#the utter horror and fear he must feel in this scene

[vipetas]

i. the radio's revival

The worst possible scenario just unfolded before Alastor's eyes—his beloved antique radio broke.

He stood in stunned silence, his usual jovial expression replaced by one of utter disbelief as the once-majestic device now lay in pieces, its intricate components scattered across the floor. With a heavy heart, he knelt beside the shattered remnants, his gloved fingers tracing the familiar contours with a sense of mourning.

It was a futile gesture, he knew, but he couldn’t help but feel a sense of loss for the part of himself that had been taken away with it. For Alastor, the radio was more than just a mere object; it was a piece of his identity. Each scratch, each dent held a story, a memory of a bygone era that now lay at ruins at his feet.

In that moment, he felt more vulnerable than ever before, stripped of the facade of invincibility he had carefully cultivated over decades. However, as he surveyed the damage, the vulnerability was quickly replaced by a flood of other emotions–anger, frustration, disappointment. How could something so precious, so irreplaceable, be lost in an instant?

The faint sound of shuffling feet then drew his attention. As he gazed up, one of the egg boys—those bumbling, loyal lackeys of Sir Pentious—timidly stepped forward with a sheepish expression.

“Uh, sorry about that, mister Radio Demon, sir. It was an accident,” the egg boy mumbled, his voice tinged with guilt.

Alastor's eye twitched in annoyance at the feeble excuse. Accidents were one thing, but this? This was inexcusable. His patience, already stretched thin, threatened to snap as he struggled to contain his frustration.

“Sorry?” Alastor repeated through gritted teeth. “Sorry won’t fix what’s been broken, now will it?”

The egg boys exchanged nervous glances, their carefree demeanor faltering under Alastor's withering gaze. “We didn't mean to, Mr. Alastor,” another one of them stammered. 

Yet it was far too late for apologies. Alastor's frustration bubbled over like a pot ready to boil, and with a growl of irritation, his form began to shift. With each passing second, his horns extended, his body swelled in size, and his once elegant silhouette towered over the trembling egg boys like a vengeful deity.

The egg boys recoiled in terror, their eyes wide with horror as they watched Alastor's transformation unfold before them. In their panicked mind, they could only imagine the worst—that Alastor, in his fury, would devour them whole.

Just as their fear reached its peak, Sir Pentious burst onto the scene. Positioning himself between the egg boys and the Radio Demon, his voice rang out in a chorus of apologies.

“Mr. Alastor, sir, I must beg for your forgiveness on behalf of my hapless egg boys,” he pleaded desperately. “They meant no harm, I assure you. It was a mere accident, a foolish mistake!”

Alastor's gaze narrowed as he observed Sir Pentious. As the snake demon continued to shower him with apologies, Alastor suddenly remembered the reason they were all gathered here in the first place—a party, of all things. With a wry smile, he glanced around at the other residents of the hotel, noting the fear etched onto their faces. The sight of their unease might've amused him under different circumstances, but the loss of something so precious to him soured his mood.

With a shake of his head, he allowed his form to shrink back to its normal size. As his horns receded and his imposing presence diminished, he felt the tension ebb from his body, the anger gradually fading away.

But that didn’t mean that all was forgiven.

“What, pray tell, am I supposed to do with my broken radio now?” Alastor's voice dripped with barely contained frustration as he shot a piercing gaze at Sir Pentious. 

Sir Pentious, visibly sweating under the weight of Alastor's glare, scrambled to offer a solution. “Ah, well, fear not,” he stuttered, his words coming out in a nervous rush. “I happen to know a mechanic—a fixer, if you will. Someone who can repair anything, no matter how... delicate.”

Alastor's eyebrow arched in skepticism, though a faint flicker of interest danced in his eyes. "Is that so?" he mused, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. He had his doubts about Sir Pentious' ability to deliver on such a promise, but at this point, he was willing to entertain any possibility.

“And where can I find this mechanic of yours?”

Following the instructions scribbled hastily on the back of a crumpled receipt, Alastor eventually found himself in the slums of Pentagram City. The narrow alleyways led him to what appeared to be a workshop, its exterior bearing the signs of neglect and decay. The windows were grimy, patches of paint flaked off the weathered walls, and the sign above the entrance barely hung on by a single rusty nail.

It was a far cry from the elegance he was accustomed to, and he couldn't help but feel a familiar surge of anger rising within him. This was the place that was supposed to hold the solution to his problem? The Radio Demon scoffed inwardly, doubting that anyone within these walls possessed the skill or expertise to repair something as delicate as his beloved radio.

Still, he pressed on. Pushing open the creaking door, he was met with a gust of stale air, tinged with the scent of oil and metal. Inside, the workshop was a scene of disarray. Tools lay scattered across workbenches, and half-finished projects cluttered every available surface. The walls were lined with shelves overflowing with spare parts, some of which appeared to be salvaged from long-forgotten machinery.

Alastor's lips curled into a disdainful sneer as he absorbed the surroundings. Then, his gaze fell upon the lone figure, hunched over a nearby table—you.

As he drew closer, you finally looked up, and to Alastor's surprise, you greeted him with a wide smile.

“Hi there! What can I do for you?”

Alastor's sneer deepened at the sight of the chipper mechanic, a stark contrast to the grim atmosphere of the workshop. He had half-expected to find someone as worn down and weathered as the building itself, yet here stood this bright-eyed individual, seemingly unfazed by the chaos around them.

Suppressing a sigh, Alastor straightened up, the edges of his grin faltering ever so slightly. “Good evening,” he began. “My name is Alastor, and I'm here because I was told you might be able to fix something for me.”

Your smile widened at his words, and you nodded eagerly. “Of course! What seems to be the problem?”

Alastor hesitated for a moment, eyeing you warily. He couldn't shake the feeling that entrusting his precious radio to you was a mistake. Yet, he had little choice in the matter.

“My antique radio is in need of repair,” Alastor explained, his tone guarded. “It's a delicate piece of machinery, and I require someone with the utmost skill to handle it.”

You listened intently as Alastor detailed the intricacies of his radio, nodding along with each word. Despite his cautious demeanor, you could sense the underlying concern in his voice. It was clear that this radio held great significance to him.

As he finished speaking, you gave him another nod. “I understand, Mr. Alastor,” you reassured him. “You won't be disappointed, I promise. Now, let's take a look at what you've got there.”

With that, you gestured for Alastor to follow you to your workbench, where he finally presented the fragmented piece of machinery. As you laid eyes on the broken radio, it became immediately apparent to you just how extensively damaged it was. Fractured casings, tangled wires, missing components–it was a daunting sight, yet you refrained from revealing the true severity of the damage to Alastor, not wanting to add to his distress. Instead, you maintained a composed demeanor as you turned to look at him with a confident grin.

“We'll get this sorted out, Mr. Alastor,” you assured him once more. “Leave it to me.”

Alastor felt a flicker of hope stir in his blackened heart at the prospect of having his radio fixed. Though a hint of doubt still lingered at the back of his mind, he nodded begrudgingly.

“Very well," he muttered. "Just... be careful with it.”

As Alastor stepped back, allowing you the space to work your magic, his eyes remained fixed on you with keen interest. He observed the fluidity of your movements, the subtle shifts in your expression. Whenever you encountered a challenge, your brows furrowed in concentration, and with each successful repair, a hint of satisfaction graced your lips. Alastor found himself unconsciously mirroring your expressions as he watched your steady hands diligently work to bring his beloved radio back to life.

And as time passed, so too did his initial skepticism begin to wane, replaced by a growing sense of admiration for your skill and expertise. There was something captivating about the way you worked, a sense of determination and passion that shone through with every meticulous movement.

At last, after what felt like an eternity, you made the final adjustment. With bated breath, you flicked the switch and awaited the outcome. The room fell into a tense silence, thick with anticipation. Then, suddenly, a burst of static erupted, followed by the unmistakable sound of music emanating from the speakers.

Alastor's eyes widened in disbelief as the once-silent device surged back to life. Your face lit up with a triumphant smile as you savored his reaction, a sense of pride swelling within you.

“There you go, Mr. Alastor,” you declared, extending the repaired radio toward him. “Good as new!”

As Alastor reached out to accept the radio from you, his fingers inadvertently brushed against yours in a fleeting moment of contact. In that instant, a jolt of electricity seemed to course through him, sending a distinct shiver down his spine.

It was a curious sensation, one that he couldn't quite place, yet it stirred something deep within him.

Even after withdrawing his hand, the feeling lingered, leaving Alastor perplexed. His gaze shifted from the repaired radio to your face, searching for any indication that you too had felt the same inexplicable energy pulse between you. However, your smile remained unchanged, oblivious to the tumult of emotions swirling within him.

“Thank you,” he finally murmured, his voice softer than usual, betraying a hint of sincerity that caught even him off guard. “You did a remarkable job.”

You beamed in response, your eyes alight with satisfaction at Alastor's words. “You're welcome,” you replied gently. “I'm glad I could be of help. And remember, if you ever need anything else, you know where to find me.”

Alastor offered a subtle nod of gratitude, though inwardly, he found himself oddly reluctant to leave. Nevertheless, he tucked the repaired radio under his arm and turned on his heel, heading towards the door. Stepping out into the dimly-lit street, he walked with deliberate steps. His thoughts drifted back to the moment his fingers brushed against yours, and despite his attempts to push the memory aside, his free hand instinctively flexed, fingers curling into a tight fist before relaxing once more.

This was going to be a problem.

part i / part ii

thank you for reading, hope you enjoyed<3

[astralphobia]

anyone else think of how terrifying sock opera must have been for mabel

like

when bipper’s looking down at her with that shit-eating grin, holding the rope?? Yk, that iconic scene??

Yeah, I can’t imagine how Mabel must have felt or how many nightmares sprung from that.

just. Imagine with me, okay? You’re twelve. You have a twin brother who’s been there for you your whole life, and always has your best interest at heart. He’s given up so much for you, and you’ve tried your best to help him in return, helping him solve mysteries and engaging in the things he enjoys with him. You don’t have to do that, but you do, because you want him to be happy.

And one day, something odd happens. He hasn’t gotten a lot of sleep lately, so maybe it’s just sleep deprivation! Maybe he’s just. ..Acting so oddly,, because he’s tired!

yeah. That’s it. At least he wants to help you with your crush for once, even if he wanted to focus on that laptop earlier. You feel kinda bad about ignoring it, but c’monnnn!! This guy is. So hot. You can’t help yourself! .. probably.

When you’re almost halfway through your attempt to impress this guy, this.. puppet you made starts floating, talking to you in the voice of your brother, telling you that he did something stupid (made a deal), and his body is currently being possessed by this triangle jerk you encountered earlier in the summer.

… kinda a lot to take in, but hey!! At least you know what was off now. .. wow, you’re kind of a bad sister for not noticing, huh?

anyways, he needs your help! But it could totally ruin your chances with this guy…. But that doesn’t matter, he needs your help. This only happened because you didn’t help him earlier, so you gotta help him now, right??

you rush to find the only thing that could possibly help you in this scenario. The journal.

And when you do find it, well..

even though you know that is not your brother, that’s a demon, possessing your brother’s body.. it still looks like him. And never have you felt such utter horror, such primal fear at the sight of a simple grin, ear. to. ear.

seeing him above you, standing on the catwalk makes you feel small, useless, insignificant.

and the expression on his face is one you hope you never see his facial features contort into again.

And he’s holding onto the rope that could mean the difference between life or death for you, the rope that is holding you and the wooden cake in the air. You’re lucky he caught it in the first place.

He could drop it any time he wants. Let go any time he wants. And he does, briefly, toying with you.

When your eyes widen and fear squeezes at your heart, he laughs at your pathetic, meaningless actions.

and even though you know it isn’t your brother. You know it’s not him, it’s not him, it’s not, it’s not…

And yet. It sounds like him. His laugh. The little one he makes whenever you make a silly joke, or fall over dramatically, possibly at the expense of your dignity. The one you have heard so many times, usually just as innocent and sweet as the last. And now you hear it again, and even if it’s something else laughing through him,, you can’t help but hear it. Tainted with ill intent.

The day does get saved, however. Your brother gets back into his own body not too much later. And everything is back to normal!

….. but.

You can’t help but remember that moment whenever he smiles a bit too wide, or laughs a bit too hard.

You can’t help but stay awake at night, replaying that moment. Telling yourself that it wasn’t him.

And you still have nightmares about it, too. Where you don’t notice until it’s too late and that thing that looks and sounds like him but isn’t him is back and this time you’ve lost, you’ve lost, you’ve lost!

..you wish you were a better sister.

[impish-baby]

heyo! Request here! Maybe you can do like a hero caretaker with a sidekick? So basically the sidekick is a beginner and gets hurt during battle and the hero becomes super over protective? (Also maybe like a sibling relationship or something?) Sorry if it’s too specific, and you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to! Make sure to drink water, ear so healthy delicious food and gets lots of sleep! Love your work!

-🐠 Anon (can I be 🐠 anon if that cool with you?)

Superheros.. (trigger warnings: heavy violence!! Creepy behavior, gas lighting, drugging)

You don't think the low level villian is recognizable anymore. They don't even look like a person. What was once their face is a bloody pulp, features blurring together in a mess of tissue and broken cartilage. Your mentor is still towering over them, snapping their fingers one by one methodically.

It's terrifying. You idolized Cyrus, looked up to him. He was the one who made you want to start hero work in the first place. This isn't what a hero is. Cyrus is just being cruel now, no sign of the man you've come to think of as a brother as he smirks when the person lying on the ground groans in pain. You should do something. Even if they're a villain, they don't deserve this.

But you can't. Body paralyzed with fear as you stare wide-eyed at the scene playing out before you helplessly. You feel almost numb, static ringing in your ears, the sound of bones crunching still evident until it suddenly silences.

You don't even notice when Cyrus moves, not until he's right in front of you. There's only warmth in his gaze as he smiles at you and only horror in yours. "Aw, I'm sorry, kiddo.." The hero pulls you into his arms, blood from his hands smearing onto your costume. "That must have been scary, huh? Don't worry, they can't hurt you anymore.."

Like he wasn't the one you're scared of?!

Cyrus hums, pulling away only to cup your face with utmost care. "I know, I know, you're a big kid that could've handled it.." He rolls his eyes fondly, paying no mind to your lack of response. "What do you expect me to do? I'm your big brother even when we're in uniform.."

You blink dumbly, unable to utter a word, the shock of everything becoming a crushing weight on your chest. "Let me see the owie, ok?" Cyrus murmurs, guiding you to sit before kneeling in front of you. The injury is barely anything, a cut along your thigh that at most needs to be bandaged-

"Ow.." He hisses with a wince, "that'll need stitches, kiddo.."

What? "I can do them, so you don't have to go to the hospital. I'll bring you home a treat after for being brave!" Cyrus ruffles your hair, dismissing your stuttered protests with a laugh. "Hey, I've been doing this for how long? I've been hurt way more than you, kid. Do you think I can't tell when something is serious or not?"

He.. he does know more than you. He's seen so much more combat, come back home with hundreds of injuries. Cyrus would know. You're lifted into his arms when you don't say anything more, the hero taking flight with you cradled to his chest.

The medicine he offers you once you're set down on your bed is foreign. It doesn't look like ibuprofen or Tylenol, there's not even an identifying mark, they're just blank. "It'll be easier if you're asleep." Cyrus hums, already holding a glass of water to wash the pills down. "You've seen me get stitches just fine, but I've built up a pain tolerance for years. You won't want to be awake, sweetheart."

They taste sickly sweet, the water doing nothing to help wash out the taste. "Good kid.." Cyrus presses a light kiss to your forehead, "You know I love you, right?" The dots lining your vision take over before you can even manage to respond. Cyrus doesn't mind, slipping the power suppressor over your wrist with a content hum.

(a/n: Thank you for being so kind, Anon!! And yes, you can have that tag! I hope this was ok ^^)

[haru-natsuka]

The Unending Daze Part 2 (Malleus Draconia x Wife Reader x Ace Trappola)

*Chapter start from below trailer*

>> Trailer <<

"My darling wife, the joy you have brought me throughout the years is without compare. Our children are fortunate to have been gifted with such a loving and caring mother as you,"

Malleus spoke with affection, his voice like honeyed words that melted the hearts of everyone that heard it. He leaned down to kiss your forehead, his warm breath brushing against your skin.

But just as you were getting used to this blissful scene, your old friend, Ace arrived in an unexpected turn of events. He claimed that he was your husband, which left you perplexed and bewildered.

"Wait a minute, that's not right! I'm your real husband! He's just trying to manipulate you with a dream. Wake up, now! Our children need you! I need you, Y/N!"

You were unsure how to proceed, caught in the middle of a confusing situation. In this situation, you feel conflicted and uncertain about whether your old friend or your darling husband had spoken the truth

>> PART 2 <<

You woke up with a jolt as you panted for breath, a sudden rush of panic and fear washing over you. Your mind immediately reeled with everything that happened yesterday, the memories of Malleus's intense and possessive behavior in the throes of his jealousy flooding back, filling you with a growing sense of dread and fear.

"Good morning my dear wife." Malleus smiled warmly at you, his face filled with a mix of kindness and concern as he greeted you from the side of your bed. He advanced toward you to give you a kiss but you quickly place your palm on his lips and reject him, asking him about your children instead.

