#eating recovery center

[all-i-do-is-try1]

Back to the conversation about harmful over pathologizing,

I was punished and bumped down levels for “using behaviors” when I was stimming bc I have adhd, was unmedicated, and was in a high stress environment. I cannot sit perfectly still and never have. There’s so many things that are never that deep.

They literally tell us we are not our illness then make every little thing about our ED

[777bae]

WITH YOU JACK HUGHES

Summary :: After a brutal injury, you’re left to navigate recovery on your own. But Jack, despite the distance, becomes your lifeline—calling every day, offering comfort, and doing everything he can to be there. When he finally returns, his unwavering love and support help you heal, proving that together, you can overcome anything.

Warnings :: description of injury

Word count :: 5.6k

It all started at an NHL-run community skate event. You’d been invited along with a few other women’s league players to skate alongside the NHL stars, giving young fans a chance to meet their idols in a laid-back, personal setting. You didn’t expect much from the event—just another community outreach, another day to interact with fans and grow the game you loved. But that was before you met him.

Jack Hughes had been one of the NHL’s rising stars for a while, and despite the buzz around him, he was surprisingly down-to-earth. Tall, with his bright blue eyes and easy smile, he was exactly as you’d imagined him—charismatic, charming, and somehow completely approachable.

As you laced up your skates, adjusting the blades on your boots, you’d heard his laugh first, a genuine, warm sound that made it hard not to smile. You hadn’t even looked up when you realized he was skating toward you until you felt the brush of a glove on your shoulder.

“You here to show us how it’s done?” Jack’s voice was playful, but there was a hint of curiosity behind his words. You glanced up, met his gaze, and for a moment, both of you seemed to just… stop. He wasn’t towering over you, but there was a light in his eyes that made you feel like you were suddenly the center of attention.

“Me?” You raised an eyebrow and smirked. “You’re the one who’s been stealing all the spotlight. I just came to get some practice in. You know, to make sure I don’t show you up.”

He laughed again, this time shaking his head as he lowered himself into a comfortable skating stance. “I’m not worried. I’ve seen how fast some of the girls on your team can skate.” He leaned in a little, his voice a touch quieter. “But I have to admit, I’m hoping I’ll learn something today.”

It was all playful banter, but somehow, there was a connection that flickered between you in that brief exchange. Something about his easy confidence mixed with a genuine curiosity about the women’s game. It wasn’t like the typical interactions you had with male players; there was no condescension, no weird power dynamic. Just a guy who appreciated the game and the players—regardless of their gender.

The rest of the skate went by in a blur of friendly competition and shared laughter, with Jack occasionally pulling you into a race around the rink. You couldn’t deny that his speed on the ice matched his charm off it. It was fun—refreshing, really—especially since you were used to competing against men who sometimes didn’t seem to understand the level of skill and commitment women brought to the game. But Jack, he didn’t seem like that at all. If anything, he seemed eager to learn, to listen.

Afterward, while most of the other players were heading off to grab something to eat, Jack caught up to you again as you were packing your gear away.

“Hey, you wanna grab some dinner?” he asked, his voice casual but with that little spark of hopefulness. “I promise I won’t make it weird—just thought it’d be nice to hang out, talk about the game… maybe see if you’re as competitive off the ice as you are on it.”

It was a little unexpected, but something about the offer felt right. You’d spent so many years in a world of competition, sometimes too focused on the next game, the next practice. The thought of having a simple, easy evening, talking about something other than hockey, sounded like a refreshing change.

“Sure,” you agreed, trying to hide the small smile creeping onto your face. “I could use the company.”

That first dinner was nothing extraordinary—just a low-key meal at a local diner, where you both dug into greasy comfort food and swapped stories about your respective teams. But the conversation never lagged. Jack talked about his early days in hockey, his family, his goals, and somehow, you found yourself opening up in ways you hadn’t expected, sharing things you usually kept locked behind a barrier of professionalism. It felt natural, easy, like you’d known him much longer than just a few hours.

By the time you were leaving the diner, you felt something click. It wasn’t just the conversation. It was the way Jack made you feel seen, valued. He didn’t view you as just a player; he saw you as someone who belonged in the same conversation as the men he idolized.

That night, as he walked you to your car, he hesitated before speaking.

“Do you think we could do this again?” His tone was soft, uncertain—nothing like the cocky attitude you sometimes saw from athletes. There was a real vulnerability in his question, an openness that you hadn’t expected from someone with so much attention on him.

You smiled, already knowing the answer before you even said it. “Yeah, I think I’d like that.”

The following months passed in a whirlwind. The connection you’d felt that night only deepened as you found yourselves spending more time together, whether it was over quick dinners after games or stolen moments between practices. The distance between your homes had been a challenge at first, but Jack made it work. His busy NHL schedule and your packed NWHL calendar had their limitations, but you made it a priority. Phone calls, FaceTime, and text messages became lifelines, bridging the gap when you couldn’t be in the same place.

And then came the moment when it all felt a little more real. One night, after a game where you’d scored the game-winning goal, Jack called you to congratulate you. As you chatted about the game, the conversation shifted.

“So, I was thinking…” Jack’s voice dropped a little, a teasing edge creeping in. “What if we make this official? You know, like, ‘dating’ officially. I mean, we’ve spent enough time together at this point, and I’m kind of starting to like you.”

You’d laughed at first, but when you heard the sincerity in his voice, you felt that flutter in your chest.

“I think I could be okay with that,” you’d said softly, feeling something in your heart shift.

And just like that, what had started as a casual meeting at a community skate turned into something real, something deep. The spark between you two grew into a full-blown flame, one that, despite the distance and the challenges ahead, seemed unstoppable.

That was how it all began. From a community skate to something much bigger. And for the first time in a long time, you felt like you weren’t just fighting for your place in the game—you were fighting for something real, with someone who understood and shared your passion for both hockey and life.

It had been a few months since you and Jack had officially started dating, and even though the connection between you two had only deepened over time, the long-distance nature of your relationship had taken its toll. Jack was a rising star in the NHL, and your team’s season in the Women’s Hockey League was just as intense, if not more so. So, when Jack had to leave for a week-long stretch of West Coast games, the distance felt particularly harsh. But you both had your routines, and you had become experts at making the most of what time you had together.

The first night Jack was gone, you walked through your shared apartment, the silence of the space more apparent than usual. You had been here before, used to being away from each other for stretches of time, but it didn’t make the loneliness any easier. Still, you had your own games to focus on, so you pushed aside the feeling and settled into your familiar routine of stretching, preparing, and strategizing for your upcoming match.

That week, your team was on a roll. You managed to secure comfortable victories in your first two games, and no matter the late hours or time zone difference, you made sure to FaceTime Jack after each of your games. His voice was always a small anchor that pulled you back into a sense of normalcy. His tired face would appear on the screen, grinning with excitement or offering words of encouragement as you recapped your performances. The calls were a lifeline, a reminder that even though the miles between you stretched across the country, you weren’t alone in this. You’d FaceTime on his days off, too, taking solace in the familiarity of his presence, even if it was only a screen away.

But it was that third game that shook everything.

You had been feeling sharp and focused, your team’s momentum riding high. You were confident going into the match, your movements on the ice instinctively flowing with each pass and play. The puck was on your stick as you skated into the offensive zone, eyes locked on the net ahead, the crowd’s roars swelling around you. But just as you prepared to make your move, you felt a brutal shove from your side. The force was unanticipated, and before you could brace yourself, you were sent spiraling off balance.

The hit slammed into your leg, pain shooting through your entire body like a bolt of electricity. Your vision flashed white for a moment, the rink around you spinning as you crumpled to the ice, unable to register anything other than the excruciating ache in your lower body. You could hear voices, distant and muffled, but you couldn’t focus on anything but the raw agony. Your leg felt like it was on fire, every inch of it screaming at you in ways you didn’t think possible.

The next few moments were a blur. You were helped off the ice, each movement sending shocks of pain through your leg as your teammates rushed to your side. You were placed in an ice bath to try to numb the swelling, but it was clear from the first glance—the leg wasn’t just bruised. It was broken.

At the hospital, the diagnosis hit like a hammer to the chest. You had multiple fractures in your leg—some clean breaks, some more complicated. Surgery was the only option, and it needed to be done as soon as possible. You were too overwhelmed to process anything. The pain was all-consuming, and the physical shock of it was enough to dull your thoughts. The one thing that kept repeating in your mind, though, was that you hadn’t messaged Jack. You had forgotten. You had promised him you’d let him know if anything happened, but now, you couldn’t even remember if you had the energy to tell him.

You were rushed into surgery, the doctors prepping you quickly for the procedure, but you couldn’t shake the guilt of not reaching out to him. When you fell unconscious from the anesthesia, your thoughts faded, but that nagging feeling remained.

Meanwhile, in California, Jack had just finished his game. He had played well—scoring a goal and getting an assist—but his mind was elsewhere. His phone buzzed as he walked into the locker room to cool down. As he picked it up, his heart stopped for a second. It was a video message from one of his friends, a clip from the game he had just missed. It was you.

The footage was grainy, taken from the stands. He saw the hit happen in real-time, the moment when your body was slammed to the ice. And then, the terrible sight of you crumpling, unable to move as pain clearly overtook you. His breath caught in his throat, and panic surged through his chest.

Without thinking, he immediately called your number, but it went straight to voicemail. His hands were shaking now, his mind racing with worry. Why hasn’t she answered? He called again, and again, his anxiety growing with each unanswered ring.

“Come on, come on,” he muttered to himself, growing frantic. He tried texting you, then calling your teammates and coaches, but no one picked up. The seconds seemed to stretch into hours as he dialed number after number, panic creeping up his spine.

Finally, one of your coaches picked up. The calm, steady voice on the other end didn’t help to alleviate Jack’s mounting panic.

“Coach, what happened to her?” Jack’s voice was tight, strained. “Is she okay? Why isn’t she answering? What happened? I saw the hit—she looked… she looked like she was in so much pain!”

Your coach’s voice was reassuring but firm. “Jack, calm down. She’s in surgery right now. She fractured her leg pretty badly. The doctors are taking care of her. They’re going to monitor her recovery closely. But she’s going to be okay.”

He froze, his heart still pounding. “Surgery? Is she awake? Can I talk to her? I need to talk to her.”

“She’s still under, Jack. They’re finishing up. She’ll be okay. You can’t be here right now, and I know that’s hard. But she’s in good hands.”

Jack closed his eyes for a moment, trying to steady himself. “How long is she going to be in the hospital?”

“At least a couple weeks. They’ll want to monitor her closely to make sure everything heals properly.”

The words barely registered at first, but Jack’s mind finally began to slow, even as frustration and helplessness gnawed at him. He had a whole week of games ahead. There was no way he could be by her side—he would have to wait. And the thought of being this far away from her, with nothing but the distance and his uncertainty, felt unbearable.

After the call ended, Jack sat in silence for a long moment, trying to collect himself. He wasn’t sure how he would make it through the next few days, but he knew one thing for sure—he couldn’t just sit there and do nothing. He would call her every day. He would check in, even if it was through a screen, and he would make sure she knew he was there for her, even if he couldn’t be there physically.

Hours after the surgery, you began to stir, the soft beeping of machines pulling you from the thick haze of anesthesia. Your body felt heavy, your head foggy, and the ache in your leg was muted but persistent, a constant reminder of what had happened. Blinking against the harsh fluorescent lights, you slowly registered your surroundings—the sterile white hospital room, the IV taped to your arm, and the faint murmur of voices outside the door. Everything felt surreal, like you were caught between waking and dreaming.

The door creaked open, and your coach stepped inside. She offered a soft smile, her familiar presence grounding you amidst the disorientation. “Welcome back, kid,” she said gently, pulling up a chair beside your bed. “How are you feeling?”

You managed a weak laugh, though it sounded more like a croak. “Like I got hit by a truck,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

“That’s about right,” your coach replied, crossing her arms. “But the surgery went well. They said you’ll be back on your feet eventually—it’s just going to take some time.”

You nodded slowly, letting the information sink in. The details of the injury and the hit felt blurry, distant, as if they belonged to someone else. What you did remember, however, was the pressing need to call Jack. You opened your mouth to ask about him, but your coach beat you to it.

“Your boyfriend,” she said with a knowing smirk, “has been losing his mind. He’s been calling non-stop since he found out. I had to take one of his calls during your surgery just to calm him down. I don’t think I’ve ever heard someone freak out that much in my life.”

Despite the lingering grogginess, you chuckled softly, though the motion tugged at your sore muscles. “Did I… Did I at least tell him I’m okay before I went under?” you asked, your voice cracking slightly.

“Not a chance,” she said, shaking her head. “You were out cold before you could even grab your phone. But don’t worry—he knows you made it through the surgery. Barely, though. The poor guy sounded like he was about to hop on a plane mid-road trip.”

You smiled faintly at the image of Jack pacing in some hotel room, his phone glued to his ear as he pestered anyone who would answer. Your heart ached at the thought of how worried he must have been. You motioned weakly toward the bedside table, where your phone sat, its screen dark but promising missed calls and messages. “Can you hand me that?” you asked.

Your coach retrieved the phone and placed it in your trembling hands. As you fumbled with the screen, your fingers clumsy and unsteady, you saw the barrage of missed calls and texts from Jack. Over a dozen calls, countless messages—all timestamped from the moment he must have seen the hit. Swallowing hard, you tapped his name and brought the phone to your ear.

It barely rang once before his voice burst through the line. “Hey!” Jack’s tone was frantic, a mix of relief and worry. “Are you okay? Are you in pain? Is there someone there with you? Do you need something? God, I should’ve been there—I should’ve been with you—”

“Jack,” you interrupted softly, but he didn’t stop.

“I saw the clip. I saw it. That hit—it looked so bad. You just went down, and I—God, I felt like my heart stopped. I’ve been calling everyone, and no one was picking up, and then your coach finally called me back and said you were in surgery. Surgery! I should’ve been there—”

“Jack,” you said again, more firmly this time, though your voice was still weak. His words slowed, but the panic in his tone was still evident. “I’m okay,” you assured him, even as your own voice wavered. “The surgery went well. I’m sore, but I’ll be alright. I promise.”

There was a long pause on the other end of the line, the silence filled with his uneven breathing. “You’re sure?” he asked finally, his voice quieter but still laced with worry. “You’re really okay?”

“I’m sure,” you said, your lips curling into a faint smile. “They said I’ll make a full recovery. It’s going to take a while, but I’m okay, Jack. You don’t have to worry.”

His sigh of relief was audible, but it was short-lived. “How could I not worry?” he said, his voice rising again. “I saw the hit, and then I didn’t hear from you, and I was stuck here, a thousand miles away, with no idea if you were okay or if you were—” He stopped himself, his voice breaking. “I hate this. I hate that I’m not there with you.”

The raw frustration in his voice was enough to bring tears to your eyes. “It’s just hockey,” you said softly, trying to reassure him. “Stuff like this happens. It’s part of the game.”

“Not to you,” he snapped, the sharpness of his words catching you off guard. “It can happen to anyone else, but not you. You’re the last person I want to see getting hurt, and now you’re stuck in a hospital bed, and I can’t even be there to hold your hand.”

“Jack,” you whispered, but he was on a roll now, his frustration spilling over.

“I can’t believe this stupid schedule,” he muttered. “I should be on the next flight home. Screw the games. They can deal without me for one night—”

“You can’t do that,” you said quickly, your voice firmer this time. “Jack, I need you to focus on your games. I’ll be fine. You’ll see me soon enough.”

He sighed again, the sound heavy with reluctance. “I just… I feel so helpless,” he admitted. “You’re hurt, and I can’t do anything about it.”

“You’re doing plenty,” you told him gently. “Just hearing your voice right now is enough.”

The conversation eventually calmed, though Jack’s worry never fully faded. He promised to call every day—and he did. Over the next week, he became your lifeline.

The first night after your surgery, Jack called you just as he promised he would. The moment your phone buzzed with his name on the screen, a sense of comfort washed over you. You answered immediately, his face appearing on the screen before you could even get out a greeting.

“Hey,” he said, his voice soft but still edged with worry. His hair was damp from a post-game shower, and you could see the dark circles under his eyes. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired,” you admitted, shifting slightly against the pillows propping you up. Your leg throbbed dully beneath the cast, but seeing Jack’s face helped dull the ache. “Sore, but okay.”

“You look pale,” he noted, his brows furrowing as his eyes scanned the screen, like he could physically assess you through it. “Are you sure you’re okay? Have you been eating? What about water—have you been drinking enough?”

“Jack,” you interrupted gently, your lips quirking into a faint smile. “I’m fine. They’ve been taking care of me here, and the doctors said the surgery went well. You don’t have to worry so much.”

His sigh was audible even through the small speaker of your phone. “How can I not worry? I hate that I’m stuck here while you’re dealing with all of this alone.”

“You’re not stuck. You’re doing your job,” you reminded him. “And I’m not alone. My team’s been in and out, and the nurses here are great.”

“It’s not the same,” he muttered, his tone low. “I should be there.”

You reached up and adjusted the angle of your phone, so he could see your reassuring smile. “You’re here, Jack. Maybe not physically, but this? These calls? They help more than you know.”

His face softened slightly, though the worry in his eyes didn’t entirely disappear. “I just wish I could do more.”

“You’re doing plenty,” you said firmly. “Now, tell me about your game. How’d it go?”

Jack hesitated for a moment, but when you raised an expectant eyebrow, he relented. “It went alright. We won, but it was closer than it should’ve been. I missed an open net in the second period, and the guys gave me hell for it.”

“Missed an open net?” you teased, your tone light. “Wow, Jack Hughes is human after all.”

He groaned, though you caught the faint smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. I’ll make up for it next game.”

“I’m sure you will,” you said with a grin. “You always do.”

The conversation shifted after that, Jack asking about your day in the hospital. He wanted to know everything—what you ate, what the doctors said, how much pain you were in. His questions were relentless, but you didn’t mind. If anything, it warmed your heart to know how much he cared. By the time the call ended, your eyelids were heavy with exhaustion, but the lingering sound of Jack’s voice in your mind made falling asleep a little easier.

The calls became your anchor over the next week. Every night, without fail, Jack would call you after his game, no matter how late it was. Some nights, he’d FaceTime you, propping his phone up on a stack of pillows in his hotel room while he lounged on the bed in sweats and a hoodie. Other nights, he’d call you during his downtime at the rink, his voice echoing faintly in the empty locker room as he checked in on you.

On the third night, after another win for his team, Jack’s call came through just after midnight. You answered groggily, your phone resting on your chest as you blinked sleepily at his face.

“Sorry, did I wake you?” he asked, his voice soft with concern.

“No, it’s okay,” you murmured, shifting slightly to prop yourself up against the pillows. “How was the game?”

“Good,” he said, though his expression was a little sheepish. “I scored a goal, but I got into it with a guy on the other team. He cross-checked me, and I might’ve, uh, shoved him a little.”

“Jack,” you said, narrowing your eyes at him playfully. “You can’t get yourself hurt. One of us in the hospital is enough.”

He chuckled, the sound warm and familiar. “Don’t worry, I can take a hit. But seriously, how are you feeling? Is the pain manageable? Do you need me to call someone for you?”

You shook your head, smiling at his endless concern. “I’m fine, Jack. They’ve got me on some good meds, so I’m not feeling much pain right now.”

“Good,” he said, though his gaze lingered on you for a moment, as if trying to detect any hidden discomfort. “Tell me if that changes, okay? If you need anything—anything at all—you call me.”

“Jack, you’re on the other side of the country,” you pointed out, your tone teasing. “What could you possibly do from there?”

“Plenty,” he said stubbornly. “I could call your coach. Or your doctor. Or the president, if I have to.”

You laughed, the sound soft but genuine. “I don’t think the president can help with a broken leg, Jack.”

“Then I’ll find someone who can,” he shot back, grinning. “I’m serious, though. Just tell me if you need anything.”

“All I need is for you to win some games,” you teased, your voice light. “That’s all the help I need.”

Jack rolled his eyes, but you could see the small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Yeah,” you said, smiling back. “But you love me anyway.”

By the end of the week, the calls felt like second nature. Jack would update you on his games, sharing every detail with the enthusiasm of someone desperate to distract himself from his own worries. In turn, you’d tell him about the progress you were making in the hospital, even if it was slow. You joked about how the nurses were starting to recognize him just from the sound of his voice, and he teased you about how bossy you were getting with your requests for snacks and drinks.

Through it all, Jack’s constant presence—whether through a screen or a phone call—was what kept you going. And even though he couldn’t be there in person, he made you feel as though he was never truly far away.

Finally, after what felt like the longest week of your life, the day finally arrived when Jack’s West Coast road trip came to an end. He had called you every day, just like he’d promised, but it wasn’t the same as having him by your side. Through the screen, you could see the worry etched into his face and hear it in the tone of his voice. He hated being so far away from you, and every conversation ended with him muttering how much he wished he could teleport home.

The waiting had been agonizing for both of you. Jack barely slept, the guilt of not being able to be there gnawing at him, and you had spent your days in the hospital, frustrated by your immobility and longing for his comforting presence. So when you finally got the text that he had landed and was on his way, the anticipation became almost unbearable.

You sat up in the hospital bed, your leg propped up in a brace and wrapped in layers of bandages, staring at the door like a puppy waiting for its owner to return. You heard the sound of hurried footsteps in the hallway, and then the door swung open.

“Jack,” you breathed, and there he was.

He looked exhausted. His hair was messy from the flight, his eyes shadowed from lack of sleep, but the relief on his face was so palpable it nearly brought tears to your eyes. He crossed the room in three long strides, not even bothering to set his bag down before he wrapped you in the gentlest hug he could manage. His arms circled you carefully, mindful of your injuries, but the embrace was so full of love that it made your chest ache.

“You’re okay,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion as he pulled back just enough to cup your face in his hands. “God, I was so scared. Watching that hit… hearing you were in surgery… I didn’t know what to do. I felt so useless.”

You could see the guilt swimming in his eyes, and you shook your head, resting your hand on top of his. “Jack, you’re here now. That’s all that matters.”

“I should’ve been here sooner,” he said, his voice breaking slightly. “I hate that I wasn’t here when you needed me most.”

“Stop,” you said softly, your fingers brushing against his wrist. “You did everything you could. You called, you checked in—Jack, I knew you were with me, even if you weren’t here physically.”

For a moment, he just stared at you, his emotions flickering across his face like a storm. Then he leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “I’m here now,” he murmured, as though saying it aloud made it more real. “And I’m not leaving until you’re back on your feet.”

The first day of Jack’s visit was spent catching up—he pulled a chair close to your bed, his fingers intertwined with yours as he asked about every detail of the surgery and recovery process. He flinched when you described the pain of the initial hit and visibly winced when you told him about waking up after the surgery. His worry was written all over him, and it didn’t fade even when you assured him that you were healing.

But he didn’t just stop at sitting by your side. By the next day, Jack had transformed into a one-man care team. He brought you your favorite coffee every morning, carefully maneuvering around the hospital room as though he’d been doing it for years. He kept your water bottle full, adjusted your pillows to make sure you were comfortable, and even insisted on helping you wash your hair when you mentioned you felt gross from lying in bed for so long.

“Jack, you don’t have to do all this,” you said one evening as he helped you shift positions, your leg still immobilized in the brace. “You just got back from a road trip. You should be resting, not waiting on me hand and foot.”

He scoffed, his hands steady as he fluffed your pillows. “Resting? What kind of boyfriend would I be if I wasn’t here taking care of you?”

“A tired one?” you offered, raising an eyebrow.

He smirked, but his expression softened as he leaned down to kiss your temple. “I’m exactly where I need to be. Don’t fight me on this—I’m taking care of you whether you like it or not.”

And he meant it. Jack spent every moment he wasn’t at practice by your side, helping you with the little things that had become impossible with your injury. When you were finally discharged and sent home, Jack took charge of setting up the apartment to accommodate your limited mobility. He rearranged furniture, set up a cozy corner on the couch where you could elevate your leg, and made sure your favorite snacks were within reach.

At night, when the pain was at its worst and sleep felt impossible, Jack was there. He’d sit beside you, his hand resting on your arm as he talked you through the discomfort. Sometimes he’d read to you, his voice low and soothing, and other times he’d just sit quietly, his presence enough to calm your racing thoughts.

One evening, as you lay curled up on the couch with your leg propped up on a stack of pillows, Jack sat beside you with a bag of takeout from your favorite restaurant. The smell of your favorite dish filled the room, and you smiled up at him, your heart swelling with gratitude.

“You’re kind of amazing, you know that?” you said, watching as he carefully plated the food for you.

He looked up, his face flushing slightly. “I’m just doing what anyone would do.”

“Not everyone would fly across the country after an exhausting road trip and spend every waking moment taking care of their injured girlfriend,” you pointed out. “You’ve been… incredible, Jack. I don’t know how I would’ve gotten through this without you.”

