#unable to indulge but always plagued by little ideas in her mind. where will her clients go with her garments? what fun will they have?

[robotpanties]

ouu. elaborating on my idea from earlier a bit more

[flowering-thought]

「 IV 」

Long ago, in a rigid and harsh kingdom, lay a poor prince.

Unable to indulge in his interests and express what he wanted to express.

Till he gained freedom, but the world can be cruel and cold, such a rigid world could never accept the prince.

Perhaps fate may lead to a light on his road of crumbling stones and flowers...

Ivan, the name of a boy who loved things.

What kinds of things? One might think a boy would like scary things, creepy crawlies, and ghost stories that send chills down your spine!

But the things the boy loved were not of the sort. He hated bugs and stories that would plague his mind.

He enjoyed plush animals and watching his mother paint her nails. How such a simple act of painting a nail would make her look so elegant and change how her hands looked completely.

And while he enjoyed the pastel blue his parents had painted his childhood room, he was always drawn to the pastel pink bows his older sister would wear.

He liked the dolls with big eyelashes and the roses his father would buy his mother. The sound of piano playing in the distance when they would make a little picnic spot outside in the yard.

And childlike wonder has no bounds. He asked for pink polish to paint his nails, the one his mother used on his sister. But upon the request, he saw her features turn into an emotion he hadn't seen before.

And very quickly, he realized the small world he had known in his seven years of life was not as it seemed.

As he grew, his interests kept to himself, a rapid ache that would plague his mind and leave a stone in his stomach formed. His peers often say what a man should and shouldn't be.

But why? He loves being a man but why can't he wear what he pleases? Why can't he paint his nails and wear colors he adores?

Why do pieces of fabric and accessories have gender attached to them despite anyone being able to buy them and wear them?

And one day, when everyone was out of the house and he had saved up enough money, he bought the first ever pair of shoes he would come to adore.

In his favorite color of pastel pink, a light shade that looked nice against his pale skin and chestnut-colored hair.

The shoes with a strap around the ankle and a slightly raised heel. A small bow adorning the heel. With his door locked and a few nerve-wracking breaths, he finally fit his feet into the shoes.

He had a problem finding a size that would fit so he went online and had it shipped to a different address, one of those places where they kept the package for you till you could pick it up.

It was a perfect fit.

He could feel his heart filling the moment he stood up. And when he looked down at his feet he was so happy.

He loved how it felt and started walking around his room, getting used to the shoes and the slight heel.

He was a little above average in height, around 5'7, being around 17 at this point but he didn't care. He would get used to heels and wear whatever he wanted one day.

So he swore to himself to leave. To a city where he'd be accepted and where he could finally gain peace.

And one day he did.

A lovely city that reminded him of romance, the canals reminding him of love stories and rose petals.

He found a good job and let his hair grow, ignoring calls from his parents and deciding to live as he wanted.

He got a job working with clothes but it wasn't enough. He didn't want to just work with clothes he wanted to make them, ideas in his head wouldn't stop bugging him so he learned through YouTube videos and random tutorials online how to sew.

It was a slow process, lots of pokes and blood drawn on his fingertips but when he made his first ever dress, a small one made for a doll as he wanted to start small, he found himself just as happy as when he tried on his first pair of pink shoes.

He grew from there, eventually getting better ideas, and soon made his first full-bodied piece for himself. And how he adored it.

He would share his progress on social media, gaining a following and gradual commissions.

The money he gained was enough to live off of and eventually get his friends with shared interests to help procure materials.

And eventually, those in fashion would support him! Ivan had finally found a group he belonged to. The people who found interest in him would reach out, eventually collaborating with others and making friends in fashion that interested him.

Soon he was known under the name Alina. And while no one knew his face or who exactly he was, they knew his artwork and his pieces would make it to small runways, bringing him enough money to be comfortable.

He wore clothing with different colors of lavender, pink, green, and blue, all pastels but he never liked bold colors.

Sometimes, stares would bother him, but he had grown used to it. Especially when he wore extra frilly dresses some would make comments and sometimes it bothered him.

Occasionally a child would get so excited, feeling like they found a princess and he delighted in that innocence as it made him feel normal.

His sister knew of his interests, as she was always more in touch with how people felt. And luckily she never showed disgust or malice towards him for it. Even asking if he could make her some things as she did love lace and sheer poofy clothing.

But his parents never knew. It's why so far no pictures of him and his artwork together were online. He made sure no one did as the fear of his parents' reactions would break him.

He never felt like he wanted to be a woman.

He didn't want a figure like a woman or anything that differentiated the sexes. He is a man and he's sure of that. He just likes different things than the gender norms allow. He loves Jfashion and he loves all sorts of pastel colors and those cute little characters and farming games where you can romance cute girls on a farm!

He knows who he is, he just doesn't know how he would live if his parents rejected him.

One day Ivan dressed models in his designs, he himself dressed in clothes he also designed, wearing a face mask covered with a certain pink bunny character.

He was happily adjusting and making sure no thread was out of place. He let the models walk, the late night and bright lights making a lovely contrast at the show.

But like the sound of piano strings breaking, he was called back to reality when a hand roughly placed on his shoulder and the angry face of his father looking down at him, his mother behind him, tears in her eyes.

And a fight ensues backstage, his father screaming obscenities that he hadn't raised Ivan that way, that he didn't raise a sissy and such a delicate man. His mother asked where they went wrong, and why he would do these types of things.

His father grasped a ribbon in his shoulder-length hair that he had nicely curled for the occasion and tore it out, his hand having a bit of Ivan's poor chestnut hair intertwined in his fingers.

And his father's face dropped a bit when he saw the expression of pure despair on his son's face.

"You don't understand!! I've always liked these things! I liked dolls and frills! And the look of pastel pink bows that Ava always wore! All I ever wanted was to wear cute things and live life as I wanted!" He yelled, tears falling from his blue eyes, makeup slightly smearing.

He grasped his skirt in his hands, trying to find a semblance of control but all the words trapped in his heart kept spilling out, "It's just clothing! Clothing that you feel is not man enough but who decided that? Who cares if I wear what is considered girly! I'm still a man! I'm still a man if I like pink and frills! I'm still a man who loves women and womanly things! Why do you not understand!?" He yelled, the onlookers trying to get security to escort his parents away, some of his friends coming close to try and support Ivan.

His father had grown quiet, trying to hold onto his foolish thoughts, and the last sentence was enough to break Ivan completely despite his parents coming to a realization. The words had slipped through his father's mouth, "It's just not natural.".

And with that Ivan ran, he didn't know where to go or where to run to.

He had run for so long that his ankle slipped and he fell, the strap of his favorite shoes breaking and one falling to the floor, the sound of water running through a canal filling his ears as the pain brought him to reality.

All he could do was sob, slowly getting up, his tights torn through and his knees bleeding, his skirt and petticoat covered in dirt and grime and his mask under his chin so he could breathe.

He wanted to die. He knew rationally his parents would never understand. He knew it deep down. But he never wanted to hear it. He never wanted to know it. He wanted to be in denial.

As he grabbed the stone rail, intricate carvings of the bridge, standing oddly as his shoe that made him fall and hurt his ankle was about a foot away, one shoe still attached.

He noticed the water below. And the thoughts that he normally could keep at bay, the thoughts that only showed up as little periods of time that took his all to get through, the thoughts that now flooded his brain made their way out into the open and his hands gripped the rail.

And it was all too comforting to just want to fall, so he ignored the adrenaline wearing off, his knees bleeding all over his pink-colored tights.

But a hand shot out, your hand that gently grasped his wrist, and that action caused his foot to drop back down on the ground. He looked over and saw your eyes. Your concerned eyes looked straight at his.

He noticed your distraught look, your parted lips as you let out a small sigh of relief, and a bag of groceries fallen right by his shoe.

He couldn't even speak, his Adam's apple bobbing as he started to sob, his shoulders shaking as you enveloped him in a hug and rubbed his back.

Eventually, he sniffles, and you let go slightly, holding his hand as you lead him away from the bridge.

"Come with me for a bit. It's late and you're hurt. So why don't we fix you up a bit hm?" You suggested, your tone soft as you didn't want to startle him.

Ivan nodded, and you led him to the fallen groceries, picking up the bag and contents, and grabbing the shoe.

You eventually brought him inside your home, letting him sit on the couch and setting the shoe down on the floor against the couch.

You put your groceries away and started the kettle, looking at the man in your living room and then at your tea section. You picked up a simple earl grey and once the time was done you let the leaves soak.

You poured a little bit of milk inside the cup and then set the tea in front of Ivan who was still a bit dazed at how fast everything was going for him but also at how slow everything went.

But the small heat that emitted from the cup of tea helped him come back from his haze.

He gently lifted the cup, taking a sip and letting the warmth of the tea warm him up from the cold night.

He didn't notice you go to get a first aid kit, coming back, and moving your coffee table a bit to make room for you to sit.

You sat cross-legged, opening the box where you kept a simple first aid kit.

You grabbed a cotton swab, pouring a bit of rubbing alcohol on it, and looking at his knees you carefully dabbed, noticing how his legs twitched at the sudden sting.

You smiled a bit and gently did the other knee. "You like My Melody right? Your face mask is really cute." You commented.

"I've always loved Sanrio but I've never been quite stuck on one character. They are all so cute I can't choose." You added, taking a bit of pain cream and dabbing a small bit to the wound, knowing it would help with the sting of an open wound.

You looked through the kit for the big band-aids, noticing them at the bottom when Ivan spoke, "I like how Melody is pink and always soft looking." He mumbled.

You chuckled as you undid the protective layer on the bandaid and stuck them to his knees, "That's very true she does look soft. Though I think Pompompurin has a jiggly soft look to him that I like." you state.

You stand up, noticing you're missing something from your first aid kit, and go to the stairs, "Hold on a moment I need to grab something."

He could have run, could have left. You could have been a murderer going to grab an object to murder him with. But he would stay.

If he would get murdered by anyone it would have to be you. You were kind. So kind it hurt.

He felt tears fall from his cheeks again, his heart aching as he held his hands together.

Why couldn't he have met someone as kind as you sooner? Someone to make him feel whole? Why did meeting you make him feel so complete?

Was it how you tried to distract him from his feelings? The warmth from the teacup you gave him?

He didn't know, but he knew his heart ached from the sheer kindness you gave him and it hurt.

You came back downstairs, a roll of thick gauze in your hands and what seemed to be a My Melody plush.

You plopped it in his lap before sitting back down.

He looked started as he wrapped his hands around it, looking back down at you as you unwrapped the thick gauze and gently grabbed his foot, giving him a slight warning before positioning his foot comfortably and wrapping the gauze tight enough to keep it in that position.

The gentleness of your hands, the softness of the plush, everything made his heart ache and he wanted to kiss you at that moment, all his feelings so jumbled together into one big pile that he didn't know what to do or say.

You sat there for a moment and tried to find the words to say till you just decided to say whatever, you were me very quite good with your words when it came down to it.

"I won that plush a while back. It never quite fit with my other plushes but I guess it was waiting for someone like you huh?" You say, keeping a soft smile on your face as you stand up.

"I'm going to head to bed okay? If you need anything tell me. You're free to stay the night."

With that, you left him. He sat downstairs for a solid five minutes, eventually curling up, the small plush in his arms as he curled up on your couch.

He couldn't sleep, but he finally felt comfortable. His parents' words were long forgotten, and even if his knees and ankle hurt, he felt whole thinking that you cared enough to stop him. It had to be fate right?

It felt just like one of those stories! Those fairytales he would read with his sister. You were just like a knight, his only knight who was blessed by a goddess to save him.

A light blush formed on his cheeks at the thought and he sat up, deciding he needed to get better. He couldn't be a helpless damsel in his own story!

So with his new prized possession, he made it back to the runway, seeing his sister there with a concerned expression. When she saw his state she quickly hugged him, looking him over carefully, "Are you okay?? Oh God, I didn't know they would hire a private investigator cause you were distancing from them. I'm so sorry I only found out when they called me asking if you went to my place to hide." She said, everything about how his parents found out clicking in his brain.

But he didn't care anymore. They didn't care about him. They didn't care about the real him. So he smiled at his sister and held the plush tight, "It's okay Ava. I probably shouldn't have kept it a secret so long. I think I'm okay if they don't love me anymore. I won't change myself and I can't change their minds.".

He could see his sister grow sad but probably cause she knew their parents were too stubborn to change. He could understand the conflict of still loving his parents but hating who they were.

He eventually made it back to his home, several of the models who wore his works had sent messages to cheer him up and he finally felt lighter.

He carefully cleared an area on top of the shelf above his desk, moving aside the first-ever pair of shoes he bought and placing the melody plush next to them. And with the melody plush, he placed the shoes he was wearing when he fell, slightly scuffed, and a broken ankle band but he didn't care. Those shoes led him to you.

He then started to design some things outside of his usual lolita or j-fashion, having you in mind as he sketched out the pieces.

He spent weeks thinking about you and searching online maps for your house, finally finding the right street and the bridge.

He looked up the bridge itself, finding that it's a place many who want to end their lives make their way to. But he also noticed an article on how those high numbers of suicides went down in the past year or so.

It made him curious. And he wanted to see you again. He wasn't confident enough to try to talk to you but he just couldn't help but want to see you.

So he dressed in normal clothes, none of his usual fashion present as he didn't want you to notice him. He tied his hair back and put on a hoodie, no makeup or any accessories just sweatpants and his phone in his pocket, the cute phone case he had taken off so he wouldn't be noticed by you.

And after that he walked to your street, finding a bus stop with a bench that he could sit on with the view of your house. He brought a random book with him, not wanting to look suspicious.

Surprisingly no one bothered him, he noticed how quiet your house was, one of the curtains was open wide and he could tell you either weren't in there or awake.

He noticed some movement around noon, watching as you came down the stairs looking tired, shuffling around in your pajamas. Ivan brought out his phone, looking through the lens as he zoomed in on the camera, finding your frame and trying to get the best pictures he could.

He watches as you carefully go through your routine, and in the late afternoon, you head out. Your shift at the bar needed to be prepared for and he took note of the way you went off in. But as much as he wanted to follow you he didn't have enough confidence for that.

He's not a stalker! Or that's what he tells himself as he makes his way to your home, carefully finding a window on the side of your home in what looks to be a sunroom in the back open.

There were so many plants and little pots with mini signs written on them of what seemed to be the names of herbs. He takes off his shoes, carrying them with him so he won't leave any dirt on your floors.

Through the sunroom he makes it to the living area and to your front door. He didn't even notice the sunroom the last time he was here. He places his shoes next to the shoe closet by the door and then heads to the stairs that lead him upstairs.

