#fuck the sequeals

[clonewarslover55]

How I sleep at night while ignoring everything in Star Wars that I don’t like/consider my canon:

[fivetrench]

Venom: The Last Dance was such a joke. Short falling plot, horrible writing, redundant action scenes, and probably the most disrespectful death I’ve ever seen given to a main character. If your story ends with one of the lead protagonists getting dissolved in acid and also exploding, you’ve done something seriously wrong. The movie literally ended with a flashback montage playing over Memories by Maroon 5, so I think that tells you everything you need to know about the film.

[camrensrealbish]

They are still Cringy together every video i see still no chemistry he doesnt know what to do and Camila has to do all the work for him hes GAY his team knows this, his career is going no where music wise, he looks better and healthy without PR CAMILA too this PR is gonna drain them again. The Last video i saw last 2 min and boy the people around them dont give two fucks who there are, they are even laughing at the scene in front of them two GAYS trying to do PDA. Backgrid PAY paparazzi we know the story so welcome to the sequeal but more cringy.

Can we end this saga please 😩

[chaifootsteps]

So I never finished Inuyasha as a kid because when it aired, so I'm rewatching/trying to finish it as an adult, while knowing there's a sequel because of course there is. And like, I know Kagome is going to stay in the past but, wouldn't logically that create some sort of paradox? Because she's Kikyo's descendant?

(Also I'm not really happy about how Yasha-Hime (the sequeal series) focuses on Sessomaru's daughter. Not because it's his daughter, but because she's his daughter he had with Rin, the girl he knew since she was a child which gives me all sorts of ick vibes)

Oh god, she stays in the past and it just breaks time completely. That would have been funny.

Also, the only salvaging factor in Sesshomaru conceiving a kid with Rin is that he was such a terrible, inattentive, hands off guardian that it takes away a little of the "adopted dad" factor. He'd protect her if something tried to kill her, but he barely acknowledged her and didn't even feed her. I love Sesshomaru, he's the fucking worst.

[itsohh]

thoughts after completing mw3

I can firmly say its not worth playing unless your a fan of DMZ. as someone who isn't, its horrible.

the game turns 180 on the style of the campaign and you lose a lot of the liner gameplay which made the first two games so enjoyable. in order for what I presume was to cut corners they opt for a more open world more feel. while the other games did have this on some levels it wasn't done in a fun way.

for example 'alone' in mw2 you have the entire stealth aspect with johnny and then in mw1 (I can't remember the mission but its the one where you getting farahs brother) you do open objective as gaz with price and even though its a big area it still feels quite nice and focused.

this weird open world thing was seen in the second to last mission but it was still straight forward. honestly the game felt rushed, empty, spotty and full of fuller content. the story line wasn't very solid and felt ehhhh.

don't even get me started on some of the actual normal missions like 'kill invisible dudes who instantly snipe you before you can see me' fuck me that was horrible. they give the illusion of that you could stealth around them but every time I attempted gaz would get seen. so idk if that was scripted or not but it sucked.

the final mission felt lackluster and dull.

I'll give them that the final cutscene was good and did tug at the heart strings. but also it felt like his death was more for shock value? to reference the previous games. ah idk. it's not bad I suppose but I also feel like it was tacked on, I wish they made it a bigger deal

I can't help but wonder what the level design would have been if they had more time. I miss the way they did things in the previous games and it also so short. they established such a good begining in mw1 and then had maybe not the best game AI but a really good sequeal in mw2. mw3 falls so flat. I miss missions where you spend the entire time stealth, I miss the interactions between soap and ghost, or gaz and price.

for what they delivered it really wasn't worth the price. would I still have bought it? yes because I wanted to experience it.

the lack of optimisation is insane, sure its early access but we all know that they won't fix these bugs. on one mission I was forced to put my graphics on the lowest setting to load it. I have a current gen graphics card. for some random moments my screen would be covered in low pixel smoke that would only clear if I did a 360.

the graphics were of course, amazing and photorealistic but somehow didn't deliver on the immersion that the previous games did. the voice acting and acting alone carried this game unfortuantly let down by the shotty writing, cheap level design and general cash grab vibe to the game.

I thought that this was supposed to be the last game but with the lack of question still to be answered it does feel like they could have another one. without soap though... the team doesn't feel complete. any attempt to bring in roach at this point would feel like hes there to replace him which isn't idk great.

vlad's still out there, so is graves and then the entire plotline with valeria / alejandro has yet to be touched on. I imagined they will bring one of those in for the raid series

the game feels like it has so many holes, mainly why was so little amount of troops sent in. like at times it feels like there only 141 in the world and like ??? speshly with the final mission like your telling me they got only one hotel squad to go with price and soap? against a bomb threat caused by one of the biggest terrorists out there? wtf is everyone doing???

it feels weak and overall I rate the game 4/10

[mrpenguinpants]

Oops, I really delayed the response time on this-

I don't know if you saw but I reblogged your comments in tags (this one) and I wrote in response that: "this is the thing I'm referring to, I'll explain later". This is the post.

I originally had no idea where to start with this commission. I had a general idea of what to write but I like to have some sort of story structure for headcanons, rather than writing generalized things. Not sure if that makes sense but I'm going to pretend like it does. My creativity block for genshin has been wrung dry so I was busy twiddling my thumbs waiting for something to hit me and while looking through my activity, I saw your reblog comments on how you really liked that fic. Lightbulb. Okay, let's continue off that fic then. I appreciate people that take the time to write their own comments, especially on returning fics, so I paid a little homage to you in the original draft (because I wanted to remember who I originally got inspo from when I did my "post writers notes"). I think that's why you got the notification that you were tagged in this haha.

But I'm super glad you liked the fic! Writing sequeals is something I usually don't do despite the fact most of my fics are interconnected in some way (Xiao is a big one even though I've stopped writing for him-), but I love that you and everyone else picked up on the subtley. Also, thank you for writing your thoughts down- I fucking love that and was kicking my feet reading it.

I hope readers forever understand that I love them with every word they read. I love you

Ttorschlusspanik [ Commissioned ]

[ Hcs for Dottore where the reader is very sleepy/sleep-deprived and is constantly falling asleep in battle, on dates, or maybe during research and experiments! ]

Word Count: 4k

Ayato Ver: Pale Blue Slumber [Masterlist]

Thank you so much for commissioning me! You’re so sweet, and I truly appreciate the tip, but I can’t accept this level of generosity. Please let me know if I went under the word count. Also, thank you for your patience—I got really sick this week and am still recovering.

Torshlosspanik. noun. 1. A desperate feeling that something desired is fading, missing, or being taken away. 2. A feeling of frustration when something one has is departing.

A slumbering figure, a nearly empty desk, and foreboding fabric are the greeting signs to the infamous lab. It’s ironic, really. The concept that the Doctor’s domain comes with a “receptionist” setup stationed in front of imposing steel doors, giving the illusion that this place is as normal—and as morally sound—as any other doctor’s office. At best, it’s laughable to think anyone would believe this place accepts patients willingly, let alone frequently enough to require check-ins. Yet, a shabby but sturdy wooden desk stands innocently in the corner of the entrance, its chipping edges lined with plastic chrysanthemums and white lilies. The artificial flowers are faded, their colors dull from years of neglect, as if mocking the very notion of hospitality. Behind the desk sits an equally worn-down office chair, large enough for someone to curl up in. Its fabric is stained and frayed from years of misuse, the cushion lumpy and barely holding its shape but still useable. All for a receptionist, if you can call them that, who spends more time asleep than actually working as an employee in this most unlikely place. Legs curled up on the seat, arms crisscrossed over the knees in a fetal position. A chin tucked towards the chest, hidden from the view of passersby. Back facing toward prying eyes, leaving only the pronounced slouch of their spine visible, an angle practically begging to develop scoliosis. But the most harrowing detail isn’t the position. It’s the unmistakable black-and-white fur coat draped over them like a blanket, the fabric’s presence carrying an air of authority and fear. A coat only gifted to the Eleven Fatui Harbingers. The desk itself is of no help either. There’s no clipboard, no pens, no paper-nothing that could even remotely resemble the tools of an actual receptionist. It’s an empty stage prop, barely held together by the weight of its own absurdity. And yet, for all its flaws, it stands as the gateway to a place no one in their right mind would willingly step into.

