#it seems like this occasionally puking is just nothing more than an inconvenience

[kiwisandpearls]

Ay this vomiting stuff sounds pretty serious how long this been going on?

The puking has been in on and off thing for the majority of my life, never really caused me any issue other than me just not being able to hold my food down on occasion (this isn’t regular dw, I don’t usually have a hard time keeping my food down). It’s just that it’s gotten worse over the second half of this week. I should be feeling ok from now on but I don’t 100% trust my body to cooperate with me so.

tldr: it’s been on and off most of my life, but doesn’t cause me much of an issue, and thankfully I am feeling much better than i did a few days ago

[xocasper]

Sunset and Vine

Pairing: Frank Iero x Reader Summary: Kinktober Day Four - Hate Sex Warnings: NSFW content Tags: hate sex, degradation, begging, oral sex Word Count: 3756 A/N: My pre-August writing makes me puke, honestly. It's a crime. Unfortunately, it's one of my only Frank fics. I'll definitely write another one after I finish the Ray fic I'm working on. Anyway, the title is a reference to Taylor Swift, not geography. Enjoy!

Having Gerard as a roommate was great in many aspects. He wasn’t loud or overly messy, and he didn’t take long showers–if any–keeping the bills low. It was nice to have someone to talk about your problems with, especially someone as empathetic as him. Living with him was so close to perfect that it seemed like any issue could be overlooked. Unless that issue was his best friend, who was practically a third roommate at this point.

Frank was probably at your apartment more than you were, hanging out with Gerard as often as he could. This would be fine if he wasn’t the most insufferable person you’d ever met, priding himself on his ability to infuriate you. Whether it was waking you up at night by talking too loud, or having the energy of a Jack Russell terrier at eight in the morning, having Frank around always sparked conflict.

Aside from his rowdy behavior, he was also a total asshole. The second he realized you disliked him, he made it his life’s mission to push you over the edge. His tactics varied from playground insults to minor “accidents”, which included shoving past you in the hallway, eating food that you swore you marked, and other intentional inconveniences.

You weren’t much better, often retaliating just as bad. It was mostly bickering and occasional roughhousing, but nothing worth leaving over. Gerard usually got in the middle of things, making futile attempts to settle arguments before someone got hurt. In addition to this, he was always trying to convince the two of you that the other was tolerable, nice even. Until it showed though, you took his convictions with a grain of salt.

Today you had less patience than usual, getting little sleep the night before. It was a Saturday so you had more than enough time to nap, but you couldn’t seem to relax. You could live with that, but things got worse when you went to the kitchen, realizing quickly that you had forgotten to go grocery shopping. Despite the rough morning, you tried to keep an open mind.

Shopping wasn’t awful, but the lines were. After waiting in line for ten minutes, the lane closed, leaving you to wait another ten minutes in another line. Somehow, your day hadn’t been troublesome enough. The universe had granted you fifteen minutes of traffic on the way home, because heaven forbid you try and stop for coffee.

Coffee that you spilled as you got out of the car, effectively staining your pants, warranting a frustrated outburst, or at least a few tears. As if this wasn’t enough, you walked all the way up to your floor, arms full, with no key. Not only had you locked your car keys in your car, but also the key to the apartment, resulting in ten minutes of knocking and calling Gerard.

Thankfully, he came to your rescue, greeting you at the door with an exhausted expression, one that quickly turned to worry as he saw the distress on your face. He didn’t say anything at first, taking the bags and placing them on the kitchen counter before returning to you with open arms. It was nice, cathartic, to be held, and you were more than grateful for his compassion. However, you still wanted to take your anger out on something, feeling a strong urge to go punch a hole in your wall like an angsty teenage boy.

Gerard wasn’t going to let you do that though, unpacking the groceries and telling you to change into clean pants. When you came back in a fresh pair of sweats, he already had the coffee maker brewing, proudly presenting you with a cup as you took a seat at the counter.

“I take it your morning went well?” he joked, blowing away the steam while you held your head in your hands.

“Gerard, I’m running on three hours of sleep and eight ounces of coffee, and my keys are locked in my car. So yes, my morning was fucking wonderful.”

He breathed a small laugh, shaking his head as he took a sip of coffee. “It’s only eleven, so you’ve still got time to do something fun. Besides, it’s Saturday, which means no work. At the very least you can take a nap.”

His suggestions were sweet, but you’d already failed to go back to sleep, which took that off the list. “Actually, one of my friends is dragging me to some bar tonight,” you groaned, remembering the promise you’d made to her after she spent two weeks begging you to go.

He gave you his condolences before downing the rest of his cup and returning to his bedroom, leaving you to dwell on the rest of your day. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t seem to lighten up, the afternoon dragging on slower than usual. At least you had your keys now–thankfully Gerard kept a spare–so that took some weight off your shoulders.

You had gotten a couple of texts from your friend, ensuring that you were still going and practically begging you to put some effort into your appearance. More to prove yourself than anything, you reluctantly hauled yourself out of bed to get dressed up, hoping something short and scandalous would be the cure to your problems.

A few hours had gone by since something detrimental had happened, leaving you to believe that the storm had passed and that you could enjoy your night. You tried to stay positive as you picked up your friend, fortunately arriving at her place with less traffic than earlier. She was standing outside already, breathing a sigh of relief at the sight of you, who had tried harder than usual to look nice.

Things really seemed to be looking up, as you arrived at the bar with no accidents or road rage, and you were actually starting to look forward to the night. Plus, dressing up proved to be some help, as you were chatting it up with some guy at the bar who couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from you.

Maybe this was good–you had a pretty poor day, so a hookup wasn’t an awful idea. He was cute and seemed interested in you, but right as you were going to take things further, your friend stumbled over, slurring something about how she had puked on someone’s shoes.

Lo and behold, there was another girl, drunk off her ass, wailing about her ruined heels. Of course, when things began to seem okay, there had to be some sort of sabotage, bringing you right back to square one. You muttered a quick apology to the guy, who waved you off and moved on to someone else, rubbing salt in the wound.

Thankfully, you hadn’t had much to drink, leaving you much more sober than your friend and a much safer driver. You tried your best to keep her calm while she cried about ruining your night, and how there was this “totally sexy guy” that she was in love with–despite forgetting his name–and how she would never see him again. As much as you loved her, it was exhausting, and you were more than happy to walk her inside and get her a glass of water before heading home.

All you wanted was to go to sleep, but the second you walked inside, you knew that wasn’t happening. Instead of a quiet apartment, you were met with the unpleasant sight of Frank, sprawled out on your couch.

“Oh my fucking god, you’re here?” you asked, exasperated.

He rolled his eyes, “Are you always such a whiny bitch?”

Gerard looked back and forth between the two of you, concerned and slightly frustrated as he tried to diffuse the situation. “Hey, I didn’t expect you to be home until later, and I can tell that something happened, but Frank isn’t here to bother you.”

“Look, I’d rather gouge my eyes out with a rusty spoon than come home to this,” you assured him, motioning to the mess that was Frank, shirt rucked up and a beer in hand, looking disheveled and a little buzzed.

“Says the one dressed like a back alley whore,” he scoffed; his words would be hurtful if you hadn’t heard them a million times.

“Don’t you moan on stage for people?” you snapped impatiently.

Frank sneered, “You’re just pissed that it’s not for you.”

He was insufferable, absolutely awful in every way, shape, and form. After the day you’d had, you barely had it in you to not take a Louisville Slugger to his knees. The grin he wore as he fueled the flame made it worse, ignorant and mocking as he waited for your insufficient response.

“You’re vile,” you spat, slipping your shoes off and having half a mind not to chuck them at him.

“But I’m right.”

Finally, Gerard piped up. “Alright let’s not do this right now. You go chill out for a bit,” he instructed, pointing at you. “And you, stop instigating them.”

“Fine,” you huffed, sauntering off to the bathroom to shower off the lingering grime from the bar.