His eyes softened, and he leaned down to kiss you, his lips lingering against yours as though he was trying to convey everything he couldn’t say. “You don’t have to go through anything alone,” he murmured. “Not as long as I’m here.”

In the weeks that followed, Jack became your rock. He helped you through the frustration of physical therapy, cheered you on as you regained strength, and reminded you every day that you were stronger than you thought. And though the road to recovery was long and grueling, the love and support Jack gave you made it feel a little less daunting.

As you sat together one evening, your head resting on his shoulder and your cast resting across his lap, you realized something profound: this injury, as difficult as it had been, had only brought you closer. Jack’s unwavering dedication had proven, without a doubt, that he was in this for the long haul. And with him by your side, you knew you could face anything.

[honeydewandcake]

TW — Asylum/Hospital setting, mental disorders, medical malpractice

Inspired by Fran Bow, Sparklecare, Pure Trance, and other such things; I had an idea for a Dandy’s World AU that centers around a hospital setting

I feel like a lot of people don’t like asylum or hospital AUs because they are full of exaggerated or misinformed ideas of what mental illness is. I tried not to do that, though I’m not a professional so I still might be wrong about some things. I don’t want to take this idea too far in fear that it might be distasteful, but I do want to share this idea to see if others like it too.

Dandy’s Care is a separate world where, instead of a museum, Dandy and his friends were meant to be for a children’s hospital to treat the sick and ill. They were meant to be comfort characters to patients and were meant to support them during their stay. Like in Dandy’s World, the hospital shut down due to unspecified sanitation issues. Dandy, also known as Dr. Dandicus Dancifer, slowly became more and more starved for activity. He started targeting his friends, making the hospital into an asylum for them. He changed their characters, changing his friends into patients. The toons have no memory of their former self, only knowing their diseased and ill present self.

The staff is made up of the main toons. All of them are nurses and Dandy is the main doctor. They all act like their former selves, though they have no memory. I didn’t want to draw all of them so just imagine Astro and Vee in these uniforms.

Read more to see other toons (not all of them drawn or thought of yet, don’t attack me ;-;) ↓

Razzle and Dazzle, the only ones that I thought of completely because I already drew them before. They’re the reason why I made this entire thing anyway.

They are just experiments by Dandy, who wanted to see if the two could live together if they were attached. They used to love each other, now they don’t. Razzle is no longer looking for comedy, Dazzle is no longer looking for hope. Both are only set on the idea of revenge against Dandy for making them this way.

Life is hard when you can only feel the sensations on one half on your body, they can barely walk and can only stand or sit. They take many painkillers as their wounds take a long time to health properly. They wish they could escape this place and just die already, but they’re stuck and forced to live for as long as Dandy wants.

Razzle is a lot more violent now. He is prone to biting and scratching the staff. He hates doing all the lab tests and medical procedures, he hates being near Dazzle, he hates being stuck in this living hell. Razzle is the reason why they’re not allowed near sharp or blunt objects.

Dazzle became paranoid, scared of any noise that happens. He’s terrified of Razzle because of how violent he can get, he hates him too. Dazzle cries a lot, he cries until he can’t everyday. Dazzle wishes he could just die already, he thinks everything is scary and out to get him.

Shrimpo is thought to be a patient that had anger issues and aggressive tendencies. According to Dandy, he was admitted for being violent in public, although this is only part of the fake story that Dandy gave him. Shrimpo was forced to get a lobotomy, unethical but who cares. Dandy sure didn’t.

He’s still in the recovery phase, so he might be a bit loopy. Once those bandages are off, he’ll be as right as rain. Shrimpo is a wanderer around the hospital as he’s no longer a threat. He’s allowed to leave his room and go out in the play yard but only if a nurse is with him.

Shrimpo doesn’t really have much going for him. His thoughts are scrambled and he only cares for things in front of him. Although the lobotomy made him more passive, it doesn’t mean he’s any better in terms of motivation. Shrimpo certainly has no drive for anything anymore, he doesn’t mind but it gets in the way of his health as well. The staff needs to remind him to go to the dining room to eat or to go take a shower, because otherwise he’ll forget.

Boxten was made to believe that he has had problems with insomnia ever since he was little, of course it’s not true. He takes sleeping pills and melatonin, but it only seems to worsen his nightmares. This makes him skip his doses to avoid sleeping, repeating the cycle over and over.

Boxten is afraid of imaginary things that might get him. He thinks they’ve already in his head, eating away at his brain and giving him nightmares. Of course the only thing the nurses can see is his music box. Boxten has lost all trust in the staff since they couldn’t see or feel the things he can.

In my original notes, it said that Boxten might have psychosis.

Well that’s all the once I’ve drawn, I don’t really have the motivation to make every single toon. I have a couple of ideas though

— Goob somehow survived a terrible accident, but both his arms needed to be amputated making him armless. He suffers from brain damage and internal bleeding. He doesn’t seem to have any change in his personality, still as joyful as ever. Maybe it’s a coping mechanism

— Tisha has severe OCD which damages her mental health. She’s constantly worried about everything that happens around her, making her super aware of her surroundings. She could be a danger to herself and others as she sometimes has very aggressive thoughts but can’t control her actions. She unintentionally hurts herself because of her OCD, such as washing her hands so many times that they start to bleed.

Not for a toon, but I did have an idea for an added addition to the hospital. Maybe there’s a twisted reform center where the staff try and heal twisteds back to their normal self. They would clean the ichor from them but since the ichor is also inside of them their personalities don’t change as much. Twisteds such as Finn and R&D might be too far gone though, they would have to be disabled for life. I might draw this idea because I think it’s kind of cool, I definitely will if people also think this is interesting.

[geddyqueer]

falling in someone’s arms, tunnel verse please

okay <3 yay <3

cw: this is a sequel to a tunnel to crawl through, which is a fic about suicidal depression and recovery; this ficlet does touch on that. this universe is canon divergent after 8×08, lol.

Three months later Buck requests some time off. He's cagey about the details, and nobody presses. He helps Tommy put the topper back on the truck, and they gas her up, and Jackie comes out to stay at the house and watch the cat for the weekend. It's tax season, anyway, and Fish is driving her up a wall. Tommy pokes her right in the center of her bump.

"Shut up," she says. "Or I'll name it after you."

"Name it Evan," Buck suggests cheerfully. "Gender neutral!"

Tommy drags his finger up her front, flicks her in the nose, and the two of them head out.

They take their time driving up the coast. They stop for a late lunch in Goleta, grabbing burritos from the first place that comes up on google maps, and Buck keeps scrolling as he eats; "There's a snowy plover habitat," he mentions through a mouthful of beans and fajita veggies, and Tommy hums, looks over at him, gestures for him to carry on when he's done chewing. So Buck does: he finds pictures of snowy plovers and he hands them over and he reads out fact after fact, and that carries them north another couple of hours and a drivers seat change-up. The sun is firmly to the left of them, now, and the 1 is getting seriously nauseating, and Tommy cranes his head a little as Buck turns around a bend and points and says "Here."

Buck flicks the turn signal and slows down.

The pullout's cozy. They're the only car, right now, and with the size of the truck Buck hopes any other visitors will move along and find another to stop at. Tommy's staring at the ocean but not with the wild sort of emptiness that permeated him in December. No, it's something else that's settled on his face this time.

"You want me to come with you?" Buck asks him, and Tommy shakes his head.

"Nah. Give me, like, ten minutes."

"Nine and a half," Buck says, miming clicking a stopwatch, and Tommy smiles and opens the truck door.

A bolt of anxiety runs up Buck's spine, still, but he tamps it down. He trusts Tommy. He trusted Tommy enough to say yes when he asked for this; he may as well trust him enough to see it through.

At six minutes Buck does open his own door, though, as quietly as he can; Tommy's standing stock-still at the edge, hands in his pockets, looking out over the horizon. Buck wonders if he's flying, in his mind. He steps around the front of the truck and hops up onto the hood, resting his feet on the bumper. He wishes he had sunscreen, or a hoodie; the wind is sharper than he expected.

Eventually—at ten minutes and fourteen seconds, but who's counting—Tommy turns away from the cliff, and he ambles back up the gravel to the truck, and he falls into Buck's open arms, and together they watch the sun dip further and further until it sinks around the ocean.

"Camp here tonight?" Buck asks.

"Nah," Tommy says. "Probably not legal, and—too close."

Buck understands. "There was a forest road like eight miles back," he says. "We could probably find a dispersed spot up there."

"Sounds perfect," Tommy says, giving him one last tight squeeze before untangling their arms. "Thank you."

"Anything for you," Buck says with a smile, and he really means it.

[yapileon]

@TacklerCulers: The Chaotic Teen Serie pt. 2

fcb femení x chaoticteen!reader pt. 1 2235w

17yo La Masia defender gets promoted to the first team. Will you be able to keep your fcb femení fan account hidden while slowly making your place in the team with your idols?

Alright you'll admit it. When you heard Aitana talking about your meme, you panicked, spending most of the night turning over in your bed. Realistically, there was no way anyone would ever link that account back to you, and also, you just used it to create funny memes and sometimes, you'd talk strategy too. Ok fair, you maybe had insulted some of the strategic decision from the Spanish federation once or twice (or a hundred time, but who's counting?). It was the Spanish federation after all, and you doubted anyone, and certainly not the team, would blame you for that.

To make sure to keep your hidden identity secret, it'd be simple, you just had to make sure to not be logged in the fan account when posting on your professional account. Also, you'd need to make sure to not use pictures you had taken yourself to make the memes. You smiled, satisfied, the plan was easy. Which means you now had time to post, Ingrid was your target today. It's true that you had a thing for memes, but what you liked even better were stats. Ingrid' stats? Magnificent. Chef kiss.

tacklersculers

liked by 273 people

posted 23 minutes ago...

You made a mental note to ask Ingrid's for passing tips later during your daily training session. But before, Alexia and most of the veteran players had decided a team bonding moment would be good to make sure you were well integrated.

While making your way to the training ground—because of course the team bonding would be in a recovery room from the training center— you spotted a chocolate store. Deciding coming empty handed would be unpolite, you bought some boxes to bring to the team. Because who doesn't like chocolate, right?

Alexia Putellas. Of course Alexia does not eat chocolate. The blonde had smiled to you when you had knocked on the door, waving the sweets when the Catalan had opened. She had taken them gently to put them on the side, and spoke "Gracias, cariño, but I don’t eat chocolate during the season." Your face fell so low she quickly added, "The others will love it!" Talk about dying inside.

Patri had embraced you, before looking at you, worried.

"Something's wrong?"

You slumped. "I just arrived and I'm already messing up Alexia's routine..." The midfielder looked at you questioningly. "I brought chocolate."

The brunette smirked, "Great, more for us." and then she had ran to grab the chocolate boxes, dragging Pina with her. You couldn't help but giggle.

You made your way forward to where most of the team was staying. Jana patted the couch, inviting you and you threw yourself in the gap next to her.

"Hi guys! I brought chocolate, but Pina and Patri ran off with them, so I don't think you'll get any." You had said innocently.

And just like that, Mapi, Vicky and Kika jumped off their chairs, letting them fall to the ground in a loud bang and ran.

Irene sighed, "I swear these three don't even sprint that fast during matches." She was shaking her head, feigning disappointment, but you swore you could see a smirk on her lips.

You were too busy exchanging social medias with Jana to realize the two chocolate thief had come back, now chased by the three women. Pina and Patri were protecting the box as if it was their children, keeping it tight in between them. Vicky was trying to tear them apart to access the chocolate treasure, while Kika and Mapi were apparently plotting. That's when Mapi decided to throw herself at the thieve, tackling Patri to the ground.

"Ref! Unfair advantage! You're a defender you know how to tackle!" The midfielder tried to argue, but it was too late as Mapi held the box above her head, victorious.

"You'd all be getting red cards." Caro added, sighing at the desperate sight of the players acting like children.

You watched, amused, never thinking a simple box of chocolate would cause such a fuss.

Jana had gotten closer to you, and whispered in your ear "They like Churros even more than this, imagine the chaos it'd be." The smirk you gave her said it all, and you both mentally agreed to go and get Churros next time there would be a team bonding.

But Pina seemed set on making you pay for betraying her to the trio. She jumped on top of you and Jana, leaning heavily in both of your laps, looking at your phone.

That's when her eyes caught sight of your wallpaper of Mapi. She grabbed your phone. You screamed. She took off and you chased after her bickering for her to give you back your phone, but you hadn't seen that she had thrown it in Alexia's lap. The Catalan was squinting at your wallpaper, trying to decipher it.

"Is that..." She had started, unsure. "Is that a cardboard cutout of Mapi, next to you in bed?"

Your jaw dropped. "That's not what it looks like!" You were blushing furiously, if only you had been an ostrich your life would have been so much easier. You could have just banged your head in the ground and forget about whatever on earth was happening right now.

Mapi had sprinted even faster than when she went to run after the chocolate, hovering over Alexia's shoulder to look. She let herself fall on ground, holding her ribs while wheezing.

If you were not frozen, you could have tried grabbing back your phone before Alexia gave it to someone else, bus alas. The team was passing it to each other, all laughing.

"Wait, is she tucked in?!" Patri wheezed, already laughing so hard she could barely breathe. Vicky and Kika were both hitting each other, dying.

That sent some of the other players in a longer laughing fit. You dropped yourself on the couch, face buried in a pillow.

"It's the pyjamas for me," Ingrid added, pointing at the Christmas themed barça clothes you're wearing in the pic. You groan in response.

"Care to explain, cariño?" Alexia had said when most of your teammates had calmed down.

You whined, still hiding your face. "It's not fair, this is slander!"

Mapi, who had recovered from her laughing fit, had started to forcefully tear the pillow from you, but you were putting up a fight, unwilling to face the embarrassing truth just yet.

"Drop it or I'm filling a restraining order." The center back had teased, making you loosen your grip on the pillow, "You drop it! Or I'm never bringing you chocolate again!" you really tried to win, but the Spaniard was too strong for you.

When she took off the pillow from your face, you gasped, looking at her in horror. "First of all," you had started, furiously counting on your fingers. "That's your fault actually, because two years ago you didn't want to take a picture with me, so I stole that carboard from the Barcelona store." you recalled.

Now it was Alexia's turn to gasp "You stole that?" Her looks disapproving. You could tell she was not happy about that.

"It's cardboard anyways, it should be free?" You tried arguing, but were cut off by Frido, "That does not explain why you got the fake Mapi in your bed."

"Because my roommates wanted to steal her! So I had to protect cardboard Mapi."

You were dead serious. Two years ago, Barça B had won a big tournament, as a reward, the whole team was invited to watch a match from the first team. You had been delighted, thinking it would finally be your chance to get a picture with your idol. Except, things had not been going according to plan. The defender had been so focused on waving her barça flag around the field, time had slipped her mind and she was being hurried off the field. Leaving Mapi no time to interact with the fans. Before leaving, your group had been allowed to visit the merchandise store, as you were stomping around, visibly disappointed, you had seen it. A cardboard version of your idol, doing her famous lion pose. You hadn't really planned of doing it. Ok, maybe a little. So you had waited till the last moment, and when most of your teammates were out of the store, you had grabbed the cardboard cut-out and ran. You were a woman on a mission. Not stopping when you heard security guards shouting in Spanish behind you, or when you coach called your name in vain. When you were safe and sound, waiting in front of the team bus, you had looked at the life sized cardboard, appreciating it's beauty. "Totally worth it," you had mumbled to yourself.

The bus driver had looked at you weirdly, and you'd always remember the walk of shame of dragging that cardboard to the bedroom you shared with one of your teammates. Except she really wanted to have it too, asking if you two could split the custody. You did not want that, which meant you spent some long week never leaving fake Mapi alone, going as far as taking her in the bathroom with you when you showered, and keeping it in your bed.

Screeching brought your attention back to the women in the room with you.

"Do I have to be jealous?" Ingrid had screaming in between laughs. This was the final straw, chaos erupted in the recovery room. Even the serious players were gasping for breath. You swore you saw Ona almost fell out of her chair, clutching her side. The whole team was vibrating with joy.

You sighed, looking at Mapi. She had tears in her eyes and her grin was so wide you guessed her cheeks were burning. Those rare moments when the euphoria is so big, it feels like your whole body ache with it, the dopamine rush hitting you. That's when you decided that maybe, it wasn't so embarrassing after all and you laughed with them. If the center back, who was at least as concerned as you in this story, wasn't embarrassed or weirded out, then you wouldn't be either.

For a long time, it seemed everyone was driving themselves to laugh ever harder. Anytime someone stopped crackling, they'd look at each other and start loosing it even harder.

Though a knock had interrupted the room, allowing most players to catch their breath. Ona had jumped up to go get what you assumed was the food that had been ordered earlier. She had come back in record time.

Just as you thought the team might forget about your embarrassment, Aitana’s voice cut through the laughter, dragging you into your next moment of doom.

"Look at that Ona, you're being as fast as The Flash again."

Ona had taken this for a challenge apparently, and was now running in circle around everyone. Bumping against Caro, who had started unpacking the take outs, making her curse at Ona.

The younger players snickered, aware of the meme. But when you heard that you paled, you had almost forgot about what had happened in the locker room yesterday. And for Ona to take the meme at heart so much meant that some of the players really knew about it. It was just one funny picture, you did not think they'd bring the subject up again.

Sinking into the comfy couch, you went silent, listening to the team. The older players were distributing the food, making plates for everyone while looking at Aitana, unsure of what she was talking about.

"¿Qué?" Alexia questioned, looking confused, "The...The Flash?"

Ona and Vicky threw themselves next to the captain, pulling out their phone to show her the meme. Oh god, did they knew that much about your account?

Seriously, what on earth had you done to deserve all this. First there was the chocolate chaos, secondly your Mapi cardboard story, and now you had to deal with all of them talking about your secret fan account. Your karma was very obviously failing you, or you were a terrible person in a past life, but it definitely felt like some stronger power was against you today.

"Wait, is this me?" Ingrid exclaimed, pointing at the phone with a smile.

Jana looked, "Yeah, look like they posted a new meme this morning...94% pass completion, that's really good Ingrid!" she said brightly.

Irene joined the conversation, "So they don't just make funny memes, but also keep up with our statistics?"

"That's actually hilarious, send me their account please!" Frido chimed in, chewing on food.

You were too absorbed watching them, horror in your eyes, to realize Mapi had plopped down next to you. The woman looked so serious you almost panicked.

"You know kid," she had started, looking deep in your eyes, "If I had known you were so great, I would have fought the security to take a picture with you," You could see she was dead serious, and couldn't help bursting out laughing at the thought of her fighting off the security using her barça flag as a sword.

"Sure," you beamed, relaxed but trying you best to look serious.

She gave you a cheeky smile, before continuing "So, you're bringing my cardboard twin to training tomorrow?" the defender ruffled you hair. "That's it, no more chocolate for you, ever." Back to cringing in the pillow you went. But deep down, you felt exhilarated, like everything you had dreamt of for years was finally happening. You were making your place in the best team in the world. And if being teased was all you had to deal with, you'd take it in a heartbeat.

Oh and, you were definitely bringing fake Mapi to training tomorrow.

pt. 3

[ivymarquis]

Say You Won’t Let Go

A Zombie Named Fred

Pairing| John Price x F!Single Mom!Reader Rating| E Word Count| 2.9k Kinks/Content/Warnings| Post Apocalypse!AU, Single Mom!verse, pregnant reader, the author is still on her bullshit about the pepperoncinis, they’re both a little crazy but it’s the end of the world, the author does not have first hand experience nor a formal education on pregnancy, John is giving soft dom vibes

First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Not even 48 hours in and you’re having your first argument.

You can tell by his expression that you’re not giving him the expected response. However he’s clearly no shrinking violet and doesn’t cow to your anxiety-turning-agitation.

“I was only gone for a bit and you were asleep,” he defends himself, standing his ground.

You pry your gaze from the stash of goodies he very obviously acquired with you in mind, the wheels in your brain clearly turning as you decide how much effort this will warrant and if you’re willing to expend that effort.

You’ve been a loose, limp thing for him to drag around as he sees fit. No protests so far as he uses his teeth to scruff you.

“You didn’t even tell me! It’s dangerous out there- what if something had happened?”

“I’ve been in far worse situations, Love, I can assure you that. If I’d have told you last night would you have still gone to bed?”

No.

The apocalypse has taken societal norms and attachment styles and turned them on their heads with no hope for recovery.

This man is a complete stranger to you and yet he is firmly entrenched as the center of your social circle at the moment. You most assuredly would not have responded well last night.

Your silence is loud, giving away the answer entirely.

“I needed you safe, tucked away, and not fretting,” you can feel yourself being mollified against your will, softening back up despite your desire to still prickle in displeasure.

“We don’t know how long we’ll be here until it’s safe to leave,” he continues, “and you are in no condition to be traveling far- we need supplies stocked while the area is still mostly clear from the last herd wandering through.”

That is the one good thing about herds even if they’re an absolutely terrifying sight.

Lions and tigers and bears might be scary predators, but living predators aren’t mindless killing machines. They act in a reasonable way for their species. Leave them alone, don’t fuck with their offspring and don’t make yourself look like easy prey, and they will likely leave you alone.

Zombies? The virus eats away at any rational reasoning or need to sate an ingrained desire. They want to bite, to consume, to spread the virus.

So put together a group of several hundred or several thousand and they are the stuff nightmares are made of.

But if you survive a wave of them wandering through, they pick up any stragglers in an area. They’re gregarious, for whatever that’s worth.

Still terrifying though. The peace in knowing that the local zombie population drops drastically is knowing the price comes at more individuals being added to the herd.

In short, now is about as safe a time as ever to scavenge.

You’re still staring him down, still resisting acquiescing to him on principle.

Of course, there’s little doubt that the captain views your displeasure on par with a disgruntled kitten- yowling and hissing and batting at him but harmless and ineffective.

He steps towards you- close enough he makes you tilt your head to maintain eye contact. “You can just say “Thank you” and go enjoy your peppers, Love,” he asserts, offering you an easy out.

The thought crosses your mind to dig your heels in and be stubborn.

But just the mention of the jar of pepperoncinis placates you as your craving from yesterday returns in full force, pulling your attention away from John and to the jar sitting on the counter.

He’s got you hook, line, and sinker and he knows it too.

“Thank you,” you yield, once again becoming soft and pliant in his hold.

“You’re welcome,” he steps away then, eyes following your every move as you slip past him and do in fact beeline for the peppers.

It’s the end of the world- you can have peppers for breakfast if you want to.

The only problem though is you can’t get the damn jar open.

There are certain changes with your body that you expected with the discovery of your pregnancy- the swell of your belly and your breasts, the stretch marks that criss cross your skin- and some that you learned first hand and it’s annoying.

It’s your body starting to relax itself to prepare for labor, you were told. The tendons and ligaments relaxing. Hips widening.

It also makes your grip weaker which is so incredibly frustrating.

John is at your side in a moment, prompting you with a “Give it here,” to hand him the jar to twist the lid for you.

Any lingering surliness from the discovery of John’s midnight stroll abates entirely as the smell of the peppers hits your nose.

He looks pleased with himself, giving you back the jar as you thank him.

The rest of the day passes peacefully between the two of you. This is not a permanent home, so no renovations or improvements to be made. The biggest line of defense you have here is blending so well into the rest of the abandoned houses that nothing will draw unwanted attention. The windows covered and boarded. There’s no true perimeter to check. You don’t want to catch anyone’s eye by wandering around outside.

You’ve been on the move for so long, constantly fighting and scrapping that it is nice to just sit in one place. The preggie pops despite their silly name are a Godsend. You feel like a person for the first time in months rather than a vessel just waiting to vomit at the wrong provocation.

You get nosy, looking through photos and albums of the owners. The man’s name is Fred. The woman’s name is Wilma.

There’s a fucking lego set that Fred and Wilma never got around to opening. You alternate killing time between working on that and reading. You’re in no hurry, taking your time. John putters around doing something but swings back every so often to check on you.

Eventually you will need to sort laundry, but that can probably happen in a day or so and doesn’t need to be right now.

The water still works so you figure you can just wash your clothes in the sink and then hang them somewhere outside to dry. Simple, but will occupy some time and establish a sense of normal for you. Maybe you can find some sort of clothes line if there’s not one already.

Once again the sun sets and John comes to round you up for the night and herds you up the stairs. You settle into your bed and hear John getting ready over in his and yet despite the fact your pregnancy exhausts you, you can’t sleep.

Your ears are honed in for any sort of attempt on John’s end to sneak out again.

You try to quell the concern and anxiety coiling within you, but everything is a feedback loop just building intensity until you feel like you’re going to snap.

Sleep is a lost cause at this point.

Getting out of bed is a process so you’re not rendered immobile like a turtle on its back. It takes a moment but you manage on your own.

No sooner than you sneak out to the landing you have your answer if John is still in the house. It’s not obnoxiously loud, but you can clearly hear the sound of him snoring on the other side of his door.

Your anxiety quells with the knowledge that he’s still here but doesn’t dissipate entirely.

