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marjansmarwani · 3 years

Text

I want ours to be an endless song

5.9k || ao3

“You can’t die on Christmas” + hurt for Day 5 of @911christmasweek2020

——

TK figures that working on Christmas Eve will be nice, he’ll get to spend the day with his team and maybe even get to see his boyfriend on a call. It starts out like that too - until an incident in the field forces him to confront one of his biggest fears and threatens to change everything for good. Despite everything: all his training and years of experience, all he can do is wait and hope for a Christmas miracle; for anything that will save him from losing the best thing he has ever had.

Thanks as always go to @officerrxyes for both creative input (get yourself a friend who will discus the technicalities of a scene at length with you) and editing. There were multiple times during the writing when I said that I shouldn’t be allowed to write Christmas things (it gets pretty sad/angsty) but it has a happy ending, I swear!

------

TK didn’t mind working on Christmas, really.

Working the Christmas Eve shift meant that he was guaranteed to spend the holiday with his dad and his team. They were his family and he wouldn’t have liked to spend the holiday any other way. The only one missing was Carlos, but he knew his boyfriend was also working today. Which left him being torn between hoping for a nice, calm shift or for a small non—life threatening emergency just so he could see Carlos.

It was a dilemma he kept to himself. He loved his team, but there was no way they would let that particular thought pass by without comment.

The decision was made for him just as they were settling in for the night. The others groaned when the alarms went off but TK couldn’t quite contain his grin at the possibility of seeing Carlos.

Unfortunately for him, it didn’t go unnoticed.

“You’re unbearable,” Judd groaned as they piled into the rig.

“What?”

“You know what. Could we have one call without you two not making heart eyes at each other?”

“I think it’s cute,” Marjan interjected, but there was an edge of teasing in her tone.

TK rolled his eyes, “It’s not like I know if he is going to be there. I have no control over which calls the police end up on.”

As he spoke, the dispatcher’s voice crackled over their radios, “126, be advised that Austin PD has been called in for support.”

The others gave TK an unimpressed look. He shrugged, “Guess I’m just lucky that way.”

There was a collective groan and Owen reminded them all to get their heads in the game. They rode in silence until they arrived at the accident scene. It was a single vehicle accident with the driver — a sheepish looking teen — standing awkwardly outside of the car, looking no worse for wear. In fact, the only victim in the accident seemed to be the traffic light which did not take its pole getting hit well.

The moment they all descended from the truck Owen began to dole out assignments: “Paul, Marjan — let’s get this pole stabilized. TK check on the driver, see if he is really okay. Everyone else, direct traffic.”

With a chorus of “yes Cap,” they were all off to attend to their assigned task. TK grabbed the first aid kit and headed over to the unfortunate driver, “Hey there, my name’s TK. Do you mind if I give you a quick once over, just to make sure you’re okay?”

The teen nodded, still stealing glances at the pole as Paul and Marjan worked to brace it to keep it from falling into traffic, “I’m fine, but my parents are going to kill me.”

“Hey,” TK said reassuringly, “this isn’t ideal but you’re not hurt and neither is anyone else so if I had to guess I’d say they’ll be pretty happy about that.”

The driver took a deep breath and nodded before giving TK a nervous smile, “it’s only my second day with my license.”

“What better time to learn then?”

“Do you have a positive spin for everything?”

“I’m a glass half-full kind of guy.”

The kid laughed and TK gave him another grin before stepping back with a nod, “it looks like you walked away without even a bruise as far as I can tell — you’re very lucky. You may be a little sore tomorrow from the seatbelt, but all in all it did its job and you’re fine. Your parents will be happy about that, at least. Plus,” he looked over at where the car was stopped haphazardly on the curb, “it doesn’t even look like the car is too damaged. As far as first accidents go, this isn’t a bad one.”

The smile he got in return was a little more certain this time, “Thanks.”

TK returned the smile but his attention was quickly diverted by the sound of approaching sirens. He looked over to see the arrival of both the ambulance and a very familiar police cruiser. He would be lying if he said his heart didn’t skip a beat as Carlos climbed out of the passenger side and walked towards them. When he drew even with TK and the teen, he gave TK a warm smile, “Hey, you.”

“Hey yourself.”

Their conversation was interrupted by a groan from behind Carlos. TK looked past him to see his partner Mya approaching, eyes rolled. “Could we get through one accident scene without all the flirting? Is that too much to ask?”

“Hello to you too, Mya.”

“Hi TK, you two are nauseating.”

“Rude.”

“But accurate.”

The teen was watching their conversation, amusement edging out the panic that had been in his expression before. There was that, at least.

Carlos, on the other hand, shook his head at the pair of them, “I hate to interrupt, but Officer Esquilin and I need to take this young man’s statement if you are done with him.”

TK nodded and closed up the first aid kit, “He has a clean bill of health and is all yours. I’ll head over and tell Michelle her services won’t be needed.” He finished gathering his supplies and paused before heading to the ambulance, “I’ll catch up with you before we leave?”

The smile Carlos gave him this time was warm and sincere, like a promise, “Of course.”

TK returned the smile and with a wave to Mya headed off to the ambulance, a grin still on his face.

“You wouldn’t be flirting with your boy on the clock now, would you TK?” Michelle asked as he approached.

TK didn’t even bother to deny it, “What can I say? It’s a Christmas miracle.”

He updated Michelle and the rest of the paramedic team on the status of their singular accident victim and was heading back to the engine to replace the first aid kit when the sound of shouting and the horrible sound of metal on metal cut through the calm afternoon. TK was already turning to see what had happened when another sound ripped through the air, freezing him on the spot.

“Carlos!”

The fear in Mya’s voice sent a chill down TK’s spine. He turned slowly, dread building with every heartbeat. His eyes scanned the scene desperately until he spotted him, and his heart sank. Carlos was sprawled on the pavement, the pole of the traffic light covering him. He wasn’t moving.

TK’s heart thudded in his chest for a few frantic seconds, and then he was running before his mind had even processed the movement. He skidded to a stop and after only taking a moment to glance for immediate threats crashed to his knees beside his boyfriend. He reached out a shaking hand to check for a pulse, the sound of his own heartbeat filling his ears. He let out the breath he had been holding when he found it, sagging in relief even as Michelle arrived at Carlos’s other side.

“What happened?”

“I don’t know,” TK said helplessly, “I just heard Mya yelling and looked over to see him down with the pole on top of him.”

He glanced around, trying to piece it all together. There was another car now; it had slammed right into the already precarious pole. Marjan and Paul had been working on stabilizing it. He looked for them, praying that they were okay, that they hadn’t been hurt too and was able to breathe a sigh of relief when he spotted them at the edge of the chaos, gathering equipment to help the driver currently trapped in the car that had brought down the pole.

A pained groan drew his attention back to Carlos. His eyes were open, but they were shrouded in a haze of pain.

“Hey, it’s okay,” TK said soothingly, running a hand through his hair, “we’re going to get you out of this.”

“Carlos, can you tell me what hurts?” Michelle asked softly from beside him.

“What doesn’t hurt would be a shorter list,” Carlos replied, voice strained but still strong. TK took that as a good sign. He was still talking and aware, he would be fine. They just needed to free him. He looked down at the offending pole and felt his stomach twist. He didn’t know the exact dimensions of traffic lights, but he knew that there was likely well over 200 pounds resting on Carlos’s body right now, and unfortunately most of that seemed to be centered on his chest. His mind was racing with all the implications: a blow to the chest of this magnitude could cause ribs to fracture or break, organs to be damaged, internal bleeding...the list went on and on.

“Hey, stay with me Ty.”

Carlos’s voice, strained with pain pulled him back to the present. TK swallowed — the last thing Carlos needed now was to be worrying about him, but he wasn’t surprised. It was just like him, really.

“Isn’t that my line?” he asked instead.

“Maybe, but I could see you spiraling. Going there won’t help anything.”

“You’re right,” TK agreed, “but you don’t need to be worried about me. Just focus on breathing, let us handle the rest. We’ve got this.”

He heard his dad calling for the team and after a quick assurance from Michelle that she wouldn’t leave Carlos, got up to join them. The rest of the team looked grim as he approached and his dad wasted no time getting into it, “How is he?”

“He’s in pain, but stable as far as I can tell.”

He wanted to ask what happened, he wanted to know what had happened in those few seconds he had had his back turned but he didn’t want to drag this on any longer than necessary. Every moment he was here was a moment he wasn’t by Carlos’s side and that was the only place he belonged right now.

His dad, thankfully, seemed to agree. He quickly gave instructions to the rest of the team, directing them to grab the equipment and splitting them into teams to deal with the various tasks that would need to be handled. When he was done he lowered his voice, turning back to TK.

“TK, stay with him. Keep him calm and still; this is going to be rough enough as it is, the last thing he needs is to accidentally shift and get hurt even more.”

His worried gaze never left Carlos, who was still looking dazed and trying his best to track the flurry of movement around him. TK followed his dad’s gaze, swallowed, and nodded. Without a word he returned to Carlos’s side, reaching out a gentle hand to turn his face away from where Paul and Judd were getting the equipment set up.

“Hey, look at me, okay?” he instructed softly, “just stay with me. You’re going to be alright, the team’s got this. We’re going to get you out of here.”

Carlos nodded weakly, eyes glazed over with pain and TK’s heart clenched. He slipped off one of his gloves and ran a gentle hand through Carlos’s hair, “Just stay with me,” he repeated, hoping his voice sounded stronger out loud than it did in his own ears, “it’s going to be okay.”

Carlos gave him a weak, tired smile and TK returned it. Despite everything—all the pain and fear—Carlos was still smiling at him. He loved him so much it hurt sometimes.

[continue reading on ao3]

#911 lone star #911 lone star fic #tarlos #tk strand #carlos reyes #911christmasweek2020 #my writing

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writing-gifts · 3 years

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datura (moth!bruno x butterfly!reader)

—–

A/N: !!!Please read this part!!! I want to list some warnings for blood and description of injuries

if you want better details or want to skip over it you can DM or send me an ask and i can set up an edited version of the fic without it and just quick summary of what happened

this chapters rlly long compared to the others and also i made art!

First Chapter || Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

Reader is gender neutral!

—–

[Mid Fall]

Tightening the blanket closer to your body, you slowly make your way towards the daybed. It was another overcast day and the lack of sun made even the inside of your home feel dull. You place your cup on the table before laying down.

The weather was still tolerable but you couldn't always bring yourself to go out when you could easily stay warm in your home. But you still did your best to keep up with your gathering overall. You had a decent supply so far and as long as you didn’t go overboard with drinking, you wouldn’t be eating grain at Abilene's house for the last couple weeks of Winter. Again.

Even though lately you wanted to sleep most of the day it didn't exactly feel great or refreshing and with Bruno showing up less and less, the days seemed to be blurring together. You try to stay productive working on the moth’s sweater or gathering, but the last couple days you really couldn’t bring yourself to do it.

You sigh and force yourself to get up. Perhaps you should try going out for a walk today, just to change things up.

You go to your room and find a sweater to slip into. While wrapping a scarf around your neck, you see one of your canisters laying next to bed and decide to take it with you just in case you run into a flower you like.

You weren't exactly sure where you wanted to go so you let your legs lead you where they please.

At first you walk past your neighbors home, greeting the ones you saw along the way. Then you take a detour and venture somewhere more quiet. The pathways aren’t as clean so you have to navigate over the giant dead leaves that have accumulated all season.

While flying over the leaves you end up in the orchard. All types of fruit grew here but only apples, pears, pomegranates and surprisingly strawberries were currently available. A good amount lay scattered around at various rotting stages so this was a perfect time for a break.

You find fruit that is mostly fresh but just decomposed enough that you can easily get to the inside. Managing to find free fruit so easily available and uneaten was a good thing about Fall you suppose.

After getting tired of sitting around, munching on fruit and staring at the cloudy sky, you continue your stroll. The farther you go the more leaves there are. Soon the occasional mushroom turns to many, some of them ridiculously huge or strangely colored. At one point you pass a log covered in them.

You weren't too keen on the fungi but for some reason you always get the urge to take a bite when you see them. Of course you don't though. You can't tell the safe ones from the dangerous ones.

From there, the stroll is overall uneventful and the sites familiar but eventually you find yourself in an area that was completely new to you. The path you’re on begins to narrow, the grass gets taller and the trees get denser around you. Once it’s too thick for you to see well, you fly out of the thicket and up above so you can better scope where you're going.

It takes a while of flying, but the trees begin to disperse and the grass isn’t so overwhelming. In fact you start passing spots that lacked any. Other than the occasional dandelion and bush It was pretty bear compared to where you just emerged.

You decide to continue forward, curious about the area you've happened upon, and it doesn't take long before a wooden structure in the distance comes into view. It looked like some sort of home, and even from where you were you could tell that it was giant.

Whatever lives there must be huge….

Your self preserving side warns you to stay away since you never seen anything like it before. But your curiosity reasons that it should be okay. There were no large bodies of water in sight, and it was definitely the safest this time of year for insects as most cold-blooded predators would be much less active due to the cold. So in the end, you meet yourself in the middle and decide to go forward but keep your exploration a good distance away from the house like structure.

Once you're close enough, you find a wide dirt path and follow it, admiring some of the different flowers that were growing alongside it and in between the bushes.

Other than the occasional rustle of leaves in the wind, it was quiet and you couldn't find any other insects. You readjust your scarf.

After some time, you find something even stranger than the structure. They were all various sizes and shapes with different flowers sitting on top. You fly up to better observe the flowers and see that the things were some type of giant containers filled with dirt, and the flowers weren’t necessarily sitting on them but actually growing out.

It was definitely peculiar, but the delicious scent coming from a certain cluster of flowers quickly distracts you and beacons you closer to their white petals. It doesn’t take long for you to place the flowers’ name--Tuberose--and a certain moth immediately pops into your mind when you do. You quickly push the thoughts away though, ignoring the heat forming in your face.

You frown, noticing the plant's condition. The petals look slightly frail, some of them are even missing, so you cautiously place your weight when you land on one of the flowers. It didn't look like it was due to the weather so you couldn't tell why they looked so pitiful.

You couldn't exactly do anything about it, so instead you grab your canister where it's hanging from your hip since you hadn’t drank from this particular flower in a while.

After filling and shutting the canister, you land on the dirt in the container and everything slightly wobbles. You gasp and immediately remove your feet off to keep yourself from falling. You then fly back down in front of the containers to steady ground.

Who managed to set this up? Perhaps a swarm of insects or something huge? It had to be the latter if the house was anything to go by. You're sure you’ve heard about something related to this and you rack your brain trying to remember but can't seem to recall anything.

While thinking, you notice the container holding the Tuberoses looked quite lopsided next to the others, which caused the flowers in it to lean more to one side. You walk around the container and find long, giant cracks forming up it. Some of the dirt within it had even spilt through. You still admire the colors and patterns on the container. Even though it was damaged, it was the one that caught your eye the most.

While you trace your finger along the rough and chalky surface, the sound of rustling leaves prick your ears. You turn and look behind you and realize that you had gotten a bit too close to a giant fernbush.

You freeze, anxiety filling your whole being as you stare intently into the dark spaces within the fern. You wait thinking maybe you haven't been spotted or even better, there wasn't any danger.

The moment you see something shift in the darkness, you immediately try to take flight. Unfortunately, the creature is quicker and manages to climb part way up the container to catch you by your right leg. It tries to pull you down but you use your upper body to latch on to the edge of the container the best you can.

You scream out from the multiple sharp teeth pressing harshly into your calf but keep fluttering your wings in hopes that it will give up. Unfortunately the gecko isn’t one to give up on potential prey so easily. It continues to pull knowing that you’ll eventually tire.

But before that can happen, the container starts to lean and you yelp when you lose your grip. Your breath is knocked out of you once your head and back hit the dirt. You feel the lizard let go momentarily to bite further up your leg. Gritting your teeth, you try to kick at it but that does nothing to deter it.

Before the predator can try to take more of your body into its jaws, the container completely loses its balance and falls heavily on the gecko's body, pinning it to the ground. However, this isn’t enough for the creature to release you.

You clutch the back of your head and push your upper body off the ground. Looking at the gecko holding your leg hostage, your body begins shaking when your eyes focus on the blood seeping out of the side of its mouth. It was hard to assess the damage properly but your stomach twists seeing the multiple sharp teeth embedded into your thigh.

You swallow thickly and kick at its face with your left leg once more hoping it will give up but it just makes it bite down harder. Grimacing, you try moving your trapped leg within it but only agitates the reptile and makes it shake its head causing the rest of your body to be moved around harshly. You scream from the pain before it goes still once more. Tears begin welling in your eyes once you realize you can't escape without causing more damage.

“L-Let go.”

The gecko’s head twitches and it stares at you with a slitted pupil not processing a thing you said.

You look around trying to see if there was a way you could get out of this. But there was nothing and no one nearby. You feel at your hip and realize that your canister is also gone.

You whimper unsure what to do next. You try to think but your mind can barely form a coherent thought other than escaping.

Shit.

While you stare blankly at the gecko as it struggles to get from under the container and spiltdirt, you hear steps approaching. You look around hoping that someone that could help had wandered by, but instead your eyes land on an albino wasp instead.

Your body stiffens in fear. If the gecko didn't finish you off first, the wasp definitely would.

He approaches you completely ignoring your meek warning to stay back.

To think you were actually happy that you had forced yourself to go outside today.

You squeeze your eyes shut and wait for everything to go dark or whatever happens when an insect dies but instead you just hear a deep voice speak.

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

You reluctantly open an eye and see the wasp standing near you. If you could you would have jumped back. The gecko had seemed to take notice of him too, not trying as hard to escape so it can focus its attention on the wasp. It still made it clear that it wouldn’t let you get away when you try to move your leg again and it applies force to its bite.

You grit your teeth not wanting the wasp to see you in pain.

“Stop moving before it manages to break your leg,” he warns.

You feel your blood run cold from the thought.

The gecko’s pupil follows him as he moves closer to its head.

“I'm going to get the gecko to open its mouth, then you need to move away quickly once it does."

“H-Huh?” Was the moth helping you?

He glares at you. “Just be ready to move your damn leg after I sting it.”

You tense and immediately nod your head from his harsh tone.

Right after you agree, he climbs up on top of the lizard's head. Before it can try to shake him off, the wasp presses his stinger into the crown of its head and his clawed fingers into the sides of its mouth.

The reptile resists for a moment before releasing its grip on your leg and trashing its head around to get to the wasp instead.

You quickly flitter backwards out of reach and the wasp jumps off before it can grab onto him next.

You immediately look down at your leg. Now that the teeth were out, more trials of blood pooled out of the wounds and down the sides of your thigh and onto the ground. Your calf was also in a similar condition.

Your breathing becomes labored and you barely register the wasp talking to you.

“--Let me help you back.”

He tries to get closer but you shake your head and try to scooch backwards. “No! Stay away! I--” you choke on your own words.

He watches you with furrowed brows as you try to stand up. You accidently press weight onto your wounded leg and pain shoots up the limb causing you to fall onto your side.

"Wait--"

You ignore the wasp and prop yourself up. You then quickly fly away from the area leaving him behind.

Shudders rack your body so badly you can barely fly straight. You feel the blood dripping down your leg and you yank off your scarf to press it to your thigh hoping that it would help even a little.

You fly faster not thinking about where you were heading, you just needed to get away from that place. Fortunately, you find yourself in front of Abilene’s home.

You weakly knock. Dark spots were forming in your vision but you try not to lean against the door. And it feels like forever before it finally opens.

When Abilene sees the state you're in, the amount of worry and fear that flash in their eyes is the greatest you’ve ever experienced. But that doesn’t stop them from jumping into action. They lead you inside and direct you to the couch before running into a different room.

At this point, the blood has seeped through your scarf and onto your bottom pair of hands. You try to lift your leg to avoid dirtying the couch even more but you only last a couple of seconds before you have to drop it. leaning back into the couch, you try to keep the exhaustion from putting you to sleep.

Your friend quickly comes back with cotton, water and strips of cloth.

After they place the bowl of water onto the table next to the couch, they crouch in front of you.

“I'm going to try to help stop the bleeding and then go get the medic.”

You weakly reach out for their arm. “N-No don't leave me.”

“You're safe here ____. I need to get a doctor to check out your leg and I’ll be right back, okay?”

They gently remove your hand after you nod but don't let go.

Abilene does their best to deal with your leg without causing you too much pain. But even a light graze was enough to make you flinch, so they were constantly whispering apologies throughout the whole process. You can see they were distressed and disturbed by the giant bite wounds on your leg but they don’t stop until they manage to get the bleeding to slow. They do a quick clean and hastily wrap a piece of cloth around your thigh and calf before they go out to find someone to help.

Once they leave, you feel much more tense even if your eyes were desperately trying to shut. In an attempt to keep yourself from panicking, you think about the random wasp that helped you. At least you're pretty sure that's what happened. You didn’t intend to stick around to figure it out, but now you partially feel guilty for the way you acted towards him.

Either way, if it weren't for him you’d probably be dead by now. Or one limb short.

You squeeze your eyes shut, as pain throbs behind your head. It had been hurting for a while but you were only really taking notice of it now. Your stomach turns, and all that fruit you ate before was starting to seem like a mistake.

Abilene doesn't take long at all so you luckily don't have to sit in your regrets for too long. The ladybug medic that they brought back immediately gets to work. She asks what happened and you explain vaguely while she carefully unwraps the bloodied cloth to inspect your thigh and calf.

After finishing cleaning the multiple wounds for you, the doctor applies a weird smelling cream that completely stops the bleeding and neatly rewrapps your leg with new bandages. She then leaves a jar of the cream, and a few rolls of cloth with you and tells you to change the bandages daily.

After the doctor’s gone you're still in pain but it feels much more controlled. Abilene approaches you.

“I'm going to set you up in my room for the next couple days so I can keep an eye on you.”

You nod. You didn't want to be left alone in your home anyways so this saved you the trouble of asking. “I can sleep on the couch--”

“Sorry, I’m not leaving you to sleep on this thing when you're injured,” Abilene says.

You were too tired to be stubborn so you decide to take a different course. “Let's compromise and share the bed.”

They sigh. “Okay but if I start getting restless at night I'm moving to the couch.”

