#its so long and nothing really happens but whatever

[spidori]

Possible twist on this, what if Danny's ghostly side *is* actually Doomsday, or at least his soul?

Got a little rambly, so putting that under the cut.

The short summary is Doomsday's soul has an obsession with resurrection, and has developed the ability to push back through to the living realm and construct living bodies to do so.

He ends up pushing into and regenerating Danny during the portal turning on, then doesn't want to take over, even if he could kill what his soul now sees as a part of himself, because cooperating like this turns out to be a fantastic survival strategy, not to mention Danny's DNA quiets down the anger and violence written into his own. So he just stays, a symbiotic soul now completely chimeric to Danny's own, and they survive.

What if the portal couldn't open unless something was trying to do so from both sides? And Danny accidentally resetting the safety cutoff switch only worked because Doomsday's soul "happened" to be punching its way through the veil for his resurrection at the same time?

I kinda like this idea for a few reasons actually. Especially since it provides a really good reason for Danny surviving; it's always kinda bugged me, since Danny doesn't seem particularly obsessed with anything in the show, at least not nearly enough to help him survive the moment of becoming a halfa; and I know obsession is pretty much if not entirely Phannon, and the show just has him essentially chosen by the narrative, which is fine, but I don't want to give up all the narrative potential that obsessions offer.

So Doomsday got beaten by Superman, as he do. Goes to punch his way back through the veil and regenerate from whatever matter, as his ghostly ability allows him to; obsession with resurrection and survival will give you that kind of ability if you have enough ecto, and the scientist who made Doomsday spared no expense in the resources he provided, so Doomsday is a lot like Spectra if her obsession wasn't quite literally skin-deep.

He's in the process of pushing through (it's a process to break the boundaries of reality, ok. It's why he can't just instantly res every time he's killed) when the weak point he's making suddenly shatters inwards, and he goes from pushing against nearly infinite resistance to suddenly nothing pushing back at all, and instead goes absolutely Flying into the portal, and *SMACK* right into a body. A fully formed pile of organic matter, exactly what his soul would normally have to slowly and painfully construct, but also in the process of being obliterated by the conditions of portal formation and a ton of electricity from the other side.

Welp, can't have that. That's a perfectly good body right there, ain't no way Doomsday's obsession would let that go to waste. Not like he hasn't survived those things before either, so how to survive them is already incorporated into his soul. So that's what he does, he keeps Danny from dying, as is the first half of his obsession. He also fuses himself into Danny, giving him a body, and satisfying the second half of his obsession as well.

The thing is? That's actually exactly where his obsessions end? It's not like he *wants* to rampage, that's all trauma and conditioning from his "upbringing" so to speak. It's literally encoded into his DNA, something he only kinda has at the moment, since he managed to save Danny's body from damage so well. And Dannny? Doomsday saved him so well his mind is even still intact. Doomsday can't kill his mind to take the body either, the whole process had the side effect that his soul doesn't differentiate between Danny and Doomsday any more, and destroying himself goes directly against his obsession. So, as long as Danny isn't trying to kill himself, there won't be any differentiation by the underlying obsession, and the Doomsday part of the soul will just try to help the overall being survive. Eventually, the two aspects of souls coexist as a single fused soul long enough that they go from symbiotic to something better described as chimeric, with no real boundary to differentiate them, just gradients across where bits originating from different existences have found points of connection and blended together at the edges.

One cool ripple effect from this is that it adds a lot to Dan. Danny was, unintentionally, trying to destroy Doomsday by ripping him out like that. It triggered the *Survive* obsession, which designated the Danny part as the threat, letting him be differentiated as a-part-of-self-causing-threat-so-needs-to-be-removed instead of something of the self to still be protected.

The rampage that follows is just the Doomsday anger-in-his-DNA part coming back to the surface a bit, even if it is mixed with parts of Danny and Vlad that got pulled in during the process. The only real difference is that the soul has come to view ghostly existence as another form of survival through all the time as a halfa, letting it not try to resurrect as a living being, and instead keep access to all the ghostly powers it's picked up in the process of surviving as Phantom.

Danny gets experimented on by either his parents or the GIW and dies over and over and over again but because of his unusual ghostly creation he keeps coming back and with each return he changes. Originally the changes with each death were subtle. His skin would be a shade greyer, his flesh would be tougher, his powers a bit stronger.

Then the changes became far more apparent, the deaths reaching past the multiple thousands. He’s grown and he’s grown a lot. His skin is grey and spikes protrude over his being. His face no longer resembles what he once was, now a terrifying being with razor sharp teeth and spines imitating a beard jutting out of his jaw (wait how long has he been doing this? Has it been THAT long? Surely not.) Danny just wishes he could be free, not to be put under simulated trials over and over and dying again and again.

The Justice League heard word of unusual power disruption and reports of unethical experimentation at an absolutely massive underground research facility. Superman chose to lead the charge, rounding up scientists and directing other league members to find the server room and to find, collect, and then destroy all research this group might have found.

Going deeper and deeper into the research facility, there are dozens upon dozens of inhuman entities in massive glowing green vats, all of which seemingly in a comatose state.

At the farthest and most secure part of the facility, having broken through dozens of secure locks, doors, and security drones, Superman comes across the largest containment of all; one holding a being hooked up to dozens of monitors and in a similar comatose state as the others, the beast within is someone Superman knows very very well. Doomsday.

[devildomwriter]

They Discover You Doodling Them in Your Notebook | Others x Reader

Solomon

Solomon had called you in for another lesson in potions, one he had invented himself by mistake. At first, you were really interested and participated but now you were waiting for the mixture to settle so he was organizing his things in the meantime.

As you waited you helped yourself to some of Luke’s cookies but then he, Simeon, and Raphael turned in for the night and it was just you and your D.D.D. which was nearly dead. To pass the time left you took out your sketchbook intending to study but you were much too tired for that and your pencil had a mind of its own.

You had no intentions to draw Solomon but your eyes followed him as he walked around the room, humming an unknown archaic song. He looked as innocently cheery as ever despite being anything but.

You blushed as you studied the way his hair fell across his face, the way his gray eyes darted back and forth as he collected things with careful precision.

Then without meaning to, your eyes met and you quickly looked away pretending it didn’t happen. This was the wrong move as it made him more suspicious. He walked over with a smile hoping you were studying as you’d intended.

“My, look how studious my apprentice is being!” He beamed and before you could protest he quickly levitated the notebook in front of him as you tried to hide your blush.

“Oh my. Studying me are we? Well, I certainly don’t mind but our potion is ready now. However, I could set aside some time later tonight if you’d like?”

“For me to draw you?”

“Hm…sure if that’s what you’re really interested in. But I get the feeling that’s not what you were drawing me, is it?”

Spot on as always, you snatched your notebook back and hid your red face as he laughed and teased you further.

It was going to be a long night no matter what you decided.

Simeon

You sat up against the headboard on Simeon’s bed, writing in your notebook as he sat at his screen typing away as ideas for his novel flooded his brain.

You didn’t understand how he broke free from his writer’s block so easily. Maybe it was some divine power? Most writers procrastinated for a living, while he wrote nearly every day for millennia.

You took a sip of your drink and sat it down on his nightstand. You’d come over to spend time with him doing nothing in particular. Being in each other’s presence was enough to be content and it was significantly calmer here than back at the House of Lamentation.

He strongly encouraged you to study or take a nap, whatever you felt like but trying to study was hard to begin with, but impossible when staring at his exposed back as he sat across from the bed. You had no idea what angel garments were so open but you weren’t complaining.

You decided you’d sketch him while you could, it gave you great practice at drawing backs, something you rarely considered doodling.

As you sat there in a daze you stared at his shoulder blades, the way he hunched over the keyboard and occasionally sat back to stretch and avoid poor posture. You desperately wanted to run your hand across his soft skin and Simeon must’ve felt your eyes in him because he sat up and turned around to see you sketching away.

He was by your side by the time you saw him and you let out a small “eep” that made him laugh. He thought you were truly adorable.

“May I see?” He asked and you blushed but allowed him since he’d been so polite.

He looked at the drawing and blushed, “My, these are excellent, ___.” He praised. “You’ve spent so long watching me type away, it’s your turn now. Allow me to pose for you?”

Luke

You were at Purgatory Hall, via Luke’s invitation to help him with a new recipe. Luke had it down so you mostly watched and agreed with the comments he made about the process and taste.

Now it was in the oven and you had nothing but time. Luke decided it would be a good idea to study, and not wanting to look less responsible than the child, you took out your notebook too.

You watched Luke kick his legs and stick out his tongue as he thought about what he was writing. It was so cute you had to capture it and taking out your D.D.D. would just alert him so you quickly got to sketching.

You propped your notebook up a bit so he couldn’t see it from where he was.

He sighed exasperatedly and frowned at his assignment. “Hey, ___?” He asked.

“Yeah?” You responded without looking away from your drawing.

“I don’t really get this part, can you help me?” You set your pencil down and looked at the question.

“Oh heck no,” you said bluntly.

“Huh?”

“Sorry, I have no idea what that is at all, ask Solomon.”

“I would but he’s at the Demon Lord’s Castle today.”

“Oh yeah…”

“Well, if you don’t know anything about it what have you been working on?”

“Oof, caught red-handed. I was just drawing you,” you admitted and spun your notebook around to show him.

His eyes lit up and he smiled, “WOW, ___! This is really good!” He paused for a minute and pointed at one of the drawings.

“Why do I have cat ears?”

“Actually, those are Chihuahua ears.”

“___!”

Raphael

You watched Raphael hum as he sorted through the rows of fabrics trying to find the right one for his new embroidery project.

He’d asked you to tag along and you excitedly agreed as he wasn’t much of a social butterfly and you loved getting a chance to hand around him more. You didn’t expect, however, that finding a single piece of fabric for his new pillow was going to take over an hour.

Raphael was very particular so you should’ve expected this, maybe some part of you had as you’d brought along your notebook.

The notebook wasn’t for school or anything in particular, just something to jot down notes or ideas as they came to you. Right now all that came to you was the strong urge to sketch Raphael’s serious gaze as he sifted through hundreds of sheets of fabric.

Occasionally he’d show one to you with a sweet smile and ask for your opinion, but in the end, he chose whatever felt right.

Each time you looked up from your drawing he was in much the same position but slightly farther down the aisle until you looked up to see he wasn’t there.

You set your notebook down on the chair and stood up quickly looking for him.

“Raphael?” You called.

“What is this your drawing?” You heard directly behind you and jumped.

Raphael seemed concerned as you caught the breath he’d scared out of you. You laughed it off and sighed.

“You’re really so quiet,” you huffed.

“No…I just don’t think you were paying attention.” He commented.

He picked your notebook up to see the drawings of him across the page.

It was difficult to tell how he felt as he wasn’t very expressive until a sweet smile crossed his face and his eyes seemed to sparkle just a bit.

He handed the notebook back to you, “You have talent.” He complimented and you blushed.

“Do you think I could draw you with your spear sometime?”

He tilted his head, “what for?”

“Art?”

“Hmm…” He thought about it before smiling “Sure.”

Thirteen

Thirteen had invited you to her home to help her build her latest invention. You were excited to get in on it but she was so absorbed you were mostly left to handing her tools and trying to remember what she named them. So instead of being useless, you decided to take notes as she explained some of it to you.

Eventually, you became so lost that you just gave up and started drawing it instead and when you ran out of tools to draw you started sketching Thirteen.

It was simple at first, just brief pencil strokes in a sloppy outline but then you began to focus on her. The way her hair fell into her face as she leaned in closer, the spark in her eyes and brilliant smile as she discovered something new, the red tint on her cheeks when she caught you staring at her.

“Hey? What are you doing?” She asked and stood up walking over to you.

Too embarrassed to admit you weren’t doing what she’d asked and had been sketching her instead you hid the notebook in your backpack.

“What? You’re really not gonna show me?” She said a little surprised as you were usually very open with her.

