Narrative - Blog Posts

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Deep inside a small town in the north of Spain lays hidden an academy, which name, despite being Spanish, is “Cherrific Sunflower Academy”. Only the smartest and most special students get the chance to study there.

Our protagonist was luck struck, however.

Rain was a normal student, though his great memory has achieved them nothing but the best grades in his class- despite being quite the knucklehead.

Rain was the emo-gothic kind that made them stand out in the crowd.

They were part of a DID system, along side ‘Society’(as he liked to be called). They were polar opposites of each other, while Rain was quiet, shy and sometimes optimistic, Society was the jokester, arrogant and confident type. As much as Rain recognised Society’s job within the system and appreciated what he did for the both of them, they still thought he was kind of annoying.

Rain was ecstatic, he had been accepted in the Academy, not even Society could ruin her mood, he was finally ready! After a week that had gone by so slowly it felt like it had been a month long, everything was ready for their new adventure.

They arrived to the train station where she would be taken towards their exciting destiny.

He had meticulously chosen her clothes the night before; the blue sweater with the embroidered cloud on the chest, the checkered black and white skirt, blue and black striped tights and their trusty converse; everything was blue, it was their favourite colour after all, so much so his hair is blue as well.

She carried his backpack and two suitcases, and was very much lost, as much as he was excited and nervous to find their train.

After running around for a while and asking a couple of people he finally found it, rushing inside to leave his baggage in its pertinent place.

Once the whole ordeal is over, he sat down, letting out a big sigh of relief while grabbing her MP3. It had been a chore to find the train, but now she could put his headphones on and forget of the world around them.

Or so he thought.

‘What are you doing?’

Society’s annoying tone rang through his ears, making them sigh once more, trying to ignore them into shutting up.

It obviously didn’t work, it never did.

‘I was going to listen to some music, maybe even try to sleep a bit.’ Rain whispered as a response, she didn’t want anyone to think he was crazy.

Society and him had found out really early on after finding out they were a system that communicating with each other by talking out loud was better for the both of them.

‘Damn bitch, you’re a walking emo stereotype.’ Society snorted out, chuckling to himself.

Rain rolled his eyes and put his earphones on, tunning in some MCR for the trip, slowly falling asleep as the train started.

Five hours of a trip later, Rain woke up confused and disoriented. It took them a couple minutes to regain her composure, stretching her arms while he sat up.

The train had stopped twenty minutes ago and he was the only passenger still around. He grabbed their stuff feeling a bit dumb and rushed to the exit like a bat out of hell.

Once they were out of the station he found herself in front of the forest that hid the Academy.

“This is going to be a long day.” He thought after yawning and groaning.

He felt like had been walking the entire day, they could’ve sworn she had swallowed at least three of four spiderwebs by accident and they had to fight against so many branches. He had lost some of those fights, not that she’d admit to it anyways.

But when she arrived to the Academy, it almost felt like it had been worth it. Almost.

They were a mess. The bits of spiderwebs on her hair and clothes, the small branches and all the dirt and dust from the forest would take forever to clean.

“This is my favourite sweater too.” He thought.

Rain stepped inside the building, finally. She looked around the entrance, maybe expecting someone to show them around or welcome her at the very least, but everyone was way too busy getting to wherever they had to be to greet the new emo guy that looked like she had escaped from the set of Man vs. Wild.

‘Whatever,’ he mumbled, ‘I’ll find my way around.’

After thinking about it for a few seconds, though, it was for the best that no one focused on them, he hated being the center of attention.

With a newfound relief, they spotted the map of the school. Thanks to their great memory, they managed to memorise it quite fast.

She scanned it for a second and found the dorm area.

He was staying in room 313. Being in Spain that meant he would be laughed at relentlessly.

They got upstairs to the third floor, and then walked through a long, empty hallway to get to his bedroom’s door. She carefully pushed it open and slouched against it after having closed it.

He gets settled in quite quickly. As much as you could consider ‘settling in somewhere’ when he was just throwing his stuff around the room.

Once he was done, she decided to check the bathroom, he could use some cleaning after all.

The bathroom was cramped, or ‘cosy’, as Rain had tried to convince themselves it was, but it did the job just fine. He removed all the bits of spiderweb and tiny branches from himself and then threw them away in the tiny trashcan near the sink.

She got undressed and left the clothes in a corner so he could wash their face.

He removed her makeup and looked at himself in the mirror.

“Oh how cute,” he thought, “panda eyes, because of the make up, silly.”

