#on the one hand: this was effective and pretty visceral horror | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

the-heaminator · 1 year

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go on then, let's have some horror. i'll give you a choice between prompt 8 or 22 - and why not have it include the uk bros? :)

[ 8 ] "you're insane!"

[ 22 ] "wake up!"

Ao3 Link here

They're so bloody fucking insane so much of the time, and a good half of the time they don't realise it, the rest of the time it is gloriously premeditated, I'm not frankly sure which one is worse. Have what essentially became a very shitty character study 2012 ff.net edge lord style. I am SO sorry Helia. Tw animal abuse, general gore and just like, flesh, all the bullshit of the past Cannibalism, Torture, death, mentions of insanity, gore, non-consensual drugging, Hansel and Gretel bullshit, not in that order, burning, just, bullshit.

Look do not expand this unless you want to kill your dash. its like 15k. so be warned

Alisdair knew that nations tended to have a considerably looser grip on their sanity after major conflicts, hell even he was feeling the effects of The War, he often found himself standing on the edges of cliff faces with no idea of how he got there, he moved in from the coast after these instances happened one too many times, drowning was not a pretty way to die after all, though it kept happening even in the city, finding himself next to blitzed roads and in the woods with not a clue of how he got there.

He needed to stop doing this, he needed to stop drinking so much before bed.

___________________________________________

He also knew that his brothers never had a particularly sturdy grip on what would be considered sanity ever since he had known them, it was a little more subdued when they were younger, but that was a long, long time ago, and even then he could viscerally remember how...transfixed Rhys was with flames even back then, a tree burned because of lightning and Rhys would stare at it for hours afterwards, not entirely present in this world as he did so, he watched the little creatures skitter away from the inferno, not making any attempt to help them.

It was odd the first time, he never seemed to be the type to enjoy others suffering, not then at least, gentle and stout he was, it was odd to see him take so much pleasure out of burning as he did, Alisdair thought nothing of it then, perhaps found it a little strange, but as long as he wasn't hurting anybody nor himself...it couldn't be too bad.

He found Cymru burning a rather large rat.

Albion was there too, all bones and teeth yet, could just about walk and talk, though half the time he gabbled to himself in a tongue that nobody else understood. This was one of those times, smiling and clapping, he prodded the flaming mouse with a stick more than once yelling "Fire! Fire!" over and over again, though not in an urgent way, he seemed to be enjoying it

Cymru had squatted next to him, he was barely moving, scarcely breathing as he watched it screech and scream as it went up in flames, he almost looked like an owl, it was in a little clumsily dug pit, just about big enough for it to not be able to scale its walls, he could smell tallow, this was pre-meditated, he felt sick.

He stood there frozen, Albion noticed he was there first, and picked himself up with some difficulty, he must've been in that position for a while for him to be so stiff, he didn't know how long it took to burn a rat, it was still alive, though its screams were dimming slowly as it was charred, Ma had told them about how nations could bend each other to their own wills, he had never experienced it before, he didn't think he could be swayed so easily, especially by those two, Cymru was kind, not like this, and Arthur was small enough that he still tended to crawl around because it was faster that way.

But he found Albion's chubby little hand in his, gently tugging him to the fire, he couldn't even bring up a shred of resistance, he felt sick, he felt overjoyed, he couldn't take his eyes off it, he found himself laughing.

He didn't know he was laughing, everything in his field of vision was going odd, the rat had finally silenced but its screams were still echoing through his ears three-way, his mind, Albion's and Cymru's, he could hear all of it, he could feel all of it, he could see all of it, Cymru hadn't seemingly noticed him there until now, he had been here a while, how hadn't he?

He sounded giddy, he could just about register him screaming at him, his mind felt a rush of fear which turned to anger as soon as Cymru noticed him being there, he was not like this, he was mild-mannered almost to a fault, Albion was positively howling in joy, his head spun, he vomited anything he had eaten earlier today out, Cymru was near a head shorter than him yet those eyes, usually full of joy or love or just something that wasn't this, he couldn't even name what this was, it was dangerous, like splintered wood almost, glinting like iron in a furnace, he couldn't name it, but he knew he didn't like it.

He ran back to Ma, things didn't scare him much, he was strong, but everything about this had shaken him to his core, both she and Éire looked scared for him, he didn't usually rush in like a storm and immediately cling to Éire's side, she thought he looked clammy and ill, she called Ma, she gently asked whether he had gotten a fright, he didn't have fever, but his eyes were darting around almost mad, his head felt full, it was a wonder he didn't have a fever.

Albion and Cymru walked in not long after, the sun was starting to set and they were always in before it grew dark, Ma wouldn't have it any other way, it was dangerous after dark, as soon as they walked in however, Ma stared at them, something was off about them, both smelled strongly of smoke and tallow, Cymru never looked so owlish, she could feel him lightly prodding her mind, she could feel Albion sleepily draping himself all over it, he was tired, but it was unusual to feel his presence as strongly as she did now, she looked at Alba, staring at the two like they had two heads a piece, Éire bit her lip, she could feel them trying to get into her mind, Cymru felt like a bludgeon of sorts, there was something wrong about him, he smelled like smoke, his mind always grew a little more active after he saw something burn, but never with the fevered intensity of this.

The room started to spin, he could feel Albion getting into her head, different to Cymru, worming its way into the cracks that Cymru had created, his felt less threatening, more docile, but he felt muffling, her head felt full of wool.

She clung to Ma, this was not normal, she understood why Alba was acting the way he was, both were so small, why did they feel like that.

Ma opened her arms to hug them, Alba felt warm and vomited again, he could feel Cymru's mind brush against his, too close for comfort, he could feel Albion worm his way in.

She didn't let them in, that would not be a good idea, even if they were small they could do plenty of damage, though she underestimated how strong it was, Cymru buried himself into her arms, she could smell burning on him, Alba blubbering something about tallow and a rat seemed to have its merit, she could smell a very strong smell of it on the both of them, Albion was tired, usually when tired he grew cranky, not as he was right now, bright-eyed and still laughing, though she could feel on his presence that he was tiring.

Cymru looked at Éire oddly, he did not understand why she was acting so strange, neither why Alba was, he understood a little of Alba, but not why he looked so ill, not why he was staring at him and Albion like they were the fae, what was wrong with him.

He opened his mouth, his voice was a little hoarse from disuse, he sounded childishly concerned "Alba, Éire what happened?" Albion was trying to curl up in the blanket with him after he got out of Ma's arms, he was cold to the touch.

He had stopped his prodding though Alba knew that it wasn't out of mercy, he was simply too tired, it was unlikely that he realised he was doing in the first place, he did still smell something terrible, he curled up in his arms and fell asleep oddly quickly, she told Éire to look after the two, and herself, she needed to go talk to Cymru.

Alba didn't hear the conversation, but Cymru came back looking odd, not scared exactly, but close enough, Albion and Éire had fallen asleep a good while ago, he could almost forget the whole thing had happened but as soon as Cymru came back he could hear, see and smell the rat like it was right in front of him, though it smelled sweeter, burned brighter and sounded louder than he swore it actually did.

He felt sick again and retched though now there was nothing left and drifted into a fitful sleep. Albion small and warm in his legs.

__________________________________

Ma passed and the Romans came, he and Éire were safe, too far up in the mountains to be of much use, practically ignored.

He hadn't seen either Albion or Cymru in a long time, he had no idea what was happening to them, there were occasionally incursions to his land, but even then he could always feel the pressure of the empire on the edge of his mind, though after a while that dimmed, there were no more attempts to take over his territory, it finally was gone, replaced by a different pressure, barely present, sluggish and disorganized.

The Romans must've left, he wanted to see his brothers again, he hadn't seen them in centuries, the journey was oddly quiet, met with next to no resistance, he could feel the presences of more than one, it explained why it felt so disconnected from where he was, it took some time, he was travelling alone after all.

It took some difficulty to find him, he could feel a dull tug towards him, sluggish but present, but he did eventually. Not where he wished to find him, but he found him nonetheless, he was free to roam as he pleased, not tied down by a household or any particular occupation just yet, he still had to earn his bread but even that was not too difficult, he could find or grow it himself more often than not.

Albion was tied firmly to both a house and a job.

When he first saw him he expected less, he himself had certainly had gotten taller since they last saw each other, but he did not expect Albion to age so much over the few hundred years, he was still shorter than him but he was catching up, he was met with fear, he may have looked a little wild, that must be it, Albion had his hair cut short, he was fidgety, when he offered help to cook he refused vehemently, more out of fear than of anything else, he looked ready to bite if he didn’t back down, with a type of fevered intensity that made Alba believe that he would actually do it.

He could not be older than maybe 8 or 9, yet he was living alone, not good enough, he spoke oddly, what he used to speak felt wrong out of his mouth, the syllables slid together oddly, softer than they should sound, he muttered to himself more than he used to, the gabbling he used to do became words, though not in any tongue Alba understood much of, he knew a lick of Latin, but most of what he was muttering was borderline unintelligible, he sounded deranged, he was too young to be going mad wasn’t he?

He didn’t have the bluish film over is eyes that spoke of a weakening mind, they were bright as ever, sure they were a little yellow, yet he was worried, he could be worried for his brother, no? But Albion didn’t let him, he forced him to sit down, the home wasn’t even that, a place behind the stables of the King he had stew, stashed away somewhere cool, it wouldn’t spoil anyways with how the weather was, but it wasn’t particularly much, there wasn’t much to sleep on save for a manky and scratchy wool blanket, it was frankly a little sad, he looked ill, pale and gaunt, still just bones and teeth, he had gotten taller, but hadn’t filled out whatsoever.

He gave what he thought was a lot to Alba, he was stingy with his food, it wasn’t nearly enough to fill him up, but he didn’t ask for more, the stew was watery with barely anything to it, he got half a nibble of something that resembled meat, but that was it. He seemed to have heard something, immediately forced Alba to hide somewhere, there wasn’t too much room, he didn’t see Albion’s face, but it mustn't have looked too good.

Somebody walked in and barked something Alba couldn’t understand, he seemed to respond to Edmund now, he left the place without even half a look at where he had stashed the other, he waited a long time, Albion must’ve hidden him for a reason, so coming out was a bad idea. He finally returned, sweaty despite how cold it was, grimy and shaking ever so slightly, Alba could see he was tired, he looked wrong, sort of scared, he must be sick to be acting like so, he was shaking so much he forced his hands into his cloth to stop it being so visible.

Albion's eyes narrowed seeing him "Why are you still here?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"You wanted to make sure I was alive, as you said, I am alive, and it is not safe for you here. So, leave."

That was blunt, but not incorrect "You are not well Albion, let me take you with me."

"I'll be fine, I swear, it is not safe for you here. Leave."

He wouldn't stop moving, Alba wondered how he had enough energy to move so much on so little, it was a little dizzying "Sit first, then we can discuss. Do you have any bread?"

"No, we just ate, didn't we?" He didn't even seem worried, he didn't continue with that, this was awkward, Albion had sat next to him, folded with his head on his knees, how would he even go about this, they hadn't spoken in an age, Albion seemed too tired to care "So you answer to Edmund now?"

"I needed a name, and it was popular enough that I wouldn't stand out, do you not have a human name?"

"No, why would I need one."

"Do you not need to communicate with your..." he stumbled for the word, said it in Latin, and mumbled "Job person, or the people?"

"I do not need to do not often enough to need a name. No. I assume you do."

"Yes."

Conversation died of quickly after that, he wanted to ask how Rome was, he really did, but Albion had fallen into that state just adjacent to sleep while sitting, he hoped the other would relax a little in sleep, too much tension in sleep made the shoulders hurt. He did not in fact relax, not even slightly, tight as a coil of rope, the night was cold and while both their clothes were thick (his rather thicker than Albion's) it still wasn't enough to keep them warm, he knew for a fact that the other probably wrapped himself up tight in the blanket and hoped for the best.

He couldn't sleep like this, not at all, Albion wasn't even leaning on him but he could hear and feel him shivering, he needed to wrap the blanket around him or he was genuinely convinced he would freeze to death, he was still awfully thin, no insulation to speak of on him, he moved, small, slow and quiet, he knew what he was doing, nearly silent, yet Albion woke up and looked around wildly, like he half expected someone to come at him with a knife, he saw no-one, only Alba and convinced himself that it was a figure of his imagination and went back to sleep, this time laying down and covering himself as much as he could without taking all the potential blanket that Alba would take, he was larger than him so he would need more blanket.

Under the pale light of the moon he could see that Albion was feverish, shivering under the blanket, though that could just be because of the cold, he hoped so at least, he wouldn’t interfere, with how skitterish he was, it was unlikely that it would go down particularly well, he wasn’t even meant to be here, he would leave in the morning, he swore.

He still wasn’t the most sure why he made this trip in the first place, it was long and by no means was it easy, it was early spring, the days could be very cold and the nights even worse, frosting over still sometimes, as well as wet, he wasn’t sure what compelled him to do this, yet he did, he knew at least one of them was alive, though the conditions were admittedly not as good as they should've been, not nearly, but he was alive and it was something.

Albion always slept deep, now he woke with the slightest sound, he tried to be quiet moving about, Albion hadn’t moved an inch since he laid down, he could still hear breathing, so he was at least alive, he was in bad enough condition that Alba would easily believe that he could just pass then and there, and even now he knew dying hurt, he had died a few times, drowning, infection, drowning, injury.

He slept with this thought on his mind, not ideal, but he slept nonetheless, he was tired, he had walked a lot, he slept deep once he did.

He was surprised that Albion was up before he was, pale and clammy, afraid looking, but awake “Och, you look like you’ve seen a ghost, what happened?”

“Nothing that concerns you, no.”

“What is it.”

“Nothing.”

“It is something or you wouldn’t look like that.”

“Look, I have church in half an hour, I need you to go, I cannot be seen with a Pict, I would be hanged, as would you, it does not feel very good. So go, please.”

“Eh? You’ve been hanged before.” Alba swore church wasn’t today.

“You haven’t?”

“Why on earth would I be hanged?”

“Robbery, plotting, stealing food, the like.” His eyes were darting about almost violently as he was saying all of this, his voice took a crack he tried his hardest to hide, he started to fidget uncontrollably again, before nothing, everything seemed blanketed, gone all of a sudden, he took in a deep breath “Just go, it is the safest, for the both of us, go a little after I would.”

He nodded, he couldn’t really say or do anything about it anymore, Albion wouldn’t have it, he wondered a little detached why he was taking orders from his younger brother, but he seemed so vehement about all of them that he believed them “Will you not eat anything?”

“No, as I said, church, bread and wine, and on Sunday the household gives me provisions, I will be fine, you can finish the rest of the stew if you wish to.”

He was dressed in particularly grimy clothes though, things didn’t add up, but he didn’t want to call him out on it.

Now he waited, he took up Albion’s offer for the stew, he didn’t finish all of it though, goodness knows Albion could use it better than he. It took a while to make sure everything was clear, he headed out, heard shouting, and hurried back in, this was something he could understand only a little bit of, he heard Albion’s name, what sounded like lashes, a scream, silence, more screams, sobbing, he heard angry shouting, later soft words, and Albion came staggering back.

In his arms lay the remains of a few long dead rabbits, mostly bone with the smallest amount of meat left on them, the meat may have been Albion’s himself, he was bleeding, and badly, chunks of flesh hanging off his face and arms, a finger or three was missing, enough that Alba most certainly would be dead, he seemed not to notice the other, perhaps because of his vision blacking out, or he refused to acknowledge him. He panted, put the rabbits somewhere mostly clean, sat on the floor with a pot of sorts, and started putting his blood into it, his eyes were closed, but he was still very much alive, just about, he kept slumping down, head lolling on his shoulder like a corpse, but he jolted himself back to wakefulness each time that happened.

Scared of death he supposed, his flesh was knitting itself back together as he sat, where his fingers were missing soon grew bone, muscle, on wept as his skin grew back, unblemished and fresh, salty tears making the pain only worse, dripping into the bloodied pot. Least his stew will have salt, he couldn’t afford it normally

How had he the energy to fix himself to such a degree, gaping wounds on his arms slowly stitching itself back together with sinew and whatnot. Not a pretty sight, Alba felt beyond ill, and Albion seemed resigned to this, he could not care less.

Alba didn’t expect to feel him attacking his mind so strongly, he likely couldn’t muster it physically, the jabs were sharp and rapid, but not well aimed, all Alba could feel was fear, what he could feel from Albion was similar, mixed with resignation, almost pleading him to leave, the pot was half full of blood, he knew they could fix themselves if it wasn’t too serious, but whatever this was looked serious, yet the bloodflow was slowing and drying to the clothes, Alba simply stood in the corner, he was too scared to leave, he didn’t want whatever happened to Albion to happen to him, and he wated to make sure that he was all right. He certainly didn’t look it.

Albion managed to croak out, barely “Alba, leave. Please.”

He didn’t reply, how was he still fine after this, what was even going on?

“Leave, Alba.”

The bloodflow stopped, Albion forced himself up off the ground, sloppy and unfocused, he stumbled his way to Alba, he looked worse now, ashen grey, dried blood clotted all over him, hair matted with it and mud, a large chunk of his flesh was simply hanging off his cheek, going blue as his skin stitched itself together as Alba watched in horror, going blue then black, and falling off, dead onto the ground, Albion eyed it, contemplating whether to pick it up, he chose not to, it was filthy now anyway.

Some small colour returned to his cheeks, eyes yellowed and sunken, “Leave, Alba.”

He didn’t want to, he really didn’t, he wanted to hold him, tell him everything was all right, like Ma did, this wasn’t the same Albion, not the one that curled up in his lap when cold and tired, not the one that screwed around in shallow water with stones, gabbled to himself happily as he stared at birds doing their own businesses, he had seen Éire die, she was different after she did, she seemed not to realise it, he had changed too as he died and came back, but this was dramatic, had he died enough times to near become a whole new person, Albion hadn’t realised it himself if that was indeed the case.

He knew he should leave, he pulled Albion into a hug, he could feel all his ribs and his backbone, sharp and with no give, he reeked something demonic, but he was still his younger brother, a small child at that, still just brittle bones and chipped teeth, he sounded so much older than his years “I can still take you.”

Choked, nearly sobbing “N-no, it is not worth it, it will be better soon, this King just hates me, as do his goons, usually I am fine, I swear, he is getting old now, I know he will die soon, his son likes me, I take care of his horses well, he will treat me well.”

Alba didn’t know who he was lying to exactly, himself or to him, but he kept holding him until heavy breathing became slowed to near the point of suffocation, before bursting into painful sobs, Alba could feel him trying to curl into himself, embarrassed maybe? He was not like this normally by any chance, but he was so tired, he shouldn’t do this in front of Alba, he hadn’t seen him in centuries yet he did, he knew he shouldn’t have, yet he did, he hadn’t been held in a long time, and Alba was warm, he was getting blood all over him, he should apologize, he would, he would, once he could bring himself to words that is, he hadn’t missed Ma this hard in a long time.

He couldn’t remember too much before Alba was gone, he was sitting on his blanket, clean and in fresh clothes, but with no idea how he got there, strangely full, where had he gotten so much food from, was that a fever dream, it certainly felt like one, he had ended up places with no idea how he got there, this felt like one of those times.

The pot of blood was stored in a cold dark place, it was growing dark now anyways, he was so tired, always was after he had to fix himself, and he was asleep without a second thought,

Alba was worried, Albion, Edmund, he wouldn’t call him that until his life depended on it, it felt wrong, everything about that felt wrong, sick, frail, and afraid, he felt ill after seeing that, he never wanted to see him with chunks of flesh hanging off him.

_______________________

Alisdair knew that was a lie, Alba didn't

_______________________

Raiders were at his shores, he could feel them, he could feel them stealing, burning and looting from outlying islands, he was old enough to fight now, he had grown accustomed to it after a while, a burning on his peripherals that he couldn't stop, but managed to ignore, he had caught sight of their personification once, he could feel him at all times otherwise, cold, calculating.

His entire arm seized up once, luckily his non dominant one, he couldn't move it for all the pain, what even were these people, what did they want, he was not tied to a house per se, more as the guard to the monarch, not a formal part of the millitary, but he was allowed incursions, the monarch knew of his strange set of circumstances, he knew he couldn't die, not in any way that mattered and acted accordingly, through these incursions he learned a lot about this odd personification, he was younger than he was, by a good couple centuries, shorter than he was, though that might've been just because he was tall, his beard was coming in now, and he was quite proud of that fact, magical in the same way he and Ma were, he didn’t know any more of the type existed, pale hair, almost like snow in the light, braided, eyes that looked like the depths of the sea, he was a good fighter too, for all his lack of physical strength, he made up for it with mind-numbing agility, they had singled each other out on the battlefield more than once, an unspoken agreement that whenever they encountered, they would only fight each other, they were the only ones fit to go against another, they knew they could not die.

So why waste their expertise on people they know could, more fun that way really, and it was good to know the enemy anyways.

The burning dulled when it was in his blood, the burning was doused and extinguished only in his blood, he looked like ice and his blood acted the same, never mind that if fresh it was warm like it, or as any other humans, should be, though over time they settled onto the islands on the vestiges of his mind, they soon stopped being is, they were the Northmen’s now, he could do nothing to stop it, it was calm for a while, the Northmen had stopped trying to take over them, content with their island holdings.

________________________________

Norway, not the best first impression, Alisdair thought, turned out far better than he could’ve conceived then.

________________________________

Edmund was doing worse, far worse than Alba, he wasn’t sure if he had a human name now or not, he was not sure if he needed one yet, currently that didn’t matter, simply musings to keep the mind busy, he had been brought in front of the personification of the Northmen, he could scarcely breathe with how much he ached now, fire, all down his back, he had cramped so hard that his lungs wouldn’t inflate correctly, let alone be able to stand and walk with some sense of dignity.

Yet he did, he forced himself up, he forced his breath to slow, he forced himself to ignore the searing pain, the numbing dizziness, he had to adapt, or he would die, simple as, the personification of the Northmen was so much younger than he was, though a good head taller, if not more, steely sky blue eyes, far better fed too, fighting him would be worthless, he wouldn’t survive no matter what he did, he would get snapped like a dry twig.

A guard came, and he presented himself, not only to the personification but also to the highest-ranking warrior on this expedition, still no official governmental body, the personification stared at him, nearly dumbfounded, he had never gotten a good look at this wild island child before, only seen glimpses of green eyes and sneering teeth, he looked so small, starved too, he thought Noreg was small, this, this was still a child.

The Jarl thought the same, not exactly the highest-ranking warrior, but yet the most senior there, he spoke, the tongue unfamiliar, yet just about understandable to Edmund, English, not Norse, just about “You are the personification of this land?”

“Yes, I am, this area of it, there are more, further out, my brothers and sister.”

“How old are you, child?” He sounded gentle, why did he sound so gentle, they were not supposed to be gentle with him. He didn’t know how old he was.

