he crouched, waiting to see this nutty kid to turn into a red smear.

 He almost exhaled. Almost. The monster halted its movement and shifted around, until it caught view of the kid… then it bent low and stretched out one long arm. The kid reversed a step and swung away, dashing at full speed. The hand was already coiled around the kid’s body and lifted him up effortlessly, despite how the kid wriggled and pried at the fingers. A stabbing shriek rattled the room, and the child fought harder to no gain. Helpless.

 In the tight cut of light, Lope shuffled over trying for a good view, while the tall man in the hat carried the thrashing child away. Where was it taking him? What did it plan to do? They were wrong, he wasn’t Ferrent. This might not mean anything, maybe the monster was looking for children and this kid wasn’t doing his job. Could be doing that job poorly? No, this kid wouldn't risk his safety for other kids.

 All he could do was keep quiet. The radiance through the room flickered, when the Broadcaster clicked across the floor in its casual stride. Lope was absolutely sure he couldn’t be seen through the tiny slot, let alone reached, but all the same he held his breath and kept motionless.

 In a glitchy pattern, the Broadcaster dissolved beneath the murky cloak. When the light reasserted, the creature had vanished. Completely. Still, he wouldn’t move a muscle or hair, as if expecting those long fingers to reach in through the tight passage behind his back and coil around his own body. The same way it happened to the other kid. Gone.

 That other kid was gone. Took somewhere, and something happened. He was gone.

 No, wait. Wrong. That familiar and small shape darted into the room, the faint steps slowing when the boy passed over the center of the rotten carpet and found the area vacant. The kid glanced around, the hat he wore concealing his face… much like the tall-tall monster. Lope didn’t like that.

 The kid shuffled over to the side of the wall, out of the floors center and edging toward a piece of furniture. Lope couldn’t see exactly what it was, nor did he care. The clothing on this kid fit about as well as Rye’s clothing did. The hat was a little big but not absurd. Lope eased down on his knee—

 The child whipped around, glaring directly at the space and slot where Lope hid. Lope coughed and ducked, but already the faint steps retreated. He went ahead and peered back up, but as suspected the kid is gone.

 A way into the room. The base of the wall was so rotten from water, he could poke right through the plaster like brittle mud. But getting through the boards braced against the backside, that was a different challenge.  At least he was able to creep through the wall, punch holes into the crummy plaster and get a view. No sign of the kid anywhere. The visible passages led to what might be more rooms, or small closets. He wouldn’t know until he got in there.

 A space in the wall base was cracked, and the wood slates splintered outward from Lope. He got on his back and pressed his heels to the board, the timber gave a dull groan and crackled when it buckled outward, against the plaster backing. With his back braced to wall, he set in more force and the wall blasted outward. The new break formed enough space he could squirm through, without nicking himself. It occurred to him as he squeezed through, this might not be the same dwelling. This might very well be a whole other area, a neighboring place.

 Lope kept beside the wall ducking under furniture and creeping through shadows. He paid attention to the lights, but the soft glow remained steady. The ominous clicking of shoes absent. Even so, he kept hype attuned, always keeping a view of the passage and the room where the fracture lay. He hadn’t seen which direction the kid took off in, if he went the way the Broadcaster carried off in, or the corridor Lope now explored. This all looked like the same sort of damaged room, no shortage of discarded clothing left in heaps or boxes. Some suitcases too.

 A spooky calm settled over the rooms as he poked through. In his delicate threading, he saw no flash of movement or picked up on the airless flutter of steps. The other kid must be hide, from him. Odd, but not (all things considered) bizarre. Right now, Lope didn't think he wanted to do anything to the other kid, but that kid wouldn't know his intent. Kids did steal from each other if they could, and that kid had the coolest coat. Probably protected him from the rain.

 After a long and unproductive search, Lope finally found his way into a kitchen space. He examined over the cabinets, debating on the chance the kid might come in here to hide. If he was in a cabinet, then he planned to duck out when—

 One of the doors creaked ever so slightly. Lope dipped toward one side of the kitchen cabinets, peering at the compromised door. Within it was gloomy and deep, nothing shifted or winked. Feeling a little rise in his nerves he crept forward, crouched low and supported on his hands. He steadied himself as he neared the cracked door and reached out slowly.