She giggled to himself and cleaned their face properly, leaving the bathroom in his underwear, getting one of their suitcases and grabbing a big shirt from it.

He put it in and tied their hair up in a ponytail so they could began undoing their baggage, putting everything in place for real this time.

The room was actually okay, a good size with a private bathroom and one of those bunk beds with a small desk, shelf, chair and small closet.

After putting everything away, settling her books on the shelf, dressing the bed with his own sheets and all the gist, Rain laid down on the bed.

‘So, what do you think?’ He asked out loud.

‘Could be worse, I guess.’ Society answered.

‘Yeah…’ He sighed, they could be a bit more supportive, couldn’t hurt.

‘Now’s when the fun begins.’ She heard him chuckling, making Rain raise an eyebrow.

‘The fun? What’s the fun part?’ He questioned, crossing their arms.

‘Yeah, dumbass, the fun part, seeing you try to socialize and fail miserably at it.’ He cackled loudly.

‘Ugh! You’re the worst! I swear that-’

A soft knock knock was heard in the door, making Rain stand up immediately and open it.

After it was opened, a couple of figures was revealed;

One was tall, her blonde hair was short and she had freckles all over her face, the other one was more of a standard height, brown, curly hair tied in a messy bun, greyish-blueish eyes and had a small beauty spot above her lip.

‘Hi newbie!’ The blonde one greeted her. ‘I’m Tere, and this is Patri, and we came to give you your super duper exclusive tour!’ She explained in a way-too-excited tone.

‘Shhh, no need for yelling, we’re right in front of them.’ The other girl, Patri, said, she seemed way quieter than Tere.

‘Yeah, sorry, welp! What do you say, erm..’

‘Rain.’

‘Rain! Do you want to come with us?’ Tere asked with a big smile in her face.

Rain nodded, letting out a small laugh. He put some shorts on, tied her shoes, untied their hair and left the room, closing the door behind them.

The two girls showed him around, Tere pointed to the most interesting places, and Patri added more information wherever it was needed. After a long and tiring tour around the Academy, the three of them settle down in a table on the cafeteria to have a nice talk.

‘Hey Rain,’ Tere caught her attention, ‘have you heard about the legend of the Mary Sue?’

‘Oh God are you still blabbering about that?!’ Patri sighed, resting her head on her hands.

‘It’s fun! Plus, it could be true, we don’t know for sure.’

‘Whatever you say.’ Patri mumbled.

Rain seemed curious, and so Tere started the story.

‘So apparently a few years back there was this student here named Mary Sue, and it’s said that she was the best and people loved her, basically she was the most popular girl in school, but then, one day, she got lost on the forest following a supernatural event, or whatever, and people say you can hear her voice in stormy nights.’

Once she was over, Tere looked at Rain, who had a frightened expression in their face.

‘Woah, there goes the off chance of me going back into the forest, that sounds so scary!’

‘It’s, like, a legend, so don’t think about it too much.’ Patri added, rolling her eyes.

Tere’s expression changed from “Are you scared about my horror story yet?” to “What’s your issue?” while looking at Patri, visibly offended that she had changed the atmosphere from her little show.

A group of students walked in the cafeteria, all of them wearing eccentric clothing and colourful hair.

‘Who’s that?’ Rain asked, pointing towards the group with their head.

‘Oh? Them? People call them “constellation”, I think.’ Patri answered, crossing her arms over her chest. ‘They’re popular, people love them, ugh! I can’t stand them at all!’

‘Totally, I’m so jealous of them.’ Tere mumbled.

Rain nodded slightly, her eyes stuck on the group with admiration, he really liked their style, and their colourful hair was really cool.

‘Honestly I think they’re a bit weird.’ Patri said, putting her hand over her chest and shrugging her shoulders.

‘Hm? Why?’ Rain asked, finally looking back at the two of them.

‘From what I’ve heard they’re supernatural beings with powers- or something.’ Tere answered, taking a bite of whatever she had ordered before, Rain wasn’t really paying attention.

‘I think it’s all bullshit, not really realistic is it?’

‘You’re so boring Patri, always taking the fun from stuff.’ Tere huffed.

‘I’m just being realistic!’

‘What else can you tell me about them, Tere?’ Rain asked, their eyes following Constellation around once again.

