#but in a way it’s the sheer horror of the infected’s MOTION that gets me most

[novelconcepts]

It’s such a comparatively small detail, but I keep coming back to the physicality of the infected dude who chases Joel and Sarah—how completely that actor hurled himself into it, how it gives the sense that this man no longer has care or control of his faculties, has nothing but the hunger as he bangs off of objects and skitters back to his feet. It’s so mind-numbingly terrifying to imagine that coming after you in the dark.

[nah-she-didnt]

JILY AUGUST CHALLENGE | @nah-she-didnt vs @floreatcastellumposts

summer + ok so I almost drowned in the sea whilst body boarding and yeah you saved me but hEY don’t laugh

Read here or on AO3

Lily Of The Sea

Absolutely mental. He must have been absolutely mental to agree to any part of this.

First, there was the fact that he had chosen to spend a week in Wales with Remus when he should have been training for football season. That decision alone would surely ruin his life when he showed up back at school completely out of shape and got booted from the team.

Second, while James liked spending time with one of his best mates, Wales was bloody boring. Remus lived in a charming little cottage with his charming parents in a charming town that had absolutely nothing for a couple of teenage boys to do. There wasn’t even a damn cinema for them to waste away in for the summer. Really, how did people live like this? It was only out of sheer boredom that he’d agreed to spend the day at the beach in the first place. He usually made it a point to avoid the beach at all costs, but these were desperate times indeed.

Herein lay James’ third, and stupidest, decision. He must have been absolutely bloody mental to agree to wade out into the frigid mass of water before him that was the sea.

He turned to throw Remus another reproachful look. “Do I have to do this?”

“Yes!” Remus called over from his spot on the shore. He looked perfectly content, and dry, as he watched James’ slow march to his certain death. “Your fear of open water is, frankly, embarrassing. It’s high time you nipped it in the bud.”

James winced as the water lapped at his shins, blistering his sun-warmed skin with icy cold. “I thought you said you were right behind me?”

Remus grinned. “Oh, you don’t need me. You’re doing brilliantly.” James couldn’t help but notice the mirth in his friend’s voice.

It was true, he did harbor an embarrassing fear of the sea. And why shouldn’t he? The water was so dark you could barely see three inches below the surface. Surely some unknown horror came closer with every step.

James swore loudly. “Rem, I hate this. It’s bloody freezing!”

“It’s the Irish Sea, what do you expect?”

“Damn the Irish then!”

“Mate, you’re English, I don’t think you’re allowed to say that.”

And so, James plowed onward, cursing Remus under his breath. The water was now up to his knees. He could feel the hair on his legs standing at attention as goosebumps emerged from his skin.

However, as he became more and more submerged, something in James began to change. The water was so cold it nearly took his breath away but it also filled him with a new resolve. It wasn’t so bad, really. He could do this.

With that thought, he plunged forward, brought his hands together above his head, and dove straight into an oncoming wave.

He hadn’t been prepared for how quiet underwater was. He was vaguely aware of the wave crashing above his head, but the force of it merely rocked him backward gently. He tried his best to open his eyes but the saltwater stung so fiercely that he shut them tight again. After a few moments of floating beneath the waves, James found his feet below him again and pushed up toward the surface.

He heard Remus’ triumphant whoop as his head broke the surface. He straightened up, embarrassed to find that the water was only about three feet deep, and shook his hair out of his eyes like a dog. “There,” he shouted in Remus’ direction, “I’ve done it. Now, will you come out here with me, please? I don’t need a bloody babysitter.”

Remus sighed loudly. “Yeah alright. Plus, if you drown, I’m sure you’d rather be saved by a fit lifeguard than by me.”

“Too true.”

They spent the next half hour lounging in the water. It was still freezing cold, but James found that it did not bother him so much now. The sun, in a rare moment of favor, had decided to shine bright and warm on the beach today. Remus showed James how to lie back and float so that his top half could be drenched in warmth while his back half rocked with the waves. The effect was actually quite lovely. Perhaps he wasn’t so mental after all.

It was at this very moment that he heard the muffled sound of a whistle.

“Wha-?” James said stupidly as he sat up from his float, pulling his head and ears out of the water so that he could hear properly, “what was that? Remus?”

But Remus was gone. It was only then that James realized how far he had floated from the safety of the beach. He was at least twenty yards away from the shore now, and Remus was not only a few feet away as he previously thought. James whipped his head around frantically. “Remus!”

“Riptide!” Remus’ voice called from somewhere behind him. He turned to see his friend scrambling up the beach through the surf. “Swim parallel to the beach! Now!”

Shit.

This was why he avoided the ocean. What the hell was a riptide? It certainly didn’t sound good.

James flapped his arms wildly as he swam, trying his best to stay parallel to the shore. Now he could feel the pull of the water on his body, coaxing him further and further out into the vast sea. He had to keep swimming. He had to, otherwise how on earth would he be able to murder Remus?

“You’re a bloody bastard, you know that?” James screamed to his friend as he fought against the sea, “You made me come out here!” He was closer to the shore now, almost at the wave breakpoint, only ten yards from where Remus stood.

“I know, I know, keep going!” Remus called, “You’re almost there.”

James fought with all his might to keep swimming. He really was out of shape after all, but he forced the thought from his mind as he struggled. Nearly there.

Finally, he made it back to the shallows. He stood with a great effort and began to stagger drunkenly toward Remus. “I can’t believe you left me out there alone! You smug toss-”

WHAM.

The wave hit James squarely in the back, knocking him hard into the rough, rocky beach.

His cheek caught the edge of a sharp rock. He felt his skin rip and sting fiercely, but he had bigger problems before him. The strength of the retreating wave was dragging him, helplessly, back into the deep. He tried to stand but he had no idea which way was up. The fall had knocked the wind out of him, and for a moment he truly wondered if he was about to drown.

Then, suddenly, there was warmth. Hands - yes, small, warm hands - wrapped protectively around his chest. Then there were arms, a torso pressed against his back. The last thing he felt before everything went dark was the mysterious body pulling him up, up, up.

...

“Is he dead?”

“Don’t be daft.”

“I’m not. Look at him. He looks dead.”

“He’s not dead, you idiot. He’s breathing just fine. What did you leave him out there for? He can barely swim.”

“We were floating! I didn’t know how far he’d drifted.”

The first thing James noticed was the warmth. His whole body tingled with a warm glow in sharp contrast to the freezing water. The water. Where was the water?

James snapped his eyes open. Two blurry faces swam above him. Remus, who looked concerned, but James only had eyes for the other face that hovered above him. A girl’s face. A very pretty girl’s face.

James blinked. “Am I dead?”

“Apparently not,” Remus sighed, “Christ, James, you really know how to make a scene.”

James barely heard this comment. The girl continued to stare at him, her brow furrowed. She didn’t look all that excited to find that he was alive. The more she looked at him, the more James felt that he’d seen this girl somewhere before.

“Who are you?” He whispered up to her. He hadn’t meant to say it, but he still wasn’t sure that she was not a dream.

“Hold still.” She spoke with a practiced, authoritative voice as she turned away from him to rummage through a red bag at her side. She withdrew a white package that she tore open with her teeth, pulled out a wet cloth, and brought it to his face.

James gasped as the cut on his cheek seared with pain. “Ouch! Blimey, what is that?”

“Rubbing alcohol,” she said, again with that focused voice, “don’t want it getting infected. What month is it?”

“Uh-”

“Evans, let him rest,” Remus protested, “he’s just had a shock.”

The girl shook her head. “We’ve got to make sure he’s not concussed. The month, Potter, what month is it?”

“August,” he said stupidly, “it’s August.”

“Who’s the Prime Minister?”

“Wilson.”

“What’s your name?”

“James Potter, what’s yours?”

This seemed to surprise her. The look of concentration slid from her face as she regarded him cautiously. “Lily.”

James squinted up at her with curiosity. “Of the valley?”

Get it together, you prat said a voice in his head, what a stupid thing to-

To his surprise, she smiled, and his heart did a backflip. “Yeah, sure.” Then she shook her head as if to rid herself of the distraction. “You’re going to be fine. Can you stand?”

James nodded and allowed Remus to pull him roughly to his feet. He steadied himself and reached instinctively up to his throbbing cheek. Lily smacked his hand away.

“What did I just say about infection? Blimey, maybe you are concussed.”

James wracked his throbbing brain. Everything was still a bit fuzzy, but now he was sure that he’d seen this girl before. “How did you know my name?”

Lily shot Remus a knowing look. “We go to school together. In Scotland. Remember?”

James felt his cheeks grow hot. That’s how he knew her, he’d seen Remus hanging around with a cute redhead before. “Ah - yeah, ‘course. Sorry I didn’t recognize you.”

She shrugged as she bent down to pack up her first aid kit. “Why would you? I’m not a footballer, not a posh kid, no big deal.”

James frowned. “I have plenty of friends who aren’t footballers or ‘posh kids,’” he said as he made quotation marks with his fingers. It was hard to keep the defensive edge out of his voice. She made him sound quite shallow. He motioned earnestly toward his friend. “Take Remus over here.”

“Thanks, mate.”

“Anytime.”

“Look,” Lily straightened back up, a look of annoyance on her face, “I’m sure you’ve got lots of friends and all, I just meant that we don’t exactly run in the same crowd.”

“But you know Remus. I heard you call him an idiot before.” James glanced at Remus, who looked like he wasn’t sure if he should stay for this tense conversation or disappear back into the safety of the water. “He only lets his very best friends call him that.”

Lily raised her eyebrows. “Really? His friends sound swell.”

Remus, still looking uncomfortable, finally cut in. “We knew each other before school,” he said quickly, looking from James to Lily, “from when we were kids.”

Lily nodded. She was starting to look downright testy now, but James could not for the life of him figure out why. “I used to spend the summers here with my aunt, and we met as kids. We used to go swimming on this beach all the time.” Her face softened at the memory. “It was lovely, actually. I used to love to swim. Haven’t had much time for it lately, until today.”

“Why not?” James persisted. It seemed that every question he asked did nothing more than to elevate her already defensive mood. He couldn’t help it, he had to keep talking to her. Had to keep making her cheeks flush like that.

Lily jerked her head back toward the lifeguard stand. “Don’t have much time, I spent most of my days working here ‘till sunset.”

“Ah,” James pulled what he hoped looked like a sympathetic face, “I see. Not a fun way to spend a holiday, I can imagine.”

Very unfortunately this seemed to be the worst thing he could have possibly said.

“Yeah, well. Some of us have to work to live.” She caught Remus’ eye and said with purpose, “Right. I’ll see you at school, Remus.” And with that, she turned and stalked away, leaving a very stunned James in her wake.

...

“You really cocked that up, huh?.”

“Cheers.”

“No, I mean it. Now she probably thinks you’re some stuck-up, rich brat. Really excellent job on that one.”

“I’m leaving.”

Remus laughed as he grabbed James’ elbow and pulled him back down to sit on the beach. “Christ, you’re touchy today. I’m sorry I almost let you drown, alright?”

James stared out over the glowing pink water. The sea was no less ominous even in the light of the early sunset. He could still feel the waves lapping at his shins, the force of the water smacking his bare back, the pull of the water as he struggled beneath the waves…

He shook his head at the memory. He was safe now, anyway. Thanks to Lily.

“Do you think I’m a stuck up, rich brat?” He refused to look at Remus as he asked the question. Instead, he picked up a large, rough stone and chucked it into the water.

Remus put a hand on his shoulder. “No James, I don’t think that. I think you’re a kind, loyal, and caring rich brat.”

James laughed. “Cheers, mate.”

“Anytime.”

“Give her some time and Lily will see it too. Speaking of...” Remus nodded in the direction behind James.

He turned to see Lily Evans walking toward them. She had pulled a pair of denim shorts over her red lifeguard’s bathing suit, slung a large blue tote bag over her shoulder, and held a half-melted vanilla ice cream cone in each hand.

“Hiya,” she offered as she took a seat next to Remus. James couldn’t tell if it was nerves or embarrassment that kept her from meeting his eyes. “These are for you two. I’m sorry I was a bit harsh before. I mean, you did almost drown, after all.”

James smiled as he accepted the ice cream. “Thanks. And thanks for this, too.”

Remus, however, waved her away as she offered him the cone. “No thanks, I don’t eat dairy.”

James frowned. “You love dairy. I’ve seen you put away an entire wheel of brie in under ten minutes.”

Remus shook his head and stood up, stretching. “No, really. Can’t stand the stuff. I better go find something else more digestible, leave you two alone to talk.”

Lily shot him a dirty look. Remus could not be more transparent if he tried. “I don’t think that’s necessary.”

But Remus was already walking back up the beach. “Too late, see you in a bit!”

“Rem!” James called to his friend, but he merely waved his arm wildly over his head in farewell.

They sat in silence for a few moments with only the crashing of the waves to break the tension. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. James watched her fidget as he finished his cone. He wondered if it were uncomfortable to sit in those shorts with the back of her legs pressed against the small, jagged rocks that made up the beach. But he couldn’t let himself think for too long about her legs.

