#heed the content warnings though. it is a horror game and as such can be heavy at times

[susielesbianism]

Been watching people play Home Safety Hotline recently and oh my god y’all please fuckinng play it it’s so good

[vidreview]

VIDEO ESSAY ROUNDUP #6 [PART 1]

[originally posted august 1st 2024]

at last, it's time for another roundup! things were fairly dry for a minute there. i tend to go through peaks and valleys vis-a-vis video essay consumption, where i'll watch a bunch of them for a few months and then not be able to watch any for a few months after that. this has been especially true as i've been getting back into the habit of making my own scripted essays. did you know i did one about the Doctor Who 60th Anniversary Specials a few months ago? i share this so you can judge for yourself if i know what i'm talking about enough to be worth taking recommendations from. i am a fallible beast, and our tastes are likely not the same! also i'm proud of that video and i'd like you to watch it.

but we're here to talk about other people's work, and let me tell you, the last month and a half has yielded a real bounty. let's jump in.

"Investigating a forgotten Edward Snowden Quote" by Allie Meowy.

edward snowden was a bit of a mystery to me beyond the headlines. all i knew was that he leaked highly classified documents detailing secret mass-surveillance, and that he liked hentai games.

this is one of the funniest, strangest essays i've encountered in years. what happens when the wikipedia page for games based on movies doesn't include Elf: The Movie: The Game for the Nintendo Game Boy Advance, and also you happen to discover that Edward Snowden is on the record as liking "some" hentai games? i'm not even sure what this essay ultimately adds up to, but i had such a blast watching it that i honestly don't even care. a wild ride that's well worth your time.

"a pocket full of stones" by Glouder Glens.

i've been thinking about an interview with People's Joker director Vera Drew where she talked about how many young queer artists have relegated themselves to the anti-recognition of youtube. if her film was proof that there's room in the film fest circuit for artfully essayish digital cinema, then we have no choice but to campaign for the incredible works of Sylvia Schweikert, AKA Glouder Glens, to reach a similar level of recognition. if you've yet to encounter its work, Sylvia's half-essay half-werewolf-erotica about it/its pronouns is a classic, but everything on her channel is a gem (not to mention its excellent short films). lately, Sylvia's been experimenting with the form in a big way. her last essay, "Self Discovery Stories," is artfully vertical, a true phone video that digs deep and hits hard. "a pocket full of stones" takes a huge step sideways, rendered in 4:3 at a scalding 360p and edited with a post-adobe-flash Lynch-esque animation style that rockets you back in time to the earliest days of internet video in the best way. what i wouldn't give to see this one on the big screen, i'm telling you. this kind of work simply doesn't have a place on youtube as far as youtube's concerned, so it's up to us as champions of the medium to share widely what the algorithm will not. definitely heed the content warnings though.

"The Miraculous Horror of Stop Motion" by Henry Kathman.

here's a cozy, enthusiastic dive into the often unforeseen externalities of stop-motion animation, that doesn't outstay its welcome or get too sanctimonious. i appreciate Kathman's use of alternate backdrops to give each section its own mood. through three unique and interesting examples of stop motion, he explores how the medium itself is an artform that can't be streamlined through technology the way so many other forms of animation have been-- even just to recreate the feel of stop motion digitally, you still pretty much have to hand animate it with an equivalent amount of brute labor. it's a satisfying analysis, which is unsurprising from the ever-consistent and thoughtful Kathman. and the soundtrack by Molly Noise is, as always, fantastic.

"The Religious Gamification of Indika" by Pim's Crypt.

i watched an essay a couple weeks ago about Indika which heavily criticized it for being boring and overly talkative, that really just convinced me that i wanted to see someone look at the game on its own terms. Pim here does a great job doing exactly that, wasting zero seconds of the universe's limited window of coherence on lip service to the harsh critical consensus in favor of simply examining what Indika says on its own terms. they explore how the complexities of faith are successfully gameified in Indika, making a compelling case for its quality. i've highlighted Pim in a previous roundup, and i'm happy to see them back with another solid work.

"So What's Up With Those PS2 Castlevanias?" by Trans Witch Reviews.

this one's pretty much what it says on the tin. when it comes to analyzing game franchises long-running enough to have titles across multiple console generations, i'm always drawn to essays that dig into the red-headed step-children no one ever really talks about. like the PS2 Castlevania games. i didn't even know they existed until now! granted that's probably because i never owned a Sony console before the ps4, but whatever. like a lot of games with 2D roots, Castlevania seemed to struggle finding its feet in the third dimension, and the historical consensus seems to have largely landed on "the 2D ones were best." i think this Trans Witch makes a very compelling case that at the very least Castlevania: Curse of Darkness is an underrated classic-- enough so, anyway, to make me want to give it a shot. i appreciate how she highlights the music of the series by focusing on the work of specific composers, though i think she lingers on those samples for a bit too long. regardless, this is a well put together essay made with readily apparent enthusiasm, and sometimes that's all you need.

"Why The Ring Didn't Use Color Grading" by WatchingtheAerial.

an astonishingly thorough deep-dive into the very specific in-camera techniques used to give Gore Verbinski's American remake of The Ring its signature blue look. like a lot of people i always assumed this was accomplished with digital color grading, though unlike many detractors i adore The Ring's visual identity and think it's at least as worthwhile a film as its Japanese counterpoint. this is the kind of video essay i adore-- a technician with extensive domain knowledge utilizing resources laypeople wouldn't know about to answer a seemingly simple question at exhaustive and surprising depth. the real kicker here though is that the creator also wants to recreate this technique for themself, all the way up to tracking down the kind of film stock The Ring was shot on and using it in a 35mm stills camera. i immediately went from this video to watch everything else on his (?) channel, and i wasn't disappointed. here's someone who cares a lot about the labor of shaping and lensing light, and the emotional properties these processes bring to a film. "Collateral & the Death of Neon" is SUCH a satisfying watch if you care even a little bit about the visual identity of city streets across history. great stuff all around

[ava-monstrum]

LCB CH01 [8]? Overal thoughts

I forgot to say my overall thoughts on Limbus Company so, here it is (I'm copying this from my twitter post). This doesn't spoil anything story specific btw

I would say that the biggest appeal has to be the story and characters. The main cast of sinners are so chaotic and have distinctive personalities (besides Mersault but that’s aggressively the point). It’s clear we’re supposed to love this dysfunctional group and unwrap the story around them. Dante (who we play as) was a pleasant surprise considering that I wasn’t sure he would have a personality. If you follow me you should know my fav is Gregor.

And add to that a strange and twisted world that I’ve heard is super expansive with lore and world building, yeah, I’m super stoked for what’s in the future.

For the gameplay, Im not super knowledgeable on how to analyze gameplay but I found it fun for the most part. It’s a bizarre mix of fast and easy gameplay that makes you feel like a monster, only to suddenly hit a difficulty wall and get the team obliterated.

There are also A LOT of mechanics that at first don’t seem to affect the gameplay until you hit those difficulty spikes.

It’s a very wordy game, not just in story but also those mechanics. From status effects, random coin tosses, and gathering material for your ultimate attack, the game felt a bit overwhelming, even the tutorial didn’t quite help me understand the hud. I had to actually look into guides on YouTube to help me out, especially in Chapter 3.

I don’t really mind cause following the game, at lot of people talked about how this was standard for project moon games.

But it might be a bit much for some players. It’s definitely not a casual game for quick fun. Battles may take awhile, especially against abnormalities (monsters). You’re going to have to grind once you get to chapter 3 (trust me). And certain fights will wipe the floor with you if you don’t take the time to read the mechanics and make a solid team.

Now as for fairness, i haven’t spent any money on the game. And so far I’ve been fairing well. The base characters are actually pretty useful and I’ve been using them more than the ones I got from the gatcha (except for g-corp Gregor, I love him)

So yeah, the game will take up a lot of time but I haven’t found it unfair or tedious so far. But I’ll have to see how that changes as the game goes forward.

To be honest, I kinda feel like I would have tolerated bad gameplay if it meant unlocking more story. Its that charming.

So, cause twitters character limit sucks, I’m very happy with the game so far. I’ve been following its development for a while, and it’s given me everything I wanted from it.

I wish I could add more detail but I think this is a good explanation for now.

It may be a bit intimidating for some, but it’s free so there’s no harm in trying it out.

You may need some outside help to grasp how the game works, but that means we can all suffer together /s.

So, if you wanna delve into a dark but charming game, give it a try.

Just heed the content warnings though, there’s some dark themes, imagery that may be disturbing, and body horror.

[fazfacts]

FNAF SONG STARTERS (TRYHARDNINJA EDITION!)

i have a playlist of 350+ fnaf fan songs, time to put them to use lmao. feel free to edit as needed!

IT’S ME

❝ Welcome to your office. ❞

❝ Settle down and take a seat. ❞

❝ Please pay no attention to the terrifying screams. ❞

❝ You should heed the warnings of the voice that’s on the phone. ❞

❝ You might be by yourself, but you are not alone. ❞

❝ You can only hide for so long. ❞

❝ Why don’t you spend the night? ❞

❝ There’s evil that waits inside. ❞

❝ It’s me. ❞

❝ We tried our best. ❞

❝ You seem to have beginner’s luck. ❞

❝ We came so close, but we just couldn’t make you one of us. ❞

❝ Congratulations are deserved! ❞

❝ It’s 6AM, you win! ❞

❝ We’ll see you here tomorrow night, and do it all again. ❞

LOOK AT ME NOW

❝ If they could only know the nightmares that exist behind this happy show. ❞

❝ I used to be just like them, a smile across my face. ❞

❝ This place of innocence transformed into my cage. ❞

❝ Look at me now. ❞

❝ I'm a prisoner inside the body I possess. ❞

❝ I'm just like you. ❞

❝ We're both trapped with no hope to escape. ❞

❝ Call me bitter, or a killer, and anything else that you want to. ❞

❝ I've said "goodbye" to my Heaven. ❞

❝ I'm content to be the villain. ❞

❝ Call me twisted, or a sinner, demon, monster, evil, it's all true. ❞

❝ When you look at me, all you see is a dangerous machine. ❞

❝ Who am I to argue with it? ❞

❝ I don't feel that I can ever leave this place. ❞

❝ With any moment, I'm a child or a demon filled with rage. ❞

THE PUPPET SONG

❝ I'm not at all what I used to be. ❞

❝ The past is nothing more than just a dream. ❞

❝ I hear the call of evil growing once again. ❞

❝ I'm powerless to change your fates. ❞

❝ I'll shelter you, my friends. ❞

❝ Tonight, we roam. ❞

❝ If they listen really close, they can hear us sing our song. ❞

❝ I can't give you back the things you had. ❞

❝ You don't have to do this on your own. ❞

❝ Even if you're never coming home, you're not alone. ❞

❝ No one knows what it's like to wear a mask that you are trapped inside. ❞

❝ One day, the purple clouds that hover over us will fade. ❞

SAVE ME

❝ I didn't mean to lie when I said you were safe. ❞

❝ I'll keep the nightmares at bay. ❞

❝ I swore, above all else, I'd choose you over myself. ❞

❝ I couldn't save you even though I tried. ❞

❝ I couldn't cut the strings that kept you tied. ❞

❝ You would cry, and I would check for monsters under your bed. ❞

❝ I couldn't make it there the time the monster was real. ❞

❝ I'm sorry I couldn't save you. ❞

FOLLOW ME

❝ He's been waiting, abandoned and patient, so long. ❞

❝ He said "follow me." ❞

❝ Tonight he walks again, so step inside, enjoy the show. ❞

❝ Follow me. ❞

❝ Follow me, then you'll see. ❞

❝ The truth is hard to swallow. ❞

❝ Follow me, see a nightmare in action. ❞

❝ Forever changed, he wears his springlocked grave. ❞

❝ All the horrors have been sealed. ❞

❝ It's time for the real monster's face to finally be revealed. ❞

JUST AN ATTRACTION

❝ I knew you couldn't stay away. ❞

❝ I am the hunter, you're the prey. ❞

❝ It's not a game. ❞

❝ It's a dangerous thing, waking up ancient history. ❞

❝ This is a nightmare we're both forced to repeat. ❞

❝ I've been waiting for you. ❞

❝ In here, I call the shots. ❞

❝ You're staying with a monster in the dark. ❞

❝ You're just an attraction in my amusement park. ❞

❝ The clock won't save you. ❞

❝ If you're the hired gun, then I'm the trigger. ❞

SALVAGED RAGE

❝ Don't avert your eyes. ❞

❝ I'm salvaged and broken and raging inside. ❞

❝ My ambition's all I have. ❞

❝ There you go again, digging up the past. ❞

❝ Watch your every step. ❞

❝ It's a dangerous game when you go around waking up the dead. ❞

❝ I'm dying to make up for all the lost time. ❞

❝ When I'm done, nobody leaves here alive. ❞

PHANTOMS IN THE NIGHT

❝ Can you feel it? ❞

❝ Can you feel the cold? ❞

❝ Can you see us roaming in the night? ❞

❝ We're just flashes in the corner of your eye. ❞

❝ Nothing is alright. ❞

❝ We are your hallucinations taking shape. ❞

❝ You can't kill us and we can never leave. ❞

BRINGING US HOME

❝ There is a legend, born long ago, about a wicked man no one knows. ❞

❝ He went and unraveled six little souls. ❞

❝ Some say they still walk the halls, staying from view. ❞

❝ I've got a secret that I am here to tell you. ❞

❝ That place is this very place, and all the stories are true. ❞

❝ This world's a scary place. ❞

❝ We're not monsters, just changed. ❞

❝ Here comes another chapter. ❞

❝ You're the one we're after. ❞

❝ Thank you for bringing us home. ❞

❝ We were just like you, just playing a game. ❞

❝ That's when the wicked man led us astray. ❞

❝ Without a warning, our lives have been rearranged. ❞

❝ The story's not over yet. ❞

❝ There's still one secret left to be said. ❞

❝ Close all the doors that you want. ❞

❝ We're already in your head. ❞

DREAM YOUR DREAM

❝ Hush now, drift off to sleep. ❞

❝ Don't be scared of what you find. ❞

❝ It's all just in your mind. ❞

❝ Dream your dream. ❞

❝ When you're awake, the nightmare awaits. ❞

❝ It's a fantasy. ❞

❝ They'll be seeing you soon. ❞

❝ Terrors keep breaking through. ❞

❝ When you're awake, the nightmare will become the truth. ❞

❝ The nightmare will become the truth. ❞

❝ There's no escape. ❞

❝ The veil is raised. ❞

❝ Was it me after all? ❞

❝ Illusion or not, you are safe for now. ❞

GOODBYE

❝ You watched in horror as we were moving. ❞

❝ Thank you for playing our game. ❞

❝ We enjoyed your screams. ❞

❝ The nightmares have been real. ❞

❝ Though you seemed quite terrified, we hope you enjoyed the ride. ❞

❝ You seemed quite terrified. ❞

❝ We hope you enjoyed the ride. ❞

❝ This is goodbye. ❞

❝ It's been so long since we've had fun. ❞

❝ You were not alone. ❞

❝ Wish we could apologize. ❞

❝ Wish we could apologize, but we like breaking your mind. ❞

❝ You say you're not afraid, but contortions in your face keep giving you away. ❞