“I…got distracted.” You admitted and she shook her head.

“Really? I was hoping you’d keep instructions for me, I plan to mass-produce these. That way if that damn sorcerer brings down one, he’ll have hundreds more to watch out for!” She began laughing manically to herself and you laughed at her antics and nodded.

You reacted for your notebook again and she quickly snatched it from you, “It’s mine now!”

“Thirteen?” You poured and she laughed and flipped through your notebook. She found the pages you’s written in and nodded approvingly until she got to her sketches and her face turned a shade of pink darker than her hair.

“Wh-what are these?”

“…I got distracted.”

She blushed again and handed the notebook back to you. “Fine, I’ll allow it,” she huffed and got back to work occasionally fixing her hair now that she knew you had your eyes on her.

Mephistopheles

Mephistopheles has called you into the RAD Newspaper’s office that morning to assist him with an interview. Lucifigus, a friend of Asmodeus’s was going to be hosting a fashion week show in the greenhouse at RAD. Mephistopheles wanted your assistance taking down notes as he interviewed to make sure things flowed smoothly.

Mephistop was already taking diligent notes as was his habit so at some point you began lazily jotting down two words here and there in between doodling. Lucifugus was a beautiful demon but you couldn’t help but be drawn to Mephistopheles and his enthusiastic but serious expression as he conducted the interview.

After what felt like an hour Mephistopheles stood up and extended his hand to Lucifigus to shake so you quickly got to your feet to do the same.

“Thank you for your time,” you mimicked Mephistopheles and Lucifigus grinned and thanked you both before leaving with a flirtatious wave.

“Well, I’d say that went very well,” Mephistopheles grinned and turned to you, holding up his notebook. “Now then, let’s compare notes.”

Your face turned a little pink and he noticed, “No need to be flustered. I’ve been doing this far longer than you so you needn’t worry about matching my level of skill.”

He reached for your notebook but you closed it abruptly. He gave you a slightly exasperated look. “___… you were taking notes, right…like I asked?”

“Uh…um…at first.”

He sighed, “At first?” He decided to investigate for himself and grabbed your notebook, flipping through it until he found what you’d been doing and his cheeks flushed a color darker than his hair.

“I-I see…” he stuttered, more flustered than you. “W-well, I suppose it’s only natural to document the most interesting person in the room.” He boasted but inside he was a melting mess. ‘How cute can this human be?’

Barbatos

You had your notebook out, ready to write down recipes for Barbatos as he experimented with improving one of Diavolo’s favorite meals. You volunteered to help so you could gain some cooking experience, something you sorely lacked.

Barbatos hummed and his tail flicked back and forth as he concentrated. Every so often he looked your way to see what you were doing and was pleased to see you happily jotting down notes in your book. After a few minutes, he noticed something strange. He’d tell you to write something down and you’d flip back a few pages to jot it down.

He frowned and quickly deduced that you were doing something other than observing his cooking instructions but decided to let you do as you pleased since he worried he’d bore you with the painfully long waiting time in between cooking steps.

You watched Barbatos with a small smile as you gently sketched his features in your notepad. You were worried he’d notice and want a look at what you were doing. That would be humiliating for you since you were far from being a good realism artist—you preferred chibi sketches, something Barbatos found odd when Leviathan did it.

Your eyes briefly met his and you blushed and watched him set a timer for the sweets before turning back to you.

“May I see what you’ve written so far?” He asked with a warm smile and you nodded and quickly flipped to the correct page.

He reached out his hand to take the book but you kept a firm grip on it, tipping him off further, so he hid a chuckle and simply observed your notes instead.

“Ah, good. But you’ll need to fix this,” he hummed and took out a pen from his apron. “May I?” He asked and you nodded handing the notebook over so he could correct your notes.

He leaned over the counter as he wrote down what he needed and you froze as you saw him quickly flip to your sketch page.

He met your eyes as he did so, a mischievous smile across his face as you quickly got up to explain.

“Um—I was just—“

Barbatos looked down at the sketches of himself and his heart skipped. He covered his mouth to hide his pleasure with what he saw, but when he saw your panicked expression he was quick to praise you.

“These are incredible, ___, why don’t I make you some tea while you continue?”

Diavolo

Diavolo sat across from you at the RAD lunch table. He’d invited you to his private booth that day since it was hard to find time in his schedule to be with you.

He grinned as he watched you studiously write in your school notebooks for what he assumed was your previous Devildom Math course, a subject he knew you struggled with.

He sipped on his tea from Barbatos who took the cup back to refill it.

“Your tea is getting cold,” Diavolo reminded you and you were brought back to reality and quickly closed your sketchbook with a small blush, worried he’d bit iced what you were doing.

Diavolo hadn’t noticed, but a certain butler did and he smiled at you knowingly and excused himself to replenish your snacks.

“I’m glad to see you working so hard here, I know it hasn’t been easy adjusting,” Diavolo complimented and you almost felt a little guilty that you weren’t studying at all.

You’d been working on your art style lately, ignoring math for as long as you could, and the current subject of your artistic inspiration was the beautiful demon prince in front of you.

“It’s more like adjusting to going back to school, than anything,” you admitted and he nodded.

“I see. Another reason you should be proud of yourself, as I am,” he grinned and reached out his hand.

You gave him a quizzical look so he laughed and asked for your notes, “May I see what you are studying? I might be able to help?”

You were caught now. Your study books were shoved in your backpack on the ground.

“Umm, actually I was just sketching…” you admitted and he tilted his head, a curious gleam in his eyes.

“Oh! I’d love to see your art if you’ll let me.” He asked excitedly so you nodded and flipped to the beginning of your sketchbook where you had normal sketches of the Devildom.

It pleased Diavolo to see you drawing his realm and the creatures in it but then he flipped a little too far into the notebook and you quickly stood up to take it back but it was too late.

“Oh, what’s this?” He asked as he saw page after page of himself from all different angles.

“I uh…” you were lost for words and defeatedly covered your blush, hiding your face in your hands.

He laughed at your reaction and handed your notebook back, “I’m sorry, did you not want me to see these?”

He gave you your sketch pad back and you blushed and hid it in your bag finally taking a sip of your drink instead. It was quiet for a moment before Diavolo cleared his throat and looked at you with a faint blush in his cheeks.

“I’d love it if you could do my portrait sometime. Nothing would make me happier than to have your art in the walls of my castle where I can see it every day.”

Brothers

[cheesycatz]

Parasitic worm pretends to be your valentine so you don't notice that they're the reason you have 24 days left to live

Wormton AU fic is 190k words now! : )

Nothing crazy new plot wise, more bonding and found family stuff. Obligatory fluff after how much these guys had to go through. I like describing all the sounds he makes when isn't trying to suppress them; chirps, warbles, trills, chirrs, chitters, screeches, snarls, and that weird computer whirring sound he makes that may or may not have the same connotations as purring (sorry I couldn't resist)

I'm excited to go through revisions! It's been so long since I wrote some of this stuff that I don't remember the fine details, so it's genuinely fun for me to read through. Also, I had fun making disguised wormton seem as cursed as possible without actually describing his real form until post-reveal. Blue was probably the only one who didn't think he was some deranged serial killer at first sight, which, fair enough. I was kind of worried about a few very minor original characters I added not being accepted, but then I remembered that Trashy the trash can probably has more speaking lines than any one of them and it probably isn't that big of a deal. I hope you enjoy the one chapter with these three kids putting their LPS animal dolls through the most traumatizing, heart-wrenching, dark story as we all did as children (I promise it's plot relevant and contains symbolism).

Drew some non-canon wormton stuff for Valentine’s Day. I mean, I don't know how you would send a valentine to an elusive homeless man with no official documentation of his existence. The asexually reproducing computer worm guy can't feel anything romantic, but he would love to take advantage of you—gladly accept your lovely gifts. Bro’s just teasing haha he would never inject parasitic worm larvae into your abdomen just don't go to the doctor in the next 24 days please he definitely loves you and not the worms hypothetically eating your organs

“worm.vbs” is a reference to the file type used by the ILOVEYOU worm and other old malware. I only know this because I realized that one of the official spamton valentines from last year contains its exact file name “LOVE-LETTER-FOR-YOU.TXT.vbs”. sharing this trivia because it was like the one reference in those valentines that I didn't see anyone mention back then and because it makes me feel smart

Food for thought:

Honestly, he'd be pretty scary if it weren't for his justified fear of the antivirus forces. Malworm safety is all about avoiding disembodied voices trying to lure you into alleys, so the fact that you can physically see his relatively humanoid disguised form would make him seem dangerously trustworthy. I was thinking about what would've happened if he would've gotten help from the person on the phone (probably gaster I guess? idk). He could've totally been like a cult leader manipulating people into willingly becoming hosts because it was honorable or whatever. And that could combine with the fact that their venom slightly influences the brain. And the followers would've thought he was simply dressing up as a malworm and his fall from grace would've been when they realized he was just a malworm in disguise infecting them and prolonging the invasion. I prefer what I have now; lonely hypothetically-murderous wormton is a lot more redeemable than very-murderous cult leader wormton would be. The addisons, or anyone really, would want nothing to do with him. Fun to think about! And only to think about; I'd rather focus on the version I have now.

See you next time at the big 200k 👀 chapter 3 might actually come out before my multi-book-length spamton fanfiction but don't worry I would never abandon my favorite freak of nature

yappin complete B)

[holypeanuts]

ummmm yapping (kinda analyzing) about the recent ddvau chapter or whatever !! 😋😋

BTW THIS ISNT A POST ABOUT DEFENDING ANY CHARACTERS PLS.. 🙏😞

I'm just yapping about what I'm seeing mostly idk

comic/art creds : @kitsuneisi

OK STARTING OFF WITH THIS PART!!! ^

there's so much that can be taken from this image alone GAHHH

in this chapter hotguy talks about the "view" of grians hospital room (which is CRAZY conversation starter btw 😧) which means he was definitely trying to get the upper hand here. Reminding grian how easy it is to track him, or spot him out.

Considering how grian acts around HG hes very closed off to him- so, in order to get information out of him (<grian), HG chose the more (IMO) authoritative approach. he deliberately chose a way of wording to make grian feel small, vulnerable, and almost more likely to share information due to the pressure of authority.

I mean, it'd be a lot easier to get information out of someone who's scared.

(AGAIN, NOT DEFENDING HOTGUY HERE!!!!This is definitely not a good thing to do, but it's also very common for cops / detectives to use fear or pressure as a tatic to get information out of suspects.)

Pressure makes people crack, which is what HG wants! He wants grian to "crack".

Ok that was way to long. 😞 Sorry chat

ONTO THIS PANNEL ^

We already know grian is standoffish towards HG but with HG's body language I don't think he was prepared for that wall to be put up so quickly..., or at least not to this degree!

Grian is obviously unsettled by HG's presence right now, and since the first part of their conversation was literally HG saying (more like implied but whatever) he was watching him; it makes sense why he is!!

Grian (mother spore) caused a lot of damage to both property and people (even if it wasn't technically grian who did it) he's obviously concerned about the consequences of what happened.

And if the law enforcement is anything like how I'm imagining it is then, he should be concerned about being arrested! Even if it wasn't his fault, he could still very well be blamed for the incident. It was still his body that was being used for the damage.

Okay, I feel like HG was trying to be nice..? Supportive...??? Here.. Like, it reminds me of #those people who're saying they aren't racist but the way they say shit is so ignorant that it makes you like.... Go "umm"... Ykw I mean???

Like it was low-key ignorant considering HG himself isn't actually mutant. So it just makes it worse that he phrased it like that.

I also feel like this was a way to show off the power imbalance here as well. Especially with how HG is practically on top of grian, while grian looks unsettled (and while injured), it really just shows their imbalance even more!!!

