#How to Live Safely in a Science Fictional Universe

[quotespile]

I don't miss him anymore. Most of the time, anyway. I want to. I wish I could but unfortunately, it's true: time does heal. It will do so whether you like it or not, and there's nothing anyone can do about it. If you're not careful, time will take away everything that ever hurt you, everything you have ever lost, and replace it with knowledge. Time is a machine: it will convert your pain into experience. Raw data will be compiled, will be translated into a more comprehensible language. The individual events of your life will be transmuted into another substance called memory and in the mechanism something will be lost and you will never be able to reverse it, you will never again have the original moment back in its uncategorized, preprocessed state. It will force you to move on and you will not have a choice in the matter.

Charles Yu, How to Live Safely in a Science Fictional Universe

[litsnaps]

[wellconstructedsentences]

You want to tell a story? Grow a heart. Grow two. Now, with the second heart, smash the first one into bits.

How to Live Safely in a Science Fictional Universe by Charles Yu

[oceanvuongs]

“Everyone has a time machine. Everyone is a time machine. It’s just that most people’s time machines are broken. The strangest and hardest kind of time travel is the unaided kind. People get stuck, people get looped. But we are all time machines. We are all perfectly engineered time machines, technologically equipped to allow the inside user, the traveler riding inside each of us, to experience time travel, and loss, and understanding. We are universal time machines manufactured to the most exacting specifications possible. Every single one of us.”

— Charles Yu, How to Live Safely in a Science Fictional Universe

[philosophybitmaps]

[orngeeeee]

i want to kiss you hard on the mouth and teach you to love yourself. but only you can do that. but somehow you did it for me

[fortyflightower]

should really be reading hitchhikers guide for book club but i don’t want to…. :-(

[tragicvictoriantears]

how to show love to a xenomorph. 『 chapter one. 』

ʚɞ xenomorph!sylus x fem!reader (mdni).

INFORMATION !!YOU MUST!! KNOW BEFORE READING: this fic is safe for people who have no clue about the alien movie series. But you also have to keep in mind that all the characters I added, and the small plots happening in this fic are meant to explain (poorly but I tried) the world build of the movies and ALSO to capture its theme. I know a lot of you want direct contact with Sylus from the start (don’t worry, it’s gonna happen a lot in this chapter) but, please, remember that this is a mix between lads and alien. I had to make it this way to also be satisfied as an alien movie series fan.

NO SMUT THIS CHAPTER YOU FREAKS! A lot of plot btw.

!WARNING!WARNING!WARNING!: gore, failed sexual harassment, death, suicide, mutilation, a lot of curse words, descriptions of explicit violence, life threatening situations, sexual suggestiveness (fine, I will feed you a bit), mind games, blood, descriptions of severed body parts.

LOOOOOOOOOOONG CHAPTER. Idk how many words, I wrote this w my phone on my notes and only edited with my leptop.

Perhaps your shipmate's ripped stomach was the start of all the other consequences that led to a bunch of unskilled, clueless people to find themselves imprisoned in small and metal spaces. Maybe it was the first time you encountered a creature you never imagined could exist. Maybe it was the fascinating way they develop and evolve from an infant to a full grown adult. Maybe it was their high-pitched, terrifying sounds, harmonising with the screams of its victims whose deaths had already been written. It was a fucked up fanfare that made unmistakably clear that you are inferior to them.

At first you weren't even aware that anything had even started. It came like a sudden jolt. The following events were so fast, it felt like some unseen force pressed a button and a grim, living version of a science fiction film started to unfold.

"The XX-121 Xenomorph,” the synthetic person said — his arm mangled with white fluid leaking from it. “It’s an endoparasitoid extraterrestrial species. The perfect organism. I assure you, it is something you have never seen before in any book and data. Their effectiveness in killing, multiplying and the ability to survive in the harshest of conditions is unmatched. Also intelligent beings made to hunt and reproduce fast.” His voice faltered but didn’t fail. “Do you understand how fundamental they are for the human species? They are your ticket to survive anything space has to throw at you, to become the elite species in the universe."

Footsteps began echoing in the distance that day. The footsteps of your colleagues armed and motivated to kill the Synthetic. That's why you received that secret file. He had even slipped it into your mission bag himself without you having much to say in that regard.

"These files are essential. I don't have the time to explain everything. Read them. Study them if you can — that is more preferable. Make sure you escape this planet alive. Forget about your comrades, sacrifice them if necessary. Most importantly, bring this organism alive with you. You are a smart one, you can put two and two together. You must already know how essential it is for evolution. I assure you that you will not only become the salvation of your human species but you will also be generously — so generously compensated. Far beyond anything they promised you for this mission."

They were getting closer. All you could do was swallow hard and allow a chill to run down your spine. You can’t recall what you felt or thought at that moment. How could you? It’s not so easy to remember certain details after you witnessed a massacre straight out of a nightmare. One’s mind refusal to process? Senses that shut down? Still can’t recall. But your awareness definitely returned when the Synthetic spoke its final words.

"Especially to preserve the hybrid. He’s a miracle. His intelligence, ability to learn faster than us. A flabbergasting fusion of human consciousness and Xenomorph instinct. He represents the dream that the Weyland-Yutani Corporation fights for. He is the ideal that you must deliver to our laboratories to study him further, in the name of humanity. He is exceptional down to his smallest breath. He even gave himself a name."

Then came the axe. And the daggers. And a bat. They tore into his back. The white synthetic liquid splattered your uniform, ended up pooling across the cold metal floor. For the first time you saw the threads that held a Synthetic together, a system that kept them functioning. That's why you felt no pity when his back was destroyed, nor when an axe split his forehead like it was a mere piece of a log. He was a machine, a tool crafted and designed by humans, created to serve. You could describe them as smart servants. In the end, he was just put out of commission. Machines like him are replaceable. But you are not. Or the creatures. Especially the so-called precious hybrid with a name.

༺☆༻

Your were born on Jackson's Star. Planet LV-410 of the Alpheios system. A very scenic name for a mining and agriculture colony. A colony owned and operated by the Weyland-Yutani Corporation. “The Corporation”. A terrible place, really. Like every corporate entity that expanded beyond the Milky Way, they exploit every resource they can get their greedy hands on. You are a resource yourself. Human exploitation means nothing when profit stands so tall. Mandatory farming, back-breaking labour, small credit, the possibility of working in the mines brought you closer to the idea of ​​giving up on everything. Although you were raised there, you could never adapt. The feeling of belonging? What’s even that? Let’s not forget about the absence of sunlight. Thick clouds, endless storms, constant thunder — for you, that represented the sky.

That's why you cried when you first saw the sun. The day you were recruited into the search team. It was also the day you learned that the Company that had been working you to death is involved in more areas than just making profit.

A renowned scientist and researcher had vanished along with his ship. His mission, according to official documents, was to study and analyze new lifeforms. At least that was the surface-level story. Then a faint signal was intercepted by the parent company. All that bullshit about classified content, heavily encrypted and urgent. That triggered immediate action — rescue teams dispatched without delay. The problem though? Even with this stupidly advanced technology, the source of the signal couldn’t be pinpointed. Hundreds of spaceships were launched on what was labeled as a “noble” search and rescue mission. They made such a big deal too. Aaaaalll over the news. In truth, the mission made no progress. For months there was no trace of the scientist, his crew or his ship.

The Weyland-Yutani Corporation gave a clear directive, clearly showing desperation: sending teams of volunteers. In short, they were willing to send anyone, no matter how insignificant and unqualified they were. And each volunteer spaceship had an officer and a non-commissioned officer to ensure discipline, supervision, maintain order and the smooth running of the operation. Also making sure that none of the volunteers would try to take advantage of the circumstances to escape from the corporation's control.

There was, of course, a reward: freedom. Freedom from the colony's labor system, big numbers and the possibility of relocating wherever you wanted. So, basically, freedom. Obviously, granted only to those who found the missing ship.

You volunteered as an act of “ultima ratio”, your last resort to escape and change your life. Small chances, possible wasted time and more work that waits for you home — those were your expectations once you witnessed the number of ships prepared for the launch. You traveled with three other ships that were always close (a kind of group trip). Each ship carried ten volunteers. None of you had access to weapons or most of the ship’s sections. Only the officers and their second-in-command enjoyed such privileges.

Repetitive days. Monitoring, preparing meals, listen to commands, cleaning, try not bang your head into a wall challenge. At least it was easier compared to your life on colony.

A signal appeared. “Unidentified planet.”

The officers of all four ships consulted among themselves and made a quiet decision to land without notifying the company. According to artificial intelligence’s analysis, the planet was far too insignificant for a renowned scientist to be there. Why? Sure, there was breathable oxygen but NO life. And apparently that scientist was way too obsessed with undiscovered organisms. So the plan had the following events: land, snap some photos for proof, check for any signals and leave. A routine check to be claimed as “effort”.

You could actually breathe on the planet. Although the air was humid and unpleasant. The landscape was covered with black rocks and caves. Strong winds and gray dust that kept getting in your eyes. A regular Monday for some. It felt like stepping into a volcano without lava and veiled with fog. The moon was a bit visible, unfortunately shrouded by mist that seemed to rise naturally to high altitudes. It might have posed a visual disadvantage, but the planet's sky was not dark. It glowed a pale green, devoid of stars.

One officer noticed a lack of signal beyond the planet. That could also have meant your departure. But another signal appeared instantly. A signal that belonged to the ship you had been sent to find.

Warmth filled your chest, an energy you had never felt before coursed through your body similarly to drinking seven redbulls. Your comrades seemed to share it too. Sweeeet freedom, that’s what you sang along with your fellow crew members. The officers and non-commissioned officers were content with the idea of ​​a promotion, so none of them considered leaving the planet to inform the other search teams. Their ranks, although far superior than yours, meant nothing in such a vast corporation. Naturally, they were determined to take the credit for themselves and show a little greed.