As previously mentioned, a perk of living with Gerard was the nearly endless supply of hot water. His hygiene—or lack thereof—meant you could take long, hot showers without any complaints. This was especially helpful after days like these, the warm water cascading down your body, taking your problems with it as it whirlpooled down the drain.

You weren’t sure how long you had spent in there, but it must’ve been a while as the wretched sound of Frank’s shouting had died out. Hopefully, he had left, and realized that he also had somewhere to live. At this point, you should’ve made him start paying rent, he spent enough time here anyway.

Unfortunately, he was still hanging around, making his presence abundantly clear after you finished blow-drying your hair, banging on the door far harder than necessary.

“Could you be any louder?” he griped as you opened the door, eyes lingering on your bare skin, body barely covered by your towel.

“My eyes are up here,” you snapped, annoyed solely because it was him.

“I know where they are,” he said, eyes narrowed mockingly.

”Is Gerard still here?” you asked as you pushed past him, heading off to your room with him trailing after you, sticking around in the doorway.

He knew you were attractive, but it was nearly embarrassing how difficult it was to focus on anything else, watching closely as you shuffled over to your dresser. “No, he went to get food, what’s it matter to you?”

“You actually shut up for once, I figured he must’ve left,” you turned to face him, quickly realizing he was still in the doorway. “Fucking Christ, Iero, have some dignity.”

He grinned as you shut the door on him, heading back to the living room while you changed away from prying eyes. When you finished, you had little choice but to sit next to him, now hungry upon the mention of food. Staying in your room wasn’t the best option when there was a 5’6 toddler in your living room, so you settled on the opposite end of the couch.

“You’re really wearing that?” he asked in distaste, receiving an eye roll.

“They’re fucking pajamas, yes, I’m wearing them.”

“Okay,” he said passive-aggressively, raising his hands in defense. “Better than whatever you wore earlier.”

Impatient didn’t even cover how you felt at this point. “How in the world are you friends with Gerard?”

“How are you his roommate?” he fired back.

“Because I’m not an insufferable douchebag.”

“And I’m not a priss, so it seems like he can put up with anyone.”

This didn’t help, leaving both of you equally pissed off. “Look, I’ve had a pretty awful day, and now I come home to this,” you motioned at him. “In my living room. Go back to the fucking dog pound, Frank.”

“Did anyone ever tell you that the world doesn’t revolve around you? As far as I’m concerned, you pay half the rent. So no, I’ll be staying,” he said, breath stalling as he realized just how close the two of you were.

You hated how attractive he was, from the way he spoke to his appearance, boyish and effortless. It was clearer up close, which only upset you more. “Get the fuck out of my apartment.”

He huffed a short laugh, breath fanning across your skin from the close proximity. “Is that what you really want? Or are you actually dying to be fucked? I know you think about it,” he said cynically. “Quit being a bitch all the time and maybe you’ll get what you want.”

“Shut up,” you told him, burning up as he carefully placed his hand on your jaw.

“C’mon, you can do better than that,” he mocked you, thumb brushing across your parted lips, and lightly pressing it against your tongue. “You’re so much sexier with your mouth shut.”

Maybe it was lack of oxygen, or the weight of your day, or maybe even the two shots back at the bar, but you could barely think as his thumb left your mouth, swiftly replaced by his lips. You had no issue kissing back though, coming to your senses just enough to gain some control. His hands flew to your waist to pull you closer, yours tangled in his hair.

Frank was an outlet, and you could project all your frustration and anger onto him–he deserved it. When you pulled away, his arrogant grin returned, and you gave him a sharp glare before kissing him again.

His kisses were rough and carnal, wasting no time parting your lips once more and gliding his tongue against yours, smooth and assured. You were on fire, and as much as you hated giving in, he was irresistible.

“We are not doing this on my couch,” you told him, panting softly.

“Why? Don’t want Gerard to see you getting fucked like a whore?”

It turned you on more than you’d like to admit, ignoring him and pulling him towards your room. The second the door shut, he was back on you, hands meeting the bare skin of your waist as he held you, fingers digging into your sides with more aggression than you deemed necessary. He slid your shirt off and pushed you back onto the bed, leaving you surprised that he was even more attractive when he was on top of you. Frank, however, hadn’t stopped thinking about this since you came out of the bathroom, his gaze fixed on your half-naked form.

You grew impatient in the few seconds he spent idle, snapping at him. “Can you hurry up? Or will I have to get myself off without you?”

With a scoff, he pulled off his own shirt, chest showcasing a handful of tattoos, arousal coursing through you at the sight of them. “Can you be patient for two fucking seconds?” he glowered at you.

“Maybe if you weren’t so slow, I wouldn’t need to be,” you bit back, quickly cut off by his lips on yours, his fingers tracing the waistband of your pants before shucking them off.

Everything was quick from there, Frank’s palms warm against your thighs as he pushed you up against your pillows. He nipped at your skin, sucking and biting at your chest, leaving light blemishes as he went, smoothing over each one with quick flicks of his tongue.

“For as much as you run your mouth, I thought you’d know how to use it,” you said, earning a gentle bite in response, Frank perking up as you let out an involuntary moan at the sudden sharpness.

He let out a dry laugh, “You’re in for a real surprise, then.”

Frank proved himself right as he settled between your thighs, making quick work of your panties before resting your legs over his shoulders, and placing his hands under the swell of your ass. His ego grew at the sight of you, splayed out and desperate to be touched, dripping with arousal mere inches from him. He could hear the way your breath caught in your throat, anxiously waiting for relief. Your subtle shifts didn’t go unnoticed either, Frank relishing in your attempts to get closer to him. Finally, he leaned in, tongue running flat as he tasted you, feeling his jeans grow tighter as you arched into his touch.

It was almost embarrassing how eager you were for him, but anyone would be with the way his tongue moved, lapping with a motive. He was a bit shocked to be enjoying himself around you, but he was between your legs, after all, listening to every vulnerable noise you made. It was enough to make him pull you closer, sucking lightly on your clit as you attempted to grind against him.

“You know,” you started, cutting yourself off with a moan as he worked his tongue at a merciless rate, undoubtedly to shut you up. “You’d be so much more tolerable if you did this instead of talking.”

He almost pulled away, ready to shoot back a comment about how you would also be more tolerable if you were sucking his dick, but he selfishly believed his mouth had better use between your thighs.

“Frank,” you whined, rocking down against him as he pulled away for a moment, lubricating the pads of his fingers with your arousal.

The sound of his name on your tongue surprised him at first, but his shock quickly turned to desire. It was easily the hottest thing he’d ever heard, making it a goal to earn every noise he could. Every moan increased tenfold as he slipped his fingers inside of you, moving slowly before picking up an even pace. His tongue was a fierce contradiction, gently licking at your clit while his fingers curled quicker, the contrast sending an orgasm rippling through you.

With quick strokes of his tongue, he cleaned you up, pulling every last sound from you. Hastily, he climbed up the bed, itching to get out of his tight jeans. For once, you had nothing to say, too focused on catching your breath.

“Open,” he instructed, biting back a moan as your tongue lolled out.

He pressed his slick fingers to it once more, but this time you closed your lips around them, sucking and flicking your tongue against the pads, causing him to let out a choked curse.

“You’d be so perfect if you weren’t a bitch all the time,” he told you, pulling away as you unzipped his pants.

To your surprise, he stopped you, receiving a look of subtle concern. “What do you want?” he asked, a wicked grin on his face. You paused, looking at him confused.

“C’mon, I want to hear it,” he insisted, waiting for you to speak.

“I’m not gonna beg for it,” you told him, rolling your eyes. He shrugged and started to slide away from you, and you found yourself giving in quicker than you would’ve liked.

“Fine!” you said, and he looked back, waiting smugly for your pleas. “I want you to fuck me.”

It definitely sounded forced, and he could tell that your voice was laced with annoyance. He hummed, “I don’t know, that seemed kinda rude. Try again.”

You looked at him exasperated, trying again with slightly less irritation. “Please, Frank.”

He still wasn’t convinced, shaking his head, grin still plastered on his face. “Man, you’re really bad at this.”