“I do not know, I have seen the Romans, and a time before them too”

The Jarl was more than a little shocked, this tiny, fragile looking thing had weathered at least 800 years, perhaps more, the personification more so, more visibly so, he spoke up, his voice had started to drop, Edmund’s hadn’t, yet that boy was over twice his age, he could see it only in his gaze, the way he held himself was odd, stiff, as if he was in pain, the same way men injured after falling onto their backs during harvest held themselves, the Jarl kept talking, he kept replying, answers short, snappy and growing increasingly pained and panicked.

“Jarl, I do not think he is well.” Said in a manner that the boy could not understand, pure Norse, old fashioned to be at that.

“I can see that, yes, he is not healthy, could you take care of him for the time being?”

He blanched, he had only ever taken care of Noreg, for short periods of time, he was an invader, this boy would not go quietly, “I-I, look after him? Yes Jarl, I shall try my best.”

He turned back to the boy “Child, what is your name?”

“Edmund.”

“Edmund, this is Magnus, you shall go with him.”

Edmund squashed the blind panic that came with that announcement, that would not help him here, he would have to get out smart, he couldn’t do this by fighting, his face flickered for but a second, fear, panic, resignation all in one, then it was gone, replaced by a dull look undertone by pain, Magnus left, all he could do was follow.

Walking was hard, Magnus walked fast, his legs were longer and he was healthier, he could scarcely breathe enough to walk slowly, his legs barely obeying his orders, let alone fast enough to keep up with this pace, he tried, forced his legs forward, forward, forward, follow, follow, follow, Magnus was far ahead not even after a few minutes, practically panting he tried to run, that didn’t work.

Magnus had sharp hearing, he could hear the uneven footsteps getting farther and farther, and the breathing becoming louder and more laboured, occasionally interspersed by a cough, when he finally looked behind him he could see the personification, Edmund was it, quite far away, stumbling, he was scarcely walking now, held up mostly by the wall and by what he could feel was fear, when he stopped to wait for him, the mild feeling of fear at the edge of his mind spiked violently, his mind registered deathly fear, Edmund was getting into his skull and twisting things inside of his head, Noreg did this sometimes, but it was always far duller, this was sharp, searing, and it was gone.

Edmund had put his head to the cold of a stone, it was the height of summer now, he was sweating both from exertion more than his body could support and from the heat, all that was gone, leaving Magnus disconcerted in his own mind, the boy looked dizzy, far beyond that, he needed to rest or he would fall any second now.

“Edmund, rest, you look like you will fall over

"I…shall be fine, continue, I will follow." An obvious idea to run, but he couldn't of anything better now, he felt like he was to collapse at a moment's notice, he couldn't, the personification could do anything to him while he was down, he couldn't.

Magnus didn't even consider escape, he was too frail to pull it off even if he tried, practically only bone and skin, he waited for Edmund to gather himself, he had been given orders to look after him for the time being, and that was what he would do, Edmund vomited, nothing much, bile, water, and stale bread, the bread wasn't even too bad, a waste of it really.

He couldn't fall.

He wouldn't.

Though he practically did, leaning on a tree for support more than he should do, his stomach was cramping now too, hunger, fear, pain, anxiety, nothing good, he retched again, nothing came out, again and the smallest bit bread, something his guts had seemingly held onto, came spilling out.

White spots dancing around his vision, this wasn't so bad, he was floating, free, somebody was holding him, he was no longer flying, a bottle pressed to his lips, "Drink."

Even now he could come up with a reason not to trust it, slurred, near delirious "Mmm. Could be poisoned."

Magnus could've hit him right there and then, but he looked in bad enough shape that it could finish him off for good, he didn't want a dead personification on his hands, he could deal with people, their existence was fleeting anyways, not a nation, and not somebody whose health had been entrusted to him "It isn't, see." He took a swig, and very resolutely stayed stable, "I swear it is not poisoned, and why would I waste it on you if it was, you would die without it anyways."

He had a point, he could come back though, and it would be terribly embarrassing to go of sickness, he would rather go by poison.

He took a swig, then a gulp, not of his own volition, Magnus held the bottle to his lips, and he was limp enough to let it in, not sure if that was his body conspiring against him or he actually wanted to, he couldn't think, wool for brains bastard he was.

This would be gotten him killed in Rome, he couldn't trust any of those bastards, any food not made by his hand was poisoned, he always saw the jeering faces of Rome's grandsons as he faded from life, he couldn't remember their names anymore, maybe he did, it didn't matter either way now.

All he had to do was wait, wait until his body either have out or had enough strength to properly stand.

It frustratingly did neither, closer to the latter than to the former, he gingerly pulled himself up, Magnus had sat in a nearby rock, eyeing him with what was either concern or distaste, they were very separate but the face could meld together well, maybe his vision was just swimming, he stood up, the lack of blood to his head made him fall down, hit his head hard on the tree, and then nothing once more.

He awoke to Magnus fretting quite like Éire did directly over his face, worried, a stream of obscenities "Fuck, fuck, fuck, wake up, wake up!"

He was awake now, his body wasn't responding, he hadn't died, but had come close, slowly he managed to open his eyes, a harder task never performed.

Immediately he got crushed, he took what he thought was his last breath, it was not, it was a hug, this man barely knew him, a rival personification, yet he was hugging him, he was warm, still had some puppy fat that refused to melt away, he hadn't been hugged in centuries.

It felt nice, warm, he felt real, his lungs struggled painfully, but he didn't pull back, not sure if he had the strength to do so, Magnus put his ear on his chest, the heart was beating, slowly, it should be more panicked, even Edmund knew that, but again he couldn't muster the energy for string fear, he had run out of fear to run on, he was starved, and exhausted, he hadn't slept proper in days, it all was catching up to him at once, the pain of the invasion, he wasn't old enough, at least physically for his joints to be acting up like so.

Magnus was still holding him, not even a hug at this point, simply a grasp, to make sure he wouldn't dissolve in his arms, like honey in warm water.

He finally eased him down after he made sure he wouldn't just die then and there, he pushed himself up, Magnus pushed him down, roughly, but not enough to hurt "No, you rest, I will not travel with somebody as weak as you are without making sure you are healthy enough to walk."

Weakly, lying through his teeth, he was normally too timid to lie, his voice wavered when he did so, his voice wavered now enough as it was, it wouldn't be noticed "I-I shall survive, continue, I shall he following as closely as I am able to."

"That is not very close, we would make faster pace if I carried you, you seem very light, I probably could."

This was mortifying, he couldn't stand being carried, he wasn't so weak he had to be "No, no, I shall be fine in a few moments, do hold.”

Magnus was now having nothing more of it, he was smaller and much lighter than Noreg, and he could carry the other like he would do to a child, Edmund weighed about as much as a lamb, a small one at that, he lifted him, as gently as he could, he could feel his heart rate spiking, all of a sudden he could feel it inside him, before banishing it, he would not be influenced right now, he squirmed to the best of his ability, but failed to go anywhere particularly well, he could no longer swallow down his panic, nor could he keep down much of the water, he tasted bile, he couldn’t vomit it out now, that would be disgusting, not on top of Magnus, he swallowed it, sour and viscous, it was nearly funny how much smaller he was compared to Magnus, he passed into sleep, or sickness, currently the line was blurred.

He healed quickly, he always did, it was a little frightening to see how just a little food and drink, none of which were particularly rich, allowed himself to fix himself up from the inside, at least for now, he could stand straight, though even then he held himself with an injured back, his pride, black and pulsing, often where it had no place to be doing so, only occasionally did it turn on its heel for a burst of yellow cowardice.

Magnus found Edmund to be a better warrior than he could have ever hoped, completely subservient, while frail looking, he was stronger than he looked, in hand to hand combat he was still miles away from even getting close to Magnus, but he healed frightfully fast, and the subservience was borne, he hoped so at least, more out of obedience than fear, fear could very quickly become burning hot anger; Edmund was too timid for anger, it was not easily found within his constitution to be angry, he could try, but that only made him scared, so he stopped trying, it only made things worse when he did, clouded his senses and made him behave odd, imperative to stay focused or he would get thrown around like a rag doll.

He was good at picking himself up and licking his wounds after training, he usually had the element of surprise, no matter what was told to them, mortals did not understand that Edmund had been fighting for enough of his life that he was good at him, he had been running for even longer, he was quick to run and quick to strike, not good in a battle, but enough to keep himself safe, he hoped so at least, it would be murder if it wasn’t.

______________________________

He survived the Vikings because he was adaptable, he adopted their cultures as his own, he hated to say that he grew accustomed to them, but he did.

_____________________________

Rhys worshipped the earth for longer than his siblings had, few looked upon the ground, the leaves in the trees like he did anymore, at least what few were left were rebellious, but even then he was growing weaker, disconnect with ones people tended to do that, he did not wish to convert, he really didn't, but clinging onto the vestiges of a dying population had its effects on him, constantly tired, weak, not something that appealed to the royalty.

He was short and stout by nature, but recently he couldn't keep much food down, and it showed, he was still quite young, his voice had dropped but he hadn't grown a beard, he wasn't even close to adulthood, and he was ageing slower now, Edmund had started to catch up, all limbs, teeth and hurrying.

He was forced under the Normans, rather he gave himself in, he was too weak to continue running for too much longer, he was taken into the household, much as Edmund had been, converted, he felt empty afterwards, but he felt healthier, he put up more resistance.

He never thought he could bring himself to hate Edmund, yet he did, he did as he was told by these Frenchmen without questioning, he said it was because he lacked free will, as nations, personification, they lacked it, they were not human without free will, they were not human without the ability to die stay dead, rejoin with the Lord afterwards, they were not bound by law, nor by morals, for they had none, they had no genuine thought, only a combination of others.

He thought himself immune to human follies, though it was very visible that he wasn’t, he saw how he acted around food, one moment it was there, the next it was gone, he ate with fervour, like somebody would take it if he didn’t eat it as fast as possible, he had seen him falling asleep for seconds while standing, he rarely slept otherwise, his back was horribly burned, healing slowly, but still there from the Harrying, yet he followed around the very same people who did it to him like a well behaved dog.

Rhys didn’t understand why he didn’t even try to fight back, taking what he was given and never asking for any more, quiet and skitterish, he disliked how Edmund looked at him blankly sometimes, nothing in his gaze, no joy, no fear, no contempt, no distaste, it was not known to him how he could empty his gaze so wholly, nothing behind his eyes when he carried out orders, blank, methodical. Most of the time, the rest he saw was fear and anger, he wasn’t sure which one he preferred, though he relished in the mild look of fear he could see in Edmund’s eyes whenever he did something visibly that he was not supposed to, even something small.

Edmund was still small, though now the same height as Rhys was, he believed himself simultaneously above and below humans, above many, below only the lords and the monarch, but he could see Edmund was envious of them, envious of their life, rather, envious of their death, and recently he could feel him fraying, he had been so composed the entire time, but now he was fraying, it wasn’t visible, not just yet at least, but William was getting old, his son was not popular in England, that’s what Albion had become, nor was he very popular in Cymry, he hadn’t changed much.

They carried on doing as they did, mostly separate, he could feel discontent brewing in his own lands, dull and ever present, but not the type that he could see in Edmund, he started to do his orders wrong on accident, harried and stretched like vellum, nearly thin enough to be see through, he waited after every mild misstep like he would be executed, it hadn’t come, not just yet, though that seemed to only make it worse, the blankness he had perfected started to slip more often now, Rhys decided he liked the anger more than the fear.

With the fear he still looked like a child, his younger brother no less, not the leashed dog of the Normans that he had become, talking to nobody in particular during stress, he knew he wasn’t talking to the fey folk, he had been prohibited to do so, and the fey confirmed he hadn’t communicated in a long time, genuinely talking to nobody but his own mind, the king continued to deteriorate, now more rapidly, an accident with the saddle, he had burst his bowels, least that was what the physician said, and now he had to wait to die.

It took longer than it was supposed, 5 weeks, before he succumbed finally to his injuries, Edmund had taken to disappearing for periods of time when he was not needed, the fey informed him that he was in the woods not too far from here, always on one specific tree stump, staring at nothing in particular.

Rhys sought him out once, he knew he felt next to none of the brotherly pull Rhys had to him, if he did it was incredibly fragile and dull, Rhys had made the slightest sound, twigs cracking underfoot, Edmund leapt up from where he had curled up, tried saying in his most authoritarian voice possible, first in English, then in French “Who are you, show yourself, Coward.”

“It is not wise to insult your enemy when you do not know who it is Albion.” Only Rhys still called him that, why was he here.

Rhys didn’t miss the overwhelming look of relief on his face before it was quickly masked “Rhys, what are you doing here?”

“Seeing what you do when you go to rot in the woods, apparently nothing.”

“Yes, nothing, it is quiet here.”

Quiet wasn’t the exact word he would choose, the animals were loud, as was the wind, but it was peaceful, “Do you not speak with the fey anymore? You loved them as a child.”

Edmund stiffened “I was ordered not to; besides I do not wish to be mistaken for a changeling any longer, they already think I’m mad.”

“You do act it sometimes.”

“I do not!”

“You do speak to yourself often enough though.”

“You can hear that?”

“You think I cannot?”

He crawled back to the position he was sitting in, cloak over his eyes as he curled back up, Rhys sat next to him, he lightly poked his side, pinched it while he was at it, he was a little surprised he could grab anything at all, Edmund yelped and curled into himself further, Rhys gave a light little laugh, like the tinkling of bells “You’ve been eating well recently, you’ve filled out a little.”

He looked embarrassed for some reason “I’ve been eating too much you mean, ‘ve been stuffing myself at every chance I'm given.” He sounded mortified “I never eat this much, not a good idea to eat so much, but I'm so hungry all the time.” he pulled out the last syllable, he was whining.

“Nonsense, you are too thin still, don’t you freeze in winter?”

“A little, but if I am working, then I am warm, and the cold has no reason to bother me.”

“You are strange."

"As are you."

They sat in silence for a while, Edmund heaved himself up, hissed slightly as the material brushed his burned and blistered back, muttered to himself something foul "I need salve again."

He said louder "We should head back, lest our presence, or lack thereof is missed.”

He did have a point, neither particularly wanted to leave, yet they had to.

The king died the day afterwards, at least that was when the news came to reach them, William Rufus was crowned, both braced for the inevitable revolts, they came as expected, though Edmund noted that these revolts were less from the people, more from the nobility and clergy, William Rufus was not popular it seemed.

Only under Henry where they put to proper use. They were immortal, at least functionally, they were stronger than other boys their age, neither had yet become men, and since they could not die, their souls, if they had them, could not be judged once and if they died, nor at the Biblical judgement day, they could not suffer after death, they could do their dirty work.

They were good at it too, they understood what they were meant to do, and considering how young they looked, very few of those being tortured expected much from them, especially with the Welshman, he had soft eyes and a soft face, they expected nothing much from him, they expected more of Edmund, he had grown to be older than Rhys by this point, taller too, barely, he seemed much like a fox, eyes darting around wildly until fixed upon a victim, but he still looked frail, he could not do much.

That was often the worst thing they could make themselves believe, they showed no mercy, none at all, and the worst thing, the worst thing was having them force their eyes into yours, it could drive a mortal man insane in moments if they wished to, often they were saved just moments before their minds were shattered, information extricated from the husks of their minds, before being driven to insanity anyways, Rhys tended to drive people to inanity, the type that made them seem possessed, animalistic, crying and screaming until he finished them off slowly, he never rushed these things, slowly cutting bits and pieces of flesh off of them, never enough to kill them in one go, he had been seen tasting the flesh too, others had seen the glee on his face as he did so, it was wrong, but he couldn’t go to hell when he died anyways, they didn't have souls, they were not human, not alive precisely either.

Edmund was less surgical, he could drive people to death simply by allowing himself to feel the cracks in one's mind, finding even the smallest fissure and pulling it apart with such fervour that the mind and body collapsed unto itself, he only did that sometimes he preferred to get his hands dirty, he had perfected opening a man up through the middle, deep enough that he could see the entrails within, without killing him immediately, elbow deep in entrails, pulling open the ribs with his bare hands, the sounds of bones cracking was just lovely, he searched about the cavity, the prisoner usually died after this, some lasted longer, if they did he found their heart, lifeforce of their body, either stilled or pumping with fervour, and pulled it out, still warm, discarding it onto the floor, occasionally he took an ill-fated bite, the bites became more common, he started going for the liver too, if it wasn’t diseased he tended to eat the whole thing, raw too, there was nothing behind his eyes save for contentment after he did that.

They were both going mad, their behaviour had changed over the decades leading to the crusades, so much so that occasionally they seemed like entirely different people. Gone was a timid Edmund and a mild-mannered Rhys, the monarchy praised them, and they lived for that praise, they lived for the death of others, and they seemed perfectly fine with it, they had no morals, they never needed any, selfish and self-centred, obedient to a fault, Rhys occasionally acted up, Edmund was sent to deal with him when this happened, brutal force, and it worked well on him.

They had gone mad, no question of it, and there was nothing to be done about it now, you can lose your sanity easily, it is far more difficult to find it once it is gone, they would say it was freeing, getting rid of the shackles of sanity and normalcy of the mind, they were free, only shackled to orders and scarcely anything or anybody else, it was an interesting existence frankly, terrifying to an outside observer, but great in its own way.

_______________________

They grew to love the thrill of the kill, it was exhilarating, a feeling impossible to recreate, they loved it enough that they sought it out later, the start of a delicious spiral.

______________________

The Anarchy was terrible, everyone suffered as his people, rather his nobility turning on itself, he had felt stretched out before, obviously, but this was something else entirely, he felt not like a person, he was in places and didn’t remember how he got there, he had to support the king, it was his job, but of the found himself sabotaging his own tasks, it was frustrating, but even that passed.

The war with France went badly, he felt ill constantly, he had been sent off to fight, Rhys remained in the country, he had jobs to carry out and the like, he came back wrong, the insanity had rooted itself deeply in his mind, poisoning it and festering, it practically fed on his rational mind until scarcely anything was left, he had been sent to fight for a long time, he had seen a lot of deaths, he had caused plenty, experienced many more, had been tortured, did the torturing.

He came back berilligent and with a fondness for alcohol that bordered on illness, his hands shook if he was properly sober for too long, Rhys hadn’t been doing well either, he had picked up both of their duties, there were more incursions and invasions into his lands, trying to fully cement control over Wales, he vented out his frustrations when he was assigned to torture, he went all out then, it felt good, they were above the natural moral law “Thou shalt not kill.” that only applied to creatures favoured by the Lord, they were not, why would He create them if He wished for them not to return to His arms.

It was bullshit frankly, but he darent to say that out loud, he did as he was told, only occasionally misstepping on purpose, his people were angry too, as were the people of England, he could feel their malcontent without even being their personification, Edmund returned, Arthur now, Edmund was growing rather too old fashioned now, Arthur returned, bruised, battered and angry, and then not long after, the wars of the roses broke out.

Those finished too, Arthur often had to be wrestled, solely by Rhys into a state in which he was somewhat complacent, often he had to be filled with alcohol or he would at like a caged feral creature, Rhys had half a mind to join him, he was detached enough as it was, a little push and he would be reduced to the same as Arthur.

Arthur wasn’t the type to cry, he was too proud to do it, yet as he slept, on the off chance he did, he couldn’t bring himself to sleep, too scared that he wouldn’t wake up, he envied mortals because they could die, yet feared true death, odd, he wept in his sleep, this was worse than the Vikings, worse than the Anarchy, it lasted so much longer, so much more bloody, too many monarchs, he was exorcized a few times, it didn’t work, the priest died as soon as he entered the room, Arthur knew he shouldn’t have done that to a man of the Lord, he forced himself not to as he was bound and crossed, these servants didn’t deserve to be driven to insanity and then death.

His resolve did not hold up, the priest died, and luckily nobody, at least not for a good while, tried to kill him for witchcraft or possession or to exorcize him.

This cleared up eventually too, Henry Tudor coming out victorious, they returned to sanity, the best they could, Arthur now had more official duties, he was taught how to read and write again, he was a smart child, he had the potential for great things, taught in a monastery he fared badly, he was not cut out for the cloistered life of a monk, he was too wild for it, Rhys fared better, he could force himself to be more quiet, Arthur barely could, Rhys stayed in the monastery for longer, as soon as Arthur could read and write he was pulled out, put into official duties.

Rhys liked it, it was quiet, empty, beautiful in a queer way, stone was still, the air was slow, he could pray to the lord, whether he was up there or not.

He stayed there for a long time, came the dissolution of the monasteries, Arthur had grown, he had been forced to adapt to the court, stiff backed with a bland face, again like a glorified pet, he had gotten relatively plump, he ate all he was given, he never dared to reject any, the food was often too rich for him, he ended up vomiting a lot of it out afterwards, Rhys found it easy to tease him now, morseo than usual at least, but harder to get a rise out of him, his face was bland, his eyes held pleading, the country forcibly converted to another church, neither could do anything about it, the dissent surged again.

The ebb and flow they should have gotten used to, but they never managed to.

The new boy-king came in, he died in a blink of an eye, he was fond of Arthur and Rhys, apparently the only ones not trying to push him around, he liked discussing theology with them, looked more than a little scared when the boys of not much older than he was talked about death so casually, spoke of their contempt of the Lord, spoke about war and torture, he knew they were old, but how old always astounded him, he was nothing but a blip in their time.

Then Elizabeth, she also had a soft spot for them, Arthur had reverted back to barely restrained ferality, he was chosen to be a deckhand on Drake's rendezvous to the new world, he was more than an able seaman, he knew what he was doing, even then Rhys was worried for him, drowning was amongst the worst ways to die, especially out at open sea where he would die, come back to life, die, come back and so and so until he contacted land.

He came back with sun bleached hair that had some parts bordering on white, skin darkened by the sun and a filthier mouth than he left with, Rhys was of the more tame sort, at least relatively speaking, he was kept for the court, and he was frankly rather good at it, charming when he wanted to be, calculating at others, he was bitter, of course he was, but he had scarcely any other choice, so he played along, and frankly this wasn't as bad as it could be.

When Arthur came back the first thing Rhys did to him was fuss over him like a mother would, making sure he was indeed alright, most of Drake's crew had died after all, he admitted he had died once, not of drowning, rather of illness, which was fair, it was a small cramped place with a lot of men, it made sense, he was thinner now too, stronger though it didn't look it.

The Queen never married, never sired an heir, Arthur braced himself for a civil wat that never came, simply the monarch of Scotland, it was Scotland now, became the monarch, James I.

_______________

It was a delicate connection, but it stood the test of time more than anyone thought it would do.

_______________

Alisdair hadn't seen either of them properly in centuries, their queen died, they needed his king to be their monarch, it was an odd arrangement, but likely the only thing saving them from all out civil war, James the first of England and Wales, the Sixth of Scotland.

