#but the reality is far bleaker

[atldiscourse]

Nah usually the Soundcheck is like 50-100 I think? But the monitor party up on stage is limited to 4 or 6 I believe

ahhh so the soundcheck pics are taken like a small group at a time?

[yanderewhispers]

Yandere Sugar Daddy

"You don't even know how lucky you are. I protect you and provide for you. Don't act so ungrateful." - from Pinterest.

You try to break up with your sugar daddy after noticing his obsessive behavior, but it doesn't go well.

You found yourself in a desperate situation. Struggling to make ends meet, you cast your hopes on the allure of financial security. The idea of a sugar daddy crossed your mind, a solution to your financial woes that seemed too tempting to ignore.

Amidst the thrum of city life, you met him—a man of means who exuded quiet charisma. His initial gestures were a lifeline, an escape from the suffocating grip of debt. The promise of stability was irresistible, and you stepped into his world, blinded by the glamour he offered.

He used his wealth to weave a world around you, enveloping you in opulence. Lavish gifts arrived like clockwork, and he orchestrated extravagant outings that swept you off your feet. You basked in the glamour, feeling cherished and cared for.

However, beneath the surface, cracks began to appear. His calls and messages grew incessant, a constant stream that left you feeling suffocated. His insistence on being updated about your every move escalated, his voice holding a possessive edge.

Despite the unease that settled within you, you tried to convince yourself that his intentions were rooted in genuine concern.

The turning point came when he orchestrated an elaborate surprise, turning your living space into a lavish display of his affection. While the gesture was grand, the realization struck that he had entered your personal space without your consent.

One day, you gathered the courage to express your discomfort. His reaction was swift and unexpected. His calm exterior cracked, and his tone turned sharp. Accusations of ungratefulness filled the air, and the person you thought you knew seemed to unravel before your eyes.

As days turned into weeks, his behavior spiraled further into obsession. He insisted on accompanying you everywhere, his presence suffocating. His eyes followed your every move, and he used his wealth to monitor your actions, a haunting reminder of his control.

When you discovered cameras hidden in your personal spaces, invasive eyes watching your every move, panic set in, and you decided to end the relationship.

After summoning the courage to sever the suffocating ties, you hoped for relief, for a chance to reclaim your independence. But the aftermath was far from the liberation you sought.

His reaction was swift and ruthless, a stark contrast to the facade of affection he had once shown. The possessive grip he held on you tightened, his demeanor shifting from charming to menacing. He scoffed at your attempts to break free, belittling your resolve and dismissing your concerns.

The sense of being watched was inescapable, your every move under his relentless scrutiny. His wealth became a weapon, affording him the means to manipulate your surroundings, to control your life in ways that left you feeling like a captive.

Fear became your constant companion, the suffocating grip of his obsession pushing you to the brink. Isolation settled in as he severed your connections to the outside world, creating a cocoon where his control was absolute. You were trapped, ensnared by his twisted affection.

The man who had once promised a lifeline of stability had become a puppet master, pulling the strings of your life with a terrifying obsession. The very wealth that had seemed like a blessing had turned into a curse, chaining you to a reality that grew bleaker with each passing day.

[chiqelatasblog]

In the Middle of the Night🌙

-> Ao3 link is here.

-> Part Two is here.

Pairings : Bi-Han/ Sub-Zero x You, Kuai Liang/ Scorpion x You, Tomas Vrbada/ Smoke x You

Tropes : Slavery, Past Sexual Abuse, Canon-Typical Violance, Emotional Hurt Comfort, Strangers to Lovers, True Love, Foursome, F/M/M/M, Dark Magic, Eventual Smut

Summary : After a mission gone wrong, Bi-Han, Kuai Liang, and Tomas find themselves sealed inside a book as love slaves. Whoever discovers the book and utters the incantations within will not only become its owner but also the master of the Lin Kuei’s three deadliest assassins.

For you, grappling with the weight of a solitary life and enduring a particularly rough day, stumbling upon this mysterious book was an unforeseen twist. As you bring the book home, unaware of its contents or the events that led to its creation, the ensuing chain of events will shatter the tranquility of your world, forever altering the course of your life.

Title and work inspired by the “Elley Duhe-Middle Of The Night” song

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CHAPTER ONE : (READER)

You were enduring one of the worst days of your life.

Your alarm didn’t sound in the morning because you were too fatigued to remember to charge your phone the night before. With its poor battery life, it ran out quickly. Living forty-five minutes away from the city center, you should have caught the subway at least an hour ago to make it to work on time. Despite the pressing need for money, uncertainty loomed as you grappled with the inevitability of firing. The job, despite its dreadful conditions and an insufferable boss, stood as your best opportunity in months - too valuable to risk losing.

Although you had graduated from college with a commendable degree, the job market proved bleaker than anticipated. Your once-bright dreams faded as the harsh reality of post-graduation life set in. Most desirable positions demanded experience, yet securing experience required entry into these very positions. While a diploma opened a few doors, the conditions were often as harsh as modern-day servitude, albeit with insurance and a predictable late salary.

Your current role as a programmer at a gaming company offered no respite. Long hours in front of the screen left your eyes bloodshot, encircled by dark rings, and your neck perpetually aching. Despite the hardships, a promise to your distant family fueled your determination to stand on your own. Abandoning everything and returning home was not an option after coming this far. You had shed too many tears to surrender now, enduring the suffocating loneliness of solitary dinners in your cramped kitchen as you pursued your dreams.

Thus, with a reminder of your purpose, you hurriedly left your apartment. Despite the packed subway and the frenzied rush, you managed to trim your commute from fifteen minutes to a mere seven and a half. Yet, upon arrival, your efforts were futile. Summoned to your boss’s office, you were promptly instructed to collect your belongings and leave the company, denied even the opportunity to provide an explanation.

You were keenly aware of the disdain your boss and coworkers held for you; it was an open secret. They resembled vultures, poised to oust you at any moment. As the lone rookie, you were perceived as nothing more than a liability. Despite your efforts to avoid seeking their assistance by tackling most tasks independently, being in your first year of the profession meant there were occasions when you needed guidance or support. Yet, camaraderie was a foreign concept in this office. Compared to other workplaces, the only semblance of unity stemmed from shared breaks and lunches.

A part of you felt relief at the prospect of bidding farewell to a workplace where you found no joy. However, the dominant part, fueled by anxiety, fretted over how you would cover rent and expenses. Although you had a modest emergency fund tucked away, it would only sustain you for about a month. Urgency gnawed at you as you roamed the streets with a cardboard box containing your few office belongings, scouring for job advertisements. Picky was a luxury you couldn’t afford; you were prepared to take on any role, even as a barista or waitress, until you secured a position closer to your aspirations. Survival necessitated prioritizing money above all else.

As the day wore on, you lost track of time. With the setting sun casting a dim glow and street lamps flickering to life, tiny raindrops began to graze your cheeks and nose, soon escalating into a downpour. Despite the onslaught, you mustered the strength to suppress the curses threatening to spill forth. Rushing back to the subway, you braved the rain without an umbrella or proper clothes, mindful of the looming threat of illness. With no funds to spare for hospital bills or medication, resuming your job hunt from the shelter of your laptop seemed the safer option.

Arriving at the subway, drenched from head to toe, you collapsed onto the nearest available seat, your legs barely able to support you. With a heavy sigh, you closed your eyes, feeling the weight of the day’s exhaustion bearing down on your body. The simple act of sitting down was a luxury, a stark reminder of just how fatigued and stressed you had become over the course of the day. You rubbed your weary legs in an attempt to generate some warmth, soothing the cramps and chasing away the chill brought on by the rain.

As the subway doors slid open with a ding, a wave of commuters flooded in, filling the once-empty seats around you. Seizing the opportunity to rest your eyes until reaching home, you leaned back against the seat with the cardboard box resting on your lap. Tired, cold, and hungry, the numbing effect of the rain provided a brief respite from the stress, deserving of a well-earned nap.

When the ache in your neck became unbearable, you reluctantly opened your eyes, realizing that your stop was approaching. Glancing down, you noticed a book lying on the seat beside you, as your grip on the box was dangerously close to slipping from your grasp. Picking it up, you scanned the faces around you, expecting someone to claim the book or acknowledge its presence, but no one seemed to react. Confirmation dawned upon you, the book had been left behind, seemingly forgotten by its owner.

Although the book appeared hefty, its weathered cover hinted at years of use and handling. Despite its age, it felt surprisingly light in your hands, its once vibrant hues faded to muted tones. Adorned with a pale gold cover devoid of any text on the back, the book bore the scars of countless readings and journeys. Turning the book over to avoid catching your tired reflection on its worn and shiny surface, your lips parted in mild surprise. Three striking male figures graced the cover, their details rendered with such realism that they almost seemed tangible, despite the signs of wear and tear. Your finger traced over the hyper-realistic features with impulsive curiosity, only to retract abruptly as if scalded, suddenly aware of your surroundings.

As a sweet ache pulsed between your thighs, you found yourself unexpectedly aroused by a mere image, prompting you to shift uncomfortably in an attempt to quell the throbbing sensation. It had been quite a while since you last shared intimate moments with someone, but even that didn’t entirely account for the sudden surge of desire sparked by a simple picture. Stirring memories long buried within you, igniting a hunger you hadn't realized existed until now.

A blush warmed your cheeks as you examined the figures once more. The trio bore the semblance of warriors or assassins, albeit clad in scant attire. The man on the left possessed a sun-kissed tan, his muscular frame adorned with a large scorpion tattoo on his left arm. His black hair was artfully swept across his face, his golden mask veiling a stern gaze as he brandished a flaming kunai, its rope end poised for action.

Your attention shifted to the figure at the center, whose face remained partially obscured by a silvery black mask. Despite the concealment, a strange sense of familiarity emanated from his features, mirroring those of his companion. His complexion was pale, revealing blue-green veins beneath the surface, while his dark eyes emanated cold, dominating arrogance. Black hair, tied in a low bun with a few tufts escaping to frame his strong features. Massive biceps framed his imposing stature as he wielded a sword of ice, poised to strike with lethal precision.

In stark contrast, the figure on the right differed greatly from his counterparts. Towering slightly above them, he bore little resemblance to an Asian individual, exuding a distinctly European air. His skin was also light, and he wore a grey-colored mask covering half of his face. A thin, light grey smoke emanated from his body. His short gray hair and softer gray-blue eyes lent him a gentler appearance, juxtaposed by the lethal aura exuded by the carambite adorning his finger. Despite his softer features, his lethal prowess was undeniable.

As you scrutinized the cover, a perplexing question lingered: why would the illustrator depict warriors in such a manner if not for a romantic context? Their barely dressed and provocative poses hinted at a fantasy narrative, reinforced only by the presence of their weapons. Without them, the figures might have appeared more akin to love slaves than skilled warriors. “An intriguing choice,” you murmured to yourself, pondering the illustrator’s intentions behind such a depiction.

As you opened the book to look at the chipped pages, curiosity piqued about the contents within, you suddenly realized that your stop had arrived. Hastily tucking the book into your box, you sprang to your feet with a muttered exclamation.

“Oh, shoot!” With a swift maneuver, you barely managed to slip through the closing doors of the crowded subway. Amidst the post-work rush, the mingled scents of sweat and cigarettes engulfed you as you navigated through the throng. Minutes later, emerging from the subway, you drew a deep breath, filling your lungs with the scent of rain-soaked earth.

Your journey to home passed in a blur, your body moving on autopilot along familiar streets and corners. Before you knew it, you stood before your fifth-floor apartment, a small abode consisting of two rooms and an American kitchen. Its most prized feature was the balcony, a sanctuary where you relished summer evenings, savoring the view with a glass of wine by candlelight.

When you arrived home, it was already nine o’clock in the evening. Leaving the box in your hand at the entrance of the door, you went straight into the shower to wash away the fatigue and grime of the day, and to replenish the warmth your drenched body had lost. You lingered under the hot water until it thoroughly enveloped your body, and finally, when the steam filled the small bathroom and you felt like you might faint from the heat, you emerged, clad in your well-worn and hardened bathrobe, with a towel wrapped around your head.

Pouring the last remnants of the red wine you opened days ago into a glass, you placed it in the microwave to heat up the leftover Chinese food you ordered a day ago. As you waited for your meal to warm, your gaze wandered to the box in the corner, reigniting your curiosity about the mysterious book. Crossing the room in a few strides, you retrieved the book and placed it on the kitchen island, settling into your chair with wine and warmed food. “I’ll worry about unemployment later,” you declared, raising your glass in a toast. “Today was stressful enough, and I definitely deserve this wine.” With a sip of wine and a mouthful of noodles, you flipped open the book’s cover with your free hand, eager to have a look at what it held.

‘’What…?” You stared at the glossy golden pages, brows furrowed in confusion, surprised to find them empty. “What kind of book is this? I don’t understand the purpose.” you muttered in disbelief. The worn-out appearance of the book added to your confusion, making you question whether something had happened before it was finished.

As you reached the middle of the book, a shocking revelation left you speechless. Lines, equivalent to about a paragraph, materialized on the previously blank pages before your eyes, causing your entire body to freeze in shock. Tremors coursed through you, as if jolted by electricity, and you grasped desperately for reality, unsure if what you were witnessing was a dream. Gasping for breath, you struggled to comprehend the surreal sight before you.