❝ Take a good look. ❞

❝ We'll see you soon. ❞

❝ Have you figured out it's me with your theory? ❞

❝ You live to die another day. ❞   

WELCOME BACK   

❝ If you hesitate, I won’t blame you. ❞

❝ Monsters in the dark will show you no restraint. ❞   

❝ You’ve gotta concentrate to preserve your soul. ❞   

❝ Will your time run out? ❞   

❝ Behind friendly eyes, there’s a face that hides. ❞   

❝ We’re coming for your life. ❞   

❝ You won’t last. ❞   

❝ We’re alive. ❞   

❝ It’s time to survive. ❞   

❝ It’s time to survive another five nights. ❞   

❝ Welcome back. ❞   

❝ Back again so soon? ❞   

❝ We’ve all been preparing for you. ❞   

❝ Hold your breath and close your doors. ❞   

❝ Can you reach the end with your mind unscathed? ❞   

❝ Follow me to the horror show. ❞   

❝ You’re the attraction we’re watching. ❞   

❝ It’s me who is in control. ❞   

❝ It’s me who is in control, holding onto the puppet strings. ❞   

❝ Will you live to see the light? ❞   

❝ It’s another five long nights. ❞   

❝ Can you outrun your demise? ❞   

❝ Will your final hour chime? ❞   

❝ Spend the night with us, if you dare. ❞

CIRCUS OF THE DEAD

❝ We would like to take a moment to invite you to an ongoing performance. ❞

❝ We can't do this alone. ❞

❝ We need an audience so we can play out our roles. ❞

❝ There's a place in the dark where horror stories go to hide. ❞

❝ The show must go on! ❞

❝ We're going 'til there's no pulse left. ❞

❝ This masquerade of souls needs a victim. ❞

❝ Won't you be our hopeless guest? ❞

❝ If it helps, you can pretend it's make-believe, inside your head. ❞

❝ This nightmare's as real as it gets. ❞

❝ Good, you got here just in time! ❞

❝ You better hurry! ❞

❝ You're the star, destined for glory. ❞

❝ The body count's high as the tight rope. ❞

❝ Will you make it? ❞

❝ Tonight, you're the one who jumps through hoops. ❞

❝ We're going off the script. ❞

❝ Here's where fear comes to life. ❞

❝ You never stood a chance. ❞

❝ You should have stayed and just enjoyed some time at home. ❞

DANCE TO FORGET

❝ It seems like a lifetime ago that I saw the gold sunshine glow. ❞

❝ "Normal" is just a dream for all the ghosts like me. ❞

❝ I hate my metal bones. ❞

❝ I'm left here in the dark. ❞

❝ I dance to forget. ❞

❝ This is my penitentiary. ❞

❝ Come now, dance with me. ❞

DEAD BUT NOT BURIED

❝ Rest in peace is not for me. ❞

❝ It's not fair. ❞

❝ I'm dead, but not buried. ❞

❝ I'm a remnant of his mistakes. ❞

❝ They are the only friends I have. ❞

❝ It's always a fun time in the shadows. ❞

DADDY'S LITTLE MONSTERS

❝ Please don't be afraid, we're a little bent. ❞

❝ We're broken souls, looking for a way to start again. ❞

❝ How can we ever be free when our prison is skin deep? ❞

❝ He buried us down below so no one sees. ❞

❝ Listen to the voice keeping you alive. ❞

❝ You need us, we need you, it'll be alright. ❞

❝ We don't want to stay under lock and key. ❞

❝ You can help break the curse. ❞

❝ We all wanna leave. ❞

❝ If only we could shed our shells. ❞

❝ On the surface, we could start new. ❞

❝ We could go if we looked like you. ❞

❝ It only stings for a little bit. ❞

❝ You will stay and we get to leave. ❞

NIGHTMARE BY DESIGN

❝ Come down, visit the circus. ❞

❝ Take a break from the surface. ❞

❝ You are the spare part we need. ❞

❝ You don't know what we've been through. ❞

❝ There's a little of me in everybody. ❞

❝ There's nowhere left to hide. ❞

❝ We reinvented ourselves. ❞

❝ Our mask could use an upgrade. ❞

❝ Don't hold it against us, please, when you're part of the machine. ❞

❝ Don't hold it against us, please. ❞

DON'T COME CRYING

❝ We have a new guest! ❞

❝ There goes another one that I put to rest. ❞

❝ I'll be here with you, along for the ride. ❞

❝ Makes you wonder, doesn't it? ❞

❝ Which one of us opposites is the weak baby here? ❞

❝ I think it's pretty clear. ❞

❝ Don't come cryin' to me. ❞

❝ Don't come cryin' when it hurts. ❞

❝ Follow me, quickly. ❞

❝ This time, I pull the strings. ❞

❝ This plan is too easy. ❞

❝ Did you really think that I'd let you survive? ❞

❝ Did you really think that I'd let you survive another night? ❞

❝ You thought that you could control me? ❞

❝ You thought I was yours to own? ❞

❝ Sorry, I'm not sorry! ❞

I GOT NO BODY

❝ The robots are alive and so my nightmare starts. ❞

❝ I'd be a liar if I said I weren't afraid. ❞

❝ I can't trust nobody. ❞

❝ I got no body. ❞

❝ I got no body, they're inside me. ❞

❝ They're inside me. ❞

❝ How can I hide if they are always watching me? ❞

❝ Controlled shocks will no longer keep them in their place. ❞

LOTS OF FUN

❝ Open the doors and let them in. ❞

❝ Let's get this party started! ❞

❝ The stage is set, the lights are lit, and all the stars are haunted. ❞

❝ Such an exciting show doesn't just happen. ❞

❝ I hope you're ready for some fun. ❞

❝ An owner's work is never done. ❞

❝ Just a little death won't hurt no one. ❞

❝ Aren't we having fun? ❞

❝ Aren't we having lots of fun? ❞

❝ We will sleep when we're dead. ❞

❝ All you have to do is keep the party living. ❞

❝ Even when something's after you, all your tasks must be finished. ❞

❝ The monsters here have to believe it's all real. ❞

❝ We're burning it down tonight. ❞

❝ Your grand opening is a hit! ❞

❝ Wake up the ghosts for their final event. ❞

BREAK THE CYCLE

❝ Was it all a dream? ❞

❝ For how long must this go on? ❞

❝ I'll cut the strings, 'cause you are not a puppet. ❞

❝ You can be free. ❞

❝ There's no turning back the clock. ❞

❝ Now it's me who has to be the one to stop it. ❞

REPLAY YOUR NIGHTMARE

❝ Even death can't save you. ❞

❝ We know what you did. ❞

❝ We're all here just for you. ❞

❝ Don't you know how your seeds of evil grow? ❞

❝ It's your time to die. ❞

❝ We are remnants of your sins. ❞

❝ It's a game you'll never win. ❞

❝ You will pay for what you did, forever. ❞

WE KNOW WHAT SCARES YOU

❝ You're in for a shock if you came for a sweet lullaby. ❞

❝ This is something sinister, aimed right at your heart. ❞

❝ We know what scares you. ❞

❝ You can run, you can hide, but your fear is ours for tonight. ❞

❝ When you're forced to live in a mask for the rest of your years, you pick up a thing or two about bone-chilling fear. ❞

❝ We just wanna share everything we've learned with you. ❞

❝ We're not gonna lie to you, this is gonna hurt. ❞

❝ Now it's your turn. ❞

AFTER SHOW

❝ You held us down way too long. ❞

❝ Your cruel acts, we can't forget. ❞

❝ How long 'til you finally run out of luck? ❞

❝ How long 'til we've had enough of the roles you make us play? ❞

❝ Welcome to the aftershow. ❞

❝ Sit back, relax, we're in control. ❞

❝ You keep us displayed for entertainment like it's a game. ❞

❝ You cover up the bloodstains. ❞

❝ Buckle up, 'cause it's time for a change. ❞

❝ We do what we must. ❞

❝ All thanks to you, we're forever unloved. ❞

❝ What will you do when your creations come looking for you? ❞

DON'T FORGET

❝ Who are you to do this? ❞

❝ You live your life like you're the only one who deserves to live. ❞

❝ You made us cry. ❞

❝ You made us miss our families. ❞

❝ You used our souls and took control, but now, something's gotta give. ❞

❝ What goes around, comes around. ❞

❝ You know what they say about dirty lies. ❞

❝ Karma don't forget, then you die. ❞

❝ Karma don't forget. ❞

❝ It's time to face the rage behind the mask that you yourself create. ❞

❝ We are outcasts now and you're the reason why. ❞

❝ At least we have each other now. ❞

❝ You're alone, against the wall, 'cause what goes around comes around. ❞

WANNA BE TWISTED

❝ Look me in the eyes. ❞

❝ Look me in the eyes and tell me, honestly, what kind of monster you see. ❞

❝ Is that all that you think of me? ❞

❝ What about the real me that I want you to know? ❞

❝ I don't wanna be twisted. ❞

❝ I don't wanna be cold. ❞

❝ This world's forcing my hand. ❞

❝ Can you just understand? ❞

❝ It's not like I had a choice. ❞

❝ No wonder my mind came apart. ❞

❝ I don't wanna be twisted, but I am. ❞

BLEEDING INTO REALITY

❝ I'm playing with my nightmares. ❞

❝ Lines blur between what's real and game. ❞

❝ The cuts they leave feel real. ❞

❝ I'm here, trapped, 'til this job's done. ❞

❝ One wrong move, and it's the end. ❞

❝ It's my new normal. ❞

❝ Our world will be consumed. ❞

❝ They're breaking through. ❞

AFRAID OF THE DARK

❝ Are you afraid of the dark? ❞

❝ Are you afraid of coming apart? ❞

❝ We have many ways of stopping your heart. ❞

❝ If you weren't scared before, then you should be very, very afraid. ❞

❝ There's something about the unknown that bleeds the bloodiest magic. ❞

❝ I've actually seen it. ❞

❝ I've had to clean the blood and gore off the floor. ❞

❝ It was horrible. ❞

❝ I'm not afraid of the dark. ❞

❝ Fact is, I'm paid to be part of it. ❞

❝ When were playthings so ominous? ❞

❝ There's no way they've got consciousness. ❞

❝ Get back to your stage. ❞

❝ Quit your parlor tricks. ❞

❝ This could be my last night, huddled with a flashlight. ❞

❝ They just wanna snuggle, but they cuddle really damn tight. ❞

❝ I should set the place ablaze. ❞

❝ 5 AM, five percent...it'll last, right? ❞

❝ I've been there, it's alright. ❞

❝ You know, we're scary alike. ❞

GET SHOCKED

❝ I've been waiting for so long to get my special gift. ❞

❝ You're all that I want. ❞

❝ Something is wrong. ❞

❝ Now I'm running and I can never stop. ❞

❝ Instead of us having our fun, you're attacking me. ❞

❝ You even brought some of your friends for extra claws and teeth. ❞

❝ In every room, there's an enemy. ❞

❝ It's all up to me. ❞

GET AWAY

❝ Every time I see those eyes, my heart skips. ❞

❝ Get away! ❞

❝ Don't look back. ❞

❝ There's lies behind every mask. ❞

❝ I'm running out of time. ❞

❝ It's just a glitch. ❞

❝ Is it a glitch? ❞

❝ What is hunting me? ❞

❝ Can I ever leave by the morning light? ❞

SPEND THE NIGHT

❝ Spend the night at the Pizzaplex! ❞

❝ Run and hide, stay a step ahead. ❞

❝ Stay a step ahead, or you might end up fallin' dead. ❞

❝ There's no time to falter, stay the course. ❞

❝ The show's about to start. ❞

❝ You're a superstar! ❞

BE VERY AFRAID

❝ You try to run away, but we'll never be apart. ❞

❝ I am the monster lurking. ❞

❝ I am the fallen one. ❞

❝ I'll show you what I've become. ❞

❝ I see the fear inside of you. ❞

❝ Time to restore the balance. ❞

❝ Revenge is sweet. ❞

❝ Be very afraid. ❞

❝ Brace your mind for a nightmare. ❞

❝ Doors can't hold me back. ❞

❝ I may be broken to the core, but my anger's intact. ❞

❝ You can't be me, and I can't be you. ❞

WE'RE NOT COMING BACK

❝ Tell our families and everyone we know, we're not coming back. ❞

❝ We're not coming back. ❞

❝ Hello, hello? ❞

❝ Can you hear me call for help? ❞

❝ I am really not myself. ❞

❝ There's others here like me. ❞

❝ Goodbye, goodbye. ❞

❝ Ghosts are my only friends. ❞

THE CHILD INSIDE

❝ You see me like a monster. ❞

❝ I'm just another tale, an urban myth, some legend used to scare the kids. ❞

❝ How long 'til you see the child inside? ❞

❝ You treat me like an outcast. ❞

LAST NIGHT OF YOUR LIFE

❝ You won't last the night. ❞

❝ You won't last the night, but we're gonna have so much fun! ❞

❝ Your candle's burning out. ❞

❝ Your candle's burning out, live it while you got it! ❞

❝ Grab a slice, have a cake, before you're cold and rotted. ❞

❝ Celebrate, one more time! ❞

❝ Are you givin' me all you got? ❞

❝ Let's eat, let's rock, let's party now! ❞

❝ It's the last night of your life. ❞

❝ It's your downfall that I'm longing. ❞

❝ Your end doesn't have to be so sad and boring. ❞

❝ Party now, 'cause you won't survive. ❞

❝ It's game over. ❞

❝ Let's make your last night the night of your life. ❞

BAD RABBIT

❝ Come and see me on the stage. ❞

❝ The time for games is over. ❞

❝ My show will toy with your mind 'til you're through. ❞

❝ It's nice to finally meet you. ❞

❝ Our time has been divine. ❞

❝ I'd hate for this to end. ❞

❝ It's a shame you have to die. ❞

❝ Don't look so blue! ❞

❝ We're having fun, now, aren't we? ❞

❝ We've reached your end. ❞

❝ Take your final bow. ❞

❝ Did you enjoy the show? ❞

DISCONNECTED

❝ We were always programmed for system failure. ❞

❝ I turned a blind eye, but I can't do that forever. ❞

❝ I'm on the wrong side, and now I feel it more than ever. ❞

❝ I'm cutting the thread, so this is the end. ❞

❝ You made monsters that feed on innocence with my unknowing help. ❞

❝ Now it chills me to the bone, the way you look at them. ❞

❝ You're on the wrong side. ❞

❝ We can't go down this path together. ❞

❝ When did our dream change? ❞

❝ How did I end up so far in the dark? ❞

❝ My heart is torn. ❞

HALLOWEEN AT FREDDY'S

❝ It's Halloween at Freddy's! ❞

❝ All the guests have arrived. ❞

❝ Everyone's dying to meet you. ❞

❝ Won't you spend the night? ❞

❝ Join us. ❞

❝ There's no time to waste. ❞

❝ I hope you're ready. ❞

❝ Let's cut to the chase. ❞

❝ Don't trust a word they say. ❞

❝ Please try not to cry. ❞

❝ If he says "follow me," you'll never come back. ❞

❝ New friends always run away. ❞

❝ All we want to do is play. ❞

❝ Won't you be the one to stay? ❞

❝ If you listened carefully, you might get out alive. ❞

[imakemywings]

Thorinduil Fic Recs

Yo so apparently it’s Fanfiction Writer Appreciation Day, so in honor of that I thought I’d share some recommendations from my recent reading which is...basically all Thorinduil. So.

Be sure to check content warnings and tags on the original post and feel free to share if you have other recommendations!

20th Century Boy by ScarletTyler - 7.9k - M - Thorin knows better than to fall in love with a rock star. His stubbornness has never met its match, that is until a certain three-meter tall, bottle-blond, bushy browed diva proves to him that there is always more than meets the eye.

A Prince by Any Other Name by TrekFaerie - 1.8k - E - Thranduil learns a very important lesson in the importance of accurate translation when interacting with foreign cultures.

Axe and Flame by Stewardess - 25k - M - After detecting a mysterious presence in his fortress, Thranduil moves Thorin to a more secure location: his bedroom. A blend of book canon (in which the dwarves are held for forty-two days) and movie canon.  Set in The Desolation Of Smaug film time period.

Blame Game by HeartofStanding - 459 - G - Thorin's going to blame something, but he's not sure what.

Dantalion by Angelas - 2.2k - E - In which Thranduil becomes distant and Thorin heeds whispers of Thranduil's rumored re-marriage. And torments himself with it.

Devices of the Heart by stewardess - 49k - M - While visiting the outskirts of Mirkwood on business, Thorin meets a white stag determined to ruin his life. Or so it seems. Young and inexperienced, Thorin may yet be the prince who succeeds in laying bare the white stag's secret.

Distraction by Valmouth - 10.6k - E - One hundred and ninety two is old enough now to know why he must stop the elf from touching him, and to understand the consequences of what he may do if he fails.

Ear to the Ground, Eye to the Sky by allthegoodnamesaretakendammit - 17k - E - He remembers. He remembers waking up this fateful morning, the way the sun had slanted through the window and struck the cut glass mirror, throwing scattered glory across the stone ceiling in fractals of rainbow color. He remembers thinking what a good omen it must be, to have gemstones transposed above his bed, for his eyes alone.

Today, Thorin stares at the light dancing above him and is paralyzed by mounting horror. He knows that he is not in the halls of his ancestors because he feels no sense of peace.

The Fragility of Winter by meshkol - 12.5k - T - His mind is torn between so many things: old love and the possibility of a new one; the guilt of betrayal that may or may not be warranted; staying in his familiar, though lonely life without the terror of change and uprooting everything he is comfortable with for something that is daring and exciting and has a huge chance of failure.

Gift Giving by Smidget25 - 2.5k - T - In which Thorin tries to give the Elvenking a present and it all goes dreadfully wrong.

The Heart is Bold That Looks on Gold by Liu - 6.9k - M - Thorin could not expect what was to come when one Elven King came to visit Erebor...

History Lesson by Stewardess - 3.2k - T - A Thorin and Thranduil first meeting story. At Girion of Dale's coronation, Thorin's grandfather Thror is determined to prove dwarves are the equal of elves. Takes place a few years before the "gem snub" scene shown in flashback in The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey extended edition.

Mourning the Fallen by umi_no_arawashi - 759 - T - The battle has been fought, and now it is time to count the dead.

Naught but Ice and Silver by HaruIchigo - 1.5k - T- Not every jewel can be found under the ground.

Ownership by Randy Thrandy - 4.6k - E - Thorin hated to covet his father's lover, but Thranduil is the temptress of his youth and enables his unhealthy obsession.

Scars by Valmouth - 3k - T - The Dragon, Thranduil thinks, would have done better to keep Thorin son of Thrain with the rest of his treasure hoard.

Tease Me, Please Me by uprightpiano - 1.2k - M -  Thorin drops in on one of his clubs for a routine visit and spends some time with the club's favourite employee.

Warning: Sex on Legs in the Kitchen by uprightpiano - 500 - G - Thorin wakes up one night (out of many such nights) to a party in his kitchen. Starring Thranduil as the Party King, the many Elves as The Partygoers, and Thorin as That Guy.

Where You’ve Gone by Clearblueskies - 1k - T - Thranduil’s hair is crimson, his mouth white. Thorin feels heavy, so heavy― he tells himself that’s all that makes him bend and sit with him.

Vertigo by heartofstanding - 2.8k - T - Thorin gets stuck up a tree, Thranduil rescues him and has a revelation.

Plus one bonus Tauriel/Thranduil that I couldn’t fit anywhere else:

Copper and Starlight by ourdailymask - 2.6k - G - The Age of Elves is ending and the last of the Mirkwood elves arrive at the Grey Havens. Some partings are more difficult than expected.

[cherinoix]

Merciless || WIP

Genre: High fantasy

POV: Third person limited and omniscient

Setting: Year 0 in a new (made up) universe

Content Warning: Existential crisis/exploration, cosmic horror, religion, cults, violence/gore, death, general warning for possible adult themes

Progress: Plotting, worldbuilding, and character reference sheets

Mercy + Merciless

My plan is for Merciless to be a comic, which means multiple stories within one (so the summary I provide below will be relatively short, but there's more info coming on the other stories!) Merciless is a supplementary story to my other series, Mercy, as it details all the lore and ancient history referenced throughout.

I would like to publish both Mercy and Merciless down the line, so I won't be posting the full story, or many lore-relevant details. You can anticipate comics unrelated to the main plot, artwork of characters, world building, and writing/plotting snippets!

Summary

Following the creation of the Origin, the Goddesses of Trinity, Juno, Dumah, and Alva, fall swiftly into their eternal roles: love triumphing hate with indifference to mediate. As humanity takes shape, it becomes apparent that their petty feud will lead to the destruction of the universe they just created. When they don't heed his warning, Alva devises a plan to save the Origin from demise.

Typical stories and subplots include

The development of civilization, societies, and dogmas

Interactions with lesser gods (intros coming soon!) 

Humanity finding its purpose

Meeting the ancestors of characters from Mercy

Characters

Juno, Goddess of Love and Purity

Juno is the embodiment of all things good: light, love, miracles-- the list goes on. Due to her mostly positive interactions with humanity, she is the favored Goddess within the trinity, and is worshipped as such. Juno typically takes the form of a faceless, veiled angel, but possesses many forms over the course of the series. 

Dumah, Goddess of Hate and Corruption

Dumah is the embodiment of all things evil: darkness, hate, curses, and so on. Because of her knack for destruction and disorder, Dumah is a widely feared, yet respected Goddess; her appearance hardly helps her case, being that she can change her size at will and is already nine feet (274 cm) tall, and originally flaunts 1000 eyes. Needless to say, she’s not exactly the Goddess humanity prays to often. 

Alva, God of Indifference and ???

If Juno stands for all things good, and Dumah for all things evil, Alva rests right in between. Though he is ridiculed for his lack of morality, it is Alva’s objective eye that maintains a semblance of order in the universe. Alva is an ever-changing being, inspiring the many faces of the beings and creatures within the Origin, until he finally settles on... this one. 

Anyway, Merciless is Alva’s story, and explores his relationships with divinity, humanity, and the fragility of life.

House Keeping

My asks are open and empty, so feel free to ask any questions you have! 

Fanart is okay and appreciated! Reposting my work especially without credit is not. 

I don’t really have a solid draft, and I’m currently in the plotting phase, so while you’re welcome to send me tag/writing games and such, I may not be able to participate. 

Dm me, reblog, etc. to be added to the taglist for this project! 

And finally, sorry for any and all errors-- I rarely proofread~ 

Taglist: @cryptid-s-wips​

[uzuneapologist]

Where can one download Witch's Heart if they wish to play it?

right here! it's a vgperson translation

the page goes into more detail but this is just the first chunk of the game - there's a "bonus stage" and the conclusions which are all separate downloads (though the game is not actually fully finished yet - so far only sirius' conclusion has been released)

it is a horror-fantasy game so do heed the content warnings (though everything is depicted in a delightful pixel art style)

[scrappy-urchin]

Rules and Notes for mobile

RP-related stuff:

The Basics:

This is a sideblog to @huds-hub, which means all follows, likes, and comments on posts will come from that account. I’m not mutuals only, so don’t feel discouraged to RP with me if I don’t follow you back!