He didn’t know precisely what to expect when he did see them, somehow fate had separated them, and through some divine intervention surely, they would be back together as one, he could just about remember their faces, at least from when they were young, the details escaped him, but all of it was shattered when he ended up seeming them again for the first time, Albion practically looked wicked, Cymru was not too far behind, though he seemed a little more mild, Albion was scanning the crowd, but as soon as he made contact with him, Alisdair could feel the prodding of his mind against his, it felt different than it used to, less like honey, thick and cloying, but still generally benevolent, now it felt less suffocating, but stronger, now like that new laudanum that seemed to be gaining popularity medicinally, he had it once, too much really. It was overpowering and controlling but ecstatic in the maddest way possible, that is what Albion felt like right now.

Cymru seemed not to be trying, his gaze watchful and more searching than he was particularly used to, both of them were unnerving, he had had to have fought the English a lot before, but neither personification seemingly cared enough to write or communicate, they had caught glimpses at battles, but that was all, he hadn’t seen Cymru in nearly a thousand years, they were getting quite old frankly.

He forcibly broke eye contact, they would have to talk later, the crowns were unified, they were now all under one house, they met politely, Scotland’s English was bad, he managed to introduce himself as Alisdair though, they reverted to Latin, all were fluent in the language, it was the best they could do right now, they had all but forgotten the tongue they used to speak with each other, so they had to adopt another.

They finished introducing themselves, Albion was Arthur now, Cymru was Rhys and Alba was Alisdair, they all felt wrong to Alisdair, something in Rhys’ gaze was mad, he had no idea why or how, but he didn’t want to be at his mercy, more so with Arthur, his hair was still bleached for God knows what reason, he must’ve spent a lot of time at sea for it to be that way.

They were all colder to each other than they should have been, a thousand years was a long time though, all were dressed in their finest clothes, yet it felt like things were being mashed together that shouldn’t have been, very little discussion occurred on that day.

_____________________

Alisdair wasn’t sure if that was the best or worst thing to have ever happened to him.

_____________________

Alisdair thought fatherhood suited Arthur, he didn’t expect him to come back from the new world with anything, much less a child, rosy-cheeked, plump and happy even after months of being fed on nothing more than dampened ships biscuits, Arthur had already named him, Alfred, it suited him, he was the type of child that always felt heavier when you carried him no matter what you prepare yourself, like a cannonball of a baby, he had broken Rhys’ nose once, simply because he was moving too much and had hit him.

Happy in the way that he crawled about on all fours chasing insects and occasionally chasing the fae, the fae chased him back sometimes, he always had a cast iron bracelet toward them off, happy and simply all the best thing about the human constitution, Rhys missed seeing one of their kind so carefree, he was so young, still very much a babe in arms, he loved to be carried, Arthur had the arms strength to do so, Alisdair did, Rhys not so much, it always felt like his arms were being removed from their sockets.

The kid was strong that was for sure, but he was still a child, a fragile one at that, Rhys had never seen Arthur care about anything as much as he cared for this child, he cared for himself less than he did for this child, he was never scared for his own life no matter what was happening than he was when Alfred was sick, he got fevers that spiked so high he would start moving like a possessed thing, Rhys hadn’t seen Arthur pray in earnest for centuries, he found him crying over his cradle once after a particularly bad episode, praying to whoever would listen, he never believed in a benevolent God, yet he was still trying, and he hadn’t the heart to interrupt him.

He was a happy child, burned hot as the sun.

Their stance as personifications had faded into myth at this point, only the monarch knew what they were, no longer were they part of the royal household, there was suspicion that they were witches, they aged slowly, 3 men and a child living alone, they all did have their jobs, Arthur was in the navy, Rhys had an apprenticeship as a baker and Alisdair in the masons Alfred, once he was old enough, was left home often, Rhys stayed with him the longest, Arthur was out at sea more often than not and Alisdair was busy.

One day he was just gone, no trace of him, Rhys usually heard childish noises of delight when he came home, usually because he brought bread, and he was always hungry, Arthur had come only yesterday from his latest voyage, immediately fell asleep, he wasn’t even drunk, just bone dead exhausted, he didn’t find Arthur in his bed.

Rhys understandably panicked, he checked the orchards, he checked wherever he had found Alfred before, but he wasn’t there, Arthur could be anywhere, maybe he had Alfred, something told him that was not the case.

Burning was perhaps the most painful way to die, save for drowning, especially their kind, their flesh burned but it regenerated, constantly, constantly, until the fire grew hot enough that they couldn’t keep up.

Alisdair had gone to see what all the kerfuffle was about, he saw Alfred tied to a stake, Arthur next to him, the former was crying, of course he was, dying for the first time could never be rivalled in how much it hurt, Arthur had burned before, he wasn’t worried about himself, he couldn’t see Alfred crying, the ropes were thick ropes, the type used for rigging in ships, this was not the normal rope they used, blessed, Arthur could feel it burning against his skin, while he wasn’t fae, cast iron still burned them, his penance for being so far from God he supposed.

The fire was lit, Alfred screamed and screamed and screamed, Arthur resigned to his fate, it wasn’t as bad if he didn’t struggle, as the fire caught hold of them, Rhys showed up, Alisdair was watching in shocked silence “DO SOMETHING ALISDAIR!”

Alisdair sounded numb “What can we do. We will be burned alongside.”

It took longer for both to die than expected, Alred wailed and cried even as his throat practically was full of flame, he spat them out and screamed, Arthur barely moved, he had done this before, he could feel his flesh burning off and being replaced anew, an odd feeling, he screamed near the need, he knew he couldn’t keep this up longer, someone went mad as he screamed, jumped into the flames themself, Alfred had passed now, he was close to, Rhys held his head in his hands, Arthur was practically flaying his mind right now, another went mad, started attacking the crowd with her teeth and fists, eyes leaking black blood and teeth falling out as Arthur controlled her, she died too, Arthur collapsed on the fire, one last push, telling Alisdair and Rhys to run, and they did.

Rhys loved fire, even now he was enraptured, he just wanted to stare, it might’ve been his brother, but it was just so pretty, Alisdair grabbed his arm and pulled him out of his reverie, he wanted to stay, watch, Alfred’s screams were in his ears but he couldn’t care less, it was beautiful, it was fire!

He died, there was no doubt that they were witches now, Rhys and Alisdair ran, they would be burned next if they stayed.

__________________

Alfred barely remembered this, he was so small, he had blocked it from memory, he didn’t remember hiding in forests and finding another town, he didn’t remember how scared he was if he wasn’t in somebody's arms, and he would have like to keep it that way

_________________

The revolution hit Arthur harder than any of them thought it should have done, Rhys bore the brunt of it, Arthur was now the oldest out of them, Rhys the youngest, Alasdair was more focused on the French bastard child that Arthur had acquired, the child was small and scared, obedient to a fault, Matthieu, it reminded him painfully of when Arthur was small, and while now he was beriligent, often drunk and angry, or quiet and focused to a painful degree, the quiet obedience scared him, he didn’t want Matthew to turn out like that.

Matthew was clingy if given the chance, Arthur eyed him with an odd mix of contempt and...guilt, that was very clearly guilt, he was physically at least not more than 10 years younger than Rhys, he was old enough to look after himself, in theory, he was the type to silently sit in a corner with a crust of bread and not speak even if a dog was ripping his leg to shreds, more than once had shown up and fallen asleep on Alisdair’s or Rhys’ bed with them, or sitting in Arthurs study in silence just to make sure someone else was indeed there, Arthur usually knew when he was there, told him to go to bed, these were some of the few times he didn’t listen.

Arthur put him to bed himself in such instances, they were rare, but they did happen, he usually wanted to hurt Francis, but this was something else, why was his child like this, what did he do to him, he mustn't be too good of a parent if Alfred fought to leave, but he was, at least relatively, he was normal, not with the fear of the Lord that Matthew had.

He liked Alisdair the most, called him uncle Alisdair, which felt like it aged him a decade, fuck he wasn’t that old, Matthew liked sitting with Alisdair when he was in the family house, they had taken the family name of Kirkland, no one could remember their original family name, it was an age ago really, the kid didn’t know how to read, barely knew his letters at the age of what must be 7 or 8, that was bad, the combination of the three taught him his letters, they couldn’t afford a governess at this time, the revolutionary war, and the 7 years' war before that had been quite the drain on their coffers, and they preferred not to have staff over, save for a washerwoman twice a week and a cook

They barely had any reading materials for his age, Alisdair had a lot of books about plants and mechanics that he barely understood, the best they could do was the Catechism, but he learnt his letters eventually, he learned when he had to hide from each of them, he knew to hide from father when he smelled like sweet smoke, liquor and a whorehouse, Uncle Alisdair when he smelt of cheap gin and damp, Uncle Rhys when he smelled like wood smoke and blood, he had to learn, he picked up on their painfully suppressed tics and behaviours, a particular look in Arthurs eyes could spell the difference between a harsh shutdown and a soft cuddle, even if that look was barely different from any other.

A particular way in the way Uncle Rhys held himself, lax or stiff, spelt the way that he might not be welcome in his bed that night, the way that Uncle Alisdair’s voice sometimes went dangerously soft that showed that finding blood on the floorboards the next day should not be surprising, and finding Father deathly pale on the settee should be expected, little details, the little things kept Matthew safe, and warm, curling up in the library near the anaemic fire that they kept in there to stop the books moulding when he was shooed away from the roaring kitchen fire. He treaded on eggshells, but he was noticed as a person, the lesser of a couple evils.

Like Arthur as he grew it was clear he was mostly arm and leg, he was taller than Rhys and the same height as Arthur by 1820, Alfred had tried to invade a couple years prior, he understood why Rhys loved watching fire burn, untamed and wild, powerful, Matthew wished he could be like that, he was closer to the snow that coated his country, fragile, pretty and cold, cold can kill too, he liked Alfred, normally he did, but it was nice to have him get what was coming to him, older than Matthew, taller and certainly sturdier, it was nice to see him missing a limb or three, Arthur wasn’t even disgusted, he had done the same to so many, he had done it to Alisdair at some point, he had done it to practically half of Europe by this point, he was proud.

Alfred didn’t want to be so hardy; he didn’t want to be alive to see his brother dismembering him, it hurt, fuck, it hurt, he looked mad, “Y-you're insane!” It fell on deaf ears, he heard little twittering voices sometimes, this sounded like one of them, he paid no mind to it, father had told him not to listen to the voices, and it made sense, so he didn’t.

Fire, blood, he understood why Rhys liked it so much, it was a bit of an odd thing to realise, but he did understand.

The rest of the 1810s had gone in a haze, Father was practically never available, Jack was clingy and practically impossible to control, Eleanor was still too small to be much of a problem, Aunt Brighid stayed as far away from the rest of them as she could, for good reason, Matthew was pretty sure father hadn’t even noticed, too busy, rushing around, twitchy and most certainly going through cocaine like a snowplough, busy, busy, busy, Alisdair too, always busy, practically never home, always somewhere in Glasgow or Edinburgh, maybe abroad, personally Matthew didn’t mind too much, there was always someone at odds when all were at home at once.

Rhys was home the most often, but even that was rare enough, Eleanor and Jack both had a governess, father was of the opinion that she must be taught the same as Jack, that “She must receive a prime education for a young woman in the contemporary era, she will not be taken seriously otherwise.” and to her credit, despite being younger, she was a fast learner, faster than Jack by any account, and he was a bright boy, just with an incapability to sit still.

She was scary in an odd way, she gave Alisdair heart attacks in the same way that Matthew used to, sitting in the rafters with a book with large eyes staring down at him like an odd owl, one pair blue, nearly purple, and one pair grass green, Matthew liked her, as did Jack, that boy was practically sunshine personified, his memory was utter shit and he had moments of manic disobedient violence, but generally he was practically the sweetest child the world had seen. He practically channelled the sun when he smiled, gap toothed and ruddy, he didn’t deserve to be in such a family, he liked being hugged, the only one who would hug him was Eleanor and even that wasn’t a given. He didn’t deserve this, he deserved so much better, what cruel trick was the Lord playing to make him one of them, immortal, he would slowly be worn done and Matthew did not want to see that.

It should be said that Alasdair never wanted to see Matthew as worn as he had gotten, but it was par for the course for them, they scarcely had a choice in this matter.

Napoleon defeated for the second time returned some semblance of normalcy, Father had started coming back sober and normal-looking, less likely to shout or immediately retire to his study for the foreseeable future, not very often, but more often than before, Eleanor regarded him coldly, which even he didn’t seem to mind very much, it was fair, nothing more could be said about it, but she did eventually warm up a little to him, Alisdair took the piss out of him often, he had apparently started to grey, Matthew thought it pretty par for the course, he was nearly 2000 by this point, he was unaware that Father was the youngest by quite a good margin, Rhys was a good century older than him, Alisdair even more so, yet oddly enough, physically speaking father looked significantly older than Rhys, frown lines, crows feet and grey hairs, and frankly speaking Alisdair wasn’t that far behind, he was dependant on his spectacles to read.

More nations added under the belt of the mother nation, the glorious British Athena was certainly a better personification, one that people could die for, than who it actually was, mechanical and without freedom of thought, starting to age and practically empty without orders, an echo chamber if you would.

When he had no orders, Father often would barely do anything, he usually did have orders, but on the off chance that he didn’t, he seemed not to know what to do with himself, nearly to a frightening degree, Alisdair and Rhys were only marginally better, how long had they been under orders to have completely lost freedom of thought. How long did it take to no longer have a sense of self strong enough to know what to do with oneself if not told what to do. A frightening concept, Matthew didn’t want the same to happen to him over the centuries, he was mostly obedient, yes, but he did know what he could do if he chose to disobey, he doubted they did. How long did it take, he feared it happening to him at some point.

The unification of the many German states sent shockwaves throughout the continent; Matthew wouldn’t have given half a flying fuck if it wasn’t for how paranoid father had been growing. Odd, but questioning it would always be worse.

Jack and Eleanor were old enough to go to a boarding school, Jack came back frightened and beaten, Eleanor came back much better off, shrewd as usual, bitter that she was not allowed to get a proper degree, but oddly lonely, Matthew recognised that look, she had gotten attached to a human, and then the human likely died,, they had all experienced it, they had been warned, but they never learned did they. Jack was quiet, his schooling seemed to not have gone very well, father frankly seemed not to care that he was beaten and belittled, he got a good education and practically it made sense, at least to him, sticks and stones could break bones, but they could heal that without much hassle.

Matthew didn’t oft see red, anger, hot anger especially wasn’t his forte, yet if feelings could kill Arthur would commit mass murder through sheer apathy alone, he did not frankly care, he practically tore his throat out shouting, for a moment he saw fear, half a second if that, fear quickly bred anger, Jack and Eleanor had hidden somewhere, or out in the grounds, they never wanted to hear the fight, Jack hated that it was happening because of him.

It simmered for a good long while afterwards, Matthew could hold a grudge, Arthur still did not honestly understand the problem, but he left it, he had better things to be doing than dealing with whatever this was, he was not used to being challenged anymore, the first and foremost empire of the world now, he was rarely challenged, let alone by his own children, Matthew was simply being odd, had gotten too big for his britches so to speak, he would deal with that later, he had orders to complete right about now.

_________________

Matthew regretted he had a lot of regrets for his relatively short life. One of the things he regretted the most was not killing father at least once during peacetime, he knew he would face the consequences, but occasionally patricide was the best course of action.

_________________

There was a lot to be said about the first world war, and the Second, too much, so I shan’t, what you need to know is that a nation's mind tends to grow a little befuddled over long periods of conflict, and by far were these the deadliest conflicts anyone had seen, this wasn’t a dull ache, it wasn’t a slow poison for the mind, sharp, quick and angry, easily drove mortal men to madness, to a nation it was worse, the youngers had never experienced very much of war, this being a first experience was not particularly good, the nascent personification of Germany had never fought any war before, before being thrust into the two most deadly wars of history in practically everyone's living memory. It frayed them, stretched a couple to madness, Matthew being one of the latter, though relatively speaking, his thread was a lot thinner than most his age was, why that was the case was mostly the fault of Arthur and Francis.

For older ones, it snapped what little thread was holding their humanity, their sanity, their rationality, and their body together, they all did odd things after the war, America and Russia, started another war, cold, not direct, the old empires were fading, all clutched to their power with a white knuckle grip, they had gotten used to having power, unused to being challenged, Arthur didn’t want to be upstaged by his own progeny, but he as a person was too practically unstable to do very much about it, cities were still bombed out, he was missing people, running out of money, colonies were vying for independence, all rational thinking shut down, too much happening for the logic that frankly had only started to come about in the last 2 centuries to remain, reverting to a more animalistic existence, at least for now, until he mind stabilized.

Alisdair was considered the safest right now, the child Northern Ireland was sent to stay with him, Connor, he didn’t know exactly why he couldn’t see Arthur or Rhys right now, whenever he asked all he was met with was a stare that went through him instead of on him “You do not want to know Connor, you really do not.”

Alisdair did not know exactly what he was doing, he did find himself far from home on occasion, but he generally stayed in the vicinity, he would normally wander farther, but held by what must have only been duty towards Connor, had he never wandered too far in his empty minded, tipsy hazes, he could have gone far, he was known to wander.

He needed to stop doing this, he needed to stop drinking so much before bed.

He counted himself lucky that he hadn’t found himself elbow deep in entrails yet, he had done that before, it was never a pretty experience to have to go and hide the body afterwards, nor was it particularly quick either, he counted himself lucky that he was mostly sane right about now.

Arthur and Rhys were not, Arthur couldn’t remember a lot of the year after the second world war, not much at all, Rhys could, and he relished in it, they rarely did this, but their thirst for blood had to be quenched before it got any worse, the lesser of a couple evils, no one would miss just one person, especially now, so many had lost family members that stealing a person off the street could not have been reported as anything, good, dead of night. Rhys looked far less suspicious than Arthur, younger and still with a soft baby-faced look that spoke nothing of his intentions, a crowbar to the head, and he was out.

The man, who fucking knew who he was, they certainly didn’t and didn’t particularly care either, he just had to fulfil their needs and nothing else, he couldn’t remember who he was by the end of it either, woozy as if drunk, tied down to...something seemed to be a bed, he couldn’t remember any faces, only the smallest snippets of voices, he remembered a lot of food, too much food, more food than he had eaten in his life prior, sickly sweet puddings and food too rich for him, he wasn’t allowed to vomit it up, when he tried there was always a punishment, or he was forced to swallow it, where did they have so much money for so much food, the bonds started to cut into his sagging flesh, he couldn’t move, he had been tied up for too long, how long had it been?

Occasionally he could feel himself going mad when one of them entered the room, he could tell there were two of them, at least, they had different voices, one was higher and painfully sickly, the other was terrifying, he didn’t want to do what they told him, he couldn’t remember how they told him, they were in his mind, his body wasn’t his own at times like these, he felt both wonderful and terrible after they left, so empty, he could be used for anything and h wouldn’t mind, mind blank and empty, slow as molasses, he liked molasses, and honey, sweet was it, going mad was a strong word for it he decided, going mad was a bad thing, all he felt when they came was obedience, not even borne out of fear, completely obedient, he didn’t want to think for himself eve if he could, Rhys lowered the amount of drugs given to him dramatically, to see how he was like when on his own mind, he was practically the same, Arthur had done a very good job of breaking into his mind, filling it with sweet nothings, blind obedience, lack of feeling connected to the physical body, Arthur was good at this, he gave no mind to the complicated little scenario Rhys was doing right now, he was getting impatient, but even Athur could be bribed quite easily if you knew how, and Rhys certainly did, Rhys was more interested in before the death, Arthur more interested in during, the man had a soft spot for the human body, he liked to see what was inside it, cadavers could only do so much, yellowed and mummified practically, not how the human body truthfully worked, or rather stopped.

“Patience is a virture Arthur.”

“Rhys we wouldn’t know what a virture was if it bit us in the ass, how much longer are you going to take?”

“Not much longer, he is scarcely human, we need to wait for the rest of it to go, then we can, I swear.”

Arthur had a lot more to do than Rhys, he still had to deal with increasingly finicky international relations, he often came back stressed to the point of violence, their victim bore the brunt of it, Arthur afterwards made sure none of the lacerations would get infected, that would simply just be a waste of good meat, no one would eat infected meat, bullshit, the man scarcely noticed that he was being bled, he couldn’t think straight, or at all frankly, he hadn't noticed his eyes were no longer in their sockets, he could scarcely see before always.

Gone.

No one would miss him, slow cooked was best for such fatty meat, though first Rhys let Arthur play around a bit with the corpse, there was a lot of flesh to get through, and the organs frankly were all shrivelled due to deficiency, the food was rich but not particularly nutritious, the min was physically mush, there was no shape to it, the way he was killed perhaps had something to do with it, Arthur had not been prior aware that it actually liquidized the brain, frankly it was interesting, but he would not look into it too closely right about now, this was not the time, he tasted good when cooked and seasoned correctly.

Alisdair could only wish he didn’t know what was happening, he vaguely knew, he wanted to know no deeper, why were they like this, Alfred had stumbled in Lord Father's footsteps now enough that Alisdair was seeing the similarities and he hated it, he hated this all, Matthew had disappeared off into the woods for too long before he came back little of his well-formed humanity intact, Brighid had distanced herself, she was independent now so she had all reason to, he was left with Connor, he would have easily gone mad as everyone else had had it not been for him.

“Connor, go to sleep.”

“’M cold.”

“Come here.” He climbed onto his lap, he was still small, only about 5 or 6, he was the thing keeping Alisdair sane right now, and he would like to keep it that way, he had fallen asleep not 2 minutes after he lay down on Alisdair, who fell asleep on the armchair not too much longer after that. This was nice, good.

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blessphemy · 9 months

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✨ Fic Writing Review 2023 ✨

thanks for the tag @non-plutonian-druid!

the actual format of this game is this post but i rearranged it a bit so that i could hide my extremely long list of fics under a cut

Fandom fic events 2023

Murderbot Diaries New Year Gift Exchange

Yuletide Draft Dodgers

Murderbot AUpril Collection (open and accepts submissions)

2023 Aspec Murderbot Diaries

2023 PresAugust

We Were It // It Will Be Us: A TMBD Art Exhibition (open and accepts submissions)

Botober 2023

Upcoming 2024

Events:

i'm doing the Murderbot Diaries New Year Gift Exchange (2024) :3

Perhaps i'll post something for the annual 3/3 for Three collection idk (this collection is open and accepts submissions, and it spikes on March 3rd of each year)

WIPs:

Gift exchange fic

Absolute monster of a nullverse!network effect AU fic. i'm trying so hard to get draft 1 of this beast finished it's been beating my ass for over a year but i'm gonna Get It

Continue Via Solitude updates.

a 5+1 ASR bad ends fic that explores some meta shit. namely trust, forgiveness, and sci-fi horror genre vs canon.

Words and fics 2023

let's find out just how cringe (fun) i've been on ao3. i'm like. jeebus creebus i've posted a lot this year huh.

105,486 words of fan fiction. all of it murderbot. let's look at them going right down the statistics page (default sorted by hits, tho it gets kind of messy at the end with and i got lazy):

30,336 words of Via Solitude, an All Systems Red AU where murderbot has to do wilderness survival.