You and two female companions from your Expedition Ship Number 2 — Miranda and Letiția— walked arm in arm, laughing as you moved forward alongside the others. Each of you began to verbalize your future plans that awaited you once you received your reward. Most of them were stupid and funny, but they felt important. Letiția laughed when one man confessed that he just wanted a girlfriend, no matter how ugly and mean she might be, his dream is to drown her in gifts.

The fun was cut short. The memory of that time is still vague. You didn't even hear the thing that leapt on her face. You just stumbled in shock and fell. But you can still picture it in your mind, to this day, Letiția’s body moving disorganizedly. She spun, arms flapping, her screams muffled. Multiple pairs of legs rushed past you. Miranda grabbed your arm to help you up, and that’s when you saw her body collapsing into the ashy ground before the crowd of colleagues blocked your view.

You disconnected. The details of how you reached the target ship—and how that strange thing which reminded you of a scorpion, finally retreated and died out of nowhere—remain a blur. The ship, the one everyone had been searching for, was empty and almost completely destroyed. It looked as if someone had deliberately planted explosives. The mood turned horrific. The moments of blind euphoria fueled by naivety had evaporated.

Letiția seemed okay for a while considering that massive Arachnid-like invertebrate (or whatever it was) had attached itself to her face and forced a long appendage down her throat(and who knows where it went). Many whispered that the creature had probably injected a virus or poison into her and that she was now sick.

The first stage was a noticeable slowing down. The second stage was the pallor, even her pink lips lost their colour and dark circles formed under her eyes, as if life was being actively drained from her. The third stage, short but understandably concerning, was excessive salivation. You tried to help. You gave her water which she immediately vomited, stroke her hair, offered her one of your protein bars which she constantly refused. You ended up helping her walk, each step harder than the last. Her once straight and confident posture had become hunched and painfully sensitive.

A man from Ship Number 4 offered to carry her. But as soon as you handed her over, she collapsed again due to multiple convulsions overtaking her body. It looked like she was being electrocuted constantly. Her movements spiked from zero to a hundred in seconds. The crowd gathered again but that time, you stayed in the “front seat”. You remember dropping to your knees and trying your best to figure out how to help her, even if it meant a simple touch to let her know she was not alone. But a colleague shoved you aside.

“Her pulse is racing, I can feel movements in her abdominal area,” the man said, jus as foam began to pour from Letiția’s mouth. Her blood vessels were completely bursted, exposing her blue eyes in a grotesque way. She looked at you — right at you — in a form of a pleading that you still can’t forget: Don’t let me die.

Her back arched when the convulsing intensified. Something was moving inside of her. A small bump at first. Then it grew more evident and violent, as though something was forcing its way out of her stomach. It kept going despite the men trying to hold her still. You ended up holding her head to stop it from slamming into the floor. You wiped away her sweat, her snot, her tears. None of it felt real. You and Letiția had shared everything. Slept beside each other, ate together, talked everyday for over a month. She was strong, ambitious, the backbone of your hope that you won’t return empty-handed. And a single mother of two children that are still waiting for her at home.

You’ve witnessed plenty of deaths from exhaustion, mining accidents, radiation. But nothing like that. Nothing so sudden and brutal.

It was a hard watch. Her stomach ended up pierced. Everyone recoiled to avoid the red liquid gushing out of her. You allowed it to stain you (you remember this detail but you don't know why). The sounds coming from her belly made everything clear. There was something alive inside her and it wanted out.

Then it happened. The tearing continued agonisingly, more of her blood spattered the air. That’s when you saw it for te first time.

The Xenomorph.

Of course, you didn't know what it was or what it could do. The appearance was for sure unforgettable. A slick, beige-yellow skin smeared in your friend’s blood, small and sharp teeth, no eyes, long and curved head, skeletal structure that looked alien and terrifying. It clawed and tore its way out of her, shrieking and thrashing.

You lowered your head. You didn’t see it fully emerge and scurry away. Nor your comrades that tried to catch it. How could you? Death was staring at you. And you were staring back.

You learnt that Death’s eyes were blue, empty and filled with helpless tears.

On your first day on the unidentified planet, you are able to remember the following: after Letiția’s death, the creature grew rapidly. You encountered a corporate synthetic whose ranking was above your officers. You learned that the planet was crawling with these things. The Synthetic had no intention to save you, too preoccupied with capturing a live specimen. People started dying (oh no). Either skewered through the chest by tails with sharped ends, or drilled in the skull by secondary jaws hidden inside the alien’s mouths. Panic naturally erupted. You ran with your crew and the Synthetic back to your spaceship. All officers and NCOs died. Ship Number Three was blown up by a flamethrower operated by a scared idiot. And then you guys found out that someone had stolen the fuel from each ship that are no longer viable for takeoff, useful only as shelters. Your crew blamed the Synthetic (totally understandable to point your finger at the android). One of them even amputated its arm with an axe. In response, it took you hostage and threatened that he had enough strength in his only intact arm to snap your neck. You ended up in a room on the ship with him and we know what happened next. Obviously… a regular Monday for some of you.

༺☆༻

Almost two weeks passed. You are trapped inside the ship now, with limited water and food resources. The only remaining advantage is the possibility to communicate with the other ships — though they have even fewer survivors than yours. Your crew is relatively lucky to remain intact, if you exclude the officer, the non-commissioned officer and Letiția. You’ve also discovered the access codes for the weapons depot.

The files in your possession are voluminous. You divided them in two — sharing the first half with your comrades and keeping the rest for yourself. You believe that knowing more than they do might increase your chances of survival. At first you avoided the files, but temptation grew in you. At least it is something to occupy your mind rather than imagining all the ways in which you could end up dead sooner or later.

The first part (shared one) details how Xenomorphs are similar to a killing machine. They are highly aggressive, parasitic species.

[Powerful physical abilities, including the one to secrete acid blood. They also have impressively long, bony tails. They stand at around 7 feet tall (2.13 m) averaging in anywhere between 140 and 180 kg. But these measurements could change depending on the host chosen.]

[Their reproduction is through a parasitic cycle, with facehuggers (the creature that jumped on Letiția's face) latching onto a host (human, animal) to implant a chestburster, which eventually matures into a Xenomorph.]

And the rest of the cycle is pretty much known by everyone at this point. Reading about facehuggers always gave you an overwhelming sense of dread and anger. Overall, Xenomorphs are classified as some sort of ruthless biological weapons driven by their instinct to hunt and reproduce fast.

Xenomorph's primal need is to multiply.

[Diet: No evidence of eating. Xenomorphs seem to prioritize using living beings for their own reproduction rather than consuming them as food. They often leave the bodies of their victims untouched, even in the situation where they have access to plenty of potential food sources. A possible theory is that they might absorb nutrients from the environment or their own blood.]

From all those pages one thing becomes clear. You are fucked. And acid blood just sounds sick. They are also incredibly persistent with their prey so it’s unlikely they’ve left the area and the risk is not worth taking. At this point, no one has managed to come up with a plan. Yeah, you! Yes, you! You are fucked x2. The information you shared ended up intimidating everyone instead of motivating them. One good example is Miranda.

You and Miranda have always had a natural way of understanding each other. It was like an instant click. Maybe that’s why as she began to withdraw from the group, she chose to confide only in you. There’s one room inside the ship that can be sealed with a code — both to lock and unlock it. That’s your shared room.

“There are seven men on this ship, I am a woman and I don’t know exactly how you identify but I know that you also have… “ Her concern was genuine each time she vented to you and it’s also a reasonable one. Water and food were running out fast, and you and Miranda are the most vulnerable passengers. Not all men gave you the impression that they are preying on you. But one sure does, right from the start of the lockdown. Colby.

You can’t really describe Colby’s appearance, either because he is the most unremarkable man you’ve ever seen, or because he arrived with a huge black eye that always distracts you. Two of the men in your crew were recruited from prison. The corporation justified it by saying something about knowledge in spaceships, navigation and mechanics. Colby was one of them and he clearly enjoys it. Because of this so-called “knowledge “ he started to see himself as more valuable than all of you, indispensable. He rarely spoke before, preferring silence and long stares full of spite and contempt. But now? Now Colby is the most talkative one. Especially around Miranda. Well, that… concerns you.

The part of the document that you kept for yourself has become your new obsession. An obsession that came from a fascination you never imagine you’d have, especially when your life is constantly under threat. It is incomplete. A considerable amount of pages are missing, you feel frustrated whenever the information abruptly cuts off.

The report detailed failed hybrids in the beginning. Though traces of humanity were visible, the subjects were clearly more aligned with the sphere of the Xenomorph. They were hideous and uncanny. There were pictures too, it felt illegal because of how fucked-up they looked. But the descriptions of the successful hybrid made your heart race a bit (a bit more).

Endowed with consciousness, research notes indicated that he functions perfectly as a human — emotionally and psychologically. A harmonious blend of lethal instinct and human sensitivity. His ability to reflect, respond to various stimuli , and speak coherently surpasses an average human.

[Self control: confirmed.

Strategy and reason: evident.]

[Height: Slightly shorter than an average Xenomorph but is two meters tall.]

[Appearance: Upper body is human. The face bears no resemblance to a Xenomorph. Some exposed bone material is visible along the left jawline, extending just beneath the ear but it does not dominate the face. Human ears are present. Expressions are clear, human and very handsome.]

You arched an eyebrow when you reached the last word of that paragraph.

[Appearance continued: From neck to navel, torso resembles a fit human male.

Defined pectorals.

Natural and normal skin tone.

The back, arms, shoulders, and the lower body, however, align with Xenomorph traits: black, bony and glossy. The subject seems to have more tissues in the mentioned body parts. It gives him the appearance of plumpness rather than subnutrion.

The waist is broader than that of a typical Xenomorph, matching the proportions of a healthy, athletic man.]

The rest of the pages detailing his appearance were missing. But it's not like you can’t identify the only hybrid that exists on this planet. Even so, you are a bit disappointed by the limited information on the supposed specimen that somehow you have to capture alive.

The interrogation logs were even more fragmented.