No godmodding unless it’s discussed beforehand.

Muse does not equal mun. Don’t take any of Undyne’s words or actions as a reflection of what I personally think about you or your character.

I RP with Undertale/Deltarune characters, their (popular) AUs, and OCs based on them, but am multiverse-friendly within those constraints. RPing with muses outside the fandom will be rare and selective.

I am flexible to adjusting small details of my blog’s headcanons to match your muse’s verse. However, I ask that you do not expect Undyne to act out-of-character to appease your depictions.

Timelines are messy and weird. Even though Undyne is a teen and lives pre-game, it doesn’t mean your character needs to be aged down. So, don't worry about it too much. Just have fun and make an interesting story!

Instances of human characters interacting with my Undertale Undyne will be rare. Why would it be common? This fish monster doesn’t care for humanity! If you want someone with a tolerable view of humans, try one of my Deltarune AUs...

Do not reply passively. In other words, your replies should not just react to what my character says and does... it should help move the story forward! RPing is a collaborative effort. If one person carries all the weight of writing the story, it is an unfair balance. The only exception to this is if it has been discussed OOC.

Triggers and Tagging:

I am sensitive about tagging triggers. Please make sure you list any trigger tags on your ‘Rules’ page so I may heed them as best as I can! Whether you RP with me or are just a “spectator,” please shoot me a message if you want me to tag anything. I WILL tag them if you ask - no questions asked!

Themes pertaining to rape, sexual assault, and self-harm by cutting are HARD NOS for me.  Please ask me beforehand if you want the theme of suicide to appear in our RP.  

I tag standard generic warnings, such as #gif warning, #suggestive, #long post, etc…

CONTENT WARNINGS YOU SHOULD BE AWARE OF: please block #violence cw (catch-all tag for intense descriptions of physical conflict), #depression cw (catch-all tag for intensely sad ideations), #food cw, #entomophagous cw (the eating of insects), #eye trauma cw, #blood cw, and #body horror cw, if those topics bother you. They are typically not graphic nor frequent, but I suggest blocking them just in case. I don’t want to ruin anybody’s day. :(

In order for to ensure blacklist scripts are effectively blocking sensitive material, any other content warning tags will be in this format: #[content] cw. If new triggers appear (aside from the ones listed above), the post will be hidden under a ‘Read More.’

Shipping:

I portray Undyne as being exclusively attracted to females. If shipping occurs, it will be will female or feminine-aligned characters that are within the same age range as her.

If interested in shipping with Undyne, please make sure your character is clearly specified on your blog to be of teen age or has a teenage verse.

DO NOT LEWF MY MUSE. The Undyne this blog depicts is AGED-DOWN from her canon age and is under 18 years old. Though she experiences attraction as a typical allo teenager would, I will NEVER write s*xual RPs involving an underage Undyne.

OOC blog-related stuff:

Anyone can follow and ask my Undyne questions! However, I will only RP in threads with designated RP blogs. We don’t have to be mutuals to RP together.

Usage of icons, post formatting, and matching the lengths of my replies doesn’t matter to me. However, matching passion does!

Feel free to send in Magic Anons! However, I’m selective about which ones I accept.

You do not have my permission to use my art specifically made for this blog. All icons are modified from the original game’s icons by me. Same with my fanart. Do not modify or re-upload them on other websites.

I am duplicate-friendly. I love seeing how people interpret canon characters and reading all the different headcanons out there (especially for my favorite fish warrior *_* ). We’re all here to have fun - it’s not a competition!

I am extremely patient with replies. There is no rush in replying swiftly to anything I send you and you don’t need to apologize if you haven’t replied in a long time. After all, RPing is our hobby, not our jobs!

Speaking of which, I. Am. SLOW at replying to threads. If I do not answer quickly, it doesn’t mean I’ve lost interest in our RP. I don’t mind returning to threads even though it’s been months since my writing partners have replied... as long as we are enjoying it!

Please don’t reblog RP threads that do not involve you. Likes and comments are okay.

If you decide to drop one of our RP threads, feel free to send me a message letting me know. I won’t guilt-trip you or ask you why.

If I don’t reply to RP threads, please don’t spam me with messages or make passive-aggressive comments about it. One PM simply reminding me should be enough.

I have the right to discontinue RP threads or not answer asks that I don’t have muse for, turn down story lines, and block people. And so do you! I won’t guilt-trip you about your decision, so please extend that same courtesy to me.

Have fun! If you made it this far and understand the rules, “like” this post so I know you read this page.

Happy RPing!

[fascination-street-writing]

Jumping on Someone Else’s Train | Narancia Ghirga x GN!Reader

His is the face of the one who lost everything, found everything, and lost it all again.

A Canon Divergence AU, in which Narancia does not follow Bucciarati on the boat in Venezia

- 200 Follower Giveaway Piece I for @vergissmeinnnicht​ -

Content Warnings: Regret, Angst, Mentions of Alcoholism, & Mentions of Other Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms

Men and women clad in suits of varying styles and colors stand along the proscenium of the tracks, waiting for the first wave of commuter trains from Venezia. With thoughts of unfinished reports, soccer practices, and uncertainties of whether to have spaghetti alle vongole or ai ricci for dinner, no one pays heed to the three battered teenagers seated just behind the line – who, mind you, certainly ought to be in school.

To your left, Fugo fumes; and yet, despite his ever-apparent anger, there is unbounded despondency in his violet eyes. Despondency indeed, perhaps for the mutual decision of yours and his, or otherwise, because of Bucciarati’s blasphemy. Although, you suppose that you cannot fault your former Capo. He has always had a proclivity for saving undesirables – yourselves, included. But his kindness is not your own.

To your right, Narancia leans over and slouches, clutching his head between two hands that have not yet healed from his scuffle with the first man of the assassination team. You cannot help but to notice that several of the crackling scabs have been picked open. You regret deeply that you had not offered to run Trish’s errands with the black-haired boy. And, though he will not admit it, as does Fugo.

The sound of a shoe tapping against the concrete flooring would be irksome to you if it were anyone other than Narancia’s doing. You cannot decide if he is merely growing impatient for the train to arrive, or rather, unequivocally conflicted about what has transpired within the past hour. A shuddering breath slips past his lips, expelling as his shoulders begin to quake. He might never forgive you for letting him snivel in public.

Gently, you place your hand on his back. Narancia stills at your touch and allows his own to fall from his reddened cheeks. Reluctantly so, he meets your concerned gaze. He fears he might disintegrate into nothing more than bones if you keep looking at him this way – like you adore and loathe him all the same.

You speak his name softly, reminiscent of some kind of lullaby that his mother might have sung to him during his early adolescence. “We need you to be here,” you tell him.

His nod is an automatic response. He contemplates the bluntness of your words, understanding well enough that they have sprung from a good heart. You have become more like Bucciarati, he thinks; your pension for austerity in love rivals his, to be sure. Narancia swallows and nods once more. “I’m here,” he insists.

He would wince at the cracking of his voice if you had turned away sooner. You pull your hand back and rest it atop your leg, curling your fingers into the threadwork of your pants. “Stay with us, then.”

The rotors of the train squeal as the machinery lulls to a stop. In truth, you would never like to board another train for as long as you should live. But this is not a luxury you can afford.

“Now boarding from Stazione di Venezia Santa Lucia to Napoli Centrale. Total travel time – seven hours and thirty-nine minutes. First stop: Ferrara.”

Within the compartment of the train, Fugo sits beside you and pours over a bit of reading that he had swiped from a kiosk before embarking. Narancia determines that the book the younger boy reads must be painfully dreadful, or implausibly wonderful. His brow furrows, as if deeply embedded in his own thoughts, but his fingers never bend to turn the page.

A quivery sigh escapes as you stare from the window, appearing to be as bored as ever. The Italian countryside passes by in blurs of likewise colored landscapes. Narancia wonders how it is that you can tell the difference between a vineyard and a farm against the speed of travel. Or maybe you cannot, though you try to anyways.

You stifle a yawn, finally succumbing to the exhaustion that has accumulated over the past several days. And yet, despite it all, you are still living. Narancia feels his own jaw beginning to twitch, and his mind drifts elsewhere, to the interlude of youth before life with Bucciarati became quite so complicated; good thoughts to keep him grounded amidst the unrest of divided loss.

As it were, he remembers the day when he first met you as if it were yesterday. Before Mista, Abbacchio, and certainly Giorno – back when the two of you, Fugo, and Bucciarati made for the greatest family whom he had ever known. The only other time Narancia has ever seen such strain upon your face was when Bucciarati took you into his home, still clothed in street-rags and muddied shoes. You had not even joined Passione yet; their then eighteen-year-old leader had acted of his own volition to take you in. He always has had a way of saving people.

Narancia knows your strife as if it is his own. Your mother died and your father neglected you; you took to thievery and pickpocketing to find whatever you needed to spend a night without an empty stomach. It was only a matter of time until, provoked by the unfortunate solidarity of utter hurt, you had clicked with the two boys.

But it was not always this way.

In truth, your eagerness to snub the boy is, of some emotional gravity, debilitating. He has always believed friendship to be deserving of the highest value of any other virtue in life. When you observe his struggles to solve seemingly simple math equations during tutoring sessions, with such an unreadable look on your face, he dreads that your hesitation has born itself from an aura of superiority that you harbor against him. The moment you turn away as Fugo’s chastisement rains upon him, he wonders how he might ever be good enough to earn your favor when he cannot be good enough for himself.

When he speculates his plan to befriend you, he thinks without fail that it must be the most brilliant little scheme in the world. Narancia begins by buying you a chocolate bar from the corner store down the street, because what peer of your age does not like chocolate? By the time he has returned home, it has begun to melt in his pocket. He hopes you will not mind, and if you do, he has already decided that he will go back and purchase a second one – cognizant to carry it instead, rather than stuffing it in his corduroys.

To his chagrin, you turn your nose up at the creased, seeping parcel. “I hate sweets,” you tell him with a heavy insistence and no succeeding explanation or defense. Never mind that he had caught you sneaking cake from the kitchen last night when you thought everyone else had gone to bed.

Alas, his resolve is strong. He supposes that it was wrong of him to assume that you would indulge in a chocolate bar, because it is simply not the same thing as cake. During an astronomy lesson with Fugo, a fetching optimism takes over. That evening, he forgoes dinner to sweep the terracotta roof of dead leaves and earthly dust. He rummages through his closet for the softest blanket he owns – blue gingham that had once belonged to his mother.

He runs into you in the hallway on his way to your bedroom; budding with courage, he asks if you would care to watch the stars with him on the rooftop, because the window in his room leads right to the widow’s walk. You roll your eyes and turn away, muttering, “Constellations make me dizzy.” But did you not tell Bucciarati in passing yesterday just how much you love searching for the little dipper when the night skies are forgiving?

Narancia’s spur is beginning to wane, though he cannot blame you. Perhaps he has been reading you wrong. He simply has not pinpointed your interests – that is all. Flipping through the channels of the television, he stumbles upon a culinary program of an older man demonstrating how to prepare bucatini alla carbonara. Struck with inspiration, the boy rushes to the market for pancetta, parmesan, and dried pasta; he has never quite had the patience for making fresh dough, so he settles for pre-packed bucatini. Surely, you will understand.

And so, he leads you into the kitchen with a grin on his face. While pointing to the array of ingredients on the counter, he asks you to lend a hand and to help him prepare dinner. You are all in need of a reprieve from Il Libeccio. “I don’t like cooking,” you say, disinterested. It surely must have been a ghost who prepared the rigatoni al pesto on this past domenica, then.

Narancia does not have high hopes when he extends to you the offer of catching the movie Panni Sporchi in the theater with Fugo and he. His crushed spirits know better by now. But it never hurts to try.

You set down whatever magazine you have snatched from the corner store and cock an eyebrow. “Comedies aren’t my thing,” you utter. “They’re not even that funny. Besides, they’re just poor imitations of life. So are romances. And dramas. Thrillers – horrors . . . Actually, I hate movies.”

He bears it with a curt nod, choosing to ignore that you had held a private viewing of Auguri Professore in the living room yesterday. His head tells him that you do not wish to be his friend, amongst other things – but his heart insists that one day, you will.

It is by chance that he should wake up this night with the irrepressible urge to use the bathroom. On his way back, skin still damp from the sink, Narancia tiptoes along the embroidered vines of the carpet. It is a solitary game he only partakes in when no one is around to question his antics. When he hears a hiccup, he surmises that he has been caught. His sock-clad feet sink into the floor as he stills and prepares himself for whatever beratement is sure to follow. Instead, there is only another gasp for breath.

No, not a hiccup, he notices: it is the sound of grief that came from your bedroom. With little regard to your privacy, he peaks his head through the cracked door.

“What are you doing, Narancia?” you demand as you wipe the back of your nose and hoist the blankets – wetted by your tears – up to your shoulders. “Get out of my room.”

In this moment, it is as if the clouds have parted and clarity canvases the sky. All this time, he truly was enough for you – it was you who was not adequate for yourself. And here you are, curled up in your bed with swollen eyes that beg him to stay even though you had told him otherwise. You are tormented by bad memories that ought to be shed like snakeskin.

Narancia steps forward. “I just wanted to tell you, uh, it’s okay to cry,” he says with a certain tenderness that seems so unfamiliar to you. He rubs the back of his neck, averting your gaze. “Even if you don’t think so.”

You gawk at him and say nothing, for words have failed you. The silence is deafening, all the same. It is an audacious move, but he smiles to you – a gesture of compassion – before turning to leave. He has overstayed his welcome, and your unrelenting stare does not make him feel any better.

“Wait.” He stops, anticipating your delayed retaliation. “Could you . . . Can you spend the night with me?”

As he lies in bed next to you, distance kept by a pillow wedged between your bodies, Narancia beams – but you cannot see outline of his grin in the darkness of the room. This night and many more will pass, and you slowly become something of a beacon. He is beholden to you, because you make him feel appreciated in the ways that not even Fugo or Bucciarati can. For this reason, he will always cherish you – a talisman encapsulated within a friend.

And now, though the seeds of regret have already begun to spring roots within him – hyacinths embedded in his heart –, he will stay strong, for you are like a pharos to him. If not resiliency for his own sake, then certainly yours.

At least, for as long as he can.

“Hey, Narancia.” Startled, he jumps in his seat and clasps his knees tightly. “Is there something on my face?” you ask.

“I – Huh?” he stumbles over any response that might have come to mind. “What do you mean?”

You chuckle. “Well, it’s just that you’ve been staring at me for the past ten minutes.”

“Uh . . . I  . . .”

Fugo drags his gaze from his book to your face. “I don’t see anything,” he assures with a shrug. “Actually, come to think of it, I think your nose has gotten bigger.”

The banter of humor between you and Fugo is lost on the black-haired boy. Or rather, he is far too distracted to mimic it. He stands from his seat abruptly and reaches for the door to the compartment. “I have to piss,” he mutters.

He is gone before either of you can comment on his sudden brashness. In his absence, you nudge Fugo and gesture towards his book; just as Narancia had noted, you realize that your strawberry blonde friend has not gotten past the first page of the novel ever since you had departed. You left nearly an hour ago.

“My head is just elsewhere, I guess,” he confesses to your proclamation. He closes the book and sets it down on the seat. “I’m fine, though. As much as I can be. But Narancia isn’t.”

You hum in agreeance. “I’ll go check on him.”

Water rushes from the faucet and pools in the porcelain, ceramic bowl of the basin. Steam wafts towards the ceiling, blanketing the mirror in a cloud. Narancia’s fingers curl around the rim of the sink so tightly that the coloring flees from his knuckles. He feels like a phantom, for a part of him has surely died back in Venezia.

In another world, he imagines that he might have followed Bucciarati – as would have you and Fugo. But this is nothing more than a nonsensical thought that can never be anything more than an instance of intangible pondering. He does not wipe the fog from the mirror, because he cannot bear the sight of the boy who will greet him in return.

His is the face of the one who lost everything, found everything, and lost it all again. His stomach churns and his head whirls with aches. He has never been the type of person to boast of his character; it takes a humble attitude to realize that there is nothing special about oneself – until there is. Truly, Narancia once believed that he was a proper man, because he worked for someone as virtuous as the young Capo, whose confidence bred itself and more.

“I guess I’m not much of one now,” Narancia mumbles aloud with a sigh of vexation. “Not like Mista, Abbacchio . . . or Giorno.”

He taps the tip of his shoe against the linoleum floor. As it were, his socialization into Passione – no, into Bucciarati’s squad – has taught him the moral necessities of defending the weak who cannot otherwise safeguard nor vindicate themselves. Betraying him is a dreadful regret. How can he ignore the voice in his head that affirms his folly and tells him that he is no better for abandoning Trish in all her temperamental, vain ways, either?

When the sound of knuckles rapping against the door startles him from his thoughts, his first impulse is to lash out at whoever has disrupted his mind chamber of self-reflection. “Hey, can’t you read, idiota?” he demands, angrily. “Bathroom’s occupied.”

“Narancia, it’s just me.” The scowl on his face falters as he recognizes your voice. He turns the squealing faucet until it has dried. He does not stop to catch his staggered breaths before opening the door, and perhaps he should have. Even though you have become such close companions, you still make him feel like a child under your anatomizing gaze – as if there is something particularly interesting about him after all, which takes him for a good subject of study.

Your look of concern is jarring. For a moment, it is difficult to breathe, and he wishes he had tried to calm himself first. So much for staying strong for them. You step forward and lock the sliding door behind you. If it were anyone else – even Fugo – the proximity of your body to his might have made him uneasy. You drag a finger through the film of steam on the mirror. “I’m going to ask you something,” you begin to say, “and I’d like you to answer me, honestly. Are you alright?”

He chokes up at your words, because yes – he is perfectly fine; healthy, albeit a bit battered still from his fracas with Formaggio. As soon as he manages to stop himself from instigating the scabs on his knuckles, they will heal, and he will be left with nothing more than pink scar-tissue as an everlasting memento of these past few days.

But, in other contingencies of prosperity, he is unequivocally not alright. Against his better sense of control, his eyes well up with tears, and his cognition scatters.

“Narancia?”

There are many things that a person indulges in as a means of coping, some safer than others. Men fall to the bottle, like Abbacchio – and men lash out in violent rages, such as Fugo. He could keep picking at his scabs, find an emptied compartment to scream in, or pull out his unkempt hair. Contrition moves through him like a venom, and he supposes he should find a way to suck it out before it kills him.

His hands meet your arms in a shockingly gentle, clammy grasp; he jerks himself closer and suddenly, his lips are on your own and he is kissing you. His teeth scrape against your own and he pulls you flush, as if he cannot get close enough to you already, desperate to suffocate the detrimental notions running through him. Stunned and too preoccupied with dwelling on the sweet taste of his mouth, you have forgotten how to reciprocate.