No one dares attempt to wake you. Successfully doing so is practically a death sentence, especially if you go whining to Dottore about the unprompted “alarm clock.” He has a reputation for ensuring the offender never makes a sound again. The only ones bold enough to try and emerge unscathed are his fellow Harbingers, though even they tread lightly when it comes to disturbing your slumber. It’s both impressive and deeply concerning how much of a deep sleeper you are. The bustling footsteps of agents pacing outside the lab, their sharp voices discussing assignments, don’t stir you. The deafening clangs of machinery, coupled with the revolting squelches of severed monster parts being dissected, fail to trigger even a flicker of awareness. Not even Tartaglia’s incessant yammering, loud enough to make glass shudder, elicits so much as an irritated swat from you. Instead, you remain in a state of unyielding sleep, utterly detached from the chaos around you. Your peculiar habit has become such a fixture in the lab that the staff barely remember you exist. You sit perched at their entrance and exit, as still and silent as a gargoyle guarding a forgotten ruin. To them, you are little more than part of the backdrop. A slumbering figure whose presence is a curious mix of ominous and benign.

While it's obvious that the answer to rousing you is to find Dottore himself, or one of his segments if he isn’t around, the interesting part is how you wake up. You're not immune to the initial dizziness that comes with awakening. When you finally open your eyes, blinking the sleep away from your eyelashes, you’re always disoriented. Your eyes feel glazed over, as though you’ve gone blind from keeping them closed too long. Yet, there’s always a common theme: you always reach out toward the nearest blue object. Whether it's an odd trinket or a test tube of acidic liquid, your hand automatically tries to grab it and pull it close to you. It’s part of the reason your desk is stationed outside the lab, away from anything potentially dangerous hidden behind heavy steel doors. Artificial blue has been on the rise lately. Luckily, in nature, blue is very rare. Less than one in ten plants has blue flowers, and even fewer animals are blue. Unfortunately, the biggest nuisance has blue eyes—dead as they are. Tartaglia may not like the doctor, but he does like you. Maybe it’s because your sleep demeanor can be categorized as cute, or maybe you remind him of the simple life in an organization that’s so uptight. Regardless, that little fox has been clawing at the wooden legs yapping for attention. It's only made worse you don't bother to dissuade him, only indulging in his playful antics. It's led to many, many, lectures from one particular segment.

It's fascinating watching how each segment interacts with your sleepy demeanor. While each segment has varying features and appearances, under the same clothes and mask, they would be indistinguishable if they stood still and never spoke. The only true way to discern them is through their actions and mental processes. Hence, it's easy to tell who is who by the way they go about holding you.

Omega is by far the least attentive or affectionate toward you. Perhaps it’s because he’s the most selfish of them all. There’s still an ongoing debate over whether his dislike for you stems from the fact that you stand in the way of fulfilling his desires or if his ambitions extend beyond simply overtaking the divine gaze. Or perhaps the divine gaze isn't actually his goal in the first place. Either way, it’s two sides of the same coin. When it’s Omega’s turn to fetch you, he does so as if you were any other patient. Completely beneath him. One arm rests behind his back, while the other holds a piece of paper clenched tightly in his hand. His mouth is set in a firm line as he gazes down at your slumped form. Although the air around him is calm and silent, it doesn’t take a genius to know that if he could get away with it, he’d drag you through the halls by your hair. Alas, that kind of act would get him permanently disassembled, so he settles for unceremoniously flipping you upright. The arm resting on the small of his back is removed and curls under your stomach. With one swift motion, you’re treated like one of Signora’s shopping bags. The sight of a limp body folded in half under an arm that surely digs into the stomach is the best way to know if it’s the Omega segment or not.

Beta, on the other hand. Beta. That maniacal and neurotic freak adores you but couldn’t care less about you. His research typically focuses on fusing humans with machinery to create “better versions” of themselves, and he fully believes in that philosophy. You would look so much better if he were allowed to be your sole care provider. If your drowsiness were caused by a medical condition like heart disease, asthma, pain, or a nerve condition, he could simply replace them, and you’d be perfect. If it were a mental issue, well, he’d love you no matter how unresponsive you might be. It wouldn’t be much different from you being asleep anyway. When it’s Beta’s turn to fetch you, he does so with a waltz. He walks purposefully toward your desk. Loud and firm, his hands fisted at his sides with unrestrained glee, swinging in time with each step. Even with a mask that obscures most of his face, it’s clear to see the overexcited grin stretching across his lips. It’s almost like there’s static buzzing in time with his artificial heart, fuzzy yet electrically sharp. There’s no fanfare, as soon as he’s within arm’s reach, he grabs the nearest piece of skin and hauls you out of the chair. By some miracle, you’re always still asleep from the rough handling, which is more than enough for Beta to wrap his other arm around your waist. Your chests press together, and he swings your body to and fro in his mad dance. The sight of a limp body dragged into a dancing plague that’s surely pulling your stiff joints out of place is the best way to know if it’s Beta or not. Beta has been recently banned from coming within a six-foot radius around you. 

The original Dottore, Zandik, is a unique case. All of the segments originated from him but at different points in time. However, they are still parts of his thoughts and mannerisms. There really is no order in which the segments are ranked, as they can’t compete with each other. What’s more pointless than trying to beat yourself? You’ll still lose in the end. Zandik is a strange mix of every segment yet none at all. When he wants to see you, he does so slowly, with all the time in the world. His methodical steps echo lightly on the concrete floors of the lab, his arms still at his sides yet loose enough that the slightest wind could blow them away. It’s as eerie as it is tranquil. Everything about the original whispers of restrained patience—that when he arrives at the front of your desk, he simply waits. Usually, it takes you hours or even days to wake up on your own, but when it’s Zandik standing at the edge of your daydream, your eyes slide open. Small ripples in the pond. You’re still lethargic, blindly feeling your way back into your body as your eyes ricochet off the walls until they land on blue. A weighted hand reaches out to grab that ashy blue, and another hand meets your fingertips.

It would be cute if it were anyone else. The sight of a man with curly light blue hair, carrying a bundled-up figure dressed in a white coat with a fluffy black collar, legs dangling from either side of his waist while his hands rest on the lump’s presumed back and thighs. It would be so cute indeed, if it were anyone else but Zandik. But for him, it only looks lonely, despite the two of you pressed together.

The moments when you're awake only happen on two occasions: either you just happened to wake up at that time, or it’s check-up day. What kind of doctor would Dottore be if he didn’t conduct physicals for his only patient who manages to live long enough each year? The check-ups happen twice a week, always two days apart. Never past two days of separation. Ever. Your exact relationship dynamic with Dottore remains as obscure as ever as to why he cares so much. Whether you’re old friends who knew each other before Dottore set foot in Snezhnaya or even when Dottore was called a different name. Or maybe a dead lover resurrected as a zombie in the pursuit of selfish greed and glorious progress; both are possible options. The zombie theory at least explains why you’re constantly drowsy. The staff have never seen you eat anything before, and with the abundance of... zombie food, it's not outlandish as much as it is disgusting. The old friend theory would explain why you can stomach being around someone who can fly off the handle at any moment. The most willing yet unwilling patient. No matter how often Dottore has to wrestle you upright, only for you to slump back asleep the next second, he never loses his temper. If he has to strap you into a straitjacket and hang you from the goddamn ceiling to keep you sitting with a straight back, he will. But by no means will he get anything more than slightly miffed. If he has to force-feed you your medicine because you’re too loopy to remember how to swallow, he’ll shove his fingers into the back of your throat with nothing but a blank smile. The only good thing about your sleep-deprived state is that you’re probably so out of it that you can’t feel discomfort. It saves on using the limited supply of anesthesia the lab carries.