“I haven’t even had that much wine—I just took a sip.” you mumbled, your voice strained with the effort to contain your rising panic. “I’ve seen enough movies to know where this is going. I’m not reading whatever’s written here,” you declared, the thin timbre of your voice betraying your attempt to stifle a scream.

You closed the cover of the book hard and attempted to get up from your chair, but found yourself unable to move. It was as if an unseen force held you in place. The cover of the book opened again, and as the pages flickered before your eyes, the one you had just turned to was laid out in front of you once more, sending shivers of fear down your spine.

“Read it,” a demanding male voice echoed in your mind, freezing you in terror. Despite your frantic desire to flee, you remained immobilized, unable to move a muscle.

“I-I was just curious about what it says. I didn’t mean any harm,” you pleaded weakly, few tears streaming down your cheeks due to the immense fear you felt at the moment. Another voice, speaking in a foreign tongue filled the air, his tone scolding but directed elsewhere, not at you.

“We won’t harm you, master,” another voice reassured, offering a glimmer of hope amidst the fear.

“Say the words aloud, and we will serve you,” urged yet another voice, prompting a realization of the three distinct voices corresponding to the figures depicted on the book’s cover.

“W-What the…! Are they…”

“Yes, that’s us you see on the cover. We’ve been trapped in this book for a long time. You have to say the words to get us out of here,” one of the voices explained.

“You’re talking as if I had a choice,” you replied in a timid, low voice.

“Read the words, woman,” another voice commanded. It was the coldest and harshest of them all. Despite lacking a physical form, his dominant aura was unmistakable in the way he emphasized his words. His voice resonated with a deep, chilling tone, unlike anything you had ever heard before. You attempted to steady yourself, swallowing hard and clenching your trembling hands into fists on your legs.

“How do I know you won’t hurt me? Each of you had a weapon on the cover; it’s clear you’re some kind of warriors.”

“We are bound to the master of the book,” another voice interjected, his tone notably more welcoming and kind than the others. “We cannot harm you.”

“God, I must be losing my mind. I’m talking to a book,” you muttered, glancing at the pages with audible trepidation. Fear and panic constricted your throat, rendering you speechless.

“This is no illusion—it is the truth,” the same younger voice asserted after a brief silence. “Read what is written, master, and we shall pledge our service to you.”

“I-I’m not anyone’s master. Don’t call me that; this situation is already too surreal for me,” you protested weakly.

“As you wish, master,” came the compliant response.

“You won’t hurt me, will you? I’m too young to die; I haven’t even begun to fulfill my dreams…” you pleaded, your words abruptly cut off by a snarl. If not for the invisible force holding you down, you might have leaped in fear.

“Read these damn sentences!” the voice commanded, his tone harsh.

“Bi-Han, don’t frighten her!” another voice intervened.

“Fine, fine, I’ll read it!” Tears continued to trickle down your cheeks as you began to recite the words aloud, hoping to end the ordeal. And as you prayed to the god or whatever deity might be watching over you, you couldn’t shake the dread that you might be leading yourself to your own demise. “Rise, my servants, from the depths of slumber and bind yourselves to me with your souls, revealing your names. Embrace your new purpose ensnared by passion.’’

As you finished speaking, a powerful gust of wind whipped through the room, causing the towel around your shoulders to unravel and fall. Soon after, you heard the voices of three men speaking in unison, their words echoing loudly.

‘’We rise, Bi-Han, Kuai Liang, and Tomas of the Lin Kuei, bound to your will, for in your presence, we find solace and purpose. We protect and we please, however you see right, however you seem fit. We’re your slaves, and you’re our master, surrendered to your every command, body and soul.’’

With a surge of energy, the wind intensified, knocking over the glass on the counter, spilling wine onto the robe and floor. The glass shattered at your feet, scattering shards across the kitchen. A brilliant light emanated from the book, forcing you to shut your eyes against its intensity.

Then, as suddenly as it began, everything fell silent and still. The wind vanished as if it had never been, and the light that had filled the room dimmed into darkness. Summoning the courage to open your eyes, you were met with the sight of three imposing, completely naked men standing a short distance away.

“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God!” You attempted to gather your thoughts, tearing your gaze away from the men to focus on the scattered glass on the kitchen floor. “There are three naked men in my living room. And—and they emerged from the book? I must be losing my mind. I really must be losing my mind.”

As the words tumbled from your lips, sounding like utter madness to your own ears, you tried to take deep breaths to calm yourself. But when you attempted to rise from your seat, your numbed feet betrayed you, causing you to stumble and fall to the ground. The impact sent a jolt of pain through your knees and feet as shards of glass embedded themselves into your flesh, stealing the breath from your lungs.

“Shh, it’s okay. Calm down, you’re only hurting yourself,” came a gentle voice.

Your gaze was drawn to a towering, bronzed figure looming over you, his powerful physique making you feel small and vulnerable. Sensing your escalating panic, he gently cupped your face in his large hands, the touch of his calloused fingers both rough and tender. With each contact, warmth spread through your body in soothing waves.

“Look at me. Take deep breaths and exhale, just like I do,” he instructed in a soothing tone.

“I can’t,” your voice broken with fear.

“Of course you can. Follow my lead, I’ll show you,” he reassured. As you turned your gaze to his face, you were met with a pair of slanted light brown eyes, framed by long black eyelashes. His gaze exuded warmth and understanding, matching the sensitivity of his touch. “Breathe with me. Now.”

As your brain somehow focused on his instructions, you found yourself synchronizing your breaths with the mighty man before you. With each inhale and exhale, you felt a wave of calm wash over you, dissipating the last shreds of your strength. He effortlessly supported you, preventing you from collapsing to the floor, his touch gentle yet firm. Despite the pain throbbing in your flesh and the warmth of blood trickling down your skin, you remained in a state of confusion and fear, unable to muster the will to move from his grasp.

“Tomas, find something to clean the wound,” commanded the one with the authoritative voice, resonating with incredible depth. The man who held you gently lowered himself onto one of the double seats in the living room, maintaining his firm grasp on you. A faint warmth spread across your face, but you remained ensnared in his hold, feeling as if your mouth were filled with dry cotton.

Your gaze shifted to the man cradling you, his expression clouded with concern as his amber eyes scrutinized you closely as if he feared you might suffer another attack. Despite his gray hair, you were taken aback when a youthful visage suddenly filled your vision. The man was tall and imposing, his large build casting a formidable shadow over you. Feeling intimidated between these two towering figures, a timid whimper escaped your lips as your body instinctively recoiled, yearning to escape despite its weakened state.

“Calm down, master. We won’t hurt you. Let me tend to your wounds; you’ve cut your knees and feet badly. I can ease your pain,” reassured the silver-haired man, his voice carrying a surprisingly gentle tone given his imposing stature. As you swallowed and tried to shift again, a cold sound from across the room froze you in place.

“If you move again, I’ll—” began the menacing voice.

“Bi-Han, enough! She’s already frightened, no need to add to it.” Intervened the man holding you, his voice commanding authority. Though Bi-Han’s threat remained unfinished, its effect lingered, rendering you motionless, afraid to even breathe. As the silver-haired man tended to your wounds while taking advantage of your stillness, the man holding you attempted to comfort you with gentle pats, drawing soothing circles on your back.

Gritting your teeth against the pain as the glass shards were removed, you fought the urge to appear weak and helpless in their eyes. Though you couldn’t see yourself from their perspective, a sense of self-consciousness gnawed at you. In an attempt to shift your focus from the pain, the man holding you soflty interjected, “I am Kuai Liang,” he introduced. “May we know your name?

Struggling to articulate your name through clenched teeth, you managed to utter it in one breath. A faint smile graced Kuai Liang’s face. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, (y/n).”

“Speak for yourself,” growled Bi-Han from across the living room. “Just another fucking master we’re bound to serve.’’

‘‘I thought you wanted to get out of the book.’’

Kuai Liang’s sharp retort silenced Bi-Han, prompting Tomas, who was tending to your wounds, to interject. “And so am I, Tomas. Thank you for calling us into your service.” he said with a small smile that seemed forced, his dull greyish blue eyes lacking genuine emotion. As he carefully tended to your wounds and wrapped them in bandages, a sense of unease washed over you, causing you to squirm away from Kuai Liang’s grasp and retreat to the corner of the seat, eyeing the three men with a mix of confusion and discomfort.

“Can someone please tell me what’s going on?” you croaked, avoiding their look as your gaze involuntarily dropped to their lower parts for a second before you could prevent it, your cheeks burned with embarrassment. “And please cover up your bottoms. You can use the cushions.”

Complying with your request, all three men concealed their private parts with cushions. Tomas took a seat in the opposite double seat, while Bi-Han settled into the single seat. Despite your small apartment being already cramped, the presence of the three burly men made the space feel even more claustrophobic.

“Where would you like us to start?”

“From the beginning,” you replied, addressing Kuai Liang. “Who are you? How did you end up in that book? And why are you here now… Please, tell me everything from the beginning so that I can understand.”

“We are members of a clan called Lin Kuei, known for training assassins, and we are brothers,” he began. “Bi-Han is the eldest, serving as the grandmaster of our clan in the past. I, on the other hand, am the middle one, and Tomas and I served as his second-in-commands.’’

The revelation that they were assassins drained the color from your face, confirming your suspicions from the book cover. A shiver ran down your spine as you realized the chilling reality of being in the presence of trained killers.

“Many years ago, we encountered a demon named Quan Chi on a mission. As you can imagine, the mission went awry, and he sealed us inside this book. Whoever owns the book and says the words becomes our master, and we are compelled to fulfill their wishes and desires.”

Even if you sensed that the information was being presented with some omissions, you refrained from voicing your suspicions. They were strangers to you, and you to them, so expecting complete transparency without trust seemed unreasonable. While you had the authority as their master to demand the truth, approaching the situation in this manner didn’t sit well with you—it didn’t feel right, nor did it feel humane.

For God’s sake, the idea of being anyone’s master was abhorrent. The twenty-first century had arrived, and the notion of a master-slave relationship had long since vanished. It felt nauseating and profoundly unsettling.

“I am not your master. I can’t—I can’t be. No.” You attempted to stand up in panic, desperate to escape the situation, but your injuries held you back. Kuai Liang gently grabbed your arm, urging you to calm down.

“Calm down (y/n), your wounds are very fresh. You’ll make them bleed again.” You clung to his wrist, pleading with your eyes for assistance.

“Is there no way to set you free? I can’t accept this. This is—this is against humanity!”

With your words, a deep silence enveloped the room. As you observed their stunned reactions, it became evident that this sentiment was new to them. Your heart ached at the thought of witnessing these powerful men stripped of their freedom. Despite your fear, the realization knotted your stomach. They appeared intimidating and deadly, yet the severity of their situation suggested that past experiences had shattered them and stripped away their dignity. You couldn’t fathom how long they had endured as slaves within the confines of the book, but the outcome seemed all too predictable, casting a somber shadow over the room.

“Set us free?” Tomas’s voice echoed with longing, his desire palpable.

“Such a thing is possible, isn’t it? If you tell me what I should do I—”

“Why would you do that? What do you want from us in return?” Bi-Han’s voice sliced through your words, sharp and menacing. You fought to maintain your composure, avoiding freezing in your spot as his icy demeanor chilled the room. As your agitated gaze shifted to his pale, muscular arms, you were astonished to see a thin layer of ice extending from his hands. Were they truly made of ice?

“As I said just now, I can’t be anyone’s master, it’s in defiance of human ethics. If there’s any way I can help you, I’d like to do it. I don’t want anything in return except for this situation to end as soon as possible, I’m sure you want the same.”

“Do you expect us to believe that you are just a fairy godmother?” Bi-Han’s mocking half smile sent waves of unease through you. “You are not convincing at all, woman. Favors are done with an expectation of something in return.’’

“Favors are done for nothing; you don’t expect anything in return. That’s why it’s called a favor.” Emboldened by a hint of defiance, you met Bi-Han’s stern gaze head-on. “I can understand why you don’t trust me after what you’ve been through—”

‘’Don’t you dare,” Bi-Han shot up from his seat, his movement swift as a shadow. Suddenly, he was close enough for his breath, cold as winter air, to brush against your face. “Don’t try to empathize with what we went through. Do you think you know us now just because you’ve learned a few things?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend,” you said quickly.

“Brother, please sit down. If you talk like that, we won’t get anywhere.” Kuai Liang intervened, putting one arm between you and Bi-Han. Bi-Han glared at you intensely, his eyes slanted like those of a predator, then he took a deep breath. Watching the mist of his cold breath in the air, everything still felt like an endless dream—or nightmare. When he finally returned to his seat, Kuai Liang’s gaze turned to you.

“Thank you for offering to help, but unfortunately, we don’t know how to undo this dark magic.”

You ventured a suggestion that you hoped wouldn’t sound foolish. “We could try burning the book. I’ve seen it work in some movies.”

“We’ve tried that,” Tomas chimed in, joining Kuai Liang. “Several times. Whatever we’ve done, the book has never been destroyed. It’s protected by some kind of magic, just as it protects its master from us.”

“You spoke as if you had tested the last part before.”

In response, silence enveloped the room. Despite your efforts to stave off panic, the realization that they were assassins and the precariousness of your situation made you feel threatened.

“We have tried to kill several masters before,” Kuai Liang admitted frankly. “But there’s some kind of seal that protects them—you can think of it as a shield. It renders any attack ineffective. That’s why we were telling the truth when we said we wouldn’t hurt you.”