[ Interrogation Log — 19:23 pm.

interrogator: how are you feeling?

subject: as good as a person can feel when they are viewed as a lab mouse.

interrogator: do you consider yourself a person?

subject: that’s a complex question. especially since we've only just started with the questioning.

Notes: subject frequently looks upward and grins. displays habitual condescension and sarcasm.]

You can’t find the full answer to that question. It probably developed into a long conversation.

[interrogator: so this is how you came into being? you completely deny your origin as being related to experimental and laboratory work?

subject: isn’t it obvious? i’m all natural. your interventions are an insult. i don't understand how you can create something so outrageous and even enjoy it. completely ignoring the fact that you haven't made any progress. do you actually look at your created hybrids with pride?

Notes: interrogator ignored the provocation and the subject’s insults. subject appears visibly pleased with himself.]

[interrogator: if what you’re claiming about your birth is true, then, do you currently possess male genitalia, capable of reproduction like a mammal?

Notes: subject did not respond. he smiled and swayed his bony tail similarly to a cat.]

[interrogator: are you able to read and write?

subject: yes.

interrogator: from where?

subject: from you.

interrogator: this is our first direct contact.

subject: but i’ve been observing you for more than a week.

interrogator: and that’s how you also learned how to speak?

subject: correct. took me a day.

interrogator: you have the ability to learn quickly then?

subject: you tell me.

Notes: the interrogator glanced down and moved on to the next question. subject’s satisfaction seemed to grow with each exchange.]

[interrogator: do you have a sense of personal identity?

subject: possibly. i gave myself a name. does that count?

interrogator: it does, yes. what is your name?

subject: Sylus.]

And that’s all the information you have about him.

“Sylus, Sylus, Sylus," you kept repeating, committing his name to memory. But your mind was filled with many questions: How did the species end up on this lifeless planet? Were they brought here for controlled observation? Their ship seemed equipped for such scientific operations.

How was Sylus created? Does he have a penis? What does he actually look like? Who destroyed the ship? Where did the scientist go? How are you going to escape alive and with two still-living specimens, one normal and one hybrid, from this place?

How intelligent and capable is Sylus? You had no rest for five days after reading all that.

༺☆༻

You put your materials back in your bag after revising them for god knows how many times. Today, it’s your turn to supervise the activity outside. Usually, a guy named Otto is in charge, but he took the day off since he’d been monitoring the cameras for two days straight without break. So, you push aside the fact that you’ve been neglecting your duties lately and head towards the screen.

A tall figure. Cliff in the distance. Before it disappears — white hair? Your rise from your chair to lean closer to the monitor. It was him! It had to he him! He’s been right under your nose this whole time. Fuck! (How could you miss on seeing your shayla??)

You quickly adjust the camera using the keyboard and zoom in. He left something behind. You press zoom again.

Your mouth literally waters and your hands begin to shake. You also swallow the saliva forming inside your mouth. On the rocky hill near your ship is… food. Powdered food/rations. Not the yummiest but ideal for space-traveling. Fundamental supplies that have been rapidly draining recently.

(The officers often stop at other colonies to restock, so a fully stocked food depot has never existed). Your stomach growls and begging you to retrive the cardboard box that is waiting for you outside. You are aware that it’s fishy af. Your body doesn’t care though. You want it sooo bad. You look at that cardboard box with your mouth half-open, hypnotised.

“Motherfucker… .Holy.fucking.shit. It’s like witnessing the birth of Jesus.” You jump as Colby appears out of nowhere with his eyes locked on the screen. Oh no.

Predictably, it escalates.

Colby starts banging on the walls with his bat, yelling, “Food! Lots of food out there! Food!” and you have a hard time to keep up with him.

“Colby! Colby stop it!” but the crew has already gathered and Colby just turns to you with the most insincere smile.

“What? What’s wrong with letting everyone know that the solution to a big, current problem is right around the corner?” He might even be trying to paint you as the bad guy.

“It’s just a way to lure us out,”you answer firmly.

“Who?”

“You know who.”

“You talk like there’s something out there besides those creatures.” At least he has a good sense of observation. You gotta give it to him.

“No. I’m talking about them. It’s true that the files didn’t mention xenomorphs using tactics like this, but it’s not worth it if the price is all of us getting slaughtered like mice.” You manage to maintain your imposing position in front of him. Colby, on the other hand, toys with the handle of his bat. He underestimates you.

“Ah, yes. So the best option is to stay here and starve? Maybe we’ll end up eating each other.” Colby’s eyes are glinting. “I’ll definitely start with you, personally.” He jabs the tip of his bat into your chest and gives a small push. You stop yourself from punching him, personally.

Enzo, another crew member, intervenes, grabbing his bat. Colby spits on your boot as a response.

“Wouldn't it be better to use our energy for something useful instead of threatening each other?" Enzo suggests.

“I didn't threaten him." You wish you did.

“Leave it." Enzo mutters through gritted teeth." Ok… alright. It's true that we need food, but it's also true it's a trap. So, I will go myself. Ideally, I’d have two men with me, but if no one volunteers, I’ll go alone."

Rocco and Aldo, Enzo’s close friends, raised their hands.

The plan is simple. Enzo, Rocco and Aldo will go out armed (of course). The ship has three access points/three barriers with the outside:

1. The outer door to the entrance room — opened by a unique code.

2. The door from the entrance room to the corridor— accessed via authorised card.

3. The door from the corridor into the base — also requiring an authorised card.

Aldo and Rocco will leave their authorised cards at the base. Enzo will bring it with him just in case and destroy it if necessary.

“We will communicate via headset,” Enzo explains. “Two people will monitor from here. One armed crew member will stay in each era: entrance room, corridor, and base.”

Otto is not participating.

“We need constant communication and cooperation, keep that in mind. If any of you see that the odds of us getting back are low and it becomes too risky — no matter how much we beg, no matter how much we plead… DO. NOT. LET. US. IN.” Enzo came up with the plan on the spot. It almost feels like he is a perfectly organised person — though you know he isn’t. The plan is not so bad. Or maybe you’re desperate.

An old man, the other convict who refuses to reveal his name, will be stationed at the ship’s base. Most likely chosen for his size and build. He’s a total unit, impressive for his age. You’ve often wondered how someone like him ended up in prison.

Miranda is in charge of the corridor, Colby has the entrance room. You and a man named Theo will handle monitoring and communication.

You watched as the trio disembarked without any issues and managed to get away from the ship safely for now. Theo suggested that he track their movements while you monitor the other cameras and report any unusual activity. The distance seems short but time drags on painfully. Nothing shows up so far. Your focus is out the window once Miranda rushes in crying and visibly shaken. Both you and the old man are caught off guard. Theo doesn’t give a single shit. Colby follows close behind and he appears furious. Theo immediately nags them about the fact that they’ve abandoned their critical posts— which, yes, it is important— but you are more concerned for Miranda.

“Colby!” you shout after him.

“Mind your business and fuck off, bitch!” he snaps.

You start to rise from your chair, but Theo stops you. You are ready to start an argument with him, but the old man assures you he’ll handle it and get them both back.

“They picked now to start fighting. That’s just bloody brilliant.” Theo grumbles with an accent.

“This is not a fight. Miranda wouldn’t have left unless she felt threatened. Why did Colby abandoned his post?”

“Why don’t you just focus on the screens?” you bite back a retort. Enzo and the rest are risking their lives and you calmed down once the old man reassured you he’ll handle it.

So, you refocus. Scanning each camera feed one by one. On the camera from the right side of the ship you spot something. Thin, black and bony tail slithering slowly and silently past the edge of the camera lens.

“There’s one on the right side of the ship,” you report immediately to Theo who reports the message further. You keep checking the cameras one by one again. There are two cameras facing the entrance. One pointing into the distance — Theo’s responsibility — and one pointing downward. Well, Letiția’s corpse appeared on that camera.

Decomposed, yet with the same eyes that haunt you, with the same hole in her stomach from which her intestines are now sticking out. You shake your head and look again. For a second, it seems like you can only see her eyes. Just as close as they were the day she died.

Panic surges through you as you jump to your feet and run. Theo also spots Letiția’s body that appeared “mysteriously” on camera and let’s just say he got pissed.

“Y/n, are you fucking kid- GO AHEAD AND BE STUPID!”

It's a trap, it's a trap, it's a trap. You know it’s a trap. You’re fully aware of it. But still. You grab a flamethrower and cross the corridor as fast as you can. You know he is mind gaming you, and this only confirms what you’ve been suspected: Sylus has been studying you, just like he studied those before you. He’s been watching since you arrived, at least long enough to deliberately place Letiția — or what’s left of her — as the perfect emotional bait for the perfect victim.

Hands start to tremble. You entered the code wrong the first time. You really try to calm yourself down so you start pressing each key slowly. The door begins to open from bottom to top. You aim with the flamethrower with every twist of your torso. Scanning the area carefully, you notice how the fog has thickened. Can barely see a thing.

No movements. No breathing. Good.

Without wasting time, you grab the corpse by the shoulders and begin pulling it after you. The screams of Enzo, Rocco and Aldo echo into the distance. They are close enough to hear but way too far to help. Maybe it’s the adrenaline but somehow you managed to drag Letiția’s body easily into the entrance room. The fog is so dense that you can’t see your comrades. Only flashes of gunfire followed by the sharp sounds of the creatures. They are too far and you can’t risk leaving the door open, so you close it. Like in every horror movie, it shuts painfully slow, from top to bottom.

As the door descends, you hear footsteps. Calculated steps. Definitely not your teammates (who are still yelling and shooting) or a normal Xenomorph.

“GRILL HIS FUCKING ASS!” Theo screams in your headset. “What the fuck is that?” he adds. You can't believe it… Theo saw him first. Life is for sure unfair.

“I can’t. The door is halfway down!”

“It doesn’t matter! Point the flamethrower down in case he ties to crawl through!” you obey, dropping to your knees, lowering your aim with the motions of the door. You remain in that position until it finally seals shut.

