#and the other fell and twisted into something unrecognizable

[drizztdonturden]

Wyll's Act 3 questline could have involved political scheming to threaten Gortash's hold on the city--instead of having Gortash just sit around twiddling his thumbs, his version of the Sarevok quest could have been to take out his political allies. It was right there. It would have given Wyll more involvement in Act 3, it would have made Gortash feel less lazy, and with the removal of the Upper City, they placed Lady Jannath in the Lower City anyway, where she's in the middle of a party. We were so close to having something like that.

everyone talks abt wanting an undercover high society/party mission in bg3... that should've been part of Wyll's questlines.

[witch-hazels-musings]

hello hazel !

can i request a curse ritual for diluc with graveyard dirt, black tourmaline, and hellebore?

Graveyard Dirt (loss, grief), Black Tourmaline (safety, shielding), Hellebore (anger, wrath) Diluc x gn anemo reader | Curse Ritual warning: physical fighting (battle scene), mentions of blood, Diluc uses a Delusion, mentions of bodies, lots of flame mentions (reader is injured)

"Where is he?" you asked but the eyes that stared back at you were hollow, empty. Another reaction was set off somewhere behind the wall you were using for coverage. "Hey, look at me." You cupped their dirty face and they met your gaze. "Where did he go?"

With a weak arm, they pointed to the right and you took no time waiting. Something cut the stone above you, shards of Geo raining down onto your head. You dropped to a knee, waited, listened, then ran again.

That bastard, you thought as you dashed through the swarm of engaged bodies all hoping to come out of the encounter alive. A member of your resistance slid across the ground in front of you, their head slamming into the worn dirt, eyes rolling into the darkness of their bloodied head. You cursed.

They weren't responsive when you reached them. Even with several slaps on their cheek, they continued to lay there, lifeless. Swift footsteps alerted you that someone was approaching - fast. You twisted and used the body of your comrade to stabilize yourself as a Fatui assailant brought their weapon down toward you.

The collision rattled your bones. You winced.

The skirmisher lept back and you capitalized on their retreat by sending a wave of Anemo toward them. It set them off balance which made it easy for you to craft slicing blades of wind at their tripping feet. The skirmisher retaliated with blasts of Pyro, and each one passed by you with violent heat.

Desperate to end this encounter, you called on your vision, and from nothing, daggers made of heated wind appeared around you in a vicious halo as you barreled toward them, sword positioned to strike.

The skirmisher crumbled at the onslaught, unprepared for the slew of biting slices that cut them to shreds. The wind died down and with it rose the cry of countless other battles. But one stood out among the rest - and you ran to it.

---

You stood at the top of a shallow cliff, frozen, petrified by the sight before you.

Where once lush, green fields stretched, now only charred earth and limp bodies remained. And before them was a lone fighter blanketed in flames.

Diluc.

He was nearly unrecognizable in the torrent. He moved like an unrestrained fireball. Bounced off one enemy, then another until nothing was left of them except dust and ash. From his back, black, crackling wings propelled him forward straight into booming Electro and biting Cryo. The world became scared while you watched on in horror.

Go.

Go -- Go -- GO!

Slipping on the loose stone, you pivoted and ran down the edge of the cliff. The fight raged on, consumed whatever got too close. The ground trembled as the Cryo skirmisher fell into the black while licking flames covered their body.

You called out to Diluc but he couldn't hear you. Not now.

The Electro skirmisher used his weapon as a shield but screeching wings sliced through their defenses. Even at this distance, you could feel the heat. It made your throat dry, burned your lungs with every inhale, stung your eyes, and seared your skin. But you pushed forward.

"Diluc!" you called but the walking barrage trudged forward, uninterested. It seemed nothing could rouse the man beneath red and rage. In the middle, somewhere faint, was a flicker of purple - a light so minuscule you wondered if it was a trick. And then you remembered -

He promised.

He promised not to use -

You ran faster.

Using your Anemo, you pried your way through the heat, letting it push you forward while Diluc's wrath shoved you back. You screamed for him but the blistering air dried the words on your tongue. The glove on your outstretched hand peeled away so you brought your Anemo closer to protect your skin.

The purple light flickered.

All you had to do was reach it.

With the last bit of strength you held, you grasped the Delusion with battered fingers, ripped it free, and tossed it behind you. The disconnection made Diluc rage. He screamed in a way so painful it took all your willpower not to run back to the device and press it against his chest. He writhed and pivoted with desperate, searching eyes for the power you stole from him. Flames leaked from every part of him, pushed outward in pyres of confusion, anger, and fear, but you held on. Coiling yourself around his neck, you hid his face in your chest and willed him to the ground.

"Come back," you begged, voice crackling like forgotten wood. "Don't let them win. Fight it - fight!" You called on your Anemo and let it swallow the two of you in its torrent. "Come back to me."

The air coiled around you and slowly expanded until, finally, the flames were quelled in a frenzied explosion.

Diluc's body felt limp and heavy, and you struggled to keep him upright. The two of you pitched to the right but before you landed on the ashen ground, his hand slammed into the grey soil keeping you both steady.

Diluc's arm wrapped around your back, his fingers dug into your muscles as he pressed his face into the crook of your neck.

"I have you," you whispered into his hair and he repositioned so he could hold you against him until he stopped trembling.

Thaumaturgy Anthology (October 11-13, 2024)

This event is based on spells and rituals. Inspiration does not equal understanding; liberties have been taken. All content is owned by Witch Hazels Musings, theft of these images and stories will result in immediate action.

[hongjoongscafe]

Bloody Love...

Chapter: VII-Betrayal-

♠︎Pairing: yandere!king.jungkookxoc(coronis)

♠︎Genre: angst, smut, yandere, gore, dark romance, horror, creepy (dark fantasy).

♠︎Summary: "you happen to be in a world where wrong is right and right is wrong."

♠︎Word count: 3.6k+

♠︎Warning: murder, creepy, blow job, suffocation.

♠︎Note: lemme know if you wanna be added to the permanent or specific taglist!

♠︎Masterpost

♠︎Serieslist.

Questions. They were running in Coronis's head. Was it her fate? Or was it the people who made her life harder every day? The spiralling cycle of life was getting into her head. She felt a cyclone inside her nerves. The thunder in her chest.

They say that after a bad thing, something good happens. However, in her life, there was no word called good ever written even with mistakes, just never. Something in her life was twisted more than what she had realized. She had underestimated everything to the point where thinking for even a breath was heavier than a mountain.

Monsoon arrived. The days looked gloomier and nights looked creepier. Every gust of wind sent tremors down her spine. It felt like those winds were the whisperers who whispered tragedy winding its way to her footsteps.

The roads were muddy and reeked of old blood. The trees were hunched over, looking like ghouls that fed on dead bodies. Everything was covered with a stiff horror of the unspoken stories that were buried deep down in this realm of dead and gone.

All of this horror was doubled when the men who came to see Coronis for tying the knot started to get slaughtered day by day. They were not being hung on the pole but rather left rotting in the meadows and not as intense as the punishments were.

Nori has been acting weirdly. Especially after she visited her home. It was a couple of days later when she caught Edwin at her shack.

~

Coronis was walking back to her shack as the rain was pouring. It was getting stronger as she took each step. Her black straight gown was wet and the skirt was covered in mud halfway. Her pretty belly shoes were squeaking and were unrecognizable. Her kohl was running down her cheeks and her hair was sticking to her face. She tried her best to not let the stuff in her hands get dirty as she struggled to walk through the puddles.

As she reached back to her shack, she saw Nori standing outside, about to leave with a tarpaulin sheet above her head to at least keep her head covered from the unforgiving showers.

As Nori's eyes fell on Coronis, her expression changed and looked panicked. Coronis wanted to stop her and talk to her, however, the girl quickly bid goodbyes to her mother and stumbled away as quickly as she could.

Later that day when Coronis was sitting by the fireplace with a mug of hot chocolate in her hands with her mother who was knitting a sweater for Coronis, the girl asked her mother, “What was Nori doing here?”

Martha looked up with a tiny smile. “She said she was in the market and stopped by. We drank tea and talked a bit and then she left. I asked her to wait longer and meet you but she said she had things to take care of and then left.”

She nodded slowly and took a sip out of her warm drink. “What did you talk about?”

Martha stopped knitting, placed the material in the basket and faced Coronis. She took a second to formulate her words. “Honestly, Coro, she was not alright in my opinion. I have never seen her like the way she was acting today. She was… jittery and uncomfortable if I'm not wrong. But she was polite as ever. Greeted me with warmth and held a decent conversation. Though she kept looking at the door as if waiting for someone,” She said. “And we talked about things and she asked about you!”

Coronis's mind was boggling. “What did she say?”

“She asked about the people in our shack the other day,” she informed.

“And then what did you say?” she pressed further.

“I told her about us wanting to marry you somewhere better. She asked about Edwin and the other boys as well. She seemed to be quite interested in the chat. She wanted to know every single detail and joked about how she could keep one for herself as well. But I don't know, Coronis… I don't feel like she was fine. I think someday, you should go meet her. I don't see her with you as often either. Maybe she just needs a friend to talk to. And I am nowhere near that friend,” Martha shook her head as she thought other things to herself but did not voice them. “Anyway, Edwin will visit tomorrow. So, look prettier.”

~

She had seen Nori around. All the time she looked guilty of something. She would look but never make a move to talk to Coronis and when Coronis would try, she would run away as soon as possible. The situation between them was too intense.

Coronis felt guilty for doing whatever she did. Instead of running away, she could have talked and told Nori what her life had become, or better, shouldn't have tried to get into it. Her selfish motives were the reason why the poor girl was now looking like a long aching soul, running away from what she once found solace in.

She couldn't imagine what Nori was feeling. One day they both were lying in bed, kissing and hugging, and the other day, there was nothing left. The person Nori loved so dearly was not supposed to prepare for marriage and it wasn't even theirs.

It was Coronis and a third person.

How could Coronis even expect her to talk to her when she crushed the blooming flower of love under her feet?

Her teary eyes were looking for answers, silently. Waiting for Coronis to tell her story. But her mind was not ready. Nori knew they were not possible even if Coronis was not getting married because the two girls could never make it together.

Maybe another story was going to be left untold.

As Coronis was stepping closer to her shack, everything started to get quieter and quieter. The day was still young and paths were busy. No way it could be that silent the only thing she could hear was silence and the rain hitting the ground.

The closer she got, she saw people surrounding her shack. The crease between her eyebrows grew deeper as fast as her heart started to beat. She carefully squeezed her way in to see why people were standing there so quietly. Did something happen to her family? No, she pleaded silently as tears brimmed her eyes.

Her feet were met with dirty muddy water mixed with blood. She looked up and saw Draco, Onyx, and Martha standing there now looking at Coronis. A sigh of relief left her trembling lips. But it didn't stay for longer.

Because the moment her eyes fell down, in front of her shack, her heart dropped in her stomach. She couldn't see the face but the Golden curly hair was enough for her to know everything that was needed to know.