"Why did you do that yesterday? "Are our children alright?" The tone of your question seemed to confuse him, as his face grows into a look of shock and confusion before the same smile from before creeping to his face.

"They are as good as puppets. They are here with us." As the words left his mouth, his lips gently lingered on your palm, before his lips make their way up towards your shoulder. The feeling of his warm breath against your skin sent a jolt down your spine, and your body froze in a moment of shock and tension.

A sense of panic and fear washed through you as you realised that something was wrong, that your children were not actually here in this room with you. As he pulls back, his smile grows wider, his eyes staring intensely into yours, his breath catching inside his lung for a moment.

"You must want to see them. After all, my dear wife is a loving mother. Look at them, dear" As his fingers grasped your chin firmly, you felt a wave of sudden terror washing over you as your head was turned forcefully toward the corner of the room.

There, staring back at you with lifeless eyes, were two wooden puppets, their faces frozen in an expressive pose of happy families. The horror and shock of the sight immediately filled your mind, as your body stiffened in a mix of fear and helplessness.

Malleus still had a strong hold of you for several minutes with utter dominance, not letting you look away from the puppets. Secretly, he enjoyed the look of terror in your eyes as he just smiled warmly at you, his eyes seemingly full of kindness and care as he looks at you. Just like a loving husband that you loved so much.

"Malleus, stop with your joke now." As his hands fell away from your face, your voice broke into a nervous tremble. Your eyes were quickly shifting between the wooden puppets in horror and disbelief, before you turned your eyes back upon him, frantically pleading for a confirmation.

"That cannot be our children, right? That is not Levan and Marcellus." You asked him with a desperate tone, unable to believe what you were seeing. The shock and fear on your face seemed to startle Malleus, as the expression on his face softened into one of genuine concern.

"My dear wife, I would never joke about such a thing. They looked so alive to me. They were always fighting each other. And now they are so peaceful, like dolls. It's nothing but normal for puppets to look like that. Isn't it?" Malleus's tone was calm and reassuring, as he tried to reassure you that there was nothing wrong with the puppets, with both of your kids.

"Dear wife, are you in disbelief? I'm the one who created them dear. They are my masterpiece." As he said this, a green shadow shot across the room towards the puppets, turning them into the appearance of your sons.

"They look like us dear. A mix of fae and lovable human like you" There was a growing smirk on his face as the puppets transformed in front of your eyes. As though on cue, Levan and Marcellus spoke to you in your son's voices, their wooden faces suddenly transformed back into looking like them. The green shadow slowly fades from the room as the puppets' wooden skin becomes soft again and the illusion is restored.

"Morning, Mama! Papa!" Marcellus says in his usual cheery tone, with Levan nodding his head in agreement beside him. Levan and Marcellus continue to giggle as though nothing unusual had just happened.

"Mama! Don't be scared!" It was now Marcellus turn to address you, his little hands reaching out to take yours. His hands felt as stiff as wooden, and you can't help but experience a feeling of horror and revulsion at the touch. Despite this, you let him take your hand, hoping that Malleus has not seen your reaction as you fear him for good.

Malleus watched you and your sons interacting, his lips curling into an amused and joyful smile for his little family. He seemed truly proud of his creation, as he watched them move and talked with you. However, he cannot help but noticed your reaction to Marcellus's wooden hand, and his expression darkens.

"They are lovely, aren't they?" Malleus said with a cruel smirk, enjoying the shock and fear on your face as he placed his hands on your shoulder.

"I make sure they take after us, especially your eyes that I love the most." His gaze wander towards your eyes, his words and tone made it clear that this is more of a threat than a compliment.

"But dear, you too focus on them, so they need to disappear." As he spoke this, the puppets began to turn back into their wooden forms. Seeing them changed back into their wooden forms, your heart skipped a beat, and you felt a mixture of horror and fear rush through you, as your mind tries to wrap around the revelation that the children you thought were real were just puppets.

Levan and Marcellus remained still and silent in their wooden forms, their wooden hands dangling limply by their sides. They seemed so lifeless and stiff, as though they were not a living creature. Your fear and confusion grew as Malleus's expression darkens, and his eyes stared at you firmly as though assessing your reaction. Malleus's cruel smirk grew wider as your confusion and fear grow.

"Why did you do this?" Your voice shaking in a mix of surprise and disbelief.

"Aren't we in a good marital relationship?" He looked back at you, his eyes dark and emotionless as he remained silent for a long moment. Malleus's expression slowly narrowed, and you cannot help but feel a growing sense of unease as his eyes fixated upon you. It was as though he was debating whether to answer your question, or whether to ignore it altogether. Eventually, his expression hardens, and he finally speaks.

"Because, my dear wife. I love you but" Your heart sank as he spoke his next words, the coldness in his voice sending a jolt of fear through your body.

"You don't love me. Even after all this years" The words hit you like a slap in the face, and you immediately turned away from him, not wishing to face his cruel expression anymore.

"That's why I think this is a great time for us to finally be one. All this time, I tried to respect you, dear wife" His voice darkened even further as he said this, the tone of his words leaving no doubt about his intentions.

"My wife is smart" He was now talking in a completely different tone, one that sounds almost like a threat. "You know what I meant do you?"

"As for that red haired man." The tone of his voice grew more menacing as he mentioned the red haired man.

"Never ever think about that red haired man again." His tone now resembled that of a command, as though he expected you to obey his every word.

"You were being a bad wife yesterday, dear wife. Saying that name in my presence. Now, how should I manage this, my dear wife? Should I lock you up again or clear your memories. hahhahahahaha! HAHAHAHA! I would always feel excited in starting a new dream with you again, My. Dear. Wife"

PART 1 <<, >> PART 3

@d3sperate-enuf

[imjunebitch]

channelers chapter one: feeling small and as though creation is fucked

im June, bitch! and this is Channelers, a dumb series about wizards, God, and things that call themselves gods.

tw: gratuitous body horror, asshole queerphobe protagonist (just in this chapter), gratuitous dick jokes, scary elements kinda, existential dread, and nodens.

reblogs and feedback always appreciated :D

Fear greatly, for though GOD knows no equality, that Supreme Being does know equity. You who hold His power, know that while you live, all Creation must then groan, and the darkness that predates time will also know your name-

~~

"You were nine years old when it happened, and you would tell them you didn't remember it, but you did, you do. You let yourself internally categorize the question as another, simpler question, 'did you see anything helpful, anything that makes sense.' And no, you didn't, so you felt justified lying then, as a child, and lying now, even to the doctor you pay actual money, under the pretense of having someone who you could be fully honest with. You don't even admit it to yourself.

You went out to the road at night at your grandparents house with your older cousin, and he pointed where the long, narrow road stretched out between two seemingly endless walls of trees, and the thin dusky light emanating lazily from the porch dissolved into utter darkness, blacker than black, and grinned, and said whoever walked the furthest without turning and running would win.

And you'd whined, but then he called you a baby, and you weren't a fucking baby, you were nine years old, and he laughed, and said you were too a baby, listen to yourself, saying the word fuck like you had never said it before, you were bad at it. That made you angry, and you walked quickly down the road. He followed you, mocking you initially, and then falling silent.

The darkness was big. It was so big that it was like slipping out of light entirely, floating into space, no energy, no sound, nothing, nothing. Your cousin spoke quietly, said you could turn around, and you knew he was trying to trick you, so you kept going.

And then it was so dark that you could not see your arms or legs, and you heard your cousin scream, and you ran. You ran. You left him.

You moved as quickly as you could, and heard screams cut short, and saw that you could not see any part of your body, and you felt that your feet were no longer touch any ground at all. You knew you were moving forward, but as you wiggled your fingers and toes and realized that you could not do that, as you no longer had toes or fingers to wiggle, you realized you were not running. You could not.

You were alone, of course, truly alone, and nothing seemed to exist but blackness. But in the mind of a human, especially a child, anthropomorphizing anything and everything is unavoidable, so you imagined the malicious or uncaring void that had taken your cousin as a great, monstrous black goat. This brought you a little comfort. You imagined that your cousin had not simply vanished, that perhaps he had been eaten. This, too, was comforting. You spoke, and heard your own voice, either aloud or in your head. You giggled hysterically in relief, and began to speak.

Sometimes when you were young you would whisper terrible things to yourself in bed and feel the dark joy, shame, and terror of transgression. You would say things like I love Satan and then laugh and weep in terror, in your bed, late at night. In that moment, you didn't pay attention to what you were saying, because you knew it would terrify you, petrify you, make you scream and weep. You spoke words you would never say.

And when they found your curled up on the side of the road and asked you where your cousin was you lied and said you didn't k-"

~~

Eddie liked to feel important. It was truly among his favorite things. So although the job paid chickenshit, although the people he worked with filled him with a mild sense of loathing, although seeing the fucking scene kids and teenage skater assholes made him feel older than he was, and sapped him of hope for the future, the simple fact that being a mall security guard let him wear a uniform, and carry a baton, even if he wasn't really allowed to use it, was enough of a thrill to keep him more than happy.

Eddie's life was not interesting, but he was not an interesting man. He had light brown hair, which he cut short. His face looked a little bit like it had been broken apart and then mended, almost, almost perfectly. Proportions and composition just a little off.

He would wake up in the morning and walk to work. Sometimes he would allow himself breakfast, usually from the food court, and then he would walk to his locker, put on his uniform, and grab his baton. Occasionally the blue dyed-hair, pimply fucker he worked with would remark on how he seemed to enjoy holding the baton just a smidgen too much, and ask if he felt the object was phallic in any sense. He wouldn't respond to them.

Today they were nowhere to be found, God be blessed, and so he slipped his uniform on in silence. It was crisp. Nobody else kept their uniform crisp. Eddie liked to think he would have made a good police officer. Or perhaps a military officer. But no, it was the mall, the mall for him. He reminded himself as he looked around the dingy locker room (green, almost brown walls, metal benches, gray and somehow almost preternatural levels of grime and stickiness coating the metal of the lockers themselves) that you only had what you were given. He held this power, at least, over his tiny slice of creation. He tried not to be ungrateful, but it was difficult. 28 fucking years old, and this was all he had?

A bad line of thought. He inhaled through his nose and exhaled through his mouth. Were you meant to do that the other way? He wasn't sure. Whatever, breathing didn't do shit anyway.

He grasped his baton firmly, cursing the barely adult shit-stain for making him think of it as a penis intermittently, and walked out to do his job.

His job consisted of walking the mall, which he often did like a man in a trance, and listening to his radio, from which he would periodically be told that there was an issue. When there was an issue, he would go to the person or people causing it and speak in low, friendly tones, and clutch his baton, firmly and suggestively. No- Not "firmly and suggestively," fuck, fuck that blue-haired cumstain. He would grasp it... No... Grip it, grip it with authority- FUCK.

He would hold it and tacitly threaten the troublemaker. There. Goddamnit. But that rarely happened. When it did, it utterly delighted him. It was a moment of brightness in an otherwise dull and overly repetitive life. A brief respite from his irritatingly routine existence. As he clutched the blunt, firm, thick rod-

God fucking damnit, he couldn't stop thinking about penises now.

Nothing much was happening today. Mall goths were congregating in their quiet, pale-faced circles. Old men and women were walking with apparent determination and enthusiasm. Stanley, who sold T-shirts and was easily ten years his senior, waved at him.

"Hey, Stanley," Eddie murmured quietly, looking at the wrinkly, large-headed man. Stanley smiled disingenuously and spoke in whatever accent he spoke in. "Hello Edward. Where is the kid?" Eddie groaned "Sick, probably? Hell if I know. Not here, that's enough for me." Stanley smiled. "Not your friend, then." Eddie sighed. "Not my friend. Obviously not my friend. I doubt that I have ever said anything about them to you that wasn't derisive."

Stanley shrugged. "Edward, all day I talk to people. Customers, coworkers, bastards who walk the mall and purchase nothing. My skull contains no room for your petty squabbles." Eddie paused. Hm. That was fair. It still upset him vaguely that Stanley didn't seem to care that much about him, so he spun in his heel and walked down the hall.

It was a quiet day, because it was almost always a quiet day. There were no fights to break up, no customers aggressive enough to warrant being called in for a warning. Even the joy he took in verbally degrading his coworkers was unattainable, as he was alone that day. Hell, no teenagers seemed interested in harassing him. It was a cold day in hell, then. Although quiet days were common, today went above and beyond, he thought.

Lunch was a fucking cup of pretzel bites from the goddamn pretzel star, because he hadn't packed a lunch. It tasted like butter and nothing else, because he'd forgotten to ask for salt. Why the fuck didn't they just assume salt? Who the hell asks for pretzel bites and doesn't want salt? He didn't mention this to the older woman, because he was a coward, and also an asshole who assumed that she wasn't fluent in English. He drank a diet pepsi.

The first screams came from the hallway adjacent to the Belk, where he sat in a bench eating his fucking butter bread nuggets. The first were screams of panic, then of pain. And Eddie was not a scream expert, but he could tell the difference. The sound was followed by the noise a human hand might make in a blender. It sounded amplified, distorted, crunching and sucking noises looping and overlapping. The hot topic was on the other end of the mall, so it wasn't music...

Eddie was not a brave man, really. He was the opposite. So what he did made no sense. Well, initially he sat perfectly still, rigid and unthinking in his fear, staring blankly at the off-white and shiny black tiles that covered the ground of the hall, grime-encrusted, cracked, and listened to the auditory equivalent of gore, and then he looked up at the older Asian woman working at the pretzel star. Her eyes were wide with fear and she suddenly bolted for the Belk.

Eddie did not bolt for the Belk.

He should have.

He was not a brave man, but neither was he a smart man, not particularly. But that neither explains nor justifies precisely how stupid he was in that moment. Running towards a sound like that. He crossed a corner and looked blankly at an older man walking around the corner.

The man was old, sticky, short. Bald, with a crown of thin white hair around his head, poking around his ears. His skin was a strange, almost red tint, like he was sunburned or very, very cold. When he saw Eddie, he stared blankly, and smiled lifelessly, with wide, watery black eyes.

"I'm a security guard," Eddie said. "I'm here to help." The man smiled wider, and then collapsed onto the ground with a wet slap. Judging by the fluid trickling from his body, Eddie realized that he was probably lacking, at least, the very outermost layer of his skin.

The blood was flowing like a small stream, down the hallway, towards where a thin curtain seemed to have been stretched in the middle, forming a wall. The hall, what he could see of it, was eerily empty.

He began to turn and walk, but then the body began to twitch and move. His back began to shift, and almost roll.

And then his spine left his body.

The curtain down the hallway began to stretch and tear, with a thick, leathery noise, and a strange scent emanated from the other side. Eddie asked himself what that scent might be, but he asked this with the fullness of knowledge of what it was. It felt best, to wonder. Easier.

the spine dragged the man's limp body forward, and the body reached out, clawing at him almost absentmindedly, crawling like a slug. Eddie squealed in a high voice, and

Pain, then, exploding through his leg as the body's teeth sank into his thigh, with a hoarse, harsh scream, thrashing, scream from him, not the body, pain so great that separating things felt impossible. Brain on fire.

He slammed the baton into the head of the body, and let out a quiet gasp as it's head exploded, bursting like a water balloon. He leapt out of the way, tightly clinging to himself and falling in the floor.

UP.

BOY. GET UP.

"Who? Who the fuck said that?"

The voice was booming, deep, paternal, and it had no apparent origin.

THE CONSTRUCT IS NOT YET DESTROYED, NUMBNUTS. GET UP. GET UP, COWARD. YOU HAVE ALWAYS WANTED TO BE SPECIAL. STOP BEING A COWARD. FUCKING. STOP IT.

"Who the fuck are you? What is going on-?"

The voice sighed loudly, and Eddie shook his head rapidly. The voice was coming from inside his head, he could tell. It wasn't making any sense.

BOY. THIS DOES NOT MATTER. WHAT MATTERS IS THAT YOU DESTROY THE CONSTRUCT. IT HAS A TASTE FOR YOU NOW. DO THIS. OR DIE. TAKE YOUR METAL PHALLUS...

"It's a FUCKING baton!!!"

TAKE YOUR METAL PHALLUS. USE IT TO DESTROY THE CONSTRUCT, JUST BE CERTAIN TO GET AS LITTLE OF IT ON OR IN YOU AS POSSIBLE. DO THIS.

Eddie looked down at the body. It had no head now, but it was still moving, somehow. The spine was splintered into three long strands, the center working to hold the body together, and the other two moving... The ribcage. Like a mouth. Jesus fucking Christ.

It staggered to its feet... well, not exactly, not ex-fucking-actly, but it forced itself into an upright position and began to crawl forward. Eddie shrieked, slamming his baton into the bone-jaw, watching in terror and vague, adrenalin-fueled excitement as the rib-teeth shattered. The baton was fucking... Glowing? Blue, it seemed blue. Less so on further examination, but his head was saying"blue," even if his eyes didn't agree.

The body's arm seemed to almost cannibalize itself for resources, disintegrating, reforming as a fleshy tendril, and whipping towards him.

Pain, but that was clearly a given.

FUCKING HOPELESS the voice said quietly, and Eddie felt an unreasonable urge to prove it wrong. He took his metal baton, which still has the strange blue glimmer, and raised it over his head, slamming it into the body over and over again, letting red mist spray, until the body collapsed, seemingly unable to hold itself together.

Eddie laughed. He slumped to the ground. "Fuck you, voice. I killed it. I killed the goddamn zombie."

