#stretching the definition of horror perhaps but i had to this movie is so good

[chinzhilla]

𝔗𝔥𝔦𝔯𝔱𝔶-𝔒𝔫𝔢 𝔇𝔞𝔶𝔰 𝔬𝔣 ℌ𝔬𝔯𝔯𝔬𝔯 𝟸𝟶𝟸𝟺

You're sad. You don't remember what you want. You don't remember wanting. It passed long ago. And nothing ever changes.

A Girl Walks Home Alone at Night (2014) dir. Ana Lily Amirpour

[violet-1atte]

Highway to Heaven (Ride)

I forgot to post this here...oops

Summary: Minho wakes up horny and Jisung is willing

Tags: Smut, power bottom!Minho, top!Jisung, light somnophilia, needy Minho, morning sex

AO3 Link

Minho woke up hot. His body was coated in a thin sheen of sweat and his bangs were sticking to his forehead. Jisung’s body had been plastered to him the whole night, accounting for most of the heat. But there was also another problem. He was hard and so horny. 

He’d had some kind of wet dream–one that he now couldn’t remember–but the effects still remained. And what was worse was the fact that he could feel Jisung’s own dick pressed against his lower back from how he was spooning him, and it was most definitely hard as well. His mouth filled with saliva and he gulped it down. When he shifted he could feel Jisung twitch behind him and it only made the burning need in his stomach intensify, the ache in his cock grow. 

He didn’t want to wake Jisung up. They had been busy lately and Jisung had already fucked him well before they went to sleep, so Minho knew he couldn’t be greedy, but fuck. He was so horny it was making him dizzy. He needed something, anything. He felt so incredibly empty and it didn’t help that he was still stretched from when he had ridden Jisung previously. The ache still remained in his ass and his thighs and rather than satiating him, it only made him crave more. 

Perhaps he could get up without Jisung waking and get off quickly. He tried wiggling out of his grasp, but that caused him to mumble in his sleep and stir. Shit.

He inhaled slowly through his nose and tried to picture anything at all that could get his hard cock to go down–old grannies, the ugly monster from the shitty horror movie he and Jisung had just watched–but nothing worked. Jisung had even shifted so now instead of his dick pressing into Minho’s back, it was pressed into his ass, so close yet so far away from where he actually needed it. 

Minho instinctively rolled his hips back against Jisung’s crotch and suppressed a groan at the feeling. His stomach stirred and his cock twitched in the confines of his boxers. He needed to stop, go back to sleep, let Jisung sleep, he–

“Jagi.” 

Minho gasped at the sound of Jisung’s sleep-addled voice, followed by a press of his hips against him. He shuddered and exhaled through his nose. “Hannie?” he whispered. When he got nothing in response he huffed and clenched his fists. He was doing that in his sleep. Minho gasped again when Jisung’s arms tightened around him and he was pulled closer to the warmth of his body. Fuck, fuck, fuck—

“Sung-ah. Jisungie,” Minho called, wetting his lips. Jisung would probably want to sleep, but he could go back to sleep while Minho had a little fun, right? “ Baby,” he sang, twisting around so that he could face his boyfriend. He poked Jisung’s cheek a couple times and after a moment he groaned and then his eyes fluttered open. 

“Mm, hyung?” he mumbled, the raspiness of his voice sending shivers down Minho’s spine. 

“Sorry for waking you, jagiya. I just woke up with a little… problem.” Now facing Jisung, he rolled his hips to meet Jisung’s, effectively grinding their cocks together. Jisung let out a startled whimper and the muscles in his jaw flexed. Goodness, he was gorgeous in the morning. His face was always a little swollen when he woke up, making his cheeks look extra fluffy, and his hair was tousled. Minho wanted to devour him. 

“Ah–I’m sleepy though, hyung,” Jisung whined, just like Minho knew he would. 

“You won’t need to do anything, Hannie,” Minho said, stroking Jisung’s cheek with his thumb. “I just need to sit on that pretty cock of yours.” 

Minho could tell his words affected him by the way his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. He could even pick up on the slight change of breathing, the way Jisung’s breath hitched in his throat and then steadied out into shallower breaths. “‘M still half asleep though,” he said softly, but there was less protest in his voice. His cock was still fully hard against Minho, too. 

“That’s okay, baby. I like when you’re all pliant for me,” Minho said, smirking at the way Jisung’s rosy cheeks darkened. He ran his hand up and down his side, humming at the feel of his soft, warm skin under his fingers. “Can I please ride you, jagi? You can just go back to sleep, I just want you inside me,” he breathed, his voice getting that desperate tone it often got when he woke up horny. He batted his lashes. “I’ll make you feel good too, Hannie.”

Jisung gulped audibly and Minho swore he could feel his cock twitch against him. “O-okay,” he answered. “But I can just lay here?” 

Minho didn’t even attempt to keep the giddy grin off his face. He pressed a kiss to the corner of Jisung’s mouth and nodded. “Mhm, just lay there and let hyung use you, yeah?” 

Jisung shuddered and nodded, his eyes glazing over. Minho took the opportunity with the position they were in and turned Jisung to face him so he could bring their lips together in a kiss. Jisung let him in easily, barely kissing back as Minho took the lead licking past his parted lips. He sucked his bottom lip between his teeth and his stomach fluttered at the whimper Jisung made. He loved having Jisung like this–so gentle, so malleable, their shallow breaths mingling together as Minho took. Normally, he would kiss him like this for ages, run his tongue along his teeth, and nip at his bottom lip until he was a breathless, desperate mess. But this morning, he was feeling too desperate himself. 

He gave a peck to Jisung’s lips as he pulled away, grinning at the disheveled state he had left him in. It almost made Minho laugh. Jisung might just lay there for him, but there was no way he would be going back to sleep. 

Gently, Minho rolled Jisung over onto his back. Then he sat up and tossed the blankets back, revealing Jisung’s hard cock, straining against his underwear. There was already a wet spot there and the sight alone made Minho’s mouth water. The thought of sucking him off crossed his mind but for the time being his wants laid elsewhere. They would have a little extra time in the evening, and then Minho could relax with Jisung’s dick on his tongue. 

“Hm, you sure you’re sleepy, jagi?” Minho asked amusedly, reaching out to palm Jisung through his boxers. 

Jisung’s eyes widened and he bit his lip to suppress the whimper that crawled up his throat. “I am, ‘s just morning wood, hyung,” he explained. Minho chuckled fondly as he dragged his finger along his length. 

“Aww, nothing to do with me?” he asked in mock offense. Jisung opened his mouth to respond but was cut off by Minho pressing his thumb into his slit through the slick fabric of his underwear. He gasped and his hips jerked upward. The sight made Minho’s stomach jolt with arousal. 

“Y-you know how I get wh-when you’re like this,” he whined, his bottom lip jutting out in a petulant pout. 

“Mmm, s’pose I do,” Minho agreed. It was no secret to either of them that Jisung liked when Minho got a little needy, a little insistent. Somehow Jisung always ended up the needier of the two, but Minho liked it that way. Liked how overwhelmed he could get him just from sitting on his cock. 

Not wasting another minute, Minho got up to his knees and tugged his boxers off, hissing as the cool hair hit his cock. He was so hard it almost hurt–there was no way he would last long. “Hand me the lube, baby?” he asked, already sounding shamefully breathless. Jisung hummed absentmindedly, eyes trained on Minho’s cock as it hung, hard and leaking, between his thick thighs. “Enjoying the view?” 

Jisung blushed, averting his gaze as he reached for the lube sitting on the nightstand, left there from the night before. “Stop teasing,” he huffed as he handed Minho the bottle. 

“Maybe someday.” Minho giggled as he popped the cap and coated his fingers in the slick substance. A shiver went through his body at the hungry look in Jisung’s half-lidded eyes, now focused on the shiny lines of his fingers. The corner of his lips quirked up in a smirk as he reached behind himself to press the first finger into his hole. His lips parted in a soft moan, eyebrows knitting together as he pushed inside himself. He was still loose from Jisung fucking him the night before and the memory had heat coiling in his gut. He bit his bottom lip, swallowing thickly as he pushed another finger past his rim. He dropped his head and his muscles tensed. Jisung was always much better at stretching him open, his fingers longer than Minho’s own–he could always reach so deep. He groaned as he thrust his fingers deeper, just shy of his prostate. “Jisungie,” he breathed, a bead of precum leaking from the tip of his cock. 

“You’re so hot, hyung,” Jisung responded, on the edge of a moan. His voice was rough, thick with arousal, a sound that had an almost Pavlovian effect on Minho. His hips jerked and he leaned forward, trying to get a better angle for his fingers. Fuck, he needed Jisung’s cock. 

He deemed himself stretched enough after a few more pumps of his fingers and he pulled them out with a loud squelch. Jisung shuddered under him. Minho wet his lips and took a deep breath as he hooked his fingers in the waistband of Jisung’s boxers. “Mm, can’t wait to have your big cock inside me.” He laughed a little when Jisung twitched, but it quickly faded off into a groan as he pulled his boxers down. The sight of Jisung’s pretty cock alone had him dizzy, lightheaded from how fast his blood rushed south. “Fuck. I’ll never get over how pretty you are.” 

Jisung whimpered a little and his fingers flexed on the bed beside him. “Hyung…” 

“What?” Minho asked, cocking his head to the side. “Don’t tell me you’re getting needy. Thought you were tired.” He grabbed the base of Jisung’s cock, relishing the moan it pulled from him. He even felt good in his hand, so thick and hot against his palm. He was tempted to play with him, jerk him off for a bit like he often did, turn him into a mess on the verge of coming before he even rode him. But instead, he grabbed the lube and poured a generous amount over his cockhead. Jisung hissed and he grinned as he spread the lube over his length. 

“Minho-hyung, please,” Jisung whined, pressing his head back into the pillows. He looked so pretty like this, with his hair fanned across the pillow and his chubby cheeks all rosy. Minho fucking loved him. 

“Shh, hyung’s got you, baby,” Minho hummed. 

He lined himself up with Jisung’s cock and his eyebrows pinched together at the first brush of his tip against his hole. And then without a warning, he sank all the way down, taking all of Jisung’s cock in one go. It punched a choked gasp out of him and a moan out of Jisung. The stretch burned since he had only used two fingers and didn’t give himself time to adjust, but that was one of Minho’s favorite parts. It sated something deep within him. There was nothing more satisfying than the soreness that would follow.

Jisung looked like he was seconds away from coming as Minho gave them both a second to breathe before moving. He clutched the sheets in his fists and was biting his lip so hard it would probably bruise. “Sh-shit, hyung. I dunno–dunno if I’m gonna last long,” he stuttered. 

“Hah–’s okay, I’m not gonna last long either, Sungie. Wanted–fuck, wanted you so bad,” Minho panted. Jisung filled him up so well, better than anyone else ever had before. He felt him so deep he was sure his insides were permanently rearranged to fit him. If Minho could sit on his cock forever, he would. 

“I’m gonna move now,” Minho warned after a minute. 

Jisung nodded weakly. “Okay, want you to.” 

Minho rolled his hips a couple times before he lifted himself up, breath catching in his throat at the sensation of Jisung’s length dragging along his walls. Then he slammed back down, ass slapping against Jisung’s hips. “ Mmgh, fuck,” he moaned. He easily picked up a steady rhythm, years of dancing allowing him to move smoothly. The muscles in his thighs flexed with each rise and fall of his hips, practically rippling under tanned skin. Jisung’s hands eventually found their way to his thighs, digging his fingertips into the flesh. Moans and whines spilled from his lips as the action made Minho speed up and his nails dug crescents into his skin.

“Oh, oh yes, fuck, Hannie,” Minho gasped, eyes rolling back. Jisung’s grip was strong enough to hurt, but that made it so good. “So–so much for being– hah –being sleepy.” 

“Can’t– hyungg— can’t be sl-sleepy when you’re so–” He struggled to get the words out, choking on his own moans whenever Minho clenched around him. “So hot, mmm– and you’re s-so tight, hyung.” He whined, high and breathless. The sounds went straight to Minho’s cock. He would never get tired of how noisy Jisung got when he rode him. “You feel so good.” 

“So do you, jagi.” Minho gasped when the head of Jisung’s dick hit his prostate, sparks of pleasure bursting through his stomach. “Hnng–Fill me up so good, you’re so good for hyung.” His voice sounded foreign to him, two pitches higher, so needy. 

“Lo-love being good for hyung,” Jisung whimpered, fingers flexing against Minho’s thighs. 

“Always good–shit, look at you laying there, letting hyung take whatever he wants,” Minho said. He was getting close already, the coils of pleasure tightening in his stomach. His thighs were starting to burn a little too from how intensely he had been riding Jisung, but he always enjoyed a little burn. 

“Hyung, hyung, I’m close,” Jisung babbled, eyes glazed over as he watched Minho bounce on his cock. “Should–should I–” he tried to lift his hips but Minho pushed him down. 

“No, let me–told you that you didn’t hah-have to do anything,” he managed. “I’m close too.” He wrapped his fingers around the base of his own cock, breath hitching as he began to stroke himself in time with the rolls of his hips. He leaned forward at the same time and placed his free hand on Jisung’s chest to give himself more leverage. The slight change in the angle made Jisung’s cock hit Minho’s prostate with every thrust and the pleasure soon became overwhelming. 

“ Ahh fuck Jisungie, ‘m gonna come,” Minho moaned. 

“Yes, yes, hyung,” Jisung exclaimed, his voice cracking. “Please, wanna see you come on my cock, please—” 

“ Fuck.” Minho’s hole spasmed and his stomach tensed as his orgasm hit him with Jisung buried deep inside. His mouth fell open in a silent moan and he stroked himself as he came, cum spilling all over his hand and stomach. He continued grinding down against Jisung to the point of overstimulation, his moans turning into high-pitched whines. “O-oh god,” he choked, finally releasing his cock as the last spurt of cum spilled over his hand. 

Jisung’s pupils were blown wide as he stared–which made Minho want to see him fall apart more. So he clenched around him and reached forward with his cum covered hand and pressed his fingers to Jisung’s lips. “Say, ‘ah,’” he instructed. Jisung’s eyes widened but he obeyed easily, parting his lips to take Minho’s fingers into his mouth. “Good boy,” he hummed. If he wasn’t already spent, the sight alone could get him hard again. And Jisung seemed to like it too because his cock twitched inside Minho as he sucked the cum off his fingers, tongue swirling around the digits. He looked dazed, positively fucked out. 

“You gonna come inside me, pretty?” Minho asked, circling his hips. “Fill me up with your cum?” 

Jisung nodded vigorously, Minho’s fingers still in his mouth. When Minho pressed down on his tongue, he gagged but didn’t pull back. 

“Fuck, look at you. So so good. Come on baby, come inside hyung.” He picked up fucking himself on Jisung again and the other’s muffled moans filled the room, his eyes rolling back. Now that Minho had come, he let himself go, Minho’s fingers down his throat and his tight heat around his cock enough to bring him tipping over the edge. He came with a cry around Minho’s fingers and spilled into him in hot spurts. There was so much that it leaked out of Minho’s hole and spilled down the base of his cock. It was messy, a little gross, and exactly how they both loved it. 

Minho rode him through his orgasm until he was gasping and whining for him to stop. Then Minho lifted himself off, cringing a little bit at the cum spilling down his thighs. “We’re gonna have to shower,” he mumbled as he collapsed next to Jisung and threw a leg over his waist. 

Jisung panted quietly for a minute before saying anything else and then he wiggled away. “You’re all sticky, hyung,” he complained, his voice coming out breathless. 

Minho chuckled. “And who’s fault is that?” 

“ Yours, because it was your idea,” he said, but there was a blush on his cheeks. Minho couldn’t help but poke them. 

“Cute.” 

Jisung grumbled under his breath for a moment, which just made Minho laugh. “Let’s just go hop in the shower before we have to do anything else. Check the hall to make sure no one’s there for me?” He smiled and blinked rapidly. Jisung groaned loudly but he was smiling. 

“Sure, sure, whatever. As if they didn’t hear everything anyway…”

“Yeah, someone’s loud.”

Jisung swatted at Minho’s shoulder and shook his head as he stood up. “I’m not the only one!” 

Minho slapped his butt and he yelped, spinning away from the danger zone. “Respect your hyung, Hannie.” Jisung rolled his eyes before giving Minho the most heart-stopping smile imaginable. 

“You’re so…” He leaned forward and gave Minho a soft kiss. “Come on. We’re both going to check. Since you woke me up earlier.” He grabbed his wrist and this time Minho didn’t protest, instead following him to the door. Jisung was right, after all. It was only fair. As he walked, there was a slight ache, and now that he wasn’t thinking with his dick anymore, he knew he would regret it later. But at least he got what he wanted anyway.

[eightypercentjack-blog]

For movie club night on Halloween we tackled a classic several of us had avoided for decades!

Being a sensitive soul and not a chainsaw fan at the best of times (I blame the DOTD remake bus scene) I'd always feared the worst about Leatherface's family biopic in terms of fear and gore. I was relieved to have been pretty misguided in those fears. I didn't know Tobe Hooper deliberately made the film as 'bloodless' as possible in the hopes of a lower rating (good try, dude, good try) and both the film and I were better for it.

Leatherface sits apart from other horror icons like Freddy and Jason in being disturbingly 'human'. Ambiguous, unknowable and at a stretch perhaps even pitiful (outside of the brutal slaughter of course...), one of the main distinctions is that he doesn't operate alone. Instead we get an ominous, unsettling and decidedly grim window into a 'family' dynamic, tugging at themes of the broken American dream, the human cost of progress, traditional jobs and roles and their absence, the global events of the 70s and the meat industry and the nature of meat consumption in general.

There are some standouts among the cast including the Sawyers themselves but also Marilyn Burns, realistically shrieking her heart out to become a trailblazer for one of my favourite movie tropes. There's also a lot left unsaid amongst the sparse dialogue that ultimately asks so much more: there's an intriguing glimpse at the fine line between 'us' and 'them' as Franklin oscillates between fear and fascination early on in the film.

The use of light, sound and space are all extremely effective, especially for the time. Sound especially plays a huge part in both the horror and the hinted subtext, and the light in the parting shots in hauntingly pretty. Not a pleasant film by any means but a well made and interesting one. I definitely recommend it.

[charlie-grusin]

"The Haunted Mask" (1995) : Movietalk # 02

“The Haunted Mask” is the story of a girl so tormented by her peers she neglects the true loves of her life and kills herself. She parades her severed head out on the streets as she allows herself to become a different beast – a being of malicious mischief with a greater urge for destruction from within and without – only to then renounce that creature persona from reality, embracing instead the one who could ever love back. It’s a suburban gothic survivor story with an ending you can expect from good ol’ Jovial Bob, that finest trick-meister of the horror trade (besides, it’s Halloween – what could go wrong with a hearty laugh?).

Kathryn Long is a force to be reckoned with. Where else could one find a performance so involved at such a young age that not only goes for long stretches of time waging havoc with throat-crushing gremlin voices and latex running deep in the eyelids but who also suggests (no, insists!) on eating live worm sandwiches not once, nor twice, but on eight-to-twelve takes? (Not even How to Eat Fried Worms could claim that!!) But what Long was able to achieve was not made solely on high theatrics: it’s like she really lived Carly Beth, pushing Stine’s original tale further towards its truth-inside-the-lie that as you want to reach through the screen and hold her and comfort her and reassure her that this too shall pass, you can’t help but get the feeling that you could also be her in those moments of vulnerability – that perhaps you were once Carly Beth… or that you are still very much the seemingly lonesome little girl lost in that hallway house of mirrors – that you can’t help but cringe and squirm whenever the monster takes full control because if experience has taught us anything it’s that it really is all too easy to make the inversion of the self and turn vile from the hurt and/or the fear of being hurt. It’s all too close, all too familiar… and it’s all the more reason she should be inducted to the Child Horror Star Hall of Fame pronto if such a thing is christened.