You break apart and shrug the grip on your arms, unsure of what to say as his desperate indigo ogling gauges you for a reaction – whether you should berate him or express your equal adoration, anything is preferable than the silence. “I . . . I’m sorry,” he finally says when you have not.

“It’s fine,” you insist, an unreadable poignancy sweeping your face. “You can do it again, if you need to. I don’t mind.”

He must have heard you wrong; surely, you did not give him such a blessing as this. And yet, when he cups your jaw and meets your lips halfway, you do not shove him off. Instead, you repay the gesture and swipe your tongue along his own. His heart sings for you, like a schoolboy’s choir: thank you, thank you, thank you. You swear that your legs have become melting gold, for they quiver and you can no longer stand on your own.

Or maybe it is because the train has lurched forward. Despite the separation of your lips, Narancia catches you in arms that harbor unassuming strength, but make you feel guarded, all the same. It is strange, you reflect: he has always been something of a haven to you, ever since the night when you had cast aside all hesitations of welcoming him into your circle and did exactly that.

“I just want you to know that everything will be okay,” you tell him – about the kiss, about the train, or about your shared regrets, he does not know. No matter the intent, he enjoys listening to your voice. “You aren’t alone in this, Nara. We both made the decision to leave. You don’t have to suffer on your own, because I feel just as guilty, too.”

He frowns.

“Besides, we have all we need. You, me, and Fugo. I’m glad you’re here, you know; I couldn’t do this without you.” He hastily wipes away the tears that trickle down his cheeks. Stop crying, he sneers to himself. Stop it, stop it, stop it. You pull his frantic hand away from his reddened face and lace your fingers with his, so that he might not try it again. “It’s okay to cry, even if you don’t think so.”

He blooms and comes undone, sobbing into the crook of your neck and clasping your shirt so tightly that the spooling contorts and wrinkles. You trace shapes against his back, creasing the leather with your nails. Slow, tentative, and soft. He wishes to stay like this forever, bathroom or not – just so long as he has you.

While Narancia straightens himself and splashes fresh water upon his face, you wait for him at the door. He hesitates to follow you back to the compartment, because he can lose himself to grief exactly where he is without repercussion. You know this well, and so you extend your arm for him to take with a sense of hushed encouragement. His fingers meet yours, only this time, it is not to stop him from swiping at his face until his skin is raw. “We should check on Fugo, yeah?” you suggest.

“Yeah . . .”

Down the corridor, he trails behind you like a lost stray to his savior. In a way, that is exactly what you are, he thinks. And he will forever be grateful for it. It is not until you have returned to the strawberry blonde that Narancia lets his grasp fall from yours. You return to your seats, and Fugo offers his own attempt at a smile to you each. His book lies in his lap, untouched and unmoved.

“So, Fugo.” You drag out his name, as if deep in thought. “Did you get past the first page yet?”

| 3704 Words |

[starry-seongmin]

Something Wicked This Way Comes

a/n: While I was on a break, I felt bad for not updating especially the requests which have been sitting in my drafts and inbox since September so I have started working on them. While I’m finishing your requests, have this fantasy au Enhypen I wrote inspired by their debut trailers. Since there are many theories circling their roles and their supernatural forms, I decided to be ambiguous here in the case it is later revealed. I hope you enjoy as I have ventured into an area which I have never touched and is outside my comfort zone. I would be very grateful if you guys give feedback and responses. As much as I appreciate likes, as a writer I do get discouraged if I don’t get responses :(       - Mia

themes: fantasy, angst?

warnings: disappearance of family

word count: 1.7k +

The woods were silent. Uncomfortably silent. Not even a leaf shifted let alone an animal or bird. An uneasy feeling had long ago settled in your brain. The sound of leaves crunching and twigs snapping underneath your footsteps had your heart beating erratically within you.

You were not supposed to be here. You knew of the stories, the legends, the rumours and myths of the woods that stood uninviting right outside your village. You never believed them, after all they were just that. Stories and tales to keep children away from the woods. Folklore and plays to entertain tourists and make money off them by selling talismans and souvenirs and what not to ward off the creatures that seemingly roamed there.

The village shaman had foreseen the disappearance of your family and had forewarned you but obviously you brushed it off, believing the shaman to be a quack. You never believed this stuff and neither did your family but right now, it was completely different.

Here you were, well deep into the woods after the promised disappearance of your family. The shaman who was weirdly content at your frantic state while standing at his doorsteps had directed you towards the woods.

"The one to whom the woods kneel before is the one who rules the darkness. He has the answer you're searching for."

Well that was very helpful and considerate of the creepy shaman. Now here you were, in the middle of the woods that were forbidden, starting to believe that the stories you had heard since childhood were not just stories. Scolding yourself for being wavered even for a minute, you continued your journey to search for whoever the woods kneeled before. If the words of the shaman were true then you'll hopefully be with your family soon.

Continuing to trek onward and deeper among the trees that stood tall and brooding, submerging the covered forest ground underneath a canopy of darkness with the sunlight barely fighting it's way through.

What seemed like an eternity later, you found your path blocked by a large body of dark and still water. Not even the slightest of ripples was seen on the surface. Like every other part of the woods it too seemed dead.

You wanted to stop. To turn back. To scream and shout. But you were not in control of your body. You were helpless. You felt detached and dissociated from your body.

Crack

The sound of a twig snapping made you jump. A shiver ran across your body and a sudden gasp left your numb lips. You looked down at your trembling hands. The state of not being in control over your body vanished and you heaved a sigh of relief.

Realizing you stood on the shore of the lake, on rocks and pebbles made you realize that it couldn't have been you who had stepped on a dried piece of wood. Heart hammering at the unwanting and daunting realization of a presence near you, you slowly turned a 180° slowly, preparing to see a horrific sight or possibly to be met with an attack of some sorts.

No one.

Nothing.

You didn't know if you were relieved at the prospect of not seeing anything or anyone or sent in a cold sweat for not seeing the source of the noise you clearly heard.

Still struck with horror although you refused to acknowledge it, you turned back to face the lake once again only to jump and let out a scream as you were now face to face with a human or so he seemed. Your eyes widened and you stumbled backwards to fall on the ground, crawling backwards while your eyes were fixated on the person standing before you.

He looked to be in his youth. Blonde hair framing the top half of his face, brown eyes that stared at you with hardened gaze which sent goosebumps up your skin. His skin pale yet unusually smooth. He stood tall, dressed like how a normal boy would.

"You shouldn't be here"

His voice was soft unlike his stare. He seemed normal and harmless but you knew better. Maybe all the tales were true about creatures that lurked within the darkness of the trees in the form of humans like you and me. Was he one of them? Of course he was.

"You must leave this place at once"

His expression never changed. He stood still and never once blinked, maintaining eye contact since the beginning. "What...what are you?" Before you could put a filter to your words, the question escaped your lips and you winced at your own words. The last thing you wanted was to anger or offend a creature or entity of the woods and end up dead or cursed.

"Run away while you still can"

For the first time you could see his expression falter and sense some franticness behind his warnings. "You're not safe here", he took a step forwards and warily looked around his surroundings. "Heed my warning. Escape while you still can." With every word he spoke, anxiousness radiated off him. Before you could ask what he meant, a chilling whistle ran throughout the trees and echoing, surrounding you. Making you feel trapped. Even though the blood curdling note had disappeared into thin air, it still kept echoing in your mind and had no intention of subduing.

Your hands instinctively covered your ears and you curled up in a fetal position, desperate for the whistle that haunted you to vanish. When it seemed like it had gone, a much terrifying noise rang through the trees. A nefarious laugh with pure evil dripping from it.

The boy's eyes widened, worry and fear etched upon his handsome features. "He knows", he whispered. "It's too late... he knows you're here." Before you could question him about the noises that haunted the woods and the words he spoke, the boy made his way towards you and grabbed your arm. It was too late to fight him off or escape from his clutch as you felt sucked in, wind in your ears and all noise and vision distorted until you found yourself standing inside a cabin of sorts.

Regaining balance and composure, you turned to the boy who was now peeking out of the only window from inside. "Why have you brought me here? Who are you? What are you? Who knows I'm here? Will you tell me anyth-"

Your voice became muffled and ultimately stopped bombarding him with questions when you felt his hand clamped on your mouth and his fixated on you in a steel like stare.

"You talk to much... I'll only let you talk if you answer my questions first" he growled, clearly annoyed at your questions and inability to listen to him. Vigorously, you shook your head. Anything to get his freezing hand off you and of course... to stay alive.

Slowly, he retracted his hand and took a few steps backwards, studying you and making you feel small and intimidated in his presence. "Why are you here, mortal?" His eyes narrowed and he leaned against the grimy wall of the cabin, arms folded. "And I want the truth. I have my ways of detecting lies... so think carefully before spouting nonsense."

Wow, he really had attitude even for a supernatural creature. "I was told that I would find the answers behind my family's disappearance", you replied and stared right back at the boy. After a few seconds of silence he nodded his head which meant your answer passed the truth check. "And who told you you'd find the answers to your family's disappearance?"

How long is this interrogation going to last?

"As long as you answer all of my questions honestly", he said.

Your eyes widen. Did he just... he can...

"Yes, I can read minds", he was sporting a devilish smirk which only enhanced his good looks. "Now answer my question...who told you that you'll find your answers here?"

"It was the old man... the shaman of our village. He was the one who told me that my family will disappear and he was the one who told me that I'll find all that I need to know here", you replied not wanting to test his patience.

"What did he exactly say?" the boy asked, once again peering out of the window before leaning back against the wall and staring at you. "He said something about someone who rules the darkness and before whom the woods kneel", you recall.

He seemed to be in deep thoughts after hearing your answer. Something between a dry chuckle and a scoff left him as he raised his head to look at you. "You weren't sent here to find about your family... the shaman fooled you and you listened to him without thinking. You unknowingly went after your death, foolish mortal"

"What are you talking about?", your heart was hammering against your chest and the words you spoke were barely heard but he managed to catch on to you. After all, he did have supernatural abilities.

"The shaman sent you as an offering...in other words, a sacrifice".

"How do you know that?", you narrowed your eyes at the grinning boy in front of you, hoping and praying he was just messing around but that seemed unlikely given the circumstance you were in right now.

"Let's play a fun game. Recall all the stories and legends you have heard and read about.Then match my powers to one of the entities you were told of."

Playing a game with a creature of the woods was probably the last thing on your list when you just found out that you were sent as a sacrifice for whatever reason which was unknown to you.

You rattled your brain, trying to recall anything and everything about the creatures that dwelled within the woods. One creature flashed before your eyes. The ability to read minds... the power of teleportation... the blonde hair... ice cold body temperature... giving warnings to anyone who ventured into the forbidden land... As sudden realization hits you thanks to all those books and tales you knew like the back of your hand, a gasp leaves your mouth and you scramble away from him util your back hits the wall, eyes widening in horror.

"It can’t be... you're..." The name fails to fall from your tongue. One of the names which was forbidden to even whisper out loud.

He shrugged his shoulders and smiled tantalizingly and amusingly at your reaction.

"Jongseong... the Guardian of the Forbidden Land..."

[huds-hub]

Rules for RPing and Blog-Related Stuff

Here is the list o’ changes I made for the convenience of long-time followers:

As per my recent post ranting about it, human characters will rarely interact with Undertale Undyne.

Do not reply passively. Give something for my character to respond and help move the story along!

Anybody can follow and send in asks. However, people who RP or send me OOC messages should be 16 years or older. Considering my character is a teenager and there is no lewd stuff on this blog, I figured that age is a good line to draw in terms of users I interact with on here.

You do not have my permission to use any of my art or modified icons made specifically for this blog.

If you decide to drop one of our RP threads, please send me a message letting me know. I won't guilt-trip you or ask you why.

It doesn’t matter if you don’t match the lengths of my replies.

I am super-patient with replies, so there is no need to apologize if it takes you months. Besides, it would be super-hypocritical if I complained about those kinds of things. ><

RP-related stuff:

The Basics:

No godmodding unless it’s discussed beforehand.

Muse does not equal mun. My muse is a teenage fish monster warrior-in-training. I am just a boring adult pacifist happy upside-down spatula. Needless to say, we don’t see eye-to-eye on a lot of things…

I RP with Undertale/Deltarune characters, their (popular) AUs, and OCs based on them, but am multiverse-friendly within those constraints. RPing with muses outside the fandom will be rare and selective. If you have a story idea involving my character but don’t know if I’ll like it, feel free to send me a message about it.

Timelines are messy and weird. Even though Undyne is a teen and lives pre-game, characters don’t need to be aged down.

Instances of human characters interacting with my Undertale Undyne will be rare. Why would it be common? This fish monster doesn’t care for humanity! If you want someone with a tolerable view of humans, try one of my Deltarune AUs...

Do not make passive replies. In other words, your replies should not just react to what my character says and does... it should help move the story forward! RPing is a collaborative effort. If one person is carrying all the weight of writing the story, it is an unfair balance. The only exception to this is if it has been discussed OOC.

Triggers and Tags:

I am sensitive about tagging triggers. Please make sure you list any trigger tags on your ‘Rules’ page so I may heed them as best as I can! Whether you RP with me or are just a “spectator,” please shoot me a message if you want me to tag anything. No questions asked. I won’t judge you.

Themes pertaining to r*pe, s*xual assault, and s*lf-h*rm by cutting are HARD NOS for me. Please notify me beforehand if you want the theme of su*cide to appear in our RP.

I tag standard generic warnings, such as #gif warning, #suggestive, #long post, etc…

CONTENT WARNINGS YOU SHOULD BE AWARE OF: please block #violence cw (catch-all tag for physical conflict), #depression cw (catch-all tag for intensely sad ideations), #food cw, #entomophagous cw (the eating of insects), #eye trauma cw, #blood cw, and #body horror cw, if those topics bother you. It is typically not graphic nor frequent, but I suggest blocking them just in case. I don’t want to ruin anybody’s day. :( If the RP is more graphic than usual, I will make sure to put the content under a ‘Read More.’ I’ll keep this section updated if more sensitive topics come up.

In order for to ensure blacklist scripts are effectively blocking sensitive material, all other content warning tags will be in this format: #[content] cw. If new triggers appear (aside from the ones listed above), the post will be hidden under ‘Read More.’

Shipping:

I portray Undyne as being exclusively attracted to females. If shipping occurs, it will be will female or feminine-aligned characters that are within the same age range as her.

If interested in shipping with Undyne, please make sure your character is clearly specified on your blog to be of teen age or has a teen verse.

DO NOT LEWF MY MUSE. The Undyne this blog depicts is AGED-DOWN from her canon age and is under 18 years old. Though she experiences attraction, I will not write sexual RPs involving teen Undyne.

Even though I’m multiverse-friendly, I’m multship-limited. I’m limiting ships to one for Undertale and one for the Deltarune AUs.

OOC blog-related stuff:

Anyone can follow and ask teen Undyne questions! However, I will only RP in threads with designated RP blogs. We don’t have to be mutuals to RP together.

I am a grown-ass adult. I have become increasingly uncomfortable with the idea of interacting with people who are literally old enough to be my children. Because of that, please do not OOC message or RP with me if you are under 16 years of age. Once again, anybody can follow and send me random asks. I just won't follow back if you are too young.

Matching the lengths of my replies doesn't matter to me. However, matching passion does!

Feel free to send in Magic Anons! However, I’m selective about which ones I accept.

You do not have my permission to use my art specifically made for this blog. All icons are modified from the original game's icons by me. Same with my fanart. Do not modify or re-upload them on other websites.

I am duplicate-friendly. I love seeing how people interpret canon characters and reading all the different headcanons out there (especially for my favorite fish warrior *_* ). We’re all here to have fun - it’s not a competition!

I am extremely patient with replies. There is no rush in replying swiftly to anything I send you and you don't need to apologize if you haven't replied. After all, RPing is our hobby, not our jobs!

Please don’t reblog RP threads that do not involve you. Likes are okay.

I generally reply to RP threads in order, but for a variety of reasons (strokes of inspiration, writer’s block, brain not Englishing properly, etc…) I may answer some slower than others. You can follow the order of my replies using my RPThreadTracker page.

If you decide to drop one of our RP threads, please send me a message letting me know. I won't guilt-trip you or ask you why.

If I don’t reply to RP threads, please don’t spam me with messages. One PM reminding me should be enough.

I have the right to discontinue RP threads that I don’t enjoy, turn down storylines, and block people. And so do you! I won’t guilt-trip you about your decision, so please do the same to me.

Porn/smut blogs that follow this blog will be banned on sight.

Have fun! If you made it this far, “like” this post or send me a message saying “I’ll tackle ya!” so I know you read this page.

Happy RPing!

[curiosity-killed]

cost of survival

:D sometimes it’s fun to make your babies Sad™

word count: 1818

warnings: lot of talk about death, survivor’s guilt

Valyn comes to see him two days after he returns from his parents’ home. Catterik and Jemma are out, and Sirion is alone in the quiet office, still prohibited from working in the yard by both Fran and Jemma. In truth, he’s put up little protest against their order. His heartbeat has a new companion now, ever since they found him. Doubt trickles cold like water down the inside of his ribcage, leaves him second-guessing every judgment. He’s never felt so unsure of himself and doesn’t trust himself to give orders right now. When Valyn steps through the door, Sirion is on his feet, already bending in a painful bow. He’s healing but not quite recovered. “Please, Captain, at ease,” Valyn says as he approaches.