‘Oh yeah,’ she began talking, pointing to every member as she described them, ‘Ángelica, they say she’s an angel, he’s really good at music and is the best dancer in school. The twins are Candy and Lolly, supposedly they’re both alicorns? Candy is the best at sports and Lolly is smarter, pony’s in the debate club. Kitty is the one with cat ears and fur, cat’s this mix between an anthropomorphic cat and a zombie, nya doesn’t talk, honestly miau is kinda cute. Then we have Neon, they’re the cool-skater kind, they’re also a boxer and has great gymnastic abilities. Sam, ugh, Sam is a very rude demon, always being sarcastic and mysterious, you get the gist, he’s really into occultism and some say they do satanic ritual thingies in the forest, but I don’t know how true that is.’

Rain nodded, quite a bit surprised about the whole group, very much out of the norm, he thought they were cool. He would love to be one of them. She looked at them once more, but then noticed a girl sitting in the corner of the cafeteria. She wasn’t really that noticeable, which kinda made Rain feel intrigued by her, he pointed to her and asked Tere;

‘What about her?’

‘Him? That’s Ann Smith, or something like that, she popped out one day, I don’t think I’ve ever talked to her, uhm, Patri?’ She answered and looked at her friend.

‘That’s it, basically, people don’t really close to them, they say she’s boring, so boring that you’ll fall asleep talking to her.’

They looked at each other and then at Rain, who simply nodded.

First day in the academy and Rain had not only made friends, but he had also learned about the school’s legend, seen the cool group and heard about the least cool person around. She didn’t tend to forget people like that easily anyways.

next chapter>>

Deadly magic!!

The usually cemetery was unusually loud today, as loud as a funeral can get. Axel was loved by many, their death bringing a whole crowd of people together, their whole family reunited to mourn them.

The contrasts between people that loved them and were forced to be there was quite obvious, only one group was sobbing over the deceased in front of them.

The priest finished the ceremony, closing the casket and burying it at last.

Unlucky for them, the waste dump on the lake near their tomb woke them up from their slumber. Once they opened their eyes, they banged on the casket’s lid erratically. Their tomb was shallow, such a commotion made the bell on their grave sound frantically. They managed to dig their way out, leaving the gravedigger terrified. Once he took a good look at them he ran away as fast as he could, not looking back.

‘So rude,’ they thought as they dusted off their clothes, ‘didn’t even let me thank him.’

They made their way to the entrance, catching a glimpse of themselves on the gravedigger’s shed’s window. Axel let out a yelp; the bottom half of their skull was missing as well as some patches of skin, which was a yellowish-greenish colour, their hair is now thin and ash brown.

They ran their hands over what remained of their face, trying to take it all in.

special thanks to my partner @hive-rambling for helping me translate it, you're the best<3

Magellan Eye

*this work is an original piece, please do not plagiarize my intellectual property*

The light of the moon is ethereal,

Dim and glimmering it dances

In reflection. From it

Serene echoes of the sun’s temper  

Guides me down this dauntless path.

Like light gleams within a window,

The moon calls me home.

Never have I lived so simply, illuminated

Solely by what is made of its own grace,

Shining upon my face. Goodness.  

Standing alone I bask in the stillness,

The hands of my mind move clockwork-

Sifting through piles of letters and words,  

Faces and voices slathered in layers-

Impassive against time.

I am distant in a world where to  

trust my shadows is to be stained by their ink.

Walking in night’s shade, the street  

paints itself with Beasts who haunt me.  

Unseen, I crouch as if my hands are stained with blood. 

I am unhidden. The embrace

of white outstretched arms,

simmering over this land, grasp

Me, beckoning me, to gaze into

A midst of endless wonder. 

At midnight severe silence welcomes

Me, and I step in the deaf void.

Rising by moonbeams submerging me.

My limbs twist and sprawl mid-air,

Like a fish finally allowed to Swim. 

I feel weightless in this vast sky,

yet my feet press the earth, it’s pulse

Running out from under me.  

Impertinence sprouts within

My soul, my fervent self,

Bursting from my skin.  

The moon has no face,  

no beguiling charm greets me,  

no cheek to dream of rising,  

no smile I seek to entertain.  

Coiled within its hazy glow,

it captures my awe with its opulence,  

A single eye fixed on me in our affair  

Against a sleeping sun.  

Instantly, I become the abyss of

far strung blackness,

In its depths I savor tonight

more than I had today.

An opaque curtain of atmosphere  

lifts above the horizon's bend.

My moon outstretches its hand. 

I am thrust into oblivion,

Seeing as if my eyes were shut,

In pure magnetizing emptiness.

I am nothing but a passing wind,

A mere particle

Or wavelength, twisting my way

Through this insipid vacuum.

Piercing this endless distance

Spanning far greater than any

which I will walk in my life.  

Ah!, hey you. Knock.

