#i identified a line that will haunt me actually

[i-mybrunettelady]

Tell you what. I may not enjoy the kinds of stories Flaubert writes, but by god can he write!!! I aspire to one day write like Flaubert like PLEASE

[dollgxtz]

His Watchful Eye Pt. 4

Word Count: 11.9k

Tags: yandere!sylus, sylus x fem!reader, noncon, dubcon, drugging, kidnapping, obedience training, forced breeding, forced pregnancy, stalking, pet names like kitten, sweetie, pretty, ownership, manipulation, attempted rape, xavier appears

Taglist: @ngh-ch-choso-ahhhh, @eliasxchocolate, @nozomiaj, @xmiisuki, @sylus-kitten, @its-regretti, @m0onlustre, @ve1vet-cake @letgobro, @starkeysslvt, @yarafic, @prince-nikko, @leiaglamela, @connorsui @iluvmewwwww75 , @biggest-geo-oogami-enjoyer @mysssticc @babygirl-panda19 @someone-somewheres-stuff, @zaynesjasmine1

AN: Bit of a late upload for you night owls and a nice surprise for my early risers! Someone tell me to stop making the chapters longer, thank you LOL. This chapter was a lot of fun to write and I hope you guys enjoy! This is on AO3 as usual! :D

"So… uh, what’s your dog’s name?" you asked, trying to keep up the conversation and maybe get him to reveal more. Your voice was casual, but inside, your nerves were on high alert. "Dog? What dog?" he said absentmindedly, his eyes still glued to the window. His response was automatic, dismissive, as if he hadn’t even registered the question. "You...said that noise earlier was your dog? Right?"

Read Pt.1, Pt.2, Pt.3 Pt.5

Xavier drummed his fingers rhythmically on the glass counter, each tap growing more impatient as the seconds stretched on. His eyes darted around the cluttered store, scanning the shelves filled with everything from worn-out sneakers to high-end dress shoes. The store clerk had disappeared into the back room several minutes ago, leaving him alone with his thoughts. Xavier wasn't entirely sure what he was hoping to find here.

He had strolled in with nothing more than a photo of a shoe print—a faint clue at best—but it felt more productive than sitting idly by, doing nothing while the answers to your disappearance slipped further out of reach. At least this was action, however uncertain.

Was this even a tangible way to find you? Was he grasping at straws, wasting precious time on a hopeless lead?

And the most haunting question of all—were you even still alive?

Xavier squeezed his eyes shut, as if closing them tightly enough could block out the flood of dark thoughts threatening to overwhelm him. He couldn’t afford to let his mind go there, not now. Pushing the fear and uncertainty away, he tried to focus on the faint glimmer of hope that had brought him here in the first place. Anything was better than surrendering to despair.

"This is all I could find on it. It's certainly a unique pair," the shop clerk continued, offering a slight smile. "I'm not as technologically advanced as most shops around here, so sorry to disappoint. But, may I ask—why come to my little shop instead of one of those fancy places downtown?"

Xavier took the pamphlet, glancing over the information quickly before shifting his gaze back to the clerk. "Well," he began, a small grin tugging at the corner of his mouth, "I heard you were the kind of guy who could identify a pair of shoes just by its print."

The clerk chuckled softly, his weathered face creasing with the effort. "You've been a great help, actually," Xavier added, sliding the pamphlet into his jacket pocket with a nod of appreciation.

The clerk gave an approving nod, the lines of his face softening in quiet satisfaction before he turned his back again, settling into the familiar rhythm of his work. Xavier headed toward the door, the faint creak of floorboards beneath his boots echoing through the small, dimly lit shop. His hand hovered over the door handle, but just as his fingers brushed the cool metal, a nagging thought rooted him in place. He paused, heart pounding slightly as the question formed in his mind.

He turned back, the weight of uncertainty pulling at his voice. "Say... you wouldn’t happen to know where this shoe was originally made, would you?"

The clerk stopped, mid-motion, his hands faltering over a pile of worn soles. The question seemed to hang in the air, drawing out a moment of silence as the man stared down, his brow furrowing. It was clear he hadn’t thought about it in some time. Xavier felt a flicker of hope, unsure if it would lead him anywhere, but desperately clinging to the possibility.

The clerk finally turned, his face thoughtful, his voice quieter now. "Yeah..." he said slowly, as if pulling the memory from a fog. "Last I saw of that shoe, it came from a company based in the... er, N1—no, wait..." His brow furrowed deeper as he worked to piece it together. "N109 Zone. Yeah, that’s the one."

His words hung in the air, carrying a weight Xavier couldn’t ignore. The clerk’s tone wasn’t just casual recollection—it was tinged with something more, like the memory of that particular shoe stirred something deeper. Xavier felt the knot of tension in his chest tighten.

Xavier felt his breath catch in his throat. N109 Zone. The name alone sent a chill down his spine. He had heard plenty about that place—mostly rumors, but enough to know that it was a dangerous, lawless sector. Few dared to go there unless they had no other choice, and even fewer came back with stories worth telling. It was a no-man’s-land, a forgotten corner of land where control was lost long ago. The kind of place where people disappeared without a trace.

His mind raced, piecing it together. If the shoe had come from there... Did that mean you were there too? His stomach churned at the thought. The faint hope he had clung to started to blur with the creeping dread of what fate could have fallen upon you in the N109 Zone.

"You’re sure about that?" he asked, his voice betraying the slight anxiety creeping in around the edges. The clerk glanced up from his work, noticing the shift in Xavier’s tone.

"Yeah," the clerk said, more firmly this time. "I’m sure. That shoe—rare brand—hard to forget. The company folded years ago, but they used to operate out of the N109 Zone. Only place I’ve ever seen them sold."

Xavier swallowed hard, the words sinking deep. If the shoe came from N109, it could be a clue—a dangerous one, but still the only lead he had. He felt the urgency building inside him, a gnawing sense that time was running out, but also the undeniable question of what he might find if he went there.

Could you really be in a place like that? His mind struggled to fill in the gaps, but there were too many unknowns. Were you okay?

"I...appreciate your help," Xavier muttered, his voice thick with tension. He clenched and unclenched his fist, trying to steady his breathing.

"You're not actually thinking of going there, are you?" the store clerk asked, his voice edged with disbelief as he raised an eyebrow. He leaned slightly forward over the counter, studying Xavier with a mixture of concern and amusement. "No offense, but a pretty fella like you doesn’t exactly look like the type who could survive in a place like that. Not really worth the hassle for a pair of shoes don't you think?"

Xavier paused, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He didn’t turn around immediately, letting the weight of the clerk’s words linger for a moment. Finally, he glanced back over his shoulder, his expression calm, almost casual. "I'll be fine," he said, his voice steady, though the tension in his body remained. "I've dealt with much worse."

The clerk blinked, surprised by Xavier's calm demeanor, but said nothing more.

Xavier turned to face the door once again, his hand resting on the handle as he prepared to step out into the cold streets. "Thanks again," he added, his tone carrying a finality that didn’t invite more questions.

Without waiting for a response, he pushed open the door and walked out, leaving the shop behind. His heart pounded a little harder now, not just from the looming threat of the N109 Zone, but from the resolve building inside him. There was no turning back now.

He had a tangible clue—a real, solid lead to your whereabouts. For the first time in weeks, the haze of uncertainty lifted ever so slightly. But now that he knew you were possibly in one of the most dangerous areas anyone could imagine, time was no longer on his side. Every second that ticked by felt heavier, pulling him deeper into the urgency of the situation. The N109 Zone wasn’t just dangerous; it was a place where people vanished, a place where hope died. He had no time to waste, but rushing in blindly would be suicide. He needed a plan.

Stepping into the cold evening air, Xavier pulled the pamphlet from his jacket pocket, its crinkled edges soft from being handled. His eyes scanned over the contents carefully. Make and model—simple enough, not much help now. A detailed diagram of the shoe—useful for recognition, maybe, but not a lifeline. Then his eyes caught something else—a faint address printed near the top. It was partially worn, barely legible, but there.

His heart skipped a beat. An address? Could this be where the shoe was made? Or where it was sold? Either way, it was another piece of the puzzle, and right now, it was the closest thing to a breadcrumb trail he had. He squinted at the faded letters, trying to make out every detail.

If this address was in the N109 Zone, it could lead him right into the heart of the danger. But it could also lead him to you.

His mind raced. First, he needed to confirm the location. Then he needed a plan—something better than just walking straight into the N109 Zone and hoping for the best.

Pulling out his hunter’s watch, Xavier quickly scanned the address printed on the pamphlet. The small device whirred to life, its holographic screen flickering as it worked to process the faint, worn-out text. A soft ding echoed in the quiet street as it started searching for the location. Xavier watched the screen intently, his heart pounding with a mixture of hope and apprehension.

The map on the watch blinked, the dot moving erratically across an unmarked, shadowy area. It drifted back and forth, as though even the advanced technology in his hands was confused, struggling to pin down an exact location. Xavier frowned, watching the dot jitter across the screen. His stomach tightened with frustration. Was the address too old? Was it leading him nowhere?

Just when he thought the device might give up entirely, the dot paused. The holographic screen flickered once more, and with a soft chime, it glowed green in confirmation. The hunter's watch had finally locked on to a spot. Xavier stared at it, a sinking feeling settling in his gut. The place it had marked was deep within N109 Zone, tucked away in the heart of the most dangerous, uncharted part of the city.

He exhaled slowly, his mind running through a million possibilities. The watch’s confirmation meant something tangible, something real—but what waited for him there? He couldn’t shake the thought that this could be a trap, a place where the trail might lead to nothing, or worse, to more danger than he could anticipate. But it was also the only clue he had to your whereabouts.

Xavier closed his hand around the watch, feeling its faint warmth through his fingers. He knew what he had to do, but the enormity of it settled on his shoulders. This wasn’t just a simple lead anymore—it was a beacon, calling him into the depths of the N109 Zone. And whatever waited for him there, he would face it.

Because finding you was all that mattered.

As Xavier made his way through the still, empty streets back to his apartment, the first hints of dawn began to creep over the horizon, casting a faint, orange glow across the sky. His mind was already racing, formulating a plan. Gear, weapons,—he’d need everything ready before venturing into the N109 Zone.

But just as he turned the corner, his phone rang, the sharp sound cutting through the early morning quiet. Xavier stopped, his brow furrowing as he fished the phone out of his pocket. It was a jarring sound—no one should be calling him at this early hour.

He glanced at the screen, squinting in confusion. The number was unknown, unfamiliar. His immediate thought was Captain Jenna—she was the only one who’d be up this early, possibly reaching out with new intel—but this wasn’t her number.

He hesitated, thumb hovering over the screen. Unknown number. His instincts screamed caution. In his line of work, random calls at odd hours rarely led to anything good. The number could belong to anyone—a lead, a warning, or worse, a trap.

But then again, it could be something important—something connected to you. He couldn't ignore the possibility.

Should he answer? The phone rang again, and with each buzz, the knot of uncertainty in his stomach tightened. Whoever it was, they wanted to reach him badly enough to call at this ungodly hour.

With a deep breath, Xavier made a decision and swiped to answer the call. "Hello?" His voice was guarded, careful.

For a moment, all Xavier could hear was silence, a thick void that made his pulse quicken. Then, suddenly, the sound of crackling static filled his ears, distorting the line. He frowned, his grip tightening on the phone. The static grew louder, chaotic, until it was abruptly interrupted by a voice—scared, desperate, and unmistakably familiar.

"Xavier? Is that you??"

His heart nearly stopped.

You kept running until your legs gave out, your breath ragged and chest burning, but you couldn’t stop. Not yet. An hour ago, you had been trapped, bound in your captor's suffocating bedroom, that thick invisible leash tightening around your neck with each passing day, stealing your hope, your strength. Every second felt like eternity in that room, but somehow, with some luck of a power outage of all things, you’d broken out of your cage. You’d ran—bolted into the cold night without looking back.

And now, you were almost free.

But “freedom” wasn’t what you had imagined. The streets stretched out before you, bleak and lifeless. It felt wrong. There was no joy in the air, no welcoming breeze to assure you of safety—only the gnawing sense that you had escaped one cage just to enter another. You recalled something Sylus, your captor, had mentioned in passing.

"Its always 'night' here", he'd said with a small smile, and now you truly realized he hadn’t been lying.

Darkness swallowed the entire area, a thick, unnatural veil over everything. Even though your eyes had adjusted to the lack of light, the eerie, half-flickering streetlights cast only dim pools of sickly yellow across the cracked pavement. The shadows loomed, stretching too far, hiding too much. You shivered, not just from the cold but from the haunting silence that wrapped around you.

The air itself felt thick, as if it was suffocating under the weight of secrets too dark, too dangerous to be spoken aloud. Each alley you passed felt like it was watching you, whispering silent threats from the shadows. Exhaustion clung to your limbs, and you had finally stopped, collapsing onto a broken bench under one of the few flickering streetlights that still worked. The cold metal dug into your skin, but you barely noticed. You were too busy trying to catch your breath, to steady your thoughts.

Where do you go now? You scanned your surroundings again, looking for anything that could offer direction, but the streets were as desolate as before. The same cracked pavement, the same looming shadows. No signs. No people. Just an eerie quiet.

A fleeting thought entered your mind—maybe there’s a train station nearby? The idea seemed almost laughable. Would it even take you to Linkon? And would you even make it to a station without getting caught?

You shook your head, mentally cursing yourself for the thought. Hitchhiking was another idea that crossed your mind—no way, you scolded yourself, brushing off the notion as quickly as it came. You probably couldn't trust anyone here. Not in a place like this. Here, trusting a stranger was as reckless as running blind into the dark.

But what other choice did you have? You couldn’t stay still for long; resting too much would make you an easy target. With a deep, shuddering breath, you forced yourself to stand again. Your legs trembled beneath you, but you kept moving, hoping—praying—you’d find someone who wasn’t out to harm you. Something that could help guide you out of this nightmare. Each step felt heavier than the last, the weight of fear pressing harder on your chest.

As your bare feet dragged across the cracked concrete, the desperation gnawed at you more fiercely. You were lost—physically and mentally. Each street looked the same, the darkness playing tricks on your eyes. Panic swelled in your throat. How long could you keep going like this? How much longer could you walk before your legs gave out? Before someone found you?

Your breaths came quicker, shallow with fear. You needed a way out, but the deeper you walked into the N109 Zone, the more it felt like the place was swallowing you whole. You were running out of time. Running out of hope.

And then finally, as if the cruel universe had decided to grant you another fleeting moment of mercy, you saw it—a faint glow of lights in the distance. Squinting, you could just make out a corner store, its soft, artificial light spilling onto the cracked sidewalk. A few people were loitering outside, giving the place a rare sense of life. A tired-looking woman clutched her child's hand tightly, and a man stood by, lazily smoking a cigar, his eyes scanning the street in disinterest. A couple of others hovered nearby, exchanging quiet words under the dim streetlight.

You couldn't believe your eyes. A store? Here? In the N109 Zone? It seemed almost surreal, like it had been plucked from another world and dropped into this forgotten wasteland. But it made sense in a grim way. Even in a place like this, people have to eat. Make a living.

With a rush of desperate energy, you hurried toward the store, your bare feet slapping against the cold pavement. The people outside cast looks in your direction, but don't say anything. You stopped just short of the entrance, glancing down at yourself for the first time. You must look insane. A nightgown hung loosely around your body, dirty and torn at the edges. No shoes. No socks. Your hair was tangled and wild from the running. The sight of yourself made you wince in embarrassment, but there was no time to care about that now.

Pushing the door open, you were greeted by a dimly lit but surprisingly ordinary scene. The inside of the corner store looked like any other—aisles of candy, snacks, cheap knick knacks and toys stacked high. It was a stark contrast to the dangerous, shadowy streets just outside. But one sight caught your attention above all: the food.

Your stomach growled loudly, twisting with hunger. You hadn’t eaten since the chicken dinner Sylus had provided before your “outburst.” You hadn't been able to finish it, and now the exhaustion from running had made the hunger almost unbearable. Your mouth watered at the thought of eating, but there was one major problem—you had no gold.

Your heart sank as you stared at the rows of candy bars and instant noodles. How were you going to get anything?

Anxiously, you shuffled toward the front counter, your nerves jangling with every step. When you reached it, you hesitated for a moment, staring at the small bell. With trembling fingers, you tapped it.

A disheveled-looking man, his hair sticking out in uneven tufts, glanced up from behind the counter. He had been glued to his phone, and the interruption clearly annoyed him. His eyes landed on you, and for a brief second, he just stared, taking in your disarrayed appearance before rolling his eyes in annoyance.

"Can I...help you?" he asked, dragging out the words as if the very act of speaking was a burden.

You swallowed hard, trying to find the right words, but your mind raced with too many conflicting emotions—fear, embarrassment, hunger. What could you even say?