Dottore, for lack of a better word, is displeased with your constant need for sleep. He is deeply frustrated with each check-in and the stagnation of your results. For him, bad results are no different from good ones—they’re still a means of moving forward. Something that will tell him which direction to take rather than wandering around aimlessly in the dark. But in your case, there are no significant changes, as if everything he’s done has been for nothing. He could have closed his eyes and spun a wheel for the same results. The day before your check-in is always the calm before the storm because the staff knows that when the next day comes, they’d better keep their heads down or risk losing them. No one is quite sure if your sleepiness stems from mutated genetics or if it’s a side effect of being around Dottore for too long. Stir-craziness and breakdowns are common in the lab, whether among "patients" or "employees." Everyone eventually goes mad, cooped up within the same cell-shaded walls and working under possibly the worst boss imaginable. Add to that the fact that the Fatui don’t believe in “mental health” days, and with no coping mechanisms in sight, it’s unfair to expect anyone to function effectively. Most people eventually devolve into screaming or manic episodes. Perhaps your escape is more literal. A peaceful retreat from reality through sleep. You’re not even sure why you’re constantly sleep-deprived, especially when you spend more time slumbering than awake. At first, you thought you might be narcoleptic or taking the wrong pills; a diagnosis from scratch must take a long time, right? That was until Dottore bluntly called you an idiot. He told you it’s a bad habit to self-diagnose every minor inconvenience. You should let him do all the thinking and simply listen to him. And truthfully, with the haze clouding your mind, it’s too difficult to think clearly anyway. So, you nod and do as you’re told. It’s easier that way.

It doesn’t happen often, but it occurs more than it should, considering who Dottore is and the reputation he holds. If you wish to cross him, you’d better make it count—because it’ll be your last. He’s in the middle of a meeting with Pantalone, arguing over the lab’s finances when a frantic knock interrupts. Apparently, there’s been a scuffle at the entrance of the lab. To Pantalone's knowledge, there aren't any guards or any agents stationed at the doors except for that sleepy receptionist. Perhaps the doctor's staff finally had enough and decided to take their anger on someone who couldn't fight back? Pantalone's not a good enough person to not find amusement in the situation, infinitely curious as to what Dottore's reaction will be to all of this. Whatever the banker decided to gamble on, his expression doesn't twitch as he follows behind his fellow Harbinger as they walk leisurely through the halls, as if the world has come to a standstill. It’s almost amusing that when your life is potentially on the line, he suddenly decides to take a midday stroll. The only indication of his amusement is the slight shake in his shoulders, hinting at a silent laugh. Dottore punches in the lock code and throws open the steel doors before the automatic switch can activate, slipping through as soon as the gap is wide enough. He stops at the shabby wooden desk that’s now gained a few new dents.

This time, you’re curled up on top of the table, your office chair thrown across the room. Broken. It’s no matter, he’s been meaning to replace it anyway. The chair is just another expense to add to his name. He collects you into his arms effortlessly, and you instinctively sink into the familiar hold. A quick scan from head to toe confirms that you’re unharmed, save for a few strands of hair out of place. Behind him, Pantalone lets out a noise of approval as he surveys the scene. In the center of the room stands a robot with a striking design. A star-shaped frame with six triangular segments forms a perfect symmetry. Glowing cyan cores illuminate the metallic structure, positioned at its center and edges. The intricate details combine sharp, crystalline elements with mechanical precision, radiating an aura of both elegance and menace. As expected of the Doctor. Pantalone can’t help but wonder where this machine was hiding when Signora ventured to Inazuma. Perhaps if it had been deployed then, she might have returned in one piece.

Although Dottore no longer needs to sleep to survive, there are times when, as he passes by your sleeping form, he’ll pause. He stands still, staring for what feels like an absurd amount of time, meticulously detailing and recording every breath you take within a single minute. It’s always 17. Sleep occupies about one-third of a person’s life, a significant portion of time that, in Dottore's mind, could be devoted to something useful. Something productive, instead of wasting it frolicking in dreams that neither matter nor will change anything. Yet, even he can’t deny that, occasionally, a break from reality can serve as a fragile bandage over a wound that refuses to heal. A fleeting comfort in an otherwise relentless existence.  

It’s as awkward as it is unnatural. Despite his title as "The Doctor", his hands weren’t designed for gentle touches of flesh and bone. Yet he tries. His fingers twitch involuntarily as he tilts your body to the side, just enough for him to slide in beside you. Carefully, he rests your body against his shoulder. He expects you to jolt awake, his shoulder is bony and hardly a suitable place to rest your head, even when compared to the flaky cushion of the office chair you’ve somehow grown fond of. But you don’t. Of course, you don’t. You simply lay there, your head nestled against his shoulder as if it were the most natural thing in the world. No protests, no shifting away, just stillness. The transfer of heat begins, as described by the laws of thermodynamics. Hotter, faster-moving molecules collide with cooler, slower ones, transferring energy in a quiet exchange. No fireworks, no blaring alarms, just the science of touch, as mundane and profound as ever. Zandik dares to lower his chin, letting it rest lightly against your head. His mask doesn’t obscure the quiet moment, though he can feel the unnatural curve of his lips twitching upward ever so slightly. Down here, in the deepest layers of the lab, not even the howling winds of Tsaritsa’s snowstorm can reach. It’s eerily quiet, save for the rhythmic sound of your breathing. For a moment, he wonders what it would be like if you woke up now. If your half-lidded eyes would squint at him in confusion, or if you’d simply close them again, surrendering to the haze of sleep. But you don’t stir. Instead, he lets himself linger, suspended between an unusual warmth and the cold detachment of his own thoughts

"Breaks" are not something you can indulge in down in the labs. The closest the staff ever got was when one of the Harbingers passed away, and even then, it lasted only half a day before they were right back to work. Still, if you ask nicely, Dottore will nod toward an empty seat, silently giving you permission to make yourself comfortable. You take the opportunity to describe the dreams you’ve had while Dottore tinkers away in the background. You talk about a train whose tracks stretch far into the stars, far beyond the snow-obscured sky you glimpse through the scarce, frosted windows scattered about the lab. Sometimes, you dream of a whimsical city filled with cute shops and tiny bunny-like robots waddling through fissures in space. You’re certain he isn’t really paying attention, his hands busy with instruments, and his focus locked on his latest project. Sometimes, you suspect he forgets you’re even in the room despite your rambling. A small part of you wants to stamp your feet and pout like a child. After all, you’re only awake for a few fleeting hours each week, and even then, all he can think about is his experiments. His endless, obsessive tinkering. The man’s only "hobby" is experimentation, and you wonder if he’s even capable of entertaining anything else. At least Omega and Beta would give you some attention. Omega might tell you to be quiet with that dismissive tone of his, while Beta would enthusiastically scribble down every word you say, his excitement unnerving yet oddly gratifying. Still… your gaze drifts toward Zandik’s back as he works, the muscles beneath his coat shifting subtly with each precise movement. You pull your knees up against your chest, wrapping your arms around them as you rest your cheek against your folded arms. For a moment, you simply watch him in silence, the quiet hum of the lab filling the space between you. Eventually, your eyes grow heavy, and you let them slip shut. A faint smile tugs at your lips as you wonder where your dreams will take you this time. You wonder if Zandik would come with you.

On the rare occasion that Dottore chooses to sleep of his own will, most likely due to substances that induce drowsiness and force his body into a state of rest, it’s always a remarkably uneventful night. He doesn’t dream anymore, nor does he wish to. Dreams, like the past, serve no purpose to him now. On certain days, if he concentrates hard enough, he can faintly discern whispers from the other segments he's created. However, they are nothing more than distractions, a cacophony that only aggravates his already meticulous mind. When he wakes, it’s as though he hasn’t truly slept at all. His eyelids parted smoothly, his pupils sharp and alert as if no time had passed. Yet there is an unusual sensation, warmth. Dottore does not run warm, and the lab, built for functionality rather than comfort, certainly doesn’t harbor it either. He turns his head, curiosity fleeting, and finds you huddled against his side. Your arms are wrapped around his waist in a loose embrace, and your face is pressed against his chest, seeking solace in his stillness. The white coat with its black feathered collar, the one you wear more often than he does, is draped across your body, serving as a makeshift blanket. His hands remain clasped on his stomach, and he realizes with mild irritation that he can’t move without risking the possibility of waking you. For a moment, he lingers. The seconds on, and his mind races ahead to the tasks awaiting him. The pursuit of progress waits for no one, not even himself. Every moment spent lying in this bed feels like a year’s worth of lost discovery. 