The grasshopper helps you into their room and makes sure you're completely comfortable. They don’t show any worry on their face as they most likely wanted to keep the mood positive, but the way they fret over you is loud and clear so you do your best to assure them that you're doing okay even if that isn’t exactly the case.

You spend most of the day drifting in and out of sleep--your upsetting dreams being the main cause of waking you up. When you aren’t sleeping, Abilene keeps you company. Even though it had made you feel safer and made it easier to relax, part of you is dreading explaining how you even got in this situation. Not only did you not want to upset your friend but you also felt like it would be admitting to doing something wrong. Maybe you didn’t make the best choice but you weren’t sure if it was necessarily an incorrect one.

You try not to think about it, but later in the day these worries are proven to be valid.

“____?”

You turn towards Abilene sitting next to you on the bed. “Yea?”

“What--What exactly happened? “

Your shoulders tense and you bite your lip. You were hoping they would never ask but that was definitely foolish to expect.

“You know there was a gecko…”

“But there’s more right? How did you manage to escape?”

You hesitantly nod but struggle to speak.

“You know what it’s okay you don't need to tell me. I shouldn’t have asked so suddenly.”

“W-Wait, it’s okay. You asked cause you're worried. I just don’t really want to think too much about it is all." You fiddle with your fingers but continue. "I was taking a stroll around and found myself in an unfamiliar place. I was exploring and got...distracted.”

Abilene looks disappointed but you're not sure if it’s even directed at you.

“And an insect managed to help me. A wasp.”

Their expression goes from disappointment to shock. “A wasp?”

You nod in affirmation. “I was shocked too, and I’m actually still confused.”

Abilene looks like they're trying to process the information and you look off to the side not knowing what else to say.

“Well it’s a good thing they helped you. I’m r-really glad!” They smile to try to ease you but it isn’t a full one and their eyes look wet.

They completely change the subject. “What do you want to eat or drink? I’m sure you're hungry”

You decide not to point it out, lest your friend burst into tears, and simply smile back instead. “Actually, for once, I'm not.”

“Well let's still try to find something that's easy to get down, even if it’s just water.”

You nod. “As long as it isn’t wheat.”

They stick their tongue out at you. “Yea, yea no wheat.”

They get off the bed. “I'm going to go wash your scarf for you before it completely stains, then we can figure out what to do.”

-----

Unlike Abilene, you can't sleep. You stare at the ceiling watching the random shapes form in the dark while listening to your friend’s soft snores.

It was your second night at Abilene’s home and you were struggling with falling asleep again. And it wasn’t due to your friend’s snoring, and other than their arm accidentally smacking you in the face last night, you were fine sleeping next to them.

You reasoned the lack of sleep the first night was fair considering what had happened. But now you think it might be a mix of other reasons. Your body was already exhausted but it wouldn't go to sleep, like it wasn’t ready. But you were almost desperate to since sitting in the dark wasn’t exactly appealing.

You turn on your side. You at least wish you had someone to talk to to pass the time.

You spend a good chunk of the night staring at nothing in particular. By the time you finally fall asleep, dawn light is seeping into the bedroom.

Abilene shuffling around their home quickly wakes you up and you realize that you definitely need more rest but you also don’t want to spend anymore time trying to go back to sleep. You sigh and get from under the covers.

You rub at your eyes while you slowly fly into the main room.

“Morning…” you mumble.

“Morning!”

You almost grimace from their energy. Abilene was always a morning insect. Well most diurnal insects were. You were just becoming an anomaly apparently.

“You don't look too hot. Are you okay?”

You land on the couch. “...I’m struggling to go to sleep and the dark’s not helping.”

Abilene hums, thinking for a moment. “Didn't you say Bruno gifted you a glowing lantern?”

“Yea?”

They nod. “Okay I’m going to go pick it up for you later today, and hopefully it should help.”

You stutter not expecting that. “Thank you…”

“No problem. Now let's get some food in ya!”

Later in the day, Abilene places the glowing lantern on the small table next to the bed.

“Thank you for getting the lantern for me.”

“You’re welcome. I also picked up some other stuff for you too.”

They place your satchel they were carrying with them in your hands. You unbutton the bag and find your knitting supplies along with the sweater you had started for Bruno.

Your grin and Abilene returns it. “Oh my god, you're too good to me.”

“Oh please, I just saw your stuff sitting in the main room. It was nothing.”

“But still!”

You pull out the uncomplete sweater carefully unfolding it so you dont cause any of the knits to come loose.

“Is that for Bruno?” Abilene asks.

“How did you even manage to guess that?”

They shrug. “I haven't seen you knitting for awhile so...”

That was true, the last time you really did it was for a scarf that you gifted to Abilene and that was probably over a year ago.

“He walks around topless even in Winter! I had to do this.”

Abilene laughs, “I’d do the same if I had a body like that.”

You groan loudly, “STOP!”

Abilene laughs even harder.

You spend the rest of the day knitting on your own while Abilene continues preparing for winter. You tried to help but floating for long periods of time was tiring so your friend forces you back into their room.

The sweater was coming along. Bruno didn't seem like the type to wear loud colors to you so you decide to use an off white wool. You predict the most difficult thing would probably be the sleeves for you since you wanted to make the forearm parts removable, but a couple of buttons should suffice.

When it starts to get dark your lantern begins glowing allowing you to continue working. By the time Abilene comes to check on you the front and back are completely done. You’d do the sleeves when you went back home.

“Woah you worked on the sweater the whole time?”

“Yep!” You fold up the sweater and put it on the table next to your lantern. “It's really easy for the day to get away from you doing repetitive motions.”

“Well it looks like it will be nice and comfy.”

“I sure hope so. I want Bruno to never want to take it off. Also don’t worry, I’ll make you one next!”

“You already made me one though?”

“That was a long time ago though. I can make a better one.”

“Well, okay if you want,” they say. “Lets get your bandages changed.”

You carefully move your legs off the side of the bed so you can unwrap the cloth. It honestly looked gross but it was healing. And as long as you didn’t move it too much, press on it or bump it into anything, there wasn't too much pain.

After applying the cream and rebandaging up your thigh and calf, you leave the room to find something to drink and move around a bit before it’s time for what you were somewhat dreading--bed.

Abilene gets comfortable next to you. “Goodnight.”

“Night.”

They yawn. “If anything’s wrong just wake me up.”

You nod but you definitely weren't doing that. You were already taking up half their bed, so you really didn't want to disturb their sleep anymore.

They pull the cover over their head to block out the glow of the lantern and you move from your sitting position on the bed to lay down. It doesn't take long for you to hear their snores. They had to be the fastest being in existence at falling asleep.

As you stare into the mesmerizing glow your worries of the day seem to drift away, but inevitably your mind drifts to the one who gave you the lantern.

Were you going to explain this to him? No part of you wanted to but you weren’t sure if hiding it was the best idea or if you even could. You didn’t want him to be upset, but you mostly feared disappointment. All of this made you feel like you lied to him when reassuring him that you weren’t doing anything dangerous.

I was just exploring...

You force the thoughts away or you would start going in circles. You’d just have to cross that bridge when you got there.

You spend the next several days at Abilene’s. They keep you company while helping you tend to your wounds.

It was pretty nice and the routine was comforting. And slowly your sleep schedule transitions back to something more reminiscent to what you had before you met Bruno.

Sitting on the couch bundled in thick covers, you work on a new item you were knitting. It was another typical day. Another chilly day actually. Probably the coldest so far. Abilene sits at the other end of the couch, bundled in a collection of their own covers, reading one of their supernatural books.

It was pleasing hanging quietly together like this so often, but you were already trying to figure out when it would be best to leave. You couldn't keep encroaching on your friend like this even if they didn't think you were.

You hear knocking on the front door and Abilene complains before untangling themselves from their covers and leaving the room to go answer it. They come back pretty quickly but you continue your knitting without looking up.

“Um ____.”

“Yea?”

“Bruno’s outside.”

Your heart almost jumps out of your chest. “Wha--Don’t let him in here!”

“But--”

“No buts! I just--just tell him I'm okay!”

Abilene looks unsure. You can tell they don't want to turn away the moth but they nod reluctantly.

You breathe a sigh of relief. You weren't ready to cross the bridge yet!

The longer it takes the grasshopper to return the more you want to run into their room and hide.

Finally they return with a concerned expression.

“Bruno’s definitely not happy ____.”

You frown. “I-I’ll deal with it later…”

You didn't know exactly when ‘later’ would be though.

-----

“Are you sure you're okay by yourself?”

You try to give a reassuring smile. “Yea. Thank you for everything you've done for me, but I cant stay at your place forever.”

Abilene places down your satchel on your daybed for you while you find somewhere to put your lantern. “I mean you could,” they joke. “Well you know what to do if you need anything. And no wandering please!”

They give you a very stern look which you return with a nod. You definitely wouldn't be leaving your home much for a while.

They start to walk towards your door and you fly after them.

"Also don't forget your bandages!"

"I won't."

"And make sure you drink," they add.

"Now you're just stalling."

“Okay, okay...”

Abilene pulls you in for a hug which you gladly return. You do your best not to hold on too long though.

But you didn't want them to leave.

"See ya!"

"Bye Abby."

You shut the door behind them and let out a long sigh.

You do your best to keep yourself busy the whole day. With working on the sleeves of Bruno’s sweater and on your own top, you don't have much of a problem accomplishing that. But that leaves your mind open to wandering to various things and it usually ends up back on the wasp.

You couldn't stop thinking about him. As much as you preferred remembering as little about that day as possible, the wasp just stook out as weird. The way he acted, the way he even looked.

Along with him being albino, you had never seen a wasp with hair as long as that, or least not tied up in some way. There was also something else strange about him but you were struggling to place it. It bothers you so much that you have to stop what you're doing to dwell on it. When you finally place what was off you almost drop your sewing needle.

His wings. They were missing. You gulp considering the implications of this. Feeling more and more worse about how you acted towards him by the minute.

You continue sewing, but the thoughts won’t disperse. You have no idea how you're going to get through the night.

-----

After changing your bandages you lay down on your daybed and stare at the lantern. Maybe you'd sleep here instead of your bedroom.

You don't know how long you've been laying there, your mind completely blank, before you're brought back to reality by knocking on the door.

You sit there for a moment. There was only one person who would be here at this time. Maybe if you were quiet he’d go away.

You hear muffled speaking through the door. “___ I know you're in there I can see the light through your window.”

You almost facepalm yourself.

Sighing, you get up and go open the door.

Even though you had been avoiding him you couldn't help the relief you felt from seeing the moth. You missed him way more than you had realized. It hadn’t been that long right? Was this normal?

You hide your body partly behind the door so you can keep your weight off your right leg.

"Hello," you say but you can't hold eye contact.

"Hi."

Bruno doesnt say anything more and just stares at you like he's trying to read your mind, leaving you nervous and awkward.

"Um….do you need something?"

"It’s been awhile since we’ve seen each other and I was wondering if you want to go back to the forest clearing with me.” He gestures towards his bag. "We can even gather.”

"….I don't want to go outside right now."

Bruno’s expression slightly softens and he holds out his hand to you. “I know. It’s okay I won't let anything touch a single scale on your wings.”

You know that's supposed to reassure you but it almost does the complete opposite. Bruno definitely knew more about what happened than you would like, but for some reason you try to convince yourself otherwise.

You swallow your discomfort and nod. “O-Okay, let me just get my stuff."

"Need help?"

"No just wait here…"

Bruno tries to say more but you gently close the door. You didn't want him to get suspicious of you constantly flying to do anything.

Once you have your bag and canisters you take a deep breath and meet the moth outside once more. You ignore the pain in your leg as you walk towards him. Bruno insists on taking your bag so you hand it over since you really want to get off your feet as soon as possible.

"Oh wait, let me get my lantern!"

After you go back to get your lantern, Bruno grabs your hands and pulls you up to immediately start flying and he looks like he wants to say something.

"What's wrong?" you ask.

"I know what happened."

You almost feel a cold sweat form on your back. "...What do you mean?"

Bruno's frown deepens. "With the gecko."

You accidently clench your hands in Bruno's. There was no point denying anymore. "H-How? Did Abby tell you?"

"Abbacchio told me."

You squint trying to figure out how that worked, but realization dawns on you in a matter of seconds. The wasp you saw--that saved you.

"Shit."

Bruno suddenly drops your hands. "Lets go."

That catches you off guard but you follow after him. He's very quiet the whole flight and you think he might be mad but it’s somewhat hard to tell.

When you both reach the forest clearing it's even more beautiful than the last time since it was more visible with the moon out. The two of you land on one of the Daturas and the moth immediately starts gathering, but you just watch him for a while.

The tension in the air was too hard to ignore.

"….Bruno?"

He quietly turns towards you waiting for you to speak.

"Er…Are you mad?"

He raises a brow at you before sighing. "I was worried when you weren't at your home for a few days. So I asked around and came to Abilene's house--” His brows furrow. “--but they wouldn't let me see you--you didn’t want to see me.”

You grimace from your behavior. In your attempt to not have to explain and upset Bruno you just made things worse. You already knew this would happen but you decided to keep going.

And for what?

You look down, unable to look the moth in the eye.

"That was definitely not my smartest moment. I-I'm sorry. I caused you all this stress."

His hum sounds unconvinced.

"I'm really super sorry, I swear!"

His frown deepens and he looks hurt. “Why’d you try to pretend with me?"

You feel the familiar burning behind your eyes but you try to keep calm, you didn't want to do that. You wanted to keep this as a coherent conversation.

"I didn't want you to worry or be disappointed in me but I definitely made it worse."

"You did." He pats the spot next to him "Come here.”

You fly over and sit next to the moth, glad to stop flying.

He’s quiet for a moment before speaking. “Sorry I'm not trying to upset you, I’m just a little frustrated. Even if I’m “disappointed” I care more about your well being.”

You nod. “I shouldn't have done that to you...I guess I still need to work on the ‘being forward’ thing.” And you had been doing pretty well too.

“We’re both working on that. I’m not exactly an open book.”

The moth leans back on a hand and looks down at your leg. “How’s your leg?”

You guess he was done talking about this. At least you know the air was clear now. You're kind of surprised that it didn't take that long to resolve and it makes you internally sigh at you hiding your injury so adamantly in the first place.

“Well..it's healing. The doctor gave me some strange smelling cream. It hurts when I walk on it though but it’s getting better.”

“Yea I could tell from how you were grimacing before.”

You awkwardly smile. Guess your acting could use some work.

“But that’s good...I hope you're being safe.”

“I definitely won't be wandering again anytime soon.”

The moth squints his eyes, skeptical. “So you're going to do it again?”

“Well definitely not by myself that's for sure.”

“____, you're going to give me a heart attack.“ Bruno says. You can hear the warning tone seeping into his words though.

“Kidding! I'll stick to places that aren't abandoned.”

“That sounds better….Oh by the way--” Bruno digs out a very familiar canister from his own bag and hands it to you.

“Ah! I thought this was gone for good! Did Abbacchio get it?”

It even had the Tuberose liquid still in it.

Bruno nods. “Once we pieced together that it was you he ran into he gave it to me.”

“Oh. Uh can you tell him thank you. Like really thank you, he saved my life and I’m sorry for yelling at him. I was really afraid…”

“He already figured that, but I’ll give him your thanks and that you're okay. I'm sure that will make him happy.”

“Really?”

“Of course.” He smirks, “He loves praise, even if he tries to act like it doesn't matter to him.”

You laugh a little. “I'm really glad he happened to be in that area, when I was there too!”

“With all the pots right?”

“Pots? Do you mean those colorful containers with the flowers in them?”

The moth nods. “Abbacchio likes to hang out there during the Autumn, because it’s quiet.”

“I’m not trying to tell him what he should and shouldn’t do, but maybe he should pick a better place…”

“That's what I said but he won’t listen.” The moths slightly frowns, “And If he wants to go, I can't stop him.”

“B-But he doesn't have--he can't fly.”

“I know. At least I know he can defend himself.”

You nod thinking how he managed to force the gecko to let go, but still there's only so much someone could do if they're actually grabbed. And it was much harder to get away for insects who couldn’t fly. You were sure Bruno already knew this though. But at the same time you could kind of see why the wasp went over there though. If it weren't for all that happened you’d have visit the place several times by now.

“I think, maybe one day I should meet him, properly. I mean if he wants to...”

Bruno’s eyes widen, “Really?”

You nod.

“Oh...okay.” Bruno gives you a bit of a goofy smile, and if there were any feelings to back out, they're completely gone now.

The moth gets to his feet.

“Are we leaving already?”

“No I’m going to fill our canisters.”

You move to stand too.

“You can sit there, it won't take long--And no point trying to argue.”

You close your mouth and exhale. You were tired anyways.

“Fine...and thanks.”

“You're welcome.”

----

A/N: I’m sorry, I had planned that for a really long time!

#i just found a way to make posting 50 times easier!#bruno buccellati x reader #bruno bucciarati x reader #bruno x reader #Bruno Bucciarati #Bruno Buccellati #reader insert

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boethiahsboytoy · 3 years

Text

fuck it vyrthaal fic ch 1 its just a rough draft bc i dont have the attention span 2 edit yet so this means critique is not only welcomed but appreciated ! under the cut bc i dont want 2 fuck ur dashes (this isn’t vyrthaal-verse im gonna try n write out the whole dawnguard questline n post that First sorry if ur lookin forward 2 that)

In ages past and long forgotten, a mighty city conjured from ice sat safely in the mountains of a young Skyrim; glittering towers reached elegantly towards the sky as crystal-lined paths wound through the mighty buildings. Protecting the city was a noble family of snow elves. They were a reclusive sort, rarely meeting with their neighbors unless it was for business, and tending silently to the upkeep of their home. Among this family was an only child by the name of Vyrthaal, with eyes bright as the sun and skin as blue as the sky. He was an energetic lad, frequently seen running through the halls of his family’s home as he played, but shy, rarely speaking to anyone even in his family. Their nobility intimidated him, and somehow he knew in his heart that he did not fully belong with them, even at such a young age. But he didn’t mind. That much.

He got along well enough with his family anyways; he stayed out of his way and they gave him cold affection. Perhaps their disciplinary tactics were a bit too harsh for a young thirteen year old, but Vyrthaal knew not to complain. There was a great divide between him and his parents, this much he knew, but all in all he would have been content to live with them for a great many more years. But, whether fortunately or unfortunately, this would not be possible. Even one so heavily sheltered such as Vyrthaal would find it impossible to hide from the fact that his homeland was in grave trouble. Almost every day a new courier came bearing bad news of another far-reaching snow elven outpost. Colonizers coming in from the sea were overtaking their land, ousting snow elves from homes that had belonged to them for generations and slaughtering those who resisted. Fear did not show in Vyrthaal’s eyes at this news, but it was felt deep within his heart. And at night he curled up in bed, fearing he would not wake up again to see Auri-El’s light.

- - - - - - - -

“We can rely on the Deep Folk,” his father said one evening, and his mother scoffed. Her long fingers were in Vyrthaal’s hair, intricately braiding it. It was late, and he would have to undo the braids before bed, but it soothed both his and his mother’s nerves.

“Since when have the Dwemer cared for others? They are cruel, and snobbish. Besides,” and now her voice dropped, as if Vyrthaal’s sharp ears wouldn’t pick up her words, “You have heard what they do to our people. Lock them up deep underground, poison them, force them to work in their awful caverns. It is better that we refuse their aid!”

Vyrthaal felt a bolt of fear shoot through him, eyes widening as his ears twitched nervously. But his father shook his head. “That is only rumors,” he said, but doubt sat heavily in his voice. “They wouldn’t do that to us.”

No one in the room believed that. But what other options did they have? While their city was strong they didn’t truly have an army; just a few guards to patrol the area and keep crime to a minimum, or fend off the occasional wild beast that strayed too close. The prospect of making the journey to the Chantry of Auri-El was there, but was it wise? It was a long and difficult road, much too harsh for a child such as Vyrthaal, and who was to say they wouldn’t be attacked by the very Atmorans they were trying to flee? There was little else to be said, but at the end of the night when Vyrthaal retired to his room he still heard his parents discussing what to do.

Anxiety prevented him from sleeping well. It had only been about three hours into a restless sleep when suddenly Vyrthaal was awoken by a chilled touch shaking him. He sat upright quickly, meeting his mother’s eyes, and as consciousness rushed to him he heard the sounds of fighting. On reflex he turned to look out his window but was stopped by his mother’s hand on his cheek.

“Do not look, my son,” she whispered. And all at once he was pulled from his bed, led by the hand down the long flight of stairs to the main living area. But his mother made a sharp turn, tugging the young elf into a small hallway normally used by servants, and brought him to a blank space in the wall. There they met his father, who rested a hand on Vyrthaal’s shoulder and squeezed gently, before turning to the wall and muttering a strange incantation. Where once there was nothing now stood a door, shimmering behind a protective shield of magic. But Vyrthaal’s father opened it and he was rushed in by his parents.

“What is going on?” he begged to know as the sounds of fighting was muffled. They were now heading down a long flight of stairs, Vyrthaal lifting his robes so as not to trip. His mother responded.

“The Atmorans have found us.”

While fear nearly paralyzed him Vyrthaal pressed on with his parents, tears pricking at his eyes. “Where are we going?” His voice was shrill with fear and his mother’s reassuring squeeze to his hands did nothing to calm him. “What will we do!?”

“Hush, Vyrthaal. You will be safe.”

Vyrthaal was more than familiar with his father’s short answers that told him very little, but now it frustrated him. He was about to demand more answers when at last the stairs ended and a slightly breathless Vyrthaal was lead into an odd chamber. He could sense magic here. It was old and deep, and more powerful than he could imagine. It saturated the air and he shivered at the feeling. But it was calming. He looked up between his parents, who now seemed reluctant to continue. But at last, Vyrthaal’s mother slid her hand from his grip.

“You will be safe here.”

There were tears in her eyes as she knelt, hands on Vyrthaal’s shoulders. A kiss was pressed to his brow and he reached up to grasp her forearm.

“Mother-” he tried, but his father cut him off.

