#it's just a bit too much to describe lol

[circular-jerkular]

Little Is A Dumb Word Anyways

The old man in this case is syscourse. I do not want to start shit with the individual linked here, but I think it's vitally important to discuss how atrocious these sources are, particularly as others have been in agreement with them. Here's a link to the post. Content warning for SA, as it's not tagged. This post isn't here to bitch about the user who posted this, however -- it's to dismantle the ideas they're presenting, which they keep presenting. Do not, for the love of God, fucking contact the user with this. It is blatantly obvious they do not want to hear it, and they've already received enough harassment at this point. They will not be convinced out of their misinformation by harassment, and I am very disappointed in everyone who chose to go after them. You are worse than the misinformation being spread.

I am not writing this for you, OP, and genuinely, if you happen to read this, I hope you (and your thumb, I saw about your hospital visit) are doing alright.

But I figure the general syscourse community needs to be able to discern real information from... what you posted. Because you're trying to pass your opinion off as fact using illegitimate sources that don't actually support what you're saying. And that's something that does need addressed.

TW for, well uh, trauma discussions, lol. Also, please excuse the color coding -- it's needed for me to process just what on Earth I'm writing.

STEP ONE: SOURCE REVIEW

So, let's talk about the sources OP uses here first!

Source One: The Mighty

To start, their first source is from The Mighty, which is a newletter opinion article website dedicated to mental health. This particular article is someone discussing "every type of alter role," though they only actually depict 10. What a lovely article this is, which:

Assumes every system has a host

Discusses types of alters but not really "roles" as depicted in medical literature (such as "animal," "dead," and "demonic," as well as little, as none of those re actually 'roles')

States that demonic alters "come about by the host blaming the abuse on a supernatural being or the abuser using it as a reason to hurt the child." This is not universal and is not even the case for most demonic alters I see.

Uses the term fictive, which is not a medical term for the role. Also doesn't mention factual introjects, which used to be one of the most common types of introjects in systems (or at least were cited as that at one point, I distinctly recall that).

Assumes every system has gatekeepers

Simply put, this is all the opinion of one system, based on their own experiences. They have no sources, they have no claims beyond their own ideas, and while what they say is perfectly valid for their system, it doesn't fit mine. For instance: My demonic alters did not form from supernatural beliefs and have their own actual roles beyond being demonic, I have no host and no gatekeepers, and I have no fictives but I do have fictional introjects (I do not use the term fictive). This article is almost entirely useless to understand my system.

So, what do they say about littles? "Unlike biological children, they can usually understand very complex concepts." So littles are not biological children and can understand complex concepts (yknow, like consent). "They commonly speak and act like children." Commonly, but not always. "They can be a version of the host as a child, the child that was wanted, or just a trauma-free version of the host." None of these options actually describe my littles in the slightest. And the rest of the description is entirely personal information about their own system.

In general, this source is entirely based on personal information and what the individual has gleaned from their experiences with systemhood. I could just as easily post my own "10 types of alters in systems" and include my dreamway part and the two created alters, along with "elf alters," since I have one. I could also depict littles as my own are represented, which would be something like "Unlike biological children, they usually understand very complex concepts. They rarely speak like actual children or act like actual children. They're sometimes younger versions of various parts in the system, or are meant to hold the trauma of maturity. Part of their healing is reclaiming childhood, but part of it is reclaiming the sexual freedom that was stolen from them." Cause, well, that's my experiences.

Source Two: The Dissociative System Fandom Wiki

Their next source is the... fandom... wikipedia for Dissociative Systems. I did not even realize they made a fandom page for my disorder.

Interesting choices all around.

Anyways, I don't think I need to explain how inaccurate a wikipedia page can be. This is not a scholarly source; there aren't any references to back up the ideas presented in this very short article, and the edit history could be literally anyone with internet access. A little themselves could've written this article.

So, what does this source say? "A little is a type of alter that takes on characteristics of a child." Vague, but I suppose that works. "They may appear younger in the innerworld and often act like a little kid." May appear younger, but not necessarily will appear younger. Often act like a little kid, but not always. "Each system's littles are different in what they can and cannot do. Some littles may be able to drive or work while others cannot." Oh. Okay, so every system works differently, and some littles may do adult tasks. "It is important to treat each little differently depending on what they need." Oh, awesome, so this article acknowledges that some littles will need something different. My littles require sexual things in order to heal, so that's awesome that this article acknowledges those cases! "A little often is a traumatized young part that hold onto the memories of abuse the system suffered during that age, but not always." Yep, my littles are not that. Actually, it's mostly me (Rice) who holds onto that! So nice that this article shows that. "A little tends to be between the ages of 0-10 years old, but different systems may use a different age scale to define who is a little in their system." That's the last bit -- acknowledgement that different sysems define littles differently than just 0-10 -- which is nice, since we count our ageslider who is usually 21 when he fronts now, and our 12 (13?) year old.

So, overall, this article can be summarized with, "Every system is different, so treat littles the way they need to be treated for each individual system."

Source Three: Trauma Dissociation Dot Com

Finally, a fairly decent source. At the very least, this website cites the information it provides, which is a damn step up from the last two. Unfortunately, I cannot find much information about the site managers, but I can find that the aim of this website is, essentially, summarizing information from medical sources. Not bad! I would love if someone with more free time could dig into this one a little bit!

The linked article is long. And of course, with any long piece of DID information, I definitely disagree with some of what it posits. For instance: "All the alters together make up the person's whole personality." This idea, presented with this wording, can be incredibly confusing for systems -- this information was presented to me to mean that we all had to fuse together in order to be a true person, when really, it simply means each alter in the system as a whole is responsible for the outward personality presented to others. I do wish it were rephrased!

To keep a long article short, let's see what this says about littles:

"Often nicknamed "littles" or "little ones" are a common type of alter. Several child alters exist in most people with DID." So far, so good; many DID systems experience having littles in their system. "Child alters often talk in a child-like way, but unlike a biological child they can normally understand abstract concepts and long words." Mm, abstract concepts, such as consent. They are unlike biological children. "They are often found to hold memories of child abuse which occurred at around the age the child alter feels he/she is. [7]:18" Often, but not always. Mine do not have those experiences! "Some may have the speech or appearance of a very young child, the youngest being unable to talk, read or write. [7]:18" Glad none of mine are like that, and that it acknowledges that only some child alters are like this. "Child alters may gradually age of may remain the same age. Some child parts may hold feelings of terror and pain, while others may be playful and fun-living and have only positive memories. [16]:60 A child alter may also be an idealized representation of the "perfect child" from the "perfect" family, for example the "good boy". [7]:18" (Emphasis mine). So, repeatedly, this article also acknowledges that all of this is subjective to the specific system's experience. It's an overview and nothing more.

TL;DR: Each article acknowledges that sometimes, littles can understand abstract or mature concepts, beyond what is expected of biological children. The first article shares that littles understand complex concepts. The second article determines that every system's little requires different things. The final article describes common aspects of littles while also acknowledging they are not the same as biological children.

None of these sources agree with OP's assertion that littles cannot consent and must act like children.

Your own sources disagree with you. Each of them suggest that littles do not have to act childlike, and even says most of them do not think like biological children.

STEP TWO: RESEARCH

However satisfying it is to get a good debunk out there, it's also important to correct misinformation by providing new information to fill that void. And, to be frank, two-thirds of those sources were garbage anyways, regardless on if they agree with OP's opinion or not. So, what does the research actually say about littles?

Unfortunately, I do not have the free-time I once did. Even with the grace of delays and snow days that I have received from Mother Nature recently, and the hard work I put in at work to get all my grades completed fully this past month, I just cannot put in the time to find all the various articles on littles and child parts. So why don't I just toss out the big guns?

Source: Therapeutic Hazards of Treating Child Alters as Real Children in Dissociative Identity Disorder

This paper was published in the Journal of Trauma and Dissociation, volume five, and was written by Shielagh R. Shusta-Hochberg, a clinical psychologist who worked in NY at the time of publishing. She now has a private practice in Naples, Florida. The article focuses on the treatment of littles in therapeutic settings.

The article opens up with a basic description of how DID forms, as well as the dangers of misdiagnosis and mistreatment. It's a lovely review of the horrors of having this disorder. The author also mentions how therapists need to be gentle while also setting firm boundaries -- something I've seen echoed frequently in treatment guidelines.

Then, we get to the parts about child alters.

"These child alters can be identified by any or all of the following: childlike vocal tone and pitch, sing-song or stilted speech cadence, simple or naïve vocabulary, body language and posture including widely open eyes with raised brows, frankness or timidity, brief attention span and rapidly shifting focus, behavior such as playing with office objects, and childish affective tone." Shockingly, even though I do not experience littles who act like children, my littles do fall into some of these categories. They do use more childlike vocals, and they do have open eyes and body language that is different from the adult parts of me. Notably, the author does not say a little must be these things to be classified as a little; only that they can be identified in this way. She continues, "Putnam (1989) has observed, “Child personalities may be easily recognized by their nervous fidgeting, movement overflow, and childlike gestures (e.g., rubbing the nose with the back of the hand)” (p. 122)." I have to disagree with Putnam here, however, as more often, my adult parts display these traits -- due to our autistic tendencies. Which, could open up a very interesting conversation about how autistic adults are treated like children, just like littles are... anyways. "Child alters are so common in cases of DID that that every clinician treating the disorder, however briefly, is likely to have encountered them. Child and infant personality states often outnumber the adult aspects of a patient’s system." Mmm, I would love a source on that. Unfortunately, there is none -- poor authorship there imo.

I like what she includes next, though, so much that I'll include the entire paragraph in full: "It is important to remember that the patient is an adult, despite the childlike ego-states. These parts are not actual children. I am in agreement with Ross (1997) who is of the opinion that “child alters are not packets of childness retained in a surrounding sea of adult psyche. They are stylized packets of adult psyche. . . . I hold the child alters responsible for their behavior in the same way as the adult host personality”(p. 147)." Once again, as everyone has been saying for the past day, littles in adult bodies are still adults. They are not actual children! Ross treats littles with the expectation of adult responsibility, and I think that's really important.

The article continues with how to explain DID to various parts and have the patient accept the diagnosis, as that's a common struggle. It doesn't hold much bearing on this conversation, so I'll skip it for brevity, but I do so love the technique this article describes of window blinds. But then. The author goes in a wild left turn, one that honestly I think my therapist could benefit from hearing. Essentially, she posits that, since child parts are often seen as so different from the system -- oftentimes with childlike mannerisms, for instance -- then, "The clinician unbends and reacts to the “child” in familiar ways, responding with more warmth and simpler speech. Thus, child self-states elicit and reinforce nurturing and care-taking responses on the part of therapists." Basically, treating them like children makes the therapy less effective.

The case studies (as in, true experiences of DID systems) she presents where therapy has been made less effective -- or even completely denied and impossible for the patient -- are horrifying to me, from an outside perspective. She describes cases wherein:

A patient stormed out because a new therapist would not hold her child parts when they fronted, insisting that her old therapist would do so.

A patient breaks down at the suggestion from a friend that they go watch an animated cartoon movie that has monsters in it, as her child parts cannot handle that.

A patient completely socially isolates because she spends so much money on her littles that she cannot afford her rent, and she lies to her friends about who the toys are for.

A therapist throws a child-part party for her DID patients, because it's "repairative" for the childhood that was lost. Despite the adult parts of the patients feeling disturbed by this, they go along with it, retreating deeper into the consciousness to avoid the situation. Then the littles are upset that the experience turns into a therapy session, rather than a fun party.

And, lastly, a description of a woman who falls prey to SA due to an older gentleman emotionally manipulating her younger parts.

All of these occur because the system (or even the therapist) is treating their littles like actual children.

This is horrific to me as someone who did have parts who we treated exactly like this. Our littles -- yes, the ones we frequently talk about being adults and having sexual desires and who do adult things -- used to be child parts through and through. Sie could not function as an adult when we were in high school, and she only started to get there when we were in college. Which... okay, when we were in high school, we weren't even an adult. So that makes some sense.

But Sie absolutely was 100% the type of child part that is frequently described by those who isolate littles and treat them like children. And the fact is, isolating littles and treating them exactly the same as children is harmful to many systems, and can prove to be a barrier to healing.

OUGH! STILL MORE TO READ. Speedrunning it now, the next section discusses treating littles like, well, part of a system. "The work may involve bringing the patient around toward a more family systems approach toward the DID (Chu, 1998), stressing that the safety of the “children” is ultimately in the domain of the patient herself, and not that of her therapist, psychiatrist, parents, partner, employer or friends. The fact that there is only one body despite feelings to the contrary is sometimes a very difficult truth to accept for DID patients." I repeat: It is the job of the patient, and not anyone else, to ensure the safety of littles.

The next section of the article discusses real-world safety concerns with littles, which I feel like are discussed frequently already, but really hones in on the fact that it is the system's responsibility (and nobody elses) to be responsible for taking care of their system. Examples include:

Switching while driving to a child part who cannot drive

A child part forcing a patient to go to an appointment, which worsened physical pain

A patient (it doesn't specify a child part, but I can assume that based on the topic of this article) suffers bad falls from the littles attempting things beyond their capabilities

Not an example, but she also mentions medication issues and how it might be needed to have a medication manager.

The author of the article specifically calls out that adult parts should be in control for difficult tasks that require them, and I fully agree. Until a child part is capable of handling adult tasks, then adult parts should be the ones handling things.

Next, she discusses re-parenting, and frankly, I fully agree here too. The parenting has to come from within, not from a therapist -- and definitely not strangers online dictating what littles should do. The article does push toward fusion (in this case, labeling it integration) of parts, and she addresses that many systems view this as a sort of death. "The host may misinterpret integration as death, saying something such as, “We love the kids. We’re never going to integrate. It’s not fair that they have to die.”" Treating littles like children would definitely contribute to that fear.

And then.... Fuck, man, the article rips my heart out by including a statement from littles within a patient's own system -- a patient whose child parts were repeatedly treated as children, over and over again. Here's the whole quote.

"It’s hard for the bigger parts to take us seriously. It’s hard to be out in a grownup body, especially in the early days of awareness of the DID. The protectors want to protect us too much now from reality, and we can deal with it now. They are overprotective and there’s no need to be. We are as much a part of the whole system as the other parts and want to be equal. As the walls come down, we can share our childlike joy with those (older parts) and they won’t close us out. We can tolerate their seriousness. And we’re able to comfort them, not only them comforting us. They can hold us but we can comfort them, because they need to be loved, comforted, or forgiven. Barriers are coming down. It’s mutual.”

I fully suggest reading that full article.

TL;DR: Treating littles as children in a system can be incredibly harmful for the patient, in many different ways. In the end, it is up to the individual system to reparent themselves, and it is not anyone else's job -- and, really, no one else's right -- to speak over that system's functions.

STEP THREE: PERSONAL REMARKS

As much as I would have loved to find more, discuss more, and go deep in depth with this research, I just... can't. I don't have the time anymore. And genuinely, I don't expect others to.

What I do expect is that others don't try to pass off their opinions as fact. And the thing is, regardless of how many times you post "It's just an opinion," that does not negate that you then attempted to back up that opinion as if it was supported by medical literature. You attempted to say that your opinion was supported by medical facts. And the fact is, the medical literature disagrees with your opinion, with sources to back it up.

I want to address some of the common things I see from systems who try to dictate how other littles act.

"But your littles are vulnerable." One, not all littles, according to medical studies. Two, isn't the goal to heal and make it so that my littles are not so vulnerable as to be a danger/dysfunction for me? Isn't the goal to make them less vulnerable? How do you propose we do that without also engaging with safe risk?

"But your littles aren't safe." One, that is for every single system to decide for themselves. Two, the Dignity of Risk is in effect here, in that it's okay if someone else gets hurt. Yes, even badly hurt. It's not the concern of anyone but the system if they get hurt.

"But my littles/my friend's littles-" Stop. Regardless of any trauma you or your friend may have, it does not impact anyone else. Your trauma is not my trauma. It is vastly, vastly different.

"If your partner fucks your littles, they're a pedophile." Pedophilia is specifically attraction to a child's body. I will not be posting any pictures of my body on here for fear of the Ban Hammer, but you have to understand that I am not a child. Even if my littles were to fuck my partner, my partner would be attracted to an adult body. At most you could say my partner would be interested in... IDK, a higher pitched voice??? (Side note, because I've never actually mentioned this: My partner has absolutely 0 interest in fucking my littles and we've discussed at length how they'd be a little weirded out by it.) Side side note: as a victim of CSA and whose parents used their disorders to try to make them feel incapable of love, stop fucking boiling the term pedophile down to "someone who has sex with someone I deem too childlike to have sex." I'm tired of my trauma being dismissed so you can use a buzzword loudly.

"Letting your littles consent makes you a predator." So, when I was 13-16 and [REDACTED], [REDACTED], and [REDACTED] because I thought I could consent, does that make me a predator? Are CSA victims predators because they thought they could consent? How am I being a predator to myself? My littles are me. Your arguments make absolutely no sense and are wildly offensive to CSA survivors.

"I'm going to judge you for it." K. Do you make it a regular habit to judge people's recoveries? Cause like. I highly suggest you take a class in Not Giving A Shit, perhaps a gardening class so grass could be caressed by your tender hands, and maybe, just maybe, consider either therapy or self help for your own issues, if you haven't yet. You should really concern yourself more with YOU than with judging other people.

"I'm going to report you for hurting yourself."

I am a 27 year old queer individual. I am a person who has a loving spouse. We have sex. Do you regularly report (and to whom?) adults who have sex? Do you regularly look at people and say, "Actually, your relationship is going to cause you harm because I said it is, so I'm reporting you for your safety!"

In that case, I should be reporting every single syscourser, because syscourse harmed me, so clearly everyone who is in the tags must be self-harming, right?

I think that's the funniest part of all of this. In a dark humor kinda way. See, letting my littles access sexual content -- letting Sie write smut, and letting LED embrace sexuality, and letting Gazi (whom we are now comfortable talking about after doing good good therapy about it) enjoy and take pleasure in her sexual desires -- has let us heal from our CSA and feelings of insecurity.

Without letting them have that, we would have continued to hold resentment for myself. For who I am. For "what I am because of what they did to us."

