#and when he STILL survives... just. imagine this with me.

[slytherinslut0]

SLYTHERINSLUT0’S RIDDLEMAS

dec 23rd. tom riddle — wet dreams, house rivals.

RIDDLEMAS MASTERLIST. I 2024

summary: tom’s been infiltrating your dreams, and you decide it’s time to call him out on it.

warnings: 18+, SMUT MDNIIII, coercion!!!!, dark!tom, mind manipulation, religious undertones, gryffindor!reader, enemies if you squint, fingering, squirting, begging, dream sex, tom riddle is his own warning, so much praise, dirty talk, verbal sparring.

You've never been a heavy sleeper. Even as a child, the smallest sound—a creak in the floorboards, a shift in the walls—would jolt you awake. For years, you chalked it up to some ingrained survival instinct, some form of trauma response to whatever part of your childhood still haunts you. You got used to it.

But lately, it isn't sound that been waking you. It isn't movement or foundation shifts, either. It's the dreams.

Dreams—strange, lucid, intense dreams of him. Always him. Dreams that make you feel like you're drowning, like you're flying, like you've found a new level of intoxication that you'd never imagined possible—and each time the dreams wake you up, the sheets (and whatever bottoms you may have been wearing) are always soaked, and your thighs are always shaking.

It's maddening.

They feel too real to be anything but a violation, his presence bleeding into your subconscious regardless of how much you try to fight it. You know it means something is wrong. You'd tried to rationalize yourself into going back to sleep, telling yourself it's just hormones or some form of stress, but you're too smart to believe your own excuses.

You know it's more than that.

He's haunting you in your sleep—in the most unexpected way. The dreams are always lucid enough that you can feel it—you can feel him—his mouth on yours, his hands on your hips, his dick bullying your fucking cervix and his magic on your clit—leaving behind nothing but hunger. Hunger that's so intense it makes you want him in a way it almost scares you.

You tell yourself you hate him, you've always hated him—but denial only lasts for so many days, as you realize you can't look at him or talk to him without the dreams forcing their way to the forefront of your mind, making you remember the feelings and the sensations and how much, despite hating him, you want them to be real.

You wanted to believe it would pass. That this was nothing but a phase, a trick of your overactive mind. But deep down, you knew the truth. Tom Riddle has wormed his way into your head, into your dreams—out of spite—and he's not letting go.

So after a hell of a week of this—with damn near zero hours of sleep—you decide to seek him out. To put an end to this madness. Once and for all.

It takes every ounce of courage and Gryffindor-like reckless bravery you can scrape together just to go through with it, but somehow you do. Somehow, you make it across the castle, make it to his door. You're in your pyjamas, for Merlin's sake. It's 1 a.m., and the slick still coating your thighs from what had to have been your tenth lucid orgasm in a matter of a week is a humiliating reminder of why you're even here at all.

And when the door opens, you have the strange feeling that he's been expecting you, even as he makes a great show of acting surprised to see you, looking you up and down with a lazy, smug glance that makes your pulse quicken so viscerally you lose the last shred of sanity you were pathetically clinging to—

"What the fuck—" you prowl forward without hesitation, forcing him a step back into the room. "—are you doing to me?"

Even if you're not imagining some form of surprise in that smug little smirk, he does his best not to let it show.

"Me?" He says, all pretend innocence, flicking his hand out to shut the door behind you with some spell you don't care to name. "You'll have to be more specific."

You glare at him, refusing to acknowledge how unfairly attractive he looks in just sweatpants and an oversized shirt—because of course, even casual looks like this are a weapon in his arsenal.

"Cut the bullshit, Riddle," you snap, and you're not sure if it's your lack of sleep or some form of desperation-fuelled bravery, but you're suddenly invading his personal space, poking an accusing finger into his shoulder. "You're fucking haunting me—"

He blinks. "I’m haunting you. And how am I doing that?”

There's a part of you that knows it's a trap—that this is probably exactly what the smug bastard in front of you has been wanting, but your brain is so deprived of sleep and your body is so starved of respite that you decide 'fuck it'—you want answers, and you're going to get them.

"You're in my dreams," you say, bluntly, forcing an exhale alongside it. "You've been in them every night for a week straight. I haven't slept a bloody minute."

That's when it happens—the tiniest flash of amusement in his eyes, so brief you might've missed it if you weren't ready to tear his fucking throat out.

"You're accusing me of giving you dreams?" He asks, in a tone that makes you want to grab him by the front of his shirt and make him cut the bullshit, and you can't tell how much of your own expression is irritation and how much is lust. "You think I've somehow managed to invade your mind?"

"Don't be condescending," you spit, trying to focus on the spot between his eyebrows that makes the heat in your core roar the least, "and don't act like you're incapable. As much as I can't bloody stand you, we both know damn well your mind magic is strong enough to do this to me—"

"Mind magic," he echoes with an amused snort, "you think I'm doing some kind of mind magic to invade your dreams, is that it?"

He's so damn good at this, you think—infuriatingly good. The way he's playing it off like the idea is absurd, completely laughable—

"Fucking precisely.” You can't hide the heat from your voice. You don't care to try. "These aren't just dreams. They're—they're strong. I feel you. Your hands, your tongue, your—"

Dick. You can't even bring yourself to say it.

And the bastard just smirks, like he's reading your mind anyway. Like he knows. That glimmer in his eyes—arrogant, insufferable—only confirms it.

"Hm," he says with something bored, running a hand through his hair. "Your subconscious—"

"It's not a bloody subconscious thing," you cut him off, uninterested in whatever bullshit he was about to feed you. "It's you. You're invading my dreams—I feel you—my body fucking feels you—"

He laughs at that. Like some sick, sadistic freak. He actually laughs—

"Listen to yourself." He says, with a mocking tone that makes you want to shove him. "Are you that desperate to hate me that you're pinning your dreams on me?"

"Hate doesn't even begin to cover it," you spit, stepping closer, your frustration boiling over. He shifts slightly, his back brushing the wall. "You've got a hell of an ego, but even you have to know this isn't something I'd want. I wouldn't put you in my dreams willingly if you paid me to do it—"

He hums, smirk never faltering, if anything it fucking grows at the tirade.

"You've been dreaming of me for a week," he points out, coolly, as if this is the most casual conversation in the world. "And now, here you are—standing in my dorm in the middle of the night, dressed like this." He takes a step toward you, now. "Do you know what that's called, sweetheart?"

Your lungs hitch at the pet name. Your mind is at war with your cunt and it's losing—

"Delirium?" You choke out, noticing another flash of something in his eyes as the gap between you closes. "Insomnia? Sleep deprivation?"

He gives you a mocking arch of the eyebrow.

"No," he says, in a tone that makes you seethe. "It's called obsession."

"Oh. The irony," you can't help but hiss at him, heart pounding because he's in your space and you're in his and this shouldn't be getting to you the way it is. "It's rich, coming from you, that you'd put that on me when—when you've been mindfucking me every goddamn night—"

"Mindfucking you?" He repeats, almost lazily, as his gaze drops, sweeping over you—your pyjamas, the clear lack of bra, the flush creeping up your neck. "Is that what you think I've been doing? You think—"

The way he doesn't even deny it—doesn't argue the accusation—makes your blood boil in a way you can't control.

"It's the only explanation. You've been—you've been—" you cut him off but your sentence falters because his gaze is moving so deliberately, dragging over you like he's cataloging your weaknesses, and the anger curdles into something raw and desperate. "God, Tom, I just need it to stop. I'm so fucking tense and tired. I'm so wound I can't even focus—I'm wet all the time—"

His eyes snap up to meet yours at that, and he gives you a look you can't even begin to interpret. You bite your tongue, realizing the words that left your mouth just a moment too late to pull them back, and you know you've lost the upper hand in this, somehow. You feel the ground slipping from under you and you hate the way your body shivers as he takes another slow, deliberate, step forward.

"Is that what you are?” He wets his lips. "You've come all the way here, in the dead of night, in your pyjamas, half out of your mind with exhaustion because you're wet. Isn't that right?"

You know better than to answer, though you feel yourself walking straight into the trap he's set.

"Piss off," you snap, but the bravado in your voice is paper-thin as he takes another step forward. He's so close now that his scent overwhelms you—leather and spice, something sharp and smoky that makes your head spin. You recognize it, of course you do; it's the same as in your dreams, and the familiarity makes your knees feel unsteady. "You're—"

"Don't act so offended," he leans closer, his voice a low murmur, quiet, almost silky as it wraps around you, and suddenly you barely remember what you were so pissed off about. "You can't even deny it. I made you cum tonight, didn't I? In your dreams."

Your teeth grit. "You know you did—"

He takes one more step and now you're backed right up against his desk—and gods, Tom's tall, so much taller than you—and it feels like he's looming over you, caging you in.

"Mhm." There's a flash of triumph in his eyes as you lose your words. He leans down, breath grazing your ear just as he brings two fingers to your temple, pressing the pads against it. "Let's watch, shall we?"

Watc—oh no.

A cold sense of dread washes over you as you catch on to what he's insinuating, merely a second too late—

"Tom—"

He whispers something, something that pulls you under, and the next thing you know—in a flash of consciousness you didn't even consider possible—you're staring at yourself inside a dream you remember all too well. A dream sequence where you're moaning and trembling beneath him, your head thrown back, eyes rolling in unabashed pleasure as he drives into you, hips snapping with thrust after thrust after thrust—

And it's one thing to have felt it in the safety of your dreams, in the dead of night when you woke slick and desperate, clenching around nothing. But this—this is visceral. You can't look away because it's projecting inside your mind: the flush blooming across your chest, the arch of your back, the way your lips part with every desperate breath. You hear the obscene sounds spilling from your mouth, mingling with his low, guttural grunts—and worst of all, you can feel it.

You can feel every ounce of pleasure he's giving you, as if he's giving it to you now.

"Mm," you hear him hum from infront of you—it's too much—you're lost in the memory, the dream, and it's a strange, voyeuristic, intimate experience to watch yourself and him like that. "You're worse off than I thought."

You’re gripping the wood of his desk so hard your fingertips are numb, heart flying out of the room as his hand slowly slides from your temple down to your jaw, holding you in place—

"Stop it." You manage to hiss at him, trying to force some semblance of control back into yourself—the last thing you need is to start melting against this bastard. "Tom—"

"You feel that?" He murmurs, breath brushing your neck, and you can't even focus on anything but the sensations he's forcing through your memory—seeing him above you, feeling him inside you. "You do, don't you? This is exactly what you've been feeling all week, isn't it?"

You want to snap at him, cuss him out, but oh god—

"Damn you," you hiss, even as his hands slide down to your hips—and it almost feels as if he's touching you twice, as if there are two sets of hands on your body. "Fuck, Tom—"

"Mm, you look good from this angle," he murmurs, and you fucking keen as you watch, in your mind, his hands slide over your stomach, pushing up your shirt and exposing your tits, groping as he fucks you. You keen as you feel it. "You love this, don't you? You want this."

"I—" you gasp, trying to convince him, or yourself, or goddamn anyone. Still fighting some invisible battle between resistance and submission because you hate that he's right. "I—god, what are you doing to me—"

"What am I doing to you?" He whispers, and you're not sure if the question is rhetorical, or if he's giving you permission to ask it. "I'm not doing anything that you aren't letting me do."

Your knees feel like they're about to buckle, and it's taking all your strength just to stay standing because the pleasure playing out in your mind is pouring into your veins and you can't even fathom how it's possible but you can't do anything to fight it—

"Oh, god—" you moan, unbridled, your physical body slumping back onto the desk as you feel the slick between your thighs, growing with every goddamn thrust. "Oh my god—"

He takes the opportunity of you slumped back against the desk and instantly leans down, bringing his lips to your ear—

"Not even god could keep your legs underneath you." His hand creeps up your thigh. "You're helpless."

"Helpless," you repeat, with a shaky gasp, and you hate how much the word turns you on. This is the first time you've ever been called helpless, and you're not even sure that you care. He's got you in his clutches, he's winning, and it's so infuriating and so goddamn perfect. “Tom—please, please touch me. I need to—fuck—"

You feel his lips brush the skin of your neck in a way that has you trembling with want, but—fucking hell, that's not what you need—you need his hands on you, you need him to just—

"What do you need?" He cooes, and there's a sly tone to his voice that makes you want to throw yourself at him all over again. "You need to cum?"

You moan, low and needy, writhing against the desk because this fucker—he knows exactly what he's doing. He’s got the upper hand here and you want it back. You want—

"Yes," you manage to gasp out. "I need you to—I fucking need you—inside me—"

As soon as that leaves your mouth, the dream fades from your vision and he's urging you to lay back. There's a soft thud as he places a hand on the desk next to your head, and he leans down, bringing his lips back to your ear, and you can't remember a time when you've ever wanted anyone else this bad.

"I'm touched," he murmurs, fingers slipping to the waist band of your pyjama pants, "that you want me that bad."

"I hate you," you manage to gasp out, but that's a lie, and you think he knows it. His fingers on your skin as he pulls your pants down make you ache for him, and you're struggling to not make another sound that will give him ammunition. "Why do you have to—"

"Why do I have to what?" He asks, and you know he's just trying to get a reaction out of you. "Tease you? Make you helpless?"

Your pants get hardly half way down your thighs before he decides it's enough and slides a finger through your soaked slit, and you can't hold back the moan that tears itself from your throat.

"Fuck, you're soaked.” He hisses through his teeth. “You've been sitting in your dorm for days, hm? Dreaming of me touching you, wishing you could touch yourself without thinking of me—do you want to cum, sweetheart?"

"Yes," you gasp out, and you're not above begging at this point. "Yes, god, please—I want to fucking cum—"

"There we go," he cooes, and he's enjoying this more than you'd like to acknowledge. "You know how long I've been waiting to hear you say that?"

"I'd say at least a week," you throw back, in a vain attempt to keep a shred of your dignity, but that's hard when he's circling his fingers around your clit and your body is jerking against the desk beneath you. God you really are helpless. "Because that's how long you've been plaguing my head, giving me wet dreams like some goddamn incubus—"

He chuckles at that, and you hate him a little less when he slips two fingers inside you, "You think I'm a demon?"

"You certainly act like one," you choke out, because he's crooking his fingers and your mind is going fuzzy and he's not going to let you get the upper hand back, even for a second. "Fuck—oh, yes, yes, yes."

"You've got me all wrong," he says, with a smile that would be boyish if it wasn't so sinister. "Demons come to punish you. I'm here helping you get that relief you've been needing so badly."

"Just want t-to help me," you moan as his long fingers work you open, thumb brushing your clit, "out of the kindness of your heart—"

"Out of the kindness of my heart,” he repeats, with a mocking tone, and it's the way he murmurs those words that's making your thighs clench around him until he grabs the fabric of your pjs bunched around them and pushes your legs up to your chest, working his fingers impossibly deeper. "Out of the goodness of my soul—it's what I do, darling, I'm known for my benevolence—"

"You're a good man," you know he can tell you're being sarcastic, but his fingers are filling you so fucking full you're nowhere near ready to start a fight again when you're this close to losing your goddamn mind on his desk. "You're such a good man, Tom—“

"Mhm," his breath tickles your ear. "What else am I?"

"So good with your fingers," you're moaning, and he's going to get a bigger ego than he already has. You're too far gone to care. "God, you're so good, I'm going to—"

"Yes, you are," he answers, and it takes you a second to realize that he's not correcting your words anymore. He's simply telling you that you are, in fact, about to fall apart for him. "Give it to me. You've earned it."

You almost want to snap back at him, you almost try to, but you're so far gone the words don't form on your tongue and you're not sure you'd be able to fight the fire pooling in your stomach.

"Oh, fuck—“

He doesn't even let you finish that, he just dips his hips down, bringing his hand that's not buried in your slick up to cover your mouth, muffling those strangled screams before they spill out and echo down the hall—

"That's it," he murmurs, his voice a low hum against your skin. "Be a good girl. Let it all out for me."

And it's that; that stupid combination of cooing warmth and the phrase 'be a good girl' that sends you over the edge, and you're muffling your gasps and moans and screams against his palm because gods, what would happen if someone heard you? What would happen if people realized what Tom Riddle was doing to you—your house rival, your sworn enemy—

"There we go," you're falling apart and he's watching you as if he owns you, as if this is where you belong—writhing beneath him, release squirting out around his fingers. "Ride it out for me. Such a good girl, you needed this so bad, I can tell you were aching for this."

You're struggling to say anything back, the only thing that comes out is a strangled moan of his name, and you've always known how bad he was, heard from other girls how good he could be with his hands, but this—you've never had this, never been this before.

"Such a fucking mess," he's murmuring, his voice low and rough and so goddamn beautiful. “How'd that feel? Hm?"

"So—so good," it feels like the words are being forced out of your throat, and you're struggling to think with enough clarity to form anything that's not an embarrassing moan of how much you needed this. "Needed it, need more, I—"

"More?" He murmurs as he slips his fingers free, and he's bringing his other hand up to your jaw, forcing you to look at him as he brings his soaked fingers to your lips. "Greedy girl."

You're not thinking about the implication of him calling you that, you're not thinking about how you should fight back, you're not thinking about how much you hate him—you’re just thinking about the sinful taste of you on his fingers, when they press against your tongue. Without a second of hesitation you suck them clean, tasting yourself, and it's obscene. You're obscene. But you don't care, it just makes that ache in you grow worse—you need more, you need him.

Dear god, what happened to you.

“So good," he murmurs, the praise dripping like honey from his tongue. You hum and he exhales. "I'll find you tomorrow."

"You'll find me tomorrow?" You repeat, as he withdraws his fingers from your mouth, and you're struggling for air, your chest heaving beneath your rumpled shirt. "What are you going to do, come into my room?"

"I'll come into much more than your room," he says, with a laugh that dances with promises of sin. "Now go. Before someone finds you here."

You push yourself up on trembling arms, pulling your pants up your thighs, your heart hammering in your chest because—god, that was incredible, you want more of it, and you can hardly even believe it happened. With a breath, you force yourself to move.

You look back at him as you get to the door. Your legs are shaking and you're not going to hold it against yourself for needing the wall to support you as his eyes rake over you, the corners of those lips curled up his signature smirk, and you want to hit him so goddamn bad—but then he speaks, like he read your mind, and it snaps you out of it—

"No dreams tonight." He says. "Scouts honour."

"You're no boy scout," you throw back, and your voice is a little breathier than you'd like. "And this changes nothing."

He smiles, slow and languid and knowing. "Of course."

You want to roll your eyes at the condescension dripping off his tongue, but you're worried that if you stay here any longer the only words on your tongue will be 'do it again'.

"You just owe me." You say as you crack the door open.

"I owe you," he agrees, and you think that his smile is just a little too genuine—like he would give you anything you wanted, just for another taste of that. “I'm keeping score, darling. Sleep well."

You hate him for calling you that, you hate his stupid smile, you hate the way he knows he's got you.

What he doesn’t know, is that you’re going to make him pay.

"Good night," you mutter, and then you open the door and slip out into the hallway.

[h4venpha]

⸺ midnight serenity

✦ sylus x reader contents: fluff, sylus being playfully mean wc: 979 notes: i said i wasnt gonna write bcs im on vacation, but i was having Sylus Thoughts while at the pool today. maybe trying something new w my writing format..? enjoy anyway! i love soft, playful sylus!!!

the bustling of the city is quiet at one of the many penthouses owned by sylus scattered throughout the n109. being the peak of one of the higher buildings, there’s nothing to focus on but the dark, night sky above, the quiet sounds of rippling of water around you, and the warm, bare chest pressing against your back.

“you’re the one who wanted to swim.” sylus remarks slyly, smirking as he tugs you through the water, wading away from the stairs. much like his other penthouses, this one too has a private pool. long and rectangular with stairs leading down one end. before the stairs is a large canopy with lounge chairs inside, a pair of towels set aside for them afterwards.

“i do, just on the shallow side!” you protest, laughing and splashing up water as you try to squirm out of the hold of his muscular arms around your bare waist. sylus slowly walks you both over to the deeper side of the pool, the far end going as deep as six feet.

“oh miss hunter, you can’t swim? you’d think linkon city’s finest hunters would have basic survival skills.” sylus says, smirking when your kicking and thrashing quickly turns into your hands desperately grabbing onto his shoulders as your feet lift off the bottom of the pool.

“sy!” you squeal, practically crawling up onto his bare frame. your legs wrap high around his torso as you pull yourself up to his broad shoulders, half your body out of the water. you can barely feel it when the cool night air hits your wet, dripping skin.

“do you have no trust in me?” sylus asks, feigning offense as he readjusts to carry you in one arm, holding you to his bare chest to calm your squirming, still wading deeper in.

“you know that’s not what i…” you frown down at him knowing he adores teasing you over the smallest things.

“don’t like the water? you’re just like a kitten, kitten.” sylus snorts at his own words, finding it even more amusing when you smack his shoulder.

“i just…like to feel the bottom of the pool when i swim, okay?”

