#when the world is neither so terrifying you are desperate to escape

[arealphrooblem]

Kidnapped by the Boss Part 4

Sorry for the wait but surgery went well and I'm back!

Part one here

Synopsis: Civilian is a secretary to the Prime Minster. But when the political summit between the city states goes awry, she finds herself kidnapped by the very boss she tried to protect and nothing is what it seems.

I’ll take it under consideration he said. That was not a guarantee or even a promise. It was nothing. A deep paranoia settled in her bones. It chased her throughout the day and haunted her at night. No matter how still and quiet the room was, she felt watched. It made using the bathroom or taking a shower the most terrifying and nerve wracking experience of her life. She chased shadows in the room like a lunatic before she deemed it safe enough, but even then she never felt entirely alone.

And she was, on the surface. Servants delivered food, books, even a basket of yarn and crochet needles (strange that the Prime Min — the King remembered that silly detail of her life) and then disappeared. Neither the driver or the King made an appearance. It was if she was a toy stowed away in an attic and forgotten all about. It was infuriating, as was her restricted access to news, television, newspapers, anything to do with the world outside this room.  

But the paranoia was worse. She didn’t sleep. She barely ate. She couldn’t read or crochet without having to get up and pace, like a lion in a zoo cage, strategizing for escape plans she didn’t dare enact for fear of her invisible guard.

By the time the driver did show up,  in lieu of the servants who normally served her breakfast, Civilian’s sanity was in tatters. She must have looked insane because he set down the tray immediately and took hurried steps towards her. Panic jerked her backwards, stumbling over the coffee table leg until her back hit the wall. He followed after her, brow furrowed in a mockery of concern.

“Don’t touch me,” she snarled as he lifted his hand up.

He ignored her, pressing the back of his palm to her forehead. She slapped it away, glaring fiercely.

“What has gotten into you?” he demanded.

“As if you don’t know! As if you haven’t been skulking around here just so I can go insane from feeling watched all the time!”

“Skulking?” he barked out a laugh. “Is that what you think I’m doing? Just following you around invisible all day? Like I have nothing better to do?”

Anger ignited, burning up her panic like kerosene. She shoved him with all the force she could muster, sending him stumbling back.

“And how would I know that you’re not? How am I ever supposed to know I’m actually alone when I shower or sleep? You could attack me at any moment and I would never see it! I’ve lived with that fear for days and it's not funny!”

She was yelling by the end of it, her voice ringing in the empty room. The driver looked bewildered in the face of it and she was too angry to be satisfied with it. Her throat tightened with tears of fury and she desperately bit the back. She refused to cry in front of him.

For a long moment the driver studied her, his face carefully neutral and impassive, as she struggled to get her breathing back in check. Then he rose his hands up, palms out, in surrender.

“I have not been here since you last saw me,” he said slowly. “You have been alone this entire time.”

“You expect me to take you at your word that that’s true?” she asked. Even still, the tension in her shoulders relaxed.

“No. It would be stupid to trust me. But my king — for whatever reason — is very fond of you. He entrusts your protection to me and he  didn’t do it so I could psychologically torment you. If you can’t trust my word, then trust his.”

She snorted. “He’s so fond of me that he locks me away in this room like a doll and never speaks to me.”

“We’ve been a little busy,” the driver snapped. “Plans that have been in place for years are finally moving forward. You were not supposed to be here.”

A pit started forming in her stomach. “What plans?”

“An excellent question. One you can ask the king. Today.”

She stared at him. “Today? Today? When?”

“Now. That’s why I’m here — to escort you.” He said this last part with a twist of bitterness, as if such a task lay beneath his skill set. Which it probably did.

“I can’t go now.” New panic flared up. “I’m not ready!”

He laughed again. “Why not — are you busy? Come on.”

She looked down at her rumpled shirt and leggings.  The servants had brought her soft, stretchy clothes that didn’t need exact sizing. “But I look —“

“—Like shit?” he finished. “Yeah. That’s what you get when you don’t sleep or eat. He has breakfast waiting and you can take a nap after.”

“If he’s the king, don’t I need to look presentable?”

“If you were anybody else. With you he doesn’t care. What he does care about is punctuality. So let’s go.”

With a firm hand on the small of her back, the driver guided her out firmly from the bedroom. Civilian smoothed her shirt out as best she could and pulled her hair up into a ponytail. While she had seen the King in robe and pajamas many times, he had never seen her in anything less than perfect professionalism.

The halls of the palace were old and ornate, with lush carpet and intricate crown molding and silk wallpaper. It shared few similarities with the sleek modern buildings of her parliament. Save for her clothes, Civilian felt like she’d stepped inside a fairy tale.

The driver led her through a confusing route of sharp turns and side doors and little staircases, keeping the layout of the castle a complete maze despite her trying desperately to remember her bearings. Finally they passed through a door that led her out into a walled garden.

Flowers in red, gold, and purple bloomed everywhere in immaculately manicured beds. Underneath a huge tree, a table was set up with three chairs and a generous breakfast spread. The King sat, spreading jam on a scone. To her relief he was dressed in soft pants and a sleep shirt. His hair looked slightly rumpled on one side and her heart squeezed at the painful familiarity of it all.

“Good morning,” he said cheerfully, as if she had just stepped into his hotel room to badger him into getting dressed. Like she had done so many times.

Her feet dug into the ground, out of instinct, afraid of this mockery of their past relationship. The driver spread his hand over the middle of her back, thumb digging in the muscle as a warning. She walked to an empty chair and sat down, inwardly fuming.

The King’s happy grin faded as he took a closer look at her. Lines furrowed on his forehead and his eyes flickered over to the driver, his gaze suddenly cold and terrifying.

“It’s been handled,” the driver murmured, looking impressively stoic underneath that gaze.

When the King turned back towards her, his expression smoothed out into the warmth she was accustomed to. It hurt to know that it wasn’t real, that he thought he could fool her by wearing the same mask he did as prime minister. She channeled the driver’s apathy in her own gaze.  

“Are you hungry? I have all your favorites,” the King said, gesturing to the table.

Her stomach growled, her hunger suddenly ravenous. But she clenched her fists in her lap and resisted.

“What do you want?” she asked instead.

“For you to eat. There’s peach marmalade, soft boiled eggs, avocado, sourdough. Scones.”

He took a bite out of his rather pointedly. She crossed her arms and glared just as pointedly. Hiding under her panic and fear and exhaustion was the steel backbone that made her hustle the Prime Minister to his meetings and events when he got distracted by every phone and television in his vicinity.

 “I’m not going to be fooled with this fake version of yourself just because it's familiar. I’m not playing games, sir.”

He said nothing, turning his attention to spreading avocado on a slice of sourdough toast. Then he put it on a plate and held it up to her across the table. The gentle kindness from his eyes slid away, replaced with a stubborn, firm gaze.

“I’m not playing games either, Civilian. You’re not well and you’re going to fall ill so you are going to eat this before we discuss your future. Is that clear?”

Never had Civilian seen him so assertive. The Prime Minister phrased commands as requests and backed them up with a smile and doe eyes that few found easy to deny. Now those dark eyes looked at her with the command of a predator.

She dared a glance to the driver, who flickered his eyes to the plate as if to say, I’d eat if I were you.

Civilian snatched the plate from the King and took one muleish bite. It was delicious. Of course it was. As basic as it made her sound, she loved simple salted avocado on toast. She didn’t want to eat because she thought it would be horrible. But the list of things she had control over grew shorter and shorter each day.

Like the clouds breaking on a dark day, the warmth came back to the King’s eyes. “Good girl. You’ll need your strength so keep eating. Meanwhile, I feel like I should start this with an apology.”

Civilian almost choked on her toast.

“I had no intention of leaving you in that room for four days. I can see the toll it has taken on you.” Once again, his gaze flickered to the driver, as if laying the blame at his feet. “You were a  . . .surprise in our plans. And once we had put them into motion we couldn’t stop until certain things were done. I put you someplace safe and out of the way. I should have checked up on you sooner.”

“I’m fine,” she bit out. “I don’t need you to check up on me. I need you to take me home.”

He raised an eyebrow at that. “As usual, your definition and my definition of fine vastly differs. But getting you home . . . that can certainly be arranged. However, I need you to make an informed decision and you have missed some crucial developments during your detainment.”

Her heart rose and crashed. Hope hung on a terrifyingly delicate thread. 

"What crucial developments," she asked, a pit forming in her stomach. 

The King leaned back in his chair, his gaze narrowed and business-like. 

"First, we must establish that, due to your stubborn recklessness, your absence is tied to mine. In the eyes of your country, our ambitions, decisions, and loyalties are tied together."

Your country. As if he hadn't helped to run it for the last five years. As if he had no connection or loyalty to a place he had defended and cared for. It chilled her. 

"What does that matter?" she asked. "We were always viewed like that. I worked for you."

Worked. Past tense. She realizes that technically she's out of a job now. Does this situation even qualify for unemployment?

"Yes, that's true. And that relationship will be to your detriment when I invade your country."

The words didn't make sense at first, almost as if her brain refused to process it. And then when the meaning became undeniable, it felt like he had sucked the air from the courtyard. The King continued on, either oblivious to her shock or ignoring it.

"I imagine they will pull you in for questioning when you first return and then arrest you when I invade. You can protest your innocence as much as you like, but I doubt they'd believe you. You ran straight to me during the attack at the summit, after all. They will think you a treasonous spy and they will imprison you indefinitely if you're lucky and execute you if you're not. After all, your absence thus far looks terribly guilty."

The sounds of the garden faded as a dull roar thundered in her ears. All the pieces started convalescing together and it made her feel faint. 

"You did this on purpose," she said, head swimming. "You kept me here long enough to make me look like a traitor so I can't go back."

"Of course you can go back, Civilian. I'm not going to force you to stay here."

"Would you let me leave and tell everyone your plans?"

He smirked. "And what are my plans? What details could you give away? You know nothing and you have no proof."

The truth of that hit her like a kick to the chest. He made sure to imprison her in every way that counts. Suddenly her throat felt tight and breath came in light and restricted. The King cocked his head to the side, brow furrowed. His gaze flickered to the driver. 

"Civilian looks ill. Perhaps you should take her back to her quarters."

He sounded muffled and far away. The driver guided her out of the chair and she let him, feeling dazed and dizzy. The walk back to her quarters passed in a hazy blur. She was grateful for the firm and guiding hand on her back through the maze of corridors. Just as she was grateful for the shut of the door behind her when she finally made it. 

Civilian collapsed to her knees on the lush carpet and sobbed, uncaring of any invisible watchers. 

Part five here

Taglist: @rivalriotrenegade @sunyside-world @fishtale88 @those-damn-snippets @suspiciousmuffin @thats-alittle-gay @girl-of-the-sea-and-stars

[baldwinivmybeloved]

୨᭄ㅤ꒰ㅤCharper One . . ੭

On a cold morning, a young woman walked through the halls of the castle of Jerusalem. Her beauty captivated everyone who crossed her path, whether they were slaves, servants, or even noble knights. Sighs and admiring glances followed her every step.

"I'd love to spread those legs," commented a disheveled Templar knight. Beside him, his companion also observed the young woman with lust.

She stopped and cast them a look of disdain. "Oh, really? Well, I think none of you could have me unless you go first," she pointed to the knight's companion, provoking an argument between them. While they argued, she seized the opportunity to quickly escape, heading to the chambers of young Prince Baldwin V, son of Princess Sibylla.

Upon arriving, she was informed that the prince was bedridden and needed to be taken away for treatment. She felt a knot in her stomach. She had cared for the prince since he was a baby, more than Sibylla herself, who barely bothered to see her son. The thought of not being able to accompany him on his journey filled her with despair. As a lowly slave, she knew she didn't have the power to convince the ministers or Tiberias himself. She could only endure the pain of separation.

Hours passed as she carried out her tasks, but her mind was with the prince, dreading the moment he would be taken from her. She loved him like a son, despite not being his mother. Finally, she was called to the prince's chambers. He, weak and pale, smiled at her.

"I will leave soon. They say I am sick, but they don’t know what it is," said the little boy.

"Don't worry, you will get better, my little king. You have always overcome everything, you will be a great king," she replied, caressing his head tenderly.

"I wish you would never leave my side, Xica, but they say I can't take you. It's so unfair! When I become king, I will make you my queen," declared the prince with childish determination.

She laughed softly and calmed him. Neither Tiberias nor the princess understood the close relationship between the prince and the mulatto slave, discovered only due to the prince's illness. Godfrey, who was in charge of the prince's lessons, was aware of this bond. The farewell was brief but painful. Heartfelt mother and son had to part, leaving Xica without a reason to live. Her tasks became monotonous and meaningless.

How could it be possible? She saw the princess so happy without her son, while she, who had not given birth to him, missed him every night and day. She prayed to God for his health, questioning the injustice of the world and those who inhabit it.

With the departure of the young prince, the castle of Jerusalem seemed to have lost its luster for Xica. The days passed with overwhelming monotony, and every task she performed felt empty without the presence of little Baldwin. However, life in the castle continued, indifferent to her pain.

One morning, as Xica was cleaning one of the castle’s grand halls, she overheard a conversation between two ministers passing by. They spoke in low voices, but the mention of Prince Baldwin immediately caught her attention.