“Of course, if things were different, it wouldn’t mean you wouldn’t try,” you said, averting your gaze and clasping your hands in your lap. Another solution came to mind, prompting you to straighten your shoulders and take a deep breath before continuing.

‘’ If I can’t set you free, then you’re free to do as you please, go where you want. You don’t have to be stuck here.” you offered.

“You won’t give us orders? Isn’t there something you want us to do?” Tomas asked, surprised.

“No, as long as you don’t start killing people, you’re free to do whatever you want.”

“We’re not mindless killers,” said Bi-Han harshly, sounding offended that you would even think of them in that way. Kuai Liang interjected, softening his brother’s tone.

“We serve a noble purpose. We were, until we were sealed in the book… Our clan has been dedicated to protecting Earthrealm from dangers for centuries,” he explained, his gaze softening slightly as he made eye contact with you. “Thank you for the opportunity you’ve given us, but we can’t be away from you for more than a few hours. We have to get back here, to you.”

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “How so? Why? Do I have to say something else?”

“No, it’s part of the magic. It was designed to prevent us from escaping. When we’re away from our master—you, and this period becomes longer, we become weaker and weaker.”

“So at the end of the day… God, what cruel magic this is,” Gulping, you scanned all three men with a heavy heart. It must have been torture for them to endure this existence. Even as you spoke, your heart ached with empathy, imagining what they had been subjected to. Anger and sadness gripped your body as you contemplated their plight. “Is there anything else I can do for you? My house isn’t too big, but I want you to be comfortable during your stay here.”

It was Bi-Han who responded, his narrowed gaze resembling two thin lines, as if he were dissecting your sincerity. You couldn’t help but feel a pang as you tried to discern whether he believed you. While you understood his skepticism, winning their trust seemed like a daunting task.

“You can start by finding us clothes.”

[whenyuuwish]

Basic Information 

Birthday: 19th of April (Aries) Age: 16 Height: 1,62cm Dominant hand: Right Homeland: England, Earth Nicknames: Blue jay, herbivore (by Leona) Gourami (by Floyd) Mademoiselle Brillant (by Rook)Wen-wen (by Cater)

Family: Unnamed parents † Jordan & Myles Beaumont (young brothers)

Grade: Freshman Class: B Club: School’s janitor team  Best subject: Astrology

Hobbies: Storytelling  Pet peeves: Arrogance  Favorite food: Blueberry muffin Least favorite food: Mustard Talent: Sewing

Background:

Whitney had always thought she grew up in a close-knit family. That was the fantasy she clung to, but the truth was far bleaker. In 1900, her family seemed perfect to outsiders, yet behind closed doors, her father crushed any spark of imagination she had. Like so many women of the time, she was only allowed to do her chores, never to dream of anything more.

When she was just 10, tragedy struck. Her parents died in a car accident, leaving her and her younger brothers, Jordan and Myles, utterly alone. They were sent to a cold, joyless orphanage where Whitney, now Winnie to her brothers, was forced to grow up far too soon. She took on a motherly role for Jordan and Myles, comforting them as best she could, even as her own heart ached with loss.

Her only escape was in the world of fairytales and fantasy. She spun stories for her brothers, clinging to the magic in her mind to protect herself from the harshness around them. But the orphanage director disapproved. He called her dreams foolish, telling her to face reality and abandon her "silly" stories. Each time he scolded her, Winnie’s fear of growing up deepened, terrified that adulthood meant losing the last bit of wonder she had left.

One cold, lonely night, after yet another argument with the director, Winnie found an old, forgotten book at the orphanage door. Desperate for hope, she wished upon a falling star for a better life and drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep. When she awoke, it was not in the orphanage, but inside a coffin in the strange, magical world of Twisted Wonderland.

Personality:

Winnie carries an air of being old-fashioned, a product of the early 1900s that shaped her upbringing. Her values reflect the time she grew up in—modest, traditional, and deeply rooted in responsibility. She holds onto a sense of decorum and duty, often placing others’ needs before her own, and is naturally polite and respectful. Despite living in a strange new world like Twisted Wonderland, she still clings to the manners and customs she was taught as a child, sometimes feeling out of place in the more modern, freer ways of others.

Her old-fashioned nature also makes her somewhat reserved when it comes to change, often questioning the bold or reckless behavior she sees around her. Yet, her respect for structure and tradition is in direct conflict with the free-spirited dreamer inside her. This paradox makes Winnie both nurturing and cautious, but also curious and rebellious, wanting to balance the world she was raised in with the one she now finds herself navigating.

Her love of fairytales and storytelling, too, stems from this old-world charm, where she believes in timeless ideals of honor, loyalty, and sacrifice. Though some may tease her for being "out of date" or too "old-fashioned," Winnie remains true to herself, blending her deep-rooted values with the spark of imagination that keeps her moving forward. This makes her a fascinating mixture of someone who respects the past but isn’t afraid to rebel against the limitations it tried to impose on her.

Trivia: 

Whitney is inspired at Wendy from Peter Pan.

Her last name is the same as her voice actress and portrait actress, Kathryn Beaumont.

Her birthday is the year 1904, but separate! This is the year Peter pan’s movie is portrayed.

Whitney loves stargazing. 

Whitney call most people around her “Mister”, “Sir”, “Ma’am”, “Miss”, even if they are the same age. 

It is not considered that she time traveled, since she went from one dimension to another, who just is more developed; still not a time travel since dimensions’ timezone don’t work in the same way.

Epel says at the end of every class Whitney falls asleep in her table like Silver; however, most teachers don’t wake her up, nor encourages students to do so.

In Book 2, Leona said Whitney first put a small pillow on the floor of his room where she would sleep, once he gave the idea of her using an mattress, Whitney said “I am used to sleep on the floor, no worries.”

Ortho and Idia eventually help her understand technology in Book 6. Understanding that from where she came from this was not normal.

In Book 5, Vil helps Whitney understand more about the modern world. Something that Cater has also been doing since Book 1, just not, as successful.

Riddle tries to be easygoing with Whitney since he mentioned multiple times she had cry a bit scared of him, during Book 1 he noticed but payed no mind to it. Then he find out that she acts like it because of the orphanage director.

Jade doesn’t like her because she doesn’t like mushrooms; that’s duo the only thing she could eat when disrespect someone of the orphanage staff was mushroom soup.

Whitney only wants to go back for her brothers, because if they were there together in Twisted Wonderland; she wouldn’t want to go back at all.

Leona calls Whitney “blue jay”, because he always forget her name.

Dylla Spade (Deuce’s mother) said if she ever wanted a different place to stay with her siblings, her house would always have open arms to her. And constantly implied she would love to have more kids around, awhile talking with Whitney.

Whitney not liking/caring for the Octotrio, is duo to the fact Wendy in Peter Pan (1953) was attacked by mermaids.

[lilacxquartz]

Those Late Summer Nights | Chapter 7

satoru gojo x f!reader × suguru geto

plot: you moved to tokyo over the summer to take a teaching job. As you get settled in, you find yourself entangled in a toxic dynamic.

chapter summary: satoru teaches you to tolerate a place you dislike.

warnings: unaware reader while satoru does something he really shouldn’t

< Previous Chapter • Next Chapter >

7. Starry Skies

There was just a little extra something humiliating about being back in your old bedroom at your old house again; these four walls that were once both your comfort but also your prison had been left perfectly untouched with the help of your mother preserving it just as you had left it—a space locked in time, a haunting reminder of who you once were.

You grew uncomfortable at such a prospect as it was likely going to continue down that road for many more years to come, with or without your friends to help you through each and every single visit.

This room in particular once housed the person you didn’t want to be, after all, providing you a temporary shell for you to hermit inside of whenever you made your bed in it; you weren’t her anymore, but also, you were her at some point.

Your eyes squeezed shut as you tried succumbing to sleep to quickly pass this whole thing by, but you were used to much later bedtimes by now and we’re left staring off into the dark as slumber failed to take you under. The clock barely hit 9 in the night and you were left lying wide awake feeling restless and frustrated.

It was then that you reached for your phone, knowing that pretty much everyone else would be up at least. The texts did take their sweet time to deliver though; the spotty reception driving you just a little over the edge, making you more irritable than you had to be.

It was something about this place, that was the reason why, you were sure of it.

Shoko was the first priority in your texting queue, updating her with just about everything that had happened so far as she continued to approve of how Satoru was behaving, assuring you that he knows his stuff when it comes to unfair parents and that you have nothing to worry about.

It was a lighthearted moment of checking in, her texts half mocking you ‘goodnight’ as she had to continue to study while reminding you of the plum wine.

Suguru was next in queue, just to see if he was still going through whatever it was that made him feel so distant but he never replied. He always had his phone on him so you felt a little more hurt than usual knowing that he likely read your message but never bothered to reply.

Satoru was the next in line either way as you were a little concerned as to how he was holding up in the guest house but just as you typed something out to him, he got to you first.

“Your parents turned their lights off, let’s sneak out~?”

You stared at the screen as you laughed quietly at the idea, quickly feeling your worries evaporate—he was fine, of course he was fine. Staring at the text a little more, you also considered the idea. Your parents usually fell asleep quickly and you weren’t tired at all, so it would be nice to get away from this place for a while.

“Is it really sneaking out if it’s my own home and If I’m an adult?” you asked, sending a text back. You were twenty-two now, bordering twenty-three; a young adult at this point, but one either way.

“It is if it gets you into trouble,” he replied.

You gently scoffed as you realised the depressing reality of how it actually was. You likely would get into trouble because you still had to walk on eggshells around your own family even now, which made it all seem even bleaker.

Wanting to go against the system, you accepted his offer, wanting for things to go down a different route for a change if you could help it and as such, you told him that you’d be down in five and to meet you at the front of the house.

You then quietly left through the front door and met with Satoru in the driveway who quietly greeted you with a smile, suppressing his voice for now so as to not get you in trouble, a notion that he personally thought was a little amusing.

Together, the two of you walked side by side as your shoulders unintentionally slouched, feeling some strange discomfort from existing within town once again.

It was the shell of your former self manifesting who you once were, showing Satoru a side of you that he was aware of but one that you’d rather he didn’t know.

A side of you that felt just a little watched, a little judged in everything that you did.

He responded to your sunken body language with a pat on your back with some slight force in his hand, hoping to both straighten your posture as well as to snap you out of whatever it was you were going through.

“You know, I miss that girl that I got to know in the city,” he said as he looked up into the night sky, his eyes taking in the many stars blanketing over town, “you’re not really yourself out here, are you?”

You gulped as you listened to him talk, finding that his words were oddly profound for who he was and couldn’t form a proper response, at least not right away. Other parts of the question felt a little like a pick up line but you did your best to not overthink it, knowing that his personality was flirty by default and that it wasn’t personal even if he did mean it that way.

The walk led you to a nearby park where the lights were still shining bright under the lampposts scattered throughout, the two of you settling on a bench near the entrance. Some low grade cursed spirits loitered in the shadows further into the park, but neither of you cared enough to exorcise those.

The night sky was exceptionally beautiful tonight, completely devoid of clouds as a crescent moon smiled over the world; clusters of stars freckling around the dark canvas.

“I miss views like this back in the city. Even further out where it’s quiet, it’s never really exactly like this,” Satoru said after a while.

“Yeah, it’s the only thing I ended up really missing when I moved to Tokyo,” you replied in agreement.

Something about this whole thing felt strangely intimate, but you couldn’t quite put your finger on it. It wasn’t generating as much tension as it had done so when you were alone with Suguru, but something was brewing that you couldn’t quite understand.

Regardless, you didn’t want it to go another wrong direction though so you kept your hands and body language to yourself.

Keeping your friends as friends was more important, you thought.

“So, there’s really nothing else out here?” Satoru asked.

“Well, that depends on how you look at it,” you considered, trying your best to not be completely negative, “there’s the night views, the nature and the clean air which is good for some people.”

“But not for you,” he speculated.

“I guess not.”

“There’s no shame in this place just being somewhere you had to live in, you know. You shouldn’t let it define you.” He said after a while, trying to help you feel better about being here while also trying to ease you into becoming more vulnerable so he could potentially chance a move on you.

“I mean… it’s easier said than done,” you replied as you let his words fester in your mind, talking a touch more spontaneously as your emotions stirred, “maybe you don’t get it because you were told that you were special your entire life-“

Wait. Oops.

You froze as you realised exactly what you had just said and just how terribly it was worded.

Satoru noticed this and didn’t even flinch nor did his demeanour change a single bit. He didn’t mind such sudden bluntness from you, in fact, he found it refreshing that you were capable of speaking your mind under the right conditions.

“It’s alright—you’re alright,” he laughed a little as he found himself momentarily stunned, “you’re right about that much.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to say that,” you continued to blabber despite his attempts to talk you down from your spiralling unease.

“I just wanted to say that you’re not that ordinary either, even if you were told it,” he continued to explain without dwelling on what you hit him with, “you have something that a lot of people can’t even comprehend having.”

Sighing, you finally forced yourself to face the conversation.

“I know, but, I just feel like if I didn’t have anything going on then maybe I would actually have a chance to be normal.”

“But where’s the fun in that, [name]?” Satoru replied, scoffing just a little as though jokingly offended, “you could have had a boring normal life in a small town, yeah, but that’s all you would have done in your life.”