The tears in her eyes were pooling to the brim but not a single tear dared to roll down her cheeks. They were stuck there, just like Coronis, in shock. Her pupils shivered as the tremor of horror passed through her body.

The regret was seeping into her soul making her her own villain. Her heart refused to believe otherwise. The selfish mistake was now weighing her down as she fell to her knees. Her breath got stuck in her chest as she saw the lifeless body lying down there with deep slashes out in the open for everyone to see it like a drama.

The blood was still dripping out into the muddy water as the rain mercilessly poured onto his abused body. His skin from where the clothes were torn apart was pale and blue, drained of any blood in his veins.

Coronis crawled towards him. Holding his shoulders, she turned him around and that's when a piercing scream was heard in the crowd. Coronis had no conscience for her actions. She had no idea that the loud, heart-wrenching screams were leaving her mouth.

Her head was empty of any sane thought. The only thing that mattered at the moment was for Edwin to open his pretty gazy eyes and look into her dark orbs and tell her in his own words that it is going to be alright and that he is going to be alright. They will be alright. She wanted him to tell her that all the little dreams they dreamt would come true under the same roof where they were going to begin their new life.

“Why?!” she screamed again. “Why? What did he do?!” she kept repeating. “Please give me back my Edwin! I'll do anything for him. Please give him his life back!” she begged. She cried and cried.

She didn't care about the mud or the rain soaking her. The only thing she kept hearing was her inner voice asking her how much she could be thoughtless and selfish.

How many more dying souls did she need to see before knowing that her single action could lead to some genuine man’s life? Her previous proposals were murdered but they were not morally sane men at all. They deserved worse than what they got.

However, Edwin was a man of words and class. He was a gentleman every woman desired in their life. The way he talked was out of this world. His poetic essence was never enough and the bubble of safe emotion was his walking definition. No one was like him.

Edwin was the shade of the tree on the hottest summer afternoon. His voice was a mellow music in the midst of spring. His eyes were a warm blanket on the coldest winter night. His smile was the twinge of spice in the autumn evening. He was perfect as is. His way of living life was simple and eventful. He craved to make a difference in the world with his kindness. He found the luxuries in the smallest things and cherished them till he could remember them.

He was once a man full of life and now a lifeless Angel. Some evil spirit took his golden wings away and left him dead in the footsteps of his future.

Nobody said a thing. They stayed and listened. Nobody tried to console the hurting being on the ground holding her soon-to-be husband tightly as she held him and cried on his slashed chest.

Coronis looked up as she felt a burning glare piercing her skull. There stood Nori. Her eyes were bloodshot and her cheeks were red. No emotions of love, grief, shock, or any feelings were on her face. She stood there numb and blank looking at Coronis, thinking Lord knows what. She had an almost grim face and her skirt had red splotchy patches as if it was blood. Again, who knows what she has been up to?

Coronis was about to say something to her but stopped when she saw Nori slowly backing out. She took steps backwards and slowly turned around all while looking deep into Coronis's eyes. It felt like hours before she got lost in the crowd.

That was the moment when she knew she messed up.

She was left on the ground, bawling her eyes out, with a man with whom she saw herself smiling and laughing through thick and thin. With the man made out of jewels, his heart now felt like a cold diamond.

And there she realized… she lost…

The rivers of tears stopped and whimpers quietened down. Her face depressed down in misery as the reality of her fate washed over her.

It was she who created these fates of chaos, Coronis was. Her actions became the numbness of one and the death of another.

She looked down at the man and slowly laid her head on his cold, still heart as the acceptance shook her body, trying to not accept but her brain knew better than that.

Love, lust, hate, infatuation… feelings. These are trouble to get into. It felt like all of these emotions burned Coronis like a fire in the forest or perhaps killed her like an overdose of drugs.

Her body trembled like an addict wanting that dose of drug. As if she was possessed by a demon. The catch was that she was indeed an addict and was possessed by a demon of her own. Of the people she killed without knowing.

She was indeed lost…

…

The hands of the maids trembled as if they saw a ghost. Their heads lowered painfully to the point their chins were stuck on their chests as they slowly removed every single piece of clothing from His Highness's body.

The scent of roses and vanilla fogged around them as the water in a gigantic floor bathtub filled with water and milk. The petals of the black rose looked pretty on the milky water.

The last piece of his clothes was gone. There he stood. All naked in his glory. His broad shoulders, tight muscles, hard chest, perfectly carved abs, his biceps looked ripped, and his thick thighs highlighted every hard part.

Along with that, his long, fat cock stood proudly, hard and filled with pride. His thick vein on the underside throbbed harder than a racing heart. His veins were thick and poking out, and his pretty mushroom head looked angry and red in need of it to be touched and abused.

However, his jaw was clenching and a frown was settled between his eyebrows and on the chin. And his brain was going back to the picture of Coronis standing in her shack.

“Jimin-ah,” his hoarse voice echoed in the bath.

Jimin’s eyes met with the back of his Lord. “Yes, my lord?”

“My little birdy was a bad girl,” His Highness shook his head and stepped in front of a kneeling woman. “She was not wearing the necklace I gave her. I asked her to always wear it. How could she not listen to me?” He fisted that woman’s hair and shoved his hard cock down her throat with a hum.

The boy looked at the scene and hesitated before saying something. “Perhaps it was hidden under her dress,” he stuttered.

A scoff left the lord’s mouth. “Hidden under her dress, you say?” He bobbed the head of the woman as if she was a toy. Well, for him she was indeed just a filthy toy. “I could see her fucking breast crease through her black gown and you say ‘Perhaps it was hidden under her dress’” he snapped.

The anger boiled inside his chest. And he let it out on the poor woman who had no choice but to take his cock, trying not to gag at the taste of alcohol that lingered in his precum. He had started to drink more alcohol than before. His sweet taste now turned bitter. Her nails dug into her thighs to keep her going. She felt lightheaded.

Jimin gulped and cleared his throat, “My apologies, my lord… I didn't see her Highness. I was merely guarding you just how you prefer.”

Hearing this, a side smile stretched on The Lord's lips. “No wonder why you are my favourite, Jimin-ah,” he rasped. “You always keep things in your mind and act like a loyal bitch,” he sighed, “if I had an eye for a man, I would fuck your holes and fill them up. But alas! It's not for this life.” He grunted as he fucked her mouth harder and faster. The woman could not breathe properly but she did not say a word knowing well enough what he could do if she did not do what he wanted. She just kept on digging her nails into her thighs. Her eyes started to roll back and black spots blurred her vision. The rest of the women kept their heads hung low. “It's about time I punish her.”

With that, he came down her throat with a grunt and pushed her back. She lay down there unconscious, cum staining her mouth. No one dared to treat the woman but scurried into the bath as he stepped into it.

His Highness rested his back against the warm dark marble and spread his arms. His body relaxed and his muscles loosened. He sighed as the hands of his maids started to clean him. “Do me a favour, Jimin-ah. Call the ministers and the headguards in the court. Tell them I called an emergency court.”

He cracked his neck and relaxed, feeling the hands washing him. And thinking about how he only wanted one pair of hands on him sooner.

“Wait for me, little birdy. Wait for the punishment that is going to come your way…”

…

“Coronis, my love,” Martha called her daughter as she looked outside from her window with a black face but a thousand emotions in those dull eyes.

It had been days since Edwin passed away. Coronis stopped speaking and rarely came out of her slot. She wouldn't eat more than two bites of rice. Her cheeks hollowed out and became paler.

Her long black locks were tangled just like her fate. Her inner turmoil disrupted her sanity. There was none to begin with… one of the things that came with living in this realm— no sanity.

“Can you go out, honey? We are short on some stuff. Can you get it for me?” Martha just wanted her daughter back. She thought maybe if she went outside, she would feel different and at least come out of her slot.

Coronis slowly turned her face towards her mother and looked at her old wrinkly face. Her mother's eyes had a subtle shiver in them. It wouldn't be wise to let her go outside at this age and the muddy roads might make her fall.

She nodded slowly and stood up, brushing her hair a bit back. “What do you want?” she asked.

Martha sighed and let her know the necessities.

Heading out, Coronis walked straight to the shop. Her body swung with each step. Everything was rotten around her. The people, the animals, the village, the houses, herself… everything. Everything was rotten just how she felt inside.

She wondered if she would ever be free from this rotten fate. A scoff bubbled in her throat. She cursed inside and thought how impossible it sounded. Free. Never, that would never happen. It almost sounded humorlessly funny.

From the corner of her eye, she saw someone familiar. She looked to her side and saw Nori going somewhere. “Nori!”

Nori looked and froze for a moment and tried to walk away but Coronis was quick to catch up with her and pull her by her arm. “Nori, please talk to me.”

The girl scrunched up her nose, “what do you want from me, Coronis?”

Coronis flinched at how she spat her name. “Please, just one talk,” the dark-haired girl begged.

Nori sighed and got tugged by Coronis towards a narrow alleyway, away from the people. There she looked at Coronis and how terrible she had become. Her eyes lost hope and were dead.

“Nori, I should have told you everything before,” Coronis whispered.

Nori felt like her blood was boiling. “Tell what? That you were fucking another man while fucking me too?! Is that what you should have told me before?! Are you fucking dumb, Coronis? I loved you and you do this to me,” she raised her voice. She showed no remorse for Coronis's loss or her soundness. However, the feelings washed over her. Her eyes burned with feelings and love she hid behind them. “Why would you do me like this? Hm? How could you fuck around like this, hurting people?” she lowered her voice.

“It is not like that, Nori. I would never do this to you,” she whispered.

“But you did,” Nori said in a barely audible voice and held Coronis's arms. “You broke my heart like it was worth nothing. You- you could have just told me that you liked someone else and I would have been out of your hair,” she sniffed.

Coronis shook her head, “my hands are tied, Nori. I- I’m just a puppet. You see these?” she opened her pale hands and showed her, “These have nothing in them. These lines are handled by someone else and it's not even God.”

“You could have said something,” Nori held her tightly. “I could have loved you a little less.”

“I could have…” Coronis nodded and let her tears fall.

“But you chose to hurt me more…” Nori sadly smiled.

Before Coronis could say something. The clops of the royal horses echoed and slowly came close to the alleyway and stopped at the end.

Coronis’s breath hitched seeing those dark, sharp, and calculating eyes that pierced her soul while staring into her eyes.

The King got down from his horse and slowly stepped forward. Nori looked between the two, not knowing what was going on. But she didn't dare to open her mouth and kept her head lower.

The King stood right in front of Coronis. With the back of his hand, he wiped off the tears and ran his thumb lightly over her lower lip and pulled it down. His hand moved down to her neck and felt around… but nothing.

His sharp eyes snapped back into hers. Under his mask, a deadly smirk formed. “You broke the order, my little birdy,” his voice was deeper and viscous. “You must get punished now.”

Coronis shook her head furiously as she felt shivers of horror travelling her body head to toe. “No,” she whispered. Her body was covered in sweat in no time as she felt her heart picking up pace. It was the feeling that ran over her that this was the end. This was the end of the hope.

“No, my love. You must know what it costs for your actions. For your betrayal.”

…..

