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[nightmaretist]

TIMING: The night of 3 to 4 August PARTIES: Parker @wonder-in-wings & Inge @nightmaretist LOCATION: The bunker SUMMARY: Inge and Parker meet at his bunker to close their deal. CONTENT WARNINGS: One mention of child death, self harm tw, medical blood tw (of the mare variety, nothing graphic)

Day 3.

The wound on his face was healing nicely, much to his relief. It didn’t get infected, not this time as Parker had some leftover antibiotics from the last fight he’d gotten into. It was mending at an expedient rate, his genes contributing to the accelerated process. He’d always been a quick healer, even before he was told of his legacy as a Wright Warden, the scrapes he’d accumulated fixing themselves at twice the rate of his brother. And notably, whenever he got injured, he never cried. In fact, until he’d brought home that first pair of fae wings, his parents seemed convinced that he either didn’t know how or possibly didn’t even possess adequate tear ducts. He didn’t cry from the pain until the night he was stitching up his face.

That was the downside.

In the three days that followed that night, Parker was plagued with unfamiliar thoughts and outbursts of emotion that were seemingly uncontrolled. They struck like lightning on an otherwise calm plain, though with the threat of storms looming overhead. He had gotten sent home from the museum the previous day, again, for a very uncharacteristic outburst in which he insulted a child’s mother for letting the brat smear his chocolate-covered fingers on his display of dermestid beetles with her not saying anything about it. He wasn’t raised that way, he thought those things all the time but to say them out loud, with little provocation and with the measure of anger he’d used to snap at her, was embarrassing and… almost overwhelming.

They attributed the outburst to his injury, the injury that he lost the argument of regardless of whether or not he displayed the grisly, bruised battle scar. ‘You’re under a lot of stress’. ‘You look exhausted, go home and get some rest. We’ll take care of it’. Fake words that didn’t represent the Warden, who they should’ve known was always an embodiment of upright postures, calm explanations and professionalism.

Nevertheless, Parker figured that maybe, just maybe, his nerves were shot from the ordeal involving the shifter and the subsequent alley fight with the three degenerates. A lot happened in not a lot of time and even the smoothest of surfaces were prone to cracking sometimes. He didn’t get a lot of sleep, though he wasn’t plagued with nightmares the way someone else in his situation might’ve been. That didn’t stop him from waking up in tears, though, immediately wondering why and unable to find an answer.

Tonight, determined to attempt to recover from his temporary mental instability and hoping that someone he was more familiar with could inadvertently help with her general presence, Parker had indeed invited Ingeborg to a coordinate relatively close to his Workshop. It was after dark, as it always had been when even he went and worked there; he rarely visited it during the day and he never took subjects to and from it under anything but the cover of night, which was fine because she seemed to prefer it. Tonight he waited for her, standing near a large-trunked tree, actively keeping himself from reaching up to mess with the wound on his face.

All the cautionary tales told her not to meet a peculiar man in the woods as night had fallen, but Ingeborg had long moved past the need to listen to tales of such a nature. And though Parker Wright wasn’t just any human – no, he actually was the worst kind – she still felt she had the upper hand. That in a sense, she might be the cautionary tale. The branches hitting your window, the monster under your bed, the tickle down your spine as you tried to sleep. Sanne had made her into the embodiment of a nightmare and through her (and later, perhaps more importantly, through herself) she had become a creature who instilled fear, who didn’t feel it.

She came, alone. She did not come unarmed, however, but the blade she carried was small and easily concealed. Inge had almost considered taking her gun from deep in her closet, but refrained. Parker had proven so far to be a man of his word, a man of a strict moral code — even if that one was inherently immoral. He didn’t like to kill or harm those he wanted parts of (more than necessary) and offering someone some blood? Well, it required just one incision. No need for him to do more damage than that, was there? (Was there?) 

Besides, she had her ability to slip into the astral on her side. That was where she was now, observing the other near the coordinates where they were set to meet. The injury looked gnarly and she tried to remember if she knew anything about supernatural felines or if the warden had just gotten unlucky, somehow. If he was asleep, she’d retrace that wound over and over with different sets of claws, but alas — he was awake, and she didn’t quite feel like messing with his dreams yet, lest he figure out she wasn’t, in fact, a demon. 

Inge materialized further from him, approaching him with those red-eyes. She wasn’t sure what perks hunters had been endowed with, but if his vision was the same as a regular mortal she’d have that to hold over his head too. Night vision served her well. This was when she felt most comfortable, when the earth was shrouded in dark — even if she liked her daylight hours and playing pretend. Nothing better than having her abilities work on full strength. “Good evening, Parker.” Eyes passed over his face, as if she was looking at it for the first time.

She grimaced. “I’m sorry to see your hurt.” A white lie. “I hope the pain is not too bad. Face wounds heal fast, though, hm?” There was a scar on her jaw, which had smoothed over as the years passed — funny, how she could still form scar tissue, but not grow wrinkles. She looked behind him. “Is it a long walk?”

—

He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end before he could see her, which was understandable - he had learned in passing that Wardens weren’t gifted with senses that let them see in the dark. ‘Any asshole can be a Ranger or a Slayer,’ his father’s voice echoed in Parker’s head from the memory. ‘Dipshits that kill dead things and beasts. Ain’t got two brain cells to rub together, only good for gettin’ bit.’ And yet, as he had no knowledge of them, Parker managed to find the time between their last meeting and now to do a little bit of research on demons, namely what seemed to expel them and how they could be injured. A contingency plan in case she didn’t like what she saw, not that she’d given him any implication that she would turn violent apropos of nothing so far.

The results were largely inconclusive, as Parker wasn’t a man of faith anymore and he was running short on time. He was also immensely frustrated that most of his searching online took him to a wikipedia article of some godforsaken show where apparently the main characters were demon hunters or something stupid. So, he had in his possession his familiar utility belt that he almost always wore when he was out in public that held a few special items this time as well as his thigh holster that sheathed his longer, more reliable iron dagger that he saved for actual fights. The Warden had also since acquired an iron cross he placed on a leather strap that he now wore around his neck, visible on top of his solid gray shirt. However, as he was preparing for this evening, he realized with horror that he couldn’t find his spiked iron knuckles, to enough of his dismay that he had punched a hole in his wall when his fervent searches around the house had been in vain.

He breathed deeply, trying to keep himself from becoming frustrated at the reminder that he had left something so valuable, so treasured behind as Inge approached him. Parker turned his head to regard her, his hands on his hips loosely as her red-eyed gaze came and went but his was lingering, as it tended to be. One thing hadn’t changed, and that was his proclivity to stare. “Ingeborg.” He replied in turn. The grimace was real but the words she said weren't, he could tell and while even something as completely mundane and innocuous as that seemed to be enough to want to rile him up, he didn’t react and he took his eyes off her to look in a different direction.

“The pain will be here until it’s done healing.” He replied, motioning for her to follow him with his head as Parker started trudging in the direction of the workshop. “There’s little point in acknowledging its existence.” He didn’t have a flashlight but he didn’t need to; he wasn’t equipped to see in the dark but he’d taken this path many times - he was intimately familiar with this square mile of the Pines, which made it easier for him to work.

She just needed to follow him. He wasn’t in the business of purposefully stranding people in attempts to kill them. He couldn’t believe how many times he had to tell himself and other people that he wasn’t a serial killer. 

—

It would be shortsighted to call mares mere creatures of night. There was no sleep for those that shared her nature: there was only the waking state and the sleep of others. Yes, it was during the night that Ingeborg thrived most of all, when her astral powers were strongest and she could feed most — but she thought of herself as more than just that. Even if she felt at her best here, in the dark that wasn’t dark to her but which left most mortals blinded. Where a snapping branch or rustle of wind or wing might make someone look over their shoulder nervously.

It was a lucky thing, that Parker had wanted to meet in the shroud of darkness. She would have insisted on it otherwise, but that might have required explanation. Inge didn’t feel any push towards possibly making a hunter suspect that she was weaker when the sun was high — such facts were best omitted from a warden who didn’t even know what she truly was. (She had to wonder if perhaps he’d found her out by now, whether this was a ploy to get her in that workspace of his where he could cover keyholes and toss around salt and trap her. Risk, however, was a fundamental part of life.) 

Eyes moved over his toolbelt, noting the other’s preparedness. The way he looked like the hunter she’d known him to be, yet more ready to strike — as if he was ready to go on a hunt. Brandishing a cross like he was a slayer, a knife strapped to his thigh. She looked back at his face, wondered if perhaps she should be more worried than she actually was. If the blade she’d brought herself (foldable, tucked in her pocket — but sharp and pointy and not entirely innocent) was to be enough, should any of this come to a head. But she had no intention to make any of this go sour, as she would prefer to remain semi-friendly with one hunter in town, and hoped the other felt the same.

She raised her eyebrows and then dropped them, a non-verbal way of saying okaayyyyyy whatever you say. Suffering was an art if done right. Inge liked to think she had mastered it. All her best work had been made in response to wounds. Vera’s death. Sanne’s murder. The confrontation with Elena Cortez. That heartbreak, in the 2010s, which hardly deserved mentioning. Inge was good at pain. She doled it out in the hope others would be good at it too. “Fair enough,” she said, however. Duplicity was too easy. “At least acknowledge it when taking care of the wound, though? Infections are never fun.”

She started following him, eyes leading her way as much as his determined step did. He was silent and she tried to be, too, even if comfortable silences weren’t in her repertoire. Inge soon caught up, walking next to him instead. Eyes glanced up, but she bit her tongue. The things she wanted to ask seemed inappropriate. Like do you carry or drag your victims through these woods or how does failure feels when it comes with injury, it feels bad, doesn’t it, I always find it feels bad. “It is beautiful here at night.”

—

“Hunters heal quickly. An infection won’t happen again.” Parker replied with a hint of bitterness in his tone as he walked, noting her catching up to him and walking alongside him rather than following behind. That was fine by him; he didn’t like not seeing where she was, anyway, especially as they drew closer to the Workshop. Again, as usual, nothing anyone said would’ve gotten through to him but the reminder of how careless and unfortunate he’d been the last time he got into a fight with a specimen riled something up in the back of his head and he found himself experiencing mild embarrassment.

Parker was internally thankful when she didn’t ask any further questions though he found himself wondering if there was something she was biting her tongue on. Regardless, she didn’t ask anything, instead opting for a glimpse of small talk as they walked side-by-side. “It is.” He agreed, glancing up and around as though it weren’t far enough into the evening to coat everything in shadows. “It’s quiet, it’s often still. Like an image.”

Simply walking through the woods was calming for him, he was learning and… somehow, Ingeborg’s presence helped too. Perhaps it was because Parker had already allowed her to cross the veil protecting his intimate passions - she was the first person, succubus or not, in the past year to have seen his true collection. And she’d be the first person ever aside from himself to consciously walk in and out of the bunker. The thought was still nerve-wracking and his brain fired some of the neurons that told him that he needed to be afraid but as he placed a hand on his belt subconsciously in a self-soothing gesture, he remembered that he was in control, here. Even through the unaccustomed anxiety, the uncertainty, the little things that his brain turned into massive problems…

He was in control. He had to be.

The Warden came to a slow and careful stop as a nonverbal indicator that she was also to stop. Before them was what appeared to be a mound of earth, covered in dense vegetation. Sooner than that though was a waist-high, thick barbed-wire fence, pitch black iron even in the middle of the night and giving it an unnatural, almost demonic quality. Parker placed a hand on the wire, focusing on how it felt on his hand, his brain sending signals down into the blood that circulated through his fingers, palm and wrist and all of the iron in it was pushed as far as it could go to the surface under his skin. It was a sentient creature curling and slithering in a glass container, pressing itself against the barrier to be as close as possible to the barbed iron fence.

He inhaled deeply, starting to walk along the length of the fence as it slowly circled around the mound. “I read that demons and iron are incompatible.” Parker mentioned as he walked, feeling his blood almost hum as it resonated with the wire, his fingers circumventing the large barbs that he remembered had cleaved flesh from bone before. “But iron is one of a Warden’s greatest assets.” He glanced over at her as he walked until he stopped at a small opening in the fence.

“Much like the night. It can be unassuming, but beautiful.”

