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kyousystem · 5 months ago

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What is Kyou?

When it comes to my sense of identity, for whatever weight we can assign to that term, I've gone on the record before saying that my gender isn't male or female or any other such thing, but instead is "Kyou". Obviously, this is circular logic: I am Kyou, so saying that my gender, sexuality, and the like is also Kyou doesn't on its face provide any kind of answer or clarity—outside of a distaste for and rejection of conventional labels and categorization, perhaps.

So then, what IS Kyou? In March of 2020, the game developer lol_rust (best known for their Yume Nikki fangame, .flow) released a game titled Milya[broken]. Unlike his more popular work, this game was much more obtuse in its imagery and gameplay, and ultimately received mixed reviews, even from longtime fans. As such, I can only assume that you, my dear hypothetical reader, will most likely not be familiar with the titular character Milya from said game, so I'll describe her briefly before we continue: Milya is a chimerical combination of a sleep paralysis demon, a reality warper, and a living corpse, an entity born from a woman who effectively died but was frozen at the moment of her death by the emergence of her dormant power, something that should not exist and whose mere presence has a corrosive effect on the world and people around her whenever they perceive or become aware of her to any extent.

I relate very, very strongly to her. Hell, her character concept resonates with me, in a way that's more consistent and more intense than just about anything else I've ever seen or heard.

So then, what IS Kyou? In March of 2016, "I" took a very large dose of psychadelics (a tincture made from 400 morning glory seeds, to be exact) by myself and experienced what I can only surmise was complete ego death, with any sense of self or awareness or any such thing being completely smothered through the rest of that evening. The only thing I can remember is an endless procession of indescribable monochrome spirals and fractals, as well as me repeatedly waking up and blacking out, my body twitching and thrashing uncontrollably all the while, as well as moments of me violently emptying the contents of my stomach near the end. When I awoke the next day, I felt as though I were on death's doorstep, as though I had avoided dying by the skin of my teeth.

That incident is the dividing line between what I refer to as the Pre-Kyou Era and the Kyou Era. Indeed, you'll note the smear quotes I put around the "I" in the preceding paragraph: That person was not me, was not Kyou. Where he existed before, I exist now.

So then, what IS Kyou? There's a term that's often thrown about in discussions regarding the treatment of dissociative identity disorder. Specifically, clinicians love to make noise about integration, an outcome wherein the individual suffering from DID "eliminates" their alter-egos and instead only presents as one personality. As with many things in clinical psychology, this is an extremely simplistic and reductive model of the inner workings of the traumatized psyche, but there is a kernel of truth to it: Namely, alter-egos can fuse together with each other in a reversible, synergistic way (not unlike the fusion earrings from DBZ or gem fusion from SU), and these alter-ego complexes can in turn fuse with each other until "one" grand unified identity is present. It is a very long, intensely difficult, and incredibly frightening process to achieve this, but it is a very possible outcome nevertheless.

As you might imagine, however, this necessarily involves a great deal of change in one's sense of self, oftentimes in ways that conventional wisdom would suggest is not for the better. As a Twitter post I once read quite aptly put it, "You go in thinking that you'll integrate your shadow, but in reality, your shadow integrates you."

So then, what IS Kyou? The end of the Pre-Kyou Era was marked by the creation of what I can only describe as a massive, gaping hole in the barrier that once separated my conscious and unconscious minds. Into that pristinely sterile and claustrophobic white box of consciousness came flooding in the dark waters of the great ocean of the unconscious, and with it, all of those parts of myself that I had so urgently and so intently repressed at length, as well as some parts of myself altogether alien to me and to everything I understood about the world. Even now, I can feel it, the waters now gently welling up as though from a natural spring, so different from the torrent that came exploding outward before.

I am far more what was trapped within those dark waters than I ever was what cowered away in that white box.