~5k words that's just a repost of Threat As Greeting, except with fresh interactive CSS effects.

3,346 words top 3 SURPRISING things you didn't know about the SECUNIT who pulled you out of an INCINERATOR (2023 gift exchange) outsider POV from the characters featured in Wells' pre-canon short story

1,502 words Aspec Drabbles (for the Aspec Murderbot Diaries event) it lot of fun to work with strict 100-word drabbles.

13,837 words References NULL: Logs From Project Murderbot [nullverse] the most purely concentrated angst/whump from the nullverse series yet. handle with care or skip it.

6,552 words How To Go On A Camping Trip - a guide for anxious SecUnits who are bad at vacationing (2023 gift exchange) i really liked this one tbh. fun standalone.

2,488 words Improve Your Baby AI With This One Weird Trick! (2023 gift exchange) my personal fic-titling theme for the gift exchange was "clickbait."

7,875 Alien Refuge (AUpril inspired) This is a Homestuck crossover, and reportedly the first time multiple people willingly interacted with homestuck-affiliated content, and they liked it. gottem. it's also pretty good, i did a nice job injecting homestuckism tone into the murderbot narrative style If I Do Say So Myself.

911 words No Comment: Shut Up And Dance [nullverse] fluff and humor. tfw your secunit friend (murderbot) is crashing in your living room and you (dr. ratthi) have insomnia.

2,922 words MetaMorphoSys (AUpril inspired) listen i NEED the next big fandom trend to be an AU world where people metamorphose inside cocoons. hear me out. HEAR ME OUT. in this fic we take the fridge horror of canon murderbot diaries and make it visceral, wet, biological, and ethically Even Worse. get yr Amena emotions also.

0 words SecUnit Technician Bingo Card it's funny. idk.

3,438 words nullverse reference sheet [nullverse bonus content] self indulgent AU notes

2,290 words Systems: Splorch [nullverse bonus content] a friend of mine said "how long until we get a fic with #oviposition in the murderbot diaries ao3?" i took the answer to that question into my own two capable hands at 7.5 hours. you're welcome.

2,562 words Artifacts NULL: Fire Festival [nullverse] slice-of-life friend times with nostalgia vibes. how far we've come.jpg.

388 words Entries shared by the Society for Conservation of Feed Artifacts (SCFA) (created for TMBD in-universe robot art gallery, which is an open collection that accepts any submissions!) wait this reminds me i have one more to post. i'll get to it.

9,314 words in 31 fics written for (Botober 2023) daily prompts. turned out to be a fun exercise and exploration of bot culture tho it took me longer than the month of october to finish.

4 fanarts of fics that i liked.

26 fanbindings where i printed out and made booklets out of fics that i liked.

2 translations.

3,080 words Refrain [nullverse bonus content] if you're unfamiliar with my Brand this will sound unhinged. if you are familiar with my Brand you know by now that i have a knack for taking literally Anything and treating it with tender loving care and unexpected deft so this doesn't even surprise you. tl;dr it's porn of two bots having a deeply OSHA-unapproved Fuck Session, there's no genitals involved, and it's tagged #Vivisection. it's pretty good if you're into robots and perhaps mild gore.

Rules & Tags for this game

Rules: Feel free to show whatever stats you have. Only want to show Ao3 stats? Rock on. Want to include some quantitative info instead of stats? Please do this. Want to change how yours is presented? Absolutely do that. Would rather eat glass than do this? Please don’t eat glass, just keep on scrolling.

@fishdetective @beatrice-otter @snugglyeldritchjellyfish @ilovedthestars and anyone who feels like it

#nullverse #tag game

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beatific-bruising · 2 years

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contains: non-human / immortal whumpee, dehumanization let me know if i need to tag this as anything else!

a whumper who makes indie shock horror films.

their work is a niche inside of a niche — only really enjoyed by people who regard the saw movies as child's play, who interpret the human centipede as a comedy. they're still pretty well-known outside of their cult following, though, for good and for ill. they're lauded for their stunning visual effects, stretching the limits on how good gore can look on a shoestring budget, and derided for making those effects so realistic in the first place, for making them so needlessly visceral and disgusting.

and our modern auteur takes the compliments and condemnations with a smile! they grin along with desperate hangers-on, chuckle at the horrified normies. they schmooze with the questioning, accusing press, fielding all their questions with a laissez-faire, #relatable attitude.

but there are some questions that get too close to the truth.

"so there's this certain actor that appears in almost all your latest stuff, and in their scenes — they're often way bloodier than any thing else in the movie, and no one can get an interview with them. can shed some light on them?"

whumper shifts in their seat.

"ah, i wish i could, but they're really shy and squirrelly about their privacy, you know? i guess they'll show themselves in public when they're ready. as for why their scenes are like that, well... something i can say is that i think they get into it more than i do, if you know what i mean ;)"

the stream host gives a sensible little chuckle. watchers get a kick out of it and sex jokes fill the chat. whumper's offhand lines get branded as "salacious comments" the next day by internet news pundits. the uproar interrupts, the shock distracts, the laughter disallows investigation.

whumper's secret stays safe another day.

"how's my golden goose doing today!"

the storage room door opens with a flourish. the flood of light glints off thin metal bars, and the something behind them flinches. whumper lets a sleazy grin spread across their face as they stalk towards the dog cage in the corner. this close up, it's impossible not to tell what's inside: something that looks human has been crammed in the too-small cage and has curled its bare body in a ball, hiding its head under its hands.

whumper squats down and opens the cage, reaching out for the being's face. in response it curls up even more and does its best to hide its face behind its knees, but whumper grabs its chin and yanks it forward. they can see every precious detail of their prized golden ticket like this — the wide golden eyes, the glittering freckles, the pale hair matted with gilded blood.

and the large, fresh, jagged scar where its neck met its chest.

whumper shifts their hand and presses down on the scar. the being whimpers and squirms, but whumper gives it one good shake and it goes still, tears springing to its eyes.

"healed up that much already, huh. alright." whumper stands back up. "come on out, goldie, we got scenes to shoot." they kick the cage and it scrambles out on all fours, hunched over and trembling.

"we gotta re-do that chase scene in the woods, but you healed up too much for it," whumper says. they dig into their pocket and pull out a switchblade, flicking the blade up in a flash of silver.

"no..." the being makes a choked-off sound at the sight of the blade. its eyes widen and it does its best to back away on shaking limbs. "no no no no..."

"oh, don't you start." whumper grabs a fistful of hair and drags it back next to him. "the crew's waiting outside, and the more you start bitching, the longer they gotta wait, and the more i gotta pay them."

the being's eyes never leave the knife.

"don't please no no no please no—"

whumper rolls their eyes. "i'll do much worse than slit your throat again if you don't shut up this fucking second."

it falls silent with a whimper and whumper yanks it up to its feet. it barely gets its feet under it before they're shoving it towards the door.

"now get your costume and get to set. we both got fans to please."

#beatific.file #beatific.docx #whump #nonhuman whumpee #immortal whumpee #whump fic #whump writing #dehumanization

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trulyinspiringmovies · 1 year

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Evil Dead

“Evil Dead” is a stellar remake and is probably the most violent movie I’ve ever watched.

Mia Allen meets with her friends and her brother in a cabin in the woods to finally kick her drug addiction. This isn’t the first time she’s tried to quit cold turkey, so this time, her friends are determined to not let her leave the cabin until she’s completely cured. While at the cabin, one of the friends, Eric, studies a book they found. It’s called Naturom Demonto and when the incantations are spoken, an entity called The Abomination will claim five souls to resurrect itself.

Director Fede Álvarez impressed me with his extremely tense and creative movie, “Don’t Breathe”. It’s no wonder that his remake of “The Evil Dead” also highly impressed me. During an era when soulless horror remakes were trying to forgo the complexities of decades worth of continuity, “Evil Dead” sought to actually put some thought into its script. It’s always daunting to remake such a beloved movie, especially one that was a pioneer in the horror genre, but Fede Álvarez managed to do the impossible. There are only a handful of remakes or requels that managed to impress me. “Casino Royale” was a brilliant reimagining of James Bond. “Doctor Sleep” managed to balance originality with respect to both of its clashing sources. “Evil Dead” respects the staples of Sam Raimi’s “The Evil Dead”, while also reimagining them to be as horrific as possible. I love how a simple change to their motivations for staying at the cabin could add so much to the movie. It adds relatability, stakes, and character development that the original was lacking. This movie also manages to fix the mistakes of the original movie. The infamous tree scene is now reimagined to be horrific instead of oddly tantalizing. There are clear rules on how to stop the Deadites now, so it’s now easier for the audience to buy the extreme difficulty of having to kill one. There are callbacks to certain moments or lines in this movie that rewards the people who watched the original movies, but stand on their own so that newcomers could still enjoy them. Finally, I think the biggest achievement of this movie is the gore. Believe me when I say that the gore in this movie is unlike anything I’ve ever seen. I think a huge part of that is thanks to Fede Álvarez’s strict adherence to practical effects. Every moment feels tangible and visceral. It’s genuinely almost hard to watch at times. I like to think that I handle horror and gore pretty well, but even this movie had me squirming in my seat. All around, this movie is the gold standard when it comes to remakes in my opinion. It comfortably sits up there with the greats and completely deserves that position.

★★★★★

Watched on April 28th, 2023

#Evil Dead #April #2013 #Horror #Thriller #Fantasy #Mystery #Supernatural #R #Fede Álvarez #April 2023 #5 stars

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adamwatchesmovies · 2 years

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The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (2003)

Let’s just get right out and say it: the 2003 remake of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre is not as good as the original. It’s too polished and too much of the plot outs it as a Hollywood production to generate the same kind of terror Tobe Hooper did in 1974. As a horror film, however, it’s pretty good thanks to a persistent feeling of dread throughout, genuinely disturbing imagery and a couple of good ol’ visceral thrills.

On August 18, 1973, five young adults - Erin (Jessica Biel), her boyfriend Kemper (Eric Balfour) and their friends Morgan (Jonathan Tucker), Andy (Mike Vogel), and Pepper (Eric Leerhsen) - pick up a hitchhiker. When she suddenly commits suicide, the friends contact the police. While Sheriff Hoyt (R. Lee Ermey) takes his sweet time getting there, the unsuspecting travelers encounter the horrifying Leatherface (Andrew Bryniarski).

Even if you don’t compare this film to the 1974 horror classic, some decisions made by director Marcus Nispel are straight-up bad. At multiple points limbs are severed and there’s no way it should be as easy as it’s portrayed. Along those lines, many shots linger unnecessarily on gruesome sights. We know the killer is a sadistic maniac. He’s wearing a mask of human flesh for goodness’ sake! When we see glimpses of mummified hands, of severed fingers, of rotting corpses it simply reiterates what we already know. Worse, it takes away some of the killer's mystique. The film's worst scenes are the ones where loud noises are played to remind us we’re watching a horror movie. There aren’t more than a handful but what’s good about the film makes you see what this could’ve been had they been omitted.

While this remake is unnecessary, it justifies its existence with some great scenes. The more you see of the backwoods surrounding the heroes, the more suffocating they become. These people are doomed. They were going to die the moment they picked up that hitchhiker. It’s bleak but shouldn’t a horror film leave you shivering and disturbed? If the loud rev of that chainsaw doesn’t do it, then R. Lee Ermey - perfectly cast as Sheriff Hoyt - is sure to have you sweating. His appearance signals the beginning of a nightmare that only gets worse. Soon after, you'll see Thomas Hewitt a.k.a. Leatherface wearing a new mask that’s been freshly cut and sown. It’s fuel for your night terrors.

Also effective is the contrasting imagery. It’s Texas. Everything is hot and dusty during the day but once we enter Hewitt's world, everything is dripping, moist and wet. It feels and looks gross even when blood isn’t shown. Then, the film suddenly subverts your expectations. The slasher might become the slash-ed, or a location typically associated with death - such as a slaughterhouse - suddenly becomes hopeful. "Twisted" is a recurring theme in this film and these play into it nicely.

It’s a shame that 2003's The Texas Chainsaw Massacre couldn't have been a movie inspired by the original rather than a remake of it. If you can only see one, there's no contest. This doesn’t necessarily make this update a bad film - let's keep in mind, we’re comparing it to one of the greatest cinematic horrors ever made. For what this picture does right, I say it's worth a watch. (On Blu-ray, January 25, 2019)

#The Texas Chainsaw Massacre #movies #films #movie reviews #film reviews #horror movies #horror films #marcus nispel #scott kosar #jessica biel #jonathan tucker #erica leerhsen #mike vogel #eric balfour #r. lee ermey #2003 movies #2003 films

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dryeyed · 4 months

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shota and general body hcs.

* his elbow is the most prominent scar on his body, and even if that wound been 'fully' healed it's never really been the same. if he holds his bent arm in one position for too long, he has to crack it, moving in a very specific motion so the crack doesn't hurt. it tends to get locked in place like this, probably the effect of a weakened joint. as as result of this, he tends to lose circulation pretty quickly in his right forearm and hand, nerve damage and all playing a big role in general hand discomfort.

* hacking off his own leg with the extreme slashing force of a large dagger is something that viscerally plays in his mind over and over again. it's a haunting scene and feeling, reimagined and relived every time his cruel brain decides to play through it once again.

shota definitely experiences phantom limb pain, usually in bouts that occur for just seconds or minutes. he does have those days where he can't so much as stand look at his leg without 'wigging out', sensation and imagination too mixed to be distinguishable from reality. it plays hell with the mental shit he already has to deal with, but couple that with actual bodily sensations and it's led to a full breakdown. it's gotten better recently, but it certainly has not gone away. he absolutely refuses painkillers whenever he can, whenever possible.

* due to the nature of his quirk, shota's always been a little queasy around eye horror or eye gore. it's freaked him out since he was a teenager, and while it's not particularly something that comes up in conversation or is presented the opportunity to be known, he usually does not have strong outward reactions. that is, until he comes close to losing his eye. until he actually loses his eye function from a nail scratch.

now he can't even so much as stomach eye horror, and then nausea makes him even more anxious and then in turn more nauseated from emetophobia. it's a great loop. he stays away from anything to do with the topic, including the graphic injury to his own eye.

* i imagine he also has insane control over his eyelids on the battlefield. little ways to keep them lubricated by never quite committing to a full blink, but some things in between. he probably spent many days as a teen at ua, staring in a mirror, focusing all his willpower on mastering the muscle movements of his eyelids. bitches be squinting.

#headcanon.#in the jungle opening.mp3

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nitrosodiumepicfps · 11 months

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Five more First Person games

Just found out I need x10 examples of each genre. Here we go.

Portal - Ah, we all love Portal. Interestingly, I always enter a bit of a Portal phase in the autumn, so this is a very good time to be writing about it. The game may not have pioneered real-time portals; that achievement goes to Prey 2006, but it definitely popularized them, and did it well. When it comes to puzzle games, I've found that almost every one is in first person. There's more to this than a stylistic choice; you need your player to see the puzzles, and having 1/4 of your screen obscured by your character doesn't help. It's literally like trying to solve a puzzle while looking over someone's shoulder. And in Portal, where visibility is a key factor, making it first person allows you to see exactly where your portals will travel. It's clearly a good system, in fact, I can complete the game in just under an hour nowadays. That's still not even considered quick, when compared to other Portal speedrunners, who skip around outside of the level limits and drive airboats through walls or what-have-you. The game and its systems has almost been turned into a meta-puzzle, to see how quickly you can complete it using just what the game has in it.

Dying Light - This is a good one. I mean, most of the games I'm looking at are good. Between the high-adrenaline parkour and the visceral hand-to-hand combat against shrieking zombies, it's probably a lot of fun. I also like the Near Eastern setting of Harran, it's a nice change of pace to the prototypical crumbling not-New York we see in every other zombie media. Being a parkour game, you need a good view of your surroundings; what parts you can land on, what parts you can hold onto, and what parts will chew your hand off. First person perspective obviously helps with this, and also exacerbates the gory combat. Beating a zombie's face until you can see the bone doesn't have the same effect when you're watching through a floating camera situated three feet behind your character.

Outlast - I used to love this game when I was younger and slightly edgier. It's still a pretty good horror experience, the last hurrah of the early 2010s walking simulator survival horror before FNAF would come and usher in a new age of scares. The thrill of sneaking around a condemned mental asylum with nothing but a camcorder and a handful of batteries still holds up pretty well, and I like the light platforming mechanics like ledge-grabbing. What's interesting is how the horrors are enforced upon our protagonist, Miles Upshur - it's all through the hands. Outlast makes a big deal about not showing Miles' face, in fact, if you cheat and exit your body, you can see that he doesn't have a head at all, just a virtual camera sitting on top of his neck. Because Outlast has a fully-rendered player body, Miles is always injured through his hands. This has been done in various other games, like the Ethan Winters RE games, where we essentially see through our character's hands. We interact with the game through our character's hands, and so the best way to show a character's injuries are through the hands. That's why halfway through the game, Miles gets a finger or two cut off by the manic Dr Trager. We're forced to put up with staring at his bloodied stump for the rest of the game, due to where the injury is located. So many horror game protagonists lose fingers when you think about it.

Half Life - Oh boy, I get to talk about my favorite game! Half Life is the definition of groundbreaking. Before Half Life, FPS games were all about killing, with very little story. Perhaps you'd get a wall of fluff between episodes, or it would otherwise be explained away in the manual. John Carmack of Doom fame is credited with relegating story in a game to "story in a porn movie, [it's] expected to be there but [it's] not important." In this sense, Half Life acts like a transitory shooter. It retains the speed and weapon-juggling of the 90s, but brings in proper narratives, cinematic sequences, not to mention an unbroken first person narrative and unparalleled immersion for the time. (I'd say that MGS2 is probably more immersive, but that was 2001, so it doesn't count.) Then, after Half Life, Halo made waves on the Xbox, bringing in two-weapon limits, dedicated grenade buttons, and regenerating health. This more tactical way of making games continued well into the 2010s, with various Call of Duty-likes perpetuating the slow and psuedo-realistic approach. However, with modern battle royales becoming faster and with more movement mechanics, a la Apex Legends, it seems we might be going back to the super-fast deathmatch of the 90s, starting the cycle again. Half Life is still a lot of fun to play in 2023, and while the graphics have aged, the art style hasn't. Your brain can still fill in the gaps and determine what things are supposed to represent, and the immersion levels continue this - even if that white polygonal box doesn't look exactly like a hand dryer, it's in a bathroom, and when you interact with it, it produces a loud humming. This, combined with the outstanding NPC AI, makes the world feel truly alive. Characters can comment on smells, enemies can fight each other and eat chunks of flesh off the ground, soldiers will communicate to each other and work together to flush you out, and each weapon has a situational use based on what setpiece you find yourself in. It's just amazing.

Deus Ex - If you couldn't tell by my profile picture, I like Deus Ex quite a bit. It's this gloomy neo-noir conspiracy taking you through a gritty view of the future, where corporations rule with an iron fist, social inequalities are everywhere, and a virus ravages the world. Good thing none of those issues exist in the modern day, right? I kid, but this 2000 video game was surprisingly prophetic. You play as JC Denton, a counter-terrorism agent using various means to uncover the grand conspiracies of the world. It's an immersive sim, one of my favorite genres, where you can upgrade your character and choose various routes to complete missions. Depending on whether you use a lot of force or go for pacifism, the game's endings can change, and various characters can be killed off or spared to determine a unique outcome. It's pretty cool.

#devlog #gamedev

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eolewyn1010 · 2 years

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Jonathan starts out with a banger once again: "God preserve my sanity" - honey, that ship has sailed. He's developing some Stockholm syndrome regarding Dracula and still talking about how in the room where he slept "of old, ladies had sat and sung and lived sweet lives" plus some chauvi bullshit about how lost these women were without their men when we know by now 1st, that he has met ladies in this room this very day, so stop raving about the hypothetical middle ages, dude, and 2nd, they aren't exactly aching for Dracula to be around. There's a lot to unpack here, but I'll try not to overdo my usual brevity too much.

The ladies in question don't cast a shadow. Has Jonathan mentioned that only now? I'm not sure he ever noticed that about the Count.

The three women are nowhere called "brides" of Dracula. Do they have a sexual and/or romantic relationship with him at all? For all we know, they might just be his roomies.

With Jonathan noting that two of them have features similar to Dracula's, it's implied they are his relatives.

Is the brides thing on the table still? I mean, Stoker wants Dracula to be this xenophobic caricature of a sexually depraved oriental, so it wouldn't surprise me if incest is also on the table. *sigh* Stoker...

The gorgeous blonde is of course in command over the aquiline, dark, not-so-Aryan women. *grumble* Stoker...

Of course, he is a coward, because if he would have leaned fully into his uptight Victorian values, he could have made the "sexual depravity" the most explicit by having Dracula overtake the seductive part himself. Because for all Jonathan describes the ladies' looks in the same terms as the Count's, he definitely has the hots for these women. I'll leave that to the shippers.

Jonathan's spontaneous boner causes him brief conscience pangs because of Mina, but, eh, I think she's undressing by the fire with Lucy in the meantime. Things are also getting spicy in Castle Dracula - really, this scene is... erotic, but not in a comfortable way. Then of course, Dracula comes in and throws a jealous tantrum because that's his new boytoy, dammit! Seriously, he's all "how dare you touch him!" and "this man belongs to me!", and I'm sure we have left the subtext of queer dreams now. It's text; Dracula says to them he too can love, as they should know from the past (so they are his ex-girlfriends, yes? I'm a little lost in this half of the polycule). So, like, why bother with the additional, acceptable-to-be-sexually-desired characters at all when he says right there that he loves Jonathan? He even carries him to bed when the dumbass passes out. And undresses him. Anyway.

Dracula gives the three women a little child to eat instead of the fully-grown man snack they wanted, which I'm sure is not as nutritious, and also a scene that's farewell to all leftover comedy. It is a horror novel after all. Belatedly, our Victorian himbo comes to the conclusion that those were "awful women". Oh, really? And who was thirsting for them to suck you dry earlier on?

For the first time, I'm actually glad that there'll be a day break in-between. This chapter was... a lot.

#Dracula Daily #I'm in equal parts impressed and disgusted #on the one hand: this was effective and pretty visceral horror #on the other it's oozing Victorian racism #oof

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tlbodine · 3 years

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The Horror Genius of Five Nights At Freddy’s

I’ve been playing FNAF: Help Wanted VR on my Oculus Quest lately (a birthday present to myself -- I know I’m late to that party!) and it’s reignited in me my old love of this series. I know Scott Cawthon’s politics aren’t great, but I don’t think there’s any malice in his heart beyond usual Christian conservative nonsense -- and I think he stepped down as graciously and magnanimously as possible when confronted about it. Time will judge Scott Cawthon’s politics, and that’s not what I’m here to talk about. I want to talk about what makes these games so damn special, from a horror, design, and marketing perspective. I think there’s really SO MUCH to be learned from studying these games and the wider influence they’ve had as intellectual property.