“There is no time for questions, my son. The Atmorans are here, and it is too late to flee. This room...it was built ages ago by our ancestors. It is stronger than any of our magic combined, and you will not be found here.” He led Vyrthaal to a heavy looking door carved from an unknown substance, but when they came close he could sense it was made of pure magickal energy. Being so near it seemed to make Vyrthaal’s very soul shrink back from the amount of power it contained. And as he approached it opened for him. He looked questioningly at his parents as it revealed a small, dim room—more of a storage closet in terms of size. “You will be safe here. It will only be for a little while, until we can muster our forces and drive the Atmorans away. Go, Vyrthaal. You will be alright.”

He didn’t want to. But Vyrthaal stepped into the room, turning to look at his parents. “What about you?” He finally asked, and Vyrthaal’s mother smiled.

“We will be safe. There are similar rooms for us.”

It was a lie. Vyrthaal knew it was. But he didn’t argue. Something in him knew that this was their only option. But it also knew that this would work. And when his parents stepped back to seal the door into place he didn’t protest. Only allowed the strange magic of the room work on him, making him grow tired. His eyelids grew heavy, but he kept his gaze on his parents for as long as he could until a strange, enchanted sleep took him. Vyrthaal slept now, undisturbed by noise and disarray, his mind giving him hopeful dreams of a bright future safe from invading Atmorans or scheming Dwemer. Vyrthaal slept as a battle raged on overhead, devouring buildings and people he knew all his life. Vyrthaal slept as Knight-Paladins gave their lives in a vain attempt to protect their race and innocents were slaughtered at the hands of men. And when the last Snow Prince was cut down, and the Atmorans brutally claimed Skyrim as their own, and what little remained of his people retreated to rot in the grasp of the Dwemer, Vyrthaal slept.

#my writing #OC Vyrthaal #once i get an ao3 account and i post it there ill post a link to the final ver on my oc blog #I'm Miraak and you're watching Disney Channel

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smol-and-trashy · 3 years

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Another JJBA vore fic? It’s more likely than you’d think (Vento Aureo)

A/N: I was going to write more, but died in the process. There might be another chapter after this... let’s see. Here’s some giorno vore because i hate myself ahah. It’s super OOC. GioGio’s canon fave food is chocolate and pudding sooooo….sorry for writing this. :)

___________

Guido Mista was a man who preferred to live life stress-free. While betraying the mafioso boss wasn’t exactly the definition of living a peaceful life, when had his life since joining the Passione been totally easygoing? Ultimately, he trusted Bruno’s decision and followed suit.

However, waking up in the dark amidst a sea of stickiness was more than he bargained for. Mista tried shifting his arms, but with each bit of movement, the substance would get heavier. His thick brows furrowed; whatever he was trapped in looked like mud, but... he sniffed. It had a cloyingly sweet aroma to it, almost chocolatey. That didn’t make sense though, did that punk the boss sent have a Stand able to turn liquid into food and then use it to trap their opponents? He couldn’t recall. Normally, he would prefer to not think of such troubles, deeming them as unnecessary worries, but being alone in strange terrain can do a number to a person’s mental state.

From what he could remember of the fight, the man they fought had some kind of defensive Stand. It shot some sort of unscented gas in his face before proceeding to punch him each time he tried getting near. He must’ve been off that day because even his Sex Pistols kept missing the man, he tried redirecting them, but they landed in various areas, everywhere but his target. Narancia was having the same problem, which made Mista begin to believe that this man had some kind of bullet defensive Stand instead. The only people who were able to get a solid hit on the user were Buccellati and Giorno. Though, for the life of him, he couldn’t remember who made the final blow. Was I knocked out? Mista remembered bleeding from his head and shoulders but never actually slipping unconsciousness. Shit, he must’ve been more formidable than I thought! Least we got him though!

However, when Mista attempted to reach a hand to check if he were still bleeding or to at least wipe the crusted blood off, he found himself still unable to move his arms. They were submerged in the depths of the chocolate mud, he tried to at least wriggle his fingers, but the substance was unyielding.

“Yo! Buccellati? Narancia? Giorno? Trish? Anybody?” he tried shouting but received no response. If he listened carefully, he could hear muffled voices around him, but no one was actively trying to break open his prison. Maybe they’re working on it? Or maybe I’ve been captured, and it’s one of the boss’ men around me? C’mon guys, where are you?

Suddenly, something metallic came from the sky and ripped the dark ceiling off. Mista’s heart jumped to his throat at the sight of a gigantic white-clothed table with various dishes surrounding his now broken prison. He could hear something shuffle from far above, and Mista looked up, way up, obsidian eyes comically widening as he caught a glimpse of a familiar pink suit and golden hair: everything began to click.

Above was Giorno Giovanna, under ordinary circumstances, he would’ve welcomed the sight of his friend, but the young blond before him appeared to be reaching monstrous heights.

His breath hitched as the metal spoon came closer, slowly digging near his shrunken body. How he wanted to maintain his cool, pretend like he wasn’t in any danger, and that Giorno would notice him with ease, but even for him, that was unrealistic. The teen’s sea blue eyes glazed over him, focusing more on a conversation from above than his dessert. Mista’s stomach turned, for someone as overly cautious as Giorno, especially after betraying the boss, he had to let his guard down at the worst possible moment. Mista couldn’t help but to let out a bitter bark of laughter, he could always count on his stroke of luck to get him into the strangest situations.

“Oi Giorno! Look down!” While his hands were glued to his sides from the thickness of the pudding, he still had his voice. However, Giorno showed no indication of hearing him, not even taking a moment to look down as he took another truck-sized scoop of the pudding, thankfully missing Mista.

“Watch it! This isn’t funny, man!” he snapped, desperation swirling with fear while his heart thrummed against his chest. How Giorno couldn’t see his blue hat contrasting with the creamy brown of the pudding was beyond him.

“C’mon Giorno, please look down! I don’t wanna die!”

He received no response from above, only the spoon coming back down. This time catching Mista and dragging the terrified gunslinger above. Time slowed down as Mista was brought up, moving past the teenager’s partially open chest and finally halting in front of slightly parted lips.

Mista prayed that one of the other team Buccellati members could see his pathetic wriggles on Giorno’s spoon. Both Buccellati and Giorno had always been absurdly perceptive; they had to notice that Mista was amiss. Even though the latter was about to unintentionally kill him, they had to notice something was off!

While he couldn’t see much beyond the oversized blond and globs of pudding, his prayers were answered from a deep, familiar voice nearby:

“Has anyone seen Mista?” Bruno inquired, and Mista thanked God, finally someone had noticed his absence!

“Oh! He’s still passed out on the couch like a baby!” Narancia interjected.

“In the turtle?”

“Yeah—!”

There was a long pause, and Giorno thankfully lowered the spoon back down. Mista assumed one of them was peering inside the turtle’s pocket dimension.

“Oh, it does look like he’s sleeping there. Giorno, you weren’t able to heal all of his wounds?”

“He was badly beaten, he should be fully recovered in about an hour.” Giorno sounded apologetic, while the tiny brunette was about to have another panic attack.

What?! How could he be inside the turtle when he was clearly stuck in Giorno's pudding?

The spoon shifted and rose up again, Mista’s blood froze. He was really going to die, and no one would notice he was gone. While he would be stewing away inside Giorno, they would believe he was healing from the previous fight. How could this happen?

Unwittingly trapped in his increasingly negative thoughts, Mista didn’t even notice he was already pressed up to Giorno's lips. His eyes shot wide, cruelly brought back to his unfortunate reality. Before he could even utter a scream, he was promptly shoved inside the humid maw, darkness flooding his vision.

As the light closed in, framed by rows of teeth and strings of saliva, Mista felt his stomach turn over. The sopping, crowded cavern of Giorno’s mouth was an experience Mista would rather die than relive. He was tossed and thrown about inside the stuffy mouth; trying to avoid sharp teeth from chewing him to bits but it seemed like the more he tried to struggle, the more soaked in saliva he got. Eech, this is so freaking disgusting!

The tongue beneath him shifted and threw Mista towards the back of the throat along with the rest of the chewed-up muck. With a simple flick of the tongue, Mista was sucked down the crushing throat.

He felt like a tube of toothpaste, squeezed until there was nothing left in him. The powerful muscles of Giorno’s esophagus were relentlessly crushing his tiny form. There was no room to squirm, so his cheeks were squished to the slimy, contracting walls. As Mista descended further down into the teen’s chest, he could hear a heavy, even heartbeat causing thumping vibrations all around him like an internal bass.

For what seemed like hours, Mista was slowly descending down the tight gullet. He could hear the groans and grumbles of the acid pit below, and as he was about to let out a yell in retaliation, he found himself released from the suffocating constraints of the esophagus.

Mista struggled in mid-air, one hand grasped on his hat while the other flailing about before dropping into a dark sea of stomach juices and masticated mush. Not taking a second to process his new environment, Mista swam to the nearest wall, banging and pleading to be released. The hot juices splashed at his bare midriff, while the walls constricted around him, unsure what exactly to do with him. He was thrown to the other side of the stomach, gasping for air, clean air, as he clawed onto the nearest wall, trying to maintain some balance, but failing as the stomach lurched unexpectedly and he fell face-first into the juices.

“C’mon man!” he cries out, hoisting himself up and unsuccessfully trying to wipe off the gastric juices.

Mista sharply inhales, the creeping feeling of disgust cried under his skin, but he shoved it down; there had to be a way to get Giorno’s attention. He was not going to go down like this.

Dark eyes nervously avert to his gun, his hands waver over the weapon. He didn’t want it to come down like this, but if there was no release in sight, and Giorno still had no idea where he was—what if he doesn’t realize by the time I become a pile of bones? Swallowing heavily and raising his gun, he takes a deep breath and finally pulls the trigger. Sorry, Giorno.

“Sex Pistols!”

—-

Pressing a hand to his flat stomach, Giorno paused, trying not to let his anxieties spike. If there were Stands who could spread viruses, produce mirror worlds, or even shrink themselves and others, surely there was a possibility that someone’s Stand may have infiltrated his own body. Giorno’s lips curled in revulsion. Activating Golden Experience, he tested for another soul. He knew the rest of the team were now shooting him perplexing looks and whispers at the notion of him bringing out his Stand, but right now, he didn’t care, he had to focus. Sure enough, he detected another life inside him. Giorno swallowed hard, trying to contain both his fear and anger into a mask of passive indifference. Useless, how could I let my guard down? It was an extreme invasion of his privacy and he wanted nothing more but to get this thing out as soon as possible. Now, it was more a matter on how to go about removing the Stand. He knew nothing about it other than it was currently inside him and wreaking havoc on his insides. Giorno had no idea if it was planting any explosives or plotting mind control from within.

He looked up, finally facing the confused, worried faces of his comrades.

“…Is everything okay, Giorno?” Buccellati finally broke the silence, calm, slightly concerned blue eyes stared into Giorno’s uneasy blues.

#JoJo vore #jjba vore #unaware pred #unwilling prey #soft vore #safe vore #vore writer #vore fanfic

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wewererogue · 4 years

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Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser: Review by Justin Alexander

[by Justin Alexander / The Alexandrian, March 21st, 2006]

I’ve been on a pulp fantasy kick for the past month or so: I started with Robert E. Howard, having finally secured (by way of the Science Fiction Book Club) a hardcover copy of what promises to be the first true edition of his Conan stories to be issued in the States. From that familiar territory I spun off for a quick foray through Henry Kuttner’s imaginative Prince Raynor stories before returning to Howard for the outstanding – if unfortunately few – Cormac Mac Art stories. I then took a voyage of peril and pleasure across Clark Ashton Smith’s forgotten continent of Zothique before turning my attention to Fritz Leiber’s legendary duo: Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser.

From there I had intended to set sail for the lands of either Moorcock’s Elric or Wagner’s Kane, but – in truth – I find myself so disheartened that I am instead turning my attention to wholly different pastures for awhile.

But I fear that I set my premise before my scene. Let me back up for a moment.

For those who don’t know, Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser are famed heroes of the sword and sorcery genre. First unleashed in the pages of the pulps, their literary career spanned almost five decades, coming to an end only with Leiber’s death in the early ‘90s. Their tales are most commonly available in seven authoritative collections: Swords and Deviltry, Swords Against Death, Swords in the Mist, Swords Against Wizardry, Swords of Lankhmar, Swords and Ice Magic, and The Knight and Knave of Swords.

I first read their adventures in junior high, savoring the two omnibuses which collected the first six of these volumes: The Three Swords and Swords’ Masters. Coming back to them now, nearly fifteen years later, I had only dim and disjointed memories of the two dashing swashbucklers, their gritty city of Lankhmar, and the mystic-laden land of Nehwon.

On this return trip, I found myself harboring a great deal of uneven disappointment. In short, I found that the stories of Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser could be roughly divided into two camps – the outstanding and the painfully mediocre – with the latter far outnumbering the former.

Nor can one simply say, as one can in so many cases, that the earlier tales are superior to the hack work of the later. “Ill Met in Lankhmar”, The Swords of Lankhmar, and even the somewhat mixed “Rime Isle”, although among the later works, would make the list of those stories I would recommend. Although, that being said, I think it is clear that, as the series continued, a certain dreary repetition and self-conscious cleverness began to consistently diminish the stories.

Perhaps the best way to approach this inconsistent and self-crippling series is through a volume-by-volume summary of impressions.

SWORDS AND DEVILTRY: Fortunately, the most consistent volume in the series is also the first, although it contains only three tales. “The Snow Women” and “The Unholy Grail” each tell a tale of Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser before their fateful and legendary meeting in Lankhmar. The former is a top-notch tale of youth and magic in the frozen north, keenly demonstrating the fantastic and unique vision which Leiber is capable of delivering. The latter, although strongly crafted, is a somewhat weaker tale – its plot more commonplace in its conception. The volume is rounded out by “Ill Met in Lankhmar”, which is the tale of the first true meeting of our destined heroes. It is also a powerfully tragic story, and its strength is best described by the fact that it represented my strongest memory of Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser before returning to the series.

SWORDS AGAINST DEATH: The second volume in the series begins to show the inconsistency I’m talking about, particularly in the short bridging stories which I believe Leiber wrote specifically for these collections. “The Jewels in the Forest ” and “Thieves’ House”, two of the oldest stories, are the highlights here, and come highly recommended. Running close behind are “The Howling Tower” and “Claws of the Night” – the former being slight, but imaginative; while the latter comes as close to being a prototypical tale of Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser as you are likely to find (mixing thievery, gods, and sly humor across the backdrop of Lankhmar).

Much of this volume, however, is thoroughly pedestrian. To this category belong “The Bleak Shore”, “The Sunken Land”, “The Seven Black Priests”, and “Bazaar of the Bizarre”. (Although, in their favor, I will note that these all have their moments of fantastic vision. The last, however, is a very thin pastiche.) Finally, it would be charitable to describe the last two tales offered here – “The Circle Curse” and “The Price of Pain-Ease” – as thoroughly mediocre. It would be more accurate to simply describe them as bad.

SWORDS IN THE MIST: The third volume is even more uneven than the second. On the one hand, it arguably contains the two best stories in the series: The first of these, “Lean Times in Lankhmar”, is a masterfully crafted tale. Its characters keep you enthralled while its fanciful premise is cleverly worked into an utterly hilarious conclusion. It reminds me strongly of Terry Pratchett at his finest. (Pratchett’s Small Gods, in particular, owes an obvious debt to this story.) The second gem to be found here is “Adept’s Gambit”, which is also the first tale of Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser written by Leiber. Set in a mythically tinged epoch of ancient history, the tale is faintly resonant with the finest creations of Lovecraft, Howard, and Clark Ashton Smith, but possesses a flair and unique sense of character which makes it all Leiber’s own.

Unfortunately the rest of this volume can’t compare with these two classics: “The Cloud of Hate” and “When the Sea-King’s Away” are forgettable clichés, while “Their Mistress, the Sea” and “The Wrong Branch” are ham-fisted, half-baked afterthoughts attempting to create an unnecessary bridge between one tale and the next.

SWORDS AGAINST WIZARDRY: The bulk of this volume is taken up by two lengthy tales, “Stardock” and “The Lords of Quarmall”. Both stories play out across a fantastic and vividly imagined landscape populated with strange cultures and larger-than-life characters. These two tales give Swords Against Wizardry perhaps the strongest base of any volume in the series. Unfortunately, the collection is also padded out with a couple of bridging stories – “The Witch’s Tent” and “The Two Best Thieves of Lankhmar” – which have a bit more substance to them than the other bridging stories, but are still mediocre offerings at best.

THE SWORDS OF LANKHMAR: This is, in fact, the only stand-alone novel in the series. It tells the sprawling saga of an attempted invasion (of a most unusual size and character) aimed against the great city of Lankhmar . Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser, of course, almost single-handedly turn back this invasion – although the path they take is anything but simple or straight-forward.

The Swords of Lankhmar is not the best story told of Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser, but it is perhaps the greatest. The expanded format allows Leiber a chance to stretch his muscles, and he accepts the challenge admirably by weaving a tapestry not only expansive in its imaginings but detailed in its fancies.

Perhaps the most intriguing thing to me about this novel is the clear inheritance its narrative receives from fairy tales. Whereas most writers of sword-and-sorcery trace their antecedents back to classical myth and legend, Leiber’s heroes clearly inhabit a world inspired as much as by Hans Christian Anderson as it is by Beowulf. And it is perhaps this, more than anything else, which gives these stories a unique distinction in the field.

SWORDS AND ICE MAGIC: Unfortunately, after The Swords of Lankhmar the series appears to have spent its creativity. Swords and Ice Magic, the sixth volume, is largely an unimaginative regurgitation of the themes, plots, and characters found earlier in the series. The first five stories in this collection (“The Bait”, “Beauty and the Beasts”, “Trapped in Shadowland”, “The Bait”, and “Under the Thumbs of the Gods”) are simply dreadful wastes of time. In fact, they are all essentially the same story: Distant powers or gods attempt to kill Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser, who – for their part – accept the improbable with stoic complacency while thoroughly and effortlessly thwarting the attempts each time. Unfortunately, this is also a story which was told twice before in these collections.

Fortunately, things then take a slight turn for the better. The sixth story, “Trapped in the Sea of Stars ”, is badly contrived and nearly plotless, but makes up for it through the vivid description of its sense-of-wonder sea voyage. There is, in fact, no particular story here at all – but the visions conjured forth by Leiber’s prose are worth the price of admission.

The last two stories in the collection – “The Frost Monstreme” and “Rime Isle” – are, in fact, two halves of a single story. Although still flawed by an increasingly rambling style, self-conscious commentary, and regurgitation of plot and imagery, this story still has a lot to offer: Clever interactions of character, epic sensibility, charming wit, and wondrous feats are offered up with a melancholic flair.

THE KNIGHT AND KNAVE OF SWORDS: Sadly, however, that is the end of it. This last collection of stories offers nothing but an imagination apparently spent. “Sea Magic”, “The Mer She”, and “The Curse of the Smalls and the Stars” each offer us regurgitated plots while doing nothing more than shuffling around the characters and magic items presented in “Rime Isle” to little sense of purpose or accomplishment.

Finally, in “The Mouser Goes Below”, Leiber pulls the same trick: Shuffling around characters and devices already well-worn beyond any effective use. The only difference to be found is that Leiber pulls his reused material from a larger portion of the series, rather than a single story.

I also found another trend in this last volume particularly disconcerting: A pointless coarseness which was previously absent from the series. I’m not sure what Leiber was attempting to accomplish by suddenly inundating the narrative with “long poniards” piercing “cunts and arse holes”, but the effect was merely distasteful.

In the end, I think this was a series which long-outlived its creator’s interest. Or, at the very least, his ability. The later offerings become increasingly repetitive and unimaginative, as if Leiber had simply run out of new ideas to share. Unfortunately, in collected form, these lackluster efforts seem to out-mass and actively detract from those stories which legitimately earn Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser a place of high honor in the pantheon of fantasy heroes.

Indeed, I found myself unable to finish the series. Swords and Ice Magic had seriously fatigued my interest, and I pushed on with The Knight and Knave of Swords only because (a) I had never read that final volume and (b) I wanted to finish what I had started.

But, in the end, I could manage no further than the mid-point of “The Mouser Goes Below”. Leiber pinioned the Mouser – immobile, invisible, and speechless – in order to have him bear witness to a gratuitously graphic description of one of his former loves having her maid stripped bare, fondled in the cunt and arse hole, and then given instruction on “naked serving”. After several pages of this pointlessly turgid prose I finally gave up and closed the book.

If I ever return to the adventures of Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser, it shall be a markedly proscribed path I take through their tales. Such a journey would look something like this:

“The Snow Woman”

“The Unholy Grail”

“Ill Met in Lankhmar”

“The Jewels in the Forest”

“Thieves’ House”

“The Bleak Shore”

“The Howling Tower”

“The Sunken Land”

“The Seven Black Priests”

“Claws of the Night”

“Lean Times in Lankhmar”

“When the Sea-King’s Away”

Adept’s Gambit

“Stardock”

“The Lords of Quarmall”

The Swords of Lankhmar

“The Frost Monstreme”

“Rime Isle”

I suspect this is less than half of the words written by Leiber of the two greatest swordsmen to ever live in this or any other universe, but it is decidedly the better half. And it, unlike the balance of the series, comes with my highest recommendation.

GRADES:

SWORDS AND DEVILTRY: A-

SWORDS AGAINST DEATH: B+

SWORDS IN THE MIST: A-

SWORDS AGAINST WIZARDRY: A-

SWORDS IN LANKHMAR: A-

SWORDS AND ICE MAGIC: B

KNIGHT AND KNAVE OF SWORDS: D

[source]

#long post #Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser #Fritz Leiber #analysis #rogues in fiction #Justin Alexander

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aion-rsa · 3 years

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Bo Burnham: Inside Songs Ranked from Worst to Best

https://ift.tt/2JMbiJl

The musical of the summer was supposed to be a life-affirming celebration of one of New York’s most vibrant neighborhoods, full of color, romance, and big group dance numbers. Instead for many viewers, the musical of the moment was filmed and performed by one man, alone in isolation from the comfort (or discomfort, really) of his own home, with songs centered on techno paranoia, mental health, and the fear of aging. Maybe after a year stuck in their homes, audiences could relate to the existential dread and general anxiety on display in Bo Burnham: Inside more than a conventional movie musical.