Every now and then it’s imperative that a Goosebumps story (or anything adjacent to that) must include in some form or another a creepy shopkeeper and/or salesman, and while the “Tall Thin Man” definitely matches the head on the bill it is not with the touch of the usual; the role as written by José Rivera and delivered by Colin Fox give this character a menace all the more heightened by the fact that it is ultimately a tragic one (he is a man doomed by admission to repetitively shred himself down to the marrows of his darkened soul), yet that isn’t to say director Timothy Bond didn’t manage to invoke any of that unbearable weight on his behalf; even with the occasionally shaky production levels the series offered as its norm, it’s quite impressive he still managed to bring his A game to TV movie cinematic heights as it is surprising he only did like, what, three two-parters(!?) – you gotta love that slow pan to the face in the mirror, that inspection of the abnormous skin devoid of music: “Very soon it will join the other failures on the shelf!” – and with much lighter affairs such as the “Monster Blood” special (which had compromised the series’ inability to adapt the other Bert I. Gordon-esque escapades of that green viscous substance with a mini-Airport movie on the fly), I can’t help but find it possible that Bond and crew may’ve also single-handedly spoiled the lot of us just by how (dare I say it) elevated their efforts seem in comparison. Episodes like “The Girl Who Cried Monster” or “The Haunted House Game” or even some of the other two-or-three-parters still hold up to this day on their own merits, of course… but damn. Damn.

Most Goosebumps stories are pure three-pages-a-thrill adventures where the monsters are either some big bad and hungry goop monster, a mummy, or “hey what if lawn gnomes were kinda bastards you know”, but when they getcha like this they getcha good. Viewer, listener, reader beware, you’re in for more than a scare.

[canmom]

Animation Night 176: The Hedge-Pigge Whin'd

Thrice the brinded Cat hath mewed, Thrice and once the hedge-pig whin'd, Harpier cries, 'tis time! 'tis time! - Macbeth

For the fourth time, Animation Night encounters Halloween. What horrors yet await us? Oh, there are....... many...

I'm going to keep this writeup pretty short bc (as is probably evident from the Posting lately) I'm not in the best of sorts.

The traditional Animation Night halloween goes something like this: a vampire-related anime, some Yamishibai, and something weird and different. Sometimes that leads to discovering some truly great and unexpected films, like Birdboy: The Forgotten Children (Psiconautas) by Alberto Vasquez. I had been thinking of doing Vasquez's Unicorn Wars tonight, but I decided to hold off to rewatch Birdboy alongside it in a week or two.

Other gems we've encountered have been the Chilean stop-motion film obliquely about a Nazi cult The Wolf House, the 'gekimation' works of Ujicha, the gorgeous one-man adaptation of Suehiro Maruo's ero-guro manga Shoujo Tsubaki, and of course Phil Tippett's 30-year magnum opus Mad God. There's a reason I look forward to Halloween each year.

Animation is a tricky fit for horror stories, particularly traditional animation. The stylised and clearly artificial presentation intrinsic to animation can be distancing and make it hard to make things genuinely scary - so if anything, a lot of horror creators benefit from a deliberately low-fi style, which avoids being too obvious with displays of technique. But animation of all kinds loves horror images and themes, from gory OVAs of the 80s full of rapacious demons, to what you could call 'spoopy' works like The Nightmare Before Christmas, Hotel Transylvania and Paranorman which play around with all the Halloween/Hammer Horror imagery - the Draculas and Frankensteins and so on.

So what's the recipe tonight?

Well, for our vampire anime, we have now worked through the obvious ones, so it's on to... the Darkstalkers OVA from 1997-8, adapting Capcom's series of fighting games. Though in Japan it's called ヴァンパイアハンター THE ANIMATED SERIES (Vampire Hunter: The Animated Series).

Fittingly for a late-90s OVA, this is full of crazy sick animation, notably including a number of cuts by Yoshinori Kanada. The story is basically: two vampire clans are having a war, but then aliens show up. Somehow that leads to battling atop exploding zeppelins. I'm curious.

For our Western Animation slot we have something by Genndy Tartakovsky (Animation Night 35). While Tartakovsky is best known for his 2D animation and hyper-simplified graphical style, he's also directed Hotel Transylvania in 3D. I was rather dismissive of this one at a glance apparently, but I've been told it's good and I mean, it's Tartakovsky right? I'm definitely curious to see how his style crosses dimensions.

Hotel Translyvania was created at Sony Pictures Animation, the studio that would later blow everyones' minds with Spiderverse. Their history is this: Sony, the international media and tech giant, had a visual effects studio called Sony Pictures Imageworks. They were considering selling it, but then came the wave of CG films beginning with Shrek, and suddenly the smell of money was in the air. So Imageworks was retooled into a studio for making feature-length CG movies. Their early films were pretty formulaic, but they gradually began to get more ambitious.

Hotel Transylvania, which depicts a hotel for monsters run by Dracula, has had a rough history, with Tartakovsky actually the sixth director to take on the project. His goal was to try and take the vibe of 2D animation, with its squash and stretch and variable timing, and bring it to 3D - a concept that was perhaps ahead of its time! How did he manage? Let's find out.

For our Yamishibai slot we have Yamishibai.

...ok, for those just joining us this I should probably explain. It's kind of like creepypastas for weebs. Yamishibai is a series of limited-animation shorts in the style of kamishibai paper theatre, telling short horror stories. In the first half of the 20th century, kamishibai performers would go around telling stories with illustrated panels, and the form was influential on the early days of manga. They're usually a blast so we'll definitely see a few of these.

...and, given the late start that will probably be all we have time for, but if we're in the mood, I can pull out a couple shorter animated horror works. Next week, we'll follow it up with Alberto Vasquez, revisiting Birdboy and also checking out Unicorn Wars.

Sound fun? See you at twitch.tv/canmom; we will start the spooky playlist soooooooooooooooooooooooooooonnnnnnnnnn...

[emdotcom]

I got a lotta weird realtionships w/ my mind, & now you gotta hear about 'em.

I don't really have nightmares. Not to say I don't get dreams with scary things in 'em -- I do ! But, in my mind, I've drawn a line in the sand that says everything left of making me horrified is not a nightmare.

I have, further on, separated horror from scary -- horror makes you feel as though ou or your loved ones will be hurt. It makes you check that your doors are locked, a little more often -- it has a lasting effect, even if it's only for a day or two, only until the sun rises. Meanwhile, scary, to me, is a less lingering fear. It makes you feel afraid for a moment or two, & then the screamer is gone, or you chuckle at yourself & realize your fear was silly -- it's just a movie, or a video, or you miss-saw something -- a harmless trick of the lights.

Anyhow, with this distinction laid out, the moment I wake up or realize that it was just a dream, I find that most of my dreams aren't horrifying to me, so I don't really classify them as nightmares. They're more interesting, really, like a scary movie I watched last night.

This is, in part, due to a stretch of time in which I had no dreams. Not that I had them & then forgot, upon waking up -- that's different. Even if you can't actually remember one single iota of the dream, you can feel on the peripheral of your mind that a dream did occur, like the difference between eating only chips on an empty stomach, or a full meal. When you actually have no dream, you know it.

It... Made me miserable. I hated sleeping. I would wake up & remember that pitch blackness, thick like tar, my body stuck in place. To me, boredom can be painful. It can make me say or do things I never wanted to, just to take off some of the edge of it -- it can hurt worse than a cut. It runs deeper than all that, past the skin & flesh, past the bone, down into my core. It hurts. I've described the sensation before as "Feeling as though I have cracked upon my skull, & am now rubbing my exposed brain on concrete, over & over & over again," with all my nerves still exposed.

So, you can perhaps imagine that spending untold hours in vast nothingness was not ideal.

I loathed sleeping, in that time. I was forever tired -- sleeping one hour, two on this night, the next, & the one after, then crashing for half a day, every weekend. Part of this... Was because of where I lived, & how it was. Some days of the week, it was preferable, really, to be gone into that nothingness for so long, if I could just force my eyes closed for long enough. This kept up for about a year. A year with no dreams -- can you imagine it? No whispers in the night, alone with not even your own thoughts, no memories to turn to?

That experience, that constant exhaustion, that anxiety in laying your head on the pillow, wondering if this will be another night of dreamless sleep has always stuck with me. Even now, years later, I worry, when I lay down at night, if this time my dreams will disappear, & for good, this time.

So, if you had an option between grating your exposed brain into the dirt & grit for hours on end for an entire year, or watching a spooky movie or two, which would you pick? The spooky movies? Yeah, me too.

I don't get horrified by my dream, that much, because no matter how bad they get, they are always preferable to the alternative. When my choice is between something that will haunt me throughout my days, or a temporary upsetting feeling, I kinda prefer the later, not gonna lie! So, it's not that I don't have nightmares in a more traditional sense, it's more that my definitions & I have changed to the point that it is hard to label any dream as such.

Anyhow. The actual reason I was making this post.

I don't get, like, actual nightmares, but I get what I refer to as either "mundane nightmares" or "stress dreams." It's not a scary monster grabbing me from the dark, or watching my loved ones picked off by a constant persuer, or a thousand disjointed limbs & faces twitching in the dirt, or a mass of water swallowing me & everything behave ever cared for whole, but it's something that does indeed stick with me. It does make me check a metaphorical lock, I suppose.

These dreams are all mundane. It looks like my current or old life, really, like a rerun, almost. A lot of them occur in my old apartment, with my family. A good amount occur at or around school & schoolwork, a solid amount are in my current resident, & a select few blend these elements together, in various combinations. A lot of these, are, like. I forgot to save a game before exiting. I made an appointment incorrectly. Somebody got mad at me. Etc, shit like that.

It's honestly more about various anxieties in my day-to-day, my dreams demanding I continue to keep on my toes. They're, like, kinda boring, but still preferable to pitch black or ACTUALLY horrifying dreams I've had, on the past. Plus, sometimes they're almost funny, in an exasperating way. Like, I just spent my entire sleeping moments sweeping & cleaning, & yet I wake up & I still gotta do it? Fucking hell

Sometimes they're. Kind of upsetting. Like a glimpse into an alternate me that doesn't exist, one who made different choices. A manifestation of my own personal regrets, come to haunt me in my slumbering hours. She has what I do not, & it's got what I've given up, throughout the years.

It's kind of a lot, to realize that I miss something I still hate, to this day. I wake up & almost want to cry. I can't believe I still miss that -- it made me fucking miserable. It made me hate living. It made me a bad person. It made me want to HURT people. It made me shatter, then scrape together, then stand up & shatter again. It made me fall into endless spiral after endless spiral, a despair that demanded blood & pain, if not from me then from someone else. It made me hate the world, hate all the people in it too, made it all turn sour against my tongue until I wanted to wretch it out. I HATE that point in memory, for all its pain.

But. I miss it, still, & I have the dreams to prove it.

[i-cant-sing]

Yandere RE8: TRP Part 4

Part 1 is here.

Part 2 is here.

Part 3 is here.

Part 5 is here.

Check out my MASTERLIST for more!

"Uhh... hello?"

You looked at the woman standing in the stairs. She was wearing a dark veil that matched the rest of her outfit- oh shit, that's a funeral outfit.

I really did pick a bad time to come here, didn't I? She's in mourning, she sees an intruder, and her day went from bad to worst. Yep, she's gonna kill me.

You took one look at the woman and then at all the possible exits: the doors- no, they'd be too heavy to move and what if they're locked? The window- but I'd have to jump out and just because it looks cool in movies to jump through glass, doesn't mean it'll work, Y/n.

So, the only option was to eliminate the threat. Or maybe... defuse it.

"This is your doll, right?" You asked, pointing at the doll, judging by the lace designs on both of their dresses. The woman didn't reply. "It looks like its been... used a lot. To be honest, she's very different than most dolls I've seen, definitely a lot more spookier." You nervously giggled, hoping she didn't mind. "But... she looks like she's been loved. A lot. Despite being broken from a lot of places, someone still took their time to fix her." You smiled sadly, remembering your own doll that Mia had ripped. "Wish I had someone like that. To sew up the wounds and fix them."You mumbled, not really sure if you were talking about your doll or yourself.

"Your doll, she's- she's very pretty. My sister would've liked her." You began. "Which is why I'm here. My family, we were in an accident- I know it was wrong of me to come here without permission, but I need to find my sister, Rose and my father, Ethan." You took a step closer. "They both of have blonde hair. Rose, my sister, she's just 6 months old. She was dressed in a baby pink onesie, bundled up in a blanket. My father, Ethan, he's about this tall and has big blue eyes. I think he was wearing a jacket, with blue denim jeans. H-have you seen them?" You asked, eyes full of hope and voice laced with eagerness.

Please, please let her have seen them. God, please.

Unsurprisingly, the woman didn't reply, but she did turn her head towards the left window. You didn't know whether she was telling you to get out of her house or signalling that they are out there, but you knew you had to leave.

Nodding, you slowly walked towards the window, your heart beating faster as you prayed that this wasn't some sort of trap, hoping she wouldn't attack you from behind because that would be like... really shitty.

But you left the house unharmed, and without looking back at the window because you didn't want to jinx it, you walked towards the forrest once again, thankful that the sun had finally came out.

Where are you guys?

You had been walking for a couple of hours now, the sun had been a bit warmer today, which was good since you hated the snow that surrounded you now. You looked at the map, tracing the path to your new destination. The Salvatore reservoir. It seemed like it would take you a day's journey to get there, and you sure as hell weren't seeing any lake in sight.

God, when will this nightmare end?

You decided to sit on a stone and take some much needed rest. Your feet ached from all the walking, and your calves were cramping. You rolled your head, popping it from the side, before taking off the rifle that had been weighing down, stretching out your arms. Digging through the little back pack you bought from Duke, you pulled out a thermos of coffee and twinkie. You don't know how or where he got it, but Duke had filled your bag with a couple of snacks; saying its for his loyal customer.

So, here you sat, in the middle of the snowy woods, eating a twinkie and drinking a lukewarm coffee. Both didn't taste good, but they're gonna keep you alive so, no complaining.

After drinking the coffee, you rested your head against a tree, recalling last nights events as you waited for the caffeine to kick in.

You tried to make sense of what happened when you got... locked in the basement. You thought you had forgotten about her, Angel. Guess not.

Wait- didn't that lady lock me in the basement? Maybe, she didn't look very hostile, her creepy doll looked scarier than she did.

You laughed at the irony. You always made fun of the horror movies where the family would become so attached to the most horrifying doll, and you'd scream at their stupidity, And yet here you were, falling for the cliche as you found comfort in that creepy doll.

Man, I'm really losing it here.

You sighed, closing your eyes as you tried to come up with the next plan. But the warm coffee had lulled you right to sleep, which was dangerous but you were too tired to care.

Just for a couple of minutes...

You woke up to the sound of growling and heavy steps. And as soon as you opened your eyes, you knew you had definitely slept for far longer than a few minutes. But that was not of concern at the moment. No, it was the source of the growling that had woken you up.

Just about 40 feet away from you were lycans. Plural. Not one, not two, but 5 lycans, and one of them was a really big one.

You held your breath as you watched them wander around; they hadn't spotted you yet, and if you stayed quiet, you hoped they would just go away.

Stilling yourself as much as you could, you watched them with wide eyes. One of them started to walk in your direction, it wasn't looking at you, which meant that it hadn't seen you, but he would if he kept on walking this way.

God, I know we haven't been on good terms, but like c'mon, you gotta give me a break. Please, I love you? Come on, you know this is not how I want to go.

You sent a silent prayer, and perhaps it worked, since the lycan suddenly turned the other way, joining its pack as they started walking deeper into the woods.

Slowly, you began to gather up your things, silently shoving them in your bag, one eye on the lycans and the other one making sure that you don't accidentally drop something that'd cause noise.

Fortunately, you didn't. You swung the bag over your shoulder, and took a step forward, careful not to step on any twigs.

Maybe God did love me. All that time in church-

THWACK!

You jumped back as a huge sheet of snow fell from the trees in front of you. You whipped your head towards the monsters and they all had stopped dead in their tracks. Slowly, one of them turned and if they hadn't heard the snow fall, they'd definitely heard the way your heart was about to burst out of your chest. Then, it growled.

Motherfucker.

You pulled out your gun just as the two of them began running your way. With a quick jump to the side, you dodged them and shot them two times each. Hearing your gun fire, the other two began running your way too, while the larger one stayed behind as it watched. This time, as you shot one of them, the other managed to kick you in the chest hard, throwing you against the rock. Luckily, you didn't hit your head, as you rolled and shot it dead.

Spitting out the blood, you looked back at the last lycan who had already started running your way. You began loading up your gun with trembling hands, but just as you aimed, the lycan took a giant leap and knocked the gun out of your hand.

Fuck.

The giant grabbed you by your neck, lifting you up high before throwing you across the ground. You wheezed, scrambling up to your feet as you began running away from it, its heavy steps following you. It roared angrily behind you, and that only made you ignore the burning pain in your chest as you ran faster.

But of course, God had decided to make you live a cliche horror movie, because you tripped over a fucking branch, making you fall on your stomach. You flipped over instantly, and saw your nightmare come true as the lycan jumped on you.

On pure reflex, you punched it square in the face, which you doubted hurt it more than it hurt you, if anything, the monster was momentarily perplexed, but that was enough for you to slip from under it.

But you were only able to take a few steps away when it suddenly grabbed you by your neck and lifted you up again, snarling as it began opening its mouth, revealing its razor-sharp teeth at you.

God, if you're hearing this, I'm converting to atheism because I did not need this today.

Looking at the horrifying lycan, you prayed one last time before you were eaten by it. Surprisingly, your life did not flash before your eyes, which you were kinda grateful for because you did not need to relive that before your death.

But that moment didn't came. No, what came were familiar moans of pain, and then the sound of a drill, followed by blood splattering on your face as the lycan was sliced vertically from the head to the toe by the aforementioned drill.

The lycan fell to the ground, revealing the pair of soldats that killed them and behind them a smirking Heisenberg, who rested against a tree, tipping his hat at you.

You were far too shocked to say anything, and after a few seconds, the man walked over to you, blocking the view of his monstrous creations just mutilating the lycans.

"So... that was a bit traumatising." He started, chuckling at your stunned face. "You okay, kid?"

What the fuck. What the fuck. What the fuck. What the fuck-

"Yeah." You took his hand, and he helped you up. You groaned at the pain, touching the tender side around the chest where the lycan had hit you. Yeah, you probably broke a rib.

Heisenberg helped you sit down on a tree stump. "Hmm, that bastard kicked you hard didn't it." Wait- "But that was a phenomenal punch you threw at it. Nearly made me burst out laughing."

"You were watching? Why the fuck didn't you come in before!"

He shrugged. "I just wanted to see if you could really handle yourself- which you were pretty good at, but then you lost your gun and it was kinda an unfair match from there on." He pulled out some pills from his coat. "i was just passing by when I saw those lycans moving away. Thats when I pushed the tree which made snow sheet fall and you know the rest from there on."

Your eyes went wide. "You did that on purpose? What the shit, Heisenberg-?! Fuck." You doubled over in pain, clutching your ribs, heaving.

"Shh, stay still, kid. Here, take these. They'll help with the pain." You eyed the bottle before popping two in your mouth. Hey, if he wanted me dead, he wouldn't have saved me from the lycan. "I just wanted to see if you were worth the trouble, and as it turns out, you are."

"You didn't have to almost kill me to see that. And now I've lost my gun. And I don't have any money to buy a new one. I doubt Duke gives freebies." You huffed out.

Heisenberg rolled his eyes. "God, you sure do whine a lot. Here-" He dropped a tiny pouch in your lap. "There's some coins in there. That should be enough to buy you a new gun. And for fucks sake, get a gun with more rounds! You don't have time to be loading a gun mid battle." He huffed. "So, where are you going now?"