You are trying to tell me that my recovery is secretly harming me, and that the medical world agrees with you. And frankly, you have no right to lie to me like that.

... But then you look at the syscourse thing and go, "Yeah, no, it's totally normal and okay and up to the individual if they're harming themselves."

Pick your lane and stay in it!!!

Ough. Thank you for reading, if you got that far. Two very long nights and a very, very patient partner who is waiting for me upstairs. I'm ending the post here, with a reminder to everyone to please be respectful. Respect other systems privacy. Respect their rights to dignity and risk. Respect them as people. And for fucks sake, let littlecourse end. (It's a dumb word anyways).

[tmos-time]

okay wait maybe i will doodle conceptual werepire erisol late as hell and even let it post to tumblr in a way you have to click it to properly read. as a treat

[angelmush]

starting to feel my enjoyment of cooking seeping back in after a long period of intense burnout that had me really slogging along preparing meals with gritted teeth for a good month there. i credit the return of this spark to the much needed break i took on our 3 day vacation that resulted in us eating solely theme park food. while delicious, in all its greasy overpriced glory, i found myself missing the kitchen. so last night for dinner i made heavily spiced chicken wings with crushed peppercorns and garam masala that rendered slowly in its own fat while roasting in the oven, resulting in flavorful charred crisp skin and a really juicy bite. we picked them clean over steamed rice with lime and scallions. i also baked a loaf of marbled pumpkin and dark chocolate bread yesterday for my neighbor as a thank you for doing me a favor last week. it looked delicious. the crumb was tender and plush and velvety, the spiced ginger molasses pumpkin batter swirling alongside the bitter dark chocolate espresso batter, with puddles of dark chocolate bubbling across its top. it looked so lovely i whipped up a second one for us to have for ourselves that's in the oven now, i think it could be a really good breakfast pastry for us this week.

[channie-binnie]

I swear every time I see anything relating to ATEEZ my eyes would always go to this man

BYE OMG WHY IS HE SO BEAUTIFUL????

This is a different type of ethereal beauty because wtf

He is a fairy 🧚

[ganondoodle]

(probably very problematic opinion on the english voices in totk

watching skittybitty's totk video for the 27864269th time and i STILL get jumpscared by the english voices, anytime anyone ever opens their mouth it just sounds like they took some random person they caught on the street to monotonely voice a line in one take, and sometimes one of them rly likes to pretend their are doing a voice but it just sounds like a little child imitating their granpa or someone trying to overact to their toddler, its especially sad for ganondorf, its hard to hear any of them for me but gan i start laughing and have to skip it bc thats NOT gan, thats me doing my worst evil guy impression, or zelda, thats not zelda talkign thats me doing a sarcastic uwu lil princess voice

to be clear, i have nothing agaisnt the people voicing them and i know people like the guy doing the gan voice but none of them fit at all and none feel like they are actually coming from the character, much more so you muting your TV and talking over the people on screen making shit up as you go for shits and giggles, i dont know what happened here, why are these SO bad, i listen to plenty of movies and games and whatnot in english and i only ever had a similar problem with the english voices of ghibli movies -though that could be bc im jsut so used to the german ones, which are fantastic- or maybe an extremely old game that was just weird on its own even

i take no pride in hating the voices, espeically knowing how badly voice actors are treated and often replaced with some shitty celebtrity, but i truly do not get why they are so bad, the voices themselves never rly fit, and even if it would be passable, they are all speaking in a way where it either sounds like they are some guy sitting next to you reading a line for the first time or overemphasizing so much it sounds like someone playing pretend with toddlers

and its not in an indie game where the devs did their best to voice people themselves bc they didnt have the money, this is nintendo, how is it still like that, bc even the ones returning from botw, are STILL just as bad, i dont know if that can all be the fault of the actors, its so weird to me

and it makes it even harder for me to believe that people take this game as seriously as they do or as emotionally affecting bc a, if not THE, biggest part of the fandom is made up of english speakers who would probably never even think about trying a different language

...anyway, i needed to say that at some point)

[alangdorf]

Sorryyyy for dropping off the face of the earth; got kinda shy after that last post but mostly I’ve just been writing though I cannot guarantee that any of that will ever be finished (also I’m very insecure about my writing AAAH). Figure I might as well post the valentines I had done (like two months late lol); interestingly this turned into more of a hand lettering exercise than I was expecting lol

[unma]

@notwowee requested: Mettaton

There is so much to say about this robot but let me start off with my initial thoughts on him.

For like, a good good while I wasn't sure what Mettaton's gender was? In all fairness I was raised in a hella conservative country and Undertale was the first piece of media I'd ever interacted with that even depicted queer people, so for a bit I assumed the pink meant he was probably female. That wasn't helped when I discovered that Mettaton was Blooky's cousin with the locked pink house.

Luckily for me he was discussed enough that I eventually realized my mistake before I ever had to admit it. That would have been emabrassing.

Anyway I absolutely adored this robot and his style, his quizzes were cool and he had the most charming attitude that made me smile whenever he was there (not to mention the quizzes were funny, too). Don't get me started on the musical. Or when he hits you with the puzzle you've almost certainly forgotten the rules for. Hotland is very well done, even if some people dislike having to deal with Alphys's messages there (personally I thought those were neat).

Despite all this I have to admit that I initially thought he was a lot more shallow than expected. I didn't realize he was the type of person to actually care about his love ones, and I probably would've believed anyone who told me he treated Alphys like shit (okay maybe I'd have been a little skeptical, but you get the point).

Nowadays, I'm honestly pretty fond of his relationship with Alphys, as he's probably the one person she relied on the most during her various fuck ups. Also, his... his worries about Alphys in the ending where he becomes king... ah, that still makes me tear up a little. You can tell he cares and regrets not being a better friend to her.

This is only partly related but I dislike Papyton. For no reason, really, I just don't like it, and I disliked having to see it so often (until I learnt filters existed, anyway). I couldn't tell you why; the ship's perfectly fine. Yet if I see a fic with it I click out. Oh well, maybe I'll get over it one day.

I could totally see a world in which I become as attached to Mettaton as I am to Cagliostro from GBF. I'm not trans by any stretch (perhaps I'm non-binary, given I don't actually care much about my own gender in the slightest, but for now I'll stick with cis+ until I actually feel like I should consider it more) but I do have admiration for characters like them who strive to be their best selves in terms of appearance and are absolutely confident in it. I suppose if I was born a girl, I'd be more attached to Mettaton than Cagliostro, but eh. Who knows.

Mettaton's importance (or rather, lack of) in the genocide run is saddening, though I have come to terms with it because in terms of the game's writing it's a pretty damn good decision. I do love that he got fangames giving him an actual battle though, it's lovely to see him actually get that chance to fight back.

I feel the need to restate once more that I adore his relationship with Alphys, and seeing works explore that relationship is always great. I think Mettaton is one of the least fan-explored of the game's main cast, so it'd be wonderful to see more works. It's a shame I'm too busy thinking about Sans, Frisk and Chara to do that myself, though.

One more thing: Until I wrote this post, I always wondered why Mettaton didn't just fight the human in his indestructible body instead, especially in the genocide route. I mean, it's obviously because his other forms are the ones actually designed for human eradication, of course, but I also like to think it's because he likes those forms a lot more than his box form, as he sees them as a proper expression of who he truly is. I just think that's neat. Sure, he's indestructible when stuck in the closet, hiding who he truly is, but it's restricting, and wouldn't you prefer to simply be you? Even if it could mean you could get hurt? I think that question is somewhat inseparable from Mettaton's character as a whole, as his overly confident and theatrical personality could perhaps be one answer to that. It's fine if you get hurt a little, because in the end you'll be much happier for it.

[maideninorange]

(Fic Request) FumiIyo go out for ice cream.

I put way too much thought into the existence of ice cream within Mugenri for a simple fluff with light angst fic lol. Why am I even surprised, knowing me?

(TW: Just References to Iyo-san's Tragic Past for this one. Because this is me writing this lol. Otherwise, it's a fairly straightforward fluff fic.)

The Ice Cream Merchant

The ice cream merchant only comes around once every five year.

A shadowy legend to children everywhere, the merchant goes from village to village, region to region, distributing a strange cold, sweet cuisine those who had visited them had only called "ice cream". With colder sweets being quite the rarity this far away from Devanagara for the peasantry, the merchant often draws in crowds by the tenfolds. For some, it will be the only time they get to taste anything like it.

...Or at least, that's how Fumikado had described it to them. It was also why Iyozane was not back home lounging around in the river, and instead standing behind a long crowd of children and curious adults.

So far, Iyozane couldn't see what all the fuss was about. This guy looked like just another merchant with their bright and colorful stand, if one that specialized in what may be a pretty rare product. But even with that in mind, they weren't holding their breath.

Merchants are complete and utter parasites, funneling away money that could've gone to hardworking individuals for themselves. And so far, this one seemed to be no different than the rest of the lot. If it weren't for Fumikado's eager pleading, they doubt they'd be here to begin with.

As if sensing Iyozane's silent seething, Fumikado gently nudged them, snapping them out of their straying thoughts. (The fact that their definition of "gently" sent them a few sun forward probably helped with that too.)

"Look, I know you don't like merchants, but this guy isn't like those other parasites, I promise! Their treats are to die for!"

"...So far, all I'm seeing is gaudy colors and lots of children. Feels kinda shady to me. And what is this 'ice cream' treat, anyway?"

"One of the best things you'll ever taste! So come on! Trust me! When's the last time I was irresponsible with our funds anyway?"

Just last week, with the "brilliant" idea to spend hundreds on an expensive shawl I saw. It wasn't even made of real gold! Iyozane wanted to say, but by the time they opened their mouth, Fumikado had already taken off.

...And by the cries of children that just rang out, right into the middle of the line. Iyozane let out a loud, put-upon sigh as they trudged after them.

"Sorry..." They mumbled towards the angry people now behind them, tugging their haori closer. It was the least they could offer, knowing how rude and impatient their boss can be. That sort of thing tended to make people angry, didn't it?

When it wasn't done by a royal it seemed, so some of their siblings had claimed every now and then to them in a past as distant as a bad memory. But Iyozane wasn't a royal anymore. They didn't even get to indulge that privilege even once before they lost it.

The dark thought washed over them like a plague. They turned to berate them for cutting in line, as the alternative was letting it weigh on their mind. But then Fumikado beamed at them, and the poison died from their lips.

"You're gonna love it Iyozane! I promise! I know all the best flavors!" They reassured them, "Trust me! I am the seer of ice cream!"

Considering Fumikado's track record when it comes to foresight, that did not inspire the confidence they had intended such a statement would. Still, it was a little hard to be overcome with dread when their strong and dignified boss is bouncing on their heels like a giddy little kid.

Okay, incredibly hard actually. It was hard to stay nervous with them behaving like that. Iyozane lowered their head, looking at the ground and their wobbly feet, the tension eased slightly from their shoulder.

Perhaps it was from Fumikado skipping ahead in line, perhaps it was their own thoughts siphoning away the time, but it felt like Iyozane had only blinked before they were both at the front of the line. They had to rub their eyes at the feeling when they were suddenly met with the sight of the bright pink wooden counter.

Fumikado held up a couple fingers to the smiling person behind the counter, "A box of mochi please! Give us chocolate, vanilla, and matcha for Iyozane here!"

The merchant nodded, "Coming right up. Your enthusiasm is much appreciated, but next time, please wait your turn. You might make the much more patient children cry."

"Oh." They glanced nervously behind themself, as if to check. Iyozane couldn't help but follow their gaze, as they so often did. The children directly behind them looked more annoyed than anything. But it seemed even the mere thought was enough weight on Fumikado's conscience, as they swiftly turned back to bow apologetically, "...My bad!"

The merchant gave a light chuckle, holding out a small basket full of little mochi. Woah, that was fast!

"It's alright! Just remember for the future."

Fumikado tilted their head forward as they took the basket with both hands, "Will do!"

The merchant waved them off, and just like that their little trip to such an odd merchant stand was over.

Iyozane didn't stop reeling until Fumikado found them a nice bench to sit on. They then tilt the basket forward so they can see.

"Go on! Try one! I stake a claim upon one of the chocolate ones!"

Iyozane looked the mochi over. They saw brown, green, and white at its bottom. They could tell the green ones were obviously the matcha ones, and Fumikado plucking up a brown one indicated it was the chocolate flavor. So the white ones were this "vanilla" flavor? They're kinda curious about that one, actually...

Fumikado popped the chocolate mochi into their mouth, "...Mm!!! I missed you, chocolate!"

Iyozane chuckled a little at this display. They've actually never got the opportunity to try anything with the label of "chocolate" before now. In the distant past, they only heard it in passing. Mitori had told them extensively about it in such a way that left their mouth watering. None of their wardens attendants would let them try it, saying it will rot their perfect teeth or make them sick. They weren't allowed to eat any sweets, actually. But chocolate especially.

But the present is not the past. They are no longer a lonely bird in a cage, yearning to experience the horizons beyond their window. They are a free person (if an indebted one), and able to decide for themself what to put in their own body. And if that thing rots their teeth or makes them sick?

Then let it!!!

And before they could let it stop them, Iyozane reaches into the basket, takes a green mochi between their fingers, and takes a large bite.

...Bliss.

It was definitely cold to the touch, but it was very sweet, like all the green teas they were familiar with. A touch of bitterness, which balances out the sweetness. It hurt their teeth to chew, but it was absolutely worth it.

Iyozane heard a chuckle beside them, "I take it you like the matcha flavor?"

They swallowed, smiling earnestly now, "...Guess so! Wasn't expecting it to be so cold though."

"Well duh! It's called ice cream, you dummy! It would probably be called somethin' like fire cream if it was hot!"

Iyozane rolled their eyes, "That is the worst name for a sweet I've ever heard."

"Well, I personally think it sounds pretty cool myself!" Fumikado huffed.

"Whatever makes you feel better," was all Iyozane had to say to that, directly before popping the rest of the mochi into their mouth.

Wowie...They had no idea how they went their whole life without experiencing this. How many sweets have they missed out on? How many people even got to try anything like this, knowing how unreliable Fumikado can be at times?

As if reading their mind, Fumikado leaned back, inhaling a matcha mochi they plucked up when Iyozane wasn't paying attention, "Rumor has it that the ice cream merchant is from the Outside World. Brought this sweet with, and now goes around Mugenri selling it."

"Mm," Iyozane nodded in agreement. They go for a so-called "vanilla" mochi. They took a bite as Fumikado continued.

"I can't remember who told me that rumor. Probably a servant some long time ago... but either way I knew we couldn't miss this! A shame Tsugumi didn't want to come..."

"For a rumor, it certainly has some merit to it, with a merchant stand looking like that," Iyozane pointed over at the stand in question, swallowing the rich sweet iciness in their mouth. In the distance, children rotated in and out of the line for the garish pink stand. Some clutched upside-down cone shaped cookies with brightly colored, larger versions of the filling within their own mochis.

"Hm...Good point, my dear servant! I suppose even a moron can be right every now and then."

Please don't confuse me for yourself. We walked past this stand three times trying to look for it, Iyozane sneered inwardly, too busy finishing off their vanilla mochi to actually jeer.

Not that it mattered for too much longer, for Fumikado's next words nearly made their heart leap out of their chest, "But I digress! Thanks again for coming with me today, Iyozane! It really means a lot to me!"

Iyozane had to do a double take at that. Fumikado? Sincerely thanking someone? Not their odd roundabout way of showing gratitude? They never thought they'd see the day.

In fact, Iyozane isn't used to gratitude like this at all. In another life, all of those suffocating expectations were just that: expectations. You were supposed to fulfill them, or otherwise be punished. Also, Fumikado is their boss. If anything, a lack of gratitude was to be expected.

So with that in mind, one could certainly pardon Iyozane for their flustered reaction. They fan themself with their hand, sweat beading down their forehead, and thankful the blazing heat of summer disguised their anxiety well. Although, their voice probably gave it away when they heard themself stammer a smidge:

"Uh...You-You're welcome, Fumikado-san. I mean...it's not like I had much else to do today, right?"

Scratch that. They sounded very, very nervous to their own ears. Not good not good not good-

However, if Fumikado noticed, they certainly didn't say anything. They just crossed their leg, rubbing the back of their head as if nervous themself.

"N-No! I really mean it! Whenever I got the chance to visit the ice cream merchant here, old Pops, may he rest in peace, never let me go with anyone. Well, it's not like I had many to go with to begin with. Just Chouki, but..."

Their pointy ears twitch, like most youkai do when anxious. Unbelievable. But like...in a good way? Fumikado sounded in over their head over taking them to somewhere as simple as the marketplace, and yet Iyozane couldn't help but find it weirdly endearing in its own way. The way they chuckle awkwardly was doing strange, terrible things to their heart and makes their legs go weak, and they couldn't begin to comprehend why.

They hid it well, in their opinion. They just raised an eyebrow, saying, "So you're saying you're lonely?"

"Not lonely!" they huff, "Just...in need of companionship for this very special occasion is all!"

"...So lonely?"

"No!!! You're utterly impossible sometimes, Iyozane!"

Iyozane had to cackle a bit at that. "Why of course I am. If I wasn't, we wouldn't get anything done. We'd probably still be terribly lost right now if it weren't for me."

"Don't be so arrogant. I'm the one in charge, remember?"

"Then act like it."

"Okay! Sheesh. Even emperors make mistakes, don't they?"

There was no malice in either's words. Iyozane felt a wide grin had graced their face, and Fumikado was beaming equally as much. They both laugh once more.

"Why yes. Yes they do. Would appreciate if you had a better sense of direction somedays though," Absentmindedly, Iyozane reaches into the basket for the last mochi.

And that's when, ever so suddenly, fingers, big and slightly sharp from retracted talons, brushed against their own. Iyozane let out a small yelp of surprise as they both grabbed for the little sweet, raising it up.

"Oh...Uh, whoops?" Fumikado offered awkwardly, shrugging.

It took a moment for Iyozane to respond. They were too busy staring at the chocolate mochi between their hands. If they moved just the wrong way, they could easily end up gripping Fumikado's hand instead. The thought didn't quite disturb them as much as they'd expect it to.

"Um...It's the last one...I've never had chocolate anything before..." they eventually mumble, looking away.