“you wound me, sweetie.” sulus looks up, a fake pout plastered over his smug face. “do you really think i’ll drop you?”

before you could speak, sylus suddenly jerks his arm down. you squeal, arms frantically wrapping tightly around his strong neck as he pretends to drop you. he knew he was being a little mean, but he couldn’t help the way he loved seeing you seek him for comfort and aid. he knew you weren’t helpless, of course, just… too adorable for him to resist.

“sylus!” your cute squeal and laughter fills his chest with warmth.

“alright, alright, such a fussy little thing.” sylus chuckles deeply, imagining you hissing at him like a kitty. anymore teasing and you’d be getting out of the pool in record rime. with two firm hands, he guides you down, letting you rest your thighs around his hips as he holds you securely to him. “there, how’s this?”

“you’re mean.” you grumble at him, winding down as you drape your arms over his shoulders.

“just testing those hunter reflexes… though it seems clinging to me like a scared kitten doesn’t exactly fit into the neither the flight or fight category.” sylus hums, as if truly pondering the nature of her actions. either way, he wasn’t complaining at all, the feeling your warm, wet skin on his and the way you clung onto him had his blood rushing hot in his body.

you roll your eyes, ignoring the obvious warmth rising to your face, “do you want me to drown?”

“you’re fine, sweetie.” sylus snorted, knowing you were somewhat still grumpy at him for messing around. “i’ve got you, don’t i?” sylus quirks an eyebrow at you, his hands squeezing your hips beneath the water to emphasize his point.

and it did. the thick trunk of his body firmly nestled in between your legs while he easily held you steady against him. you have always been safe and you knew that one way or another. there’s nowhere you were safer than in his arms, because no matter how he teased you, he would always be looking out for you.

“…you do.” you admit quietly.

“still mad at me?” sylus pulls his hand up to gently brush away the small droplets of water on your cheek with his thumb. a few strands of his damp, silver hair fall over his forehead, the rest pushed back over the crown of his head. his low, ruby eyes soak you in, from the sheen of your wet skin to the twinkle of water droplets on your eyelashes. the water ripples quietly around your bodies.

when you silently shake your head after a moment of shyness, sylus grins smugly and slides his wet fingers in to cradle your jaw before bringing you close. he slot his lips against yours slowly, languidly slipping and pressing. your hands feel up, threading back his wet hair before sliding down the back of his head and his nape, to rest against his warm, firm chest. your touch had his heart thumping against his ribcage, full of warmth and tenderness for you.

“i’ll make you make up for being mean to me later.” you mumble a little breathlessly as you pull back, feigning nonchalance as your eyes sparkle up at him, lips tingling from the kiss.

“mm, just as soon as you can feel the bottom of the pool, yes?” sylus snorts, before quickly being met with a swift splash of water to the face. when his fingers glide over your sensitive sides, tickling you, the shine in your eyes and the warmth of your laugher makes him forget about every star in the sky above and the chill of the night breeze.

[rickyriddle]

So I have a theory regarding the Agatha What If…? episode. What if Agatha went to Hollywood? The episode doesn't really explain why she made that choice other than trying to get the Celestial’s powers. But I still wonder how she knew and why the regular Agatha didn't make that choice. And then I felt like the ending of the episode was a bit odd and maybe even ooc for her, to get convinced by Kingo like that. So I wondered: what makes this Agatha different from our Agatha?

They are similar, that's for sure. But the what if Agatha feels less… ruthless? Still self-serving and looking for more power, but a bit less murderous. Then it clicked. What if… Agatha never Rio? Now I know, we all love the idea of Celestial Agatha with Rio, both now cosmic beings but hear me out. First we don't know if Rio, as the comic entity of Death, has variants in the MCU. Tho ultimately, it doesn't really matter for this theory. Let's just imagine a scenario where these two didn't meet or never came to be a couple. What would have happened to Agatha?

Regardless of Rio, Agatha needed to steal powers from other witches in order to survive during the Salem years. She was already doing so before meeting Rio. But if she never met Rio, or never dated her, then it would also mean Agatha never had Nicholas. Never created the ballad. Never lost her son. Never started using this specific con based on the Witches Road to gain power as a way to cope with grief.

Now, how would that lead her to Hollywood? Well, main Agatha would have been too busy by first, running away from Rio, and secondly her road con. She'd be unlikely to look for another source of power when she got a successful con going on and unsuspecting witches falling into her lap all the time (as well as literal Death wrap around her finger).

But in a universe where she can't rely on that con or her cosmic wife, I think it's more likely that Agatha would look for power elsewhere, not just the magic she can steal from other witches. Hence why she ended up learning about the Celestial Tiamut and decided to go to Hollywood to hatch her plan to steal his powers.

That would also explain to me why this version of Agatha managed to be convinced by Kingo. Main Agatha would not have cared about what he said imo. But this Agatha isn't as bitter, hardened by the loss of her son and her complicated relationship with Rio. She might be more willing to bond with someone else who might share some of her experiences, possibly with loneliness and being different from their own kind. Agatha was always different from other witches due to her powers and never managed to connect with them, and she recognized that Kingo was also different from his own kind, the Eternals. So she knew he actually understood her and that might have led her to accept his proposition, and friendship.

But the main reason why I start thinking that Nicky didn't exist in that universe is that I cannot bring myself to believe Agatha wouldn't have tried to bring him back. With the powers of two Celestials, she could have rewritten the world like she wanted, yet chose not to and instead remained an actress. To me it feels like she didn't have something she wished to change about the world, which I don't think is conceivable if she lost Nicky in this universe too. There is also no mention or allusion to her dating Rio, so I do feel like these two were just not a thing in this universe and therefore, Nicky never came to exist.

Fundamentally, this is still Agatha, but she's not our Agatha we knew in WV and AAA. Same trauma with her mother and original coven, but different life experiences afterwards that could have led her to a drastically different path. I love agathario and imagining a world where they aren't a couple is hard, but I'm afraid that's what I feel like this episode was. Actually a “What if… Agatha never met Rio?’.

But hey, at least this episode confirmed she is indeed a lesbian, regardless if she's in a relationship with Rio or not.

[justbelievinginmagic]

im(mortal) - part 2: daydream.

pairing(s): vampire!enhypen ot7 x fem!reader, jake x reader focus for this chapter. series summary: Seven souls struggle with the bitter dregs of eternal life. As they hide amongst human society, they try to discover a cure for their curse, decade after decade, century into century. In their investigations, they find more than they could imagine brewing including a strange magnetic pull towards a human woman. Will they be able to find their humanity once more or will their world crumble beneath the weight of immortality? glimpse: In this modern-day university hall of over one hundred students, there was a lone heart beating louder than any heart that Jake had ever heard in his immortal life. Who's was it? warnings/tags: Inspired by Enhypen's MVs lore, Vampire AU, sort of Soulmate AU, College AU, heavy science fiction inspiration, ot7 x reader but not poly ot7 (but some are really close tbh), 3rd person POV, use of YN, Ni-ki written as Riki, mature topics, vampire typical themes, vampire lore, blood, biting, canon typical violence, descriptions of blood & sounds of blood, bloodlusting, stealing blood bags, mentions of illnesses, secondhand embarrassment from YN, obsessive tendencies from Jake, let me know if there needs to be more tags! word count: 5.7k first chapter <- -> next chapter series masterlist

One thing that never got easier was the sound. Some of the seven could block them out, but, like tinnitus, it’d ring back into focus. Loud. Overwhelming. Ever-present. As the decades crawled forward, there was only more noise. The electricity humming, the world buzzing and dinging and swooshing, the bones creaking. The gurgling, the beating, the rushing, the squelching of beautiful, wonderful, tempting blood.

Never-ending.

Jungwon had gotten good at ignoring a majority of it, but, when surrounded on all sides by humans in the large university lecture hall, it was distracting. Students talking, their hearts beating, their stomach grumbling, their phones and tablet and laptops dinging and humming and whirling, the pencils scratching, the shoes squeaking, the fluorescent lights buzzing. It was a lot to block out while still focusing on the lecture at hand. That was a big reason only a handful of the seven blood-brothers attempted going to college in person. In fact, most of them took advantage of online college courses instead. Jay and Riki could never survive around such commotion – for different reasons.  

Heeseung sat beside Jungwon, spinning a pen around his long fingers repeatedly. Jake was a few rows in front of them. A collection of girls whispered and swooned nearby, pointing at Jake as he adjusted his hair. They could hear their whispers clear as day.

Jungwon smiled fondly. It was the same routine. A routine he was starting to like. He had grown to like routine now. He liked its stability.

The professor droned on about something he had already learned decades ago. His Google document on his laptop didn’t have any notes from the session; just an email opened up with this week’s shifts at the hospital. Not many hours, all in the graveyard shift he noted. Good. He was tired of missing his day-classes when he got scheduled during the day. A medical student like him was always busy but c’mon, he’d lament. A notification popped up in the corner of his laptop. A message from Jay: Sunghoon got dinner. 

Relief trickled through his veins. Their stash of blood was running low these past few weeks. Jungwon couldn’t sneak anything from the hospital with the rising cases of a new mystery illness plaguing the country. He hadn’t heard much about it other than the rise of blood transfusions in the hospital. There was something brewing said doctors under their breath. A sickness that they didn’t understand.

So, the seven didn’t have their recent easy way of getting dinner. Not without suspicions rising or questions being asked. They had other ways than Jungwon sneaking a few blood bags. It had been decades, a century of needing this vitae. They had other ways. Not as easy but still other ways. And, their leeching (pun intended) off of the hospital would return.

After all, there was one thing that they learned in their decades of immortality: life goes on. Things evolve. Illnesses come and go in a blink of an eye. Plagues crash through society like waves of an uncontrollable ocean. It ebbed and flowed. Life came and went.

They didn’t need to worry about that, of course. They learned quite quickly that illnesses didn’t affect them. Nothing really did. Everything could be solved with blood. Hunger; blood. Injury; blood. Exhaustion beyond sleep; blood. Blood, blood, blood.

That’s all that matter for them, to them. An ever-constant need, an ever-constant haunt.

Pumping, rushing, thud-thudding, thu-thumping, beating, pulsing blood. Taunting.

Jake’s head throbbed already. He wondered if it was hunger striking him harder than usual (he hadn’t drunk as much blood lately, waiting for their newest batch) or if it was the bright fluorescent lights overhead faintly flickering. He tried to pay attention to the professor’s ramblings – a lecture on some historical event. The presentation on the projector flickered and flickered. Did the humans notice it, he wondered?  

Ugh, everything bothered him today. It made his anxiety climb and itch under his skin. Like a match temptingly close to a sandpaper pad, brushing and teasing against the rough surface. He felt his palms sweat. His body buzzed. The noises were louder.

Louder.

Louder.

There was a louder heartbeat that caught Jake’s attention. It was racing, louder and faster than anyone around him. A faint crinkle of his brow creased his forehead. He had never heard such a loud heart. It was magnified, almost to a too brash amplified beat. Immediately, Jake found it annoying.

No, it was not annoying; it was alarming.

His fingers fiddled with the edge of his ribbed sweater, taking slow breaths. In through his mouth, out through his nose like Jungwon had advised long ago.

Thud-thud, thud-thud, thud-thud.

He felt this loud heartbeat like it was his own heart’s pulsations. But his heart couldn’t race like that, couldn’t beat like that. It couldn’t. It hadn’t in a long time. Jake’s gaze flickered from the professor’s slide-show to glance back at Jungwon and Heeseung.

The eldest vampires, not in age but in rank, stared back at him. If anyone else had caught their gazes locking, they would say it was eerie. A magnetic quality almost. They locked and steadied on one another despite there being three of them. There was a quiet understanding between the three that most humans never experience. Their eyes spoke to one another with no words or facial expressions.  

‘You good?’

It was a simple thought that pressed into Jake’s mind. Thoughtful and careful much like the man who ‘said’ it. Heeseung was no emotion-reader (like Jay), but Jake’s mind was racing like a river. He could only pick out a few things in its rush. ‘What the fuck?’ being the loudest thought.

Jake nodded minutely, quick and near impossible for a human to detect. Just a little twitch if anything.

‘You don’t hear that?’ Jake projected.

Heeseung’s brow rose questioningly. There was nothing. Nothing he could tell at least. Things were ordinary. Annoying and overwhelming but ordinary. He shook his head. It made Jake’s brow crinkle into a furrow. He turned his head to stare at the professor once more.

“This signified a change in society – the first pandemic in modern times, and yes,” the professor drawled. “The 1910s are considered modern.” No one chuckled in the hall. “It sent shockwaves throughout everything. Culture, technology, gender-roles, war – when things are turbulent, people get scared.”

Thu-thud. Thu-thud. Thu-thu-thud. It was distracting.

Thu-thud. Thu-thud. Thu-thud-thud. How could they not hear it?

Thu-thud. Thu-thu-thump. Jake’s hand rose to his mouth, fiddling with his lips. His sharp teeth ached.

He glanced over the crowd. Who’s heart was it? Who was it? Was someone wildly nervous? No, it wasn’t racing like that. He’s heard all sorts of heart beats. Nervous, happy, afraid. It was just loud, quick, and… tempting. He could imagine the hot, pulsing blood coursing through the mystery person’s veins. Burning hot. Fast and quick and sweet. The way it’d pour into his mouth like a waterfall, never enough no matter how fast it spilled into the maw, into his own veins.

‘Dude.’ Heeseung broke through Jake’s daydream, scoldingly.  

Jake’s cheeks burned hot, embarrassed his hyung heard his blood-lust fantasy. His entire body felt hot actually. He shifted, uncomfortably. His hand went to shove his hair out of his face, sweat beaded at his hairline. He heard a college girl nearby swoon. “He’s so hot,” a whisper to another burned in his ear. They were sitting only a few seats away, but it was hard to catch it from the hummingbird heart that bellowed over everything. Thu-thump. Thu-thump. Thu--

Then, in through the double-doors of the lecture hall, the heart came not barreling into the room but creeping in, quietly. So quietly he was shocked her heart could be that loud and yet look so unaffected on the outside (other than having a pretty bashfulness dusting her cheeks red.) He bit down, jaw clenching painfully. She’d be delicious he knew it. So tasty.

YN thanked God that this was a lecture class – she was pretty sure the professor didn’t even know her name. Anonymity was liquid courage. A single student among a hundred. She could sneak it. Or so she thought. When everyone’s eyes zoomed in on her, she couldn’t help but pause. A flare of fight or flight, a want to hide. Her fingers curled around the metal push-bar of the blue door behind her. Her eyes tried not to lock with anyone’s as she tried to find an open seat anywhere in a hundred-person hall. Darting over the first row, the second row, no, no, no open seats.

“Late and disruptive,” the professor crowed out as he paused in his lecture.

He put a hand on his hip as he turned and stared at her as well. He looked down his nose at her, all sharp lines with the projection of the slide-show casting shadows over his face. Her mouth dried up as she clung to the door a bit tighter. Jake’s mouth watered as her heart skyrocketed in her chest. How was that even possible?

“Sorry,” she whispered.

“Find a seat or excuse yourself from my class before I kick you out,” he barked.

Her eyes widened. Damn, what a dick.

“Sor-sorry,” she bleated out again as she rushed in front of the class.

Some students laughed, snorting in their hand; most stared off into nothing, wishing to be in their dorms’ beds. A late-class always made students creep on the edge of sleep. The last rays of winter sunlight trickled in through the high ceiling windows at the back of the lecture hall.

Her boots, still caked in cold snow from outside, clanked against the concrete floors. Chunks of ice were left on the steps as she began to ascend quickly. The professor refused to continue until she had sat. Her ears burned. Except for her hurried footsteps, it was so quiet.

She was so loud in Jake’s ears; his eyes were stuck on her. Her heart was beating a thousand beats per second into a metaphorical megaphone. He would be worried for her health if she didn’t look so utterly normal. Well, normal-ish. Her face was a rosy color – cheeks flushed with blood and heat.

His tongue salivated. His canines ached. He wanted to bite her reddened cheek, draw that blood to his lips – that tempting heart could fill his mouth, his maw, his heart, his veins.

‘Jake.’ It was a warning tone, gentle and deep in his head; Heeseung was still poking around in his brain. ‘You good?’

It felt like water was dosed over his head, and still he felt holt. Shame, guilt, hunger: they all clashed in his stomach like some sort of boiling pot. He blinked and glanced away from this human woman. It was hard to look away as she hurried past. He tried to block out the images of taking the woman into his arms, biting her. Biting, biting, biting. He raised a hand to brush over his neck, shifting in his seat. His gaze flickered to his brothers, two wide saucers of brown-red eyes. Searching for support as his anxiety roiled in his chest. Heeseung’s gaze was steady on Jake, not even glancing over at the woman who hurried past the rows of students. Clunk, clank, clunk.

‘Do you need to leave?’

The thought pressed through a flurry of blood-lusting thoughts and guilt-ridden rambles, all jumbled in Jake’s head as he stared off at them. Almost unseeing. Jake breathed out, unsure. Why? Why was her heart so… tempting? None of the other students tempted him so. Just. Her.

Jungwon’s eyes followed her for the trio (because, of course, Heeseung had kept him in the loop with Jake – a strange case of telepathic telephone). His eyes lazed over her form as she settled down into an empty seat, a row behind Jake. She was pretty, he’d admit. But nothing drew him to her. Not even her heart beat. Her bag was slung to the ground with a clatter, and her hair fell around her face in a curtain as she pretended to search through it for her notebook and pencil. Hunched over, she tried to hide from the world for a second. Waiting, in the terrible silence of the large hall. A cough echoed from somewhere. Finally, the professor spoke once more, and she let out a shudder of a breath. Her eyes shut.

Cheeks red and heart pounding, YN thought maybe she shouldn’t had come to class at all; skipping wasn’t too bad of a sin, and most students did it with these types of classes; she was good with attendance usually, so, really, where was the harm? All this led to was humiliation at the hands of a professor who didn’t understand public buses getting delayed.

YN took a few deep breaths, a hand going to rub at her forehead before she tugged out her notebook and a stray pen. Popping back up in a flurry of hair, she watched as a handsome man hid his gaze, turning to face the professor who had begun his lecture once more. God, everyone was looking at her, she thought as she buried herself in her jacket and buried her attention into her notebook. 

Jake took a deep breath. He had gotten caught staring. Ignore her. Ignore her heart. Ignore the heat that seemed to radiate from her. Ignore her. Ignore her. Ignore it.

Slowly, her heart slowly fell into a calmer rhythm, but it didn’t seem to quiet. In fact, Jake swore it grew louder and louder. Like a ticking clock, like a pendulum swinging back and forth, like a metronome counting in a siren melody. Like a deadly monster calling his name and his name only. His blood-brothers didn’t feel her pull. When he glanced back at them, all Heeseung did was give him a questioning look. A careful look. Ever the older brother.

‘I’m okay.’ Jake thought in a mantra. ‘I’m in control.’

He was sure Heeseung doubted him; he wasn’t sure he trusted himself.

Class crept slowly by – the rest of the hour-long lecture feeling longer by how the professor droned on and on in the same monotone. It felt like an eternity with her heart in his ear. It wasn’t a squelching thing he realized. It was soft and thrumming and tempting. He flashed between daydreams of sip, sip, sip, sipping her blood from her throat to daydreams of being done with the class and running home to hide himself in his bed.

He was so lost in his thoughts that Jake didn’t notice the professor wrapping up class. The humans stood from their seats. His blood-brothers had stood from their seats. She hadn’t left. That’s all he could focus on. Her heart. Her heart was thudding and thudding in his ears. In his heart.

He stared off. Daydreaming of a girl he didn’t even know the name of. Just her heart.

YN sighed out as she stared at her incomplete notes. Only half a class worth of notes penned, and she knew this professor didn’t share his slides on the online portal. Cruel. (That was the real reason she had come late; this teacher hated technology.) Glancing around her row, suddenly, she felt invisible. Students push past her knees as they shuffled out of the row, yawning and texting and itching to get out of the lecture hall.

She needed the notes from the beginning of the class … glancing around, she debated just waiting until next class, but then she spotted him.

The cute twenty-something year old that had stared at her earlier, dressed in an inviting over-sized soft-ribbed sweater with dark long hair, sat in front of her, still. He hadn’t shifted – almost frozen like a statue. Maybe he was asleep? Some kids had learned to sleep sitting up in her multi-hour classes. She paused. Well, she could wake him – that’s only polite. And maybe he’ll be polite back and let her copy his notes.

Nudging his shoulder with a lithe finger, she asked. “Excuse me?”

Jake took in a small miniscule breath as he was jolted out of his daydream. He knew it was her. Her heart had become a melody, a tempting one but one that he fell into like the waves of an ocean, deep and dark and tempting but strangely soothing. She smelled nice. Like perfume, like detergent, like iron-blood. He licked his lips; his mouth was so dry and yet so salivating. Slowly, he turned and offered a small smile, tentative and gentle. His fingers fiddled with the hem of his ribbed sweater.

“Yeah?” his voice nearly cracked and he wanted to hide into the walls.

Oh, he was cute. His eyes were a pretty brown-red like lit firewood in a camp-fire. His hair was tousled effortlessly. His smile he offered her was bashful, soft, fleeting. But it was radiant. He was so cute. Swallowing quickly, she blinked.