“So,” she broke the silence with what sounded like a great effort, “why can’t you swim?”

James sighed. “Oh, let’s just say it’s none of your concern,” he couldn’t bring himself to admit something so embarrassing, “why don’t you like posh kids?”

Lily, to his surprise, laughed. “None of your concern.”

“Are you sure about that? Since I’m apparently an insufferable rich kid maybe I can provide an inside scoop.”

Lily did not laugh this time. Instead, she stared out over the ocean, her vivid green eyes suddenly orange, reflecting the sunset’s light in the choppy water. “I’ve got a friend from school. Well, a friend from home, really. He’s like me, doesn’t have a lot of - of money, and stuff.” She was starting to shift even more now, clearly uncomfortable. James opened his mouth to stop her, but she plowed on. “He made some not-so-nice friends at school. They care a lot about status and all that, so he doesn’t want them to know anything about his home life. Doesn’t want them to know about me.”

James blinked. He’d known this girl only two hours, and he’d seen her in about fourteen different emotional states. He was quite sure he liked them all and wanted to see even more.

“That bullshit,” he said emphatically, “if he doesn’t value you then he’s an idiot. What a prat, giving up a true friend just to social climb.”

Lily smiled sadly. “You’re right, of course. Still hurts, but you’re right.” She shrugged, trying but failing to seem unphased. “Anyway, I think that’s why I was a bit, uh, prickly earlier. Forgive me?”

James just waved his hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. I’d be prickly too if it were me. He sounds like a disappointment.” He smiled at shyly, glad that they were approaching something like a friendly conversation, “plus, Remus assured me it wasn’t my finest moment either.”

She smiled again, and another shockwave shot through James’ body. “I forgive you. Friends?”

“Friends with the girl who saved my life? Absolutely.”

Silence fell between them again, but this time the air around them seemed more relaxed. Lily seemed to have found a comfortable position at last. She sat with her legs crossed and her hands placed on the ground behind her, propping her up toward the sea. She had her eyes closed and her head leaned back like she was savoring every roaring crash of waves or whiff of sea air.

“How can you not just love the sea,” she sighed, leaning her head back even further as she sunk into her surroundings, “I don’t know what I’d do without it.”

A few seconds passed before James realized that, at some point, he would have to stop staring at her to answer. “I guess it’s just not for me. You make it look pretty good, though. The sea, I mean.” he said quickly. Very smooth.

Lily, thankfully, ignored his comment. “Tell me the truth,” she turned her head to fix him with an intense look, “why don’t you like the ocean? I shared my trauma, now it’s your turn.”

James sighed. “Alright, I suppose I owe you. I’ve got to warn you, it’s pretty embarrassing.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Try me.”

James paused, trying to decide at the last moment if there was any possible way to tell her the truth and still be respectable in her eyes. There wasn’t.

Finally, he looked at her. “Have you ever seen a movie called ‘Jaws’?”

She pursed her lips, obviously trying not to smile. “Uh, yeah James. I think everyone’s seen that one.”

“Well,” he closed his eyes, preparing for her worst, “I had nightmares for weeks. I don’t know why, but it really got me. I could barely walk through campus puddles on a rainy day. Kept thinking some bloody shark or something was gonna come up, grab my ankle, and pull me in.” He opened one eye to cautiously scan her reaction. “Well? I’m mad, aren’t I?”

He was shocked to find that she was not laughing. Not much, anyway.

“It’s a completely rational fear,” she said thoughtfully, staring out across the blazing water. The sun was almost entirely set now, and soon they’d be engulfed in night. “It’s the fear of the unknown, innit? The anxiety that there’s something unseen lurking around the corner. It’s why people are afraid of spiders and centipedes. All the hidden things that might be there to hurt you. It’s why we wish we could see the future, to be sure that everything is going to turn out alright.”

He knew she was right. He followed her gaze out over the waves. It wasn’t the water that scared him. Wasn’t the searing cold, the slippery rocks underfoot as he plunged further and further into the deep. It was the unknowing, the darkness below him that scared him shitless. “Lily Evans, you are very wise.”

“I know.”

They were silent again, but not uncomfortably so. A strange sense of serenity washed over him. He wasn’t the only one who didn’t know what was out there.

“I could help, you know,” Lily said without looking at him. Instead, she seemed very interested in picking at a hangnail on her thumb.

James raised his eyebrows. “Help me? With swimming?”

“Swimming, the sea, all of it,” she chanced a glance up at him. She really did have the most staggering green eyes he’d ever seen. “I’m pretty good out there, and you clearly need help.”

James laughed. “That bad, am I?”

She grimaced. “Yes, that bad.”

He sighed and glanced back toward the sea. The sun had fully started to set now, and the pink and orange waves looked as menacing as ever. “I dunno… I’m not keen to repeat my near-drowning.”

“Oh, come on,” she winked at him, “a strapping lad like yourself should have no problem swimming in there.”

Strapping? She thought he was strapping?

James forced himself to focus. “The sun’s almost set. What if it gets too dark to see?”

“So?” She pushed herself to her feet, then offered his hand to pull him up. “You can’t see through the water anyway. What’s a little more unknown going to hurt?”

She helped pull him to his feet then began unbuttoning her shorts. James had the self-control to look away, though his hands shook just a bit as he removed his own t-shirt. Together, fully outfitted in their swimsuits, they marched toward the now-purple water.

“Don’t worry, we’ll go slow,” she murmured as they reached the shoreline, “I’ll hold your hand through the whole thing.”

James smirked, “Figuratively, of course.”

As if to spite him, she grabbed his hand and squeezed hard. With a jolt, James remembered that very hand on his chest not two hours ago, pulling him up and out of the same water they charged into now.

“The trick,” Lily said decisively as she stared out at the breaking waves, “is to choose the right moment. You have to wade in past the break line between waves. If you time it wrong, you get creamed. That was your problem last time.”

“Thanks for the reminder.”

“No problem. Ready?”

“Actually,” James hastened, suddenly feeling sick. He wanted to drop her hand and run back, but he found that his skin felt glued to hers. “I think not. Thanks for the offer, but I’m fine being a coward for the rest of my life.”

“Not a chance!” She cried, gesturing out over the water, “Look how far you’ve come! You can’t go back now. I’m not going to let you drown.”

James tried to shoot her with a mischievous grin, but he knew it more closely resembled a grimace. “Promise?”

“Promise. Go!”

And so, Lily pulling at his hand, they sprinted out into the shallows together. The remains of the previous wave rushed merrily alongside their feet and legs as they sprinted into the water. James did not stop running until he could feel the water at his collar bones, his feet skimming the bottom of the seafloor. He felt around with his toes. No sharks or monsters as far as he could feel.

“See?” Lily laughed and splashed him a bit with water, “it’s not so bad. Jump!”

He turned to look just in time. A wave was coming at them fast. He barely had time to push off the ground to sail over it. The two of them soared through the water, over the wave, and back down again as it crashed onto the shore behind them. He laughed with glee and disbelief. His lungs felt icy cold as he gulped down air to keep himself from panicking. It felt like flying, and James suspected he’d been meant to fly all his life. This was easy. This was wonderful.

Suddenly, a wave larger than the rest descended upon them. “Alright, James,” came Lily’s confident voice as she squeezed his hand tighter, “we have to go under this one, alright?”

“What?” He just managed to yell before she pulled him under the wave. Again, there was that eerie stillness, only this time James wasn’t alone in the silence. Lily’s hand was still warm and sure in his own.

And so they flew through the water, dodging and riding and floating over the waves. It was exhausting work which was not made any easier by their fits of laughter every time the other received a faceful of icy water. Finally, when the sky had turned a deep navy, they dragged each other back out of the surf and onto the shore.

Brilliantly illuminated stars scattered across the night sky as they threw themselves back down on the beach. Lily reached into her large tote and produced a beach towel that they shared, taking turns to wipe the saltwater from their eyes and faces. They had barely talked the whole time they swam, just laughed, and gasped for air.

“See?” Lily sighed as she flopped back onto the beach towel, “I told you it’s lovely out there.”

“I stand corrected,” James said as he laid down next to her. He could see her chest and stomach rise and fall with the effort of breathing. “You were an excellent teacher. You’re not Lily of the valley, you’re Lily of the sea.”

She looked at him with a look that he’d come to learn meant she was about to make fun of him. “Have you been thinking of that line the whole time?”

“No!” James said with mock indignation, “No, it’s true. You made me see what all the fuss is about. Thank you.”

Lily grinned at him. She turned onto her side to face him, her head resting on her outstretched arm. He could see her freckles even in the dim light from the stars. He hardly stopped to think before he leaned in, his mouth inches from her own. He could feel her breath, still coming in sharp gasps, against his lips. “Do you think it would be alright if I kissed you?”

She smiled, and his whole body lit on fire. “I’m going to insist that you do, Potter.”

Her lips tasted like the sea. Her hair, when he took the back of her neck into his hand, was coarse and tangled from their swim. The shock of her warm hands on his cold, bare chest nearly caused him to cry out, and she smiled into him. God, she knew exactly what she was doing to him.

It was impossible to know how long they stayed entwined in one another. James had lost all sense of time and space. All he knew was Lily. He knew he could stay like this forever and be just fine.

Unfortunately, Remus had other plans.

“OI!” Came the shout from the darkness. Lily and James jumped apart in alarm. Remus stood a ways up the beach with his arms crossed. It was hard to tell in the dark, but James would bet anything that he was smirking. “You’re not snogging my best mate down there, are you?”

“No!” cried James and Lily in unison.

“That’s what I thought. I hate to break up the party, but James, we’ve got to move. Mum will flip if we get the car back late.”

James nodded. It was a horrible thought, leaving Lily, but he’d seen Remus’ sweet-tempered mum angry only once before. He didn’t wish to repeat the experience.

“I’ve got to run,” he whispered apologetically to Lily. He grabbed her hand in the darkness, and for a moment they could have been back in the water, soaring over waves together. “I’ve got a few more days in town, then back to school. Can I meet you here again tomorrow?”

Lily beamed at him. “That sounds lovely. Maybe at school I’ll even allow you to be seen with me.”

He laughed, then kissed her once more. Remus’ exaggerated cough told him that it was, really, now time to go. “Do you need a ride home?”

She shook her head. “I’ve got my bike. See you tomorrow, then.”

His chest felt like it was fit to burst. They could do this all again tomorrow.

“See you then, Lily of the sea.”

He turned before he could see her roll her eyes again and made his way up the beach toward Remus. He put his hands in his pockets and tried his hardest to stifle the grin that was permanently etched upon his face.

Perhaps he wasn’t so mental after all.

[flyingkiki]

I Do? (1/?)

NEW #TIMRAE SERIES ALERT, my lovelies!! I couldn’t help myself. This came to me and I needed to get this going. Steam up ahead! Celebrating a steamy Valentine’s Day month for our favorite little birbs!

Full chapter 1 one now up! All the chaotic goodness is below the line. As promised - multi-chaptered, multi-chaos, and multi-steamy.  

Hi! @athenadione!!! hihihi.  

~

When Tim woke up the next day, he felt like a 10-wheeler truck had run over him. His head was pounding, quite literally close to exploding, and he could barely see through the haze of pain. Blindly pushing his blanket off his naked torso, he silently groaned at the movement and willed the world to stop spinning. He silently wondered just how tired he was from last night’s mission.

Rolling to his side, Tim groaned at the movement and felt his world cant dangerously to the side. His stomach lurched and he closed his eyes in a silent prayer top stop the treacherous motions. His world seemed to take another dip again, in a soft up and down motion, before stilling as he pressed his eyes tighter together. Pressing his face into his pillow, he gathered every ounce of his willpower to pull himself up into a seated position and grab the glass of water he usually would leave next to his bedside table the night before.

With a soft groan, Tim heaved himself up and pressed his bare back against his headboard. He was mildly aware that his rather naked legs and ass easily slid against his sheets – he must have been so tired last night that he just stripped out of his clothes and tumbled into bed. Wiggling his toes to get some sense of alertness back into his body, Tim cracked open his eyes, wiped his left hand against his face, and blinked blearily at his bedroom.

He immediately noticed several things:

There was no water next to him on his bedside table.

The ugly vase that Dick gave to him as a birthday present all those years ago was broken in one corner of the room.

Clothes were strewn all over the room – some of it definitely not his own.

There was someone in his bed.

Tim’s stomach churned and he momentarily broke through his delirious haze and stared at the painfully familiar asleep face that had turned to him. His chest tightened in panic and he felt a million warning bells go off in his head as he searched for at least one memory from last night. Last night’s debrief came to mind and that was it. Tim silently panicked – what exactly happened last night?

He watched in slow motion as the woman shifted next to him, bare shoulder peeking through his comforter as she curled towards him, making Tim all too aware that she was naked. He felt her feet brush against his right leg and he heard her sigh in content.

