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canary3d-obsessed · 3 years

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Restless Rewatch: The Untamed Episode 21, second part

(Masterpost) (Other Canary Stuff) (Previous Post)

Warning: Spoilers for All 50 Episodes!

Flute Solo

For some reason Wei Wuxian has decided to take a walk outside of the fortress, or behind the fortress, or something? Can people just take a stroll outside during wartime? Seems unwise.

There are guards and these extra-bossy crows herding some Wen prisoners along, and Wei Wuxian stands up above and gets totally overwhelmed by resentful energy.

He falls to one knee while clutching his chest, in the spot where all cultivators seem to stow a bag of holding. I guess this is the Xuanwu sword? Or maybe it's his surgical incision; those things can take a while to finish healing. I think the golden core is further down in the abdomen, though; this is right over his heart.

Wen Qing, Granny, and Fourth Uncle are in the group, but Wen Qing has her hood up so Wei Wuxian can't see her, and he's unlikely to remember the other two, since he only saw them that one time at the shrine, and he doesn't remember people he's literally had dinner with.

The guards decide to be assholes and beat the shit out of a prisoner because he fell down, which inspires some extra aggressive crows to swoop in and attack the not-dead guy on the ground. That is...not how carrion-eaters behave, generally. They're pretty good about waiting for you to stop moving.

Wei Wuxian continues to struggle, obviously having an orgasm in a lot of pain, and starting to leak resentful energy.

(more after the cut)

He brings his flute up and starts playing it, which causes the wind to rise, rocks to fall from a nearby cliff, and the whole group of people on the ground under him to start having Yin Iron lines crawling up their faces.

Would Wen Qing be a beautiful fierce corpse? She would.

Eventually Wei Wuxian stops torturing everybody, having gotten it out of his system for a bit, and stands up. The group gets up, skin clearing up, and starts moving along again, a little shook. Wen Qing looks up and sees Wei Wuxian and hides her face in anguish.

She was there in the dungeon, listening to the same flute music, when he was resentfully slaughtering everyone around her in Yiling. Does she understand what she’s seeing, what he’s become?

Her hood is off and it seems that he sees her, or at least that he is trying to figure out what he's seeing. But Jiang Yanli arrives before he can do more than look puzzled and cast his eyes around.

Jiang Yanli asks him what just happened and he laughs and says it was the strong wind, in an extremely transparent lie that Yanli nearly chokes trying to swallow. She drags him back to the meeting while he continues to look troubled.

War Council

Meanwhile, the war council is meeting. This is mostly a boring rehash of stuff we already know, but someone has drawn a nice big map that's been installed in a custom frame. Because apparently the table with the mountains on it is not a good enough representation of "and then we will walk from our house to Wen Ruohan's house," which is basically their plan. The gist of this scene is that Wen Ruohan having the Yin Iron gives him an advantage, in case we needed to be reminded of that.

The doors fly open and Wei Wuxian and his fabulous ass literally blow into the room.

Everyone reacts in a comically extreme way.

He casts his eyes malevolently and/or sexily over to Lan Wangji, who is still grumpy with him, while Jiang Cheng comes up and stands almost as close to him as Lan Wangji used to.

He tells everybody that he might have something to counteract the yin iron.

Everybody: Really? Do tell!

Wei Wuxian: Happy to!

Wei Wuxian: *theatrical side-eye at judgy ex boyfriend*

Wei Wuxian: Actually, nope.

He says "we'll see in about a month" while fondling whatever is hidden next to his ribcage.

This behavior, while ridiculous, isn't quite as absurd as it seems from a corporate-meeting standpoint. Part of what cultivators do is invent and refine spiritual tools. So when Wei Wuxian makes this speech, the people in the meeting are going to infer that he is creating a spiritual tool to counter the Yin Iron.

Now it's Lan Xichen's turn to ask everybody’s favorite question. Lan Xichen wasn’t at the party when everyone else asked him, and we're apparently supposed to believe these gossips haven't been talking about the not-sword-carrying 24x7.

Wei Wuxian says he's just not in the mood, and we get to see Lan Xichen's impressive ability to hold his face completely still while he represses his desire to slap someone.

Jin Zixun complains about Wei Wuxian after he leaves, but for once his bitching is on point; he correctly surmises that the counter to yin iron is...yin iron.

Now, to be fair, the yin tiger amulet is different from the yin iron because it exists in the novel Wei Wuxian specially refines it to be more manageable than the sword it started from. And maybe it’s gel coated to be easier on the stomach. But it's basically the same shit.

Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue exchange intense gazes, just to prove that the young people aren’t the only ones who know how to eye fuck.

Lying Is Forbidden

Lan Xichen talks to Lan Wangji, and we discover that Lan Wangji is perfectly capable of lying. He manages to maintain a reputation for not lying but I think the trick is that he just avoids talking in general, so when, for example, people in later years say "who's your masked boyfriend" he just doesn't answer, which isn't really lying. (How many times did Lan Qiren and Lan Xichen ask “where did you get this kid?” and just not get an answer, I wonder.)

At other times he actually directly lies, as when he claims he is “just passing through” Yiling on a night hunt. The current conversation with Lan Xichen definitely involves actual lying.

Let's play multiple choice answers with the Lan brothers!

Q: Why is WWX so confident we can have Yin Iron against WRH in a month?

a.) Because he's been walking around with that Xuanwu sword for months, and it is obviously made of Yin iron b.) because he used a fucking ghost flute to flay Wen Chao more or less in front of me, so he is clearly down with some dark magics c.) I don’t know

Q: Was the death of people in the Yiling supervisory office really related to yin iron?

a.) obviously b.) maybe he was using some other source of overwhelming necromantic power c.) no, he’s not like that

Q. When you approached Yiling, was there anything unusual?

a.) yes, the talismans had been altered to draw in evil spirits b.) yes, everyone except his particular friend Wen Qing had killed themselves in horrifying, outlandish ways c.) are there rules already set for everything in the world?

Xichen, bless him, actually lets Lan Wangji change the subject like that and answers his question honestly.

Xichen: Actually, rules are pretty much shit Wangji: fucking hell, you're telling me this NOW? What have I been doing for the past 18 years then?

They both look just ridiculously beautiful in this conversation. Lan Wangji’s affect with his brother is so interesting. He’s trusting, emotionally open, willing to be seen...but only because he knows Lan Xichen won’t push past his barriers, won’t force him to speak the truth of what’s on his mind.

Awkwardness

The Yunmeng bros roll up, and awkwardness ensues.

Wangji is frowning hard. His frowns are of the micro variety just like his smiles, but boy they are consistent and Wei Wuxian and Xichen both know how to read them.

Wei Wuxian gives Lan Xichen a small, sunny smile--it seems genuine, not like the fake ones he's trotting out on demand for his family.

Then he gives Lan Wangji a pointed gaze of yearning and reproachfulness, which Lan Wangji returns, switching from frowning to a softer expression that seems about equal parts hurt, apology, and thirst.

Wei Wuxian reacts to that by bowing again and leaving, with Jiang Cheng quickly following, wondering what the fuck just happened.

Lans Xichen and Wangji pivot gracefully to watch them go, which Lan Wangji should know is not correct post-breakup behavior; you're supposed to act disinterested, my dude.

And then Lan Xichen asks Lan Wangji what the fuck is going on. Lan Wangji gets one more lie in, saying he's not worried about Wei Wuxian, before reapplying his frown and walking away from the conversation.

Macroexpression Brothers

OP was wrong about Wei Wuxian not hugging Jiang Cheng any more--here he is hanging on him just like the old days, and Jiang Cheng is shoving him off, just like the old days. However, it emerges that this is mostly an act that WWX is putting on to seem normal.

Jiang Cheng wants to know what's wrong between him and Lan Wangji, and asks why they broke up. Wei Wuxian points out that Jiang Cheng didn't like him dating Lan Wangji before, so why is he pushing him to get back together with him now, and Jiang Cheng says that now they're allies in a war, so Wei Wuxian needs to do his duty and help keep Lan Wangji in fighting trim, nudge nudge.

Then he starts lecturing Wei Wuxian about sword cultivation and generally good behavior, and Wei Wuxian theatrically nods and give him appraising looks, telling him he really seems like a clan leader now.

Jiang Cheng headshakes this away. Wei Wuxian actually giving Jiang Cheng a sincere compliment here, disguised as teasing, and he's not wrong. Jiang Cheng has matured and is becoming a strong leader. Not strong enough to ignore peer pressure, but that’s true of most clan leaders in this environment. They’re not supposed to ignore peer pressure.

Wei Wuxian is pointing it out for his own reasons - he doesn't want to be having this conversation - but it's nice to see him giving his clan leader his due.

Jiang Cheng walks away as Wei Wuxian smiles after him; as soon as he's out of sight the smile falls off of Wei Wuxian's face as fast as fast as gravity can take it. It's like someone snuffed a candle.

No one bites back as hard On their anger None of my pain and woe Can show through

But my dreams, they aren't as empty As my conscience seems to be I have hours, only lonely My love is vengeance that's never free

More Awkwardness

Lan Wangji and his ambivalence come looking for Wei Wuxian, standing outside his door and raising a hand to knock before changing his mind and fleeing.

Lan Wangji is on the back foot for the first time in his relationship with Wei Wuxian; this boy who pursued and pursued and PURSUED him is now a man who won't speak to him. This boy who hung on every one of his words, and saw through all of his minute facial expressions, has become a man who won't listen to him. Lan Wangji is in the position of pursuer, now, and it's not a role he's well equipped for.

Yanli stops him as he's bailing. He looks so relieved to see her, but he tries to escape immediately after greeting her. She stops him so she can ask what the fuck is going on.

Unfortunately, Wei Wuxian rolls up while Lan Wangji is in the middle of talking to her. He's telling her about the heterodox cultivation, and Wei Wuxian busts him. Wei Wuxian steps up and asks what he was telling her, and Lan Wangji says "Wei Ying," but doesn't get much further than that.

Nunya

Wei Wuxian reminds him that he told him to stay out of Jiang Clan business. Now, here I want to mention that "private" and "not your bidness" are culturally specific concepts. OP, for example, grew up in version of Irish-American culture so secretive that the problems of a person's life and (often) the cause of their death are things only discovered by whoever inherits their papers. [OP inherited 3 generations of letters a few years ago, and HOO BOY]

In the version of Chinese culture which we see in this drama, your choices, thoughts & troubles belong to the family and clan, not just to you. Wei Wuxian, in shutting his elder sister out of his struggles, is not family-ing correctly. Jiang Yanli is right to try to get around that by asking his friend. His friend is also right to give her--in sanitized form--the information she is asking for.

Wei Wuxian has zero trust in Lan Wangji at this point, unfortunately. He doesn’t know that Lan Wangji has been lying to cover for him; he just knows he’s being a grumpy aggressive holy roller. Now, when Lan Wangji has just been given permission to disregard all 3000 rules and look at a person’s heart, that person’s heart has been hardened against him.

Yanli is used to dealing with Wei Wuxian's moods at this point -- after all, a lifetime of Jiang Cheng has got her used to volatile little brothers, and Wei Wuxian is clearly a new, not-improved man since his return.

She tries to get him to chill out while Lan Wangji gives him a death glare -- not a return to the earlier generalized frown, more of a specific "I can't believe how full of shit you are" frown.

Wei Wuxian calls him Lan Er Gongzi, like a dick. Lan Wangji started this but at this point Wei Wuxian is kind of in the lead for who is being The Worst. Lan Wangji executes a beautiful 180 and walks away at top speed.

Wei Wuxian asks Yanli if he talked about Yiling and when she says he didn't, he realizes he fucked up.

He goes running after him and calls him Lan Zhan and says "listen to me" but Lan Wangji is no longer in a listening mood.

Eat A Dick Sword

Lan Wangji is so far in his feelings at this point that he just hauls out his sword and goes after Wei Wuxian, taking complete control of the interaction and forcing Wei Wuxian to concede the fight. Aww, he’s so angry! I love him.

This is a rough moment for Wei Wuxian. He really genuinely can't hold his own against Lan Wangji, unless he's going to directly use necromancy against him the way he does later in their final confrontation.

When they first met he was able to defend himself on the rooftop without drawing his sword, but he's weaker now; Chenqing is an adequate hand weapon against most cultivators and puppets, but it's not a match for Lan Wangji's full attack.

Wei Wuxian is not enjoying this fight, and can’t win in, so he just throws in the towel, exposing his throat and trusting Lan Wangji's control.

On the surface, this fight appears to re-establish their former rapport, but it puts them on such an uneven footing it might actually drive a larger wedge between them. I think that Lan Wangji has made a strategic error in doing this.

Lan Wangji seems to want to prove to Wei Wuxian that his new style of cultivation is inadequate, that he would do better with a sword. Swordplay was the beginning of their relationship; their matched power was the source of their mutual attraction. Lan Wangji can't accept that Wei Wuxian has given it up; he doesn't (yet) respect his agency enough to assume that he has a good reason.

This fight functions as yet another punishment that Lan Wangji doles out to Wei Wuxian; not a physical one, this time, but a psychological one, and their relationship pays the price.

By attacking Wei Wuxian and forcing him to concede, Lan Wangji is showing that they're unequal. By criticizing Wei Wuxian's lack of progress and asking him the same goddamn question everybody else is asking him -- where is your sword? -- Lan Wangji is humiliating him.

This encounter does not re-establish Wei Wuxian’s trust in him; it just forces him to accept Lan Wangji’s authority, for now. Which is not what either of them really wants.

Soundtrack: Behind Blue Eyes, by The Who

Writing Prompt: What would Wei Wuxian have said if Lan Wangji had listened to him instead of drawing his sword?

#the untamed #the untamed gifs #wangxian #the untamed meta #cql #restless rewatch the untamed #canary3d-original #my gifs #2810 word count

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magicman111 · 3 years

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Amphibia AU -- Quisling Marcy -- I Gave You This, I Can Take It Away

A scenelet from the ‘Quisling Marcy’ AU:

Polly had done it. She snatched Box from its pedestal and the flying castle was now slowly making its descent through the orange skies. The surrounded ragtag group of heroes cheered her name. They’d won.

“Not so fast!”

They turned their heads and there stood the towering, menacing form of Andrias before one of the shattered window panes.

“You’ve all got spunk, real chutzpah,” he commended them, though his contemptuous sneer was apparent. “But this ends now.”

He took one giant step aside and what they saw chilled them to their bones. There on the window ledge stood Marcy, that manic, borderline unhinged look corrupting those once innocent, wide eyes. Pinned firmly by his throat against her breastplate was none other than Sprig.

“Guys!” Sprig gasped as he struggled vainly to pry himself from Marcy’s grasp. “Don’t listen to these bullies! I’ll be fine!”

“We’ll see,” said Andrias. “Now put back the Box, or...” He then raised his mighty hand, his thumb and middle finger pressed together. “This twerp learns how to fly.”

Anne’s brain couldn’t process what she was witnessing. No matter what she’d done or misguided she’d been, the Marcy she'd known since pre-school wasn’t capable of doing something so cold-blooded. This was the same girl who cried buckets when she accidentally stepped on the walk back from school. It just wasn’t in her DNA.

But then again, she had grown so accustomed now to everything she thought she knew being

pulverised on a near regular basis, maybe she was mistaken once again?

“Marcy,” her voice began to break, her eyes brimming with tears, “... p-please. You wouldn’t...”

Her direct plea appeared to reach her friend. Marcy’s scowl faltered, if only for a moment, and her hold on Sprig’s throat eased up.

“I never wanted anyone to get hurt, Anne.” The remorse in her voice was palpable, however hard she tried to bury it in her spite. “But you’re the one making me do this.”

Marcy then took Sprig by the scruff of his neck and dangled him as far as her arms could reach past the ledge. All she had to do now was let go.

“NO!” both Anne and Hop Pop cried.

“I gave you this, I can take it all away,” she warned them dangerously, her breath now rattling.

“Now put. The Box. Back!”

“Anne, don’t—” Sprig was silenced by a violent shake of Marcy’s wrist.

There was no way out of this. Marcy wasn’t bluffing. Worst still, even if they did comply, Anne knew she had no guarantee they’d actually keep their word. They held all the cards here.

It was as if the largest hunk of ice had dropped into her gut and it drained her of all her fight. Her shoulders slumped in defeat.

“Polly, do what they say.”

The little tadpole did what she was told and returned the Box to its place on the pedestal. Within seconds, the castle’s engines whirred back to life, bringing its descent to a halt. The red-eyed ‘Frobos’ picked her up and returned her to the captured group, where her first instinct was to embrace the lifeless head of her fallen robot friend.

Anne looked from the sorrowful display back to Andrias, who remained there in the sidelines like the dark, twisted puppet master he was. However obviously futile it was to try and appeal to the giant salamander's sense of decency—there was little to none to be found—what other choice did she have?

“Okay dude, you have what you want, now please, just let him go,” she beseeched him. “He’s my best friend. In this world or in any other world.”

There was a time and place for such heartwarming sentiment, and unfortunately for Anne, right now was neither.

When those fatal words reached Marcy’s ears, something deep within her very core churned. Something hideous. Her cheeks burned scarlet. Her teeth gritted so hard they threatened to crack. Her chest began heaving up and down so violently, her heart could have exploded in sheer primal rage.

Sprig was the first to notice.

“Uhh, Anne...?”

Then did Andrias. Inwardly, he grinned the most malevolent of grins. He truly relished these rare moments when things lined up just perfectly.

“That’s the thing about friends, isn’t it? The more you love them, the more it hurts when they go. Allow me to demonstrate...”

The snap of his big blue fingers echoed ominously throughout the throne room. All eyes were immediately back on Marcy.

Marcy’s gaze, however, was fixed squarely on her supposed “best friend”. Through the simmering hot tears, if looks could kill, Anne would be impaled square through the chest with a flaming sword where she stood.

She didn’t even look back at the squeaky red toy for which she had just been passed over. No. Her focus was on photographically memorizing the next look on Anne's face for the rest of her life.

When the horrifying realization of her error dawned on Anne it was too late.

Marcy let him go.

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ellewritesathing · 4 years

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Figure It Out

Summary: The Fright Club stumbles across an injured werewolf chased out of town by hunters.

Masterlist

Word-count: 2.8k+

A/N: this caliban x fem!reader was requested by the lovely and ever-so-patient @none-of-this-makes-any-sense 💕 hope you guys enjoy!!

When you’re running from something, your body reaches a point where it wants to give up. Your muscles ache, your lungs burn, and all your joints cry out. Every step becomes its own misery when you reach that point - and that was without poison eating away at your insides - but your choices were to either keep running or be killed.

The hunters had fallen away sometime during the night, and it was only after you’d made it out of the woods and spotted the broken and graffitied Welcome to Greendale sign that you realized they'd stopped following you because you crossed town lines. Their treaties prevented them from hunting on land that was already claimed.

Greendale was claimed by the witches. No hunter, regardless of what their prey was, was allowed in Greendale, but that didn’t exactly make Greendale an accepting place. The last werewolf you’d heard of Greendale had been kept as a familiar and killed by one of the witches. The Greendale witches were why you would have kept running if you could.

But you couldn’t. The second your mind realized you were safe from the hunters, it stopped giving your muscles the adrenaline they needed to keep going. Without pure survival to focus on, you were acutely aware of how much pain you were in.

A trail of black blood followed you all the way from the Welcome to Greendale sign to the garage you’d broken into and curled up in. The pain had left you too exhausted to deal with the fear of being found, so you told yourself that you could deal with staying hidden if you survived the night.

It was light out when you woke up, annoying rays of sunlight streaming through the glass on the garage, and now you had to deal with getting out of Greendale and finding your pack before the hunters found you. The problem was that, between you and the door, stood a horde of teenagers.

They stood in a huddle and whispered furiously at each other. Not to each other; they were arguing too much and not listening to each other to qualify as whispering to each other. The sight of them would have been funny - with two being much taller than the rest and having to stoop, while one was annoyed at the close proximity, and the leader being the tiniest blonde girl you’d ever seen - if they weren’t standing between you and your escape.

One of the shorter ones - a guy with a mess of brown curls on his head - spotted that you were awake while you were sizing them up. He patted the arm of the guy next to him - tall, blonde hair, heartstoppingly attractive - and nodded over at you when he got his attention.

“Apologies, my lady,” the taller one said as he straightened up, interrupting the tiny blonde as he did. He looked at you curiously, not malevolently, but not exactly kindly either, “but it appears our friend has woken up.”

The tiny blonde was only momentarily irritated at the interruption, but she looked more carefully suspicious than bothered when she turned to you. She hadn’t managed to do anything to you in the second after saying ‘oh’ and turning to look at you, but your brain screamed that she was a witch anyway.

“Uh, hi,” she said with a second-too-late smile. She took a step closer. “My name is Sabrina and these are my friends.”

You didn’t say anything, but you didn’t like lying on the floor with them standing over you. Trying to look tougher than you felt, you pulled yourself into a sitting position.

“Okay, well, we’re here to help you,” Sabrina said. She did her best to push past the awkwardness and connect with you. “So if there’s anything that you could tell us, maybe about how you got that stomach wound … no? Okay, uh-”

You watched Sabrina wring out her hands awkwardly as she cast a look at her group. There was only one other witch, something you couldn’t place, and then three humans.

At least, you thought to yourself, you passed for human.

Sabrina’s friends each mumbled some awkward sentences, except for the tall blonde. He was the one you couldn’t place, but he didn’t make you nervous because of the uncertainty. He made you nervous because he kept staring at you without saying anything.

“-Well, we can’t really help you if you don’t talk to us,” Sabrina continued, her patience wearing thin. She looked like she was going to keep going when the blonde took his eyes off you and straightened up.

“She’s not going to tell you anything,” he said. His voice was more sure of itself than the others, clearly used to being the voice that commands a room “-because she’s afraid. Aren’t you, little wolf?”

“Little wolf?” the shorter one with curly brown hair and the other girl asked at the same time. They were an odd mixture of offense at the pet name and confusion at the origin of the name itself. If you weren’t so horrified by the revelation, their expressions would have made you smile.

But survival came before smiling. You set your jaw as you tried to move again, but you winced at the tugging of your injured muscles. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said through gritted teeth in an attempt to recover.

“Don’t I?” the blonde asked. He smiled as he walked closer to you, each step was as careful as the smile on his face. He crouched in front of you. “I was created in the pits of Hell; I learned to sniff out a werewolf before I learned how to talk.”

“I don’t think a demon has the right to judge,” you said in a strained voice.

He seemed amused by your defiance and used the moment of amusement to launch your attack. You struck out and kicked his leg out from under him. As he fell, you scrambled to your feet and bolted towards the door.

Unfortunately, Sabrina and her horde of friends had other plans. The other tall brunette raced behind you to grab you, and it took all of your limited energy to push him away. The witches were arguing about spelling you, and the humans were worried about their friend.

The tall blonde recovered quicker than you expected. He grabbed you from behind and restrained you fairly easily, despite your weak attempts to fight him off. Eventually, you realized that struggling was useless and decided to save your energy.

“So that was fun,” the other witch said. He pushed some black hair out of his face and sighed, but he shot you a smile anyway.

“Maybe because she didn’t punch you,” the brunette grumbled as his friends picked him up off the floor.

“Maybe because I didn’t attack her,” the witch said with a superior tilt of his head. He looked away from the human and to Sabrina. “Who cares if she’s a werewolf? Let’s just heal her wounds and let her go.”

“Let her go?” Sabrina asked. Again, she looked like she was going to argue when the tall blonde spoke.

His voice rumbled when he spoke because he was so close to you. “While I hate to agree with Nicholas, she’s not a threat, my lady. There is no reason for us to keep her here.”

There was still something about him that you didn’t trust, despite his advocating for your release, but you didn’t say anything. If he was going to be the one that got you out of the witches’ den, then you’d let him and deal with your distrust later on.

“I, uh-” the short curly-haired one started uncertainly. “I agree. I mean, she’s not a threat to anyone other than Harvey, no offense. Are you?”

It took you a second to realize that he was talking to you. He was kinder than his friends.

“No.” Your voice was quiet but it sounded deafening while everyone waited for you to answer. Trying to sound less unsure, you added, “I just want to go home.”

“If that’s the case, why did you come here?” Sabrina asked.

“Trust me, it wasn’t by choice,” you said. You tried to move and the blonde tightened his arms around you. You turned to glare at him. “Do you mind?”

“Are you going to kick me again if I say yes?” he asked. He was smiling again, not necessarily malevolently but mischievously. You realized it was because he was flirting with you.

“Let her go, Caliban,” the witch said. His protectiveness was unusual.

Caliban said something about how dear Nicholas was always looking out for the underdog. Whatever he was implying was clearly pointed at Nick and not you, but it didn’t sit well with you.

Still, he let you go, and you started walking over to the spot where you’d slept when your muscles had enough of your abuse and wobbled underneath you. One of the humans caught you, the girl.

She gave you an uncertain smile as she helped you stand. “I’m Roz,” she said. She nodded to each of her friends as she introduced them. “That’s Harvey and Theo. You already kinda met Brina, Nick, and Caliban.”

There was something about her that made you feel safe enough to tell her your name, even though you regretted it the second you were done. Then she asked where you were from and, again, you felt yourself giving out more information than you would have otherwise.

“Why did you come all this way?” Roz asked. She seemed genuinely concerned about you.

“My pack was attacked by hunters,” you said. “They didn’t follow me once I crossed into Greendale.”