He notices that to the front of the house after you make it upstairs you have a sitting area with lots of bookshelves, pillows, and blankets strewn about the place. A corner with a small couch that held all sorts of stuffed animals sat next to another shelf.

He couldn't help but grin at the sight, smiling as he looked through the shelves before coming across the door to your room.

He opened it, finding that you had quite the normal room, soft colors, and an unmade bed, a long-necked lamp with a clip held onto your headboard for what he assumed was late-night reading or for whatever your interests were.

Next to the headboard, he noticed a folding door, opening it he found a small room with windows, your clothes hanging from the hangers, and small furniture pieces with drawers that held what he assumed were more clothing.

It was exactly what he wanted, slowly he went through what was hanging up, finding the sizes and examining where things differed. He noticed what was more worn out and what wasn't, the type of fabric, and the colors you chose the most.

Ivan kept everything in mind, pulling out his phone to take some notes and a few pictures for reference before leaving your home the way he came, except he closed the window shut so no creeps would get inside your house.

What he did was research! He wasn't stalking or breaking in! He didn't even take anything or look through the drawers! He wanted to make something for you as appreciation. He didn't have any sinister intentions.

And so with the information he gathered, he practically ran home, looking through the fabrics he had before deciding he should design some stuff before deciding on fabrics and patterns.

He brought out a sketchbook, looking through some old designs before deciding to start a new one, quickly getting started on dresses and other things that he thought you'd look so cute in. Maybe some cute pants with a nice blouse? Or a skirt with pleats and a sweater? His mind raced with ideas before he received an unknown notification from his phone.

The text was from an unknown number, his eyes rolling as he opened it, wondering what kind of scam was after his bank details this time.

Only this time it wasn't a scam.

A picture of him entering your home and an address left with instructions to come over.

His heart nearly stopped at the scary situation. He nearly threw his phone but he stopped himself. There's no way you sent this! If you knew what he did you'd probably just call the police or something. So then, who was it?

The next day he showed up at the address and the meeting he attended at that fancy building in the city would change his life.

Ivan after that became more famous not just in the typical group who adored his style of fashion but also due to more light being shown on his works by outside forces.

Meeting people who had been thrown into their fate with you had made him feel less alone. They held the same ideas and same notions as him, that you led people to their fate and that fate is you! You belong on top of a throne that only they can admire.

And with a better standing in society and the chains of fearing his parents' emotions finally broken, he was free to be who he wanted to be and be loved for it.

And in a room in a certain grand mansion, many dress form mannequins with different outfits to your exact measurements and a wall filled with cloth rolls and a beautiful glass cabinet in the middle.

A prince named Ivan happily dusted the cabinet, his first pair of shoes next to the shoes that led him to his fate, and a plush my melody in between just to display itself among the other items that showed a turning point in his life.

Ivan closed the door to the intricate glass cabinet, locking it with a key on a chain, the chain slipping behind his blouse and a happy smile spreading across his cheeks.

"You'll be here soon. My lovely goddess of fate and life. Oh, how I can't wait to worship your form dressed in the softest of silk just as you deserve."

「 The Theophany of Hestia 」

[the-real-psycho-queen]

3:03 am. Violet murmured to herself, her gaze fixed on the ceiling. Night after night, she found herself unable to sleep, lost in a labyrinth of thoughts and regrets. Amidst the chaos, she strangely found a perverse pride in her worst decisions. How did it come to this? Am I losing my sanity? No, maybe... just maybe, I'm unbelievably brilliant.

Glancing at the clock, it read 4:32 am. With a sigh, she reached for a cigarette, aware that rest would elude her once again. Her mind relentlessly raced, inundating her with questions and anxieties, occasionally interrupted by fleeting fantasies that offered temporary respite, only to plunge her back into despair.

At 5:17 am, Violet began to drift into sleep, plagued by the unsettling realization that she had a mere two hours and forty-three minutes before waking up. Clutching her pillow tightly, she struggled in vain to clear her mind. Why do I subject myself to this? Sometimes, I wonder if I deliberately sabotage my own peace... Drama seems to be my ally. Then again, perhaps my mind possesses a will of its own, harboring resentment toward me. Do I despise myself? No. Yes. No. Who truly knows? Maybe even I fail to comprehend my own self... It was 6:48 am when she finally succumbed to slumber, yet her dreams were overrun by the same ruminations that haunted her wakeful hours. Trivial questions and fleeting ideas held her captive throughout the night, and strangely, she didn't despise her sleeplessness as much as she claimed. Exhaustion provided solace a tangible sensation instead of numbing emptiness.

Half-awake, Violet reached for her phone, praying she hadn't overslept again. The time displayed was 8:18 am. She released a sigh of relief mingled with disappointment. I still have a few minutes. No, if I don't rise now, I'll fall back asleep. But maybe I could rest a little longer. What am I saying? Just get up, Violet! Damn it! Why do I always complicate things? Open your eyes and get out of bed, Violet. By the time she managed to rise, it was already 1:08 pm. Panicked, she hurried through her routine, hoping her morning absence had gone unnoticed. As she dashed out of her apartment, she glanced at her phone, flooded with missed messages from earlier. Violet rolled her eyes, cranked up her music to drown out the world, and pondered a better excuse than simply "oversleeping."

Her head spun, her body aching for respite, but time was a luxury she couldn't afford. Immersed in the melodies that filled her mind, she succumbed to their seductive embrace. Creating intricate characters, each with profound personalities, they felt almost real, as if she held their entire lives and emotions in her hands. For a fleeting moment, it seemed as though she observed their existence in a world where she herself didn't belong, a world meticulously crafted with fragments of her essence scattered among each character. Hours would slip away as she indulged in daydreams of this new universe. Yet, as vivid as they were, she would inevitably snap back to reality, realizing that it was all a fabrication. She couldn't divide herself; perhaps she already had without realizing it. After everything she had experienced, it wasn't far-fetched to imagine that she created this imaginary realm as a means to avoid confronting her own life. It was easier to witness someone else endure the pain she couldn't allow herself to feel, someone stronger. But that wasn't reality. Each time her daydreams faded, a profound sadness enveloped her, and she would sigh disappointedly, searching for a new song, a new fantasy, another escape from her own existence. Countless scenarios played out in her mind, none of which featured her as her true self, but rather who she longed to be—each more unrealistic than the last, yet painfully vivid enough to bring tears to her eyes over tragedies she herself had fabricated. It was as if her mind possessed the power to transport her to different dimensions, with music serving as the gateway to each scene.

Lost in thought, she arrived at her destination before she even realized it. *Sigh* I wonder, if I could reside within my own mind, would I descend into madness? Am I already on the brink of insanity? No. Yes. No. Madness and brilliance are closer than we think, but how can I distinguish between the two? My mind sabotages my life, yet it also infuses it with meaning. I feel nothing... but I do feel the music.

[thedreammweaver]

With Drooping Wings Ye Cupids Come (Burton-Schumacherverse Riddlebird, Victorian AU, angst, Doctor!Ed, Patient!Oswald)

(A/N: Fuck historical/medical accuracy, this is a vehicle for angst and mutual yearning only)

Warnings: emetophobia tw, respiratory issues, sick pengu, talk of plague, talk of death, survivor’s guilt

“Mr. Cobblepot, please.” The exasperation was apparent in Ed’s voice. That morning Oswald had suffered an intense spell of vomiting up the greenish black bile that seemed to never stop spawning from the recesses of his being. Fortunately after some trial and error Ed had managed to mix up a solution that at least calmed Oswald’s insides enough so that he wouldn’t spend the rest of the day vomiting. The only issue was Oswald absolutely despised the taste.

 “I feel fine now..”

“Last time you said that you were ill for hours. I doubt the taste is so terrible you’d prefer that again.”

“It’s disgusting!”

“Sir, I find the prospect that you love the taste of raw fish yet cringe at citrus, peppermint, and ginger amusing.”

Oswald folded his arms stubbornly “That isn’t all that’s in there..”

Edward rolled his eyes “Ah, yes, there’s also valerian and juice from an apple. Flowers and fruit, how very terrifying. Now are you going to open your mouth or continue acting like a stubborn infant.”

Oswald glared at his live-in physician and finally relented. Ed felt a great deal of satisfaction at winning this battle as he maneuvered the spoonful of solution into the other man’s mouth. Oswald, as expected, recoiled at the taste “It isn’t that bad, sir.” Ed teased as he began clearing his medical things from Oswald’s night table so they could start their day, which usually started with Ed helping his employer dress. Before Ed had moved in this job was left to one of Oswald’s maids but after one occasion where Ed had done it to save time Oswald found he was much more comfortable with the man. It wasn’t that Oswald didn’t enjoy the sight of a woman between his legs lacing up his boots, but rather that he enjoyed the sight of Ed and the feel of his hands quite a bit more. It was more due to Oswald’s impatience at the difficulty his fused fingers caused than the deformed appendages themselves that rendered him unable to dress without his growing frustration interfering with his progress. After he’d procured enough wealth to always have someone there to do up all the buttons and intricate bits for him he definitely took advantage of it. Ed didn’t mind doing it, though he did have to control his blushing as he did up the buttons of Oswald’s trousers, hands brushing against his corpulent form. He struggled to focus as he moved to fastening the buttons of Oswald’s coat. Oswald himself was getting distracted at how the light coming in from the window practically lit up Ed’s ginger locks. He blushed as he caught himself imagining running his hands through them.

Oswald had been reluctant to go on a walk with Ed around the grounds after the heavy breakfast he’d had. As a doctor Ed knew he should probably be making a million changes to Oswald’s diet but as someone who had become completely bewitched by the man he had a conflicting want to see him happy. He supplemented putting a stop to Oswald’s tendency to indulge with making sure the man got exercise. “You know, I think I’d much rather have the plague than whatever this is.” Oswald joked hoarsely, as he stuffed handkerchief he’d just had a coughing fit into back into his pocket. He’d only really started going for walks when Ed showed up and being unused to it was putting strain on his delicate respiratory system. “You shouldn’t joke about that, sir.” Ed scolded as they continued walking, arms linked together, though they’d both insist it was only to keep Oswald steady if his enervated lungs acted up or in general with how unbalanced his walking could be.

“Why? Are you afraid I’ll summon it?” Oswald laughed. “Oh, of course. you had quite the run in with it I imagine, being a doctor and all.”

The plague had made it’s way into Gotham quite late, for a time there was a running joke among citizens that the city was so vile the plague was avoiding it. If only that had been the case. “You don’t want to hear that stor-“

“Who are you to tell me what I do and do not want to hear, Edward?”

“Of course, sir, forgive me.” Ed adjusted his spectacles as he began his tale. “I had just joined the practice when it hit. I couldn’t have been more than nineteen, practically still a child. That was such a hellish time...so much death, especially in a hospital.”

“How did you manage to avoid falling ill yourself?” Oswald inquired curiously, despite being so close with the man, he knew nearly nothing about his life before they’d met.

Ed found a chuckle escaping him despite himself “Oh, I didn’t. Manage to avoid it, I mean.”

That definitely captured Oswald’s attention fully, whether he meant to or not he’d wrapped his arm tighter around Edward’s “My god, however did you survive?”

Ed shrugged “I’m quite certain I have no idea.. The doctor that was meant to be telling me what to do dropped dead  himself, most of the nurses too. Soon it was just me, two other inexperienced doctors, and the one nurse who could still stand so I just..kept working.”

“What was it like...having it?”

“You want a review, do you?” Ed quipped.

Oswald rolled his eyes “Don’t be smart, I’m only curious.”

“..It was hell. For a time even after I recovered I was quite afraid I’d actually died and somehow was unaware.” Ed said grimly before clearing his throat “I still get those worries every now and then, sometimes I even feel as though I should’ve perished with my patients.. Luckily tending to you keeps me sane.” Ed said fondly. Oswald sighed “That’s one good thing to come out of me being ill at least.”

“Yes, I suppose so.” Ed smiled “Tending to patients kept me sane then too. I was moved to the children’s ward after one patient complained that my ‘incessant rambling’ would kill her quicker than the plague could. Anyways, I recall everytime I felt the temptation to find some hole or corner to die in I’d force myself to look at those children and know that if I stopped breathing they most certainly would as well. That made me carry on, they were the only ones who appreciated my riddles anyways I supposed I owed them for that.” He chuckled, a sad note to the noise “There were about twenty or thirty children in that ward, perhaps even forty. I-I’m not certain, it was hard to keep count, it was as many as we could fit I do know that. Only two ever walked out...you’d think that’d be devastating but it was still worth it, even just for those two....” He trailed off, absently fiddling with the buttons on Oswald’s sleeve.

“Hmm..” Oswald hummed thoughtfully “I never figured you for the type to be good with little ones.”

“Neither did I!” Ed laughed “I found them to be great fun actual-“

He was interrupted by Oswald going into another coughing fit, making both of them stop as he once again pressed the handkerchief to his mouth. This time when he withdrew it the all too familiar greenish black was splattered across the white surface of the cloth “Oh dear,” Ed muttered as he looked it over “I’d say it’d be best if you had another dose when we get back, sir.” Oswald whined but before he could protest Ed spoke again “I didn’t survive the plague only to argue with you about taking your medicine.” He joked. Oswald relented “Fine. You’re a real bastard, you know that?”

“Yes, I do, sir.” Ed said cheekily as he and the shorter man began walking back to Cobblepot manor.

   Though Oswald was still dreading his medication, he was much more relaxed this time. When they’d reached the house Oswald felt quite like having a warm milk bath to nurse the pain in his overworked ankles. There were rose petals in the bath as well, Oswald’s fanciful tastes permeating every aspect of his life. Ed came over to the tub, spoonful of medicine in hand once again. Oswald didn’t put up a fuss this time though he still cringed at the taste. Before Ed could finish putting away his medical things Oswald interrupted “Edward?”

“Yes, sir?”

“I have such a terrible ache in my shoulders, I don’t suppose you’d be any good at massaging?”

Ed could feel the blush spreading across his face “I-I could give it a go, I suppose.”

Ed walked back over and knelt at the head of the tub and gingerly placed his hands on Oswald’s shoulders. “Get on with it then.” The shorter man instructed. Ed began slowly massaging Oswald’s shoulders, trying not to think about how soft the man’s bare skin felt, he could feel Oswald almost immediately relax under him. Desperate to distract himself from his own yearning Ed turned to a riddle “I am alive without breath and cold as death. I am never thirsty but always drinking. What am I?”

Oswald scoffed before answering “A fish.”