Sanaa’s note:

The behaviour of all the characters is visualized.

Taglist:

@veneziamadness @cheline @sansmilkbread @jayb17 @constantlydelulusional @8tinytings @tea4sykes @chimmisbae;

@darkuni63 @mageprincess7 @whipwhoops @ackercute @ane102 @kimseokjinsmirror1233 @unhingedgf @jungkooks21 @namjoonscrabjuice @yluv-damara-13 @jksgirlhere @lavenderymoons @passionandsuga @posionapple24 @blueberry711 @shawtylilsalty @gukiebaby @vantelover07 @douknowbts @andioppsworld @xicanacorpse @ttanniett @koohrs

Have a nice day/night💓

[awkward-walking-potato]

Hi, mind if I ask for a Hank McCoy fanfic where the reader has a panic attack and Hank comforts them?

The air in the Xavier Institute for Higher Learning was crisp and calm, a stark contrast to the storm brewing inside you. You’d been trying to concentrate, trying to focus on anything but the relentless anxiety gnawing at your insides. But your mutation had other plans.

You hadn’t even fully grasped what your abilities were, let alone how to control them. All you knew was that things around you had started changing—objects would flicker in and out of existence, your body would feel weightless one moment and unbearably heavy the next, and sometimes, when you got too upset, you could feel reality itself warping around you.

Today was one of those days.

You’d been in the library, trying to study, trying to find something in the endless books that might give you a clue about what you were, about how to control this thing inside you. But the words had blurred together, the sentences twisting and turning until they made no sense. It felt like the world was closing in on you, the air growing thick, making it hard to breathe.

You didn’t notice your hands trembling until a book fell from the shelf on its own. Or at least, it seemed that way. The world seemed to shimmer, and the room felt like it was spinning, the walls closing in around you.

Your breath hitched, and you stumbled back, your heart racing in your chest. You tried to focus, to ground yourself, but the panic was too much. Your mutation flared up, and suddenly, you weren’t sure if you were even still in the library. The room around you was distorted, colors bleeding into each other, the familiar space becoming unrecognizable.

“I—I can’t—” you gasped, clutching your chest, trying to pull in a breath that just wouldn’t come.

“Easy now, you’re okay,” came a deep, calming voice from somewhere in the chaos.

You blinked through the haze, and there he was—Hank McCoy, standing in front of you, his large, gentle hands raised in a gesture of peace. His blue fur was a comforting sight, a beacon of stability in the swirling mess of your mind.

“Hank—” you tried to say, but your voice broke, tears welling in your eyes as the panic threatened to overtake you.

He took a careful step forward, moving slowly, his calm demeanor a stark contrast to the chaos you felt inside. “You’re safe. You’re right here with me. Just focus on my voice.”

You nodded, trying to do as he said, clinging to the sound of his voice like a lifeline. He took another step closer, his blue eyes filled with concern and empathy.

“Take a deep breath,” he instructed softly. “In…and out.”

You tried to follow his lead, inhaling shakily, but it felt like the air was too thick, like it was sticking in your throat. Hank must have noticed, because he stepped even closer, his large, furred hands gently cupping your shoulders.

“Focus on me,” he said, his voice firm but gentle. “You’re not alone in this. I’m right here.”

You could feel the warmth of his touch through your panic, and it was like an anchor, grounding you in reality. You focused on the sensation, on the sound of his voice, and slowly, the chaos around you began to recede.

“That’s it,” Hank murmured as he guided you to sit down on a nearby chair. “Just breathe. Everything else can wait.”

You followed his instructions, each breath becoming a little easier, the world slowly coming back into focus. The colors returned to normal, the walls stopped closing in, and you realized that you were, in fact, still in the library, Hank’s steady presence beside you.

“I—I’m sorry,” you whispered once you could finally speak again, your voice still trembling. “I just—everything got so overwhelming.”

“There’s nothing to apologize for,” Hank assured you, his hands still resting on your shoulders, grounding you. “You’re going through a lot, and it’s perfectly normal to feel overwhelmed. These abilities…they take time to understand, to control.”

You nodded, tears still clinging to your lashes. “I don’t even know what’s happening to me. It feels like everything is falling apart.”

Hank’s expression softened even further, his thumbs gently brushing over your shoulders. “It may feel like that now, but I promise you, it’s not. You’re not falling apart. You’re just discovering a new part of yourself, and that can be scary.”

“How do you handle it?” you asked, your voice small, almost childlike. “The fear, the uncertainty?”

Hank smiled gently, a hint of sadness in his eyes. “It’s not always easy, but I’ve found that surrounding yourself with people who care about you, who understand what you’re going through, makes all the difference. You’re not alone in this, and you don’t have to go through it alone.”

You looked up at him, his words sinking in, and felt a tiny spark of hope. It was still frightening, the uncertainty of what you were becoming, but knowing that Hank and the others were there, that they wouldn’t let you go through it alone…that made it a little less terrifying.

“Thank you,” you whispered, the words carrying a weight of gratitude that you couldn’t fully express.

Hank squeezed your shoulders gently before letting his hands fall away, though he stayed close, his presence still comforting. “Anytime. And if you ever feel like this again, you come find me, alright?”

You nodded, feeling a little more grounded, a little more in control. “I will.”

As you sat there, the panic slowly fading, you realized that maybe, just maybe, you could get through this.

[operationandre]

Do u have any thoughts about what if one of the boys failed their suicide attempt 😨😨😨 I always think about what if Andre really had been too scared to actually pull the trigger even after Cal does. Like I think canonically he only pulls it after Cal does so what if like,, a mix of him still being unsure if he wants to actually do it and the shock of seeing cal do it made him freeze up for too long so he gets taken away alive.

I haven’t really thought of what it would be like if Andre died and cal somehow survived tho.. I would think that would only happen by pure ‘luck’ that cal aimed just slightly wrong or whatever

I think both of them would try multiple times to die while locked up if something like those scenarios happened lol

(Sorry I keep sending u asks 🏃ur posts just get me thinking)

HEAVY TW !!!

“one… two… three…”

before cal could finish saying three, andre tore the gun away from his chin and reached out for cal’s arm. he was too late. cal had pulled the trigger on three instead of go like they had decided on. he was ready to die. he wanted to die.

the sight was something from andre’s worst nightmares. he expected to shake from sleep, covered in sweat and tears, but this was different. he could feel pieces of cal’s brain on him, warm and splattered on his face. the blond boys legs became limp underneath him, sending him falling back.

andre couldn’t breath. the room became stale, as if no air was present. andre’s heart twisted. it didn’t break; it wasn’t in halves. it was twisted and warped and unrecognizable. the older boy’s eyes almost bulged out of his head. blinking was not an option as he couldn’t tear his eyes away from cal, not even for a split second.

yells explode from behind andre, but this time it wasn’t students. it was police. they grabbed him, dragging him out of the room.

the world felt small. andre couldn’t feel the hands on him. he couldn’t feel anything other than the red and gore on his skin, in his hair, in his teeth. the world was shrinking, and soon it would no longer have room for andre.

—

as andre was placed in a cop car, the screams of students and the wails of the sirens were silent. the gun shot reverberated around in his head as if it was his head and remains that lay on the floor inside.

the feeling would never go away, even as andre tied his sheets around his throat in his cell. as he stepped off the small metal toilet and the fabric tightened, cal’s names fell from his lips.

[liswee]

The sky cried for them, its tears falling in unrelenting streams, soaking the earth. Cold, unmoving, their bodies were no longer their own. The rain whispered against their skin, tracing the stitches that bound their foreheads—a mockery of their once-proud existence, now defiled by others’ hands. It dripped on the grey asphalt, mingling with the dried blood and the dirt, weaving sorrow into the fabric of the air. The rain did not cleanse; it eroded.

(The strongest died with his eyes still open, but he couldn’t see anything anymore.)

Gojo’s body was cold, his skin pallid like porcelain shattered and hastily glued back together. His big blue eyes, hidden beneath lids that would never open again, had once seen everything, grasped the infinite. Now, that limitless was shut by the cruelty of a world that had always demanded too much from him. Threads wove across his face, a visceral mark of the man he was no longer. The weight of the rain traced the lines of his jaw, pressed upon his chest, and the cold crept in as if to claim him entirely, drop by drop, plic, plic, plic.

It seems the void had finally reached Satoru.

Far from him, Geto’s body laid in shadow, missing from the narrative, equally silent, equally lost. Suguru had been snatched from the earth, perhaps entombed in some forsaken corner, still bearing the weight of a cursed love. His once warm, knowing smile was twisted in a way that felt wrong, stitched up by hands that didn’t know how to shape his suffering. His body had forgotten how to feel. He had fought for something once, something that fluttered like fragile wings, only to watch it wither. The same black stitches crept over his brow, crossing the lines of his face.

There was no peace, no quiet resolution. Only the earth beneath them that accepted their weight with indifference.

In another universe, perhaps they would have found peace. In another universe, perhaps they would have laughed about the absurdity of it all. They would have walked shoulder to shoulder, they would have tasted the salt of shared tears, spared one another the agony of what was to come. In another universe, they wouldn’t have had to die like this—alone, their bodies repurposed.

But in this one, they were cursed.

(And hope hanged itself in that instant.)

The rain did not relent. It washed away nothing but left behind the stark truth: they were no longer saviors, no longer gods. The water soaked through their clothes, binding them together in death, but there was no warmth. They were remnants of a world that had moved on, bodies violated by forces they could not resist, puppeteered by unseen hands even after their souls had departed. Their bones weren't allowed to crumble into the earth with grace, to be mourned, to fade away like normal men.

Regret hovered above them, bitter and thick, clinging in the air like smoke. It lingered, as if the world itself could not decide whether to mourn or forget. The scars of their betrayal—by the world, by each other, by themselves—ran deeper than the stitches on their skin, of the love twisted into something unrecognizable. They had once been so much more than this, but in the end, they were corpses. Dead, but not allowed to die. Even in death, they were never their own. Empty, used, discarded. Was this what it meant to be strong?

(Strength was a lonely thing.)

Wherever Suguru’s remains lay, they were forever connected to Satoru’s—two souls intertwined even in absence, caught in a dance of grief and longing. The earth, soaked in sorrow, became their rained graves.

The stitches they share would remain long after their bodies decayed. At least now, in death, they were closer than ever before.

The water fell, and it seemed as though it would never stop.

this was a slight breakdown a few days after seeing a lot of gojo's heartbreaking artworks—i was actually going to post it like 2 am while drugged with sleep. i plan to either delete it and pretend it never happened or post it on ao3. for all that matters, i know gojo didn’t have a proper funeral in the manga, and that he isn’t actually buried or anything like that. i confess that i haven’t finished the manga, so i had to do some research to find out that geto’s body is gone—beforehand, i just had the idea to talk about their corpses. since it’s all a matter of context, i hope you don’t mind the poetic license i took. see what i refer to as “earth” as a metaphor for death and “rain” as something like their connection/friendship, or as anything else you choose. all of this is quite hypothetical. this isn’t necessarily a romantic matter, but feel free to interpret it however you wish. i hope you liked it! also, english isn’t my first language, so i’m sorry for any possible mistakes. please like or repost if you enjoyed, it means the world <3

[melestasflight]

23 "winter there was cold" for Russingon, rated T or lower if you're so inclined? ♥️

winter there was cold

As they descended the mountains, the barren plains of Oiomúrë stretched open before them. It was the furthest away from Tirion Findekáno had ever come, and he felt the change in pressure as the last of the treelight faded behind them. Maitimo and Makalaurë walked in silence beside him, absorbed in their own wonder, and Tyelkormo and Carnistir were waiting ahead with Fëanáro.