YEAH, CONGRATULATIONS, BIG MAN. YOU DESTROYED A SINGLE CONSTRUCT. EXCELLENT. THE VERY GOD-DAMNED EXTREMITY OF AN OLD ONE WAS, INDEED, DAMAGED.

"Fuck you. Who are you, anyway?"

NEVER HALLUCINATED BEFORE? KIDDING. I AM NODENS. I AM AN ELDER GOD.

"Ah. Of course. Fucking answers, snappy."

NO. I HAVE EXPLAINED THINGS FAR TOO MANY TIMES TO GO OVER THE BASICS WITH ANOTHER LITTLE BITCH. THE ANSWERS YOU SEEK CAN ONLY COME FROM ANOTHER CHANNELER. NO, DON'T FUCKING ASK ME WHAT A CHANNELER IS. THERE IS ANOTHER ONE OF YOUR KIND BEHIND THE SKIN CURTAIN

"Oh, that's what that is? That's disgusting." Eddy shuddered and walked towards the skin curtain. It seemed to be muffling all sound behind it. Because he wasn't thinking right, at all, (he was fairly certain that... Nodens, or whatever was influencing him) he walked up to the curtain and pressed his hand against the layer of skin.

His hand slipped right through. He let out a strangled cry and fell forward, through the skin, and onto the other side.

Holy fuck.

Holy, fuck, a goddamn sphere of body parts was in the center. Writhing, connecting, attaching and detaching. Eddie staggered back, and the skin didn't let him slip through that way. He let out a high, shallow noise, and looked at the walls of skin coating the... Well, the walls.

The sphere was so big, so detailed and variant in form, like a fucking viscera mandala, that even describing it felt like a waste of time. Too much to analyze, and his brain blocked out.

SEE, NOW THAT'S A RESPECTABLE CONSTRUCT, the voice said, it's tone low and almost bored. YOU TOOK THAT DOWN? THAT'D BE SOMETHING TO BRAG ABOUT. BUT I THINK SHE HAS IT COVERED.

Eddie looked up, and saw her. Well, he assumed it was a "her..." Her features were a little androgynous. She was pale, with long, brown hair tied in a loose ponytail, with a long face that reminded him of a bird, or less politely, a rodent. She was wearing a blue-colored suit, the top of which was far too big for her, the tie hanging loosely and the jacket billowing around her, and she was holding a long rifle.

And then things got a little insane: there was the floating head of a hairless cat beside her. A cat's head, clear as fucking day, floating in the air. It was fucking talking too. It's voice was high and shrieky, like nails on a damned chalkboard board and it was saying

THE ONE THING THAT IS TRUE OF ALL THAT DRAWS BREATH IS THAT IT CAN CEASE TO DO SO! ALL WITH BLOOD INSIDE IT CAN BLEED. ALL THAT LIVES CAN DIE! THE PURPOSE OF ALL THAT LIVES IS THUS: TO KILL OR DIE. ALL ELSE IS DISTRACTION!

"Yep," the woman in the suit muttered wearily. "Any new talking points?"

ONLY THIS: I LIKE YOU VERY MUCH. PLEASE DO NOT DIE YET.

The woman giggled, aiming her rifle at the meat sphere. "Aww, are we being sweet, Bastet? How unlike you." Having taken aim, she fired, and Eddie essentially gave up on his life ever making sense again.

The bullets broke open in mid air, like a corn kernel popping. The things bursting forth from the bullets seemed to be far, far too big for those bullets to contain.

They were cats, metal cats, capable of movement, apparently, despite their forms being uniform, and lacking in joints or anything like that.

"What the fuck?" Eddie whispered, and the voice laughed. THAT IMPRESSES YOU? HOLY SHIT, YOU BABY. SIMPLE FUCKING CONSTRUCT, MORON. SURE, VERY IMPRESSIVE IN FORM, BUT SIMPLE FUCKING THING IN FUNCTION. ESPECIALLY WITH THE ELDER GOD HELPING. Eddie blinked, twice. "But... how does the cat fit inside the...?" IT ABSORBS MINERALS IN THE AIR AROUND IT AND RECONFIGURES THE ATOMS- WAIT, NO, FUCK YOU, I JUST SAID I'M NOT EXPLAINING SHIT.

Eddie sighed and shook his head. The metal cat things were tearing into the meat orb now, and it appeared to be screaming, which was... Utterly terrifying. The woman(?) was smiling vaguely at the sight, and the cat head was grinning insanely. And then the meat sphere started crawling. It moved like a huge amoeba, pseudopodia and all, gliding on the floor. The metal cats yelped as mouths with teeth of bone formed, fangs tearing into them.

FUCK! MY PRECIOUS BABIES! AVENGE ME, SLAVE!

"Please stop calling me a slave..." the woman in the suit muttered quietly. "This is a consensual partnership."

The meat orb clearly hadn't focused it's efforts on creating a set of vocal chords also the screams were haphazard and raw. It was doing it's best to rebuild the parts it broke, meat slithering over. The purpose of the skin cocoon was apparent now.

The skin was growing, thickening. Hastily made limbs glided towards it, tearing off chunks and bringing it over towards the mass.

FASCINATING. LOOK BOY! A SIMPLE ORGANIC WARD, AND IT HAS AUTOMATIC, FAST GROWING REPLENISHMENT! WHY, ONE MUST ALMOST ADMIRE THE CREATURE, VILE THOUGH IT IS. AN OLD ONE IS WISE INDEED!

"No, one mustn't admire it, particularly if one has NO FUCKING CLUE WHAT YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT!" Eddie hissed angrily.

MY DEAR MAN. I DON'T GIVE A JOHN JACOB JINGLEHEIMER SHIT.

"You stole that, you fucking stole that joke from the internet!"

YOU CLEARLY HAVE ZERO INTEREST IN DOING ANYTHING HELPFUL IN THIS SITUATION

"Yeah, I'm not an idiot-"

THUS, AS EVER, IT FALLS TO ME. KEEL OVER, BITCH.

Eddie fell to his knees, his grip on the cudgel loosening, and with his eyes and jaw slack, and open, he keeled over and lost consciousness.

~~

Nodens had forgotten what flesh felt like, so initially he was hit by the crushing pressure of the violent flowing of blood in his body, smothered under the weight of meat, fat and muscle, piled on fragile and impermanent bone. He remembered to breathe, and some of the crushing weight lifted. He curled his lip. Breathing was such a miserable chore, god damn the evolutionary process for failing to make that reflexive.

Moving, too, was a chore. The weight of meat, of red flesh on flimsy bone. A precarious, tiring, awful chore. Arms, fingers, toes, legs... walking was supposed to be just like riding a bike, he thought. And then he realized, of course, that he could not ride a bike at all, and he shook his head fiercely and angrily.

He looked forward, clutching the large metal phallus that the boy had chosen to be his conduit. The Old one was hiding inside a large, and, he grudgingly admitted to himself, fairly impressive construct, with growth wards providing an endless supply of skin. He bared his teeth, grinning. The thrill of the chase!

Bastet glimpsed over towards him.

INTERLOPER she screamed, and her assistant/worshipper/lover/however they chose to define the relationship between God and Channeler looked forward too.

Nodens smiled "Hello, ancient enemy. The Old One is mine to slay, using this puppet. Step off, my dear BITCH."

ALL THAT LIVES IS MY DOMAIN, HUNTER!!!!

The woman in the suit cleared her throat. "Bastet, my crepuscular queen, the more flesh turned against this beast, the happier I am, in all honesty." Nodens snorted. "Your opinion means less than nothing, insect."

SHE'S MY FAVORITE INSECT, AND THUS SHE IS INFINITELY MORE IMPORTANT THAN YOU!!!! YOU SHOULD SURRENDER TO THE GREAT DARKNESS NOW!!!!

"Do not make such insults so casually, my friend," Nodens snarled. "Remember your goddamn place." The woman in the suit rolled her eyes and muttered under her breath.

"if this shit turns into one of those elder god rap battles, im gonna be sooo pissed."

A FLYTING? NO, I HAVE DOUBT IN THE NECESSITY OF SUCH A THING.

"i do feel the need to point out that the flesh construct remains intact and the old one hidden from view."

Nodens bared his teeth. Yes, perhaps that was a more important concern than MILLENNIUM OLD BEEF with another Elder God. He grabbed the metallic phallus, and raising it high, ran forward. So much forward motion so early might have been a bad idea, but it felt the honorable thing to do.

He heard the bang-bang-bang of the suited priestess and her gun, and scoffed, guns were for cowards, rolling his eyes at the metal cat constructs joining the fray. He tore into the walls of meat with the metal phallus, glowing blue with unnatural light. The meat slipped apart wetly, with little effort. Piss-poor composition, not that it mattered, since the skin wards let it just grow the fuck back.

"Um... I think that we should focus on getting to the actual Old One and not waste time on the construct, because we could fight the construct for-frikkin-ever," the suit wearing priestess opined. Nodens gritted his teeth. The mortal was right, an ever embarrassing thing to admit. He brought the phallus down on a wall of flesh again, and set about tearing an entryway into it.

Hard work, fortunately the construct was not built for offensive purposes. Those minor constructs like the one the boy had felled filled that purpose. This one was a dumb animal, a literal living shield, built around the real threat. It ate, shat, and contained blood, and it did little else, as was it's design.

Metal cats were worming their way in now too, like, well, worms, burrowing into an apple. Eddie's body was giving in already. Nodens snorted. Channeler the boy may be, but he was still human flesh and bone. Weak. He was approaching the Old One now, a fraction of nothingness in a universe that otherwise, for all it's faults, existed. He could feel the sound of it's real silence, in his teeth and jawbone. The body he wore was shaking.

He tried to ignore the way it moved and looked. The way his brain struggled in vain to recognize anything in the pure nothingness ahead of him, and the way his brain filled that empty space with a hundred thousand swirling nightmare visions, none of them real but all of them preferable to the tableau of incomprehensible nonexistence ahead of him. Thank god it was a small one, not capable of thought, not capable of seeing him. His body was reacting in utter terror and though a Channeler was something stronger than a human, he knew that the body would fail in time. Its divinity granted it about five minutes of prolonged exposure of this sort.

This was hard, one of the hardest possible things to do. Nodens allowed about half of his spirit to slip from Eddie's body, so he could work in tandem as God and Priest. Every God could do something that looked like it, but actual creation was impossibly draining. Blood flowed from Eddie's nose, mouth, ears, and eyes, but he wasn't going to die, anyway, and this was what Channelers were for. Batteries.

It wasn't very much. Just a couple of hydrogen molecules in the middle of the Old One, where nothing--literally, truly nothing--had existed before. The Old One was forced for the first time to acknowledge itself, to exist, and where it had not existed before, there was now a patch of air, mingling molecules and gasses.

Nodens let out a loud, agonized cry as he was torn back into the dreamlands, and Eddie crumpled to the floor like a fallen house of cards. And the construct around him collapsed.

~~

WE ARE GOING TO HAVE TO BURN THIS ENTIRE MALL DOWN

"I know that, Bastet."

IT'S LIKE A FUCKING BOSCH PAINTING IN THERE. AND YOU SHOULDN'T HAVE TAKEN THE SECURITY GUARD, HE SEEMS LIKE A CUNT. SHOULD HAVE LET ME EAT HIM WHEN I OFFERED.

"You think everyone is bad, B."

IF HE'S MEAN TO YOU, I'LL EAT HIM

"I told you to stop babying me about the trans thing. I'm a grown ass woman-"

NOT ABOUT THAT. IF ANYONE IS MEAN TO YOU FOR ANY REASON I'LL FUCKING CUT THEM. YOU'RE NICE AND COOL.

"I love you too, B."

...

Quiet grumbling followed, and Eddie wondered why his head hurt so goddamn much, and where he was. Dark, cramped, and... Judging by the sounds... And the feeling of motion... Was... Was he in the trunk of a car? He sniffed heavily. He smelled like shit and raw meat. This was, he realized, probably because of all of the blood he was soaked in. He let out a high, shrill scream.

"Shit. I think he's broken."

WELL, HARD AS IT IS TO SAY, I THINK HE'S LOST ALL USE TO US. YOU DON'T HAVE TO WORRY ABOUT HIM. I'LL MAKE THE SACRIFICE AND EAT HIM.

"Yeah, well, that's real good of you, B."

MY KINDNESS KNOWS NO BOUNDS.

"Don't you remember when I first realized I was a Channeler? I was confused, scared, panicked.... You helped me, and look where we are now!"

I HELPED YOU BECAUSE YOU'RE HOT, THAT'S LITERALLY IT. HE LOOKS LIKE SHIT.

Eddie took the time and energy to be offended, despite his current state. The car hit a pothole and he almost vomited.

TAKE SOME ADVICE, L. THIS GUY IS AN ASSHOLE. I THINK HE HAS PISSED HIMSELF BACK THERE. HE'S A DUMBASS. DON'T TRAIN HIM. LET ME EAT HIM INSTEAD. I'LL BROIL HIM, CUT HIM UP, SHIT, WE CAN SHARE! I'LL GIVE YOU THE VERY BEST PIECES.

"I still don't eat people. Nor will I, ever. And I'm not training this guy anyway. Our mutual friend K will probably help him out."

OOH, K IS A FUCKING ASSHOLE. GOOD. THIS'LL BE REALLY FUNNY. MAYBE THEY'LL FUCKING KILL HIM AND LET ME EAT H-

"Are you really that fucking hungry, B? So fucking hungry that eating people is the sole thing you can think of?"

I CAN THINK OF A FEW THINGS I'D LIKE TO EAT, YEAH.

The suited woman laughed, affectionately.

"You're fucking disgusting."

The two then settled into a supremely comfortable silence. Well, it was comfortable for them. The blood-drenched man huddled in the trunk of the car, shuddering from his cold wetness, jolted by every bump of the car, too scared to speak or even breathe too loud, was perhaps a little less comfortable in comparison. He closed his eyes tight and waited to wake up from this nightmare.

~~

The trunk opened, and Eddie rolled out onto the concrete driveway, sobbing and stucky with blood. From what, he couldn't even fucking remember. The woman in the suit looked down at him with a sympathetic half-smile. He got a better look at her. She was skinny and pale, with facial features reminiscent of a rodent. He couldn't decide if she was pretty or not, but he was leaning towards not. She had big eyes and thin lips slick with black lipstick, and something wrong with her facial expression. She also had an adams apple, which he felt a tiny bit bad about noticing. She was leaning down to look at him.

"Hey," she said, and her voice was soft. "You're scared, huh? Well, it's okay, okay? My friend Kai is a Channeler, like you are, and they're going to help you learn how this works. Bastet and I are going to go burn down the mall, and then I'll come back around and check on you, okay?"

Kai... where the hell had he heard that name? He couldn't think of it. The woman in the suit was helping him walk to the door now, and she rang the doorbell.

The door opened.

"Fuck my life," Eddie whispered.

He remembered where he knew the name Kai from now. The sole occupant of the house, with their pale skin, and blue hair, and pimply fucking rat face, smiled broadly. "Hi, Luci. Hey Ed."

"Don't fucking call me Ed."

"Nice to see you brought your special metal dildo, Ed. Come on in."

[apricusapollo]

quotes from frankenstein by mary shelley that remind me of theo raeken:

It is even possible that the train of my ideas would never have received the fatal impulse that led to my ruin. 

It was a strong effort of the spirit of good, but it was ineffectual. Destiny was too potent, and her immutable laws had decreed my utter and terrible destruction. 

It is so long before the mind can persuade itself that she whom we saw every day and whose very existence appeared a part of our own can have departed for ever – that the brightness of a beloved eye can have been extinguished and the sound of a voice so familiar and dear to the ear can be hushed, never more to be heard. 

I was required to exchange chimeras of boundless grandeur for realities of little worth.

My attention was fixed upon every object the most insupportable to the delicacy of the human feelings.

The different accidents of life are not so changeable as the feelings of human nature.

But now that I had finished, the beauty of the dream vanished, and breathless horror and disgust filled my heart.  

Dreams that had been my food and pleasant rest for so long a space were now become a hell to me; and the change was so rapid, the overthrow so complete! 

I felt suddenly, and for the first time during many months, calm and serene joy. 

How sincerely you did love me, and endeavour to elevate my mind until it was on a level with your own. A selfish pursuit had cramped and narrowed me, until your gentleness and affection warmed and opened my senses. 

The picture appeared a vast and dim scene of evil, and I foresaw obscurely that I was destined to become the most wretched of human beings!

She also was a girl of merit and possessed qualities which promised to render her life happy; now all was to be obliterated in an ignominious grave, and I the cause!

He threatened and menaced, until I almost began to think that I was the monster that he said I was. 

I had none to support me; all looked on me as a wretched doomed to ignominy and perdition.

Anguish and despair had penetrated into the core of my heart; I bore a hell within me which nothing could extinguish.

Nothing is more painful to the human mind than, after the feelings have been worked up by a quick succession of events, the dead calmness of inaction and certainty which follows and deprives the soul both of hope and fear.

I wandered like an evil spirit, for I had committed deeds of mischief beyond description horrible, and more, much more was yet behind.

Instead of that serenity of conscience which allowed me to look back upon the past with self-satisfaction, and from thence to gather promise of new hopes, I was seized by remorse and the sense of guilt, which hurried me away to a hell of intense tortures such as no language can describe. 