Sirion hesitates before heeding the placating gesture of Valyn’s hand. He sinks slowly into his seat while Valyn takes the one across the desk. He’s never spoken personally with Valyn before, has only witnessed his interactions and never been invited to engage himself. Valyn offers a small smile, almost rueful. “I have never had Caleb’s skill in befriending our soldiers,” he explains, “but now that his crown has fallen to me, I should like to follow his lead as much as I can.” As much as his words and tone are easy, they set Sirion into further discomfort. A social call is the last thing he wants right now. Sirion has only ever known one prince, and the similarities Valyn shares with Callebero make him only more cognizant of how different they are and how easily he could misstep. He has never been part of – nor desired to be – the court’s politics. Others have noted his diplomacy, but it has ever been a tactic of self-preservation, of knowing how to keep himself out of trouble. He can’t conjure cutting replies like Jisel or lean on the weight of his imperium like Callebero. “I am glad to see you recovering,” Valyn offers. “It would be a sore day indeed for Arradine to lose their captain.” “Thank you, Your Eminence,” Sirion signs. Then, grudgingly, he adds, “The Royal Physician and her staff are most diligent.” There’s a tightening to Valyn’s lips at the mention of Fran, but it’s gone so quickly Sirion’s hardly sure it was there at all. “Please, there’s no need for formalities,” Valyn says instead. “You and Caleb were close, were you not?” “I was honored to consider him a friend,” Sirion answers carefully. He can still remember the brightness of Callebero’s grin, the warmth of his dark eyes, the strength of his calloused hands. They were friends even when they did not know what they wanted to be, even when they wanted what they could not have. He doesn’t know how much Valyn knows – he and Callebero ever were close – but he doubts he knows this. Callebero could be infuriatingly close-lipped, and he was loath to show much vulnerability even among his friends. “I wish the same for us,” Valyn says. “As you will,” he concedes with a respectful nod. Watching him, Valyn cants his head to the side as if in thoughtfulness. There’s a softness in his gaze, and when he speaks, his voice is gentler than it was before. “I was told you were with him at the end,” he says. Sirion nods and tries not to let anything else bleed through his expression. “Forgive me, I know it is not a painless request, but I would care to know how it happened,” Valyn says. “Caleb was the closest to a brother I ever had, and to know how he died would offer some – well, resolution, I supposed.” Sirion swallows, and his hands lie still. Those last moments are a blur. His mind had been full of calculations on their odds as well as his own life that he could not now recall if pressed to write them down. He remembered the corpses, remember Irian’s face hewn apart and staring bloodied up at him. He remembers looking for Callebero and finding one arm shattered and held tight to his chest and blood running down his face from where he’d let someone in too close. He remembers the canyon’s cool air, the weight of Callebero’s body against his before free fall took them. “He fought bravely,” Sirion signs, stiff. “He was among the last of us still standing, but he did not fall to our attackers’ blades.” Valyn makes a noise in the back of his throat, questioning and prompting Sirion to continue. “I pushed him into the river,” SIrions says, admits, confesses. “I thought there was a chance he could survive and be found.” The confession feels like a lash taken to the back of his ribs, flaying him open. “I see.” Sirion lifts his gaze at the sound of Valyn’s too-neutral tone. The softness has gone from his eyes, and with it, some resemblance to Callebero. He sits in the chair as if his presence makes it a throne, and there is nothing playful in his cold eyes. “Well, it worked out for you,” he says. In his eyes, there is no forgiveness but condemnation. Sirion’s own guilt stares him down, unwavering. “Tell me, why was it the youngest and least experienced of the imperial captains who rode with the prince?” Valyn asks. “The vanguard is formed from the cavalry,” Sirion answers, uneasy. “They fall under my dominion.”  Now, with Valyn pressing at all his own doubts, Sirion feels half-blind. At the time, he’d thought of asking Jemma to join the vanguard, but the armies couldn’t be left without a commander. He’d been selfish, wanting to keep those few weeks with Callebero for himself. He’d brushed it off as only nerves, the kind that took facing to beat. He’d been sure it would be fine, almost pleasant. A chance for both of them to relax without the weight of watching eyes. With victory and the distance from court, he’d almost hoped that some part of Callebero that had been closed to him since Timarin’s death would be returned. Now, Valyn rises with a cool, impassive look. Shoulders squared, he looms over Sirion with his chin lifted just-so. “The armies are being temporarily suspended,” he says. “To give you time to heal and to ensure a smooth transition.” Even if he’d played at kindness, Sirion would recognize the sentence for exacty what it was. The bright-burning, history-scoring arc of his early career is to be matched with an equally sudden fall to ignominy. “I understand,” he signs, rote. It’s hours later when he finds Jisel, more by accident than intent. Before, they’d inevitably wind up in Callebero’s chambers most evenings. Nominally, Sirion was there as a guard, but guards weren’t often encouraged to recline on the prince’s chaise, to get tangled in their debates. Another instance of selfishness overriding his duty, in hindsight. Now, they’ve migrated to a quiet nook in the library, rarely visited. From her expression, Jisel is nearly as surprised as Sirion to see another person there. The table’s full of books and papers, though Sirion doesn’t bother looking to determine their content. “Oh, Sirion,” Jisel greets. She shakes her head. “Sorry, please join me.” He’d been looking for quiet, but now that he’s here, solitude doesn’t seem so appealing. He takes a seat where she’s cleared space at her right side. “Valyn visited me,” he says before he thinks. Jisel stills, only her gaze lifting from his hands to his face. Her expression is set in a familiar look of determination. “Sirion, whatever he said, this is not your fault,” she says. “He’s doing this to all of us. Hayalen’s being forced to step down as Royal Protector, my imperium as praesidium is suspended – he’s targeted everyone close to Caleb except Catterik.” “You think Catterik has allied with him?” Sirion asks, temporarily side-tracked. Pursing her lips, Jisel frowns and looks away. She gives a little shake of her head before turning back to him. “I think Catterik plays a game that no one but his sister could hope to understand, and I think Valyn is banking on that superseding personal loyalty,” she says. “Valyn is cauterizing the wound he made. Discrediting each of us, taking our power – it puts us out of his way, gives us more immediate things to worry about than causing him trouble.” She’s right – at least about Valyn’s strategy. Sirion swallows, hands curling into loose fists. He needs to say it, needs to utter the words out loud so that he isn’t hiding this from her. She deserves to know. “Jisel, I killed him,” he signs. “I am the reason Caleb is dead.” There’s no pity in her expression, thankfully, but neither is there horror or anger. She looks at him with only a sad kind of knowing. “Sirion,” she says, “Caleb was dead the moment he left Nafyr. This attack was planned ahead, meticulously. You did what was right in the moment.” “I could have let him die in battle, as an imperator should,” Sirion insists. “Then he would at least receive a proper funeral.” Lifting her gaze to some distant point among the shelves, Jisel shakes her head slightly. Her lips are pressed together, frustration and something else in her expression. “Or his corpse would have been mutilated and disgraced by the attackers,” she replies. “There is no dishonor at going to rest in the sea. Caleb loved the ocean; now, he will find his final peace there. It was always going to end like this. One way or another.” He’s never heard her so resigned, so complacent in the face of fate or destiny. Of all them, she has ever been the one defying the plans others tried to impose upon her. He frowns, worry crawling crab-like up his spine. “What aren’t you telling me?” he asks. She laughs, just a quick exhale of amusement at his question. The corners of her lips quirk up as if in a smile, but there’s no humor in her eyes. A bleak kind of desperation glitters there instead. “They found a missive in the saddlebags of one of the attackers,” she says with that uncanny smile, and a chill spreads under Sirion’s skin. “Perfectly preserved, if you’ll believe it, and bearing my seal.” He freezes, the cold setting deep into his bones. No words come to him, no answer to the terror he now sees in her green eyes. He can count the number of times he’s seen Jisel scared on one hand. It isn’t a look made for someone like her, so bold and strong. She gives a little laugh, as if at the inanity of it, and tears well in her eyes. “I am to be tried for treason,” she says, her voice finally breaking. “I am suspected of murdering my best friend, and the only defense I have is my own word – which isn’t worth anything at all.”

[beneathtreemomo]

So I had the weirdest dream in a long time today? and it was so weird purely because of how dark it got near the end even if it didn’t feel that dark? other than that it was actually a pretty normal dream, which is actually probably ANOTHER reason it was so weird because normally my dreams are completely 3rd person fantasy story settings and characters I’d never seen before or just fictional characters and stuff. But yeah, this was a really interesting dream where the entire dream stuck with me hours after waking up so I thought I’d share! Please heed the content warnings, I keep the scene where they happen super vague but it still happens so I want you guys to be aware!

(Content warning: chara death, suicide) 

So in this dream, I was friends with Dan and Phil (but also not Dan and Phil? The personalities were pretty different and also they were back to their emo hairstyles) and for whatever reason they went on a trip somewhere with my dad, mom, and I and after this weird borderline romantic walk through an aquarium-like place with strange and wonderful creatures that both do and don't exist (there was a creature that looked like it could be something out of an indie horror game) we were in the airport heading for my home.

For whatever reason we were all like. Changing our clothes to prep for snow I guess? And dad had to spray my rain boots with non-stick spray (weirdest part of a dream I've ever had ngl) but after that he goes to get changed himself or something and then I shoo Dan and Phil off to get changed themselves but then when they come back they aren't in snowy weather clothing? They're just in jeans and long sleeves. And there's like a close friends moment between the three of us while there's subtle romance between Dan and Phil and I go back to our things to make sure we had everything when mom comes back out of the bathroom where she changed.

Dan and Phil are just casually talking with Dan's arm across Phil's shoulder when suddenly this random guy who looks around their age and as brown hair going to his shoulders (he looked a lot like the carnival guy from we're the millers and I hate myself for having to use that movie as a reference) comes up and just???? Gets in their faces??? And you can see the discomfort on Dan and Phil's faces. Even I'm uncomfortable and I’m not even close enough to hear whatever they might be saying. So I call my mom over because I'm also pretty scared of confrontation, but then this dude gets even /more/ in their faces if that's possible and has started to grab Phil's wrist and Dan's getting angry while I'm going "Okay, can't wait for mom" and I run over and try to pry this dude's hands off of my friends while snapping to let them go and mom finally gets here and she yanks me away to take my place.

But something happens that causes it to turn into a fight where the man shoves her away and into a wall, and he straight up punches Dan then for whatever reason basically kidnaps Phil and since I'm the only one left I just start chasing him, occasionally screaming "GIVE ME MY FRIEND BACK/HE'S TAKING MY FRIEND" and hoo boy does it get everyone's attention but no one actually does anything to slow him down apparently because it takes me forever to catch up with him. 

(also at this point I'm not me I've like shifted into a dude or a girl with extra poofy hair like 3 times and camera has gone from first person to third in twice as many)

When I finally reach him we're on the first level of this place I guess?? And this level is like this really pretty night time lush forest-y place with this big long spiraling staircase leading to a raised platform with like half the forest-y plants that I think in another dream had been set up for Santa and was a magic hot spot or something. BUT ANYWAY, CURRENT DREAM: Man is there and Phil is sort of phasing in and out of existence because my brain was like "unimportant extra info not needed" but man had been stopped by a coworker of his? And there were still a handful of NPCs around but they were super far off for the most part. 

BUT COWORKER STARTS TALKING TO HIM and is trying to get him to let Phil go as I come running up and have a chance to catch my breath but Man get even angrier and like. Pulls out this little bb gun thing or something? It’s super small and shoots these tiny miniscule silver balls that are probably smaller than a pencil’s eraser. But oh man it packs a punch. 

So this man basically has Phil in a headlock and he starts threatening me and coworker to leave him alone but we don’t so he tries to shoot me and somehow time slows down and I can dodge it! It almost hits an NPC dude but they’re fine no worries.

But Man still won't let Phil (who at this point doesn't even look like Phil just has similar features) go and I??? Proceed to do the stupidest, bravest thing I will never do and /charge/ at the man when he's looking at his coworker. Man startles and starts shooting and for a few moments my hands do all the blocking and it stings like you catch a fast ball at full speed or something even though they're doing way worse than just bouncing off my hands. Then, uh, stuff happens and ope look at that I'm dead/dying and then man shoots himself and coworker somehow got hit too and I don’t have a single clue what’s happened to Phil because he’s officially been phased out of the dream, BUT AFTER DREAM SHOWS COWORKER HAVING GOTTEN HIT IT FADES TO BLACK AND COMES BACK WITH THE AREA A CRIME SCENE WITH LUCIFER AND CHLOE FROM THE SHOW LUCIFER ON THE CASE AND THEY'RE TRYING TO FIGURE OUT WHAT HAPPENED

Ella explains the wounds I have and the prints on the bb gun (which btw is basically a little extra mini water gun painted all black, my brain was nice enough not to make it scary in most ways possible like even the dying part was like “ow that stin-- wait” and then switched POV before much else could happen) and they don't see the spot where man shot himself because it’s too small, or maybe they do but he made it look like the same killing shot as what got my character. Either way they just know he's dead via head wound and Lucifer basically solves the case then and there with one of his "I don't particularly care about this lets move it along, I'm trying to prove a point it's now been proven" attitudes/quips but Chloe and Dan are like "Yeah, it probably was but we don't have enough evidence to support that, there might still be a killer out there" AND EVEN DREAM ME GROANED IN EXASPERATION AND ANNOYANCE BEFORE I WOKE UP and that was the weirdest dream I’ve had in a while. 

[unto-myself-together]

Of Stories and Songs: Ch 6

A Haunted Mansion fanfic. 

I did want to get this chapter out before the new year 2019, and I guess I accomplished that goal

Author notes and story below the cut. 

Authornotes: I wanted to give off the clear impression that there really are 999 spirits roaming around, which is why there’s a lot of going on here in this chapter.  

I also apologize; I couldn’t quite find a reference pic that I wanted for the hallway, which may be why it looks a little bad.  I also can’t scan things right now very well with what I have on hand.  

I also tried to make a picture for the Wallpaper Woman, but it did not come out quite right and I don’t want to post what I came up with.  

In this chapter, Karen is beginning to figure out a few things about ghosts, a few things more about the residents of the mansion, as well as a few things about her own psychic abilities.  

You may recognize the very end; it’s an edited version of what was originally the teaser for this story.  You can still look up the original teaser by going here

And yes.  That’s me singing.  I may end up removing it if I don’t like it later.  I can’t tell if I suck or not.  Eh.  It may be better if you stare at the hallway artwork while listening to the singing.  I don’t know.  Tell me if it’s any good. 

~~~~

Trigger warnings: ghosts, death concepts/discussions, murder, suicide, abuse, blood, lots of scary stuff (horror), implied sexual abuse, cursing (damn and hell), drug abuse, attempted rape (never completed; in a later chapter).

~~~

Table of Contents:

Prologue, Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3 , Chapter 4 , Chapter 5 ,

Chapter 6 , Chapter 7

~~~

Ch 6:  Sixth Sense

~~~

“If you want the present to be different from the past, study the past.”