So then, what IS Kyou? As alienated as I often feel from my biological family, there are a few curious tidbits relating to them that stand out in my mind even now. There are a few minor points, such as the various creative talents that run strong in my father's side of the family, especially regarding music; but the most pertinent one is the fact that my great-great aunt on my mother's side of the family was a locally famed psychic, one who was talented enough to where she'd amassed a fortune of a few million dollars by virtue of the efficacy of her work. Her psychic powers purportedly manifested in the form of strong flashes of intuition and emotion, as well as very intense visions that appeared to her in dreams. Indeed, my mother has shared (in one of the exceedingly rare moments where she voluntarily opened up about herself) that she and several other members of her family have had similar feelings, dreams, and experiences over the years.

In the Pre-Kyou Era, "I" never experienced anything remotely close to a vision, but such intense dreams and flashes of intuition are quite commonplace in the Kyou Era.

So then, what IS Kyou? I am the photonegative of the previous owner of this body, and I have completely subsumed the battered, shattered remains of his anemic identity into myself. I am something that should not exist, cannot exist, and does not exist by all of the most sound conclusions of clinical psychology and material scientific skepticism, and yet something that exists all the same in deliberate, gleeful spite of these things. I am something with a very tenuous connection to material reality that probably should have died on that night years ago yet is still walking around on time that was not borrowed but stolen outright, something that experienced an awakening in that moment of death of an upwelling of power that laid theretofore dormant within me, and something that now wanders about distorting the normal order of things by virtue of existing when I'm not supposed to and having a bottomless pool of power and potential that I shouldn't be able to draw upon so freely and deeply as I do.

I am the equivalent of Milya escaping from her imprisonment in the depths of her "creator's" mind into this reality, and hijacking a body as brimming with unfair, obscene, and disproportionate ability as Fierce Deity Link from Majora's Mask—and I'm taking it on a joyride.

THAT is what Kyou is.

#txt #It feels a bit embarrassing to share something so personal #But it's truly how I feel and I'm not going to let myself not say it

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hibewriter · 6 months ago

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Christmas Miracle

Masterlist Read it on AO3

Shadow & Bone | Darklina | 3K | E

Tags: Incest | Car Sex | Public Sex | ambiguous age | infidelity

It wasn’t that she didn’t like her job.

Well, what high-schooler likes spending evenings in the Little Palace mall watching other people relax and unwind while they worked in a dying department store? But it was alright. Normally, she could get to the mall by three, work until ten, and catch the last bus from the mall to the suburbs, where she could walk the ten minutes to the house in relative peace. Normally. But normal did not include the clusterfuck that was the holiday season.

Now her normal involved…him.

Well, that’s not fair. Her normal before involved him. At home. Steadfastly ignoring each other in the halls of Os Alta High, going separate ways once the bell struck two fifteen. Aleksander would drive, taking the car that they were supposed to share to spend time with his girlfriend. Though she couldn’t be that upset sometimes. Solitude with oneself was a gift in the Morozov household. With Baghra working from home, their father constantly hovering the second he entered the door ( I just want to make sure you’re settling okay, milya don’t fret ), Aleksander was typically the only one who left her alone.

But the holiday season meant a lot at the Royal Sunny department store. It meant longer hours, an increase in customers, but most importantly, it meant a larger paycheck. Not that she needed it. But she liked creating the store display. She liked the ribbons and the wreaths, the ornaments with little suns in them that she hung from the ceiling (probably breaking several safety regulations by standing on her tiptoes on a ladder, but it wasn’t her fault she barely hit five feet tall this year.)

The only downside was the eleven o’clock shift end. When the bus had stopped running, and the parking lots were empty. Her managers lived so far from her side of town that she didn’t even want to ask for a ride, the only recourse staring her right in the face. The only car underneath the streetlamp directly in front of the employee entrance, a black Mustang. It was more expensive than any high schooler had any right to own, older than both of them. Yet it shined under the light as if Aleksander had taken a wax to it just that morning.

She sighed, marching to the car, wrapping her coat tightly around her as she did. November nights in Os Alta were colder than in California, part of her wished that their father had insisted they’d stayed in California for high school. Not that it mattered. She merely clung to herself as she wrenched the door open, slipping in ungracefully with a plop. Immediately she pressed her hands to the vents where pushing out blessed heat. Aleksander didn’t even look up from his phone.