"I've been kidnapped," you blurt out, your voice shaky and desperate. You opened your mouth to explain further, to tell him everything—how you had escaped, how you were on the run, how you needed help—but before you could get another word out, the man snorted.

"Yeah, I've heard that one before," he said dismissively, leaning back on his chair with an exaggerated sigh. "Who hasn't been kidnapped at least once around here?"

His casual tone hit you like a slap. The raw urgency in your voice was met with nothing but apathy. Your heart sank. He wasn’t going to take you seriously. You were just another story in a place like this, another desperate face with nowhere to go. You stood there, frozen, trying to comprehend how someone could be so indifferent to your situation.

You swallowed hard, fighting back the frustration welling up inside you. "Please, I'm serious. I just need—"

"Look," the man interrupted, cutting you off again, his eyes barely lifting from his phone. "You want something, buy it. Otherwise, move along. I’m not here for charity cases."

You glanced at the counter, the rows of candy, snacks, and drinks just inches away, knowing you had nothing to pay with. Desperation clawed at your insides. You were exhausted, starving, and running out of options.

"I don't have any gold... do you ha-have a phone?" you asked again, your voice trembling as you blinked back the hot tears threatening to spill. How could someone be so indifferent to the obvious suffering staring him in the face?

"Broken," he said flatly, still not bothering to look up from his phone. His disinterest was like a physical blow. "And… gold? What are you, some Linkcunt citizen?"

The venom in his words hit you like a slap, and for a moment, you were too stunned to respond. Linkcunt citizen? The insult was harsh, dripping with disdain, and it sent a sudden wave of anger rushing through you.

"Yes, I’m from Linkon," you correct, the frustration and fear bubbling over into your voice. "What’s with the attitude? What did I do to you? I'm asking for help!"

He finally looked up, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, but it wasn’t friendly. It was mocking.

"What did you do? Nothing. That’s the problem. Linkon folk come down here thinking they’re better than everyone, tossing around their fancy gold and expecting the world to hand them everything." He shook his head, his expression a mix of amusement and contempt.

"You want help? Then you’d better figure out how things work around here real fast, princess. No one's gonna hand you anything for free."

You felt your fists clench at his words, the anger mixing with a deeper sense of helplessness. You hadn’t asked to be here. You hadn’t asked for any of this. And yet, standing in this grimy corner store in the depths of the N109 Zone, it was clear that no one cared about your suffering. Not here. You weren’t in Linkon anymore.

Taking a deep breath, you forced yourself to calm down, swallowing the anger rising in your throat. Getting into a fight with this clerk wouldn’t help you, not now. But the bitterness of his words lingered, and you realized just how alone you truly were in this place.

Silently, you turned your back to the greasy man behind the counter, his words still echoing in your mind as you began to walk up and down the aisles. Every step felt heavier than the last, the weight of hunger, thirst, and sheer exhaustion pulling at you. Your stomach growled, gnawing at your insides, reminding you just how long it had been since you'd eaten.

But something else gnawed at you too—something that made your skin crawl with discomfort. You hadn't changed your pad for hours, and now the sticky, damp feeling clung uncomfortably between your legs. The sudden realization hit you, a wave of disgust washing over you as you winced.

Swallowing hard, you glanced over toward the feminine hygiene aisle. Rows of necessities lined the shelves—pads, tampons, basic supplies—just out of reach. You stared at them, your stomach twisting in knots. It wasn't just food you needed now. You couldn’t go on like this.

But you had no credit cards. No way to purchase anything. Nothing.

Your eyes flicked back toward the front of the store, where the disinterested clerk sat, still engrossed in his phone. He wasn’t paying attention to you. He didn’t care. Nobody here did.

You felt a knot tighten in your throat as the harsh reality of the situation settled in. You had to steal. There was no other choice. You hated the thought of it—hated how low it made you feel—but survival wasn’t a matter of pride. Not here. Not now.

Your fingers trembled as you looked back at the shelves. You knew what you had to do.

The clerk still wasn’t paying attention, his face lit by the glow of his phone. His indifference might be your only saving grace. You could do this—quickly, quietly, and then you’d be gone.

With shaky hands you reach for a plastic bag that had fallen on the ground. The bag felt like a shield, something to hide the weight of what you were about to do. You didn’t think twice as you moved toward the feminine hygiene aisle, knowing you couldn’t walk any further in your current state. You reached for a pack of pads, your movements slow and deliberate. Your heart pounded in your chest, loud enough that it felt like the entire store could hear it.

Next, you hurried down the snack aisle, grabbing a few protein bars, a small bag of chips, and a bottle of water, all of which disappeared into the bag as your pulse raced in your ears.

You glanced toward the counter, your body tense with anxiety. The clerk still hadn’t looked up, completely absorbed in his phone. The faint, unmistakable sound of pornography drifted from his speakers, making your stomach churn in disgust. You twisted your face, feeling a wave of revulsion wash over you, but you couldn’t afford to stop now.

He was utterly oblivious to your frantic movements, his attention locked on the screen, but that didn't ease the gnawing sensation in your gut. Every step felt like you were tiptoeing across a minefield, a ticking clock counting down to disaster. Even though he wasn’t watching, you couldn’t shake the feeling that someone—or something—was.

With the bag now heavy in your hands, you made your way toward the exit, each step carefully measured, your breath shallow as you fought to keep calm. The distance between you and the door seemed endless, as if every inch stretched into miles. But finally, your trembling hand closed around the cold metal of the handle.

Your heart raced as you crossed the threshold, bracing yourself for the inevitable—a shrill, deafening alarm that would shatter the silence and expose your crime to the world. You waited for it, your breath caught in your throat, ready to bolt at the first sound.

But nothing came.

No alarm. No piercing siren. The only thing you could hear was the frantic beating of your own heart as the door swung shut behind you with a quiet click.

For a moment, you stood there, frozen in place, not daring to move. The cool night air brushed against your skin, grounding you in the eerie quiet. The world outside the store felt impossibly still. It took a few seconds for your brain to register that you had made it out—unseen, unheard.

You swallowed hard, keeping your head down as you hurried past the few patrons lingering near the store. Their eyes followed your every step, and you could feel their gazes crawling over you, judging, curious. Did they happen to care, or did you just look that insane?

The woman with the child pulled her daughter closer as you passed, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. The man smoking his cigar gave you a long, leering stare, as if trying to figure out what your story was. The others whispered quietly among themselves, but you couldn’t make out the words, nor did you want to. You kept walking, willing yourself to be invisible, but the tension in the air made your skin prickle.

Once you were a safe distance away from the store, you ducked down an empty alley, the shadows wrapping around you like a cloak. The world outside was still bleak, the flickering streetlights casting only the faintest glow, but here in the quiet, you finally had a moment to breathe.

You found a relatively clean spot, tucked behind an old dumpster, and set the bag down beside you. Your hands shook as you reached into the bag for the pack of pads. The discomfort and itch between your legs had grown unbearable, and the relief of changing, even in such a grim place, was something you couldn't put off any longer.

Quickly, you adjusted yourself, wincing at the feeling of the old pad peeling away. You worked fast, knowing you couldn’t linger here for long. Once you were done, you felt a small sense of relief—at least one problem had been solved.

Next, you pulled out the snacks. The hunger was still clawing at you, and the sight of the protein bars and chips made your stomach ache even more. Tearing into a protein bar, you ate quickly, barely tasting the food as you devoured it, desperate to fuel your exhausted body. The bottle of water came next, and you drank it down in large, gulping swallows.

For the first time since you had escaped, you felt a flicker of calm. It wasn’t much, and it wouldn’t last, but here in this dark corner, with food in your stomach and a small bit of comfort, you allowed yourself a brief moment to breathe.

But the quiet didn’t last. You knew you couldn’t stay hidden forever. You had to get moving at some point or Sylus would find you. This place was unforgiving, and survival demanded more than just temporary refuge.

Tucking the remaining items back into the bag, you sigh in satisfaction, glancing around to make sure no one had followed you. The streets were still empty. For now, you were alone. You had survived one more step in this nightmare, but you knew it wasn’t over yet.

Some time passes and you can slowly feel yourself falling asleep against the dumpster.

As you crouched in the dim alley, trying to fight off exhaustion and gather your thoughts, the sound of footsteps broke the silence. Slow, steady, and casual, accompanied by a faint, off-key whistling. You stiffened, instinctively pulling the bag closer to your chest.

The footsteps stopped just a few feet away, and then came the voice—low, cautious, but curious.

"Hey, you okay?"

You glanced up warily, your eyes landing on the figure standing at the mouth of the alley. He was tall, maybe in his mid-thirties, with shaggy, unkempt brown hair that fell just above his eyes. His clothes were worn—faded jeans and a jacket that had seen better days—but he didn’t look like the rough types you usually imagined when you thought of the N109 Zone. His posture was relaxed, hands tucked casually into his pockets, but his sharp, dark eyes were fixed on you, a flicker of concern—or maybe something else—dancing behind them.

His face was hard to read. He had a slight stubble covering his jaw, giving him a rugged, almost tired appearance. His lips quirked in what might’ve been a faint smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. There was something unsettling about the way he looked at you—like he was curious, but also sizing you up. Not in an aggressive way, but in a way that made you wonder why he’d stopped to talk to you at all.

"Are you... lost?" he asked, stepping forward slowly, the whistling tune dying in the air. His voice was softer now, almost as if he was trying to be gentle, but his presence made the space around you feel even smaller.

"What happened to your arm?"

You swallowed hard, trying your best to keep your gaze on him. You had honestly completely forgotten about the scar on you arm. As much as you wanted to explain, every instinct screamed to stay wary. This wasn’t a place where strangers helped out of kindness, and you knew better than to trust easily. But as exhausted and desperate as you were, you weren’t sure if you could afford to push away help, even from someone who might have their own agenda.

"I—I need help," you stammered, your voice shaky, barely managing to push the words past your tightening throat. Your body trembled, a mix of nerves and exhaustion leaving you on edge. You hugged the bag tighter to your chest, every muscle in your body tense. "But... don't come any closer just yet."

The man's eyes narrowed slightly, his expression shifting, though he made no move forward. He stayed where he was, his hands still in his pockets, the dim streetlight casting long shadows on his face. For a moment, there was silence, the air thick with tension as he watched you.

"Okay," he said finally, his voice calm and even, though the curiosity in his eyes never wavered. He tilted his head, taking in your ragged appearance with a deeper interest. "No problem. I’m not here to scare you. Just trying to figure out what you're doing out here all alone."

You bit your lip, unsure of how to respond. You needed help, but trust was a dangerous thing in a place like this. Still, you were running out of options. Your mind raced as you tried to decide what to say next.

You hesitated, your mind racing as you weighed the risks. Could you trust him? Telling the truth might make you vulnerable, but lying wouldn’t get you far either. You had to say something—anything—to explain why you were here.

"I was kidnapped," you said, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. Your voice wavered, a tremor of fear running through you as you spoke. "I escaped… I don’t know where I am. I just need to get somewhere safe and rest so I can get home later."

The man’s expression shifted slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. He studied you, eyes narrowing as if trying to assess whether or not you were telling the truth. His silence stretched on for what felt like an eternity, making your heart pound faster in your chest.

"You’re serious?" he finally asked, his tone more subdued now, almost disbelieving but not dismissive. He took a small step back, showing that he wasn’t going to invade your space. "You really got away from someone?"

You nodded, the tension in your body still coiled tight, waiting for his reaction. You couldn't tell if he believed you, but you hoped—desperately—that he wouldn’t press too hard or turn you away.

The man stared at you for a moment longer, his eyes scanning your face, as if trying to read the truth in your expression. Finally, he let out a slow breath, his posture softening just slightly.

"Alright," he said, his voice low but firm. "If you're telling the truth... then you’ve got bigger problems than just being lost."

He glanced around, checking the street behind him as if making sure no one else was nearby, then he looked back at you, his face more serious now. "You can’t stay out here. This place— the N109 Zone—it’s not somewhere you want to be wandering around alone, especially if someone’s looking for you."

You felt a shiver run down your spine. You already knew the N109 Zone was dangerous, but hearing it from him made it feel even more real.

"Look," he continued, his voice softening. "I’m not gonna hurt you. If you need help, I can take you somewhere safer. But you’ve gotta trust me, and you’ve gotta move quick. If they’re after you, it’s only a matter of time before they find you out here."

He waited, his eyes searching yours, as if trying to see if you’d accept his offer—or run.

You hesitated for a long moment, scanning the man’s face for any sign of deceit. His expression was calm, almost unnervingly so, but something about his demeanor made you feel that, for now, you didn’t have much of a choice. If he meant harm, he could’ve acted already. Swallowing hard, you nodded.

“Okay,” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath. “I’ll come with you.”

He nodded in return, offering nothing more than a grunt of acknowledgment before turning and motioning for you to follow. "My place isn’t far. You can rest there, maybe clean up a bit. It’ll give you a few hours before you have to figure out what’s next."

You fell in step behind him, your bare feet quiet against the cracked pavement. The streets were eerily silent, save for the occasional distant hum of passing cars. You hugged the bag closer to your chest, still tense but too tired to think about running. As you walked through the dim streets, a question lingered in the back of your mind.

"I'm surprised you stopped to help me," you finally said, your voice tentative. "Most people here…they wouldn’t have even looked twice."

He glanced back at you, barely breaking stride, and shrugged. "I’ve seen worse things in this place. Trust me, a girl lost in an alley isn't the strangest thing I’ve come across." His tone was casual, almost detached, as if this was just another day in the chaotic world of the N109 Zone.

His nonchalance unnerved you. Why was he so calm? Your anxiety spiked for a moment, thoughts racing. Maybe you had made the wrong choice. Maybe he had his own agenda, like everyone else in this place. But then again, he hadn’t tried to harm you. If he wanted to, he would've done so. You weighed your options, feeling the tug of paranoia, but exhaustion and desperation had their hold. You pushed the doubt aside. For now, you decided to trust him, even if only for a few hours.

As you walked in silence, the two of you eventually came across something you hadn’t expected to see: an old, grimy phone booth, its glass cracked but still intact, standing at the edge of a corner. A relic from another time, long since forgotten by most.

Your heart skipped a beat. A phone. You might be able to call Xavier.

"Do you have any… uh, quarters?" you asked, your voice tight with desperation. You hadn’t thought about it before, but now it seemed obvious. Linkon City had long left behind the need for such old currency—everything there was digital, clean, modern. But here, in the N109 Zone, where everything felt stuck in time, of course they still used quarters. It made sense in this broken-down world.

He stopped, watching you for a moment before sighing. "Yeah, hang on." He fumbled in his pockets for a few seconds, fishing around with a slight look of annoyance. After a bit of clattering, he pulled out a few quarters, handing them over to you without a word.

Your hands trembled as you took them. This could be your chance—your lifeline. You stepped inside the booth, hoping that the old machine would still work, and stared at the dirty receiver.

You stared at the old rotary dial for a moment, panic rising in your chest. You tried to remember how it worked as you slipped the coins in the slot. It had been so long since you’d read about one of these—everything in Linkon was sleek, touch-based, connected by the web. But here, in this forgotten part of the world, you were holding a piece of the past. The process felt foreign, archaic.

Your mind raced, desperately trying to recall Xavier’s number. What was it? You racked your brain, images of his scribbled phone number from messages, fragments of conversations, all blurred together. The numbers danced in your head as you tried to piece them together.

Your heart pounded louder, matching the beat of the seconds slipping away. You were running out of time. With a trembling hand, you began dialing the numbers, trying to focus on every movement, praying you’d gotten it right.

The dial clicked as it spun back after each number, the mechanical sound unnervingly slow. The receiver crackled in your ear as the phone began to ring.

Please, Xavier... please pick up.

The ringing felt endless, each second a heavier weight pressing on your chest. You squeezed your eyes shut, gripping the receiver tight. The noise around you seemed to fade into the background as you waited, hoping, praying that on the other end of the line, he’d be there—ready to hear you, ready to help.

The phone rang again... and again.

Your breath caught in your throat, a prayer hanging on the edge of each ring.

"Hello?" A timid, cautious male voice came through the receiver, muffled by the crackling static, but it was unmistakable.

Relief crashed over you like a wave, and you nearly collapsed right there in the grimy phone booth, your knees buckling as the sound of Xavier's voice reached your ears. After everything—you finally had a connection to him. Tears welled up in your eyes, your breath shaky as you clutched the receiver tighter.

"Xavier!! Xavier, thank god!" you cried, your voice raw with desperation. "I don't even know where to start..."

But after your outburst, only silence greeted you. The line crackled, sputtering with age, the static drowning out whatever response might have come. Frustration surged through you as you gripped the receiver, shaking it in a vain attempt to clear the line. You banged the phone against the booth, biting back a sob as the interference persisted. This thing must be older than you thought. How could it fail you now?