“You’re such an asshole,” you lashed out, kissing your remaining dignity goodbye as you put on a sweet voice for him. “Frank, please fuck me, please. I need it.”

Proudly, he tugged his jeans off. “See what happens when you’re nice?”

You ignored him, too focused on the generous bulge in his boxers, prying down the waistband with nimble fingers. A wave of sheer want crashed over you, head spinning as he hovered over you on full display, Frank quickly noticing how your eyes stayed fixed on him.

“See something you like?” he asked, breath catching as you reached a hand up, gently stroking him.

“Fuck you,” you muttered bitterly, and he was back to scowling at you.

Frank lined himself up before you could react, taking things slow just until he was buried inside of you. “Has no one ever thought to fuck the bitch out of you?” he asked, eyes narrowed in mild distaste.

You opened your mouth to retaliate, but he quickly snapped his hips against yours, any rebuttal you had prepared turning to a loud moan. He built up a rhythm, rough and unforgiving, hooking your legs around his waist to thrust harder, deeper, as you cried out beneath him. You wrapped your arms around his neck, desperate for anything to ground you. He moaned as your nails sunk into his back, the sweet burn encouraging him to pound harder.

With another call of his name, you came undone, legs shaking around him as he thrust a few more times before pulling out. Frank let out a short string of curses as you wrapped your hand around him, pumping him until he came on your stomach.

He laid next to you for a minute, the two of you panting softly from the exertion. It was peaceful, although a bit odd, to have him next to you, without arguing or hard feelings. Maybe he wasn’t as bad as you thought.

“I’m surprised Gerard isn’t back yet,” he said out of the blue, sitting up.

Oh fuck. You had forgotten that he was due home soon.

“Shit, you should probably go then,” you said, eyes barely open at this point. “Could you get a towel?”

He snickered, “Clean it yourself.”

“You’re disgusting,” you said, slapping his thigh. With a melodramatic sigh, he left, returning a few moments and tossing a towel at you.

“Thank you, now get dressed before Gerard sees you stark naked in the hallway.”

He grinned, “So we’re cool now?”

“As if,” you mumbled tiredly, though in your haze you still shot him a smile, listening to him fumble with his jeans as you cleaned yourself off.

Too caught up in your sleepy state, you nearly missed the sound of his soft footfalls and the creak of your bedroom door as it shut, and Gerard’s voice through the walls as he returned a few minutes later. You’d have more than enough time to regret this tomorrow, but at the moment, it seemed like a pretty good end to a pretty bad day.

kinktober taglist: @clichedlovers  @halloweenbitch2764  @lubbockshusband @cigarettesandalcohol  @couldbegayer1234  @doc-martens-enthusiast @yachiiko @becausethedrugsneverwork @michelethesong @dangerouslittlefairy @chronicallythicc

[weispy]

a buncha unpublished wips

(would they be technically considered a single wip rehashed several times? since they were all intended to be the same story...)

anyways. since i never they’re not gonna see the light of the day ever again and i got reminded of them, why not. have some unfinished first chapters of the naruto si i had been talking about.

warning for dubious quality of writing and extremely long post under cut :v

written in 2016/03

The first thing I felt were droplets of water hitting my face and realization hit me that my clothes were soaking wet. I opened my eyes, and as most of you certainly guessed, it was raining. More like pouring, I would say. But my point was said: it was raining pretty hard. I was also probably going to get hypothermia if I stayed outside any longer. The fact that I was laying on the ground with only a short-sleeved shirt and some shorts did not help.

Talking about the outside…

This place had weird looking skyscrapers (Were they even skyscrapers?) just about everywhere. Really tall, kind of ugly, has external waterworks sort of skyscraper. I would have said this place was deserted, if not for the occasional screams.

‘This doesn’t really look like the afterlife,’ I idly commented to myself.

I then completely stopped that train of thought. Why would I say (think) that? Am I dead? Am I supposed to be dead? If so, why can’t I recall any past moment that ultimately resulted in my said death?

I hadn’t noticed that my breathing was becoming erratic, and I couldn’t care less. I had other thoughts to attend to, like…

Where the hell am I?

I don’t remember travelling anywhere. I don’t remember leaving my home. Come to think about it, I couldn’t actually think of anything involving the time before I awoke here.

…

Not a single memory was clear. I couldn’t recall anything in particular, yet I was aware that I knew the answer. Just like the feeling of having a word on the tip of your tongue, but you just can’t get it out.    

Anyways, I should probably find out where this is. No need to dwell on events which you cannot help or change.

(This place looks awfully familiar. Not the ‘I’ve been here before’ familiar, but more of the ‘I have already seen this place in a book’ familiar.)

Standing up from my laying position, I noticed yet another thing off. I had pudgy limbs, akin to a child’s and I’m pretty sure I was taller than this. And I have a distinct feeling that I have already lived past my young childhood. Judging from my arms, my body seems to be around 10 years old.

Talk about inconvenient. And strange.

In fact, I don’t think any of this should be happening on a normal basis, but hey, life happens.

Is that a person I see? Is that… a kid and a dog…? Though I guess help from a random kid is better than no help at all.

I padded on the damp soil towards the two of them, hoping if they could offer any form of guidance. If he can’t, I could always follow them. The boy (at least, I think it’s a boy) has a dog accompanying him. Dogs are loyal and adorable, though I do prefer cats. Cats are a lot more laid-back than dogs.

And again, this déjà vu feeling is back. I really hope my memory will clear up soon, because that feeling is extremely irritating.

The kid –oh my, he has really, and I mean REALLY bright red hair (not ginger, red) – did not seem to acknowledge my presence as I reached him, but the brown canine certainly did. Looking closer (it’s not creepy, right?), the red-haired boy looked like he recently cried. Not that it was that noticeable in the rain.

I wonder, is it normal for people here to ignore strangers? Or is it because he just had a break down and he doesn’t want people to see his tear-stricken face? Oh, and the dog is now growling at me.

He still gave no sign that he noticed me, so I decided to make the first move.

“Er, hello? Can I ask you something?”

---

written in 2016/04

Someone sobbing, pleading for something. A parting sigh, a fading light, and then darkness. Spiralling down a pitch-black abyss, and nothing to grasp on.  

The last and only memories about myself I possess.

I awoke in a dark location, somewhere unpleasantly humid. My eyesight slightly cleared out and I realized that I was surrounded by colossal trees. A wandering thought is telling me that they are way taller than any plant I have seen.

Which doesn’t mean much, since I have apparently lost a good percentage of my memories.

Also, did I say that I didn’t have any legs? Or arms? Actually, it doesn’t seem that I have a body at all. Though I’m positive I’m supposed to have one. ‘Why?’ one might ask. Just a hunch. That annoying feeling that you have when you know something, but just can’t get a clear grip on the thought.

So I’m currently just a floating… thing. Or object. Or soul. Actually, I have no idea what I was.

Just a few minutes in, and I spotted something that sent chills up my spine. Something that even if I had my memories, even if I had a body, even if I was as tall as those trees, would still scare the living daylights out of me.

A giant ass spider.

I was pretty sure spiders weren’t meant to be that big. I was also pretty sure that they were not supposed to have 12 legs. And they absolutely were not supposed to be eating a tiger.

It didn’t seem to notice me at first, completely oblivious to my presence as it continued feasting on the giant feline’s carcass. So listen here: curiosity is a good thing, but it can also lead to certain doom.

And guess what I decided to do.

Yeah, I certainly wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed.

So I decided to approach the arachnid, and to my greatest relief, it still hasn’t taken notice to me. That’s when I started feeling an attraction–not the romantic sort, but gravitational sort–to the twelve-legged beast. I started panicking, because just like any rational person, my line of though was going something like ‘OH DEAR LORD I’M GOING TO GET SUCKED IN BY A GIANT SPIDER AND–‘

Then I realized I could resist the pull. Silly me, huh? All that terror for nothing.

And again, I’ll say that I’m not the brightest lightbulb out there.