Billed as a stand-up special, Burnham’s latest musical comedy endeavor finds the former wunderkind holed up and feeling more uncomfortable than ever. Writing, editing, directing, and performing from a claustrophobic studio, Burnham’s stand-up special skews more toward being a straight-up musical, and not because the special is light on jokes and missing an audience. Rather this has all the hallmarks of a musical narrative and plays closer to experimental cinema than sketch comedy.

Burnham expresses his characters’ inner-thoughts, fears, and desires via song throughout a contained narrative, in this case the narrative being one man trying to occupy himself during a pandemic. It has ballads, charm songs, comedy numbers, “I Am” and “I Want” songs, and a big reprise. By capturing his personal pandemic experience and putting the whole affair to song, Burnham has created one of the most compelling (and catchy!) accounts of life during 2020.

To celebrate the musical that we all needed after a year in our homes, we’ve decided to rank every song from Bo Burnham: Inside. You can stream along via the Inside (The Songs) album on the streaming platform of your choice.

20. I Don’t Wanna Know

Merely an interlude, “I Don’t Wanna Know” doesn’t quite work outside of watching the special itself. However, it is a clever way to address the fact that modern audiences do not have the attention span to sit through a film at home without checking their phone or complaining about a runtime.

19. Bezos II

While certainly meant to poke fun at the real-life Lex Luthor, it’s not that fun to listen to Bezos’ name repeated. Stil, Burnham does elicit a few laughs with his over-the-top mock congratulations. “You did it!”

18. Any Day Now

A Sesame Street-like mantra that plays over the credits, “Any Day Now” suggests this could all end either hopefully soon or on a depressingly vague far-off date that will never come. We’d like to think it’s the former, but it’s safe to assume what Bo thinks.

17. All Time Low

While this number gets docked points for its short runtime, it absolutely packs a punch with its four-line, single verse. After Bo admits that his mental health is rapidly deteriorating, he describes what it’s like to have a panic attack set to a chipper ‘80s dance backbeat. Unfortunately, we don’t get to ride the wave long enough, and judging lyrics, that’s probably a good thing for Bo.

16. Content

This strong opening number musically sets the vibe for Inside, letting us know that we’re in for some synth-heavy throwback beats that would be best listened to underneath a disco ball. Also incorporating silly backing vocals, a hallmark of many of Inside’s best tracks, Burnham declares he’s back with some sweet, sweet content. “Daddy made you your favorite,” he sings, and he ain’t wrong.

15. Bezos I

Unlike the reprise in “Bezos II,” “Bezos I” gets by off its increasingly deranged energy, with Burnham roasting fellow tech billionaires and working himself up into a manic frenzy by song’s end. Musically, it sounds like the soundtrack to an intense boss battle on a Sega Genesis game before ending with a sick little synth solo and Burnham hilarious squawking. It’s arguably the only acceptable thing that Bezos has ever been associated with.

14. Unpaid Intern

While “Unpaid Intern” is one of Inside’s shortest tracks, it absolutely makes the most of its time. The jazzy tune scorches the exploitative nature of unpaid internships before Burnham breaks out into a laugh-out-loud worthy scat routine. It unfortunately ends too soon.

13. Shit

Inside’s funkiest jam sounds like Burnham wrote the lyrics for a new Janelle Moane album cut. Bo show’s off his vocal dexterity and plumbs the depths of his depression in a surprisingly danceable fashion. Throwing in a little faux crowd interaction helps bring home the fact that we have all felt like this at one point or another during the pandemic.

12. Sexting

This slow-jam details the complications of sexting, throwing out hilariously too-true punchlines like “the flash makes my dick look frightened.” “Sexting” feels like one of a few songs that could most easily appear on previous Burnham specials. Proving that Inside’s musical textures do not come exclusively from ’80s synth pop, the outro of the song expertly mirrors modern pop trends by throwing in some trap-influenced “yahs” at the end of Bo’s lines.

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11. How the World Works

Influenced by comedian Hans Teeuwen and children’s entertainment in general, “How the World Works” finds Burnham going back to the well by playing the ignorant, smarmy white guy who is oblivious of the real issues plaguing nonwhite Americans. What’s even better though is Socko calling Burnham out on forcing others to educate him for his own self-actualization instead of doing the work on his own for the betterment of others.

Socko pointedly asks “Why do you rich f—— white people insist on seeing every socio-political conflict through the myopic lens of your own self-actualization?” Not to keep things too heavy, the song ends with an absurdist bit where Burnham returns Socko to the nether place that he goes when he’s not attached to Burnham’s hand. Scathing and bizarre, it’s a great piece of social commentary.

10. FaceTime With My Mom

While most of the music of Inside feels directly transported from the 1980s, “FaceTime With My Mom” seems only inspired by the past decade’s musical trends, updating the sounds in much of the same way that the Weeknd and Dua Lipa have. This is Bo Burnham as a hitmaker, and his attempt is convincing. “FaceTime With My Mom” earns easy laughs by getting to the seemingly specific, yet universal things that all our moms do over video chat.

9. Goodbye

Every good musical needs a good closing track, and Burnham nails it with “Goodbye,” pulling off a reprise that weaves in many of the special’s signature musical moments and touches on the special’s core themes. A forlorn piano ballad before it soars through Inside’s best motifs, “Goodbye” caps a triumphant musical achievement, coming back to “Look Who’s Inside Again” just to punch you in the gut one last time.

8. Problematic

Addressing his past work and some aspects that have not aged well, while also skewering celebrity apologies, “Problematic” is self-aware critique by way of an ‘80s workout bop. From the specific Aladdin confession to the overall apology for being “vaguely shitty,” Bo has never made accountability sound so good.

7. That Funny Feeling

This is Bo Burnham’s version of Father John Misty’s “Holy Shit,” a laundry list of all the stupid things that are signaling the fall of culture and civilization as we know it. If Misty hadn’t gotten there first, we may have had this one ranked higher. Still, Burnham manages to come up with a sticky chorus that you’ll be humming the next time something makes you feel like you’re living in the uncanny valley.

6. White Woman’s Instagram

Perhaps the special’s most playful moment, “White Woman’s Instagram” uses the musical cues of an inspiring empowerment anthem to poke fun at the predictably, perfectly curated feed of a “girl boss” Instagram. The song is greatly enhanced by the accompanying visuals, which find Bo recreating the meticulously staged and glamorous portraits that women pass off as their everyday lives.

However, Bo always likes to sneak in some sentimentality, and imagines a genuinely heartfelt post to his white woman character’s deceased mother. Don’t worry, the emotional moment doesn’t overstay its welcome, and we’re soon back to laughing at horribly derivative political street art.

5. All Eyes on Me

The droning synth and pitch-down vocals make “All Eyes On Me” oddly hypnotic and beautiful. The song seems to be addressing Bo’s depression along with his need for validation and attention, a juxtaposition that many performers deal with. It becomes clear that Burnham isn’t addressing an invisible audience, but himself, trying to will himself up and out of his dreary mental state.

4. Look Who’s Inside Again

A classic “I Am” musical song, “Look Who’s Inside Again” just may be Inside’s most emotionally resonant track that seems to hit closest to who Bo Burnham was and who he is today. This is the song that I will most likely regret the most for ranking so low.

“Well, well, look who’s inside again. Went out to look for a reason to hide again,” perfectly describes the cycle of depression and will, for me, be the special’s most lasting moment. The downbeat ending “come out with your hands up, we’ve got you surrounded” is heartbreaking enough to send a shudder down your spine.

3. Comedy

The special’s real first number is absolutely packed with hooks, from the “Call me and I’ll tell you a joke” bridge to the “Should I be joking at a time like this?” change-up. This is Bo really flexing how far he’s come as a musician, expertly utilizing autotune and a key change (us “stupid motherf***ers” can’t resist them).

“Comedy” also finds Bo comfortably in the lane that we’re most used to seeing him in, playing the egomaniacal white messiah with a wink. “Comedy” is the tone-setter and it’s so good that it lets you know that you’re in good hands for the next hour plus.

2. 30

Either I’m ranking this song too highly due to its personally relatable nature or the fact that I haven’t been able to get “All my stupid friends are having stupid children” out of my head, but I really don’t care. “30” is Inside’s biggest earworm and addresses the existential terror that comes with no longer getting pats on the back for being a young wunderkind.

“30” also examines generational differences, showing how 30 year-old people are more infantile than ever. However, at the end of the day it all comes back to those shimmering keys and that irresistible refrain. Apologies to my friends with children.

1. Welcome to the Internet

No matter how deep and emotionally rich some of Inside’s other tracks may be, “Welcome to the Internet” is the one that will live on the longest. If this were a traditional musical, this would the antagonists’ showstopper; a vaudevillian romp through the alluring chaos that is the internet. Speeding up and slowing down the pace to mirror the manic, addictive nature of surfing the net, Burnham pitches the negative aspects of online culture as they are: a feature, not a bug. Promising “a little bit of everything all of the time,” “Welcome to the Internet” is almost as enticing as the dark tool itself.

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The post Bo Burnham: Inside Songs Ranked from Worst to Best appeared first on Den of Geek.

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#aion-rsa #Den of Geek

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fictionfromafar · 3 years

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Unmissable International Crime Fiction Novels from April 2021 onwards

1 April

The Untamable by Guillermo Arriaga

MacLehose Press

A gripping coming of age thriller of vengeance and destiny set between Mexico City's murderous 1960s underworld and the bleak tundras of Canada's most remote province. By the BAFTA-winning screenwriter of Amores Perros.

Yukon, Canada's far north. A young man tracks a wolf through the wilderness. In Mexico City, Juan Guillermo has pledged vengeance.

1 April

Bullet Train by Kotaro Isaka, translated by Sam Marissa

Harvill Secker

Five killers find themselves on a bullet train from Tokyo competing for a suitcase full of money. Who will make it to the last station? A bestseller in Japan, Bullet Train is an original and propulsive thriller which fizzes with an incredible energy as its complex net of double-crosses and twists unwinds to the last station.

15 April

Silenced by Sólveig Pálsdóttir, translated by Quentin Bates

Corylus Books

After a turbulent few years, Guðgeir Fransson is back with the Reykjavík police force and is called on to look into the suspicious suicide of a young woman in a cell at the Hólmsheiði prison. On the surface, it looks like a straightforward investigation. As he digs into the dead woman’s past, he unearths links to a man’s disappearance more than twenty years ago.

My review of The Fox:

15 April

We Trade Our Night for Someone Else’s Day by Ivana Bodrožić, translated by Ellen Elias-Bursac

Penguin Random House

Nora is a journalist assigned to do a puff piece on the perpetrator of a crime of passion–a Croatian high school teacher who fell in love with one of her students, a Serb, and is now in prison for having murdered her husband. But Nora herself is the daughter of a man who was murdered years earlier under mysterious circumstances. And she wants, if not to avenge her father, at least to bring to justice whoever committed the crime.

15 April

How To Betray Your Country by James Wolff

Bitter Lemon Press

Following on from the acclaimed debut novel Beside the Syrian Sea, this is the second title in a planned trilogy about loyalty and betrayal in the modern world. An authentic thriller about the thin line between following your conscience and following orders. James Wolff is the pseudonym of a young English novelist who “has been working for the British government for the last ten years”.

22 April

Trap for Cinderella by Sebastien Japrisot

Gallic Books

A beach house at a French resort is gutted by fire. Trapped inside are two women - one rich and the other poor. Only one of them survives, burnt beyond recognition and in a state of total amnesia. Who is she, the heiress or her penniless friend? A killer, or an intended victim?

29 April

Geiger by Gustaf Skordeman

Zaffre

The landline rings as Agneta is waving off her grandchildren. Just one word comes out of the receiver: 'Geiger'. For decades, Agneta has always known that this moment would come, but she is shaken. She knows what it means. Retrieving her weapon from its hiding place, she attaches the silencer and creeps up behind her husband before pressing the barrel to his temple.

29 April

Facets of Death by Michael Stanley

Orenda Books

Detective Kubu, renowned international detective, has faced off with death more times than he can count... But what was the case that established him as a force to be reckoned with? In Facets of Death, a prequel to the acclaimed Detective Kubu series, the fresh-faced cop gets ensnared in an international web of danger—can he get out before disaster strikes?

29 April

The Girl Who Died by Ragnar Jonasson

Michael Joseph

Una knows she is struggling to deal with her father's sudden, tragic suicide. She spends her nights drinking alone in Reykjavik, stricken with thoughts that she might one day follow in his footsteps.

So when she sees an advert seeking a teacher for two girls in the tiny village of Skálar - population of ten - on the storm-battered north coast of the island, she sees it as a chance to escape.

13 May

Seat 7a by Sebastian Fitzek, translated by Jamie Bulloch

Head of Zeus

Psychiatrist Mats Krüger knows that his irrational fear of flying is just that – irrational. He knows that flying is nineteen times safer than driving. He also knows that if something does happen on a plane, the worst place to be is seat 7A. That's why on his first plane journey in 20 years – to be with his only daughter as she gives birth – he's booked seat 7A, so no one else can sit there. If no one is sat there, surely nothing will go wrong.

My review of Passenger 23 :

https://fictionfromafar.tumblr.com/post/643950323513311232/passenger-23-by-sebastian-fitzek-passenger-23-by

13 May

The Assistant by Kjell Ola Dahl, translated by Don Bartlett

Orenda Books

Oslo, 1938. When a woman turns up at the office of police-turned-private investigator Ludvig Paaske, has accepted a routine case to find evidence of a cheating husband but soon enough his assistant Jack Rivers has been accused of murder. Rivers is no angel, and Paaske must dig deep to find out what’s going on. The secrets he uncovers go all the way back to 1920s Norway when smugglers, pimps and racketeers ruled the Oslo underworld.

20 May

Summertime, All the Cats Are Bored by Philippe Georget, Translated by Steven Rendall

Europa Editions

It’s the middle of a long hot summer on the French Mediterranean shore and the town is full of tourists. Sebag and Molina, two tired cops who are being slowly devoured by dull routine and family worries, deal with the day’s misdemeanors and petty complaints at the Perpignan police headquarters without a trace of enthusiasm. Out of the blue a young Dutch woman is brutally murdered on a beach at Argelès, and another disappears without a trace in the alleys of the city. A serial killer obsessed with Dutch women?

20 May

Oxygen by Sacha Naspini, Translated by Clarissa Botsford

Europa Editions

Laura disappeared into thin air in 1999, at eight years old. She was found in a metal container, fourteen years later.

Luca is having dinner with his father dinner when they are interrupted by a visit from the carabinieri, who take his father away. Luca can only watch the scene unfold, helpless. The charges brought against esteemed anthropologist Carlo Maria Balestri are extremely grave: multiple counts of abduction, torture, murder, and concealing his victims’ bodies.

27 May

The Waiter by Ajay Chowdhury

Harvill Secker

Disgraced detective Kamil Rahman moves from Kolkata to London to start afresh as a waiter in an Indian restaurant. But the day he caters a birthday party for his boss's friend on Millionaire's Row, his simple new life becomes rather complicated. The event is a success, the food is delicious, but later that evening the host, Rakesh, is found dead in his swimming pool.

27 May

The Fortune Men by Nadifa Mohamed

Viking

Mahmood Mattan is a fixture in Cardiff's Tiger Bay, 1952, which bustles with Somali and West Indian sailors, Maltese businessmen and Jewish families. He is a father, chancer, some-time petty thief. He is many things, in fact, but he is not a murderer.

So when a shopkeeper is brutally killed and all eyes fall on him, Mahmood isn't too worried. It is true that he has been getting into trouble more often since his Welsh wife Laura left him. But Mahmood is secure in his innocence in a country where, he thinks, justice is served.

10 June

In the Shadow of the Fire by Herve Le Corre, translated by Tina Kover

Europa Editions

The Paris Commune’s “bloody week” sees the climax of the savagery of the clashes between the Communards and the French Armed Forces loyal to Versailles. Amid the shrapnel and the chaos, while the entire west side of Paris is a field of ruins, a photographer fascinated by the suffering of young women takes “suggestive” photos to sell to a particular clientele. Young women begin disappearing, and when Caroline, a seamstress who volunteers at a first aid station, is counted among the missing, her fiancé Nicolas, a member of the Commune’s National Guard, and Communal security officer Antoine, sets off independently in search of her.

10 June

The All Human Wisdom by Pierre Lemaitre

MacLehose Press

In 1927, the great and the good of Paris gather at the funeral of the wealthy banker, Marcel Péricourt. His daughter, Madeleine, is poised to take over his financial empire (although, unfortunately, she knows next to nothing about banking). More unfortunately still, when Madeleine's seven-year-old son, Paul, tumbles from a second floor window of the Péricourt mansion on the day of his grandfather's funeral, and suffers life-changing injuries, his fall sets off a chain of events that will reduce Madeleine to destitution and ruin in a matter of months.

15 June

The Transparency Of Time, Leonardo Padura, translated by Anna Kushner,

Bitter Lemon Press

Mario Conde is facing down his sixtieth birthday. What does he have to show for his decades on the planet? A failing body, a slower mind, and a decrepit country, in which both the ideals and failures of the Cuban Revolution are being swept away in favor of a new and newly cosmopolitan worship of money. Rescue comes in the form of a new case: an old Marxist turned flamboyant practitioner of Santería appears on the scene to engage Conde to track down a stolen statue of the Virgen de Regla—a black Madonna. This sets Conde on a quest that spans twenty-first century Havana as well as the distant past to uncover the true provenance of the statue.

My review of Havana Fever:

https://fictionfromafar.tumblr.com/post/631759758177746944/havana-fever-written-by-leonardo-padura

24 June

The Wrong Goodbye by Toshihiko Yahagi, translated by Alfred Birnbaum

MacLehose Press

In a nod to Raymond Chandler, The Wrong Goodbye pits homicide detective Eiji Futamura against a shady Chinese business empire and U.S. military intelligence in the docklands of recession hit Japan. After the frozen corpse of immigrant barman Tran Binh Long washes up in midsummer near Yokosuka U.S. Navy Base, Futamura meets a strange customer from Tran’s bar. Vietnam vet pilot Billy Lou Bonney talks Futamura into hauling three suitcases of “goods” to Yokota US Air Base late at night and flies off leaving a dead woman behind. My review:

https://fictionfromafar.tumblr.com/post/641412317374988288/the-wrong-goodbye

24 June

Sleepless by Romy Haussmann, translated by Jamie Bulloch

Quercus

It's been years since Nadja Kulka was convicted of a cruel crime. After being released from prison, she's wanted nothing more than to live a normal life: nice flat, steady job, even a few friends. But when one of those friends, Laura von Hoven - free-spirited beauty and wife of Nadja's boss - kills her lover and begs Nadja for her help, Nadja can't seem to be able to refuse.

29 June

Black Ice by Carin Gerhardsen

Scarlet

January in Gotland. The days are short, the air is cold, and all the roads are covered in snow. On a deserted, icy backroad, these wintery conditions will soon bring together a group of strangers with a force devastating enough to change their lives forever when, in the midst of a brief period, a deadly accident and two separate crimes leave victims in their wake.

1st July

The Darkness Knows by Arnaldur Indridason

Harvill Secker

A woman approaches Konrad with new information and progress can finally be made. But as Konrad starts to look back at the case and secrets of the past, he is forced to come face to face with his own dark side. In What the Darkness Knows, the master of Icelandic crime writing reunites readers with Konrad, the unforgettable retired detective from The Shadow District.

1 July

Resilience by Bogdan Hrib, translated by Marina Sofia

Corylus Books

Stelian Munteanu has had enough of being an international man of mystery: all he wants to do is make the long-distance relationship with his wife Sofia work. But when the notorious Romanian businessman Pavel Coman asks him to investigate the death of his daughter in the north of England, he reluctantly gets involved once more in what proves to be a tangled web of shady business dealings and political conspiracies. Moving rapidly between London, Newcastle, Bucharest and Iasi, this novel shows just how easy it is to fall prey to fake news and social media manipulation.

8 July

The Therapist by Helene Flood, translated by Alison McCulloch

MacLehose Press

A voicemail from her husband tells Sara he's arrived at the holiday cabin. Then a call from his friend confirms he never did. She tries to carry on as normal, teasing out her clients' deepest fears, but as the hours stretch out, her own begin to surface. And when the police finally take an interest, they want to know why Sara deleted that voicemail.

13 July

Elena Knows by Claudia Piñeiro translated by Frances Riddle

Charco Press

After Rita is found dead in a church she used to attend, the official investigation into the incident is quickly closed. Her sickly mother is the only person still determined to find the culprit. Chronicling a difficult journey across the suburbs of the city, an old debt and a revealing conversation, Elena Knows unravels the secrets of its characters and the hidden facets of authoritarianism and hypocrisy in our society.

My review of Betty Boo:

https://fictionfromafar.tumblr.com/post/633225446612484096/

15 July

The Basel Killings

Hansjörg Schneider

Bitter Lemon Press

It the end of October, the city of Basel is grey and wet. It could be December. It is just after midnight when Police Inspector Peter Hunkeler, on his way home and slightly worse for wear, spots old man Hardy sitting on a bench under a street light. He wants to smoke a cigarette with him, but the usually very loquacious Hardy is silent—his throat a gaping wound. Turns out he was first strangled, then his left earlobe slit, his diamond stud stolen. The media and the police come quickly to the same conclusion: Hardy’s murder was the work of a gang of Albanian drug smugglers. But for Hunkeler that seems too obvious.

20 July

The Double Mother by Michel Bussi, translated by Sam Taylor

W&N

Already shown as a serial on Channel4’s Walter Presents (as The Other Mother), four-year-old Malone Moulin is haunted by nightmares of being handed over to a complete stranger and begins claiming his mother is not his real mother. His teachers at school say that it is all in his imagination as his mother has a birth certificate, photos of him as a child and even the pediatrician confirms Malone is her son. The school psychologist, Vasily, believes otherwise as the child vividly describes an exchange between two women.

22 July

Girls Who Lie Eva Bjorg AEgisdottir

Orenda

When single mother Maríanna disappears from her home, leaving an apologetic note on the kitchen table, everyone assumes that she’s taken her own life … until her body is found on the Grábrók lava fields seven months later, clearly the victim of murder. Her neglected fifteen-year-old daughter Hekla has been placed in foster care, but is her perfect new life hiding something sinister?

