#(supposedly he lives in the same neighbourhood)

[justanawesomeowl]

love and hate how I'll have a good 5min conversation with a guy and part of my brain will inmediately try to imagine how the next 20 years could turn out.

like, nobody knows what its going on in my brain but it's still pretty cringe.

At least this time I do find him semicute

edit: it's also weird because I'm not someone who is obsessed with partnering up. Do I think I could be a great partner? Yes. Do I want to get married and have kids? If possible yes. Am I open to dating now if I had a crush and it was reciprocated? Also yes. But none of those thing substract that I'm also happy as I am and that I'm aware that my priority is to follow God, whatever path he choses for us. e

[saltysaltdog]

It's super funny how trans-coded Sam and Max are in the telltale games. Max is the more obvious one since there's men, women, and max symbols on the toilets in the bathrooms, but Sam as his own that are more subtle but stronger in my opinion.

In no particular order:

He has a stated fear of public bathrooms, in hit and run he goes behind a screen to put on a bungee jumping harness and helmet, he had a voice coach and a therapist, he describes his family reunions as awkward, says he feels jealous of other men's stronger jaw bones, he scolds Max for asking if Bosco was transformed into a girl cow, he's apparently incredibly sweaty with a strong smell, and his clones were described as "Zaftig" which is another way of saying voluptuous or womanly, which Sam didn't like. Also went to stewardess school???

Anyways. To me, this indicates that Sam is taking testosterone, as that causes excess sweating and new smells as second puberty occurs. But I don't think he's very consistent with it, he doesn't get the same results from exercise and his diet as Max does, and while it could just be max is max (and supposedly uses protein powder) low testosterone can cause weight gain and reduce muscle.

Not to mention, the neighbourhood they live in is supposedly 3 to 1 ratio of men to women, which is just meta commentary on their lack of introducing female characters. But including featherly as a rooster who can lay eggs, this indicates, if not new York itself, then their neighbourhood is known for having a lot of ftm transitions, which is funny to me. They accidentally coded the entire neighbourhood as transmasc. Though, considering most the neighbourhood is robots, this shouldn't be too surprising.

[tenjiiku]

two birds, two stones / au, 18+

i’ve been here for weeks / i’ve been here for years / i’ve been here too long

cw: character death, anxiety attack(s), dealing w trauma in an unhealthy way, mention of self-inflicted scars

Sae returned to Kamakura on your 25th birthday. He had not planned to. It was due to less than stellar circumstances your reunion was ordained six years after he left. 

The night before you called — as you frequently do — to tell him you were moving to Malaysia permanently after reportedly arguing with your mother on the phone regarding your being unmarried. Sunday morning you messaged him apologising for your behaviour and he was told to meet you at your apartment at 12:30 sharp the following Tuesday, no sooner or later — otherwise you would not answer the door. 

He has been used to your mood swings and vicious behaviour for quite some time, now. You were eleven years old, the same age as Rin — the same age the two of you had, supposedly, fallen helplessly in love at Shofukuji Park on a Thursday afternoon — and the same time Sae was cursed with your near constant presence in their house. Back then, he was truly happy for his little brother. He worried Rin’s foolish behaviour would deem him lonely for the rest of his life — yet you managed to find something admirable about that and Rin, as a consequence. 

But that was six years ago. And Rin was dead. 

Now he was here. And so were you.

He arrived in your neighbourhood at 12:25. Your apartment is nearly five minutes away from the nearest station, so he arrives in front of your doorstep with a minute to spare. He takes this time to adjust the collar of the white button down he wears. Sae opens the grocery bag with a small cake for two inside it and checks that it is, indeed, still there and has not spontaneously gained consciousness. 

It has not. 

Then, at 12:30, you open the door. You are shorter than he remembers. He is taller than he can recall. That should be a given, though. He has not physically seen you in five years. You wanted that to be like that since he could remember, until today. 

“You are on time,” you comment, vivacious eyes gazing up and down. 

He shuffles uncomfortably in front of your door, one hand holding the paper bag, the other securely balancing it from the bottom. 

“You sound disappointed,” he remarks. 

You smile and make way for him to enter. He sighs, relieved, and takes off his shoes in the genkan as you close the door behind him. Your apartment smells of apples and vanilla and he spots a half-empty candle sitting on your low table for one in the middle of your living room. He lets himself in and it is only when you walk in front of him and sit at the table, cross-legged, is when he joins you on his knees. 

When you move the candle he places the bag on the table as a type of peace offering. Straightening his back, Sae places his hands on his knees — staring at your bewildered expression with flat lips and a twitching brow. 

“Happy birthday.” 

You look at him eerily for a few seconds, then the corner of your lips lift up and Sae breathes a sigh of relief as you dig into the bag. 

“Thanks,” you murmur quietly — a bit embarrassed, Sae figures, when you avert your gaze and place the box on the table between you both and dispose of the bag somewhere on the soft rug the two of you sit on. 

Sae takes the time it takes you to grab some plates and cutlery to look around the small apartment you moved into when you were 19. He thinks he must have been in Manila on business when he got your call. You had sounded exhausted on the phone, but never sad, when you told him you were leaving your parents’ home. They’d been furious — always the traditional types. Your mother wanted your first place to be shared with your future spouse, but you positively despised her and her company — so you left and never looked back (at least not on holidays. You would make a small video call, get scolded by family online and come to Sae with your troubles — which he would indulge in out of sheer compassion). 

He doesn’t quite know what it is like to hate the ones you are supposed to love. But he doesn’t know a lot of things ever since Rin’s passing, so he supposes it is a given. 

The only understandable facet the two of you hold in your lives is each other. 

“I like what you’ve done with the place,” Sae says as you return to sit across from him. 

You stare at him with a petulant grin and snort, shrugging your shoulders as you rub your eyes and place the small plates and forks on top of the cake box. 

“Thanks, I guess.” 

“It’s a compliment.” 

You laugh at this, bowing your head, “I know. Thank you, Itoshi-san.” 

At the name, Sae furrows his brows. He places his hand in the pocket he has your present in, fisting it with his fingers. 

“God. Don’t call me that.” 

“Why? Makes you feel old? Old man,” you tease relentlessly, making an uncomfortable feeling brew in his stomach. So he changes the topic as you pour him a cup of tea. 

“It smelled like smoke on the stairwell when I was coming up.” 

You snort, cracking your neck and rubbing your cheek awkwardly on your shoulder to manage an itch, passing him the small mug of green tea. 

“Bah, yeah. There was a fire Saturday afternoon in Mr. Yamanaka’s place.” You say casually. Sae’s eyes widen and he slightly chokes on the small sip of tea he’d taken. He did not know who ‘Mr. Yamanaka’ was — you’d never mentioned his existence in any of your phone calls — but by your nonchalant tone he figures he must not mean anything to you. He manages to hide it under his concerned expression. 

“It was rather scading news. Apparently his wife had been gone on a work trip and his affair had come over,” you lean forward slightly, whispering even though no one else except Sae was in your quaint apartment, “They supposedly got into an argument about when he’d finalize the divorce with her and she’d started the fire when he didn’t give an answer! Everything was destroyed. Everyone’s on Miss Yamanaka’s side, so no one’s pitched in on funding for replacements.” 

Sae knows what you mean. But he still asks you. 

“Divorce with his affair?”

“No. Divorce with his wife, stupid.”

“I know, it was a joke.” 

“Well, stop. You are not good at being funny, Itoshi-san.”

Sae feels the corners of his lips tremble and lift. He huffs, a laugh escaping his mouth — but it sounds more like a gasp. He looks down at his lap, placing a hand on his forehead as you crane one leg up, sitting like some sort of elderly man. 

“Miss Yamanaka stayed here for a few days and just left yesterday to Hyogo to stay with family,” you explain, cracking open a can of beer. 

“God, that’s disgusting,” Sae murmurs slowly as a side remark, his grip around the cup of tea he holds tightening. 

He looks up towards you to see your reaction. You simply shrug your shoulders. And Sae remembers. 

You always carried that sort of uncanny insouciance with you. Detachment has been an easy thing for you to do, ever since you were a child. Sae would say you’d broken Rin’s heart a total of seventeen times when the two of you were together. His foolish brother would go crawling back to you every time, you would apologise for your indifference and cry in his lap — and then buy profiteroles together to reconcile. 

Looking at you now, you still carry a childlike aura around you. You are a woman yet a cloud of casual disconsolation hovers over you, threatening to consume you whole. You hadn’t surrendered to it yet but you always have to keep it leashed.

Sae knows what that is like, despite him never knowing you. 

Feeble hands play with the cake box and open it, revealing a quaint cake with delicate white frosting. No words are written. Sae knows you do not like remembering your age. 

“Vanilla,” your eyes shine, staring at the dessert with a smile on your lips. You lightly graze the cake with the index finger of your free hand and lick at the frosting, “I like it.”

Sae rubs the back of his neck. He takes the small box out from his pocket and holds it out too. Your eyes widen even further — and you take it from him.

“What’s this?”

“A birthday present. To go along with your birthday gift.” 

You smile weakly and open the box. A small pendant rests inside. Your grin grows even weaker as you read the engraved lettering. Sae looks down, letting you make the faces you want to make without judgement. It probably ruined the mood — but he needed to give it to you eventually, for his ease of mind. 

You set the box down somewhere. Sae looks back up when you ask quietly. 

“Should we wish for something?”

Sae hums. “It’s your birthday. Be my guest.” 

“You should wish for something as well. I’ll share my luck with you,” you murmur wishfully, fishing out a lighter you grabbed when you brought him tea — and light the single candle at the centre of the cake. 

Sae doesn’t know what you mean at all with your statement. He did not believe in wishes, dreams or otherworldly desires. They did not make sense. You did not make sense. 

“Then… I wish you would hurry up and blow your candles before the wax drips onto the cake.” 

You pout. He feels his hands sweat and wipes them on his khaki pants. 

Sae watches as you look down at the cake pondering. He slightly adjusts his seating — his feet starting to grow numb from keeping his legs bent for so long. He sits back down and by that time, the candle is already blown out and you are looking at him. 

“Aren’t you going to ask me what I wished for?” You ask, your eyes illuminated by the soft light that streams in from your open balcony and windows. It’s started to rain, so your face is very lightly illuminated.

Sae studies your features. The scar you got at the top of your eyebrow — self-inflicted, after you had pushed Rin off the monkey bars. You had avoided him after the incident for many hours, and, at night when you went to Rin’s room to apologise — Sae had heard his brother scream. You had your bangs pulled up, revealing the bruise you’d given before coming over. Sae had to talk both of you down to reconcile back then. No matter how much he taught you, unlike Rin, you never listened. A part of him resented you for your stubbornness and utter disregard for your own autonomy. 

But you truly loved Rin. It was innocent and you were both so naive — his brother more than you. 

Sae would think late at night — the nights you came over for sleepovers with his younger sibling — as he slept between you both on three laid-out futons in the living room, if this is truly what love was. 

Looking at you now — sunken eyes, a malnourished look, an adult for all intent and purposes, but still with that same utter disregard you carried ever since you were a child — Sae does not think that if this is love, true love, he does not want it. 

“What did you wish for?” He asks, and Sae is shocked to find his voice so weak. 

You grin, mischievously. 

“I’m not going to tell you.” 

Sae scoffs, “You know, my co-worker knows someone who is a psychiatrist. I will give you their number.” 

“I would but I hate the idea of needing to pay someone to listen to my woes. I mean, what could they possibly offer me that hasn’t already been said?”

You cut the cake, handing him a slice. Sae takes it from you and shrugs his shoulders at your blatant remark. 

“Still, you’d have someone to listen to you.”

You grow quiet. Sae looks up from the hands that give him the dessert. He stares into your eyes. You are finally looking back. 

“But I have you.” 

Sae doesn’t answer. Feeling sick in the stomach, he takes another sip of his tea to quench the sudden thirst emerging inside of him. 

He takes a bite of cake, even though you haven’t cut yourself a slice. If he tells you anything right now — he thinks you would do the opposite. And that would not be any good. The two of you have been walking a very fine line, and he never wants to be the first one to cross it. 

“Do you like the cake?” You whisper. 

Sae swallows loudly, placing his plate down on the table and crossing his legs. He coughs, loosening his tie. 

“It’s good.” 

You stand up, only for a moment, before placing yourself in Sae’s lap. He had not realized he opened his arms when you approached him until you were seated in his embrace. You fit perfectly on his crossed legs — and when you wrap your smaller hands around his waist, he lets you. 

You do not speak. Sae takes a hand and pets your hair, softly, like how He used to, many years ago. 

“I’m sorry for your mother. It sounded quite annoying — what she said,” he consoles you softly. You nod, rubbing your nose and lean your head on his shoulder. Sae holds the hands you curl together in your lap and rubs the top of them with his thumb. 

“It’s okay… I should be used to it by now,” you murmur. 

“Don’t say that.” 

You turn, looking at him. Sae feels you press yourself further into his chest. Two hands come to rest on top of his shoulders. You stay like that for a while — simply staring into each other’s eyes. He thinks that if he looks close enough he can see Rin in the reflection of your eyes. It frightens him deeply, but he completely forgets about it when you lean in closer. The scent of warm vanilla and profiteroles. 

Thunder booms outside — and it starts to rain — when your lips brush against his. He is watching. 

“We shouldn’t,” he whispers, but his hands settle on the nape of your back and only pull you closer to him. 

“I know,” you murmur, voice so weak and full of a deep sadness that it pains Sae, “I know.” 

Temptation was an evil, wicked thing. It disguises itself in beautiful ways. No matter where he goes, no matter how much he tries to forget your face — glistening eyes, bated breath, naive yet mature beyond its years — he never can. 

You were not his. You never were. You couldn’t. 

But there was a pain buried deep within both of you — left by Him — that only the other could fill.

Another crack of thunder. He closes his eyes and lets you guide your dewy lips to his. Gasping for air, he feels all of his prior inhibitions come off like his button down that you fist so desperately. He wore it all for you. He came back for you. Surely, you know this. 

You mewl into his mouth. Soft, sullen tongue meeting him. Your bare leg touches his chest and he feels a jolt of awareness attack his mind. 

Opening his eyes and separating the heated kiss, he feels spit form at the back of his throat at your debauched expression. 

Sae can’t speak. Trembling hands rest on his shoulders, pushing him down onto the softness of your carpet. The dull light of a mid-day rain storm fills your living room. He smells your scent, he only feels you. 

Climbing on top of him, Sae watches quietly with wide eyes as you slowly pull off the sweater you wear. Your chest exposed, with your crotch still covered in your underwear, you slowly undo the remaining buttons of his shirt and fiddle with the belt. He should not be looking at you like this — but he cannot look away. 

You’re beautiful, you always have been. But you can’t be beautiful to him. 

Still, you lean down, pressing kisses on his chest, and Sae feels his breath become short. 

(He can pretend. That much should be allowed.) 

Sae feels heat spread all throughout his body to his toes. A dark redness spreads on his face, he arches his neck — unable to meet you in the eye as you travel towards his erection with purpose. 

“Sae,” you mumble his name quietly, massaging his erection through his erection. He feels the muscles in his thighs clench. 

His voice is ruined, he knows. Still, he speaks for you. Opening his closed eyes — he groans as he sees you, bare and fondling with his underwear to wrap your fingers around his hard cock. 

“Fuh—Fuck—,” he grunts, bending his neck to look at the ceiling. He feels sweat perspire on his forehead and his hands and feet grow numb.  

“I want you to come,” you whisper so sweetly, so softly — your face full of a deep need. A deep need he hasn’t seen, that he has been avoiding, for so many years now. He can’t think straight. And he certainly can’t speak, not when your soft lips lick at his cockhead, eyes glistening with light tears as the lewd sounds of your mewling fill the room. 

“Shit — you’re—,” Sae looks up to watch you, then quickly puts his head back down after he saw you reach down to play with yourself as you suck him down, “Fuck—” 

Biting his lips, he places a hand on his forehead and groans, deep from his chest when a warm hand wraps around the base of his shaft and massages the skin. He feels his legs jolt when you reverently increase your pace. 

When you let go of his cock with an obscene sound, Sae sighs and is embarrassed when a weak moan escapes the back of his throat. You look into his eyes, and a heat brews in his head, all the way to his toes. Your smell, your touch, your breath. It’s all he knows. 

“Please, come for me,” you beg softly, before taking his entire cock into your panting mouth. 

Sae groans loudly, feeling his hands tremble as he covers his eyes with one hand. The other travels down to your small hand resting on his chest, and intertwines them together. 

“I—I’m gonna come,” he pants quietly — it sounds scared. You hum around his cock and the vibrations send a shiver down his spine. 

He swears under his breath, and in his periphery he can see you bobbing your head with a purpose. His eyes slightly water, and when you squeeze his hand gently, urging him to come, he does. 

You don’t stop. Even when he pats a trembling hand on the top of your hand, which travels to pet your cheek, Sae feels himself burn when he gradually feels his girth inside of your mouth pulse. 