“Hi, sorry, can I take a picture of your notes from the beginning of the class?” she asked.

Her heart had jumped. He had heard it. He swore he could almost feel it. His body felt aflame. Her features were so pretty. His eyes licked over her cheeks, the same cheeks he had wanted to bite earlier. His heart jittered and he jumped a bit to shift his notebook between his palms.

“Oh, yeah, yeah, of course,” he stumbled out.

The heart smiled brighter. “Thanks.”

With ease, she took a quick snapshot of his notes with her cell-phone. She squinted at his notes – there

“Sorry-- uh, sorry for the bad handwriting,” he apologized, flicking to the next page.

“No, no, its fine; better than mine,” she told him.

“I doubt that,” he teased. “Mine looks ancient.”

It was ancient. He’s had decades to change his handwriting, but it always remained this too loose cursive script. Like a doctor’s handwriting, it was indecipherable at points. He knew it. Yet, he still flushed at her words – face hot, heart hot.

“It’s pretty.” She said instead, her hand reached out to flip to the next page.

Her heartbeat filled his senses; maybe that’s why he felt so hot. Like his body was mimicking the way her heart rushed.

“I’m Jake,” he said. Sharp teeth gleaming.

“YN,” she smiled. Blunt teeth shining.

Her hand outstretched first. At the barest touch of her skin against his, he felt like he had been struck by lightning. Like every cell in his body became bubbling hot and freezing cold. Like he was stuck in the mansion, sitting in a tub of icy water before it became scalding hot. His atoms rearranged, electrified.

He pulled his hand away quick, jolting back and tugging his notebook with him. She let out a little sound that had his eyes flashing to her face.

She was pretty. So pretty, this sweet heart. His gums ached. His heart raced. Her heart raced. Their heart raced. He had to leave. He had to. He had to.

“Sorry, gotta go,” he excused lamely before stumbling out of his seat, fisting his backpack in one hand, and pressing his notebook to his chest with his other hand.

“Oh-okay,” YN barely managed to get out before she was alone in the emptying lecture hall.

Two pairs of red eyes watched her from the top of the lecture hall before, in a whoosh, they were gone.

-

“What was that all about?” Heeseung prompted, catching up to Jake easily. His hair was tousled by the teleportation, an unearthly shudder to his locks like it moved in slow motion. Like it was catching up with the world around him.  

Jake’s face felt hot, his hands felt hot. His entire body felt hot. Scorching, hotter, hotter. Out of control.

“Nothing,” he mumbled out. “It was nothing.”

“Didn’t look like it,” Jungwon commented from behind the duo. He kept his gaze solidly on Jake’s form.

“He could hear her heartbeat over all the others,” Heeseung gossiped. “YN, right?”

Her name felt like a taunt and Jake swallowed against the burning in his throat as his gums ached; his teeth were painful to the brush of his tongue.

YN, YN, YN.

Hungry. Hungry. Hungry.

“Jake.” His name sounded like a scold.

“I know,” he bit out, eyes shutting tight.

In his anger, his own fangs nicked his lower lip. A drop of red blood formed there. He licked it up and felt a burn in his throat. He could still hear her heart. How could he still hear it? He could still hear it pounding in his ears like it was his own heart in his chest. How? They were far from the lecture hall now, passing a bus stop. Sweat prickled the back of his neck.

“Do you need to stay home for a while? We don’t want ano–,“ Jungwon continued.

His cool, collected words were cut off as Jake turned suddenly, stopping in his tracks. His eyes were flaring red like ruby gems; his teeth sharp and glinting in the orange sunlight

“I don’t remind you of every mess up; I said it was nothing!" Jake snapped; a nearby lit-sign extinguished with a pop of sparks. Some humans nearby yelled in fright.

Jungwon’s dark red eyes were stoney as he stared at Jake. The fuming man huffed and puffed before he looked aside.

“This doesn’t make me think its nothing,” Jungwon countered, glancing over at the broken sign. His face was a blank canvas, almost detached looking as he walked towards Jake.

Jake’s breaths were shuddering. Jungwon paused beside him. His voice low as he spoke to him. Jake shut his eyes again, a hand raising to rub the bridge of his nose. He could still smell her. Like she was following after him. What the fuck?

‘I don’t mean to bring up the past.’ It was a fleeting thought from Jungwon.

Heeseung looked between the two, watching as Jungwon whispered to the other. It was an effort to give one another privacy with their impossible senses, harder with Heeseung’s powers, but it was possible. Like now. Jake replied back; his fangs sparkled in the setting sun. Dripping in saliva, dripping with sweet venom. When there was a lull, a barely shared look between the two men, Heeseung cleared his throat, shouldering his backpack over his back.

“C’mon, let’s just go home.” He slung his arms over the two, brotherly. “You’re probably just hungry.”

They walked away from the humans chattering about the sudden burst electrical light.  

-

“We’re home,” Jungwon called out, slinking his backpack off his shoulder.

Heeseung and Jake followed in after him; Jake pushed past the pair and up the stairs with heavied footsteps.

The grand mansion was different to the mansion they grew up in. It was larger than the orphanage for one – each man had their own large room, though few of them were decorated. In fact, if you walked around the mansion, it had a strange feeling to it. Like it was the mimicry of living. Perfectly staged. Slightly empty.

Heeseung liked this mansion despite the fake feeling he felt walking through it. It was better than his previous home. Before Jungwon had gathered them to live together once more, in this day and age, they had been scattered across the world like lost pieces of the same puzzle. Some stayed together and others had strayed off alone. Riki and Heeseung had wanted the same thing at the time. Freedom. Or what they thought was freedom.

Their apartment had been dirt-cheap – but also dirty. Peeling, molding baby-blue walls taunted him like a specter. Two small single beds took up the majority of the damp room. A large window took up one wall, looking over the city (if one could look past the coat of grime it had). There was a radiator that hummed a high-pitched shrillness more often than not separating their beds. Eventually, there was an old television, new at the time and something the pair of them splurged on with the little cash they made, shoved against the far wall next to their shared closet. The floor was often covered in books or notebooks or sometimes trash. Boys being boys, or just him and Riki being free.

This place was far better. Clean, large, and clean. His room was more decorated than most of the blood-brothers. He clearly liked it here more.

Heeseung padded into the living room and plopped down on the too-firm settee, sighing out and stretching. At least here, the ever-present sounds of hearts’ thu-thumping and gurgling and sloshing were quieter. All of their heart beats were similar, familiar, and easy to tune out. They often didn’t hear each other now. Was it familiarity? Was it fate? Was it that they were inhuman and therefore equal to their senses? They didn’t know. Just that each of the vampires’ heart rates were slow, almost sludge-like as their strange blood coursed through their veins at a snail’s pace.

The noise of the television was a different story; Heeseung’s tired eyes flickered over to Riki who was biting into his lower lip as he played a video game on the flat-screen TV. It was some new flashy vampire game with too much gore and with a screen so dark that humans couldn’t play it in bright-light. Meanwhile, Riki could see every pixel if he focused too hard.

‘Hey.’ He greeted Heeseung with a single thought; his eyes didn’t tear away from the screen.

Jungwon walked past the living room, past Heeseung and Riki, into a kitchen. Now, if anything looked like a staged space, it was the kitchen. Fake fruits sat in a basket, plates were sitting in a cabinet, dustied and unused.

Jay was there, sorting through their fridge. Handfuls of IV bags were in his arms. A negative, O positive, A positive, even an AB were among the labeled. Patiently, he reorganized their refrigerator by type. Sunghoon was sat on the nearby counter; face mask and baseball cap discarded beside him. He was suckling on an IV bag quickly, almost chugging it. Sunghoon always struggled with the taste of blood, even decades later.

“Hey,” Jay nodded at Jungwon.

“Hey; good job,” the oldest vampire yet youngest among the three nudged Sunghoon’s knee with his hand. “You didn’t get caught?”

Sunghoon’s brows raised in a challenge at Jungwon, playful, as he squeezed the rest of the blood into his mouth.

“Not that I know of, couldn’t sense anyone nearby, and Jay took care of the cameras.” Sunghoon commented, smacking his lips before tossing the IV haphazardly to his side.

“Good,” Jungwon hummed again. “Anyone else eat yet?”

“Riki devoured three of the new packs; I had one; Jay?” he looked towards the man finishing organizing the fridge.

He raised up two fingers. “Old stock.” He added. 

“Where’s Sunoo?” Jungwon asked Sunghoon.

Sunghoon leveled him with an exasperated look. “Room. Where else?”

Jungwon sighed out. It had been two weeks of this. Sunoo isolated himself often throughout the decades, growing lost in his mind and its illusions. He’s recalled stories of him and the boys that had never happened. Spoke riddles of a princess, talk of a land far away from theirs. Jungwon worried for him more often than not.

Grabbing two older blood bags, he thanked the two before treading through the rest of the mansion. The long hallways felt endless at times, but Jungwon liked it that way. It felt endless in a way that the manor they grew up in didn’t. Their whole world had been in that stupid, tiny house. That stupid burnt to a crisp mansion. Now, they had all of this. Or at least, Jungwon had all of this. It was his mansion after all. He owned it.

“Sunoo,” he called out as he walked down wainscoted hallway. Dark cherry wood and white painted walls encased him. One door on each side. A music room. A painting room. Finally, Sunoo’s room at the end of the hallway. “Dinner-time.”

Jungwon knocked once before entering, shutting the white door behind him.

-

“Dinner,” Jay called from the doorway to the living room.

“In a minute,” the youngest called. Riki hadn’t moved, his eyes locked on the television. His in-game character bit ruthlessly into a human. Screams and garbles noises came from the speaker.

“Not for you. You drank three bags in two minutes,” Jay retorted. “Hyung.”

Heeseung nodded from his spot.

“I’m still hungry,” Riki said. He didn’t complain, just stated.

“Where’d Jake go?” Jay asked ignoring the youngest, his gaze flickering upwards. He could feel the turbulent emotions like a tremble in the air. Like static electricity clinging to the back of his mouth. A calm before the storm.

“Attic,” Sunghoon called, half lying on the couch. His laptop was perched on his stomach; some notes about velocity and speed and weight shone on the screen. Heeseung didn’t understand most of it – he favored the arts while Sunghoon favored this. Science. He said it helped. Helped what he wasn’t sure.

But, of course, Sunghoon would know where Jake had gone off too. He was skilled with knowing where everyone was.

“He good?” Jay asked, more towards Heeseung.

Heeseung sighed but revealed what had happened. “There was this girl in our history course.”

“Oh, a crush?” Riki teased, laughing as he paused his game finally.

“No, not like that,” Heeseung defended, brows furrowing. “It was weird. He was like obsessing over her—”

“It’s a crush,” Riki teased, dangling his controller in between long fingers. He stretched out on the couch, kicking his now-long limbs into Heeseung’s lap.  

“No,” Heeseung scolded, nudging the younger’s legs off his lap. “He could hear her heartbeat louder than the others.”

“What?” Jay laughed a bit, concerned.

“Weird, right?” he countered. “Jungwon’s worried.”

“I got that, but he’s always worried,” Jay replied, crossing his arms as he leaned against the doorway.

The boys laughed at that.

Jake could barely hear their laughter from the attic. No, all he could hear was her. Her heart. He could feel it in his chest still, his heart thudding more ferociously than ever before.

A hand rose to press against his bare skin, shedding the soft sweater and his button up shirt. Staring into a mirror, he looked at his chest. His heart thu-thumped, thu-thumped, thu-thumped. Faster than ever. His eyes flared a hot red - almost a burning orange. Sweat dripped down his back.

He hadn’t felt this way ever. Maybe when he was young but that had been so long ago. Things were different now. They were all different now. Older. Physically and mentally. Controlled.

Control. He had everything under control. His heart beat hummingbird-quick. Uncontrolled. A vein in his neck pulsated. Control.

Breathe in, breathe out.

He laid back against the spare bed, his skin sizzling at it met the mattress. A burn of his silhouette haloed into the fabric. Smoke pillowed around him.

Breathe out, breathe in.

Her heart, his heart, was beating, still. His heart...

He had to see her again.

Something had changed today beneath the setting orange sun. Just like that night under the blood moon.

Running through the forest that night as boys upon the brink of manhood, they never realized how far their prison had been from civilization. Many nights were spent in those woods.

Dawns that bled a burning red sun, dazed in their fury and hunger. Angry at what they have become – because they had become something different. Their stomach cramped even with their gulps of red vitae. Their teeth were sharpened like wolves. Their eyes red, inhuman. Nights that felt endless in a cold blue, gnashing teeth and icy tears. Their path was formed by fear. Their unity was all they had those nights and days.

Hazed by time, many of them can only make out bits and pieces.

They hid. They hid for quite some time. Inside an abandoned hunting shed with a single mattress in the corner on the floor. There was the smell of rotten blood and animal fur. Some of them argued about going back – they’d die out here they said. Blood vials were downed sparingly, shared between the brothers as they sat on the bed. Huddled but not cold. They were never cold.

Riki remembered their fangs glinting at one another in anger. Sunoo remembered chasing Jake down in the woods one day after he fell into a fit of tears.

Jungwon remembered offering his neck, his wrist, his veins to his brothers once their rations dwindled. The pierce of fangs ached more than any needle did but he didn’t cry or whimper. It was his sacrifice.

During those dusks to dawns, they learned more and more about themselves. Their talents were more than speed or telepathy or freezing time. It was teleportation. One moment they could be in the shed; the next they were perched on a tree branch. It was immortality. Their bodies were flexible, able to bend and face the world with a resilience. It was hearing. They could hear the doe running through the forest away from a predator, away from their violence.

Sunghoon discovered the strangest one – transformation. Shapeshifting. Transfiguration. It wasn’t in anger or fear or any emotion when it had happened. He simply felt it. Tingling at his fingertips, tingling in his toes. Like a live-wire beneath his skin. His head threw back, staring up at the starry night. The deep-azure sky far above him seemed so free, seemed far from their reality. Optimistic. He took a breath in - of upturned dirt, of fresh dew, of aged-pine. And when he breathed out, he became something else.

A flurry of bats took his place. Spiraling up and away from the ground he stood on, flying high, flying free. Flying away from the forest.

In his discovery, Sunghoon had found their key to their future. A line cutting through the forest. A road. A way to civilization. He returned for his brothers and took them forward. Day broke as they walked the fine line.

For so long there had been only two constants in their lives since they walked down that road and into society. Their unbreakable bonds and their unstoppable hunger for blood. But Jake knew in his blood, as it raced for the first time in a century, that there was a third constant: you.

[thatsolacegirl]

I can't even imagine what COVID did to me. I had it twice before I could get a vaccine. (In my country, it was rolled out stage-wise. Basically, front-line workers got them first, then old people, then people of my parents' age, then me & the people in the age range b/w 18-45, & then younger children. So, b/w Oct 2020 and April 2021, I had covid twice.)

The first time I had it with my father, he barely made it out. He was in ICU, bi-pap. It took him literally 5 months to recover and another year and a half to come to his somewhat pre-covid health. I was with him in the hospital. He would've been in total isolation if I hadn't followed him (DW, I wasn't admitted to the ICU). On top of that, he is a patient with epilepsy. After covid (& still), he had to take more medicines than he was taking earlier.

The second time I had was absolutely harrowing. My ability to think just vanished for a week. That too happened during the week of assignment submission. I think that had made my immunity so weak that I get cold & flu every season (which had never happened before). Last year, I got sick 5 times, that is once every two months. Also, this year, I have had constant stomach issues (and the fucking joke is that it happened once after eating groundnuts which I was never allergic to begin with).

Also, this whole thing fucks up with your motivation & your belief system. You're not the person you were anymore. This whole thing left me with so much scepticism. The first time when I was in the hospital, I saw body bags every two days. It shakes to your core. When you see death being so near to you & you know whether your dad will survive, it fills your heart with dread.

And then I see news that people refuse to wear masks. It fills me with rage. The only thing that protected my mother & my sister from covid the first time was they wore masks.

[weralika]

so what about suicidal Kevin...

pt 1

“Say something,” Kevin almost pleads, suffocated by buffling silence, “That you hate me or…”

“I don't,” Andrew interrupts him before he can come up with something even more stupid, “Why would I hate you?”

Kevin lowers his gaze, shrugging and making a thoughtful noise.

“Because I did…” he gestures vaguely, wincing when pain starts to bloom under his skin yet again, “This.”

“You didn't,” Andrew's voice is impassible but Kevin can hear the slight trembling under his toneless words, “You didn't quite manage to.”

Kevin feels nausea at the bottom of his throat and it serves him just right — he survived to have one shitty opportunity more.

Another chance to fuck everything up, another trial and another error, till he finally learns the lesson. Andrew doesn't even look surprised, a little worried, maybe, but not tricked by Kevin's unpredictable decisions, though perhaps Andrew's foreseen that long ago, and since then waited for the shoe to drop.

“Need something?” he asks, and Kevin realizes that he was frowning for a couple of minutes already. He nods at the glass on the nightstand and Andrew brings it carefully to his lips.

The water does not help in his urge to throw up, but it is a distraction ot sort, he sips the cold liquid slowly, looking at Andrew's soft hands.

He wants to tell him everything. He really wanted to tell him everything since they met, but was cowardly afraid of being mocked. Now he knows, it was dumb as hell — Andrew would never laugh at him, not only because he doesn't have a habit of doing so, but because he understands him so deeply it's almost terrifying. He seems to be the one and the only person who knows him well, even better than Kevin does, for how incredible it may sound. He would tell him, if he asked. He would say all the I'm losts and I want to have someone heres, but it was their everlasting problem — you are too gentle to interrogate, I'm too afraid to speak up.

Though Andrew asks now, making Kevin question the reality of the situation:

“Were you planning this?” he says it quietly, just to trick Kevin to look up, because he always knew how to lip read. There was no need to speak hushly, Kevin had his own private hospital ward, paid off by Andrew himself.

“No,” he brings himself to answer, but not to meet Andrew's eyes, “I was drunk and lo- alone. In my flat, that is.”

It is the most awkward situation he can imagine himself being in — accepting his own flaws, because he was careless enough not to die when so eager to do so.

“You said you'd quit,” Andrew doesn't accuse him of anything, Kevin knows for sure, but he can feel a blush of shame on his face, “You promised not to lie.”

“I did quit.” he tries to defend himself, “Everything was too much that day. I had- I thought I had no one to talk to, I don't remember much, but I was sad.”

Andrew sighs deeply and cups his face in his palms, still cold from the glass.

“You, pouting motherfucker.” Kevin lets a small smile spread across his face, wincing from pain once again, “If you were not in fucking Texas, we'd be by your fucking ugly side.”

Kevin only chuckles at that, imagining that picture — Neil and Andrew by his side, sipping their coffees in mornings and watching soap operas in evenings.

He's smiling, looking Andrew in the eyes but the moment is broken by a strange noise. Something shuffles outside and Kevin's heart drops low.

[greeenchrysanthemums]

Thus Always to Tyrants

Chapter 7: Distrust and Fear + Picture Books

Gem is the commander of the Wintertide royal army, Grian is the leader of a resistance hell bent on taking the crown down no matter the cost. It was only natural that they would become enemies.

Beginning -> previous -> next (tba)

Read on ao3 ❀ here ❀

CW: violence, mentioned starvation, mentioned death, minor animal death, tension

Words: 10,764

Pov: Pearl + Gem

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

“Stay safe out there.” Bigb said as he pulled the cloak - black instead of her usual red  - tighter around her shoulders in the same way Pearl imagined a mother would for a child they were sending out to play or run errands.

“This isn’t my first time doing this.” Pearl said with a fond roll of her eyes. 

“Of course it isn’t. You’re a seasoned veteran in this type of work. That doesn’t stop me from caring for your wellbeing.” He said before pulling the hood up and over her eyes, messing up her hair and momentarily blinding her in the process.

“Hey!” She snorted. 

She fixed her hood and smoothed her hair back underneath it to keep the locks out of her eyes. She straightened the thigh strap that held her daggers and then tightened it, letting the cloak fall back into place afterwards. While the weapons were mostly hidden, they were obvious to anyone that looked hard enough. Innocent and unassuming at first glance, but deadly upon a further look; as was her brand.

She detested having to use the daggers, even with how easy they were to conceal and keep up an innocent image with. Her usual choice of weapon would be a scythe, in fact it was the only weapon she felt she was proficient in. However, it was far too difficult to carry around when she was trying to be sneaky, so... daggers it was.

“I better head out before it gets too much later.” Pearl said with a sigh. 

“You don’t have the advantage of cloud cover tonight either, so you better go before the moon gets too high in the sky. It’s a full moon tonight, so it’ll be fairly bright out.” Bigb said before settling down into the cushiony seat that sat near a candle by the window.

“Just the way I like it.” Pearl said with a devilish smile. She waved Bigb goodbye before opening the window and settling her boots on the sill. She exhaled before dropping down into the night, her cloak billowing out around her as she fell.

Her smile dropped from her face as she touched down and began walking towards the outskirts of town, where the large forest that surrounded the kingdom was. The moon and the castle framed her from behind as the wind nipped at her fingers and the cold of the cobble she strode upon seeped in through her tattered boots to numb her toes.