“Are you sure about that?” Sabrina asked. “We’ve had some run-ins with witch hunters.”

You shook your head. “Different kind of hunters,” you said.

You pulled your hand away from your stomach and looked at the black blood. It should have healed by now, but the blood was still thick and dark. At least it wasn’t smoking anymore, but you would still die if it wasn’t treated.

“That doesn’t look good,” Roz said, sounding uncertain.

“Doesn’t feel good either,” you said. You pulled your lips into a tight smile and shrugged off everything else. “I’ll be fine once I get home.”

“Let me take you to my aunt,” Sabrina said. “She specializes in herbal medicines.”

“Thanks, but I can take it from here,” you said.

“Nicholas was the one that killed the wolf,” Caliban said. The casualness in his voice made you stop walking. “No one else has blood on their hands. You’re safe.”

“I think that’s a relative term,” you said.

“Please,” Nick said, as gently as he could, given the annoyance at his friend. Maybe 'friend' was a relative term as well. “Let us help you.”

---

One of Sabrina’s aunts was all too pleased to treat you, but the other was less happy to have you in their home. She didn’t like dogs. You reminded her, as politely as you could with wolfsbane blackening your veins, that you weren’t a dog.

Despite the emotional control you were capable of, if Hilda had waited for a half-hour more to treat you then you wouldn’t have been able to control the shift. The humans were handling your wolfish tendencies better than you expected them to, but your presence seemed to remind Nick and Sabrina of a memory that made him sad and her uncomfortable.

And then there was Caliban. You couldn’t quite figure out how you made him feel. He watched you more carefully than the others, not because he was afraid of you, but because he was trying to figure you out. You liked that you weren’t easy for him to figure out, but you hated that you didn’t know what he was thinking.

Did he think you were impressive for making it this far on your own? Was he wondering if you were a bitten wolf or if you were born this way? What had he meant when he made that comment about sniffing out werewolves - did those memories have anything to do with why he stared at you the way he did?

The hunters attacked before you had the chance to bring the answers to those questions to light. They appeared out of nowhere, just as Hilda took out a pie (‘because she can’t send you home on an empty stomach!’), with their guns blazing.

Unfortunately for you, the witches were on unsteady terms with their higher power. Their powers were fickle and fleeting, which meant they couldn’t be counted on for reliability in the fight.

There were other ways to fight, of course, because the humans were still around and they were determined not to lose, but any supernatural intervention had to be left to you and Caliban.

Somewhere in the middle of the fight, you took shelter behind a family-sized headstone. You were about to get back into the fight when Caliban appeared next to you, out of breath and with blood on his cheek.

His cheeks were flushed, his eyes wide, and his smile crooked. He looked so completely and utterly alive that he made your heart beat quicker just by standing next to him. His smile curled deeper when he noticed your staring.

“See something you like, little wolf?” he asked.

Deciding that if you were going to die or get out and never see him again anyway, you smiled and leaned in to touch his face. You cupped his cheek and ran your thumb underneath his eye.

Pulling your hand away, you showed him the red stain on your thumb. “You have blood on your cheek.”

You and Caliban made a good team, all things considered, and managed to get rid of the hunters relatively quickly after the headstone moment with the help of a few spells and a scary-looking baseball bat. Your success was not without injury, on both sides, but nothing had been laced with wolfsbane or any other lethal plants.

You sipped on Hilda’s healing tea and watched her treat the others. The humans were her first concern, but their wounds were superficial, and they went home soon after the fighting stopped. It was strange to see how close they all were with each other and then see how easily the witches adapted to their night without the humans.

They settled easily, as if they hadn’t just been attacked by hunters. They’d been kind enough to invite you to spend the night, but you were still deciding if you could survive spending another night in Greendale.

As you excused yourself to nurse your healing tea on the patio and look out at the night sky, you had to admit the view was nice. You were trying to trace how far you’d have to run on your way home when Caliban sat next to you on the porch swing.

The swing rocked back and forth as you glanced at him. He’d showered and changed since the fight, as all the other witches had, and washed away all the blood from his face. Caliban stared straight ahead at the night sky, but you knew he could tell whenever you looked at him.

Yes, you thought to yourself as you took a sip of tea, the view here was very nice.

“Are you staying?”

You hummed and turned to look at Caliban, pretending not to be paying as much attention to him as you were. “Hmm?”

Caliban smiled as he stared at the sky. It was very clear that he knew what game you were playing when he turned to look at you. “You’re a long way from home. Are you going to travel all that distance in the dark?”

You shrugged. “What does it matter to you?”

“Never said it did, little wolf,” Caliban said easily.

You rolled your eyes and looked back at the night sky. All you knew was that you had to be back before the next full moon … but one more night couldn’t hurt.

“Truth be told, there’s something about you that I can’t explain,” Caliban confessed. He reached his hand out and touched your cheek. His fingers were warm. He wiped something off your cheek and pulled his hand away to show some of Hilda’s healing whatever-it-was. Even pulled back, Caliban's hand was still close to your face. “I’d like it if you stayed until I figured that out.”

“Kiss me,” you said without thinking about it.

You thought he’d argue but all he said before he leaned in was “okay,” and then he kissed you. It made your heart race so quickly that for a second you worried about shifting in front of him. He pulled away as soon as your anxiety set it.

When you caught your breath, you asked, “Figured it out yet?”

“Not even close,” Caliban said with a devilish smile.

#figure it out #caos #Chilling Adventures of Sabrina #Caliban #caliban imagine #caliban x reader

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botslayer · 4 years

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Octodad: Not-so-dark theory

From top to bottom, Octodad looks like a fairly innocent game, A simple story about an Octopus trying to survive in suburbia. But, through subtle hints and references, and inconsistencies with that premise, it is revealed that Octodad is no mere cephalopod. He is, in fact, something far more horrifying, on paper at least... What do I mean?

Octodad is not, in truth, an Octopus, He's a Cthulhi. For those not familiar with the works of H.P. Lovecraft, Cthulhi are also called "The Starspawn of Cthulhu" and "Xothians," and are a race that looks like Cthulhu who's true origins, as with everything in the Cthulhu mythos, are debatable and vague as sin, the only things known for a fact are that they look like Cthulhu (Or, in their first appearance, like Octopi), worship him, followed him from their home dimension/universe into ours, and then perished en masse while what remained of them went into a death-like sleep, same as Cthulhu.

Now, Star Spawn aren't often seen in the works of Lovecraft, but they do have a sliver of popularity in the fandom. Not as big (in the popularity sense) as Deep Ones, but not as unknown as the humble Penguins of Leng. Now, again, it's worth noting that common interpretations of Star Spawn are basically baby Cthulhus, just tiny versions of their dark and malevolent master, but to start with, they were described as "a land race of beings shaped like octopi and probably corresponding to the fabulous pre-human spawn of Cthulhu," in the story "At the Mountains of Madness."

Octodad highly RESEMBLES an octopus, but with some interesting tweaks. Namely: His eyes, two of his Tentacles, and something we'll talk about in just a minute. But let's talk about Octodad's anatomy when compared to another octopus, namely, the one in the "Wold of kelp" at the Aquarium.

Now, this is Octopus is a giant, climbable sculpture one might see at a water park, so in a technical sense, some liberties could have been taken with its anatomy, but it looks semi-accurate to real octopi, down to the slit-like pupils and the tentacles all being at roughly the same spot despite them spreading out for kids to climb on. Now, if you pay attention, a patron of the Aquarium will note that the "World of kelp" was something else before it was the world of kelp, though they THINK it was "Squids or something" before. Based on how the section played out, I have to believe the whole affair was either cephalopods in general given how many bases of just kelp they went over, or just Octopi because HOLY CRAP there are lots of octopi out there. Failing that, I don't think the statue was a squid to begin with, the eyes are far too forward on the head, what can be seen of the tentacles makes them all look the same, and most species of squid have circular pupils and irises, not slits/rectangles.

Octodad, in contrast to the sculpture, has vertically ovular pupils, far rounder than the slits on the larger statue, on top of that, his eyes take up a slightly larger portion of his head. Then we take a look at Octodad's tentacles, namely the two that form his mustache. These two tentacles are set away from the other six in a way that makes no real anatomical sense for an octopus. Not to mention that the two are preposterously shorter than the others, it's less like another pair of tendrils and more like a strange growth coming out of the middle of his head. Moving on from that, there's also a certain disparity with his other limbs, his "arms" are shorter than his "legs" when he stands, however, when he enters water, his limbs, save for his mustache, are all of equal length, this strange effect carries over to when he's buck-ass naked, so no, he isn't just scrunching two up while he's in the suit... Speaking of naked octodad:

What the hell is that THING in the midst of his tentacles? It's a lighter color than the others, he's still using two tentacles per leg, one per arm, and his mustache is basically vestigial. Octodad's anatomy makes no fucking sense unless you consider the idea that he has some level of shapeshifting power... and wouldn't you know it, Cthulhi have just that. To what end is a little shakey, as with most things in the Lovecraft universe, but still.

Also worth noting is the church Octodad got married at, a Church dedicated, at least partly, to Cthulhu himself. Now, we only see one window with any kind of figure on it, Cthulhu, wereas the others are all decked out with a strange symbol, as are a few paintings lining the walls of it. These paintings may be of religious significance to the practitioners of this particular faith, but a lot of it looks like some minimalist "If you get it you get it" kind of stuff, and then one is literally a crayon drawing of a child with a smiling balloon. The last vaguely Lovecraftian thing in the church is the treasure chest Octodad gets his wife's ring from, all the coins within have a squid/cuttlefish-like creature printed on them, In the story "Shadow over Innsmouth," the people of a town called "Innsmouth" start breeding with fish people. They did it specifically for the undersea gold the fish people (called Deep Ones) give out for the service. Deep Ones worship multiple gods, cheif among them are their great parents, Mother Hydra and Father Dagon, though worship of Cthulhu isn't against their laws or anything.

The game takes a break from the hints of Eldrich horror while the family is at home, though it is worth noting that we don't REALLY know where Octodad's children came from. Hell, the game makes a joke about it at the end, Tommy asks, plain as day, "If dad's an octopus... Then where did me and Stacy come from?" While his parents laugh the question off, it has a few possible answers: The two of them (Or just Tommy) are leftover from a failed relationship/marriage Scarlet was a part of before Octodad came in, the two (Or just Tommy) are adopted, or, in a manner not dissimilar to deep ones, Cthulhi may just be able to breed with humans in this universe.

Now, I say Tommy may be adopted/Not Octodad's specifically because Stacy says something concerning in the "Deep sea" exhibit at the Aquarium. She apparently has dreams wherein a deep, dark spot in the ocean seems to call to her. This turns out to be a sea horse ranch. Cute as that is, dreams are a recurrent theme in Lovecraft's work, sometimes compelling people into the service of Great old ones like Gla'aki, for example. Or there was that one story when a guy met Yog-Sothoth, the omniscient and omnipresent god of the universe just because he dreamed that deeply. Also "The Dreamlands" are a place in Lovecraft's fiction. I could keep going down that rabbit hole, but I'm lazy and I think that point is made.

There is also another reference (Possibly) to "Shadow over Innsmouth" and "Dagon" with the character of Chef Fujimoto. Now, Fujimoto himself is not a reference to anything in particular, but his backstory has some Lovecrafty bits. Namely, Fujimoto was once a soldier (Dagon) who cut open a combatant. Instead of human guts, "Piles of fish" were inside. (Shadow over Innsmouth.) This one might be a little more of a stretch but remember that Fujimoto is OBSESSED with Octodad and believes very firmly that there are fish people everywhere. ("Why is everyone fish!?") There are several Lovecraftian stories where the character feels he is being pursued or is surrounded in some way. Call of Cthulhu ends with one of the characters feeling that the cult is gunning for him, partly because some dude looked at him funny, and Dagon ended with the main character fearing that a servent of Dagon was coming up his stairs after him, so he threw himself out a window. The crippling paranoia experienced by Fujimoto is another hint that SOMETHING Eldrich is happening in the universe of Octodad.

Also worth noting is that a magazine entitled "Inquisitor" can be found at Gervason's, Octodad is on the cover, and they think he's an alien. Which begs the question: Why is it that most humans will let an obviously strange man do things without much concern at all? Hell, there are three lines present in both the main game and one of the extra shorts that imply EVERYONE sees something is wrong with Octodad. And I quote/paraphrase:

"I thought he was a lawyer?" "He's slimy enough to be one."

"Is it just me or did the captain look jigglier than usual?"

"Hmmm, I don't see a blurblerulb on the list."

These lines imply on some level that people recognize SOMETHING is wrong or different with Octodad but they don't carry the thought far enough to do anything with it... Unless perhaps at a distance, hence that cover of “Inquisitor.”

Another thing that tends to happen in Lovecraftian horror is the mind not making proper sense of things. For example: Canonically in the mythos, the image of Cthulhu mankind sees, humanoid body, octopus head, draconic wings, etc, is not what he really looks like, it's just our perception of Cthulhu because our minds aren't equipped to comprehend the real deal. Looking too long at just what we can see of Cthulhu will unravel your mind, causing both insanity and death if exposed even longer. I think that's part of Octodad's effect. When he's dressed, the humans around him perceive what their mind makes sense of. He's in a shirt and pants, therefore he is appropriately dressed as a human, therefore their minds SEE a human even if he's not QUITE right. We see, rather obviously, that he doesn't have human hands, he has tentacles with suckers, but Scarlet refers to it as a "Hand" still, this implies she and others see his appendages as hands or feet when he's disguised or doing something "Human enough." Only really undone if he's naked or does too many strange or seemingly malicious things like accidentally smack someone with a bag of doughnuts.

This is why you can get away with randomly dragging things across the floor, their minds are telling them something is a little off, but their ability to perceive might be telling them he's just got a medical condition or something. It's nothing to judge him for, he's just got a disability.

So at the end of that trail, what are we left with? Octodad as a Xothian/Deep one hybrid? Does that fundamentally change the game's story? Does this mean Octodad is a dark horror from beyond? Does he secretly seek to kill and maim and destroy all the things we hold dear? Will he one day help awaken Cthulhu and usher in the new age of the great old ones? No. See, Octodad, despite his horrifying inspirations, is a benevolent creature. He "blubs with a love for all mankind" in the ending for Dadliest Catch. He still obviously loves and cares for his family, whether they know his secret or not. He's just an alien from another dimension... or at least he has ancestry from another dimension.

Now, why is that? I've got two little ideas for that: It's an often found interpretation that most of the original writings of Lovecraft focus on the idea that "It is different, therefore it is bad." Xenophobia of an extremely high sort. Mind you, I often find this interpretation lacking, but we can probably discuss that later. I feel Octodad may be a natural extrapolation of the idea that it isn't bad because it's different, in fact, Octodad, despite keeping a secret, is an all-around "good" guy. Upstanding, moral, all that garbage, he just happens to be non-human. Something supporting this being a running theme is the scene with the Snugglefish. For those who have yet to play Dadliest catch, a section of the game takes place when the power in part of the Aquarium goes partially out. During this event, Octodad and Stacy come upon a large sculpture of a creature called a “Snugglefish.” which is covered by the dark. We shine lights at the supposedly malevolent creature, complete with monstrous teeth and evil red eyes, partially with the intent to “Blind it” despite the fact that its obviously a statue. That whole section up to then is nothing but fumbling in the dark, looking at the strange and some might say “alien” life living in the deep ocean, you can also learn some stuff about them if you pay attention. The whole thing ends when you fully light up the spots on the statue, revealing it to BE a Snuggle fish as opposed to some giant monster. As a result of revealing this, Stacy’s fears of it go right out and she feels she understands the creature better, as with most things, learning and understanding quiet one’s fears. when we learn what something is, we stop seeing it as an immediate threat is the take away from that section, I think, which is, again, I’d say, a call to Lovecraft's writings and his fear of that which was different and unknown and how it’s so easily thrown out with just a LITTLE understanding.

Another plausible explanation for Octodad’s kindness may be that Octodad is not a Star Spawn of Cthulhu, but of Kthanid. Kthanid is not an original creation of H.P. Lovecraft, but a bloke by the name of "Brian Lumley." Lumley's creation is the brother of Cthulhu, and is considered the main reason Cthulhu is sealed away these days. Kthanid is said to look almost exactly like Cthulhu but to have "Golden eyes that radiate peace." He's a loving, benevolent "Elder God" that wants the best for not just Humanity, but for all things. It would logically follow that if a creature dedicated itself to Kthanid, or was one of his spawn, it would be at least mostly as loving and kind. So, if Octodad, or "blurblerulb" if you prefer, was a purely hypothetical Kthani instead of Cthulhi, his disposition may well fit within the actual mythos.

So, what do y'all think? Does this theory hold water? Or does it sink harder than Cthulhu going back down for a nap?

#Octodad #Dadliest Catch #Tommy #Stacy #Scarlet #Chef Fujimoto #Cthulhu #Lovecraft #Kthanid #Xothians #star spawn #cthulhi #Deep Ones

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lizziestudieshistory · 4 years

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Books of 2020 - Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte*

How do I review a book that has had such an impact on me? I am serious when I say I had a spiritual experience whilst reading this book. Every page changed the way I saw this novel and, eventually, reading it altered the way I’m going to look at both books and the world around me in the future. This is the hardest review I have had to write, so I hope I’ve done this masterpiece justice.

Wuthering Heights is a visceral, deeply emotive novel. It’s full of passion, power, and the supernatural. Every emotion and event is felt to the fullest extent, whether that is the cruelest act of violence or vicious hatred, to the deepest feelings of love and destructive desire. Nothing is felt half way. Bronte let her world run wild and untamed, much like the moors that permeate every sentence of her novel, and it is magnificent for it.

When I first began reading Wuthering Heights I was pleasantly surprised at how much I was enjoying it, everyone and their mother says it is a marmite book - and I was convinced I was going to be on the side that hated it. I usually am in these situations (I’ve even managed to loathe Jane Austen… Although, thinking about it, that should suggest I prefer books full of drama and passion rather than the gentle sophistication Austen writes about…) Anyway, by the time I reached that crucial eerie moment where Lockwood encounters the ghost of Catherine Earnshaw pleading to be let into Wuthering Heights, I was enraptured. Even though I took my time reading it, I couldn’t stop thinking about this novel; its themes; and the terrible, wonderful people that dominate its pages.

I really do understand where those who dislike Bronte’s masterpiece are coming from - it’s dark, gritty, melodramatic, cruel, violent, and hateful (and that’s just what comes from the top of my head!) No one in this book is particularly likeable and they live in a cycle of passion, hatred, vengeance, and self destruction. Even the landscape itself is bleak. However, for me, this was half its brilliance!

Emily Bronte is a master at creating despicable characters, who I loathe, and still making me care deeply about them. The best example has to be Heathcliff himself. Heathcliff is a monster: he’s vicious, violent, hateful, and vengeful. He’s enraged at everyone around him and wants to punish the world for what he thinks it has done to him. Yet, he is also full of passion and love - it’s an abhorrent, possessive, and destructive love, but nevertheless his adoration of Catherine is at the heart of this entire narrative. Despite everything he does, all the people he’s hurt; his outbursts of passion, love, and malevolence are the most powerful, real moments in the novel. Nothing else feels quite as tangible as Heathcliff and his intense emotionality - and it is because of this raw power that I managed to hate Heathcliff and love him for exactly the same reasons.

What really helped Bronte achieve this is the dual narrative not necessarily the two narrators Mr Lockwood and Nelly Dean, but the two distinct periods that narrative takes place in which have very different tones and events that match the characters and even ‘world’ they take place in. I see Wuthering Heights as a book split between the two Catherines - in the first half our attention is mainly fixed on Catherine Earnshaw (henceforward ‘Catherine’), her awful childhood, passionate love affair with Heathcliff, and her fateful choice to marry Edgar Linton. The second half is centred on Catherine Linton (‘Cathy’), her struggle to become a woman, and eventually breaking the cycle of hatred and destruction. Both halves felt incredibly different in their atmosphere and differed widely in how they presented the central characters that appeared throughout the entire book (mainly Heathcliff, Edgar Linton, and Nelly herself.)

In Catherine’s first half we see another world full of passion, wildness, and a “heathen” power - this is the half of the book that really fits how we view Wuthering Heights in popular culture. Everyone in this half takes on aspects of the moor, well everyone except the Lintons… Even Nelly becomes cruel, less refined, and socially acceptable as she conformed to the attitudes and behaviours of the Earnshaws, Wuthering Heights, and the wilderness around them. However, while this wildness, violence, and causal brutality is repulsive to the reader, it was also romantic, passionate, and almost desirable.The personality, tone, and deep emotionality of this part turns the narrative into a captivating, sensational, and intimate read. It is in this part of the book that the most powerful ‘romance’ quotes come from, such as the infamous line from Catherine ‘...he is more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made from, his and mine are the same…’ (p.99).

We have such a deep connection to everyone we read about, even though we don’t hear their voices because of Bronte’s narration choice, that I couldn’t help but fall head over heels for them. It is in this part of the book that I fell deeply in love with the wild, untamed, and otherworldly landscape of the moors which permeated every page of Catherine’s story. It felt spiritual, almost religious, in a way that hooked me in and refused to let me go, despite how awful these people, their lives, and their choices were! For brief moments I felt like a part of the narrative but was ultimately kept back - almost like a ghost myself, witnessing a world I could almost see but never quite touch or understand. It truly is a romance. Not in the modern sense with the romance genre, unlike the way Jane Eyre can still be considered a romance to modern readers. But it is a classical romance; Heathcliff and Catherine are lovers and they do have a love that can rival any other. However, it is a destructive, possessive love that brings ruin on themselves and everyone around them.

In comparison to this, in Cathy’s section of the narrative, the story becomes much more grounded in reality. Every action felt plausible in the most horrifying way as the events were centred on the abuse of the law, and the Christian morality and customs of the Lintons and Thrushcross Grange dominated Nelly’s narration and tone. This half shed the spirituality and unhealthy emotionality of the Earnshaw’s and introduced the ‘civilised’ world through Cathy, which had felt so out of place throughout Catherine’s story.

Through this shift, the romanticism of Heathcliff is truly lost. Instead of the compelling but dangerous byronic hero we came to view him as through Catherine’s passionate love, Heathcliff became a monster. As the heathen wilderness was alienated by civilised Chrisitan morality, we lost the romance of Heathcliff and were exposed to his harsh, desolate cruelty and vicious, hateful desire for revenge. Yet, Cathy and Thrushcross Granges’ “civilising” effect doesn’t actually moralise on the events of the past, as we might expect from a 19th century novel. The passionate, captivating romance of Heathcliff and Catherine is validated (if not condoned) by Bronte through her ghosts and the ultimate fate of her heroes. The destructive desires and emotionality of the first half of the novel are firmly removed from the gentle world it crept into, back to the desolate, unknowable realm of the moors and Wuthering Heights through the fates of Heathcliff and Catherine in the afterlife, however, she never truly condemned it or Catherine and Heathcliff’s actions.

We watch Lockwood as he leaves Wuthering Heights behind for good and visits the graves of Heathcliff, Catherine, and Edgar. He has been informed by Nelly that the wild romantics of the past have been ‘rewarded’ as Heathcliff and Catherine’s ghosts haunt the moors together for the rest of eternity. They have been reunited in death through the heathen afterlife. Neither are necessarily ‘at peace’ as a Chrisitan would believe, but they have been joined with the world they truly belonged to - the Yorkshire moors.

Bronte does demonstrate that the wild, untamed world died with Heathcliff - it has no place in the future. Hareton and Cathy turn their backs on the vicious cycle of love and destruction that their parents (except maybe Edgar? The poor guy really didn’t deserve all of this…) embodied and they leave Wuthering Heights for the refined respectability of Thrushcross Grange and Christian society. However, by joining Heathcliff and Catherine in death leaving them to wander the earth for eternity, Bronte acknowledges the existence of an otherworldly, supernatural sphere that belongs entirely to the unknown and desolate places of the earth. It is cut off from the rest of the world as society moves forward, but it still exists and can still be found in the uncultivated, natural landscapes of the earth.

I’ve talked a lot about Heathcliff and Catherine, which is a trap everyone falls into because they are the heart and soul of this book whether you like them or not. However, there are many other characters in Wuthering Heights that I do genuinely love; for example, Edgar Linton. Poor Edgar is such a brilliant character because he really doesn’t feel like he belongs in this book. He is largely a victim of circumstance, he gets swept into the melodrama of Wuthering Heights mainly because he happened to live ‘next door’ to Catherine. He does love her but in a quiet, respectable fashion - he wants the best for her and to provide her with a life any Victorian (yes, I know this book is set before the Victorian period but it’s a VERY Victorian feeling novel) woman would want. He’s a good husband, a doting father, and, while he does make some frustrating choices, such as his initial disownment of Isabella, he is a genuinely lovely person. Edgar gets deliberately pushed to the side by both the narrative and reader because he isn’t as compelling, passionate, or emotional as Heathcliff. Heathcliff is outside the rule of society and is allowed to demonstrate his emotions as publicly as he wants; while Edgar, who is constrained by the rules and conventions of polite society, cannot. Nevertheless, Edgar is gentle and consistent in his affections. Catherine truly doesn’t deserve Edgar. Catherine and Heathcliff deserve each other. Edgar deserves a peaceful life with a woman who would love him as much as he could love her! (I didn’t expect to be declaring my love for Edgar Linton, but he has VERY SURPRISINGLY become my second favourite victorian ‘hero’ after Mr Thornton… Who would have thought it?! But let’s be honest, if you have to choose out of the men in this novel Edgar Linton is by far the best choice. This is the hill I choose to die on and you cannot change my mind!)