Finally, the crackling stopped, leaving only a tense, quiet hum on the other end.

"Xavier? Is that you??" you asked, your voice trembling, barely holding back the panic. You couldn’t bear the thought of losing this fragile connection—this one thin lifeline.

The line crackled for a moment before Xavier’s voice came through, steady and calm, but with a layer of unmistakable relief.

"It’s you…," Xavier said, his voice soft but firm, as if he’d been holding onto hope for so long that hearing your voice felt like a lifeline. "I’m so glad you’re alive. Are you okay? Where are you?"

The sound of his voice sent another wave of emotion crashing over you. You sob, your body trembling with a mix of exhaustion and relief. For the first time in what felt like forever, you weren’t alone. He had been looking for you, and now, he was coming.

"Xavier…I was kidnapped," you sobbed, the words finally breaking free, the fear and terror of the last few days pouring out. "I escaped. I’m cold, hurt and scared..."

His response was immediate, his tone both calming and steady, as if he was trying to comfort you even from miles away. "I’m here now. I’ve got you. Just breathe, okay? I’m coming for you. I just need a better idea of where you are."

You took a shaky breath, trying to keep it together, but the tears threatened to spill over. "I don’t know where exactly… all I know is I’m in the N109 Zone. I found a phone booth near a corner store. Everything around here looks abandoned."

There was a brief pause on the other end as Xavier processed the information. "Alright," he said firmly. "Stay there, I'll try and track the location of the phone booth. I’m on my way. Just… hold on a little longer, okay?"

"I—" you hesitated for a moment, glancing back toward the man who had helped you. "I actually found a really nice man. He’s letting me rest at his place. He hasn’t hurt me at all, so don’t worry. He says his place isn’t far from here. I’ll come back to the phone and give you the details after I see it."

Xavier’s voice tightened slightly, the concern clear. "I don’t like the sound of that. Just… be careful. I’m coming as fast as I can. Don’t take any unnecessary risks, alright? If anything feels wrong, leave. Fight like hell if you need to."

"I will," you whispered, gripping the receiver tightly. "Just hurry, please."

"I promise I’m coming," Xavier said, his voice steady but laced with urgency. He paused, just for a second, before continuing. "One more thing though—do you remember who took you? I’ll need a name, in case…in case I don't find you when I arrive. I don’t want to lose you again."

Your heart raced as memories of your captor flashed in your mind. "Yeah! His name is S—"

"Your time is up. Please enter more quarters for an additional 3 minutes," the automated voice cut in sharply, drowning out your words.

Panic surged through you. The call had abruptly ended, the receiver in your hand now silent except for the monotonous prompt asking for more coins. You frantically searched your pockets, but you had no more quarters.

"Your time is up. Please enter more quarters for—"

You screamed, the frustration boiling over as you kicked the phone, the clanging metal reverberating through the phone booth. Your hand gripped the receiver so tightly your knuckles lost circulation, and with a final surge of anger, you thrashed against the booth, the tears you’d been holding back now streaming down your face.

"Xavier!?" you yelled into the dead line, your voice cracking with desperation. He had to hear you. He had to. But all that came through was the cold, indifferent tone of the automated voice, endlessly repeating its demand for more quarters, as if mocking your panic.

You slammed the receiver down, the booth suddenly feeling too small, too suffocating. Every second that ticked by was a second lost, a moment Xavier might not know who had taken you, might not know how to find you.

With a deep, shaky breath, you stepped out of the booth, blinking away the tears.

"Do...you have any more quarters?" you ask, tears threatening to spill from your face at any moment now.

The man outside the phone booth shifted awkwardly and shook his head, his eyes flickering between you and the dark street. He had watched you from the moment you’d rushed into the booth, but now, as you sobbed, his discomfort was clear. He took a slow step forward, clearing his throat, but didn’t say anything at first, unsure of what to do.

"You, uh... you okay?" he asked finally, his voice soft but uneasy. He scratched the back of his neck, glancing around as if he wasn’t used to being in such an emotional situation.

You wiped at your eyes, trying to calm your breathing, but the tears kept coming. The overwhelming frustration of losing the connection with Xavier left you feeling exposed and helpless. You didn’t know what to say to the man, couldn’t find the words to explain the weight of everything crashing down on you at once.

He hesitated, then sighed, taking another step closer. "Look, uh… if it’s about the call, I’m sure your guy’s coming. Sounds like he cares. You just... you know, gotta hang in there. We’ll get to my place soon, and you can rest."

His words, though clumsy, were an attempt at comfort. But even as he tried to reassure you, his uncertainty showed in the way he avoided your gaze, as if he wasn’t quite sure how to handle someone breaking down in front of him.

You sniffed, nodding slightly, feeling drained from the outburst. "Yeah… yeah, I’ll be fine," you muttered, wiping your face with the sleeve of your nightgown, though you weren’t sure you believed it.

The two of you resumed walking, your steps slow and heavy as you sniffled, trying to hold back the tears that still threatened to spill. The man walked beside you, his hands shoved into his pockets, glancing at you now and then with an awkwardness that was hard to miss. He wasn’t saying much, just occasionally looking around as if he wished there was something more he could do, but he seemed completely out of his depth when it came to comforting anyone, let alone a woman on the verge of breaking down.

"You’ll, uh, feel better once we get there," he mumbled, his voice low and sheepish. "It’s not much, but at least you can get some sleep. Maybe eat something."

You nodded, biting your lip as you fought to compose yourself, trying not to let your emotions overwhelm you again. The air between you felt thick, filled with unspoken words and awkward tension. He kept glancing at you as if he wanted to say something more, but each time, he swallowed the words, guiding you quietly through the darkened streets.

The city around you was eerily quiet, the desolation of the N109 Zone even more pronounced in the silence. The flickering streetlights barely illuminated your path, casting long shadows that stretched across the cracked pavement. You hugged your arms close to your body, your mind still reeling from the failed call, but you focused on just putting one foot in front of the other.

The man cleared his throat, his voice hesitant. "I’m… not really good at this kind of thing, you know," he admitted, his tone awkward, almost apologetic. "But you’ll be safe. I’ll make sure of it."

You nodded again, not trusting yourself to speak. His words were clumsy, but there was a strange sincerity in them. Despite his unease, it seemed like he really was trying to help, even if he didn’t quite know how to do it.

As the silence stretched on, the weight of everything hanging between you, you glanced at him through the dim light. His awkwardness, his uncertainty—it was all so clear. But despite everything, he had helped you. He had taken you in when you had nowhere else to go. Given you the last of his quarters. You swallowed, trying to ground yourself in the moment.

"I didn’t catch your name, by the way," you said softly, your voice still a little shaky.

He blinked, as if surprised you’d asked. His steps slowed for a moment before he gave a small, awkward shrug. "Oh, uh, yeah. I guess I didn’t say." He rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes darting to the ground as he seemed to search for the right words. "It’s Reese," he finally muttered. "Not much of a name, but it’s mine."

You offered a small, tired smile, your voice soft. "Reese… thanks for helping me. I don’t know what I would’ve done if—" You stopped yourself, the weight of your situation pressing on your chest again.

He glanced at you from the corner of his eye and gave a sheepish nod. "Yeah, well… I’m no hero. Just didn’t seem right to leave you out there. Not in a place like this."

As the two of you walked in silence, Reese cleared his throat, glancing over at you with a bit more confidence than before. "So… what’s your name? Figured if we’re gonna be walking together, I should know who I’m helping."

You hesitated, your heart racing slightly. Trust wasn’t something you could afford so easily, not here, not now. Despite his awkward attempts to help, you weren’t ready to give him your real name. Better to be cautious, you reminded yourself. You forced a small smile, trying to keep your voice steady.

"It’s...Mephisto," you said, the lie rolling off your tongue before you could second-guess it. You had vaguely remembered Sylus calling out the name to someone from outside the door, to who you weren't sure. One of his men probably.

Reese nodded, seemingly taking your answer at face value, no suspicion in his expression. "Alright," he said, giving a half-smile. "Nice to meet you Miss Mephisto, despite the strange name."

You nodded back, feeling the weight of the lie settle inside you. It wasn’t much, but it gave you a small layer of protection—just in case. You still didn’t know Reese’s full intentions, and trust here could be a dangerous thing.

"Nice to meet you too, Reese," you replied softly, glancing around the darkened street.

After what felt like an eternity of walking through the dark, desolate streets of the N109 Zone, you and Reese finally reached his place. The house stood at the end of a narrow alley, tucked between two crumbling, abandoned buildings. It wasn’t much to look at—dingy, with peeling paint and windows that seemed to have long lost their clarity. The front door sagged slightly on its hinges, the wood scuffed and weathered, as if it had seen better days a long time ago.

Reese unlocked the door with a bit of effort, pushing it open with a low creak. Inside, the air was stale but warm, a stark contrast to the cold outside. The place was small, cluttered, and dimly lit by a single overhead bulb. The furnishings were old, mismatched, and worn—a threadbare couch sat in the corner, covered in a faded blanket. The walls were bare except for a few crooked picture frames, and the carpet looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in years. Still, despite its grimy appearance, there was a strange sense of comfort to the place, like someone had lived here for a long time and had made it home in their own way.

"You can sit over there if you want," Reese said, motioning to the couch. "It’s not much, but it’s better than the streets."

You nodded, stepping inside cautiously. Your eyes scanned the room, taking in the details—the scuffed coffee table with a few empty bottles on it, the stack of old magazines piled up against one wall. It didn’t scream danger, but you couldn’t shake the wary feeling settling in the pit of your stomach. Something about the whole situation made you uneasy. Maybe it was the dim lighting, the smell of old dust, or just the lingering doubt about trusting someone so easily in a place like this.

Still, exhaustion weighed heavily on your body, and the promise of rest—any rest—was too tempting to ignore. You sat down on the couch, the worn cushions sinking under you, and pulled the bag of pads closer to your chest. Reese seemed harmless enough, but you reminded yourself to stay on guard. You weren’t out of danger yet.

Reese busied himself, tossing a few items around to clear space, but the house remained eerily quiet.

As you settled into the couch, trying to make yourself as comfortable as possible, a sudden noise from the backyard broke the uneasy silence. It was faint, but distinct—a thud, followed by the faint sound of something shuffling or dragging. Your heart leapt, and you sat up a little straighter, your eyes darting toward the back of the house.

“What was that?” you asked, your voice tense as you turned to look at Reese.

He froze for a split second, the calm, awkward demeanor you’d come to expect from him faltering. His eyes widened slightly, and he gave a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. "Oh, that?" he said, his voice higher than usual. "It’s just… my dog. Yeah, he’s in the shed out back. I forgot to mention him earlier."

You watched him closely, feeling the tension spike in the room. There was something off about the way he said it, the quickness in his tone as if he were scrambling to come up with an explanation.

"Your dog?" you repeated, trying to keep your voice steady, though doubt gnawed at the back of your mind.

"Yeah," he said, nodding a bit too enthusiastically. "He’s old, doesn’t like people much, so I keep him out there. No big deal."

His words didn’t do much to settle your nerves. You stared at him for a moment longer, weighing his response, trying to decide if he was telling the truth. The uneasy feeling from earlier returned, stronger this time, creeping up your spine.

"Right," you muttered, still watching him carefully, but you decided not to push further. Not yet.

"Um... coffee?" Reese blurted out suddenly, his voice still laced with that nervous edge. He offered a forced smile, clearly trying to redirect the tension hanging thick in the air. He rubbed his hands together, glancing toward the small, cluttered kitchen. "I could make us some. Might help, you know, after everything you’ve been through."

You hesitated, still on edge from the strange noise outside and his quick, jittery explanation. Something didn’t feel right, but you weren’t sure if pushing him now would help or only make things worse. You forced a smile of your own, your mind still racing with questions.

"Sure," you said quietly, your voice flat as you tried to calm your nerves. "Coffee sounds good."

Reese nodded, too eagerly, and moved toward the kitchen, fumbling with an old coffee pot. The clattering of cups and the rush of water filled the silence, but your mind was still focused on that noise outside. A dog in the shed? It seemed like a weak excuse, but you didn’t know him well enough to push it.

You leaned back into the couch, the worn fabric sinking beneath you as your eyes drifted toward the back door. You couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off, that maybe Reese wasn’t telling you everything. You forced yourself to take a deep breath, trying to keep calm. You were exhausted, but you couldn't let your guard down.

Reese finished brewing the coffee after a few moments, bringing it over to you in a green, cracked mug. You took it from him with a polite smile, setting it down on the coffee table untouched. The steam curled up from the cup, filling the small room with the faint scent of stale coffee. Reese sat across from you, sipping from his own mug, but you couldn’t help but notice how distracted he seemed.

He kept glancing toward the window, then back at his watch, over and over. Each time, his face tensed a little more, as though he were expecting something—or someone. Your wariness only grew.

What is he looking for?

The air felt thick with unspoken tension, and your mind raced, trying to piece together what was happening. You couldn’t shake the feeling that the noise in the backyard wasn’t as innocent as he’d made it sound.

"So…uh, what’s your dog’s name?" you asked, trying to keep up the conversation and maybe get him to reveal more. Your voice was casual, but inside, your nerves were on high alert.

"Dog? What dog?" Reese said absentmindedly, his eyes still glued to the window. His response was automatic, dismissive, as if he hadn’t even registered the question.

"You...said that noise earlier was your dog? Right?"

A few moments passed in uncomfortable silence, and then you saw it—realization hit him like a brick. His eyes widened as he turned to look at you, panic flickering across his face.

You sat up straighter, your heart starting to race. He’d lied. And now he knew you knew.

"Uh, I mean—" he stammered, his voice shaky, "I meant, uh, Rex. Yeah, his name’s Rex. Sorry, I’m just… distracted." He forced a weak smile, but the panic was still there, clear as day. He wasn’t fooling anyone.

You shifted uncomfortably, the tension in the room thickening with every second that passed after Reese's panicked slip. His eyes kept darting between you and the window, as if something outside demanded his attention. Your pulse quickened as the uneasy feeling deepened. Something wasn’t right, and you knew you had to get out of there.

"I should…go," you said, forcing a smile as you slowly stood up, trying to keep your voice casual. "Y'know... Xavier’s probably found the phone booth by now. I should go back and meet him."

Reese blinked, his expression tightening for a split second. The forced calm he'd been trying to maintain wavered as he set his mug down on the table a little too quickly, the clink of the ceramic against wood echoing in the silence. "Go? Already?" He scratched the back of his neck again, his voice strained. "I mean, it’s cold, and it’s not safe out there… Maybe you should wait a little longer."

You swallowed hard, feeling the anxiety rising in your chest. Every instinct told you to get out, but you had to keep your cool. "Thanks for the coffee and everything, but I don’t want Xavier to worry," you replied, taking a step toward the door. "I’ll be fine. I’ve been through worse, remember?"

Reese stood up as well, his movements stiff, like he was trying to decide whether to stop you. His gaze flickered toward the window again, and his voice dropped. "Yeah, I get it. But, uh… maybe just a few more minutes. You don’t want to be out there alone, do you?"

You glanced toward the door, your heart pounding in your chest. The unease that had been lurking beneath the surface now felt like a solid weight pressing down on you. Something was very wrong, and you needed to leave—now.

"No, I’m leaving. Thank you for everything, but I need to go," you said, your voice steady despite the panic bubbling under the surface. You tried to move past Reese, your eyes focused on the door, your heart pounding with the hope of reaching it before things got worse.

But then Reese stepped in front of you, his whole demeanor changing in an instant. "No," he said flatly, his voice suddenly devoid of the awkwardness and sheepishness he’d shown before. His tone was cold, almost emotionless, as he closed the distance between you with startling speed.

Before you could react, you felt it—the cold press of metal against your neck. Your breath caught in your throat, and your body froze as the unmistakable sensation of a gun pressed hard into your skin.

"You're not going anywhere," he hissed, his voice low and menacing. His earlier nervousness was completely gone, replaced by something dark and dangerous. "Sit back down."

Your heart raced, your mind scrambling for a way out, but all you could feel was the sharp edge of fear coursing through you. You swallowed hard, trying not to move too quickly, knowing that with one wrong step, things could spiral even further out of control.

"Reese… please," you whispered, barely able to keep your voice from shaking. "You don’t have to do this."

His eyes flickered with something—anger, desperation—but his grip on the gun didn’t waver. "Just sit down, and no one has to get hurt."

Your mind raced, searching for a way out, but for now, all you could do was comply and hope that Xavier was still coming for you.

"I promised them a girl..." Reese muttered, his voice trembling slightly, though the gun still pressed firmly against your neck as you looked up at him from the couch. He glanced away from you, his guilt briefly flickering in his eyes. "Then you just... happened to be there. Right place, wrong time, I guess. So...this is how it has to be."