Which kinda makes the situation worse! 😭

Okay, so now he's going back to the pressuring route...,

While he's still leaning over grian... (ITS A POWER IMBALANCE THING GUYS I SWEAR!!!! I scream as they drag me into a padded room) oughhhh ☹️

With the way HG said "as far as they are aware, you were possessed by something that gave you wings" and the following up with "as far as I'm aware" I feel like he's trying to hint to grian that he knows something (he doesn't actually☠️) that he (<grian) doesn't want him (<HG) to know! Trickery !! 😮

This is also a very common cop (/ authority) tatic btw! Like saying they know things (while being vague, like, majority of the time) while (usually) knowing nothing. They use it as a way to say "hey, we know things! So it's best to fess up now since we already know LOL. (^_-)"

AGAIN WITH THE POWER IMBALANCE CAUSE WDYM "let's not forget"!!!! At the beginning !! bros low-key manipulative! (｀´）

But manipulation is also needed in this line of work. so while I don't necessarily hate him for trying to get information out that way, I can completely understand why grian does NOT like the way HG is going about this. Being basically interviewed (coughsss interrogated) in this manner is extremely off-putting, stressful, nerve-racking and, annoying to deal with as the "suspect" <idk how else to phrase it sorry 😞

OOOOO OKAY where to start,,

The way he hugs him while basically saying hes kinda fucked if others find out about what happened AGGHHH tearing my skin off WTF IS HIS PROBLEM. 😭😭😭

THE "for now" IS SO OMINOUS.. are we foreshadowing rn chat

"it was just you and me" classic cop line! WOWZERS

But that line is kinda subtly telling grian that he can't hide something from him because he was there to see the carnage! He's basically saying "don't lie cause I'll know" or something like that

^^ (I'D LIKE TO PREFERENCE THIS BY SAYING THIS IS MY INTERPRETATION, YOU CAN SES IT HOWEVER YOU FEEL IT IS!!)

"your secret is safe with me" waiter,! Waiter! More power imbalance please!! 🍽️

THE WAY HG LOOKS AT GRIAN DURING THE HUG AHHHH falls to my knees and shreds my shirt apart in that one werewolf meme style

Umm okkk I think I'm done 🤓

[ajmakoko]

Because of a beef of 2 possible psyops happening on TikTok that blew up in the last day or so.

Where one creator was anti-Democrat and explaining why they voted 3rd party. Then was told that they hurt trans ppl if they didn't vote for Kamala because Trump will hurt transppl more including with medicaid cuts. The first creator said they didn't care because to them Kamala still supports genocide in Gaza so they couldn't vote for her but they understood why other trans ppl might due to their medical needs.

Then another creator (that truscum overwhelmingly supports) got mad about this and said that they weren't really trans, they look cis so they aren't affected by trans legislation, that ciswomen aren't harmed by anti-trans laws, that transitioning should be equated with medical transition partially for medical treatment reasons and partially for reasons relating to how society sees them. They also emphasized AGAB a lot, even though this info wasn't disclosed or particularly relevant (they assumed AGAB) and then went on a rant about specifically AFAB people who are nonbinary (some TERFy rhetoric tbh). When called out for this, they and their defenders say that the 2nd creator is a black transwoman, the most in danger of all trans ppl from Trump's policies, so no one is allowed to disagree with her. And to go back to the voting topic, ig they don't see the inherent fascism in demanding someone vote how you demand - that that takes away the point of a vote in the first place.

This has caused an explosion of transmedicalism debate. It's still ongoing. Unfortunately, the transmedicalism side has significantly more creators making videos and talking about it. Like really really unfortunately. And the takes are so bad - tbh I didn't expect the regression I'm seeing in education, civil rights, food safety, science, history, etc, to also affect trans education/discourse online but it really has.

For the record, I am genderfluid, do not support transmedicalism, understand gender affirming care can look like many things, hang with homeless trans ppl and trans ppl from many different backgrounds, voted for Kamala. I strongly believe in civil rights and making sure everyone gets the right to vote how they want. I think it was obvious Trump was and is horrifyingly bad. I have had a hard time being chill with people who didn't vote out of apathy (not protest) or who voted for Trump, but truly I tend to blame the Democrats for not earning those voters, and even if they had gotten everything 3rd party vote, they wouldn't have won most likely. Attacking 3rd parties does nothing politically for Dems.

The solution is not then to police votes, but to earn them. Like do your jobs, Dems.

But instead they policed the first creator's trans status and tried to argue with them via appeal to authority for some reason (arguably emotional abuse), and invalidating and gatekeeping them. Like with really transphobic stuff, too. Ig the 2nd creator is an established trans creator (I've never heard of her but I do more in the drag scenes than whatever this creator is involved in), and have been accused of transmedicalism in the past. This creator I guess also has a LONG history of saying TERFy, self hating trans things (according to critics, idk, its just what I read) and has been in controversies for years about hateful things she said about NonBinary folx (I have since learned).

And so maybe at least 1 creator is a psyop meant to make trans ppl want to die. I certainly felt extremely extremely shitty after reading that discourse, when previously I was happy with who I am and my gender as described (and I am doing better now that I've regulated some). Particularly upsetting was the alienating transmedicalism trying to gaslight me that, for instance, homeless trans people who cannot access doctors are somehow advantaged. Brandon Teena was somehow advantaged being AFAB when he was murdered, because he wasn't on hormones so technically he could have passed as a woman if he wanted to or needed to. Really seemed to help him a lot, all that privilege (/s). And if he were still alive, would he be forced to vote how random people tell him who claim they are more disadvantaged than him, even though there's no real way to compare? I mean, that he was murdered kinda shows he was less advantaged than the annoying content creators making money off our suffering demanding we vote in a particular way.

Fuck this timeline.

Why am I seeing a rise in transmedicalism and truscum bullshit? I thought we were past this.

[mscherub]

Witchy Ways 🕸️

The long awaited part 3?

Reader is gender neutral, referred to as Prefect, Y/N,

Henchhuman(by Grim)

Warnings!:

Swearing

Half proof read

Part 1 (intro): "Alchemy Exams are...Easy?", Part 2: "Not the Intended Outcome", Part 3: “Impending Warnings.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Part 3: Impending Warnings

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

After having a reasonable and very justifiable crash out session before getting into bed, caused by all that happened within one days time, all because you were just trying to be nice to your friends and help them out and now it’s started up this whole ordeal you don’t even know if you can reverse because the loquacious guys won’t leave you the hell alone and it’s really just eating away at you because they won’t stop asking for the stupid little fucking jar that’s filled with answers to all their problems and hopes and dreams apparently— ok, ok, calm down. You’re fine. Everything is fine. TOTALLY FINE, YESSSS!! As if you weren’t already stressed enough!

You sigh and you roll over on your side, dreading the day ahead as you look at the clock.

2:27 AM

Yesterday was…Monday, and you had to do this for four more days, well, most likely more if the idea stayed around long enough? Interacting with people all because they heard the little birdies(first years) chirp about how they passed the exams and the others didn’t because of the little object. If you could do a freezer spell to stop all this chit chat about you and what you did, you would, it’s sadly, and annoyingly, getting to that point. The game plan is to just ignore it until the thought of it around the school desiccates into just a little something that, hopefully, will be considered a coincidence by most. After all, if the others knew about what you did, about this otherworldly concept of magic, how the hell would they begin to perceive you then?

You didn’t exactly want to out yourself, you were used to keeping it a secret, hidden away from others in fear of, say, ridiculing from some religious groups, hence why not everyone freely admits they do whitchcraft back home. Plus, you were already viewed as awkward and weird anyways for your title of “Magicless Prefect,” and of course, being the “non-magic” user, at least to their standards, in a school specifically for mages is just a completely ironic situation on its own. Anyways, you didn’t need a new label… “Half Magic Prefect that Practices in Weird Magic and is Still not at our Level, Thereofre Still Weird and Not truly a Magic User so is Still Magicless.” You could see it happening…or it could take an opposite turn and they can end up exalting your alien abilities and deem you more powerful, which would be interesting to see happen, but you don’t want to think about that or deal with it. It just sounds like more stress, and you definitely don’t want that. Only fate can really tell at this point.

One thing you do know is that your intentions here are awkwardly much stronger and quicker to act. It’s different, and in all honestly, just slightly concerning. More than just slightly, actually. What, your magic acting effectively and efficiently being concerning? Yes. Yes, 100 times, and that’s for some obvious reasons. What if you mess up a spell and then it happens to backfire on you and now you’re stuck with negative effects of whatever you were trying to do! Now you had to be cautious, extremely cautious, like walking on eggshells around your own practice type of cautious, which keep in mind, you shouldn’t be doing! it’s frightening to think about, and just how much would you have to up your game here?

Grim lays on his back, his belly up as he continues to snooze away, not greatly affected by the increase of attention and popularity, in fact he was eating it up! In his mind people were seeing you and him as powerful now, and damn does that feed his ego. How lucky he is to just…worry about nothing. And that’s exactly what he’s doing, and thankfully so. At least he’s not trying to look too much into what you’re doing.

You roll on to your back again and stare up at the ceiling, your arms crossed as you chew on the inside of your cheek thoughtfully. Bringing back the subject of good luck, you definitely needed some. What was the symbol for that? Horseshoes…

Huh

With the question answered and no other subject for your brain to overthink on at the moment, your mind can finally shut off for the night.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Morning rolls around sooner than what you had wanted, the sun not even up to greet you as you sit up, rubbing your eyes and rolling your shoulders to alleviate the stiffness you gained over the night of tossing and turning.

You do your usual routine again, having to pry Grim off of the sheets this time, him mumbling obscenities as he’s still in a half dazed and asleep state. Great, now there’s claw marks on your sheets, thanks, Grim!

Breakfast is an easy feat and soon enough you’re out the door, walking along the path again up to the school.

“Henchhuman…” Grim looks over at you, his eyes narrowed in on you as you two walk up.

“Huh?” You spare him a quick glance before your eyes go back to looking at the patterns of the tiles along the path.

“Im glad you didn’t sell off whatever you did to Azul, now we can keep that for ourselves.” He sneers happily at the air, imagining it was Azul their himself.

“I’m glad you think that…” you nod.

“Since I’m like…family, you should let me in on the secret on whatever are in those little jar thingys.” He adds on, putting emphasis on the family part to sway your favor.

You didn’t exactly see why you shouldn’t give it to him, it wasn’t that big of a deal, again, however, the thought and fear of people finding out about what you do still gnawed away at the back of your mind. Right, it’s not that big of deal, who cares if they find out! No…actually, you don’t want them to. What if they try and abuse these powers out of you. It’s better just to ignore it at this point and maybe double down on how often you practice…that seems the better option. Too many negative things can come out of the positive thing you posses. It’s not worth the risk!

“Henchhuman!” Grim snaps as he continues to eye you.

“Sorry, got lost in thought. I guess I could, I’ll write it down when we get to class and you can try and make one yourself…don’t use all of our money to buy ingredients, Grim.”

“You spoil fun…” he mutters as he pouts and looks up ahead, his ears flattening and his tail lazily swishing behind him.

“I’m just trying to be the reasonable one, here. If your intention is to create and sell them, then we might as well have handed over the whole thing to Azul. And, making them to sell isn’t the purpose, at that point your just being greedy”

“I—“

“Exactly, Grim. Now, we should have what you need, anyways. Now don’t talk about it anymore, it’s starting to get too repetitive.” You sigh and adjust the books in your arms.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

So, the thought didn’t leave you the rest of the day, the thought of spells gone wrong and their heightened effects, thoughts of what could happen to you if this little secret you were withholding got out. Yea…you’re not in a great mindset, and the idea of anything wrong or going wrong won’t ease up.

You drop Grim off at Heartslabyul, leaving him with Ace and telling him some half-assed reason about needing to go do this and then go do that and some other things and that Grim just couldn’t come, which had some truth behind it, but most of it was a conjured up lie on the spot to get rid of him for a bit.

You walk around campus, deep in thought as your shoes click against the ground.