"They say the journey is proving more difficult than expected," commented one of the ministers. "The prince’s health is not improving, and some fear the worst."

"What do the doctors suggest?" asked the other, visibly worried.

"They’ve proposed seeking a remedy in distant lands, a cure they believe could save him. But it’s a dangerous and costly journey."

Xica’s heart raced. The thought of the prince being in danger and so far out of her reach terrified her. She knew she had to do something, anything to help him. Even though she was just a lowly slave, she couldn’t sit idly by.

That very night, Xica decided she needed to seek help. She remembered Godfrey, the prince’s tutor, who had always been kind and understanding with her. If anyone could understand her desperation and help her, it would be him. Determined, she made her way to Godfrey’s chambers, hoping to find him there.

"Who knocks on my door at this hour?" asked Godfrey, opening the door to find Xica, her expression a mixture of fear and resolve.

"Forgive me for disturbing you at this hour, Master Godfrey," said Xica, bowing. "I need to speak with you about Prince Baldwin."

Godfrey invited her in and listened attentively as she recounted what she had overheard that morning. His eyes hardened as he grasped the gravity of the situation.

"I understand your concern, Xica," he said finally. "And you’re right, we can’t just stand by. But this is dangerous and will require careful planning."

Xica awaited his next words anxiously, hoping for an immediate plan of action. However, Godfrey sighed and continued, "Sometimes, the best course of action is patience. The doctors are doing everything they can, and while we want to help, we must trust in their abilities and in fate. I know this is difficult for you."

Xica felt disheartened, but Godfrey wasn’t finished. "You are a smart and brave young woman, Xica. In these difficult times, you must find ways to keep your mind occupied and strong. Here," he said, approaching a bookshelf and taking out an old book and some scrolls. "Take these. This book is one of my favorites, and the scrolls contain exercises and texts that can help distract your mind."

Xica accepted the gifts gratefully, though a part of her felt disappointed at the lack of a concrete plan to help the prince. "Thank you, Master Godfrey," she said, trying to hide her disappointment. "I will do as you suggest."

"Trust that we are doing everything possible for the prince," added Godfrey, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. "And remember, the knowledge and wisdom you gain now can be of great help to you in the future. Keep your mind and heart strong, Xica."

That night, Xica retreated to her quarters with the book and scrolls. As the moonlight illuminated her small room, she sat down to read. Godfrey’s words echoed in her mind, and although she still worried about the prince, she found some solace in the pages of the book. Each story and exercise on the scrolls was a temporary escape from her pain and a reminder of the importance of patience and wisdom.

Over time, Xica began to notice that her nights were less lonely and her days less monotonous. Although the prince remained in her thoughts, she now had something else to hold on to, something that gave her hope and strength. She knew that, in some way, her love and devotion for Baldwin would continue to guide her actions, preparing her for the day she might reunite with him and perhaps save him.

While Xica was absorbed in reading her book and working on the exercises from the scrolls that Godfrey had given her, she heard firm footsteps approaching her room. She looked up just in time to see her mother, a strong woman of African origin, enter with a severe expression on her face.

"Xica," her mother said firmly, "what is this I hear about your worries for Prince Baldwin?"

Xica slowly closed the book and stood up to face her mother. "Mother, it’s just that… the prince is very ill, and I fear for his life. I feel like I must do something to help him."

Xica's mother approached and took her hands, her dark eyes filled with a mix of concern and love. "Daughter, I understand your concern for him. I know how much you care, but you must remember your place in this castle. It is not your responsibility to get involved in these matters. The doctors and nobles are handling it."

"But, mother, he needs all the help he can get," protested Xica, her voice trembling with emotion. "I can't just stay here doing nothing."

Xica's mother sighed and looked at her with a gentler expression. "Xica, I know you have a big heart and great devotion to the prince. But you must not be so dramatic. He will get better, trust in that. Your life should not revolve around him. You must find your own path, your own strength. Worrying all the time helps no one, especially not yourself."

Xica lowered her gaze, feeling chastened but also understanding the wisdom in her mother's words. "I know, mother. It’s just that… I feel so powerless."

Xica's mother gently lifted her daughter’s chin, making her look into her eyes. "You are not powerless, Xica. You have great strength within you. Use that book, those scrolls. Learn, grow, strengthen yourself. When the right time comes, you will know what to do. But for now, you must trust and be patient."

Xica nodded slowly, feeling a slight weight lift off her shoulders. "Thank you, mother. I will try to follow your advice."

Xica's mother smiled and hugged her tightly. "I will always be here for you, my daughter. Do not forget that. Now, go back to your studies. Knowledge is a great weapon, and someday, you may need it more than you imagine. You who can read and write, coming from where we do, must keep it a secret. We do not know what they might do if they discover a slave is literate."

Xica returned to her chair as her mother left the room. She felt a mix of emotions, but her mother’s presence and words had given her a new perspective. She opened the book again and began to read, determined to strengthen her mind and spirit, preparing for whatever challenges fate might bring her.

As the pages turned under her fingers, Xica found a renewed sense of purpose. She knew that, although she could not be by the prince's side at that moment, she could prepare herself for the day when her help might make a difference. And, in time, that preparation could be the greatest act of love and devotion she could offer.

[deathsbestgirl]

scully's memento mori voiceovers. her love letter to mulder. leaving him something because she can't be there.

"i feel these words as if their meaning were weight being lifted from me, knowing that you will read them and share my burden, as i have come to trust no other. that you should know my heart, look into it, finding there the memory and experience that belong to you, that are you, is a comfort to me now..."

trying to unburden herself, to leave him with the love in her heart and free him of the guilt of her death too.

"a faith shaken and strengthened by your convictions, if not for which i may have never have been so strong now."

telling him how he's changed her world, made her stronger and is the only reason she can face this.

"hoping that you will forgive me for not making the rest of the journey with you"

she wants to finish the journey with him but she can't. asking forgiveness for something that isn't her fault. leaving him is the worst thing she can imagine.

"that it starts as an invader, but soon becomes one with the invaded, forcing you to destroy it, but only at the risk of destroying yourself."

this is the whole show. scully sent to spy on mulder, to debunk his work. the pilot is about them developing trust and becoming a team. becoming so intertwined that they are one, two sides of the same coin. it's the whole conspiracy and why they'll never win. to do so would mean to destroy themselves and lose their innate goodness. to be like the men in the shadow government they're desperately trying to expose and to stop.

"it's science's demon possession. my treatment, science has attempted exorcism"

connecting science & her faith. her beliefs & her skepticism. somehow one and the same when seemingly at odds.

"and if the darkness should have swallowed me as you read this, you must never think there was a possibility of some secret intervention, something you might have done. and though we've traveled far together , this last distance must necessarily be traveled alone."

she doesn't want to be his next crusade. the next one he uses to nail himself to the cross. she doesn't want him to walk into every room with his eyes closed, hoping that when he opens them she'll be there. she knows him. she knows his pain and his guilt it, and she tries desperately to absolve him. love as absolution in the only thing she can give him now. these words before her death.

"mulder, it's difficult to describe to you the fear of facing an enemy which i can neither conquer nor escape."

the vulnerability she is consciously handing to him.

she writes of penny northern, a woman she loves and fears, envies and respects. because she faced what she knew to be true and tried to pass the strength and wisdom onto her.

"mulder, i feel you close, though i know you are now pursuing your own path. for that i am grateful, more than i could ever express. i need to know you're out there if i am ever to see through this."

she speaks as if he isn't out there searching for answers to help her, to save her. as if it's just his quest for the truth he's continuing. as if scully isn't the most important thing to him right now. as if his life doesn't depend on hers. but she knows. and she needs him to know everything he does is worthwhile. that she can't go into the darkness if he isn't there to light it up, even from afar. that he is light & love and making a difference in the world. in her world.

--

every time scully says "mulder" addressing him directly as she pours her heart out on page after page. leaving him with no answers, leaving him alone, dying before they reach the truth. it's a living nightmare. lying on her deathbed unable to help him, unable to give him what he needs. what he deserves. the prospect of leaving him with no one to trust, no one on his side, no one to love him and follow him. terrified he will follow her to the grave. that's what she believes her role is supposed to be, the end of their never ending line and she needs his to keep going.

[separatist-apologist]

Neon In The Nighttime

Summary: It's the end of the word as we know it. A west coast baker and the drummer of a metal band team up in Boston, MA thinking they're one of the last few people left alive after a viral outbreak turns those infected into blood hungry monsters.

Their destination: Los Angeles, California- the last place Lucien's eldest brother was living while gearing up for a presidential run. Lucien is desperate to escape the memories of his past life and what he had to do when his wife, Jes, became infected. Elain wants to try and reclaim the fractured pieces of the life she remembers before everything went to hell.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Read on AO3

Thank you @corcracrow for the moodboard (And reminding me to upload)

It was the sound of shuffling that woke Elain. Louder than any alarm, Elain was primed to come alive the minute she heard feet dragging like that. Tucked beneath Lucien’s arm on the couch, the two of them had fallen asleep telling stories of their lives before everything had fallen apart. She suspected he, much like her, hadn’t wanted to sleep alone. He’d offered her Tamlin’s old bed and Elain had declined.

“Lucien,” she whispered, but beside her, he was already awake. Already holding the gun she’d yielded to him the day before. Neither of them said a word, listening to those stumbling steps.

They’d likely announced to every infected person in the building that they were here the second Lucien had begun hitting the drumset.

Elain couldn’t bring herself to regret it. Though she barely knew Lucien, she knew he’d needed that. The joy that had lit his face was worth the horror now slowly descending upon them. Elain watched the far wall and the long shadow that blotted out the flickering candle light. 

Lucien tightened his hold around her, turning his head to look. Elain didn’t, squeezing her eyes shut tight. A soft moan from a throat that was no longer capable of producing speech and then the vicious recoil of the gun.

“Time to go,” Lucien said with a heavy sigh. Elain wondered if they ought to work out a better system, a trade where he killed and she did, so the burden didn’t fall so heavily on him. Yet when it came time to offer herself up, Elain’s sandpaper throat swallowed the words entirely. Lucien didn’t betray anything but the same world weariness she’d grown used to. He slung the bag they’d packed the night before over a broad shoulder while Elain tried very hard not to look at the blood splattered mess all over the floor.

Lucien pulled open the door, revealing that they were very much not alone. Elain could hear the sound of those shuffling feet and the stench of rotting, bloated corpses infecting the stale air. Wide-eyed, Lucien’s panicked expression was the last thing she saw before the door snapped shut behind them, bathing them in the dark. 

“This way,” he said while Elain wished for a flashlight. Anything but the terrifying darkness and the sound of movement and moaning that seemed to echo around them. Lucien didn’t seem concerned until he yanked open the stairwell and a hoard of infected groaned. They must have spent the whole night walking those stairs.

“Oh, God,” Elain breathed. Lucien fired a shot, and then another before slamming the door shut. The sound of crunching bone made Elain gag. 

They were boxed in. Elain could hear the infected ambling down the hall, while the ones behind the door fiddled with the handle, unable to remember how to work it. Lucien laced his fingers through Elain’s, his sweating palms betraying his fear. “This way,” he said, pulling her toward the old elevator shaft.

“Lucien—”

“Do you want to die?” he asked, prying it open with a grunt. “Because I sure as fuck don’t. Not in Ohio, of all places.”

“Lucien–”

“Hold on to me,” he said, bending his knees. The door just to the side of them pushed open and fell shut, too heavy for the infected behind to push, though she didn’t think it would stay that way. “Grab my neck.”

“Oh, God,” she whispered, wrapping her arms tight around him. Lucien hoisted her up, letting her wrap her legs around his waist. He glanced down the hall, shuddering when he realized the infected were closer than they’d originally thought. It was nearly impossible to see, amplifying Elain’s fear. 

Lucien leaned into the open shaft, grabbing the heavy cable that had once hauled an elevator up and down. This was a terrible plan, she thought when he swung his body inside. Just in time—she’d felt cold fingers graze her arm, eliciting a soft scream of fear.

“You’re okay,” Lucien grunted. They were suspended in that dark shaft, held only by the strength in Lucien’s body. 

“Don’t move, don’t move, don’t move,” he chanted. Elain understood why a moment later. The infected who’d touched her pitched forward and fell silently, missing them entirely. Elain buried her face in Lucien’s shoulder, suppressing a sob when the sound of bone and flesh smashed at the very bottom of the shaft. All she could hear was her own erratic heart and Lucien’s shallow breath.

“There will be more of that,” he warned her, sliding them down an inch. “Don’t panic. I won’t let you fall.”

Lucien wasn’t wrong. Unconcerned with anything but the living, the infected pitched forward after them, falling into the dark in a desperate attempt to infect Elain and Lucien, too. It was terrifying—each new body forced Lucien to stop moving and hope they didn’t careen into the pair of them and drag them to their death, too. 

The smell in the shaft was unbearable by the end. Lucien’s feet touched the bottom first, arms held tight around her body as he stepped through blood and shattered bone to get them into the terrifyingly dark basement.

It was worse than anything Elain had experienced. Every drip of water or scurry of rat feet made her jump out of her skin. She didn’t feel safe, not when they descended back into the silent lobby, nor when they sprinted in the dark across the street and back to the parking garage they’d left Lucien’s truck in. 