“And is that so bad…?”

“When you’re comparing it to what you have, I’d say so?” he asked as countered your question with one of his own, he didn’t show it but he was a little frustrated at how little credit you gave yourself, “your past here was a blip at best and all I’m getting at here is that you shouldn’t let it define you.”

“It’s just easier said than done,” you sighed, although you did agree with him. This topic was difficult to discuss, but it felt freeing to face a troubling truth.

Silence followed beyond that point, leaving you wondering if there was something wrong with you that drained the life from those around you given just how quiet people were.

In reality, or at least for Satoru’s case, it was that he felt comfortable enough to finally continue making a move on you despite the fact that he was starting to slowly become conflicted with doing so.

You were vulnerable as you had finally opened up to him in a way he was certain that you hadn’t to others before, but it didn’t feel right to do so completely.

Still, he chose to lean in for a kiss that managed to catch you so off guard that you immediately pulled away, wondering why this was happening a second time—hoping that you actually weren’t doing anything to lead anyone on without realising it.

Satoru pulled back too as he maintained his unserious expression, choosing to not present himself as offended even if the rejection did throw him off, even just a little. He quickly laughed it off either way, having a new idea in mind to ease you into giving in.

“My mistake, [name],” he smiled as he continued to stare into yours, “I thought we were supposed to be selling a lie up here.”

“I-I guess so but it feels too real-“

“—Just this once?” Satoru asked as he cut you off, not giving you room to think, “maybe with some luck someone will see.”

That was exactly what worried you, that someone from town would see you kissing him despite it already being so late into night—at least for this place. You knew that just from looking at Satoru that this was his attempt at something, but you didn’t want it to go down that road at all.

“Just think of it this way, if we have to sell it around your parents later, it’ll be easier to do,” he said as he continued to warm you up to the idea.

Your own bruised persona that existed within this town tried to justify it for you internally, telling you that this would be your chance at appearing normal for a change as your body slowly ended up leaning into the kiss, after all.

It wasn’t so bad as your lips finally connected, but you didn’t really feel anything at all as it all unfolded.

Maybe he was actually just playing you to see how easily you played into his cards, but you couldn’t deny that you were curious—at least a little, just to see what it was like to lock lips with someone else.

Satoru then pulled back after a moment had passed too, sensing your discomfort, not wanting to push you over your limit, at least not yet.

He could tell that it was your first kiss, but that just helped him savour it all the better.

***

It was a quiet walk back to the house and just as you were about to re-enter the front door, Satoru pulled you off into the garden along with him as an attempt to convince you that you would probably feel less bad if you spent the night with him than entirely alone.

“Please?” he playfully begged you, “don’t make me spend the night in there all alone.”

“It’s just for two nights though-“

“—Unless you want me to sneak up to your room~?”

Such an idea even if he was joking left you feeling a little mortified as the colour drained from your face. There was absolutely zero chance that he was going to see that side of you, so you reluctantly gave into the offer of a sleepover instead.

Even if he did steal a kiss from you, there was something about his entire being that made him seem somehow more trustworthy than Suguru to you.

Maybe it was the fact that he was open about it?

“Trust me, [name],” he continued to say as he tugged your wrist off to the guest house, “if we’re supposed to be together anyway, it wouldn’t even be that weird to be seen with me in the morning.”

“But my parents-“

“—They were young too at some point, trust me, they’ll get it.”

You understood that part fully well but you still felt a bit off about the whole thing. Sneaking out was one thing, being seen leaving the guest house with him was another due to the implications alone. You wanted to sell the lie too, but it was starting to feel all too real again and you didn’t want for him to get the wrong idea about just how much you were allowing him to get away with.

“Just to sleep, nothing more-“

“—Just to keep up appearances,” he assured you while smiling, “it smells in here, don’t make me suffer through that alone.”

You stared at him for a little longer, sighing as you continued to give into the idea; his smile growing wider as he watched you accept such a proposal.

“I won’t do anything,” he added along, “we’ll just sleep, yeah?”

You nodded as your mind quietly crumbled internally at the prospect of sharing a bed with a guy, so when you both got into bed together you made a conscious effort to stay at the edge of the bed while he read into your body language, backing himself up against the wall.

The bed was surely small though and such crowdedness radiated a heat between the two of you despite not touching each other at all.

The summer heat continued to fester and as a result, he slowly dressed down albeit to a respectable degree and you soon gave into surrendering your top for the camisole beneath, still keeping your bottoms on, just to make sleep even a little bearable.

Falling asleep within his shadow felt strange initially but the exhaustion quickly swept over you. He wasn’t being weird to you as you had initially feared and as such, you were successfully lulled into a false sense of security around him.

So by the time you were fast asleep, you didn’t even notice as he slowly crept ever so slightly closer to you, intending to brush it off as nighttime habits if you were to wake up from his advancement.

…But you never did.

He then attempted to close the distance between you even more as he pressed himself up ever so slightly against your back, feeling himself grow excited as he did so—a consequence of his own selfish thoughts.

Although, you did pull away subconsciously as the heat became overwhelming which prompted him to stop for a moment, thinking about how exactly to go through this, or if he should even do so at all.

The conflicting feeling came back again and he was beginning to feel strange in how he was treating you but at least for now, the arousal clouded his thoughts on the matter as he continued onwards.

Continuing, he pulled down his shorts even further while backing off a little. His semi-hard cock pitched slightly against his boxers as he did his best to keep it subtle enough, shuffling closer against your back without waking you up or bothering you.

Just to feel how you felt against himself, he wouldn’t go beyond that point.

You couldn’t feel him at all in your deep sleep regardless, your mind not even registering the fact that his tip pressed ever so slightly against the small of your back. He wanted to keep you close which is why he didn’t go further, making sure to act at least somewhat rationally so that he wouldn’t do anything he’d regret.

It surely did take him a good while until he broke away from you though, settling flat against his back instead as frustration enveloped him. He took care of himself at his own hand instead, the bed slightly shaking as he did so but never once breaking you away from slumber, finishing off into his shorts that he then threw off to the side.

Satoru sighed deep as he forced himself to behave around you, convincing himself that you’d ease into it another day—just not today, but maybe at another time.

It was because he liked you that he kept a boundary to begin with.

It was because he liked you that he didn’t want to hurt you.

(Unless you gave him a reason to.)

He surely wouldn’t.

…Would he?

[joelswritingmistress]

You Scare Me, Professor: Chapter 47

Summary: The reader is taking graduate classes at a local university in the wooded upstate New York. She is drawn to her professor, Dr. Joel Miller, though she is also inherently aware that he has something dark about him that she can't quite put her finger on. As the reader's attraction grows deeper, she has to decide whether to endure the danger or run away as fast as possible. 

Pairing: Professor Joel Miller x f!reader 

You never really know what you would do in that situation until it becomes reality. In this case, that situation was one where an unknown assailant is giving quiet, controlled commands to follow. Every instinct in my body was to do exactly the opposite of what I was being told to do.

“Walk straight to the elevator. Take it down to the basement level. The door straight ahead is unlocked. Go through it. Walk straight through the salt caves and open the door at the far end. Enter the room. If you try to cause a disturbance or draw attention to yourself, someone you love will die.”

The feisty woman in me wanted to blow up his spot. I wanted to go screaming through the hallways banging on doors for help. I knew I should have. But what if that meant someone I loved would die? What if it wasn’t an idle threat? What if this person had the means to do just that? And which person was he speaking of?

“Pull your hood up.” His voice was all whispers. I couldn’t make out his identity. “Walk to the elevator. I’ll be just behind you.”

Fuck. Why was I about to obey?

So no one will die, I answered myself internally.

“Stay in front of me.” The man grabbed my cell phone and slung it into his pocket before ushering me toward the door. When the two of us emerged into the hallway, I took a deep breath. There was freedom here, yet I was imprisoned. The walk down the dimly lit corridor to the elevators felt like a death march. Maybe it would be.

I glanced to the right out the windows that gave a view of the empty slopes. Such a different point of view at this late hour.

“Is this part of the bachelorette party?” I asked, wondering if this was some elaborate scheme. Maybe Carol hired a male stripper or something to carry out some freaky, funny scenario. He did order me to the basement, after all. That’s where we had our pedicures, lounged around the salt caves and took a dip in the jacuzzi.

“No.” That was the only response.

When the elevators came into view I was hoping to see someone. Anyone. Someone I could flag down and somehow discreetly let them know I was in trouble. Or at least I thought I was in trouble.

My heart was pounding when the doors opened and no one else was inside. I closed my eyes and hesitated, only stepping onto the platform when the person shoved me forward. When I glanced over my shoulder, I could see a stark white mask covering his face and his hood was pulled up to cover his hair.

Regardless, he moved to get out of the way and motioned to the buttons. I pressed the glowing circle with the letter B in the center of it and down we went. Whatever was waiting for me there was unavoidable. I still held hope that a giant prank was in order. Maybe the whole family or the wedding party or both would be waiting down there.

Dr. Miller had gone somewhere for wedding shenanigans. But why would the person say that someone would die? And why would he take my phone? The hope I had grew bleaker with each passing thought, and with each passing floor. When a clunking sound finally indicated we had reached our destination, I swallowed hard.

My hands were shaking. My heart continued to thud. The doors flung open and the spa that I had leisurely visited for relaxation not all that long ago looked like a dungeon. It was dark and desolate. Even the smells that lingered in the air felt different; musty. All remnants of what this place had been during the day were tragically missing.

I took a deep breath and stepped out, trying to remember the exactly directions.

 “Where do I go?” I asked aloud.

Over my shoulder his arm extended and his index finger was a straight line. I walked forward, glancing in all directions.

“The spa is closed,” I said aloud. As afraid as I had been up to this point, an internal instinct for survival kicked in and I made an attempt to run back toward the elevator.

It caught him off guard. The man chased after me and I began peppering the word, “Fuck,” outloud as I began to push the little button with the arrow. 

The doors reopened and I bolted back into the elevator, only to be yanked back by my hair.

I screamed for the first time and then I was lifted from my feet, thrown over his shoulder as he carried me away. I watched as the elevator doors closed and got farther and farther away with each step he made into the blackness; the obscurity.

I kicked and screamed at first, trying to get away, but within just a second it got all the more real. With one swift movement he placed me down and there was an unmistakable feeling at the base of my throat. A thin, cold line pressed into my skin and it felt hard to breathe. A knife. The blade. All this person had to do was push and my life could be over. Right there.

“Okay,” I choked out, “Okay.” All hope for a bachelorette party was long gone. This was real. I was going to die in the spa of this place that had been a paradise no less than fifteen minutes earlier.

He walked me forward. The blade was still against my neck and we stepped in sync, like some kind of synchronized dance routine. I barely recognized the salt caves when they came into view. The lights were dimmer. The smell was musty. Each time I breathed in and out I worried the edge of the blade might penetrate my skin.

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

I could have gagged, but I managed not to. When I swallowed hard again it hurt. I knew asking him to loosen up his grasp would do no good. If anything, I thought it might prompt him to push harder against my throat.

The spongy ground beneath my feet somehow reminded me of quicksand. Metaphorically, that was the equivalent of this trek through the caves. I was getting deeper and deeper, and it became less likely that I would make it out again. There was no cavalry coming over the hill to save me or help out this situation. I knew I had to figure it out on my own.

We rounded a bend and the musty smell mixed with that of chlorine. It was a familiar smell. One that reminded me of the bottom lair of Dr. Miller’s house. A white sign with navy blue lettering and an arrow came into view beside a door I could barely make out. As we grew closer, I could see what the sign read.

POOL THIS WAY.

Pool. Swimming. What did this person have in mind? And how much did they know about me and my habits? Dr. Miller had taught me enough in our times together that I could make it short distances staying afloat; but what would happen if this guy flat out pushed me into the deep end of this swimming pool?

Death by drowning or death by stabbing. My options felt grim.

The chlorine smell was magnified when he reached around me and pulled the door open, still positioning himself at my rear. Outstretched before me was an oversized swimming pool, twice the size of Dr. Miller’s. The blue glow was the only lighting in the place.

A loud clank made me jump and I turned around to face the masked man behind me as he secured the door shut.

I put some distance between him and myself, though I stared right at him. In my mind I showed no fear, but I could feel my body trembling.

“What do you want?” I asked him. “Who are you?”

“Who am I?” He spoke normally now, all traces of his raspy whispers were gone, and I felt the hair stand up on the back of my neck. I knew that voice. He wasn’t a stranger. Not by a long shot.

“Is-is this a joke?” It had to be, right? It had to be. Though, at the same time I knew it couldn’t be. There was a long, drawn out pause. It was almost too dramatic. And then he removed the mask.

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[motherofdragonflies]

The Elevator Game: A Choose Your Own Adventure Fic

Written by: @motherofdragonflies / bexgowen

Art by: @xfancyfranart

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 95,000

Tags/Warnings: Major Character Death, Choose Your Own Adventure Style, Psychological Horror, Canon Divergent, Post 15x03, Case Fic

Summary: 

The game is simple.

Get in an elevator, alone, and follow the rules. If you follow them correctly, the elevator will rise and when the doors open, they will open onto a world that is not your own.

When his brother goes missing after investigating the death of a teenage girl in a hotel in St. Louis, Dean Winchester is dismayed to discover it involved an internet legend called “the Elevator Game”.