Finally — after what seems like forever, you let go. Sae’s chest rises and falls. He looks towards you, feeling his composure get thrown out into the storm as you pull your panties down. A hand sneaks its way between your legs. Your lips are parted, you’re sweating — Sae can see your everything. You present yourself to him fully, with furrowed brows and pleading eyes that hold an air of vivid desolation. Suddenly you are 19 and he is 20 — and you are crying in his arms for the very first time. 

“I’m a mess,” you gasp, eyes closing with pleasure as you touch yourself. Sae feels his throat become dry as you drip onto his leg, climbing your way on top of him. 

“Beautiful,” he puffs, out of breath as you position your wet entrance to his hard cock, “So beautiful.” 

You hiss as you slide him inside of you. Sae grits his teeth and places a warm hand on the plush of your hip, guiding you down. He groans deep from his chest as he bottoms out inside of you, eyes widening when he feels your wet cunt contract around his raw girth. He can’t think straight. He can only think of you. 

“It’s okay,” he chants quietly, intertwining the shaky hands you place on his chest with his own, “I have you. I have you.” 

“S—Sae,” you mewl, eyes glistening as you look down at him. 

He feels his own eyes water. He digs his fingers into your skin, grunting as you move up and down his cock. Your fluttering walls accommodate him with each thrust — and he feels all of his morals disintegrate. 

(Would he be here if Rin was still here?) 

“Fucking—,” he moans, feeling himself get lost. He looks away — then looks back. He’s here. He’s here and he should not be. Still, he is here. “Come for me, come for me, baby.” 

“Sae, Sae, Sae,” you whimper his name, soft hands digging into his rough palm. He feels your plush thighs tremble — and your pussy pulse around his cock. 

Sae pulls out, finishing on abdomen and his. His chest heaves and he bites the inside of his cheek as you mewl and come, falling onto his chest with a soft sigh. He lets you lay there — too tired to care for the sweat or the mess, too exhausted to care if this is wrong. 

Moments pass, just like this. The quiet of the rain and his hand petting your head as you nuzzle into his bare chest, pressed naked against his form. It is warm in your apartment. 

Sae feels the need to ask you this, to use as a compass for his own purposes. 

“Are you okay?” 

For a few seconds, you are completely still. Sae finds the need to tilt his head down to look at you and see if you are still conscious. Then, your hands fist. They shake.

Finally, you erupt.

You cry violently into his chest. Sae is stun locked then wraps his arms tightly around your trembling frame. You bury your face into his chest, lips trembling against his skin and tears soaking his collar. Sae rubs a warm hand up and down your back, afraid of making the slightest of noises as your sobs fill in — what once was — peaceful silence. You clench onto him, release him, then hold onto him — again and again. With nowhere to go, and the object of your need being your greatest sin. Sae holds you tight, it is the only thing he knows to do. Your voice becomes raw, you are gasping for air — and you still hold onto him.

You are shaking still, but your tears have stopped. You don’t look up at Sae anymore. And your voice is wretched and soars as you whine a melancholy question. 

“I’m such a hypocrite, aren’t I?” 

Sae does not answer. He holds you close to him and closes his eyes, hoping for this storm to end. 

But he knows it never will, now that he has opened it. 

.

.

.

When he was 17, Sae heard you cry in Rin’s room for the first time. You’d always been the more rational one out of your pair — much like him. It was an unusual situation he had passed by, on his way to tell you both dinner was ready. Having you over was a common occurrence. This, was not.

Sae hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. But he found himself unable to move — watching through the small opening of the slightly unbarred door. 

You were trembling, sitting in Rin’s lap. However, unlike the many times you initiated physical contact, you never sobbed quite as hard as you did, now. Your entire frame shakes. Sae has half the mind to come in, but he stops short when he watches his brother wrap his arms around you. 

“It’s okay,” Rin’s voice is unusually soft, as he murmurs to you.

You don’t say a word. You probably can’t. He doesn’t know what you’re upset about — and he never will. 

Sae leaves, softly shutting the door behind him.

[captain-kraken]

Vasizo

Vasizo is one of the Duante deities and is the god of reincarnation.

They are responsible for all sapient life in Sonhara and is in charge of reincarnated souls and creating new life. They are also the one who receives all the good from your soul once you die.

Depiction

Very similar physical frame to humans, with long black and white curly hair.

Their skin is a variety of human shades, and they have four eyes, each one a signature colour of the islands. On their back is a pair of huge, black and white feathered wings.

Vasizo is usually shown in similar dress to that of Detlos, although their robes are always black. This is because black is the colour of rebirth, not just in the Heirosa religion but in Sonhara in general.

When alongside the others, they are usually shown on Detlos's right. When portrayed alone the most common pose seems to be with their right hand extended forward, their staff in the other hand.

Their staff is a huge ladle with a long handle which they use to scoop new souls out of their "soup pot" to be poured back into the world. Can also be used as a weapon.

-

Legends

Vasizo is supposedly kind and has a love for all newborn souls, hopeful that each one will create a good life. They can be emotional over the ones that end up going to Marakoth first. They adore the humans and will watch them live their lives, even if they cannot interfere.

They feel everything that they absorb from the end of a life, meaning they receive all the joy and love that you put out into the world whilst you were alive. This is why they are usually shown as the happier one.

However, a kind heart can be easily hurt, and Vasizo does not react well to betrayal, proved by their killing of their spirit messenger.

-

Symbols

Vasizo’s main symbol is their ladle staff.

-

Superstitions

Vasizo appreciates home-made food being left at their altar in the Solsun. All of the food is given away to the poorer people of the neighbourhood, which in turn promotes life.

If you find a black feather in an unexpected place it supposedly means that Vasizo has blessed the family with new beginnings.

-

Misc

Vasizo hasn't been the same since being betrayed, as it was the only time they ever took a life that didn't belong to them. They don't regret what they did, but they still feel the pain of being wronged and has never quite been able to let go of it.

Pocha has made them start to trust humans again, as he is nothing if not honest. Vasizo still isn't entirely sure if what they feel is love, or just some infatuation, but they genuinely adore Pocha and will defend him with everything they have.

[mst3kproject]

Future Zone

Both Future Force and Food of the Gods have sequels, and both sequels are bad.  The primary difference between the two is that Future Zone actually does follow up the events of Future Force and features a couple of the same actors, while Gnaw: Food of the Gods II has about as much to do with the original as Troll II does with Troll. I will obviously be watching both, but I'm doing this one first.

Absolutely nothing has changed since the first movie, as John Tucker is still a grouchy asshole working for COPS, the Civilian-Operated Policing Service, which is still massively corrupt, and still keeps his robo-gauntlet in the boot of his car where it's hard to get to during tense moments.  While investigating the bombing of a freight ship, he meets a guy in a see-through shirt who looks kind of like a knockoff Patrick Swayze and desperately wants to work with him for some reason.  This dude turns out to be Tucker's son from the future, who has come back in time to prevent him dying in a junkyard shootout before even finding out he is to be a father.  That's technically a spoiler, I guess, but it's not as if the audience hasn't figured it out way before the supposedly climactic reveal.  The director still likes feet.

Rather to my surprise, there are ways in which Future Zone definitely improves on its predecessor.  For one thing, they certainly had more money.  Although much of the movie still takes place in junkyards and old warehouses, there are a few actual sets, like a bigger COPS headquarters.  We get to see some decent pyrotechnics and a couple of halfway-impressive car crashes.  The thing the film-makers seem proudest of, however, is that this time they actually have a guy with a gun in a real helicopter!  Several shots seem chosen just to emphasize this.  The script also manages to avoid having anything like Roxanne or the guy with the rocket launcher, characters who show up out of nowhere to resolve a situation and then vanish again.

Unfortunately, in terms of plot coherence Future Zone manages to be a marked step down, which is actually kind of impressive when Future Force made so little sense to begin with!  In Force, Tucker got involved because he was the first to get to Simms.  In Zone he happens to shoot a few guys who were involved in the drug trade that led to the ship getting blown up, but that's rather distant from the central conflict behind it, and the fact that most of the culprits die immediately severs Tucker from situation.  News broadcasts tell us that the explosion is under investigation, but we don't get any sense of Tucker taking a personal interest.  He just goes straight home to get yelled at by his wife.

The wife's name is Marion.  Reading a plot summary of this after having seen Future Force would probably lead you to assume that this is Marion Simms from the first movie, but I'm honestly not sure.  I mean yes, at the end of that movie they drove off into the sunset in his banged-up SUV, but if it were meant to be the same person surely they've have tried to make the Marion in this installment resemble her!  Marion in Future Force was a tall, elegantly dressed brunette trying to advance her career. Marion in Future Zone is a short blonde in leopard-print lingerie who spends three hours cooking a meal for Tucker and then calls him and whines about him not showing up.  Anna Rapagna in Force was merely a mediocre actress.  Gail Jensen in Zone is an actively bad one, with a grating delivery that makes me want to smash my computer screen with a sledgehammer.

Tucker's general unwashed-and-unkempt-ness, Marion's trashy outfits, and the hunk-of-junk nature of Tucker's vehicle makes it very funny to me that the two of them apparently live in a lovely suburban house in a nice neighbourhood.

Home life aside, through the rest of the movie we still don't get the idea that this ship bombing investigation is one Tucker feels is specifically up to him.  When Patrick-Swayze-Looking-Guy, whose actual name is Billy, offers him a tip to help identify the ship's owner, Tucker takes it because he figures Billy will give it to somebody else if he doesn't, but his motives are purely financial.  Later, Billy observes that “somebody wants you off this case”, which is jarring to the audience because we haven't really gotten the idea that Tucker is on this case, and he certainly never seems to want to be.  The impression is that David Carradine is fed up with this movie and wants to go home, and he has passed that attitude along to his character.

I also feel like the script hadn't been through very many drafts before they started filming, partly because of this failure to get Tucker properly invested in what's going on, and partly because of a glaring inconsistency.  Tucker and Billy first meet in an impromptu quick-draw contest, and Tucker, impressed, asks “who taught you to shoot?”  Billy replies, “you wouldn't believe me, but I learned from the best.”  The obvious implication here is that Tucker will teach his son in the future... but later Billy remarks that he never knew his father, and we eventually learn that Tucker was supposed to die before Billy was even born!  So who did teach him to shoot?  Did anybody actually read the completed script? If so, how did they miss that?

Removing the line would also do wonders for the suspense.  We knew this guy was a time traveller from the moment he appeared in a beam of blue light, because we all saw The Terminator, but the line about I learned from the best combined with his refusal to use a name for the teacher pretty much seals the deal that this is Tucker's son and/or protégé.  From there we just spend the rest of the film waiting for Tucker to figure it out himself, and it's a little annoying that they save it for the very end because we never really get to see anyone try to deal with this information.

Billy Tucker is, by dint of the situation he's in, the most interesting character here.  Ted Prior is not a great actor, but he manages to do one thing nobody else in the cast does, and that's shed some light on his character's thoughts without having to talk about it.  Tucker is Billy's hero, and he is barely containing how absolutely giddy he is to havemet him.  His glee at the cars he's driving and the music he's hearing is also evident, and even though we later find out he's got a bigger purpose in coming here, it would be easy to believe that this is something Billy is doing purely for fun.

That brings us to possibly the only thing in the movie that actually makes the viewer want to think. Everything we see in Future Zone makes this look like a terrible world to live in.  The streets are filthy, the city is full of crime, drugs, and terrorists, the music is bad, violence is everywhere, and the people look like they smell of BO and cigarettes.  Yet to Billy, this is the Good Old Days, an era he knows only through the romanticized tales of his elders, and he behaves like a kid who's found himself in the Wild West.  He runs around punching people and shooting things and acting like it's all a jolly lark, until the possibility of consequences suddenly slaps him in the face.

The first thing this leads us to wonder is what the hell is Billy's future like, if this seems like a fun era to hang out in?  We never get any answer to this, and we have to wonder if Tucker's survival will make that future better or worse.

The idea of consequences is the other place where Prior manages to pull off an acting moment.  Billy took his trip through time in order to prevent his father's untimely death, but there's a moment in which he finds his meddling may have resulted in the death of his mother, and therefore his own non-existence, instead.  This is clearly troubling to him and he clings to the fact of his own presence as reassurance that Marion must still be alive.  Up until now he has had some idea what's going on and where he needs to be from reading about the incident, but now he's flying blind.  He tries to articulate this without revealing the truth to Tucker, and is very clumsy at it, but the audience gets the idea and it's surprisingly effective.

When I compare Future Zone to its predecessor, the strengths and weaknesses of it kind of even out.  It is neither better nor worse, but I guess at least it's bad in different ways.  There is, however, one thing I absolutely will not forgive it for.  In Future Force, when Tucker finally pulled out the remote control for his robo-gauntlet, he used it to beat the stuffing out of a guy while Tucker himself just hid behind a wrecked car – that was the best thing in the movie.  In Future Zone, the remote comes out during the bit when the guy in the helicopter was shooting at them, and I was suddenly paying full attention as I hoped I would see the gauntlet punch the helicopter right out of the sky. It wouldn't have saved the movie, but it would have been awesome.

Tragically it was not to be.  Tucker just puts the thing on and shoots a laser at the helicopter instead.  I hope at least somebody in the writing room suggested punching the helicopter and they decided against it for budget reasons, because not to have even thought of it seems very out-of-character for these guys.

[jpf-sydney]

All of Us Strangers

Book review:

• Newly adapted into a 2024 UK theatrical movie by the same name, this is the translation of the original story by Taichi Yamada. All of Us Strangers is an affirming yet haunting, modern-day drama set in Tokyo.

A middle aged man lives a productive but emotionally desolate life. Divorced and estranged from his only son, he has little identity beyond work. What starts with the cliched trappings of the flawed Japanese male give way to a sentimental, lingering story.

Harada's impulsive visit to his childhood neighbourhood ends up being more than a stroll down memory lane. Astonishingly, he encounters his parents alive and well despite both supposedly having died during his childhood decades ago. More oddly, they haven't aged and daily life in the old family apartment is just as it was in the past.

The original Japanese edition was published in 1987 and largely set in that era. This paperback is a rerelease of the first English edition translation, Strangers (2003), also by Wayne P. Lammers. Author Taichi Yamada passed away just last year but not before his old novel hit cinemas as the UK film All of Us Strangers (2023). Production began in 2017 and Yamada was aware and consenting of the film's changes. The screenplay is modernised and significantly reworked but the soul of the story is intact and unmistakable.

Floating around the internet are some cracking takes on this work (film and the novel) SPOILERS AHEAD: "Set in the great human maelstrom of Tokyo, Strangers is a thinking man's ghost story" - from the 2003 jacket blurb and greatly copy pasted. "the real people in Harada's life are little more than ghosts to him, while the actual ghosts touch him in ways flesh-and-blood people have not". - this gem from The Guardian in 2005 in an article titled Dead calm "An off-beat Japanese ghost story from the Eighties has been turned into a gay cinematic sobfest" -The Times, 2024. Cosmic Circus points out that the story was adapted as a Japanese horror of sorts in Discarnates (1988) before its reinvention into "a British romantic fantasy film".

Shelf: 913.6 YAM [Ijintachi to no natsu. English]. All of us strangers. by Taichi Yamada ; translated by Wayne P. Lammers.

1st Mariner Books paperback edition. New York ; Boston : Mariner Books, 2024. ISBN: 9780063411524 (paperback)

201 pages ; 21 cm.

First US editon published in 2003 by Vertical as: Strangers.

[munsonsduchess]

It was a lot of drama. It just sucks because I dont have a lot of friends. I dont NEED a lot, but its nice to know people care? All my childhood friends are no longer close to me (I understand growing apart due to them getting married or having kids, but some of them purposely cut me out. I have more respect for the ones who actually had a conversation before doing so, even if it was because their dick of a husband didn't like me or any of her friends (yes I think he is a dick and emotionally abusive, but she doesn't listen and if she EVER needed help I would be there. He does nothing physically, and I wish nothing mentally. And I guess it is all supposedly but she has cut herself off from everyone because of her husband and im sus)).

Amber ended up claiming she was sick all weekend. When I obviously had seen Hannah's post (she didn't know about it i guess). I just said that I was sorry she's been sick and hoped she hadn't caught what was going around. And got left on read. Hannah never responded to my text so I left it alone. Its fucking childish we aren't in high school, hell we aren't any age close to high school (I'm the youngest at 25, Hannah is about to turn 30, and Amber is 33).

I have one friend, and I mean ONE person who is a ride or die friend who i KNOW I can count on. Except she is also married and she is not in the same area as me (10+ hours away). She would do her best to help me, but she could only do so much.

I am this close to cutting everyone off. Saying fuck it and just being a hermit. Maybe I will be the ghost story of my town. Have the local kids start rumors about the old woman living at the end of the street. Be the local cryptid.

I’m so sorry I didn’t see this till now. I hope you’ve managed to rid yourself of all the drama.

Honestly becoming the local cryptid sounds like a great idea along with ‘neighbourhood witch’

Career goals for damn sure and you don’t need all that bullshit and negativity in your life.

[ardn632themanipulatedimage]

Concept Development

Today i was sorting through some of my old stuff from when I was a kid, and I found a collection of Flower Fairy books, by Cecily Mary Barker, as well as an old VHS tape of the movie Fairy Tale, which is based on the story of the Cottingley Fairies. These had both been much loved possessions of mine!