You rolled your head from side to side. "Well, I went to the Beneviento house. Didn't find Ethan or Rose there. Now, I'm going to the lake."

"The lake? Huh, well if you survived Donna, then Moreau should be a piece of cake. You got the map? Let me show you the short cut, it's not far from here." You gave him the map and he showed you the directions.

"Where are you going then?"

"Mother Miranda called. Don't worry, I'll keep our meeting a secret." He then nodded at you. "Alright, I'm off now."

"Wait!" Your voice stopped him. "I don't know when I'll see Duke again. And I don't have gun, so what if another pack of lycans come?"

Heisenberg slumped his shoulders as he let out an annoyed sigh. "Fine. I gotta do everything by myself." He dog whistled and one of the soldats stopped maiming the lycan and ran to Heisenberg. "From now on, you're gonna listen to her."The soldat looked at you and nodded. "If she tells you to kill, you kill. If she tells you to die, you die. Follow her around and keep her safe." The soldat nodded. Then Heisenberg turned to you. "He's already dead, so don't worry about throwing him in danger. Oh and also, just take him into the sun every once in a while so that his engine can recharge. You'll know when he needs the sun."

You were baffled. "Wait, Heisenberg- how the- what the hell am I supposed to do with him?"

"Figure it out, kid. Think of him as a guard dog."

You looked at the soldat then at Heisenberg's retreating form, then back at the soldat.

"So..." The soldat stared at you. "You got a name?"

"Handsome." You nodded to yourself as you trudged, using the soldat's arm to support yourself. "That's what I'm gonna call you. Handsome. What do you think?"

The soldat was wearing a metal contraption over its eyes, so you couldn't really tell what it was feeling.

"Well, you don't seem to have any complaints, so from now on, you'll respond to the name "Handsome". Do you understand?"

The soldat nodded.

You laughed. God, the pain meds were either making me stupid or everything else funnier.

You looked at the map again. Just a couple of more minutes and then a right turn. And then you should see the lake- god, this map was confusing as hell.

"So..." you wondered what you should ask the cyborg. Oh right. "You seen Ethan? Blonde man, crazy big eyes. Or a baby, Rose?" The man shook his head no.

Sigh. What else could I ask him? What about how did he die? No, what if that's triggering? I can't handle a Terminator right now. And I don't think I should ask him about his past or anything that'll cause him to have a existential crisis. Ah! I've got it!

"Hey, how do you see?"

The soldat looks down at you for a few seconds then points at his metal contraption.

Wait- is that sarcasm?

You scoff. "Of course, you see with your eyes! I meant, with the whole metal thingy covering them, how do you- oh, there's this vision specs in them."

You smiled. "Hey, you're kinda like Cyclops, yknow-" you were cut off as Handsome suddenly pushed you to the ground, turning on his drill.

"Wait, shit- you don't have to be Cyclops! We can talk this out-" but Handsome was focusing on something else, and that's when you saw it. Two lycans.

Handsome ran and easily maimed them to pieces, I mean, you had to look away from the horrific scene midway.

The soldat returned five minutes later, covered in blood. He extended his hand and you reluctantly took it, letting him support you as you began walking again, your heart still beating like crazy.

But you calmed down when you finally reached the lake, the setting sun gave serene feel to the entire reservoir. You inhaled deeply before looking at Handsome. "Lets go down there." You pointed at the lake.

You were both sitting at the wooden broadwalk, your legs hanging off the ledge. You looked at the water, it wasn't crystal clear, but you could see some fishes swimming around, so at least it wasn't dangerous to life. You looked at Handsome, then at his drill and you realised he was still covered in blood. "Lets get you cleaned up, hm?" You said, pulling out a rag from your bag and dipping it in the cold water below. You began with cleaning up his drill, then dipping the rag back in cold water and cleaning his chest and his other arm.

"Good job back there, Handsome."You smiled as Handsome nodded. "Heisenberg was right, you are kinda like a dog. Hmm, I wonder if..." You tested your theory as you petted him on the head. "Good job, Handsome!" But the soldat only tilted its head in confusion.

"Hmm, perhaps not." You cupped the cold water in your hands and washed your own face, You looked at your reflection in the water. "You wanna go for a swim? I don't mind." Handsome shook his head. "Yeah, I'm not a fan of swimming either."

Handsome stared at you. You scoffed. "Oh so you pretend you don't understand what I say, but you want to hear the story? Fine, but I'm only telling you because it might be important later."

You both stared at the water as you began your story. "Well, when I was 15, I had snuck out of the house to go to a party. It was at this rich girl's house and I knew she didn't like me, but I was surprised when she had invited me to her place. Yes, a red flag I should've seen from miles ago, but I was young and dumb and desperate to climb the highschool social hierarchy." You chuckled. "Anyways, long story short, one of the guys there pushed me into the pool because I don't know if they thought it was funny to see me drown? By some luck, I managed to grab onto the pool ledge and pull myself up. I immediately left the party, embarrassed and cold and on the verge of breaking down. Then on the way back home, there was this car following me and then some weirdo catcalled me and tried to get me in his car. Now, scared for my life because I watched a lot of Criminal Minds, I ran all the way home, praying that he leaves me alone. I think he stopped when he saw a Range Rover following him, but I don't know. I just rushed back home." You sighed. "You know what happened next? I bursted through the front door, slamming it shut and I turn around to see my dad in the living room, looking surprised to see me. He stood up and looked me up and down and then said, "Y/n? You're drenched completely. And you're messing up the floor. You know what? Mia's in the bathroom right now, why don't you go upstairs and I'll clean up here. You know how she gets when there's water on the wood." And I was just so shocked, that I didn't say anything and went back upstairs. Once I was in the shower, that's when I broke down crying. I almost drowned, almost got kidnapped and my father was worried about me messing up the wooden floor? Hell, he didn't even ask me why I was coming home at midnight." Your tears fell into the lake, making small ripples. You chuckled, "God, I always wondered how tired he must've been from work that day to ignore all these visible signs of distress. I always hated his job, you know? They made him work way too much." You looked at Handsome who was looking at the lake. "Anywho, now you know I can't swim so, save me if I fall into this lake, okay?" He nodded.

You guys sat in comfortable silence for a few more minutes before a question popped up in your mind. "Handsome?" He turned his head towards you, only to see a mischievous smile on your face. "Are you seeing someone?" The man turned his back to the lake, making you laugh. "Ahh, so you like someone. Tell me, is it someone from the village?" The man further turned his head away from you in embarrassment. "Oh come on, tell me! Is it a girl?" He nodded reluctantly, making you punch his arm. "You dog! Does she know?" Handsome shook his head, making you smile. "Tell you what? As a payback for saving me back there, I'll help you get her. I'll be your wingman, Handsome, hm?" He nodded a bit enthusiastically.

"We all deserve good things, Handsome. No matter how we look, or what we are, these things don't really define one's self worth. Its our intentions, you know?" Handsome didn't know, but he nodded anyways.

"Good. Now, lets go check out this place. Keep an eye out for Ethan and Rose, okay?" You told him, not knowing someone was already watching the two of you.

So... thought?

What did you guys think about Handsome? I'm gonna post a pic of him soon if you guys want.

Part 5 is here.

[atlaese]

before sunset, i fell - b.b.

summary: apparently, when you stay in the honeymoon suite, the husband and the ring on your left hand come with the package. *terms and conditions apply. refunds are not issued. pairing: modern!bucky x fem!reader tw: modern AU, cursing, allusions to smut, implied smut, alcohol, fluff, food, tell me if i missed something! words: 4.5K a/n: hi lovelies!! this is my entry for @ambrosiase indigo hotel writing challenge :) i chose the prompts honeymoon suite & vacation with bucky, but added a few little twists. also idk why but the blue suit on seb makes me go feral...😵‍💫 i worked on this for... the longest time i have ever worked on a fic, so i hope you like it!! p.s. Thank you to my loves @buckycuddlebuddy & @midnightf for helping me out 💞 i love y’all!!

p.p.s. i now have a library blog! go follow @aeristhotle and turn on notifs to get notified when i update!

reblogs and comments are appreciated ✨💗

BUCKY BARNES MASTERLIST | MARVEL MASTERLIST

A soft breeze was coming through the half-shut curtains, softly caressing your bare back as you inhaled lightly, pressing your face deeper in the soft pillow. It was such a nice morning. There were fresh sheets on the bed and they smelled like a washing product you didn’t immediately recognize as your own, a slight floral hint in them as you stretched out your arms. Everything felt good and the sound of waves crashing against rocks a few miles away, made it feel like you were on holiday in some far-away country.

You strained your eyes against the harsh morning light as you blinked a few times, trying to get the sleep out of your eyes. Something felt off though, maybe it was the pounding headache that made you screw your eyes back shut or perhaps it was the fact that these white sheets weren’t yours at all.

What is going on, you thought to yourself, scrunching the white sheets in your fists as you turned on your back, cold air hitting your bare skin as you looked down at your body in horror. Why were you naked? Even on the hottest summer nights you at least wore a pair of panties and an old tank top, so where were they now?

Quickly pulling up the sheets over your bare chest, you looked up at the ceiling again. Your sight was met with a fancy chandelier that you definitely didn’t own, just like the headboard that was way too big to fit your queen-sized bed.

What in the cliché movie is this. Did you just drink too much and book a hotel room for once, instead of relying on your friends to get you safely home in an overpriced cab?

Slightly sitting up and clutching onto the sheets, you scanned around the room you were in, looking at all the modern art that was hung up, as well as the small sliver of the sea you could spot through the curtains.

Your gaze ended up at the other side of the king-sized bed.

Underneath the white sheets, there was a man lying on his stomach, sheets barely covering his naked ass as he was breathing at a slow and steady pace, tufts of air making little noises that you would’ve found cute if you at least knew who this fucking man was.

As your heart battered in your chest, you silently stepped out of the bed, taking the sheets with you and leaving the man buck ass naked and you snuck over to the nearby door, hoping it was the bathroom and that it had a robe you could use.

Exhaling a breath you didn’t know you were holding, you closed the door behind you, thanking your guardian angel that it was indeed a bathroom. Two fluffy robes were neatly folded on the counter and you switched out the sheets for one.

Staring into the mirror, you had to take a moment to calm down and collect your thoughts. For some reason, you were staying in a hotel with a man you didn’t know. On top of that, both of you were naked, sleeping in the same bed, which said a lot and at the same time still left you confused.

You turned on the tap to splash some water in your face, to get rid of the foggy feeling that was inhibiting your head like a bank of mist that hung over the street, unable to see through unless you ventured further into it.

That’s when another piece of the puzzle fell into place. The cold metal of a ring rubbed against your cheek and you stilled in your movements - please, please don’t let me be married to a random guy. Please.

It was a simple gold band with a small diamond attached to it, that was resting on your left ring finger, signaling that you were now probably married to the man that was snoring away in the bed.

Pressing your face into a towel, you lightly screamed out of frustration into the plush cotton. It all felt like some sort of bad dream you couldn’t wake up from, a mixture of beauty and pain that was making your head spin. The only plus in this situation was the hotel suite you were in - it was large , spacious and more luxurious than you’d ever seen. This guy better pays for it.

Slipping out of the room without disturbing the man was the plan of action - and hopefully, your stuff was within reach to assure a swift and quiet exit.

“You’re not thinking about leaving me already, right, wifey?” the man chuckled from his place in the bed as you tried to silently close the bathroom door. You turned around quickly, eyes big in horror as you watched him.

He was still naked, but his head was turned your way now, still pressed into the pillow and blue eyes shining with an emotion you couldn’t quite place yet. Was he... happy?

“You’re less vocal today than yesterday, huh,” he snickered and sat up, his arms spread out as if expecting a hug. Being naked in front of a stranger wasn’t a big deal to him apparently. Flirting with one and making crude jokes wasn’t either.

“Uhm- I’m sorry,” you choked out, eyes straining to keep the eye contact and not lower to the rest of his physique - a physique that most definitely didn’t hurt your eyes.

Watching his face brought back a few flashes of memories you didn’t know you had. Blue eyes shining as you ran hand in hand through a venue, his soft touches that lingered on the open back of your dress and the soft rubbing of his scruff against your face as you were dancing slowly along with booming music in a club, lost in your bubble for two.

“C’mere,” he beckoned, a soft smile on his face as he watched your stoic expression. By some sort of gravitational pull - or his overall alluring charisma, you sat down on the bed next to him and he immediately pulled you into his body, his head buried in your neck as you tried not to freak out - again.

“What should we do today, maybe take that surfing lesson you talked about yesterday?” he mumbled against the skin of your neck, leaving a light kiss in the wake of his words. “It looks like a good day to go surfing.”

“Uh, sure,” you blinked rapidly, sifting through all the memories that were finding their way back to the surface like a whale swimming many feet below the water, ready to breach in an exhilarating moment of pure power.

“Okay,” he groaned, dragging his face away from your neck and standing upright, stretching out every limb as you averted your eyes from a certain body part, conveniently right in front of your face.

“Let’s go have breakfast and then we can figure out what to do,” he suggested, going to the bathroom.

The man quickly turned around again, facing you with a knowing smirk on his face. “If you can figure out my name, of course. You do remember that huh, wife of mine?”

The glint in his eyes betrayed that he knew exactly what was going on in the depths of your head. The way your eyes glossed over when you were thinking hard, sifting through the countless memories, trying to pinpoint who he was and what had happened in the last 24 hours.

It was odd to see a stranger know you so well, even after presumably spending little time together.

“It’s Bucky. Put on that blue dress and meet me for breakfast in 15,” he said with pursed lips, nodding his head to your open suitcase where a summery blue dress was laying on top, then disappearing in the bathroom, leaving just his scent lingering in the sheets you were previously wrapped up in.

“Fuck,” the words softly left your mouth as you fell on your back, staring up at the beautiful chandelier again. “What have I done now?”

* * *

True to his word, Bucky was sitting at a table for two, browsing through a local paper as another hand held a mug of coffee, just refilled by one of the many waiters bustling around. The staff were wearing goddamn white gloves. What kind of establishment is this?

After Bucky had disappeared into the bathroom, you had quickly thrown on the blue dress and a pair of espadrilles, before opening the door to the hallway and being swallowed whole into the maze that was this hotel.

The hotel had a magnificent garden too, overlooking the blue ocean that was softly lapping against the pearly white beach. The air that left your lungs slowly started to match the calm rhythm of the water coming up to you and backing away again, a natural element of calm providing you with the necessary support.

You had needed to get away from the whole pompous honeymoon suite and the strange but alluring man in it. Memories were still flitting through your head at lightspeed, too quick to understand what they were and in what order they were supposed to be put in. It felt like you were flipping through a photo album, the pictures shuffled around to make the timeline incomprehensible.

And there he was, looking all soft in a light blue t-shirt, a white chino and some flip flops on his feet. He didn’t seem dangerous. He looked like any other guy you could fall for, his smile a little too reckless to be good, his charm overwhelming you in the best way. This man was going to be trouble, for sure.

He looked tanned, little freckles dotted over his arms, his tanned cheeks pulling into a smile when he noticed you standing a few feet away, looking a little dishevelled from the wind blowing in your hair, your eyes wide and cautious.

“Ah, there you are,” Bucky stood up, leaving his napkin on the table as he pulled back the chair opposite of his, gesturing that it was yours to sit in.

“Uh, thank you,” you mumbled as he pushed the chair closer to the table before sitting down again. “Sorry, needed a breather.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he snickered, finally taking a bite from the croissant he had grabbed from the buffet. “I got you a pain au chocolat, hope you like that.”

“Yeah, thanks,” you mumbled, pulling a piece of buttery dough and stuffing your mouth. Just like everything else in this hotel, it was perfect and luxurious. Goddamn, this isn’t making it any easier to just bolt and leave this fever dream behind.

“So, tell me, has it always been a dream of yours to surf with dolphins,” he genuinely asked, a certain spark in his eyes as he put down his mug and leaned his chin on a fist.

“Uhm, well, you see up until 30 minutes ago it wasn’t,” you wrung your hands together in your lap, peering around the room and effectively avoiding his azure eyes. “It does sound very fun.”

Bucky gripped the armrests of his chair and shuffled closer towards you, the chair making a screeching noise over the marble floors as other patrons shot looks at the odd couple that was disturbing their peaceful breakfast.

“What do you remember from, say yesterday morning?” Bucky asked, his eyes narrowed as he watched you attempt to remember what had happened after your breakfast.

“I got breakfast in the hostel, which by the way, is nowhere near as fancy as this place, drove around with a scooter on the island and met a friend for margaritas in the bar on the town square.”

“Then, it’s blank,” you admitted, “or not really. I have these- these memories of us walking hand in hand through a venue and other stuff, but I can’t seem to put them in the right order.”

“Still a bit foggy up there, huh,” he tapped his temple, azure eyes awash with concern. “I can retell my part of our story, maybe that gives your brain a jumpstart?”

You nodded, eyes now focused on him as you wrapped your hands around the mug with steaming coffee as Bucky looked up at the ceiling, mouth pulled into a pout.

“Okay, you and your friend… I don’t remember their name-”

“Alex.”

“Right, Alex,” he scraped his throat, “we were next to each other at the bar and we got to talking and there were a lot of drinks.”

“Like a lot,” he stressed, his hand sifting through his hair, remembering the bill he paid and the number of times he had to try to get the code of his credit card right.

“Still doesn’t explain this,” you lifted up your left hand, the ring catching the rays of the sun and a small rainbow crossed your face. Bucky had to try his best not to pull out his phone and snap a picture of you, the combination of your soft skin, the small rainbow and your lips that were pulled into a small pout making it hard.

“Well, that was your idea, actually,” he bit his lip, scrunching his nose as your mouth dropped open in shock. “You were pretty convincing, I gotta add.”

“I- are you sure?” you asked, just to be sure you heard it right. Why would you ever ask a random man you met just that day to marry you?

Bucky just nodded, a tinge of cockiness present on his face as he resumed to tell the story of how you two met and how exactly this whole thing happened.

“So, your friend found this chapel thingy? They flagged down a cab, found a store with simple wedding dresses and found someone to officiate it,” Bucky said, with an impressed look on his face. “All while they were black-out drunk, I have to say that’s a talent.”

“Would it surprise you when I told you they are a professional party planner?” you said, scratching your forehead as you thought about how much money this must’ve cost. Weddings could easily go into the thousands and knowing your taste, you picked out an expensive dress.

“Am I bankrupt by now? It wasn’t your best idea to marry me if I spent all my cash on this little escapade.”

“No, I covered it, you’re fine,” he chuckled as you exhaled a breath, happy you didn’t splurge on a stupid wedding dress for a wedding you can’t even remember.

“But, now I feel bad. How much was it?” you asked, your hand landing on his forearm, sending an electric wave through the both of you, as you tried your best to not show how much it affected you.

“It wasn’t that much, honestly,” he said, his cheeks showing a tinge of red as he tried to play it off as if it was normal to pay for a stranger’s stuff, let alone a wedding dress. “Really, don’t worry about it.”

Something about the way he said those words without much care, showed that even he wasn’t bothered to pay for anything at all. He must be comfortable, to talk about expensive hotel suites and wedding dresses as if they were groceries you got at the supermarket.

“Enough talk about money. I hired a pair of surfboards and wetsuits for the day,” he stood up, reaching out his hand to pull you up. “You ready to go?”

You pondered for a second, before looking up at him, eyes shining brightly, “on one condition. We don’t talk about real-life depressing stuff while we’re here. No talking about jobs or family or other bullshit. Just us.”

The story he had told seemed to fit into the jumbled memories that were slowly assembling themselves in your mind and it didn't seem like he had any malicious attempts for you, looking at his face that seemed more trustworthy than the one of your ex.

A grin pulled on his lips as he nodded, his hand still outstretched as he wiggled his fingers, “it’s a deal.”

Taking his hand, he pulled you up, his other arm coming around your waist to hold you close, his grip a stronghold on you as his eyes looked between yours, trying to figure you out, an enigma right in front of his eyes that got more complex every time he blinked.