What Is FNAF?

In case you’ve somehow been living under a rock for the last seven years, Five Nights At Freddy’s (hereafter, FNAF) is a horror franchise spanning 17 games (10 main games + some spinoffs and troll games, we’ll get to that), 27 books, a movie deal, and a couple live-action attractions.

But before it exploded into that kind of tremendous IP, it started out as a single indie pont-and-click game created entirely by one dude, Scott Cawthon. Cawthon had developed other games in the past without much fame or success, including some Christian children’s entertainment. He was working as a cashier at Dollar General and making games in his spare time -- and most of those games got panned.

So he tried making something different.

After being criticized that the characters in one of his children’s games looked like soulless, creepy animatronics, Cawthon had his lightbulb moment and created a horror game centered on....creepy animatronics!

The rest, as they say, is history.

The Genius of FNAF’s Horror Elements

In the first FNAF game, you play as a night security guard at Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza, a sort of ersatz Chuck-E-Cheese establishment. The animatronics are on free-roaming mode at night, but you don’t want to let them find you in your security room so you have to watch them move through the building on security camera monitors. If they get too close, you can slam your security room doors closed. But be careful, because this restaurant operates on a shoestring budget, and the power will go off if you keep the doors closed too long or flicker the lights too often. And once the lights go out, you’re helpless against the animatronics in the dark.

Guiding you through your gameplay is a fellow employee, Phone Guy, who calls you each night with some helpful advice. Phone Guy is voiced by Cawthon himself, and listening to his tapes gives you some hints of the game’s underlying story as well as telling you how to play. A few newspaper clippings and other bits of scrap material help to fill in more details of the story.

Over the next set of games, the story would be further developed, with each new game introducing new mechanics and variations on the theme -- in one, you don a mask to slip past the notice of animatronics; in another, you have to play sound cues to lure an animatronic away from you. By the fourth game, the setup was changed completely, now featuring a child with a flashlight hiding from the monsters outside his door -- nightmarish versions of the beloved child-friendly mascots. The mechanics change just enough between variations to keep things fresh while maintaining a consistent brand.

There are so many things these games do well from a storytelling and horror perspective:

Jump Scares: It’s easy to shrug these games off for relying heavily on jump scares, and they absolutely do have a lot of them. But they’re used strategically. In most games, the jump scares are a punishment (a controlled shock, if you will) -- if you play the game perfectly, you’ll never be jump-scared. This is an important design choice that a lot of other horror games don’t follow.

Atmospheric Dread: These games absolutely deliver horror and tension through every element of design -- some more than others, admittedly. But a combination of sound cues, the overall texture and aesthetic of the world, the “things move when you’re not looking at them” mechanic, all of it works together to create a feeling of unease and paranoia.

Paranoia: As in most survival horror games, you’re at a disadvantage. You can’t move or defend yourself, really -- all you can do is watch. And so watch you do. Except it’s a false sense of security, because flicking lights and checking cameras uses up precious resources, putting you at greater risk. So you have to balance your compulsive need to check, double-check, and make sure...with methodical resource conservation. The best way to survive these games is to remain calm and focused. It’s a brilliant design choice.

Visceral Horror: The monster design of the animatronics is absolutely delightful, and there’s a whole range of them to choose from. The sheer size and weight of the creatures, the way they move and position themselves, their grunginess, the deadness of their eyes, the quantity and prominence of their teeth. They are simultaneously adorable and horrifying.

Implicit Horror: One of the greatest strengths to FNAF as a franchise is that it never wears its story on its sleeve. Instead of outright telling you what’s going on, the story is delivered in bits and pieces that you have to put together yourself -- creating a puzzle for an engaged player to think about and theorize over and consider long after the game is done. But more than that, the nature of the horror itself is such that it becomes increasingly upsetting the more you think on it. The implications of what’s going on in the game world -- that there are decaying bodies tucked away inside mascots that continue to perform for children, that a man dressed in a costume is luring kids away into a private room to kill them, and so forth -- are the epitome of fridge horror.

The FNAF lore does admittedly start to become fairly ridiculous and convoluted as the franchise wears on. But even ret-conned material manages to be pretty interesting in its own right (and there is nothing in the world keeping you from playing the first four games, or even the first six, and pretending none of the rest exist).

Another thing I really appreciate about the FNAF franchise is that it’s quite funny, in a way that complements and underscores the horror rather than detracting from it. It’s something a lot of other properties utterly fail to do.

The Genius of Scott Cawthon’s Marketing

OK, so FNAF utilizes a multi-prong attack for creating horror and implements it well -- big deal. Why did it explode into a massive IP sensation when other indie horror games that are just as well-made barely made a blip on the radar?

Well! That’s where the real genius comes in. This game was built and marketed in a way to maximize its franchisability.

First, the story utilizes instantly identifiable, simple but effective character designs, and then generates more and more instantly identifiable unique characters with each iteration. Having a wealth of characters and clever, unique designs basically paves the way for merchandise and fan-works. (That they’re anthropomorphic animal designs also probably helped -- because that taps into the furry fandom as well without completely alienating non-furries).

Speaking of fan-work, Scott Cawthon has always been very supportive of fandom, only taking action when people would try to profit off knock-off games and that sort of thing -- basically bad-faith copies. But as far as I know he’s always been super chill with fan-created content, even going so far as to engage directly with the fandom. Which brings me to....

These games were practically designed for streaming, and he took care to deliver them into the hands of influential streamers. Because the games are heavy on jump-scares and scale in difficulty (even including extra-challenging modes after the core game is beaten) they are extremely fun to watch people play. They’re short enough to be easily finished over the duration of a long stream, and they’re episodic -- lending themselves perfectly to a YouTube Lets Play format. One Night = One Video, and now the streamer has weeks of content from your game (but viewers can jump in at any time without really missing much).

The games are kid-friendly but also genuinely frightening. Because the most disturbing parts of the game’s lore are hinted at rather than made explicit, younger players can easily engage with the game on a more basic surface level, and others can go as deep into the lore as they feel comfortable. There is no blood and gore and violence or even any explicitly stated death in the main game; all of the murder and death is portrayed obliquely by way of 8-bit mini games and tangential references. Making this game terrifying but accessible to youngsters, and then marketing it directly to younger viewers through popular streamers (and later, merchandising deals) is genius -- because it creates a very broad potential audience, and kids tend to spend 100% of their money (birthdays, allowances, etc.) and are most likely to tell their friends about this super scary game, etc. etc.

By creating a puzzle box of lore, and then interacting directly with the fandom -- dropping hints, trolling, essentially creating an ARG of his own lore through his website, in-game easter eggs, and tie-in materials -- Cawthon created a mystery for fandom to solve. And fans LOVE endlessly speculating over convoluted theories.

Cawthon released these games FAST. He dropped FNAF 2 within months of the first game’s release, and kept up a pace of 1-2 games a year ever since. This steady output ensured the games never dropped out of public consciousness -- and introducing new puzzle pieces for the lore-hungry fans to pore over helped keep the discussion going.

I think MatPat and The Game Theorists owe a tremendous amount of their own huge success to this game. I think Markiplier does, too, and other big streamers and YouTubers. It’s been fascinating watching the symbiotic relationship between these games and the people who make content about these games. Obviously that’s true for a lot of fandom -- but FNAF feels so special because it really did start so small. It’s a true rags-to-riches sleeper hit and luck absolutely played a role in its growth, but skill is a big part too.

Take-Aways For Creatives

I want to be very clear here: I do not think that every piece of media needs to be “IP,” franchisable, an extended universe, or a multimedia sensation. I think there is plenty to be said for creating art of all types, and sometimes that means a standalone story with a small audience.��

But if you do want a chance at real break-out, run-away success and forging a media empire of your own, I think there are some take-aways to be learned from the success of FNAF:

Persistence. Scott Cawthon studied animation and game-design in the 1990s and released his first game in 2002. He released a bunch of stuff afterward. None of it stuck. It took 12 years to hit on the winning formula, and then another several years of incredibly hard work to push out more titles and stoke the fires before it really became a sensation. Wherever you’re at on your creative journey, don’t give up. You never know when your next thing will be The Thing that breaks you out.

If you want to sell a lot of something, you have to make it widely appealing to a bunch of people. This means keeping your concept simple to understand (”security guard wards off creepy killer animatronics at a pizza parlor”) and appealing to as wide a segment of the market as you can (ie, a horror story that appeals to both kids and adults). The more hyper-specific your audience, the harder it’s gonna be to find them and the fewer copies of your thing you’ll be selling.

Know your shit and put your best work out there. I think there’s an impulse to feel like “well, nobody reads this anyway, so why does it matter if it’s no good” (I certainly have fallen into that on multiple occasions) but that’s the wrong way to think about it. You never know when and where your break will come. Put your best work out there and keep on polishing your craft with better and better stuff because eventually one of those things you chuck out there is going to be The Thing.

Figure out where your target audience hangs out, and who influences them, and then get your thing in the hands of those influencers. Streaming and YouTube were the secret to FNAF’s success. Maybe yours will be BookTube, or Instagram, or a secret cabal of free librarians. I don’t know. But you should try your best to figure out who would like the thing that you’re making, and then figure out how to reach those people, and put all of your energy into that instead of shotgun-blasting your marketing all willy nilly.

You don’t have to put the whole story on the page. Audiences love puzzles. Fans love mysteries. You can actually leave a lot more unanswered than you think. There’s some value in keeping secrets and leaving things for others to fill in. Remember -- your art is only partly yours. The sandbox belongs to others to play in, too, and you have to let them do that.

If in doubt, appealing to furries never hurts.

Do I take all of this advice myself? Not by a long shot. But it’s definitely a lot to think about.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go beat The Curse of Dreadbear.

#horror analysis #writing advice #fnaf

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orojuice · 3 years

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Paradox Bandit: Alternate Take

A comic by me and Sha-Y. Part of our NMH3: Alternate Struggles series.

Paradox Bandit was probably the alien “superhero” I was least interested in when FU’s crew was revealed way back in “The Return”.

Some noted his resemblance to He-Man, which I only recognized after it was pointed out. This comparison was strengthened during the Rankings comicbook intro that called him the “Master of Explosion”, a possible riff on “Masters of the Universe”.

Even with 2021 being an odd year for the Champion of Eternia, I wasn’t very inspired to do an “alternate take” comic with him like I did with Vanishing Point, Sniping Lee, or Black Night Direction.

Then Travis unveiled his skeletal “Full Green” armor mode and everything just sort of clicked, and a backstory for Paradox Bandit as fallen superhuman barbarian hero of a far-off planet/dimension whose Yuga-esque cyclic exploits are broadcasted on Earth ala Robert A. Heinlein’s “World as Myth” concept i.e. all “fiction” is “real” somewhere out there in the multiverse.

A quick two-punch, two-page comic script reminiscent of Travis’ confrontation with Electro Triple Star in TSA came to mind. One that satirizes the quick AND painful way writers try to shake up long-running fictional franchises, as well as the feuds that follow. We’ve seen it with He-Man, with Marvel’s Thor (whose washed-up Endgame iteration Paradox Bandit also resembles) with Star Wars, with The Greatest American Hero, the list goes on. In the stories these shifts typically occur in, the current is powerless to challenge the coming, the past is to be killed with no sincere purpose, but in the chaotic framework of No More Heroes, that needn’t be so as anything can happen.

Thus, the dismissed, diminished, and discarded demigod is given the chance to “fight back” in a raw and direct fashion that some of the archetype’s bereaved fans secretly wish they would, resulting in a metaphorical sequence rife with genuine pain, visceral delight, and undeniable horror.

Choking Hazard: 3 years of age and under.

Rather than a straw supporter of the new guard or an upright acolyte taking a former idol to task, Travis would be an interesting opponent as he’s clearly not the ideal result of the pop culture strata Paradox Bandit is supposed to represent. Despite being a fan of heroic fiction as seen in the likes of Ultraman, Kamen Rider, and presumably 80s action cartoons (Travis was born during 1981 or 1982), he’s grown up into a thoroughly unpleasant and dysfunctional individual, calling into question just how effective the old way of doing things was in providing actable and legitimate inspirations for audiences. He is, in short, exactly what Paradox Bandit accuses him of being, the awkward contrarian who would like the Skeletor and Orko stand-ins over him.

That in mind, perhaps a change is needed. Although pre and post-fight, Travis tacitly argues for a method that ties in for his love of tokusatsu (see the names for the various Death Glove Chips), sequel stories that explore new themes, ideas, and characters but truly respect the virtues and spirit of the mythology’s bedrock rather than treading upon them to form a distinct platform: succession rather than supplanting (you can see that in how MotU progressed from simple toy comic tie-ins to all its much loved animated iterations, graphic novels, etc). Which is more diplomatic and preferable than Paradox Bandit’s wish to take the reins of his next cycle and lock it in a status quo where he will remain secure at the cost of stagnancy.

For his battle, Travis fights Paradox Bandit in his Full Green mode much like he does against Midori, more out of symbolism and to have at least one other Full Green boss fight on the roster. In contrast to Midori’s area control/denial battle style, Paradox Bandit fights in a much more aggressive and direct manner: causing tremors, stomping up boulders to kick towards Travis, calling down lightning, throwing his axe and calling it back, doing melee combos reminiscent of the Captain Treatments, summoning his version of Battle Cat that Travis needs to use missiles or his Tiger Attack to knock him off of, and of course, doling out EXPLOSIONS.

The fight ends with Paradox Bandit managing to badly damage the Full Green armor (to the point that it can only be used in short bursts, explaining why Travis didn’t pull it out during a crucial moment during the final boss sequence), but this gives Travis a chance to wrest his axe away from him. Screaming “By the Potence of ZweiNull! I have the Potence!” (which does nothing), he swings it down and critically wounds Paradox Bandit. As he lies dying, he expresses fear at what’s going to happen to him come his next incarnation, if one happens at all, and laments over his failures as both a hero and villain.

Travis assures him that despite how screwed up he himself is, he still lives by some of the lessons Paradox Bandit doled out as De-Max in his original show: He recycles, he looks both ways before he crosses the street, etc, which he’s passed on to his own kids. Paradox Bandit asks him if he’ll share MASTERS OF EXPLOSION with Hunter and Jeane, but Travis shrugs and says they’re not really into the kind of entertainment he likes, but if the new CG MoE show on Notflix is good, he’ll probably buy a couple of the toys if they’re of acceptable quality.

This gives Paradox Bandit some measure of peace, who says that he’s once again feeling very, very sleepy, as his body suddenly disintegrates. His axe then flies out of Travis hands and up into space, presumably to reboot MASTERS OF EXPLOSION.

I’ve actually watched the CG He-Man show. It’s actually pretty good. Radically different in lots of ways, but the essence and ideals of the Masters of the Universe remain. It also comes packaged with shockingly good humor, character dynamics, and action scenes. So check that out if you like.

Travis’ shirt is part of the logo of Forgotton Anne, a beautiful and fully-voiced indie puzzle platforming game that’s also about lost things…and lost people.

#no more heroes #Travis Touchdown #paradox bandit #he-man #masters of the universe #no more heroes 3 #nmh #nmh3 #forgotton anne #nmh3alternate

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dangermousie · 3 years

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CFC 125

1. Bwahahaha it’s the same receptionist as last time and is all “OMG, HY didn’t break up with this scumbag, I know he’s handsome but...” but her brain gets even more broken as she hears HY offer to keep XQC because he has more money and he’s begging ahahahahah poor woman!

2. XQC is driving but HY is out of it and is leaning on him (awww) but is super uncomfortable because he’s having a flare up and drugs don’t work well thanks to his taking them so much recently and XQC is thinking of HY’s options because they are all bad - HY can hurt himself or hurt others or take even more drugs but every time he does so, he gets closer to them not being effective. Yikes!

3. Ugh, HY, why did you not listen to XQC who told you to take less meds?! (But I suppose it’s a good sign he resorted to meds and not cutting; but I feel bad because he needs emotional calmness but instead has been thrown off the deep end over and over and over.)

4. And HY desperately hunting for something to cut himself with and I am hurting so for him. When he keeps going over and over “I want a knife” in a panic MY HEART!

5. OHHHH. Also, in some ways, this reads like a panic attack and it makes it extra viscerally uncomfortable for me for personal reasons (I haven’t had any in a long time but ughhh the memories.)

But also, it’s like a record of suffering and control (or attempts at it) engraved on HY’s body - every cut is his choosing to hurt himself instead of someone else and just - RN13 erased all of XQC’s physical scars but it also is the cause of HY acquiring all of his and I am not sure where I am going with it but it’s circling in my head.

6. HY getting more and more out of it and feeling the need to hurt XQC and fighting it and hitting the car’s window and just! The bit where it’s so bad that he’d normally be restrained in the hospital but there is nothing in the car so he’s restrained in XQC’s arms and I love this so much and I am sniffling.

This is a hell of an episode!

7. This chapter is so rough! HY loses it so badly he starts choking XQC and it’s pretty clear he’s totally out of it but luckily XQC frees himself and slaps him and that snaps HY out of it enough but yikes, poor kid, he’s having the worst time and his horror as he realizes what almost happened and just -

Just hug him back, plssssss, before I die!

8. And even though HY is hugging him and can hear his heart, he is still freaking out - what if there is no heartbeat and he’s literally begging for a knife or at least letting him try to hurt himself with his bare hands and OH MY GOD we never saw before how bad one of these episodes could get!

9. But XQC patted his back and is talking him down and is all “you don’t need a knife, the worst is over” and telling him there is still hope and good god this chapter is RAW as hell.

#cnovel #meatbun doesn't eat meat #case file compendium

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brittledame · 4 years

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Pairing: Shirabu Kenjirou/Reader

Warnings: Explicit, A/B/O dynamics, rough sex, degradation, arguing, unprotected sex, knotting, biting, mention of blood, dirty talk, possessive undertones, slight humiliation, fem!masturbation, Alpha Shirabu, Omega Reader

Word Count: 5.0K

Summary: An argument that breaks out between you and Shirabu leads you to a surprising realisation as you get turned on by him insulting you. When Shirabu figures this out, he doesn’t hesitate to take advantage of it.

It wouldn’t be an average afternoon of practice at Shiratorizawa if at least one minor disagreement wasn’t made between teammates. While they were usually mild debates discussing the superior Ramune flavour or something else just as trivial, there were a few big ones that brought the elation of completing another successful training session to a standstill. More times often than not, those bigger arguments always involved Shirabu in some sense, whether as the facilitator or was the parties arguing.

This argument however had to be the biggest the boys had the horror to watch. Practice had started with the usual motions of stretching, starting practice on whatever coach Washijou assigned them to focus on, get yelled at by said coach, a short practice match and a wind down session. It was all perfectly fine, even if Shirabu was a bit more snappish towards Semi’s good-willed critiques and Tendou’s playful jibes.

That was all until you showed up after disappearing mid-practice with a large box. The boys rushed to finish their clean up chores, curious looks staved off by your stern demeanour. It was amusing to watch Yamagata push Tendou around, scolding him to hurry up so they could find out what was in the box. They acted like a bunch of kids on Christmas day at the mystery laying besides your feet.

As soon as the box was opened and the contents were handed out, Shirabu’s already bad mood plummeted straight to hell and you had the pleasure of baring the brunt of it.

“Are you so stupid to not even notice something like that when you picked it up?” Shirabu’s face is scrunched up in disdain and it only served to spur you on, frustrated at his accusations.

“It’s out of my hands! How was I supposed to know they’d mess up the order? We’ve never had an issue with them before.” You gestured towards the innocent box that served as the spark that lit Shirabu’s extraordinarily short fuse.

“The jerseys don’t fit.” He seethed and if looks could kill, you’d be a pile of dust on the shiny lacquered wood flooring of the gym. “Shiratorizawa is going to look like a joke at our next match.”

“It’s a practice match, it’s not that big of a deal to wear your practice gear.” You exasperatedly respond, pinching the bridge of your nose.

The stress of the approaching exams weren’t helping anyone at the moment, but you never would have guessed that Shirabu, the poster child of cool and collected, would be the first to snap.

“That doesn’t matter. It’s the principle of the matter. You should be competent enough as our manager to be able to stay organised and follow up on this kind of thing.” His voice was tight, trying to refrain from raising his voice. It didn’t matter, the sharp sting of his scent in the air and his scowling face was loud enough for you and everyone else to pick up that he was pissed.

Speaking of them, whoever stayed behind to receive their uniform is gathered around your standoff, watching the back and forth argument with the same intent of observing a fast-paced volleyball game where the next score would win the match. The white and purple child-sized jerseys hung limp in their grasps as they eye each other, wondering who had the guts to step in and diffuse the situation.

“For the last time. It’s. Not. My. Fault.” You raise your chin, not backing down. You weren’t going to be pushed around by him just because he was in a shitty mood. He’s going to realise that the jerseys coming in kid sizes and not adult sizing was a stroke of misfortune that can be swiftly fixed by the company that apologised profusely over the phone to you.

You’re going to make sure he feels ashamed about blowing up on you over something so trivial.

Shirabu goes scarily still, a blank mask slips into place. This was infinitely more worse than his anger. You stood there, frozen, as he crosses the meagre space between your bodies.

Leaning forward to get into your face, Shirabu forces you to devote your attention to no one else but him.

“Maybe you are just a vapid little omega who only joined the team to get alpha dick. That would at least explain your utter incompetency to do basic tasks.” He accuses, voice cold enough to freeze and yet it had the polar opposite effect on you.

A rush of heat that was most definitely not anger burns through your veins and settles in your abdomen. Heart rate picking up, you were utterly bewildered as to why you were reacting so viscerally to his insult.

You sharply inhale when it hits you not even a moment later, remembering other moments you’ve felt like this. Blood rushes to your cheeks, causing them stain red. Shirabu watches on as your eyes widen and you break eye contact to look off to the side.

Oh shit, you cover your open mouth with a shaky hand and let your hair shield your face as much as possible from Shirabu’s pointed stare. The realisation that you were turned on was not a pleasant one, shame battling with arousal in the pit of your stomach.

What kind of person even gets off on that? You, apparently.

Although, it didn’t make much sense that you’re a blushing mess now when you’ve never felt like this when coach Washijou, teachers or anyone else speaks down to you like that. Hell, it infuriates you to no end when others belittle you.

The only difference here was that it was Shirabu with his neat copper-toned blond hair and stupidly slanted fringe that made more sense on the cover of a vogue magazine instead of on a volleyball court. You refrain from cursing out loud as your seniors finally get involved.

Reon steps up to Shirabu with a reproachful expression. “Woah, okay now that was a bit far. Calm it, Shirabu.”

While you were having an existential crisis at the birth of a kink you never wanted to have, the team’s faces show concern at your odd behaviour. This is the first time they’ve seen you like this, and the newness of the situation has them feeling like they were standing on a bed of needles, one wrong move and they end up in a world of pain.