With calculated precision, he shifts. His movements are methodical, almost robotic, as he carefully bundles you in the coat, ensuring the hood doesn’t cover your face and obstruct your breathing. In a single fluid motion, he lifts you into his arms as he rises from the bed. He spares a brief glance at your sleeping form, red eyes devoid of emotion. Your breathing is steady at 17 breaths per minute—a rhythm he has memorized and measured countless times before. Still as serene as ever. But then, for just the faintest of moments, his gaze softens, almost imperceptibly, before he turns his attention back to the work that never ceases to call for him. What a peaceful way to escape the world, the thought as cold and clinical as his expression.

---

Hi, thank you for reading! I'll reblog this with further writer notes but I wanted to include the research bits in order of appearance. I can't guarantee the full accuracy but I hope I didn't get anything wrong.

Chrysanthemum & Lily

In many Asian cultures, especially in China and Japan, chrysanthemums are symbolic of death and mourning. In China, the flower is closely linked to the Day of the Dead, and in Japan, it is used in funeral rites. While in some contexts chrysanthemums can symbolize longevity or fidelity, their association with death makes them unlucky in certain circumstances, especially when given as gifts or during celebrations.

Lilies, especially white lilies, are often associated with death and mourning, particularly in Christian symbolism, where they are linked to funerals and burials. While lilies also symbolize purity and rebirth in other contexts, their frequent appearance in funeral arrangements.

Head-Down Position

The sleep position reader takes is a parody of the Head-Down position of babies in their third trimester. The head-down position (cephalic presentation) is the most common and ideal position for birth, where the baby’s head is facing downward, towards the birth canal. This allows the baby to navigate the birth process more easily.

Dancing Plague

Also called the Dancing Mania, this refers to a series of events in the 16th century where groups of people, primarily in Europe, suddenly and uncontrollably began dancing for extended periods, sometimes for days or weeks, often to the point of exhaustion, injury, or even death. The most infamous and well-documented outbreak of the Dancing Plague occurred in 1518 in Strasbourg, then part of the Holy Roman Empire (modern-day France).

Algorithm of Semi-Intransient Matrix of Overseer Network

The robot Pantalone sees is the early concept art for ^ but also known as the "Tomb Guard of the Desert King.".

17

The number 17 is considered unlucky in Italy because of its association with the Latin word for 17, which is "XVII". Rearranging these Roman numerals gives the word "VIXI", which means "I have lived" or "I am dead" in Latin. This gives the number an ominous connotation, as it can be seen as a symbol of death or misfortune.

Honkai Star Rail & Zenless Zone Zero

Yes, reader was describing these two games as their dreams lol.

[dayundying]

OH FUCK ME I SHOULD BE PLAYING THE PRE SEQUEAL RIGHT NOW. WHY ARENT I DOING THAT.

[little-teasapling]

Like im seriously confused as fuck. Can someone please explain

Why they've decided to stop making new IkeRev content??? Is cybird just?? Over it? Was it not as popular as the other games?? Was it not as popular as they thought it'd be? Is the game not bring in the money they would like it to??? I understand that the game will still be available to play, but just no new content. I apologize but I'm about to go on a rant here and say if ANY game should stop getting new content (Granted, I don't think ANY OF THEM SHOULD stop getting new content) Idk but I think it should be their longest running game, Ikemen Sengoku?? Again, let me repeat. None. Of. Their. Games. Should. Ever. Stop. Or be. Discontinued. They are wonderful with their own uniqueness and individual story telling, the games are beautiful. (Not just the suiters) but IkeSen has been around for so long, and although I haven't particularly played it in a while, i feel like for me, it's gotten a little... repetitive? Idk I'm having a hard time as of late staying super involved in the game play. Though I do still REALLY FUCKING LOVE IT. But I digress; this post isn't about IkeSen. It's about whatever (possibly bullshit) reason Ikemen Revolution and the fandom not getting the closure it deserves. Has Cybird gave a legit reason as yo WHY they are just randomly pulling the plug on this insanely beautiful and creative game???? If not, then I think as a dedicated fandom (and especially to those who have forked out their hard earned money!) Deserve a reason as to why this is happening. Their are still FOUR WHOLE characters who will not get a main route, and five or six (could be wrong. Probably am) other characters who will not be getting their sequeals. And for what? Why??

Idk I'm positive there is a lot happening behind closed doors, but regardless. I think we deserve a better announcement as to why instead of just seeing it on twitter.

✌🖕

[louiswt]

fuck that noise, kingsman the golden circle sucks and i didn’t even watch it but my roommate told me everything and im pissed

[sikebishes]

OMG. OMFG. I DIDN'T EVEN KNOW THE FINAL CHAP WAS POSTED, I DIDN'T GET A NOTIF ANXIAJSISDNSJD AND I RANDOMLY SAW THE POST FOR THE SEQUEL AND I WAS LIKE SINCE FUCKING WHEN WTF OMG I'M FREAKING OUT EEEKKKKKKKK. THANK YOU FOR THIS MASTERPIECE, BRB GONNA CATCH UP ON THE SEQUEAL 🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺

Uninvited [ The Finale Part 2 ]

Uninvited. a short-ish series ft. Felix, Chan and Hyunjin (& a sprinkle of Jisung for a little razzle dazzle)

cw: 100% AU, afab reader, blood and gore descriptions, ritual self-bloodletting, supernatural creature themes/tropes, vampire theme/tropes, hybrid theme/tropes.

word count: 6.0k (woo dis a big boi!)

-

Part I - click here

Part II - click here

Part III (explicit content) - click here

Part IV - click here

Part V (explicit content) -click here

Part VI -click here

Part VII - click here

Part VIII - click here

Part IX - click here

Part X - click here

The Finale Pt. 1 - click here

-- SO IT HAS COME TO THIS. THE END OF THIS JOURNEY. I love each and everyone of you that took the time to read my story. This was so much fun! I really enjoy AU writing and supernatural tropes. Please be kind to yourselves ! <3

**taglist <3 (If I missed anyone let me know! it wasnt on purpose i tried to comb all my posts and make sure )

@planetdemon ; @a-person-with-void ; @haleyms ; @wonhottcakes ; @hydroyaksha ; @just-randomm-stuff ; @sooinvu ; @ninjaleeknow ; @thegoddessharmony ; @kittycatkrissa ; @ominous-crow ; @sikebishes ; @strawberriesandknives ; @violetpenguinkris ; @koovvie ;

-----

The Final Chapter (Part Deux) 

“Don’t peek!” 

“I’m not peeking, I promise.” 

“I don’t believe you.” 

You press your fingers together firmly resting them against Chan’s eyes as you guide him past the large cardboard boxes that were stacked alongside the walls, a few sit on the floor in the middle of the bedroom.  You’re penguin waddling behind him and end up almost tripping. 

“Hey! You’re supposed to have hybrid coordination here!” You chide as he laughs. 

“I’m a hybrid, I’m not Superman!” 

You make a face, even though he can’t see it. 

“What’s Superman got to do with your garbage coordination when your eyes are covered?”  

Although Chan’s placement is perfect for the surprise, right in front of the bathroom sink and facing the mirror; he can’t help the dismay at your question and he grasps your wrist, slowly removing your hands as he turns to face you. 

“You don’t know Superman has x-ray vision?” He almost looks hilariously disgusted with you. 

“Syu-puh-man yourself into the mirror and look at all my hard work!” You mock as you spin him by his shoulders to the sink. 

“Are you making fun of my acc--” Chan finally faces the mirror, but pauses instantaneously, barely recognizing the beast reflected in front of him.  He hadn’t had such dark hair in ages. 