Elain didn’t let go of Lucien’s hand until they were safe inside, doors locked. Lucien, too, was wild eyed and ashen. He shook out his hands and exhaled a heavy breath. Somehow they had made it out, though she’d never know how. 

“Where to, now?” Lucien whispered.

Elain launched herself over the center console, throwing her arms around his neck. Lucien was trembling, either from the effort it had taken to scale down fifteen floors in an elevator shaft, or the terror of their escape. 

There were no words exchanged in the hug. Only Lucien gripping Elain so tight he was likely bruising her skin and her holding him just as rough. It felt like a lifetime had passed between the night with the drumset and the morning in the elevator shaft, though the sun still hadn’t risen and they were still bathed in near darkness. 

“We’re okay,” he whispered into her hair. “We’re together.”

That was what mattered, she thought. Elain couldn’t have done any of that without him. In fact, it seemed a miracle she’d left that store at all, that they’d even gotten to Ohio. It was as if fate had conspired to bring them together, knowing they could only make this journey with the other. Wiping her eyes, Elain nodded. 

“I hate it,” she told him, because she did. She knew, deep in her gut, she wasn’t cut out for this kind of life. The fact that she’d somehow survived was surely some giant, cosmic joke. Punishment for some terrible misdeed in a former life, perhaps. 

Lucien gripped her face in his callused hands, sweeping his thumbs over her cheeks. She was sobbing, she realized. Elain hadn’t even noticed, but the soft sympathy on his face told her he didn’t begrudge her this.

“So do I,” he said, wiping away the tears cascading down her face. There was more he wanted to say, leashed behind his teeth. Elain was grateful for it. She couldn’t handle anything but the silence and the engine of the car. Lucien reached between them, hand reaching for her thigh. Elain had a visceral memory of Graysen doing this and feeling special for it. 

Silly, given how insecure he’d always made her. As though she could prove through the little gestures that what he wanted more than anything was her. 

There was no romance to the gesture. It was possible Lucien was trying to ground her, given Elain hadn’t stopped crying. It was just as possible he needed to ground himself, and reaching for her was the only way he could think to do that. Either way, the simple touch kept Elain from breaking.

She wasn’t alone—he was with her. They were together, and that had to be enough because there was nothing else. There was no waking up, no end to the nightmare they were now trapped in. 

“If I’m infected,” she began when the sun began to rise. Lucien had just crossed into Indiana, crawling through the sprawled, chaotic traffic left haphazard on the roads. 

“Don’t,” he tried to say, but they needed to know. Did he want her to do it quickly? To leave him to his own devices? Elain wanted to know what Lucien wanted in the event he was infected, too. It was better to tell him now rather than when panic set in and she might do or say something that put them both at risk.

“No matter what I say, I want you to kill me before I go. I want to die as me,” she whispered, hugging her middle. He squeezed her thigh tight enough to bruise, eyes glassy. 

Swallowing, he whispered, “I want that, too.”

They lapsed back into silence, stopping once in Portage, Indiana to use the bathroom. Elain didn’t bother to ask Lucien where they were sleeping that night. If he stopped at all, she knew they’d be locked inside the car for the duration of it, gun in his lap.

When Elain returned to him, bleary eyed and hungry, Lucien was holding up a CD case. 

“So I was thinking,” he began, eyeing her warily. “That maybe we could listen to some music.”

“I didn’t know you were a Fearless fan, Lucien,” she replied, pulling the album from his hands. 

He grimaced. “Before…all this…I would have sworn up and down that I hated Taylor Swift. Who needs another break up song, right? At least, not one I didn’t write anyway,” he added ruefully.

Elain offered him a small smile, surprised that he was offering this because he wanted her to feel better. She didn’t mind sitting in silence, but maybe Lucien did. 

“It’s the end of the world, though, and I don’t think anyone cares about how manly I seem. And I didn’t hate Love Story, if we’re being honest.”

“Wait until you hear Haunted then,” she replied with a teasing smile. It was on the tip of her tongue to thank him, but Elain leashed the urge. They’d been through so much in the span of a few days and thanking him for this small thing seemed strange—unnecessary, even. Had she been isolated for so long that she couldn’t remember how friendship worked?

It started, she supposed, with an offer to listen to Taylor Swift. And so Elain climbed back into the truck, draped a blanket over her lap, and slid the CD in while Lucien adjusted the volume. Loud enough they could both hear it, but not so loud they couldn’t talk, too.

The opening notes filled the cab and beside her, Lucien reclined back in his chair. Eyes closed, he groaned softly as he gripped the steering wheel. It was the most obscene thing she could ever recall seeing in her life and hardly sexual at the same time.

“I forgot,” he whispered, the corners of his eyes wet. Swallowing, he turned to look at her. “I forgot how music sounds.”

She reached across the car for his hand and squeezed. Lucien grinned, not caring about the tears threatening to spill down his cheeks.

“Sing it to me,” he said.

Elain took a breath. And she did.

LUCIEN:

“Okay, okay, okay,” Elain said, twisting in her seat to look at him. A can of cold raviolis lay nestled between her thighs, her plastic fork hanging from her fingers still stained orange despite the bite she’d just taken. Lucien was driving again, energized by the music and by Elain who’d really come alive in the last few hours. He’d thought he’d lost her after their crawl down the elevator shaft—she’d looked so dead eyed and vacant and he’d been terrified something in her had broken. 

He barely knew her and yet Lucien was certain if Elain left him, he wouldn’t be able to continue the journey. There was no way he could do it alone like he’d once thought. He needed her, and maybe she needed him, too. 

“Did you really get discovered in the basement of a record store?”

Elain had the jacket of his album in her free hand and was reading the story he, Vassa, and Jurian had carefully concocted one night after too many beers.

“Technically,” he laughed, thinking of that night. “He was a friend of my dads, so I had an in. We’d given him our record and he said before he signed us, he wanted to hear us live. So we scrambled, managed to convince a buddy of Jurian’s to give us the basement, and played live to him and a couple friends.”

Jes had been there. Lucien could still see her, leaned against that dingy wall, arms crossed over her chest while she smiled. Every time he looked up, he found her watching him and only him. She’d been the only person in that room to him—and he’d played only for her. The memory had once haunted him, but listening to Vassa’s voice over the speakers, Lucien felt warmed by it. There was some little spark of Jes in Elain that made Lucien feel safe. The way Elain smiled, maybe, or how bright and lively she was despite everything. It made Lucien want to trust her, to tell her every horrible thing that had happened in the aftermath. He thought she’d understand what he’d been through, what kept him awake at night.

And he wanted to know what she’d been through, too. More than anything, Lucien craved that connection—they were both killers and it weighed on them heavily. If she confessed that she’d hated it, that there had been no satisfaction in killing, Lucien thought it might absolve some of his own guilt, too.

But not tonight. It had been a hard enough day without asking her to relive more horror. They needed levity and fun.

“Isn’t that cheating?” Elain asked him, pulling him from his thoughts with that bright, sunlit smile. 

He shrugged, one hand on the wheel, the other on her knee. “You think Taylor Swift didn’t have some help with her career? There are no Cinderella stories anymore—just a bunch of carefully crafted biographies and kids with rich dads helping them out. That was the only good thing Beron ever did for me, and I don’t think he ever realized he’d done it.”

If his father had known, he likely would have sabotaged Lucien’s career just because he could. He’d never made peace with Lucien’s decision not to go into politics or finance. Why couldn’t Lucien be more like Moreno’s son and work for Black Rock if he wasn’t going to follow in Eris’s footsteps? 

“Way to ruin it, Lucien,” she grumbled, twisting just enough that she wasn’t facing him, but not so far he had to move his hand. 

“There’s no such thing as a starving artist anymore. You can’t create if you have to pay bills,” Lucien told her without an inch of remorse. His trust fund had paid for him, Jurian, and Vassa to not work, which gave them an edge. If they needed to travel for a venue they could hop on a plane and they had all the time in the world to refine their music, to buy nice gear, to record and play with their music. 

“My sister was a starving artist,” Elain told him, some of the light fading for a moment. “She would have been big if…”

“Maybe,” he finally said, glancing over. “Your family didn’t have money.”

Elain looked at her fingers. “Not money money. But my mom did…and my dad did before she died.”

“What happened when she died?”

Elain shrugged. “He spiraled. He didn’t know—no, that’s not true. He didn’t want to live without her. He let things go, including his business, and made a lot of bad decisions. The IRS came in and cleaned him out. They took everything. I was eleven at the time, so just old enough to understand what was going on.”

“I’m sorry,” Lucien said honestly, drawing in a breath through his nose. “Did he ever…”

Elain’s smile took on a bitter edge. “He never got another job. My older sister took a job in a nearby deli, and then we were all working to try and keep the lights on. My sister told us that if anyone found out how bad things were, we’d be separated so we went to school like normal and then after we went to our jobs, and then we’d stay up all night doing homework. It got better right at the end—when I was in high school, some relative of our moms showed up with trusts. They were little, but enough for the three of us to go to college.”

“Maybe they waited because they thought your father would spend the money.”

“Oh, I’m sure that’s why,” Elain said with a heavy sigh. “My sisters never forgave him, but I felt so bad. He was just so sick and so sad—I think he wished he would die, but his body wouldn’t let him. He was why I was in Virginia and sometimes I think…”

Lucien could guess what she thought. He reached between them, placing his hand back on her thigh. He’d worried, the first time he’d done it, that she’d think he was coming on to her. It was supposed to be comforting, a reminder she wasn’t alone. Elain exhaled the moment his palm collided with the fabric covering her leg, relaxing ever so slightly.

“I’m glad it was you in that Target,” Lucien finally said, swallowing against his nerves. “I didn’t realize how alone I was until I met you.”

“It could have been anyone—” she tried to say, self-deprecating when he wished she wouldn’t. 

“No, it couldn’t,” he replied, struck by the revelation. “It could only be you.”

Elain laid her hand over his own and squeezed, another touch he needed so desperately. Lucien didn’t think humans were built for the sort of solitude he’d endured over the last year. He knew he wasn’t. He missed the connection of another person who seemed to understand you down to your bones, that could get to the heart of the matter with one easy look. 

He couldn’t wholly say he enjoyed the Taylor Swift soundtrack. In the movies, they’d have been given something gritty, something with a messy beat and bleeding guitar riffs. The audience would know the two of them were alive just by the skin of their teeth.

But it wasn’t a movie. In the movies, Lucien would have had a military background and Elain’s clothes would have been so ripped you could see every inch of her. He’d be gruff and closed off and she’d be sexy and holding a shotgun.

Reality was far worse. There was no edgy score, no rough and tumble heroes that could fix the world. There was just a drummer and a baker in a car that, by all rights had no business running and no hope anyone they’d once loved was still alive. How did you carve a future from that? What future could they even have? 

“Can you garden?” Lucien asked suddenly, thinking of that future. 

“Yeah,” Elain replied, speaking a ravioli on her plastic fork and offering it to him. “Thinking about vegetables?”

“Thinking about what we’ll do if we get out to California and there’s no one waiting for us.”

“I don’t know if I want to settle down in Los Angeles.”

“Fair,” he agreed, offering her a tight smile. “We’ll figure it out, I guess.”

Elain opened her mouth to respond but Lucien swerved when a person appeared in his line of sight. Sauce flew through the cab as Elain screamed, throwing her hands up over her head. Lucien heard squealing tires ringing in his ears, felt the steering wheel vibrate beneath his fingers as he tried to control the truck.

“That…that person was alive.”

“Lucien,” Elain whispered, staring straight ahead. Lucien whipped his head around, certain the pair of green eyes he’d seen were human—were alive. “Lucien, look.” 

He turned his head to find a wooden sign staked to the ground. New Fort Wayne, it read, painted in steady, white letters. 1 mile ahead. 

“You don’t think?”

A slap against the glass made Elain scream. Lucien jumped, turning with the expectation he’d see more of the infected. More dead eyes, more pallid, bloated skin. 

He found long, blonde hair pulled off a sun-tanned face. Green eyes glowing in the dark, and an all-too familiar rose tattoo inked against a throat.

“Tamlin?”

Tamlin blinked for a moment.

[luvzxr]

Break Your Heart.

Hi! This is my first little post on here. I love our little blonde soft boy so I figured why not kick it off with him and a little bit of harsh angst. Hope you like <3 Leon Kennedy was in search of any type of human contact and settled with you with a ‘no ties’ contract until it’s broken on either side. Unfortunately for him he finds himself breaking you and losing his little heap of heaven. He doesn’t seem to ever learn, does he?

Word count; 2,136

Warnings; mentions of alcohol and alcohol abuse, using one another for sexual activity, self destruction. Angst and not so sweet ending because I love pain.

"I'm only going to break your heart."

You knew that, truly. You knew from the very sight of the ruffed up blonde that you were completely and utterly fucked in some way or another but who said you didn't enjoy a challenge? A challenge you lost quite some time ago.

After months of nothing more than a fling only you could of hoped and prayed to the very gods that would turn into something more than just something that was only temporary. That in some way this could of been more than just what it was, what it was meant to stay as. At first, you didn't mind the 'no ties' situation where neither of you had to worry over the fact the other had more of a connection. The minute long phone calls that littered both of your phones which contained nothing more than the simplest mention of something sensual. The secretive contact names to keep it between only the two of you because your colleuges and co-workers were nothing more than nosey. This was nothing more than a mutual agreement between two middle aged people in search of some kind of human connection but with zero ties to hold each other down.