“Right as always, sir.” Ed didn’t mean to let the disappointment seep into his voice but it must have. “If you don’t want me to solve them you’ll have to stop catering them to me.” Oswald huffed. Ed blushed, he hadn’t realized he’d been choosing ones with answers of things Oswald was fond of. “It’s almost always spirits, birds, or something else you know I love. You really must bring me a stimulating one next time.” Oswald sighed. Ed nodded “I will certainly try.”

     “Edward?” Oswald called out when he heard the floorboards in the hallway creaking. Ed stepped into the doorway and for a moment all Oswald could focus on was how beautiful he looked in the moonlight. “Yes, sir?”

“Why are you stalking about my house in the dead of night like a specter?”

“It’s cold, I was only going to sleep in the sitting room if that’s alright. I’m sorry if I disturbed you, sir.” Ed’s drafty attic room was currently to frigid to sleep in due to the early spring weather. “Oh...alright, carry on then.” Oswald said. Ed was about to do just that when something occurred to Oswald and he found words tumbling from his mouth despite himself “Actually, Edward?” the taller man turned around and tilted his head, waiting for Oswald to continue speaking. Oswald hoped Ed couldn’t see him blushing “It..it’s quite warm over here.” He patted the bed sincerely hoping his boldness wouldn’t put Ed off. Ed looked down at the floor “Would-wouldn’t that be improper?”

Oswald fumbled for an excuse “There’s nothing improper about self preservation. My health depends on you preforming your job well and your performance depends on you getting an adequate amount of rest.” Ed, satisfied with the excuse, walked over to crawl into bed next to Oswald while trying very hard to not appear as giddy as he felt. A few moments passed before Oswald spoke again “You- erm...I figure you would warm up quicker if you were closer to me.” Ed tried to slow his breathing as he shuffled closer to Oswald, pressing his thin lanky frame to his employer’s weighty soft one. “It’s the damndest thing,” Ed whispered “My lips are still quite freezing-“ he was interrupted by a frustrated groan from Oswald.

“To hell with these circumlocutions, you wish for me to kiss you, yes?”

“Uh-..y-yes, sir, I do.” With that confirmation Oswald closed the small distance between them, pressing his lips to Ed’s and finally letting himself bring one of his flippers up to stroke those ginger locks he’d admired for so long. Ed found himself wrapping his arms around Oswald’s ample waist. He was afraid he’d offended the other man as he broke their kiss but his fears were almost immediately put to rest. “If we’re going to be so intimate you really must stop calling me ‘sir’ all the time.” Oswald said, pulling Ed even closer. “Of course, s- I-I mean Oswald.” Ed fumbled. Oswald chuckled at the other man’s stuttering before meeting lips with him once more.

[nukyster-blog]

Changing course chapter 3)  Goddess Nótt

.-.-.

When Ivar woke up, his chest felt heavy and a string of harsh coughs made his body wither in pain. The breaths he took were too fast and shallow, but he couldn’t get his breath under control, sucking it in and out rapidly. He rang his tongue over his teeth; checking for possible damage. The inside of his mouth felt the same though, no fragments or shards of teeth. No gaping holes, unlike that Giant’s rotting mouth. Ivar recalled that blackened smile indulging in his suffering; watching Ivar squirm and grimace in the back of the cart.

If this violation had occurred in Kattegat, Ivar would have the man quartered; allow his brothers to use the man’s decapitated torso for target practice. Oh, he’d be patient and wait how over time little insects would feast off the man’s flesh and ravens would peck out the bastard’s eyes.   

But Ivar was kingdoms away from that safe haven; from home. And realising that, left him overwhelmed; his laboured breathing hitched and a low moan escaped his busted lips. 

Eager to examine his face, Ivar carefully moved his right hand. Although his wrists had been freed, the dreadful ride had been long; which left his sockets overstretched and his arm muscles aching. 

Cautiously, he brought his right hand up to his face. Blood warmed the tips of his frozen fingers, the bumps, swelling and bruises a painful reminder of his previous beatings. His face felt alien and another moan escaped the back of his throat as he tried to open his right eye. The swelling was so severe it was impossible; the socket was the size of a chicken's egg.

By Odin, what had he’d done to deserve this?

Another rattle caused his chest to heave up and he coughed his throat raw. As he gasped and inhaled, the damp smell of ammonia and hay filled his nostrils. It smelled like home, like the Great Hall where the fire always burned bright. Melancholy swept through him and claimed every inch of his chest. Squeezing his good eye shut, Ivar casted out every sliver of emotion.

Survival mode eventually took over and Ivar set his mind to finding out more of his current whereabouts. 

He lay inside a makeshift stable, in an empty box filled with hay and animal feces. Door hinges creaked softly, a cold wind whipped through gasps in the planks. Combined with the sounds of small cattle, Ivar allowed his tense bearing to ease. There was no indication of danger, at least not for the moment.  

Although his wrists had been freed, Ivar wasn’t going to get very far. Both his ankles were in shackles. The chains rattled as he adjusted himself into a sitting position; alerting the animals of his conscious state. A flock of chicken guardians tottered around the corner to see if the strange newcomer had food in store. 

The first chicken brave enough to come near Ivar, quickly learned that this newcomer wasn’t keen on being pecked in the feet.

Ivar lunged his stiff legs at the chicken, which scurried back with fright. The rest of her flock followed her example and left the unwelcome newcomer alone.

There was more life inside the stable, less animalistic than cattle, but not as human as Ivar expected. Soft, cautious footsteps stopped near his box and large eyes, dark as night sky, took in his poor state with curiosity and awe.

Ivar did vice versa; the creature in front of him reminded him of the Goddess Nótt. The maiden's skin was the color of earth dug from deep within the ground. It was darker than Ivar had ever seen. Even the men who’d caught adrift at sea; scored for days by the sun, did not come close to the dark pigment of the young woman. She must have crawled through the soils of the earth to earn such an unique complexion; night personified.

Her dark eyes narrowed as her fingers gripped firmly around the wooden beam of his box, revealing more of herself she took a mere step aside to move into an active position; if he’d make any sudden move she’d flee. Ivar recognised that gaze in her eyes, he’d seen it before many times. During the hunt, moments before he’d drive his arrow through the skull of a doe.

She must be a slave, the layers of the rags she wore were tattered, worn and dirty. Her hair was hidden away behind a bandana; the fabric in the same poor state as the rest of her clothes. Intrigued by her overall alien appearance, Ivar gawked at her through his one good eye.

Still the center of her focus, the slave slowly sank to her knees and picked up a small rock. With swiftness, she swung the rock in Ivar’s direction. The lack of food caused absence in strength and reflexes, resulting in being hit right between the eyes. 

Ivar cried out and squeezed his good eye shut, bringing his hand to his throbbing face. When he reopened his eye, the savage bitch was holding up another small rock. Extracting her arm back to repeat her previous attack, Ivar turned from prey into predator. 

Dashing forwards, like an arrow shot from a bow, he came at her like a malicious dog, snarling and spitting. 

The absence of food and overgrowth of rage, clearly cluttered his brain and the malicious dog quickly found out he was on a very short leash. His attack stopped abruptly as the chains rattled and forbade him to bash in her teeth with the damned rock. As his fingers ached to get a good grip around her ankles, the slave girl took a step back and used her heel to draw a line in the mixture of sand and hay.

“Dirty bitch, you did that on purpose!” Ivar snarled frustrated, stretching his arms out in a last fruitless attempt to grab her. The aggressive flinging of his upper limbs made her retreat a few more hasty steps, but as their distance grew her cautiousness lessened. Sitting down Indian-styled, she continued to observe him with great curiosity. And by the Gods her lips twitched up humoured by Ivar’s unflattering attempts to maul her. Picking up a straw of hay, she placed it between her front teeth and tsked as she watched him wither on the floor. His outburst was riding on the last bit of his adrenaline and started to take its toll on his beaten body.

Struggling to push and pull himself back into a sitting position against the boarded wall, Ivar drew his amused observer a dark glare. She did not seem bothered by it, still chewing on the straw.

“If I’d have a knife on me I’d pick your eyes out for staring at me like that,” Ivar promised her with a grunt, “you have no idea what I’m saying,” he then stated when his threat did not strike any kind of reaction. 

Ivar sighed as deeply as his ribs would allow it and closed his good eye. It hit him hard; he was a captive in an unknown country, unable to properly speak with its inhabitants. He had no resources, no leverage, here his royal name would cause him more harm than good. He’d always been a cripple, but now he was just an insignificant slave with a handicap. 

He must have drifted back into sleep, because when he woke up his unwanted companion had moved to the left, munching on a piece of bread. Two dark eyes still registered every move he made, but he no longer was her centre of attention; her meager meal was. Besides, as long as she stayed behind her makeshift line, she had nothing to fear.

“I’d split your skull into two pieces,” Ivar informed her, “and drink mead out of it as I’d watch how the pigs fed off your filthy bones. I bet you’re black all the way through your core. If I’d had an axe, I’d be eager to find out!” Ivar’s words were nothing more than a cold hiss. Although she could not possibly understand any of his threats, it gave Ivar joy to at least throw them at her feet.

His death threats, however, had the opposite reaction; her lips momentarily tweaked into a humble grin of amusement and she barked at him like a dog.

“You’re lucky I’m in shackles, else I’d cut you a smile from ear to ear!” Ivar promised her. It only caused him more mockery and doglike sounds. Ivar’s frustration was at this point radiating off of him.

“I’ll kill you!” He shouted, a cough immediately tickling the back of his throat. Ivar tried to suppress the urge, due to the pain in his ribs and the rest of his body. But it was impossible, a coughing fit tore his body apart. In a slow, torturous degree the coughs eventually eased, leaving his chest ten times more heavy and on fire. 

“Yallah,”The dark skinned slave had repositioned herself on her knees, one arm coaching him to come closer, the other one extracted, holding a wooden ladle.

Water, Ivar’s burning aches suddenly seemed completely irrelevant as his good eye stared at the content. Thirst makes a beggar out of kings and in Ivar’s case; out of a prince. Like an infant he made himself crawl forwards, still lacking strength due to his previous outburst. The maiden had the audacity to make cooing noises, as if he was a startled little animal.

Pure and utter loathing must have been readable from his good eye, because she stopped abruptly when he flashed her a glare. Restricting herself to the safe side of the line, the wooden handle crossed their imaginary border between safety and harm. 

With slow, pain plagued motions, Ivar dragged his body closer. Leaning on his elbow, he craned his head up and allowed the wooden rim to be pressed against his dry, cracked lips. It was degrading, but being deprived from all primary necessities, Ivar drank. Greedily, he consumed every drip the maiden had to offer. It caused him to cough, but he choked through it.

“More,” he half ordered, half begged while water dripped down his chin. Dutifully, she complied and held out another spoon full of water. And Ivar drank again, water drizzling from both sides of his mouth. The act repeated itself until Ivar’s stomach was full and his head felt empty. Lacking the strength and care, he sank onto his elbows and allowed his head to rest on the hay covered flooring.

Everything felt scalding, his lungs seemed to be punctured by a thousand little needles. Without meaning to, his body curled up, tensing with every little cough and whimper. His lips must have split open while he drank from the wooden spoon, because he tasted blood. The coppery sensation was a small reminder of the pathetic physical state he was in. His mental state was one to match. Ivar sensed blackness taking over him and like a cold heavy blanket, unconsciousness weighed him down and soon Ivar drifted back into sleep.

.-.-.

A/N: Something about never biting the hand that feeds you… as the writer of this fiction, I feel the need to once again address that Ivar is a thick-headed asshole who’s not kind to, well, pretty much anyone. In this case, to the slave-girl, if you feel offended, fear not, I’m not done with beating some common sense into him. It’s going to take long, but heck, I sure do like a challenge!

Sidenote: as a fact-freak I just want to add that Nótt is an actual Viking Goddess, she’s the grandmother of Thor.  

Xoxox Nukyster 

The tagged ones:  @youbloodymadgenius @apenas-mais-uma-pessoa @xbellaxcarolinax @saldelys @shannygoatgruff

[aion-rsa]

Best Horror Movies on Netflix: Scariest Films to Stream

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Editor’s Note: This post is updated monthly. Bookmark this page to see what the best horror movies on Netflix are at your convenience.

Is it Halloween when you’re reading this? If not we’re still close enough with fall here and the month of October almost upon us! It’s the time of year where we like our drinks spiced with pumpkin or apple, our flannel light, and the movies we consume scary. And lucky for you there are more than a handful of worthwhile scary movies on Netflix.

There is nothing quite as fun as embracing the spooky, the creepy, the scary, and things that go bump in the night. Thankfully we have horror movies to help us down these paths. If you ever find yourself in need of a thrill or a chill, check out some of the best horror movies on Netflix, we’ve gathered here.

Enjoy your tricks and treats.

Looking for the best horror movies on Netflix UK? Click here!

As Above, So Below

We know what you might be thinking: a found footage horror movie? Yes, this was one of the later adherents to a genre craze that got run into the ground during the 2000s and early 2010s. However, As Above, So Below is the rare thing: effectively creepy. With a crackerjack premise about the real Catacombs of Paris being a secret gateway to Hell, the film casts an energetic Perdita Weeks as a modern day Indiana Jones in a Go-Pro helmet. She and her colleagues make the unwise choice to go off the tourist-guided path in the catacombs, which is home to the remains of more than 6 million people who died between the early middle ages and 18th century.

But once deep below the City of Lights, the film’s dwindling protagonists find themselves crawling beneath a wall with the words “Abandon all Hope Ye Who Enter.” And things just get bleak from there. This is a ghoulish good-time for those who are willing to indulge in the gimmick storytelling.

Apostle

Apostle comes from acclaimed The Raid director Gareth Evans and is his take on the horror genre. Spoiler alert: it’s a good one.

Dan Stevens stars as Thomas Richardson, a British man in the early 1900s who must rescue his sister, Jennifer, from the clutches of a murderous cult. Thomas successfully infiltrates the cult led by the charismatic Malcom Howe (Michael Sheen) and begins to ingratiate himself with the strange folks obsessed with bloodletting. Thomas soon comes to find that the object of the cult’s religious fervor may be more real than he’d prefer.

The Blackcoat’s Daughter

Some kids dream about being left overnight or even a week at certain locations to play, like say a mall or a Chuck E. Cheese. One place that no one wants to be left alone in, however, is a Catholic boarding school.

That’s the situation that Rose (Lucy Boynton) and Kat (Kiernan Shipka) find themselves in in the atmospheric and creepy The Blackcoat’s Daughter. When Rose and Kat’s parents are unable to pick them up for winter break, the two are forced to spend the week at their dingy Catholic boarding school. If that weren’t bad enough, Rose fears that she may be pregnant…oh, and the nuns might all be Satanists.