“Do you love it?” You say with a wide grin. 

“Little witch I--” he runs his fingers through the deep brown, black hair. It was textured in its naturally wavy state after being freshly washed and towel dried.  

“It's been so long... I love it.” He shakes his shaggy hair out, his bangs falling perfectly on his forehead.  He looks so innocent and unsuspecting like this, especially with his new color.  “Do you know how difficult it was to keep that blue? God...” he scoffs, and you giggle as he wraps his arms around you.  He’s wearing dark pajama pants, and you’re comfortable in an oversized gray tee and an extra pair of his sweatpants. 

“Well, you’re welcome.” You smile as his embrace tightens and he kisses your lips once, twice, before nuzzling his nose into the fine hairs that had escaped the front of your scarf, right by your ear.  His breath tickles your jaw and neck. 

“God I’m so glad you’re back.” he murmurs into your skin.   

You can hear the pain in his voice.  The whole lot of you were traumatized from the entire ordeal.  Others carried this weight near-seamlessly; Hyunjin being at the top of that list if it were to be listed from best to worst at displaying a false mask of composure and balance. 

It had been a little over a week since you and Jisung made it back from purgatory.  Other than the gaps in knowledge that Hyunjin had about modern living, he appeared to be coping alright.  He remained to himself, or in Felix’s study. 

The next best person at hiding their trauma was, you guessed it, Felix.   

He isolated himself, so he only truly had to keep his cool for brief moments in the company of others.  You two had a few private conversations over the last few days.  Sometimes, you’d notice his eyes glass over as he would disassociate.  When asked about it, he would firmly insist he was alright and just dealing with the emotional aftermath of the incident, in such a self-aware way, that it would easily ward off any further intrusive questions. 

Chan was where the scale began to tilt.  Not only was he coping with the situation in his own, unique manner---he was also coping with the fact that he was going to be a father, in the most impossible of ways, and he was feeling all sorts of emotions he hadn’t felt in an extremely long time; and quite a few he had never felt at all prior to now. 

It was Chan who pioneered the decision for them to move out of the estate they had been on for hundreds and hundreds of years.  Through an old mutual supernatural friend of he and Jisung, they had secured a home on several acres about 4 hours away. Chan agreed to it right away, without even viewing it.  He simply wanted to uproot the household and mask their whereabouts as swiftly as he could. 

As far as he was concerned, you all could collectively figure out a forever home after the child arrived.  The safety of all was his top priority.   

He kept his ability to bring the spirits of others up, but he barely honored his daytime deaths, instead opting to stay up and vigilant.  The events were trying on his psyche, and sometimes he would break, at night.  You’d hear him crying, softly; sometimes you would feel what felt like a kick in your stomach (though according to mortal fetal development cycles, you were far too early to be experiencing such phenomena). It would wake you from your slumber and you’d sluggishly crawl across the bed to where he sat on the edge.  You would wrap your arms around him, and hug him tightly, kissing the back of his head as he cried.  Oftentimes you would cry too, but you would bite back your sobs, your nose pressed against his silken hair as you’d grip him tighter still. 

Not only was Jisung’s ability to conjure severely affected by crossing the lines between the dead and the living an added time—he was experiencing a strange bout of dizzy and fainting spells that Felix was still trying to get to the bottom of.  Until he was back to his full health, Chan didn’t feel comfortable allowing him to be alone at his home.  Without the level of conjure he held prior, Felix also noted that the protection around the perimeter of his home might have new vulnerabilities. 

Jisung refused to leave the guest room unless it was necessary.  He felt extremely vulnerable the way he currently was and busied himself sick trying to find a solution alongside Felix. 

You hadn’t escaped psychologically Scot free yourself.  You suffered from nightmares of an unknown origin that you were trying to keep under wraps from the others.  When Chan would ask why some days you would wake up in fear, nearly springing from the sheets, you simply blamed it on PTSD; which was half true. 

The other half of the truth was that in the nightmares, you couldn’t see much, it was as if you had been blindfolded.  You always heard the same two muffled voices, but it never became clear enough to decipher.  What was ingrained deep within you from the visions was the fear and hopelessness that you felt.  It was as if everyone had abandoned you, all at once.  The darkness was overwhelming and began to make you feel so trapped you’d grow sick to your stomach, oftentimes, the nausea carrying over into your waking life. 

Today was no exception.  At the break of Dawn, you feel yourself growing groggy.  You had been more tired than usual, but of course, this was how things went for pregnant women, right? It didn’t feel misaligned, the symptoms you carried.  You fall asleep, feeling the peace of your body being put to rest.  Yet what feels like only mere moments later, you blink your eyes open and see darkness. 

You feel the rough fabric that’s tied tightly over your eyes.  Your heart rate quickens, and you strain to hear the exchange of voices happening right in front of you. 

‘...onl...ay’ 

‘br...a...store....power’ 

You capture a full word for the first time since your nightmares began. 

Power 

--- 

You end up getting a bit more rest than you had expected, which was a welcome recharge to your system.  You don’t mention the context of your nightmares, or the full word you managed to catch last night.  It would only make Chan more protective, Felix more curious, Hyunjin more stressed, and Jisung more terrified.  You could tell everyone, hell even yourself included, were waiting for the other shoe to drop.  Chan had told you in the entirety of his life, he’s never felt safe, things have never been normal. Ever. 

So, for now, you keep your mouth shut and enjoy the cool, night breeze on your face as you have your passenger side window rolled down.  You smell the Northeastern Atlantic Ocean shores, only yards away, the moonlight reflecting off the moving water.  As Chan drives further, the tree line gives you brief glimpses of the ocean, but it’s clear, you’re heading far in the opposite direction of it.  The forestry thickens and you soon smell damp moss and rotting wood more than the coastal sealine. 

Hyunjin is sitting in the backseat, also staring out the window, his facial expression blank.  He couldn’t shake off the feeling of being trapped in a world he didn’t understand. 

“So, this is it? This is where we’re going to live?” Hyunjin asks, with a hint of sarcasm. 

Felix, who’s sitting alongside Hyunjin in the roomy SUV, speaks up.  “It’s a roof over our heads.  It’s a start.” He replies coolly. 

“We’ll make it work, Hyunjin.” Chan says, glancing in the rearview mirror at his fire-haired brother.  “We always do.” 

“We’re a family.  We’ll figure it out, together.” You add softly. 

Hyunjin doesn’t reply, but the tension in his shoulders relaxes slightly.  You all drive in silence for a while, each lost in your own thoughts. 

Finally, Chan breaks the silence as the car slows down on the dirt road.  “We’ve been through a lot, but we’re all here now.  We’re going to make a new life for ourselves.  We don’t really have a choice but to move forward now. “ 

“Anyway then, here we are.” Chan twists the keys in the ignition and the low rumbling of the engine stops.  It’s so silent, you could hear a pin drop at least a mile away.  You lean forward, glimpsing the large, Victorian style dwellings.  Your eyes are immediately drawn to the thick vines that seem to be growing out of every crevice.  The moonlight casts an eerie glow on the overgrown plants, making the house seem almost...alive. 

You can feel the discomfort in the car as Chan, who was driving, and Jisung, who’s in the backseat, exchange a look of concern.  You can see the dust on the windows and the cobwebs in the corners of the house. 

As you step out the car with everyone else, you can’t shake off the feeling of unease.  The house seems ancient, and it’s clear that it hasn’t been lived in for a long time; but Chan and Jisung’s friend had assured them that it’s a safe location, and you trust them.   

You try to put your feelings aside and focus on the task at hand, but as you walk up the creaky front steps, you can’t help but wonder what kind of secrets this old house holds. Chan wriggles the knob, expecting it to open, but to no avail. 

“Hold on.” Jisung emerges, wrapping his slender fingers around the rusted knob.   Without turning, you can hear the locks inside of the door turn slowly, as if there was someone on the other side.  The way it opens, dust falling from the frame, you begin to second guess this decision to yourself once more. 