Knock, knock, knock… What? I thought that? Why "knock"? How's it "knock"? Does that follow? Not unless it's later. So… this part could be a memory… but it would have to… Knock, knock… Oh, ha, ha, how silly. But who the hell is knocking at this hour? Knock, knock, knock… Who is it?! Room service. Ah, it's you guys, what do you want? It's very late now. It's half past seven. Open up, there's beer. Clanc, swish, gjyhiii. Clafffsss, tlinc, glug, glug, glug.

Gastón R. Fernández G.

Ah!, hey you.

Give me the doll. Here it is. Give me my doll! I already told you to take it, here. Give my doll back! What, you can't reach it? Mom!! Give it back, honey. Ok, here you have it.  No! What are you doing? Mom!! He threw it out the window! I didn't! It's here, look. He tricked me.  What a crybaby, can't you take a joke even once? Don't play like that. I'm not playing: I want him to give me my doll. Give the doll or I'll punish you. Mom, he's got an ugly look.  Why'd you tell her?: now I'll keep it. Stop it, I can't turn around in the middle of the road… Enough is enough!  You're moving too much. Stop fighting!  Mom, watch out!…

Gastón R. Fernández G.

The Underland Review

☍ Normal Scheduling Has Been Interrupted Mowgli was going to scribe a poem or a dramatic monologue. Or something equally (in)coherent. But instead… the glitch won. The Underland Review: Issue One – This Zine Is a Lie is now live. 43 pages of soft monsters, glitch-lit poetry, haunted prose, cursed diagrams, and art that shouldn’t exist but does anyway. A digital archive stitched together with pocket lint, rage, and love. ☍ READ THE ZINE Free to read, cursed to absorb. Share it with your coven, your nemesis, your local librarian. ☍ DOWNLOAD THE ZINE (Pay What You Want) Keep a high-res PDF in your glitch archive. Every donation helps us print more, distribute wider, and one day pay the beautiful liars who make this possible. ☍ ORDER A PRINT COPY ($5.55 + your soul) Hold the lie in your hands. Smell the ink. Feel the contradiction. ☍ Submissions for Issue Two Are Open Deadline: August 10th, 2025 We're seeking: poetry, prose, essays, visual art, sound pieces, spoken word, and other beautiful misfits. If it glitches, bleeds, howls, or doesn’t fit in polite company — we want it. We accept text, image, and audio formats. MP3s, JPGs, PDFs, .docx, strange attachments — bring us your fragments. Collaborative works are welcome. Email us at: riverandceliainunderland@gmail.com Subject line: THIS IS A LIE – [Your Name] Thank you for reading. Thank you for believing in beautiful contradictions. We were never here. — River & Celia Curators of Lies, Underland Division

The Underland Review We are seeking: → Poetry that twitches → Microfiction that self-destructs → Essays with fangs → Visual art that shouldn’t exist → Redacted files, haunted code, cursed diagrams, scanned receipts from imaginary revolutions We do not care about your CV. We do not require polished bios. Previously published works? Sure. We do not pay (yet — sorry, capitalism). But we do offer love, weirdness, and a spotlight. ✴ Featured contributors will receive: A digital copy of the zine Features on our site and socials An invite to our glitch-lit open mic (date tba) The deep satisfaction of being canon in a lie Deadline: August 10th, 2025 for Edition 2 Format: PDF or Word for text. JPG/PNG for art. Max 1 piece per person. Email: riverandceliainunderland@gmail.com Subject line: This submission is a lie – [Your Name] We don’t tolerate bigotry, AI slush, or boring work.

Underland Updates ✒️ 🎤 👑 📜 🐔 🏰 😼 🤖

Source: The Underland Review

Arriving at "Conclusions"