All sound of joy or complacency was torture to me; solitude was my only consolation – deep, dark, deathlike solitude.

Often, I say, I was tempted to plunge into the silent lake, that the waters might close over me and my calamities for ever. 

Remorse extinguished every hope. I had been the author of unalterable evils.

Banish those dark passions. Remember the friends around you, who centre all their hopes in you. 

Thus not the tenderness of friendship, nor the beauty of earth, nor of heaven, could redeem my soul from woe; the very accents of love were ineffectual. I was encompassed by a cloud which no beneficial influence could penetrate.

All men hate the wretched; how, then, must I be hated, who am miserable beyond all living things! 

Have I not suffered enough, that you seek to increase my misery? Life, although it may only be an accumulation of anguish, is dear to me, and I will defend it.

I ought to be thy Adam, but I am rather the fallen angel, whom thou drivest from joy for no misdeed. 

I was benevolent and good; misery made me a fiend.

Believe me, I was benevolent; my soul glowed with love and humanity; but am I not alone, miserably alone? You, my creator, abhor me; what hope can I gather from your fellow creatures, who owe me nothing? They spurn and hate me.

Shall I not then hate them who abhor me? I will keep no term with my enemies. I am miserable, and they shall share my wretchedness. 

Listen to my tale; when you have heard that, abandon or commiserate me, as you shall judge that I deserve. But hear me.

If such lovely creatures were miserable, it was less strange that I, an imperfect and solitary being, should be wretched. 

Was I, then, a monster, a blot upon the earth, from which all men fled and whom all men disowned?

I learned that there was but one means to overcome the sensation of pain, and that was death – a state which I feared yet did not understand. 

Who was I? What was I? Whence did I come? What was my destination? These questions continually recurred, but I was unable to solve them.

Satan had his companions, fellow devils, to admire and encourage him, but I am solitary and abhorred.

They did not appear rich, but they were contented and happy; their feelings were serene and peaceful, while mine became every day more tumultuous. 

I was alone. I remembered Adam’s supplication to his Creator. But where was mine? He had abandoned me, and in the bitterness of my heart I cursed him. 

I required kindness and sympathy; but I did not believe myself utterly unworthy of it.

I am an unfortunate and deserted creature, I look around and I have no relation or friend upon earth.

Cursed, cursed creator! Why did I live? Why, in that instant, did I not extinguish the spark of existence which you had so wantonly bestowed? 

My feelings are those of rage and revenge

There was none among the myriads of men that existed who would pity or assist me; and should I feel kindness towards my enemies? No; from that moment I declared everlasting war against the species, and more than all, against him who had formed me and sent me forth to this insupportable misery. 

For the first time the feelings of revenge and hatred filled my bosom, and I did not strive to control them, but allowing myself to be borne away by the stream, I bent my mind towards injury and death.

I felt emotions of gentleness and pleasure, that had long appeared dead, revive within me. Half surprised by the novelty of these sensations, I allowed myself to be borne away by them, and forgetting my solitude and deformity, dared to be happy.

The feelings of kindness and gentleness which I had entertained but a few moments before gave place to hellish rage and gnashing of teeth. Inflamed by pain, I vowed eternal hatred and vengeance to all mankind. 

My daily vows rose for revenge – a deep and deadly revenge, such as would alone compensate for the outrages and anguish I had endured.

I too can create desolation; my enemy is not invulnerable; this death will carry despair to him, and a thousand other miseries shall torment and destroy him

I am malicious because I am miserable. Am I noy shunned and hated by all mankind? You, my creator, would tear me to pieces and triumph; remember that, and tell me why I should pity man more than he pities me?

I will revenge my injuries; if I cannot inspire love, I will cause fear. 

I will work at your destruction, nor finish until I desolate your heart, so that you shall curse the hour of your birth. 

You will return and again seek their kindness, and you will meet with their detestation; your evil passions will be renewed. 

I felt then that I should survive the exhibit what I shall soon cease to be – a miserable spectacle of wrecked humanity, pitiable to others and intolerable to myself.

For an instant I dared to shake off my chains and look around me with a free and lofty spirit, but the iron had eaten into my flesh, and I sank again, trembling and hopeless, into my miserable self. 

I had feelings of affection, and they were requited by detestation and scorn. 

I will watch with the wiliness of a snake, that I may sting with its venom.

How mutable are our feelings, and how strange is that clinging love we have of life even in the excess of misery!

Why did I not die? More miserable than man ever was before, why did I not sink into forgetfulness and rest?

Who could be interested in the fate of a murderer but the hangman who would gain his fee?

I was overcome by gloom and misery and often reflected I had better seek death than desire to remain in a world which to me was replete with wretchedness. 

Little happiness remains for us on earth, yet all that I may one day enjoy is centred in you.

Memory brought madness with it,  and when I thought of what had passed, a real insanity possessed me; sometimes I was furious and burnt with rage, sometimes low and despondent. 

They were dead, and I lived.

My life, as it passed thus, was indeed hateful to me.

His soul is as hellish as his form, full of treachery and fiendlike malice.

The only joy that he can now know will be when he composes his shattered spirit to peace and death. Yet he enjoys one comfort, the offspring of solitude and delirium. 

When younger I believed myself destined for great enterprise.

I am chained in an eternal hell.

If you had known me as I once was, you would not recognise me in this state of degradation. 

I have longed for a friend; I have sought one who would sympathise with and love me

The companions of our childhood always possess a certain power over our minds which hardly any later friend can obtain. 

What does it avail that I now ask thee to pardon me? I, who irretrievably destoyed thee by destroying all thou lovedst. 

A frightful selfishness hurried me on, while my heart was poisoned with remorse.

I knew that I was preparing for myself a deadly torture, but I was the slave, not the master, of an impulse which I detested yet could not disobey.

It is well that you come here to whine over the desolation that you have made. You throw a torch into a pile of buildings, and when they are consumed, you sit among the ruins and lament the fall.

It is not pity that you feel; you lament only because the victim of your malignity is withdrawn from your power.

But now that virtue has become to me a shadow, and that happiness and affection are turned into bitter and loathing despair, in what should I seek for sympathy? I am content to suffer alone while my sufferings shall endure.

I was nourished with high thoughts of honour and devotion. But now crime has degraded me beneath the meanest animal.

When I run over the frightful catalogue of my sins, I cannot believe that I am the same creature whose thoughts were once filled with sublime and transcendent visions of the beauty and the majesty of goodness.

The fallen angel becomes a malignant devil. Yet even that enemy of God and man had friends and associates in his desolation; I am alone.

For while I destroyed his hopes, I did not satisfy my own desires.

Am I to be thought the only criminal, when all humankind sinned against me?

I, the miserable and the abandoned, am an abortion, to be spurned at, and kicked, and trampled on.

But it is true that I am a wretch. I have murdered the lovely and the helpless; I have strangled the innocent as they slept and grasped to death his throat who never injured me or any other living thing.

You hate me, but your abhorrence cannot equal that with which I regard myself. 

I shall no longer feel the agonies which now consume me or be the prey of feelings unsatisfied, yet unquenched.

I shall no longer see the sun or stars or feel the winds play on my cheeks. Light, feeling, and sense will pass away; and in this condition must I find my happiness.

Polluted by crimes and torn by the bitterest remorse, where can I find rest but in death?

Blasted as thou wert, my agony was still superior to thine, for the bitter sting of remorse will not cease to rankle in my wounds until death shall close them for ever.

I shall die, and what I now feel be no longer felt. Soon these burning miseries will be extinct. I shall ascend my funeral pile triumphantly and exult in the agony of the torturing flames.

[starlight-storytime]

au where damian turns himself while on the roof. there are so many opportunities for this guy to turn himself it's crazy

a casual turn is very fun bc you can play with the idea of "has anyone noticed? will they notice?" And that good good angst of hiding it from everyone. Not being able to get close to anyone, emotionally or physically, bc he's scared he'll notice how cold his hands are. (He keeps his gloves for a different reason now, constantly reminding himself to take a step back from always saddling right up to his friends). He'd be throwing himself out into the fray even more recklessly than before bc he has no concern for his life now, but no one knows he's already turned, so they're incredibly concerned.

Still, if he's good at one thing, it's hiding a vital secret when he really needs to, so i think he could hide it for a long time if his infection was something like a scratch of his nail that got some infected blood in his system before he fell asleep...and then waking up half dead. But, bc he's so good at hiding, he could also get very in his head abt whether anyone actually cares abt him, if they didn't notice him dying in front of their eyes. He'd get those doubts abt whether they're fake friends, whether they talk behind his back, if any of his connections had been real because how could they not notice —but their actions would eventually reassure him. Whether it be in a sweet way, showing that they care, or in a tragic way, showing that he's hidden so much of himself that they simply don't know him as well as they think.

"Your dad must be super protective, isn't he, Damian?" Onjo commiserated. "I wish I had a cool dad who didn't think so much about lame things like that. Military dads always care too much."

Right. Damian smiled plasticly, laughing along with Cheongsan and Suhyeok's ribbing of Onjo's father. They don't know. How could they know? I never let them. I made sure they wouldn't figure it out.

(Still, watching the group chatter on with the firm assumption that of course he must be so close to his father, Damian felt bitter.)

For all these reasons, the perspective of a half zombie hiding their abilities, the fact they're not hungry, the fact that they're not human anymore...it could give a subtle, almost psychological thriller perspective. Worrying about the government, and how his friends would react, whether they would expose him to be experimented or think of him as a monster not even sentient anymore—all very fun thoughts!!

Though, at my core, I am a sucker for a rising crescendo and dramatic cliff. (It's probably the reason I'm so hung up on posting the confession chapter, actually.) When a reveal or confession or transformation is finally going to happen, I see it in my head like the scenes of a movie, and I try my hardest for it to hit every beat it needs to hit before the line that reveals what's going to happen. It needs to have build up, but still an essence of shock or horror or delight—I'm just a sucker for reveals. Identity reveals, power reveals, relationship reveals. The reveal of some misunderstanding that went on too long, or the reveal of a lie that recontextualizes everything. there are SO many spots where Damian or Gwinam could've turned, quietly or loudly, but I think I choose loud just about every time, because who doesn't love a good sacrifice pay? (The love interest, of course, but that emotional heart wrenching is my fave part.)

but either way, if in that moment where Damian wasn't paying attention, he pressed just a bit too hard and got some infected blood in his palms...oh, he'd feel an immediate swoop of horror and guilt in his gut like he had just gone over the drop of a roller coaster. he might even make an audible gasp, and when someone asked if something was wrong, immediately switch on denial-repressing mode and say it's nothing. He'd be shocked back into reality, exactly like he wanted, but be in complete denial. His mind would keep straying to utter fear, sweat dripping down his neck as he wondered if this was how he was finally going to die, but when nothing happens...

It's nothing. Damian tells himself, as the campfire started to burns low and nothing had changed besides the cold sweat beading at his brow. The blood must have been dry. Or not enough. Clearly, I'm fine. This is fine.

He'd be genuinely nauseous from how guilty and scared he was from risking his life like that, but since he didn't start loosing control of his body or rationale thinking, he doesn't think much of how sick he feels.

[kinetic-elaboration]

November 24: The Menu

Decided to watch The Menu in the middle of the night because why not. Nothing could go wrong there. (This isn’t even sarcastic; I am and will be fine other than being up this late.)

I… feel like I have many thoughts and feelings but also no way to put them into words. I did really like it. I thought it was very well made. I really, really liked Ralph Fienes as the Chef, his mixture of utter sadism, cult-leader like charisma, unbearable pretentiousness and narcissism, and true pain and even vulnerability (as in the making the burger scene) that somehow all made sense together to form a coherent and very watchable character. He would be the rewatch element for me, should I ever decide to rewatch it.

I know it’s hard to put genre-straddling films in boxes because they’re pretty much always more one thing than another, but the idea of calling this a black comedy/horror is very strange to me. It had a couple jokes where I laughed out loud, in a snort sort of way (in particular, the yes-man to the critic agreeing with her when she said they were all going to die, and “No student loans? You’re going to die” and I think there was another but I forgot it already), and I suppose the introductory part was “funny” in the sense that the characters were being introduced as SO fucking annoying that I was impatiently awaiting their deaths, but generally I was not laughing. I was not finding this funny. Straight-up horrors should be funnier than this (see my reaction to Longlegs), which isn’t a complaint about the level of humor just my opinion that there was nothing in this that would warrant putting the label ‘comedy’ on it. Even black comedy—I mean I get that there were ‘so outrageous it’s funny’ aspects to it, especially as I went on, but…mmmm.

In general I actually found it incredibly horrific. Maybe it just hit my fears better than some of the other horror I’ve been watching, but really the whole middle part had this unpredictable and claustrophobic feel that just made me feel like I was losing it a little bit. The contrast between the incredible violence and the general acceptance of that violence by the characters. The calm and cult-like devotion of the staff. The smallness of the set. The slow ratcheting up of wrongness, from ‘wow that’s pretentious’ to ‘pretentious and off-putting’ to ‘subtly threatening’ to EXTREMELY VIOLENT. Tyler’s character in particular really sat on either side of the line of unbelievably over the top in his cliché foodie attitude (has the pretentious foodie lifestyle rotted his brain THAT much?) (yes) and evincing an attitude of such extreme wrongness, behaving in such an absolutely bizarre way even versus other characters, that he was frightening. I guess he was the black comedy all along.

There were also parts where I wondered if there was some degree of hypnosis (the clapping) and/or drugging (you must eat for the menu to work) happening, that was the level of psychological torture/horror I felt like I was witnessing.

This horror part, I think in retrospect, reached its peak with Tyler’s death and then started to go downhill at the fight in the Chef’s house. I sort of zoned out a little at that point, and though I don’t think the movie was too long—I think its slow pace allowed for building dread and I wouldn’t want it to rush itself—if I were going to cut it, say bring it down to 90 minutes, it would perhaps be in this section. From that point it was more thriller than horror, and I was primarily invested in seeing how it all turned out. I’d gotten the concept, so there wasn’t any more of that disorienting ‘what the fuck is that next turn’ feeling really left, and the torture was fairly out in the open. Was the last psychological trick, the asking for help that won’t come, really necessary? I mean, I suppose to explain why they all stayed. Emotionally it hit the least hard for me I’d say. And I thought the speech about the burger was a little expository and unsubtle, though I didn’t hate it. I mean in general I would call the film subtle as a horror but unsubtle as a movie with a specific message about foodie culture specifically and wealth/entitlement/service more generally. And it certainly played with some old-school, familiar tropes of locked-door mystery/horrors and retribution on the sinful and so on.

I did like the ending and found it satisfying. And that burger looked really good except for the onions. I laughed at the list of ingredients of the s'mores including ‘staff, guests, restaurant,’ so, yeah, there was another comedic element I guess.

[petty-crush]

“The Unborn” 1991

-a wonderful entry in the “maybe having a baby wasn’t such a good idea” subgenre

-amusingly this is also director Rodman Flender’s first film, so he gets to channel that feeling of nervous excitement and perplexing dread that comes with your first picture

-also having their first shot is cinematographer Wally Pfister, of later “dark knight” trilogy and “inception” fame. He has the goods already, bathing the film in eeriness

-I admit I had to recalculate my brain numerous times during the first ten minutes, reminding myself that Brooke Adams starring and not Karen Allen. Their similarities are surprising

-it occurs to me now how dramatically smart it is to have a pregnant person when featuring a lead often alone by themselves

+it certainly resonates more than with a drunk overcoming addiction. Possibly because the transformation is so visual

-actor James Karen is so good as the doctor who appears pleasant at all times, but is clearly a sinister riptide waiting to erupt

-a big laugh as a woman is seriously skeptical about this lamaze class (the two ladies are not accredited or trained) and when told by the lesbian couple to embrace her femininity, she curtly replies “suck my dick”

-Gary Numan’s score is a supreme addition to the picture. It has a sneaking sense of doom that climbs up our ears

-how uncomfortable in universe must it be to have sex in a wooden rocking chai? Hormones are great

-truthfully I can’t imagine giving up smoking or eating soft cheeses for anyone

-when Allen’s character Virginia is talking about her children’s book of dealing with fear/death/the void, and is suggested to not emphasize that in the interview, I like her response of “but she triumphs over that! She realizes her life is ok”

-later in the actual tv interview, the sheer fake upbeat banality of the host is delightful

-I know others feel different, but put me down in the “crazy” cat lady > exhausted mother scorecard (or better yet a dog)

-Allen is quite good at projecting the fear that her bloodline is defective, and how she worries that she is making something that carries on her worst attributes

-there is nice segment on depression and moving forward as well

-not really explored but nicely hinted at is the divide between wanting a “perfect” child (really, pride for parents) and a child that has physical/learning disadvantages

+ I can imagine a different story about the super solder children fighting the “imperfects”

-this film does not skimp on the gore. The women impaling her own baby bump with a knife is grisly

-more horrifying is the moment where the pregnant lesbian beats her partner to death, and utters the line “you and the baby…I don’t have the love or room for you both”

-I wonder if the part with the cat getting strangled was originally in her sleep or that was added to soften the blow

+her horror when she wakes up is quite effective. As is the raw desperation when she looks for the toy to vainly revive it

-easily one of my favorite moments was when the dad seems the baby and goes “oh my god, it’s hideous!” Then gets stabbed in the eye by the needle

-actor Jeff Hayenga don’t have much to to, but he supplies warmth quite well. His frosty relationship with his mother in law is very satisfying

-the most whacked out moment is when Virginia hears the baby cry (after the abortion), wanders out to the back alley dumpster, and encounters a black little person belly skateboarding

-I love sections like that

-great production design in the lab with the glowing red babies in spheres

+even better when they explode and get mutant baby guts all over the shot doctor

-my only regret is that she should have reality strangled that baby in the sunset scene, but it works well and yeah this era is notorious for sequel teaser stingers

-I had a chuckle when Virginia pulls out a gun. Rare to see a film that is so loved by planned parenthood and the nra

-the great thing about horror is that the heightened situations really bring out the most vivid emotions, and the feelings around birth are really really easy to go delightfully over the top with.