Because curiosity is a wonderful thing, I continued my path towards the unnaturally giant twelve-legged possibly highly venomous and definitely carnivorous spider. Nothing could go wrong there, right? Yeah, fat chance with that.

There, I found what caused the pull: an inky black fissure at the base of its head. And still, that didn’t stop me from going nearer and nearer the creature.

As most of you guessed, that fissure got ahold of my whatever-I-was and sucked me in. We could compare it to a black hole, I guess.

‘I guess this the end of the line for me. Such a laughable way to go. Wait, no. It’s actually pretty original. No one ever died because they got sucked in by a mini black hole from a spider’s head. You bet I’m going to brag about it in the afterlife.’

And then I blinked my eyes. All eight of them. I should probably finish my meal now.

‘Wait, WHAT?’

I looked down to see my many appendages, some still plunged deep in the would-be meal, while some others were in the midst of tearing flesh apart. I was positively grossed out by this, and even maybe on the verge of puking what this spider belly’s content, while another part of me didn’t mind at all and just wanted to resume eating.

Wait, scratch that. That part was definitely not me. Maybe a remnant of the arachnid’s feeling? Better not dwell on that thought. Possessing a giant spider’s body is nasty enough for me.

‘Eat first. Think later.’

Even though I really don’t want to touch the carcass, I probably should listen to its thought. This body was feeling hungry, and since it has already hunted down a prey to eat, why not just eat it now?

‘Or maybe we could eat AND think at the same time.’

And before I could do whatsoever, the body moved on its own and went on eating. Looks like I don’t have full control over the body. So while the spider is eating, I’ll have to do the thinking. Because apparently, spiders can’t multitask. Learning new things every day!

Anyways, back to my current issue.

Correction: back to my current issues.

For one, I have no idea where I was. I don’t think knowing that you’re in a giant messed up forest in the middle of nowhere counts as knowing where you are. Two, I have no idea who I am. The memories I currently am in possession of doesn’t help at all. Three, I have no idea WHAT I am. Maybe I’m a ghost hungry for revenge. Maybe I’m a bodiless soul doomed to wander the earth for eternity. Maybe I’m a figment of this spider’s imagination.

‘Urg. How uncool would it be to discover that you were actually not real and just the result of some random someone’s half-assed idea?’

And finally, I have no idea what to do. Maybe I could walk around, question of getting used to this body. Should I call it my vessel? It sounds rather evil. But yeah, I should probably accustom myself with the motor controls if I’m stuck as a spider for the rest of its life. But what happens after? Do I need to find a new vessel after this one withers away? At least I now know how to take partial control of one.

Wow, I sound like an evil overlord. I might just be able to apply for a part-time job for a super villain.

…

What’s an evil overlord? What’s a super villain? They both sound rather evil and villainous.

And better yet, what’s a part time job?

…

‘Humans nearby. Still hungry.’

Looks like it finished eating the tiger, seeing as a pile of bones with still some bits of flesh attached to them on the ground. And now, I have a new goal set for myself.

‘Step one on maintaining a giant spider healthy: make sure it gets enough food.’

I guess it’s hunting time now! What better way to exercise myself to control this body is there apart from hunting? Onwards we go!

Though it certainly went less smoother than I would have wanted. I kept tripping over my own limbs, and don’t even get me started on climbing trees! Controlling twelve legs at once sure is no easy task. You lift one up, and you have to place it so that it wouldn’t interfere with the other’s movements, and dear Lord it’s frustrating.  

I got the hang of skittering across the land in a few minutes, and I had this suspicious feeling that the spider was getting more impatient by the second. Better find those humans then. I managed to clamber up a tree without falling down, and from a high up branch, I spotted the group the arachnid mentioned afore.

I must say, they were a bunch of fashionable humans.

One dressed in a trench coat, stick in mouth. Another one wearing overalls and black glasses. Third and final one, wearing a skin tight green jumpsuit and sporting a– whoa, look at that haircut.

‘Though I guess the first one isn’t dressed so bad. On another note, a good self-pat on the back for being able to vomit out some incomprehensible words that seem to match their clothing.’

They looked slightly familiar.

And again, that nagging feeling in the back of my mind, as if I should be able to remember them. Have I met them before? Would they know who I am?

‘EAT.’

Oh great, look at what I then decided to do.

I jumped down from my perch intending to land on one of the humans, and being the big klutz I am, I instead tripped on my own legs (again) and gracefully face planted no further than a few meters away from my intended targets.

‘Don’t I just make the greatest entrances?’

---

written in 2016/06

Death.

Have you ever thought about it at random moments?

Some would characterize it as beautiful, others, not so much. But what comes after death? Are there a heaven and hell? Is there a wheel of suffering waiting at the end? Will there be the nirvana? Questions, questions. No one had a definite answer to that since… well, people aren’t supposed to come back from the dead, whoever they would be.

And I’m apparently unlucky enough to experience it at a young age. Not having even entered university yet and I got a metal construction beam plummet smack dab on my head, more or less reducing it into paste. Fun, huh? At least it wasn’t all that painful. None of my senses were able to register anything about it from the sudden abruptness of the situation. Though I certainly remember hearing a scream, or were they many? Was it my voice, or someone else’s?

And I still had so many objectives to accomplish, so many unfinished tasks left with open ends.

But none of that matters anymore, seeing that I’m dead myself. Shame, I haven’t even gotten the time to wish my sister a happy birthday. And to say that she was going to come back from overseas on the weekend of my own demise.

It was way too early for my end to come, but what had to come came. Somewhat earlier than I had expected, if I would comment. Half a life was behind me, and as sorrowful I had been moments following my death, I progressively learnt to cope with it. I never actually got over it, only accepting that I was now dead and I wouldn’t be able to change anything in the world of living. And maybe bury it deep in your mind to avoid thinking about it excessively.

How unfortunate.

Now would come the question I would ask myself; what comes after death?

The answer, I would respond, is quite simple. Nothing comes after death. It is solely the cessation of being, the end of an individual’s existence. And to confirm that, it is pretty much what I am currently undergoing through.

Nothing, that is. Well, it wasn’t actually the cessation of one’s existence, since I’m still well aware of myself and still able to form coherent thoughts. Just…

A pitch black abyss that I do not even know if it had any color, no odor, no touch, no taste, no sounds. No nothing. I’m not even sure if I have any shape or form, let alone a physical body.

I had no eyes to open, no limbs to struggle with, no mouth to scream with, no nose to smell with and no ears to eavesdrop with.

And wasn’t that boring. There wasn’t even anyone to pass time with here. Here being the Void, the nothingness. Or maybe there was, but I had no way of perceiving them.

But hey, we shouldn’t think of such depressing thing now, shouldn’t we? Such dark thoughts wouldn’t do any good to relieve my boredom. And on the bright side, I get to conserve my ability to think! And isn’t that an awesome skill. Would it be considered as a genetic trait? To be able to think and have self-awareness?

Bah. Life. Moving onto another livelier and less dull topic. Let’s say… the fact that I’m currently being pulled by something and that was the first sensation I have felt for who knows how long.

At first, I was ecstatic about being able to feel again, but as the impression of the touch continued and gradually augmented its pressure every second, I started worrying. Was it dragging me somewhere? If so where? Is the thing having hold of me dangerous?

The Void might have been an awfully mundane and dreary place, but it was safe; nothing could come in, nothing could come out. Just me and my thoughts, aimlessly wandering about. It was almost… comforting. Almost. The loneliness was still painful, and the urge of just screaming your lungs raw and ripping something to shreds was still there. It took a lot of me to remain sane in this darn forsaken barren Void with no ways of movements. Like being constantly in stasis with freedom of thought.

In a single moment, everything snaps back into place and a pair of eyes can be seen hovering in the nothingness. They aren’t exactly glowing, but they gave off a slight shine, reminding me of a silver ring reflecting off the moonlight. How eerie.

After what seemed like an eternity, the eyes finally focus on me, sending a chill through whatever the equivalent of a spine I had.