And the cowboy, knowing he could never return to the town he had just saved sauntered off into the picturesque sunset, the darkening sky overhead looking like a candle dying out, it's orange coat stuck in perpetual shadow. His cowboy hatted silhouette became smaller and smaller as his story ended... Stirrup Trouble Sam reached the Sunset wall and swiftly found the door handle. Opening the door on the Sun, he stepped outside his story. It had been a long day and he was all narratived out. But he was looking forward to the after party drink. For the longest time as he reached the end of each chapter, or scene in the movie adaptation he had chanced him arm getting into that exclusive club. Each time however he was turned away. "If you aint winding down, you don't get in." The Bouncer would bark at him. "This establishment is for a certain final-tele." The 'Conclusions Lounge' was the hottest ticket in town and getting inside was about as hard as lassoing a rain cloud. However Sam had earned his free pass and he was legitimately a resolved character now. Endings are tough on everyone and having a nice place to go for the aftermath was a great source of solace for any character. The Bouncer eyed him but knowing he had finally made the list, he stepped aside pointedly. "Appreciated pardner," the poorly written archetype said tipping on his hat as he walked past. Inside the bar was quite crowded, it was Summer which meant a lot of TV shows were ending and movies were being watched. The Summer reading folk had a good few months to look forward to and wouldn't be darkening these doors for a while yet. People were buzzing around and telling each other the stories of how they ended up here. "Well I have to admit it, " a random man pontificated loudly nearby, "I wasn't sure about my particular storyline ending but it seemed to be very popular and i was so tired anyway, I just said, 'Bring it on!!'I'm thirsty!" The woman next to him responded. "Well at least you had a clear ending. I just dropped out of the story. I know I was a bit part but if they had given me one line indicating my life had continued...Well it would have been work anyway." Sam leaned against the bar and took a look at the drinks menu. He wasn't much of a drinker, all those saloon scenes were a misnomer but a few of the cocktails looked appealing.  "Give me an "Abrupt Stop." "That's not a drink Sir. That's when we cut people off. We had to introduce it after materials started having those multiple endings. Lord of the Rings had a lot to answer for." "Emm..ok then, " Sam pondered. "An 'Up in the Air' then?" "Excellent choice. You never know what you're getting!" Sam was a loner by nature and narrative and so he continued to eavesdrop on the people around instead of engaging with anyone. A soldier was talking to an Alien. "'Conclusions' is so much better than that last place we used to get dropped off at .Remember "Finishing Touches?" That place was always falling apart!" The Alien replied,"Have you heard? It's become a wrap-dancing club now." The solider just shook his head in disbelief. Another man who was standing next to them but wasn't involved in the conversation piped up. "Uhhh...do they provide...um...like...happy endings?" The Solider and the Alien just turned away. A sassy 20 -something year old female protagonist was giving directions to a friend of hers on a contemporary mobile phone. "I'm at the club. Where are you? You're where? Midsection Point? Jesus, that's ages away! You need to follow the arc along the coast and take a left at the Narrative Dead End and you should be able to see this place. It's a light at the end of a tunnel. No don't worry about it! I want you to experience a brand new culmi-nation. I'm just sorry I couldn't pick you up at the Foreword!" The bar man leaned into the cowboy. "Ah listen man, how are you going to pay for that drink? Have you prepared for every eventuality here?" Sam was quick to reply. "Oh don't worry, I have enough. I had a great payoff!" He did wonder where all his co-stars had gone to. Probably a private house party somewhere in the Third Act district. It didn't matter. Being surrounded by those people wouldn't have helped him come to terms with his big ending. Sam was a smart man. This wasn't just the end of his story. He had long felt the Western was running on empty as a genre. His sunset would be the last sunset for a while. 

Hours passed and he drank a lot of different concoctions. Outcome Rum, Sting in the tale, Anything with a Twist but the night was winding down. He looked around at all the various supporting casts, the backstory bunch and the tale-ing offs. He slumped his head onto the bar and began to drift off. Waking up a little while later he realised he had to go to the restroom. Staggering, his stirrups scraping across the floor he made his way from the bar. It was then he heard the barman on the phone in the backroom having a loud argument. "YOU CAN'T DO THIS TO ME. I'M FINISHED!...NO I DON'T MEAN IT LIKE THAT YOU ARROGANT PRICK! I mean if you go through with this deal, this establishment will be gone. And we got a good thing going here. All stories end and we have a reputation for being the best. I mean Penultimates will always be second best. I can't go back to my old job there!" Sam was saddened for the bar-man but also felt expired by what he had heard. He quickly left the bar and began the long walk into posterity.  **************************************************************************************** Conclusions quickly went into for closure. Lots of other venues vied for their business but Endings became quiet affairs. It became the norm for the gatherings to take place in a characters house or for people to spend time with friends and family somewhere special and private. On his first day the conflicted and flawed character stepped out of his story to get some air. He noticed a new building with an enticing sign. "Opening Soon". He couldn't tell if that was a sign or indeed, a bar name.

Fog-Borne Snapshots

All would be consumed by shadow if not for an unseen, smudged streetlamp blanketing all beneath it in everlasting burgundy mist. In some space-time ripples, it is evergreen. For other eternities, it is cerulean. Despite the variance, universal commonality is found in its blurred glow.