The Warden faced a rectangular opening in the mound, an indention that was a few feet in depth where an archaic-looking door hid behind a curtain of vines and other greenery. “Are you ready?” He asked.

—

“It’s your face,” she said, swallowing any other comments. Let the wound get infected, for all she cared. Inge wasn’t here to play nurse or pretend to know much about mortal wounds, anyway. The accelerated healing though, that was a point of annoyance. She, even if she didn’t bleed normal blood any more, still took significant time to heal. Never mind that the bruises on her body glittered prettily — they still took a long time to become smooth skin again. “You know best.” 

How strange it was, to walk side-by-side with a hunter. His face marred by the claws of some supernatural being, her own skin covered in plenty of scars put there by his ilk. The laceration on her upper arm had healed nicely, sure, but there was still a line in her skin that would take decades to become fully invisible. Something about this was inherently wrong — they should be facing each other, weapons drawn. Hunter and hunted, that would be the rules of nature: but Inge had long ceased to care about conventions. Maybe she was just glad not to be hunted. 

She hummed in thought. “Not too quiet, I hope? There must be nocturnal creatures.” She hoped to hear an owl hoot to support her statement, but it remained quiet. Her eyes scanned their surroundings, though, trying to see the rustling movements of an animal. Perhaps it was for the best that there seemed none: she didn’t feel like dealing with any creatures upset with her sheer existence. “An image. It’s a worthy subject for art.” Darkness hid so much, the same way art was capable of doing. Inge had toyed with it for a while, perhaps a decade or so ago. Suggestive art, playing on people’s skill of imagination. What do you see in the dark?

Some people saw their largest fears and some saw nothing at all — which at the end of the day, Inge thought the scariest thing. Emptiness, an endless stretch of nothing. There always had to be something else. Another challenge, another horror, another pleasure. Immortality was a delight, but it was a threat too: it could all become too monotonous. She had seen it in the eyes of those centuries older than her. So maybe that was why she walked side-by-side with this hunter, rather than find a way to work against him. It was a change in the rhythm and cycle. 

And, of course, a chance to get some cold, hard cash. Being a professor wasn’t very lucrative.

When he pointed out one of her supposed weaknesses, Inge felt a muscle within her tense. So he had done his homework, tried to figure out what could be classified as a demon’s weakness. Of course, iron had no particular effect on her, as she wasn’t a succubus but rather a mare — but still, there was the principle of it. “So you’ve been reading up on me?,” she said, attempting to sound as casual as she could. In all truth, she didn’t know if demons were sensitive to iron at all (if they even existed outside of religious canons), and even if she’d said she had no sensitivity to the stuff before it seemed wiser to play along. “I’ll be careful with what I touch. Which, I suppose, goes without saying.” She thought, for a moment. “Things with hidden qualities can often be that. Beautiful.” 

Eyes took in what was in front of the unlikely pair, the well-hidden door and the way it seemed to fit perfectly with this hunter. A nightmarish predator. A horror-director would have a field day, here, and with the things Inge did with people’s dreams she might as well be one. Excitement spread through her. As did a multitude of other, less pleasurable things. She looked at Parker, nodded. “Certainly.”

—

She was making snipes at him. Of course he knew best. The comment didn’t go by Parker unnoticed but he elected to ignore it, simply popping his neck in the motion that had already become a habit synonymous with biting his tongue. Instead, they walked and it seemed that his warning to her, potentially as empty as it was, didn’t fall on deaf ears as she expressed her care in touching things. That was preferable - he didn’t want to think about what sort of rage he’d desperately try not to fly into if she messed with his things. These weren’t the displays at the museum; this was his heart, the small, stunted thing that kept him alive but served no other practical purpose to him on the best of days.

And yet, like his heart, he held these things close to him. They were the things that pumped life through the rest of his body, his soul if he had one. To enter this obscured bunker through an exclusive invitation and not by force was effectively working around his ribs to his core. …He needed to stop being sentimental. Pushing the thoughts out of Parker’s head couldn’t keep a knot of fear from twisting around inside him though at some perception of either rejection, mockery or worse, aggression.

He didn’t need to wonder what he would’ve done if Ingeborg betrayed the trust of his intimacy, what he would’ve done if it turned out she was secretly someone working for an organization that would see him ruined or dead. Demon or not, she wouldn’t be spared from his wrath and at this juncture, Parker couldn’t have been sure how much of that reaction would’ve been based on the unreasonable mood swings and how much of it was the latent anger that seemed to possess all hunters at some point, the double-edged sword that was sometimes a superpower, sometimes a disease.

The Warden carefully stepped around the hole in the fence and pointed to it to show her where it was - the fence itself was layered, creating an optical illusion that it wasn’t open at all. She said she was ready so he deliberated no longer. Approaching the door, Parker used two hands to pull it open with what seemed like a measure of effort, using his legs as an anchor as he heaved the heavy-looking metal from its frame. To anyone but his surprise though, the door was almost completely silent, a curiosity that certainly didn’t match either its size, age or the effort Parker put into it. Once it was open, a pitch-black mouth not dissimilar to the one that waited for them at his house gaped open. Unlike his house, though, this one wasn’t wood, instead hewn stone that was stained several times over with the annals of time, cracked, chipped away with age.

“Keep your hand on the wall,” Parker instructed as he stepped inside, having her enter behind him. He pulled the door shut again, wincing to himself as the gash that was still stitched up stretched across his face felt the sting of salt from sweat. As the door shut, they were enrobed in pitch black silence save for the distant, rhythmic dripping of something. “And don’t remove it until we get to a door.” Part of him wondered if he should help her find it but ultimately he decided against it, instead placing his own fingers on the rough stone and, still swallowed by darkness, he walked forward.

He knew better, was familiar with the unsteady terrain and held the knowledge that if she didn’t follow his instruction and keep physical contact with the wall, she’d become suspended in place; walking forward on a conveyor belt indefinitely until she turned and left. The sensation was simultaneously curious and immensely frustrating but most importantly, it kept the true nature of that bunker well-hidden from the uninitiated, the confused, the unwilling. This was information that Parker wasn’t planning on telling anyone ever; he’d figured it out on his own and assumed it was some fae magic but he wasn’t a stranger to finding the benefit in things that’d existed long before him and probably would long after he departed. It was why he collected things, after all.

‘You’re spending so much time in your head,’ his mother said. ‘Are you doing okay?’ He didn’t answer, he never did. Instead, he instinctively stopped in the zero-light hallway just before another metal door. “Are you there?” Parker asked, his tone still even and yet there was something there, something that indicated… a twinge of anxiety. Was it because he thought she wouldn’t answer or was it because he thought she would?

—

Eyes widened as the hunter seemingly stepped through the fence, bending rules of physics. The fact that these rules could be bent wasn’t what made Inge look with wide eyes – she knew as much by now – but it was sooner her admiration, and perhaps with a twist, also her bitterness. She forced her eyebrows down, not wanting to raise them in annoyance at the concept of a hunter who seemed to use some kind of magic to assist him in hiding his lair. Instead, she wished to just be appreciative as she moved after him. “Curious.” 

It wasn’t like she couldn’t somewhat understand the intimacy of this. Inge felt it too, sometimes, when people witnessed her art. Some of her pieces were like parts of her soul, the results of loss and rage turned into something physical and real. Like bits of her heart, put on display for the world to see — especially when she had started as an artist, she had felt a level of fear when it came time for people to step into an exhibition room and witness her creations. With an audience, something changed shape, transformed into something larger than what it had been before. Something different. In showing her his workspace, he was inviting her judgment, her curious eyes, her treacherous soul.

She had, for now, no intention to betray this hunter — to make an enemy out of this man would be unwise. But intentions so hardly mattered in the long run to Inge. What she intended now could change tomorrow. Loyalty was a thing for one person alone, and that was herself — it was why she still stood here, despite the scars on her body. Why, perhaps, the other also still stood here: hurt, again, but alive as well. 

She blinked her red eyes at the opened doors, once again met with a dark hole. A wise instinct in her told her perhaps it was better to move into the astral, to at least try and scope out this place before this hunter led her down it – but another instinct (wise in its own right) told her to keep her abilities of teleportation to herself. Of course, if she were truly wise, she would not be here in the first place. “Did you build this place? Or did you find it?” The question was posed with genuine curiosity, Inge glancing at the warden before looking back into the darkness. Even with her vision, it revealed nothing. Darkness was inspiring, leaving her imagination to run rampant. It was hard to resist the shiver that ran down her spine. Exciting.

She entered, the door pulled shut. She tried to sense if her connection to the astral plane was still there, a flex of the fingers — and it was. Still, it seemed best not to pop out, to extend some kind of trust that this was a business exchange. Besides, Parker was offering instructions, and though they were odd, Inge had seen the hole in the fence and had a feeling that this was not just any place. The hunter was so matter-of-fact, that it seemed best to take anything he said literally, and so she watched him place his fingers against the wall, dark vision making him stand out clearly against all else. Inge followed suit. “Got it.” 

And so she walked, shoes splashing in what she hoped was water, her lips pressed together in a silent line. This place seemed … compressed, somehow. Like something was folding in on itself, like this wasn’t really the earthly plane but rather someone’s subconscious, where time and space could be folded. Inge found it thrilling. She found it inspiring. She wanted to know what was at the end of this, what would happen if she were to let go — but if one thing was larger than her curiosity, it was her survival instinct.

His question broke through the silent and she let out a sound, then said: “Yes. Where would I go?” Then, she breathed in, something she hadn’t done in a short while as there had been no need for such performance for a moment, her awe having made her silent in more ways than one. “Is that cinnamon I smell?” 

—

She answered his question and the answer both relieved Parker and sent an uncomfortable wave of some unidentified negative emotion through his body. Which answer was he hoping for? “I don’t know.” He answered honestly, rather quietly; he wasn’t sure how wide the scope of demonic powers or abilities Inge possessed - for all he knew, she could’ve been a shadowwalker or something. He never even thought to consider that she could see clearly in the dark; after all, demons were creatures made in inhuman depths of pitch black desire, right? Or hubris?

The new thought that he was blind in the darkened tunnel, even though he was keenly aware of where he was and how many paces it took when one’s hand was against the worn stone wall while she could see him accelerated his heartbeat as Parker placed a hand on the metal door. It was ridiculous. He was ridiculous. If she wanted to attack him, she would’ve already, right? He also hadn’t interacted with her very many times but part of him hoped that he had been more than agreeable enough to her inquiries and curiosities to warrant her treating him with the same respect… that first instance in the museum notwithstanding.

He pushed the door open both literally and metaphorically, also pushing past the hestance that kept the two in that sightless tunnel for longer than necessary. He felt the sting of perspiration in his stitched, stapled wound as he knew he was getting worked up over potentially nothing. Why was this so difficult for him? “I found it.” Parker opted to reply as the door swung open rather easily, especially compared to the one that separated what was inside from the rest of the unknowing world and bathed the two in unexpected light.

“As far as the smell is concerned… I just like it.” There wasn’t much explanation there. Sure, Parker could’ve added onto it; it was a satisfying, sharp scent that he could easily recognize even with his human senses and that it nicely masked other, less savory scents that permeated the location on occasion - blood, stagnant water, sweat. Necrotic flesh. The chemicals he used in his processes. But he didn’t; the smell was there to stay and he wasn’t going to apologize if she didn’t like it.

The hall that the door opened to reveal was considerably more well-kept, though still far from professional. It was lit by fluorescent lights, their hum filling the otherwise-still air and they faced down on three doorways - one on the left, one a little further on the right and of course, the one at the far end. Parker’s gaze, after adjusting to the light on his blue eyes that stung with a lack of sleep even in the couple of days since the fight, drifted between the three doors. “One room is a study.” He explained. “It looks similarly to the basement.” He nodded towards the closer door on the left.

Parker carefully stepped forward and approached the door on the right, holding his hand on the old latch, hesitating as another wave of unwelcome anxiety momentarily seized him. “...This room isn’t important.” He blinked, prying his hand off the doorknob and taking a deep breath. Another. A third. “Give me a moment.” He exhaled, finding it hard to catch his breath though, as usual, he couldn’t understand why.

She came to see the bunker, his workshop. He had invited her to slake her curiosity. And yet, as Parker felt himself subtly gasping for air, part of him wanted to tell her to leave; leave the area, leave to gossip about this place, leave him to whatever he was in the grips of at that moment as he cast his gaze to the concrete floor.