Whoa.

That was… I have my sight back! This calls for a celebration! Though that would have to wait, seeing that the being positioned in front of me looks to be one to not mess with. First impressions are important, remember that.

“I have a task for you,” it says, its voice being an amalgamate of thousand other voices, grave and shrill as well as rumbling and hissing all at once. I let out an unintentional squeak, the distorted voice seemingly belonging to a beast having ingested the souls of the damned topped with an oppressive, bordering suffocating, presence a tad too much for me to take in in the span of only a few seconds.

“Silence, child.” As I’m about to retort that I wasn’t all that young despite my premature death, a heated glare sent my way shuts me up, and from the look of it, nothing good could come if I tried to interrupt him again.

“I have lost my influence on the human population since my long slumber. Only a few followers are left, and my name has been lost in the past centuries. The sound of it no longer strikes fear deep into the heart of the humans. Eons ago, that same name made the blood of warriors and peasants alike run cold, made them quiver on the spot. I laughed in the face of death time upon time, I drove whole continents into war. I inspired fear and chaos. Now I am but an old myth, left in the dust. My current circumstance is laughable compared to my former glory.

“Here will be where you come in. Your mission is to restore my reputation to as it was, make them run like headless chickens at my name once again. Understood?” The slight narrowing of its eyes dares me to add anything else, as if the simple thought of it would land me with a death wish.

Unfortunately of fortunately, depending on your view of your situation, I am already dead. Figuratively and literally. I muster up as much courage as I could and raise my voice just loud enough to be heard. “But sir…” I start off, voice quivering. I had assumed it as a male, and as he shows no sign of objection, I continue on. “How am I supposed to do that? And why did you choose me for it?”

The creature stares, just as though it is peering deep into my supposed soul. I had to avert my eyes in fear that whatever composes my head would explode from the sheer intensity of the look.

“Ha. Ha-ha.” It sucks in a breath and howls in laughter not even a second later, the eyes curving up to form an upward crescent shape. “You think I chose you?” the being hissed. I can just imagine a face sneering, the nose crinkling in disgust. “Do not think so high of yourself. I had merely happened to come across your pitiful, withering essence while seeking for an envoy. I, regrettably, had already had my energy drained from being imprisoned here, and couldn’t risk depleting it further. You are not obligated to follow my request, but unless you wish to spend the eternity rotting in my insides, you might be inclined to. As for the other matter, you shall find out soon enough.”

It then closes its eyes and draws out a deep, long sigh, as if simply talking has drained him to the point of exhaustion. “Enough time wasted. Go. Failure is not an option.”

Faster than one could blink, the world starts crumbling away at full tilt, replacing the once inky space with stark white, all the while the eyes of the creature not leaving my form.

Just as the last shred of darkness falls, it utters out a few last words, its voice as uncanny as it always was.

“Name’s Jashin. And don’t wear it out.”

And everything drowns in a pure, colorless landscape.

The milky surroundings crack in their turn with vivid colors bursting from the seams, as one could compare them to the fireworks on a first of July. The ceiling took on a light blue hue and various pigments splattered across the scenery, fluorescent lighting dancing around. I shut my eyes close to avoid being blinded by the inordinately bright colors. Spending an excessive amount of time in a colorless environment will do that to you.

Or more like I would have if I had any eyes to begin with. Which I apparently don’t.

On the bright side, I have no need to blink and yet, I can still see. Maybe I just have eye holes and can somehow peer out of them without the organ in place. Or I don’t have any body at all and am defying every law of life about how the dead cannot come to the realm of living.

I guess I could also be in a coma and I’m dreaming this awesome plot line that might get super intense later on. Hell, that would be so rad! Not the coma part, of course, but the other part! Getting myself into a story revolving around the main character—namely me—and kicking butts all around!

But if I die here… Would it also mean I die on the other side too?

And I’m also pretty much certain I have kicked the bucket some time ago. So coma is out of the possibilities.

Another one of the possibility would be that my soul, who was supposed to do whatever a dead soul was supposed to do, got ripped out of that cycle by a scary as hell demon lord that got sealed away by an old wizard to never roam the land again and has been tasked to spread terror in its name so it gets enough spiritual energy to make a giant comeback to the mortal plane to take the throne and proclaim itself as the overlord of the world.

Yeah, that seems about it.

Since I have already bit the dust quite a while ago, why not enjoy myself in the meantime? It’s not like it would hurt to do so, and whatever its name was—Jashin, was it?—gave me a time limit to accomplish my so called ‘mission’.

As I finally adjust myself to the brightness of all this mess, I finally realize how alive everything here feels. From the peacefully growing trees, standing tall and proud, to the occasional small animals that would scurry about, everything nearby was thrumming with vitality. Everything was so lively, so colorful, so… existing. If that could even be said. Not sure if it can, but it gets the point across.

Looking down, I can make out a faint contrast—just a minute distortion in the space—around what I suppose would be my hands, as well as my arms… and well, my body too. Looks like someone even went all the way to procuring me a human-shaped sort of anti-void body. How very thoughtful of… it? him? whatever gender Jashin would qualify as?

And just to test out a certain thing…

I swing my arms around and stretch myself, basic warm up and whatnot. I know there are alternate ways to find it out, but one thing I’ll say is that curiosity can sometimes get the best of us. I placed myself in a standard three-point stance and took a deep breath.

This might hurt a bit. Or a lot. Actually, I have no idea. That’s why I’ll be testing, remember?

Just before sprinting, I raise my eyes up one last time to make sure I was facing the right direction.

And I push myself forward, dashing forward and making a beeline for my intended target: a hollow trunk that might have once been part of a quite sturdy tree. Still not rash enough to take on a still living tree, seeing that most of them looked quite robust. I could have gone for a sapling, but you know… just to not needlessly kill a tree. Life is important, so treasure it and don’t just throw it away carelessly. You only get one of those, you know?

Just milliseconds from hitting the bark, thoughts of regret and why in all the holiness of the underdepths of hell did I think this was a good idea wash over me. Seriously, who in their right mind would run around in a forest smashing trees?

To my pleasant surprise, I simply phase through the dead tree, before tripping over myself and tumbling on the ground. I turn around and sit up to look at the tree somewhat suspiciously. So either I’m not material, or that tree is a made up hallucination of my mind.

I think I’ll just stick with the former one and not ask myself too many questions about my mental health. But would it matter now that I’m presumably a ghost? I guess not.

But what had attracted my attention was that although the trunk had offered no physical resistance while I crossed with it, there was a strange pull at the core of it.

A most curious little thing, no?

And me, being the curious cat I was, I decide to investigate it. We might say curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back. And it’s not like the undead could be killed. Revived then killed, yes, but not killed while dead.

Makes sense?

And that also confirms I regained two and a half of my senses back! How I manage that without a central nervous system, I have no idea. Go figure.

Anyhow. Back to situation at hand, I hoist myself up and pat off the non-existent dust off and gingerly reached my hand to the middle of the hollow trunk. As my arm phases through the trunk, I can’t help but suppress a shudder, seeing the action up close just strikes me as disconcerting. Like seeing part of your arm getting chopped off, yet you can still freely move your hand and fingers.

And then there’s this gaping hole, a vacuum I feel at my fingertips, the small area of it definitely a few degrees colder than the ambient temperature. I curl my fingers around it, and it YANKS—

And suddenly, things change.

---

written on 2016/06

Screams of terror, the laughter of a madman, a searing pain across the torso, and—

Nothing.

oOo

If someone were to ask me “If given the chance, would you relive your life?” I wouldn’t miss a beat and respond without delay.

“No. No, I wouldn’t,” would be my obvious reply.

Now don’t jump right up to the conclusion that I’m a conceited edgelord or I have deep issues with myself or others, and ask that question to yourself. Ask yourself if you could stand replaying every single moment of your existence without a single alteration of the course.

Would that thought change one’s perception on the question?

My life was… well, not worth of any special mention. An ordinary one, paired up with a decent education, a decent family and more than just decent friends. Good friends, great friends, best friends, fake friends, you get gist of it.