This light delineates all forms, together interlocked in a state of static, monochrome bliss. These relics change, but never while I see them. Those that have graced my apertures in eye and mind include wet playground equipment, monoliths with tops trapped in mist, and abandoned antique cars.

The aura that permeates my body remains the same. It is the tinge of warmth felt within someone’s embrace, somehow gleaned from facing someplace where this had last occurred at least a decade ago. It is a sign of life found in one of countless mounds of dilapidated structures in a post-apocalyptic wasteland. It is a spiritual sign of the possibility of solace within the cold, concrete walls of an insane asylum whose inhabitants offer only volatility. It is an infinitesimal, but nonetheless unmoving constant in the midst of chaos, contained and concealed forever from the surrounding universe.

In my disillusion, I believe in the approach of a day when I may graze my fingertips across all of the surfaces. Thought ensnares me while my frozen body maintains a glassy stare as my daydreams and memories, whether fabricated or true, turn to burning rubble where no flame dances. I once again watch the fog-borne snapshots fade to charred blackness behind my eyelids.

https://twwrt.wordpress.com/2023/08/04/fog-borne-snapshots/

Last post actually got a couple likes so i guess im posting more art of my ttrpg character Abel <3 here we are, the Weiss Family

Abels death in comic format tehe <3

An alternative of previous post

R E B I R T H

a ttrpg oc backstory :)

Abel Weiss grew up the first son to a wealthy couple in a nice neighbourhood, he was never a popular child, friends weren't something he ever found ease in making, but he got by.

When it came to late secondary school he met Emeliana, a new girl in town who'd quickly hit it off with most of her classmates, quite the charismatic type. She approached Abel, and a strange relationship spiralled from there.

It was always clear they weren't quite right for each other, they'd constantly spend time together but never seemed that interested in each other. They'd go to parties as a happy pair, but then Abel would sit in the corner grumbling about not wanting to be there, and then Emiliana would bicker back.. and then they'd both be storming out.

It was a hot October evening, the sun sinking behind the canopy of the forest near Emeliana's home, they found themselves curled up in the warmth of her room, and soon disagreeing yet again…

“just- just LEAVE Abel, fuck off"

“I didn't do anything Emile, what the hell is your problem?”

She was antsy, eyes darting to the window and door.

“I said, LEAVE, ABEL”

“... fine, whatever, but I can't keep dealing with your anger issues every five minutes! I love you with everything I have and you treat me like shit.”

“Liar.”

“What?”

“You're a liar…”

“Oh for fucks sake shut u-”

“Get out”

The door slammed, and he left, trotting along the dark street, huffing and kicking at stones, hands buried in pockets, the moon hung low, fog clung to the shine of lamp posts as moths flitted blindly in the distorted rays.

The air wasn't right.

Dread pricked needles deep into his shoulders.

The roads weren't empty.

“Emile are you seriously going to demand I leave then fucking follow m-”

His mouth contorted as his body swirled and laid eyes on her twisting form, tufts of fur pushing through, a painful growl escaping and golden eyes piercing into him making his chest ache, stealing his breath.

“Emile?” He choked on the word, stumbling up the pavement into the grass, backing mindlessly towards the lying shelter of the towering Scots pines and fir plantations.

There was a fear in his words, a genuine longing and worry as her body cruelly shifted and shunted awkwardly toward him, nothing but a snarl matching his cry.

Nails became claws, teeth became fangs. He turned, and ran.

The woods were pitch dark, the only sound his own heartbeat in his ears and howls close behind, the moon's glow through occasional gaps in the branches a respite.

An opening, feet fumbling down a slope barely keeping their placement, the cold glow of water spreading out around him, pebbles crunching under foot fall, teeth sinking, driving, another step denied, the ground and sharp rocks coming up to meet his skull.

Searing pain burning and sizzling, flowing fiercely under piercing panicked eyes, limbs weak and shaken, cut and bruised.

The lick of lips and sniffing of acrid red iron, blood, pooling and mixing.

He pushed himself helplessly to his knees, hands were soaked, skull itching with fiery pain, crimson ichor flooded his fading vision, memories flickered. He swung his head around, almost throwing up from the awful motion, meeting the face of a beast with eyes so familiar.

“Emeliana… please..”

His voice was waning, ached, as he dragged himself against the stones onto his feet, stumbling like a wounded lamb into the ice cold of the lake.

Nowhere to go.

She followed, gaze unbreaking, intently watching his sad attempts. Her form contorted once more as she wadded into the ripples, ratty wolven fur gave way to hazel locks and tear dribbling eyes.

