#the prisoner: shattered visage

[cantsayidont]

December 1988. Power returns to the Village, in the authorized comics sequel to THE PRISONER (collected as THE PRISONER: SHATTERED VISAGE), by Mark Askwith and Dean Motter. A female British intelligence officer, recently resigned, leaves on a solo round-the-world sailing trip, only to find herself in the now seemingly abandoned Village, caught in a final deadly game of cat and mouse between the mysterious Number Six and the man once known as Number Two.

Meanwhile, the nameless heroine's estranged husband, MI5 officer Thomas Drake, confronts a mysterious conspiracy within his agency, which may be connected to the former Number Two and his recently published, heavily censored tell-all memoir, The Village Idiot.

An intriguing if necessarily oblique story, SHATTERED VISAGE loses the element of social coercion that's such an important component of THE PRISONER TV show in favor of modern John le Carré wilderness-of-mirrors espionage drama. However, it manages the difficult feat of moving the game on without undoing (or really explaining) what's gone before, and the ways it deploys familiar imagery and themes of the show are pleasingly clever. In particular, it captures the mordant wit and sharp-edged wordplay that characterize the show's best episodes. THE PRISONER creator Patrick McGoohan, notoriously curmudgeonly, reportedly said he "didn't hate it."

[doumadono]

Silent Waves, Silent Wounds - Touya Todoroki x Reader

A/N: today's episode broke my heart and made me cry uncontrollably. With a nice prompt set for this week's challenge in a community I'm part of, I decided to combine the two. I just hope my Touya will survive. Gif was made by @gamergirl-niffler

MY HERO ACADEMIA

Touya's first breaths of freedom were laced with the sterile scent of antiseptics and the distant echoes of calamity.

Beneath the flickering streetlights of Musutafu, shadows twirled across the damp pavement, casting the world in veils of half-truths and murmured secrets.

It was upon a night cloaked in despair that Touya Todoroki, shrouded in the remnants of his shattered past, escaped the suffocating confines of what should have been a sanctuary. The hospital, ostensibly a bastion of healing and hope, had morphed into nothing but a prison, all under the malevolent gaze of All For One.

In a moment fueled by raw desperation and a primal urge for freedom, Touya, with hands trembling and heart pounding against the cage of his ribcage, ignited the very foundations that had ensnared him. Flames, hungry and unrestrained, licked upwards, clawing at the structure with a ferocity. Fire roared through the hallways, a fierce, unforgiving inferno that consumed everything in its path — medical charts, synthetic bed linens, the false promises of recovery.

As the inferno raged behind him, Touya stumbled into the cold embrace of the night.

The city loomed large and indifferent, its countless lights flickering like distant stars, unreachable and cold. Each step was a battle, his body a map of wounds both fresh and long endured, scars that told tales he could barely remember, tales of a mere boy who once dreamed of heroism but found himself ensnared in a nightmare of his father's making.

He moved through the shadows, a spectral figure haunted by the echoes of his past and the uncertain horrors of his future. Tonight, the world was both his enemy and his ally, hiding him from those who would seek to drag him back to that hellish place, yet offering no comfort from the relentless grip of his solitude and sorrow. His face, marred with scars that told stories of a tragic past and unresolved pain, was not one that people usually turned to for comfort.

As he navigated through the dimly lit streets, his eyes were cautious and wary of the stares that followed him like specters.

It was then he saw you - a girl sitting alone on the curb, your sobs cutting through the muffled sounds of the city like a siren’s call. You were young, perhaps no older than he, with tears streaking your cheeks and your shoulders trembling under the weight of your unseen burdens.

Despite his fears and the fresh pain of his own memories, something within him stirred - a remnant of the hero he once aspired to be. Hesitant, he approached you, his voice barely above a whisper after he cleared his throat, trying to sound normal, even though he knew it was no longer possible. “Hey, are you okay?”

You jerked your head up, your eyes wide with a mixture of fear and surprise as they landed on his disfigured features.

For a heartbeat, Touya thought you would scream, run away, or recoil in horror.

But then, something remarkable happened - your expression softened, and your initial fright melted into a sad, understanding smile. “Not really,” you confessed, wiping your tears away with the back of your shaking hand. “My dad… he drinks too much. And my mom, she doesn’t really care. She threw me out tonight. Said she’d had enough of me being useless.”

The words struck a chord in Touya. Abandonment, pain, a longing for something better - themes that resonated deeply within his own life. Sitting heavily beside you on the cold curb, he offered you a timid smile, one that seemed almost out of place on his scarred visage. "I’m sorry,” he said, his voice a mixture of warmth and a chilling detachment born from years of conditioning under his father’s harsh regime. “I… I know what it’s like to feel like you have no one.”

You studied him, your reddened eyes lingering on his scars with a curiosity born from your own pain rather than judgement. “What happened to you?” you asked gently, perhaps too gently for the horror that his story contained.

Touya looked away, his eyes tracing the patterns of light and shadow on the ground. “I don’t remember everything,” he confessed. “But I know I was trying to prove something to my dad. It didn’t end well, as you can see.”

You sat in silence, the world around you bustling with life, yet oblivious to the shared moment of grief between two strangers.

People passed by, their glances sharp and sometimes filled with a disdain that neither of you were unfamiliar with.

Sensing Touya’s discomfort, you made a decision. “Let’s go somewhere else,” you suggested, a spark of resolve lighting up your tear-stained face. “Somewhere away from prying eyes. I know a nice place, if you'd like to join me.”

Touya nodded casually, “I think I’d like that. I have nowhere to be anyway.”

Without another word, you stood, holding out you hand to help him up. Your touch was warm, a stark contrast to the coldness he had come to expect from the world.

Together, you walked through the deserted streets, your steps in sync, until the city sounds faded into the background, replaced by the soothing rhythm of waves crashing against the shore.

Beneath the expansive canopy of the night sky, the beach lay deserted, bathed in the ethereal, silvery glow of the moon. The ocean before them transformed into a shimmering tapestry, each wave weaving threads of light across the dark canvas of water. It was here, with the cool sand cradling your steps and the vast, relentless sea stretching into infinity, that you discovered a fleeting sanctuary — a momentary escape from the ravages of your tormented existences.

As you settled onto the sand, the ocean's eternal murmurs surrounding you, Touya found himself unexpectedly comforted by the raw, natural beauty of the scene. Yet, he was taken aback when you revealed that it was not just chance that brought you to this tranquil haven in the dead of night.

“I come here often, especially after fights at home,” you confessed softly, your eyes reflecting the moonlight like fragments of a broken mirror. “The sound of the waves… it calms the storm inside me. Maybe it can do the same for you.”

Touya hesitated before his voice broke the silence. "I'm like these waves," he murmured, his voice tinged with a haunting sadness. "Crashing again and again, with no control, no end. I don't even remember why I started… what I was trying to prove." His gaze was lost to the horizon, where the dark sea met the darker sky, his face a mask of sorrow sculpted by the silvery light.

"It's hard, isn't it?" you said softly, pulling your knees closer to your chest, feeling the chill of the night seeping through your clothes. "Feeling like you're caught in a storm with no shelter in sight. I sit here, night after night, wondering if the screaming will ever stop, if there will ever be a night without tears, without all this emptiness."

"Does it help? Coming here, hearing the waves?" Touya asked.

"It doesn't stop the pain," you admitted, "but sometimes, it makes it bearable. The sea doesn't judge, doesn't demand. It just is. And for a little while, I can just be too, without worrying about the next wave that might knock me down."

"I wish I could remember what peace feels like," he confessed, his words blending with the whisper of the wind.

You reached out, your hand brushing against his, a small gesture of comfort in the overwhelming vastness of your shared solitude.

"Maybe we can't go back to who we were," you suggested, your voice a tentative whisper against the symphony of the sea. "But perhaps we can find new reasons to look forward to the sunrise."

Touya's hand trembled slightly under yours, but he didn't pull away. Instead, he gripped your hand, his hold tentative but needing the connection. "I'd like that," he said, a flicker of a smile ghosting across his lips, as fragile and fleeting as a wave’s crest as a single tear rolled down his cheek. "To look forward to something, to hope for something better."

[pieroulette]

broken lipstick. yjw

2024 | 16+ | ONESHOT 1.8K. | G-yandere; W-obsession, possessive, unhinged jungwon lol, forced kissing with lipstick yes.

DIRECTOR's CUT, found an old note of ideas in my phone from 2022 about jungwon × lipsticks, and thought that it would be a pity to not write about it so here it is. this is kind of like an experimental storytelling, just finding my way with the rhythm and pacing of the words, sentences, and grammar. so if it kinda sounds weird, apologies in advance lol !

finding yourself trapped in this world he created for you drives you terribly insane.

down, and down you go.

every words he spills—he claims that he had spent hours and days of effort for this room, curating it just how you would like it; makeup palettes and brushes, lipsticks, magazines, jewelries, pretty and dainty sundresses, coquettish bows and laces perfectly matching your taste.

everything single thing before you—was all you've ever dreamt for, wished for, manifested for. bare skin planted firmly on this king-sized bed you've listed as one of your life wishes, wrists and necks adorned with saccharine gemstones—ones you've often seen on magazines.

every single damn thing was here.

he claims that he did it because he wishes nothing but to see the finest shade of happiness be illustrated on your visage; for bliss and satisfaction weaved under the strings of fairy tales, you shall wish nothing more but to remain abode.

yes, it is an exact replica of your dream room yet a lot more bigger, lavish, but certainly not home. a doll house would be a much better, fitting term. or perhaps, a prison—masquerade as the definition of your perfect little utopia.

his eyebrows knitted at the way you worded it, saying that such comparison is absurd, and certainly is not the truth. for all that was before you, is all yours to take—and so is he.

all yours to take, he says.

but if it was yours, then why can't you wear all it outside? has he ever thought that all these things is fucking useless if you can't even bring it with you out of this sickening room? what's all these even for, you asks. he replies with that same sickening smile, "why, silly, of course it's for you."

you repeated it with spite, "no, this is not for me. you're doing this for you."

"if you say so," he brought his finger against your cheek, stroking it ever so sickeningly, causing you to lean away. "you're my priority here, your wants and needs are at the best interest of my heart. nothing more, nothing less."

it didn't miss your eyes how his composed visage falters ever so slightly, so subtle—it almost slips away from your fingers but you saw it and you didn't care.

his soul, you despises—every word etched of his existence, you loathed. death shall greet him, and you'd never spare a glance.

why would you? when just a month ago, a world filled with the brightest prospects was all waiting for you, but his grim arrival dims every glowing lantern ahead of your path, ultimately sealing the door to your future tight and begone.

akin to a rat in a trap under a cat's claws; your sanity wilting with each passing day. how many days or months has it been? you lose track of time. where is your phone, even? oh why, he asks? books and magazines was what you'd prefer over some petty little devices, so why would you need them now?

rage, despair, helplessness; you released all these pent-up frustration with each object you slammed against the floor, scattered about in a hazard mess. broken, shattered in pieces like you do. he should see it, feel it, of how his own hard work are gone into the drain, like what he had put you into.

footsteps approaching from the distance.

the door flew open, just like how he often appears, ruining every single opportunity you had back then. he appears too composed, inexplicably unfazed at the ravage scene before his eyes. his own efforts obliterated into nothing, every single thing he spent time on perfecting was wasted, in downright shambles.

you drop on your knees, suppressing your sobs as he approaches with small steps.

it was all too silent, with only your shaky gasps blending with the solemn air. with your head down, eyes locked against the wooden floor, and on your clenched fists shaking with grueling anticipation, you glance nervously at how he stands so still—staring down at you like you were an object.

you wish he just would kill you right now.

in your peripherals, however, you caught the sight of his fingers grabbing the tossed lipstick, now broken in half—it's smoothened tip now uneven. you waited for him to say something, perhaps throw profanities at you for ruining this dollhouse he had spent hours and days at.

grow mad at me, hate me, and then throw me away. in your head, you chanted these words—prayers it ultimately morphs into.

however a gasp spills out of your lips, your breath caught at the back of your throat upon seeing him applying the lipstick on his lips, still and all—while humming a melodic tune as he does so.