They got me thinking though, and I realised that for me personally, they were very connected to the theme of my project, connection with nature. I remember that really the flower fairy books were what first got me interested in nature, as each fairy is based on and illustrated amongst a specific plant or flower, and this genuinely taught me a lot about different plants! To this day I could name pretty much every english flower you chucked at me, purely because these books gave me an appreciation for them at a really young age.

images via https://flowerfairies.com/books/

The tale of the Cottingley fairies is actually very relevant to this course, the manipulated image, as I was reminded of when it was mentioned in in the essay we were set to read, a brief history of photography and truth (Langford, 2020).

The Cottingley Fairies appear in a series of five photographs taken by Elsie Wright and Frances Griffiths, two young cousins who lived in the English countryside in 1917. Their photographs of the ‘fairies’ that they had supposedly made friends with at the bottom of their garden captured the public's imagination, including that of celebrated spiritualist and writer sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Doyle believed the photos to be genuine, and interpreted them as clear and visible evidence of psychic phenomena. He was one of many to accept the images as real, though others believed that they had been faked.

In the early 1980s Elsie and Frances admitted that the photographs had been faked, using cardboard cutouts of fairies copied from children's books. Despite this, the Cottingley fairies remain one of the most famous examples of image manipulation since the invention of the camera, and the photos continue to fascinate children and adults alike. 

image via https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cottingley_Fairies

Again, the movie had a strong effect on my connection with nature. When I was really young it definitely got me and my sister outside and exploring the outdoors, probably in the hope that we'd find some fairies too.

Although it’s easy to focus on the story behind the images, I believe that one of the most appealing things about them is the way they use photo manipulation to perfectly capture the beauty of nature. The fairies in the photos seem to dance next to a woodland stream, or stand on the branches of trees, or in a forest of flowers. The images capture the wonder and fantasy of the natural world, by looking at it through the eyes of a child. If the two girls managed to find such a magical world at the bottom of their own garden, it makes you wonder what you would find if you stopped to look hard enough in your own backyard. Children tend to explore their surroundings and look closer at the world than we do as adults, busy rushing around, heads in our phones. To a child, even the most mundane urban scene has a beauty and magic to it. 

This idea gave me a way to approach my project from another angle.

I decided that I could explore my topic by looking at the plants and trees of a normal neighbourhood through the filter of a child’s imagination, and in doing so seeing the magic and beauty that has been there all along. Frances and Elsie’s hoax also got me thinking about what their photos would look like today, in the age of photoshop. If the girls had access to the digital tools of the 21st century, would they have bothered with cardboard and pencils? Would their images have had the same magic? Would they still spark the imagination and capture that sense of wonder? I wanted to answer these questions by doing what the Cottingley girls had done before me, and creating a fantasy world within a few streets of my own house, in its average suburban neighbourhood. 

I decided to use the photos of figures that I had taken in the studio, and composite them into miniature natural environments as fairies.

Langford, C. (2020, October 28). A Brief History of Photography and Truth. Photo 2022. Retrieved October 13, 2022, from https://photo.org.au/channel/a-brief-history-of-photography-and-truth 

[attemptsonherlifepdf]

fantastic mr fox: humanising animals, animalising men, and an exploration of masculine identity

‘this story is too predictable.’ / ‘predictable? really? what happens in the end?’ / ‘in the end, we all die. unless you change.’

mr fox, the titular character of wes anderson’s 2009 stop-motion adaptation of roald dahl’s children’s book, is a portrait of two conflicting manifestations of masculinity. he is built to demonstrate the crossover between tradition and modernity, between wild and civilised. characterised as a charming gentleman, almost renowned for his recklessness, mr fox combines his undomesticated instincts with a carefully crafted domestic life. he appears to spend more time manufacturing a perfect home and family than he does actually participating in it. the events of the movie serve to strip away his facade and present both the audience and protagonist with a harsh reality to deal with: the juxtaposing aspects of his identity that he must contend with in order to survive his situation. these aspects are demonstrated through the use of anthropomorphic animals. in essence, the text attempts to convey the message that while you can associate your actions with animal or human traits in order to characterise and frame them, you cannot change their value and their consequences. it serves as a critique of how the nature of male identity is exploited to shunt responsibility, and the movie specifically promotes a more collectivist mentality.

there are four key scenes that mark mr fox’s journey in terms of his identity. initially, we first see his identity openly questioned once he has moved into a new home (a large and expensive tree), just prior to him revealing his ‘master plan’ to kylie, who becomes his assistant of sorts. he asks, ‘why a fox? why not a horse, or a beetle, or a bald eagle? i’m saying this more as, like, existentialism, you know? who am i? and how can a fox ever be happy without, you’ll forgive the expression, a chicken in its teeth?’ he attributes his identity with the ability to fulfil his base desires, like he could in his youth. aspects of his later life such as employment, family, and safety restrict his ability and leaves him feeling untethered from himself. the movie opens with his youthful vibrance and recklessness, and is quickly contrasted with his dissatisfaction with his job, home, and life in general.

MR FOX

i dont want to live in a hole anymore. it makes me feel poor.

MRS FOX

we are poor, but we’re happy.

MR FOX

comme ci, come ca...

does anyone actually read my column?

having been moved out of the hole and into an expensive tree, mrs fox asks her husband:

MRS FOX

do you still feel poor?

MR FOX

less so.

constructing the ideal domestic space for himself and his family does not satisfy mr fox and he yearns for more, which is where is existentialism and ‘master plan’ come into play. domesticity was never going to satisfy mr fox, as he yearns for something youthful and risky and dazzling, adjectives not usually applied to a quiet and content home life. the consequences of this dissatisfaction are drastic and almost immediate.

soon, having been forced out of his new home and underground by an attack from the farmers, mr fox is faced with a situation he cannot charm his way out of. he attempts to apologise to his son and recite a speech to raise the morale of his family, and both of these attempts are shut down by those around him. the facade of his elaborate home, his monologues, even his suits, are abruptly stripped away leaving him with only his actions which he cannot charm his way out of. the reality is that he and his family, his neighbourhood, is stuck underground with no means of food as a result of his selfish actions. this prompts yet another key scene; his argument with felicity, which begins with her viciously hissing and scratching his face.

MRS FOX

why did you lie to me?

MR FOX

because im a wild animal.

MRS FOX

you are also a husband, and a father.

MR FOX

im trying to tell you the truth about myself.

MRS FOX

i dont care about the truth about yourself. this story is too predictable.

MR FOX

predictable? really? what happens in the end?

MRS FOX

in the end, we all die. unless you change.

mrs fox’s physical attack on her husbands face serves as a display of genuine animal ferocity, making mr fox’s claim to being a ‘wild animal’ appear as a flimsy excuse for his behaviour. his chicken theft, which he was insistent upon regardless of the consequences, was motivated not by animal instincts but a selfish desire to feel a particular version of his own masculinity. disregarding the safety of his family actually seems like a natural byproduct of his master plans because he is trying to reclaim his masculinity from a time before his family existed, and in his eyes, restricted him. the very recent loss of his tail, combined with this conversation with his wife, is a harsh reality check for mr fox in terms of the dangers of his masculinity.

the audience sees the outcome of this conversation later on, in the waterfall scene. here mr fox admits to his insecurities and suggests sacrificing himself to the farmers to save the local community.

MR FOX

darling, maybe they’ll let everyone else live!

…

MR FOX

foxes traditionally like to court danger, hunt prey and outsmart predators, and that’s what im actually good at…i guess at the end of the day im just-

MRS FOX

i know. we’re wild animals.

the difference between this admission to animalism and the one from his argument with felicity is that here, both parties gain some acceptance of their animalism without using it as an excuse for their behaviour. the inclusion of others in animalism – ‘we’re’ wild animals, rather than ‘i am’ a wild animal – contributes to illustrate how wildness is not specific to masculinity. it is not femininity vs masculinity but animals vs man.

the movie also questions the nature of an animal in the final key scene known as ‘canis lupus.’ wes Anderson referred to this scene as ‘the reason im making this movie.’ throughout the movie, mr fox alludes to his ‘phobia of wolves’ and shuts down any conversation surrounding them:

MR FOX

scared? no, i have a phobia of them!...a wolf? what’s with all the wolf talk? can we give it a rest for once?

arguably, these reactions are representative of mr fox’s aversion to competitive masculinity. he shuts down any opportunity for those around him to discuss something he sees as more masculine than himself in order to feel secure in his own masculinity. critic shana mlawski argues that ‘the wolf is described as the wildest, most frightening, and yet most beautiful creature in the world. mr fox fears the wolf and yet wants to be exactly like him. we can thus say that mr fox fears pure, wild masculinity yet also yearns to own it himself.’ the scene holds an eerie familiarity to it; mr fox is recognising something that he thought would be a reflection of himself, but the wild animal is no longer familiar to him anymore. he now accepts his role as a husband and a father and no longer fights to overtly express his animalism in the same way as the wolf. the most he can offer the wolf is raising his fist in solidarity. he calls out to the wolf, ‘i have a phobia of wolves!’, which is an interesting moment to admit this in. it’s his acceptance that allows him to admit this. the scene is entirely compromised of male characters: mr fox, kristofferson, ash, kylie and the wolf. mr fox’s admission to his fear allows him to be vulnerable in front of these people he cares about, and to use this as a teaching moment for the young boys.

MR FOX

what a beautiful creature. wish him luck out there, boys.

here mr fox openly admits his admiration for someone else’s masculinity in front of others without showing signs of his own insecurity. he can admire the wolf for what he is without seeing him as competition. the scene allows the audience to see and directly compare two forms of masculinity and animalism, and to understand that there is no one true expression of either of those traits. the wolf has connotations of violence and ferocity, whereas mr fox and his suit and display of multilingualism are entirely modern, but both are masculine animals who are valid in their own right. either way, both animals rely on violence for survival at times.

kupfer frames violence in three ways: symbolically, structurally and as a narrative essential. there are various forms of violence within this narrative, namely mr fox killing chickens and squabs, and the three farmers’ attack on the animal community. symbolically, mr fox’s chicken theft is attributed to his masculinity. while it is often presented as thought-out ‘master plans’, his desire to enact this violence in the first place supposedly stems from his ‘wild animal’ instincts. he associates a time where he felt secure in his masculinity with his actions at the time (violence). structurally, we see the potential for this violence in the opening scene, where mr fox takes his wife chicken-stealing and they become trapped. he is stuck in a fox trap with his wife when he receives the news of his impending fatherhood, a relatively obvious symbol for his view of fatherhood in general. the news of his wife’s pregnancy disrupts his ability to continue stealing chickens, not just on this specific occasion but through the coming years as well. mr fox appears to view family life as an unfulfilling, less raw expression of his masculinity, and is shown to be wholly dissatisfied with his life.

the violence on the farmers’ behalf is almost always in reaction to mr fox’s violence, already giving it a structural framing. boggis, bunch and bean are referred to early on in the film as the ‘meanest, nastiest and ugliest farmers on the side of the river.’ their violence against mr fox and subsequently the local animal community is an attempt to gain back power and status. mr fox’s actions are “humiliating’ and the local news coverage of this exchange between the farmers and animals raises the stakes as now the reputation of these farmers is on the line as well as their power. violence here serves as a narrative essential because it drives mr fox into a situation that forces him to confront his issues with masculinity and splitting between his animal and human traits, giving the text/movie a fulfilling arc. violence is

introduced as inherently masculine, but is decoupled from masculinity by the ending. mrs fox also plays a small but significant role in this; at various moments in the movie she exhibits her own displays of aggression equal in intensity to the men around her, suggesting to the audience that forms of violence should be categorised as human vs animal rather than male vs female. examples of this behaviour include her clawing at her husband’s face, and a parallel between her and a male human character wherein they both connect two wires and shout ‘contact!’, causing an explosion. while this moment is brief, it highlights a distinct difference between animals being violent and men. humans’ aggression is driven by the need for power, whereas that of animals is driven by the need for survival. the man paralleled with felicity only sparked the explosion to destroy mr fox’s home and assert the dominance of the three farmers, while mrs fox used the same form of violence to enact a plan to save her nephew’s life. petey’s song even alludes to this sentiment: ‘well he stole, and he cheated, and he lied just to survive.’

mr fox’s tail becomes a symbol of power; bean wears it as a necktie, and mr fox feels emasculated by his loss.

MR FOX

one of those slovenly farmers is probably wearing my tail as a necktie right now.

…

BADGER

i cant even imagine how painful, even just emotionally, that must be for you… oh but foxy how humiliating, having your tail blown clean off by-

MR FOX

can we drop it?

the use of the tail as a necktie is a symbol of the power that mr fox and the farmers end up jostling to achieve: at first it belongs to mr fox, then to the farmers, and is eventually reclaimed once more by the fox.

MR FOX

you shot off my tail.

[through gritted teeth] i’m not leaving here without that necktie.

when he reclaims his tail towards the end of the movie, it has been torn to shreds and needs ‘dry cleaning twice a week’ to maintain itself. this can be interpreted as a symbol for his evolved definitions of masculinity and power: his masculinity is no longer defined by impressing people or stealing or killing chickens, but in the quiet satisfaction of having a family. the final scene reveals that mrs fox is pregnant again, and instead of her glowing and her husband giving an awkward grin like in the opening scene, both of the spouses ‘glow.’ the structural framing of these pregnancy reveals bookending the events of the movie allows anderson to demonstrate mr fox’s growth and change in his priorities. the domestic life appears to be enough for him, and he no longer seems to find it emasculating,

what stands out as particularly modern about mr fox is how he unconsciously separates himself from both his wildness and his suburban self in his effort to combine them. he uses his ‘wildness’ as an excuse for his violence and selfishness, but is ultimately not willing to participate in truly wild forms of violence and selfishness, such has hunting. his chicken thefts always include infiltrating a human site, like boggis, bunce and bean’s farms, and the fun of it is in outsmarting them, rather than finding those animals himself out in the wild. the local animal community essentially functions as we would expect a rural village occupied by humans to function: everyone knows everyone, there is one local school and various small and quaint homes. while the setting reflects anderson’s signature style, it is also reflective of dahl’s framing of the community in the original text.

mr fox comes across as an individual who believes himself to be above the somewhat backward mentality of his village, that he is the most civilised and dazzling and original, and he exaggerates these traits in himself out of insecurity: ‘if they arent dazzled and blown away and kind of intimidated by me, then i dont feel good about myself.’this is also reflected in his consistent ‘trademark’, his whistle-and-click combination that he uses to set himself apart from other foxes. his home is also a reflection of this:

MRS FOX

you know, foxes live in holes for a reason.

MR FOX

[grunts and tilts head in disagreement]

yes and no.

this insecurity and desire for outsider approval and individuality is inherently human, a quality of his that cannot really be associated with his animalised parts. this precarious sense of identity and self doubt separates him from his ‘wildness’ as it stands, which is only intensified by the fact that he compensates by exaggerating his human traits in order to be liked and feel worthy, as those are the traits he believes have the most value. towards the end of mr fox’s character arc, he is forced to admit that his need for external validation is flawed and unsustainable. when the façade of carefully constructed grandeur is literally washed away by bean, he is left with nothing but his actions and their implications for those around him. foxy reconciles with the relative insignificance of an identity based on other’s perceptions of you when rat dies soon after, reacting to the suggestion that he redeemed himself last minute by revealing ash’s location:

MR FOX

redemption? sure. but in the end, he’s just another dead rat in a garbage pail behind a chinese restaurant.

this moment is also used to inadvertently allow the audience to evaluate the significance of motivation and intention to the value of an action. although rat did reveal useful information to aid the group in saving Kristofferson, mr fox recognises that he only did so because he realised he could not win this fight.

MR FOX

would you have told me if i didn’t kill you first?

RAT

never.

mr fox’s own motivations throughout the movie have devalued his actions as they have mostly been self-serving. as his motivations evolve to centre around his family, he gains the perspective to understand why one’s intentions are so important. while intention does not entirely dictate how good one’s actions are, they certainly characterise the person who’s action it is. your actions have value and consequences as they are, and that cannot be changed by dressing them up or animalising them to distance yourself.

in essence, fantastic mr fox is a lesson in the value of including those around you in your mentality and worldview. it paints masculinity as something that is inherent and complex in nature, but promotes the idea that it is not stuck with its traditional connotations of violence and egoism. mr fox’s emotional development throughout the text mostly centres around his own insecurities surrounding his masculinity and how that causes him to overcompensate in ways that harm those around him. by the end he recognises that more tame and domestic forms of masculinity are just as valid, and that basing his self-worth on how ‘dazzled’ his peers are by him is immature and not constructive. his family now liberates him and allows him to be vulnerable rather than restricting how he feels he can express himself, and as a unit the animals beat the farmers in their game of power-seeking. mr fox recognises and appreciates both his human and animal traits, without using them as a means to excuse his behaviour or to feel bad about his worth.