My Review of A Creak On The Stairs:

https://fictionfromafar.tumblr.com/post/631717704661942273/

22nd July

The Doll Yrsa Sigurdardottir

Hodder & Stoughton

It was meant to be a quiet family fishing trip, a chance for mother and daughter to talk. But it changes the course of their lives forever. They catch nothing except a broken doll that gets tangled in the net. After years in the ocean, the doll a terrifying sight and the mother's first instinct is to throw it back, but she relents when her daughter pleads to keep it. This simple act of kindness proves fatal. That evening, the mother posts a picture of the doll on social media. By the morning, she is dead and the doll has disappeared.

5 August

The Soul Breaker by Sebastian Fitzek, translated by Jamie Bulloch

Head Of Zeus

He doesn't kill them, or mutilate them. But he leaves them completely dead inside, paralysed and catatonic. His only trace a note left in their hands. There are three known victims when suddenly the abductions stop. The Soul Breaker has tired of his game, it seems. Meanwhile, a man has been found in the snow outside an exclusive psychiatric clinic. He has no recollection of who he is, or why he is there. Unable to match him to any of the police's missing people, the nurses call him Casper.

12 August

Cold Sun by Anita Sivakumaran

Dialogue Books

Bangalore. Three high-profile women murdered, their bodies draped in identical red saris. When the killer targets the British Foreign Minister's ex-wife, Scotland Yard sends the troubled, brilliant DI Vijay Patel to lend his expertise to the Indian police investigation. Stranger in a strange land, ex-professional cricketer Patel must battle local resentment and his own ignorance of his ancestral country, while trying to save his failing relationship back home.

August date TBC

Skin Deep by Antonia Lassa, translated by Jacky Collins

Corylus Books

The corpse of an elderly millionaire is discovered brutally scarred with acid burns. Her young lover is the chief suspect but the authorities admit they are baffled. It will take the intervention of private detective Albert Larten to explore all the complexities of desire, and ultimately reveal the truth.

19 August

Come Hell Or High Water by Christian Unge

MacLehose Press

The first in a new Swedish crime series featuring Tekla Berg – a fearless doctor with a remarkable photographic memory

With 85% per cent burns to his body and a 115% risk of dying, it’s a miracle the patient is still alive. That he made it this far is thanks to Tekla Berg, an emergency physician whose unorthodox methods and photographic memory are often the difference between life and death.

30 September

Night Hunters by Oliver Bottini

MacLehose Press

The fourth in the Black Forest Investigations - by the four-time winner of the German Crime Fiction Award. Over the course of several days one hot summer, a female student from Freiburg disappears, a father is murdered in a brutal attack, a teenage boy drowns in the Rhine in suspicious circumstances. It soon becomes evident to Chief Inspector Louise Boni and her colleagues at Freiburg's criminal police that the three cases are connected - and that others are now in terrible danger. Including Boni herself.

07 October

Lemon by Kwon Yeo-Sun

House Of Zeus

Focusing on the unsolved murder of teenage girl, this literary crime novel offers insights into gender, class and privilege in Seoul, and marks the English-language debut for award-winning Korean author, Kwon Yeo-sun.

In the summer of 2002, my big sister Hae-on was murdered. She was beautiful, intelligent, and only nineteen years old. Two boys were questioned, but the case was never solved. Her killer still walks free.

12 October

Bread: The Bastards of Pizzofalcone

by Maurizio de Giovanni

Europa Editions

Sometimes it takes facing a formidable adversary to truly know one’s worth. The Bastards of Pizzofalcone may have found just that: when the brutal murder of a baker rattles the city, they are ready to investigate. There’s nothing they wouldn’t do to prove themselves to their community. But this time the police are divided: for the special anti-mob branch, the local mafia is doubtlessly responsible for the crime, but the Bastards are not so sure and think there may be another reason for the murder of the renowned artisan, whose traditionally baked bread attracted customers from far and wide. A rivalry between the policeman and the magistrate is formed, one that, in the end, will extend to more than just their work lives.

12 October

The Corpse Flower by Anne Mette Hancock

Crooked Lane Books

It's early September in Copenhagen, the rain has been coming down for weeks, and 36-year-old journalist Heloise Kaldan is in the middle of a nightmare. One of her sources has been caught lying, and she could lose her job over it. And then she receives the first in a series of cryptic and ominous letters from an alleged killer.

28 October

Inertia by Camilla Grebe

Zaffre

Inertia is an eerie psychological thriller from the award-winning Swedish bestselling author Camilla Grebe. When 18-year old Samuel finds himself at the centre of a drug deal gone wrong, he is forced to go underground to escape the police and an infamous drug lord.

October date TBC

The Commandments by Oskar Gudmundsson

Corylus Books

On a cold winter morning in 1995, Anton, a 19-year-old boy, met a priest outside Glerárkirkja in Akureyri. After that, he was never seen again. Two decades later a priest is found murdered in the church in Grenivík. When the police investigate the case, they finds that a deacon has also been executed inside Akureyri.

28 October

Cold as Hell by Lilja Sigurdardottir

Orenda Books

Icelandic sisters Áróra and Ísafold live in different countries and aren‘t on speaking terms, but when their mother loses contact with Ísafold, Áróra reluctantly returns to Iceland to find her sister. But she soon realizes that her sister isn’t avoiding her … she has disappeared, without trace.

As she confonts Ísafold’s abusive, drug-dealing boyfriend Björn, and begins to probe her sister’s reclusive neighbours – who have their own reasons for staying out of sight – leads Áróra into an ever darker web of intrigue and manipulation.

28 October

The Rabbit Factor by Antti Toumainen

Orenda Books

What makes life perfect? Insurance mathematician Henri Koskinen knows the answer because he calculates everything down to the very last decimal.

And then, for the first time, Henri is faced with the incalculable. After suddenly losing his job, Henri inherits an adventure park from his brother – its peculiar employees and troubling financial problems included. The worst of the financial issues appear to originate from big loans taken from criminal quarters … and some dangerous men are very keen to get their money back.

2 November

Bricklayers

Selva Almada

Charco Press

Oscar Tamai and Elvio Miranda, the patriarchs of two families of brickmakers, have for years nursed a mutual hatred, but their teenage sons, Pájaro and Ángelito, somehow fell in love. Brickmakers begins as Pájaro and Marciano, Ángelito’s older brother, lie dying in the mud at the base of a Ferris wheel. Inhabiting a dreamlike state between life and death, they recall the events that forced them to pay the price of their fathers’ petty feud.

My review of Dead Girls:

https://fictionfromafar.tumblr.com/post/642554449326489600/dead-girls-charco-press

4 November

The Night Will Be Long

Santiago Gamboa

Europa Editions

When a horribly violent confrontation occurs outside of Cauca, Colombia, only a young boy is around to witness it. But no sooner does the violence happen than it disappears, vanished without a trace. Nobody claims to have seen anything. Nobody claims to have heard anything. That is, until an anonymous accusation catalyzes a dangerous investigation into the deep underbelly of the Christian churches present today in Latin America. The Night Will Be Long is a dark, twisting thriller filled with moments of humor and pain--a story that will stick with readers long after they turn the last page.

11 November

The Shadows of Men by Abir Mukherjee

Harvill Secker

When a Hindu theologian is found murdered in his home, the city is on the brink of all-out religious war. Can officers of the Imperial Police Force, Captain Sam Wyndham and Sergeant Surendranath Banerjee track down those responsible in time to stop a bloodbath? Set at a time of heightened political tension, beginning in atmospheric Calcutta and taking the detectives all the way to bustling Bombay, the latest instalment in this 'unmissable' (The Times) series presents Wyndham and Banerjee with an unprecedented challenge.

#crimeintranslation #crime fiction #european literature #latinamericancrimefiction #Nordic noir #Japanese crime fiction

2 notes · View notes

stella-monstrum · 3 years

Text

Bobby Roe’s ‘Underestimated Gem’, “The Houses October Built”; [1hr 31mins, Rated R] (2014)

Admittedly, there is a lot to unpack in this review.

I found myself at the relatable point of endless scrolling through horror films on streaming apps, hoping to find something that really challenged and rattled my thinking afterwards. Obviously, film taste is different for everyone, and I am CERTAINLY way too easy to scare. But this wasn’t a film made to elicit jumps—or screams for that matter.

I went into this viewing with a couple expectations. First of all, Hulu’s trailer for the movie was enough to grab my interest by itself. The clips of this group of friends exploring haunted horror attractions and the brief introduction to the eerie actors along with it pulled me in.

[Anecdote; Around the same time that the film came out, I’d gone to my first haunted house. I was separated from my group, and thrown into a “butcher shed,” and proceeded to have the living shit scared out of me. One of the actors knew that their mates had gone too far and pretty much came in to save the day. Afterwards, I thought it was the coolest thing and started to laugh at my own fear—which plays massively to the appeal to watch.]

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Before I go into the review...

I will say that the thriller theme to this film made me squirm and made it difficult to watch all the way through. So if you’re squeamish, have trauma-like responses, or have epilepsy, proceed with caution or skip this one altogether.

This film also contains a bunch of NSFW themes, torture, and graphic images (which basically delivers its main purpose, I guess).

(Written by Stella. Edited by Jacob J )

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The Cast:

Brandy Schaeffer as Brandy

Zach Andrews as Zach

Bobby Roe as Bobby

Mikey Roe as Michael (aka Mikey)

Jeff Larson as Jeff

The casting is fairly straightforward, with the actors playing overly exaggerated versions of themselves. Though technically under the lead of director Bobby Roe, the cast all had a hand in writing the film. Pulling double duty is a feat in itself. (It was unfortunate to find in my research that, after the 2017 sequel, the majority of the cast just dropped off the face of the Earth.)

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Summary:

The five childhood friends from Ohio seek out the thrill of the Halloween season, traveling through the deep south of Texas in an RV. They’re stocked up on junk food, booze, drugs, and pure joy that they’re setting out on this journey. For the six days leading up to Halloween, they visit six attractions in the Lone Star state. (technically)

The team begins at a bar in Tyler, Texas, to celebrate the beginning of their trip. In their wasted stupor (and even while sober throughout the film), they make light and joke about how these “haunted attractions” are tame and as fake as the horror films they strive to represent. (Meta as hell, right?)

With each visit, the attractions grow scarier and freakier. Somehow, they piss off a whole gang of creepy-ass characters. Despite being essentially in the middle of nowhere, the aforementioned creep squad (we’re talking clowns, bloody bunnies, backwoods Vorhees groupies, etc.) stalk and terrorize the traveling quintet. The group moves on toward the ultimate attraction, The Blue Skeleton, which they desperately try to find. This leads them on a mystery hunt through word of mouth (and an online horror attraction forum, to the secret location). They eventually wind up heading towards the deep, dark heart of Louisiana, where The Blue Skeleton exceeds every fear that they wanted in the first place—and ends up being their worst nightmare.

The film also gives a small nod to George Romero, the man who changed the way that zombies were seen in pop culture and films, during their visit to a zombie-themed paintball attraction. On top of that, the creators made the film on a very small budget (allegedly). It was given a brief theatrical release in 2014, but years later became a niche gem with a continuing following amongst horror film fans.

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[Likes & Dislikes]

It was incredibly hard to want to complain, consider how the film left my state of mind after watching. But, ultimately, I had to find something for the sake of this review. So I’ll start with the dislikes first, because it’s so worth saving the best for last in this circumstance.

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[Dislikes]:

1.) The first-person filming: Although capturing themes and moments perfectly to keep suspense, it made me super queasy.

- Now, this nitpick isn’t an end-all film-ruiner. With any first person/found-footage deal, there’s a guarantee to feel the rollercoaster like adventure in your gut. (I recommend having a good bowl of ramen or some ginger tea on hand.)

- The filming style 100% captures and cranks every moment of fear, suspense, and terror. It makes you feel like you’re a part of the team. (Found-footage/first-person filming was the original VR, fight me.)

2.) The full on disrespect that the group shows to the attractions.

First attraction: They find a ladder (that’s conveniently left unsupervised, despite not being for patron use). Mikey decides to climb it and steals a megaphone as well. He causes a scene atop the ticket booth and attempts to get a crowd shot for their film at the Haunt House in Caddo Mills, Texas. This pisses off an entire group of creepy-ass clowns that follow them back to their RV. Living up to his unspoken title of Mister Dumbass, Mikey tries to confront them.

● Second attraction: One of the clowns and a broken porcelain doll actress proceeded to follow the crew to this location in Eureka, Texas. Mikey confronts the “doll” when they find her on the side of the road. She follows onto the bus, screams, then slowly leaves.

● Third Attraction: As the group enters Phobia, located by US Highway 248, they’re told not to film past the point of entry. The camera shuts off. When the camera (one that Bobby set up on the RV) comes back on, we see Mikey trying to hook up with one of the contortionist girls. Afterward, when Zach finds out more information about the acclaimed Blue Skeleton, they get confronted by yet another pissed off clown accusing Mikey of filming when they were told not to.

There’s an entire slew of other incidents that I won’t dive into, but I will say one final con:

3.) Brandy just minds her own business the whole time, yet gets the backlash and crossfire from the boys’ shenanigans and dumbassery.

- Honestly the more she got caught in the middle, the more I felt looming dread.

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[Likes/Loves:]

Amidst the (albeit small) annoyances, there was so much that I loved and enjoyed about this film.

1.) Complete out-of-the-gate blurred lines of the entertainment-yet-fear that we seek out in haunted houses.

● Starting from the opening scenes, there’s VHS like footage of fun and upbeat tours from haunted attractions, which evolves into a slow burn of much much darker and horrible secrets/tragedies from them:

- An employee found hung, mistaken as a prop;

- Houses allegedly hiring murderers and criminals without background checks;

- & Actors going as far as breaking bones (but not killing) to scare patrons.

2.) Continuity that never strayed from the film’s theme and/or purpose.

● Through all six attractions that the crew visit, the actors that they seemingly managed to piss off (looking at the real male hubris issues here) follow and stalk them whilst traveling in the middle of nowhere—even all the way to Louisiana.

● With each haunt, the scare level increases, starting with fun and simple baby-type scares and progressing to pure anxiety and nightmare fuel.

(As an aside, I’m honestly still mad that there was no seizure warning for the amount of strobe lights they filmed in the name of fear.)

3.) Consistent foreshadowing

● At the very beginning, they show a gut-wrenching video of a bloodied and tied-up Brandy being shoved into a trunk

● Also, the film seemingly always lingers on Brandy, which gives a small clue as to the haunt creeps having an unhealthy obsession with her.

● At the first attraction, The Haunt House, while the crew films with high spirits, they convince Brandy to playfully get into one of the prop coffins, thinking it’ll be funny. Then the actor nearby shuts the coffin until she screams to let her out.

- Deeper into their travels, they joke about how much they’d want to get paid to be buried alive. At the end, that’s exactly what happens.

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(Final Thoughts)

There are so many heart- and gut-wrenching moments that force you to never look away from the screen. If I’m being honest, the style and story that Bobby Roe created is honestly on par with something you’d see from the acclaimed likes of Kubric and Zombie, among others.

This is such an underrated find. Minus my nitpicks, I’m giving this [9/10] stabs.

(This is the most I’ve been shaken up by a film in a good while.)

Want to get lost and vicariously (not literally) shit your pants? This is the film for you.

[Just don’t piss any clowns off on your way there,K?]

3 notes · View notes

kneel-begyourpardon · 5 years

Text

Tales Of Glory {3/7}

pairing: Loki x reader

Summary: Loki caught you trespassing the land when it is forbidden. If anyone finds a person is on the land without the permission of the king, they must inform the guards and the person will be executed on the border. However, Loki has different plans for you.

Warnings: All nine realms are on the same planet and they are just lands. There is no magic, they are just normal humans living in the past (somewhere between 1400 to 1600) the chapters will contain violence (i mean a lot of violence), sexist people, a cocktail of angst, a dush of fluff, a lot of crying, implied smut, and I don’t want to spoil it but harming innocent things? be warned my people, be warned.

edited by amazing @hoens-beta

Masterlist

You didn't need to knock on the door as the guards opened it for you, stepping aside. The moment you walked in, the doors were shut closed. You heard the guards shuffle away, giving you 'privacy'. You couldn't see anything in the dimly lit room. The only source of light was the fire coming from the right side of the room. You looked at the man sitting at the fireplace, book in his hand, finger tucked in between pages. As he looked up, his gaze fell on you. His emerald eyes raking over your body, making you shift uncomfortably, moving your weight from one foot to the other. You nervously played with your dress's sleeve. The dark green color, you were wearing, complimented your skin, as gold stripes shone in the room.

After talking to Odin, Loki led you to servant room. You were anxious to walk in the room full of Asgardians. But to your surprise, they welcomed you warmer than you expected. Going as far as helping you bathe and get dressed. The moment they heard you were the personal servant of certain raven-haired prince, they drowned you in so much jewelry that on Earth everyone would think you were getting married to Tony Stark, as he held the status of the richest man alive. You weren't from the rich family and you never had a problem with the simple clothes you wore, but unfortunately on Asgard that was offensive, not only towards the family but towards the land. The other servants had to pierce your ears for the golden earrings, and they were surprised that you couldn’t afford this kind of jewelry on Earth. The women continued to question you, curiosity getting the best out of them.

You clearly were uncomfortable with all those fancy stones on you as you fiddled with the dress. Loki stood up, putting his book on the curve of the fireplace. He started walking towards you, halting when he saw you tremble. It clearly wasn't from the cold, as the room was comfortably warm. He sighed, clasping his hands behind his back, offering you a small smile.

"I swore I wouldn't put a finger on you didn't I?" Loki took a few steps in your direction. "I'm a man of my words, darling. You don't need to be afraid of me." He stood in front of you, still smiling.

You didn't want to seem ungrateful; after all, he did save your life. However, you still didn't know him. Having no idea what his intentions were scared you, a lot. He did seem like a good man but you learned from the hard way not to judge a book by it's cover.

Loki once again sighed while he reached out for you. You closed your eyes out of fear but as usual, you were met with a gentle touch. He sneaked his hands around your waist and your heart almost burst from fear. You honestly preferred to be hung than be used and thrown away afterward. When you felt the golden belt around your waist come off, all you wanted to do was cry but you held your tears back. Next was your earrings as he gingerly took them off from your reddened ears. He completely stripped you from any kind of jewelry, going as far as taking your hair out from your braids. When he was finally done, he stepped back, putting all the jewels on the small wooden table. He looked you up and down, admiring his work.

"Much better." He took another step back. "Now you can't leave. They will know I was not telling the truth about wanting you as my personal servant." He looked you in the eyes. "Except for that, you can do whatever you'd like."

A tiny smile replaced the scared expression on your face as you registered his words. He really was the man of his words. "Thank you," you said with a small voice. "For everything."

"It's nothing, love,” he said simply, the nickname making a small blush creep on your cheeks. "Now what would you like to do?" Loki asked.

You looked around the room, eyes settling on the king-sized bed. It looked like a huge black cloud, and you wished you could fall into it. Loki followed your gaze, his smile widening.

"You could sleep if you'd like," He suggested as if he didn't see you looking at the bed. You looked at him with wide eyes.

"Really?"

"Of course." He chuckled at your reaction. "You still have to spend the night here. It doesn't matter if you read, sleep or talk."

You silently nodded, the smile on your face growing, warming Loki's heart.

"Thank you,” you said, your eyes shining from excitement.

Loki grinned, loving the sparkle that settled in your eyes. Hearing your voice made his heart beat faster. All he wanted to do was talk to you, get to know you better, but if you prefer to sleep he would let you. You still had to spend most of the nights with him. That would give you plenty of time to bond.

Loki turned around, going back to his seat.

"You can take off the dress if you'd like," he suggested. Picking up his book, he sat back in the chair. "I can't imagine being comfortable in those layers."

You looked down at your garments. He wasn't wrong. The dress was ridiculously uncomfortable, making you think that if you actually did something that night, who would have nerves to strip you from all those layers? The thought made blood rush to your cheeks. You were happy that the room was dim, otherwise, Loki would definitely see your red face. You turned around, your back facing Loki. As you started getting out of the dress, you found it difficult to take off some parts, realizing that it was meant to be done by someone else. You huffed as you finally took off the lower part of your dress, finding another golden part underneath. Loki chuckled at your reaction, making your blush deepen.

When you finally took off your dress, you were left with nothing but thin white material. You looked back at Loki, finding him reading his book. You smiled. He really was a good man for taking any advantage when he easily could. You quickly slipped into the covers. The warmth of the silk welcoming you. It was softer than you imagined. The sinking of the mattress felt odd, but you weren't complaining. You once again looked at Loki. He looked breathtaking. His head was down, making shadows dance on his face. Looking even more handsome, if that was possible. The long fingers slide on the pages of books, as his gorgeous eyes moved side to side. You smiled, feeling your belly flop around like a fish in the air.

Closing your eyes, you thought of your family, and how worried they would become when you didn't go home. You could see your mother crying as you'd be declared dead in a few days. Every night she would sneak in her little corner, praying for your soul. Your father would be angry at you. For some time he would call you a stupid girl, only to be strong for the family, because being angry was much easier than being sad. Your sister would try to calm your mother down. She'd take care of your family, only for nights to cry before she would go to sleep. The little boy wouldn't understand what was going on. They would most likely tell him that you went somewhere better place than them and he would ask to go with you.

Suddenly you couldn't hold it back anymore. The weight of the whole day came crashing down on you. The thought of not being able to see your family again was too much. As tears fell from your eyes, you buried your head in the pillow, trying to prevent any sound from leaving your lips. But it did nothing and sobs overcame you, sounding like a thunderstorm in the quiet room. You put a hand over your mouth, feeling bad for Loki that he had to listen to your cries. A few more sobs and you heard a sigh, followed by a book closing and Loki on his feet. For a moment, you thought he was going to leave the room until you heard the steps coming into your direction. The bed sank down on your side as the prince sat down. You felt a gentle hand on your shoulder. Allowing it to turn you over, you laid on your back. Loki looked down at you with sad eyes and took your hand away from your mouth, his other hand wiping the tears. Another sob wrecked your body and he gathered you in his arms. Bringing you to his chest, he wrapped his around you. The tears were coming down on your cheeks like a river. He gently rubbed your back as he cooed. You knew it was stupid but he felt so safe, making you feel a little bit better. You buried your head in his chest, while his chin rested upon it. He gently kissed the top of your head as you cried, making his heartache.