Then there were the younger characters… I really loved Catherine, Heathcliff, and Edgar, but I kind of hated Cathy, Hareton, and Linton! Okay, I did feel sorry for Hareton - he was the real victim of all this drama.

Cathy was a bitchy, spoilt brat. She was the ‘civilised’ version of her mother for the younger generation, but all she did was act like a child. This could be the effect of the two halves of the book I talked about above, but she had all the worst characteristics of her mother (wilful, argumentative, rebellious, a bully etc.) without any of her charm. She was largely the maker of her own misfortune (this doesn’t take any of the blame from Heathcliff and Linton though!) by not listening to the people around her when she had NO REASON to ignore them. Her father has doted on her for her entire life, and Nelly has always had her best interests at heart! Yet, Cathy decides to rebel against her two parental figures and listen to Heathcliff despite everyone in her life warning her not to... She’s her own worst enemy!

Cathy is also spitefully cruel to Hareton. I can deal with teenaged rebellion, we’ve all been there at some point! But mercilessly mocking someone for being illiterate and again for trying to learn how to read (just to please/impress you!) is completely unacceptable, particularly from someone who has had everything in their life handed to them. This isn’t the grand, melodramatic brutality of Heathcliff, or the neglect of Hindley, it’s pointless childish cruelty and what made it worse was she carried on doing it despite admitting it was wrong! Cathy was supposed to be the future, the way out of the cycle of abuse, neglect, and violence, but I hated her bullying Hareton over this. Cathy should have shown some compassion at discovering Hareton couldn’t read, by all means have her descend into violence whilst living at Wuthering Heights, but such a petty act just didn’t sit well with me considering what she was supposed to represent. I actually disliked this part of her behaviour so much that I hated the hopeful conclusion of the book resting on the prospect of a better future through Cathy marrying Hareton!

Then we get to Linton Heathcliff, the less said about him the better… He was a selfish, unbearable bastard, and I wish he’d died sooner. The nicest thing I can say about him is he was a victim of Heathcliff’s abuse and became rather pathetic towards the middle of his arc, however, he was so self absorbed in his own illness and frailty that I couldn’t feel sorry for him by the time he died (I may have even celebrated). He was the one character I hated without finding anything redeemable about him. I honestly don’t know what Cathy saw in him and would have been happy if he’d never existed, as I think everyone in the book would have been!

Overall, this book is phenomenal! It took my breath away with its atmosphere, and the characters will haunt me for a long time to come. I really wasn’t exaggerating when I said it has changed my life. It’s a stunning, brooding masterpiece and that I doubt will ever be beaten in my affections. A book doesn’t need to be palatable for me to enjoy it, nor do I need to like the characters to love them. Wuthering Heights is a perfect example of just such a book, it has captured both my mind and heart through its impassioned, visceral narrative and characters, whether they are used for good or ill. I have never read, and will never again experience a book like Wuthering Heights and for that I will always be in love with it (and Emily Bronte too… Emily, I take my bonnet off to you for having the guts to write this, as a woman, in the 1840s!)

*This is taken from my Goodreads review where usually only my friends see it so the tone is a bit different to what I usually write on here!

#books of 2020 #book review #reading #classic literature #victorian literature #emily bronte #wuthering heights #heathcliff #catherine earnshaw #edgar linton #long review #i really loved this book #it's my new favourite

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yourdeepestfathoms · 4 years

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if not by blood, then siblings by bloodshed (part two)

Part 1

Note: Kitty’s age has been changed to seven! I was writing her way younger than an eleven year old would act, so I changed it

TW: Blood and gore, violence, animal violence, death

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Undead Lullaby

Water.

Water was what the air in and around this part of the forest smelled like the most.

It was in the deep, earthen musk of the damp soil that lay beneath the lush, dew-soaked grass.

It was in the marshy fumes, sometimes sulfurous, sometimes sickly-sweet, of the patches of hidden swamp that lay in wait for unsuspecting feet.

It was in the carpets of fallen leaves that hid hollows between the tree roots, where pools could collect and play host to all things that crawled or squirmed through the wet.

It was in the very forest itself, coating wet leaves and bleeding from the dark, pulpy wood of the gnarled, old trees.

There was nothing dry about this place.

Fog, ghostly-grey and creeping on silent feet, drifted in low wisps over the crumbled and cold earth, painting the normally-stark outlines of the trees so pale that they faded into the sky rather than stood boldly against it. The mist had dissipated somewhat since anyone had last passed through this particular stretch of rarely-visited meadow, but not by much. Hours, though, or perhaps a day before, it had been as oppressive and thick as cold clam chowder.

Now it was slowly thinning out, listlessly lacking the eerie, almost lifelike malevolence with which it had pressed in upon the very soul before. There was a certain…uncertainty about the way it was hovering now, no longer pouring into every little hollow and alcove like milk over cereal. It was just there.

There, in a sort of in-between way. Lingering.

All was still, and- save for the rhythmic pitter-patter of falling rain- all was silent as well.

Except for herself, of course.

It was movement in the stillness that preceded the first disruption of the tranquility of the forest; the silk-thin web of drifting mist that hung in the air like lace slowly began to slide forward, rolling away from her feet like a translucent white carpet, perhaps in front of some ghostly noble attending an afterlife celebration in their name. Right from the raid the day before, her movement through this strange, still world, which her life had become, had felt alien and out of place, but it had never felt that way more than right now.

With each footstep, a narrow patch of soggy grass pressed down and sent a miniature pool of moisture bubbling up around the edges of her boots and in through invisible gaps in the leather, oozing into her already-saturated socks and settling in icy little pools in the dips where her toes went, setting the blisters on the skin alight with fresh pain. If her feet hadn’t already been numb from the wet and cold, she might have cared more. But everything from her toes to her feet and the soaked leather that clung stiffly to them was in no shape to feel anything but the dull warning stings of oncoming pins and needles.

Besides, Joan had other things on her mind right now.

Like how the old, rickety bow she had slung across her chest had its arrowheads tipped with red. And it wasn’t rust. (Could flint even rust?)

Like how the sharp, metallic tang of blood and bile and sweat was gushing off of her in waves and invading her nostrils with each breath. It was so overpowering that at times it made her want to choke.

Like how lifting her feet from the indents they made in the muddy undergrowth kept on getting harder and harder to do. Her legs felt heavier with each step and the little grassy pools made squelchy noises of protest, sucking hungrily at her feet each time they left the earth. Behind her in the grass, there was a long trail of tiny shoe-shaped lakes, like murky little grey-green cousins of the ones she had read about in books.

Like what had happened just fourteen hours before.

There was a clank-CLONK and a gentle patter as droplets of condensation came raining down from where they’d collected on the bars of the town gate. There was no real latch, so she just pushed it open. There had been one once, but it had rusted away under the perpetual wet.

…Or maybe it hadn’t.

The gate’s movement ground to a halt after a mere few inches, hindered by tufts of almost-oily grass which had been allowed to grow out of control around the edges of the compound for what had probably been years. They snagged on the metal almost as though they were alive, gripping its frame with the sort of desperation one normally only saw from a particularly needy child clinging to its mother’s arm while she was on her way to work.

A half-hearted hiss of frustration escaped her as the gate’s creaking cut off. She clenched sore and swollen fingers around the wet bars, feeling flakes of rust and ancient, now-colorless paint crumble away and stick to her fingertips, which the condensation in the air had turned pruny and pale pink, like anemic raisins. When further shoving only yielded that rubbery, elastic sound that wet wild grass sometimes got, she let out a puff of air and gave up for the moment, leaning in to rest her forehead against the cool metal as she slouched, peering through the bars at the army of houses lined up within. She was so close to a roof over her head, food, maybe even water, and a damn hunk of metal was standing in her way.

“Joan?”

Joan hadn’t even realized she was dozing until the voice snapped her back to awareness. She reared back slightly, shaking her head, then looks down at the girl holding her hand at her side.

She could tell Kitty was as tired as she was. Their legs were still sore from all the running they did the day before, the rest they got was more of a doze, and they had been walking since dawn.

At least it had been dry yesterday. And relatively warm. Summer had breathed its last breaths on the tragedy, and fall replaced its absence with quick chills and a drizzle that proved to be just as hellish as a full downpour. After walking for hours through autumn’s first wrath, the town that appeared in the distance was a blessing. Now they just had to find a way in and hope the villagers wouldn’t mind.

They’d have to squeeze their tired bodies through that narrow gap, Joan realized, and she just wasn’t ready to deal with that. Maybe in five seconds. Yes, five seconds sounded good. Five seconds was plenty of time. In five seconds, her aching legs would feel a little better, her blistered feet would stop crying in agony, and she’d stand tall, shove that gate wide open, and continue her trek with renewed determination.

But that was just wishful thinking. In five seconds, her legs continued to hurt and the gate still refused to open.

“We’ll have to squeeze through,” Joan finally said. “Think you can fit through there, Kit?”

Kitty nodded and let go of Joan’s hand.

They both suddenly felt it- the cold, horrifying feeling of letting go of one another. It took everything in Kitty to not immediately cling back to Joan, but she gathered up enough courage to slip through the small opening of the gate.

“Good girl,” Joan smiled in relief.

“Your turn!” Kitty said, smiling slightly. “You can do it!”

Joan took a deep breath and pressed her body through the gap. She gets one half to the other side, then got stuck.

Icy cold fear shot through her veins, drenching her insides like a thick, dark oil spill. She knew she shouldn’t have eaten some of that deer yesterday- now she’s going to be stuck in between this gate forever.

“Joan?”

Two small hands closed around hers, squeezing tightly.

“Joan, it’s okay. You’re almost there!”

Joan screwed her eyes shut and let out a small, choked sob. She doesn’t think she’s crying actual tears, but her chest aches like she is.

“Come on, Joey. I believe in you! I’ll help you!”

There was a tug on her hand. She pushes with her foot that was still outside and inches forward, no longer wedged completely between the gates, but then a sharp pain streaks across the back of her shoulder.

“Stop! Stop!” She cried as the sharpness pressing deeper into her skin.

“You’re almost through, Joey!”

Joan struggled, deepening the pain, but manages to wiggle out to the other side. She staggered forward, nearly falling face-first into the weathered stone pavement, but manages to catch herself. She winces, feeling warmth spread across the back of her shoulder.

“You did it!” Kitty grapples back onto her hand, smiling. “I told you you could do it! I’m so proud of you!”

Joan smiles wearily at her.

“Thanks,” She said.

The two looked forward, examining the town now set before them.

The mist and drizzle may have made it hard to see, but the streets were definitely empty. Wet wood wafted heavily in the thick air from the splintering, old houses packed tightly together along the roads and alleyways. Flies buzzed wildly around rotting food, long-abandoned by their merchants.

What happened here?

Kitty and Joan walked quietly through the town, getting enough context clues to know that something wasn’t quite right. Crumbled, cracked stone pavement crunched beneath their feet; the crackle of the gravel seemed to be the loudest sound in the world on the road, but it was much better than the sloshing stew of mud out in the forest by a mile.

“There’s nothing here,” Joan muttered.

“Do we leave?” Kitty asked.

“I...I don’t...know...”

The reply came out slow as Joan’s body suddenly became heavy. She stumbled, becoming aware of a sharp sensation in her neck. The ground rushes up to meet her as everything around her began to bleed together.

The last thing she saw was Kitty’s horrified face.

————

To say that she was dreaming would be inaccurate.

Being knocked out wasn't like being asleep, even if it resulted in more or less the same comatose state.

The dark and restless thoughts that ran through her head like little mice skittering up and over and in and out of the gaps in a rock wall were not dreams so much as memories. Or memories of memories. Or maybe they weren't memories at all, and her brain just thought they were. The images flickered across the inside of her eyelids so quickly that she could hardly make sense of them before they were gone, like flipping through the pages of a book. All of it was accompanied by a strange, twisting sensation like her whole body was twined around a fast clock, inching round and round in tiny little circles.

If she'd been awake, the feeling would have made her nauseous.

But she wasn't awake, so all it did was add further confusion to the mess of images and muffled sounds that were streaming through her brain like ancient text on a stone wall.

Then, suddenly, she wasn’t out.

The mismatched dream of patchwork, out-of-order memories dissolved and Joan was suddenly jarringly awake and aware of several things all at once: that she was lying on her back on something soft and lumpy and scratchy, that her nostrils were so plugged that she'd have had more of a chance of inhaling through her ears than through her nose, that every inch of her legs ached profoundly, and that she was very, very cold, to name a few.

But more than anything else, she was aware that something hard and slightly sharp was digging into the pouchy, tender flesh on stomach and chest. It hurt.

“...Hnnnnnnhg. H...hel...help....nnnnnn!”

Making her lips form words was distinctly harder in real life than it had been in a dream. There was a whole process to it. First she had to make them form the letter-shapes, and then she had to somehow summon the energy to make her vocal cords work, and all in the scant amount of time she had before her lips forgot what they were doing and went back to being useless and rubbery again.

The mumbled pleas went unnoticed.

Her head had mysteriously gotten heavier since the last time she’d paid any attention to it and it now weighed approximately as much as a large boulder.

It wouldn't move, no matter what she did to it. She tried lifting it, but in addition to being a boulder now, it was also apparently magnetically attached to whatever she was laying on. She tried again to move it by arching and rolling her shoulders, but all that did was send a lightning bolt of agony up and down her spine and she crumpled down with a whimper.

It's a struggle to breathe; the weight that lies on top of her is crushing her. When she tries to squirm, the sharp, hard thing digs further into her ribs. Pain pulses behind her eyes. Her neck really hurts. There's the salt tang of blood on her lips.

She forces her eyes open. Pale light stabs at her. Weak sunlight behind an unbreakable wall of grey clouds. It glints off the rings of the mail shirt worn by the dead body she lies on, and the one that lies atop her. There's a face next to hers, bloodless, mouth slack. Its helm is split in two.

The weight above her is another corpse. When her limbs stop tingling, she heaves at it with rising panic and it rolls aside like a sack of grain and now she can breathe.

As she’s gasping, someone laughs, a guttural bark, and a figure looms over her. Long pale hair, tattered furs and leather and the gleam of exposed muscle.

“Don’t squirm around too much, dear,” The skinned old woman said, “You might black out again. I may have put a little too much poison on that dart.” She laughs again, then looks Joan over, “My, your eyes went wide. Don’t worry, it’s not the kind of poison you’re thinking about. It just slows your heartbeat so the guards think you’re dead.”

Joan swallows hard. Her throat is dry and scratchy. Her tongue feels a little swollen, like it had been stung by a bee.

“Come on- get up. You must be thirsty.”

Despite her age, the old woman pulled Joan to her feet effortlessly. Her hands were unnaturally smooth.

Now that her vision was cleared up, Joan was able to see that she was in a moderately sized pit filled with dead bodies of varying stages of decay. Off to the side, there was a wooden door, which she was taken into. Inside, a bunker filled with cats and lit by a fireplace was hidden.

“Here,” The old woman handed Joan a clay cup full of water. “Drink. Slowly.”

Joan obeys and drank. The water tasted amazing to her dried mouth, and she couldn’t help but gulp it all down greedily.

“Where-” She panted for a moment, “Where’s Kitty?”

“Kitty?” The old woman blinked, “You mean that little girl? She saw me before I could shoot her. Ran off into the village.”

Fear poured through Joan, just like when she had gotten stuck at the gate, but somehow worse.

Was Kitty okay? Was she alive? These questions viciously gnawed away at Joan’s mind.

“Why did you even shoot me?” Joan asked.

“You really don’t know, do you?” The old woman said, “Although, you did just waltz into this town like you owned the place. So I’m not surprised.” She sighed, “There’s a plague going around. Viral illness. If all the bodies in that pit didn’t say anything.”

“A plague?”

“Yes, a plague. Spread by rats and something people are calling ‘Hellhounds’. Vicious dogs with deadly bites.“

Joan‘s mind flashes back to the dog at the stables.

“People are losing their minds over it. That’s why this place is under such heavy lockdown. Everyone is scared to come out of their houses and anyone caught coming in from the outside aren’t exactly welcomed with open arms.”

“What...what about you?” Joan asked.

“I had all the infected flesh stripped off of me.” The woman woman answer openly, “I hide down here, now. Don’t worry if you think I’m lonely. I have the cats to keep me company.” She gestures to the several felines roaming about the bunker, “They’re special, you see. Not your normal cats. They’re good at detecting signs of the plague. Especially the dogs. Strong, too. If you’re thinking about going back out there, you should take one.”

“I have to. I have to find Kitty.”

The old woman hums. She looks around, deciding on a sphinx with grey spots.

“Take him.” She said, waving her hand. The cat jumps onto the table and sits in front of Joan. His eyes are dark amber. “His name is Mercy.”

Joan nodded silently. She watched the cat leap with his strong, springy legs and perch on her shoulder.

“Go on.” The old woman said, “I suggest checking the church for your friend.”

“I will. Thank you.”

The old woman hums again.

“One more thing. Take that.”

————

Like the old woman said, Joan found Kitty at the church. Mercy led her up to one of the window sills so she could peek in, and she watched as several villagers through stones at Kitty, laughing at the way she tried to evade them like she was a little mouse. The sight made Joan’s blood boil in her veins.

The crashing of glass interrupted the horrible game. Joan leapt down from the window- landing from such a height sent pain rattling up her already-sore legs, but she ignored it.

“Fuck, she’s alive!” One man yelled.

“Did the disease reanimate her?” Another shouted.

“I thought she was dead!” A third hollered.

“Shit, she has a weapon!” One cried.

“THAT’S RIGHT!” Joan screeched as pandemonium broke out in the church, “RUN, YOU BASTARDS!!”

The villagers were all running in different directions, desperate to get away from the “infected girl”. A few actually attempt to attack her, which she moves a bit too slowly to evade. Her throat was about to get cut wide open when a hiss came from up above. There’s a flash of pink and grey; the man is howling in agony- Mercy has his claws driven deep into his eyes.

Joan watches as he scratches and scratches and scratches until one socket rips down in a large, bloody trench, and the other eyeball gets ripped right out, dangling from the string of flesh like the ball of a child’s paddle toy.

Joan stares, slightly stunned, before seeing a man charging at her out of the corner of her eye. His knife gleams in the torchlight. Joan lifts her axe and drives it into the side of his head.

The man’s skull shatters upon impact. Blood spurts into the open air. He stumbles then falls. Joan heaves the axe back down, carving a deep gash in his face. As she does so, words bubble up.

“NEVER—” There’s a horrible crack and crunch of bones. “EVER—” Brain matter, squished skin, and other fluids squelch wetly. “TOUCH—” The flesh splits open wide; muscle and tendon fray so easily. “HER—” Blood sprays out onto Joan’s face. “AGAIN!!!”

With one last strike, the man’s head, caved in and gored beyond belief, breaks open in two. The image of a melon being cut comes to Joan’s mind. Except melons don’t usually have a mutilated, mushed brain inside of their outer layer.

Joan’s lungs burned from exertion. She took deep, heavy breaths and raised one arm to use her sleeve to wipe away the sweat and blood dotting her face. The red fluid smears across her skin, but she scrubs it away as best as she can.

The axe wedged in a chunk of skull and brain matter squelches loudly when Joan pulls it free. It feels secure in her hand- normal. The weight of it is...comforting.

Mercy trots over. His paws and face are coated with blood. Joan remembers back to what that old woman said about the cats being different. When she saw the eviscerated body of an armed woman a few feet away, she believed the skinned lady about her statement- there’s no way a regular cat could spill someone’s guts like that.

Mercy jumps onto Joan’s shoulder. She uses her other, slightly cleaner sleeve to wipe off his feet and face. While she’s doing so, exactly why she just caved in someone’s skull came back to her.

“J-Joan?”

Joan whirled around. Mercy had to cling to her shoulder with his claws so he wouldn’t go flying off.

Kitty was huddled under a pew, shivering with tears streaming down her cheeks. Joan runs to her and immediately pulls her into a tight embrace.

“Oh, Kitty...” She whispers, holding the girl tightly. “I was so worried about you... Are you okay? Did they hurt you?”

“Th-they threw rocks at me,” Kitty whimpered, “C-called me a witch! I’m not a witch...”

“You’re not.” Joan said, “Those bastards don’t know what they’re talking about.”

“Language,” Kitty squeaked.

“Sorry.” Joan said. She squeezed Kitty again. “It’s okay, now. I’m here. I’m right here.”

Kitty buried her face in her shoulder and Joan rocks her soothingly. The younger girl cries for a few minutes, but eventually calms down. Joan gently strokes her hair.

“Feeling a little better?” Joan asked.

“Mhm...” Kitty nodded. She looked up at Mercy, who was watching her with big eyes. “Oh! A kitty!” She giggles, “Like me!”

“That’s right,” Joan chuckles. She picks up Mercy and sets him in Kitty’s arms. “His name is Mercy! He’s gonna be coming with us.”

“Mercy,” Kitty repeated. She giggles, nuzzling her nose into the cat’s neck. “He’s warm!”

Joan smiled and stood up, taking one of Kitty’s hands. She slips her axe into her belt and the two began walking out from the church’s back entrance.

“Joan?”

“Yeah?”

“When are we going to see mummy again?”

Joan faltered in her step for a moment, then continued her normal stride. The image of Jane with an arrow through her throat flashed through her mind, but she shoved it away.

“Soon.” Joan finally answered. “Soon...”

“Okay.” Kitty nods. “Where are we going?”

“To...Catherine of Aragon.”

“Oh! She’s nice!” Kitty smiled. “She always wears pretty gold dresses. I think that’s her favorite color.” She pauses. “What’s your favorite color, Joey?”

“My favorite color?” Joan thought for a moment. “Light blue is pretty. So is grey. What’s yours?”

“Pink!” Kitty said proudly.

“Oooh, good pick,” Joan smiled down at the little girl.

“I know!” Kitty said, then gasped, which made Joan’s hand fly to her axe. “Joey! Joey, look! Flowers!”

Kitty ran forward, letting go of Joan’s hand. She set Mercy down in front of a large patch of flowers growing in the church garden, then started picking some for herself. Joan walked over, slightly less tense.

“Come here, come here!” Kitty waved her over excitedly and Joan crouched down next to her. “Look.”

Kitty began weaving several flowers together in elaborate strands until they formed a beautiful little crown. She reaches up and sets it on Joan’s head, taking a moment to fix her unruly hair, then stepped back, admiring her handiwork.

“There!” She beamed, “Perfect!”

Joan couldn’t help the blush that dusted her cheeks. She raised a hand and gently touched the flower crown as if it were the most precious thing to ever exist (and it very well may have been).

“Thank you,” She whispered.

“It’s for protection.” Kitty states.

Joan nodded, smiling softly.

“Thank you, Kit. Really.”

Kitty grins widely. She quickly clings back to Joan’s hand, nuzzling her head against her arm. Mercy leaps up onto Joan’s shoulder.

“Onward!” Kitty suddenly cried, “Catherine of Aragon, prepare for Princess Kitty and her trusty bodyguard Joan: lord of the flowers!”

Joan giggled. “Don’t forget our fierce knight, Sir Mercy!”

Mercy meows.

“Oh, of course! Of course! Princess Kitty, Joan: lord of the flowers, and Sir Mercy!”

“The most powerful band of warriors to ever grace England!”

“The most fearsome!”

“The most amazing!”

Mercy warbles a meow.

Joan and Kitty burst into fits of laughter.

(It’s strange, Joan thinks, how she’s able to laugh and play pretend like this after what happened in the past two days. After she murdered someone.)

(She likes laughing and playing pretend with Kitty.)

(She likes being Joan: lord of the flowers.)

“That Catherine woman isn’t gonna know what hit her.”

#siblings by bloodshed #tiny kat au #six the musical fanfiction #six the musical fanfic #six the musical #six fanfic #six fanfiction #six fic #katherine howard #joan on the keys #tw: blood #tw: gore #tw: animal violence #tw: violence #tw: death

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keichanz · 5 years

Text

Another Day in Hell

*in a horrible flirty voice* so...ya like zombies

I don’t know if there will be a part 2. i just got the sudden inspiration at work yesterday and i just had to write it. i blame @clearwillow and @bearpluscat for their horror red riding hood au that i am already hopelessly addicted to lol idk why but that one pic of woodcutter Inu inspired me and i was like “shit i wanna write him being all badass and killing monsters” and then suddenly this happened.

whoops. #sorrynotsorry

don’t worry, i’m still working on Move Your Body and the next part will be posted soon. YRM is still in the works as well. this was just something i had to get out of my brain because i really liked the idea. like i said idk if i’ll continue it but there’s definitely potential so. *shrug* we’ll see, i guess.

please note: the title is tentative; i’m not sure if i like it but i can’t think of anything else at the moment so please be aware that it might change in the future. feel free to give suggestions. also i wrote this entire thing in a single day and it’s unedited.

fun fact: i hate zombies. i loathe them. they freak me the fuck out and the nightmare i had about them once is entirely to blame.

anyway, enjoy. :).

Read on AO3

Ch. 1 || Ch. 2 || Ch. 3

You know that phrase, “Just another day in paradise?”