His words hung in the air, cold and final.

"I’m sorry," he added, though there was no comfort in his apology—just a hollow attempt at easing his own conscience.

Your breath hitched as you tried to process his words, the full weight of the situation crushing down on you. He wasn’t just some awkward guy helping you out of kindness. He had been waiting for someone—anyone—to fill a promise. And you had walked right into it.

As you stood there, your heart pounding in your chest, the cold barrel of the gun pressed against your neck, the door creaked open. Another man stepped into the room. He was taller than Reese, with a thick, rough appearance—his face shadowed by the dim light. His eyes swept the room, landing on you, taking in the situation with a detached indifference.

"Is this the girl you promised?" the man asked, his voice low and gruff, as if he’d been through this kind of scene too many times to be surprised by it. His gaze shifted briefly to Reese, then back to you, narrowing with interest.

You felt a chill run down your spine as his question hung in the air.

Reese didn’t move the gun from your neck, but you could feel the tension in his body shift as he glanced over at the man, clearly nervous about his arrival. "Yeah, this is her," Reese replied, his voice tight. "I just… need a few more minutes to get her to cooperate."

The other man stepped closer, his boots heavy on the floor. His eyes raked over you, cold and calculating. "No time for that," he said flatly. "Get her in the basement. You know how this works, Reese."

Your pulse quickened, fear gripping you tighter as you looked from one man to the other, your mind spinning with panic. What were they planning? You needed to find a way out, and fast, before things escalated even further.

"You’re making a mistake," you said, your voice shaking despite your best efforts to stay calm. "Someone’s coming for me. If you don’t let me go, it’s going to get a lot worse for both of you."

As the weight of your words hung in the air, you weren’t even sure who you were referring to in that moment—Sylus, the man who had kidnapped you in the first place, or Xavier, the one coming to save you. Both names were tangled up in your desperation, your mind too frantic to distinguish between them. All you could do was hope that the threat would ring true, that it would be enough to make Reese think twice.

The taller man smirked, clearly unimpressed. "We’ll see about that," he muttered, turning his back toward the door to pull up the carpet, leaving you alone with Reese and the gun still pressed to your neck. You watch as a metal trap door with a handle is revealed to have been hidden under the carpet and you gasp.

Instinct kicked in, and without thinking, you twisted suddenly, using the brief distraction in Reese’s hesitation to try and break free. You shoved his arm away with everything you had, knocking the gun off balance. For a moment, you thought you had a chance, adrenaline flooding your body as you fought with all the strength you could muster.

"Let go of me!" you screamed, thrashing and kicking as hard as you could. Your elbow connected with Reese's side, and he let out a sharp grunt, but his grip tightened. His face twisted in a mixture of frustration and fear, and he fought back, grabbing your arm and wrenching you toward him.

"Stop it!" Reese growled, struggling to maintain control, but you weren’t going down without a fight. You kicked at his legs, but his hold on you only grew stronger.

The door to the basement creaked open, and before you could react, the taller man reappeared, grabbing you by the other arm. His grip was like iron, and between the two of them, they overpowered you. Your heart pounded as you screamed and clawed, your feet scraping against the floor, but the force of their combined strength was too much.

"No! Please—" you gasped, trying to twist free, but they dragged you toward the open door.

The tall man grunted with effort as they forced you toward the dark, looming stairwell. "Get her down there already," he growled, his tone sharp and impatient.

You struggled even harder, but your muscles were weakening, the adrenaline starting to fade as fear took over. They shoved you roughly down the narrow staircase, and you stumbled, catching yourself against the damp wall. The dimness of the basement swallowed you whole, the air cold and musty. You could feel the fear wrapping around you, tighter with each step they forced you to take.

The taller man was close behind, his heavy footsteps echoing in the cold, damp basement. You felt his rough hand grab the bottom of your nightgown, his fingers curling into the fabric. Panic surged through you as his cold hand snaked across your belly, the touch sending a shiver of disgust up your spine.

You screamed, thrashing wildly against his grip, but his strength overpowered you. The man leaned in, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered, "Wouldn't hurt to try her out before the boss gets here..." His voice was thick with lust, and his eyes gleamed with a hunger that turned your stomach.

His hand slid lower, his fingers beginning to snake inside your underwear. You could feel his hard on pressed against your backside. Fear and revulsion took over, and you knew you had to do something—anything—to stop him.

Thinking fast, you blurted out the first thing that came to your mind, your voice desperate and shaking. "I'm bleeding! I'm on my period!"

The words seemed to stop him in his tracks. His hand paused, the twisted hunger in his eyes faltering for a moment as confusion flickered across his face.

"You’re what?" he muttered, his brow furrowing. His grip loosened just slightly, enough for you to take a sharp breath, your heart still racing.

"I’m on my period," you repeated, your voice trembling. "It’s—it’s bad. You don’t want to do this right now."

For a brief second, his disgusted expression told you that he was weighing his options. The thought of period blood clearly repulsed him, and his hand slowly pulled away from your underwear, his lips curling in frustration.

"You’re lucky," he growled, wiping his hand on his pants, his face twisted with disdain. "But don’t think that saves you."

His hand shot up before you could react, grabbing a fistful of your hair and dragging you across the rough concrete floor toward the makeshift shower installed in the corner of the basement. Your scalp throbbed with each pull, the pain sharpening with every step, but you bit your lip, refusing to cry out.

He threw you against the cold, damp wall, the chill seeping through the thin fabric of your nightgown. You barely had time to catch your breath before he twisted the rusty shower handle. Water burst from the nozzle, freezing and unforgiving.

“So filthy,” he sneered, standing over you as the icy water soaked your clothes, plastering them to your skin. “Maybe this will help?"

The cold bit into your bones, and you hugged yourself, trembling, struggling to stay upright as the water pounded down. He stood there a moment longer, watching with twisted satisfaction, before finally turning away, leaving you shivering on the cold, wet floor of the basement.

Sobbing on the cold, unforgiving basement floor, you shiver, your body pressed against the damp concrete, each breath heavy with despair. The chill seeps into your skin, a numbing cold that echoes the hollow ache inside you. Your tears fall, silent and unnoticed, merging with the grime beneath you as exhaustion pulls you deeper into its grip. In the silence, a desperate wish slips through your mind for someone to save you—anyone, even him.

Though Sylus had stolen you away, his presence now haunts you like a ghost. In this unbearable solitude, even the memory of him feels like a twisted solace. You long for his shadow, for those red, gleaming eyes that once pierced through the darkness, and his stark white hair, a glimmer against the void.

At least he gave you warm baths.

The thought slips through your mind, shame twisting in your chest. How could you even think of Sylus now, when poor Xavier was likely out there, rushing to save you, unaware of the torment you’re enduring? Guilt coils around you, tightening with every heartbeat, yet you can’t shake the cruel comfort of that memory. Sylus, for all the wrong he had done, had never left you to freeze, never left you to shiver and break alone.

Your vision blurs as the weight of everything crushes you, and you can almost see him—an apparition of salvation in your mind. His image flickers, vivid and sharp, as your consciousness begins to fray at the edges. The world slips away, piece by piece, and the cold wraps tighter around you.

The cold water finally stops.

In this fading moment, you cling to that impossible hope, that he, with his red eyes and cold hands, might come for you—if only to save you from a fate worse than death.

[crystalliumdaisy]

redesigning star dresses part 1!

part 2 and part 3

notes and individual pieces below <3

keep this in mind i love the og stardresses! i just wanted to challenge myself and i’m an inspiring fashion designer!!! my goal was to create dresses that reflect the spirits and u could easily match them up.

these were my initial sketches, i wanted every dress/outfit to have a different colour and silhouette to make them more recognisable.

aries ~

- pink was the obvious choice for a colour. I didn’t want to use any major black like in the og design because aries design is so light and bright!

- i really think the og stardress hair is lacking. A fun fluffy 80s hair adds to the whole sheep aesthetic and creates a different silhouette to other designs.

- the 80s hair also inspired a more 80s look with fluffy legwarmers and big hoop earrings.

- i also wanted to bring in those pink pompoms on the side of aries dress so i made them star shaped and put them in lucy’s hair

taurus ~

- why put her in a bikini if she’s a cowboy??? this haunts me everyday.

- I couldn’t put her in mainly black and white cos that’s virgo i comprised and landed on a brown.

- for inspiration it was pretty obvious to go with a cowboys and the wild west! i always disliked the one leg pants her og design has so i modified it to a cut out.

- her og design was a mix of the aquarius and scorpio one and it always didn’t stand out to me, so i think by exaggerating the cowboy aesthetic it stands out much more.

gemini ~

- her og design is actually one my favs. so i really only made minor changes

- the colours stood out against other dresses and were easily identified as gemini. the dual colour symmetrical dress is a great way to reflect the double spirit.

- Gemini is a pretty symbol spirit so to reflect them i used circular shapes and organic lines. i changed the head piece mainly because i struggled drawing it but i realised it made the design too top heavy anyways.

- i extended the dress width and length mainly for silhouette reasons (she wears so many skin tight dresses) as well as to give a nod to the dresses the alternate geminis wear.

cancer ~

- my issue with cancer star dress isn’t the dress itself. I actually love the dress in the manga. it’s the colour. WHY IS GREEN?!?

- if it weren’t for the symbol i wouldn’t be able to match this dress with cancers design, so it had to change.

- other than that there’s no major differences, the ribbon tie is meant to resemble scissors, i love the claw shape hair ties in the og design so i brought them back and i brought the stripes in cancers top to her bow.

leo ~

- i was inspired by beauty and the beast, in the movie the beast kinda looks like lion.

- i swapped the yellow and black in the og design since it has a pretty similar colour story to virgos dress. The og kinda gets lost next to leo since the black doesn’t have variation and leo is in a deep black too.

- i wanted to make her hair bigger like a lions mane and curled around her face.

[deansapplepie]

Till THE DEAD do us part |Chapter 13

A/N: This story will take place in all the seasons, but it’s not exactly a rewriting cause I’d have to re-watch everything to use the exactly lines of the characters, also I think it’s better if I tell a side story without changing the main facts of the story. This story has a Female Reader, but I don’t describe her appearance, so anyone can identify with her.

Chapter 12 Chapter 14

Series Masterlist Main Masterlist

Chapter 13: This group’s broken

Summary: Randall is still a problem the group needs solve and come to an agreement about. The happenings of the barn is still something shaking some people. Feelings and traumas from the past comes to haunt Y/N making her anxiety boil and overthink a lot.

Warnings: swearing, angst, death, mentions of violence, gore, suicide attempt (not narrated, but mentioned), mentions of depression, mentions of torture, mentions of execution, traumas, anxiety, mentions of abusive relationships, fear of abandonment, brief discreet mentions of sex, loss, grief. Minors do not interact.

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Grimes!Reader (Rick’s Sister)

Word Count: 5,834

Extra notes: I proofread the text, but English is not my first language, so feel free to correct any mistakes, of course with love. Also, there’s a bunch of warnings in this one but there’s also fluff, comfort and a bit of fun.

Finally Randall’s leg was well enough so he could survive alone in the wild that was Earth now, so Rick and Shane would carry him miles away from the farm and release him. You weren’t very happy about Rick going alone with Shane.

“Let me go with you, please.” You pleaded Rick for the millionth time, Shane wasn’t someone reliable anymore, you couldn’t risk losing your brother again and have Shane coming back with some lame excuse how he made for Otis.

“Y/N, I’m the one here with self defense skills, not you. I can handle myself well without you. I need you here.” Rick said, and that would be the last time he would tell you, he was losing his temper already. “No discussion.”

“Be careful, please. He’s dangerous.” You hugged him and gave him a kiss on his cheek.

“I’ll be, don’t worry. I need this time alone with him. I’m coming back.” He assured you and hoped it would really turn out like this, because you could see the madness in his eyes, and by how we was obsessed with Lori… you didn’t doubt he would be able to do atrocities even to his ‘brother’.

After they left, you couldn’t get rid of the uneasy feeling you had on the pitch of your stomach. You were going to help around in the farm and in the house, but your mind couldn’t stop the worry. You were giving the horses water when you heard a knock on the stables door, you look to your side and you saw Daryl. As much as the idea of scaring you was tempting enough, he chose not to do so.

“Just wanted to let ya know I’m gonna hunt, maybe bring somethin’ good.” He approached you.

“Ok, be careful, please and don’t come back late. I’m already worried enough by Rick.” You said, then looked both sides and didn’t see anyone around. You tiptoed and pecked his lips.

He blushed, he had been doing way more than this with you and he blushed because you gave him a small kiss inside a stable where the only witnesses were the horses. He knew you were worried about Rick being alone with Shane, things between you and Shane had gone bad since the day of the happenings of the barn and it was just going down. When Daryl told you one night that he thought Shane had killed Otis, things spiraled really quick and you started seeing Shane with different eyes, many attitudes from him made sense actually. He wasn’t the person that you used to know anymore.

“Dun worry. Rick’s tough, he basically came back from the dead, nothing bad is happening to him.” He said, he could practically read your mind and know everything you were thinking about it.

“And you?”

“Me too. I’m gonna be careful. I promise, I’ll be back in one piece.” He gave you a quick kiss, you said your goodbyes and you went back to your chores.

Lori was inside the house helping with the chores and also helping Maggie taking care of Beth. She was still not good, she was in a state of depression that got all of you worried. Lori was preparing a lunch for Beth, so you were around the kitchen with her and Maggie. Maggie was talking about Glenn with Lori, you decided to not participate of the conversation, but you were listening to everything. Lori was more experienced on the topic of relationships, you knew what was good or not, but just theoretically. Until now you had had just one boyfriend before Daryl and it was a shitty experience, so you didn’t know if you had something wise to say even though you were older than Maggie. You thought it was a bit too much when Lori said that Glenn should man up, imagine saying it to the young man, he would be sad or really offended, or both.

“Glenn is just scared, he’s a good guy. You’re probably his first love, I can’t say it for sure, but that’s what it seems. He’ll overcome this fear of him. Don’t worry.” You passed an arm on Maggie’s shoulder and gave a little squeeze on her arm to reassure her.

“And how about you and grumpy man? Have you already said the words?” She elbowed you playfully.

“Hmm… no. Not exactly. I don’t know if it’s like this.” You said, you were always reserved about your personal matters, always keeping everything to yourself, afraid to let people know your feelings or to be exposed and feel weak. But maybe, some girl talk wouldn’t be that bad. “He said the other day I was his and I also said it to him…” You paused thinking if you’d say the other thing that came to your mind to them.

“And…?” Lori asked. “We know there’s more. Spill it.”

“He… he said that his… you know… was mine.” You blushed instantly talking about it and thinking about it. Was it correct to tell such thing to others? You never knew what was ok, and what wasn’t, but it’s not like if you were telling all the sordid details of what you two did.

Lori made a face as if she was thinking ‘wow, the man really have some balls’ and Maggie just had a fit of giggles, giving you a side hug and squeezing you. “It’s almost the same thing as saying that 3 words.” Maggie observed.

“It isn’t, this is possessiveness which is normal in relationships even the healthy ones. But anybody can have this without love.” You told Maggie, she was young, probably didn’t have unhealthy relationships she wouldn’t know. You were maybe 8 or 9 years older than her, it was a different experience, especially with broken people.

“Well… everybody can see, but we can’t stop you from being stubborn. I need to go help Glenn, but if you need anything you can call me.” She said and then turned to Lori. “Thank you so much for helping with Beth.”

“It’s nothing really.” Lori said and got the tray to give lunch for Beth.

You stayed at the house and helped Lori at the kitchen, you washed some dishes and cleaned and organized the room. After one hour or so, Lori went to Beth’s room to get the tray back. She came back with untouched food, Beth couldn’t continue like that. When she was throwing away what Beth didn’t eat, she suddenly stopped and ran from the kitchen.

“What happened? Lori?” You asked her, but she was already gone. She came back a knife in hand and in a rush.

“Go and Keep an eye on Beth. I’m gonna bring Maggie or Hershel.” She said and left.

You left the kitchen and went to Beth’s room, on your way you put the pieces together and realized Beth had hidden the knife and was probably going to attempt something against herself. Soon Lori arrived with Maggie and Andrea, Maggie asked to be left alone with Beth and all of you went back to the kitchen.

You were trying to be in good terms with Andrea again, so you decided you’d try not to talk back at her when she said stupid things, even though they were talking about Beth. You just stayed there watching while they talked Andrea thought Beth should make her own choice, which is very different from what happened with her. Beth is just a kid and she’s not dying because she was bitten, so why let her commit suicide? She should be talked to and taken care of to help her get better. You bit your tongue trying to not express yourself, but you just couldn’t contain it when Andrea brought up the fact that Lori had her husband back, her child was saved, she had a baby on the way and had a ‘boyfriend’. And Andrea had to finish bringing you up in the middle of the thing, did you disagree with her? Yes. But did you say anything about it? No, just on your mind. So why bring you to the discussion?