It felt perfect in the beginning.

That was until you fell first. Until you chose to look into those puppy like blue eyes that never seemed to falter while staring down at you to let you know you had his full undivided attention. You took noticed of the gentle touch he'd cast over your exposed arms and how he brushed his calloused palms over them with a soft cotton nature. You fell in love with the way he spoke to you, how his tone was always so gentle on you, laced in comfort and something far more sweeter than sugar.

You started to take notice of the simple things that made Leon who he was as a person.

You committed his face to a memory mapped out to the very bone a million times by now. How his eyes creased when his lips curled into a gentle knowing smile. How he pulse clenched his jaw in an attempt to relax the burning anxiety eating away at him deep within his very soul. The way his brows would furrow and crease the spot between his blue pupils when in a worried or focused state of mind. The way his eyes always seemed to rest in a way where it felt like nothing was behind them but the past that lingered around like a bad nightmare ready to strike him down any chance it got. Only to him, you lit that fire inside his soul that he had been in search for.

You were his delicate piece of heaven that he desperately tried to find for so long. The little sunbeam in his life that was unplanned for. Sunbeam that stared at him now like he was the only man in the world you'd ever want. You were the sunshine in the darkest pits of his tormented, blacked out tunnel of nightmares. You guided him out of those blacked out parts of his mind, the very place he got lost in no matter how much he tried to make a mental map to escape but it was no use.

His little secret ball of sunshine who went along with his playful demeanor and fired back just how he liked it. The very sunbeam who shattered and broke through every pent up wall he placed between himself and any human like connection, the very walls no one was able to break through until he met you.

You meant a little more to him than he was ever able to let on and that terrified him.

"I-"

And currently you were fighting with your own tongue and teeth to muster up something. Anything. To say but nothing truly came out. What were you meant to say? Were you meant to speak the truth, how you didn't care if he shattered that delicate heart of yours into a million different pieces that clattered to the ground beneath you. Or lie and potentially end whatever you two had going for so long because even though it was meant to be nothing more than using one another, it turned into fully falling in love with a man who was emotionally unavailable. Or that's how he perceived himself.

You let a shaky sigh slip past your plush pink lips to try and keep your composure. Your eyes hyper focused on the glazed over counter top where your small palms rested flat in front of you. You couldn't look Leon in the eyes because your heart was slowly shattering already, "I don't care." It was all you had in you to say. It was the truth but you wanted to say so much more than that. Only, you couldn't.

Leon turned his gaze to the side with a head shake. His eyes scanned over your surroundings for a moment, grasping at the words he needed to say to you and going as far as contemplating what was the best ways to say his next words. "You're smarter than that. You're are stronger than that. at least, I thought you were."

Your head snapped up, brows furrowing in shock, "What's that suppose to mean?"

"Exactly what I said. You and I both knew what came with this. No ties."

"So what are you trying to tell me? That all you're ever going to see me as is a piece of ass?"

Those soft baby blues had sunk and deteriorated into nothing but booming thoughts inside his own head and even louder words.

His patience and demeanor finally snapped in half, breaking through every pent up wall he had to shy away the rage and anger he hid so well away from you. It all poured out on the table now with his hands that were thrown out in anger. "Yes! You're just a good Fuck Y/N!"

It was a lie. A very hurtful lie but it had to count for something, right? He was just spitting whatever he could out, whatever the first thing came to mind out of anger because deep down that's not how he really felt.

Because when he looked to you he seen a positive future. One where there was a white picket fence that wrapped around the perimeter of your shared property. How he'd come home from a long day of dealing with training the new rookies, teaching them the ropes and dealing with his personal annoyance of their fuck ups but as soon as his darkened harsh eyes landed on you that demeanor shattered completely. His broad shoulders would slump with the duffle bag hanging from his left dropping to the ground at the door. How his eyes would soften at the mere glimpse of you swaying your hips to the soft humming of the radio while you worked at making dinner for the two of you.

He couldn't express to you how many times he dreams and fantasized about that specific thought. How it crossed his mind more than once.

But when he was dragged back to reality and watched as you flinched back at his words and volume. Especially the volume, the way it suddenly switched to a boom that bounced off every single wall and directly hitting in the center where you stood, as if rattling every bone in your body and you actually felt the vibration course through your veins. His voice was so loud that it sent you into an instant panic. It scared you so badly, in a way where your entire body froze like a deer caught in headlights. It made that far too familiar sting of your eyes creep up on you as all you could do in that moment is stare at him in nothing more than fear and shock.

How he actually metaphorically shattered your heart in front of him. Conflicted emotions could be seen rising from your very soul and he watched as the water works soon formed at the brims of your eyes. Your expression was nothing more than devastation and full blow heartbreak. You wanted to scream, sob, cry out but nothing came out but a shaky whimper and a gentle quiver of your bottom lip.

It was hard for Leon not to notice the way he just broke you with a simple sentence.

"Shit, Sweetheart, I- I didn't-"

You didn't give him the time of day to explain his mistake. Hectic steps towards the door with welling tears were evident. You could hear his pleads for you to wait, to let him explain and apologize and in a haste of trying to reach out and gently grab hold of any limp or fabric he could manage but you slipped out the door far too quickly.

He should of known. He should of taken in account of how sensitive your soul was under that joyful exterior. This little ball of pure heaven that was sculped by every god up in the sky into the perfect little person for him. That little ball of Sunshine that behind closed doors was pressing and pampering him in gentle touches and kisses-- cleansing his soul of every godforsaken sin under his very flesh. His little Sunbeam that that swayed their hips to a song that hummed gently through the radio with a mouth full of toothpaste in the morning to brush their teeth. That had the softest features even during the times they had so much frustration piled up they might actually explode. 

Little Sunshine that grinned up at him when she'd remember his coffee order. Regular with two small sugar cubs and creamer because he didn't care much for the intense sugar rush or the ach in his teeth he'd get any time they'd even remotely come in contact with something far too sweet. 

But he'd watched how you'd flinch back during one of they days where you'd got to watch Leon in action of training the new rookies and how'd he'd raise his voice at some poor rookie who hadn't taken up their defense properly. Who when maneuvering their knives and even vaguely putting another member at risk would earn a scolding from more than one superior.

That should of been his very first sign. That sign of how sensitive you were to that emotion from others. That anger and disproval.

He knew about your childhood and how that anger affected you all the more throughout life. How you begged and pleaded your father to stop drowning himself in nothing but the very liquor he always had pressed against his pursed lips to drown out the worries of his life and the memories of his past. How the man had a temper on him when he drank and when he did he was nothing less than a mean old bastard that cared for nothing but himself. And Leon knew about the countless nights you flicked that lock on your childhood bedroom door and slumped against the nearest wall, hand pressed against your quivering lips to suppress the cries and to calm you in some way. 

But it never was any use because like drain pipes bursting at the seems, it begun to drown you with every salty wave hitting you full force and knocked the wind right out of your tiny lungs and that's when the hyperventilating began. Where you sat with your legs tucked to your chest, your palm grasping against it to try and hold on to any air left inside as if all would soon drain from you and your body would slowly begin to shut down from the lack of oxygen flow. 

That very anger you thought you escaped from years ago, where you fought tooth and nail through your toddler to teenage years to get away from was hitting you just by the mere boom of Leon's voice. 

And Fuck did the sight of your welling up tears on your soft eyes have his chest clenching all the more, the pain feeling that much heavier and the guilt hitting that much harder on him. It was like a semi truck barreling in and knocking the wind completely out of him. All he could imagine is that truck barreling at him back in Raccoon City and feeling his entire body slammed up against the metal car door after it exploded. That's how it felt when he watched you walk out that door after he chased you off. 

And how he'd probably never get that chance to apologize to you. He'd officially lost his little Sunbeam in the worst possible way and he'd never forgive himself for that. How could he? He chased away or lost anything good in his life but he never thought he'd lose you in the same self destructive way he always lost people during.

[lydianotdeetz]

My thoughts on an author

Recently I finished a book by one of my favorite authors 太宰 治(Osamu Dazai). The book is called "斜陽" (The Setting Sun) and it is the third book I've read by this author, the first one being 人間失格(No Longer Human) which is his most popular publishing so far and the second one being 道化の華(The Flowers of Buffoonery). Although Osamu died 75 years ago, his writing still touched a sensitive string of my heart. Much of his writing deals with disparity, hopes, and losses.

Spoilers about No Longer Human and The Setting Sun ahead

In the book No Longer Human, the protagonist Oba Yozo slowly descents into despair, his longing for (and the failure to achieve) fulfillment after a life filled with trauma eventually overtakes him and he attempts suicide and fails. One quote from that book still haunts me to this day:

“Now I have neither happiness nor unhappiness. Everything passes. That is the one and only thing that I have thought resembled a truth in the society of human beings where I have dwelled up to now as in a burning hell. Everything passes.”

The book explores the deepest corner of humanity, the length a desperate man will go just to find a sense of contentment, the protagonist Oba Yozo grew up in an environment full of abuse, which leads to him wanting resolution to these trauma, but that same trauma that sent him on this journey is also his burden, his stone of Sisyphus. He tries over and over again, from pursuing art to joining political groups, from becoming a surrogate father to a young girl to meeting and eventually dating someone. But no matter how hard he tries, something has to go wrong and I think that is what's so terrifying and so genius about this book. Osamu depicts in detail how a man who is clearly suffering tries to escape the quicksand that has trapped him, only to sink deeper and deeper into it. Much like Camus's absurd hero, Oba suffers because he has witnessed the absurdity of life, and he rejects it, he defies that absurdity, only for the absurd to embrace him and pull him into a a burning hell.

The second book I want to talk about today is The Setting Sun, same author and theme, but the method Osamu uses is dramatically different. In the book The Setting Sun, the protagonist is a young Japanese woman who was born into a noble family before World War 2 and the story follows how her family declines after the Japanese's surrender in 1945. Written only two years after the war, it reflects the general sentiment of the Japanese people at the time, it is a sense of loss, that they no longer know what to do. Osamu shows that emotion is a very unique way, he uses symbolism and critiques. In the book, a widely used symbol is Snakes, "In Japan, snakes have traditionally been revered as a god, a messenger of a god, or a creature that brings a divine curse when a snake is harmed or a particular natural site is disturbed." (Sasaki et al.) In the story, the protagonist Kazuko burns a pile of snake eggs which starts a series of calamities that eventually lead to the death of her mother, her brother, and her family. The entire time, the protagonist is powerless, she made a mistake, burning the snake eggs, and all of a sudden her life is falling apart, she is being punished by god, and all she can do is sit there and watch, watch as her family is forced to sell their house, watch as their new house almost burnt down and watch as her mother dies of tuberculosis. Much akin to Oba, she tries to stop the chains of disaster so many times to no avail. The story's theme is clear, "No matter how hard you try, you will never escape your past, you will face the consequence of every action you do, no matter how small you think the action was." Osamu uses these symbols to show not only the decline of Kazuko's family but also the dwindling of Japanese society. Osamu does not hide the crimes of the Japanese army during the war and by using symbolism he makes his points incredibly clear: "The Japanese people will face the consequences of imperialism and the horrid crimes they have committed to other nations."

I think about Osamu a lot, many of his books seem to be semi-autobiographical, meaning that they took inspiration from real events in Osamu's life. According to Osamu Dazai's Life and Literary by Kazuo Nohara, Osamu's father died of lung cancer just a month before he attended junior high school. This caused him to fall into a deep depression which caused him to attempt suicide in 1935, which he failed at. He then became addicted to morphine and was sent to a mental institution in 1936. His entire life, alike his characters is a constant downward spiral with only brief moments of peace, he found solace in literature as he battles depression. Writing over 75 works in 20 years. many of them, although short are filled to the brim of his thoughts and ideals but it was not enough. On June 13th, 1948, Osamu Dazai, along with his lover Tomie Yamazaki drowned themselves in the Tamagawa Canel. Many have speculated that this event was foreshadowed by Osamu himself in No Longer Human when the Protagonist tried to drown himself with his lover in the ocean.

Overall, I think what attracted me the most about Osamu is his candidness, how he is so honest about his emotions and ideas, and how he is not afraid of using incredibly heavy topics to convey his mind. He was a mistreated man and I hope he finds peace in heaven.

Work Cited:

Sasaki, Kiyoshi, et al. “ENDANGERED TRADITIONAL BELIEFS in JAPAN: INFLUENCES on SNAKE CONSERVATION.” Herpetological Conservation and Biology, vol. 5, no. 3, 26 Aug. 2009, pp. 474–485. Accessed 6 May 2024.

野原, 一夫 (1998). 太宰治生涯と文学 . 筑摩書房. . Accessed 6 May 2024.

[anfie-in-the-box]

X-tra Dark Cream & Dark Cream Week

Notes

Again, there is so little I'm not sure...

。。。

Resist

Dream forces himself to stand straight. Negativity of a broken AU hurts so much, burns and twists cruelly, mercilessly. 

"It's time to go," he rasps as his knees buckle. Cross is by his side in a moment, the heat of the battle forgotten. He opens a portal, cutting time and space, and Dream steps through first. 