“Let’s go enjoy our honeymoon then, sweetheart.”

* * *

The surfing was way more fun than you expected it to be. Both clad in wetsuits, you tried your best to stand up on the board, the big waves knocking both of you off of it as you tried your best to contain your laughter.

Bucky was just as bad as you, probably even worse. The man had no balance whatsoever as the board just kept getting away from under his feet, even when the waves had calmed down after a while.

After a few hours of messing around together, Bucky took your hand and interlaced your fingers, as you both sat down on the boards and floated around, waiting for the sun to set in its thousands of pastel colours.

“Just so you don’t float away,” he said as an excuse, nodding down to your interlaced hands.

“Right,” you bit your lip, turning your head away to hide the smile that was gracing your face.

Both of you knew it wasn’t just about floating away anymore, it was about staying together, getting to know each other in other ways than normal people would. You had started where most stories ended and done it all in reverse.

It confused other people too.

When you were at a restaurant the following evening, an older couple came up, asking how long you too had known each other as they were so drawn in with the way you interacted with each other. When Bucky straight-facedly told them it had been a full 72 hours, they scurried off as the two of you buckled over in laughter.

Every night before you went to bed, there was still a tension to be found, like a current running between your digits as you turned your back to him in bed, trying your best not to let your stuttering breaths wake him.

It was hard for him, too. The bed was big enough for you to comfortably sleep in, but each morning you woke up with one of you on the other side, limbs tangled as heat rose to either of your cheeks before you scurried off to the bathroom for a cold shower, shaking the thoughts from your head.

On the sixth night, there was this unspoken agreement after you had spent the day driving around the island on a scooter, your arms wrapped around his waist and your cheeks squished against his shoulder. The whole day there had been a certain weight on the fleeting touches as if to try out where the limit was.

If there was even a limit.

Finally laying in bed, close to 1 am, he pulled your body towards him as he nestled his head in the crook of your neck, pressing a soft kiss against the delicate skin before you dozed off, the moon shining on the soft ripples of the ocean, illuminating the smile on your face Bucky couldn’t see.

It happened on the seventh day, the early morning breeze that was flowing through the windows making goosebumps rise on both of your skins as your bodies collided together.

He tried his best to leave your body unmarked, his fingers gently digging into your hips as his lips were on every inch of naked skin — seemingly all at once, like when the sun kissed your skin with its golden rays, warming you up. His touch made your body burn from the inside out, open and hot mouthed kisses making you beg for more of everything.

After a while, when the sun had finally risen just above the edge of the sea, when birds had started to chirp and when you both finally tumbled over the edge, he dropped down, his face nestling in the crook of your neck as one hand caressed his spine and the other sifted through his long hair.

It couldn’t have been a better morning to wake up to, especially as he happily sighed in comfort when you scratched his scalp, his full body weight on you providing a certain comfort no one else ever could.

The last few days started and ended just like that, wrapped up in each other, basking in the loving company of your newfound lover. The sun followed you everywhere you went, gracing you with its rays bouncing off of Bucky’s tanned skin, his pearly teeth standing out as his hands grabbed ahold of your body at all times.

The moments in between were filled with bare-foot beach walks, surfing on the Hawaiian waves - or trying to - and exploring the connection that you two stumbled upon.

This whole ordeal felt like a warm embrace, a hot cup of coffee on a cold morning where a snowstorm was ravaging outside.

It felt like a story from out of a cheesy fairy tale that should have some sort of plot twist somewhere, a witch coming to ruin all the plans, or a monster making the calm waves you were floating on ripple, causing the little boat of comfort you were in to capsize.

You could only hope the boat you two had built together was strong enough to withstand all the waves that still had to come your way, brewing somewhere in the future. How would your loved ones react to this one-of-a-kind story?

* * *

But alas, every fairy tale needs its ending. Yours was back home, back to your desk job that was nowhere near exciting as the recruiter made it out to be. Especially after this week where Bucky’s lips were never far from your face and other parts of your body. Working at your bleary office seemed like a drag all of a sudden, making you long for more exciting days where you and your now-husband were exploring new cities and each other.

“You got married?! Last week? to whom?” Florence, your colleague, whisper-shouted in your ear as you were typing up a final report, trying to get it finished before your new boss arrived.

“ Girl, I’ve known this man for like 10 days and I think he might be my soulmate,” you said, eyes not leaving the screen. “It started off kinda strange but we had so much fun, so we might just… stay married, you know? Plus, it’s easier to tell the family honestly.”

“Like how do I tell my mum that I’ve gone off and married a stranger, spent a week gallivanting around Hawai’i with him, only to then get a divorce?”

“Also, bonus, he’s so hot, like model hot Flo, sometimes I think he just stepped out of a catalogue,” you added, thinking about his blue eyes and brown hair, the slight scruff adding an edge to his face that made your heart pump the blood in your veins a tad faster.

“I don’t, but it sounds awesome,” she chortled, “what’s the hottie’s name?”

“Okay it’s kinda a weird name, so don’t judge,” you cringed, your mouth pulled in an awkward pout. “Bucky, it’s a nickname he likes.”

“Okay, but that’s kinda cute, no? Kinda childlike too, not gonna lie,” she lifted her brow as she stood up. “Anyway, the new boss should be here any sec now and his name is boring in comparison to your boo’s.”

“What’s that?” you saved the file and turned around in your chair, smoothing down your hands on the front of your blazer, trying to make it crease-free. Creases just made for a bad impression, especially when you need to make a good one for this new boss.

The consulting company you had been working for the last three years was in dire need of new management, so after countless headhunters had sifted through the best of the best, they finally had someone.

“James, bleh, imagine what an old white man that will be.”

Well, your boss didn’t need to be hot, he just needed to keep the company afloat and on track. It would have been fun though. A certain fifty shades of grey added to the dull company.

In the corner of your eye, you saw the secretary stand up, probably ready to greet the man as other co-workers eagerly raised their heads over their computers, wanting to have a first glance at the man.

“Oh, there he is!” Florence grabbed your upper arm, squeezing it lightly, “okay, he’s kinda cute from behind, no?”

The light blue suit gave you flashbacks - again - to the time in Hawai’i where Bucky and you went out for dinner and later strolled over the beaches without shoes, just enjoying the feeling of the sand sifting under your feet.

“Oh god,” you mumbled as he turned around, his eyes scanning the office and the people in it, big blue eyes landing on you. “Bucky.”

Guess this was the plot twist you had been expecting.

“What?” Flo aggressively whispered, her eyes rapidly flitting between you and your apparent new boss and new husband. “Are you kidding me?!”

Bucky didn’t waste a moment as he strode over to you, the shock on his face quickly replaced by a small smirk as he watched your expression change from shock to disbelief.

His hands landed on the side of your upper arms as he leaned in to press a kiss against your cheek, his scruff rubbing against your skin making the memories breach through the surface once again.

“Well hello, wifey, didn’t expect to see you here.”

Bucky left you standing there, eyes wide and shivers running through your body as he followed the secretary to the big meeting room, all set up for him to give a short presentation about his plans for the future of the company.

“Hello?” Florence took a hold of your shoulders, roughly shaking you from the frozen state you were in. “What in god’s name was that?!”

“That’s uh- that’s my husband,” you held onto her arms, afraid of losing your balance on the heels that felt too high all of a sudden, the natural light that was streaming into the building making you feel lightheaded.

“You- you never talked about your jobs?” she shrieked, shaking you again, trying to get you to realize what this would mean for your future at the company. “That’s like the first thing that you talk about on a date!”

“I don’t know if you noticed, but nothing about this situation is normal,” you said through your teeth, blinking rapidly.

“God, you snagged a hottie!” Florence babbled off, her focus no longer on your body that felt like it wanted to run away from here, run back to the safety of the Hawaiian hotel, where it felt you were in your own little universe.

Your eyes flit towards the glass walls of the conference room, where your husband was shaking hands of other employees, his eyes trained on you still, occasionally acknowledging the person he was speaking to.

“I think I want a refund from that Hawai’i package I got,” you said to yourself before the whole team was called into the room, where your husband was standing with a cocky smirk on his face.

[beepboop358]

Victor Creel Theories

(also includes ST movie DNA series: Star Wars)

Victor Creel is described as "a disturbed and intimidating man who is imprisoned in a psychiatric hospital for a gruesome murder in the 1950s." We know he will be institutionalized at Penthurst mental hospital, where Peter Ballard works, based on leaked on set pics.

There a few possibilities regarding his character:

He could be a former test subject with some kind of powers and a connection to the upside down (which would also follow the even/odd season pattern of a main character being directly involved with the upside down creatures) I think it's highly likely that Victor Creel will be involved with the mystery/danger in Hawkins in some way, and have a connection to the upside down. He could also be disturbed on top of this, and he could be involved in Eleven's storyline this season.

That he is not a test subject and is ONLY mentally disturbed.

He may be related to one of the already established characters. Most likely Joyce, and maybe Terry but it's a stretch.

Before I go any further into that last possibility, I just want to preface that this idea of an "evil father/grandfather with powers" could be a purposeful Star Wars parallel. The Duffer brothers have already paralleled and used Star Wars references a few times in the show:

In Star Wars, Darth Vader is Luke Skywalker's father, and Palpatine is Rey's grandfather (aka the literal worst guy in the universe). A common theme in ST is abusive/bad fathers - that post here. Interesting...

Palpatine is also Anakin Skywalker's father, so Luke and Leia are both the grandkids of Palpatine as well as Rey is, but it's unclear if they are just force midichlorian related or actually dna related as well but I won't get into that here!

Luke and Rey are both force sensitive (have powers), so are Darth Vader and Palpatine; their descendants (kid/grandkid) have powers, and so do they (father/grandfather) The descendants use their powers for good, while the ancestors use their power for evil. Who has powers in ST? Eleven and Will - and they both already have this idea of abusive/bad/evil fathers: Will has an abusive father Lonnie, and Eleven has an abusive father figure Dr. Brenner "Papa".

So... Victor Creel being the evil/bad grandfather to either Eleven or Will and the evil/bad father to Joyce or Terry, would make a FULL Star Wars parallel to people who are morally good and have powers (Will and El - Luke and Rey), discovering they are the descendant of an evil male figure who also has powers (Victor Creel - Darth Vader and Palpatine)

If Victor Creel turns out to be the father of anyone in the show my bets are it's either Joyce Byers or maybeee Terry Ives.

If he was a test subject, its likely he went "crazy" with some of his powers and the government couldn't cover it up so they declare him mentally insane to get him committed, and he probably goes insane being locked away as well. Personally, I think he may be 001 or an early test subject, when they were still working out the kinks of the program, and I think he does have a big connection to the upside down.

The Duffer Brother's on s4: "In Hawkins a new horror is beginning to surface, something long buried, something that connects everything"....

Now let's get into the possibilities for Creel's storyline/who he could be related to (split into 3 parts).

Part 1: Creel could be Joyce's father

Based on Victor Creel's description as "disturbed" and that he is "in a psychiatric hospital", it could connect him to Joyce's bloodline.

There are several comments in the show hinting to this idea of mental instability in Joyce's family:

s1 ep.5: When Lonnie comes to visit in s1 after Will goes missing, Joyce says to Lonnie "No, don't look at me like that, like how everyone is looking at me, like I'm out of my damn mind" He responds saying "I think you need to consider the possibility that this is all in your head. Remember your Aunt Darlene?" Joyce quickly replies, "No, this is not that."

That conversation, although quick, is very telling. Lonnie is implying that Joyce had an aunt who was mentally unstable - and Joyce clearly knows about her aunt being unstable because she responds to his comment by saying what's she's experiencing is not that (the mental instability of her aunt)

s2 ep.2: Joyce says to Bob, "this is not a normal family", when he suggest moving out of Hawkins.

I used to think Joyce was always was referring to the whole 'my son got stuck in an alternate dimension with supernatural monsters and is now traumatized, and we were sworn to secrecy by the government' thing but maybe she is also referring to her biological family.

s1 ep.2: When they are searching for Will, one of the other police officers, says "Joyce is one step from the edge" and the other officer responds "She has been several steps for quite a while now".

If Joyce is related to Victor Creel biologically, and he did also happen to be a test subject, has powers, or has some other relation to the upside down, this could possibly have contributed to whatever kind of abilities Will has, because he would be a descendant of Creel. But Joyce does not seem to have any powers and neither does Jonathan. If they were related to Creel, it's odd that they both didn't get powers, but Will did. I've always thought Will was born with his powers, like El.

We know almost nothing about Joyce's past, it's never discussed in the slightest in the show, which I feel like is purposeful. We don't know Joyce's maiden name; she doesn't change it back after she and Lonnie divorce. Maybe the Duffers are saving Joyce's backstory for s4 (and possibly s5), like I think they are doing with Will and El's connection. Will, El, Hopper, and Joyce were pictured in a series of 4 tweets posted by the stranger writers, hinting to the main 4 storylines for season 4. My analyzation of this tweet here.

I think it's possible that Joyce's storyline this season could also have to do with her past- not just her searching for Hopper- but also more personal information about her. Perhaps we will see flashbacks of younger Joyce and maybe learn about her biological relatives.

Noah also said this would be the darkest season for Will, so this idea of being the grandkid of someone evil or disturbed could fit into that.

Part 2: Creel could be Terry's father/Eleven's grandfather

The only other person I could see potentially having a biological; relation to Victor Creel could be Terry Ives and Eleven, (because it would complete the Star Wars parallel mentioned earlier) but it's a stretch for several reasons, the main one being that Terry and Becky's father Bill Ives, died in a car crash (year unknown).

So for Victor Creel to be Terry's father that either has to be:

Her adoptive father OR

Her mother cheated and led Mr. Ives to believe Terry was his kid but her father is really Victor Creel, and Becky is actually Bill Ives son (which would explain why Becky has no powers)

Right of the bat it's interesting Terry's father's name is Bill. Bill is a nickname for William (Will Byers full name is William), and Billy's a nickname also for William... Hmmm....

Immediately after El is born, Terry is adamant that Brenner stole her child to use as a weapon to fight the commies BECAUSE SHE HAD SPECIAL ABILITIES - and she's completely right about everything. How does Terry know El had powers immediately after she was born? Because she knows she has developed some kind of special abilities from the experiments as well. When El goes to visit her mother in s2, THE LIGHTS FLICKER, just like they do when the upside down is near, but it's not Eleven controlling it. Her Aunt Becky says it's just the wiring, and Eleven responds: "IT'S MAMA. She wants to talk." And then we see Terry's NOSE BLEED, just like El's does when she uses her powers.

Quick side note about El's biological father is Andrew Rich: (It's revealed in the canon novel Suspicious Minds that Andrew Rich is El's father) He was a college student who got expelled from school due to protesting the Nixon address, making him eligible to be drafted in the Vietnam war, and he died in battle. Terry was involved in the Project MKUltra experiments at Hawkins National Laboratory in College, under the direction of Dr. Martin Brenner, but didn't know she was pregnant at the time. Andrew never even knew Terry was pregnant, meaning she was extremely early on in her pregancy at the time he was sent away, not even Terry was aware yet. It's also stated in this book that BRENNER HAD A HAND IN GETTING ANDREW EXPELLED SO HE COULD SEND ANDREW AWAY. The novel states that Brenner has Andrew drafted because he wants to SCARE Terry, to show her how much power he has over her life. There's definitely some history between Terry and Brenner that we don't know about yet.

If Victor Creel is in fact Joyce's father it's interesting that the powers seem to have skipped a generation with Joyce, and also one kid with the Byers, but if Victor Creel is Terry's father, no generations were skipped in passing down powers. ANYWAYS, this is all just theories and speculation since we have no actual concrete reasons to believe he will be related to Joyce or Terry.

Part 3: The possibility that Creel could be involved in Eleven's storyline this season does not rely on them being biologically related.

**One of the filming locations for this season is the Claremont House, which is RUMORED to be Creel's house and also "Vecna's lair" the new monster for s4 (unconfirmed) This is the house the Hawkins group goes into in the ST4 sneak peek, where they see the grandfather clock striking midnight. If that's true, there's a connection between Creel and the upside down and having powers, which could connect Creel to Eleven. The Duffers: "In Hawkins a new horror is beginning to surface, something long buried, something that connects everything". This thing "that connects everything", could be Creel's storyline (his possible connection to the lab/upside down/person in the show), because Creel's storyline also spans all the way back to the 1950's and before that, so there's our "long buried" part most likely.

Robert Englund recently revealed in *an interview* that his character Victor Creel gouges his eyes out, making him unable to see. Englund also mentions what it's like working with Millie Bobby Brown and talks about the first time her met her, he doesn't mention any other cast members in detail like he does Millie.

He's clearly working closely with Millie's character Eleven.

But why? I think Creel could be involved with Eleven getting her powers back, and her reliving her past. Once the government baddies realize El has no powers, they're gonna want them back. If Creel was in fact a test subject, maybe there is some kind of connection between them, Such as Eleven revisiting what happened to her in her past and how that could relate to her getting her powers back.

Another thought I had was that perhaps the gruesome murder he committed is somehow related to something that ends up impacting in Eleven's life.

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

Whatever Victor Creel's storyline is, it will be an important one, and it will carry somewhat into s5, since he will be a returning character. He is not signed as a series regular, but as a recurring character, which means we don't really know to what capacity he will be in s5. It could be flashbacks mostly, or he could have just as big or small of a role.

Source: indie wire

That detail about eyes being gouged out reminds me of fear street 1666 when the townsmen who was sacrificed to the devil becomes possessed and gouges the kids eyes out. Leigh Janick, director of fear street, is married to Ross Duffer. They both direct and make horror/sci-fi themed series about kids in a small town set in the 80's, who fight supernatural evil with a heavy undertone of queer themes, that are even filmed in a lot of the same locations (the mall, the town streets, etc.) I'm not saying it's the same thing, it definitely won't be. But there's so many similarities between ST and Fear Street, I thought I would mention this as another.

[jetravenex]

I sat and chewed on this for a while.

I appreciate you sharing about character relatability and why you find some relatable and others not and there is a good discussion to be had there.

But I want to stay on 'fanfiction is activism'

And I came to two sort of thoughts on the matter.

As you noted fiction does not direct reality. One cannot manifest the world of their liking through writing alone. They can perhaps share their ideal world. Or they can vent their frustrations and write something twisted, compelling and well human.

Humans are capable of a wide berth of things, and that's what's good about fiction is it's ability to touch upon a wide variety of emotions, genres, feelings. It gives us a safe space to dream, and a safe space to imagine horrors and darkness. An author trying to exorcise the dark thoughts and feelings of the mind into characters on a page, and the readers finding thrills and chills as they see perspectives, maybe dark and twisted. Or simply just get to see a lot of blood guts and suffering on screen.

Fiction can certainly impact ones way of thinking. It can change minds and open new thoughts... if one is willing.

Also messages can be pulled from it with ease. I definitely recall many a high school english essay pulling evidence from the text to cobble together some sort of response. You can stretch any text in ways if you try enough, or leave enough out.

As such fiction's messaging can be something picked up and interpreted in the eyes of the beholder. But it can certainly help take something radical and make it more... understandable, relatable.

You asked why people write 'slash' fiction and it's often because one might look at two characters and go 'oh these two would be cute together'

Or 'Oh! These two would be a mess together, and cause absolute chaos... let's see it >:D'

Slash shipping is no different than just normal shipping. And often times it's a necessity as admittedly female characters don't always get the interesting things to do.

Take Cars for example, before Cruz, we certainly didn't get very many female race cars. We got Barnstormer Nash as a rep from the past in Cars 3, but aside from her I definitely don't remember any female racers. Sally, Flo and oh gosh what was the name of Stanley's Widow? The old model T. I can't remember her name but most of the female characters were romantic interests, married, fangirls, or the town's slightly weird old lady.