As far as Bigb knew - as far as anyone knew - she was heading to the castle to do a little bit of reconnaissance before the big day of the party. She, however, had other plans for the night, more important plans that pertained to their dear leader in a different way. She wanted to feel bad for lying to Bigb about her whereabouts, but she couldn’t bring herself to. She was long past feeling guilt for sneaking around behind the backs of people close to her. It was part of who she was at this point, a habit she picked up at a young age and never was able to shake. It had kept her alive thus far, though, so was there really a need to feel any sort of guilt? It was just survival.

There was hardly a soul in sight with how late it was but still she kept to the shadows as she went, not making a sound even as Tilly silently moved to join her from wherever it was that the wolf-hound had been lurking until that point. 

Soon the humming buzz of the city limits gave way to the thrum of life as her feet transitioned from the hard cobble of civilization to soft soil and crunching mulch of the forest. Crickets singing, birds chirping, movement rustling in the underbrush, and the noise of stray animals all reached her ears as the smell of crisp, unfiltered winter filled her nostrils.

“Alright, girl, lead the way.” Pearl whispered to Tilly, giving the old dog a pat on the head as her tail wagged and her tongue lolled out past her large teeth. Tilly didn’t have to be told twice as she raised her snoot into the air, taking a few big sniffs before letting out a low yip, taking off into the forest on quick paws.

Pearl followed behind her old companion at a similar speed, keeping her body close to the ground as she went. The wind whistled through the bare trees and snow sodden leaves flattened under the pounding pressure of their feet in a drum-like rhythm. They traveled so far into the heart of the woods that Pearl would have feared they were going the wrong way if the guide had been anyone other than Tilly. The old dog’s powerful nose had never once been wrong Pearl's entire life, and she couldn’t foresee that changing any time soon, even with old age setting in. 

The forest grew more and more unkempt the deeper they went. Gnarled trees grew thicker in width, their large roots swelling from the dirt like waves upon the ground. Long, twisting branches hung low enough to leap over. It was a terrain that would be difficult to undertake with any less experience than Pearl herself possessed. As it was, she maneuvered through the forest with practiced ease.

The cold of the winter air whipping through her hair as she ran and the light of the full moon beaming down onto her were among the most freeing feelings she’d ever experienced in her life. It always felt like she and Tilly were the only beings in the world

Unfortunately, it was hard to enjoy the feeling on tonight of all nights, because they were not simply out for an evening run. Instead, they were here in the heart of this forest to spy on their leader to find out what he was keeping from them after weeks- no, months - of obvious dishonesty.

Up until this point, she had put too much faith into Grian, hoping that he was just under a lot of stress and that was the reason for his strange behavior. She wanted nothing more than to play the part of dutiful informant for him to help further his cause, their cause.  However, as time went on, the job began to feel more and more slimy and wrong. Even when putting her doubts revolving around screwing over Gem aside, none of it felt right anymore. She could no longer overlook how dirty the job made her feel, how cruel Grian felt in his intentions and actions.

She shook the thought of Gem out of her mind. The all-consuming guilt was better saved for another night

So, while her heart raced with the adrenaline of the run, of the hunt, it also ached. A grief-like feeling boiled in her blood and gripped her lungs like a deadly pair of talons that sought to tear her apart from the inside. She couldn’t believe it had come to this, sneaking around and stalking after someone who was once her best friend.

But it had come to it. 

Grian wasn’t the same person that he was when she had met him in her youth. There was barely any proof that the mischievous but kindhearted avian had ever existed. In his place was a cagey, dismissive, untrusting, and suspicious person. Where in her heart was once trust and adoration, there was now only wariness and a bitter sense of resentment that seemed to grow day by day.

She had already made up her mind to find out the truth for herself by any means necessary long ago, it had only been a matter of when and where it would happen. It had felt like a prime piece of meat had been handed to her on a golden platter when Mumbo had let slip while she was visiting him the previous weekend that he believed Grian would be meeting with his man on the inside on the night of the full moon, just a day before their next group meeting.

He knew he made a mistake mentioning it to her immediately after the words left his mouth and refused to give up any other information, so she hadn’t been able to confirm anything right up until Tilly smelt Grian’s presence enter and then exit the city limits just as the sun began to set.

Pearl knew she had arrived almost instantly, and she skidded to a horrified halt. 

The aura of the forest changed from one foot fall to the next.  The comforting buzz of life from the forest was extinguished abruptly like a candle blown out in the wind, replaced by a static silence that buzzed in her ears so loud that she had the overwhelming urge to cover her ears, and she would have if not for the fact that she felt frozen in place, unable to move even a single inch.

The air became thick and oppressive, pressing in on her from all angles like it was a physical presence. She could practically feel it crawling along her skin like a dozen centipedes. Her stomach dropped and a cold sweat broke out along her whole body. It became impossible to breathe.

This was magic stronger than anything she thought was possible. She could basically taste it on her tongue, thick like molasses but not nearly as sweet. 

After the introduction of the grimoire into the mix, Pearl knew that Grian was dabbling in magic, but it was supposed to be a dying art. The strongest caster Pearl knew was Tango, and he could barely do more than summon enough fire to start a small bonfire. This amount of magic? It was unthinkable. It was dangerous. It was terrifying.

Tilly let out a low whine at her feet and it snapped Pearl out of her stupor. She gulped, her throat tight. She trembled lightly as she lowered herself down to run her hands through Tilly’s thick winter coat to ground herself. She took a few shaky breaths as she hunkered down into the underbrush with the old dog, praying that her moment of fear hadn’t caused her to be detected by whatever this was.

She tried to steal her nerves, her stomach twisting in knots. She knew that in order for her to get what she came for, she would have to venture further into this disgusting mass of magic. 

Her mouth was dry as she began to move, and she swallowed in an attempt to bring some moisture back. She stayed crouched at Tilly’s height, holding onto the wolf-dog to keep her balance as she carefully guided the two of them further into the forest, now stepping carefully over the overgrown roots and taking more care to not step on twigs or leaves. They were in dangerous territory now; they could not afford to make any more noise than they already had.

She prayed to whatever force might be out there that whatever kind of magic this was, it could not detect her presence simply by virtue of her being there.

Unease settled on her like a slimy film, and she could not deny that she had thoughts of turning back now while she still had the chance. She had already come this far, though, she could not give up now simply because she was letting herself succumb to fear.

Her heart almost stopped in her chest as the low murmur of voices finally reached her ears. The volume slowly increased as she inched closer towards what she could only assume was the epicenter of this cluster of magic if the way it clung to her skin like tar was anything to go by. She halted her movement when the voices became loud enough for her to make out the words being said.

“- everything you asked for! This is small by comparison!” A voice shouted into the night.

“I would hardly call this a small request!” Pearl’s heart jumped at the familiar sound of Grian’s voice. He sounded frustrated 

It appeared that she had arrived right in the middle of an argument of sorts. She crawled behind a tree with a trunk big enough to hide her body, braced her hands on the rough bark, and leaned to the side to try and catch a peek.

There, in a small clearing no bigger than a few yards in either direction, stood three cloaked figures under the light of the full moon. All of their hoods were up, and their faces obscured. She could clearly make out Grian among them, his short stature and hunched posture as he crouched upon a fallen tree were dead giveaways of his identity. She couldn’t make out enough of the other two figures to decide their identities, but one of them held a book open in their hand. 

She quickly ducked back to be hidden fully by the trunk. She decided that with their positioning and their obscured face the likelihood of Pearl being caught was higher than her chances of catching a glimpse of Grian’s double man. Or double men? There were two figures, after all.

She closed her eyes and focussed back in on the conversation happening.

“I know for a fact that he has the ability to do it. Put that damn book to use and accept my conditions or this all ends here and now! ” The other voice bit out.

Pearl furrowed her brows. The voice sounded so very familiar and yet she could not place where she had heard it before. Tension grew in the already uneasy air as neither of them made a single noise, before Grian finally huffed, a displeased groan following the sound.

“You are making things a lot harder than they have to be.” He said. Pearl could perfectly envision him rubbing the spot between his eyes.

“I’m not denying that.” The other agreed. “But I am not backing down until you agree.”

“I cannot make any promises that it’ll work,” Scar’s voice suddenly interjected, causing Pearl’s whole body to tense even further. Tilly’s fur bristled under her palm. The man had always unsettled the both of them. In conjunction with the fact that the man had no scent, there was just something about him that was off, something that felt almost inhuman. 

Grian had also claimed that he went to these meetings alone. No one else in the resistance was supposed to know the identity of the double agent. Grian had very adamantly refused to tell any of them.

“But I will do what I can, you have my word on that.” Scar continued.

“A chance, that’s all that I ask for.” The mysterious voice said, almost pleading.

“And a chance you will get!” Scar bolstered loudly, his voice bouncing around in the stagnant air. A chance at what?

“Now that we’ve agreed to your ridiculous terms, will you answer my question?” Grian snarked.

“I don’t appreciate that jab, but yes, preparations are all ready. As long as there are no further screw ups on your end, everything should go well.” 

“Jab for jab, I see.” Grian said, now sounding slightly amused.

“I am only stating the truth. Your people left all sorts of obvious clues all over the castle, even after I made it almost laughably easy for you to be able to get the grimoire from the library.” 

“If you’re done talking about my team's incompetence, can you hand over what I came for?” Grian asked. 

Pearl heard the rustling of paper as the inside man presumably handed over some kind of delicate information. She bared her teeth, lip curling back at the subtle insult that was made at her expense. Getting into the castle relatively undetected was not nearly as easy as they were making it out to be. She was far from incompetent.

“And Gem herself made these?” Grian said, the parchment still ruffling, as if he was flipping through it. Pearl’s ears involuntarily perked up at the mention of the royal commander.

“That she did, though I have made some minor adjustments for your benefit.”  The other replied, and then they continued. “I actually have one more question before we end this meeting.”

Grian paused, “What is it? Do you have yet another impossible request to ask of me?”

“Something like that,” They replied simply.

“Oh? Well, don’t leave me in suspense.”

“How long are you going to keep everyone in the dark? When are you going to start telling the truth?” They asked. Grian, at first, didn’t respond. Pearl heard him shuffle, his talons scrapping roughly against bark.

“...You are well aware of the reason the rest of the resistance can’t know your identity-”

“You know that's not what I mean,” They interrupted, “When are you going to tell the truth about everything.”

Pearl perked up, her eyes darting to the side even though it did nothing to help her see. This was what she had been waiting for. She already had confirmation that Grian was keeping things from them in the form of Scar’s deeper inclusion, but now she had further confirmation that he was keeping something more from them. Something big.

“They don’t need to know.” Grian replied without missing a beat, his tone harsh.

“They deserve to know. This is far too big of a deal to keep it a secret so close to doomsday, especially with their lives in the palm of your hands!” They tried to reason, their voice raising.

“I said they don’t need to know!” Grian shouted over the other, causing Pearl to jump, her shoulders going to her ears. Tilly emitted a low growl that Pearl quickly hushed. She had never heard Grian sound so angry, so…desperate before in her life.

“You know as well as I do that’s not true.” The other person responded in a low tone. “If thing’s go south, if even one little mistake occurs everything we’ve worked for, everything that’s led up to this, will all be for nothing.”

“It won’t come to that.” Grian all but whispered.

Pearl was so invested in the conversation that she barely noticed Tilly’s ears perking up, the old dog now at high attention. She thought nothing of it as Tilly pulled away from her to disappear into the underbrush, she simply moved her hand to clutch at the front of her cloak in place of Tilly’s fur.

“You don’t know that!” They shouted in response. “If you don’t tell them before D-day, I’ll-”

“You’ll what?” Grian interrupted harshly, “You’ll tell them for me? You know the second your involvement is revealed that worst case scenario you mentioned will be a reality for sure. You have less cards in this game than you believe you do. They don’t need to know.” 

Grian ground out that last part of his sentence, putting heavy emphasis on every single word to drive his stance home. A sick feeling swirled in Pearl’s stomach 

“You’re a bastard.” The other person spat, not arguing against Grian’s point.

“I think it’s best we cut this meeting here.” Grian responded dully, leaving no room for argument. “All we’ve done tonight is go in circles and fight with each other. We’re getting nowhere with any of this.”

“There you go, running away again.”

“Enough. Scar, you can drop the barrier now. We’re leaving.” Grian said. 

“Alrighty!” Scar’s chipper voice replied.

“They’re going to find out one way or another, Grian. You’d do well to lighten the blow for yourself while you still can.” The mysterious person said, only to be met with no response.

The book shut with a loud snap. Pearl had to stop herself from gasping as the feeling of magic disappeared suddenly and abruptly, pulled from the very air with violent force. The sounds of the night rushed back in an instant, now overly loud in her ears after being deprived of them for an extended period. She clamped her hands over her ears and squeezed her eyes shut for a brief moment before snapping them open again, unwilling to let herself be caught off guard. Black dots danced in her vision.

In the time she had adjusted to the absence of magic, a more natural silence had fallen over the forest thicket, though the unease still sat heavy in her stomach. Cautiously, oh so cautiously, she leaned her back against the tree further and peeked around the bend, trying to gauge whether or not she was alone.

Her eyes widened and she immediately drew back with a choked off gasp.

Grian and Scar were nowhere to be seen, evidently having left while she was adjusting to the change in noise. His informant, however, was still stood in the same spot as previous. His hood was lowered, his face now on full display, his eyes reflecting the light as he gazed up at the moon with a forlorn expression. 

Slowly she leaned back around to confirm what she just saw. Sure enough, it was him; she was positive of it. There was no mistaking it, anyone in the kingdom would be able to recognize that face. She had no doubts of his identity, even as he turned his back to her to walk in the opposite direction. 

She couldn’t believe her eyes, even as she blinked and rubbed at them to ensure she wasn’t dreaming. Grian’s informant, the man who had betrayed the crown, it was-

“I know, I was surprised as well.” A voice suddenly whispered into her ear.

Her eyes widened and she opened her mouth - to gasp, to scream, she wasn’t sure - but a rough palm was pressed over the lower half of her face before she could make any noise and an arm around her waist pulled her away from the tree she had been taking shelter behind.

She struggled, throwing her elbow into the ribs of her attacker and kicking at their knees in an attempt to break free as she was dragged away from the clearing and back into the darkness of the overgrown forest. Who had caught her? Where was Tilly? What was happening?

Somehow, she managed to get a firm grip on the wrist connected to the hand over her mouth and used her core strength to flip the person over her shoulder and onto their back. She twisted their wrist and planted her foot on their chest, immobilizing them as they let out a pained wheeze.

“Wait, wait, wait! I’m not an enemy!” The attacker said frantically.

Pearl ignored them and pulled one of her knives out of the sheath on her leg with her free hand. She was about to crouch down for easy access to their throat when Tilly erupted from the underbrush and began licking the attacker’s face, her tail wagging as she did so.

“Tilly, what-?” She asked in disbelief as the person sputtered and pulled away from the dog slobber despite the way it pulled on Pearl’s hold on their arm. She released her death grip on the wrist and stumbled back. The stranger pushed Tilly away by the snout and sat up, causing their hood to fall.

It was the Crestian man, Joel, Pearl believed his name was.

She crouched next to him and grabbed ahold of his collar before dragging them face to face. The man let out an “eep!” and raised his hands to show that he meant no harm, his eyes blown wide. Tilly let out a displeased huff against Pearl’s shoulder, but she ignored her in favour of glaring at the Crestian in her grasp.

“What in the hells are you doing here?” She hissed through her teeth, trying to keep her volume down. Not that it mattered, their initial scuffle had likely already been seen and heard anyway, but it was the principal of the matter.

“The same as you, I imagine.” Joel stated as he leaned away from her in a way that was undoubtedly straining his neck. “Neither of us trusts Grian.”

Her eyes widened. She dropped him roughly before standing and walking a few feet away, running a hand through her wild hair and knocking her hood off. She crossed her arms and gave him a look over her shoulder

“Is that really something you should be announcing so brazenly while he might still be near?” She questioned with an eyebrow raised.

“They’re gone by now. Not even the other guy saw us,” Joel said with a wave of his hand. He stood and dusted himself off, rubbing at his tender shoulder before pointing at Tilly with his thumb. “Besides, I think your mutt would know if the blokes were close anyway. I was on the other side of the clearing, and she sniffed me right out. I only barely managed to stop myself from screaming bloody murder when she latched onto the cuff of my trousers and led me to you.”

“Don’t call her that.” Pearl snapped, reaching down to pet Tilly’s ear. Tilly would smell Grian if he was close and alert Pearl immediately, though, so he was right on that part. They probably were safe to be talking. “You make a lot of assumptions, you know.”

“I like to think of them as observations, not assumptions.” Joel said, pretentiously shrugging his shoulders. “I mean, am I wrong?”

“Whether or not I trust Grian is none of your business.” Pearl said, her lip curling in annoyance. She turned away from him. “Just forget you saw me here and I’ll do the same for you.”

“Why don’t we join forces?” Joel asked, hurrying to keep up with her as she began moving through the forest. 

“And why would we do that?” Pearl asked, not even looking at him.

“It’s pretty obvious isn’t it? He’s lying to us, we don’t trust him, and we have a common goal.” Joel stated.

“There you go again, not only assuming I don’t trust him, but that the two of us have some kind of goal  in common.” She said, shaking her head. Tilly walked between them, turning her head back and forth to look at both of them each time they spoke.

“Sneaking through the underbrush isn’t exactly trusting behavior, in my opinion.” Joel said. From her peripheral vision, she could see him raise an eyebrow.

“It’s…not that I don’t trust him.” She said hesitantly. She shook her head, wondering why she was even indulging him this far.

“Then what is it?” He asked, cursing under his breath as he tripped over a root and almost fell flat on his face before catching himself roughly on the bark of a tree.

“Why do you care?” She snapped.

“I”m trying to gauge whether or not I should be working with this man.You saw who he was working with! You felt that insane magic, which he somehow felt no need to mention he had at his disposal! How do any of us know this isn’t just some elaborate scheme to use us and then dispose of us once we’ve served our use? ” Joel reasoned, gesturing grandly with his hands.

“It seems like you have already decided that he isn’t worthy of your trust.” Pearl pointed out. She pulled a branch out of her way, ducking under it and then letting it go. It snapped back and hit Joel right in the face. He sputtered and flailed before righting himself once more.

“Well, yes, I have, to be completely honest. He has been shady and secretive about his real intentions from the very start; I have been against this whole alliance ever since it was first proposed. The only reason I’m here is because my que- the queen insisted his cause was worth supporting.” Joel said.

“Then what does what I have to say matter?” She asked. “Whatever you think I’ll do for you, you’re wrong. I have no interest in working against him.”

“You say that, but I know you want the truth just as much as I do. You heard them, whatever it is that he’s keeping from us - all of us, you included - is something that could put our lives at risk. Don’t you want to know what we’re really dealing with?” Joel insisted. 

Pearl’s steps slowed to a stop and she glared at her feet. She wanted to turn him down a second time, but she had no real argument against his words. If she truly had no interest whatsoever in working against Grian, she wouldn’t have come here tonight. They wouldn’t even be having this conversation.

“Even if that is the case, I have nothing to offer you.” She said after a moment.

“You can offer me perspective.” Joel shot back immediately. “What brought on your distrust?  What makes a supposedly devoted member of the resistance turn on her leader?”

“I already told you, I don’t distrust Grian.” She said with a huff. “It’s just that he’s…different. He’s different from the avian I knew as a child. It’s like he’s an entirely different person.”

“Isn’t that to be expected? I mean, people change with age, it’s highly unlikely he would be the same boy you knew. Surely that’s not enough to breed the uncertainty that you bear.” Joel said.

“I never expected him to be exactly the same, of course not. I know people change. I’ve changed a lot since my youth.” She defended. Once she began, suddenly she could not stop. The words spilled and spilled from her mouth like vomit. 

“It’s that he’s changed so much. There isn’t so much as a trace of that sweet boy. The Grian I knew was mischievous and a bit of a devil, sure, but he was never ever cruel like he is now. He was never once dismissive and full of himself. He was caring and kind. He would give you the skin off his back if he thought you needed it. 

“He was like the older brother I never had. He was my best friend. When he first met me, we were both starving orphans on the street that no one gave two damns about. He saved me from starving to death when no one else would spare so much as a heal of moldy bread. He gave me the very last bit of his food with a smile on his face even though he was also starving. 

“We kept each other safe; we kept each other warm during the winter. He always did whatever he could to make me smile and laugh even when there was nothing to be happy about. He was like a light in the darkest of times.

“He-he made me feel loved and safe when the world wanted nothing more than for me to disappear. But-but I just can’t see that part of him anymore, and it- it-!”

“It what?” Joel prodded gently as she struggled to find her words.