"Seriously?! Not even a little chip?!"

"No. Locked away for most of my life, remember?" Iyozane gently chided.

"Oh right! Uh...So how about we share it then?"

"Share it?" Iyozane parroted back at them. They looked back over to see Fumikado tug at the mochi between their fingers.

"Yeah! I get half, you get half! Think of it as generosity on my part, as a token of appreciation."

"You just want me to try chocolate, don't you?"

"And so what if I do? It's a crime against sweets for you to never have even tried it!"

That sounded like something Mitori would say as they attempted to slip them some. The guards would always catch them back then, alas.

But that was then and this is now. And right now, that sounded delightful. Iyozane nodded, their hand clenching the wooden bench beneath their hand.

And then they split the last mochi in two and ate their respective halves. The taste made all the needless struggle all the more worth it.

"...So what did you think? Was it everything you expected?" Fumikado asked, their mouth still full.

Iyozane waited a moment as they swallowed. It...wasn't quite how Mitori had built the taste up to be (though it could just be because it is cold), but it was well worth it in the end. It almost melted in their mouth, even (albeit rather literally).

"Hm...I'd say so! Can definitely see why Mitorin always loved the stuff now, at least."

"Oh come on! No shock and awe at the taste?" Fumikado pleaded.

They shook their head, "What were you expecting? I'm nowhere near as dramatic as you typically are, you know that."

"Why excuse you!!! I'm as expressive as an emperor should be!" They crossed their arms, pouting.

"Which is really dramatic apparently, but who am I to judge?" Iyozane couldn't help their snicker at the aggravated shout Fumikado let out at that, proving their point.

But that's Fumikado for you. Loud, boisterous, and more than a little dense. There's a certain charm to them though. Otherwise, they wouldn't have stuck with them as long as they have. Still doesn't explain the heart racing whenever they see them smile like that though.

But that's a question for another day. The two just chattered and babbled amongst themselves until the sun set and they had to head home. It wasn't a very interesting story, in Iyozane's mind, but it was well worth it all the same. Tsugumi had missed out! And neither of them could wait to tell them all the ways how.

Psst! Hey! I'm taking requests now! Feel free to drop one in my inbox after reading the rules here (might need to go on desktop first though)!

[tomurakii]

To me the non-op trans experience is. Designing a bg3 player character with the opposite sex characteristics than you were born with and then feeling guilty the whole time

[dadbots]

August… time to get spooky.

[unproduciblesmackdown]

spinning off of "winston being fantastically (literally fantastical (literally related to fantasy)) clairvoyant (he is also figuratively clear-sighted / figuratively preternaturally perceptive just like, in the show. which is where this all comes from. plus him calling himself cassandra, always seeing the future. he really has always / continued to be thusly) and taylor literally has a broadsword" type fun and games that are very loosey goosey b/c billions aus go spinning off into their own separate dimensions super easily when billions canon is so rooted in its specific Stage Settings of modern day US law n finance battles in the office, sidewalks, and eateries:

the thought of winston & tuk and winston gets to be a fairy. jokes, please. changelings are right there with the common theory of "was this to explain disabilities & go 'something could go Wrong and the baby's not a Person and get rid of that,' unlike nowadays where people do that but go 'b/c that baby's disabled'" and also one goes Thinking Emoji about how apparently New Mothers and New Brides were susceptible along with New Borns to become swapped out with a fairy and now something's wrong with them and get rid of that. had to be about Something given that people apparently did act on changeling lore and martin luther is taking a stance like yeah another thesis, it's important to kill them And okay to kill them b/c they don't even have a soul anyways. okay thanks martin luther....meanwhile also witchcraft and getting after anybody for that too. and fairies generally as Problems, the etymology going back to [fate], the range like "ooh hehe causing funny little inconveniences just because" to more so "yeah they could cause life-threatening illness for that" and "yeah they'll just kill you"....and i think fairy/fey as respective noun/adj re: being gay is of Unknown Origin, like "gay" also is. and you never know, if being fey is like, well something's not right and it's dangerous, whether this is the inspiration....though by the time this slang starts turning up, and even in the time of prior possible origins / the roots in other usages / potential inspirations, theoretical actual fairies are surely becoming more Fanciful, this being around like, the 18th century, rather than "here's martin luther telling you to immolate! that! baby!"

but that like, you can have it all ways out here. the Always Small fairies i think being a later kind of victorian deal, rather than "fairies are shapeshifters & can become animals e.g. & May have a 'tiny little inches or millimeters high mode' but that's just a mode & the fact that generally though they just look like people, maybe with some stylistic variations and tells, means watch out" and i think wings came up ever, across yknow the various centuries and regions of folklore out here lmao and possible origins / influences yet further across time & regions & cultures, but again "always small and always winged" being a very relatively modern victorian deal. but we can draw on that to be sure when, additionally, a Potential mutual [would prefer to avoid] between fairies and humans (as opposed to "if your house or some shit is on a fairy path bestie just build them another door to walk straight through cuz they're Gonna") becomes "no, fairies mostly avoid humans more than the other way around" type of imbalance of any threat means like, well hey sure, the Real Self could then become a tiny little magical guy having fun with wing designs who is shy and elusive but maybe another fun little guy can accidentally become aware but then have a secret little hidden friendship hmm....

but then also just thinking of the version where you just look exactly like everyone else and live amongst them, changeling style. and potentially don't Know you're different, or at least not Why, b/c this is a "from birth" thing like hmmm ya don't say. and the whole thread where in some folklore fairies Aren't nonhuman, the difference is only about the separate fairy Realm you live in, which is different, with like "yeah sometimes fairies come from people who died." and alongside / overlapping with everything like "yeah you could disappear for a few days to that realm and then be like 'don't wanna / can't talk about it'" and whatever all various like "watch out for the liminal and unknowingly wandering or being taken into the fairy world and Then watch out for communing with them b/c then you could be Permanently affected, or permanently continually affected or vulnerable, or just stuck there. and we wouldn't want that" like well don't let them know your name but maybe try to find out their names b/c you can get at them in turn that way, don't get in on any food, don't get in on any parties. though variations, sometimes people getting whisked away for particular tasks that apparently Only humans can do. or forever potential for helpful / sympathetic fairy interventions in life. like fairies raising humans b/c their human parents were awful

also, that some classic Tests for "is your baby a changeling?" were very like, "well i guess if we drowned or burned that person and they just died about it....our bad," in the way that like apparently the way to go could be "put them in the fire. where they'll either burn or fly out the chimney." or "start going tf beating them with objects. so that they go away" like and they never stop beating winston with hammers out here!! or the classic "idk abandon them in the forest so fairies can take them back" like well they do also like [i prefer to pretend winston doesn't exist / forget that he does] lmao. this isn't really related. just the ol "ballpeen hammers kind of goated when it comes to putting someone in a sack and beating them to death" factor out here for your local changelings

also sure thinking of like ohh watch out for winston and his gayass Realm he exists in which is wrong and not of our own and potentially will forever change you with its gayass ways. uh oh don't get corrupted into a whole other powerful magical mode of existence if you commune with him in some deep fundamental nourishing ways. oh nooo watch ouuuut....one of the "you might be a changeling if" moments being "when they think they're alone do they act up?? dance??" like yeah i'm stimming and bursting into motion and making noises and existing wrong when i think i'm alone. Old Souls (theory as well that newborn changelings were secretly elderly fairies)....existence in the Fey Realm just making you different and out of place huh. and it would just be a guy though like either [undetectable except by already trying to kill them] and/or [actually just a human, fairies are just humans, fairies b/c they're in/from the fairy realm] but uh oh don't let him corrupt you. don't go hanging out with him and talking with him and partaking in his activities and embracing his ways. you'll be changed. you'll never fit in around here and be able to do things right ever again. we'll have to start beating you with hammers. and all for what. your weird gayass little guy and a whole possible other dimension of existence? vs all This? smh

[fivefeetfangirl]

@ those that make amv's (not fanvids) how do you guys manage to fit so many seasons into one (1) amv??? im struggling so much to not focus on like one plotline from certain seasons

[stinkbeck]

cant believe i lost myself completely for 3 months because i internalized the dumbass comments of like 2 absolute morons.

[keeps-ache]

mmm metals,

[darkspace7]

[ And To Tell Their Ghosts We'd've Still Loved Them If They Were Here ]

(Or: a collection of working backstory notes + some mini-fic for my Twisted Wonderland Yuusona OC)

[ Ramshackle Dorm ]

-------x-------Alex White/Akihito Yukishima\雪島 秋人 -------x-------

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x- Class: N/A (NRC Custodial Staff) Birthday: January 18 (Capricorn) Age: 27 Height: 158.75cm/5'2" Dominant Hand: Right Favourite Subject: Art Hobby: Fiber Arts Likes: Various Forms Of Storytelling Media Dislikes: Too Many To List... Favourite Food: Smoked Salmon Least Favourite Food: Tomato Juice Special Skill: Exorcism & Purification of Wayward Souls

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Don't let his short stature and quiet demeanor fool you. This tired and jaded twenty-something with a penchant for snark and heavily-repressed anger issues originates from a variation of Earth where all sort of malicious things lay frothing under the cover of night. It was up to individuals like him -[ Exorcists ]- to keep these entities under control and out of the public eye.

Because not only were the things that went bump in the night real, they also clearly wanted you dead.

[His appearance at the onset of arrival to Twisted Wonderland after giving the rather sketchy Headmage of Night Raven Collage his working pseudonym "Alex White". Don't be fooled by his gentle looks, he's an absolute feral opossum of a man.]

"Did you know that both [ blood & salt ] make a very versatile base for talismans and other such anti-magical warding items? No? Well pay attention now, it seems like that you're about to receive a practical demonstration."

(As demonstrated in the image above talismans are just one of the many tools of the trade that he hefts around with him to carry out his various jobs. Such items include:

A [ Magitool Hammer ] {found in one of Ramshackle Dorm's locked storage rooms and while initially intended as a multitool for the production of furniture and various repairs it was later repurposed as a weapon for self defense.}

[ Salt Encrusted Gloves ] {While they originally were an ordinary pair of gloves, upon modification through the hammer they can now serve a mean punch toward any unruly specter.}

[ Refillable Hidden Knife Set ] {Yet another item produced by the versatile magitool. These are used for both self defense and to carve wards onto various surface around both the Dorm and NRC in general. White also keeps several squirreled away on his person just in case he has a need to draw blood for any sort of reason. Not like any one would believe you if you dared mention it; they're just so small after all and the poor thing is unable to cast even the simplest spell! So how much of a threat could they really be?}

[ The Ghost Camera ] {Fell in love with the Fatal Frame vibes and may or may not have named it after the Camera Obscura.}

[ Château de Vainglory ] {A revolver pistol crafted in secret with the magictool and then tucked away in the depths of White's secret bunker for worst case scenarios. This becomes relevant later on.}

These and other assorted items that he's acquired from his stay in Twisted Wonderland are kept squirreled away in his Secret Bunker ((which is really just the old storage room that he's repurposed into a sort of anti-magical bolthole/panic room that's been warded to high hell)) because when dealing with the supernatural you can never be too careful after all.)

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

(The hidden bolthole was decided upon as a must have even before White's unfortunate first run in with the resident spectral entities but this decision was only cemented upon as an absolute necessity when the man somehow managed to stumble headfirst into a live demonstration of the local Overblot phenomena.

You see, Overblotting is the magical equivalent of becoming a malicious type of spiritual entity when you're still alive through the process of putting an overwhelming amount negative energy directly on one's magic. If not treated succinctly an Overblot victim can die and become a full blown Phantom which is a essentially a magic-based Revenant.

((Revenants are the product of when a nonmagical person dies and undergoes a corruption similar to Overblotting due to overwhelming negative energy and were in fact the primary foe in which Exorcists had to contend with back in White's old world.))

Healthy magic users under normal circumstances usually have a base blanket immunity to the process of Overblot which has the added effect of making ghostly possessions rare but on the off occasion an outright malicious spirit does manage to latch ahold of a magic being it can result in a Bogeyman ((Phantom-Based)) or a Poltergeist ((Revenant-Based)).

However as non-magical folk are lacking this basic protection it can make them the more likely targets of a possession by either sort of spiritual entity with resulting machinations of a Revenant giving rise to a Ghoul ((which feeds on the individual's energy until poor soul's entirety is eventually corrupted giving rise to another Revenant)) or a Lich ((in which the individual's possession by a Phantom results in them being used as a fuel source and potentially being subsumed.)) To give an fortunate example of a near disastrous miss, there was White's introduction with the Ramshackle Ghosts. Due to his presence at the campus the spirits ((who had admittedly been allowed to fester for way too long and were teetering on the edge of becoming Revenants themselves)) naturally assumed that White had the selfsame protection that all magic users possessed and acted on such assumptions despite the reality of the matter being the exact opposite case. White, however, confident in his assertion that if these spirits did by chance manage to possess him then it would undoubtedly have done irreparable harm did what one who possessed a hard-earned fighting instinct garnered from a lifetime of having his very soul put on the line would do.

He dodged.

And with that ring of the bell began a long familiar dance with death for the fair-haired man, albeit with a slightly more noticeable bit of fire this go around courtesy of his new cat-like companion.

The situation was eventually handled ((through a bit of thorough explanation on Crowley's part and perhaps some promises of gratuitous violence and hastily crafted warding talismans on White's behalf once the Headmage had left)) and the ghosts eventually seemed to get the memo and settle down and begrudgingly let bygones be bygones.

Even if the whole deal did kind of piss him off.)

{For theoretical (and probably canon divergent) storyline featuring White that I'm tentatively dubbing the [ Eclipsing Phantom Arc ] it would most likely be set in a nebulous timeframe somewhere along the lines of late fall or early winter just after a heavy snowfall for peak dramatic effect. We'd get to see in this wholly original (and totally not inspired by the Castlevania Aria/Dawn of Sorrow Duology) tale of just why this feral possum man is the way he is in this.}

So to set the scene for things to come it would start like this: one of the History of Magic teachers would be up at the podium lecturing about the historical significance of the upcoming Crimson Moon Eclipse and the traditional association between the various celestial bodies in retrospect to magic as it is known today, and then we cut to White who had been listening in just outside the door with a thoughtful expression on his face as he did his job as a school janitor.

Grim, who (being the unhelpful menace that he was) had already decided that cleaning was a waste of his time and was currently lying sprawled out on the once spotless tile, had noticed the other's distant look and naturally asked what's up.

"Oh, nothing." The albino answered with his characteristic evasiveness. Clearly unsatisfied with that non-response, cat monster continued to pester him until he admitted, "I was just reminiscing is all." Seeing Grim's expectant expression somewhat reluctantly continued, "Just before I ...arrived... here there was total eclipse where I was at, is all."

Jumping at the bit to learn more about his enigmatic roommate Grim prodded further but was unable to get another word from the reluctant man by the time the bell interrupted him signifying that the lecture was over.

White moved to collect the cleaning items so he could put them away and get out of the hallway before the throng of students leaving class up and swept him away. He even manages to make it halfway there before he is suddenly accosted by some random underclassmen.

Now if it were a normal day White would instantly be suspicious of these random teenagers accosting him but he had admittedly not been having the easiest time sleeping lately —what what with how bad things had been with the Overblot Epidemic recently and the continually mounting stress from not only having to play some sort twisted battle therapist for everyone (despite being not even remotely qualified to be a school counselor) but also having to deal with Crowley's stark unwillingness to give him anything but the barest scraps to use as resources– and it was starting to wear him down so naturally he managed to miss their malicious smirks and mischievous snickers denoting the most likely ill intentions. But just as they began to tug him off to the side and away from the more populated halls just who should round the corner but resident Heartslabyul prankster Ace Trappola and his (fellow associate? Ally through extended circumstance?...Friend? Fuck, he'd really have to figure that whole situationship out at some point or another) Deuce.

Naturally when they caught sight the elusive campus cryptid seemingly chatting it up these unfamiliar students Ace, of who could readily admit to having had a mischievous streak the size of the Schoenheit's wardrobe immediately wanted to know what was up.

Perhaps it was some students who needed help cleaning (boring) or maybe they had heard of the man's infamous hammer and just wanted to see it in action (slightly less boring) or perhaps there was some kind of prank afoot?

(And while the red-head was suitably distracted with his musings he also wound up missing the sheer maliciousness glee positively radiating from the group of upperclassmen, however his friend Deuce most certainly did not.)

So with a quick jab to the side that the other was brought back to reality and the duo unanimously chose to (not so subtly) follow.

They watched as the boys managed manhandle him into an empty lecture hall. Darting in before the door fully shut and quickly ducking behind one of the seats on the upper row, it took a moment for their eyes to adjust because for some reason it appeared as though the lights had been switched off and, strangely enough, a spell cast to block the light incoming from the windows as well. All in all a suspiciously dark room that only further gave credence to the red-head's prank theory.

Suddenly a single dim light flickered into being surround the hall's small dais. It's presence illuminating both the fair-haired man (who had somehow managed to make his way down the rickety flight of stairs without stumbling once) and the shadowy figure crouching at the edge of the stage with their back to them.

Judging from the quiet snickering from either sides of them, was it another underclassmen perhaps?

As the light seemed to flicker for a second before brightening again as the figure stood up and turned a r o u n d...

Only to reveal a {mirror image} of the waif-like man?

The lookalike faced his doppelgänger with blank expression that that seemed to flicker in time with the light before slowly twisting into a smirk.

(Even in the near-dark it's hard not see the way White's body seems to freeze and while they might not have been able to catch the albino's expression at this angle it seems that the fiery feline at his side did. And if whatever he'd seen was enough to make the normally boisterous feline seem almost genuinely petrified? Then the elder of the Heartslabyul duo thought that it did not bode well at all.)

The figure seems to open it's mouth as if to make a derisive comment but the moment it does the light appears to flicker and cut out once more only to come back on a second later, just in time for them to catch sight of White's magitool hammer slamming straight into a face that mirrored his own. With the force of the blow sending the doppelganger sprawling to the floor they didn't have time to process this abject turn of events before he was upon the fallen man, hammer poised above his head for the next swing. A look of utter terror etched across doppelgänger face as the hammer smashed into it's head and magic binding it to this world fractured and broke apart.