Not quite ready to return to bed, you decide that maybe a quick snack (something other than the pepperoncinis, the baby says) is in order.

Despite being a grown adult, there’s a part of you that feels akin to a teenager sneaking out of the house.

You are not going to leave. Unlike a certain captain, you don’t have a death wish sneaking out in the middle of the night. While the soft sound of his snores assure you that he’s still sleeping you know he’d be displeased knowing you’re about to venture down the stairs by yourself.

You’re careful- equal parts trying to avoid the parts of the stairs that squeak because you’re not sure how light a sleeper John is, and equal parts simply not wanting to eat shit on the stairs. God forbid you give his concerns credibility- you don’t even want to think about what he’d do.

You haven’t been downstairs after sunset since the first night you stumbled into the house. John rather jealously keeps you herded upstairs.

You contemplate what the baby wants for a midnight snack as you cross from the stairs through the living room and into the kitchen.

Chef Boyardee sounds appealing and you don’t care about eating it cold- which is a plus because it’s one less thing for you to do versus something you’d want to eat warm.

The quiet in the house gives you time to come up with stupid fucking ideas like looking out the windows.

By and large you have been leaving them alone. There hasn’t been any sort of conversation about it between you and John, but you feel you’ve got enough of a read on him by now.

The main defense you two have is that the neighborhood is abandoned and there’s nothing special about the outside of the house. If someone happens to be strolling by and sees you moving the curtains in broad daylight- well, that seems like a good way to get your ass chewed on by John. Hence why you’ve left the windows alone.

But it’s nighttime and you’re alone.

The windows at the front of the house are boarded up, but in a slapstick, hurried fashion- there’s large gaps you can peek through as you bring your opened can of ravioli.

The street is deserted which is exactly what you expect. Not so much as a zombie shuffling through.

The neighborhood seems like it was beautiful before the end of the world. The kind of place that you always fantasized about living in.

What a weird way to get what you want.

Your mind wanders, focusing on the practicality of the fact you need to wash your clothes.

When out in the wild and forced to survive how you can, you learned to make do with dirty clothes that were lived in far longer than you prefer. But if you’re going to be cooped up in the house until your little hostage evacuates, it would be a good idea to clean them.

Curious if the backyard already has a clothes line, you carefully peel back the curtain blocking the view-

Only to be greeted with the sight of a zombie standing on the back porch right on the other side of the glass.

Your startle reflex has been trained out of you. There’s no big yelp or jump or dropping your food. Making loud noises like that can get you killed in situations where you might be able to survive if you can sneak away unnoticed.

Safely on the other side of the glass and obstructed by darkness- the zombie cannot see, hear or smell you. He gives no reaction to you, clearly having no knowledge of your existence.

You realize rather quickly that this is Fred, albeit far more gray and decayed than in the photos of him in the house. You wonder what happened to Wilma.

(It’s the goddamn apocalypse so you know statistically what happened, but a macabre curiosity for the details eats at you)

It’s not often (re: ever) that you’re in a situation to just…observe the undead. Always keeping an eye on them, always keeping tabs on what currently holds their attention, but never just a passive observation. They’re always a threat and you’re always trying to figure out how to get by or through them unscathed.

The small flick of you moving the curtain might have initially caught Fred’s attention but without the confirmation that you’re a meal to be devoured he shuffles slowly and moves away from the glass.

He’s caught in the yard, confined by the perimeter fencing. No chance of joining the herd.

You wonder why John hasn’t killed Fred yet. A singular zombie isn’t much of a threat.

Maybe he hadn’t seen Fred? The curtains had been drawn shut when he picked this house and he just kept them that way?

Seems unlikely, but arguably plausible.

You don’t see any sort of established clothing line to dry your clothes after you wash them.

You’re so fascinated by the Fred situation that you’re oblivious to the fact that John’s snoring stops. Or his door opening. Or his pause at the landing, eyes falling to your open door. Or his descent down the stairs and the huff of relief when he lays eyes on you.

You are not oblivious to the way he snarls “What in the devil are you doing?”, closing the distance between the two of you to haul you away from the glass.

The drop of the curtain catches Fred’s attention again but not enough to do more than cast an eerie shadow as he approaches.

“Why is there a zombie in the backyard?!” You keep your voice low as you hiss at John despite acquiescing as he pulls you along back towards the stairs.

“He wasn’t worth the bullet but that was before I realized you were going to go opening doors in the middle of the night!”

“I wasn’t opening the door!” You protest, suddenly aware that this conversation isn’t entirely unlike this morning’s argument when John slipping out in the middle of the night had ruffled your feathers.

“Then what are you doing down here?” He stops at the foot of the stairs, his question answered as his eyes land on the can in your free hand.

“I was eating!” You hold up the can as a beacon of your innocence, not missing the way the agitation on John’s face softens ever so slightly.

You take advantage of the opportunity to pull your arm out of his grasp.

He doesn’t try to wrestle you back into his grip- satisfied with your reasoning and the confirmation you hadn’t gone bat shit insane trying to let zombies into the house in the middle of the night.

In another life, one where the dead stay dead, you think maybe you’d still be able to wrap the captain around your finger and make him fold to your whims as easily as you accept his.

You’re pretty sure, however, that it’s just your delicate state that’s got him yielding to you. That keeping you alive, and ultimately getting you and your baby back to this settlement that he and his group watches over gives a sense of purpose where he’s otherwise aimless, trapped like an animal in a vivarium until he can safely find his way back home.

“Go finish your food,” he tells you firmly- still far more subdued than moments ago.

Again, not unlike this morning when he diffused the argument then.

Both of you are still maintaining your ground, but finding a way to keep the peace- you’re all the other has got in this situation.

He hovers as you make your way back to the kitchen- the moonlit shadow of Fred gone from the curtains, implying he’s aimlessly wandering the yard.

You don’t have much left of it, which is a good thing because eating while being watched just feels weird. You know he wants to drag you by your scruff back up the stairs and situate you for the night.

And that’s exactly what he does after you quickly clean after yourself.

Always with him and the stairs, he guides you up while following behind.

Where he throws you for a loop is when you expect to slink off to your own room, only for you to find one of his arms wrapping around your torso and cutting you off from your intended destination.

“Need to make sure you don’t go sneaking off again,” is all the reason he gives as he herds you towards his bed.

He’s the one who started all this by leaving last night on his own, but you decide to not light that particular candle. You can admit to missing the comfort of sharing a bed, and that the nights have been getting colder as fall begins to give way to winter.

Before the end of the world, you’d be giving this a long hard think. But the rules are different now- the way you interact and mesh with people has changed so drastically. Everything is in the fast lane.

You’re utterly dependent on John. Been at his mercy for days. If he was going to do something, surely he would have done it by now?

So you yield to the arm pressing lightly at your side- a request that while stern is not escalating to a demand.

You let him guide you towards his room.

A wave of exhaustion hits that holds your interest more than the decor of the room- there’s no personal touches or stashes of goodies hidden away. You get yourself situated under John’s watchful eye, and yet somehow it feels weirdly intimate to watch him so you look off at the wall as he gets in.

John stays on his side between you and the door, you stay on yours and if he says anything you don’t hear it. One second you’re blinking at the wall and the next you’re out like a light.

[vibelladonna]

𝓎𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓈 𝒶𝓃𝓈𝓌𝑒𝓇𝑒𝒹 𝓆𝓊𝓈𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃𝓈 : 𝒻𝓇𝑜𝓂 𝓋𝒾𝓋𝒾

Hi, my dearest readers! I’ve been seeing a lot of questions piling up in my inbox lately—a few certain ones I wanted to speak on, too, so... now’s the perfect time to sit down and answer them all at once.

Quick heads-up before we dive in: my finals are coming up next week, so from May 5 to May 9, I’ll be pretty much off the grid—buried in textbooks, tests, and the occasional existential crisis.

Once that’s over, I’ll be packing up and moving out of the dorm, then taking a much-needed breather. I’ll still be writing a little here and there, but mostly I’ll be catching up on sleep and spending some time with friends.

That said, I am planning to post at least one headcanon or maybe a longer fic this weekend—just something to keep you fed before I vanish into academic chaos for a bit.

Now that we’ve got that out of the way, let’s jump into the questions!

“Hello! I loved "luscious" so much! Believe it or not, it improved my self-image for the week. The way you write is truly magical. You stated in the warnings how you were a bit uncomfortable writing topics like this, but I don’t see it in your “will not write for” and I’m wondering if you write for ED readers? I’m in recovery and I’d love to see how the TKAB would help out!”

Okay, starting off strong, thank you so much for your kind words about Luscious. I’m really glad it resonated with you and even helped improve your self-image, even if just for a week—that honestly means a lot to hear.

That said, I want to be very direct and honest with your question:

No, I will not be writing content centered around eating disorders, and I want to explain why—not to shut you down, but to be transparent and respectful.

As someone studying psychology and deeply familiar with how sensitive, complex, and personally damaging ED-related themes can be, I make a conscious effort to avoid writing about them. Even with the best intentions, depicting eating disorders in fiction—especially fanfiction—can be incredibly risky.

It’s not just about triggering someone who’s in recovery (or not yet), but also about unintentionally reinforcing harmful thought patterns, behaviors, or body image distortions for people who might be silently struggling.

Even if the story seems like it’s meant to be supportive, fanfic isn’t therapy, and I’m not willing to gamble with someone else’s mental health by romanticizing or oversimplifying such a serious condition. EDs are clinical, rooted in deep psychological, emotional, and often neurobiological complexities.

They aren’t just plot devices—they’re lived pain. And I have too much respect for that pain to fictionalize it in a way that could do harm.

You’re not wrong for asking.

In fact, I admire your honesty, and I’m truly glad you’re in recovery. That takes strength. But for both ethical and personal reasons, EDs are a firm boundary for me as a writer. My goal is to create dark/funny, complex, emotionally rich content—but never at the cost of someone’s real-life progress or well-being.

I hope you understand.

“Hi! Ur stories r absolutely amazing but I have a question, we're u the one who wrote abt TAKTB men as fathers? Thanks!!” 

Hi! Thank you so much—that means a lot to hear !

To answer your question: no, I haven't written anything where the TKATB men are portrayed as fathers. And to be honest, I likely never will. I don’t enjoy writing pregnancy or family-centered tropes, especially ones that involve raising children or parental dynamics. It’s just not something I find creatively fulfilling or comfortable to explore.

If anything, I might dabble in themes like marriage or long-term commitment from a psychological or emotional angle, but kids? That’s a hard no. That discomfort also ties into why I really dislike the whole “Mommy/Daddy kink” trend—something about it just makes me recoil. 

It’s not for me, and I don’t plan to entertain it in my work.

Ironically enough, I will be working with children in the future—but in a psychiatric setting, not a fictional or romantic one. So while I can engage with those dynamics professionally, it’s not something I bring into my writing. I might consider a babysitting scenario purely for humor or character chaos, but that’s probably the farthest I’d go. 

Hope that clears things up!

“I’m pretty new around here, but I’m absolutely in love with your fanfics! If it’s not too much trouble, could you recommend some other writers for TKATB?”

To be completely honest, I don’t actually know a lot of TKATB writers—at least, not personally. I’m familiar with a few, like @soluversworld, @lovelake, @mannior, @lu-dao-writes, and @zombii-hoe. They’re all incredibly talented, and I really admire the way they bring the characters to life.

On the art side, though, I’m mutuals with a bunch of amazing artists here, such as @alienfreak124, @bonw0n, @tkatbyon, and @mint0hhh. There’s also Waza, whose work I absolutely love—though she’s only active on TikTok and Twitter, not Tumblr.

I genuinely adore the creativity in this fandom. The writers and artists have such a unique way of interpreting the TKATB universe, and I always find myself inspired by them.

And, funny enough, if you’ve noticed my fanfic headers lately… I’m actually running out of art to use for them. So, I’ve started reaching out to artists directly to ask permission to feature their work. I always make sure to credit and tag them properly—it’s important to respect their effort, especially when their art plays such a big role in setting the tone for a fic.

“hi! i love your writing, i have a question about your writing but feel free not to answer ofc<3 would you be comfortable writing for Britney (tkatb)”

Hi! First off—thank you so much, that means a lot to me! And no worries, I don’t mind answering at all !

So, if you’ve read my earlier post [ 𝒶𝓈𝓉𝓇𝑜𝓅𝒽𝒾𝓁𝑒 ], you might already be a little surprised… but yes, I have considered writing for Britney—and Jess too, actually. The thing is, I’ve just never fully settled on a solid plot for either of them yet. That said, between the two, I’m much more inclined to write for Britney.

There’s something really compelling about her character—she’s ambitious, confident, and unbothered in a way I admire. Honestly, I’m also friends with someone in real life who reminds me a lot of Britney, so she feels easier and more natural to write.

Jess, on the other hand, is trickier. I tend to view her more as a background or supporting character rather than someone central to the plot, so it’s harder for me to build a narrative around her.

As for future plans, I do intend to write a few fanfics involving Britney and even Deryl. They’ll probably have their own little section or category though, since I’ve completely run out of space on my main TKATB banner that holds all the character mini-icons—there just isn’t room left for those two at the moment.

But yes, you’ll definitely see Britney show up more in my work going forward—especially if inspiration continues to hit.

“i just read game over.. u should ABSOLUTELY write the threesome!”

“Idk if I'm being greedy but at the last part where you were suggesting a threesome with Hyugo and Sol in your most recent post, I FELT something. So ya that's basically what I'm asking for 😞😞”

IT IS KILLING ME (in the best, most dramatic way possible) how feral everyone’s gone over the idea of a Sol x Reader x Hyugo threesome. Like… y’all saw one line and collectively lost your minds. And honestly? I respect it. Deeply. You’re all insane—incredible, unhinged, perfect—and I love being here with you guys.

Here’s the thing: when I wrote [ 𝑔𝒶𝓂𝑒 𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓇 ] that ending? That was never the plan. Like, not even close. I was originally inspired by an artist’s piece—art really is my creative lifeline—and I was vibing, writing, enjoying the pacing... until suddenly my brain was like, “Wait, what if Hyugo just strolls back in like he never ghosted us?” 

Because let’s be real—his disappearance was suspicious as hell. You think he was just gonna vanish and not stir chaos? Please. So I threw him back in, stirred the pot, and BAM—suggestive chaos.

And apparently, I awakened something in everyone.

So YES. Part Two is coming. Will it drop immediately? Nah—I’ve got finals breathing down my neck like a demon in a horror movie. But the plot? Already in the works. It’s going to be chaotic, hot, and emotionally messy—basically the fanfic equivalent of a beautiful, reckless car crash.

AND—AND—I WASN’T GONNA SAY ANYTHING YET, but while studying for my statistics exam (because that’s the kind of multitasking monster I am), I started thinking…

Crowe x Reader x Geo.

WAIT. LISTEN. My two favorite men?? IN A THREESOME??? I’m grinning, kicking my feet, giggling while writing this. I’m so serious. You’re probably thinking, “But wait—Geo is aro/ace?” And YES. He is. But don’t worry—I already figured out the plot, and it’s going to make perfect sense. I’m scribbling notes like a mad scientist as we speak.

So yeah—hold tight. Sol x Reader x Hyugo is coming soon. Crowe x Reader x Geo is loading. 

And once I survive finals, you’re all getting fed.

“ur so real because bullying sol is sooo fun for fics >:3”

— YES. YES IT IS. You get it.

Let me be completely straight with you: Sol? 

He’s easily the TKATB character I like the least.

And I don’t mean that with full-blown hatred or anything—it’s more like… he’s pathetically entertaining. In the kind of way where you squint at him like, “Are you okay?” and then continue to mentally toss him into a locker for fun. He’s an insert character to me, which is fine, but he just never really grabbed me the way others did.

Now—is it because of the orange juice scene that I don’t vibe with him? Honestly? Kind of. I didn’t really care for him overall, but that ending got my ass.

I hate being lusted after in real life—it’s genuinely uncomfortable, borderline revolting. That whole scene just hit a little too close to something I’d sprint away from irl. But I still write him because it’s fun to twist his character into chaotic, emotionally messy situations. Plus, the kicker? He weirdly reminds me of my roommate. No, really—down to the clothes, the quiet weirdness, the way he says stuff that makes you pause and question your existence. It’s freaky. 

We lowkey flirt and it’s hilarious but… It’s fine.

Sol is like the kind of guy you see walking around campus wearing his tragic poetry boy aura like a fashion statement. And because I’ve seen real-life versions of him around way too often, it just doesn’t hit for me. I gravitate toward a very different type.

Oh, you already know who has my whole damn attention.

Geo. He’s exactly the type of character that digs claws into my brain and doesn’t let go. Broody, hyper-intelligent, calculated to the point of obsession. That man’s a locked vault, and I want the key—not because I want to open it, but because I want to understand why it’s locked in the first place. He’s a walking case study in emotional repression, and that mystery? That layered silence?

That's what hooks me.

It’s actually hilarious because I hate nonchalant guys in real life—the whole “too cool to care” vibe? No thanks. But Geo doesn’t feel nonchalant—he feels withholding. There's intent behind his silence. Purpose in how he watches a room. He’s cold, yes, but cold like a sharpened blade—not because he doesn't feel, but because he chooses what you’re allowed to see.

That level of control? I eat that UP.

And while I enjoy characters like Hyugo and Deryl, their goofiness can be a little much for me sometimes. They’re fun, chaotic, but not the kind of energy I lock onto. Geo’s the exact opposite—he’s tension incarnate, and I adore it.

Now Crowe? I do like him. I mean, who doesn’t love being adored? Compliments? Spoiling? Drama served with a smile? He’s got flair and elegance, sure—but lowkey, he started getting boring for me. Like, I appreciate the charm, I really do, but when someone throws too much attention my way, I get suspicious… or annoyed. I like to chase, not be constantly showered in praise.

Still, Crowe clears Sol by a mile.

The choice is obvious.

“Have u read the A Date with Death webtoon? The latest chapter made me so emo. 😭 (If u haven't, it's called A Date with Death Zero, there are 5 chapters out currently, and it updates monthly. If u have, what r ur thoughts ? 👀)”

Yes—before answering this, I actually sat down and read the entire A Date with Death: Zero webtoon. I had to reset my login because, honestly, I haven’t touched Webtoon in a long time—not since freshman year of high school.

Back then, I mostly stuck to the top titles, and School Bus Graveyard was hands-down my favorite. Wow, I might have to reread it just for the memories.

Anyway, back to Zero—I’ve read the five chapters that are out, and I already have thoughts. It's a genuinely strong tie-in, offering the kind of context I think the main game benefits from. Seeing Grim’s origin laid out like this? It adds depth. He wasn’t born. He wasn’t chosen. He was made. The transformation wasn’t spiritual—it was mechanical. 

That alone reframes the whole concept of what a Grim Reaper is in this universe. The fact that they’re manufactured, not reborn, changes everything. It makes the reapers feel less like supernatural entities and more like tools—built with purpose, stripped of choice. That angle hit me fast, and it stuck.

As someone who grew up obsessed with Black Butler, my baseline assumption was always that Grim Reapers were souls punished by suicide—recruited into eternal service as penance. So, seeing Date with Death lean into the idea of artificial creation rather than post-death transformation?

 It gave me chills. It shifts the lens: instead of being punished for dying, you were never really allowed to live to begin with. You were constructed with a purpose, and that purpose is final. Cold. Mechanized. Beautifully cruel.

If it’s not obvious by now, I adore supernatural themes. I’m goth btw

Witches and Grim Reapers top the list—no contest. Vampires and werewolves? Meh. I’ll choose vampires over wolves if forced, but neither does much for me in comparison. Reapers though? There’s always something tragic, elegant, and quietly rebellious about them—especially ones like Grim—well, real name Casper, who toe the line between duty and desire.

Speaking of Casper—I absolutely adore him.

Which is the reason why I write [ 𝒽𝒶𝓊𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹 ]

He’s sweet, and surprisingly complex. I love how both the game and the webtoon explore the reapers' core rule: no attachment.

You don't speak. You don’t feel. You don’t empathize. Just collect the soul and move on. That idea being drilled into them since creation is haunting—but the possibility of falling in love with a soul? That little crack in the system? That’s what makes it beautiful. Why give them emotions at all if not to tempt fate?

There’s something poetic about that entire setup. 

Reapers are expected to be tools, yet some still give themselves names. Not numbers—names. That act alone speaks volumes about the quiet rebellion written into their existence. The story’s not just about death—it’s about identity. About claiming autonomy in a world that tried to strip it from you at creation.

Also, let’s not pretend I didn’t notice the senior reaper—5012. He is stunning. That aesthetic alone? Flawless. He’s ethereal, composed, and absolutely captivating. His design hooked me instantly—don’t even care if it was shallow, he’s the kind of character you look at and immediately want to know more about.

I haven’t finished the game yet (so I’m holding off on writing any serious fics about Casper or 5012 for now), but I’ll admit—I’ve been tempted. 

The story does an excellent job of blending the narratives of the webtoon and the main game so far. The worldbuilding—especially the divide between the underworld and the mortal realm—is rich and nuanced, practically begging to be explored further. 

That delicate boundary between life and death, and the emotional consequences of crossing it, gives the story an aching kind of beauty. It’s not just about reaping souls—it’s about the emotional restraint these characters are forced to live under, and what happens when that restraint slips.

And to answer a question you didn’t ask but probably thought of: why don’t I write for other visual novel games?

Honestly…most of them just don’t hit the same way.

The Kid at the Back and A Date with Death stuck with me in a way others haven’t. Like, I was this close to dropping VNs entirely and returning to Creepypasta full-time, however, there’s something about these stories that feels different.

Visual novels are like interactive books, and when they’re done well—especially with supernatural elements—they resonate hard.

Back when I was around sixteen, I was deep into the Seduce Me the Otome series by Michaela Laws. Main games, side stories—I was fully in it. It was one of those unhinged hyperfixations that weirdly helped me discover writing as a hobby.

Now that I’m older, in college at twenty-one, I’m more selective. There are popular VNs people swear by that just don’t do anything for me. If the writing doesn’t grip me, I’m out.

But A Date with Death?

It has that potential, I love it. It feels more grounded, more personal. Casper has emotional depth and is incredibly endearing, and the universe’s laws—especially how Reapers aren't supposed to form attachments—are beautifully tragic.

Once I finish the game, I will be writing about Grim / Casper.

Especially other reapers like 5012. His aesthetic alone has me paying attention. If you can't see already I love purple-haired men.

“Btw, do you write for 14dwy? If not, ig i'll try to think of a couple of requests for TKATB then ^^”

Ah, so—do I or will I ever write for 14 Days With You?

Hell no. Fuck no.

No offense if you're into it, but that game? Not for me at all.

Yeah, I know it’s an upcoming romantic horror visual novel centered around Ren—the pink-haired yandere boy who’s supposed to be obsessive and twisted in a sexy way—but I just… don’t care for it. 

I’ve seen it around on TikTok, I even tried playing it out of curiosity, and honestly? It didn’t hit. At all. The vibe was off. Maybe it’s the overly pink aesthetic, maybe it’s Ren’s personality (or lack thereof), or maybe it’s just the fact that I didn’t find it unsettling or engaging the way horror should be.

Let me be clear: I have nothing against the creator.

But once more, the game simply didn’t capture my interest, and I’m not going to force myself to write for a character or fandom I find underwhelming/overwhelming.

Ren just doesn’t have the depth I look for—he feels like a cookie-cutter yandere to me. Basic, predictable. 

I’m not in the yandere community, and I never WILL be in it. I don’t mind writing yandere characters when there’s real complexity behind them—Sol from TKATB, for example, is a mess, sure, but he’s layered. He has a backstory, conflicting emotions, moral rot—and I love when creators, such as @fantasia-kitt acknowledge her characters are meant to be morally wrong.

It makes the writing grounded, not romanticized.

Meanwhile, Ren? Flat. Just clingy with a knife and a pretty face.

Also, from what I’ve seen, there’s been a lot of drama in the 14DWY fandom. The creator even publicly distanced themselves from the yandere community altogether (let's add Your boyfriend, too, because that game is simply confusing to me)

That alone is enough for me to steer clear.

I don’t want any part in a fandoms that chaotic.

Now, if we’re talking games, I have enjoyed—there are better ones.

Doki Doki Literature Club?

A classic. Yes, a Yandere game, and it has genuine female love interests, and possibly three yanderes?

However I can't think of any VNs that come close to being as subversive, creative, well-written, interesting, and overall, a brilliant experience as this. While this VN is extremely well loved in the indie gaming community, I rarely see people acknowledge how genuinely brilliant it is.

Everything in this game's narrative is carefully constructed in such a wonderful way that I notice a new detail every time I replay it or watch a new playthrough. The characters are all extremely enjoyable and fun, as well as being delightfully well-written, relatable, and psychologically fascinating.

The Bloody Painter Dating Sim?