It’s a winning combination.

[colourstreakgryffin]

Random Hashira Post #2

Was listening to a horror YouTube channel so let’s do more headcanons of the Hashira! This time, it’s headcanons when playing horror games!

The Hashira

- Obanai’s back is the single wall from safety and complete utter horror

- They(being everybody except Muichiro and Giyuu) all are scampering to leave the room by the end as a very frustrated Obanai is trying to exit the game

- About 80% of the Hashira are scared out of their minds of horror games in all honesty. So, the horror game night never ends right

- “Oh my fucking god, this is not even creepy, this is the worst—“ “Iguro, turn it off!” “This is so unfair! All those poor defenceless animals! How dare that monster hurt them!” “Namu Amida Butsu…” “Obanai, please! Turn it off! Turn it off! It’s so scary!” “Why is everybody so attached to this? None of it is real” “Let’s play another, Iguro! I got a great idea!” “Bring it on, demon! Your ugly ass face isn’t shit!”

Kyojuro Rengoku

- Has the gut to address and wave at the creepy characters though, he is very nervous. The tension is evident in his voice

- He is able to handle horror a bit better then most of his fellow Hashira but eventually, he needs to turn away and rub his eyes to shake off the picture stamped into his head

- Kyojuro compliments the artwork of the game and praises the game’s creator at the end as he believes all small creators deserve to have their work appreciated, even if the said work scared him out of his mind

- Wants to play the game but he feels immense guilt over leading the cute characters to their deaths and loses his shit over fourth-wall breaking. He must only watch or you’ll risk a really upset Kyojuro reluctantly playing

Tengen Uzui

- Calls whatever Hashira(mainly the dudes) a pussy for looking away but screams outloud at the scares he wasn’t suspecting. Hypocrite much

- Horror games don’t phase Tengen, he proclaims but he is on edge and clutching his chair halfway through the game. He denies his fear by pretending he was cold/hungry/other

- Jealous AF of Obanai’s fearlessness and tries to one-up him, just to fail and bolt out of his skin from the sudden creepy still-frame

- These horror games are so unflashy, Tengen hisses under his breath in salt as he has to blink several times to get that one creepy-ass scene out of his head but it doesn’t go away

- He may or may not gain a temporary but horrible fear of the dark after this event and require his wives to accompany him everywhere

Mitsuri Kanroji

- T E R R I F I E D

- Screams at every little noise the game makes and is constantly hiding her face in Obanai’s lap on the verge of tears. She can’t handle watching nor hearing horror games

- Mitsuri is actually shaking, help her

- Has nightmares of the creepy characters she sees for weeks on end and honestly, she calls Obanai in the middle of the night crying and begging for him to sleep with her

- She wants to be brave for her friends and watch the gameplay with them but she can’t take it. So, she is the first Hashira to admit defeat and hide away

- Mitsuri is that one friend that complains and whines about how the game shouldn’t be scary and why it couldn’t be a non-scary game

Gyomei Himejima

- Even though, he can’t see the terrifying characters. He still flinches at the intense noises, the loud screams, the responses of his friends

- He can literally sense the terror of his fellow Hashira so he feels as scared as them and wishes to coax them to calm them down

- Like Kyojuro, he feels very strongly for the characters supposedly getting killed in the horrific world and asks Obanai to shut the game down to save the poor characters

- He is usually just kinda there for emotional support most of the time(being helping to calm down the horrified Mitsuri) but still responds in fear to the scares as well. The screamers rock his world everytime

- The screams do get to him and he thinks about them at night afterwards sometimes. Even if they weren’t real, the sound of pained screaming hurts him

Muichiro Tokito

- Is always spaced out so horror and the sights of horror games just fly over his head. That doesn’t mean he didn’t find the characters creepy, it just doesn’t bother him as much as it bothers his fellow Hashira

- Why do the little animals have to get mangled like that? Muichiro is more curious over the details and the few Easter eggs of the horror game then the actual game itself

- Can be insensitive to the other Hashira’s fear since his own fear is very minuscule, it almost never shows up as he asks why they can’t handle the gameplay

- Weirdly takes a bit too long to jump at the scares as if his brain is skipping over like a buffering screen

Obanai Iguro

- Bow down. Obanai is the literal king of horror

- He is the only Hashira that doesn’t have a single ounce of fear on horror game night so he’s always the one playing. Even Gyomei flinches but Obanai doesn’t

- No jumpscare nor fourth-wall breaking nor creepy character/picture can scare him as he just makes sarcastic remarks, much to the dismay of his fellow Hashira

- He honestly got ALL the fear one could possibly experience out during his childhood so nothing can scare him now

- Finds horror games amusing more than anything yet, he’ll stop playing to help Mitsuri get through jumpscare aftershock

- Obanai fucking LAUGHS at the horror games. He also makes a lot of snarky remarks and sometimes gets frustrated at how long the game stretches out it’s scare.

- By the end of the game, everybody is cowering under the table or behind Obanai. He is use to playing the game by himself

- Tengen is still trying to scare him with other horror game suggestions, it’s not working

Shinobu Kocho

- God, she straight-up hates horror games and can’t stand them. Not because their so scary but because their too loud!

- But yes, she also hates how creepy the drawings of the characters are and shields her eyes when she deems necessary

- Ew, all the blood gross her out but the sight of dead bodies shakes her to her core that she clings to the closest Hashira to her(that is usually Mitsuri)

- Hides behind Obanai when the game shifts to horror in a instant and eventually yells at him to get out of the game for the creepy still-frame that takes minutes too long to change over

Giyuu Tomioka

- He could give less of a fuck so he isn’t really watching the gameplay. He is just kinda there

- But when he is forced to, he just shrugs off the scares and/or the creepy pieces. Yeah, they made him jump and struck a cord but he doesn’t respond like his fellow Hashira do

- The Hashira believe Giyuu is like Obanai, that he doesn’t find the games scary but he does. He just won’t admit it, as he sees no need to harp on being scared of fake animated things

- Giyuu plays for Obanai when he has a quick nicknack to do and makes zero comments, other than confusion towards the dead creatures or annoyance over the bad controls

- Why do people always change cute harmless characters creepy? Giyuu doesn’t like that part when it comes to horror games. Like, what did Kirby do to deserve this treatment? He feels a sense of justice for the fake horror variations of fake characters

Sanemi Shinazugawa

- Horror games can kiss his ass, Sanemi likes to believe he isn’t afraid of horror games at all and for most of them, he isn’t

- Very specific ones gets under his skin and create goosebumps. They are usually ones that deal with real-life heavy subjects(such as Among the Sleep)

- Sanemi’s taste in horror is a clearly a bit more precise. He won’t bat a eye at the typical Exe./demon games but anything in the real-life problem category, haunts him at night

- Finds horror games a bit stereotypical and can predict what will happen. He eventually gets bored with how Exe./demon games are basically the same

- Looks out for new Horror games to watch Obanai play for the Hashira as he is interested to see what else is out there. He challenges himself with horror, he wants to know his limit

[reverieparacosm]

The Unwavering Depths of Despair: A Yandere Bondrewd Oneshot

Bondrewd (Made In Abyss) x GN!Reader

Synopsis: You killed your lover Bondrewd…But did you really? Sometimes escape is impossible.

Warnings: violence, abuse, emotional abuse, attempted murder, blood, abusive relationship, manipulation, derealization, possessive behaviors, angst

Note: The idea of this Oneshot comes from an anonymous request! I have to admit that this is one of my first full texts. Nevertheless, it was a lot of fun to get out of my comfort zone. While I was writing this, I was listening to "Transcendance and Hanezeve!" The song fits perfectly with the Oneshot. The Oneshot is absolutely inspired by the "Bondrewd Resurrection Scene." Disclaimer: the following text does not describe a healthy relationship and I do not support such relationships in any case.

My love, I never envisioned our story to culminate in such a way. Your blood stains my clothes and saturates the earth beneath us. Nothing in this world can instill fear in me anymore, for I have witnessed so much death that no fate can intimidate me.

As I stand here drenched in the relentless downpour, the tremors coursing through my hands are a mere physical manifestation of the storm raging within me. My heart is pounding with a ferocity that threatens to break free of my chest. For, just moments ago, I committed the unthinkable - I ended the life of the one I once cherished with all my heart. A love that was once pure and unadulterated had decayed over time, morphing into a toxic blend of bitterness and resentment, until it became an unbearable burden that I could no longer carry. And yet, in my moment of desperation, I made a choice that I now deeply regret. The consequences of my actions, I know, will be dire.

The rain washes away my tears as I try to come to terms with what I have done. Now I must live with the guilt of my actions for the rest of my life. But, despite my guilt, I know that I have done the right thing.

My mind is reeling, and I find myself in a state of utter disbelief. Could it be that I have finally managed to free myself from the clutches of my tormentor? Yes, it is true. I have taken the life of Bondrewd - the very same individual who had kept me captive, subjecting me to unspeakable horrors that have left me scarred for life. The weight of his tyranny had been crushing me for far too long, and I had reached a breaking point. But now, as I stand here, my hands still trembling with the force of the act I have just committed, I realize that my situation is far from ideal. The repercussions of my actions are sure to be grave, and I cannot help but wonder if it was worth it.

The thick fog engulfs me, its near-solid presence making it difficult for me to make out my surroundings. I feel a wave of dizziness wash over me, my brain seemingly swathed in a cottony blanket. I can't help but feel like I'm being watched, my mind conjuring up all sorts of dark possibilities that may be lurking just beyond my sight. The chill of the cold wind sends a shiver down my spine, my gaze darting around as I try desperately to see if anything or anyone is in the distance. Despite my efforts, I'm met with nothing but the fog, its heavy presence making me feel increasingly isolated and uneasy.

Waves of memories drown me as I remember the promises, he made to me. I remember when he said to me, “Come with me. I have so much I want to show you. Let me take you to an unprecedented realm, a realm of the unknown. Come, enter this new world with me. I promise you won't regret it… Let me take you down to the deepest reaches of existence, the 5th layer of the Abyss…”

He wrapped me in promises, and soon I was blinded.

That was the moment, the moment that ruined my life, the moment I realized that even the darkness carried a shadow.

Initially, he showered me with an overwhelming amount of affection and admiration, which made me feel elated and cherished. However, I couldn't help but notice the gradual shift in his behavior, which became more manipulative and controlling as time went by. It was as if he had some sort of ulterior motive for showering me with love, and that was to never let me go.

As the days passed, I found myself getting more and more entangled in his web of love, despite the warning signs that were becoming increasingly evident. He would often talk about the Abyss and how dangerous it was, but assured me that all the answers I sought could be found in Ido Front. I was gullible enough to believe him, even though a part of me knew that something was amiss.

Soon, I found myself struggling to maintain my sanity in Ido Front, as the environment was highly oppressive and claustrophobic. My desire to do something about it outweighed my fear of Bondrewd, and I knew that I had to take action before it was too late.

Now, as I stare at his lifeless body lying in front of me, I realize that I will never again have the privilege of listening to him talk about his latest discoveries or spend long hours with him in the lab, discussing new inventions.

Memories of our happy times together come back, of the days when I felt like the happiest person in the world. The past devours me, while I mourn the future, slowly dying in my mind in the ever-present.

Sometimes memories are the worst form of torture.

The rain continues to fall, and I begin to feel a sense of peace. Though I have done a terrible thing, I found solace in the fact that I have taken a stand for myself.

With a focus on a new beginning, I'm taking steps forward. I look one last time at the body in front of me, which is now almost completely soaked by the rain. While watching Bondrewd, I have a tightness in my chest and a heaviness in my limbs. It feels like needles are poking into my throat. My tears are barely distinguishable from the rain running down my cheeks.

As I turn around, I am faced with the daunting prospect of walking into an unknown future, with no clear direction or sense of purpose. It's a feeling of being lost in a vast and unfamiliar landscape, with no clear markers to guide my way. Despite my uncertainty, I know that there is no other option but to keep moving forward.

Suddenly, a clatter breaks the silence, and I turn around to investigate the source of the noise. To my horror, I see an Umbra Hand approaching Bondrewd's lifeless body, picking up his helmet. At that moment, my mind is flooded with a thousand thoughts, ranging from fear to confusion and disbelief.

Before I can even process what is happening, the Umbra Hand takes Bondrewd's helmet, triggering a sudden and dramatic transformation in his body. My legs feel heavy, as if they are rooted to the ground, and a scream gets caught in my throat. It's a moment of sheer terror and unbelievingness, as I watch the unthinkable unfold before my very eyes.

Finally, I snap out of my state of shock and turn around, running as fast as I can. It's a desperate attempt to escape the horrors that have befallen me, and to find some semblance of safety and security in the midst of chaos and confusion. Despite my fear and uncertainty, I know that I must keep moving forward, even if it means facing the unknown.

A sudden constriction grips my throat, and my heart races with an unparalleled intensity. Despite the overwhelming urge to press forward, I hear a low, guttural growl behind me, forcing me to pause in my tracks. "You should not have tried to kill me," the voice hisses, its tone laced with a menacing edge. Every fiber of my being screams at me to ignore the voice, to keep pushing forward. However, my better judgement prevails, and I reluctantly turn around, bracing myself for the worst.

As I face the source of the voice, a towering, dark figure looms before me. The realization that this was no mere nightmare dawns on me, as I come face to face with Bondrewd himself. The man whose life I had taken, is now standing right in front of me. My mind reels, trying to make sense of the impossible situation. How could he be alive? I had made certain that there was no way he could have survived.

My entire body seizes up in terror, leaving me utterly paralyzed. With each slow, measured step he takes towards me, my breaths quicken, coming in short, sharp gasps.

“You have accomplished a great deed. You have shown the strength to hurt me, a lord of the Abyss and a White Whistle. Impressive… Very impressive. You have my respect for that. I find what you did both disrespectful and insulting, but quite remarkable.”

Bondrewd is now standing right in front of me. My words come back to me a bit and I manage to whisper, "But...How...This should not, this should not be happening.... How are you still alive?"

“The Abyss has provided me with all I require. I may die many times, and I will always return, no matter the cost. Do not doubt me. Your strength has allowed you to hurt me, but you will not be the one to bring my life to an end. Do not worry, I will never leave your side.”

There is only fog in my head, and I feel like I'm going to pass out at any moment. This can't be real. It can't. My surroundings appear distorted and blurred. I finally thought I was free of him and now he is standing in front of me, pretty much alive.          

My mind continues to buzz with questions about why he is doing all of this. Why can't he leave me alone?

As I notice his presence, a question escapes my lips, "What do you want?" I make an attempt to sound composed while masking the palpable sense of discomfort that has been triggered by his unexpected state.

"I want to talk to you," he replies, taking a step closer towards me.

"I don't want to talk to you," I respond firmly, taking a step back as I do so. However, he advances towards me again, and I sense my heart racing with apprehension.

"Listen to me," he implores, his tone softening.

Despite my inner reservations, I remain rooted to the spot, feeling as though I don't have a choice but to confront him.

"Why did you try to kill me?" he inquires, his voice calm and collected.

I avert my gaze, unable to meet his eyes. "You know why," I respond, my tone barely above a whisper.

"I don't understand why you would do something like that," he continues, inching closer towards me.

"You were always so controlling," I reply, my voice rising with palpable frustration. "I couldn't take it anymore."

"I was only trying to protect you," he counters, his voice turning firm.

"Protect me?" I scoff in disbelief. "You were suffocating me."

Unsure of whether to believe him or not, I look at him with a mix of suspicion and trepidation. Is he really capable of changing his ways or is this just another ploy to manipulate me?

As Bondrewd takes steps even closer towards me, I feel a sense of fear take over me. My heart is racing again, and I can feel the adrenaline pump through my veins. With each step that he takes, my anxiety increases tenfold. His eyes are fixated on me. I brace myself for the worst as I feel something cold and sharp touch my side, just below my ribs. It is small-scaled yet sharp enough to pierce through my skin.

"Do you think I enjoy hurting you?" his voice is deep and menacing. I can feel the fear taking over me as he presses the shard against my skin. The pain is unbearable, and I can feel the blood trickle down my side.

"My love, you are mine and only mine. You are a possession of mine, and you will remain that way until the end. We are one, one in soul and one in body, and one in the Abyss." His words send shivers down my spine. I always knew that there was something off about him, but I never imagined the extent of his cruelty.

"If you have any thought for me, you would give me back my peace," I try to reason with him, but my voice is low and shaky.

"There is no peace for us, darling. Only despair and greatest happiness," his voice is deep and calm, as if he is trying to reassure me. But I know better than to trust his words. I begin to realize that I can never leave him. He has a hold on me that I can never break free from.

A tear rolls down my face as I ask him, "How many times can you break my heart?"