“There’s no way you sprung me to live like this...” Hyunjin says, walking inside and glancing at the peeling paint on the walls.  The rooms are large and empty, with no furniture anywhere.  The floors are wooden, and a dark, cocoa color. 

“Brother, we’ve lived in worse.” Chan says, his hands in his pockets as he walks forward, looking up and surveying the large chandelier that hovers in the foyer.  He looks down at the rug underneath his feet and taps the spot with his toe. 

“This is a recipe for a D-List horror movie accident just waiting to happen.” He notes as you join him underneath, slipping your arms around his waist, squeezing the fabric of his fleece jacket between your fingers as you also look up at the chandelier. 

“It's almost a full moon.” You say with a grin, kissing him and moving on to explore the rest of the house yourself. 

“Yeah?” Chan follows behind you, now that you’ve piqued his interest. 

“Yeah, you get really paranoid about things the closer it gets, I’ve noticed....” Your voice trails off as you run your hand over an old hallway display cabinet.  Dust clings effortlessly to your fingers, and you brush them against one another to scatter it away.  

“You don’t think there’s any way Edith could like...come back, for me...or the baby, or anything, right?” You blurt. 

Chan’s brow furrows.  “No. We sealed her soul in purgatory, little witch why—does this have to do with your nightmares?” Chan’s gears begin to shift as he puts two and two together. 

“No! I--” You look around before lowering your voice, “No, I’m just still afraid.  Can you blame me? I barely got out alive, and now I have to keep myself and this...thing alive--” 

“This thing? That’s my child that’s...our child.” Chan’s voice softens.  He realizes his fuse is shorter around the Full Moon and tries to maintain control. He normally doesn’t let it slip, but he was feeling out of sorts the last few days.  “You let me worry about keeping you, and our child, alive.” 

You’re a little taken aback at his tone, but you blame it on the oncoming Full Moon.  The last one didn’t go as well as it should have, and after everything, his body and emotions were tense.  He seems to notice the shift in your demeanor and runs his fingers through his dark hair, now styled back slick and straight.  He sighs as he places both hands firmly on your upper arms. 

“All of this, its gonna take some getting used to for me, for you, for everyone here.  She could be a vampire, a witch, a wolf, or all three.  My father was a hybrid, and I came out as a wolf.  There’s no rhyme or reason to this it's just...a wildcard, really.  It’s a wildcard.  I feel like I’ve been given a second chance to get it right this time.” 

You can feel the neediness in his voice, you see his eyes, begging, pleading for you to understand him, to validate his reasoning, experience and existence.   

Your big, bad wolf. 

“Did you say...she?” You tease. 

He’s caught off guard as you laugh at his expression. 

“Did I? I said she? Did I really?” He asks in disbelief.  “I didn’t even notice.” 

“Do you want a little girl? Do you think you can handle that?” You say with a cheeky grin. 

“No, absolutely not! That’s why I can’t believe I said it!” He touches his lips and looks at his fingers, as if the answer would be splayed on the tips. 

“Hey lovebirds, it’d be nice to have some hybrid strength for some of these boxes, yeah?” Jisung slaps the doorframe that he’s looking out from behind as he hoists his box higher against his body to get a better grip.  He takes it into the living room and sets it among the other boxes that Felix and Hyunjin had managed to use their unnatural speed to build up. 

They didn’t bring everything from the old house, only enough to be able to live comfortably for a little while.  The family estate was in their name and would always stand where it was built; but that area couldn’t be considered secure.  People over the centuries had been guests, although there had been no disturbances, folks in certain circles close enough knew where they laid themselves to rest. 

You were barely pregnant, and certainly felt strong enough to help.  Your speed wasn’t up to par like theirs, nor was your coordination, but you had little boosts every now and again.  You glance into the trailer attached to Chan’s truck.  Figuring out that you could carry a box or two, you grasp one and make your way back up the creaky stairs and into your new home. 

Chan’s about to approach you, to chastise you for doing too much, when Felix stops his brother, arm across his chest. 

“Let her do something for herself, you can’t control everything, brother.” The white-haired vampire murmurs in an intimate tone.  “You’ll drive yourself mad trying and drive her away in the process.” 

Chan takes a few steps back, watching as you set the box down in the middle of the room and stand up, feeling more winded than you usually were.  You shake it off and head back outside to join the others. 

“I can’t escape the notion that something isn’t right, brother.”  

Chan crosses his arms across his chest, the sleeves of his deep navy fleece jacket rolled up to his elbows as he stands beside Felix, near the staircase in the foyer.  Hyunjin zips back and forth so fast, only the sound of his rustling clothing and dropping boxes can be heard.  Jisung is struggling to carry heavier boxes, to get you to not worry about them.  You find yourself stumbling along Jisung, trying to capture the other end of the boxes that were too heavy for him alone to conquer. 

Felix watches everyone too, his arm resting against the wooden, curled start of the banister. 

He wants desperately to disagree; but the brothers knew how their undead lives worked. Now they had a pregnant witch descendant of one of the most powerful clans in the world in their midst. 

Felix chews the inside of his lower lip as his brain begins spinning the webs it always spun when it came to strategizing. He answers his brother, barely above a whisper. 

“It’s not.”  

Chan glances over his shoulder at his younger, pureblooded vampire brother.  “Has something been ailing you?” 

“The bloodlust.” Felix never takes his eyes off you all milling about, despite Chan boring holes into the side of his skull.  “Normally I keep myself well fed, the blood of a witch, the blood of your little witch, it’s tempting but...” Felix’s gaze breaks as he glances down at the floor.  His index and thumb rub against one another anxiously. 

“The reason Hyunjin and I have stayed out of the way isn’t because of what happened.  Well maybe, possibly for him but the bloodlust, it just feels almost out of my--” 

“Shit!” 

You wince, ripping back your hand from the edge of the box where you had just accidentally sliced the side of your palm with the box cutter.  The box cutter clatters to the ground as you grip your wrist, sucking in air through your teeth.  You’re pinned suddenly to the ground and look up to see Hyunjin’s eyes, an emblazoned amber, his sclera an ugly shade of blood red as he breathes heavily.   

There’s no time to embody enough strength to let out a terrifying scream, as Hyunjin's body is violently propelled across the room and Chan is kneeling beside you, breaking the skin on his wrist and lifting your head enough to feed you his blood.  You drink, chest still heaving with adrenaline as you observe Felix, holding Hyunjin up by his fingers tightly enclosed around his throat as the youngest brother thrashes against the wall.  The wound on the side of your palm closes itself up as you close your eyes from the sights of it all and continue drinking. 

Jisung’s hand lay against Hyunjin’s forehead like a priest performing an exorcism.  With nothing but pure, ancient magick, Jisung sends a voltage-like stream of energy through Hyunjin that immobilizes and renders him unconscious; and afterwards, he crumples to the ground, powerless.  Felix flits away in the blink of an eye, Hyunjin over his shoulder.   

As Chan is overseeing everything and allowing you to heal, he suddenly feels a sharp stab from your mouth. 

“Hey, hold on a sec...” He coaxes you from the blood spilling from his wrist, and he looks closer at your teeth, covered in blood and saliva, as you breathe heavily from the consumption of power. The tips of your canines were thinner, with a sharper tip.  You had felt overwhelmingly in need of his blood for a while now, and you didn’t know what cravings you were dealing with until you had tasted it like this once more.  You were dizzy with how good it felt. It soothed a need inside of you. 

“Your teeth, little witch--” Chan says in disbelief and concern as he glances over to Jisung, still unconscious on the floor.  In a split-second decision, Chan crawls quickly over to Jisung, placing his head into his lap and re-opening his wrist wound to feed Jisung and hopefully bring him back.  You’re busy licking the blood from off your lips and fingers as you quietly watch them.  You feel feral, but not in a good way.  You feel impulsive, and your emotions are now rising to an uncomfortable place. 

Jisung stirs awake groggily, coughing and spitting the excess blood on the floor as he pushes himself up to sit and look around, regaining his breath once more. 