"is this how you do it?"

you didn't answer, only imbued with aghast at the deep shade of crimson hugging his lips. as peculiar as it may seem, you can't deny that this visage of his perfectly adorns it.

he steps closer, alarming you—manifesting straight to your eyes widening in sheer panic.

with strong arms, jungwon catches your legs before you could push him away, pulling you closer where he forces you to face him, gripping your jaw so tight and suffocatingly so into his well of eyes; with it's depths you could never fathom till your last breath.

yet he begs you to drown in them, to answer all the questions written all over within—what's so fucking wrong to just stay obedient, and be his oh so sweet darling? why can't you see his love and dedication for you? of how he's ready to give up everything for you?

maybe a slap to your pretty face would tighten the screw in your head a little, or perhaps a yell pulled out from his throat would do the trick, but oh darling—profanities don't suit you, nor does it do you justice to be treated so harshly.

fragile you are, and such a fragile one should be nested, sheltered away from this merciless world. you do not need to lift a finger, or tire your pretty little head over useless things but..

but why is it that you refuse to understand him?

evident it was, through the way you dug your nails on his hands, imbuing your ever growing hatred to him. not a single word spoken, nor spitting at each other but through your eyes—your rampant wishes of spitting him death grows enormous.

die, die, just die.

you held your breath, as a stroke of his finger on your temple—slides down your cheek. a grimace takes form on your feature as he leans in, propelling your body to fight harder against his—though, he remains stronger and faster—pouncing on you like a prey, diving in with his venom-laced fangs into your lips, forcefully so.

his carnal desires takes form across your visage; smudged, blotted, and smeared. a shade so intensified through his vows to make you understand his perception of love.

they say that love is patient, love is kind, love is forgiving.

no, that's bullshit. it's fucking slippery, a mess, metallic taste leaking out from your lip—spilling into his tongue, only for him to hum in frenzied delight. a taste so sweet, so divine, like caramel melting in his cavern.

tilting his head sideways—his tongue went further into yours, twisting and knotting like wet fabric—pooling an amalgamation of saliva, blood, and lipstick down the corner of your mouth. sticky palms on the back of your neck, spiralling you down and down into these candied greed.

heat, searing, throbbing immensely—this pain, do you understand it now? that's how his heart mourns towards your ungratefeful, petty actions. have you perhaps realise it? maybe not yet, as you still had this little fight in you, a funny sight to behold.

your head spins, flashing in mismatched colors, jaw throbbing by his gracious mouth of flames—infiltrating every corner.

soaking everything in you with his relentless rhythm—a pace you could never match as it accelerates beyond what you can take with each second. his lips, like a paint brush—and you, like a paper being crumpled into every way possible. moulding your speech into incoherent sentences, strings of pathetic cries for help drowned out into the void, your prayers to god himself had been engulfed by a devil's kiss.

what's a god, even? they say humans are made in the image of god, but he dare say that not even god are comparable to you, nor those who reign above the heavens—angels, sirens, succubus or whatever the hell are there—your feet they shall kiss.

a canvas you are—pure, and untainted. a masterpiece in the making, not even the greatest artist known to mankind could do justice to your beauty.

you're his haven, his abode. yet also a temptation, a sin, his inferno. every edge of your portrait tweaked perfectly into his own ideals and fantasies, yet also a curse, the poisonous bane of his life, so toxic—it contaminates his soul.

decaying, decomposing—perhaps he was the serpent, and you're the tenant of the garden. insatiable, the apple of eden couldn't be as mouthwatering as your visage.

so why, can't you understand his love?

if you couldn't see it before, then he'll make sure you'll see it now.

dragging you across the floor, jungwon forces you to meet your reflection in the shattered mirror. on your knees, you met this drowned out visage of yours, all visible for you to observe; disheveled hair, your cheeks bathed in intense shades of red, all the same to your neck and shoulders, lips swollen with a visible cut, drenched in all his unspoken words. a mess, you are.

his pretty little mess.

yet what a masterpiece you are, still. he coos with lips pursing up in a sweetened grin, as if he had sucked out all remaining little bits inside your little jar of hope. do you see it now? how every part of you belongs to him, all for his lips to take and taste.

"you look even prettier, all broken like this." jungwon isn't very much different, but while you look like a corpse bludgeoned into mayhem. the image he bears was of a bloodthirsty demon, an animalistic abstraction.

through the mirror, you could see him shuffling around—looking for something amongst the mess, only for the same lipstick he used as an instrument for this macabre play—returning to his palms.

with him back to your side, he delivered a stroke down your hair, tucking your locks behind your ear. a chin he places on your shoulder, one hand under your tummy and the other looped around your shoulder to reach for your lips.

the same broken lipstick, made its way on your lower lip. a shade so deep, so heavy, amplified by his twisted affection. all dolled up for only his eyes to see. your luscious hair—inviting him closer and closer, savoring the way it hugs his fingers. too delicate, the broken mirror could only shy away from you.

"mirror, mirror on the wall," the lipstick tossed on the floor, replaced by his thumb lapping your lip. "who's the fairest of them all?"

© 2022-2024, pieroulette on [tumblr].

[dollwrites]

𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢’𝐥𝐥 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞 — 𝐤𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐚𝐤𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐢

𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 ∣ fem!bride!reader, feeding, suggested kidnapping, suggested murder, all characters featured are 18+

𝗶𝗺𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗮𝗻𝘁 ∣ do not repost or translate. please reblog && leave feedback. not proofread so there’s probably mistakes. thanks for reading <3

𝗻𝗼𝘄 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘆𝗶𝗻𝗴 ∣ fragile by gnash

at night, the mansion could be so quiet that it was frightening.

on the nights that the boys slept in their own rooms- however rare it may be- you would lie awake in your bed, alone, and listen to the beating of your own heart until the rhythm drove you mad. tonight was one of those nights. you couldn’t sleep, you just lay there, staring at the darkened ceiling, as muted moonlight splashes a grayish glow on the floor and the foot of your bed.

midsummer, and the night was warm. so warm that you lay on top of the blankets, your bare legs glistening with specks of perspiration like diamonds sparkling against your flesh. on a night like this, you almost wished one of the Sakamaki brothers would’ve demanded to sleep in your bed with you. it was their coldness; you’d become so accustomed to how chilled their skin was, how they seemed frozen, even on the hottest nights (like this one), and as strange as it may seem, you wanted to feel their icy grip now. bite back at the stifling heat that embraces you, have one hug you so tightly it feels as though you’re locked in an ice box. no such luck, however.

with a soft sigh, you pull into a sitting position, legs dangling. the bed they’d given you, much like everything else in the mansion, was grand and gaudy. the kind of bed that one could get lost in. throw yourself on to the pillowy mattress and feel the real world disintegrate around you- it was so comfortable you rarely wanted to leave it. tonight, however, you were sweating. you couldn’t sleep for the heat, and you thought that you could, perhaps, creep downstairs and grab a glass of ice water to cool you off.

each step you take is as soft as a cat’s, as quiet as a church mouse, and yet the muffled sound of your bare toes kissing the floor still echoes in the corridor. with only moonlight splattered over the floor as your guide, you tiptoe to the flight of stairs. for a moment, with the bedrooms at your back, you halt. are you nervous? no, curious. glancing over your shoulder, you cast a glance towards the doors, all closed, leading back to yours. were they all sleeping?

it was unusual, being the only one awake (or so you thought), and it was somewhat comforting to realize that your knee-jerk reaction to the idea of being completely unsupervised was this: if there were any time that you could’ve escaped the Sakamakis, it would’ve been right now. relief flowed through your veins like the blood they take from you, just to know that you were still human enough to consider leaving them. that you were still sane enough to remember that they were monsters, and you their prisoner.

of course, you would never do it.

though that portion of your mind, your sanity, remained intact, there was a larger fraction that loved them. each one. every sadistic vampire that lived in this place. had they broken you, shattered your psyche like an old vase and glued the pieces back together, mangled and gnarly to make you feel this way? it was possible, or perhaps it was just the natural reaction. you couldn’t imagine living this long with them and not garnering feelings for them. their affection, however forced upon you and unwanted at first, you’d learned to accept and expect. not to say they weren’t still cruel, but once you’d stopped acting like a hostage, they’d stopped treating you like one. at some point along the way, you’d become one of them. a resident in the mansion, the visage of a bride to each of them.

as their wife, you knew you could never leave them.

you push the thought of running away to the back of your mind. however nice it felt to know that you could still think about escape, you wouldn’t dwell on it. reaching the bottom of the stairs only moments later, your fingertips skating along the banister, you glance around the foyer for a moment. the lower floor was much more open, with many more windows, and the moonlight was silver and bright against them. you find your digits gently touching the walls -and the photos found there- as you turn to make your way to the kitchen. since it wasn’t very often that you explored the mansion alone, you took the time to look at each one, study them.

many of them were portraits, paintings, of what you could only imagine to be their mothers, and them as children. the frames were covered in a thick layer of dust that you felt with your fingertips. you’d have to remember to dust them tomorrow, you thought. a few more steps, and you stop, glancing to an archway to your left.

there’s a warm glow spilling into the hallway that doesn’t belong to the moon, but the fireplace found within. so someone was awake, after all. nibbling on your lower tier, you take a couple of steps, reaching out to hold the edge of the archway, you poke your head across the threshold to peek inside.

“Kanato?” one third of the Sakamaki triplets is standing in front of the fireplace, his back to you, simply staring at the flames. he doesn’t speak to you at first, and you consider leaving him alone. Kanato was a finicky boy, easily frustrated and seemed to enjoy his quiet time. oddly enough, the time you did spend with him, was mostly silent. he preferred to feed from you in peace, and then might sleep in your bed or give you brief kisses, but he seeks your company when he wants it at all. so, there was a good chance that you might be ignored if you were to remain in the room, or perhaps even anger him to a point of incurring his wrath. still, there’s a part of you that doesn’t want to leave him alone in the middle of the night. “You aren’t sleeping?”

“No.” you were grateful he replies at all, even if he hasn’t turned to look at you just yet.

frowning ever so slightly, you step into the room and look around. he truly was alone, glaring into the fire. slowly, you approach a nearby sofa, and place both hands on the back of it. you’re only steps away from Kanato, but it feels like miles. you never know what he’s thinking, and that tends to make you nervous.

“Say, bunny,” he murmurs his favorite nickname for you in the softest of voices. “Do you think you would enjoy being burned alive?”

being asked such a question would’ve terrified you months ago, and though a knot still formed in your stomach, you were no longer so easily frightened by his curiosities. “Hm…” you hum, pondering the question. “I don’t like the heat.”

“You mustn’t, with how easily you sweat.” his voice is steady and quiet. “I can smell it from here. I could smell it from down the hallway. Are you really so warm?”

a smile threatens to curve your lips, and you nod even though he isn’t looking in your direction. “It’s warm tonight. Is that why you can’t sleep, either?”

finally, Kanato turns to face you, his brows knit together as if he were puzzled. he shakes his head, unruly amethyst tendrils like jewels strung together. grasping his teddy with both arms around the bear’s neck, he holds it close.

your lips purse, but you careen around the sofa to slide on to the plush cushion of it, looking up at the vampire before you. “No? Well, aren’t you tired?” you take a moment to gesture to the bear. “Isn't Teddy tired, too?”

you notice his grip tighten around the stuffed animal. “Please don’t assume things about Teddy.” Kanato warns, rather bluntly. your heartbeat hitches for a split second. “You don’t know him.”

“You’re right,” you whisper. you’d learned the hard way that Kanato doesn’t like apologies. tilting your head, your eyelashes fan the apples of your cheeks with a couple of bats, and you croon. “Well then, can you please ask Teddy if he’s sleepy, too?”

he looks uncertain, but leans close to the toy’s ear. “Aren’t we sleepy, Teddy?” you wait a few moments, and he looks to you again, violet eyes shadowed by thick, dark rings. “We’re sleepy.” he confirms, moving closer to the sofa. though you’d intended to sit with him anyways, you still felt a little uneasy as he approaches.

“Would you and Teddy like to lay with me here?” you offer, looking up as he stands before you. he looks down at you, then his gaze travels the length of the sofa, and he squeezes Teddy before nodding, silently climbing on to the sofa. you were going to press your knees together and press yourself as close to the back of the sofa as you could to allow him enough room to be comfortable, but just as you are about to adjust, he nudges your knees apart.

only a fraction of a second passes with your legs spread and your eyes wide before he nestles into the gap provided, pressing his torso to your abdomen, and resting the side of his face on your chest. the coolness of his skin against your feverish form is refreshing, like drinking ice cold lemonade in the heat of the day. you exhale, melting into the sensation and welcoming his cuddling by coiling your arms around him, fingers delving into lilac locks that are silken and smell fresh when you press your face to the crown of his head. puckering your couplet, you place a soft kiss to his scalp.