Winter there was cold as the Ice of the North drew nearer but the discomfort was a price worth paying for the view of the stars that shone uncontested with the intensity of beating hearts, so close, Findekáno believed he could feel their trepidation against his palm if he only reached out a hand.

As their small group came together, Fëanáro told them in a whisper, as if taking care not to disturb the calm of the land. ‘The mists of Oiomúrë are known to be treacherous. The nearer we are to the sea, the harder it will be to see the path. Stay close to one another.’

Findekáno instinctively stepped closer to Maitimo, seeking the solidity of his body. Maitimo acknowledged him with his small smile that he had begun gifting to Findekáno lately. It was no more than a gentle twist of his lips but it made Maitimo’s face glow as few other things did. Findekáno chased after these fleeting moments, living from one smile to the next and letting his longing fill all the time in between.

This smile, like all the others, was entirely too short and Maitimo looked away toward the uncharted path ahead. They fell in step beside each other, matching the rhythm of their strides. The deeper into the plains they dove, the thicker the mists that surrounded them until even the stars above were blotted out as if painted over with a fine brush. 

Time here was passing at a different pace, it bent and shifted like the sands under a tide. They had been walking back into history with every step further away from Tirion. Findekáno knew these lands to be ancient, unchanged for many ages since the time the world was still young, and the Valar stretched and folded the earth like bread dough, materializing the music they had sung together in the Timeless Halls. The stories of creation Findekáno had read in Tirion’s library were now unfolding before his very eyes as shapes strange and marvelous appeared like enormous statues, relics of things that had long evolved unrecognizable. It was Arda’s own museum preserved in the mists between the mountains and the Sea.

It would normally have been more than enough to hold his attention, but despite all the beauty around him, Findekáno found his heart pulled in a different direction. He snuck another glance at Maitimo, preferring to see the world in the reflection in his friends’ curious gaze. Maitimo’s presence tugged at his heartstrings, pulling him into its orbit. All the things Findekáno once had the patience for — Fëanáro’s teachings, the thrill of discovery, the merriment of spending time with friends — were now shadowed by Maitimo’s small smiles and stolen glances.

It had been thus since that day the two of them had sat together, as was their custom, conversing in the privacy of the weeping willow in Anairë’s gardens. Findekáno had said something in passing and Maitimo had laughed as a friend laughs not for what is told but for the sheer joy of simply being in the company of the other. Findekáno had sat listening, isolating that sound as a thing that only ever existed upon Arda for his sake alone. That Maitimo laughed like that only because Findekáno was in this world beside him.

It had been a swift moment, as long as the time it takes for a breeze to shake the willow branches but it had slammed against Findekáno with the force of a windstorm. A sudden realization of something that had already begun growing some time ago, Findekáno knew not when or how exactly, only that he no longer wished for their friendship only. 

He knew no moment of peace after that.

‘I would like to show you something, Findekáno. Follow me,’ his friend whispered now as he pulled him by the hand, and there it was again, that feeling that Maitimo did some things for him only and no one else. They had separated from their companions, and Findekáno could hear no other whispers around them. He let himself be led toward a dark granite block that stood in the mist as a small mountain emerging from deep waters. 

‘These shapes are remnants of Yavanna’s first trees,’ Maitimo explained, ‘when her creations were all but indistinguishable from Aulë’s. They were drawn from the earth like jewels, needing no light other than the stars.’

Findekáno placed his hand upon the trunk carefully as if afraid to damage its ancient body. Its surface shone as polished stone, the ridges smoothed by years uncountable, but he sensed the faint rhythm of life within like the languid breath of a slumbering giant. His fingers traveled along the body of the tree, caressing it with deep instinctive reverence while his other hand still held onto Maitimo’s. They had interlaced their fingers in their silent reverie, fitting perfectly against one another as a key falling into its lock.

They kept walking between the granite forest, holding on to each other. So thick was the air around them that Findekáno felt blind with his eyes open. They were moving into nothingness. Findekáno was there, and the ancient trees, and Maitimo beside him but they were casting no shadow. There was only the mist all around, everywhere. The illusion was so complete that Findekáno had trouble keeping his balance. He held Maitimo’s hand tighter. 

It was a strange but not unpleasant experience. Findekáno’s mind turned still, all the worries that had rattled his waking hours on the long journey from Tirion dispersed somewhere. It was an entirely new feeling, this emptiness of thought, of existing fully within a moment and not knowing if it is the present, the past, or the future.

He sought the comfort of familiarity, something to ground him, and his memory recalled a scripture he had found among Indis’ collections. A transcription of a short verse by an unknown author, perhaps someone who had made the Great Journey to Eldamar.

Of the emptiness was Arda born

shapeless and nameless, 

as all things that emerge 

from Darkness unto Light.

Findekáno recited the words quietly, and the moment he spoke the last verse, he felt it in himself, this duality, the sensation that he was only one half of a whole. That there was another, made just for him.

I only am because there is You,

the stars are only bright

because darkness lies beneath.

‘Maitimo.’

‘Findekáno.’

He heard his own name just as he called Maitimo’s. They were reaching for each other in the half-light fitting their bodies like hands clasped together. Two halves becoming one.

There was no treelight, no starlight, no world, nothing. Only the two of them, existing in the harmless timelessness, Findekáno because there was Maitimo, Maitimo because there was Findekáno. Findekáno knew the ending of his hand only because Maitimo held it into his own, he could feel the borders of his lips only because Maitimo’s were pressed against them. 

He knew then, no matter where or how far down the line of time they went, that they would always seek one another, be part of each other as the darkness exists within the light and the light in the darkness.

When they came apart, after some time that could be the blink of an eye or a full blooming of Laurelin, the mist around them had begun clearing. The space felt tangible again and sounds reappeared in the distance of their companions calling for them and the breaking of great waves against the shore.

They were standing at the edge of the world. Findekáno looked ahead and smiled, still holding Maitimo’s hand.

If you enjoyed this story, feel free to drop me a note/kudo on AO3. It makes my day!

[thedawningofthehour]

I also like cupcakeslushie's au but other than donnie living with draxum I don't see the similarities. your draxum is WAY too nice

When I first started writing the fic, @cupcakeslushie's au (I felt like I was talking behind your back if I didn't tag you lol) was also in its very early stages. Donnie hadn't been introduced in the proper comic itself and it was mostly just asks and little blurbs she had posted. So I literally had less Draxum to work with. (also she has made some changes to her Draxum portrayal, his insanity via empyrean was not revealed yet, which...doesn't really explain anything on my end, no)

The biggest inspiration was probably the restraint scars on Three's arms and legs, that's probably what gave me the brain worms for The Table in the first place. Also I was not...planning to make Draxum this good of a father. Like, I knew I wanted him to see Galois as his son and have some complicated feelings about that, but he was originally much worse. Much colder, very high expectations, still good at praising his kid but would also not hesitate to do a 180 if Gale ever fell short. I also planned for him to be much more manipulative and physically abusive, and I briefly considered adding a SA element. (I am very glad I didn't go with that idea) But I was never totally satisfied with that, it just made things too...straightforward, I guess? Just good vs. evil, very little nuance to the story. AUs where Draxum is just evil generally work because he's a driving force behind the story, so it doesn't really matter if he's basic. But I knew I wanted Draxum to have more complexity to his actions, so he had to be much more likable for the audience to consider his validity. Cue Marxist, environmentalist goat-dad who read like a hundred parenting books for this.

Plus I just really enjoyed writing their more soft moments. Draxum is such a hard character, but through Book 1 of doth we see that armor slowly chip away, and now Gale is one of the few people he allows to see in his 'true' form. The removal of Draxum's helmet in chapter 20 of doth is both a metaphor and literal-he's discarded the hard shell that keeps him separated from everyone else, but also he literally did not take that thing off until Gale came into his life.

Also, my original plan was for the 'cracks' in Gale's memories was a little different, and that's where the Three influence would have come in. I don't want to elaborate on that too much because I think I am still going to do something with that idea starting in a few chapters, but it's going to be a much smaller thing. What I originally had planned would have taken over his arcs completely and made them something else entirely, and that's no longer what I want.

So in short...yeah, this is like when fanon takes a character and twists them until they're unrecognizable.

[brandwhorestarscream]

A question that came to me just now (but you don't need to answer it right away)

Considering what has been established about TFE Jettwins, how did Megatron realize how wrong his more intimate "relationship" with Star was?Consistently, the others don't know and they (especially Dot) wouldn't allow him near the younger Terrans/Maltos if they knew.

I don't know when exactly he got an eye opener, but I'm assuming it was after stepping down as the leader of the decepticons. It's not like it was something that just happened over night, people don't usually reach that point of violation and abuse with no precursor or build up. At one point I do think he and Starscream were, at the very least, mutually attracted to each other and intimate to blow off steam, if nothing else. It's definitely more insidious if it started off as a genuine romantic relationship and twisted til it was unrecognizable over time, but that's not the point right now

As we've seen in canon, he still has incredibly violent tendencies toward Starscream. He didn't try to speak to him or offer him gentle punishment as we've seen him do with previous decepticons--he immediately assumed the very worst, and fell back on old habits alarmingly quickly. He had no problem beating the shit out of Starscream back then and that clearly hasn't changed. He's extremely comfortable putting his hands on him, but it wasn't always that way. Someone doesn't rise to power being violent and cruel: they rise to power, in his case, by putting charisma and good will behind a genuinely good cause. It started sweet but turned sour over time, and by the time it got really bad Starscream was no longer able to walk away.

I think Megatron's treatment of him slowly got increasingly worse, from a combination of extreme stress from the war, internalized hate, and a desire to always be 100% in control due to past trauma. Mix it all together with another very extreme personality and you get a noxious concoction that's streamlined for disaster. Starscream was the perfect target: someone always close by, and even better, someone he had a reason to brutalize. Attempted assassination, even just once, would get a lot of people killed. I firmly believe Megatron would kill anyone else that tried half the shit Starscream did. No one in the decepticons were willing to stick their necks out and disagree with his methods of punishment. It was considered a mercy to let Starscream live at all

On the more sexual side, he was already used to Starscream's body and, at some level, felt entitled to it. It's nasty and horrible and he was so deep into the role as the merciless and cruel decepticon overlord it became frighteningly permissible in his mind. It's a lot more common, a lot easier than you might think, to get so deep in your own head when you're under such extreme stress for so long to crack and start considering things you never would before, excessive violence, lethal force, even such heinous assault. It's a hideous and wicked thing, a pervasive flaw of the psyche. Only after being entirely removed from that role and managing to scrub himself of the conditioning was he able to look back and realize he definitely went too far.