And then in 2 they just added Holly who was very much a sidekick to both Mater and Finn McMissile from what I remember. I imagine she definitely had her moments, but while Finn was slick and cool I just remember her as the newbie and not much else. If there were female race cars they were background characters and not memorable.

There's not much to do with ships, like you could have cute LightningxSally, but that's your main hetero ship there and the first film kind of fleshes that out. Whereas all the other male characters in that movie present more... interesting dynamics for a fan to explore depending on their tastes.

Star Trek was only groundbreaking and pushing boundaries because people at the time were quite narrowminded. But even still KirkxSpock fan writers would've been seen as too radical.

There are those who will say people need to stop 'politicizing' media, or 'making things woke' (Which is the biggest BS that they can hide racism, misogyny, homophobia, transphobia and numerous other prejudice views behind a silly term like that).

And so it can be considered activism to not be silenced. After all outside of more political stuff like 'woke'. We've seen 'proship and antiship' where people will push back against people exploring some darker aspects of ships and other dark material because somehow that'll 'inspire people to do bad things'

So it's important to keep writing to keep pushing to normalize the fact. Racism, homphobia, heck bigotry period is going strong in this world, so pushing for more inclusion, more stories about them isn't a bad thing. Especially if ones perspective could possibly help shine a light and make it click for someone else.

However, that brings me to my second thought about 'fanfiction is activism'

I think fanfiction and sharing media that broadens people's perspectives is helpful. But if one is really serious about activism they've gotta walk the talk.

Just reposting videos of people getting on the soap box and talking, or sharing slash fics, or fics that tell stories elevating black, brown or LGBTQ+ characters should not be considered the end all be all of activism.

The best activism is doing things to improve your community. (Which a small part can be writing) but ultimately we need some doers and not just the sharers. Activism has to be actions taken to make things better.

The spread of information, the stories to inspire, they're all well and good but they don't go anywhere unless it lights a torch and someone decides to run with it and use it to light the way forwards... or torch the barriers keeping us back. Cause some walls, and some barriers have to come down.

So I think the conclusion I've come to after sitting with this and even writing this tbh, is that the spread of information and sharing stories is a part of activism. It's a part of being human to tell stories to process things we can't fathom, we've been doing it since ancient times after all with the greek gods after all.

But also there was something else I realized. They light a torch, and that torch can sometimes just be to light a fire, where everyone crowds around, cold, shivering, battered and exhausted, struggling to just hang on.

And it can be a story to keep us warm, drawing in people to serve as a community.

IT is activism. Stories should be shared and told, and appreciated along with art. And now in a world where we've got corporations trying to take art from humanity with AI, it's even more important to create. And then also to protect. To speak up to prevent others who are being silent. To be inspired to take action when injustice presents itself.

And then to be drawn in by the warmth and to simply appreciate the dancing light of the warm campfire of a soothing tale as we all rest after whatever trials ails us. Because sometimes surviving is the best contribution we can make. And if a story can bring someone comfort, can lead them to others who love this same story, to build a fandom around it, a community, a space where they have something in common to cling to and bond over.

That's activism, that's community.

Or something profound, I dunno I just went through a dark spiral of thinking and I decided 'time to try and be profound I guess' ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

@jetravenex I hope you don't mind sharing this here, I just didn't want to leave a looooooooooooooong reply on an already long post so I'm going to put my thoughts here:

You are right, everything does have a message/something to be drawn, but it's not necessarily activism. I've noticed a lot of people tend to use those words interchangeably (and looking at my tags again I realise I didn't specify that, my bad. I had a long work day and am tired, so sorry!)

To rephrase, my issue isn't people drawing messages, it's when they INSIST every form is media is some kind of activism. And sure, there's definitely such media out there, but unless the creators come forward and confirm it, I don't like it when people insist something is "political" or "activism". Where is the line of "this is up to interpretation" and "this is straight up propaganda"?

The relatable thing, though, is where I get a bit iffy, because my issue with a lot of modern writing is they try to make the characters too relatable, i.e. one-dimensional and pushed around by the plot. Now I'm not saying they are ALL like this, because I think good character should be one YOU can relate to without the character being 100% exactly LIKE YOU, if that makes any sense (I relate to Cruz from Cars 3 despite not being Hispanic or a car). I mean, I was almost a little scared by how much I related to G1 Starscream in OG Transformers, and even asked myself "why do you like him so much, he's clearly a narcissistic character and you've dealt with narcissistic abuse". Then I realised it was because Starscream went through abuse similar to what I experienced, just more physical. That was how I could relate and sympathise with him--despite him being a fictional cartoon robot who turns into a jet.

I feel some writers make relatable characters as flat as possible so it's easier for people to see themselves in a character by not giving the them a strong base. A good character is someone the audience can relate to without being exactly like them. Hence how I related to both D16 and Orion Pax in Transformers One.

That being said, I don't think all characters need to be relatable, sympathetic or even likeable. What I care about personally is if the character is interesting or engaging. I don't have to relate to a character to enjoy the movie. I mean, I don't relate to Finn McMissile from Cars 2 or KITT from Knight Rider, but I still love them immensely.

(I realise I probably just over-analysed that and I'm terribly sorry).

But as I said before, I think one of the reasons I was so drawn towards Transformers when I finally got into it, was because the common theme across all the generations was a criticism of a corrupt system, war themes, internal battles, etc. and it was crazy how much that spoke to me, as someone living in a place with lots of political unrest and someone who deals with inner demons. (I could go into a whole essay about this).

There are many cases where people will use a medium to get their opinions through, and it's obvious they're trying to push a certain agenda (those adult cartoons like South Park come to mind) and there may be subtle themes/biases in other media, but I guess what I'm trying to say is don't make a mountain out of a molehill. Like when people jump to the assumption that Cars 2 was anti-alternative fuel/EVs, or Transformers One was some giant US election warning. I often wonder if Glen A Larson, who created Knight Rider, was very pro-AI vehicles/a major critic of the police force and government. And I have no doubt all three of those I mentioned have subtle biases from their human creators: but they are not political allegories/propaganda. Sure, there's a message to be drawn from each one, but sometimes I feel people cling too hard to that message (or what they drew from it personally) and try to blow it out of proportion.

JRR Tolkien and CS Lewis were both devout Christians, and they definitely translated their beliefs into their works (Lewis more so, because The Chronicles of Narnia is essentially an allegory to the Bible, however it wasn't in a preaching way: it was a story Christians and non-Christians could enjoy, appreciate and draw something from. He didn't write it convert people; it was meant to be a story to draw people in, something they could draw a meaning from, religious or not). But their works were not religious propaganda. Both stories have meanings that anyone can draw from.

I know I always say people need to stop reading into things so deeply, but the truth is, I do that too. Like when I kept pulling all these deep messages out of G1 Transformers episodes even when I kept telling myself "lady, it's an 80s cartoon, you're projecting way too much" yet I was drawing SO MANY conclusions and life lessons out of it.

It's kind of like what you said about how sometimes those meanings aren't necessarily intentional, but it's what people draw. And that's the beauty of storytelling and art; seeing what other people draw from that.

Same goes with character interpretation. There's something so beautiful and personal in that. Filling in the spaces with how you see them, often drawn from our own experiences.

Now as for what the OOP said (and I thank you for getting me the full text because I might have been looking at it out of context):

It is true that fandoms have always been a place where people can make hot/controversial takes with little to no policing. Slash shipping, for example, is something that's been around pretty much since I first started reading and writing fanfics. Go back to the first Cars stories published on FFN in 2006, it's 50% slash. Now for stuff like Star Trek, I can understand where people might draw political/activist themes from it since it did push boundaries for its time. I'm personally not sure why people draw so many slash ships from media like Cars, Transformers or Hetalia (excluding the fact the majority of their characters are male), but I can respect the fact that maybe there was something there that spoke to them, and just not to me.

But at the end of the day, I realise that you have to curate your own experiences in fandom. It would be wrong for me to police others work telling them what they can and cannot draw from or make for media. I'm a library technician (certified) and I cannot stress the importance of "No Censorship" (unless it's protecting minors from accessing age-inappropriate content)

The last part about banned books was beautifully said, and it actually brings me back to something I see everywhere: the "Fiction Affects Reality/Fiction Does Not Affect Reality" debate.

No, fiction does not directly affect reality. Writing about a dragon won't make a dragon appear in real life. But fiction can be influential, perhaps even change one's mind on something. Make people think. Dare to hold a different belief.

And that's what scares the people who want to ban books and other media.

[queenofbaws]

Okay if this one doesn't cause too much psychic damage (or even if you can answer it lol): top 5 horror movies and/or books that you went in thinking you were gonna love and would be right up your alley only to end up sorely disappointed or just hated in general.

oh god, i can answer this. i can answer this. so easily. there is so much fuckin disappointing horror out there i stg askdjfklasjfksdjfkldjf UGH LET’S DO THIS.

we’re all going to the world’s fair (2021; movie). found footage is notoriously hard to do right, but man i had high hopes for this one. let me tell you, iiiiii’m not sure i can even tell you what happened in this confused mess. a girl does an internet challenge that MAYBE triggers some kind of psychological break in her? perhaps? and then another person on the internet takes it upon himself to inject himself into her life via her youtube uploads? well let me tell you the #1 reason WHY this movie got a solid two thumbs down from ya gurl: uh the flashing/strobing lights in this wereeeeee so constant and so intense that even though i am NOT epileptic, i had to go to bed for the rest of the day after watching it. left me with a bad taste in my mouth lmfao. i’m sure it’s SOMEONE’S thing.

the empty man (2020; movie). the first like 20 min of this movie are so solid. if they ended this thing right after the prologue? good little horror short. it’d be wonderful. great, even. fantastic. but they didn’t, they turned it into a whole movie and it shouldn’t have been a whole movie. this is another one where the plot - to me - felt so muddled i’m not even sure i can explain it clearly, but there’s a spirit out there, and it wants to empty you out until you’re a husk. if you want a good, spooky little watch, turn this one on, but man alive, you turn it off the second you see the “6 months later” or what the fuck ever. trust me on this one.

the requin (2022; movie). i am a simple woman. a simple woman who enjoys a good, schlocky, “oh no, that giant shark is going to eat us!!!” movie. mostly because i have CRAZY intense thalassophobia and as my friends irl will attest, i’m so scared of any fish bigger than a koi that if you take me to an aquarium, my knees literally might give out. this one was just confused. and there wasn’t actually a whole lot of shark. at no point did i feel...anything for the characters. if the selling point of your movie is GIANT SHARK HUNTS PEOPLE, i want to see your gianT SHARK HUNTING PEOPLE AHHHHH.

the ritual by adam nevill (book). okay, this one is definitely just a matter of personal taste, but...i LOVED the movie the ritual, so i thought i’d get the book. the writing itself is great! the story, however, is very different than what you get in the movie, and actually focuses a lot on like...a kidnapping. with a bunch of heavy metal obsessed teenagers. it wasn’t what i was expecting, and it wasn’t what i was hoping for, so it left me feeling pretty deflated. still a great story, just...not the story i was looking for.

sharp objects by gillian flynn (book). i love a story about a fucked up family. i love a story about a serial killer. i love protagonists who are deeply, deeply troubled. this was...hmm. hmmmmmmmm. i’ve read this book like three times, each time hoping maybe my feelings on it will change, but they just don’t. this book feels like suffering for the sake of suffering, and there’s no catharsis, imo, nothing that feels RESOLVED. reading this book felt a whole lot like the written version of “life sucks and then you die,” like it just stretched on and on and everyone was MISERABLE and everyone HATED EACH OTHER and in the end everything just gets WORSE, and idk man. again, i’m sure it’s someone’s thing - it got turned into a tv series on one of the streaming platforms so clearly SOMEONE out there likes it, but boy oh boy, this one just wasn’t for me, folks.

ask me my top 5 anything!

[iclaimedtobethebetterbard]

popcorn & pronouns

Fandom: Sanders Sides Characters: Janus, Remus, Roman Rating: Teen & up Relationships: Dukeceit, Creativitwins  Warnings: Not much to warn for in this one. Language, a little bit of suggestiveness, vague non-detailed descriptions of a horror movie.  Word count: 3402

Read on AO3!

My writing masterpost

Starlight Universe masterpost

Dukeceit Week 2021 start - previous - here - next - masterpost

Summary: A movie night date leads to an important conversation. Already being t4t makes it a lot easier. Or, in Remus's own words, “This is just, like, going to be a week of people coming out to me, I guess. Huh.”

Notes: Day 6 of Dukeceit Week 2021! Almost there! @dukeceitweek Takes place in my Starlight Universe, where each piece can be read without any context. Takes place 9 months after college; at the start of the story, Janus uses only they/them pronouns. 

-- 

“Ooh, popcorn! Can I have some?” Roman popped his head into the kitchen of the apartment he, Remus, and Logan had shared in the nine or so months since they had all graduated college.

“No, Jan and I are having a date in twenty minutes,” Remus said, waving Roman off without looking away from the air popper.

“Okay, I don’t see how that’s relevant to my question.” Roman pushed himself to sit on the counter by the sink. “I mean, that’s really cute, I hope you have fun. But can I have some popcorn?”

Remus rolled his eyes. “Make your own when I’m done.”

“But you make it better!” Roman pouted overdramatically.

Remus raised an eyebrow. “All I do is plug in the machine?”

“Right, which is better than me doing it.” Roman grinned at them. “Less work for me.”

“Hey!” Remus swatted his arm. “The transphobia, honestly—”

“Well, if you making it for me is transphobic to you, then you not making it for me is—” Roman broke off quite suddenly, his expression undergoing several shifts very fast that Remus could not make sense of. Which was… unusual, to say the least. Roman was normally the one person they could always count on understanding. They didn’t like this new development one bit.

“Ro?”

“Iiiiiit’s… queerphobic to me,” Roman said at last, a worried pinch to his eyebrows. He laughed, and it almost didn’t sound forced. “So we’re at a tie, so you should just make me popcorn.”

“First of all, I’m queer too, make your own damn popcorn. Second—” Remus turned away from the popcorn machine and gave Roman his full attention, leaning back against the kitchen island and tilting his head to the side. “Do you wanna talk about whatever the fuck that was?” So far as Remus knew, Roman was bi; that was the label he’d been using for years and years, so long that it practically felt like forever. Since almost the very beginning of high school. Since before Remus had questioned their gender, even. Only last week, he’d called the light switch biphobic without hesitation when it broke.

Whatever had happened to make him so very deliberately not call himself bi just now, it was new.

Roman’s expression closed up very fast indeed, but not before Remus caught a flash of something he was almost certain was fear. “No.”

“You know it’s okay to question, right?” Remus inquired awkwardly. “No matter what specifically, and no matter what the outcome is? Yeah?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You know I’d still love you no matter what, right? Even if you were, like, a straight man—like, I would make so many jokes about not agreeing with your lifestyle, but—Ro, you know everything is always gonna be okay, right?”

Roman glared at him. “Remus, I don’t want to talk about it.” He wrinkled his nose. “And I’m definitely not straight.”

Remus blinked and raised their hands. “Alright. I didn’t mean literally straight, I just meant—you could be literally whatever, and it would be cool. That was—like—the most extreme example I could think of, you know?”

Roman let out a slight huff of laughter. “Thanks,” he said reluctantly after a pause. “It’s nothing, though.”

“Bullshit,” Remus said immediately.

“It—” Roman swallowed. “I need it to be nothing, okay?”

“If anyone’s making you feel shitty, I’ll beat them up,” Remus said immediately. “Even if it’s Patton. Just drop the names. I’ll do it. I’ll—”

“Remus, it’s fine. I want to stop fucking talking about it now!” Roman snapped.

Remus hesitated, fumbling for what to do or say next, everything about the conversation feeling just a little wrong and sideways.

Roman sighed. “Sorry.” He pushed off the counter, went to the fridge, and stared into it for a solid thirty seconds, then took a cheese stick out of the door. “I’ll make my own popcorn later,” he mumbled and retreated back to his room.

“Damn, alright,” Remus said to the empty room. “Be like that, I guess.” They flung their hands into the air and went to get the butter they’d been melting in the microwave before Roman’s appearance.

Roman would talk to them about it, whatever it was, eventually. He always did. And whatever was bugging him, Remus would figure out a way to bug it back until it stopped and Roman was all happy and bubbly again. Because that was what Remus always did. It would be fine. It was just a waiting game.

Remus sighed. He always hated waiting.

***

“Mmkay,” Remus said, when Janus had arrived, and they had worked together to move the TV out of the living room and into Remus’s room, and they had settled in on Remus’s bed—Remus sitting up against the headboard and Janus half-laying in Remus’s lap with their long thin legs stretched out along the bed and their head on his chest—and the popcorn had been set beside them where they could both reach it, and the blanket nest had been fluffed once more. “What shall we watch?”

Janus was silent for a long moment. Actually, come to think of it, they had been quiet since they’d arrived at the apartment—even more quiet than usual. But Remus was almost certain they weren’t nonverbal, seeing as they had exchanged a few fond words with him. It just hadn’t been very many words.

“Janny, baby?” Remus leaned forward, over their shoulder, trying to catch a glimpse of their face.

Janus had their fingers knotted in the blanket that was spread over their lap, fidgeting with it anxiously, a thinking-hard expression on their face.

“Baby?” Remus curled one hand lightly around theirs. “You good?”

“Choices are too hard right now,” Janus said at last.

“Okay, that’s okay. Do you know what you need?”

“I want to watch a movie.” Janus frowned. “I just can’t choose.”

“Gotcha. No problem.” Remus pressed a kiss to their cheek. “I’m really good at choosing.” He threaded his fingers through Janus’s long hair, scratching soothingly at their scalp in just the way he knew they liked, and pulled up the library of movies, switching from Roman’s profile to his own.

“How’s some really cheesy horrible horror film we can make fun of sound?” he asked, scrolling with the remote and still playing with Janus’s hair with his other hand. “I know we have a bunch of those, I loved ’em when we were kids and I think they’re funny.”

“That sounds fine.” Janus nodded and relaxed a little further against Remus.

“Good.” He kissed the top of their head. “Do you need anything else?”

Janus shook their head. “I’ve just been kind of stressed lately. Work’s been shit, and all that. It’s fine. I just want to cuddle and things.”

“Ooh, ‘and things,’ I like the sound of that,” Remus teased, sliding his hand gently to their chin and drawing them to twist around far enough that he could kiss them soft and slow.

“I didn’t say what kinds of things,” Janus said innocently, their eyes still closed and so close to Remus that their lips brushed against his as they spoke. “Perhaps I could be persuaded later.”

“I’ll be sure to prepare my best arguments,” Remus said, leaning slightly up to kiss their forehead and then back down to their lips for another lazy kiss, taking his time and exploring Janus’s mouth until they sighed and melted against him.

“A compelling preview,” they murmured, their eyes still closed and the slightest smile curling at their lips.

Remus meant to make some kind of witty quip in return, really he did, but all that came out of his mouth was a quiet, awed, “Holy fuck, you’re so beautiful, Jan.”

Janus’s eyes opened and met his for a moment, soft and vulnerable, before they turned and hid their face in his neck. “Love you,” they whispered against his skin.

“Mm, I love you too,” Remus said happily, wrapping his arms securely around Janus and kissing the top of their head. “Love your pretty eyes and skin and hair and body, love how clever you are, love your scary goth clothes, love your snark, love your stims, love you—”

Janus whined wordlessly into his neck, pressing kisses to it and fisting their hands in the front of his shirt.

Remus chuckled, taking a handful of their hair and gently tugging until they looked up at him once more. “Do you want to watch a movie at all, or do you just wanna make out? Cause I’d be good with either, but if you wanna do a movie, we should get on that before we’re too distracted.”

“Oh.” Janus leaned their head back a little until it was resting against Remus’s hand. “Not that I don’t want to make out, but—”

“Nah, I gotcha. Gotta at least get through the popcorn, am I right?” Remus cast about for the remote, lost in the blanket pile, as Janus shifted about until they faced the television again.