Then came death. I’ll be frank, my death, or rather the moments preceding right before my death, was the most exhilarating experience I had faced. From the pure adrenaline rush to the unadulterated fear at the absurd situation I had found myself in, none of the past event I have ever lived through, and insist on none of them, not even all stacked one on top of each other, could compare to the sheer excitement I had felt.

Truly, death by ferris wheel wasn’t a common run-of-the-mill occurrence.

oOo

Death is… it’s not exactly silent, it’s not just stillness either, it’s… void, for the lack of better words.

Void from any restraints. Peaceful, free from everything, eternally sleeping in a cradle of nothingness. Nothing to weigh you down, no guilt or regrets, just a companionable mess of nothing to keep me entertained.

Feelings start to dwindle, memories start to crack, everything starts to fade away to non-existence.

With a final resigned sigh, I decide that maybe vegetating in a colorless realm of emptiness wouldn’t bring me much amusement. Not much here would, to be honest. Being dead is boring. Being dead and alone with no one to be around with is even more boring.

Ah, to say that I simply wanted to have some fun in my life.

I let go.

oOo

I drift aimlessly with no particular intention. Pieces break off, and I do nothing to stop myself from degrading into nullity.

oOo

It’s only after a bout of time (but time cannot exist without space, space cannot exist without time, and nothing exists here) that I realize.

‘I don’t want to disappear.’

In a desperate attempt to keep myself as me, I reach out everywhere possible and greedily hoard any fragment of memory, mind and notion salvageable, and fervently organize them. I can’t lose any more, and do not plan to. Make sure to not forget. Repeat everything until you can recite it from the tip of your fingers. Realize that I have lost my corporeal body, but still have a faint feeling when attempting to move limbs.

oOo

The  void echoed with half remembered poems and stories, and bits of names, locations and forgotten sentiments.

I continue rehearsing and recounting various broken memories found here and there.

‘Do not forget.’

oOo

‘...first to score 50 goals in one season, played 18 of ‘em, nicely combed hair, great guy-’

I repeat again and again, counting off with a twitch of a finger for every fragment  for the umpteen time, and—

Krrrrrk.

Something is pulling. Something is pulling on me.

Something or someone exist in this nonexistent plane aside from me. Excitement rushes in me, thought of ‘Ah! I can physically feel again! I still exist, and now someone else does too!’ runs amok.

Anticipation tingles through my entire being and I curiously await for an entity to pop out from nowhere.

A beat, then two, and nothing. I wait in bated breath, still full of hope. Maybe they’re hiding? Perhaps they’re shy, or are too afraid to show up? Should I call out for them? But if I do, it might scare them away.

‘Anyone hear me?!’ I shout. Or think. Frankly, I have lost the ability differentiate between the two long ago. It is a bit difficult, not being sure if you’re either hearing your own thoughts or voice in here.

Another beat passes.

No one replies.

I let out a sigh in disappointment.

For all that I know, it might have just been wishful thinking, my desire for company acting up.

Back to my typical routine, then.

‘...Praying mantis’ actually have 5 eyes. The central nervous system is composed of…’

oOo

The sensation of the pull didn’t quite leave even as time ticked by and stories had been recounted endlessly.

It was nice at first, as a reassurance that another might have come wandering here, but now it’s just irritating. It is somewhat difficult to concentrate on tasks at hand when some part of you is being perpetually pulled at short intervals.

Then suddenly, the pull increases tenfold in its intensity, and it feels like I’m being violently ripped apart and ohithurtssomeonemakeitstop—

Everything snaps back in place at once and the pain disappears just as swiftly as it came.

I take a quick peek around and find out that instead of the colorless background I became accustomed to over time, the surroundings are now of a dull gray, stretching out until the eye can’t see.

Maybe the afterlife thingy is different depending on the person? Though whoever inhabits this place, they must have some lousy aesthetic taste, I must say. Even mine, a vast emptiness of nothing (plus moi), looks way better than this plane of commonplaceness.

“I can hear you, you filthy disgraceful half-soul. Show some respect to the one who pulled you out of those… repulsive grounds. It would be in your best interest to not insult me,” a low voice drawls from behind me.

And by voice, I mean an amalgamate of thousand whispers of the damned who came crawling out from the depths of the fiery hells, grave and shrill as well as rumbling and whistling all at once.

Talk about disconcerting.

I turn around to the source of the voice, mostly eager and maybe also slightly anxious to meet the mind-reading condescending might-be remnant of a dead esper. That’s what people call psychics, right?

Now face to face with the mysterious creature of esoteric origins and, lo and behold, who I meet isn’t an actual person, and possesses much less a humanoid figure.

I am presented to a pair of tiny eyes, narrowed in probable annoyance.

---

written on 2017/05

The first time Nagato meets him, he’s grossly sobbing and vainly trying to wipe away the unending stream of tears cascading down his face like a waterfall and mourning the death of his parents.

Amidst the sound of heavy pelting of the constant rainfall, a high-pitched voice cut through the pitter-patter of the raindrops.

“Hello! What are you doing?”

Nagato falls down on his rear in shock at the sudden appearance.

In front of him is a stranger no older than himself, his skin pasty white — even paler than his own — almost like the wax of a candle and radiating an unhealthy glow. The child smiles widely, showing a dentition missing over half of its teeth.

Long washed-out blue hair lazily droops over one side of his head to cover part of his face, and Nagato was shortly reminded of the images of the horses he once saw in picture books.

Looking at the half-naked body, Nagato briefly wonders if he ever got cold from only wearing a ragged piece of clothing around the waist and nothing else.

“What’s your name? Where are we? Do you know when it’ll stop raining?” the boy continues, and Nagato scrambles backwards when the child leans in to loom over him.

Nagato tries to crawl even further away from him, but his hands slip from underneath him and he falls flat into the mud. By then, the mystery boy has his face over his, and for an unending second, they stare silently into each other’s eyes, despite Nagato wanting desperately to avert his gaze.

Faced with Nagato’s lack of response — barring the near silent sobs escaping his mouth — the child leans back, finally giving him some breathing space.

“Do you not know then?”

Nagato hears a soft, disappointed sigh. He sits up, rubbing away his tears in the process, and bleary eyes see the boy’s small frown forming, and eyebrows knitting together.

“Looks like it can’t be helped then.” The boy swivels on his heel and turns around, and starts walking away from Nagato. “Be seeing you somewhere, then,” he offers with a wave, not bothering to face him.

But before he can help himself, Nagato clumsily pushes himself up and rushed to catch up with the blue-haired child.

“W-wait up!” he shouts, then reflexively covers his mouth in embarrassment.

He shouldn’t have shouted. Mother had said it was rude, and maybe the boy finds it rude and won’t want to have him around. Maybe he just lost his chance to find a companion in this mess.

“Eh? What’s wrong?”

The next thing Nagato knows, the stranger is in his face and gazing directly into his ringed eyes, despite having hidden them behind his red bangs.

He stutters out a quiet “hieeee” and stumbles back a few steps.

The boy crosses his arms over his chest, patiently waiting for Nagato to regain his bearings.

Taking a few shaky breaths, Nagato forces himself to calm down. He shouldn’t lower his image any more than this. He can’t.

Just as Nagato is about to ask, he finally notices the eyes boring into his own. Dull and grey, devoid of life, yet somehow still terrifyingly piercing.

Regardless of his own insecurities, Nagato forces himself to speak up.

“What’s your name?”

That seems to take the boy by surprise, eyes blinking confusedly and mouth opening and closing without any sound coming out.

A scowl starts pulling down at the boy’s lips, and Nagato worriedly wonders if he has somehow offended him. He really hopes not.

“I don’t… I don’t think I remember,” the blue-haired boy eventually confesses, words gritted out from clenched teeth. He then huffs, hands going to rest on his waist. “Though I thought I was the one asking the questions?”

Nagato pointedly ignored the last statement. “We could find you a new one, if you like,” he offers quietly instead. “A new name.”