Protection spells needed to be doubled, but wait! Didn’t you just say you’d stop practicing as much so people wouldn’t suspect anything and to draw less of a gaze from everyone. Shit, you did, ok…well you can’t just not practice, cause what if negative energy fills up again and really fucks things over? Ok, you have to practice then, protection spells, warding items, you needed it— but you can’t draw attention! This is proving to be more difficult than you had ever even intended. Protection, luck, you just needed it all at this moment.

You shouldn’t be scared anyways, but you didn’t quite know social standards here besides just inside of NRC. Luckily the guys here liked you to a certain extent so you were accepted in enough ways. Say they find out and it does happen to be socially acceptable here, then you have nothing to worry about. But what if your version of magic isn’t socially acceptable, and it’s maybe even against the law? What if they like…execute you or something for it? Great, get your mind off of the Salem Witch Trial thought here. That wouldn’t happen. Magic, in any type of way, shouldn’t be illegal since they’re quite literally practicing their own versions freely at a damn school.

But what if— drop the idea now, it’s not worth it to overthink it. It’s just not! You’ll be fine, everyone will be fine…you just needed some luck here, and look where you ended up.

The stables on campus.

You walk over to one of the fenced off areas, some horses grazing within the grassy fields, their soft neighs and trills moving across the small plain. One comes over to the edge and looks at you, tilting its head curiously as you gaze right back. You walk over to the edge of the fence and you lean against it.

“You animals have it easy sometimes…I wonder what you guys even think of.” You sigh as you put your hand out to the horse. Its coat was in perfect condition and its tail flicked behind it with interest.

It took a big sniff of your hand before it let out a small grunt and pushed its muzzle against your hand, giving you the go ahead to pet away. You do just that and sigh again.

“And you don’t have to pay any taxes…I think that’s a win on its own—“

“HUAMN!” Someone screeches from behind you, causing the horse to get spooked and bolt away. You turn around to the culprit, already suspecting who it was since only one person you were close with refereed to you with that choice of name.

“Do not touch those animals! That one especially, its attitude is not one of kindness, that’s why he is separated into the outer pens.” Sebek states sternly.

“It didn’t seem mean—“

“It is indeed!” His eyes widen and he shakes his head.

“I think you only say that, Sebek, is because the horses don’t like you that much.” Silver also approaches you two, a small smile on his face which is directed to you only. Sebek crosses his arms and lets out an annoyed puff of air before he narrows back in on you.

“Why are you here? Last time I recalled you’re not apart of this club. You should go before Riddle—“

“He wouldn’t kick me out.”

“You say that with too much confidence, Human…”

“Me and him are chill.” You nod.

“You…’chill?’ Odd words to use. Be formal when addressing someone in a higher class than you.” He gripes.

“We’re on good terms…” you correct yourself

“What are you here for, Prefect?” Silver chimes in, taking over the situation.

“I…I have an odd request, I suppose. I mean, it may seem odd.” You shrug.

“Nothing is too odd.” Silver gently reassures, moving his hair out of his face, nodding as to encourage you to speak.

“I need a horseshoe.”

…

…

“Come again?” He questions.

“A horseshoe.” You say again, prolonging the vowels and looking at him like he was the one to say something wrong.

“Why?”

“Um…You know…erm…aesthetic reasons.”

“Human, you are quite weird.” Sebek interjects, the words sounding judging enough—

“But I suppose we shall not pry into your decorative matters…we may have some old ones.” He sighs

“Oh! No, that’s perfect, actually! Thanks Sebby!” You beam overjoyed…maybe a little too much. He grimaces at the nickname and looks about ready to correct you yet again, but he refrains just this once. You got…lucky.

They go quiet at your excitement for the object and they look back at each other, conveying some sort of silent message between the two before Sebek nods and motions for you to follow him over to the barn.

The barn is well kept but it does have that natural barn smell of wood and of the animal inhabitants. Dried hay is scattered around on the ground and it crunches beneath both of your feet as you walk to, presumably, the tack room of the stable, which holds all of the materials they could need for proper animal care.

“We tend to change out our horses horseshoes every five or six weeks. We just changed some out this past week so we should have a few extra…though I can’t guarantee they’d be in the condition you’re hoping for.”

“That’s fine…it doesn’t matter to me. I just want one, no matter the, uh…appearance. The older the look the better, you know? Adds character?” You awkwardly carry on the conversation.

“I…see. Anyhow, here,” Sebek peers into a rack on the wall and pulls out the item you’ve been looking for. “This one should do…if it meets your standards.”

It’s not exactly pretty, but you are getting it for free, so there’s no real reason to complain. “It’s perfect. Thank you, again…really. Helps me out some”

He crosses his arms and nods. “Off now, Human.”

“Yea, yea, later Sebek. Thanks.” You give a small wave before you walk out and back along the path.

You scored what you wanted to get, so it worked out. All you had to do was red it up a bit, maybe clean it then polish it if you could find any stuff to do that, then it’ll look basically brand new. Voilà!And the most important thing, it should bring some luck in when you hang it above your door with the ends facing up. It’s a small detail, barely noticeable, and could only be deciphered if you really focused your eyes above the door.

Now, just time to get Grim—

Your phone buzzes in your pocket, you slip it out and see Aces profile picture and his caller ID. With a small click of the green button you put the phone up to your ear.

“PREFECT!”

You wince and pull the phone away from your ear for a second to allow him to throw his little temper tantrum before you push it back against you

“Dude…”

“Prefect! Come get Grim, he’s threatening to eat all the tarts that Trey’s making…say maybe I pissed Grim off and that’s why he’s doing that, BUT LISTEN, come get him! He’s gonna push the blame on me! Don’t you like me? Don’t let me suffer….” You could basically hear him pouting on the other side of the phone.

“I’m on my way…tell him he won’t get tuna if he does anything…”

“Awweee, you do care—“

“I only care enough for Grim’s sake.” You cut him off.

“You’re rude, really rude…anyways, Riddle wants to know if you wanna pop by for the unbirthday party.”

You consider and weigh the options in your head. For one, free food to satiate you and most importantly, Grim, and two, a much needed distraction, so the idea sounded plausible.

“I don’t see why not, I shouldn’t have much to do…”

“Niceeee, you help make Riddle a little less irritable so yea, saving me and Deuce here. K, later, and come get Grim.”

With that, he hangs up the phone.

Ok, then…it was a bit redundant to be told to get Grim then basically come back just a few minutes later, but whatever.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

“Hahaaaa! Tarts, tarts, tarts!” Grim chirps almost too enthusiastically. He dashes over to the table and pulls the plate up from his assigned seat, but he’s quickly stopped by Deuce who reminds him of tea party etiquette, which he manages to forget with each unbirthday party you two attend. He’s very disappointed to find out that there’s quite literally an order to everything. He’ll get over it.

You go take your seat next to Riddle, quietly watching as he goes about checking everything over one last time before he nod and welcomes everyone. He takes the tea pot and pours you a cup of tea first, then Grim’s, and then the rest around the table. The tea steamed and you added in whatever you wanted to your cup and stirred quietly, noticing it was loose leaf tea.

The unbirthday party began, and of course it wasn’t a true experience without the scolding of some other students who decided not to follow the rules, but it was all in good fun. You slowly drank your tea down, sipping quietly and enjoying the arrangements of food all meticulously prepared by Trey, and Grim did exactly the same with his usual fervor.

Your tea cup became empty, and you kindly refused another cup. Barely any eyes were on you so maybe you could pull off a tea reading, but was it really worth the risk?

It wouldn’t be such a bad idea to do one, it’d be useful and provide some insight on some things…fuck it, you’ll do it anyways. Let’s just hope it’s not against a rule or something…

Everyone chats away and you pick up your cup, swirling the small bit of tea and the leaves around before you place it back down and grab the saucer, placing it over the cup. What do you really want to know? Well, obviously what’s to happen in the near future…especially with the discovery of your high tented abilities…good or bad things, that mainly what you wanted, no, needed to know.

By now Riddle was side eyeing you and watching your every move, silently judging. This wasn’t proper…

“Prefect.”

Shit.

“Riddle…” you smile bashfully, pausing in your movements.

“What are you doing?”

“Erm…something?” This is just amazing. You should have stuck with what you set earlier, not drawing attention. You can maybe twist the situation around, no? No, you can.

“I’m just doing something everyone does back in my world after drinking their tea, yeah…called tea reading! It’s really cool…if you’d want to try. You know, I’ve just been missing home and stuff so I decided I’d try to do it a little…but I get it if I can’t, I understand completely.” And perfect, guilt tripping at its finest there….

“No…that’s fine. It sounds peculiar, but I don’t have any disagreements to it, so long as you don’t damage the ceramics…” he sighs.

Ok! This is good…

“Ok…so, first you have to make sure you have a little bit of liquid in your cup, then you swirl it around a bit, place the saucer overtop the cup and then flip your cup over,” Riddle follows along simply out of curiosity, watching your every move to make sure he doesn’t mess up anything. “After that spin the cup clockwise three times…I mean, or counter clockwise, it doesn’t particularly matter, I do clockwise, then make sure the handle faces you again…”

You pivot the cup one last time to the handle is angled towards you, then you give three taps on the top of the cup.

“Tap three times, then lift the cup up. What do you see in yours?”

He peers into the cup and inspects it.

“I see…tea leaves. I don’t understand, what’s the purpose of this.” He huffs.

“You have to…ok, think of it this way, you have to see what images are made with the tea leaves, for instance, mine—“

You look into your cup and see various little symbols, the few standing out the most being a wheel, knots, a cat, and an umbrella.

The wheel for inevitable change and progress, the knot for stress and anxiety…fucking fantastic, the cat for gossip, great because that’s exactly what you need, and, the more concerning one of the symbols, an umbrella, signifying difficulty. It’s a good thing you got the damn horseshoe earlier…with this info, your future could be something else you aren’t prepared for based on this reading.

“Well?” Riddles voice pulls you from your thoughts and you give him a small nod.

“Sorry…yea, so, you see this?” You move your cup and saucer in his direction. “The symbols closest to the handle should signify the things sooner to happen—“

“Most of your…’symbols,’ are near the handle.” He notes.

“Yea, this one here kinda looks like a cat, and this one a wheel…this one here looks like a knot and then that one looks like an umbrella.”

“I can vaguely see it. Do they all mean something?” He questions as he gazes even more at the leaves.

“Yea. They all have their own, but let’s look at yours…what shapes can you make out?”

He tilts his cup towards you and points at the symbols, you can make out some to look like stars and a few squares.

“Don’t overthink it…what do you see?”

“Those look like squares, what’s the meaning? Assuming you know…” he hums, interested in the whole thing now.

“They can mean comfort and peace…have you been feeling that more often?”

“In a way, I suppose…it has been a little less stressful around here for once. I see…this is quite interesting, Prefect, I like the idea…how does this work?”

“That’s a question for another time—“

“It has to work a certain way, correct?” He questions again. “It almost seems like something to be done with magic…”

“Yea, no…it’s just, uh, you know, I guess it’s just like, the tea leaves…resonate?” Good one…

“I…guess.” He nods along. “It’s still quite interesting. Thank you for showing me a ritual from your world.” He smiles softly.

“Of course…”

The Unbirthday party carries on, celebrating, then like all things, eventually coming to an end. You and Grim leave, Trey kindly giving you leftovers which will and can not be rationed around Grim, but you take them anyways.

That tea reading is gonna bug you even more…so much for the unbirthday party being a distraction like you had hoped…

Hey…how yall doing…I JUST WANNA APOLOGIZE FOR HOW RUSHED THIS WAS, but I did it! Also, I’m doing a tag list on this now so if u want me to tag u on the next part just comment <3

THANKS FOR READING AND I LOVE U GUYS TYYYY KISSES TO ALL OF U 💋😘

Master List

Please don’t steal or copy any of my work! You may, however, reblog if you’d want to!