Spell broken, the lights flickered on and the shadowed hold on the windows released allowing for sunlight to filter back into the room. Yet a lone shadow remained, and it was currently standing center stage before them cutting a mighty figure as he bore the weight of the kill with a discordant calm. White-blonde hair shown around his crown like an ethereal halo as the older man slowly tilted his head back to bask in the light.

Before he had even realized it he had pushed himself up from his crouch and left the safety of his hiding spot, ignoring the red-headed teen's startled hiss. "...White?"

The muted sound of his voice seemed to do the trick. White blinked out of his trance, his head snapping to the dark haired teen. Wide grey eyes raked over his form before turning to the grey-furred monster clutching at the edge of the dais as if for dear life. His gaze fell to the magitool tightly clutched in a trembling hand as he evidently realized what he'd done. Everything was still for moment before he twisted on his heal and bolts forward straight out the open window.

"Ah wait-!"

Dead silence.

"Ah man, how lame was that?"

...Huh?

"Yeah, I thought it'd be something a bit more interesting."

What?

"Ugh, you probably just cast the stupid spell wrong and that's why it went off the rails like that. It's ex umbra in mala somnia not ex umbra in mala speculum genius."

What.

A harsh snicker, "But did you see the look in the Mirror Shadow's face? What a riot! That would've been so much funnier if the original had been like that but y'know how it is."

Excuse me?

A shrug, "I mean, it'd make sense wouldn't it? The lack of magic would definitely thrown something off. Or maybe I guess it could've just been because he's a little freak."

What.

Various noises of agreement echoed around the room to the pair's rising bafflement as the other upperclassmen decloaked themselves, evidently having been there the whole time. But it was that final comment that cinched it for them.

"I'm sorry, but can someone explain to me what the actual fuck that what was that supposed to be?" The red-head shoved himself up from behind the seat where he had hid, a deep scowl etched into the teen's face.

"...Um. A prank? Dude, where did you even come from???"

"From the door." He retorted with an exasperated roll of the eyes and if he weren't so pissed right now he would have laughed at the other's flatfooted expression as they sputtered like the dumbass they were. But at least it gave him a moment to think which was good because, honestly, he had been just seconds away from doing…something not very nice.

He lifted a hand to stop the oncoming headache and pinched the bridge of his nose, "Sorry, I'm trying to make sense of this but what kind of bullshit prank involves a group of people luring someone in to a secluded room casting something like that on them?"

"Hey, yeah!" Grim, who had remained fixed at the edge of the dais seemed to bristle, forked tail swishing irritably as his claws flexed. "What even was that anyway?!"

Deuce glanced at the red-head as well because, even though it pained him to admit, he had not done too well on the last generalized curse exam and currently was taking remedial lessons to make up the credit. But even someone like him could tell by the way it had been phrased as well as the irritated expression plastered across his face that it couldn't have been good.

He looked uncomfortable as he explained, "It's a type of paralysis spell; it uses darkness to knock a person out while they're still awake and then trap them in a loop of fear and nightmares until they either break from it themselves or someone else cancels the spell for them."

"Oh." He processed that for a second and when the ball dropped rounded on the other upperclassmen, hands digging into the lapels of the nearest one's uniform. "Dude! What the fuck?!"

"...Okay I know this looks bad but it was just supposed to be a prank, honest! We were just were going to knock him out, steal his stuff and set it on fire, then draw rude things on him before trying him to one of the light poles outside. I mean, until the loser tossed himself out a window." A pause. "Huh, it really does sound bad when you put it that way."

One of the others palmed their face with a groan as both of the underclassmen (and Grim) seemed to process this statement with thunderous expressions. "...You really aren't helping our case man."

"Stow it ah—"

"Hey!"

"Watch the shirt, watch the shirt!"

"I'm gonna do worse than ruin your stupid shirt you-"

"Hey you dolts!" Grim cut across with a plume of flame as he huffed, "'He just tossed himself out a window.'" Met with blank stares he growled, stomping a foot down and waving a frantic grey-furred paw at the open window. "Aren't we on one of the highest floors right now?" They ruminate on this for a second this before the ball dropped.

"Oh shit White!"

"Hey, wait for me!"

-x-------X-------x-------X-------x ( * ) x-------X-------x-------X-------x-

Well, good news he wasn't dead.

Bad news, he was about to be if he didn't do something within the next five seconds.

'Damn it, not again.' He thought with a slight grimace.

Seriously, who was his bloodline cursed by for him to live such an interesting life as this? When he finally did manage to die (and somehow didn't manage to become a Revenant in the process) he wanted to have some words with them.

He twisted himself midair, giving an about face to the vibrant blue as gravity dragged him into a freefall; hard grey eyes narrowed as they scanned the area. Searching for...

...there!

Target locked, he swung the magictool as hard as he could with the silent prayer that it's area of effect took hold. A beat. Then two. As the ground drew ever nearer in it's encroach he felt a bead of sweat roll down his neck until finally he could feel near imperceptible charge of the item as it latched onto his intent. He didn't even have time for a halfhearted mental cheer before the near magnetic force yanked him back toward the tower with its rapidly changing stonework.

With mere seconds to work with, he flipped the hammer into a two-handed grip and allowed the velocity to carry him along the makeshift slingshot around the tower until the stone could no longer withstand his weight and collapsed taking him with it. He was deposited roughly onto the slick stone and almost immediately began to slide along a slanted tile roof.

From there it was only through a combination of some admittedly bullshit reflexes and a thankfully recalled lesson that included the history and location of every single gargoyle installed on campus (thank you Sir Pointy-Horn, you weird rock-obsessed fae bastard) that he was able to catch himself on the edge of the building and prevent his impulsive self-defenestration attempt from reaching its logical end.

The rest of the path down was a breath of relief in comparison, with parkour skills only slightly hampered by the ache in his limbs from where they had been nearly pulled from their sockets (he had worked with much worse this was nothing) so he still made it down in record time.

'And hopefully they wouldn't mind the alteration to the school's decor too much.' He thought as he crab-walked across a window ledge, stopping once he reached a suitable expanse of hedges before unceremoniously dropped down with an undignified flail into the not-to-soft greenery. 'Ah geez, I hoped no one saw that.'

"...White???"

(Someone saw it.)

Slowly, he turned around and who should he see but the Housewarden of Scarabia Dorm and possibly one of the most excitable boys he'd ever had the pleasure of meeting. (Oh and it seemed Jamil was here too because of course he was.)

He could already see the awed sparkle in the taller boy's eyes as he bounced on his heels as well as the absolutely dumbfounded look on his minder's face and felt the creepings of dread run down his spine.

"That was amazing!!!"

...Fuck.

-x-------X-------x-------X-------x ( * ) x-------X-------x-------X-------x-

"Where is he?!"

"I don't know, he'd probably have wound up somewhere around here."

"You don't think-"

"Wait, I think I see him!...Is that Kalim?"

"And you'd just have to do some sort of an acrobatics routine as part of the display, maybe we could work in a whole black-and-red astronomical theme because of the eclipse? Oh but the parade grounds outside of our dorm is kind of flat aren't they so that wouldn't really work but, ah! What about your dorm? It's got all those rickety edges and stuff for an added flare of danger plus we never really get to hang at your place, it'd be really fun! Say, is it really haunted like they say-"

"..."

"..."

"...White? Um, what-?"

Taking note of the approaching teens the short albino shot them his equivalent of a pleading look as Kalim obliviously continued to chat his ear off. How had things even come to this anyway? One moment he was being grilled by the boy about his previously unknown proficiency in the art of parkour and the next he had been treated to a full-frontal blast of Typhoon Kalim.

He'd just been trying to deflect the commentary by asking him what book he had in his arms there, but Kalim had somehow took it as an invitation to not only infodump about tonight's Crimson Moon Eclipse (which evidently was named so because of a once-in-a-millennium comet running interference between the seasonal red moon and their world or something to that effect) and what he learned about it from their most recent lesson but to go full-steam ahead and invite himself along to the viewing party he so graciously convinced (coerced) him into having back at the Ramshackle Dorm.

The newcomers had a hard time fighting back a snicker or two at the sheer absurdity of the event at least until Al-Asim finally noticed them.

"Oh? Hello! Have you all come to help us with the party tonight?"

The laughter stopped immediately. The elder of the trio flailed his hands in front of himself, as if to ward off the very notion. "Ah...no we-"

(The quiet force of Jamil's { glare } was something to contend with. After all it was a known law of the universe that Kalim's whims shan't be denied lest ye poor unfortunate souls suffer dire consequences.)

"...Uh. Sure?"

"Great!" Kalim clapped his hands together, twirling on his heel as Jamil followed behind. Those left behind shared a look as he sole adult of the group pinched the bridge of his nose with a stifled groan.

This was going to be a long day.

-x-------X-------x-------X-------x ( * ) x-------X-------x-------X-------x-

And that was the story of how the four of them had somehow been roped into helping set up Kalim's party at White's dorm against the man's own wishes.

(And damn it all, he still had leaves in his hair from that godforsaken bush. He just wanted to hobble back to that nightmare of a safety inspection they called a dorm, take a shower in the very limited hot water they had here, then conk out on that threadbare mattress for the next twenty-eight hours. But was he going to get to do any of that? No. Because he now had to set up for a fucking party. What the hell? This was some next-level bullshit.)

What followed was one of the most ridiculously exasperating spy-vs-spy shit that any of them had the misfortune to experience.

On one side: Deuce & Trappola —the leaders of this whole venture and seemingly the only ones who cared enough to bother when it was first brought to their notice that something was seriously up with their resident janitor cryptid/semi-responsible adult figure in the first place– and their allies; Jamil (who was unwilling to let the earlier display go with that half-arsed explanation if only for the sake of Kalim's wellbeing), Sebek (who had just arrived with the caterers, citing the need to scope the venue out ahead of schedule for his fellow dormmate's safety), and Epel (who had honestly just came to get away from the rest of his dorm for a bit and succinctly been roped into this tomfoolery the second he set foot through the door.)

Their mission: figure out what the fuck was up with Ramshackle Dorm (and perhaps its sole caretaker by extension) without getting waylaid by various shenanigans or arousing the suspicion of the scrungly man himself.

And on the other hand, we had the aforementioned albino himself. Someone who was shanghaied into this whole mess and was now two threads away from a panic attack because of the newfound need to race around the dorm without anyone else noticing in order to collect all of his esoteric necromantic research material so that he could squirrel it away in the hidden bolthole before some poor unfortunate bastard managed to stumble upon it.

(Because, as it turned out, even in a whole ass different world where magic fuckery was commonplace and weirdness was mundane anything having to do Death and What Lied Beyond was evidentially still a step too far. Hypocrites.)

It was only a small mercy that he had managed to talk Al-Asim down from inviting everyone and their mother's dog but it seemed that he couldn't get out of having a collection of eclectic individuals such as the other Housewardens and their friends along with a small handful of others from being placed on the summons.

(Really, for those sorry beings who were either free with absolutely nothing better to do on such a dreadful night as this or selfsame others who were actively avoiding such responsibilities and decided the only way to spend the time doing so was in this OSHA violation of a place were the only ones who would even bother anyway. Maybe it was a good thing though as having a bunch of friends would make this whole stealth thing a lot more difficult for him. Besides who would really want to hang out with a grim weirdo like him? After all he's done? Plus he wasn't winning any awards for his personality after all. The idea was laughable really.)

And then there were the outliers, such as the trio from Octavinelle who had just arrived to do the catering and had yet to be involved in shenanigans but once either twin caught wind of what was going on the would assuredly join in on the chaos, or Riddle who had taken one look at the mess they were making thought the whole thing ridiculous and —after yelling at the group a bit– left to help clean up, Kalim who remained wholly oblivious to the other's antics as he continued to decorate.

And finally we had Grim, who had originally been on team investigator but got distracted halfway and decided to raid the kitchen for snacks. As one does.

('It's kind of funny...' The furred cat-beast thought to himself as he pawed futilely at the locked cabinet door that he knew White kept some salmon jerky behind. 'But, like, in a really messed up way. Does that make sense? Maybe? Eh, the ghost would probably understand. Y'know, if they were still around. Those guys would probably think the whole deal was a riot.' He growled at the makeshift child-lock, forked-tail flicking in annoyance. 'Yeah, fun guys once you got past the murder attempts. Shame they seem to be rather sparse lately. Wonder why that was?' A pointed ear twitched as he heard the service door to the kitchen open behind him, 'Who knows. Maybe White finally got fed up and made on good on those threats to exorcise them?' Blue eyes gleaming he turned on the newcomer, "Oi! Mr. Octopus, open this door for me! I want treats!")

The wisp of a man just narrowly managed to catch himself from planting face-first into the rough-shod flooring. He shut his eyes, pressing a sweaty glove-covered palm against the wall as the world swayed.

"Just keep it together." He murmured lowly, mentally shutting out the jovial sounds of teenagers at play as he slowly pathetically crawled down an adjacent hall and out of sight.

"Just keep it together-" He repeated, biting back a rush of bile as he hefted himself to his feet. "For a bit longer..." He screwed his eyes shut, letting out a breath through clenched teeth. "Then you'll be done with all this nonsense and you can rest."

(But that's the thing, he would never be done would he? There would always be some new disaster waiting in the wings to rear its ugly head. Some new Overblot Incident caused everyone and their overly uptight mothers insisting on foisting their problems on a bunch of overpowered children instead of dealing with it themselves. Some sort of *magical mishap* that needed 'his special touch' to solve; nevermind there was a number of other people who could do just as well, if not better, but were probably actually qualified to do so. Some poor soul who had finally surrendered to the darkness in their hearts and let it consume them body and soul so now he had to be one to put them down before they could hurt anyone else-)

A harsh smack to the cheek, "C'mon, get your shit together man." He hissed. "It's just a little exhaustion. This is nothing compared to back then, soldier. Don't let it get to you."

After all, to show weakness was to invite negativity into one's soul. To invite negativity into one's soul was to invite Death. And to invite Death for someone like him...

Well. The less he said the better.

"...White?" Said individual stilled. Epel's voice didn't really carry all that much, not as much as someone like Sebek's did, but honed ears could still pick up the distinct cadence of the shorter teen's masked twang over the chaotic din emanating from the Guest Room. "Hey, just to let you know: Riddle said that Trey and Cater just texted him that they still need to study for Trein's make-up exam tomorrow so they can't come tonight and that they were sorry."

"Y-Yeah?" He called back, resting his head on the wall in front on him. It felt nice and cool. (Or maybe he was overheated? He couldn't tell.) "I'll tell Azul we need two less meals then."

"Also Ace was being a dumbass and tossed Sebek's hat up on top of the chandelier and now Sebek's trying to strangle both him and Deuce for it." What. How the hell... Stupid question, magic. It's always magic.

He resisted pinching the bridge of his nose. "I see."

Well, that at least explained why the green-haired teen was being louder than usual. "I need help with getting it down? Can you c'mere?"

"Y-Yeah. I'll...I'll go grab a stick or something and be right there. Just give me a second!" He called back, a grey eye slit open and the Scheele's Green shaded wallpaper filled his vision as he stared blankly down the hall. "Yeah, sure. Just deal with it. Like you always do. After all the almighty janitor's work is never done." He tiredly let out a quiet laugh.

...Was it just him or did that laugh sound a tad bit bit hysterical?

Eh. It was probably fine.

(His work with these 'restless souls' would never truly be 'done'.)

[N ̷̢̧̧̟̬̗̋̈͜ͅé̸͉̍ ̵̡̢̫̣̯̰̹̪͇͕̅̎̇͒͂̕͠v̵̻̀̀͐̈͛̐͛̚͝͝ ̵̺͚̯̪͓̳͊͌̔͒̏ẹ̴̛̭̟͕͔̞̏̈́̓̋͂̾̕͠ ̵̼͉͍̼̅̎̐̔̇͘͘͝͠r̴̢̡̯̜̗͕̹̓͠ͅ ̷̢̧̺̙̫͉̔̐.̴̠̮̝͍̙͚̝͔̀͆̓̐̊̒̿́̊̆]

-x-------X-------x-------X-------x ( * ) x-------X-------x-------X-------x-

He was three seconds away from giving in to steadily rising urge and strangling these chucklefucks. Would he be in deep shit for doing so? Yes. But it'd be worth it. Honestly, if he didn't know firsthand how chaotic teenage boys could be (having been one himself once upon a time) he could've sworn they were doing it on purpose.

It had taken them around thirty minutes and eventually just resorting to throwing random items at the chandelier but they had finally managed to get Sebek's hat down and stop the uptight kid from bringing any more ghosts into the world.

But then it was Azul's turn to inform him that Grim had somehow managed to get into the pantry (again) and proceeded to eat all of his salmon jerky (again) so he had to go scruff the little gluttonous bastard and put the recovering Tappola on Grim Watch (and for some extra insurance —with Riddle's blessing of course– Deuce was placed on Ace Babysitting Duty) while he finished with Jamil and the Octavinelle Boys in the kitchen.

Every moment he managed to finish something it seemed like someone would something else or there was something or another that need his input so he couldn't have moment's rest and (not that he would admit it) but he was very visibly beginning to flag.

One silver-lining was that —save for a single item– he had successfully managed to scoop all of his strange curios with everybody else none the wiser.

The last thing on the list being a sole lined journal, one he had dutifully scribbled in ever since he managed to snag it with his 'ruthless bartering skills' from Mr S's Limited Item Shop during his first visit to the School Store. (Though if you asked him, it was really just a glorified clearance bin but if the man himself or his spectral familiars ever heard him call it such a thing he would probably get pissed and cut his supply off and then where would he get his smoked salmon treats or the ground amethysts and unstarched linen he used to make gunpowder talismans?) The red cover of which was currently peaking out from underneath a threadbare pillow that Grim liked to use for napping.

All he needed was to find the right window to nab it and then he'd be golden. However, already an hour in and he had yet to put into practice his slight of hand, and with everyone trapezeing about it only added to the challenge. It was only by a stroke of luck that he had managed to distract the room's newest occupant —(Riddle this time; taking a much needed break from Kalim's...exceeding enthusiasm. Understandable.)– long enough for him bend down and snag it.