And yet, he was so quick to fall back on old habits. It was on sight when he saw Starscream. He would've gone much further and snagged him even worse if Hashtag hadn't thrown herself between them. I think that's what finally, truly got through to him on the deepest level: to have a child who previously only looked at him in adoration to look up at him with only disgust and fear. He's seen that same expression before, on Starscream, but now on someone who may as well be his granddaughter. It's jarring, and really, really makes him think. That's how he realized just how wrong he was with Starscream, to answer your question: that pivotal moment with Hashtag.

[sleepvines]

Let's give Reed and Koda a proper introduction shall we?

Buckle up, this will be a long one.

(characters belong to @acewarden and I!)

Once, sailing on the crests of a great dark sea, there was a young man who inherited the ship and crew of his retiring mentor. He was a fine captain, surely, but he managed to invoke the crew's wrath through his thin facade of bravado and never-satisfied hunger for company. In truth, he was just lonely, and clumsily copying what he saw in the former captain's success.

A mutiny led to Captain Reed being confronted with his arrogant behaviour. The sheer anger and indignation drove the crew to throw him overboard The Albatross. This emotional swell was enough to curse him as he plummeted below the waves, twisting him into something piscine and forsaken. Thankfully it's what saved his life in the end. A captain should never know how to swim, lest the sea make him do it. And rarely, she teaches him how.

The crew would assume him dead and move on with their lives as he fled the scene, fear and rejection pushing him as far as he could get.

...But that's only the first half of his curse, with the second blooming out of acceptance and a true selfless act. The story of a strong friendship in motion and how he came to be who he is today.

~~~

Reed managed to drag himself to the shores of his coastal home: a dingy port town where goods and precious cargo passed through, but never stayed. He was unrecognizable in his new body, and took to drowning his emerging dysmorphia in drink and impersonal pleasure. Things that only made his pockets drain and his heart sink deeper than any hope of returning to life on The Albatross' deck. In desperation...he ached for any familiarity.

One of the crew, a lass by the name of Koda, happened to live in this town. Word was it that she left to find more stable work with the ship's tumultuous change in management, as she wasn't keen on working under those who would toss a man to the sea. Reed decided it was possible she could help him get on his feet again.

He sought her out one night. Reed a stranger, Koda a warm face. Though intimidating in appearance, she gave him a home to stay at without much question. She...had never had anyone ask to spend time with her in earnest. To be as tall and as bestial as she was made others keep her at an arm's distance. Her heart glimmered with hope when he didn't flinch, nor recoil. Still, he was a broken man these days, who had given up on his old persona and was left vulnerable. Koda kept him around, enjoying his company in his happier moments. Reed kept his old identity hidden, not wanting to be seen with resentment. They soon became friends.

It was one day out on the water, sailing in a small boat, that the two found themselves caught in a storm. It wasn't the kind of vessel that could withstand the danger. A wave crashed into the side of it's humble hull, and unable to brace herself, Koda fell into the sea.

Rather than flee with the boat...Reed cast off his coat and dove into the water to save his friend. She was heavy, and barely able to push an arm through the current. Listless, fading. Yet he still did not leave her behind. He pulled and kicked and wriggled until he felt the water give way and her body slump back into the boat. He barely had time to register how he had managed it until he himself succumbed to the unconscious.

The next morning, he awoke back at their home, in bed. Reed felt tremendously sore, and Koda had clearly been tending to him in the meantime. He was glad to see she had come out of the storm alive. Strangely enough his curse had extended further, which had granted him the strength to drag her to safety. The changes were...conflicting to say the least. But feeling it was the right time, he told her exactly who he was. Full story, start to finish.

And Koda? She didn't mind. If anything, to meet her former captain again as his genuine self was both a fulfilling experience and a decent closure to what she considered witnessing a murder. For Koda, it was even healing to harbor someone in her home who didn't fear her, no matter who it was. The truth only strengthened their bond, and as of now they remain close knit.

And that is that, the tale of a disgraced captain who learns to be himself, and an intimidating deckhand who learns she will not always be judged by her cover.

~~~

(Koda illustration by my friend @spearxwind! )

(headshot by me)

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

Yuu can do it!

Part 63

First - Previous - Masterlist - Next

Hm.

So. Ito has been kidnapped.

That is certainly…

Hm.

They ran a hand through their hair, glancing back at the door they had been shoved through. It hadn’t locked behind them, which wasn’t all that surprising considering John had been apologizing the entire time he’d dragged them here. He was, at least, pretending to feel bad, which meant the unlocked door was a must.

They could hear John getting comfortable on the other side. Opening the door would force him to lock it for appearance's sake, which would make escaping much harder.

But, of course, if he locked it, then people probably wouldn’t be on guard…

Damn. Why hadn’t they asked Deuce to teach them lockpicking?! They carried bobby pins everywhere they went, they could have been in and out so quickly.

Ito sighed, setting Grim on the bed.

Grim looked up at them with wide eyes. “What do we do?”

“Uhhhhhh…” said Ito, glancing at the door. If they could hear John shifting around outside, then John could hear anything they said, too. “I don’t know, yet.”

It was a great excuse for not saying anything. Because they, in fact, truly did not know yet.

They pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “Why don’t you sleep for a bit? I’ll try to think of something while you’re out, yeah?”

Grim hesitated. “Are you sure, henchman? I can always blow the door down.”

“Call that Plan B. You know I like being a little more subtle than that,” Ito placated.

Grim seemed a little bit dubious about the whole thing, but the bed underneath him was soft, and he drifted off pretty quickly.

Ito smiled, softly, stroking a hand down his back, to make sure he was really asleep.

And then they turned to the room at large, their smile dropping.

It was a simple guest room with an en suite bathroom. Pretending to need to Go and escaping somewhere along the way was out of the question.

It was a few stories up, and the windows didn’t open, so making a great escape through a window wasn’t possible, either.

Ugh.

Ito’s eyes flicked to the mirror on the wardrobe.

They… hadn’t gotten their hands on an actual mirror since they’d gotten to Twisted Wonderland.

They approached it, slowly, almost scared of what they would see.

But it was just… them.

They weren’t sure why, but they had been expecting some kind of change. For their face to not be their own. To be unrecognizable.

They were a little thinner, they supposed, but they had had less access to food, so that wasn’t all that surprising. Their face was less well-maintained, there were a few pieces of hair between their brows that they hadn’t caught, and a few above their lips that they had missed.

They met their own eyes, briefly, and recoiled just slightly.

Had their eyes always been quite that dark? Were they actually dull and lifeless? When people looked at them, did they, too, get the impression that there was nothing staring back?

It was stupid. They knew there was someone in there – they wouldn’t be thinking if there wasn’t. They were being paranoid, looking for some kind of confirmation.

They shivered, just slightly.

And then they hooked their hand around the frame and yanked on the mirror.

They stepped to the side, watching dispassionately as the mirror hit the ground.

“Oh – oh my God!” Ito gasped, kneeling down to clean up.

John burst into the room. A hand grabbed Ito by the back of their shirt and yanked them away from the mirror shards.

“You’ll hurt yourself!” John snapped. “Let me do it.”

Ito nodded, watching through their bangs as John swept the glass away with a gust of wind magic, hugging themself.

“I don’t know what happened!” Ito said, forcing their voice higher. “I was just trying to – to – preen a little and it just fell!”

John led the broken pieces of the mirror out the door, before sending them a placating smile. “Don’t worry about it. Are you okay?”

They nodded jerkily.

“And your familiar, is he –?” He glanced at Grim. “How is he still asleep?”

“Honestly? No clue,” Ito said, careful to keep their smile tinged with nerves.

John sighed, softly, running a hand through his hair, fox ears just barely twitching upon his head. “Well, I guess it’s fine. Just… be more careful, yeah?”

Ito nodded again.

They watched him leave once again. Absently, they wondered where he would dispose of the mirror. Would it give them enough time to run? They hadn’t seen any trash cans along the way.

But, to escape, they would have to run up the stairs, and Ito was far less used to the trek than the Scarabia students.

Man…

Ito flopped back on the bed beside Grim, dragging one of their hands out from beneath their armpits. They lifted the mirror shard in their fist, glaring up at it. It was relatively big, but it wouldn’t do them much good unless they were prepared to stab someone.

Which they wouldn’t do. Unless it was necessary, of course. And they doubted it would be. But it still gave them a sense of comfort.

They, slowly, pulled their phone from their pocket.

Let’s see…

They tapped on the one labeled ‘Birdman /neg’ (it seems like Kuroki had renamed all of the contacts) and brought their phone to their ear.

“Hello, you’ve reached Dire Crowley.”

“Crowleyyyyy, I’ve been kidnapped,” Ito whined.

Crowley made a sound not unlike choking on air. “By who?”

(Ito was pretty sure they heard him mutter the words “Why didn’t I think of that?”, but they were going to ignore that.)

“Scarabia. Kalim-senpai’s having some sort of – I dunno – mental break…? And now I’m stuck here.”

“But you have your phone? Are they treating you poorly?”

“They’re gonna make me do a march in the desert, and a bunch of extra homework,” Ito said. “Can you deal with it? Pleaaaase?”

Crowley was quiet for a moment more.

“... well, you know, had you just agreed to come along with me for vaca – investigation, this wouldn’t have happened.”

Oh, you petty bitch.

Ito tipped their head back in a groan. “Alright. Fine. I’ll tell you if they try to, like, kill me or something. In the meantime, I guess it’s my problem, not yours. Bye.”

“Byebye!” Crowley said.

Ito hung up, glaring at the ceiling as they thought.

Alright. Plan… well, not Plan B, that was the Grim-blows-shit-up plan. Which Ito would totally circle back to if worse comes to worst. But, for now, Ito was moving on to Plan C.

Making it Crowley’s problem Pt2.

Also known as: weaponizing their friend group.

Ito picked one named ‘Public Enemy #1’.

“Yea’h’llo?” Ace said. He didn’t sound entirely awake. Ito recalled, suddenly, that the Queendom was a few hours ahead. Whoops.

Oh well. He was awake, now, so…

“Ace! Remember how you said that we should call you if something happened?”

“Yeeesssss?” he said, suddenly much more alert.

“Well. You see. I’ve kinda been kidnapped. And the Headmaster sucks, y’know?”

Was Ito implying that the Headmaster was the one who had kidnapped them? Perhaps. But they hadn’t said it outright, which meant, technically, they weren’t lying!

Ace was quiet.

“Where’s Crowley?”

Ito rattled off the man’s vacation details with ease. They crossed one leg over the other, absently bouncing their foot. “So, you know that, if you say his name, he’ll hear what you say, right? He knows you’re going to go after him.”

“Good.”

Hm. Ace might actually kill Crowley.

Or Ito, when he figured out they were leaving out information.

Or both of them, honestly.

Eh.

Ace needed to find Crowley to get the Dark Mirror open, anyway. Sending him after Crowley was the only way to get him back to campus, as far as they knew, since all of the trams from the school to the village at the base of the mountain would be down for the break… unless Ace wanted to climb the mountain or something, which Ito doubted.