“Comfy?” you purr, but it’s unnecessary to even ask. Kanato is hugging you tightly with one arm, the other holding Teddy against you, and he nuzzles your breast with his cheek, before peeking up at you. from this angle, the half of his face pressed to you is smushed and distorted, that eye closed, giving him the appearance of winking, while his lips are curved into a boyish grin, revealing pearly fangs. it’s enough to make your heart beat faster, which he of course notices.

“Mm,” he coos in response, “From here, I can feel your heart pounding fast and smell your sugary blood pumping right to your heart.” his tongue droops between his grinning tiers to lazily run over your skin, gathering the droplets of perspiration upon it. “I can taste sweetness even in your sweat, you taste just like icing, it’s making me thirsty…”

“Kanato-“

“Just a little sip?” tilting his head, you can feel the graze of the tips of his fangs against your chest, circling just above your heart. “Just a little sip and I’ll go right to sleep.”

the way he whines for you to feed him, it’s enough for any reluctance you might’ve had to fade away, and you nod. “O-okay…”

the moment his fangs puncture your flesh, your back arches from beneath him, breath catching in your throat. it’s a sting, like being stung by bees, but it’s the sensation of the blood pulling up to the surface that makes you woozy. fingers gripping his hair as gentle as you can, you breathe in and out, deeply. your blood is warm and pooling in his mouth, Kanato lapping it up as quick as he can.

your eyelids flutter, and you feel hotter than before. “Ka-na-to-“

with a noisy slurp, the vampire pulls away, tongue swiveling to mop up what was left of the blood on your chest. his eyes are much brighter now, and he smiles wide, teeth and tiers stained cherry red. “My bunny,” he whispers. your muscles are starting to relax and you sink back into the cushion of the sofa, looking up at him with your cheeks warm.

his lithe fingers comb through your hair before tracing the shape of your cheekbone and down to your jaw. holding your chin in place with thumb and forefinger, he leans forward and presses his bloody mouth to yours. to you, you taste like copper and salt, regardless of however many times they’ve said that you were sugary sweet. still, his kiss is soft and loving, and you welcome the aftercare. he pulls away after a moment to nuzzle against your breast again, this time his eyes close as if he’s readying to sleep.

“I hope we can keep you alive much longer than the others,” he whispers. “I like you the most.”

blinking several times, you look at the fireplace, reminiscent of the first time you’d found out that you were nothing more than a sacrifice for them. you were sure you were going to die months ago, and yet? somehow and for some reason, you were still alive. alive and relatively healthy. did they all like you enough to let you live with them? his words echo in your mind a few more times, even though Kanato seems to have dozed off already, snuggling you tight.

I hope we can keep you alive much longer than the others.

[kalevalakryze]

Shatter Meet Point

@jedijune Week 1; Prompt 1 Fun/Joy

Relationships: Mace Windu & Original Female Character, Mace Windu & Original Clone Trooper Characters

Characters: Mace Windu, Chessaf're'krudo (Original Female Character), CT-00-2010; Droidbait, Original Clone Trooper Characters, Anakin Skywalker (Mentioned)

Tags: No Major Warnings, Droidbait Lives,

Word Count: 717

AO3 Link: Here!

"Master Windu!" Chess called out, violet hair impossibly to miss in the seas of white-helmeted clones. Even with all the activity around her, the young knight's voice seemed to echo through the hangar as she deftly wove between the different platoons of marching troopers.

A gap between Mace's own 187th and Skywalker's 501st opened up, allowing the Keshiri to dart between them before being trampled, sidling up to her old Master's side with a bantha-shit eating grin on her face.

"Knight Krudo." He greeted civilly, carefully eying the fresh purple and red paint streaked across the battle-worn plastoid, barely hidden by equally worn robes. His brow rose inquisitively as he focused back ahead. Large gatherings of the troopers outside of Coruscant or Kamino were rare where so many different battalions were concerned. "Have you decided which of your troopers you'll be sending to our combined vanguard?"

He didn't need eyes to know that her grin was widening to a concerning stretch, able to catch the way the dark scar across her face wrinkled as her face contorted into something worrying. "Of course, Master. My men are ready... Would you like to meet them?"

Mace hesitated- Chess only knew some of the story, and could barely seem to grasp his... distance, from the troopers who'd fought and died at his command. She'd only been conscious for part of the first disaster on Geonosis. There was a reason his battalion never removed their helmets in his presence, and it all came back to that face. And unfortunately for him, his young knight could never seem to let. it. go.

A gloved hand reached to encircle his wrist. Mace barely uttered a grunt of protest before she was pulling him away towards the fleet of crudely painted LAATs.

"Generals on deck!" A voice shouted, commanding the attention of his brothers. The 141st snapped to attention, no helmet that faced them was alike, all with varying shades of reds and purples, capturing the visage of the Jedi they served.

"At ease," Chess called, waving the hand not keeping Mace prisoner as she continued to drag her Master through the ranks of her battalion, weaving once more as they resumed what had been interrupted. Despite their ease, not a helmet was removed. Mace couldn't help the swell of warmth in his chest, knowing the knight had asked them to refrain while he was among them.

"Master Windu, these are the troopers I've selected for your vanguard." There was something dangerous in her tone- not in the danger that came with the dark side, no. Something variably worse. The danger in a youngling's voice before a Master would find themselves sitting on a cushion full of goop.

"My finest ARCs-" The two specialists stood in a modified form of parade rest, hands clasped behind their backs, chins held high with the hangar lights glinting off their visors. The trooper on the left had paint crossed throughout his armor, giving the visage of a shattering transparisteel viewport . The soldier to the right was decorated in minutely detailed star maps and arrows, etched with the same care one would take if they were bleeding the ink into skin, not plastoid. "This is Shatter, and Point."

Mace blinked... then again. Chess poorly stifled the laughter that threatened to roar through her throat. Somewhere behind Mace, Skywalker's steps paused, openly guffawing at the interaction.

"Knight Krudo." Mace monotoned, staring at the troopers before him. "I find your so-called humor... lacking." He spun on his heel, causing Skywalker to run for the hills, hiding in the throngs of his own battalion. "Droidbait!" He called, zeroing in on one of the blue-painted troopers. "Welcome to the vanguard."

Chess paused, her grin slowly twisting into a scowl. Anakin's head poked through his platoon. "Uh... Master Windu? I was just going to give you Echo and Fives..."

"No need, Skywalker. Droidbait... and Cutup will do just fine with General Krudo's troops for this operation."

"Master?" His padawan's weight pressed into his side.

Watching her from his peripherals, brow raising as mirth threatened to pull at his face. "Master, you are not dodging the funny Mace Windu accusations after this one. Not for as long as I'm alive." The Keshiri's laughter rang through the hangar- Now, it was Mace's turn to scowl.

[justafairytailofinnocence]

Caged birds with broken wings

Chapter 2

A/n: I've made chapter 2, enjoy :).

Chapter 1

Chapter 3

I was having the same dream again; I was light in thin air. My movements were fluid as if there were no gravity to keep my legs grounded. My right leg stayed in place whilst my left leg was raised, turning inward toward my supporting leg. I spun over and over without the slightest feeling of light-headedness or dizziness. No matter where I moved, the gold plate within the birdcage did not shatter. My arms raised in mid-position as I extended my left leg, hoping to free myself from this prison eventually. My chest felt light; my mind had no fear, even within this cage. I felt the quick flashes of wind touch my face with every motion. I wanted to spread my wings. I wanted to be free. I wanted to be released from my cage. I wanted to reach the world outside. I. wanted. to. Fly. The same spinning visage of the golden bars occurred repeatedly, experiencing the same routine. The golden plate never shattered beneath me, holding my weight. A sense of comfort washed over me, as though seeing the same scenery brought ease to my mind. As I spun, I felt a surge of adrenaline to try something different, to spin in the other direction, to break the dance routine. I tried to push my arms down and lower my left leg. To no avail did my body react; I still spun. The second time, I pushed my arms down slightly harder, yet again to no avail did my body react. The third time, I pushed even harder, the pressure becoming uncomfortable; despite myself spinning, I pushed more not giving up. I pushed—spinning more—I pushed—spinning further—I pushed harder—I can feel the pain rising—I. just. need. to. push. harder. I could feel my face flinching from the pain rising in my limbs going against the force keeping me dancing. Eventually, with one final push, I yelled out, falling to my front as my arms moved to prevent my face from hitting the ground. I breathed heavily, in and out, as my body lay on the ground. Hair strands poked out from the once neatened bun as sweat slid down my face. The final scene panned out to witness me lying there, still, static, trapped within the golden bird cage.

My eyes opened as my vision tried to adjust to make sense of my reality. Once again, it was a nightmare or inspiration. I placed my hands on my face, rubbing my eyes awake; it’s not the first time my sleep schedule has gone off. Once my eyes had adjusted, I noticed I was at my desk with my computer opened from this morning. As my hand ran along my head, I felt something attached to my forehead—paper. I ripped it off, holding it in front of me, realising it was a character sheet for the fae queen, Aelwynn. How late did I stay up last night? I must’ve been writing the first chapter; I recall updating something—huh? On the sheet containing Aelwynn, I noticed her hair was white. I didn’t recall colouring her, but I couldn’t exactly remember what happened last night. As I examined her hair, my finger ran down the traced lines. I quickly grabbed my pencil, drawing extra features of her appearance and outfit. As the pencil traced the outline, it turned into a white gown flowing in motion with the wind as she held a staff made of the oldest oak and decorated in diamonds and quarts. To top it off, I added a crown placed at the back, with pointed edges facing up made from silvery steel. As my hand holding the pencil came off the page, I stopped to glance at her new design. My eyes lit up with amazement as my lips became agape; I was in utter awe of my new creation. Yes! This! This is Aelwynn, the way I wanted to interpret her, an otherworldly beauty that’s kind and graceful, how a true fae queen should look!

However, my eyes glance over to another piece of paper to the side, one depicting a rough sketch of Sarek, my expression nearly dropped. I had figured out Aelwynn, but I’ve yet to figure out how to design the Pirate King. I placed the rough sketch into the pile of papers and neatly folded them on my computer desk. Glancing at the computer, I saw the first few pages written within the document, and the pages went into detail regarding the first drafts. The first couple of chapters read of the pair's first encounter crossing paths: The fae queen danced around the forest alone on an island untouched by man, guarded by heavy forces of magic. She protected the will of fairies and the sources of time. One day, the shield guarding the forest broke. A band of corsairs slashed their way through the dense greenery in search of a plethora of magic jewels. Instead, what they stumbled upon was worth much more than any coffer full of gold or silver. Standing in front of Sarek’s gaze was a woman draped in white, her hair of silver and skin of ice. She danced with the younger fairies of the forest. In his greed, he was smitten; he ordered his men to take her and everything she had. She fell prey. Tears shed down her smooth cheek; she pleaded ‘to take her instead, leave her domain in peace, and they shall be granted with what they desired most’. They complied with her request, binding her in rope, leading her into a world not of her own. She gazed into the eyes of a man whose greed was far more than his ambition; his appearance was—

I jolted from my seat upon hearing my phone’s ringtone; looking at the number, I recognised it was my mum. I picked up the phone, holding it to my ear. I was expecting a ‘Hello, aren’t you going to tell me about your day?’  or ‘You didn’t ring me yesterday; how did you go?’.

I picked up the phone with a “Hi—mo—uh mom”, I said with a slight stutter.

“Y/n, oh, it’s good to hear your voice; I was nearly worried you weren’t going to pick up yesterday,” she said in a high-engaging tone.

“Yeah, sorry I was bus—”.

“So? How was it?” She sounded excited, yet I forgot what happened.

“Was what?” I replied, confused.

“The ballet lessons, the one you attended yesterday.” Once I remembered, the thought sank in; I hadn’t told her these were private lessons.

“O-oh, the lessons, yeah, it’s excellent; I’ve made many connections already.” My lips curved into a smile, trying to make my voice sound sincere.

“Excellent! See what I told you? You're already shining brightly”. I smiled to myself; hearing her words made me feel heartened.

“So, tell me, what’s the instructor like? Is he supportive of you? I know you have trouble speaking to people, and I want to make sure—”

“He’s fine, Mom. He’s—” I pause for a moment, thinking back to the time I met him in that room alone. When our eyes met, I didn’t flinch nor look away. His eyes were like ice, and his hair was like snow; it ignited something I hadn’t remembered in a long time.

“Different.” That was all I could respond with.

“Is he cute?” She asked. I nearly flushed with embarrassment, feeling my cheeks red like a beet.

“What?! N-No! N-not in that way” Where did that come from? Did she really expect me to say yes?

