#it’s like their spreading supernatural disease through the genre

[fucktheroyals]

Not Steve Yockey writing and Richard Speight directing an episode about one boy going to get another boy out of hell.

[dreamescapeswriting]

Warm Bodies ~ JJK [Request]

⤜WORD COUNT: 5.3K

⤜PAIRING: Jungkook X Zombie! Fem!Reader

⤜GENRE: movie inspired, zombie reader, turning human, Jungkook very protective over them, supernatural themes; zombies; cannibalism, a little fast paced, love heals everything, angst, shooting, mentions guns and blood, use of knife FAST PACED

⤜Copyright: © DreamEscapesWriting - January 2022

⤜A/N: I have never seen this film so I am going off what I know T-T I couldn’t find a single platform to watch it on either so I’m so sorry! 

⤜ MASTERLIST

When the virus first hit it was believed to be anything bad. Government officials labelled it as just another common cold, something everyone would eventually get before our bodies seemed to build up an immunity to them. It certainly spread as if it was a virus, going from person to person from a simple touch or breathing in the same air as one another. The symptoms were the usual, sweating and cold sweat, then came the cough. The cough that was near impossible to stop from hurting which was swiftly followed by spitting up blood.

If only back then you knew what you knew now. 

This so-called Virus wasn't just a "common cold" it was a zombie virus, something you never would have believed if you hadn't seen it first hand. A virus that turned people into flesh-eating monsters that were all on the hunt to feed on brains. As the virus spread Government and higher-ups all went into hiding, going into underground bunkers and leaving people to deal with the disease on their own. 

It was believed that those infected with the virus were doomed from the start. The second the virus was set in their systems they would crave human flesh and would stop at nothing to get them...But that just wasn't true and you knew personally. 

It killed you to be craving something you knew that wasn't right, you hated the thought of killing someone just so that you could live and would regularly stop yourself at all times possible. Only killing those who were trying to kill you and your kind, after all...They started it. 

"Come," Someone grunted in your left ear, turning you saw the one person you called your best friend. "V" 

V had been there for you when you had woken up infected with the virus and even though the two of you could only speak through grunts and one-worded sentences you developed a friendship. Relying on one another in the abandoned town that you resided inside of, going to eat together making sure to protect one another from the outside world. It was hard when everybody wanted you dead but you knew why. 

You had been on that side of the battle. Before any of this, you had been the one holding a gun and shooting at those who tried to eat your comrades. Even though you were no longer human you could still remember everything from your human days and the day you turned was the clearest memory that you had. It had started off as one of the best days of your life but quickly changed when you turned.

"Jungkook relax," You giggled as you looked at your very worried boyfriend who was patting down your clothing. Doing his best to make sure every angle of it was covering you and not a single piece of your skin was on display. Both of you were dressed in army gear, wearing all of the protection that the two of you could manage, no risk of being touched by the infected.

The two of you had been together for almost four years, you'd met when you joined the military together and although he had annoyed you for the first year you fell hard for him. 

Both of you eventually began to date and develop a life together. Now you were both in charge of different teams all striving toward the same goal. 

Killing all of the Zombies. Today was one of the days your team would be going out without Jungkook and he didn't like it. For as long as you can remember knowing Jungkook he was protective, extremely protective and watching over your every single move. But all in a good way. Jungkook felt as though he had to look after you, you were the only person he had in his life he finally opened up to. 

"I hate this, why do you have to go alone? We're stronger together," He told you through a sigh as you smiled weakly, raising your hand up to his cheek and smiling weakly. It was an order from someone higher up and nothing either of you could say or do would change that order.

"I'll be back before you even know it, we both know I can kick ass." You smirked as you wrapped your arms around the back of his neck, bringing him closer as you smiled. 

There were a lot of moments like this between the pair of you, where you would be alone and for that one brief moment you would just forget the state of the outside world. Just be with one another as you stared into one another's eyes, going back to the times when all you were training for was a war believed to be years away. 

"You do but I want to give you something before you go." He whispered, pressing his lips against yours over and over again as you nodded. For months Jungkook had been preparing himself for this and it was finally going to happen. 

"Here," He smiled as he dug deep into his chest pocket and pulled out a silver chain and right on the end was a diamond ring. Something you had seen months ago in a storefront window and mentioned how nice you had found it. 

"Jungkook?"

"I'm not asking...I'm simply putting the idea forward that when we get out of this I will ask you to marry me," Your eyes stared down at the ring that was spinning around on the chair, your heart rattling against your chest as you couldn't help but smile brightly.

"I want you to keep it around your neck if you agree." The way he said it sounded more of a question but you nodded, tearing up as Jungkook began to lay the necklace around your neck. Leaning down to kiss you once the clasp was done up. 

"Mine," He whispered to you before you heard your name being called. The small romantic session between you both shattered right in front of your eyes as you were reminded where you were and why.

Shortly after your name was called out you were drowned by zombies, all of them killing those around you. Attacking and killing everybody that was on your army base. Jungkook and you had been split up by a wave of Zombies rushing over to you, one had bitten in your neck before being shot by a sniper. You could still remember the feeling of the virus spreading throughout your body, the burning sensation as you lay on the floor screaming but no one heard you. All of your screams were muffled by the sound of others dying around you being ripped apart then everything faded to black and you woke up with V far away from the base.

"You...Think....too...much." V grunted as you both continued to slowly stumble toward the airport together, grunting at him as you saw what you were holding in your cold hand. The necklace hadn't left your neck ever and even though you hadn't ever seen Jungkook again you never wanted to take it off. It was still a part of you even if he wasn't here anymore.

"Here," You mumbled pushing open a door to the abandoned airport, it was one of the biggest places Zombies seemed to hide out in. V and you both had a home here, or somewhere you called home. 

Neither of you slept since you couldn't but you still stayed somewhere and it was somewhere safe. For you, you stayed in an abandoned plane, surrounded by things you'd found as a Zombie, mostly human things you loved in your old life. Albums were something you always found yourself bringing back with you to stash them in the same place as the others that you had collected. 

As you walked through the airport you frowned feeling something wrong. There was a nagging inside of you that made you feel uneasy as you walked. It was far too quiet inside of the abandoned airport, normally there would be a large gathering of Zombies inside but this time it was almost empty. A few looked very scared so you looked around you, trying to assess what was going on when it hit you. It was the 26th of the Month meaning that different army groups were attacking different places in the city. The only reason you had known this was because of your time in the attacks, you had been sent to Airports and hospitals trying to take back places. 

"Stop." You grunted loudly reaching for V but he had already opened the door to the main waiting room. The second the door opened you were met with screams from humans followed by the sound of guns firing rapidly doing their best to kill everyone that was inside of the room. Clearly, they were losing since most of their men were down and being attacked by other Zombies around them. 

"Down," V grumbled as he yanked you onto the floor beside a dead body, your rule was never to eat those who were alive. You never wanted to be the one to kill somebody so you would only ever eat leftovers or animals if you could ever find any.

"JIN SHOOT!" Someone screamed orders out quickly followed by screams of pain as they were quickly taken down by a team of Zombies. Glancing up you turned to look around the room, ignoring the body in front of you as you tried to make sure those who were trying to kill you were gone but that was when you saw it. 

One human staring at you from under the table beside you, his hands clutching his gun while it aimed in your direction. The man had every chance to kill you but it was as if he was paralyzed with fear, you crawled on your hands and knees as you inched closer to him suddenly you stopped.

Inside of you, you could have sworn your felt your heart let out one beat but that was impossible...When you were infected your heart stopped beating and you were legally dead. As you crawled closer your heart did it once again and you stared at the man in front of you. 

"Kookie." You managed to say as he looked at you, eyes flicking between your eyes and the necklace that was now on full display for him to see around your neck.

"Y/n?" The second his voice left his throat you could have sworn you felt your heartbeat again but your headshot around to see people closing in. They could smell him even if they couldn't see him just yet so you reached beside him, wiping blood from one of the deceased Zombies beside him onto his face. Grunting a little as you took his hand in yours and slowly crawled out from under the table, V's eyes on your the whole time. 

"Go." He grunted at you as you and Jungkook began to slowly make your way out of the room and in the direction of the exit, doing your best to drag Jungkook to make it look like he was one of you. The whole time Jungkook's eyes were on you, staring at you as if he couldn't believe that you were really there beside him. That you were the one thing he hated more in the entire world but he was going with you anyway. Forgetting everything he had been conditioned to believe when he saw you, functioning as if you were still human. 

Nothing he believed to know was true, they were trained to believe all of you were monsters who couldn't see anything but your own hunger but you were living proof that was wrong. Jungkook squeezed your hand as he walked with you, not caring if the virus spread to him if he had you by his side he was coming up with ways to save you. To take you back and figure out why you were this way.

Both of you just stared at one another from opposite sides of the plane, your legs brought into your chest as you stared at Jungkook. This whole time you had imagined him to be dead, you figured he would have gotten infected at the same time as you. You thought he had gotten infected and was wandering around just as you were but there he was, completely healthy and yet it wasn't your Jungkook. Your Jungkook usually had bright eyes that would never dull, a giant smile on his face that would hardly ever move.

"C-Cut." You grunted lifting your hand to your eyebrow signally the abrasion that was on the same spot on his face, bleeding a lot. Jungkook mirrored your actions as he touched the same spot on his face, hissing when he felt the small cut just above his head. 

"Help," You said as you got down onto the floor, going to the end of the plane rooting around in boxes while Jungkook watched in shock. This whole time he had been conditioned to believe that all of the Zombies were alike, that all they cared about was feeding the hunger that they so desperately craved. 

"You can speak?" His voice finally came out but it was strained and shakey, the boy was terrified that the person he knew was gone but there was another part of him that believed you would never hurt him. Turning to look at him you nodded going back to what you were doing. 

It was the strangest thing to him, you still looked as you did when you were human only you looked sick. Your skin was sweating and you had cuts all over your face and hands, not to mention the bite mark on your neck that had never healed. For weeks after the attack, he had looked for you, frantic to find any sign that you had somehow made it out of it all alive.

"Are you human?" He questioned as you slowly began to make your way over to him, giving him the small green box that was filled with first aid items. Your eyes slowly lifted to look at him as you tried to think of a way to tell him, it wasn't as if you could speak in full sentences so you reached your hand out. Take his warm hand in yours and put it on your chest. The place where your heart should have been but there was nothing, no beating, no warmth.

"You didn't kill me," He spoke as he cleaned up the wound on his head, his eyes never once leaving your body as you went back to sitting at the other side of the plane. Wanting to give him some kind of space, it must have been scary for him to see you this way and to think he was going to die back there. 

"Don't...like to....eat." You managed to get out slowly as you looked out of the window, the deserted airport looked more deserted now that most of the Zombies had been taken out by Jungkook and his team.

"But you're a zombie...You eat humans, you're supposed to kill me." You stared at him confused, Jungkook had every opportunity to go and run away. It wasn't as if you were keeping him trapped here with you he was free to leave at any point that he wanted but without a gun or a safe way out he would die. 

"No." You grumbled looking over at the pile of animal bones in the corner, something you tried to eat as often as possible so you wouldn't have to eat humans. 

"Are you still Y/n?" Your eyes went back to Jungkook as you slowly took the necklace off from around your neck, holding it in your hand. This time Jungkook moved to get closer to you, sitting on a chair beside you as you looked at the ring. 

"Still...Same...Just-" You stopped as you tried to think of a way to describe what it was that you were. You could still think and act like a human but this was completely different, you couldn't speak, you could hardly walk and you didn't have a beating heart. 

"No ... heartbeat..." You slowly trailed off as Jungkook nodded his head, putting his hand back where you had placed it before lifting his eyes to look at you. 

"You still look the same, you still act the same." He whispered a little shocked that you didn't seem to change from the way he had known you before. You nodded at him and smiled weakly, trying to think of a way to explain all of what was happening inside of you. 

"I..I-I'm me...Just different." As you sat across from Jungkook you began to realise how much easier it seemed for you to be able to speak now. Whereas before it was near impossible while you were near him you could form more words together, speak for longer than a grunt. 

"We have to get you back to base...Maybe we can study you, we- we could find out if there's some kind of cure!" He said with an excited grin, hopping to his feet as you stared at him with wide eyes. The thought of sitting inside of a laboratory all day being poked and stabbed with needles wasn't what you wanted. 

"No. No...No experiments!" You cried out as he stared at you, slowly nodding his head as he realised what that would put you through. Slowly sitting back down he stared at you, his hands carefully raising to your cheek as he sighed, rubbing his thumb along your now rough skin.

"I will help you," He whispered his eyes filled with pity as you stared back at him, 

"Me, help you." You mumbled this time, putting your hand on top of his pointing out of the window at the groups of Zombies that were outside. 

"I take you back...Safely." It was you that had to be protective over him now, he didn't have a choice but to rely on you to survive if you were going to get him back. 

"How?" He chuckled weakly looking at the others outside of the window, V was there and you knew he would have seen you and Jungkook together and was coming to see you about it.

"Drive." You said simply as you got up and walked toward your pile of keys that you had on the plane. Holding up a pair and smiling. Jungkook scoffed a little as he shook his head at you, 

"Baby, you couldn't even drive when you were human," The pet name made your stomach flip as you stared at him, smiling as you nodded taking the keys and walking toward him. 

"Drive." You told him calmly as you began to walk to the exit of the plane. The plan was simple, get him out of the airport and into the parking lot, the cars were all full and working, it was going to be easy...Once you were away from the Zombies. 

"They'll smell me again," He told you as you stared at him, moving your fingers down to an open wound on yourself and wiping your own blood on him. 

"Play...Dead," You grumbled as you slowly began to make your way with Jungkook toward the parking lot. Zombies all watching you as you continued to grunt and walk, Jungkook doing his best to mimic the actions that you were doing. Still completely stunned that he was walking with you, walking talking proof that what they were killing were still human...Almost.

"Human." Someone groaned as you and Jungkook reached the car you had a key for. 

"Snack," The voices were deeper and more human-like and you knew what it was that the voice belonged to. Bonies you all called them. Zombies but not like you and the rest of your friends, Bonies were just like their name suggested. Nothing but bones that still feated on human flesh. They were the people that had risen from the graves, the ones you believed started the infection in the first place.

"Hide." You grunted at Jungkook who frowned, looking around in the darkness for what it was speaking, but all he could see were two pairs of glowing eyes in the back of the lot. 

"What is it?" He questioned as you shielded him between you and the car, staring at the eyes that were quickly making their way in your direction. The second they came into the light Jungkooks tumbled backwards, hitting the car and shuddering as he saw the bones staring back at him. Nothing on them except a set of razor-sharp teeth and glowing eyes. 

"Get..In." You moaned giving him the keys as you stared at the two things in front of you. They would rip Jungkook to shreds if they got hold of him, battling between one another over who got to eat what and you didn't want that. You weren't going to let anything get your boyfriend...Not that that was what he was anymore.

"Protecting a human?" One of them laughed deeply as you stared at it, turning to look as Jungkook started up the car and stared at you. Wondering if he was supposed to drive away without you or wait and you launched yourself at one of the bonies, knocking it to the floor as you grunted. There was no way to kill or stun it, you had to hope for the best as you grabbed the second by the leg bone, tripping it down as you headed for the car. 

"Drive. Drive!" You yelled, your voice coming out quicker this time and less of a grunt as Jungkook began to speed his way out of the parking lot. 

As soon as you were in the clear he pulled over into an empty road and stared at you, your face was starting to look a little healthier and your cut was no longer leaking brown ooze. 

"Y/n?" You turned to look at him and your eyes no longer looked sunken in and it was only now that you realised you were breathing...Not just breathing but breathing heavily. You hadn't been able to breathe in months and it felt as though your heart was racing rapidly against your rib cage. 

"My...My heart." You whined feeling pain whenever it would beat, it was as if it hadn't beaten in so long it pained you for it to do so. 

"Your-" He stopped when you put his hand on your chest, his eyes widening as he felt the same thing that you could. Your heart hits your chest as quickly as possible. 

"Drive...We should get you back..." But Jungkook didn't move he just stared at you from across the seat, wondering why you weren't so bothered about this. 

"Your heart is racing! You're breathing!" He cried out as you stared at him shaking your head, 

"I'm...I'm not human...I ate-" You tried to explain but Jungkook shook his head at you, there had to be an explanation for all of this.

"Your heart is beating and that means you're human...I'm taking you back with me, we'll figure this out." He said while holding your hand, this time he wasn't met with cold skin on his this time it was warm. Your heart was beating and you were warming up, you could feel it and it was as though you could feel everything inside of you being brought back.

"They'll kill me."

"They'll have to kill me first." He whispered leaning down to you, your noses touching as your breath hitched in your throat. Feeling your heart once again as he pressed his lips to yours, bringing you closer to him as your whole body seemed to melt against him.

"Let's go..." You whispered breathlessly, pulling away from him as a smirk grew on his lips. Turning the engine back on as he began to head in the direction of the base. 

"They'll kill me..." You whispered as you both stood just outside of the base, staring over at the high walls and highly secured gates. Jungkook had come up with a plan of telling them you had slowly begun to come back to life, that you were somehow no longer a zombie. 

"They won't...I-I'll make sure of it." He promised you but it wasn't a full plan, it wasn't even half a plan...It was barely anything. Just expecting to walk into a base and tell everyone you were once a zombie who somehow, magically became human because you saw the love of your life in front of you. It was ludicrous. There were zombies all watching you closely as you and Jungkook stood in front of the base, none of them making an attempt to approach but they all just stared.

"Kookie this is stupid," You whispered shaking your head when a voice came out over the announcement system, 

"Jungkook? You're alive?!" Someone screamed and you looked at him, smiling weakly as he began to pull you with him. With Jungkook beside you, you felt as though you could do everything but somehow even this felt near impossible.

"I am sir and I bought Y/n!" The second your name left his move the system shut off and a shot rang out.

"Y/n!" Jungkook screeched jumping in front of you to take the bullet that was coming right for you, he grunted hitting the floor as you screamed. Dropping down on your knees to look at him, 

"Jungkook, Jungkook!" You yelled as he looked at you. You were fasting in speaking and you finally looked as though you were healthy once again, you panicked looking at his shoulder as blood began to leak through the bullet wound. 

"We threw Y/n away with the rest of them, she is not human!" A female command officer cried out as she stared at you both through binoculars.

"She's human!" Jungkook screamed back in pain as zombies began to make their way over to you, your eyes darting at all of them as you tried to think of a way out of this. A way to get Jungkook inside of that base to get the help that he would need. 

"I love you." You whispered to him as he stared at you, frowning as you kissed him deeply. At least this way you would get to say goodbye to one another this time. 

"Y/n don't...Don't do anything stupid." He groaned turning pale as he took your hand in his, your eyes lingered on him as you shook your head. Tears slowly rolled down your cheeks as you glanced behind you, 

"They'll rip you apart...I-I can...I can distract them," You told him as you looked for a knife in his pockets, grabbing one. 

"I can get you safe again...It's my turn to protect you." You whispered kissing him once again and getting up from the floor but you stopped in your tracks. The zombies were staring at you all, mouths open as you looked at each of them, no one moved an inch as they all stared at you and Jungkook. 

"They're not attacking..." You whispered as Jungkook got up from the floor, the gates to the base opened with loud noises as the commanding officer began to come over to you. Guns aimed at you as Jungkook begged for them to be lowered.

"Her heart is beating inside of her chest, she is bleeding as if she's human...Can't you see that?!" Jungkook coughed up some blood onto the floor and you clutched him closer to you. 

"Kill me if you want but take him...Help him!" You spat at the commander, walking Jungkook toward him when you were grabbed by two soldiers. Each holding you in their arms while another man took your pulse, your eyes on him the whole time.

"It's true...But we saw her before, she was one of them." A man spoke out, you knew him. He had been on your team that day when you were attacked, he must have been the one to throw you out of the base after the attack happened. 

"Look at them all," Jungkook spoke as he leaned on someone for help, all of the Zombies that had been watching all standing up straight instead of their usual slouching position.

"Seokjin?" A female officer called out as she noticed someone she knew in the crowd, slowly making his way toward her. 

"June?!" He cried out as he began to sprint toward her, the colour in his face beginning to return as they embraced one another. 

"His heart is beating..." She cried out, holding him and checking him over and over again. 

"How is it possible?" The commander questioned as he stared at you, your eyes on Jungkook as he was slowly taken inside of the base to be cleaned up.

"When I first saw Jungkook again...M-My heart started to beat...Just once and then as we spent more time together it got to normal...I was breathing again, I was...I was tired from running and walking..." You explained as the man slowly began to walk with you, taking you to Jungkook but his eyes never left you. 

"You're telling me love makes everyone return to normal? This isn't a fairytale Y/n." He grumbled angrily as he stared at some of the other Zombies who all seemed to be returning to normal. 

"No...But if they're experiencing human emotions again...Maybe that is what helps..." The commander stared at you, not believing for even a second it was possible for any of this to be true. 

"We'll have to do tests...Blood work and lord knows what else before we think this is real." You nodded, willing to do anything if it meant other people would be able to return to normal. Your eyes going to look out of the base at all of the people beginning to return to loved ones or even just friends. 

Days turned to weeks and weeks turned to months and every day you were doing tests. Once a week you had blood but every day you would have a routine check-up with how you were feeling if anything seemed to be returning but nothing was. For most of the population, everything seemed to be returning to normal, the only things that weren't were the bonies. All of them still roaming around the world killing what they could in sight but there was a way to stop them. Locking them back up in a box and burying them in the ground topped with cermet. The only thing that seemed to keep them at bay and never to be seen again. 