“There it is!” Remus snatched the remote up, clicking through the library on the television until he saw the particular film he was thinking of and pulled it up. “This look good?”

“‘When moving into their new house, little do our protagonists know it is haunted by a demonic serial killer. Will they get out in time? Or will they be his next victims?’” Janus read the summary aloud. “Sounds absolutely thrilling. Extremely original. Love the bad Photoshop on the cover. I’m sure the acting will be of the highest quality.”

“Oh, yeah, it’s so shitty, I love it. So many cheesy effects and fake blood, it’s the actual stupidest shit,” Remus assured them. “I love it, though. Went as the demon thing for Halloween when I was nine. Nobody fucking knew what I was, but I had the time of my life. And got fake blood on Roman when he wasn’t looking. It was great.”

Janus chuckled, reaching up to brush their fingertips against Remus’s cheek. “Well, with such a glowing review from someone so attractive, how can I resist?” they said fondly.

“That’s the spirit!” Remus hit play.

Remus had watched this particular movie more times than they could count over the course of their childhood. He peppered commentary throughout the film:

“This is my favorite part, if you pay attention you can see her real fingertips holding onto the fake hand she’s about to get chopped off!”

“There’s a jumpscare in this scene, I know you hate those—okay, hit the skip-ten-seconds button in three, two, there. Perfect. Dumbass demon movie can’t even trust itself to be creepy without cheap scares.”

“Look, I know the mom is supposed to have some kind of hot blonde thing going on for the horny straight men in the audience, but she’s got nothing on you.”

“For some reason they made a director’s commentary and it actually includes the fake blood recipe they used, I’ll show you sometime!”

Janus, in turn, provided brilliant, extremely snarky roasts, mostly of either the actors’ absolute lack of skill or the gaping plot holes:

“Oh, yes, going alone to the attic at midnight without so much as a candle is a fantastic idea, nothing bad could possibly happen in this scene.”

“Listen, I can excuse the children because they’re about eight years old, but do you think this man has ever even heard of acting? Or even, like, speaking in a non-monotone?”

“I am truly fascinated by the special effects department’s understanding of human anatomy.”

“So, the demon feeds on misery? Why hasn’t it taken up residence in a large office building? I mean, come on, hundreds of souls in an environment designed to grind out constant levels of misery? It’s perfect. The poor thing must be starving out here in the two-point-five-kids-and-a-dog suburbs, every meal it gets is tiny. I would be so much better at its job than it is.”

At last the credits rolled.

“Wanna see pictures of the costume I made?” Remus asked.

“Sure.” Janus sounded amused.

“Lemme just—” Remus scrolled through their camera roll for a minute. “Oh, here they are.” They displayed their phone to Janus; tiny nine-year-old Remus, who sported long tangled brown hair in two ponytails, was draped in a black curtain, donated by his great-aunt, that he had very enthusiastically taken a pair of scissors to to create a tattered effect; the curtain was splattered with bright red goo, and tiny Remus had a pair of plastic knives in his hands, which were blurry in almost every photo because they’d hardly stopped making stabbing motions all evening. To their right, their little sister Gabby, who’d been six at the time, was dressed as Elastigirl and making a punching motion; to their right, Roman—who had already been a full three inches taller than Remus, even at nine—was wearing a Belle dress with a poofy skirt and a sword strapped around his waist and a huge smile that was missing one front tooth.

Remus swiped through the photos; a delightful scene unfolded, as tiny Remus posed for a few pictures, then in one was blurrily turning towards Roman, then dumping something on him, then Roman was screaming and Remus was laughing as red goo dripped down the poofy yellow skirt; Gabby watched with both hands clapped over her mouth, eyes huge.

“You two really have not changed at all, have you?” Janus asked, stifling laughter.

“Absolutely not,” Remus agreed with an answering laugh. “I think the most that either of us ever changed was when I chopped off all that hair and dyed it green.”

“When was that?” Janus asked.

“Sophomore year of high school. I did not have permission to chop it all off, but I did get permission to dye it afterwards, so that was pretty sick.”

“And that didn’t go against dress code?” Janus inquired.

“No, actually. Not sure how. But I bet my parents would’ve kicked up a big stink about it if the school tried and made me change it; they were always super big on self expression and shit.” Remus gestured towards the picture, indicating tiny Roman in his princess dress. “We always got to wear whatever we wanted, and shit like that. It was nice. Made gender shit way easier when that became a thing for me, you know?”

“It sounds nice,” Janus said softly. “I’m happy you had that.”

Remus nodded and pressed a kiss to their forehead, reaching for a handful of the popcorn dregs in the bottom of the bowl.

Janus shifted in their arms, rolling over to face Remus and propping themself up on their elbows. “Actually,” they began.

Something on their face told Remus that whatever this new topic of conversation was, it was important. He swallowed the half-chewed popcorn in his mouth. “Yeah, baby?”

“Speaking of gender.” Janus picked at the edge of the blanket.

“I love speaking of that, go on.” Remus tousled Janus’s hair fondly.

Janus took a deep breath, staring at the blanket in their hands. “I want to start using he pronouns again. In addition to my regular ones. Or.” They wrinkled their nose. “My current ones, I guess. So, he/they.”

“That’s great, he/they pronouns are very sexy,” Remus said at once.

Janus laughed, looking up at him at last. “That’s true, you are the sexiest person I know,” he said fondly. A shadow passed over his features. “But,” he went on slowly, chewing on the inside of their lip and picking at the blanket once more.

“Yeah?” Remus encouraged.

“I really don’t like the idea of telling anyone else about that.” Janus grimaced. “I keep worrying I’ll get asked stupid questions about ‘oh, so are you a man again now?’ when—like—no, and I never was one in the first place. So.”

“Oh, that sounds gross,” Remus agreed at once. “I can see why you’d be worried about that.”

Janus nodded. “I just—I don’t want to explain. And I don’t want people to ask questions. And they might. And I just—I don't want any of it. I want to skip to the part where they know and it’s all how I want it to be.”

“That’s reasonable,” Remus agreed. “But, I mean, if they can get me using he/they pronouns and being nonbinary, they had better fucking wrap their minds around the concept of you doing it too. Yeah? Or I’ll make ’em. Violently, if you want.”

Janus snorted. “I appreciate the offer, darling.” They reached up and touched his cheek. “I… don’t know if I want to tell anyone else yet. But I did want to tell you.”

“You got it, cutie.” Remus booped Janus’s nose once. “Just let me know if anything changes. I’ll punch people for you. Anytime. They don’t even have to have done anything. Just point me at them and consider it done.”

Janus did laugh at that, outright, scrunching up his face and burying it in Remus’s chest. “I should not be this into you offering to punch people for me,” he said wryly.

Remus grinned and flipped their hair. “Nah, I think it’s definitely very sexy of me and should absolutely turn you on.”

Janus smacked Remus’s arm. “I did not say that!”

“You implied it.”

“Not… necessarily. That was one possible interpretation—”

“Oh, right, I see, mmhm, very interesting.”

They smacked his arm again. “You’re teasing me.”

“Only a little bit. You’re so pretty when you get all flustered.” Remus bent their head at a somewhat awkward angle to kiss Janus’s lips gently. “Are there any new words you want me to use, by the way?” they asked. “Besides updating pronouns?”

Janus tilted his head to the side, considering. “I think… I still like all the sorts of things you call me already. Pretty, and partner, and—and baby, and so on.”

Remus smirked. “That’s good, I like calling you baby.”

“Oh my god, shut up.” Janus hid their face in their hands.

“Why, baby?” Remus asked innocently.

Janus made a strangled noise, and after a pause carried on. “I do think I wouldn’t mind adding a little bit of… masc terminology? I guess? If that makes sense? Adding that into the mix. Not all the time, and not as much as the things you already call me, but… just a bit would be nice.”

“Gotcha.” Remus nodded. “I can do that. So, like, my baby is very pretty and handsome?”

Janus’s cheeks went bright red in an instant, and he hid his face in Remus’s chest again, letting out a tiny wordless scream. “Yes. That. That—that’s nice,” they managed after a pause, sounding almost entirely composed.

Remus chuckled and ran their fingers through Janus’s hair. “Good to know,” he said teasingly. “I will definitely keep this in mind.”

“Oh my god,” Janus mumbled. “Are you trying to kill me?”

“Absolutely, but only in a sexy way of making you happy.” Remus kissed the top of their head. “This is just, like, going to be a week of people coming out to me, I guess,” they mused. “Huh.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, something’s clearly eating at someone else we know, and I think they’re going to tell me about whatever it is within the week. That’s all. It was just funny timing.” Remus kissed the top of Janus’s head again. “So, the movie’s over,” they noted, which, sure, was a blatant and deliberate change of subject, but he felt this was justified, both for avoiding-speculating-about-Roman’s-personal-information purposes and, more importantly, for fun-after-movie-things purposes.

“That it is,” Janus said, a particular innocent tone entering their voice. Excellent, he was of a similar mind to Remus, then.

Remus grinned and drew them up for a kiss. “So, what does the very pretty and handsome and lovely human in my arms want to do now?” he inquired.

Janus made another small, wordless, flustered noise and promptly dragged Remus into another kiss. “You can’t just say things like that!”

“What, about how you’re the loveliest—prettiest—sexiest—” Remus pressed tiny kisses to Janus’s lips with each word, until at last they caught his lips with their own in a proper kiss to shut him up. “Pretty sure I can say it, actually,” Remus murmured against his lips. “Cause it’s true.”

“Oh, like you’re one to talk,” Janus said, sounding very pleased indeed, and kissed them again.

--

Taglist (ask to be added/removed!): @theimprobabledreamersworld @peruviandesertfox

[byunbaekby]

title — the following pairing — demon!haechan x female reader, slight jaemin x reader featuring — jaemin as reader’s roommate and crush word count — 6.9k  genres — horror, angst warnings — language, religious concepts in accordance to demons and angels, mentions of murder, psychological and physical torture, elements of haunting, choking, degradation in a nonsexual context (donghyuck often refers to y/n as feeble or unintelligent), minor character death  inspiration — monster by red velvet

“under a single light, why are there two shadows?” “i’m a little monster, be scared of me / i’ll bother you by making you only dream of me.” “see i’m just playing, no bad intentions / try to come out of the dream but monster lives forever.”

author’s message — for the #neohalloween event hosted by @nct-writers​. this is my first time ever writing something of this genre, so i’m very excited and nervous to put this forward. thank you to @give-seconds​ for proof reading this and making it 100x better! much love ♡

also, this entire scenario is loosely generated from a superstition in hmong culture that you shouldn’t pick up anything you find laying around in public, for you might bring home something else with you. 

“Y/N? Is something wrong? Why are you calling me?” 

Your roommate’s voice rings clear on the opposite side of the line. Though you’re shivering as a result of the cold, barren winter air, you try to get a response past your shaking lips. “I-I’m walking home, Jaem. Can you… can you stay on the phone with me?” 

“Oh.” He immediately gets it; it’s never safe for a young woman to walk home alone, especially not in your neighborhood. “Of course… Where are you?”

You turn into the shortcut, your feet meeting the soft, pliable ground. The cemetery; it’s probably the worst shortcut you could ever take, but it cuts your walk home in half. “The cemetery…”

“Again? I told you that you should stop cutting through there, it’s not safe.”

You register his words in your ear as you eye a black bird resting atop a gravestone, peering at you with bright eyes. Casting your sight away from it, your teeth bite down on your bottom lip, roseate tier captured beneath the sharp incisor. “Walking down the street at this time isn’t safe either. At least here there’s nobody else around.” 

Jaemin sighs on the other side. “Even worse, anyone hanging out in a cemetery at…” He pauses, likely to glance at his watch. “10:28 PM, is probably going to be weirder than someone you find out on the street on a Friday night.”

“Hey!” You tell him, clutching your bag close to you. “I’m a person hanging out in a cemetery at 10:28 PM.” 

“My point exactly.” 

You roll your eyes, a laugh leaving you, but you’re glad for Jaemin’s teasing. It helps get your mind off the fact that the hill you walk past casts a dark shadow over the path. As you walk past, engulfed in what seems to be the darkest area of the entire graveyard, you attempt to make easy conversation with your roommate to get it off your mind. 

“Did you eat dinner already?” You ask him, voice low as if someone were listening. Who knows, someone might be. 

Jaemin easily sees through what you’re attempting to do, but he follows along anyway because he’s nice. “I did. I tried to wait for you, but you took too long.”

“Sorry,” you say sheepishly. “Time passed by me in the library.”

“I know. Like damn, you should really lay off the studying sometimes and have fun.” 

“I know, I know. You tell me, Renjun tells me, Professor Kim even—woah!”

You drop to the floor, the air flying out of your chest and dissipating into nothingness as you fall forward onto your chest. All the contents of your bag spill out, along with your phone, which lies a few feet away on the dirt. 

Groan escaping your lips, you look down at your white jeans. Completely stained and covered in dirt. Damn.

“Y/N? Hello? Y/N, you there?”

You can hear Jaemin’s muffled worried tone from where you are, but you focus on gathering your things from your bag first before you grab the phone. In the darkness of the night, you can’t even see everything, you just hope you manage to grab everything. It would definitely be your worst nightmare if you lost your Calculus homework due on Monday to the graveyard because you hadn’t grabbed it. 

When you finally return everything to your bag, you press the phone to your ear. “Hey, sorry, I tripped.” 

“You had me worried there! I was about to run out there myself,” nags Jaemin, and you can see in your mind the way his dark eyebrows must be furrowed in distaste. 

“Sorry Jaem,” you apologize to him as you scurry down the path, ready to be free of the cemetery’s unsettling aura as soon as possible. “Please tell me you saved me some food, I’m starving...”

-

He feels it when you walk in. He senses the irrefutable change in the air, smells your delectable scent with his sharpness. His grave sits at the very top of the largest hill, giving him the perfect place to watch you from. The cemetery becomes alive with your entrance. 

Ironic, isn’t it?

Sitting rather stylishly with his thin, gauntly body atop his gravestone, Donghyuck watches you with sharp, focused eyes. You’re so pretty. He smirks, observing the way you flutter through the graveyard, feet barely touching the ground in your feeble attempt to escape the ominous lot as soon as possible. 

“Walking down the street at this time isn’t safe either. At least here there’s nobody else around.” 

That’s where you’re wrong.

The dark demon can hardly keep the devilish grin off his tiers, watching you. Beautiful, you are.

He’s seen you a few times, in the handful of times you’ve dared to cut through the cemetery on your way home. With an amused, almost teasing shake of his head, he tsks. “Bad decision, little lamb.”

“Did you eat dinner already?” You ask whoever you’re speaking to on the phone. Donghyuck can barely remember what human food tastes like. As a demon, he doesn’t eat humans, let alone get hungry, but if he had a choice, you’d definitely be his first choice.

Your soul is good. He wants it.

If he can’t have you, at least he can play with you a little. 

It doesn’t take much. The moment you glide through the path and under the darkness of his hill, all it takes is the slightest snap of his fingers to send you flying forward. He’d love to make you stay down there, perhaps drag you down below with him, but that would be no fun. 

Rather, he plucks off one of his rings, one of the many decorating his hands for absolutely no one to see, and tosses it seamlessly into the pile of your things spilled across the path. As he watches the way you carelessly shove everything back into your bag, his Cheshire grin grows even wider. Now, he has a reason to leave. 

As you scurry away, Donghyuck jumps off his grave which he had occupied for decades, and lands on his feet. With a wipe of his hands on his jeans, he watches you go. 

“Stupid little lamb. Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to take things that aren’t yours?”

The rest of the walk home, you can swear there are steps behind you matching yours.

-

When you get home, you quickly slide into your bedroom amid Jaemin’s nagging sounds and slip off your white (well, brown now) jeans from your legs. After getting on some more comfortable clothes, you grab your dirtied jeans and make your way to the bathroom. 

The restroom, however small, still has room for a washer and dryer, which you’re thankful for, seeing as you and Jaemin don’t have to pay a laundromat for your weekly laundry. You toss your jeans in the washer; normally you wouldn’t wash just one garment, but the dirt would likely stain your perfectly white jeans. After pressing start you make your way to the kitchen, where your roommate is reheating dinner for you. 

The image of Jaemin’s broad back standing at the stove makes you smile to yourself for just a millisecond, so quick that it’s fleeting. Before you can take another moment to admire your roommate however, he turns to you with his trademark smile. “Hey, pick a movie. Let’s watch something.” 

About fifteen minutes later, you’re eating your leftovers on the couch, Jaemin’s arm spread over your shoulders while the beginning scenes of The Conjuring play. You don’t have much, the apartment barely enough for the two of you to inhabit, and Jaemin is only your roommate, but you’ve gotten used to these kinds of nights. Simple, easy, sweet.

The light remainder of Jaemin’s daily cologne mixed in with his gentle cotton scent pervades into your senses, and you lean your head onto his shoulder with a smile. You’ve always wanted to be more with Jaemin, but you could settle for these comfortable nights of movies and platonic cuddling. 

It’s something about having a full belly, Jaemin’s warmth, and the everlasting light traces of his scent that has you falling asleep, eyes drooping closed slowly into a peaceful suspension of consciousness. 

-

I.

You wake the first morning. 

You don’t even remember falling asleep, but it doesn’t surprise you when you wake up in bed. Recently you’ve developed a habit of falling asleep on movie nights, and Jaemin is always kind enough to place you gently back in your room. 

Wiping the sleep from your eyes, you let out an unearthly sound as you sit up and stretch your arms above your head. When you unsheath the blanket from your legs, your unprepared toes meet the cold wooden floor, causing you to flutter across the room quickly and into the living area. 

It’s Saturday, but Jaemin volunteers at the hospital on Saturdays, so you only prepare a bowl of cereal for yourself. If your roommate were here, he’d probably scold you for the lack of nutrition, so you toss a couple of berries into your frosted flakes. 

After you finish up, washing your bowl at the sink, your eyes widen in realization; you left your jeans in the washer! Falling asleep mid-movie had caused you to completely forget about them, not drying them before you slept like you had told yourself. God, they probably stink by now, sitting wet for hours. 

But when you slide open the door to the bathroom, you see your jeans resting atop the drying machine, folded neatly like they had been waiting for you. Perhaps they were. 

Ah, you realize, mouth parting just the slightest. Jaemin must have dried them and folded them before he left for the hospital this morning. Another grateful smile spreads across your visage; you really do have the best roommate. 

You spend the rest of the day studying, and prepare a nice dinner (which also means going grocery shopping) for Jaemin, as a little thank you for always being so thoughtful. He appreciates it when he comes home to a fully cooked meal, and there’s something about the way he smiles that has you feeling as though you’ve finally done something good to amount to all the times he’s saved your ass as a roommate. When the night ends, you both retire to your rooms. 

In your lovesick daze, you fail to recognize that under the single lighting of your room, there are two shadows. 

-

VII.

On the seventh day, Donghyuck’s displeasure is enough to choke him—that is, if he needed to breathe.

He had wanted to tease you, follow you home and play with you a little before revealing himself. But God, you are so dumb; he should have expected as much from a feeble, stupid little sheep anyways. 

That first night, testing the waters, he had done your damn laundry for you. It was just a little fun, to get the ball rolling. Any superstitious person would have known. And what did you do? You had thought it to be your roommate. As the days went by, his teasing grew in quantity and intensity; hiding your keys, ripping apart your essays, perhaps all the menial and annoying things that some stupid schoolboy would do to grab the attention of a girl he liked. But your attention is lost, and he is not a stupid schoolboy. No, he is far from it. 

Even as his antics have built up throughout the following days, you always found some excuse to play it off; you must be more clever than he thought. No, you weren’t; you were either extremely clumsy and forgetful, or you were simply denying his existence. It’s time to make himself known. 

-

VIII.

It’s the eighth night when he appears in your dreams. No, not he. It.