Well, the same thing could be said now for one Kagome Higurashi. There was just one small difference, however, because Kagome sure as shit wouldn’t call this paradise.

The undead and monsters both of the bestial and human variety wandered the streets looking for their next kill. To trust blindly could very well mean your death so it’s easier to not trust anybody at all even when they claim all they want to do is help. The smartest thing to do was to look out for number one, question everything, and always, always watch your back. Evil lurked around every corner, hid in every brush, and nowhere was safe anymore.

No, definitely not paradise. Because this was just another typical day in goddamn hell.

Careening through the desolated streets, dodging rotting trash, abandoned cars, half-eaten carcasses, and dead bodies, a lone figure bit back a desperate sob as she looked over her shoulder with wide, terrified eyes. Covered in blood, some of it hers, some of it not, pale, and shaking, Kagome looked for a place to hide, her exhausted body starting to slow down from all the sleepless nights and lack of proper nourishment. She was cold, hungry, in pain, and she knew she wouldn’t be able to go on for much further.

She could hear them behind her now, snarling, groaning, growling and the sounds forced her to keep moving as tears ran unchecked down her face. She was being tracked, hunted by more than just the rotting undead, remembering with a terrified whimper the manic, inhuman eyes glittering malevolently down at her and the flash of cold, bloody steel as the knife plunged for her neck. She’d narrowly escaped with her life, fleeing from the crazed man she’d been stupid enough to trust and now he was after her and she knew he wasn’t going to rest until she was dead. There had been a loud bang followed by searing, burning pain in her left shoulder but she’d forced herself to ignore it, gritting her teeth and not stopping.

It was while she was escaping that she’d grabbed the attention of the undead currently giving pursuit, relentless, driven mad with hunger, thoughtless and determined and unstoppable.

Desperate, knowing that screaming for help would be useless, Kagome dove for one of the abandoned shops lining the streets, hands yanking at the door but of course of course it was locked. She let loose a sob and sparing a quick look over her shoulder with wide, frightened brown eyes, Kagome darted into the dark alley beside the shop, hoping for another way in, another doorway, a broken window, anything.

What she found instead was a heap of scrap metal leaning against the wall and knowing she was out of time, without hesitation squirmed her way behind it, ignoring the cuts she got from the sharp edges as she crouched down low and held her breath, shaking, eyes squeezed tightly shut, praying the monsters would keep on going.

Mercifully they did and Kagome withheld a sob of relief, clamping her hands over her mouth as she took a moment to just breathe. She didn’t stay long though, because lingering in any place for too long was never a good idea. So not quite recovered but left without a choice, Kagome slipped from behind her cover and carefully peeked out from the alley—

Only to come face to face with another monster, amber eyes cold and piercing, the huge sword in his hand dripping with fresh blood, and Kagome didn’t give herself time to think.

Emitting a short shriek she ran, thinking that the undead must have drawn his attention and he’d come out of his bloody hidey-hole to investigate, no doubt looking for his next victim. She heard him curse, heard his hoarse shout for her to come back but of course she ignored him, pumping her legs, breathing hard, sobbing when she detected his heavy footsteps behind her.

And really she should have realized that with the racket they were making it would once more attract unwanted attention so when she spotted the same horde of rotting bodies stumbling their way toward her, snarling and falling over themselves in their haste, Kagome really shouldn’t have been surprised.

She stopped short, trapped, the undead before her, the murdering swordsman behind her, and with a desperate sound she dove to the right, toward a sedan that miraculously still had its windows intact. She locked herself inside even though she knew it was fruitless, it wasn’t going to do her a bit of good and cowering on the floor, curled into a ball with her arms wrapped around her head, she waited.

What she heard instead of the car door being ripped off its hinges was a loud curse, excited sounds of the undead as they targeted their next meal, and then vague sounds of a fight. Grunting, snarling, low growls and wet squelching sounds were all she could hear for the next few minutes and even when all went silent she didn’t dare move, shaking, eyes shut tight, jaw clenched, waiting.

Waiting. Waiting.

A knock on the car window had her jumping in alarm but she shook her head, hunching in on herself. “Go away!” she screamed, her breath hitching in her throat, heart hammering wildly in her chest.

She heard a growl and more insistent knocking--or more like banging, really. “Open up, you wanna fuckin’ die in there?”

“Fuck off!”

With a screech, Kagome moved, unlocking the door and then shoving it open so hard the killer on the other side grunted and stumbled back from the force. She didn’t revel in the brief victory and instead made another run for it, sobbing as she ran away as fast as she could, demanding her tired body to keep moving, dammit.

Please please please please plea—

She screamed when a familiar figure suddenly dropped in front of her and Kagome made the horrifying realization that the man wasn’t human. She looked at him now with wide eyes, spotting the dog ears on his head, the sharp talons tipping each finger, and the fangs that were clearly displayed in a dangerous and...annoyed? snarl.

“Dammit bitch, I’m trying to—”

“No!” Kagome shrieked and swung her fist, landing a blow to his stomach, but the guy hardly even flinched. Tears running down her face, Kagome did the only thing she could, punching him with all that she had, kicking his legs but when a large hand suddenly clamped down on her wrist in a vice like grip, Kagome wailed.

“Wench! Fucking listen to me, I’m not gonna—!”

“Please,” Kagome begged, yanking fruitlessly at her hand, shaking her head while her free hand banging uselessly against his chest. “Please, let me go, I don’t wanna die, I don’t—”

“Fuck’s sake, woman, you’re—”

He suddenly cut off and Kagome went limp, knowing this was it, she was going to die, and there wasn’t a damn thing she could do. She slumped against him, waiting for the inevitable to happen, wondering if he’d use that huge sword or the claws stained with blood.

She heard a low, thundering growl, felt it in the hard chest she lay against, and she tensed. But then he cursed - again - and muttered, “Fuck it, we don’t have time for this,” and she frowned. What—?

A strong arm wrapped around her waist and Kagome was abruptly lifted off her feet and promptly thrown over a broad shoulder. She gasped, eyes going wide and instinctively she fisted the material of his shirt at his back.

“What are you doing?!” she screeched. “Let me—!”

“Shut up,” he bit out as he started stalking back toward the shop where she’d tried to take shelter earlier. “Do you wanna alert every fucking undead asshole—fuck, you already did. Dammit.”

Before Kagome could utter another word, she was hauled back down, her would-be executioner darted into a familiar alley and he was crushing her against him, pressing her face into his chest to prevent any sounds from escaping as his arm went around her waist, a steel band.

“Don’t. Fucking. Move,” he hissed in her ear and Kagome stiffened, eyes wide as another hoard of undead stumbled down the street, perilously close to their hiding spot. She couldn’t see them but she could hear them, groaning as they dragged themselves along the blood-stained pavement, searching for flesh, creepy clicking and grunting noises echoing as they communicated with each other.

A small eternity passed as they waited for the undead to pass them by, frozen against the wall, unwilling to move even after the noises had faded away to silence. Another five minutes passed before the man dared to move, his grip loosening slightly as he sniffed the air a few times and grunted.

“They’re gone,” he rumbled and without warning swept her up into his arms. Amber eyes collided with dark brown and Kagome gasped at the intensity in them, for some reason feeling her face heat in a blush. “Keep your mouth shut, wench. I fucking mean it.”

Before she could respond - like she had even been able to anyway - he scowled and then abruptly launched them into the air. She bit her lip to stifle her startled cry and instead clung to him, her thoughts a jumbled mess, wondering for the first time if this man meant to kill her or save her. What was happening?

The guy was fast, not taking any chances in being detected by undead or other as he darted across the rooftop he landed on and swiftly dropped into an opening in the roof–a door, she realized somewhat dazedly.

It was dark inside but the storefront windows provided a little light as he gruffly instructed her to close the door using a crude pulley system he’d no doubt manufactured himself. Wordlessly she did, a little impressed, and then afterward he was maneuvering through the darkness of the store, being cautious and ducking behind shelves nearly picked clean of all their merchandise.

Kagome was quiet, biting her lip as she foolishly allowed this stranger to carry her into the depths of the store, pushing through the doors marked “Employees Only” into the storage room. He bypassed pallets of shrink-wrapped food and other supplies and hunger gnawed at Kagome’s stomach, but she ignored it, fearing that if she spoke up the man would react negatively after he’d told her plainly to keep her mouth shut.

She had no idea if he was friend or foe but figured it was out of her hands now either way so she did as she was told, biting her lip to quell any questions as he made a sharp turn toward the back and headed for yet another trapdoor-looking opening in the floor.

Kagome blinked. Stores had basements?

Evidently this one did, she mused as the man dropped down and this time Kagome shut the door without prompting, spotting the simple chain drilled into the underside and tugging until it was sealed above them. Pitch black surrounded her and she could see nothing. It was cold and smelled a bit like mildew but still she said nothing as he moved forward, the darkness hardly a hindrance to him and Kagome secretly marveled at that fact.

He suddenly stopped and then Kagome was blinking against the harsh glare of bright florescent lights as he flipped them on. After her vision cleared, Kagome took in her surroundings, her eyebrows rising and her mouth parting slightly in wonder.

She hadn’t really known what to expect, but it certainly hadn’t been an efficient and clean looking hideaway. Amidst the hot water tank, the plumbing system snaking across the ceiling, and a large metal box that looked to be some sort of electrical system, he had made himself a little home, complete with a bed compiled of stacked wooden pallets and a thick mattress with clean blankets and pillows.

She spotted a two-way radio on a sturdy looking table with three chairs surrounding it, a bookshelf filled with non-perishable food, and a freezer chest beside it that she suspected was filled with frozen meats and meals. There was an old television but she doubted it worked, a beat-up washing machine that acted as a cooler from what she could see, and a very old, puke-green armchair that had seen better days. A mini fridge sat against the wall with a timeworn microwave on top and beside that what appeared to be one of those old fashioned water pumps protruded from the wall, situated over a drain in the cement floor.

Kagome was impressed, and okay, yeah, a little envious. It was safe, secret, and protected, hidden from the outside world. It was a slice of paradise in a world gone to hell, a safe haven from death and disease with enough food and supplies to last for a very along time.

The man grunted, disrupting her thoughts, and crossed the floor to set her carefully down on the bed.

“Don’t move,” he rumbled her eyes followed him as he wandered over to a large chest she hadn’t noticed before, opened it up to retrieve a small bin, and came back over. He set the translucent green container beside her and Kagome received her second surprise to find it filled with various medical supplies.

Was he...going to treat her injuries? What kind of serial killer was this guy?

Or maybe...maybe he wasn’t one?

Biting her lip, Kagome refused to get her hopes up, still too frightened and wary to say anything and watched as he walked back with a cooking pot filled with water before dragging a chair in front of her, sitting down and carefully setting the water on the floor at his feet.

Wordlessly he reached for her arm and Kagome instinctively flinched back, a sound of fright echoing in her throat as her wide eyes stared at his blood covered hands. He paused, stared hard at her face for a moment with a deep frown, before taking the rag he’d gotten from somewhere, dipping it in the water and wiping off the dried blood on his claws and hands.

Kagome blinked, not expecting that.

He continued to silently clean his hands the best he could, the rag becoming a ruddy brown color and the water turning a light pink.

“You got a name?” he asked out of the blue and frowned when she jumped. He paused and studied her quietly, eyes searching the dark, terrified depths that gazed back at him.

“Relax,” he murmured. “I ain’t gonna hurt ya.”

Kagome’s lips pressed into a thin line and she ducked her head.

He rolled his eyes. “If I wanted you dead, wench, don’t you think I woulda already done it? Clearly you know what I am, and yet I still saved your ass from becoming zombie food twice now. You can trust me.”

She still looked uncertain, worrying her bottom lip and avoiding his gaze and he sighed. He could understand her hesitance; it was foolish to trust so blindly during these trying times, and he suspected she might have already made that mistake once which explained her wariness now. Still, he needed to treat those cuts and that nasty looking gash on her temple. Poor girl looked like she’d been through hell, and he was worried she might either pass out from sheer exhaustion or fever if any of her injuries were infected.

How the hell did he get her to trust him, though?

Racking a hand through his short hair, Inuyasha blew out his cheeks in another sigh and studied her, eyebrows dipped into a deep frown. His ear flicked, and then with slow movements, making sure she saw what he was doing, he dropped his hand to the Glock holstered at his hip and pulled it out. He’d gotten it from the dead body of a cop a week or so before and it was more for backup than anything since Tessaiga was his favored method of destruction.

Predictably she tensed, the color leeching from her face at an alarming rate but before she could bolt, Inuyasha flipped it around and held it out to her, the butt facing her.

She froze and stared wide-eyed at the firearm being offered to her for a long minute before lifting her dark eyes up to his, her shock evident. Inuyasha said nothing, silently waiting, his gaze steady and expression carefully blank.

Her eyes kept darting between him and the gun but Inuyasha remained patient, waiting for her to take the offered protection he knew would provide at least a little reassurance. Sure enough a moment later she slowly wrapped her fingers around the butt and drew the weapon into her lap, finger poised on the trigger while still avoiding his gaze, her face turning a light shade of red.

He fought a grin. It wasn’t loaded; he’d used up the last bullet just earlier that day when Tessaiga had been knocked out of his hand, but she didn’t need to know that. Then as an extra precaution, still keeping his movements slow, he jerked Tessaiga from the belt loop of his opposite hip and lowered it to the floor before lightly kicking it away, out of his reach. She relaxed visibly after that, the tension leaving her shoulders and she released a shaky breath.

Gratified, Inuyasha steeled himself and carefully reached for her arm again. She tensed, he paused, and waited a few seconds before trying again. She let him grab her arm this time and with measured movements, after wetting the rag again, he carefully began washing her skin of blood, both dried and flesh. He was glad to see that it looked worse than it really was, most of the cuts superficial and already clotting.

“My name’s Inuyasha Taisho,” he told her as he worked, voice low. “I’m thirty-one and I own the dojo across town, Sword and Shield.”

Surprise flickered across Kagome’s face. She recognized that name; she passed it every day on her morning commute to work. Or at least she used to.

Her eyes met his and Inuyasha’s lips twitched, his expression softening. “I’m a half-demon,” he said and her lack of surprise suggested she’d already guessed that. “But I’ve never killed another human before.”

Inuyasha paused, and then grimaced before amending, ”Uh, that hasn’t tried to kill me first.”

Her lips twitched slightly and she nodded. She understood that.

Relieved, Inuyasha worked on cleaning up her cuts and then treating them with antiseptic and bandages, muttering a soft apology when she winced as he doused the deeper ones. He did the same with her other arm, carefully cleaned and treated the gash at her temple – being sure to keep his claws away from her soft skin – and sat back.

“…Kagome.”

Inuyasha paused in studying his handiwork to flick his gaze to hers, giving her his undivided attention.

She blushed, gave him a trembling smile, and repeated softly, “Kagome Higurashi. Twenty-nine. Office worker.”

Inuyasha gave her an easy grin and he nodded once, eyes locked on hers, the vulnerability and lingering fright still clear as day. “Kagome,” he echoed, sliding his hand down her arm to grasp her hand and squeeze. “Thanks for trusting me.”

“Don’t make me regret it, please,” she whispered and relinquished the Glock back into his grasp.

“You’re safe here,” he rumbled and swiftly holstered the firearm. “I promise.”

Then she gave him her first genuine smile and something in his chest tightened as his breath caught in his throat.

Well. Fuck.

Clearing his throat and shaking his head, Inuyasha stood and went to the washer-turned-cooler filled with melting ice to get a cold bottle of water.

“When’s the last time you’ve eaten anything? Or slept?” he asked, frowning down into the well of the washer. He’d have to get more ice soon.

When he didn’t receive an answer, he looked over to find Kagome sheepishly avoiding his gaze, blushing and biting down on her lip. That didn’t exactly look encouraging.

“Um…like, three days?” she admitted with a shrug, and then immediately gasped and winced as hot pain flared in her shoulder.

Inuyasha’s frown deepened. “What’s wrong?”

“Shoulder,” she murmured, hissing through her teeth as she attempted to raise her left arm, but couldn’t move it without stabbing pain shooting down to the very tips of her fingers. She bit her lip to stifle her cry of pain.

Instantly Inuyasha was there, sitting beside her and gently nudging her to twist around so he could take a look. What he found had him sucking in a sharp breath and his eyes to go very wide.

“What?” Kagome pressed, trying to crane her neck around to see without jarring her shoulder too much. She failed. “What is it?”

“What the fuck,” Inuyasha growled, ears pinning into his hair. “Kagome, you’ve been shot.”

Kagome blanched. “W-what?” she squeaked, the disbelief clear in her voice.

“That’s a fucking bullet hole,” he went on and started lifting her shirt to get a better look at it. “Christ, wench, who the hell did you piss off to get them to shoot at you?”

Kagome was barely aware of him tugging her shirt up and over her shoulder as she suddenly recalled with vivid clarity a loud bang followed shortly by burning agony exploding in her left shoulder as she’d sought to escape the murderer she’d foolishly trusted.

“Oh,” she breathed, feeling lightheaded and slightly nauseous. “That’s what that was.”

“What do you mean that’s what—dammit, wench! Why didn’t you fucking tell me about this?!”

Growling, Inuyasha ended up slicing her shirt to get it off without moving her shoulder; it was already torn and bloody anyway so he didn’t think she’d mind. With hard amber eyes, Inuyasha took in the neat little dime-size hole on the back of her left shoulder. Oozing fresh blood in a steady trickle, the edges were red and inflamed and Inuyasha knew the bullet was still lodged inside. There wasn’t an exit wound on the other side of her shoulder and he could already smell the beginnings of infection from the foreign material embedded in the tissue. Shit.

He needed to get it out, quickly, before the infection set in and caused damage that he did not have the required medication for. He did, however, have the tools for it; he’d been shot at more than once, which was how he recognized the wound for what it was, so at least she’d have the comfort of knowing that he had experience with this sort of thing. Unfortunately he did not have any numbing agents so this was not going to be fun for her. Since he’d only ever done it to himself, figuring he’d never have to perform the “procedure” on a human, he’d never bothered to look for some since he could handle the pain.

Kagome, though? God, this was going to be a bitch for her and he hated himself for what he was about to put her through.

Swearing under his breath, Inuyasha left Kagome’s side to get clean water, a fresh roll of gauze, a mini stitches tool kit, and even though infection had already started to set in, he still grabbed the antibiotic ointment to prevent it from getting any worse. She seemed to be in a bit of shock, sitting there staring dazedly at the air in front of her and either unaware that she was topless with her white cotton bra revealed to him, or she didn’t even care. He suspected it was the former and he muttered another curse, grabbing a handful of rags he’d made from random articles of clothing before returning to where she sat.

Inuyasha set what he needed on the chair and hesitated briefly before crouching before her, hands resting lightly on her knees. Her face was pale and tightened from pain, however her eyes were surprisingly clear as she stared down at him. She worried her bottom lip, sighed, and the fleeting look that crossed her face suggested she knew what he was going to say next.

“I wish I didn’t have to say this,” he began, the regret on his face and in his voice genuine. “But I need to get it out. And I’m sure you already know, but it’s not gonna be fun. I don’t have any numbing solution, Kagome. I ain’t gonna lie to you, it’s gonna hurt like a bitch and I’m gonna need you to stay as still as possible for me so I don’t slip and accidentally cause more damage. Alright?”

If possible Kagome paled even more and she grimaced, but gave a curt nod, setting her jaw in determination and sucking in a steadying breath. She could do this.

He had to smile at her bravery. “If it makes you feel any better, I’ve done this before so I know what I’m doing. I’ll try to be quick.”

Kagome nodded again and that time offered a trembling but genuine smile. It made his heart hurt so swallowing the lump in his throat, Inuyasha stood and sank on the bed, kicking up a leg to stretch out beside her and urging her to turn so her back faced his chest and nestled comfortably between his legs. She kept her arm to her chest while doing as she was bade, shifting until both of her legs were stretching out before her and unable to hide the wince of pain when her pain flared briefly in her shoulder.

His ears flattened and clenching his jaw, Inuyasha got to work cleaning the surrounding area of dried blood and disinfecting it with some rubbing alcohol. Predictably she hissed and arched her back at the sting, instinctively trying to escape it as her hand reached down and fisted in his jeans.

“Okay?” he murmured, setting aside the antiseptic before wrapping an arm around her waist and brushing his fingers over her shoulder, readying to dig out the bullet.

Breathing deep, Kagome closed her eyes and jerked her head. “Yes,” she breathed and couldn’t stop the way her body tensed, preparing for the pain she knew was coming. “I’ll be fine. Just—get it over with. Please.”

Fuck, but he wished he didn’t have to.

“On the count of three,” he rumbled, swallowing thickly as he poised his claws above the wound. “One, two...”

Stifling the whine that welled in his throat, Inuyasha plunged his fingers into the open wound and Kagome screamed.

Burning, searing, agonizing pain exploded in her shoulder and ricocheted down her arm, sending every single nerve on fire and compressing the air in her lungs until she was gasping for breath. Tears pricked her eyes and Kagome tried very hard not to withe in agony, sobs catching in her throat as she girt her teeth and dug her fingers into his legs beside her, her body shaking, her stomach rolling, and her chest feeling impossibly tight.

Behind her Inuyasha wasn’t fairing much better, jaw clenched hard as he rooted around for the bullet and tried to pinch it between his claws, but the blood made that difficult. Switching tactics he tried to scoop it out instead, tightening his arm around her waist as she started to jerk and twist against him and he knew it was an unconscious bid to escape the pain.

“I know, baby, I know,” he soothed her as she cried, wanting nothing more than to heed her pleas for him to stop but knowing he couldn’t until the damned bullet was out. “You’re doing great, Kagome, just a little more, hold on for me, alright? You’re doing great, just a little more—”

He kept repeating the same things over and over again in her ear as he dug around for the blasted bullet, being careful not to dig his claws even more into the tissue of her shoulder but it was difficult. Kagome keened and sobbed, legs moving restlessly but the arm around her waist prevented her from jerking away from him.

Her entire arm was on fire, her shoulder felt like it was being stabbed over and over again and Kagome idly wondered if she’d ever been in as much pain before as she was right now. It was excruciating, blinding, and she almost wished she could just pass out so she wouldn’t have to endure it even a second longer—

“Got it.”

Inuyasha crooked his fingers, jerked his hand and the bullet popped out of her shoulder, glistening with blood and landing on the floor with a soft clink.

With a sob of relief Kagome went limp against him, curling her knees up as she turned her head and buried her face into his chest as she cried.

Though he wanted nothing more than to hold her, the tiny tremors that rocked her frame and the muffled whimpers against his chest tugging at his heart, Inuyasha forced himself to stay focused on the task at hand. Hurriedly he reached over and wet a rag before cleaning the wound. Though he felt like he was going to be sick, Inuyasha prepared the needle, making sure it was thoroughly disinfected and then giving a soft word of warning, he speared the flesh around it and stitched the wound closed.

Kagome jerked and issued another low moan of pain, her body stiffening but she offered no other protests, knowing it was necessary. At least he seemed to know what he was doing, his movements sure and swift. Kagome was surprised, but grateful when only seven minutes later he announced he was finished and then he was spreading the antibacterial ointment over it, staunching some of the blood flow. He wasted no time in pressing a thick gauze pad to it and keeping it secured with medical tape.

He remained quiet as he dressed the wound, and though he wanted to ask if she was okay, he had a feeling she would scoff in the face of his concern since she clearly was not. Still, the need to distract her even a little bit from the pain was urgent and so he repeated his earlier question.

“So,” he rumbled and reached over to grab the roll of gauze. “How’d you get it?”

More or less composed by now, her sobs having died down to sniffles and quiet sighs, Kagome sucked in a shaky breath and sat up straight to make it a little easier for him. Her newly bandaged shoulder protested and she winced, but the pain was tolerable.

“I made a stupid mistake,” she answered, her voice hoarse. Inuyasha started wrapping the gauze over and around her shoulder and she lifted her arm the tiniest bit so he could pass it under. “I trusted the wrong person and he ended up being...not very nice.”

“Let me guess.” Inuyasha frowned and added another layer of gauze, passing the roll over, under, and around again, passing just beneath her breasts. “One of those psycho axe murderers from a bad Halloween film?”

She gave a watery laugh and nodded. “Basically. I ran when I realized what he was and narrowly missed having my head cut off. I didn’t know he had a gun too, and as I was running away I heard a loud bang and then sharp, burning pain in my shoulder. I think I was too scared to really understand what it meant, and the adrenaline probably temporarily numbed the pain, so that’s why I didn’t tell you about it. I didn’t even know I had it until just now.”

His frown deepened. It made sense, but he didn’t like that she’d been so frightened the pain from the bullet hadn’t even registered, hadn’t even penetrated the terror she was feeling then.

Why did that make his gut twist and make him physically ill?

“That’s why I ran from you at first, you know,” Kagome said softly, drawing him out of his thoughts. “When I saw you standing there, your sword dripping blood and looking...well, terrifying, to be honest, I thought you were another crazy and didn’t think before I ran.”

Inuyasha grimaced and shook his head, recalling what he’d done right before he discovered her in the alley. “Yeah, I can imagine how bad that must have looked. I’d just finished tussling with a few of the undead fuckers myself. Damn things had been hanging around the shop for days before I finally managed to catch ‘em off guard and slaughter the lot of ‘em. I hadn’t even gone back inside when I heard someone yankin’ at the doors, trying to get inside, and that’s when I saw another group of them pass by with that single minded focus that could only mean they found their next meal. I was about to give chase, hoping I could get to whoever it was before they did, but then I heard something, ended up finding this tiny thing looking and smelling absolutely terrified, and she ran from me before I could ask if she was alright.”