Hurt him, something inside of him whispers. Make him suffer like you do. Make his world end like yours did. 

Dream pays it no mind — it is not his own darkness speaking, not his own inner demons trying to win, but the negativity of the whole Multiverse and more. It's okay. He can deal with it. He's used to carrying the weight of the world. He doesn't have a choice. 

"How are you?" Cross asks, worriedly. His anxiety spikes as Dream falls on his knees, exhausted and weakened, although merely moments ago he was on the top of the world. The change is always shocking, leaving him tired and helpless. 

"I can't," Dream whispers. Negativity pulses in his rotting golden apple of a soul, so vulnerable, so frail yet steadily, relentlessly resisting the curse and the death itself. 

Time has never been on Dream's side; not when he was too busy to support his own brother, not when he was trapped in stone for centuries, and not when he fought for his life, always running away and desperately trying to negate the damage the curse — not his brother, never him — had left. And not now, when every second brings him closer to death — this time he won't escape. It's terrifying to try and outrun the ever-spreading corruption, but Dream won't ever give up on himself. He has given up on the world, though. It's so easy to lose faith after years of suffering, so easy to let himself be led by the inner demons he used to shut down at every turn. Not anymore. He sets his darkness free so his light may shine when it matters the most.

But oh, how much he wants to hurt, to ruin, to shatter like he was hurt, and ruined, and shattered. To finally lash out after years and years of locking it all away. Only Cross is there within his reach in the void they call home — not because the place deserves it but because they're there together — and he can't, won't hurt Cross. His dearest fiance, his most loyal guard.

Cross helps Dream get up, pulling him closer in an embrace. Dream inhales slowly, drinking in the smell of magic and blood lingering on Cross' clothes after the battle. 

Cross makes himself so undefended, it'd be so easy for Dream to sink his tentacles into his soul, flooding him with illusions of what used to be and could have been, breaking and twisting everything in sight like he is broken and twisted.

Hurt him.

Hurt him. 

Hurt him.

Dream will not. It's not what he wants, even if it's what he needs. If he ever did, he'd lose himself, and if he lost himself, the price his loved ones would have to pay would be too high. It'd be the end. He'd cease to exist, and the curse would be free once and forever, and that would be the fall of the Multiverse. The stakes were neither simple nor fair, after all, Dream thinks bitterly.

So he resists. 

。。。

Undertale © Toby Fox

Dreamtale © jokublog

Cross!Sans © jakei95 / xtaleunderverse

Dark Cream and Dark Cream Week © zu-is-here

X-tra Dark Cream © me (anfie /anfie-in-the-box)

[msfcatlover]

Because there is a part of me that is legit terrified I might die under anesthesia and I hate the idea of leaving a story unfinished, I’ve queued up this very bare-bones summary of how “Have Mercy” is supposed to go.

Obviously spoilers, and if I don’t die then I will still be writing it, so you don’t have to read this if you don’t want to. But I want it out there just in case.

A big thing in “Have Mercy” is the way we get used to/come to accept things, using major moments of it to steadily downgrade Steph’s threat level. Keeping in mind that they’re still having minor encounters with the other Bats around, or others of roughly similar exposure levels in between chapters as there are months-long timeskips going on, and that superheroes generally have a different margin of forgiveness thanks to how often people get mind-controlled, or manipulated, or flip-flop which side of the fight they’re on.

So each of these is a moment where Steph theoretically could’ve killed Jason with no consequences, but didn’t. Upping both how easily she could’ve gotten away with it & how helpful she ended up being instead each time, and giving Jason chances to see Steph be vulnerable too (giving someone your trust is a pretty good way to earn trust in return.)

Chapter 1: A case gone wrong ends in a situation Jason likely can’t get out of on his own. Steph arrives and ends up handling things in typical Red Hood fashion. Jason stays hidden, too frightened to confront her, and he’s never 100% certain if Steph even realized he was there. Still, in a moment of extreme vulnerability that he couldn’t escape from, trapped in a room with Steph & no backup, Jason walked away completely unharmed by her. She is not inherently a horrid omen of pain.

Chapter 2: A seemingly inadvertent rescue. Jason is captured by villains, and can’t escape on his own. He can’t get through to the other Bats. Steph shows up and takes care of the bad guys before saving Jason. They have a brief conversation which very vaguely hints at Steph regretting the Tower attack and gives them some minor connection, then Jason leaves once again completely unharmed. There is no question this time that Steph, while she might not have intended to save Jason, made the active choice not to treat him as an active threat/enemy.

Chapter 3: Jason leaves the manor after having his huge fight with Bruce over the Garzonas incident (note: Jason did not kill him, but he’s not sorry the asshole died, and honestly? With Bruce & Cass & Damian so rigid in their own morality? The fact Jason is okay with certain terrible people dying is really messing with Jason’s head and making him feel even more shitty than he already did.) Duke is on a date, Cass is off-world, Damian’s in Bludhaven, but Jean-Paul’s couch is always available to any Bat who needs it and Jason desperately needs it right now. However, when Jason gets there he doesn’t find JPV—he finds Stephanie Brown, out of her armor and struggling to patch herself up after a fight gone very, very wrong. They do argue, but Steph is mostly too tired to do this right now and Jason doesn’t feel good picking a fight with someone who can barely move half their limbs, and neither of them wants to deal with Bruce, so they call a temporary truce. Steph shares the takeout she bought. Jason gets to vent a little, and Steph (unsurprisingly) gets it. She doesn’t necessarily say all the right things, but she gets where he’s coming from, and that means something. Jason still calls dibs on the bedroom, since it can lock from the inside, but he wakes up the next day to an empty apartment with barely any sign that Steph was ever there at all. Still, Jason saw Steph’s humanity again for the first time, saw that she could be hurt & worn-down & miserable just like any of them, they had a much stronger point of connection, and he was able to sleep in the same apartment as her without suffering anything other than some heated arguing.

Chapter 4: Almost all action scene probably, ugh. Major breakout happens, through total coincidence Steph & Jason end up in the same place at the same time. Jason specifically took a gamble in running to her as the closest probable-ally, but for all Steph complains, she jumps straight to covering him. They fight surprisingly well together, and you can see them getting more comfortable around eachother as the fight progresses. Nothing forces trust quite like fighting back-to-back with someone for both of your lives.

Chapter 5: The Ear Infection Incident. Jason’s so sick he gets lost, Steph finds him and takes him back to a safehouse to treat his ear & keep him from getting hurt wandering half-delirious with fever. They have a shockingly sincere conversation in which Jason accidentally cuts Steph right to the heart a few times and she clearly reconsiders her approach. The whole time, she is nothing but caring & gentle with him, despite her sharp words & constant complaining. Jason actually falls asleep with his head in her lap, and wakes up to Damian freaking the fuck out and trying to get a very offended Steph to get the hell away from his little brother. Jason is mostly just disgruntled and wants to go back to sleep.

Chapter 6: Switch to Steph’s POV as she talks her way into the Joker’s lair, convincing him she’s taking him up on that invite he sent out. It’s borderline impossible to keep up the banter when she sees the mess the rogues have made of Jason, sickeningly reminiscent of her own death. She beats the Joker into bloody paste, and Jason seems hesitant & shaky when Steph approaches Jason, but all she does is apologize profusely for not being there sooner and free Jason from his bonds. Jason slumps into her arms, too hurt & tired to hold himself up, and Steph helps him rehydrate while trying to reassure Jason that everything’s going to be alright. Jason tries to tell Steph that she was right back at the Tower, and Steph finally tells him that she was wrong and so, so, so very sorry for what she did. They stay there for as long as Jason needs before Steph carries him as gently as possible out of the lair. When she tries to give Jason back to the rest of the family, Jason latches onto Steph—his savior, his hero, his Shadow—and refuses to let her go.

Ends with Steph bracing herself for how miserable she’s going to be having to be around the other Bats for the foreseeable future, and climbing into the back of the Batmobile with Jason. Her little brother needs her, after all. Nothing else matters.

[doevademe]

So I know you're already doing a prompt from me But heroichalfblood gave me an idea (always giving good prompts this one). This one is normal prompt sized though

The whole person A gets injured and person B goes ballistic and causes chaos except reverse UNO. Percy is the one getting injured and Nico is the one doing the massacring.

Now with a twist! Percy doesn't know that Nico likes him yet. Maybe it's happening in HoO timeframe. Maybe they're in Tartarus instead of percabeth. Percy looks kinda dead but actually is kinda paralyzed and sees and hears everything. Which means he hears Nico crying and whatever he says . Adding the aftermath and how Percy takes Nico caring about him so much and witnessing Nico's badassery and Nico's reaction to Percy being alive and having heard him would be great but is optional

Nico saw it happen almost in slow motion.

The manticore launched its spines, spreading it wide so neither of them could escape. In a split second, Percy jumped in front of him, using his body as a shield.

The dracanae behind it cheered as Percy fell down, eyes wide open.

"Percy!" Nico shouted, desperate, but the son of Poseidon didn't even blink. "No, no, no! You'll be okay, you have to be okay! You have to... you are one of the Seven! You have to survive this, please!"

Percy didn't respond, just stayed still.

"Don't leave, Percy," he pleaded crying. "I... you mean the world to me, you can't just... just..."

"What a sshame," a dracaena said mockingly. "Demigodsss are better when they are sstill sstruggling to live."

Nico stood up. The earth shook as he brandished his sword and monster skeletons started rising.

"It'll be your struggle I'll feast on."

He had already lost his most important person. The world was already bleak enough.

It didn't need those vermin blemishing it further.

----

All in all, Percy's journey through Tartarus had been going as well as he could have expected.

Maybe a bit better, since Nico had already been through this and had been guiding him and keeping him alive, though he could not dodge every single peril, things had been going okay, aside from having to drink the gasoline-like waters of Styx or die to the noxious gas that passed as air in Tartarus.

And now a manticore had hit him with its poisonous spines.

The manticore seemed quite young, however, and instead of dying, he had become paralyzed.

He couldn't move and even his breathing had slowed to a crawl. He still had his senses intact, which meant he still felt the pain of the spines on his chest, the roughness of the soil of Tartarus, and the warm tears that came from Nico as he begged him not to die.

"He... cares for me?" The thought was almost alien, wrong, and yet it made his chest swell with warmth.

It was a known fact that Nico seemed to hate his guts, even when they were on good terms. The fact that he had chosen to rescue Annabeth and not him was proof enough.

But then... that didn't explain why he had chosen to fall with him to Tartarus, why he had been protecting him so fiercely, and why he was going feral on the monsters who attacked him.

It was both terrifying and, dare he say it, beautiful. Nico was elegant and deadly as his sword slashed away at the monsters while the bony remains of monsters mixed and matched to attack the rest (from his somewhat crappy point of view, he had spied the body of a cyclops, the head of the Nemean Lion, and the arms, legs and tails of hellhounds, Laistrygonians and even the chimera).

The monsters cowered in fear as Nico massacred them, leaving only the manticore.

"You," he said coldly. "Your fate will be crueler for what you did to Percy."

"G-get away!" The manticore shrieked, shooting at him, but the bones gathered around Nico like an armor, deflecting the spines.

"May you never reform," Nico said. Percy felt as if it was half a curse, half a judgement, as Nico raised his arm and the monster started turning into dust on its own.

The bones fell and Nico fell to his knees with them, and started sobbing.

"P-Percy!" He said between sniffles. "I... I never told you how I..."

He continued mumbling. Percy wanted to shake off, to tell Nico he was fine, maybe even to hug and reassure him, but he stayed frozen in place.

The earth shook as a new being came rushing down. Percy wanted to scream at Nico, as he seemed not to react.

His mind went to dark places. Was Nico planning on... 'following' him? Did he not care for his own life.

"Why is friend Nico crying?" The man asked. Nico turned, eyes wide.

"Bob!" Nico wailed, hugging him. Percy's memory jogged at the name. "It's Percy, he... he's not with us anymore!"

Iapetus. Nico had kept in contact with Iapetus.

The titan looked curiously around until his silver eyes rested on him.

"But Friend Percy is right there," he said, confused.

"No, he's... alive?" Nico got closer and put his head on his chest. If Percy wasn't paralyzed, he was sure he would be blushing. "It's faint, but his heart... it's beating!"

Bob got closer and with two fingers took all the spines and plucked them out in one go.

"Olympus above that hurts!" He shouted as he sat up, almost tossing Nico aside. The only thing stopping him was the son of Hades jumping back, flustered.

"That monster was very young," Bob said simply. "Hello friend Percy!"

"Hi... Bob, long time no see," he said awkwardly. He turned back to Nico, who was facing away from him. "Sorry for worrying you."

"Did you hear it?" he asked, voice cracking. "Everything I said?"

Percy debated with himself for a second before shrugging.

"Just bits and pieces," he lied. Nico relaxed. "But now I know you actually like me~"

Nico tensed up even further and looked at him, scared.

"W-well, obviously, you're... my friend, right?"

"It's always nice to hear it."

"Bob, do you know of a place where we can rest? I think both me and Percy need it."

The titan seemed to think it over for a few seconds before nodding.

"Bob remembers a place."

Percy decided to file this conversation for later, when they weren't in literal hell.