Pictures belong to Disney Twisted Wonderland but are edited by me :)

Tag List <3:

@w0nd3rhoy

[rotworld]

Blue Moon

the treaty of aneptyra states that every witch must be partnered with a nightbound, but the system is far from perfect. some people slip through the cracks. some, like you, make it all the way to adulthood without ever arousing suspicion. unfortunately, all it takes is a single stroke of bad luck to ruin everything.

->an introduction to the "meanvamps" universe. contains mild gore, power imbalance, mind control and mild feral behavior.

.

.

.

Your office is about to be haunted.

It’s fixable. The lights dim and flicker but they still turn on. The cold spots are confined to one corner of the breakroom and those whispers you hear echoing in the vents are soft and indistinct, no intelligible words just yet. But management would actually have to do something to keep it from getting worse, and they’d rather fire off condescending emails about the “charm and personality of historic buildings,” as though you and all of your coworkers are collectively hallucinating the tap water in the restroom turning to black sludge, or the humanoid silhouettes that settle in empty cubicles at night.

The printers have started spitting out eerie images so you’ve started collecting them on the office corkboard, partially as a joke and partially as a cry for help. When things get quiet during the late shift, everyone gathers around to gawk like it’s an art gallery or a collection of Rorschach inkblots, musing over possible meaning in the smudges. 

“Looks like a human heart, I think,” Monroe says. 

Cindy shakes her head. “Really? I think it’s a palm tree. With skulls for coconuts.” 

“I kinda see a cat,” Devon says. He squints over his coffee mug. “A cat with a gun.” 

“With a gun?”

You stare at the misshapen thing. You know exactly what it is but you pretend you don’t. “Praying mantis, maybe?” you say. 

Monroe sighs and rubs his temples, trying to smother a budding headache. “We shouldn’t have said anything about the printer. They’re just going to say printers always act haunted. And they’re right.” 

“Maybe we should send them some pictures next time,” Devon says. You all nod, and you all know it won’t make a difference. Inspection and cleansing services aren’t cheap. Nothing will change until absolutely damning evidence rears its head, probably when someone gets mauled by whatever coalesces from the unnaturally dark shadows growing like mold in the breakroom. If the company’s smart, they’ll sell the building just as things start to boil over and make it somebody else’s problem. If your coworkers are smart, they’ll take all their emails and creepy print-offs to a good lawyer and sue this place into oblivion for endangerment and concealment of a haunting. 

It’s a mess, but it’s not your problem. You’ll be long gone by the time that happens, onto the next town. 

“Hey, uh, guys?” Your boss, Bryant, rushes over and you expect a problem because you’ve suddenly become “guys” rather than “team” or “buddies” or “my favorite people,” whatever faux-friendly corporate bullshit he usually calls you. To your surprise, he’s not here to chew you out for chatting on the clock. In fact, he doesn’t say anything right away. He keeps glancing back over his shoulder, twice, three times, tugging at his company lanyard and ID nervously. “Hey, so. I know there’s been some, ah, stress in the office lately. And I just want you to know that I hear you, and I am absolutely willing to pass along any of your concerns—”

“Is this about the thing in the bathroom?” Cindy asks.

“The—I’m sorry?” 

“The thing,” Monroe says, “in the bathroom. It moves when you’re not looking at it. We told you about it months ago, did you finally see it?” 

Bryant looks back again and you follow his gaze this time, starting to worry. He leans in, lowering his voice. “Which one of you called him?” You share silent, searching glances with your coworkers. Nobody seems to know what he’s talking about. “There’s a fucking fed outside,” he hisses. “And he wants to interview everybody who’s here right now—”

“Excuse me.”

The fed is inside, as it turns out, strolling between the cubicles with his hands in his pockets. Bryant looks like he’s going into fight-or-flight and your coworkers aren’t sure what to make of him. You stay behind everybody else and hope that he can’t distinguish your racing pulse from Bryant’s. Hauntings, potential or otherwise, fall outside the jurisdiction of human authorities. This guy isn’t a normal fed. He’s wearing something that looks borderline military, a black tailcoat with a collection of small, shiny symbols emblazoned on one shoulder, a golden canary embroidered on the left side of his chest. His ID is in its own leather case, his name and face printed on a little white card. 

Canary Task Force, it says above a headshot with the same sideswept black hair and olive eyes. Edmund. No last name listed, because he doesn’t have one. Most nightbound don’t. “My apologies for intruding,” he says, stiff and formal. “I’ve been dispatched as part of an active investigation. My name is Edmund. I’d like to speak with each of you privately before you leave this evening, if that’s no inconvenience.” 

If that’s no inconvenience, he says, as if he can’t hold you here as long as he wants. He sets up in the conference room across the hall. You can see his silhouette moving on the other side of the frosted glass. Bryant gets called in first and the rest of you convene around the water cooler. 

“You think he’s here about the haunting?” Cindy asks.

Devon shrugs. “He said ‘active investigation.’ Sounds like something else. Probably doesn’t hurt to mention it, though. The CTF loves stuff like this, especially if they get to punish somebody.” 

“We should bring him some of our printouts. You want the gun-cat or the dead spider?” Monroe jokes, nudging you with his elbow. You don’t answer. You’re too busy staring at the carpet, trying to get your breathing under control. “Uh. You alright?”

“Yeah,” you say too quickly. “Just wasn’t expecting this.” You can’t fucking believe this! You’ve kept your head down, you’ve stayed busy, you’ve avoided attracting attention to yourself as much as possible, and yet here’s a CTF agent sniffing around your workplace, about to get you alone with him. He doesn’t know, does he? He can’t know. Nobody knows. You’ve been in town for three months at the very most, smoothly left the last one by accepting an office transfer. This can’t be happening.

“They kind of freak me out, too,” Cindy admits. “They’re so intense, right? Like the way they look at you…” Devon cuts her off by clearing his throat, glancing pointedly across the hall. You can’t hear what’s going on in there but nobody’s screaming for help yet. Bryant comes out looking a little bewildered but still in one piece. 

“Excuse me, Miss?” Edmund leans out of the conference room doorway, nodding to Cindy. She stands up shakily whispering ohshitohmygod and tells you to water her daffodils if you never see her again. You consider slipping out while everyone’s distracted but that’d put you on the CTF’s radar if you’re not already. You’ll have to get through this interview. And you can—you will. You picked this city for a reason. If Edmund gets suspicious, he’ll have to investigate further, poke through your files and follow your paper trail to its eventual dead end. You’ll have skipped town by then, gotten a different name, changed your hair, whatever it takes to disappear again. 

Cindy’s interview passes quickly, or maybe you’re just so panicked you’re losing track of time. She rejoins your group huddle with a small frown. “Huh,” she says, sounding dazed and a little hoarse like she just woke up. “It wasn’t that bad, I think?” 

“Next, please.” Edmund is at the door again, looking right at you. Cindy gives you a pat on the shoulder in encouragement. You’d much rather take your chances jumping out the third floor office windows but you swallow hard, steel yourself, and head for the conference room.

Edmund smiles in what you imagine is supposed to be a friendly gesture as he shuts the door. He sits much closer than you’d like, taking the chair beside you rather than sitting across the large circular table. His posture is painfully formal like he’s posed for a professional photo, back straight, legs crossed to one side, hands joined in his lap.

“You’re nervous,” he says.

No shit. “Uh. Yeah,” you say. You don’t look at him. Should you? Is it more suspicious if you don’t? You glance up and then quickly back down again. His stare is unsettling. You’ve heard that the keen senses of the nightbound are a double-edged sword. They have to train themselves to filter extraneous stimuli, ignoring anything beyond their current focus so they don’t get overwhelmed. You have his undivided attention right now. He’s observing everything from the way you nervously squirm in your seat to the slightest twitch of muscle in your jaw. He can probably smell your sweat. He can definitely hear your heartbeat.

“Don’t worry. This is going to be a fairly routine interview. You’re not in any trouble.”

“Oh,” you say, feigning relief. Does it work? Are you convincing enough? You wish he showed any emotion beyond cold scrutiny or exaggerated concern. “Great. Okay. What do you wanna know?” 

Edmund slips back into his affable mask, that same too enthusiastic if that’s no inconvenience smile from before. “All the usual things. Your name, to start. Are you local to the area or did you move here recently?” 

You give him your most recent alias, the name your coworkers know. The rest of your answers are just as easy, and some are even the truth. You’re new in town, you’ve worked here a couple months. Night shifts in a company call center, nothing special. He asks about your commute, about your colleagues, about your boss. Easy, too easy. You see the curve ball coming before he even makes the pitch and you’re ready for it.

“Apologies, but I’m required to ask,” he says, smiling insincerely. “Are you a witch?”

You’ve practiced this in the mirror a thousand times. You pause, just long enough to sell the surprise, the confusion, a wry little smile that asks, who, me? “Uh, no,” you say, laughing awkwardly. Too awkwardly? You tone it down. “Do I look like one?” 

Edmund stares at you blankly, unimpressed with just a hint of annoyance. Good. Perfect. Maybe he’ll leave sooner. “Moving on, then. I’d like you to tell me more about your coworkers.” 

You don’t let yourself linger on the relief that rushes through you, not wanting him to sense it. You’re not in the clear yet. Yes, you like your coworkers just fine. No, you don’t really know the day shift people. You’re not very social and you like the quiet, almost-empty office. No, nobody’s been acting weird lately. That’s a strange thing to ask, you think. You wonder what this “investigation” is all about. But you keep answering and Edmund listens intently, drumming his fingers on the table. You’re not sure when he started doing it. Ta-ta-ta-tap, like he’s bored or restless. Fine by you. 

“Does anyone in the office seem unusually tired lately?” Edmund asks. Ta-ta-ta-tap. “Maybe you’ve noticed someone coming in late, or calling in sick often?” Ta-ta-ta-tap. 

You let your confusion show but you keep your apprehension to yourself. “I don’t think so. I mean, we’re all pretty worn out by the end of our shift,” you say, drawing the words out and glancing at the ceiling to feign careful consideration. You’re a little too focused on minding your own business to notice what anyone else is doing. And even if you had, you wouldn’t tell this guy. Bryant would rat you out in a heartbeat but the rest of you are sworn to secrecy. 

That’s a huge red flag, though. He’s definitely looking for someone, but who and why? 

“I see. Just a few more questions and I’ll let you go.” Edmund smiles. Ta-ta-ta-tap. The noise was a little annoying at first but now you hardly notice it. It’s kind of nice to listen to, something other than the low hum of the air conditioning. More questions, easy ones, about the minutiae of your work schedule. When does your shift start? When does it end? What’s a typical evening like? Gradually, you sink back against your chair in a comfortable slouch, relaxed, calm, tired. Really, really tired. You can barely keep your eyes open. Ta-ta-ta-tap. Edmund says something but it’s just noise, wordless murmuring you could fall asleep to. 

And then he asks, “Are you under?” 

“Mm. Yeah,” you say. You feel like you’re floating. Drifting away somewhere. Edmund opens a notebook and starts jotting something down, his free hand continuing that same, soothing rhythm. Ta-ta-ta-tap. A sudden realization settles more firmly into place. You can trust him. You feel absolutely certain of this, more sure than you’ve ever been about anything. He’s not your enemy. You think you were afraid of him before but that feeling is far away now, distant and forgettable. He’s here to help. He’d probably help fix the haunting if you told him about it. 

“You told me about the haunting already,” he says. You did? You can’t remember. “You did, just now. One of your colleagues also explained it in detail. You’ve endured that for long enough and I’ll inform my superiors so it’s handled promptly.” His pen pauses over the paper and he looks at you. His eyes scared you before, but they calm you now. You were completely wrong about him. You can tell him anything. “That’s right, you can. That’s all you have to do right now. When I ask you something, you answer and tell the truth. Simple enough, right?” You nod. You can do that. It’s so nice of him to make things easy for you and take all the complicated thoughts away. “Now, I have to ask you some questions. I know it’s silly, but they’re the same questions I asked you before.” That is silly, but you don’t mind. “One more time. Your name?” 