His gaze drifted to her small hand splayed over his pillow, familiar shoulder length black hair tangled into her fingers. Tim felt his panic immediately rise to this throat as his gaze dropped to the gold ring on her ring finger. Married. His pain addled brain told him she was not married because he had reread her files before she came to Gotham for the mission. So –?

His heart felt ready to explode as his eyes flew to his left hand. Through the haze of pain and panic, he inhaled sharply and stared at the identical gold ring on his left ring finger.

Holy fucking shit.

Tim felt his stomach take another painful lurch and his mind swam through the fog of last night, trying to make sense of what exactly happened in the last – he checked his watch – 7 hours. He could hear his ears ringing and he felt his chest tighten.

Next to him, Tim felt the bed move again followed by a soft sigh. He wondered if he was going to have a heart attack as his heart beat pounded in his chest and watched familiar deep blue eyes open slowly and blink blearily into his pillow.

“Your emotions are so loud,” she croaked into his pillows.

Tim watched a little breathlessly as his bedmate sleepily pressed her face into his pillow before slowly uncurling next to him. Dark blue eyes blinked up at him and he watched as her brows slowly drew together in confusion, and probably pain, as she finally registered him next to her. In bed.

“Oh shit,” Raven breathed.

Holy fucking shit indeed, Tim thought. His breath caught in his throat as he watched Raven slowly wake up and realization dawned in her eyes. She shrank into his bed, her blue eyes catching his own. “Tim,” she whispered, drawing out his name breathlessly as she stared at his chest then back at his face. Her fingers instinctively drew around her and pulled his blankets closer to her naked chest.

“What happened last night?” she whispered harshly, pulling herself up to sit in bed next to him and she glared. She sounded exhausted, her voice rough and cracking. Raven tugged the blanket around her chest tighter as her mind caught up with her and Tim had to hold on to his end of the blanket to avoid losing it around his waist – not that it really mattered any more, since they both obviously had sex at this point. Tim mentally groaned. Dick was going to kill him. Dragging his hand across his face again, he sighed. Scratch that – Bruce was going to kill him, Tim realized as he became all too aware again of the foreign press of a ring against his cheek. Fuck.

Tim offered her a pained look as Raven stared openly at the mess in his bedroom. His chest tightened as he watched her, things definitely should not have turned out this way. “I don’t know,” he said earnestly. He watched Raven sigh in frustration, drawing her eyebrows together and run her hand through her black hair – a tick he had observed her do over the last couple of days while she and Cyborg were helping out in Gotham. She swept her long hair over her right shoulder with a frustrated sigh. He caught sight of her slender neck and suddenly felt like he was punched in the throat. Hickeys. Lots of them ran from her shoulder to her neck – a rather large one prominently stood out just at the base of her neck.

“You don’t know?” Raven asked incredulously with a frown. It was honestly a bit surprising how well she took the whole situation, waking up naked in bed with him after a long night of sex both obviously could not remember. He figured there were stranger things that had happened in their lives. But still – this was terrible. “I cannot remember anything after last night’s debrief,” she paused as she tried to recall last night’s events. “And coffee?”

Coffee. Tim blankly stared at his hands on top of his comforter as he tried to recall going out for coffee at two in the morning. Yeah – they somehow did end up getting coffee at an empty dinner. But what happened after? His mind whizzed, trying to blindly grapple through the fog when his heart stuttered to a halt as a whisper of a memory slipped through his mind – a breathy laugh, a small hand pressed into his arm, a kiss to the cheek, a soft body pressed into the corner of the booth.

Holy hell. Tim inhaled sharply and ignored the warm jolt that spread through his body. He backpedaled from the whispy memory because this was certainly not the time to get morning wood. Oh god.

“What the fuck is this?”

Raven stared at her ring finger, her hand raised in front of her face and she gapped at the gold ring. Her eyes flew to Tim, who winced at the glare she sent him. “What the fuck did we do, Tim?!” she snapped and her eyes widened at the sight of the identical ring on his finger.

It was a stupid question, Tim thought, because if by the soreness of their bodies and the visible bruising and bite-marks along the just the right places were any indication, they both knew exactly what happened last night. “I’m trying to figure that out,” he replied, a little tense.

“Did we get married?!” she asked in bewilderment. He listened to her release a string of curses as he shifted in bed. Did they get married? Maybe the wedding rings were just that – rings. Without any legal documents, they were not technically married. Tim could check. Yeah, he thought to himself, if there was no legal document they could just sweep this – whatever this was – behind them.

Ignoring Raven, Tim groaned as he rolled himself out of bed and stood up. He was vaguely aware of the soft intake of breath and her eyes boring into his naked form. At this point he could care less with propriety – they already had sex anyway. Walking across his bedroom, albeit a little wobbly, Tim picked up his boxers and pulled them back on. He groaned, bending down made his muscles ache. Fishing through the discarded (torn) clothes on the ground, he tried to find his phone to use to hack into the civil registry system to cross check their names.

“What are you doing!?” Raven hissed watching Tim walk around naked. Tim finally found his phone in his discarded jeans. As he pulled out his phone a haphazardly folded up piece of paper fell out with it. His muscles ached as he instinctively bent down to pick up the folded piece of paper. Unfolding the piece of paper, Tim felt immediate dread pool low in his stomach. Ignoring Raven as she called his name, Tim’s heart dropped and he realized it would have been much better to have been hit by a 10-wheeler truck than find himself in this current clusterfuck they were in. Oh, Dick and Bruce were going to skin him alive. Tim blinked and stared at the cheap gaudy curved script that stared back at him.

This certifies that Timothy Jackson Wayne and Rachel Roth were united in marriage on…

“Fuck.” Tim felt like he was getting lightheaded.

He barely noticed Raven shuffle towards him, heavily bundled up in his thick comforter. Under different circumstances, he would have thought she looked cute. He sighed in resignation as he held out the crumpled paper for her to read. He watched as sheer horror crossed her face.

“Elvis officiated our wedding?!”

~

They were infected by Ivy’s pheromone pollen. Sex pollen. A pollen that lowered inhibitions, played with their desires, and made people generally horny and stupid. Raven was not sure how exactly they missed the pollen last night but she vaguely remembered the pollen did not come up when Cyborg scanned her for any injuries last night.

Raven knew that coming to Gotham for this crazy Doctor Light manhunt with Cyborg was a terrible idea. Doctor Light was in Gotham to ransack Wayne Tech and somehow ended up teaming up with Poison Ivy and Harley. Everything was fine until last night, after they apprehended their little circus. Fuck her damn life.

Raven bounced her leg absently, another nervous tick she really was not proud of. Tim and her were in back in the Batcave, they immediately drove over after this morning’s rather surprising discovery. Seeing the hulking form of Bruce Wayne dressed in a business suit had her just a tiny bit intimidated. Bruce had returned to the manor immediately after receiving a call from Tim that morning that he was unable to report to work and they had to meet back at the Cave immediately. Code Zeta, apparently – code for probably “I had a one-night stand and I got married last night in Vegas. Help.” A look of total bewilderment and sheer disbelief crossed his face after Tim explained what happened – glossing over most parts though.

Cyborg looked just about ready to blow a fuse as he all but glowered at Tim. Tim shot him a dark look as well, patience obviously drawing thin. No one in the cave was a fan of the recent developments.

“You are what?” Bruce asked, voice raised and blue eyes blown wide. Raven shrank in her oversized t-shirt and sweatpants – both Tim’s because whatever clothes she wore last night to Tim’s place were in shreds. Both seemed very eager last night to consummate their marriage.

“Married?” Tim snapped, tired of repeating himself over and over. He sat slumped on the medbay bed, sleeve rolled up for where an amused Alfred drew a blood sample earlier. Raven watched Tim scowl darkly at Bruce, who returned the scowl with equal intensity.

“What exactly happened last night?!” Cyborg growled. He stood in the middle of the Cave and glanced at the large BatComputer screen where they had scanned and uploaded Tim and Raven’s marriage certificate (Raven’s stomach heaved) and confirmed that yes, that shit was authentic and yes, Elvis officiated their wedding. His cybernetic eye flashed dangerously and glared both at Raven and Tim, though largely at Tim.

“I’d rather not give you a blow by blow,” shot back Raven, glaring back at Cyborg. Tim winced at her poor choice of words and Cyborg returned her scowl. “Because all of us in this this shitty Cave know exactly what happened last night,”

Bruce sighed loudly, swiping his hand over his face and loosened his tie. He needed to breathe. “This is a nightmare,” he grumbled and turned towards the computer.

“You’re telling me,” Raven breathed and glared at Bruce’s back as he began typing into the computer. She just wanted to go back to the Tower and forget this entire thing happened. She wanted her single status back.

“O?” Bruce called after patching in Barbara.

“Hey, B,” Raven watched as the redhead appeared on the screen. A look of surprise crossed Barbara’s face as she saw the rest of the occupants of the Cave. “I thought you guys would be back in Jump by now, Vic?”

“Looks like someone might just stay here much longer,” Cyborg grumbled and shot Raven a dirty look who quickly glared back.

“What’s going on?” Barbara cocked her head curiously.

“We have a bit of a situation,” Bruce said with a strained voice. (“Bit?!” huffed Cyborg.) “Look,” he said and sent her the scanned marriage certificate. “Could you do something about this?”

Raven watched as Barbara’s eyes widened and a look of sheer surprise crossed her face. “What the fuck,” Barbara breathed. She stared at Tim, who had walked up to Bruce with an annoyed expression. “Tim!” she hissed, drawing out his name.

Tim sighed, “Can you do something about this? Erase the files?”

Barbara hummed, typing into her computer. She made a face and looked back up at them. “You guys are definitely legally married. You even have a marriage license – how on earth did you even get a license at 3 in the morning?”

“When you’re drugged and horny anything is possible,” Raven said sardonically. Cyborg shot her pained look. Tim released a strangled groan.

Barbara made a face and returned to her typing. After a few minutes, Barbara looked up and her look was a beautiful mix of amusement and apologetic. “So,” she breathed. “I could totally erase the files, that’s easy enough,” she said.

Raven’s eyes narrowed as she caught Barbara’s tone. She watched Tim tense and cross his arms defensively. “But?” she asked.

Despite sounding apologetic, she shot them a highly amused look. “#WayneVegasWedding is currently trending number one on Twitter worldwide,” She made a face. “I don’t think there’s a lot I can do at this point to make that go away,”

“These cuties came in and got married today! Best wishes to Tim and Rachel! <3 #WayneVegasWedding,”

Raven stared in horror as Elvis’ tweet (@HoundDogVegasBoi) flashed on the screen. His ugly Elvis hairdo took up half of the picture, but there right next to the grinning Elvis impersonator was a very clear image of Tim and Raven, pressed into her each other. Tim was grinning broadly at the camera, arm slung over Raven’s shoulder while she pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“Is that Tim Wayne?! #WayneVegasWedding????”

“OMG. Hottie no longer on the market! #WayneVegasWedding!”

“WHO IS SHE!? Why did she take my boi? #WayneVegasWedding”

Raven glowered and several lights exploded over their heads. “Well, fuck.”

[nelllraiser]

hell’s true north | adam & nell

TIMING: current. LOCATION: hellscape number ??. PARTIES:  @walker-journal & @nelllraiser. SUMMARY: adam follows his compass home. CONTAINS: sibling death (brief references to the bea plot), mass poisoning (from inhospitable domain), parental death mentions.

Vines with the texture of withered leather fingers writhed under Adam’s feet as he stumbled out of a brackish puddle of ichor. Disaster response boots that’d been designed to weather fire, acid, and radiation had eventually yielded before the onslaught of otherworldly environs. Now the ragged soles barely clung to his feet, wrapped tight with bloody strips of bloody demon hide. The most cutting edge kevlar, environment-resistant tactical gear, breathing apparatuses, and deadly military firearms had been gradually ravaged into uselessness by universes full of chemicals and alternative laws of physics that Earthly science had never imagined. As the tactics, preparation, and martial science Adam had once relied on was stripped away in the nonstop battles with demonic flora and fauna, the title of Hunter had become brutally literal. 

Adam spelunked through caverns that formed from the innards of sleeping elder things, scaled cliff sides made of solidified light and shadow, jumped across archipelagos of bone islands floating in stormy skies, climbed up trees the size of skyscrapers whose fruits were embryonic sacks in which monsters gestated, hiked across the savannahs with rolling plains of scalpel-sharp obsidian grass, and tightroped across worlds that were just spider webs of tentacles stretched across abyssal gyres. 

Adam was now a ragged figure where a dauntless soldier had once been, the shreds of his tactical uniform stitched together with leather and pieces of chitin. Once the olympics-ready peak of health, the footballer’s veins were stained with dark lines across his skin and he stumbled across the landscape of grasping roots and tide pools of black blood. His breathing was shallow treks through world after world had wracked the Hunter’s body with alien toxins that even the mutant’s regeneration was failing to fight off. Adam’s vision was blurred with the edges and everything muscle in his battered body begged to just lay down in darkness. 