Quickly standing up (and nearly keeling over in the process when he overcorrected) he waved off the boy's worried exclamations with a patented placid expression as he subtly slipped the notebook into his back pocket. It was a bit disconcerting though, to be fretted over so adamantly by someone ten years his junior and he didn't quite understand just why the other so concerned about him. It wasn't a child's job to worry about the state of their caregivers, quite the opposite really, and he felt a pang of guilt for even giving rise to the very notion. It had taken him a bit of roundabout conversation and even then the red-head seemed rather reluctant to let it go at least until Kalim emerged once more from the ether to further distract his fellow Housewarden.

Other eyes occupied he drew back into the shadows before quietly edging back of the room and down the hall. Soon the soft lights grew dim and he found the chatter of excitable teenagers through thin walls muffled as he slipped through the darkness of the old dorm.

Normally with it just being Grim and himself as the sole living occupants of their Ramshackle home these rooms stood vacant and abandoned, left to collect dust as a testament to what once was a lively home now forgotten by time. But every once in an odd red moon he found himself wandering about these old bones, his presence breathing life into the place as he took solace in the solitude. This was one such occasion.

Slipping through the threshold, he carefully tugged the knob until the door clicked shut—

Silence...

–and finally all noise ceased to exist.

"Finally."

He let out a long sigh, letting his forehead come to rest on the weathered doorframe—

[O̵̻̕h̶̰̕ ̸̣̅p̸͕̽ö̶̻́o̸͙̚r̵̩̈́ ̴̥́c̶̟̽h̷̢̑i̴̤̚l̶̊ͅd̵͎̽è̸͇ ̴͕̾ȯ̴̼f̵̛̜ ̶̥̾m̷̪̔a̵̺̚n̶̠̓,̵̟̀ ̷̩̒á̵͇l̶̟̋ẁ̷̼ã̷̤ỵ̷̉ș̴̆ ̵͎͑ġ̸͍i̷̻͠v̸̦̏i̸̠͝n̶̟͑ǧ̷̰ ̴̱̈t̶͚̿h̶͉͐y̷̥̆s̸͖̎e̵͕̎l̴̍ͅf̷̗͘ ̶̤̊t̵͔͝o̸̤͠ ̸̖̀o̵̡͒t̶̯͗h̴̩̀ë̴̩́r̶̼͘s̸̻̈́ ̷̙̾b̶͔̿u̷̦͛t̷̬̑ ̵͕̌n̸̈́ͅe̴͍͐v̸̪̊e̵̫̍r̴̰̿ ̷̣̚b̵̠́e̵͔͘i̴̻̓n̷̝̋g̷̯̚ ̷̻̓g̷̬͘ì̸͙v̵̝͂e̷̡̅n̸̙͠ ̴̀ͅt̷͉̄o̷̝͋ ̸͍́i̶̲̅n̸͔̐ ̴̢͋r̵͎͗e̴̫̔t̴̥̕ú̷̘r̵͖͊n̵͈̅.̵̖̑ ̴̘̓ Y̵̫͂o̶͓̐u̷̮̎ ̷͍̋g̷̢̈ĭ̸̳v̵̝͂e̸̙̔ ̵̰̽ḁ̴̐n̵̤͛d̴̪͝ ̷͕̇y̶̟͐o̵̪̓u̵̢͌ ̶̧̾g̶̞̾ȉ̶̢v̶̀͜ě̷̜ ̵̯̒à̶̦n̶̹̓d̶͙̽ ̸̱̚y̸̝̚ō̷̱û̵̹ ̸̳̅g̴̹̾ḭ̷͗v̶̘͌e̵̖̚ ̴̢͝b̴̯͒ǔ̷̡t̸̡͠ ̵̺̀i̵͍͐t̶̹̕'̸͗͜s̴͙̍ ̷̹́n̷̮̒ę̶͆v̶̜́e̸̘̐r̸̩͛ ̴̮̈́ê̶̗ņ̵̇ơ̶̹ũ̴͜g̴͈̃ḩ̶̓ ̷͙͆í̵͙s̵̰̋ ̶̨̀ĩ̷͖t̸̛̩?̴͉̋ W̶͖͙̓̃h̷̞̖̓͌ỵ̴͂,̵͇̰͂ ̸̹̇ỹ̸̟̀ǫ̵̼̈́̆ù̸̙ ̸̭̕c̸̣̹̓̍o̸̤̅ų̴̛̄ḷ̸̰̇̓d̷̝̀̒ ̷̧͍͋̕ē̷̞̜̏v̸̜͕̌͋ȅ̴̩͍n̸͍̾ ̸͔͐͘ģ̴̧̉ì̸̝̦̓v̴͈̙̇è̴̡̱ ̴̙̈́ͅy̸̙͔̽̇o̸̯̲̔û̶͉̩̕ř̷͙ ̸͈̑̅v̷͂ͅë̷͈̌ṛ̷͂��y̶̥͎̾̈́ ̷̠̆ͅs̴̢͇͆̐ọ̷̳̔̒ū̴̟̉l̴̢͊ ̴̤͌̕a̵̼͎͌̚ṉ̸͝d̸̹̹͂ ̸͚̤̎t̴̮̞̋̉h̴͕̤̚͝ȯ̷̲͉s̴͉̎͠ě̵̜̩ ̴͇͕́͗f̷͚͕͆ó̵̯ơ̷͍͔l̴͎̈́s̷̬͇̽̽ ̴̗̱̚w̶̱̪̆́ö̶̦́̇ṷ̶̀̕͜l̴̬̥̅̓d̵̲̍̂ ̴͓̯͛̍j̵̤̑u̶̜̔͂͜s̵̼͝t̶̢̠̊͆ ̷̙̾ͅl̴̝̊̂ą̸̛p̵̩̃ ̸̨̰̒̎ǐ̴̱̾t̷̻̲̅ ̶̞̟͛u̸̺̜̇p̵̨̤̕ ̷̲͊ḽ̵̛̛ǐ̵̖͔k̶̳̳̃͗e̵͈͒ ̷͎̾f̴̦̜̋ŕ̸̘̹̓e̶̡̝̾͝s̴̖̯̽̊h̴̗͑ͅ ̴̺͔̀a̷̺̓m̸̤̓b̶̨̈́̐r̴͖̐͜ò̴͖s̴̺̎ͅi̸̩͗a̵̰̙̿̃ ̸̬̽a̵̬̹͐̎n̸̪̈́d̵̤̖͌ ̶̡̓̅ţ̸̍h̴͎̘̐e̶͎̟͌ ̴̤̎m̷̞̠̈́o̶̥̠͠m̴͗͊͜e̸͇͛̓n̸̲̂̄t̵̺͚͂͛ ̵̧̃͝y̶̗̕ọ̸̉ų̵͙̑ ̶̭̈w̸̻̉ȇ̸̗r̴̠̎e̶̖̅ ̵̹͌b̷̧̲͆l̷̟̗͠e̷͎̾͠d̸̤͉̏̓ ̴̮̘͌̐d̶̘̠̎͑r̵̪̾y̸̩͛͌ ̶̠͇̏͘t̴̞̀̈́h̷͔̟̽͑ẹ̶͕̇y̵͕͎̚ ̶̯̉̇ẘ̶̗̜̄ȍ̸͎ṵ̷͖́l̸̤̈d̸̛͎ ̷̨͚̉͆a̵̡̼͆͌ŝ̵̛̪͙k̵̹̤͝ ̷̼̭̕ẅ̵̺h̷̫̥̾e̵͈̠̾ṛ̷̳͊ȇ̴͖̚ ̵͔̌̾t̷̟̯̉h̸̞̏̊͜é̴̳ ̶̗̝͐̀ǹ̶͖e̵͈̿x̶̤̫͝t̵̜͐ ̴͚̹̒͒s̶̘͇̎ě̷̞̭͝r̸̠̲͆v̵̭͐i̴̦͕͝n̶̬͑g̵͚̦̾̋ ̵̺̾w̵̙̼͘͝á̶̤̽s̸̖͑̌.̷̞̟͠ ̷̘̑H̶̜̀ỏ̶̳w̷̖̒ ̵̫͆ṕ̴̬a̸͙͑ṱ̶̈́ḧ̴̯́e̵̞̓t̶̞́i̸̗̋c̸͕͆.̴͍̔.]

—And quickly choked on that breath.

The blood froze in his veins and he felt himself going completely still. He felt cold. That...voice. That horrible voice that continued to haunt his nightmares to this very day. He k n e w that voice. Oh, god.

And it seemed that the speaker was wasn't done.

[Ę̵͚̃̆̂v̵̹́e̸̡̛̞͝n̴̮̙̋̉̕ ̷̰̽a̴͓̝̩̎f̸͚̃͋͝t̴͔̆̏̓e̵̤̋͋̏r̸̼͔̈́ ̵̱͋̋b̷̢̛̺͔͆̇r̸̗͙̠̿͘ǐ̶̞̫̒͜ǹ̴̺̈́g̴͈̥̽i̶͍̺͛͐n̴̤̋̑̽g̵̫̉͌̚ ̴̨̭̉b̵͓͚̖͝á̸̝̔̍c̸͉͛̏ḱ̶͉̂͜ ̵̱̜̈͐t̷̫̝̟́̑h̶̡̯̮͆̐ő̷͓͘s̷͔̄́͝ė̵̩̝͙̂ ̶͈̕s̵̡͓͛̇͘c̷̞̟͌o̶̻̼̎ͅr̵͚̪̺͐̀̇n̷̹̹͐ȩ̶̔d̶̢̯͖͝ ̶͖̀͜ÿ̸͍͇͂̀ọ̶̼̟̆̽u̷̘̼̒̈́ͅț̷̈́̕ḧ̵̨͉́̔̀͜ ̴̯̪̈́f̵̯̯̓́r̴͚̗͝o̷̼̽̑m̵̛͕̺ ̸͉̂t̵͎̟͈͐ȟ̷̝̥͊̿e̴̛͙̮ ̸̢̤̌̌̉b̴͕͝r̴̲͚̆í̸̢̻n̷̗͌̄̈́k̵̢̅́ ̸̓̍ͅṱ̸͛h̷̨̤̍a̷̳͌t̴̡̰͂̓̆ ̸̫͎̻́̒̈t̶̯̆͝͝h̸̰̜̔̑̿e̵͖̣͘ͅy̶͈̦͑̌̄ ̸̹͈͗͌t̶̟̝̒̏̾h̸̡̑͑̓e̶͎͕͍̒m̶̟̰͆̚ŝ̷̗̬͑͌ę̷̘̟̎l̷̖̼̆̎͒v̵̘͔̭͌e̸̞̫̅̚s̴̩̋ͅ ̶̛̺͕̣́̏r̷̞̟̙̿ë̷̥̬̯̀ű̷̥̠̞ṣ̷̛̭̄͠e̷̗͙̓̊͒d̸̫̔ ̵̪̋̄t̴̘̼̭̀̓̍o̵̫͌͘ ̷̜̟̪̓d̸̲̹̮͒o̵̳͊ ̵̮̇̈ș̷͓̽̈́̄o̷̲̩̫̎̎ ̴͈̬͋͘͜͠h̸̗̀̿͐ọ̷͇͍̅w̷̳̒̑ ̵̲̠͆͜d̵̬̤̣̑̀͛ȯ̷̩̞͋̈ ̷͇̯̱̓̚͝t̶͓̲͝h̸̬̝͛̔̚ͅê̸͇̣̾̊y̵͇̙̋̋ͅ ̴̯̄͑r̵̨̡̫̓̀̍e̶̞̺̘̋͂w̶̦̋͐a̶͎̚r̵̠̫͋d̸̢͇̈́̃͐ ̵̯̬͙̉̐̾y̴͚̿͝ṓ̴̢͉̟ù̸͓̔͑?̶̟̝̐̆͝ Ẃ̶̧̜͈̲̣̀ĩ̸͔̰̬ţ̵̟̱̘̳̄̈́̈́̀̑̽h̵̡̲̲̉́̓ ̸̡̹̘̘̪̎̀̃͠t̷̳̑̃̒̀̎h̵͙̤͖̮͉̳́̍̄͗͠i̷͍̜̓̈̚͘s̴̟̭̳̲̗̈́́̎̈̕ͅ ̶̯͓̞͖͎̤̂t̶̩͉̩̯́͊̍͝͝h̵̬̿̈̀͘r̸̡̢̮̞̎͆́e̸̟̽a̸̡̢̹̩͍̚d̸̨̈́̅b̸̡̼̳̿̎͊̍̒͘ͅa̵̡͔̭͎͛͆̀͆̐̚ŗ̸̟͉͔̑̇̔͌͝͝e̵͇̪̱̣̾͛͛͌ͅ ̵̻̅̃̀̚ͅh̷̼̘̓̀̉͐͑ọ̵̡̞͓͓͂̉̚͠v̸͔̺̗̯͇͗̿̍͠e̶̺̼͆̍l̸̹͗̆ ̸̧̰̬̠̹͑̈̒̿a̸̢̢̨̝̔͑̿͊̾̍n̶̛͔̻͑̾̈́̒d̶͖̈́̒̑̅ ̷̨̩̣̀̾̈́̾̓̕s̷̤̾̀̑͋̃̓e̸̞̲̞̥̖̪̽̈́̇c̴̢̺̻̣͙̹̈̽ǫ̴̰̜͍̓̈̚n̴͈̞͎͖͂̽͗̏͝d̷̨͓̭̬̱͂͊-̷̠̠̈́̓̑̋̕h̵̯̲͔̒̉̌̿a̸̠͑n̷̲̭̮̱̜̊͂ͅd̷̲̽̓̓́͠ ̵̻͌͊s̸̼̻̯̑͒̓͠ͅũ̷̠͓̘̞͌̄p̷̛͕͈͈̱͕͛̂̉͋ṕ̸̯̀l̴̨̦̮͆͗̆̒̆́i̴͚̘̥̿ê̷̦͂s̴͍̟̔͜͝ ̶̨̹̍͌͜t̷̫̒̓̍̀́͝ȟ̸̼͘͠ǎ̵͈͛̒͝t̵̖̣̲̓͑̕͜ ̶̡͉̙͓͋̑͒y̷̮͊̕ọ̷̧̮̦͂́͒̌͝ų̶̹̟̱̋̑͒͝ ̵̰̓͂́͌́̌h̸͚̪̼͕̜͚̑̌̑͂͂a̶̞̬̾̈́̐̌̓̄v̵̦̮̼̽̽͛̾͘͜e̵̺̦͎̰̭͉̕ ̷̱̃̊̽̈͠ẗ̷̪̰̥̮̳̭̆̽͐̔ǒ̸̻̳̚͜ ̷̢͎̞̠̥̾ͅf̸̮̬̃́ĭ̴̢̩̲̍̾́g̵̤̥͈͐h̶̡̹̲͔̞̺̋̃t̷̯̀͆̓̚ͅ ̵͔̃͊̒̔t̶̢͠͝ͅo̸̼̜͋͂ȍ̵̘̜̲̯̙̉ṫ̸̤̬̞̠͊̀̆̐͝ḩ̶͈̑͑͜ ̶͖̔̑͑͑a̵̛̹̮͍̤͌̈́́͝n̵͕͙̎̆̒̇ḑ̷̼͍̗̩͛̓̌̕ ̵̢̡̻̻͖͇͊̊͋͌̊n̶̟̜̻͎̮͒à̷̡̬̝͆͆̈́͘ï̶̡͇͇̞͑͊̓̏ͅl̵̡̼̱͒͂̀͂ ̴̅̀͒͜t̸̮̟̬̑̈́͝͝ȏ̶͉̮̘͇͉̒̿̐͐̆͜ ̶̧̗̝̖̮͓̊̾̕ģ̸̱̭̩̾̃̀̒͘͜e̸̡̗͗t̶̞̘͎̾̿̓̎ ̶͓̈̔̔͗͜͝f̷̥̻̲̓̾̈̌̒̚r̶̹̻̲̹̱̆̆̀̉ȏ̴̩̥̮̠̫́̾̾̐ͅm̷̛͐͑͐̚͜͝ ̶̧̥̮̬̰̜̈́́̚t̴͔̭̯͍͎̣̂̿͝͝h̵̩͉͇̓̄̓͘a̶͉̮͛͆̓̈̊̚t̴̝͓̩̑́̅̚͜ ̴̩̮̜̊̽̉̈́ȍ̷̧̥̤̼͙̅̑̆̍ͅl̶̡͍̞̱͙̻̎̓̾̽̚d̴̩̞̂̀̃̽̈́ ̶̹̂̌͋c̸̨͍͎͕̀̂̎ớ̶̠̪͜r̴̜͙̳̒v̵̛̞̭̗̗̳̀́̿̀̽í̵̫d̵̻̲̔͛̈́͗̚?̵̻̥̬͉̦̣͊͋̃͠͠ Ẃ̵̱̟͕̻̈́ͅi̴̡̿͠t̴̲̆ͅh̴̯̰̉̀̾͝ ̴͔̭̳̄͒͑b̶̼̗̝̽̂͝ḷ̴͇͚͈̪̍a̸̬̳̠͉̾m̶̦̦͙͐͌̒͂e̷̪̬̮̮̼̒̿͐̈́ͅş̴̺͓̙̺̘̉͂̐̔ ̸̨̟̬̹̥̒̓̽̒̒͛͜a̷̺͚̟̒̎n̸͕̬̖͛̓̒͊d̸̡̨͎͖̣͈̽ ̴͕̟̈̌̓a̶̪̥̒̄c̵̨͎̺̬͒̆̉c̸̺̯̙͉̋ͅu̶̹͖̟̬̯̎͗̾͗͌͝s̶̜̗͗̊̋á̸̠͎̹̥͉͚͊͋̅͝͝t̵̢͓͈̙̥̫̊̔̅ỉ̵̤͕͓̈́̈́o̴͍̯̼̞̤̅̒̾͘ņ̵͕̞͉̩̽̈́̚ ̵̦̎͝͝t̷̥̱̟̓ḩ̷̥͍͓̅͑͒͠e̸̙͂̓̽̚͘ ̸̮̥̩͓͓̣̀̊͐̃͂̚v̷͙̣́̀̆̑̈e̷̠̪͎̱̋͌̓̊͠ŗ̸̹̙̥̥̤̀́̂͋̈́͝y̵̨̺͈̟̝͉͊̊ ̷̬̃͝m̸̗͔͛͌̕ỏ̶͎͖̪͈̏m̵͈̱̿͛̇̉̄̽ẽ̷̢̱̇̕͝n̷͙̳̎̃͂͠t̸̛͍̻̅̀ ̴̰̮̂̐t̷͎̳̥̬͓̒̿̀̕ͅh̶̡̡͉̿̓̽̉í̸̧̨̞̲̜̼̅n̶̺̖̭̣̾͛g̷͔̥̤͗͆̐͝s̵͇͖͚̱̯͓̀͛̃̿͌ ̶̙̃ĝ̵͍̦͙͚o̶͇͛͛ ̵͕͛̓̔w̵̡̞͈͕̎͐̾͒̓r̴̨̡͈̜̈̋̂ō̴̫͖̰̻̫̪̋n̶͚̹͒͊̋́̾g̶͕̎͗̈́͂̕ ̷̫̓͗͊̽e̷̘̟̥͎̓́̅̈́̚v̶̡̦̀͌ę̴̰̻͙̊̐̾̄̾͠n̷̦͍̩̗̻̐͋͐̕͘ͅ ̸͈͎̠̠̯̞̀̃̏͠͝í̴͔̥͈̰̿̌̕͠͝f̷͍͖͗̈́̅̈́̅͘ ̸̇ͅȳ̷̼̤̹͕̬̆̇̍ơ̵̝͐̃̑̔͜u̴̞̖̘̟͒̈́̅̋͋͗ ̸̘̪̟̤͊̾̋͑̚͝ͅh̵̙͉͈̲̮̉͗̄̕ḁ̶͉͔̇v̵̜̥̰̳̈́̉ẹ̷̱̲̱̘̾ ̵̳͂̅̒͝n̵͓̉̋̓͝ͅȯ̵̹͓̳͒̀̐̕ ̴̎͐̒ͅh̸̡̝̹̜̜͚̓͌͑͠ȁ̵͍̜͍̖̭͙͛̏̀ṋ̶͈͌͋͊͌̎d̵̰̲̕ ̴̩͔̟̮̩͌̄̿͐̊́i̸̝͖͚͌ņ̶̛̟̫͈͍̦͐̀͐͝ ̷̨̧͈̪͕͉͗̌̈́͒̈́͠ṱ̸͈̽̉̅̽̾ḧ̵̦̖̥̹̬͕́̃̔͒̕̕ȩ̷̯̝̪̟͕͆̀̐̄̚ ̴̺̈́m̷̟̩͝ä̶̡͙͈̺̱͛̎͘t̵̘̙͚͍̖͛͆̈́̄̈́̚t̸͈̣́̇̓ĕ̸̤̬̖̻͚̠̊̀̐r̴̞̦̿́̾͌̉̕?̸̟͚͕̜̣͌̈́͂̚͘͠]