Her brows furrowed, a snarl persisted, his terrified gaze locked with hers of pure yellow rage.

Desperate nails clawed at him, finding hold in wet cloth and skin as balance failed and his form dropped into bloody water.

Hands grasped and pulled, finding purchase around a gasping throat, pushing and squeezing against a flailing expiring body.

His eyes blurred and squinted against pond water as air left him in jittering bubbles, a final search for love and regret in her eyes. Naught remained. Writhing limbs became decadent, hope lost, eyes rolled, the last gasps of life lost under the water.

Light glowed down on her verdant painting of liquid sunset, she stood tall and raised her tainted palms to the moon, rising from the lake onto the stony reed lined banks, trailing her bloodshed into the grass.

Not an ounce of true regret persisted, only gratefulness to the silent drifting corpse.

"Spikes and Shadows"

He laced his boots with threads of spite,

A rebel heart, a flickering light,

Mohawk sharp, dyed crimson red,

Echoes of rage inside his head.

Leather jacket, patched and torn,

Symbols stitched of nights forlorn,

Chains that clattered, boots that stomped,

Through empty streets where shadows romped.

His mother wept, his father roared,

"This isn't you—you're something more!"

But "more" was chains, and "more" was loud,

A voice that shattered every crowd.

"You're lost," they said. "You'll fade away."

But fading wasn't punk rock's way.

So with a snarl and fists held tight,

He vanished deep into the night.

City lights like jagged scars,

Graffiti hymns, and broken bars,

Friends with names like Ghost and Snipe,

Living lives carved out of hype.

Yet in the echo of each show,

A shadow whispered soft and low—

Not from the crowd, not from the stage,

But stitched between his stitched-up rage.

The echoes grew, as echoes do,

“What’s freedom if it’s haunting you?”

No answers came, just static buzz,

A question left for who he was.

Years rolled on, and posters peeled,

The vinyl scratched, the anger healed.

But in his chest, beneath the ink,

A softer beat began to think.

One winter dawn, with breath like smoke,

He penned a letter, words bespoke:

"I left to find what I could be—

But lost myself to feel free."

No home he had, yet home he found,

In ink, in scars, in silent sound.

A punk, a son, a soul unbound,

Spikes and shadows, safe and proud.

Queer Narrative

Coming-out stories [...] generally assume a stable sexual identity [...].

The idea of a stable identity has always puzzled me. As a person, I tend to grow and change with every breath I take, every experience I make, every conversation I have, every piece I read. Life is change and identity can change along the way. Sexual identity is no different.

Mulhall, A. (2020). Queer Narrative. In S. B. Somerville (Hrsg.), The Cambridge Companion to Queer Studies (1. edition, p. 142–155). Cambridge University Press. https://doi.org/10.1017/9781108699396.011

First time public speaking!

I did a thing 👋 Check it out if you're interested in writing, videogames, novels, stories, or just want to see me doing public speaking for the first time 😆

Continuing on that note I feel that there is also horror in surviving these encounters. There the death that’s awful but there is also fear in knowing that you experienced that while all others died. We live in a society we’re people are getting hurt left and right while others never can’t even imagine that pain. It hurts to know people died, or even that people live through this and we just sit here, as they do work that will probably bring us something that we won’t even think is that important, even with all the blood it holds.

changes and trends in horror-genre films are linked to the anxieties of the culture in its time and place. Vampires are the manifestation of grappling with sexuality; aliens, of foreign influence. Horror from the Cold War is about apathy and annihilation; classic Japanese horror is characterised by “nature’s revenge”; psychological horror plays with anxieties that absorbed its audience, like pregnancy/abortion, mental illness, femininity. Some horror presses on the bruise of being trapped in a situation with upsetting tasks to complete, especially ones that compromise you as a person - reflecting the horrors and anxieties of capitalism etc etc etc. Cosmic horror is slightly out of fashion because our culture is more comfortable with, even wistful for, “the unknown.” Monster horror now has to be aware of itself, as a contingent of people now live in the freedom and comfort of saying “I would willingly, gladly, even preferentially fuck that monster.” But I don’t know much about films or genres: that ground has been covered by cleverer people.

I don’t actually like horror or movies. What interests me at the moment is how horror of the 2020s has an element of perception and paying attention.

Multiple movies in one year discussed monsters that killed you if you perceived them. There are monsters you can’t look at; monsters that kill you instantly if you get their attention. Monsters where you have to be silent, look down, hold still: pray that they pass over you. M Zombies have changed from a hand-waved virus that covers extras in splashy gore, to insidious spores. A disaster film is called Don’t Look Up, a horror film is called Nope. Even trashy nun horror sets up strange premises of keeping your eyes fixed on something as the devil GETS you.