Kagome blushed and smiled sheepishly even though he couldn’t see it and ducked her head. “Then what happened?” she asked and he easily detected the teasing lilt to her voice.

Inuyasha’s lips twitched. “Then I chased after her, killed some zombies, and tried to coax this terrified creature out from a car she’d locked herself in. She nearly knocked me on my ass with the door, told me to fuck off, ran away again and I had to stop her before she went and got her fool ass killed.”

“What an idiot.”

He chuckled that time. “Then I carried her back to my poor excuse of a shelter, treated her wounds, and the rest, as they say, is history.”

Kagome hummed but said nothing more and Inuyasha took that cue to reluctantly remove himself from behind her and put away the supplies. She slowly swung her legs back over the edge of the bed, releasing a yawn and Inuyasha suspected she was minutes away from passing out but first he wanted to get something in her stomach. It was obvious she hadn’t had a decent meal in a while so he’d start her off with something small first lest she get sick.

Kagome was seriously considering laying down and crashing for the next day or so when Inuyasha suddenly appeared before her, holding a bottle of water and some crackers, and her stomach loudly told of its emptiness at the sight of food. She flushed but gratefully took them, choosing to ignore his knowing smirk as she uncapped the bottle and took her first drink of fresh water in three days.

“Slowly,” he murmured and she forced herself to do as much. “You’ll get sick if it’s too fast.”

While Kagome slowly but surely drained the water and nibbled on saltines, Inuyasha made himself a PB&J and pretended it was a big juicy steak as he chomped down, finishing it in four bites. He rifled around in a box of clothes and found one of his clean t-shirts for to wear since her last one was nothing but rags now.

Wordlessly he walked over and held it up. Predictably Kagome flushed, setting down her small meal so he could help her put it on. Though she was gritting her teeth the entire time, Inuyasha managed to get her arm through the sleeve with minimal difficulty and she breathed a sigh of relief when she was covered once more.

“Thank you,” Kagome whispered softly, sincerely, and Inuyasha’s expression softened.

Because the urge was too great, he reached out and tucked a strand of raven hair behind her ear, prompting her to lift her gaze to his.

“Don’t mention it,” he rumbled, quirking a grin, and dropped his hand. Before he could step away, however, a small hand darted out and grasped his shirt, keeping him there, and he frowned down at her in concern.

“S’matter?” he asked, kneeing down and brushing his fingers against her arm. “Do you need—”

Shaking her head, Kagome tugged on his shirt, cutting him off and she finally lifted her head, deep pools of chocolate brown locking with burnished amber.

“Not just for that,” she murmured and the smile she graced him with was shy, but stunning. “For...everything. For chasing after me, feeding me, for...saving me. Thank you, Inuyasha. You didn’t have to, but you did, and...”

Her throat closed up and she could say no more, but she didn’t need to. Her eyes told plainly of her gratitude and a peculiar warmth spread throughout Inuyasha’s chest as a knot developed in his throat, suddenly making it a little harder to breathe and goddamn, but she was pretty when she smiled like that.

Composing himself, Inuyasha cleared his throat and tossed her an easy grin, though his eyes were soft and his words genuine when he rumbled, “You’re welcome, Kagome. I’m glad I did.”

Her smile widened and her blush deepened. “Me, too.”

He stared into her eyes and had the insane urge to...well, he didn’t know what, but then Kagome abruptly yawned and the spell was broken.

Shaking his head, not without an amused chuckle, Inuyasha sighed and stood up going back over to the chest of medical supplies and digging around for some painkillers. The second she spotted them Kagome made a little noise of demand and made grabby motions toward them with a little pout. He grinned and shook out two for her.

“Get some sleep,” he rumbled and waited for her to knock back the Ibuprofen with the rest of the water before taking it the empty bottle and tossing it in the cracked recycling bin that served as the trash. “Honestly I’m surprised you’ve lasted this long. Three days is a long time to go without sleep for a human.”

Kagome shrugged and then immediately regretted it when her shoulder twinged in protest. She winced and mumbled, “Kinda hard to sleep when you’re trying not to get to eaten or killed.”

Inuyasha snorted. He could agree to that.

Sighing, she carefully lowered herself down onto her right side and it was like her exhaustion hit her all at once, suddenly struggling to keep her eyes open as her body melted into the mattress and her mind became hazy. Her shoulder was stiff and still hurt like a bitch, her arm didn’t feel much better, but she was easily able to ignore all of that because she was finally able to get some sleep on an actual bed, in a safe place without worry about being discovered, without the fear that she might never wake up.

She was covered with a light blanket and she sighed, losing the battle to keep her eyes open as she murmured, “N’yasha.”

“Hm?”

“Stay.” It was barely above a whisper, her voice nothing but a breathy wisp of air, but Inuyasha heard it anyway and he felt that weird tugging sensation on his heart again.

“I’ll stay,” he replied roughly and gently brushed her bangs back, his touch lingering, a feather-light caress. “Sleep, Kagome. I’ll protect you.”

Kagome smiled, sighed, and slept.

Ch. 2

#another day in hell #inuyasha #kagome #inukag #keizfanfiction #fanfiction

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allyvampirelass29 · 4 years

Text

Chapter 9: The Saviour and The Slayer

A HEROES Fanfiction Angel Before the Fall Series By: Allyssa J. Watkins

"Keep your eye on the time, Beautiful. I'm coming, and it's going to be....... killer."

Ally caressed the cracked crystal of the broken watch on her wrist, as she stood half in shadow, trembling with the thrill of those teasing words and one malicious little laugh. A long, slow chill eased its way down her spine, with the same salacious sensation as if Sylar were there, touching her with his mind.

"Don't torture me, Sy," She sighed blissful to the darkness, half expecting him to emerge in all his malevolent, smouldering glory. "Take me now......."

"Patience...... Sweetheart. Patience."

She'd been hearing his sinister, silky voice in her mind all night, clinging to it in the darkness, her one solace in this shadowy, eerie place. But this time felt different from all the others....... this wasn't a poor girl's drug addled mind conjuring her heart's forbidden desire. Not even the most powerful hallucinogenic could do this. Sound like THIS. Mimic him with such startling, heart fluttering prowess. The effect on her body never lied. He had to be close.......

She touched the steel bars in front of her with one hand, the coldness spreading through her fingers. The fleeting, wonderstruck excitement of finding Sy's watch snug around her wrist, had been immediately replaced by flooding dread. For the first time, she'd noticed the way the light fell in lines across the concrete floor, which could only mean one thing. Bars. She was a dove caught in a cage. Imprisoned. She reached her other hand in-between the bars out into the dark, sifting the shadows through her fingers like water. She shivered, stunned and confused, stumbling backward as she felt the warmth of another hand reaching forward to touch hers.

She cried out in pained surprise as two square emergency lights came on full blast from the opposite wall, turning everything white, blinding her eyes, and she snapped them closed, instinctively raising her arm in front of her face.

"So this is where they keep the really dangerous ones, huh.......? Tell me, Love, do they all look like you?"

Ally squinted her eyes in the harsh, unforgiving light, lowering her arm, trying to make out the silhouette of the man that stood in front of her, the owner of the flirtatious voice that did not belong to Sylar.......

British? Since when did Noah's precious company start recruiting from MI6? He was tall, at least six feet, with short, platinum blonde hair, icy blue eyes, and a small cut on his bottom lip. He had an athletic build, with broad shoulders, lean muscular arms, and pale white skin. He was dressed in full body armor, covered head to boot, complete with a top of the line, military issue Kevlar bullet proof vest, and he had a sniper rifle slung over his back. He smiled warmly, but she only stared back, unmoving. In her old, austen-esque, romantic college days she would have thought this stranger terribly handsome, but now she only had eyes for Sylar Gray. His dark, enigmatic, intensity had no rival, his beautiful danger defying what was possible in the natural world. Disney Prince Darcy never stood a chance.

"If you wanted to hold my hand, all you had to do was ask...... Or were you reaching for someone else? Your phantom lover, perhaps?"

Phantom Lover. She liked that.

"Let me guess, Prince William, you say that to all the girls with powers, right before you lock them up and throw away the key?"

He smiled even more charming, edging closer. "My, feisty aren't we? I'm starting to feel glad we've got these bars between us. For all I know, you could be desperate to set me on fire."

"Smart guy...... Don't think I don't know you KILL Specials just like me."

"I bag and tag with the best of them, Darling, but I have much different plans for you........ There's a big fuss going on over you tonight. Everybody wants you, and now I know why."

"No, you really don't."

"Oooh now you're getting me hot to see your little magic trick. None of the boys know what your power is, but it HAS to be truly lethal for you to end up here. Boss says you're Need to Know, Level One Classified. I'll make a deal with you. He leaned in closer, and Ally felt jittery as his blue eyes pierced right through her, the cut marring his lip magically gone. Perhaps it had been a shadow after all.

"Kiss me, and I'll set you free. You see, I've never kissed a Special before, hell, I've never even kissed an American before, and you've got to be the most fetching Yank I've ever seen. I'm ready to commit a little treason."

Ally shrank back in her cell, affronted, arms crossed. "Strike your colours, Blondie. Not interested."

"Do you want out, or don't you? Scathing little thing. Kiss me now, before I make the price of your freedom two kisses. I'm risking a lot, y'know. My life, my job, I should get something as a thank you."

"Never."

"Go on, don't be shy," he chuckled, reaching for her hand again. She was starting to WISH she could set him on fire. If Sy was here, he'd tear this guy apart. She smiled. Nobody touched his girl.

"Stay away from me, I mean it! You don't know who you're dealing with........" She warned him, raising both hands like she'd seen Sylar do when he was about to throw somebody through a window. Oh yeah, she thought sarcastically, I'll put my protective powers on you like a curse. Thank God, he didn't know who he was dealing with.

"Why? What's the cheeky little girl going to do to me? I love your fighting spirit! I bloody know what I'm going to do to you, " He said with a suggestive wink, searching his pockets for the keys.

Ally glared, disgusted, hurriedly forcing herself backwards, ramming into the cot, trying to look menacing instead of completely freaked out. Oh God, what WAS she going to do?

"I-I have a BOYFRIEND!!!!!" She threatened, watching the Indelicate Brit warily, once more imagining Sylar emerge from the darkness, murder in his eyes. Okay, so they hadn't actually specified that, but it felt so good to say out loud. Boyfriend. My Sexy Psychotic Boyfriend.

To Ally's great, horrified confusion, the Brit flung his gloved hand up in one jarring motion, tearing the heavy, barred cell door clean off, and it hurtled down the hallway in a cartwheeling clangor. Ally moved to run, eyes impossibly wide, but before she could so much as bat an eyelash, the man was already inside, forcing her back, trapping her against the wall.

He towered over her, and she froze, petrified with fear, sickened by the hungry look in his eye. Then....... something........ impossible happened. His face began to bubble all over like boiling water, and he grunted painfully, jerking his head to the side, anguished. Ally pushed herself all the way back into the wall, aghast at the sight, almost not breathing. She watched in terror as his stark white face boiled even more rapidly, distorted, and the effect spread down his neck. All at once, he began to transform before her very eyes. The platinum blonde hair turned jet black, growing a little longer, looking much shinier as it fell wildly in his face. His sharp blue eyes darkened like ink spilled into a pool, and the pale skin tanned, light stubble cropping up on his formally clean shaven cheek. Maybe the drugs were stronger than she'd thought, or maybe it was all one awful nightmare, and she'd wake up, just like last time, shaking from where she'd fallen asleep on the cold, concrete floor. The pale, perfectly manicured eyebrows blackened too, growing thicker, longer, slanting forward in a dangerous way, and Ally's heart swelled, her eyes filling with tears. Or maybe this was the dream that she'd never have to wake up from. Hello Boyfriend.

"DAMN right you, do!!!"

Sylar rasped, one hand seizing the back of her silky head, the other curling possessively around her side, as he leaned down from his great height and took her lips ravenously, pulling her body flush to his. His hand shook in her curls, his nostrils flaring with the force of his passion, and she kissed him back with a fierceness that rivaled his own, hugging his neck with one arm, clutching his cheek with her other hand, pressing her lips more firmly into his. He hugged her closer to his body, feeling like he was kissing her for the first time, swearing to himself that there would never be a last as he felt her blissful tears wet against his cheek. He'd missed it...... God NO, he'd craved it, addicted. That sweet taste, that gentle, willing softness against his lips, those shy fingers, that were now scrunching his hair so tightly, the tremulous feel of her surrender. To hell with everything else........ this was true power.

He brushed his tongue lightly against hers, as his lips continued to eclipse her lips, and then pressed their fullness into her bottom one, before gathering her tighter into his arms, cradling the back of her head more tenderly. His other palm pressed into her back, drawing her forward, and he buried his face deep into her curls, inhaling, intoxicated.

You smell so good........ Did you always smell THIS good? He wondered with an eyebrow raised, nostrils flaring into her silky hair, feeling it sinfully soft against his lips as he breathed in, and she giggled, his escaped breath catching in her luxurious tresses. Mmm, she smelled like coconut and vanilla, warm and sweet, his Ally, and he closed his eyes, savoring the scent, holding her still, stroking the back of her head, focusing, wanting it to linger in his mind.

"You- You came back for me." She said tearfully, her eyes glistening, overwhelmed, and he touched her face, wiping her tears with his thumb, trying not to sound as giddy as he felt.

"I always come back for what's mine......... No one's been able to shake me yet. I'm the Saviour and the Slayer." He smiled slyly with a wicked little wink.

"How-? How did you do that, Sy, turn into that other man? Are you a...... a shapeshifter!?" She looked at him incredulous, her delighted eyes sparkling.

"You're not the only one that's been keeping secrets, Ally......." He smirked knowingly, smoothing the dark hair out of her eyes, his curled fingers grazing up and down her flushed cheek, his touch feather-light. "I wanted to surprise you. You know how I love a little roleplay. I was good, wasn't I? Too damn good. I made myself jealous. Lecherous Brit. I heard you liked them, and I know all about your weakness for blue eyes. You were perfect. You are...... perfect, and now I can finally be what you deserve. I can be everything you've ever craved in a man, all of your secret fantasies at once, your wildest dreams......." He leaned forward, brushing his lip against her ear. I can be the embodiment of your deepest desires."

Ally felt a longing sigh escape, kissing him with such tenderness and ache, reveling in the moment, and he grinned slyly against her lips. The Beauty could have her Beast or her prince anytime she pleased.

"You already are...... Gabriel," She whispered, out of breath from the effect of him, with a shy little laugh. You ARE my every dancing fantasy, all of my most intimate thoughts, and dizzying desires. What I'm positively weak for are your dark, laughing eyes and their treacherous intensity. My GOD, You outdo entirely everything I have ever dreamed, you physically enthrall me, just by being Gabriel Gray. I want you. I want you just as you are, as dazzled as I am by your clever trick, I wouldn't change you, not one sleek black strand of hair on your head. You're the allure of a perilous place. You are the danger that makes me feel safe. You undo me.

Oh hell........ He couldn't help it. He grinned like an idiot, in a very boyish, Un-Sylar way, showing off all of his teeth, his dark eyes, looking light brown and unusually gentle, his brow soft as he looked at her. "Really? You sure you want me just as I am? The Serial Killer? The Predator prowling in the darkness? The Villain?"

"You may be their Villain........ but you're My Hero."

Ally smiled at him, flirtatiously her green meadow eyes bright, adoring, and he felt his lip twitch with his devilish smirk. He'd never told anyone....... not her, not even his mother, but all he'd ever wanted in the beginning was to be someone's hero.

"I'll be your hero, if you want. But believe me...... Villains have more fun.......You'll learn to love the distress, Sweet Damsel, along with my killer personality." He snickered, brushing his glossy dark hair slowly back with one hand, his eyes drawing and dangerous.

"Oh, Sy........ I-I already do. I am powerless against you, Handsome. Especially when you slick back your hair in that rakish way," She giggled, twirling a curl around her finger, looking at him enchanted, and his chest hurt. She was both the shield on his arm, and the bull's-eye on his back. You get to me........ Beautiful. You undo me too........

He looked her over with sultry, wandering eyes, lingering in certain places. Had she been wearing that when they'd left? That sexy little rose-coloured tank top with the dark red velvet roses and the lacey neckline that was actually pretty low for his shy good girl. Go Ally. Damn. How had he missed that? He stepped closer, gently rubbing his thumb over one of the roses on her side, feeling the velvet, fighting the urge to slip his hand under the sumptuous fabric and tickle her bare back. She giggled and squirmed, and he loved that she was so sensitive to his touch, and somehow, in spite of the terror he was, there was no fear.

"God, you're gorgeous....... You know that, right? I mean it, I went out of my mind thinking I'd never see you again. That was actual murder. Did you get my present?"

"Saviour, Slayer, and some kind of MAD genius, you clever boy!" She gushed, showing him her wrist. That's how you found me, isn't it!!! I KNEW it, you put a tracker in your watch!!!

He smirked especially smug, admiring his favourite watch on his favourite girl. He liked it, her wearing something of his. He knew she'd notice. A promise to find her, to get her back.

"I want to be stupid and romantic and say I put it in when we got...... involved." He said silkily, kissing her hand, and she blushed, feeling the tickle of his facial hair. "But the truth is, I'm overly fond of this one........ It gave me a name. It made me who I am. Sylar.

He held both of her hands in his, practically purring, leaning down to kiss her cheek, slowly, pleasurably, his voice a whisper. "Do you remember........The diner? Our first kiss?

Ally looked at him with that aching tenderness that just terrified and exhilarated him, and another tear escaped down her cheek, Her eyes sweet and sincere. "How could I ever forget, Sy? It was the greatest day of my entire life........"

**********

The jail cell melted away and the white emergency lights bloomed into sunlight streaming through a diner window. They'd been having coffee, on the run from Danko's men, figuring out their next move. She couldn't take her eyes off him, just waiting for the next time he needed her power, and she'd get to touch that strong, beautiful chest again. She couldn't believe he'd collected her, and he couldn't believe she'd let him.

"Why don't you fix it, Sy?" Ally asked, her voice soft, running her fingers delicately over the cracked crystal. "It's your favourite watch, I can tell how much you love it, and you deserve to have it look perfect! I know you could fix it! You're only THE most talented watchmaker in the world!"

Her fingers strayed over the broken timepiece, and brushed against the back of his quick, magic hand, while he watched the shy trail of her fingers, and then half smiled as her thumb rubbed over his, again and again.

"I could fix it. I can fix anything I want, just like I can break anything I want....... but I'll never fix this one."

Sylar angled his wrist gently, careful not to disturb her fingers against his hand, and he smiled a bit more, satisfied, as they stayed right where he wanted them, like placed hands on a watch, and the face of his own beloved Sylar Field Edition glinted in the streaming white sunlight of the diner window, each crack catching and filling with light, the refraction of the crystal positively glistening.

"That's why. I like that," he whispered, as she stared down in breathless awe, the fractured light reflecting off her pretty face. "Ally.........." He took her hand in his watch hand, grasping it, staring deep into her green meadow eyes, with such intensity and tenderness, he could almost feel her soul. "Just because something's broken......... doesn't mean it's not beautiful."

**********

Fresh tears flooded Ally's eyes, as she drifted back and nestled her face into his shoulder, holding his hands tighter, entwining their fingers, holding now what she had once died to touch, never dreaming he'd want her too. "You saw me, all the cracks in my flawed crystal, and still kept me. We were broken by life, Sy, and yet we're still beautiful....... My Darling Watchmaker........ Who could have ever known these careful, talented hands had such a knack for fixing woefully broken hearts, once thought beyond repair."

Sylar smiled, still lost in the memory. He still couldn't believe she'd kissed him like that. Like he was some kind of hero. Like he'd saved her. Here he was, a kidnapper, a murderer, a fugitive, and he'd done the opposite. He'd stolen her. He would've taken her whether she'd come willingly or not. Ripped her away from her whole life, her friends, her family, just to have that power. And she'd KISSED him for it. Anytime he'd ever kissed a woman, as Sylar, took her to bed, it was usually for two reasons. Manipulation or Distraction. He didn't care about them, any of them, apart from what he could get. He never saw this one coming, this girl...... this sweet, innocent, beautiful brunette, the only good, pure thing to wander into his gray world. She chose to come, looked at him like he was someone....... special, left everything behind to be his. He knew she thought he found her broken and was the one to fix her. But she didn't know, and he could never tell her, just how much she'd fixed him.

"Broken hearts are a lot like broken watches. You just have to find out what makes them tick........" He whispered, placing a single finger against the lace of her neckline, over her heart, shameless, hoping it was dark enough that she couldn't see the tears in his eyes. Usually it was Gabriel that got so emotional. This time it was Sylar alone.

Ally blushed and shivered with his cleverness, too smitten to notice the crystal trail on his cheek before he hastily wiped it away. His whole body froze as she kissed under his jaw, down his neck, and he bit his lip hard, relishing in the feel of her.

Don't stop. His mind ordered soundlessly, and although he wasn't a telepath, she obeyed, her lips petal soft against his scratchy facial hair. He felt her hand caress its way up his chest, and fumblingly unbutton the collar of his shirt, slipping just a little bit beneath it. He watched her shy fingers, amused, toying with the idea of unbuttoning his shirt the rest of the way with his mind. He glanced behind him, over his shoulder, at the cot, his own hand finally giving in to its first instinct, slipping up the back of her shirt.

"This place is really creepy......... even for me. Did you check for monsters under your bed? Or.........maybe in your bed?" He whispered breathily, feeling drunk with the warmth of her bare skin, his imagination scandalous, about to lose control with her for a much more sinister reason.

Thanks for the accommodations, Bennet, he thought with a leisurely, evil smirk. Sadly, there wasn't nearly enough time........ Ally giggled against his neck, a little out of breath, herself, and he subtly lifted the fingers of his other hand, his mind moving quick to feel her pulse beneath her sensitive skin. Her heart beat dizzyingly fast, fluttering, euphoric, proof of his powerful effect on both her mind and her body. He felt her flinch as he touched her heart with his mind, felt the sudden erratic uptake, the vibrations like butterfly wings beneath his fingertips. His eyebrows slanted forward, lethal, as another smug smile spread deliciously across his lips. She wanted him. But even more thrilling...... She wanted him to have her. You have no idea how BAD I want to be a complete scoundrel right now, Beautiful. But a lady deserves her gentleman. Decisions, decisions........

She blushed even more as she reached up to kiss the corner of his deadly smile as if she could hear his naughty thoughts, and relenting to behave himself, he lazily took hold of her wrist.

"It looks nice on you," He whispered as she rested her cheek against his. "You have such lovely, delicate wrists. I should make you watch, one of my very own originals. Something elegant, a bracelet watch maybe, white gold band, pearl face, diamond accents. A wrist like yours should never be unadorned."

"Oh Sy, that sounds absolutely beautiful."

He tightened his hold on her wrist, and then bristled, his purr becoming a growl, as his thumb flitted over a bandage.

What the hell? He felt her move to pull away, and he seized both of her wrists, one in each hand, yanking them up to better see what he knew he'd felt, his blood, running ice cold.

"Did they hurt you?" He hissed, furious.

"No! Well, I don't know..... I was-" Ally hesitated, gritting her teeth, watching the anger rise in his flashing eyes.

"Drugged," he finished for her, his hand shaking, all of it coming back, his anger, his maniacal plot, his ultimate revenge.

"Yeah."

"They took your blood........ Now it's my turn to take theirs, every last drop."

"Sy, no, it's okay! I'm okay! We're together now, that's what matters!" She pleaded, feeling his hold loosen, and she ran her fingers down his palm to calm him, but it seemed to have the opposite effect.

"I NEVER should have let them take you!" He seethed, pulling away from her, scratching the back of his head, incensed, sending his sleek dark hair askew.

"It wasn't your fault!"

"DAMN it, Ally, yes it was!" He yelled out, raking his fingers through his hair, his voice echoing through the cell and down the hall, his chest hurting. He got really quiet then, rubbing his forehead, before looking at her with guilty eyes. "We need to talk about what happened in that alley. How I almost killed you."

"But you didn't......"

"I could have! I've never felt it that strong and not killed someone. You could have died....... and then I would have died. I told you to run......"

"I know, I'm so sorry."

Sylar looked at her, his expression grave, and her eyes pleaded forgiveness. Unbelievable. He almost kills her, and she wanted HIS forgiveness? He knew how close he'd been, he felt sick every time he thought about it. He'd never gone that far, and been able to come back. He didn't know how he'd stopped it. That's what scared him the most. That it was a mistake he was doomed to repeat. One raised finger, and he would have murdered his whole world, slashed it to pieces, killing himself, as he took her life, finishing what Gabriel had started four years ago.

You're going to get angry........... she's going to be standing too close.

Shut up, Bennet. You don't know what the hell you're talking about, his mind snapped, his lip curling, annoyed. What is this? Do you really think I'm haunted by your threats, that I'm going to fixate on them, and let you get to me? Please. He gritted his teeth as his vision started to shake, the tingle spreading through his body. Yeah, alright that was a lie. Yeah, yeah, I get it, enough already, his irritated mind spoke to his lie detecting power, shrugging it off. Bennet had been right about a lot of things lately, and it was downright disturbing. He was used to getting into people's heads, not having someone invade his.