"As long as you love it," he replies nonchalantly. His words are like daggers to my heart, and I know that I will never be able to escape his grasp.

[reilliane]

waah im a new reader and i saw your hcs abt ayato and vigil!mc,, do u have more vigil bonuses but in the eyes of the kamisatos from when they find out mc has died?

A new reader? Well come, come, sweetie ♪(´▽｀)

Here have some 🍵, and some sweets while you're at it 🍪🍰

NOW WE SHALL PROCEED! ONWARDS! This actually got pretty long-

Complete and utter horror is the first thing that befalls the Kamisato siblings — more so on Ayato, who has come upon the scene himself following the dispatch of a member in the Shuumatsuban.

It was carried out so suddenly; the Order of the Shogun unto the Kaedeharas. Daresay, it was ridiculous, for a punishment to extend unto an innocent. Everyone thought the same but of course, no one would admit it out loud.

Contrary to when Vigil!MC was still the heiress, when there were plenty at her beck and call, servants and suitors alike, the scene Ayato saw was nothing similar to history.

The people MC genuinely befriended, from her suitors to elders, flock about the humble abode where MC's body lay in a pool of dried blood. But they do not go closer.

Actually, they retain this good distance away, and when the arriving Shogunate told them to scram in raucous bellow, no one objected. It was sickening to see.

How the people MC genuinely cared for are so quick to back away, but Ayato supposes that he can understand why; it's of fear.

They planned to take her corpse, the Shogunate, unequivocally to burn it in the flames or to throw it in the raging sea—as they did to those who had the valiance to protest the authoritarian rule.

Ayato fought tooth and nail to claim MC's body. Going as far as to speak against the Tenryou Commission himself when usually it would be his sister who would entertain meetings.

Tomo's was an easy case, but the lady was a convoluted one, given she was the sibling of a fugitive. But that was not a fixed hurdle that he cannot maneuver through.

Sara herself was the one who entertained Ayato's behests in a conclave.

Although her face was as impassive as ever, it was betrayed by a modicum of strain in her voice. In the end, she granted him the right to 'claim' the body.

it was an odious term to use, but alas, the fact remains that the Kaedehime is now but a vessel without a soul.

Two great friends in long years, two great losses in one day.

The Kamisatos—and Thoma—doesn't think the pain of bereavement can get any worse than it is, but they all know that somewhere in the tumultuous sea, someone else grieves and laments harsher.

Ayato can't bear to imagine how Kazuha feels after all of this.

Deciding the burial site for the bodies isn't supposed to be intricate as they hypothesized, but it is. Maybe it's because criminals—no matter [Name]'s actual innocence—aren't meant to have any vestiges nor memorials in Inazuma.

Whosoever defies the word of the Almighty Shogun must therefore be prepared to be forgotten. The bygones, the departed, they've all either come to be with the sea or the ashes.

The Kamisatos, however, have fortunately passed yet another tribulation in life's trials.

The body of Kaedehara [Name], the renowned Kaedehime in her days, they've managed not to be sullied by either flame or water.

In truth, the site they've chosen to bury her—along with Tomoaki—could've been grander, more fitting for a character such as she.

But going against the stipulations will further jeopardize them. Sara has already been lenient, they do not think that her mercy can bend that much further than she allows it to.

It's only the siblings along who attended the burial—and the servants who tended to the site, perhaps. Thoma has already gone.

It's raining when they send their prayers, voiceless only on the outside, but in their psyche their thoughts are deafening. Filled with a cacophony of guilt-ridden sorries and desperate wishes for a pleasant journey to the realm past life.

The young maiden, Kamisato Ayaka, has nothing but delightful memories shared with [Name]. They've always bonded together nicely—daresay she admits that the latter is her closest friend.

Indeed, becoming aware of the news—the order—too late has rendered her motionless in denial. At least, until she is now kneeling upon the small mound of land next to another, her hands clasped in prayer and lips tremoring in an attempt to keep her composure.

Rarely does she weep, and even rarer does her brother.

Kamisato Ayato, the current clan leader. One will mistake the blankness of his visage for indifference, and the water on his cheeks to be mere rain, but those are far from being correct.

Peer closer, maybe, and you will see how his eyebrows are scrunched in the slightest and his smile is weighing heavier than normal. Perhaps if you even touch his cheek, you will notice how the gloss of water doesn't stream from the downpour, but from his own eyes.

Unlike Tomo's grave which has his sword as a remembrance of his presence, the one beside his, [Name]'s, has none.

Of course, they can always just retrieve something from the Kaedehara assets to place as a memento, but nothing no such object can epitomize the person such as [Name].

Other than the bouquet of dendrobiums nearby along with the draping crystalflies, the grave remains bare. Too bare.

No one will even know who it's for and that's just... wrong.

“For Kazuha, I only wish him the bliss of life.”

The Vision Hunt Decree has to end. That thought is much recognized by the Kamisato siblings as they pay their respects for the final time.

But with the way things are now, they will not stand against the rule of the Shogun. More lives will be lost—but they can hope for a future.

For a change.

“And though it sounds like an impossible dream; a place where there are no worries. Just the nice things, won't that sound pleasant?”

bonus angst because angst:

A nice change, a pleasant change.

When the Kamisatos return to the site, the hope they've been withholding has blossomed into reality.

When the Kamisatos return to the site, they are also accompanied by a few more friends that are witnesses to the upended reality.

A reality that's so saccharine it almost feels like it is attempting to redeem itself from its tragedies

Their glorified hero, the Traveler in all his golden glory, does not bother to hide his sympathy—the loss of a sibling is something he can't bear to imagine—towards the ronin.

The ex-fugitive, dearest younger brother of the departed; Kaedehara Kazuha.

He weeps like he's reliving the day he saw his sister die in his arms and cries out her name like the child he once was when everything was alright.

Both Ayato and Ayaka continue to be sorry for hearing the Shogun's order too late because maybe they could've saved their friend. But there is one thing they are truly aware of, as they witness the Kaedehara—the only one left—crumble apart.

Their sorrow cannot compare to the samurai, and to this, they can only offer whatever consolation they can—even if they too, are in a state of loss.

[fangirleaconmigo]

Prince Jaskier x Geralt Gladiator/Bed warmer AU 

PART FOUR

If you've missed 1-3, they are linked below

Parts one and two (part two is in the reblog)

Part Three

Part four below: (This is another teaser/draft. If you'd rather not be spoiled at all for the full fic I'm writing, please don't read this.)

---------------------------------------

Geralt draws in a deep, cleansing breath and closes his eyes. 

The prince is arguing with the guards.

"He doesn't need his chains."

"With all due respect your highness, if I let him near you with no chains, and a sword, I’ll be executed."

"He's not going to kill me. He only kills people because you make him. He isn't a thoughtless beast."

"Forgive me, your highness, but you have known him for less than a day."

"Fine. Take his sword, but unchain him. He can teach me to grapple."

Geralt swears under his breath and opens his eyes, taking in the scene. This is insane. He has to put a stop to it. This stripling can not continue to parade around him, making his life a living hell.

"Well," continues the prince arrogantly, his hands making loops in the air, "won't he be more dangerous with chains on him? My kingdom is the continent's foremost producer of steel and iron, and I have personally invented many important steel devices, so I am in the unique position to confirm that the material is hard and can be used for ill."

The head of the guard looks as though he would rather be stretched out on the rack in the dungeons than to continue the conversation with the headstrong noble. 

Geralt hates the captain of the guard, so he cannot stop a quiet chuckle. Thankfully, no one hears.

The prince is victorious in his demands. Princes always are.

Soon, Geralt is facing the young man across the dirt floor of the training ground. They are far enough away from each other that the prince cannot see his expression. Geralt, however, can see his.

It is hopeful. Excited. It is not afraid. Geralt must change that.

He will subdue the prince instantly, as many times as it takes. He will not allow him a single handhold or foothold. He will not even allow him to think. Then, the boy will feel the extent of his mutant strength and will fear him. What is more, the prince's utter and complete failure will humiliate him in front of the guards, and if Geralt knows anything about nobles, he knows that they hate to lose face in front of the rabble. The young prince will never come back to plague him.

"If you hurt one hair on that pretty prince’s head you'll wish for a quick death,” growls the guard as he unlocks Geralt's chains."

Geralt knows what that means. The best case scenario if he harms the Prince is torture. The worst case scenario is that other people will die.  

Four other guards stand with swords pointed at his neck. Behind them, ten guards on horseback encircle them with lances lowered to the level of his face.

"Isn't this all a bit excessive?" the prince protests angrily. "Am I so fragile and unable to defend myself?"

The guards ignore him.

Yes. You are. Geralt thinks to himself. You idiot.

The prince indicates that he is ready. In a flash, Geralt is on him. He doesn't decide his first move until his body is in the air. Geralt will not harm him, but he wants to shock him. Destabilize him. Overwhelm him by how supremely he is outclassed. He hopes it will end the match in one move.

Geralt leaps, and hooks each leg on each of the princeling's shoulders. Then he twists backwards, pulling the prince into a front roll. Then he rolls and mounts the prostrate man.  Within the blink of an eye, the prince has been flipped, thrown, and pinned under Geralt’s bulk, his soft fair neck trapped between the steel of the warrior’s unyielding forearms.

Geralt can feel the prince’s heartbeat in his ears. Against his forearms. It is beating against his chest cavity as though it is fighting to escape. Geralt inhales, anticipating the bitter scent of fear. But as he pulls in a breath, he realizes something with dawning horror. He is anticipating that scent with the deepest dread. He does not want the prince to be afraid of him. 

It is incredibly stupid. He must end it, and this is the way. He knows the guard will intervene soon. The young man won’t pass out. But he needs to teach him a lesson. But as he constricts the prince's air supply, as his neck turns pink under Geralt's arms, the scent that bursts from him is not fear.

It is lust.

Geralt scrambles back just as the guards rush over with their spears pointed directly at him.

The prince sits up, coughing and waving them away. “It’s fine, calm down.”

“Your highness, maybe that’s all for the day.”

Geralt’s is standing now. He has not so much as broken a sweat. But he is the one who has been destabilized.

The prince looks up, directly into his eyes. “Nonsense. I almost had him.” He grins confidently. It is confounding. 

If he wants more, he will get more. 

Geralt proceeds to trap him in hold after hold. First, his highness is pinned under him, Geralt’s broader frame pressed to him from chest to toes. Next, he rolls over and pulls the prince on top of him, trapping him in yet another headlock. His back is hot and heavy against Geralt’s chest. 

The prince’s body is lithe. It is also surprisingly strapping and strong. It sweats and reeks of lust as it presses against the warrior in every possible arrangement of limbs. Geralt finds his own body responding. It is meeting the lust with his own.

After all, this man is exactly the kind of person Geralt would try his luck with if he were given the choice. The prince’s lips are soft and pink and begging to be bitten. When his tunic is twisted away from his neck, it reveals that his chest is firm and covered in a pelt of dark hair that looks as though it wants to be nuzzled and petted.

Who is Geralt kidding? He would never make the first move on a man like this. He doesn’t typically court rejection. But, if they were sitting together in a tavern and the man slid a hand onto his, well, he would be as good as gone.

Perhaps his brain is addled by lust, because the next time his cheek is pressed near the princes ear, he hisses, “What the steaming shit is wrong with you? If you want them to trust you, you agree that I am a beast.”

There it is again. That irritating, irrational protectiveness at work again. The prince recognizes it for what it is and his eyes light up with hope. 

When Geralt has him in an embracing hold and they are face to face, the prince whispers,

“May I come back?”

Geralt blurts out his bewildered response “you’re asking me?”

“Yes.”

Geralt releases him and they face off again. They are in wide stances, arms out. The prince is flushed rosy and she is sheened with sweat. Geralt’s mouth waters. 

Why shouldn’t Geralt enjoy this? Why not? He has so little else?

When the prince is on his stomach in the dirt, Geralt pressing him hard from behind, pinning him unyielding and merciless, he drops his head and presses his lips to the princes ear. 

“Stop pretending this is anything but a torrid slave fantasy.” 

"What? No!”

Geralt can feel his cock hardening in the cleft of his ass. He has to pull away soon. “Stop it. Stop promising to free me and you can come back.”

Geralt scrambles up when he hears the guards approaching. If he gets a hard-on they’ll probably chop it off.

He holds out his hand to the prince. The young man’s lips curl into a smile despite his labored panting. He places his hand in Geralt’s. Geralt squeezes it and pulls him to his feet. Once again, he graces Geralt with his dazzling, bashful smile.

"I can do that."

When Prince Julian is summoned for dinner, he tells the guards,

"I shall return every afternoon until the next match."

Geralt assures himself that this will be fine. He can enjoy the physical delights without partaking in the poison of hope. 

His eyes trail along behind the departing prince, admiring the way his shoulders pull his shirt tight. Just before Prince Julian disappears through the marble archway, he turns and steals a last lingering glance at Geralt. It is filled with something that looks like affection. 

If Geralt didn't know better, he would think this prince saw him as a person, and not as a greased up web of interconnected muscles and tendons.

But Geralt does. 

He knows better.

PART FIVE

——-----

Note:

Still working on a full fic for this. I've gotten chapter drafts/summaries up to ch 8.

But here’s part 4 teaser, since a few of you said you wanted it. I’ll also make a “master post” and tag everyone who replied on Part One saying they want more.

But I feel bad bothering people with all the tags for these drafts. So for now I'll just tag @panur (I hope your day gets better!)

[frame-fr]

Fake scene of Justinian and Regulus' first meeting. I love them they are committing evil as I speak.

Written story and dragon versions below the cut!

I use their dragon depictions in lore. Since this is set to have happened a while ago, Regulus (sd) is in his earlier outfit (#2).

At the tavern he stayed in previously, when they heard Regulus was traveling to the Hewn City, they laughed in his face. They said he'd be dead by morning, that within the dense fog lay horrors that no dragon has ever survived. Annoyed at their laughter, Regulus simply dismissed the claims and set off toward the ruins. He had no business being there, but hunting ancient artifacts was the one thing he could do. Even years after the destruction of his family's reign, finding a goal in life when he was previously lacking one still proved hard - once Regulus had seen what dragons were capable of, how could he settle for something as mundane as happiness?

Alas, all of that thinking about the recreation of the world would once again come to rest in an empty, artifactless tomb. However, this day was different. It would appear the tomb was not as empty as Regulus originally thought.

Within the dusty depths, something stirred. A dark shaped moved - it was a dragon. The form of a wildclaw lifted itself from the shadows, it's spotted wings unfurling as it rose to it's full height. Lingering dust in the air filtered out any light from the entrance - the dragon was entirely in shadow except for the glinting gold from his jewelry and the shining light of his yellow eyes. Eyes which were turned directly toward Regulus. The skydancer took a cautious step back.

"And who might you be?" the dark wildclaw asked. His voice was deep, cold. It filled the room. He couldn't have been much larger than Regulus, but the sense of presence this stranger carried with him was so intense that the skydancer couldn't bring himself respond. The wildclaw walked a bit closer and added "You aren't of the sect. Are you perhaps a traveler? There's no need to hold your tongue."

Regulus still couldn't move, but he couldn't tell if his locked muscles were from fear or awe. The wildclaw was closer to the light now, closer to him. In the dust-filtered sunlight, Regulus could barely make out the dragon's appearance. The wildclaw's feathers were dark and he was adorned in jewelry from head to claw. This stranger didn't feel entirely... dragonlike - he was sinister, dangerous. It was as if the one before him wasn't a dragon at all, but some kind of deity whose tomb had been disturbed.

It was exactly what Regulus had been secretly hoping to find. His interest was piqued, and the very idea that he may have found his holy grail gave him the courage to finally speak.

"Regulus Iolanthe is my name. I am a..." he stopped for just a brief second. He hardly knew what he considered himself. "... I hunt for artifacts." The wildclaw raised an eyebrow at this, but Regulus couldn't stop himself from continuing. "May I... ask who you are?"

The wildclaw let out a small chuckle, "You needn't hesitate so much, Regulus. Let's do away with formalities... Simply call me Justinian." He stepped ever closer, and his golden jewelry shimmered in the dim light with every movement. "Your search interests me, Regulus. Just what sort of artifacts are you searching for?"

Hearing his own name uttered by this imposing dragon, by this Justinian, sent a shiver down Regulus' spine. Though he couldn't explain why, he was no longer frightened. In fact, he was emboldened. Although he'd always hid the real reason for his search from others, he felt that this new acquaintance would understand him far better than any other dragon could.

Regulus spoke with confidence. "I wish to bring about the end of the world, but I can't do it myself. There must be some ancient implement that could help me."

After a brief period of thought, Justinian's face twisted into a dark smile that revealed his sharp white teeth. "What an interesting desire," he mused. With one swift movement, Justinian suddenly closed in to where the two dragons' faces weren't even a foot apart. Regulus started to pull away, but he stopped himself when he saw Justinian's expression - there was neither malice nor mockery. Justinian's golden eyes, so close, were alight when he said "Searching in these ruins is a fool's errand. Our stars have aligned - how would you like to usher in my era as a new God?"

With that question, Justinian reached out his hand for Regulus to take it. The hand was darkened with scutes and long claws at the end - it resembled a bird's talons more than the hand of a wildclaw. It truly was Regulus' dream to create a new world, but he'd never considered that he didn't have to do it alone. He slowly, slowly, lifted his hand and put it into Justinian's waiting claws. Together they would achieve what neither could do on his own.