Though it would take many years to ake the world back after everything it had gone through, everyone was determined. Things were slowly returning to how they were, officials, coming out of hiding and electing themselves back into control.

"You ready?" A voice questioned making you turn around and smile at V who you knew now as Taehyung. The second you knew it was clear for you to travel you had hunted high and low for your best friend, bringing him back to safety.

"As I'll ever be," You giggled taking his hand in yours as you both began to make your way down to the bottom of the army base. It was where a lot of people were holding up for a while until they found their homes or until their homes were ready for them. 

Jungkook was waiting for you, dressed in a suit with a giant grin on his face. Watching in complete awe as Taehyung began to walk you down the makeshift aisle toward him, both of you ready to start the rest of your lives together with one another. 

Tagline: @lyoongx @mitzwinchester @rjsmochii @taestannie @sw33tnight @sweeneyblue1 @jin-from-the-block @acciocriativity @mwitsmejk @taeechwitaa @justbangtanthingz @stillwithlix @kookiekuu @lolalee24​ @lenorelove​ @yubinism​ @hopeworldd-2​ If you want to be added or removed please let me know 

MASTERLIST

[alvallah]

I'm open to all genres of shows and movies, I just wondered about anything other than English movies and shows.

I watch more foreign language films than I do foreign language shows so here's a list of a few films I've watched relatively recently:

Minari (2020) | Korean & English A Korean-American family seeks a better life and moves to Arkansas in hopes of developing a farm. A story of family, marriage, conflicting cultural values between those from the homeland and children of the diaspora, and the experience of being a working class immigrant in the United States.

Bulbbul (2020) | Hindi A girl in colonial West Bengal is married off to a wealthy man, but his youngest brother has her heart. Rumors of supernatural murders spread through the village. A thriller that marries Bengali culture and Shaktism with a feminist narrative, weaponizing a spin on tradition to challenge the mistreatment of women and girls.

Monpura (2009) | Bangla A servant takes the blame for a crime he did not commit and flees. Alone in rural Bangladesh, he falls in love with a fisherman's daughter. This one is a classic tragic Bengali romance, so I cried lol

Pather Panchali (1955) | Bangla Set in the 1910's, a family in rural Bengal struggles to make ends meet. When tragedy strikes, a monsoon of burden cascades on the family. A commentary on the ugly reality of poverty which starves people of opportunities and deprives them the ability to recover from life's trials.

Pelíšky / Cosy Dens (1999) | Czech Two families suffer political and social divisions in 1967 Czechoslovakia. A witty film depicting two fathers who constantly argue about communist and nationalist politics, youngsters who just want to be "cool" and whose parents don't understand, and the conflict that would later unite them in loneliness and sorrow with the rest of the nation.

Princess Mononoke (1997) | Japanese A village is attacked by a demon who is slain by a brave young warrior. He discovers his arm has been infected by a dark disease and embarks to find a cure. A fantasy anime film seeking to address the damage greed and industry cause to the environment which later comes back to punish us, as well as addressing other issues like women’s roles in society and stigmatized illness.

I have more but this is a solid list to start I think :)

[darks-ink]

Fog - Ectoberweek 2020

Another year, another fic writing anniversary. Might be a little rough because I am rusty, yikes.

Rating: Gen Warnings: - Genre: Supernatural Words: 3,176 Relationships: - Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Seer Valerie Gray, Supernatural elements, Developing friendships

[AO3] [FFN]

---

The first time Valerie had asked her dad why it was always so foggy in Amity Park, he’d laughed kindly, and explained to her how fog worked. She had accepted the explanation, worked through it a while—as children were wont to do—and then realized it didn’t actually explain anything.

The second time she asked, he frowned at her, telling her it wasn’t foggy at all. She had looked at the green mist seeping from between the tiles of the sidewalk, pouring out of the dirt between the roots of trees and grass, and resolved not to ask again.

Of course, that didn’t stop her from asking Star. Star, after all, was her best friend, and surely she would understand what Valerie meant. Right?

But Star hadn’t understood either. Claimed that she didn’t see the fog that seemed impossible to miss. And worse still, Paulina overheard. Overheard, and spread rumors all around the school. Before Valerie knew, everyone in the school thought she was crazy, that she saw things that weren’t real.

Valerie had looked at the coalescing mist, watched it thicken and coil into the shape of a cat, and decided that she would just have to figure it out herself.

And, honestly? She had. It wasn’t perfect, of course, but she thought she had done fairly well for herself. Not that she could ever tell anyone what she knew, what she could see. She just had to take one look at the Fentons, at how far their children had been cast out for the crime of being related to people so sure of the existence of ghosts.

She herself had clawed her back way to mildly reputable, over time. Valerie Gray had no plans to go back to that pit of nonexistence.

So, yes. She could see ghosts. Or, maybe not ghosts proper. Spirits seemed to be a closer description. The natural presence of ectoplasm in the very atmosphere of Amity Park, seeping into their reality from another dimension.

Loathe as she was to say it, she was pretty sure the Fentons were at least somewhat right about ghosts. They lived primarily in a different dimension, sustained by its ectoplasm. In places where the boundary between their own dimension and the so-called Ghost Zone grew thin, this ectoplasm could seep through.

It was the ectoplasm in the air which supported lingering spirits, however briefly. Never long enough for them to develop into a proper ghost—which apparently could be seen by anyone—but enough for Valerie to see them. The recently diseased remained incorporeal, soft and foggy like the green mist they were made out of.

It was… Well, not okay, certainly, but… normal? For her, at least. There was no danger to it, not really. The lingering spirits were short-lived, couldn’t touch, and didn’t make sounds. Often, they didn’t even realize she could see them. And why would they, when no one else could?

So by age fourteen, in her first year of high school, Valerie had quite settled into this pattern of existence. Yes, she could see ghosts, and no, she didn’t plan on doing anything with that skill. What could she do with it? Become an ecto-scientist like the Fentons, dismissed for the rest of her life? Please. No, she was perfectly satisfied with living an ordinary life, without ever acknowledging her ability to see ghosts and spirits.

Until, one perfectly ordinary day, not too long after the school year had started… Danny Fenton changed.

Now, Valerie didn’t know him all that well. She had fought too hard to become a respectable kid to throw it away on outcasts like him, pity or no. And pity him, she did, because she knew what it felt like. To be pushed away just because they were different.

But, unlike her, Danny Fenton had friends. He might’ve wanted better, but he wasn’t alone. He would make do. It wasn’t her problem, so she didn’t bother with him.

Seeing him walk into Lancer’s classroom absolutely wreathed in ecto-green smoke made her reconsider her previous conclusion. Because that? That wasn’t normal. She had, quite frankly, never seen anything like that before.

It took considerable effort to keep her eyes off of Fenton. The fog continued to pour out of him, thicker than most spirits could manage. Something must’ve happened at his home, with his parents’ inventions. Something which caused him to emit ectoplasm in such high amounts.

Well, maybe it was just his body expelling it? That would explain it, yeah? It would stop eventually, once all ectoplasm was gone, and then everything would be fine again.

Besides, it didn’t seem like he injured or dying or whatever else could cause it. So. Nothing to worry about.

Except it didn’t go away. Not entirely. Over time, the fog seemed to… change. No longer did it seep out of Danny like it poured out of the ground, but now it seemed to coil around him. Like it had settled in his flesh, a perfect mimic of his body except in the soft mist of ectoplasm. It was almost like the few times she had seen spirits pass through physical objects, but not… not quite.

Quietly, Valerie resolved to continue to ignore it. It wasn’t her problem. Just because she could see spirits and ectoplasm and what-not didn’t mean she had to be responsible for it, did it? Danny’s own parents were ghost experts. If something was wrong with him, surely they would know?

So she turned a blind eye, unwilling to get involved with any kind of ghostly business.

The first ghost she saw, therefore, wasn’t in real life. It was on the television.

Of course, no one seemed to realize it was a ghost. A massive lumbering heap of flesh—meat products, apparently—which had lumbered around near the school briefly before disappearing. All kinds of explanations popped up, but none quite rung true—and none could deny the shaky video footage.

Shaky video footage, on which Valerie could clearly see the dense green fog in the meat, binding it together with some kind of ectoplasmic force.

The footage didn’t last long enough to see the thing disappear, but witnesses said that it suddenly fell apart, showering the parking lot with seemingly mundane meat products. The clean-up had been a huge mess, or so they said.

It left Valerie feeling… off-balance. For years, she’d learned about her ability, figured out what was what. It seemed stable, certain. There were limits, things that were always the same. Ectoplasm, and spirits. And now, for the second time within a month, she saw something she didn’t know.

So she gritted her teeth, and decided to check out the leftovers of… whatever it was that had lumbered around her school.

Looking back, she wasn’t sure why she had expected to learn anything useful from the leftover meat. A little ectoplasm clung to it still, when she found some that the clean-up had missed, but it was rapidly evaporating away. Nothing worth noting.

The whole event became a turning point, anyway. Within weeks, ghosts became an undeniable reality in Amity Park.

If nothing else, it at least gave her an excuse to learn more about her ability. Ghosts didn’t look much like spirits, she found out. Their bodies were made out of dense ectoplasm, clearly corporeal, and perfectly visible to everyone. They did, however, emit ectoplasmic mist—apparently they just constantly leaked the stuff when they weren’t in the Zone.

Which led her back to Danny Fenton. The way he smoked was certainly similar to how proper ghosts emitted ectoplasm, but it wasn’t quite the same. Nor was it quite the same as when ghosts overshadowed humans, or when ghosts possessed or otherwise controlled objects.

No, Danny Fenton remained unique in his condition. And honestly? It kind of pissed Valerie off. Yes, the introduction of proper ghosts to Amity Park had forced her to learn more about her ability, and yes, she still refused to acknowledge its existence to anyone but herself. But she still wanted to know, to understand.

And Valerie Gray is no coward. She wanted to know, so she would know, damn it all. Curiosity might’ve killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back, no? And she’d spent several months trying to satisfy this bit of curiosity. Now all she had to do was corner Danny Fenton and demand the truth from him.

---

Okay, so cornering Fenton was easier said than done, Valerie discovered. He was, apparently, incredibly slippery. Multiple times, she had followed him into a dead end, just to find no one else present. At this point, she was fairly certain that his ghostly infection had come with ghost powers.

Which would just figure, wouldn’t it? Count on the universe to give her the ability to see ectoplasm constantly, while someone like Fenton gets something cool like intangibility? And now that she had a running theory, she needed actual confirmation, too!

She rattled her fingers on the desk she was sitting behind, staring at Lancer but not taking in any of the words he was saying. Well, shit. She’d totally zoned out in the middle of class. That would probably come back to bite her in the ass.

A few seats closer to the front, Fenton jerked in his seat, blowing out a denser cloud of foggy ectoplasm. Usually this was promptly followed by him trying to excuse himself out of class. And, well. That was a good opportunity, wasn’t it?

Quickly, faster than Danny could, she put up her hand. Lancer paused, frowning, but called on her anyway.

“Can I go to the toilet?”

Lancer heaved a weary sigh but nodded nonetheless, and Valerie sped out of the classroom, steadily ignoring Danny’s frustrated look. She waited outside the classroom, not wanting anyone to see her lingering but not willing to risk missing Danny altogether.

Luckily, she didn’t have to wait long. Within minutes, Danny Fenton stormed through the classroom door, clearly in a rush.

Valerie stuck out her leg, intending to trip him up, or at least slow him down.

Instead, Fenton’s leg became soft and fuzzy in an awfully familiar way, and went straight through hers.

“Uh,” he said, immediately pausing to stare at her. “You didn’t see that.”

She snorted, despite herself. “It was hard to miss, Fenton.”

“Yeah, well…” He paused, seemingly lost for words. “Forget you saw it?”

“Definitely not.” She pushed away from the wall, stepping closer to him. “I wanted to talk to you about that, anyway.”

Danny swallowed, eyes darting side to side. “About what, exactly?”

“Something’s up with you.” She looked around the hallway as well, making sure to keep him in her peripherals. “But we can talk somewhere a little more desolate, if you want.”

“I kind of… need to get going?” he tried, feebly. “Seriously, Valerie, I can’t…”

He definitely looked like he might start running any minute. Well, no time for the subtle approach then. Just as well, she supposed. She wasn’t very good at subtle. “I can see ectoplasm.”

Danny… stopped. Froze in his tracks. “I’m-- what? Sorry, what?”

“I can see ectoplasm,” she repeated, turning around to face him properly. “And spirits, when they’re around. I would’ve said ghosts, but everyone can see ghosts, now that they’re actually around.”

“But isn’t ectoplasm…” he gestured vaguely, catching up to her again. “Kind of everywhere?”

“It’s constantly seeping out of the ground, yeah.” She grinned. “And ghosts evaporate the stuff. So do you, but it’s not quite the same. And you kept disappearing after I cornered you into dead ends, so I figured it was something ghost-related.”

He made a face. “I’m bad at this. I also seriously need to get going, Val, I wasn’t kidding about that.”

“What, because you put out a burst of extra ectoplasm?” She frowned at him. “You gonna pass out because you expelled too much, or something?”

“You saw that? Ugh.” He shook his head, visibly refocusing. “Anyway, no. That was my ghost sense, which tells me that there’s a ghost nearby. Which is probably gonna attack any minute now, so…”

“So?” she repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Call your parents, or whatever you wanted to do. I finally got my opportunity to get these questions answered, I’m not letting you slip away that easy.”

Fenton shot her a look that was caught somewhere between exhausted and frustrated. “If anything happens, I’m blaming you.”

“What, were you gonna beat it up?” She snorted, then sobered at his blank look. “Oh, well. Don’t let me stop you, I’d love to see that.”

“Shut up.” He stopped next to his locker, turning away from her to unlock it. “What did you want, anyway?”

“To satisfy my curiosity.” She shrugged at the incredulous look he threw at her. “Is that so hard to believe? I’ve lived with this ability for years, I knew every aspect of it. Even now with the ghosts around, I’ve figured out almost all the bits. Your ectoplasmic contamination is the only thing that I don’t understand.”

“And you were hoping I would explain?” His locker clicked open, and Danny reached inside to take out a shiny thermos, styled with ecto-green like every other Fenton product. “There’s nothing, Valerie. Don’t worry about it.”

She scoffed. “I’m not worried, I’m curious. What’s the harm in telling me, anyway? I already know you can go intangible like a ghost, and it’s not like I’ll tell.”

“Sure you won’t.” He rolled his eyes, closing his locker once more. Apparently the thermos was all he wanted from it. “And I’m supposed to just, what, rely on your ability and desire to keep a secret?”

“Please. Last time I tried to tell anyone about my own abilities, I was kicked down to the bottom of the popularity ladder. I have no plans to go back.” Her eyes trailed away from him, catching on the increase of ectoplasm on the other end of the hallway. “The only thing that’ll happen if I try to tell anyone is that they’ll think I’m crazy. Again.”

“Yeah, or my parents hear and think I’m a ghost again.” He looked up from the thermos in his hands, frowning at her. “What’re you looking at?”

The ectoplasm pulled together, coalescing into something dense enough to be a ghost, even if it lacked the color. It clearly wasn’t a spirit, not nearly life-like enough for it, despite it’s vaguely humanoid shape.

“You ever seen a ghost look like a bulking robot before?” she asked, faux casual, turning to look at Fenton. “Big plane-like wings, some kinda mohawk?”

“Shit,” he muttered, peering into the direction where the ghost was. “You can really see him?”

“Well, I was trying not to let him know that, because he doesn’t look very nice.” She rolled her eyes. “You know him, then?”

“Skulker.” Danny shook his head, hands wringing around the thermos. “Fuck, and there’s no way I can catch him unaware with the Thermos. I’ll have to fight him.”

“What, you?” She quirked an eyebrow at him. “Well, don’t let me stop you, I guess.”

Danny straightened up properly. “Don’t tell anyone about this.” Then he paused, looked down at the thermos in his hands, and shoved it at her. “Use this when he gets distracted.”

“Uh, okay?” she replied, taking the thing in her hands. It didn’t seem like a weapon to her, but it would be just like Jack Fenton to disguise a ghost hunting weapon as a thermos, of all things. “What do you plan on doing?”

“Not dying, hopefully,” Danny grumbled, and then he— changed. The ectoplasm that steamed off of him suddenly thickened, until Danny was hidden in dense fog. Light flashed within it, like a thunderstorm.

When the ectoplasm reduced back to normal amounts, a ghost stood where Danny had been.

“Shit,” he muttered, combing a hand through his unnaturally white hair, “I still can’t see him.”

“You’re an idiot.” She sighed, turning to look back at the hulking mohawk ghost. “At the end of the hallway, can’t miss him.”

“Thanks, Val.” The ghost-that-had-been-Danny kicked off of the ground, zipping towards the first one.

What had the world come to?

Lucky for her, she didn’t need to play seeing-eye person much longer, because the robot ghost dropped his invisibility when Danny came close enough.

Instead she stood there, watching the two ghosts fight. With a thermos-shaped Fenton invention of unknown purpose in her hands. Great.

It wasn’t even a good fight. The robot ghost relied almost entirely on guns which shot ectoplasm-based lasers, while Danny kept trying to get in close and punch the thing. Not even some kind of martial arts, no, just teenage-level brawling. Ugh.

He was flung into the wall next to her, slumping down with a groan. She clicked her tongue at him. “Not very impressive.”

“Thanks,” he grumbled back, pushing himself to his feet. His voice, even through the warbling echo that all ghosts possessed, was clearly frustrated. “Could you do better?”

“Well, I am a trained black belt,” she pointed out, before holding out the thermos. “What does this do, anyway?”

“Catches ghosts.” He rose into the air, but his flight was shaky. “Please don’t point it at me.”

“Well, duh.” She stepped back, allowing him a straight shot at the robot ghost. “Go distract him, will you?”

“Since when are you in charge?” Danny grumbled, but he flew off anyway, darting around the other ghost and drawing him back in her direction.

Valerie shook her head, wondering vaguely how she’d gotten into this situation. How many years had she sworn not to get involved into anything related to her ability to see ghosts? And now here she was.

“Here, Skulker Skulker Skulker,” Danny jeered, pitching his voice like he was calling to a runaway dog. “Here, Skulkie Skulkie Skulkie!”

The other ghost snarled, lunging forward at Danny.

Valerie stepped forward, uncapping the thermos in the same movement, and pressed it against the side of the ghost. It swore, but was unable to escape the coiling vortex of the device, sucked into it in the blink of an eye.

“Huh.” She blinked, automatically capping the Thermos again. “That worked better than expected.”

“Yeah, sometimes my parents can get it right.” Danny touched down next to her, soundlessly. “Uh. Thanks, I guess.”

Again, the ectoplasm pouring off of him thickened, clouding him for a brief moment as light flashed. When it fogged away, it left a regular looking Danny Fenton.

Valerie glanced down to make sure the device was locked, then turned to Danny. “You can have it back in return for more answers.”

He snorted, shaking his head with a wry smile on his face. “Should’ve figured as much. Guess I can’t get out of it, huh?”

“What’s the point in hiding if you’ve already shown me… whatever that was supposed to be?”

“Eh, fair point.” He shrugged, almost fatalistically. “Let’s get early lunch and I’ll tell you whatever you want to know, deal?”

She considered him for a moment. “Deal.”

[yuta-nakamots]

Candle Light - l.hc ; Part 2 of 2 (End)

Pairing - College!Haechan x Ghost!Reader

Genre - Fluff but mostly angst at the end

Warnings - Character death, supernatural activity (you are literally a ghost)

Summary - As the resident ghost that haunts your old apartment, you take pride in scaring away those who dare move in, not wanting them to ruin your memories. Though your mission changes after a group of boys arrive. These are the four boys you allow into your space and your heart. One of them is the candle that supports you, and you are the fire that burns atop it, his beacon of light.

Word Count - 6.2k

A/N - as always, credit goes to @soleilhyuck​ for coming up with the idea for this fic. thank you for patiently waiting and giving lots of love to this series and please look forward to frat boy!yuta next month as well <3

Tag List - @sunflowerhae @eunsangelical @soleilhyuck @neoyoungho @carefreebubble @sly-merlin @jisungismymom @jimelonji @lyraaacle @peachy-yabbay @yomanitsgonnabehee​

January 2020

News about the new virus was quickly spreading, as was the disease itself, unironically. You sat next to Renjun as he watched the news on TV and played a game on his phone while Jeno was lying on the floor in front of the coffee table as he typed out an essay on his laptop.

You watched as the newscaster stood in front of a graph showing the number of cases spiking up as he said “all local colleges will be migrating to an online schooling system for the second half of this year” to which Jeno let out a loud groan at.

“How the fuck am I supposed to do all my labs then?” he muttered under his breath, angrily hitting the carpeted floor. You laughed at his childish action, Jeno’s head whipping around as he looked in your general direction with his pupils shaking as he tried to find a face to match the voice he had just heard.

“Hey y/n, I think Jeno can hear you,” Renjun said nonchalantly as he continued watching the news station on TV, “okay, Jeno wait I think you should pay attention to the screen.”

He informed the other boy just in time as the anchor said “certain schools have disclosed that some students may still be required to return to campus for activities such as labs or other assessment events.”

Jeno rolled onto his back, letting out another groan that was almost actually a growl. “I don’t know which is worse. Having to go to school during a pandemic, or having to learn from my computer 24/7.”

February 2020

As more plans for the second semester were announced, Jeno did end up having to still visit the campus for his labs so he was occasionally out along with Jaemin who was volunteering at a hospital nearby, the same one your body was taken to after the incident, not that you’d ever tell them that though.