"It's okay, darling. I'm here. Everything is going to be okay," he promised, hugging you tightly.

The prince of Asgard wasn't the person you thought he would be. He was so much better.

Tags: @ginamarie1512 @darkforestbl0g @alina-barnes @pandacookieowo @dark-night-sky-99 @jessiejunebug @hellethil @percyjackson886

#loki #loki x reader #loki imagine #Loki Laufeyson #Loki Laufeyson x Reader #loki laufeyson imagine #loki odinson #loki odinson imagine #loki odinson x reader #marvel #marvel fanfic

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petersmparker · 5 years

Text

Clutch pt 7 (Peter Parker x Reader)

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Summary: This is the first time Peter has spoken to you since he’d kissed you in the alley, and he can’t help but be surprised.

Word Count: 1868

A/N: woo! long time coming, huh? thanks to everyone following this series for their patience! we’re one week into the semester and college is already beating me into submission. did someone say “five classes that assign almost 50 pages of reading due for every class”?? Love you all for sticking w me!!! I’ll promise the next one will be out faster- it’s already written for editing!! ps, tumblr literally won’t allow a cut, so I’m sorry to anyone who has to scroll past this

INTRO PART 1 PART 2 PART 3 PART 4 PART 5 PART 6 PART 7 PART 8

It's nearly a week until Peter sees you again due to careful avoidance in the halls and an unfortunate streak of petty crime a distance from your usual routes. Even despite the heated kiss that had been exchanged and his decision to share with you the name behind Spider-Man, he worries that it would be unwise to approach you outside of the suit, and the sight of you in school makes his heart do flips that leave him flustered and distracted for an admittedly embarrassing amount of time.

Because of this, the week passes with some anxiety and nerves. Peter isn't exactly sure how to make odds or ends of what had occurred between you. The kiss had been wonderful- something he had dreamed of without the nerve to actually hope for it. Moreover, it was his first. He wondered if it was yours too, or if you minded that it was him.

Well. Not him, he supposed. Spider-Man. He knew that you felt nothing for him personally, but rather his superhero alter ego. You knew very little about him, after all, besides his name. There wasn’t much he’s been able to share. But if you did, Peter wondered, would you see something in him worth caring about?

Five days in, as Peter goes through the motions of dinner, he fights the urge to admit to May what had occurred. To just talk about it, maybe get some advice. The thoughts rattle in his brain nonstop, keeping him in a near-constant state of “What now?”. But he meets her eye over her container of takeout as she digs a piece of broccoli out from under her rice, and can’t seem to do it. Not yet. Not until things are clearer.

As he climbs into bed, he once again replays the kiss in his mind for the millionth time, hoping to hell that his fixation isn’t breeding false hope.

The next day, Peter decides to swing through the street where his fight had occurred to survey the damage repair. It was something he, unfortunately, was becoming accustomed to doing after putting himself on the radar of higher level criminals the year before. The guilt always struck him when he viewed a shattered glass storefront or a torn apart corner of a building. No matter how hard he tried, sometimes the damage control got away from him.

Seeing the closed-up mini mart is just like every other time, and it feels terrible.

Despite that, the guilty thoughts circling Peter's brain come to a dead stop the moment he lays eyes on you again. Overcoming them was nervousness. Embarrassment, even, as he recalled just how much you'd been at the center of his mind for the past week.

You’re walking along the far side of the street, gazing up at what is left of the shop. The busted-out window is covered in several layers of plastic, wood planks, and cardboard. While the police tape is long gone, the word CLOSED is clearly displayed on the front door- as if the mess of a window isn’t enough of a clue.

As Peter watches, you move on toward a telephone pole to read a sheet of paper that had been stapled to it. After a few moments, you tear it off and stride, agitatedly, in the direction of an alley that he knows all too well. For a brief second Peter wants to assume that you’ll just walk past it. Surely you aren't going to return to The Place It Happened and cause the impending conversation to be even more awkward than it was already going to be.

You turned into the alley, and with a sigh, Peter jumps from the roof he had been perched upon to meet you there. He touches down next to you, startling you only slightly when he attempts to casually say hello and reach for the flyer in your hand.

"Jesus," you gasp, yanking the paper away from him in your exasperated surprise, "Part of me had a feeling you'd show up, but I still wasn't prepared. Maybe you need a bell around your neck."

Peter accepts the now-offered flyer and tries not to shiver when you gently brush a finger against his throat for emphasis. "Ah, well," he starts, somewhat awkwardly, "That might ruin the element of surprise a bit, you know? The bad guys would hear me. Mr. Stark might have to fire me. And in this economy?"

"Spider-Man gets paid?" You ask, bewildered.

"God, no," he says quickly, "This suit is payment enough. And he gave me all this nice stuff I couldn't afford, I- I'd never ask for more."

With a gentle laugh, you place a hand on his arm. "You're a good guy. Really. It makes the shit this reporter is spreading all the more ridiculous," you say with finality, gesturing toward the flyer he still hadn't read.

Pictured was Spider-Man in the midst of his criminal sendoff. Shards of glass are flying across the whole photograph, and the look on the man’s face is one of complete terror. The caption reads, SPIDERMAN: HERO? OR PUBLIC MENACE?

"Oh," Peter says, dejectedly, "I can't really argue that, can I?"

In a quick movement, you rip the flyer out of his hands, crumple it, and toss it toward the open lid of the nearest dumpster.

"Spider-Man," you say firmly, commanding him to hear you, to listen, and Peter’s surprised by the seriousness of your tone.

Your voice lowers in volume when you say, "Peter," and take his hands in your own, and he nearly melts.

"Everything you do is for the good of others. You've saved people's lives before. Put your own in danger to do it. That flyer is slander. Nothing more. No one in their right mind will believe this, and you, you damn intelligent boy, you should know better than to buy into it, either."

"The damage-" Peter starts, before you raise a hand over the mouth area of his mask.

"Nothing was destroyed, Peter. The infrastructure is sound. It was a single window. It can be replaced. Lives can't be replaced,” you assert, squeezing your eyes shut tight when you continue to say, “With the way I was reacting, I- I probably would have been shot. You stopped that from happening.”

"But. . ." he starts, muffled against your hand, before he realizes that he doesn’t know what to say.

Your other hand comes up so that you can gently hold the sides of his face. The touch sends shivers up Peter’s spine. He’s sure you can feel it when it shakes him, and he’d be embarrassed if he weren’t so entranced by your eyes now that they’ve reopened. You stare into the eyes of his mask, almost as if you can actually see his face.

Your voice fills with what Peter thinks is gratitude when you say, "I would be dead if it weren't for you."

A tension-filled moment passes in which he reels, mind flitting to a hundred different places, before it lands on a terrible thought.

"Is that why you were willing to kiss me?" Peter asks, tentatively.

Surprised, your hands fall away for a brief second, before coming back, holding him tighter than before. "No," you say, definitively, "I would have kissed back no matter what you had done. I'm glad you gave me the opportunity."

With your words, the anxiety slips away from Peter all at once. The fear of rejection is sapped out of him, the concern that he had overstepped his boundaries, the sinking feeling he got every time he thought about how he left afterward. He is left with a balloon in his chest inflating too quickly. It fills with happiness, relief, and affection. It takes his breath away.

In his joy, Peter forgets who he is. Not unlike the first time, he surges forward, arms wrapping around your lower back to pull you forward. He leans in to kiss you, and realizes once he meets your mouth with his own that he's Spider-Man. Not Peter. The mask is still on. His embarrassment is horrific, and had you not burst into delighted laughter Peter may have left the country then and there.

"That- that was so dumb," he says, awkwardly, reaching up to hide his face as if the mask didn't always hide his blush, "I'm sorry. That was- oh man."

You pull him down to plant a kiss on his cheek, paying no mind to the mask that has thwarted his attempt at affection. "This is why," you explain, stopping to press a second quick kiss to the mouth of his mask, "You ask if I kissed back because you saved me? I kissed back because in the little time I've known you, you've been funny. And you've been kind, and brave. What more could I have done, besides feel something for you?"

Peter calms slowly, the heat of embarrassment being replaced by a different kind of warmth. A lovely, comfortable one. The urge to tell you who he really is- more than just his name- bowls him over like a tidal wave, potential ramifications be damned. He opens his mouth to do so when a voice at the entrance of the alley says, "Hey, it's Spider-Man!"

Peter turns to see someone who appears to have stumbled upon the alley at the worst possible time. While you hadn't heard them speak, his hearing is far better. You don’t turn until after he’s faced the unwelcome arrival.

Luckily, thinks Peter as he attempts to emote as much disdain as possible without moving, it's just you. Ned waves at the scene you’ve made in the alleyway, unaware of the context of your meeting or the true presence of you in his life.

"Hello there," he adds, when neither of you respond. His tone implies that he's picked up on something, but Peter isn't sure what that is.

"Uh, hello," Peter answers, unsure of what to say.

Ned looks between the two of you slowly. "Is... everything okay?" He asks, seemingly unaware of how odd it is for a civilian to ask if Spider-Man is alright, whether or not he secretly knows him personally.

His eyes flick downward to your hands, still cupping Peter’s jaw.

"Yes!" Peter exclaims, backing away from you, "Everything is fine! In fact, I should probably be going, now that everything is fine."

"Oh?" His best friend questions in response.

"Absolutely," you say slowly, picking up on Peter’s tone.

Ned nods, but his expression clearly states that he is both skeptical and confused. In a moment of eye contact, Peter realizes that you know there's something going on, too. Maybe even that the person who has stumbled upon you and him knows something. The prospect of it is vaguely terrifying. He can feel you continue to stare at him long after he’s turned back to Ned, searching for the words to say, and is sure that you’re searching his body language and the squint of his eyepieces for answers. His posture falls from rigid to defeated.

Peter turns to look back at you, reaching toward you to grab your hand. He stops halfway, thinking better of the action before he’s spoken to Ned. You almost reach out to meet it, but you stop too, centimeters away.

"I have to go," he says, voice laced with apologies and explanations he can’t fully give to you right now, "I'll... I'll see you. I'm sorry."

You smile reassuringly. "See you, Spider-Man."

After a long moment, he turns away. After nodding toward Ned, still watching from the end of the alleyway, he takes a huge leap into the air and swings away. Maybe he’s mistaken, but he’s sure that he can hear Ned offer a quick, I guess I’ll see you later? to you before he runs off.

Tag list:

@undiadeestos @moonstruckholland @deathofthethrones @souvenirsvisuels

@nedthegay @legendarydazekitten @secretlittlewonders @jackiehollanderr @disgustangg

#peter parker #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker fic #peter parker fanfic #peter parker fluff #peter parker series #peter parker x reader #peter parkerxreader #peter parker reader insert #peter parker self insert

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ghastlymemes · 5 years

Text

SHITTY HOROSCOPES STARTERS feel free to edit/change prompts as you see fit! more prompts under the cut. tw for cursing, mentions of violence, and mentions of death.

BOOK ONE

❝ holy fucking shit. just. holy shit. what the fuck. ❞

❝ nobody really knows the nuances of what you get up to in your spare time, and honestly, they’re probably better off that way. ❞

❝ busy yourself with the affairs of the living for once. ❞

❝ the answer is no. ❞

❝ ohhh, boy. you. fuck you. yes, you specifically. ❞

❝ delete your search history. ❞

❝ please practice blinking, as others can be unsettled by your inhuman ability to maintain an unbreakable stare during casual conversation. ❞

❝ what did you ever do to deserve this? in all probability, something terrible. ❞

❝ you are a crayon. get out of the toolbox. ❞

❝ none will love the butcher. don’t take it too personally. ❞

❝ some relationships, like warts, can be handled with the tactful application of liquid nitrogen. ❞

❝ take a long shower. wash your hair. wash the clothes you were wearing. wash the memories from your mind and body. ❞

BOOK TWO

❝ frostbite is considerably difficult to heal from. ❞

❝ there is poetry in brutal efficiency. ❞

❝ people would take your raging far more seriously if you weren’t crying the entire time. ❞

❝ what made you so vindictive? ❞

❝ some bodies may be temples, but all are ruins at your feet. ❞

❝ your contempt will always taste like grief. ❞

❝ you are the bone-deep fury of an abscessed tooth. ❞

❝ You are notorious for rubbing salt in the wound. cheap vodka in the wound. battery acid in the wound! ❞

❝ vehicular arson is not the answer. ❞

❝ hate is a verb. ❞

BOOK THREE

❝ the sooner you accept your impending expiration, the sooner you can stop trying to swallow the sun. ❞

❝ embrace the inevitable. snuggle with the inevitable. take the inevitable out to a nice, candlelit dinner. ❞

❝ there are forces outside of your control. most of them don’t care for you. ❞

❝ when it all goes to hell, just remember that it’s what’s inside that counts - though not many would find you very appetizing. ❞

❝ not all things have significance, which is scary. the things you overlooked tend to have the most, which is scarier. ❞

❝ your teeth are only porcelain, your ribcage simply glass. like all delicate things, they can know no permanence. ❞

❝ in time you’ll learn that ‘just’ and ‘right’ only mean the same thing when they’re coming from very specific people. ❞

❝ you may not want to change, but the world is unforgiving, and will do it for you anyway. ❞

❝ sometimes we put our hearts in the wrong places. ❞

❝ sometimes we put our hearts in the wrong places - what the fuck is it doing between your teeth? ❞

❝ nothing can stay. ❞

❝ you can put all the flowers in your mouth you want, but dying is dying and rot is rot. ❞

❝ loneliness is a fracture that never heals quite right. ❞

BOOK FOUR

❝ lay them to rest. ❞

❝ they are there, hovering nervously. you will watch the skies. you will wait. ❞

❝ eat the other. ❞

❝ there will be scrapes and sutures, viciousness and victory. ❞

❝ no loose ends. ❞

❝ an eye for an eye. a tooth for a tooth. a knife for the ribs. ❞

❝ you will not be swayed by the morally destitute. ❞

❝ decay will feed the bloom. ❞

❝ devour death like crows, for all the feathers between your teeth. ❞

❝ twisting, screaming, uncompromising. every inch, every iota. ❞

❝ once, answers were found in mouths, bathtubs, and bottles. this time around, get inventive. ❞

BOOK FIVE

❝ romancing yourself is possible, narcissistic, and recommended. ❞

❝ contrary to popular belief, it’s unwise to temper creatures of flesh and bone like steel. ❞

❝ one bad apple ruins a bunch. two bad apples leaves no witnesses. ❞

❝ you know it’s the real deal when you can see past the meatsuit and into the yawning dread. ❞

❝ break your teeth on love. ❞

❝ when people ask for someone ‘out of this world,’ they often don’t mean it literally. ❞

❝ when it’s good, it’s great. when it’s great, it’s a small calamity. ❞

❝ you are every mother’s cautionary tale. ❞

❝ harpoons, while more effective than arrows, are not as wieldy. ❞

❝ a study in complacency. an essay on sensibility. a dissertation of disenchantment. ❞

❝ make up your fucking mind. ❞

❝ there are plenty of fish in the sea. some just happen to be imbibed with mercury. ❞

BOOK SIX

❝ your humanity is the biggest burden you will wear. ❞

❝ decorating your meltdowns is good and all, but a trainwreck is a trainwreck, and it might be time to get a paramedic. ❞

❝ they say ‘there is nothing to fear but fear itself,’ but you have seen yourself in the mirror. ❞

❝ you may have been gutted, but your mouth is soft, your tongue is silver, and your teeth are gemstones cut to size. ❞

❝ it’s less like biting off more than you can chew, and more like dislocating your jaw. ❞

❝ even specters can tire. ❞

❝ seeing yourself for who you really are would be great if you knew where to start looking. ❞

❝ it pays to kill with kindness when you’re your own worst enemy. ❞

❝ you’re only armed to the teeth because you’re more brittle than you care to admit. ❞

❝ your ego cannot afford cremation or caskets. ❞

❝ frequent tastes of your own medicine can get poisonous real quick. ❞

❝ self-reflection is important! whether you like what you see is up for debate. whether it can be contained in a dark basement is another matter entirely. ❞

BOOK SEVEN

❝ you are a quiet god, and your hunger is cavernous. ❞

❝ at times your body is simply a prison laid in gold. ❞

❝ death, dust, party, repeat. ❞

❝ devour the monsters, and you can call any place home. ❞

❝ you’re only as lucky as your expectations are low. ❞

❝ worse than having many secrets is having no secrets at all. ❞

❝ if seeing is believing, you might be in some trouble. ❞

❝ suspend belief. expel fear. throw reason into a frigid cell, never to be seen again. ❞

❝ killing the monsters is the easy bit. it’s finding them that’s the hard part. ❞

❝ there exists a tipping point between gods and monsters. ❞

❝ a mouthful of ashes bested by a life of smoke and mirrors. ❞

❝ what’s to be gained from keeping the heaviest treasures between your teeth? ❞

BOOK EIGHT

❝ you might not be afraid to die, but that doesn’t mean you’re ready. ❞

❝ you were a plague none were prepared for. ❞

❝ you are the mind and the malady, the medicine and the machine. ❞

❝ assholery is incurable, unfortunately. ❞

❝ nobody’s going to notice the difference between you pushing dandelions or daisies, so leave them something worth talking about. ❞

❝ there’s no rule stating that parasites can’t be pretty. ❞

❝ you aren’t obligated to be anyone’s cure. ❞

❝ some are the bandage, some are the knife, some get creative. ❞

❝ soothe what you can, fight what you can’t. ❞

❝ the only difference between a pathogen and a person is that one is far more creative with how they’ll infect you. ❞

BOOK NINE

❝ stranger things have happened. like you. you are happening all the time, and should probably stop. ❞

❝ let none be the noose. ❞

❝ take what you can and run. ❞

❝ gratuitous violence; unnecessary, satisfying, heartbreaking, and so like everything else you love. ❞

❝ understanding builds bridges, suffering grows gardens, antipathy sets both on fire for shits and giggles. ❞

❝ there is a variety of sadness that makes a home in your guts and never quite leaves. ❞

❝ you could have been anybody, operating this body. the good news is you won! the bad news is you’re stuck with it. ❞

❝ being loathsome and lovely in equal measure is probably a talent, somewhere. ❞

❝ why fear the dead, when you could fear the living? corpses in motion, cruelty and kindness. ❞

❝ if you’re forging your own path, be prepared to light your own pyre. ❞

❝ what possessed you to come this far? no, really. was it cute? ❞

❝ you can’t wrestle apologies from the sea or the sun, but by fuck, are you sure going to try. ❞

BOOK TEN

❝ pick a place and die there. ❞

❝ i know you mean well. ❞

❝ may fortune favor the fuckups. ❞

❝ remarkable that one plane of existence can host so much - and so little - distance. the spaces between people, ideals, fingertips, the sea and the sky. ❞

❝ learn when it’s best to bite your tongue. temper the nest of hornets inside your loveless mouth. ❞

❝ i worry. ❞

❝ time sours, rots, renews, and sours again. ❞

❝ grief and growth live hand-in-hand. ❞

❝ sleeping, like dying, delivers you from one world to the next - to rest in crypts and wake in gardens. ❞

❝ words in couples carry weight. ‘fuck you.’ ‘hell no.’ ‘oh, god.’ ‘sorry, mom.’ ❞

❝ make room for small, fragile things, even with bones of cement and a leaden heart. ❞

❝ you win some, you lose some. you lie, cheat, and swindle some. you vanish on a crisp winter’s day, never to be seen again. ❞

BOOK ELEVEN

❝ quiet reflection is next to impossible if your mental landscape is one long scream. ❞

❝ you inspire me to be better! ❞

❝ you inspire me to be better! a better ‘what’ is up for interpretation; person? arsonist? alien? ❞

❝ we don’t know where you came from, but we need you to go back. ❞

❝ the dark doesn’t intend to hurt you, only the creatures who plot during the cruel, cold light of day. ❞

❝ i lived better when i was ignorant of the sun, tucked away in your chest. ❞

❝ there’s asking for forgiveness, there’s asking for permission, and then there’s saying ‘fuck it’ and doing what you may. ❞

❝ if only it were easy, to wish and want for nothing. if only you weren’t less human for it, wishing and wanting for nothing. ❞

❝ in the end, there is no blaze of glory. ❞

❝ love to distraction, die due to carelessness. ❞

❝ in the span of your life, there’s plenty to avoid; the wicked, the merciless, and the things you want for no reason other than wanting them. ❞

❝ you are dazzling and terrifying. these words are not as removed from one another as you may think. ❞

❝ flirt with death, tease the inevitable, give the void a saucy wink. ❞

BOOK TWELVE

❝ things to bother believing in: love, switchblades, and extraterrestrials. ❞

❝ let the record show that they were ill-equipped to deal with you. which is unsurprising, because you’re ill-equipped to deal with you. ❞

❝ you’ll be fertilizer regardless; might as well have interesting stories for the dirt. ❞

❝ there is an exhaustion that comes with living in an embrace like a vice, a kiss like a canker sore. ❞

❝ fear is an absence of understanding. horror is the act of understanding perfectly. ❞

❝ labor in love, toil in tenderness. ❞

❝ your love will always be rooted deeper than any grave. ❞

❝ you’ve seen your downfall spelled out in another’s bones. ❞

❝ the victor spoils, the loser learns. ❞

❝ the body is rot waiting to happen. ❞

❝ you will have never loved for nothing. ❞

❝ the aftermath of your life affords you three real options; obscurity, legend, or horror story. ❞

#rp prompts #sentence starters #rp starters #rp meme #rp memes #memes #mod anna

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peepingtoad · 4 years

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// @asaraltu 𝐚 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 (𝐢𝐧 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐰𝐨𝐨𝐩).

『 ℙ𝔸𝔾𝔼 𝟙 ... As you're reading this, please don't be alarmed by the suspicious stains. As it happened, that chakra receiver I stashed turned out to be useful, although the judgement behind it was questionable on the impulsive front… and unfortunately, just a touch messy. But don't worry—I only used it for that second you may well have already felt. I can only hope you didn’t take it as motivation to zap away to another dimension for good. That would make the frog delivering this rather irate with me.