“It scares me.” Pearl whispered. She hadn’t noticed that thick tears were rolling heavily down her cheeks until she tasted the salt on her lips. Her lower lip trembled as she pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes and sniffled in an attempt to stop the tears from falling. Tilly whimpered, leaning into Pearl’s side in an attempt to comfort her. She swallowed and then continued. “I want to know if I’m doing the right thing, helping him with this insane plan, even if I agree that the king needs to be replaced. I want to know if my Grian is still in there somewhere, if he’s really doing this for the benefit of other people and not…”

“For himself?” Joel asked. His expression was more somber now. Pearl nodded, squeezing her eyes to rid them of a few more stray tears. She took a deep breath and then nodded again, more firm and resolute this time.

“I’ll work with you.” She said, “I’ll help you figure out the truth of what’s going on. If not for your benefit, then my own. And if not for my own, then for the people of this kingdom and yours.”

A smile broke out across Joel’s face and he clapped his hands together. “Does this mean I have your support to bring his secrecy up during the meeting tomorrow night?”

“...Yes, you have my support.” She said with a sigh, once again wondering if she was making the right decision. It felt nice, however, having her feelings validated in this way. It had been so long that she had been holding that within herself.

“Yes! We’ll confront him together and demand answers!” Joel said, pumping his fist. He paused and then looked at her, his moonlit concern evident. “How likely it is, do you recon, that your peers would turn on us. Is their loyalty to Grian blind?”

Pearl thought for a moment. “I know that there are others that are just as unsettled by Grian’s behavior as I am. If it comes down to it, they’ll be on our side no matter what happens. Others…they’re so desperate for this rule to be overturned that they don’t care what Grian’s hidden motives might be, they’ll follow him. If I had to guess, it’ll be split nearly even. And this is only us assuming Grian’s secret is deal breaking to even us.”

The thought of infighting this late into the plan was frightening to Pearl, but she could not deny that this was something that needed to happen. If it came to it, and lives were at risk, the plan would just have to take a back burner.

“That’s good enough for me.” Joel said with a shrug. “Grian's plan works in Coral Crest’s favour, so I really hope it doesn’t come down to a divide, but we’ll be prepared for it if it does.”

He then reached forward and handed her a piece of parchment. She turned it over in her hands, her brow furrowing as she realized that it was entirely blank. The only thing that tipped her off to the fact that it wasn’t a normal piece of paper was the way her fingers lightly tingled under its rough surface.

“What is this?” She asked.

“It’s enchanted parchment. I have its sister piece with me, so whatever you write on your piece will be transferred over to mine and vice versa. They’re old, made back when magic was in its height, so their enchantment has worn over the years, but they should still work well enough if you have something urgent you need to convey to me before the next meeting. Grian isn’t the only one with magic at his disposal…though ours is a little more tame..”

“That’s amazing…I didn’t even know such enchantments even existed.” Pearl said in awe.

“Yeah, well, they’re as rare as they come, so you be careful with that. I don’t have another one.” Joel said, pointing a finger at her.

She marveled at the parchment for a second more before shoving it into the waistband of her trousers, much to Joel’s apparent displeasure as his face twisted up. The two of them shook hands and parted ways, electing to go in opposite directions to avoid the chances of them being seen together once they reentered the city.

Pearl kept a hand on Tilly’s scruff for comfort as they walked back to the bakery. The wolf-dog kept so close to her that Pearl would have been tripping over her with each step if this was not a familiar song and dance that they did every time Pearl was nervous.

She didn’t know if she had made the right decision in agreeing to support Joel. She was just as scared and unsure now as she was when she set off at the beginning of the night. The trembles going down her frame weren’t from the cold. She chewed on her lip enough that she feared the delicate skin would break under the abuse.

She had a lot of thinking to do to make sure tomorrow night didn't end in great disaster 

For now, she was ready to drop with the exhaustion of the night weighing on her. She almost sighed in relief as Big Bakeries came into view, the building a sight for sore eyes. She took no note of the light in the window above as she entered the alleyway and rounded to the back. She led Tilly into the bakery through the backdoor using the key Bigb had entrusted to her years ago, which she kept on her person at all times. She locked up behind herself and climbed the stairs.

She yawned as she pushed the door to her and Bigb’s shared bedroom open, stretching her arms high above her head as she crossed the threshold. She paused as Tilly let out a confused whimper. Pearl's eyes snapped open, her arms dropping down to her weapons in an instant.

The candle still burned, nearly a stub at this point, illuminating the small room with its dying light. Bigb was sitting in his chair facing the door, his arms crossed over his chest with his eyes closed, but they slowly opened as soon as the door creaked loud enough to announce their presence.

That was not what gave Pearl and Tilly pause, however. That honour went to the figure sitting on the sill of the open window.

“Welcome back, Pearl,” Bigb said, “You have a visitor.” 

                                           ❀       ❀      ❀

The gentle pink of the dawn sunrise filtered in through the frosty castle windows, scattering pale, rose tinted sunbeams along the high walls and red carpets. Though Gem had been awake since long before sunrise, she couldn’t help the sneaky yawn that escaped her as she passed by several groggy castle staff who were just now rising to attend to their duties, their own yawns far too contagious for her to handle.

She had hardly slept a wink the night before, the revelation about the grimoire far too heavy on her mind to allow her any rest. She simply could not accept the idea that it had been a simple thief that easily. It seemed far too convenient.

So, she decided to take a day “off” to visit the library and speak to the librarian for herself. Luckily there were not many preparations to make for the party anymore, and she had already sorted out that week's patrol routes and divided them up between her soldiers. The only thing she really had to do was oversee training in the evenings, and she already convinced Impulse to take that over for her, leaving her with enough free time to do as she pleased.

She shouldered open the grand doors that spanned from floor to ceiling, barely grunting at the weight of them like most would. The smell of parchment, ink, and dust immediately assaulted her nose.

Thick drapes were pulled away from long, palladian windows all around the vast room to let that rosey sunlight into the otherwise dark, cluttered space. The large, overflowing oak bookshelves sprawled so high that they kissed the ceiling, which were decorated with gorgeous murals of times long past, with flowing swirls of magic painted in pops of bright and bold colours. 

The library was two floors tall, with a winding staircase in the center of the room, where also sat the large desk that the head librarian occupied. On this second floor - which was off limits to those without clearance - ladders were fixed onto the ends of the shelves, their purpose being to reach books that were otherwise too high. 

The floors were marbled, but were interrupted by plush red carpets in several spaces, mainly those that would see a lot of traffic like walkways between shelves. There were chairs and tables scattered around and near the windows, each one housing a candle stick.

She made her way over to the head librarian's desk, flashing the woman a wide smile when she looked up as Gem approached.

“Hello, Sam.” She greeted, setting her hands on the cold oak. “I got your report. Would you mind showing me to the case where the book was stolen?”

The middle aged woman pushed her wide, circular spectacles further up her nose, giving her  eyes a large appearance as she blinked owlishly up at Gem. Her blonde and brunette mixed hair fell from the lazy bun it was pulled into at the nape of her neck, strands of it falling around her shoulders and into her face. Her long, boney fingers smoothed down the pages of the book she was reading, her eyebrow cocking in tune with the tilt of her head. An amused smile graced her thin lips.

“Right to business as always, aren’t ya, miss?” She asked before standing. 

“I’m all work, no fun, they say.” Gem joked with a laugh as she followed Sam around her desk and up the winding staircase that sat behind it. The librarian walked with a bit of a hunch, her hands folded behind her back; her lavender dress swayed with each step she took. 

Gem looked around as they ascended the stairs, their steps clicking with each new stair they climbed. She really wished that she took more time to visit the library every now and then, it really was a beautiful place. There were so many books that the shelves were all bursting at the seams, overflowing. 

The sunlight coming in through the windows was taking on a more golden hue compared to the previous pink as they made their way over to the sturdy glass displays atop a long table situated in the middle of the room that were previously unseen from down below. They were simple things, just dark oak frames filled with panes of glass on all sides as well as the top; their bottoms made of deep, polished obsidian. 

Gem looked at each of them carefully; there were three of them in total. There was a gemstone in the smallest case on the rightmost half of the table. It was a deep purple around the edges, but took on a pink to white gradient towards the center, which was cracked open like a horrible wound to show off a deep, blood red heart on the inside. 

On the leftmost side of the table was a thin wand made of a lavender tinted, white wood Gem didn’t have the knowledge to identify. It was embellished with delicate vines and flowers carved into its long faded surface. Capping its bottom and its tip were fine silver that was remarkably polished and taken care of despite the obvious signs of age that the rest of the wand showed. 

Her eyes zoned in on the empty middle case.

“Right, well, this is it.” Sam declared, giving a lackluster flourish of her arms before letting them drop to her side.

There were no obvious signs of tampering, and it made sense as to why. The method to open the cases was almost laughably simple; all one had to do was lift the frame off of the bottom to gain access to the delicate wire stands within. It was remarkably easy to steal from them. It was an oversight that had Gem gritting her teeth and mentally smacking herself in the forehead.

“Tell me about the stolen item.” She requested. Sam nodded, her wide eyes growing glossy with excitement.

“These are a collection, actually. We believe that all three items were once owned by a powerful wizard in ancient times, long, long before any of us were born! The first item here is The Evoker’s Wand. It was said to have been handcrafted by the caster himself as a rite of passage from youth into adulthood! Wands were actually used only for minor spells, as their ability to conduct magic was very limited due to their size, making them the perfect items for fledgling wizards. Though there have been casters who were capable of producing grand amounts of magic with wands even smaller than this one!

“And then this stone here, I know it doesn’t look all that glamorous, but it's actually a crystal that was once used in the tip of the wizard’s staff. It was said to have been one of many of its kind, one of the End Crystals of myth! This one has long since lost any magical properties, but these crystals used to be grand conductors of magic that were highly sought after. They say that the spells the wizard was able to produce with this crystal were world shattering.” Sam said, her hands up around her face, here shoulders hunched with her glee.

“And the missing book?” Gem asked with an amused tone. "With how you’ve described the other items, I would think they would be the first someone would think to steal. I hardly believe this grimoire was simply just decorative if these other items are so great.”

Sam’s face flushed a little with what Gem assumed was embarrassment. She cleared her throat and straightened her posture before carrying on. 

“Right, yes,” She cleared her throat again. “The grimoire… it came with the other items when the king - the previous king, not our king Ren - bought them, so we assumed it was part of the set, but it really was an anomaly. We don’t know much about it to be quite honest with you, miss. The writing was a language no one has been able to decipher before, and the cover was almost entirely destroyed long before it ever came to us. 

“I have personally taken to calling it ‘The Eye’ because of the strange drawing in the center of the book, which took up two entire pages. It felt like the book was staring at you whenever it was open to those pages…I imagine it was a very powerful spell book back when the owner was alive, but it was hardly worth anything now in the magic sense. That's what makes it purely decorative now. There probably isn’t a soul alive today that can read its text.” Sam finished with a shrug of her shoulders.

Gem bit her lip.

“Why do you think the thief chose to steal the book over any of the other treasures? Surely the crystal would sell for more. Or even the wand, the detailing is quite beautiful.” She questioned.

Sam thought for a moment before she shook her head. “I haven’t a clue. To anyone who doesn’t know the history, the wand is simply a pretty piece of wood, and like I said, the crystal isn’t all that glamorous after years of wear and tear. The book itself was damaged as well, but it was an easier fix than the crystal.  If I had to guess, they simply thought the book would sell for more.”

Gem nodded, though it left her with more questions than she had answers. She would just have to accept it as it was; a thief looking for a quick bit of coin stole something from the king’s collection and the choice was likely random. But something still just didn’t sit right with her…

“I’m sorry I wasn’t more help in your investigation.” Sam said remorsefully, rubbing her elbow nervously.

“Oh, no, you’ve been wonderful. It’s not your fault that this is such a strange mystery with no substantial leads.” Gem said, waving her hand in a way she hoped was more reassuring than it was dismissive.

“Is that all you came here for, miss?” Sam asked.

“Actually,” She started, looking up, “I was wondering if you had any books on Evalore?”

Sam blinked at her in that owlish way of hers. “Surely I do! Would you like me to go fetch them for you?”

“I would love it if you could help me find any that you have.” Gem said with a nod. Then she tacked on. “If it’s not too much trouble, that is.”

“It is hardly a bother! Barely a soul comes here anymore, I delight at being able to do my job.” Sam said in a somewhat joking tone, “Why don’t you go make yourself comfortable at one of the tables and I’ll bring you what I find?”

“Oh, no I couldn’t ask that of you. Let me help collect them?” Gem requested.

“Oh thank the gods, I just hate climbing those ladders.” Sam said, shoulders sinking with relief. Gem laughed heartily as Sam began leading her through the library to collect the books.

The sun was properly in the sky by the time Gem was sitting at one of the tables in the far corner of the library with a stack of books in front of her. She had expected there to be more, because in the end all she ended up with were seven books, three of which were children's books of pictures and few words.

“Though I am sure you already know this I must still warn you, miss. When it comes to Evalore, most everything you read or hear about the tragedy itself will be more myth than reality. It was incredibly hard for scholars to grasp the reality of the situation since it was such an isolated incident. Because of this, it is likely you will run into many inconsistencies across sources.” Sam said, patting the topmost book on the stack.

“I understand. I figured as much would be true.” Gem said.

“Then I’ll let you get to it. I hope you find what you’re looking for.” Sam said before disappearing around the shelves to return to her desk.

With a long, suffering sigh, Gem pulled the first textbook from the top of the pile and began reading.

The first few books described the land in glorious detail. Like Skizz had told her, their kingdom was situated in the heart of the great redwood forests, but what he hadn’t told her was that the kingdom itself was inside of the trees. 

Within the pages of these books were drawings of beautiful, unique buildings carved into, and built around, the tops of these giant trees, with pathways and bridges connecting each and every one of them together. Spiraling staircases were built around the trees all the way from bottom to top, but they were not needed by most of the inhabitants because they were a civilization of avians.

Gem had  heard that there was once a kingdom of purely avian citizens during the time of magic, but somehow Evalore had never come up by name before.

According to two separate books, Evalore’s main form of trade was their spiced wine, which was harvested from the sprawling apple orchards that they cultivated on the border of their kingdom. However, another book also claimed that they made a pretty penny off of jewelry made from polished stones, beads, and their own feathers. Gem ran her fingers down the beautiful drawing of a bracelet, wondering what it would have looked like in person. 

Music was another thing Evalore had been known for, particularly their flute work. It was custom to carve an instrument from the wood that was dug out of a newly created home and give it to the occupant as a gift. Most often it was a flute of some kind, but string instruments were also common.

It came as no surprise that they were once host to competitions pertaining to flight, including races and diving. What was a surprise, however, was the fact that they also hosted wrestling competitions during their yearly festival.

She soon found herself lost in the pages of the books, immersing herself in the history of this land which no longer existed as the hours passed like the blink of an eye. They painted a picture of a beautiful kingdom full of beautiful people and beautiful culture. 

However, the tragedy she was hoping to learn more about was hardly mentioned more than once or twice, and only as an afterthought.

After countless hours of reading, she knew just as much as she did at the start of the day. By all accounts the fall came out of nowhere. There wasn’t a single explanation in sight for the sudden massacre and destruction.

There was no mention of a foreign power at play, no mention of growing tensions with another kingdom. Hells, there wasn’t even any reports of growing tensions within the confines of the kingdom itself. No unrest, no uprisings, no interpersonal wars, nothing. Evalore was thriving and happy one day and then it was gone the very next.

Gem sighed deeply and sank into the chair with a groan, her forehead resting on the edge of the book with her nose squishing against the wood of the table.

It truly felt as though answers were never within her grasp.

She heard footsteps approaching her through the near silent library, and then a familiar voice said, “I was beginning to think we needed to send out a search party.”

“Hi, Scott.” She said with a sigh. She sat up and ran a hand through her hair to get a few stray curls out of her face. She wished she had the foresight that morning to wear her hair back or in a bun. “Am I needed somewhere?”

“No, I was just wondering if you were getting up to. Surely looking into the grimoire situation wouldn’t have taken this long.” He said. Dusky hues of purple and blue backdropped him from the window as he sat down in the chair across from hers. He picked up one of the books and then raised an eyebrow. “Evalore?”

“Yeah,” She confirmed, planting a cheek in her palm and grabbing one of the unread children’s books from the pile. “I don’t know what I was expecting to find, but I haven’t found it.”

“You must have heard what the knights have been saying, I assume.” Scott said, sighing as he set the book back down on the table.

“That we’re going to end up just like that?” She asked, eyes still downcast. She flipped the children's book open lazily, running her finger tips down the inked parchment. 

“Evalore was an unpredictable tragedy, no one knows how or why it happened. The situations are entirely different.” He said softly, reaching out to take ahold of her hand in a comforting manner.

“I see as much now. I guess I was hoping that if I found out what caused the fall of Evalore, I could pinpoint a way to prevent whatever it is that Grian is planning and make sure we don’t end up in ruin.” She turned the page of the children’s book, “But it was all for nothing. It feels as though everything I have been doing lately is all for nothing.”

“Come on now, Gem, you know that’s not true.” Scott said, though his words fell on deaf ears.

Gem turned the page to the book and paused, her posture straightening as her eyes landed on something…peculiar. She pulled her hand away from Scott’s and took the book into a proper hold, flipping back to the first page.

This particular children's book had no author, only the initials F.S delicately inked in the bottom left corner of the cover, and it had taken a more childish method of telling Evalore’s tale, with a baby bird as the main character and a snake as a villain. It was so fictionalized that she hadn’t paid it any mind when she first spotted it. Truthfully, she hadn’t even intended to read it in the first place, but now she was studying each page with great care.

The party was grand, with flowers aplenty and food in abundance. The birds danced and danced around the sparkling fire until the stars were high in the sky. Their joy knew no bounds.

The baby bird had long grown tired of the party. He was exhausted, his little body craving for nothing more than the soft leaves that cradled him in the bottom of his nest. He searched and searched around for his mama and papa, for he had yet to learn how to fly and needed their help in getting home, but they were nowhere to be seen.

When he found them not in the thicket of the party, he wandered out onto the thinner branches. But before he knew what was happening, his little talons slipped! 

The chick fell from the alcove so high up in the trees, falling past colourful leaves and flowers, his little wings flapping desperately to stop his fall to no avail. His tiny body bounced off of the soft soil of the ground he’d never touched before. 

Everything was new, everything was strange. He was so, so very scared. 

He knew the way up, but he was too small, too weak to make the climb on his own. His wings were too tiny, his skills too undeveloped. He could not make it home on his own.

“Won’t someone help me!” He cried from the ground so far below the branches. The jovial noise above continued on, oblivious to his pleas

“I can help you.” A voice whispered from the underbrush.

Frightened, the chick turned to the voice. A snake, long and purple and covered in speckles of black slithered from the shadows. His eyes glowed like the embers of a hungry fire.

“Who are you?” The chick asked.

“I am one who watches. I watched as you fell, I watched you cried, I watched as they ignored you.” The snake hissed in reply.

He circled the young bird, his long body coiling around and around the chick’s own small one. The chick looked up at the snake, his tears beginning to dry.

“If you welcome me into your home, I can bring you up high into the trees.” The snake hissed.

“But Mr. Snake,” The chick asked, “Your teeth are so sharp  and your gullet so large. Will you not eat me and my own?”

“No, little chick, I would never eat you. I am a friend!” The snake replied. "I only wish to help."

“Do you promise?” The chick asked.

“Why, of course I do.” The snake said, his words sincere where his eyes were not.

And so the chick climbed atop the snake’s back and led him through the branches, welcoming him into the tree he called home. Up and up they went.

However, as soon as the two of them made it to the top, screams erupted!

The snake darted for the rest of the chick’s flock, throwing him from his back with little care as he devoured all in his path. They tried to run, but they were too slow. The once loud, happy party was now silent save for the chick’s cries.

“Snake, you promised!” The chick weeped. “You lied, you lied!

“Oh, little chick, I never lied. I promised not to eat you and I have not.” The snake hissed with eyes as cruel and as sharp as a the fangs in his mouth, his belly now swollen.

"How could you? I thought you were my friend!" Cried the chick

"I am one who watches. I watched as you fell. I watched as you cried. I watched as you foolishly trusted me-

There! Gem paused her reading on the page that had initially caught her interest. It was a full face shot of the snake. He was drawn to be smug, his cruel face taking up the entire page in a way that was undoubtedly meant to be unsettling, but that wasn’t what was intriguing. What was were the markings etched onto the snake’s forehead, which was exposed with the downward angle he was drawn in.

It was an eye.

“Gem?” Scott questioned, his confusion evident.

She ignored him, jumping to her feet with the book in hand and taking off through the library with her mind racing. She bumped into several shelves on her way, knocking more than a few books to the ground in her haste. Sam was looking in her direction with wide, alarmed eyes as Gem approached with alarming speed. She skidded to a halt in front of Sam and shoved the book into her face.

“Oh!” Sam exclaimed, flinching back.

“Was this similar to the eye you saw in the grimoire?” Gem asked, panting for breath. Scott stumbled to a stop behind her.

“What is going on?” He asked.

Sam looked between her, Scott, and the book with that same startled expression before she adjusted her glasses and squinted her large eyes at the page. Her eyes widened again and she took the book from Gem’s grasp. Her mouth fell open and she blinked a few times before looking up at Gem. She set the book down gently on her desk and nodded once.