The stranger shoots him with an odd look.

Nagato feels his face flush despite the weather and only manages to stammer a few words of excuse before the boy cuts him off.

“I don’t mind.”

“Bwuh?” is his intelligent reply.

“I don’t mind getting a new name,” the boy repeats airily. “In fact, it would be really appreciated. Makes it easier to introduce myself to others, right?”

The boy then lets out a light laugh, almost too soft to be heard amongst the falling rain around them, a stark contrast to the gloomy weather.

Nagato likes the sound of it.

Just then, an idea sparks through his mind.

“What’s your favourite animal?”

The stranger looks to him, then up to the sky, brows furrowed.

“Favourite animal…” He pauses, a look of confusion crossing his face.

For a moment, Nagato wonders if he too has only seen rats and the occasional dogs in his life. Maybe even frogs and salamanders? He has heard there were a few living around the corners.

Or maybe… maybe the boy comes from outside Ame and has seen a lot more. That might be why he didn’t know where he was.

His thoughts stall.

A boy from outside…! If he has been able to come in, he should also be able to leave too, and maybe also bring Nagato with him!

Then maybe, maybe he could finally—

“Capybara,” the boy suddenly announces proudly. “That’s my favourite animal. Capybara.” Another pause. “At least, I think it is.”

“Kapi… bara?” Nagato parrots back the foreign word slowly.

The incredulous expression crossing the unnamed boy’s face, however brief it was, is enough to make him flush slightly.

Despite the embarrassment, he voices out his suggestion.

“Would K-Kapi work as a n-name?” he stutters towards the end, seeing the features of the boy screw up at it.

Expectant eyes shyly meet the unnaturally grey ones, and a small sliver hope wells up in his chest—

“That’s kinda lame.”

—before quickly deflating.

“I-is that so…” Nagato mutters, dejected and head bowed down in embarrassment. He shouldn’t have proposed something as stupid as that. Of course he wouldn’t—

“But I like anyways!”

Nagato’s head whips around so fast he’s still amazed it was still attached to his body.

“R-really? You really think so?” He’s openly gaping at him now, all trace of previous shame disappeared.

“It’s pretty catchy,” the boy — Kapi — admits with a shrug. “I guess it has a nice ring to it too.”

Kapi stands up and Nagato follows the action — when have they even sat down? — hesitantly.

Now what?

Suddenly remembering why he came up to him, Nagato makes a small gesture of his hand at the overcast skies.

“We’re in Amegakure,” he says, answering Kapi’s previous question, “and I don’t know if the rain ever stops.”

“Huh.”

The boy tilts his head sideways, straightens it up again, and tilts the other way.

“Amegakure…?” he mutters, crossing and uncrossing his arms over and over again. “Now where have I heard that…”

A small thought pops up in the back of his mind, and he tries to dismiss it.

But he can’t.

So he tries to think about something else, anything but it, because it was starting to hurt his head from how much he kept thinking about it.

It’s a scary thought, Nagato thinks, so he’d rather not think about it too much.

By the time he actually comes back to, a pale face inches closer to his.

Nagato squeaks weakly and stumbles back a few steps once again, surprised by Kapi’s sudden closeness.

“Hey, you were spacing out, are you—?”

“Did you forget everything about yourself?” Nagato blurts out, rudely interrupting Kapi.

Because he knew there were dangerous people who could enter minds and erase memories, and Kapi doesn’t remember anything and looked really confused about a lot of things, so Nagato just assumes.

He knows he shouldn’t assume things because it’s rude, but he’s also worried. Because maybe Kapi also lost his parents too, and he doesn’t want him to be sad.

The boy hums lightly and shrugs.

“Perhaps,” he replied, taking a few steps back and letting Nagato have some breathing space again. “Maybe. I don’t really know.”

As Nagato opens his mouth to ask how he couldn’t know,

---

written on 2018/04

I shuffle my transparent feet around the seemingly invisible floor.

 Yep, there’s a solid ground underneath. Nice to know.

 I peer at the black surrounding. An endless inky sea with a few specks of light littered here and there, some bigger than others, but none close enough to touch. My bed sits a few steps away, pillow, blankets and some miscellaneous trinkets arranged on top of it.

 Walking over to the single bed, I gingerly clear out a small spot to sit on, careful to not damage any of the fragile items.

 I sat there for a few minutes, waiting for something to happen. Usually my dreams are a lot more eventful, not to mention I usually have an opaque body of some sort.

 At least the view’s nice. Someone could probably meditate here, or have a philosophical debate with oneself. Or take a smoke and ascend to the sixth dimension, whatever rocks your boat.

 Just as I start contemplating on the possibility to sleep within a dream, something pings inside my mind. A mind within a dreaming mind. Whoa.

 {Harder than expected…} eventually grumbles a silky voice. {In any case, yadda yadda yadda, you are dead and I am here to employ you for the entirety of the afterlife and exchange you get some boons. You know, the usual. Now sign the paper.}

 Wait, what?

 A stapled document pops into existence before me, as well as a red pen.

 I take both into my hands, leafing through the papers and distractedly spinning the pen. Sure is a strange dream, this one. Was it due to the last finance exam? Who knows.

 {This isn’t a dream, child.}

 “I’m not that young,” I mutter on reflex, reading the contract closely. What else could it be? Terms, length of agreement, compensations, benefits, risks, responsibilities… This is too early for all of this. Couldn’t I just get some good old fantasy nonsense at least?

 {You still think of this as a dream.} At my hum of confirmation, the voice released a long-suffering sigh. {Always the same with you humans, it seems. As long as you take the job seriously and are not actively seeking an early demise, I could overlook it.}

 “No worries, I take my dreams very seriously,” I attempt to reassure the voice. Dream or no dream, near death experience is something I never wish to reproduce. That shit’s scarring on the mental.

 Reading over the ‘Risks and compensations’ part, I frown minutely.

 “Hey, Void Voice,” I call out, squinting at the printed text to make sure I read right, “what’s that about the ‘selling my soul’ thing and ‘physical body not provided’? And what about all those dubious work conditions?” I slowly lower the document and gaze at the absolute nothingness in front of me. “I don’t think you’d make a good employer, Void Voice.”

 {Void Voice…? I do suppose I have been called worse.}

 I raise an eyebrow at the non-answer to my unspoken question, prompting the voice to continue.

 {Well, what are you waiting for? All relevant information has been included in the contract.}

 I try to convey my dissatisfaction through my passively disappointed face. When that doesn’t work, I release a sigh and stop spinning the pen.

 “At least give me a black or blue pen to sign.” I wave the red one by its cap. “I have no intention of cursing my name on my first day of my dreamverse job.”

 A vague feeling of exasperation ripples through the air, accompanied by some mutterings about strange human customs.

---

currently, the 2017/05 one is the closest to the current draft i have :’v

[scaryscarecrows]

Bad Influence

They share 1.5 brain cells between them. Jonathan has primary custody of the half brain cell-Kitty has it on weekends.

He borrows the lantern from the cellar. Can’t be too careful. Babbit bridge is not inhabited by potentially deadly locals, after all.

Kitty meets him in the road, flashlight in one hand.

“You came prepared.”

“I don’t want to get shot.”

“He’s probably sleeping. Besides, I’m staying in the road. If you want to go over there…”

“I’m not the one insisting on this fool’s errand.”

“That’s what you called the last one, and look what happened.”

Logic will get him nowhere, and he looks up at the sky with a silent plea for no questionable events. The last thing he needs is for her to decide that yes, actually, jumping the fence is called for.

The lantern and the flashlight cast weird shadows in the weeds and he hopes the dog is sleeping inside. Who knows what it might do now, at night.

The crickets are noisy as all hell and every so often a cloud of gnats will puff up from the grass. For a while the only other sound is their footsteps in the dust, punctuated by the occasional hoot of an owl.

It occurs to him that he hasn’t wondered if this is some sort of set-up, not once, and after mulling it over he deems it unlikely. It’s…nice, not having to worry about that. Soothing.