But the compass in Adam’s hand pointed the way across the hellscape of fire, floating islands of tentacled flesh, and geometric monoliths to old gods that's already sunk into dreaming torpor long before humankind had discovered fire. Adam fought back agony and followed the compass needles across the poisoned land. 

Everything had blurred together by now. Nell couldn’t even clearly remember how she’d gotten to this realm, just that she’d fallen through far too many holes in the ground, off cliff sides, or out of sky-hanging oceans to even begin to remember what world this was. The red skies she’d originally arrived under were long gone, barely a memory after all the worlds that had followed, and all the attacks she'd scrambled to come out of in one piece. Though perhaps calling herself one piece was being generous when she’d resorted to packing the missing chunks of her flesh with whatever she could find that didn’t instantly sting and burn at her open wounds. She didn’t know how long it had been since she’d slept, time still immeasurable in places like these— just that she hadn’t done it since the baykok’s attack. The lack of sleep meant she hadn’t been able to replenish a single shining grain of her magic after she’d been quite literally drained and fed from, her body having nothing but sheer determination to keep her wavering feet from falling out beneath her. 

Something was the very definition of fundamentally wrong with this world in terms of survivability. Nell could feel it in the way each breath felt sharper than the last, and the ugly coughs that had her spitting up black specks on the palms of her hands. None of the places she’d seen could have been described as friendly, but this one felt like it was digging her foot deeper into the grave with every second she stayed. She needed to find a way out if she wanted to make it another hour. Nell was far past the point of finding a way back to White Crest, ready to settle for a hellscape that wasn’t killing the witch with every inhale of her lungs, and go from there if she could manage to last that long. How long had she lasted already? How much longer could she last? She’d always been a fighter, refusing to go down without taking at least a part of her attacker with her. But how could she carve out a piece of a world? How was she meant to rage against an entire realm? Maybe sometimes there was simply nothing to fight against, the hand of Fate snuffing out her life whether she liked it or not. 

And yet she kept walking, limping along as the injury on her leg oozed with some otherworldly infection that promised to kill her if this air didn’t. There was no direction, no plan, just the foolish hope that she’d stumble into a place where she could properly breathe. She walked until she could barely make out a figure on the horizon, squinting her eyes against the bright green and dingy brown of this place while she wondered if this would be the final creature to kill her. But the figure grew closer, and despite her best judgement an uncontrollable wave of hope flooded her chest. “Adam?” she dared to utter, even though she knew it was far too good to be true. Nell and the hellscape had done this before in the form of a tikbalang sending her astray with the perfect illusion of her hunter. “We’re doing this again?” she asked the air in a tone that was resigned to the disappointment of finding another falsehood, the high instantly giving way to a low. “What is it? Another tikbalang?” But this Adam was different. He looked sickly, and past the point of battered— like he’d already knocked on death’s door only for death to tell him to come back in ten or so minutes. They’d call him when they were ready. Why would an illusion-caster show her this? 

Hallucinations had become ever more common as toxic environs and constant otherworldly stimuli wore down Adam’s nervous system. 

Sometimes it was dad, gently reminding him of past lessons as Adam fought his way through nightmarish creatures and tried to find his way through landscapes only possible in other realities. Other times it was James or Terry, come to chat idly about football and girls as Adam trekked across wastelands whose sloping yet flat contours didn’t obey the rules of time and space. Dave gruffly reminded him about knots and the perils of marine warfare as Adam journeyed through rivers that flowed up into the sky and seas of sentint poison. Regan gave pointers on splinting a broken arm with a demon’s bones all while primly reminding him she wasn’t that kind of doctor. Orion nervously recounted facts about obscure demon types as Adam ducked claws and spines while trying to find a weak point. Ariana punched Adam in the arm and reminded him to buck up and put on a tough grin when everything was just pain. Athena gave advice on slowing the poison’s spread through his body with her mixture of tenderness and steel. Kaden brusquely correctly Adam on his stances as the younger Hunter’s limbs trembled with neurological damage, before reminding him to stay alive. Mina kept him vigilant, pointing out dangerous movements and sounds even when every fiber of Adam’s body wanted to sink into oblivion. Morgan spoke gently to him when the horror became too much, her hand on his shaking shoulders when the mental strain of glimpsing elder things sent Adam into seizuring convulsions. Dani reminded him of duty and their ancestral oaths with a concerned smile when ancient deceivers whispered in Adam’s brain, offering easy miracles in his moments of weakness. Luce yelled at him to get the fuck back up and fight when Adam could barely stand and death’s release drew close. Beatrice demanded that Adam remember who he’d come her for, when poisoned dreams threatened to swallow reality entirely. 

So this was not the first time Adam’d met Nell and had to hold back tears when stabbing yet another shapeshifter to death or felt crushing emptiness when it turned out he’d only embraced only empty air. 

Adam looked down at the compass needle, pointing unerringly forward. 

“Hey Nell,” Adam rasped through cracked lips, taking a green stone with a hole through its center from a cord around his neck. He held out the Adder Stone in one hand, gory knife clutched in the other. “When’d you give this to me?” 

Nell looked to the Adder Stone held in Adam’s hand, her solemn resignation to the illusion disrupted by the flickering of uncertainty in her eyes. The compass was a new addition as well, though she recognized the daffodil bloom she’d carefully laid into the face of it, the magic and flowers they’d made together under a full moon. “But I didn’t- I was gonna give you that after the date,” she mumbled, already chiding herself for how easily a couple of emotional trinkets could sway her mind towards what the demon world wanted her to see. But the compass wasn’t what he was asking about. The Adder Stone. Of course she remembered when she’d given it to him- the first of many things she’d gifted in an attempt to keep him safe. 

“After Bea- after we...brought her back.” Nell had masqueraded the gift as a thanks for Adam’s help in bringing her sister back from the ether, but the truth had gone deeper than that. “I said it was for helping protect my family. But I just- the carachs had just given you those visions, and the somnivore thing wasn’t that far off.” It’d been nearly a year ago that she’d delivered the stone, nearly five months after their first meeting at the Ring, and by then she’d already gotten soft for him. “You were hurting and- I didn’t want you to hurt.” Taking the Adder Stone between her fingers, she swallowed hard as she held it before her face, already dreading the moment he’d disappear before her eyes. The motion sent her into a brief coughing fit, the heaves long and loud as her lungs desperately tried to dispel the poison in her system. At the end of it she finally raised the stone’s center to her eye, knowing this vision and her willingness to linger with even a false Adam had already shaved precious moments off the stopwatch that was ticking down the seconds until the poison got the best of her. “Let’s just- let’s get this over with.” It was silly, and she shouldn’t have said it knowing he was nothing more than an exhaustion or demon induced delusion. But she couldn’t help herself as the next words whispered from her lips, trying to find a moment of peace in a land that had never known it. “I miss you. I’ll miss you.”

Finally Nell looked through the stone’s center, still surprised at how solid it felt in her hands, wondering if that was another lie to be chalked up to feeling dead on her feet. Except Adam didn’t fade from view, didn’t disappear into nothingness as she locked her gaze onto his familiar and brown eyes. She gasped, still hardly believing it but reaching out nonetheless, letting the Adder Stone thump unceremoniously against his chest while its cord slackened and her hand found a gentle resting place alongside his cheek. Warmth. Perhaps a little too warm, as if he were running a fever. But there was the unmistakable feeling of life beneath her fingertips, and she didn’t hesitate a moment longer to close the space between them, slipping her other hand into his. Her knees grew even more unsteady, either from shock, barely having the energy to hold herself upright, or both— and for a moment she rested a little more weight against him than she probably should have considering his state. But it was impossible for her not to sink into the first safe place she’d found since the onychorror had snatched her. She’d finally found a place where she was safe in the hellhole. A place where she’d always been safe to crumble, to relieve her walls of their nearly ever-present duties. A place where she knew it was safe to fall because he’d never once stumbled when it came to catching her. “How- How did you- you’re real? Please- either this is a really good mindfuck or-” Or Tate had made good on his deal, and managed to get her hastily doctored sigil back to White Crest. Was it possible something had actually gone right? Had gone so right as to bring the man she loved to her side?

Adam let the knife fall from his hand onto the writhing ground and put his arms around Nell. There was a moment of tenseness, of resigned expectation. But she didn’t turn to mist, slip right through him, or boil up into some hungry thing. Tidal waves of relief and shock at something too impossibly good to be true collided in Adam’s chest. Nell was solid, real. Just a moment Adam couldn’t feel the heat of the burning sky or the poisons of alien worlds killing him cell by cell. 

“I’m real,” Adam assured holding her tight with what strength was left in him. “I’m really here.” He entwined the fingers of their free hands. “I don’t want any other life except one with you in it,” the Hunter confessed, wasting precious water as the tears slid down his bloody and battered face. 

“So uh...here I am.” 

Nell could feel her own tears gathering in the corners of her eyes, an avalanche of relief washing over her near-ravaged spirit, almost still waiting for this moment to break in a way that left her spinning. But the moment never came, and Adam was breathtakingly solid within her arms. For a long breath she savored the peace he brought, like a salve over an open wound. She wanted to bury herself against him, to hide from the world around them and pretend like it didn’t exist, but the fear that he’d disappear if she so much as looked away from his gaze was too great, afraid to even blink lest the break in their eye contact be the blip of time needed for him to dissipate from under her hands. 

She could feel her pulse gain a few extra beats while Adam made his declaration, heart in her throat while she ran his words on repeat through her mind. It was wrong. So wrong that such beautiful words should have to be uttered in a world as ugly as this one, spoken between the gasping breaths of a dying pair. Nell had always known that loving Adam wouldn’t be easy between his constant brushes with death, and the conditioning that often made him feel the need to put humanity’s welfare before anything else in his life. She’d done it nevertheless, having made peace with the fact that maybe he wouldn’t ever wholly be her’s, a part of him always belonging only to his mission. The pieces of him she’d been given had been more than enough. But that didn’t mean his admission didn’t tug at her heart, didn’t make it soar in a way that made a fluttering bloom in chest that had nothing to do with the poisonous air slowly killing her.

“Here you are,” Nell finally managed to repeat in wonder. Hadn’t he been the one trying to convince her to leave him behind should the demon apocalypse commence? He'd told her that she was a part of humanity’s hope for survival, that she should abandon him for the sake of the world. It was his own words that made her know the gravity of him choosing to come for her, to potentially sacrifice one of humanity’s hopes in the form of himself by searching for her in the endless worlds. And that was enough to keep her voice steady and sincere while she spoke. “I don’t want a life without you either.”

Part of Nell wanted to be upset with him, to scold him for being so foolish with his own life by following her into the portal, but she couldn’t manage to speak the words through the temporary moment of solace they’d found in the middle of hell— unwilling to break it. Unfortunately there was something else that needed to be said that would do just as good a job at shattering their moment of quiet. Something she couldn’t ignore. “There’s...something else I need to tell you.” Let her hold onto this shining feeling for just a few more seconds before she brought them back to reality.

Adam had grown up with the knowledge that his life wasn’t his own. It belonged to humanity’s destiny, a merciless idol that generations upon generations of his family had been sacrificed to appease. The abnegation of the self had been soothing in a way, it’d made him brave in a way. It doesn’t hurt to suffer and risk your life again and again if it isn’t truly yours to lose. He tried to never deceive the women in his life. Nobody deserved to be given only part of someone to love. 

Mom and dad had loved each other intensely, and Adam had seen the aftermath after the needs of humanity had demanded yet another sacrifice. At the time he’d thought he’d learned a lesson from Esther Walker’s sorrow, and was determined to never hurt someone the way his father had. 

But after three years of complete radio silence, Adam had spoken with mom and learned too late that he'd gotten it all wrong. As he’d grown, so had she, and neither mother or son were the same broken people that’d parted at Gehena 19. 

Penelope was a person he shouldn’t have loved. She practiced demonology, the very art that’d fucked up the world in the first place. She’d participated in human trafficking and slavery. She’d performed ritual human sacrifice. She’d hunted down bounties without any concern for morality or a higher cause. She aided and abetted supernatural criminals simply because of her personal feelings. When these actions reaped consequences, Nell responded with personal wrath and revenge rather than seeking resolution, splintering tragedy into ever more fractals of repercussion. 

Basically, by every standard he’d been raised to believe in, Penelope Vural was evil, and if she hadn’t been born human Adam would’ve been obligated to kill her. 

But that’s not what happened. At first it’d just been that she was a useful ally. Next it'd just been typical horndog Adam, thinking with the head in his trousers rather than one on his shoulders again. Physical attraction and wary partnership had explained things for only so long however. She was brave, self-sacrificing, vivacious, and free to act according to passion and her free will in a way Adam had never dared to be. Eventually Adam was sharing things with her that he’d never dreamed of telling anyone else. 