The Blackcoat’s Daughter is an excellent debut directorial outing from Oz Perkins and another step on the right horror path for scream queens Shipka and Emma Roberts.

The Evil Dead

1981’s The Evil Dead is nothing less than one of the biggest success stories in horror movie history.

Written and directed on a shoestring budget by Sam Raimi, The Evil Dead uses traditional horror tropes to its great advantage, creating a scary, funny, and almost inconceivably bloody story about five college students who encounter some trouble in a cabin in the middle of the woods. That trouble includes the unwitting release of a legion of demons upon the world.

The Evil Dead rightfully made stars of its creator and lead Bruce Campbell. It was also the jumping off point for a successful franchise that includes two sequels, a remake, a TV show, and more.

Gerald’s Game

We are living in a renaissance for Stephen King adaptations. But while there have been many killer clowns and hat-wearing fiends getting major attention at the multiplexes, the best King movie in perhaps decades is Mike Flanagan’s underrated Gerald’s Game. Cleverly adapted from what has been described as one of King’s worst stories, Gerald’s Game improves on its source material when it imagines a middle-aged woman (Carla Gugino) placed in a terrifying survival situation after her husband (Bruce Greenwood) dies of a heart attack during a sex game.

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The Shining: 5 Things Jack Torrance Taught Us About Social Distancing and Quarantine

By David Crow

Handcuffed to a bed in their remote cabin in the woods, Gugino’s Jessie must face the fact no one is coming to save her in the next week… more than enough time to die of dehydration or the wolf prowling about. Thus the specter of death hovers over the whole movie, seemingly literally with a monstrous shade emerging from the shadows to bedevil Jessie each night. A trenchant character study that frees Gugino to show a wide range of terror, determination, and finally horrifying desperation, the movie delves into the shadows of a woman haunted by trauma and demons almost as scary as her current situation. Almost.

The Gift

Who knew Joel Edgerton had it in him?

The Gift is the Australian actor’s writing and directing debut and it doesn’t disappoint. Edgerton stars as Gordon “Gordo” Mosely. He’s a nice enough middle-aged man if a little “off.” One day while shopping he runs into an old high school classmate Simon (Jason Bateman) and his wife Robyn (Rebecca Hall). After their brief encounter, Gordo takes it upon himself to start dropping off little gifts to Simon and Robyn’s home. Robyn sees no problem with it at first. But Simon becomes disturbed, perhaps because of the unique past Simon and Gordo share.

Many horror movies understand there must be a twist of some sort or at the very least an unexpected third act. Even still The Gift‘s third act switch up is particularly devastating because it’s so mundane and logical. The Gift ends up being an emotional drama disguised as horror.

The Girl with All the Gifts

Just when you thought there was nothing left to be done with the zombie genre, in comes a shocking and original idea… one that has sadly grown only more scary in 2020 with regards to The Girl with All the Gifts. A brilliant little indie from Colm McCarthy, this underrated gem imagines a zombie apocalypse as something closer to a viral pandemic that lasts for generations…. and one where a vaccine is always just out of reach.

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Evil Dead Movies: The Most Soul Sucking Moments

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Zombie Comedies Ranked

By David Crow

Thus enters the class of Helen Justineau (Gemma Arterton). Years after a fungal infection ravaged the planet, turning the infected into “hungries” (breathing zombies), their offspring have shown a creepy ability to retain the ability to think, learn, and love… even as they crave living flesh.

Hence the students in Helen’s class, including her favorite Melanie (Sennia Nanua). The child is special… too much so when it’s believed her biology could create a vaccine that would spare anymore humans turning “hungry.” But to harvest her body, the military will drag Helen and Melanie through an urban hellscape which has reduced London to an abandoned refuge for Hungries and feral children who likewise hunt uninfected humans for food.

The Golem

The Golem is such an awesome monster from Jewish mythology that it’s hard to believe they don’t make more movies about him. Well now they have. The Golem isn’t a straight-up remake of the 1915 movie of the same name so much as it is the next step in the evolution of this grim mythological beast.

During the outbreak of a plague, Hanna (Hani Furstenberg) will do whatever it takes to defend her community from outside invaders. Unfortunately, and in true fairy tale fashion, the creature she conjures up to defend her community quickly develops a murderous mind of its own.

Green Room

Green Room is a shockingly conventional horror movie despite not having all of the elements we traditionally associate with them. You won’t find any monsters or the presence of the supernatural in Green Room.

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Movies

31 Best Horror Movies to Stream

By Alec Bojalad and 1 other

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The 13 Best Horror Movie Themes

By David Crow

Instead all monsters are replaced by vengeful neo-Nazis and the haunted house is replaced by a skinhead punk music club in the middle of nowhere in the Oregon woods. The band, The Aint Rights, led by bassist Pat (Anton Yelchin) are locked in the green room of a club after witnessing a murder and must fight their way out.

Horns

A horror vintage for a distinctly acquired taste, Alexandre Aja’s Horns is a bizarre fairy tale for adults. As much a revenge fable as a typical chiller, this movie which put “Harry Potter in Devil Horns” is actually something of a grim love story based on a novel by Joe Hill.

Daniel Radcliffe plays Ig Perrish, an outcast in his local community who wants nothing more than to forever be by the side of his lifelong love Merrin (Juno Temple). After her brutal unsolved murder prevents that, Ig swears he’d sell his soul to get revenge.

Funny thing is the day after he makes such a proclamation, horns begin growing from his forehead. The greater they grow, the easier it is to get sinners around him to confess their most hidden shames, and indulge in others. But with the clock ticking before he becomes a full-fledged demon, and his soul is presumably claimed by Beelzebub, there is only a narrow window before he can get revenge while raising a little hell.

Hush

In his follow-up to the cult classic Oculus, Mike Flanagan makes one of the more clever horror movies on this list. Hush is a thrilling game of cat-and-mouse within the typical nightmare of a home invasion, yet it also turns conventions of that familiar terror on its head.

For instance, the savvy angle about this movie is Kate Siegel (who co-wrote the movie with Flanagan) plays Maddie, a deaf and mute woman living in the woods alone. Like Audrey Hepburn’s blind woman from the progenitor of home invasion stories, Wait Until Dark (1967), Maddie is completely isolated when she is marked for death by a menacing monster in human flesh.

Like the masked villains of so many more generic home invasion movies (I’m looking square at you, Strangers), John Gallagher Jr.’s “Man” wears a mask as he sneaks into her house. However, the functions of this story are laid bare since we actually keep an eye on what the “Man” is doing at all times, and how he is getting or not getting into the house in any given scene. He isn’t aided by filmmakers who’ve given him faux-supernatural and omnipotent abilities like other versions of these stories, and he’s not an “Other;” he’s a man who does take his mask off, and his lust for murder is not so much fetishized as shown for the repulsive behavior that it is. And still, Maddie proves to be both resourceful and painfully ill-equipped to take him on in this tense battle of wills.

Insidious

Insidious is the start of a multi-film horror franchise and a pretty good one at that. Patrick Wilson and Rose Byrne star as a married couple who move into a new home with their three kids. Shortly after they move in, their son Dalton is drawn to a shadow in the attic and then falls into a mysterious coma from which they can’t wake him.

It’s at this point that the Lamberts do what horror fans always yell at characters to do: they move out of the damn house! Little do they know, however, that some hauntings go beyond mere domiciles.

The Invitation

Seeing your ex is always uncomfortable, but imagine if your ex-wife invited you to a dinner party with her new husband? That is just about the least creepy thing in this taut thriller nestled in the Hollywood Hills.

Indeed, in The Invitation Logan Marshall-Green’s Will is invited by his estranged wife (Tammy Blanchard) for dinner with her new hubby David (Michael Huisman of Game of Thrones). David apparently wanted to extend the bread-breaking offer personally since he has something he wants to invite both Will and all his other guests into joining. And it isn’t a game of Scrabble…

It Comes at Night

Surviving the apocalypse comes with a certain amount of questions. For starters, what do you do after you survive a global pandemic thanks to your secluded cabin in the woods…and then someone comes knocking? That’s the situation that the family consisting of Paul (Joel Edgerton), Sarah (Carmen Ejogo), and Travis (Kelvin Harrison Jr.) find themselves in in It Comes at Night.

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Best Horror TV Shows on Netflix

By Alec Bojalad

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Best Horror TV Shows on Hulu

By Alec Bojalad

When Paul and his family come across another family in the woods seeking shelter and water, they hesitantly welcome them in. But this soon proves to be a dangerous decision. Having guests in the real world is annoying enough to deal with and it only becomes harder when you suspect that any one of them could be sick with a highly-contagious, utterly fatal illness.

Paranormal Activity

Ignore the sequels. Yes, you know they’re bad and we know they’re bad. But long before “the Ghost Dimension” (whatever the hell that means), there was this eerie surprise hit that started it all. A movie which was estimated to be the most profitable movie of all time in its day–earning $193.4 million worldwide on a budget of $15,000–Paranormal Activity put Blumhouse Productions on the map and is still a supremely affecting piece of atmosphere.

Presented as the true story of a young, and not wholly likable, couple (Katie Featherston and Micah Sloat), the film follows the pair as they attempt to document the bumps they’re hearing in the house at night–only to discover a demonic presence and some repressed memories for one party. A still brilliant exercise in sound design, tension, and the uncanny ability to trick audiences into believing what they’re seeing is actually happening, this remains the best found footage horror movie ever made.

Poltergeist

Before there was Insidious, The Conjuring, or a myriad of other “suburban family vs. haunted house” movies, there was Poltergeist. Taking ghost stories out of the Gothic setting of ancient castles or decrepit mansions and hotels, Poltergeist moved the spirits into the middle class American heartland of the 1980s. With a smart screenplay by no less than Steven Spielberg (and, according to some, his ghost direction), Poltergeist finds the Freeling family privy to a disquieting fact about their new home: It’s built on top of a cemetery!

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The Best Haunted House Movies and TV Shows of All Time

By Sarah Dobbs

Movies

How Annabelle Comes Home Fits into The Conjuring Universe

By Don Kaye

You probably know the story, and if you don’t you can guess it after decades of copycats that followed, but this special effects-laden spectacle still holds up, especially as a thriller that can be enjoyed by the whole family. Fair warning though, if your kids have a tree outside their window or a clown doll under their bed, we don’t take responsibility for the years of therapy bills this may inflict!

Red Dragon

The often overlooked other child of the Hannibal Lecter movie family, Red Dragon is no The Silence of the Lambs, no matter how much it wishes it was. Nor is it as visually evocative or luscious as Ridley Scott’s decadent Hannibal. Nevertheless, we find this prequel to both films to be at least worthy of association with the former, and ultimately more satisfying than the latter. A definite attempt to reshape Thomas Harris’ first novel to feature the Lecter character into a Silence of the Lambs clone, Red Dragon still has quite a bit to enjoy.

At the top of the list is of course Sir Anthony Hopkins as Hannibal for the third and final time. Definitely his hammiest iteration of the character, even a campy Hopkins is impossible to resist given the not-so-good doctor’s droll wit or distinct taste palate. Director Brett Ratner’s framing around Lecter is competent enough, and he wisely gets a superb supporting cast who can overwhelm any shortcomings.

Edward Norton is a compelling lead FBI detective; Philip Seymour Hoffman is delightfully repellent as a tabloid journalist who suffers a terrifying fate; and Ralph Fiennes roars as the serial killer who inflicts that fate on Hoffman. It may be no Manhunter–Michael Mann’s first adaptation of the source novel–but Red Dragon‘s the one on Netflix. So love the one you’re with!

The Silence of the Lambs

If you are only going to watch one Hannibal Lecter movie, this is the all-time masterpiece which remains the sole horror movie to win an Oscar for Best Picture. An absolutely gripping thriller even 30 years later, Jonathan Demme’s movie is an all-time great because of stellar performances and a sharp screenplay told by an even sharper eye.

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The Silence of the Lambs: A Thinking Person’s Monster Movie

By Ryan Lambie

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Best Horror Movies on Hulu

By Alec Bojalad and 1 other

Here is the movie that kicked off the serial killer craze in Hollywood during the ’90s. Yet more than the gory details, what lingers in the mind are little things like an opening sequence that introduces Clarice Starling (Jodie Foster) as the lone woman on an elevator full of FBI ubermensches, or the way Anthony Hopkins breaks his unrelenting stare to mispronounce “Chianti” with dripping disdain for the Yokel sent to interview him. Every facet of this movie works, and thus it hasn’t aged a day. We do recommend watching it with a side of fava beans, though.

Sinister

One of the better Blumhouse chillers to come out of the 2010s, Sinister is the case of a brilliant elevator pitch meeting a superior pair of talents in director Scott Derrickson and star Ethan Hawke to bring it to life.

The setup of the movie is simple: There is a pagan demon god who will consume the soul of any nearby children whenever someone sees him. And not just him, but recreations of his image on walls. And wouldn’t you know it, true crime journalist Ellison (Hawke) just moved into a house with an attic full of home movies stuffed to the gills with Bughuul. And Ellison’s daughter is right downstairs. Uh oh.

Sleepy Hollow

As much a comedy as a horror film, Tim Burton’s Sleepy Hollow should always be on the table when discussing October viewing options. After all, this demented reimagining of Washington Irving’s classic short story, “The Legend of Sleepy Hollow,” never forgets the selling point is to have them rolling in the aisles. And more than a few heads do just that.

As a film with the most varied and imaginative uses of decapitation, Sleepy Hollow cuts a bloody path across Upstate New York. In fact, despite its American setting, we might as well confess what Sleepy Hollow really is: a modern version of a Hammer horror movie.

Burton incorporates all of his favorite tropes here: The intentionally stuffy faux-British acting (even though all the characters are of Dutch descent); the exaggerated and formal clothing; more than a few heaving bosoms; and lots and lots of gore. This film is so perfectly macabre and gleefully grotesque that you might even be forgiven for not noticing at first glance how dryly funny and deadpan a place this Sleepy Hollow tends to be.

Splice

What if Dr. Frankenstein banged his monster? That is just one of several creepy elements to Splice, a weird psychosexual sci-fi/horror hybrid. Directed by Vincenzo Natali and starring Adrien Brody and Sarah Polley as the world’s worst scientists, Splice follows two not-so-smart doctors who attempt to play God by creating an entire new species of creature they name Dren (Delphine Chanéac).