“Shit how long was I out for?” he asks Chan as he’s helped back up to his feet. 

“A minute, maybe two at most.” 

“What the hell was that?  That wasn’t normal bloodlust, veins were popping out of his skull, he was being consumed by something else entirely.” 

It's just like Jisung getting back to normal immediately after falling unconscious. 

“It could be because of the baby, or how long he’s been in purgatory Jisung, I don’t know.” Chan drops his hands to his side in confused exasperation as he kneels next to you, helping you to your feet.  Your carnal desires had weakened just a bit now that the aftershocks were settling in. You feel the fuzziness in your brain returning to clarity once more.   

Felix is coming back down the stairs, and the four of you gather in the living room.  He wipes blood from his fingers with his handkerchief as if it were a kitchen condiment. 

“Little Witch, I need you to be honest with me, yeah?” Felix asks, looking directly into your eyes.  “Have you experienced anything strange, or off since you’ve been back? Any foreboding feeling, visions, nightmares, hallucinations, cravings?” 

You instinctively want to start out by lying, but with Felix’s ability to sense the shifts in your circulatory system; and Chan’s capability to literally smell your fear, you answer honestly. 

“I’ve been having trouble controlling my powers and experiencing intense mood swings,” you admit, wringing your hands nervously. “I keep dreaming about being held hostage and hearing voices, last night they said ‘Power’. And to top it off, I’ve been having these cravings, like...I need to consume something that I know I shouldn’t.” 

Chan doesn’t add that he witnessed fang like projections from your canines earlier. He decides to leave the others in the dark about it. You’re grateful, unaware of what it could mean for you.

Felix and the others exchange a look of concern, knowing the implications of what you just revealed. They were all well-aware of the dangers that came with pregnancy for a witch, especially when the witch in question was carrying a child of an unknown species. 

“We need to keep a close eye on you, Little Witch,” Chan says firmly, his arm coming behind your waist from the side to pull you in. “We need to make sure that you and the baby are safe.” 

“I don’t feel safe in an unprotected house, no matter what Minho told us.” Jisung says as he walks around the perimeter of the living room, observing the cracks in the walls, little scratches here and there. 

Minho... 

That was the first time you’ve ever heard that name before. 

“He’s all the way in Russia, I don’t even know why you involved him in our mess.” Felix retorts. He’s now extremely cautious about what family friends they decide to include so closely into their lives. Anyone who joined them were at risk of death in any number of gruesome ways with the danger they attracted. 

“You know the Lee family has safeguard housing up and down the East Coast, who else could deliver us enchanted real estate in a week’s time? Besides,”  

Chan looks around, “Now nobody in America knows where we live.” 

----- 

The night before the Full Moon, the night of the Waxing Gibbous moon, progresses, and Jisung is busy using as much of his power reserve as possible to help with protection incantations and conjure to at the very least, make you all undetectable for a solid 3 weeks. With some rest, he could add catch-em's throughout the woods, to signal if anyone was encroaching upon them, and trap them until someone could investigate. 

Three weeks would allow the brothers the time to procure a witch of substantial power to drain for the purposes of Felix and Hyunjin helping Jisung to finish the task. You didn’t allow yourself to use unnecessary magick until you could figure out what was going on with your body.  

The energy of tomorrow’s Full Moon hangs heavily in the air, which was causing your powers to become increasingly volatile. 

It turns out that you weren’t the only one becoming volatile. 

The next night, you experienced not one nightmare. 

Nothing. 

In fact, you sleep quite well, the best you have had in ages. The large, four post bed in the room you and Chan chose is old, with its elaborate gold metal headframe but didn’t have a foul smell and had been covered with plastic. When you further examined the 6, close to 7-bedroom house, you discovered some rooms were furnished, and others left bare. 

The loud bangs and clattering were what startled you awoke, followed by muffled voices yelling argumentatively. This house isn't as modernized as the former. The thick, heavy curtains that blocked out sunlight did the same for the moon and stars, unless you physically drew them back. The old place had fancy electronic drapes that rose and fell at the precise moment of sunrise and sunset.  

You reach out and turn the bedside lamp on, rubbing your eyes as you stumble over to the curtains and draw them. The moon hangs high in the sky, big and full. You ran to the top of the stairs, clenching your robe closed, as you had little time to get yourself together. 

Underneath the central chandelier in the foyer was the large wolf with fur blacker than souls that stir in the dead of night. Scraps of fabric were strewn on the floor, along with quite a fair amount of blood spattered along the walls and carpet. The wolf crouches down, readying for a predatory launch. 

“Chan!” You shriek impulsively, covering your mouth when his yellow eyes snap at you, standing atop the staircase. He growls, a snarl from deep inside of his chest, and then he blows air from his nose, almost like a sneeze, backing up two paces with a whine before he’s off, out the broken front door at a speed far faster than an average wolf could manage, and into the night. 

You run down the stairs and out onto the porch, but to no avail, he’s already out of your sight. The sounds of coughing and boards falling and creaking are what alert you to Hyunjin as he climbs out of the hole in the front porch, shaking the crumbled dirt and dust from his crimson locks and brushing his plum-colored button up, tucked into his black slacks.  

“Well, that was a very rude way to say ‘no’.” he tilts his head to the right ever so slightly, and you wince from the crack that results from the realignment of his spine. “I guess I forgot how strong he was.” he murmurs to himself as he adjusts the cuffs of his sleeve around his wrist.  

“Hyunjin, what the fuck happened to you last night? You nearly killed me, and the baby!” Your anger explodes in that moment, but didn’t you have every reason to? If bringing Hyunjin back means you were in more danger than before then maybe you were the only one capable of doing something about it... 

You stop in your tracks from approaching him and physically shake your head to get rid of those awful thoughts. 

You didn’t mean that. 

Why did that even come up intrusively into your mind? 

“You’re feeling it too, aren’t you, pretty witch?” Hyunjin hasn’t flinched from his spot, simply placing his hand into his pocket. He looks amused. “I’ve never seen you so fired up like this before. I kind of like it on you--” 

You take in your breath and hold it to stop yourself from saying something impulsive. 

“Hyunjin, think about what Chan can do to you, and magnify it by 300, I will wear your fucking insides as mardi gras beads if you don’t tell me what the fuck is going on—right—now.” 

“You don’t have to sweet talk me that like to get information out of me, besides, I don’t know what the fuck is going on, alright? Christophe seemed to have transformed against his will and now he’s God knows where in this area none of us know anything about.” Hyunjin says crossly with his unique sarcasm.  

“And I didn’t attack you on purpose, alright?” his demeanor shifts as he glances away, and you sense a little...worry? Sadness?  

“I keep having these fucking...flashbacks of being sealed away. Those first few hundred years...I fought every, single moment I breathed. I – I bled out so many times, and would black out, only to come back impossibly weaker—forced to fight again, and again--” 

“Hyunjin, I--”  

You wordlessly bring him into a hug and his body stiffens at first, he doesn’t reciprocate. 

“Pretty witch I can’t--” 

His hands come up to embrace you in return. 

“Pretty w-witch--” 

His hands are quivering on your back, and you feel wetness seeping into your shoulder that makes you pull back and see the saliva dripping down his jaw, his fangs full and bright, needle sharp, just like Felix’s as he fixes his stare blankly ahead at nothing, his body beginning to slowly rock. He looks like he’s fighting a possession. 

“Run.” 

You take off down the porch stairs and into the woods.  

You glance back as you run, the robe catching on the tree and ripping from your body. You manage not to stumble, but as you’re not paying attention, the remains of a hollow dead tree strike a gash in your shin that makes you cry out, hunched over, trying to keep some distance between you and whatever these wild creatures that you knew as close friends, family even, had become. This wasn’t them. You had to be hallucinating. You were in some nightmare.  You stand to your feet again and come face to face with Felix’s hungry eyes. 

“Are we playing a game, little witch?” he asks in a lively manner, with a disarming show of his teeth in an innocent grin. 

“I win.”  