He wasn’t supposed to care about someone like Nell, to give her so much of what belonged to the mission. Adam could only love someone also sworn to fight the same war, no one else could understand the sacrifices necessary and what’d inevitably come sooner rather than later. Adam had been introduced to Huntresses his age with the unspoken understanding that eventually he’d find someone to fight alongside and raise children with to pass the sacred charge onto the next generation. 

Adam had drank, partied, and screwed his way into forgetting for a while. Until suddenly, he ended up loving the wrong person, someone who wanted Adam for just himself, war be damned. 

It wasn’t the right thing. 

But what if he just….did y’know?

What he just loved Nell like she deserved without holding back, fight for his own humanity for a change?

Adam just wished he'd had the courage to take that plunge earlier. 

Adam looked parted the embrace slightly so that he could meet her gaze  “What is it Nell?” 

Nell hadn’t planned to fall for Adam Walker, hadn’t even entirely noticed how close she’d let him get until she’d felt like she was on the edge of losing him, delivering the news that August Thompson had died a death far from peaceful— that Adam’s hand had been directly involved in the spellcaster’s demise. Of course she’d known he was one of the people she’d trusted most, one of the only people she’d ever let see her stripped to the core while he’d held her after Bea’s death. It was why she’d asked him to help in the first place. But she hadn’t realized just how much there was to lose until she was standing on the precipice. She’d been convinced that it would be the end, that she’d managed to ruin something before even really letting it begin, and that he wouldn't come back. It turned out she didn't need to worry about him coming back, because he’d never left in the first place. And he kept not leaving, something that had been rare in the life of a witch who had an overzealous temper and a reckless streak a mile wide. 

So when he’d done things others might condemn or draw the line at— killed a werewolf in cold blood, admitted his own bloodlust beneath a full moon, gone on a murder spree fueled by the same moon, considered a demon pact, left her on read in the middle of feeling as if she were about to lose him...there’d been no choice of whether or not she’d grant him the same loyalty, to stay with him just as he’d stayed with her. She’d just wanted him to come home. And he always had. Even now, after fighting his way through literal hell, he’d come home.

Selfishly putting off her bad news for one moment longer, she let months of feeling the sun on her face when he smiled fill her soul, holding onto that feeling as she tried to find the words for what she wanted to say. What needed to be said if they didn’t make it out of this hellscape, and what she should have said much sooner despite being scared. She’d been worried about what he might say in reply, always thinking of that part of himself that she knew he felt he couldn’t give, not sure if she wanted to hear the ‘I’m sorry, but’ that she might get in response. But the man who’d dived into hell for her deserved to hear it, and she wasn’t scared anymore. “You know I love you, right?” He didn’t need to say it back, she’d finally realized that while he’d been walking towards her, knowing loving words could never speak as loudly as his actions had. “I just wanted you to know,” she assured him, letting him know she didn’t need to hear it in return. It wouldn’t change anything. 

Now for the less charming of her news. “Not to...instantly bring the mood down but...the other thing I needed to tell you…” Nell glanced over her shoulder, as if the soul-snatching creature would be there even now as she divulged news of it. “There’s a...slaugh. I think it’s been following me.” Adam would know what it meant, that such creatures only went after those who were generally mere hours from dying, waiting to devour their souls. Nell had glimpsed it as she kept rubbing elbows with death in the hellscape, the being momentarily coming into focus while she’d barely escaped a demon encounter with her life still intact. The creatures were nearly as good at predicting death as banshees were.

Adam followed her gaze towards the burning horizon where plasma storms corrustated in lightning rainbows over living plains of crawling flesh. Slaugh were vultures of the spirit world. As a kid he’d been terrified of the invisible presences that set off his Hunter senses whenever there was a clash between militia forces around the Levant. It’d felt like a blizzard of dark wings, choking him with claustrophobia on empty arid plains covered in bodies shredded by shrapnel.

Mom had assured her son he wasn’t crazy. He could just feel the demons glutted humanity’s senseless wars against itself.  

Adam‘s mind went back to Regan’s prophecy and felt an iron dread settle in his stomach, adding bittersweetness to the joy and relief coursing through his enervated body. 

Adam let the future go and drew Nell close against him again, just letting this moment exist for as long as hell allowed. “We’ll figure it out when we get back to Earth ,” he murmured.

The tension in Nell’s shoulders melted as Adam pulled her back, savoring their togetherness for as long as she could, feeling true hope for the first time since...she wasn’t actually certain how long it had been, not even knowing how many days she’d been stuck in these hell-worlds. She drew a long breath while she was pressed against him, giving his hand a gentle squeeze to assure herself that he was still here- still real even though it seemed impossible that he was. When they got back to Earth. It seemed like a far off hope, like shooting for the moon without any of that bullshit optimism of landing among the stars. “Then you can tell me the plan when we find a place that’s not suffocating us.” He wouldn’t have come without one, right? It was one thing to condemn himself to death, and she wouldn’t be entirely surprised given his generally self-sacrificing nature, whether that had been taught, was natural, or a combination of the two. But it was another entirely to forfeit the life of her as well by diving in without an extraction plan. He wouldn’t have risked the person he was saving.

The slaugh was worrisome enough as an omen of death, but there’d been more to consider when it’s eating of souls was brought into play. Nell still wasn’t all that sure whether she’d want to be raised from the dead in the first place should she perish in the next twenty-four hours, but if the slaugh ate her soul...she wouldn’t have a choice to begin with. You couldn’t raise a body without a soul. 

Again Nell fell silent while she drank in as much as this as she could, the dread in her stomach a constant reminder of how far there still was to go. But with Adam- at least she stood a chance. With Adam they could at least sleep, taking varied watches. And then maybe some of her magic would come back and Adam could heal, and then...well then they’d at least have a fighting chance together, always stronger together. Nell used her fragile strength to bring herself to the tips of her toes, trying to press a gentle kiss to his black-veined cheek before feathering across his lips. “We’ll figure it out when we get back to Earth,” she echoed, recognizing it as another promise they could hold between them. They’d go back to Earth together in the same way they’d fought the dolorphage, the way they’d faced an unknown future beneath the full moon all those months ago, and the same way they’d taken on a demon cult and lived to tell the tale— always together.

[topmixtrends]

CRITICAL CONSENSUS HOLDS that Wes Anderson movies are about loss. For some artists, aestheticism acts as a kind of spider’s silk: a complexly structured beauty proves best for binding and healing whatever wound. As with a play by the unloved Wilde or a mazurka by the exiled Chopin, the sheer symmetrical precision of an Anderson film knits up and covers over trauma the way that Richie Tenenbaum’s bandages knit up his slashed wrists.

But Isle of Dogs, the director’s most recent stop-motion effort, is not a movie about loss. It’s not even about losing, nor about the ethical and aesthetic miracle of sustaining a marvelously well-ordered fantasy in the face of devastation — you know, that whole Anderson thing.

By contrast, Isle of Dogs is a movie about finding: finding a dog, finding your friends and family, finding your purpose and your identity. So it is slightly difficult to integrate it into the Anderson oeuvre: its primary affect is not sorrow or melancholy but anger, its aesthetic a kind of closely controlled, roiling ickiness: packs of grimy dogs explode into fights, samurai heads fall off, planes burst into immaculate balls of cotton-fluff smoke, sushi fish are hacked up squirmingly alive. At every point in the film (and the film is surprisingly unpleasant to watch for precisely this reason), Anderson seems to ask what forms, what styles, are commensurate to rage — and not just to rage but to a double-pronged, rage-driven teen quest to defeat the patent unfairness of the world.

A first answer would appear to be taiko drumming: in a well of light, surrounded by darkness, three well-fleshed, bare-chested adolescents hammer out a theme by Oscar-winner Alexandre Desplat. We are then drawn into an epic expository sequence about a centuries-old conflict between the dogs of Japan and the cat-loving Kobayashi dynasty, which still controls the fictional Uni Prefecture, which in turns contains the fictional city of Megasaki. Cut to the issuing of a municipal decree by the mayor of Megasaki, who is also the current head of the Kobayashi dynasty, 20 years in the future, as measured from our heterodiegetic present: infected with something called “Dog Flu,” all of the city’s dogs are to be quarantined on Trash Island, now known as the Isle of Dogs. The mayor’s ward, Atari Kobayashi (Koyu Rankin), aged 12 — granted, not quite a teen, but pissed as hell, a classic Anderson pubescent — watches from the shadows as his beloved guard dog, Spots (Liev Schreiber), is sent off in a crate as proof that his guardian means business.

Revealed mostly in flashbacks, Spots’s fate furnishes one of the film’s intricate, Andersonian subplots; just as crammed with reversals, the A story details Atari’s quest to find Spots on Trash Island. He’s helped by a pack of alpha dogs voiced by regular Anderson collaborators: former house pets Rex (Edward Norton), King (Bob Balaban), Boss (Bill Murray), and Duke (Jeff Goldblum), plus Chief (Bryan Cranston), a former stray. If this sounds cute, well, it isn’t. The film’s violence is remarkably violent. Chief’s a scrapper: in his first scene he chews off another dog’s ear. It sits like a hot-sauced chicharron in the center of the screen, vaguely horrid and blood-spotted, until it’s dragged away by a rat. As they journey, the dogs pass through a series of gorgeously bleak landscapes, arguing among themselves all the while. The group’s conflicts usually center on Rex, head of the pets — who wants to help Atari — and Chief, sole gutter spawn, who’s keeping an open mind on the question of whether the dogs should just eat him. Cranston-as-Chief sometimes sounds so threateningly grumpy his performance sometimes loses its comic touch.

The B plot follows Tracy Walker (Greta Gerwig), a foreign exchange student from Ohio and the second prong of Anderson’s preteen anger force. Tracy is a cub reporter on the Megasaki Senior High newspaper; she is also very noticeably pissed. She declares she’s angry at several points. She hates the mayor, hates that he’s corrupt, hates that no one in Megasaki can see how corrupt and unfair the treatment of its dog population might be. She chews her gum so hard you can hear it — that’s how pissed she is. As she discovers that a massive conspiracy lies behind the dogs’ expulsion, she only gets madder. On the hunt for a serum to cure the dogs of Trash Island, she bursts into a bar and screams down a bereaved scientist voiced by Yoko Ono. The scene is almost unwatchably unpleasant: anger is, based on the scantiness of its representation, more unsettling than fear or grief. On the other hand, there’s a certain bravery in showing us a character’s outrage, even at the cost of showing — or trying to show us — things atrocious enough to outrage both the character and the audience.

Unlike cats, who conspire with the corrupt Kobayashis, the dogs of Megasaki are fundamentally innocent — and so, of course, people would send them to hell, misdirection of our own pain or culpability onto the nearest possible Other being the single great talent of humankind. Thus scapegoated, the dogs form their own raggedy community. And again, an ugliness, an ickiness, holds the day despite the ingenuity, the sheer (and familiar) beauty of certain of Anderson’s shots. The emaciated, dirty, insomniac creatures we see in an early montage flirt with the Burton-esque. The atrocities perpetrated on another subcommunity of Trash Island dogs — the survivors of a medical facility where they were experimented on — leaves many of them with glass eyes, tubes sticking out of their necks, or, in the case of the old, much-bereaved dog Gondo (Harvey Keitel), a face that’s half-bald and decorated with medical tattoos. (Keitel’s monologue about the loss of his own fellow canine best friend — riven by instinctive howling — is the film’s best performance.)

Anderson has never shied from medical horror, torture, arterial blood, knives, arrows, severed heads, severed fingers, small arms, pepper spray, flamethrowers, sabers, shoves out of windows and down stairs, punches to the nose, and bigtime scuffles of the squad-of-baddies-on-squad-of-hapless-heroes or bro-on-bro or even the kid-on-kid kind. In Moonrise Kingdom, Social Services threatens 12-year-old Sam Shakusky with electric shock for refusing to betray his true love, Suzy Bishop; Anderson’s previous stop-motion film, Fantastic Mr. Fox, also sports with amputations and gory gallows humor. But Isle throbs with a much darker and more disturbing intensity than any of Anderson’s other films. It flirts with the thin representational line between slapstick and cruelty. In two different instances, we are left to think that our favorite characters — sweet innocent dogs — have either starved to death or been incinerated. Audible gasps of adult discomfort accompanied both scenes both times I saw the film. Not for nothing is its PG-13 rating for “violent images.”

But that makes the film a challenge — its nearest animal-tale analogue, so far as I can tell, is Art Spiegelman’s Maus. At the very least, it helps furnish some internal answer as to what to do about movies that, like this one, seem to make people very mad.

¤

Upon the film’s release, some heralded Isle of Dogs as prescient; they celebrated it, for example, for its celebration of student protest. But the idealism of the pro-dog movement as headed by the gum-snapping, conspiracy-busting Tracy doesn’t much resemble anything that young people might find to protest. In a certain sense — although no one in the film can know this, since the humans and the dogs in Megasaki don’t speak the same language — Chief and co. are quirky but loyal old-fashioned, white-sounding dudes who want nothing more than to find masters. Counterpoised against this wholesome if utterly outdated modus vivendi is a vision of fascist evil decidedly incomplete — a vision of camps and complete dog extermination that conjures up the Holocaust but that leaves aside other ways that fascism has expressed itself in any moment closer to Tracy’s and Atari’s or our own.