Sure, it’s still technically yandere, but it leans more slasher horror, and at least the guy doesn’t pretend to love you until the end. I’d rather write for Helen Otis or go full Creepypasta mode. That’s childhood nostalgia right there. Not a phase, but something that genuinely shaped who I am—like if My Little Pony wore black eyeliner and a ski mask.

Or take Homicipher.

That one’s a weird gem—a language-based horror game where you’re decoding an alien dialect while navigating surreal monster-boys. Now that’s unique. I probably wouldn’t write for it either, but I respect the hell out of it. It’s strange in the best way.

And Love and Deepspace? Yeah, no thanks.

That chaotic mix of gacha mechanics and otome storytelling is basically a Mystic Messenger flashback just waiting to ruin my sleep schedule again. I remember those 3AM chatroom alarms, the fake phone calls, the emotionally manipulative plot twists—it was immersive, sure, but I came out of that phase with chronic eye bags and trust issues. 

Not doing that to myself again.

Now, I’ll admit—Love and Deepspace has its spicy, swoon-worthy moments. Visually? Stunning. But it’s also a financial trap.

I'm not about to drain my wallet just to unlock affection from a highly designed pixelated man who won’t even text me back on time.

I’d rather watch all the juicy clips on YouTube like a sane person. It’s great for inspiration, but I’m not committing to that grind. Honestly, that game drops more content than I write in a month. You guys already have a feast. Be fed. Stay blessed.

So yeah—circle back to TKATB requests if you're thinking of something. Because 14DWY? That’s not even on the table.

Respectfully—but very firmly—nah.

𝓇𝒶𝓃𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓈𝓊𝑔𝑔𝑒𝓈𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃𝓈???

So, overall—yes, I’ll definitely keep writing for The Kid at the Back.

That’s not going anywhere. I’m also planning to flesh out more content for A Date with Death, and maybe Creepypasta since it's always been my comfort zone. That’s home base, creatively and emotionally. It shaped a lot of my early writing, and honestly?

I always end up crawling back to it, no matter what.

Now, when it comes to expanding into other fandoms… I've thought about anime-based content, but the truth is, I’m into way too many series. Trying to commit to one would be like herding cats—pure chaos.

Some of my top picks include Death Note, a classic, but let’s be real, that fandom’s been six feet under for years, then there's Bungo Stray Dogs and The Case Study of Vanitas—also beautifully written but buried under layers of fan silence. Then there are MANY MANY others, psychological, supernatural, horror anime and manga I love, however, that's too much to list.

Overall, basically, I collect dead or dying fandoms like cursed antique—beautiful, forgotten, and weirdly comforting to keep around.

There’s something about those quiet, half-abandoned spaces that feels like home. But even among all the dust-covered gems, a few stand out—and right now, I’m in the middle of a three-obsession: one familiar, one newer, and one oddball wildcard.

Let’s start with Black Butler—a timeless obsession of mine.

This fandom has been with me for years, and while it once drifted into the shadows, it’s recently clawed its way back into the spotlight. Only the real ones know the hype I’m talking about. The manga is thriving again, and with CloverWorks giving us two fresh anime seasons that align with the Manga correctly this time?

Yeah, I’ve never hit the rewatch button faster.

And yet, despite how wonderful the comeback is, my love for it has always been quiet, private, and deeply personal. I’ve got over 100 chapters written about my OC, called 𝓂𝒶𝓁𝑒𝒻𝒾𝒸 𝓇𝑒𝓁𝒾𝒸—hidden away on my iPad like a little treasure hoard I’ve never shared.

For me, Black Butler is a whole world I keep close to my heart. It’s more than comfort—it’s a legacy. Honestly, it’s even bigger than my attachment to Creepypasta, and that’s saying something, considering both of them raised me in very different but equally strange ways.

Absolutely—here’s a more emotionally raw, elaborate take that leans into the chaos Nana leaves behind and your appreciation for female authors:

Then there’s Nana—another top-tier comfort, or at least that’s what people call it. But let’s be honest: this show didn’t just comfort me, it ruined me. Nana doesn’t live rent-free in my brain—it owns the deed, remodeled the interior, and emotionally wrecked the foundation. I was told it was the kind of anime you should watch in your early twenties, and let me tell you... they were right. Too right.

The moment I hit play, I was done for.

The fashion? Impeccable. The writing? Sharper than broken glass. And the emotional fallout? Atomic. It’s the kind of series that doesn’t just hit you in the feels—it digs into your chest, sets up camp in your ribcage, and whispers, "You will never recover from this, and that’s okay." It's pure, messy, devastating art—and that's what makes it brilliant.

What Nana does so well is show you the raw, jagged edges of youth—ambition, failure, dependency, heartbreak, and all the fragile little dreams we keep trying to stitch together. It doesn’t sugarcoat the reality of growing up. It lets it bleed. And somehow, you thank it for the wound.

I think about it constantly—not just the story, but the feeling it left behind. And honestly? One of the most powerful parts of this obsession is knowing it came from Ai Yazawa, a woman who understood exactly what kind of emotional labyrinth she was leading us into.

Just like Black Butler—which is also written by a woman, the insanely talented Yana Toboso—Nana proves that women creators build worlds that are emotionally intricate, psychologically rich, and haunting in the best possible way.

It’s no coincidence that my favorite stories are written by women. They see things differently—sharper, deeper, more emotionally dangerous. And I crave that kind of storytelling. It's what keeps me coming back for more, even when it hurts. Especially when it hurts.

Now, onto the odd one out: Kaiju No. 8.

BROOOOOOOOOO, this series has me in a chokehold. I never thought I’d get so obsessed with a Kaiju-based story, but here we are. Seriously, this manga has a grip on me that’s hard to describe. It’s just so damn good.

This is the wild card in my lineup, the unexpected obsession I didn’t see coming—but I’m deep in it now. And by deep, I mean “I own merch and have a shrine-worthy level of admiration for Soshiro Hoshina and Mina Ashiro” kind of deep.

I even created an OC for this world called 𝓁𝑒𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓁 𝓃𝑜. and quietly wrote over 30+ chapters about her. Hoshina especially? He owns space in my head rent-free and fully furnished. No apologies.

Side note: I’m one of those who watches almost all mainstream animes, either solo or with friends. But right now, I’ve got this mini obsession with The Apothecary Diaries. MaoMao is everything. She’s honestly the funniest female protagonist I’ve ever seen, and her sarcastic, sharp-witted nature just makes the whole show so entertaining.

And then, there’s my current favorite romance anime: A Sign of Affection. Oh my god, it’s just beautiful. The story, the characters, everything about it feels so pure and heartwarming.

And Itsuomi Nagi... the man, the myth, the legend. Nagi is just chef’s kiss. He literally healed my heart from the emotional wreckage of A Silent Voice—which, let's be real, is one of the most gut-wrenching movies out there.

But Nagi? He’s a breath of fresh air.

Thinking about he's mix of Crowe and Geo. My opinion.

Games like Bayonetta and Devil May Cry? I love them, but strictly as a player. Writing for them isn’t really on the agenda. And Danganronpa? Yeah… absolutely not. That fandom left psychological scars on me. I’m good.

So yeah, exploring new fandoms is something I’ll deal with later. If you have any solid recs or think there’s a community I’d mesh with, feel free to let me know.

Otherwise, I'll be sticking to my usual writing routine.

Catch you later, my dear readers—I'm off to crash and get some much-needed sleep (only got like three hours of sleep from writing 𝒶𝓈𝓉𝓇𝑜𝓅𝒽𝒾𝓁𝑒). — ♤

[repulsiveliquidation]

Cookies and Cuddles

Leah Williamson x Reader [SMUT! little bit.]

little PSA at the end! i don't know what this is it just...happened.

“She’s left me on read again, Gee.”

“Maybe she’s just busy, Leah. She’ll be okay.”

Leah nods, putting her phone away in her back pocket. She focuses back on her food, eating her lunch distractedly. It was way past your regular weekend lie-in; you hadn’t even given her a call the night before. You had been distant for days, ever since you didn’t get that England call-up you thought you were.

Being out from injury was the worst; you had recently been cleared to play full games. England call-up was your first chance at being back, but you didn’t see your name on the roster the week before. Leah’s name was there; she felt sad she couldn’t attend her first call-up since her injury with you.

Leah was distracted the whole day, missing passes and being sloppy. Sarina called her to the side, a stern look on her face.

“I’ve called you up here because I knew you were ready. I was wrong.”

“I’m sorry, Sarina, it’s just,” she sighs, rubbing her hand down her face. “Y/N has been off lately, and I’m worried about her.”

“Off how?”

“She hasn’t been responding to my texts. I haven’t heard from her the past two days; no more than 5 minutes.”

“You want to know why I didn’t put her name on the roster?”

Leah puts her guard up, ready to defend her girlfriend.

“Why?” she asks with slightly gritted teeth. Sarina replies unfazed.

“I knew she was more than football ready; her head isn’t.”

“What do you mean?” Leah growls, ears steaming as she tries to keep her cool.

“She was the best striker on the list for me to pick. But I had a suspicion that her head wasn’t quite ready for it yet. You’ve proven my point.”

“Are you saying–” Leah began angrily.

“What I’m saying is I didn’t want to make things worse for her. She needs some time to get her head on straight. Football isn’t the solution right now. You are. Go home to her, make sure she’s okay. I expect you at training tomorrow afternoon, Captain. Bring her along.”

Leah looks a little shocked, nodding softly at Sarina before sprinting out of the training center. She grabs her stuff haphazardly, shoving it all into her kitbag before running out to her car.

She races home, barging into the house noisily. She calls for you, the entire house engulfed in darkness. You had all the curtains pulled, the bathroom light letting in a sliver of light. She slowly trudged up the stairs, heart pounding in her chest as she called out for you again. She feared the worst, wiping her sweaty forehead.

She knew about your history of depression; she knew that stress often caused it to get pretty bad. With your recovery from injury and the prospect of an England call-up, paired with being you was often something that you both knew would be a rough time for you.

She slowly pushed the bedroom door open, letting out a sigh of relief when she saw your sleeping form on her side of the bed. It made her heart clench that you missed her but couldn’t bring yourself to admit it. She sat on the bed, you jolted awake when she did.  

The moment you saw her you scrambled out of bed and into her arms. You sobbed painfully, Leah’s arms tight and warm around you. She sighed and pulled you closer, cradling the back of your head as her other hand rubbed your back.

“Oh Leah, I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, baby; you have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I didn’t want to be a burden, it was your first camp back from injury I didn’t want you to be distracted,” you mumble into her neck, she’s quick to shut you down.

“You are not a burden, baby. You are my priority. I will drop everything for you, my love. Everything.”

“You don’t have to, not for me,” she presses her finger to your lips, her eyes soften and she cups your face.

“I want to, only for you,” Leah tells you, standing up with you in her arms. She sets you down gently, cupping your face and kissing you deeply. You kiss back, hands gripping her wrists tight. She kisses you with so much emotion, lips saying more than words ever could.

You’re crying, hot tears flowing down your cheeks. She pulls away and wipes your tears, kissing your forehead softly.

Her hands slowly travel lower and lower, grasping the bottom of her hoodie you had on. She pecked your lips when you looked down at her hands, smiling softly.

“Can I?” she asks, voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes,” you reply, lifting your arms obediently for her.

She pulls the sweater off, gasping softly at your worn-out body. She can see the outline of your ribs a little, collarbones more prominent than when she last kissed them. She tears up herself, biting her cheek to keep herself composed.

“How long baby?”

You close your eyes and take a deep breath, wanting so badly to be honest with her. You take a while to answer, she doesn’t push you. Her hands softly caress your skin, tracing gently with affection.

“Since they let me on the first time.” That was 5 weeks ago. You were subbed on for the last 5 minutes of a game, adrenaline high for the first time in a while. When it came crashing down, so did the irrational thoughts. Your head became louder than your heart, and insecurities that had been festering inside you made their grand appearance.

You had done well to mask it, directing others into thinking that I was just the stress of being back as something that you needed to get used to again. Leah was kicking herself; she didn’t even see her girlfriend struggling until she had made it obvious.

“Why didn’t you tell me it was getting bad then?” she asked next, hands pulling your sweats down your legs gently. She kissed back up your thigh, standing in front of you with a look of concern.

“You were thriving Leah, I couldn’t ruin that for you.”

She kisses you again, this time her tears make the kiss salty. She pulls away and pulls you in for a hug, she begs for your forgiveness; the forgiveness you tell her she doesn’t need to ask for.

She kisses up your neck, gently moving you to the bed. You lay back down for her, watching her slowly take her clothes off. You sigh, scooting into the middle of the bed waiting for her.

She climbs in and immediately snuggles under the covers, pulling you close to her chest. Your ear settles right over her heart, listening to the strong pounding that eventually matches yours. Her naked form is warm, her legs tangled intimately with yours. Her hands caress your back and arms soothingly, lips pressing soft and tender kisses to your head and temple.

"I love you," she whispers, pressing a kiss to your hair.

"I love you too, Lee." you answer, kissing her jaw.

She begins to tell you all about camp, your hand softly rubbing her side and toned stomach. Her soft voice lulls you back to sleep, she sighs and keeps caressing every bit of skin she can get her hands on.

“I’ve got you, princess. Always have, always will.”

//

You both wake up the next day around 10, feeling the most refreshed and rejuvenated in a while. Leah immediately tilts your head up and demands kisses, you can only shake your head at her and lean up to give her a few pecks. She pouts, cheekily asking for more.

“Leah, my teeth aren’t brushed,” you reason, chin resting on her chest as you look up at her.

“So? Mine aren’t either. I want a kiss, then you may do whatever you’d like.”

“Just one.”

“Can’t guarantee but, yes. At least.”

You lean up and kiss her, sucking in her bottom lip before pulling away and sprinting into the bathroom. She wasn’t far behind, managing to get the door before you slammed it closed. She smiled, creeping up on you like a stalking dog. She traps you by the sinks, arms on either side of you.

“Kiss me,” she demands again, grabbing your arms.

You shake your head, sucking in your lips.

“Kiss. Me.” She orders, pressing her lips to yours. You melt when her calloused hands pull your waist closer, kissing her back softly. She grins into the kiss, hiking you up onto the counter. She’s kissing down your chest, when you notice the time.

“Leah, don’t you have training today?” you ask, slightly out of breath when she takes your breast into her mouth. She pulls away with a soft pop.

“Yes, you’re coming with. Bosses’ orders.”

“We can’t–” you start, as her lips trail lower and lower on your body, “we have to leave in a while!”

“I’ll be quick,” she gruffs, picking you up off the counter and pointing to the shower.

“Get in, save time,” she nudges you in, following you and turning on the water. Her hands are on you immediately, pressing your ass back into her front. You moan softly, having missed her familiar touches.

She grasped your breast from behind, the other hand cupping your heat as her fingers fondled your rapidly soaking folds. You gasped, arm reaching back to cradle her head that tucked itself into your neck. She sucked on your skin hard, fingers already sinking into your wet hole.

“Got to be quick baby, I can’t be late,” she teased, two fingers pumping furiously into your hole. You cried out for her, the steaming hot shower engulfing the both of you.

“Lee-Leah!”

“Missed me, did you doll?”

“Yes, fuck, yes!”

Her fingers nudge in a third, thumb rapidly rubbing on your clit.

“God, you’re so fucking wet for me hm?”

“Only for you, Leah!” Your orgasm was fast approaching, her fingers pressed up against your spot made your head spin. She continued.

“Yeah, you’re gonna cum for me aren’t ya? Gonna make a fuckin’ mess for me baby girl? Good thing we’re in the shower, it’ll wash away all the evidence of you being such a fucking whore for me…”

When she called you a whore, your entire body shook with your strong orgasm. She talked and petted you through it, cooing affectionately into your ear as her fingers slowly slid out of your pussy. She was quick to shove them into her mouth before the water cleaned them for her.

“Secret’s safe with me, doll,” she winks at you, grabbing your shampoo as you stand there more in love with the woman than you were before.  

//

i'm going to be taking a break for a bit, with exams and a bit of traveling coming up i won't have time to upload as often as i normally do. i've realized that i've put pressure on myself to post every other day or so and i can't commit to that for a bit. i will answer asks and stuff so i'm always up for a chat!

[riizingwish]

title : unearthed

paring : anton x fem!reader

word count : 616

warnings : heavy talk of disordered eating and slight mention of death

disclaimer : this is based off my experience with an ed, and not reflective of all eds, and experiences. please read at your own discretion. wishing the best to anyone struggling with an ed rn 🫂

your bottom had started to go numb from the time you’d spent sitting in that wooden chair. surely 30 minutes had elapsed by now, and they were all spent staring. staring at the bowl of pasta as if you were waiting for it to do something. the once fresh pasta had gone cold, and yet you couldn’t will yourself to bring the fork to your lips.

you can remember vividly the day this all began. thirteen, maybe fourteen years old you were. everything started off innocently enough. just wanting to be beautiful. it all happened in the blink of an eye, and suddenly you were a shell of yourself. food and calories consumed every waking thought you had. eventually, they in invaded your dreams too. frequently, you’d wake up in a cold sweat over a nightmare about a slice of pizza.

it was embarrassing. to be so utterly afraid of food was humiliating. you’d shoved away all your friends, too afraid they’d question what was going on. you became a recluse, so afraid of the possibility of food being involved in an outing. One by one, your friends departed from your life. you couldn’t even blame them. but at that point you were so consumed with the disorder it became an accepted reality to you. the consequences of spending almost all your time thinking about calories and weight.

your relationships became strained and threatened to snap under the pressure. your mother was constantly upset at you for doing this to yourself, and your father didn’t know what to say anymore. more times than you could count, you were forced into treatment after treatment. none of them seeming to work. you dont remember when, but you became ok with the idea of starving yourself to death, because the alternative of recovery was too terrifying.

you did your best to keep it hidden. you’d been hurt too many times by people asking, “are you doing it for attention?”.

eventually, you recovered to an extent. you had the same five safe foods on rotation, but you weren’t starving anymore. you considered it progress, but often felt inclined to slip back into old habits.

graduating high school and moving on to university felt like a fresh start. like you had finally shed the identity of “the girl with the eating disorder”.

university is where you met him. anton. the two of you became friends after being paired together for a project. anton tried his best to get closer to you, while you tried your best to push him away. so afraid that he’d be deterred by your embarrassing habit. you remember how he asked you out, and you almost said “no”. fearing he’d take you to dinner.

you decided to give it a chance, and anton showed you his pure and kind soul. to him, you were never embarrassing. you never were an attention seeker. you never were just “the girl with an eating disorder”. your pain and struggles were real to him, but you were never just your disorder to him.

anton saw the side of you that had been burried under years of darkness and unearthed it. he was there for you in ways nobody was. you had never had a reason to get better, to want to live a full life. but he gave you one.

so here you were, at you and anton’s dinning table with a bowl of cold pasta in front of you. anton had long finished his bowl and pushed it to the center of the table. he rubbed your hand soothingly as your picked up the fork and took the cold pasta to your mouth.

“i’m so proud of you.” he said as you swallowed the bite of food. he brought your free hand up to his lips and gave it a soft peck.

and even though half of your brain was screaming at you to stop, when you looked into his loving, proud gaze, you found the fortitude in you to finish the bowl.

[pablitogavii]

Cumple❤️

“Feliz cumple cuñadoo!!” Two little girls jumped in Pablo’s lap hugging him tightly and you giggled taking the photo they asked for.

“Ai cariño..look at the cake!” You show him his own pictures on the cake and Pablo smiled at you nodding his head trying a little bit of the frosting.

“Not before pictures chaval!” His mom said and all the women agreed while the med laughed at our silliness.

“Alright, let’s sing the song papi” Aurora said and everyone started singing to very red faced Pablo who didn’t particularly like being a center of attention.

After everyone’s applause, he was the first to break the silence “can I eat my cake now!?” He said as everyone laughed.

“Feliz cumple querido mio..Siempre mamás bebé” Belen kissed his cheeks smiling at Pablo who hugged her back.

“Mamá no estoy un bebé ahora! Tengo 20 años! Porfa” he said making everyone chuckle knowing he was always a mamas boy.

“Feliz hijo! Wishing you fast recovery and happy season” his dad said patting his head and kissing his forehead. It’s all Pablo wanted too..to return back home.

“Felicitaciones hermanito mío! Here is my gift..take your girl somewhere nice and enjoy the rest of summer” she said giving him two plane tickets she got for Greece.

“Ai hermana, you didn’t have to” he said and she shook her head pulling you close saying how happy she is her little brother found an angel.

“Feliz cumple Pablo!!” Everyone was heard as I slowly made my way to him and he smiled opening his arms for a hug.

“Now it’s my turn cariño..Feli cumple mi amor. I wish you the healthiest and happiest season and so much love..here is my present” you said into the huh as he kissed your forehead and played with your hair staring with you with big eyes.

“Te amo mi vida..y eso?” He said before slowly opening the box and seeing a bracelet with both of your initials.

“We can be together even when you travel..mine shines when you touch yours. So we know we are thinking of each other” you explain showing his and he smiled big pitting it on immediately.

“Que preciosos!” Belen was crying now and both of you hugged her.

“Te amo bastante..” he whispered leaning to kiss your lips while everyone whistled making you both shy. You hid your face in the crook of his neck.

“Gracias preciosa mía..tu eres mi regalo más precioso del mundo” he said and you smile cuddling into him before continuing to celebrate with his family.

That night when you were already in bed you looked at the precious picture of Pablo with the two girls smiling to yourself.

He was fresh out of shower looking at you while wearing his pajamas.

“Porque reíste tanto mi vida?” He said laying down and showing him the photo that made him smile.

“You look so good with them..and it made me think wild thoughts” you said growing shy.

“Wild thought preciosa?” He slid beside me pulling me on top of him as I giggled.

“Mhmm it made me want to give you a baby..so bad!” You admit making him smirk and kiss you passionately.

“Hmm I know…and I want that baby so bad right now but we’re young cariño” he said massaging your hips.

“So ya se..” you agree pointing and he kisses it

“One day..preciosa” he said and you smile into the kiss

“Me prometes?” You say and he nods kissing you more

“Te pomelo mi vida” he added before you fell asleep on top of his chest freaking about that future.

[paragonrobits]

in adventure time stuff, Marceline is front and center as indisputably the single most popular character, widely loved within and out of the fanbase; she's kind of a distillation of the series' wacky tone because she is unironically a vampirized half-demon child of Satan Stand-In, a heavy metal rock star who's dated a mad scientist princess, her adoptive dad is arguably one of the most powerful entities in the setting and a terrifying ice wizard who survived the apocalypse through cunning BEFORE he was consumed by his curse, and the greatest hero in the land who is otherwise a mundane human won her friendship by punching her so hard she went 'FUCKING SWEET, WE ARE NOW BROS FOR LIFE'

but the thing about Marceline that is arguably the single most essential aspect of her character, and not something that is apparent from the joke or memes around her

is how nice and genuinely sweet she is.

Yes, she's a badass. Yes, she is probably the single most powerful character in a conventional sense among Finn's friend group, to the point that she is less present in serious situations because her picking a side would trivialize just about anything short of the Lich or the apocalyptic arrival of Golb.

But as we see more of her character, we see that she goes out of her way to actually avoid seriously upsetting people. The most recurring motif of her songs is that while they sound threatening or spooky, she says them in a very sweet and loving way that makes them too silly and harmless to take seriously. At her core, that's kind of who she is; she's honestly a genuinely nice person who deliberately distances herself from people because she outlives everyone she cares about, one way or another, and she pushes people away so she doesn't have to see it happen, but she can't help but get close to someone.

In a lot of ways, Finn helps her grow out of this mindset, and the relationships she establishes through him, or rekindles because of him, help her grow out of this. But even then, she has no real mean-ness in her

ironic, given the "MARCELINE WHY ARE YOU SO MEAN" song, but she gives her own answer right there:

"I'm not mean/I'm just a thousand years old and I lost track of my moral code"

Tellingly, when we see her as a young girl (and before meeting Simon, likely almost right before she met him), she has internalized the idea that she's a horrible, awful monster who scares people away. That she loses everyone around her, because SHE'S a scary monster. We see the source of her tendency to push people away, because that way she has some kind of control over it, and otherwise she thinks its inevitable.

But she can't help but get close to people anyway, and in many ways, her relationship with Ash is a very clear example that she is NOWHERE near as violent or ferocious as she looks. Their relationship openly has her abused, meek and quiet, and she is a nigh-unstoppable soul-eating monster that NO ONE could reasonably fight. Even so the closest she gets to actually lashing out against a guy who sold her most cherished possession (and the last remaining reminder of a father figure who can't ever come back) is to just end their relationship instead of lashing out against him.

Much like the reveal of her relationship to Ice King (which interestingly also maps to his slow recovery from being a villain at all, to the point that around the time this becomes a big aspect of his character he is functionally not really a villain, though still a danger to himself and others), its a slow burn. Showing that she's by far one of the least malicious beings in the entire setting, and she could be a hero.