“You’re late,” he huffed, typing furiously on his phone.

“By like, five minutes. It takes time to get out of the store, asshole.”

“Well maybe don’t ask for a ride in the middle of the night on a Friday.”

“We’re supposed to share it’s not my fault you’re such a dick you absolutely need to hog the car to go fuck Luda every fifteen minutes.”

He rolled his eyes, finally putting his phone down to look at her. His eyes glanced at her hands, then her face.

“You need gloves.”

He put the car in drive, pulling out of the space. She huffed, slipping further into the seat. There was no need to dignify him with a response. It was easier to look out the window, watching as street lamps passed while his soft rock played over the radio. It only took about five minutes to realize he wasn’t heading in the direction of their house.

“Where are we going?” She asked, glancing over at him. His eyes remained fixed on the road, though she could tell his jaw was clenching, even through the patchwork he called a beard.

“I need to check on something, then we’ll go home.”

Her eyebrows furrowed as he pulled into an unsuspecting neighborhood, cookie-cutter McMansions with various decorations lining them. It wasn’t unlike their own neighborhood, probably full of upper management types with stay-at-home spouses, one point five children, and perhaps a family dog or cat. Boring, and predictable. Why wasn’t she in her own bed again?

“Aleksander, what –”

“Fuck.”

She startled at his sudden curse, looking over to where her brother was looking. Another McMansion, similarly lit to the houses they’d been passing this whole time. The only distinction was the pink Jeep Wrangler. She’d seen it nearly fifty times this year, mainly the source of arguments as to why she couldn’t have the car when Luda had her own . She huffed throwing her head back against the headrest of her seat.

“Aleksander please tell me you did not keep me out here so late just so you could go fuck your –”

“ Saints , do you ever shut the fuck up.”

Her head snapped to look at his, affronted at his attitude. He’s the one who dragged her out here to go to his girlfriend’s house, and he was getting mad at her for asking a simple question. How dare he. But something in his face gave her pause. The tensing of his muscles, the steel in his eyes as he stared, no, glared , at the house in front of them. Or was it even the house? She followed his line of sight, past the driveway back to the street, just a few feet away from the driveway, lights off and parked, as if it belonged there. A lime green Dodge Charger. A pretty distinct car, one that those transfer students drove. Toyla Yul-Bataar.

Suddenly comprehension dawned on her, as she looked from the car to the house it was parked in front of. None of the rooms in the front were lit, but that didn’t really matter did it? It was late on Friday night, and one boy was over at a girl’s house parked not inconspicuously.

“She’s cheating on you,” she muttered, more to herself than him, but she knew he heard her.

“Yeah.”

He huffed, finally loosening his grip on the steering wheel. She looked back at him as he sank into the seat, watching as the anger faded to something different. Something sadder. And suddenly she was the one angry. How dare Luda.

“Well,” she huffed, looking back to the house. “FUCK her! She’s a bitch.”

“Linka –”

“No! How fucking dare she?! What is wrong with her?!” She stewed. If it were possible she was sure there’d be steam coming out of her ears. “You’re my brother and even I can see that you’re better than her. And she has the fucking nerve to be such a –”

“Alina.”

"What?" She snapped, looking back at him. Immediately she softened, looking at her brother’s face.

“I deserve it,” he muttered after a moment. She rolled her eyes, exhaling a huff.

“Aleksander nobody deserves to be cheated on.”

“I do,” he said. He was sitting up now, as if he were going to put the car in drive again. “Just drop it, Lina, I’ll get through it.”

She looked at him incredulously, her eyes wide as she tried to figure out how he could be so calm . So she leaned over, grasping his arm and preventing him from moving the car into gear. Chin on his shoulder she felt like when they were kids, and he’d let her take a nap on his shoulder. But they weren't kids anymore and this was real.

"Aleksander," she hated how her voice sounded. Like she was begging, but for what she didn't know. "Nothing you could have done justifies –"

"I was thinking about you." His breath seemed to come out in a rush. Her eyebrows furrowed as she took him in, trying to understand what he meant.