 But stopped. His hair stood on end, and his muscles buzzed. Every fiber in his being told him ‘flee NOW’, but he ignored it and cautiously rotated on his knee. And abruptly sprang back, hitting the side of the cabinets with an echoing WHUMP! He didn’t cease the retreat, until he reached the doorway of the kitchen. He hovered in the threshold, unsure if he should chance a retreat now or confront this child.

 On the other hand the kid, adorned with a paper bag now – the eye holes seemed to glare, though they were round and expressionless, this kid stood with his arms out at his sides, hands clenched into fists. He was ready for something, but whatever it was… Lope was afraid to dwell.

 The main takeaway, he looked okay. That might not be a good thing. He was okay, all alone in this place, and a monster out roaming – on the hunt. That wasn’t good at all.

 Then the kid did something completely weird. His shoulders slacked and his fists uncoiled. He tipped his paper bag head to the side, as if curious. Then he inched a little closer, still guarded, but approached with one hand raised.

 Lope wasted no time lunging and shoving the kid back by the shoulders. The force threw the kid right off his feet and flat to his back. Lope retreated to a wall beside the cabinets and knelt there, scowling with every ounce of his face. Ready to confront this kid once more.

 The kid leaned up from the harsh assault and sat there, fists curled in his lap. The dorky paper bag turned to him, but the boy did nothing. Only stared. For now.

 And they were like this in the old creaky building, the lights periodically flashing. The occasional flicker drawing concern from Lope. He shouldn’t stay here. It’d been a while; the others would be searching again. For a way out or making a way out.

 Then, his attention was drawn to the other kid. The boy swept up to his feet and hurried over to the cabinets. Lope was on the verge of abandoning this situation entirely, but the kid was digging through the supplies – prying out boxes, hoisting up the paper mask to nibble at things stuffed or wrapped into plastic. Eventually, he pulled up something in a wrapper, and… slowly, shuffled over to Lope.

 He could smell it already. Some sort of protein, sweet meat thing. Reflexive more than anything, he extended his arms to the offering. The kid didn’t hesitate to shove it to him, then, retreated a step to crouch down and observe. With the placid bag face gawking.

 Lope was sure he shoved the thing into his mouth, but it was gone in the next instant. He didn’t eat that… long ago. He didn’t know. Didn’t care. He licked his lips and continued the stare off with the kid. Wary. He had to be faster than the kid. He was the fastest of his group. If it came down to it, he would outrun this kid.

 Again, the kid went to the cabinet and dug out something edible. This time he chewed through something himself, before bringing another lump of food to Lope. The kid was giving him good stuff, not things he didn’t want to eat – not that there wasn’t anything Lope wouldn’t eat. The kid was giving him random stuff that tasted mostly alright and dumped whatever was no good.

  Little by little through this exchange, Lope didn’t miss that the kid was getting increasingly closer to him. Until he was right there, staring ay him. The kid… had the weirdest smell. Like he crawled out of a fire or chimney, it was an unpleasant smoke odor. And it was overwhelming. Through the holes in the paper mask, he could not make out the eyes or nothing, much like everything cast in shadow or shut behind a door. Things ceased to exist. He was a strange kid, full of strange secrets. And sat a little too close for comfort.

 The kid reached out and tugged him by his shoulder. Lope swatted his hand aside and scooted away. That… might’ve upset the kid, but only for a moment. Only. The boy inched back and rose, slowly, gesturing. Beckoning.

 Lope was fast. He can outrun this kid. The way out for him was the same way the kid was moving. This is how he could get away. He just needed to be alert and pick the best moment.

 He stood and followed the kid. When the kid picked up the pace, he hurried after him. The kid didn’t disappear around corners, as Lope suspected he might. Should. He wanted Lope to stay in sight and follow.

 The two traveled down a corridor, passing the room he had broken into. He didn’t give it a look as he followed, into another room.

 Nothing about the room stood out, aside from it being a little dim, the typical decoration of ruin present. The space housed some furniture, a collapsed dresser - clothing strung through the interior. Across the floor sat boxes, a few tipped over spilling out their contents. Food things, bundled in a pillowcase. A few toys, some flat things, and rumpled clothing. He looked over.

 The kid stood there, as if he didn’t know what to do now, how to go about... this. He observed his surroundings, checked the dresser, the furniture, the toys, the boxes, over and over.

 And then just sat down.

 That was weird. Didn’t he have something to show him? He was going to try and trick him, wasn’t he? He was supposed to distract him, and then the Broadcaster shows up. They didn’t come to this room to sit here and just… do nothing. That wouldn’t work. Lope wouldn’t stay.