“Oh, I suppose he might be too old for you; what about the guys in your class? Are they any good-looking?” she responded.

“I don’t know; I hadn’t noticed.” I wanted to end this conversation as quickly as possible.

“Oh, hm, well, what about the girls? Surely there are some good-looking girls there too”.

“W-What!” I was flabbergasted.

“I’d be accepting either way—”.

I replied, “Currently, I’m—fine with just me, myself and I”.

 That answer had seemed to satisfy her for now.

“Oh, well—of course, if that’s what you're happy with, I’m just happy you're getting out there and speaking to someone. That’s a massive achievement, and I’m so proud of you for that!” she sounded happy, at least.

I sighed deeply. “Thank you”.

“Baby steps, that’s all it takes”, was her final response before I hung up the phone. Sometimes, despite them being my parents, I stumble over my words, even speaking over the phone.

I sighed, gazing at the time. I had no idea that my first lesson was only for an hour. I wouldn’t mind being there early; it was better than falling asleep. What am I saying? I’d much rather sleep! I recall Mr. Oropherion saying he wished me to be there precisely during the seventh hour. Man, the way he phrased it was weird. I quickly rose from my desk, grabbed what I needed, grabbed my car keys, and changed into yesterday's outfit. I should probably stop by to find a leotard, a tutu, or even a pair of pointe shoes. Once I was prepared, I dashed to the car. Making my way through the door leading outside, the cold air hit me; the temperature must’ve dropped vastly since it was dark out. It was nearly seven, after all. To my stupidity, I forgot to park the car inside. Shit, shit, shit, the cars frosted. I panicked, quickly running back inside to grab my parker, zipping it up and then wrapping a scarf around me in the not-so-neatest way possible. I rushed into the kitchen and opened the lower drawer beneath my stove to grab the pan with a deep bottom. I turned on the water quickly, adjusting the temperature to lukewarm. I filled the pan, aiming to get it as full as possible. I tried to walk slowly yet hastily without spilling the water; once outside, I made my way to the car windows, pouring the water slowly. Each one dissolved; I was careful, at least, to make sure it wasn’t hot. I used the sleeve of my parker to rub away what remained of the frost. The frost hadn’t wholly dissolved, but it was enough to see. Quickly, I ran back inside to place the pan back on my kitchen bench. Shit, oh shit, oh shit, I’m going to be late! Coming out of my house, I made it to the car, yet I forgot to lock the front door—I pressed my hands against my forehead, feeling the stupidity rise within me. I sloshed through the snow, heading to the front door to lock it and then back to the car door.

I finally entered and opened the white car door, thank God. I backed out of the parking lot and drove toward where I needed to go. As I drove down, the snow fell heavily, and buildings passed by, turning to blurry visions as I drove further into the distance. It took half an hour to get there, but at least I would make it, I hope. I went to the same car park I had parked in yesterday and turned off the engine. As I got out, I saw many buildings covered in snow. I took a second to look into the sky, feeling the tiny snowflakes touch my face. “Beautiful”, I muttered. I held out my hand; I wanted to feel it; to touch the fragile beauty. As one dropped from the sky, it landed perfectly in my hand. I curled my fingers, feeling the flake melt within my grasp. Such beauty yet fragility. I opened my hand to see it dissolved; my eyes softened at the sight. I can understand; if I were to fall freely, speak my mind, and show my true self, even if someone touched me, I’d melt within their grasp.

Suddenly, I heard someone’s footsteps behind me emitted with a laugh. I turned my head to see the on-coming sight of two ballerinas draped in blue and pink leotards topped with jackets. I recognised them from the class I accidentally stumbled into yesterday. I quickly turned my head, shut the car door, and began to walk briskly. I didn’t want to speak with them, not after how I made a fool of myself. My head lowered into the scarf as I looked down, trying to avoid eye contact. Hopefully, they’ll ignore me. I got to the entrance just in time, or so I thought; I could hear them trailing behind. In a panic, I opened the entrance glass door to the dance studio, walking swiftly up the stairs to where I needed to be. Whilst I walked up the stairs, I could hear them speaking; I didn’t tune in, keeping to myself and focusing on getting to the floor I needed to be. My legs picked up the pace as I heard them walking up. As I got to the fifth floor, I peeked over the side of the staircase railing. I could only see the top of their heads, one brunette and the other raven. I sighed deeply to myself; I realized I lied to Mom. I hated doing that, but—it made her happy in ignorance. Out of curiosity, I attempted to speak out to them, to say hello; perhaps then, I could feel proud of myself. “H-h-hi”, I uttered in a whisper. But before I knew it, they were gone; I was too late.

I couldn’t do it; I couldn’t speak. Why was it so damn hard? Why am I so afraid to show them—me? I could feel the tears prickling the corners of my eyes.

I rubbed the corner of my eyes, letting out a sniff. I needed to be strong, at least for the time being. As Mom said, ‘It’s just baby steps; that’s all it takes.’ I took a deep breath in and exhaled; I made my way toward the empty dance studio I was before. It was nice and quiet, peaceful even, I couldn’t hear anyone. I unzipped my parker and took off my shoes. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the windows with blue curtains pulled over them. I wandered over toward the curtains hiding the tall glass windows. My hand reached out, feeling the cotton edge, I slowly pulled the blue curtains to the side. Looking outside, I was in awe; it showed the snowfall. As the tiny flakes gently fell against the window’s glass, I listened, hearing the gentle tapping against the glass. I backed up to the middle of the room, my train of thought departing as I watched the wonderous sight before me.

Suddenly, I heard a stern voice from behind my shoulder. “You're late”.

I quickly turned, only to notice Mr. Oropherion appear out of nowhere. Seriously, was he lurking around the corner watching me this whole time? Are there secret entrances so that he can purposefully remind me?

“I-I, apologies, Mr. Oropherion, I—” Damn it, I can’t even gather my words!

“You’re precisely five minutes past the hour; I presume you have a gift for tardiness”, he spoke coldly.

Is he serious? Why is he treating me as if I’m an hour late? Don’t tell me I’m in trouble for only being five minutes late.

My eyes narrowed, and I could feel my breath slowing down. I didn’t make eye contact with him, but I could hear his footsteps walking from behind me.

“We begin with the simple plie, a simple move you can surely manage,” he said in a clear, deep voice.

My head stooped low; I could only see his feet moving toward the barre attached to the mirrors. I followed suit, raising my left arm and gripping the wooden barre. “Start bending your knees; move your right foot over here” He placed his leg next to the side of my foot, pushing it gently into the correct position. I didn’t pull my leg away, even though I wanted to. As he corrected it, I gazed down, still avoiding eye contact. As I was in position, I closed my eyes, trying to bend my knees and drown out the idea of someone behind me. “No, you’re bending too far”, he softly muttered. As he approached, my breathing grew heavier. He didn't seem to notice, but I felt my chest rise and fall deeply. I froze in place, not knowing what to do. I didn’t want to look at him; I didn’t want to look up. I didn’t want to show him me! I muttered in a whisper, “P-please d-don—”. I felt his hands touch my waist lightly to guide me.

However, I yelled, stumbling back.

I felt like a deer in headlights; my eyes widened as I gasped for air. Mr. Oropherion stared in confusion, more-so, bewilderment; his hands were left hovering. “You do realise my intent was not of ill purpose; do not mistake me for one with a sickening mind”, he spoke cautiously, not wanting to increase the situation.

I covered my face with my hands, feeling foolish. My head stooped low, wanting to hide my tearful gaze. “I’m so sorry. Oh god, I thought I could do this, but I can’t. I’m so afraid, I’m so afraid.”

He approached slowly, maintaining his icy gaze. “Afraid of what?” he questioned in an austere manner.

“Speaking—talking—Showing myself to the world”, my voice cracked.

“I—'m afraid of what they’ll think, of what they’ll see”, I admitted.

He stayed silent, just as I suspected; he wasn’t fazed. I mean, why should he be? After all, I’m just a random person he met a day ago, someone spewing out all this inner turmoil.

I didn’t expect him to respond, and his answer wasn’t what I expected.

“We are not all born with perfection; there are those of us who have been bruised by imperfection. If you dwell too much in fear, it will overtake you, sending afoul things within your mind to come forth and surface. Whether you wish to remain trapped within it or face it to make a difference, is your decision,” he advised.

Even though his words weren’t the most comforting, he held a point. The first time I saw him yesterday, I gazed into the eyes of a man who rekindled a moment I thought was lost. A time I didn’t live in fear, a time I could look into the eyes of another being and speak freely. If I could do it then, I can do it now.

I lifted my hands away from my face, revealing my sorrowful eyes—the eyes of a fearful bird. I turned to his gaze, trying not to look down, showing my irises. His narrowed eyes slightly raised. I stood upright as my breaths slowed. My almond eyes relaxed at the sight of him. Perhaps, if I aim to speak to him again like before, I can train myself to speak to others. I took the time to gather the words I wanted to say. Inhaling slowly, I spoke the words I wanted to say. “M-Mr Oropherion, I d-don’t want to be a-afraid anymore, I w-want to be free”.

His icy eyes lowered. “Well, well, it seems the little bird has learnt to spread her wings once more; however, little bird, you shan’t take flight just yet, for it will take time to heal your wounds, but I shall teach you”.

I inhaled deeply, allowing myself to grab hold of the barre and stand straight. I tried to bend my knees again, yet he wasn’t satisfied. He moved closer to guide me; this time, my head turned to meet his gaze. His hands hovered just where my waist was. I maintained eye contact for a moment before turning to the front as if permitting him. His slender hands touched my waist lightly; I could feel him pushing me up only slightly and then down. “Hold that position; ensure that your knees are bent until they are over your thumbs.” He muttered. I could feel the pressure of trying to keep my balance.

“This next move is a Grande plie. Lower yourself and lift your heels off the ground.” His hands gently pushed me lower on the ground, my heels lifted slightly as I was told. As he lowered me, I glanced into the mirror, falling silent.

I saw my eyes with eyebags beneath them, the same hair falling to my shoulders, and my lips; however, this time, something was different. Something changed. Something made a difference. In the mirror, there were two, two people.

A small smile faintly formed on my lips.

For once, I wasn’t alone.

[pulchrasilva]

Hearken, good sir, to the frenzied ramblings of a man gripped by the merciless clutches of madness. In this epoch of antiquity, where reason tussles with the unknown, I find myself ensnared in a maelstrom of delusions and bewilderment. Pray, indulge me as I unfurl the tangled threads of my disarrayed mind.

Ah, my mind, a vessel now adrift upon a tempestuous sea of swirling thoughts. The very fabric of reality frays before my eyes, revealing glimpses of a kaleidoscope of half-formed specters and ethereal shadows. Doth it not seem that the world itself conspires to vex my senses, to pry open the floodgates of my sanity?

With each passing hour, I traverse a labyrinth of my own making, where corridors of reason merge with hallways of illusion. The laws of nature, once steadfast, now crumble like ancient ruins beneath the weight of my deranged cognition. Perception, that fragile web we weave to make sense of the world, has betrayed me, transforming my surroundings into a dizzying masquerade of inexplicable phenomena.

Do you not see? The walls whisper secrets, their ancient stones breathing life into forgotten echoes of the past. The ticking of a pocket watch mocks me, elongating and contracting in a bewildering dance, as if time itself taunts my futile attempts to grasp its elusive essence. The very air bears witness to my torment, vibrating with an otherworldly hum that scours my senses raw.

Oh, the faces! A procession of visages, both familiar and grotesque, materializes in the mist of my fragmented thoughts. They leer and grimace, wearing masks of deceit, their eyes, portals into realms beyond mortal comprehension. Their silent voices reverberate within the chambers of my addled brain, whispering enigmatic truths or wicked deceptions—I know not which.

Logic, that guiding beacon of rationality, has abandoned me, replaced by an anarchic tangle of absurd connections and irrational leaps. I am a prisoner, shackled to a swirling carousel of half-formed ideas and fleeting epiphanies. Yet, in this chaos, there lies a perverse fascination, a perverse delight in the unraveling of reality's tapestry.

Verily, I am but a solitary figure amidst the vast tapestry of existence, a vessel tossed by unseen tempests. The world, once so tangible, now eludes my grasp like a wisp of smoke. My words, like scribbled hieroglyphs upon a crumbling scroll, attempt to capture the essence of this fractured reality, to etch upon the annals of history the enigma of my derangement.

And now, dear interlocutor of this bygone age, you have borne witness to the meandering wanderings of a mind unhinged, caught betwixt the realms of order and chaos. As twilight descends upon this theater of my shattered cogitations, I bid you adieu, for I am destined to drift further into the uncharted abyss of my own lunacy, an enigmatic specter haunting the corridors of a forgotten time.