MR FOX

i guess my point is, we’ll eat tonight, and we’ll eat together. and even in this not particularly flattering light, you are without a doubt the five and a half most wonderful wild animals ive ever met in my life. so let’s raise our boxes – to our survival.

i.k.b

[4dtk]

hi! can I request for a haechan one, hand holding 3, hugging 33, kissing 23, touch 20 23 and 35, where reader is the one being severely injured & angst with a little fluff maybe towards the end? i really love your works so much, thank you!

thanks for requesting and thank u for the kind words anon! ps i don’t write smut ALL the time so i hope u guys (& my new followers) give my fluff/angst works the same energy. thank u for all the feedback and reception on the recent smut pieces i’ve posted but i still need to fulfil other requests!! thank you for the support anyway <3

hand-holding, 3: cold hands in warm hands

hugs, 33: ‘picking them up’ hugs

kisses, 23: life-or-death kisses

touching, 20, 23 & 35: bandaging/stitching up an injury, carrying the other one in their arms, kissing their bruises and scars

“wh-“ haechan’s door creaks open as he lets out a yawn to reveal you. all the fatigue that weighs on his limbs and eyes is gone when he sees you all battered up and bruised and his expression passes through every phase someone could have — shock, anxiety, anger, sadness.

“hi.” you say bashfully, as if showing up for a first date and as if you hadn’t bleeded all the way up from the stairs. with expression unusually content, you wonder if it’s because of the blood loss that you feel high or whether your heart can’t stop beating even at such a time. haechan’s worry warms your heart.

“(y/n), what the fuck?”

“care to help me just a little? i got this nasty cut down my thigh.”

haechan’s eyebrows furrow, “looks you got way more than that. do i need to stitch you up?”

he opens the door wider for you to enter, grimacing at the wound whose blood leaks out from the cloth you put over it trails right down to the ankles. he makes quick work of his small apartment that screamed out ‘med student’. it was like fate had sealed the two of you in a bind: one which heals and the one that had to bear responsibility of the world of their shoulders. haechan leaves you alone to navigate yourself to his toilet, having done it too many times before the other props you onto the sink. his hands are following a routine, taking out the alcohol, gauze, scissors, everything to patch you up the best that he can.

with a sigh, he analyses your different wounds, lingering on the large one on your thigh which you seem to not even react to. it scares him, how used to it you must be after missions. how red becomes the default colour more than the colour of your skin, or your clothes, or your own apartment. haechan removes his apartment from the equation, having lived in four stark white walls which reminded him of the hospital.

the colour was as bland as your face now, eyes downcast even when he cleans the smaller wounds with alcohol.

“what… what happened on your mission today?” you frown at the question and his serious demeanour, hand gripping onto the edge of the sink like you were swinging at a cliff. having a job like that must be so hard, and it must be so tempting to fall into darkness and just let yourself die, but you told yourself time and time again to protect everyone, to shoulder the safety of those in the neighbourhood. it was getting heavy; too heavy for even you to carry.

“i’m worried about you, you know…” haechan attempts to joke with a chuckle, and that supposedly makes you jerk up, suddenly aware of how cold his hands felt on your skin. he mistakes the reaction for pain, taking a hand into yours that you shiver even more at the difference in temperature. “i always wonder how late you’ll come back. will you come back bruised? bloody? or will you be holding a cheesecake for us to share in your civilian clothes? i don’t know any more.” he strokes over your bloody knuckles gently.

haechan is good at hiding his feelings, you notice, words flowing freely from him like he always does in school and on the train. it’s not until he finally gets to your large gash do you see that his hands are trembling, shaking like leaves in the wind even when he threads the nylon through the needle. “what if you die?” he finally looks at you, revealing the tear-filled eyes, blurring his vision so much that he can’t even remove the fabric used to stop the bleeding.

“i won’t, hyuck-“

“you say that, but always come to my house beat up like this. shouldn’t i just turn you away? you’re interrupting my sleep and i have school tomorrow,” you aren’t sure what haechan’s getting at but before you can say anything, you’re cut off, “i always have school. and yet, i can’t find myself turning you away.” your thumb wiping away his tears only makes him cry more.

“because…?”

“i love you, (y/n).”

the air is knocked out of you.

“you… love me?” haechan sniffles, blinking away the tears as he prepares to stitch up your wounds. he wants to avoid his impulsivity but he can’t even do that when his hands shake so much it would do your wound more harm than good. “i can’t bear to see you like this, babe. it hurts so much.” your heart clenches up. at haechan, at his revelation, at his true feelings. his tears soak the hand on his cheek and you’re left instead to sew up your wound with your own hands, letting the other run over your body in the anxiety of losing you for good.

he calms down by the time you’re cutting the nylon, cringing in pain at how difficult it was to just get down from the sink. “i’ll… i’ll carry you.”

haechan brings you to his sofa with you in his arms, filled with files and papers regarding school and it looks like a mess, but you’re used to it, always seeing a sheet of paper beside your lover whether he’s revising, going over anatomy or just confirming the procedures. careful to avoid your thigh, he brings you into his lap carefully, however against the rules it was.

he couldn’t give e a shit about letting you lay down in a bed while he sat beside it. he just needed you close to him.

haechan gains your confusion when he plants kisses on various parts of your body, lips ghosting over black and blue colourisation of your skin and the white of the surgical tape, healing your skin with the intangible blessing of his pecks. he’s well on his way to remove himself to kiss around the stitch on your thigh, but he freezes.

“i love you, too, hyuck.” your voice is so soft, fragile, as if you weren’t fighting your ass off earlier. small tears pool at the edge of haechan’s eyes. the intensity in your eyes beg for him to lean in, capturing your lips with his that he pours all his feelings into. his heart sings and breaks at the same time, unhealthy visions of your limp body under city debris and ash. it makes him panic and kiss you harder, letting the tears go again.

you’re barely awake, tired from the battle, from the blood loss, but his kisses bring you higher than the way you soar through the sky. you run on adrenaline on missions, but you get drunk on haechan’s love so quickly that it feels more of a thrill than delivering punch after kick at the opponent. it’s so much so that haechan even brings himself off the sofa with you in his arms, twirling the both of you around slowly.

you can’t help but laugh at his tear-stained face, doing him a favour by wiping it off as he brings you to his bedroom. all haechan does all night is hold you close, never letting go one bit. it’s only fitting, seeing as you’re the neighbourhood’s saviour. what about him? you’re his treasure, of course.

[enhyqenn]

❝ leaving tonight ❞ — n.rk

📁 … !? pairing. niki x fem!reader | wc. 1.2k | genre. angst angst angst | note. i’ve been obsessed with this song & the neighbourhood for awhile now so i decided to write a little something inspired by it :)

part ii

you fooled me from the start, when you let me start to love you

“what are you even doing up at this hour?” you groaned into the phone, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as you questioned niki about his sleep habits.

he snorted on the other end of the call. “i’m at your house, that’s what. hurry up and get dressed.”

“what?!” you aggressively whispered, shooting up into a sitting position. you squinted at the small illuminated numbers of your alarm clock that rested on your nightstand. you whined when you saw the time. “it’s two in the morning, riki!”

“yeah! perfect time to go to the park. now hurry up, i won’t tell you again. if i have to, i’m throwing rocks at your window,” niki said before hanging up.

it’s like a bunch of broken picture frames, but the photo still remains the same

you were silent as you walked beside niki, fuming in the gray hoodie you wore. it was unbelievable that niki had disrupted your sleep just to go to the park.

“why won’t you talk to me?” niki pouted, tugging on your arm in protest. “look, i’m sorry i woke you up, but it was for a good reason.”

“and what reason is that?” you said tightly, glaring up at the tall boy.

“because, it’s our friendiversary!” he said happily, hoping that would calm whatever pent-up irritation you had. it only made you more grumpy.

“that’s it?! you couldn’t have waited until a decent hour when it was warm and not in the middle of my sleep schedule!” you snapped, throwing your hands up in exasperation. “this is ridiculous.”

“this is not ridiculous! you did the exact same thing to me last year, remember?! you woke me up at the crack of dawn by pouring water on me and saying you baptized me; setting me free of all the arguments and fights we’ve had, supposedly preparing me for another year with you! that’s what’s ridiculous!” niki exclaimed.

you grinned at the fond memory. “you gotta admit though, that was pretty good.”

“was not!”

giggling, you nodded your head. “oh it definitely was.”

“you’re impossible. but hey! now you’re not angry anymore!” niki pointed out. 

“nuh uh, i’m still mad. but just less so because i get to spend time with you and look at my crush’s cute face,” you rambled, not registering what you had said until a moment after. you almost froze, but blinked and told yourself to not draw attention to it. maybe your best friend wouldn’t recognize what you said.

but an awkward silence followed shortly after, and you found yourself wanting to melt into the cement under you.

trying to fix your mistake, you swallowed thickly and said, “so, uh, what did you want to do once we got to the park?”

“are we just going to pretend like you didn’t just say that?” niki deadpanned, making you flinch.

“please,” you muttered, eyes trained on the ground. “at least until i’m no longer delusional from lack of sleep.”

thought it’d be easier to run, but my legs are broken

you hadn’t seen niki in almost five days. after he had walked you back to your house that night in an uncomfortable silence, you avoided him like the plague. you declined all his calls, ignored his texts, and told your parents not to let him in your house.

with the empty time on your hands, though, you’ve had a good while to overthink everything you had said and done in his presence. 

had you been obvious during the entire time you’ve known him? what about that one time he teased the living hell out of you for blushing a bright shade of red the first time you had seen him shirtless? or even the time you had basically described him as the unnamed crush he interrogated you about nearly a month ago. god, you couldn’t have been stupider.

majority of the time ignoring niki you spent in your room, distracting yourself by cleaning out drawers, organizing your school supplies that had no use since you were on winter break, and even going as far as to rearrange your entire bedroom just for the sake of it. you did anything and everything in order to take your mind off of him.

that led you to where you currently were; on your floor with dozens of pictures scattered around you. 

you had found them in a small box under your bed, and as you looked through them, tears started to blur your vision as you moved from the ones of you and your family to the ones with you and niki.

the two of you had met back in elementary school, and you remember the small childish crush you had on him for the longest time. until he told you about the other girl in your class that he liked. his confession made you reduce your feelings to almost nothing.

keyword; almost.

they grew again eventually, this time much stronger than before. you noticed that as his voice grew deeper, shoulders wider, and frame taller, you were utterly fucked. you tried so hard to deny the feelings that had returned, but they only grew as the years passed. you hated that he only treated you as a friend, but at the same time, you relished it. after all, it was all you were ever going to get.

it’s haunting me, making it harder to breathe

“you aren’t supposed to be here,” you seethed through clenched teeth, trying to push the boy you were convinced you never wanted to see again out of your room.

niki caught your hands, gripping your wrists tightly as he said, “says who? stop avoiding me.”

you glared up at him, furious with your parents for letting him in. “leave.”

“no,” niki snapped, his features hardening under your stare. “not until you tell me what the hell’s going on with you.”

“you already know, stop acting like you don’t,” you fumed, yanking your hands out of his grip and pointing toward your bedroom door. “now get. out.”

“no,” he repeated before taking a half step closer to you. “not until you tell me what’s wrong. i want to hear it from you instead of just guessing.”

anger starting to boil over, you let out a noise of frustration. “i like you, alright?! i’ve liked you since we were like eight! is that what you wanted to hear? for me to pour my heart and soul into you?! to tell you the secret i’ve been trying to hide from everyone, including myself, for the past seven years?!”

niki’s face morphed into a look of pity as you finally admitted the truth.

when he didn’t say anything, you turned on your heel, went over to your bed, and sat at the end of it, eyes boring into your lap as you blinked rapidly and urged yourself not to cry.

“just...leave. please,” you muttered, using a hand to wipe away stray tears that streamed down your face.

and i figure it all to be love, but this isn’t lovely

and that had been it. you never saw niki again. not after the day he had stopped by to confirm his suspicions. it was the biggest regret of your life, telling that boy you had feelings for him.

he had left your room in silence, only pausing at your door to look back at you for one last time before he turned and disappeared from your life.

niki hadn’t wasted any time when it came to blocking you on absolutely everything, including all your social media. when you had tried to call him later in the evening—you knew you didn’t have anything better to say other than to beg for him to stay—it went straight to voicemail, making you slam your phone down in pure desperation.

you had traded your best friend and crush for the truth. and you regretted it wholly.

[necros-writing-stuff]

Ghosts and Mirrors

M!Eden/AFAB!Wolf!PC (Commission for anonymous)

Summary:

Eden had spent years looking for his lost love. Years hoping one day she would return, that she had not left him and was okay. Instead of her, he found you.

Warnings:

Noncon; disassociation; kidnapping; stockholm syndrome; mentions of spanking; hints at past abuse; hints of character death but its not the main two; yeah there's angst.

A03:

HERE

Word Count:

4934

One would think that living feral in the woods would be difficult. That a human that had grown up with the comforts of a roof and heated homes would hate running around naked and sleeping in a cave.

Then again, you’d never really been human, had you?

Supposedly, you had come out of the womb with wolf ears and a tail, rather shocking the hospital staff. Unfortunately, your mother had not survived to clue them into why you would be the way you are, complications causing her to bleed out during the birth.

By some miracle, you had been sent to the local orphanage, rather than locked up in a lab to be experimented on. It wasn’t the best upbringing, especially since Bailey was the man in charge, but it kept you alive and well for the most part. Up until your eighteenth birthday, that is. Then that bastard caretaker had begun to demand money, threatening you with being sold off for nefarious purposes if you didn’t get him his cash.

That’s what had prompted you to run off into the forest, using what little money you had to buy a tent and some basic survival equipment. The plan had been to live out there all by yourself, off of the land. It would be difficult, especially through winter, but it was better than being a pet to some rich fuck with a superiority complex.

The Black Wolf had changed everything for you. One day, they had emerged from the trees, sniffing and circling you with curiosity before proclaiming that you were, indeed, their spawn. Things made sense as those words were spoken, your appearance and urge to be free finally having a solid reason.

You were taken in by the pack after that. Assimilated in, welcomed and loved in a way you never had been before. They were family. You were home.

Asking about your mother crossed your mind once or twice - of course it did. Yet at the end of the day, you never did. What would knowing of her change? Would it just make you yearn for her touch? Would it make you hate your new family if they hurt her?

Ignorance can truly be bliss.

-

‘It’s like looking into the past,’ Eden thinks. Crouched in the dense foliage of the forest as rain pours down, he watches a procession of wolves trot through the brambles. They had just completed a hunt, pack happy and full. But there’s one at the back that catches his attention. It’s a new one, one he hasn’t seen before.

Despite their status as a stranger, Eden feels like he knows them intimately. Looking at them feels like walking into the neighbourhood you grew up in after years of being away – many things foreign, changed, but overall, the same.

His wolf’s nose twitches, scenting the air, and they stop to take a second to look around themselves. Eden takes the opportunity to admire the shape of their jaw, the length of their neck as they stretch. And of course, the naked body proudly displayed for all to see. Every dip and curve right there, droplets of water cascading down and touching you in a way he wished he could. So tantalising. All of the wolves were naked, but this one had been the only one able to turn his head.

Because they looked like her. His love, his first love, from all those years ago. She had been his everything – his escape from the horrors of his childhood. Had gently taken his heart and tamed him from a wild boy into a loving man. Then, she disappeared with no trace. How long had he spent looking for her? How long had he driven himself insane, chasing her ghost?

Maybe you are her ghost. Maybe he ate some strange mushrooms and was hallucinating right now – or he was in bed having a fever dream. Eden shakes his head, blinking a few times to make sure he was where he thought he was. Forest. Wolves. Downwind. It’s still raining. He’s fine. He’s real.

Doubling back from the front of the pack, the alpha, the large black one, comes behind you and nudges you forward. Eden almost wants to shoot the thing for touching you before it talks.

“Sense something, my child?” it huffs, beginning to copy your scenting of the air. You’re the spawn off that thing? How did that feral fuck create something so beautiful?

Eden wasn’t worried about getting caught. He was covered in mud, for one. Had ended up crawling through a puddle while trailing his wolf. Being so filthy was annoying, but he would put up with it, for you. He needs to get you alone. Needs to take you home and take care of you so that you don’t leave him again.

Delusional, is what some might call him. If he took a moment to think, he may agree.

You stop sniffing, eyes surveying the brush and narrowing out of suspicion. Eden tenses, prepared to run if he had to. If you called the pack on him, it could get ugly. Luckily, you seem to drop your suspicions and shake your head.

“It's nothing. Just thought I smelled a human,” you sound more eloquent than the wolves. Like you were more familiar with speaking. Curious.

The Black Wolf snarls, sharp fangs dripping with saliva in a way the hunter finds disgusting.

“Humans weak, but some dangerous. Come, home,” he nudges you along again, guiding you down a trail that leads back to the pack’s base.

This area is closer to the cave than Eden feels comfortable getting, so the hunter waits for every wolf to leave, and then another five minutes before he dares to move.

He needs to see you again. Needs to hear you speak, to touch you and hold you. He begins planning as soon as he’s home.

-

Eden was a lot more patient than he thought he was. It took over a month to get you alone. Hunting you, stalking and watching had let him know a few things. One, you didn’t let the other wolves mount you. That was good, he might have gone ballistic if any other thing touched you. Two, you would wander off on your own from time to time, but never too far away from the rest. Never far enough that he could snatch you away safely.