"I'M sorry........" he said much softer, turning his face away from her, ashamed, long strands of raven hair veiling his eyes, "About what Bennet said in the alley, his neat little theory on why I'd decided not to kill you when we first met........."

"Sy, don't give that another thought," she coaxed, reaching out for him, to pull him away from his internal turmoil, and he flinched as she stroked his arm, her sincerity making him feel even more guilty. "It's just like you said, I don't believe him! I never did, not for one second!"

So trusting....... She always saw the best in him, the hero in him, even when there was none there. He didn't want to tell her this, but she had to know, before she found out later, and it hurt her even more.

"You should have........"

"Sy, what do you mean? You told him-"

"I KNOW what I said," he snarled. "I know what I did....... Why do you think it pissed me off so much? He struck a nerve. He said everything, every damn word I thought when I first met you, when I sensed you had an ability, that you were like me, and you were clever enough to save yourself, by showing me what you could do.

Ally let her hand fall away from his arm, stunned, shaking her head. "No...... No, Sy, those are his words, not yours. He's messing with your mind, can't you see that!?"

"Here you were, this girl, easy on the eyes, brunette just like I like, not the slightest bit afraid, even after I had you in my sights, with this delicious electricity running through your veins. You were the cure to my Company Ills, the answer to Noah's hell-bent vendetta. No matter what Special he dug up to stop me, take me down, as his elusive kill, it wouldn't work, not as long as I had you. I couldn't take your powers by force, so I took them by stealth. All I had to do was make you fall in love with me, then you'd want to do it. I just had to keep you interested long enough to steal your heart, charm you, trick you into becoming my willing prisoner. Then I could use you all I wanted. I could feel you were drawn to me, that irresistible attraction between us, and I fed the addiction, escalated it, and made you belong to me. I'd meant to wear you like a watch, show you off to my greatest enemies, look at my beautiful assistant, and then throw you away when you got broken, an inevitable casualty of my dangerous lifestyle.

Sylar's words were cruel, razor sharp, cutting deeper than his finger ever could, and he hated each one Noah had forced him to reveal, hated the heartless sound of them as he said them all out loud to the woman he loved, horrible things that she was never supposed to know. He felt his heart crack as he watched the tears well in her stricken eyes.

He stepped towards her, fully expecting her to shudder, and step back, or slap him across the face, shaking, giving in to her tears. She didn't do either. She didn't so much as flinch, and he took her hand with all the grace and tenderness Gabriel would have, touching her as if she would break, running his thumb across the back of her fingers. "I don't need to tell you...... just how much things have changed since that fateful day, since those first despicable thoughts. It didn't happen at all like I'd planned. I didn't force you to fall in love with me....... I fell in love with you, with the goodness that you were, the innocence, the way you laughed, the aching gentleness. I didn't have a whole lot of that in my life, so I wasn't ready for what it did to me. What you did to me...... I've been waiting so long for someone to look at me the way you did when I first saw you. You're beautiful and fragile, but so brave, Allyssa. You protected me, and became the only thing I ever wanted to protect."

Ally looked at him with more tears in her eyes, but these were the blissful ones he'd come to prize over any power he could lust after. She smiled, squeezing his hand, and he felt a much different kind of electricity, "We fell together," she smiled shyly at him, green eyes glistening, forgiving him yet again for the unforgivable. He'd been so wrong........ He could turn into all the most striking men in the world, become the most powerful Special of them all, give her the stars, shower her with every glittering possession, and still he could never deserve her.

"You were so brave today, Ally........ Hell, you're being brave right now...... Fearless Girl. You should hate me. Why don't you HATE me? You should tremble at my touch, be terrified of what I am, how laughingly careless and opportunistic I looked at you in the beginning. But I'm glad you're...... you. Beautiful, vulnerable you, so open and gracious because I couldn't take it if you despised me like you should. I don't want to lose you, not the way I lost her........

Ally looked at him with big sad green eyes and saw the scared little boy, who had accidently killed his mother. Gabriel cried, and Sylar let him.

"I couldn't live with myself if you were frightened of me and looked at me the way she did, the way she always will, in my very last memory of her, like I was a monster. A coldblooded killer. She feared for her life, and I-I took it from her."

"Gabriel.........." Sylar felt more tears escape, as that sweet, soothing voice said his real name. "It was a horrific, heart-wrenching accident. You did NOT go there to kill your own mother, Baby. You went there because you missed her, because you loved her, and wanted to give her a present."

"I hate that damn snow globe......." Sylar snarled fighting Gabriel's broken sobs. "If I'd never given it to her, she'd still be alive. I was supposed to be a good son, protect her, protect you........ I tried to dazzle her....... I tried to make her happy. So stupid."

"She loved it, Gabriel! She was SO happy, so proud of you, what you could do. She always told you, you were special, and she was right. You never meant for it to happen...... You didn't know the snow globe would break, and cut her cheek. You didn't know she'd grab those scissors to defend herself........" Ally's heartbroken tears streamed down her cheek, as he looked at her ashamed through his own blurry eyes. He felt his staggering step as she pulled him into her gentle arms, and Gabriel Gray shattered like the snow globe had, leaning down, crying silently into her shoulder.

"I was just trying to take them away from her, convince her she didn't need them, didn't have to be scared of me, it all happened so fast....... My own mother, the only person in the whole world that loved me, was so shaken out of her mind, that she tried to kill me....... What if it wasn't an accident? What if I unknowingly led him to her, the killer within, coaxed her to trust me only to let him kill her? The darkest thing that ever happened in a life of gray misery...... and I almost let it happen again, just as before. Led my lamb to slaughter. Nearly killing the only woman I ever loved, and finally gave her a real reason to fear me."

Ally hugged him close to her body, and he relented to her affection, as she held him like this fine, precious thing, instead of casting him away like the murderer he was. Beauty and her monstrous Beast. He hugged her tighter, his thoughts chilling, as he addressed the sleeping killer within. You can't have her. Not this one...... She's too special to be another victim of your bloodlust. She's mine. Not yours. She dies, we die. Hands off. He pulled away, lifting his head up to cup her cheek, saying again the words he almost never meant. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Ally."

Ally shook her head, hands on his chest. "It's okay, Sy, really....... You don't have to apologize, I wasn't even that scared."

Sylar gave her a knowing half smile as his vision shook, and he felt the tingle of her lie. Funny, it was the first and only time she'd ever lied to him.

Ally looked horrified, her eyes impossibly wide. "No! No oh sorry, oh my gosh, that was a lie, and you already know that because of your powers!!!"

He nodded softly, looking at her in playful reprimand, his eyes returning swiftly to their dark flirtation, all Sylar. "Naughty girl. Lying's bad. Do I have to punish you? He chuckled, his breath hot on her neck, gently biting her earlobe as her cheeks burned red. "I'll let it slip this time........"

Well, aren't we all hot and bothered? He thought with delectable ease, resting his chin on her shoulder, caressing her spine. He wondered if she'd figured out that it was him earlier, touching her with his mind, teasing her from his place in the shadows. The moment he'd passed the air-locked, bomb shelter looking, blast-proof, retina scanning, titanium door, he could feel her inside, that quiet desperation. Luckily he'd had a detached retina handy, along with a Level One Clearance security badge. Thanks, Adrian. I'll bet you were a swell guy, before I made you kill all of your buddies on the roof. Occupational hazard. Be careful who you work for.........

He lifted his sleek head, resting his forehead against hers, closing his eyes. She was amazing, so worth this fun little excursion and all the smoke and mirrors. Anyone else would have took off running earlier, but no matter what awful things he did, how villainous he behaved, she stayed. He didn't know a damn thing about love, but this had to be what it felt like.

"I know you were afraid, and it's okay. I was scared too...... But you still didn't run. I'm proud of you, and I'll never scare you like that again, okay? You never have to fear me, Ally. Today proved that. Never again."

"It wasn't all bad.... there were certain parts I wouldn't mind repeated." She grinned coquettishly, and he felt that other, much more pleasing hunger emerge.

"That was pretty hot huh, when I pulled you down on top of me? I think I can arrange an encore." He raised one of his eyebrows with a diabolical smile.

"Naughty Boy, you better!" She blushed, covering her mouth, and he admired how she was feeling brave in more ways than one.

"Hmm maybe you should have run. WHY didn't you run, you beautiful, INSANE girl? You're crazy. Probably crazier than I am."

"Because I know you, Gabriel, and because I wanted to be the one person in your life that you never had to watch walk away from you."

Gabriel shook his head, his chest seizing, the air caught in his lungs, another nerve struck. He'd waited twenty-nine years for someone to run toward him instead of away. How did she know....... how did she ALWAYS know what to say!? Hell...... was she even real?

He kissed her again, his whole body trembling, but this time Gabriel kissed her, in his nervous, tentative way. He kissed her so delicately, barely touching her face, brushing his lips faintly against hers in a whisper, and she kissed him back with her own blushing tenderness, slipping his watch off her wrist and putting it back on his. He didn't need to track her anymore, she was never going to leave his sight again.

He smirked, looking down at his wrist, and then at her, who apparently liked Gabriel's kisses as much as Sylar's. Her and Sylar had had their first kiss a week ago, but Gabriel had just had his first kiss ever. He shivered.

"Thanks, Doll." He smiled at her and braced himself as she kissed him again, hands scrambling under his shirt."

Mmm there's my brave girl, he thought amused as he trapped her top lip between both of his. There was such a certainty in her fingers now, getting him hot. You know what you want, Beautiful. Touch me. He felt his mind slowly undo a few buttons on his black dress shirt, wondering how she'd feel if he'd slipped off that sexy little tank top too. Calm down, Sylar, don't ruin it by being your greedy self, Gabriel scolded. You have to take it slow, don't rush her. Would you just yank off the crystal of a broken watch? No, he answered his former self in a sigh, his mind reluctantly, doing up one of his buttons. You'd detach it delicately with tweezers, to avoid damaging the face. Exactly.

His heart paused, mid-kiss, his eyes focusing hard as he realized what she'd meant to do all along, and he grabbed her hand through his shirt, in a panic to stop her.

"Ally, no, wait!"

"Sy, what's wrong? It's okay, I want to......."

She went to press down on the center his chest over his heart, to use her power, but he yanked her hand out quickly, just in time, breathing in, holding it fast. Whew. That was too close. He'd gotten distracted, he couldn't let that happen again.

"As much as I....... appreciate your generosity, Ally, I'm going to need you to hold onto that for me a little while longer," he purred, kissing her palm, and closing her fingers around the kiss into a fist, his hand forming tight around hers, holding it shut. "At least until we make our dramatic exit. We're going to knock 'em dead." Sylar chuckled slyly at his own dark wit, his tongue lingering in the corner of his mouth and Ally tugged at his sleeve, frenzied, her face manic.

"What do you mean, Sy!? We have to get out of here NOW!" She glanced anxiously over her shoulder at the hallway. "Oh GOD they could already be waiting outside the door! Can you shapeshift back into the guard? Pretend you're moving me? Do you have any handcuffs?"

Hmmm handcuffs........ He smirked to himself, and Gabriel blushed at Sylar's wicked thoughts, getting distracted again.

"Sy? Sylar? Can you get me out? Take me away? Take me to your apartment in Queens, or back to the diner? Sy please....... Take me anywhere but here?"

She started to walk to the giant hole in her cell where the door used to be, shaking him out of his handcuffing ecstasy.

"Ally, wait!" He pushed one hand out in front of him smoothly, using his Telekinesis to stop her cold. His mind held her still, and he sauntered over to her, brushing her cheek with his knuckle. "Where do you think you're going, Beautiful? You don't want to miss the show, do you? Ooooh they're in for a hell of one, and guess what? I hear, you're going to have the best seat in the house."

"Sy, no! We've got to get out of here!! You don't know what Noah's got planned, and that's one show I don't plan on catching the end of........ Let's skip to the credits while we're both still breathing."

"Ally, we can't bail yet, okay? I need you...... Will you do something for me?"

"Of course! Anything for you, Sy!"

"It's going to get crazy as hell in there, Noah's going to have you strapped down, during my little performance and when things........ let's just say go screaming off the rails, he's going to inject you with an extremely powerful sedative. Don't worry, it's not going to work, but I need my girl to pretend it did. No matter what you hear, no matter what you think is going to happen, DO NOT open your eyes, or make one move after Noah injects you. Not until I give you my signal, and then I want you to find me with your eyes. I'll set you free, but it has to be at the exact moment I give you the signal, got it?

Ally nodded, still looking baffled, wishing Sy would forget his planned theatrical revenge, and save Noah and Company for later. She knew what she'd seen in that nightmare earlier, it was seared in her brain, and she did NOT want an encore of THAT. "I'll do it, Baby, everything you want, but what's the signal? How can you possibly know what Bennet's going to do?

Sylar snickered, rubbing a hanging curl between his thumb and forefinger with his other hand, liking the way it felt to hold her with his mind, like a pretty little puppet on strings. "Because he's pathetically predictable. Because he's arrogant enough to actually think he's in control. He's going to use you to distract me, dangle you like something shiny, just out of my reach. But he's a fool, because this is MY show. I wrote the script, and I know everything that's going to happen on my stage. He thinks this is a solo act, that I've run out of tricks, but I've already got you back. All that's left is a little scarring psychological torture, ending in your big reveal. Close your eyes.

Ally lightly closed her eyes, quick to obey, and Sylar's mind released its hold, as he raised his hand higher, curling his long fingers just slightly. He smiled satisfied, as the sensation of his fingertips brushing against her warm, trembling lip fluttered through his mind, and he saw her flinch with the surprise.

"I felt it! I felt the signal! Okay, now what do I do after I open my eyes, and see you Sy?"

Sylar smirked, his lips tugging pleasingly with a secret, pressing his thumb forward, feeling the chills race down her spine.

"Oh believe me, Beautiful. You'll know exactly what to do next. You won't even hesitate."

She opened her eyes, and he sensed something, as he took her jaw with his mind, his thumb and forefinger outstretched, her body like a book he could always read, and he felt it.......something in her nerves, something palpable, that he could taste in the air between them, a scent he knew all too well, though usually not from her. One that foreshadowed the acquisition of a new power....... Fear. He didn't have to be a telepath to read her mind.

"You're scared."

The lie was already in her eyes, before it ever touched her lips, and the more he searched them, penetrated their emerald light, the weaker her resolve became before she finally relented to the truth he already knew.

"Yes," she managed in a single breath, looking away from him, as she felt his mind's hold melt away again. He stepped closer to her, moving silently through the space between them, one hand reaching around to find the bare part of her upper back, the other stroking the curls on the side of her head, slow and sensual.

"Do you trust me, Ally?"

"With my life," she answered quickly, not even the slightest hesitation, and he smirked to himself, his vision steady, already knowing there would be no tingle, no lie. Good answer, he thought silkily, gently rubbing her bare back, his hands quick to convince not only her mind, but her body, that she'd made the right choice.

Ally relaxed with his touch at first, feeling its eloquence, but then shook her head, frightened, tensing beneath his hand, looking up at him with crazed eyes.

"But Sy, you don't understand! They're setting the trap, as we speak, I've heard them, they're planning something, something awful......... I even had a dream where they........ where you were...... dea-"

Sylar brought his finger swiftly to her lips. Oh this was too good. Damn she was cute, look at the way her lip quivered, fighting back tears, desperate to warn him of his apparent impending demise. He tilted his head just slightly, with the sudden realization. How sweet...... She wasn't worried for herself, about what they'd do to her, she didn't care, she was scared for him, the Girl Scout afraid for the Big Bad Wolf.

He slowly lowered his finger, looking amused, trying not to laugh. "Trust me. I'm not scared of Noah Bennet and his Hapless Heroes. I'm definitely going to be the scariest thing in THAT room. Whatever vanilla murder plot they have planned, is sure to disappoint."

"But what if they do it, Sy? What if they rewrite the script, and this time....... they........ they kill you? I can't-"

"Hey," he whispered much softer, curling his fingers gently around the side of her neck, thumb against her cheek. "You can't kill a killer. Not a good one. I know how this is going to end. We leave now, and we're just delaying the inevitable. Bennet will come back after you, to get to me, and to use your blood for his crusade against Nathan. I can't have that....... But you let me finish this like I want........ Let me unravel him, thread by thread, help me make his worst fears his only hellish reality, live the nightmares he's fought against all these years, and I promise you....... Noah Bennet will be so damaged and disturbed, his sanity so far gone, that he'll never lay one finger on you again."

Ally hugged his neck and he felt her heart pounding against his chest. "The curtain rises........." She whispered, and he reached behind her, turning his wrist, curling his fingers inward, the white emergency lights instantly killed, flooding them both again in darkness, the air screaming with sirens. He grabbed both of her bare shoulders, whirling her around to face the hallway, slipping a phone secretly from his back pocket, and Ally jumped, his voice echoing throughout the whole building as he spoke into it.

"The lights dim...... Lady and Gentlemen. The show's about to begin."

He chuckled sadistically into the phone, and then whispered into Ally's ear before disappearing like a lithe shadow into the darkness.

"Run, Baby. Run."

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

#sylar x oc #gabriel gray #heroes #sylar #primatech #telekinesis #shapeshifting #angel before the fall

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fuckedforger · 5 years

Note

hc + jason dean

𝚂𝙴𝙽𝙳 ‘ 𝙷𝙲 ‘ + 𝙰 𝚆𝙾𝚁𝙳 // @teenhrror

HOOOOOO BOY HERE WE GO [ puts on my essay writin’ smoking jacket ]When it comes to JD Veronica has a LOT of mixed feelings and opinions and very little of it is she willing to fully investigate because of what that would lead to in introspection and while she’s intentionally like 90% compartmentalization at the this point she knows her stability is about as solid as a a jenga tower about 3/4s thru the game and if she’d like to be Functional that means as little to no deep introspection as possible. If asked she’d say she doesn’t hate him even after all the fuckery, if she was honest she’d say she’s still kinda in love with him. She ‘d really only dated earlier because that’s what you’re “supposed” to do and her middle school crush on the Heathers got her a one way ticket to Hell. Before JD Veronica was on a pretty heavy spiral into deeper and deeper depressions with more and more apathy being one of the major elements of it, by the time they met she was pretty checked out. When they met he actually really did help pull her out of The Pit and sparked some life back into her. There are basically two broad categories you can use to help make sense of this gordian knot of shit 1. the love stuff 2. the grim shit. They blur a LOT but there’s enough definition that it gives me some way to impose some order on this so it’s comprehensible. Both the positive and the negative originate from the same place: She really gets him on a visceral level. The kind where if she tried to relay it would sound like fucking nonsense because it really is that instinctual. Where problems begin is that she refuses to believe is that he was right when he pointed out the same-- that he also really understood her --because what he was pointing out about her was something she couldn’t deal with. And that’s one of the HUGE things that fucks her up about him and kind of impairs her sorting her shit out about him.There’s a bit from the script that doesn’t make it into the movie that I think about pretty much every fucking day which really kinda hits on that element of her conflict imo. It’s from the diary scene immediately post- Kurt and Ram’s funeral:

VERONICA (V.O.)[…] I gave J.D. shit about the Ich Luge thing but what really frightens me is that I’m not frightened by what J.D.’ll do next. It’s God versus my boyfriend and God’s losing….

It also crops up in that she’s not super sorry she shot him or let him “kill” himself, she’s more horrified by what her okayness with that means about her than the action itself. It’s the side of herself that spurred her into being a Heather and kept her there. Betty Finn didn’t sell her soul for power and only occasionally feels bad about her actions in maintaining it, that’s Veronica. And that’s the same part of her that was okay with what they did, that agreed with JD’s thinking. I mean Kurt and Ram were utter trash and Heather was not much better lbr. But Veronica does have enough --whatever you wanna say it is-- to recognize that death was not the only way to deal with them and that their actions created new and more insidious problems for more vulnerable people who SUPER don’t deserve it.But that also doesn’t change the fact she’s super into JD like, this is from the script like LINES before they break up

J.D. (malevolently) They're playing our song....As the "song" kicks in (a bunch of guys shouting over a drummachine), J.D. seductively moves toward VERONICA, semi-lip-syncing it. As a seethingly angry but not unarousedVERONICA watches, J.D. slithers onto the couch.

Veronica’s pretty much never NOT into him. He’s like her awful trenchcoated kryptonite and it also stems from that inherent affinity. It’s not just some grim metaphor holding up of the mirror showing her her terrible truths or whatever. The Heathers can also do that to her easily because of their own affinity, it’s also the good qualities of him and the broken ones that keep her in a knot about him. And she’s deeply aware she should not feel positively about him given his actions but she does and it’s another part of why she doesn’t really examine it too closely. There’s also noooooo illusions of like “ Oh but my love can fix him uwu ” shit going at any point, I mean bitch shot him 3 times she’s not deluded. She just sees how engaging, intelligent, funny, caring and loving he can be with the same clarity she can see how absolutely fucking dangerous he is. And what TERRIFIES HER is that it doesn’t worry her at all, that she’s still totally hot for him.That after all the shit they did together she still doesn’t hate him, that she misses him and wishes he was around and wants to just talk to him about anything and everything and hear his opinions on them no matter how batshit. And that says a whole metric FUCK TON about her that she’s reALLY NOT READY TO LOOK AT.

#teenhrror #* / MEME REPLIES — now blah blah blah is all i ever do.#* / ANSWERED — return to sender.#* / HEADCANONS — definitely not forged at all nope.#i literally had to go and take a walk in the middle of this after i mclost it #bc this is TRULY A DIFFICULT TASK #putting into words any of veronica's thoughts and feelings jd is just---#i mean like you have to NOT COMPARTMENTALIZE AND LIKE LOOK AT THINGS TO GET THEM AND EXPLAIN THEM #IT'S REALLY HARD TO EXPRESS THINGS IN ANY CAPACITY WHEN THEY ARE BEING ACTIVELY AVOIDED FDGJHDFLSJG #I don't even think i scratched the surface or made ANY sense but i can't-- i just cant--#i wasn't physically mentally or emotionally prepared to do this yet fdsgsdfljgfddlskfjsd I HADN'T COMPLETED MY TRAINING FLJDKGHKSDFGJ

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vespaer77 · 6 years

Text

The Fears of the Mother

My contribution to the @two-halves-of-reylo weekly challenge, “Fear.”

Title: The Fears of the Mother

Summary:

The fears of the mother were an animal part of her, a part that would never leave her. They were the cross she was proud to bear.

It was a bitter pill to swallow. It was the most diplomatic solution, she knew it, but just as there were no rules to follow, no guidebook for motherhood, nothing could prepare General Leia Organa to see her son like this. Staring ahead with those blank black eyes, his face awash in the glow of the energy barrier. Nothing could soften the blow she took to her guts as she watched the sweet child she gave life - chin lifted in quiet dignity, his hands restrained behind his back - walk escorted into the harsh confines of a Resistance prison cell. It was better than the alternative. No one believed he deserved death, but the word "carbonite" had been uttered on multiple occasions during the heated discussion regarding just exactly what they were supposed to do now with their most auspicious, high priority prisoner. He may have made the decision to abandon his throne on his own, his assistance may have proven invaluable... but that didn't erase the crimes of his past. It didn't wash away the blood on his hands.

Upstairs and across the galaxy there was nothing short of an ear-splitting cacophony of celebration. The revolt was a success, the First Order dissolved with a puff and a whimper from beneath its own malignant leadership, and the war was over. There was still a steep road ahead of them to climb, putting the galaxy back together in a manner toward which everyone could agree. But this was not what kept her lying awake at night in a pool of her own cold sweat. Now was the time for negotiations and treaties and legislation. These were her strengths. Now was her time.

What had been keeping her in a swollen, sluggish state of sleeplessness, however, was fear. The same fears that had haunted her for over thirty years. The fears of the mother.

When she was still young, scarcely more than a child herself and Ben was just a flutter tickling in her belly, she knew fear then. He didn't even have a name at that time (in fact, Leia'd hoped he might have been a girl that she would have called Bella, loosely after her foster father), but she still had fear. She had the normal fears ubiquitous to all creatures that have, at one point, given birth - she feared he wouldn't have two arms, two legs, ten fingers, and ten toes. She feared he wouldn't be healthy - she feared he would be frail, with malformed lungs or bones, or a weak heart. Normal fears.

And then there was the Force.

But after he was born, when he was swaddled and nestled against her, pink and warm, gnawing on his own fist with his wet, slobbery gums, those normal fears were assuaged and replaced with new normal fears. She feared she would drop him. She feared she didn't know how to be a mother. She feared he would swallow something and choke while she wasn't looking. She feared she couldn't produce enough milk, and that he would somehow grow up weirdly detached from society from a lack of proper breast feeding. She feared she'd suckle him too much, and he'd become a weak man too dependent on his mother to stand on his own two feet. She feared she wouldn't be there for him when he really needed her. She feared she'd smother him too much.

And still... there was the Force.

When he was walking and running and speaking small sentences and starting toilet training, her fears grew darker still. But everything grew darker at that time, looking back on it. Like how the sun gets blotted out by clouds building before a storm. It was the kind of shadow one failed to notice until the thunder started to rumble. It was a warning that was too subtle to heed. She feared she was working too much. She feared she was walking a fine line between what it meant to be a mother, and what it meant to be a role model. She feared her husband was unable to close the gap. She feared her son was too in love with a father that didn't trust himself to be a father. She was wretchedly terrified she would one day watch her son's heart break, although she knew she would. Every mother did. She knew she would see it over and over in his life - if not from his family, from the attempt to start one of his own. Such was the way life worked. It didn't make her any less fearful of it. These fears were instinctual.