Hey dude - and I mean this with my whole heart - what the fuck

[doomxdriven]

Drabble: Unsealing of the Blade

"Are you going to finally tell me what this is all about, Arrancar?"

Jin, standing there under the night sky, looks up at the large forest flanked staircase in front of them that led up to what seemed like a shrine or temple of some sort.

"Depends depends depends!!!! Did ya get the blood like I asked for? Ya got it didn't ya? Didn't ya?"

"Utagawa and the twins were able to retrieve it yes, though they were all nearly killed in the process" Jin pulls a strangely designed vial of blood from one of his overcoat's inner pockets, holding it up toward Parca.

"You could have told me your target was the former Commander of the Kido Corps and an employee of the Urahara Shōten no less, I would have sent far more capable individuals to deal with the matter."

"Awwwwwwwwww, ya actually worried about the people ya boss around? That's cute Vamps," Parca replies as they steal away the vial of blood Jin had been holding, energetically twirling it around between their fingers, at least until….

Jin vanishes, and then reappears closer to Parca, one hand pressed to and wrapped around their throat, "It's not a matter of worry Arrancar, it's a matter of efficiency, and seeing that both our goals are ultimately met."

Jin, grinning, calmly and viciously continues, "I have to say, I'm also growing tired of how comfortable you are speaking to me like you do; Arrancar never learn anything about respect back in Hueco Mundo, do they?"

Parca, a wide gap of pitch black nothingness stretching across their mask-like visage in the form of a grin, replies, without any trouble or hint of concern, "Both our goals will be met, they wills, and of course, of course, OF COUURRRSSSEEE I respect ya, I just be having fun is all, we both be knowing that!"

Parca then appears to…. melt, wholly, slipping through Jin's fingers and pooling on the floor, before that liquid streamed away, up the staircase toward the temple they and Jin had been walking toward. Its there that Parca reforms, and waves to Jin, shouting,

"I'm trying to get ya some more help here today! Calm down Vamps, calm down! Yer going to need someone to deal with that big brute of Kenpachi when we knock down the door of the Soul Society, ya know?"

Jin, rolling his eyes at the display Parca had put on and relenting on harming them further, replied, "You assume I don't already have someone for that task?"

Maki Ichinose instantly came to Jin's mind-- that man practically lived for the chance to one day kill Zaraki and avenge their former Captain, and they had grown quite powerful over the years, too. Jin was sure that they more than anyone were capable of dealing with the Gotei 13's pet monster.

Parca was never quite convinced of that, though.

"Aaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh yeah, ya kinda don't got one, Vamps."

Parca knew that Jin had collected a great number of talented and powerful individuals to make allies out of or serve under him, but there wasn't anyone among them that Parca believed could go toe-to-toe with Kenpachi Zaraki, not even that brat Ichinose-- no, if both their plans were going to work out, they needed someone who could definitely keep that monster Zaraki busy, or better yet, kill them.

"And if I know one thing, it's that the only person who can kill a Kenpachi, is another Kenpachi."

Parca then turns away from the approaching Jin, and walks through the doors of that temple. Within the confines of the temple, Parca finds a large statue with various Kido emblems etched onto the surface, and its upon that statue he smashes the vile of blood.

Afterward, Parca presses both his hands together and under their breath, another voice begins to quietly though quickly chant…

"Shackles of the six arcane arches, prison of the earthly realm, shattered are these binds by the bray of blood, life essence of their jailer; march free, imprisoned Soul, walk the three realms once more."

Jin, looking on from below, watched as that temple began to glow with a dark purple energy, before it suddenly erupted in a massive explosion that sent a shock-waves through the ground, splitting many of the stairs apart and uprooting a plethora of the surrounding trees. Jin easily manages to avoid any injury of course, continuing to make his way up the now ruined staircase.

When Jin finally climbed to the top, he would see Parca standing among the Temple rubble, along with a large individual dressed in tattered Shinigami garbs. Looking on with interest at the person Parca had called forth, Jin asks, "And who might this be?"

The large individual, rising to their feet, a sadistic expression washing over their face, announces, "I am a blade. I am, Baishin."

[forthedancingandthethriving]

I met a traveller from an antique land

A crack appears in the sky, and three birds fly through.

The sky is foggy, with no sun in sight. The ground is covered in sand, and large pillars of stone jut out from below. They're crumbling, with stones around. Wind howls around, merciless against the birds that fly through the air.

Who said: “Two vast and trunkless legs of stone

Stand in the desert . . . Near them, on the sand,

A red harpy eagle, a red and pink eagle, and a yellow and red crowned eagle land on a pillar made of crumbling stone. Their eyes narrowed, watching below. Waiting for something.

Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,

And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,

The crowned eagle spreads a wing, gesturing to a large monument below. The eagle rolls his eyes while the harpy eagle his head. The trio take off into the air and fly down to the monument below.

Tell that its sculptor well those passions read

Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,

The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed:

The trio land in front of the monument, the harpy eagle in the middle. All threes' eyes narrow, leaning in to look at the inscription.

And on the pedestal these words appear:

‘My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:

Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!’

The eagle shakes his head, disgusted. The crowned eagle looks up and around, watching for something. Looking. The harpy eagle raises back to full height, looking around as well.

Sand begins to shift around them.

None take the chance. Powerful wings launch all three high into the air as the sand continues to shift below.

Nothing beside remains. Round the decay

A giant snake's head slowly appears from under the sand. Piercing yellow eyes kook up at the trio of birds and a low rumbling hiss eruptes, filling the air and silencing the wind.

The eagles don't take a chance. They take off back towards the crack in the sky.

Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare

A louder hiss erupts, the ground rumbles and shakes, pillars falling as a large snake's body rises from the sand. It chases the after the birds, eyes glaring.

It shoots up from the sand, jaw unhinging. The snake's scales of code glint, a pale silver. Scars litter its body from a battle long ago.

The lone and level sands stretch far away.”

The birds shoot through the crack in the sky, which repairs itself behind them quickly. The snake clamps its jaws down too late, missing the birds.

It stays there, eyes staring at where the portal once was.

The snake lowers its head, contempt filling its eyes. Trapped in a prison of its own code, designed by its jailers. The other prison too weak to contain something of its magnitude, so it's jailers had to be crafty.

Make it imprison itself.

Ozymandias turns its body and dives under the sand once more. Once a feared virus, it was lost to history, only surviving in the memory banks of those it contempted.

It 'sympathized' with the king whose name it stole. It, too, was forgotten. No longer feared by the viruses it used to command.

As Ozymandias dives deeper beneath the sand, it hears the wind howl again.

One day, it promised, it would remind its jailers just why they struggled tricking it into even making this prison.

[stxnekxng]

This is what they went through. Every second. Every miserable second as claws scrape against dirt, memories he shouldn't recall are burning through his mind. These are the very things that had caused that person to shatter, what would it do to him? A mere ember that was due to go out under the hurricane winds bearing down on him. A prison. Trapped again.

Cracked lips bleed, the beads of red liquid running down his mouth and jaw, dripping off his chin as his throat has long gone dry from numerous protests and screams ripped from his throat. Claws have cracked, broken and bleeding at the edges of his nails, a fine crust of dried blood at his scabbed fingertips. The pads of his claws were long ruined since when that moment had faded. They'd been here, Azure had been here. Who knew what was going on now. Even still, his soul burns. He's on fire again, he's burning from the inside out and he can see his organs through his glowing body. Blood dripping from his mouth, a tainted midnight black color seeping in the edges. Smoke drifting from his nose and the edges of his mouth not occupied in spitting out blood. Was it even blood? Could he be truly injured in here? He's not sure anymore. But one thing solidifies amongst all the memories flashing through his brain, playing out before him as his body begins to give under the weight once again. His ruined body protests, a hoarse scream tearing from the king's torn throat.

This was a fragment of the Diyu. It made sense, to eternally punish those sealed within, it made sense. Every segment of it did, it's no wonder it originally came from there. It's no wonder it found its way to him during that journey, he should recognize a double sided blade when it's thrown his way. He should recognize when he should just give up, he should have just dealt with it, he shouldn't have bended his knee, he shouldn't have fell to their tricks. The throbbing in his skull feels like it's being ripped in half by claws, guttural noises escaping him as he smashes his head against the rocky surface of his prison.

Kill him. Kill me. Please. Someone make it end. Were these thoughts they had too? Tormented so horribly with the memories of the past, tormented by his Visage? One who'd suffered in an entirely different way, perhaps he'd never be able to understand. No. He never would. A foolish idiot. A coward. A liar. A fraud. A traitor. The words are like a brand on his flesh, maybe that's what the symbols still raw and bleeding I his arms are. Titles, words spoken about him from those who suffered. He deserved this. He deserved every second of this. It hadn't even been a day most likely and he wanted to call it quits.

He wanted someone to, for once, look at him. Please look at him and realize. Stop looking for the hero, you won't find that king anywhere. He's been long dead. He killed himself with guilt. The same guilt that was beginning to rip apart the fragment of that mentality. Hoarse noises ripped from the simian as his eyes roll into the back of his head, a blood soaked claw raising towards that single flicker of light. Someone please... even as that flicker goes out and he succumbs to the darkness once more. Voices chanting in his ears. Save me.

[danadriel]

"Victoria is a semi synthetic woman, a unethical product of a bygone age of cruelty she can't even recall, built according to the exact specifications of a long dead magnate, as consequence of that her body carries such a unnatural beauty, even by the era of her creation her body proportions could be considered impossible and vulgar, and in the dead shattered world her visage is nothing short of divine,while her silhouette is already spectacular the inner workings of her body are wonders of technology that not even the most talented of sorcerers,thinkers and black fingers cant even dream about understanding it, her fur is short and glossy impossible to stain with even the nastiest of substances, her skin is almost impossible to cut with conventional steel blades, all her bones are made of a light and flexible alloy, allowing her limbs to be abused way beyond anything a regular person can endure, judging by these trait alone one could assume she was a perfect being, some sort of a long forgotten military prototype.But in reality this wondrous body is nothing short of a prison, like many of her kind she was built entirely to endure the sadistic desires of her master and survive, her mind is equipped with failsafes that prevent her from ending her life, her arms have only the bare minimal muscular mass to be functional, her legs don't give her any meaningful speed and she gets exausted after few dozen meters of running, she can't escape her fate running, hidding or even dying.

From the moment she became conscious in the factory she knew she would have a miserable servile existence, but when her fully sealed packaged was finally opened she found herself in a even worse situation, she was in the ruins of her owner's personal bunker and countless millennia have passed, and instead of posh inssuferable billionarie she found herself in the hands of a monstruous warrior and slaver called Gutstretcher, Victoria was taken as a spoil by the slaver, and for almost 3 years she had to endure the relentless sadism of Gutstretcher, while he was out raiding caravans she was trapped in his lair trying to convert the rotten carcases he brought every day in to edible food, every time she could hear his heavy steps approaching the rusty shipping container they called home her blood froze, she knew it was time to suffer, the sexual assaults she suffered daily were the least cruel parts of her routine, Gutstrecher had a morbid curiosity in taking her body to the limits of pain, countless times she was beaten , burned,had her joints dislodged and so on.

Trapped in this hell unable to escape in any form she convinced herself that there was no way out, she was a creature made to suffer and nothing would change it, but she was wrong, the wheel of fate spun in her favor for the first time, when Gutstretcher finnally dared crossed paths with a enraged nomad warrior named Danadriel…" (The Traveler)

This girl is obviously inspired by the wives of Immortan Joe. :U

my idea was to create a cartoonishly sexualized character but fitting to the current story, she looks like a product of pure sexual fantasy because she was created for that in canon! and I want her to stand out among the dirty scarred nomads of the Dawnstrider crew…I know Danadriel already does that but he is pure muscle and is more than capable to fend for himself, quite the contrary of her.

She will not be mere eyecandy…I have more complex ideas in mind.

[lioradraeven]

Character Name: Liora Draeven Skeleton Name: The River Skeleton Species: Cambion Birthdate/Age: Month / Day / Year (age): 26 & October 31st 2,998 Character Gender and Pronouns: Female, she/her Occupation: odd jobs; has yet to find something steady Face-claim: Emily Bader Trigger Warnings: n/a

Links: wanted connections || visage || interactions

History.