No idea if this is anything. (I haven’t seen any of these things because, unfortunately, I hate them.) Someone who understands better than me could say something clever here, and I hope they do.

But the thing I’m thinking about is what this will look like to the future, as the Victorian sex vampires and Cold War anxieties look to us. I think they’ll have a little sympathy, but they probably won’t. You poor little prey animals, the kids will say, you were awfully afraid of facing up to things, weren’t you?

ok but i love it when the important moments that have been built up from LONG in stories actually turn out to be really... humanly normal? Yet fitting? The meeting with that once in a lifetime love you been hyping us up for 9 years (see: how i met your mother) actually just happens under rain, on a station and they actually just joke about how the guy once entered the wrong class to teach. Confessions being accidental, transformative moments not appearing like that without the hindsight etc etc.

On A TANGENT, I ALSO love when the moments happen with a full cheesy bang and boom, if it calls for it! yall been beating around to bush for 4 seasons (see: Kaguya-Sama: Love is War) and THE MAN FINALLY confesses with an elaborate set up, on a special night with a hunt and hundreds of balloons timed, the lighting timed and on the damn roof of highschool???

its just good seeing stories be apologetically *themselves*. I think we are becoming too hyper aware of tropes, irony and a lil too critical of unrealistic fantasy that something just leaning into fully being ITSELF, trying hard, being cheesy is just FRESH.

Ah, I babbled.

Steps to Write a Cunning Femme Fatale

1. Establish Her Persona

Define Her Allure: Craft her as enigmatic, charming, and intelligent. She should draw people in with her charisma and mystique.

Give Her Depth: Avoid clichés by giving her a unique backstory, motivations, or vulnerabilities that shape her actions.

Choose Her Strengths: Highlight skills like manipulation, resourcefulness, or combat abilities that give her an edge.

2. Shape Her Role in the Plot

Decide Her Purpose: Determine if she’s an ally, antagonist, or morally gray character, and how her actions drive the story.

Design Power Dynamics: Show how she wields control or influence over other characters, often exploiting weaknesses.

Weave Intrigue: Keep her intentions ambiguous to maintain tension and mystery.

3. Build Her Relationships

Contrast With Others: Develop relationships that show how she contrasts with or complements other characters (e.g., a vulnerable hero or a rival villain).

Show Complexity: Explore the layers in her interactions, such as her ability to mix truth with deception.

Reveal Gradually: Unfold her true nature over time, leaving both characters and the audience guessing.

4. Create a Striking Appearance

Use Symbolism: Incorporate elements of her look that reflect her personality, like bold colors, sleek outfits, or unique accessories.

Convey Confidence: Show her self-assuredness in the way she moves, speaks, and holds herself.

Highlight Ambiguity: Blend qualities that make her both alluring and dangerous (e.g., a soft smile hiding sharp intent).

5. Show Her in Action

Establish Power Plays: Showcase her intelligence and cunning through strategic actions, manipulations, or daring risks.

Create High Stakes: Put her in situations where she must outwit others or face consequences.

Balance Strength and Vulnerability: Let her excel in some areas while occasionally exposing a flaw or fear to humanize her.

6. Develop a Satisfying Arc

Choose Her Outcome: Decide if she triumphs, meets her downfall, or remains ambiguous at the story’s end.

Reflect Growth or Decline: Show how her actions shape her destiny—whether she evolves, succumbs, or holds her ground.

Tie Back to Themes: Ensure her arc aligns with the overarching themes of the story, like betrayal, love, or revenge.

Examples of Femme Fatales in Stories

1. Film Examples

Phyllis Dietrichson (Double Indemnity): Uses charm and manipulation to pull others into her schemes, embodying the classic femme fatale archetype.

Mal Cobb (Inception): A tragic yet dangerous figure, her motivations blur the lines between reality and illusion.

Nikita (La Femme Nikita): Balances vulnerability and lethal skill, creating a layered and compelling character.

2. Literature Examples

Catherine Tramell (Basic Instinct): A brilliant, enigmatic writer whose intelligence and seduction make her a master manipulator.

Milady de Winter (The Three Musketeers): A cunning and ruthless antagonist, she uses her wits and charm to outmaneuver the heroes.

Amy Dunne (Gone Girl): Subverts the idea of victimhood with her calculated and chilling actions, redefining the femme fatale for modern audiences.

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