—

He didn’t know. How very peculiar, but then things were peculiar — in this town, in this world, in this plane. Ingeborg wasn’t one to question it, nor did she want to challenge the hunter at present, while they were on his turf. Best to ask innocuous questions and let him answer him, lest she frustrate him to a point where he didn’t think helping her was a viable option any more. “I see.” Besides, it had to make sense for the answer to lie somewhere in between: bunkers tended to be old structures, didn’t they? And as far as Inge knew, they didn’t come with an in-built warden workshop.

Though she wouldn’t hold it against their kind.

The door swung open, replacing the comfortable darkness which had gained her that advantage with fluorescent, overhead light. Inge’s eyes lost their red, glowing quality and she blinked at the change of it. The light was far from bright enough to stun her, but it did momentarily make her feel out of balance, which she contributed to the contrast with the lack of light from before. She hoped he didn’t take note of it, the way she rubbed her eyesockets to get rid of the dancing stars. A hunter who didn’t know of a mare’s weaknesses was the best kind of hunter.

“The smell is pleasant. I was just surprised by it,” she said, running the same hand through her hair and looking around the bright hallway. Three doors. There was something eerie about that too, wasn’t there? Who knew what horrors might lie behind them, what choices the hunter left for the people he brought here. Behind one of these doors is a hungry bear, but behind the other is a pile of candy! Choose carefully! 

She followed him, wanting him to open each and every door with his own hands, even if her curiosity almost got the better of her. She wanted to rip them all open, or flit between rooms in the astral — to see what this hunter hid in the crevices of Wicked’s Rest, where he brought fae to be separated from their wings. Her eyes bore into the door on the left, willing it to open with Parker’s explanation. A study. Without it revealing its contents, she imagined him cradling a pair of newly-acquired wings, dripping with blood still, while leisuring on an expensive, leather chaise-longue. Or no, a rocking chair, moving back and forth while humming some old tune. The wings like a babe. If he wasn’t going to show her, she’d fill in the blanks. “And what is it you study there?”

Inge let go of her fantasies, following her gaze to the door he approached. A latched door, rather than suited with a regular doorknob — one Parker held onto as if it was a move of protection. She wanted him to lift the latch and show what was beyond this non-important room, the one that could only be opened from the outside. She wasn’t sure what to expect from this place, from a workspace made for separating fae from their body parts.

A surgical room? That would seem appropriate, though it could also look like more of a torture dungeon. And then there was this latched room, which left plenty for her imagination to run with — but the hunter was faltering.

His breathing was constrained, as if he’d just run up a hill. Was it something in the air here? Inge wouldn’t know, her body no longer dependent on oxygen. Or was this something else, something akin to a panic attack? It was a thought out of this world, a concept that should not be applicable to something like a hunter — especially not one like Parker Wright. A man who could be terrifying enough to be a boogeyman, a story told to little fae kids to make them sleep unsoundly. 

She took a step back, granting him some space. “Are you — okay, Parker? Can I do something for you?” There had to be breathing exercises out there, but she didn’t know any of them on account of her not needing to breathe. “We can take it easy. All in due time. Just – breathe easy, now.” 

—

At first, the words Inge said went in Parker’s good ear then slammed against the other side of his head, contributing to the pendulum in his mind that seemed to reel at the thoughts that suddenly overwhelmed him. She wasn’t a Warden, she wasn’t a human, she wasn’t a fae, she was a demon. He barely knew anything about her other than what she’d woven into their conversations and he now nearly doubled over in front of the door that usually housed the specimens that he harvested from. Would she hate him? Should she hate him? What if she was so disgusted by what she saw that she turned on him right then and there? Would her demonic fury overwhelm her and he’d be thrust into the inevitability of death?

‘Breathe easy’. That was an idea that was simple enough to say and should’ve been just as simple to do and yet his mouth hung open as he swallowed lungfuls of air that seemed humid in the illuminated hallway. His vision started to swim and Inge’s question to help was met with an erratic shake of his head. “N-no.” Parker insisted with no certainty in his tone at first and he wasn’t sure which question he was answering. He didn’t even know what he was experiencing this intense emotion over. Was it embarrassment? Shame?  Was he afraid and if he was, was it because he was closer than ever to showing someone who had no right to be there his most intimate aspects?

Part of Parker wanted to reach out, make contact with Inge to keep himself from falling off the edge he was precariously teetering from the past few days. And yet, one emotion he was acutely aware of all the time was pride. The Warden wouldn’t reach out to allow his fingers to graze her, to establish that the abyss wasn’t real. She’d laugh at him. Mock him. He never reached out because that’s not what Wright Wardens did, especially not him.

‘Stand up straight, boy. Y’ain’t dying, you’re just caught up in your head. Stand up straight.’

His father was right. He always was. Parker dared himself to close his eyes, taking a deep breath, willing the storm to settle down. His heartbeat that pulsed wildly in his head, giving him the impression that he was dying, started to steady. His breathing came deeper, more controlled. She wasn’t going to attack him and if she decided to insult his workspace, his craft… he’d deal with it then. He straightened up slowly from his doubled-over position and he still held his arms close to his stomach for a few moments as he felt his torso expanding and collapsing with steadied breaths. “I apologize.” He huffed out an exhale through a narrow opening in his lips. “For the… distraction.” He didn’t know if he was even capable of trying to explain what that was.

Before he had a chance to relapse into whatever the hell that was, Parker inhaled sharply through his nose, more of a sniff than anything else and he placed his hand on the latch once more, pushing the door open. “There’s no knob on the inside so don’t shut the door, please.” He said as the opening door revealed–

“This is where I keep the specimens.”

The room was small, a concrete step or two down from the doorway and the ground was made of the same concrete though it seemed to be polished and considerably smooth. There was a cheap-looking chair that sat in the far right corner next to a small, three-legged round table. The most instantly-noticeable part of the room, however, was the left side which appeared to be reminiscent of a cell from a county jail. The bars were very thick and didn’t seem to have a base at the top or the bottom, instead connected directly to the concrete floor and the low ceiling. There was a door hidden among the bars, not immediately obvious to the eye similarly to the fence and a narrow opening at the bottom where plates and trays could be deposited. In the cell was a twin-sized mattress with a pillow and a set of clean sheets on it, which contrasted the numerous stains on the floor under and next to it.

“The study is just named that.” Parker explained, finally addressing one of her previous questions as he stood aside to allow her entry to the room if she wanted it. He absently wiped one of his eyes as he moved a heavy stone wedge with a steel-toed boot to prop the door open and he himself stepped inside for a moment. It could’ve been jarring, how differently he was acting now compared to just a few minutes before and he smothered that thought before it threatened to set him back, an ouroboros that he couldn’t fall into. “It’s where I keep some of my books. It’s a relaxation room. …I figured it would be redundant but I can show it to you, as well.”

—

It was like the world had turned upside down. There was a panicking hunter in front of her. This was often the opposite, was it not? No matter how hard Inge might try to deny it, there had been countless times where a hunter had made her feel similarly to this. Not like she couldn’t breathe – as she didn’t need to breathe any longer – but as if the world was slipping away from underneath her. Panic thrumming through her nervous system, messing with her very biology and mind. But now she was the calm one, witnessing a hunter in a state she didn’t often see one.

But she saw panic. She knew terror. Not only was she a creator of it, she was a witness. Her sleepers woke up gasping for air, grasping the sheets, letting out a scream — and she’d watch from the astral as her work had real-life consequence. She didn’t do it often – something about it poisoned her work – but she did it from time to time. As a reminder of what it’s like to be human, mortal, and endlessly and always afraid.

So she watched. Voyeuristic, the way a mare was perhaps destined to be. At least she let him know she was watching, not hiding in the folds of the astral or a shadow. Her gaze danced, not sticking to him but still. Inge felt powerful in a way. Having the upper hand on a hunter was a rarity.

And eventually he regained himself. “You’re alright,” she said plainly, because it was. At the end of the day, he really was just a human, even if a sadistic and strange one. She had once breathed like this too. “It’s over. We needn’t think about it, if you’d rather.” It was a little embarrassing, wasn’t it?

Parker moved on, though, focus regained. She thought it curious, how fast he shifted between moods. It reminded her, in a way, of herself — but with her it was rather between mania, rage and melancholy that she swayed. 

The room was ugly. Not because the interior design choices (if there were any) but because of its function. Inge moved into the room, not bothering to keep her eyes from widening. The specimens, he said, as he guided her into a prison. She searched for a line of salt, something that would keep even mares trapped behind those ugly bars. She didn’t bother to breathe any more, her senses keenly aware of the man behind her, the lack of touch between them — she wouldn’t find herself in a place like that, locked with a spare mattress and fresh sheets. Fresh sheets, what a horror: it might have been less scary if they were blood-stained or yellowing. 

How many fae had slept there? How many had died there? Inge felt a swirl of disgust, of rage. She thought of Dis and their antlers, pressing her lips together in a fine line. Specimens. She thought of the hunter in Italy, who’d limited her movements and attempted to starve her. She looked at him over her shoulder, not afraid but perhaps worried, in a way. She had nothing for this hunter beside her blood, but he was still that. A hunter. With a jail cell in a bunker. Why had he panicked before showing this? Was it shame? Fear of judgment, of repercussion? Inge wasn’t going to wield any weapons, her cowardice and survival instinct stronger than whatever anger she felt. But still, didn’t they both seem aware that this was wrong?

Specimens, he’d said. What did he make of her?

She shook her head. “I can picture it, the study. Let’s move on, shall we?” She didn’t want to see where this man laid back and relaxed, where he flicked through books as his specimens laid on the clean mattress. She did wonder what kinds of books he read. Probably non-fiction. But maybe he liked those cheesy romantic novels.

A thrill ran up her spine as she tossed one last look over to the cell before moving back into the hallway. “It seems secure. That room. This entire place.” Inge had little else to say of it, but one question burned: “Do many of them leave?” Or did he let them die there, a long and painful death? 

—

The Warden kept his keen eyes on her as she explored the holding area, himself silent except for the sound of his heavy footfalls against the concrete floor, examining her reactions, observing her body language as he opted to focus entirely on her. While Parker had since recovered fully from the pendulum swinging too far in one direction, he still felt a small pang of what he assumed was latent anxiety over this whole order prickling at his skin but it wasn’t nearly as unmanageable as it was minutes before. He wasn’t sure if he would ever fully know why whatever had coursed through his system had but she wasn’t dwelling on it, and he was internally grateful for that. She had other thoughts on her mind now and while she didn’t show him fear - he didn’t expect it from her anymore, even now - there was something on her face as she looked back at him.

Something new, something he had yet to see on her. And her expression seemed to settle a little more of the churning inside him.

Thankfully, she was willing to skip the study. Parker motioned for her to follow out of the room, making sure she was out all the way before he carefully pulled the door shut behind her where it clicked closed softly. That was often the most difficult room to think about though, again, he couldn’t be sure why. Perhaps it was simply the nerves of showing someone he wasn’t planning on using it against. Perhaps he really was worried about what she’d think, another tally on his ever-growing list of people who were monsters but thought that he was the worst.

“Yes.” He answered her question as he now approached the third and final door, the one that sat under a fluorescent light at the end of the short hall. “And the ones who don’t leave aren’t left to die slowly. I’m not a torturer.” The word slipped from his mouth with more bile than he intended but all things considered, he wasn’t particularly sorry. If anything, Parker was frustrated with the title, one of many that he didn’t get to choose. People were foolish, the fae sometimes more so. It was so easy for them to fall into extremes. As he said this with an exhale through his nose, the Warden opened that third door and didn’t wait for her to step inside first.

“This is my workshop.”

Crossing the doorway was like stepping into a different genre of life altogether. The room was bathed in blinding fluorescent lights, making everything in it as visible as possible and casting harsh shadows below the sparse furniture that lay within. The floor was tiled, sparkling light blue and slick with a clean shine. The walls were lined with countertops and cabinets that all seemed to be filled in some measure or another with bottles, tools, boxes, packets. One particularly large cabinet that sat in one of the far corners seemed to be full of exclusively bandages and towels. While all the countertops on the left side were clean and generally free of clutter save a tool here or a bottle of unidentified fluid there, the right side had all manner of things on its surfaces, including what appeared to be a dismantled crossbow with several bolts strewn about near it, some small, narrow-edged daggers with the blades removed from their hilts and, a little further down, a dark, mangled disc of metal.