But there were other fears that also seemed... more than just instinctual. They were trying to tell her something in a language she didn't understand. There began a time of nightmares. It was tough to call it that... but in hindsight that's exactly what it had been. Countless nights she awoke screaming, her arms flung out before her reaching out for the invisible dark. Sometimes she had been next to her husband. Other times she had been in a strange bed in temporary chambers provided while she was traveling on business. Each time, however, the dream had been the same - someone had come in in the night and had taken her son away from her, snatched him straight out of his crib. Sometimes she would stand in the 'fresher, cold water on her face and shaking in a cup gripped in her trembling hands, while she shook off the nauseating echoes of Ben's tiny cries fading as he was carried off into the night.

It was around this time that Ben began having trouble sleeping. The boy would weep and wail and sob at all hours of the night, only collapsing into sleep once he'd breached the barrier of exhaustion, like a sort of trial. It was when he started talking about an imaginary friend who "scared the bad," that she started speaking to a medical professional. Leia could imagine nothing more horrifying as a mother than knowing she was failing her son so miserably that he required medical attention. And though the kind doctor went far beyond his means to assure her that her son's insomnia was purely a result of teething and growing pains, and that imaginary friends were perfectly normal for someone who was still too young to find socialization in public school... Leia couldn't let go of this, this... this nagging voice in the back of her mind.

Because, again, there was the Force.

After that, his childhood was a whirlwind. A maelstrom. He was still restless, and she was afraid. He grew withdrawn and secretive - beyond what a normal pre-teen boy would experience as he began to discover his own sexuality. And she was afraid. Events began happening in their home - objects moved on their own, there were broken pieces poorly hidden, there were things he tried to repair. Ben was subject to a Force that was beyond his understanding. Which drew scorn from the father he idolized.

And she was afraid. Because Ben was afraid. And someone, something, was still doing its level best to claw its way into their home at night and steal him away - rip the rug away from beneath their family and drag her son headlong into a void. Steal him away to a place where she couldn't follow.

Long, red-rimmed, wakeful nights followed. Arguments erupted between herself and her husband, their tempers beating against the lid that allowed a malevolent tension to percolate underneath. She did her best to hold them together, to be the glue her family needed. It was like holding onto a fistful of balloons on a windy day, and one by one she was watching them slip away. At that point, all she had was her fear...

And the Force.

She succumbed to her fears the day she gave her son to her brother. The greatest fear she had was that her inability to choose the correct course of action would only make the problem worse. She was afraid she'd been choosing poorly his whole life. She was afraid she chose inaction when she hadn't meant to, or had been convinced otherwise. She was afraid she simply just... wasn't there.

She was afraid she was a bad mother.

A mother would do anything to keep her baby safe, even if it meant she had to give him up. Ben clearly needed help, and it was help she could not provide him. So she faced him as she broke his heart... and broke her own. She faced him as she stroked his face, told him she loved him, then kissed him her last kiss and said good bye. There wasn't a night since when she didn't lie awake wishing she could take him back... take it all back. Give up everything else and just... keep him. Squash her silly, stupid fears and just keep her own damned son.

And now she had him. At last, she had him. Not as she wanted him... she would never again have that funny, curious, bubbly little rascal that loved splashing in the bath tub and chasing mouse droids in nothing but a diaper. But she still had him. She settled for sitting at a bad angle, where she could see him sitting in that cell but she was out of his line of sight. She had him now, and she sighed through unshed tears as she watched him stare ahead... just breathing. Just letting go, just letting the ordeal finally be over, just giving up his control and allowing himself to put this all behind him and finally relax. She gulped down her fears for his future as she watched him slowly blink and enjoy a rare moment of peace.

But then his head turned, as if he'd heard a strange noise. Shyly he stood. He took two timid steps before he leaned forward to peer out of the cell, searching for something Leia couldn't hear or see.

And like the rainbow after a storm, the door at the end of the hall swished open. It was the girl, Rey. The girl with stars in her eyes - the girl with a smile that was so disarming it could end a war. And it was tough to say it didn't. The girl who was so bright and guileless, so eternally hopeful, she embodied everything that was good in the galaxy, and Light in the Force. She gave the guard on duty a nod and a grin before she patted him on the shoulder and sent him on his way. She held in her hands a covered tray, and clutched beneath her arm a dusty old book. She didn't even pause before she approached his cell - she was totally fearless. The bond of trust between this girl and her son was as strong as it was unspoken.

"Hungry?" she chimed at him as she uncovered her tray. Atop it was a collection of small sandwiches and two slices of something that looked like an attempt at jogan fruit pie. "So it turns out," she beamed at him, "that you can go on the holonet and find actual step by step instructions on how to make your own food! Make it yourself! From ingredients!" She set her book down and tossed a hand in the air excitedly. All Ben could do was blink and smile at her, bemused by her sweetness. It was the first time Leia had seen her son smile in fifteen years. "It's so easy! I made this - all by myself! I know what I did wrong this time, but I still think it's pretty good."

Of course it was good. It was pie. Ben loved pie, although Leia knew he preferred more savory items like candied kukuia nut or chooca mousse.

She watched the girl break about fifty-seven different intergalactic wartime laws and regulations when she silenced the alarm on the barrier and briefly brought it down for a moment to hand him a plate of food. In that time, he made no move to flee - he made no act of violence, he made no attempt to reach the light saber locked safely away in their armory, he made no bolt for freedom. At this time... freedom meant something completely different to him. Instead, the barrier back in place where it belonged, he settled for sitting cross-legged on the floor just opposite her, filling his belly with something warm and delicious.

She had completely cast her spell on him. She'd opened the book and had begun reading aloud, asking questions and asserting her opinions, drawing him out of his alabaster shell with a fascinating discourse on the nature of the Force itself - a topic he couldn't resist. Their heads were as bunched together as the wall of buzzing energy would allow, their voices hushed yet animated. And when he'd muttered something to her about some sort of crappy analogy, he'd laughed.

Oh, sweet Maker, there had never been music so fine.

It was the same laugh he'd made when Leia had been dressing him as a baby, and she'd tickled his belly. It was the same laugh he'd given Uncle Lando when he'd called the boy some new sort of creative nickname - something gross, something little boys loved. It was the same laugh Chewie had elicited every time he'd sailed the boy through the air by his armpits, making the closest approximation to jet engine noises that a Wookiee could make. Leia pressed her fingers to her lips to quiet one single heave of a sob.

It was the wave of relief she felt as one of her fears finally left her.

She dried her cheeks and gazed lovingly at her son. His eyes never left the girl. He was utterly charmed. He was so spellbound he was helpless to hide the bare adoration he held for her as he hung breathless on her every word. Leia could feel it through the Force, his longing to touch. His longing to hold. His longing to be hers, to be held, and his willingness to sacrifice whatever was necessary to make that happen. His willingness to let go of the darkness he clung to for so long. His eagerness to find safety and belonging in something right. Something that was better for him, something that meant him no harm.

Leia breathed a deep, beautiful sigh and turned her eyes to the heavens. The fears of the mother were an animal part of her, a part that would never leave her. They were the cross she was proud to bear. But she was no longer afraid for her son's future.

For he had found love.

#reylo #reylo fic #reylo fan fic #reylo fan fiction

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two-halves-of-reylo · 6 years

Text

The Fears of the Mother ("Fear" Weekly Challenge)

The Fears of the Mother by Vespaer (on AO3)

Summary:

The fears of the mother were an animal part of her, a part that would never leave her. They were the cross she was proud to bear.

It was a bitter pill to swallow. It was the most diplomatic solution, she knew it, but just as there were no rules to follow, no guidebook for motherhood, nothing could prepare General Leia Organa to see her son like this. Staring ahead with those blank black eyes, his face awash in the glow of the energy barrier. Nothing could soften the blow she took to her guts as she watched the sweet child she gave life - chin lifted in quiet dignity, his hands restrained behind his back - walk escorted into the harsh confines of a Resistance prison cell. It was better than the alternative. No one believed he deserved death, but the word “carbonite” had been uttered on multiple occasions during the heated discussion regarding just exactly what they were supposed to do now with their most auspicious, high priority prisoner. He may have made the decision to abandon his throne on his own, his assistance may have proven invaluable… but that didn’t erase the crimes of his past. It didn’t wash away the blood on his hands.

What had been keeping her in a swollen, sluggish state of sleeplessness, however, was fear. The same fears that had haunted her for over thirty years. The fears of the mother.

When she was still young, scarcely more than a child herself and Ben was just a flutter tickling in her belly, she knew fear then. He didn’t even have a name at that time (in fact, Leia’d hoped he might have been a girl that she would have called Bella, loosely after her foster father), but she still had fear. She had the normal fears ubiquitous to all creatures that have, at one point, given birth - she feared he wouldn’t have two arms, two legs, ten fingers, and ten toes. She feared he wouldn’t be healthy - she feared he would be frail, with malformed lungs or bones, or a weak heart. Normal fears.

And then there was the Force.

But after he was born, when he was swaddled and nestled against her, pink and warm, gnawing on his own fist with his wet, slobbery gums, those normal fears were assuaged and replaced with new normal fears. She feared she would drop him. She feared she didn’t know how to be a mother. She feared he would swallow something and choke while she wasn’t looking. She feared she couldn’t produce enough milk, and that he would somehow grow up weirdly detached from society from a lack of proper breast feeding. She feared she’d suckle him too much, and he’d become a weak man too dependent on his mother to stand on his own two feet. She feared she wouldn’t be there for him when he really needed her. She feared she’d smother him too much.

And still… there was the Force.

When he was walking and running and speaking small sentences and starting toilet training, her fears grew darker still. But everything grew darker at that time, looking back on it. Like how the sun gets blotted out by clouds building before a storm. It was the kind of shadow one failed to notice until the thunder started to rumble. It was a warning that was too subtle to heed. She feared she was working too much. She feared she was walking a fine line between what it meant to be a mother, and what it meant to be a role model. She feared her husband was unable to close the gap. She feared her son was too in love with a father that didn’t trust himself to be a father. She was wretchedly terrified she would one day watch her son’s heart break, although she knew she would. Every mother did. She knew she would see it over and over in his life - if not from his family, from the attempt to start one of his own. Such was the way life worked. It didn’t make her any less fearful of it. These fears were instinctual.

But there were other fears that also seemed… more than just instinctual. They were trying to tell her something in a language she didn’t understand. There began a time of nightmares. It was tough to call it that… but in hindsight that’s exactly what it had been. Countless nights she awoke screaming, her arms flung out before her reaching out for the invisible dark. Sometimes she had been next to her husband. Other times she had been in a strange bed in temporary chambers provided while she was traveling on business. Each time, however, the dream had been the same - someone had come in in the night and had taken her son away from her, snatched him straight out of his crib. Sometimes she would stand in the ‘fresher, cold water on her face and shaking in a cup gripped in her trembling hands, while she shook off the nauseating echoes of Ben’s tiny cries fading as he was carried off into the night.

It was around this time that Ben began having trouble sleeping. The boy would weep and wail and sob at all hours of the night, only collapsing into sleep once he’d breached the barrier of exhaustion, like a sort of trial. It was when he started talking about an imaginary friend who “scared the bad,” that she started speaking to a medical professional. Leia could imagine nothing more horrifying as a mother than knowing she was failing her son so miserably that he required medical attention. And though the kind doctor went far beyond his means to assure her that her son’s insomnia was purely a result of teething and growing pains, and that imaginary friends were perfectly normal for someone who was still too young to find socialization in public school… Leia couldn’t let go of this, this… this nagging voice in the back of her mind.

Because, again, there was the Force.

And the Force.

She succumbed to her fears the day she gave her son to her brother. The greatest fear she had was that her inability to choose the correct course of action would only make the problem worse. She was afraid she’d been choosing poorly his whole life. She was afraid she chose inaction when she hadn’t meant to, or had been convinced otherwise. She was afraid she simply just… wasn’t there.

She was afraid she was a bad mother.

A mother would do anything to keep her baby safe, even if it meant she had to give him up. Ben clearly needed help, and it was help she could not provide him. So she faced him as she broke his heart… and broke her own. She faced him as she stroked his face, told him she loved him, then kissed him her last kiss and said good bye. There wasn’t a night since when she didn’t lie awake wishing she could take him back… take it all back. Give up everything else and just… keep him. Squash her silly, stupid fears and just keep her own damned son.

And now she had him. At last, she had him. Not as she wanted him… she would never again have that funny, curious, bubbly little rascal that loved splashing in the bath tub and chasing mouse droids in nothing but a diaper. But she still had him. She settled for sitting at a bad angle, where she could see him sitting in that cell but she was out of his line of sight. She had him now, and she sighed through unshed tears as she watched him stare ahead… just breathing. Just letting go, just letting the ordeal finally be over, just giving up his control and allowing himself to put this all behind him and finally relax. She gulped down her fears for his future as she watched him slowly blink and enjoy a rare moment of peace.

But then his head turned, as if he’d heard a strange noise. Shyly he stood. He took two timid steps before he leaned forward to peer out of the cell, searching for something Leia couldn’t hear or see.

And like the rainbow after a storm, the door at the end of the hall swished open. It was the girl, Rey. The girl with stars in her eyes - the girl with a smile that was so disarming it could end a war. And it was tough to say it didn’t. The girl who was so bright and guileless, so eternally hopeful, she embodied everything that was good in the galaxy, and Light in the Force. She gave the guard on duty a nod and a grin before she patted him on the shoulder and sent him on his way. She held in her hands a covered tray, and clutched beneath her arm a dusty old book. She didn’t even pause before she approached his cell - she was totally fearless. The bond of trust between this girl and her son was as strong as it was unspoken.

“Hungry?” she chimed at him as she uncovered her tray. Atop it was a collection of small sandwiches and two slices of something that looked like an attempt at jogan fruit pie. “So it turns out,” she beamed at him, “that you can go on the holonet and find actual step by step instructions on how to make your own food! Make it yourself! From ingredients!” She set her book down and tossed a hand in the air excitedly. All Ben could do was blink and smile at her, bemused by her sweetness. It was the first time Leia had seen her son smile in fifteen years. “It’s so easy! I made this - all by myself! I know what I did wrong this time, but I still think it’s pretty good.”

Of course it was good. It was pie. Ben loved pie, although Leia knew he preferred more savory items like candied kukuia nut or chooca mousse.

She watched the girl break about fifty-seven different intergalactic wartime laws and regulations when she silenced the alarm on the barrier and briefly brought it down for a moment to hand him a plate of food. In that time, he made no move to flee - he made no act of violence, he made no attempt to reach the light saber locked safely away in their armory, he made no bolt for freedom. At this time… freedom meant something completely different to him. Instead, the barrier back in place where it belonged, he settled for sitting cross-legged on the floor just opposite her, filling his belly with something warm and delicious.

She had completely cast her spell on him. She’d opened the book and had begun reading aloud, asking questions and asserting her opinions, drawing him out of his alabaster shell with a fascinating discourse on the nature of the Force itself - a topic he couldn’t resist. Their heads were as bunched together as the wall of buzzing energy would allow, their voices hushed yet animated. And when he’d muttered something to her about some sort of crappy analogy, he’d laughed.

Oh, sweet Maker, there had never been music so fine.

It was the same laugh he’d made when Leia had been dressing him as a baby, and she’d tickled his belly. It was the same laugh he’d given Uncle Lando when he’d called the boy some new sort of creative nickname - something gross, something little boys loved. It was the same laugh Chewie had elicited every time he’d sailed the boy through the air by his armpits, making the closest approximation to jet engine noises that a Wookiee could make. Leia pressed her fingers to her lips to quiet one single heave of a sob.

It was the wave of relief she felt as one of her fears finally left her.

For he had found love.

#reyloweeklychallenge #reylofanfiction #twohalvesofreylo #kylo ren x rey #rey x kylo ren #submission #long post #longpost

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sincognito · 6 years

Text

Royal Seduction 5 | Papgore

Pairing: Papyrus x Asgore

Universe: Underfell

Warnings: Past mentions of rape, implied future rape, anxiety, depression

Overview: Flowey is a dick. Papyrus continues to internally scream. Asgore is also a dick.

A/N: So sorry this took so long to update, I’ve been suffering from Glandular Fever and have been very sick this past month. Some personal stuff also prevented me from working on writing.

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Read is on AO3: HERE

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The forests of Snowdin were no welcoming place. The snow lay thick across the ground, making walking a most troublesome task, with all attempts at traversing it slow and exhausting to the unprepared monster. Fortunately, Sans needn’t travel far from the town.

Despite the bitter winds that howled through the ancient pines, and the fresh snowflakes that peppered the air, the short skeleton knew exactly where he was going, and with any luck, he would arrive just in time. Annoying as it might have been to repeat the same process many times over, he knew without doubt that he needed to continue onwards, lest he be caught unaware again.

Papyrus had been outraged at Sans’ allegedly playful joke. After being beaten thoroughly with a pillow, the tall skeleton practically shrieked in indignation. He had, of course, predicted such a reaction and didn’t bother offering any form of resistance when he was shoved from the room. He was, however, mildly disappointed.

Eventually, long after the frigid gales had ceased their fierce attack, he came across a small clearing. On a normal day, there would be no discerning features about the area, save for the lack of tightly packed trees. On that evening, however, in the very centre of the snowy grass stood a small, golden flower.

“Howdy bone bag!” The plant leered, “what brings you out on this lovely evening? Not spending it with dear Papyrus?”

Sans couldn’t resist sneering at the sickly sweet tone of the buttercup’s voice, shoving his hands firmly into the fur-lined pockets of his jacket, “You know exactly why I’m here, weed.”

Flowey began to bounce up and down on his stem, giggling childishly, his grin wide and more than a little unsettling. “Awe, is Papyrus not enjoying this fun little game of mine?” he asked, cocking his head, smile only growing, “Isn’t it funny how the tiniest little thing can completely change the outcome of everything?” By then he was almost wheezing with laughter.

“I’m glad you’re enjoyin’ yourself, ya’ little shit, but it’s really startin’ to lose its humor now.” The flower began to compose himself, all the while his smirk never faltering, “How’s about you just go back and clear up this mess?”

Four times. Sans had been forced to watch his brother suffer the King’s mistreatment four times over. He wasn’t certain he would be able to handle a fifth.

The first time it had happened, he had been horrified, breaking down in panic at his younger brother’s words. The guards were forced to drag him away, kicking and screaming, and had been fully prepared to have a less than polite talk with their malevolent leader. In hindsight, perhaps it had been fortunate the flower had reset before he’d had the chance. The second time followed much the same, but by the third, he had begun to get a grip on himself and his unruly emotions. It had been in that run he decided to try something new.

He had told Papyrus the most ill-timed, inconsiderate joke he could think of. It had made him feel lower than a Moldsmal to joke about Papyrus’ terrible situation, but he needed to know if his theory was correct. Surely, he wasn’t the only monster to remember reliving the same few days again and again. He had thought that if he said something extremely memorable that it too would have been unforgettable.

Unfortunately, the only reward he had reaped from the words he had so carefully sewn was an angry brother. He couldn’t wait for the tiny plant to finally grow bored of messing around with Papyrus and setting everything back to its rightful place. Then he could simply go on normally and no longer be burdened by the guilt of trying to deliberately hurt his little brother’s feelings when he was already so vulnerable.

“Nah.”

Sans started, taking a long moment to blink and process what Flowey had said, “The hell do you mean?” he snapped, his eyes narrowing on the flower.

“I said ‘Nah’, as in ‘no’, ‘nope’, ‘no way’.” When he smiled his face almost seemed to have been torn in half with how broad the grin was, “Wouldn’t it be more fun to see what happens next, eh Smiley Trash Bag?” The condescension in his tone was thicker than the ice they stood on, “We could see how ol’ Papyrus fares with his new… ‘job’. You certainly did well if your plan was to drive him away from you, I wonder if he’ll fall down now that he doesn’t have a brother to look out for him?”

Without further hesitation Sans reached out with his magic, attempting to turn the other monster’s soul blue. He froze. Flowey, of course, had no soul - he wasn’t sure how he had so easily forgotten such an important detail - his blue magic had no effect on the cursed weed.

Regardless, Flowey backed off, his body slithering across the ground as though he were an emerald snake, his voice providing a matching hiss, “See ya’ around Sans, I look forward to our next chat about this little game of ours~” And before Sans could lunge for him, he ducked down and into the soil below.

The serene silence of the woods was broken by an angered scream.

To say Papyrus was upset would have been an understatement. His jaw had begun to ache due to the harsh pressure of both rows of teeth scraping against one another. But it was a welcome distraction from the storm of thoughts and sharp emotions colliding within his mind.

Did Sans care so little about him that he would treat his situation as little more than a joke? He had known that his brother could be rude and inconsiderate, but even he should have known he was taking it too far. It was impossible for it to have been an accident, and even if it was, Papyrus would still have been less than impressed.

Yet something still felt wrong. He could not place exactly what was odd about his older brother’s words, yet they continued to plague his thoughts. It was possible that it was not the first time Sans had used the pun - it was far from an uncommon phrase - but it had a certain deja vu feeling surrounding it that he could not quite place.

Never the less, Papyrus had been hurt. His already wounded soul beat uneasy within his chest, sending jolts of restlessness that did little to soothe his nervous tension. He had turned to his brother for help; to provide him guidance in his darkest hour, but perhaps he had been naïve to assume Sans would always be able to save him every time he was in peril.

Perhaps he simply didn’t want to.

The thought was enough to make the tall skeleton feel nauseous, his arms curling around himself as he silently pondered the idea. He felt entirely useless and it quickly became apparent how pathetic he must have seemed if even a weak 1 HP monster could laugh at how helpless his whole situation was. His arms had begun to quiver, the pain of his jaw coming back anew as he clenched his teeth together to keep them from chattering as he sought to hide his internal agony.

He had let it happen to him, he was too cowardly to fight back, it was all his fault. No wonder he was in such an unenviable predicament, and it was no wonder his brother obviously thought so little of him. Papyrus felt no ire toward him, he was the one to blame after all.

He hadn’t realised he’d stopped breathing until he suddenly had to gasp for air, finally noticing the trance he had somehow gone into. He had been stool stock still, save for his skull that had been bobbing up and down as his mind began to race through all of his mistakes, all of the reasons he had put himself in that horrific place, all of the reasons he and he alone was to be held accountable for being claimed and forced to stay locked away.

No. Papyrus sucked in a deep breath, holding it for several painful seconds before releasing it slowly. He allowed his eyes to slip closed, clearing his thoughts and focusing on nothing but the act of steadying his breathing. Every time his mind attempted to wander to anything else he would force it back to focusing on the calming act.

Fortunately, it didn’t take long until his shoulders were slumped forward in a sensation of contentment, rather than in a panicked attempt at curling in on himself. He wasn’t certain how he had dissolved into such a mindless state of self-hatred, but it had not been pleasant in the least.

Once he had thought that he had only the strictest measure of control over his emotions, but his most recent behaviour had seen to shattering that illusion. While Papyrus might have been able to force his feelings to remain buried deep within himself, he had never been made to truly confront them. Anger was nothing new to him, but vulnerability, that was something he had known only long ago and had hoped to never encounter to such a degree again.

The Underground was a fierce and dangerous place as all knew, and not even the innocence of a child could be spared, no matter how hard one tried to protect it. For a child living a life on the streets, there was little chance of such an idealistic outlook having ever existed. Every homeless child was the same, desperately searching for even the smallest flicker of kindness just to survive another day, only to have that idea of mercy smothered as they slowly grew to understand the truth of their bitter existence. The strong survived. The strong were not kind.

Yet, even at that age, Papyrus had never been alone. Sans had looked after them both, going above and beyond others of his age to provide some food or find a place for them to sleep away from the monsters bustling through the city, or out of the heavy rains of Waterfall. It was them against the rest of the Underground – two children with only each other and a load of determination to rely on.

But Papyrus was alone. His brother had left, unlikely to bother returning for him, and his determination had withered away. He was uncertain if there could ever be hope for a monster with so little left to hold on to.

Papyrus pointedly ignored the knocking on his door, glaring out the window as he stroked his chin in silent thought. He had been alone for hours; the only disturbance having been the maid delivering his assigned lunch. He had, of course, ignored the offering out of childish spite, preferring to grumble to himself quietly.

Despite the fact he refused to acknowledge the person seeking entrance, the door to his room was pushed open, the hinges creaking with the weight of the heavy oak they held. The sound of steel boots clattering against the smooth stone floor served well to shatter the previous silence. Papyrus didn’t need to turn to know the guard who had been stationed outside his room had entered.

“What do you want?” he snarled, his voice far from kind.

There was a moment of quiet, the guard seeming to take his time with his response, either unsure of himself or allowing the skeleton monster a moment to calm his rage, “The King requests your presence this evening, sir.”

“I will be out in a minute” he breathed, shoulders sinking down in mild defeat. Although he had spent hours on his lonesome, it felt as though he had not a moment truly to himself.

As the guard exited the room, Papyrus took to cradling his skull in the palm of his hand, sighing before scraping his fingers down the remainder of his face as if tearing from it his look of despair, allowing his arm to drop back onto his lap afterwards. He spent a moment taking in the now dimly lit city below, watching as a few monsters scuttled from street light to street light, daring not to spend a moment longer than necessary in the darkness.