“In time, you’ll understand,” her mother used to say, her voice trembling with both love and fear. She believed her once, as any child would, trustingly, believe their parent. Liora thought that someday, everything would make sense—that the strange looks, the whispered slurs, and the constant moving from town to town would all become clear. But that understanding came too late, long after she realized that no amount of hoping or wishing could change the truth: Liora was born cursed, marked by something dark and terrible.

Her father was a demon. Not just a name or a ghost, but a living nightmare woven into her very soul. A demon who had made his mark on the world by binding himself to mortal flesh, left behind more than just destruction—he left her. A cambion. The cursed offspring of a demon and a mortal. As she grew, she came to understand the burden she carried. The Blight flowed through her veins, a poison that tainted everything around her. Wherever she went, sickness followed. People shunned her, not just for her strange, piercing eyes or the way shadows seemed to cling to her, but because they sensed it: the curse. And no matter how much she longed to be normal, to blend in, it was impossible.

Her mother tried to protect her from the world’s cruelty. She moved them from village to village, trying to keep her hidden, but even she couldn’t shield her daughter forever. She wanted nothing more than to live a quiet life, to forget her lineage, but fate had other plans. The Blight within her grew stronger as she aged, subtly spreading its influence. Plants withered in her presence. Animals fled from her touch. People grew ill when she stayed too long in one place. And the whispers of her father’s name never stopped haunting her.

Then came the night when her mother disappeared. She was fifteen, and when she awoke, her mother was gone. Taken? Fled? Killed? Liora never found out. All she had left were the words her mother always said, and a lingering sense that her disappearance was tied to her cursed blood. Alone and terrified, she fell into the hands of the Iskaldrik soldiers, who knew exactly what she was. They sent her to the mines, a place where cursed children like her were forgotten, left to wither away in darkness.

But she didn’t wither. The demonic blood in her kept her alive when others perished. She learned to survive in the deepest pits of the mines, but the more she used her powers to stay alive, the more the Blight spread. The shadow of her father’s legacy grew heavier, and she hated it—hated the power, hated what it did to her. More than anything, she wanted to be normal, to live without the constant fear of losing control over the demon inside of her.

Then came Aetheron’s invasion. The attack on Iskaldrik shattered the kingdom and opened the gates of the mines. The prisoners—cambions, cursed, and criminals alike—fled into the wilderness. Liora was one of them, though she found no freedom in her escape. She had hoped for liberation, but all she found was more chaos. She fled north with the other survivors, longing for safety but finding only more hardship.

That’s when the whispers of Lysara reached her—a city to the south, a place where she could disappear and perhaps, just maybe, hide the truth of her curse. She made her way there, hoping for a fresh start, but even in Lysara, you couldn’t outrun your blood. The Blight followed her wherever she went, subtly corrupting the land, making it impossible to stay in one place for too long. The powers she tried so desperately to suppress only grew stronger, and with them, the constant fear of losing control.

In Lysara, she had found a way to survive, taking on odd jobs to keep herself fed. Preferring solitude, she kept her distance from others, knowing that working alone reduces the risk of harming anyone or exposing her true nature. She avoids using her demonic powers as much as possible, terrified of what might happen if she gives in to the transformation that lurks beneath the surface. The special gifts that cambion blood grants her bring no peace. The more she uses these abilities, the more she feels the demon inside her stirring, ready to overtake her completely.

And sometimes, in the darkest moments, she's felt herself slip into her transformation, the terrifying shift that gives her enhanced abilities. But each time she loses control, she hates herself a little more. She never asked for any of this power. She never wanted it. She just wanted to be normal.

But normal isn’t possible for someone like her. Liora knows that her bloodline is a weapon that others can use against her, and that if anyone learns the truth of her heritage, she could be hunted down or worse—enslaved again by those who would use her power for their own ends.

The more time passes, the harder it is to resist the pull of the demon. She'd already seen what the Blight can do. The land around her grows barren, and people fall ill when she lingers too long. She fears that one day she'll lose herself completely, that the demon inside will finally take over, and there will be no more Liora, only the monster her father left behind.

But for now, she fights. She fights to keep her humanity, to stay herself. She fights against the demon inside her, and against the world that hates her for what she is. Because as much as she longs for normalcy, she knows one thing for certain: she will never let the demon win.

Headcanons. 

Liora sees herself fitting into a party as a supportive fighter, a mix of stealth and defense. While not on the frontlines, she can engage enemies in the shadows, disrupt their plans, and defend from surprise attacks. Her ability to detect hidden threats and see through illusions could also position her as a scout, making sure the party avoids ambushes. She prefers to strike from the shadows or provide tactical support, avoiding the full use of her powers unless absolutely necessary.

She often finds herself unable to sleep, plagued by nightmares of her past or the ever-present fear of losing control of her powers. To find some solace, she frequently goes for long walks in the dead of night, when the world is quiet, and the darkness offers a kind of solace. During these nighttime wanderings, She feels more at peace with herself, her connection to the shadows soothing her restless mind. The silence of the night and the empty streets allow her to disappear, blending into the shadows where she feels less of a threat to those around her. It’s also a time when she can think clearly, without the constant pressure of being on guard or fearing judgment from others. These walks have become a ritual for her, a way to center herself and reflect on her internal struggles, as the night provides a rare moment of calm in her otherwise turbulent life. However, she is also wary during these walks, knowing that the dark has its own dangers, both external and from within.

Liora discovered a strange ability tied to her demonic blood—she can heal wounds, but at a cost. When she channels this power, it drains her energy and leaves her weakened for hours, sometimes days afterward. This healing ability is something she rarely uses, not because of the toll it takes on her but because of the fear that the Blight running through her veins might harm the people she’s trying to help. Once, when she attempted to heal a friend’s injury, the wound closed, but the person later fell ill, causing her to believe her healing power carries the risk of spreading the Blight to others. Since that incident, she has been extremely reluctant to heal anyone, even in dire circumstances. She feels torn between the desire to use her powers for good and the constant fear that her demonic curse will make things worse. This inner conflict adds another layer to her self-doubt, making her question her worth in any situation that requires her to help others.

Despite her demonic heritage and the common association of demons with fire, she has developed an intense and irrational fear of it. This fear stems from a traumatic experience during her childhood when she first discovered the destructive potential of her powers. She lost control of her emotions during a moment of anger, and a surge of her latent energy ignited a blaze that spread through a nearby forest. The fire ravaged everything in its path, and several innocent people were hurt in the chaos. Ever since that day, Liora has been deeply afraid of fire, both because of the physical destruction it causes and because it reminds her of the uncontrollable force lurking inside her. She avoids open flames whenever possible, and even campfires make her uneasy. She keeps this fear hidden, as she doesn't want to show vulnerability or admit that she fears the very powers tied to her heritage.

Despite her tumultuous relationship with her heritage, she has developed a deep fascination with ancient myths and legends, particularly those involving the gods and demons of old. She’s constantly searching for stories of other cambions or cursed individuals who overcame their fates, hoping to find answers or clues about her own curse. This curiosity drives her to visit old libraries, ruins, and hidden places where knowledge about ancient magic and history lingers. She quietly collects scrolls and artifacts, believing that somewhere in the past lies a way to control or perhaps even break her connection to the Blight. She’s particularly drawn to legends about redemption or forgotten powers, always on the hunt for some kind of hope in her seemingly doomed existence.

Personality.

Compassionate, Perceptive, Adaptable

Withdrawn, Guilt-ridden, Reluctant

[pansexualpanic11]

Coffee Hall Ⅰ

Note: WARNING! THIS ONE-SHOT WILL CONTAIN: Mentions of kidnapping, Imprisonment, Assault, Gaslighting, Physical abuse, Emotional abuse, Mentions of homophobia, Threats of murder and Implied Stockholm Syndrome. (Reader discretion is advised)

[First Name]'s heart caught in her throat as she struggled to keep her composure. Walking through the elegantly decorated hallway of the Hall family's mansion, it was hard for her to try and keep a composed demeanour. Thankfully, no one was currently around, so she didn't have to deal with anyone's eyes on her. "Hey, who's that?~" A voice whispered. A servant with long luscious bleach blonde locks whispered to another young woman. The girl's voice was snide and smug as she looked over at her companion with a grin on her face. It made [First Name] extremely uncomfortable. Did they perhaps recognize her?

"I don't know, she must be new~ I wonder whether it was Lady Coffee or Lady Cadence who hired her. I mean she's a hot mess, just look at her. She doesn't dress how a servant should dress," she other woman responded. Listening to them socialize with each other, she could feel her hands growing damp with sweat. She was worried because she knew that if they recognized her, then she would taken back to her prison. It had taken her a month of biding her time to escape and if she was caught now, she would be back at square one, but she would be even worse off because now Coffee wouldn't trust her.

"I didn't think I'd draw this much attention to myself..." she thought to herself. Looking around, she couldn't help but swallow nervously. To think she had gotten herself into this situation because of Cadence. Being lured into the spider's web, thinking she was going to meet up with Cadence and instead being ensnared by Coffee and locked away from the world. Because of who her parents were, her disappearance was swept under the rug and no one thought of her again. "I need to hurry up and escape here at all costs before they find me," her grip on her uniform as she continued to walk down the hallway.

Closing the large double doors behind her, she continued to make her way down the hallway. She didn't know why someone would need this many doors in one hallway, it was almost like a maze. There were so many rooms in this place, it was disorientating. "Well then, who are you?~" an all too familiar voice called out to her. Turning her head, her throat turned dry. Cadence wore a porcelain smile as she approached her, it was almost haunting. The stunning garment she wore really brought out her beauty, almost making her look like one of those antique dolls. It was creepy, yet beautiful at the same time.

She had fallen for her quite some time ago, during their childhood. She never got to talk much with her back then because she was never around, but she fell for her all the same. Cadence always seemed so sweet, polite, humble and patient during their youth and it had completely enthralled the girl. However, that visage was shattered when she discovered Cadence's true colours. When she helped her sister ensnare her and seal her away in this prison. That was when she realized that everything had caused her to fall for her had most likely been a façade. It was enough to almost completely shatter her spirit.

Cadence folded her arms behind her back, her eyes becoming half-lidded. "Crap! Crap! Crap! Crap! No this can't be happening! What can I do?!" Her thoughts were running wild in her mind as she tried to think of a way to escape. "I'm the new hire. I was hired just today by Miss Coffee." She tried to mask her voice so that it wasn't obvious that it was her, but it was difficult. All of the maids were forced to wear blindfolds so that they couldn't make direct eye contact with any of the family members. It made it hard to move around, but right now she was thankful for it because it was the only thing masking her identity.

Cadence sauntered closer and closer to her, her lips twisting further into a smile "Crap. Is she on to me?" She could feel her heart pounding away inside her chest. Taking the woman's jaw between her index finger and thumb, she cocked her head to the side and a dark and sadistic look crossed her usually angelic features, making her look more like a demon in that moment. [First Name] was about to speak but Cadence's grip suddenly tightened, causing her to flinch. "You my dear are a terrible liar. Despite the blindfold, I know it's you [First Name]." Those words caused her heart to sink down to the very pit of her stomach.

"Here are a few tips. Number one, change your voice better. Number two, you need to dress better, your outfit is a mess. But most importantly, number three, no one calls my sister that. If you're going to make an escape attempt, come up with a better story in case you get caught." Latching onto the blindfold, she tore it off, causing her let out a scared yelp. [First Name] stumbled backwards and stared up at Cadence in shock, her [Eye Colour] eyes filled with terror. She wanted to run, but she couldn't find it in her to even so much as move an inch. She was petrified, it felt like her entire body was turned to stone.

"I'll give you credit, you're smart enough to at least wait for my sister to trust you. However, you didn't think your plan through properly. You were sloppy in your planning and now you're paying the price for it," she stated as she propped a hand on her hip. Cadence's hand suddenly sprung forward, latching onto her wrist and gripping it tightly. A wide grin spread across her face as she tilted her head to the side. Her eyes became half-lidded as she yanked the woman to her chest and pulled her arm into the air, causing her to let out a small yelp. She could feel her heart beating heavily in her chest, this was it, she was going to be taken back to that prison.

The elegantly decorated hallway was as quiet as death as the two stared at each other for what felt like an eternity. But soon, Cadence broke the silence. "You need to be taken back to your room. Because I know how my sister will react, I won't tell her that you made an attempt to escape. She'll be in a mood for the rest of the day if I tell her. But that's the only reason, so don't think you can continue with getting away with this all the time," she frowned. Cadence suddenly began pulling her in the direction of her room, much to the other woman's horror. [First Name]'s eyes grew wide with terror; she couldn't go back. She had to think of something and fast.