The centerpiece of the room was a solitary operating table with a grate underneath it. It was long and wide, a slick chrome and a little lower than the average waist height. On it were some surgical instruments and another container of fluid but the thing that stood out was what appeared to be a segment of a tail. It was silvery blue in color, a little more than a foot in length and with dull aqua fronds on the tip. It was… a work in progress. The room smelled more strongly of cinnamon and was now accompanied by the scent of coffee as it juxtaposed the clinical way the tail was arranged.

“You may look but I ask that you touch nothing.” Parker paused for a moment, once again keeping his sharp blue eyes that were the same color as the tile on Ingeborg, studying her reaction, feeling a great deal more comfortable in this room than the holding cell though he could still feel an unexpressed emotion pulling at the pendulum in his head.

—

Inge wasn’t a person moved by morality. She existed for creation and consumption and not much else, filling in the blanks between those things with whim and spontaneity. Everything, at the end of the day, was done in the name of art or survival — and whatever lines she had to cross for that, she’d cross gladly. Like now, following a hunter the likes of which she’d never met before, into his workshop where he maimed fae. In the name of inspiration, the name of art. 

If she had a muse, it was fear, disgust and misery. All the wretchedness in the world. 

And though she found it no comfort as he said yes, as she took some issue with him refusing to call himself a torturer — it was what she required. Parker’s attitude combined with the spaces they moved from and to was what she came here for. Inspiration. At home, she’d get out her charcoal and paper and sketch, recreate the image of that mattress on the floor, the latch that locked the door, the look on Parker Wright’s face as he said his specimens didn’t die slowly.

A lot could be forgiven in the name of good art.

Still, she offered no reply. She found nothing fitting. What was she supposed to say, as a demon? Approve of his cruelty? Tell him that Satan would surely approve of his methods, or something cheesy like that? Inge liked some performance, but she wasn’t here to tap into her more dramatic sides. She was here as a visitor, as a witness, as a voyeur — and there was a part of her that wanted to look at all of this from the comfort of the astral, where no words were needed. To make a play out of this would be counterproductive, distract her from taking in the details she intended to remember. So she remained silent.

She stayed that way as they moved into the workshop, the pièce de résistance of this location. Eerily clean and brightly-lit, the room that Inge stepped into lacked any kind of inviting nature. Sterile was the first word she thought of to describe the place, which admittedly was a good term to use in regards to Parker himself. As if he himself was rubbed clean with alcohol, skin raw and red to remove all the dirtiness that they both knew had once been there. She blinked at the brightness of the room, feeling a certain level of lightheadedness wash over her that was tolerable, even if annoying.

Her feet carried her through the room, not even a single part of her wanting to ask if he could turn down the light. She ran a hand through her hair, pressing the palm of her hand against one of her temples momentarily before moving more. Weapons. Sterile bandages. Fluids she couldn’t identify. The operating table, in the middle of it all where Inge could imagine all types of fae lying, unconscious. Her imagination ran with it, imagining her own immobilized body there, somehow contained to such a place. 

He wanted her blood and only that, didn’t he? Or would he be curious enough to take a scalpel to her insides? Inge wasn’t sure what they looked like, now that she was no longer human and alive. Her blood wasn’t blood, so who was to say her liver was still meaty, her heart still a tough muscle? Even she got curious when she thought about it, so why wouldn’t he? Her eyes flicked to him, wary. She felt the presence of the astral, nothing keeping her here. “Not to worry, I won’t touch a thing.” 

Her worried imaginations were dissipated by what she saw on the operating table. Another trophy, a bit of what seemed to be a tail from a fish of sorts. Inge wasn’t well-versed when it came to water creatures, admittedly, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t intrigued. “What is this from?” Her gaze directed to Parker for a moment, before she took a closer look, stepping forward. She hadn’t seen a lot of fae in their true form, so she wasn’t sure if this was something fae-adjacent or rather something belonging to another supernatural creature. It was strange, though — such a small bit of what she assumed to have been a longer tail.

She wondered what he’d do with it. How he’d gotten it. She hoped that whoever he’d taken this from was still alive, in a rare moment of empathy.

She turned around. “Should we get to … the rest of our agreement?” Inge felt increasingly uncomfortable at the prospect of him touching her and thus grounding her here, cutting off her access to the astral. But a deal was a deal, and she had gained plenty of inspiration here. Besides, she wanted her money. 

—

The Warden, arguably feeling as safe as he ever did in that singular, surgically-lit room, still kept his sharp blue eyes on Inge after everything was said and done. Parker had spent many hours in that room, his back slightly bent as he worked on a project but this was her first time seeing it. This wasn’t like the trophy room in his basement or even the small cell where he held his specimens as they recovered from whatever they wanted to call the liberation of their parts, where he wanted to gauge her reaction. He wasn’t seeking her approval here; this was non-negotiable, a testament that he was serious about what he did.

“I don’t know.” It was an honest response to her inquiry regarding the tail that lay on the table. “Not a fae, that much is certain.” And Parker was content to leave it at that as he went over to one of the many cabinets and pulled out a few different items, including a single-use gauze pad, a bottle of fluid, a small role of bandages and a couple of cotton balls. He motioned with his head for her to join him as he placed the items on one of the cleaned counters, starting to remove the bloodied bandage from his face and depositing it into a nearby waste bin.

He observed her, gently dabbing at the healing gash on his face with one of the cotton balls now dipped in what smelled like alcohol as she approached him regarding their agreement. Parker still didn’t think that five thousand dollars was necessary, even for a demon’s blood, but that was what she asked for and though it wasn’t a petty sum, he was also nothing if not incredibly financially responsible. That and that the rich, affluent and mentally disturbed bought his creations at decidedly higher prices than he sometimes considered.

Leaning against the counter with one of his hips, Parker used a dextrous hand to open one of the pouches on his belt, pulling out a small, intricately-decorated bottle. He held it aloft for her to see, almost as if wanting to see if she thought it a suitable vessel for her unique blood. “I assume a needle will be insufficient.” He explained as he carefully set the bottle down onto the counter, tossing the now-red cotton ball into the waste bin as well. “I’m proficient with human anatomy but as… proof that I’ve no intention of harming you, you can choose where you would bloodlet from.” He casually pulled one of the drawers below the counter they were standing near open, revealing a row of differently-sized silver scalpels. He gestured for her to take a look. 

—

He didn’t know, which was curious. Of course, he was only a human, and as old as he looked — despite his teachings, he couldn’t know everything. Like what a mare was, for example. Inge still looked at the tail for a moment, before redirecting her gaze at the warden. She joined him where he stood, watching him bare himself in yet another way. She stared at the wound on his face, at the way he took care of it with a skill she recognized. Inge had become good at basic first aid herself, out of need more than want. 

“Did it belong to whoever did that?” Addressing his injuries felt somewhat strange, as if Inge was finally pointing out the obvious, the weakness that he carried. Though there was something to be said about just exposing your injuries without little hesitation: that wasn’t weakness per se. No, he just dabbed his wounds with alcohol without flinching, putting it proudly on display that something had harmed him but not killed him. Inge did the same with her own scars.

The bottle was dainty, almost pretty. Not just something that served its function, but something decorated. Inge thought that fitting indeed, even if the idea of her blood swirling in it was a strange one still. But she’d made it this far, had gained plenty of inspiration and there was still the five thousand dollars that waited for her — so she wouldn’t back down now. Besides, she knew better than to go back on deals, with humans and fae alike. She wasn’t a woman of her word, per se, but she also didn’t enjoy causing trouble with people who could pose a real issue.

“I don’t imagine it would work, no,” she said, thinking of the stagnant way her blood sat in her body. It moved with her movements, fell out when her skin was lacerated and gravity came into play, but it just sat within her, most of the time. Like the stuffing of a plush toy. “I appreciate that,” Inge said, watching him open the drawer of scalpels. She stretched out one hand for the bottle, used another to take one of the sharp looking scalpels. Part of her would prefer it if he did the deed, but there was still a trepidation to be touched and tied to this place. Now, she still had her dear astral plane accessible to her, should things turn awry. Him saying he didn’t intend to harm her could just as well be a lie, after all.

Once she held both objects, she considered herself. It was not in her nature to hurt herself, after all. Her hands were so dear to her, too — they were how she made her best work, the tools she used most of all. Inge ended up extending her left hand’s ring finger, slicing horizontally down her flesh and creating an incision about an inch long. “There we go.” Glitter drizzled slowly until she added more pressure, a look of concentration and perhaps even pain on her face as she bled in front of the hunter.

—

For the first time since before they entered the bunker, Inge had addressed the deep crevice of a gash on Parker’s face, asking without knowing the name if it was Teddy that gave it to him. He shook his head slowly, his body language not carrying any duplicity in it. He wasn’t flinching as the alcohol stung his skin; he had already unintentionally exposed far too many emotions in front of the demon previously and the way the pendulum in his mind was swinging, this was a matter of whatever pride he could keep together, hoarded away, not daring to show any further weakness in front of her. He’d had enough of that.

She collected one of the scalpels in hand as well as the bottle he offered to her - if he had more time, he would’ve run the design by her; after all, it was her blood that he wanted to keep and admire. The least he could’ve done was make sure the bottle was aesthetically to her liking but he supposed that she wouldn’t care too much. It wasn’t as though it was going on any of her shelves. Parker was also… not pleased, but found a strange internal satisfaction when she gave him confirmation that he understood the physical qualities of her blood, at least on a superficial level.

And the prospect fascinated him. If her blood sat solidly in her veins, not pumping anything to or from her heart, what did her insides look like? Were they petrified, relics in a demonic body that were preserved? Were they completely alien and so different from human physiology that he couldn’t even comprehend their shapes? The thoughts were brief but still rather strong and Parker shook his head to get rid of them; one thing at a time. He could feel what little patience he managed to maintain control of threatening to slip between shaking fingers, the gauge in his brian that served as visual shorthand for his tolerance for people indicating that he was simultaneously running out of steam and wavering uncertainly near the boiling point.

He kept his icy eyes on her, finding himself curious about where she’d choose - it was obvious that her palm drizzled the glimmery stuff freely so her skin, demonic or not, wasn’t impenetrable. Would she choose someplace subtle, like a thumb or would she go for a place where the skin was thicker, and ergo would be less painful? She obviously felt pain if her reaction at the museum was any indicator. …She went with the finger. The ring finger on her left hand. Parker wondered what her choice meant but he didn’t bother asking.

Instead, as she worked, he caught the look on her face but didn’t presume it to be anything more than what it was - concentration for trying to let the stream of sparkling blood fall as cleanly as possible into the bottle and perhaps some pain from the location or how deep she cut. He knew hunters, Wardens or no, who relished in those looks, ranging from pain to anger to fear. Parker took no pleasure in any of it and rather than allow himself to become mesmerized by the rhythmic beauty of the blood, he busied himself with a couple of very specific tasks, namely pulling out a thick adhesive strip for her when she finished and a checkbook.

Did people still use checks? He did. Hopefully she’d be okay with that - Inge probably thought Parker wasn’t as smart as she was, yet he wasn’t nearly stupid enough to walk around carrying more than a hundred in cash. Too many pickpockets and guttersnipes in that town for his liking, though at least the last kid that tried to steal from him ended up with a dislocated shoulder. However, he couldn’t keep that train of thought from traveling back to the alley a few nights ago. He inhaled deeply, attempting to keep his nerves from flaring apropos of nothing and instead attempted to distract himself from the thought as he wrote the amount - five thousand and 00/100 - in rather neat handwriting on the check as he leaned against a counter near her.

After he finished, he set the pen down atop the now-closed checkbook and collected the adhesive where he opened it with the dexterity and professionalism of a doctor, holding it out for her to take once she was finished and to help mitigate getting the powdery blood anywhere other than the bottle and perhaps the floor.

—

He didn’t answer her, which made her assume the answer was perhaps yes. Inge knew wounded pride; she wore that plenty, never gladly and always with the intention of shedding it as quickly as possible. Now, she wore her scars with pride, but she hadn’t always — not when they’d been fresh, healing lines of red, painful to the touch. In those times, she'd look at them with distaste and anger, covering them as if they were the ugliest thing known to man.