He’s even more dismayed when Castiel—who walked away weeks ago and hasn’t been returning Dean’s calls—shows up, also looking for Sam.

Dean doesn’t want to work with Castiel, and Castiel doesn’t seem thrilled about working with him, either. Can they put their differences aside when  they discover that Sam disappeared after playing the Elevator Game? Will Dean and Castiel play the elevator game and travel to the Other World themselves? Will they find Sam before it's too late? 

The choice, dear reader, is yours. You are in control of the story.

But choose wisely, for once you play the Elevator Game, things may never be the same again.

Excerpt:

“Where did Ali hear about the game?” Sam’s voice asked. 

“She, uh, she loved scary stuff. Horror movies, urban legends, that kinda thing. I think she found it on reddit, in one of those scary story subreddits? I don’t know, I don’t…I don’t like that kind of thing. But, um, she was always talking about wanting to try it but you need a tall building and we’d never been anywhere anyway tall enough until…”

“Until that night. Did you tell the police?”

Lilah scoffed. “I told them. They didn’t believe me.”

“Lilah…what do you think happened?”

“I... I think…I think it worked.”

The audio file ended, and Dean sorted through the rest of the papers from the envelope Lilah had given him. The first page was a print out from a true crime subreddit: Dean recognised it as one that Sam checked constantly. His brother had highlighted a post on the page, one consisting of a single line that was posted four days after Alison and the others had disappeared:

Ali Bleaker played the elevator game.

Frowning, Dean turned to the next page and found that it was an article from a website called “The Ghost In My Machine”, titled “The Most Dangerous Games: The Elevator Game Revisited.”

Dean snorted at the title but read on:

"Some people know it as ‘Elevator To Another World’. For others, it’s the ‘Elevator to Hell’... But no matter the name, this peculiar…game, I suppose—although there’s nothing playful about it—it always said to have the same outcome, as long as you follow its rules to a T: By riding an elevator alone, visiting a handful of floors in a particular order as you go, you can transport yourself to another world entirely."

Dean stared at the words on the page.

Another world.

“Jesus, Sam, tell me you didn’t.”

Once upon a time, Dean might have dismissed the claim of ‘another world’ as something out of a science fiction story. But having visited several other worlds, Dean knew that alternate realities, multiverses—whatever you wanted to call them— were real. He doubted that something as simple as riding an elevator could take you to another world, but the idea wasn’t as far-fetched as he once would have believed it to be.

Snatching up his computer, Dean quickly pulled up the phone tracking site that he’d bookmarked and searched for the location of Sam’s phone. 

He was not at all surprised when the map showed Sam’s phone was at The Millennium Hotel, where Alison Bleaker had died.

Going up at @deancashorrorfest this October!

[novacqnes]

prisoner, prisoner // vi

summary: most within the confines stillwater viewed vi as a seemingly mystical figure— by all except you. thus, when assigned to be her new cell mate you’ll stop at nothing to uncover the truth.

warning: prison? angsty, touch-starved, mentions of blood, wounds, a whole lot of teasing, smut; fingering (vi receiving), bottom vi

pairing: vi x fem reader

word count: 2.7k

a/n: vi’s literally one of my favorite characters and i only have one piece of writing up for her— it’s criminal (no pun intended) also this may or may not be me furthering my bottom vi agenda idk 🤷🏾‍♀️

the air inside of stillwater always had a way of trapping you. heavy and stifling it clung to your skin, mercilessly coating it with dew. although at times it felt more treacherous, seeping its way into your lungs, offering you just the slightest glimpse of your grim future. in many ways it stood in for the steel bars of your confinement, making your situation even direr.

the hallways reeked of something metallic— it could’ve been blood, rust from the decrepit bars, or the scent of pure fear. as you passed by each cell the stench seemed to vary, with some spaces emitting more fear than others. despite this, you weren’t afraid— at least not in the way you should’ve been. you knew your fate, and it involved the red-headed pariah at the far end of the hall.

truly, nobody knew anything about anyone— but there was much mystique surrounding inmate 516. you only knew her name and even that could’ve been up for debate. there wasn’t much emphasis on them, in fact, most of the time you forgot your own. yet within those, it didn’t matter and for as long as you existed inside them you were inmate 601.

slowly, her cell came into view. it looked bleaker than you’d ever imagined. a small, dreary voice echoed rang throughout your mind— and it urged you to turn back. the voice was relentless, it pleaded and cried. desperately attempting to persuade you to fall to your knees before the guards and beg for forgiveness. it only grew louder and for a moment you nearly gave in.

“keep moving 601,” the guard to your left spoke with a low, gruff voice. the other sent a sharp push to your shoulder sending you straight toward the front of the cell. you could feel the menacing smirks grazing their lips, wanting nothing more than to taunt you. after all, it was your fault for ending up there in the first place. this new living situation served as a reminder of it and the purplish bruise under your eye served as a reminder of it.

“on your feet, inmate,” the second guard barked, yet the order wasn’t directed at you. a muscular figure approached the bars, and slivers of fiery red hair emerged from the dark. you could almost make out her face and although you’d seen it numerous times before it was a lot softer than you’d imagined.

vi wrapped her hands around the steel bars, revealing the blood-stained bandages over them. she leaned forward, grayish-blue eyes quickly darting toward your face. after a moment her soft features hardened, allowing for her hard exterior to truly take shape. her eyes bore deep holes in yours prompting a rigid chill up your spine.

she spat, “the fuck is this…?” but no response was given. rather the men laughed at her question, obnoxiously so.

behind you the other guard leaned in, slowly un-cuffing as he whispered, “word of advice 601….try not to fall asleep.” he then produced a set of keys that would open the door to your new reality. the metal emitted a loud creek that traveled throughout the hallway. with another hard nudge, you were shoved into the small space. the hard clanging sound of the bars following suit.

you were left with nothing but the distinct unwelcoming silence that pervaded the cell. vi hardly spared you a second glance. she sauntered back over to the corner, continuing on as if you didn’t even exist. hence, the mystical aura that surrounded her persisted— and you had no way of knowing how to break it. thus you settled for simply chipping away at the tough exterior. with a deep breath, you stepped towards the lower bunk.

“what are you doing?”

“sitting down,” you chirped. her voice was low and hostile— it took everything in you not to shoot right back up. despite this you kept yourself planted on the flimsy mattress. ignoring the small voice making its way to the surface.

begrudgingly she stepped toward you, “that’s my bed.” the aggression was still present in her voice but you couldn’t help but detect the slight amusement in it as well. and for some odd reason, you found it intriguing— only fueling your curiosity.

“so?”

“…i can’t tell if you’re trying to be brave or just really stupid,” she whispered.

now vi stood just a few feet away yet her presence was stronger than ever. the only source of light was a dim lantern outside of the cell and it allowed you to partially capture vi’s face— and the rest of her. she was notorious for getting into fights but now that you were up close you certainly saw why. her arms and legs were sculpted by hard, defined muscles that seemed to flex without the slightest care. in a matter of your seconds, you’d found yourself completely warped in them and it was vi’s stern voice that pulled you out.

“i heard what you did— that fight in the cafeteria? why?” her entire being practically loomed over you. calloused hands gripped the frame on the top bunk as she bent over to face you. the distance was more than intimidating— it was domineering. it corroborated the long-standing rumors and it only made her seem more like a mystery. yet the longer you looked into her eyes the more you held out hope that your cellmate was more than just a ruthless murderer.

“it was the only way to get close to you.” slowly you rose from the bed, diminishing the already non-existent distance down to nothing. vi kept her arm planted on the metal, caging you in between it. her eyes darted in between yours and her expression remaining unreadable. the air seemed to thicken and for a moment it felt impossible to breathe.

vi’s voice was light and almost condescending. her soft lips to brushed along the side of your ear, “you got yourself thrown in the worst part of this shithole because you have a crush on me? jesus…maybe you are stupi—“

“it’s more complicated than that.”

she smirked, “then explain it to me, roomie.” she turned on her heel slowly ambling along the decaying wall, back over to her side of the room. as much you hated to admit you missed the proximity. it’d been so long since you’d experienced what it felt like to be touched by another person. and although she wouldn’t dare utter it aloud vi regretted pulling away.

“you haven’t heard, have you? most people think you’re some kind of monster or a martyr waiting to die. which is why you’ve been here for so long.”

“what do you think?”

“i don’t believe either,” you admitted. she kept most of her face turned away, thus your only view was the dark, intricate tattoo designs that ran across her soft skin. the longer she stood there the more you wanted to run your fingers over each one. and the desire was persistent— at that moment you wanted nothing more than to touch her. despite your judgment, you stepped forward, fighting the urge to do so.

it was evident that she didn’t trust you and you couldn’t blame her for it. vi had simply existed within stillwater for years but she didn’t really have anyone. the abuse from the guards was relentless and if she wasn’t in fights then she was here— in this poor excuse for a cell. she kept her arms bound to her sides, clenching her fists for dear life. therefore there was no way she was going to open up to you— especially not like this.

“i wanna tell you about how i got here…if you don’t mind?”

“i don’t have anywhere else to be,” she shrugged, a slight smile tugging on her lips. cautiously you moved towards vi once again, joining her on the opposite wall.

“a few years ago some of my friends and i thought we could pull off this heist. the plan was that we’d steal some piltover’s most beloved riches and in doing so we’d become legends— maybe even rich.”

“you can’t be serious,” she chuckled, filling the room with her quiet but infectious laughter. it was something that was so rare that it nearly shocked you. yet the sound was beautiful, sending a swarm of butterflies to the pit of your stomach.

you cleared your throat, “unfortunately i am, my adolescent years were a very dark time for me, alright? anyway, the day comes and i get there, i wait for god knows how long but they never show up. just when i’m about to leave these enforcers show up and they practically tackle me to the ground— i still have the scar. next thing i know i’m detained for a robbery that i never even got the chance to commit.”

“they let you go down for it?” she turned to face you, her breath lightly fanning your cheek. silently you nodded, keeping your eyes focused ahead. you couldn’t shake off the warm feeling that accompanied being under vi’s gaze. it made your conversation feel even more like a dream. but most of all it made you feel safe.

“most people suck, you learn that early. but if it makes you feel any better i wish that i’d met you earlier,” she sighed.

“why?”

“we would’ve come up with a much better plan- and we would’ve gotten away with it too,” she boasted, moving a couple of red strands from her face. you couldn’t help but admire even if it was just for a moment. small, reddish-pink bruises took shape along the sides of her face. despite this, her eyes looked brighter than ever and for the life of you, you didn’t have the willpower to look away— and neither did vi.

“can i see it? the scar?” she asked. her voice, smoother than ever was the only deterrent to your rampant dreams. dreams that consisted of your cellmate in ways that you preferred to keep to yourself. nevertheless, you lifted the hem of your shirt, revealing the entire left side of your abdomen.

“it’s dark, i can't see.” hesitantly you reached for her bruised hand. bringing it to your rib ever so slowly as you searched for the rough exterior of your wound. after a while you let go, allowing vi the chance to roam unassisted. the gesture was small but it brought both of you more comfort than the other would truly know.

“vi, why are you here?” you hummed, leaning into her soft touch as she caressed the skin along your abdomen. her fingers traveled upward, brushing the underside of your tits. the hair along the sensitive skin rose with each slow trace of vi’s fingertips.

“i don’t know y/n,” she whispered. she moved her other hand from her side bringing it to your aching body. despite the same desire that plagued vi’s body there was no hurry for her. she took her time basking in each part of the process.

“how’s that possible?”

“you piss off the wrong people i guess,” she chuckled, an apparent melancholic tone laced in her voice. you wanted to push further, ask her more questions but your mind couldn’t have been further from it. you needed vi more intimately than you’d ever expected and now you had nowhere to run.

“you’re so soft….” vi cooed, running the pad of her thumb over your nipple. she took used the other hand to knead your breast. her movements although minuscule drew shied moans from your lips that shot straight to vi’s core.

you purred, “do you know what that’s like?” she stopped for a moment, her eyes trailing up to meet yours. they glimmered even without the presence of a real source of light. she was desperate and it was so easily detectable just from the way that she looked back at you. she was tired of being alone and you wanted to tell— no show her that she didn’t have to be.

you cupped your hands to the sides of her face pulling her in for a kiss. at first, is was slow, but soon it escalated vi allowed her hands to roam up and down your body as your tongue slipped into her mouth, deepening the kiss even further. she reached for your shirt, roughly pulling it off your head. her lips immediately found your chest, peppering fiery kisses all over your tits. she pulled it into her mouth, cupping it gently as her lips wrapped around your nipple.

“i wanna show you something,” you muttered. slowly you brought your hand to vi’s lower abdomen keeping it there until she gave you approval. with one glance down at you, vi nodded, prompting you to sink your hand into her pants and underwear. the pad of your index finger connected with her clit first, sending a wintry chill up her spine.

“are you sure?” rather than responding she ushered her hips forward, humming at the warm contact. thus you took it as a sign to continue. you drew small circles, applying just the slightest amount of pressure. vi felt as if her entire body was being set ablaze with each part of it experiencing pleasure right after the next.

“i-i need more y/n,” she whimpered, clutching onto you. her hushed moans permeated the room, growing more fervent as you slipped a finger inside of her. low squelching sounds filled your ears the more you continued, pressing upwards. gradually your fingers became slick with her fluids and vi nearly incoherent.

you moved your lips to her neck, running your tongue along the skin. vi wanted to cry out, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d experienced anything like this. it was something so out of her control yet she loved every second of it.