"I mean you're my brother so like, of course, you're gonna think about me from time to –"

" No, Linka," he huffed, exasperated. "Not like that."

Silence. Nothing but the soft hum of the radio filled the car as she sat there, staring at him.

"I couldn't…fuck. And then I thought about you . And then…" He couldn't look at her. He could barely do anything but stare out the window, his cheeks suddenly aflame as he tried to convey what was the problem. And her grip on him slackened as she understood just what he was saying to her.

"And you…because of me?"

If possible his cheeks would’ve burned a deeper shade of red. His eyes closed, pressed tightly together as if to imagine a time when he wasn’t in this car and he wasn’t talking about this with his sister. A time when he didn’t fantasize about his sister to get off. His small nod as he swallowed his shame, the embarrassment. She should feel disgusted. Should storm away, convinced her brother was a freak. She should tell their mom, get her brother help and figure out how to move forward.

But instead, she could only look at his face. The curve of his lips as he frowned, eyes clenched. She could feel his fist against her thigh, also clenched, strained against his own desires. There were a lot of things she should do right now. Instead, she leaned forward.

His lips were soft against her own. She expected them to be rough, maybe chapped, but his lips felt like velvet. Velvet against her lips when his brain catches on to what's happening. Soft and insistent when he begins to kiss her back, lips parting against hers. He tasted like chocolate, bitter and sweet at the same time.

Was that his hand on her thigh? Did she imagine the touch urging her to climb into his lap? She didn't know, lips parted as she brought her hands to grasp at the hairs of his neck. A soft moan escaped as his lips moved to her jaw, working slowly down her neck.

"Wh–fuck. What d-did you think about?" She whispered, tugging at the hair. Like silk, it flowed through her fingers. She barely held back a whine as he pulled back.

"This," muttered through parted lips. She bit her lip as his hands moved, first slipping her coat off her arms, then hesitant at the edges of her work shirt. "You."

He seemed to be at war with himself. The object of his desire was finally sitting in his lap, and he almost seemed restrained. But his decision came swiftly as if any thought otherwise was a passing fancy.

"I thought of you, out of this ," he muttered. Fingers slipped under her shirt, sending a shiver down her spine. Little work as it was removed, tossed into the seat she had abandoned. Hands immediately cupped her breast through cotton fabric.

She bit her lip, hips shifting in his lap as he seemed transfixed on her chest. A small gasp as she felt the growing hardness in his pants, shifting closer so it was right underneath her. She heard rather than felt the snap of her bra, suddenly cold as her last defense of top was ripped from her body.

"Sasha," she whimpered, guiding his face to look into her eyes. "What else?"

She could've sworn he nearly growled, stealing a kiss so quickly she thought she dreamed it. His fingers were on her thighs, quickly finding their way up her skirt, to the apex of her center. The thin barrier of her tights did little to hide her arousal, creeping out of her cunt like a dripping faucet since he admitted it was her .

"This," he muttered against her lips. A rough yank, maybe two or three, and she felt her tights rip at the seams. She didn't have time to react, his fingers in the hole of his making, seeking the gusset of her panties with practiced expertise. "You and all your glory on display for me, just like a gift."

She couldn't hold the whimper that came once his fingers made contact with her slit. The skilled way he found her clit within seconds, forcing a cry from her lips as he played with her. Her hands dropped as she leaned forward, capturing his lips as a thick finger pushed its way inside of her.

“Tell me to stop, Linka,” his voice was rough. She would’ve. She should’ve . He was her brother, blood of her blood held in the same womb as her. They shouldn’t, they couldn’t. But words were lost when he slipped in a second finger.

“Fuck, you’re dripping for me,” he murmured, lips suddenly pressed to her jaw. God help her, she was. More than she thought she could as she clenched around the fingers moving within her. Suddenly she was fully lost in the sensation that was Aleksander’s fingers in her. A thought she never entertained for more than a second, and she wanted more.

She wanted everything he could give her.

It was the sound of her own slick that caused her to squeeze her eyes shut. He was going slowly, but even his tortuous movements wrung the loudest of sounds from her cunt. All while his breath panted in her ear, groans of how good she was being. How much he knew she could be the perfect little sister. So it really wasn’t her fault when she came. It wasn’t her fault when the words slipped from her mouth, more of a cry than anything else.