Jaemin had convinced Renjun to come along saying “we need extra help and it’s not like you’re doing anything anyways now that class is online” as he quite literally dragged Renjun out the front door.

This left you with Haechan, who was only able to see you in certain instances because he was still not totally sure if you really existed or not. He still used the scented candles in his room, much to your distaste, since you found yourself having to put out the flame nearly every night due to his forgetfulness.

He’d spend almost every waking moment on his computer playing Overwatch and whatever other games he was into, only stopping when we had to attend his mandatory online lectures. Even then, he’d still have the game up on his screen, barely even caring about the lecture.

Eventually, this irritated you enough, having been quite a good student yourself, to the point where you just lost it when you saw him pull up his school account and you peered over his shoulder and realizing how bad his grades really were.

“You shouldn’t do that, you know.” You spoke to him, hovering behind him as you read through the contents of his student profile.

Haechan froze for a second, surprised by your voice though he didn’t make an effort to turn around. “Well, you shouldn’t just scare people like that.” He retorted at you.

“Then don’t take your college life for granted,” you remark, not missing the high amount of absences he had even though all his courses were online, “I would’ve loved to have completed mine, but that just didn’t seem to be in my life plan now, was it?” You asked rhetorically, your voice laced with sarcasm to match his.

“What are you gonna do about it, huh?” He spat out at you. “You can’t force me to study.”

You rolled your eyes at him even if he couldn’t see you as you scoffed, “yes I can.” Quite literally, you moved through his desk and unplugged his computer from its power socket. A satisfactory grin fell upon your face as you heard his monitor die out and you look at him. His mouth was slightly agape as he finally saw you up close, your previously translucent figure becoming clearer and clearer to him with every second that passed.

From then on, Haechan consciously made an effort to cut back on his gaming and dedicate more time to his schoolwork, as he hated not knowing when you’d decide to pop into his room again and he didn’t want to risk more damage to his precious computer.

Sometimes he’d spend so much time studying that he’d even fall asleep at his desk, to which you could only sigh at as you fanned out the flames of his stupid scented candles that he continued to use before grabbing his blanket from his bed and placing it atop his shoulders.

March 2020

You found that you actually quite enjoyed spending time with Haechan as he was more entertaining and witty than Renjun. Though on a particularly slow afternoon, you watched Haechan as he went about making a sandwich in the kitchen, making yourself known to him by a light tug on his shirt before he asked “so why exactly do you haunt this apartment?”

You were leaning against the kitchen island behind him, not even having bothered to materialize in your semi-human form since you let him pick and choose when he wanted to see you or not. “If I’m being honest, I really don’t know. All I’m sure about is that this unit is my unit. It always has been and it always will be.”

“Well, what are your ties to this place? What does it mean to you?” He pressed on as he grabbed a slice of bologna from the refrigerator.

After pausing for a second as you recall your past, you told him “this is where I grew up, my parents moved here when I started elementary school and I’ve lived here for almost twenty years until I died and ever since then, I’ve just been here.”

“I’m sorry,” he interjected, looking at you and making eye contact to let you know he was being sincere, “I really am. You had so much to live for, your whole life ahead of you.” He shook his head in pity as he unwrapped a piece of cheese.

“Things don’t always go according to your plan, as you can see,” you stated before continuing on with your story, “anyways, my family moved out shortly after my incident because my sister would always cry whenever she had to pass the spot I was last alive at and eventually my parents couldn’t take it anymore so they just up and left.”

Haechan was unscrewing the lid of the jar of mayonnaise when he asked “why didn’t you stop them? Or did you try but they just weren’t able to see you?”

“They couldn’t see or hear me. I tried calling out to them, telling them I was still here, I was still alive, but nothing worked...and so they left me behind.” Your voice trailing off at the end as you felt a familiar pain in your chest at the memory of your family.

Haechan hummed in acknowledgment, spreading pieces of lettuce over the top of his sandwich, going silent before speaking again. “I think you need closure. Do you know where your family went to? I’m pretty sure we could--”

“No, I’d rather not talk to them.” You interrupted, not wanting to witness your family in pain again after having to watch them mourn your death in this very apartment. To them, you were a thing of the past and you wished to stay that way.

“You can’t just be cursed to wander around this unit for the rest of your life, or lack thereof. That’s a bit…” he paused as he wracked his brain for a word, turning up blank, “sad, for lack of a better word.”

You watched as he placed a slice of bread on top and pressed it down before biting into his creation. “It’s not like it was my choice in the first place, you know,” you strongly articulated, “if you really wanted to help me then you’d leave this place and let me wander in peace now that you know my story.”

“We both know damn well that you’re not gonna be happy if we leave you on your own.” And the most surprising part of his statement was that he was right.

April 2020

After your previous conversation with Haechan, the two of you started avoiding each other and you ended up spending more time with Jeno when he eventually came around to being able to see you. He was more of an easygoing presence and he didn’t mind it when you stayed in his room, he just asked that you “don’t mess with my stuff like when you stacked all my books up and turned my clothes inside out” the memory of it still makes you laugh to yourself.

You felt bad for Jeno, seeing him come home already exhausted from his labs and lectures, letting out a loud sigh whenever he entered through the front door as he was finally able to take off his face mask and allow himself to take a deep breath of air.

You’d often find him dozing off at his desk, his face resting either on his arm or on whatever page he had been going over. Sometimes, if you knew the assignment was important or if the deadline was near, you’d try to keep him awake by doing this like clicking his book or dropping a book on the floor. But if he was really knocked out, all you could do was just plug in his electronics to let them charge before bookmarking his page and clearing his desk for him.

On the night of his 20th birthday, the boys decided to have their own mini-party, which you excused yourself from. You didn’t want to get in the way of their celebration since you didn’t know for sure where you stood with Haechan and that’s on top of the fact that Jaemin still didn’t believe in your existence.

You stayed in Jeno’s room, softly plucking at the strings of his guitar which he had kindly left out for you. He had previously voiced his worries about you getting bored from always staying in the unit, which you found quite cute of him.

He came back to his room around midnight and you watched as he drunkenly made his way to the bathroom, stumbling in and nearly tripping over his own feet. You heard him throwing up into the toilet but you stayed put, knowing that you wouldn’t be of much help anyway. You recognized the sound of Haechan’s voice as he entered from his own side and tried to clean Jeno up.

Moments later, Haechan came into the room carrying a near unconscious Jeno to the bed you were currently sitting on. All Haechan had to do was merely glance at you before you were already materializing in human form to put Jeno’s guitar back on its stand and help Haechan get the birthday boy into bed.

Once Jeno was tucked in and snoring, you looked up at Haechan and he nodded his head in the direction of his room, inviting you to come over with him, which you did without much hesitation. You sat on the edge of his bed as he started up his computer as he asked you “don’t you ever get tired of just staying in the apartment all the time?”

You watched as he typed in his login information as you responded, “kind of, I guess. It’s all I know so it’s not like I really have anywhere else to go.”

“Have you ever tried leaving the building, or this unit at all?” He inquired while pulling up a page on google.

You thought for a moment before answering him. “No, I’ve never really wanted to leave because I’m comfortable here.”

Haechan simply nodded and stated “fair enough” as he switched tabs before turning to you. “I found this article the other day and I think this is relevant to you.” He informed, beckoning you over to him. You moved closer and read it from over his shoulder.

Certain spirits roam the earth as ghosts due to their souls holding onto the regret they had while they were still living. It is common for these types of ghosts to stay in a place that they have special emotional ties to. They often try to scare away people who enter their sacred place as they are trying to preserve it as it is in their memory, resisting change. There have been successful cases of exorcism for these types of ghosts, though oftentimes, it serves to only anger them further, which is why exorcism is not recommended. Edit: It has been found that the spirits often pass on to the true afterlife once they let go of the regrets they are holding and free themselves from the baggage that is tying them to their sacred place.

“Haechan, I already told you, I’m not leaving.”

“But think about it, you can’t just continue existing with one foot in the afterlife, one foot in the during-life,” causing you to laugh at his wording, “aren’t there other dead people you’d like to meet? You know, like Michael Jackson or something?”

“Of course, but how would you know if there really is an afterlife where I could meet them?”

“I don’t, but aren’t you getting tired of just watching people come and go? Aren’t you curious about the existence of an afterlife? You’ve been here for what, two years?”

“Three years.” You corrected, though he was correct about your boredom and curiosity even if it really was just in the slightest form.

You weren’t looking forward to when the boys moved out as it meant you’d be left on your own again. You had grown used to the four of them since you had at least one of them home at nearly all times. You didn’t want them to leave and you had even though about asking them to stay, but you knew it would be unfair to them as they had previously talked about their future educational plans.

Renjun already was in the process of transferring to a school or arts to further hone his skills as he was nearing the completion of his traditional core credits. Jeno wanted to study abroad and experience different cultures while Jaemin simply would follow along, having promised both of their parents that he would look out for Jeno and make sure he didn’t overwork himself though oftentimes it was the other way around.

As finals came around again, you witnessed the boys and their ways of dealing with the stress of their exams. Renjun simply painted aggressively while Jeno started stretching and working out more often and Jaemin, who still wasn’t able to hear or see you, resorted to cooking. You couldn’t believe Haechan broke out those godforsaken candles yet again, even after you had voiced your hatred for them, having to put out their flames and clean up the dripping wax as to not cause a fire hazard.

One day, Jaemin was finally able to see a faint outline of your silhouette when you managed to catch the knife he had accidentally pushed off the counter while preparing dinner for the guys. He really didn’t believe them when they spoke of your existence, he simply thought it was some kind of odd prank they were all in on, but when he saw his knife floating mere centimeters above his foot, he realized they weren’t lying at all.

Ever since then, you’ve enjoyed hanging around with all four of the boys. They each introduced you to their hobbies and did their best at including you in as many activities as possible. Renjun was overjoyed when he saw you lift a brush from his case and when you asked if you could join him. He was painting a simple sunset and was more than happy to have your company. Renju let you paint any way you wished, only helping here and there to blend in your strokes and fix some of the color gradients.

After it dried, you stood back as he hung the canvas up in the living room with a broad smile on his face. He turned around and you watched as his expression morphed into one of confusion when he didn’t see you behind him and he called out your name. You felt a sense of anxiety creep up on you, reminiscent of the feeling of when your own family were not about to see you.

You knew Renjun had it easiest when it came to seeing and hearing you so why was he having a hard time now? “Oh, there you are.” He said, when you came into his view again, seemingly lightheartedly but it was hard for both of you to feel at ease after what just occurred.

It happened again when you were with Jeno as he was teaching you how to play a few chords on his guitar, something you had always wanted to do in your active lifetime. The two of you had been going at it for about an hour now and things were going pretty smoothly aside from Jeno having to help press the strings down when your own fingers weren’t enough.

You were able to learn a few simple chords separately but right before you were able to string them all together, the guitar suddenly fell through your hold into Jeno’s hands that were helping you apply pressure to the strings. He let out a noise of surprise as he too could no longer see your form.

He blinked rapidly, thinking it was his own eyes playing tricks on him until you saw him relax as both of you witnessed your own body flicker back into existence. This time, there was definitely no denying what just happened.

Later that night you went to Haechan and told him both accounts of what was going on and you broke down in tears, telling him how you didn’t want to leave them just yet. He rubbed your back as you clung on to his shirt, your tears would’ve been soaking it if you weren’t a ghost.

As much as you wanted to stay in his embrace, he told you that he had to study for an upcoming final so you instead settled for lying on his bed and staring up at the ceiling as you let your mind wander through all the what-ifs going through your head.

You’re not sure how much time passed before Haechan finally climbed into his bed, throwing an arm over your waist. No sooner than before he lifted his head to speak to you, his arm dropped through your body and fell onto his bed. The shock was evident on his face as he watched you fade out from his view.

Haechan frantically reached out, trying to grasp onto something, anything to tell him that you were still there as he called out your name. You did the same to him, but your cries fell on deaf ears until one of your hands managed to grab ahold of his and he found your eyes, the fear in his mirroring your own.

You laid with Haechan as he slept that night, scared that you’d cease to exist if he weren’t by your side to validate your presence every so often.

May 2, 2020

One night, as all of you were in the living room watching a show on Netflix, as per Renjun’s recommendation, you mentioned these repeated occurrences to them causing a thick silence to fall over everyone as they processed what this possibly meant for you.

Again, you sought out Haechan’s comfort that night and stayed by his side as he slept because being with him made you feel the slightest bit more real, even when his arm dropped from your waist again.

Now that finals week was over, the boys were home more often, though Jaemin still continued to work and volunteer at the hospital with Renjun, leaving you with Jeno and Haechan. Not much changed as you still continued to stick to Haechan like glue.

May 14, 2020

About two weeks after you had first brought up the topic of your frequency disappearances, you were lying next to Haechan in his bed as you both watched videos on his phone. He abruptly turned it off and turned to face you. “Have you ever been in a relationship before?”

You shook your head, “no, I was always too bust for one.”

“Did you want to be in one? Do you want to be in one?” You froze as you looked at him, not sure if he meant what you’re thinking he means. “On a scale from one to ten, how mad would you be right now if I told you I might have feelings for you?”

You thought for a moment before responding. “Depends on if you’re being serious or not.”

“I’m dead serious. Okay, maybe not dead, but you know what I mean.” He said, poking fun at his word choice.

“Do you really like me?” You asked, unsure if you were thinking clearly.

“Yes,” he paused, “but only if you like me back.”

“Is this just a spur of the moment thing or have you actually had feelings for me before this?” You could feel your cheeks heating up and you were suddenly grateful that he couldn’t see you as if you were a normal human.

“For a while now.” He stated, shrugging his shoulders as if it were nothing.

Your eyes grew wide in shock. “I...Haechan, as much as I’m flattered, we both know it’s not going to work out,” your voice getting caught in your throat, “you’re human, you’re still alive. There’s someone out there for you--”

“Okay and?”

“There’s someone who you can hold, someone you can kiss and make love to, someone you can have a family with--”

“And what if that someone is you?” He interrupted again. “What if you’re the someone I want to hold, to kiss, to spend time with?”

“Haechan...I don’t know…” Your voice coming out as more of a whisper.

His eyes searched yours as he spoke. “Just let me kiss you...please.”

You let out a small “okay” as your eyes fluttered shut and you felt his lips meet yours. He showed you the warmth you didn’t know you could even feel as you allowed yourself to melt into his kiss. Had it not been for your body disintegrating again and causing Haechan to fall forward, you probably would’ve stayed kissing him until he was begging for air.

“I guess that’s the universe telling me to give you a break for a bit.” He chuckled while he grabbed his phone and unpaused the video he was playing earlier as he waited for you to appear again. You didn’t have to look at him to know there was a smile plastered on his face as you wrapped your arms around him and nuzzled your face into his chest the very second you could.

If you were considered to be clingy with Haechan, now you were practically inseparable.

May 17, 2020

It was a rare occurrence for all four of them to be home together during the day so Jaemin took it as an opportunity to gather everyone for lunch. He didn’t even knock as he opened the door to Haechan’s room, sticking his head in to say “lunch is ready. I made kimchi stew. Oh, hey y/n, haven’t seen you in a while.”

You whined in embarrassment due to the fact that you were currently seated in Haechan’s lap as he practically held you like a baby, cooing at you and littering kisses across your face.

Once Jaemin was gone, Haechan pressed a kiss to your forehead. “You’re cute when you’re embarrassed. You know that?” He said, ruffling your hair out of affection.

May 19, 2020

You watch with great interest as Haechan lugs a box into his bedroom and cuts it open, revealing an electronic keyboard. He had told you previously that he wanted to get back into playing piano, having played it when he was younger. You didn’t think he was actually serious enough about it to buy a whole keyboard which, from the looks of it, seemed pretty expensive.

You sat in his gaming chair as you watched him assemble the stand, handing him scissors when he asked and holding things in place when his own two hands weren’t enough. You didn’t trust yourself to do much else in case you randomly disappeared again. Your lips curved upwards as he plugged the keyboard into the socket on the wall and played a few chords, his own smile matching yours.

May 20, 2020

Sighing, you floating your way into Haechan’s room as you notice his sleeping figure hunched over his desk, a little string of drool landing on the lined paper he was writing on. Given that school was already over, you figured it was song lyrics that he was writing.

Haechan, along with getting back into playing piano, had also picked up song composition and lyric writing as well though he refused to show you any of the lyrics he wrote and claimed he’d be embarrassed if you saw them to which you rolled your eyes at. Haechan? Embarrassed? Now that was a rarity given that he was one of the most confident people you’ve ever met, not even bothering to cover himself up the few times you accidentally came in while he was changing his clothes.

But as confident as he was, he had yet to channel that into his lyric writing as he kept falling asleep after hours of trying to get them perfect. You fan out the candle he had been using and run your finger across his lip, gathering his drool, in order to prevent his from further wetting his paper.

You tried to slowly pull the paper out from under his head, doing your best to not wake him up, though your efforts were in vain as his eyes shot open the second you tugged a little too hard. It took Haechan only a second or two to figure out what you were doing before he snatched the paper from you while whining “I told you not to read them” as he puts it in a folder filled with other papers which you assume are also lyrics.

“I was only moving it so you wouldn’t drool on it like a baby.” You scoffed at him.

Haechan imitated your scoff back at you, “don’t lie,” he quipped, “I know you were going to read it as soon as you got your hands on it.”

“You know, you better quit it or else you’re sleeping alone tonight.” You threatened, knowing that your boyfriend of sorts has gotten used to your presence in his bed while he slept.

“No!” He exclaimed, his eyes growing wide in panic before he dove for his bed and gave you puppy eyes, begging you not to leave him.

May 25, 2020

At this point, your disappearances had become more frequent and lasted for longer durations, leaving the boys constantly guessing as to where you were. You could barely muster up the force to show yourself in your human form and physically move objects so you were glad when you realized they could all see you in your regular blue-tinted ghost state.

You considered yourself lucky when they told you they could still feel the gusts of wind you created while moving around, even when you became invisible. It may look stupid to you when you were rapidly moving your arms back in forth to let them know where you are, but it’s not like you cared when you knew they couldn’t see you anyways.

On this day, you were watching a show on TV with Renjun, though he could only vaguely sense your presence. When you heard the sink in the kitchen turn on, you left your seat and floated through the wall to see if it was Jaemin cooking again. Much to your surprise, it was Haechan who was actually doing the dishes for once.

You moved around behind him, alerting him of your presence. “Hey babe, came to do the dishes with me?” You rolled your eyes and rapidly fanned his neck, something you knew he hated because he was ticklish in that area. “Okay, okay, I get it.” He giggled while scrunching his neck.

“Is y/n with you in the kitchen?” Renjun called out from the living room. Haechan shouted back a short ‘yes’ to which you heard Renjun respond back with a slight laugh in his voice, “I thought she was still with me so I was talking about the show but I guess I was just talking to myself this whole time.”

May 29, 2020

No matter how much energy you concentrated, you just couldn’t seem to show yourself in your human form at all. You weren’t completely invisible to the boys yet, just fading in and out of your normal ghost forme every so often, though if you really tried hard  enough, you could force yourself to become visible again, even if it were only for a few seconds. You saved your energy for more important moments like when Haechan shot up from his place next to you in bed, sweating from the nightmare he was having.

For the past half hour or so, you watched him as he writhed in his sleep and you felt your heart wrench knowing there was nothing you could do to rouse him from his sleep, unable to do your normal actions of slamming windows or dropping books so you felt a sense of relief when he jolted awake and looked over to where he knew you’d be, his eyes searching for the outline of your body to give him some comfort.

You forced yourself to show up, glowing faintly in the darkened room as Haechan was able to catch your silhouette before it disappeared again. His eyes bore straight into yours, even if you knew that to him, he was simply staring at a wall so you didn’t move, not wanting to leave his gaze as he spoke to you.

“Y/n, I hope you know that every moment I spend with you is precious to you. Whether I can see you or not, I know when you’re with me.” He confessed, his eyes starting to tear up. “I can only hope that I am making your last moments precious for you as well.”

You hoped so desperately to have enough strength to show yourself again to let him know that you heard him and felt the same way, but you were unable to. Your own wet eyes mirrored his as you reached out a hand to cup his face, a tear slipping out of your eyes as you watch your hand merely fall through his cheek.

June 2, 2020

You’ve come to terms with the fact that your time on earth is running out when you can only seem to manage to materialize once or twice a day, lasting for only about a second each time. You were upset that you didn’t get to say a true goodbye to the other three boys, wanting to thank them for taking such good care of you. Maybe you just so hoped that this regret would keep you with them longer, if only for a few more days.

June 4, 2020

When Haechan returns to his room after eating breakfast with the rest of the guys, you watch as he sits down in front of his keyboard before turning around to face his bed, where he’s guessing you were as he spoke. “Y/n, I wrote this song for you. I don’t know how much longer I have left with you so I rushed the ending of it, but I wanted to show you now before it’s too late.”

With that, he turned back around and began playing a melody you had heard from him before though it was different this time around now that he was singing the lyrics he wrote for you.

Like Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Moments with you are always special. I’m thankful for all the days we spend together, At times like this I get shy, but it means I love you. When I see you brightly smiling and dazzling, My wish of us being together forever seems like it’ll come true. I know the future isn’t clear and the past might be sad, But don’t worry anymore. Just keep adding days like this. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, I only have plans filled with you, I think it’s perfect. In my heart, my dreams were possible through you, I want to fulfill them all with you. I’m not alone, I’m with you, When I needed someone, you came to me. Even in the ordinary, I celebrate your preciousness, Please always stay by my side.