“Besides, she said that she had got in contact with them and that it’ll be sorted out by next week. No big deal.” Tendou adds, wrapping an arm around a glowering Shirabu’s shoulders, promptly walking him out of your vicinity. Shirabu huffed but says nothing as he tears his gaze away from your covered face.

Once he was a few paces away, you take in a deep breath to calm yourself. This turned out to possibly be the worst thing you could’ve done. The lingering bitter scent of Shirabu’s aggression filled your noise.

Battling the need to keen out loud, you’re appropriately distracted from your moment of weakness brought on by basal instincts as a large hand is placed comfortingly on your shoulder.

“Hey, are you alright?” Semi asked, face pinched in worry. “I promise that he’ll never speak to you like that again when I’m through him.” He finishes darkly.

You stifle a hysterical laugh and minutely nod your head with downcast eyes.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’ll be taking my leave now. Again, I’m sorry about the jerseys.”

“We said it was fine, don’t stress about it! We’re fine with playing in our training gear until they arrive.” Semi smiles widely and you felt ease flow through you.

You raise your head and give him a small smile. With that, you walk out of the gym with your entire body held stiffly, trying your hardest not to run but you got pretty damn close to it as you feel their eyes trace after your fleeing figure.

A beat of silence follows as they listen to your shuffling footsteps. It’s only when they can no longer hear them that Tendou releases Shirabu’s shoulder and the team confronts him.

“Shirabu, what in the absolute fuck. She did not deserve that.” Semi hisses, hands clenching in restrained rage that he wished to unleash upon the belligerent second year. “She even fucking apologised, but you had to keep pushing.”

Shirabu glanced over to Taichi, to gauge just how badly he’s fucked up. The ginger wears a small frown and that’s all Shirabu needed to know that he was six feet below without even releasing it.

“You’re really stinking up the place too,” Tendou changes the topic, moving the conversation along like a rapid instead of a river. Shirabu swung his head around to meet the red-head’s raised eyebrows, wondering what in the hell the sporadic third year meant by that. “Just because you’re struggling with exam hell week is soon doesn’t mean you can take all your frustrations out on poor ol’ manager-chan.”

Shirabu clenches his fist and wills away the red haze that clouded his mind the moment he held his supposed uniform for the year. He worked so damn hard for his place on the court with Semi nipping at his heels, and the jersey symbolised all that hard work. And his uniform was a dozen sizes too small, it was almost like a joke.

He didn’t know what came over him in that instant but god, the rush he felt was something else. And the way you had blushed before you shied away was just as heady as scoring a no-touch ace.

“Okay, I get it. I may have blown it just a bit out of proportion.” Yamagata and Semi snort at that and Shirabu shoots them a glare.

“You should go apologise to her after you’ve both cooled off.” Ushijima helpfully suggests. Shirabu feels slightly ashamed that Ushijima had to see him like that. The disapproving look on his captain’s normally stoic face hurt.

“Yeah, sure.” Shirabu mumbled, unable to meet Ushijima’s eyes.

“Good,” Ushijima grunted. Thinking Shirabu understands the depth of his actions, he turns to the rest and speaks again. “Lets finish cleaning up so we can have dinner.”

His words remind the players of their hunger. They walk away, pick up their forgotten cleaning tools and resumed whatever they had been doing before the fight broke out

“You’re lucky the coaches weren’t here, or your ass would be benched so fucking quickly your head would spin.” Semi says, before he goes back to mopping, not giving Shirabu a chance to reply.

The words hung heavy in the air and trailed after him as Shirabu moves away and finishes picking up stray balls from the botched serving attempts by the first year recruits. He allows his mind to wonder as boredom quickly set in. He knew that the coaches would have his ass on a platter if they heard him speak down to you at that – Hell, he’s surprised that no one was wringing his neck right now for that stunt with how protective of you the team is.

An image of your flushed cheeks and pink mouth dropping open flashes through his mind. The rubber ball in his hand groans under the force of his grip. Frowning, Shirabu tosses it into the basket and picks up the next one, more considerate of his strength.

The sight was new and definitely something he liked if the tell-tale rush of blood southwards was anything to go by. Shirabu finds himself thinking that he wants to see that face again and again until he’s sated.

You’ve never been more thankful for your roommate’s stupidly rich father and his tendency to whisk her away on spontaneous trips. She would have asked too many questions when you arrived to your room, looking all out of sorts. You didn’t even think about locking the door behind you, instead rushing to seek the comfort of your bed.

Not bothering to turn on the lights, the moonlight through the open window served as enough illumination for you to get to bed, which you promptly collapse face-first on.

“Fuck.” You groan loudly into the sheets.

You stay like that until you almost feel like yourself again and breathing starts to get hard.

Lifting up the sheets, you slot into a cocoon of comfort, not at all caring that you’re missing dinner tonight. There were study snacks hidden away in the depths of you desk drawers, so you weren’t too fussed.

Turns out laying there in the dark was counter-intuitive to trying to sort out the storm inside your head. Shirabu’s words replayed in your head like a broken cassette, not allowing you a moment of reprieve.

You end up kicking off the sheets in frustration, glaring up at the white ceiling like it was the one to personally offended you.

While you weren’t exactly freaking out over the unexpected revelation that Shirabu catalysed, you were far from calm. You could almost swear you could still smell him, but a quick check assures you that he hadn’t somehow snuck into your room, and you chalked it up to your horny mind trying to torture you.

The more you thought about the argument, the more worked up you got, and the more worked up you got, you could feel your core pulse dully around nothing.

Wrapping your blanket around your hands, you begged for the feeling away. It was bad enough that you got wet in the first place, you didn’t want to further hurt your pride by indulging the fucked up feeling. As the seconds stretched on and your core refused to be ignored, you surrender to the urge with a muttered ‘goddamn it’.

Wanting to get it over and done with as quickly and effectively as possible, you shucked of your shorts and keep your underwear around your ankles, knowing it was going to be done soon and you’d rather not look around in the dark for them.

You frown as you encounter wetness between your folds. Damn, you had honestly underestimated just how turned on you were from the setter’s barbs.

You shrug it off and set to work, pulling out all the tricks to finish quickly. However, it seemed nothing wanted to go your way tonight as your peak evaded you no matter what you did.

Suddenly, knocks at the door startle you out of your frustration. Panicked, you rip up your panties and conceal the noise you made at the feeling of wet cotton rubbing against your clit. You held still and hoped that whoever it was would assume that you’re either in the dinner hall or asleep.

A shit afternoon turned into an even shittier night as the door handle turns and the door creaks open. In a rush, you fling the sheets over your body and face the wall, feigning at being asleep. Hopefully, they’ll get the hint and leave you alone.

Hesitant footsteps trail into your room, the door clicking shut behind the intruder. You silently wished that it was one of your friends. An unhelpful voice in the back of your head tells you that they’d never enter without announcing themselves. You tell that voice to shut up.

The person comes to a stop besides your bed, silent. Trying your hardest to not shiver under their gaze, you do your best to emulate being peacefully asleep.

“You can stop pretending to be asleep now.” Shirabu’s voice rang out, irritated.

Heart doing a summersault in your chest, you curse whatever god was listening. Not wanting him to be in your space for any longer than necessary, you reply.

“Well I was before you came in,” You say spitefully, still not facing him. “You aren’t allowed in here. Whatever you came here for can wait until tomorrow.”

You could almost swear you could hear him rolling his eyes.

“Our seniors won’t get off of my ass until I apologise, and I’d rather get this over and done with sooner than later.” He grits out.

You hear shifting but you keep your eyes fastening on the small mark you left on the wall when you threw your phone onto the bed and it banged into the wall in your first year.

Shirabu snaps. “You could at least have the common decency to look at me while I apologise.”

Content with ignoring him, you bide your time. Surely after a few more minutes of this, he’ll either get fed up and leave or give his shitty apology and leave. In either case he leaves and you’ll be free to ruminate in your own shame at feeling excitement over his presence in your room.

Fed up with your petulant behaviour, Shirabu grasps the sheets concealing you from him and rips them off of your curled form.

“Hey!” You exclaim, shock colouring your words as you twist onto your back and gape up at him.

The reason for your wilful ignorance of his presence comes in the form of a wall of pheromones hitting Shirabu paired with your barely dressed form. He blinks down at you, nostrils flaring as he picks up the sweet smell of your arousal.

His neutral expression is quickly replaced with a darker one as he draws nearer. Getting the gist of what was going on, you watch with bated breath as he climbs onto your bed. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what you were getting up to before he rocked up and Shirabu couldn’t pass up the delicious look of embarrassment on your cute face.

What exactly brought this on, however, he’s not completely sure of. He has an inkling what turned you on, with your odd exit earlier on, and he wants to test his theory out.

The bed dips where his knee meets it. Placing his hands besides your shoulders, leaning over you way too close for comfort, Shirabu smirks down at you.

“You’re fucking filthy.”

Your breath catches. Shirabu’s smirk widens. I got you now.

“Such a horny omega.” He tuts, leaning down more, now close enough that you could see flecks of gold in his honeyed irises. “The team thinks that you’re up here crying and instead I find you getting off.”

“No, I wasn’t.” You say hurriedly but at Shirabu’s ‘really’ look you frown and look over his shoulder, not brave enough to meet his eyes.

Shirabu catches a glimpse of your glistening fingers and grabs them. Your eyes snap back to him, not fighting him as he brings your fingers to his mouth and licks your slick off of them with a hum.

“You taste as sweet as you smell, did you know that?”

You grind your teeth together, refusing to break the stare down with Shirabu. At the feel of his teeth scraping along the pads of your fingers, you release a short breath and glance down to catch his lips quirking into smug smile.

“You have the whole team thinking that you’re something precious to be protected and yet here you are touching yourself to the thought of me telling you just how worthless you are.” He berates, eyes lidded and voice low. You shiver.

Seeing you so complacent under him, Shirabu felt invigorated to explore your body and see how far he could push before breaking you.

A calloused-roughened hand drifts southward and your breathing picks up in anticipation. He ignores your reaction to his touch in favour for pressing the wet cotton against your folds. Teeth sink into his bottom lip at the breathy noise you make.

Not wasting time, he pulls your panties down and tosses them over his shoulder. The position he was in wouldn’t do for what he had in store for you, so he climbed onto the bed and rested on his knees between your legs.

Recognising the flare of embarrassment that you’ve become well acquainted with today, you press your thighs together. Shirabu is unamused with this and you find yourself at the mercy of his sharp tongue yet again.

“No need to get shy now. I already know how filthy you are,” Shirabu says indifferently, prying your thighs apart with strong hands and taking you in.

“Look at how wet you are.” His fingers ghost over your hole, gathering some slick before inserting two of them in one swift move.

You yelp at the sudden move, feeling full from his fingers alone. His fingers were much larger and thicker than yours were, already stretching your walls. It was almost enough to scratch the itch you’ve felt since the argument.

“S-shit.” You stammer, grabbing at his shoulders as he begins to pump them into you.

“You’re soaking,” Shirabu admires the slick dribbling from your sopping hole. “You like being treated like this.”

“Shut up.” You say, narrowing your eyes at him, hating his smug little smile.

He doesn’t verbally respond, instead fanning out his fingers as wide as they go. You throw your head back and give a low moan and his smile stretches wider.

“You can say whatever you want, but your body doesn’t lie.” He presses his fingers together and wind them around each other and starts pumping them in and out of you.

Your chest heaves as you restrain the lewd noises that tried to claw their way out of your throat. You wanted to curse at him for walking into your room without permission. You wanted to pull at his hair for triggering your dirty realisation. You wanted to fuck him for working magic with his fingers.

“Please.” The words slip out without realisation and your eyes fly open, feeling betrayed by your own body.

Has your whole damn body turned against you? It answers your question by sending a wave of fresh slick at Shirabu’s hungry expression.

“Since you asked so nicely.” He says, grabbing your legs and pulling them wider apart, completely exposing you. You covered your face in embarrassment. “I guess even dirty girls have manners.”

A hand leaves your leg for a brief moment and you refuse to look down as you hear a zipper and the sound of fabric being pulled down. But just like with how today has been going, your eyes disobey and stray towards his groin.

Shirabu held his length at the base, but his hand doesn’t conceal the slight upwards curve that you just knew would feel amazing inside. You note with surprise that he’s just a bit bigger than you expected in both girth and length.

Maybe his dick of a personality at times was to compensate for more than his pretty boy looks.

You very nearly choke on your own spit as he rubs his length along the inside your folds that he holds open, slicking himself up. Your juices glisten along his length and highlight the veins decorating the sides, causing your thighs to tense with the knowledge that it was soon going to be inside of you.

Releasing his length, his hands slot in the back of your knees, pull your legs wide apart and press your thighs to your chest. The position has you exposed in a way you’ve never been before. Your face is hot with embarrassment as Shirabu watches at the way your entrance twitches.

“Let’s see if you can take cock as well as you take criticism.”

Shirabu then slams himself inside in one thrust and you bite back a yell. You’ve never felt so full in your life with his rigid length stuffed inside and stretching you so completely.

Shirabu doesn’t wait for you adjust, a scream dies in your throat as he pulls out and rams back in with intent force. Right at the beginning, Shirabu doesn’t afford you the luxury of deluding yourself into thinking this was anything but fucking in its most primal form.

The pressure inside of you built with every clap of your hips. You swore his tip brushed against the entrance to your cervix a few times, wrenching a cry from your lips.

Every noise you made served to spur him on, hands becoming a bruising force holding on your legs. The pace was punishing but you felt rewarded every time his cock dragged out and in, creating friction that had your toes curling and mind clouding over.

The cock pummelling inside of you was much larger and longer than his fingers, the stretch edged with pain that made it hard to breathe. This added a new layer to your ecstasy and had your eyes rolling into the back of your head.

“I wonder how they would react to seeing you being used by me.” He growls, pressing in deep.

“They’d want to join in. You’d probably enjoy getting used and marked up by them. I bet you would even beg for their cum.”

“No –“

“Then why are you getting tighter? You’re such a dirty little slut getting off to the thought of the team using you like a fuck toy.”

“I –“ Shirabu cuts you off again.

“Not that it matters, I wouldn’t them. They wouldn’t know how to satisfy this greedy hole of yours.” The bruising pressure of his hands almost distract you from his long, hard thrusts, reaching much deeper than you thought possible. You let out a loud moan.

“But I do.” He grins.

Taking in your lewd noises, he proceeds to litter your chest with indents of his sharp teeth. A few times he has you clenching down fiercely on his cock as he bites hard enough to draw blood and for tears to well up. The pain was another layer to the decadent feast that Shirabu was subjecting you to at no cost except for your total submission. You’d be lying if you said the thought of submitting to him more often didn’t turn you on, causing fresh slick to rush out and make squelching noises whenever your bodies connected.

He lands another hard thrust that has your walls fluttering around his length. You dig your nails into his shoulders, able to feel his base swell, signifying your tryst nearing its end as his pace grows less rhythmic and more frantic as Shirabu obviously getting close to his peak.

Knowing it wasn’t going to be long before he lost himself, he nosed along the exposed column of your throat, seeking out the sensitive patch of skin. You release a whimper as he brushes against your scent gland and while you were out of heat, it was still incredibly sensitive to the touch of his lips.

His sharp canines scrape against your skin and you pulse around him at the feeling. You run your nails across his shoulders as he does it again, this time applying more pressure.

“Yes. Fuck, please.”

Shirabu laughs cruelly into your ear.

“You think you’ve deserved my mark?” He demands, working through your tightness with a sneer. If you got any tighter, he knew he wasn’t going to last much longer. “Fuck you’re so tight for me.”

The coil inside your gut grows tighter and tighter with each passing second. You were so damn close, but you needed something more. The words to plead for more were lost under his frenzied thrusts. You choose to whine, knowing it will convey enough to him.

“You’re close, huh?” His hot breath washes over your sweaty skin. “Then cum for me. Lets see what kind of face you make now.”

The points of his canines scrape harshly against the scent gland one last time before he buries them into the crook your neck, piercing skin and drawing blood. This time you do shout. You have no idea if it was his name or even a word at all, mind preoccupied as you were pushed off the edge and into the mind-numbing waters below.

Shirabu groaned as blood fills his mouth and your warmth squeezed down on his length hard. Breaking away from your skin, a few beads of blood escapes the puncture wounds as he grips your legs even harder as he tries to work his knot into you.

With one last deep thrust, his knot catches and he releases inside of you. Your voice is hoarse as you whimper at the sensation of him spilling into you, hot and heavy.

Shirabu hovers above you, elbows locked to prevent from collapsing on top of you as he continues to fill you. His characteristically pinched expression is traded for one of bliss and if you weren’t already winded, it would’ve stolen your breath away.

He cracks an eye open to see you staring back with a face similar to the one you made earlier this afternoon. A swell of pride rises within him at how wrecked you looked. Unspilt tears in your eyes, bare chest littered in violet and fuchsia splotches and hair a mess, you’ve never looked so alluring.

If his knot wasn’t already buried inside of you, Shirabu was sure he could go for another round. Instead, he sighs as he carefully lowers himself onto his forearms to give his aching arms a rest.

You hiss as the knot pulls at your entrance with his movement. He murmurs an apology, ragged voice weirdly soothing you. Relaxing into pillows under your head, you let him rest his head against your shoulder.

A comfortable silence settles over your exhausted forms as you both patiently wait for the knot to go down enough for him to slip out so you can have a much-needed shower.

“I swear if you insult me like that in front of the team again, I will maim you.” You say, needing him to know this – whatever this was – is to stay between them and the four walls of the room.

Shirabu huffs a laugh and brings up a hand to roll a pert nipple, drawing out a quiet gasp from you.

“Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.”

“It better be.” You grumble, not bothering to bat away his hand with how stubborn he can be.

You ride out his knot with him messing around with your chest, going between stroking the bruised skin that already ached to flicking your pert buds. You reciprocated by running your fingers across the raised lines spreading across his shoulders, feeling vindicated.

In this quiet moment with no words exchanged except for soft caresses, you let yourself relax under a placated Shirabu.

Notes: I’m not entirely happy with this but it’s been sitting in my wips for two months and I had to finish it… I may come back and re-write this one day when my head isn’t scrambled by exams and assignments ahaha

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it!!

#shirabu kenjirou x reader #shirabu kenjiro x reader #shirabu kenjirou #haikyuu!!#Haikyu!!#shirabu smut #haikyuu!! x reader #I changed the banner design and I already hate themmmm #rip #'graphic design is my passion' type bs #I will never enough Shirabu in my life like my man needs more love #a/b/o dynamics #shiratorizawa

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grigori77 · 4 years

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2020 in Movies - My Top 30 Fave Movies (Part 1)

30. BODY CAM – in the face of the ongoing pandemic, viral outbreak cinema has become worryingly prescient of late, but as COVID led to civil unrest in some quarters there were a couple of 2020 films that REALLY seemed to put their finger on the pulse of another particularly shitty zeitgeist. Admittedly this first one highlights a problem that’s been around for a while now, but it came along at just the right time to gain particularly strong resonance, filtering its message into the most reliable form of allegorical social commentary – horror. The vengeful ghost trope has become pretty familiar since the Millennium, but by marrying it with the corrupt cop thriller veteran horror screenwriter Nicholas McCarthy (The Pact) has given it a nice fresh spin, and the end result is a real winner. Mary J. Blige plays troubled LAPD cop Renee Lomito-Smith, back on the beat after an extended hiatus following a particularly harrowing incident, just as fellow officers from her own precinct begin to die violent deaths under mysterious circumstances, and the only clues are weird, haunting camera footage that only Renee and her new partner, rookie Danny Holledge (Paper Towns and Death Note’s Nat Wolff), manage to see before it inexplicable wipes itself. Something supernatural is stalking the City of Angels at night, and it’s got a serious grudge against local cops as the increasingly disturbing investigation slowly brings an act of horrific police brutality to light, until Renee no longer knows who in her department she can trust. This is one of the most insidious scare-fests I enjoyed this past year, sophomore director Malik Vitthal (Imperial Dreams) weaving an effective atmosphere of pregnant dread and wire-taut suspense while delivering some impressively hair-raising shocks (the stunning minimart sequence is the film’s undeniable highlight), while the ghostly threat is cleverly thought-out and skilfully brought to “life”. Blige delivers another top-drawer performance, giving Renee a winning combination of wounded fragility and steely resolve that makes for a particularly compelling hero, while Wolff invests Danny with skittish uncertainty and vulnerability in one of his strongest performances to date, and Dexter star David Zayas brings interesting moral complexity to the role of their put-upon superior, Sergeant Kesper. In these times of heightened social awareness, when the police’s star has become particularly tarnished as unnecessary force, racial profiling and cover-ups have become major hot-button topics, the power and relevance of this particular slice of horror cinema cannot be denied.