“And you…” She pointed at you startling you at the suddenly call. “You have your brother, your nephew, a new nibling on the way and you’re fucking Dixon like rabbits, you would never understand.”

“Andrea, are you serious? I wasn’t even in the discussion. Why do you always involve me in your shit? You don’t get to speak like this to Lori, we had a lot of blessings, but we also suffered like everyone else. Do you think we were happy the whole time we thought Rick was dead? Or that it didn’t cross our minds that Carl was going to die? You think we didn’t suffer because of Amy, Jim, Jacqui, Sophia or all the others lost we had along the way?” She said everything she wanted to Lori and now she was going to listen to you. “And why do you mind who I fuck? You’re fucking Shane, and nobody told you a word. Mind your own business.”

You almost didn’t stop to breath while the words just came out of your mouth like a waterfall. “I wasn’t going to say anything regarding Beth, but she’s only sixteen. She’s a kid, we have to protect her and try to help her get better, and not encourage the way out. Andrea, I think we’re never going to be in good terms again, there’s no way. You’re not the same anymore.”

You left the house and went back to the camp, finding Carl and Luna playing with a stick. Carl had been acting colder and colder in the last days, it was good to see him being a kid, even if it was for a brief moment. You played a little with them, but to be honest you were still nervous about Andrea and worried about Beth.

After 30 minutes, maybe one hour, you didn’t know exactly, you heard a commotion in the house. You told Carl to stay there and ran to see what happened. When you arrived to the source Lori and Maggie had just opened the door to the bathroom and there was a crying Beth, hand on her bleeding pulse, asking for help and saying she was sorry. You learned Maggie had left Beth alone with Andrea and it was her biggest mistake, because she left the girl alone and God knows what she said to her. Maggie had a fight with Andrea and told her to never again step in the house. You were done, your stress level was up on the sky already.

When it was almost getting dark you saw Daryl coming back, you walked in his direction happy to see him and have an excuse to not be in the camp, hence near to Andrea. You met him halfway, he had some rabbits and squirrels, you knew it probably wasn’t what he really wanted but you were grateful for any meat that he brought back.

“I thought you’d never comeback.” You said walking by his side.

“I said I’d comeback.” He answered and took a quick glance at you. “Jus’ didn’t wanna comeback without something.”

“We’re all grateful to you, bringing meat or not.” You said while you arrived the small camp of yours.

He took everything he needed to start to skin what he brought and clean so it would be ready for consumption. You sat near him observing his work, you never tried, but now you had observed him doing it so much that you’d probably be able to skin something if you needed or wanted to.

“Wha’s wrong?” He asked still concentrated on his job. Once again, you were surprised on how he could know something was not right. “I can see all over ya that somethin’ is bothering ya.”

“Today was a stressful day” You propped your elbows on your knees and rested your face between your hands. You recalled all the situation with Beth and Andrea, and you just wish this day didn’t happen, and it was far from being one of your worst days.

“Wha’ happened?” He lifted his head from his work and took a look at you. You looked tired, everyone was always tired nowadays, but it was not only physical it seemed that your mind was also tired.

“Andrea was a bitch. I swear I tried to be on good terms with her again. And Beth tried the way out, I believe encouraged by Andrea. Maggie left them alone and Andrea also left Beth alone.” You gave him the short story of all that happened. “I should have gone with you.”

“Yeah, ya should.” That was his way of saying ‘I missed you’.

Soon you saw the car in which Rick, Shane and Randall left arriving back in the property. When you saw Rick getting off the car you felt relieved to see him, but apparently they had comeback with Randall. Shit, it wasn’t over. As soon as Daryl finished skinning and cleaning the hunt, you went to to the camp to meet Rick and know what happened.

Once you arrived you saw that Rick had bruises and cuts on his face, no way it was the kid, walkers? No. It was Shane. Damn, he had the audacity to attack Rick. You didn’t even think, you turned around, hot headed and ready to go look for Shane and beat the hell out of him.

“Where d’ya think ya’re going?” Daryl hold your arm stopping you to go anywhere. He knew where you were going, sometimes he could read you so easily that it surprised him.

“I’m going to give Shane hell, nobody gets to touch my brother.” You yanked your arm from Daryl’s hand, just for him to catch you again, holding his arms around you so you couldn’t go. That wasn’t the moment for you to be reckless.

“Y/N, do you think I was just beaten? I also beat him.” Rick reasoned with you.

“Either way, it wasn’t enough, he deserves worse.” You said, still fighting – in vain - in Daryl’s arm.

“Woman, stop. Ya’re being more hot-head and stubborn than me.” Daryl turned you around and hold you by the shoulders. “Look at me.” He commanded, and you looked at him, right in his beautiful blue eyes. “Don’t do anything stupid. He’s uncontrollable and ya know it. If he lays a finger on ya, I dunno what I’m capable of doing and I dun wanna find out.”

“Ok.” You answered and didn’t try to go for Shane, but you still felt like ending him. “Why did you bring the kid back?” You directed the question to Rick.

“He said he studied with Maggie. Which means he knows where the farm is.” Rick ran his hand on his face. “We’ll need another solution.”

The other day, after breakfast, Daryl went to the room where Randall was, he said he was going to talk with him. It was taking a long time for him to return and you were starting to get worried.

“Ok, that’s it. I’m going to see what is taking him so long to come back.” You told your brother.

“Don’t, the kid is handcuffed. There’s nothing he can do against Daryl.” Rick said standing on your way. “I don’t wanna you close to that guy.”

“I think you had said you’d stop treating me like a child, Rick.” You looked at his face and you could see there was something wrong. “Are you two hiding something? That’s it? Now you have secret agreements between both of you?”

Before Rick could say anything, you saw Daryl coming in your direction. Was that Blood on his hand? ‘Holy shit! What the hell have you done Daryl Dixon?’, you thought. He arrived telling you all the information he got from the kid, there were 30 in his group, they were violent and dangerous, they raped women. You followed Daryl to your tent, you could feel he was still angry, so you were thinking about what should be the best approach.

“D. Let me see your hands.” You requested and he started organizing his things to leave and go into the woods.

“There’s nothing to see, I’m good.” He said with some arrows in his hand.

“Daryl.” He ignored you.

“Daryl Dixon.” He ignored you again, stuffing things on his backpack, so you just got close to him silently and yanked his backpack throwing it on the ground.

“What the fuck Y/N?” He shouted at you, now you had his full attention.

“Stop, this shit! I’m talking to you, your hands are hurt! Let me take care of them.” You told him your voice high. He looked at you impatient. You took his hand and guided him to one of the beach chairs. “Sit.”

“I ain’t a dog.” He complained while you made him sit.

“So, why are you obeying me?” You threw back while you picked the First Aid kit inside the tent. You were playing with fire and you knew it.

He tried to get up while he mumbled something in protest that you couldn’t understand. But you were faster than him and pressed his shoulder down so he would sit again. You took the other chair and brought it close to him, sitting in front of him, your legs between his so you could be closer to take care of his hand.

“Gimme your paw, I mean, your hand.” You joked one hand extended on his direction waiting for him to give you his hand. “If I’m a puppy, you might as well be one. Or maybe you’re a Kitten, you are as skittish as one.”

He gave you his left hand very reluctantly, but he knew you would not let him be if he didn’t. You took his hand and saw how his knuckles were hurt, your heart ache by seeing his hand like this, but you also felt uneasy about the young man that was on the other side of his fist. You took some alcohol and wet a cotton swab to pass where he was hurt.

“It’s gonna hurt.” You alerted him, he didn’t say anything. He just observed your small hand holding his and tendering his wounds with the cotton swab, hissing when it hurt too much. “Did Rick ask you to do this?”

“No.” He answered, short… good he didn’t want to talk.

“Did he know about it?”

“Maybe.” He answered eyes on your hands now cleaning the wounds with boric-water.

“Or he did or he didn’t. Gonna take it as he did, he was acting suspect.” You stated, looking at your first aid kit for some ointment.

“Are ya angry at me?” He asked while you passed the ointment on his wounds.

“No, just concerned and upset. Gimme your other hand.” You took his other hand and started to give the same care. “I don’t like both of you hiding things from me.”

“ ‘m sorry, ya dun agree with what I’ve done, do ya?” He asked, head still down paying attention to you.

“Torturing isn’t right.”

“I didn’t have an option, we needed the information about his group.” You cleaned his other hand. “His group… the things he said they did… he’s not someone to be around or for us to let go, he knows where the farm is.”

“So, do you think we should kill him?” You asked a cotton swab passing on his hand.

“Yes.” He said, you were conflicted. You were always taught that killing was wrong, you can’t take life from someone. Unless it’s a walker, of course. Or, if your life is in danger. But execute someone? It sounded wrong, but at the same time… you should think about the group safety. “Don’t ya agree?”

“I don’t know… I think it’s wrong, but I also see that we’re out of better options.” You passed the ointment on his hand.

“Are ya comin’ to the woods with me?” He asked a little apprehensive that you wouldn’t want to be with him because you were upset.

“Thought you’d never ask.” You looked at him and smiled, no way you’d be stuck in the farm again in the middle of all the chaos.

You were having things done to go, when you saw Dale arriving followed by Luna swinging her tail. Dale came to talk to you about the decision of killing Randall, he wanted to know what both of you thought, and of course try to convince you otherwise if you thought the boy should be killed.

“I’m not sure Dale, really. At the same time I think we shouldn’t, I don’t see any other solution.” You said, despite you thought your opinion would not be so important in the end. Dale tried reasoning with Daryl to no avail.

“This group’s broken.” He said, and when you heard that… you couldn’t help but feel bad. Was really your group broken? Did Daryl think the group wasn’t good enough for him anymore? Did he want to leave? Would he leave without you? Would he even tell you if he decided to leave? Was he tired of you?

You were so caught up in your anxious thoughts that you didn’t even saw that Dale was long gone and Daryl was calling you so you could go. “Pup, what’s wrong?” He asked, his hand waving in front of you worried.

“Nothing.” You lied, and he knew you lied. “Let’s go?”

He got his things, you got yours, Luna followed you and you walked silently until you reached the woods. You were open and comfortable with Daryl, you always were and it even annoyed you some times, because you would speak whatever is on your mind, and in your opinion you said things you shouldn’t say. But you couldn’t talk about your feelings, or you tried not to, because of a bunch of insecurities clouding your thoughts. He wasn’t also very comfortable about talking about feelings, so it was understandable, but at the same time he felt uneasy if he didn’t know everything that’s on your mind. He held your hand and it startled you from your unstoppable thoughts.

“Ya lied again.” He didn’t took his eyes from the woods searching for any danger or possible hunt. His voice didn’t change the tone, there was no anger or negative feelings on his speaking.

“I don’t wanna talk about my feelings.” You said looking at your feet attentive to where you stepped, your other hand slightly brushing over Luna’s head.

“But I want to know what ya’re feeling. I need to.” He said, damn… did he sound vulnerable? Was he weak? He couldn’t allow himself to look pathetic and weak, but he also didn’t want to mistreat you. “ ‘m not good talking ‘bout feelings, but I always need to know yers.”

You stopped walking and you turned to him, now holding both of his hands, or more like his hands engulfing yours. “Be honest.”

“Never lied to ya.” He said looking at your face while you were looking down at your hands. “Look at me, please.”

You lifted your head, looking right at his eyes and all you saw was worry. You took a deep breath taking all the courage you had to speak. “Are you…” ‘not happy with me?’ You wanted to complete but stopped mid-sentence. “Do you wanna leave us?”

“Of course not. Where did this come from?” He asked, but before you could answer his mind started to put the pieces together. “That’s because I said the group’s broken, isn’t it?”

“Yes” you said, just that. Unable to say more or add anything else that were running like a tornado inside your mind.

“It wasn’t a lie. I think the group’s broken. Shane’s crazy. Andrea’s reckless and listens to Shane. Carol’s still broken because of Sophia. Glenn… if Hershel decided to kick us from the farm, he’d stay behind and I don’t blame him. This group isn’t like it used to be, not that we were perfect befor’ , we never were.” You took all his words putting everything together and trying to reason what he said. Still feeling uneasy. “Wha’s on yer head?”

“It’s just… when you said it, it seemed like you didn’t care anymore about the group or what happens with it.” You looked at his growing bangs that fell on his forehead, or you wouldn’t be able to say it if you looked at his eyes. “Or…” You paused, no, no, you couldn’t say what you were thinking not at all. You’d scare him, he’d leave you.

“Or wha’ baby?” You looked at his eyes again, and with the worry you saw a softness that you didn’t quite know what it meant. He never called you ‘baby’ outside of the sheets and it made your heart jump and butterflies fly in your stomach.

“Or…” you shifted your eyes to look at your hands, tears threatening to fall. Shit. Why were you so emotional and making a big thing of something this small. “That you didn’t want me and would leave.”

Things had been so good between both of you, that Daryl forgot you still had traumas from your past relationship, traumas that would trigger only when you were in a relationship and could experience things again. And now, was one of those moments. He couldn’t imagine half the shit you’ve been put through so you’d think he would leave you or that he didn’t want you, after he asked you to live with him, after he showed you his scars… after both of you broke so many walls that were built around yourselves.

He let go of your hands and hugged you, you always reassured him when he had his insecurities, now was the moment for him to do the same for you. “I ain’t leaving.” One of his arms was around your waist while the other was in your head bringing your face to hide between his chest and shoulder. “I want ya, and I dun see myself not wanting ya any time soon.”

It was as if a tap was open and the tears that were in your eyes fell making you let little sniffs and hold both hands on Daryl’s vest. “I told Rick, and I’m telling ya now, I ain’t playing with ya.” He didn’t put any names on what you had, he never said ‘I like you’ or ‘I love you’, he didn’t even know how to name what he felt or if he could feel any of those things. But he knew he wanted you, he needed you and he was going to protect you. He had already told you, you were his and indirectly that he was yours, but he couldn’t bring any of those words, these simple words scared him… So he said what he could manage to come out of his mouth. “We’re together.”

You took your face from his chest and looked at his face, he was serious, this wasn’t any sick joke. You should’ve known, you knew Daryl, he wasn’t like that… and you never doubted it. You shouldn’t start doing it now just because you had a relationship. He was not him. He was Daryl and you knew you could trust him. “I’m sorry. I think my period is close, or something…” It was probably something, but you could always blame the hormones, so why not?

He kissed the top of your head tenderly and looked at your face again, now you were better. You looked more like yourself when there wasn’t all those intrusive thoughts and anxiety. “What do ya say I teach ya a little bit of hunting and tracking?” He asked.

“I was waiting for the day you’d offer me this.” You smiled, your hands now resting flat open on his chest. “I’d love if you taught me.”

When it was close to sunset you and Daryl came back to the farm, you didn’t hunt anything as he taught you were still learning so it didn’t go good. He held your hand in his intertwining your fingers and you walked in silence, Luna leading the way in front of you sometimes stopping to wait for your slow asses.

In the moment you arrived at the farm Rick made a call, he was waiting for both of you to make a reunion so everyone could say their opinions about the boy Randall. Everyone except Dale wanted to kill the young man, Dale was extremely disappointed. You still didn’t know what to think about it, but you knew Dale was right.

“I’m with Dale.” You suddenly said and walked to stay by Dale’s side, even though you knew there was no way of winning the vote, you wanted to stay true to yourself. “He’s not his group and as far as we know he didn’t commit a crime that he deserves death penalty.”

You felt like you would combust at any moment just by the stares of Rick and Daryl that didn’t quite understand why you were siding with Dale and not thinking clearly about the wellbeing of the group. Shane also looked at you like you were insane, but you didn’t give a single fuck about it, so it was ok. The others were neutral at you. Soon Andrea also said she was with Dale, but in the end you three weren’t enough to deprive the group from killing Randall.

Everybody left the room to continue their activities, it was getting dark so Daryl, Rick and Shane would take the prisoner to do what they needed to. You were ready to descend the porch stairs when Daryl held your arm slightly and put you aside.

“We need to talk.” He said, and you already knew.

“Is it because I agreed with Dale?” You asked, you knew the answer. “Do you hate me because I disagreed from the group?” All that mattered was that if he would change about you just because you didn’t agree with them.

“Yeah, and I dun hate ya.” Actually it was quite the opposite, but he was concerned about your choices.

“I knew the majority of us would choose his death, my vote would make no difference. So I decided to stay true to myself.” You said, you could see understanding crossing his face by each word you said. “Just because I don’t think it’s right, it doesn’t mean it doesn’t need to be done.”