Not until today, at least. After a fight with a grey female over a male that had tried to (unsuccessfully) mount you instead of her, you had stormed off to cool down, not stopping in your rage to realise how far away you had gone. Eden was hot on your heels the entire time, excitement building in his chest when you kept walking further and further away from the protection of the pack.

You come to a stop near an old oak, letting out a frustrated growl and tearing at your hair. How many times did you have to tell everyone that you didn’t want to mate? It was ridiculous how often you had to repeat yourself.

At least you could have some peace and quiet out here, the sound of birds chirping in the branches above soothing. The dirt beneath your feet is cool, the fresh scent of the air now you’re away from your family making each breath feel lighter. There's another smell, too. Its familiar, somehow, but what exactly-

A twig snapping makes you whirl around, coming face to face with a very tall human man. One with a gun.

It’s a deathly silence that falls over you two. You freeze, aware of the danger you’re in. It's him, the hunter that lived in the forest, a human that competed against the pack. You had been warned about him but had never seen him before. You had scented him, though. Must have, you know that smell, but where? Now you were cornered while he was aiming his gun right at you and staring you down like you were prey.

“Stay right there,” he warns, voice gruff and low.

Your blood runs cold, muscles coiling under your skin in preparation to run or fight. You weren’t sure which one you would choose yet. The pack is far away, if you howled for help, they would be too far away to get to you before the hunter shot.

Living with the pack had made you rather athletic, body accustomed to running on hunts and fighting with the younger members. Surely you were faster than the hunter, his large muscles could maybe slow him down. You would just have to zig-zag. Use the trees for cover, outsmart as well as outrun.

Ignoring his command, you bolt as soon as he starts advancing, turning and digging your heels into the dirt to get a powerful push off. Cursing is accompanied by the start of heavy boots thundering after you, the man obviously pissed that you had decided to flee.

Heart hammering, you don’t dare looking back, instead focusing on making sure you don’t trip over roots or get thwacked in the eye by low branches – but your breathing hitches as the boot-falls get closer. He’s gaining on you, closing in and you feel fingertips brush your elbow before you change course, hoping that he could trip and fall from the sudden turn. It’s all for nothing.

He moves much quicker than you anticipated, large body deceptively swift, and tackles you down on the grassy earth mere meters away from your starting point. Using his weight to his advantage, the hunter places his whole body over yours, placing pressure on your back and knocking the air from your lungs, making it difficult to reach back and claw at him.

“Don’t worry,” his words are said in a soothing manner even as he breathes hard, “It’s all going to be okay; you’ll be safe.”

Eden can’t believe how good your skin feels under his hands as he pins your wrists to the ground. How warm and soft it was despite your rough lifestyle. He has you, he finally has you after all this time. It becomes impossible to stop himself from grinding into your ass, cock already hard in his pants.

You stop struggling, going completely still, and he knows you can feel him against you. Knows that you’ve realised what is about to happen, and as you let out a whimper and pin your ears flat to your head, he chooses to believe you like it. That you’re as excited for him as he is for you.

Gathering both wrists in one hand, Eden lifts up a little so he can reach down and free his aching length from the confines of his pants. The tip was already leaking, so the hunter ran his thumb over the bead of pre-cum and reached under your tail to rub it into your sex. You’re pitifully dry, nerves, he hopes, but he can change that. Even as you try to use your tail to bat his hand away, Eden prods and pokes, teasing the sensitive flesh that flutters when he grazes your clit. You’re rather receptive to his touches, aren’t you?

You feel so scared. So helpless, unable to free your wrists or move your legs from underneath the hunter, just left with the option to take his thick fingers as he slides two in. Shameful heat rises in your gut, the ministrations making your body respond while your mind panics. He knows what he’s doing, he has to, when he finds that one spongy little spot and focuses his stroking there, come-hither gesture hitting just the right place over and over.

Why? Why was the man doing this? All of the stories the pack had told you made him out to be a violent would-be killer, not a rapist. This was exactly why you had left the town and come to the woods, to be safe from people like him – like Bailey. Tears gather in your eyes. Why can’t you fight back? Even if it's futile, why won’t your limbs move?

“Good pup,” he praises when he sees his wolf shudder and hears a whine. You’ve stopped trying to pull your wrists away, nails instead digging into your fists as you breathe hard. Juices start to flow from your cunt, wet shlucking sounds obscenely loud. Eden can’t believe how tight you feel on his fingers alone. He also forgot how warm pussies were, how enticing it was to stuff you full right now and savour that heat around his dick. But you need a bit more, need to be stretched for him, so he slides in a third finger and thrusts harder.

Your gasping makes him smile, especially as your back arches and your tail lifts to the side. Oh, you were so beautiful like this. Would look even better with a collar around your neck, goddamn gorgeous with your cunt dripping his seed. He can’t wait any longer.

Grasping your tail, Eden keeps it to the side as he lines up his throbbing cock with your now slick slit. Even rubbing the head against your folds feels like heaven.

You start shaking. He’s going to do it; he’s going to put it in, and you still can’t move. Can you speak? Maybe beg? Would it work?

There’s barely time to squeeze out a plea before he plunges in, going straight to the hilt and making you yelp out. It’s a stretch to fit, you’re not even sure he fully is in, you just know you can feel him in your gut and that it hurts as much as it feels good. More whimpers. At least he has the decency to wait a few seconds before moving.

Although, that is because Eden nearly came on the spot. You feel so wonderful around his dick. The gummy walls of your cunt stretch to accommodate him, pulsing and sucking him in. ‘Just like how she used to,’ he thinks. Actually, you might be better. But thinking of another right now is rude, so Eden pushes all thoughts of his previous love to the back of his mind and instead focuses on setting a rhythm.

Slow, deep thrusts that press you further into the ground is how he begins. Each time he would batter your poor cervix you would let out a new noise for him to cherish, would arch your back more and give him better access to your sweet hole. His gun, now around his back, uncomfortably slaps him as he thrusts, so he shrugs it off and tosses it out of reach. You wouldn’t be able to reach it from where you are.

It's not fair how good he feels. You hate the hunter for it, hate how you can’t just shut your eyes and drift away. It's cruel that he made you needy. Every drag of his length sends sparks of pleasure up your spine and make your brain short-circuit, breathing getting quicker not from the panic you once felt but because an orgasm was building. He smells good, too. His voice is nice when he whispers praise, his lips soft against your neck when he leans down to nibble at the sensitive flesh.

It's almost easy to stop caring about what the reality of the situation is. Almost, but a tiny part of your sex-hazed mind holds onto that reality, keeps you feeling horror at how your walls are starting to tingle.

Eden can tell you’re getting close. Can feel how often you pulse around him, how your moans are becoming higher in pitch. He’s not far off himself, but he can last. If you don’t finish while he fucks you, he can just use his fingers again, anyways. You liked it a lot the first time.

Going for the final stretch, Eden picks up the pace, still going deep, still going hard, letting himself brutally fuck into your welcoming body. That’s it for you, unable to take the onslaught and cumming hard, tears finally falling as you yell. Your body moves on its own, trying to curl in on itself from how intense the orgasm feels, but the hunter’s strong hand keeps you still while he keeps thrusting.

Gritting his teeth, Eden growls out as his balls tighten and wave after wave of seed spills out of his length into your still-quivering pussy, white liquid gushing out every time he pulls his cock you’re your heat and he keeps going until his dick feels far too sensitive.

Exhausted and satisfied, the hunter lets himself rest over your limb body for a few seconds, kissing along your shoulder blades while he takes in deep breaths. His shirt clings to his toned chest from the amount of sweat he had built up, his long loose hair a mess. You’d probably have some scrapes along your front if he were to turn you over, but that was fine. He’d just treat them when he gets home.

Your mind has numbed. You just lay there boneless as the man gets up, desperately hoping he would leave you alone now that he had what he wanted. Your slither of hope is shattered by the feeling of ropes being tied around your wrists, then your ankles, followed by a flash of vertigo as the hunter picks you up and carries you on his shoulder.

“I’m going to take care of you much better this time,” you think you hear him say. It's hard to focus right now. You’re vaguely aware of the swaying your body does as you’re carried further and further away from the pack. Further from home, your rightful place. Even if they had annoying moments.

Maybe they would come get you? Maybe you would just have to wait. Yes, you would wait. You won’t be left alone again.

-

They don’t come for you. It’s been three weeks, and you’re still chained up in the hunter – in Eden’s cabin. He prefers for you to use his name.

Once the initial shock had worn off, you had fought. You had bitten, scratched and screamed the second time he tried to force himself on you, only for him to use the collar he had placed around your neck to choke you into submission. Your cunt ached from overuse, then your jaw when you complained about the first issue. You smell like him now, too, all evidence of your pack erased from your skin and replaced by the hunter, claiming you as his.

He tried to make you cook. Tried to make you act like an obedient spouse, rather than the wild creature you really are. It felt demeaning. You were far more than that, than a plaything. You left town so you wouldn’t be a plaything.

Originally, he had attached a leather leash to your collar. This was replaced by a chain and heavy padlock when he had caught you chewing through the leather, followed swiftly by a spanking. He liked doing that, even if he said he didn’t. Liked seeing your ass red-raw, the shape of his hand imprinted on the sensitive flesh.

You stopped fighting after the first week. It felt useless. All you could do was lie in the bed and follow him around when he pulled you with him. You still wouldn’t cook. Just lay limp over his lap as he dealt your punishment. Bathing you did. You still didn’t like being filthy, even if it meant having to wash Eden. At least he kept his hands to himself while you were in the tub. The same could not be said for when you slept. But it was over quicker if you just let him have you. Let him use your hole till he finished, then he’d roll over and sleep.

The third week, when hope of rescue is destroyed by the sound of Eden firing his rifle into the trees and retreating yelps of probable packmates, is when you agree to start cooking breakfast. He’s worn you down, stripped you of your will to fight. Even if there is an urge to spit in the eggs, you resist. The bruises are only just starting to heal, after all.

Eden is a little disappointed, to say the least. You’re taking longer than he thought you would to adjust. He was kind to you, was he not? He was taking care of you, feeding, bathing, keeping you safe from all harm? He even let you mope around all day.

He hated how you looked when you thought he wasn’t watching. You made sure to stay neutral while he talked to you, but the second you thought his attention was elsewhere you withdrew into a far-off look that reminded him too much of her. Of the rare moments where his love had been sad, he had done all he could to make her smile again. You never smiled. He needs to see you smile.

“Come on,” he pulls your leash, encouraging you to get up off the floor, “I want to show you something.”

You’re still nude. Eden doesn’t like that others could see you fully, but you refuse to wear clothes. He had tried to put you in one of his shirts, but even then you had complained that you felt smothered. It was really because you didn’t want to smell him constantly – well, even more than you already did.

Slowly, you rise, rubbing your eyes in an effort to wake up. You had been comfortable napping in front of the fire, and now you were slightly irritated that you had been dragged from your peaceful sleep. But it's not like you had a choice, where Eden goes, you go. Unless he is hunting.

The walk you’re lead on takes a good half an hour. Deeper and deeper into the woods Eden takes you, silent as he guides the way. It's so quiet out here, even the chirping of birds above seeming so far off. Each crunch of dry leaves under Eden’s boots makes you on edge. Is this it? Is he done trying to tame you? Are you about to be killed? Should you have given in quicker?

Your chest feels tight with anxiety, tail tucking between your legs and ears flattening as you hug yourself around your middle. Eden had brought his gun. He could be taking you somewhere to shoot you and leave you to rot.

The mouth of a cave comes into sight, Eden bending down to pick a rock from the ground. He chucks it in, waits for any evidence of life inside, and when he finds non, he starts moving in. You’re starting to hyperventilate. Noticing the sound of your heavy breathing, Eden looks back and has to do a double take. Why are you shaking like that?

“Nothings going to hurt you,” he says in a gentle tone, grabbing your hand. Your eyes flicker from him to the cave as you gulp. Then your legs start awkwardly moving forwards again.

Eden’s rifle stays slung over his shoulder, and he moves to walk at your side with his hand pressed to the small of your back. The rock of the cave feels cool against the soles of your feet, the earthy smell soothing. You can hear the trickle of water somewhere within.

It's hard to get used to the lack of light, but your eyes adjust. Eden keeps guiding you forwards, taking you around a few bends before you notice a strange blue glow emanating from the walls. Mushrooms. There’s bioluminescent mushrooms. The deeper you go, the more there are. The light gets brighter, until the cave opens up into a small cavern with a waterfall in it. The glowing plants line the walls, place looking ethereal and other-worldly.

“I found this place years ago,” Eden speaks, wrapping his arms around your middle and resting his chin on your head. “It's way out here, so I rarely get to come, but I wanted to share it with you.”

Hiding. That’s why he’s stood behind you, because he’s hiding the blush on his face. You’re not at a place where he feels he can be openly vulnerable yet, but the fact that you don’t push him away makes him hopeful. When your tail curls around his leg a little and the tension eases from your body, he knows he did good.

“It's beautiful,” you whisper, looking around the cavern. Then you do something he treasures; you giggle.

Closing his eyes, Eden tries to memorise the sound. He didn’t see you smile, but this was so much better.

You’re still giggling a little, feeling stupid for panicking so much. Eden hadn’t brought you here to hurt you – for once he was being considerate. Maybe you were going crazy, because you found it endearing. You shouldn’t, you know that, but here in this cave, wrapped in his arms, you feel safe.

“Do you want to take a dip in the pond?” he points over at where the waterfall ends, you can smell that the water is fresh and clean. “I brought a towel in my bag, if you do.”

Nodding, you step towards the clear pool, noticing your reflection rippling as you look down, trying to gauge the depths. Cautiously, you dip a toe in, surprised that it was rather lukewarm. You can hear Eden removing his clothes behind you, adjusting his grip on your chain as he does so. Once he is also naked, he moves past you and gets in without hesitation.

“Here,” he holds his hand out, and you consider for a moment. You’re being too complacent. Too accepting of this man that took you away. But he cares for you, doesn’t he? You’ve gained a little weight from eating well, you’ve been warm at night, are constantly told you’re beautiful. And he looks so handsome right now in that blue glow. So, you take his hand and let him pull you in.

The water goes up to his waist, but you can feel it lapping at your ribs. Its calm. Romantic, almost. Different from the domineering Eden you had become accustomed to. He steps back with you until he finds a certain spot, a natural ledge that he can sit on while still being partly submerged and urges you to sit in his lap. You sit sideways, resting you head on his shoulder and closing your eyes as his hand massages your back. You’re not sure how long you stay like that.

Lips softly press to your forehead, an innocent gesture done without lust. This whole time Eden has kept his hands to himself. You’re basically sat on his dick, you can feel he isn’t hard. This is really all for your benefit.

Sitting up, you take his cheeks in your hands, making sure to look him in the eyes as you give him a real, genuine smile. “Thank you,” you mean it as you kiss him.

Eden, however, feels his stomach plummet as a realisation hits him. You’re smile is so much like hers. You look so much like her, your mannerisms can be near identical, and he thinks he knows why.

The Black Wolf got her, hadn’t it? His first love had been taken from him by that beast, and you’re the result, aren’t you? Eden feels nauseous. But he tries his best to hide his inner turmoil as you settle back against him. Stroking your ears calms him a little.

“I never asked you your birthday,” he needs to know if the timelines match up.

And he wants to scream when they do.

Instead, he lets you talk. Lets you open up for the first time and ramble about how your birthdays have never been all that fun. Promises to make sure your next one will be a birthday you’ll enjoy.

If you notice that he’s withdrawn into himself, you don’t say anything, and he’s thankful. Because he’s going to need some time to figure out what this new information means to him.

-

A month later and Eden still hasn’t told you what he knows. You’re off the leash now, no need for it anymore. Turns out he just needed some extra time to show you how good he is for you. Now you’re rather happy here as his spouse.

Eden gets to see you smile every day. Gets to hear you yelp out in excitement when he picks you up from behind and hauls you to the bed so he can ravage you. Gets to see how you’re different from her. How you’ll flip him over and ride him hard till you cum, while she always let him take the lead.

How you’ll insist on adding your own flare everywhere, how this cabin is starting to look more like a couple lives here rather than just one lonely man. How he loves you even more than he ever did her. And it makes him feel a little guilty.

Should he tell you he knew your mother? That he loved her? He doesn’t think he should. Not with how much progress you’ve made lately. Eden couldn’t stand it if you looked at him with hatred and fear again.

So now it's his own personal secret. One he’ll never tell.

And as he aims his rifle at the unsuspecting Black Wolf, who is bent over a fresh kill, unaware of the hunter’s presence, he’ll make sure there’s never anyone or thing to tell you and ruin his happiness.

Because Eden decided that it doesn’t matter that he loved her. He loves you now. And he’s going to make sure you never leave.