 He crouched down near the kid, watching him carefully. More and more perplexed and his unease rising. The other kid gripped at his pants, kneading at the fabric and gawking off into open space with that dopey paper bag.

 There was something wrong here, and he didn’t want to be a part of it. This whole place was unnatural

 Very quietly and with every skill of his stealth maxed out, Lope shuffled backwards on his palms and toes. Inching slowly away from the kid that was now lumped in a stupor. There was no telling, the kid might yet snare him and fight to hold him down until the Broadcaster came back. Best to sneak out, and hope he didn’t follow.

 When he reached the doorway, he wedged in close to the frame and peered back at the kid. He hadn’t moved at all, aside from shake. It was… eerie. He didn’t get it. Should he… take this kid with him? That was dumb. It wouldn’t work. The danger was too much.

 Lope pulled himself back and turned away. Where was that kitchen?

 The rooms kept placid and boorish, the lights didn’t flash in that alarming way when the Broadcaster was around. It was safe to find his way back to the kitchen a go through the cabinets a bit more. Everything in the kitchen was as he'd last seen, the discarded foods still on the floor, packages and wrappers everywhere.

 He pulled one of the lowest drawers out from the cabinet and climbed it. Once settled on the countertop and checking again for disturbances, anything, he began working at opening the upper cupboards. He pulled out a box of protein bars and tore into those; they had a chalky taste, not bad. He kept track of how long he was preoccupied, by how many wrappers and boxes he tossed aside. While moving to the next cupboard, movement in the edge of his eye caught his instant focus and he swung around.

 A face peeked around the doorway of the corridor, and he let out a little sniffle. Oh boy, he was in trouble. It was Mug. She made eye contact with him the moment he spied her, and she frowned. Not good. Not good.

 Lope dragged out a box of food biscuits, and the container hit the floor. They both winced at the sound and kept motionless for several seconds, as if reprimanded by an invisible force. It made him feel even worse. He needed to appease her with the food, and hopefully she wouldn’t tell the others.

 Mug made a frail warble and did the gesture.

 Oh.

 He hopped down to the floor and plucked up the large food box. Thinking better on this mess, he dropped the box. The others could come back and get their picks, he was going to look stupid enough anyway. By the time he reached the doorway Mug had appeared in, she was already scarce. Searching for the others, he supposed. He could barely make out the soft call she gave, when seeking.

 A sudden noise from somewhere, down the corridor he thinks. The sound alerted him. Lope raced through the archway, nearly colliding with Mug as she zipped back into the hall at a full tilt. He easily overtook her stride and beat her to the end corridor, and led the way into the connected room.

 The bag wearing kid had recovered from whatever fit he was in, and was at present backed into the hollowed out dresser, hunched over with his fists held at his sides. The paper mask fixed on Rye and Wisp, stationed at the rooms center, both locked on the strange kid. No one glanced his way, not even the weird kid. A standoff.

 He chirped, trying to get their attention. What? He didn’t know what was going on. But Rye and Wisp, by their rigid posture and gnarled fists, they looked mad. It went without a thought that they were ready to do something, but what he didn’t know. Again, he chirped. When Rye snapped around, he regretted uttering the noise.

 “You,” Wisp hissed. The other kid tipped his bag head up, by a fraction. "Mono."

 The other kid shook his head rapidly.

 Rye held Lope with an accusing glare. He chittered. Ferrent is danger. Catch, then do later.

 Lope flashed his hands, trying to convey so much in short. Bad plan. Not safe. He turned to Mug when she caught up, and gave panicked sign to her. She didn’t understand, not him or what was going on here. They couldn’t stay here.

 But Rye was no longer giving him the time. He gave a hiss and darted at the other kid. Fast. Rye was fast.

 Somehow the other kid was faster, or anticipated Rye to go in for the lunge. Despite the clunky mask on his head, the kid managed to evade around Rye and then skid right under Wisp when he flew forward. The kid climbed to his feet and charged right at Lope and Mug, in the doorway.

 Lope sidestepped without trying to bar the kid. On the other hand, Mug took a hard hit to her shoulder when she made to brace her stance. To the floor both weird kid and Mug went, while Lope went to help his friend. The kid recovered fast and charged off into the corridor.

 On the kid's heels shot Rye and Wisp, both looking too angry to bother with Lope at this time. However, once he got Mug on her feet, he shoved her along to join the chase.