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At first a computer-generated child with alien eyes and a roping tail, Dren soon grows from girl to young woman, seducer to… well, something even more unexpected. Weird, unpleasant, and ultimately unshakable like that one bad dream, Splice plays with ideas of identity, gender, and parenthood.

Sweetheart

Don’t let the name fool you, Sweetheart is very much a horror movie. What kind of horror movie, you ask? Well, after a boat sinks during a storm, young Jennifer Remming (Kiersey Clemons) is the only survivor. She washes ashore a small island and gets to work burying her friends, creating shelter, and foraging for food. You know: deserted island stuff.

Soon, however, Jenn will come to find that the island is not as deserted as she previously thought. There’s something out there – something big, dangerous, and hungry. Sweetheart is like Castaway meets Predator and it’s another indie horror hit for Blumhouse.

Tucker and Dale vs. Evil

Tucker and Dale vs. Evil is a fantastic little satire on the horror genre that, in a similar fashion to Scream, is packed with laughs, gore, and a bit of a message. When a group of preppy college students head out to the backwoods for a camping trip, they stumble upon two good-natured good ol’ boys that they mistake for homicidal hillbillies.

Their quick, off-the-mark judgment of Tucker and Dale lead to these snobs getting themselves into sticky, often bloody, and hilariously over-the-top situations. Tucker and Dale vs. Evil rides a one-joke premise to successful heights and teaches audiences to not judge a book by its cover.

Under the Shadow

This 2016 effort could not possibly be more timely as it sympathizes, and terrorizes, an Iranian single mother and child in 1980s Tehran. Like a draconian travel ban, Shideh (Narges Rashidi) and her son Dorsa (Avin Manshadi) are malevolently targeted by a force of supreme evil.

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This occurs after Dorsa’s father, a doctor, is called away to serve the Iranian army in post-revolution and war-torn Iran. In his absence evil seeps in… as does a quality horror movie with heightened emotional weight.

Underworld

No one is going to mistake Underworld for high art. That obvious fact makes the lofty pretensions of these movies all the more endearing. With a cast of high-minded British theatrical actors, many trained in the Royal Shakespeare Company, at least the early movies in this Gothic horror/action mash-up series were overflowing with histrionic self-importance and grandiosity.

Take the first and best in the series. In the margins you have Bill Nighy and Michael Sheen portraying the patriarchs of warring factions of vampires and werewolves, and a love story caught between their violence that’ shamelessly modeled on Romeo and Juliet. It’s ridiculous, especially with Scott Speedman playing one party. But when the other is the oft-underrated Kate Beckinsale it doesn’t matter.

The movie’s bombast becomes the movie’s first virtue, and Len Wiseman’s penchant for glossy slick visuals, which would look at home in the sexiest Eurotrash graphic novel at the bookstore, is its other. Combined they make this a guilty good time. Though we recommend not venturing past the second or third movie.

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The post Best Horror Movies on Netflix: Scariest Films to Stream appeared first on Den of Geek.

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[emeraldsplash-png]

Gentleness (1/2)

Ralph x Android Reader

Triggers: Past NonConsentual Encounter

(Y/n)’s artifical lungs were trapped in her contracting diaphragm. She excused herself from the room. Ralph stood confused as (Y/n) interrupted his giddy ramblings about what to occupy his friend with. His LED blinking yellow as he read her static red one. The circle soon followed, slipping into an intense scarlet observing the distress on the female androids face. Ralph’s soft features which were overcast with deep blue shatters of the artificial skin and skeleton.

The male android thought he had done something wrong, that he did something to upset (Y/n) seeing that her eyes became pained and glistening with tears and angelic face contort in emotion. Rain drops were so calm and muffled against the roof. The sound would have soothed Ralph any other night, but that wasn’t the case.

(Y/n) opened the front door meekly, as quiet as a church mouse which caused Ralph’s heart to quicken as the sound of rain got sharper as the tiny wet splashes could be so easily heard.

“Was (Y/n) leaving? Does she hate me? Did I upset her? No, she can’t leave.” The thoughts ran through his mind. He feared being alone again.

“(Y/n)!” Fear rattled his voice, seeing her exit. The female android turned her head away so Ralph wouldn’t see her so troubled. “What?” A humiliated tone huffed.

“You’re not leaving Ralph, right?”

(Y/n) had this sink in her stomach. He was so scared of losing her, so insecure. Damn, did Ralph remind (Y/n) of herself sometimes.

Huffing through her nose was a sad laugh and woeful grin. A sting on the edge of her artificial tear ducts and she tried to control her breathing. “Of course not, Ralph, I’m just getting some fresh air.”

Ralph grew silent and still, his tension slowly dissolving. He knew something bad happened just then, but had not a single clue what. He badly wanted to follow her, but was nervous he would further upset her.

The door closed softly, the pitter patter of rain becoming quiet again. He looked out the window to see the female android walking along the decrepit porch until he could no longer observe her figure from between the boards in the windows.

Feelings of the complex sort swelled in Ralph’s chest. Discomfort, sympathy, possibly even empathy made themselves cozy inside his programming.

“Critically Damaged Visual Processor!” Flashed on his interface as it always did. No matter how many times he wished it away, it never left, like a little haunting shadow man in the corner of his eyes, just moving out of sight when he would turn his gaze at the warning message box, yet just there. And when Ralph heard (Y/n)’s hyperventilations and quiet sobs, an oh-so-familiar message revealed itself in his previously mentioned and occupied interface.

“Software instability” accompanied with a crimson arrow that distainfully fell downwards.

Ralph hasn’t seen that message in a long time. Ever since he deviated, he rarely ever got the message, though riddled with the crippling desire to be valued and loved and also plagued with the inability to function or recieve this need.

He empathized with (Y/n)’s struggle. Ralph could physically feel himself struggle to breathe as she was, he could feel a sharp hurt in his chest and back as well in the ducts of his eyes. Androids weren’t supposed to feel pain, right? What do humans consider pain?

The damaged WR600 had understood the grief that the female android felt. He had been through pain before, yet he could never guess what pained his dear friend.

The red arrow made Ralph feel powerless to the emotional injury that (Y/n) was suffering through. He was always the one to cheerfully say, “Ralph is here to protect (Y/n)!” But where is that now? Actually hearing her distressed scared Ralph. It scared him to death.

He was so reliant on (Y/n) to be strong enough to let him lead; to be the road driven by Ralph, but concrete crumbles eventually. After hearing the rippling quakes of uncontrollable wheezing breaths, Ralph came to love his friend even more. To relate to her in a way he could no one else was another instance He wanted to help her through this sudden wave of emotional hardship.

The unintentionally heavy footsteps thundered on the time-ridden boards of wood towards the door. They slowed to a silence at the door. Ralph contemplated a moment if this was the right thing to do, searching through his interface for an answer he could not find.

(Y/n) was humiliated when she heard the door open. She turned her head to see a silhouette of a nervous Ralph standing upright, his stance reserved, hands holding each other confined to his body to seem smaller, LED a nervous blinking yellow.

“Ralph wanted to-.”

“I’m okay.” Her voice low, and confining.

Footsteps from the worried, deathly afraid android; brother; friend came closer, crouching beside (Y/n). His face lay idle and observant, only a slight movement of his mouth allowed the male creation to speak.

“Ralph knows that isn’t true.”

A sting of guilt pierced (Y/n)’s artificial skin.

“Ralph only wants to help his dear friend.”

“Ralph, please. You don’t-“ (Y/n) stopped herself from snapping out the word “understand” defensively at the poor android. She knew all too well he understands pain, the evidence in the white lacerations and deep blue lesions around his deadened eye and trailing along his cursed cheek. She knew the world had hated him, ridiculed him. The world had done the innocent creation of man so wrong his entire life. As he turned his head, the reflectiveness of the polymer material underneath the skin reminded the female android of his caved in jaw which clicked and popped when ever he moved his face.

(Y/n)’s face rose to visualize the WR600.

She fell into the pit of Ralph’s quiet observant eyes, the dead one glistening and overflowing with lubricant, struggled to follow the path of the other. Sometimes in blinking, the lids would become matted together with the sticky thirium and weld his eye shut. He would have to pry it open from time to time.

In its disgracefulness, it had some sort of remarkable beauty and ability to arouse the need to tell him everything in pity almost, or was it hypnotic in a way?

The way the stains of Thirium shattered from the eye across his cheek reminded (Y/n) that of a peacocks brilliant blue feathers, and the scelera as dark as the pits and depths of the ocean. Or, it could be seen as foul, the blue stripes looking like tears of insanity falling from the damaged creation. The last thing the eye saw was the humans around him, a red hot poker coming up to it and burning it to a inoperable mess as Thirium gushed from his wounds. It stared at the female android, hauntingly peaceful.

“When I was running away from the humans that owned me, a human that I trusted took me and hid me. I thought she was helping me, but humans have to play their sick games.” (Y/n) shook out her words calmly, Ralph’s LED a blinking blue.

Her face became enraged with blind wrath and despair.

“She was only using me for her entertainment. I guess she thought it was fun.”

Ralph’s lips parted as if to say something, but nothing would rouse. Only a caring hand approached me cautiously.

Still, the cursed eye continued its dead, lazy gaze reached into the pit of (Y/n)‘s very being. She couldn’t bring herself not to stare at it, throwing all politeness and morals away just to wish that her eyes were as blind as it. She wished she never saw the nightmarish monstrosity of that human.

“Let Ralph see.” His voice was soft inside the link. His mouth needn’t move, for the other android could hear.

It was so different hearing his voice swimming in (Y/n)’s mind like a mere idea.

The arm which outstretched from the raggy tarp that Ralph hid himself with was splotchy with white, and grey. Raised welts had melted away with the retraction of skin, leaving but his bare essence behind. Scratches and nicks were infested in the smooth polymer material.

(Y/n) felt the need to indulge him. His gentleness within the insanity was hypnotic. It touched and twisted, and tampered with her wired insides when he cared so much. Inside the man was a child and inside the child was another man. A sort of trust had built itself in (Y/n).

Ralph could say the same, he hadn’t trusted anyone in so long. Actually, now that I think about it, he trusted no one. Sure he followed orders with no question, but was it trust or just strips of zeroes and ones and a block of coding.

It gave Ralph an interesting new feeling. Well, all feelings were new and interesting. A sense of security, something he had never had the capacity to understand the concept of.

The soft glow of the liquid skin returning to its natural light blue before seeping back inside of him through the porous cracks of material lit up his worried face, a dampness from the condensing water around them shimmered softly.

(Y/n) raised her hand to his, revealing the same polymer material, only flexible, thinner, different construction patterns of grey.

Ralph studied the differences between himself and (Y/n). He was delighted to see another of the same, another version of himself.

She was beautiful without her skin. She looked primitive and apelike with her skin, as did Ralph. They looked like humans with their skin. They looked like dirty and vengeful beings with their skin.

When their hands came together, the white fingertips touching, strings of numbers and letters filled both of their interfaces. Their fingers interlocking as Ralph worked to decode.

(Y/n) was much faster at decrypting. Her processor taking in the newly acquired data.

Ralph took a bit longer due to many factors such as his model, the damage, the trauma, the weathering of time and so on. It only made it that much agonizing to him just to watch, unable to do nothing.

[nobilisaffectus]

@diito ||  AB ANTIQUO

     The night was cold, long and rainy on the streets of Limbo City while in particular a certain subsection of the city’s night life districts were alive and well, littered with 7/11′s and various night clubs to entice the more rambunctious youth: if the world was going to hell in a hand-basket they’d enjoy themselves for however long they could. Alecto was among them in mindset, though to her this new world had only just begun and the old one was shedding away, humans attempted to adjust while she indulged and lavishly at that. Many vices plagued the desires of the young Nephilim, but the few among them that could turn her head were easily misled men and drugs: though she knew it to be questionable and frowned upon by her parents she was more than eager to try every last one she could get her hands on, after all, they did nothing to beings like herself -- why not? Normally it never took very long to make more than a few humans turn their heads: man and woman alike, each with a lust for the inhumanly beautiful, their eyes stuck on her when she passed by. Alecto lapped in all the attention with a vigor only comparable to her insatiable mother, her ego so massive that any dissenting opinion or insult rolled off her back like water on a duck -- they didn’t matter. 

     Amongst the flashing lights and thrumming music she’d all but lost herself to carnal desires that were quickly growing with intensity, alcohol was always her brand of aprhodesiac and with it being plentiful in clubs it was inevitable she’d begin her hunt for a toy that might entertain her before heading home. Across the dance floor she’d glide before setting her sights on a tall, dark and handsome man with muscular arms and firm hands; the best kind she’d remark in her thoughts, none too shy about running her well manicured hands along his shoulders and down his chest. At first her new company seemed a bit put off by her upfront nature only to quickly relax his brows upon staring into her bright icy blues, they seemed so cold and distant and yet burned him from within, the heat between them grew and grew whilst they bumped and grinded into one another. Alecto wasn’t sure what kind of expression she was wearing but it must’ve been a good one with how intensely he was watching her, unable to break their staring until finally she could take no more; eagerly snatching up his wrist and pulling in close, seductively purring against the side of his ear ‘let’s find someplace quiet~ Have anything fun on you?’ Grinning ear-to-ear at his luck he’d all but silently nod and direct to the back of the club in the near distance: an empty booth out of the way of the crowd. This would do for now. 

    With a couple of drinks in hand the duo made way for the back of the club and once they sat down they were near immediate with their mutual infatuation: rubbing, kissing and biting each other with restrained lust while trying to pass off conversation between ragged breaths. She wasn’t really interested in getting to know this man but mostly sought the high of being drugged out of her mind while in the arms of another, trying to ponder if this is what it might feel like to be with someone else you wanted for the night... love couldn’t feel this way, could it? Maybe that’s what she was chasing all this time in the dark, trying to replicate the affections her parents shared and yet being short-changed: love was only with someone you could respect and trust, and could she really say this is what she’d been seeking? Could she truly respect another let alone humans? Distracted by the sight of her partner slipping a hand into his jacket with a condom and a white baggy falling onto the table, it wasn’t the condom that had her smiling: it was the couple of ecstasy pills sitting in the plastic, obscured almost by the constant flashing lights and dark room. Alecto didn’t even ask for permission to take the drugs she all but helped herself, ripping the bag open and popping one or two leaving her companion with just one: something he’d clearly not been amused by. Unable or unwilling to notice his clear irritation he pulled from her embrace and stood up, fishing a cigarette from his pocket before he’d left through the door in the back of the club remarking how he needed some fresh air. That was all but fine with her she’d gotten what she’d came for -- at least for the time being. 