Now that...that wasn't fair. Not everyone around there was like that! What of the children he had helped during his stay in this strange phantasmagorical world. Of the lives he had managed to twist for the better?

What of the group of boys who through their many shared trials and tribulations he had (perhaps a bit one-sidedly) come to regard as his own. The kids who had went out of their way just to include him and were waiting for him to come downstairs so they could finally start their impromptu party.

[A̴̼͜͝n̷̦̽́d̴̻̀ ̸̮̠̿̚w̵̡̝̑h̸̫̞͑à̸̹̒t̶̞̞͝ ̸̡̮͆o̶̫̔f̸̯̈̓ͅ ̷̘̊́t̶͎̪̓̉h̶̟͆̏ĕ̶̗̜͒ ̴͚͒o̸̮͈͝t̶͍́ĥ̵͈ĕ̵̡͉̂r̵̭̺̄s̶̛̝?̷͇̻̐̄ F̸̭̈́ơ̴̳ṙ̸̞̟̕ ̴̡͌̕e̵̲͚̿v̷̯̉ḛ̵̰̍̈́r̵͕͈̈́ÿ̸͓́ ̴̼͔̽̈́ğ̶͉́o̸͎͕̐ḽ̸̲͐d̴̜̳̃e̷̺̳͆͝n̶̝͈͆͘ ̴͍̈́̉k̷͈̆̀e̷̢̻͠r̷̮̈́n̷̳̫̄̽ȇ̴͈̺l̸̥̯̀ ̷̮̻͒̕o̷͉̦̓f̴̧͓̊̇ ̶̛̰ẃ̶͇͝ẖ̶́̄è̶̢̥̀ä̴̘̥́͆t̵̳͘ ̷͕͖̽t̸̤͘̚h̴̤̽͠ã̵̺̀t̶̡̙̽ ̶͍̜̏̀é̵̠x̸͚̳̓i̶̩̱̍͛s̷͎̯̀̉ţ̶̲̃ ̸̡̻̀̏a̶̛͍̮͛ ̸̮̄́d̶̮̑͋ơ̸̙z̷͚̑ͅe̵̬̯̚ñ̴͎̙ ̸͕̀r̴͇̎̐a̵͎̕͠t̸̢̲͠s̷͓̼̊̚ ̸̤̙̃l̸̖̘͛a̸̺͓̓͋y̷̲͍̋ ̴̺̓ĭ̵̢̢͂ṋ̵̦͑ ̴̤͛̿w̴̖͗͆͜a̴͐͐ͅi̷͖͇͑͑t̵͙̫͗̅ ̸̥͕̃t̴̬̔́ò̷̦̺̎ ̸͎̓ḟ̷͜e̶̝͛a̸̠̓s̸̛̼͘ͅt̵̜͋̚ͅ ̸͎͈̀̈ơ̴̭̕n̵͉̾͘ ̶̣̦̐̕ṭ̶̂h̴̯͉́̄ẹ̸̳̓ ̴̫̱̄g̶̛̗̟͝ŗ̶͛a̶͎͛̏i̸̯͑͗n̷̲̜̊.̸͕͇̐. Ņ̸̛̪͎̥̞̦̲̄̃̓̃̑̀͐̍̀͗̅͛̿͘͠e̶̛̥̞̗͖̭̲͙̭̱̝͋̒͒͗̓̑̓̇́̉͐͒͑͝ë̴̢̥͕̹̺̪̓̀͊̿̈̚̕ͅd̸̜̲̪͖͖̲͉̺͌͊̓͗́̉̂̕ ̵̢̢̛͉͔̂̈́̇́͒̅̿̓͗̈̃͒Ȉ̵̭̫͔͗̉̚ ̸̨̯͖͕̜̭̭̪̟̍͒̆̃̋̓̏͛̇̐̈̌͆̑͠r̴̢̫̟̣̩̜͔̠͕̺̘͋͛̊͂͑͜e̸̡̛̱̯͍̣̬̥͎̤̬͆͌̌̾̍̓̅͒͗͘͜͜m̴͉̠̯̮͓̪͖̻͎̫͕̼̍̽͊̾̿́̀̉̎̂̕͝͠͠į̸͕͖̬̼͙͉͇͍̲̯̖̱̅̈́͛̓̌́̾̅̑̈͐͒͘͠n̷̛̖̝̞͎̤̲̼̫͛̈́͛̑̈d̴͕͖͎̠̦̹̭͚̭̒̓͌͊̃̿͜ͅ ̸͉̼̗̦̣͉̝͚̰̠͚̝̥̙̋͊́̂̌̾͐̃̎̿̀̽̚͜ȳ̵̡̨̨̛̟̞̫͖̣̞̦̺̫̫͚̔̂̀̅̅͂̽̑̒͋́̄͂̈ơ̴̧͇̳̻̬̝̰͉̪̙̠̳̇́̐͒́̔̑́̅̂̈́̄̆̔̕ͅü̸͇͗̂̾̊̈́̅̓̓̌̑͂̓͋͘ ̸̧̱͕̗͎̜̩̐̿̒̍́͊̈́̌͒ő̷̧͈̭̻̦̗̞̰͕̺͗̽̌̈́͊̔̀̈́̈̃̚͜ͅf̷͍̦̘̓ ̷̧̥̜̗̱̏̃̀̓j̷̯̣͚̠̞̬̠̫̖̘̮͊̋̿̒̽͒̓́͂͒͌̚̚͝û̷̢̙̳͇͎̩̲̰̤͔̞͖̩̫̈́́͜ͅͅş̵̻̺͖̮̻̑̓̍̉̐̿̀̔͂̈́̌̿͒͘̚͘͠t̴̯̞̜͉̬̰̿̊͛̒̎̈͋́̒͜ ̴̗̩̥͒̿͆̍̌̇̌͝͝t̵̰͔͈̿̽͋̔͒̆͒̔͘̕͠ĥ̶̛̩͉̜̹̦͉̮̄́͑̈́̐͂̓͒̔͠i̸̺͙͕̍̅̽͂̓̆̌͠ş̸̛̣̦͕̞̭̖̦̰̪͎̱̝̀̀͊̔̎͒̈́̍̽̂͋̈́̚ ̷̡̖̠̭̬̦͍̞͊͊͌́̉̽̅̑́͝ͅm̴̢̞͙̠̰̼͇̰̑̃̽̀ơ̵̠͇͔̗͓̣̖̑́̎̿̈́̓̽͂͐̑̓̕̕r̸̛͎̺̱͇̺͈̮̳̺̟̥̙̯̙̭̪̾̓̆͛́͊͐̾ń̶̨͇̩̗̪̯̫͇͚̲̼̦͚͗͂̆͐͆̋̃̅̔̒̈́̏͌͝ḯ̶̞̍̓͌̎̚n̵̛͔̟̝̎̍̌͑̈̍̑̽́͆͑̚͠g̵̨̗̦͍͇̫̫̬̲̘̪̤͉̣̳̼͒̾̾̎͒̔̑̈́͒̀͗̈́̇̀̀͘͜͝?̸̛̩̻̓̾̍͐͛͗̇͊̎͒͛͠ Ơ̷̼̟̏̓f̵̪̋ ̶̗̙̒t̴̗̱̬̀̄͑h̷̢̥͐e̶͈̓ ̷̦͌͗̓ã̵̼̮̀͒ṫ̶͇t̵̹̹̣̒͛̚ḙ̵͈̾̔̀m̸̨̡̛̞̀p̵͍͂ţ̷̱͛͑̄s̴̡͔̜̓̃ ̵̛̹̄͝t̵̹̫̓͂o̶̺̔͊ ̵̗͖̾̏̈́e̴̮͕̪̓̈́̕x̷̻̻̊́e̴̙͊̎r̶̡̡̈́̈́̕ţ̸͚̳̃ ̵͙̽̄͐t̶̻̪͛̈́͗ḧ̵̫̗́̑̿e̵̯̞͂̆̈́ỉ̶͈̅ͅȓ̵̛̤̺̙͝ ̸̢̒̾͝p̵̞̬̽ē̶̻r̴̘̀͛͜c̸̩̠̑̉̄e̶̞͉͌̅î̶̺̠͖͑v̵̗͙̰̋̑e̶͉̺̒̓͊d̷̳͝ ̶̛͔́̍s̶͍̣̃u̵͓̥͔͂͘p̵̧͠ẻ̴͖͉̤r̸̠̓i̷͖̱͑o̴̘͌̋͘ṟ̷̱͋ȉ̷̧̩̻͋̿t̸̬́͐ͅỳ̴̘͜ ̴̦̯̽͑o̶̢͉͇͒̏v̷̝̳̎ę̶̈́ŗ̴͒̈́̏ ̶̢͙̾̊s̷̠͐ö̸͉̕m̵͚̌̋͗͜é̷̖̐̒ō̷̮̤̒́n̷̬̼̍͌ȩ̸̏̄ ̵͓̉w̵̡̲̌͝ḧ̵͚̃͌ô̴̜͕̘ ̶̡̣̖͂͛t̶͖͆͠h̷͇̗͍͆̏͗ę̸̂͗y̵̳̼̓͊͌ ̶̜̻̌d̴̬̫̿̽̍ȇ̴̻̞̳͛̕e̴̝̦͖͑m̵̻̌ ̸̥̬̔͛̎'̷̜̍͐̓ǫ̶͔̲̈̿t̸̢̀h̸̻̬͕̃e̵̝̽̆r̷̲̰͒̌'̶̫̥̗̓͌͘ ̴̫͔̂̓t̸͚̐͑͌h̵̜̗͖̉́á̶͔̜͙t̷̙̉͋ ̷͇̓v̴̼̼̓̕e̷̟͓̽͛͌r̷͕̻̈̔̊ý̶̺̯̙͠ ̵̲͖̫́͂ẇ̶̳͕͒e̴͗̎̄͜͜͜l̶̖̀̈́͝l̴̾̎̆͜ ̵̬̥̙̐́̋c̶̛̦̣͝ó̷̥ͅǘ̷̫̜l̵̛̟̈d̶̮̗͊͒ ̴̥͔̝̆͑̈́h̵̰͐a̶̲͈̳̓̏ṿ̵̎e̶̛̺̾ ̶̻̙͔͋́̅c̸̭̖̞͒̇ȯ̸̞̼͕̂͠s̵̟̍t̶̥̒̈́̒ ̸̬̕y̴͉͍̍̋̉o̵̬͚̳̓́u̸̞̽̉ ̴̺̋̏y̵̗͊̇ȯ̶̧̬̺̓u̴̟̣̓́̽r̴̼̰͈̀̈́ ̴̋͛͝ͅĺ̵̤͓ǐ̵̦̖f̸͙̊̉̑ę̷͓͙́̓.̵̛͚̰̗͊̓ Å̷̯̗n̵͈̱̍ḋ̸̤̙ ̷̘͌̅t̵͕͙̿h̷̙̭͂e̵̥̒̚ ̵͈̔͐͜t̵̢̹̊͘h̷̟̒i̸͖̐n̷̦̾g̴̢̣͆̑ ̵̼͝i̶̤̕ś̶̬͕,̵͙͒̀ ̵͙͐t̵̪͑ḣ̵̡i̸͚͂̄s̷̟̹̈́̉ ̴̻̓̌į̸͐̈́ş̸̛̬̔ṅ̴̼'̶͉̜͠t̴̙̱̃̿ ̸̨̄̄e̷̢̞͐͂v̵͓͝e̷̩̊ń̸̛̘̭ ̷̠̄t̵̨͆h̷̹̾̆e̴̘̺͊ ̴̱̒f̶̯͙͝ȉ̴̙̊r̸̪̞̂͝s̴̩̈́t̸̘͍͐͠ ̶͎̰̏t̷̹͔͘ị̷̐͝m̷͓̽͝e̴͎͒͝ ̵͔͍̉s̴͚͍̅̈́ó̸̲m̴̙͘e̶̥̪͊ṯ̶̢̓̃ẖ̵̉ī̴̞͕͆n̸͇̈g̴̛̺ ̴͙̎̈́ĺ̸͕í̶͎͒ͅķ̴̏͜e̸̮̒ ̴͈̓̋h̴̭̯͛̇i̵͍̎̂s̶̪̱͌ ̷̜̊͑ẖ̶̈́a̵̢̓s̴̡̔ ̴̣̒h̶̞̦̊̈́a̴͔͓̎̐p̸̘̙̑͐p̴͚͠e̶̺̮̚n̸͇̅ȩ̶̛̟͒d̴̏̕͜ ̶̹̀̓t̶̰̓̈o̴̘͋ ̷̫̤̀͠ÿ̷̺̆͜ö̴̰̜̀ú̵̲̉ ̶̮̑͆i̸̓̆͜s̶̻̀ͅ ̴͉͋ì̸̯͕t̸͍͘?̷̣̎]

He twitched.