29. BLOOD QUANTUM – 2020 certainly was a great year for horror (even if most of the high profile stuff did get shunted into 2021), and this compellingly fresh take on the zombie outbreak genre was a strong standout with a killer hook. Canadian writer-director Jeff Barnaby (Rhymes for Young Ghouls) has always clung close to his Native American roots, and he brings strong social relevance to the intriguing early 80s Canadian setting as a really nasty zombie virus wreaks havoc in the Red Crow Indian Reservation and its neighbouring town. It soon becomes clear, however, that members of the local tribe are immune to the infection, a revelation with far-reaching consequences as the outbreak rages unchecked and society begins to crumble. Barnaby pulls off some impressive world-building and creates a compellingly grungy post-apocalyptic vibe as the story progresses, while the zombies themselves are a visceral, scuzzy bunch, and there’s plenty of cracking set-pieces and suitably full-blooded kills to keep the gore-hounds happy, while the horror has real intelligence behind it, the script posing interesting questions and delivering some uncomfortable answers. The characters, meanwhile, are a well-drawn, complex bunch, no black-and-white saviours among them, any one of them capable of some pretty inhuman horrors when the chips are down, and the cast, an interesting mix of seasoned talent and unknowns, all excel in their roles – Michael Greyeyes (Fear the Walking Dead) and Forrest Goodluck (The Revenant) are the closest things the film has to real heroes, the former a fallible everyman as Traylor, the small-town sheriff who’s just trying to do right by his family, the latter unsure of himself as his son, put-upon teenage father-to-be Joseph; Olivia Scriven, meanwhile is tough but vulnerable as his pregnant white girlfriend Charlie, Stonehorse Lone Goeman is a grizzled badass as tough-as-nails tribal elder Gisigu, and Kiowa Gordon (probably best known for playing a werewolf in the Twilight movies) really goes to the dark side as Joseph’s delinquent half-brother Lysol, while there’s another memorably subtle turn from Dead Man’s Gary Farmer as unpredictable loner Moon. This was definitely one of the year’s darkest films – largely playing the horror straight, it tightens the screws as the situation grows steadily worse, and almost makes a virtue of wallowing in its hopeless tone – but there’s a fatalistic charm to all the bleakness, even in the downbeat yet tentatively hopeful climax, while it’s hard to deny the ruthless efficiency of the violence on display. This definitely isn’t a horror movie for everyone, but those with a strong stomach and relatively hard heart will find much to enjoy here. Jeff Barnaby is definitely gonna be one to watch in the future …

28. THE MIDNIGHT SKY – Netflix’ big release for the festive season is a surprisingly understated and leisurely affair, a science fiction drama of big ideas which nonetheless doesn’t feel the need to shout about it. The latest feature in the decidedly eclectic directorial career of actor George Clooney, this adaptation of Good Morning, Midnight, the debut novel of up-and-coming author Lily Brooks-Dalton, favours characterisation and emotion over big thrills and flashy sequences, but it’s certainly not lacking in spectacle, delivering a pleasingly ergonomically-designed view of the near future of space exploration that shares some DNA with The Martian but makes things far more sleek and user-friendly in the process. Aether, a NASA mission to explore K-23, a newly-discovered, potentially habitable moon of Jupiter, is on its return journey, but is experiencing baffling total communications blackouts from Earth. This is because a catastrophic global event has rendered life on the planet’s surface all but impossible, killing most of the population and driving the few survivors underground. K-23’s discoverer, professor Augustine Lofthouse (Clooney), is now alone at a small research post in the extreme cold of the Arctic, one of the only zones left that have not yet been fully effected by the cataclysm, refusing to leave his post after having discovered he’s dying from a serious illness, but before he goes he’s determined to contact the crew of Aether so he can warn them of the conditions down on Earth. Despite the ticking clock of the plot, Clooney has reigned the pace right in, allowing the story to unspool slowly as we’re introduced to the players who calmly unpack their troubles and work over the various individual crises with calm professionalism – that said, there are a few notable moments of sudden, fretful urgency, and these are executed with a palpable sense of chaotic tension that create interesting and exciting punctuation to the film’s usually stately momentum, reminding us that things could go suddenly, catastrophically wrong for these people at any moment. Clooney delivers a gloriously understated performance that perfectly grounds the film, while there are equally strong, frequently DAMN POWERFUL turns from a uniformly excellent cast, notably Felicity Jones and David Oyelowo as pregnant astronaut Dr. “Sully” Sullivan and her partner, mission Commander Adewole, and a surprisingly subtle, nuanced performance from newcomer Caoilinn Springall as Iris, a young girl mistakenly left behind at the outpost during the hasty evacuation, with whom Lofthouse develops a deeply affecting bond. The film has been criticised for its slowness, but I think in this age of BIGGER, LOUDER, MORE this is a refreshingly low-key escape from all the noise, and there’s a beautiful trade-off in the script’s palpable intelligence, strong character work and world-building (then again, the adaptation was by Mark L. Smith, who co-wrote The Revenant), while this is a visually stunning film, Clooney and cinematographer Martin Ruhe (Control, The Keeping Room) weaving an evocative visual tapestry that rewards the soul as much as the eye. Unapologetically smart, engrossingly played and overflowing with raw, emotional power, this is science fiction cinema at its most cerebral, and another top mark for a somewhat overlooked filmmaking talent which deserves to be considered alongside career highs such as Good Night & Good Luck and The Ides of March.

27. PALM SPRINGS – the summer’s comedy highlight kind of snuck in under the radar, becoming something of an on-demand secret weapon with all the cinemas closed, and it definitely deserves its swiftly growing cult status. You certainly can’t believe it’s the feature debut of director Max Barbakow, who shows the kind of sharp-witted, steady-handed control of his craft that’s usually the province of far more experienced talents … then again, much of the credit must surely go to seasoned TV comedy writer Andy Siara (Lodge 49), for whom this has been a real labour of love he’s been tending since his film student days. Certainly all that care, nurture and attention to detail is up there on the screen, the exceptional script singing its irresistible siren song from the start and providing fertile ground for its promising new director to spread his own creative wings. The premise may be instantly familiar – playing like a latter-day Saturday Night Live take on Groundhog Day (Siara admits it was a major influence), it follows the misadventures of Sarah (How I Met Your Mother’s Cristin Miliota), the black sheep maid of honour at her sweet little sister Tala’s (Riverdale’s Camila Mendes) wedding to seemingly perfect hunk Abe (the Arrowverse’s Superman, Tyler Hoechlin), as she finds herself repeating the same high-stress day over and over again after becoming trapped in a mysterious cosmic time-loop along with slacker misanthrope Nyles (Brooklyn Nine Nine megastar Andy Samberg), who’s been stuck in this same situation for MUCH longer – but in Barbakow and Siara’s hands it feels fresh and intriguing, and goes in some surprising new directions before the well-worn central premise can outstay its welcome. It certainly doesn’t hurt that the cast are all excellent – Miliota is certainly the pounding emotional heart of the film, effortlessly lovable as she flounders against her lot, then learns to accept the unique possibilities it presents, before finally resolving to find a way out, while Samberg has rarely been THIS GOOD, truly endearing in his sardonic apathy as it becomes clear he’s been here for CENTURIES, and they make an enjoyably fiery couple with snipey chemistry to burn; meanwhile there’s top-notch support from Mendes and Hoechlin, The OC’s Peter Gallagher as Sarah and Tala’s straight-laced father, the ever-reliable Dale Dickey, a thoroughly adorable turn from Jena Freidman and, most notably, a full-blooded scene-stealing performance from the mighty J.K. Simmonds as Roy, Nyles’ nemesis, who he inadvertently trapped in the loop before Sarah and is, understandably, none too happy about it. This really is an absolute laugh-riot, today’s more post-modern sense of humour allowing the central pair (and their occasional enemy) to indulge in far more extreme consequence-free craziness than Bill Murray ever got away with back in the day, but like all the best comedies there’s also a strong emotional foundation under the humour, leading us to really care about these people and what happens to them, while the story throws moments of true heartfelt power at us, particularly in the deeply cathartic climax. Ultimately this was one of the year’s biggest surprises, a solid gold gem that I can’t recommend enough.

26. THE LAST DAYS OF AMERICAN CRIME – Body Cam’s fellow heavyweight Zeitgeist fondler is a deeply satirical chunk of speculative dystopian sci-fi clearly intended as a cinematic indictment of Trump’s broken America, but it became far more potent and prescient in these … ahem … troubled times. Adapted by screenwriter Karl Gadjusek (Oblivion, Stranger Things, The King’s Man) from the graphic novel by Rick Remender and Greg Tocchini for underrated schlock-action cinema director Olivier Megaton (Transporter 3, Colombiana, the last two Taken films), this Netflix original feature seemed like a fun way to kill a cinema-deprived Saturday night in the middle of the First Lockdown, but ultimately proved to have a lot more substance than expected. It’s powered by an intriguing premise – in a nearly lawless 2024, the US government is one week away from implementing a nationwide synaptic blocker signal called the API (American Peace Initiative) which will prevent the public from being able to commit any kind of crime – and focuses on a strikingly colourful bunch of outlaw antiheroes with an audacious agenda – prodigious Detroit bank robber Bricke (Édgar Ramiréz) is enlisted by Kevin Cash (Funny Games and Hannibal’s Michael Carmen Pitt), a wayward scion of local crime family the Dumois, and his hacker fiancée Shelby Dupree (Material Girl’s Anna Brewster) to pull off what’s destined to be the last great crime in American history, a daring raid on the first night of the signal to steal over a billion dollars from the Motor City’s “money factory” and then escape across the border into Canada. From this deceptively simple premise a sprawling action epic was born, carried along by a razor sharp, twisty script and Megaton’s typically hyperbolic, showy auteur directing style and significant skill at crafting thrillingly explosive set-pieces, while the cast consistently deliver quality performances. Ever since Domino, Ramiréz has long been one of those actors I really love to watch, a gruff, quietly intense alpha male whose subtle understatement hides deep reserves of emotional intensity, while Dupree takes a character who could have been a thinly-drawn femme fetale and invests her with strong personal drive and steely resolve, and there’s strong support from Neil Blomkampf regulars Sharlto Copley and Brandon Auret as, respectively, emasculated beat cop Sawyer and brutal Mob enforcer Lonnie French, as well as a nearly unrecognisable Patrick Bergin as local kingpin (and Kevin’s father) Rossi Dumois; the film is roundly stolen, however, by Pitt, a phenomenal actor I’ve always thought we just don’t see enough of, here portraying a spectacularly sleazy, unpredictable force of nature who clearly has his own dark agenda, but whom we ultimately can’t help rooting for even as he stabs us in the back. This is a cracking film, a dark and dangerous thriller of rare style and compulsive verve that I happily consider to be Megaton’s best film to date BY FAR – needless to say it was a major hit for Netflix when it dropped, clearly resonating with its audience given what’s STILL going on in the real world, and while it may have been roundly panned in reviews I think, like some of the platform’s other glossier Original hits (Bright springs to mind), it’s destined for a major critical reappraisal and inevitable cult status before too long …

25. BILL & TED FACE THE MUSIC – one of the year’s biggest surprise hits for me was also one I was really nervous about – the original Bill & Ted’s Excellent Adventure and its just-as-good sequel Bogus Journey have been personal favourites for years, pretty much part of my geeky developmental DNA during my youth, two gleefully dorky indulgences that have, against the odds, aged like fine wine for me over the years. I love Bill and Ted SO MUCH, so like many of the fans I’ve always wanted a third film, but I knew full well how easy it would have been for it to turn out to be a turd (second sequels can be tricky things, and we’ve seen SO MANY fail over the years). God bless Alex Winter and Keanu Reeves for never giving up on the possibilities, then, and for the original screenwriters, Chris Matheson and Ed Solomon, for writing something that does true justice and pays proper respect to what came before while fully realising how much times have changed in the TWENTY-NINE YEARS that have passed since Wyld Stallyns last graced our screens. Certainly times have moved on for our irrepressible pair – in spite of their convictions, driven by news from the distant future that their music would unite the world and usher in a new era of peace and prosperity, Bill and Ted have spectacularly failed to achieve what was expected of them, and they’ve grown despondent even though they’re still happily married to the Princesses and now the fathers of two wonderful girls, Billie and Thea (Atypical’s Brigette Lundy-Paine and Ready Or Not’s Samara weaving). Then an emissary from the future arrives to inform them that if they don’t write the song that unites the world TODAY, the whole of reality will cease to exist. No pressure, then … it may have been almost three decades, but our boys are BACK in a riotous comedy adventure that delivers on all the promises the franchise ever made before. Winter and particularly Reeves may have both gone onto other things since, but they step back into their roles with such ease it’s like Bill and Ted have never been away, perfectly realising not only their characters today but also various future incarnations as they resolve to go forward in time to take the song from themselves AFTER they’ve already written it (a most triumphant and fool-proof plan, surely); Lundy-Paine and Weaving, meanwhile, are both absolutely FANTASTIC throughout, creating a pair of wonderfully oddball, eccentric and thoroughly adorable characters who would be PERFECT to carry the franchise forward in the future, while it’s an absolute joy to see William Sadler return as Bogus Journey’s fantastically neurotic incarnation of Death himself, and there are quality supporting turns from Flight of the Conchords’ Kristen Schaal, Anthony Carrigan, Holland Taylor and of course Hal Landon Jr., once again returning as Ted’s grouchy cop father Captain Logan. The plot is thoroughly bonkers and of course makes no logical sense, but then they’re never meant to in these movies – the whole point is just to have fun and GO WITH IT, and it’s unbelievably easy when the comedy hit rate is THIS HIGH – turns out third time really is the charm for Matheson and Solomon, who genuinely managed a hat trick with the whole trilogy, while there was no better choice of director to usher this into existence than Dean Parisot, the man who brought us Galaxy Quest. This is the perfect climax to a trilogy we’ve been waiting YEARS to see finally completed, but it’s also shown a perfect way to forge ahead in new and interesting ways with the next generation – altogether, then, this is another most excellent adventure …

24. TRUE HISTORY OF THE KELLY GANG – Justin Kurzel has been on my directors-to-watch list for a while now, each of his offerings impressing me more than the last (his home-grown Aussie debut, Snowtown, was a low key wallow in Outback nastiness, while his follow up, Macbeth, quickly became one of my favourite Shakespeare flicks, and I seem to be one of the frustrated few who actually genuinely loved his adaptation of Assassin’s Creed, considering it to be one the very best video game movies out there), and his latest is no exception – returning to his native Australia, he’s brought his trademark punky grit and fever-dream edginess to bear in his quest to bring his country’s most famous outlaw to the big screen in a biopic truly worthy of his name. Two actors bring infamous 19th Century bushranger Ned Kelly to life here, and they’re both exceptional – the first half of the film sees newcomer Orlando Schwerdt explode onto the screen as the child Ned, all righteous indignation and fiery stubbornness as he rails against the positions his family’s poverty continually put him in, then George MacKay (Sunshine On Leith, Captain Fantastic) delivers the best performance of his career in the second half, a barely restrained beast as Ned grown, his mercurial turn bringing the man’s inherent unpredictability to the fore. The Babadook’s Essie Davis, meanwhile, frequently steals the film from both of them as Ellen, the fearsome matriarch of the Kelly clan, and Nicholas Hoult is similarly impressive as Constable Fitzpatrick, Ned’s slimily duplicitous friend/nemesis, while there are quality supporting turns from Charlie Hunnam and Russell Crowe as two of the most important men of Ned’s formative years. In Kurzel’s hands, this account of Australia’s greatest true-life crime saga becomes one of the ultimate marmite movies – its glacial pace, grubby intensity and frequent brutality will turn some viewers off, but fans of more “alternative” cinema will find much to enjoy here. There’s a blasted beauty to its imagery (this is BY FAR the bleakest the Outback’s ever looked on film), while the screenplay from relative unknown Shaun Grant (adapting Peter Carey’s bestselling novel) is STRONG, delivering rich character development and sublime dialogue, and Kurzel delivers some brilliantly offbeat and inventive action beats in the latter half that are well worth the wait. Evocative, intense and undeniable, this has just the kind of irreverent punk aesthetic that I’m sure the real life Ned Kelly would have approved of …

23. MUST MERCY – more true-life cinema, this time presenting an altogether classier account of two idealists’ struggle to overturn horrific racial injustices in Alabama. Writer-director Destin Daniel Cretton (Short Term 12, The Glass Castle) brings heart, passion and honest nobility to the story of fresh-faced young lawyer Bryan Stevenson (Michael B. Jordan) and his personal crusade to free Walter “Johnny D” McMillan (Jamie Foxx), an African-American man wrongfully sentenced to death for the murder of a white woman. His only ally is altruistic young paralegal Eva Ansley (Cretton’s regular screen muse Brie Larson), while the opposition arrayed against them is MAMMOTH – not only do they face the cruelly racist might of the Alabama legal system circa 1989, but a corrupt local police force determined to circumvent his efforts at every turn and a thoroughly disinterested prosecutor, Tommy Chapman (Rafe Spall), who’s far too concerned with his own personal political ambitions to be any help. The cast are uniformly excellent, Jordan and Foxx particularly impressing with career best performances that sear themselves deep into the memory, while there’s a truly harrowing supporting turn from Rob Morgan as Johnny D’s fellow Death Row inmate Herbert, whose own execution date is fast approaching. This is courtroom drama at its most gripping, Cretton keeping the inherent tension cranked up tight while tugging hard on our heartstrings for maximum effect, and the result is a timely, racially-charged throat-lumper of considerable power and emotional heft that guarantees there won’t be a single dry eye in the house by the time the credits roll. Further proof, then, that Destin Daniel Cretton is one of those rare talents of his generation – next up is his tour of duty in the MCU with Shang-Chi & the Legend of the Ten Rings, and while this seems like a strange leftfield turn given his previous track record, I nevertheless have the utmost confidence in him after seeing this …

22. UNDERWATER – at first glance, this probably seems like a strange choice for the year’s Top 30 – a much-maligned, commercially underperforming glorified B-movie creature-feature headlined by the former star of the Twilight franchise, there’s no way that could POSSIBLY be any good, surely? Well hold your horses, folks, because not only is this very much worth your time and a comprehensive suspension of your low expectations, but I can’t even consider this a guilty pleasure – as far as I’m concerned this is a GENUINELY GREAT FILM, without reservation. The man behind the camera is William Eubank, a director whose career I’ve been following with great interest since his feature debut Love (a decidedly odd but strangely beautiful little space movie) and its more high profile but still unapologetically INDIE follow-up The Signal, and this is the one where he finally delivers wholeheartedly on all that wonderful sci-fi potential. The plot is deceptively simple – an industrial conglomerate has established an instillation drilling right down to the very bottom of the Marianas Trench, the deepest point in our Earth’s oceans, only for an unknown disaster to leave six survivors from the operation’s permanent crew stranded miles below the surface with very few escape options left – but Eubank and writers Brian Duffield (Spontaneous, Love & Monsters, Jane Got a Gun, Insurgent) and Adam Cozad (The Legend of Tarzan) wring all the possible suspense and fraught, claustrophobic terror out of the premise to deliver a piano wire-tense horror thriller that grips from its sudden start to a wonderfully cathartic climax. The small but potent cast are all on top form, Vincent Cassel, Jessica Henwick (Netflix’ Iron Fist) and John Gallagher Jr. (Hush, 10 Cloverfield Lane) particularly impressing, and even the decidedly hit-and-miss T.J. Miller delivers a surprisingly likeable turn here, but it’s that Twilight alumnus who REALLY sticks in your memory here – Kristen Stewart’s been doing a pretty good job lately distancing herself from the role that, unfortunately, both made her name and turned her into an object of (very unfair) derision for many years, but in my opinion THIS is the performance that REALLY separates her from Bella effing-Swan. Mechanical engineer Norah Price is tough, ingenious and fiercely determined, but with the right amount of vulnerability that we really root for her, and Stewart acts her little heart out in a turn sure to win over her strongest detractors. The creature effects are impressive too, the ultimate threat proving some of the nastiest, most repulsively icky creations I’ve seen committed to film, and the inspired design work and strong visual effects easily belie the film’s B-movie leanings. Those made uneasy by deep, dark open water or tight, enclosed spaces should take heed that this can be a tough watch, but anyone who likes being scared should find plenty to enjoy here. Altogether a MUCH better film than its mediocre Rotten Tomatoes rating makes it out to be …

21. PENINSULA – back in 2016, Korean director Yeon Sang-ho and writer Park Joo-suk took the tired old zombie outbreak trope and created something surprisingly fresh with their darkly satirical action horror Train to Busan. The film was, deservedly, a massive international smash hit and a major shot in the arm for the sub-genre on the big screen, so a sequel was inevitable, but when the time came for them to follow it up they did the smart thing and went in a very different direction. Jettisoning much of the humour to create something much darker and more intense, they also ramped the action quotient right up to eleven, creating a nightmarish post-apocalyptic version of Korea which has been quarantined from the rest of the world for the last four years, where the few uninfected survivors eke out a dangerous day-to-day existence amidst the burgeoning undead hordes, and the value of human life has plummeted dramatically. Into this hell-on-earth must venture a small band of Korean refugees, sent by a Hong Kong crime boss to retrieve a multi-million dollar payday in stolen loot that got left behind in the evacuation, led by former ROK Marine Corps Captain Jung-seok (Secret Reunion’s Gang Don-won), a man with a tragic past he has to make up for. Needless to say, nothing goes according to plan … Train to Busan was an unexpected masterpiece of the genre, but I was even more bowled over by this, particularly since I got to see this on the big screen on Halloween night itself, just before the UK cinemas closed down again for the Second Lockdown. This certainly is a film that NEEDS to be seen first on the big screen – the fully-realised hellscape of undead-overrun Seoul is spectacularly immersive, the perfect cinematic playground for the film’s most impressive set-pieces, two astounding, protracted high-speed chases with searchlight-and-flair-lit all-terrain vehicles racing through the dark streets pursued by tidal waves of feral zombies. Sure, the plot is predictable and the tone gets a little overblown and maudlin at times, while some of the characters are drawn in decidedly broad strokes, but the breathless pace rarely lets up throughout, and there are moments of genuine fiendish genius on offer here, particularly in a truly disturbing centrepiece sequence in which desperate human captives are set against slavering undead in a makeshift amphitheatre for sport, as well as a particularly ingenious use for radio-controlled cars. And the cast are brilliant, with Don-won providing a suitably robust but also pleasingly fallible, wounded hero, while Hope’s Lee Re and newcomer Lee Ye-won are irrepressibly feisty and thoroughly adorable as the young girls who rescue him from certain death among the ruins. Altogether, this is horror cinema writ large, played more for thrills than scares but knuckle-whitening and brutally effective nonetheless, and in a year where outbreak horror became all too real for us anyway it was nice to be able to enjoy something a little more escapist anyway – given the strength of its competition in 2020, this top-notch sequel to a true genre gem did very well indeed to place this high. I’ll admit, I wouldn’t say no to thirds …

#body cam #body cam movie #blood quantum #the midnight sky #Palm Springs #palm springs movie #the last days of american crime #bill and ted face the music #true history of the kelly gang #just mercy #underwater #underwater movie #underwater 2020 #peninsula #train to busan presents: peninsula #2020 in movies

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semper-legens · 3 years

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55. Through the Woods, by Emily Carroll

Owned: Yes Page count: Unknown/not numbered My summary: Five short horror stories by Emily Carroll. Girls left alone in their house are visited by a stranger. A woman hears whispers from her new husband’s walls. A man kills his brother only to have him return from the woods. A girl and her friend fake seeing ghosts, until something comes for real. And a young woman realises there’s something deeply wrong with her brother’s partner. My rating: 5/5 My commentary:

Emily Carroll is a master of horror illustration and graphic novels. Go check out her website here, where she has some illustrations and short webcomics up that’ll give you a great idea of her work. I read His Face All Read, which is included in this collection, and immediately wanted more. Her work is so moody and mysterious and interesting and I love it.

Unlike most collections I talk about, I’m gonna give a short reaction to every single one of these comics let’s go let’s gooooooo!

Our Neighbour’s House is the first main story of this collection, about three girls whose father disappears and are visited by a stranger. What I like about this one is that, even in the limited format, the three sisters feel very real and well-characterised. The use of colour in this story is striking - it’s very muted, the almost monochrome cabin contrasted with the dull colours of the girls’ faces and clothes. It creates a very bleak, washed-out landscape that seems to brim with terror. One thing I love about Carroll’s writing in general is how ambiguous it all is - rarely are there easy answers or neat conclusions, and this one in particular is chilling.

A Lady’s Hands Are Cold is about a woman who marries a wealthy man, and hears the song of his murdered first wife in the walls. It’s a pretty standard fairytale setup, very Bluebeard, but executed brilliantly. In contrast to the previous story, this one is all bold reds and blues, and the pale corpse-flesh of the first wife when she is found is so unnerving and creepy. It’s also a good example of using the fairytale structure to tell a surprising story - you might think that finding the murdered wife would be a good thing to do, proving the protagonist is a good-hearted heroine, but you would be deadly wrong.

His Face All Red is, as mentioned, one that you can go read for yourself right now! I love the subtleties of the relationship between the narrator and his brother, his obvious jealousies masked by short, factual statements that are dripping with scorn and envy. Carroll’s writing style tends towards these short but evocative statements that beautifully compliment her art, and it works so well for this type of horror.