Felix’s lips close, then turning into a smile that reaches his eyes, before he grips you up, his lips pressing against your neck, your pulse racing as you squirm against him, trying to manifest your strengths, your capabilities, your power. 

“You smell like pure moonlight.” He says after taking a big whiff of your skin before you feel needlepoint fangs puncture your artery while you feel an icy heat emerge from your fingertips and onto his thigh that you were gripping behind your body. Felix yelps in pain, mutters mumbled profanity, and you hear the breeze through the branches as he disappears into the night. 

You’re gripping your neck as its spurting blood all over the ground beneath you and you fall to your knees. You want to be strong; you want to cry out for help, but you blackout from the blood loss and pain from the venom, your body hitting the forest floor. 

------- 

“--manifesting differently in all of us--” 

“-- dead!” 

“--sealed her soul, you didn’t--” 

You groan as you groggily open your eyes to see yourself back in the four-post bed of your room. 

“She’s awake.” Chan exclaims at your bedside. You tilt your head to look at him and then sit up a little more.  

He’s all human. All there. He’s cleaned up and well-dressed, which was a stark contrast to the beast you laid eyes on before you passed out. 

You passed out. 

You touch the side of your neck, but feel the skin totally healed. You move your head back and forth and feel no pain before you spot Felix sitting at the foot of your bed. Jisung is seated at an old desk to the right. Hyunjin is leaning against the window, staring up at the moon that continued its cycle regardless of what happened down here. It's a waning gibbous; at least the energy of the full moon had passed. You feel calmer, and the energy between the boys is subdued. 

“Good, you’re awake.” Felix says as he lifts his head to look at you. 

“First of all, about last night—I lost control of myself in ways I haven’t felt in hundreds of years. I can only remember what even happened through Jisung bringing my memories back. The last thing I remembered was Jisung and I in the woods, figuring out the lay of the land, and then, I smelled blood...I didn’t just, smell blood, I heard voices in my head. Collective voices like a swarm of bees, all telling me to follow it. The entire time I was fighting impulse and I couldn’t stop myself. I remember feeling a stabbing pain in my leg, and I tasted your blood on my lips and ran as far as I could with what little control I had.” 

You listen to him, remembering what you could of the chilling events that occurred last night. The way he smiled at you, so friendly, so unassumingly, he could’ve taken candy from a baby with no consequence. This was only moments before he ripped a hole in your carotid artery. 

“I’m sorry.” He murmurs. 

“At least I gave her a warning.” Hyunjin shrugs as he continues to watch the trees blow in the wind. 

“You call telling her to run headfirst into her death a warning?!” Chan snaps as he stands up, the chair he’s in scraping back against the floor with the haste of his aggressive movement. 

You remember the conversation you had with Hyunjin last night before he told you to run, and you tug at Chan’s hand, shaking your head, signaling for him to stand down. He sighs as he reaches between his legs to pull the chair back and sits back down. 

“How are you feeling? Is anything different?” Chan asks. 

He wants to know about the baby. 

“I’ve never been pregnant before but, I feel okay—a little tired but, nothing too crazy.” You grunt as you push yourself all the way up. “I guess this is what you meant by us never being safe, huh?” 

Chan exchanges a glance with Felix, who stands to his feet. 

“I don’t think there was a way to prevent this from happening, I don’t even know how it all works yet....” 

You cling to each word as Felix speaks. 

“I have a theory that Edith had a counterspell on her earthly remains. If they were ever to be destroyed, a curse is set loose to reign hellfire on those responsible, bringing out the worst in all of us. I don’t feel it at all today, neither do any of the rest of us. It must somehow work with the Full Moon.” 

“Meaning its wolf-based?” 

“There are other important things that happen during the Full Moon that don’t involve us.”  

“I knew it! I knew she wasn’t gone!” You shove the blankets off of you as you stand up in anger, interrupting their discussion.  You look at Chan. “You told me she was gone, you told me there was no way she could come back--” 

“She is gone, and she won’t come back.” Hyunjin’s voice cuts between the room’s tension. 

“If we can break the curse.” 

End. 

[autumn-foxfire]

I rly wanna get into Zelda games but I’ve no idea where to start? Are the all linked (ahem) or? Botw looks rly cool but there’s the other game that’s connected is it a sequel or? I-

Technically they’re all linked however the Zelda timeline is so fucked up that no one likes trying to solve it T-T

You don’t really need any prior knowledge for playing any of the games, even the direct sequeals for previous games (Like Majora’s Mask, which is a sequel to Ocarina of Time and Phantom Hourglass which is a sequel to Wind Waker). That’s the beauty of Zelda games really, you can play any and because they’re all their own story it doesn’t matter if you don’t have any previous knowledge.

Botw is a really fun game and very different from the previous zelda games so if you play that first, just know that it is the only Zelda game like it (well until botw’s sequel comes out).

You can choose any game to start with!!

[redsunlight]

aaaahhh!!!!! i really hope bear mccreary is still doing all the music for god of war ragnarok, his music fucking slaaaaaaps IM SO EXCITED ITS GETTING A SEQUEAL EEEEEEEE!!!!!!

[katnissdoesnotfollowback]

2 and 25?

2. talk about a notable time a narrative or character has looked you dead in the eyes and said “fuck your plan, here’s what we’re actually doing.”

The Midnight Train. All of it. The whole damn thing was a “Fuck you and your plan.” That was supposed to be a fun, sexy romp based on the prompt: Sexually frustrated trophy wife Katniss hires artist Peeta who immortalizes women after giving them the greatest O of their lives”... I started something like that and couldn’t get into it. Then one night I just started typing and out it poured and I was half in the story and half going... “What the fuck is this fuckery?!?!?!” I have no explanation for what happened there. The sequeal that I’ve been sitting on did the same thing...and means that I have to write a third part because clearly I haven’t made this incarnation of Everlark suffer enough hahahahahah! Also I apologize for the number of f-bombs here although to be fair the word Fuck is in the question...

I have a few other examples but that one is the most recent and I feel it is the most egregious of “fuck you’s.” The others are more subtle.

25. hey - what are you working on right now?

Multi-tasking. I’ve got an outstanding efe prompt I’m trying to wrap up, there’s the next chapter of Outside Chance that’s pissing me off royally but that I am determined to finish sometime this century, and an original piece that has a deadline looming and I am nowhere near as close to being done with it as I’d like.

Thanks for the ask, Anon!

[breadedsinner]

Don’t rebagel

I was watching a YT series on Sly Cooper (an old favorite of mine) and even THAT had to take the time to mock Andromeda like jesus fuck will I never know peace. Did everyone with a YT account make some kind of blood pact and that was a term? Fuck.

I guess kudos for not using footage of Sara in pain per usual but the footage the person DID use it’s like....am I supposed to understand why this scene of Sara looking at Vetra is indicative of how the sequeal “got it wrong” or....

[xxangel-bravuraxx]

I remember how my little brother told me there will be a sequeal to Lego Ninjago Movie, and I never believed him. Now I remembered it and search it to the internet, clearly a result was written at Fandom a website and app. When I read it, he was fucking right..

They got some adding characters from the show! I can’t wait, also it will be shown within August 21,2020! SO LONG!!!

[all-things-fic]

when! is! next! fic!

I! dont! know!

Which! is! shit!

Honestly though I have so many little things in the works. I have wedding!harry which I posted a snippet from yesterday, then I have boyfriend!harry where no one know you’re his girlfriend, then I have another piece I’m working on that is a sequeal (but could also be read as its own individual piece) to Praticin’ (I posted a sneak peek of that too). Then I have drummer!harry that I’m working on too and finally, a piece where Harry basically admits he has feelings for you (but this one is basically done but I’m stuck as to whether I should add smut because it Harry the type to fuck instaneously after he’s basically been mega vulnerable - you guys tell me cause I’m undecided). The hardest part is writing these pieces and getting them to be coherent cause they’re all bitty at the minute and honestly, its crappy. Especially when you can see the potential. 

Thank you guys for always checking in though and letting me know you love my writing and want me to continue posting on here. That gives me motivation to sit my little arse down and get cracking.