She certainly didn’t speak of her scars often. Not the ones left by her own scratching fingers, when she’d been a mortal and plagued by a mare of her own. Not the one left by Elena Cortez, lining her neck. Not the fresh one on her arm, from Rhett. The one on her stomach, by the Italian hunter whose name she never learned. And she would not speak of the line on her finger, once healed, as perhaps this was a source of shame too.

It was indeed a poetic choice to go for the left hand ring finger. Here, she had once worn her wedding band, the thing that tied her to Hendrik Beenhakker, that man that still lived and breathed in the home country, whom she had once loved but now mostly resented. Father of her child. Source of previous unhappiness. He’d slid that ring onto her finger and for years, she’d been unhappy — until her death.

If there was a finger to mar, it was this one. 

She watched the energy trickle from her body and she knew, this would be a shameful scar. Inge disliked commodification, and yet here she was, exchanging her blood for money and experience, lacerating her own skin for a scam. Of course, there wasn’t just shame to feel: there was also all the thrill and shock she felt, running through her nervous system most things didn’t. She was affected, by this place and this man, by the way he offered her an adhesive for a self-inflicted wound in a way a kind, yet professional nurse might.

She closed her wound, sliding the full bottle towards him. It was strange, to look at the substance collected like that, the way it sat there mostly stagnant but seemed to move a little regardless, the bright lights shining merrily in the solid that gave her life. Inge took, in return, her check, looking it over for a moment – and amused by the old-fashionedness of it, which she could appreciate considering her own age – before giving a look of approval to Parker.

“Well, Parker. It was a pleasure doing business with you.” Had it been? She wasn’t here for pleasure: she was here for exposure to something that could stir her, for a thrill and a bit of extra money. But it was a thing people said. And she had gotten what she came for, and then some. He called them specimens. She looked him over, wondering if he was getting greedy. 

The check disappeared into her pocket, and she looked around, eyes resting on the bit of tail for a moment. “Now … I do appreciate your hospitality, but I have a few other matters to tend to tonight, if that’s alright.” She wanted gone from here, this haunted place. (She hadn’t seen any ghosts, but still — other supernatural creatures had died here.) She looked back to Parker, wondering if she should show her hand and just disappear on him now or be led out the human, slow way. “I can find my way out myself. If everything is up to your liking too, of course.”

—

Five thousand dollars for what essentially amounted to… two to three fluid ounces of shimmery blood from the ring finger of a self-professed succubus. Five thousand dollars for the time, effort, exposing this part of himself with no guarantee that Inge would hold her end of the bargain, keep his sanctuary and workshop hidden from whoever might’ve offered her more than five thousand dollars for the information. Parker recalled the faces, types, voices of the many fae he’d taken wings from in the past, how many people Inge seemed to speak to on a regular basis publicly, let alone privately. He thought about what he would’ve done if someone were to–

The thought started to swing the pendulum subconsciously and once the adhesive strip had been accepted by the demon, Parker’s hand found itself gripping the edge of the chrome counter with a tightness that whitened his knuckles and started to warp the metal underneath the pressure. However, absolutely determined not to fall apart in front of her a second time (as a part of his mind that was smothered in professionalism and control was still reeling with internal embarrassment from earlier), the Warden breathed deeply through his nose, evenly, maintaining that strict semblance of composure.

He needed to be alone. This social exchange had far exceeded his capacity to entertain that night, and that was even before whatever was happening was happening. The words she was saying were starting to turn into indecipherable buzzing whether he wanted them to or not - that wasn’t a symptom of whatever problem he was having, that was just a symptom of being Parker himself. Of course, he picked up terms like ‘appreciate the hospitality’ (something he was almost certain was a lie) and when she commented that she could find her way out herself, it took him longer than it should’ve for him to contemplate whether or not to just let her go while he stayed there in that room.

The Warden glanced over at the tail of the clueless individual he’d harvested from the previous day, staring intently at it for a long moment before he gave a noncommittal nod. “Of course.” He pulled away from the counter with its new bend in the metal. “I’ll walk you to the… hall door.” Parker said as he walked - exiting the establishment was much easier than entering it; it was a rather short trip all things considered and she was a demon so he wasn’t sure if she possessed any powers of teleportation but if she did, he’d rather not have known about it. How strange for him, to want to remain ignorant of something. Perhaps if he wasn’t privy to that information, he could rationalize how she wouldn’t just return on a whim, maybe when he wasn’t there, dig through his things. Touch his stuff.

So, back through the short hall with its two branching rooms and distinct smell of cinnamon and coffee. Back to the door that shielded everything Parker made of himself from the rest of the blissfully unaware world. Back to the metal that closed the black mouth of the entrance walkway where he stood to the side, gave Inge a signature stare (though this time, one could’ve sworn that it was laced with tiredness) and held the door open for her. “This was… enlightening.” He said, not dishonestly though he still wondered about his mental state if how much glittery blood he got seemed worth the price he paid, both literally in terms of money and in exchange for her knowing where he worked.

He opted not to think about it anymore. Not that night. Not without any of his family there to interpret his thoughts for him.

“Have a good evening, Ms. Ingeborg Endeman.” 

[steamworksfairy]

So I've realized that I am pretty much in TSC fandom now. I don't think I can escape it. That said, I think I'll be working on a pinned post for 2024. I haven't ever been this active on tumblr or in a fandom before, and I enjoy it. So I want to eventually figure out how to make my blog reflect both TSC and khr. Which probably just means me changing my profile picture

[gloxk]

✭ Mercy me. Mercy me. ✭

⊹ ⭒ for better, won’t see you again. I choose a life of sin. ⭒ ⊹

Baby, you can have it alll! Baby, you could be a star! ✦

━━━━━━━ʚ˚̣̣̣͙ɞ━━━━━━

⊹ ⭒ Eyena! ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ 9 teen ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ Gemini ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ Biracial ⭒ ⊹

Disclaimer: This is a 17+ blog. Explicit/ dark content is presented. My blog is mainly dedicated to Afro-Americans, please keep this in mind while reading. Regardless of ethnicity you are more than welcome to enjoy my content. Request are always open, feel free to ask/ chat w me. Message me if you have concerns/ questions. Dont address me in my comments. You will be blocked <3.

Eyena status : currently on a break! ty for 1,000! I will be back, when im not depressed.😂

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WHAT I WRITE FOR.

JJK

AOT

TOKYO REVENGERS

WHAT I WONT WRITE.

INSCEST. (bitch ew.)

PEDOPHILIA. (dfpwm.)

M/M.

ANYTHING ANIMAL RELATED. (even pet names.)

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MASTER LIST.

JJK ���︎

Mary jane. (Gojo smut)

Mommy’s special remedy (Gojo smut)

Giving JJK men head in random places (Gojo, Choso, Geto smut.)

Need my help? (Choso smut.)

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AOT ⚠︎

Yeah my ex is crazy. (Eren, Armin, Connie smut.)

Priorities (Eren smut.)

Heaven and Back (Eren smut.)

Best kind of sex with AOT men (Eren, Armin, Connie smut.)

Think she grippin’ on my dick but that’s my gun baby (Eren smut.)

Sneaky linkin’ (Eren, Armin, Connie smut.)

Fuck me like you mad at me baby. (Eren, Armin, Connie smut.)

Favorite eater (Eren, Armin, Connie smut.)

Series: What do aot characters love?

Eren <3

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©gloxk 2023. Do not copy, plagiarize, repost, or translate any of my work/themes. All banners are mine. Do not use.

[revalition]

OCT 15 - ENDURANCE Take the blows. Don’t let the world kill you.

Endurance!! I don't love him, but that's okay. He's just not as interesting to me as the others, and spearheads the fascist questline. that definitely does him no favours. but I do cherish all the skills nonetheless, including him

Quotes under the cut!

endurance fun facts from my spreadsheet:

- swear score of 8 - damages and heals an equal amount of morale - says "we" more than "I" (almost double) - Endurance says "sorry" just once, when you're about to die

the heart attack endurance quotes are really really sad. which makes them excellent. but it's too painful for me to look at and I want to be able to use these posts as references so they're being omitted!

anyway, endurance quotes!

endurance definitely directing the blame back up to the intellect group here haha

this is so funny to me. endurance begrudgingly letting you have both kim and dora in his hypothetical aerostatic

I wasn't sure if I should give this one to endurance or PT, but I really like it. lovingly adorn him in a ceramic shell

your stomach doing his job well

uhm, is that how it works honey?

what is wrong with this skill?? (so, so many things)

see, there's 'what's wrong with him' said with utmost affection, like when I look at electrochemistry. and then there's without the affection. that's the version endurance gets. sorry my guy

(if you have your badge he confirms it's not your birthday haha) just the idea of harry asking one of his own skills if it's his birthday...

this heartwarming dialogue about being sober! I'm pretty sure it's not implemented in the game but I love it all the same.

this is a godly endurance check for some reason?? (maybe it's a fail? I can't tell on Fayde...)

endurance no! they're all idiots...

hghh endurance ew

this is too funny. tutorial agent not you too...!

this is so totally not here just because volition said it (picking "wait, get who back?" immediately damages volition btw, poor bby) ultramarathon is such a funny nickname. fitting enough, I suppose.

endurance is so stupid...

also endurance compromised!

amazing. ty endurance. I'm sure that's making Harry feel better

alternate:

YOU - Oh my god, I'm going to die! ENDURANCE - Yeah, probably, one day. But not this very minute.

endurance knowing what a focal epileptic seizure is and where it's occurring and then just going i'unno when asked if it's dangerous... why is he like this.

also you're *probably* going to die one day? cmon buddy

instead of asking why, you can also say:

YOU - Don't you sass me. Get on with the story.

hehe. Zone of Irredeemable Catastrophe! :(

of course your gut does, it has to do with gary... savvy having no interest in it is wonderful

as always much love for this infra-materialism book shutting down everyone's methods of thinking (except inland's)

running reservoirs haha. extremely rare polite endurance

I *think* I understand what he's trying to say... Volition has it right. Sometimes you need to be unmade to heal.

stupid endurance...

seagull dialogue has to be in here cause it's awesome. the body remembers... (also endurance saying good boy??)

first endurance line is the antipassive (failure) and the second one is the success. I don't think he's super impressed...

this is so random, just in the middle of talking to klaasje on the first day. uhm good job endurance...

what a normal, straight thing to think! all the skills chiming in on the smoker is so funny to me

don it and live!!

I have two screenshot spots left so here are my WIPs :)

he's just in the background in the banner one (the second one). I think he came out pretty cool in the spring storm one though (first one)

that's it! endurance is my least favourite of the fys skills by a landslide. I'm very excited for the rest of them :)

[dummie-writes]

the party walkers

self insert ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* school bus graveyard

words: 4.38k

previous part: a rescue mission

note: heyyyyy guyssss I'm back. the rot consumed (the rot is sbg), and even though it took longer, I have a chapter for you :3 also, if you guys would like a tag list, lemme know? I've never really done a long term fan fiction over tumblr, so, uh, yeah? also if you wanna be on the tag list but don't wanna follow me, that's absolutely fine. I don't mind either way lol. just lemme know. anyway, I hope you enjoy :D thanks for your patience

iii. over a horizon, somewhere

the air in the hallway smells like dust and makes your skin crawl with chill. as your eyes dart to and from everywhere you can see, your breathing again is as silent as you can make it. you've had to practice breathing invisibly way too much for your liking. you're lucky this house is the same layout as your real life home, because even though everything has gone to shit, at least you were able to check which parts of the floor creak over here. did your parents give you an odd look for shifting your weight and stepping on and off seemingly random parts of the floor? maybe. but if a weird look was the price of survival, it was cheap and worth buying.

your foot was so light on that first step that you almost thought you hadn't actually put it down. no noise - good. actually, you hadn't seen or heard any of what everyone else had been referring to as phantoms in a good while. probably a night or two - mainly because you weren't looking to escape, you, we're just trying to survive at that point. you felt kind of stupid, not being able to buy proper medical supplies for your bathroom to take care of your injury - but you didn't have an independent credit card, and your parents could see all your purchases. they were kinda weird, they didn't like letting you access your money. it was obnoxious. and deadly, and this case.

but that was beside the point right now.

you had gotten to your bedroom door, which was torn entirely off of its hinges, splinters of poorly painted wooden fibers scattered thoughtlessly in the carpet. peeking inside revealed no monster, not from you could see, at least. to further muffle your footsteps, you had worn thick socks to bed. your shoes were in your backpack, and you wouldn't have time to put them on until you got to… wherever their base was? they never actually explained it. just said something about a bus. but, that's ashlyn banner for you.