“What is this about?” Sam asked uncertainty. 

“Is it at all possible that the stolen grimoire was a relic from Evalore?” Gem asked, ignoring Sam’s own question.

“From Evalore?” Scott asked in disbelief. “Everything from Evalore was destroyed during the incident, it would have been a bigger deal if Wintertide got its hands on even a piece of its vast wealth. No one who has handled that book has ever made such a connection.”

“It’s-it’s possible. We came into possession of all three treasures during the first war, and the king never did say exactly where he got them from… But the grimoire was hundreds of years older than the kingdom of Evalore itself, and it wasn’t even written in the language that they spoke. That would only raise the question of why it was there.” Sam said slowly, her eyebrows furrowed in thought. “And as sir Scott pointed out, no one has ever placed such a high value on the old book before. It really was just a dusty old book.”

“Then how do you explain the similarity?” Gem asked, stamping her finger into the page for emphasis, accidentally crinkling the page a small amount with the force used.

“I can’t say I have ever even seen eyes used as a symbol in relation to Evalore.” Scott said. Sam shook her head.

“Nor have I,” She said, “Though I can’t deny how strikingly similar the eye looks to the one in the grimoire…”

“Surely it can’t be more than a coincidence.” Scott said. He carried on, a little more exacerbated with his next words. “It’s nothing more than a children's book, Gem.”

“Surely it has to be more,” Gem said. She grabbed the book, flipped it around and then brought it back to the first page. “It seems an odd twist of fate that a book with a similar symbol within its pages as the one in this book, one that is speculated to be of high magical value, has gone missing so soon after Grian has announced to me a suspicious ‘plan’. Not only that, but there is a party fast approaching, a party just like the one in this book.”

“Slow down, Gem. When did we begin assuming that it was the resistance that stole the book? I thought we had decided that it was a thief looking for riches.” Scott said, holding a hand up. 

“That was before this!” Gem exclaimed, gesturing to the book.

“You cannot seriously be suggesting that Grian has based his plot for overthrowing the kingdom of Wintertide off of a fictitious children’s book.” Scott said slowly.

“That’s not what I’m suggesting!” Gem said, annoyed. “What I believe is that somehow Grian made the connection that Wintertide was unknowingly in possession of a powerful magic relic and intends to make use of it at this party.”

Scott was silent for a moment, taking in her words. 

“Even if that were the case, what could he really hope to accomplish? No one who can cast the kind of magic that it takes to bring down entire kingdoms even lives in this day and age. There is no way he could ever hope to cast that kind of spell.” Scott reasoned.

“With enough man power, he just might.” Gem said, deadly serious.

A pin could be heard with how silent it suddenly became in the library. Sam looked between the two of them with clear horror and fear written all over her now very, very pale face. Scott took one look at the librarian and then took a hold of Gem’s arm, pulling her out of Sam’s ear shot before leaning in and whispering.

“Do you understand the implication of this theory of yours?” Scott asked, unease, or perhaps fear, leaking into his words. Gem nodded.

“Whatever it was that happened to Evalore all those years ago, Grian is trying to replicate it.”

[jadeshifting]

🍅 i don't like tomatos but i like drama

LOLL REAL

🍅 SCARLET TOMATO … what’s the juiciest secret you’ve ever kept or will keep in your DR? the kind of scandalous thing that would positively burst into drama if revealed

★⋆. — IN MY HOGWARTS DR

the juiciest secret I’ve got locked away—and believe me, it’s a juicy one—is that Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger are sneaking around like a pair of star-crossed lunatics. Gryffindor’s golden girl and Slytherin’s prince, all clandestine meetings and smoldering stares across the library—and in the broom closet by the dungeon entrance, which is where i unfortunately found them that one time (gag.) if anyone found out, the castle would combust in a glorious mess of gossip and hexes. but me? i’m just sitting pretty with front-row seats to the drama that could unfold… if I were a worse friend

★⋆. — IN MY SUPERNATURAL DR

this one isn’t just one of those little skeletons you tuck away in a closet—no, this one’s practically a full-blown graveyard.

there’s this one hunt, right when i start tagging along with Sam and Dean. we’re up against a crossroads demon, and here’s the thing about crossroads demons—they’re all about deals. me? i’ve got a history with them.

it isn’t the kind of thing i feel like unpacking with the boys. years ago, when I was barely more than a kid with nowhere to go and nothing to lose, i stood at a crossroads myself. and yeah, i made a deal. ten years of freedom in exchange for a soul I didn’t think I’d need anyway. i’d planned to outwit the system, find some loophole, or just live wild and free while the clock ticked down.

the secret isn’t just the deal—it’s that I’m still on borrowed time. the clock is ticking, and neither of them has any idea. if they found out? it’d be the drama of the century. Sam would get all earnest and determined to save me, probably drowning in research until he passed out, and Dean? Dean would be furious, storming around and yelling.

★⋆. — IN MY EVER AFTER HIGH DR

let me just say this—when you’re the future queen of Eros’ Kingdom, the tea you hold isn’t just hot, it’s boiling. i’m talking love triangles that could crumble kingdoms, forbidden crushes that would make headlines, and alliances so tangled they’d crush political alliances in a half-second.

maybe the juiciest is that there’s a certain royal someone who’s been sneaking around with someone they definitely shouldn’t be. i won’t spill who, because Cupid confidentiality, you know? my wings are heavy with secrets… besides, i’m not exactly unfamiliar with falling in love with someone below your political status (a bodyguard. embarrassingly cliche)

★⋆. — IN MY WALKING DEAD DR

it’s gotta be the fact that i wrote Carl a love letter before everything went sideways with Negan. it’s probably still tucked under my mattress, sealed in an envelope with his name on it, and no one but me knows what’s inside. i didn’t even plan on giving it to him—i mean, what if he laughed, or worse, just didn’t feel the same? i can imagine Carl reading about how I wanted us to road trip down Route 66 in the Ranger, just the two of us, collecting supplies and chasing sunsets. or how I admitted, plain as day, that being with him made the apocalypse feel like something I could survive. if he found out, i don’t know how he’d feel, so I stuffed it away, figuring it was safer as my little secret

[emiimagination]

My Hazbin Hotel AU

Hidyho everyone 😄👋

Given the results of the poll, you all want to see the different Hazbin Hotel AUs that I have imagined. So here are my Hazbin Hotel AUs with their names and their plot.

The Deer Gods AU

In an isolated village in Ireland, the population still worships two Cervitaurs, half-deer, half-man creatures. One of blood red brings Death, the other with white fur grants Life. Hidden in a sanctuary in the heart of the forest, they protect the village and its inhabitants… until the day the Crusader Knights arrive in the Village to bring the Good Word! Between shenanigans and plots, friendship and cruelty, the Deer Gods will have to fight to survive this invasion.

Well, this AU, I have already introduced it to you ^^ Alastor and Lucifer are Cervitaurs and are Charlie's parents. Their life is peaceful until the arrival of the Crusaders led by Adam. The fiction is already available in French on AO3 and Wattpad and the translation is currently in progress.

The couples of this AU: Radioapple / Huskerdust / CherriSnake / Chaggie

The Headcanon AU

This is more of a series of fictions based on the series. You can find "The Rainbow After the Rain" and "And There Was Light…" as well as others that will offer a continuation of the Hazbin Hotel series.

The couples of this AU: past Lucilith / Radioapple / Huskerdust / Chaggie / CherriSnake / others may arrive later.

Son of the Radio AU

Alastor has a Hellborn son: Wendigo aka Wend! The young demon deer, although almost as powerful as his father, does not seek to dominate Hell but joins Princess Charlie Morningstar in her Redemption Hotel project, mainly in order to help his boyfriend: Angel Dust! However, when Alastor returns after 7 years of absence, he doesn't really seem to accept the relationship between his son and the porn actor.

This AU is the one that presents the most OCs. There are three ^^ however, this AU is the only one where I don't use the Huskerdust. Husk will still have an important role with Angel but no romance is expected for them since Angel is already in a relationship.

The couples of this AU: DeerSpider (AngelDustxWendigo) / CherriSnake / Chaggie / past Lucilith / once side Radiostatic / once side GuitarSpear / maybe Radioapple

Behind her smile AU

Alanor; known by all as the Demon of the Radio, this woman has a terrible reputation as a very powerful and extremely dangerous Overlord with boundless cruelty. But then what is she doing here, at the door of the Happy Hotel of the princess of Hell? Why would she want to join this project of redemption of Sinners? What secrets can she hide behind her smile?

Genderbend Alastor AU where Alastor is a woman named Alanor, Demon of the Radio with boundless cruelty and a dark past who hates men more than anything. But why? What could she hide?

The couples of this AU: past Lucilith / Radioapple / Chaggie / Huskerdust / CherriSnake / GuitarSpear

Let Me Be Surprised AU

Alastor has just died! But instead of falling into Hell as his life as a serial killer and cannibal would have predicted, he is pulled away from Darkness by Lucifer, a Seraph Angel who wishes to rehabilitate Sinners. But Heaven being far too calm for him, Alastor steals the watch that represents his life and winds it up to return to Earth, unwittingly dragging Lucifer with him. Now immortal, Alastor is determined to take his life back in hand and become unforgettable! And for that, he intends to use Lucifer's naivety as well as the exceptional powers of Emily and Charlie, two angel and demon twins who say they are the daughters of Lilith, the Queen of Hell!

AU inspired by this drawing by @art-from-iso, itself inspired by this song by All Dogs Go To Heaven, and by Daisies by Black Gryph0n. So we have the couple DemonAlastorxAngelLucifer and it's a kind of Human AU

the couples of this AU: Radioapple / CherriSnake / GuitarSpear / Huskerdust

Not How It Seems AU

Alastor was murdered when he was only 9 years old. But instead of going to Heaven like all children's souls, he ends up in Hell! With incredibly powerful powers, he becomes the Terrible Demon of the Radio and obtains the title of Overlord. When he hears about the Queen's Redemption project, his curiosity and desire for fun make him join the crazy adventure of the Hazbin Hotel! However, in Hell as elsewhere, things are never what they seem!

A kind of Swap AU where Alastor is the only Sinful Child, where Charlie is an angel, daughter of Michel and Sera, twin sister of Emily who was fallen and who became Queen of Hell with her wife Vaggie and who is constantly in competition for the throne with Satan, former Prince of Hell, and Lilith, First Woman who became Sin of Pride. But despite her kingdom in precarious balance, Charlie is determined to make up for her mistakes by rehabilitating the Sinners in order to stop the Exterminations led by Adam and his son Abel!

The couples in this AU: Chaggie / CherriSnake / WrathPride (SatanxLilith) / GuitarSpear one-side / Huskerdust / CarmillaxZestial

And one last AU but more based on Helluva Boss but mixed with Hazbin Hotel so here it is:

Second Chance AU

Stolas just died… he remembers feeling his last breath leave him… and yet, he wakes up in his child's body, a few days after his birthday where he met Blitzø. Realizing that he was given a second chance to live, Stolas decides to no longer lead his life to make his neglectful father proud, preferring to do everything to be happy and hoping to fix the mistakes he made in his past life. And surprisingly, the key to his happiness seems to be by becoming the adopted son of the King and Queen of Hell.

Quite old AU but which has more or less regained its meaning first with the series Hazbin Hotel (for characters such as Lucifer, Charlie and Lilith and the others) and the last episodes of Helluva Boss

The couples of this AU: Stolitz / MilliexMoxxie / Lucilith / Chaggie / Huskerdust / maybe Radioapple

And there you have it!

I know, there are a lot of them. My brain is too inspired by Hazbin Hotel 😅

So? What do you think? Which one is your favorite?

[oliolioxenfreewrites]

osi’s midnight masquerade; a theatre troupe of queer vampires who play by their own rules. Would you be able to tell us a bit more about the vampires who make up this theatre troupe? 👀

I couldn't begin to understand the lives of these salacious vamps, so, I'll let Osi provide clarity ;)

a mini wip intro for chirstmas?? i think yes

WIP INTRO - Osi's Midnight Masquerade (narrated by Osirys himself)

Being a vampire isn’t a blessing. Let’s start there. It’s not the romanticized eternal youth nonsense you read about in books or see on glossy screens. It’s not the allure of satin sheets or the thrill of moonlit hunts. It’s a tightrope walk, every step one miscalculation away from falling into something dark, sharp, and impossible to climb out of. I would know—I’ve been walking that line for centuries.

To most, we’re the fantasies they want to believe in: seductive silhouettes cutting through smoke and shadows, predators with a touch of tragedy. People want us to be beautiful and dangerous, the ultimate contradiction. They want the dream of immortality wrapped in silk and sharpened by fangs. And we let them believe it. We have to. The truth? The truth is too messy, too raw for their imaginations to handle. Without connection—without others to keep us tethered—we lose ourselves. The hunger takes over. The walls of who we are collapse. That’s why I built the Masquerade in the late 70s. Not just for the performances or the power, but for the people. For the family.

And what a family it is. Deeply flawed, creative, brilliant, infuriating—but mine. Each of them brings their chaos, their hunger, their fight. Every single one of them keeps me grounded in ways I can’t always explain.

Milo is the heartbeat of the Masquerade, the one who keeps us moving even when everything else threatens to fall apart. Her music isn’t just accompaniment—it’s a command, shaping the energy of every performance, holding the audience in her grip. She doesn’t simply compose; she controls, her hands always in motion, her mind consistently several tempos ahead. Small-framed, but impossible to miss, Milo has a presence that feels like gravity, the kind that steadies the room while reminding everyone who’s really in charge.

Her sharp, hazel eyes don’t miss a thing, and her voice—measured but biting when necessary—can cut through the noise like a conductor silencing an unruly orchestra. She thrives on precision, on keeping chaos at bay, but she’s just as willing to unleash it if she thinks we’ve earned it. Milo doesn’t deal in softness, but when you’re spinning out, she’s the one who holds you steady, unyielding and certain, even if she’ll never admit that’s what she’s doing.

Still, Milo isn’t easy to know. For all her command, she keeps most of herself locked away behind a wall of sharp wit and sharper boundaries. You’ll catch glimpses sometimes—in the way her fingers drift over the piano keys during a rare moment alone, or in the weight of her gaze when she thinks no one’s looking. But the second she realizes you’ve noticed, she shuts it down, turning back into the unflinching architect of the Masquerade’s rhythm.

Vinscint is her constant, the foundation beneath her intensity. Tall, broad, and deliberate, he moves as if he's never rushed a day in his life. His calmness steadies the surrounding storm, and his strength quietly holds the Masquerade together when everything else feels like it’s falling apart. They create a balance—Milo’s sharp drive is softened by Vinscint’s patience, while the weight of his silence is anchored by her commanding presence.

Together, they’re the reason we’ve even lasted this long, the ones we all look to even when we won’t admit it. Milo keeps the rhythm, Vinscint keeps the ground beneath our feet, and between the two of them, we manage to survive.

René? René is my star, the one who steps into the spotlight and makes you forget the world existed before he arrived. He doesn’t just perform—he commands. When René moves, it’s with a grace that doesn’t feel learned, as though the stage itself bends to accommodate him. His voice has a richness that fills every corner with the theater, every word an invitation laced with danger, every glance a challenge you know you’ll lose but can’t help but accept.

His presence is magnetic and intoxicating in a way that feels unfair, like the universe cheated by putting that much beauty, talent, and raw hunger into one person. He burns so brightly it’s a miracle he hasn’t engulfed himself entirely, and yet there’s always the sense that he might. He leans into it though, weaponizing the tension, the risk, and the inevitability of his self-destruction. He thrives on it, and the audience does too. They adore him, worship him even, and René takes that adoration like it’s owed. Because to him, it is.

Tof is something else entirely. He doesn’t just stir up chaos; he is chaos, wearing it like a tailored suit, all sharp smiles and sharper edges. He steps onto the stage with a kind of careless confidence, like he owns it—and, in a way, he does. Rules mean nothing to Tof. He doesn’t just break them; he obliterates them, scattering the pieces for everyone else to trip over while he watches from the sidelines with a grin that could cut glass. He likes to see how far someone is pushed before they snap, and when they do, he’s there, ready to offer a smirk or a sharp quip that makes you wonder if he planned the whole thing.

But here’s the thing about Tof: he’s not as reckless as he wants you to think. Beneath all that chaos, there’s a mind that’s always working, always calculating. Every sharp word, every sly grin, every rule he shatters—it’s all deliberate. He’s not just ahead of the game; he’s the one running it, even when it looks like he’s spiraling out of control. That’s his brilliance. He’ll make you think he’s falling apart, but the truth is, he’s the one pulling the strings.

Now, of course, Tof does have one glaring flaw��or maybe it’s just part of his charm. He can’t keep his dick in his pants. It’s not just the sex, though that’s certainly part of it. For Tof, it’s about the game, the thrill of pursuit, the power of knowing he can have anyone he wants—mortal or immortal. It’s the tension, the chase, the way seduction gives him the upper hand before the other person even realizes they’re playing.

Moving on to Xaviyr, my baby. My soft spot. My reminder of what it was like to feel alive before the hunger sank its teeth into me. Xaviyr is young by our standards, still carrying a kind of softness the rest of us can’t afford anymore. His face, round and open, hasn’t yet been hardened by centuries of survival, and his wide, dark eyes still hold questions instead of answers. There’s a quietness to him, a gentleness that stands in stark contrast to the sharp edges of the rest of us.

But don’t mistake that softness for weakness. Xaviyr may not burn like René or cut like Tof, but there’s a strength in his stillness that’s impossible to ignore. He draws people in without demanding their attention, makes them feel safe without ever promising safety. It’s a skill none of us could replicate even if we tried.

Still, I worry about him. Xaviyr’s softness is part of what makes him so vital to the Masquerade, but it’s also what makes him vulnerable. This world isn’t kind to people like him, and I can see the toll it’s already taking, even if he doesn’t admit it. He’s learning, though. Learning how to navigate the hunger, the power, the constant push and pull of what it means to be one of us.

Pandora, the silent watchdog of our darkest secrets, her gaze defined by the weighty burden of her knowledge. She is known for her clairvoyance, an ability that survived her transition into vampirism. Her eyes, like deep pools of wisdom, perceive the fragile fissures in our lives long before they expand, a subtle warning etched in her expression. She is the guardian who steps in when we teeter on the edge of self-destruction, gently guiding us back from the precipice when our blindness threatens to consume us.

And last, but certainly not least, there’s me. Osirys. Osi to those who’ve earned it. I’m the one who built all this, the one who keeps it standing when everything else threatens to fall apart. I’m not the star—that’s René. I’m not the heart—that’s Milo. I’m the centerpiece, the one who holds the pieces together even when they don’t want to fit.

I’m not proud of everything I’ve done to keep the Masquerade alive, but I don’t regret it either. Regret is a luxury vampires like us can’t afford. The stage is what matters. Our family is what matters. And as long as I’m here, as long as the lights still burn and the audience still comes, I’ll make sure the Masquerade survives.

When we come together, we create something special that’s bigger than just each of us alone. On stage, we become unstoppable. The crowd feeds us their amazement, their curiosity, and their willingness to be swept away, and we soak it all in. That’s the real desire—not just our good looks or charm, but the presence we bring. It’s about being able to look someone in the eye and make them feel truly seen, wanted, and alive. That’s what makes us what they call, 'seductive.' Once they experience that connection, they won't want to let it go.

Neither do we.

That’s what the Masquerade is. A lifeline. A purpose. It’s what keeps not just me, but all of us from falling apart; no matter how sharp the line my children and I walk. If holding on to the spotlight makes me a monster, so be it. I’ve learned to live with that. Because at the end of the night, when the audience is gone and the lights fade, I’m still here. And that has to count for something.

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[spotaus]

Hehehehehe

Dream being particularly spiteful in this one moment is SUPER important to me for the sake of showing just how much Killer is enduring to protect Nightmare, but also to show Night a side of Dream he hasn't gotten to see yet. All NIghtmare knows up until this moment is what little Dream has told any given one of his spies (plus Cross who was only there for about a week) and what he knows from childhood. This Dream? This Dream reminds him of when Nim used to get mad at a servant or a guard for slacking or spilling or being sloppy in a fight. This Dream was the one who smacked him in the skull with a bust and told him he hated himafter the coronation. This dream... well, this Dream was actively trying to kill his big brother, someone Nightmare once promised protection to. Someone he cares about. (And he hears whatever twisted narrative Dream attributed to his 'betrayal' at the coronation.) He hears it all, he sees a good chunk of it, and he knows he can't trust his brother not to kill.

And. Yeah, I'm never the best with injuries but I think that the heavy loss of mana AND blood would be something that would keep Killer DOWN down. like, paralyzed style~ And it makes the later bits all that more intense, AND acts as a reassurance for Dream because. well. no one would survive an injury like that even if they did get him to a healer. he could have a slow, agonizing, death instead! That works!