��Great. See you later!” Ito said, cheerfully.

Ace hung up before they could. And without even saying goodbye! How rude.

They pouted. Absently, they scrolled through their contacts again. They could call ‘2 cool for skool’ or ‘Alpha Male Podcaster’, but they were pretty sure Ace would fill them in anyways and, if he didn’t, then Ito figured the two of them should be allowed to enjoy their break.

More importantly, they didn’t want to interrupt their friends’ sleep, so it seems they were moving on to ‘Octopussy Gang’.

“Ito-san!” Azul said, before the phone had rang even once.

There was yelling in the background.

Ito blinked. “I thought this was Floyd Leech-senpai’s number.”

“It is! But! I need you to tell your friends that you’re alright, and on your way home, please. I’m putting you on speaker –.”

“–  FUCKING GIVE ME THE PHONE, AZUL.”

Ito snorted. Ah. So, that’s what was going on in the background.

“You’re doing alright, yes, Ito-san?” Azul prompted, sounding like he was speaking through gritted teeth.

Ito hummed lightly. “Yeah. Doing great.”

“Great, so you two can calm –.”

“I mean. Scarabia kidnapped me, but y’know. The food is nice and the room is free, so I’m dealing.”

“WHAT.”

There were several overlapping voices on the other end of the line after that, a loud BANG!, and then things went more-or-less quiet.

Someone was breathing hard into the mic.

Enma, apparently, because he said, “Hey, Ito. Anything we need to know before we come get you?”

“Did you kill him?” Ito said, flatly. “Because I’m pretty sure phone calls can be recovered as evidence. We cannot go to jail.”

“Nah, he’s… fine-ish.”

Ito decided that was good enough.

“Uhhh. The entrance to the dorm is right next to the mirror. Say fa-ta-ha. Also, the ceiling will have bugs on it.”

Enma sighed, softly. Ito could practically see the way he pinched the space between his brows. “The things I do for you.”

Ito felt their face warm. “M…hmm… thanks.”

“See you soon,” Enma promised.

“See you,” Ito echoed.

“Here’s your phone, senpai,” Enma said, his voice so very sweet.

There was a beat as the phone was handed off.

“Did you not hear me tell you to inform your friends you were doing fine?” Azul asked.

“I did say that,” Ito reminded him, frowning. “I just also ‘informed’ them that I had been kidnapped right after, so they didn’t pay much attention to that.”

Azul hung up.

Ito’s mouth dropped open.

What is wrong with the kids in this world?!

They turned off the phone, sulking, turning onto their side to drag Grim into their chest. This was terrible. They had been kidnapped, and hung up on (twice!), and there was a mirror shard pressed uncomfortably against the side of their stomach. Truly, this was the worst possible dimension.

Grim turned over in their arms, burrowing into the fabric of their shirt.

Awwwww.

Okay. There were some good things about being in this dimension. They supposed.

They let their eyes slip closed, allowing themself to drift for a while.

Not to sleep, they didn’t want to miss it when Enma and Kuroki got there, but drifting nonetheless.

They could spend the time thinking, of course, but, frankly, they hated what their mind always circled back to:

What did it matter, if they accepted this world or not, if they couldn’t go home, anyway?

What was the point in trying to change things, if everything was predetermined from the moment they’d come here?

How were they supposed to care about anything, when nothing was real?

Why were they still playing along?

But Ito preferred to let those kinds of thoughts pass them by.

It was nice, sometimes, to simply not Be. To let their eyes glaze over and their expression go slack and let their mind simply slip out of their head. To focus on making sure their breathing – which they were, unfortunately, extremely aware of – was as even as they could make it.

Because, again, there was no point in doing anything here. Things were going to go however they were going to go regardless of whether Ito wanted them to, so they might as well sit back and let things do what they wanted. Less stressful that way.

Perhaps a little more depressing, but everyone has to make tradeoffs from time to time.

Hm. Another thing to Not Think About.

It took about an hour for them to hear voices coming down the hall.

“– we could steal their weird-as-hell golden toaster, and then sell it to buy a normal toaster and bread to toast,” Kuroki said, laughing maniacally.

“Er,” said John. “I can hear you, you know.”

“No, you can’t,” Enma said.

“Hear what?” Kuroki blatantly gaslit the poor guy. “Are you sure you’re not having a psychotic break? They tend to happen when you’re stressed out, you know.”

“The Headmaster should really get someone on campus to deal with people’s mental issues,” Enma agreed.

“... so, Ito-san is in this room here,” John said, apparently deciding to ignore all of that, and Ito blinked their eyes open just in time to watch the door fling itself open.

Ito sat up, still hugging Grim to their chest, smiling at their friends. “Hey, guys.”

Kuroki trudged over and damn near collapsed on top of them, sending them right back into the plush mattress. “So many stairs…”

“You were going downstairs, shouldn’t it have been fine?”

“It’s so hoooooot,” complained Kuroki. Regardless of his complaints, he pressed against Ito’s side and hung on like a limpet. So it couldn’t have been too bad.

Ito hummed. “Not made for winter or summer, huh?”

Kuroki gave a huff of annoyance. This wasn’t an answer, but they were happy to let it be.

Ito looked up at Enma. “How’re you feeling?”

“Traumatized,” he deadpanned. “Those… bugs…”

“I appreciate you,” Ito said, softly.

Enma crossed his arms over his chest. The tips of his ears tinted red. “You owe me.”

“I do,” they agreed.

Enma flopped back on the bed beside them, groaning lightly. “You owe me so much. Bugs, Ito, there were bugs.”

Ito was aware. They had warned him about said bugs. But they, politely, decided not to say this, instead opting to take his hand and interlace their fingers.

Enma looked at their intertwined hands, his lips pursed. “It’s a little too hot here for cuddles.”

“Kuroki’s dealing with it,” Ito pointed out, grinning.

He sighed. “Well, I can’t be upstaged by Kuroki of all people.”

“Fuck you,” grumbled Kuroki. And then he lifted his head just slightly to glare at John, who was hovering in the doorway, looking extremely awkward. “What are you still doing here?”

John shifted from foot to foot, unsure. “Because I haven’t… shown you two to your rooms, yet?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Enma said, smiling. “We’re staying here.”

John blinked. “... oh?”

“You guys have already kidnapped Ito once, who says you won’t do it again?” Kuroki said.

The other two people in the room nodded their agreement.

Grim probably would have done the same, but he was currently snoring away. Must be nice. Now that the shock and adrenaline of being held somewhere against their will AGAIN WHAT THE FUCK WAS THEIR LUCK – had faded, they were exhausted.

John opened and closed his mouth a few times, as if he really wanted to say something but couldn’t muster up the willpower to, before apparently thinking better of it. “Uh – hm – sleep well.”

“Is he our senpai?” Enma whispered.

“No, he’s in our class,” Ito said.

Enma squinted at John for a second, as if trying to place him.

“He’s friends with that one guy who – who –...” Ito frowned, trying to think of the word for it. “Doesn’t… talk.”

“Oh, the mute kid?” Kuroki said.

“... suuuuure,” Ito said, because they weren’t sure if that was the word but damn if they weren’t going to pretend they knew it.

John was, apparently, sick of being gossiped about so openly (or, at least, upset that he was, according to the three of them, pretty much unrecognizable when he wasn’t with his friend), because he sighed and left the room, closing the door behind him.

Absently, Ito wondered if he would have to sleep out there.

And then they decided that, really, they didn’t care all that much.

“So, what’s the plan?” Ito said.

“Destroy this place from the inside,” Kuroki shrugged.

Ito hummed. They had expected that. “I’ve already told the Headmaster about what’s going on, so we’re well on our way.”

Enma pressed his cheek against the top of their head. “Aw, you know us so well.”

“Well, yeah, if there’s any guarantee in life, it’s that you guys’ll be petty at every given opportunity.”

“Don’t want to hear that from you,” grumbled Enma.

Ito settled down to sleep. “Wasn’t saying it’s a bad thing.”

And, despite their friends’ complaints that it was hot, Ito drifted off feeling pleasantly warm.

(To be fair, though, they had always liked warmer climates, so it could just be that.)

[drarrily-we-row-along]

He'd taken hundreds of pictures today. Hundreds of pictures of the Christmas cheer around muggle London, the hustling and bustling, the lights and decorations, people dressed up in their winter scarves and hats, gifts piled in their arms. Wrappings and ribbons, bows and bags, piles and piles of gifts. Santas and children, snow, and ice skating. Lights, and trees, and ornaments, and a thousand other things.

Capturing the "Spirit of Christmas" was meant to be a fun project. It was meant to be something that filled the gaping hole in Harry's chest, that let him feel a little bit of joy. It was meant to be a distraction from all that he was missing.

But the truth was that trying to fill the void wasn't working. He was scuffing his foot in the snow when he stumbled across the phone booths, bright red and framed by the lovely snowfall, cathedral windows and gaily decorated Christmas tree filling in the background.

This was it, this was his spirit of Christmas this year, all of the beautiful things in the world couldn't change the desire to reach out, to reconnect and right wrongs. That in mind, he stepped into the phone booth and picked up the phone, dialing a number that he knew by heart.

The phone rang, rang, rang and then a voice, that dearly beloved voice, answered. "Hello?"

"Draco?" he managed, voice hardly louder than a whisper.

There was a pause, too long, too emotionally charged, and Harry's heart stopped in his chest. Maybe it had been too long, maybe Harry's leaving too unforgivable, maybe there was no fixing it.

"Harry?" he asked, sounding like the word caused him physical pain and Harry couldn't believe he'd been selfish enough to call him.

What had he been thinking? Of course Draco didn't want to talk to him. Of course he'd ruined everything. Draco had probably moved on already, he probably-

"I swear to Merlin, Circe, and Morgana, if that is you Potter, you'd better speak up right the fuck now or I will not be held responsible for my actions."

"It's me," he said softly.

There was another pause and he could hear Draco breathing over the phone, the heavy, wet sound of when he was trying to compose himself when his emotions were too big.

"I'm sorry," he said, as fervently as he could manage, letting every ounce of truth ring in those words. "I was such an arse, Draco. I'm sorry that I left, I'm sorry that I thought I needed to go and find myself without you. I'm sorry that I only left a note sitting on the table and that I couldn't even tell you in person."

He could hear the sound of Draco's quiet sobbing, the sound wrenching his heart, twisting it into something painful and unrecognizable in his chest.

"Please," he whispered, "If you think you could forgive me," he added without any real hope that would be possible, "I want to come home for Christmas. I want to come home."

The phone went still, silent, and Harry felt his own tears choking him, blocking his airway and holding his chest tight.

"Where are you?" Draco whispered, barely loud enough for him to hear.

"Muggle London," Harry managed.

"Come home."

Harry didn't wait for any other words, didn't even hang up the receiver, he just apparated straight from the phone booth to the front door of the little house they'd bought together a eight months ago. A house Harry hadn't seen for almost six weeks.