(it's not, actually, she had wanted to go much more into depth on it, but you all had gotten so busy making a plan to not die that the specifics of the place got muddled.)

your backpack was neatly placed on you bed, where you had left it before “falling asleep”. you wasted no time in tip toeing to your closet and grabbing all the jackets you could find, throwing them on to save space before swinging your bag on both shoulders, tying the loose adjustable ends together to secure it, even if just slightly. grabbing all the blankets you could before you left, your next destination was the kitchen. your mom had stocked up on lunachbles the other day! this made things convenient for you, so you grabbed as many as you could, stuffing them in your pockets. glancing out the window for a second, the street is an eerie quiet. the sky, red, per… well, per what you assume would be usual. stranded vehicles in their driveway, the pavement unbothered by time.

a head appears in the window, upside-down as it swings like a pendulum on top of the roof.

“OH MY G- aiden! what the fuck!”

“haha got you.”

despite your shaking hands and the buzzing of surprise in your legs, you open your window, pushing out the screen and pulling the blonde in as quickly as you could manage.

“what are you doing here? you guys aren't supposed to be here for another ten or so?”

“I got sent ahead to make sure you weren't alone if something attacked you,” he says with a wide smile. as goofy as aiden can be at times, he has yet to not be on your side in this situation. his nose wrinkles in the slightest way when he grins like that. his odd smile freaks you out sometimes, honestly, but right now it brings you more comfort than anything else.

“oh. ashlyn let you go? like, alone? without ben?”

“no, lol, I sent me. I was getting bored.”

this earns him a dumbfounded blink, and then you sigh, pinching your nose as you open your mouth to criticize his poor decision.

“duck!”

some sort of primal instinct pushes you down, the hair on the back of your neck prickling as a collectable figurine goes flying through the air, and the hiss of pain behind you let's you know that something has found you.

“shitshitshitshitshitshitshit-” you're skittering to the window before your brain actually loads in to the situation, and it does when you're halfway through the window. aiden secures his stance, like he's about to fight this thing! that idiot!

you grab his arm, pulling him backward as hard as you can, hearing his shoulder pop and a small “ow :(“ as the two of you clamber through the opening. the imprint of the window frame leaves a red cent in your shoulder, and you hiss as you fall onto your back. aiden rolls his shoulder back without missing a beat, his lips now pulled back into the more energetic lines they usually are. he pops up, putting his palms flat on the glass and pulling down, closing it.

“fuck! are you okay?”

“yeah I'm good.”

well, that was that, then. you stand there for a moment, your hands on your knees as you pant, trying to relax the tension in your legs from a moment before. you didn't actually have much time, you guys needed to get out of there. your fingers weakly paw at the spilled items on the floor from your backpack, which tore when you guys fell out of your room. stuffing what you could back into it, someone grabs your arm and pulls you up before you even look at who it is. your other arm swings back, your gaze shaking as you hear a deeper voice, tyler's, specifically, gasp and pull back, rubbing his cheek.

“you guys need to not do that, oh my gosh.”

tyler sharply looks at you, eyebrows scrunched up in irritation, before his face gravitates to look at aiden in the same manner. “you are in such big trouble, that annie wanna-be is worried. and also pissed. really, really pissed.”

aiden mocks a shocked face.

“omg she's worried about me?? I knew she cared.”

tyler is unimpressed by this to say the least, grabbing your arm and yanking you up to your feet, holding your shoulder stiffly as he examines you, making sure your not injured. for the first time, you notice the softness in his eyes and cheeks, and while his hand is holding you still, it isn't too tight as to hurt you. he's being.. gentle. which you haven't actually ever noticed from him. you take the time to look him over too, for the same reason. regular scratches and bruises, but nothing to be all too concerned about. his hair looks so soft, does he use taylor's hair supplies? it's very well taken care of. a thought pops into your head.

“oh, yeah, by the way, I got a-”

“there they areee,” aiden cheers, his smile lacing his voice. turning your head, you see ashlyn, logan, taylor and a mildly panicked looking ben running to the three of you. the green eyed girl runs up to you, her eyebrows high as she scans you the same way tyler did. “you okay?”

you nod a confirmation, and she deflates with relief before turning to aiden. “could you not? you freaked everyone out! you're lucky a phantom didn't find you on the way here!” her hands are squishing up her hair as she gives the blonde a blank stare, and then cringes. she looks nauseous for a second, and then looks toward the house. her hands now covering her ears.

“... unless… a phantom.. did, find you on your way here?”

“haha, no, that would be silly. it was already in the house-”

the gray creature darts around the corner, and a chorus of screams and shoes pounding the dirt as you guys start running as fast as possible, ashlyn leading the charge. your chests are heaving, you feel your mouth drying up and salivating all at ones, and your head is pounding with your heart.

looking beside you is your newfound party, you find that everyone has weapons that you didn't really notice before now. you feel the taddest bit useless if you're being totally honest. making a few random turns and quick corners that nearly trip you up, and would have if ben didn't catch you and pull you along in time. at this point, you're holding his hand to keep up. somehow, you all ended up in the forest beside the neighborhood. this was probably the fastest way to get to ashlyn's house, and clearly, she knows it well enough to guide everyone through. meanwhile, the phantom is slowed down by the terrain.

as the trees thin out to the other side of the neighborhood, your legs are beginning to hurt. however, you do see a giant gray wall now, the one that the bus always picks ashlyn up by. this must be the graveyard everyone was talking about.

“time?!”

“eight minutes!”

fuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!

ashlyn skids to a stop inside of the wall, the phantom gaining on us by the second. tyler squeals slightly, before yelling to close the gate, his voice slurring with how quickly he spoke. with a loud thudding of everyone making it in, she slams her hand on the button as hard as humanly possible. the phantom does it's best to squeeze through the wall opening, but it shuts too quickly for it to come in. it starts hitting the wall, the structure echoing loud banging. ashlyn tenses, clenching her jaw as everyone stands in a outward facing circle, adrenaline still pumping through your arms.

“alright,” ashlyn says, dropping her hand a little and huffing. “let's head to the bus.”

“bus?” you ask, wrinkling your nose in confusion, looking around. there were… a lot of busses, actually. you thought this place was a graveyard?”

“oh, it's uh-”

“HAha. no one explained that. oops!” aiden cuts taylor off, giggling, in his own little world before turning to bother ashlyn. taylor side smiles at aiden, before turning back to you and continuing. “school bus graveyard. ash's family owns it,” she explains. there was probably more going on, but for the two of you, exhausted and filthy, it works well enough. a thumbs up from you later, taylor throws her arm around you. oh! friendship! that was fast. smiling at her, you return affection, throwing your arm around her shoulders too. she stinks, but you do too, so you have no moral high ground. what would you even say? ‘ugh, you just ran a mile here to there and back to save my life, disgusting. go shower’?????? no, that would be rude.

a yelp of surprise leaves you as aiden joins you guys, throwing his arm around taylor's other shoulder.

“you stink.”

“you do too.”

“I also stink. triplets!”

your trio laughs as you make your way to the empty school bus deemed hideout. a collective groan leaves everyone, sitting in seemingly designated spots. you shuffle awkwardly, looking around for a seat, before taking a seat behind tyler, beside logan, who smiles and waves at you before letting his head roll back onto the seat. tyler flops into his own seat, and you can hear his back pop as he groans and rubs his eyes.

“that sucked.”

“yeah, I agree.”

tyler tilts his head to look at you slightly, and you realize maybe he isn't actually perpetually angry, maybe he just has a resting bitch face. and also lacks sleep and proper communication skills. the way he again looks you over to make sure you're okay tells you he at least wouldn't leave you to the wolves in an instant.

ash leans over, and you frown as you hear her pop her foot. fair enough, but also ew.

“ah,” she starts, her head gently leaning on the seat in front of her. “the banging stopped.”

you didn't hear it after you guys had walked away, but also, ben told you about her having better hearing than the rest of you all. so that, of all things, wasn't too wild.

“it probably gave up, or-” tyler sighs, his eyes opening to look over to the freckle-faced girl. “- someth…” he's interrupted by ashlyn shooting to sit straight up. a second passes, and it looks like maybe she's just listening more intently than before, and then a shiver rolls up her spine and her shoulders tense. her eyes scan sideways, a nauseous feeling crawling up her ribs and into her throat. bus seat, window, bus seat, window.

fingers over the door frame, a dark skeletal looking head peering over.

your heart drops into your stomach, simultaneously jumping into the veins of your neck. everyone stands, almost synchronously backs up to cover each other. you find yourself in almost the very back, behind ben and logan. you glance at the twins, tyler slightly shielding taylor with his arm even though he's trembling.

the air stands perfectly still, nobody's lungs dare to move. it's like you're encased in stone. your shoulder blade throbs, and you wish you were some superhuman like the rest of them seemed to be. none of them were even seriously injured or anything, that could probably mostly be attributed to having five other people watching other people's backs at all times, and the medical supplies in the corner, but still.

no, you're no superhuman, but ash seems to be. she's the first to start trying to figure out what you guys can do. forcing her gritted teeth open, she hisses a question to you. “can we open the back door?”

“it's blocked!” you whisper, and your chest begins to hurt from how tight you're making your muscles. glancing to Logan, who's started crying in panic doesn't help much either. the own tears pricking at your eyes want to pull themselves down your cheeks, and your vision is fuzzy because of them. you decidedly rub them out of your face before they can be any worse.

“what do we do??” logan asks, his voice catching for a second, his fingers shaking and pulled up to his chest.

aiden replies nonchalantly, shrugging slightly and earning a loud thwack to the back of his head from tyler and an “aiden!” from taylor.

the floor creaked and the phantom makes a lunge for the party. you drop down, arms crossing to cover your face as your back meets the wall behind you, and a scream rips through the group.

beep, beep, beep.

your body lunges backward into your mattress, and you practically punch yourself in the jaw to cover yourself again. your forearms hurt and your legs feel sore. it takes a moment for you to really believe that you aren't in the bus anymore, your stomach heaving in your breathing. slowly, your arms start to come lay on your chest. slowly, your shoulders start to stop shaking so hard, and slowly, your breathing becomes deeper. you can feel trickles of tears, but you let them fall this time. you don't really have the energy at this point to scratch them away.

soreness tingles all along your body, your throat feels raw, and you don't really know why. you didn't scream all that much, did you? your phone pings, and you let the air rest for a second before even thinking of picking it up.

logan

everyone okay??

ashlyn

👍

aiden

lol that was close.

taylor

physically yes

tyler

mentally no.

you put your phone down, resting your head and grunting at the crack it gives.

you

yeah, aiden,

please don't die

aiden

lame.okay

ben

i think you gave

everyone a mini heart

attack when you said

that

aiden

everyone was

already having a heart

attack lmao.

you're looking for a gif or meme or random picture from your camera roll to respond with, when ben starts asking the important questions. no, actually, you hadn't done the homework. you had messed around with it for about an hour before bed, you were too nervous for finishing it and only answered a couple of the questions asked.

you “👎” the question before scrolling on a random app of your choosing, your eyes begging for sleep but your brain screaming to stay awake. the small twinkles of adrenaline from earlier aren't really in your system anymore, but you feel like they're crawling up in your arms. up your calves and up your neck. you keeping seeing things in the corner of your room, your mind making up eyes in the darkness. you don't want to keep your light on all night and run up the electrical bill, but it would certainly help if the places where the light from your phone doesn't reach quite as well would stop shifting. you feel.. watched. you're not, obviously, you know that. you know it's the part of your brain trying to keep you alive, but you're pretty sure sleeping is also part of staying alive.

you eventually turn onto your stomach, your palm pulling back the skin of your face and rubbing your eye. the small clock in the corner of your screen reads four something in the morning. after you stopped replying, the conversation eventually died out in the group chat, and even though you could see someone else was online, you didn't really want to bother any of them. luckily for you, you didn't have to.