And the answer to that one is: because she used to be. And that part of herself isn't as long-gone as she would like to think.

[inkie-does-whump]

After reading the most recent oneshot I am in shambles 😭

Where are Mumbo and Lizzie!? How do the others react to them just straight up poofing like that?! Help?!

I'm glad you enjoyed the oneshot! It's one of my favorites so far

Trigger warning: burning alive, implied SA, missing people

Mumbo and Lizzie haven't exactly escaped the lab. They definitely tried to, as the LL SMP facility went up in flames around them, but the fires burned too hot and the lab was designed to be confusing to navigate. They were trapped in what was essentially a burning maze, lost and alone.

Mumbo eventually gave up on finding a way out and resorted to just trying to not burn alive. He had to find some room that wasn't engulfed in flames. But soon it had surrounded him. Mumbo curled into himself, hands over his head, and waited for the fires to consume him.

Lizzie was determined to escape the facility. The whole lab with the renting and the abuse, she had to get out. She had to escape all those people who had forced her down and had their way. She refused to ever see them again. Lizzie forced her way through the burning lab, kicking through weary drywall. If she just kept moving in the same direction, surely she would reach the end. She could feel the flames licking at her skin, and the memory of foreign hands that wandered her body.

Eventually the heat was too much, and Lizzie fainted

The fires began to eat away at their bodies, licking along dry skin and polyester cloth until it melted. And they would have been completely turned to ash and bones if not for the collars still locked around their necks. And those heartbeats that weakly flutter on the Watchers remote monitoring screens, threatening to fail under the pressure and heat.

The collars contain two types of tracker. First, one to monitor their location when out on rental, and the second (much smaller scale) to keep track of where they are in the lab. It's that second tracker that let the Watchers find them in time.

Through a combination of medical practice and a little bit of magic, the Watchers stabilize Mumbo and Lizzie, and move them to a liquid isolation chamber for their recovery.

Full body burns can be difficult, if not impossible, to recover from, so the Watchers keep having to come aid the healing process with magic to prevent long term nerve and skin damage. The two of them were given new plastic collars to monitor their vitals, since their old ones were partially damaged in the fire.

The other subjects haven't seen Mumbo and Lizzie since the day of the fire. All they know is that the medical center features their heartbeats, steady as always.

It wasn't unexpected. Other subjects have disappeared before. Martyn tells Joel about when Netty disappeared, and it helps him cope. Grian begins to sulk, and Jimmy explains this is how he acted when Taurtis disappeared too.

Eventually life goes on, and they have more pressing things to worry about.

[glowettee]

dealing with a bad grade (part 1/5) 🎀

posted by: glowettee

hey sweeties! ♡ mindyyy here

okay so like… we need to have a heart-to-heart about something that happens to literally everyone - getting a grade that makes your heart sink. i totally get it, i've gotten a less than decent grade before and i felt like my whole academic career, life, MINDSETT just crashed. but guess what? i turned it around, and i'm going to share exactly how i did it. this is going to be a 5-part series specifically for helping you with your grade. <333

let's start with the immediate aftermath (because i know you're probably reading this with teary eyes and a racing heart):

♡ the 24-hour rule this is literally my holy grail rule. give yourself exactly 24 hours to feel all the emotions. cry into your plushies, eat that emergency chocolate bar you've been saving, watch sad tiktoks - whatever you need. but when that 24 hours is up, we're switching into recovery mode. i literally set a timer on my phone and when it goes off, it's glow-up time.

♡ emotional first aid kit grab your cutest notebook (mine's pink with gold stars obviously) and write down everything you're feeling. i'm talking full main character energy here - all the thoughts, fears, and worries. this isn't just venting, bestie. we're documenting these feelings so we can look back and see how far we've come. plus, getting it all out on paper helps clear your mind for the strategy phase.

♡ reality check (but make it gentle) let's break down why this isn't the end of your academic journey:

grade weight check: calculate exactly how much this affects your final grade. sometimes what feels like a disaster is actually just a tiny bump in the road

context matters: was this during that week you had the flu? when your bestie needed emotional support? when your laptop died? write down any external factors (we don't need accountability at alll,) (i'm joking)

pattern or one-off?: look at your other grades. is this a surprising drop or part of a trend? this helps us know if we need a total study makeover or just some fine-tuning

♡ the strategic breakdown this is where we get seriously helpful. grab your planner so we can create your recoveryyyy blueprint:

schedule a professor/teacher meeting ASAP (i know it's scary but professors and teachers actually love when students care enough to ask for help)

review your study methods (be honest - were you just rereading notes and hoping for the best? i do this all the time on my lazy days, it doesn't help...)

analyze your test-taking strategy (did you run out of time? panic? misread questions?)

check for extra credit opportunities (sometimes they're not advertised but exist if you ask!)

look into study groups (because two brains are better than one, and four brains are literally a power squad)

♡ creating your comeback toolkit this is the part where we get super practical (please bare with me):

get a separate notebook just for this subject

color-code everything (i use pink for things i don't understand, gold for improvements, and purple for victories)

start a concept map of everything you need to review

make a list of resources (tutoring center hours, professor office hours, study group times, online study resources, books etc...)

create a daily study schedule (even if it's just 30 minutes, consistency is key)

♡ mindset reset (the most important part) here's the truth: this grade is not your destiny. it's not even your story. it's just one chapter, and you're about to write the most amazing comeback story ever. think of it like this - even the most aesthetic, successful study girls have their off days. what matters is how you bounce back. you have drive and power, and using that to comeback from something that makes you devastated shows your resilience. <33 don't give up on your dreams when something hits you, because it's like giving up on yourself.

tomorrow we're diving deep into analyzing what went wrong (in the most organized and cute way possible, obviously). because just like my favorite quote says (got it from pinterest btw): "every setback is just a setup for your greatest comeback." ✨

remember: you're still that girl. you're still capable. and you're about to show everyone (especially yourself) just how powerful you can be. please don't give up, i assure you, once you comeback and end up getting an A, after receiving that C-, you'll literally feel unstoppable!!!! <333

stay gorgeous and focused! xoxo, mindy 🎀

[your-blorbo-is-a-dog]

c!Niki dsmp?

⭐️ c!Niki from the DreamSMP is a Canid Hybrid ( South American Fox / Unknown Dog )

Dogxim, the popularised first recorded Dog-Fox, was run over by an automobile in Rio Grande do Sul in 2021. After being treated for her injuries she moved to the Center for Conservation and Rehabilitation of Wild Animals for full recovery. Scientists recollected that in 2019 biologist Herbert Hasse Junior had observed two strange canids in the same region and they speculated that Dogxim might be one of the two. Dogxim was kept at the animal care centre Mantenedouro São Braz. She refused to eat dog food, but savoured rats. The pupils of her eyes resembled those of dogs and she barked exactly like dogs do. She did not show the behavior of a domestic dog, but neither did she show the aggression generally displayed by wild canids, acting more shy and introverted than violent. When fresh photographs of Dogxim were requested in September 2023, the caretakers reported that she had died six months prior to the request. The time and nature of her death were never reported. Veterinarian and conservationist Ferrari recalled that the canid had "no indications of any health problems" after her recovery, and investigation is still underway in her death.

They gave her a home just to break her. Sounds familiar to me!

[changingplumbob]

First Impressions - Lara

How do you feel so far?

About the introduction meeting? I felt a little shyer than I would have liked, but you know that moment when you see someone and… your system just crashes? *laughs* Lara with friends is the type to put on the playlist, buy a few shots, and start a group dance, but Lara with Deanna… wow, did you see that look? She saw right through me! Because of that little “system crash,” I thought I might not have performed so well, but I guess my flirty recovery worked out *laughs*. I’m really happy with my ranking and hope to keep it up! I’m excited!! I don’t know what to expect, but I hope the stamina I have for eating a big meal is the same for whatever challenge comes next! And good luck to all the other contestants as well!

Apolline

Isn't she a bit too self-centered? I mean, I’m not one to judge people without getting to know them first; after all, I’m always around all kinds of people at the parties I go to, but none quite like her, to be honest. She’s studying fashion, right? I just hope I don’t get a lecture on how I should or shouldn’t dress *laughs*. But you know… maybe that’s just her way of being. Maybe she gives off this ‘I’m better than everyone’ vibe on the outside, but deep down, she’s just waiting for someone to pull her onto the dance floor. I’ll give her a chance… who knows, maybe she just needs someone to show her that life isn’t just about glamour, but also about having fun!

Callie

Ok, I already like this girl a lot *laughs*. I’m not being ironic or anything, she’s genuinely someone I’d love to have around. I mean, she’s on a TV show and still seems kind of lost; I love that!! How many people would have that kind of courage? It’s admirable, considering her social discomfort. Plus, she’s definitely someone I need to keep away from the sound system and any potentially dangerous cables *laughs*. But hey, if she trips, I’ll be there to catch her… or at least laugh along before helping her up!

Hana

I have to admit that while socializing with her, the thought crossed my mind that she might be a bit… dramatic. But now that I think about it, she’s someone who has presence! She walks in and instantly owns the room; if she has something to say, she’s going to say it. I’m not sure if it was some kind of clash between our personalities that made me feel this way, but I respect her a lot, especially for her life story. I just hope I don’t do anything to annoy her… or better yet, if I do, at least let it be some entertaining drama to watch!

Billie

I could tell right away that Billie has a mind full of creativity! She’s the kind of person who sees the world in colors and shapes that the rest of us might not even notice. I love a good party, but she seems to find magic even in the simple act of painting; it’s pretty fascinating! I have this feeling that if she ever got involved in a more specific competition with another contestant, she’d turn it into something so intense that it wouldn’t feel like a regular contest anymore, but rather a work of art, full of meaning. Wow, that might be the coolest thing I’ve said today; I guess her creativity is rubbing off on me too *laughs*

Elise

Elise is the type of person who knows exactly what she wants and goes after it without thinking twice. She has this strong mindset, not letting herself be confined by the conventions of life. I really admire that about her. She seems like someone who's always on the move, exploring not only places but also flavors and experiences; oooh I could really learn a lot from her, I'm excited!! I also think that if she gets the chance, she'll prove to be a strong competitor in the game, so I'll definitely be keeping my eyes on her *laughs*

Lara created and written by @simscici

[hanibalistic]

COMMENCE! THE VAMPIRE TRIALS! | YANG JUNGWON.

genre | vampire au/supernatural au, platonic relationship, found family au, (side) romance, hurt/comfort, (jic) dead dove: do not eat 

synopsis | the clock struck twelve on yang jungwon’s eighteenth birthday, right after his transition to a vampire and his first killing. stuck without a home to return to, jungwon was confronted with a much bigger problem: a murder trial, where he is at risk of being tried as a supernatural adult for an unintentional crime.   

word count | 19.7k+

warning | blood, violence, mentions of death / killing / trauma  / parental abuse / bullying

note | white truffle fries are so good!

“Hello. I am calling from Bloodline Recovery Center regarding Yang Jungwon’s absence today.”  

Jungwon winced at the mention of his name. You did not take notice of his discomfort as you formally chatted away with who he assumed to be one of the office clerks from school. Shifting in his seat, which was just broken enough that he could hear a crack of pressure under him when he did so, he fiddled with his fingers. He decided to pay his attention elsewhere in your office. 

The memory of a significant, recent tragedy was disgustingly vivid. There have been a lot of unfortunate truths in his life that he often found himself wishing to forget, but out of all of them, what happened the previous night was the worst he has ever been through because he caused it. It was all his doing and fault, albeit he was only somewhat conscious throughout the ordeal.

He picked at his skin, then he picked under his nails, where the clicking sound quickly traveled into his ears. He wasn't supposed to be able to hear mundane noises clearly, and the fact that he could bother him. It deterred him from fidgeting.

Half an hour ago, he was instructed to shower at the rehabilitation center to rinse himself of his crime, which he did. He spent an awfully long time under the steaming water, something he could have never done back home because of the racking up of water bills.

His eyes had been wide, and his mind scrambled with no capability for thought. Even though he made sure he watched the blood ooze away from his skin and down the drain, the lingering feeling of its dryness remained in his consciousness.  

After the shower, he was guided by a security guard to the cafeteria, where he was free to order breakfast. The idea of consuming food was disdainful. Besides that, he was packed from the blood of two grown adults. His vampirism wasn’t hungry, so neither was he. 

Everyone in the cafeteria left him alone. The security guard left when he was introduced to the door, and the cooks minded their business behind the buffet counters. Nobody was in the cafeteria because lunch hour hadn’t arrived yet.

But Jungwon assumed people wanted to give him space to regain his composure. Or nobody could be bothered to check up on him, or everyone had already heard of his story and made the cautious decision not to associate with him. Whatever it was, he was glad he got time to himself.  

Eventually, he caved into normalcy and got a carton of banana milk. The mere taste of it made him giddy—it was a simple taste of joy, laced with good memories within a wash of bitterness.

The drink's sweetness shot through him like a bullet, and he held onto it with his bare hands, desperately wanting to feel just a tiny lick of a childish grin after hours of straight torment.  

When he finished his drink, he was ushered somewhere else. Someone may be observing him, he thought. Someone had been waiting for him to finish his food so they could take him elsewhere. But he should have noticed it if that was the case.

Vampirism came with those superhuman perks; it would suck if he got singled out and didn’t have them.

It wasn’t a long walk from the cafeteria to your office. Or, at least, it was a tiny room decorated to look like an office. There was a laptop on a small table, one wired phone you were using, a corkboard on the wall with papers and polaroids pinned on the surface, and a whiteboard with a few ugly cartoon animals drawn on.

The setting did not feel permanent or formal to him. Jungwon could not care less about that, though. He was concerned about what he was sent here to do. 

“Hello. I am calling from Bloodline Recovery Center regarding Yang Jungwon’s absence today.”  

The Bloodline Recovery Center—the name echoed in his head and did not ring familiar bells. All he knew was that it was a rehabilitation facility exclusively for vampires.

The facility was part of a much bigger medical institution that owned and oversaw different clinics (each made especially for different supernaturals) spread across the country. Other than that, he knew nothing about it and never thought he would have to.  

Just yesterday, as a human boy, he never deemed it necessary to indulge in supernatural issues. He did not care about their politics; he sympathized with their struggles but made no attempt to advocate for them. He did not actively yearn to communicate and interact with them; he had made no supernatural friends and had never met one.

Despite the blending and coexistence of humans and supernaturals, as a boy who has never been in the presence of non-humans, Jungwon believed he was not obligated to care.

Then, on the night of his eighteenth birthday, he became a vampire. 

“Thank you, I will make a note of that and schedule a meeting soon,” you said before ending the call.  

Jungwon eyed you carefully as you slotted the phone back in its place, his chest dreading the end of your phone call with the school office, thus ending his personal time.

Looking at the table, you scribbled on the memo pad before you. Even though his vision returned to perfection, how you positioned yourself made it impossible to glimpse what you were writing. You did it on purpose; this wasn’t your first rodeo. 

When you were done, you put your pencil down and pushed it to the side before turning to face him. You met eyes with him immediately, and his timid jump indicated that he had been staring at you for a while. You supposed he would. Hypervigilance tends to be a trait that newly turned vampires acquire, especially those turned without consent. 

Jungwon hasn’t spoken to you about his transition, but the police gave you a brief overview: he was returning home from cram school and got attacked by a vampire a few blocks down the bus stop. The boy saved the brutal details; he couldn’t remember most of it, and all his injuries had been healed.

Besides his turning, he was also accused of a heinous crime, which brought upon him paranoia and guilt. Hypervigilance would be on the table for a while. 

You sized him, a neutral smile tugging at your lips. He looked younger than his age, which he would find troublesome hundreds of years later.

It came as a surprise to you when you saw that he turned eighteen today. His small, heart-shaped face predisposed him to look more youthful and adorable, but his almond eyes held a gaze intense enough that he may not be watered down to just being a cute, harmless boy. 

You accessed him with less caution than he was doing you, and you did not expect any less. Intimidation flared from his naturally sharp, cat-like eyes where millions of thoughts traveled. It was something he could not help with. His eyes exuded intentions that he could prevent from showing.

Still, more than menace, anxiety rushed up his lungs at this mere second.  

He noticed his awareness of his surroundings, people’s motives, and himself as a living creature. What he did, in his opinion, could not be paralleled. Not that his thoughts should matter at this pathetic, low point in his life.

But still, Jungwon could not rid himself of the guilt-ridden anxiety fumbling through his throat whenever his mind made clear of his crime.

You maintained a professional expression and wondered if he would look different if he wasn't entranced with today's bloodbath. Maybe his would look softer. Maybe his heart would be softer.  

“I didn’t do it on purpose,” he managed to itch the word crumbs from his throat, and it wasn’t odd that this came before a self-introduction. “I didn’t kill them on purpose.” 

On the very night of his eighteenth birthday, he became a vampire. 

Then, what followed was what always followed: Yang Jungwon murdered his parents.  

He was thrown into a fit of rage and starvation before the completion of the transition. The rage came from his parents’ normalized abusive attitude, and it was amplified by his heightened vampiric emotions.

The hunger came from being a vampire in transition. In retrospect, beneath the uncontrollable fit, there was a chaotic yearning for an explanation for the poor treatment his parents provided him, as well as a bloody revenge for the miserable life he’d lived.

Jungwon remembered everything; his memories were disgustingly vivid. It was his eighteenth birthday, his official first step into adulthood. Having never held any hope for his father's generosity, the child in him thought at least his mother would throw a celebration, however small it would be.

Ultimately, he got nothing but a beer bottle haphazardly thrown past his head for returning home at the night's break.  

What his father had not known was that he had just been killed. Grabbed, struggled, killed, revived, and turned. 

Jungwon wondered if it was fate's idea that he would kill his parents. For his entire walk back home, he did not stumble upon even a shadow of a human being. There was not a smell, a sound, or a presence.

The first people he saw after he came back alive, ready for blood consumption, were his mom and dad. Mom, who screamed in horror at the sight of his face, and dad, who was violently angry at him as always.  

Everything hurt, he recalled. The fangs forcefully grew at his gums, his eyes turned bloodshot, and black veins popped near them, and his senses overwhelmed his brain and his body.

He remembered his parent’s nails digging into his skin as they cried and cursed at him: a terrible child, a disastrous child! A foul child, a dangerous child! Love has never surrounded you, and it never will after this! Mark my words and watch your back, Yang Jungwon!

At last, he sat in a pool of blood, and it was his father’s lifeless hand that he held and apologized to. The same hand that left his skin claw marks on a daily was the hand he needed to be torn away from. 

He was confused and afraid. Jungwon knew he wasn't a violent person, nor was he a violent son. He knew he had the genes to become one, so he did everything he could to prevent that.

Despite all the years of not standing up to his parents and isolating himself from his peers, he did not allow one chance to be aggressive toward others.

Everything he did that night was out of character. His moral compass was spinning so fast that it severely burnt his self-esteem. This incident justified the mindset that he deserved nothing good in life.  

But, still, he did not mean it. He did not mean to kill his parents, and he needed you to know the truth. 

You raised your brows half-heartedly at his confession. If you had an opinion on his statement, you did not give it away. Your voice was light when you spoke, but it was not comforting for him to hear.  

“I believe you." You shifted on your seat. “Vampires rarely make their first kill on purpose.”  

His pursed lips tugged downward into a frown. The dejected expression confused you. You meant what you said and assumed it was what he wanted to hear. These confessions were often made in a desperate attempt to be believed so you didn't think you said anything wrong.

The sullen look on his face blatantly told you otherwise, though, and you wondered what he was thinking about. 

Scratching his eyelid, Jungwon breathed a silent exhale and figured he may be asking a stranger for too much emotional understanding.

It wasn't your trust that he wanted to gain or his innocence he tried to prove. This was not about him killing his parents because even he understood the uncontrollability of that particular tragedy. His thoughts dated back to when he was still in his early adolescence, back when the torment from his parents started.

He was often left breathless, wondering if the lack of parental love he received was expected, hoping that if he gave enough, he would regain it. 

Jungwon spent his entire life caring for his mom and his whole youth forgiving his dad. He somehow managed to grow attached to those obligations and feelings.  

This was never about killing his parents, nor was it about his guilt and innocence. This was about love.

This was about Jungwon not wanting to kill his parents. This was about the knowledge that, deep in his heart, a massive part of him held grounded affection for them despite all the wrongs they'd done to him. This was about convincing himself that he loved his family even in deep-seething rage and everlasting pain. 

How could he possibly say that when it was his fangs that sunk into their neck? 

Perhaps that was all it was. Jungwon needed to convince himself that he did not kill his parents on purpose. He needed his painful forgiveness and his familial devotion to not be a waste. 

Sensing the tense air in the room, you ignored it and proceeded with your job. You leaned forward, your fingers laced together to sit on top of the papers where information about Jungwon's case was freshly printed, and then you smiled softly at him.  

“Hey,” you called, “Jungwon.”

He listened, his eyes sharp but round upon your call for attention. 

“I don’t think you killed your mom and dad on purpose,” you said with a faint shake of your head. “I really don’t think so.”

“I didn’t.” He bit the inside of his lower lip. “What am I going to do now?”

"That's what you're here for," you said after sighing. Fixing the papers on your desk, you turned them around so they could easily be read. "My name is [Name]. You can feel free to call me by that. I will be your counselor here at the recovery center, which means I overlook your rehabilitation progress." 

You pushed the papers toward him. "Here is all the basic information administration pulled from the government database. It is the protocol that I match your verbal introduction with what is written on paper, so please briefly introduce yourself to me.”

Jungwon clicked his nails together as he relaxed at the new conversation. Your eyes were windows he couldn’t look into; you kept a professional front, but he thought you were compassionate when you told him you believed he didn’t kill with intention. Almost too compassionate. He was afraid to acknowledge it in case he would overreact to kindness.

Looking down, he stared at the papers you pushed toward him. 

“My name is Yang Jungwon. I am eighteen years old. I go to Seoulen High School and am supposedly preparing for college…” His voice trailed off, his brows furrowing in thoughts before his brain suddenly jolted in the realization of something important. He looked up at you—your eyes for a moment, then up at your forehead—to ask urgently,

“I have school today! I get to go back to class, right?”

You grimaced. “We can try to discuss it with the school, but it is highly unlikely. It’s not just about you but the safety of your peers.”

“I already said I didn’t do it on purpose,” he argued, leaning forward as his right leg bounced anxiously. “My head is clear now. I can control myself! I need to go back to school! I gotta graduate and go to college–“ his bouncy eyes landed on you abruptly–“Will colleges even accept me with a criminal record? It’d be discrimination if they don’t, wouldn’t it?” 

You swallowed a knot down your throat, unsure of how you could shed light on the current judicial that heavily biases humans.

Even more surprising was that he didn’t know. There have been ample voices speaking up about it on social media, and most teenagers you’ve met were avid users. 

Deciding to leave this unsettling truth for another time or to hand the responsibility to someone else, you hummed with a furrow of your brows. You asked, “Shouldn’t you have gotten acceptance letters by now?”

The question occupied him as he immediately abandoned the previous question. He shook his head sheepishly, shrinking into his chair as if embarrassed.

His steps to graduating and going to college were heavily messed up due to his poor home environment and the lack of help from school counselors. He had nobody to talk to about where he wanted to go, what he wanted to study, and if he should apply for a scholarship or settle with a community college.  

Despite the lack of support, he was excited about graduating. Not only could he be out of the hellhole that was high school, but college schedules were also more flexible, which meant he could finally get a job. He anticipated earning money on his own and spending it on what he loved.

Eventually, he may even be able to move out. He could bring his mother with him; even though she drank and feared her husband, he was still a boy who got tucked into bed secretly with a kiss on the forehead.  

“I haven’t applied to any school yet,” he muttered. 

“Jungwon, it’s March. The application cycle closed last month,” you said after holding back a concerned gasp, but your eyes widened in surprise. 

It has been a while since you first applied to university. Still, in your head, you remembered the process was rigorous and quick. Your parents and teachers emphasized timing each step carefully: figure out your study schedule for the entrance exam, ask your teachers for recommendations months in advance, find time to attend workshops to edit your college essays, and most importantly, do not miss the deadline!

“The regular application cycle ended last month,” he noted. “I can apply for late admission.”  

“Late admission closes late March to early April, and they are typically rolling admissions,” you exclaimed lightly, shifting your weight at the sudden unease he brought you.

Things may become more hectic and rushed than you thought they would be. “You have to juggle between doing rehabilitation and applying to universities on a first-come, first-serve basis within two months.” 

"Two months is more than enough time. I am very diligent!" he retorted defensively upon your incredulousness. He knew he was late but did not want to be accused. "I already have my essay and transcript ready. I just have to retake the entrance exam and find two teachers to write my recommendation letters!"  

“Why didn’t you send in the scores you already have?” you questioned, shaking your head in confusion. 

“They are not good enough!” he gritted out in disappointment, then he lost his tense shoulders and slumped against the back of the chair. His darting eyes traveled between the walls and the desk, and his hands rubbed nervously together. “I–I need… I need better scores.” 