Noticing a large and intricately designed vase resting atop one of the large oak tables, she reached out and grabbed it before doing the only thing she could think of at the time: smashing it over the woman's head. She let out a shriek as she fell to the ground with a dull thud. Scooping her up in her arms, all she could do was hope that she hadn't killed her. But she had to hide now in case someone had heard that and came to investigate her. Hurrying inside one of the spare bedrooms, she closed the door behind her and placed her on the ground before hurrying back out to grab her blindfold.

No sooner had she closed the door again and locked it, she heard the large double doors swing open. She could hear the two maids from earlier discussing what they had heard. "Come on, we have to go and check on Lady Hall, let's go." Thankfully, they ran past the bedroom. She knew she had to hide Cadence, and fast. Wrapping her arms under Cadence's, she hoisted her up before dragging her towards the wardrobe. Looking around, she wondered what she could use to bind the woman's hands and feet together. However, she couldn't find anything. Her lips twisted into a frown as she pondered on what she could do.

However, she soon had an idea. Taking Cadence's silk scarf she bound the woman's hands together. Though she knew that wouldn't be enough, as she could easily scream for help. But she didn't know what she could use. There wasn't anything else around that she could take. Except maybe the bedding. Removing one of the pillow cases, she shoved into the girl's mouth. Now all she had to do was bind her feet behind her back like she had done with her wrists. That was when she noticed the fabric that hooked the curtain back. It was long enough so that she could tie her up. With the finishing touches, she took a step back. This would hopefully do.

With a soft sigh, she lifted the woman up before placing her in the wardrobe and closing the doors. She hoped that no one would find her for a while, at least long enough so that she would be able to escape. Opening the door, she peeked around the corner and looked out to make sure that no one was walking around and thankfully, the coast was clear. She placed her blindfold back on and closed the door behind her before stepping out into the hallway. Straightening out her uniform, she made her way down the hallway. She could only hope that she wouldn't run into Coffee like she had done with Cadence.

It was eerily quiet. [First Name]'s breath was raspy as she quietly crept through the hallway of the mansion, being as careful as she could not to make a single peep. However, she tried not to make it obvious. She knew that she had to escape, no matter the cost. She would do whatever she could to escape. Sure, her prison was a nice one, but it was a prison nonetheless. She felt like a bird trapped in a cage, which truth be told, wasn't far off from the truth. Her captor showered her with gifts and other luxuries, but it all made her feel sick. Sick enough that it was driving her completely insane. It made her feel dirty even.

She still remembered a time when things had been somewhat pleasant. Back when everything seemed nice. She missed those times. While she had never gotten along with Coffee originally due to her cold and aloof personality, she liked Cadence so much. Cadence was... Or at least she thought she was... A kind and mature person who always seemed to prioritize other people's needs over her own. Despite everything, she always seemed to take things in her stride and always wore a smile. After a while, she finally confessed her affections towards her and Cadence later invited her over to her place and that was how she fell into to the spider's web.

She thought she was going to Cadence's because she actually liked her. But that wasn't the case at all. According to Cadence, Coffee loved her and the fact that she confessed to her meant that she couldn't be trusted outside because her attention would easily shift. Ever since that day, a few months ago, she had been stuck in this luxurious prison. It had been complete Hell. Unless she behaved the way she wanted her to, she would be punished. Her body was still littered with various bruises and scars from where she had been beaten for 'stepping out of line.' Afterwards, Coffee would try and manipulate her into believing it was her fault and hers alone, that she had driven her to those extents.

[First Name] felt stupid overall; because she hadn't been able to see the signs. When Coffee started to change, she thought it was for the better, that she was turning over a new leaf. It didn't help that Cadence was constantly reassuring her about the changes she was making. The entire situation was a mess. Coffee had never been the nicest person, but before all these events occurred, she assured everyone she was making a change for the better... And [First Name] foolishly believed her. She felt like a complete idiot, but the changes felt so genuine. She couldn't believe she had ever fallen for the lies and deceit that feel from that woman's lying lips.

Now she realized that it had all been an act. People like that never change, they just get better at hiding their evil intentions. Ever since childhood, she had always believed that something was wrong with her brother's friend, but she always shook it off as the girl having a controlled upbringing, leaving her socially awkward and withdrawn. However, now she wished that she had trusted that instinct all that time ago. She had never really gotten to know her very well, she was always her brother's friend. However, she had spoken with her from time to time, but only got to know her better when Coffee 'made her change.'

She wondered if Coffee was still around or if she had gone out for her afternoon tea. A small smile briefly appeared on her face at the thought, however, she soon quickly shook her head at the thought. She knew she couldn't be presumptuous, she could be anywhere in the house. She could be downstairs for all she knew. The girl silently crept forward, her entire body was shaking. She couldn't get caught now, not when she was so close to escaping. Upon hearing one of the doors opening, she swallowed nervously before quickly ducking behind one of the large oak cabinets. Peeking behind the corner, she looked to see who it was.

However, when she saw who it was, she realized it was just one of the maids. Thankfully for her, the maid went into one of the spare guest rooms. Getting to her feet, she quickly scurried towards the large double doors the maid had just walked through. Once she reached the staircase, she began to briskly descend, all while keeping her head low, she couldn't risk anyone seeing through her disguise. She needed to get out and fast. She couldn't have anyone finding her, not like she had with Cadence. After all, it was only a matter of time until they found the woman's body cooped up inside one of the wardrobes.

From looking around, she couldn't seem to see anyone wandering about. No servants, no family members, no nothing. It was completely silent. She looked around, her eyes casting about nervously. She placed her hands over her chest as she quietly scuttled down the last few steps of the spiral staircase. She was so nervous, she wasn't sure where everyone was but she wasn't going to wait around until she potentially ran into anyone. Looking around, she felt a bit disorientated. She was quite afraid, she didn't know where she was supposed to go. From where she appeared to be, she appeared to be on the second floor.

The place was beautifully decorated; with elegant portraits and velvet carpets. It certainly made a change from the room she was in. Her prison was all white, from head to toe. White walls, white bedding, white furniture. Everything was white. It didn't help that the windows had been boarded up from the outside so that no light could get through. The only light source she had was from the white lights above her. It was enough to almost drive her insane. She wasn't sure how much longer she could have lasted in that god forsaken place. She hated it with a burning passion. More than anything, well not as much as Coffee.

Looking around, she could feel her heart rate increasing as she walked. It was so quiet, with the only sound being heard was her feet tapping against the ground. Looking for the front door was near impossible because the house was so big. Opening one of the large set of double doors, she entered the room, which was essentially yet another hallway. Looking around, her lips pulled themselves into a frown. If she wanted to get out of here then she had to be quick. It all felt hopeless. However, she knew that she had to keep a brave face. She had to get out of here and she wasn't going to be deterred by getting a bit lost.

As far as she was aware, Coffee's parents and sister knew she was here and some staff also knew as well. So she knew she couldn't trust anyone, so she had to keep to herself. It would be easier to escape if she had people on her side, but right now she didn't know who to trust. She nervously placed her hands over her lap, her gaze casting around at all of the elaborate paintings and the beautiful decorations. Every single item seemed like they would cost more than her home. Well... Coffee said that this was her home but there was no way that she was accepting this place as her home.

For as long as she had known her, she never knew exactly what was wrong with Coffee and why she was so... Disturbed. She had always just been her brother's friend in her mind. She had always thought she was a strange woman but she never thought she was this vile and disgusting. Or that she would go as far to kidnap her. She never once thought that Coffee would do that; because while she never seemed normal. She didn't seem that crazy. Her gut feeling had always warned her not to trust her and listen to her, and some others had warned her that she was creepy, but she always brushed off their concerns or that feeling as nothing.

As she walked through the hallway, she couldn't help but notice that one of the doors was open. Quietly approaching it, she peeked around the corner and that was when her heart stopped. Coffee was sat down, reading a book in one hand with a dainty porcelain tea cup in the other. Her lips were tugged into a small frown as she looked down at the book; she seemed completely distracted, so she wondered if maybe she could sneak past without her seeing anything. It was risky, but she couldn't exactly just stay out there, there was nowhere to hide and she was certain that when she came out, she'd see her.

She could always go back the way she came, but then again she might end up running into someone. She didn't want to risk potentially being spotted. Sure, she had on her uniform, but that didn't mean to say that someone could suspect that she wasn't really a maid. After all, that was what happened with Cadence. She wondered just how long it would take for people to realize she was gone and to find Cadence's body. She knew she shouldn't have rushed things, after all, it took a long time to gain Coffee's trust, as well as gather a maid's uniform without anyone being suspicious of her. She couldn't mess up now.

She wasn't sure about her plan and she was completely terrified. After all, if they found the body then they would instantly clock on that it was her. She couldn't manage to control the heavy and frightened beating of her heart. However, swallowing all of her fear, she decided to push forward. She knew that if she waited for the right moment, she could hopefully sneak past without any issues. So being as quiet as she could, she snuck past the doorway and hurried down the hallway. Following it, she found herself at another pair of large double doors. Pushing those open, she quietly made her way inside.

Her lips curled into a small smile as she realized where she was. She was at the main staircase. These stairs would take you to any of the floors you needed to get to and that was when she saw them... She could recognize the entrance doors from a mile away. She was ready to finally escape this Hellhole. "Just where do you think you're going?" A voice caused her to stop in her tracks and a shiver to run down her spine. Turning around slowly, she kept her head lowered as to not make eye contact. There she was, her captor, the woman who had put her through Hell and back, all under the guise of 'training her.'

She was surprised by the fact that her mother had allowed her to keep her at all; seeing as her mother was a raging homophobe. But she supposed that she wanted to keep her daughter complacent and if that meant allowing her to be with a woman, then that's what she would have to do. "I'm talking to you." She didn't make eye contact as the woman drew closer to her. She didn't even make a sound when she felt the woman's hand latch onto her wrist and squeeze it tightly. Yanking her forward, she pulled her upwards so that their faces were close to each other. Her other hand grabbed onto her jaw and forced her to look up.

Coffee's Parakeet Green eyes glimmered with realization and a small smirk appeared on her lips as she released her hand, so now she was just holding her jaw. [First Name] could feel her heartbeat rapidly increasing by the second as she felt as though at any moment, her cover would be blown. "Tell me, [First Name], did you really think I was that stupid? I know all of my servants and their exact appearances. I know Sayuri is a lot taller than you are and you don't wear your uniform the same way as she does." Reaching down, she pulled off the blindfold with a gentle tug. "Oh no..."

Swallowing nervously, [First Name] could feel every muscle in her body tense up. This couldn't be happening. Not after she had waited so long to escape. Was she going to tie her back up again? Would she beat her for being disobedient? She didn't even want to think about what the punishment would be for attempting to escape. "Why would you try to escape from me? I've given you everything you could have ever wanted, and yet this is how you repay me? I took you from that filthy home of yours and given you somewhere wonderful to stay. I saved you from your abusive father after all~"

Gritting her teeth [First Name] narrowed her eyes; of course she was using her home life against her. That was what she did; she relied on mental tactics rather than physical attacks; after all she was a small girl and she knew that while she wouldn't be able to take her down in a physical fight; psychological torture was what the girl did best and every time, she was able to get to her with that disgusting tactic. [First Name] didn't have the best home life; and Coffee knew how to use that to her advantage. She and Katsuya had been separated from their sister, Shizuka when Katsuya was ten and she was nine due to their parents' divorce.

Having an abusive father made the things that Coffee did not as affective. After all, it wasn't like she wasn't used to what her father did. It was just replacing one abuser with another abuser. The only difference was that she now no longer had Katsuya to protect her from what Coffee was doing. "You know, I think an adequate punishment is order," she smirked. A dark shadow cast over [First Name]'s face, and she shoved the woman as hard as she could, causing her to stumble backwards. Her eyes were wide, but only for a brief moment before they drew to slits and she dusted off her dress with a firm frown.

"Oh no, I won't punish you~ Rather someone you care for. Now tell me, who do you want to be punished? Your brother? Or your sister? Or maybe even both?~" she grabbed onto her wrist and yanked her forward. [First Name]'s eyes widened; there was no way! She couldn't seriously be considering hurting Katsuya or Shizuka. Her entire life, she had wanted to take care of her brother and her sister and the thought of this snake causing any harm to them made her want to break down. Coffee cocked her head playfully to the side as she placed her hand against the girl's cheek, using her thumb to softly brush against her skin.