That was a close call.

But the universe is not always kind, right? You barely had time to breath in relief when you hear it. Faint clicks. Buttons being pressed slowly. Identical to how you pressed them moments earlier.

He learned the code from you.

“Theo! He knows the code!” You scramble, grabbing Letiția’s corpse by the shoulders again and dragging it.

“You and the rest are on your own! Fuck all of you!” Theo yells before tossing his headset away. Static sounds follow.

The door begins to rise slowly. That dense mist creeps into the room. You fumble for your authorised card. You drop it. Once. Twice. Thrice. The door is halfway open but for some reason he waits outside. It’s like he’s savouring the moment, letting the tension peel away your sanity.

You manage to finally scan the card and the corridor door opens, sliding from left to right. You resume back to dragging the corpse, never taking your attention off the entrance. The corridor door signals through loud beeps that you have ten seconds until automatic closure (you can override it for quicker shut with a manual swipe of the card).

Beep. Beep. Beep.

A tall, dark and tailed figure steps onto the ship. You notice him immediately. Broad shoulders, the shape of a human head, and he’s well-built. That’s intimidating btw. Because of the dim light you can’t see the full extent of his appearance, just his dark figure. Behind his silhouette, through the thick fog, the flashes of gunfire flicker. Brief bursts of light from the trio’s weapons. The whole view, the sounds of the door about to close automatically combined with the sounds of the gunfire gives you a headache. You pull Letiția’s lifeless body inside just in time before the door slides shut.

You are safe. For now. You don’t care.

What’s in front of you? Her face is so decomposed from putrefaction you can’t even remember how she looked like before. Why did you bring her here? For what purpose? So she could be buried back home? By her little children who have no idea they're orphans? You remember how she always kept a photo of them with her, but you never asked to see it. So you start searching. You have nothing better to do. You don’t know what to do. You fucked up the whole operation. Something that Letiția would have never done.

Enzo and the others won’t make it. That’s certain. Nothing makes sense anymore, everything lacks purpose. Why are you torturing yourself by searching for that damn picture?

The photo is nowhere. But that’s not what worries you — the absence of her authorised card does. Not in the pockets, boots or any piece of clothing. You’re on the verge of checking inside her exposed intestines but you stop yourself.

"Can anyone hear me? Letiția’s card is missing—" A grenade detonates outside the ship. Before you can process what the hell was that, a hand grabs your hair and yanks you backward down the corridor.

“Look what you’ve done, smartass.” Colby.

He slams you onto your stomach with ease. He is much more stronger than you. Colby also managed to pick your flamethrower and to throw it several meters away. In response, you use all your strength to hit him in the knee. That gives you a moment to crawl towards the flamethrower and the distance you have covered is considerable.

Funny how you thought it’s gonna be that easy.

Pain explodes. A dagger, deeeeeeeep in your left tight. You don't even have time to scream in pain, the blade is pointed in his direction and he drags you towards him. Damn, he must be mad as hell. He keeps pulling you like that until you are beneath him. He did all that so he can slam his bat into your head. And slamming with his bat he does. Luckily, the blow isn’t hard enough to knock you out but you feel the small and narrow space spinning around you.

Your vocal cords refuse to work. No sound, no protest from you.

Colby’s belt hits the floor.

“You wouldn’t be here if Miranda was a nice and obedient girl.” He presses your head back to the floor with his bat. You don’t know what to do, your visuals keeps on spinning and your body ran cold.

“Fuck.”

A long pause followed.

“I can’t get it up. FUCK. Fuck me, I’ll be more satisfied if I beat your brains out.”

He zips up his pants after that embarrassing moment.

“Don’t worry. It’s gonna be fast. That’s what you get for thinking you’re better than me.”

“Colby. I’m sorry. I never thought I was better than you. Col—” he kicks you in the back, hard. You squint and try your best to force your sounds back down your throat. Even though you are terrified, you don’t want to give him more satisfaction.

He grabs the dagger still buried in your leg and starts twisting it. One twist, two, three — before ripping it out without any remorse. You never screamed louder, like you did just now, in your entire life. Not even when you were pulled from your mother’s womb (I’m sorry). You try to brace your hands against the floor so you can get up but his boot crashes down on your shoulder. It’s futile. You always considered the possibility of Colby trying to hurt you — heck, killing you even — never thought it would happen this fast though.

A trickle of blood runs down your forehead from the blow. You watch him, frowning and mentally burning him with your hatred, as he raises the blade in his hand. He’s gonna aim for your head.

The door opens.

You hear it.

Colby hears it.

And we are not talking about the door to ship’s base. That reminds you. Hmmmmm. You forgot a tiny-silly detail: the missing authorised card.

You swallow hard. Colby swallows hard. The “beef”between you two shifts into a full-on we are fucked turn of events. It’s fascinating how the unknown blends the roles of a criminal and his victim into one.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

A drop of sweat slips from Colby’s blonde bangs as he slowly turns towards the door. You don’t. No courage no baaaaaalllls.

“Ayo—” that well-known tail lashes out in his direction, the sharp tip pierces through his lower jaw and sending it flying. You read that right. Completely ripped off, I repeat. The bastard’s jaw hits the wall and lands with a thump near you. Gross. Colby staggers, blinks rapidly and his brows are furrowed. The blood dripping from his dismemberment lands on your butt and his nostrils throb noticeably. You never liked him, hell, you always hated him back. But even though he tried to kill you, you didn’t want to witness his death. The tears that fall aren’t from pity — they’re from fear. You could be next.

His final act was to roll his eyes before his body collapsed right in front of your face. The impact with the floor sprayed a little blood on your neck and chin. Tears of fear finally began to flow down your cheeks.

Next to you lies Colby's fresh body, near your feet lies Letiția’s putrefied body, Theo abandoned you, you don't know if the trio survived, the old man and Miranda are missing — hell knows where, Otto might be still napping. Not to mention, behind you stands the hybrid, who holds one of the ship’s authorised card and also knows the outside access code.

But, at the same time, you have the flamethrower in front of you. Let’s not forget that the hybrid knows how to communicate. Maybe you can negotiate. Negotiate for your life, Letiția’s authorised card, a vacation. Or at least try. Realistically speaking, you don’t have much of an advantage against him. But it’s better to try than to die like those pathetic characters in slasher movies.

A new determination takes over, all that blah blah shit about survival instinct kicking in that drives you to put your impromptu plan into motion. The adrenaline that comes from pure fear and panic postpones, for now, the pain from your injuries (that agony will come later, once the adrenaline wears off… if you’re still alive). You rip Colby’s card off his uniform and back away as best as you can. And— MORHERFUCKER— the files weren’t exaggerating.

“You really are handsome,” you blurt that out without thinking. Compared to the hybrids created by the Weyland-Yutani Corporation, Sylus is ahhhhhhh. A mysterious and undeniable success. You have never seen a man so devastatingly attractive before. He has the kind of face your imagination would use when you retreat into your fantasy world. Any kind of fantasy.

“Should I take it as a form of thanks for saving you?” he asks, standing at his full height (those two meters mmm), one eyebrow raised in an expression that many would label it as arrogance. He looks down at you, chin tilted up and studying you as intently as you study him. Even his voice is appealing, sexy tone, rich, smooth and money money money by abba. Maybe you are a freak???

“Saved? You came specifically to save me?” you snap. “You? The one who planted Letiția’s body and the food specifically to lure us all outside? Cut the bullshit. You are vile.” sitting down, with your hands behind your back, you subtly try to grab the flamethrower behind you.

“Vile? I thought you wanted to honor your friend by recovering her remains. Was I mistaken?” But OF COURSE his Xenomorph instinct catches on. His long tail creeps towards you. You grab the flamethrower just as the terminal, bony tip of his tail wraps around your waist, dragging you in his direction (it’s y/n dragging day guys). As he drags you past Letiția’s body, you raise the flamethrower and point it at him. A grin. That’s what you get. A stupid, hot smirk. GOD.

“Go on.” he urges. You could pull the trigger and incinerate him like a failed bbq steak but you hesitate. “What’s the matter? Perhaps, a change of heart?” he knows damn well that you con’t make crabby patties out of him. Maybe he caught on the fact that you knew about his existence from how close you were with that Synthetic on your first day. It’s true. You can’t kill him. You can’t lose the ticket. You have to capture him, not give him a tan.

The reality hits hard. Sylus is one step ahead. You need a new plan.

And you need it now.

You set the flamethrower down and raise your hands. His tail subtly tightens around your waist and you bite your lower lip to muffle your sounds. He liked that. He finds enjoyment in playing with you.

“Sylus.” you say the name only you know.

“Aa. You finally decided to cut the bullshit.” he remarks, mocking your words from earlier.

“Yes, Sylus. No more bullshit. I swear!” you try to figure out if this attitude is working. Thick, expressive eyebrows, white hair, ruby ​​eyes that refuse to break eye contact, perfect jawline, very beautiful lips and his nose— pull yourself together!! So you do. “I’m aware that I don’t stand a chance against you, not even slightly.”

“That’s what you decided to convey to me now that you realized that I have the upper hand? I expected better.” His brows furrow but the corners of his mouth curl slightly up.

“Exactly!” you point your finger at him and nod. “You have the upper hand, I’m harmless compared to you.” You throw the flamethrower aside to reinforce your point. That earned you a squeeze to your waist and you let a long, strained sight that threatens to sound like something else if he keeps doing that. “See? Harmless,” you return to locking eyes with him again.

“And your whole point is…?”

“A bargain.” His eyebrow arches again, this time not smiling.

“How considerate and sweet of you.” his dry reply has no business being this hot. “What’s your offer… sweetie?” you try not to visibly cringe at the nickname.

“I can tell you’re intrigued by us.”

“Indeed. You guys are intriguingly stupid.”

“No— okay, whatever you say, beautiful.” You managed to control your attitude and not roll your eyes. “I’m intrigued by you too. The feeling is mutual. You prefer us because we are not a bunch of lunatics in lab coats. We are ordinary. We don’t view you as a tool to exploit for the sake of evolution.”