The first testing period had come at the worst time possible. He was well-prepared. He studied at least five hours a day, paid attention in classes, attended after-school lessons, and spent his little pocket money to buy mock exams so he could practice.

But the testing period came just when his home life got a tad more stressful—it was one pile of garbage on top of another, soiling the weight on his back without care, as if he knew how to handle everything. 

It had felt like a hoax when he got his test results back. All the time, money, and worry spent on the entrance exam went down the drain because of a simple number that wouldn’t mean anything years later.

He had been so anxious about his future; he needed to attend college, get a degree, and leave home. None of those could be accomplished with those terrible scores of his. 

Although, now that his parents were dead, Jungwon wasn’t sure if those goals were as firm as they used to be. He had nowhere to leave and nobody to avoid anymore.

The life purpose that once motivated his every effort was gone because of this massive shortcut, which brought him somewhere foreign rather than the paradise he dreamt of. 

You took notice of the redness that rushed to the veins near his eyes when he spoke, which faded too quickly for Jungwon to notice that they were there at all. It wasn't new to you.

You have seen vampires act out before. You have been the target of an outburst before, and it was only thanks to your good vampire friend that you got out of it alive.  

Jungwon has no ill intentions, you believed. The way he shrunk his body in unknown grief and how he went as far as to make a point to tell you he disagreed with everything he has done as a newly-turned vampire told you that.

Still, your heart pounded each time you saw those bloodied veins. You would always be afraid of the potential outcome of a vampire’s outburst. 

Keeping the fear behind your lips, you sighed gently and looked at him apologetically. You were unsure if the smile was to comfort you or him.  

Being in charge of vampires during their rehabilitation was no strange task to you. Still, this case differed from what you had been doing for your internship: this one involved a court case.

On top of that, you may have to personally make sure Jungwon’s college application process goes smoothly despite the rehabilitation programs he has to attend, as well as the murder trial that would define his future. 

“Well, my job is to fit everything in your schedule, so that is what I will try to do,” you said as you gathered the papers from the desk and knocked them together by their sides.

You moved them away before reaching below your desk to pull more documents from the open drawer. “I assume you already know why you are here, so I will explain what you will do and what kind of service the Bloodline Recovery Center will provide you from now on.” 

The Bloodline Recovery Center was a rehabilitation center made explicitly for vampires. Clients could either voluntarily seek out aid from the center, or they would be referred here by an outside source, such as the police station, schools, or workplaces.

Most of the time, when a vampire was referred to the center by a government institution, the rehabilitation program was a necessary process, and the case would not be closed until they met the rehabilitation goal.

“Since you are a newly turned vampire, your program will be catered towards helping you gain control over your vampirism and get accustomed to living in your new body,” you said as you flipped over a few papers on your table and pushed it toward Jungwon.

You grabbed a pencil and began pointing at the information printed on top, giving him a visual representation of what you were talking about.  

“You will get periodic medical check-ups and weekly vampire training. I am not sure about the requirement for therapy.” You rolled your eyes up to think, and then you huffed silently. “I will ask about that again, but I highly recommend it.”  

“Why do I need a medical check-up,” Jungwon said slowly as he scanned the paper. “I thought vampires don’t get sick.”  

“The doctor might be able to speak more on that for you,” you replied. “From what I have seen, I think they do check-ups so they can have records of your assessment. It is the same as our yearly physical check-ups but for supernaturals.” 

You kept the paper in front of Jungwon when you suddenly pulled back. He was barely paying attention to the words, only looking at them for the sake of having something to do. He remained fidgety until now and may stay so for a while. He looked up at you upon your shift in position and slightly pulled back, waiting for the big news that seemed to be locked behind your eyes. 

“Jungwon,” you called, sympathy laced in your tone. “You know what you did, don’t you?” 

He gulped nervously and nodded after a prolonged moment. “Yes, but I–“ he sucked in a harsh breath–“I didn’t do it on purpose.” 

“I know,” you said, offering him a kind smile. “But the court is only going to take that into consideration when they put you on trial for the murder of your parents.” 

“A trial?” he repeated in a whisper so he could make sense of your words. 

That should be a no-brainer. If this happened to somebody else, he would have agreed that the vampire should be put on trial for murder. The law should not bend just because it was pitiful that he fell victim to its accusation. It never did to anyone else. Still, this was an unlikable situation. He wanted to run away from it and begin somewhere else. 

Jungwon pursed his lips with furrowed brows when he felt a peak of sharpness at his gums. His vision was blurred with a darkened filter as if blood had taken over his vision in a quick second. He noticed the change in your expression and appreciated that you looked more surprised than afraid.

He tried to will his trembling hands to calm and his shaking legs to stop, but the unreasonable irritation in his chest remained upon what you told him. 

“Am I going to jail?” he asked.  

“Not necessarily. We are working on it.” You shook your head and scooted your chair forward. “Your circumstance is more peculiar than the usual case.”

“How so?” His voice was meek.

“When people are put on trial for their crimes, they are either being tried as an adult or a minor. For vampires and their transition murder, adults tend to get sentenced to serve jail time regardless of the uncontrollable nature of a transition. Minors, on the other hand, receive no jail time under the Juvenile Act, but it is required that they complete assignments given by the judge.”

“We are trying to get the judge to try you as a minor even though you are eighteen now.” 

According to Jungwon’s testimony, which he gave shortly after arriving at the police station, and a brief deduction provided by the investigator the previous night, the current assumption was that his parents’ death happened just a little before the clock struck twelve on his eighteenth birthday.

The murder occurred when he was seventeen, and he was arrested when he was eighteen. There were only a few minutes between the incidents. Keeping his best interest in mind, the greatest outcome would be that he be tried as a minor, receiving a fair sentence for the crime.  

As fair of a sentence for killing your parents could be, at least. 

“Our legal department has already assigned a team to represent you in court,” you informed. “One of the lawyers on your team–you might get a chance to meet him later, but he is getting more information about the hearing now so the team can advise us on what we must do to appeal you to the judge.” 

Jungwon nodded. He understood what you said. The only reason why he felt conflicted was that he did not want to be put in a situation like this in the first place.

The idea of a prison haunted him, not only because it would further tarnish the moral reputation he has of himself but because he knew vampire sentencing extended beyond that of a hundred years. He has yet to gain the whole experience of immortality, and time is still familiar.

If he had to serve jail time for a hundred years and beyond, he would go insane.  

He should listen to you. He could do that. He listened well to adults. He was taught to do so ever since he learned to think independently. 

"Well, with that out of the way, we got work to do," you finished cheerfully as you pushed yourself off the chair. Gathering up the papers on your desk, you stuffed them in your tote bag and adjusted the strap on your shoulder. You looked at Jungwon, welcoming eyes adverting from him to the door. "We are going to get you checked up first." 

Jungwon stood up with a slight stumble. He absentmindedly pushed his chair toward the desk, desiring to return things to their original position. At the same time, he kept his curious eyes on you.

He blinked in surprise when you huffed a short laugh upon him stepping next to you, your head arching lightly to meet his gaze. He involuntarily ducked when you reached your hand up to his head to measure his height, and he felt that the blood around his face faded finally. 

“You’re taller than you look. We’re almost the same height!” you laughed to yourself. “You grew up well.”

Clearing his throat, he stuffed his hands in his hoodie pocket, along with the response to your words he could not think of. The sudden burst of positivity was unexpected and out of place. He did not grow well. Look at the situation he got himself in! 

However, the praise was not unwelcomed. He was not accustomed to compliments, if he could call that one. His parents never praised him, he was not outstanding enough for his teachers to acknowledge his presence, his friends were mostly temporary, and he always hid too much for strangers to notice.

The best compliment he had ever gotten was from the old lady who tended to a small, homey candy store down the street where he lived. Jungwon frequented that store for a while because he was always eager to visit her. Additionally, he was fond of an ice cream brand that other convenience stores had stopped selling. 

She always joked about him growing up and eventually working part-time at her store. She would scold him for shooting so low when he wholeheartedly agreed.

In retrospect, it was never a direct compliment, but Jungwon remembered how the old lady told him to believe in himself and aim for more. Stay away from working in a lousy candy shop, she would say. You can do better things! 

He was heartbroken when she passed away. The candy store was replaced, and he never bothered to see what occupied the location now. He thought if he didn't see it, his heart would believe that the store was still there. 

Jungwon followed you closely as you left the office, trailing behind you with his head hung low and eyes on the ground. He ignored the people he brushed past, only perking up when he heard you greet other staff that passed you by, unknowingly glaring at all of them in the process.

Only when you called his name did his gaze soften, keeping his body still with his focus on you. 

You beckoned him to follow closely, and instead of moving ahead, you waited for him to close the distance between you both. It was a small gesture. You probably didn't notice it, but he appreciated your patience. He kept his head high, wanting to make sure he would stay caught up. The walk was quiet, and he thought to himself that for now, at least, he trusted you.

The recovery center was much bigger than Jungwon anticipated. It took a long trip before you two arrived at the medical wing of the building.

The decoration differed from the rehabilitation wing—the placings of furniture were different, the color schemes were brighter and clearer (more white and less of an eerie, dull blue), and it smelt of sterilization.  

Jungwon stayed behind when you talked with the receptionist, shifting his weight awkwardly between his legs and letting his body flail about as he waited for you to finish the conversation.

When you were done, you beckoned him to follow you through a double door into a long hallway that separated into longer corridors.  

“Your doctor is Park Sunghoon,” you told him with a faint roll of your eyes.  

You have worked with Sunghoon since your internship at the Bloodline Recovery Center. You two started on the wrong foot, mainly because you despised insensitive people.

In contrast, Sunghoon, being callous, did not care about the grudge you held against him. Many coincidences put you both in the same case. Along with the help of mutual friends, it brought you closer together.  

Despite the emotional nature of his job, you have come to find that insensitivity has its perks.

Sunghoon was, ironically, more perceptive than others and ever so understanding of reactions. He was also less prone to be influenced by prejudice and emotional ideals because he held no particular opinion about anyone other than how beneficial they could be.

He may say and do according to how much havoc he could wreck upon the Earth, but when push comes to shove, his ability to make intelligent decisions was reliable.  

Most importantly, he wasn’t a bad person. Sunghoon cared enough to a certain extent. He would not have chosen to be a doctor if his heart only wanted wealth. The road to excellence in the medical field was too much commitment for mere greed. 

“Don’t worry, he is not friendly, but he is nice, and he’s smart,” you said. “He is already completing his doctorate program, and he’s younger than me.” 

“How old is he?” Jungwon asked nonchalantly. 

“Nineteen,” your gaze sharpened humorously, “he started university at fifteen.” 

“So he’s one of those geniuses who skipped school?” Jungwon said, still not entirely intrigued out of jealousy that someone within his age range has accomplished so much already, but he wanted to make an effort to continue the conversation.  

“Never shuts up about it.”  

Talking about someone younger and more successful than you was the bane of your existence, especially when Sunghoon made light-hearted jokes about your intellectual differences. He only did it to a moderate amount, but you liked to exaggerate his self-centredness to everyone else as a playful attempt to ruin his reputation.

Jungwon did not react to what you said, and you supposed he had more in his mind than some doctor he had never met before. 

Turning a corner, you stopped before the first door and knocked on it. You opened it just as permission was given, and immediately, you saw a deadpan glare thrown your way from behind a computer screen. Sunghoon briefly glanced behind you and raised a brow at Jungwon’s displeased expression.

“So we meet again.” Sunghoon stood up, a charming smile blossoming when he returned his attention to you. You knew it was fake. “I thought I mentioned not to make a habit of seeing me.” 

“And I recall mentioning how you shouldn’t make a habit of talking,” you bantered as you swatted away his attempt to ruffle your hair, something he has made a habit of doing because of his taller frame.

A humorous smile remained on your face for a dear friend as you drew the paperwork from your bag and handed it to him for evaluation. “You are much more attractive when you don’t speak.” 

“One point for me because you find me attractive,” Sunghoon chuckled with a light snap of his fingers, then he nudged you playfully with his shoulder. “Minus one point for Heeseung, also because you find me attractive.” 

Jungwon blinked as his eyes ping-ponged between you two. The unfamiliar name bounced off his ears in alert, causing his heart to race at the possibility of meeting another stranger when he hadn't even gotten used to you yet.

The one thing keeping his anxiety at bay was the fun of piecing two and two together. Dr. Park implied that whoever this Heeseung person was, they had a thing for you. 

Jungwon eyed you up and down once, accessing your features and attire lazily before he shrugged to himself. He wondered why. 

“Nothing is going on between us,” you muttered dismissively as you slapped the papers at Sunghoon’s chest. “This is Jungwon. We need a brief check-up of him. You don’t have to give me the full details. I just need something to provide Jake with later–“ 

“You probably won’t hear from Jake today,” Sunghoon scoffed as he scanned the paperwork. His eyes shifted carefully across the papers, absorbing the information and daring himself not to give Jungwon an apologetic glance. “He was racing a kid down in the medical wing and got caught pushing over some supply shelves. They were playing hide and seek, he said.” 

“Oh, so he’s stuck in friendly isolation.” You grimaced.  

There was no isolation room in the rehabilitation center. When vampires go out of control, they are to be escorted out of the premises to the courtyard behind the building, which does not belong to the corporation but has been off-limits for so long that no one ever goes there.

The purpose of sending them outdoors was so they could release themselves freely or calm themselves down. 

As for the friendly isolation room, it was just an empty room in the rehabilitation wing, and its only occupant was Jake.  

The last time you heard of it was months ago. It was miraculous that Jake avoided getting into trouble for so long. Until today, you were baffled about the board's toleration of his unintentionally destructive behavior, but you understood.

Jake was an excellent mentor to new vampires, the kind you could not find elsewhere, and all the board had to do was pick him off the street and promise him a lifetime of meaningful social interactions. 

“Third time this week,” Sunghoon added with an exhausted sigh. 

“Third time?” you exclaimed in shock. You have not heard of the first two times he was sent to an empty room.  

"Yes." After reading the paperwork, Sunghoon promptly returned it to you with a smirk. "Thank you. I am assuming I need to send a full report to Heeseung?"  

“Yeah, thanks,” you returned with a scratch near your ear.  

“Not a problem,” Sunghoon mused when he turned his back to grab a new pair of gloves from the supply box he had neatly placed on his desk. “You can take a seat on the bed, Jungwon.”  

Jungwon received your encouraging smile with an embarrassed frown, and he audibly scoffed when you pointed at the bed for him as if he couldn’t find it himself.

Keeping his hands in his hoodie pocket, he made a small hop and landed harshly on the bed, the back of his shoes hitting against the cabinets attached beneath it. His heart dropped when he watched you wait by him patiently, not at all angered by his sudden change of attitude. 

“Since you did your last health check-up with your school recently, I am not going to prolong your stay here and get your height and whatnot.” Sunghoon’s tone of choice changed from a professional low (something Jungwon assumed he used to keep some form of secrecy between him and you) to a higher, more relaxed tone. “But do know your appearance will never change from now on. You won’t be gaining weight, you can’t work out for muscles, and you’re not going to get any taller than this.” 

“Basically, I am gonna be stuck looking like a kid forever,” Jungwon mumbled bitterly. “Go me! I can’t wait to see where that takes my romantic life five hundred years later.” 

“With that attitude? I’m guessing absolutely nowhere,” Sunghoon joked. 

You clicked your tongue at his discouraging tone but didn’t say anything you wouldn’t know of.

“I am going to run some tests to evaluate your vampirism, and I will need your cooperation. Is that alright?” 

“If I say no, I go to jail,” Jungwon replied grimly. 

"Fantastic! You know your weight on the scale of justice." Sunghoon smiled sardonically when he approached the bed. His heart giggled when he acknowledged the younger boy's dismay at his comment. "I can safely assume you do not have any injuries or illnesses now?" 

Jungwon shook his head, not giving a second to double-check. He knew his body better than others because of how much he had to look after it. Constantly checking for bruises, wounds, cracks beneath his hair, irregular pains against his skin, and so on has made him hyperaware of his body. He knew that all the pains went away as soon as he turned and that his conscience was the only thing left aching. 

“Nothing. I used to have poor eyesight, but I can see everything perfectly now,” he said.

“That’s expected,” Sunghoon hummed in content. “I’m assuming your bad eyesight came from means other than genes?”

“Well, yeah.” Jungwon shrugged. “What gives?”

“Oh, you should tell him a little about vampirism now that you’re at it,” you chimed in from the side. “He was asking questions just then.” 

“No, I wasn’t.” Jungwon furrowed his brows as he quickly turned toward you. He shook his head at you, his ears slightly reddened with embarrassment. He questioned what Sunghoon said about vampiric abilities, but having to voice his concern was a nightmare, so he settled with silence. It was not good to him that you asked on his behalf. “I didn’t ask anything.” 

Sunghoon pulled a face when he met eyes with you. Then he whistled lowly. “Someone is going through a phase.” 

“You would know,” Jungwon scoffed with a roll of his eyes. 

You shot Sunghoon a glare in advance, just before his brain could remember everything he had read about Jungwon in the paperwork you gave him and fish out the worst detail it could to fire back as an insult.

Sunghoon held his hands up in mock surrender, but the rare sincerity in his smile was diminishing by the second with Jungwon’s attitude. 

“I am gonna leave the vampire education up to the fossils at the training ward,” he said. “Back to business! Can you show me your fangs?” 

Jungwon looked dubious. Shifting his eyes to the side, almost giving a stink-eye, Sunghoon clapped his hands and explained, “Vampires have evolved since centuries ago, and they have distinguishable fang shapes. We keep them in records just in case they can be useful.”  

That made way too much sense for Jungwon’s liking, but he kept his opinions hushed. Pursing his lips together, he rubbed his hands and slightly parted his lips. He let out a short, low noise from his throat, unsure of where he should start with getting his fangs out.  

The previous times when he had them out, they were all involuntary. Was he supposed to bring his vampirism to life? Should he think about what he would look like and go from there? Or could it be an emotional and uncontrollable thing?  

“I… I don’t know how to get them out,” Jungwon muttered after a moment of his failed attempt. 

Moving away from the bed after a nonverbal acknowledgment, Sunghoon walked over to his desk and opened a drawer. He pulled out a rattling box and dropped it on the table. Jungwon watched curiously as the doctor messed with the trinkets inside before quickly pulling out a heavy, old lock.

Sunghoon weighed it in his hand, deep in thought, then, without warning, he launched the object toward Jungwon’s direction. 

Jungwon reacted quickly, grabbing the lock on a quick whim. His strength overcompensated the anxiety that arose from the unannounced need to protect his head.

The lock bent and broke under his grip, leaving a jagged metal ball in his palm. He glared at Sunghoon when the doctor approached and harshly dropped the lock in his hand. 

“Sunghoon!” You gasped in disbelief. “You can’t do that during the assessment!” 

“The assessment is whatever I see fit, and that did exactly what I need it to do,” Sunghoon replied nonchalantly with a jerk of his head toward Jungwon’s direction. “He is strong, which is expected under the circumstances I put him in. Most vampires have massive reactive strength. The issue is learning to control it, which is out of my job description.” 

“Throwing things at patients is also out of your job description!” you exclaimed.  

“You would be surprised how much I can get away with, actually,” Sunghoon said as he returned the metal ball to Jungwon, who begrudgingly received it. He stepped aside and pointed at the wall on the opposite side, where there was nothing but white paint.

“Throw the ball at the wall, but I want it to fall exactly on the space that connects the wall and the floor together. I will account for the laws of physics.” 

You watched as Jungwon clicked his tongue in annoyance. Keeping your eyes on the opposite wall, it was a shock when the metal ball was lodged into a hole in the wall within the blink of an eye. Your body flinched at the noise it created before your eyes could register the sight, and you grimaced when you saw how Jungwon pulled a face and shrunk into himself angrily.  

“No normal strength control at all, which is also expected as a new vampire,” Sunghoon said as he walked over to the wall. He tapped the ball with the tip of his fingers twice before he turned around and gestured toward Jungwon. “Now take it back out.” 

The younger boy heaved a deep sigh, to which you let out a pitying, awkward giggle in response. Jungwon heard you from behind him and instinctively whipped his head around to face you, his expressive brows furrowed to show his discontent with the check-up process.

Unfortunately, you could do nothing about it, so all you did was offer him a thumbs up and a genuine “You’re doing great!”  

Jungwon patted his shaking knees at your brief and repeated encouragement. It was not in his nature to retort; it has never been! He knew he sometimes felt frustrated with authority figures, but he was very strict with expressing those feelings.

This newfound courage to talk back whenever his mind wanted to, or even when he did not feel the situation to be all that emotional, was not something he enjoyed. 

“Yeah, whatever.” He sluggishly got off the bed and headed over to Sunghoon.

He curtly stared at the broken wall before quickly pulling the metal ball out between the cracks and handing it back to Sunghoon, just for him to walk behind his chair and callously throw the metal ball out the open window, all with a playful smile on his face. 

“I am going to time you. Bring the lock back to me,” Sunghoon instructed. 

“Is all of this necessary? I thought you already checked for my speed when you threw a lock at my face,” Jungwon uttered in annoyance. Without waiting for a response, he shrugged. “I’m not picking it up.” 

Nervousness piqued in you at Jungwon’s response. Tightening your grip on the strap of your bag, you took a tiny step forward, hoping to provide some encouragement and guidance to the boy when Sunghoon held up his hand in motion for you to stop.

You stayed back then, curiosity riddled in your eyes as you watched Sunghoon move away from his desk and strode toward you. 

“Fine, we don’t have to do that,” Sunghoon said casually as he glanced at his watch. “We can just–“ 

There was a windy shift in the air when Jungwon sped over to your corner and stumbled before you. You took a step back, equally as surprised as him.

Despite being taken back by seeing Sunghoon wordlessly swing his fist toward your general direction, Jungwon still found it in himself to react quickly enough to your defense. Perhaps even too quickly, he almost tripped on his feet, forcing himself to stop speeding forward.  

When Jungwon grabbed hold of Sunghoon’s wrist, he heard a sound akin to that of glass breaking, and what followed was a sharp, burning sensation against his palm.

Retreating with a pained yelp, he touched his face and watched the redness slowly fade through the vampiric healing. Seeing his injury disappear brought him an awareness of the situation, and when he whipped his face toward the doctor, his first instinct was to lung at him. 

Sunghoon had already anticipated this outcome. Therefore, stepping aside just in time to dodge the frustrated boy was no problem. Jungwon, surprised, sped across the room and slammed into the wall. He stumbled back with a hapless groan, his hand flying up to his forehead, where his cut immediately healed.  

“Oh god,” you breathed out as you pushed Sunghoon aside and quickened your pace toward Jungwon. “Are you okay, Jungwon?” 

You made a movement that insinuated your attempt to check on his face; your hands awkwardly hovered over Jungwon’s head, trying to remove his hands blocking his face.

Instead of allowing your good intentions, he clicked his tongue in annoyance and flicked your hands away from himself. His brows furrowed again into visible distaste when he turned away. 

“I’m fine, jeez–I can’t even get injured anymore,” he muttered dismissively to you before looking up at Sunghoon, his real target. Curling his fists, he accused, “What the hell was that?” 

“Calm down. It was a bluff,” Sunghoon explained dully, not before he threw you an apologetic smile. “You are fast, but you have no speed control. One point for you for being altruistic, though. Most new vampires who drop by don’t react when I do that to their counselors, and you just met yours.”  

Jungwon almost cussed out loud, but he settled with an irritated scoff as he awkwardly stood on his spot. He barely shot you a glance as he was too busy glaring at the doctor, who was neither pleasant nor friendly, in his opinion.

But he may be right. Jungwon may be more altruistic than he thought himself to be. After all, he had no reason to shield that punch for you. He may hold good feelings for you, but those were more rooted on natural grounds than anything else. 

It felt relieving to hear that he may still have a redeeming trait that is fundamentally part of what makes humanity: the instinct to help.

“Do you vampire doctors just go around fake punching people all the time?” Jungwon asked, crossing his arms and shrinking his shoulders now that he had learned of a new, mellowing perspective of himself. “Shouldn’t it be against ethical guidelines?” 

“Only when necessary. I value my friendships, contrary to popular belief.” Sunghoon spared you a glance. “And no, it is not because I did not actually punch them.” 

“I was talking about giving me a scare, both from throwing a lock at me and whatever you just did,” Jungwon clarified. 

“Unfortunately, no. Laws to prosecute supernaturals are detailed, but laws that protect them are rarely discussed,” Sunghoon replied as he strolled over to his desk. He pulled open a lid and fished out a tongue depressor. Then, he returned to Jungwon.  

Sunghoon stared down at the boy, not at all fazed by the familiar bloodshot eyes and peeking fangs. He did not think he went overboard. If anything, he gave a fair warning about the hard time Jungwon would have if he hadn’t started fixing his issues.

But he knew he would never pull stunts like that if his patient was a human, which should not be a behavior difference that matters. 