[ouyangzizhensdad]

The use of trains and crossroads as motifs in My Mister (2018) PART TWO

PART ONE

Warning: Spoilers, mentions of a character’s suicide ideations

Crossroads: Tension, danger and crossing the line

Episode three introduces us to another meaningful setting, the level crossings where above-ground trains crosses a road in an older part of PDH’s neighbourhood. The drama does so without pomp or fanfare, in order to make that established element pay off in later episodes. The cumulative repetition of different scenes establishes the crossroad as a place of conflict, of tension: of different paths meeting, of different views meeting. This is where they cannot be easily ignored. This is a site of confrontation, of things meeting head to head, an area that is littered with caution signs and vanguards. But it is, as well, a site of potential change; where a decision can be made to change one’s direction. This theme particularly underline PDH and LJA’s evolving relationship as they become increasingly entangled in each other’s lives, but can be used towards other means and for other characters depending on the needs of the narrative throughout the sixteen episodes of the drama.

In episode 3, the drama introduces a tension in the narrative that is related to this motif of the crossroad; that of our main character’s relation to “temptations”. PDH is someone who is known for never causing trouble, for always living diligently. As his older brother teases him about LJA supposedly liking him (he wrongly believes she took then threw away the bribe to protect PDH, unaware of her true motivations), and as PDH repeatedly shuts him down, his older brother comments: “I suddenly feel bored. I knew you wouldn’t cause trouble. You are strong against temptations.” PDH responds, with a lukewarm voice and tired, faraway eyes: “Do you think I haven’t caused trouble because I’m strong against temptations? There haven’t been any temptations. So I don’t know whether I am truly strong against them.” Thus is created a narrative tension: as the events of the plot continue to disrupt his diligent but soul-killing life, will PDH cross boundaries? Will anything prove to be a temptation, enough to lead him away from his diligent life?

During episode 5, as PDH is walking home with his brothers after they have been drinking at a bar, he happens upon LJA walking from the opposite direction. The first shot we have of her is her standing exactly at the crossroad, in the distance. Intentionally, the drama underlines that this is a moment of PDH’s two worlds colliding, his work life and his private life. At the same time, the show leans toward an additional meaning; that LJA will cross into PDH’s personal life, that boundaries will be crossed--that danger lies ahead.

Still in episode 5, growing increasingly tired with his life and the grunt and humiliation he suffers at work, a drunk PDH stops in front of the crossroad and seems to contemplate suicide: the camera offering POV shots of him looking in both direction of rails for incoming trains that do not come. The scene cuts to a long shot that includes in the composition warning signs, including a very ominous one that only says “danger”. Then, we cut back to a closer shot of PDH who, starting to walk again, slips in the snow. After his fall, he lies there in the middle of the road as snow continues to fall on him. We get another POV shot of him looking at the sky, cut by another long shot still including the warning signs.

This is not the last time we see PDH contemplate death, and not the last time that motifs of trains and crossroads are imbricated in the visual storytelling of such scenes. The next episode, after discovering that his wife is cheating on him with a man he despises, he stands over the Han river (famous for being the theatre of many suicide attempts). In the distance, as he looks as the water below, subway trains cross the river, from two different direction, with many shots bringing obvious and intentional attention to them. After looking at them, PDH finally starts walking away from the center of the bridge. This scene reinforces the thematic association between subway trains and PDH’s belief that he is forced to live this life of his; after looking at them, it is as if he has no choice but to continue to live his wretched diligent life, no matter the indignities and humiliation he suffers, no matter how much he might prefer to end it all at this moment.

Interestingly LJA, who had rushed to the bridge after the spyware informed her of his location, fearing the worse, follows him from afar as PDH walks home from the Han River bridge. Just at the moment when he is about the pass the crossroad, he is found by his two brothers. Relieved that he is seemingly no longer at risk of doing something impulsive, LJA turns around in time for the sound warning of an incoming train to be heard through the spyware. The camera, as well, does a rack focus from LJA walking away to the cross guards falling into position. Intentionally, the drama reminds us that despite the growing affection and loyalty LJA feels for PDH after listening to his life through the spyware, at this point in the narrative, she still has not crossed into this part of his life—they still mostly exist on two sides of the spyware. 

We get fewer instances of thematic uses of crossroads until episode 10. LJA waits for PDH by the crossroad, to give him a gift for helping take care of her disabled grandmother. By now their lives have become inextricably entangled, and LJA’s feelings for PDH have only grown. When he happens upon her on his walk home, he stops to talk to her. After a short exchange, PDH asks about how much she owes to the shark lender, intending to repay her debts. He does not know, of course, that LJA has received the money from the CEO (who in turn does not yet know she has decided to betray him to help PDH). After telling him she has paid off her debt, she leaves the way she has come, which keeps her on the same side of the crossroad—thus not crossing the metaphorical, proverbial line. This is meaningful when compared to another meeting that happens in the same spot later in the same episode.

LJA, aware that CEO has hired a private detective to follow PDH in order to make evidence of a fictional affair between the two of them, tries to ignore him when they cross path. But, as PDH repeatedly calls out after her, she realises she can do better: that she can orchestrate photographic proof of PDH rejecting her. She thus confesses to him, half strategy but entirely genuine under it all, using a reference to an earlier conversations where PDH had talked of a coworker’s silly infatuation and said that such feelings would go away as soon as someone slapped him on the head (PDH had even followed through and gently slapped that coworker on the head with no preamble). LJA repeatedly asks him to slap her head to make her wake up, to shake away her feelings for him. PDH’s reaction is all flight: he averts his eyes, starts walking away, telling her to go home, that she isn’t thinking straight. LJA starts taunting him: “Do you not want me to put an end to these feelings? Do you like me?” PDH continues to walk away until she physically grabs him and stops him—as they are standing right in the middle of the crossroad. She continues to ask to be hit on the head. When PDH continues to do nothing, she starts yelling “If you don’t hit me, I’m going to think you like me. I’m going to tell everyone! That Park Dong-hoon likes Lee Ji-an!” The climax bursts and PDH slaps her on the head, LJA’s slight frame falling onto the tracks. The implications of what just transpired hang in the winter air. Mission accomplished, she stands up and walks away the same way she arrived. The production intentionally orchestrated to have LJA taunts PDH to cross the line as they are standing at a literal crossroad in order to highlight the thematic implications of this moment in their relationship.

As the plot continues to unravel, in episode 14, LJA finds herself fleeing her job and the neighbourhood to avoid being arrested by the police for her involvement in getting the general director fired by, essentially, drugging and kidnapping him. PDH is worried by her sudden disappearance and her failure to pick up his calls. He inquires about her, even goes as far as to go to her home, only to find it deserted. He ends up at his friend’s bar, who informs him à propos of nothing that she happened to see LJA that morning; that LJA told her she had quit her job at the company and was moving. His friend reports to PDH her conversation with LJA: “She said she liked this neighbourhood a lot, but it sounded more like she was saying that she liked you.” Reeling from the whirlwind of his day, PDH walks home from the bar.

His steps falter in front of the crossroad, and his gaze sweeps across it through a POV shot. We cut to a short cut of PDH before there is an insert shot that pans up the pole next to the crossing and settles on the warning sign: “danger: electrical hazard”. PDH’s gaze sweeps again through the camera, before he starts walking once more. Just then, his phone vibrates--a call from an unknown number. He rejects it without much thought, and keeps on walking. But just as he is passing in front of the warning sign, his phone vibrates once more. Seeming to realise it could be LJA, he stops and picks up. It is indeed LJA, calling to say her goodbyes, trying to make sure he will not try to find her and discover the real reason behind her sudden disappearance. PDH, in his usual guarded way, is nevertheless emotional, snapping at her after worrying all day, then growing tongue-tied and misty eyed as she thanks him for what he has done for her and tells him how much more it meant to receive this kindness from the person she loves. The visual language of the scene, which keeps alternating between intercut shots of PDH and LJA, and split-screens, keeps going back to the shot composition of PDH standing at the warning sign. The drama seems to suggest that, at this crossroad, PDH is left having to choose being two options: accepting these goodbyes and having his life keep his course, or risk crossing the line, with all the potential danger that lies ahead. And this time, he heeds the danger and chooses to accept LJA’s goodbyes--for now.

The last two instances of the use of trains and crossroads in My Mister

The plot continues to carry on, allowing PDH to finally learn about LJA’s involvement and her spying on him. And, at that moment, he makes the decision to cross the line, to choose the riskier path--to look for LJA. At this moment of catharsis, of PDH asserting his agency over his own life, of him choosing his own path again what is advised to him, against what would be best to protect his “interests”, the drama uses a train to bring the thematic exploration to its own climax (do note that if you are watching the show on Netflix, this scene was re-edited and the train was cut. You can watch the scene on Youtube to see how it was originally intended ).

Now aware that LJA can listen to him through a spyware on his phone, he goes to a movie theater and leaves his phone behind at the projection while he goes to confront the CEO, thinking he knows where LJA is hiding. PDH is furious, holding the CEO responsible for getting LJA involved in his schemes, while the CEO presents himself as the victim who was approached by LJA who demanded to take care of his problem in exchange of money, only to betray him after pocketing that very money. The CEO also reveals that the reason LJA is fleeing the police and never intends to be caught is that the investigation would end up revealing that the inciting incident was PDH’s wife affair with the CEO, which would bring shame and humiliation upon him. In order to protect his reputation and his diligent life, she was willing to sacrifice herself.

When PDH goes back to the movie theater to retrieve his phone, he sits in the projection room and takes his phone into his hands, bringing it up to his mouth. He raises his eye back at the screen, and the camera pans from the back of his head to the screen, which shows the perspective of a train moving forward on a stretch of straight rails in the countryside. It then cuts back to him. He calls her name twice and tells her to call him. The inclusion of the train is so purposeful and considered important enough that, when episode 15 starts with a compressed summary of what happened in episode 14 to help contextualise PDH’s state of mind and thoughts, the shot of the train on the movie screen is still included.

A possible interpretation of the presence of the train is to showcase the clear sense of momentum and agency, of seeing the train finally out of the tunnel. The train is no longer the thing that carries his heavy body and heavy heart in an endless repetition of days; this time it symbolises PDH breaking free and doing what he wants to do, even if it endangers his reputation and his diligent life.

LJA, however, does not understand that PDH is reaching out to her—she stops listening and does not hear him tell her that everything is alright. She ends up fleeing the shabby little room where she was living in hiding and grows careless, getting hit by a car. PDH keeps looking for her until he gets a call from LJA’s friend and father figure, who informs him LJA is hiding at the scrap yard and refuses to go the hospital to have her injuries treated although they have worsened to a worrisome degree. PDH goes to her. He tells her that he cannot stand the pain his own miserable life has caused her, and vows to be happy from now on, no matter which humiliation he might face or how his life might be ruined, so that she can be happy as well.

As she receives treatment for her injuries, LJA volunteers to PDH that she liked listening to him. That she liked his words, his thoughts, the sound of his footsteps; that she liked all of the sounds he made. That same night, she deletes the spyware from her phone after promising PDH she would. Lying in bed, she puts on her earbuds, listening in for the last time. The drama cross-cuts between her and PDH who is walking home. As he arrives at a crossroad, the signal for an incoming train can be heard through LJA’s headphones, and we cut to the barriers falling behind him as he continue walking and the train comes in. LJA deletes the app, and as the barrier lift behind the train that has gone, the world falls silent—not even his footsteps can be heard: LJA has let go of him, of the comfort his sounds provided her.

Thereafter, for the rest of episode 15 and the entirety of episode 16, no more crossroads or trains make an appearance, even as simple settings, highlighting the production’s intentional use of them: as motifs they have been mobilised until the end of their thematic significance.

In conclusion

From the first two episodes, My Mister repeatedly uses trains and crossroads to add another layer of storytelling to the viewer, fleshing out themes as well as hinting at emotional arcs and unsaid words. It does so intentionally, with a keen eye for detail, keeping different threads flowing throughout the sixteen episodes.

Even more could be said about how these visual motifs complement other themes and motifs in the drama, such as the motif of the neighbourhood and old buildings, but this essay is already long enough. As such, I will only close this discussion by underlining that the recurrent uses of trains and crossroads in My Mister demonstrates the possibilities of visual storytelling, and the way an intentional use of settings and carefully-planned productions can multiply the emotional and thematic potential of a story.  

[mandoalorian]

I Believe In Love [Maxwell Lord x F!Reader] — Four: Lies

Summary: When you find your calling to leave Themyscira, you venture out to the World of Man with intentions of helping and healing a very specific person's relationship with his son. You've heard his voice before, but only in dreams. You've felt his pain and anguish and you've never been able to relate to anything more. But things don't come easy for you, and they certainly don't come easy for him either. [This series contains spoilers for WW84 and is my interpretation of what happens after the movie ends].

Warnings: brief mention of blood, allusions to an abusive household/family, mention of child custody battle, 80s typical misogyny, cursing.

Word count: 5,200>

Masterlist

I Believe In Love Masterlist

Previous - Chapter Four - Next 

-—-—-—-

He'd lied. You read the name over and over again, the crumpled letter shaking in your hands. Lorenzano. Lorenzano. Lorenzano. He wasn't Max Lord, he was Maxwell Lorenzano and you had no idea how he could lie to you - or better yet, why he would lie to you? There was a reason for everything. You might’ve been new to the world of man, and you might not yet understand their conditions and way of life, but it didn’t change the fact that this hurt. He was your first friend - your first real friend who wasn’t a child. He accepted you into his home, and he even believed you when you told him who you are. You had opened up about being a literal goddess from the secret haven Themyscira, and he hadn’t even told you his real name.

And then, your visions of him… memories and dreams… they hit you one by one. Now you could finally put a face to the voice that had been haunting you. He was the child you saw when you had fallen asleep in Black Gold Cooperative, the child who was getting bullied for the clothes he wore, and his shoes. You felt foolish not realising it sooner. The image of ‘Little Lorenzano’ getting tormented perfectly paralleled the way Alistair had gotten cornered in the park earlier today. Your heart ached for them both.

Max Lord was clearly putting on a brave face in front of you. But now that you knew who he really was, you knew that he was deeply hurting, and he needed your help. He might not realise it, but this is why you were here. You’d come to the world of man to fulfil your duty as the Goddess of Home and Hearth for a reason and Zeus had deliberately connected you with Alistair and Maxwell. This was your purpose. They were your purpose.

You smoothed out the letter to the best of your ability, deciding that if you were to help him, you should probably read it. You had hope that it would help you understand things and allow you to piece together the puzzle. You glanced back at the speckles of his blood in the sink, and the smashed vase on the floor. Whatever was in this letter had clearly angered him.

I, Theodore Thomas IV, share a bond with Miss Grey and recognise that she is a caring and devoted mother. We are in full belief that Alistair Lorenzano would be better off, in the care of his biological mother.

A bond. You were quickly able to identify that Julianna Grey was the mother of Alistiar, although the bond between she and Theodore Thomas IV had not yet become clear to you. Your heart would usually find warmth in the revelation that Julianna was, in fact a ‘caring and devoted’ mother, but instead it grew cold. As the goddess of home and hearth, you could sense the lie in his words. You wanted to believe that Julianna was a good mother, but your intuition said otherwise. These were your powers - and there was no way you were wrong about this. Despite the immediate concern you had for Allistair, you pushed the feeling to the back of your brain and forced yourself to continue reading the letter.

Mr Maxwell Lorenzano and Miss Julianna Grey divorced on the seventh month of 1980 after being married for two years. Miss Grey notes that their relationship was strained since the beginning, with Mr Lorenzano too preoccupied with his career to focus on his family.

Marriage - Max and Julianna were married. It was something you had read about back on Themyscira when you had spent time educating yourself on the ‘way of man’. Marriage was, supposedly, a sacred ritual that joined together the spirits of two people in the name of love. And love was the fundamental principle that would create a family. At the core of a family, was love, and that was the most important thing. Your eyes flicked back up the final sentence of the first paragraph; “We are in full belief that Alistair Lorenzano would be better off, in the care of his biological mother.” You couldn’t help but shake your head profusely. These people wanted to take Alistair away from Max? There was no way. Theodore may think that Julianna deserves Alisitair, but it was never going to be about ‘deserve’. It could only be about love. And you knew for certain that Maxwell loved Alistair with his whole heart.

I have known Miss Grey since 1980, after working on her and Mr Lorenzano’s divorce case. As not only her partner, but also a trusted lawyer of our capitol’s legal enforcement, I can whole-heartedly ensure that sole custody of Alistair Lorenzano must be granted to Miss Julianna Grey.

Divorce was something you weren’t so familiar with, and you figured it should be something you ask Maxwell about at a later date. It was at this moment you learned that Theodore was Julianna’s partner, lover, even. No wonder he thought so highly of her. There was no question about it. You knew you had to pay Julianna and Theodore a visit to see for yourself. You had to see the truth.

Please find us at the District Columbia Court, D.C., in one week from the date stated on the letter. If you make no effort to show and fight your case, you will be banished from seeing Alistair until he turns eighteen years of age.

Banishment? The thought of splitting up Max and Alistair filled you with the most excruciating pain. You couldn’t let this happen. You wouldn’t let this happen.

Sincerely,

Ted

So Theodore was Ted and Maxwell was Max. If you had known that names in the world of man could fluctuate so much, maybe you wouldn’t have gotten mad so mad at Max for lying about his name. After catching the address on the envelope, you engrained it in your memory and carefully folded up the letter and placed it in the pocket of the Maxwell’s pinstripe shirt that he had given you to wear. Now you just had to figure out a way to get to the address on the letter.