I want to give you gift-like days, you and me, me and you baby. Without leaving behind a single day, it’s only us. Like candlelight that never goes out, My wish of us being together forever seems like it’ll come true.

June 5, 2020

If you’re being completely honest with yourself, you’ve practically given up trying to make your whereabouts known to the boys, though they continued to speak to you as they estimated your location and if you were even present in the same room or not.

You wanted to tell Haechan how much you loved the song he wrote, but you were unable to. You wanted to do something for his birthday but you barely had enough strength to walk yourself from the balcony back into his room.

For the first time within the last four years of your existence, you felt tired. You had forgotten this feeling, what it was like to be tired and suddenly you remembered when all you wanted to do was lie down and sleep.

It was late already, the digital clock on Haechan’s desk reading 11:48pm as he stepped out from the bathroom, freshly showered. You eyed him, wanting to get up and kiss him all over, to give him the same love he gave to you, and you felt so helpless when you knew you wouldn’t be able to.

He lay down in his bed with his hair still slightly wet. “Can you believe it’s already been a whole year since we first moved in?” He turned his head, guessing at where your face was but returning his gaze to the ceiling to not make you feel bad before continuing on. “I never would’ve believed in ghosts if I hadn’t met you but now I’m always gonna think all ghosts are as sweet as you and that’s not good,” he said as he let out a laugh at the end, “I’m going to get myself killed if I try talking to a ghost that isn’t as kind and loving as you.”

Haechan went silent for a bit before continuing on. “But you would never let that happen right? You’ll be my angel watching down on me from above,” he paused as a sly smile appeared on his face, “or you’ll be my little demon waiting for me in hell.” He snicked to himself at his joke. “Ah, you’re probably trying to hit me right now. Don’t worry, I’ll do it myself.” And with that, he slapped his own cheek before telling you “I really love you and I hope you know that.”

June 6, 2020

As soon as the clock’s display changed to 12:00am, Haechan’s door burst open, revealing the other three boys with party hats atop their heads as they carried in a small cake with two candles on it, showing his new age of twenty. They began singing happy birthday and you even sang along with them, clapping your hands to the beat, even if they couldn’t hear you.

“Make a wish!” Renjun exclaimed once the song was over.

Haechan clasped his hands together as he closed his eyes for a few seconds. “Y/n, I know you’re still here. Before you go, please do this one last time for me.” He reopened his eyes and looked over at where he assumed you were and gestured towards the cake. You felt your heart swell with love as you took a final glance at him before using all your remaining energy to blow out the candle.

When the flame of the candle went out, so did your view of the world. Everything faded to black as your fire was extinguished, letting you rest in peace as Haechan’s candlelight.

A/N - as always, credit goes to @soleilhyuck​ for coming up with the idea for this fic. thank you for patiently waiting and giving lots of love to this series and please look forward to frat boy!yuta next month as well <3

[thegoodprincess]

Together We Are Apart, but Apart We Are Together | KTH Ch. 2

Author: thegoodprincess

Pairing: Kim Taehyung | Original Female Character

Genre: romance, fantasy, action, forbidden love, human KTH | angel of death OC, supernatural au

Word Count: 2.1k [series, ongoing]

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Mentions of violence [a stabbing occurs]

Summary: After admiring a handsome boy from afar, an Angel of Death reluctantly rescues him from his own demise. As a result of going against her better judgment she inadvertently invites him into her world.

(I recommend listening to this song while reading)

Together We are Apart, but Apart We Are Together

Chapter 2. Fate

“Fate has a funny way of intervening in people’s lives.” ― Katie Ashley

It was a few months later in the dead of winter when I was walking near the Han River. Due to the icy temperatures the river was partially frozen. The ground surrounding it was coated in a fresh blanket of snow that came down earlier in the day. A chilly breeze nipped at the tender flesh of my cheek, causing an involuntary shiver to rake down my spine.

Sighing out my condensed breath formed a cloud that mingled with the crisp air. I glanced up at the sky. Overhead the pale moon glowed bright, illuminating the night sky against the backdrop of countless glittery stars. Looking around I stood alone admiring the the way the shadows created by the city lights flitted across the pavement. It was quiet, not eerily so, but in a way that emphasized the bare stillness of wintertime. Most people were at home presumably getting ready to go to sleep as it was fairly late.

I was waiting for my next patron to arrive: a man who was going to be murdered during a robbery gone wrong. This was a common occurrence for me. I was one of many angels of death. I was not a malevolent force. I did not decide who lived and who died, and how the act itself was carried out. I simply collected the souls of the fallen and escorted them to the afterlife.

It was bittersweet condoling the newly deceased once they realized their predicament. I would allow them to say their last goodbyes to loved ones and others they deemed fit before they departed into the light. But it was harrowing having to witness death first hand and being strictly forbid from interfering.

I had seen countless people perish a variety of ways. I had seen it all from natural deaths having to do with diseases or natural processes like aging, to accidental deaths like car fatalities. Suicides and homicides were some of the worst. While death was inevitable, loss of life done by the hands of oneself or by another wasn’t. There always lied a choice, humans just choose to be masters of their own and sometimes other’s destinies.

While I was a creation of purity, I had been become well acquainted with grief. It was almost as if I was stuck in an endless cycle; each time the metaphorical wound was healed it was being habitually ripped open. In the grand scheme of things it was woefully the one major downside of the duty. Tonight would be no different. I would again begrudgingly be a bystander to yet another fateful demise.

As if on cue an older man adorn in designer clothing came into view, walking cautiously with shifting eyes assessing his surroundings. His shoulders were tensed and his pace was quick as he shuffled across the sidewalk. He looked genuinely frightened as if he was paranoid that someone was following him, and I guess he wasn’t wrong.

Then seemingly from the shadows a man wearing a black ski mask and gloves appeared from behind some foliage. He snuck up and roughly grabbed the older gentleman from behind with gloved hands, startling him.

The two men fought for a short while until the masked man managed to get his forearm around the older gentleman’s neck. He began to strangle him. However, I don’t think the masked man’s intent was to maliciously murder him. Rather he was meaning to strangle the older man to the point of him passing out. This would ensure that the masked man could steal his wallet without the risk of being followed and potentially caught.

But nevertheless, the masked man exerted lethal pressure for way longer than necessary to the elder’s neck. The older man’s knees began to buckle and his struggling became less erratic. Regardless of the older gentleman involuntarily becoming compliant, the masked man had yet to let up his hold on him. The older gentleman’s arms dangled limply at his sides. He was dying.

Just then a third party came into view. I was bewildered as I wasn’t expecting anyone else to show up. A young man with a bag slung over his shoulder was inching closer and closer, until his face came into view. He seemed vaguely familiar, the distance between us was making it hard to distinguish certain features.

Then almost instantly I recognized him. It was the boy whose face I had found to be bewitching. He was indelibly engrained into my memory. While I had stopped secretly hoping to catch a serendipitous glimpse of him when I was out, there hadn’t been a day that went by where I didn’t wonder what he was doing, who he was with, or if he even frequented the same places.

He still looked the same dressed smartly in a white turtleneck, tan trousers, wool trench coat, and tartan print scarf. It was apparent that the overcast winter weather had subtly lightened his complexion by a few shades. The only significant difference about him was his hair. His once dark locks had been dyed to a golden blonde hue. In addition to the new color, the parting of his hair now showcased his entire forehead.

Regardless of the butterflies that had erupted in my abdomen from seeing him again, the feeling dissipated all too soon as my stomach sunk. There had never been a greater time where I wished he hadn’t show up, especially considering the circumstances of this situation.

He wasn’t supposed to be here.

My veins ran cold, as if the very ice water of the river before us, coursed through them. Every hair on the back of my neck rose on end. I silently prayed he would turn around back in the direction he came from and not involved himself. But I was sorely mistaken. He stopped in his tracks, witnessing the killing of the elder. Swiftly dropping his bag, he ran over to help.

What ensued caused me to let out an audible gasp. The boy threw a hard punch and was able to stun the masked man momentarily, as the criminal fell to the ground. Assuming the masked man to be knocked out, the boy then attempted to help the older man who fell to his knees gasping for breath. Crouching down, the boy pulled out his phone to call for an ambulance. But his attempt was short lived.

Rising from his place on the ground a bit disoriented, the robber fumbled around in his front coat pocket and hastily pulled out a small pistol rashly pointing it at the pair with a quivering hand. The older gentleman cowered low behind the younger boy, almost as if he was using him as a shield. The boy’s arms immediately came up to surrender, remaining perfectly still. The gunman agitated at the boy’s heroics fixed his aim directly to the boy’s chest. He was purposely planning to deliver a fatal shot to his heart. All to quickly the gun shot’s sound reverberated off the concrete. I could only watch in horror.

In that moment the world seemed to turn upside down. My mind was reeling. I felt dizzy, bile crept up into my throat while all I felt was I was my heart slamming against my ribcage. Everything seemed to move in slow motion as the bullet exited the barrel of the gun. Naturally the boy screwed his eyes shut while he tensed his entire body, bracing himself for the inevitable impact. A second later he flinched backwards.

Shortly after the deafening crack of the bullet penetrated my eardrums, I squinted my eyes to check where the boy had been shot. To my relief the middle of his chest was still intact, but a bright red substance began to slowly spread from his shoulder region and seep down into the area where his heart lay beating. The gunman had indeed missed his intended target, and instead shot clean through the boy’s left shoulder. The boy’s facial expression twisted into a state of confusion, shocked at what had just occurred. I assumed the adrenaline numbed his senses, altering his frame of mind.

The older gentlemen looked like he wanted to help but he remained unmoving still afraid to come out from behind the boy. The gunman tried to shoot again but to some miracle his trigger jammed. Seeing this as an opportunity to escape, the older man quickly abandoned the boy, scurrying off without looking back. But the boy was too weak to follow, he remained holding his shoulder nearly doubled over. The pain was beginning to set in.

In an effort to make due with the boy, the gunman reached into his interior coat pocket to withdraw his hand holding an odd black object. It was revealed to be a switchblade when he subtlety flicked his wrist and the blade sprung out. Since the older man escaped on the boy’s behalf, the masked man felt it was only fair the boy be robbed instead. The boy assessing the situation held out one of his hands as if to plead for mercy. A pained grimace painted his pretty face.

Then I saw the boy’s lips begin to move. The two appeared to be exchanging words. I felt petrified, so I couldn’t make out what they were saying. Their voices came out distorted, sounding more like unintelligible mumbles than any actual language. It was as though they were talking underwater.

In a last ditch attempt to save himself from further harm, I saw the boy slowly reach into his back pocket with his good hand and pull out his wallet. He dangled the wallet in front him to show the criminal before he chucked it into the snow at the criminal’s feet, hoping this would satisfy the man.

The man hastily grabbed the wallet off the ground and excitedly opened it to reveal its contents. But his smile soon faltered, boiling anger brewing in his eyes instead.

Originally it seemed he didn’t intended to stab the boy after already shooting him in a fit of blind rage, the knife was just the extra assurance he needed to intimidate the boy into cooperating. But the boy stuck his nose in business that didn’t concern him and ultimately costed the masked man.

Not only did the boy escalate the situation and cause the victim he purposely targeted to get away, but the masked man wasted time and energy grappling with the boy which increased the likelihood of him being seen and or arrested by the authorities. He went through all that troublesome effort and for what? Some chump change he could have easily pickpocketed off someone on the subway. He was throughly pissed.

The criminal was going to teach the boy a lesson. Taking the measly amount of bills out, he hurled what remained of the wallet back into the snow. He stalked closer to the boy ready to attack with a sadistic smirk.

Slowly the boy began taking small steps backwards subconsciously putting distance between him and the impending danger. Unfortunately he was unknowingly inching closer to the water.

But all hell broke loose when the boy accidentally slipped on some dangerously slick ice that caused him to lose his balance. He then clumsily stumbled backwards and plunged into the frigid water of the river, breaking through the ice in the process.

The gunman realizing the gravity of the situation, almost instantly snapped out of his aggressive trance-like state and stood there with a blank expression. It was then that he began to visibly panic, nervously looking around to see if anyone else had witnessed what had just happened. He apprehensively neared the edge of the river and looked as though he was debating whether to help the boy or not. But he knew if he did, it would only further incriminate him.

Deciding to conceal his involvement in tonight’s events, he plucked the jammed gun and wallet from the snow and hurriedly planted the two respective items by the river’s edge.

The gunman made it appear as though the boy had committed suicide by first shooting himself and then falling into the river. He subsequently raked his feet sloppily over the snow in a back and forth motion to disguise his shoe prints. Once he was pleased enough with his work, he bolted off fleeing the scene.

Quickly wrenching myself from my deep stupor, I rushed over without taking a second to assess the severity of my actions and immediately jumped in to rescue the boy.

[theparanormalperiodical]

Everything You Need To Know About Zombies, And 5 Sightings Of The Real-life Walking Dead We STILL Can’t Explain

At this point, I’m not sure anything would surprise me.

In fact, a zombie apocalypse would actually make sense at this point. But even if the grand finale of 2020 was the dead rising from their graves, it wouldn’t actually be the first time.

According to those that practice Haitian Voodoo, zombies exist. And according to scientists, zombies exist.

But the thing is, Hollywood has gotten our favourite flesh-eating, apocalypse-heralding monsters wrong. The folklore behind these monsters is actually rather different than men and women foaming at the mouth as they mummy-walk towards you.

The reanimated corpse didn’t take its first steps with the debut cinema screening of Night Of The Living Dead (1968).

It started with slaves.

Today we are going to cover everything you need to know about zombies from forgotten folklore of years gone by, to the rumours of the living dead among us in preparation from the incoming apocalypse...

What Are Zombies?

It’s pretty simple: a zombie is someone who was dead and is now not-so-dead. According to an official definition they are corpses which have been brought back from the grave to haunt the living.

Yep - they’re just like ghosts. But instead of wafting gently they have to lump around this great hulking cadaver which is in the midst of decay.

Zombies can be traced back to Haitian Voodoo which claims that a dead body can be reanimated by magical rituals. This supernatural take on the walking dead, however, is at odds with more modern fictional beliefs which centre on science.

Parasites, diseases, and viruses (*looks into camera*) feature as the main causes of zombies taking over the world in Hollywood’s take on the beast. This new zombie first pulled itself out of the ground in 1968 with Night Of The Living Dead, but the term ‘zombies’ was only applied by fans after the release of the cult classic. They were originally known as ‘ghouls’ in the film, confirming the premise that zombies exist to haunt the living.

Following this on-screen debut, the horror genre was overrun by zombie films with Dawn Of The Dead and Thriller going down in history as some of the most iconic movies of all time. The genre waned towards the 90s, however, and was due a resurgence just before the millennium thanks to predominately East Asian video games.

28 Days Later and Shaun Of The Dead resurrected the genre at the turn of the century and shaped what zombies are now known most for: the zombie apocalypse.

The terrifying claims of a civilised world being brought to its knees by walking corpses is now a pop culture staple, but more recently its been given a makeover and shopping montage as a part of its rom-com redo. Warm Bodies and iZombie are a novel take on the horror must-have and incorporate a human-zombie relationship that is an emblem for the sexual liberation of the era.

The severed relationship between supernatural zombies and the sci-fi alternative doesn’t just take place on Netflix. There is evidence that both could exist.

Zombies In Haitian Voodoo

In 1819, poet Robert Southey was the first to use the term ‘zombie’ in his history of Brazil. This heralded the emergence of zombies in Haitian Voodoo which chimed with a concept even more terrifying than the prospect of a zombie apocalypse:

Slavery.

According to Haitian Voodoo, bokors - or witches - would use necromancy to revive a dead person. This zombie would then be under their control as a personal slave and would have no personal will.

Bokors were also known to capture ‘zombie astrals’ - part of the human soul - in a bottle which would provide the owner with extra luck or healing properties, for example.

These beliefs were rooted in Voodoo traditions brought to Haiti by enslaved Africans: they believed Baron Samedi would take them to an African heaven after they died. Those that offended the Ioa (a Voodoo god) would be a slave forever - AKA a zombie. This fear of eternal slavery was reinforced by slave drivers who were often also voodoo priests; to prevent slave suicides, they would threaten zombification.

It was this widespread belief in zombies as slaves that would spread beyond Haiti’s borders during the US’ occupation of the country in the early 20th century. A number of case studies reporting zombies came to the US’ attention, such as in the William Seabrook’s The Magic Island (1929): he cited an article in Haiti’s criminal code which recognised zombies’ existence, (it essentially said even if you murder someone and you make them come back as a zombie, it is still murder).

It was shortly after US forces entered Haiti that one of the most famous cases of an alleged zombie emerged. We will get to Felicia Felix-Mentor’s story later in this article.

Zombies In Science

Zombies are deeply rooted in some of humanity’s darkest chapters in history - but they also have a place in our natural history, too.

Technically, zombies do exist. Sure, if you made the claim for human zombification via Voodoo priest scientists would counter with claims that these ‘zombies’ are schizophrenic, in a catatonic state, or are suffering from a mental illness that mirrors how we believe they would act. But if you made a similar claim for other animals - namely insects - they’d believe you.

In fact, there are numerous known cases of such instances.

Whilst there are no known insects that practice Haitian Voodoo, these cases follow the basic plotline of zombie cult classics - parasites infect them and alter their behaviour or use them to their advantage. The parasites effectively make slaves out of those they target, mirroring what we saw in Haiti.

Take zombie carpenter ants, for example:

A fungus enters their bloodstream, hijacks their mind and grows around their muscles. Within one short week the ant is compelled to leave its colony and seek higher ground which has the right temperature and humidity for the fungus to grow in. It then forces the ant to bite down into a leaf, grows a stalk through the ant's head, and cuts off the ant’s muscle control.

The ant’s corpse still moves its legs vigorously as the bulbous capsule of fungi spores grows through what’s left of its body to infect the ant colony below.

There are many more examples just like this with most parasites having their own unique - and uncomfortably brutal - method of killing off wildlife.

Scientists are unable to refute claims that a parasite might mutate and have a similar effect on humans one day, reducing us all to the zombie hordes seen in the movies.

We just have to wait and see. 

Cases Of Actual, Real-life, Not-so-living-n-breathing Zombies

Although scientists don’t support claims that Haitian voodoo can in fact raise the dead and create personal slaves, various sightings and reports suggest that human zombies do exist.

Question is - do you believe them?

#1 - Felicia Felix-Mentor

In 1936, the owner of a farm in a small village in Haiti woke up to quite a shock.

A naked woman staggered towards them with her raspy voice mumbling and slurring that this farm belonged to her farmer. But the most terrifying thing about this strange woman that stumbled her way through the village was that she looked rather familiar.

In fact, they were pretty sure that this was a woman who had died and had been buried many years before.

19 years before.

Zora Neale Hurston - an anthropologist - investigated this alleged case of zombification and met Felicia Felix-Mentor at a hospital. The doctors were convinced she was a zombie and her husband confirmed this was his wife.

Even Hurston admitted that she believed what they were telling her:

“I know that I saw the broken remnant, relic, or refuse of Felicia Felix-Mentor in a hospital yard.”

#2 - Clairvius Narcisse

30 odd years after Felix-Mentor first wandered up to her father’s old farm, a 40 year old man admitted himself into hospital in Deschapelles, Haiti. Doctors, however, were unable to work out why he had a fever, was clearly fatigued, and was spitting up blood. He died 3 days later.

20 years after he died, a man claiming to be Narcisse approached Angelina Narcisse, his sister.

He told her and other villagers private, personal information in an attempt to convince them that he was in fact Clairvius and had been turned into a zombie for use on a sugar plantation. He had been paralysed for the duration of his burial and then dug up to be put to work as a slave.

He described in detail the process of his alleged zombification, claiming she was given a paste made from hallucinogenic chemicals which scientists would later use to refute most claims of zombies as simply a drugged state. When the bokor died and he was no longer fed the concoction, he regained his sanity and thus his free will, and returned to his family.

Much like Felix-Mentor’s story, Narcisse is actually widely believed to have been a zombie. His death was documented by 2 American doctors unlikely to follow Haitian Voodoo folklore, and even the man who investigated his claims - Lamarque Douyon - believed to some extent zombies could be real despite dismissing supernatural claims.

He brought a sample of the powders or paste used by the bokor back to the US to investigate whether ‘zombies’ were actually people who were drugged and then revived.

#3 - Woman from Port-au-Prince

Only known as FI to The Lancet, the journal investigating cases in southern Haiti in the late 90s, she was discovered 3 years after her death wandering near the village she once called home by a friend.

FI was mute and unable to feed herself but she was still recognised by her family, her fellow villagers, and the local priest by a distinct facial mark and other features.

The local courts opened her tomb to investigate the fact that she had apparently risen from the dead and found it full of stones. Her husband was accused of zombifying her after he caught her having an affair.

Despite local claims of supernatural goings-on, she was later admitted to a psychiatric hospital in Port-au-Prince.

#4 - Son of a secret policeman

WD (mentioned in the same study by The Lancet) was 18 years old when he became ill. He developed a fever, his body swelled up, and his eyes went yellow. They thought he was dying or at least already dead.

His father asked his brother to get advice from a bokor but WD died 3 days later. 19 months after he was buried, he reappeared at a cock fight and recognised his father before accusing his uncle of zombifying him.

#5 - Unknown young woman

MM (also mentioned in the same study by The Lancet) was joining her friends in prayer for a local who had been zombified when she fell under a similar affliction. The 18 year old became ill with diarrhoea and fever, her body swelled, and she died.

Her family immediately suspected a sorcerer had had their way with their daughter.