"No! Please don't! I'll do anything! Just don't hurt them!" She shrieked. Coffee shook her head before snapping her fingers. As soon as she did this, a young man with shaggy black hair swiftly approached. She recognized the man. When her brother was beaten up, along with Coffee, this man had been there to step in and defend her. She didn't want any harm to come to her siblings; she wasn't sure if she could ever forgive herself if anything ever happened to her siblings. All she could do was sob loudly as she fell to her knees and for a brief moment, a look of remorse appeared on the young woman's face.

"Reminazawa-San. Take [First Name] back to her room and make sure that she doesn't escape, I'll be back soon," and with that she swiftly turned on her heel and walked away. [First Name] began to scream as she was lifted over the man's shoulder; her legs flailed around and she began to cry. All she could do was hopelessly kick and flail her legs as she was taken back to her prison. She had been so close to escaping but she got nowhere. All she had done was potentially risk her brother and sister's safety. She kicked and flailed about, desperate to try and stop the woman from hurting her brother and sister.

"I'm sorry, you've brought this on yourself. You shouldn't have tested her like that," he frowned as his grip on her waist tightened. He dropped her down onto the bed and stared down at her. A few minutes later, Coffee returned with shackles. They didn't look all too comfortable, but they appeared to be made out of gold. Handing them to the man, he attached the chains to her ankles. He made sure to attach her ankles first and then her wrists before pulling away and getting to his feet. Once he finished, Coffee gave a simple nod of her head, silently telling him he could leave.

Once he left, he closed the doors behind him. "Look, I won't hurt anyone, so long as you behave. Remember who owns you. If any harm does come to them, it'll be your fault for forcing my hand. Just take this as a warning, okay?" She frowned as she placed a hand on her hip. [First Name] dried her tears before nodding her head. Wrapping her arms around the young woman, she nuzzled her head into her chest. [First Name] looked down at her, a feeling of disgust ruminating throughout her body. She hated this, this was complete Hell. But it was a Hell that she could never escape from, unless Coffee died.

"Look, I don't want to keep you tied up anymore because I'm sure you know now what will happen if you disobey me. But I feel as though I have to. But I mean, even if you were to somehow escape and call the police, don't think they'd listen to you. Most of them are in my parents' pockets. They would do whatever they can to get on my parents' good side because of their previous connections with Gozaburo Kaiba," she stated as she placed a hand on her hip, the ghost of a smile playing on her lips for the briefest of moments. However, it soon faded from her lips as she narrowed her eyes at him.

Looking at her, she wondered how easy it to would be to snap her neck in half like a twig. However, she internally slapped herself for thinking of the idea. She knew if she tried that, her manservant would find out and as a result would probably do something worse to her. She knew that she wouldn't stand a chance, he was so much bigger and stronger than she was. She would be subdued in an instant. "You're mine and no matter, what you're not escaping, because I love you~" she smirked as she looked at the poor girl with a dull look in her eyes. It almost seemed as though she had no life left in her eyes.

"I love you, so never leave me. If you do, you know what will happen otherwise," she looked at her with a cold expression. All [First Name] could do was lay in terror, not knowing what she could do. There was no escape and she knew that. After all, if she wanted her siblings and the rest of her friends to be safe, then she had to listen to Coffee and do whatever she said. Coffee was a powerful person, she came from an influential family and she could get away with stuff that not much other people could. She was influential and so was the rest of her family. So there wasn't much that she could do, especially with threats being made towards her family.

Looking up at Coffee, she couldn't help but feel all the hope draining from her body. She knew that no matter what, there was no escape. Because from the very beginning, she had been caught in a spider web and she had been completely unaware of it. Now it was too late for her to escape her. Taking the girl's face between her hands, Coffee smiled widely. "No matter what you do or where you go, I'll find you and at the end of the day, you're never leaving me. If you ever leave me, I'll hunt down everyone you care for and I'll slaughter every single one of them~" she mused as she looked down at her.

But maybe... Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. If she allowed herself to grow more accustomed to living with Coffee. Maybe she would grow to eventually like it? She didn't know, but it was better than having someone she loved die. After all, Coffee did genuinely love her right? She loved her enough to give her three meals a day, snacks and gifts. She loved her enough to not go through with her threat despite her having made an escape attempt. So perhaps staying with Coffee wasn't that bad, at least she was away from her abusive father. Maybe staying here wouldn't be that bad? Maybe she really did love her.

[some-rando-with-internet]

Day One-hundred and thirty-four

Sam once again has his body sit up in his new prison. His arms move, stretching out, and it maintains the stretch until a sickening snap dislocates his shoulder with a tearing of muscle and bone. Looking disdainfully at such weak flesh failing it again, the thing that puppets him drags the shatter lives back together, and sets the wound ablaze, different tissues and fabrics welding back together until it appears as though no harm came to the shoulder. A yawn from the body.

Sixty-two percent.

Sam’s body once again stands against his will, stumbling its way towards the main chamber. The cold floor and bare feet gave no sensation to the true owner of the flesh now walking along it, though he made every attempt to fight the movements. Today he slowed it down. Good.

The body slowly crept its way onto a pedestal. A figure in a hooded cloak approached. Jacob. One of the thing’s most trusted advisors.

“Sir, I apologize. We have been unable to secure any additional maintenance materials for you. Our actions in securing you a body were hasty in our desperation, and now we have others watching us. Do not fret, we are rooting them out as we speak.”

“you better… jacob… this flesh grows… unwieldy…” The thing spoke in Sam’s stolen voice. It’s broken language and horrid pauses a byproduct of its hasty possession.

“I understand my lord. We are being as fast as we can. Please be patient, my merciful lord.”

“i will be as patient… as one of yours… could manage…”

The body stumbled back into motions again, slinking back into its room to attempt to recover. If Sam’s abilities bear fruit, he will not.

Day two-hundred and twenty-three.

“i… grow tired… of excuses… jacob… you have… delayed long enough…”

“Sir, please. We have been working as hard as we can. If we just get a bit more time we wil-“

“no… excuses… get it… done…”

Its pauses now contain gasps, as the bodies health is failing due to the withering connection. It attempts to move back into the room it sleeps in, but Sam refuses to move his right leg. So, its tumbles are slow, laborious.

Day three-hundred and sixty-five. One year of this.

It was bedridden now. Sam refused every movement. Every action. Everything, but talking. More of a taunt than a weakness.

“there IS… NO… TIME… JACOB…”

“Sir, please! Hold on for just a few more weeks, please!”

“…”

“…Sir?”

“…get… it… done…”

“Thank you, sir.”

Excellent.

Day three-hundred and sixty-six.

It didn’t even attempt to move the body this day. Instead, it attempted to invade Sam’s mindscape.

“Mortal, you must stop this meaningless ac-“

Then bastard was gripped by his throat by a reckless spirit.

“TAKE MY BODY?!?!” A bludgeon to the face. “TAKE MY FAMILY IN FRONT OF ME?!?!?!” Another heavy bludgeon to its damaged visage. “AND YOU DARE TRY AND TAKE MY DAMN MIND?!?!?!” A final blow broke the demon free from the grip of Sam’s instinctual mental construct of will, crumpled and broken, it tried its damnedest to plead for its continued status.

“Wait! Wait! We can make a deal! Some power, some control! We can compromise!”

“No.”

“P-Please!” He was weakened by the year of rebellion. He couldn’t fight back.

A cruel thought appeared. Both parties saw it. Its implications.

“N-no.”

“Yes.”

“NO!”

“YES.”

Sam slowly cornered the pathetic demon. He grabbed it by the shoulders, raised it high, and despite all the please for mercy, despite every struggle, Sam bit the demon on the shoulder, and tore the power right out of the demon’s mind. Its screams tasted better than power ever could. Sam’s body seized and shook as its possessor and owner finally ended their spat. When Jacob slammed the door open to save his master from the hunters of demons, he found no sins of break in, a destroyed bed, and a confidently standing body.

“…sir?”

“Oh don’t worry, your master is not going to bother us,” spoke Sam for the first time in a year. “Now stand still. Scream as loud as you can, too. I want to enjoy this.”

Day three-hundred and seventy-five.

The media has finally caught up with the cult. Chalked up to a pagan ritual, the ruled mass-murder/suicide had ended the lives of only three families. While low for such an apparently well-supplied cult, the region is thankful that the horrid people are now no longer a problem.

In other news, a new cryptid has sprung up within local folklore. A man, clad in red, with horrid shape daggers of teeth, and literally omnivorous tendencies. How awful…

“So that’s the first story, huh?” I ask the book before me.

It responds: ‘Y es. L 1ke it?’

“Sure. Anything else?”

‘L ter’

“Alright then…” I close the book and put it on a nearby chair. I look to the clock, notice it’s at an ungodly hour, and slink over to my bed, flip over the covers, and slide into the covers. Sarcastically, I say, “goodnight book.”

As I slid into unconsciousness, I could swear I heard a voice respond,

“ﻮ𝕆𝕆∂几เ𝓖Ｈт ᖇⓐ几∂𝕆”

[windtorn]

@zorkaya || where we come from // angels cannot reach - cont.

there weren't many in belobog that had not heard of her prestigious name and even fewer that had been graced an audience of such commanding presence that demanded attention. but sampo koski was a man of action and intent, however foolish and dangerous said actions or intentions were. to find himself under her sharp eyes gave him a sick thrill of excitement. he was never a man to bend under most forms of authority, but rather he challenged and schemed until the endgame fit his desired outcome with the person manipulated under his tightly fastened marionette. he played the part of the fool well, just as he did with each mask he wore and carelessly discarded thereafter. "that depends, really. are you someone that i can get away with taking?"

had he been anyone else and his resolve been built upon glass foundations, it would have surely shattered under the weight of her sharp eyes. clutched in her hand, sampo's eyes darken briefly as they lower in curious scrutiny. she was only a bit shorter than him, but the height difference did not make her any less imposing despite her lean and graceful features. even with her visage obscured by dark shadows, she was quite beautiful bathed in the glow of the moon like this. he was drawn to her eyes, how they felt as cold as the roaring of the eternal freeze and how they glossed over with familiarity that he couldn't quite catch. a shell, he surmised. a cocoon long shed and destined to decay. except when the rot came and festered like an open wound, it refused to become one with soil and remained a hapless mess in a cruel, stationary hell. or maybe it was a mask. just like he wore to pretend that he felt something more than he did. to blend in with the common people of belobog and flaunt about the humanity that he did not possess nor ever care to. he only desired one thing, and that was the very thing that he desired in excess. to laugh and bask in pleasure of the mind and flesh even at the detriment of others. they didn't matter in the grand scope of things. nobody mattered on this pitiful, tiny ice rock out in the vast expanse of space. not even sampo koski mattered in the story of aeons and stars, but his own self was all he had. he was the only person that understood such things, so why not enjoy the fruitlessness of all things by indulging in some self-imposed gluttony. the air felt colder too, inescapable like a snake coiling and writhing for breath under the prison of his flesh. not from the feel of the first snow upon his head or the gentle lull of the wind caressing his bare skin, but as though intention were made palpable. like if he could open his mouth and taste the cold like ice on his tongue. "my my...don't you have a way with words. what can i say! i'm a man of the people, after all, and i aim to please." he does not lean in nor away from the hand that gripped him, though a lazy smile does curl itself across his features. his eyes danced with playfulness as he tilted his head slightly, blowing a flirtatious puff of air towards her ear. "i prefer not to look at it as intruding either! no need to make it sound so negative when you seem so interested in my company, hm?" though the truth of the matter is, sampo was intruding, and his intentions were far from innocent. as was to be expected from a known conman and businessman whose face consistently littered the walls of humanity's last bastion. whispers spoken of her prowess and wisdom, he would truly be the fool of all fool's to try and get one over her. however, his original intention had been not to get caught in the first place. "i would prefer to refer to it as something more like, a temporarily unprompted and unwanted visit of sorts. turned well-received and entertaining by such a chance meeting. sounds a lot nicer, doesnt it?"

FORWARD—

[osmanthusoolong]

After you've watched "The Prisoner," you might be interested in the 1988 comic book sequel by Dean Motter, SHATTERED VISAGE, in which the publication of a heavily censored tell-all memoir by a former Number Two (Leon McKern) raises the question: What happened to Number Six? Titan reprinted it in 2019, which I like to think was an apology for their 2018 THE PRISONER: THE UNCERTAINTY MACHINE, which is vile (totally wrong tonally, mean-spirited, and very violent, which McGoohan would have *hated*).

That sounds intriguing, though hopefully it doesn’t explain too much? I do love that the series raises more questions than answers (and tend to prefer that in that kind of thing, it’s nice rotating a story in my head for days).