---Baruch Spinoza, philosopher

~~~~    

Shaking.  

She was still curled up in a ball and shaking, though nothing paid her any heed.

No being came and bothered her; neither Ghost Host nor statue.  

In a room by herself.

With a single lightbulb.

And a pile of coffins.

Those didn’t move either, and she thanked the stars for that.

Taking a deep breath (a quickly developing habit), she---

---one movement at a time---

---gradually got herself to stand.  On two feet, too.  

The door of the closet was as solid as when she had first approached it.  No sign or markings that a statue had thrusted its arms and face straight through.  

Of course not.  That would make too much sense in a house full of plain nonsense.

And opening the door only brought with it more nonsense: the hallway was a different hallway than the one she came down.  Again. Naturally.

The closet only had one door, so how could she have ended up at a different hallway?

She winced her eyes shut, and slowly opened them again.

No use.  The new hallway was still there.  

A very long hallway with wooden floors showing underneath the sprawling emerald green carpet.  It seemed to go on forever, outlined with light from the small chandeliers every so few feet away.  The doors on either side seemed to go on forever as well….except….

There were no door handles on any of them.    

She sighed and ventured out. No point in getting upset over this; clearly this  was just another thing going for this place.  

And it was decently lit; not as bright as she’d like, but she was too frightened that the statue may return if she tried to turn more lights on.    

It was so much…louder than before.  In the distance, she could hear doors slamming, some people were laughing….Or was that…screaming?

But there was also….singing.

How many people were here?

Who was singing?

                                        (listen to the singing)

                                                    [Mother?]

                                 [Mother?  Will you sing again soon?]

                                                  [Please?]

                                        [I like it when you sing.]

Mother?  Was that …the little boy speaking?

Karen willed herself to move forward.  The voice was hard to pinpoint where it was coming from, although it sounded close. With the wafting way the voice seemed to rise above all the other sounds of humans, one would have thought it would be easier to find.

She moved one way, only for the voice to sound as though it were coming from the other.  

It was impossible to chase the voice.

She frowned and eventually moved in a straighter line.  

The voice never wavered, but the sounds of the other people grew louder.  

At some point, she reached a junction where a door visibly slammed shut all on its own in front of her.

She froze.

Had she…found more people? More ghosts?

“Hello?” She asked, tentatively.  

There was no response. No even the lightbulb breaking trick that the statue had been fond of.  

Biting her lower lip, she voted against opening any doors and continued on.  

The deeper she went, the colder it got.  And louder the noises grew.  It was more apparent that there was both laughter and screams all vying for space in the echoing halls.

She tried not to chatter her teeth as she brought her jacket closer around her.    

Ahead, a black coffin lay atop a table among decayed flowers and rotting leaves.  It took her more than a few moments to notice the glass enclosure that lay behind the dying candles, giving her the hint that she had made her way to the glass room she’d seen from outside.  

The conservatory.

She flinched as this information popped in her head.  Knowledge was all well and good, but she was beginning to really hate that facts and memories were intruding straight into her brain.

As she drew closer, the coffin unexpectedly jerked.

“Carlotta?!!  Carlotta, I can hear you!  Open up this lid!”

Her mouth went dry; she couldn’t answer.  

“I can HEAR you, Carlotta! I swear to pieces, I.  WANT. OUT.  I’m so tired of these little games you play.”

Below the jutting wood and through a small hole drilled in the sides, there was a single eyeball, pale white and outlined in the decaying flesh of a corpse.  

“I. SEE. YOU.”   The sinews of old flesh flexed.  

Karen wasn’t sure how she was supposed to react.  She felt so worn out, she couldn’t quite bring her own anxiety up in response to a talking corpse in a jerking coffin.  In a split decision, she instead quickly moved on, away from the conservatory.   The Ghost Host was bad enough; she didn’t need more dead people threatening her life.  Why, she’d start to get used to it.  

A safe distance away, she slowed her pace again, her hands instinctively going to her pockets to get warmth.  

The ring….

She pulled it out. The diamond sparkled at the tip, and the golden band almost glowed in the dim light.  

Such a pretty thing…..And such…..a very strange….feeling….

…..

She stood at the foot of a bed.  The young boy was already tucked in for the night, but he clung to the maid’s apron.

“Please mother?  Can’t you read me just one bedtime story?  I’m scared.”

Emily Slater hesitated, but then looked in fondness upon the boy’s face.  

“I suppose there’s time for one.  Which would you like?”

“Your favorite, mother.” He grinned sheepishly at her.

“Again?”  She chuckled, but settled down next to him.  One of her hands gently went to smooth out the ruffled mop of his hair.  “…Don’t you grow tired of it?”

“…You don’t ever tire of it…You said you liked it….And…A-and it will take a long time, so you don’t have to go back to him yet!”

Her face was overcome with solemnity and sorrow.  She gently cupped his face and stroked his cheek.  

“You shouldn’t worry about such things, little one,” she said this with a smile, but her eyes told a different story. “Leave that to me, all right?  Now, how does this story begin again…?”

She gave him a teasing side eye, which the boy responded in turn with an even wider grin.

“Once upon a time!” He said.

“Oh, that’s right! How could I forget?  Once upon a time…

                    There lived a beautiful young woman named Ella.

    But she lived with her cruel stepmother, and her equally cruel stepsisters.

       They did not treat her like one of the family; instead, they treated her as a                                               lowly servant.

            And she was made to sleep amongst the fireplace cinders.

         Her dirty, soot caked face convinced the stepsisters to start calling her 

                                             Cinderella.”

“But she didn’t give up and she tried really really hard to stay good!” The boy said.

“That’s right. Despite how cruel they were, she never gave up.

Her mother had made her promise to always be a good person, no matter what.

And so she always tried to be the best she could be.

One day, the handsome prince of the kingdom invited all of the girls in the village to his royal ball.”

“So that he could find someone to marry.”  

“Yes…so he could find someone to marry…”

“And Ella is the one he found and fell in love with!” The boy exclaimed, eager now. “And he saved her from her cruel stepfamily and they lived happily ever after!”  

Emily laughed and playfully poked his nose.  “I thought you wanted to hear me read a story to you. Not the other way around.”

“I’m sorry, mother.” The boy couldn’t tone down his smile. “It’s my favorite part, because Ella gets all the nice things she deserves…”

“Yes…” Emily smiled back at him, a little bit more wistfully. “That part is my favorite too…”

The boy stared up at her, his smile dying down.  “….Would you…want a prince to come save you, mother?”

She was startled by the question, her mouth hanging open.  “I….that is…”

“Do…do you think that Nathaniel is the prince…?”

“No,” she said, rather firmly and immediately.  But she then added: “Perhaps at one time…I may have thought he was.  But that was a long time ago.”

The boy’s expression was unreadable, but he continued to watch her.

“What if….What if I saved you, mother?”

“…What?”  

“When I grow up…I can come and save you, like the prince in the story!”  The child’s enthusiasm was precious enough that she could not help but smile sweetly back at him.

“You can’t…you can’t marry me, little one,” she said, trying her best not to laugh at the well intentioned naiveté.

“No, but I can save you! I could!  When I grow up, I promise!”  

“You…” She tried not to let her emotions overcome her.  The boy’s childish, pure logic was enviable.  

She sighed, and stroked his hair.  “I think you will have much more important things to focus on when you grow up.  You should concentrate on school an—“

“Emily!  Oh Emily!”  A young man walked in.  His face, and the way he held himself, looked all too familiar.

The man from the first memory.

“Nathaniel!  I’ll…I’ll be with you in a moment.  I’m telling a story—“

“Could it be a story about how my mother died years ago…” Nathaniel interrupted, his eyes narrowing in the young boy’s direction, “…and this brat is responsible?”

“Nathaniel!” She gasped, and tried to pull him away as he approached the child.

The boy whimpered and cowered under the covers, perhaps with the belief it might somehow save him.

“Oh, but Emily.  My sweet Emily, there’s no mincing words. If he hadn’t been born…”

“Nathaniel!  Not now, please.”

“And why NOT now? It’s as good a time as ever to bring it up again!  Especially as he’s all nice and cozy in bed, being read to him by his ‘dear mother’.”

These last words he said with both heavy sarcasm and a disgusted sneer.

“How wonderful that you have a mother to read you stories!”  

The man grew more and more visibly red in the face as he screamed.  

“How I wish I could say the same, isn’t that right?!”

“Nathaniel, please.  Nathaniel…I…I-I can read to you too, if you’d li-“

“Shut up!”

A sickening sound later and Emily was on the floor, hand clasped her face.  

Nathaniel looked at her, almost in disbelief, and slowly looked at his own hands.  

“N-no. Mother!” The child threw the covers off and tried to run to her side.

But Nathaniel grabbed him and pushed him to the ground.  “What do you think you’re doing, brat?  You see what you do?  Do you see how angry you made me?!  It’s…It’s your fault!  It’s all your fault! You stupid little—“

Emily threw herself at the man as he advanced on the boy.  “Nathaniel, please stop!”  

“Let go of me!                                He needs to be taught his place.                               He needs to be taught a lesson.”

 ....

Her head was throbbing as she banged it against the wall in an effort to scuttle away.  

Karen.

Her name was Karen, right?

That was right, right?

Karen’s whole body was shaking.  That memory, or whatever it was, was much more powerful than the others.  She struggled to bring herself back to the present time.

A hallway.  The mansion house that she and Michael had entered.

Karen.  Her name was Karen.

In a futile effort, Karen closed her eyes and tried to will away the feeling of a mark across her face.

It wasn’t real.  It couldn’t be real.   Her cheek wasn’t REALLY stinging from a man hitting her.  

She rose a hand to her face to feel against her cheek.  There was no pain.  It all vanished as soon as she did that.

Her attention went back to the memory.  Emily looked younger than she did in the memory with the Ghost Host….and yet…

She didn’t remember the boy being with her when Emily struck a deal with the Ghost Host.

Why hadn’t she taken her son with her when she fled the mansion?

Karen’s stomach dropped as she thought through the implications of this.  

What happened….to her son…?

She leaned heavily against the wall.  Her head was pounding as soon as she stood up, and it was causing her to see things.

Strange things.

Like the face in the wallpaper.

……..

Karen blinked again.

…..There was a face…..in the wallpaper….of the hall….

She shook her head to try and get the pounding away, but that only made the pain worse.  

It also didn’t seem to make the face disappear; on the contrary, it was now coupled with a set of hands.  

Karen took a few uneasy steps back.  The wallpaper already looked like a series of faces, and more than once she had to ignore what she’d thought were eyes blinking back at her.  But this was such an obviously sculpted human form that she couldn’t just wave it away as a flight of fancy result of too many memories.  

And it was becoming more and more pronounced by the seconds.  

First it had been a face, mouth wide open as if frozen in a scream.

Then it had been a set of hands, reaching in front as if trying to escape.

Next a torso.

Then a foot.

A dress.

A person…

The wallpaper woman, newly freed from the wall, mechanically turned to Karen’s direction.  Karen stumbled back further as the mouth opened and closed as if on hinges, hands opening and closing as if stretching. The pliability of the wallpaper person was increasing.

They could now close their mouth.

They could now put their hands down.

They could now open their eyes: Stark white eyes, with no pupils in sight.  

Karen stumbled further back out of caution.

“Miss Slater!!”  The Wallpaper Woman yelled, advancing upon her, “Miss Slater!  Are you messing around with that boy again?!”

“Uh…uh….”

The woman was advancing further and further.  A human shape, human face, but completely composed of wallpaper, save for stark white eyes.  The purple of the paper of her “dress” almost had a sheen to it, like real silk would have.

“I swear, if the Master finds out what you’ve been doing with his son, he’ll kick you out for sure! Be thankful the war has preoccupied him for so long!”

But how do I say no to Nathaniel?  I’m scared.

Karen tried to shake the intrusive thought away.  She was already under the end table of the hallway.  

“I’m only hard on you for your own good, Miss Slater!”  

The Wallpaper Woman pounded on the table, her knocking almost akin to slamming her fist down in frustration. 

Karen screamed, in part because she didn't know what to do, but also in some vain hope someone would help her.  

The Wallpaper Woman paused. Karen could see the “hem” of her “dress” as it jutted out into her personal space.  

The woman’s face loomed as the spirit ducked down its torso.  

“You….”  She said, her pupil-less eyes staring.

“I’m sorry!  I’m sorry!”  Karen whimpered; she could not retreat any further back and resorted to sticking her arms up in defense.

“Y-you….”

The Wallpaper Woman’s eyes began to flicker….a circle forming in the center of each of them….a pupil….

“Y-y-you…are….m-mortal….” The Wallpaper Woman stuttered in time with the flickering pupils.

Karen was struck speechless with confusion.  This was a heel face turn and she couldn’t bring herself to respond.  

“W-what…..what…..are you…..doing here…..?”  The pupils seemed to refuse to solidify fully.

“I….I’m sorry….I’m….lost….” Karen finally managed to gulp back the lump.

The Wallpaper Woman laughed weakly.  It had a sound similar to sandpaper slapped and scrapped together.  

“So….so am I….Lost…I am Lost…like many…here….”

The spirit was retreating, and Karen, after hesitating, felt safe enough to poke her head out from under the table.  

The spirit was….going backwards, as if by invisible force, towards the wallpaper.  She reached it, and her face was contorted in agony for a flicker of a second as a crunching sound was heard.  

“Wait!”  Karen got out and approached her.  “How do I get out of here?  How do I find my friend?  You haven’t….you haven’t seen a living boy--”

That sounded so odd out of her mouth.

“A living boy about my age come by here, have you?”

The crackling continued; the wallpaper surrounding the spirit began to latch onto the spirit herself, returning her to the rest of the wall.  

“Down the hall….to the junction….” The spirit’s voice began to crackle too.  “Two rights….one left…to the ballroom…the ones there are not Lost…they can help….they can help better…”

The ghost let out a cry as it fell further into the wall, which alarmed Karen.  The ghost’s arms and dress were already dispersed through the wall.  

“Are you okay?”  Karen asked anxiously, her mortal hands hovering around the wallpaper in an attempt to help, but she wasn’t sure what to help with.

“Don’t let….” The ghost’s voice was beginning to fade now. “Don’t let…Master…Gracey….he will possess you…He wants…a body….”

The crackling came to a climax as the woman’s head embedded into the wall.  The mouth of the woman fell silent as it was crackled over with more wallpaper.  

It was hard to tell there had ever been a woman at all…

Master Gracey….

Which Master Gracey?  As far as Karen could guess, Gracey was a family name and not one particular person.  

Karen continued onward. At least the spirit had been nice enough to give her directions, but now she had even more questions.  

Who was that ghost, since she knew Emily Slater?

Why did the ghost think she was Emily Slater?

What did the ghost mean by saying she herself was ‘Lost’?  Wouldn’t a spirit who had lived here (or was it unlive?) for a long time know their way around?  

Why did she have to find ghosts who were not ‘Lost’ in order to find her way out?

Did this have something to do with those strange white eyes that the spirits in this hallway seemed to all possess?

Karen turned all of these thoughts over in her head.  Now that she considered it, the statue ghost had backed off after getting a set of pupils too.  

The junction.  

Karen had reached the junction.  Four hallways (including the one she’d just came from) all intersecting together. And they were all different.  

To the left, was such a completely dark hallway, it was impossible to see.  

In the front was a brightly lit hallway, but it was encased completely in spider’s webs and parts of the doorframes and objects were severely distorted like something from a dream.

To the right…and Karen was very grateful for this, it was a hallway lit with moderate amounts of green light.  The green light was creepy, but the hallway itself looked much like the one she had just came from.

One right….

As she wandered down the hall, the green light making her feel like a shamrock, she heard a deep….booming….laugh….

                                   “Hmm hmm hmm hmmm…..”

That sounded just like….

“Ghost Host…?”  She called out tentatively.

Her fingers felt along the edges of another table, preparing herself to hide again.  That laughter couldn’t possibly be a good sign.

An old hat stool beside her…..her head was beginning to pound again….this felt just like…

…..

The slamming of the door caused Lucy to look up.   The master, Solomon Gracey, had barged through the front entrance with an absolute look of chagrin on his face.  

Immediately, she sought to step forward.

“Sir, shall I take your coat and hat?”  

But he seemed to pay her no heed, instead choosing to take out a length of letter head and angrily scribble something she couldn’t quite read from her vantage point.  

“S-sir?”   She tentatively stepped closer, and Solomon’s face snapped to hers.  

She almost felt frozen; held in the gaze of brilliantly blue eyes that still smoldered with barely restrained fury.  

“S….S-s-sir?”

The gaze softened into surprise; and she felt release as if from physical bonds as his expression turned more neutral.

“Yes, Miss Blanchard? Did you need me?”

“Your….your coat….”

Confusion crossed his lips, then…

“Oh….yes, of course.” He shrugged off his outer coat and handed it to her alongside his hat.  “Tell me, is Abigail around?”

“She…she should be in the main parlor, sir.”

“Of course.  Thank you.”  He nodded his acknowledgement to her with an apologetic smile, before leaving her.   He took the paper with him.

She breathed a sigh of relief.  

“Lucy!”  A female voice whispered.  

Lucille looked up to see Elizabeth, another maid, standing in the doorstep.  She felt obliged to neatly hang up the master’s affects before joining her.   The wafting fragrance of cypress, vetiver, and sandalwood rubbed off of the clothes and seemingly followed along with her.  

Elizabeth giggled as Lucy came close.  

“The master and Abigail are talking in the parlor.”  Elizabeth said.

“I know; I sent him there.”  Lucy took another deep breath, trying to wave away the memory of that stare (and also partially the fragrance of his clothes).  

“Don’t you want to go up and give a little listen?”  Elizabeth asked, coyly.

“I tell you; I do not think that is a very good idea at the moment.  The master seemed rather angry coming in just now.”

“Oh he won’t mind. He’s already caught me eavesdropping before.”

“Elsie!” Lucy cried, laughing a bit with a tinge of red in her face.

“Well it is true!  Just the other day, in fact!  I was polishing the door handles when-“

“You don’t polish any of the door handles!”  She playfully pushed at her friend.

“A good maid has to be attentive to every detail!”  Elizabeth playfully pushed back.

“Hogwash.  You were there solely because you wanted to listen in.”

“Aren’t you curious enough to know what happened?”

Lucy stared back at the gall of her friend.  Both couldn’t resist to hold a cheeky smile on the edges of their lips.

“Go on then.  Don’t leave me in suspense.”  Lucy said.

“Well I was listening in, and it seems the company has been having trouble with that Williams’ family in town.”

“When are they not vying for each other’s business?”

“But that’s not the whole of it!  I also heard of a circus…”

“A circus?”

“Yes.  You know that strange circus that’s been making its rounds across the state?  They were here some many years ago.  It was so filled with dark things and death that I could scarcely stand it.”

“I remember it.  But why the circus?”

“Well there seems to be a singer he’s taken an interest in.”

“To hire?”

“I’d say it was because he had something of a fancy for her. I can’t think of any reason why the Gracey family would need to hire a circus performer.”

“Neither can I, and yet you’re here.”  

“Lucy!”  The gobsmacked expression on Elsie’s face made it well worth the statement, even if it earned her a pinch on her arm in the process.

“And for my next trick!” Lucy stated with a giggling air of grandiosity.  “I, the Great Elsie, will attempt—and fail—to fold the a simple shirt!”

“You beast, you beast!” Elsie laughed along as she nudged her friend harder.

“But you haven’t said the part where you’re caught.”

“I would get to that if it weren’t for all these interruptions you cause.”

They stared each other down, all smiles, and Elsie finally gave way first.

“All right, all right. So there I was. An ear to the door, naturally.”

“Naturally.”

“Hush you.  An ear to the door, and, before I had known it, the door had suddenly swung open, and I landed none too ceremoniously at the master’s feet!”

“You didn’t!  What did he say?”

“He was rather amused; you could read it on his face.  I could even swear that those handsome blue eyes of his glistened a bit too.  And he was very much the gentleman, allowing me to gather myself without so much as a word at my expense.  But the moment I was up and proper, my dress smoothed out and face as red as a rose he leaned forward a bit and….”

“….And?? Elsie!”  

Elizabeth laughed and leaned towards her.  “And he said ‘Remember for next time, Miss Fletcher, that the doors in this particular hallway swing inward.’”

Both erupted in a fit of giggles.

“He didn’t.”

“He did!”

“Does that mean he approves of the habit?”

“I certainly mean to take it that way.  Mr. Galloway, who was the one speaking to him, was not so amused.  Oh but you should have seen it, Lucy. I could swear by Mr. Gracey’s grin he was teasing me.  Perhaps I stand as much a chance as that circus performer.”  