13 years later and MM reappeared at the town markets, claiming not only had she been a zombie in a village 100 miles away, she had had a child with another zombie.

When her bokor died, his son released MM from their control and she travelled home.

What do you think?

Are zombies real? Or are they merely a fictional beast haunted by the forgotten history of slavery?

If you liked this post I’m pretty sure you’ll love the other articles I post every Saturday! Make sure you hit follow if you want to see ‘em.

Can’t wait ‘til next weekend for a new hit of horror? Check out this online archive of paranormal experiences…

[insomniac-dot-ink]

Garden Walk

Genre: supernatural horror

Words: 3.7k

Summary: a young woman sees a figure strolling the gardens making an odd sound.

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Content warning: slight blood and injury

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There’s something eating the bees.

You read about the bees disappearing all the time in the papers and on the news every few years in big investigative reports. Usually, it’s all the same alarm and studies about colony collapse and human pesticides and disease spreading rapidly through hives. I know all that and I’m sure it’s real and dangerous and one of the many ways we’re hurting the planet.

But this is different. I know it is, I feel it in my gut and under my skin and throughout my nerves with this itchy burn.

I like to go to the library on my days off. I work in a Bath and Body works shop so my hours are pretty random and my days off vary from week to week.

Still, I usually managed to make time once a week to hop downtown and go to the Fairfield Public library. I either walked when it was nice out or took the bus or Georgia used to drive me when we were together.

I went a lot more often that spring. I was in the process of getting over a nasty breakup and it was hard to be alone in my apartment. After you live with someone for so many years being alone in your own home can feel almost… like a punishment. You have to kill your own spiders in the corner and unclog your own drains and feed yourself old Mac and Cheese with no one to really care.

It was a difficult breakup to say the least and left this ache in my chest that I couldn’t get rid of, but managed to ignore most days. Distractions helped, so I went to the library.

Fairfield Public Library is this massive place that they renovated a couple years ago with new wings and a fresh paint job and better air conditioning. The bathrooms still had weak hand dryers and there was never enough chairs, but they did install some gorgeous immense windows in the central seating area. They’re ceiling-to-floor panels that let in gallons of sunshine that soak the floor and give the whole plan an almost enchanted feel. Some days I would just go in and walk beside them for long minutes with my hand trailing in the light.

The windows weren’t my favorite part of the library though. The inside still smelled a little dry and musty and they kept the temperature too cold for my liking. My favorite part of the library were the gardens outside.

There was a river that ran behind the library and a good acre of land spanning from the back of the building up to the edge of the water. In between the two was a complex public garden. Macy Dickson was one of the librarians and she would talk my ear off about how they used native Iowa plants and local plant fertilizer and set-up hummingbird feeders and plants that ladybugs liked.

I nodded along, but I wasn’t exactly an outdoors kind of person in the way Georgia had been. Most plants looked the same to me, and I was prone to stepping in poison ivy and itching for weeks and accidentally pissing off local Canadian geese and being chased.

These gardens were friendly though, easy. The bushes were low to the ground and the plots held sturdy herbs and a few flowers popping up depending on the time of year. A path wound in and out of red oak trees and honeysuckles and bird feeders until it made its way to a rock garden with stone benches facing it. I would take a deep breathe there, sit, and attempt to feel whatever it is you’re supposed to feel when you’re outside surrounded by tweeting birds and wildlife sounds. I was never very good at being calmed by ocean noises or wind in the trees or anything like that, but to be fair I was never really calmed by anything. I had nervous habits like washing my hands too much and picking at my skin and applying hand sanitizer every few hours like clockwork. 

Maybe those were all the things Georgia couldn’t stand. I didn’t know.

Either way, sometimes that long walk out by the red trees and shrubbery did me good.

It was on a Wednesday in the middle of the week and the dreary weather had broken out into warm air and thin blue skies, I finally got to wear my strappy sandals again and walked all the way to the library. I was going through a reading period that my therapist might classify as “regression.”

One day I had been crying in the nonfiction aisle next to a true crime series and the next moment I found myself inching to the kids section. I crept into the bright wing as if in a sleep-walk and looked over the colorful covers of dragons and a boy and his dog and kids running from spooky shadows and little witches and I picked up a handful of kids chapter books.

I started reading all the books of my youth: Anne of Green Gables, Little House on the Prairie, Nancy Drew, and Hardy Boys.

I read through them like you shake an old friend’s hand and there was something comforting about the non-threatening stories and consuming words of my youth. Of course, being a grown woman who was almost thirty reading children’s books… didn’t make me feel great.

I dashed into the kids section of the library that Wednesday and picked out two stories: Ella Enchanted and the Princess Academy. There was something so sweet and feminine about the titles that had me swiping them up and carrying them off like a burglar in the night.

I visited the nonfiction section next and picked out a book called “The Knife Man” about historical surgeries and went on my way. I had been padding my check-outs with serious books so the librarians wouldn’t give me funny looks.

In all honesty, the librarians and patrons and everyone I passed probably didn’t care in the least. But I was a nervous person. And sometimes my brain played tricks on me and told me that everyone was staring or thinking thoughts about me and noticing everything I did.

I didn’t make eye contact with librarian as she checked-out my “princess” texts and I slipped outside to the gardens to read in private. I may not have found solace in nature per say, but I did find solace in being alone there. I wondered up the white gravel path past the daffodils and beds of sage.

I sighed into the sweet air and turned to go to my favorite bench with a chunk missing from one of the arms. And then I froze. There were three teens loitering at my bench and they were all on their phones and sometimes glancing up at me.

I clutched my books a little tighter and, as if attached to a string, turned fluidly away from my usual bench and walked up toward the river. I didn’t know where I was going, but I just didn’t want to seem like I was lost or put-off by the teens.

Teens were the worst. They always looked like they knew things and were always exchanging whispers and furtive glances- none of which helped my state of mind. I did feel silly, being scared away like that, but the river was full and glittering and it almost felt worth it.

It took me a second but I found a large stone to sit on and got out of one of my books. I told myself this was better and it was good to switch things up. The afternoon passed in slow honeyed hours as I ate up one book after the next in a way that finally let my nerves rest. I could get lost there, forever, in those other worlds.

I only stopped when I noticed that the sun had gotten low on the horizon and the shadows were winding and long, and I realized I was very hungry.

I dusted myself off, stretched my stiff legs and arms, and turned back toward the library and the gardens. That’s when I saw him.

“Him” is the wrong word, but so is every other word for it. 

He stood on the path several feet away with the sun at his back. The path runs right beside the river and the area is usually empty since it’s at the very back of the garden and tends to accumulate trash like empty soda cans, lost plastic bags, and coffee cups and is not as pretty.

It was just me and the tall figure.

He was skinny, and gaunt and I squinted at him for a moment because he seemed even taller than my father who was 6’4. The figure wore a long jacket despite the nice weather and had a wide-brimmed hat that made his face disappear entirely. It was the type of hat you might see on farmers or adventures, beige and stiff and there was a loose string hanging beneath the chin. He had long, tangled brown hair that fell past his shoulders and hung lankly by his face in greasy clumps.

The fellow was slowly ambling forward, taking loud thunking steps down the path with these hulking dirty boots that were even larger than the rest of him. Something about him unnerved me deeply. He was too tall and he moved too slowly, too clunkily, as if he was gradually moving some great weight. I would even say he was limping, but there were no visible signs he was actually staggering or missing a beat. It was just off.

He wore gloves and I couldn’t see an inch of his skin.

My shoulders rose like the haunches of a cat as I realized he was moving closer and I quickly turned to leave. I heard it as I was striding back toward the building: whistling.

A noisy and bombastic whistling that drilled through me into my core and left a smear there. It was an un-melodic messy tune I couldn’t place. I picked up speed and nearly fell all the way back to the nearest parking lot and other people.

At the time I didn’t know why I thought “other people,” because the man was obviously just someone out on a stroll. But I thought it all the same.

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

I was able to put the man out of my head for a good while. Our stores general manager position opened up and I was up for consideration, though I’m not sure I really wanted it. I was busy taking on extra hours and making sure my cashiers and floors people actually showed up for their shifts and lady’s in floral dresses didn’t make my workers regret showing up.

That sort of thing.

It must have been a month into proper spring when I finally returned. I got a day to myself and my apartment still didn’t feel welcoming or soft. It was always missing something and the ache was just as hungry as before.

I thought about her often. I wondered if Georgia was still making her famous quiche and bragging about her latest road trip she had planned but would probably never take and coloring her toenails a brilliant red color. I had hated the chemical smell of that nail polish during her weekly retouch, but now I missed it in a way you miss snowstorms in the lean months of summer. The hole in my chest gnawed at me and I entered the library and collected three titles: The Girl Who Swallowed the Moon, Julie of the Wolves, and a medical text detailing the history of malaria.

My eyes darted around to check that no one thought this was weird and then I slipped outside so I could breathe properly. I found my usual bench unoccupied and took a seat.

I ate the books up like a hot meal at your family’s house and was even smiling into the glaring sunlight when a whistling came. It was noisy and tuneless and entered my head space like a sharp thorn.

I jerked my head up and looked left and right to find a tall man with a long jacket and dirty lank brown hair standing in the gardens. 

My mouth became very dry and the light was slanting in just the right way so that I could see his face this time. He was wearing these thick, black sunglasses and had a haggered look and very stiff expression.

The worst part about him beside the hellish whistling though was the faint color of his skin. I had seen it in medical texts. Ever since I was a little girl I had a fascination with illness and germs: I hated them, reviled them, detested stink and mess and the idea of tiny creatures that could wiggle inside me unnoticed and change my body in ways I couldn’t control.

But something drew me to stare at pictures of illness over and over again as if maybe looking alone could protect me. That if I read enough about smallpox and studied enough pictures of dengue fever that I could break their power over me.

I’m not sure if it ever worked, but I had one thought as I stared at the man and his yellowing frayed complexion: jaundice. It was the exact same off-yellow complexion that no healthy human being sports. 

I scooted to the edge of my bench in order to get up and quickly hurry along, but the figure stopped in place. He was still out of reach and I had time to leave, but somehow I couldn’t tear my eyes away, in the same way I couldn’t look away from bubonic plague depictions.

He was standing by this wooden lattice work that held vines working their way toward the sun. He was humming his same terrible song and looking down.

I didn’t notice the bee until he put his hand out and the fat yellow creature was scooped into his palm. I didn’t usually notice the bees flying around with their complex paths and busy work that filled them with this determination to be on their way. I liked bees in that way, not just in the “helps the planet” way but how they always looked like they were on a mission.

Me and the man stood there and stared at the fuzzy yellow creature for what must have been a whole minute.

And then the man’s jaw dropped open and he crushed the tiny bee into his mouth and swallowed. I say “dropped” because his jaw shouldn’t have opened like that and it shouldn’t have closed like that either.

It was far too wide, his cheeks too concave, the skin too thin, and there was something crooked about the angle- as if the jaw wasn’t connected in a solid way. He had just gaped open his mouth into a black hole and ate the bee.

My heart squeezed painfully in my chest and eyes went huge. His head slowly tilted up as if to look at me and I didn’t stick around for him to really stare. I turned and fled down the path and as far away as I could possibly get.

I tried reporting it to library security and told the guard some man was eating things he shouldn’t outside, but the statements were dismissed and I could tell were not going to be followed up on it. I went home with that same eerie droning whistle playing in my head.

I had seen something eating the bees.

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I tried to be rational.

It took several days, but I eventually smoothed out the jitters and settled into a type of shame-faced guilt. I wished I could have talked the events through with Georgia, but we had agreed on a “no communication” policy for the first few months. 

I decided it was just another case of my nervousness and over imagination messing things up. The man at the library was obviously a very sick person who needed help. He was eating bees from a garden after all and his skin was an unnatural yellow. I kept replaying in my head how a “proper” adult would have handled the situation: how I should have went over to gently talk to him or called some sort of hospital.

I gave myself a good talking-to and two weeks later I resolved to visit the library again. It was one of my favorite places and I figured if I saw him again I would try to reach out or get one of the staff to intervene.

It was a proper weekend for once and after I got my three books I went outside and my normal bench was taken by a family. I edged away, shuffling past the wild ginger and squirrels high in a tree and the disturbed rock garden and up the hill to the river.

The path by the river was empty and sunny until I reached the water itself. The figure was there. He was turned away, low to the ground, and facing the plants.

I gulped with great effort and any thought of trying to do the “right” thing went out of my head as I heard the horrible whistling tune once more. He was kneeling next to a Goatsbeard bush, Goatsbeard is a wide thick plant that holds several long white plumes of tiny flower heads.

His gloved hand was hovering over a resting bee on one of the white flowers.

It struck me at that instant that I knew what was about to happen and I really really didn’t want it to. The thought of his thing opening it’s gaping mouth and swallowing that bee was too much for me and prospect of watching it happen again was even worse.

I didn’t think. I just acted.

“Sir!” I used my voice even though it sounded too loud and too forceful in the still air and the quiet whistling still shivered through my spine. “You don’t have to do that. Sir!”

He ignored me and brought his face closer to the insect. My books dropped from my hands to the path. I was running, my hand out and heart pounding as he had scooped up the bee and I couldn’t stand it. It’s bright yellow body was stark against his brown glove and he held it in place as his lips started to part.

“Stop.” I must have stumbled because I lurched forward and fell toward him. I caught myself with the toe of my shoe, but my fingers brushed against his cheek. I’ll never forget the way his skin felt.

My fingers just barely touched the flesh. It was hard though, like cement or marble, there was no give and was cool to the touch. Most of all it was bumpy, bump after bump of puckered skin like running your hand over a warped building wall or a terrible pustule-ridden rash.

The sensation of the bumpy skin was just for moment before one of his enormous hands darted up with quick efficiency and took my wrist in a hard grip. I gasped and he stood up to his full impressive height and grinned.

It wasn’t a grin with his teeth and I still couldn’t see his eyes behind his dark black glasses, but that smile was all I needed to confirm the worst. “Mmph!” I yelped, but not very loudly. I was never very good at yelling, even when I was a child and found a dead raccoon in the backyard or needed to shout at my dad when to turn on the road.

It just yelped once and then stared in rapt terror as my stomach dropped and whole world compounded into that second.

My hand looked tiny in his and the whistling hadn’t stopped. I was close enough at that point that I belatedly realized there was no way he could have been using his mouth to make that noise.

His mouth opened ever so slightly and the sound erupted from inside him and it wasn’t whistling. His thin yellow lips peeled back to reveal rows of sharp teeth, but not blunt teeth or canines or incisors. They were all sharp white shards- like that of broken glass or pieces of bleached wood chips.

They were all slightly different sizes, thin and long and coming into narrow points that hurt just to look at. As he opened his jaw in that unhinged crooked way I heard the sound clearly: a buzzing coming from within him. An unmistakable, low buzz that you hear from TV static. And bees.

It seemed to surge from somewhere deep inside him like a nest of tangled angry sound flooding from his core. It had a frantic quality. Like it was trying to escape.

The waves of humming grew louder and louder as his mouth expanded and I barely registered as he brought my hand up. I broke out of my stupor at the sight of his needle teeth leering toward my skin and tried to pull back with all of my force. I furiously kicked him in the shin, but he didn’t so much as flinch and my toe stung from contact with that same unyielding hard flesh.

He held my wrist firm and his face drew closer and closer with those those same slow deliberate movements. The points of his teeth delicately dug into my fingertips, the ones that had touched him, and a bright spike of pain crashed over me. I think I finally managed to scream.

It was a sticky blur as I lost those fingertips. I do remember the blood running down his yellow chin and spilling down his neck in a steady trickle.

I fell to the ground in shock and my next memories were waking up in a hospital with bandages over the middle and pointer fingers of my right hand. The pad of each was gone.

I shook violently and called Georgia without hesitation. She came right away and drove me home in silence, not forcing me to talk or bring up the future police reports and descriptions I might have to give. We might even be friends again after that first week, I’m not sure.

The police investigated but found no man with that description by the library. The only evidence I had was that the librarians had records of less and less bees visiting their gardens recently.

But nothing more.

I think I’m moving out of Fairfield soon. I think I’ll move somewhere with less gardens and more cement and people everywhere and get a roommate and big dog and start renting my books from online.

There is something eating the bees.

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[scifigeneration]

Love the parasite you're with - the entertaining life of unwelcome guests from flea circuses to Aliens

by Anna-Sophie Jürgens and Alexander Maier

Alien vs. Predator/IMDB

Bloodsucker, leech, tick – few things have a reputation worse than parasites. But these biological hangers-on also have a comic cultural history.

In biology, a parasite is an organism that lives on or in a host organism and gets its food (or other benefits) from (or at the expense of) its host. Scientists have just documented the oldest known example of a parasite-host relationship – a nutrient stealing worm over 500 million years old.

Due to their complex and often hidden life cycles, parasites seem to appear suddenly. They thrive in oozing wounds or are transmitted via explosive diarrhoea. No wonder parasites occupy a vivid role in our cultural imagination.

In fiction and popular culture, parasitic characters appear as a metaphor for the threat and spread of disease. They infiltrate human bodies and transform them into monsters, like Dracula. Or they act as extraterrestrial biological weapons like in the Alien saga. The quintessential parasite narrative – per 2019’s Oscar-winning Parasite – showcases it as a physiological, psychological and social threat. But they’ve also played for laughs.

Humbugs

Italian showman Louis Bertolotto’s “extraordinary exhibition of industrious fleas” from the early 1820s is the first documented flea circus. It featured a 12-piece flea orchestra playing audible flea music, a Great Mogul Flea (with harem!), a ballroom with flea ladies and frock-coated gentlemen dancing a waltz, a mail coach drawn by four fleas (with a cracking whip) and a reenactment of the Battle of Waterloo including Wellington, Napoleon and field marshal Blücher – all played by miniature warrior fleas.

Today, traditional flea circuses can still be found. Flohzirkus Birk and his fleas have entertained small crowds at Oktoberfest in Munich for decades. Humans play fleas and other insects in the Cirque du Soleil show Ovo – leaping through a day in the life of bugs.

In Germany, the flea circus still entertains.

The flea fiction literary genre exists for those who prefer to use their own imagination. It includes humorous 19th century texts such Hans Christian Andersen’s The Flea and the Professor and German Gothic writer E. T. A. Hoffmann’s Master Flea, both of which feature tame flea companions and collaborators.

The genre also includes flea porn, which features the little bloodsuckers in all kinds of interesting perspectives. An example is the The Autobiography of a Flea (published anonymously in 1887).

Google Books

My funny parasite

Use of the word “parasite” predates its biological label.

In 1755, Samuel Johnson’s Dictionary defined parasite as “one that frequents rich tables, and earns his welcome by flattery”.

The comic heritage of the parasite shimmers through Honoré de Balzac’s 1847 novel Le Cousin Pons (which had the working title Le Parasite) and Arthur Conan Doyle’s novel The Parasite, first published in 1894. The latter is about a professor who is turned into a clown, “the laughing-stock of the university”, by a mysterious person, parasite-like influencing his mind and behaviour.

In our recent journal article, we expanded on the work of philosopher Michel Serres and literary scholar Enid Welsford to discuss the parasite as a cultural force. Our paper – a fairly rare collaboration between a biological scientist and a humanities scholar – also looked to more contemporary examples such as the hilarious parasitic remote control in Tim Burton’s 1988 film Beetlejuice.

Beetlejuice looks like a morbid clown with green hair, heavy makeup and a stripey suit. He is a supernatural creature whose job is it to help recently deceased adjust to their eternal afterlife. In this in-between space, Beetlejuice performs what Michel Serres defines as a parasitic communication role: making “productive and creative noise”. By forcing his “hosts” to act differently, this parasite transforms the relationship between two parties and invents a new logic and cohabitation.

In 1988’s Beetlejuice, the central character occupies an in-between realm and acts as a parasitic clown. IMDB

Do gooders

By pushing boundaries and exploring notions of self, parasites are a cultural force and source of comic inspiration. What does it feel like to be a leech? How does the host feel? Where is the line between the two bodies?

There are comic scenarios and narratives hidden in anxieties of involuntarily shared identities. In biology, the sustained and intimate relationship between parasite and host challenges the concept of individual boundaries. The distinction between host and parasite becomes blurred and they form a new entity altogether.

Human louse (Pediculus humanus Linnaeus) bears an uncanny resemblance to the monsters in Alien when viewed under the microscope. Shutterstock

It might come as a surprise that the appreciation of parasites in the arts took place long before biologists acknowledged their contribution. Only in recent decades have parasites been recognised as stabilisers of ecosystems and drivers of evolution and biodiversity.

Their footprints can be seen in genetics, epidemiology and medicine; and a better understanding of parasites has significantly increased our appreciation of them. Exploring the cultural imaginarium of the parasite and its comic dimensions pays tribute to the many positive aspects of parasites.

Whether we like it or not, pathogens like parasites are around us and inside us. They determine us biologically and they influence our cultural norms.

Delving deeper into the cultural world of parasites brings to light droll artistry: from funny domesticated creepy crawlies to clown parasites and dark villains.

About The Authors:

Anna-Sophie Jürgens is a Lecturer and Assistant Professor in Popular Entertainment Studies and Science in Fiction Studies at Australian National University and Alexander Maier is a Professor of Biomedical Science and Biochemistry at Australian National University

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license.