“But you’re afraid of me.” he means you, specifically.

“Not really— well, a little, I’ll admit. But that can change. We can learn from each other. Not just me from you. Mutually. Willingly.” You pause. “For example, I’m very curious about how you were made.”

“How were you made?” he interrupts, using your question against you.

“Uhm. Okay.” you blink, caught off guard by his directness. “Uhm… through sex.” Your cheeks flush, but if he comments on it, you’ll blame it on the temperature. Now, why did you say that? You didn’t even had to respond to that. He finds it amusing. “That’s what it’s called. But many prefer to… uhh… instead of resorting to this reproductive process … make love? Yeah. Make love. “ Sylus’s eyes sparkle, you definitely said something that interests him.

“That means we have something in common. I think I was created through love, not sex.” That statement completed contradicts everything you read in a day’s worth of research on Xenomorph reproduction.

“Really?” Now your eyes sparkle and the roles have been reversed. Sylus has successfully turned the tables. The emotional part in you would do anything to satisfy the curiosity that lingered since reading his interrogation. The rational part in you tries to remind you that you’re losing ground. Ration wins.

“My offer is…” you begin, but Sylus squeezes your waist again. He is slightly annoyed that you’ve broken free from his trance. “… OKAY! First, let go of my waist. Wouldn’t it be better if I speak freely? I don’t think intimidation is necessary for this conversation.”

“You say that as if you didn’t point a deadly weapon at me after I saved your life.” He clearly has a thing for countering everything you say, but he releases your waist and withdraws his tail. You feel like patting yourself on the back for this small victory, but you’re interrupted again.

“Well?”

You take a deep breath.

“If you give me Letiția’s authorised card so I can keep my shipmates safe, I’ll go with you. I’m expressing, directly, my willingness to follow you without resistance. I’ll show you what love means between people, maybe even help you discover that part of yourself that’s made of love.” It has reached the point where you are both lost in each other. You don’t know how to describe it. You’re starting to believe in the proposal you crafted on the spot to fool him.

“Deal.”

He unclenches the fist holding Letiția’s card and extends it to you. You snatch it without a second thought. Then he extends his other hand. Large, black, glossy, long fingers and sharp claws.

Maybe the perfect plan was to destroy all three cards and set yourself on fire. But you end up reaching towards his hand (in slow-motion too).

Take his hand. Take him.

Suddenly, both doors swing open. Rocco and Enzo are behind Sylus, stunned by his presence. The old man and Miranda stand behind you, equally stunned. And you feel like your privacy has been invaded. Sylus remains unbelievably calm.

Rocco steps forward, pointing his automatic rifle in his direction. Sylus just grabs him by the neck like he’s nothing and slams him against the wall before he can react. Enzo —noticing the xenomorphs advancing and about to enter the ship— squats down and runs past Sylus, narrowly dodging a tail strike that slices into the metal. Before straightening his body, he grabs you around the waist with both of his arms and lifts you up from the ground. Despite his lack of muscles, he carries you effortlessly.

Sylus watches everything with a faint, innocent smile. Unsettling innocent. Hard to tell how he is feeling when he throws Rocco out of the corridor where his “kind” are now finishing him for good.

The old man walks past you and sets fire to the corpses that were left lying around. You averted your gaze as the flames spread to Letiția’s body. It's tragic how she became the first victim. She should have been the heroine like she always was. A heroine for her children. The proof lived not only in her character, but also in each scar on her body. Scars that she showed you when she told you that she didn't regret selling her body for her kids, how she was the happiest person when she offered them the life she never had. You clenched the cards tightly in your fists. As the smell of her burning flesh hits your nose, you whispered a prayer for her peace.

༺☆༻

You lost territory. Well, just the entrance room and the corridor. A few people too.

Aldo sacrificed himself for Enzo and Rocco. Rocco sacrificed himself for all of you. Colby? You don’t even think about him anymore.

Theo refuses to speak to anyone, convinced that if he does, he’ll die too.

Miranda nearly died as well. When the old man followed her while she was trying to get away from Colby’s persistent harassment, she came across Otto’s body. The one who was mostly in charge of surveillance and was supposed to be resting.

Otto committed s*icide. He shot himself in the chest. He had good dexterity and had always wanted to go into the medical field since he was a child. His aim was perfectly precise, he succeeded in avoiding a slow death. Above the wound was a photo of his boyfriend from home, Ludwig, and a ring he wore around his neck on a thin silver thread. No one knew he was secretly married until you read the message written on the back of the photograph.

“Bis dass der Tod uns scheidet. Wir sind an diese verbotene Liebeszeremonie gebunden.”

(“Until death do us part. We are bound by this ceremony of forbidden love”)

Love.

Miranda took the blame — even though you tried to argue it’s not true. She confessed that when she found Otto, she wanted to do the same. Colby left and it took the old man a long time to talk Miranda down into stopping her from pulling the trigger of the gun she had pressed to her own forehead.

Theo got involved during Miranda's apology speech and pointed his finger at everyone. The argument that followed was eventually calmed down by Enzo, who reminded everyone that if you keep blaming each other, no one will survive another day. He was right. Twelve of you came, five of you remained. And Enzo ended up being very respected for surviving outside, even though he returned empty-handed.

You got not praise. You decided to keep your intereaction with Sylus a secret and pretend it was a — ohh I’m just like a cliche lady in distress in need of saving! Enzo!! But their way of perceiving is not a problem to you.

What troubles you now is how nothing adds up.

You suspect Sylus of being the one that stole the ship’s fuel, but if that’s true, why didn’t he destroy the barricade system? That means that he also knew the codes from the beginning, if he truly is the thief. But if it’s not him, then who? Why didn’t he used that Xenomorph’s acidic blood to force his own way in anyway? Where are the bodies of the scientists that arrived before you? Is there someone else that poses a bigger threat? Nothing makes sense. You made a deal too. Sylus surely haven’t forgotten.

Everything is starting to feel…

Intentional.

AN: pfewww. Took me a day to write this (told you inspiration flows better when I write in my language) BUT TRANSLATING IT AND EDITING IT— pfewww— two full business days. I hope I didn’t disappoint, I feel like this is crap. Anyways. Not sure when I will write chapter 2. This week for sure not.

Tags: @some-rad-socks-and-a-crisis @qweuf3459 @starr-matterr @stxrrielle @tinyweebsstuff @and-s0me0ne

@stargirlygirl hi sexy.

@seradyn I hope I did not disappoint a fellow alien fan.

[lullabyes22-blog]

Arcane S2 and its Critiques Therein..

There is a reason why I side-eye the 'arcane critical'-critical crowd who insist we cannot equate real world politics with fictional universes, or project our 'leftist' agenda on a world of pretend.

There seems this undercurrent of condescension in the attitude, as if it stems from people who have perhaps not considered why they enjoy the shows that they do, or how a certain character or plot makes them feel; either positively, by representation, or negatively, by erasure.

And yet... we are drawn to stories that resonate with our own experiences.

These stories, in turn, are written by writers who live in our world and who often pull their ideas directly from it. We gravitate toward characters who are reflections of ourselves, and avoid the stories which cause us discomfort for whatever reason. Even 'guilty pleasures' stem from an inner desire to explore themes or issues which we know exist (and may be problematic in social spaces) but which, through fantasy, become more bearable because we can safely distance ourselves from what is real.

Ultimately, most writers put something of themselves into their work. A little sliver of self always peeks through the cracks; a touch of idealism here, an emotion felt there, a comment on a political issue sprinkled somewhere in between.

It does not mean that fictional universes are a perfect mirror image of our reality; but it behooves us not to forget how influential 'RL' has been, and always will be, when writing fantasy or science fiction.

Tolkien was undoubtedly inspired by his experiences of war, all of which would later bleed into the pages of his Middle-Earth tales. Even in a tiny microcosm, I notice how life events and current political attitudes affect the way I write my stories, whether they are fan-based or original pieces.

We live in chaotic times. Fiction, at its crux, mirrors that chaos, because it comes about as a result of real life. As much as we wish to escape from harsh truths or present-day issues... they still seep through the veil between imagination and reality.

Escapism should not blind us to the truth that stories are products of our environment, and therefore, inevitably political.

With that in mind, there's something innately disingenuous about insisting that Arcane is somehow separate from real world issues - when, on so many levels, it borrows from real world problems and confronts its viewers with topics which are inherently political: poverty, inequality, state violence ... even the underbelly of the Piltover elite and their dealings with the undercity echoes how we see corruption occurring in governments worldwide.

That the show, by S2, reduces these issues to aesthetics - for instance, the writers admitting they wrote up Vi's backstory with her parents being killed by Enforcers to introduce an element of conflict into hers and Cait's future romance - or, worse, resolves these conflicts without any further nuance - like Sevika becoming a Zaunite representative on a Council that plainly disdains her, and the narrative coming away thinking this is acceptable in lieu of actual independence - is, in essence, disappointing for the themes that were promised.

It feels like the writers realized halfway through writing these plots, that they either did not have the time, budget, know-how or interest in delving too deep into these gritty, tough-to-solve sociopolitical pickles, and instead opted to pander to a (admittedly broad, myself included) subset of viewers who just wanted a sapphic couple with soft angst and sweet reconciliations to contrast all of the ugly machinations happening around them, while the rest of the cast was going through literal hell.

This is not enough to say we shouldn't enjoy Arcane for what it is. I've made plain, on several occasions, that I found the finale visually spectacular, thematically satisfying, and a masterpiece in terms of animation.

And yet, what elevated Arcane S1 to such high levels of acclaim was also its willingness to probe the uncomfortable issues surrounding power, control, exploitation, abuse, morality and free will; as well as, at least initially, its decision to offer a critical lens into how we approach each of these themes, as refracted to a cast of different characters.

We can acknowledge these strengths while simultaneously recognizing their flaws.