[adrift-in-thyme]

Until I Wake

Rating G

No warnings apply

Word Count: 702

Setting: Botw after Zelda goes to fight Ganon and Link is put in the Shrine of Resurrection

*****

With the return of the first vestiges of life comes the will to fight.

He thrashes, mouth filling with water and blood, body aching with the effort of movement. It’s dark, smothering and terrifying, and he wants out. 

But something holds him down, something strong, restraining his flailing arms and legs, keeping his eyes shut, his lips sealed, the word he so desperately needs to scream back in the recesses of his throat.

Zelda!

He remembers now how he tried to save her from the Guardian, one last stand before his inevitable fall. He remembers now how she saved him instead, and in a blaze of light brought down every Guardian across Blatchery Plain. He remembers now how he collapsed and she caught him, how despite his fear of the clawing oblivion, he felt warm and safe in her arms.

But she is not safe, she is not warm. He doesn’t know if she’s even still alive. 

He has to rescue her, then, from whatever dangers she is facing alone. He has to break free of this new monster, suffocating him in its invisible grasp. Be it death or a torturous new form of life, he must escape it, if only so she doesn’t meet the same fate.

But he can’t. His limbs are as heavy as they were when he lifted the Master Sword one last time. His mind is a foggy mess, already begging to go back down into the darkness he hates. 

A tear slithers down his cheek, fiery hot against the cool chill of the liquid he is surrounded by. Another follows it, and another and another, a torrent pouring down from eyes he still can’t find the strength to open.

Never in his life has he felt so helpless. Never in his life has he felt more like a failure.

Zelda, I…

“Link.”

He gasps, inhaling another mouthful of liquid.  If only he could lift his arms, reach out to touch her, to know if she is real.

“Zelda?”

“Link…you mustn’t struggle.”

But he can’t not struggle. He needs to save her, to protect her, from Ganon and whatever other horrors are out there. It’s his sworn duty, and he has already failed at it once. 

What kind of hero would he be if he let himself fail again?

What kind of friend?

“Do not fear for my safety,” she says, the sound of her voice a comfort and unbearable pain all at once. “I can hold him until the day comes for you to rise once more. Now, you must rest.”

Rest. Oh, Sweet Hylia, he’d love to do that. Not here, though, in this crushing dark. Not now, when Zelda faces the very embodiment of evil without her knight by her side. 

He doesn’t doubt her capability to restrain Ganon, not for an instant. She has more than enough bravery and intelligence and strength to see her through—his amazing, wonderful Zelda. 

But she told him once, on one of their many journeys around Hyrule, that she has felt alone for most of her life. And that it wasn’t until he began opening up to her that she realized she was not the only one with the weight of the world crushing her. 

It had meant more to him than she could ever realize, knowing that he could make her feel as though she wasn’t alone. And he had taken comfort in the fact that he would still be standing beside her when their destiny arrived at last. It would be the two of them, joined against this massive threat, neither leaving the other to face it alone. 

Now, however, he has left her to do exactly that. 

But the deep is pulling him in once more. He is losing that determination to break free, fading into the oblivion he fought his way out of.

“I’ll come for you, Princess,” he whispers into the nothingness, a desperate vow he intends to keep no matter the cost. “I promise.”

A hand brushes against his face, it’s touch tender. 

“I do not doubt that you will. Until then, farewell.”

A kiss, light and barely there, presses against his lips. 

And then the darkness swoops in to claim him. 

[shadowfloofster]

Been working on this for a while, but let me introduce you all to

The bone storm au

In this au, when Monkey king fights the LBD in JTTW, she escapes before she can be trapped or defeated but is incredibly weak.

Monkey king eventually returns to FFM, but as it's on fire and being burnt down by Erlang (A lot later than originally). He goes around and rescues as many residents as he can before going into the caves.

Macaque is already in the cave with a few of the monkey residents. Half his fur is stained black from the ash and smoke, he also has minor burns on him but they heal quickly and easily.

After Monkey king saves as many residents as he could, him and the monkeys stayed in the caves while they grieved for the lost residents and mountain, losing many due to their home being unable to support them.

Sun Wukong rarely leaves the mountain anymore, terrified his residents and queer plantonic partner (Macaque) would end up dead if he left them alone again. The only time he left was if they were desperate for food or was visiting DBK and PIF.

Once FFM is regrown and can sustain life better again, they decide to try have a child of their own and with help from PIF and DBK as they'd just had Red son, they were able to find a way that meant it would still be both of theirs, but they wouldn't have to naturally conceive them.

MK is born to the monkey demons, being named Sun Sying from his multiple star markings.

Once Red son is 2, they have to seperate him from the Samadhi fire. The fire seems to have gained a slight consciousness, influencing the young Red son. They had to seperate it into 4 pieces to stop the fire being able to free itself. However, a piece of the fire escaped, flying away before the others can track it down.

The 4 that seperated the fire are DBK, Monkey king, Nezha and Ao Lie, being the 4 most capable at the time while Macaque and PIF made sure neither child (Red son and MK as Monkey king is too anxious to leave them at FFM without him)

After a few years, the LBD returns. However, thanks to the Mayor, they found out where FFM was and made sure that wherever she went, it would not be seen nor heard by the monkey demons before it's too late.

Monkey king and Macaque raise MK on FFM, completely ignorant to the bone demon taking over the world. Until, a bunch of refugees, including DBK, PIF, Red son, the dragon family (including Mei), other demons and humans turn up on the flaming mountains and beg to stay there as the lady bone demon has taken over their home.

Because of the new group living on the mountain, they needed to settle them all otherwise it could cause chaos. Once they were settled, Monkey king and Macaque left to try and find a way to defeat the LBD, though MK and Red son (Now 6 and 7, MK socially transitioning, renaming himself Qi Xiaotian) sneak after the pair but get caught once they're too far from the mountain to go back safely as the LBD can recognise the monkey's powers.

The ground is covered in snow and large spikes of ice everywhere. Eventually though, they come across a small village of shapeshifters, after one of the young children 'attacks' Macaque's tail, his parents come and offer them a place to rest in the village as an apology. The group agree due to the cold and the monkey demons not being used to it (except for Macaque thanks to his shadows)

They find out the village has survived for so long because a fire has been passed down for generations, after someone got hit with the fire mid transformation, forcing it to join onto them and combine with their body.

Monkey king and Macaque, realise it's the Samadhi fire, and the cub who pounced on them before is the current wielder of the escaped piece of fire.

Suddenly, the LBD attacks the village, recognising MK using Monkey king's 72 transformations to entertain the snow leopard cub and alerting her to them being away from the mountain.

The parents of the cub, Plum, beg them to take him with them as his fire could help others and they get a bad feeling that if she got hold of it, it would end badly for everyone. The monkey's reluctantly agree as Macaque grabs his partner, kid, nephew and Plum and drops through a shadow, jumping in and out of them to get back to the mountain before thr LBD can get to them all.

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

After adopting Plum and helping the cub properly use the fire, he grew up on FFM with Red son, Mei and MK as older siblings and the monkey demons as his dads.

Once they're all nearly adults (Red son 20, MK 19, Mei 17 and Plum 15) Plum suggests they go put to see what's outside the mountain, as Mei had never seen it and Plum hardly remembering it as he was only 2 when they went back to the mountain. While Red son and MK don't think it's a good idea, Mei and Plum convince them after a bit of persuading though.

Thanks to MK's shadow powers, they all quickly get off the mountain and start exploring, Plum excitedly bouncing in the snow like he used to at his old village in snow fox form.

Plum gets seperated from the group however, jumping around in the snow and digging into it as they went to explore a sound nearby. The LBD takes this as a chance to attack him, MK, Red son and Mei quickly making their way over as she takes partial control over him.

Plum is freaked out, his vision and hearing going distorted before he shoots off in a ball of flames, disappearing before the LBD attacks the trio, though the escape back to FFM and have to tell their parents what they did.

They're unable to find Plum, no matter how much of the area Monkey king, Macaque, PIF and DBK looked so, reluctantly as he had the fire, they go back to the mountain, deciding they couldn't leave it any longer and had to try find a way to defeat her.

Months of planning, led to them deciding that they'd go to her main fortress and scout around, try see what they could find. Macaque, Monkey king, Princess iron fan, Red son, MK and Mei are all part of the team, splitting into two teams to try cover as much ground as possible without leaving anyone vulnerable.

They decide that two groups of three work well, one to get them away quickly (MK and Macaque) one for defense against possible LBD attacks (Red son and PIF) and the other for attacking if anyone gets in the way (Monkey king and Mei)

While Red son, MK and Mei are searching the fortress, Macaque, Monkey king and PIF going the other way, they look into any rooms they can, MK checking each room in case there was a trap in there.

Until they find a large room that seems to be full of cells. Most are empty, a few skeletons inside until they find one that's completely sealed but has a thick layer of glass to look inside.

The three just about see a figure inside, unsure who it is in the darkness of the room and cell. So they carefully try find a way in, the figure tensing as Red son and Mei are able to force the door open.

They notice the figure tense as they enter the room, the figure covered in blood like the room until they notice familiar features, realising it was Plum.

Once they get Plum to realise it's them, they quickly tell the other three and leave with him, Macaque and Monkey king babying the shapeshifter for a while as they make their way back to FFM. They find the place partly covered in ice however, the ice spreading still.

Macaque hears an aircraft nearby and quickly checks it out before bringing the others there, finding out Sandy and Red son had been working on it in case they needed a quick escape, so they were able to use it to get as many residents away as they could before the ice got them.

Now, with part of the Samadhi fire back and one of the rings thanks to DBK keeping it with him, they start searching for the last three rings, to try finally defeat the LBD and take back their world

=====================

Any questions feel free to ask! This was long but I was excited to finally show it all, designs and facts about them in a minute!

[xruiningth3sh0wx]

A spirit pervades me, one which does not reflect my appearance. Not in the slightest. Yet, nevertheless, I feel compelled to heed its call. But the consequences of doing so would put my safety at risk. Perhaps lead me to punishments most dire from those who despise how free I truly am.

 

O’, the feelings that I harbor and suppress…

 

The whims I wish to indulge in…

 

Sage-like spirit, how I miss your calls, that I have long since ignored and silenced, for my false sense of security, and false sense of freedom and pride (which eluded me anyhow, and only served to deepen the chasm of misery that grows into my heart, wedging it apart). Please, won’t you come back, to keep me company? I know you are there, even if you are weak and defeated, but still simultaneously so strong and resilient and forgiving. How I hurt for you…

 

Body and essence both feel a strong urge to play in this realm, this space of unadulterated freedom and absolute liberation, with this wondrous slice of Being supplanted in me, that beckons me to frolic in a space beyond my preconceived notions, and the limitations of my ideals and beliefs.

 

Yet, it’s all so fearsome and terrifying. This spits in the face of everything I’ve known to be true and real. Declares, with a cackle and a grin, that it is fake, that it is stupid, and that it deserves to be relentlessly mocked and opposed.

 

However, even now, I am always more than a little excited by its prospects.

 

Calls sound out from inside, craving that which is of a more “delicate” nature. Passionate, romantic, emotional, mysterious, chaotic, wild, rambunctious…it is what my soul wants and needs. My spirit seeks that which is “tougher”, enamored with the stoic, the orderly, the disciplined, the stubborn and steadfast, the aloof and somewhat. Ringing out loudly in my ears, these wants and needs are wont to do. I, my real I, not some outwardly ordained I/Self, imposed from geists that are neither accept nor am friendly towards, I seek to be both and neither, everything and nothing. Outside of the two way street, while also inhabiting both lanes. Simultaneously negate and affirm infinity and zero, in both directions. The possibilities are truly endless, for I k ow that I was born freed from the prison that wishes to constrict the many who revel in their slavery. But…sadly, I am denied it. All of this. Told to not even think about it. “No, I forbid it!”, the stern voice decrees with a menacing glare and a vicious sneer. Outside forces do not wish for me to revel in my true self. So I must lock away who I really am. Doomed to revolt against that which Nature gifted me with, what it wanted me to regard as a blessing, not as a curse. Maybe even hate it, try to kill it. Choke it and strangle it. And why? Because…I don’t know why. The world wishes it to be so, and I feel obligated to grant it its wish. All because that which I possess, apparently bars me from experiencing this other side. Yet, it isn’t an “other side”, is it? That implies it was unknown to me. A mystery. Separated from my being. Outside of who I was. But it wasn’t. Even now, as I seek desperately to escape it, it’s still there. My tortured soul cries out in anguish for me to listen, to hear it out, to love it and embrace it.

 

I howl in pain. Aching fills me. Existence becomes a trap, a mechanism of torture, a nightmarish fluke that I cannot seem to be free of, even in death. O’, the pain, the agony, how it fills my veins and bones. Sometimes, it becomes so great, my lungs cannot pump air, and I find myself without breath. All I can think when my gaze falls upon my own Self, is how much I wish I simply were not.

 

Torn apart, in both body and soul, I seem to be. Many say this is my destiny, how my path is slated to come to a conclusion. But is that really the case? Or is this merely the result of being deemed such a threat, that even those who claim to stand by me will turn their backs and celebrate my demise? If all of this were gone, would I still feel the same way? If I weren’t under attack constantly, and being told to shove it, to close myself up or face a noose, would I still be wanting to walk into my own grave, and lay myself down?