[Y̵͚͐o̵̢̳̐̕u̶̪̮̒ ̷̜̼̊͒d̸͖̥̎̒o̸͉̺͐́ ̸̟͑n̷͉̐ỏ̷͖̬ṯ̵̤̽h̷̪̉̈i̶̢͙̊͝n̴̬̼͗g̴͔̃͝ ̶͙̟̃t̸̞̑̕o̸̙͂̓ ̶̩̌́s̷̖̆t̴̫͎̓ò̷̡p̴̭͆̚ ̴̗͘i̷̹͙̓̍t̴̜́ ̴̫̕ě̷̥v̶͎̾́ͅe̵̹͒n̷̠͈̎̑ ̷̨̓t̵͚͘h̴̻̽ọ̸͐͠ṷ̷̈́͊ͅg̶̫̋h̸̠̜͗̉ ̵̩̥̌̽i̷̪͊͠ţ̴̛̑'̵̳͗͛š̴͍ ̷̲̈́̃f̴̭͛̃u̷̲͗̐l̷̰̯̈́l̷͔̏y̵̪̩̒̍ ̴̭̄i̸̬̬̊͛n̷̛̗ ̶̗͆̈y̶͚͛ǫ̶̖͂̓u̴̧͗̄r̶͔̉͗ ̴̗̰̈́p̵̱͛ō̷̭͋ͅw̸̞̾̋e̷̞͋̂r̸̳̃̆ ̷̪͝t̶͕̝̓ǒ̸̰ ̶̲͊d̸̟̤̏͠ǒ̴̭̝͋ ̴̱͔̽s̴̱͛͋ó̷̡̳.̴͍͋̀ ̴̟̃̕Ỹ̶̪̭ȯ̸̭u̶̗͈͂ ̷̫́͜w̷̖̿̈́h̷͎̤̀ő̶̢ ̵̹͍͒͝h̵̢̢̑̅a̷̭͂̇s̵̛̜̜̉ ̶̰̰͆f̵̧̄ͅa̸̲̙̔c̷̣̀͠e̸̱̍̽d̴̞̏̈́ ̵͔͎̎ȟ̴̻o̶̢̎r̴̩̬̂r̴̥̱̒õ̴̯͉r̴͚̙͋̎s̵̨̛̳̀ ̸̻̐̒͜l̸̙̑̈́i̴̛̱t̸̡̏͛e̸̮̹͆̚r̷͍̐͒ä̴̯̰́̓l̵̝̚ ̸͕̈́w̷̻͗̍ơ̴͉̍r̷͎͠l̵̯̕d̸̖̬͌s̵͙͊ ̷͓̟̈́à̶̬w̸̧͕͋̈́á̷̤y̶̖̋ ̵̪͇͆t̶̻̏h̸̝̲̅̎a̴̯̯̐t̵̥̎̚͜ ̶̡̭͑t̵̫̓h̸̖̩̅e̴̤͠s̵̬̙̉̄e̷̯̙̽ ̴̝́͛w̴͕̳͘é̶̯̦a̸̛͚̖͆k̴̤͕͛-̷̪̓w̶͎̋̆ͅi̷̻̒͂l̷̫̈͊l̸̮̎̋è̷̗͝d̵̦͉̎̅ ̷̯͌y̴̲̔ō̸͈͇̚ṵ̶̝̓t̸̫͛ȟ̸̗̪͒ş̴̽͘ ̵͎̿̆w̸̛̩̐h̷̬̀ò̸̩̒ ̵̹͑y̷̦̌o̵͑ͅṵ̴̞̉͛ ̴̼̮̆̔s̴̲͋̎ǒ̵͕̩ ̵͓̻̈͌f̴̖̟̍ó̴͚͝ͅn̸̻̄͋ͅd̵̨̤̈́̕l̶̘̕͜͝y̶̰̍ ̶̱̀̉s̵̡̑͛ṵ̴̱̚r̴̻̬͗r̴̝͊̚o̵̖̜͂ų̴͈̓̕ņ̵͐͝d̴̬̪̎ ̶̤̍̊y̷̲̒ö̸̪̫ů̶̙͖r̵̗̐̋s̷̒̀͜ẻ̸̢̡̇ľ̷̥̼̿f̷̣̌ ̵͎͑̂ẅ̵͓͚́̎i̴̜̫͐t̴̖̾͘h̵͍̤̋̄ ̵̡͈̏c̷͓͊͆o̵̖͆̋u̵̘͆̚l̶͎͆d̸͈̜̑̈n̸̻̟̊'̴̛͙t̸͇̔ ̵̳̃̍ṗ̵̰̕ơ̴̦̩̋s̷̻̑s̵̢̠͐̇i̴͔̊b̵͈̐l̷̪̿y̷͕̿̊ ̷͙͛̈́ḓ̵͊̕ả̵͔́ͅṛ̶̼̽e̸̦͑̾ ̵̪̊̅ḩ̴͐̇o̸̪̰̅͝p̷͉̀ė̸͖ ̴̢̢̀̋t̷̹̔̾o̴̼͎͊̀ ̶̞͗͆c̷̡̱̔̈́o̸̫͒n̷̥̆c̴̜̿͘͜e̴͖͚͋͝ȉ̸̡v̸̦̠̎ę̷̽.̷̳̎̚ ̵��̲Y̵͕͋̓õ̸͈̆ū̷̜̙̕ ̸̜̫̆w̵̺̍͑͜h̶̯̉o̸͗͜ ̵͙͌͆h̶͖͂a̶̟̖̚s̷̥̠̆ ̷̛̖̈w̸̝̾̇a̵̱̟͂͘t̴̹̤̀c̴̗̉ḧ̶͔́e̶̤̎d̶̡̟͊ ̶̗͂ͅṭ̶̇̈́i̴͈̓m̶̙̰̈e̸̤̚ ̸̧̦͝ȧ̸̢n̴̦̜̎d̷̩͊ ̵̧̻̌ẗ̷̮͖́̎į̶͚̊͌m̷͚̓e̴̦͆ ̷͔̅͘ą̵̥̈́̑g̴̣̺̏a̸̛̘͚̔i̷͔̓ṉ̶̢͘ ̶̧̥̋̈́a̸̤͍͘s̴̪̻̅ ̷̖̾̕ý̸̩͝ͅỏ̶͎ȗ̷͔̀͜r̴͉͚̈́ ̵̻̑͐b̶̓ͅŗ̸̠̕o̴̪̐t̵̤͋͛h̴̗̉̐è̸̠͇́r̴̥̱͝s̷͍̓ͅ-̴̭͙̓͌ï̵̠n̷̜͊-̵̩̌̒͜á̸͎̠ṙ̷͔͚m̶̛͚ṧ̵̡̬ ̵̳͖̿̓h̸̝̬̄͝a̵̡͛d̷̦̠̆̍ ̵̱͙̎͝f̸͓̑i̴̢̎̄n̵̤̔a̶͕̽͜l̴̗̒̋l̶̝͍͠y̴͖̰̾ ̶̼̈́͐f̴̛̞̞̿ȇ̶̢̈l̷̲̔͌l̷͚̎ ̸̛̝v̸̮̅i̴͖̊c̶̀͘ͅt̶͇͊i̴̹̚ͅm̸̼̮̚ ̸̗̻̀ṯ̷̫̈o̴̗̒ ̶͙͑͑t̵̮͂h̴̗̺̎e̶͔̅̓ ̶̠͆̔ͅd̵̡̗̈́a̵̹͓̎r̵̡̪̈́̌k̷̗̕ǹ̶̞͗e̸̢͔̽̀s̵͉͌́s̷͍͑ ̷̡͈̇̓i̵̱͉͒̐n̸̗̕ ̷̛̥̇t̶̡̙̆h̸̩͎̉ë̵͓̭́̑ḯ̶̝͈r̵̳̀̀ ̷̜̈h̸̫̄͝ę̵͆̄a̸̪̿̊r̸̢̞̊t̶̝̟͛̋ṣ̷̄̄ ̶͇̟͛a̶̬͒ṅ̸̠̞̿d̴̥̈́̎ ̴̜̅͝l̴̰̜̋͘e̸̹̩͗̚t̸̡͂͗͜ ̶̨̝͘͠i̵̳̅t̸̤̚ ̷͓̃͛c̷̢̝̽͠o̴͎̬̓ṉ̴͔̽s̶̜͓̃̈u̸̺͘m̴̰͌ě̶̠̯ ̷͚̈́ṯ̷͚̎͋h̴̥͌̿ȇ̵̘̩͘m̴̦̕ ̴̙̻̍̓b̸̤̗̆̕o̶̲̔d̴̼̙̒̕ÿ̷͓͇́ ̴̪̟̔͋a̸̤͗n̸͓̜̐d̷̬̙͂͒ ̵̰͍̊̚s̵̝̀ǫ̶͔̐ů̶̖́l̷̥͆̌ ̷͙̍̃b̴̗͊͜͠e̷͇͋f̴̧͔̋̚ő̵͓̾r̸͍͕͠è̸̹̾ ̵̺̦̒͋d̵̨͙̀é̷̫͍l̶̰͝i̴̻̤̚v̴̳̝͊̏ę̴̱̄̉r̷̞̊͆ͅi̸̝̔ǹ̸̟̺̾g̸͙̒ ̵̰̚̕t̵̨̡̀͆h̵͔͍̆͘e̷̟͎̅m̷̞͕͗ ̵͕̍̀t̶͙͘h̷̡̟͋a̸̻͝͝t̴̹̕ ̴̫͒̈f̶͂ͅỉ̸̹͚n̵̗̳̄̚ä̵̧̦̾l̶̛̗͖͘ ̴̯̪͆̏m̴̼̯̾ë̷͙̕ͅŕ̷̘̦c̸̼̼͒y̴̠̱͑̚ ̶̠̐w̵͈̞̑i̵͈̿̐t̸̠̍h̷̼͍̉͠ ̴̣̣͆́t̴̖̊ḧ̶̺́͘e̶̬̥͋ ̵̭̓̂ş̸̮̔e̷̜̋l̶͉̝̑f̶̰̋̌s̸͔͘ạ̸̌͛m̶̗͂e̷̛̪ ̸̥̇̉a̷̤̔̄ḅ̸͠i̷̢͠l̶̗̔i̸̦̣̎ẗ̵͙͖́͂i̶̲̮̒͒e̴̝̅ŝ̷̭̆ͅ ̷̣̥̔̑d̴̙̤̍͊e̷̡̯͗ȓ̶̤͎į̶͎͗̈́ṽ̴͇͝e̶̫̔d̸͔̀͂ ̴̗̀̀f̸͚͛r̸̤̳̕ơ̶̡̬͊m̵̟̚͝ ̴̣̏t̶̰̆͑h̷̫̀̍ę̸͑͒ ̴͖̩̂̚v̷̾ͅẽ̷͖͜r̵̯̀͋ỹ̶͕ ̷̮͕͛t̴͍̹̀̎h̵̪͚̆͘ĩ̷̡̝ń̶͕g̸̭̩̿ ̶̠̈́͑ͅt̸̜́ḧ̴͚́ä̸̭́͠t̶̨͔͌͗ ̸̦̦̒̾l̴̫̰̃e̵̞̾͜a̸̖̓d̶̞̽ ̵̖̍͠t̷̞̍̽h̸̹͍̎̍e̷̠͗ͅm̶͍̦͊ ̸̘͓͌t̵̛͚͚ọ̸̀ ̶̩̎t̷̤͙̏h̵͔̽͊e̷͈͆̈ḭ̸̈́r̷͉͕̋ ̶̞̣̓d̵͖͕̏͗o̷̘͎͗ȍ̸͉m̴͕̅̄.̶̗́ ̴̬̹͗̚N̴̯̮̍ê̵̥v̷̲͔́͋e̴̡͇͠r̴̨͝ ̸͚̘̕͝q̶̧͆̓ǘ̸̺̒i̶̦̋͜t̸̢̻̾̔e̷͋ͅ ̷̧̦͗ḵ̷̓n̶̗̦̈́o̵̲̎̕w̴͍̫̌i̵͖͆͋n̴͎͈̆̇g̵̢̖͊ ̷̠̦̿̚w̸̳͓͛̔ẖ̵̈́̃ẽ̶͓̿n̷̯͐ ̶͙̟̊į̷͑̾t̸͒̇͜ ̶͔͠ẃ̶͕̫o̶͚̞̓̋ủ̴̟̽l̷̦̟̋d̸̟̑ ̵̡̞̉͘b̸̡̿e̶̲̔̐ ̶̖̄y̵͎̏̀ȍ̵̻ủ̵̟͖͛r̴̛͇͔̂ ̵͎̋t̶͎̫͛u̵̩̝͋̈́r̶̡̮̽n̴̗̖̚ ̷̟̀o̵̩̎̋n̵̖̤͂͘ ̴̨̈́t̸̰̅͐ȟ̴͙e̴̖̙͑̓ ̵̯̤̅͠p̷̛͠ͅy̷̘̑̈r̷̮͒ę̶͒ ̸̟̞̓a̵͖͐̾ͅs̸͎̱̓ ̴̪̫̽̅ẗ̸̡̳́h̵͉̏ĕ̷ͅ ̴͓̔̂c̸͇̫͆y̶̺͒c̷̹͊̄l̷̨̳̇̎ẹ̴̻͆͠ ̶͓̾c̷̨̞̅o̶̯͒͝n̷̯̄t̵̞͋̕i̴͍̚n̶̢̿͒u̵̪̪̓ě̴͇̀d̸͍̖͛̚.̴͊]

Okay.

There were a lot of things you could ignore, some things that you simply had to if only to keep the most tenuous of grips on your dubious sanity when one is suddenly thrust into an entirely different world with different policies, different rules of engagement and (potentially) fucking physics.

Sure, should he probably have clued in that something was up the very moment those weird ass visions brought about by the local talking mirror started. Probably. Or when the talking portraits scattered about the college started falling silent whenever he walked past, as if someone stepped on their graves. Sure. Or even when the sleepwalking had him waking up in the dead of night to find himself already staring out at the large glass windows of the dormitory as the rain steadily streamed down the siding.

(Yeah, actually in hindsight the sleepwalking was kind of a big red flag.)

And like, logically, he knew what he was doing was probably just setting himself up for failure. But coming from world where malevolent entities that fed off expressed negativity could and would latch onto any form of perceived weakness to turn it against you, that lead to some admittedly terrible coping mechanisms to deal with the crazy shit you saw.

(The fact that most of the planet didn't even fucking believe in said entities because of the vigorous propaganda campaigns brought about by numerous long-standing institutions didn't help much either. Thank you so much for that by the way. Way to made the job of cleaning up after these 'make believe ghosts' who could and regularly did wrack up a not-insignificant body count so much easier. Not. Also magic was fucking weird okay and he was working with severe chronic sleep deprivation and probably some form of shellshock so sue him for being little slow on the uptake.)

[Ă̶̗n̶̨̊ḓ̶̾ ̴̬̄y̷̰̚e̴͎͒t̶̥̐ ̶͇̊y̴̛̤ȏ̴̥u̵̗͛ ̵͖̒s̵̫̆ẗ̸͖́i̴̛̭ĺ̸̙l̵̛̼ ̶͉͋f̶̛͕ò̷̯ū̶̞g̷̳̊h̴̢͝t̶̎ͅ ̸̰̀f̵͈͊o̶̫͆r̸̤͗ ̷͉͂t̵͖͠ḧ̸̤ẽ̴͚m̷̿͜ ̷̮̏d̷̤̐e̸̼̎s̴̳̋p̷̩̄i̶͕̔t̴̳̓e̴͜͝ ̶͎̆k̶͙͊n̷̦̿ơ̸̻w̸͊ͅi̸̅͜n̴̬͝g̴̺̓ ̸̣̽t̵̠́h̷̍ͅa̷̫͠ẗ̸̯́ ̷͉̓ë̵̩́v̵̥͂e̸̘͌r̴̳̍y̷̘̾ṭ̶̍h̴̪̽ì̷̢n̷̦̓g̵̤̑ ̴͈̇y̵̪̾ó̶̠u̷̻̕ ̵̢̈d̶͕͊i̷̲͋d̸̪̀ ̴͈̅ǎ̷̭n̷͕̆ḓ̵́ ̴̭̊e̸̙̒v̷̭̏e̶̟̽r̴̳̈́ÿ̷̧́ť̴̯h̶̞̉ï̵̧n̴͚̏ǵ̶̳ ̸͉͝y̶̝̾ö̴̘́ų̸̆ ̵͖̿g̸̪͌a̶͉͂v̴͙͋e̴͈̎ ̷͉͘w̵̢̐o̸͖͋ù̵͚l̴͔͐d̴̖̾ ̷̪̚à̸̢m̸̠̌o̷͚͒u̴̔ͅn̵͔̒ẗ̴̜ ̸͈̆t̵̝̐o̴̺͐ ̴͊͜n̴͍͝ó̴̤t̶͇̓ĥ̴ͅi̴̬̓ṇ̶͐g̶̺͌ ̷͚͂i̷̧͗ǹ̴̜ ̴̩̓t̶̢́ĥ̸̡e̴͓͠ ̶̜̀ḙ̶̊ṋ̴̛d̴̡̆.̷̢̅ ̸͇͑Ť̵̠h̸̤͐à̴̖ṱ̵͝ ̸̫̉h̵̘̒u̴͖̍m̴̪̆a̴͈͛n̸̜͛s̸̻̒ ̶̛̜w̷͌ͅo̶̘͠u̵̺͠l̶̎͜ḏ̷̿ ̶̹̉ë̸͉́v̷͕̉ë̵̙́n̵̢͛ṭ̷̃u̷̡͑ǎ̴͇ḷ̷͂l̵̤̚y̴̙͒ ̷̟̇j̴͓͊ụ̷͋ŝ̶̯t̷̬̆ ̶̼̾b̴̰̋e̸̲͝ ̶̰̿ċ̴͎ơ̵̥n̵̤̔s̷̛͉u̵̦̾m̷͎̄é̸̻d̵͈̿ ̵̗̈́b̷͓͠y̸̜͒ ̵̣̌ṯ̶̆h̶͝ͅe̸͉̓i̷̮̐r̴̐ͅ ̸̨́ṇ̷̌e̷͈͘g̶̖̏a̴̋ͅt̷̢͐i̵͎̓v̸̲̀i̴̽ͅt̷͔̋y̴̐͜ ̶̢͘a̵̤̕n̸̠͆d̷̪̓ ̴̰͘t̴̞̓ḫ̴͗a̷̛̱t̴͚̎ ̸͖͆y̴̯͛ỏ̴̲u̷̩͆ ̶̣̑ẅ̸͖́e̴̜͋r̸̲̽ḙ̶̈ ̶̨̕ṕ̴͓ă̴͚t̸͈͑c̷̪̃h̶͔͗i̴̥͊n̸̖̄g̴̟̈́ ̶̧̂u̶̝̍p̷̼͑ ̸͖̑ḁ̴͋ ̸̲̄ș̸͠ḣ̷̫ȋ̵͖p̴̟͊ ̴͕͛t̵͈͂h̷̯̔a̶͉͗t̴͖͂ ̵̟̐h̸̋͜ạ̵̉d̶̦͘ ̴̞̓l̸̳͋o̸̘͊n̷̼͆g̷̺͋ ̷͈̾s̴̞̄i̷̯̾n̸̢̄c̵̺̃e̶͚͌ ̴̝̿s̶̛̟ȃ̵̰n̴̂͜k̸̟̏.̴̠͋ B̶͔̕e̸͖͑c̶͍̅a̴͖̐ǔ̷̱s̸̗̎e̶̡̊ ̷͈̈́t̵̤͆ò̴̻ ̵̛̹y̷̲̅o̶̰̍u̵͈̓ ̷̗̓t̶̯̀h̸̼̅ả̵͕t̵̹̎'̸̧̂s̴̩̎ ̶͎̔j̸̻̀u̷̞̇s̶̖͌t̸͕̃ ̸͔̋ḫ̷̃ơ̵̬w̵̨͝ ̶̘̆ẗ̵̨́h̴̬̔i̵̲͆n̷̄͜gs̶̜̈́ ̶͙̈́w̸̩̔o̶͈͒r̸̗̍k̴͎̍ẽ̶̳d̶͖͠,̷̼̇ ̵̩̇ŵ̸̟a̸̯͝s̷̞̀n̶̤͒'̶͓̊t̴͉̎ ̵̢͑ǐ̴̗t̷͔͗?̵̖͌ ̴̛̘D̶͕̓è̸̜ḙ̶͛p̸̻̈́ ̵̳̽d̸͕̏ơ̵̹w̴̬͂ǹ̷̻ ̴̟̋i̶͚͐n̶̘̒ ̵̰͒t̷͐͜h̸̻̋e̶̩̎ ̶̦̔d̴̝͐à̵̧r̷̬͂ḱ̷̢n̶̚͜ḙ̸̍s̵̢͑s̴͚͠ ̵̖̑o̷̲͊f̵͕̈́ ̵̭͘y̶͓̐o̴̱̔ú̷̞r̵̫̈́ ̷̗͐ò̵̹w̶̤͂n̸͙̏ ̴͙̐s̸̥̀o̸̓͜u̵͔͌l̷͙̈́ ̵̜̈́y̸̫͝o̴͛͜ȕ̵͉ ̴̮͝t̴̖͆r̷̗͝ȗ̵̡l̶̠̓y̵͔̓ ̸̗́ḇ̸̈ẹ̸́l̸̗̏ḯ̶̮é̶͚ṽ̴̜ḛ̷̈d̶̘̀ ̶̺̅t̷͓̑ḧ̵̩a̶͚͂t̵͚͂'̷͍̃s̶̗̽ ̷̤͋j̴̄ͅu̷̪̍s̴̹͗t̶̀͜ ̸̤̓h̷͕̏o̶̩̚w̵̻̃ ̶̧̄h̴̻̚u̷̘͒m̷̟̒ä̶͎n̵̟͗i̶̟͊t̶͚͘y̴̰̓ ̸̩̐w̸̥̆ȧ̵͚s̶͚̒.̴̨̿ I̵ ̸s̸ ̷n̵ ̴'̴ ̵t̶ ̶i̸ ̷t̸ ̸?̸]

The air in his lungs caught. A pale hand came up to clutch at the fabric of his ill-fitting vest. He couldn't breathe. Turns out there are somethings you just can't ignore. Not when the devil himself was finally knocking at your door. Slowly, he t u r n e d a r o u n d .