Arcane is far more than 'just a video game show.' It's a beautifully designed piece of fiction that deals with so many real-life issues, in spite of its fantasy setting. Yet the criticism that 'we cannot project real world politics onto it' feels inherently unfair - because no story ever exists in a vacuum, least of all one which confronts us with stark contrasts between poverty and wealth, oppression and liberation, authority and agency.

There is nothing wrong with simply wanting to sit back and enjoy the ride. But please spare me the holier-than-thou attitudes whenever people try and open up discourse on why certain shows should take responsibility when it comes to the messages they broadcast.

Because, believe it or not, there exists a slew of media that, in fact, sticks to the landing re: difficult questions about humanity, society and politics. Media that does not ignore, diminish or erase people who are struggling, precisely because those very same issues resonate in real life - and thus, have real consequences for real people.

It isn't asking much that audiences look past the veneer of aestheticism to find the beating heart within stories. Nor should we be belittled for wanting to hold writers to account if the world they create becomes nothing more than a pretty backdrop.

This can be done without hate-mongering, derision or critique; in fact, I'd go so far as saying that critique is a necessary aspect of engaging healthily with art, media and fiction.

At the end of the day, writers are responsible for the world-building of fictional universes and their plot choices; and both things do have an impact on those who watch those worlds come to life. That doesn't mean writers need to pander to every opinion out there; hell, playing to the gallery (and the shippers) rarely ends well, and more often than not detracts from the message of the tale.

But it does mean we can hold storytellers accountable for the impressions they leave behind, for better or worse - especially when said impressions further compound real world experiences of inequality, erasure or prejudice.

As consumers of media, let's be willing to dig beneath the surface to uncover the meanings of story. Let's not settle for anything less than writers who do everything possible to deliver compelling narratives that ask questions which reflect our humanity in meaningful, resonant ways. Let's enjoy our sweet sapphic ships and our goofy doomed sciencebros, while still looking closely at all of the other issues bubbling beneath the surface.

Let's keep up the healthy dialogues and stop dismissing criticism as merely spiteful.

Escapism is only truly fulfilling when, upon returning to the 'real world,' you feel that something has changed inside you; where you have been enriched, uplifted, inspired even... and sometimes, yes, educated.

Stories carry the weight of imagination; and we must allow ourselves to be transformed by wonder. But never forget to question the reality that is portrayed. Stories are born out of humanity, after all, and thus carry within them fragments of us. When we embrace fantasy, we also learn a lot about the way we see ourselves, and the kind of world we choose to live in.

And if all else fails, I guess we'll have fanfic to fall back on.

But that is another post, for another time.

<3

[quotespile]

The path of a man's life is straight, straight, straight, until the moment when it isn't anymore, and after that it begins to meander around aimlessly, and then get tangled, and then at some point the path gets so confusing that the man's ability to move around in time, his device for conveyance, his memory of what he loves, the engine that moves him forward, it can break, and he can get permanently stuck in his own history.

Charles Yu, How to Live Safely in a Science Fictional Universe

[litsnaps]

[witchescollection]

musings of a witch: reclaiming sacredness

Sacredness. The word gets wrapped in quotation marks—treated as suspicious, unmeasurable, outdated. When the news calls a place “sacred,” it’s said with an eyebrow raised, as if connection to the divine is something made up.

Sacredness is usually solely associated with the divine—and usually, spaces are sacred. Churches, cathedrals, Stonehenge, holy places. They are considered sacred because they hold cultural significance to a group of religious people—or, more accurately, “because they say so.”

To me, sacredness is a connection to something distinctly living. Unlike many spiritual people, who see sacredness as inherently divine, this feeling of being bigger than myself comes most easily when I am surrounded by other humans—or other entities. Connection is at the heart of my understanding of sacredness.

I’ve felt sacredness at times I’ve been humbled and chosen to frame it positively. Times I’ve sat before great architecture—like the cathedral in Canterbury—and felt both smaller and bigger than myself, connected to both the past and the future.

My religion is folk-based, and I suppose that’s why my sacredness is rooted in connection. My practice is distinctly human and more “low magick” than “high magick.”

Sacredness first clicked for me when I experienced it. I was fifteen, desperate for a deity to work with—I’d seen it on Tumblr, and I was obsessed with the Marvel films. All I wanted was to talk to Loki. I remember months of trying to enter a trance state, and then—him coming to me and telling me it wasn’t the right fit. He wasn’t my deity, no matter how much I wanted him to be. I was too young in my craft.

Funnily enough, Loki came back many years later, and we now chat regularly. He was right, though. At fifteen, I was a tight knot of anxiety.”, shaking when I first felt his presence. I wasn’t ready to experience divinity and sacredness of that magnitude—it would have scared me off. I still had so much growth to do.

To me, secular doesn’t just mean “non-religious.” It’s linked to a lack of connection. This shows up in many ways—including how we relate to stories. An old Buddhist friend once told me we’ve lost the ability to read our myths—we’re drawn to take them literally, hunting for loopholes and inconsistencies rather than asking how they make us feel.

This makes it especially alienating to connect with people who reject the sacred experience. But we’ve all felt it, in one way or another. There are many pseudo-religious elements in our world—humans love making “false” idols. The difference is just in the language we use.

Navigating these spaces is difficult. It’s easy to devote yourself to pop culture idols, to give away your power. To be clear: my issue is only when we place other humans on pedestals—or fictional works. We’re all human. Art is beautiful because it helps us connect—with ourselves and with each other—not because of the art itself.

These pseudo-sacred spaces push us toward materialism (“spend $50 on a merch hat!”), and into thinking we lack something essential that exists out there. That belief robs us of our wholeness. But noticing this is the first step.

Trying to explain sacredness to someone who’s only known pseudo-sacred spaces is nearly impossible—it’s just one of those things you get. I’ve sat at tables full of self-proclaimed spiritual folks, and you can tell who’s really walking the walk by how they discuss divinity.

Whatever it is we’re engaging with—demons, spirits, gods, the universe—we cannot contain it. We cannot tame it. At best, we work with the flow, maybe adding a dam or two. Magick takes the path of least resistance, and gods do what they please.

Even religious spaces aren’t safe from this pseudo-sacred materialism, this idea that you lack. But true connection—it’s not about ego or over-intellectualising. It’s about feeling. Divinity and sacredness are more like poetry than philosophy or science.

Defining sacredness to newcomers is inherently difficult. Magick is something you feel. That’s why I use the phrase “working the space” so much. Yes, it’s work—but it’s also energy. It’s connection. Wholeness. Anger. It’s reaching into yourself and pulling something out of nothing.

The times I’ve felt the divine are impossible to fully explain to anyone else. If you’ve experienced it, I encourage you to journal it—the magnitude is overwhelming. The best analogy I can offer: it’s like an ant understanding humans for a moment, then going back to being an ant.

Sacredness isn’t something we create. It already exists—we just find it and give it a name. But it’s been colonised: by capitalism, by the very humans for whom connection should matter.

Sacredness can be found in technology—though it’s often twisted into petty fandom fights and divisive online politics. It’s in family—though often neglected and torn apart. It’s in love and marriage—though many abandon it to avoid vulnerability. It’s in learning—though many grow to hate it, worn down by a broken education system.

Still, sacredness is there—if we choose to rediscover it. We can untwist it. We can reclaim the beauty in what we’ve come to despise. Sacredness is a verb. Focus on the positives. Focus on our agency.

And that, ultimately, is what witchcraft and sacredness are about—not passive belief, but sacredness that comes from our actions.

[mssarahmorgan]

Book 72 of 2024: How to Live Safely in a Science Fictional Universe by Charles Yu

I really liked Interior Chinatown, and this one hit even harder for me. There's a way Yu has of taking a metaphor that's so on the nose and just pushing through it so it's funny and pointed and then so true and moving--and in this book, the metaphor is time travel, and regret, and relationships, and how we grow apart from each other and yearn to get back, and how we get trapped in patterns, and...it's just gorgeous and mournful and also silly and, like, SO on the nose, but it just...works. Yu is some kind of genius, I can't wait to see what he does next.

What to read next: This Time Tomorrow, by Emma Straub, for another book that uses time travel to great emotional effect.

[galacticlamps]

Three: The Themes & 6b

[Context] // <<previous bit // next bit>>

[[Here I'm just gonna copy that final paragraph from the last part bc like I said, the thought process wasn't really intended to be broken up like this but I don't wanna make it longer writing a better transition]]

For all the more superficial similarities, for all the analysis on how the narrative structures of each serve to bolster the most interesting aspects of these characters where another might have compressed them or just neglected to turn them into something so striking and developed - actually, at the end of the day, the real reason Two & Jamie and Edwin & Charles resonate so strongly is because they are, ultimately, alone together (and always both at once) in a way that sets them apart from other characters in the same or even more visibly-similar fictional scenarios.

And of course that's so deeply related to the rules of their universes, and the very particular niche they each inhabit there, even though it seemed like none of that mattered too much at the start. Why should it have? They aren't royalty in some high-fantasy epic or major players in a hard-science fictional satire - for all the ways that they're ultimately revealed to be Different, unique, changed by their experiences or else just misfits and outsiders of a kind to begin with (and sometimes all of the above) - they are also very crucially just normal guys, who want most of all to be left alone to get on with their (after)lives - together. It's right that we meet them & grow accustomed to them first on their own terms - traveling randomly through time and space, or taking cases in London's supernatural community - before we learn about the Time Lords or the Afterlife's Lost & Found Department, and the degree to which their way of existing is so deeply condemned in-universe.

For Two & Jamie, the fullness of this realization comes rather late in the day, but - again, connected to the way television was made in their era - the reveal of the Time Lords & their strict non-interference policy was a direct by-product of and natural next-step for the Doctor's story as it had been taking shape throughout the 60s already, so I have no issues with retroactively taking it into consideration when viewing the Second Doctor's entire tenure. (For what it's worth, I think it's also significant that most people viewing 60s Who these days aren't picking it up at random either - it's safe to assume some familiarity with the modern show's premise, which includes a general sense of taboo surrounding the Time Lords & altering history to begin with - but I digress).