You say it. Your real one this time, not the alias you gave him before when you didn’t realize you could trust him.

He regards you strangely, frowning a little. Was that wrong? Did you make him unhappy? “No, not at all. Thank you for telling me. I have more questions about that, but we’ll come back to it later.” 

He asks the same things he did before just like he said he would. You answer everything the best you can. You don’t want to disappoint him. You see him making notes, scribbling quickly. Where are you from? How well do you know your coworkers? Have you noticed any of them behaving strangely? Some of your answers are different now but he tells you that’s okay, everything is okay. Ta-ta-ta-tap and your worries dissipate before they’ve properly taken root.

“And are you a witch?” he asks, a question which makes something inside you lurch like you’re about to fall. You’re not sure why. It’s not hard to answer.

“Yes,” you say. 

Edmund pauses. He looks up from his notes and stares at you. His expression is complicated. Too complicated for you to think about right now, so you don’t. It’s okay. Everything is okay. “I’m sorry, could you repeat that? To confirm, you said you’re a witch?” he asks slowly. There’s that feeling again, that yanking nausea, your heart plummeting in your chest. That smooth, easy current carrying you through mindless tranquility seems choppy and dangerous now. That soothing ta-ta-ta-ta-tap makes you flinch. You shouldn’t listen to it. He’s trying to drag you back under again. “It’s okay,” he says softly, so softly. Everything is okay. You can trust him, can’t you? You can tell the truth.

“Yes. I’m a witch.”

Terror shocks you awake. You feel like you’ve narrowly escaped drowning, tense and gasping, skin tingling unpleasantly. You bolt out of your chair, sick with fear. Edmund is on his feet just as quickly, hands raised in a pacifying gesture. 

“It’s alright,” he says gently, like he’s talking to a spooked horse. But it’s not alright. Everything is fucked. Your life is over. “This is…completely out of my jurisdiction. Not my department at all.” Somehow he looks just as lost for words as you are, just as blindsided. His eyes dart to the door behind you and you know you’re both thinking the same thing, planning a swift exit that doesn’t alarm your coworkers. “You’re not registered in Skelveross,” he says. “Do you know how I know that?” 

You don’t answer. You don’t care. Your eyes scan the room in a frantic and useless search for exits. 

“Because there’s a database, and I have every name and face that’s in it memorized. It’s not as long as you might think.” He takes a half-step forward and you stumble back, heart in your throat. “Something tells me you’re not registered anywhere,” he says, sounding almost pained. “I don’t know how that could’ve happened, but we can fix this. You just have to see the Council. In fact, I could escort you—”

“No,” you say hoarsely. You’re not going to cry in front of him even though your whole world is crumbling. You’re not.

Edmund seems surprised by your refusal. He flinches at your interruption, frowning tightly. You see him thinking. Weighing his options. Eventually, he smiles, and this one is terrifyingly real. His coldness thaws and he is awed, hopeful and brimming with adoration, looking at you like the most precious thing in the world. He finally lowers his hands and his posture relaxes, leaning casually against the table. “Understandable,” he says. “I wanted to ask you a few more things, but I suppose that can wait until next time. Your shift ended half an hour ago, didn’t it? You’re probably exhausted.” He’s careful, angling his body so you don’t see him settling one hand against the surface of the table, but it doesn’t matter. You’re already gone. 

You don’t care who sees you sprinting full speed out of the conference room or what they think. You barrel into the stairwell, taking the steps two at a time. He let me go. The thought cycles through your mind on a panicked loop. He let me go, but why? He should’ve been faster. Is he starving? That can’t be right. He doesn’t have to be partnered to have access to blood. Maybe he knew how it’d look, a nightbound chasing after a terrified human after being stuck in close quarters together. Predation charges don’t usually stick but it’d be a headache and a PR blunder for the local Council, a potential stumbling block the next time they want something from the human authorities. In that case, the smart thing for him to do is wait. Reassure your coworkers. Leave calmly. 

Then come after you while you’re alone, without any witnesses around.

The only thing that keeps you from sprinting all the way to the train station is the need to keep a low profile. You’re minutes from every nightbound in the city knowing your name and where you work and probably where you live. You fidget restlessly at the platform, racking your brain for a way out of this. Seven hours is too long to hide and wait for sunrise. Go home and pack? No, no way, they’ll check there first. Showing up at the airport is a bad idea but maybe you could hitchhike? Leaving town is just the start. You need to get out of the territory entirely to shake the CTF.

You toss your phone in the trash without a second thought. It was a burner anyway. They can fish it out if they want but your call history is all business and your texts won’t tell them anything more than what Edmund already got out of you. Could you catch a bus? There’s a cheap intercity service with a terminal downtown, but you’d need to leave tonight. Edmund might not be able to chase you when dawn rolls around, but you know the CTF playbook: encirclement, then slowly closing the noose. They start at the edge of the territory and work their way inward, setting up barricades and strangling the highways with checkpoints that will slow traffic to a single-lane crawl. It usually takes a day or two for the Council to wrangle approval from the human municipal government to start closing roads and getting their hands on surveillance footage. You can’t wait around to see how fast they manage it this time.

The glowing sign of a car rental business lures you in. That’s your best bet, you think, especially since it’s some dingy fly-by-night company that takes cash and doesn’t ask too many questions. The only problem is you’re not the only one with the same idea tonight. The line is short but slow, a kid who doesn’t look old enough to even rent a car himself slouched behind the counter. The dingy off-white of the wall clock is seared into your eyes, the sweep of the minute hand seeming purposefully cruel in its slowness. 

The automatic doors are overly sensitive and misaligned, squealing open for a sufficiently strong breeze. You always look, just in case. You yawn and stretch, making a show of your exhaustion to mask your fear, and take another look around. It’s fuck off o’clock on a week night. Nobody around but the desperate few, people who look tired, pensive and a little bit haunted. The man ahead of you in line takes a phone call that’s nothing but hissed whispers. A couple who came in after you doze against each other’s shoulders. A fluorescent light tube winks and buzzes. The shadows are too thick to trust. When you finally have your keys and a pamphlet of paperwork you won’t read, you all but sprint out the door.

You’re flinging the driver’s side door of a silver hatchback open when you suddenly break out in a cold sweat. It’s the feeling of being watched cranked up to its maximum, skin-crawling intensity, the ghostly weight of a predator’s gaze raking down your back. It’s fine. It’s fine. You start the car and check the rearview mirror a few times as you pull out of the lot. Somebody’s just coming out of the automatic doors in what looks like a uniform but you’re too far away to tell for sure. You turn on the radio and try to calm down. Somewhere along a quiet country road, you hear what you think is the start of a storm. Something like thunder but soft still, far away. Heavy gusts of wind.

“…lo? Hello? Can you hear me?”

You almost swerve into the guardrail. It sounds like someone’s right next to you, whispering in your ear. You swear you can feel their breath tickle your skin. But there isn’t. The passenger seat is empty. 

“Please slow down. You’re well over the speed limit.”

“Edmund?” you say. Your voice is remarkably steady for how terrified you feel. “Wh—how—?”

“My mesmerism is…slow.” You feel a nervous twinge in your chest. Embarrassment? Sheepishness? These aren’t your feelings. They’re his. “But it also takes much longer to wear off. Right now, you and I are connected, although it’s tenuous given the distance between us.” He must be out here somewhere, trying to find you. You don’t see any other headlights yet. “You feel…afraid. And lonely. You’ve been on your own for a very long time.” You don’t dignify that with a response. You feel soothing warmth, like Edmund is trying to embrace you, but the sensation doesn’t last. You’re too furious to be soothed by the very thing that wants to cage you.

“What would it take to make you look the other way and pretend you lost me?” you ask.

You feel his dismay like a cold trickle, unpleasant and distressing. “I’m only going to ask once,” he says, tone hardening. “Pull over.”

“Fuck you.” 

“Then I apologize in advance. I’ll try to be careful.”

The wind picks up again and the thunder seems closer, but it can’t be a storm. The sky is clear, a waxing moon shining through a thin gauze of clouds, trees motionless at the roadside. You look back again, searching for a CTF vehicle, and that’s when you see it—a moving shape in the dark. Not a vehicle at all but something alive. It’s big, you think, like a horse, an elk, a stampeding thing but sleeker and gaining on you. You can barely make out any details with nothing but the glow of your taillights haloing the thing’s frightening shape, but you think you see large, reflective eyes and horn-like protrusions, dark fur and sinewy limbs stretched wide.

Wings, you realize. That noise is the sound of the thing flying, soaring after you with predatory grace and agility. It shrieks and its voice is nails screaming down a chalkboard, a painful shrillness that makes you wince and slam your foot harder on the gas. You hear it screech again and see it darting and swooping through the air behind you, struggling to keep up. The road goes blurry through your angry, helpless tears and you drag your palm across your face. You’ve had nightmares like this before. Getting found out, cornered, chased by nightbound, torn to pieces or bled dry in a fit of rage, dragged before an unfeeling Council that sentences you to a life of servitude beneath something so ancient it no longer understands what it means to be human.

Your connection with Edmund has become a headache-inducing stream of pleading and hissing and primal desire all at once, no stop stop slow down not safe listen not going to hurt you listen need you need you NEED YOU!!

The thing lets out another horrible screaming noise and you see it coming, descending, closing in on you like prey. It rams into your car hard enough to send you screeching off the road. You hit the ditch too hard and at the wrong angle, still trying to straighten out and stop yourself from slamming into the trees ahead. The car starts to lean and tip and you realize you’re about to roll, crash, die—

The collision comes before you expect it, a thunderous slam on the passenger side that dents the door and brings you to a sudden stop. All the air in your lungs rushes out in a wheeze, your head spinning. You’re in shock. You shouldn’t be upright, you think, probably shouldn’t even be alive. Something drags over the hood of your car with jerky, animalistic movements, claws scraping steel, a translucent, fleshy membrane squealing across the windshield. The doors are locked but that doesn’t matter. The driver’s side is wrenched open, the door torn off the hinge and flung skittering and sparking down the road. The thing looms just outside, lowering its head to examine you. You look back at it, the two of you studying each other in tense silence.

Yes yes yes have you now, you hear as bright, smothering joy floods your thoughts, safe you’re safe you’re with me safe now.

This is a hunting form. Like many nightbound, its shape is something like an enormous bat. It has a short, curved snout and small daggers for teeth. Those things you mistook for horns are large, conical ears that twitch and swivel. Its body is covered in black fur, a thick patch wreathing its neck like a lion’s mane. One of its arms is crooked, you notice, and starting to swell. You’re alive because it threw itself at your car to keep it from flipping over. You want to hate it but you can’t tear your eyes away from the fresh wound, the way one wing droops like a ripped sail. It did that for you, without hesitation.

You’re dimly aware of things happening beyond the two of you. Car engines rumbling. Tires scraping the cement. Black CTF vehicles blocking off every escape route, stylized canaries emblazoned on their sides. Doors rumble open and slam shut. You could fight if you really wanted to. You could try to push your way past the thing, run for the trees. You wouldn’t get far. It’s over, you know that. You can’t make yourself move. You’re so tired of running, of leaving every place you go and every person you meet, of changing yourself over and over again, living as a stranger because the real you will bring nothing but trouble. You want a bed that’s yours. A place you can always go back to. A person who knows you and cares about you—who would love you even if your blood was the same as anyone else’s. 

There’s a sick sound of cracking bone and the leathery squeal of skin reshaping. The thing grunts as it twists itself into a smaller shape, fur receding into sweat-soaked skin. When it settles, Edmund is kneeling there naked and panting. Without his uniform, you can see the marks littering his body. Lashes and claw slashes, burns in gnarled, spotty patches, old bullet wounds that healed into puckered scar tissue. He runs a hand through his hair, his carefully combed bangs now disheveled and sticking to his forehead. 