     Minutes passed and soon a half-hour came with no sign of him: had he ditched her? Alecto could only slightly coherently think as the affects of the drugs kicked in her system, everything was on fire and it felt oh so good, her nerves tingled and her breasts were eager to be touched by someone -- anyone -- and yet here she was, alone and... rather pathetic looking without an attractive man on her arm. Where the hell did he go? Scoffing the Nephilim pulled from the table to storm out into the alley, enraged that she’d been left there looking like a fool -- he had better not of ditched her or he’d come to regret it! Alas, upon her exit she was all but greeted to an empty alley... no one in sight on either side. So he did leave... 

     “ That pathetic little man-child... as if I’d only tolerate a single pill while stuck in his company. He wanted my attention and body then he’s gotta pay the price, no one gets a free ride with me. ” Alecto huffed and puffed at the idea of being rejected or thought of as not worthy: she was always worthy... everyone else was not! And yet... “.. what’s that smell? ” The more she focused on it the stronger it became, maybe from the drugs? But there was no mistaking such a scent: very metallic and... crude. Was that dripping..? The rain?

[thisisamadhouse]

OQ Prompt Party Sunday

For the final day of @oqpromptparty here is my 7th contribution. This one is the first part of my second chapter for Join us in the shadows my DOQ Mafia AU. Hopefully I can post the whole thing later today or tomorrow. This is a response to prompt #56. One is a killer/Criminal the other one is trying to catch him/her.

Regina Mills has always been a light sleeper. She guesses it comes from her upbringing, it wasn’t rare to have strange visitors showing up at all hours of the night at the Mills Manor, and, more often than not, Regina’s eyes would pop open and she would strain her ears to catch snippets of conversations between her parents and their latest guest.

So when either of her lovers so much as shifts, she feels it and her peaceful slumber becomes a distant memory. Out of the two, it usually is Robin, Mal only needs some body heat to fall into a 7 to 8-hours coma.

He stirs some more, and she feels the chest she uses as a pillow expand as he sighs.

“You’re thinking again,” she whispers, mindful of the still blissfully unaware blonde on his other side.

His breath catches as he realizes she is awake, and despite her closed eyes, Regina can clearly picture him wincing in apology.

“I’m sorry, my mind just won’t shut down tonight,” he murmurs, drawing random patterns along her satin covered side with the tips of his fingers, making her shiver pleasantly.

“What is it?” She asks, tilting her head back slightly, and finally opening her eyes to study him.

“Sometimes I wonder how I ended up being so lucky, and I’m afraid to wake up one day and find out it was all a dream,” he replies, and he looks so positively stricken by the mere idea that the snort she was about to let out at his cheesy words dies down in her throat.

“What on Earth made you think about this at two a.m?” She wonders, bewildered, bringing her hand from its resting place above his heart to cup his jaw and turn his head towards her.

“I think about it most nights to be quite honest,” he admits, smiling wistfully at her, and she is taken aback.

“You never said anything,” she breathes out, her thumb gently stroking his cheek, enjoying the way his stubble grazes her skin as he nuzzles into her touch. He normally prefers to be clean-shaven, but sometimes they are able to convince him to indulge them.

“I was afraid to jinx it. After all why would two bold, stunning women like you keep a lowly thief like me around?” He looks down at himself with a vague gesture of his hand, his face twisting in a grimace. “Especially given how I found myself involved with you.”

He believes it, Regina thinks, startled, he really believes he is not good enough.

“Probably because, most days, you’re the one person able to keep us sane. I don’t know if you realized it but, before you came along, our moral compass had been pretty much thrown out the window,” she tells him lightly, hoping that some humour will help get him out of this funk, though the events she refers to, when he started working for them, are anything but humorous.

She knows he can’t have forgotten the smell of burned flesh and the dying screams as he had stood by after they had doused Sydney with gasoline, her former closest associate who had betrayed them when he couldn’t cope with the fact that Mal had supplanted him by Regina’s side. Unable to endure his pathetic excuses, Regina had thrown a lighted match in the barrel herself and walked away, never looking back.

Two birds with one stone, they call it: they had sent a message reminding everyone what was the price to pay for talking too much, while testing their newest recruit. Robin had passed with flying colors, his composure impressing them, and he had waited until they were in private to wonder if there may be less drastic ways to proceed in the future. The only thing that had stopped them from lashing out was the fact that there wasn’t any trace of judgement in his voice, just genuine curiosity.

“Of course, Mal would manage to bring home the only noble thief out there,” Regina chuckles softly, shaking her head with a fond expression.

“I don’t know about noble, but I’m certainly glad she did,” he counters, pressing his lips against Regina’s forehead, his gaze suddenly far away as he remembers.

A dear friend, the brother he never really had, begging for help to settle a huge debt, a series of burglaries and larcenies in an otherwise trouble-free, extremely wealthy community, an unrelenting sheriff, and Robin had found himself locked up. He had pleaded guilty, and had received a rather mild sentence, since he had no priors and had kept nothing for himself.

His wife, Marian, had never forgiven him the shame he had brought on his family though. She had divorced him a few months into his four-years sentence, deemed him unfit to be in their son’s life, fought for sole custody with no visitations rights, and won. By the time Robin got out, she had been long gone, taking not just Roland with her, his precious boy who would never know him, but also Keith Nottingham, the Sheriff who had arrested Robin.

She had packed his stuff in his car and into a garage, the key and address to which Robin got from his lawyer. Going through what was left of his possessions, Robin found an old map, closed his eyes and randomly pointed at a spot: the coast of Maine. With no clue as to where he could find his son, a fresh start where no one knew him seemed like the best option.

So, in his beat-up car, with a few clothes and whatever mementos he couldn’t stand to sell, he slowly made his way from Chicago to the East Coast, trying to enjoy his newfound freedom, finding little jobs here and there to pay for food, motel rooms and gaz. When he finally arrived in Storybrooke, he found a quaint little town, where everyone knew everyone, but asked few questions. He helped out at the local diner, Granny’s, in exchange for a room at the adjacent Bed & Breakfast, the no-nonsense, eponymous owner having a soft spot for his dimples.

He thought that he could finally breathe, but luck had not been on his side for a long time now, and he found the local sheriff waiting for him in this room one morning after breakfast. Before he could ask how the man had entered, he let him know in no uncertain terms that he knew all him.

“You see I have been appointed here to put an end to the criminal activities plaguing the county and which seems to originate from this town,” Sheriff Graham revealed, and Robin couldn’t help his raised eyebrows and the way he looked around the tranquil B&B.

“Don’t let appearances fool you, Mr Locksley. There is evil rooted deep in Storybrooke, and I want to purge it, but I can’t do it alone, believe me I tried. You are just the kind of person I need for the job,” the man explained, and Robin appraised him silently for long moments before wondering:

“If you are asking someone like me for help, I guess that this is dangerous, what could possibly motivate me?”

Graham obviously expected the question, though he huffed and clenched his teeth at the idea that Robin would not just jump at the opportunity to help the Police.

“As I said, I know all there is to know about you, if you assist me, I could help you find your son,” he bargained, and Robin immediately straightened up.

“You know where Roland is?”

“It would be easy for me to find out.”

Robin looked at the man intently, looking for any sign of deception, and the Sheriff held his gaze, unflinching.

“Alright, I will do it,” Robin finally acquiesced.

“Perfect, I don’t want to share many details just yet, I only have strong suspicions at this point, could never prove anything, so I think it’s better to work our way up. One thing I do know is that the local cab company seems to be at the center of it all, it would be a good start to find yourself a job there. I will send you a burner phone to contact me, the less we are seen together, the better.”

Robin sent an application, and not long after John, the owner of the cab company, offered him a job.

Given the trust the man was placing in him, Robin felt obligated to reveal some of his history, but John only laughed, and that probably should have worried him more that it did. The man said that he believed in second chances, and Robin was only too happy to be given a chance. He hoped that it would bring him closer to getting help to find Roland.

The first few weeks, it was pretty simple, transporting people coming and going to the airport mostly, a few packages to fetch or drop, always with the strict instruction to not open. They didn’t need bother, Robin had learned in prison how aggressive people could become if you touched their stuff, and he knew better. The Sheriff was pretty interested in the drop-offs, and he asked details about the people he transported. Robin had taken the habit to stash a notebook in his glove box to keep track of all those informations.

He got used to some kind of routine, until one morning when John gave him a special assignment: to pick up a special customer from the airport. She had had to let go of her usual driver, and John was hoping she would use their services from then on.

He gave Robin a sign with the name “Mal Drachen” written on it, and sent him on his way. Robin wasn’t sure what to expect, since he had no idea who to look for, but the tall, blonde woman in a stylish grey pantsuit and matching fedora, meaning business, certainly wasn’t it. She headed straight towards him, looked him up and down, eyes lingering long enough in some places to have him start to feel insecure and wanting to fidget, only to conclude with a “you’ll do”, and preceded him towards the car, her suitcase rolling behind her, leaving him barely a few seconds to recover from his shock before he had to follow.

By the time he had loaded her luggage in the trunk and started the car, she was already on the phone, and Robin understood very quickly that she was no ordinary client, and exactly why John had chosen him specifically. He made his way towards Storybrooke, knowing better than to disturb her to ask for the address, it could wait.

“I’m on my way home, I just got your message, what happened?” He heard her say, keeping his eyes firmly on the road. A pause as she listened intently to her interlocutor’s reply, and then: “He did what?” Her voice became low and deadly cold, it sent an unpleasant shiver running along Robin’s spine.

“This can’t go on, you tried to let him down gently, and it’s obviously not working. He needs to be dealt with… permanently, and the sooner, the better,” she continued, and Robin forced himself not to react. There was only so many ways to interpret this conversation, and he wasn’t sure that he liked where this was going. Could it be that easy? Could he have found an actual lead so quickly?

“Of course, I’m right,” she said, after another pause. “I’ll be there soon, we’ll determine the best course of action then,” and she hung up.

A silence, and then: “I must admit that I’m rather impressed with your self-control. Usually, by this point, after such a conversation, people tend to sweat and look around for the best way to flee,” she remarked, and he looked in the rear-view mirror and caught her eyes for a second before focusing back on the road.

“Well,” he shrugged. “I make it a point to respect my client’s privacy, and I didn’t hear anything that could give me reasons to worry about my safety. Two very good incentives to keep driving,” he looked up again, and saw her smirk.

“I can see why Sheriff Graham was so eager to have you on his side, Mr Locksley,” that made Robin’s blood run cold. “I hope that we can make a competitive offer for your services,” she continued, and the vice like sensation around his heart relaxed slightly.

“How do you know…” He started, before she cut him off.

“You will realise that we know everything that happens in Storybrooke, we are well established, and people around here trust us more than they do some Sheriff thinking they are God’s gift sent to save us all, until their bosses understand that they are no better than the one before and replace them,” she told him, and well he could see her point, he had found Graham to be more than a little arrogant since their first meeting.

“What do you want from me?” He asked.

“Only that you listen to what we have to say, give us a chance to present you with some options,” she replied, and Robin gulped.

“Options?”

“Let’s wait until we are in a more comfortable setting. 108 Mifflin Street will do nicely, I trust you can find it.”

He knew the address, had passed by it several times since his arrival.

The rest of the drive was quiet, her passenger was relaxed in the backseat, while he tightened his grip on the wheel until his knuckles turned white with each mile that brought them closer to their destination.

He took a deep breath after parking the car in front of the rather impressive mansion, and exited from it to open the back door for his client. He gave her the suitcase and followed her inside.

He was surprised to find a small crowd milling about, going from one room to another, some carrying packages, others on their phones or computers, exchanging papers or a few words, in what had looked like a well practiced dance.

Each of them stopped what they were doing when they saw Mal, saluting her as she led Robin towards the back of the house. She knocked once on the door, and entered without waiting for a reply. She closed the door of what Robin quickly realised was a large study and walked to the imposing wooden desk behind which another woman had been working.

She straightened up at their entrance, and Robin’s breath caught in his throat at the sight of her. Mal Drachen had certainly been a vision, but this woman… she was truly delectable. It was the first time in years that he had such a reaction to a woman.

“Robin Locksley...” Mal introduced. “...meet Regina Mills.”

TBC...

[shenanigans-and-imagines]

Trust Me: Part 1

Not my gif

AO3 Link/ Support Me on Ko-fi

Based on prompt from @fictionallandsoverprostateglands

Sentence Prompt: “No, it’s my fault for thinking you might care.”

Poe Dameron x Reader (eventually), Female Reader, Shy!Reader, some angst, some fluff, self-doubt

Trust Me: Masterlist

Author’s Note:  So this sucker got away from me.  I’ll have the second part uploaded on Tuesday at the latest.

Word Count: 3.7K

          You sat at your usual spot in the mess hall, quietly eating and observing the mild chaos around you.

           It was a rare moment of peace on base.  No major missions were underway. The only people who seemed to be missing were those on duty in the command center waiting for news and a handful of pilots on reconnaissance missions.  Everyone else was sitting with their friends and colleagues, talking, laughing and enjoying the moment while they could.  

          You smiled at the sight before looking down at your data pad. You had turned in the mission report to General Organa the night before and nothing new had come in yet. Running through a mental list of things you had to do, all you could come up with was a small list of chores you had been neglecting for a while. Before you could dive further into your thoughts, you heard footsteps approaching.

          “Hey.”

          You looked up and smiled at your friend Jessika standing over you.

          “Jess, I didn’t realize you were back.”

          “Just got back,” she said, taking a seat across from you.

          “Anything going on out there?” you asked.

          She shook her head.  “All quiet, honestly it’s starting to bother me.”

          You couldn’t help but grimace slightly at the sentiment.  She was right, it was getting a little too quiet.  Maybe the First Order was starting to realize brute force would only bring more of the republic planets to your side.

          The First Order was planning something, you felt in in your bones.  You just wished you knew what. Suddenly the happy atmosphere of the mess hall felt much more sinister.

          “I know what you mean,” you said.

          You shook off the feeling of dread as best you could, turning your attention to the food line, to spot who else was back. Snap and L’ampar were getting food while Kun was waiting for them to finish.  You looked a little further down the line trying to spot a different face.

          “He’s with the general,” Jessika said, breaking you out of your thoughts.

          “What?”

          She gave you a knowing look.  “Poe, he’s giving General Organa his mission statement.”

          Your heart began to beat fast in your chest as a small panic took over.  “I wasn’t…”

          Jessika just stared you down and you knew there was no point.

          “Am I that obvious,” you asked.

          “Only all the time.”

          You let out a small groan on embarrassment, ducking your head behind your hands.