Whether it is appropriate to aestheticize the Holocaust is one question (shades of Maus again — but the film has none of the comic book’s claim to history); strong views on both sides would make for a real conversation. But the film has attracted even stronger takes. Though the critical dust has mostly settled, the film’s reception was hampered by charges of cultural appropriation: Justin Chang of the Los Angeles Times wrote a scathing review of what he saw as Anderson’s failures. But as a recent piece at The New Yorker rightly points out, Anderson did not invent the commodification or appropriation of Japanese culture, and Japonism was often aided and abetted by the Japanese. Indeed, the mayor of Megasaki is a thundering Asian dictator — very close to racist stereotype — but then again, he looks not a little like the thundering dictator-to-be who runs our country. And if Anderson’s fictional Megasaki is no more than a Japanese-ish place outside of history, that’s for better and for worse, too. We learn that Trash Island was repeatedly destroyed by the natural disasters to which the Japanese archipelago is in fact susceptible — volcanoes, tidal waves — but the film’s Japan does not seem to have known the unnatural disaster that killed twice as many people as the nearest natural contender. There is something moderately disturbing about a Japan that has never known the American atomic bomb — and then again, there’s something beautiful about it, too.

To me, there is nothing (or maybe only one thing) about Isle of Dogs that seems finally vehemently unjust. In many of its aspects — perhaps especially in its complex idealization of a universal emotion — the film is a reminder that our representations can adopt a playful, inter-cultural permeability. One hopes that at the same time, though, we are still pursuing, honing, and revising a better understanding of what kinds of representations by what kinds of people are just. This knowledge — which is made and assembled and broken down and reassembled collectively, like all other forms of knowledge — involves an awareness not only of race or ethnicity or nationality but of the intersections of those constructs with gender and class and then, too, with history and with the way that historiography is shaped by power relations. And at the same time, a person has to grapple with the idea that elite internationalist culture of the kind Anderson now incarnates exploits anyone who has no access to the free movement of capital between countries.

Which is to say that that process is long and complex as hell. No one artist can be expected to manage all of these relations; no one artist ever has. Ideally, too, no critic should fly off the handle without understanding what the purpose of their flying off the handle might be.

So here I go flying right off the handle. Watch me.

Wes Anderson might or might not want to know that his film’s vision of gender struck me as frankly awful. We have Tracy and Yoko in Isle of Dogs’s human population, but there are only three “bitches” in the film. And yes, “bitch” is the word the dogs use. It’s a joke that never lands anything but awkwardly, the kind of obsolete and embarrassing joke my dad would make to utter silence at the dinner table. One, the pug, Oracle (Tilda Swinton), is sexless; the other two, Nutmeg (Scarlett Johansson) and Peppermint (Kara Hayward), function purely as love interests for alphas — or rather, and more grimly, as prospective mates. Nutmeg’s character arc consists solely of reversing her original objection that no one should bring puppies into the world of Trash Island and becoming a mother. (The change? The dogs escape from Trash Island.)

Nutmeg is a fancy show dog, and she sometimes does amazing tricks for Chief — balancing on her front paws while juggling invisible bowling balls or bowling pins — but this finally incomplete attempt to make her seem interesting only makes it too easy to imagine that with slightest story tweaks she could, er, actually do something. As it is, she exists solely to suggest to Chief that he should help Atari find Spots — that is, to use her sexual magnetism to help an emotionally stunted alpha male remember what’s important about life. And yes, Chief does eventually find a job and become a family man, a bizarrely schlocky outcome for any Anderson protagonist. Worst is that the proposition and subsequent worship of these sorts of faux-interesting female characters is an easily solvable problem, one that could have been fixed in any number of ways without altering the film’s vision.

Unless that vision is finally and most importantly the sad, worn-out vision of indomitable American masculinity. Chief can’t make a good house pet because, as he reminds us frequently, he bites. And why does he bite? He doesn’t know. He’s aggressive, he’s never known love — and even when he does, at film’s end, become a “good boy” and agree to serve as Atari’s new guard dog, he still struggles not to bite the shit out of visiting dignitaries. His ultimate virility is verified at the end of the film by Nutmeg, who assures him that she isn’t attracted to tame animals. Fine: Wildness is a virtue. But the film’s characterological structure suggests that Nutmeg only understands Chief because she is the tamest possible animal (that is, a show dog). The story of Chief and Nutmeg feels like a warmed-over Lady and the Tramp — when so much more might have been possible in terms of either character and in terms of their relationship.

Then again, their love could be read as an incarnation of the two central columns of Andersonian filmmaking and of Isle of Dogs itself: the unpredictable and chaotic in Chief, his rage and sorrow, is elaborated out into the exquisite comical expertise of Nutmeg’s tricks. And that is neither objectionable nor regrettable but rather the mark of a mature film, one that figures its own making inside itself.

The point, I think, is that any film is only ever the film that it is. But it also lives differently in each historical moment and persists or dies differently in the way that, not just each culture, but each one of us remembers or forgets it — how much we choose to argue and about what. For now, Isle of Dogs is, for me, memorable as one of the few testaments to how important it is to be pissed, how it is surprisingly possible to make and explore within a state of outrage, of conviction usually considered too much, too large, and too loud for complex and careful thought, much less for beautiful form.

¤

Marc Dragon lives and works in Los Angeles.

The post The Madness to Wes Anderson’s Method appeared first on Los Angeles Review of Books.

from Los Angeles Review of Books https://ift.tt/2KJd61j

[erza-mj]

Episode Prompto

i though it will be useful for all the writers in the ffxv community to have a written record of all the stuff that appear in Episode Prompto in chronological order ;) 

You’re Welcome

Prompto production code: Unit 05953234

Research log 722-VII-6th

Research log: Year 722, Day 189. I received a proposal regarding a way to improve the infantry’s performances by leaps and bounds: Outfit all the troupers with magitek cores. Preliminary tests suggest sublimating daemons for fuel will result in an unstable infantry unit for the field. If the calculations he provided are correct, though, this could solve all our problems. The Deadless Project marks the advent of a new age. No longer will our soldier fall on the field of battle. The Empire shall rise, and soon, all the world shall bask in our glory!

Research log 722-X-21st

Research log: Year 722, Day 294. I acted on the proposal mentioned in my log of Day 189. My attempt to infuse the troopers magitek cores with daemonic energy proved successful. Only in the most basic sense, however. While the soldiers are indeed deathless, they are far from fit for fighting. Thus I’ve decided to take a different approach: rather than relying on daemons to power the magitek infantry, why not use human instead? Frankly, I had never considered employing my fellow man in any magitek-related experiments. But countless men and women succumb to the plasmodia each day. Rather than let them die victims of an ignominious disease, why not help them ascend to nobler heights? I’ve lost many a comrade on the field of battle, and I’ve no intention of allowing any more of their deaths to go in vain.

Research log 722-XII-5th

Research log: Year 722, Day 339. Another Day, another mental breakdown. All my test so far have resulted in the former soldiers suffering ego deaths. Today, however, I developed a new hypothesis: I will continue to sublimate daemonified humans to harvest the miasma, but if a sense is the source of these snags, why not inject infants with the plasmodia instead? We’ve little time. If we are to combat the Lucian threat, we must explore new options. I too, will set aside my personal misgivings and do what I must for the empire.

Research Log: 723-III-11th

Research log: Year 723, Day 70. I pondered how I might found the necessary number of infants, and then it downed on me: why not make them myself? If I clone them from my own genes, I can eliminate the pesky process of breeding them. Mass production remains a pipe dream for now, but I’m confident a can create a massive infantry once the process picks up. If everything goes according to plan, the empire will boast a million-man army in no time at all.

M.E. 723-XI-26th

A New Hope

Construction finished today on the first magitek production facility. Rising military star and leading authority on magitek Verstael Besithia has been selected to oversee the plant’s operation. Reports say Besithia will relinquish his field duties in order to serve at the compound full-time.

Research log: 724-X-24th

Research log: Year 724, Day 297. Mass production of the magitek infantry was a success. We’ve overwhelmed the lucians with our numbers and surrounded insomnia. But to rest on our laurels now would be unthinkable. On Occasion, harvesting the plasmodic miasma produces some “side effects.” The daemons born of this process have been disposed of on sight-until now. How foolish I was to let these sublime creatures go to waste! What they lack in adaptability, they make up for in sheer power. I realize now that I ought to channel my efforts into exploring the true potential of these daemons for the sake of the empire. Perhaps this has been my true calling all along.

Research Log: 736-V-3rd

Research log: Year 736, Day 123. It seems my laboratory is not nearly as secure as I once believed. Some thief – likely a Lucian- made off with one of my experiments. Absconding with a single infant will do nothing to enlighten them of the grandeur of my research. That said, I will see to it such incident never arises again. I’ve posted magitek troopers around the facility and instructed them to keep a vigilant watch. It is their home, after all.

Research Log: 745-XI-21st

Research log: Year 745, Day 325. Today marks a momentous triumph for our great nation. The Glacian herself graced us with her presence in Ghorovas Rift, and, through the combined efforts of the magitek infantry and my precious daemons, we killed her. The resulting causalities were great, but these sacrifices afforded us something far more valuable than a few units. With the data I collected, I intend to begin developing a new magitek weapon codenamed “Godslayer.” Soon, all the Astrals shall bow before me and the might of my magitek. Soon, they shall know my wrath.

M.E. 745-XI-22nd

ATTN: Research Chief Verstael Besithia

It has come to my attention thet the Glacian’s recent assault was quelled by your magitek infantry. As commendation for your service to our great nation, I have approved your petition to increase funding for your research. Your Work is the centrifugal force that will propel the empire beyond our borders to greatness on the world stage. I eagerly await further reports of your progress.

Emperor Iedolas Aldercapt

 M.E. 746-VI-3rd

Prototype Numbering Instructions

In order ro better monitoring the large number of new magitek models enetering production, the Imperials Defense Council motions to reform the coding system as follows

- Troopers: 5-digit model number + 8-digit production code

- Infants: 4-digit production year + 8-digit production code

 754-VIII-25th

I’ve been assigned to Chief Besithia’s lab! Not many people can say they’ve worked under the supervision of a living legend. I mean, this is the guy who saved the empire from eternal winter. He’s practically our savior.

 754-XI-17th

My boss pulled me aside today to issue me a “special task.” Said it’s “highly confidential” and that I’m the only one qualified for the job. But how? I barely even know my way around the compound. Well, whatever the “task” is, I’ll deal with it in the morning.

 754-XI-18th

I found out what my “special task” is today- and frankly I wish I hadn’t. if only I could unsee the things I saw today… I really ought eat something before I go to bed, but that shit totally killed my appetite.

 755-II-16th

I had the honor of seeing His Imperial Majesty in person today. To think His Radiance would travel all that way through the ice and the snow just to observe our progress… if the Emperor is putting all his faith in magitek, then so should i.

 755-VII-24th

Just my luck. One of the plasmodium samples strted leaking, and your truly was the blessed with the “privilege” of cleaning it up. And then my boss had the nerve to yell at me-as if the whole thing were my fault. If he wasn’t to criticize the real culprit, he ought to look in a mirror.

755-VII-25th

 So thanks to yesterday's fiasco, my boss made me throw all the remaining plasmodium samples into the incinerator. What a waste of resources! My boss told the chief we used them in a series of experiments, but the thought of lying about what happened doesn't sit well with me at all. The whole thing is eating me up inside.

M.E. 755-VII-25th

Termination Report

ATTN: Research Chief Verstael Besithia. The Following specimen have been eradicated: 0755-06000326 0755-06000327 0755-06000328

0755-06000329 0755-06000330 0755-06000331

0755-06000332 0755-06000333 0755-06000334

0755-06000335 0755-06000336 0755-06000337

0755-06000338 0755-06000339 0755-06000340

0755-06000341 0755-06000342 0755-06000343

0755-06000344 0755-06000345 0755-06000346

0755-06000347 0755-06000348

All 23 samples listed have been incinerated to avoid potential daemonification of personnel.

755-VII-29th

 So I ended up telling chief Besithia the truth about the other day. Here I was, ready for him to tear me a new one - and he ended up praising my loyalty instead! Everyone made it sound like the chief was some kind of hardass, but he seems to be a really reasonable guy if you actually take the time to sit down and talk with him.  

M.E. 755-IX-18th

Proposal for Operation:Countersign

As deputy High Commander, I hereby propose a large-scale assault on the Lucian capital of Insomnia. Preparation are to begin next month. Our future is far too precious to entrust to our enmy. We must retrieve the Crystal and the Ring of legend, only then shall our worl know true peace.