Insensitivity has its perks and its downfall. The only wall stopping him from repeating the same methods to humans is the law, not his morals.  

On some level, Sunghoon treated everyone equally, albeit his equality stood on the ground of making everyone miserable. In his opinion, it was better than how the majority viewed supernaturals.

Thanks to globalization and evolution, perspectives have improved in recent years. However, there was still blatant discrimination against supernatural beings that Jungwon participated in through silence.  

Jungwon still had much to learn and experience. Truth be told, Sunghoon was not looking forward to the vampire’s journey of discovering how it feels to be a vampire in this world, but there was nothing he could do.

He was merely a graduate student gaining accessible experiences through supernatural beings so he could be on his way to becoming a human doctor. If anyone should speak on this social matter, he could never be the one.  

“The law may favor me, but you are stronger than me,” Sunghoon muttered. “Justice does not exist in a casket.” 

Jungwon wavered as the power dynamic single-handedly balanced itself between him and Sunghoon.

As of right now, the strongest person in the room was him—he was the strongest and the fastest. He may be less experienced, but if a fight broke out, it would not be a battle of brains but of brawn. He would win that battle, and Sunghoon told him that he knew. It was not in his favor to anger anyone. 

Everything Sunghoon did was part of his plan to access a quality he didn’t say he was testing for. 

“Open your mouth, I am going to check your fangs,” Sunghoon said, his voice softer. 

Jungwon appeared confused for a second. Then, he realized his sharp teeth were pocking at his bottom lip.

Embarrassed, he averted his gaze at the ceiling and parted his mouth in cooperation. He squinted his eyes when he felt a few feathery taps against the end of his fangs, almost as if Sunghoon was checking for their sturdiness. Then, the wooden stick retreated from his mouth. 

“Everything looks normal.” Sunghoon said briefly before he asked, “Can you try making your fangs go?” 

Clamping his mouth shut, Jungwon lowered his head and stared ahead. Much like before, he was as clueless as he could be. There was no idea how he should go about retracting his fangs. He didn’t even know they were out in the first place; his heightened emotions were a perfect blind that shut before his consciousness, making him too aware of his surroundings but not himself. 

“I don’t know how,” he said eventually, letting his fangs rest on his bottom lip. 

“That’s okay.” Sunghoon nodded before proceeding to hold his hand up. He showed Jungwon his palm and tapped his finger against it. “Show me your palm.” 

Jungwon mirrored the action, and Sunghoon quickly accessed the center of his palm. It was as expected: the red burn caused by Sunghoon’s vervain bracelet had faded entirely.  

It would be troubling if it hadn’t, considering how small the dose of vervain was. Vampires should be able to sustain up to a significant amount of injuries at a time before the rate of their healing declines. As for individual limitation, there was no way of accessing that without literally having to torture patients, so that part would not be measured.  

“The burning sensation was from the plant vervain. Vampires are allergic to them,” Sunghoon said. “The pain you felt should be a good enough reason to stay away from them, so I will not bore you with a reminder. Your healing is normal, but don’t take that as an incentive to abuse it.” 

“Vervain…” Jungwon mumbled in thought, then chuckled, “It’s like on that vampire show.” 

“Huh?” Sunghoon squinted his eyes lightly as he stopped in his tracks. “I don’t watch those things.” 

“I think it is originally a book series,” you chimed in. 

“I don’t read fiction.” 

Jungwon gasped in disbelief. Somehow, that was the worst thing Sunghoon had done to him today. Storybooks were his escape growing up! His mother never had the time to read him any, and lord forbid his father ever pick up a book to lull him to sleep, so he always read them on his own.

When he didn’t understand the words, he would look at the pictures and create his own story until he could string everything together coherently.  

Then he got older, and the books he read had no pictures. But his creative mind made up for it. The world existed in his head vividly. Those were his version of storybook illustrations.  

It was an escape. It brought him joy, and it made him forget. 

“Hold your horses now. Just because I don’t read it doesn’t mean I hate it,” Sunghoon said absentmindedly as he fiddled with the device.  

Jungwon eyed the device curiously—it looked like a compass, but it also looked like it could be a beeper.

The soft ticking sounds it made as Sunghoon tuned it about made him anxious; he had never been fond of the sound of clocks ticking. It was not linked to any reasons why. It merely bothered him. It could sometimes depend on the clock’s quality, or perhaps it was how each tick reverberated in the air.  

He just didn’t like it; unfortunately, he became hyperaware of it now that his hearing was severely heightened.   

“You can hear the ticking sounds, Jungwon?” 

The boy widened his eyes and nodded at the abrupt question. Sunghoon hummed, and he turned the dial again. The noise became quieter this time, but it was fairly present. Jungwon nodded again when he was asked the same question, and he repeated the process twice before finally shaking his head to indicate that he could no longer hear the ticking noises. 

“Below average hearing, above average sight,” Sunghoon commented as he pulled open his chair and sat down. “Maybe you will hear it when you gain more control. You might be disrupted by the fact that you are subconsciously hearing many things at once right now.” 

You faintly clapped your hands and cheered with a whisper, to which you knew Jungwon could hear. He did not turn to face you this time; unbeknownst to you, he allowed himself a tiny smile.  

“We’re finished here.” Sunghoon waved as he looked up after finishing his writing. He motioned toward the door to the room and said, “Jungwon, please leave the room and close the door behind you. [Name], stay back because I need to talk to you.” 

“Leave the room? I still got these on me!” It was a borderline whine that came out of Jungwon as he aggressively pointed at his face, where his bloody eyes and fangs were still visible. “I am not going out like this.” 

“Helping you retract your fangs is out of my job description,” Sunghoon clarified calmly as he laced his fingers together to form a mock professional gesture. When Jungwon stayed stubborn on his spot, he sighed to lower his alerted demeanor. “Everyone working in this building has seen a vampire do that before. I say this with the utmost kindness–nobody cares.” 

Dejected, Jungwon’s voice was strained with unpleasantness, but his legs were obediently taking him out the door. “Make it more obvious that you want me out of here so you can talk about me, why don’t you?” 

“Well, I am certainly not asking [Name] out to dinner, so I don’t know what you are expecting, Jungwon,” Sunghoon retorted as he stood up, seeing that you were approaching him with a deadpan expression. Looking behind you, he flashed Jungwon a short wave and a mindless comment, “You can’t be putting everyone’s opinion of you to heart as a vampire! It’s going to haunt you for centuries. Literally!” 

When the door closed behind Jungwon, you let the hell in your patience break loose, and you gave Sunghoon’s shoulder a harsh smack. He barely budged from his spot, feigning surprise at your action and patting the spot on his white coat as if to dust off the filth.

You scoffed at his careless reaction, tugging at your bag more tightly to keep yourself from strangling the indifference out of him. 

“First of all, that was harsh. He is going through a lot right now. He can deal with less of your antics,” you scolded in a hushed tone, not wanting to give Jungwon a reason to eavesdrop on your conversation. “Second, you promised you wouldn’t do the bluff thing again! I wouldn’t report you to the board, but other staff working here who don’t like you will jump at the chance to report you!” 

Sunghoon knew that.  

There was a running joke that there could only be one Jake Sim in this building (which was obviously the man himself), meaning that no matter the chaos he caused, he would never get fired from his job.

The catch was that Jake was very good at his job, which Sunghoon was too, except doctors are expendable, and mentors are a completely different story. 

Good doctors do their job. Good doctors tell the truth. Good doctors do what is required for them to do, which is to diagnose, access, and heal. You can find one in a medical school graduation ceremony with a blindfold, and that student would not fall too far from the decent spectrum. 

Mentors do their job, but good mentors also build relationships. Good mentors learn the balance between true and false and know where to stick you on the see-saw so that you can see the horizon. Good mentors tell you yes even when the answer leans toward no, and when you mess up, they take responsibility.  

A good doctor may not be a good person, but a good mentor most likely will be.  

Sunghoon knew where he stood in the spectrum of human decency. 

Sunghoon also knew where you stood. 

The stigma surrounding his reputation did not start with him behaving questionably to the people he worked with. He may have unconventional opinions about every topic one could discuss and may do things out of the ordinary that people disagree with, but he is not a bad person. His lack of conformity was an act of retaliation.  

His colleagues did not like him from the start of his internship. There were no first impressions, second chances, personalities, or background stories. Sunghoon was a man who grew up smarter than everyone else, richer than everyone else, and better-looking than everyone else.

Nobody liked him because he had his life set out for him from birth and because he was so conventionally perfect that the only way to pick on him was through the one thing he lacked—empathy. 

A doctor without feelings; shame, shame, shame! How could he be successful? How could he be fit to do work rooted in the basis of humanity? How could he ever heal anybody with that empty heart of his? Screw his smarts! Screw his intelligence! A monster disguised as a good man is no good! A wolf in sheep’s clothing is no good!  

(Obviously, there is no logical sense in trying to degrade a man with no empathy, but irony tends to be lost on people with passionate, blind hatred.) 

Sunghoon’s preposterous behavior was an act of retaliation. If he was to be hated so much, he might as well become hatred itself. At least that way, he wouldn’t have to act according to protocols and pretend he thinks of what he does not care about.

He had no issue doing that; he had been that way for however long he could remember. He was all brains with the shell of a heart for a while until the heart came in the form of you.  

“I was harsh because he got an attitude. I don’t care if he has an attitude with me, but he was scoffing and rolling his eyes at you, and I will not tolerate that.” Sunghoon made a poor attempt at explaining himself, but he remained confident when he spoke that it was hard not to think he was right.

“His parents aren’t here to discipline him now, so I might as well take up the job.” 

“Oh my god! You can’t just say that!” you exclaimed in disbelief, bows furrowed and hands on your hips as if you were about to beat the manners into him. “I don’t think he can help throwing a little tantrum right now, considering the trauma he went through.”  

He smirked, an airy laugh escaping his lips with bewilderment laced around its corner.

“First, you should know how much I care about people’s experiences. Second, we still cannot reinforce this kind of behavior. It’s not like I punished him or anything. I just gave him a few jabs here and there. If I turn out to be the bad person, which I am, then so be it.”  

“But you’re not a bad person,” you responded without hesitation, but there was grit in your voice that Sunghoon had never heard before. “I heard what you told him. You were trying to get him to understand he has control in this situation. That was a really good thing you did.”  

Except it wasn’t. Sunghoon voluntarily dropped the power dynamic between himself and Jungwon, which was a deliberate action.

He calculated it with caution as his motive after understanding Jungwon’s lack of control over his vampirism. He gave Jungwon a piece of candy after pushing the boy to the ground and finding out he was invulnerable to harm. It had nothing to do with how comfortable Jungwon felt and everything to do with his safety.  

But you thought it was a good thing. You always thought so, and you always noticed.  

It was him releasing alerted vampires out of their locked dorm rooms and into the courtyard at night. He said it was an act of rebellion against certain sponsors he heard had been bothering him when, in reality, he believed that even the most uncontrollable people deserve to feel the moon shine on their skin.  

Or him refusing to take on a case requested of him by the faculty, claiming that it was too plain and simple for someone of his caliber, claiming that the patient wasn’t interesting enough for him to take a look at, or that it was a bad look to have an intern work on such a dull task.

But he also overheard that the vampire wasn’t ready to meet anyone, that she had only needed some more time before being accessed and checked on.  

Even the way he directed Jungwon’s distaste onto himself just then, which he said was about discipline and being disrespected. What he really thought was that it was infinitely better than letting the boy blame himself in silence.

It was a temporary antidote, but even for a second, Sunghoon thought it was good that Jungwon stopped hating himself for killing his parents. 

There was peace in Sunghoon’s violence, and you knew that. 

He knew where you stood, which was always next to him. If anyone has his back in this building, it is you; he has yours.  

“Take this and give it to Jay. He has a lot to work on with that kid out there,” Sunghoon said as he fished out a small piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to you. He smiled when you received it, waiting for you to fold it and put it away before catching your attention with another gift. “And I want you to have this.” 

You glanced at his hand as he held it out to you. Standing in the middle of his palm was a metal, beaded bracelet, which you can see Sunghoon wearing on his wrist.

The center bead was visibly bigger than the rest of the bracelet, and you could see traces of purple gleaming along the surface. The color was made more transparent when reflected off a light source. 

“It’s a vervain bracelet. The purple lines in the center bead have vervain liquid inside it. It is easily breakable under impact, and when it breaks, poof!” He made a motion of explosion with his free hand, his face contorting to fit the moment of ridiculousness.

“It can’t kill a vampire, but it can certainly catch them off guard, and the residue that gets on your skin can last a long time.” 

“Jungwon is not going to hurt me if that is what you’re concerned about,” you said with a soft sigh.  

“You quite literally do not know that,” he argued as he grabbed your hand and placed the bracelet in your palm. “Do you remember what happened last time?” 

“That was my fault.” Your voice was grim as you recalled the last incident with an angered vampire. 

You could say you were at the wrong place at the wrong time because you usually do not stay for the duration of vampire training. Neither Jay nor Jake (what a mouthful!) encouraged humans to be in the gymnasium during a training session.

You had stood by because you thought you had the obligation—you did schedule another training meet-up against the client’s will out of necessity. When Jay was irrationally pointing out their flaws, they directed their anger toward the source. 

You were, undoubtedly, the source. 

"No, it was that vampire's fault, whoever they are," Sunghoon pointed out factually, keeping the heated grudge in his chest to a minimum. He could not afford to have another breakdown over that incident. "They tried to cheat the system and get a discharge earlier than they should. Jay pointed out their lack of progress, albeit he can be harsh sometimes. If they get angry, it is on them. Attacking you had only proved Jay's point." 

When he saw the grimace on your face, he flicked your forehead to snap you out of your guilted trance. You met his eyes with a glare. He only smirked in return.

"You made the right decision that time, but this time? Not so much," he made a humming noise as he tilted his head for a playful effect, and then he eyed you thoughtfully. "I think you don't want to hurt Jungwon." 

“I am definitely not throwing rusty locks at his face, that’s for sure,” you retorted after a moment of thought. You left your palm out, leaving the bracelet up for grabs and indicating to him that you genuinely thought you didn't have to have it. “It isn’t just him either. I have vampire friends. Heeseung is my friend. Jake and Jay are both people I talk to every day.” 

"Heeseung would probably want to be more than that," Sunghoon casually added, wiggling his brows up and down playfully, which you wholeheartedly ignored as you always have when he talked about Heeseung's feelings for you.  

His face fell flat after a moment of silence. He stared at you; his brilliant eyes, for once, held less intelligence and more tenderness in them. This has been an unlikely friendship, and it has been one that he treasured however much he could.

He has your back; he promised himself once. He would look out for you, nag you like a father, and cover up a murder for you.  

And never again would he go through the hopeless torment of panicking when a staff burst through his office door with you unconscious on their back, blood trailing out the holes in your neck and the wound visible on your forehead.

And he could think of nothing aside from shouting your name loud enough for Heeseung, who had thankfully been somewhere in this building, to hear.  

Sunghoon needed you to be safe. He needed you to take every precaution there is to be safe. 

“Jungwon is a good kid, I will admit that. But a vampire who doesn’t know how to control himself cannot be more than that. If it makes you feel bad to villainize his potential, then let me be the person to do it,” he told you as he flicked your forehead gently. “Just wear the bracelet. Consider it a favor requested.” 

You smirked to yourself as you carefully wore the bracelet on your wrist. You were never going to refute his caution, anyway. While you did think wearing the bracelet may be an act of overthinking, you did plan to keep it with yourself just in case you needed it. When you were done adjusting the newfound weight on your wrist, you held your arm up and showed it to your friend. 

“There! Does this make you feel better, hmm?” You said, shaking your wrist at his face. 

Sunghoon only chuckled in agreement, pushing your hand away while stepping back. Neither you nor he bid each other a verbal farewell when you turned around and left for the door. Sunghoon watched your back for a moment before he returned to his desk, getting ready to pile up some documents for work.  

Jungwon quickly turned away when he heard your footsteps near the other side of the door. He had not been eavesdropping intentionally. Like Sunghoon said, he has been hearing everything at once, so your conversation with the doctor could not escape his grasp either.  

He wished he didn't have to hear what you both have to say about him, though, because all he felt was guilt knowing that you bear no ill will toward him, not even after he gave you an attitude you did not deserve.

It might make him feel better if he settled with the assumption that you lied, knowing he could be eavesdropping on your conversation, but even then, it did not give you any reason not to get pissed at him for being nosy.  

Most importantly, though, he did not like hearing that he was a potential danger to others. He spent his whole life falling victim to the danger created by others. Now it felt like the roles were reversed instead of destroyed. They were reversed the second he became a vampire, but he could ignore it until a professional confronted him about it indirectly.  

Jungwon sluggishly slid his body against the wall, feeling the tip of his fangs poke at his bottom lip for a moment—lord, they were still there! The most prominent threat of his being stayed present on his face, and he hated it.

His fangs were equivalent to the beer bottle in his mother's hands and the raging veins on his father's neck. He could not get rid of dangerous, harmful, or disastrous things even if he tried. It was a shame. 

Letting out a mumbled groan, he turned his body over to face the wall completely. He shoved his hands in his pockets and dipped his head, letting his hood cover most of his face as he buried himself against the wall. He wanted to shrink into thin air. He wanted to stop existing entirely.  

“Is this an attempt to hide?” You asked lightheartedly once you saw him, your eyes scanning his figure as if trying to find his hidden face. 

“Yes,” Jungwon replied with a nod.  

You sighed, stepping closer without ceasing your attempt to see him. "Are your fangs still out?" 

“Yes,” he replied again but much quieter. His nod was more of an indication of his answer than his voice was. 

Your smile softened. You would reassure Jungwon that he looked fine if you could, but you knew it was futile to make him feel better. A teenager as cynical as him would rather accuse you of your deception, if anything. You could only give him time and privacy to prepare for all that he must do after this terrible day. That level of sympathy you gave him was against the worker's guidelines.  

The rehabilitation center may be funded richly, with ample technologies, knowledge, equipment, and space to accomplish its purpose. But the hearts of those in power lacked empathy for those who suffer, and no amount of money could ever earn you a heart that beats for others.  

"We are supposed to meet the coaches today. They will teach you how to properly control your vampirism, which you must learn if you want a shot of getting out of here with no dire criminal record," you whispered closely to him. "But if you're uncomfortable right now, we can put that off until later today."  

Jungwon bit his lower lip and cringed at the sheer pointedness of the stab. Even though the fangs were on his face, he still forgot their existence. That must be a form of indication that he would be a lousy vampire.

He could get famous from this: the world's stupidest vampire, Yang Jungwon, who killed his parents at the tender age of seventeen, but the clock was not in his favor!  

God, he felt stupid. So stupid. 

“My fangs are still out,” he said. I feel ugly. He wanted to add. 

“The coaches are vampires. I don’t think they will mind,” you responded.  

That was not what he was whining about. To him, meeting with familiar individuals wouldn't serve him the comfort he needed. Not that he needed comfort! He wanted solutions, an end to this madness, and a path to the vampire who did this to him so he could timidly act on his vengeance. Unless another vampire could provide resources for all those, he would not enjoy meeting them.  

You watched his disheartened expression with ease. This was not the first time you encountered new vampires who disliked how their vampirism looked, for most of them have known the blood veins and black eyes to be a sign of danger, and no beings like to exist as what they are taught to avoid.

You have learned there wasn’t much you could say but to provide a sense of belonging.  

Not so much in the sense of inclusion or blending in. That could happen later. It was more to show that there is no harm done in their presence being here, that their being anywhere is not a crime or a disservice.  

“Nobody here minds you,” you said. “I don’t mind you.” 

But you have to say that, surely? Or could you be telling the truth? Was it a lie disguised as comfort? Did it matter if it was? Did it matter if it was anything?

There was comfort in your words, even though he was hell-bent on acting as if logical solutions to his problems were all he needed. He knew he liked the sound of the comfort; he felt awkward receiving it, but there was no denying the relieved exhale he let out. 

Jungwon gave you a peek, his frown deepening in thought. He felt the retracting of his fangs for a second, but the second he was aware of them, they grew back.

Kindness was kept on your face, a smile that went a long way to meet him, and he thought he wanted to do what you asked. He thought he wanted to be nice to you, listen well, and not complain.  

"I bet they look like sparkling royalties," he grumbled as he pushed himself off the wall and stumbled away. He stopped to look back at you, his confused gaze asking you to give him directions. 

“You are half correct about that,” you laughed as you brushed past him to walk ahead, leading him to where he needed to go. “They don’t look like royalties, but they do sparkle.” 

Jungwon knew you lied to him about vampires sparkling.

In fact, he was living proof of what a vampire would look like, which was neither akin to royalty nor Tinker Bell because he believed he possessed neither of those elements.

He already knew the truth. Besides, he would be naive to believe in what was blatantly a joke. Yet, when he saw that the vampire couch in the gymnasium was nothing short of a sweating and intimidating man, he felt betrayed.

“Your kid is studying me like a hawk,” Jay muttered to you after he leaned down to be at your ear level. He shared a glance with you and furrowed his brows semi-humorously, debating whether he wanted to meet Jungwon’s eyes in return. “Also, his fangs are out.” 

“He is agitated. The police station just sent him here not too long ago,” you replied as you rummaged through your pockets and gave him a slip of paper clipped between your fingers. “Sunghoon told me to give this to you.”

You did not give him enough time to dwell on what you said. He received the paper with a quiet thanks and examined it immediately, his brows furrowed at the unsightly, doctor-like handwriting Sunghoon had. The note briefly noted Jungwon’s poor vampiric beginning. 

The limited information given by Sunghoon was about what Jay expected would be written on there, which was that Jungwon has all the power a man would hope for and none of the physical or emotional control over it.

He has met and trained a diverse group of newly turned vampires—from young to old, from knowledgable and clueless, from excited to depressed. Jungwon and his ordinary self were no exception when it came to boring Jay’s decades of experiences. 

“Sunghoon wrote that he is altruistic,” Jay commented in faint surprise, not because Jungwon possessed a human characteristic but because Sunghoon complimented someone.

You scoffed a laugh as you briefly looked to the side at Jungwon. The boy was tapping his feet impatiently with his head now hung low. You assumed he heard what Jay said about his staring, but it could just as likely be him trying to hide his face. 

Leaning closer to Jay, you recalled, “Sunghoon tried to punch me–it was a bluff. He sped over and slammed into the wall.”

“That shows that he is altruistic. Why?” Jay questioned.

You shrugged in response. “I don’t know. He might just be angry, but we like to think part of him wanted to block the punch for me.”

You saw him roll his eyes and knew he had something to say about your assumptions. You also knew what he wanted to say and were glad he kept his mouth shut. 

Out of all your colleagues, Jay was the one who warned you the most about the predatory nature of vampires.

While Sunghoon also worries greatly because of his naturally untrusting nature, the smart-ass tends to take action rather than talk. Hence, he gave you the bracelet to wear. Jay was different. Jay was good at the negative talking and the paranoid over-assuming.

His nagging exaggerated for a while after your incident, to which he silently blamed his own harshness as fault for your trauma.

Until today, no matter how many times you pushed him out of the equation, he wondered if things would have gone differently if he had been nicer to people.

But he has made no effort to change his attitude. His harshness was not a fault, even though it has caused mistakes. 

What he did was take steps to prevent it, and he did that by spreading repeated warnings to you whenever he could.

Be careful of vampires. Be wary of vampires. They can and will hurt you. Pain and death are where vampires come from, after all. Please don’t get hurt, don’t let them hurt you. If you get hurt, I get hurt.

He has never voiced it. He assumed you understood with the way he loved the people around him. 

It wasn’t that Jay believed in a lack of goodness in vampires. Never take his negativity as a case of personal beliefs. He wasn’t a bad vampire, and he knew that. Jake was far from a murderous vampire, and everyone knew that. Rather, he found himself needing to be the cautious one. 

He has to be careful and aloof so Jake, the more cheerful part of the duo, can live believing in the best of people. Because Jake has never had the heart in him to think ill of anyone, and because his loving heart will break under the pressure of cruelty.  

The negativity does not hurt Jay. For decades, he chose to live with doom and gloom, and it does not hurt him because he will do anything for Jake. However, it was not something you like to hear, so you appreciate it when he keeps it to himself unless necessary. 

“I don’t blame him for being angry. He did turn because of an assault when he was heading home from school,” you informed as quietly as you could.

Jay hummed lowly in acknowledgment, but there was barely any shred of compassion in him as he continued the conversation casually.

“Most of us turned because of an assault. A vampire that didn’t drain our blood completely, a vampire that thought it would be fun to use the sire bond to manufacture a group of followers. Hell, the last person I trained got lucky and took some blood from the vampire that attacked him during self-defense.” 

“Then you would understand the consequences of experiencing that.” You nudged his arm lightly and flashed him a pointed glare, willing him to be more outwardly compassionate.

That Jay understood. How could he not? His own transition was far from a dreamy occasion. 