You spent some time sweeping up the shattered glass on the floor, and cleaned up the sink before padding back into the living room and sliding your feet back into your gladiator sandals, buckling them up. You even picked up the lasso of truth and tied it around your waist so it acted like a makeshift belt on you. There was no way you were going to leave it behind. You took another look at the photo frame that was on the small table next to the couch and picked it up. You smiled as you felt the exact same love that Maxwell felt when he was in the photo, holding baby Alistair. Just looking at the family portrait filled you with so much joy. You knew that Max’s love for his son was genuine.

Turning the frame over, you opened it up and took the glossy polaroid out, placing it in the same pocket of your shirt. You loved the photo and you wanted to take it wherever you went. 

It was cold outside, and the sky was a deep shade of blue. There was definitely a draft, and you wondered if you should’ve changed back into your Amazonian warrior gear. The oversized shirt that Maxwell had given you, as well as the gladiator sandals, didn’t really provide you with the greatest amount of warmth. You weren’t even wearing anything on your legs.

A small old lady with a zimmer frame was walking down the street. “Oh wow!” she exclaimed, looking you up and down, presumably judging your outfit of choice. “You have very nice legs, but aren’t you cold?”

You looked down at your legs, noticing the goose pimples, and nodded in confirmation. “Yes, but I’ll be okay. Do you think you could help me with something?” you asked curiously, watching as she raised her eyebrows.

“Me? Help you? What could little old me-”

You took the letter out of your pocket and pointed to the address. “How do I get here?”

She adjusted her glasses and squinted. “Thomas Family Lawyers,” she read out loud, before turning back to you. “Honey, this law firm is on the other side of Georgetown. You best call a cabbie, especially this late in the evening.”

“A cabbie?” you asked, shivering in the cold. “I’m sorry… I’m not from round here.” you shrugged helplessly.

“Let me help you.” the old lady said, reaching into her purse and bringing out an enormous 1984 brick-like cell phone. The contraption shocked you, and you even wondered how she had fit it in her bag. She pulled out the antenna and began to dial a number. “Hi, could I get a pre-paid taxi to Thomas Family Law Firm, Georgetown? Thank you,” She put the phone back in her purse and offered you a smile. “A cab won’t be long. I’m Mrs Stagg, by the way. Might I enquire… why are you going to a family law firm when you’re not even from the area?”

“To help a friend.” you returned the smile.

“Does your friend live in this neighbourhood?” 

“He does. Um… his name is Max Lord?” you explained but the way it left your lips made it sound more like a question. Lord? Lorenzano? What difference did it make?

“Ah,” was the small sound that emitted from Mrs Stagg’s throat. “Max Lord, the oil guy. My son Simon is- was an investor for Maxwell’s company. From what I heard, the company is bust. A joke. Max Lord has been scamming the entire nation for years.”

“Scamming?” you asked, confused. “I don’t understand.”

“Black Gold Cooperative have shares in oil fields all around the world, only, the oil fields have completely dried up, you know - with the Cold War and all. But he kept going… kept making those silly infomercials and selling his dream. ‘Anything you want, you can have it.’ or something like that.” Mrs Stagg scoffed, shaking her head incredulously. You recognised the quote from when you had seen him all suited up on the television. 

“I don’t… I don’t understand. Why would he lie to the whole country?” you beckoned further, despite the conversation bringing you some uncomfort. Max had seemed like a genuinely good guy and a loving father up until this point. 

“For money, I suppose. That’s all it’s ever about with folk like him. Money. I chastise my son for it too. He’s the CEO of Stagg Industries and the only reason I could live in such a beautiful neighbourhood like this one. He bought my home here,” she beamed proudly. “But, I don’t know much about Max Lord. Don’t really see him around on the streets either. He must be cooped up in his office most of the time. Hey, you’re his friend. Maybe you should ask him why he’s nothing but a low-life conman.” 

Her words stung, and they weren’t even about you. You were completely lost for words, and surprised that she had so much hate in her heart for Max. Granted, if he was rivals with her son, it would make sense, but she did raise many questions that concerned you greatly. When the taxi pulled up, she paid the driver and helped you into the passenger seat. “I don’t know Max Lord,” she whispered from the other side of the car door. “But please darling, be careful.” She warned you before the cabbie whisked you away.

Your concept of time was slightly askew, but you figured the journey to the law firm lasted twice as long as the journey from Black Gold to Max’s home. You looked out the window taking in the stunning city at night. The buildings were all lit up and reflected against the windows, creating a glitter in your eye. There was nothing like this on Themyscira. No tall skyscrapers, no enormous shopping malls or company buildings. D.C. was booming, and it was beautiful. The journey allowed you to process Mrs Stagg’s words and think even more about Max. Clearly, both Julianna and Theodore had their reasons not to like Maxwell, and now, so did Mrs Stagg and her son Simon. You had to speak to Max and confront him. You knew there was more to him than what meets the eye.

Thomas Family Lawyer’s was a big building, not as big as Black Gold Cooperative, but it was still big. Just as you went through the revolving doors (which you had now grown accustomed to, due to your time spent and Max’s office) a group of girls began to file out. Whilst Raquel had been somewhat confused by your presence, these girls shot you the most evil of stares.

“Do you know what time it is? Office hours are closed. Why are you here?” One girl with sleek black hair spat coldly. You practically winced at the malice in her voice.

“Oh, I’m here to see Theodore Thomas?” you said slowly, nervously biting your lip.

“Who are you?” quizzed the same ebony haired girl.

“I’m a friend of Max Lord.” was the only thing you could come out with. Maxwell had warned you to refrain from identifying yourself as the ‘goddess of home and hearth’ in front of the public. He told you that people won’t believe him like he does, and that they’ll think you’re crazy. You had no choice but to believe him.

“Max Lord!” a red haired girl gasped, and a shorter blonde girl slapped her hand over the redhead’s mouth. “Sorry,” the redhead muffled as the blonde girl removed her hand. “He’s just so sexy.”

“But you know we’re not supposed to like him.” The blonde girl hissed.

“Huh?” you asked, knotting your eyebrows together. “Not supposed to?”

The ebony haired girl let out a longing groan. “Will the both of you just shut up?” she grimaced, glaring at the other two girls before looking back at you with that same mean stare. “Turn left, his office is the big one at the bottom of the corridor. You’re lucky he’s working late tonight.” 

“Yeah, on his girlfriend’s case.” The redhead said weakly.

“Can you not keep your mouth shut?” Snapped the black haired girl. “Why would you say that in front of this hobo stranger when she’s just said she’s Max Lord’s friend. She doesn’t need to know that Mr Thomas is working on the custody case! It’s a wonder he hasn’t fired you yet for being so stupid.”

You had zoned out of the pointless conversation about mid-way through anyway. Those girls were nothing but rude to each other anyway. You slipped past them and down the corridor until you reached two double doors, not hesitating for a second to open them up.

There, with his head buried down into a pile of papers, was a dark haired man in a tight fitted suit. He abruptly looked up when you had entered his office, his mustache wavering in bewilderment as he took in the appearance of a girl who was wearing nothing but an oversized button up shirt and brown strapped gladiator sandals. “C-can I help you?” he gulped, relishing the sight of his body like it was the sweetest view he’d ever come across. You crossed your bare legs together awkwardly, feeling slightly vulnerable by the way he was staring at you. 

“Are you Theodore Thomas IV?” you asked.

“I am.” the dark haired man confirmed, shuffling around in his leather seat.

You nodded, turning around to close the double doors behind you and walking over to his desk. You took out the crumpled up letter that had been addressed to Maxwell Lorenzano and slid it over the expensive oak wood. “What is this?” you questioned. Theodore took out his reading glasses before analysing it.

“Where did you get this letter?”

“Max Lord is my friend.” you gulped, folding your arms over your chest. “And this letter…”

“You mean Maxwell Lorenzano?” Theodore scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Listen, I’m not here to discuss that low-life loser, okay? I have more pressing matters to deal with.”

“So do I.” you persisted. “This letter…”

“Unless you’re his lawyer, and I doubt you are,” he snarled, looking at you up and down with the utmost disdain. “I will not be discussing the letter with you. Friend or not, it’s confidential.”

“I’m here to help him.” you gritted out, unable to believe the anger that dripped from your own tongue. It was true, you were angry. You were angry at the way everyone was so against Maxwell Lord, and you were angry at the fact the reason remained so unclear. Every new person you met didn’t like him, and you just wanted to know why.

Your words did pique the curiosity of Theodore, however. He raised an eyebrow and leaned over his desk, his gaze not breaking from you once. “Help him? You mean, you’ll be representing him in court?” You weren’t sure what that meant, but you nodded your head. If this was the only way you could get information out of Theodore Thomas IV, then so be it. “Do you even have any legal experience?”

“What? No. I told you, I’m just his friend.”

Theodore let out a boisterous laugh, the level of volume making you flinch. “Shit, he can’t even afford his own lawyer. I didn’t realise it was that bad,” he assumed. “Excuse me for one second.” he pointed a finger and dialled a number on the telephone.

Meanwhile, Maxwell was Julianna’s home. When Alistair heard his dad’s voice, he came running downstairs to greet him. “Daddy!” he called excitedly, running into his father’s arms. “You came back!” Maxwell picked up Alistair and spun him around, pressing a loving kiss to his son’s forehead.

“What do you want Maxwell?” Julianna sighed, tapping her foot impatiently against the marble floor of the lobby.

“To talk,” Max answered, placing Alistair back down on the floor. “Just us two. Uh- is Ted here?”

“Lucky for you he’s working late at the firm. Working on our damn case,” Julianna shook her head before turning to face her son. “Alistair, go to your room.” she commanded.

“But I want to see daddy!” Alistair cried, tears pricking his dark brown eyes.

“He can stay.” Maxwell negotiated but the comment was completely lost on Julianna.

“Go. To. Your. Room.” Julianna barked angrily, which sent a frightened Alistair running back to his bedroom.

“Shit Julianna, he’s just a kid. No need to talk to him like that.” Maxwell frowned, his ex-wife’s tone reminding him of his own father’s.

“Now Maxwell, I know you’re not giving me parenting advice, are you?” she asked sarcastically. Maxwell noted how bitter she had become, or perhaps, how bitter she always was. “I’m assuming you’re here to talk about the case. Try and change my mind. Well, you can’t.”

“Julianna, I know things have been rough between us since the divorce but I just want what’s best for Alistair. I love him so much.” Maxwell revealed.

“Bullshit!” Julianna scowled. “All you do, Max, is speak bullshit. You want what’s best for him? You’ll allow me and Ted to have full custody of Alistair. You’re a shit father and you know it.”

“I know- I know I’m messed up. I mean, I’ve messed up in the past but, something happened. Something inside me woke up and I’m ready to step up Julianna. I’ve changed, please just believe me. I love Ali-”

“You don’t deserve him,” Julianna growled. “You know what Maxwell? You’re nothing but a deadbeat. Just like your father was.”

Maxwell felt his face turn red with rage at his ex-wife's comment. He clenched his fists so hard his knuckles had even turned white. “I am nothing like my father!” Maxwell yelled defensively as the anger bubbled within him. He wanted to cry. Every time a memory of his own abusive father came up, it made Max want to curl up into a whole and cry. It broke him.

Before Julianna could reply, the phone on the wall began to ring. Julianna answered it.

“Hey, Julie?” Theodore was on the line, still laughing from his talk with you. “Baby, you won’t believe this.”

“What is it?” Julianna asked hesitantly, twirling the wire of the phone around her finger.

“Some girl- some half naked girl is here- in my office claiming to be a friend of Maxwell,” Theodore spluttered. You frowned at his tone of voice as he talked about you, right in front of you. Julianna turned to Maxwell in bewilderment, who was just standing there and had no idea what was going on. “She’s saying she’s going to represent him during the custody trial.”

“What?” Julianna spat. “Who the fuck is she?”

“I don’t know! Never seen her in my life. Pretty little thing though, I guessed maybe he’s fucking her? Not sure. She says she’s living with him.”

“Living-” Julianna couldn’t help but repeat her boyfriend’s words. “Teddy, Maxwell is here. Right now. Can you come home and… bring her with you? I want to have words with her.”

“Got it. See you soon sweetie.” Theodore finished before hanging up the phone.

Julianna turned to Max. “That was Theodore. He says some half naked girl has shown up to his office claiming to be a friend of yours.”

Maxwell’s eyes went comically wide as his greatest fears became realised. “What? No, no- there’s no way. That’s impossible. I told her to stay at home- how the hell did she get to Thomas Family Lawyer’s?”

“You’re asking me?” Julianna gasped in disbelief. “Who the hell is she, Max?”

Max was so confused and shocked, he couldn’t even find words. If you had found your way to Theodore’s office, that meant you had read the letter. It also meant that you knew his name. And finally, it meant that you had completely invaded your privacy. Part of Maxwell was mad, but an even bigger part of him was confused as to how you ended up on the other side of Georgetown in the office of his ex-wife’s current boyfriend. You weren’t even from round here, hell, you’d only gotten into a car for the first time today. Julianna and Theodore weren’t the only ones who had a thousand questions. Maxwell did too.

When you arrived at the Thomas family home, you looked at it with complete adoration, just like how you looked at Maxwell’s home. It was extensive in size, with beautiful pillars and adorned with flowers on every corner. Maxwell and Julianna were waiting for you and Ted in the dining room. Ted hung up his suit jacket on the coat peg in the lobby and you slowly followed him into the dining room. Unlike Maxwell’s home, which was covered with photographs of Alistair, you couldn’t spot a single picture of the bright eyed child in any of the rooms you passed. You wondered why.

When you entered the room, Julianna’s and Maxwell’s jaws both dropped in unison. “She’s wearing your shirt!” Julianna screeched, pointing her finger accusingly at you. 

“Yeah? So fucking what?” Maxwell shot back. “I didn’t realise you can police my wardrobe now!”

Your gaze flicked between Maxwell and Julianna who were already arguing with each other. "Can we settle down?" Theodore intervened, placing his briefcase down on the table.

Maxwell turned to you and took a deep breath. "Why- why didn't you put on some clothes before you left the house?" he sighed, closing his eyes as he tried to keep his composure.

"I- I didn't have any clothes and. I didn't know if it was normal to dress like this in the world of man." you admitted sheepishly, feeling embarrassed that you'd made a fool of yourself and seemingly Maxwell too.

"The world of what?" Julianna scrunched up her nose. "She has no clothes? Maxwell, where did you pick this whore up?"

You stiffened up at her harsh words and Maxwell's dark eyes snapped open. "Don't call her that," he warned. "She's… different. Look, I can't explain now but-"

Julianna turned to Theodore. "I want her out of my house. She's a fucking prostitute."

"She's not a prostitute," Maxwell sighed, running his fingers through his dark blonde hair as the stress engulfed him. "She's just a friend."

"I want her out." Julianna reiterated, her voice like venom.

"I- I can wait by the car," you told Maxwell timidly. He didn't reply, instead just putting his head in his hands. You turned to Julianna and Theodore. "I apologise for any intrusion I may have brought upon you both." you said before walking away.

Even before you got to the front door, you'd heard them start fighting again. Maxwell wasn't yelling, but Julianna was so loud and accusing. You couldn't help but feel like she brought around such a toxic environment.

As you leaned against Maxwell's car, you looked up at the upstairs window. It was illuminated, signifying that the light was on. It was so cold and you couldn't help but sigh as you waited for your friend to return and take you home— if he still liked you, that is. After everything that had gone on, you wouldn't be surprised if he just left you on a street corner to fend for yourself. 

You were delighted when you saw Alistair in the illuminated window. He poked his head around the curtains, smiling and waving immediately when he saw you. You grinned back, thankful to see the sweet boy and to know that he was okay. The smile on his face dropped and although you couldn't hear what was going on back in the house, you could tell by his expression that there was something wrong. Alistair disappeared from the curtains and you began to untie the lasso of Hestia from your waist. Swinging the rope around in the air, you attached it to Alistair's balcony and swung yourself up to the third storey of the Thomas family home. You quietly tapped on his window. After only a few seconds Alistair returned and let you in.

You clambered back into the house, finding yourself in the little boys bedroom. "Hey Alistair, how you doing?" you smiled, kneeling down and giving your friend a hug.

"I'm good, I'm so glad to see you again!" Alistair confessed with a toothy grin. "How did you get up here?" Alistair asked curiously, stepping out onto the balcony and looking at the long way down from where you had been standing by his father's car.

You gulped. "Can you keep a secret?" you whispered. Alistair nodded enthusiastically. "Okay." you showed Alistair your lasso, and he watched it with bright eyes as it glowed gold. If you could trust Max, you knew for a fact you could certainly trust Alistair. After all, they were your purpose. They were the reason you had found yourself in the world of man.

"Whoa, what is it?" Alistair asked, pointing his finger hesitantly, as if he wanted to touch it but not sure if it would hurt him.

"It's magical," you revealed. "My mother Hestia gave me it. It lets people see the truth, and speak the truth. It knows when you're lying."