[violettelueur]

— JUJUTSU KAISEN EPISODE FIVE || CURSE WOMB MUST DIE II 

↳ featuring : itadori yuji + fushiguro megumi + kugisaki nobara + gojo satoru + ryomen sukuna + zenin maki + inumaki toge + panda from jujutsu kaisen

↳ warnings : swearing + violence + mention of blood + mention of organ + mention of death + EXTREME grammar issues

↳ form : story

↳ published : 24 february

↳ pronouns : she/her

↳ word count : 4.8k

↳ synopsis : within the jujutsu world, there were three famous clans to be aware of, the Kamo clan, Zenin clan and the Gojo clan. However, unknown to many sorcerers there was one last family that was known to be apart of the three, only for them to disappear after the golden era leading some to speculate that they had died in battle after the sealing of ryomen sukuna, but....

↳ previous episode : curse womb must die I

↳ next episode : after rain

↳ barista’s notes : back again with another episode of jujutsu kaisen everyone ╲ʕ·ᴥ·　╲ʔ and we have ended the detention centre arc and now will be moving on to the training arc! isn’t that crazy, you have finished episode five ʕ ᵒ ᴥ ᵒʔ i’m not really good with fight scenes, so if you care confused, don’t hesitant to ask me anything to clarify! WE ALSO FINALLY MEET THE SECOND-YEARS!

BEFORE READING, I NEED YOU TO BE AWARE OF THIS:

1. the whole story belongs to Gege Akutami and the credits go to them and them only

2. the spell curses used belong to Tite Kubo due to them being the ‘Kidos’ being used on the manga and anime ‘Bleach’ - but none is mentioned in this chapter

2.5 for the ‘cursed spells’/kidos (bleach) i will link this video here and tell you the time stamp to check out what i am intending to show - remember i add a few twist here and there by adding the katana to link with Y/N’s cursed technique 

Destructive Curse Spell number four: Byakurai : 3:35-3:40

Sentan Hakuja : Wiki Page

‘Cursed Energy Web Technique’ : video (4:23-5:27)

3. if you are confused on anything, please don’t hesitate to message me since i know this whole thing is so confusing

“If you can, please send a grade one sorcerer or higher but that won’t be necessary if I don't die,” you sternly commented, leading both Fushiguro and Ijichi to shiver at the statement you just announced.

Still shaken at what you had just said, Ijichi sent himself off before closing the window to prevent any cold raindrops from coming at him as he drove away from the area you and Fushiguro were standing in right now.

“If you don’t want to listen to me, I ain’t going to listen to you at all then Fushiguro,” you stated with a frown painted on your face before looking back at the building behind his body.

Taking your katana, you looked at the bottom of the handle to find a metal loop at the bottom with a red charm tied before it was simply slowly unwinded by you as you prepared for the worst that was about to come.

“What are you doing L/N?” Fushiguro asked in a worried tone, causing you to turn to look at him with a deadpan expression.

“Just preparing for the worst Fushiguro”

                                               ꕥ

The rain was still unsettled as you stared at the building of the detention centre that was in front of you with a nonchalant look present on your face. Carefully, you hook your katana on the side of your left hip rather than the usual spot of your back since you knew you were going to need extremely quick access to your weapon if your prediction of what was going to happen was going to become a reality.

Suddenly, there was a swift but noticeable change in the air causing you to grab Fushiguro’s sleeve to pull him closer to you in case of any attacks that would happen since he was standing behind you, out of your central view.

“The Innate Domain’s closed off, the special-grade is dead!” Fushiguro stated to you in a shocked but quiet tone, causing the grip you had on his sleeve to tighten since the feeling in the pit of your stomach was becoming agonising to the point where you wanted to vomit it out.

Yet, you weren’t fearful for yourself but rather the wellbeing of the shikigami user behind you and the classmate, who was still inside the building at this current moment in time.

“We just need Itadori to return safely now,” Fushiguro hopefully whispered, yet you had given no response since you knew that the chance of the mentioned classmate coming back with himself out rather than Sukuna was extremely low.

“That’s almost impossible, from what I can recall, him and Sukuna haven’t even agreed to a bi-” you began to explain, only for a sudden aggressive presence to stop you in your tracks to which Fushiguro also felt as you both froze on the stop you both were standing in right now.

“Sorry, but he’s not coming back”

A familiar voice from behind you spoke leading to both of you and Fushiguro to freeze on the stop before you came to the sense that what you had predicted was proven right. However, you didn’t foresee that he was coming straight to the both of you, even when he had threatened it clearly before Fushiguro dragged you away to search for Kugisaki.

“Don’t be so frightened, I’m in a good mood right now, let’s chat for a bit,” Sukuna calmly mentioned as he processed to make his appearance in front of you both since you refused to look in the opposite direction.

“This is what he gets for trying to use me without any kind of pact, feels like he’s having some trouble switching back,” Sukuna pronounced as he turned to the side.

‘To be honest, it was surprising for him to switch back after eating the finger without the pact’ you thought before letting out of Fushiguro’s sleeve once you was comfortable that he was out of harm's way, ‘besides that should be enough cursed energy for now,’ you internally spoke before taking a quick glance on the same area where you hand was as you processed to place the same hand on the handle of your katana.

“Still, though it’s only a matter of time,” Sukuna stated, as he gripped onto Itadori’s school jacket before unexpectantly ripping into shreds to showcase his muscular upper body, revealing the strange back marking he adorned on his chest.

“So, I thought about what I can do right now,” the King of Curses uttered before raising his hand to suddenly puncture a hole within the middle of his check, shocking both you and Fushiguro from his gruesome action as hints of blood started to pour from the corner of his lips.

‘Shit! I haven’t finished preparing,’ you pondered in a panic manner, as your hand was still on your weapon’s handle, transferring some of your cursed energy to your katana, making sure it had reached to the tip of the blade within the wooden casing for what you were planning to execute.

“Wh-what are you..” Fushiguro stuttered as he looked at the scene in complete horror, only for a massive pool of blood to pour in the middle between Sukuna’s legs before forcibly ripping out the most vital organ needed for Itadori to come back alive.

“I’m taking this brat hostage,” Sukuna declared, as he proudly and sadistically presented the heart he had taken out to you and Fushiguro, causing you to internally become repulsed at the scene since you still needed to concentrate shifting a tiny amount of cursed energy needed to your katana.

“Hostage?!” Fushiguro snarled as he shifted back slightly.

“Yeah, I can live without this, but that ain’t true for the brat,” Sukuna informed you and Fushiguro, as he then tossed the heart to the side like it was a piece of trash he needed to get rid of quickly.

“Switching out with me means he dies. Also, for good measure,” Sukuna mentioned before revealing a finger in his hand causing you to look at the cursed object he had just now swallowed with widened eyes.

‘I thought it wasn’t his finger that the special-grade curse consumed! Fuck!’

“With that, I'm free as a bird, you can be frightened now, I’ll kill you both for no particular reason,” Sukuna declared as he flexed his hand leading you to rapidly unleash your blade from its black wooden casing for the first time since the unfortunate day as you were now prepared to fight against the King of Curses.

“Our positions are reversed now,” Fushiguro muttered under his breath (to which you heard) before he determinedly looked at the curse right in front of him as he positioned himself in a fighting stance causing a wave of anxiety to consume you.

‘One of his divine dogs are already down, if he risks another shikigami, that possibly will also get destroyed in the process’

“You just don’t get it, he’s..Itadori’s coming back even if that means he’ll die, that’s just who he is,” Fushiguro determinedly stated while staring down at Sukuna.

“You give him too much credit, this guy’s just a little tougher and denser than other humans” Sukuna countered back with a smirk on his face before processing to wipe off the blood staining his lip with the back of his hand. 

“Just a moment ago, he was scared out of his mind, on the verge of death and prattling on about his regrets and all that nonsense, I know for a fact he doesn’t have the guts to kill himself,” Sukuna taunted as he smiles smugly at both of you.

‘A special-grade has the ability to used Reserve Cursed Techniques, so it wouldn’t be hard for him to use it on his heart, I just need to slide down somewhere around his chest area to force him to do that’

Shifting your eyes to the side, you noticed Fushiguro’s hands were shaking leading you to internally sigh since you knew he was thinking the same idea as you, while probably debating the fact on how he could make Sukuna revive his heart before Itadori switches back as well as how he was going to battle against a special-grade.

“Should I make the first move then?” you rhetorically asked, before swiftly throwing your katana towards Sukuna like it was a spear, only for him to dough the weapon even at its immense speed.

“You think that was going to hit me?! Maybe you ain’t the fighting type as I suggested!” Sukuna roared in amusement, not noticing how you seemingly suddenly grabbed onto thin air (like you were holding onto a hanging support handle on a bus) before pulling your arm back in a fast motion, resulting in the attacking blade unexpectedly return back to you as quick as it was thrown, for it to then slash a massive slit on Sukuna’s cheek causing the curse to look at you in complete surprised before you swiftly moved forwards towards him, grabbing the handle of the travelling blade to attempt to slash down on your targeted area, only for Sukuna to dodge as quickly as he could.

‘Damn, but that should be fine for now’

However, before you could even attempt to get another chance of getting a slit around his check area, you heard incoming footsteps from your side leading you to deck down as you suddenly saw a leg swing above your head, indicating to you that Fushiguro had made a move to attack the cursed vessel, yet once again Sukuna managed to dodge against as well as the incoming punches that came along with Fushiguro’s attempts.

“Interesting, not only the girl managed to injure me but you use shikigami, but you’ll still come at me yourself?” Sukuna questioned, as he seemed amused at both of you and Fushiguro.

However, before he could mention another word there was a light pressure placed on his right shoulder causing him to turn back, only to find you in a lower stance with your index and middle finger to be pressed upon his shoulder blade.

“Destructive Curse Spell number four: Byakurai,” you chanted, before a high-density of cursed energy was discharged from the tip of your index finger to form a concentrated bolt of lighting leading it to pierce a noticeable hole on Sukuna’s shoulder surprising him as well as Fushiguro, since you angled it well away from him getting hit before you once again attempted to swing your katana down upon his back to execute your plan only for him to dodge it come again.

‘Fuck sake! You make it so easy to hit you the first time but when I want to slice you down, you suddenly dodge it!’

However, before you could use another cursed spell, a shikigami made its way to attack Sukuna leading you to discover it was Nue only for Sukuna to once again avoid the strike of its sharp talons before Fushiguro aims to get a hit at Sukuna, only for the King of Curses to block them with his arms. Yet you couldn’t help but internally smile the second you saw the wrist that you were holding onto earlier had made contact with Sukuan’s arms.

‘If plan A doesn’t work out, B will do just fine for now’

However, your hint of internal happiness quickly ended once you saw Fushiguro take a hit from Sukuna’s fist causing hints of blood to escape from his mouth leading you to quickly stand up straight as you rushed over to the scene. Yet, before you could even attempt to attack the curse again, you felt a presence underneath you causing your body to instinctively move again before a large snake appeared from the ground catching Sukuna within its mouth lifting him in the air as he was stunned with surprise at the fact of his sneak attack.

“Gang up on him!” Fushiguro yelled out to his shikigami, leading Nue’s wings to surround itself with purple lightning as it attempted to land a hit on Sukuna, only for him to duck at the right moment before it tried again, only for it to have the same result.

“Fushiguro, deactivate the snake now before it’s destroyed!” you screamed at your fighting partner. However, before he even got the message you suddenly saw fragments of what seemed to be the snake’s skin falling down in front of you before noticing Sukuna was already behind Fushiguro, tightly gripping onto the back of his dark blue sorcerer jacket.

“Hey, what did I just say? Let’s use the open space!” Sukuna shouted, before aggressively flinging Fushiguro up in the air before following the sorcerer himself, leaving you behind to witness his inhuman strength.

‘Shit, they’re going to get to the edge of the evacuation area!’

Reaching into the depths of your skirt pocket, you quickly pulled out a long, white cloth before letting it spin around you at a large radius as it slowly began to enclose the gaps that were making you visible to the world.

‘Sentan Hakuja,’ you internally chanted before the cloth coiled you complete before speedily teleporting you in front to what seemed to be like a construction site or an abandoning building, you weren’t quite sure. However, what you were sure of was that Fushiguro and Sukuna hadn’t noticed that you had arrived despite the vast entrance you had made from your cursed technique - but what you were most afraid of was the fact the Nue was gone, causing you to worry at the fact that now that shikigami was destroyed.

“What a waste of talent, but the girl back at that place, she knows how to use her technique extremely well,” Sukuna announced, causing Fushiguro to look at the King of Curses in both confusion as well as frustration at the fact he had mentioned you, worried if he was about to get killed, Sukuna would hunt you down next.

“Whatever, either way, that won’t be enough to fix this, you’re risking your life over stupid shit,” Sukuna stated as he pointed the hole on his chest. However, it seemed like you had enough of the conversation.

“Activate!” you yelled out before stabbing your katana to the ground, causing both males to turn around to finally notice you. However, it was too late for Sukuna to have the opportunity to counter what you were doing as he felt something restraining his arm’s movement before noticing what seemed to be a blue web-like strand attached to both his shoulders, yet when he turned to you, you seemed to be in the same situation but with one arm free.

“L/N!” Fushiguro yelled out in a panic before noticing that you were not at all afraid but rather calm despite the situation that you both were in now.

“What is this?” Sukuna questioned, as he observed the web-like structure you had created only for you to glance at him with a deadpan expression on your face.

“It’s just a simple web I created from pure cursed energy that is retaining the both of us right now,” you answered as you continued to peer at the confused King of Curses, who was trying to rip away from the strand-like he had with the shikigami snake, only to no avail as he struggled to move his whole upper body in general.

“How come? You didn’t touch me except for the cursed technique you used?!” Sukuna roared as he glared at you only for you to then let out a sigh of frustration.

‘It’s such a drag to explain…’

“I transferred some of my cursed energy to Fushiguro’s wrist as well as to my katana, so when they made contact with you, it allowed me to connect the strands of the web to those areas where you had been hit, also the protective spell I placed on the back of Itadori’s neck before we went in the detention centre was surprisingly still intact, allowing me to track you and the chain at the end of my katana to restain you further,” you thoroughly explained, before clicking your fingers causing the sudden but slow reveal of the long black chain (attached at the end of your handle - on the metal loop where the red charm was) that you had concealed with your cursed energy to appear surrounding you and Sukuna at a large radius while the extra length was tightly wrapped around his upper body.

“That was how I pulled my katana back at the beginning of the fight if that’s what you were also wondering,” you commented, leading Sukuna to look at you with a larger smirk than what you thought his reaction would have been.

“You possess such intellect, such skill, such power and such talent and yet you refuse to go against me with your full potential, are you mocking me?” Sukuna asked, before laughing causing you to look at him suspiciously, yet you couldn’t let that bother you at all, right now all you needed was for Itadori to switch back even if he was going to die.

“Even though I technically didn’t save you, Fushiguro did but I would like to give my answer I guess,” you commented before running your hands through your wet hair trying to push away the strands that were concealing your vision slightly. 

“I should have exorcised you back then, in fact it’s my duty as part of the L/N Clan to, but I know you’re a good person at heart Itadori, I knew that since the day I saw you back at school and probably Fushiguro saw that as well when he decided to save you,” you explained with a smile, as you began to notice the markings gradually disappear from his face and body causing you to slowly deactivate the cursed energy web that was immobilising you and Itadori while the chain that was coiled around him slowly began to loosen its grip on him.

“It was for selfish and emotional reasons but that’s fine though,” Fushiguro stated as his posture relaxed once he noticed that you were slowly lowering your guard, “I’m not a hero, I’m a jujutsu sorcerer, so I’ve never once regretted saving you,” he then announced with a smile on his face.

Suddenly, itadori looked at you with a smile on his face before turning to look at Fushiguro, who was behind him. “I see, you really are smart, Fushiguro, Gojo,  you’ve put more thought into this than I have,” Itadori mentioned with a smile, as he pushed his hair back, “I think your conviction’s a proper one, but I don’t think mine is wrong, either,”.

Suddenly, more blood started to drip down from his wound causing you to move forwards to make sure that Itadori didn’t fall down completely. “Oh, sorry, I’m almost done for, guess I won’t have to worry you guys, Kugisaki, or Gojo-sensei, live a long life,” Itadori faintly stated to you both before falling straight into your arms causing you to fall to your knees due to his heavyweight causing your skirt and high-knee socks to become soaked in the rain that already bathed your hair and face.

The rain only grew heavily as seconds went by, only reflecting on the disappointment and devastation that was coming from both you and Fushiguro, as you both stayed silent letting the rain consume you both for the time being.

Maybe after the rain, he might come back.

‘Please come back’

                                               ꕥ

“So you had your suspicions?” you questioned your adopted father, as you leaned against the railing of the balcony, while he stood next to you leaning against the same railing.

“There was a special grade there, sending the first-years to rescue five who may or may not be alive is out of order, even if you are capable of exorcising it Y/N,” Gojo explained causing you to realise where this was going.

“So what you are saying is, since you indefinitely suspended Itadori’s execution, that got some higher-ups upset, leading us to go do that mission, in order for Itadori to be killed?” you suggested, leading Gojo to turn silent at your comment, leading you to get the answer you were expecting even if no words were exchanged.