He nodded at you. “Alright, I ain’t upset. Go stay with Lori while we do this.”

You were with Lori when you saw the three taking Randall to the barn, you held your sister’s hand as a comfort for you. You weren’t going to see the execution, but knowing someone, a human being would be killed in the same place you were was scaring. You were comfortable killing walkers, they weren’t alive anymore, they were just walking corpses. In reality you thought it was merciful to kill the monster that once was a person.

“Don’t think much about it, it’s worse if you do.” Lori tried to calm your nerves, but it was impossible to not think about it.

After some time you didn’t listen to any gun shot and soon you saw Rick and Carl arriving to camp. Wait, Carl? Shit. Shit. Shit. Rick explained that Carl went there to see and that he was encouraging to kill the man. What was happening to the kid? He couldn’t lose himself so quickly like this. Rick wasn’t able to do this with Carl looking, so he postponed the execution.

“Where’s Daryl?” You asked, you saw everyone but him.

“He’s locking Randall again, he’s probably gonna be here soon.” As soon as he finished talking all of you listened to extremely pained screams.

Dale!

You ran in the direction of the screams, Daryl being the first to arrive started shouting for help. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. It was bad. All of you arrived almost at the same time and what you saw was heartbreaking, all his guts coming out of his ripped stomach. No. You cried. No.

“Hershel!” Rick shouted, the only thing he thought was you all needed him there to take care of Dale.

“It’s too late, Rick.” You said, tears rolling down your cheeks. You knew as much medicine as Hershel knew, both of you vets, the old man was just more experienced and have treated more people than you, that had only cleaned T.’s wound and took care of Daryl’s hands. “There’s nothing he can do.”

Hershel arrived and said the same thing, you couldn’t even move Dale. He was agonizing. Andrea pleaded that someone did something. Everyone was in pain by seeing Dale like that. He didn’t deserve this kind of death. Rick aimed his gun at Dale, it was best if someone ended this for him. You turned your back, you didn’t want to see, you had already seen more than you wanted to see. You wait for the gun shot, but before you listen to it there’s a raspy voice. “Sorry, brother.” And soon after Daryl’s voice the sound of the shot.

You were waiting for the shot. You knew it was going to happen, but you jumped at it a cry living your lips. You covered your mouth trying to muffle your sobs. You felt a pain in your chest, everybody felt it. There were cries, sobs and lamenting.

That night you cried yourself to sleep, and it wasn’t a peaceful one, even having Daryl’s soothing presence near you.

Dale was the group’s heart and now you felt like your group were definitely broken.

Wanna be add to my tag list? Let me know. (Please tell me if you want to be tagged on everything or just specific series)

Everything Taglist: @lilyevanstan1325

Till THE DEAD do us part Taglist: @sunnybunnyy2 @royaltysuite @isakyakiisak @milopenne @murdadixon

[darkangel1791]

Random Thoughts on The Falcon and The Winter Soldier:

I am aware that every line in every scene is there for dramatic and/or comedic purposes. So there's no need to point that out. It isn't that I didn't get the point or the joke. This is also nothing against Amy Aquino, who plays Dr. Raynor. This is just an opinion piece based on the reality that the show wants us to accept.

Trigger warnings for mental health and mental health treatment, and power dynamics.

From an actual standpoint of mental health and therapy, in 2024, Dr. Raynor is a terrible therapist.

So many reasons! Let's start with when she said to Bucky "The government wants to make sure you aren't gonna (mimes stabbing people)". A therapist, of all people, would always use their words! Always! Bucky communicates verbally, so the therapist must also. If she was afraid to say it to Bucky then she shouldn't have brought it up. Also, if she hasn't caught on yet that Bucky's major problem is that he was a killer and that haunts him, Bucky should have a different therapist. So she shouldn't have approached such a sensitive topic in such a flippant way. That would just make him shut down.

I think this plan about making a list and making amends with the 3 rules was something she put in place as part of his treatment plan. Doesn't seem like the sort of thing Bucky would come up with on his own, and I doubt that the government would condone him making contact with former Hydra members or families of his victims unless it was part of a sanctioned treatment plan, at least. That shows that as a therapist, she is results driven. If a results driven therapist asks if you're having nightmares, they will next want to know what you are doing to alleviate the problem. So Bucky most likely says no because he knows she doesn't actually care about the nightmares. They have probably already had that conversation once. When Sam asks the same question, Bucky says "All the time," without hesitation. Also, if she was any kind of a therapist, she would have asked enough questions to know that Bucky isn't having nightmares, he is having flashbacks, which is a different mental process.

"Give me your phone." No, absolutely not! That tramples on so many privacy boundaries, it is unreal! It is also a misuse of power, and the power dynamic, because what if he says no? She has the power to tell the government that he is a dangerous psychopath and get him locked away forever.

But, after invading his privacy in this way, she uses the information she gets to criticize and mock him? No. That is doubling down on the abuse of the power dynamic.

"What do you want now?"

"Peace."

"THAT IS UTTER BULLSHIT!"

Ummmmm, no. If a client is lying to the therapist, or to themselves, you deal with it in a completely different way. Yelling is never okay. Telling a person with mental health problems that you don't believe what they are saying, calling them a liar, is not treatment. She gives no context for why she thinks that is a lie, or why she thinks Bucky would lie to her. Or why she thinks that he would lie about that subject.

Finally, the notebook thing is absolutely passive aggressive. "You don't talk, I write." That is psychological manipulation. I can only imagine that whatever she writes is used in the weekly report she sends to the government. What if she writes that he is being uncooperative? The parole is revoked, he gets locked up. So she is putting him in a situation where he is forced to say something. But not about his true problems, nor will it be truthful information. We see that he lies to her when describing what he did to cross the most recent name off of the list. Which, of course he does! Along with that, step 3, being forced to identify yourself as the Winter Soldier and by name as who you are now, is incredibly dangerous and puts him in a very vulnerable position. That entire thing is completely out of whack with good, safe, mental health treatment.

I'm sure I have left things out, but this is long enough already. I'll do another post on the second session that we see.

Again ymmv, your mileage may vary. Meaning that these opinions are mine alone. They do not invalidate yours, or anyone else's who has written or spoken on the subject. No offense is meant. Your view of the subject is valid and I am not trying to negate that view by expressing my own.

In closing, when you first enter the office of a therapist, take pictures of, or write down, the information on the credentials they have displayed. If there are no credentials displayed, ask why and what their credentials are. If your therapist ever makes you feel threatened or ridiculed, don't go back! Ever! And report them to whatever organization their displayed licenses are from.

Dr. Raynor was a terrible therapist pt. 2

[tvchi]

Echoes of Intrigue: Prt 1

Villan

Lola

Disclaimers: DO NOT COPY OR REPOST MY WORK.

DO NOT TRAIN AI WITH MY WORK.

Warnings: Mature Audiences ONLY: 18+, Minors DNI- Kidnapping and Bondage.

Pairing: black male x black female

Word Count: 1942

A/N: So I'm fairly new to writing fan fiction and new to writing short stories. I began writing poetry and spoken word, then tried my hand at prose. I've been reading a lot of @megamindsecretlair 's stories as well as @thecapodomme 's story and I thought I'd try my hand. I have posted another short story that wasn't really fan fiction on my page before called The Challenge. I didnt cast it or anything this elaborate, but yea. I'm trying to get better at writing more stories and prompts really help. Casting my stories after writing them actually helps to keep me motivated so I thought this was a good marriage of the two forms. This story currently consists of two parts. I will lay the first part out and then link the second part (when I figure out how to do that lol). If these parts get positive feedback, then I'll force myself to develop the story even further and write the third. Your feedback is greatly appreciated because I'm really trying to get better. So Like, Comment, and Reblog if the spirit moves you. ❤️❤️🥰

Tags: @thecapodomme @writers-of-tmblr @melaninpov @spaceslutsworld @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @mymusicbias @the-black-label @master-builder42 @miraculously-dumb-bitch @megamindsecretlair @hopefulromantic1 @tranquilfandomer @thadelightfulone @vivalaorgasm

PART 1

The sounds of footsteps are heard in the distance. They are all too familiar. The cadence of his strides haunts my dreams. Always four evenly paced steps before a slight halt. It’s almost as if he’s deciding, studying, …. calculating. He absorbs me. Maybe that’s how he can take me time and time again. He knows how I squirm, how I walk, how I do my hair, and the next time I’ll need tampons. At least, that’s what happened this time. I went to Kroger to get tampons, while walking back to my car everything went dark. 

Waking up here would make this the fourth time I have been dragged here in thirteen months. I’m not sure what’s worse, the fact that I keep getting taken or that I haven't made any strides to stop this from happening. The hard, steel chair that I’ve gotten to know these past couple of months comforts me a bit. It’s about the only thing that hasn’t changed. Every time, there's a different warehouse, dungeon, storage site, or wherever this is. The lights are always dimmed but there’s always a change in hue from the little I can see through the blindfold. The smells are different, sometimes reeking of mildew and sweat. Other times, it smelled of must and concrete. This time it smelled of wood and dust. Every time I would wake up to this familiar cold chair, I rubbed the spot where I scratched lines into the legs with my nails, and that’s when I knew I hadn't been making this up. 

He steps closer to me. Barely touching me, he lays something down at my feet.  Maintaining minimal contact is a good way to avoid a scuffle and getting his skin under my nails. It’s also a good way to prevent me from noticing a scent or any identifiable body markings, but I have the smell of a bloodhound. Something is different. Something has changed. He doesn’t smell of the usual skin and sweat but of something recognizable. Something that I’ve smelled many times before but can’t quite place.  

    “Why me? Why are you always doing this to me? Have I done something to you,” I say hoarsely. 

I tried my best to keep my voice even. This was an attempt at a conversation, not a cry for mercy or an admonishment. He said nothing. He never speaks. 

 “I just want to know why you keep taking me and then letting me go. Wouldn’t it be easier just to kill me?” I ask, measuring my breaths in between words. Calm. Even. 

He remains silent. That was irritating to me. The least he could do was reveal a sinister plot or threaten to kill me. He wields his power mercilessly, offering me nothing to hang on to not even the next minutes. There is nothing to look forward to but darkness. I can’t plan my prayers or meals or thoughts. I never know when I’ll go; whether this time will be the last. 

The heavy thud of his footsteps suggests that he wears construction or heavy hiking boots. He walks beyond me, hopefully, to retrieve some water or food now that I’m awake. Our last couple of encounters have convinced me that he can’t cook worth a damn. Each time even worse than the last. I never look forward to his sardine surprises, and sometimes, he mixes them with canned beans or cream corn. I imagine that he’ll stay away from the beans this time, being that he had to empty two buckets worth of shit last time. I didn’t feel bad or embarrassed either. Fuck ‘im. That's what you get for kidnapping a girl with a sensitive stomach. I’d kill for a sardine sandwich right about now, though. 

It fell silent for a while. 

That means this room is large or leads to other rooms. The problem is, I never can find a way out. I’ve only been freed because he had let me go. Once, some homeless men found me in an old sewage system. Another time, I was in a forest preserve forty-two miles from home and I hiker alerted the police. Yet another time, I was found by a janitor in the basement of a city mall that was getting renovated. This last time, I woke up chained to a different chair in the expressway facing oncoming traffic. That made the news. No one knew how I got there. No one saw anything. The street cameras were as useless as the people the police interviewed. Each time he frees me it gets more elaborate. This time, I don’t struggle or exhaust myself trying to imagine an escape. No. This time, I should start looking for patterns and motives. Who would do this to me? Who hates me so much to have me kidnapped once a month? I don’t make many enemies as a data analyst. I’ve worked on some high-profile cases recently, but no one gives credit to the data analyst who tracks the numbers and bank accounts of the bad guys. All the credit goes to the men in black or the blue windbreakers. He never asks for any information from me. This can’t be from work. 

“Not again,” I think as my heart quickens its pace. 

I feel him before I hear him. He walks back towards me. This time another sound accompanies him, a light yet sharp resonance. It is chow time. He sits the food down in front of me and removes the blindfold. It’s dark, with just a stream of light peeking through, reminiscent of those through a pinhole camera, to illuminate the cold plate in front of me. As I glance over my plate, his gaze brooding over me at a distance, I wonder how he could even see in the dark. He could go one living in the shadows, feasting on girls shopping at Kroger, dragging his spoils back to his layer. 

My inner thoughts are running wild at this point.

“Ok, focus on what you know, Lola,” I think. 

I don’t personally know any creeps who would keep doing this to me. I stopped dating entirely after the first time this happened. After the second time, I was scared to leave my house, so I had a therapist and a psychoanalyst come to my house three times a week to walk me through what happened and get me acclimated to going outside again. They claimed I wasn’t a true agoraphobe, I just had severe PTSD. The third time it happened, a bunch of shitty kids heard about my story and decided to go on social media and talk about how I was probably staging my kidnappings. The videos went viral. The police started coming by less and less and brushing off my case. I was no longer a priority but a possible psych case. I started thinking that maybe I was going crazy and perhaps I was staging these kidnappings, blacking out, and forgetting my elaborate plans for attention. I was enrolled in group therapy and started focusing on healing. After that, I started going out with the new friends I met in group therapy. I even managed to bump into the most thoughtful man on earth. 

“Shit, is Max looking for me? Has he called me? Did he go by the house?” my thoughts spiraling. 

“You should know that I’m on my period and I need to change my feminine products. Folks don’t think about that when they are kidnapping women. At least, I don’t think they do. You never really see it in the movies. No action movie that I have ever seen had a girl kidnapped in the thick of her menstrual cycle. You should call Paramount about that and show ‘em how it’s done. Representation and all that. Justice for the vaginas. Hashtag: me too, my period is not taboo!” I rambled. 

I do that when I’m nervous. I do that when there’s nothing else to do. Maybe it’s because I fear silence. I wonder if the last thing I’ll hear is nothing at all. I take another teaspoon of spam and throw it into my mouth, attempting to swallow it instead of chewing. I feel around for the glass of water he always puts beside the beef, being careful not to knock it over. Once I find it, I chug it down. It would be the last bit of water I’ll have until it’s time to eat again. He walks back to me and takes away the tray with the water and the plate of barely-eaten Spam. I try to look around as much as possible before he places the blindfold back over my eyes. I feel around for any loose object on the ground with my feet, hoping to find something that I could use to get me out of the zip ties he will place back around my wrists. I try to wiggle my way out of the ties around my ankles in a last-ditch effort. I give it the good old college try for tradition’s sake and then give up as his footsteps return. I wonder if he just saw all of that. I wonder if he was looking right at me.

He is back right in front of me now, and there is a pause for a moment, almost as if he is deciding on something. A moment later, he places the blindfold back over my eyes and lifts me out of the chair in one swift motion. We are closer now. And there it is again—Musk, sweat, and …sandalwood. I hold onto that as we walk about twenty paces and then turn a corner. Within five more paces, we come to a door. He opens it and sits me on what feels like a toilet. The lights are dimmed and he places a thin, square object in my left hand and a couple of thinner, tubular objects in my right hand. Wait, are these…are these feminine products? Had he granted a request? That was a …first. 

“I’m going to need to see or else there'll be blood everywhere. I would hate for that to happen, especially given what happened last time. We don’t have the greatest track record with bodily fluids,” I jest.  

There was a pause. A hare longer than the one before I was carried over here. He was contemplating again. The door slammed in my face when the blindfold was finally lifted, and the surrounding light dimmed significantly. I could tell that he was directly behind the door. He was probably watching, who knows, but I peed and changed. I feel clean and dry for the first time since waking up to this darkness. I am grateful. I also thought about what I could use to get out of those zip ties he’d place me back in once he noticed I was finished. I’ll shove the other two tampons in my boots for now. I’ll figure out what to do with these later. I knocked on the door to signal that I was done. He opens the door and carries me back to the chair. Once at the chair, he places my hands behind my back and zip-ties them. He ties the blindfold lightly over my eyes and places what appears to be extra water by my side before walking out of the vicinity. 

“Being extra nice to me, Sandalwood,” I taunt. “Must be the period thing.”

PART 2

[rhondafromhr]

wait wait, on the topic of brenda and grace. We have Grace slowly unlearning some of the things from her upbringing, but also, in what ways could Grace make Brenda worse? That would be very fun to imagine as well, I could see her being kinda the supportive girlfriend (she's on the cheer squad for a good reason), who supports when she really shouldn't and kinda enables.

Like, she let a lot of things slide under Max's rule, like Kyle fully did bully people and she was still into him (also fully supportive of him saying "fuck that guy" about a missing dude, granted Max sucked but still), so with Grace?

Listen, I could see it. And a fanatic freak like Grace having a ride-or-die girlfriend with social clout she can utilize, who has more social smarts? Deadly combo.