[chroniccombustion]

Ipomoea Alba pt. 1

From “Seven Days to Eternity“, part of @souyoweek2019

Genre: Hanahaki Disease, angst w/happy end, romance, M/M Rated: T Characters: Souji Seta (Yu Narukami), mentions of the Investigation Team, mentions of Nanako Dojima Warnings: minor descriptions of blood and vomiting Status: oneshot collection, incomplete

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"Ipomoea alba, sometimes called moonflower or moon vine, is a species of night-blooming morning glory... It symbolizes dreaming of love, or a love in vain..."

Day 3: Illness/Injury or Holding Hands

There is a tickle in Souji’s throat all through November. It burns when he swallows wrong, causes him to cough once or twice out of nowhere every so often. Nothing major; just a tickle. If, sometimes, he tastes just the barest hint of blood in the back of his mouth after a particularly deep cough, well, he is fighting shadow monsters in a world shrouded in supernatural fog.

There is a tickle in Souji’s throat all through November. It burns when he swallows wrong, causes him to cough once or twice out of nowhere every so often. Nothing major; just a tickle. If, sometimes, he tastes just the barest hint of blood in the back of his mouth after a particularly deep cough, well, he is fighting shadow monsters in a world shrouded in supernatural fog.

He has other things to worry about, though. Like finishing the Heaven dungeon as fast as he can. Like keeping his team and himself alive long enough to reach the top and catch Namatame.

Like rescuing Nanako

He can’t stop just because he’s getting sick, because of a little tickle in his throat that sometimes refuses to go away for hours at a time. He’s survived worse; he can still fight Shadows with a minor cough.

It doesn’t go away after November is over. It’s there throughout December, too, more insistent, deeper-rooted. It spreads from his throat to his chest and goes from being just an occasional tickle to a kind of pressure behind his sternum. It’s like he’s got some kind of drainage happening, like he’s got fluid somewhere down in his lungs; a stuffy sort of feeling that rattles a little on the harder coughs – still only a couple at a time – and makes him wonder if he’s grown an allergy to the fog. He wouldn’t be surprised, honestly. After all, the glasses only keep their eyes from being obscured by the ever-present mist; they don’t do anything to keep the team from breathing it in. (And fog is water, so it would make sense for him to have something sitting in his lungs if he’s been breathing tiny droplets of monster-vapor.)

But, again, he has other things to worry about. Nanako and Dojima are still in the hospital and Adachi is on the loose; they can’t stop now, not when they’re all so close to bringing the real killer to justice, not when Souji has a murderer to catch and an empty home waiting for him when he’s too exhausted to keep fighting for the day.

If he was being honest with himself, that was probably the worst part of it all. Adachi having literally killed people notwithstanding, every time they left Magatsu Inaba without having reached the end, every day that Adachi still remained at large and Souji went home to that house of deathly silence, it was just another reminder of his failings. He hadn’t been able to protect Nanako, he hadn’t been able to stop Adachi from escaping into the TV; the quiet and the dark and the stillness that greeted him every time he crossed the threshold felt like mockery.

You weren’t fast enough, smart enough, strong enough.

Just another reason to finish their pursuit as quickly as they can.

For two entire months the empty house is like a weight on Souji’s shoulders, slowly crushing him to death. He doesn’t sleep much – too many dreams of disaster – nor does he really remember to eat. He cooks still, out of habit and the desire for even a semblance of normalcy, but more often than not he just packs it away in a bento for the next day. Not that he really eats that, either; instead, he invites people to spend lunch break with him at school and lets them tackle most of what’s in the container. It keeps it from going to waste and helps Souji to keep up appearances. Because he’s the leader, that’s what he has to do.

He knows that the other members of the team can see him fading at the edges; none of them are dumb or blind. He’s seen the worried glances that Chie and Yukiko send his way when they think he can’t see them during class. He can tell by the slight downward curve of Rise’s lips, Kanji’s furrowed brows, Naoto’s intense, assessing stares. They know he’s not completely alright but there’s nothing they can do to change it. He appreciates what they can do, obviously – when they come to check on him or invite him to hang out on a rest day. Or, more notably, their determination in battle, their fierce resolve, the way they throw themselves into bringing the case to an end with just as much fervor as he does. He sees it all and he is so, so grateful for them. He could never ask for a better team.

But they have responsibilities, too. In between their hunt for Adachi, his friends all have work, school, families that need them to come home, so no matter how much he might want to, Souji can’t monopolize all their time – it just wouldn’t be right. And it’s not like they can spend every waking moment in the television either, because magic or not, they’re all human and humans wear down. Souji had pushed his team nearly to the breaking point when Nanako was still missing; this situation might not be the same but he still isn’t about to do that again.

He visits Nanako and his uncle when he can, especially on the days when none of his friends can hang out, so he does get to see them. It’s not the same as having them home, though, and that’s the major issue. Given the chance, Souji would camp out in one of the lobby chairs if they’d let him, but visiting hours only go so late into the evening before the hospital staff kicks him out with a “come back tomorrow”.

So Souji spends a lot of the later hours of the day alone.

The only reprieve from the constant feeling of inevitable, punishing solitude that he seems to get is around his closest friend. Yosuke, almost eerily attuned to Souji’s moods as he is, has taken to dropping in after his shifts, even when he’s clearly exhausted. He sometimes makes the excuse that he hasn’t had any time to study and could Souji help him with his homework, please? They usually don’t get much of anything done; most of the time Souji has already long-since finished several days worth of homework just for something to occupy his mind. (There are also rare nights where there is no homework due the next day, so that particular excuse falls a bit flat.) Other times, Yosuke will grab food from Junes before heading out and simply come over with a set of store-bought bentos and a movie he’d stuffed into his bag before school. It’s on those nights that Souji actually does eat.

Yosuke sits and talks with him after school until he has to leave for work, Yosuke sends him texts whenever he can while on shift, Yosuke calls him when on break if he knows that Souji is alone, and then again after work on the days he absolutely can’t come over. He waits for Souji in the mornings so that they can walk to school together, invites him to spend the weekend together if Souji has no other plans, goes with him to visit Nanako and brings her snacks or little trinkets from Junes. Yosuke is a godsend.

Souji finds he can let his mask slip, just a little, around him, too. He knows that Yosuke already knows the cracks are there, just like the others do, but Souji is more comfortable acknowledging them himself when it’s Yosuke that’s looking. Souji is the leader, the commander, the pillar of strength with a hundred different Personae in his head; he still has a mission to complete and a team to lead and he can’t falter, he can’t crack, because if he does then he risks everything. He has to keep up moral, has to be unflinching in battle so the others have someone to look to, so that nothing (else) falls apart. So even while his friends share those worried glances and those furrowed brows, Souji keeps pretending that he’s got everything under control. He powers through the burnout that has settled in, sunk its claws into his shoulders, filled him with empty exhaustion, and all the while he keeps his outward facade carefully in check. He can buckle later, once everything is finished.

But around Yosuke it’s different. Yosuke is his equal, his partner, second-in-command of the Investigation Team; he’s also familiar with the feeling of loss and of loneliness. He never judges Souji when it’s clear he hasn’t been taking care of himself, nor does he let Souji lie to him and say that no, it’s alright, you should go home after work and sleep, you need to rest. Maybe it’s because he’s been with Souji from the beginning, knows more about him than anybody else in the world. Maybe it’s because he’s the only one of the team to have seen Souji cry, on that awful November evening when Nanako had called him “oniichan” for what he thought would be the last time.

Souji barely remembers anything past breaking down that night. He knows that Yosuke had somehow managed to get him home and convinced him to wash off the sweat of battle, because he has a very vague, fuzzy memory of sitting on his futon and shivering, hair still damp, with Yosuke’s headphones lying on the work table and the sound of the shower running in the distance.

He can’t be sure, because his mind had been too quiet and too noisy all at once to tell what was real and what was a dream, but Souji thinks there may a have been a moment, somewhere in the darkest hours of the morning, where he’d felt the sensation of long fingers carding tenderly through his hair.

But that was November, and Souji hasn’t had a chance to think about anything besides their mission for very long, let alone something that might not even have been real to begin with.  He has to make it through December now, has to stop Adachi, has to keep himself sane in the hours that he’s forced to be alone, and even then he tries to block out all idle thought lest it turn and twist and drag him under without warning.

So really. With two solid months of stress and grief and very few chances to breathe, it’s no wonder that he’s having difficultly doing so. It’s no wonder, what with the no sleep and the barely eating and the house with no heat and the damp winter air outside, that there’s a tickle in his throat or traces of toxic fog still sitting in his lungs.

Souji continues to ignore his increasing symptoms, even as they start to get nearly obstructive. He hides them from his friends, from Nanako and Dojima, and even from Yosuke. He especially hides them from Yosuke; his partner has already worried far, far more than he needs to over Souji’s health and if by some cruel twist of fate Souji gets too sick to fight on anymore, the team is going to need Yosuke to lead them. Souji doesn’t need Yosuke burning himself out, too.

Which is why, when Adachi has finally been captured and Ameno-Sagiri lies rusting in the ruins of Magatsu Inaba, Souji continues to keep the burning, choking feeling when he breathes a secret. He knows that Yosuke will be upset with him, will blame himself if he finds out that Souji’s been hiding his illness to make sure Yosuke didn’t wind up sick as well.

Besides, their victory is a cause for celebration, and his friends have all worked so hard and been through so much. Souji can’t take that moment of victory away from them by bringing down the mood with his shitty health.

So Souji endures it. He forces back the sudden, minor shortness of breath that seems to be happening more and more frequently. It’s to be expected; he’s just come off of two months of unending stress, of fighting in wet, awful conditions and then returning to a cold house without even a working kotatsu, all while staving off the most persistent bug he can ever remember having. He does, however, begin making an effort to take a little better care of himself, because while he appreciates everything Yosuke has done, it isn’t his partner’s job to do so – especially not now that the stress has lifted somewhat.

Souji makes sure he takes warm showers and then dries off thoroughly afterwards so he isn’t going to bed with wet hair. He buys cold medicine, and tea that’s supposed to help boost his immune system and clear out his chest. They seem to help; the steam and the warmth of the showers eases the tension he feels while inhaling and the tea makes it easier for him to sleep. The cough wants to linger? That’s alright. Souji isn’t sick enough to warrant any worry just yet, and it doesn’t impact him to where he can’t go to school or to work or be sociable. He takes it easy over winter break, anyway, and wears a facemask to the hospital when he visits his family. He doesn’t want to risk breathing anything onto Nanako while she’s still weak.

By the end of December the cough has gotten a little deeper, a little wetter. It’s less frequent when it happens, though, so Souji takes it as a decent sign that he’s slowly knocking whatever this is out of his system. He figures it must just be the gunk in his lungs working its way out – which is only further justified when he feels something shifting during his rare bouts of coughing. He’d briefly wondered if maybe he wasn’t coming down with pneumonia, but he only has the slight cough and the scratchy throat, so a quick search at the library and online makes him think, “probably not.” Just to be sure, though, he tells himself that if he isn’t completely well by January then he’ll go to the doctor. But, since it feels like something is trying to come loose in a productive way, he also decides to wait until he sees real issues functioning before letting it bother him too badly.

 He’s holding out pretty well by the time New Year’s comes around.

The group makes plans to go out together to celebrate, to visit the shrine, to just be normal kids for once. It’s the perfect way to put the whole mess of a year behind them, and Souji finds he’s actually a little excited for it. His mood and mental state are improving steadily now that things aren’t so consistently terrible, and he’s feeling well enough physically that he doesn’t think his cold will be a problem. As long as he remembers to take some medicine beforehand and not push himself too hard, he should be fine. He is a little sad that Nanako won’t be able to join them, (she’d been pretty disappointed herself when she found out the hospital wouldn’t let her leave for the night) but he promises to take her to visit the shrine once she’s all better and makes a mental note to buy her some sweets to compensate.

They all decide to meet up separately at the shrine so that no one is left waiting on anyone else to get ready. Rise in particular seems to get a kick out of this, because in the days leading up everything she keeps trying to rope Chie and Yukiko into shopping for new outfits with her. She gets a strange, sparkly, conspiratorial look in her eye whenever she manages to catch Souji’s gaze while the subject is being discussed, so he gets the impression that Rise is hoping to use the opportunity to try and get their resident “useless lesbians” together at last. He chuckles and silently wishes her luck.

 The idea of dressing up for New Year’s doesn’t seem too bad, though, so when the day arrives he bundles up as best he can without it being obtrusive and slips into his own charcoal grey kimono, just for fun. It might not be strictly advisable, but he’s at least made sure he’ll be warm enough not to freeze. He takes a dose of medicine about half an hour before he sets out, and drinks two cups of tea just to be absolutely sure.

He meets up with Naoto and Kanji first, since the both of them are just wearing casual clothing and likely took the least amount of time. Rise finds them next, and as she approaches them her face is contorted into the slyest, most self-satisfied smirk that Souji thinks he’s ever seen. He sees why a few minutes later, as Yukiko and Chie come wandering into view, both in kimono and both walking very slowly as they keep sneaking glances over at one another and blushing furiously. Souji holds his hand out low behind his back, palm up, and feels a giggling Rise slap him five where the other girls can’t see. (Not that they have eyes for anyone but each other, anyway.)

Surprisingly, Yosuke and Teddie are the last to arrive. Souji hears Teddie shouting exuberantly before he sees them, so he has absolutely no warning whatsoever when he turns around to greet the last two members of the IT and nearly chokes on the spot.

Under his open jacket, Yosuke wears a deep, cinnamon-colored sweater that Souji has never seen him wear before. It’s fitted, hugging his chest and the curve of his waist in a way that is wholly unfair. The neckline dips into a low v-neck, showing off the dusty, muted rose of the shirt underneath – which still doesn’t quite go high enough to hide Yosuke’s collarbones. The worst (or best) part of his outfit, though, are the tight, tight black skinny jeans that cover the lower half of his body. There is a soft flush to his cheeks and the tips of his ears and when Yosuke spots Souji in the crowd he smiles and suddenly Souji finds he’s having trouble breathing properly.

(Whether it’s from his newly racing heartbeat or just the cold medicine beginning to wear off, he couldn’t say.)

The group huddles together to wait out the time until the count down, and somehow, naturally, he and Yosuke wind up standing next to each other, so close that Yosuke’s arm brushes against his own whenever the brunette moves in a certain way. Souji doesn’t know if he’s supposed to feel this warm; he can feel it in his face, his neck, in the pit of his stomach, and it comes with slightly shaking hands. He hopes he hasn’t suddenly developed a fever on top of everything else.

But he came here to have fun with his friends and to ring in the new year with hope for an end to the chaos of the previous one, and he’s not about to leave before midnight hits. He does his best to ignore the way his cheeks flush when Yosuke bumps into him again, focusing on the happy faces of his teammates and the excited chatter all around him instead. He has to focus harder, after a while, to try and also ignore the way his chest is slowly beginning to constrict the longer he stands there.

It starts off as nothing but an irritation; it’s nothing more severe than he’s been dealing with for two months already. As time goes on, though, it gets more and more uncomfortable, until it actively feels like there’s something obstructing the base of his throat as he tries to inhale. He has trouble getting the air back out of his lungs, too, having to push a little harder than his body would do normally to get his chest to empty so he can suck in another breath. 

At some point, just before the clock strikes twelve and the old year dies to birth the new, Yosuke throws an arm around Souji’s shoulders and whispers, “Happy New Year, Partner” against the shell of his ear.

For a single, terrifying moment, something inside Souji’s body twists. It sends a jolt of pain through him, like he’d swallowed something without chewing properly and had it lodge deep in his esophagus to choke and stretch and tear at him on its way down. Except it isn’t gradually going away. He goes to take a breath in shock, his body trying instinctively to help move the impeding object back down through muscle contraction, but nothing. Happens.

He tries again and still his lungs don’t fill.

He brings a hand up to his clavicle in fear, just as the countdown reaches zero and midnight officially hits. His friends whoop and cheer around him, and Souji is jostled to the side as Yosuke, arm still over Souji’s shoulders, joins in the merrymaking and knocks into him. A moment later, Teddie tackles them both from behind and the movement slams Souji forward, forcing him to take a stumbling a step or two away in order to maintain his balance. It distracts him from Yosuke’s arm, from the mounting terror of not being able to breathe, and as he lurches he feels whatever it is in his chest shift just enough that his next inhale goes through.

He takes several deep, gulping breaths, and smiles weakly when Yosuke looks at him with wide, worried eyes.

Yosuke asks him what’s wrong but Souji just waves his concerns away with a quiet, “it’s nothing.” He says nothing more as Yosuke turns to scold Teddie for nearly bowling them both over, clearly thinking that to be the cause of Souji’s distress. Souji silently apologizes to their odd little bear friend for the undue tongue lashing, and adds “sweets for Teddie” to his mental list underneath “sweets for Nanako.” It’s cowardly, but Souji is still trembling from nearly choking to death on nothing, so the energy and ability to properly explain what really just happened is well out of his reach for the time being.

As Yosuke and Teddie bicker, Souji uses the distraction as a cover to slip away for a moment and try to get his bearings. He pressed the heel of his hand hard against his sternum, rubbing in small circles as if that will help him dislodge whatever it was that had almost caused him to pass out. His throat tingles as if he’s sucked water down the wrong pipe and he coughs once, twice, three times, doubling over for a second as the force of it bends him at the waist. He takes a rattling breath in, feels it catch on something wet, coughs again to bring it up. He spits, and his tongue tastes like copper.

He says his goodbyes and heads for home as soon as they all finish up at the shrine.

 Souji wakes early the next morning with an unnamable feeling of deep-seated dread. He rolls out of his futon and spends several minutes on the floor trying to stop the strange wave of lightheadedness that comes with the movement. When at last he can sit back onto his calves and try to get up properly, he nearly crashes back down before he can get to his feet. Something isn’t right. It takes him far longer than it should to figure out what.

Souji can’t breathe. In his sleepy, half-suffocated stupor he hadn’t immediately noticed the way his lungs had to work to force him to exhale, nor the way spots danced in the edges of his vision with each painful, wheezing inhale. He feels sick – his head aches like it’s being squeezed, pounding in time to the throbbing, stabbing, writhing feeling deep inside his chest. It’s like his heart is being compressed, fluttering frantically at the lack of oxygen like a hummingbird in a cage. He sucks in a long, horrible, rasping breath, feeling it bubble, thick and sticky, as it hits the back of his throat. It stings; rubbing alcohol on an open, bleeding wound.

Panicked, Souji manages to stagger his way out of the bedroom and down the hall to the bathroom as something like bile begins to rise in his gut. The bubbling intensifies, clotting and tar-like just beyond the back of his tongue and he feels the choking, jerking, telltale signs of an oncoming coughing fit. He flops his shoulder into the bathroom door and leans against it, letting his weight help him swing it open; he barely is able to reach for the light switch before the coughing wracks his body.

Souji gags and something comes up the back of his throat as he coughs, deep and hacking, feeling it all the way down to his weakening knees. It tastes like metal, like red-hot iron searing along his windpipe as he wretches and gasps over and over again, until he can feel a blob of wet, limp something sliding across his tongue and out onto the floor. Blindly he stumbles over to the counter and props himself up with violently shaking hands. Tears cloud his eyes as he bends low over the sink and coughs and coughs and coughs until his strength is gone and his throat, his chest, his body is positively wrecked.

Everything tastes like blood, more and more of it dripping from between his teeth with each sobbing exhale. With every bone-shaking hack, Souji vomits up another clot of that same, bitter something, leaving him only a split second in between to suck in another ragged breath before his chest heaves and he’s back to spitting up another slimy clump of whatever has taken root inside him. It’s minutes before the torture ebbs; minutes longer before it comes to a stop. By the time the coughing has subsided, Souji is left a shivering, half-conscious mess against the biting edge of the counter. He pulls in a breath and finds it easier. He pulls in another and feels the tightness in his chest ease just a little. One more, and slowly, utterly exhausted, he pushes himself up until he’s able to stand.

He blinks away the saltwater obscuring his vision and very nearly screams at what he sees.

There is blood everywhere. The white of the sink is awash with it, the counter, the mirror, the floor, the wall; all of them are splattered with thick patches of dark, dripping red. But there is worse to see.

Floating in the blood in matted, soggy clumps—

 are flowers.

They’re all around him – pooling in the sink, plastered to his hands, trailing from the doorway where he’d been a moment too late on his way in. They aren’t just pieces, either, just stems and leaves, but fully formed with white, star-shaped petals and pale yellow centers all stained crimson as they lie limp and drowned upon the floor.

Souji stares in unadulterated horror.

He thought he’d just been getting sick.

His mind shuts down as he makes his way out of the bathroom, leaning against the walls for support and taking one painstaking step after another down the hallway. Somehow he manages to make it down the stairs, to gather up the cleaning supplies from the downstairs closet. He drags himself back to the second floor and leans against the opposite wall from before, taking care not to step in the bloody footprints he’d left in his wake.

He doesn’t remember cleaning up the bathroom, scooping up the scarlet-soaked blossoms and tossing them into the toilet, flushing them out of sight. He doesn’t remember numbly wiping the blood from the wall, the mirror, the sink, doesn’t remember slipping and sliding on the wet tile beneath his feet, doesn’t remember scrubbing at the red before it can stain and continuing to wipe every surface he can reach long after the initial color is gone.

When he’s finished in the bathroom he starts back out into the hall. Back and forth across the floor he goes, all the way to the stairs and back again, wiping at the footprints until none remain. He moves to the stairs next, then the places in the kitchen and the downstairs hall where the last of the bloody tracks lie. He tucks away the cleaning supplies when he’s done.