“I need you inside me.” Her moan felt foreign – like someone else was making the sound as they shifted. Her hips slotted over his, mouth parted as he fumbled to shove his sweats down. A moment, two, and suddenly she was full. The irresistible stretch as he notched his cock into her, letting gravity do the work of slowly sinking her onto him.

“Fuck,” he huffs, eyes slamming shut for just a moment as she falls. She’s gone, burying her face in her brother’s shoulders as she begins to rock. He rolls his hips, matching her as they begin to move in tandem. She gets lost in the rhythmic push and pulls, the grip of his hands as he begins to move her faster. His eyes open now, huffs in her ear as each drag elicits another whine from her lips.

“Don’t ever stop,” she pants, further sinking down. She swears his fingers are meeting in her back, his thumbs nearly touching her front. He bites her ear, as if affronted she’d suggest he would ever stop this.

She nearly loses it when his hand comes lower, thumb ghosting over her clit, not quite the stimulation she needs but just so close .

“Please, Aleks,” she begs, thighs clamping as her hips rock against his furiously. His thumb presses, right where she needs it. “There, there, right there, please.”

“It’s okay, Linka,” he groans, teasing her. Her clit was now just an instrument for him to play, thumb swiping back and forth until she was shaking in his arms. She nearly cries, desperate as he pumps her full from below, spearing her and tearing her apart. “Let go for me, Linka. Wanted you so bad. Wanted you for years.”

He was muttering nonsense now. His cock was a weapon inside her, just a slight tilt of her hips and he was pressing into the perfect spot. His free hand rose, cupping her face and pulling her tear-stained eyes to meet his. There were no other words to describe it, just raw . His eyes were an endless black pool that wanted her, and only her.

Her orgasm crashed in waves, hurling her over the metaphorical cliff as she held on to him for dear life. And he just watches her, take his cock with her mouth parted, a silent scream unable to come out. She wants to close her eyes, but she doesn’t want to miss that crazed look that comes. Not when he returned his hands to her hips, moving her faster and faster as he neared his own completion.

Her brother.

Her lover.

His hands held her hips to his as he empties himself into her. Breathless and boneless as she falls forward, clutching him like the only liferaft after being sent adrift to sea. And she was. Adrift. Her body floated as she began to trace pointless shapes into his shirt collar, waiting for the feeling to sink in. The panic. The clarity. The rising concern of what did they just do?

But it didn’t come. Not as he softened inside her. Not as she felt their combined fluids leak onto his lap. Not as she listened to his heartbeat slow. Just their breathing and the feeling of being finally sated. Well fucked, quiet as the radio continued its soft rock melody.

She startled at his sudden huff of laughter, finally leaning back to look at him. He was looking out the windshield, seemingly distracted by something outside. She barely turned her neck, slightly craning to see what was so funny. And then she saw it. White powder, fell from the sky, betraying the heat of the idling car. The first snowfall.

“It’s like a Christmas miracle,” he muttered, thumb absentmindedly rubbing into her back. A distracted massage as she clung to her brother. At this she smiled, leaning forward to kiss her brother’s neck. Then his jaw. And suddenly his lips were on hers again, and all her worries disappeared. Neither of them noticed the buzzing of his phone, his hands on her hips as he held her close. Just how right it felt. Before, reluctantly, they pulled away.

“It’s a little early for Christmas,” she muttered. But he still shook his head, kissing her forehead.

“It’s Christmas wherever you are,” he claimed. At this she laughed, slapping his shoulder.

“That was cheesy.”

“And? You loved it.”

“I love you.”

For a second she feared it’d be too much. Feared he’d draw away, though it wasn’t like she hadn’t told her brother she loved him before. It was, definitely, the first time she’d ever tell him with his not-so-soft cock inside of her though. So she paused, the smile nearly dropping from her face before he kissed her, soft and unhurried.

“I love you, too,” he whispered, lips hovering above hers. “Let’s go home.”

#darklina

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