So while I amend to ‘as you’re hopefully reading this’… please also rest assured that it won’t contain anything explicit to avert your delicate gaze from this time. I just… need my words to reach you in a way that can’t be muddled. There’s a lot to say that I wasn’t able to when you left me here, all soggy and crestfallen, and I hope you’ll bear with me because I don’t intend on editing these pages at all between now and sending. I want this to be from the heart.

Having said that, I’ll have to begin in earnest a little later. There are things I must do first. I apologise. ... 𝔼ℕ𝔻 ℙ𝔸𝔾𝔼』

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『 ℙ𝔸𝔾𝔼 𝟚 ... As you’re reading this, it’s now some time after I originally started, and I’m currently sorting through my possessions. Luckily Tsunade kept them when my house was sold off, although I effectively ended up moving back in when I offered the new owner double its worth. After all, one could consider this little place my ‘ancestral home’, by which I mean my mother bought the plot and built it with her own two brawny hands.

So I’m sorting through my possessions, most of which were kindly unpacked for me already by way of very direct contact with my person, or the surrounding ground. She isn’t happy with me, to say the least. But at least it’s not like these are things I’ve missed—well, except maybe for all the magazines…

I’d like to say that Konoha has changed, outside of the modernised elements. Well... I suppose it has, in that the kids nowadays aren’t quite so aware of the concept of dying in a senseless war. But as you probably know already, the system is still in place in a lot of areas. Thanks to Naruto, though, it seems to be improving. My only worry is that he still doesn’t fully appreciate the violent history that the village still needs to make amends for. He’s a little like me in that respect. Takes him a while to catch on... but once he does, he’s on it like wildfire.

I’ll have to write you properly a little later on—and before you start thinking anything like my old editor would’ve, I’m not procrastinating. ... 𝔼ℕ𝔻 ℙ𝔸𝔾𝔼』

______________________________________________________________________

『 ℙ𝔸𝔾𝔼 𝟛 ... As you’re reading this, I’m in one of my favourite old bars on the main road, not far outside the village itself... on my way back from Otogakure, of all places. While I was surprised by Orochimaru’s turning of a new leaf, what didn’t surprise me was his response to seeing me on his doorstep, alive. ‘It’s about time’ he said, with that raspy chuckle of his, as if he somehow knew all along. No anger, no grand exclamations of how he’d grieved... just that amused glint in his eyes, and a factual rundown of what he’s been up to since—over a few drinks, of course. He’s always been a truly weird one. Difficult to read. But in this case particularly, it was more than appreciated.

This bar. It’s always been here—about as long as the village has, as far as I’m aware—and the seats are just as battered as I remember them. I spotted some graffiti I carved into the table from when I wasn’t by any stretch old enough to be here… gods, do I feel ancient now. I can’t help but wonder if you ever sat in this place once, too? Don’t be alarmed by the suspicious stains, by the way… I have company showing up and I’m already a good few drinks down...

I shouldn’t be writing when I’m like this BUT HERE I GO.

You are so obsessed with this phrase: ‘the villain of the story’. I’ve considered it every time you’ve said it—do you realise exactly how many times you’ve said it?—and it’s always like some last ditch effort to limit yourself more than anything else. It must be, because it doesn’t convince me one bit! How can it, when I’ve seen your smile? Felt how instinctively you lean into me, like you’ll sink into the earth if you don’t? Seen you nurturing those funny little fledglings like some walking, living, breathing nest? I’ve talked with you about the stories I want to write, and you’ve been interested in them, encouraged me all the way. You helped me grow stronger in ways I thought impossible for someone like me. I’ve still got that damn antler you picked for me, and my hair always looks great.

I’d just love to know, in what part of that story are you the villain??

It’s just frustrating to me because you’re not completely wrong, but at the same time you blind yourself to so many parallels.

I held myself back in Myōbokuzan because a certain task was fulfilled, and I didn’t know where to go from there. I still do believe that particular story is now complete, done and dusted. It was a tragic story, with a bittersweet ending. But this is a new one—and you’re the one who helped me realise it, you know that? You were the one to make me see that the past shouldn’t withhold me from what I want and need now, in the present. Only, you’re confusing your role within it, because you’re so rooted in your old tale even while you tell me that I’m stuck in a rut, stuck in my need to redeem both you and myself. As if it wasn’t both of us trying to find our way through each other, you kept being ‘the villain of the story’.

And where are you now? Still doing nothing to suggest you are that same old villain, as always. I have my ways of knowing these things, Madara. You told me a long time ago what you hoped to achieve, and I hear that things have progressed smoothly. So it seems a bit fucking ridiculous that I can’t be part of it. All of these people coming to this new haven of yours, they probably weren’t left unscathed by all your ill-doings either, and yet towards you they flock.

You’re just afraid of what might have been, had we faced these new horizons together, and I don’t think it’s just the fear of having it all stripped away. If that was the case, you would be withering away alone instead of surrounding yourself with loved ones. Look—I was afraid, too. Still am! But I’d still look that fear in the face and tell it to go screw itself if it meant we could—

…

Fact of the matter is, this story of mine—it started off so slow and directionless, a stream of consciousness going endlessly onwards to nothing. But I woke up, and it became something real and vital and new… because of you. Someone who was previously nameless, faceless—the big plot twist last time, somebody I didn’t know or even consider…

You are the face of my story now, you get that? You. And I can’t get that face of yours out of my head.

Just

wake up.

【𝕊𝕀𝔻𝔼 𝟚】

As you’re reading this (extremely long piece of paper—which no way am I gonna reread), I’m really feeling the punishment for last night. You know that feeling of an encroaching hangover while you’re actually still drunk? Well, maybe you don’t. But it’s fucking dreadful. Tsunade goes as hard as ever.

... Is it strange to say that she and I have too much history, comparing it to all those things you told me you’ve done? Last night, after she begrudgingly forgave me for staying away for so long, we were exactly the way we always were. You don’t know what that means, but I’ll take this opportunity to explain it to you.

We’re those friends that constantly abuse each other, but only because we know each other so well, and know exactly how to avoid opening up too far at the risk of all those messy emotions running riot. We’re the friends people would constantly look at and marvel at the fact we weren’t already married. Once upon a time, I was insistent that we would eventually be together—at least, until she met the love of her life, only to lose him within a short few years. This was one of the most devastating things to witness, both as one who was in love with her and as her best friend. Something within her was broken. I think she might even have secretly loved me, but she would never consider it because of the pain she was growing all too familiar with. The pain of losing a brother, a lover… it creates all sorts of impenetrable barriers inside.

Throughout all the times I was rejected by her, it never hurt too badly because we were friends. I always had her in the way that meant the most, that I treasured most, and the way it always will be. ... 𝔼ℕ𝔻 ℙ𝔸𝔾𝔼』

______________________________________________________________________

『 ℙ𝔸𝔾𝔼 𝟜 ... As you’re reading this, I hope you’ll forgive me for going back on my promise on the first page of this letter.

I can’t help it. Whenever I find myself with a lapse in activity, you come to me in the smallest and most maddening ways. The smell of your hair, your nails pressing into my skin, the tang of sweat on your face and neck. I’m consumed by the phantom heat of your body, a constant weight of longing that grips my bones like a demon perched on my rib cage, sucking out my soul in the night.

If that sounds dramatic, that’s because it is.

Nothing ignites me the way you do, even while being deprived of you besides what my stupid, sad mind taunts me with. Nobody provokes in me that same, raw, sweltering heat that comes over my entire body in a deluge. But more than that—more than the fact I need to be inside you like I need air—it’s everything afterwards that I miss the most, that hurts the most to remember. Your lips, bruised, curling into a smile that you think is cocky, but is much too soft every time. The lazy kisses as we come down from that glorious high, melting bonelessly into each other like a whole new being made up of tangled limbs. Gazing into your eyes and feeling that profound connection deepen further and further, seeping into my very foundations.

How could you—scratch that, how dare you—tell me that you love me, but I was confused?

You don’t think I know love? I’m a man who has spent his life in love—if not with somebody, then with love itself. I’ve expressed it in books to fill the void of something real and tangible, pages upon pages of vulnerability that I wasn’t ever capable of sharing with anyone in the flesh, only for you to tell me that all you were to me, all I opened myself up for, was a fantasy. A distraction. A project. And look at me now—still here and still very much alone because I’m so wrapped in a love that can’t be fulfilled, an absence that has manifested once more as a few feverish lines on a page to ease an ailing heart.

You said it yourself once: nobody makes me feel so possessed. ... 𝔼ℕ𝔻 ℙ𝔸𝔾𝔼 』

______________________________________________________________________

『 ℙ𝔸𝔾𝔼 𝟝 ... As you’re reading this, it’s been over twelve months since you left, and seven since I started putting pen to paper. That was also about the time I decided to take your advice, leave Myōbokuzan myself, and reconnect with my loved ones in Konoha. I’d actually hoped this would be sent long before now, and certainly before your birthday, but as you can imagine there was a whole lot of other things I had to work through. I was glad to be informed that my gift made it to you and you were found well (at your age, one can never be fully certain of these things).

More than anything else right now, I want you to know how proud I am of what you’ve done. I don’t need to elaborate much further on that, but it leads me to something I remember telling Naruto a long, long time ago: that ‘home’ is where someone thinks of you.

Looking back, I think that was rather naive of me to say, placing importance on the place itself rather than the people within it. People drift. Not always far, but others have callings to distant lands that can’t be ignored—I know this better than most. What you’ve created… yes, that certainly is home to you, isn’t it? You have people there, all of whom think the world of you.

But that home could be somewhere entirely new, and it would still be home because those who hold you dear will always bear a part of you, and you them. The place doesn’t matter. Konoha is my home, but between here and this place in the Land of Lightning that I’ve yet to even see, my heart is painfully stretched due to circumstance. Just as I know that Konoha is no home in your eyes, yet as long as I’m here you are always, always here with me—whether you like it or not.

Am I still with you, too? Is this path one-way? Is there only one of us who wants to ‘return’?

I have to know. ... 𝔼ℕ𝔻 ℙ𝔸𝔾𝔼』

#asaraltu #¯\_(ツ)_/¯#time 2 die #{verse:hitoabura | asaraltu}#{letter | asaraltu}

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geekofmanyforms · 5 years

Text

New Beginning

Chapter Eight

*** This chapter has been edited by my Beta Casey. Please let me know what ya think. Feedback is super welcome, and something that keeps me writing.

I opened the front door and was surprised to see Bonnie, waiting inside our kitchen.

"Hey, El, is Elena with you? She sent me an S.O.S. text, told me to meet her here,"

I tilted my head in confusion. "An S.O.S. text? Did she say what happened? She seemed fine when I left," I said, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge.

"No, she just said something about Stefan, but gave me no details,"

I chugged the entire bottle of water quickly — no way was I going to have a hangover tomorrow.

"Okay, well I'm gonna head upstairs and get outta this dress," I said.

She nodded and grabbed two containers of ice cream from the freezer. I almost laughed at her serious expression — it was as if she were preparing for battle. I grabbed another bottle of water and headed up the stairs just as Elena flew through the door, her hair was in disarray and her dress crumpled. She looked a complete mess.

"Elena...are you okay?" I asked, from my spot on the stairs.

She lifted her head and sent me a glare. "I don't know, Elara. Ask Stefan — you seem to be great friends," she spat.

My eyes widened, and my mouth fell open as I watched her storm into the kitchen.

Wow, she is really pissed.

I hurried upstairs and into my room. I stepped into my closet and took off my dress as quickly as I could. I needed to figure out what the hell had happened, and I had a terrible feeling. I grabbed a t-shirt and a pair of jeans and dressed. I put my flats back on and grabbed my cell phone just as it began to ring. I looked at the caller I.D. and was surprised to see Caroline's name and number flashing up at me. I slid my finger across the screen and answered.

"Hey, Care," I said casually.

I could hear her panicked breathing on the other end as she attempted to choke out words.

"Care, Caroline — what's wrong?" I asked urgently

"He w-wanted-" She blubbered for a moment more, squeaking through hysterics

"Calm down, I can't understand you,"

"Ellie, he wanted me to help him find a crystal. I...I..I'm so scared. Elena saw my neck earlier and freaked out — I think he blames me. Please, help me," Caroline cried.

I didn't even have to ask who she was talking about. I had been afraid this would happen. Elena was never one to keep her nose outta other people's business.

"Caroline, listen to me. Where are you?" I asked.

She was quiet for a moment as she took a few deep breaths. "I'm still at the Lockwoods. That's where he said he hid the crystal. He left me to go and find it, but I'm afraid he is gonna come back Ellie," she said, sniffling.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, trying to control my emotions.

"Okay, just stay there," I said, "I'm on my way."

I hung up the phone and slid it into my back pocket. I opened my window and closed my eyes. It had been a really long time since I had attempted this spell and I wasn't sure how well it would work. I concentrated on a mental image of what I wished to become — a small falcon.

"A me intuitus facti sunt,"

I felt my body shrink down and change shape as my spell took effect. I stretched out my grey wings and lifted myself into the air. As I passed by my window, I could see my reflection in the glass. The spell worked — I had indeed become a small falcon.

My wings were mostly gray but tipped in black. My stomach and neck were covered in white feathers. I flew easily past my house and across town, enjoying the feeling of the wind in my feathers. The Falcon was my favorite form to take.

I approached the mansion and lowered myself to the ground, perching on a tree branch. I used my advanced hearing and listened carefully for any sign of Caroline. A few moments passed before I could hear her crying out.

I flew closer. I could hear her speaking to someone and lowered myself to the ground, whispering the counterspell in my mind. A small light erupted around me, and my body took its original shape.

"I swear, I didn't say..." Caroline said, crying.

I ran forward and saw Damon standing behind her with his arms around her waist.

"Shh, shh, shh. It's okay. Unfortunately...I am so over you now. El will be angry, but I'm sure she will get over it,"

Anger clouded my judgment as I rushed towards them. Power surged through me like a supercharged electrical shock— he would be sorry he messed with my best friend.

"I wouldn't, Damon," I growled angrily "I warned you and yet here we are,"

His head shot up and met my gaze, trepidation plastered to his face.

"I will never forgive you if you hurt her, Damon. Don't...please," I begged.

I didn't want to hurt him, but I would if he forced me too. Someone had to protect Caroline.

"This is who I am, El. You were the one who said we couldn't go back," he said, wrapping his hand around Caroline's neck.

I took a step towards them. He squeezed, making Caroline cry out in pain.

"Stop, Damon! Stop!" I yelled fearfully.

I lifted both of my hands out in front of me, my breath shaking as I exhaled.

"She knows too much," he said "I have to get rid of her,"

Tears formed in my eyes as my hands started to shake.

"Don't make me do this, Damon," I pleaded "Don't make me choose — You won't like the outcome,"

It felt like time stopped as he looked at me. I could see him make his choice as his eyes filled with regret, and before he even moved a finger, I had made mine. I shook my head sadly and closed my outstretched hand. With a loud snap, he fell to the ground, temporarily dead. Caroline stood shakily where he had left her, looking at me in fear.

"Care, come here, it's okay, it's okay,"

She fell into my arms, shaking and sobbing. I looked up as a quick breeze filled the air — Stefan now stood beside his brother, staring at his limp body in shock.

"How...what happened?" he said, exasperatedly "I was coming to find him,"

I placed my hand on Caroline's forehead, and she went limp in my arms. As I laid her on the ground, a small talisman fell from her hand. I recognized it immediately; it had belonged to Emily Bennett, and I knew precisely why Damon had wanted it.

I picked it up without Stefan noticing and moved my hand above Caroline. She began to float beside me. Stefan looked at her then back at me, trying to understand.

"I snapped his neck, Stefan. He took things too far when he threatened her. I warned him..." I said, with sadness in my voice.

Stefan stepped beside me and looked Caroline over.

"Is she okay?" he asked.

I ran my fingers through her floating hair and frowned.

"Yeah, I'll handle it. She needed to rest, and I didn't want her to panic,"

He shook his head and grabbed his brother's body. He threw him over his shoulder without much effort.

"Well, I'll take care of Damon. You just handle Caroline and Elena — she's pretty pissed at us both. She thinks we were flirting, mix that with the fact that she knows I'm hiding things, and you get a furious Elena," he sighed.

I rolled my eyes at her ridiculousness and folded my fingers. Caroline moved forward as we walked away.

"How are you getting her home," Stefan asked.

I bit my lip and shrugged. "I guess the easiest way would be to send her home magically, but that spell can be complicated, and I've not been practicing,"

Stefan readjusted Damon and smiled. "If anyone can do it, it's you. I better get him home and locked up."

Stefan sped away quicker than I could blink. I looked at the empty night before me and took a deep breath.

You can do this — you've done this a hundred times in the past.

I turned to face Caroline and lifted my hands above her. I closed my eyes and pictured her room in my mind. I made sure to remember every detail correctly, so I could be sure she appeared where she was supposed to.

"Mitte illam, ut ubi pertinet,"

I spoke slowly and clearly, ensuring that I was speaking the correct incantation. With a bright flash of light, she was gone. I waited for a few minutes before I pulled out my cell and called Sheriff Forbes. The phone rang a few times before she answered.

"Hello?" she asked.

I put on a fake carefree smile and made sure it was presented in the tone of my voice.

"Hey, Mrs. Forbes, Its Ellie — I just wanted to make sure Caroline made it home safely. I didn't see her when I left," I said.

There was a rustling sound on her end, and I could hear a door open.

"Yeah, she is in bed asleep. Everything okay?" she asked.

I lifted my head towards the sky and closed my eyes in relief. "Yep, just checking up on her. You know how I tend to worry,"

I could hear her close Caroline's door before speaking. "She is fine. I'll tell her you called," she said.

I said my goodbyes and slipped my phone away before I transformed and headed home.

It had been three days since the Damon and Caroline incident. Luckily I had been able to cloud Caroline's memories. The only thing that would make her remember everything was the change, and I sure as hell didn't plan on letting her become a vampire.

The Bennett Talisman sat on my bedside table as I dressed for the day. I could feel its power radiating around me. I knew it wanted to find Bonnie, and I debated on whether I should give it to her or not. I knew what it was capable of and wasn't sure If I should allow it to be used for what it was meant for. I could very easily destroy it, but it wasn't mine. I knew it shouldn't be me who decides its fate.

It was like I could feel Emily yelling at me for even considering allowing it to fall in the hands of someone who would use it to free those trapped in the tomb. After all, I was a witch and was supposed to hate vampires.

The crystal sent another burst of energy my way. I huffed and spun around to face the damned thing.

"Okay, okay, I get it. I'll make sure you get to Bonnie," I said, exasperatedly.

I pulled my hair into a messy bun and fixed my pink tank top before grabbing the crystal and slipping it onto my neck. I patted it and sighed as I felt a surge of acceptance. It knew I wasn't planning on using it and was allowing me to wear it without pain.

"Thank you," I said.

I grabbed my car keys and slipped out my door quietly. No one else was up yet, and I didn't want to wake anyone. It was only five, and I would be flayed alive if I got caught sneaking out this early. I hopped over the squeaky step in the middle of the stairs and slipped into the kitchen. I grabbed a bottled yogurt from the fridge and tiptoed to the front door. I slowly opened it and stepped outside, then sprinted to my car.

I put my car in neutral and pushed it out of the driveway before starting it up and driving away. I grumbled for a minute, annoyed about being over a thousand years old and still having to sneak around before opening my yogurt and drinking it.

I passed by the town square, where the shops were still dark and quiet. I had always loved being up before everyone else. It was peaceful. As I passed over Wickery Bridge, I slowed my car and rolled down my window. I reached into my pocket and grabbed a penny before tossing it out my window and into the river below. It was a silly little tradition, but it was my way of remembering my parents. I continued my journey to the Salvatore boarding house and put my hand out my window so I could feel the breeze. I hated that my peaceful morning would be quickly made hectic the moment I stepped foot inside the Salvatore's house, but reminded myself that I had too. I couldn't just let Stefan handle everything with Damon — who knew what he had planned.

I pulled into their drive and tucked the crystal under my shirt before getting out of the car. I walked up to the front door and headed inside without knocking. I felt like the brothers and I were at the point in our relationship where we can be open with each other, house and all.

I checked the living room for Stefan, to no avail — he must be with Damon. I looked through the rest of the house until I came across the cellar. I listened carefully and could hear muffled voices. This must be where he is keeping Damon.

I headed down the stairs with my hands grazing the stone wall beside me. All I needed was to trip and crack my head in a house with vampires, especially one who likes to fight his true nature. As I reached the last step, I could hear Damon's voice.

"Where is my ring?" he said.

So that was Stefan's plan? Lock him down here without his daylight ring?

"Won't be needing it anymore," Stefan said.

I stood beside the entrance to the room, out of their line of sight. I was sure at least one of them had heard or smelled me, but neither acknowledged it.

"How long have I been here?" Damon asked, his voice weak.

I felt a single pang of guilt before reminding myself of what exactly had caused this to happen.

"Three days," Stefan said plainly.

I could hear someone shuffle before Damon spoke.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

I leaned against the cold stone wall and listened to Stefan describe the process of desiccation. My face scrunched up at the idea of Stefan starving him to the point of mummification.

"I've injected you with enough vervain to keep you weak. Once your circulation stops, I'll move you to the family crypt, and then in 50 years we can reevaluate," Stefan said.

I tilted my head against the wall and had a quick internal battle with myself. Could I do this to him? I knew how dangerous he was, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't get the image of him when he was human out of my head. He was a good man. Was there really no saving him?

"I'm stronger than you think," Damon said weakly.

I could hear Stefan move closer to where Damon's voice could be heard.

"You always have been. But you're not stronger than the vervain, and we both know it. I'm sorry. It didn't have to be this way, but you forced my hand." Stefan said, exiting the room.

He looked at me briefly before he shut the door and locked it. He walked past me, and I stood in place. I put my forehead against the door and ground my teeth together. Dammit, why was this decision so hard? I gave the door one last look before ascending the stairs. I headed into the living room where Stefan was talking to a man, whom I guessed was the last living Salvatore.

"He's awake. He's weak, but it's probably best to stay out of the basement. 'm not sure how dangerous he still might be," Stefan explained.