taylor

hey, i forgot to check

up on you! u doin ok?

your eyebrow raises before you even process the message fully. why is she awake? of all people, you kinda got the feeling that she took care of herself more than the others in this scenario. then again, people who take care of others tend to neglect their own needs. maybe she didn't want to text anyone else, and texting you gave her an excuse to be awake?

you

im okay, you?

taylor

well, yk, as good as

we can be atp lol

hmm. you send her a random video because you have nothing else to talk about. she sends one back, and you spend the next hour sending them back and forth until you inevitably pass out. it's funny how much more comfortable you are when you aren't entirely lonely. that goes for both the phantom world and this one. it pulls you out, in a way. the way you have to flip-flop between normal life, and the terror that awaits you for seven minutes each night. the fact that the times don't line up still bothers you. it messes with your head, and your perception of time. how much passes and how quickly. you're not alone anymore, sure, but that doesn't lessen the effect of the situation any less.

except, maybe it does. maybe your body relaxing isn't just the natural melatonin, but the ever soft taste of safety. the satin touch of a cool breeze from your window before your mind drifts to a sea of unconscious landscape.

your alarm goes of an hour and a half later. lucky you, you no longer ever miss your alarm, and instead shoot up the second it goes off! yeah, the blood rush to your head and immediately grabbing the baseball bat you have near your bed before realizing what's going on isn't the best feeling in the world, but you're not late to school anymore, so that's a plus.

you don't really look at yourself in the mirror anymore, not while you brush your teeth and hair, not after you shower. a part of you cringes at the thought, even as you glance yourself over to make sure you're reasonably well prepared to head out. the eye bags you've developed don't compliment you as well as you would've hoped, and they contrast brightly against your skin going pale. there's a tired to your eyes that you can't seem to rub away, even as you fill your thermos with coffee before you jump on the bus. didn't help that you were honestly a little paranoid that you would see a monster in the mirror if you looked too long.

you sit down in the seat beside where ashlyn's seat is, sighing as you place your bag by your feet to make room for anyone else. your chin is in the palm of your hand, and you don't feel tired in the slightest. you will in about half an hour, when the fear factor that is waking up fades off, when you fingers stop tingling, and when your jaw stops clenching so hard. you take the moment to try and release some tension as ashlyn gets on the bus. she nods at you, looking you over before sitting down in the other seat. it's a habit you've noticed she picked up with the others, even though at the time you didn't know why. she would stand there for just an extra second, like she was checking them for stains. now, she did it for you, too.

this bus ride feels like it's taking forever, seriously. maybe everyone is just groggy this morning. isn't it odd, that you too would be groggy like the rest of them? normally, you'd be sitting with your friends, maybe even texting lunarmoon, your online friend. normally, you'd be up until early hours of the morning playing games, reading, doom scrolling, not because eyes would make themselves up to stalk you. laughing was now dry, hyperventilating now a more common pass time than giggling and memes, the dull pull of sleep more enticing, yet an aversion like never before overtakes that desire. the tips of your fingers are playing with the bracelets loosely dangling from your wrist. it's a blue one with a dice charm, one you got when you turned seven from an acquaintance at your party. it was the only thing your newly seven year old self didn't end up losing or destroying. now the question would be, would it remain?

a jab to your shoulder makes you jump, and you flash around to squint at a softly grinning aiden.

“hey, don't know if you heard me, do you need the homework?” he asked, twirling the pieces of paper in his fingers, and then they promptly fell apart and into your seat. you sat there and stared at them for a second, before laughing through your nose and picking them up. “yeah, I'll take them, if you don't mind.”

aiden gives you a thumbs up, ben beside him has his earbuds in and is looking out the window like you were doing a bit ago. he looks tired, but that's not new. everyone looks tired; but you've gotta admit, it's probably exhausting to keep an eye on aiden at all times. sometimes, only just sometimes, he makes you think of a class pet that has a habit of jumping off counters. you all look after each other, but ben has a tendency to be the older brother aiden seemingly needs. you're own older brother was off at college, but the two of you had never really been close. you can say the same for your younger sibling too. they never really interacted with you outside of the occasional conversation. it was honestly…really quiet at your house.

you pulled out your own earphones, opening your music app and sending ben a music party link, adding a couple songs to it yourself before turning to look at him. you can see the moment he hears the notification, even if you don't, and then checks his phone, tilts his head and looks up at you. you smile at him, wiggling your fingers in greeting, and he does an awkward little wave back, before pressing the link and joining, adding his own music.

regardless of whether or not your music tastes align, you enjoy hearing each other's pallet. it's refreshing to not pick all your own music, especially when the other person also has an excellent music taste. and the bus ride is all to short for you to really complain, anyway.

you're in class before you realize it, unlike your other… is friends the right word? coworkers at this point? peers? survival partners? you could probably consider yourself friends with taylor, at this point. everyone else was more an acquaintance. that being said, they did all risk their lives to save your own from living in the bathroom for the rest of eternity. that feels a little closer than acquaintances. maybe the right term is party members. like a dungeons and dragons party. yeah. you like that.

anyway, you're a lot more energized, and everyone else falls asleep within ten minutes of class starting. it takes you fifteen. now that everyone else is present, it's easier to feel slightly safer. even after the bell nearly has you tripping over yourself to wake up, and you could've sworn you felt breathing on your shoulder.

you can see everyone talking in the corner of your eye, but you walk over to ashlyn, who's packing up her seat. she makes eye contact with you, again, looking over you before she continues. she acknowledges you with a hum, and you stand there waiting for her to be done before speaking.

“hey, um, I just wanted to say thank you. again. for coming and getting me. i get the feeling you're kinda group leader, well, okay, everyone at least looks up to you like that. and I know it was dangerous to come get me, and you didn't have to, but I really appreciate it. i won't be a pain, I promise I'll figure out something I can do to help so that it wasn't all for n-”

“ash! oh, hey, you too!” aiden interrupts you in the middle of your rambling gratitude and sort of apology? you don't remember, you kinda lost your point when ashlyn started to go slightly wide eyed at the confrontation. he's standing with everyone else, and holding his backpack over his shoulder with that evergreen grin of his. “we're all eating lunch together. y'know… to talk about stuff. you coming?”

[linoguy]

my goods >:)))) I was so happy to get my favorite picture ever in the middle

remind me to show the little goods I got that people were giving out

[murderedbyhomework]

Thinking about how in a way, the identity of Li Lianhua dying was actually for the best, especially if he truly wanted to live for himself.

Li Xiangyi was the street kid unaware of his bloodline, who's adopted by a loving if not slightly dysfunctional (settling your couple quarrels through having the brothers fight to hone their skills was not healthy change my mind) family. And then as a teenager, he defeats this random villain and now he's not just a person, not anymore. He's the fastest sword in the land, he's the leader of the Sigu Sect, and maybe he did establish the sect with the noble intentions of helping people just like his childhood self, but in the end he's a teenager and he becomes a figurehead, a banner, and one command from him could move troops, and he doesn't know how to deal with this much responsibility but he can't delegate it because no one else is competent enough is expendable enough. In the end, Li Xiangyi wasn't living for himself, but for the powerful Sect he established and the ideals he's unwittingly become the figurehead for.

And then he becomes Li Lianhua, and this time it's more obvious that he's not living for himself. His one motive for surviving is to find his shixiong Shan Gudao's corpse, and it's my personal belief that if he'd found his corpse 5 years earlier, he would've buried himself next to his shifu and shixiong within a year. He says he's happy with his more relaxed life, and I'm not saying he's lying, but I also feel like the only way he could enjoy that life without the guilt crushing him was to tell himself "this isn't forever, this doing nothing will end. I can enjoy this because this helps me find my shixiong before I die." But then he finds out that instead of finding his shixiong's body, and therefore neatly tying up all his strings in life, most of what he thought was true is a lie. In a way, he survived only for Shan Gudao, then realized his one motive for surviving was a lie, so really, is there any reason for Li Lianhua to exist anymore, especially when this identity has gotten tangled up with his old life again?

And maybe, a few months after Li Lianhua is publicly considered dead, fortune teller Li will start following Di Feisheng and Fang Duobing around, but that's not part of the narrative. The point is, in order for the narrative to complete itself, Li Lianhua had to die.

[kthecutest]

▓Important Talk ༶•┈┈┈┈┈┈୨♡୧┈┈┈┈┈•༶

Hello everyone! Yes i am back once again to say some off topic stuff as usual :3 So apparently i just happened to witness smth, that i think i might have to talk about :

First of all, before i say anything i'd like to say to all my moots and my community in here -> to pls go follow her @euijoosorangepeel (yes she was the writer - euijoosorangeslice before her acc sadly got terminated) and pls go make sure to send asks kindly , ty in advance

now going onto the topic. like what you guys can see, short to the point, us smut writers are practically having to risks our blogs now, having to build our community in fear of being terminated any day.

Obviously, we do not know who are apart of this whole organization going around doing this, and there's no way in stopping them, all we can do is to learn to adapt, and prepare for the worst.

Backup - the most important thing here, is backup, I personally always write my fics, drabbles, replies, in word documents, before i copy paste them here. So if anyone is wondering, yes i have full backup, even for the photos that I use as deco on each post, i have a whole folder full of all the written documents, and a whole folder full of used pictures and decoration banners. And It might be a hassle, but the safest place, is your own computer storage in this case. So i think it'd be smart to keep all written posts, copy pasted in word documents, as backup.

This is also mainly why, you probably never see me complain and scream in agony in random rants about how my drafts get deleted or how tumblr completely reset my writing progress. Because i write everything in word until all is complete & have been checked, then i copy paste it and add some deco and post it in a few min.

So yes i don't have much advise, but this is the best i could give.

To the smut writers that have gone through this nightmare, including my dear moot, i wish you all the best of luck and a safe and happy restart on your careers

[wolfram-but-art]

awesome intro post WAOUW

here's my strawpage if you aint readin all dat (thank you frenchoniontf2 for showing me this site lmao)

ABOUT ME: Hi! I'm Wolfram :3 I use he/him, and ve/vim pronouns i'm a silly little guy

ABOUT BLOG: I post my art on this blog!! shocker i know!! i don't go for consistency, quntity or quality; it's simply blog where i post art that i like making and i'm proud of, i'm not here to please anyone but myself. this blog is 16+, i don't draw anything explicit, but you may encounter gore or a shirtless engie from time to time. though i usually tag things like that (see tag section under cut for specific tags).

i also have a second art blog, that one's for non-tf2 stuff

DNIs: Terfs, HP fans/apologists, MAPs, Zoophiles, gender/sexuality criticals (that includes bi/trans/aroace/pan/neo pronouns and gender ect. phobes, do the bare minimum and don't be an asshole), racists, natzis, zonists for all those people 1000 lead hammers to the head.

AND PLEASE MAKES YOURSELF LOOK LIKE AN ACTUAL PERSON, CUSTOMISE YOUR BLOG DAMNIT!!

ART REQUEST/ASK RULES:

NSFW, any incest/non-con/pedo is categorially off the table.

but that's pretty much it for the limits. you're welcome to request any ship/headcanon/scenario and ocs you want as long as you keep it respectful THIS SECTION MAY BE UPDATED IN THE FUTURE

as per general asks, you can come chat about anything, i'll try my best to not take too long to answer your ask (which may happen, sometimes i take 3 months to answer an ask but thats just my bad)

TAG LIST AND OTHER: I usually try to tag triggering/more nsfw stuff on my blog, but feel free to ask me to tag stuff, or remind me if i forget

#sugestive - tag for stuff like sirtless engie #gore / #blood / #injury - self explanatory #flashing / #gif / #flashing video / #flashing cw ect. - photosensitivity warnings

#wolfart asks - tag for all my asks #wolfart speaks - tag for all the random stuff i say #doodle dump - tag for.. well.. doodles #fanart - tag for fanart people have drawn for me :3 (ty) #tf2 oc / #human!archimedes - self eplanatory + my oc tag

you are permitted to use my art for profile pictures/banners/ blog customisation, as art studies or as inspo for your own art. you are not permitted use my art in ai training, don't repost it or try to pass it off as your own or try to monetise my art. if you do any funny shit without my permission i own your liver and i will come to collect it.

deviders credit!

dancing computer devider Windows elements UI

[xiaosenthusiast]

9. party decorating

i walked out of my house, a chilly breeze enveloping my body as soon as i stepped out the door. ‘it’s fine, xiao’s house is like..a five minute walk away.’

while also being rivals and childhood friends both of us also lived in the same neighborhood, it was already bad enough that my dad made him walk me to school. i had to see him every morning and all day throughout school, it was not fun.

his face wasn’t the issue, i could look at his face for centuries and never get bored; his mouth was. anything and everything he said was immediately blocked out by my inner monologue, unfortunately my heart was much too easily swayed as i had a crush on him for 7 whole years! (and still do)

i got to his house much sooner than i wanted to but i already said i was on my way..why couldn’t i just say i was busy?

walking up the stairs and ringing the doorbell i heard a thud and an “ow!” and there appeared xiao, he muttered a quick “sorry..” and moved out of the way to let me in. i took in a deep breath and walked inside, it was..quiet. i hadn’t been here since i was 12, xiao always came to my house; so i was a bit shocked when he asked me to help him decorate.

he had moved to the living room while i slid my shoes off, deciding to wear my socks. ‘i’ll just head back after to get ready, wait when was fei going to pick me up?’ i pulled my phone out of my pocket to check my phone but i heard a “yn!” coming from the living room so i put my phone back in my pocket and walked over to where he was.