“fuck—“ she choked out, her nails sinking into your skin. her heart was beating rapidly and fresh tears brimmed the corners of her eyes yet you showed no signs of slowing down. you slipped yet another finger into her pussy curling them at just the right angle. you targeted her g-spot wanting nothing more than for her to unravel against you.

“y/n— i’m- i can't.”

“tell me….” you cooed, pursuing a devilish pace. vi could feel her legs slowly losing feeling. her core burned with an insatiable ache that would soon consume her and she didn’t know how to express it.

“….tell me you what you want, violet.” she shook violently against you, burying her face into your neck yet you refused to stop— not until she said so.

“oh fuck— y/n, i’m gonna come.” vi’s cries filled your ears delightfully. she grasped onto your body tightly as the pit in her stomach came undone. fluids soaked your hand as well as the fabric of her uniform. patiently you eased her down from the high, running your arms along the art etched into her skin.

soon after she pulled away, discarding her wet pants before taking a seat on her bunk. she gestured for you to come to sit by her, sliding over to make room for you.

“…just so you know this is still my bed.”

you threw your hands up in defeat, flinging yourself onto the mattress beside her, “i surrender.”

for a while, the two of you sat alongside each other. there was something particularly comforting about unspoken comfort that vi seemed to understand better than anyone. in just a few hours your entire perception of her had been flipped on its side.

now? you had who idea what vi was except for the fact that you had to learn more. yet it wasn’t the things you’d originally set out on knowing, like her crimes or how long her prison sentence was. rather you wanted to learn small things, the parts that most people viewed as pointless. you wanted to know where she was from, her favorite color, what music did she like— if she even liked music?

vi shifted closer to you, her knees lightly brushing against yours as her eyes roamed over you. she leaned in close, pulling your attention back towards her.

“hey, what are you thinking about?” she asked. you turned to face her, bringing your thumb to the side of her face. she gazed back, her eyes holding the same amount of light as they did before.

“even after all of that…you’re still a mystery to me.”

[literary-motif]

Act II — The Clouds

Scene iv — The Envelope

previous scene // overview // read on ao3 // next scene

Warnings: talk of alcohol, references to depression

The night turned bleaker still. Asirel was gone when you returned to the study, leaving you to collapse into the chair by the desk with no regard for propriety. The silence burned through you. The fresh information hurt your head as you battled with the concept of werewolves and vampires, wondering how they had managed to exist in your periphery for so long. It was a mere coincidence you found out about them now. 

Strange things existed, stranger things to be found at the bottom of the ocean. 

Samuel Kennedy was another subject still. 

Knowing he was tangled in such a web of closely guarded secrets concerned you. He was volatile. He was no longer needed in The Collective — even if the influence he held in the Court was minimal. You had long since made up your mind to get rid of him at the next opportunity — his blatant corruption and fraudulent airline business only one of many reasons — but now you were hesitant to antagonize him, not knowing how far his tendrils of connections truly reached. 

The right and honorable Samuel Kennedy. He was none of these things with the way he bent the law to breaking, disrupting the judiciary in a way that made you seethe with contempt. A judge! His appointment was laughable. 

How much harder would it be to sweep him out of the way now? What would the consequences be with the powerful allies he had by his side?

What would the Collective do, once they knew? You would need to tell the inner circle at the next meeting. 

The thought made your heart jolt, anxiety burning in your chest as you rubbed your temples. What would they do? How would you tell them?

You heard the door shut quietly, the sound startling you out of your spiral. You raised your head, blinking at him as Asirel set two steaming cups on the desk. He sat down, pulling one of them towards him again and taking a sip. He did not grimace as the scalding liquid bit into his tongue — you supposed the discomfort cut through some of the haze surrounding you.

He shook his head, cradling the mug. “This is insane,” he muttered, continuing to shake his head as if that would somehow clear his mind from the madness that had manifested into reality. He looked so bewildered, so helpless and lost that you felt an acute pang in your chest. 

It was guilt. You could have spared him this revelation, and you cursed your selfishness again for dragging him into this mess by false pretense. It made you think about his father, wondering if the late Mr. Cain would have changed his mind about appointing his son his successor if he knew the dark edges this reality stretched into. 

Then again, perhaps he knew already, and it was something he kept from you. Just like the meeting with Samuel Kennedy.

Would you tell Asirel?

You sighed, reaching for the other mug. You took a hesitant sip, frowning as you tasted chamomile tea again. “I expected something stronger, truth be told,” you said.  

“It calms my mind,” he replied distantly, looking at the soothing liquid as if it held the solutions to all his problems. His gaze flickered up to meet yours for a moment before he glanced at the liquor cabinet. His fathers. He had not cleared it out yet. “I thought it could help you as well. I’ll get you something stronger. Whiskey? Bourbon?”

“No, it’s fine,” you said, waving a hand to decline his offers. 

In your mind’s eye, you could see yourself in this very room, sipping on Bourbon until the deep black of the night turned to golden dawn, a different Cain in the chair in front of you as you mulled over information Mr. Rhoades had dug up, debating which route to take in a situation where the strings and interest were so mangled it was hard to see clearly anymore. 

It was hard to imagine that the man you trusted completely had kept secrets from you, let alone of such monumental importance as a meeting with Kennedy. You should have known about it. He should have told you. He should have told you!

If he was poisoned, maybe you could have done something. The ‘what ifs’ swirled in your mind, making you wish for an instance that you had taken Asirel up on his offer for Bourbon. What if he had not gone? Would he still be alive? What if you would have gone instead? 

Things could have turned out differently if he was murdered. Maybe it could have been you instead. Maybe you could have saved him. Maybe. 

You should have known better than to expect complete honesty from anyone. It was rare, rarer still in your life of work. If information was the currency in your world, secrets were the banks, keeping the money valuable. You should have known better. 

The tea was suddenly bitter on your tongue.

You had not even noticed the tense silence stretching between you and Asirel, too caught up listening to your ownthoughts, until he spoke. “I haven’t felt like myself in a while,” he said quietly. 

It made your thoughts grind to a halt. Your breath caught in your throat at the turmoil you could see raging inside him — fear and uncertainty mixing together with sorrow and longing and trust. 

You had not noticed before, but Asirel’s eyes were expressive. They truly were a window to his soul, or the innermost workings of his heart. His father had hidden behind a cold gaze, always keeping you guessing as to what was going on in his mind while he upheld a flawless mask of impassivity. Asirel must have his mother’s eyes. You could remember Mrs. Cain’s wet, heart shattering gaze after lowering her husband into the ground. 

“And I don’t think I’ve ever expressed how much you help me,” he continued, averting his gaze to hide. “Thank you, I mean it. I don’t know how I would have done this without you. How I— I don’t even know what I’m doing half of the time. It feels like I can’t break out of his shadow.”

Something about the night made him vulnerable, cracking open his chest as the moon slowly faded, as if sinking only once it was saturated with the tar choking him. The darkness made him honest, it made him weak as the emotions finally got the better of him. He could grieve in the night when his surroundings slept, and finally cease the pretense of being in control — even when he felt every string slip through his fingers — for as long as the sun was down.

“I’m following your lead like a dog on a leash. I don’t understand so many things and— and it’s all gone so cold. The world is freezing, everything feels so far away but so close all the same and— and I’ve never felt so alone. I can’t” — he buried his face in his hands, cutting off with a shaky breath as he fought the tears — “I can’t talk to my mother without feeling inadequate. She can't look at me without tearing up because she misses him and I’ve taken his palace. My sister can’t stand to be near me because of the power I supposedly hold, but I’ve never felt so powerless! I don’t want to lose them over this. I can’t— it’s not fair! What do I have left without them?”

His shoulders shook with suppressed sobs, and your heart broke at the sight. You longed to soothe him, give him reassurances and lies about how it would get easier with time, how things would settle eventually, but the truth was that even you still ached because of it. 

The estrangement from his family was a pain you understood well. You could not speak false consolations, they would ring hollow. 

Instead, you pulled out the white envelope Mr. Rhoades had given you, laying it on the table carefully as if you had taken a knife to your chest and cut out your heart to lay it bare.   

“This is mine,” you said, keeping your voice soft. “It’s all I have, a biweekly report from Mr. Rhoades. It’s for the best. They are well and healthy and safer away from me. He keeps trying to convince me to reach out to them again, but he does not know what it’s like in the Collective. He knows a lot, but not everything. It’s dangerous. The world— it’s a freezing place. Every organization, every enemy you’ve made over the years wants a piece of you. You can never stop looking over your shoulder, and I don’t want that life for them. So to keep them safe—” You gestured towards the envelope, swallowing a mouthful of camomile tea.

Asirel eyed it, anguish in his eyes as he reached out a hand to brush along its edge. You knew exactly what he was thinking, weighing the options he had to keep his mother and sister safe and away from whatever madness you were descending into. 

Vampires and werewolves. They shouldn’t have to worry about mythical creatures. They should be safe, and content, and happy, always. But was his soul-shattering isolation from them a price he was willing to pay for it? It tore at his heart. Animpossible decision. 

He picked up the envelope. Your heart skipped a beat, seeing your best-kept secret — which you had offered him willingly — between his fingers. Asirel looked at the clean white, turning it around to search for any kind of labeling in vain. It was unsuspicious, the perfect vessel to contain your raw love. 

You saw his brows furrow as he looked at you, confusion in his eyes. “Why?” he asked softly, the question reaching so deep it seemed to touch your very essence. 

He was not asking about the envelope. He was not asking about your family. He wanted to know why you had revealed it to him. He needed to know why you allowed him to hold your heart in his hands. It was information that could kill your soul, freely given to him.

Why do you trust me?

You could still see it, Asirel clad in black against the white stone of the mausoleum while you were keenly aware that your old friend lay buried not far from there, and it was now your responsibility to look after his son. You had promised him, after all.

“In our Faustian Bargain,” you said, giving him a smile that did not reach your eyes. “You told me I could.” 

He handed the envelope back to you, unopened. 

“Don’t tell me,” he said, not quite managing a smile. “I trust you, too.” 

Your father may have been murdered.

You pocketed it slowly, not meeting his eyes. He trusted you, and you were keeping this from him despite knowing he should be informed of your suspicion. 

The envelope felt heavy now, dragging you down. You could not remember the last time someone had declined knowledge, every morsel of intel a weapon in this world of thorns and shut doors. Asirel was special, the perfect alley in the game you played. 

He trusted you, and you were deceiving him.

You stared into your half-finished drink, trying to dislodge the guilt swallowing you whole. You could not raise your head, knowing he was looking at you with quiet sympathy and a deep-seated sorrow that nothing seemed to shake from him. 

“What were you trying to tell me, before you were interrupted by the call?” he asked quietly, fiddling with the silver ring on his finger. You noticed that he wore a matching watch. 

“I—” you began, clearing your throat. You gulped down the rest of your tea, fixing your gaze outside as you set down the empty mug. “It doesn’t matter now.”

Look me in the eye when you lie to me! 

You met his gaze, looking at the open, vulnerable expression on his face as he nodded slowly — trusting you. 

You held his gaze. “It wasn’t important.”

[willknightauthor]

Wraith: The Best Game That Never Was

It occurred to me that even among RPG nerds Wraith is more obscure, and that makes me sad. Like people know it existed, but even at the time it was an also-ran. Among insiders at White Wolf it was a darling, but it never took off, so they stopped its line half way through. Even in high school I had to buy the books used online.

Wraith is one of the most original and compelling approaches to the afterlife I've seen in any medium, but especially in an RPG. In many games ghosts feature as NPCs, but rarely do you get to play as them, and even more rarely in an interesting way that centers the subjective experience of being dead.

The first thing that grabbed me was the art, all faded gray-scale, scratchy, often grotesque and surreal. The cover is striking: stark gray bound in chains. All far bleaker and genuinely scarier than anything else put out by White Wolf. Turns out the art matched the vibe of the setting very well, because the ultimate conceit of Wraith is that if the living knew what the afterlife is really like, we'd all be even more terrified to die.

Wraiths are a violation of the laws of nature. Biological life is already an improbable struggle against entropy, but the continued existence of consciousness after death? An absolute affront to the universe. Reality wants you gone, but you can't be killed. That contradiction manifests as Oblivion: non-existence as a visible, active force; the Freudian death drive become physics. And it goes all the way down into your very thoughts.

The afterlife is a world of ideals, not materials. Your well-integrated mind shatters into pieces when you die, and your "physical" form is a manifestation of it. Your Jungian shadow-self, once an unconscious and abstract thing, becomes a real, tangible person living inside you. All your vices, your self-loathing, your misanthropy, your death drive, become a voice in your ear: your best friend and worst enemy, helping and tricking you, constantly trying to gain control.

But you can't be killed. You're already dead. Instead of death, you just decay, further and further towards becoming your shadow. Eventually all that's left is a nightmare of who you used to be, existing only to torment others and drag them down together into nothingness. The world is full of these monsters, the things that go bump in the night and terrify both the living and the dead.

But that's literally the tip of the iceberg. The thin layer of shadow reality is nothing compared to the much larger expanse of the Tempest: a cosmic plane of dream and nightmare, right on the edge of Oblivion. The deep underworld is Lovecraftian Mad Max: an infinite shifting desert of eternal night filled with screaming storms, incomprehensible monsters, and forbidden knowledge. Pockmarking it are islands of stability upon which societies are built--dysfunctional city-states desperately attempting to project power into a world constantly trying to swallow them.