 “Ferrent,” he crooned, once her feet caught the pace.

 Mug warbled back. Why?

 Bad, he huffed, and made a vague motion.

 Charging from the corridor into a new room, Lope nearly braked full stop. This is where he saw the kid, with the menacing man in the hat. The monster was gone, had been gone. It might come back, it might not be gone for long. The thought made his legs weak. But Mug tugged his forearm, dragging him after the others into the next room.

 There was no real cover, not for the kid and none for his pack. A sofa seat, some chairs and other furniture, and more of the boxes filled with rubbish. Another room sat to the side, through a doorway. That looked to lead back into the kitchen, if he knew that lighting.

 The kid charged full speed across the room and then plowed into the large door, off to the side of the room. He bounced back, tumbling across the carpet and looked like he was nearly out cold. It wasn’t to be so, the kid was recovered in a moment and retreated form the door with its high handle. Rye and Wisp closed in, cutting through the remaining distance in a few log strides

 Right as they reached the door, the kid shoved over a crumbling crate and jumped onto that, barely snagging the handle from his risky leap. The latch tripped and as the door swung outward, Rye and Wisp lunged high for the kids sweeping legs. The panel swung, and the boy hoisted his lower body up and out of reach. If they had more rest, Rye and Wisp might have had the kid then and there.

 They must not have done rest. Rye saw him go, and must’ve followed. The group wouldn’t have been able to find, otherwise. They followed! That annoyed him, but he had no place to be upset. They didn't trust him, and now thought they had good right not to. He was in more trouble than he could've first thought.

 Along with the other two, he and Mug barreled to the doorway and where the kid was out of options. Dangling like a worm on a hook with no place to go. The kid knew this, and released the handle. He dropped on top of Rye, who collided with Wisp when he tried to barrel in. Lope tried to halt, but Mug crashed into his backside.

 The result was a spinning mess of children flopping out into the center of the rotten corridor. Lope was certain his whole back would be sore after this, but thankfully the ache was fading fast. Blindly, he snagged someone by the leg, and he got a whiff of that harsh smoke smell.

 “Got.”

 The kid dropped down and kneed him in the stomach. Lope didn’t argue, his hands came loose and the faint slap of feet retreated fast. Someone else grunted and crashed to their side, and turning over a bit – still stunned – he saw it was Rye.

 Wisp hissed at them to hurry, and took off. He must not have been punished.

 Once he had recovered some, Lope made it to his feet and took chase of the others. Ahead, he could barely make out the strange kid as he shot around the corner of the hall. It looked like Rye was in the lead – he was fast – with Wisp, and then Mug.

 Everyone was preoccupied with this kid to really think about him taking off. Not that it was bad, but he came here. He went searching. Maybe they thought he was scouting for food, but if they followed, they knew. Nothing was done about it now, but later, when they caught the kid. Something would happen. If they didn't catch that kid, the Ferrent, they would be more angry at him.

 When he turned the corner of the corridor, he found Wisp but no one else. He was worried, the corridor was wide open but the kid, and Rye with Mug, were not in sight. One door to a room was open, so they must have gone into a room; if not that specific room. No breaks or openings in the walls were immediately visible, not from where he stood.

 “Ferrent,” he chittered.

 Wisp turned from examining some bags of garbage and gave a shrug.

 With no other guidance, Lope continued along the wall. Vigilant and leery of the sounds, the muffled chime of a television of two. In truth, he didn’t want to bother with the kid. This wasn’t good. He got that Wisp was hurt about, but this… it could get them into trouble. He was in trouble, otherwise, he wouldn’t try to help. If the others suspected he was okay with a Ferrent, they might reject him. Not only that, the Ferrent did seem dangerous. He didn’t understand why and what gave him that feeling. It wasn’t the monster, either. At least, he didn’t think that was the reason.

 One of the open rooms he passed, he leaned by the doorway and peered in. He didn’t hear Mug at all, but he watched her race by, eyes cast off and focus ever intent on her surroundings. He kept going, though the corridor was featureless. A crack or crevice could be ahead, but all these halls sort of looked the same.

 Doing anything else would be so much better, than hunting out this Ferrent. But if they couldn’t find a way out, and the monster was hunting for them, dealing with the Ferrent now must be the better option. Honest, the kid did creep him out. Even so, he wasn’t up to this. He’d help his friends, but that was about it. Sometimes they were scarier than the monsters that chased them.

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