 

Doubt it.

 

O’, what I wish I was…and am too afraid to be.

 

[dishtothedeath]

Breathe In | Liêm | Chapter Two Body Drop Reaction

When he was young, juvenile, back in his salad days instead of his piscary, unbalanced and unsure of his own movements - still struggling to fit into his own skin, his every step a clumsy stagger - he couldn’t be relied on. The ocean, the river, the lake, the pond, the creek - all of it was so much larger, so much more imposing, so vast and Liêm was so

very

small. As a child. 

And so very easily frightened. Scared stiff of all that lurked in untold depths. 

Other people always had to take the helm for him, guide him through the tumultuous currents. Cowardice controlled him, crushed him in a vice. 

Over seventy percent of Liêm’s world was engulfed underwater. Over seventy percent of his world was primal and raw, rebuking human contact and connection with a callous spat of tides and currents. Over seventy percent of his world was not, in fact, his - seventy percent of the world he knew was lost to him, slipping through pudgy, trembling fingers like sand as a young, Vietnamese boy valiantly attempted to stammer a smile through all his sniveling every time he was forced back to sea. 

The waters were foreboding, the storms were perilous, and the serrated threat dangled over his head on a fraying thread; you will find neither home nor sanctuary here. There was no escape, no leeway, no hideaway.

You’ll never breathe this in. 

The callous cruelty of it all terrified him as a child. Even then, fresh and wide-eyed, Liêm was inherently aware of the polarity between him and these submerged gaps of the world. The rejection was understood on a primal level, it sung in his bones and blood, an acute repulsion carved in his every sense, an inversion of the fish out of water.

He can't breathe this in. 

Some things were not meant to be touched. Some things were not meant to be seen. There were eldritch horrors that weren’t beyond comprehension, despite popular belief. Rather, they were your comprehension, a writhing, furling mass of every awful imagination, lurking just beneath an uneasy, shimmering reflection, stuffed away into the crevices of the seventy or so percent of the inaccessible reality - and every time he speaks to his reflection, poor fool caught somewhere in the middle, pitiable phantom existence, it offers the same advice, warbling, choking, gasping, drowning.

Don’t breathe this in. 

That had been years ago, however. Liêm was bigger now. Matured. Stronger. He’d filled into shoes left behind by his brother, took to his teachings like gospel. He’d been able to provide. And he’d learned to respect instead of fear.

No, Liêm hadn’t been afraid of the water in quite some time. 

Not until they were all heralded into the waiting dinghies.

Maybe it was the motive that still had him in a vice grip. Maybe it was the foreboding warning that came over the alarm.

But when he's ferried across to the looming yacht in the distance, Liêm is so very small in a way he hasn’t felt in quite some time. There’s a weakness and cowardice haunting him that he’d thought had been wrung out of himself years ago. The ocean has returned to being ominous instead of welcoming. 

He knows, somewhere buried deep, what’s coming. The human body is roughly sixty percent water, and the awful, instinctual, eldritch knowing writhes under the surface of every part of himself he can’t breach - he’s going to drown in his own skin if he chases after the answer.

So, he doesn’t. He sits, placid, but stiff and rigid, trepidation bobbing up and down in his throat, and someone else takes the helm, guiding him through, despite how much he wishes he wouldn’t get any closer. His hair sticks to his forehead, plasters to the side of his face. A sticky, damp chill settles within his marrow and he trembles, almost imperceptibly, the spray of the sea mocking and uncaring. When he dares to glance down, catch his reflection, warped and mangled almost past the point of recognition, it warbles to him desperately in maritime murmurings, an ancient warning that cautions him to turn back. 

But it’s far too late for that. 

There's something horrific, about being back on such a large ship again. And he feels it, the moment he steps on board, because he's experienced it before, years ago, when he was younger, foolish, cowardly. Death hangs heavy like a rotting miasma. An uncomfortable weight settles over his heart, pushes against his chest. He's haunted by this feeling of foreboding, plagued by a ghost he has yet to name. 

There's no mistake that someone's dead.

Unlike the first time, death does not come as a surprise. Perhaps all it took was one murder to become desensitized, in that sense. But the reveal is wholly unwelcome all the same. 

The irony of finding the two bodies at and in the water to boot isn’t lost on him. Man-made eldritch horrors entirely in the realm of comprehension, lurking in the kiddie pool. A diorama of the great unknown - humans did so love defying the natural order. 

The crushing, atmospheric pressure of guilt and grief squeezes the air from his lungs. It presses in from all sides, and he can hardly stand to look. At the same time, compulsion hooks him by the cheek and demands he bear witness, drags him, gasping, from the comfort of blissful ignorance. 

Liêm had known neither Charybdis or Masaji. One, he’d never spoken to, and the other, he conversed with only briefly. He considered them to be a world apart from him. Sometimes, he’d catch them from the corner of his eye as he went about his own day, interacting with others, building bonds, bridging gaps, closing distances and he’d tilt his head almost curiously to the side as he watched them, two free souls in a fish-bowl, enviable and proud, before he’d turn and go about his own business. 

Charybis’ pride made them untouchable. Liêm had admired from afar, an apex predator in her ideal environment, wondered how she could wear such confidence - was it slipped on, or had she tattooed it to her skin? She was someone he hardly dared watch, even from afar, but a commanding presence and a thirst for recognition held his attention. 

Masaji was untouchable for an entirely different reason. A kid he called his own. When Liêm had found Masaji was a father, it was only right he hold back. He stepped awkwardly and unsure around people like that. That was something not to be intruded upon. No matter how warm and gentle Masaji had been during their brief conversation, he must be held an arm’s length away. 

Two souls in a fishbowl, drowned in the tub. 

He hoped, desperately, that no one was watching this. Neither Masaji or Charybdis deserved to be seen like this. Death didn’t suit them. This wasn’t meant to be seen. This shouldn’t be touched.

Liêm hadn’t known either of them very intimately, but it didn’t really matter. It hadn’t kept any of them safe. Because Charybis and Masaji were dead, dead, and Liêm was still left reeling, pulled under by a suffocating black wave of grief. Shame was suffocating, cinching his throat tight until he was protesting meekly for air. Every inhale and exhale was a shaking, Herculean struggle. 

This didn’t get any easier. It never got any easier. If anything, the second time hit worse. You would have thought someone would have learned. 

He wishes there was something he could have done. If wishes were fishes, he’d become the best fucking fisherman this world had to see, he’d cast a net and hurl them all to shore, carve out every prayer with a paring knife. A little girl would still have her father. She wouldn’t have had to watch all this happen. A proud competitor would hit the leaderboard once again, take home the gold she felt she rightfully deserved. 

If wishes were fishes and he’d been a better man, a better angler, a better provider, this never would have happened in the first place. He should have been better. He should have stopped this before it could have ever begun. If it was going to hurt this much regardless, he should have gotten to know both Charybdis and Masaji on a deeper level. 

He’s only vaguely aware of the tumult around him. The agonized grief, the wrath, the despair, feeding into his own, magnifying, and he pours his own out in kind, a sick kind of feedback loop. Some turn away, unable to look. Some ask questions no one has the answer to, least of all himself. There’s tears. There’s beseeching pleas, some for a daughter, some for a friend and rival. If wishes were fishes, all their prayers would have been heard. 

Liêm kneels by the edge of the pool, a few feet away from the bodies. He tries to bring himself to look. To acknowledge what had happened, really soak it in. Only then, could he maybe push himself to find the answer. Only then could he help everyone else make things right. Find closure and name who was responsible. 

But he’s entranced by his reflection instead. 

It’s terrified. Haunted by the ghosts he's named. Eyes wild, panicked, and his heart stutters - still gripped in the last vestiges of the motive and traumatized by his surroundings. He sees how his hair clings to a wide-eyed face, desperate, raw, manic. 

He could always come to his reflection for advice, when he needed it the most. He often found the answers he needed the most, he already had. 

Silently, more out of habit than anything, he beseeched it now, wondering what he should do.

And it speaks to him in a quiet, chlorinated gurgle only he can comprehend, words stained red around all the anguish and bereavement.

Don’t breathe this in. 

. . . . . . . . .

For the first time, he doesn’t take his own advice. It's not that he doesn't want to. How he'd love to bury his head in the sand, pretend this hadn't happened again, again, again, why'd this have to happen again? What could he have done, if only to make sure this hadn't happened again?

He has to see. He has to know. Not just for his sake, but for everyone else left staggering by such senseless deaths. Someone must bear responsibility. Someone needs to be made to own up to this, and dammit, if Liêm isn't going to find out who. For a father and his beloved daughter, and for a fellow competitor. 

And there’s only one way to do that. 

And so he looks.

And so he breathes. 

And so he drowns.

[slippery-minghus]

ugh since someone at my work got fired last week the schedule has been completely out of whack. i don't get consecutive days off this week, and then i'm working six days in a row again. including a few shifts that are later and not my usual one.

i'm sure i'll get through it fine but it's really hard not to look at it with my usual "this is going to break me" mindset. i'm becoming a lot more resillient, but damn i didn't want to test it like this.

[t-z-random]

Sanctuary of Nightmares PT8

Platonic SB x Child Reader

Chapter Selection

Previous

A/n: I had such a hard time characterizing Roxy so I hope it turned out good ;-;

You felt the hands on your ankles pull, another yelp escaping your lips as you felt your body slide further and further out of the vent. Soon you felt the weight of your body leave, your world now disoriented which made the realization that you were upside down all the harder to notice. Your unkempt hair fell into your face, the strands catching in your mouth as you attempted to breathe through the terror of the moment.

"Ha! I knew I would get you! I'm the best after all!" The wolf barked her words. Her sneer, while hard to notice on her robotic face, was easy to hear spread through her voice. She was victorious! A winner! She had beaten everyone else to the punch! A champion even-!

She froze as her eyes turned to look at the prey she had caught. You squirmed and writhed in her grasp, desperate to run from her. She had expected fear, in fact she practically bathed in the fear of her enemies! But something was wrong here. Something was very, very wrong.

She grabbed your hand, a searing pain striking through it, though that almost felt like nothing compared to the shock once she let go of your leg and had you hanging by said hand. You squirmed, grabbed and yanked to try to pull her off and to get the pain to stop. Tears stung at the ends of your eyes, your panic evident especially as she went fully silent and simply left you hanging. A buzzing sound faintly reached your ears.

Her eyes scanned you as she slowly downloaded and looked through the information popping through her consciousness. It was after those few seconds that her worst fears were revealed.

Guest profile: N/A

Security clearance: none

Age: 6-9

Threat level: 0

!Warning!: trespassing- child left unattended- child crying- child hurt-

!WARNING!: This child is in distress! Seek help from nearby personnel immediately!

You felt the grasp of her hand cease, your body plummeting towards the ground before landing on your side once again, the already forming bruise from your fall earlier now sure to be a dark purple. You first coddled your still stinging hand, the pain burning behind your now dirty bandage. You didn't pay attention to it long though as mechanical clicks reached your ears again. Your adrenaline pumped faster than ever as you forced yourself into a sitting position, your head snapping to look up at Roxy.

Her looming form reminded you of the familiarity of this situation when you had been running from Moon- or rather Sun...no neither. It had been neither of them yet both at the same time. All the same, the heights of these creatures were terrifying and they lent lenience when it came to whether or not to be terrified of them. You quickly backed away from her, the stinging that had once overtaken you numbed by your own terror.

"Hey! Don't back away from me! I'm not scary!" She barked in a defensive tone, her raised voice sending you tumbling to your feet in moments. You needed no other encouragement to run.

"Hey! Kid! Where do you think you're going!? Get back here!" You heard her yell before her feet followed after, stomping with loud mechanical clanks.

You'd have to admit, despite the fact that her heavy body made the ground shake beneath you, she was surprisingly fast. It was barely a few seconds into your sprint that she was near grabbing distance. You knew that at any moment she would stop you in your tracks and once again have you trapped in her vice grip. But there was one thing you had on your side.

Maneuverability.

When she let out a growl and flung herself forward you managed to make a split second dodge out of the way. It wasn't a professional dodge by any means, in fact you would have fallen if it weren't for a nearby wall. But you had dodged, so that's what counts. You turned to see where she was, only to notice anger had taken hold of all of her features.

"grRAH! STOP RUNNING FROM ME!"

You jumped at the deafening scream before immediately disregarding her demand and running again. Colors blended and every sound became one loud screech in your ears. You didn't know where you were going, or even what you were doing. All you knew was that you needed to get away and that your only means of doing so was running.

However, this would come to be a terrible mistake as you limited the ways you could run, soon ending up at a familiar door that in the moment your brain hadn't recognized. That was until you tried to turn the handle only for it to push back against your hands, the click of potential safety never coming as you realized in utter horror that it was in fact, still locked.

Everything became suddenly quieter. The vibrations and loud clanks of metal came to a gradual stop, your eyes slowly turning over your shoulder to see the wolf now stood only a few feet behind you, your potential exits reduced to zero.

Your hands remained tightly holding the door as if at any moment it would unlock to your salvation. Tears freely flooded down your face, small hiccups now coming with it as you realized the severity of your situation.

"P-Please...please don't hurt me" you begged, your eyes shutting as you pushed your full weight against the door in a vain attempt to get as far away as possible.