“This is overkill, isn’t it?” you say as more headlights blink over the horizon. Thirty, maybe thirty five CTF agents in total when you do a rough headcount, watching them watch you. A lot of them are making phone calls. Reporting to the Council, you assume, piecing together all the identities you’ve lived under in the last few years. “All this for one witch.” 

“You’re worth it,” Edmund says. Even winded and still struggling to catch his breath, his voice has a hard, determined edge to it, absolute and unshakable conviction. There’s no reasoning with someone who’s so sure they’re right. “I know you’re afraid. But this is going to be—”

“Shut up.” You tilt your head back, letting out the breath you’ve been holding. “You have no idea what’s about to happen to me. You can’t possibly understand.” Edmund frowns. He looks at you the same pitying way one might look at a waterlogged kitten or a child crying on a playground, some small, sad thing in need of rescue or protection. You can’t stand it, so you lean back in your seat, close your eyes, and savor your last moments of freedom with tears spilling down your cheeks.

*

The Skelveross Dusk Council meets in Harrow Creek, a city near the heart of the territory. It’s an hour drive from where Edmund ran you off the road, plenty of time for you to break down completely in his backseat. He looks physically pained by your distress, clearly uncomfortable as he murmurs useless platitudes about how good it’ll be to “put this all behind you.” He stops twice to crack open the cooler sitting in the passenger seat, sipping from a blood bag kept on ice, and that lets him use his broken arm without wincing.  By the time you’ve exhausted yourself into listless apathy, you’re in what might be a historical district surrounded by brick buildings and manicured lawns. You don’t have to ask where you’re going. There’s a behemoth of Gothic architecture looming ahead, a cross between a cathedral and a courthouse. The white stone exterior is adorned with decorative arches, crescent moons and birds in flight, ancient symbols of the nightbound.

Edmund clears his throat awkwardly and doesn’t quite make eye contact in the mirror. “That’s the Council building,” he says, gesturing with a nod. “The CTF offices are right behind it if you, ah. Ever need anything. I’m not sure how much you know about this area. You can think of Harrow Creek as the ‘capital’ of the territory. Skelveross is a small region, comparatively speaking, but it’s extremely well-defended. You’ll never have to worry about hunters here.” 

He keeps glancing back at you, maybe hoping you’ll say something, show interest, ask him a question. You don’t. You watch the Council building and its spire bell tower grow steadily closer with dread cold and heavy in your stomach.

Edmund offers to put you under mesmerism for the meeting and seems taken aback by your shock and revulsion. “I thought it might help. You’re so nervous,” he says. You’d like to scream, but you settle for an exasperated glance and follow him inside. 

The Council building is dark like a tomb. There are no light fixtures, no candles or lamps. The weak, watery light that seeps into the mazelike corridors is the glow of street lamps filtered through stained glass, too dim for you to properly take in your surroundings. You cross paths with other nightbound only rarely. Most are CTF agents who exchange greetings with Edmund before continuing on their way, but you spot others just waiting around, sitting outside of offices or filling out paperwork. 

A pair of double doors waits at the end of a long hallway, old wood carved with intricate swirls and floral patterns. Each has a spot of vandalism, deep gouges where the etchings have been obliterated by repeated slashes. “The Dagaric family crest was once displayed upon these doors,” Edmund says solemnly. “They were removed centuries ago to symbolize our transition to a democracy. This is no place for tyrants.” Nightbound politics. You don’t want to know. Edmund pushes one of the doors open and steps aside, holding it for you. You see darkness broken by islands of light, candles lining a grand staircase. The wax is red, the puddles they melt into thick like coagulated blood. A chandelier adorned with dangling crystal strings glows with golden dusklight. This is all for you, prepared for your arrival. The nightbound need no light. 

You descend between rows and rows of red velvet seats, most of them empty. The nightbound in attendance are clustered at the very bottom, seated before a raised stage platform. You catch glimpses of grandeur in the flickering candlelight; a Victorian patterned carpet, curtained alcoves with sculptures and glass display cases, a mural on the ceiling of winged figures in lurid embraces. This might have been a theater of some kind once, an opera house that entertained the nightbound nobility of bygone eras. You can’t imagine how much blood has soaked the floor over the years.

There’s a table on the stage, long enough to accommodate the five nightbound seated behind it. The Dusk Council, you assume. They’re not much different from how you imagined them, stern-faced and imperious, dressed like Victorian lords and ladies in stiff coats and billowing sleeves. They’re all chatting when you walk in, the conversation light and casual with a bit of quiet laughter, but they fall silent when you’re halfway down the steps. That’s when the ones on stage spot you and Edmund. Nightbound eyes gleam in the dark like an animal’s. You fight an instinctual surge of terror when they all turn to look at you, points of silver light following your every move.

“Edmund,” one of the Council members says, nodding. “Well done.” 

Edmund bows his head and you roll your eyes. ‘Not his jurisdiction,’ my ass. At the bottom of the stairs, you find two seats that have been left open in the very front row. Edmund waits for you to sit before taking the open spot beside you, as if running could get you anywhere now. Your name is spoken. Your real name, in full. You flinch. Nobody’s called you that in a long time. One of them passes a stack of papers down the table and they take turns giving you incredulous looks. 

“We must apologize for the disorganized manner of this meeting,” one of them says. “Your situation is unusual and we don’t have all the information we normally would. For a witch to reach your age without proper registration, even as a latent, is simply unheard of. I don’t suppose you’d tell us if you’ve been staying with other unregistered kin?” 

“I haven’t seen my family in years,” you say.

For some reason, this confuses them. They look at each other, then at you, then back at one another with some whispering. You shift uncomfortably in your seat. Edmund is giving you that misty-eyed veterinarian with a sick dog look again and you wish he’d stop. 

“Are you aware of who currently holds the title of Lord Regent in Skelveross?” you’re asked.

You stare at them. “Am I supposed to know that?” you ask. More worried looks and muttering, papers shuffling and being passed around. 

“This is highly irregular,” one of the Council mutters. “Highly irregular. And without records, I’m not sure how we can make a proper match.” 

“They’re not walking out of here unpartnered,” another says firmly. “That’s much too dangerous.”

You clench your armrests in irritation. “I was doing fine, you know,” you tell them. “I was just living my life. Sometimes it was tough, but that was your fault. When I wasn’t looking over my shoulder, I was happy. I didn’t need you.” 

They don’t care. They keep talking in hushed tones, gesturing in your general direction from time to time—all but one. The one in the middle, two Council members on either side of him, sets his papers down and gives you his undivided attention. This one is ancient. You can sense it. His face has the same unnerving, ageless quality as all nightbound, neither soft and youthful nor particularly wizened, but his eyes pin you in place. You expected something more like Edmund, a gaze sharpened with piercing, predatory focus like a wolf who isn’t quite hungry yet, but this one’s eyes are like no living thing found in nature. Nothing is meant to live that long, to see that much and remain unchanged. He stands from the table with effortless grace, his chair scraping the floor as he pushes it out behind him. 

“Then surely you can prove it,” he says.

The sudden silence feels like a warning. The Council stops their overlapping conversations to look between the two of you in muted shock and dismay. “Wh—prove what?” you ask.

“You said you do not need us. An extraordinary claim, but I am open to a good argument.” He holds your gaze as he walks slowly down the length of the table and around it, coming to stand directly in front of you. He’s dressed like a CTF agent but the tails of his coat are longer, the waistcoast beneath a shimmery, midnight blue brocade. His hair is just long enough to tie back in a low, short ponytail. “You have survived the treacheries of the world without the protection of a partner thus far. If you can prove to me that this was a matter of skill rather than luck, then I will let you walk away. You will not be pursued.”

“Lord Regent,” someone stammers behind him. He stops them with a curt wave and watches you carefully. 

This has to be a trap. There’s no way he’d risk letting you go. But the Council is exchanging worried glances now and Edmund is trying desperately to make eye contact in your periphery. Don’t, he mouths, the word faintly echoed in your waning connection. The Lord Regent—the title sticks in your mind just long enough for you to think that this is a bad idea, that you shouldn’t be doing this, that this might actually get you killed—cocks his head to the side, awaiting an answer. He smiles, and you see red.

“Good,” he purrs, watching you unceremoniously haul yourself up onto the stage. He removes his black gloves one finger at a time and then shrugs off his coat, letting it crumple on the floor. 

“Lord Regent, do you really think this is—?”

“I would like to take this opportunity to reopen a discussion started earlier this evening,” he says smoothly.

Your blood is boiling. He doesn’t seriously think he’s going to hold a meeting right now, does he? You can’t remember the last time you were this angry, your face hot and your hands balled up into shaky, sweaty-palmed fists. You’re outmatched, you know that, but you want to hit him at least once. You want to feel his nose crack and shift under your knuckles, want to see that cocky sneer swallowed up by bruises when you knock his fangs out of his mouth. You throw yourself at him with no plan, no strategy, nothing but searing anger, and he neatly sidesteps your fist. He’s still smiling when he lunges forward and it all happens too fast for you to see or understand—a hand grasping your shoulder, a leg sweeping you off your feet, and then you’re spinning, landing hard on the wooden stage with all the air knocked out of your lungs. 

“What is our greatest obstacle in ensuring a witch is properly registered?” he continues, turning his back on you. You wheeze furiously, struggling to push yourself up with your elbows. “I will tell you: it is the witch themselves. Concealment is an epidemic of such staggering proportions that we have lost entire generations. This wayward child knows nothing of the world they rightfully belong to. How many have gone unpartnered because of this? How many live and die beyond our reach?” 

He must hear you stand up. You’re slow and clumsy, your head throbbing and your shoulders sore. The stage creaks beneath your unsteady feet and your pulse thunders in your ears. Your vision swims and your stomach quivers with dizzy nausea. You shouldn’t be on your feet but you push yourself forward, one shambling step after another, driven by hate and fear and desperation unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. 

Your hand wraps around his shoulder, squeezing. Under black silk sleeves, you feel steely cords of muscle. He turns just slightly, just far enough for you to glimpse the smile on his lips. And then he has you, a hand clutching the back of your shirt, another grasping your sleeve, pulled close to him like you’re dancing but only for a moment. Then you’re weightless, the room tilting, the floor rushing up to meet you. You land on your back and there’s an awful animal noise like something shrieking half-dead in the woods at night, and it takes time for you to realize it came from your own mouth. 

“Lord Regent, please.” That sounds like Edmund, you think. You aren’t sure. You can’t even lift your head to look. There’s murmuring all around you, words you can’t understand with the ringing in your ears. Trying to get up again makes you feel like there’s shards of glass ground up into your muscles, pinpricks and sweeping pulses of pain. You’ve got nothing left. Even turning on your side is a monumental effort, a mistake that makes your side prickle and burn. 

You see him. The Lord Regent. His back to you. You see the rest of them, too, standing from their seats with stern, solemn faces, Edmund biting his lip so hard a rivulet of blood trickles down his chin. Your fingers twitch, arms outstretched and hands splayed limp. No. You have something left. You can’t control it and you don’t fully understand it, a true last resort, but you have something. You try to clench your hand into a fist again but it just curls weakly. You smell it first, just faintly, a paradox of odor—sharp, permeating, yet featureless, a scent that isn’t. The chill in your nose on a frigid winter day. You feel numbness and tingling. You see magic, weak and unfocused, gathering at your fingertips. It shivers like a mirage. 

This is a bad idea. You’ve been on the run too long and you’ve never had lessons, no mentors, not even a chance to practice. The magic spins into a miniature vortex, a whirlpool of distortion in the air, and you feel it growing, getting hungrier. It might kill you. It might kill everyone here. It might bulldoze through this auditorium like a wrecking ball and leave a gaping wound of all your last furious thoughts behind, a haunting the size of an office building—

The Lord Regent lunges for you, one hand wrapped around your throat in a firm, choking grip. You don’t have the strength to stop him. You try to hold onto the magic but it’s fizzling out, unraveling in your hand. He’s so close to you now. Pinning you down with his body, straddling your waist. His hands are not perfectly smooth. You feel bumps and ridges against your throat. Scars. Calluses. His eyes are a stormy blue. His lips are moving and you can’t hear him, can’t hear anything over the static in your head, but somehow you know what he means to say. 