The shift in Dream, too, the moment he sees it's NIght! The pleading hardly even registers aside from, like you said, more reassurance that it really is his sweet brother! He doesn't care a lick about the actual pleading or distress. He'd tug Nightmare forward into his chest and pick him up in a hug (luckily for a beanpole he's strong (bow draw requires a lot of upper bodystrength)) and then start to leave, no matter how much Night is struggling and wriggling and crying! Night is weak and a gangly teen and Dream is a warrior who's been training for years with a VERY motivated knight.

And owieeeee. killer just having to watch as Nightmare is taken so easily. The- THE BROKEN MASK- Dude imagine how pathetic he must feel, laying there, bleeding out, Night's shattered mask discarded on the floor in the wake of Dream's attack? He failed to protect Night, and now even symbolically the world is taunting him by leaving Night's broken mask behind. (Two things Night trusted to protect him, both used and spent and not nearly enough to truly help him in any meaningful way-)

I know!!! I forgor he existed haha! And I'm glad we vibe with the new thought on where to Drop Error in and wth the staff was up to!

I love the idea that Error and Ccino are equally stubborn and czre about each other and the others enough that they just end up going together for the best of all involved- (Error wanting to protect Ccino because he knows he can't fight is SO adorable and fitting- same with Ccino wanting to keep Error out of trouble-) And ofc yeah. Ccino making it to Killer and immediately jumping into action while Error fawns at the situaiton.

Ohhhh having Error there gives this scenes SO many more posibilites too, just like you did with all of ur entire description of this scene idea. It was so so tasty. Error kinda blue-screening over the fact that. Wow. Killer's like *actually* hurt. This isn't Horror landed a punch so Killer got a bruise kinda hurt, this is Someone was aiming to kill kind of hurt. And he feels awful when Ccino asks if he can heal. He can only mutter a 'nothing strong enough'. Because, tbh, he's pretty sure even Geno would have a hard time with this one. This was something he'd heard of. A monster losing so much life-force so quick would only last minutes. He doesn't even notice Ccino trying to get him out of the room because, like you said, he focuses on potential threats returning. Dust's storm is still going strong, and he can basically feel the fight out front. He needs to stay and protect them, even if Killer looks horrible and Ccino can't seem to staunch the flow fast enough-

And then Ccino out of left-field with the prayer!!! Ur right, Night *was* the only god anyone in the country believed in. Ccino of all people dropping a prayer, when he'd denounced the belief that Nim, or Nightmare, or any of them were gods? Strange? Then he gets to witness the the equivalent of an eldritch being awakening and gently stablizing this very clearly dusting guy, before going back to sleep. All at Ccino's ask. And. 1) HOLY SHIT???? He is FREAKING right now. like. excuse him, he needs to go sleep for a century, why did the equivalent of a god (which he's highkey an aethiest) just awaken to heal the funny cat guy? like, he's not complaining, but he can'tquite process it. 2) Ccino's been cool in his book for a WHILE but suddenly he understands what that Rogers guy was on about, why he seems to respect Ccino so much, and why the others do too. Ccino can bring incredible things to fruition, and suddenly Error is even more thrilled to have Ccino as a brother-in-law one day. Y'know. After he confesses to Night and they fall madly in love. according to his plan at least.

He is NEVER mentioning it to anyone aside from Reaper for sure, and hearing that Life knows *something* is comforting, but Error just can't believe he got to witness such an ancient, ancient magic arise to care for that who Ccino cared for. Error also started putting things together and being more aware of the magic surrounding Ccino after that point when things calmed down. Ccino might have had weaker magic personally, but his aura seemed to be rimmed by that ancient presence. Very, very faintly. Like it was watching him. And Error only sees it because he knew it when it cast the spell. No one, not even Geno, would be able to detect it otherwise.

And. Y'know, Killer gasps awake and Ccino goes back to making sure he stays with them, and Error is still frozen just inside the door when the others burst in. Dust is immediately sent away again, Horror is in shock beffore getting over it to try and lend a hand. Error is horrified by Cross' state too, entirely incapacitated and, strikingly, he has very similar (though more concentrated) wounds to Nightmare, though they had obviously been less deadly and more draining.

And omg, the healers are 10000000% sure Killer should be dead right now, but- ur so right- Ccino IS a miracle worker, so they assume if anyone could've done it it'd be Ccino!!!! (Oh and Ccino trying to get Error out of the room so he didn't see Killer dust? Destroyed me, their friendship means the world to me-)

As before, I love everything about the pain=life and peace=death thing with that scene!!!! gnawing on it.... And the Tree just yanking him back like a teacher at the class bell "You're not dismissed until I dismiss you." style haha! But fr, shout-out to the tree looking at its favorite person and going 'alright, alright, I'll use up a hunk of my stored energy to save him because I can FEEL how much he means to you' and driectly channeling the sentiment straight to Killer-

And, I feel I must ask. Do we think Ccino cried here, when Killer woke up again? Or do we think it was only after he was stablizied by the healers and moved (ever so painfully) to bed and Ccino got news that Nightmare really was nowhere to be found? Do you think he had a cry-session at Killer's bedside? not loud, or even particularly teary, but a silent cry for maybe 5-7 minutes before he wiped his eyes, got up, and just tried to keep going? Because I love the potential of Killer seeing Ccino tearing up overtop him, but I like even more the idea of Killer seeing *Ccino* crack. Getting to be the one he shares that grief with. Even if Killer's barely conscious and can't talk, and Ccino says nothing? That he's not leaving Killer alone and discarded after his failure to protect the thing Ccino and himself loved the most? Nightmare? Okay-

Hooo boy, the Knights searching so hard for him. The broken mask in the room near Killer was a bad sign, but when they really couldn't find *anything* on where Night had gone, and with Killer still recovering enough to muster words, they just... had to try and act like everything was normal. Listen to Ccino (they know he's at his breaking point. They're pretty sure he hardly sleeps, because he's either with Killer or out and about making sure affairs are in order in Night's absence) and search for leads. Replay the events of the fight in their heads and regret not stopping Dream sooner.

Bonus????? :D

Okay. Hi. GENIUS. They don't got time to wait for search parties to hope and pray they find that stupid little place they're hiding Nightmare away. They need to find him ASAP. So, Error starts on something that was only a concept before, intended to help track the knights if they split on missions, or track enemies. This time, it'd find Nightmare. That takes a while. Longer than Error wants. Maybe a week. Week and a half? He's pulling his old all-nighters and weaving and intent-filling like there's no tomorrow and... by two weeks Error's barely half-way finished. It won't find Night at this rate, it would barely scratch 2 or three town out at its current size and power scale... And when he tell the others, angry and embarrassed and so so guilty, Dust suggests like you said, super-charging it! And Error runs the math for a deay (he doesn't want to risk destroying their only source of information) before re-inforcing it and letting Dust go ham on it!

And the way they locate it so quick? it's amazing... They're off and away in no-time!

The party is definitely Dust, Horror, Error, and Cross, but Cross had to fight the others to convince them to let him come. He's still all bandaged up and recovering from Dream, and he seems to flinch at the name, but he *knows* he's the only one who can hold Ink back properly. He's the only one, and the others know it too. Cross is very, very confident that Ink wouldn't fight him under fair circumstances, let alone while he's injured and able to talk to him as the others keep Dream and Ink occupied. So, ultimately, he's with them!

Also, addition: I like to think that Dust's storm faded a bit when they found Night's location. As in, Dust knew if he let it rage out of control that everyone would know they were coming, they had to be subtle on approach, not give them any time to prepare, to move, to endanger Night. So he seals himself up the entire ride. It's freaky, but understandable, and the other knights respect it. Horror remembers that this is exactly how Dust acted when he first arrived and his bands were removed. Very quiet, very tense, hidden under his hood more ferociously. He just needs to store it up so he can fry Dream to a fucking crisp. Or, y'know, short-circuit him for a bit.

Another Addition: I really love the idea of the gang getting SUCH easy access into the depths of the camp, and their speed, because of that thing you mentioned on the other post with them getting directions to Nightmare? I think on the road there, they ran into a group traveling *out* of Dream's camp to meet up with a supply run. Eclipse was the lead of this particular scouting party, and told his party to stand-down. He exchanged a brief word with Horror, being up-front in knowing they were there to retrieve Prince Dream's little brother. That the boy was *happier* with them, surely. (Horror clarifies they're indeed only there for their king. They don't intend to harm civilians. Eclipse mentions his family, Horror promises they won't be touched.) And he agrees to guide them in. Send his party on ahead to intercept the real cargo, and he leads in the knights. No one thinks anything of it when they see Eclipse leading the charge, and so they get easy access straight to their targets!

And ohhhh, the way the Knights handle their own battles this time!!! I think Ink was probably why they encountered first, and he made a ruckus that lured Blue and Dream out of the cabin, because Ink was... yelling about Cross? Not good! Ink being so very adamant about not hurting/fighting Cross, and Cross insisting that it was him or no-one. And, I mean, Cross had always been looking out for him from the start, that's what they did, protect each other! And Cross was hurt because of Dream and... well, Dream is his friend too but Dream *did* send Cross away and- Before he can really decide what he's doing, Cross totally yoinks control of his magic and manages to find a way to keep Ink in place beside him.

Dust is the funniest- And most justified- Dude was DONE. Dream only got a look at a horse skidding to a stop before him, a glimpse of Dust's pissed eyelights out of the shadows, and was fucking smited by the Fuck You Lightning bolt that Dust had been saving for him since Nightmare went missing. CRUMPLED. Like a sheet of paper. Instantly. That guy stood NO chance! (What- What if he has a cool lightning-scar after this? Maybe it eventually heals over, but it lingers for longer than usual because the intent behind it was potent. 'You made my family hurt, feel their pain ten times over and don't forget it.' y'know? He's very chill about sitting atop his (very unbothered btw) horse znd staring at Dream, a lil crispy, before standing guard till Horror or Cross could come collect him. (Dust ain't lifting that entire twunk, and his horse can't carry that much weight anyways, Horror's horse was the one pulling the cart-) ALSO!!! Remember how Dust's lightning kinda just his anywhere in a certain radius? He finally learned how to aim exactly! In the moment in seeing Dream again!

Horror... my boy... Love the picture of him rolling off his horse and full-sending it at Blue. Blue is slow to summon his hammer and even slower avoiding Horror's initial punch. (Plus, I imagine this is closer to afternoon, so Blue had already taken off his armor and hadn't thought to throw it on before rushing out beside Dream.) He gets a pretty bad hit right at the start, and when the lightning goes off it disorients him a LOT (I think the Knights are very very used to sudden flashes thanks to Dust's training) and Horror is able to get him down and cuffed. Which doesn't stop his physical strength, but Blue is no match for Horror without that boost from his magic weapon, and when he sees Dream in the family guy death pose, he loses concentration and panics a little (lot) and Horror is able to restrain him further.

Ink over here was talked down by Cross, even after the lightning bolt in the distance, and Ink agreed to wear dampeners willingly and go sit in the cart with Cross.

(At this point, I think everyone in the camp has been SO psyched out by Dream about the danger the knights bring, plus their leader is down, possibly fried and dead, Blue is restrained and looks scared, and Dust is still atop his horse and such a presence now that his storm was released and it had begun to rain a little. No one wants to try and fight the knights, and Eclipse is making a big effort to reassure everyone not to try and fight, or run, just stay sheltered. Anyone who gets close to the main clearing in these moments of Horror walking Blue along and hoisting Dream over his shoulder and loading them both into the cart? Dust gives them a little warning zap. And by that I do mean Fuck You Lightning or bones so close they probably gave someone a sun-burn or burnt fur.)

This is when Error had already rushed past, love the invisible detail, and he rushes towards the cabin, just to see Nightmare tug open the door, bundled in a bright yellow cloak, ad seemingly ready to rush out into the storm- Only, he crashes straight into Error who forgot he was invisible. They tumble over each-other onto the porch steps, and Error drops the spell, and- Yeah, that's his Nightmare, those beautiful eyelights and that worried expression. And he decides to confess while they're tangled up and hugging. And Night is just SO distraught because?? As we've sstablished, who confesses in the middle of a rescue??? So Error, realizing Night is tearing up and obviously also mad about the poorly-timed confession, and who's been through a stressful 2 and a half weeks, kinda half-picks him up like a wet kitten/half-urges him to stand and fast-walk and rushes back to the knights. Dust is still busy restraining himself, and now Cross is busy watching the captives (though with Ink chummy and Dream out, Blue doesn't have much choice but to stay), Horror is totally the one who takes Night into his arms and holds him tight and reassures him.

And when I say this bit made me nuts, it'm not lying, but like- Nightmare immediately breaking down finally upon Horror huggging him, and not seeing Killer but seeing the other three and apologizing so so much, and Horror filling in the blanks and explaining to him that Killer's okay? Mentioning Ccino and that calming Night a little??? Ough.. Peak.

And- and- Ccino night terrors. Oughhhh. Yes 100%, this guy definitely has them, and they are ROUGH. I love it-

Finally, your tags!!! very quickly!!

Ink seeing Dust come down for his shifts just being like, "hey!! Hey can you tell Cross I wanna see him? I'm bored and we haven't played [Insert Game] in forever!" and like. Cross obliges??? And he ignores Dream and Blue when they try to talk with him, and just has a decently good time hanging with Ink all things considered? Everyone is fascinated by their friendship, but they're a special combo of weird <3

Oh Blue... he's so precious, i love him.... (Trying to think if Night would put them in opposite-facing cells, so they can see each other but not reach, or side-by-side cells so they could talk better but not see each other or easily communicate non-verbally. Or. Put Ink's cell between them so they can't scheme anything w/o Ink being loud about it? Idk lol-) But he's such a loyal knight (lover- who said that??)

And Dream. That guy is NOT catching a break!!! Good!!! Dust purposefully lingering more often in front of/around Dream's cell because he wants to cause maximum discomfort. Maybe anytime Dream tries to start making excuses to bring up that stupid 'brain-washing' Dust uses those sparks, which shuts Dream up REAL quick. Dream does NOT get little mercies when Dust is watching.

And Dream's iconic blast to reality through Reaper- Yeah, no one clarified to him Killer being alive, so he totally thinks Killer's dead af, and Reaper doesn't correct him, just lays out the basics and says Dream should do some long. hard. thinking. (And it aligns with what Night had told him at the camp, but, Reaper, neutral party, yadda yadda-) And shout-out to Killer!!! He's coming down to tell Dust to swap out, but the guard's running late so he's watching for a bit, and Dream makes the most strngled little noise ever and immediately brusts into apologies- Killer telling him that straight to his face would be SO lovely. Goodness gravy I love these guys-

Okay I am SO sorry I think this one ended up being super long- just so many good concepts you shot back at me lol! And I am known to tangent away-

Hey! The ask!! Lets see if i can manage to type everything i thought about in the time i got my break!!

So. I got thinking. (This was also a half baked drabble idea but didnt feel like making it a full one so you are getting the idea like this!! >:D)

We spoke about how Killer would be guarding Nightmare in the raid where Dream manages to steal him.

The problem is. If Killer can still move this guy WILL throw himself at Dream to save Nightmare. Meaning that Killer has to be mortally wounded. (Also works with why Nightmare rushes to shield his older brother)

So we got Killer just laying in whatever room Nightmare and him ahd been in. Probably slowly bleeding out.

On one hand. You can have the Knights run in right after. But then what is stopping them from splitting up, one part staying with Killer and one part rushing after Dream? And it has been YEARS since Dream last visited the castle. He may not remember everything quite right.

So... in theory. It should take more time for the Knights to get to Killer. But Killer is mortally wounded.

So. In comes!! Ccino (my beloved).

Ccino had been going towards killer and nightmare after helping the servants and maids evacuate or go to the bunker.

He gets there to see Killer pretty much laying there dying on the ground, Nightmare no where to be seen.

What does he do?

Ccino's crisis management skills activate. He wants to find Nightmare but he has no clue of where Nightmare went and he has no way to fight whoever took him. Killer is in front of him actively dying.

He goes to Kilelr's side.

Killer, the romantic idiot, probably realises he is fucking dying. So maybe he is like. Maybe i can confess? (Add some extra angst and make it that the hit was by either his neck or spine or soul. Making him unable to communicate)

Ccino is trying to keep the wound closed but he has no healing magic. He doenst even have first aid kit on him beyond the bare minimum. What does he do?

Well... he knows there is one being still in the castle. He does a little prayer and asks for help.

For Killer? Killer is slowly falling unconscious. He tried to confess but cant speak. He cant even apologise for failing everyone and losing Nightmare. At least Ccino is here in his last moments. He isnt alone. So he falls asleep.

Maybe some warm light guides him. A familiar voice that was once a friend? He tries to follow only to be stopped. Stopped by something sharp and pulling him down. Back into the darkness. It feels like when he fell into a bush. The way those thorns prick his bones.

Killer at first tries to follow the image of his friend (were they his friend? They saved him right? So why shouldnt he follow them?)

Only to hear so soft. So quietly from the darkness. 'Please dont let him die...'

And that sounds like Ccino... so Killer follows that voice. Goes into the darkness and it feels as if he traveled through a overgrown forest with sticks and stuff all pulling on his limbs.

And he wakes up. His skull in Ccino's lap as Ccino keeps the wound closed and did the best first aid he did. Moments later the Knights rush in to assist.

(Yes. The tree pulled Killer's soul back to the living side while the memories of chara were trying to pull killer into oblivion and get him to die)

Okay that is all. I wanted to get that out of my system.

Okay. Hi. As always, losing my everloving mind over this. Gonna make a Cut so it's easier to scroll hehe-

First off, you are SO right about Killer fighting till he physically can't move. I think that the combat between Dream and Killer is actually decently drawn out, because Dream is kinda in a frenzy (Storm growing outside + just obliterated Cross as far as he knows) and as a mostly long-range attacker it was stupid of him to try and fight Killer alone in a confined space. Killer's fast, and has a lot more to lose if he loses this fight (Nightmare is still hidden but low key stuck, and Dream is very adamant about ending his life) so he gets up close and personal for a while and lands quite a few solid attacks. However, Killer has also heard about Dream. He saw the distress on his little face when Cross admitted who had sent him and why. How Nightmare refused to send an assassination party to end things prematurely. This is Night's brother, so Killer won't kill him. As much as he wants to.

This leaves him at a direct disadvantage, and anytime he backs off to recoup Dream shoots arrows at him. (I also think he took a couple on purpose, because where he'd hidden Nightmare was the trajectory and he couldn't block it fast enough). And then, I like to think that when Killer gets in really close one time, Dream summons his blades, the ones he was still a novice with. But! One of Them peirces Killer's outer ring of his soul, and Dream jabs upwards (kinda using his other hand on the hilt to have more force) and wedges it into Killer's spine just past his ribcage. When Dream does this it his the magical equivalent of a vein, and when he shoves Killer away and off his blade, the other can only stay upright for a few stumbles before he teeters and falls onto his back.

Soul out in the open, covered in wounds (I like to think Dream's arrows peirce and burn), and now bleeding and seemingly paralyzed, Dream pulls out his bow again, ready to shoot Killer straight in his target soul. But, he's still selfish, and he wants to monolgue a bit, curse Killer (who he believes has been controlling his brother for so long) and shoots his hand, then a gash in his neck from a well-placed arrow, until he can see that dusty layer rising on Killer's bones signaling it'll be a slow death.

But, when he finishes cursing out Killer, is ready to fire the final shot? Nightmare had been hiding in a wardrobe, when Killer had stopped talking he'd gotten worried and peeked out against his better judgement. Now, with the scene, he rushes into the crossfire and, like we've discussed, the arrow ricochets off the mask and knocks it off, revealing Night in his teen form.

And it's a quick pleading, a desperate little plea from Nightmare not to kill Killer, or hurt his knights or the people. To just stop. And Dream, after his moment of shock + probing Night's emotions to find this really is him, scoops him up. His intention was to finish Killer off, but the storm outside roars louder and he can feel a strong emotion hurrying his way, so he decides to retreat. Killer should bleed out anyways.

And now finally to your point!!! Ccino is absolutely the best option! The Knights have no idea what's happening inside, and all they can. Do to help is keep Blue and Ink occupied. Cross is down for the count and looking rough, and they just have to trust that Killer got Night out or somewhere safe. Ccino? Ccino finished his part of the job, efficient af, and is rushing to go find Nightmare and Killer. He doesn't know Dream got in, he doesn't know quite where they'd be, but he can kinda sus it out based on carnage and wet steps in the halls where *soneone* got it. If they did, Killer would probably be stalling with Night nearby.

And like u said, he gets there and finds Killer actively dying, and crisis management kicks in! Ough everything about this moment is so perfect... Ccino never learned medicine, and has no healing magic, so he can only make Killer a little more comfortable and put pressure on his wounds to try and stop the bleeding. And he *sees* that soul injury. No matter how well he staunches the blood flow with his apron, that would surely kill him without treatment. And Killer seems to still be conscious, but barely. He's fading. And silent, which is deeply eerie and Wrong.

And good gods. Killer wanting so so bad to confess because, he's gonna die anyways so he wants to get it out, but he Literally can't say anything?? Wauhh!!!!!