You can sense it, the moment your suspension of consciousness becomes overtaken by him and you find yourself in a simple black room. It seems to extend in every which direction, as though you could run off in any given direction and never hit a wall. But you feel it watching you.

He’s behind your shoulder, and the moment his low, amused chuckle is heard in your ears you swipe around to face him, eyes wide. He’s beautiful; dark brown hair, smooth skin, a captivating honey color, and dark eyes. 

Those eyes.

They pierce into your soul, as though they can see right through you. They probably can. He is not a person, you know. He is… more. 

Dark eyes once overtaken with curiosity are now characterized by bleak amusement. Your breath hitches, and his voice comes out low. “Welcome.” 

“What is this? Where am I?” Your voice comes out rapidly, shaking. You know nothing of this… thing before you but you can’t help but feel unsafe under its gaze. 

“Now, that’s not very nice. I am very much a person, not an it,” he smirks beneath the shadow which casts itself upon his visage. You freeze; he can hear your thoughts.

This realization only further widens the Cheshire grin across his lips, and instinctively you take a step back further into the black nothingness. “G-Get out of my head,” you threaten to no avail.

The same mocking laugh leaves his lips. “Sweetheart, this is your head. This entire place is of your making. If you hate it so much,” he says, and suddenly he’s in front of you. His hand leaves the pockets of his black bottoms, lithe digits suddenly cupping your chin and tilting it upward so you are staring right into his dark empty orbs which come to life with the image of you. His fingers, dressed in various shades of gold rings, grip you. You should feel his warmth on your skin, you should feel the radiating human heat that you so often feel with Jaemin. 

“Erase me from it.” 

But you don’t feel anything behind his callused skin, and that’s what scares you the most. 

Your throat runs dry and when he parts his lips, even his breath is cold. “But you’re scared.” When you fail to respond, he licks his lips, and his next words are characterized by sarcastic rancor. “What’s wrong? There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

“Unless…” At this point, under his burning gaze that contrasts the ice-cold emptiness against your skin, your knees begin to buckle. The smile which accompanies his next words, revealing his pearly whites and perhaps his intentions, is sinister: “You’re not afraid of demons… are you?”

-

IX.

You wake in a cold sweat, and you’re more aware of Jaemin’s soothing voice telling you to breathe than the fact that you’re not breathing. Chest heaving and eyes wide, you search for something in Jaemin’s eyes to tether you back to earth, back to reality.

He’s not real, he’s not real. He can’t hurt you. 

It was just a dream.

“Hey, hey,” Jaemin calls out to you, hands on your shoulders to steady you from your previous thrashing. You had awoken him with your screaming. “You okay? Breathe, Y/N, just,” he takes a pause to take a deep breath, silently instructing you to follow with him. “Breathe.” In a few moments, when your breathing pattern has begun to return to normal, steady breaths, he asks again, voice dripping with nothing but pure concern for you, “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you nod. It’s the first word you’ve spoken, so your voice comes out scratched and you’re reminded just how much air you need to actually speak coherently. “It was just… a bad dream.”

“Sounded a lot worse than a bad dream…” He responds, taking his respectful hands off of you and tucking them into the loose pockets of his fleece pajama bottoms. An image flashes before your eyes: that… person, hands tucked leisurely into their pockets, ominous smile enough to make you wonder what they were hiding in there. 

You blink, closing your eyes tightly and shaking your head, as though it could shake the image from your mind. When you open them once more, Jaemin is still standing next to your bed. “I’m okay, I promise,” you tell him, though it feels more as though you’re speaking to yourself. “Thanks.”

“Any time,” responds your roommate, who offers you a reassuring smile and another worried look before slipping out of your bedroom. When you’re finally alone, you bring a hand up to your forehead, where sweat has made your skin clammy and sticky. 

You’re warm. He is not.

-

XII.

“You’re a demon.”

You say this on the twelfth night, finding yourself once again stranded in the same dark and endless room with the sharp-eyed devil. This time, there are two chairs and the two of you sit facing each other. He sits as though he has all the time in the world, and perhaps he does. Legs crossed leisurely and arms over his chest with his head tilted at you, he stares. 

With your tense posture in your own chair, you wonder fleetingly how enough light exists in this black room that you can never seem to avoid staring at his mocking facial expression. You gulp, gripping onto nothing as you tighten your fists to prevent them from trembling. He’s not real, you have to remind yourself. 

“When did you figure that out, little lamb? When I told you, probably?” His tone is insulting, as though you were stupid. You narrow your eyes, biting the flesh inside your cheek. 

“Aw,” he coos, grinning at you with dark beguilement. “You’re frustrated.”

“Duh, I’m frustrated,” you huff, blowing some air from your mouth to push away a strand of hair that has fallen into your face. “You keep bringing me here with no jurisdiction or knowledge of who you are.”

“Fine,” he acquiesces. “Three questions. Don’t make them stupid, though I know that’s hard for an incompetent human like yourself.” 

“What do you want from me?” 

“I haven’t quite figured that out yet. Next question. I’ll even be nice enough to abstain that as a question,” he responds, as though he’s doing you a favor. 

“Why are you doing this?”

“Being a demon is rather boring, you see. Not here, not there.” He waves his hand around, as though pointing to heaven and its counterpart. “I found you, and you intrigued me.”

He leans forward, resting his chin in his palm. “Or rather, you found me. You invited me in.” 

“I never did that,” you reply, indignant. 

“But you did.” A dark eyebrow raises at you, and you bite down on your lip to prevent your anger from rising. “You never checked your bag, did you? Never found a gold ring, maybe?” He lifts his chin off of his palm, stretching out his fingers as though they were cramped. “Maybe one with DH engraved in it.” 

You had. You had found the ring in your bag on Saturday and had figured it to be one of your own negligible accessories, tossing it into your jewelry box. Had there been letters engraved on it? 

At the look on your face, a smile spreads across his features. “So you do remember.” 

Despite the umbrage bubbling in your stomach, perhaps more feisty than you should be in the presence of a self-proclaimed demon, you have another question. Leaning forward just the slightest you ask, “Why haven’t you hurt me? Isn’t that what demons do?”

There’s a glint in his eye, and the easy-going expression on his face is quickly replaced by a darkened simper. “Do you want me to hurt you?” 

Your fists tighten again. “N-No…”

“Don’t tempt me.” His voice is dark now, his earlier lilted tone now descending into a deep pit. It’s almost demanding, as though he’s daring you to push his buttons and send him plummeting into a torturous rage. At the look of fear that swipes across your face, he chuckles once more. “Relax, little lamb. I’m just playing, no bad intentions here.” 

You don’t believe him, not even for a second. If he’s really what he says he is… why does he torture you in this way, making you only dream of him? You push the thoughts from your mind, knowing that he has full access to your brain. “What’s your name?” 

“Now you’re asking the good questions. You may call me…”

The corner of his lips tug upward into a smirk.

“Donghyuck.” 

-

XIII.

The titles should shock you more than they do.

University Student Pleads Guilty to Murder of Three Female Students

College Killer: More Murders Revealed In Trial of Lee Donghyuck

Lee Donghyuck, Murderer of At Least Thirteen Victims, Sentenced To Death Penalty

He’s real. 

It’s Friday night again, and you find yourself back at the library. Except this time, it’s not calculus nor world history that you are pondering. It’s not your psychology textbook that you are poured over. 

No, the archives are open, and all it took was a little keyword into the filter to find just what you’re searching for. The only word you needed: Donghyuck.

He hadn’t been lying. Not about his identity or his demonic status. 

When you read over the headlines and their accompanying stories, you don’t realize the way your pupils begin to shake, or the way that your heartbeat begins to accelerate as the truth dawns upon you. 

He is real, he is dangerous, and he is haunting you. 

-

XIV. 

“So you know who I am.” It’s less of a question, more of a statement. Tonight, there is only one chair and you are sitting in it as Donghyuck walks circles around you. There are no chains, no straps to hold you down to the chair but you cannot move. Despite what he had told you the first night, that this is all your dream and that you have the ability to change anything, the opposite seems true. 

He disappears behind you, and suddenly his voice is in your ear. Your breath hitches at the sudden gust of cold air on your sensitive skin as he speaks. “Are you afraid?” 

“No.” 

“You forget I’m in your head, sweetheart. I know everything, so don’t lie to me.” 

He’s caught you.

You say nothing, and so he stands straight and makes himself present in your vision again. “It’s okay to be scared. It’s in your feeble nature.” His finger starts at your hand, bringing a chill down your spine. As he drags it slowly up the scope of your exposed arm, you hardly resist the instinct to shiver. “I just want to know, what are you afraid of?”

“Is it…” he speaks softly, teasingly throwing each word in your ear, like tossing small bites to a starved dog. “That I know each of your thoughts the moment you think it, and you only know my name? That I’m a dark spirit and can bring you enough pain to make you forget your name with just a snap of my fingers?”

His trailing hand, once tracing over the curve of your clavicle, suddenly grips your neck. Though only a light pressure is applied, you feel the wind knocked out of you by his sudden, unforeseen movement. “Or is it that because of me, sixteen women died and you might end up the same?”

With the little air you have left, you manage to squeeze out, “They said thirteen.”

Amusement shows on his visage before he finally lets your throat go, and you heave as you attempt to refill your lungs with air. “No,” he corrects, moving back to his original space, circling you like a shark locking its prey in uncharted waters. “They said at least thirteen. They never found the other three.” 

The thought is enough to make you sick, but before you can manage to swallow down the bile attempting to rise up your throat, he speaks. “Don’t worry about them too much, my little lamb. You’ll join them soon.” 

“You’re lying,” you spit out. “You keep threatening me, but you’re all talk and no proof. You can’t do anything to me, that’s why you only bother me in my dreams.” 

Your sudden and unexpected quip seems to, rather than upset him, entertain him. “You think I can’t do anything to you outside of this box? Funny,” he scoffs, though he still maintains that grin on his lips. “Humans are so cocky, I learned that after they killed me.” 

He stops pacing, and instead kneels before you, his face placed before yours. “I’ve done things, sweetheart. Remember the pants? The essay you spent five hours on torn up the morning after you printed it out? How about the dress you bought that I cut up until there was nothing left but shreds? You got really mad at your friend for quote-unquote, ‘pranking’ you.”

But Donghyuck is nothing if not honest. You’ve learned this. 

“But on some level, you’re right.” His hand reaches up once more, but instead of resting it on your shoulder again, he gently caresses your cheek. It would be soft, romantic in any other case. But no, his touch makes your skin crawl. “I can’t hurt you, and I don’t know why. Don’t worry, I want to, but outside this dream…” His hand stops, and grips your chin instead. “I physically can’t. Tell me why?”

“I… I don’t know.”

“You have a cross on you somewhere, little lamb? Or, a guardian angel?”

“I said I don’t know,” you repeat, voice louder as you turn your head sharply, ripping your chin from his grasp. In your ear, he tsks. 

Now you’ve done it. 

“Getting too comfortable, aren’t we? You’re forgetting who’s in charge here,” he says, voice dipping into dangerous territory as he reaches forward, gripping your throat once more. But this time, he digs his nails into the softness of your skin, and your choked scream is caught in your throat by his hands before it can ever leave. 

-

“Y/N! Y/N, wake up!” 

Jaemin’s voice is the only thing carrying you back to sanity, and when you finally force your eyes open he’s before you, gripping your arms once again to prevent you from thrashing about. “It’s just a dream, it’s just a dream,” he coos out in worry as you finally come to. 

Your hand immediately flies to your neck which is, to your relief, not at all sore. The moment your eyes fall on him and you realize that the hand around your neck is no more, you fall into a bout of tears. Instinctively, your roommate holds you to his chest in a protective hug whilst you sob into his chest.

It’s not real, it’s not real. You keep telling yourself this like a mantra in your head as Jaemin rubs your head soothingly. But why does it feel so real?

“It’s okay,” Jaemin continues telling you, voice soft as his sweet familiar scent pervades your senses once again and your tense muscles begin to relax. 

Minutes pass before you’ve calmed down, outright sobs now quiet whimpers. Jaemin begins to set you down back into bed, but you grab at his wrist before he can set you down. “What, what is it?” He asks, eyes immediately scanning your body for any sign of distress.

“Can you… can you stay with me?” It’s a large request, perhaps much too intrusive for someone who is supposed to just be your roommate. But lately, Jaemin feels… much more. Every night as you’ve been plagued by Donghyuck’s presence in your haunting nightmares, he has come to save you when you’re falling apart in screams.

He feels like a friend, and a… a protector. 

Not at all fazed by your sudden request, Jaemin wears an abiding smile and nods. “Of course,” he says, sliding into your bed whilst you move over to make room for him. You feel much safer with him around, and now with him in your bed, your personal dreamcatcher, you naturally find yourself in his arms once more while you drift away into sleep, Donghyuck’s presence no longer occupying your dreams. 

Neither of you take the time or attention to look, for if you had you would have seen, in the corner of the room furthest from the window, where the darkened corner seems to extend into an infinite world of black, Donghyuck looking less than pleased. 

Your roommate needs to be handled.

-

XXI.

Something seemed to have changed that night when Jaemin first slipped into your bed. You have since not dreamed of Donghyuck even once, and you definitely do not miss him. Perhaps he is gone for good. 

How stupid of you to think so, even knowing what Donghyuck is capable of. Perhaps you never truly knew, not before now, just how powerful he is, or just what kind of chaos he can incite. 

It’s 3 PM on the twenty-first day when you finally find out just how evil he is.

Jaemin is in the hospital. 

You had gotten the call on the bus ride home from campus; your roommate, jokes and boyish smiles for all the time you’ve known him, had been hit by a car just outside your apartment building. Now, he is in the hospital with broken ribs and a herniated disk, barely holding on for his life in a coma. 

You’re not allowed in his room, but you do catch a glimpse of your roommate when his physician enters, and just the sliver of him that you see is enough to make you turn your head away. 

You know who is responsible for this. 

-

The door to your bedroom is thrown open, and before you can recognize the emptiness of the apartment without Jaemin’s presence around, you’re screaming into the void. 

“I know you’re listening, you dick! Show yourself, fucking coward!” 

The obscenities that leave your mouth seem to do the trick because before you can register it, you’re on the floor. As though the carpet is pulled out from under you, you go flying forward and the wind is knocked out of you as you meet the ground chest first. 

You don’t have any time to breathe or recover, as immediately there is a force pulling you up by the shirt, and suddenly you’re no longer standing on the ground. 

You see him.

You’ve seen him before, of course. He’s appeared in your dreams enough to have his sinister expression sewed in your thoughts at all hours of the day. But now… now he looks stronger. Less pale and more colorful. Even the aura which exudes from him… is more dangerous than ever. 

Yet, he still wears that shit-eating smile on his lips as he watches you float in the air, collar squeezing at your throat and looking completely powerless. “Now, little lamb, those are not very nice words,” Donghyuck chastises as he approaches you. When he’s finally before you once more, he twitches his eyebrow upward just the slightest. “Missed me?”

“Not at all,” you manage, gathering the spit in your mouth to chuck it out at him. 

Not even fazed, he simply wipes at the spit on his face, flicking it off in a negligible direction. “I’m not feeling welcomed,” he comments. 

“Because you’re not,” you retort, thrashing about to no avail. “What did you do to Jaemin?”

The mention of your now critical roommate only makes his grin grow wider. “You see, sweetheart, I thought you’d be pretty proud of me. I found out what was keeping me from being able to inflict any real damage on you,” he says whilst his cold hand comes out to squeeze at your cheeks. “Your guardian angel has been taken care of.” 

Wait, what? Then it dawns on you.

Jaemin is… your guardian angel.

“You look surprised. That’s okay, I didn’t know either.” Donghyuck releases your face, instead choosing to pace left and right before you, though he never lets his eyes leave you. “But then he started sleeping with you, and I couldn’t get into your mind. I put two and two together. With him around, I’d never be able to touch you.” 

The glint in his eyes turns feral. “And you have an embarrassing school girl crush on him, so I was able to kill two birds with one stone. With every second that passes, his life is draining away, and I’m only getting stronger.” 

“Why are you doing this?” You cry out once again, though your voice is more desperate than it had been the first time around. “What do you want?”

“You see, I figured that out too.” His mocking tone begins to seep away and is instead replaced by that familiar dark timbre of his as he approaches you once more, gripping your chin again in his fingers. Tilting your head up harshly, he stares endlessly into you and whispers, “I thought I was done with those petty murders, that the sight of women begging at my knees like dirt for mercy wouldn’t excite me as much anymore. But no… I want you to suffer. I want to destroy you, take away your happiness, and break you piece by piece, until you’re just begging for me to take you out of your misery.” The semblance of a smirk quirks at his lips. “Just like those other girls. Except this time, there’s no limit to what I can do. And when you do die, I’ll be right here to welcome you back.” 

Tears sting your eyes at the horrible things he whispers to you, but you refuse to capitulate to him. “I’d rather die than do anything you say.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll be dead just as soon. The fun hasn’t even started yet,” he teases. Suddenly, it’s as if the paranormal restraints on your limbs are cut free, as your body immediately falls to the floor, collecting in a pile. You hardly have the energy to lift your head, but you register the sound of Donghyuck’s voice as he walks away from you. “Rest up tonight, little lamb. You’ve got a long eternity ahead of you.”

Then he’s gone. You swear you will make use of the last twelve hours of your life. 

-

First, you visit Jaemin again. You know you’re not allowed in, but you know his room number and there’s no one coming in to check up on him, you hope. 

You don’t know if he really is your guardian angel, but above that, he is your friend. 

“Hey,” you say softly, making your presence known as you sit down in the chair beside his hospital bed. It’s arbitrary… you know Jaemin doesn’t have parents around, and perhaps that only lends to the possibility that he really is someone sent here to protect you. 

“How are you?” You scoff at yourself. “That’s stupid of me to ask, you’re in a coma. I don’t know if you can hear me, or if you really are an angel, but thank you, Jaemin. For always… always being there for me, protecting me. Walking me through the cemetery, making dinner for me, chasing my nightmares away.”

Sitting there, staring at your friend’s lifeless body laying on the bed looking gray as a sheet, tears begin to sting your eyes. “I’m sorry for bringing you into this, I should have listened to you when you told me to be careful. And if I have to lose someone as amazing and… pure-hearted as you, I don’t think I can live with myself. So please, even if you don’t make it out of here, please… stay by my side.”

As your first tear breaks the barrier and begins to coast down your cheek, you reach out and grab his hand. It’s cold. 

-

XXII.

It’s a little past midnight and though your fingers shake from the cold, you throw everything of yours that he’s touched into the bucket.

Even the things you weren’t completely sure of, you toss away anything that could have been influenced by his dark magic; the leftover shreds of your essay that you had recovered from the recycle, the pieces of fabric that he had obliterated your dress to, the white jeans you had worn that first night, and more. Finally, you throw in that godforsaken ring that had started it all.

You swore that you would never return to the cemetery again, but here you are. This time, you really can see everything at the top of the hill. You turn your head back to glower at the tombstone before you.

Lee Donghyuck.

What a piece of shit. 

Though your fingers shake, you light the match without trouble. When you toss it into the basket of forsaken belongings, it is only a matter of seconds before Donghyuck appears, tethered to his tombstone once more.

Gripping at his body, he snarls out at you, “What the hell are you doing?”

That, you hardly even know. Following only the speculations found on the internet, you had unknowingly lured your monstrous demon back to his home. 

It seems to work, as the greater the fire grows, the more pained Donghyuck’s expression seems to become. 

Your voice finds its strength as you announce your intentions. “Erasing you.” 

“You can’t do that to me, you don’t get to win!” Donghyuck yells in growing anger, reaching out to you but failing. With this inability of his to touch you, you tilt your chin higher, the orange tint of the flames reflecting off your strengthened pride. 