My Friend Janna is about two young girls who fake séances, but seem to later be haunted by a real ghost. Again, the ambiguity in this one is key. Never do we learn the details of what’s going on, and it’s all the more chilling for it. The art is again almost monochrome but for the striking red, and it makes a horrific contrast.

The Nesting Place is the last full story, about a young woman named Bell who goes to live with her brother in the school holidays after her mother’s death, and her strange encounters with his fiancee. I feel like a broken record here, but this is some greatly effective horror. The nature of Carroll’s monsters is so weird and viscerally upsetting without being a mess of blood and bone for pure shock value. The art of the monster once it is revealed is genuinely horrifying in a way that can only really be captured through illustration. Bell, a moody and introverted teenager, is an interesting protagonist, and her interactions with Rebecca are chilling even before you realise what’s going on. And, once again, the ending is immensely satisfying while still be utterly creepy and horrific.

There are also shorts, labelled, An Introduction and In Conclusion at the start and the end of the book. An Introduction works to set the tone well, a creepy little mood-setter. In Conclusion is just perfect to send a chill up your spine as you finish the book. They’re both very effective and I love them.

Phew. That’s all for this time - next up, one of the most challenging books I’ve read so far this year.

#Through the Woods #Emily Carroll #bookblr #bookblogger #bookblogging #5

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spaceskam · 4 years

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our fainted thrill carries on (10/13)

warning: sexual themes/content and violence

ao3

Michael could see how shaken up Alex was after he snuck up on him. So much for starting in a good place.

“So, what’s so important?” Alex said, lowering himself onto the bed. Michael didn’t feel welcome there, so he stayed standing and tried to focus on not pacing. It was hard considering his mind was full of all the shit Jesse Manes had told him.

“I had a drink with your dad,” Michael started. Alex had a visceral reaction to that, leaning back and staring up at him in something akin to horror.

“You did what?”

“I wanted to get information for you,” Michael explained, “So I went over there to get him to tell me about M.V.C. and he told me that the Camerons that are still active are dangerous. Like, extremely dangerous.”

“And you believe him?” Alex scoffed. Michael squeezed his eyes shut as he tried to order his thoughts.

“It was so weird, Alex,” Michael said, finding himself pacing despite the attempt to stay still, “He was, like, nice to me? And he almost seemed like he actually gave a shit about you staying safe.”

“Then we know he’s lying,” Alex filled in. Michael shook his head.

“Nah, it wasn’t like that. He didn’t kill me, didn’t even threaten me. Hell, we had whiskey together.”

“Should I call Kyle to come make sure he didn’t poison you?”

“No, he didn’t.”

Alex shook his head. “I can’t believe you even went to him. Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

Michael didn’t have a good answer to that. Was he trying to get himself killed? That was awfully reckless of him. But, no, he was just doing it for Alex. He needed information for Alex. For them both.

“Look, there’s some information that we just can’t get if we don’t talk to him. And I wanted to get that for you,” Michael tried, shrugging a shoulder. Alex shook his head, rubbing his face and his eyes drifted to the camera monitors. He looked so tired. “Let me just tell you what he said and then you can go to sleep and we can discuss logistics of it all tomorrow.”

Alex furrowed his eyebrows at him and rolled his eyes, but he leaned back into the pillows.

“Okay. Tell me.”

“What the fuck are you wearing?”

Alex watched confusion cover Kyle’s face as he looked down at his t-shirt and jeans. He seemed to have missed the memo that they were going to a club. Alex rolled his eyes, leaning back towards the mirror to touch up his eyeliner. He’d tried to keep up with recent makeup trends, but he admittedly had to redo the exaggerated wings multiple times to make them even.

“Clothes?” Kyle said.

“You do know we’re going to a club, right?” Alex asked, looking to make sure it was even enough. Then he broke out the highlighter. “I know you’ve got a pretty face, but you have to at least try.”

“I would wear this to a club,” Kyle said. Cam snorted from the other side of the room where she was trying to pick out her own outfit. She’d brought a couple of different options, trying to decide just how unassuming she wanted to appear.

“This is how we know he’s gotten by on his looks,” Cam noted, shedding herself of the maxi-dress she’d tried on and reaching across to get the floral sundress Alex had suggested. It was effectively unassuming while also being short enough that it wouldn’t cause a problem if she needed to kick someone’s ass.

“Well, what should I wear?” Kyle asked. Alex turned to face him, trying to brainstorm for him.

“How attached are you to the length of that shirt?”

After an extra thirty minutes involving cutting off the sleeves and bottom of Kyle’s shirt, covering his cheekbones in highlighter, and Alex finishing his own look, they decided they were okay. Alex had gone with a loose button-up, leaving it only half-way buttoned and pairing it with tight jeans and messy hair. His goal was to attract attention and he had to triple check to make sure that he’d actually be able to do that looking like he did.

“Okay, wait, why do you get a full shirt?” Kyle asked. Alex rolled his eyes.

“Do you want people buying you drinks or not?” he asked. Kyle stared at him for a moment and then shrugged. “Thought so.”

“Also we need you not be assumed by the straight girls in attendance that you’re open to them,” Cam chimed in, securing half of her freshly curled hair back in a clip.

“But the guys flirting with me are okay?”

“Love the confidence, Valenti.”

“No, it’s not okay,” Alex said, “But you’re less likely to forget what’s going on to flirt back.”

“Like I would forget what was going on,” Kyle scoffed, “My eyes are going to be on you only, Alex.”

“Romantic,” Alex teased, lightly touching his chest as he walked past to give himself one last check in the mirror. Cam reached out to mess up his hair a little more before rubbing her thumb over his slightly over-grown facial hair. “Should I shave?”

“No, you look hot,” she praised, nodding in approval before pushing on Alex’s cheek to make him face Kyle, “Doesn’t he look hot?”

“Yeah, obviously,” Kyle said. Alex huffed a laugh and stepped out of their grasp. “Is your leg good, though? Like, are you gonna be okay?”

“I’m fine,” Alex promised, “Took precautious painkillers just like the doctor prescribed.”

“Good.”

Despite the fact that he was going to seduce Cam’s cousin for information, this still managed to feel like a normal pre-game with his friends that he never really got. It made him feel normal for once. He liked that.

“Show me that picture of Casey again.”

“Okay, wait, back up.”

Alex touched his forehead and sunk a little into his pillows. He looked tired and worn out and in pain and Michael couldn’t help but fidget watching him.

“Are you okay?” he asked before he could hold himself back, “Do you need medicine? I can go get your painkillers if‒”

“No, stop-stop moving. Sit down, I can’t focus when you’re pacing,” Alex instructed. Michael blinked once and then obeyed, sitting at the foot of the bed. He’d just info-dumped, reciting everything Jesse Manes had told him about the history of the Camerons and their involvement in M.V.C. “So, it was created to combat Project Shepard? We were right about that?”

“Yes.”

“But then, what, the Cameron involved was a double agent?”

“Um, not quite?” Michael said, trying to find the right words, “Basically, M.V.C. was run by the youngest son of each family, hence the symbol being three men. It was Eugene Manes III, Manuel Valenti, and Charles Cameron. They believed in change, I guess? I think they wanted to work from the inside and try to help the aliens. But then Charles, like, fell in love with one, but she didn’t return the favor.”

“Your mom?” Alex clarified. Michael shifted uncomfortably and shrugged a shoulder. He wasn’t 100% sure, but… Well, he had to assume it was true since why else would she trust a note from him? If the shoe fits, right?

“He got angry that she didn’t want to be with him, so he decided all aliens were trash and turned on them which is how they got discovered in the barn. Jesse said that he basically started telling anyone who would listen that they were all conniving seductresses, so you couldn’t trust even yourself around them,” Michael said, shifting against. Alex gave him that stern look that made him stop. “He taught all his kids that, so now the entire active Cameron branch is basically murder hungry for aliens and anyone they think might be under their influence. Worse than your dad.”

“Okay, but that doesn’t explain why my dad and Flint both have the tattoo. What’s that about?” Alex asked.

“I didn’t ask,” Michael admitted, “If I had to guess, it’s more about what they think it means than what it was intended to mean.”

“So if my dad is so aware of all of that, how could he still hate aliens? If he had this information, why does he want an alien genocide?” Alex wondered. Michael shrugged.

“Superiority complex? Narcissism?” he filled in. Alex sighed and nodded, rubbing his face again. He paused as he covered his eyes, breathing hard and steady as he sat there for a moment. His body slowly started to relax before he jolted back to life and lifted his head. Michael frowned. “You’re tired, you need to go to sleep.”

“No, I’m fine,” Alex insisted, sitting up a little straighter, ”Look, we’re going out this weekend to go meet the active Camerons, so we’ll figure out just how bad they are.”

Michael’s eyes went wide. “What? No. I just told you they’re dangerous.”

“Everything’s dangerous, Guerin. You also gave me reasons why we need to dismantle them even more,” Alex pointed out, “If this is even true. I don’t trust my father or anything he says. For all we know, he’s lying to us.”

“Fine, then I’m coming with you,” Michael insisted. Alex shook his head.

“You just said they’re murder hungry for aliens and who they influence. You come, you get us all killed,” Alex said, “Look, you warned me. I’ll be on high alert.”

“I have a bad feeling,” Michael said right back. Alex huffed a laugh.

“Yeah, I always have a bad feeling. And when I have a good feeling, it turns out to be bad all along. So trust that I can take care of myself,” he insisted.

Michael frowned even more, feeling a little too stuck and a little too helpless. He clenched his fists and tried not to make it too obvious when it seized up.

Alex noticed.

“There’s so many people!”

“It’s a club on a Saturday night, did you expect it to be empty?”

“I don’t know!”

Alex huffed a laugh and held onto Kyle’s hand so they wouldn’t lose each other as they made their way to the bar. He weaved through people with ease, catching eyes as he passed. He couldn’t deny that that felt nice. As great as being wanted by Michael Guerin could feel, there was always something so exhilarating about catching the eye of a stranger. They knew nothing and had no reason to give praise through pity‒it was purely aesthetic appreciation. Teenage Alex could’ve benefited from a lot more of that.

He pulled Kyle to the bar, the man seeming far more giddy than he should be as Alex ordered them drinks.

“You think there’ll be a drag show?” Kyle asked. The bartender laughed.

“Wrong night, baby,” he said, patting Kyle on the hand as he handed him a drink. Alex rolled his eyes at the vague disappointment on his friend's face.

“We’re here for a reason and you’re already getting distracted,” Alex told him, leaning closer to his ear so people didn’t overhear. Kyle nodded in understanding.

Alex took a sip of his drink as his eyes slowly started scanning the crowd. He needed to find Casey Cameron and then syphon him for information all while being cautious. Because he promised he would be cautious. As if Michael fucking Guerin had any room to talk about being cautious.

“So, you and Guerin made up, then?” Kyle asked. Alex tried to keep his face neutral. The last thing he wanted was to be off-putting.

“Depends on what you mean by made up.”

“Well, he went to your dad for information for you and you accepted the information,” he pointed out. Alex rolled his eyes.

“He slept with me knowing that I misunderstood what he was feeling and then told everyone I was a liar because I didn’t tell him about a piece of glass that was pretty unimportant. It’s gonna take more than that to get back to where we were,” Alex explained.

“But you are expecting to get back to that point?”

Alex sighed, “We’re trying this new thing where we’re adults and try to talk things through. We had a setback, but we’re still dismantling a government conspiracy together and he managed to apologize in under 36 hours. Progress.”

“Make him work for it,” Kyle insisted. Alex nodded and then closed his hand around his wrist.

“Yeah, I will, but is that him?” Alex asked, nodding towards a blonde man with a bushy beard and long hair that was dancing with another man in the middle of the floor.

“Looks like him,” Kyle agreed, “What’s the plan?”

“We dance, I get his attention. Once we go to the back, give me ten minutes, if I don’t come out, come after me.”

“Got it.”

Alex tugged on his arm.

“C’mon.”

Alex pulled him to the dance floor, keeping his eyes on Casey. He only took his eyes off him for a moment to make sure Kyle was comfortable with dancing with him before going back to the youngest active Cameron. He was 23 and bold and Alex had to play into his own strengths if he was going to get anything out of him. And, well, he was going to get things out of him.

He pulled Kyle’s hips against his, moving to the music as he kept his eyes on the other man. From prior experience, he knew he’d be able to get his attention if he stared long enough and pushed enough to make him want him. It’d worked before. Countless times.

Alex turned his face into Kyle’s just a little, nose grazing his sideburn as his fingers drifted over his neck. His eyes stayed on Casey, waiting to catch his eye. When he finally did, Alex smiled and continued staring at him. Casey grinned right back and cocked an eyebrow in interest to which Alex gave a little nod.

“This tickles,” Kyle whispered.

“Couple more seconds,” Alex promised. Kyle disguised his nod by turning his face into Alex’s a little more. Alex felt a strange, impulsive spike of interest burn in his stomach, but he ignored it as he kept his eyes on Casey and his challenging looks. Then Casey just kissed the man he was dancing with, eyes still on Alex through the whole thing. “Fuck.”

“What?”

“Kiss me,” Alex instructed carefully, eyes again double checking that this was okay. Kyle didn’t even question the request, pressing his lips to Alex’s in a relatively chaste kiss. It was almost cute.

Alex curled his fingers around his neck, kissing him back at the same level of innocence as he tried his best to lure Cam’s cousin in with his best pair of ‘fuck me’ eyes. It seemed to work as Casey let go of his dance partner with a soft laugh, shaking his head at Alex. Score.

He broke the kiss as Casey started moving towards him, ending it with a kiss on the cheek and a silent promise that they’d talk about it later before Casey pushed between them and took over Alex’s attention. Alex gave Kyle one last look, seeing him a little red faced and dazed before he nodded and went to go find a place to watch over from afar. It was all Alex needed to dance a little more intently against his new partner.

“You’re a tease,” Casey accused, voice deeper than he expected it to be. Alex huffed a laugh and slowly moved his gaze from his lips to his eyes. Casey seemed more interested in him than he had in his first partner and that felt like a win in a couple different areas.

“I’m a lot of things, but I wouldn’t say that,” Alex told him. That fire lit behind his eyes and he licked his lips.

“So you follow through?”

Alex grinned and bit down on his lip, leaning in closer as hands started roaming over him. This was too easy.

“Do you even need to ask?”

“Did he do something to you?”

“No.”

“Then why does it still hurt? I thought Max healed it. Did you get an x-ray done?”

Michael shook his head, pulling his hand into himself. Alex eyed him and he shifted under his gaze.

“You’re changing the subject.”

“Do you have more on the other subject?” Alex asked. Michael didn’t, so he stayed silent. “Exactly. So let’s talk about why you went to my fucking dad’s in the first place.”

“I wanted to get information for you,” Michael said, shrugging slightly, “I felt guilty and I didn’t wanna come apologize again empty handed.”

“Usually that means flowers.”

He shrugged and tried to muster up a smile. “We were never really the flower type.”

“We could’ve been,” Alex said carefully, “I thought we were headed that way.”

Michael sighed and looked around the room, trying to find his words. It was much easier to present him with information or to be antagonistic than it was to admit his wrongs out loud. No wonder they had so many problems for so long.

“I’m sorry. I fucked up, I should’ve just talked to you about what was bothering me,” Michael admitted. Alex shifted against the pillows.

“And I’m sorry for keeping it from you. It… it felt unimportant in comparison to everything else and then I was scared that if you had it, you’d leave to get away from the important things. It was selfish of me to not realize that it was important. Important to you, to your history. I’m sorry,” Alex said. Michael’s eyes only then realized that the piece was still sitting on the bed, trying to taunt them but palling in comparison to the hold Alex always seemed to have on his attention.

“And I’m sorry that I called you a liar in front of our friends and, fuck, I’m so sorry that I let us kiss and have sex with my mind like that. Yeah, sex has always been a distraction, but a distraction from the outside world. Using you to distract myself from you was…” Michael huffed a dry laugh, shaking his head, “And apparently I’m a genius.”

“I’m not gonna say it’s okay,” Alex admitted, “That really hurt me. I can’t just go back to the way we were that fast. I know I fucked up, but that…”

“Was wrong, I know,” Michael said, taking a deep breath, “But I want to make it up to you. Show you that I love you. Because I do. I love you, Alex, and I’m so sorry for not treating you like it.”

“I love you too.”

“I know,” he said quickly, “I know that. I thought you didn’t and you were lying for a while, but I… I know now. I know you love me.”

Alex cracked the smallest smile, nodding his head. He looked so tired.

“I’m sorry for not showing you it the right way,” Alex said. Michael nodded. They stared at each other for a moment too long before Alex held out his hand. “Good talk?”

With a laugh, Michael accepted it and shook it.

“Good talk."

It’d been a long time since Alex kissed someone with a full beard, but he made it work despite how itchy it was. Besides, there was nothing that screamed success quite like being pulled into the backroom of a club.

“God, get out of these jeans,” Alex said, trying to play it off like he wasn’t heading straight for that tattoo. He’d admittedly practiced getting on his knees and back up again more than a few times to make sure this would work. If things went 100% perfect, it would.

He unbuttoned Casey’s jeans and pushed them down, pressing sloppy kisses everywhere as he got on his knees in the most graceful way that he could. Getting back up would be difficult, but he could use his body as leverage.

“What’s this?” Alex asked, slowly stopping his kisses as he saw that uncanny three-man trident on his hip. He rubbed his thumb over it, looking up to Casey who seemed over the conversation before it began. But, truly, Alex felt like he had more power than the man with his pants around his knees. “Never seen anything like this before. Does it have a meaning?”

“Family thing,” Casey filled in, “Now are you gonna get to work or are you just here to chat? What happened to not being a tease?”

Alex flashed a smile and pretended to get back to the task at hand. He actually had no interest or intent to do anything, but he could always lie. He just needed a little more information.

“What kind of family thing? ‘Cause it kinda looks like a symbol to one of the zodiac signs. Are you all tauruses?” Alex asked. Casey sighed.

“Doesn’t fuckin’ matter.”

“Oh, so, it’s a matching tattoo with an ex-boyfriend?” Alex asked. Casey looked down at him, eyes narrowed at the accusation.

“What’s your name again?” Casey asked. Alex reached his hands out to touch his thighs in a soothing manner, wanting to sway his mind away from any straying thoughts that Alex might not be who he said he was.

“Alex,” he answered honestly. Alex learned young that a lie worked best when it was close to the truth.

“Last name?”

“You really wanna know that?” Alex asked, raising an eyebrow. He hoped Kyle was right outside the door. “Didn’t know this was something more than hookup.”

“It stopped being a hookup when you started running your mouth, what’s your last name?” he demanded, starting to pull his jeans back up.

Alex slowly started to steady himself so he could get to his feet.

“Truman.”

Apparently, that was the wrong answer.

Before Alex could get to his feet, he was pushed backwards onto the ground. He looked up at him with wide eyes, still trying to play the part of an innocent misunderstanding. Really, he was trying to gauge how easy it would be to get Casey on the ground with him. He couldn’t get to his feet fast enough, but he could definitely put up a fight if they were on the same level.

“What the fuck?” Alex asked.

“That’s not your name.”

“Yes, it is, you dick.”

“You must think I’m so stupid,” Casey said, “Or that the makeup and the aging and the facial hair would distract me. Or, fuck, the hookup would distract me. I’m trained, Manes. More trained than you were.”

Well, that had actually caught Alex off guard. Were the active Camerons just given a fucking family tree of people to attack? Alex stared at him, wondering if he should deny it or if he should just accept he was caught and fight.

He realized denial was never his strong suit.

“Funny you’d think that,” Alex said, using his prosthetic to slam against Casey’s legs. It was just heavy enough and metal enough to throw him off balance, sending him to the floor.

Alex quickly locked his legs around Casey’s, rolling on top of him and putting his hand on the other man’s head to hold it against the concrete ground.

“I didn’t wanna get violent,” Alex said, “I just wanted to know what you know.”

“Fuck off. I don’t trust Manes Men.”

“Sure,” Alex laughed, “Which is why you wanted to fuck one.”

Casey went still for a moment before he quickly bucked his hips, throwing Alex off balance. Alex didn’t let him go as his back hit the floor. Instead, he hooked his arms beneath his and wrapped his legs around his waist. It was a pretty stupid move, but it kept him from being able to stand up or even really roll back over.

“Just tell me what you guys are up to and I’ll leave you alone.”

“Like I believe that,” Casey said, “You’re a spy.”

“Now you’re just giving me too much credit.”

Casey threw his head back, hitting Alex in the nose just enough to get him to loosen his grip. He tore Alex’s legs off him and started climbing to his feet, taking an elbow to the side of the head. Alex used him as leverage to get up too, moving as quickly as he could and managing to steady himself before Casey could fully reorient.

“Just tell me,” Alex said, ducking out of the way as Casey swung his fist instead. Alex threw one back and actually hit.

They fought for what felt like a few minutes but was probably only about 30 seconds. He just needed to buy time for Kyle to get there and then they could get the fuck out. Clearly, the Camerons weren’t big fans of the Manes and weren’t keen on sharing any information.

“I’ve been told stories about you,” Casey accused, face bleeding as he tried to fight the headlock Alex had him in, “We all have.”

“Like what?” Alex asked, trying not to let go as Casey used his body to slam Alex into the wall in an attempt to get him to let go.

“The youngest Manes boy,” he said breathlessly, “Fell into the trap of one of them. Thought you’d smartened up since you hadn’t caused a scene. Looks like they were wrong. You’re just as fucking deadly.”

“Well, you’re right about one thing,” Alex said, tightening his grip as anger coursed through him. How much did they know about Michael? Did they know his name? His face? If Alex let go, would they go after him? “I’m deadly. But it has nothing to do with them.”

Alex swung him around, slamming his head into the brick wall and effectively knocking him unconscious. He didn’t bother sparing him another glance as he headed towards the door, needing to get to Kyle so they could get back to Roswell before shit hit the fan. It seemed they may have stirred the pot in a cold rivalry.

When Alex opened the door, however, five huge men were standing there and blocking his way. None of them were Kyle; all of them seemed to be too aware of who he was. Alex swallowed harshly and took a step back, bracing himself for the inevitable.

Live free or die trying, right?

“So, uh, you mind if I…”

“On the couch,” Alex told him. Michael nodded, accepting the compromise easily and letting go of Alex’s hand slowly. “You’re always welcome. Even if I kinda want to throw you in the trash sometimes.”

Michael snorted, “I guess you could have worse desires. Goodnight, Alex, please sleep well.”

“Goodnight, Michael.”

Michael stood up and started to walk towards the door, but he was stopped by Alex calling his name again. When he turned around, he saw him holding out the piece to him. Michael reluctantly took it and closed the bedroom door behind him.

He was going to do better.

#Malex #malex fic #michael guerin #alex manes #roswell new mexico #my fic #our fainted thrill carries on

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