And Ccino reaching out to the Veing in the castle... praying, begging for Killer to be saved, because Ccino refuses to leave him alone, and also refuses to lose him. Killer was Night's first knight, the most important person in that kid's world (Ccino doesn't count himself). All the Knights rely on Killer for guidance and support. Ccino needs Killer in his life, this idiot, this criminal, is somehow one of his favorite people in this castle. Please, please, please don't let him go. Keep him here until help arrives. *please*.

And the Castle obliges. Not only is Killer the one who protected Nightmare, the prince who is restoring this land, but Killer is one Ccino values. Ccino is here, stopping his wounds, begging for help to save a life. He hasn't done that before.

And!!! The description from Killer's perspective!!!!! For all intents and purposes, it seems the warm friendly voice (Chara!!!) Should be the one he follows. It's gentle, beckoning towards a soft glow, it's peaceful. And then the tree's method of getting Killer back is to snag him. Darkness, unpleasant contact that stabs and pricks and scratches. It's not nice, it's not subtle, it's dragging him back into pain and agony of his injuries (even if it's not immediate). But Killer doesn't fight because he hears Ccino! Even if he doesn't process that it's him, it unlocks something in his core that makes him decide to take the hard route and push back through that dense forest until he's back to the living realm. Still on death's door, but alive!

Oh I love this visual so dearly, frothing at the mouth about it....

And ofc the aftermath. Dream couldn't find the main entrance, so he snuck out a servant's door and signaled from outside that he was ready to go. The militia (I think the guard was busy holding off militia members from entering the castle walls) retreats first, scattering into town and Rogers demands no pursuit, hold the walls strong. Then Blue and Ink narrowly escape by simply using Ink's magic puddles, appearing somewhere else in the city through a big enough rain puddle. (Though, miles out they're still dodging the occasional lightning strike).

Only after they're too far off do the knight rush back. Horror's got Cross (in critical condition due to a blow to the side of his ribs+spine but ultimately stable) and Dust leads the way to search for Night and Killer, also following the trail Dream had left, and... they find Ccino and Killer. Killer is very very much limp in Ccino's lap, they're basically sitting in a pool of Killer's blood, and Ccino upon spotting them rapidly tells Dust to go find a healer and bring them here. Immediately.

Horror sets Cross nearby and focuses his efforts on trying to help Ccino put pressure on Killer's wounds but he can't do much either.

But, y'know, the healers who have magic for it are able to stabilize him (they are flabbergasted that he's not dead) and Cross is alright too. Dust + Horror go searching for Night. Nowhere to be found.

[dimonds456]

thinking about freehoun so bad tonight oughhhhhhhhhhhh

[tackykachowch]

What's so funny about Jinx smelling Vander's jacket to me is not even that it's inconsistent with the story at this point (i. e. Vander is alive so there is no reason for her to smell his jacket, plus she didn't have a close relationship with him anyway), but because we already had a coat for her to interact with that was established IN SEASON 1 FINALE. SHE TOOK SILCO'S COAT OFF OF HIM. WHERE DID IT GO????? And most importantly why Jinx doesn't care about it at all despite her still coming to his office to "talk" with him? Like. You would think that Jinx, who still keeps keepsakes of her lost loved ones, would take some of Silco's things to remind her of him, but nah. We need a stupid thing with Vander and Silco's jackets where she doesn't even properly interact with the right one.

[withthewindinherfootsteps]

So we know that Wei Wuxian's treatment after his death was horrible. Even if nothing could impact him directly, there was still neverending slander, hatred, misinformation, theft...

But, for a while after he died, the sects did try to impact him directly – namely, frequently trying to resummon his soul. And today I'll explore the possible reasons for this, their likelihoods, and why I'm so, so thankful that Wei Wuxian's soul managed to resist the summons. Because, spoiler alert (or, you know. maybe not)... none of them are good.

(Long meta ahead)

In my opinion, there are four likely motivations for this: confinement, coercion, torment, and potentially destruction.

Out of all of these, confinement is probably the most likely motivation, at least for most sects (Jins and Jiangs excluded, though it was likely what the Jin sect said their motivations were – but I'll get to them later). This one is the most simple – we know spirit-trapping pouches exist, and we know the sects also placed 120 stone beasts on the Burial Mounds to prevent Wei Wuxian's soul from escaping. Therefore, this seems to be the most likely motivation – and fortunately for Wei Wuxian, probably also the best case scenario, though it still certainly isn't a good one.

For the second, coercion – this is where the Jin sect come in (more specifically Jin Guangshan with the help of Jin Guangyao). Due to their wealth and resources, they're likely the sect who played the largest role in the soul-summoning rituals. We know what they're willing to do to try to gain power – keeping Wen Ning under the pretence he was burned to death and trying to control him with the nails, and working with and helping Xue Yang torture people to help him refine his demonic cultivation, in order to have the Yin hufu fixed. Along with working with many other cultivators, alongside Xue Yang – Jin Guangshan really, really wanted that seal.

And so, Jin GuangShan sought after all those who imitated Wei WuXian in cultivating the ghostly path and gathered them under his rule. He spent a great amount of money and resources and these people, ordering them to study and analyze the structure of the Tiger Seal in secrecy so that they could replicate and restore it. - Villainous Friends extra, EXR

(Note that working with these cultivators very likely happened after Wei Wuxian's soul had failed to be summoned, since this happens some time after Wei Wuxian's death, whereas the soul-summoning ceromonies presumably started happening very close to it.)

In the previous paragraph, he's also quoted as having 'lusted after' the Yin hufu, which we already knew but it's nice to have a direct quote as evidence.

Now, would Wei WuXian willingly work with the Jin sect in doing this? No. We know that, and, given Wei Wuxian's actions in his first life (refusing to hand over the Tally, not being afraid to stand up to the sects, etc), I’m pretty sure Jin Guangshan knows that, too:

He beat around the bush a couple of times, using all his skills, yet Wei WuXian didn’t give in no matter what, and it made him run into a bunch of obstacles. - Villainous Friends extra, EXR

So this could actually make things go two ways. One, I'm wrong and that wasn't actually part of the Jin sect's motivations, since they know they wouldn't be able to control him (and in that case, had they managed to summon him, I could imagine them putting him in a spirit-trapping pouch and doing something similar to what Jin Guangyao did to Nie Mingjue's head. Which, also, not good). Two, it was a part of their motivations, and they hoped to find a way around that. After all, there are other guidao users out there now, and Wei Wuxian would now be a gui*. Also, cultivators can obviously harm ghosts – see the very existence of Night Hunts, and I'd include Xue Yang's talisman-caused destruction of A-Qing as well (while he isn't a traditional cultivator, talismans can be used by everyone).

Now, would either of these methods actually work? I'm inclined to think not really (and I expand on the former method in a note below). Would that stop Jin Guangshan/Jin Guangyao/the cultivators they employ from trying? Especially considering Jin Guangshan's lust for power?

I'm inclined to think no, too.

For the third, look no further than Jiang Cheng's reputation of capturing and torturing demonic cultivators after Wei Wuxian's death, due to thinking they could be him. And this does happen – Jin Ling knows and talks about it, and there's not real motivation for him to negatively lie about someone he loves. Also, when they come across each other at Dafan Mountain, we're told this in Jiang Cheng's inner voice:

A moment ago, Jiang Cheng was certain that this person was Wei WuXian, and all of the blood in his body started to boil. Yet, now, Zidian was clearly telling him that he wasn’t. Zidian definitely wouldn’t deceive him or make a mistake, so he quickly calmed himself and thought, this doesn’t mean anything. I should first find an excuse to take him back and use every possible method to get information out of him. It’s impossible for him to not confess anything or give himself away. I’ve done things like this in the past anyways. - MDZS Chapter 10, EXR translation

This mainly shows that he's tortured people before, rather than that he's tortured people because he thinks they're Wei Wuxian, but this reason is confirmed by Jin Ling in Chapter 24. Of course, the reason is also mentioned in this chapter, and there are other moments in the chapter that illustrate my point better**, but they come from second-hand sources which I know are easier to deny. Do take note of Jiang Cheng's expression both times he comes across 'Mo Xuanyu' (after he suspects he's Wei Wuxian) in Book One***, though:

After a moment, the corners of Jiang Cheng’s lips pulled into a twisted smile. His left hand started to unconsciously stroke the ring [Zidian] again. He spoke softly, “… Well, well. So you’re back?” - Chapter 10, EXR Although his face had always been clouded, marked with arrogance and satire, it seemed as if every corner of it had come alive. It was difficult to determine whether it was vengeful wrath, fathomless hatred, or raving ecstasy. - Chapter 23, EXR

This does seem to line up with what people say his attitude to Wei Wuxian is – there doesn't seem to be any happiness at seeing him again at all. The only time a word that could suggest that ('ecstasy') is used, it's accompanied by 'raving', and considering the context and the other possibilities of his expression, it's... probably not due to happiness at being reunited.

So, considering 1) this, 2) his contribution to the Siege specifically intended to kill Wei Wuxian, and 3) that at the time of frequent soul-summoning Jiang Yanli's death would be even closer for him, I feel pretty confident in saying that yes, this is likely a motivation for the Jiang sect in trying to re-summon Wei Wuxian's soul after his death. And, as mentioned earlier, cultivators can harm ghosts (and we know Zidian is able to remove souls posessing a body from that body, and that Jiang Cheng used Zidian on 'Mo Xuanyu' in Chapter 10. If it wasn't able to restrain/harm ghosts, or other methods weren't able to, why would he risk Wei Wuxian's soul escaping?).

And finally, option four: destruction. We're heading into much more speculative territory here, so don't consider this on par with the first three. But consider this:

We know there are some spells, like Xue Yang's talisman used on A-Qing and the body-offering ritual, that can ruin the returning soul’s reincarnation cycle by destroying it. Therefore, soul destruction is possible.

The 'main'/supposed reason for summoning Wei Wuxian's soul back is to stop the "cultivation world, or even all of mortal land" from being "faced with the most insane damnation and revenge, sinking into nothing but chaos and despair" when Wei Wuxian inevitably returns. While, as mentioned above, I severely doubt this is the motivation for certain sects – and to me is likely a rumour which the Jins (again, especially Jin Guangsha) fanned the flames of to justify summoning Wei Wuxian back for their own purposes**** – there are other sects which would take it more seriously.

Although likely disrespectful, people already thought it served Wei Wuxian right to die without his body intact by the time of the second siege – something believed to negatively affect your reincarnation in your next life*****. This is only the logical next step, and I'm pretty sure the vast majority of people would believe that, again, it would serve Wei Wuxian right, or would at least lead to less harm of the world in the long run.

For these reasons, I could definitely see this as an option for some sects, especially the sects who consider themselves more 'righteous' (cough cough the Nies under Nie Mingjue cough cough). After all, evil is evil and good is good, and the evil deserve what's coming to them. And what better way to prevent that than from preventing his soul from returning at all? So for the Nie sect – and likely some of the smaller sects involved in the Siege, since among them, additudes probably vary – yes, I do think it could be a motivation.

I’m not as sure about the Lans being willing to go this far, and that’s largely for two reasons. One, Lan Wangji’s presence and his relationship to Lan Xichen, who does (not always, but he does) let this affect how he treats Wei Wuxian. An example of this is that, when Wei Wuxian's return is made public, Lan Xichen does let him hide and shelter at the Cloud Recesses instead of trying to pursue him, likely majorly due to Lan Wangji. I'd argue that the aftermath of the Nightless City also acts as an example of this, although it definitely isn't perfect. But though he, Lan Qiren and the 33 elders do come to find Lan Wangji and do not let him continue to shelter Wei Wuxian (after they see Lan Wangji's feelings), Lan Xichen doesn't use this opportunity to kill/capture Wei Wuxian, despite Lan Wangji being in a worse condition due to having fought 33 elders, Wei Wuxian being catatonic, and Lan Qiren likely supporting this outcome (especially considering he was the one who led the Lan sect in the Siege – chapter 68, Wei Wuxian's POV). And he did let Lan Wangji take Wei Wuxian back to the Burial Mounds after:

After he went out of his way to send you back to Burial Mound and returned in such low spirits to receive his punishment, how long he kneeled before the Wall of Rules! - Chapter 99, EXR

Again, this was right after the Nightless City massacre – there isn't any goodwill towards Wei Wuxian at this point in time.

Of course, the Lan sect did participate in the siege after Lan Xichen knew of Lan Wangji's feelings towards Wei Wuxian, which Lan Xichen was no doubt a part of (although Lan Qiren lead the Lan sect in the siege, Lan XIchen had to have at least known/given his support, if not participated.) And it should be considered that Lan Xichen letting Wei Wuxian shelter at the Cloud Recesses was after Wei Wuxian had been back for a while, and had not caused the downfall of the Cultivation World, like many suspected he would after his death. And of course, as stated previously, his handling of the aftermath of Nightless City wasn't perfect either (though please note that his main motive here was to protect Lan Wangji from being potentially executed, rather than anything about Wei Wuxian himself). So caring about Lan Wangji doesn't mean he won't harm Wei Wuxian. But I do think he could find bringing Wei Wuxian's soul back to completely destroy it a bit excessive. There is, though, the chance that the elders of the Lan Sect would react to this differently, and of course they would have a sway on both Lan Xichen and the Lan sect as well.

The second reason is smaller, but there seems to be more focus in the Lan sect than in others when it comes to letting ghosts rest peacefully/helping them move on. And that could definitely lead to more resistance to the idea of summoning a soul back to destroy it as well, which could especially impact the elders. So I'd assume that the Lan sect would be the most likely sect to summon Wei Wuxian's soul back just for confinement, or just for some way of making sure any resentment is disippated, his spirit moves on, and he can't cause more harm to the world (eg via Inquiry)******. Not that he would or does as a ghost or as a reborn person, but that's unfortunately not relevant to this.

But yes, as a motivation for the Nie Mingjue-led Nie sect? Absolutely.

So, these are the main motives I suspect to be behind the attempted summoning of Wei Wuxian's soul after his death (and if I've missed any, please let me know – I'd love to have a discussion). And, of course, none of them lead to anywhere good. Because of course it wasn’t enough to besiege Wei Wuxian, murder the 50 non-combatants he was responsible for (and throwing them into the blood pit as a mark of disrespect because why not?), and lead to his death via him getting torn apart. It wasn’t enough to steal all his inventions, and use them commonly while still slandering him with no reprieve – or to steal his notes and give them to people like Xue Yang to study (Villainous Friends, again) and to use for their own, extremely extremely harmful, purposes. Of course, the cultivation world has to try to harm Wei Wuxian after death as well ((:

We don't know whether Wei Wuxian rejecting the summoning ceremonies was conscious or unconscious, but if it was the former, these are very likely reasons he refused to return in this way. If it was unconscious – for example, maybe during the frequent soul-summons his soul was in a weakened state due to him dying from a backlash of resentful energy and getting torn apart, and it healed over time but not before the soul-summoning rituals stopped – well, I can only be thankful.

Finally, let me leave you on the thought that – although it may well have happened since we don't spend much time in the immediate aftermath of the Sunshot campaign – there isn't even any textual mention of this happening to Wen Ruohan. Who, while not being a guidao user, was still very dangerous, still an extremely powerful cultivator, and still had a lot of reason to feel resentment. So.

:')

Thank you for reading!

--

*Considering what we see of how Wei Wuxian's guidao functions – redirecting the ghosts'/corpses' resentment into doing something they'd want to do, eg attacking people, and directing it towards a target – I'm not sure using it to force a spirit to do something 1) extremely specific, and 2) explicitly against their will would actually work. Iirc the closest thing we get to this in text is Wei Wuxian using the corpses of Wens to attack other Wens in the Sunshot Campaign, but he's still just directing their resentment to a target of his choice, and fierce corpses do tend to be on the less concious side of things (hence why Wei Wuxian had to awaken Wen Ning's consciousness). Considering how Wen Ning attacks Wei Wuxian and the Burial Mound Wens before his consciousness had fully awoken, I... really don't think those fierce corpses were able to differentiate (or didn't care).

Meanwhile, ghosts seem to be a bit more in control of themselves – see A-Qing, and Wei Wuxian's own descriptions of his ghost self.

That, alongside ghost!Wei Wuxian being able to resist his soul-summoning and the fact that pretty much all of the new guidao users are a lot weaker than he was, does make me think that this this wouldn't work. I do wonder about Xue Yang, since his methods are pretty different as well, but he's more of a modao user than a guidao user (he controls living corpses rather than dead people) and I don't think you can insert physical nails into ghosts?? Though if he was specifically instructed to figure out some way to control ghost!Wei Wuxian (who's probably kept in a spirit-trapping pouch in this scenario), he might be able to do something at least. Though also he was also struggling to piece Xiao Xingchen's ghost soul back together, so he may struggle with those areas?

Well, whatever the potential outcome, I'm so so happy once again that Wei Wuxian's soul managed to resist the soul-summonings...

**Mainly this:

Everyone in the cultivation world knew that the young leader of the Jiang Clan watched out for Wei WuXian in an almost crazed manner. He would rather catch the wrong person than let go of any possibility, and took anyone who seemed like they held the soul of Wei WuXian away to the YunmengJiang Sect, inflicting severe torture on his victim. If he wanted to take someone back, the opposition would surely lose half of their life. - Chapter 10, EXR

But I have heard people say 'you can't prove that it's just more rumours' before, and I wanted my evidence to be as watertight as possible.

(And, off-topic... isn't it really sad how Jiang Cheng, in the present day, is described as young? Because, for a clan leader, he is. And another thing he is, is close in age to Wei Wuxian – who was killed 13 whole years prior :') )

***And do note that the only other time they run into each other before Wei Wuxian's identity is revealed to the world apart from this is their brief interaction at Jinlintai, where he can't just act however he wants. The next time they run into each other after it, Jiang Cheng is literally taking part in another siege against him, and still extremely hostile ("surrounded by hostile energy, face insidious, staring straight at him" – from EXR chapter 60). Then he loses his spiritual powers and can't do anything. By the time he regains his powers, Wei Wuxian, Lan Wangji and the Wen remnants' corpses have saved everyone during the Second Siege, and though public opinion hasn't properly shifted quite yet, it will soon after Sisi and Bicao tell the story of Jin Guangyao, and voila, a new scapegoat (do note that he doesn't completely bar Wei Wuxian from entering Lotus Pier after the Second Siege, though). Plus, throughout it all, Lan Wangji is still constantly present, which makes it hard for Jiang Cheng to really do anything. And then he's finally faced with the Golden Core reveal, which does alter his motivations towards Wei Wuxian (obviously the resentment is still there – read chapter 102 – but it's also mixed with other complex emotions, and he seems to start being able to move away from that a little in Chapter 103). I still definitely wouldn't describe Jiang Cheng's attitude towards him as positive, but it isn't at the point it was at the start of the novel (eg Chapter 10).

But even if his attitude does change, or would for whatever other reason apart from the reveal, that still doesn't change an initial motivation so isn't relevant to this meta. We know his intentions at the start.

****It's also possible they may have originated it, but I think WWX's reputation was bad enough for it to form naturally. Though you can trace a major part of that back to them, too.

*****That belief isn't outright stated in MDZS, but the fact people are specifically talking about the status of WWX's body in the aftermath of his death suggests that this belief does have some grounding in the MDZS universe, at least? And we know MXTX has included it in TGCF (though that doesn't mean it's definitely in MDZS), so she has used it in her works. If this isn't the case in the MDZS universe I am sorry (although that could also mean there's less importance placed on not disturbing the reincarnation cycle in the world of MDZS...? Which would work towards my original argument) – I don't want to spread misinformation that something is definitely true, I just think there's evidence to suggest it is true, which isn't the same thing.

******Again, I think this would depend on who ends up having more influence over who in the Lan sect. After all, normal resentful spirits only do what they do because of their resentment in death, whereas Wei Wuxian is 'dangerous' because of who everyone thinks he was in life – so him being reborn naturally could also 'cause a lot of harm to the world' during the time period this version of him would live in, unlike the resentful ghosts they appease. This could definitely lead to many advocating for confinement, I think.

[mishy-mashy]

[koicrimes]

so, it's been a headcanon of mine for a while now that nish is actually a really good artist. like, he wouldn't consider himself an 'artist' and he generally downplays any reactions he gets to his art. it's just like.. a thing he's done since he was able to manuever a marker in sunflower- drawin on the walls and pissin off kazama hahaha. but like, yeah, growing up it was just so casual, he never really thought much about it. he'd draw anything from kiryu, yumi, yuko and kazama to outfits he saw in display windows when he was out and about. he used to just throw away his sketchbooks and notepads when he filled them up until the others (sin kazama) got onto him, trying to make him see the value in his art. around the time he joined the yakuza, he slowed down a bit. really only drawing as a 'party trick' on a little napkin in bars and shit like that.

anyway, i say all that to say, in my ss stuff, it takes place in the "present" whatever that means to the thing i'm writing at the time. and obviously that means it's a 'nishiki lives' au, right? i often point out in that stuff that he has alot of nightmares from that period of his life. so, with the right motivation, i think he picks up drawing again as a form of therapy. he wouldn't see a shrink if you held a gun to his head but, this? it's actually something that works for him and helps him quite literally paint a picture of the things happening in his mind.