“You’re strong though Y/N, you effortlessly fought like Sukuna was just a normal curse,” Gojo complimented you, only for you to give him no response since it was not a good time for you to be praised.

You failed at saving Itadori.

“As a special grade like your father, I need you to look out for Megumi and Nobara for a while, train them to the best of your abilities since we got an event coming up!” Gojo cheered, leading you to present him with a glare.

‘What a drag...I really can’t be bothered to be in an event’

“I’m going to check on the others Gojo-sensei, I’ll see you later,” you stated before standing on the feet as you than processed to walk away with your hand up, as a way to wave him ‘goodbye’.

“Call me dad for once Y/N~” Gojo shouted, leading you to groan in annoyance before making your way to the entrance, where you knew Fushiguro and Kugisaki were since Gojo did take you away from them when he found you sitting with them on the stone steps near the entrance of the school.

After some time, you finally managed to reach your destination as you found yourself standing at the top of the extra steps above your classmates, before noticing a few new faces further below, leading you to become perplexed since you weren’t expecting any other sorcerers to come by today - well...that’s what Gojo said.

“Don’t tell me the other student died as well?” the female sorcerer question, leading you to look in her direction in confusion since she seemed a little familiar to you for some reason.

‘Ah, she was the person I saw when I moved into the dorm, but she didn’t really see me’

“I’m right here,” you commented, leading to everyone that was in your view to look up at your direction to find you standing with your arms crossed before you steadily made your way down the steps as you processed to stand a step above between Fushiguro and Kugisaki, who were still seated on the same spot they were in when you had left them for a few minutes.

“You don’t even have a scratch on you,” the female sorcerer commented, as she noticed you didn’t have any patches or bandages like the other two first-years had once you observed you.

“She’s a strong sorcerer,” Fushiguro commented, leading you to kick his back before commenting that he was a strong sorcerer as well.

“Ah! Are you the special grade, Gojo was mentioning about?” the large Panda asked, causing you to give him a glance before answering, “I don’t believe I’m a special-grade sorcerer but if that what my drag ass of an adoptive dad ranked me, then I guess I am,”.

“Who are you guys?” you then asked since it seemed like they had already done their introductions for Kugisaki. Although, it seemed like your female classmate was in the same sort of confusion as you since she noted to you that she had no idea who the fellow sorcerers were.

“Our second-year upperclassmen,” Fushiguro nonchalantly answered before he continued by introducing them to you and Kugisaki.

“Zenin-senpai is the best of all the students at wielding cursed tools, that’s the Cursed Speech user, Inumaki-senpai, he can only speak in ingredients of onigiri and that’s panda senpai,” Fushiguro introduced everyone causing some questions to manifest in your head.

‘Zenin ha?..she doesn’t seem like the one that my mum was talking about, so I don’t have to suspect her but is there anything else to add for Panda-senpai?’

“There’s one more, Okkotsu-senpai, who is the only one I can openly respect, but he’s overseas right now,” Fushiguro added, before slowly standing on his two feet.

“You’re not adding more about the panda named Panda?” Kugisaki asked as she looked up at the shikigami user to gain some information, only to be ignored.

“Man, sorry about this and when you’re in mourning...please forgive us for that,” Panda apologised before placing his hands together as a sign to be forgiven, even though that sign reminded you about something else.

‘Ah...that’s the same hand gesture for one of my cursed spells’

“The truth is, we’d like you to participate in the Kyoto Sister School Exchange Event,” Panda explained, causing you to recall about an ‘event’ Gojo had mentioned to you.

“Oh, that’s what he meant,” you whispered before Kugisaki interrupted you by repeating the event’s name in confusion.

“What’s that?” Kugisaki asked as she turned to Fushiguro looking for the answer.

“It’s a get-together with the other Tech school in Kyoto, though isn’t that event mainly second and third-years?” the erratic-haired sorcerer answered your classmate before questioning the invitation since all of you were first-years.

“And those stupid third-years are suspended right now, so you need to participate,” Zenin explained, causing you to look to the side with an annoyed expression on your face since you realised that this meant you had to cover up your tracks more than you were bothered to do.

“What do you do at this event? Smash Bros? I won’t lose if it’s the Wii version, I’ll Meteor Smash so you can’t come back” Kugisaki randomly mentioned with a determined look on her face as she formed a fist, causing you to look in her direction with a confused face since you didn’t know how she came to that conclusion in the first place.

“Then let’s make a 3-man team, the exchange event has the principals of the Tokyo and Kyoto schools each propose a form of competition to be held for an entire day over the course of two days, though that’s how it is on paper,” Panda informed you and Kugasaki, who were oblivious to what this event was in general.

“Every year, the first day is a team battle, and the second day is individual battles,” Panda explained, leading Inumaki to agree with him by saying ‘salmon’ as his confirmation to his classmates' explanation.

“Individual and team battles? We fight?! Against other jujutsu sorcerers?!” Kugisaki shouted after realising what the event really entailed, causing you to look at her before lightly smacking the back of her head.

“You just realised that?” you asked in a dumbfounded tone.

“Yeah, it’s a jujutsu battle where anything but killing goes,” Zenin confirmed with a huge grin causing you internal sigh at the fact that you had to hide the use of your cursed technique since that would blow your cover entirely.

“We’ll train you up well so you won’t get killed. Yeah, yeah, yeah!” Panda declared before he started to throw some air punched after every ‘yeah’ he said.

“Wait, do you have time for that? I thought we were short on jujutsu sorcerers,” Kugisaki asked since she concluded that there were only six of you right now.

“That’s a good question, For now, we are. The glim emotions people harbour from late winter through spring cause an outburst of curses in the early summer, so that’s our busy season,” Panda explained as Zenin then explained that some sorcerers are busy all year long, but since things are settling down soon, it should be fine.

“So, you’ll do it, right? You just had a partner die on you, after all,” Zenin asked, as she was waiting for all your responses.

“We’re in!” Fushiguro and Kugisaki simultaneously answered with determined looks on their faces before turning back to look at you, waiting for your answer.

Letting out a sigh of frustration, you knew that you had no way out of this since they looked so motivated for you to join, even if you disagreed with them.

“This is such a drag, but fine, I’ll join in too,” you replied with a small smile on your face leading them to nod at you before turning back to your seniors.

“But if I decided this training and exchange event is pointless, I’m quitting instantly,” Kugisaki mentioned.

“Same here,” Fushiguro commented, causing you to kick both of them on the back much to their surprise.

“So you drags make me do this event, only for you to dip when it’s pointless for you, besides I heard there are some interesting sorcerers in the Kyoto side, so prepare yourselves,” you stated before stepping down the few steps you were in front of before standing between them.

“Well, people this cocky are all more worthwhile to train,” Panda mentioned with his arms folded with a determined look on his face.

“Bonito flakes,” Inumaki said in a softer tone.

Looking up to the sky, you couldn’t help but brisk in the sunlight that was shining lightly down upon you, leading you to raise your hand over your face in order to not be blinded.

‘I wonder how I’m going to hide from this one now?’

© violettelueur 2021 : written and published by violettelueur - do not steal or repost

[ncitygirls]

eternal - jaemin x f reader

fluff, smut, vampire!jaemin, 2.2k

he had yet to utter a word since his confession, and neither had you, though you had tried piecing together a worthy response. he simply watched you as you watched him, your eyes focusing on each delicate ridge in his skin, admiring his nonexistent pores; how the thin slithers of light that broke through the poorly drawn curtain, shone on a bend from the ends of his bangs down and around his chin. a kind reminder of what you swear you have always known, but regret to have never questioned.

“jaemin?”

“my love?”

“have you always been this beautiful?’

he had to admit he was taken back. those are the first words you have said in a long while. they are your first words since he told you three minutes and twenty-five seconds ago - he was counting, not actively, but over time his mind has created room for his thinking to expand, to surpass humanity’s understanding of thought, and most times he welcomes it. but not at times such as these - where he knows he told you three minutes and twenty-five seconds ago, and your first words are in awe of him.

“i told you i am undead.. and that is what troubles you?”

“your beauty is far from troubling,” you retort, eyes still inspecting his face. jaemin’s mind wanders back to when he once pitied humans. how they thought what they saw was really seeing. victims of an already limited life, the human eye is only able to pick up a fraction of their sublime reality. yet the way your eyes traverse each of his features, as if to commit them to memory, he surely found a compelling reason to admit their eyes were not so lacking. “was it the bite that made you so handsome?”

“i wasn’t bitten,” he corrects, as the pads of your thumbs sweep over his cold knuckles, your touch casting a reverence over the scene. he lets out a pretty laugh at your assumption, the soft crease between your brows forming as he destroys your fictional understanding of his kind. “humans have always had a skewed understanding of our lore.”

“so your mother and father were vampires?”

“no.” it has been some time since he has had to explain vampiric lore to a human, but his mind retains his memory of it all the same. “it is not dissimilar to what humans call possession? or a spell? it is a combination of the two.”

“did it hurt?”

jaemin cannot help but melt at the notes of concern lacing your tone. it is his turn to pass his thumb along your knuckles before flipping your hand over, letting his finger trace a swirl in your palm, offering a soft shake of his head. “it makes one feel queasy, a consequence of the change in dietary needs.”

your hand stiffens beneath his touch as your eyes drop to examine them. he fears he has spoken out of turn, pushed the astonishingly pleasant conversation down a dark hole. jaemin once believed humans to be predictable, but you continue to challenge that. “is that why my invites to have you for dinner always go unanswered?”

“i knew that wounded you, angel.”

“it did no such thing!” his chin drops, eyes boring into you in a successful attempt to lure the truth out of you. he immediately softens when you exhale, in defeat of his gaze or distaste at your transparency, he does not know. jaemin would soften all the same. “i will admit, i did make assumptions to make sense of your refusal.”

“did you think i preferred not to visit?” you had never noticed the flecks of red in the perimeter of his irises until now. they glowed slightly, as if enraged, though you know not with you. “there are rules we must follow when entering a new space, silly, unchangable rules.” his frown deepens when you nod, always understanding even when you shouldn’t. “i apologise if I hurt you, angel.”

“hush now, you need not apologise.” you’re proven right when his eyes return to the perfect colour you remember them for: a golden swirl moving within the rich cocoa, shining only as the light hits it. relief floods him when he rests his forehead on your own. he grips your hips firmly, swaying you both as you call for him.

“jaemin, what is it you do eat?”

“pretty girls named y/n.” oh how he wished you would have laughed then, instead of him opening his eyes to find your horror stricken face. “i swear to you that was a joke. that was in poor taste, i am so sorry.” you find his apology hard to believe as his body shakes, shaking your whole frame along with him.

“do not,” you hit his arm once, “mock,” and a second time though ineffective, “me!”

he saves himself quickly, retreating to safety by putting an unrealistic amount of distance between you two in an inexplicable amount of time. when he abandoned you, you nearly collapse forward with the force you were using to hit him before catching yourself.

“come here.”

“i drink blood.” you did not particularly dislike his attempt to stay on topic, just the topic itself. you try to appear enlightened but you have always found it difficult to repress your repulsion. “i know you have no interest in the macabre.”

“blood is meant to be inside you.”

“i think it tastes great.” he quickly arrives in front of you, your open books and abandoned letters fluttering all over the room as his speed garners its own winds. his thumbs journey over the veins on your wrists, slowly trailing up your forearms. he only speaks again when he hooks his thumbs under your jaw, tilting your head to allow his teeth to graze over the column of your neck. “it is reminiscent of fruit. some blood is like grapefruit and lemon. while some are akin to grape, strawberries.”

“oh,” you sigh, heart slowing as his lips drag along the base of your throat. he pulls back, gazing longingly at your wonderment as you feel his mood swing. bitterness seeps into his eyes in how his taste for blood ironically remains the only provision of some kind of memory of flavour, of normality. “do you enjoy it?”

“blood?”

“being a vampire.” no one has ever asked him such a thing. is there anything to enjoy about eternal life? about reliving his youth, being relocated, remade, renewed over and over and over, for an eternity.

as he gazes down at you, he remembers with all the bad must come some good.

“not always,” he smiles knowingly, thinking of his friends. the lives they built for themselves over a combined millennia. it almost makes him retract saying that. “i do regret some things. like allowing haechan to convince us to help real witches free the falsely accused during the witch trials. only to later discover he had a wager on being able to free more than their coven could.” he loved the way your eyes followed along, he loved knowing he could finally share his life in its entirety with you. “i have a thousand reasons why i should hate it, but I cannot bring myself to.”

“why?” he will find a way to forgive himself for giving you a reason to ask. he will ensure you needn’t ask again.

“because,” he whispers into your mouth, his lips slipping between your own, fingers clasped behind your neck. “if i had died in 1625, i would not have had the honour of making your acquaintance.”

“this is hardly an acquaintance,” you remind him, counting his years in your head as he pulls you flush against him utilising less than a speck of his strength. “careful grandsire,” it tumbles from your lips as he licks against your mouth. “i am not sure a man even three hundred years your junior could make it through what you are starting.”

“you needn’t worry about me,’ he sighs, his groin rolling against your own, his fingers clinging to your breakable frame. “though i must confess, my eating pretty girls named y/n was not said solely in jest.” his fingers toy with your knickers, ice cold digits moving freely along the waistband. “in fact, i fear my sanity depends on it. might you be of some aid?”

“who am i to deny a man nearing his fourth century?” he begs himself not to laugh, if only not to kill the mood but more so to avoid dignifying your mockery. his laughter morphs quickly into pants, your hand slotted wickedly between his own and his groin. “how might i be of assistance to you?”

“just as you are,” he whispers, his dulled teeth passing dangerously along the shell of your ear. as a man of his years, patience isn’t something which he is in short supply. but even then, one grows tired of waiting, for coitus, for love, for you. he is quick to remove your hand, finding his own pacing as he presses you against the wall, your heat pulsing beneath his cock, practically leaking. “i forgot how pliant humans are,” it is wicked how he watches you, his fingers rolling your hardened nub betwixt their pads. you shudder at the sight of him, his golden eyes darkening in the sunlit room, his tongue passing over his sharpened teeth. he smirks as you hiss, his fingers pinching your nipple before sucking it into his mouth. his tongue rolls in time with his hips, running his clothed cock along your clothed folds. he is quickly reminded of his strength as his palm collects dust as it meets the wall with a thud, steadying himself as you whine deliciously, his name bleeding from your raw lips. “yes, angel?”

“i need you,” you breathe, gazing up at him as his lips capture yours. your tongues move in tandem, wrapping around the other in a hypnotic frisk. he swallows your whimpers as he lures them out of you. he sucks your tongue into his mouth, hands moving to your rear before lifting you from the ground. he makes little work of you, rendering you a quarter of your size. your ankles lock around his waist as he casts your knickers aside, hissing as the pad of his finger meets your folds.

“might i have a taste now?” he pleads, eyes burning a fiery amber, pure adoration hidden beneath. “please, angel?”

“take all of me, jaemin.” he holds you still, a metre from the ground as he kneels, his hands firm around your thighs before he lowers you over his mouth. his flat tongue licks long stripes up your cunt, tongue flicking along your hooded clit in his descent. he likens you to a spring, his soul knelt before you, preparing an offering to your fountain. he is ready to collect all you offer him, your essence pouring out onto his tongue, soaking his lips, slick down his chin. his eyes fall to a close at the sight of your dazed form, your eyes screwed shut in prayer, his lips puckering around the hood of your clit, the tip of his tongue rolling against the nerve. “jaemin, right there, please.”

he hums in accordance, his tongue circling your clit as your thighs shake on either side of his head. he smirks as you still, his middle and ring finger entering your warm cavern, forcing your hips to roll against his digits. he curves them slowly, pressing against your pink walls, bulging up against your stomach. “you are so fragile,” he says, lips bitten as he watches your body succumb to his touch. he leans closer to you, steadying you on his shoulders to free his hand. he presses his palm to your abdomen, hypnotised by the feeling of his own fingers inside you. letting his thumb drift down, he pulls up the skin hiding your clit, allowing his lips to pucker against the nub before he offers a hard suck. his tongue joins the fold, drinking you in as you let out a sharp cry, the pressure inside and out joining forces to send you over the edge. “when you’re ready, love, come.”

he can feel your skin burning up, see the sheen of sweat coating your entire body. “jaemin,” you continue to chase your high, but cling to the moment. you feel like your convulsions might snap your body in two. that pleasure such as this cannot exist innately, that only he can bestow it on you. you are proven right as you grow more frantic, his fingers rub against the spot inside you that he found with great ease, as his lips suck on your clitoris. the final straw is his gaze, you feel it and fall victim to it. his irises a bright, angelic white, the rim speckled in gold. one cast of your eyes on your lover and you snap.

there is no doubting that as jaemin gazes up at you, he sees glory eternal. he sees life. he sees an angel.

“come angel.”

and you do. jaemin’s simple command breaks a dam, summoning a flood of pleasure you are unsure you will survive. hot iron passes through your veins, lighting you from the inside out. he continues without thought, his lips sucking the pleasure out of you, his fingers still pounding into your swollen pussy. only when your fingers find his hair, pulling him away with a sharp tug does he concede, lowering you into his lap.

“hi,” he says after some time, watching you pant against the wall. “are you still with me?” he jests, palms gliding up and down your aching thighs.

you hum, gazing up at the golden orbs that you decide you mustn’t live without. much like his life, and much like your love. eternal. “always.”