Souji comes back into himself hours and hours later, after the sun has long-since set, and vaguely notices that his sleep clothes are replaced with a different, fresher pair. His skin feels frozen in the heatless winter air that permeates the house, his hair wet against his pillow. He doesn’t remember stripping off his clothes to dump into the washing machine, has no memory of sitting in the shower until the water ran from pink to clear, then from clear to bitter cold. He lies there and doesn’t remember climbing back into his futon after sitting freezing under the icy spray for more than an hour.

Instead, he remembers the flowers.  He remembers the feeling of pain and sickness as they traveled up his windpipe and out of his mouth. He remembers the taste of the blood, the bitterness of the petals; he remembers the way his chest had squeezed and his lungs had filled not with air but with moon-colored blooms.

He whimpers softly, and the sound is swallowed by the empty, lonely dark.

From somewhere over to the side there comes a faint buzzing. It pulses like a heartbeat, accompanied by a harsh white glow. Souji shifts until he can look over at the noise, reaching one shaking, clumsy hand out from beneath his comforter to try and grasp at the square of light. His fumbling fingers brush against his phone just as it stops ringing.

He pulls it back toward him with all the strength he has left and digs his thumb between where the two halves fold together. It takes him several tries to push the halves apart and flip the phone open; when he does finally succeed, the light from the screen makes him scrunch his eyes shut in pain. He’s still blinking away the blindness when the phone starts buzzing again.

Souji’s hands are already trembling – weak and uncoordinated from the blood loss, the lack of food, the sickness – so the moment the phone begins to vibrate he loses his tentative grip. Down it drops into the folds of his comforter. He grabs for it, claws at the fabric with fingers that feel boneless, tries to heft himself up onto an elbow but cannot get his arm to support his weight. He manages to bring his hand down on top of the phone and mash his knuckle into the “accept” button right as the phone goes silent once more.

‘4 missed calls from Aibo.’

His heart makes a little flutter of happiness at the sight of it.

And then immediately constricts.

Souji cries out wordlessly as he feels his body convulse. The tightness in his chest comes creeping back in, twisting over his heart and driving the air from his already battered lungs, turning his scream of pain into nothing more than a feeble, aborted croak. Fear burns hot and thick behind his eyes, blurs his sight, trickles down his face in the form of tears. He coughs as the flowers in his ribs dig their roots in deeper, and tastes blood on the back of his tongue.

“Yosuke,” he rasps, and the tiny, thin threads of voice left to him scratch at his throat on their way out. There is no one around to hear.

“Yosuke, help…”

[theliterateape]

Why Bird Box Is A Great Horror Flick

By Don Hall

Great art asks questions and lets the audience come up with the answers.

I loved Hereditary. Donnie Smith, my brilliant friend in L.A., hated it. The film has that love it/hate it vibe pretty much across the board. I believe that it’s the ending. People were way into the dread and the scares and the general direction things were going. They loved the performances. They hated the ending because it explained the sacrificial lamb from the perspective of the lamb concept with a defined monster — a demon. Like Stephen King’s IT, where Pennywise turns out to be a big fucking spider, which sucks balls, the build up followed with disappointment because it was more fun to theorize what what causing all the mayhem rather than have it told to them poorly.

I loved Get Out. I think everyone on the planet loved Get Out. Rather than have the cause for the scares be obfuscated, however, the monsters of Get Out are obvious. It’s white people. Not too much of a strain on the imagination and no big surprises once you’ve figured it out, which is almost the very moment they introduce the parents.

I’d argue that neither film fits in the genre as one of the best because the best horror films are allegories that can be spun in several directions. No answer to the question “Who are the Monsters?” is given. 

✶

I remember clearly when I first saw The Blair Witch Project. 

A friend of mine had just been on a trip to Los Angeles. He was living in an old porn studio in Edgewater, in a back room, and invited my wife and I to come over and watch this VHS copy of a documentary he had been given while there. I didn’t know anything about the film because the tape was part of the viral marketing campaign and it hadn’t been released yet.

Jen and I headed over. His apartment was in the back on the second floor. We walked up the inlet stairs into what was a cobweb infused dark room filled with old film equipment. In the light, I imagine it would be fine — just clutter — but in the dark, it was ominous and a little weird. 

We sat down, cracked some beers and he put the VHS copy in the machine. The television was small, maybe 20-inches, and we watched this bizarre thing, and we freaked out just a little. The movie provided no explanation for what happened and it felt real. Walking through that dark chaos to get to our car on the street after midnight was fucking skin-crawling. While the zeitgeist of the movie is the gimmick of the fake documentary style, what sticks with me is that I still don’t know what happened to the protagonists. The film refuses to answer the questions it poses.

Night of the Living Dead is the first zombie movie, but I’ve read a billion think pieces that suppose the zombies are a stand-in for the Vietnam War, racism, consumerism, conformism — the list is long and fun and forces a repeated viewing if you are really into getting in the intellectual weeds of these sorts of films. I enjoy The Walking Dead but not because of the zombies. The Walking Dead uses zombies as an apocalyptic  endgame to explore the real monsters: us. How societies are organized, what motivates democracy or totalitarianism is all in the journey of Rick and his band of survivors.

Godzilla is about WWII or our fascination with the atom bomb or the environment. Dracula is about sex or disease or the buttoned up morality of the Victorians. Videodrome is about the fears of the (at the time) new world of videotape, the pernicious dark corners of technology, or just a generalized anxiety of Debra Harry. The Mist isn’t about the monsters flying through the fog but about the monsters we become when faced with an unexplained horror (which could be spun into an argument that the mist is the internet, yeah?).

The list can go on forever but the essential point is that the best of the horror genre refuse to define exactly what the monster terrorizing the flawed humans is and allows the viewer to play the game. M. Night Shyamalan’s Signs is not a bad movie until it is discovered that you defeat the aliens with water and then the whole feels like a waste of the energy enjoying the scares. He answers the question and we hate it.

Bird Box is completely open to debate. 

I watched it at my folks’ house over the holidays. There had been so much Faceborg squawk about it, I kind of had to sit down and subject myself to it. I loved it. I loved the question of what the monsters were, I loved Sandra Bullock playing a wholly unlikeable but understandable character, I loved Malkovich playing a wholly unlikeable but understandable character. I loved the immediacy, the ideas that what people were seeing that caused them to either kill themselves or become cultish believers forcing it on others were very personal. Christ, I even loved the concept behind the title.

What I loved the most was this:

Netflix's Bird Box Is Really About How White People Don't Want to See Racism

“If you haven’t seen or read the viral social media discussions of the Netflix thriller Bird Box, you’re missing one of the greatest race allegory movies that has ever been released in the last part of December 2018. It’s about how white people suddenly realize racism is spreading across the world and they can only escape its wrath if they refuse to acknowledge it because...”

And this:

Bird Box is the First Great Monster Movie About this Poisonous Invention

“The monsters of Bird Box are social media. Seriously.

Think of Bird Box as a new entry into the old-fashioned 1950s monster movie genre, but instead of the midcentury fears about the Cold War, nuclear weapons, and communism we’re exploring the New Cold War and fears of what social media is doing to our brains. By putting on the blindfolds, the characters of Bird Box are protected from the monsters, which are actually the influences of social media.”

And this:

Bird Box's Ending & Monsters Explained

“Based on the fact that the entities seem to have supernatural knowledge of people's weaknesses (they know to call out to Malorie in her sister's voice, and in Tom's), and Gary's drawings of them, Charlie's theory that the monsters are demonic in nature seems pretty sound. This is also reinforced by the fact that birds are able to sense their presence, since in many mythologies, cultures and religions birds are associated with psychopomps — spirits that guide people from the land of the living to the land of the dead.”

Are the monsters an allegory for racism? Maybe. Maybe not. But watching the film with that lens gives the argument merit. It isn’t what I saw but I completely dig the perspective, and it makes me re-see the whole experience in a different way. Are the monsters a metaphor for social media? Could be. Whether or not I am compelled to believe that argument, it’s awesome that there are enough clues in the film that can be interpreted that way to make it credible and fun.

I understand our current need for answers and I understand our almost mania for those answers to conform to our political angst. We want movies like Get Out to justify our outrage further. The best films of the horror genre don’t give us answers. That’s why we keep mining the zombie trope, and the giant atomic monster trope, and the fear of technology that was started by Mary Shelley endures in films like every fucking Jurassic Park.

Great Art asks questions and lets the audience come up with the answers.

[joonhaze]

The Fallen (Jungkook X Reader) Chapter 15: Level 3

✎ Summary: After an international war in the future, a select amount of people are born with supernatural powers to survive the deadly disease known and feared as the Epic. When you’re captured by an organization that claims to help you, you find secrets and truth before you escape with 7 boys, equally as powerful and strange as you. What happens when you discover that the outside world is even more dangerous, and that the Epic isn’t the biggest of your concerns anymore?

↳ Pairing: Jeon Jungkook X Reader

↳ Genre: Action, Science Fiction, Angst, Fluff (if you squint)

↳ Word Count: 1,662

↳ Extra Warnings: Mentions of character death, blood, and a few swears

-

NORMAL POV

“Geo, Illume, Zephyr, Appareo, Umbra, and Pyre have all been taken down to Level 3 for Dr. Jeon to begin the operation. We have prepared the patients in the room next to the operation room, as well.”

A nurse followed in hot pursuit of the dark clothed man, who was storming down the dark hall, the clacking sounds of his boots echoing off the walls.

“What about the others? Have they been taken care of?”

Mirage walked forward, his hands clasped behind his back. The nurse struggled to keep up with him, but responded nonetheless.

“Yes, Dr. Hanjan will operate on them.” She looked up from her clipboard. “They’re already prepared, sir. They’re waiting for your command.”

Mirage smirked and nodded.

“Tell them to begin.”

-

Footsteps echoed down the dark corridor as the doctor shuffled through the hall, walking towards the elevator. The male sighed, running his tired fingers through his hair, almost running into a wall when he nearly missed the turn.

The screams and tears haunted him at night. He hated it, he hated stripping Voltages down to the point where their souls where as bare as their minds, leaving their bodies in a slump on the floor as he left the room with bile climbing up his throat. At least some were lucky enough to live, to start their lives over. At least, planting fake memories and telling people they’re scientists is as lucky as you can get here. Junghyun was lucky enough to have his memory spared, even after his powers were taken away. He didn’t know how or why, he was just thankful. He knew well enough he couldn’t let anyone know, of course, which is why pretending to be a confused stranger was hard at first, especially since he remembers all the pain they put him through. But in the end, all of this is better than death itself.

Right?

It was like his body was on autopilot when he realized he had hit the ‘Level 3′ button in the elevator. A few moments later, he was on said level, storming along the concrete floor. It took a few long, dreadful moments to reach the first room.

He opened the door and was already queasy when he saw the body hanging from the tubes, suspended off their feet. The nurse, a petite woman was already waiting. He took in a breath through his nose and released it past his lips. He could do this. No matter how hard it was, he had to. He had to live and see the day he would escape this place.

The operation was simple. Cut the nape of the neck and insert one side of the tube in the patient, and then let the blood travel from one end to the other, where there will be someone on the other end, in another room, taking the blood. He stared blankly at the pipes along the wall, disappearing into the vent. He released another shaky breath before nodding to himself.

I can do this

That’s what he thought until he walked in front of the suspended boy.

Junghyun tried but failed to hold back a gasp when he saw who exactly was hanging from the wires and tubes.

“Jungkook..”

He whispered incoherently. His eyes widened and he visibly shook his head, stepping back from his body like it was on fire. Jungkook couldn’t be here. He should be at the E.D.R.L, where it was safer than it was here. But here he was, on the operating table in front of Junghyun’s eyes.

“-octor. Doctor, are you alright?”

Junghyun snapped out of his thoughts when he heard the nurse’s voice, concern written all over her face. How could such a caring looking woman be working for an evil organization like The Hollow? He nodded hesitantly before walking back up to the table, picking up the scalpel and lay a cautious hand on the back of Jungkook’s head. His hand was shaking profusely, and he refused to let himself bring the scalpel any closer to his brother’s head.

No

He spun around and stabbed the nurse in the side of her neck, blood splattering on her and his clothes. The scalpel stuck in her neck, she coughed and choked on the liquid rising in her lungs before collapsing on the ground, a pool of blood forming at Junghyun’s feet. 

“Shit.”

He hurriedly turned back towards Jungkook and shook him until he stirred.

“Jungkook, Jungkook, wake up, please!”

“Mm, J-Junghyun?”

Jungkook was tired and confused.

“Am I dead?”

He asked, dumbfounded at the fact that his brother was here, in a doctor’s outfit, taking tubes out of his arms.

“No, you’re not dead, you idiot.”

“Don’t you dare call me an idiot when you’ve been hiding from me for all this time.”

Jungkook landed on the ground with a soft thump, about to confront Junghyun, but stopped in his tracks when he heard the small splash under his feet. He stole a glance and froze when he saw the blood stain his feet. That’s when he realized he was practically naked, his modesty being covered by his black boxers. He almost didn’t catch his brother’s voice.

“I haven’t been hiding. In fact, I’ve been protecting you from this place.”

He locked the door and faced Jungkook, who was still staring at his stained shoes. He gripped the younger’s shoulders and locked his gaze on him.

“Listen to me. You need to get out of here.”

He pulled away and fumbled with his jacket for a moment before pulling out a small green USB.

“I need you to do something for me. The control room is on Level 5. There’s a program called SK exe, download it and make sure you watch it, spread it, anything. Spread the truth, please. And go fast.”

Jungkook, still confused, held the USB. It was tiny, but the importance made it as heavy as a cinder block.

“W-what about you?!”

“I have to make sure you don’t get caught.”

“I have my friends here. They’re somewhere here too.”

Junghyun looked at Jungkook dismissively, but seeing the desperation in his little brother’s eyes made him sigh and hand him the keys.

“Get them out, quick. There’s so much I can do before they find out their test subjects went missing.”

By now, the elder was shuffling out of his clothes, handing his vest and pants to Jungkook.

“You look enough like me, I think they won’t notice.”

Junghyun went to unlock the door when he felt a hand drag his arm back. Jungkook faced him, his eyes brimming with tears.

“I’m glad you’re alive.”

Junghyun smiled before taking Jungkook in his arms, whispering into his shoulders.

“I’m glad you’re alive too.”

Jungkook pulled away and wiped his tears.

“This is so not manly.”

He laughed, and his brother punched his shoulder. A few moments later, the brothers said their goodbyes before Jungkook left, wearing his brother’s white coat, walking through the door into the dark, camera filled hallway.

-

All Rose heard was a muffled scream and a crash before she weakly opened her eyes. She blinked several times, trying to wipe the tiredness from her eyes. She tried to stretch, but felt cold metal shackles around her wrists. She looked down at her body and realized she was wearing nothing except a pair of underwear and a bralette around her chest.

Rose felt someone else’s presence in the room, and couldn’t fight the blush when she saw Namjoon, wearing a guard’s outfit. He held what seemed to be a scalpel, and was looming over the lifeless body of what was Dr. Hanjan, blood pooling around her form from the stomach.

“Are you OK?”

Namjoon asked, trying to avoid Rose’s eyes while he undid her restraints.

“Y-yeah, I’m fine. A little dizzy though.”

She stuttered, fighting the embarrassed blush creeping on her face. Namjoon was struggling to do so as well. She wobbled once her feet hit the ground, but Namjoon was quick to catch her.

“Umm...”

“Uh, th-thanks.”

Rose mumbled quietly, her hand still on Namjoon’s chest. Namjoon just nodded.

“No problem..”

He cleared his throat and offered her an outfit similar to the one he was wearing.

“Put this on, we’re gonna need them.”

-

Mirage was in the control room, looming over the table and watching the screens. He grew bored of the occasional guard walking down the hall, but what piked his interest was the doctor walking out of the operation room 10 minutes after he walked in.

Strange... it doesn’t usually take Dr. Jeon this long to operate...

He was interrupted by loud banging on the door and 5 people rampaging inside. Sonus walked in with 5 guards behind her.

“What is the meaning of this?”

“Sir, we’ve received word that Dr. Hanjan was killed on Level 3.”

“What?!? That’s ridiculous, I didn’t receive any ne-”

“And her 6 patients have escaped. We believe that one of them has killed her.”

“What exactly are you suggesting, Sonus?”

Mirage’s voice became deep and grave, daring the shorter woman to answer.

“I think we should kill the Voltages we’ve captured, sir.”

Come on, just turn around for a second

“What?!? That’s preposterous!”

“Sir, they’ve killed one of our best, we ha-”

Mirage turned, raising his hand in the air.

“I won’t hear another word, my choice is fina-”

Mirage heard shuffling and saw a flash in the corner of his eye. He turned and was met with a fist to the jaw. He fell backwards and hit his shoulder into the control panel. He screamed in agony.

“It’s over, Mirage.”

Sonus’s voice suddenly changed, higher pitched. Mirage held his arm in pain, and looked up in shock. He froze when he saw Jisoo where he saw his assistant earlier. The guards released their helmets and out popped Felix, Taemin, Rose and Namjoon.

All Mirage processed was Namjoon’s fist coming towards him, and lights out.

-

Masterlist

-

I’m currently pulling an all-nighter to get these chapters done, enjoy the oncoming spam! BTW, thanks again for being understanding about the whole writers block thing, I know it came at a bad time, when I promised I would get the series done before summer ended (Hopefully I still will) But yeah, thanks again, I love y’all

[blueraith]

Trying something new

Typically I don’t outline a single damn thing with my writing. I write by the seat of my pants, the story goes where my fancy takes them. Which is super unorganized, hectic as all hell, and doesn’t really point to anywhere when one has writers block.

So, I’ve decided to kick that plan with my original stuff. Mostly because I already know I have a ton of worldbuilding done and characters created. All that’s holding me back is the actual plot. I have specific scenes I know I want to get to, and a few of them already written or at least planned out. All that’s left is the rest of the story. So, outline time. Not sure if I’ll be any good at the outline. I’ll just ramble my three acts out however it comes to me and reorganize from there.

Started on Act 1. Writing out even the synopsis makes me feel a little better at what I had thought was a lack of progress. I’ve been focusing a lot on the details of what a society of superpowered humans living among us would look like.

Such as, what happens when superheroes and supervillains cause untold amounts of property destruction? Who’s gonna pay for that? Why don’t superheroes have insurance?

Guys... why don’t superheroes have insurance? I mean, I definitely don’t plan to actually write a plot point around fucking superhero insurance, because that would be boring as all fucking hell, but it always bothers me in movies and comics, and TV shows, and cartoons that none of the gratuitous destruction is addressed or lampshaded at the very least. Beyond, you know, “people are ANGRY.” And then skipping over the rest.

And if your superhuman/human intermingled society is based on a premise that actual, real life superheroes and villains have been around for at least three generations, why wouldn’t those problems be addressed? And with those problems getting addressed, namely through regulation and government control, what happens when enough time passes that bureaucracy and corruption sets in? Political overreach and consolidation of power? In short, what happens when the ‘good guys’ get so used to the way things are, they start freaking out at all the ‘unregistered’ superhumans suddenly fighting them during what had been a run of the mill gas station robbery into something much more dangerous? What happens when moral panic, an overdeveloped sense of ‘us vs them’ sets in and what had once seemed reasonable, turns into people getting their basic rights stepped all over and trampled in the name of ‘safety.’

I’ve had a lot of time to try and figure out how the world I wanted to set my characters in would work. Largely based on my own life. The MC and her family are based on my family in the sense of structure. Three girls with parents. But, I decided for my own mental well being not to base her parents on my own too closely. God, that would be a little too much for me to deal with. I might make the love interest deal with my familial issues, I’m thinking on it. At any rate, I do want to base MC’s family issues on something I do, even still, have to deal with. And that’s namely an issue with radicalization, ‘us vs them,’ and an echo chamber affect. The point of the story is not to point out that ‘all regulation is bad and should be avoided.’ This aint no Ann Rand bullshit.

No, I’ve wanted to write a story for the longest time about a few things. One: a lesbian teenager that isn’t a story based entirely on romance, period pieces, the supernatural, or urban fantasy. Not to say that those genres are lesser or bad, they aren’t, but they’re a bit of a dime a dozen now, aren’t they? I know from trying to find shit to read myself that you get a little tired of the same damn thing. And if you can’t find something you want to read, why not write it yourself?

Two: I wanted to write a story about a healthy family dynamic. Mostly because I had a very unhealthy home life. Writing this is cathartic, and reveling in my own personal issues in the guise of ‘inspiration’ just kind of makes me ill thinking about it. More recently, I’ve been pushed to focus on this even more from hanging out in a variety of fandoms. Jesus, dude, there are a ton of LGBT kids with problematic home lives, which I suppose isn’t a surprise, but where I see an issue is that many of these kids end up glorifying the abuse in their own writing. Parents have no nuance to them in their stories, they’re either saints or horrific people who should get taken out and shot behind a shed. There is no in between, and it makes me wonder if the kids in our community knows what it looks like for their families to be human. To be good people, who make mistakes, but ultimately rise above them to create mature, lifelong relationships with one another. I don’t know what it’s like personally, but I sure will hell attempt to write it. If only to hope that such normalcy is actually out there for those of us unlucky enough not to grow up with it. We can rise above it, though. Hope that we don’t make the same mistakes our families made.

Three: We live in a world that’s far too swept up in being ‘right’ that we don’t make the time to figure out if what we are trying to do, on whatever side of the fence we live on, isn’t hurting someone else. And, if by some miracle some are aware of what they are doing, it’s become evident that they don’t care. No one wants to listen to one another anymore. I experience this in my own family. My mom’s convinced that I’m brainwashed by the liberal media. And this attitude is evident all over the place. Fox refers to the ‘liberal media’ like it’s a disease. And that polarizing idea is spread to people like my grandparents who refer to it in the same way. And I’m certain this is happening on the other side. How do we fix problems, or make progress, if we’re too caught up in trying to lambast the other side as ‘evil assholes intent on destroying EVERYTHING.’