“I believed you all this time, I let you scare me into thinking that you could overpower me. That you could hurt me,” you muse, staring without remorse at his pained form. “But I was wrong. You only exist as long as I let you. You can only hurt me as long as I believe you can.”

“I’ll be back,” declares Donghyuck as the fire roars, only sending him further into a realm of pain. Whilst he grips his limbs in pure fury, you shake your head. 

“No, you won’t. Because you were right, this is my world. I’m the one with the power here: I have blood flowing through me, I have oxygen in my lungs, and I have a soul. You have none of those.” With your anger bursting at the seams, you kick over the metal bucket burning from the inside, instead tossing the trash over the dirt of Donghyuck’s grave. “And because of that, I’m not scared of you.”

As the fire burns out at the final thread, and the spirit which had infested your mind for twenty-two days begins to fade away in a fit of rage, you offer him the same powerful, mocking smile he had tattooed into your mind. 

“Goodbye, Donghyuck. Rest in hell.”

-

CCCLXV.

“Hey, did you do the notes from the last lecture?”

Flipping through your binder, you nod and pull out the said notes, handing them over to the student sitting next to you. At this point, you’ve learned enough about her to know that on Mondays, she always asks for the notes. You’ve started printing extra copies for her. 

It’s been a year. 

You had taken a year off of university to return home. After everything that had happened and Jaemin’s death, you simply couldn’t bear to even step into your old apartment anymore. Over time, you’ve found that you’ve healed and you are no longer afraid.

Not afraid to return to school, at least.

“Here you go,” you tell her as you hand over the notes. “You can keep that copy.”

The look she wears is grateful. “Thanks!” 

“Hey,” calls a voice on your right. “Do you have a pen?”

“Sure, I—” You start, reaching into your pencil bag, but stop when your gaze falls upon the owner of the voice. 

No, it can’t be. It just can’t.

Before you is Donghyuck. Except it’s not. He’s… different. 

His hair is no longer brown, but rather a light shade of blonde that accentuates his honey olive skin tone. Rather than all black, he is dressed in a cream-colored sweater and a pair of light washed ripped jeans. Most strikingly of all, his signature sharp eyes are no longer clouded by dark evil, but are light with the sweet smile that he wears on his lips.

No… it’s not Donghyuck. After your return home, you had begun to see his face everywhere, and have since learned to distinguish between reality and trauma. When the stranger catches you staring, he tilts his head, smile growing further. “I’m Haechan.”

Shaking your head slightly to clear the thoughts, you go back to searching for a pen in your bag. “Uh, hi Haechan. Here you go,” you say as you hand the pen over to him.

When your fingers brush just the slightest, he’s cold. 

You pull your hand back quickly, as though you had been burned. No, you tell yourself. It’s cold in here, the air conditioning is always on in the lecture hall. Turning back to face forward in your seat, you try to calm your breathing, pulling your cardigan closer to cover you. The stranger next to you pulls out a notebook from his bag, and in full view, begins to write in the corner. 

Your professor is speaking, clicking on his projector, when Haechan slides his notebook over to you. There, written in perfect handwriting…

I told you I’d be back.

[foone]

Unbreathing Vacuum

I got an ADHD inspiration to write a short DS9 fic off a shitpost about Star Trek-but-all-the-computers-run-windows-98, so I wrote a thing about Odo and the crew's reaction to his seeming death. (This was written for twitter, so it's gonna have some weird paragraph breaks, sorry about that)

Odo is tracking down a Bolian weapons dealer with as many morals as hair follicles when he finally corners him in a cargo bay. It goes south, quickly, as it turns out weapons dealers have access to a lot of weapons.

His Bajoran security officer is laying down suppressing fire as Odo sneaks around behind the Bolian who is trying out a wide variety of strange weapons, colored beams shooting across the room like we're in a deadly disco of death.

Odo reforms into a grumpy humanoid behind the blue man group reject, shedding his Andorian Ice Fox form that let him cross the sea of crates without detection. Odo grumbles "I think that's enough, don't you?" as the Bolian turns and screams.

The football shaped object in his hands that was beeping increasingly frantic pitches drops to the floor, and he dives for it. Odo looks down in surprise, then recognizes what it is, but it's slightly too late, as timers on Klingon grenades are not known for their accuracy.

There's a flash of light and pressure as it detonates, and the cargo bay wall cracks, and the one sound no one wants to hear in a space station begins: the high pitched hissing of air rapidly leaving.

Odo gets to his feet in that uncanny way he sometimes does when he forgets to move like a being who has bones. He simply transitions from a body on the floor to a standing vaguely humanoid form. The Bolian, being closer to the blast, appears dead, or at least soon to be so.

He turns to his security officer to tell her to go call Chief O'Brien, when the hissing wall suddenly groans with the sound of bending metal, and the wall gives way completely. An entire semi-rectangular wall panel is ejected into the black, taking Odo and the dead Bolian with it

The security officer, nearer to the door, slams the access panel and dives through the door before it can finish opening, and rips off a barely attached wall panel to yank on the manual bulkhead release.

The door slams shut with typical Cardassian efficiency, not caring or bothering to check if there might be a limb or two in the way. The hurricane wind of all the station's air trying to escape is suddenly ended, and deafening white noise gives way to the low hum of the station.

Moments later, the crew up in Ops are reacting to the news of Odo's death in almost comically predictable ways.

Kira, the career soldier, is angry. She's seen many friends die in front of her, and she never let herself become numb to it. She's swearing at Odo in ways that the universal translator is so good at eliding, saying she always told him he was taking too many risks.

Just because he won't mind when someone stabs him doesn't mean he's invulnerable, she told him, and he, as always, almost-smiled in the way he only seems to do around her and grumbled about how he'd be careful.

The young doctor is barely holding it together. Kira's lashing out but it's a controlled sort of anger, a way she keeps a handle on the pain of losing people. Bashir, the eternal optimist to Odo's eternal pessimist, doesn't really believe in death, a strange trait for a doctor.

O'Brien is focusing himself on technical issues to avoid having to think about the emotional ones. What kind of weapon could have taken out a reinforced cargo bay wall? Had it been damaged before and incorrect repaired? He makes a note to do a full check of structural integrity

Dax has seemingly no reaction, but that's almost to be expected. You have a different outlook on death when you've died before, multiple times. As a near-immortal you see many people and make many friends, and nearly all of them will die long before you.

You have to learn to accept it, or it will kill you by inches. One of the downsides of seemingly endless life is there's a lot of time to mourn.

The commander is definitely feeling the impact of the loss, especially having had far too much experience with this particular kind of loss before. He flashes back to that time he always, in some way, still resides in...

When an alien force shows up and starts carving your ship into digestible chunks, you quickly become intimately familiar with the effects of sudden decompression on the humanoid body. It's not pretty, it's not as fast as you'd hope, and it's something you never forget.

He maintains his composure, leaning on his command training, and asks Kira to make a list of security officers she'd suggest promoting to Chief of Security. He thinks for a moment, realizes Odo had no family, and says he'll send a note to Dr. Pol

He turns back to go into his office when there's a dull thudding noise, and a sort of faint tink-tink-tink caused by the flexing of glass that happens with even the thickest of reinforced viewport.

He looks around in confusion, and Dax suddenly points at one of the high-up viewports. Floating outside the window, looking only slightly more annoyed than his resting "I hate life" face, is Odo.

It feels like something outside of a horror movie, a ghost floating silently outside a second story window, because humanoids don't just happily move around in the harsh void of space without needing a suit or a forcefield to keep them breathing.

But Odo isn't like most humanoids, after all. He's not a humanoid, for one. He's more a confounding self-propelled pile of goo that sometimes feels like pretending to be a humanoid shape.

This is made more obvious by the fact that he's only half there. His lower half is not legs, but a shimmering stretch of undifferentiated shapeshifter material, in order to hold onto an access handle tightly enough to give him the leverage to knock on a window.

Seeing he's got the attention of the crew, he pulls his hands from the window and starts attempting to sign to them. Kira's the only one with any experience in Bajoran sign language, and the best she can make out is something like "he broke his... Weasel? Columns him... Boat?"

He sighs, rolling his eyes, like only a shapeshifter really can. The sigh is silent of course, but if anyone could grumble in disappointment in the vacuum of space, it would be Odo.

His hands blur together as he shapeshifts them into a new form: a small flat panel, with Bajoran lettering in a large block font, perhaps a little too blocky as his aggravation is coming across even in typographical form.

COMBADGE DAMAGED BEAM ME ABOARD

Dax and O'Brien quickly confer, taking a painfully long moment to figure out how to lock onto something that is neither wearing a working combadge or reads as a life sign. Finally they figure out how to get a lock, and engage the transporter.

The grumpy-looking chief of security rematerializes on the Ops transporter pad, adjusting his "uniform" in an entirely unnecessarily maneuver he long ago picked up in his study of humanoids. He's naked, after all, he just looks like he's wearing clothes.

"Thank you for bringing me in", he grumbles, not saying the "finally" everyone can clearly hear in his tone. "It turns out that you can't open airlocks from the outside, so I wasn't able to come in the obvious way."

O'Brien, still slightly surprised by the sudden reappearance of his "dead" coworker, falls back on technical details as always. "That's a safety system we installed. The airlocks won't open unless they detect a ship is docked."

Kira chimes in with "Yeah, the Cardassians didn't have that restriction, as they wanted the freedom to just toss Bajorans out the airlocks when they felt like it." Odo responds with his usual grunt, a dismissive "pah, you solids and your weaknesses and your squabbles" noise.

Sisko replies "Regardless, it's good to see you alive and well, Odo."

Odo half-nods. "Commander, if you'll excuse me, I have reports to file and a safety lockout to implement. As tempting a prospect as it might seem, I wouldn't want Quark to end up to be sucked out the station's new orifice when he comes looking for his shipment of Yarmok sauce."

O'Brien jumps in with his typical urgency, half-covering up the feeling of "I should have fixed that already, damn" that he's seemingly always feeling around here. "I'll send a repair team down there right away."

Odo doesn't turn as he walks to the lift. "That would be appreciated, Chief. I'd rather not have to walk along the outside of the station again today." he says, punctuating it by activating the lift and descending out of view.

Sisko rubs his forehead. This is a strange place indeed, and despite all the headaches it gives him on a daily basis, he's beginning to feel almost at home in this remote alien place.

This place is strange, the people are strange, the situation is strange... But they're his strange.

Maybe someday they'll stop surprising him. But he doubts it, and he isn't sure he would want them to.

He sits down at his desk and pulls up another of the day's reports, thankful he doesn't need to write that letter to Doctor Mora Pol, for more than one reason.

It's never easy losing someone under your command, and writing that letter to their next-of-kin never gets easier either. But it's a good day when you don't have to do either.

[ienjoywallpaper]

@purpleandgreen13 Asked for Harvey fluff and I was happy to oblige... Enjoy, or don't, but I hope you do :D

Professional Advice (926 Words)

I sighed as I looked up from my rows of corn. The crows, demons more like it, had decided my old scarecrow was no longer an adversary, based on the multiple stalks strewn ruined on the ground. So help me, if I ever catch one of those damn vermin, I will erect a shrine to Yoba and burn the bird alive. I thought with a grumble.

"I don't have a whole lot of experience in the matter, but I don't think this is the proper way to fire a slacking employee…" He chuckled good-naturedly. I smiled and felt a small blush creep up my cheeks also.

I let out a frustrated yell as I took my anger out on the scarecrow, ripping it from its perch. I drug the scarecrow's corpse out of the corn field, mumbling to myself, if the crows are used to you, fine, we'll turn you back into a stranger… I tossed the straw corpse out of the field and was startled to hear an audible "OOF". As I rushed out, I was relieved to find Harvey holding the scarecrow in one hand and brushing his coat off with the other. An adorable blush colored his cheeks. My anger all but vanished as I took the scarecrow from him. Who could be mad while looking upon Harvey blushing? Not many, I was convinced.

"Yes, well, I guess that's why you leave the farming business to me. This is actually the nicest way to fire a scarecrow. My other options involved cannons and actual fire." At this, his chuckle morphed into a true laugh that rang across the yard. I loved the sound of his laugh.

"Remind me never to let you find me slacking." He held out his hand for mine, and I shifted the scarecrow to take it. We began walking toward the house and I looked up at him.

"Dr. Harvey, are you flirting with me? Cheeky…" Harvey's smile went crooked and his blush deepened.

"Yes, well… don't tell my girlfriend." He replied sheepishly. My sense of humor was rubbing off on him and it made me laugh. I stretched up and kissed his reddened cheek.

"Your secret is safe with me." I gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. Harvey stopped and looked down at me, his eyes glittering in the afternoon sun. He leaned down, cupping my cheek with his free hand, and suddenly his tone was soft but serious.

"All of me is safe with you." He whispered as he placed a tender kiss on my forehead. My insides warmed and turned to goo. I never believed the people who talked about butterflies in their stomachs, but since meeting Harvey I had an entire sanctuary in mine. Any coherent thought I had was lost, so I just grinned like an idiot and leaned into his hand on my face. He chuckled bashfully. "I hope that wasn't cheesy. Was that cheesy?"

"If it was, I don't care because you made me very happy." An honest reply for an honest question. Harvey kissed my forehead one more time and backed away, maintaining his grip on my hand.

We continued our way to the house where I propped the scarecrow against the porch.

"So what is our friend's fate?" Harvey asked, motioning to the scarecrow.

"I'm going to fix the head and then give him a makeover." I pulled the floppy, wide-brimmed hat off the scarecrow and plopped it on Harvey's head with a laugh. "That's a good look for you, you should wear a hat more often."

"Actually these hats are excellent sun protection and I have been known to wear one on occasion…"

"You're so cute when you're rambling health tips." I interrupted. Harvey blushed. It was my favorite Harvey face-state. "And as much as I would love to let you continue talking medical to me, I do need to get working on this." Harvey's face fell, ever so slightly, at my admission.

"You're right, I need to let you work." He kissed my hand. "I did come out here for a reason, though. I have to test your well water." He pulled a small kit out of his pocket. "It is important to the safety of your health and of your crops." I smiled and shook my head. You can take the boy out of the doctor's office, but you can't take the doctor out of the boy. I motioned toward my well.

"Test away, my dear doctor. I'll just be here playing a horror-movie-makeup artist in an attempt to keep the demon crows at bay."

"Most definitely." Harvey beamed and wandered off toward my well.

"Very good… I will see you later, then?" I leaned over and gave him a quick peck on the cheek.

*****

Later that evening, after making the necessary repairs and changes to my scarecrow, I wandered back into the cornfield to put him back to work. As I approached the stake where he usually perched, I noticed a bundle laying on the ground. Did I leave something out here? I wondered to myself, not remembering having any sort of bundle when I came out this morning. When I was close enough, I lifted it to find a dusty white coat and a short note.

“Perhaps the only cure for determined crows is a big, scary doctor! Maybe our friend should change professions? Take this -- Doctor’s orders!” I laughed as I tucked the note in my pocket and, after situating the scarecrow back on his perch, draped the lab coat over his straw shoulders.

[rubykgrant]

Grimmons babies... but they got BIGGER~

(up-dated version!)

They’re about 14 here (imagine they’re taking a picture for the first day of high school for Grandpa Sarge). Some info about them below-

Since I’ve already got Tex and Church having their own synthetic human bodies that were created with the DNA samples of Allison and the Director, it isn’t too much of stretch to figure out other potential uses for this; trying to create a “perfect” clone that is identical to the person the sample is taken from is kinda impossible (they start to break down when the reach the age of the person when the sample was originally taken). One option is to let all the information within the DNA sample sort of randomize itself. OR, introduce another DNA sample to combine. Trans Simmons is basically a fact, but I feel like when he was younger, he nver thought ahead about starting a family one day (thus, no egg cells saved). Tucker could perhaps introduce them to some space aliens, but neither Simmons nor Grif are enthusiastic about going through the whole birth process. Adoption was also a thought, but because Simmons helped with the situation regarding Church’s body, he has some insight to how this works, he decided to bring up this option to Grif. So, they decided to try it for themselves. Grif’s DNA combined with Simmons... and two sets of twins were the result! Definitely more babies than they thought they’d get, but they were more than happy to take care of them all, and love their children very much~

Because they’re both nerds, Grif and Simmons were going to pick names inspired by various sci-fi authors and fictional characters... eventually, they settled on using the letter D, since it matches with thir firts names being Dick and Dexter (their friends and family suggested a few names, too). For official purposes, the surnames are Grif-Simmons, but the kids often shorten it to GS when they write it out. They call Simmons “Dad” and Grif “Pop”~

Delilah “Del” is gender-neutral (afab, but both parents were very understanding and accepting of all their kids), prefers they/them but doesn’t mind she/her. Del’s got all of the chill without being a total slacker; they’re more like the voice of reason, and the one who can get everybody else to calm down during a crisis. Not so much in a “take-charge” kind of way, but gives great advice. They play all kinds of video games (so do the other sibs, but each has something specific; Del is into EVERYTHING), and has a special gift with language/words (Del speaks 7 languages fluently, and knows how to translate/read even more). Del is also a horror movie junkie (even as a child, they somehow didn’t get freaked out by scary movies). Auntie Kai suggested the name Delilah (because she loved watching Gargyles with her brother and Simmons; the name just really stuck with her, for whatever reason)

Davis is Del’s twin bro, and he’s the kid who always has TOO MUCH ENERGY. Even before he could walk as a baby, he was jamming around and had to be watched constantly. He’s still runs on a natural sugar-high, but thankfully his parents knew how to help him out (a good combo of meds that help him focus, plus he’s learned plenty of activities that let him put his energy to good use). All the sibs are talkative, but Davis is the most chatty. He’s also the clingiest kid. He likes working on puzzles, as well as taking things apart/putting them back together, so he’s got a big collection of various machines he can work on. He also really likes music; listening to it helps him concentrate, and he usually sings lots of little songs. Grif picked the name out... and yes, he chose it because of Digimon

Darien “Dare” is agender (amab, but again; good parents), and also mostly uses they/them but is OK with he/him. Dare was the safety-kid when it came to his sibs, and always seemed to worry about the others if they weren’t all together. As they got older, Dare settled down just a bit... and ironically, was totally OK with taking risks (if everybody wants to go swimming, Dare will jump in the water first... out of a tree, or off a cliff). Basically, the one who nags the others to wear a helmet when they ride a bike, but when a crazy stunt is siggested, they’ll say “Sure, I’ll do it!”. With Grif as a parent, all the kids were no strangers to treats, but Dare has a fondness for food (they have specific flavors and textures they like. for example, Dare will pour some steak sauce into a small dessert bowl, and eat it with a spoon like soup). Uncle Donut loves all these kids, but Lou shares his interest in fashion. Locus didn’t know Grif and Simmons were paying attention, but he mentioned liking the name Darien... they liked it too, so they used it for a baby (Locus is embarrassed to admit his first crush as a kid was on Tuxedo Mask from Sailor Moon, and that’s why he likes the name haha)

Daisy is Lou’s twin sister, and she was always the biggest baby. As the sibs grew, she continued to be the tallest. She was motivated to be the one who could keep on being able to pick up the other kids no matter how old they were, so she became the most athletic kid too (nobody is sure how Simmons made a jock or how Grif made a kid with energy overflow, bit it happened). Most people don’t realize she and Dare are literally twins, and she gets a kick out of it when people assume she’s the oldest (she’s not; the other set are actually older by 1 hour, Del being oldest, born 4 minutes sooner than Davis). Although Daisy enjoys playing various sports, she’s just not super competitive (and it ticks off the other kids who are obsessed with winning). The only time she gets really serious is if somebody is actually in trouble. She’s the most out-doors-y kid of her sibs, often hiking and swimming, and her other hobbies include a rock collection (she can tell you their scientific properties, and also magical symbolism). I have an OC in my RVB story-line, who gets adopted into Red Team. Her name is Poppy, and she actually bonds with Simmons a lot, so he wanted one child to have a flower name, like hers~