By the time Two shows up on the scene, we already know life on the Tardis is inherently transitory - it's a travel story, first and foremost, but it's also significant for having no set or even proposed end destination. Companions have been coming & going for years, and we've just learned that even the Doctor can fully reinvent himself, even if he won't literally disappear (looking at you, Celestial Toymaker). We know it's itinerant, and not meant to last. Still, in the form of Jamie joining in his second-ever story and remaining longer than any other companion ever had or will more than 50 years (& counting) later, we begin to see a really clear stability emerge from that setup - a change so constant, it becomes its own kind of permanence. Tardis life already has a certain liminal, not-quite-normal - even allowing for the scifi of it it all - quality to it, which these characters seem to be wrangling into the shape of a home against all odds, well before we meet the Time Lords.

Once we do, the rest slides into place straightforwardly enough: the image of the Doctor as a fugitive of this all-powerful but distant, cold, unfeeling culture. The fact that no one great event (a war had often been speculated, before) led to his flight, since all he cites to his companions & while on trial are disagreements over their fundamental philosophy of Not Getting Involved. And what could make more sense? If there's one thing we know about the Doctor - any Doctor, but certainly this Doctor - it's that he meddles. He gets involved, he gets attached to people, he brings them out of their assigned place in space and time, often willingly now, and has come to care about them and feel at home among them in a way that we're not surprised to hear is definitely not sanctioned by the world he comes from.

The change we've watched the character undergo since 1963 is much larger than the change between William Hartnell & Patrick Troughton. Instead, it's an arc both of them have been playing all along - the only sensible conclusion to reach, really, considering the shape of a show that opened with Ian & Barbara joining him: companions make us better people, change the way we look at the world, turn us into fuller versions of ourselves. Getting involved is messy - comes with all kinds of complications, ranging from keeping history on-track to watching out for all the tricky human emotions that come into play once people begin becoming important to one another - but at the end of the day, is also worth all the bother in the world.

Doctor Who the show has been so pro-getting-involved since the instant it started with two concerned but nosy schoolteachers poking around a junkyard - and the Second Doctor exemplifies this so well in his character, more madcap and undignified than his predecessor, flying by the seat of his pants a bit more, it's true, but also freer and happier with himself and his companions - of course the greatest threat to him, and the thing that both created him and sent him running, is a society where meddling is anathema, and permanently cut-off erasure (of the War Lord, of your own memories, of the person you are right now, even) is at once the most serious punishment they have, and the preferred method by which they set things "right."

It's large part of why The War Games feels like a deeply queer story, casting a queer light both backwards & forwards over the rest of the series, before we even go anywhere near considering if the two guys at its center, fighting to remain part of each other's lives in a world insistent there is no room for something as simple and harmless as that, would ever do anything we'd categorize as "actually" gay.

It's also why I think 6b is as attractive a concept as it has proven to be in the years since, as a subject for fanwork & official spinoff material alike. We've gotten more 'canon' stories detailing it in some pretty recent years, but even before that, the bones of the idea were clear enough, and it never just existed as a theory because anybody was really desperate to have more gaps in which to set potential Two & Jamie stories - including the one the show itself had given us in 1985 (Simon Guerrier took a shot at making that actually work within the confines of Season 5 in an audio drama in 2015; it did nothing to detract from the appeal of 6b, which is currently the setting of Big Finish's ongoing Second Doctor range). It's because putting a figure like Two - the misfit, outsider, sympathetic meddling 'cosmic hobo' - into conjunction with the Time Lords at their most all-powerful and controlling, is a recipe for a very particular kind of drama. Positioning him there with Jamie only adds to the layers in which they're both bound.

It's a way for this Doctor to be more in control of his travels than he ever was (we can't forget that the tv Tardis of the 60s was 100% unpredictable), but also to give him Serious Boundaries in a way he never had to deal with before, either. The two of them are freer, in some ways, and absolutely trapped in others. They're 'doing good' in the sense that, by definition, we know missions the Time Lords send them on would be carried out with or without their (ironically now state-approved) involvement, but with them & their hard-won more human approach, we can hope they'll be handled with a compassion and care that would otherwise be absent. It lends totally new aspects to their characters, simply having that kind of responsibility, that stamp officialness but lack of authority, new situations they can be forced to deal with - and yet it does so while just reiterating and reinforcing that central premise we loved about them before - two constants in a world of danger and adversity, making an impact and caring (about the worlds they visit, and about each other) under conditions they're really not supposed to be okay with. They are always generally presumed to be happy that they're together in this situation, because that must be one of the few bright sides to being stuck under the thumb of the people most dangerous to them, and likely why they submit to it in the first place.

Do I even need to type out the words "they should want to move on but don't, because they have each other" for it to become clear why this setup was what came to mind while watching the ghost boys struggle to carry out their business?

[Context] // <<previous bit // next bit>>

[ech0ech0ech0]

The Stranger

Jeff VanderMeer, Veniss Underground // ND Stevenson, The Fire Never Goes Out // twenty one pilots, Forest // Charles Yu, How to Live Safely in a Science Fictional Universe // Will Wood and the Tapeworms, Mr. Capgras Encounters a Secondhand Vanity: Tulpamancer’s Prosopagnosia/Pareidolia (As Direct Result of Trauma to the Fusiform Gyrus) // A. S. King, I Crawl Through It // The Magnus Archives 165 - Revolutions // Rezz & Grabbitz, Someone Else

[fruitymocha]

Laboratory of Love

Starring: Idia as The Creation, Ortho as The Assistant, and You as The Mad Scientist

Warnings: Yandere themes, mental instability, mentions of corpses and general post-mortem shit, violence/violent tendencies, murder, and psychological torment (both self inflicted and from an outside source). I DO NOT CONDONE ANYONE’S ACTIONS IN THIS STORY. THIS IS PURELY FICTION AND SHOULD NOT BE EMULATED. DNI IF YOU ARE YOUNGER THAN 16, ARE EASILY FRIGHTENED, OR DO NOT LIKE DARK/YANDERE THEMES.

A/N: you guys! As of writing this author’s note, Little Songbird has over 90 likes! Thank you guys so much for the interactions, it means a lot, especially since I was kinda worried it wouldn’t be received well when I first posted it. Also yes, I know it’s been a year, but it’s fine, just go with it. This literally has been sitting in my drafts collecting dust since last October, so it’s about time I resurrect this thing (yes this is a purposeful joke). I hope that you guys enjoy Laboratory of Love just as much as Little Songbird, and without further ado…

Round and round we rewind the reel…

Y/N L/N. That is my name. My mission is to investigate the world of the living and find the spark of life.

Unfortunately, the people outside are cold and unyielding to modern science. They are stuck in their old ways, believing my research and experiments to be… sacrilegious.

Hence why my secret lab is hidden away in an abandoned tower. It’s close enough to the city that I can easily acquire modern equipment and resources, but also foreboding enough to keep people away. Or did my reputation do that for me? Who knows.

“Ortho, have you acquired the book?”

“Yes Doctor. The Book of Shadows, as you requested,” The young boy handed me a thick leather book, his fiery blue hair flickering in child-like joy.

“Thank you, Ortho,”

“You’re welcome, Doctor,” I flipped through the pages, hoping to find its alchemy section. “Doctor, do you think science and magic are compatible?”

“There’s only one way to find out, Ortho, and you know what it is,”

“Aren’t you worried about what could happen if you use dark magic?” I sighed.

“Ortho, we’ve been over this,” I said, focused on the alchemical symbols in the Book of Shadows. “I don’t believe in ‘dark’ magic. There’s no such thing as ‘light’ or ‘dark’. Society simply deems ‘light’ to be the ‘safe’ and acceptable type of magic, while ‘dark’ is more dangerous and selfish. But if humanity never trifled with danger, we would never be where we are today. We would still be at Nature’s mercy,”

“I understand now, Doctor. But please be careful!”

“You know I will, Ortho. They may call me mad as much as they want, but I have no death wish. I know how to take precaution,”

Ortho. Another societal outcast. Allegedly cursed with his fiery hair, and considered a bad omen. They said his blue locks were from the fires of Hell. So I took him in as my assistant, and I found him to be quite curious and inclined to help. A perfect job for him. Society may call me many things, but to call me cruel would be untrue.

“Doctor, what do you plan to do?”

“Learn the ways of Nature, and acquire that power for myself,” I said simply

“…why?” I thought about it hard. Then I knew.

“My time in university could not satisfy my thirst, so I will seek out the solution myself,”

“It’s only been a few months since your graduation, Doctor,”

“Yes, and that means all my higher education is still somewhat fresh in my mind, Ortho. It will help me,” I stared off for a moment before something struck me as odd.

“I still don’t understand why you call me Doctor, Ortho… I have not earned a doctorate degree,” I said slowly

“Because I think you deserve the title, Doctor,”

I closed the Book of Shadows, and silently turned to the setting sun out the window.

“Ortho?”

“Yes, Doctor?”

I thought for a moment. Am I sure I want to do this?

I sighed, and said it anyway.

“Where is the nearest cemetery?”

~*~

“Are you sure we won’t get caught, Doctor?”

“To be quite frank with you Ortho, getting caught is a very real possibility. If you’re not up for the risk, you can go back to the lab-”

“No. I- I want to help you,” I sighed while looking at the blue-haired boy.

“Okay. Let’s find some corpses,” I handed Ortho the smaller of the two shovels I brought. “Let’s get digging,” I walked in a random direction, with Ortho following close behind, looking for recently dead, young male bodies.

First Gravestone

We dug down and inspected his body. Unfortunately he wasn’t a good candidate. He died of plague.

Second gravestone

He was missing chunks of skin.

Third gravestone

His head was smashed, face unrecognizable.

Finally, we reached the fourth gravestone. We dug with less enthusiasm and more difficulty than when we started. But all the effort was worth it. The body was tall, skin sallow, head shaved. But his body was unmarked by plague or brutality. He was not rotting… yet.