Deputy High Commander Ravus Nox Fleuret

  755-XI-2nd

 Another one of the plasmodium samples started leaking today. How does this keep happening!? Clearly someone isn't doing their job. The worst part is that some of the researchers seem to have been infected. I need to get out of here ASAP.

755-XII-3rd 

There's a rumour going around the lab that those "leaks" from before weren't accidents at all. My buddy says he thinks the chief is actually trying to expose us all to the virus. I don't want to believe it, but...

756-I-14th

The whole compound is crawling with daemons these days... I shiver every time I turn the corner. What the hell am I doing here? When can I go home? 

756-II-12th

We are all... Together, we... Insomnia. As the ultimate... we... Thank you... Farewell...

Research log: 756-IV-8th

Research log: Year 756, Day 98. Finally my daemon-infused magitek armor is complete. I have christened my creation “Diamond Weapon”. It has exhibited an extremely unstable psyche, immediately unleashing unmitigated horrors upon activation. It’s destructive capabilities, however, are indeed beyond compare. Not even the “impenetrable” Insomnia could withstand its onslaught. Why, the Crown City would fall in a mere matter of minutes. The Stone of Legend will soon be mine. To think that, in less than a month’s time, the Crystal will be mine to play with as I please!

 M.E. 756-IV-8th

Diamond Weapon Report

ATTN: His Imperial Majesty Iedolas Aldercapt – It is with great pride I inform Your Radiance that development has finished on the new deamon armor. Codename: Diamond Weapon. I encourage Your Radiance to visit the First Production Facility at Your Radiance’s earliest convenience. I am most confident the final product will prove to Your Radiance’s Liking.

Verstael Besithia

Chief of Magitek Research

 M.E. 756-V-21st

Report on Unit SAS-0822

After several years of experimentation, we have finally succeeded in fusing mammal and magitek. Although we are still conducting various tests on Codename: Barbarus, the unit should be functional enough to fend off would-be intruders until development finishes on Unit XDA-1002: Immortalis.

 Research Log: 756-VII-9th

Research Log: Year 756, Day 190. At last, my life’s work is complete. Not only I have found a way to preserve the ego, I’ve also managed to sustain that consciousness through the sublimation process and transfer it to my magitek troopers. The prototype has proven slightly less powerful than the Diamond Weapon, but this presents no real problem. After all, one’s consciousness can be transmuted again and again and again. All that remain is to fully surrender myself to my research and become my own final test subject. I will conclude my mortal life by offering a word of thanks. Chancellor Ardyn Izunia, your assistance has provided invaluable. You have my eternal gratitude. It is through your aid that I completed my work and begun my ascension to an existence beyond divinity.

 thanks @ace-of-babes-98 for the ones that i missed 

[thechurchillreview]

Contains SPOILERS for Alien (1979), Prometheus (2012), and Alien: Covenant (2017).

The problem I have with both Prometheus and Alien: Covenant is that the Alien proto-Xenomorph (Stupid unconvincing and not scary CGI! No suspense or terror with it this time around...) never needed anything resembling an origin story. These aren't questions I had. Nor answers I ever thought of seeking before. Sometimes, the mysterious should stay, well, a mystery. Alien comic by the always fantastic @faitherinhicks.

In Alien, those aboard the Nostromo are woken up and diverted far away from their charted course home to investigate a message of unknown origin. Kane enters a vagina-shaped looking entrance of a found spaceship, becomes a figurative sperm, touches a mystery egg that a Facehugger then emerges from. From that point forward, Kane’s body serves as an incubator for the titular Alien until some early spoken dialogue comes back to violently haunt him (“I feel dead”). The chestburster ripping out of Kane is one of the most iconic scenes in Alien. It is messy, frightening, and bloody. I mean, jeez, Kane was a victim of clear sexual assault and an unwanted pregnancy kills him in the process! Viewers are given glimpses of something grisly occurring (“Bones are bent outwards...Like he exploded from inside”), but the full disturbing magnitude of the parasitic sexual predator is observed here. Prior to, simultaneously, the audience and Nostromo crew learn that the organism has put Kane into a coma, possesses a defense mechanism of molecular acid-like blood, and can survive adverse environmental conditions.

Heck Alien screenwriter Dan O'Bannon said so himself in the Alien Saga documentary released in 2002. "One thing that people are all disturbed about is sex... I said 'That's how I'm going to attack the audience; I'm going to attack them sexually. And I'm not going to go after the women in the audience, I'm going to attack the men. I am going to put in every image I can think of to make the men in the audience cross their legs. Homosexual oral rape, birth. The thing lays its eggs down your throat, the whole number." The more you know right?

See, Alien chiefly works because of its claustrophobic horror atmosphere combined with its characters being in the dark as much as we too stumble about spliced with the subtext I already mentioned earlier. You feel the tension. You fear and totally envision what the “alien” could be capable of. The human mind's perception of a mysterious horror combined with imagination is ridiculous: hence the strength of the withheld image. This is especially heightened throughout the air ducts scenes. Due to this, akin to the malfunctioning mechanical shark named Bruce in Steven Spielberg’s Jaws (1975), the less the Alien’s Xenomorph is visibly seen, the more compelling and terrifying the reveal moment is.

 And even when information is gathered about the "alien" the humans are still stuck grasping at straws.

 Always one step behind.

 Another cadaver.

Eventually, Nostromo’s seven crew members is whittled down to one. Leaving Ellen Ripley, a science-fiction icon, portrayed by Sigourney Weaver, the last one. Where everyone else failed with attempted teamwork, Ripley triumphs alone. 

Look, Ripley’s function in Alien is to carry the story forward. That it is her story was and remains a big deal in the big Hollywood picture. Ripley is seen briefly (...Sorry) in her underwear towards the conclusion to signify the “conclusion” of her terrible ordeal (the removal of battle attire, how we change out of work clothing and slip into something more comfortable). I used to have a problem with this, but over the years I saw it more as Ripley foolishly lowering her guard too soon (became too cocky before truly winning) while the exposure of her flesh reflects her vulnerability. Earlier in Alien, the men are seen in their underwear too when they’re awakening. The comatose Kane in his underwear medically make sense I believe, yet could be additionally stating his level of vulnerability at the time. I don’t sleep in solely underwear with a shirt. Nope, I prefer jeans and a shirt, always. 

She stealthily and quickly dons astronaut attire, bravely impales the Xenomorph with a harpoon gun shot that sends it into the void of space, and fries it with the engines of the ship burning up the cable to leave it adrift out there. The nightmare is no more. Now mourning, reporting, and sleeping is next.  So, through the aforementioned sexual assault subtext, Ripley isn't depicted as powerless or weak in Alien. She courageously kept her composure and survives against the lethal threat that killed the rest of the Nostromo’s crew. 

Yeah, the one key aspect that both Prometheus and Alien: Covenant have utterly failed is generating another woman on equal footing with Alien’s Ripley. The freaking focus of the Alien prequels is a male robot designed by a male creator. His creator should’ve of comprehended the deeper implications of David’s piano piece selection of instead of outright criticizing his choice. *Shudders* I don’t study music compositions and I know the meaning behind what David chose, jeez. Should’ve destroyed him immediately. Nope, too dumb to think of that.

We do get female characters and in the kindest way possible that I’m typing they’re essentially awful. Elizabeth Shaw has her uterus cut open (courtesy of David poisoning/killing her boyfriend), repairs him, and is experimented/tortured upon. In comparison, after discovering that Ash isn’t human, Ripley finds out all she can before pulling his plug. Shaw fixed an already proven to be duplicitous android…? What a fool. In Covenant, Daniels “Dany” Branson putting too much trust in Walter backfires when the painfully obvious twist towards the end rears its ugly head. Daniels not verbally battling harder for Christopher Oram to reconsider his position before landing on a trap which also goes against the purpose of the Covenant? The fact that Daniels was allowed to speak a famous Ripley line still baffles and enrages me! You’re not her. Neither is that moron Shaw.

Don’t get me started on Oram following David to a lair of Facehuggers after the android tried to befriend an alien that decapitated Covenant crew member Rosenthal. Or Oram abandoning the mission because they perhaps found another suitable colonization location that isn’t seven years away? His choice kicks off the unspeakable horrors his crew faces against. He jeopardized the lives of his crew and almost 2,000 innocent others inside of the Covenant! Oram, you’re seriously an atrocious captain! Or how about Rosenthal not following orders about staying close by whilst freshening up despite witnessing an alien ripping another crew member’s jaw off with a tail swipe? Or Maggie Faris freaking out at the sight of blood, locking Karine Oram inside with the very deceased transforming Ledward, coming back with a weapon, slipping on blood which makes her miss her target, unable to save the being mauled to death Karine, breaking her ankle when running away then falling down often, missing with every shot except for a bunch of exposed blasting explosives than in turn blow up a ship and herself?! Once again, Ripley follows proper quarantine protocol with her captain Dallas, the infected Kane, and Lambert...Until Ash undermines her and lets them inside the ship. Every crew member lacking a helmet since the air is apparently (that’s not suspicious to anyone? Really?) breathable leads to the demises of Ledward and Hallett plus the freshly born alien killing machines. It was their fault for intentionally touching something or stomping around without a care in the world.

 Yes, the sheer idiocy on display in Alien: Covenant is unbearable. Hilarious even. Er, sadly.

The truth is that there’s a barbarous beauty to Alien and with Ridley Scott insisting on prequels to the original classic he's hurting what made Alien so special in the first place.

Look Covenant isn't entirely bad...Just absolutely needless. The ideas within its DNA have considerable merit (same with the previous installment Prometheus) and Scott should of established a new IP instead of piggybacking off of an existing mostly looked upon favorably motion picture brand-name. It is confusing and complex for the sake of it. Covenant notoriously introduces some stuff and then doesn't bother to follow-up on any of them to a degree where it matters in the narrative being told! Such as the theme of love versus duty, to name an example. “Here’s a gay couple! Lope and Hallett! After the fact. Enjoy that cake everyone! Unless you viewed The Last Supper prologue video on Youtube that is.” Um, that is not how you garner praise. Just more deserved derision. Having and reinforcing the script’s couple concept crew might have been interesting. If only Alien: Covenant had bothered to color those finalized paper-thin cut-outs masquerading as genuine individuals and actually followed this angle. 

The alien existing as its own damn unmanufactured species in the depths of space apparently isn’t good enough anymore. The “perfect mysterious organism” has been ruined by Covenant: that’s the truth. Dagnabit! No, the world must have at least three prequels to Alien (Scott hinted at six in all). What the French toast?! Basically, the ideas/themes in Prometheus and Alien: Covenant deserve or should've been in a franchise that isn't remotely connected to Alien. We’re eight entries in (counting the AVP movies). EIGHT! With it would seem six more planned to go, oh my goodness. In other words, don’t waste your breath on Prometheus or Alien: Covenant. They offer misplaced themes, awe from certain gorgeous visuals alongside vexation, bafflement, and unintentional hilarity.  

[malcolmteller-blog]

[HORROR] It All Started With My First Time

Lots of people remember their first time. For some, it’s utterly amazing. Others, so horrible and embarrassing that they’d rather not think about it. And everywhere inbetween for a lot of others. But you do remember it. Mine? I’ll never forget mine. I can’t. Not with what it led to.

I was nineteen, attending university on the Canadian West Coast. I’d rather not say which one, but I’ll give you some hints: it’s major, big, and old. I was at a party being thrown by a rich classmate of mine. He was from Hong Kong, and his Dad was this big executive or something and owned a pretty decent mansion in Vancouver. The student - his name was Calvin - lived alone in it with his teenage brother, and had a pretty sizable range of funds to draw from to support himself.

So, I’m at the party, right, trying to avoid Calvin noticing me… yeah, that’s another thing. See, I wasn’t actually invited to this thing. Back then, I was an incredibly awkward person. I just didn’t click with others. I’d try my best to socialize, make friends, and people would be nice back, yeah, but they wouldn’t really put any effort into me. I wasn’t worth it, apparently. But I did want to change that. I really did. So when I overheard Calvin give the address and time for the party after I got out of our History course - well, I made it a point to show up there.

Anyways, I’m at the party, sipping on my beer and trying not to stand out. I was watching everyone around me, and they seemed so…happy. Peaceful, like all this was second nature to them. But I felt out of place, like I didn’t belong. ”What are you even doing here?” I was thinking to myself. ”This isn’t your scene. Just go home and spend the night playing some Call of Duty, like you know you want to.” Finally…I decided to do just that. So I set my beer down on a shelf nearby and started to make my way toward the door. And that’s when she stopped me.

She stepped out right in front of me. Short, with long, raven dark hair, framing a round, pretty face. Dark green eyes. She was wearing this polka dot dress with a leather jacket over it. Frowning, she reached out and touched my arm.

“You’re not leaving so soon, are you?” she asked, concern in her voice.

Trying to play it cool, I shrugged and looked around. “Yeah,” I said all casually, “this isn’t really my scene.”