"...And it helps you climb up really tall buildings? Like Spiderman?" Alistair asked with wide eyes.

You giggled. "Yes."

"Can I try?" Alistair beckoned further.

"Maybe one day," you promised him. "It can be difficult to learn, but I'd love to teach you." 

You and Alistair both gasped as you listened in on what was going downstairs. You heard footsteps, and it sounded like Max was leaving. You rose to your feet and approached the window again, unravelling your lasso. "Hey, I have to go now. Listen, you can't tell Julianna or Ted that I was up here, okay? I don't think they like me."

"Oh, they don't like anyone who's associated with daddy." Alistair frowned, but nodded understandingly. "Are you going home with daddy?"

"I hope so." you replied, because there was really no way of telling where you stood with Maxwell at this point in time.

"Good," Alistair beamed, and in that moment, you recognised his smile to be the spitting double of his father's. "Because I like it when you're around daddy. He's not as miserable."

You tilted your head but had no time to question Alistair because you heard the front door open. Swinging back on your lasso, you attached it to the branch of a tree and dropped back down to the front of the porch where Maxwell's car was parked. Wrapping your lasso back around your waist, you pretended like you hadn't moved from the car— like you had been waiting for him this entire time.

"Good night!" Maxwell called but earned no response, only the slam of the front door. He sighed deeply and slumped his shoulders in defeat before turning to face you. His lips were curled into a frown and he shook his head as he approached you, sliding past you and unlocking the car door. "Get in." he told you, to which you obliged and slipped into the passenger seat.

Maxwell dropped his head to the wheel of the car in frustration. He wanted to scream. Cry. Yell. Curse. He hated this. He hated having to fight for what was already his. He needed Alistair— his life would be empty without his son. There was no question about it. And unfortunately for Max, he was beginning to lose all hope.

"Are you okay?" You asked, feeling as though the question was a stupid one considering the disheveled look on Maxwell's face. You placed a hand on his back with full intention to be comforting. He didn't reply. After a few seconds of silence, you heard his sobs. You heard his whimpers and chokes. "Oh Max." you whispered quietly, rubbing his back.

"I can't— I can't fucking do this," Maxwell cried, tears dripping down his cheeks and falling onto the steering wheel. "They're right— what they say about me— they're all right. I'm a monster."

You winced, shaking your head at his comment. "You are not a monster." you assured him.

"You don't even know me," Maxwell huffed before glaring at you, the tears still falling. "You're just— you're just some random girl who came into my life at the wrong fucking time and— I don't even know why you're here. Why are you here?" He said your name like it was poison and the desperation in his voice was enough to make your heart ache.

You swallowed. "When I found out your name, your real name, I knew for certain… Zeus brought me to you and Alistair for a reason. Everything is so clear now. Max, I'm here to help you."

"I'm screwed— we’re screwed. It's pointless. There's nothing we can do. We can't go up against them. Julianna is a fucking psycho and Ted is one of the best family lawyers in the state—"

"And I'm the daughter of Zeus and Hestia. I'm the Goddess of Home and Hearth and I will not let them rip you away from Alistair." you promised with pure determination in your voice. The change of your tone was enough to make Maxwell stop crying and look up to you like you were his saviour. His angel. And despite everything that happened, despite the feeling of complete hopelessness, he believed you.

The war began now.

-—-—-—-

Taglists— let me know if you wish to be added!

Permanent: @supernaturalgirl​ @phoenixhalliwell​ @ah-callie​ @luvzoria​ @stardust-galaxies​ @wickedfrsgrl​ @goth-topic​ @nerdypinupcrystal​ @wonderfulfluffer​ @kiwi-the-first​ @pedroepascal​ @castiel-barnes​ @honeymandos​ @rocketqueen​ @ladycumberbatchofcamelot​ @dybalalover10 @girl-obsessed-with-things​ @elena-myth​ @moth-guillotine​ @cyarikamando​ @hayley-the-comet​ @pinkninja190​ @maxiarapamaya​ @autumnleaves1991-blog​ @artsymaddie​ @harrys-stan​

I Believe In Love: @mrschiltoncat​ @thebloodrobin​ @greatvaluedazzler @bxxbxy​ @marydjarin​ @the-feckless-wonder​ @typicalnerd98​ @biharryjames @thwiso​ @pedrolorian​ @julieteagk​ @starsandmando​ @kishie8​ @supernaturalcat7​ @depressedchillipepper @galaxypox​ @cocastyle​ @welcometothepedroverse​ @galactic-rhi​ @honestlystop​ @walkerchick007​ @winchesterxxl @synystersilenceinblacknwhite​ @why-cant-i-hold-all-my-husbands @criminalmind1927​ @seasonschange-butpeopledont​ @lola-max-sugar @thesadvampire​ @wonder-jedi​ @eternallyvenus​ @way-too-addicted-to-anime​ @spacedaddydinn​ @mack4676​ @terrormonster55 @vonschweetz​ @tanyaherondale​ @thisis-theway​ @savannah-elliott​ @drinkingwhileblogging​ @pxstelink​

[patchies]

Shadows

Pairing: Dream x Reader x ???

Summary: An apocalyptic world where creatures of the night roam all around it. Searching for living beings to satisfy their hunger. Vicious creatures they are. It’s said that one person called upon their wrath in revenge. You awake in this place with another human being at your side. No memories whatsoever of the life you’ve had prior to coming here. In search of a way out, and your memories, you stumble upon multiple people with many personalities. Some can’t wait to meet you. If you take it the friendly or hostile way is up to you, but worry not... Nothing can hurt you. Or can it, now?

Warnings: slight mentions of amnesia and returning memories

Word Count: 1.5+k

Author's Note: the story's a bit changed now and as you might notice, I deleted the third, fourth and fifth chapter, because I plan on adding more things into the story line that are behind their events. I hope it doesn't bother you, guys, but I promise there won't be anymore changing. Fingers crossed.

Wattpad link: here

story masterlist - main masterlist

previous ↣ current ↣ following

Chapter 3: The Art of War

You both decide that the best course of action is to take advantage of the daylight and get to work on fortifying your base with items you'd found beforehand. Nick proves to be lot of help as you dance around each other in sync and ask for assistance whenever it's needed. You didn't think that you'd be working as a unit even after knowing each other for barely twenty-four hours. The chemistry between you is uncommonly good, but it might be because of the events of last night.

You sometimes bump the other's arm, but Nick has an exceptional number of questions and requests thrown your way every time it happens.

Though, one of his requests seems unusual.

“Hey, mind handing me the paint brush from the shelf?”

Your gaze shifts from his figure and the aforementioned item quizzically, wondering what he'd need it for. Although your confusion seeks answers to your silent question, you slowly move towards the shelf, not daring to turn your back towards him as the neutral and almost bored look his face sports tells you he has something mischievous on his mind. Or strange.

The feel of the brush is surprisingly very familiar in your hand, light as a feather. It's as if it was speaking to you, tempting you. Foggy memories buzz around your mind space and as a spark flies through your head, you grimace uncomfortably. Nick gives you a worrying glance, but doesn't approach you further. Nor does he speak to you since he can see the slight pain going across your features.

With a noticeable shake of your head, you push the thought away, opting to focus on the matter at hand, “What exactly is it that you want to do with a brush that serves for painting the walls?”

“I was thinking–“

“That's dangerous for you,” you interrupt, “don't want your brain to fry, do we?”

“As I was saying, I was thinking,” he playfully glares at you, “that we could paint few signs with threats to ward the intruders off.”

“Nick–“

“Hold that thought,” he advances towards you with a grin, waving his hands to help himself articulate his plan better, “I know it sounds stupid, which I don't think it does, but let's go with that, you gotta trust me. How many people would decorate their outer walls with childish signs that warn them?”

“Exactly–“

“Nah-uh! It does sound dumb when I say it like that, but it's worth a shot, ain't it?”

You sigh loudly and, with the acceptance of loss, hand him the tool. He squeals a small 'yes!' in victory and pumps his fist into the air, doing a little dance. You huff out a laugh, finding the situation funny despite him asking for a small and unimportant thing.

“Indeed. Truly a child at the heart, aren't you?”

“I'll take that as a compliment, thank you very much.”

With his small victorious moment over, he bounds from your view and you can hear the ruckus of pans and pots banging in seconds, only imagining the man-child ransacking the whole kitchen for who-knows-what. You return to your assigned job and wait for him to come back, opting to busy yourself with work as he searches for what he supposedly needs for his plan.

• • •

After what feels like an hour, Nick returns with buckets of various colours. Three hanging of each arm as he stabilizes his body to prevent the disaster in the form of bright pink, purple and red along with their neon variables. He motions towards the buckets with his head, prompting you to help him get them down. You cross your arms across your chest, sassily pointing to the sofa you've moved to the corner of the room, “You can put it there, can't you?”

“Oh, damn. That's what I get for helping you?”

You roll your eyes, but go slip the heavy containers off of his arms, carefully putting them on their respective spots on the ground near the wooden boards, “Where did you even find these, Nick?”

He puts his finger to his mouth, shushing you in the process, “A magician never reveals his secret, does he now?”

“You're not a magician, dude.”

“Let a poor guy dream, will you?”

Rather than answering his rhetorical question, you squat down before flopping onto the floor on your bottom, beckoning him to do the same. Nick follows, unhooking another brush from his belt hoops and presents it to you with the handle pointing towards you.

“Why thank you for this beautiful stuff I can wield with exceptional power,” you take the tool from him and instantly bend forward to tap both his shoulders with the bristles, “I now pronounce you as the Majesty's guard.”

“Who's the child now?”

“Still not me,” you press the handle to your sternum proudly, mischief flashing across your eyes, “We better start painting or we'll never get anything done. How exactly do you imagine the finished product to look?”

“I don't know,” he shrugs, “Improvise.”

“The instructions I, oh so, craved,” you shake your head, dipping the brush into the bright red absentmindedly. Nick slides one board over to you and you apply the first stroke, paint gliding across the surface smoothly.

The same faint memory flickers in your mind.

This one is clearer and you can even distinguish an image forming.

Confusion etches onto your face unknowingly to you, but the man across you catches onto your expression when he lifts his head. His eyes observe your own clouded orbs and he gently sets his brush on the floor, cocking an eyebrow as yours furrow together. He watches for any signs of you returning back to the present despite him not knowing what's going through your head.

He'd very much like to know, but of course, he'll wait until you will be ready tell him what's up.

Before he knows it, you're shaking your head to get rid of the picture in your mind. Nick gives you a worrying glance, silently asking you if you're okay with a quick raise of his chin.

“I'm fine, don't worry.”

With your disorientation and slower reaction time, you hardly get to register his movement and it takes your brain a couple more minutes (having to cross your eyes to confirm his actions, too) to realize he's booped your nose.

With neon pink paint.

Neon.

Pink.

Paint.

Instead of an outburst like he seems to have expected, you let your face stay stoic.

Silence envelops you both, sitting there and waiting for the others' move.

Few of the birds you have around the neighbourhood happily chirp and only after a while does a sinister smile appear, “I see. A death wish.”

Nick scrambles to his feet as quickly as he can, but you're faster, curling your nimble fingers around his ankle and harshly pulling him back down to the floor.

He lets out a small 'oof!', eyes wide with fear when he gets a glimpse of you.

For a reason, might you add, as you swing your arm at his head with a bright red paint brush in your hand, striking the right side of his hair.

An offended look crosses his face, “You did not.”

“Oh, but I did.”

“You'll pay.”

“Bring it,” you challenge and have just enough time to duck out of the way, barely missing his attack of purple. You crawl away from him on all fours, before standing up swiftly and booking it down the stairs, Nick's yells following you as he chases after you with a readied brush.

Though, just before you get to the stairs, he tackles you to the side and sits on your back to prevent you from running away. You feel the paint glide across the back of your thighs, “Another point for me.”

“We're doing points now?”

“You better catch up, slowpoke, or else I'm going to destroy you–”

The answer he gets to his call-up is a strike of red to his torso and a laugh as you dash down to hide, the signs left forgotten.

• • •

By the end of your small war, you come out with multiple colourful splotches on both the back and front of your thighs and few on your arms and face. You have basically come out unscratched compared to your human counterpart.

He's very close to being a living highlighter.

You have mainly struck him with neon colours and the occasional red that he rightfully deserved. His whole torso, chest and back now adore beautiful variants of pink and purple with some places being neon red.

His painted arms are actually not your doing, despite him throwing the blame at you in the heat of the moment. With how he had declared the war in the first place, you were surprised he was the one who called truce in the end.

After washing up (which, to be truthful, didn't do much), you went to tidy everything up and got back to building defences as the sun has not gone down yet.

At the end of the day, you've done quite a good amount of work on your base, but you can't take away the fun Nick made with the paint war you had. You can only hope it'll be enough to keep away the Shadows and not attract more attention than you can fight off.

You fall asleep quite easily, exhausted to the brim from the day's events.

[that-milo-kid]

Day 7: PTSD

Warnings: a corpse is spoken about in detail, blood is mentioned and there is swearing

Fandom: none

Word Count: 912

Characters: none - this story is written from a second person pov

Notes: this is entirely based off my personal experiences, because i didn’t know what to write for today. i dont have ptsd however i experience some similar symptoms, so thats mostly what i based this on (ALSO IRLS IGNORE THIS DAY LOL PLEASE DONT READ THIS)

this is a combination of a vent post and a practice at second person narration

You can still see him when you close your eyes.

Lying on the sidewalk, one arm bent at an unnatural angle, so covered in blood and bruising that he hardly seems recognisable. Not that you would be able to recognise him anyway – you didn’t really know him, after all.

He lies there, and an EMT standing beside him drapes a white sheet over his body and it feels like the sirens enter your head and make a home in your memories, in your thoughts. There are two cars pulled up beside him, one blue and one white, and there’s a blonde woman. You think she’s crying, but you can’t be sure.

And then you're gone, your car flying by with the wind and you’re just one of many, many citizens taking the motorway on a Friday afternoon. Your dad is sitting in the seat next to you, and his music is playing almost loud enough to drown out the sirens and he’s saying something mut you can’t  really hear him, can’t really understand what he’s saying.

You think it’s something about your brother. You don’t think it really matters either way.

The ride home is a blur, but then again, most things ae after that afternoon. You get home and your mother is there, yelling, because you shouldn’t be so cavalier and calm about death. Its cruel, its inhumane, and you’re reminded of a conversation you had with her recently about something else where she said the same thing. You wonder if she realises that she repeats herself so often.

You leave, eventually, because you have things to do and your mother has things to do and your dad left ages ago – maybe hours or minutes or even seconds. He leaves. You don’t notice anymore.

You're surprised when you get to your room, by how little you feel. You saw a corpse. The corpse of a man who was somebody’s father, somebodies son. A best friend.

Maybe it was normal. But you think about how your mother reacted to your indifference earlier, and you wonder if maybe you’re broken. How fucked up is it that you saw a dead man, and the worst part for you is that your mother’s upset with you?

You get your things, and you get in the car – not the truck, not with the loud music and the sirens and the

You get in the car.  You drive down the motorway, and you don’t look don’t think don’t feel when you drive past the sidewalk.

It’s on the radio that afternoon. A horrible accident, a hit and run that supposedly ‘left onlookers scared and traumatised’. You wonder if you’re one of them. None of the big news channels that night cover it. You hear about an armed robbery in America. You hear about how the stock market is fluctuating. There is no mention of the man in your neighbourhood that was killed.

You wonder why.

Day pass, and then months, and then it’s a new year entirely and you still remember the exact date the man died. You know his name now – you checked the news to see if it had been released every day after the accident.

He was a father to a young girl, apparently. Only 24, a health freak and gym junkie. He  was part of the military. You wonder how much of his life he got to live.

You see him everywhere. Not only behind your eyes and in your dreams, no. You see him at the shops, in a young father with a toddler, holding his daughters hand and walking her around. You see him whenever you pass by the gym near your house, seeing all of the people swarming the entrance at all times of the day. You wonder if he was ever one of them.

You aren’t sure if his daughter will remember him. Why does this matter to you – you never knew this man. Somehow, a man you’ve only ever known as a corpse has become an important part of your life. You can’t figure out why.

There aren’t any cemeteries near your area. You wonder if he was buried or cremated. Would you be able to visit his grave, if he had one? How would you explan your visit to a family member that might be there?

‘Oh, sorry to show up to your relatives grave, I saw  his dead body being carted away by paramedics and now I can’t stop thinking about him. Enjoy your day!’

You decide not to look. It’ll be easier that way.

Some people you know throw around terms – traumatic, disorder, therapy. You don’t listen too hard. You don’t hear anything but sirens anyway.

You don’t walk on that sidewalk for months afterwards. When you finally do, it’s hand in hand with a friend who doesn’t notice your panic attack, who laughs off your warning to stick to the side of the path. And you can’t quite blame her. You suppose it would sound stupid if someone told you that, too.

No one really knows. A few friends, and your mother, but she told you that if you told anyone else then it made you a terrible fucking person, so you don’t. you make a few jokes, and people laugh it off because it’s you. They were never really jokes, not really. But you don’t know how else to say it.

September 17th.

You can still see him when you close your eyes.