“He’s perfect,” I whispered to myself.

Ortho and I loaded the corpse onto a wheelbarrow, but not before wrapping it in inconspicuous cloth tied together with rope.

We were lucky not to get caught.

As we made our way back to the lab tower, I thought about what I would do with the body. Create a puppet, perhaps?

No.

Better.

Create a sentient being.

Ambitious, but The Book of Shadows would likely have the power I need.

Now all I needed to do was find the right spell, get the materials, and do what needed to be done.

~*~

With the corpse strapped on the gurney, attached tubes and wires connecting to monitors and rudimentary electrical machines, and Book of Shadows in hand, I was ready to commence my ambitious experiment.

Thunder rumbled and rain pelted outside. I paid it no mind. I had drawn the sigils in my own blood and placed them on different areas of the body, just as instructed. Blood sigils were also drawn and dried upon my palms. Keeping the book open, I read aloud the incantation.

“Withering Corpse, cold as night

Your early death has caused you strife

I avenge your soul, I’ll make it right

I give your body the gift of life”

A blue glow began to radiate within the room, and I could feel the surge of power coursing through my veins.

The rain pelted. I paid it no mind.

The body in front of me became surrounded in a magical blue glow.

The wind shrieked. I paid it no mind.

The sigils on my palms thrummed and the drawn sigils on the corpse pulsed like beating hearts. Ortho looked on in amazement.

The thunder roared. I paid it no mind.

Any signs of the corpse’s state of death seemed to disappear, instead in a seemingly peaceful slumber.

But then lightning struck through the glass ceiling, and I did pay it mind as it struck the body.

A smaller, stray ray of lightning struck me too, and the last thing I remember was the pain of hitting the ground, and getting rained on by rainwater and broken glass.

~*~

I awoke to the sound of soft rain and Ortho by my side.

“Dr Y/N please wake up!”

I opened my eyes to see that I was in one of the spare hospital beds in my laboratory. I got out of bed, much to Ortho’s shock and worry. When my feet touched the ground, a small shock coursed through my body, and I convulsed briefly.

“Dr Y/N you need to rest, you were struck by lightning!”

“Ortho I must see him!”

Ortho sighed, but reluctantly handed me a wooden staff. I suppose it should do as a walking stick. With the stick’s support on my dominant side, and Ortho staying close by my other side, I shuffled my way to the Enrichment Room.

The Enrichment Room was a room co-designed by Ortho and I, meant for intellectual stimulation without putting too much strain. A less sophisticated way of referring to it would be The Brain Break Room. It was filled with leisure novels, puzzles, riddle books, and other activities that require some form of focus and thought.

Sitting there on the ground in a strange and twisted position, fiddling with a metal handheld puzzle, was The Creation. Instead of normal hair, he had long, blue fire, very much similar to Ortho’s. Hair from the depths of hell. His eyes were striking yellow, not unlike Ortho’s. His skin was still quite sallow, but at the very least it wasn’t post-mortem pale like it was just hours before. His mouth was slightly open, exposing his pointed teeth. Ortho also had pointed teeth, a fact I had grown accustomed to as he stepped into the role as my lab assistant.

I decided to attempt to carefully approach The Creation.

“Hello,” I said.

He looked up at me with wide, curious eyes.

“I’m the one who gave you life. You can call me Y/N,”

The Creation put down the metal puzzle and reached out a hand. The fingers were spread wide in an awkward position. It seemed that The Creation was struggling with fine motor skills. I took his hand, only for him to pull me down with him, walking stick rolling off to the side. His physical strength was remarkable! He stared, fascinated at my dominant arm, which bore red, jagged, bruise-like marks from the lightning strike. He then placed his palm on my upper arm, his own arm completely outstretched in a strange position.

“We should give him a name, Dr Y/N,” Ortho said, coming closer to The Creation. I looked into his eyes. Unaware, void of knowledge or experience, but curious.

“Ortho, I think when the time is right, he should choose his own name,”

The Creation croaked out a deep noise from his throat. I supposed he was trying to talk like Ortho and I. His existence is fascinating indeed.

When I went back to bed, I heard the creaking of footsteps, and Ortho speaking, though it sounded muffled as this was happening on the other side of the door, far from the bed.

“…be careful…need rest…tomorrow…this way…”

I turned to my side in bed, and I tried to relax so I could focus properly tomorrow. However, that proved to be quite difficult. Breakthroughs and discoveries wait for no one.

~*~

As the days went by, I noticed that The Creation had taken an interest in my work just as Ortho had. Occasionally, I would ask him to retrieve items or hold something. Otherwise, he spent many of his days in the Enrichment Room playing with the various handheld puzzles. One by one, he’s started to solve them, and I wonder just how intelligent he is.

I was just about to open one of the ingredient containers when I felt a gentle tap on my shoulder. The Creation looked over my shoulder, hunched, and maintaining that gloomy default expression.

“What is it?” I asked him. He pointed to Ortho, who spoke for him.

“He wants to learn how to talk,”

I looked at him for a moment, but then smiled to myself, shaking my head.

“Of course you do. And I would be more than happy to help,” I said to The Creation.

He smiled, in his own awkward, sharp-toothed way. It was charming, in its own way (though most of society would likely beg to differ).

And so, I taught him how to speak.

~*~

Weeks went by as I taught him how to be human. He learned to read. He learned to write. He soon mastered all the puzzles I had, and contented himself with disassembling and reassembling things in his free time.

He named himself Idia.

And he treated Ortho like a brother.

“Y/N,”

“Yes, Idia?” I asked, studying the Book of Shadows once more.

“I have come across this concept of ‘love’. What does it mean to love?”

I halted my study for a moment, turning to him. “Love can be many things. There is love for your family. There is love for your friends,”

“I mean romance, Y/N,”

“…that is something you will come to know when you meet someone very special,” I said finally.

“Is there anyone you love like that?”

“…in university, I knew someone, yes. That person is long gone from my life now,”

Idia stayed silent. I returned to my studies, disheartened by the conversation, and wanting to distract myself.

“…will I find someone to love me?” He asked.

I thought for a moment on how to respond.

“…I…don’t know,”

“Why not?”

“The outside world is not kind. It has not been kind to me, or to Ortho. They don’t be kind to you either,” I said, perhaps a bit harshly.

Idia did not respond anymore.

When I had time to look up from what I was doing, he was already gone.

~*~

A year has gone by since Idia’s creation. And he’s become something of a mechanical genius. He’s now the one who builds and fixes my machinery. How convenient.

But as the seasons have passed, he has become increasingly attached. Perhaps not healthy behavior. But what am I to do? His hair is blue like the flames of hell. He would be an outcast before anyone ever gave him a chance.

I felt the autumn breeze coming in through a window.

“Ortho, please close the window”

The window did slam shut. But when I looked up, it was not Ortho who shut the window.

“Idia? What brings you into the lab?”

“I’ve read more books. About love,”

“…And?”

“I want someone to love me. Make me my other half,”

“Idia, creating Life is not a simple task. Do you know what happened the night I created you? You got struck by lightning and so did I. If I do it again, especially in inclement weather, it’s very possible something could go wrong. Do you know how hard it is to find a body undamaged? Unravaged by plague? No part of this process is easy, Idia,”

“I don’t care how hard it is.” He said firmly. “Make me a lover, or I’ll make my own,”

I swallowed. It felt like my mouth was stuffed with cotton. He was serious.

“…alright. I’ll see what I can do,”

“You have one week,”

And with that, he left the lab.

~*~

It was considerably more difficult to find the second body. But I managed.

…but guilt was slowly consuming me. Idia was my best creation. A lovely, fascinating, raw creation. Proof of my conquering of Life.

But I couldn’t do it again.

So I took the body with me, and I used a rowboat to get to the center of the lake.

It was there that I dumped the sacrilegious body. I watched the corpse sink below the tides, never to be rediscovered.

I felt relief for once. Despite Idia’s threat before, I felt relief that I disposed of that body.

That relief was very short lived, and before I realized what was happening, I blacked out.

~*~

When I awoke, I was strapped to a gurney. Ortho looked at me, concerned.

“Doctor, I’m sorry, I couldn’t stop him,”

Idia emerged from the shadows, wearing my lab coat and protective gear.

“I told you I would make my own lover. And guess what, Y/N? I have,”

“Who did you hurt?!”

“I didn’t go into the town, don’t worry. They are stuck in their old ways. Unyielding to modernity. Unwilling to embrace progress. But you were,” he smiled his sinister, shark toothed smile. He and Ortho looked like brothers. But knowing what my dear creation has become, that comparison felt unfair.

The restraints on the gurney unlatched, and I stumbled off.

There was an unnatural pallor to my skin.

My limbs were somewhat rigid.

Something was wrong.

I scrambled around, looking for a reflective surface. I needed to know what happened. And I found a small handheld mirror. There was dried blood on my head. My skin was unnaturally blanched.

My eyes held the blue flames of hell.

“Idia…what have you done?”

“…I only meant to knock you unconscious. I am much stronger than I thought. But it’s okay, I found your Book of Shadows. I fixed it,”

I looked at him intensely.

“…you learned from the Book of Shadows?”

“Yes,”

“…and it worked…you…you’re incredible…” I said in awe.

“Doctor, what does this mean?”

“…It means Idia, my creation, has become a creator” I said.

“Just as you reshaped me and gave me new life, I have done the same to you, Doctor Y/N,” Idia smiled a satisfactory smile. He had made me into a creation. Like him. It had finally dawned on me. He remade me in his image. The “lover” he made was me.

And I laughed. I laughed until I couldn’t breathe. Until I forgot why I was laughing. Until I started to cry as I laughed. I laughed such a laugh they would have called me mad.

Well, they already did before.

Maybe they were right.

But it didn’t matter anymore.

As long as we all held the blue flames of hell in our bodies and souls, none of it mattered.

~Fin~