That is to say that it’s not as if there aren’t people who are flat out right about certain issues. Such as basic civil rights for everyone. I’m not trying to paint the entire world in shades of gray. What I’d like to get at in this story is that certain topics, like superhuman regulation (you know... some of these folks are capable of mass destruction and murder), can be polarized from paranoia and fear. Suddenly, it isn’t just a matter of keeping these folks on a list and learning what powers they have and what they are capable of. Getting them on insurance to cover property destruction, or healthcare so that some of them don’t completely snap under mental illness if they so happen to develop it, and go on a rampage across their cities. It’s now trying to figure out what they can do for everyone else. ‘Hey, this guy has the strength of ten men. Why isn’t he doing more to help us all out?’ And now regulation has turned into conscription.

Basically, superpowers are a giant metaphor for gun control and how dumb everyone is getting about. Over regulation, under regulation. ‘Muh 2nd Amendment.’ ‘Protect the children.’ Sanity and compromise is no longer a part of the argument in many circles.

Superheroes in ‘The Guild’ are akin to the over-militarization of the police.

Unregistered superhumans are resented about as much as illegal immigrants and feared as much as terrorists.

And the entire concept of registering as a superhuman is turning into an increasingly gigantic privacy issue

Different ways corporate interests could help or hinder different superhuman issues. Like I said, this isn’t Ann Rand. Private Sector vs Government Programs are something I see argued about all the time in my family. They like to pretend the private sector has the answer for everything. ‘Unregulate everything and leave it to the free market!’ But that leads to just as many issues as government overreach, doesn’t it? It’s a problem we’ve seen play out during the Industrial Revolution, wasn’t it?

And you wouldn’t be able to control a bunch of superhuman people like you would ordinary folks. Beyond hiding that they have superpowers, what’s to stop them from grouping up, forming insular societies, and just taking over entire neighborhoods or districts? They have superpowers, the Guild has superpowers, but there isn’t a massive arms difference between the two like in real life, modern times we see between regular people and our military. What would be the pros and cons to an anarchist society of people who would be able to defend themselves from virtually anything in enough numbers?

Well, this is getting really long. Also, writing this out tells me I have a lot more worked out than I thought I did. I’ve got more stuff that I’ve thought about. Society wise as well as character arcs. Can’t change all this polarization without doing it on a personal level, right?

[mst3kproject]

Invaders from Space

Apparently 'Earth is saved from incompetent alien invaders by an unattractive bachelor in a stupid superhero costume' was a genre in 60's Japan.  There was Prince of Space, Invasion of the Neptune Men... and here is Invaders from Space, which differs from the other two mostly in that the aliens have different costumes.

So who's menacing the world this week?  Turns out it's the evil Salamander Men of the Planet Kulimon.  Earth is clearly no match for that, so the Emerald Men (whose planet is stated to be two billion miles from us – significantly closer than Pluto) send Star Man and his nifty translator-wristwatch to deal with the situation.  What follows is... episodic, to say the least.  Like Time of the Apes or Mighty Jack, it's been patched together from multiple installments of a series.

In my first draft of this review, I tried to describe the whole plot blow-by-blow in order to emphasize the strangeness and choppy feel of it.  That quickly got way too long, though, so I'll summarize: the Salamander Men attack the Earth with a variety of super-weapons, including a deadly disease, a sound so annoying it melts brains, and a magic wand that changes the Earth's orbit.  Human scientists work very hard to find solutions to these problems, while Star Man just goes around having badly-choreographed pretend fights with whatever nests of Salamanders he can find.

Believe me, that doesn't begin to capture this movie.  Invaders from Space exists on a Robot Monster-like level of illogical storytelling.  The Salamander Men make Phantom of Krankor look like a tactical genius and the Buttplug-Headed Neptunians look well-organized.  We have no idea why they want to invade the Earth, besides a one-off reference to it being 'the richest planet in the universe' – what does that even mean?  Their bio-weapon is a disease spread by dancing.  Their bases on Earth are a giant egg at the bottom of the ocean and a 'castle' that looks like a geegaw you'd buy at a cheap ripoff of Disney's Enchanted Tiki Hut. They hypnotize people by breathing fire at them and escape fight scenes by jumping into the water and exploding.  What am I supposed to say about that?

Star Man himself doesn't make any more sense.  He's a slightly paunchy early-middle-aged guy with panty lines and his nipples visible right through his costume.  His 'ability to disguise himself as an Earthling' is supposedly supernatural but seems to just consist of him putting on a suit and tie.  He's got an antenna on his head that recieves signals from a crystal ball.  All the fight scenes between him and the Salamander men alternate between looking like a circus act or like a couple of broke cosplayers who can't agree on whether Joel or Mike was the best host... when they're not just circling each other as if they're about to tango.

The entire film has a 'then this happened... and then this happened...' kind of feeling to it, as if it's about a series of events that aren't necessarily connected to each other.  Nothing ever seems to escalate, and plot points like the alien disease and a salamander scale some kids find in their house are just forgotten about and never dealt with again.  One kid hallucinates a thunderstorm and this is never explained.  All this makes the movie feel much longer than the seventy-five minutes it actually is, because there's no sense of it going anywhere.  When Star Man punches out Orlando the Super-Salamander underwater and makes him explode (look, I know that sounds like something that would happen in Spongebob Squarepants but I swear to you, it's in this movie) it feels like that ought to be the end, but then we have the attack on the Tiki Geegaw and the movie goes on for another several minutes.

One possible reason for some of these narrative problems is that Invaders from Space is really two episodes of the Super Giants series of short films.  A total of nine minutes was left on the cutting room floor, which may have contained something important, and yet I have a hard time imagining what it could be. After all, if the 'alien disease' plot got a proper ending, why would they cut that while leaving the bizarre dance numbers?  Same with the lost salamander scale... but that plot point is so much smaller than the disease one that I can't imagine why they left it in if it didn't get an ending.  Maybe it had something to do with convincing the scientists that they're facing an alien invasion, which is only a theory in the first part of the movie and then becomes an accepted fact in the second.

What's that you say?  Your brain is stuck on 'dance numbers'?  Yeah, there are a couple of those.  One is some weird tribal thing with fire sticks that the Salamander Men do around three captured children, for no apparent reason besides to terrify them.  The other is the dance show they putting on as a way of spreading their disease, which looks like something a bunch of undergraduate performing arts majors put together and thought was deep and meaningful.  The scientists conclude that dancers with such superhuman agility can only be space creatures, but the actual performance isn't anything special.  There isn't even any wirework to substitute for special.

The hooks where the wires attach to Star Man's back and ass in the flying scenes are clearly visible, by the way.

That brings us to the shoddy and ridiculous costuming.  Star Man's outfit looks like he made it in his basement.  The Salamander Men are more elaborate, with lots of scales and antennae and big lenses over their eyes, but still silly and made of fabric that could have come from the Japanese equivalent of Joann's.  Parts of them have glitter on them.  There were at least a dozen full costumes made for things like the big fights and the scenes in the Salamander Council Chamber, but at times that was still not enough and they had to fall back on the Attack of the The Eye Creatures technique of wearing just the head with a black bodysuit. Shockingly, they had even less shame about this, too – the head-only The Eye Creatures at least stayed behind the bushes, but the head-only Salamander Men are right out in the open.

One thing I can say about Invaders from Space is that the children in it aren't too annoying.  They actually go to the adults when necessary instead of trying to do everything themselves, and they aren't automatically experts on the goings-on like they would be in a Gamera movie.  There's even a pretty awesome bit where one of the kids, having been told that throwing the crystal ball on the ground will summon Star Man, decides to get extra milage out of it by throwing it on the ground via a Salamander Man's teeth.

So the movie is terrible, but like Prince of Space or Robot Monster it's just plain weird enough to be kind of mesmerizing.  There are bits that are insufferably boring, but other parts are laugh-out-loud funny.  There were multiple moments when I thought I'd found the perfect stinger for the end of the hypothetical MST3K episode, only to have it topped a few minutes later.  My current choice would be the part where the Salamander Men summon their greatest scientist to stop the Earth's rotation by waving their arms and chanting what sounds like, “Orlando, Come!” but that'll probably change the next time I watch the movie.  I mean, there's also that amazing bit where one of them sighs and says, in a disappointed voice, “I thought we were indestructible... but we're not.”

I'm not sure if there's any actual analysis that can be done on this movie.  If Invaders from Space has anything to say, it's buried too deep in the weird shit for me to tease it out.  One thing I did learn from looking the film up on Wikipedia is that Star Man's Japanese name is Super Giants, which is weird because there's only one of him and he appears to be no more than slightly tallish. Also, the Salamander Men are called Kapia-Seijin, or Kappa-People.  A 'kappa' is a Japanese water monster, said to be scaly with large eyes and webbed feet, that lives in swamps and lures people in to drown.  I can certainly see the resemblance between that and the Salamander Men, and possibly some of the stranger things they do originate in odd bits of kappa mythology.

(Speaking of odd bits of kappa mythology, the Wikipedia page for the creature includes a Japanese woodcut that appears to show an old man driving kappa away by farting at them.  I'm glad that wasn't in the movie.)

I suppose one thing we can get from this movie is that while the Emerald Men and Star Man may be our super-powered protectors, even they couldn't save the Earth alone.  The final blow was delivered by the humans, after we discovered that Salamander Men melt when exposed to copper sulfate (I choose to believe that the puddles left behind afterwards are bright blue).  The aliens, like the gods, help those who help themselves.

In the final analysis I'm not sure whether I'd recommend this one or not.  I still haven't made up my mind if I like it or not, never mind whether anybody else will.  It's not enjoyable in the way true bad movie classics like Space Mutiny and Starcrash are, where you just laugh your way through the whole thing.  At the same time, it's definitely not Monster A-Go-Go unwatchably dull, either.  If you like weird Japanese movies, you'll probably want to take a look at it – if you don't, avoid it like the dancing Salamander plague.

[lodelss]

Dear Reader,

I’ve been trying to think of what books this corona moment reminds me of. I don’t know why — uh, I guess I instinctively try to relate most things that happen in my real life to my reading life? What’s unsettling though is that — and this is something I’ve seen others saying already — this moment doesn’t really remind me of anything I’ve ever read. I started reading David K. Randall’s Black Death at the Golden Gate — a book about how a bubonic plague epidemic threatened to sweep through America in 1900 — a few months ago, but I didn’t get very far into it, and then I put my copy in a holiday gift box for my mom in Ohio. She read it last week while she was sick in bed with pneumonia. I don’t know what kind of pneumonia. (She didn’t get tested for flu; too expensive.) I don’t know if it was corona. I don’t even know how to know. There are, as you have heard, no tests.

And that’s what makes this coronavirus moment different from the little bit of Black Death at the Golden Gate that I read, and from the portions my mom described over the phone while she coughed and coughed and coughed. In that book, some American government officials and scientists heroically stop the plague from spreading. Which means the story being told in that book is more like the one in Singapore or South Korea today: the triumph of science.

So what’s the story here? What does the failure of science feel like? I listened to the latest TrueAnon podcast while I made dinner last night, and, as I recall, Liz Franczak described a sort of sensation she’s been having (out there in San Francisco) that there are visible particles of fear floating in the air. My boyfriend has reported something similar every time he’s come home from work for the past three days, after his 45 minute trek across Brooklyn — there’s something wrong out there, it looks weird. There’s something wrong with the air. (He works retail. There has been something wrong with his air.)

I have not been outside in over a week. I don’t know what it is he’s describing. (But whatever it is, there is a very good chance he has brought it in here with him. In his air.)

I thought of and dismissed a few other books that this moment might be like. For awhile — a few days ago? — coronavirus was a looming, impending crisis that I knew would lead to ruin and death, but which many people around me seemed oblivious to. That brought to mind books written in Germany in the 1930s, like Hans Fallada’s Little Man, What Now? or Christopher Isherwood’s Goodbye to Berlin — books in which many people seem oblivious of society’s imminent doom, even the authors themselves, no matter how canny they try to be. I also thought of Anna Kavan’s Ice — a book I’d previously associated with climate change — in which a natural or perhaps supernatural force, a malignant and almost sentient ice, is engulfing the world, and no one is able to stop it.

But the thing is, someone could have stopped coronavirus. A lot of someones, up and down the various chains of command and control. They just … didn’t. And no one is oblivious to it anymore. We all know about it now. We’re all just sitting around, waiting to find out if we have it.

Honestly, the book I’ve been dwelling on the most these days is Mario Bellatin’s The Beauty Salon. It is a book about AIDS. It is a slight and brutal novella about a beauty salon in which gay men are dying of AIDS because hospitals will not take them in. It is a very grim book. I think it comes to mind so much mostly because I am cowardly, and I fear the overcrowded sick room: I fear being one among many stranded in beds lining hospital hallways or neglected in quickly converted conference halls or gymnasiums. I am childishly afraid of dying in the Javits Center.

But perhaps there is also a thread of connection here beyond my overwhelming cowardice. Covid-19 could very well be one of the few emergent diseases of the 20th or 21st centuries to become endemic, like HIV. People in cities across the country are sheltering in place, waiting to see if they are infected, because our country, unique among countries, does not have the tests to ease our minds. Failures of science like this are more frightening than just the diseases they fail to cure. Like with the malicious mishandling of the HIV epidemic, we know it is people, not gods, who have caused this thing. We look out our windows and we can see there’s something wrong in the air, something wrong in the world, besides the virus. 

  1. “Lawrence Wright’s New Pandemic Novel Wasn’t Supposed To Be Prophetic” by Lawrence Wright, The New York Times

This is the second time Lawrence Wright has done this.

2. “I’m Not Feeling Good at All” by Jess Bergman, The Baffler

Jess Bergman notices an emergent new genre and criticizes its implications. “With this literature of relentless detachment, we seem to have arrived at the inverse of what James Wood famously called ‘hysterical realism’ … Rather than an excess of intimacy, there is a lack; rather than overly ornamental character sketches, there are half-finished ones. Personality languishes, and desire has been almost completely erased…”

3. “Escaping Blackness” by Darryl Pinckney, The New York Review of Books

In a review of Thomas Chatterton Williams’ latest memoir, Darryl Pinckney surveys the history and literature of resisting and ‘transcending’ race. “Even when you’re done with being black and blackness, it seems that you cannot cease explaining why.”

4. “I called out American Dirt’s racism. I won’t be silenced.” by Myriam Gurba, Vox

Less than a month after Myriam Gurba wrote the essay that triggered a wave of well-deserved backlash against American Dirt, she was put on administrative leave at the high school where she teaches.

5. “Frequently Asked Questions About Your Craniotomy” by Mary South, The White Review

Mary South’s short story collection You Will Never Be Forgotten published this past week. One story from the collection, excerpted in The White Review earlier this year, is told in the style of a brain surgeon’s FAQ for patients.

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6. “Heroic Work in a Very Important Field” by David Gelber, The Literary Review

A book review of a book about book reviews. “Uncertain why you are reading this? Good, because I’m not any more certain why I’m writing it.”

7. “How Shakespeare Shaped America’s Culture Wars” Sarah Churchwell, The New Statesman

A review of Shakespeare in a Divided America, James Shapiro’s account of the uses and abuses of Shakespeare in American political history.

8. “‘Minor Feelings’ and the Possibilities of Asian-American Identity” by Jia Tolentino, The New Yorker

Jia Tolentino on Cathy Park Hong’s essay collection Minor Feelings: An Asian American Reckoning. “Hong is writing in agonized pursuit of a liberation that doesn’t look white—a new sound, a new affect, a new consciousness—and the result feels like what she was waiting for.”

9. “What Happened to Jordan Peterson?” by Lindsay Beyerstein, The New Republic

The self-important self-help guru seems to have suffered a severe health episode and his daughter has made some very peculiar statements about what happened.

10. “Pigs in Shit” by Hunter Braithwaite, Guernica

Hunter Braithwaite reviews Jean-Baptiste Del Amo’s Animalia, a disturbing multi-generational pig-farming novel. “Animalia will come as no surprise. It does not speculate. It doesn’t offer warnings. Which is fine, because if climate change has taught us anything, it’s that warning signs don’t mean shit.”

11. “Woody Allen’s Book Could Signal a New Era in the Publishing Industry” by Maris Kreizman, The Outline

Hachette employees staged a walk-out to protest the house publishing Woody Allen’s memoir. Surprisingly, it worked.

12. “What’s So Funny About the End of the World?” by Rumaan Alam, The New Republic

Rumaan Alam writes about Deb Olin Unferth’s Barn 8, another recent novel that revels in its disgust for industrial farming (this time chickens, not pigs) and views its violent practitioners as a doomed species. As Alam notes, “We might be sad about the end of humanity, but the chickens are probably relieved.”

  Happy reading! Stay inside if you can!

Dana Snitzky Books Editor @danasnitzky Sign up here

[sciencespies]

Amid Pandemic, Artists Invoke Japanese Spirit Said to Protect Against Disease

https://sciencespies.com/news/amid-pandemic-artists-invoke-japanese-spirit-said-to-protect-against-disease/

Amid Pandemic, Artists Invoke Japanese Spirit Said to Protect Against Disease

A long-haired merperson with three scaly tails and a beak might not seem like someone you’d want in your corner, but there’s a good reason this mythological creature is gaining traction online.

The character, known as Amabie, is one of the yōkai—a class of spirits first popularized in Japanese folklore during the Edo period. According to legend, seeing and distributing Amabie’s image can keep infectious disease away. It stands to reason, then, that artists around the world are now sharing their interpretations of the classic creature on social media.

Artist Shigeru Mizuki, who died in 2015, was a master of the yōkai genre. Last week, the group in charge of his work contributed a depiction of Amabie to the growing Twitter trend; a museum dedicated to Mizuki’s work has also received an unusual number of requests about the spirit amid the novel coronavirus pandemic.

“It’s so surprising that we’re getting feedback from not just young people but also the elderly,” Yukio Shoji, the museum’s director, tells the Mainichi Shimbun. “It may have to do with its shiny, sparkly looks.”

Other illustrators have given the traditional spirit new life, too, sharing its image as sculptures, latte art and costumes, among other creative offerings. One artist created Amabie keychains that sold out among local businesses experiencing a decline in customers due to COVID-19, according to the Asashi Shimbun.

「アマビエ」です。水木しげるの原画を撮影しました。

江戸時代、熊本の海に現れ「疫病が流行ったら私の写し絵を早々に人々に見せよ」と言って海中に姿を消した妖怪、というより神に近い…もの。 現代の疫病が消えますように。 pic.twitter.com/0P7HfyRe8h

— 水木プロダクション (@mizukipro) March 17, 2020

The movement reflects “a similar mindset to that held by people in the Edo era,” Chief Librarian Satoshi Nagano of the Fukui Prefectural Archives tells Japanese news agency Jiji Press.

Spanning the 17th through 19th centuries, the Edo period marked the final era of traditional Japan, when the nation was ruled by a military dictatorship called the shogunate.

The shogunate restricted mass publishing for the public, but news of major events and natural disasters, as well as supernatural stories, still managed to spread through illicit one-page prints called kawaraban. Yōkai sightings first entered folklore during this period and have been a mainstay of Japanese popular culture ever since. Some of the more well-known yōkai include Kappa, a tricky turtle-like water spirit, and Oni, a horned troll. These spirits frequently feature in Japanese television shows and video games.

Amabie, first documented in kawaraban, is a more benevolent spirit. According to popular lore, the creature appeared off the coast of southwestern Japan and predicted the future to a passerby. Six years of good harvest were on the way, Amabie said, but a plague was coming, too. The spirit instructed the passerby to share drawings of it to keep the disease at bay, and thus the image of Amabie spread.

“It’s likely that [the trend] was a reaction to the sudden disruption of the daily routine,” Matthew Meyer, an artist and yōkai expert, tells Atlas Obscura’s Claire Voon in an email. “These yokai appeared during the period when Japan’s isolationist policy was forcefully ended by U.S. warships. While the increase in trade brought lots of ideas and inventions to Japan, it also brought brand new diseases, such as cholera.”

【江戸時代・肥後国にて、海からアマビエと名乗る妖怪が現れ、「もし疫病が流行することがあれば、私の姿を描いた絵を人々に早々に見せよ」と告げて海へ帰って行った】 元気なアマビエさんたちを描いて感染症の収束を祈願します。#アマビエ pic.twitter.com/BTAN2YjZdA

— asaha (@vpandav) March 11, 2020

Amabie may be a local variation of a similar creature named Amabiko, which also predicts good harvests followed by periods of disaster. But other depictions of Amabiko show a three-legged monkey rather than a beaked fish-person.

“In accounts of Amabiko, it is sometimes said that the image itself can ward off the epidemic,” says Jack Stoneman, an expert on Asian and near Eastern languages at Brigham Young University, to Atlas Obscura. “This is not unusual in Japanese cultural history—images as talismans.”

Amabie began appearing on social media en masse when Japan announced school closures. With the postponement of the 2020 Summer Olympics, feelings of disruption and uncertainty continue.

“I drew this Amabie with the intention to remind others to stay calm and never lose hope at times when we feel like giving up,” writes Ceruzen Lee, an artist from the Philippines who shared an illustration of Amabie online, in an email to Atlas Obscura. “It was truly inspiring to find out that many other artists still remain optimistic despite the events in our world today.”

#News