He was a measly boy working at a bar, wiping tables and mopping the floor, who got caught in the path of a condescending vampire who wanted the newfound power. He endured a torturous night, the details of it locked behind his lips and Jake’s memories.

Before the brink of his death, his best friend came to a messy rescue. He was supposed to be healed, but the angry man snatched him from Jake’s arms and staked a knife through his heart, not noticing that Jake had already fed his blood.

The emotions he felt after he opened his eyes again were indescribable, mostly because he felt nothing. Perhaps he could pass it off as vengeance or infuriation, but his goal had not been to take back what was stripped from him.

e could say he felt murderous, yet his actions were not attached to any emotions. He was without a plan, any clues, or a reason.

He was just a man who walked because he had to kill another man because he could kill another man. 

He had been cruel, and he unlearned that in decades’ worth of time. Although unlearned, it was never forgotten. The violence only slipped between the gaps of his fingers and dripped away from his fingertips, where he had immediate access. But it could quickly come back.

His anger and the immense strength that came with it could return with just a snap of his mind.

“You will have to be in touch with Heeseung and me about his training progress more consistently,” you told him after giving a moment of silence. 

“Because of the court cases? I already do that,” Jay muttered,

“No, this one is special,” you said, leaning in to speak as quietly as you could for irrational reasons. Jungwon could hear you if he wanted to. “He killed his parents just before the clock struck on his birthday. Technically, the murder happened when he was a minor, but he was arrested as an adult and could very well be charged as one, but–“

“He is only eighteen years old.”

“–he is only eighteen years old.” 

Your voice dropped slowly upon Jay’s knowing echo of your words. Then your shoulders slumped as the complications and the sheer stupidity of those complications hit you in the face. 

Vampiric control aside, supernaturals aside, the jump between seventeen and eighteen does not entail the process of maturation the law states that it has.

Or, at least, for the apparent moral dilemmas, it does not exist.

A seventeen-year-old or a thirteen-year-old child knows just as well as any adult that killing people is terrible. Those are not taught by experiences or maturity. Those are things a human being just knows. 

So why should Jungwon be given a lighter sentence? Did his tragic circumstances come into play? Was it his young age or his perceived innocence? Why should children who understand the moral slope of heinous crimes be given juvenile punishments? Did the rules of nature and magic become a considerable factor?

Was it our empathy, the very thing we pride ourselves in? Was it our ability to mix black and white to various degrees of gray? Was it fair to argue “but“ when death exists? 

But they are children. But they were defending themselves. But they did it for a greater cause. But those people were bad. But they had no other choice. But they were forced to do this. But it was the lesser of two evils.

Circumstances and the compassion people have for them bring about inequality in legal punishments, and justice calls for inequality. It is fair sometimes.

Sometimes, you look at an eighteen-year-old, and you think how unfair it would be that he be sentenced to a hundred years in prison for a crime he did not wish to commit after being turned into a creature he did not ask to become. 

“I don’t feel bad for him,” Jay said, breaking the silence.

“Plenty of people already don’t,” you said with a heavy exhale. “Maybe it will do him good to not treat him like a victim, though. He doesn’t need any more pitiful spotlight than he already puts himself under.”

"Well, I have never been one to treat people like babies." Jay smiled as he folded the piece of paper Sunghoon had written on and shoved it into his pockets. 

He stepped away from you to see your face better, and his heart softened. His mind was playing tricks on him, but he thought you were beginning to look just a little older than him.

To think you two were the same physical age when you first joined the rehabilitation center, and now you were nearing the end goal of your career dream.

"How is the doctorate program treating you?" He asked. "You have plans to work here when you finish school?"

“Probably not. I am studying to be a researcher, not a counselor,” you replied.

“Bummer,” he laughed. “The kids always leave.” 

You scrunched your nose in dismay and then looked at him with the same discomfort. "Get out of the habit of saying that. I will look older than you at some point, and it will sound awkward when you refer to me as a kid."

“Once again, conveniently forgetting that I am about a couple hundred years older than you,” he hummed in defeat.

���It’s not my fault you were attacked and turned at twenty years old." You accessed the changes in his facial expression—he gave you a playfully disapproving look, and you laughed. “I’m sorry. Don’t refer to me as a kid, though.” 

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Jay exclaimed jokingly as he knocked his knuckles against the side of your head, his feet taking him away from you and toward Jungwon. “You are already starting to look older than me.”

You raised your fist as a threat to throw him a punch. Your eyes followed him toward the gymnasium door, and you worried for a split second when you saw that Jungwon's eyes brightened in alert upon Jay's approach.

Then, quickly, you caught a glimpse of a moving figure by the double doors. When you focused on it, you could see a head of fluffy black peeking over the door frame, and you pursed your lips into a faint smile.

Heeseung gripped his phone excitedly when he saw you approach him.

He has been running around all day since his shift started (if it ever ends). Jungwon's case came crashing into the legal department of the rehabilitation center this morning. With his unfortunate luck, it landed right in his supervisor's lab.

The peculiarity of this legal case has got him running in circles, gathering information and document, that his head had begun hurting since lunch hours.

Knowing he would see you at some point during the day kept him going. Thankfully, the time arrived earlier than usual.

Mostly, on a regular day, you two would meet up when your shift ends, which would be the time when Heeseung clocks out for dinner so he could spend an hour with you. You two would have dinner and, if time allows, walk around the busy street, and he would send you home before heading back to his office to work overtime. 

“You look dapper,” you complimented with a grin.

Heeseung fixed the roll line of his blazer with a huffed giggle. He briefly glanced down at himself; at least his attire remained tidy. “Thank you,” he replied. “You don’t look so bad yourself.” 

You smirked, your eyes focusing nowhere. “I try my best. The dress code here is horrendous.”

“Ugh, I know, right?” he exclaimed under his breath, his brows furrowed almost passionately at the sudden emergence of a fashion topic. “I know most workplaces have their employees wear suits to work, but I am sweating my ass off in this! I don’t even know how there isn’t a wet patch on my back right now!”

Shifting your weight, you leaned back slightly to glance at his behind, to which he quickly responded by turning his body toward you and laughing. You shrugged innocently in response, the excuse of curiosity hanging quietly at your mouth as you half-heartedly apologized.  

A refreshing wave washed through Heeseung upon seeing your shrunken smile. After facing plain walls of texts, exhausted colleagues, and an annoyed supervisor all day, it was satisfying to see you. As if seeing you was never the only highlight of his day anyway. 

That aside, there was something he was initially here for—Jungwon’s trial. 

“We’ve got ourselves in a bit of a pickle,” he initiated as he tapped his phone screen, a device he has been relentlessly communicating with you through today.

Afterward, he looked into the gymnasium and fixed his gaze on Jay. His brows furrowed at the boy he assumed to be Jungwon, and he huffed quietly, “Is that him?”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

“It’s always good to put a face to a name,” Heeseung exhaled tiredly, trying to remove the frown that appeared when he saw Jungwon’s fangs were visible. “I have some important things to tell you about the case.”

You stood closer to him. You debated if you wanted to take this somewhere else, considering Jungwon’s supernatural hearing ability.

However, he was preoccupied following Jay’s seemingly horrendous instruction as the coach tested his vampiric abilities. Y

ou doubted he even had the time to listen in on your conversation. You hummed; Sunghoon did mention he was hearing everything at once, though. Eavesdropping may be out of his control. 

Pulling at the hem of his blazer sleeve, you pulled Heeseung a few steps backward until you two reached the corner of the opposite wall. You flashed him a defeated look when he laughed and waved him off. “I wanted to make sure he can’t hear us.”

“Sure!” Heeseung replied. “You still have to tell him what we talked about, though. At least some of the information I have.”

“Of course.” You nodded before rubbing your hands together and looking at him expectantly. “So, how is it gonna go?”

Your breathlessness was not masked in your words, and how your brows furrowed contradicted the anticipated optimism in your eyes.

You were expecting lousy news while desperately hoping he could give you something to be wrong about, to which Heeseung could only react with a great hurt in his chest because he has little to no great news about this case. 

“I won’t say what I have is necessarily bad news. It really just depends on how we view it,” he started lightly, the gestures in his hands reluctant. A pursed smile on his face signified thoughtfulness, which was familiar to him.

“Most important thing, this information is still tentative, but from what I have heard, they are assigning Judge Park to this case, which means–“

“We are doomed.”

“Not quite! Maybe we are, but I think we can work around it!” 

You stared at Heeseung defeatedly, finding his forced optimism lackluster and uncomfortable. He returned your gaze with the same nervousness and the apologetic smile he had yet to wipe off his face upon giving you this terrible news.

Judge Park was known for his prejudice against supernaturals; he was often mean, vulgar, and antagonistic to every supernatural he had encountered in court.

Unfortunately, the lack of vile language allowed in such a professional setting was compensated with critical gazes, a narrow mind, a complete disregard for circumstances, and finally, a maximum sentence. 

It was for understandable reason, although you vehemently disagreed with it anyway. Judge Park’s family was involved in a case of manslaughter done by a werewolf on a full moon. There was a brief debate online over the justification of his cruelty to supernatural beings. 

For one, it is an unspoken law that human beings do not wander into the woodlands on any specially marked date on the universe calendar, such as the full moon (werewolves), the start of each season (fairies), or the third Sunday of November (yokai).

While it is given that supernaturals and human beings should live harmoniously together and that not all supernaturals are inherently dangerous, humans are responsible for protecting themselves and respecting the boundaries of non-human traditions. 

Disregarding the universal knowledge of what happens to a werewolf on a full moon, as well as the warnings given by the witches, who act as the messengers of nature and magic, to not enter the dark woods, Judge Park took his family out to stargaze at the perfect spot deep in the woods anyway.

He believed that it was his freedom to do as he pleased and that he should not live in a world where he had to fear the danger of being killed. His belief was only magnified after his family’s death. 

Some people agreed that the fault lay in the Judge himself. Most people did not venture into the forest during the full moon, knowing the potential harm that could happen to them, meaning that Judge Park’s disobedience is not a pattern but an oddity.

It was his fault for not following the rules, which everyone else had no issue abiding by. He has the right to grief and to be angry, but ultimately, he had what was coming for him. 

Some others took this case as some sort of awakening and decided that Judge Park was right.

Why should human beings live in fear on certain days? Why should people not be allowed to stroll in the forest because some werewolves might lose control of it? If werewolves knew they would cause other people harm, they should be the ones locking themselves up in a basement. Take their issue somewhere private and stop bothering ordinary people with it!

Most people did not pick a side. Jungwon was one of them. As a child, his stance was that both sides were wasting their time. Sure, he would hate to be forbidden from visiting some places because some supernatural beings cannot control their biology, as ironic as that sounded.

At the same time, by the lord! If people are going to complain about not going to the forest for one night, maybe they don’t deserve to have an opinion at all! Whiny bastards deserve nothing!

Since that publicized tragedy, Judge Park has been strictly cruel to supernaturals, disregarding their circumstances. His bias was blatant, but there has been no outcry about it.

Only a tiny portion of human beings have gathered together to talk about this issue. In contrast, most others simply went about their day realizing that their significantly shorter lifespan did not need the social pressure that has very little to do with their species. 

Jungwon may fall victim to that. 

“There is one thing I figure we might be able to do to appeal to him,” Heeseung mentioned after he took an exhausted breath. He waited a moment before he spoke, “My supervisor thinks this is a far stretch, but I think if we emphasize Jungwon’s accident, we might have a fighting chance.” 

“I thought Judge Park doesn’t consider tragedies,” you pointed out, brows furrowed.

“He doesn’t, but his record shows that most cases involved adult offenders. I mean old adults, like people in their thirties, which makes sense since he is not a juvenile judge.” Heeseung rolled his eyes as his voice fell off. “But I suspect he tends to be assigned to cases with older perpetrators because he doesn’t like sentencing younger people.”

He held out his index finger to signal you to hold your opinion. He has more to say. Even though his supervisor may be correct that his assumption was a stretch to the moon, he has to believe in himself somehow to feel a sense of security in this case.

Not only did he think he was obligated to win his cases as a law student, but his perfectionism would not allow him any other path but success. 

“Jungwon is exactly the age of his son when the accident happened. Similarly, Jungwon was also attacked by a supernatural, therefore committing the crime that he did,” Heeseung said. “Bringing up that similarity and reminding Judge Park that Jungwon was just a normal boy before the uncontrollable incident happened might just steer us down the winning road.”

“So we are using the excuse that he is young, that he has a whole life ahead of him, and that this is technically not his fault as our defense,” you muttered with a raise of your brows. “We’ve all heard that one before.” 

“Hey! One point can be made moral in one argument and not in another!” He retorted in a silent scream. “The world is gray, not black and white!”

“Nothing about being manipulative is morally upright.”

“And I don’t claim to be a saint.” Heeseung smiled with a boyish shrug. “Lord knows I’m not in the eyes of the anti-believers… and the believers….” He looked up at the ceiling thoughtfully. “Do the bible believers and the supernatural haters make up one Venn diagram, where the middle just has the word vampire crossed out with bright red paint?”

Your best friend chuckled, his voice as hearty as his smile, as he barely dodged your arm slap. You had rolled your eyes at him, but you appreciated the occasional jokes he still managed to make despite such a stressful situation. 

Then, silence fell between the gap where you two stood. Heeseung stood staring at you. It is, on occasion, the only thing he knew how to do. It has been that way for months after you two befriended each other at university.

You merely looked elsewhere to dismiss his blatant gaze, but your heart cooed. If any of your friends saw this, especially Sunghoon, they would mock you again. 

Jungwon looked normal again. His fangs had retracted from his gums, and his eyes were of a usual, boyish glint once again. He had removed his hoodie and left himself with only a shirt, probably to combat the heat from doing more vampire tests for his record file.

You were unsure what Jay taught or made him do, but Jungwon looked significantly more comfortable with a more knowledgeable vampire in his presence. He looked excited as he listened intently to what Jay was teaching him. 

“He should be at school,” you whispered to Heeseung, then you looked at him in realization. “We have to help him catch up with his college application.” 

Heeseung widened his eyes, his gears turning. “College…? He has to turn in late applications at this point.”

“That’s what I told him.” You nodded in agreement.

“Okay… that should be no problem,” he mentioned, although the light tremor in his voice betrayed his spoken optimism. “We will have to visit his school anyway to talk about his attendance and ask if we can bring any of his friends to testify in his favor. You can talk about college with the administration then.” 

You nodded in agreement. “Just keep me posted about the schedules.”

“Got it.” Heeseung snapped his fingers. “We are still figuring things out, but for now, there are a few rules you need to make sure Jungwon follows to a T to make our side more compelling.”

Heeseung began to list things that seemed reasonable enough: Jungwon should use his vampiric abilities moderately. The best bet is that he only uses them during training and doctor's appointments. Never get caught using his powers to his advantage. Show up to all of his appointments.

Last but definitely not least, never ever harm a human being. These were all standard rules to follow for vampires being put on trial, so you were not surprised to hear them.

With your brief knowledge of Jungown, you doubted he would have issues following them. He might be exuding some form of teenage rebellion here and there, but those were limited to fits and tantrums, not sinking fangs into flesh and whatnot. 

“You need to schedule therapy sessions for him,” Heeseung added. “The therapist will be called to court to testify. We need to clarify that his trauma isn't going to be used as a justification for potential future crimes.”

You furrowed your brows; that felt insensitive but not illogical, unfortunately. Not to mention, Heeseung could not afford to value emotions as a lawyer unless he needed to use them as a manipulative device.

He was good at it, but he was affected by it. There have been times, though, when you could hear in his drunken haze (a rare sight; vampires do not get drunk quickly) that the first thing he would do after turning a hundred years old was to leave this career. 

With a soft nod and a faraway hum, you let him know that you retained everything he told you and would take care of it.

You turned your head and looked into the gymnasium again. You caught Jungwon’s eyes this time. He may have been resting or staring curiously at the man you were talking to. You debated whether to introduce them to each other until Jungwon removed himself from a social opening by turning away completely. 

There was an unsatisfactory pout on his face to show that he hated something, whatever it was. Your best guess was that he was thrown into this whole situation.

Having to meet you and everyone else, having to follow rules that could affect his livelihood, having to train and learn new ways of living—he probably hated everything that had happened so far,  and you could only hope to get him out of it. 

“Can you do that?”

Jungwon has blocked your voice out. He couldn’t recall precisely when his head began to tune your voice out, but he suspected it had something to do with him having to follow more rules for the sake of his manslaughter trial. 

But he knew he didn't entirely tune you out. After all, what you told him concerned his livelihood, which, if all goes well, would last for a painfully long time.

Don't use his vampire powers, get used to his abilities, don't hurt human beings, and control your emotions—he heard what you said. His act of blocking you out was more of a silent tantrum. It was something that screamed that he was exhausted and had no intention of following you. 

From today on, every step he takes would be an obligatory step. He takes them not because he wants to but because he has to.

Following the schedule curated for him by the rehabilitation system, he goes to training when it wants him to, and he goes to the doctor’s office when it asks him to.

He gets over killing his parents and their death under a pressuring amount of time because the court needs him to. Or else his mind rots in prison for the next hundred years.

Jungwon flicked his nails against his skin, a sense of vengeance flaring in his chest at the thought of his destiny's cruelty.

Nothing ever changed, and nothing ever will. He was trapped in his abusive parents' home. He got trapped in a body he never asked for. Thus, he is in a system that does not have his best interest in mind, and he will get stuck in prison because nothing ever goes well for him.

Pain was only ever the answer. He belonged to it. 

“I don’t have a choice, do I?” Jungwon replied lowly. He glared at you, his gaze more tired than hateful. “If I don’t do this, I get punished.”

You sighed at a loss for words. Perhaps acting as if he had freedom when he was on the tightest leash ever known to mankind would be a mistake. You valued optimism, but false hope should never be disguised as such.

“Yeah. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Jungwon muttered. “This didn’t happen because of you.”

Your heart dropped further down your stomach, but you responded with a change of topic. “I will be booking you some sessions with our therapist. Just giving you a heads up.”

He rolled his eyes and scoffed when he caught himself doing that. 

He was getting more irritable as the day went on, which was unlike himself. The lack of his parents' existence gave him a false sense of freedom and relief.

Along with the confusion and pain, there were those meekly positive feelings. They made him feel whatever he wanted, and most importantly, they made him express those emotions whenever he wanted, regardless of how it could make others feel.

He was dissatisfied with the way he was acting. Growing up, he was conditioned to be the perfect child; by perfect, it meant sitting still and being quiet about his issues. Suddenly being forced to break out of that norm felt freeing and uncomfortable, not to mention how much his attitude affected others around him. 

Sunghoon gave him a blatant reaction by holding little to nothing back when he expressed his indifference to him, even though Jungwon liked to think that man might be a peculiar case of a light-hearted psychopath.

While he was more at ease with Jay, he could tell the coach was choosing to be lenient with him, especially since Jay did not have the face of a kind man. You haven’t said anything, but he thought you must feel rather ill of him.

Everyone he has met so far has an obligation to help him, and all he did was be hissy about it. 

"Would you like to wait a little before you talk to anyone about what happened?" 

Your question broke Jungwon out of his trance. He looked at you, light surfacing back into his eyes as his mind focused on forming a response. 

How has he been feeling? His mind blanked out at the question. He was never used to people asking about his feelings. Even if he was used to talking about them, how should someone feel about this? 

His life just went through a dramatic, violent change, and he was to be prosecuted for it even though he had no control over the matter.

His body was no longer the same as it used to be; he was stronger, faster, and healthier in the most unnatural way possible.

His parents were gone, and the abuse went along with them to the depths of Hell. He became a killer and part of a discriminated group of people overnight. 

How has he been feeling? Overwhelmed. He was so overwhelmed that he felt nothing. 

He shrugged in response and muttered, “I don’t care.”

You hummed. “I will book the first session anyway so you can see how things work. If you don’t feel like talking about anything to a therapist yet, we can wait a little while before we continue.” 

“But eventually, I will have to see one, right?” Jungwon asked rhetorically. 

You knew what he was trying to say. “Yes. I can only try–“

“Well, don’t,” he cut you off. “Just tell me what I have to do, and I’ll do it.” 

Jungwon pursed his lips to hold down a short quiver of guilt. He had never dared to talk like this and hated that out of everyone, he decided to act like this toward you.

You didn't give him much of a reaction. You only began scribbling words down in your notebook, which he didn't bother to read this time. When you're done, he timidly eyed you as you looked up from the table.

“Okay… this will be it for today. You should get some rest,” you said as you shut your notebook. “Our facility does provide housing services for our clients. If you don’t feel like going home, I can arrange a room for you to live in for the time being.” 

Tapping his feet against the ground, he spared less than a second to deny your offer. “No, I’m just going to head home.”

“Alright. I will see you tomorrow then.” You flashed him a small smile. “There should be cabs waiting outside the facility to take you home. They are hired by the center, so don’t worry about paying.” 

Jungwon exhaled inwardly at the cue to go home. He stood up, his ears wincing at the chair's squeak against the floor. He stood by your desk momentarily, debating whether to say something.

Anything would do; an apology, a thank you, or a simple farewell. His thoughts scrambled when you looked at him questioningly, and he quickly pulled a face at you before turning around and speeding out of your room.

You blinked in surprise, then you furrowed your brows.

Not even half a minute has passed since you told him about the rules he has to follow, and he has already used his super speed.

The empty apartment felt eerie to him.

Jungwon felt fine still when he unlocked and walked into his home. He was fine still when he closed the door and kicked his shoes off. But as soon as he turned the lights on and faced the grotesque living room, one stained with blood and touched by the hands of law enforcement, he found himself frozen on his spot.

Memories rushed to him now that he stood at the crime scene. 

He remembered the pain he felt the first time his features changed. When the blood in his veins ran dark, his eyes clouded with a foggy haze, causing him to stumble about as his direction was guided only by the smell of blood.

When his teeth grew out of his gums to create fangs, his injuries healed simultaneously as his body broke itself down to accommodate his new identity. He had been sweating with a body heat rivaling that of the sun. 

His drunk father probably couldn’t see his face clearly when he advanced toward him at a superhuman speed, only that he saw a beastly boy and determined that the boy must be his son.

Never once in his eyes has Jungwon ever been precious or lovely. The Jungwon who was suffering and the Jungwon who had blood drenching his skin was how his son had always been to him. Then, the creature attacked him. 

What did his mother look like? Jungwon blocked that part out more carefully than he blocked out the sight of his father. His mother was not ugly.

He loved his mother, and she had been pretty despite the horror. He wished she didn’t have to suffer under his fangs, even though he did suffer by her drunken and fearful hands. She was probably scared of him in her last moments, though. He was sure her final thought was that her son would kill her. 

Jungwon choked out in pain when he felt his eyes shimmer over with blood. He barely noticed his emotions boiling beneath his chest until they burst. The tears were pushed out of them when the blood took up all the spaces in his eyes, rolling down to his opened mouth and evaporating under the pierce of his fangs.

He was turning again, and he despised it. He despised himself. 

“No! Stop it!” He shouted at himself as he doubled over and covered his face, only to pull his hands back when his fangs pierced through the base of his palm. “Stop it! You fucking idiot, stop turning!”

Disastrous child! Foul child! Your parents should have killed you when they had the chance!

They almost did it on multiple occasions, haven’t they? Where did that hatred and fear go, Jungwon? Did they go into the strength of your hands when you broke your mother’s wrist? Did they go into the pearl white of your fangs when you drained your father’s blood?

You murderous child! Death shall be upon you! 

"Stop–help me! Please–it hurts–ughm!" He curled himself into a ball on the ground and immediately turned his face away when he smelt the residue of his parent's blood on the wood floor.

"It hurts! It hurts–help–ah!" He stood up quickly and ran into the nearby wall, breaking a hole through the weak barriers.

His forehead healed immediately, but he was able to relish in the fleeting pain. Death should be upon him—he did it again. The pain was still brief.

When everything was gone, his exhaustion prevented him from hurting himself again. Instead, he slowly slid to the ground. He pulled his legs to his chest, eyes glimmering with tears as he hiccuped uncontrollably. He cried and cried and cried, his sorrow drowning and suffocating with no way out. 

He stared at the spot where he held his dead father's hand, lips mumbling apologies that he would never accept. Then, a sudden calmness descended upon him.

It was a voice in his head or something of an intention. A knowledge that popped into him in the form of vampiric instincts, signaling that there was something he could do to immediately take all his pain away. Something that could take everything away.

It was not death nor healing. It was a quick and easy escape. In his mind, that notion was like a beacon of light; all he had to do was reach it. 

His fangs retreating was the one thing that snapped him out of his trance. He furrowed his brows in confusion, unsure of what that fleeting thought was despite how tempting it was to touch it. He should ask Jay before giving into it.

Jungwon let out shallow breaths as he stood up, not sparing another glance at the living room when he turned around. He left the apartment and closed the door, locking it behind him. But, instead of leaving his home, he sat down on the doormat and decided to stay the night there.