Before he could decide whether to knock or not, the door flew open and Draco assailed him, fists flying as they connected with Harry's chest and knocked him back off the steps. He kept hitting and shoving at him until Harry fell over into the snow in their yard. And then he was straddling his hips and pressing him into the ground, "How dare you?" he railed, "How dare you leave me with nothing but a note, you obnoxious, self centered arsehole!"

All Harry could do was stare up at him, drinking in the sight. Godric he had missed him. Draco was beautiful, his blonde hair slipping out of the braid it was in, strands framing his face. He was wearing one of Harry's Weasley sweaters, the green one with the white H, and he was wearing leggings and socks; soaking through in the wet, cold snow. Harry loved him with a fierceness that bordered on senseless.

"How could you?" he whispered, all the fight draining out of him as tears started to flow down his cheeks.

And Harry couldn't bear it. He sat up, keeping Draco in his lap, and wrapped his arms around him, holding him tight. "I'm so sorry," he whispered. "I'm sorry, love."

Draco's long fingers cupped Harry's face and his lips pressed messily against Harry's, tears making everything wet and even messier but Harry wouldn't have had it any other way. He held Draco tightly, so tightly he was afraid the other man might have bruises later, but Draco was holding him just as tightly, as if he might never let go again. And Harry certainly wouldn't be complaining about that.

When Draco finally broke away to breathe, Harry cupped his face in his hands, thumbs brushing away his tears. "Can you ever forgive me?" he whispered.

Draco nodded, tears overflowing once more. "Just promise that you'll never leave me again."

"I promise," he said fervently, with the same honesty as when he'd first started apologizing.

"Good. Because if you do," Draco said, voice very serious and eyes deadly calm, "I will not be here when you get back."

Harry swallowed. That had been a very real possibility this time and he wasn't sure how he would have lived through that. "I understand," he said, leaning in to brush a tentative kiss over Draco's lips.

Draco hummed softly, then seemed to give in, kissing Harry back with just as much sweetness and gentleness as the first kiss had contained desperation.

"You're shivering," Harry whispered against Draco's lips, hands rubbing over his arms and back in an attempt to warm him.

"Come inside," he said, phrasing it more like a question than a command.

He nodded, "If it's alright with you?"

Draco huffed a little laugh and pressed him forehead to Harry's, "I may never let you leave again if you do-"

"I'm sorry," he repeated. "I won't leave you again," he promised. "Just for normal things like shopping and work, but I'll always come back," he swore. "Always, love."

He nodded, nose brushing over Harry's. "I believe you."

Harry breathed a sigh of relief, "Let's go in," he said.

Draco nodded.

And neither of them made any move to get up, too caught in the feeling of one another's bodies pressed against their own. "This is silly," Harry said and Draco tensed in his arms. "I don't want to let go either," he assured quickly before apparating them inside and onto the sofa instead.

Draco cast a drying charm over them and Harry quickly stripped out of his jacket and tossed aside his bag and camera so he could wrap Draco back in his arms more tightly.

They laid on the couch together, pressed thigh to thigh, chest to chest, nose to nose, and heart to heart. Staring into each other's eyes, they re-calibrated themselves to the other, silently promising to bind themselves together.

A promise that would be made official, one year later in their own back garden at their wedding.

[fire-lizard-ro]

Random Trailblazer Stuff

I believe in she/they Stelle and he/they Caelus supremacy. <333

Or they/them for those who like that better. (I also enjoy that the Aeons are referred to with they/them. :D)

I wish that Hoyo emphasized more on the after effects of what happened to the Trailblazer (I'm gonna say Stelle because I use Stelle) on Jarilo-VI during the battle against Cocolia and some other things. You can't tell me that it didn't leave any lasting scars. Maybe not the kind that you can see. But I imagine that there are times that Stelle remembers what happened. The feeling of the icy wind blowing past her, biting into her skin as she fell. The burning pain of the ice lance in their chest while somewhere in the back of her mind she heard the voices of her newfound friends screaming their name. Senses fading as her body plummeted towards the hard, snow-covered ground of the battlefield.

I imagine that they wake up from nightmares clutching at the phantom pain in that same spot, the sound of the wind whipping past their ears and the screams of her comrads still ringing in her ears.

Sure they made it out of the incident alive and, amazingly, lacking a large scar where they'd been run through. But that doesn't rid her sleep of the memories that are like nightmares all on their own.

I imagine that her fellow trailblazers for some time after that still can't get the image of her battered body falling through the air out of their mind. The transformed Cocolia hovering in the air above them like some angry god while the Engine of Creation waits to crush the rest of them to dust. The thought of "no no no Stelle-" running through their minds. The panic. The fear. The anguish. The idea of a new companion and a person with so much potential being ripped from them before they can really begin their journey. I wonder if they ever find it hard to see the slideshow in the museum in Belobog when some of those pictures come up. The ones that remind them of the battle that almost took Stelle from them.

I like to think that Stelle is not as calm about the Cancer of Worlds slumbering in her chest as she leads others to believe. I wonder if she ever looks at the stars from the inside of the Astral Express, the only thing separating her from the vastness of space a layer of glass, and fears the bright balls of gas that are just as radiant and yet dangerous as the Stellaron within her chest. Stars and the Stellaron. Both things born of the blackness of the unending universe around them. Does she ever let her thoughts wander for too long only to end up clutching her chest with sweat beading at her temple while wondering how long she might have? While fearing what it might do to her? What she might become? The Stellaron of Jarilo-VI spoke to Cocolia. And something about it twisted her. Made her unrecognizable from the person she once was. Would that happen to them? Would she, too, become someone she wasn't?

Does she ever wonder who she is? Does she ever do things on instinct and wonder why that is? Are there marks on their body of a past life she didn't remember? Did she exist before she awoke in the Herta Space Station? Kafka seemed to know her. And she seemed to know Kafka.

So many questions met only with silence.

[dadddybangtan]

Suck Torture | 21 🩸

Back Table of Contents Next

cw: black out, s/h, bl00d

word count: 2.8k

Everything and everyone I've ever loved was gone. My father was taken into custody. My brother was to be executed. Yeji ran away. Beomgyu never wanted to see me again and I let go of any chances I had with Taehyun. I never loved Felix, but I sacrificed his love for me for Beomgyu's. The only one who hasn't left was my mother, but she'd been so heartbroken that she isolated herself. She might as well have been gone like everyone else.

I was alone for the first time in centuries. My family, that had always been so big and tightly knit, fell apart in a matter of days. I didn't know how to cope.

The sun began to peek through the windows and I hadn't left the tower since the previous night. I hadn't moved from the spot Beomgyu left me in. I felt so empty and broken.

Selfishly, I hoped Beomgyu would come back. I hoped he would fly to me and rush into my arms. He'd thank me for turning him and giving him the power to fight off anything he needed to. And live forever in eternal love with me.

I knew it wouldn't happen. I knew he was to never trust me again.

Shackled in despair and self hatred, Hyunjin became a slave to his misery. He looked at every beam of light as an escape. Perhaps he was too much of a coward to go out that way given that he refused to burn in the light.

When he finally found the courage to stand up and explore his surroundings, he only sought out the athame he used to slit open his palm for his lovers drink. It was a family heirloom, kept with the Hwangs for hundreds of years. The small, beautiful dagger had been a symbol of their legacy.

Now, in the burned, damaged hands of Hyunjin, its value dwindled to nothing but a simple knife. With his father being a conniving snake, his brother being impure and his sister abandoning her blood, that athame was just a tool. And Hyunjin used it as such.

Desperate to feel something, anything, rather than agonizing numbness, Hyunjin dug the blade into his wrist. He ever so slowly cut little red lines on his skin, trailing up his wrist and arm until it was full. He shivered at the sight, amazed at what was hiding beneath his skin.

The lines stung him, burned as the cuts seeped with blood. And he closed his eyes and smiled. It was similar to the euphoria he gained from burning himself. He wanted to feel any sensation of warmth. He needed to feel Beomgyu.

And when the warmth wore off, he started again on the other arm. He marked himself until his pale white skin was unrecognizable. For a few moments, he was warm all over, caressed in a vermilion hug until he drifted off to a light sleep.

"Hyunjin. Hyunjin?" He faintly heard a soft, familiar voice calling to him.

He looked around for a source, but no one was there. Then he heard the doorknob to the tower twist and out came his mother, Taeyeon.

"Hyunjin, oh dear," She shuttered, "What have you done to yourself?"

She ran to him and rested his head in her lap. Her eyes solemnly scanned his body, mentally counting the damage done.

"What did you do, Hyunjin," She cried, finally seeing the family athame loosely placed in his hand, "Why would you do this?"

"Everyone's gone... And it's all my fault."

"That's not true," Taeyeon said as she shakily took the athame and hid it under her cloak, "Okay, Hyunjin? That's not true. I know things are hard right now, but it's not worth destroying yourself over."

"Does it matter? It's not like it'll kill me."

She was silent. It's as if she couldn't believe he had said that out loud. As if she'd never heard him talk like this.

"H-Hyunjin, get up, hon. You can't stay here like this," She stuttered, tucking her shaky, delicate hands under his mutilated arms, "Please get up, Hyunjin."

But he didn't budge. Not an inch. Did he even hear her? His mother couldn't bare to look at his body anymore, but she knew she couldn't leave him either.

"Please, Hyunjin. You're all I have left," She begged, tears burning her eyes, "You can't just give up. Everyone's gone, but I'm still here. Look at me, your mother is still here."

She took him by the chin and turned his head. He looked at her with an empty, hazed over gaze. It couldn't be a look of death, but it was close. Not quite death, but lacking life.

"If you can't stand up for yourself, stand up for me. Just for right now."

His pupils dilated slightly before he blinked back into semi-consciousness.

"Where would we go?"

"Just down stairs to run you a bath. Clean you up, dear."

He took a moment to consider this, glancing down at his arms. He almost forgot the damage was there. It was loud, red and yelling at him. But he found peace with it. After all, he felt he deserved it.

Hyunjin slowly lifted himself up onto his elbows and his mother helped him. They walked down the stairs together and Taeyeon drew him a bath in her bathroom.

Lukewarm water filled the black clawfoot tub as Hyunjin watched, wrapped in a towel at the side of it.

"Disrobe and get in whenever you're ready dear," Taeyeon called from the other room, "I'll be back in fifteen minutes to check on you."

He carefully slipped the towel off of his shoulders. But before stepping in, he turned around to capture himself in the full length mirror behind him. He didn't recognize his body, littered in scars, bruises, bite marks. His hair was messy and overgrown and his frame looked frail and unwell. How could a being with endless life and unique powers look so pathetic?

His actions lead him there. It started with his infatuation with the mortal. That ruined everything. He knew that, but still didn't regret it one bit.

Loving Beomgyu was the most humane act he's ever committed in his long, imperishable life.

He just stepped into the tub and sunk his body into the water. His eyes fluttered closed as the warmth engulfed him. Euphoria filled his heart. It was the warmth again, this time embracing every inch of his skin. Blood slowly began to taint the water and he didn't care. He was warm and he was safe.