He stood, straightening out his only clean pair of clothes, praying to any and all gods that it would be sufficient. He dreaded to think that he might not be wearing his clothes for much longer. Papyrus reluctantly left the room, pausing a moment to wait for the guard to lead the way.

Asgore’s accommodation was at the very far end of the castle, somewhat detached from the main building. From the outside, it appeared a modest cottage, surrounded by patches of golden flowers, and on the inside, it was painted with homely shades of yellow and brown. As if the house wasn’t warm enough a blazing fire sat alight in the hearth.

It all seemed to be completely juxtaposed by the large goat monster that stood by the fireplace, missing his usual plated armour, yet still appearing cruel and powerful as ever. The sight of him alone was enough to tear the previous warmth of the welcoming home from Papyrus’ body, leaving his bones feeling cold and stiff.

He hadn’t noticed the guard had left until the King gestured for him to approach, finally turning his gaze from the flames to focus on the smaller monster. Although his poster was slightly hunched from leaning over to inspect the burning logs, Asgore was still far taller than Papyrus, leering down at him slyly as he watched his cautious approach.

Despite the unwelcome jittering of his legs, Papyrus managed to drag himself to his captor’s side, standing silent, his posture painfully erect. The King looked back towards the fire, watching it flicker and flare, the sound of crackling wood quickly consuming the quiet surrounds.

“You haven’t been eating,” Asgore continued to stare into the fireplace, the reflection of the flames upon his dark eyes strengthening his heated tone. “You understand that that simply won’t do, yes?” he growled, eyes narrowing on the fire as Papyrus meekly nodded, “Good. I expect that when you are given food, you eat it without complaint.”

For a moment longer, he fell quiet, before finally turning to regard the skeleton. He raised a paw, cupping the side of Papyrus’ skull and tilting it upward, forcing him to meet the larger monster’s gaze, refusing to hide how he enjoyed the way Papyrus’ breath quickened at the contact. He gently stroked his thumb down the young monster’s face, drinking in all of his features as he did so, “Such a pretty thing, it would truly be a crime to let you waste away.”

Papyrus attempted to pull away from Asgore’s grasp when he leant down but was unable to break from the vice-like grip forcing him to remain still while a soft kiss was planted on the side of his head. The King chuckled softly, “Still trying to resist, hm? Such a naughty thing~” he purred, smirking playfully, “I do so enjoy your defiance.”

Before he had a chance to react, Asgore moved forward again, pressing his mouth onto Papyrus’ sharp teeth. A small startled gasp was all he needed to slip his tongue into the gap between his teeth, attacking his mouth with a vigour he had been unprepared for. His arms raised, trying to push the invading monster’s body away in panic with a muffled yelp.

As soon as the assault had begun it finished, the goat monster releasing Papyrus and taking a step back, allowing him a moment to try and comprehend what had happened. “Do you know what else I enjoy Papyrus?” He had begun to shake again, his breathing far from calm as he battled with the fight or flight response pounding in his skull, “I enjoy knowing that no matter how hard you do try to defy me, I will always win in the end. You are mine, and I am quite happy to continue reminding you of that until it sinks into that pretty little head of yours.”

“Now, why don’t we sit down and enjoy some nice dinner, my sweet pet?” his tone had completely changed, from cruel and commanding to soft. And yet, although his words were laced with a fine layer of sugar they were still capable of causing the skeleton a great deal of discomfort, uneasy shivers racing down his spine.

At the far end of the living room the table had already been set, two plates of steaming food already laid out, one at either end of the table. Naturally, Papyrus chose the seat closest to the door, accustomed to being in close proximity to an exit at all times. Although it wasn’t as though he could exactly escape the King, he still took comfort in having the option to at least try should he get into a troublesome situation.

He had been served what some might have called a simple roast, but to Papyrus’ starved body it looked like a meal fit for the Gods. The aroma of the cooked bird in front of him alone was enough to trigger his non-existent salivary glands, forcing him to begin swallowing small gulps of red magic. Regardless of his body’s eagerness to simply delve into the substantial offering, he still hesitated, lifting a fork only to begin pushing a slice of carrot around his plate, trying his best to ignore his ‘host’s’ gaze.

It took a moment, but Papyrus finally managed to find his voice, “S-Sire, I- I’m really not very hungry-” his weak attempt at refusing the meal was quickly denied by a rather badly hidden growl and a harsh glare, the large monster pausing his dinner. Papyrus realised that the King was not going to continue until he was certain that the smaller monster had at least begun.

Eventually, he began to slowly eat, doing his best to push past the ill feeling deep in his gut as he began a staring contest with some golden flowers that sat on the table. Fortunately, it wasn’t long until he began to speed up, seeming to only just realise how desperate he’d been for food after his impromptu fast. He was most disappointed when there was nothing left on his plate. He was then left in silence, awkwardly glancing about the room while he waited for the King to finish his own meal.

Papyrus noticed that leading from the main living area was a humble kitchen, presumably for Asgore’s private use. He wondered if the King kept any cooking supplies on hand, or if it sat empty gathering dust in its years of disuse.

In front of the fireplace sat a large chair, made from a bright crimson fabric with a tall back and thick wooden armrests on either side. In the middle of the chair sat a small book, presumably taken from the small bookshelf across the room. Its cover bore the scars of a long life, the words that had been printed along the spine far too faded to offer a clue as to the book’s contents.

When Asgore had finally finished his meal, he pushed aside his plate, swilling down the final remaining drops of the red wine that had sat perched upon a rather ornate bar cloth. His movements were slow, feigning an almost disinterested air.

“You enjoyed your dinner?” he asked, intertwining his fingers, and placing his hands daintily on the table.

Papyrus hesitated a moment before nodding, swallowing to try and clear the dry lump in his throat, “Yes, it was… very nice,” he replied slowly. He had entirely removed his gaze from the other monster, yet somehow, he could still feel the intense way he was being watched.

“Very good,” Asgore breathed, parting his hands and reaching for a stack of paperwork, “At the end of the hallway is the bathroom. Go clean yourself up and meet me in my bedroom once you are finished. It is the next room over from the bathroom.” He began sifting through the papers, already beginning to frown at whatever was written on them.

Realising that was all the goat monster was going to say to him, Papyrus silently slid from his chair, walking backwards from the room, his instincts refusing to allow him to turn his back to his adversary. It was only once he had left the room that he began to look where he was going.

Just as the King had said, the room at the far end of the house contained the bathroom, behind a sign warning of current construction. Oddly enough there seemed nothing wrong with the room, everything seeming in perfect working order. There was also a fresh towel hung over the side of the bath, and a long purple evening gown hanging from a metal railing.

Papyrus quickly stripped of his clothes, folding them neatly and placing them on the side of the sink. He opened the shower door and quickly moved inside, closing the door firmly behind him before turning the knob for hot water. He ran his fingers through the falling droplets of warm water, testing the temperature was suitable before moving his whole body underneath the heavy stream.

The feeling of the water running down his body helped to relieve a great deal of the tension that had built up in his bones, allowing him to close his sockets and simply enjoy the warmth and privacy. With a sigh he moved out of the water, searching momentarily for the body wash before beginning to cleanse himself of several days’ worth of dirt and grime.

He turned up the heat of the water, starting by rubbing the soap over his skull, sparing a moment to massage his temples.

Hotter.

He moved on to his chest, creating a fine lather as he rubbed between each of his ribs and between each of the vertebrae of his spine.

Hotter.

His pelvis was sensitive, far more so than usual, but Papyrus was persistent, scrubbing the inside of his hips despite the discomfort it caused.

Hotter.

Finally, he began to wash his legs and feet, ignoring the way they ached as he cleaned them of sweat and the remnants of other foul liquids.

The air was thick with steam, making it heavy on Papyrus’ non-existent lungs. The water was scalding, burning his bones in a way that would redden the skin of another monster. However, he took comfort in the feeling, the pain reassuring him that he was still alive, that his soul still beat strong within his chest.

He cut the water, allowing himself a moment for the remaining drops to slide lethargically from his tired body. Only once he had shaken off all the water he could did Papyrus leave the large shower and reach for his towel, patting down the remaining wet patches of his body.

He dumped the used towel into the empty washing basket and retrieved the robe from its hanger, bundling himself up within its cotton confines. Then, he snatched up his clothes, frowning in renewed discomfort as he left the relative secrecy of the bathroom.

While he had been reluctant to leave, he found that he rather enjoyed the pleasantly refreshing scent of citrus that clung to his bones. A hearty meal and a long shower had done him good, soothing his restless spirit, if only for a few moments. He might have even been able to fool himself into thinking everything was okay for a split second.

Unfortunately, as he moved towards the next room the nauseous feeling that had plagued him earlier returned full force. He breathed deeply, his breath shaking ever so slightly as he reached out with trembling phalanges and entered the room.

#literature #papgore #Royal Seduction #a dragon writes #mine #past rape #mentions of rape #anxiety #depression #please tell me if I forgot anything #it's late #I'm tired and sick #peace my dudes

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hsj-scenarios · 6 years

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Jump! in horror movies: Starting with Hey! Say! 7

Yamada Ryosuke: Evil Dead (2013)

Movie synopsis: Mia, a drug addict, is determined to kick the habit. To that end, she asks her brother, David, his girlfriend, Natalie and their friends Olivia and Eric to accompany her to their family’s remote forest cabin to help her through withdrawal. Eric finds a mysterious Book of the Dead at the cabin and reads aloud from it, awakening an ancient demon. All hell breaks loose when the malevolent entity possesses Mia.

For Yamada I quite frankly had an ABUNDANCE of horror picks for him, from Hannibal, Tate Langdon and Kit Walker, etc ..

But I decided to go with Evil Dead, instead of making him the villain I went for the hero (sorta) Since Yamada is a friends and family guy who holds deeply the moments he spends with loved ones and is loyal to family moments specially, I wouldn’t doubt he’d stop everything he’s doing to take time for his sibling in need and spend time with her.

However, Yamada is very well known for being a scaredy-cat when it comes to ghosts and such but let’s keep in perspective that this is his sister life on the line (even if she’s turned into a terrifying demon). A few of Yamada’s traits as a Taurus are devotion and responsibility, mix those with seeing his sibling in threatening danger and he’s capable of putting up a great fight and leaving behind his fears; not only for his sibling’s sake but for everyone else accompanying him in the cabin. Again, friends and family are the most important things in his life.

Whether or not Yamada gets killed off it would surely be for the sake and safety of his sibling’s life, if not he would not rest until the demonic entity is no longer haunting his sibling, he already lost most of his friends to the demon, he wouldn’t bare to lose his sibling.

So for Yamada, I think he’d make a great hero for this kind of horror flick!

Chinen Yuri: Pan’s Labyrinth (2006)

Movie Synopsis: In 1944 Spain young Ofelia and her ailing mother arrive at the post of her mother’s new husband, a sadistic army officer who is trying to quell a guerrilla uprising. While exploring an ancient maze, Ofelia encounters the faun Pan, who tells her that she is a legendary lost princess and must complete three dangerous tasks in order to claim immortality.

Pan’s Labyrinth seemed like the perfect flick for Chinen and I mostly picked it because in some ways he reminds me of Ofelia (the protagonist).

The scene that really screams Chinen to me is the one where Ofelia finds herself in the presence of the ‘Pale Man’, a skinny and terrifying child-eating monster with his eyes placed inside his hands. After Ofelia was warned not to consume anything on the table, she eats two grapes, awakening the Pale Man who then ate two of the fairies protecting Ofelia.

A few of Chinen’s weaknesses are being impatient and saying anything no matter how insensitive, much like a child. Being constrained isn’t something he likes either, now freedom and being outdoors is something he much rather do, much like our character Ofelia.

He’s curious and very much energetic, I believe Chinen would easily accept the Faun’s three tasks in return for immortality, but he’d do them his way despite the warnings.

However, the faun asks for the blood of an innocent in order to open the portal to the underworld and although Chinen may desire the gifts the faun offers he in no way would trade his baby brother’s blood, he wouldn’t have the heart to harm a child for his own pleasures, therefore he would prefer disobeying the faun’s orders.

But in return to the faun’s requests Chinen would offer his own blood due to a wound shot, and for that he passes the the final test, which was to spill his own blood rather than that of a child’s.

So despite Chinen having ‘bratty’ or ‘childlike’ behavior, he would still put himself first instead of harming an innocent one.

(Ps. This movie is much more detail than what I’m giving you and even though I called Chinen bratty and childlike I do not think of him in that way seriously, it’s just for the movie purpose)

Okamoto Keito: Silent Hill (2006)

Movie Synopsis: Rose Da Silva and her husband Christopher are deeply disturbed by their adopted daughter Sharon’s constant sleepwalking and nightmares about Silent Hill, a town that was abandoned 30 years ago due to a massive coal seam fire. Against Christopher’s wishes, Rose takes Sharon on a trip to Silent Hill to find answers. Her erratic behaviour concerns police officer Cybil Bennett. Rose flees from Cybil, but when a girl steps out into the road, Rose crashes and blacks out. Waking up some time later, Rose finds herself in the foggy dimension of Silent Hill and realizes that Sharon is missing.Exploring the town for Sharon, Rose pursues the same girl she encountered prior to the crash, but the town transitions into a nightmarish dimension inhabited by inhuman monsters, including the fearsome Pyramid Head.

For Keito I decided to pick Silent Hill, oddly enough! For those who know of the films and original games perhaps may think this is a very odd movie pick, perhaps by the disturbing darkness this film has and Keito’s ‘soft’ or ‘shy’ personality.

However, as timid and quiet as Keito seems to be in front of the cameras I do believe he possesses determination, courage and confidence. He may also have some aggressive tendencies if rubbed the wrong way (No, I do not mean this in an abusive way whatsoever).

With those characteristics I believe he’d have the perfect undying passion to go look for his missing adopted child despite the horrifying creatures he would encounter. I have no doubt Keito would be scared out of his mind but knowing his child is missing with inhuman monsters lurking around is a reason enough to put up a good front and face them.

His impulses and impatience might get him into trouble and perhaps nearly killed, but for me he’ll be the hero for his child. Through his journey within Silent Hill he will meet certain people and he would seek help in finding his child and also try to understand what goes on in the disturbing town.

I strongly believe that despite the town’s horrific story and the things he had seen, plus his own fears, he would absolutely put his child first. For them he would fight the monsters and the cult, anything to find safety for his child, and to get the hell out of Silent Hill.

Nakajima Yuto: Tate Langdon from American Horror Story: Murder House (2010)

Drama Synopsis: It centers on the Harmon family: Dr. Ben Harmon, Vivien and their daughter Violet, who move from Boston to Los Angeles after Vivien has a miscarriage and Ben has an affair. They move into a restored mansion, unaware that the house is haunted by the ghosts of its former residents and their victims.

Tate Langdon: Tate Langdon is the son of Constance Langdon and brother of Adelaide, Beauregard, and another unnamed sibling. He is a sociopathic teenage ghost who resides in the Murder House, and becomes romantically involved with Violet Harmon. He first appears in the pilot episode as one of Ben’s new patients. During a session, Tate describes an ongoing dream in which he commits a mass shooting at his high school. It is revealed in “Halloween (Part 2)” that Tate was allegedly responsible for a school shooting that took the lives of fifteen of his classmates.

Now this is a rather odd pick considering I initially intended in placing Yamada as Tate, but I wanted to try something different with Yuto so I went with American Horror Story.

(Note: Firstly, I won’t lie, I feel a bit iffy adding Tate to this list considering the actual school shootings that have happened, but keep in mind Tate is a mere character and I do not approve any of his behavior nor do I think Tate or Yuto are really or anything alike, this is all for fun and not to be taken seriously.)

A few of Yuto’s traits are being warm-hearted, generous and passionate and a negative few are being ignored and facing difficult realities much like Tate.

I can very easily see Yuto getting involved with the new girl, and after years of loneliness that relationship might get clingy from Yuto’s side. However, as twisted as he could be he wouldn’t miss a chance in reminding his loved one how much he loves them. When Yuto loves, he loves genuinely and hard. He is sincere and would show his feelings with much ease and clarity.

But within the house Yuto’s warm-hearted self would also obligate him to do good for others and help those in need, no matter how gruesome the task, he’d do anything to please others just for the sake of bringing them happiness even if it’s just for a moment. He would pretty much take the initiative in resolving the problems of others.

He would see to it to grant others wishes, even if murdering was involved.

Tate Langdon wasn’t a family guy, except for his younger sister Adelaide. In Yuto’s case, family isn’t the first thing he thinks about when waking up or going to sleep, he is independent and would spend most of his time not only in the murder house in which he died in but more so with his lover.

With his arrogance and stubbornness he would very easily ignore and detach himself from his promiscuous mother. He could appreciate the fact that his mother was seeking help for his disturbing dreams/past but truth be told he much preferred and enjoyed spending time with his psychiatrist’s daughter.

Because just for once, he could feel genuine happiness and mental stability. For him, love was a much greater thing than accepting the fact that he was after all, the ghost of a murderer.

#and yes most of these I wrote with their zodiac signs as background info ^^#Hey! Say! 7 #Yamada Ryosuke #Chinen Yuri #Nakajima Yuto #Okamoto Keito #Horror AU #Headcanons #Evil Dead #Pan’s Labyrinth #Silent Hill #American Horror Story: Murder House #Tate Langdon #Mod M

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smokeybrandreviews · 3 years

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Smokey brand Select: No One Can Hear You Scream

While i was writing my review for The Little Things and how much of a true January film it turned out to be, it made me recall several films that came out in this, the cinematic graveyard month. It was odd that this film, the first, real release of this wonky, post-2020, world, would be so aggressively mediocre. Just last year, we received several excellent films around this time, a few of which turned out to be brilliant sci-fi horror films. The More i thought about it, the more i realized just how much of this genre. Science fiction Horror, I've allocated to my all-time favorite films. I’ve seen a great many of these movies and wanted to throw a spotlight on a few that i think, are great example of the sub-genre.

10. Screamers

Screamers isn’t very good but it is a guilty pleasure of mine. I remember seeing this thing as a kid and thinking how great the concept is. The idea of Screamers, the evolution of artificial life rising to dominate organics, is always an interesting take to me. Some of my favorite films deal with that transhumanism and existential horror. Blade Runner, Total Recall, Minority Report, and A Scanner Darkly, are all favorites that kind of center on what it means to be human in the face of exceptional technology. They’re all also adaptions of Philip K. Dick stories, just like Screamers. The film is a bit different than the Dick story it’s based on, Second variety, but it’s an entertaining, high budget, B-movie with a great core concept. I think if this is remade today, with a decent budget, and an auteur director with great vision, Screamers could really be one of the best sci-fi horror films to every grace cinema.

9. Honeymoon

I caught this one on Netflix, early in the life of the streamer. Before they got super big, Netflix was a gold mine for smaller budget, indie, gems like Honeymoon. I actually saw this thing a few years later when that momentum started to peak but there was still a great deal of awesome to find. Honeymoon is all of that and more. I don’t want to spoil too much about the plot because it is, technically, a mystery but i had a fantastic time with this movie. It’s very challenging, very surreal at times, and never really gives you room to breathe with its story but the stress only adds to the viewing experience. This thing probably didn't have a kind run in theaters but it should have because, seriously, it’s pretty great.

8. Underwater

Underwater was the whole reason i decided to write this Select. This and The Invisible man. Both films were surprisingly excellent, though Invisible Man definitely skews more thriller than horror. Underwater, though? Yeah, that’s a horror. I was incredibly surprised by how good this film turned out to be. It boggled my mind why the Disney machine would release this thing in January and not October because it was, quite literally, one of the best horror films released that year. Obviously, this flick was a victim of that merger but it really should have gotten a better push from the Mouse House because it’s definitely a gem. Underwater cribs a great deal from Alien, the perfect movie to snag sh*t from for a film like this, but it does it in a way that pays homage, never imitates. That’s a fine line to walk. I wrote a proper review for this bad boy that you can search out but, needless to say, i had a great time with it.

7. Vivarium

Vivarium is a sci-fi horror in the strictest sense. This one feels a lot like Annihilation in that the horror comes from that familiar unfamiliarity. Everything is just off, but off on a fundamental manner. You know sh*t is wrong on a primal, survival, level and you know it from the second that couple walks into to the “Realtor” office. Vivarium is unnerving and disgustingly cruel with how overt it’s alien nature is toward the audience. It slowly ramps up the tension, never really letting it go, raising the stakes on the surreal and horrifying as the run time closes in on it’s climax. This film is a lot, especially if you commit wholly to the experience.

6. Invasion of the Body Snatchers

Invasion has been remade several times over the years. This story if a staple of cinema and it really has the flexibility to be told so many times, in so many ways. One of my favorites is the Nicole Kidman vehicle, The Invasion. There’s this scene where one of the pod people tries to infiltrate Kidman’s home but can’t get in so it just spazzes. The f*cking thing just stops blinking and starts shrieking. It’s so f*cking horrifying, i had to leave the room the first time i saw it. It then just walks off the porch and into the night. That one scene, wigged me the f*ck out so bad. So why isn’t that version of this list? Because the Seventies take on The Body Snatchers narrative, has the same energy from that one scene, throughout the entirety of the goddamn film. It’s insane how much unrelenting tension that thing builds. It winds so tight and never releases you from it’s malevolent grip, even when the movie ends. It might feel tame nowadays but, when i saw it as a kid, it kept me completely hostage with that unrelentingly oppressive atmosphere.

5. Event Horizon

Where to even begin with this gothic nightmare? Event Horizon is an experience. It’s easily skews the most horror on this list and, yes, it earns that title with gusto. I saw this thing at the drive-in when i was, like, thirteen years old. I remember it was the b-movie to a brand new release, the only way i could have watched it because there was no way my ma would allow to see this thing otherwise. Horizon is a brutal watch. It hangs it’s hat on disgusting and disturbing visuals, coupled with this foreboding animosity in the set construction around these actors. The ship, itself, is pure malevolence and you feel it the second they step on the Event Horizon. This is another film that takes a great deal from Alien but it definitely does it’s own thing with those themes. Event Horizon is basically Hellraiser in space and that sh*t works beautifully. The most ridiculous thing about this film is the version we all have seen? The one released to the public? Yeah, that’s the toned down cut. The first cut has about thirty minutes of extended nightmare fuel but it was lost in a fire or something, never to be seen again.

4. The Thing

I’m talking about the original from the Eighties. That new, prequel is a pale imitation but the original? Yeah, that’s a classic. Everyone praises the effects because, of course they should, but my takeaway was the absolute dread which just infects all of this movie. The entire run time, you’re uncomfortable. Every single second of it. That opening scene with the dog running through the snow gets you off balance and the film never let’s you right yourself. You are forced to experience all of these surreal and horrendous events, from a compromised perspective. It definitely works out because, holy sh*t, but that is exactly why it works, why this film works. Without that initial pivot, this film wouldn’t have been as great as it turned out to be, f*cking master craft in effects and all.

3. Annihilation

Annihilation is f*cking brilliant and does not gt the due it truly deserves. Most people tend to check out because of how methodical this thing is with it’s narrative but that’s part of the experience. It is deliberate and very deliberate, very purposeful, with what it shows you and how it tells this story. I, personally, think it’s brilliant. This film is lousy with existential dread, bordering on straight up eldritch. These thing is saturated with the fear of that “other”, the fear of not being you. It’s insane how palpable that eeriness runs through this content and it real is a shame that most of the audience never gave it a chance to inflict that upon them. Plus, it’s f*cking gorgeous, man!

2. Fire in the Sky

This one is kind of a cheat. Sky is more of a sci-fi drama that horror but, there is one sequence in this flick that is just debilitating. This movie is based on the two-week abduction of Travis Walton. That demonstration of what happened to him in that fortnight was the most harrowing sh*t i have ever seen in my life. It viscerally disturbed me. Look, I'm an Eighties kid. We were raised on slashers and body horror. I saw my first Nightmare on Elm Street when i was three. I saw Cronenberg's The Fly when i was five. I don’t rattle. Fire in the Sky did much more than that. Admittedly, the majority of the film is completely absent of horror. It’s all about the disappearance and how that effects the people around Travis, then it shifts to Travis, himself, as he miraculously returns along with all of the fallout from that. That is, essentially, what this movie is at it’s core; a drama. But that one scene, though. Man, f*ck that one scene.

1. Alien

Alien is in a three-way tie for my all-time favorite film. It’s a near perfect film. Excellent acting, outstanding direction, and arguably the best effects work in cinema. Seriously, this thing came out in 1979 and still gives modern films a proper run for their money. Alien, as a film, is f*cking stunning. The plot is a little light but it’s more a framing device than it is a driving force. No, the real heavy lifting in this thing is definitely done by the actors, all of that solid character work, and the effects worm. Just he look of all that retro-future tech, the detail of the Derelict Ship, and the utter horror of the Xenomorph, itself, are f*cking timeless. I’ve written an entire review of Alien so if you need detail, you can look that one up if you like but, suffice it to say, Alien gets my highest praise and recommendation.

Honorable Mentions: The Endless, Pandorum, Mimic, The Astronaut’s Wife, Attack the Block, Dark Skies, A Quiet Place, Scanners, The Fly (1986), High Life, Overlord, The Mist, 10 Cloverfield Lane, The Faculty, Slither

#Smokey brand Select #Sci-Fi Horror

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