However, if no-one can die, then every awful political trend and tyrant remains forever. And they all have a huge head start on you establishing political power. Their society is a veneer of modern industrial capitalism, layered on top of mercantile guilds, layered on top of feudal lords, layered on top of a Roman imperial bureaucracy, all built on the back of one ancient wraith: the ferryman Charon.

But the Emperor has been missing for a long time, and the bureaucracy is so massive and old that it's rotting in on itself. Who knows how many are secretly succumbing to their own shadows? Their attempts to rule the rest of the underworld are always tenuous, like the last days of Roman Britain. It's a world eternally mid-apocalypse.

The problem with a world of thought and feeling is: how do you make things? What do you make them with? Sometimes the ghosts of physical objects make their way through, and they're mined like whale fall. Undoubtedly the Twin Towers were a huge boon to the dead, probably the site of an entire city.

But it's not enough. Wraiths are still people. They want clothing, and furniture, and buildings, and machines, and tools, and money. Where does all that come from? The only thing left that wraiths can touch: other people. Wraith society is built on a form of slavery more exploitative and horrifying than anything that's ever existed among the living. Slaves are valued not for their labor primarily, but for their use as raw materials.

The vulnerable newly dead are captured, dragged back to the capital, and molded in workshops and factories into goods for the upper classes. They claim it wipes out consciousness, and thus the finished product isn't suffering. If anything it's a mercy! To release them from the torment of the afterlife! And prevent them from becoming monsters! But when it's quiet, if you listen closely, some report you can hear it all whispering.

The bleak alienness of this afterlife to any human religion breaks the minds of many when they first realize they're dead. Some go into denial. Some reject their old religion. Some invent new religious explanations. And some try to twist their old beliefs into a shape that conforms.

The underworld is full of cults. Cults promising escape from the underworld. Cults claiming they know where heaven and hell are. (At best just projections of the collective beliefs of the living into the underworld.) Cults who claim they're building heaven and hell themselves. (These sorts of "afterlife lands" sometimes become tourist attractions.) But Oblivion is Oblivion. If you could describe its structure logically you would be contradicting its very essence. There is only decay.

Most people don't go to the shadowlands when they die. Where do they go? No-one knows. What happens when you're swallowed by Oblivion? No-one knows. Is there a God? No-one knows.

Just like when you were alive, you don't know what comes next, or why you're here. It's not real death, it's something in between. But maybe real death is just nothingness. Better not to risk it, then... even if that means clinging to the sands of Hell under the yoke of an eternal slave-aristocracy.

Maybe if you can figure out why you're here, you'll find a way out.

[little-paperboat]

What We Owe To Each Other (1)

Calling all the Empire! I'm super happy to share that I've finally published third part of the "Forbidden Fire" series (with a heavy delay, but it's here) 💜

6,738 words later (!) I'm finally satisfied with this first chapter 🤓 And the lesson learned is? I really do have to write every day, even if it's just editing a paragraph or 50 words, because otherwise I find it super difficult to get back into it in a way that feels natural and doesn't require an entire re-write and an extra week of work 🥲

For this next part, Tav and her crew arrive in Baldur's Gate with a lot of hopes; unfortunately, reality is much bleaker than anticipated...

They have finally reached Baldur’s Gate, but the trials that wait for them are far from over. Tav and Rolan meet again; under unexpected circumstances, they both yearn for what they cannot have. (or, at the end of the world, there is hope yet.)

I'm REALLY excited for the Sorcerous Sundries arc of the fic because I've been thinking about it for suchhhh a long time ; there are a few scenes in particular that I was dying to put on paper and now it's happening :D Can't wait to see what you think! x

You can follow the tag "series:forbidden fire" here on tumblr to not miss the next updates 🌸 And as usual, abstract under the cut!

Read on AO3 (1/2)

Read Part 1: Wild Winds Are Death To The Candle (2/2)

Read Part 2: Through Shadows To The Edge Of Night (3/3)

They had reached Baldur’s Gate at last. 

Upon seeing the city lights beyond the walls, Tav had almost cried, overwhelmed by the sweet relief of survival, yearning for what lay below her, for the life that was just at her fingertips; yet unable to find herself at peace. The triumph of the journey left a bitter taste in her mouth, one of ashes and blood. So much had changed since she had left the Gate, her life torn to shreds and pieced back together hastily. It had little to do with the beautiful tapestry that had been woven for her even before her birth, made of threads of gold and silver softly shimmering under the chandelier. Instead, it was now rough and uneven to the touch, dried blood staining the fabric that displayed burns and torn holes in several places.

Going through the Shadow-Cursed Lands had marred her mind, body and soul beyond recognition; the gnarled trees and horrors from the void forcefully stealing parts of her that she knew she would never get back. 

She hadn’t slept once through the night since their encounter with Ketheric Thorm. In the pitch black dark of her tent, she still heard the clattering of bones. Whenever she closed her eyes, a sea of putrid blood and the malevolent aura of the Lord of Bones manifested before her, his giant scythe slashing through her body.

She had almost died then; the cold grip of death tightening around her and choking her, ferocious and famished. She had only survived thanks to her companions’ bravery and tenacity - but the price had been paid. Things could never go back to what they were before; yet she hoped, she prayed, foolishly maybe, that walking in the city would allow her to find her missing parts, to piece herself back together. She longed to see the elegant buildings of the Upper City again, to enjoy the familiar and rich fragrance of the rich ladies’ perfumes, to finally sleep in silk sheets and comfortable beds. Maybe her family would have them all, the estate big enough to accommodate the whole gang plus the two druids, the owlbear cub and Scratch.

If her family was still alive, of course.  

And maybe… maybe she’d even see Rolan again. 

She would never admit it, especially not to herself, but his memory was what she clung to in the darkest hour of the night, his flaming eyes burning brighter than her fears. To fend off the nightmares she’d evoke the softness of his voice, the smile he had given her at Last Light Inn. Deep down, she felt guilty: his disinterest was painfully obvious, and she was pretty sure it was morally wrong to lust after a guy who wasn’t interested. 

But she couldn’t help it. 

She couldn’t forget him.

Maybe if she saw him again in the city, it could bring her closure. By now he surely had his apprenticeship, and who knows, maybe he found himself an attractive partner to go with it. She only needed to ask to be sure - to hear the final word that he was not into her; and then it would be over. Then she’d force her mind to move on and find someone else to fixate on. 

All she had to do was to reach the Upper City. 

Anything after that would be so easy, and soon, it would all be over - with or without the tiefling wizard. 

— Read the rest on AO3 :)

(c) divider by saradika

[dickmedowndc]

Bad Days - Bart Allen x Reader

Word Count: 1,637

Summary: If the universe could just give you a break that would be great – reasonable, even, after everything that had been going on in your life. As it currently stood, that was a far-off dream. Everything had accumulated to this one moment. Stood before you was some new villain of the week, unrecognizable, whom you had been lucky enough to stumble upon during his escape. You didn’t care to know who it was – just intent on getting out of the situation before ending up a hostage. 

Notes: I need this to sort of vent. Unlike the reader in here though, at least my phone was found. Did I run across to grab it out of the road? Sure. Should I have? Mm, maybe not. 

…★…

Of course. 

Of course, this is how your life was going for the moment. It had been an interesting enough few days to say the least. Your car had determined that it was no longer going to work for you – instead deciding to idle while your foot was on the gas before shuddering and forcing you to pull off on the side of the road. You were thankful enough the breaks were still up to doing their job. It had been one attempted fix after the other and your finances were beginning to look bleaker than normal if the current trend continued. At least without another paycheck due soon and rent due even quicker. Then in the glorious process of setting your phone on the hood while you checked over the tires, you had failed to remember the device only to realize later, after the tow-truck had dropped you off, that it was likely slung onto the road or somewhere in the abyss beside it. Never for your eyes to see again. 

After days of little else going your way, you were done. With only $5 left in your account, you couldn’t miss another shift at work. No matter how badly you wanted to call out. So that left one thing to do – pull on your uniform and walk the entire way there. Something you were less than keen to do in the humidity and sun, but your options remained far too limited. 

It was slow going, admittedly, running across roads and weaving through people. Desperate for a little reprieve from the sweltering heat beating down on you, the choice to cut through the back alleys was easy enough. You knew this area like the back of your hand, and you knew you had plenty of time, if the old phone your roommate had let you use was anything to be trusted. 

But maybe you should have paid more attention to your surroundings. Walking on autopilot, you paid no mind to the commotion ahead, writing it off as normal Central City excitement. An unfortunate misstep, you realize, when you feel yourself collide with a solid body. 

The shock has you reeling for a moment, blinking up in surprise – making dead eye contact with a man dressed in a gaudy outfit who seems just as caught off-guard as you do. 

It’s a moment longer: one, two, three. And then ‘click,’ you realize exactly what is about to happen. Standing before you is some new super villain. Not a Central City regular, at least not yet if so, because you don’t recognize the device at his side or his outfit. Much less him. And you feel the dread settle in your stomach as you watch the light behind his eyes come on; you, in all of your underpaid, sweaty, too-done-with-the-universe-right-now self has just volunteered as a hostage. In reality, you had the moment you took the backways. 

You have to wonder in that moment if the pros outweigh the cons: Pros, the Flash family seem cool enough that one might even run you to work afterwards – and oh, now that you think about it, that is approximately one single pro; the cons, however, you’re not in any mood to be dealing with someone who just crawled out of “Food Weekly for Villains,” you’re not in any condition to be meeting a hero, and you don’t want to show up to work roughed up more than your commute is leaving you. 

You try to make a break for it, gaze set past him before moving to enter into a dead-sprint. But the cogs in his brain seem to finally be turning, which you guess explains the smell of smoke, and he catches you – just barely. But it is enough to throw you off balance and pull you back flush against himself, one arm wrapped tight around your neck. 

You don’t know who he is, you don’t know what he’s capable of. Plenty of dangerous villains look like they got their outfits at a knock-off Halloween store, but they still prove to be deadly foes. It isn’t worth it to risk angering him, as giddy as he seems now, you worry that his mood could change in an instant if you try to escape. Choosing then the better option, especially with limited airflow, to keep your mouth zipped and listen to the monologue he had begun. 

“I left a note for those speedy rats – and now when they show up, I’ll have even more leverage because of you. Who knew Central City would be so easy! A step up from Gotham!” He hollered, causing you to flinch as he waved his weapon in the air, tightening his grip. 

Of course, he had come from Gotham. Of course. 

You had to restrain yourself from rolling your eyes, just in case your captor decided to look at you when you did so. That seemed like something that the world would set up right now. 

But too busy thinking of how to tune out the shrill joy of the man holding you hostage, and trying to leverage how much damage you would cause yourself trying to bust his shin, you notice a moment later than he does when a gust of wind hits and the hand that held his weapon is suddenly empty. It’s when he stops to stare at his weaponless hand that you finally notice something is wrong, before realizing someone new is standing in front of you. 

“Looking for this, Condiment King?” 

Your mind blanks for a moment. Condiment King? You had heard of him. Most people had. Some C-list hack of a villain out in Gotham. 

You got taken hostage by fucking Condiment King? 

As though the last few days and the fact you were going to be late for work from stepping straight into a criminal plan hadn’t proven to be embarrassing enough, now you were finding out you were being held hostage by one of the worst villains to exist. In front of the most attractive speedster, you realize when you get a better look at the hero before you – Impulse. 

Maybe this was a sign that you should move, you reason silently in your head. 

The illusion was broken when Condiment King finally seemed to realize what was happening. “It doesn’t matter, I still have a hostage.” He seemed sure of himself, as smug and almost as giddy as he had been the moment that he had grabbed you. 

He tightened his hold around your neck for a moment while he spoke; you grabbed at his arm, trying to pry it away from yourself enough to keep breathing. You had to give him credit though, he was stronger than he looked, and you weren’t in the best position already. A second later you could breathe, thinking he had loosened his hold on you until you realized that your surroundings had changed. Though your back was still flush against someone’s chest, you were no longer staring at Impulse, but at Condiment King, with an arm protectively swung around your shoulders. 

You didn’t need to see the speedster to hear the amused and taunting tone in his voice when he next spoke. “What hostage?” 

“That isn’t fair, you-” 

Condiment King’s words were cut off in the next moment, and between blinks he was gone. A gust of wind and a trail of electricity left in his wake before Impulse stood before you once more, a satisfied grin on his face. “Are you okay?” 

“Uh,” you paused, trying to wrap your head around what all had just happened. “Aside from being late to work, yeah.” As you spoke you began to pat down your pockets, ensuring the few items that had been on you still were – thankful to find that was the case. 

“Need a lift?” 

“If you’re not too busy then please,” you practically begged, shoulders slumping in defeat. 

“Where to?” 

You told him where your job was and began to regret your decision when you saw the sly smile on his lips. “Hold on.” 

“Hold o-” You never got to finish your sentence, instead ending it with a squeak when he lifted you up, instinctively throwing your arms around his neck. “I don’t know what I was expecting, honestly.” You admitted in surprise. Not that you minded. 

It wasn’t that it took long for him to get you to work, but it almost felt like it should have taken even less time, not that you had really paid attention when you shut your eyes the moment he started moving. 