Hyunjin submerged his head under the water. He knew he couldn't drown, but he could tease the idea. Only he was breathing fine and it didn't affect him at all. He did briefly lose consciousness again. That was the closest thing he could get to death, it seemed.

Shortly after, his mother came in. Silent and calm, all she could do was drain the water and cover Hyunjin in a dry towel.

"I think you should go to your room and rest."

He didn't respond with words. He just avoided her eyes and removed himself from the bathtub. He left to his room without another word.

He couldn't be bothered to dress himself. He just plopped onto his bed so carelessly. He was numb and empty. Until he inhaled through his nose and smelled a trailing husky woodland scent. Beomgyu was still on his sheets. As was Taehyun's sweet, caramel scent.

It brought a tear to his eye. That faint lingering smell was all that was left of them for him to remember. He'd have to live on for a thousand years trying to retain that scented memory of the loves he's only loved for a moon. He buried his head into the pillows and mattress even more, crying into the space that once held them. The scent grew richer in his senses.

He gasped in shock when he heard a knock on the door and a soft, deep muffled voice.

"Hyunjin?"

My eyes shot open, it couldn't be. Perhaps I was hallucinating.

"It's Beomgyu and Taehyun."

I didn't believe it. I didn't want to believe it. My mind was surely playing cruel tricks on me.

"We know you're in there," The higher pitched voice called, "Your mom said so."

"Just a-," I ripped the blanket off of me and, to my own surprise, I was completely naked, "Minute?"

And when I trailed up to my wrists, I found fresh red marks lining my arms. I was asking myself a myriad of questions, to which I didn't have a solid answer to any of them.

Just then, the lock on the door unlatched and the door slowly opened, revealing Beomgyu and Taehyun. Panicked, I covered myself with the blanket.

"Shit, how did you open that?"

"You know how Tae is with locks..." Beomgyu said, studying me with suspicion in his eyes, "Are you okay?"

"I- I don't know," I stammered, "You guys really shouldn't be here. You can't see me like this."

"What happened?" Beomgyu asked sternly.

"N-nothing."

"Then show yourself," He demanded, "I can read you now, thanks to you. You can't hide from me anymore."

Fuck, he was right. But I genuinely didn't know what happened to me. I could show him my body, but I couldn't explain myself. I looked at Taehyun who's anxiety heightened my own.

I slowly dropped the blanket to my lap, revealing the newfound scars that littered my arms up to my shoulders. Taehyun covered his mouth with his hands in shock. And Beomgyu... I'd never seen anyone so disappointed in me.

"Don't tell me you did this because I left."

"I- I-."

"I told you not to hurt yourself after the burn mark, but this? The very next day?"

"Beomgyu-."

"If you think that's gonna get me back, just forget it."

"I blacked out, Beomgyu," I snapped, "It's just as much as a surprise to me as it is to you. I didn't mean to do this."

"Fucking god." Taehyun winced as he looked away.

"Are you telling the truth?"

"I know you don't trust me anymore... But look me in my eyes and you'll know."

He stared at me, glossy eyes pleading with the truth in mine.

"For fucks sake, Hyunjin," He said, coming up to the side of the bed. I moved the blanket over my core, "Shit, is there more down there?"

"No, I just... You guys came when I was undressed..."

"Sorry." He immediately pivoted away from me.

I caught Taehyun in the corner of my eye sneaking into my closet.

"What're you guys doing here?"

"I don't know where you've been all day, but six humans were found dead this morning," Taehyun said, coming out of the closet with sweatpants and a hoodie, "Vampire bites."

"So either the counsel didn't kill Niki or someone else you know is out there, killing innocent people."

"Why would you assume I know them?" I asked, watching Taehyun carefully place the clothes on the bed and push them over to me.

"Well, like you said when you first met me, you know everybody, remember?"

"I see."

"So you haven't heard about the humans?"

I haven't heard about anything. When Beomgyu left last night, I felt like the whole world stopped. My world stopped. And I wanted life to stop in the process. Taehyun asked me where I'd been, but there was no honest way I could answer. I woke up in a state I didn't remember putting myself in. If I were to answer Taehyun's question, I'd say that I was gone. And for Beomgyu...

"I didn't care to look up if I wasn't looking at you. I didn't care to listen if I wasn't listening to you."

His eyebrows furrowed together in want. I could tell that he wanted to forgive me. But his eyes darted to the ugly marks on my arms and the want disappeared. I couldn't blame him.

"We don't have time for romantics, Hyunjin," Beomgyu muttered, "The spell is breaking, Niki is out there and we have to do something."

"I-," My words got caught in my throat. I was so weak and defeated, "I don't know what to do."

Beomgyu shook his head in disappointment and just then, all of our phones sounded an ear splitting alarm. In unison we all checked the message.

ATTENTION ALL RESIDENTS: Due to the rise in human huntings, the city will be enacting a new curfew for all humans. For your safety, please stay in your homes from the hours of 5:00pm and 8:00am as those are the darkest hours during the current season. The city will not take responsibility for those out past curfew.

"Fuck." Beomgyu muttered.

I trailed my eyes up to the time in the corner and it was five on the dot.

"You guys should stay here for the night."

They both looked at each other, communicating silently. He's right, Taehyun admitted in his brain.

"Fine, but we'd like a separate room from yours."

"Okay... There's a guest room two doors down," I said, "Don't open the third one, that was Yeji's."

"Was?" Beomgyu asked.

"She moved out."

He just nodded, took Taehyun's hand and left the room, shutting my door quite harshly.

As much as it hurt, I couldn't complain. If he needed space, I was going to let him have it. At least he was there, talking to me. No matter how short and impatient.

I finally put on the clothes Taehyun picked for me. Though I've worn those sweater and sweat-shorts quite a few times, it never felt as comfortable as it did coming from him.

[ash-and-books]

Rating: 2.5/5

Book Blurb: Gotham meets Strange the Dreamer in this thrilling young adult fantasy about a cowardly girl who finds herself at the center of a criminal syndicate conspiracy, in a city where crooked politicians and sinister cults reign and dreaming means waking up as your worst nightmare.Ever since her sister became a man-eating spider and slaughtered her way through town, nineteen-year-old Ness has been terrified—terrified of some other Nightmare murdering her, and terrified of ending up like her sister. Because in Newham, the city that never sleeps, dreaming means waking up as your worst fear.Whether that means becoming a Nightmare that’s monstrous only in appearance, to transforming into a twisted, unrecognizable creature that terrorizes the city, no one is safe. Ness will do anything to avoid becoming another victim, even if that means lying low among the Friends of the Restful Soul, a questionable organization that may or may not be a cult.But being a member of maybe-cult has a price. In order to prove herself, Ness cons her way into what’s supposed to be a simple job for the organization—only for it to blow up in her face. Literally. Tangled up in the aftermath of an explosive assassination, now Ness and the only other survivor—a Nightmare boy who Ness suspects is planning to eat her—must find their way back to Newham and uncover the sinister truth behind the attack, even as the horrors of her past loom ominously near.  

Review:

Gotham meets Strange the Dreamer in this story about a girl who lives in fear in a city filled with monsters. In Newham, the city that never sleeps, dreaming means you can wake up as your worst fear... turning into a literal monster. Ever since her sister became a man eating spider and slaughtered her father and many people, nineteen year old Ness has lived in fear. She’s a coward, every single day she thinks something horrible could happen to her and despite working in a “not cult” run by a lizard guy she finds herself getting closer and closer to being kicked out of the organization that may or may not be a cult. After her latest work trip goes wrong due to her fear, she is sent on probation... and she finds a way to con her way into what was supposed to be a simple job for the organization that would help smooth over her blunder... except it literally blows up her in face... literally. She gets on a boat and runs into a boy named Cyril who turns out to be a Nightmare ( vampire ) and their ship blows up leaving only her and him as the sole survivor.. She’s terrified but he’s the only person who can help her get back to Newham and when they do, they’ll find themselves in a deeper web of conspiracies, secrets, and betrayals. The organization that Ness put her life in might be out for her blood, and her recollection of the events that occurred with her sister might hold darker family secrets. She also has to finally face her fears after years of being a coward, if she wants to not only save herself but her new friend Cy. This one unfortunately missed the mark for me, despite being everything I could possibly want ( I mean I adore Gotham, I love the idea of a city filled with literal monsters and the cool idea that people can turn into monsters when they wake up ) but it completely lacked any of the magic, fun, or even intrigue of what it could have been. I was expecting something more, and it just fell so flat. I adored the author’s previous books so this one was suppose to be a sure thing but it just didn’t work out for me. Ness felt so much younger than a 19 year old that she’s suppose to be, she read more like 13-15 rather than 19. For a city of nightmares and monsters, it really was lacking any of the fun stakes and creatures. Sadly I found myself just bored by the end of the book and the ultimate reveal of things. This is the first book in a series and I’m hoping maybe the second book will change things around and maybe I’ll like that one? Well, for now, if you enjoy disney villain-esque teen stories then this is right up your ally, it felt less Gotham and more Disney.

*Thanks Netgalley and HarperCollins Children's Books, Clarion Books for sending me an arc in exchange for an honest review*

[moonlightcrossesonyourbody]

this drives me insane too as a greek woman with a humanities school teacher for a mother growing up in a country with public access to museums and having the WHOLE EPICS AS SCHOOL SUBJECTS AND PART OF HISTORY IN SCHOOL in historical context without anachronisms and modern society affecting the delivery and still losing things in the translation of an ancient language and the passing down OF ORAL TRADITION because all you people forget or never know in the first place that homer did not under any circumstances write the epics down

the epics were recited

the epics were poems that were passed down through the spoken word poets and the lyricists of the time

and what you don't understand is that they capture centuries worth of transitions in gender roles and standards and the expression of those things through language itself before we even get to all the time between then and christianity and fucking today's day and age

the beauty of the men and women and of the gods and the beasts of the epics and the tragedies and the comedies and the satires was and always will be their flaws and their humanity and the way all of them fell because of them

there is no goddamn girlboss in my history because there was no room nor relevance nor need for it but they still became queens

beloved and terrible and broken.

surviving and haunted and haunting our history and all of them each other through all the varietions of the stories

and i love i love that you fall in love with them too but you can't dysmorph them and twist them into something unrecognizable and sanitized and american upper class white all because you feel like you don't have enough history of your own and enough women of yours in it to fall in love with and feel seen through their reflection

if you need to mold them and shape them into your standards so that you can have a figure to think of when you think woman and fireceness you cannot fucking have them. you cannot have these women they can never give you what you want

Not when you need to remind yourselves that women always existed in and off themselves in a society that is today trying to tell you that you were never here and in your desperation and lacking culture and knowledge and information COME AND DO IT FOR THEM by completely overwriting characters who were written as such for very purposeful and specific reasons

of course we must be critical of the texts but being critical means understanding their context which not only do you lack but you, with no regard nor respect or care, pay zero attention to or even worse erase.

nothing fills me with more joy than sharing the stories of my culture with you and i implore you to look into yours and share them with us because i promise you.

no matter what they try to tell you there are women in there just as well.