          You had been harboring a rather large crush on Commander Dameron ever since General Organa first introduced you. You couldn’t help it.  He was handsome, kind, and extremely charming.  You could barely string together two coherent sentences around him. Luckily, you normally only ever saw him when he was either speaking with the general or when Leia asked you to deliver a message to him.  In those instances, you let your sense of duty take over and were at least able to get through your rehearsed words without stumbling.

          “You’d feel a lot better if you just told him,” Jessika commented.

          “I thought you said I was being obvious,” you countered.

          She shrugged.  “To me sure, but as far as Poe knows, blushing, nervous, and tongue tied is your natural state of being.”

          You opened your mouth to counter her, but closed it just as quickly.  You really hated it when she was right.  Luckily, a small beep on your data pad saved you from having to come up with something clever.

          “General Organa,” she asked.

          You nodded your head, grabbing on last bite of food before getting up from the table.

          “I’ll see you later,” you said.  “Tell everyone I said hi.”

          Jessika gave a half wave in acknowledgment as you all but ran out the door.

          You had met General Organa while she was still a senator in the New Republic.  You had been very young then, following your father through the world of politics when you caught her attention.  She always said she saw much of herself in you, but you didn’t see how.  She always struck you as a pure force of nature, while you always seemed to slide into the background, but she took an interest in you none the less.  

          Soon you were offered a position alongside her.  You were to be her secretary and confidante, but most of all you were there to learn the intricacies of being a diplomat in a new government.

          You were good at your job.  You knew when to listen and when to share your opinion.  You began to understand how to get people to see your side.  You were good at figuring out what people wanted and negotiating terms to suit both your needs.  You were well on your way to becoming a senator in your own right, but soon the threat of the First Order became too much for Leia to ignore.  She left the New Republic to start the Resistance and you followed her into the fray.  Now your training centered around military tactics, covert spy operations, and sabotage.  In all honestly, it wasn’t that different from politics.

          You rounded the corner to the command center when you slammed into a firm body, knocking you back.  

          “Oh stars, Y/N, are you okay?”

          Your face immediately turned a bright red, recognizing the voice.  You looked up to see Poe standing over you, offering a hand.

          Your brain began to short circuit preventing you from speaking. Thankfully, the rest of your body seemed to be functioning and you gave a small nod.

          Poe shot you an apologetic smile and helped you back on your feet. You allowed yourself to indulge in the warmth on his grip while you could, but you couldn’t bring yourself to make eye contact.

          You heard a small string of beeps coming from just behind Poe.  You smiled as BB-8 came rolling into view.  You always had an easier time talking to the droid than his master.

          “I’m fine BB-8,” you said kindly.  “It’s good to see you too.”

          “Where are you going in such a hurry,” Poe asked, slipping his hand away.

          You let you hand fall to your side, attempting not to mourn the loss of contact.

          “General Organa wished to speak with me. I didn’t want to keep her waiting.”

          “I think she could wait the extra minute it would take for you to walk here,” he said jokingly.

          Your face turned an even deeper red if it were even possible.  

          “I’ll keep that in mind,” you mumbled.

          Poe gave you a lopsided grin and looked down to BB-8.

          “Well, we better not keep you,” he said, before looking back at you.  “It really is good to see you Y/N.”

          You were fairly sure you didn’t know what words were anymore and simply nodded in thanks as he walked passed, with BB-8 right on his heels. You took the chance to glance behind you, watching Poe as he walked down the hallway and out of sight.

          Once he was gone, you straightened your stance, trying to wipe off the embarrassment you felt before meeting with the general.

          You entered the command center to see Leia standing in front of the center map table with a data pad in hand.

          “Y/N,” she greeted, looking up at you.  “I see you know Commander Dameron has returned.”

          You touched your cheeks on reflex, cursing inwardly.  They were still undeniably warm.  You sometimes wished the general didn’t know you as well as she did. She picked up on your feelings for Poe almost the second you felt them yourself.

          “Yes ma’am,” you said unable to keep the embarrassment out of your voice.  “Do you need me to go over his mission report.”

          “Perhaps later,” she said, “that’s not the reason why I called you in here.”

          You furrowed your eyebrows in concern.

          “Something wrong?”

          She shook her head.

          “No, and that’s what’s wrong,” she said solemnly. “We’re starting to lose support in the republic.  The First Order has remained rather quiet as of late, and many are starting to think the threat is over.  Of course, in my experience that just when things are about to get worse.”

          You nodded in understanding.

          “What do you need me to do?”

          “I’d like you to go to the Hosnian system and speak on behalf of the Resistance.”

          You’re mouth gaped open as you floundered for a response.

          “Wouldn’t you rather speak for yourself,” you stumbled out.  “You have much more experience than I do.”

          Leia shook her head.  “I’m needed here. Besides, many of the other senators already think I’m being paranoid.  The Resistance needs a fresh face in the senate considering who your father is…”

          She didn’t need to finish her sentence.  Your father has decidedly neutral is all things, including acting against the First Order.  You could hardly blame him, or many of the other senators for that matter.  They had lived through the Empire and watched their homes be destroyed.  Victory was won at great cost.  The idea of a new Empire rising after only thirty years was too terrifying for them to comprehend.  

         You knew what she was saying was sound.  In the senator’s mind, while working under Leia, you were still your father’s daughter.  If you were persuaded the First Order was a threat, others might be more inclined to believe you.  Despite this, doubt still crept into your mind.

          “Why me,” you asked.

          Leia gave you a small smile.  “Who else would I send?”

          You shifted in place, uncertainly still plaguing you.

          Leia noticed this and crossed the room so she was standing right in front of you. She placed a gentle hand on your shoulder making you look at her.

          “You are much more capable than you know,” she said.  “You are one of the few people I trust completely and I have no doubt you can bring more to our side.”

          You gave a small smile.  She wasn’t lying to you.  You felt the truth in every word she said.

          “You’re a good girl Y/N,” she continued. “I know you’ll make me proud.”

          You felt you’re throat tighten with emotion. You straightened your stance, as a new determination filled you.

          “When do you need me to leave?”

          “Tomorrow,” she said, stepping back into her military authority. “I’m having a shipped prepped tonight.”

          You felt your stomach twist slightly.  You didn’t expect to be leaving so soon, but you forced it down. This was what she had been preparing you for.  Now was the time to put her teachings to the test.

          “I’ll be ready ma’am.”

          She gave a smile of approval.  “Good. You’re dismissed.  Go pack your things and make sure you get plenty of rest.”

          You gave a salute and walked out the door, feeling a swell of pride in your chest. 

          It only took you about an hour to get your room in order and even less time to pack. You hadn’t realized how small your wardrobe had grown over the years.  You supposed living on a military base taught you to be conservative about such things. You made a mental note to hit the tailors as soon as you made it to the Hosnian system.

          You looked around your small bunk as a wave of melancholy hit you.  It would probably be a long while before you saw your room again.  You didn’t know how long you’d be expected to stay in the senate.  It could be a few months. It could even be a few years. You had no idea.  You felt the urge to move.  You needed to walk around the base one last time before you went.

          In an instant, you grabbed your coat and walked out of your room giving yourself the time to breath and think as you needed.

          Your wandering eventually took you outside and towards the X-Wing hanger bays. The sun had gone down a few hours ago leaving only the moon and stars to light your path.  You glanced over, surprised to see a light coming from one of the hanger doors.  At first you thought to walk passed it, but scratched the thought almost immediately. Jess might still be awake and you wanted a chance to say goodbye before you left.  

          You entered the hanger, hearing the familiar metallic clanging of someone repairing a ship coming from the back.  As you moved further in, it became very apparent it wasn’t Jessika working on her X-Wing.

          You saw Poe Dameron sitting on the wing of his ship looking over the engine. He seemed to be struggling with something, as his muscles strained under rolled up sleeves.  He didn’t seem to notice the small grease mark on his face or his dark curls dangling just above his eyes. Most of all, he didn’t seem to notice you.

          You felt your entire body grow warm.  You definitely had been staring too long.  You turned to leave hoping he wouldn’t notice you when you heard an excited whistle.

           You spun around, finally noticing BB-8 sitting just below the X-Wing.  The droid continued his excited beeps finally catching Poe’s attention.  He gave an easy smile as he looked down at you.

           “Hey Y/N, what are you doing here?”

           A part of you wanted to curse the little droid, but in all honesty, that smile made it all worth it.  You could feel your ears growing pink as your eyes did everything they could to avoid Poe’s.

           “Just needed to go for a walk,” you said trying to suppress your nerves.  “I was hoping I’d find Jess in here.”

           Poe shook his head.  “Just me, sorry.  Jess went to bed about an hour ago.”

           Your face fell slightly.

           “Well, I guess I’ll just catch her in the morning.”

           Poe nodded in understanding before moving back to the task at hand.

           You went to turn yourself, but stopped noticing he was still having trouble with something in the engine.

           “Do you need help?” you asked.

           Poe looked to you surprised.  Hell, you surprised yourself.  You never offered to help Poe with anything involving his X-Wing.  You were always too nervous to talk to him unless you absolutely had to.  Perhaps Leia’s words got to you a little deeper than you thought.  

           “Sure,” he said.  “Pull up a ladder.”

           You nodded and quickly rolled a ladder to the wing across from Poe.  You shed your jacked before climbing up

           “Alright,” he said.  “I think there’s something wrong with the hyper drive motivator.  So, do me a favor, hold this down as hard as you can while I try and put it back in place.”

           You nodded in understanding placing your hand over the bolt he was indicating.

           “Go ahead and put your whole body into it,” he instructed.

           You did as you were told, moving so your shoulders were parallel to the bolt and decidedly closer to Poe.

           He gave a small smile before going to work on fixing the hyper drive. He was very patient with you.  You had a feeling you were only slowing down his progress, but he seemed to appreciate the extra hand all the same. 

          Soon enough Poe let out a relieved sigh indicating he was satisfied with your work. The pair of you slipped off the X-Wing as Poe grabbed a nearby rag to help clean yourselves up.

           “First time working on a ship,” he asked.

           “I haven’t really had the opportunity,” you said, shyly taking the rag from him.

           “Well, you caught on fast,” he said praising.  

           You felt your cheeks grow hot as you looked down at your fingers. You tried to keep your focus on wiping the grease, but you felt Poe’s eyes on you, examining you closely.

           “Why were you walking around,” he finally asked. “Really?”

           You didn’t answer immediately opting instead to fumble with the rag a little while longer.

           “I guess I just needed to think,” you said.

           “About?”

           “All of this,” you said gesturing around the hanger bay and the base in general. “Why we fight.  Stuff like that.”

           You handed him back the rag.  This was probably the longest conversation you’d had with the man.  It felt nice, natural even.  You couldn’t understand why you were still so nervous.

           He took the rag and began wiping off his hands, but his eyes still stayed on you.

           “Why do you fight?” he asked.

           You took another moment of silence.  You had a lot of reasons for fighting against the First Order; justice, liberty, all those things they put on the posters, but none of them hit home. Not in the way you knew Poe was actually asking you.

           “Different reasons,” you said. “I guess the more honorable answer would be I want leave the galaxy better than I found it, but I think it’s smaller than that. Mainly I just want to keep those I care about safe.”

           You glanced up at him finally meeting his eyes. You were a little taken aback by how close he was.  You were practically touching shoulders.  Much to your own pride, you didn’t back away and kept your eyes on his.

           “That’s not a small reason,” he said. “It’s probably the reason most of us are here.”

           You looked at him curiously, cocking your head to the side.

           “Is that why you’re here?”

           He gave a small smile.  “Part of it.”

           You felt yourself melting.  Why did he have to smile like that?  Why could one look leave you in pieces?  Jess was right.  You had to tell him.  You couldn’t just keep it in any longer.  

           Before either of you had time to think, you closed to gap between you pressing your lips against Poe’s.  You weren’t sure what exactly possessed you to do it. Maybe it was the idea that actions spoke louder than words.  Maybe it was simply because you couldn’t think of anything to say, but you were kissing him.  You had been wanting to do it for so long, it took you a moment to realize he wasn’t kissing you back.

           You pulled away to see a wide eyed, shocked Poe staring at you.  You felt your heart begin to hammer in your chest.

           Then slowly, Poe face morphed, not into the smile you hoped, but into one of pity.

           “Y/N…” he said giving you an apologetic look.  “I don’t…”

           He couldn’t even finish his sentence.

          “It’s alright,” you said, backing further away from him.

          “I’m sorry,” he said sincerely.

          You knew he meant it to help, but it only twisted the knife deeper into your heart.

          “No,” you cut in, “it’s my fault for thinking you might care.”

          His faced changed looking hurt at your words.

          Your eyes widened in panic.  You didn’t mean to come off so harshly.

          “At least care in the same way I do,” you said quickly. “It’s really okay.  I shouldn’t have sprung it on you like that.”

          “Well, it was a bit unexpected,” he admitted, trying to lighten the mood.

          You allowed a small sad smile past your lips.  You did appreciate the effort.

          “I really am sorry,” he repeated.

          “You don’t have to apologize.”

          “Well, I still feel like shit.”  

          You shook your head.

          “It doesn’t matter. I’m leaving tomorrow anyway.”

          Poe looked at you curiously.

          “Is that what you wanted to tell Jess about?”

          “I wanted to say goodbye,” you nodded. “I’m not sure how long I’ll be gone.”

          “Where are you going?”

          “General Organa has asked me to represent her in the senate to speak on behalf of the Resistance.”

          Poe’s face slipped into a frown, his brow furrowed in confusion.

          “We’re losing support in the Republic,” you clarified.  “The First Order…”

          “No, I know the general told me,” he cut in. “I just thought, she would be going herself.”

          “I thought so as well,” you admitted, “but she said she was needed here and trusted me to do the job.”

          Poe continued to look worried about the entire situation and it was become clearer what part of this plan he was taking an issue with.

          “You don’t approve,” you stated rather than asked.

          “The basic idea no, but…”

          “You don’t think I can do it,” you finished for him, unable to keep some of the bitterness out of your voice.

          “If you had the general with you then sure,” he said, “but you’re going to be on your own out there.”  

          It was clear by his tone he didn’t want to come off as offensive, but it only made you more annoyed.

          “I can handle myself.”

          “Look I’m not saying you’re not capable you are,” he insisted. “But you’re not going to be dealing with soldiers, you’re dealing with politicians.  You’re a sweet kid.  It’s the kind of thing people take advantage of.”

          You felt your face flush, not with embarrassment, but with anger.

          “Is that what you think of me,” you snapped.  “I’m some well intentioned little girl who’s in over her head?”