The other thing you probably should have considered was that he was going to drop you off directly in front of your job. Where all of your coworkers and the patrons could see you. 

As you were being held. By Impulse. Who was waiting for you to stop tensing so he could let you down safely. You did so, mostly avoiding looking too awkward before thanking him. 

“Not an issue,” he assured. “Sorry I couldn’t get you here faster, but I don’t think your manager will be too mad.” 

“Maybe I should just start getting kidnapped more often then if it gets me a free ride from you.” 

He seemed surprised by your comment before his same amused grin returned even brighter this time. “There’s easier ways to get my attention,” he promised before winking and taking off. 

His words left you frozen for a moment before they finally set in. “Oh,” you said, though it was to nobody but the air. Taking a deep breath, you readied yourself for the assured onslaught of questions to be faced once you went inside – trying to decide if you should admit just who had taken you hostage to begin with. Though, you mused, maybe it was worth it today after all. 

[eisenartworks]

I've already told some of these before to @gofancyninjaworld in asks I've sent them, but I'll make a post abt some stuff I noticed

Slight differences in Tatsumaki's past

We all already know on just how different and far more unreasonable and I daresay straight up abusive Tatsumaki is in the webcomic, but tbh back then, I wasn't sure what caused it.

For a Doylist explanation, ONE needs Tatsumaki to not be so fatally flawed, bc to be fair, if we put wc Tatsumaki in manga Tatsumaki's situation, SHE WOULD FUCKING DIE. Wc Tatsumaki got lucky, but if she herself were to face Psykorochi and the eventual enemies, that sort of mentality would not give Tatsumaki the help she eventually needed. And not surprisingly, most of the problems the heroes faced in the wc MA arc can be traced back to ding ding ding! Tatsumaki!

For a Watsonian explanation... It took me a reread.

Webcomic Blast is... questionable, to say it generously. He's certainly no ideal hero manga Blast is, and that I do think would surely explain its bleaker world. But it certainly also explains why Tatsumaki is so cruel. Her meeting with Blast was brief, and harsh. He saved her life, but there's not an ounce of kindness there.

but the manga -

... They all lead up to the same advise, but god, look at the difference. Not only does Blast makes sure to let Tatsumaki out, Blast guessing Tatsumaki's reasons allowed her to open up to him, reminding her that she was wanted and needed by someone, he also made sure to give her kindly advise on top of the iconic one: Protect your family.

And to Tatsumaki, I do think that makes all the difference.

The two Saitama's costumes are extremely likely to not be the same

Yeah, I admit this also took a reread, so when I came upon this panel, you must understand I was pretty boggled. That would certainly explain why it looks... Like that. It's a genuinely a cheap costume. Heck, I have a feeling Saitama actually just buys another identical looking but different colored costume whenever he damages his. Maybe that's why whenever ONE colors wc Saitama, the suit color differs. This chapter I'm pretty sure was posted AFTER the The Road to Hero OVA, so I do think the change is intentional.

Manga Saitama on the other hand, has insistently kept going wearing the same costume and continuously repairs it whenever it got damaged or dirtied. There's just not doubt Saitama greatly values his costume, and takes pride in it bc it means he's a hero. Even tried entering it in a hero costume contest once and got its leather waxed. In fact he values it so much that he does subtly bend reality around it in that despite tanking attacks that would disintegrate its normal cloth (or literally any matter tbh), it still somehow gets away with dirt at best and a few rips at worst. It's also why when he lost utter faith in his own heroism, is when the suit gets genuinely destroyed except for the glove holding the core. Why though?

Probably because to some extent, the OVAs are canon. ONE did write some of them, or at least approved of them. This panel certainly helps reinforce that, considering it didn't happen in the manga, but in the anime:

That explains why manga Saitama's suit is a bit more quality and actually has good colors - it was made by someone who cared and believed in Saitama.

Webcomic Saitama's mysterious past

I really enjoyed reading the sidechapters in the manga, esp in the earlier chapters. They're pretty charming, some of it was actually a little sad. We get to know a whole lot more abt the characters and their different sides, Saitama especially, a bit of worldbuilding and a moral lesson here and there. Even some additional buildup/insight to some friendships/relationships. It's pretty interesting to see Saitama's past and see how it parallels some characters, Garou being the? Closest? Most poignant? ONE did intend that they're the antis of each other.

What I didn't realize until rereading the webcomic a few times is that we don't know anything about Saitama. At all.

the webcomic to me seems to operate strictly on the rule: if you never read it in the webcomic, it never happened in the webcomic. Opm has no shortage of mysterious characters. Drive Knight is def the one I first would think of. Webcomic Saitama isn't one I'd expect despite being. Well, literally obvious. We don't know anything about him. He hasn't said a word about his past. it's unimportant to the overall story I guess, but still. It's weird. We actually know a bit more abt wc Drive Knight's past than we do wc Saitama's. wc Saitama and manga Saitama may not even have the same backstory except for encountering Crablante and becoming a hero. If it isn't the same... That would certainly explain why they seem to have a different characteristic despite the fundamentals being the same. manga Saitama overall seems to be kinder, and more empathetic. Heck he's even pretty soft to kids, and the manga makes sure to show that over and over. Wc Saitama has never shown if he's nice or even likes kids.

Webcomic Sweet mask never met Blast. Manga Sweet Mask did.

Webcomic SM has this to say abt Blast:

... But manga SM has this:

how this changes SM, we are yet to know. I had to point this out bc I haven't seen anyone point this out, so I had to make sure.

Thnx for reading I have no idea where I am going w this

[natequarter]

I'll ask about 'can see ghosts' from the wip tag!

“Suffering brings us closer to God, but that doesn’t mean locking yourself away. Perhaps this is not a punishment, but a gift from the Lord: He wishes for you to see the world in greater depth.”

“Greater depth?” He laughed bitterly. “When I visited Canterbury Cathedral, I saw an old archbishop skulking around, shouting at churchgoers. The back of his head was bloodied and battered. If even saints are stuck in this”—he gestured at Matilda—“purgatory, what hope is there for me? And if Master Thomson isn’t damned—”

“God’s love and forgiveness are far greater than we could hope to understand. If He believes there is still a chance for Thomas, then so do I. Now, Humphrey, you must get up.”

“My father was a murderer. My daughters are dead. It must be a curse … punishment for the sins of my family…”

in which humphrey... can see ghosts, and it ruins his life. because i thought a much bleaker take on alison's abilities, in a world where it's much more likely to be interpreted as him being completely detached from reality, would be fun

It was common knowledge that the earl of Hereford was mad, to say nothing of his wife. The latest development was apparently that his son was a bastard and his wife a whore for Jesuits, or perhaps some Protestant lord. The story changed from day to day.

it's a lot bleaker in tone than ghosts, but i think it's quite good

(link)

[lampmanliveblogs]

Looks like we’ve got a couple of entries by Luz in various stages over the last few years. I’ll go over all of them, starting with the first one.

Right, so they just moved into this house. Camila, in an effort to protect her daughter from a harsh reality, says it’s because the old house wasn’t pretty enough… but little Luz figured out that it was probably because there was a better hospital for her dad close-by.

Despite being more savvy than Camila gave her credit for, Luz is still bright-eyed and optimistic and her clothes are colorful, a stark contrast to the next entry.

I guess this also confirms that Manny died in an illness, not in a sudden accident or the like.

Some speculation on the timeline… I can’t remember if it was stated when Manny died in Reaching Out, I don’t think so. But it obviously took place a few years ago, long enough for Luz and Camila to make a tradition out of gathering flowers to place on Manny’s grave. So I’d say this might have taken place three to four years ago.

The next entry is far bleaker. It is the worst week ever; the week her father died. Compare with the last entry, and this one is not just bleaker in tone, but also in color. Luz shirt is raincloud grey, her smile is gone and so is the spark in her eyes. Even the wall behind her has lost their warm orange hue and become coldly grey.

This entry probably takes place a few months after the first one, based on Luz teeth having grown out, and her haircut. The room behind her is still pretty barren, a moving box still left in the corner and the wardrobe almost empty. Likely  symbolic of how the house doesn't feel like a true home yet, not without Manny.

At the end of the entry, she holds up the first Good Witch Azura book, saying that her dad gave left it for her. Finally giving some context into why Luz loves that series so much. It connects her with her departed dad.

The counselor or whatever he was that appeared in Camila’s nightmare earlier in the episode might’ve been right in that Luz' obsession with escapist fantasy was her way of dealing with grief. At least to some extent.

The next entry takes place not too long after the previous one, though some time has obviously elapsed. Though the pain is likely still fresh, Luz has found it within herself to be happy and excited about this book left to her by her dad. The moving box is gone, and the walls are now adorned with Azura fanart and posters.

Again, at least a few good months have passed, maybe even as much as a year. Luz’ hair has grown out, the Azura posters are joined by other series, and the wardrobe is full with clothes. There are winter clothes in the wardrobe, so this entry was probably recorded in spring or summer.

The ”Soul Devourer” poster is an obvious reference to Soul Eater. It’s blocked by Luz’ arm in this frame, but there is a poster that says ”It Came From The Dirt.” Which could be a reference to the 1953 sci-fi horror movie It Came from Outer Space. It could also be a reference to the horror action game from 1989 called It Came from the Desert, OR the 2017 movie named after the game.

Also, Luz, please don’t try to cut your hair with a sword you got at a convention, it’s not gonna end well.

I told you so Luz.

You know, out of all the lore drops I was expecting to get, the mysterious origins of Luz’ hairstyle was not one of them. They will really give the me the origins of everything but Bat-Queen, huh?

[snugglyporos]

wait what did Neil Gaiman do, his work is often very optimistic and about the value of stories and power of dreams, in comparison to Moore's more cynical view

So I'm just going to say this reads like you've only experienced Gaiman's work second hand or through adaptations. His stores are not optimistic. In fact the theme that runs through most of his works is one of powerless resignation, wherein nothing really matters and most people are consigned to endless suffering due to the actions of other people who they'll never meet or get revenge on.

And that's pretty obvious if you take a trip down his catalogue, because he began his career working on Judge Dredd of all things.

That's not really a surprise. Gaiman, like many UK writers, had to deal with the magazines they had, and the reality is that most UK comics are darker, bleaker, and more violent. Ironically, for all the sex and violence in US media, it's the UK comics scene that ended up being far more lurid and violent, mostly due to them not having the US Comics Code.

But I digress. If you really wanted to boil down Gaiman to two works, it's Sandman and Lucifer, and neither is optimistic. Neither is any good, either. Yes, I can defend this, and it comes down to the fact that Gaiman can't stop masturbating to his own ego in regards to how smart he is.

Roughly 60% of a Gaiman comic is his espousing on nonsense. Well researched and smart-sounding nonsense, but nonsense. He also can't just be like everyone else; he has argued at length for example that characters like Dream aren't psychopomps. He can't tell you what they are, because any definition of a character like Death or Dream ends up being that of a psychopomp, but he's determined that they're different just because.

To read a Gaiman story is to be trapped in a lecture with an extremely boring person who apparently just read their first philosophy textbook. Sandman, in my view, might be the most overrated comic ever written, simply because it's protagonist is a giant pile of shit. The entire comic has him journey all over the universe to get his things back, only for him to remark that actually, he doesn't need them, and thus the entire comic has been a giant waste of time and you're a fool for reading it, because you wasted your time.

Lucifer is what happens when a writer thinks they understand theology better than they do, and rely heavily on theology in order to prop up their barely put together stories. Lucifer tries to pick up where Paradise Lost left off, but the end result is Lucifer getting what he wants and creating his own multiverse. Because you see, Lucifer is what Gaiman sees himself as, same as Dream; a person who is trapped by the conventions and designs of lesser people, and who shouldn't be restrained because he's simply smarter and better than they are.

Lucifer's story is one where a person does everything wrong and gets what he wants. Sandman is a story where a protagonist couldn't give a shit about being in a story and also gets what he wants.

But ultimately, most people don't really like either for the story. Most people like them because they fit a vibe. If all they were were empty headed nonsense that was artistically and emotionally appealing, then I would be happy enough to say that he's not one of the people who ruined comics, because he would already be suffering enough.

No, Gaiman's sin against comics is that he injected a whole host of esoteric nonsense into the mainstream. Now it's not enough to just have stories, you need everyone to have endlessly complex cosmological nonsense stapled onto it. Moore didn't add that, and Miller isn't capable of it. Gaiman added that.

The fact that every story in comics is now about 'the multiverse' and has cosmic implications no matter what is going on is because of Gaiman's popularity with Sandman and Lucifer. Others tried, he succeeded, and this success showed comic companies that they could go bigger, and as a result everything became a lazy mess.

Are you tired of confusing, barely coherent multiverse stuff? Blame Gaiman, who pioneered it all first in the modern context.

Gaiman's sin is that he brought all of this smart-sounding bullshit to the mainstream and he did it in the laziest way possible. Sure, he didn't do it out of spite like Moore and Miller, but he did it all the same. He probably felt he was elevating things, but the reality is that everything that came after has resulted in less coherent, less interesting nonsense.

And you can draw a fucking red line straight to him when it comes to making that a reoccurring theme.

His work is very much not for me (I'm sure you're shocked to hear that) but I get why people like it aesthetically. But he absolutely sinned when he opened the floodgates of esoteric bullshit, like Lucifer tempting humanity.