Lucy rolled her eyes. “I think he was only humoring you. A smile doesn’t always mean a spark; you’ve too vivid an imagination for your own good sometimes.”

“A girl can still dream.” Elsie’s grin widened and she poked at her friend’s elbow.  “You can’t honestly say that YOU’VE never felt a bit of a thing for our young employer, now can you?”

“Of course not.”

“…Uh huh.”

Lucy very much believed she did a good job steadying her emotions.  But the moment she peered over and saw Elsie’s smug little grin, she could feel her face heating up.

“Well at the very least, I don’t wear it upon my sleeve.  Unlike some people.”   Lucy elbowed her back.  “Your wanting is very nearly improper.”

“Oh it is very improper.  To think; an eligible bachelor of his status ever considering to court a maid, of all people. But one doesn’t have to be courted to try and catch a gentleman’s eye.  A little fun off the books never hurt anyone... ”

“Elsie!”  Lucy’s face felt even hotter.  “That is so inappropriate!  Truly, I should think your mouth ought to be washed with soap!”

But Elsie only laughed. “Speaking of inappropriate, shall we go and listen in on what the master and Miss Galloway are doing in the parlor?”

Lucille made a face. “I don’t….think that’s wise today, Elsie.”

“Well why not?”

“The Graceys are just as much known for their generosity in payment as they are for their quick and violent tempers.  And I’m telling you, the master’s temper looked particularly ready to boil over when he came in just now.  I know firsthand what happens when one of the family is peeved with you…”

As if in response, the scars on her back stung a bit despite their age.  The marks of a fine piece of birch.

“Oh my dear Lucy.” Elsie gently touched her cheek out of comfort. “I do so forget that you are used to Mrs. Emmeline Gracey.  I promise you, as someone who has spent much time with Mr. Solomon before he left for school that he is not like his other relatives.  His temper is as the same as them, but he has never once raised a hand to me or anyone else that works here.  It’s all right.”

Lucy hesitated, but nonetheless allowed herself to be dragged by the hand as they crept upstairs to the walkway overlooking the main parlor.

“Speaking of a thing for the master.  Have you ever notice how Miss Abigail Galloway looks at him?  ….He looks at her much of the same way…”

….

Karen was panting, her hands shaking as she sat grasping the hat stand. Somehow, she had slumped her way down to the floor.  

Were these….memories….getting more frequent?

Karen….her name was Karen…

And that’s exactly when she realized; she was no longer a third person observer.  

The first memories she’d seen, she had always been her own separate person, watching in on the people in the memory as if she were some omnipotent being.

But this memory….she wasn’t Karen watching in….she was Lucy.

She was actually Lucy.

And before, she’d been Emily.  She’d actually raised her hand to her cheek in response to being struck by Nathaniel.

If this continued on…was she going to…..

Was Karen going to….

She gave a soft cry and leaned against the hat stand.  

She was still shaking so badly, she wasn’t sure she could stand up.

                                   “Hmm hmm hmmm….”

“Ghost Host!”  She cried out.  “Ghost Host Ghost Host Ghost Host…”

In that moment, she wasn’t sure if she cared that he’d torment her further.  She just wanted something familiar to latch onto.  To ground her.  Anything.  

                            “What’s this?  Calling for me now?”

“Yes…” Karen choked out, clinging to the hat stand like a teddy bear.  

         “My, we must be desperate.  Could it be that you’ve missed me?                              Please do be honest, hmm hmm…”

She gritted her teeth. Already, he was getting on her nerves; this was a bad idea.  But it was the best she had.  She couldn’t even think straight at the moment.      She still had Lucy’s thoughts swimming in her head. 

“Yes,” She lied.  

                              “….What an underwhelming response.                            You couldn’t at least flatter me a little, my dear?                                Say how wonderful I am                              and how happy you are to hear my voice? ”

Again, that stupid tone in his voice that gave off the impression of superiority and mockery. She grasped the hat stand tighter.

                                      “Are you, perhaps, stuck?                               Need assistance to get where you’re going?”

“I….”  She would have preferred to have found her way without having to resort to this creep’s help, but the pounding of her head and the haze in her brain already made her forget how many turns she made.  

Was it supposed to be two lefts and a right?   Or two rights and a left?

“….Yes…” She breathed, worn out, “Yes, I need help.”

                                             “As you wish.”

The door nearest to her swung open and a suit of armor appeared.  A moving suit of armor, naturally.  

“Because why not…?” She muttered under her breath.  

She didn’t immediately figure out why he summoned a moving suit of armor until it took a swing at her hat stand with an axe.  

The sound of the top of the hat stand being sliced through and clattering to the floor had a semi sobering effect on her.  She jumped to attention, and barely managed to dodge as another swing came for her head.

“You said helping!  This isn’t helping!”

She careened down the hall, the suit of armor in hot pursuit.  

                       “Ah, but it’s helping you move, isn’t it?”

“I hate you,” she seethed under her breath, “For once, can you not be a little piece of—“

She was interrupted when a wall suddenly materialized in her way.

                     “Tsk, tsk.  Good mortals watch their language.”

She fumed, angry tears in her eyes, but gave no further reply.  She had to duck again as another axe swing came her way.  

Down a different hallway. Left.  Right again.  Was she going the correct way? The hallways were getting quieter.   No longer could she hear the chorus of people laughing and screaming.   That couldn’t be a good sign.  

She stumbled against the wall, picking herself up just long enough to turn around the next corner.  Another hallway filled with creaky wooden floors and seemingly endless darkness.

But she didn’t have time to think or even consider that the corridor that lay in front of her was worse than the one behind.

She had to keep moving forward.

And forward.  

And--

Something suddenly slammed into her. She stepped back, dazed at first, only to feel in front, anxiety growing, and confirmed it: A wall.

                                                “Dead end?”

A taunt and a chuckle as she frantically grasped around in the darkness for some hope of a door.

She could feel him.  More and more it was becoming as if he had a tangible presence.   The longer she stood in that one spot, the colder she grew and the more pronounced the sensation crept down her spine.  

She had a feeling that it wasn’t just out of fear; there was something about being near the self-proclaimed ‘Ghost Host’ that made her feel like icy fingers were gently clawing down her back. Needless to say, it was none too pleasant a feeling.

She couldn’t see.  There were still leftovers of tears in her eyes and her pounding head was still making it hard to think, but that mattered very little when the hallway itself was so dark. There were shapes in the shadows creeping towards her, but she had no way of knowing if one of them was the armor. They moved and danced to give the darkness an almost liquid appearance.

And they were coming closer.

And CLOSER.

AND–

A door banged open right near her, jolting her from her helpless staring.  She felt something else moving in the darkness, something that was distinctively different.  

Quite suddenly, her mouth was full with the taste of….licorice?

“What,” A different voice, low and deep and angry “in Blue Heavens is all this racket?!”

She could actually see a little better in the doorway, as the man was illuminated a bit from some unseen light from within.  Somewhat tall with a fine cut suit, he gave off the airs of an extremely influential individual.

His eyes.  

Unlike the statue’s. Unlike the coffin man’s.  Unlike the wallpaper woman’s.  

He did NOT have milky white eyes.  He had pupils.  

They were as blue and as beautiful as always.  Perhaps even more so than she’d seen in the memories or even in his portrait.  

And he was standing before her now.  

                                               Solomon Gracey.

[lilover131]

TWC Oneshot

So after reading TWC and listening to the drama cd that came along with the 3rd volume, I was inspired to write this story. It took me longer than I wanted to write it, but I finally finished it! 

A special thanks to @song-of-amethyst for giving me permission to use some of her translations from the drama cd for the beginning part of the story! The link is here, and you should go take a look! 

Like before with my CCS oneshot, I have the link to the fanfiction.net version here, but if you do not wish to click on a link or go to another site, I have the story posted under the cut! 

TITLE: While the Stars Were Watching Us

RATING: T

SUMMARY:  After the events in the inner Nirai Kanai, the dimension travelers decide to take it easy and eat dinner together under the stars with Fuuma. However, when Syaoran is accidentally served the strongest sake, a little game ensues, and things take an unexpected turn...

WHILE THE STARS WERE WATCHING US

“If I were alone, I probably wouldn’t have made it back. It’s because everyone was there…”

 Syaoran grew quiet for a moment, the thought of just how fragile his mortality was when they were journeying through the Inner Nirai Kanai.

 “Because the distance was reduced?” Fuuma finished.

 “…That’s right,” Syaoran said after a moment. The group had certainly become much closer as their journey progressed. He couldn’t imagine ever making the decision he did to continue travelling if he thought he would be alone. Syaoran had already spent far too much time alone in his painful past, and honestly, his friends were really the only thing keeping him sane at this point.

 “For the sake of that cute princess as well, you all have to stay safe, right?”

 Syaoran stared into his empty cup at those words and nodded slowly.

 “Right”

 He only wished she could have been there with them, enjoying this homemade meal by Fai under the stars. Even though he had his friends by his side, there was still this dull ache in his heart when he thought about Sakura.

 Fuuma leaned in and poured some sake into Syaoran’s empty cup as a big smile formed on his face.

 “Now then, since the order has been delivered, and since you can finally relax…Let’s drink!”

 Syaoran blinked, looking at the cup again.

 “Ah…”

 “Now now, feel free to!”

 “A-all right”

 Syaoran took the cup and drank the sake in a big gulp, and Mokona shrieked once she saw the bottle his drink had been poured from.

 “No, Syaoran, careful!” she cried out.

 “You idiot! That was the strongest awamori liquor!” Kurogane noticed then as well, and he shouted, though it was unclear if he was yelling at Syaoran or Fuuma.

 “Oh, my!” said Fai, who seemed to already be amused at what the night would bring with this action. Fuuma, on the other hand, was confused at the mixed reactions he got around the table. As far as he was concerned, he had simply poured the boy a drink.

 “Huh? What, what?”

 Fai seemed a bit nervous even though he was excited for the outcome, and he enlightened Fuuma on the current situation.

 “Well you see, Syaoran-kun here doesn’t hold liquor well, so it always turns into a pretty funny situation”

 As he said this, Syaoran continued to drink the cup despite the warnings and shouting from Kurogane.

 “Idiot, don’t drink!”

 He continued on, and Fai blinked, certainly surprised.

 “Oh, my,” he said again, and his blue eyes watched as Syaoran finished his glass and proceeded to pour himself another round.

 “He served himself!” Fuuma said in a playful tone. The boy took the glass he had just poured and drank it all it one big gulp, much to the surprise of everyone around him.

 “Aaaah! He drank it in one go!” Mokona squealed.

 “This is going to turn into a VERY funny situation!” Fai said with a nervous laugh.

 “I told you to stop! Someone stop him!” Kurogane shouted, seeing as Syaoran wasn’t heeding his orders as he usually did. The boy took a deep breath after swallowing the contents of the glass, and he gave a gentle smile at Kurogane, who then sighed in defeat.

 “Don’t drink too much. You’ll get sick,” he said in a much softer tone than before, and Syaoran giggled a bit in response to this.

 “So this is what he’s like when he drinks?” Fuuma asked, watching him curiously. Fai nodded and took a sip of his own drink while Mokona danced happily on Syaoran’s head. The boy swayed a bit in the chair, his face flushed from drunkenness, but his smile could almost rival the sun in its brightness.

 “Do you want to play a game, Syaoran-kun?” Fai brought up suddenly. Kurogane did not take a liking to this idea, instantly sending glares in his direction. Fuuma and Mokona seemed to grow more excited.

 “Yes, yes!! Let’s play a game!” Mokona demanded.

 “A game? That could be fun,” Fuuma added.

 “What kind of scheme are you concocting, mage?” Kurogane asked with slight growl in his tone. Fai smiled innocently, but there was no denying that a hint of mischief was in his eyes.

 “Scheme? How mean Kuro-pu! I’m just trying to entertain our guest!”

 “I don’t believe you for a second!”

 Fai laughed, and Syaoran tilted his head curiously at him.

 “What kind of game?” he asked. The blond turned to him and smiled.

 “Well, I’m so glad you asked Syaoran-kun! It’s a game that Kuro-tan and I learned while we were in Yasha’s country! Though I didn’t really play much, since I couldn’t understand anyone…”

 “How did you communicate then? Was it like charades?” Mokona asked.

 “Cha…rades? What’s that? I mostly communicated with drawings. It was fun!”

 “So it was like Pictionary then!”

 “…Pictionary?”

 Kurogane had nearly forgotten about the six months that he and Fai had spent in the Yasha clan’s territory before the others made it to that same world. The silence from Fai had been so nice, though the magician always found ways to annoy him, even with the language barrier. But when he thought back to the game that was played while they were there, his eyes widened in horror.

 “No! Absolutely not! We’re not playing that!”

 Intrigued, Mokona asked for more information.

 “What game is it Fai?!” she said excitedly.

 “It’s a game called ‘Ou-sama’. All we’ll need are some chopsticks and…”

 He looked around, as if searching for something.

 “Fuuma-kun, do you have anything to write with by chance?”

 Fuuma reached into his bag, which was undoubtedly filled with incredibly rare items from his travels, and he tossed a pen in Fai’s direction. The blond cheered and took a few wooden chop sticks before promptly beginning to write what appeared to be little marks on them. The others watched curiously while Kurogane grumbled audibly. Fai then took the chopsticks with the marks on them and wrapped his hand around them so that they were covering the numbers.

 “Everybody pick a chopstick. If you pick the one with crown on it, that means you are the ‘Ou-sama’, and you get to make a command. The ones who are ordered must follow it, or they lose the game. After each round, we draw a number again. Since our writing systems are all different, I did markings instead of numbers on each chopstick. One mark means you’re number one, and so on. When you pick a number, don’t tell anyone what your number is, because the ‘Ou-sama’ will pick commands without knowing who corresponds with each number”

 Mokona bounced onto the table and twirled in her joy.

 “This is going to be fun!”

 Fuuma nodded in agreement, and Syaoran’s eyes lit up slightly in anticipation.

 “I think it’s a bad idea,” Kurogane stated, and Fai smiled at him.

 “But Kuro-pu, everyone has to participate!” Fai whined.

 “I WILL NOT!!” he shouted.

 Kurogane’s face was filled with rage until he felt a gentle tug at the shoulder area of his shirt. He looked down and saw Syaoran staring up at him with big, pleading amber eyes.

 “Kurogane-san…please play with us. It will be fun…”

 The man’s face instantly softened, his will shattered by the innocence in the boy’s expression. He had to play, if only to protect the boy in his inebriated state. After all, he saw what this game did to even the toughest of men in Yasha’s territory. Kurogane looked away with a sigh of defeat.

 “Fine…I’ll play…”

 There was an almost evil glint in Fai’s eyes when Kurogane agreed to play, but his smile never faded, even for a moment. Syaoran and Mokona seemed thrilled, and Fuuma was simply enjoying himself as the observer.

 “Everyone go ahead and pick a number then,” Fai said as he gently wrapped his hand around the chopsticks, his fingers concealing the numbers so that everyone would pick blindly.

 Each person reached forward and picked a stick, doing well to hide what number they had received. Fai grinned when he looked at his, and Kurogane felt as if he had swallowed his own heart.

 “It looks like I’m the ‘Ou-sama’ this round!”

 Kurogane pointed accusingly at Fai once the words were spoken, teeth bared.

 “You cheated, didn’t you?!”

 “If I had cheated, you would’ve surely noticed, Kuro-pon. You are a ninja after all…”

 “…Supposedly,” Mokona finished.

 “I AM A NINJA!!!”

 Fuuma laughed at the banter before emerging from his silent observance.

 “He did not cheat. I’m sure of it”

 “And why would I believe anything you say?”

 Kurogane grumbled under his breath before waiting for Fai to make a command. He seemed to be contemplating something, and that really only served to make him feel worse.

 “Number 3…I command you to sing your heart out for all of us to hear!”

 Everyone glanced down to their chopsticks to see who number 3 was, and Kurogane stared at his, as if it had somehow betrayed him. The others all glanced to him and noticed the 3 distinct markings on Kurogane’s chopstick. Syaoran’s eyes widened, and Mokona cheered.

 “Sing, sing, sing!!” Mokona cried.

 “NO WAY!!”

 “Awwwww, don’t say that, Kuro-tan. You have to do it, or you lose the game”

 “…Then so be it. I didn’t want to play anyways”

 “I thought ninjas were men of their word. I guess not, huh?”

 Kurogane looked as if he had been wounded by the words, and he sent a glare in Fuuma’s direction as the man nodded in agreement. Syaoran blinked, watching curiously to see what Kurogane would choose. He promised to play, so would he back out in the very first round?

 “…Fine….”

 Syaoran’s eyes lit up with anticipation as the man cleared his throat in preparation, but the voice that came out was so quiet, it was barely above a whisper.

 “Louder, Kuro-pu”

 Fai urged, and everyone around moved a little closer to get a better listen. A grunt came out, and his singing halted for a moment before he began to sing louder, his face showing both anger and embarrassment simultaneously.

 “Louder! Put your heart into it!” Mokona shouted.

 The singing that came from Kurogane almost sounded more like yelling now as his anger rose, but the melody wasn’t all bad beyond the rage. After singing a few lines, he stopped and turned his back to try and hide his shame. This, however, did not stop Syaoran from applauding.

 “You have a very nice voice, Kurogane-san! It was very passionate!”

 “…Huh?”

 Kurogane seemed surprised by the reaction, but it seemed to make him feel somewhat better, even if the kid was drunk and slightly impaired.

 “It was definitely passionate,” Fuuma said with a laugh, and just as quickly as Kurogane was brought back up, the moment seemed to vanish upon hearing the unwelcome guest speak.

 “Do you sing at all, Syaoran-kun?” Fai asked.

 Syaoran shook his head.

 “I can’t sing in front of people!”

 Mokona hopped up onto Syaoran’s shoulder.

 “I’d like to hear you sing someday!” Mokona said, and Fai nodded in agreement.

 “I’d also like to hear it”

 Syaoran smiled in response.

 “Someday then”

 Fai reached forward to gather the sticks, but just before he could, Kurogane saw to it himself.

 “I’ll hold them this time”

 Fai shrugged and let Kurogane take over, and he did a quick shuffle before holding them out as the magician had done before, making sure to conceal the numbers. Like the first round, everyone reached forward and grabbed a chopstick carefully as to not reveal their number. They all looked to each other, curious to see who had gotten the role of ‘Ou-sama’ this round.

 “Looks like it’s my turn,” Fuuma said.

 The group was very curious what sort of command Fuuma might give. After all, they didn’t really know him that well. From what they could tell, he seemed like a nice person, so long as you didn’t get in his way. Kurogane refused to like him at all, seeing as he was Seishirou’s brother. Fuuma cupped his chin a bit in thought as he tried to think of what command to give.

 “Am I allowed to command more than one person at a time?” he asked. Fai nodded.

 “You may command as many people as you like”

 “Hmm…all right then. Numbers 1 and 5, I command you to do your best impressions of each other”

 It was a fairly tame dare, and Syaoran lifted his chopstick to reveal the single marking on it, and the one who had number 5 was…

 “Hooray! Mokona is great at impressions! It’s one of my 108 secret techniques!”

 Syaoran smiled at Mokona before she hopped back onto the table.

 “You go first, Syaoran!”

 The boy seemed to agree to this and seemed to be mentally preparing himself. He closed his eyes tight, which caused some to wonder if he was in pain, before suddenly opening them as wide as he possibly could.

 “Mekyo!!”

 “…Eh?”

 Kurogane was utterly confused, but Fai found great amusement and could not contain his laughter. Mokona seemed thrilled and did a little twirl of appreciation.

 “That was very good, Syaoran-kun!” Fai complimented.

 Syaoran rubbed a bit at his eyes from the slight discomfort of having them opened so unnaturally.

 “Mokona, it’s your turn!” Fai mentioned, still snickering.

 Mokona stood in the center of the table and took a deep breath before making a very serious face, trying to capture Syaoran’s likeness.

 “Raitei Shourai!” she shouted, and her little nub of a hand extended out, as if to shoot out magic.

 There was a long pause of silence after her shout, but she remained in a heroic pose nonetheless. Kurogane was about to comment before, much to everyone’s surprise, a bolt of lightning shot from Mokona’s hand and struck the roof of their little temporary home. It wasn’t a big bolt, but it was certainly loud, and a few shingles fell off the roof in a dramatic crash. Fuuma adjusted his glasses, as if he had seen things wrong, and Kurogane’s jaw nearly dropped to the floor.

 “WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?!!!”

 The ninja stood up, grabbing Mokona by her head and poking her stomach.

 “WHAT…WHERE DID IT…HOW?!!!”

 “Mokona doesn’t like being poked like that!”

 The little creature struggled in Kurogane’s grip, and the man hardly noticed as Syaoran stood up from his seat and began to climb up the beams of the house to inspect where the lightning had struck close up.

 “That was amazing, Mokona! It really was lightning. I can still feel the heat coming off of where it struck!”

 The boy was in awe, and Fai was clapping animatedly.

 “Well done, Mokona!”

 Kurogane released Mokona finally, but not without questions.

 “Why did you tell us you could do something like that?!”

 “You never asked. Besides, Mokona’s 108 secret techniques are secret!”

 “108…you have 108 abilities?”

 “Yep!”