[B̶̡̒u̸̦͝t̵̲̂ ̷͚̒t̵̢̐ẖ̷̄e̵̱͗ ̸̱͒m̵̗͘o̷̠͘s̸̫̋t̵͕̉ ̸̱̄d̷͕̏a̶̠͛m̷̪̅n̵͎̔i̷̥͌n̵͖̿g̶̭͗ ̶̲̅t̸͕͝h̷͔̔ỉ̶͖n̷̳̓g̶̱̀?̶̟͐]

Only to catch a glimpse of his figure reflected in the cracked mirror carelessly propped up against the opposite wall. He watched with a mounting horror as the figure contained within moved independently of his own form, the monster clad in his reflection having finally gained enough negative energy to properly manifest, twisted to face him as it spoke.

[H̴o̶w̷ ̵c̶a̴n̷ ̵y̸o̶u̶ ̸b̷e̵ ̷s̷u̶r̴e̵ ̵t̴h̶a̶t̸ ̸y̶o̶u̷ ̵a̶r̴e̸ ̸t̴h̶e̴ ̷o̸n̷e̶ ̵i̷n̷ ̶c̶o̴n̸t̵r̵o̷l̵?̸]

It's red eyes crinkled in malevolent glee as pale lips curled up into a fanged s m i l e...

[Sorry -̸̸̶̴̵̸̵̶̸̵̵̵̸̸̴̻͖͚͍͛̈́͗̂̀̉͋̚-̴̸̸̸̴̴̴̷̴̷̷̸̷̛̳͍̬̗̣͊̂͊͠-̶̴̶̶̶̶̸̵̴̶̸̸̵̴̴̷̸̸̵̸̸̡̛̗̙͙̹͓̘̗̹̈́̄͐̒̂̈́̽̕-̷̸̷̵̵̴̵̸̸̸̶̶̴̵̴̷̵̢̟̫̥̠͗̄̍̾̑̄̕͘͠-̵̷̴̸̵̸̸̶͈̦͉̻̀-̴̴̸̸̸̸̴̷̶̶̶̶̷̶̸̸̶̶̵̴̨͙̣͕̮͈̘̔̑̏̍̑̎̌̐̚͠-̶̷̵̶̶̶̴̴̸̴̴̸̶̜̥́̔̔͌̀͑͆͘ but it's my turn now.]

-x-------X-------x-------X-------x ( * ) x-------X-------x-------X-------x-

{Crash!}

"Damn it Floyd, be careful with those pans. We're on a time crunch and we can't afford any screw ups."

"Yeah, sorry." He rubbed his head, "Ah hey, isn't that Mr. Shrimpy?"

"What?" Jade's head perked up as he went to join his brother at the kitchen window. They watched as the pale haired man mechanically tried —then succeeded– in picking himself up off the grass. Looming much like his namesake, his hunched figure loomed over a pile of glittering something scattered about just out of sight as he clutched his arm tightly to his chest. However, he suddenly stiffened as if sensing the sets of eyes upon him. Slowly he rose and twisted to face the merfolk twins staring curiously out the open window at the strange new show.

"..."

"...?"

"..." He turned, blank-faced and briskly walked away.

The two brothers turned to face one another then back to the window, each with a curious tilt of the head.

"Weird."

-x-------X-------x-------X-------x ( * ) x-------X-------x-------X-------x-

Having gotten a significant distance away from the dorm and those contained within he stopped, hunched over as he gasped for air. Bit by bit his breathing leveled out but the raging riptide of feelings within given rise by the rampaging Phantom in his soul remained.

Through clenched teeth, a wordless sound escaped him as he desperately struggled to hold together the demolished fragments of his masked composure as the wraith lashed out at its impromptu jailer. Each tendril of void-like energy sent a wave of ragepainindignationdespairf u r y so potent that made him want to curl up into a ball and wait until the darkness consumed him just so he didn't have to feel it any longer. He breathed out...

"...Fuck."

His body faced the Alchemy Workshop's retention pond, the pain in his left arm a tenuous grounding point as the blood soaked through the thin dress shirt. It had been a wild gamble, stabbing himself with one of his knives but the sheer shock of the action had driven the other back enough to allow for him to make his escape. Sure it had been through window, but it wasn't like it had been the first time today he'd done so.

He grimaced, wincing at surge of sheer inhuman wrath emanating from his passenger. It was taking every single fiber of his being to continue to fight against the black-hole of negativity as to not be overcome but this far in he already knew it was a losing battle.

Grey eyes stared bleakly out at the sunset as it cast rays over the gleaming water.

(He never even got to hang out with the guys at the party and see the eclipse with everyone else. He didn't even get to say goodbye.)

He knew that it was only a matter of time before the Phantom overtook him. True he bought himself a little bit of wiggle-room but he needed to get far away, off Sage Island if possible and away from any populated settlements at the very least, and fast. Before it was too late and he was subsumed entirely under the fathomless entirety of that...monstrosity. (He needed to get away from everyone while he was still himself.)

(It had been a long time but he felt like he wanted to cry.)

"Little imp?" He startled and then the pit in his stomach bottomed out.

Oh no. No. Nonono-

"Damn it, wait up! You're lucky I run track... Huh? Oh hey, Mr. White! What are you doing out here?"

"Oh, hey! Sam...and Jack too! What a surprise!" He replied, his voice pitching up a bit too high. Internally he cursed up a blue streak as he tried to figure out the best way to get the both of them to leave without seeming suspicious.

"I-I was just...ah, getting some air before the...the viewing party? You know? The one Kalim was hosting? At Ramshackle?" He jabbed his thumb back the way he came, ignoring the way his hand subtly shook. (The suspiciously gleeful cackle echoing in the back of his mind was not helping.)

Damn it! Out of all of the people who could have showed up why did it have to be the only one in this god-forsaken school who actually had some inkling about the dangers the spiritual world could possess as well as his relation to the seedy underbelly of it. And to make matters worse, why was one of the students with him?!?

"...Yeah? Is that so?" Sam gave his version of a neutral smile, inoffensive and otherwise the perfect fit of dealing with a difficult customer. As magenta eyes slowly roved up and down his form before finally settling on his chest. Brows furrowed imperceptibly as he cocked his head a bit to the side. "Bit far of a walk, innit?"

His heart dropped to his feet. Shit, he knew that look. That was the look he had whenever his attention had been caught by some particularly intriguing curiosity. And the fact that it was now aimed at him? He already knew something was up.

But still, he was in too deep to stop now.

"Mhm, y-yeah! I can't really stop myself when my legs get moving sometimes." He let out chuckle that sounded hollow even to his ears. "Sometimes, you just have to get up and go. Y'know?" His voice faltered, and he swallowed, trying again. "You have to go..."

It was now that the youngest member of their unconventional trio stepped up into the conversation. "...Uh, hey this is kind of a weird question. And I don't wanna be rude and interrupt...whatever it is that you two have got going on. But, do I smell blood right now?"

"!"

Slowly his arms lowered to dangle limply at his sides. "..." He turned away as the last rays of sun slowly dipped under the horizon. "..." Back to the men, the sinking light cast his form in deep shadow.

"...I forgot. You beastfolk have elevated senses of smell don't you."

A cold wind swept through the area, stirring ripples in the iolite depths. The pale man shuddered, his slight frame shaking like a leaf in a winter's storm and he seem to sway a bit as if about to keel over before he caught himself and straightened with an eerie calm.

"...Mr. White?" Jack moved to place a hand on the shorter man's shoulder.

"Don't touch him!"Jack taken off guard by sudden outburst, jerked his head back to stare at the older man as his hand instinctively clamped down. The body underneath him twitched. With a sharp curse, Sam darted forward as the man turned on them and struck out, nailing the taller boy in the face with a right hook. He yelped and fell back, clutching at his bleeding nose in shock as Sam quickly stepped in to take his spot and a brief struggle ensued.

"Oh seven my nose!" He winced at the pain, almost certain that the offending part was broken. "What is your problem?!" Jack howled, only to receive no response as the two men seemed determined to beat the shit out of one another. White ears pinned back in a snarl. Fine, if that was how they were gonna play it, and joined the fray.

But the older white-haired male fought like a man possessed and refused to give an inch. Tagging the teen with a solid palm strike to the solar plexus, he knocked him away as the other choked and sputtered. He reared back to elbow Sam in the gut but the taller man merely tanked the hit and held on for dear life as they begin to grapple.

It was a fierce fight but the older man was eventually forced to the ground, having been overpowered in his degraded state. But still he continued to thrash and wriggle in their grasp, with a seemingly increasing desperation.

Having no other choice, the two of them pressed their weight onto the prone man. Jack's ears twitched as the other evidentially realized the futility of continued struggle and turned to muttering "Nonono..." With his face pressed into the dirt and splattered with blood and who-knew-what he looked positively unhinged as he stared at the setting sun. "You don't understand."

"Mr. White..." Jack murmured, tail giving a unnerved swish at the usually collected man's behaviour.

"Oh, we understand more than you think buddy." Sam muttered with narrowed eyes as his hand went for the strange green hamsa-type amulet in his apron pocket. "Hold him down for me would ya?"

"O-Oi..." At the other's sharp look he grumbled and did as he was told. Forcing the small man's uninjured arm behind his back with a small grimace.

Grey eyes slipped shut behind cracked lenses as his lips moved in a soft prayer. "Please-" The rest of which was lost to the rush of wind.

"Hm, what was that? A curse, maybe? A request for last rites, perhaps?"

...He t w i t c h e d .

"I said..."

Dark eyes widened a touch too late as he processed the change in the air. "Would you-" He jerked his head to meet the younger boy's confused gaze, mouth poised to warn him but was cut off when the lad was summarily ripped from his perch and tossed aside.

"—just–"

And with a strength that he had no right to possess Sam followed suit, his amulet sent skittering across the grass-

"–let-"

-only to stop at his feet.

He stood a looming shadow over the fallen men. With crimson eyes crescented as he cast a look of utter disdain at the protective amulet. His lips continued peeled back in a snarl.

"-me-"

And as if rising from the grave, his foot lifted up before ruthlessly slamming down as he unleashed a truly unholy sound." GO!!"

And then it was silent.

An uneasy stillness fell over the clearing as the two prone men didn't dare move, the overwhelming pressure emanating from the lone figure before them was not that unlike a predator surveying his catch before moving in for the kill and it made the teenager want to bolt with his tail tucked between his legs to be honest.

If it weren't for the sound of heavy breathing, he would have thought that the man had been turned to stone. Those luminous eyes boring into their souls as their owner stared and stared and stared. Until suddenly, he blinked.

Then blinked again.

And once more, the unearthly red glow flickering before snuffing itself out.

And from there it seemed that the spell broken and the man was finally to take in their stricken state. A look of utter horror crossing his face as he slowly shook his head and took a step back. Then another. And another, faster this time. Eyes haunted, yet unable to leave their bloodied forms.

"I-I'm sorry."

And then he turned tail, bolting for the forest as he disappeared into the thick copse of trees.

(Wholly unaware of the single red notebook that had slipped out of his pocket in the scuffle.)

-x-------X-------x-------X-------x ( * ) x-------X-------x-------X-------x-

Naturally they tried to go after him but between their injuries and the fading light they quickly lost sight him in the underbrush. Reluctantly the two of them stumbled huffing-and-puffing to a halt in a rocky half-clearing. Sam slowly hobbled over to the giant yew sprawling about the copse and leaned against its trunk with a strained grimace.

Long fingers carefully folded around his waist as he took care not to jostle the rib cage any further lest the bruises there turn in to full blown fractures. He watched as Jack slammed his free fist into the tree's bark with a loud curse. "We're just running in circles."

"Yeah? I hadn't noticed." The man drawled.

It was here the teenager's temper finally spilled over, "Y'know, I've been real patient with this whole thing. I kept my mouth shut when a bunch of freaking ghosts burst in the school store and started screeching –and I quote— 'The Great Lord of Darkness has clawed his way back from Death & That Which Lay Beyond the Stars to enact his revenge upon us all. It's over! The end is nigh!'" His mimicry of said spirits was somewhat tempered by the broken nose but otherwise spot on, Sam thought.

"I was just trying to get some snacks man. Not get my freaking face punched in by the local staff cryptid who suddenly decided to completely flip their lid. That bastard White really knows how to throw hands by the way." He threw a hand up in exasperation.

"But you know a guy can only only take so much. And so I must ask: what in the actual fuck-" He gestured pointedly back at the way they came, ears pinned against his head. "-was that? And why are we following after it?"

"...Yes, I too would like to know the reasoning."

Jack let out a startled yelp as both their heads jerked up to stare over as the newest arrival —Malleus Draconia, Housewarden of Diasomnia himself– seemingly appeared from the aether before them.

Disconcerted, Jack's ear twitched. "...Dude. Where did you even come from...?" While his nose might not have been currently in service his ears still worked so why in the world didn't he hear him creeping up on them? Did he just spawn in the second he mentioned Mr. White? Weird.

Apparently unphased (or perhaps used to such reactions), the fae seemed to take his question in stride and answered earnestly. "There was a social gathering dedicated to tonight's eclipse occurring nearby so I sought to occupy the intermedium with a nice walk through the nearby ruins with my compatriots as to not inconvenience them with an early arrival. However, as we set out one of my companions seemed to be stricken by a sleeping fit so the other opted to wait it out with him nearby and as such told me it was alright to go ahead and they would catch up in a bit."

"...Right."

"Now, I heard you mention the host of this affair, and quite loudly if I might add. May I perhaps inquire as to why you were in pursuit of this individual?"

Was it just him or did those eyes seem to gleam dangerously as the fae coolly took in their states of disarray only to quietly narrow at the half-dried spattering of bloodstains present on their forms. Jack's hackles raised as a chill ran down his spine and suddenly he felt as though if either of them said the wrong thing then it could turn out very badly, for them that was.

It seemed that the shopkeeper picked up on this as well if his nervous grimace were any indication. He glanced away, appearing as if to be weighing the situation's pros versus cons of the before appearing to have come to a decision.

"...Yeah, about that. Listen, there's no good way to put this but-" With a grim look he turned to face the others and made as if to push his hat back only to remember the piece of fabric had been lost earlier in the scuffle and instead settled for running a hand through his hair. "- that thing back there? It ain't your little friend anymore."

Malleus seemed to take that in for a moment, toxic green eyes unblinking. Then he subtly tilted his head. "Explain."

...Why did it sound like a threat?

"Alright, alright! You really know how to twist a guy's ear don't'cha? Yeesh..." The shopkeep waved them back down before giving a suspicious glance around; he seemed, for lack of a better word, agitated. "Fine, I'll spill. But not out here." Raising a hand to quickly stave off the protests he elaborated, "More often than not, in Old Woods like these the trees aren't the only things listening."

He turned to Malleus, "That big shindig of yours, it's over at Ramshackle right? That's good. I know that paranoid old geezer has set up who knows how many wards and booby traps around the joint so it should be safe enough there." Plus he didn't want to repeat any of this more than once.

Seeing no good reason to reject this reasonable offer (nor the implied opportunity to interrogate find out if that blood on wolf beastman shirt was just his own or not. For his sake it better be...) the fae begrudgingly agreed. He turned away, setting off through the thicket as the shopkeeper flanked him.

After a beat the exasperated beastman let out a quiet huffing-grumble and stalked behind, his hand tightening around the hardcover notebook clutched within.

-x-------X-------x-------X-------x ( * ) x-------X-------x-------X-------x-

Uneven footfalls thudded against the rough undergrowth as he ran. His thin frame raced through the darkening forest as if the devil himself was on his heels, which considering the circumstances was not that far off. He moved until his jumps began to turn sloppy, a small blackthorn thicket thwacked against his aching arms when he stopped being able to dodge properly, and beads of sweat mixed with dirt dripped down into his eyes only to to become yet another hindrance that eventually sent him and his glasses sprawling out across the pine needle and rock-encrusted soil.

And yet throughout it all, that malevolent laughter accompanied him as the foreign void behind his eyes encroached.

It was here, in this desolate stretch of forest worlds upon worlds away from all that he ever knew, the pale-haired man laid. Hopelessly lost and alone, save for the monster poised in wait under his skin, eager to take his body and soul for a nightmarish spin.

And it was here that the twenty-seven-year-old finally let himself shatter.

With crimson eyes he cried tears that refused to fall with the sound of mocking reassurances of a monster once dead as a symphony in the night.

And as the light of red moon rose history repeated itself.

[horse-shit]

oh to do vent art... if only