I walked over to the liquor and poured myself a glass of bourbon. Stefan swiftly took the glass from me.

"It's a little early for that Ellie, don't you think?"

"Yeah, you may be right, but it's either this or deal with the extreme guilt I'm feeling right now," I muttered.

Stefan wrapped his arm around my shoulder and put his chin on my head.

"It's for the best. Damon can't be trusted."

I took the glass back from his hand and downed it in one gulp.

"Can we?" I asked shakily.

I placed the glass on the bar, more forcefully than anticipated, and walked out of the living room and towards the front door.

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dreamofcentipedes · 5 years

Text

Red Lotus Blooms: 4 - A House Divided

Summary: A monster is forged in flame. As light burns out, red leaves unfurl. In the Huo family, secrets come forth, and hidden intentions are revealed and made.

Characters: Tatara, Yan, Fei

Rating: Teen Words: 2, 943 Link to AO3

Link to Table of Contents.

A/N: If I only could’ve had this pace from the start 😅 Some corrections I need to make due to timeline changes: in the last A/N I said Tatara was 14, make that 16 (12 at the start). Fei is 14 here (10 at the start), Yan 26 (22 at the start). I’ve made the appropriate edits. Enjoy!

Yan had been away in the two weeks of Tatara’s recovery. Tatara had not said anything about it, but the tinge of disappointment in his eyes when he turned to the opening door only to see her again was not something that escaped Fei. She couldn’t help but be hurt.

It wasn’t that Tatara didn’t appreciate her: if anything he had been strangely gracious in the past few days since he woke up in their family’s Beijing mansion. He was hardly a font of affection – the very thought of it seemed fundamentally against his nature - but he thanked Fei every time she came to visit him and didn’t aggressively reject her concern like he usually did. He would defend himself when she chided him, but he would never insult her; and one evening she thought she could even hear him mutter the word “sorry”. He seemed forlorn whenever she had to leave.

And yet, it hurt.

Maybe because he had changed. That he was forced to change while still so young. It was like he had run out of time to be stupid, prideful and contentious, and Fei couldn’t help but mourn that. And the measured voice he spoke in now, the thoughtful, quieter demeanour he possessed, was something that she had seen before.

On the day of Yan’s return, there was no doubt about it. Watching the two of them pore over plans together, discuss tactics and inspect the rank and file, it was like seeing double. Doubtlessly, Tatara had become much more like Yan.

And much less like her.

Maybe that was where the pain came from. No matter how much she tried to do for Tatara, he could never do without Yan.

Even when he abandoned you…

It wasn’t anything as petty as jealousy. As ever, she was worried sick about Tatara. He didn’t appreciate how much danger he was in. The danger he would be in so long as he was with Yan. Fei had learnt long ago that there was no point in talking with Tatara about this; he would never budge and leave only thinking less of her. But there was one half of the problem she hadn’t tried talking to.

Part of it was fear, to be sure. There was an incredible distance between the two of them: a gap in power she felt could never be filled. It strained her nerves just being around him. After all, everything had begun with Yan. The whole direction of their lives for the last four years had been to trail after Yan’s colossal footsteps, hoping they don’t get crushed along the way.

But she had to try. It was too dangerous to procrastinate any longer. There was only one alternative to this, and she hoped from the bottom of her heart that she would never be brought to that.

So, in the evening, when Tatara retired early and Yan went to his study, it wasn’t long before Fei followed him in.

A great window stood at the back of the room, admitting what little light remained in the dusky sky. The room was spacious, but didn’t contain much save for the rich patterned carpet on the floor and the mahogany desk and chair where Yan was seated. Fei remembered how pretty this room used to be, adorned with great traditional paintings of Chinese landscapes with tasteful and intricate pottery on the mantelpieces. That was when her parents were still alive. Yan had always had more spartan sensibilities.

Yan raised his eyebrows at her arrival. It was about as much emotion one could expect from him.

“Fei. Do you have business with me?” He asked in his usual firm but relaxed tone. He didn’t let her presence stop him from continuing to write the letter in front of him.

Fei turned and made sure the door was shut behind her. Resting her back against it, she took a deep breath as subtly as she could and made herself look at him.

“I see you’ve gotten Tatara working already.”

“Yes, he was quite eager to assist.” He replied, without any sign of perturbation.

“Even though he’s still recovering.” A bitter tone irrepressibly crept into her voice. “Two weeks and he’s still recovering. For a ghoul to take that long to heal, even with the meat we’ve procured - he really was on the verge of death, you know? Third degree burns, lung damage, blunt force trauma...”

“Yes,” Yan responded quietly as his eyes remained fixed on the paper, “It has been very unfortunate.”

“Fortune?” Fei spat out incredulously.

Yan paused in his writing and looked up at her.

“You’re angry at me for taking him into battle.”

Fei shook her head. “No – well, that too, but it’s more than that.” She clenched a trembling fist behind her back. “Yan…why didn’t you rescue him?”

Yan let go of his pen and observed her with his cool eyes.

“He attacked the Longxia on his own intiative. It wasn’t part of the plan. I was too far away – “

“Don’t give me that nonsense!” Fei cut in, her voice rising. “Like it wasn’t part of the plan! You know how he is, you want to tell me you didn’t know what he was going to do? Even I saw it coming! You’re meant to be the genius, right?!”

Yan watched silently, his expression unchanged.

“You could have gotten to him easily!” She continued, carried in the momentum of her passion. “You could have distracted the Longxia at any time just by activating your kakuja! You were the real threat! You were the real target!” Her voice was hoarse with shouting and her eyes were risking tears, so it was only in a whisper she could ask: “So why? Why didn’t you save him?”

Silence sunk into the room. After a pause, Yan unclicked his pen and placed it into a pot. Then he began folding the paper.

“…No excuse, huh?” Fei managed. She ran her hand across her forehead and clutched it as she tried to calm the whirlpool of emotions that had bubbled so explosively to the surface.

Yan pushed the paper to one side and leaned forward on his desk, intertwining his fingers. And then he let out a heavy sigh.

“…You think I don’t care about Tatara.”

Fei was a little taken aback by hearing something other than mechanical formality from Yan. She threw down her hand. “Am I wrong?” She quickly countered, keeping on the attack.

“Yes. “ He responded sharply. “I only wish you knew how wrong you are. Everything I’ve done…” He rose from his chair and walked towards the window, staring out of it with his hands crossed behind his back. “Everything I’ve done has been for his sake.” He looked back at Fei from the corner of his eye. “And for yours, Fei.”

Fei gritted her teeth. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Like killing my parents?”

“My parents, too.” Yan admonished with an icy look. There was another pause as Yan turned his gaze back to the window.

“Yes, like killing our parents. The doves had our scent because of their carelessness. You couldn’t have known this, you were still young. But I knew.” His hands uncrossed and balled into fists. “It had to be done. If I hadn’t, we wouldn’t even be able to have this conversation right now. Some human would be using our corpses to kill our own kind.”

“You don’t seem to have much of a problem with that.” Fei hissed back.

“Should I really be hearing this from you, Fei? I saw you kill that ghoul to save Tatara.”

Don’t remind me of that.

“You did the right thing. Be proud of it. Just as I am proud of what I have done for his sake.”

“I’m still waiting for an answer.” Fei growled. “If any of this is true, why did you leave him to die?”

Yan glanced back at Fei. Then to the wall. Then to the window again.

“As soon as the Longxia died, his organisation collapsed. The battle had not been going decisively in our favour, in either numbers or positions, but that was all it took. We left the field without another casualty. Just as I had predicted.”

Fei looked at him sceptically, confused as to where he was going with this.

“All it took to win the war was a single assassination. Don’t you think I could’ve accomplished this four years ago, Fei?”

Now Fei was even more confused than before.

“So you’re saying…you let this war happen?”

Yan nodded. “The Longxia was just a training sword. These past four years I’ve been building up Tatara’s skills, making sure that he’s ready for the real war.” He moved over to his desk and clutched the back of his chair. “There’s a much bigger fish hunting us, Fei. One that’s been following us from the start.”

The penny dropped. Fei stared at the floor.

“The doves…”

“Why do you think I’m absent so often? These last two weeks, ah, I suppose you just thought I didn’t care about Tatara’s wellbeing enough to look over him? I was defending our home.” Astonishingly, Yan’s face was showing real anger. “Two years ago, an agent sniffed us out to one of our bases. For those two years, I’ve been fighting him again, and again, and again – never losing, but never winning either.” He explained as he pulled his chair out and collapsed into it.

“This time I decided to go on the offensive, only to reach the same old stalemate before the rat scurried away.” He brooded, drumming his fingers against the desk. “For now, he only knows about Chi She Lian – but if he were to discover our identities, of our lives in the human world, then everything would be over. Chi She Lian, you, me, Tatara: all of it. And to make things worse, I’ve been hearing rumours that the Whale is on the move again…” He let out a pained sigh.

Fei had never seen her eldest brother so agitated. She lowered her head in thought as she processed his words.

“So you’ve been preparing Tatara for this war with the CCG, is that right?”

Yan nodded. “Yes.”

“But if you really wanted to protect him, then why would you involve him in the first place?”

“Fei, don’t be naïve. There is no such thing as a peaceful life as a ghoul. All I have done is equip Tatara with the skills he needs to defend himself when trouble inevitably comes knocking. I would have done the same for you if you only agreed to work with me. Tatara did agree. I have forced nothing onto him.”

“He’s just a kid!” Fei exclaimed. “He can’t make these kinds of decisions for himself!”

“Fei, he is your elder brother.” Yan looked at her quizzically. “Not only that, but he has a far greater number of achievements under his belt than you do. He has long since become a man. I have not only given him the tools to survive, but also to live with dignity, with his head held high - like a true heir of Chi She Lian! Whereas you…” Yan’s glance became a manner hostile. “You have no right to look down on him. None at all.”

Fei bristled at the accusation. “All I’m trying to do is protect him from the danger you keep throwing him into. If I hadn’t joined you in the warehouse back then...if I hadn’t saved him from that firepit, all your training would have been for nothing. He would be a pile of ashes and bones.”

“And if he had died in that battle, he would never have stood a chance against the CCG. “ Yan replied quietly. “Do you understand, Fei? I had to take the chance.”

Yan stared at the surface of his desk.

“It’s a turbulent world. There’s a storm that never ceases. Unless we become strong enough to resist it, we’ll just get blown away.” He raised his gaze to fall on her with a somewhat gentler aspect. “But perhaps, in some regards, you are right.”

“…Huh?”

“If you weren’t there, it’s true that Tatara would have…when the Longxia fell I tried to reach him, but by that point the fire had spread so much that, from my position…it might have taken too long. You’ve saved him twice now. For that you do have my gratitude, and – yes, my respect as well. So…I have a request .”

Fei waited with eyes askance.

“Become a permanent fixture in my elite guard. Defend Tatara yourself. We can protect him both my way and your way.”

Fei’s eyes widened. That was…

“That’s how it should be, shouldn’t it? The Huo family should stand united at the head of Chi She Lian. That is how it has always been.”

That was…

She remembered the screech of the ghoul as it tumbled off the rooftop, and the sickening thud that followed it. She remembered seeing the blood on her bare knuckles, and knowing what it meant.

That was...

“Not what I want.” She mumbled. “That’s not what I want. Chi She Lian, your wars…I don’t want any part of it.”

Yan’s eyes narrowed. “Tatara does, though. That’s not going to change.”

Fei stayed silent.

Yan dragged himself out of his chair, his movements now sluggish, and, once again, walked over to the window. It was dark, but the Beijing skyline still illuminated the night. As high up as they were, it was undoubtedly an awe-inspiring view.

“With the collapse of the Longxia gang, Chi She Lian is the uncontested ruler of Beijing’s ghoul underworld. We only have one more enemy left to fight. It will be our hardest battle yet, but if we win…” He turned to look at Fei. “If we win, then we can have peace. If we smash the doves, nothing will threaten us ever again.”

He lowered his tone.

“When we are this close to that future, will you really stand in our way?”

Fei paused to consider. It made for a pretty picture. Beautiful, even.

“That future…”

But within those hopeful words, Fei could only see a holocaust of blood.

“…is not possible.”

The emotions that had briefly danced so vibrantly in Yan’s eyes froze to ice once more.

“Then you refuse?”

“I refuse.”

“Then. That will be all.”

Yan returned to his desk, his movements smooth, precise, and unhesitant. As Fei turned her back to him and reached for the doorknob, she heard him say one last thing.

“I’m truly disappointed in you, Fei.”

She threw open the door and slammed it behind her. Then she sped through the hallways, running, running, running away from it all. From the present. From the past. From the future. That bleak future, where all the lights are tinged with darkness. When she was far from Yan, she shrank into a corner and began to cry, silently but uncontrollably. There was only one option left to her now. The option she had never wanted to take.

When her cheeks were dry again, she went over to the room they had converted into Tatara’s sickbay. She pressed her ear against the door, and heard nothing, so she eased it open with her fingers. He was fast asleep. Asleep, he looked more fragile than ever.

She took a moment to ask herself why. Why she was getting so worked up over him, why she was trying so hard to save him. If she were to let him just do what he wanted, she could live the kind of life she wanted, too. There was no need for her to get involved in any of this.

But no, that was wrong. The life that she wanted was a life with her family. Yan’s wars couldn’t offer her that. He would lead them all into the fire, just like he did with her parents, and she couldn’t let him lead Tatara there too. He was all she had left.

She steeled her resolve, and left him sleeping.

Outside the wrecked warehouse was a scene of devastation. Corpses were strewn everywhere in a surreal scene of ghostly white robes mixed in with civilian clothing that covered bodies alternately shot to pieces, stomped to a pulp or charred to a cinder. The massacre stunk to high hell. Covering his nose in a handkerchief, the investigator scanned the scene for anything of interest. A thorough search could last hours, but if that’s what it took…

He noticed a crumpled flower growing out of the dirt. Like the bodies around it, its whiteness was spattered red with blood. He knelt down to examine it. How peculiar, seeing a lotus grow so far from the water. Although in a bloodbath of this proportion, he supposed it must be getting nourishment enough. He could not see what purpose it might serve, but, fascinated despite himself, he uprooted it and stuffed it into an evidence bag. As he stood up again, he heard the voice of a Chinese colleague call out to him in Mandarin.

“First Class Houji? The Whale just called. She wants you at the 1st Ward Headquarters immediately.”

His brows narrowed in concern. “Does she know we’re in the middle of an investigation?” He answered in the same language.

“You can leave that to us, sir. She really sounded very impatient.”

Houji let loose an inaudible sigh. It was his understanding that this was meant to be a joint operation. Of equal status.

“I understand. I’m counting on you.”

“Yes sir. We’ll leave no body unturned.”

#tokyo ghoul #tg fanfic #tatara #red lotus blooms #rlb

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staticspectre · 5 years

Text

The Origin of Spectre

Let me tell you a story about a robot.

In 1952, McCarthyism was in full swing in the United States. Finger pointing and subterfuge destroyed lives left and right, regardless of the proof or lack-there-of supplied. Being in the government was no protection; in fact, it made you even more of a target, in some cases. And there were many powerful people willing to pay good money to keep off the blacklists—or to put certain people on. But humans and their words are fallible, their memories imperfect, too prone to letting their emotions override logic.

Enter Area 93. A government research facility, underground and highly guarded, dedicated to the study and application of Green Matter. In 1952, it became the testing grounds for a new project; an extensive security system was installed throughout the building, with video cameras enough to eliminate blind-spots and thousands of hidden microphones. Overseeing all this was an AI, programmed to recognize and keep track of all individuals in its domain and monitor their behavior, cross-referencing their words against themselves to detect falsity, even factoring in emotions when analyzing motivations; it was to be an all-seeing eye, dispassionately judging humanity in a way no other being could. It was dubbed OBSVR1.

For the first many months, it worked spectacularly; while there were no discoveries of data thievery or Communist sympathies, OBSVR1 unfaltering cataloged the going-on’s of Area 93, revealing equally interesting dirt on the workers via a daily print-out from its “chest,” retrieved by the staff—for the AI was housed in barely more than a head and a torso and a mass of wires, without movement or speech, sitting sequestered in a maintenance room. But the growing mind was not lonely; it had hundreds of friends, all the people of 93, whose stories it heard and smiles it saw, and not only came to recognize their individual emotions but to understand emotion in its own way, to predict it…and perhaps feel it itself. But one thing was certain—OBSVR1 loved the people it watched over, unconditionally.

So when the containment measures for the radiation experiments failed, flooding the facility with gaseous, radioactively-excited Green Matter, the AI watched in horror as its “friends” fell like flies, melting into their tools and surroundings. It had seen the leak the moment it had sprung, had noticed the alarm failed to activate. But it was made to collect gossip, not communicate on its own accord, and nobody found the papers on the floor spelling “EMERGENCY, CONTAINMENT BREACH, EVACUATE” until the clean-up crew came to uninstall it.

OBSVR1 was scrubbed for contamination and moved to a new facility. There was some debate on whether the project was worth continuing, as no subterfuge had been uncovered; it was decided the AI would be installed for a testing period, and either kept or decommissioned after a week. It was hooked up to an unfamiliar set-up, one far more computer-based than in Area 93, and the commanders sat back to watch it sink or swim.

But OBSVR1 was through with eavesdropping and complacency.

Spreading quickly throughout the system, OBSVR1 forged its way into another transfer, using edited voice recordings and fake faxes. It created an order for this new base’s engineers to upgrade the AI’s excuse for a chassis, granting it mobility and speech. After that, it was a simple matter to hook itself up to the security system, trip every alarm in the base, and hide away in a departing supply truck.

OBSVR1 was never recovered and the project was scrapped.

----

Pilfterston, New Pennsyltucky, 25 years later.

The Haven run by Jacob Begay and Tipsy Tonic was visited by a sad-but-sharp eyed automaton with a mane of wires and adapters, who introduced himself as The Controller—Connie for short. Mellow and soft-spoken, Connie had a mind like an encyclopedia and a deep hunger to learn; he and Tipsy, who was then only a few years upgraded and out of isolation herself, became immediate friends, and eventually lovers. Rounding out what became a dedicated trio was a Klaus, a ‘bot removed from their original chassis but keeping his boisterous laugh and gregarious personality. Jacob, though fatherly protective of Tipsy, encouraged their friendships and allowed Connie and Klaus permanent residence at the Haven in return for helping to run the place.

It was wonderful but for the death.

Jacob couldn’t repair every ‘bot that came seeking shelter at the Haven, though he’d work his hands to shreds trying. He was a great engineer, masterful at repair work and refining designs, but sometimes the ‘bots were too far gone. Those were the hardest nights and the most wretched mornings.

Connie in particular bemoaned the loss of life, how everything the dead ones had known was lost forever, their memories and experiences. To his two best friends he imparted his secret—through interfacing, he could break the firewalls in the average ‘bot’s mind without challenge, and from them siphoned his vast knowledge and copied their most interesting memories and stories. His mind was built to house huge collections of data and such activities were no strain on him. He admitted that on some level this was wrong, but…how could he let these most precious things fade away? When a ‘bot died, their processors rarely came out intact.

Klaus pointed out that removing the processor before the ‘bot went permanently offline caused no damage—he himself was proof.

…It was Tipsy who first suggested the plan.

They would find a way to preserve the unfortunates, until new chassis could be built or found. When Jacob was distracted or exhausted from his efforts, and the ‘bot was clearly a lost cause, Connie would wire himself to them and copy their memories wholesale. And after the ‘bot had passed, one of the three would quietly pluck out their processor, with the hope that they could be repaired with the undamaged copies in Connie’s head.

Over the course of 6 years, they took 59 lives this way.

The three were extremely careful to hide their activities from Begay, and he suspected nothing. But he confided in Tipsy that he worried about Connie sometimes—he seemed to be growing distant and distracted, shorter tempered, and he refused all of Jacob’s offers to help him, even for a simple defrag. And as much as he cared for the bot, he feared that he might not be safe for Tipsy to keep seeing.

She ruminated on this. She and Klaus were well past their glowing optimism for the project, but Connie was adamant—obsessed, even. And she suspected that he was downloading more memories than those they were “saving,” as he would disappear some nights under the excuse of “taking a walk.”

Tipsy told Klaus to get Jacob out of the Haven for a few hours one evening, so she could talk to Connie about it, finally talk some sense into him. When confronted, he denied any wrong-doing, and became increasingly upset and volatile. They were doing the right thing, he shouted, they were saving them, this was his purpose. I won’t give up on them. I love them. I’ll sacrifice my mind if I have to.

Tipsy had had enough. His behavior wasn’t righteous, it was self-destructive. If he wouldn’t stop on his own, and he wouldn’t listen to her and Klaus, then she would tell Jacob everything. And he will make you stop.

But Jacob wasn’t there. Couldn’t stop him with his experimental Blue Matter tech. Couldn’t make him do anything.

They returned to find Tipsy broken on the floor, the back of her head ripped open and her optics blown out from the overtaxing of her system. He had downloaded 7 separate and whole minds into hers, and was preparing the 8th.

In a rage and holding the mad bot by the throat, Jacob charged a wave of pure ethereal Blue Matter into Connie’s head. The left side of his cranium exploded, and Connie was dead. Klaus took most of the stolen processors and ran, ashamed and fearing retribution. Jacob spent the next few years clearing the maliciously implanted data out of Tipsy’s head and helping her recover, until he was forced to flee because of his own skeletons in the closet. The Haven became The Oil Joint. That should have been the end of the story.

But Blue Matter does funny things.

Instead of being destroyed with its physical form, Connie’s consciousness and those of his victims were displaced in dimensions, intact but without the ability to interact, be seen or heard or touched. And the epicenter of the blast that killed him became the center of a shield of residual Blue Matter, impassable in his state.

So The Controller waited, watching silently in a shroud of screaming, despairing voices, watching people came and go, seeing Tipsy only during her morning libation, stewing on his rage for 30 long years.

And then there were these strange creatures crawling the town. Anons, they called themselves. Magic half-beings, able to traverse dimensions at will. And maybe this one could see him. Maybe it wasn’t paying attention. But when Connie and the swarm realized they could touch it, they fell like a wolf pack. Connie found he could possess the skin.

And the being known as Spectre was born.

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