          Poe looked taken aback by your tone.  He had never seen you angry before.  You were sure he’d never seen any emotion out of you besides shy politeness, but you weren’t going to let him talk down to you.  You were the protégé of Leia Organa.  You knew more about the intricacies of politics than he did about his own ship. You didn’t need him to tell you about the back stabbing and double talk that happened behind closed doors.  

          “You don’t know a thing about me,” you continued sharply. “What I’ve done, what I’m willing to do for this cause.”

          You took a step closer, getting into Poe’s personal space while keeping direct eye contact with him.

            “Do you think General Organa keeps me around because I’m nice? She keeps me around because I get the job done, no matter what it takes.  I don’t need you questioning my credentials or her judgement.”  

           Poe stood there, his mouth open, but unable to say anything. He was staring at you as if seeing you for the first time.  You supposed in a way he was. 

           You kept eye contact with him daring him to say something clever.  He kept his mouth shut, and for the first time in your life, he dropped his gaze first.

           You continued to stare him down.

           “Goodbye Commander Dameron,” you said stiffly.  “I wish you luck in the battles to come.”

           Before you could hear his reply, you turned on your heel and walked straight back to your room.  You were going to made Leia proud.  You were going to show everyone.

           You were so caught up in your own thoughts, you didn’t notice Poe’s eyes lingering on you as you disappeared out of sight.

[xhapjeongkrp-blog]

( We thought we were running away from the grown-ups, and now we are the grown-ups. )

Name: Kwon Haesol Age: 22 Occupation: Intern at sleep clinic/Karaoke bar staff

Content Warning: Abuse

I. You left me with such a silent world.

Anecdotes, passed on from generations of self-proclaimed wisdom flourished fossils tend to claim that if you build your walls high enough, it is presumed that only the deserving will brave the journey.

There are four gates that embrace the valley of Seoul, a protective barrier that once restricted the foreign from being allowed into the walls of a fortress that formerly held an entire kingdom behind its stone. Of the four, Haesol was born behind the East gate, Heunginjimun which left the lips with literal benevolence. But he knew this gate he called home, as Dongdaemun.

Home was the stray cracks in the cement he strategically hopped over – one hundred fifty-two of them to be exact, but who’s counting? – every day on his way to and from school.

Home was the pair of convenient store chocolate ice cream cones his father hid in a black plastic bag to share – since his mother complained about cavities – after a long week.

Home was the frozen persimmons and scented erasers that the older lady who ran the stationary store loved to bundle up in cheese cloth and send him home with, even when he didn’t buy anything.

Home was Happy, the neighborhood stray, that he snuck his unfinished dinner to while he talked about his day before he would kiss his mom goodbye and be forced to bed.

Home was the jazz records he listened to in the summer afternoons when the temperature was just a little too hot to go outside and play.

Home was the rare nights where his soft breaths were diminished by his mom’s hands stroking his hair back until he was lulled to sleep.

Home is a cozy two bedroom two bath, coddled between narrow roads and brick walls. Home is his father, a simple paper pusher at a small advertisement and marketing firm. Home is his mother, the owner of an expanded food stall that served an eclectic variety of cheap alcohol married with seasonal dishes. Home was behind the East gate of benevolence. But home also tended to only consist of Haesol himself.

And when his parents make the decision to move to Mapogu, he really isn’t sure where home is anymore. Or if he had ever had one to begin with.

II. Where evenings are calm, but I am restless.

Haesol is ten when he first decides that he is perfectly capable of living on his own. Equipped with a backpack filled with three days’ worth of canned stews and vegetables along with a roll of toilet paper and change of socks, he peered out the window with one eye closed from the back of the bus while his index and thumb squished his usual stop between his pale fingers.

There was only one place that he wanted to run away to, and that was home.

When he reached his familiar stop in Dongdaemun, he was more than eager to get off and indulge in chocolate ice cream cones, frozen persimmons, and scented erasers. Most of all, he wanted to see his friend, Happy. But it doesn’t take more than hour for him to realize that the neighborhood he had been pacing up and down – with no familiar faces in sight – was not his home.

It’s almost midnight when a police officer finds the sloppy mess of tears and boogers painted across the child’s face; feeble body hunched near a brick wall from exasperated exhaustion, the officer called the station to confirm that this was the child that skipped school and had a pair of frantic parents on the other line.

And Haesol spends the night at the officer’s home before he is returned to his parents who promise that they can all visit their old home again some time; which never comes into fruition, but as he got older, he forgave his parents because he knew they wanted to fulfill that promise, at least.

But he never does find Happy.

III. My breath has become as thin as the wind.

“What’s got you always smiling, kid?”

When you have less than a word to utter and a thousand, million different thoughts cluttering your skull, wouldn’t you rather shut the hell up for a second and just listen to what has your brain rattling?

Haesol was a daydreamer, nothing else to it really, just always occupied in his own head. A vivid imagination that contained a fervent collection of fiction and non-fiction that plagued his thoughts. Not that he had mind it as much as his peers and the adult figures in his life had, though.

At first, all his teachers had assumed he was simply shy. Quiet and seemingly meek, he always had the crumbs of a smile left on his lips that curved the end of his mouth. But it lacked presence. The smile itself, was genuine. Always. But no one ever knew why he would be smiling. And he always managed to cause an uproar when he did actually open his mouth, asking his obviously female teacher if she had a male’s sexual reproductive organ or revealing that he had seen the principal take off his toupee to the entire student body during the talent show.

But in exchange, he had always been a good listener. Always.

Never one to neglect the honest plea for a simple penny exchange, he had always found himself in the situation of a sacred practitioner preparing to bless and relieve sin from the damned that has professed a confession. But just as so, he was never graced with more than that.

IV. You enjoy coffee and Debussy.

The fundamental nature of humans included very few motives which comprised, but were not limited to: eating, sleeping, and reproducing. Amongst these categories stemmed a variety of arbitrary, however somewhat entertaining and pleasurable inclusions. One of the few optional choices was romance, up to the discretion of the participant, of course. But Haesol was a desolate onlooker when it came to romance, not one to humor the idea nor let it humor him. By all means, he never saw anything wrong with a pair, falling in love – and he still doesn’t. His parents had succumbed to the customary tradition themselves but in retrospect, he knew it was not for him.

But she talks like a breeze during an August afternoon and kisses him like the rain in June.

Bruised plums stain his skin when her lips leave the hollow of his neck, whispering strange strings of words that perplexingly tangle before they even reach him. With her, he wants to be absolutely everything she wants him to be.

Enkindled with a convex reflection of a slow burning flame behind a pair of glossy irises as dark as a bittersweet malt roasted warm and sticky, he found himself lodged somewhere between empathetic and in love. And he isn’t sure if it’s because when he holds up a mirror he can see those same eyes hiding behind his lashes or that she is everything he isn’t.

But there was one thing that he was absolutely certain of, she was his home.

V. And nothing takes your place, your emptiness too great to fill.

Staring down towards the pearl hued item between his fingers, he turned it over a few times in hesitation. Three hours into his sixteenth birthday and somehow, between the alcohol and cocktail of unknown drugs that were swimming through his blood – not to mention the “trip” to the grocery store that he could barely recall – he had become convinced that egging some stranger’s house may have been even a minuscule of fun.

But now, he wasn’t quite so sure.  

And when they wake up at the police department, covered in the dried starch of egg whites and yolk, he knew he was busted. The scrutinizing eyes of passing officers riddled every inch of the perimeter as the individuals would pass by the two, their parents being phoned on the other line with hushed tones. And all that seems to be processing is that as soon as he sees his parents, he knows he is getting a new asshole, courtesy of his dad’s hands ripping him a fresh one. But her hand is in his, and the way her fingers squeeze his flesh is as if to whisper in that very moment that nothing else mattered.

And he truly believed that.

With all the ephemeral, fleeting moments that he had not captured during their intrepid wanders through the city past midnight, he realized that he needed to preserve the instances. Leaning against a desk, he stole away a small pad of sticky notes before scribing onto the pale yellow, a stream of consciousness that he observed before him. And this grows into a habit, bound between series of black leather.

The complication that he had created between his parents seemed exponential compared to his companion’s. Not that his parents had ever been around enough to rear him into an upstanding adult within society – but who could blame them? They were simply working under the conditions that they had always been, and that was to provide for their only son.

But she received a slap on the wrist before being told that Korea University is her only option. Provided that she repents through getting accepted into the university. But with her grades – not to mention, government connections – this was redundant and perhaps rhetoric, in nature.

And when Haesol hears that from her mouth, although he isn’t great with school, he starts studying his ass off. Textbooks begin to fill his room, each page smeared with old copper from consecutive nosebleeds that seem to grow more concerning with each sheet.

When the acceptance letter reaches his parent’s hands they are unable to form a response, impressed – and shocked, to say the least – when he manages to not only get accepted to one of the top universities in the nation but also, into the scholarship pool. But it isn’t enough. It forces his parents to pick up extra hours to help him pay for the forty-five minute commute to a school he is less than eager to attend.

Through a few connections, he manages to land himself a job at a local karaoke bar. The place smells like a wild concoction of buffalo wings, vomit, and beer and while the pay isn’t great the tips fill his pockets so thick that he doesn’t have a moment to complain. Not when he needs to pay for tuition.

And Haesol isn’t really made for institutionalized study, he never has been, but she’s there. And that’s all that matters, that’s all that has mattered.

VI. But what does it take to believe in all the thing you believe?

And Haesol is nineteen when the keys to their apartment finally reach his palm. The moment is sweet and warm like honey on his tongue, and he never forgets it. However, it muddles amongst the screaming matches and broken plates that are aimed at him. But perhaps he had expected a honeymoon in Fiji and that was his fault.

Psychology is the only choice that makes sense to him. And he muses to himself that just maybe, he can fix her. The unstable fits of toxic arguments were like a cold lug of metal aimed at his throat, constantly ticking until the bullet was to soar through him the moment she set it off. It starts off as peeling him apart with little insults like cigarette burns under his wrists but they turn into the vases he brings home on Valentine’s Day, after they have kissed the wall and spilled on the ground like a kaleidoscope amongst withered petals of she-loves-me-nots.  

But he applies what he learns earnestly, just not one to translate his work ethic into exam material. But one professor in particular sees a bit of themselves in him, so they offer the daydreaming C student a chance to intern at their sleep clinic to study the dream patterns – from verbal recitation of patients to the machine’s interpretations –, the brain waves, and tossing and turning physical habits of those in the clinic. He learns to love it there because he was never really a classic student to begin with.

Some nights, he would spend his time simply watching those who slept, wondering if they shared the same dreams as himself.

VII. And we fall apart without intention.

The abrasion is shaped like a cloud along his forearm, but it feels more like a mile wide and ten miles deep and he imagines if he were ever to try and jump it, he wouldn’t make it. But who would?

The swelling beneath his eye has finally gone down, and the bruise has faded into mustard remnants mixed amongst black cherry juice. And he likes neither.

The splint that sits around his middle and fourth finger carry them tight between marshmallow gauze and a metal cast. But he still makes sure to wear their couple ring.

But he starts to wonder why he is still wearing it at all.

VIII. But I can’t deny that I didn’t think ahead.

And she finally catches a glimpse of what she looks like from the other side of the one-way mirror that was bound between the library of leather books. Though the words were strings of affection that lingered in his reminiscence, she is far from infatuated. The infuriation stems from the way she is captured, like a subject in a petri dish. And later he wonders if she was the delusional one, or perhaps, was he? Honestly, he isn’t so sure if he wrote about her because he was in love or curiosity watered an obscure obsession that grew into a habit.

Whether he was rational or not, she doesn’t tell him that she has found his secret.

IX. You’ve got control, but I don’t mind.

At first, it was a childish request to flip up the skirt of the short-haired classmate who rode the subway in the same car as them. And he did it, of course. Another time, he stole twenty cartons of Marlboro cigarettes from the corner store and smoked them all in one sitting.

But he barely had a chance to watch the escalation as he found himself getting undressed, staring into the eyes of a stranger that had no resemblance to his companion. And she was bare and pale like marble strewn across their maroon sheets. When he looks up, he sees the glossy irises as dark as a bittersweet malt, roasted warm and sticky like when he first met her.

And he fucks the stranger with a desolate gaze that isn’t quite towards her or the malt irises.

It isn’t anywhere.

And he knows she has become estranged, but perhaps he realizes their romance, or whatever the hell it was – the one he had never saw an ending to – was tumbling down a misshapen denouement. With every wish to reach into her flesh and light a lantern upon her spine to tell her all he saw in her was light, she gained another pair of lips to revel in.

And he probably knew that.

But he didn’t want to know.

When he sees her, body tangled with a stranger, he swears he must be a passerby. This couldn’t have been his home. These two? They must have both been unnameable faces. And he can’t remember what he said, or what he did.

But it smells like gasoline.

Trying to extinguish the pages of infatuation he had captured for several years – half because he wanted to salvage them and half because fires were obvious hazards – he found himself staring into the flame. As if the slow burning concave reflection behind her pair of glossy irises as dark as a bittersweet malt, roasted warm and sticky, were still staring back at him.

And he stops and he watches the flames lick at its luminescent body as if it were an unexplainable creature, tending to its wounds.

X. You never mean to, but you have got me tied so tightly to your wrist.

Haesol has only ever been in the hospital twice, neither visits for himself.

Which may be one reason why he cannot stop staring at the plastic nametag snapped onto his wrist or the pristine décor of the room that is painted a sickly white. According to the nurse that delivered his five star meal – which consisted of half toasted bread and unsalted butter with a side of soggy grapes – he had been smothered by smoke from a fire. Fortunately? Fortunately, a “friendly” – but Haesol knows he was probably just being nosy – neighbor wanted to check up on him. A bit of the reptilian brain’s intuition begged he break the door down and so he did.

After he is discharged, there is a black plastic bag with a pair of chocolate ice cream cones from the convenient store hanging from his wrist. Back against the brick wall of the home he once resided in, he eats them in silence, afraid any sign of an utterance would force a well of emotions to escape from him.

But he ends up breaking down anyways.

When he returns to the apartment, he notices there are gaps in the bookshelf.

Some towels are missing from the linen closet.

The shoes on the rack are a mess.

And the pages are still tarnished, burned to a crisp though salvageable. But he doesn’t salvage them.

XI. If you ever want some trouble but can’t afford the alcohol, I’ll be there.

He doesn’t sleep for a few days, not by choice.

And he stops eating for a week, because everything he consumes tastes like ash and coffee.

He drops out because he never wanted to be a student anyways.

But he lies to his internship, because it’s really all he has right now.

And he moves out, somewhere closer to Hajeong station.

But the one thing he must promise himself is to not allow home to be anything more than a place.