 “…You…the hunter’s brother…hand me the sake bottle. I think I need another drink”

 Fuuma handed over the container of sake politely and watched as Kurogane poured himself a glass and began to sip. Fai glanced back to Syaoran, who started to stand on the rooftop, but his balance seemed a little wobbly. Undoubtedly, the standing had gotten his blood flowing, and the drunkenness was truly beginning to hit him. The boy fell forward off the ledge of the roof, and Fai and Mokona both cried out in worry. Fortunately, the boy still landed on his feet, seemingly unharmed. Apparently even when drunk, the boy was still quite light on his feet. Syaoran blinked up at everyone, his face flushed from his drunkenness. Kurogane sighed and gently tapped his forehead with a closed fist when he came back to the table. It was the only way he knew how to lecture the boy, really.

 “Don’t go doing reckless things like that, kid. You’re still recovering from your wounds, you know…”

 The boy giggled and almost didn’t even seem to hear the man. But he did seem oddly focused on the top of Kurogane’s head.

 “Kurogane-san…when did you get cat ears?”

 Kurogane glared in Fuuma’s direction, as if he were to blame for everything.

 “This is why we don’t let him drink the strong sake…”

 Fuuma shrugged, not seeming particularly guilty as Syaoran took his seat again. He swayed a bit in his chair, eyes a bit glazed over, but he was smiling nonetheless. Fai stood up and moved to examine him for a moment, cupping his face in a motherly way.

 “Are you doing all right, Syaoran-kun? Do you still want to play?”

 He nodded into Fai’s hands, and the magician smiled, patting the boy’s head before moving back to his seat.

 “All right then. On to the next round!”

 This time Syaoran held the chopsticks, and everyone made their choices once again. And the ‘Ou-sama’ was…

 “Hooray! Mokona wins!”

 Mokona bounced around the table, showing off her prize.

 “Let’s see…Mokona commands…”

 The group waited with baited breath.

 “Number 4, take one of the pens and write something really embarrassing on your own body. It has to be visible at all times”

 Fuuma laughed, revealing his chopstick with the four slashes.

 “Looks like that’s me. All right then”

 The treasure hunter took one of the pens from his bag and started to scribble something on his hand. The group stared at the writing, trying to read it, but alas, no one could read the language that Fuuma had written in. Well, all except Syaoran it seemed, and his eyes were widened in horror. This did not go unnoticed by Fai, and his lips curled into a grin as inquisitiveness struck him.

 “What does it say, Syaoran-kun?”

 The boy’s face flushed bright red and he shook his head.

 “I won’t say”

 Fuuma simply smiled, putting the pen away. Mokona pouted a bit.

 “Ah, Mokona forgot that everyone here writes in different languages. Oops”

 Kurogane would have argued and questioned whether Fuuma actually carried out the dare, but seeing Syaoran’s face and how the boy could barely even make eye contact with him now, it seemed he had done quite enough. The ninja wasn’t sure he wanted to know anyways.

 There seemed to be a bit of a rotation going on with who held the chopsticks each round, so this time, it was Fuuma who got to hold them. Everyone took a number, and the ‘Ou-sama’ was…

 “Finally,” Kurogane grinned and revealed his winning draw.

 “Oooh. What is your command, Kuro-sama?” Fai asked curiously.

 The man stood up from his seat and left the table for a moment to everyone’s bewilderment, and soon returned with a bowl of nukazuke. Fai shook his head rapidly. He already knew where the man was going with this.

 “Everyone will eat at least one of these pickles”

 “You’re so cruuuueeel, Kuro-rin! They’re too sour! I can’t eat those!”

 Kurogane grabbed a pair of unused chopsticks and popped one of the vegetables into his mouth, crunching and talking at the same time.  

 “If you don’t do it, you lose,” Kurogane stated.

 The ninja passed the chopsticks around, and everyone one by one ate one of the pickles, seeming to enjoy it. Fai, however, appeared to be dreading each moment as his turn drew closer and closer. Kurogane held the chopsticks out to him with the pickle slice pinched between, waiting for him to eat it.  

 “You can do it, Fai-san!” Syaoran cheered.

 The magician closed his eyes before leaning forward and biting into the vegetable, and after swallowing it as quickly as he could, he shuddered and reached for a glass of water, downing it in one go. He wriggled around in his chair at the taste that would not seem to leave him, and it almost appeared as if tears were burning in his eyes.

 “It’s so sooouuurrrrr!!” Fai cried.

 Mokona jumped up onto his shoulder and patted the side of his head.

 “You did really well, Fai. It’s all over now”

 Kurogane scoffed.

 “It’s just a pickle. You’ll survive”

 “That was the meanest thing you’ve ever done to me, Kuro-tan…”

 “…Really?”

 Fuuma laughed at Fai’s melodramatic behavior before gathering the chopsticks with the markings and holding them out to Mokona.

 “It’s your turn, little one”

 “Okay!”

 Mokona bounced back down and wrapped her little body around the markings as much as she could as selected picked a number. This time, it was Syaoran who won the draw. Everyone was curious what command Syaoran would give, especially in his inebriated state. The boy pondered for a moment before finally speaking. Kurogane began to take a sip of his sake as he delivered his command.

 “I command number 3 to walk number 4 down the street by a leash. Number 4 must also walk on their hands and knees,” Syaoran commanded.

 Kurogane spit out his drink and frowned when he revealed that he was number 4, the one who would be walked with a leash around his neck. He only hoped that number 3 wasn’t…

 “Hooray! Kuro-pon, let’s get some rope!” Fai cheered, showing off his chopstick with three defined markings.

 “This is the worst possible situation…” Kurogane muttered under his breath, his hand covering his face in horror.

 Fuuma and Mokona looked to Syaoran with a hint of surprise in their features.

 “Syaoran really is a fun drunk!” Mokona stated cheerfully. Fuuma nodded in agreement.

 Fai moved to gather something to substitute as a leash while Kurogane looked as if he wanted to simply melt into his chair and disappear. When Fai returned, rope in hand, he patted the man’s back, urging him to stand.

 “Let’s go, Big doggy,” Fai whispered into his ear.

 He hadn’t been called that since they were in Outo, and it still gave him the same feeling now as it did back then. The ninja growled in response, and just when he thought about backing out in order to spare himself the humiliation, he glanced over at Syaoran, whose eyes were once again sparkling with anticipation. Damn the kid and those innocent eyes of his!

 Kurogane stood, very much having to drag himself out of the chair, and Fai reached up to put the loop he had tied loosely around his neck. Once it was secure, Fai gently tugged on it to pull him forward. Kurogane, very much filled with shame in this moment, lowered to his hands and knees, and the moment he did, Syaoran burst into laughter, holding his stomach as he did.

 Everyone fixed their eyes on him, never having heard him laugh like that before. Sure, he chuckled every once in a while, but hearing him laugh so energetically was…refreshing. The group smiled and Mokona moved to stand in front of Syaoran on the table. Although the boy seemed happy on the outside, Mokona, being the empath she was, sensed some sort of tension within the boy; like something was about to break, and she had a feeling she knew what it was.

 “Syaoran…this is fun, isn’t it? I bet you wish both Sakura’s and ‘Syaoran’ were here with us, don’t you?”

 Fai, Kurogane, and Fuuma watched for Syaoran’s response, and the boy continued to laugh before tears began to stream uncontrollably down his face. Fai and Kurogane gasped and frowned as Syaoran brought his hands to his face to hide the tears. It was certainly an unexpected reaction, but Mokona was quick to hop onto his shoulder and gently stroke his hair with her little hand.

 “It’s okay. You’re not alone, Syaoran. We’re all here for you,” she comforted.

 Syaoran nodded, his hands still covering his face, and his teeth were clenched from the wave of emotional pain he was currently feeling.

 “He’s had too much to drink. It’s time for bed now,” Kurogane suggested.

 This time, Fai nodded in agreement, and he moved to the boy, gently helping him stand and steering him in the direction of the house. Kurogane watched as they walked away, and Fuuma looked to the ninja with a smile.

 “You’re a lot kinder than you seem. I’m sure Syaoran-kun sees you like a father,” Fuuma said.

 Kurogane shook his head in denial.

 “He already has a father. And that might be the problem”

 “Eh? Why is that?”

 “The kid fights hard for what he wants, but it’s frustrating when you work that hard and still never get what you want”

 “And what do you think he wants?”

 Kurogane took a seat at the table and poured himself another glass of sake.

 “He wants his family back”

 Inside the house, Fai assisted Syaoran in lying down on the bed. He inspected his bandages to make sure his wounds were not bleeding through, and everything seemed to be in order. The worst part of the crying seemed to pass, and now the boy was simply staring into space with puffy red eyes and his cheeks slightly damp. Fai stroked his hair and smiled down at him as he sat on knees beside the futon.

 “Do you need to cry any more, Syaoran-kun? No one will think any less of you, you know…”

 Syaoran shook his head.

 “No…I’ve already cried enough. I’m sorry…I cut the game short and made everyone uncomfortable”

 Fai shook his head this time, his smile still remaining and the gentleness of it washing over Syaoran.

 “You did nothing wrong. You’ve been through a lot. Certainly enough to warrant tears once in a while. I’d be more worried if you didn’t cry and just held everything in”

 Mokona snuggled up against Syaoran on the futon.

 “Fai’s right. Mokona could feel you keeping everything inside. You were so sad…”

 The boy’s eyes widened, surprised to say the least.

 “You can talk about it if you want,” Fai said.

 Syaoran wanted to object at first, but he knew better than to try and hide anything from them. After all, like Fuuma had said before, the distance had been reduced, and they had been through enough that there was no reason to hide anything.

 “I…miss Sakura…and mother and father. Kimihiro too…”

 Fai hummed a bit in acknowledgement.

 “That makes sense. We all understand how you wish for everyone to be together again”

 The boy stared silently at the ceiling for a moment, contemplating his next words.

 “I saw ‘Syaoran’…in the Utaki...”

 Fai and Mokona looked to him, keeping quiet as to let him continue speaking.

 “To use the power of ‘Seji’, the Utaki told me I had to…erase ‘Syaoran’ from existence. But I couldn’t do it…’Syaoran’ believed in me and told me it was all right…that he wouldn’t judge me for acting on what I believed in, but I couldn’t do it…I couldn’t stand the thought of never seeing him again…”

 Syaoran’s voice held more pain the further he got, and Mokona’s eyes burned with tears as she felt the wave of his emotions.

 “How horrible…” she stated.

 “…And because of me, only half of the people in the inner Nirai Kanai were saved. I don’t even know if I managed to save that girl…”

 Fai shook his head as if to stop him and touched his shoulder comfortingly.

 “Syaoran-kun…without you, everything would have been lost. This world would have been taken in by the world of the dead. You did nothing wrong”

 The boy looked to him with sad amber eyes.

 “But I could’ve saved everyone had I not been so selfish. The Utaki said I had to defeat ‘Syaoran’ and prove I was without selfishness in my intentions. Then, I could use the power…”

 Fai tilted his head.

 “So you’re concerned that your decision was selfish?”

 Syaoran sighed.

 “I’ve always been selfish. Whenever I wanted something, I kept pushing forward without thinking about the consequences of my actions. Same with when I chose to turn back time…I broke the laws of the universe almost irreparably, and I’m still paying the price for it. But I haven’t really learned, have I? I nearly cost us everything…”

 “So?” Fai said.

 Syaoran blinked at this response.

 “There are many who believe in you and the choices you make, no matter how they seem to others. Kuro-pu, Mokona, Sakura-chan, Watanuki-kun, and ‘Syaoran’…we all believe in you and know you will make the right choices, because you have a strong heart. You are a good person Syaoran-kun, and the fact that you feel the way you do right now makes you human”

 The boy stared at him for a long moment, thinking hard about what to say next.

 “Do you think I am selfish for wanting to bring back ‘Syaoran’?”

 Fai shook his head.

 “I don’t, but even if I did, it doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks. You must do what your heart tells you to do. That is the only sure way to find happiness”

 Syaoran slowly nodded, his eyelids feeling much heavier than before. Fai brought his hand to rest over Syaoran’s eyes and spoke softly, almost like a lullaby.

 “Go to sleep now. Tomorrow’s a new day, and we’ll all still be here by your side,” the magician said.

 When he removed his hand, the boy’s eyes had closed and he had already drifted off to sleep. Mokona snuggled up beside him and followed suit shortly after, and when they were both fast asleep, Fai made his way back outside to Kurogane and Fuuma. He took a seat at the table and poured himself a glass of sake.

 “How is Syaoran-kun?” Fuuma asked.

 Fai smiled and took a sip from his glass.

 “He’s asleep now and will be just fine”

 Kurogane seemed relieved, but he was trying to conceal that fact. After all, he couldn’t let anyone know he was actually worried. His crimson eyes glanced to the container that held his new arm.

 “Now that our reason for staying here has arrived, we should move on to the next world…”

 Kurogane seemed eager to move on, even if this place was peaceful as could be.

 “Let’s stay just a bit longer, Kuro-tan…”

 “Eh? Why?”

 “Well, we should let Syaoran’s wounds heal properly. The ones in his heart too need some time,” Fai said softly before taking another sip of his drink.

 Kurogane’s lips formed into a tight line, but appeared to be in agreement.

 “Just a bit longer, but eventually we have to keep moving forward”

 Fai nodded, gazing up to the stars in the sky.

 “We will. But it’s all right stop and look at the stars once in a while”

 Fuuma rose his glass up.

 “I’ll drink to that,” he said, and Fai clinked his glass together with Fuuma’s.

 Fai then clapped his hands together as if an idea had come to mind.

 “Now that the children are asleep, the adults can have misbehave a little bit!”

 Fuuma laughed, and Fai reached into his pocket to pull out the small pouch of money he had won earlier from Kurogane.

 “Want to try and win the money back, Kuro-sama?”

 The ninja grinned at the proposition.

 “You’re on, mage,” he said with conviction.

 Fuuma adjusted his glasses, seeming intrigued.

 “May I play too?” he asked.

 “Of course!”

 The three men began to play gambling games, drank to their heart’s content, and enjoyed the stars above them. At least in every world, there would be stars to watch over them and brighten even the darkest of nights.

 THE END

[scottishhellhound]

Writober Day 1

I’m a couple days behind because work and sleep got in the way. 12 hour shifts are not conducive to writing schedules, nor is having to get enough sleep between shifts, but! I digress.

I’m attempting the writober challenge set up by @writerofwriting to try and get back into the swing of things, so I can prep for Nano this year.  These prompts will mostly feature my original characters from my in progress novel series that I’ve been writing for the last few years. 

I am very rusty and my grammar is atrocious, but enjoy anyway, haha.

Warnings: Mentions of child abuse/rape; extreme violence, mild swearing, death.

#Writober Day 1: Prompt: Burn

Orange light danced across the faces of the three men seated around the roaring fire, logs snapped from the heat and flames crackled.  They sat in a loose circle and listened as one man played a set of reed pipes, a slow, soft song to help them fall into the land of dreams.  Another, much older than the other two, lay stretched out on his bag on top of his sleep roll, and the third sat across from both of them, sharpening a large, iron hunting dagger, the hiss it made as it rubbed against the whetstone an eerie counterpoint to the soft tones of the reed pipes.

The man who was stretched out picked up a rock that was next to his hand and threw it at the man playing the pipes, with a disgusted snarl.  "Play something that's less depressing for Zeus' sake."

The musician rubbed at the spot where the rock had bounced off his forehead, glaring at the older man.  "You know, Father, you could have just asked me to play something else.  There was no need for violence."

"Still your wagging tongue Theron, and play something less depressing, or just be silent.  I do not care which, so long as I cannot hear the sound of your voice." He turned away from his son and towards the third member of the hunting party, Aktaion, the Prince of Thrace.  "Heed my advice Aktaion, never have children, they will cause you nothing but grief and hardship, and impose upon your good will."

Aktaion continued to sharpen his dagger, only shifting his eyes slightly to look over at Demos, to show the man that he was listening.

"I regretted having all three of my children, none more so however, than Melantha.  At least Theron and Xander, Hades have mercy on his soul, were useful," Demos didn't notice the tightening of Aktaion's hand around his dagger and whetstone, or the narrowing of his eyes as he continued to rant about the uselessness of his one and only daughter.  "Girl could barely cook, burned water seven times out of ten, was squeamish over skinning or dressing game, and clumsy as a day old duck.  I'm surprised I let her live for as long as I have, I have no idea how many times I wanted to put that child out of my misery, she was good for nothing, other than something pretty to look at."

Aktaion had to visibly restrain himself from leaping across the fire and attacking his new Father-in-law, who again didn't notice the growing rage of the young Prince across from him.  All thoughts of just asking them to be quiet and calling it a night went the way of his enemies, however, when Theron decided to make his already unwanted opinion known.  "Along with being beautiful, my dear sister also made an excellent bed warmer."

Demos chuckled lecherously, "That she did son.  I'm sure the young Prince will find that out for himself soon though, if he hasn't already."

Aktaion saw red, and so did Demos, as the hand that held the dagger snapped out like a striking snake, beheading his only remaining son.  Demos could only stare in horror as the head of Theron fell forward off his neck and hit the ground with a sickening thud.  Blood spurted out of the now headless body, spraying every which way as the body wavered before finally falling towards the one who had ended the young nobleman's life.  Blood spattered across Aktaion's face and chest, adding to the demonic figure the Prince made, teal eyes glowing a sickly red from the flames, teeth bared, chest heaving as he tried to control and channel his rage.

"Murderer!  How dare you kill my son!  I'll see you hanged for this,"

"SCILENCE!" Demos fell silent though his mouth remained open for a few seconds longer, as if he still wanted to rant at his Prince.  "How dare I?  How dare I!  You, someone who has just admitted to raping your daughter, your own flesh and blood, ask me a question like that."  Aktaion stalked, a lion circling already wounded prey looking for just the right spot to land the killing blow.  "How dare I indeed.  How dare I suffer to let you live a moment longer on this Earth.  There's a special place in Tartarus for child abusers and rapists, I hope you enjoy eternity there.  Send my greetings to the Ferryman when you meet."

Aktaion grabbed the front of Demos Chiton and hauled the elder man off the ground, plunging his dagger into his chest, through the area just left of his heart and out his back.  He twisted the blade once, twice, before wrenching it out with a roar of pure hate.  Blood rushed out of the wound covering both men in the noble's not so noble blood.  He let the man drop, a disgusted look on his face, though the look was not because he was covered in blood.  He reached over grabbed Theron's body's ankle and dragged it over to where his father now lay dying, the old man gasping for breath.

As Aktaion turned to walk over to their supplies he heard Demos make a feeble, but still audible cry for help.  He frowned and crouched down in front of his soon to be former Father-in-Law; he titled his head regarding the dying man, watching blood bubble at the corners of his mouth.  He wrapped one large hand around the elder mans necked and applied as much force as he could, and continued until he heard a satisfying crunch, the sound of the mans trachea collapsing, a smile on his face.

Satisfied that he would no longer be interrupted he made his way over to the packs and riffled through them until he found the lantern oil that his Mother, Cassiopeia, had insisted he pack.  He returned to the dead and dying men and emptied the contents of the jar over them, ignoring the pitiful and pleading look Demos was giving him.  He smashed the jar against the ground next to Demos' head, pieces of the shattered jar bit into the man's skin.  One landed next to his eye, cutting it, and the man instinctively clenched them shut to avoid them being damaged.  Seeing the man's eyes shut gave Aktaion an idea; he walked back over to his pack and retrieved a much smaller knife than his dagger.

Once he returned to the slowly dying man's side he knelt down next to him, one knee on the ground the other on his head, holding it in place.  He then proceeded to cut off Demos' eyelids, ignoring his muted screams.  With one hand clenched in the old man’s white hair.  He worked slowly and diligently, being careful not to cause damage to his Father-in-Law's eyes, he wanted the old man to see the punishment he was being dealt.  Once that was done he plunged his small dagger into the noble's spine, severing the spine at mid back, making it so that he could no longer move, and therefore had no chance of escaping Aktaion's special form of retribution, which he was exacting on his absent wife's behalf.  Satisfied that Demos could not escape his fate, he moved the head of the noble's son so that Father and Son were looking into each others eyes.  He walked back over to their campfire, which still roared cheerily, heat washing over his body drying the blood to his chest and face.

"I want you to be able to look into your son's eyes so you can watch as you burn, and watch him burn.  So that you may see all that you should have loved but didn't, go up in flames.  I would preferred to have had you able to hear yourself scream as you burned, but that might draw people's attention before the fire can do its work.  I wouldn't want to deprive Hades of more subjects.  Enjoy eternal damnation."

He dropped the burning torch onto the body of Theron and watched for a few moments as the body burned, helped along by oil soaked clothing.  Once he noticed Demos start to silently scream in agony he smiled demonically and shouldered his pack.  He didn't look back as he faded into the wilds that surrounded his former campsite, flames dancing happily behind him as they burned up this new and fleshy fuel.