“Oh nonsense!” she said, smiling. “Come on, you’ll have a good time. You just need to give it a chance.” Motioning to the couch in the living room, she said, “Come on, sit with me. We’ll see where the night takes us.”

You need to understand why I did what I did. Here was a pretty girl, expressing some sort of interest in me, and who knows, maybe she was right - maybe I just did need to give it a chance. Now, of course, I wish I’d just blown her off and kept on toward the front door. But we can’t change what’s happened.

So I’m sitting on the couch next to this Missy (that’s what she told me her name was). We were chatting, just making smalltalk.

“So, what’s your goals in life?” she asked, smiling softly.

I laughed. “God, leading into the big questions, huh?”

She laughed back. “I think it’s best to get to the core of who a person is, first. Waste less time that way.”

“Well,” I said, looking up and searching my mind, “I dunno. I’d love to write - be a journalist and a novelist. It’s what I’m passionate about, I guess.” I was being as honest as I could be. I was passionate about writing - always had been, and still am, to an extent. Maybe by now I’d have made it somewhere with that, if circumstance hadn’t changed my path.

“Ooh, the mysterious writer,” she said, grinning wickedly. “What would you like to write about? In terms of both fiction and journalism.”

“Oh!” I replied. “Well, I’m into labour advocacy, and grassroots activism. Maybe aim to write for a progressive magazine of some sort, maybe an outright socialist one. In terms of fiction?” I searched my brain. “Something meaningful. What it means to be human. The human condition.”

She nodded, taking it all in. As she did so, I leaned into the couch more and spoke up. “Now, tell me about yourself.”

Her facial expression shifted to one of surprise. “Me?” Then she laughed. “Oh, I’m nothing interesting.”

I cracked a grin. “I find that very hard to believe. What are you doing in Vancouver?”

She laughed. “Just wandering, I guess.” She paused, then continued. “I came here from Los Angeles. I’m…searching, I guess? Just trying to find what I’m meant for. On an adventure, I guess.” At that, she cracked a grin and giggled.

“That is so interesting,” I said, really taken in by this person.

She looked around, then back at me. “You wanna get out of here?”

I blinked. Was this gonna lead to what I think it was gonna lead to? What the hell, I thought to myself, I might as well go for it. I mean, when will I ever fall into a situation like this again?

I nodded and said that that’d be cool. So, we got up, got our stuff, and headed out.

An hour later I was back at my studio apartment downtown, pressed up against the wall with her kissing me and trying to get my shirt off. Now, I have to describe what this was like for me. I was excited as hell, yeah, but I was also extremely nervous. I mean, I’d never been with a woman before. What if I was so horrible that she laughed her ass off at me and told me to get out?

So, I pushed her off me slightly and started to explain. “Look, this is great and all, but…I’m new to this. Real new, you know?”

Smiling and nodded at me, she said, “That’s okay. I’ll walk you through everything.” Then back to kissing me and getting my clothes off.

I’m not going to go into too much detail on everything else that happened. But it was…really wonderful. Kind of awkward, kind of not what I was expecting, but amazing nonetheless.

It’s too bad that everything that happened afterwards wasn’t so wonderful.

That night, after I’d fallen asleep, my hand on her side, I had a dream. Well, a nightmare. I was in the square of a vast, ruined city - basically any modern metropolis, but with everything shattered and broken. The sky was a dark, burnt red. But it’s what I was witnessing that was so horrifying. I was in the city square, and at the center of it was this huge, burning pyre. There were what looked like burned up mannequins tied to the center of it, just burning, and surrounding the pyre were these…figures, yelling and cheering with what seemed to be delight. I moved closer, and what I saw…it chilled me to the bone. The mannequins burning…they were people. Their bodies were charred and burned down to the bone, and as I noticed this, the smell hit me. I brought my hand up to my mouth fast, because I felt if I didn’t I’d have vomited. And that’s when I got a closer look at the people cheering around the pyre. They were…monsters. Misshapen, with jagged claws and too many joints in their arms and legs. And skin that looked like it was boiled meat. My heart started to pound, faster and harder, and panic started to rise in me. As I stared at them, in sheer horror, one of the beasts…it turned around, and it…it looked at me.

That’s when I woke up, in physical agony, my heart pounding its way out of my chest. As I realized it was all a dream, I calmed down and started to breathe. It was then that I noticed that Missy was gone. I was surprised, and wondered if she left me any contact information, but I was distracted by other things. Namely, the physical pain I was in. My stomach hurt a ton, and so did my back. I slowly moved out of bed and stood up, moving carefully to avoid triggering more pain. After walking around a bit, the pain subsided, and then after about half an hour, disappeared.

I looked around my place to see if she’d left me anything. Nothing. So it was like that, huh. I tried not to feel too hurt - one night stands are a thing with tons of people, and I suppose I should have felt grateful that she took such an interest in me to begin with, but it still stung. I really liked her, and I guess I kind of hoped that we could have had something. I know, I sound like a total idiot, right? But I didn’t have much experience with women, so when one actually expressed interest in me, and then sleeps with me…well, I guess I let myself get emotionally vulnerable about it.

Anyways, I went back to bed and was asleep shortly thereafter. I slept peacefully. It’s too bad I didn’t wake up peacefully.

I woke up nauseous as hell, and had to run to the bathroom to vomit. I spent like five minutes in there, just puking into the toilet while feeling like garbage. When I was done, I realized that the pain in my stomach was back. Not only that, but I noticed these odd, red bumps on my hands and abdomen. Fucking great, I thought to myself, she gave me something. How could I be so stupid to not use protection? Fucking virgin idiot. But it was still odd, because I’d never heard of an STD that acted this fierce this fast. I mean, we’d only had sex, what, nine hours ago?

It was terrible. Just this hard, slow ache in my stomach and back, along with the feeling that I was going to vomit again any minute now. Add to that the anxiety I felt over the bumps, because what was that all about? It wasn’t a good time.

So, naturally, in response to all this, I pulled myself together and went over to a local walk-in clinic and had myself examined. Long story short, the doctor couldn’t figure out what it was I had - it was clear I had something, but it wasn’t anything he’d heard of or encountered before. So, he sent me for blood and urine tests, and told me to drink lots of fluids, get a lot of bed rest, and to take it easy.

I got the tests done, and then headed home to get back to my life while I waited for the test results. At this point I was getting so damned furious. Who the hell did this girl think she was, just infecting me with her shit like this? I mean, sure, maybe I wouldn’t have slept with her if I knew she had an STD, but I did have a right to know. Anyone would. But it was done, and I’d probably never see her again, so I tried to put it out of my mind.

So for the rest of the day, still feeling that ache and pain all around my body, I did try to take it easy. I made myself some pasta for dinner, took a bunch of glasses of water, and tried to watch some Netflix to relax. It worked, kind of - took my mind off everything. I finished in the evening, and went to bed.

As I fell asleep, I felt my back throb slightly. I thought it was just my body acting up. How stupid I was.

I woke up that morning feeling slightly nauseous, but still good enough to head to class. So I went. That’s where…well, that’s where things really started to get weird.

So, here’s how it went down. I’m sitting in Professor Henshley’s lecture on how the Italian Partisans operated in World War Two, and I’m feeling like shit. My stomach is acting up, I’m having the most splitting headache ever, and my back is itching like a motherfucker. And then I caught a glimpse of something, out of the corner of my eye. I glanced over at it and it was gone. Okay, nothing. I looked back at the Professor and refocused on the lecture. Then it showed up again - with some indications of movement. I glanced over again with my eyes, and for a couple seconds - a couple horrible seconds that seemed like an eternity - I saw it fully. In the corner of the lecture theatre, it was a human figure, about six feet, stocky looking, that was covered - head to toe - in live cockroaches. There were so many of them that you couldn’t see beneath them - just this standing mass of cockroaches.

I saw it, my mind clicked as to what it was, and then almost immediately - purely in reaction - I leaned forward and puked my guts out onto the lecture hall floor. I felt this huge mix of emotions as I vomited and finished. Shame, humiliation - and fear. Rabid, panicky fear.

The Professor started to say something about how I was excused since I was obviously too sick to be in class. I don’t remember exactly, because I wasn’t paying attention - I was up and running toward the doors to the lecture hall, needing to get out, my fear and panic fully in control.

I raced home, slamming and locking my door behind me as I arrived. Leaning against the door, my eyes wide open in fear and my heart trying to beat its way out of my chest, I hesitantly and fearfully made my way to my bathroom. Running the water and then splashing some in my face to sort of snap me out of it, I looked into the mirror. What the hell was that? Was I going nuts? It obviously wasn’t real, but now I was hallucinating? As I thought about it, I settled down a bit - yeah, that was it, it had to be - a symptom of what I had. Hallucinations, great. It occurred to me to go to a doctor, but I realized there wouldn’t be much that they could do until they knew what I had, which meant waiting for the test results to come in. So, I did the only thing I really could do - I went to bed.

In my sleep, I had another nightmare. I was standing on a vast, desert plain, the sky a burnt red. In the distance was a city - it looked like any major, Western city. But…it was on fire. Vast plumes of black smoke rose high into the sky, over massive streams of flame that were consuming the city. It then hit me that I could feel the heat - the strong, overwhelming, burning heat - even from this distance. I turned, and I saw…I don’t know how to describe it. A beast. A monster. Jagged claws, a misshapen body, and a mouth too big with teeth too sharp and too bloody. We made eye contact, and then…then I woke up. In agony.

I don’t remember much, because of the pain. I just remember hitting the floor, and feeling like my body was being torn apart from the inside out. I screamed, and screamed, and screamed, my voice resounding throughout my apartment. As it continued, I began to notice where the pain was the most. It was on my back. It felt like something…something was trying to push out. And then it happened. I felt my skin…rip open, and, blood splashing onto the floor next to me…something reach out. My face lying on its cheek, I saw a jagged claw, connected to a burnt, red-skinned arm, the size of that of an infant - the same physical material I’d seen connected to the beast in my dream - plant itself on the ground. Then, as this thing climb out more, another claw planted itself on the ground. As it pulled itself out more and more, I felt like every one of my organs was being ripped apart. I was screaming so hard my throat burned, and the tears ran down my face like streams of water.

Finally, the thing - the beast - was out of me, tumbling onto the ground. It was the size of an infant, but its razor sharp teeth still too big for its mouth. And then…oh God, this was impossible, it started to grow. Fast. It expanded, and grew, and its shape changed as it grew. Finally, it was a full-grown being, standing what looked like six feet tall. At this point, the pain got to me - I started to lose consciousness. As I did so, I got a brief glimpse of this thing - the very same beast I’d just seen in my dream - start to climb out my window, only as it did so, shifting in shape…shifting to a human form…

I woke up the next morning, the pain gone. All of it. No more nausea, no more pain. I immediately ran to the bathroom to check myself. I was…fine. I checked my naked back in the mirror - no scars, just minor dried bloodstains. You would never have guessed some monster clawed itself out of me there. I stared at myself in the mirror for a long, long time after checking myself. I didn’t know what to do, but I knew I’d have to find out what happened to me. What it all meant.

I dropped out of school two weeks later. I just couldn’t expect myself to focus on something as mundane as a university education when I’d just experienced what I’d experienced. I had to support myself, though, and since I didn’t have student loans to rely on anymore, that meant a job. So I got one at this major comic shop downtown. It was decent - I worked, I got paid, and I paid my bills. And every inch of free time I had at home, I devoted to learning what I could about what had happened to me.

It took me six months, but in that time I managed to dig things up. I spent a month finding the right people on Twitter, various obscure message boards, and other nooks and crannies of the Internet. Then I spent another few months getting them to trust me. Finding the information took me to a lot of places - Seattle, to meet with this anarchist collective that had someone who had run into Missy a year ago. Then other places - Portland, to meet a professor who had done some research into various obscure cults, and then a hacker who could get me a classified FBI report on the group Missy was a part of, and more and more, various places and people that had info I needed. Finally, I had amassed a ton of information - a lot of it secondhand, hearsay, and circumstantial - but enough. A doomsday cult, its name lost to time, so it was only known as ‘The Way’. I read, and I read, and I read - on the figure who would be called the Maiden, who would plant the seed of the Harbinger in one chosen - a Harbinger who, once entered into the world, would take the form of a man and prepare the way for the Great Dawn…a time when those from beyond, where the Harbinger had come from, would arrive, and change everything forever.

So that was it. It was all so clear. And so was my path forward.

It took me a long while to track The Way’s movements after I figured out they existed. I learned a lot in that time - how to survive on the streets, how to evade law enforcement, and how to make nice with various dangerous types of people. They led me all across North America - from the Yukon, to Florida, to Mexico, and now, finally, to New York City. I’ve tracked Missy, the Harbinger…my ‘son’…and a bunch more of them to an abandoned warehouse in the city. I’m just a short walk away. I have an M4 rifle, body armor, some grenades, and a shitload of ammo. I didn’t start this, but I sure as fuck will end it - it ends tonight, one way or another.

Wish me luck.