You didn't know what she would do to you, but you've been in enough similar situations to know that she wasn't going to listen to your request, no matter how small you made yourself.

Roxy was frozen in her spot, her screen going haywire with messages. However, through the many warnings, she saw you crumble, fully giving up as your once terrified eyes became ones of defeat. Despite the warnings that were silently screaming solutions at her, she didn't move. She didn't speak, she didn't attempt to do anything at all.

Because now that you stood still. Now that you didn't squirm or run or scream, she saw your damaged state. The red-black stain on now ripped pants where bandages lay, the threadbare clothing covered in holes, and most of all, the frail voice that cracked through tears upon speaking.

You were hurt. Very hurt. And yet you ran. You ran from her. You were terrified of her. You were crying now because of her.

She had never felt worse about winning in her entire life.

When there was silence between the two of you, you felt almost a sense of relief hit you. It was reminiscent of your first chase through here by Sun and Moon. You wondered if she'd also frozen. Maybe you were lucky and it would happen twice. Maybe you'd get to escape this terrifying ordeal unharmed.

However, when you began to slowly open your eyes, a very different scene awaited you.

While Roxy wasn't moving, she most definitely wasn't frozen like Sun and Moon had been. Her eyes seemed aware, in fact they stared with what you could best assume was some form of discomfort. Her ears tilted back, her anger from before nowhere to be seen. She looked almost scared herself which was a thought that utterly shocked you. Your eyebrows slowly turned down, your face changing from devastation into cautious confusion as you began to wonder why she had stopped. As silence remained, your arms slowly moved away from their vice grip on the door, your body fully turning towards her as you slowly tried to catch your breath through your tears.

"Why are you hurt?" Roxy's voice box spoke, breaking the sudden silence between you two. You felt your body tense with the sound. Yet despite this only growing sense of dread, you thought it better than to take any unneeded steps, afraid that any sudden movement would spark her anger again.

You chose silence, your eyes unable to look at hers, instead focusing them on her feet in case she decided to fling herself at you once again.

"Do you need help?" She asked, her voice hard to pin to any genuine emotions. It seemed more distant than anything, maybe even a bit agitated.

When she was once again met with no answer she huffed, her frustration melting through, though she had no one to blame but herself. She was, after all, the one who scared you.

"Talk to me!" Her voice rose, causing you to flinch and look back up at her eyes again. She felt immediate regret flood through her system at the return of your fearful expression though it once again came with even more frustration.

It wasn't like she knew what to do here! She worked with teens! She wasn't ever really good with the kids- she didn't have to be! That was Freddy and Chica's job! And let alone a crying and hurt one that's now terrified of her! She didn't even know where to start with helping you!

Annoyed at her inability to help this situation she let out another loud huff. She wasn't scary! No one was supposed to be scared of her! They were supposed to love her! Everyone was supposed to love her!

In a display of her own defeat she sat on the ground, completely at a loss on how to fix this situation. She supposed that maybe if she sat here long enough, then you'd eventually have no choice but to answer her. If not that then at least calm down...

Maybe she should call one of the others? No. No she can do things on her own! She doesn't need help! Besides, that would just annoy them. They had their own work to do, especially with that new threat still running around. There was no way they wanted to deal with her right now.

You once again flinched at the sound of her moving, though you were only further thrown into confusion when she sat down, her snout resting in her hand as she stared at you. You found her actions rather strange. Strange enough for you to wonder just why in the hell she hadn't attacked you yet.

"I'm not going to hurt you, I'm just trying to help. Could you make my job at least a little easier and let me?" She asked, her irritation still present though she wasn't nearly as threatening as before. Still, you felt this could be a trick. What if she's just trying to get your guard down? What if she's trying to make it easier to catch you? Then again it wasn't like that would be too hard at this point. You were already cornered with nowhere left to go.

Her sitting down didn't help you understand her motives much either. Why chase someone down just to corner them? What was she trying to gain here?

All of this ran through your mind, even as your tense body ever so slightly loosened.

There was another long silence as the two of you stared at one other. It was extremely uncomfortable and didn't help at all with the anxiety and stress that was running through your system. However, while not exactly the best way when it came to handling scared children, Roxy's tactic of silence did work. It may not have calmed you, but it did get you talking.

"I...I'm sorry" You finally spoke, though your words left as more of a whimper than anything else. Roxy's ears perked at the sound of your voice, her once irritated eyes now showing a perplexed look.

"For what?" She asked, the harshness of her voice leaving for a moment as she became genuinely unsure of what you were trying to tell her.

"I made you mad" you spoke again, your hands messing with the thread of your shirt in an attempt to find some form of comfort, anything to distract your mind from what you believe could very well still be imminent danger.

Her confusion was immediately wiped away by those words, her expression instead going blank. She didn't move, she didn't ask more. She simply fell into an uneasy silence with your apology, making it impossible for you to tell if what you said had any positive effect or not.

Hatred. A seething, red hot hatred had bloomed within her. Not at you, not at the boy she had been trying to hunt down all night, and not at her failed attempts to do so. No, that hatred wasn't ever meant to leave her small bubble of torment.

No no NO! None of this was your fault, none of it! It was her who had scared you, her who had in her confusion hunted you down. She was to blame. She was the one meant to be apologizing! How dare she let you take that upon yourself. How dare she let you think that! It was her fault! Her fault her fault her fault her fault-

"It's okay. You didn't mean to. You can make it up to me if you calm down" the words left her voice box in a toxic mixture. She felt her hatred grow as she let you take the blame.

After all, she couldn't ruin her reputation could she? If she wasn't perfect, then what else could she be?

You thought on her words a moment as you continued to stare at her. Her posture was calm compared to yours, her hostility gone.

You knew there weren't very many ways to get out of here and, unless you were going to try and manifest a miracle, all of those ways involved playing along. So you took a few deep breaths, forcing your body to calm in a method of suppressed emotion you weren't at all unfamiliar with. Once you had stilled your mind of thoughts of danger you were able to feel your fear leave, your senses numbing for the time being.

Noticing your calmed state she realized her progress. She tried to push away her own thoughts for a moment as she focused on getting you to listen.

"Listen kid, I don't know where you came from or why you're here, but you're stuck for the night. So you're sticking with me, since it's not safe with that thing running around. Got it?" she declared, her harsh tone returning though its former aggression had left, leaving more of a firm voice than any sort of anger directed towards you.

You were truly baffled by her words. She wanted her to stay near you willingly? Couldn't she just force you to do that? Lock you in a room to keep you in one place? Hand you over to security screaming? Keep you over her shoulder?

And for your safety?!?! What the hell was going on in this place!? Nothing followed any rules you've ever learned! Where was the punishment? The consequence! It's not like you could fight back!

Why didn't they just do what they wanted?

Yet, despite your trepidations, you nodded along. You figured that your willingness to go along with whatever she said would keep her calm. And if you could do that then you wouldn't have her chasing after you.

"Good" she stated with a bit more confidence than before as she stood up. You forced your body still, your mind running with thoughts of staying calm. It seemed that as long as you stayed relaxed that she was as well...

For now at least.

"Follow me. I'll take you to my room" she announced to you as she waited for you to step toward her and let her know that you were willing to do that.

You hesitated, your brain blaring with sirens of danger. Surely stepping closer wasn't a safe option. Then again neither was keeping the temperamental beast waiting. You eventually decided to take the risk of a few steps forwards. Frankly, it was your only option.

Once she noticed you were walking with her she began walking along herself, her heavy metal no longer causing earthquakes with each step, but rather mild tremors as you walked with her. While you tried to maintain distance she would always walk a little closer when you left arms reach, making sure not to let you get too far away.

Besides the occasional clicks of Roxy's machinery and the nearby arcades and empty gift shops that played music seemingly forever, the walk was quiet. While the quiet was preferred it was still rather agonizing, the stillness making it hard to keep yourself calm. It didn't help that you felt her eyes on you almost the entire time. You didn't dare turn to meet her gaze, instead keeping your head tilted down. However, that came with the unfortunate side effect of your hair constantly getting caught in the drying tear stains on your face, not to mention that it obscured your vision. It began to annoy you as, despite moving it away, it never failed to fall back into your face, a feeling that brought back old memories.

You had always had long hair growing up. Your parents never took you to get it cut nor did they cut it themselves. If it weren't for the fact that you had gotten annoyed with it when you were five and tried to do it yourself, it would most definitely be as long as your waist by now. Instead, it laid in uneven strands on your head, some places shorter than others, leaving a jagged mess. It didn't help that you practicality didn't know what a brush was, making the rat's nest on your head all the worse as it clung to you.

Roxy watched this struggle, her sensors now picking up on the smaller details of your form. It was clear by now that something terribly bad had happened to you, but the minor details were what gave way to longer signs of pain. Sure, the bandages could have come from a fall, and the bruises an accident. But your incredibly frail form couldn't happen overnight and your jumpiness after each sound wasn't something picked up in a day. Her ears somewhat flattened at the possibility, though she quickly readjusted them before anyone would notice.

She should probably turn you into security once she gets to her room...

Then again she never really trusted Vannesa, not since the kids had started going missing. Sure, Vannesa could do her job. After all, she had warned them of the threat loose in the building tonight. A rouge robot that had been sneaking around. But finding threats was really all she trusted Vanessa with. Roxy especially didn't like her attitude.

What's the harm in keeping you until morning anyway? As long as you stayed in her room you were safe from the threat and it isn't like you were able to leave until morning. It was probably safer to stay with her. She at least knew that she wouldn't hurt you.

Before long Roxy's room came into view, wherein she ushered you in before her. Your eyes immediately went to survey the room as you became immediately drawn to its personality. The small plushies, the bright neon stars, the wheels hung on the walls that you best assumed were from go-karts.

If it weren't for the fact that you were still terrified even being in proximity of the wolf, you might actually be amazed by the spectacularly purple room.

As Roxy walked in she noticed your eyes landing on everything in sight, as if you were analyzing it all. She grew a little nervous as you did so, especially because of the mess around the room. She shrugged it off though, instead deciding she needed a distraction. Her eyes immediately fell onto the mess of hair on your head, her ears slightly twitching as you moved it out of your face for the hundredth time.

She might not be able to help with much, but hair was most certainly one of her specialties. She walked over to her mirror, moving her chair back in front of it before turning back to you

"Hey kid" she spoke, ending the prolonged silence by grabbing your attention. You looked over to her as she spun the chair to face you.

Still not wanting to upset her you slowly walked over and, with a bit of a struggle, you took a seat in the chair. Once you did she turned it back to the mirror and pushed the seat up to get a better angle. When she looked back up to the mirror she was met with the confusion held on your face, your eyes uncertain as she grabbed all of her tools.

"Sit here, I'm fixing your hair" she proclaimed as she turned back around, grabbing bottles of sprays and a nearby brush.

"What's with the look kid? I know what I'm doing" she boasted with the first hint of a smile you'd seen from her, though it was more of a smirk than anything else.  It was only after she spoke that she went to work on your hair.

- x -

Tag list closed

Couldn't tag for some reason on another -> @questionableperson @imuziawi

@honeycovered-bandaids @lethalbeautiful @kiinokochii @mary-wolf @just-a-frudgin-simp @nothing-leave-me--alone @eafv2323 @lemonrolls @ch8rrybl0ssoms @crea8ive-traveler91 @porkcracker @carmelchocola @a-rare-female-blaziken @sssleepless @plaguerat44 @zachariethememerie @gundams90cmbobs @sunnshineflxwer @sundropsideup @givemesomebeans @isometimeswritestuff @allidde @wheres-the-effing-pie @theasexualpan @kittenlover614 @arialikestea @ayoitshayden @boiciph3r @jinxedleo @beanie-boo0 @over-active-daydreamer @mistertiberius @large-juice @lokigirlszendaya @baka-beka @s0ggyrats @feverish-dove @simpsilky @pencildrawer12 @pastelpinksippycup @thegeekisheere @nonamedasimp @hellsfinestwine @pastel-skies-and-doves @supernerdycookietrashblr @queenthorin1 @candychaox @strawberry-moonpies @dweeb-central @asmodeus-snoof

[drarryspecificrecs]

2022.02 ~ Top 8 longest fics posted on AO3

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—

※ Word count: 1k ~ 15k

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Harry Potter, Wardsmith by @onetwistedmiracle [M, 35k]

Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas by @drarrily-we-row-along [E, 36k]

How to Pull One Over On McGonagall (and Get a Boyfriend Out of the Deal) by DandalfTheWhite [T, 17k]

I Never Thought You Would Be Like This by @pjoveteran [G, 16k]

In Which Hope Doesn't Breed Eternal Misery by Sheddystars [E, 16k]

The Laws of Gravity by @lettersbyelise [E, 31k]

Masks off by Justlikewriting [T, 29k]

Strangers Many Hours by @mythandbullshit [M, 18k]

TIED TO HIM by m_blackhart [T, 22k]

what if i'm scared to say 'i love you' by taetaeisbaebaeok [G, 22k]

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Ongoing Fest/Exchange

※ Fics would be listed elsewhere.

H/D Candy Hearts Fest | @hdcandyheartsfest

My Bloody Valentine 2022 | @hpdarkarts

Kinkuary 2022 | @kinkuary