A sickly-sweet smell hits him and he stops. What is that? He takes a couple of hesitant steps forward and feels a squish under his shoes.

Wicker’s mailbox looms up like a warning finger and beneath it, he catches sight of the lump of dog. It looks…it doesn’t look right and he’s having flashbacks to the Smiths’ hound dog, the one that went rabid.

“Stay here.”

“Why?”

“Just do it.”

Either he sounds suitably unsettled or tonight’s his lucky night, because she actually does what he says. He looks down, trying to see what he stepped in, and sees…pink. Or red. He can’t really tell, the lantern light’s throwing the color off.

The dog doesn’t react when he inches closer and when he lifts the lantern up he sees why-half it’s head’s been blown off.

He's not going to be sick. He refuses. He is not going to be sick, he is going to turn right back around and drag Kitty home and take a very long shower.

“What’s wrong?”

“Stay there.” It hits him what the squish was and he is not going to be sick, he’s not going to be sick… “We have to go.”

"Jonathan?"

"Don't." Speaking raises the risk of puking and he swallows, closes his eyes and takes a step back. "Stay there."

It hits him what the squishy something is and he tries to scuff it off his shoe. All that does is make it brown.

He swallows down creeping bile and gives himself a mental shake. Time to go. It's time to go and try to forget all this-

"What's wrong-oh my god."

What's she doing up here?

"Kitty-"

"Oh my god." she whispers again, her hand balled up against her mouth. She takes a step forward, then another, until she's standing next to him and can see the whole mess. "Oh my god, what the fuck-"

He moves his arm, intending to turn her around and get moving, when she swings the flashlight across the field. Is she insane, they'll be seen!

"What are you doing?"

"What if he's dead?"

"What if he did this?" he counters. "The dog could've been sick. Or Wicker's a damn lunatic, or who knows! Leave it alone."

"The light’s on. Something's wrong."

"That's not my problem! Stay out of it before you get yourself killed or worse!" She's not listening. Fine. He'll call her bluff. "I'm not going with you."

“What if he’s dead?” she asks again. “Or really hurt?”

“Don’t care.” he says at once. “Better him than us, come on.”

“We have to tell someone.”

“No, we don’t, let’s go.”

“I’m gonna go see.”

“What?” he hisses. Is she insane? “No. No. He’s probably fine, the dog was prob’ly sick or something, leave it alone.”

“I’m just going to check. If he’s dead, someone needs to know, what if it’s murder?”

“Then they’ll have no problem shooting you for being nosey, now come on.”

“What if it attacked him and he needs help?”

“He should be friendlier, then.”

For a minute he thinks he’s gotten through to her, but then she clicks off the flashlight and shoves it into his hand.

“Keep a lookout. Flash twice if you see anyone, I’ll be right back.”

“Kitty, Kitty, wait-”

But she clambers over the rickety fence and disappears into the weedy field. Dammit! She’s going to get herself killed, he knows she is, and she’s little, there won’t be much left of her…that’s assuming she doesn’t get herself kidnapped, a child could pick her up and walk away, Jesus Christ…

“Kitty!” he hisses. “Get back here before you get yourself killed!”

She turns and makes a SHHHHH motion before continuing towards the house. Fine. Fine! She can get herself shot and he won’t miss her. He’ll skip her funeral, just to spite her.

She’s up to the house now. This is it, the door’s gonna fly open and she’ll either be yanked inside or blasted to little pieces and it’s not like anyone’ll believe him if he tells them what happened-

Why is she on the porch. She has no reason to be on that porch, he’ll bet his life it creaks! Or worse, it’ll splinter and drop her twenty feet to her death (and yes, that’s unrealistic, but still).

It’s not splintering and the door’s not opening. Okay. She’s made it this far, maybe she’ll be all right-no, no, don’t look in the damn window! The old bastard’s probably fine and if he’s not, well, Jonathan doesn’t care what happened to him. Serves him right.

If-when, he means when-she gets back here, he’s going to give her such an earful…

She’s off the porch now. Good. Good, now she can just come right back over here and maybe she’ll have learned somethin’ what’s she doing?

Don’t go around the back of the house, what the fuck are you doing?

His glasses have decided to fog up and he rubs at them with his sleeve. Now they’re streaky and pressed against his nose but too bad. They shouldn’t be so inconvenient, then.

Where is she?

He turns the lantern off and sets it down. No need to draw more attention than necessary.

Kitty?

The door flies open and before he can do anything, someone’s clattered out of the house and into the weeds. They stand still and Jonathan’s just got his thumb on the flashlight switch when they dash around the side of the house.

No no no no-

KER-ACK!

He drops the light and vaults over the fence, knowing full well she’s dead or going to be very soon, Jesus Christ why didn’t he stop her-

He nearly runs her over and it takes him a second to register that she’s not bleeding out or scattered on the ground.

“Kitty.” Deep breaths. Deep breaths. Her mother is not going to kill him and he did not learn a hard lesson about happiness today.

She’s okay.

Though she did about give him a heart attack.

“What are you doing?”

What. What is he doing? Did she not…

“Th-there was a gunshot.”

She points towards the woods.

“Over there.”

He’s very, very tempted to either hug her or pick her up and lug her back home. For her own safety, is all. And his own.

He keeps his hands at his sides and hopes he doesn’t sound as shaky as he thinks he does when he says, “Let’s just go.”

“There’s someone in the house.”

“I know, that’s who fired, now let’s go.”

Swish-crunch, swish-crunch, comes the sound of footsteps through leaves and sticks and if they’re seen they’re going to end up buried out here.

For the sole reason that she makes up for short legs with a long streak of stubbornness, he grabs her hand

Feels like a bird

and yanks her around the side of the house. They press up against the wood

Splinters and dust and that feels like spider legs oh boy

in silence. His hand’s still warm and it takes him a second to notice he hasn’t dropped hers.

“Jonathan-”

“Sh.” He lets go of her hand and inches towards the edge of the house. “Stay here.”

The heavy air seems to magnify his breathing and when he pokes his head around the corner, he expects a bullet between the eyes. It doesn’t come. Nothing comes, actually, not even a, ‘what you doin’ out here?’

There’s no one there. But he heard someone, he did. He knows that sound almost as well as his own breathing, because it’s the sound that means his release from that damn chapel.

Doesn’t matter what he heard, they’re gone now…

Creak-creak.

Faint, but undeniable footsteps reach his ears. Someone’s in the house. They need to get out of here, now.

He ducks back, finger to his lips, and motions for her to follow. They don’t say a word until they’re back on the road, and then his mouth decides to get a mind of its own.

“You scared the bajesus outta me! What are you tryin’ to do, gimme a heart attack?” He gestures between her and that damn house, semi-aware that his speech has decided to take a backslide into ‘Granny Would Not Approve’ territory. Too bad. “I told you once, I told you a hundred times, leave it alone! What’f that gun had been a misfire and you’d gotten hit anyway? Or someone caught you? Hm? Did’ya think’a that?”

Why is she looking at him at like that. He is annoyed-beyond annoyed, borderline prepared to wring her neck-and she’s looking at him like she’s about to laugh. Come on! Just for once, would she take him seriously-

“You thought I got shot?”

That’s what she takes from this?

He gesticulates, words happily leaving him to sputter and hiss like poor Louisa May.

“I…dammit…Kitty!”

“Shh.”

No! He will not be shh’d! She is going to get his point if it kills him!

“Tresspassin’ is a serious thing out here! Or, since you’re easy to pick up, you coulda been kidnapped, you think people would believe me if I said-”

“Jonathan.”

“Don’t ‘Jonathan’ me!”

“Then shut up.” she hisses. “Look.”

No! He does not want to look, he wants to lecture! The least she could do is pretend…to…

Someone’s standing on the porch. He can’t tell who it is at this distance, but it’s not Old Man Wicker-as they discover a minute later when they come sprinting for the road.

“Run!”

For once (for once), there’s no argument. They don’t stop running until they reach the main road.