Plus, seeing some push-and-pull between them, as Brenda probably would not let the prom be cancelled, so Grace would naturally start bending a bit (and then possibly, if she's not prepared to actually loosen up, making up interpretations for bending said rules, like how in the ending of NPMD, she gets to both express herself sexually now without ever being "tainted" as she's the judge and executioner, not "dirty" like them)

Absolutely!!! Grace healing and unlearning some of the more harmful ideas she’s internalized but still being a little unhinged is everything to me. I love the thought of supportive/enabler Brenda cheering Grace on even when the things she does are questionable. And Grace having Brenda’s social leverage and smarts on her side?? They would absolutely be the new power couple in school. They might even be able to usurp Max’s place without any haunted house pranks or accidental murders.

It’d be so interesting to see how the conflict over canceling the dance played out, too (that could be a really fun fic, I think) and how Grace either bends or justifies why it’s okay to let the dance happen and go without actually changing her views on it. Maybe she could see it as an opportunity to identify which of her classmates are “dirty dudes” she needs to keep tabs on and keep in line or something. (Also in the timelines where she genuinely does loosen up a little and embrace going to the dance they play Hot To Go by Chappell Roan and Brenda teaches her the dance. Pink Pony Club, too, because that song is so “Grace if she distanced herself from purity culture and became a little freer” coded to me it’s wild).

I’m literally obsessed with this dynamic for them!!! The vibes are so perfect for Hatchetfield it feels like they could be a canon couple. Once again you understand them like nobody else, thanks for feeding my halocheer brainrot/pos

[buck-yyyy]

Ok as someone equally obsessed with the goldfinch, something that has always bothered me is why Boris so casually dismissed their teenage sexual relationship at the bar years later, when he has been known to be overtly more accepting of queerness than Theo. Are we supposed to interpret that as him actually dealing with his own denial and internalized homophobia? Or do you think he just knew Theo would be uncomfortable discussing it because of his obvious internalized homophobia, so he brushed it off to avoid putting Theo in that position? Or both, something else, idk? Let me know your thoughts! That conversation haunts me.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO FASCINATING (i'm so sorry that i'm answering this almost a month late)

so i just answered another ask talking about a similar topic (boris' internalized versus externalized homophobia, which you mentioned in your ask), but this is far more specific so i'm gonna focus on what boris is--hope that's okay fsdhjsjfdk.

i think that his flippancy about the sex was less so related to homophobia or theo's discomfort, and moreso about the fact that in all likeliness, boris doesn't care all that much about it. to be honest, i really doubt he thinks about it at all!

boris strikes me as the kind of man who would simply not care to devote any significant amount of time to unimportant matters in his life. he knows who he is, and what he does.

his mother his polish, and his father is ukrainian, and yet he considers himself indonesian. not because he's indonesian by blood or family, but because "Indonesia is the place [he] want[s] to get back to," and therefore that's how he identifies.

does that make complete perfect sense? not personally to me, no--i've lived in one country my whole life, and my lineage is rather clear, so i'm not able to understand how that would feel to him and dictate where he feels he's from. but boris has a complicated relationship with who he is and where he's from--meaning that the lines are messy and not 100% objective.

i think that you can apply a similar line of thought to his sexuality. perhaps he genuinely thinks that him and theo having sex was simply because they needed girls. i'd argue that doesn't negate him being queer.

maybe this doesn't make sense. i suppose i'm trying to say that boris is a very fluid guy, who organizes his identity in ways that are specific to how he grew up, in ways that are complicated and difficult to understand if you've never experienced anything similar. i think that his opinions on his own sexuality would follow similar guidelines.

boris wouldn't consider himself bisexual, or pansexual, or gay or omni or queer or any of the other words that we can apply to him from an onlooker's perspective trying to understand him in terms that make sense to us. boris sees himself in terms of situation and want--and if boris wants to fuck a dude, well. i don't think that he'd think himself any different than anyone else.

so yeah. i think he might fully believe that sleeping with theo was because they needed girls. but i don't think that he bothers to repress his sexuality. i think that his reasoning for sleeping with men and women isn't easily distinguishable as a defined sexuality, it's simply about what he wants and how he feels in the moment.

[haveamagicalday]

Top Ten Books Read in 2023

Continuing my tradition of blurbing/reviewing my top ten books read in the past year! Let's jump right in:

10. Tender is the Flesh by Agustina Bazterrica- In a not so distant future, all animals have been plagued with a deadly virus that makes meat obsolete. In a somewhat dramatic move, the government legalizes cannibalism which is marketed as “special meat”. Marcos works for a slaughterhouse where humans are treated as livestock. One day he is gifted his very own specimen and slowly begins to treat it like the human being she actually is. I'm glad I read this book and I probably will never read it again. I did know the plot and ending when going in and I wish I hadn't because I would have liked to know how I would have reacted to that final line. The way this book was written was probably one of the most fascinating parts. Very straightforward and presents things that are horrifying in a mundane way. I actually found myself unfazed when it came to the description of how the "meat" is processed which freaked me out more after the fact and got me really thinking. Am I crazy? Would I eat McDonald's newest McHuman if it were normalized and my only option? Hopefully I will never find out

9. House of Roots and Ruin by Erin A. Craig- This is a sequel to House of Salt and Sorrow that follows one of the younger siblings, Verity, from the first novel who is now a teenager. When Verity is offered a job painting a portrait for a Duchess's son, she jumps at the opportunity. While she grows closer to the son, it soon becomes clear that something is very wrong in the Duke's house. This was a hard one to rate for me but ultimately I gave it 4 stars. The first half was definitely 4 stars. I was eating it all up. I loved the creepiness of it all and the mystery of what was really happening with those experiments the duke was doing. The second half is where it went downhill a bit. I still flew through it. I read the second half in one sitting but some things were not to my liking. An unnecessary lust at first sight love triangle almost ruined things for me but I stuck it out and I'm glad I did.

8. Rouge by Mona Awad- A surreal take on the beauty industry with a twinge of Snow White. For as long as she can remember, Belle has been obsessed with her skin care routines. When her estranged mother dies, Belle must return home to take care of selling her apartment and dealing with her debts. Belle quickly learns that her mother has gotten herself involved with a mysterious spa that takes a keen interest in Belle herself. She finds herself entranced with the cult-like spa and the promise of beauty that they offer her. Rouge is perhaps a bit on the nose with its critique of the beauty industry but the surrealism of the story is memorizing and keeps you guessing throughout.

7. A Warning about Swans by R.M. Romero- Hilde was dreamt into the world by Odin and along with her five sisters, was gifted a cloak that allows them to transform into swans. Hilde is also given the gift to guide souls into the afterlife, a job she finds daunting and tiresome. When Hilde meets a penniless Baron, she strikes up a deal with him. She will conjure riches for him and in return, he will bring Hilde into the human world. This is beautifully written in prose and is a sweet little fairy tale about love and finding oneself

6. What Lies in the Woods by Kate Alice Marshall- Naomi used to spend her days playing make believe in the woods with her two best friends. But their games come to an end when Naomi is attacked. She survives with seventeen stab wounds and she and her friends help identify the perpetrator. But the three have a secret about that day that haunts Naomi in her adult life. When her friend Olivia confesses that she is ready to tell the world their secret, Naomi must return to the woods and unravel what really happened that day. This was a great thriller! It was very reminiscent of a high profile true crime case that happened about a decade ago. It would be too much of a spoiler to say which one but I saw the similarities right away. I also guessed one big twist very early on but I don't think that affected the book overall or the ending.

5. The Salt Grows Heavy by Cassandra Khaw- A mermaid comes ashore, marries a king and gives him daughters. Then the daughters devour the king and destroy the town. Now on the run, the mermaid travels with a mysterious plague doctor and together they encounter a strange town where children never age and worship three saints who control them. This novella was strange and gory and enthralling and I loved it all. TW: Body horror

4. The Stolen Heir by Holly Black- A perfect return to Black's Fae world. I love how dark she lets these books get while still remaining appropriate for the YA audience. This book takes place eight years after The Queen of Nothing and follows Suren, the child queen of the Court of Teeth who was held captive by her parents. Now she has escaped into the human world where she is content to spend her time undoing other fae's curses. But things change when Prince Oak shows up and asks for Suren's help on a dangerous quest. Suren must return to the world she had hoped to leave behind once again.

3. After the Forest by Kell Woods- What happened to Hansel and Gretel after they escaped the Witch? In this book, Greta has become a baker whose gingerbread is beloved but also feared for its addictiveness by the town. But Greta harbors a secret, Greta has kept the witch's grimoire and it speaks to her. When Greta encounters a bear in the woods, it sets off a series of events while dark magic comes creeping into the village. Greta must learn to harbor the magic inside of her if she hopes to save her home. This book went in a different direction than I thought it would based on the description but I absolutely loved it! I will say that the official blurb doesn't really mention the romance and while it isn't the focus, it is a large part of the book. This story is also inspired by Snow White and Rose Red and I loved how the two stories connected.

2. The Only One Left by Riley Sager- As usual, Riley Sager has delivered. In 1929, a shocking murder took place that left the entire Hope family dead aside from one daughter. Believed, but never proven, to be the killer, Lenore Hope now lives in isolation in her family's mansion. Fifty four years later, Kit is a health aid who is assigned to take care of the now elderly Lenore. Lenore is bedridden and almost completely paralyzed save for one hand. When Kit brings Lenore a typewriter, she is shocked when Lenore types out a tempting offer- I want to tell you everything. Kit finds herself deeply entangled in learning the truth of what really happened that night long ago. I absolutely loved the creepy gothic vibes and some of the twists truly shocked me.

1. We Shall be Monsters by Alyssa Wees- So this book doesn't come out until Oct. 2024 but I had the pleasure of reading an advance copy! At its heart, We Shall Be Monsters is a book about the relationships between mothers and daughters. This dark fantasy follows Gemma, a young girl who is forbidden to venture into the woods behind their house. One night, Gemma's life is turned upside down when she witnesses her mother taken by a terrifying monster into the woods. Now Gemma must journey into the woods to save her mother and break a fifteen year old curse that could end in her mother's death. Along the way, Gemma learns things about her mother and herself that she never knew. In alternating chapters we also see Gemma's mother as a teenager falling in love with a strange boy who lives deep in the same dark woods. Beautifully written, this fantasy novel reads like an old fairytale with some twists and a twinge of horror along the way.

[profblahson]

Dies Irae

Eight notes.

Hell, this theme can be identified in fewer, especially when you know what you’re looking for. But eight notes is about all it takes, and you’ve got yourself one of the most iconic themes surrounding death, horror, and the macabre.

Even if you don’t know it by name, you almost certainly know it by sound.

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This is the first post the month of spooky and macabre music for Spooky Season! I wanted to start off with a classic and widely-used piece (or chant in this case). I’m planning a few of these, so keep an eye out throughout the month!

Art by @nynehells , go check them out!

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What is the Dies Irae?

From Latin, “Day of Wrath,” this sequence is dated as far back as the 13th century. While who formally wrote the chant is not entirely known (originally attributed, however, to Thomas of Celano, but that is now debated), the text is clearly based on a Biblical passage, Zep 1:14-16. Below is both the Latin-English translation of the Dies Irae’s opening stanza, and the referenced Bible text.

The poem does in fact end on a more hopeful note, but the opening lines are harrowing, and where a lot of music draws inspiration.

This is the most typical variation of the chant, in d minor. Already off to a great start, as d minor is often called one of the darkest and saddest keys in the circle. The closeness of the starting pitches (Me-Re/F-E is only a half step) adds tension, and the whole step resolution to our home note (Te-Do/C-D) is weak, leaving our ears a bit put off. We don’t travel far - only the distance of a Perfect Fourth, another interval full of tension, with little release. All this combined with such intense lyrics, it’s no wonder the music is so commonly used with death. Sung as a slow chant, and you’ve created a menacing piece of music that has haunted the world over for literal centuries.

Dies Irae in Music

The Dies Irae is ubiquitous in classical music and horror/thriller scores. We’ll take a quick look at some of the more popular uses of the piece! Two classical pieces and two modern pop culture references.

Hilariously, for purposes of this post, the first two examples don’t directly use the Dies Irae chant; instead, they set the text to frenetic, intense music (and I also like them :) )

Requiem - Mozart

The Dies Irae is part of the Ordinary, and so it’s included in Requiems, which is a Mass for the Dead. Mozart’s Requiem was the last piece he worked on before his death (passed before completing it), and it’s a huge choral work.

The Dies Irae appears relatively early on, and it’s a mood changer. Fast, aggressive, chaotic…it truly sounds like impending doom.

The goal of this movement seems to make audiences feel the frantic energy of the text. It SCREAMS Day of Wrath!!

Requiem - Verdi

Another use of the frantic energy depicted in the text. Verdi’s Dies Irae is also loud, bombastic, and quite literally hits you hard right away. Hear that gun-shot bass drum and timpani! The strings absolutely fly by; Intense and fast chromatic lines in the trumpets sound as though they’re heralding in one’s doom. (This one’s my favorite btw)

Common to both of these examples: dynamics are turned up to 11, their tempi are fast and relentless, and both use wicked scalar motion which, combined with the speed, create a blast of sound that simply pummel listeners.

Some more recent uses of the Dies Irae in media up next! For these two, we actually hear the chant proper, not use of the text.

The Shining Theme

I mean, it's quite literally the Dies Irae! This movie even uses the second half of the chant that a lot of pieces and references don't get into. Right off the bat, hearing the Dies Irae, we know this film is going to include a lot of death (which is exactly what occurs). The main theme is played on this funky organ/synth, adding atmosphere, with little room for release.

Sweeney Todd

So, I’m gonna just link Sideways’ video on this musical, because he just does a better job than I ever could. Please watch this video because it’s oh so good.

The TL;DW of the video is: the Dies Irae is used throughout the music of Sweeney Todd. It’s literally baked into (pun intended) the score. Invert notes here, play it backwards there, change the rhythm a bit, or reharmonize it this way, and you can create an entire musical that hints at the themes of death right off the bat! It’s very clever writing.

Closing Thoughts

It’s obviously very difficult to separate the Dies Irae and the concept of Death, since even from its inception the text and music has, uh, been like that! The intense energy of the text lends itself to frantic music, and composers have taken advantage of this for a long time. Even when just hinting at the chant, the music takes on a more sinister, intense mood, and composers can take and morph the primary chant into what they want, while still implying Death.

I actually have two more classical pieces that use the Dies Irae that I’d like to talk about in a bit more depth separate from this post (plus this one is already long as is!). One of them is often cited as one of the first and most known uses of the chant to imply character death in the music; the other uses the theme a bit differently. I’m just excited to write and look at a bit more because they’ve got spooky and macabre elements!

Thanks for listening and your time!

[natmusic]

yesterday, I listened to an album called Split (1994) by Lush, and I really enjoyed it and wanted to share my thoughts.

Split is the first Lush album I've ever heard, and I found it while searching for new shoegaze to listen to. I tend to gravitate towards shoegaze that's a bit on the noisier / heavier side, but I also appreciate chorus-washed dream pop like Cocteau Twins. while the guitars never quite reached Loveless levels of fuzz and haziness (except that one section of Starlust, maybe), I was very pleasantly surprised by Lush's second full-length album. being a newcomer to the shoegaze label, I haven't quite identified what specifically can and can not be called shoegaze, but that just means I can discover a huge variety of sounds by looking for bands and albums that are categorized as shoegaze.

as someone who grew up on grunge, I immediately resonated with the album's messier and looser songs like Blackout, Hypocrite, Undertow, and Starlust. the band's ability to transition from a shouty, loud, messy verse to a softer and more washed-out chorus (Blackout) grabbed me quickly. Starlust was easily the highlight of the album for me, blending noisy guitars with ethereal textures. the drums set the pace and kept the song feeling grounded, but came undone during some sections with half-time to let the guitars run a bit wild.

while Starlust was my favorite track, many of the album's other songs offer a completely different atmosphere. impressively, this doesn't lead to a disjointed feeling because the dreamier / softer elements are present in all of their songs, and so are the heavier / messier elements. it's not that some songs on the album are heavy and some are soft, it's that some are heavier and some are softer. through this, Lush were able to craft an album with so much variety and quality within.

of the dreamier tracks, the standouts to me were Lovelife, Desire Lines, and Lit Up. Lovelife sounds like a very energetic and catchy pop song, but when you listen to the lyrics it takes on a sort of eerie quality (in the best way possible). the song also has some of the album's most unique and expressive percussion. the opening to Desire Lines, a seven-and-a-half-minute part-dream part-nightmare of a song, is so haunting and shows just how effective Lush is at writing simple yet impactful melodies. that wailing lead guitar still gives me chills when I hear it. actually, there are probably at least three separate moments on this track where I stopped whatever I was doing and just focused on the sound. that two-minute-long build-up starting at around the 3:00 mark is sooooo satisfying, and just loud enough to catch your attention and force you to listen to what the band has to say.

some songs didn't impress me quite as much, but I can imagine that someone with different personal tastes could find a lot to enjoy in Kiss Chase, The Invisible Man, and Light From A Dead Star. overall, however, the album was awash with tons of emotion, sounded both unique and stylish, and had so much variety to offer that it is hard not to recommend it.