“what is it?” i looked at him as he was blowing up some balloons; still pursing his lips, blowing into the balloon he pat the seat next to him on the couch. i sat next to him grabbing a balloon and blowing into it. “here, can you set up the balloons? i’m gonna set up the banner on the wall.”

i simply nodded while tying the ballon and placing it next to me. i looked at his back as he disappeared into the kitchen, “haa, what am i even doing here?” i took a look around and saw some balloons already floating on the ceiling, ‘what’s the point of the floor balloons? if someone steps on them they’ll just pop.’

after a couple more minutes of silence xiao came over and sat down next to me again, he gave me a cup of hot chocolate and i whispered a quick “thank you.” taking small sips, the beverage burned my throat as i felt it going down. taking in the awkward silence i noticed we had never been like this before; we always talked, we had never been so quiet and tense before. we had always bickered or talked about the most random stuff, it hurt a little knowing we had gotten to this point. deciding to say something i opened my mouth.

“he-”

before i could even finish the first word i heard the door slam open.

“YN!!!”

prev⎛ mlist ⎠next

an idk what im doing anymore😈😈😈

taglist ! @layla240 @meisuuu @plinkuro @butteredmilc @ryuverse @kunihaver @nsojbbkkm @cridtiins @kiamei2010 @kazeniya @lucid404 @eimuros @phyot @xiamania @lovely028 @minan58 @5sos-wdw @justonemoreroz @feiherp @dazaisfavgf @cupids-chamber @ik4zuha @thenightsflower @cerisearan @kiyowoir @sweet-almonds @tjjjrsj @richxelle @pyrrhicgaze @r4nd0mwe1rdo @mave-in @scaraapologist @swivy123 @kunikuzushisbeloved @yorina @ganyusbrideee @fwauna @aludicpoet @duckyyyx @m3gitsune @dazaiscum @mikctp @overlysour @sagegreenthinks @phoenix-eclipses @chishiyawifesworld @loverhole

if your name is in green then i can’t tag you due to your privacy settings !!

[spinningerster]

notes from last night (29/7 evening show)

fun random little things I wanna mention

• did matinee stage door and met so many cast members, they were all so lovely!

• mukeni was just casually walking around the foyer talking on the phone

• we got a bereal with him after the show

• also no joke I was sat next to mukeni's mum - she was lovely! we chatted a little before and after the show

• at stage door after the show archie went past on his scooter and everyone cheered

onto the show notes!!

• matthew gave me a cast pape 🥺

• was right up in the immersion (manhattan row P) and didn't know where to look at some points. like during WWK morgan was basically right in my face. damon was in front of me like twice. (fr would've worn my finch shirt instead if I would have known.) him, lucy & lillie were in front of me in once and for all and I didn't know where to look so just focused on michael on the stage 😂

• ryan went past me after kony but I didn't realise it was him until after nesim & bronte went past lol

• michael & matthew ran past me at one point (during carrying the banner iirc)

• three of them ran past me during seize the day (just before crutchie got arrested) but honestly I have no idea who it was 😂

• there was a bit (think it was just before jack, davey & les ran away from snyder) where matthew was just. laying on the floor?? like where the little banister is for the bronx

• morgan albert. LOVED him. he was brilliant. he killed it

• "that is not nice...morris."

• "and who wants brooklyn?" mark proceeded to spend 5 minutes putting a blindfold on. like the scene had moved on from that bit and he was still tying it

• "who's the big spender that ordered the seltzer?" morgan: starts drumming the table "OVA HERE"

• "two cents? for a glass o' seltzer??"

• bobbie was on vocal rest so no splint rip

• she was absolutely hilarious though. "have you seen this boss? these kids put out a pretty good...nope nevermind goodbye!"

• "and such language, which they should not be using -"

• "he doesn't do happiness, does he?" hannah chuckled which made the audience laugh

• hannah started a sing song when they were leaving pulitzers office

• HECAYNTTAWKHELLCALLYABAYCK

• during the fight scene someone jumped onto and then over the cart (think it was spencer but not sure)

• les: "buy a pape from a poor orphan boy." davey: "hey he ain't an orphan??"

• OH MY GOD RYAN. forgot how much I absolutely love his davey

• "your girl?" "YOU HEARD ME!"

• like act 2 davey was SO SASSY. "oooh, so what does that make you?"

• oh yes. above. flip. the. flip. fold. flip.

• him and jack were like a comedy duo in act 2

• "I'm told we once shared a carriage ride." "TOLD YA"

• damon finch my beloved <3 so happy I got to see him he was amazing

• josh blew some of his smoke into nun bobbie's face

• OH THE CUTEST MOMENT. at the end when jack is like 'we won!' specs immediately hugged ritz and then hugged a few other people it was adorable

• when jack told them to vote 'no' mack literally had to hold spot back it was so funny

• mike was the last person to leave after jack betrayed them at the rally and he gave jack such a dirty look

• matt threw the paper for bronte to catch in kony but she missed and it fell to the ground

• michael jack. my absolute beloved. he was so comedic like the way he said certain lines was so entertaining

• there were like two wolf whistles when jack & katherine kiased in stbi

• michael and bronte were so giggly in the start of the finale scene it was so cute

• final nesim performance. what a little star he is

• in the bit after carrying the banner when davey, les & jack are talking the delanceys (aka morris) was basically like just throwing the papers at the newsies

• officially in love with pips. she did a little star jump during brooklyns here it was so cute. AND HER OUTFIT?? obsessed

• background moments during the bows/curtain call: matthew didn't make the shot. morgan & owen did a funky lil dance. lindsay, lucy, sam, jamie and someone else (they were off to the side so couldn't see who it was) did the wave

[sugarloom]

really random but i love ur pfp and banner (ty for the boops :3)

ah tysm!! I love your blog aesthetic <3 In this house we boop

[ja3hwa]

this might be so random and i'm going anon bc i'm lowkey shy to ask (though i know i shouldn't be lmao)

but i NEED to now WHERE that picture of hongjoong is from in dreamy ch. 5 bc he is looking 😮‍💨 i personally never seen it before

ty in advance lol <333

Hello darling. Dont worry about being anonymous hehe. I don't mind. But Im so sorry, though, i dont know where the pic is from cause i got it off pinterest. Haha.

But here, these are the original pics i found...

You should totally check out my pinterest tho hehe cause i have a lot of cool aesthetic boards that i use for my banners 🩷🩷

♡♡Here♡♡

[notshphnxx]

love your profile picture and banner, are those your pictures? they’re gorgeous

ty .-. i wish they were my pictures, but no. middle school me picked out some random moon photos and ive just used them ever since for random profile pictures.

lowkey dont remember where i found the profile picture i have on here tho... i cant even find where i have that file saved. which is pretty cool.

[naturalselection1999]

i’m currently on a mission trying to find an account that i asked for shark facts and happened to check yours, anyways i wanted to say that i absolutely love your banner and it made me laugh after stressing trying to find this random account 🙏🙏

have a wonderful day ^^

YAY TY!!!! im glad it m8de u laff lul!!!!! U HAV A WUNDERFULL DAY 2 ANON!!!!!!! :333 (also bee tee dubz i hope u find that account lolz >_> best of luck!!!!)

[100percentdirtball]

follow me on letterboxd and you can get many dumb reviews like:

dream scenario ★★★ This review may contain spoilers. cumming 🤝 farting

or this one here!

barton fink ★★★★★

john goodman is a great actor, but more than that, is one of the greatest men, and truest friends, i have ever had the honor and the privileged of knowing. rest in peace, john.

ⓘ Readers added a Community Note to a post to which you replied, Liked or reposted

This Letterboxd user has never met John Goodman. She never even met John Candy.

Also, John Goodman is still alive.

or even this one!

shogun assassin ★★★★★

when we're on a mission, i keep count of how many ninjas my father kills. he says not to keep count, only to pray for their souls, but if i don't keep count, i don't know how many souls to pray for

when i was a kid in the 90s, manga was hard to come by. there were a few shonen jump issues to be found. tankoban of even the most popular series-one piece, dbz, naruto, the sort of thing you could find wall scrolls littering the floor of every budget hotel anime con-were a specialty product. bookstop & the nascent barnes & noble had a few volumes of something or other tucked in the comics section between x-men and dilbert. my local comic book shop, dragon's lair on pearl street, had lone wolf and cub. half-price books had lone wolf and cub. even bookstop had a seemingly random assortment of them, volumes chosen according to the spine colors that were complementary or prime numbered chapters.

there were six lone wolf and cub movies in the 70s, none of which got an american release. in the early 80s, american producers bought the rights for the first two, chopped them to bits, smashed them together, and dubbed them over with a new script to make Shogun Assassin. if you're a fan of japanese or chinese movies from the era, it's a story you've heard a dozen times, the clumsy hackjobs to make movies slightly less impenetrable to american audiences. it's why my dad still thinks of godzilla or kung fu as mindless action flicks with non-sequitur dialogue that doesn't match the actors mouths. that's what happens when american producers got ideas in the 80s.

shogun assassin is something else. somehow, they made something beautiful, something i might call perfect. it shares more dna with kung-fu movies than the samurai flicks it might get compared to, it's more Riki-Oh than Harakiri or even the Zatoichi series-the first movie of which was directed by the same man who directed four of the six lone wolf and cub movies. there's drama here, but it finds its way to the screen only between scalps and fingers being severed. in most samurai movies, blood is an exclamation mark. here, it is the essential grammar, the script written in drips, rivers, and sprays of the japanese hallmark blood, candy-red and not quite viscous, like cheap home depot paint. 

the father, lone wolf, speaks rarely. he's an astonishing presence, played by tomisaburo wakayama and voiced by lamont johnson. heavyset and solemn with a wild dog speed. over the run of the movie, he becomes progressively scarred and bloodied, his haori slashed to ribbons, his hair becoming a wild mane. the son, cub, speaks for him in voice-over, letting wolf deliver fewer lines of dialogue than characters who get five minutes of screen time. he is perfectly kempt at all times, his clothes clean and crisp, his shaved head and forelocks immaculately maintained. one imagines lone wolf carefully tying up his topknot, shaving the top of his head, then staring dead-eyed at the road and barely pausing to push his own hair out of his eyes.

each tankoban, each chapter of the manga was a stubby white slab, lurid monochrome colors and a splash of color, a banner with japanese writing, across the bottom third. half-price books had lone wolf and cub, dragon's lair had lone wolf and cub, and my childhood friend zoey's dad had all 28 volumes, neatly organized on a bookshelf between old issues of heavy metal and photo books made to live on coffee tables. i never read the manga, but i flipped through a number of them, grazing on lurid black and white violence, decontextualized images of katana flashing to behead ninjas rendered as black smudges. watching shogun assassin brought me back there, an unrelenting pace of half-remembered violence. 

i desperately had to pee for the middle third of the movie. during what felt like a lull i finally gave in and squeezed past a full row of old men and pasty nerds. when i came back to my seat, i learned through cub's narration that the lone wolf had just killed an army.

you must watch shogun assassin