-nat

just a note, this is my first album discussion and I don't mean for this to be a serious review or critique, I just wanted to get my thoughts about this album down somewhere and I figured maybe someone out there would be interested. ty for reading :)

[jimintomystery]

Byakuya headcanons

[Above: When you tell them to stop being poor but they keep doing it anyway]

Took me a while to warm up to this twerp. Then again, I have some experience with finding the charm in smug aristocrats in unlikely found family situations...

This is kind of an easy one, but I like to think Byakuya has more affection for his surviving classmates than he cares to admit. They all know that, to one degree or another. So they put up with him treating them like lowly employees, and he puts up with them treating him like an equal.

Byakua spends a good chunk of Trigger Happy Havoc biding his time, waiting for the right moment to "win" the Killing Game with the perfect murder. The fourth trial changes his mind, and after that everyone pretty much lets bygones be bygones. But Byakuya's never forgotten what he intended to do, or how thoroughly he planned it. The closer he gets to the others, the more it haunts him, and he doesn't talk about it.

I don't have any specific ideas about what sort of murder Byakuya was planning. But when I watched chapter five I became certain he was the killer, until the twists at the end. The timeframe of the murder largely depends on Toko's testimony, and it conveniently forces Makoto and Kyoko to break each other's alibis rather than work together towards a common goal. So I'd imagine Byakuya's perfect crime would look something like that.

I'm a big fan of the way Dan Avidan voiced Byakuya in the Game Grumps play-through. Nothing against the actual official voice actors for the character, of course. But after he gets the hang of it, Dan does this low, almost growly thing that adds so much seething contempt to the dialogue. For me it's the missing piece that elevates the character from Draco Malfoy to Baron Zemo.

Upon escaping the Killing Game, Byakuya thinks he's the leader of the gang. He is not. It's just easier to let him believe that nobody else can make a decision without his approval. What keeps this dork squad running smoothly is that he's not a complete tyrant, since he respects Makoto and Kyoko for their insight.

Byakuya is sharp enough to pick up on Makoto and Kyoko's feelings for one another, arguably before either of them do. On the other hand, he doesn't actually expect them to act on those feelings. (Byakuya does not read my fanfiction.) From his point of view, it'd be like if his gardener made a pass at his attorney--it'd never work out, and he wouldn't want either of them to get hurt, and more importantly it would reduce their usefulness to him personally.

It's hard for me to get a bead on Byakuya's relationship with Hina or Hiro, beyond the fact that they're all in the larger group. The lazy approach would be that they're not close to each other but they all have Makoto in common. But to me the interesting thing about this found family is the idea that everybody has a special attachment to everybody else, even if we only see them being rude to each other. So I choose to believe Byakuya has a unique bond to Hiro and to Hina, and I just have to keep digging to identify it.

Along those lines, I want to believe Byakuya cares--at least a little--for Toko. Don't get me wrong--he obviously despises the way she moons over him in front of everybody. And I'm hardly convinced he reciprocates her romantic feelings. However, Toko is a masochist that takes every compliment as an attack, and Byakuya is very observant. If he wanted to be nice to her, he'd treat her exactly the way he does treat her, and nobody would know the difference. (Well, Kyoko could figure it out, but I'm not sure she'd give a shit.)

I am intrigued by the fact Byakuya's family is part of some secret cabal that controls (controlled?) the world, which gives him access to a library full of secret knowledge he reads for fun. Kind of like when I read Time Life's Mysteries of the Unknown. I think he should have a peculiar interest in Atlantis or something goofy like that. Hmm, maybe that's how he bonds with Hiro...

I like the idea of the survivors going underground immediately after THH, and getting by on their own for a while before the Future Foundation locates them. To that end, I imagine them leaning on Byakuya's Illuminati-type shit. Like, his family had some secret underground bunker set up for the end of the world, so we might as well see if it's still intact. I also wonder if the troops he led in Danganronpa 3 were assigned to him within the Future Foundation or his own private army from his connections to the cabal.

Obviously a lot of these are still pretty half-baked. Maybe if all goes well I'll find ways to refine them...

[whumpy-bi]

Haunted, 1

Word Count: 593

Warnings: blood, zip ties, implied experimentation

Caretaker was doing his usual rounds, pacing the empty halls of the research facility he’d spent the last few weeks working at. He knew the place studied medicine and neurology, or…something like that, he never could get a straight answer. But they paid well for overnight security, and that was all he cared to know. The details were probably just beyond his grasp, that was all. Right?

He went to turn another corner, mumbling with annoyance at the locked door. Stupid key cards, they were getting so tedious.

Caretaker’s fingers stopped just before he swiped his card, his brow immediately furrowed. He heard something.

He looked over his shoulder, down the windowless basement hall. He hadn’t checked any of the rooms…he never had to, they were all maintenance and storage space. But he definitely heard something.

His lips began to part for a ‘hello?’ Before another noise startled him into silence.

A cold, heavy stone had fallen into his stomach as he identified the noise coming from one of the storage rooms. That was crying.

Caretaker mumbled to himself, swallowing hard. “Okay, the place is haunted. Awesome.”

Despite every thought in his mind telling him otherwise, Caretaker put his keycard back in his belt and approached the door.

“I’m hearing things. I’m hearing things, I’m gonna see that there’s nothing in there. I gotta sleep more. Only weird thing here is me, talking to myself, there’s gonna be an empty room—“

His voice broke off into silence as he opened the door. Even with the limited light from the hallway, what he saw was unmistakable.

There was a woman there. With her hands secured around a support beam with a zip tie, her clothes stained with sweat and blood, her eyes red and wide with terror—

As Caretaker began to step forward, the woman panicked. She whined softly, the sound long and drawn out as she started to frantically yank at her arms. Old cuts reopened as she moved, blood smearing over her wrists and along the support beam. Her legs twisted as she attempted to gain some footing, to get any distance between herself and the man approaching her.

Caretaker finally snapped out of his surprise, raising both hands and stepping closer. “Hey, hey, I don’t—“ He swallowed. What the hell was he supposed to say? “It’s okay, it’s okay! Hang on, I can—“

He rushed over, noting how the woman seemed to completely freeze up once he reached her. Once his pocketknife had cut through the plastic tie, she fell back to her hands and knees and scrambled back behind an old cardboard box. It wasn’t nearly big enough to actually conceal her, but she seemed to gain comfort from having any sort of barrier.

She watched as Caretaker slowly lowered himself down to one knee, his eyes soft and sad-looking. He looked strange, to her, his expression lacking any sort of malice or aggression.

“Hi, miss…I’m not gonna hurt you, okay?” He kept both his hands in her line of sight, resting them on his legs. “I didn’t think anyone was down here…how long have you been here?”

Her only response was a look of confusion. However long it was, she had lost track.

“Okay…” He swallowed again. “How did you end up down here, miss? What happened?”

The woman watched him carefully, her hands still trembling under her. “The—the doctors.”

Caretaker nodded intently, his jaw clenching and shifting as he made a quick decision.

He was quitting this fucking job, starting now. And he was getting this lady out.

[bpd-blorbo-bracket]

Nanase Yoshi (Nanashi) Propaganda

ok so this is MOSTLY just a case of "i relate to him too much" HOWEVER. i do have some Evidence.

nanashi is a self-identified shut-in and recluse with no friends. he very frequently makes inappropriate and seemingly compulsive comments that disturb other people (yeah it might be the autism(also my HC) but also it's Different you know. there's just something Extra to it). he is extremely self deprecating and he takes every opportunity to say so aloud-- much to everyone else's discomfort. at one point he is asked about his views on people, and he states that he views all humans as "priceless treasures" but himself as "worthless garbage". he often vocalizes how much he thinks other people hate him and want him to suffer as well, and he genuinely believes it, which yet again concerns his companions.

at one point, his companions discuss him while he is not present-- character A asks character B what they honestly think of Nanashi. character B replies with: "[…] Besides that, it's like he doesn't think, or doesn't have real interest in others. He just takes interest in people and devotes himself to them. He comes off like a program made to serve people. For all his nicknames, he really is "nanashi" — nameless. I can't see him as someone who has an actual self."

i feel like that quote alone already hits like half the symptoms list. fragmented/shallow/unstable sense of self. check. extreme idolization of others and absolutely abysmal self worth to go with it, needing to please others to feel of value. check. ok maybe that's only like 2 but it hits so hard as a quote. that line shook me so bad that i remembered it nearly word for word 8 years after i initially played the game. that's a direct quote from the official English translation by the way.

as for sudden mood shifts, suicidality, and sudden fits of violence-- it's major spoilers for the game but in the bad end he chokes a future version of himself to death on screen. there's a graphic for it and everything and that ALSO haunted me for years and years. and like it's a very interesting thing to consider but the way he did it felt like both a suicide and a murder. a murder borne of intense self loathing and staying in his own head a little too long (you get the bad end if he fails to force himself to interact with people and make friends).

i have one million things to say about nanashi because he is very much The Character Ever to me… but i will stop here because this is already getting pretty long.

[visceravalentines]

DEAR MEG

I think you wrote that you loved the movie Annihilation. If I misremembered, please feel free to ignore this asdfg.

I remember I saw it and I really enjoyed the visuals, and the terrifying mutated plant bear screaming with a human voice (that part was haunting holy crap) but besides those scenes I wasn't super scared???

Maybe my brain is too small to understand the horror of it asdfghjk

But anyway, what I wanted to ask is, what were your favorite parts of the movie, and what scared you? If you don't mind me asking!

Have a nice day!!!

SOL MY LOVE

thank u for sending me this ask it is so lovely let's talk about cool movies!!!

I love Annihilation the movie but I also love Annihilation the book!! they are very different, only the very basic characters and concept make it into the movie. which makes sense because the book is surreal and abstract and can be hard to interpret what is actually going on at certain moments, and that doesn't translate very well to the big screen. the book, to me, is far more unsettling than the movie. I will answer for both! brain explosion below the cut!

it's an absolutely gorgeous film, weird and captivating and creepy. I love the body horror, the found footage from the previous expedition where the man's intestines are moving of their own accord......incredible. that bear???? scares the bejeezus out of me every time I watch it. one of the scariest creatures I can think of in a horror movie, creatures don't usually freak me out. the sound it makes haunts me. and the bear is not in the book! the book has......other guys. I also thought Natalie Portman ate the role of the biologist. she is distant and offputting and has very little interest in anything but the natural world around her, both in the book and in the movie.

in the book we get much more of a look into the biologist's very rich and strange internal life, and I remember reading it for the first time and being shocked how much I related to her. she was one of the first characters, maybe THE first character, I identified with on a meaningful level. when I read the book again recently I was pleased to find that hasn't changed, even though I have changed a lot since my first read. she is by no means an ideal role model or even a reliable narrator, but I just adore her. and her husband nicknames her Ghost Bird, which is everything to me.

the horror in the book is ultimately about something unmaking you and the world around you in a way you cannot understand. it's a very cosmic horror concept distilled down into very manageable pieces--a plant that begins to alter what you are with just a single touch. a creature that looks like something familiar, but feels distinctly wrong, or distinctly human. something wearing a face that does not belong to it. a sound you cannot identify. words you know, words you can read, but you can't understand what they're saying. it's there, it's right there, but you don't quite get it, and suddenly you are no longer you anymore and it's too late. it's about love and nature and knowledge and meaning and the value of all of these things and the horror of all of these things.

here are some of my very favorite lines from the book, the ones that give me the shivers every time I read it for one reason or another!!

"I am walking forever on the path from the border to base camp. It is taking a long time, and I know it will take even longer to get back. There is no one with me. I am all by myself. The trees are not trees the birds are not birds and I am not me but just something that has been walking for a very long time..."

This was really the only thing I discovered in him after his return: a deep and unending solitude, as if he had been granted a gift that he didn't know what to do with. A gift that was poison to him and eventually killed him. But would it have killed me?

I took the photograph out of its frame, shoved it in my pocket. The lighthouse keeper would come with me, although he hardly counted as a good-luck charm. As I left the landing, I had the peculiar thought that I was not the first to pocket the photo, that someone would always come behind to replace it, to circle the lighthouse keeper again.

Can you really imagine what it was like in those first moments, peering down into that dark space, and seeing that? Perhaps you can. Perhaps you're staring at it now.

"We should never have come here. I should never have come here." "That's all?" "I've come to believe it is the one fundamental truth."

There shall be a fire that knows your name, and in the presence of the strangling fruit, its dark flame shall acquire every part of you.

An almost plaintive keening, a lonely sound in that place, called out to me. And kept calling, pleading with me to return, to see it entire, to acknowledge its existence. I did not look back. I kept running.

Almost anyone else might see it differently. But I am not those people. I am just the biologist; I don't require any of this to have a deeper meaning.

[magentagalaxies]

the lowest show: final thoughts

very good show!!! tbh there wasn't actually a ton of buddy (there was a buddy monologue in an early version that was cut before this run that was recorded but was later used in a different show i've already seen, and the only other buddy cole thing was the encore) but what little buddy cole there was is super important to buddy cole history

i'm also very happy to have the full show beyond just the buddy bit bc like all the other sketches were great and also very fascinating. like even if i don't use much of this material in the doc it was still enjoyable to watch, and tbh even the non-buddy stuff might be covered in the doc bc one of the most interesting things about scott thompson's work to me is how exceedingly personal he gets in his comedy while still being fucking hilarious

many of these sketches made later appearances on scott's podcast ptsdiva which is where i'd already heard them (the fran monologue, the danny husk monologue, scott's grief counselor character rebecca, etc.) fran's monologue was also featured on buddy cole's blog "ewe" in 2007 and danny husks's monologue was in the kids in the hall tour of duty in 2002.

in particular the danny husk monologue has this strange little variation in it across the three different versions. if you haven't seen this monologue, the premise is that danny husk is a vice principal who accidentally thwarts a school shooting that's about to happen. in the 2001 lowest show version, the school danny works at is the school scott attended as a teenager and the shooter is identified by name as the same boy who committed the shooting scott was in. scott has previously said in interviews that he does not like repeating this boy's name since the event haunted him for so long, so this definitely stuck out especially since i've heard the monologue before, so i had to check it against the other versions. in the 2002 tour of duty version, the school is changed to "woodland heights" and the shooter's last name is changed though his first name is not. in the 2019 ptsdiva version, the school is changed again to "william crabtree high" and the shooter's full name is never stated, though one line refers to him with the same first name that's been consistent throughout. i would have never picked up on the first name similarity if not for the more overt reference in 2001, so idk this is kind of a fascinating evolution i definitely want to find out the reason behind it

in any case i think that danny husk monologue was the best sketch in the show. like even though i'd heard it before it's so well written and such a good example of balancing the darkness and the humor that scott's work is known for

however, i think my favorite was the francesca fiore sketch. like, i don't even think the jokes themselves were top tier, but i'm just obsessed with how much scott threw himself into that performance it was such a vibe. like this was the one moment in the whole show that made me genuinely envious of everyone who got to see this show live. also there's a song in this sketch and of course as the certified number one mouth congress fan i have to be a fan of every time scott gets to sing

the buddy cole sketch is just a pure fever dream lmao. if you have not heard the infamous story of buddy cole's sketch in the lowest show on earth, basically it has buddy declaring that he's already done everything and seen everything so there's nothing more to explore... except he's never had sex with a woman! so a nude woman comes out onstage and (with her consent) buddy cole goes on an exploration of the female form. scott actually got arrested at a few shows for public indecency during this bit even tho the woman was fully consenting and the audience was aware of this content ahead of time

i would rank all the sketches but tbh i wasn't even thinking about that when i watched it so i'd inevitably leave something out. maybe someday

anyway watching this show got me thinking i wonder if i can convince scott and paul to make some of these vaulted shows publicly available at some point. like idk if this would be allowed on youtube (nudity, language, etc.) but like. maybe we can make one of the tiers on the crowdfunding campaign for the buddy cole doc have a reward where donors can download the lowest show, champagne soul (which i still haven't watched), scottland, etc. no guarantees on if it will be able to make this accessible but like you better believe i'm trying lmao

it's currently 2 a.m. and i really need to sleep but my last thought is damn i wish scott thompson knew how much thought i'm putting into his show from two decades ago that may as well have been lost media in the public eye. like scott gets surprised at me just caring a normal amount about the stuff he makes but i'm like???? this is just the beginning. idk maybe i'll reach out to him once i finish all the other archive videos with my main thoughts