"That’s enough."

You breathe slowly beneath the loosening pressure of his thumb. You can feel yourself slipping under. His mesmerism is subtle but it’s stronger than Edmund’s, a wave of stifling calm washing over you. No matter how hard you cling to your anger, it fades like dying embers. You don’t want to fight anymore. 

"I do this for you. For all of us. We will not survive alone, you or I. Someday you will understand."

Time passes, but you’re barely aware of it. Everything is softness and delight. Sometimes the pain will come back, needling at your back and sides, but it’s chased away with a soothing whisper and a hand stroking your head. Gentle fingers massage your scalp and you bury yourself deeper in the warm comfort of the moment. You surface gradually. The Lord Regent gives your mind back piece by piece. Awareness first, the realization that you’re kneeling. That there is a cushion under you, keeping your legs from the hard ground. That you’re at his side while he sits at the Council’s table and he wants to keep you there—forever if he could, just like this, drifting and happy. That someone is speaking, and that he is petting you like a beloved, loyal animal, stealing glimpses whenever he can. 

You pull your head out of his lap slower than you’d like, mindful of the ache in your neck and shoulders. He gives you one last look, smug and satisfied, and then returns his attention to the rest of the Council. “Loathe as I am to admit it, perhaps you have a point,” he says, sounding contrite. “I cannot claim impartiality. Someone else should draft the proposal. We will hold the vote another time.”

“We appreciate your understanding, Lord Regent,” one of the others says. “No disrespect is meant, but perhaps it is best to approach this with the benefit of time and distance. None of us are as clear-headed as we should be tonight.” 

“Indeed. That just leaves us with the matter of placement.” All eyes are on you again. The Lord Regent frowns thoughtfully. “Young nightbound take priority. And yet, I cannot in good conscience partner a fledgling with a witch so…volatile.”

“May I address the Council?” 

A new voice speaks and a new, unsettling silence falls over the auditorium. You see a nightbound walking down the aisle, already halfway down the steps. You didn’t hear him come in but that’s not surprising. Even now, his footsteps are nearly silent. The others recoil when he draws near, trembling and wide-eyed. They respect the Lord Regent, but they fear this one. You can’t see him clearly until he’s nearly reached the bottom of the steps, stepping into the glow of the chandelier. He’s stunning. Long dark hair tumbles over his shoulders and frames sharp, androgynous features. He wears a long, trailing garment, form-fitting at his chest but loose and flowing below the waist like an evening gown, clinging sleeves of black lace adorning his arms. His footsteps are slow and graceful as he glides down the stage.

“Athanasius,” the Lord Regent greets. He’s the only one who doesn’t look scared shitless. He inclines his head in a slight bow, smiling like there’s a joke you’re missing. “It is rare for you to grace us with your presence these nights. Please, speak.” 

Athanasius surveys the Council with a quick glance back and forth. Each of them flinch in their seats. Some avert their eyes, clinging to their papers in desperation for something else to look at. Then he looks at you and your breath catches in your throat. His gaze is paralyzing. You’re reminded of the unnerving feeling you got when you first saw the Lord Regent, the incomprehensible abyss of time within his eyes. This one is old, too. Maybe even older. “As you know,” he says, his voice soft and irresistibly sweet, “I have a convenire, here in Harrow Creek. We recently had a new arrival. They are all young, but the newest is by far the youngest. He was sired during the last Waxing Nights.”

You expect to hear muttering here, discussion, disagreement, but there’s nothing. Not a word from any of them. It feels like the entire auditorium is holding its breath. The Lord Regent hums, considering. “Ah, yes. The dissenter’s child.” You glance between them, trying to piece together what’s about to happen to you. A convenire—that’s just what nightbound call it when a bunch of them live together, isn’t it? “That would indeed solve several problems at once.” 

The rest of the Council gradually thaws from their frozen terror, a few of them offering weak platitudes and agreements. You have no idea what they think of this, but you see more paperwork emerging from somewhere, hear the rapid scribbling of ink pens. They seem eager, at least, for him to leave. “It’s a bit unusual,” one of them says. “But so are the circumstances. Perhaps this will be a good match.” Several of them glance at you briefly with sad, pitying gazes. 

“Very well.” The Lord Regent offers you a smile. Maybe it’s genuine. Maybe it’s not. You can’t tell, but he sounds far too excited. “Wayward child,” he says, his tone solemn and official, “you are hereby sentenced to sacramental service within the convenire of Athanasius. You shall defer to his judgment and you shall submit to his authority before all other nightbound. You shall offer your blood to all members of the convenire without complaint or question. Should you perform your duties satisfactorily, you may earn the sacred gift of partnership. May you find peace and fulfillment in your service.” 

You inhale shakily. That’s it, then. You belong to someone. A packet of papers are passed down the table, signed by each Council member. It makes its way back to the Lord Regent, who stamps it with an ink seal. That’s all the fanfare there is, and then they start talking about something else. 

“Shall we go?” Athanasius is standing beside you on the stage. The suddenness of his proximity should scare you, but you don’t have the energy to be afraid anymore. “Unless you would like to stay longer,” he says. He smiles, teasing you gently. As though this is something you might find humor in. You watch him sink down to one knee. The folds of his gown gather in a puddle beneath him, dark like shadows. “I will not pretend to understand how you feel nor will I feed you sweet lies. Sacramental service is a punishment. The fledglings in my care have suffered greatly and they will likely inflict this suffering upon you. They do not know what else to do with it. You will be housed, fed and protected, and you will have your own quarters, but I know that means little to you now.”

You hear him but you aren’t really listening. Tears spill down your cheeks and you do nothing to stop them. You flinch when Athanasius lifts his hand, catching a droplet trickling by the corner of your mouth. 

“There is a car waiting for us outside,” he says. “Can I trust you to cooperate, or will you make this difficult?” 

“I’ll make this as difficult for you as I can,” you promise him. You hold his gaze no matter how uncomfortable it makes you. You don’t back down. “You won’t know peace. By the end of this, you’re going to hate me as much as I hate you.”

Athanasius laughs, melodic and clear as a bell. His hand traces the curve of your jaw, thumb stroking your lips. “How delightful,” he purrs, “that you think there will be an end to this.” He leans in, pressing his lips to your forehead. There is no gentle easing, no subtle nudge of mesmerism, just the maw of thoughtless oblivion swallowing you whole.

[anyamaris]

Title: Requited

Summary: A series of events lead to you having the worst day, and it doesn't help that it's Valentines Day. Your ex, who also happens to be your best friend even after your breakup showing up doesn't help the emotional turmoil inside of you.

Word Count: 2271

Pairing: Ex!BFF!Seonghwa x F!Reader

Trope: Exes to lovers/Fluff/Angst

Rating- T for teen/16+

Warnings: Vulgarity, some angsty thoughts and crying, allusion to previous intimacy as well as possibly bathing together, nothing explicit.

A/N: Well since Hwa is my ex bias, this seemed like a fun idea-thank you to @sanjoongie for suffering with me in regards to Seonghwa. You really helped me bring this to life for Valentines 🤍

Much love to @pars-ley for the GORGEOUS banner and you did it last minute (I told her last night and she delivered perfection!)

As always, so much love to @cafekitsune for the dividers, always supporting us writers 💜

“Ugh, why is this all here?!” 

You yank out the box from the back of the closet, letting out a frustrated sigh as you turn to set it down on the floor.

Your sleeve catches on a hanger and the small box tumbles from your arms, spilling everything inside.

“Goddamnit…” you huff, running your palm over your forehead to push back the errant hairs sticking out everywhere.

You close your eyes for a moment, trying to calm yourself before kneeling to start picking up the mess.

It has been a long ass week and all you really wanted to do was guzzle down a bottle of wine and soak in a long, hot bath.

Ahh…a bubble bath, you think, then curse as intrusive thoughts fill your mind.

It’s been over half a year since you and your ex broke up, but it has been amicable.

The positives of dating your best friend and roommate, you think.

Well….ex boyfriend AND ex roommate.

Luckily, best friend was still ongoing.

Unfortunately, today was Valentine's day and you can’t stop yourself from the memory of last year with Seonghwa.

Today the loss of your relationship seems to be creeping in to taunt you from every angle.  

“Get out of my head, Stupid Seonghwa.” you mutter, finally stuffing the last of his random shit into the box.  

Of course it was a box he’d forgotten to take when he’d left.

Maybe he was having a great Valentine’s, not even remembering the romantic evening you’d planned for him last year.

Why am I even thinking about him?

Your break up had been mutual, yes, but you’d held back the little twinge of doubt about it.

Could you both have worked it out?

You’d both expressed the fear of losing each other completely after a series of arguments that neither of you were willing to compromise on.

Looking back, you can’t even remember what the arguments were over…

Laundry soap?

How to fold socks?

Leaving a towel on the floor?

The best brand of kimchi?

Who the hell knows. 

“Whatever.” you grumble, pushing off your knees to get up, grabbing up the box with you to take to the door.

He can come get it when-

A sharp, stinging pain rips through the arch of your foot and right through the rest of your body, causing you to let out the most offensive curse words your exhausted brain can conjure up.

The box you’ve just picked up drops, and luckily it doesn’t spill its insides this time.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” you hiss out, moving your foot to look down at the villainous object that lit up all of your pain receptors like a christmas tree.

You freeze momentarily, then lean over to pick up the object that just destroyed your mood completely.

Of course it’s a fucking LEGO.

Park mother fucking Seonghwa-

Right at that moment, your doorbell rings and you just bite back even more expletives as you snatch up the horrid little plastic piece before making your way to the door.

“Coming!” You call out as someone begins to knock.

As if he was summoned, Seonghwa stands before you with a bright smile.

Instead of putting you into a good mood, his presence only makes you more irritated.

“Ugh…” you grunt at him, turning and walking away without another word.

“Nice to see you too,” he quips, coming inside even though he wasn’t invited.

“I’m trying to clean, Hwa, why are you here?”  

“Can’t I come by and say hello?” he asks, and you let out a slow breath.

You turn to look at him, as he sets down a small plant on your counter.

“What’s that?” You ask, narrowing your eyes at what appears to be a flower.

He looks at it, then turns a sheepish smile on you. 

Fucking hate how gorgeous he is, you grumble inwardly.

“I saw it and thought of you...why are you so grumpy today?” he asks, leaving the gift to walk over to you.

You run your hand over your face, shaking your head at him.

“I don’t know, just a long ass week, and I haven’t slept much, and….” you clench your other hand, the edges of the plastic Lego piece biting into your skin.

“-and then I stepped on your stupid Lego!” you thrust your hand out at him, palm up to present the disrespectful object.

“Ouch…sorry…” he says, walking over to take it from your hand.

He lights up, turning it over in his fingers, “It’s the missing piece I’ve been looking for!”

His brilliant grin has your insides crumbling and you hate that you’re feeling so emotional right now.

Why did he have to come by today of all-

“Are you crying? Did it hurt that badly? Let me see your foot-” he is suddenly ushering you to sit on the couch as you try to process his words.

Crying? You’re not-

You swipe at your face and let out a frustrated sigh at the moisture running down your cheeks.

Before you can protest, he’s kneeling before you, lifting first your right, then left foot to survey any damage done.

“I’m fine, Seonghwa-” you complain, but he just gives you a stern look before returning to his inspection.  

“Just a few little red marks…” he hums, rubbing his thumb gently over the spot where you’d stepped down on it.

You cross your arms over your chest, swallowing back the urge to kick him in his pretty face.

God, what’s wrong with me today?

“I didn’t think you’d be home, honestly.  Glad I took the chance.” He hums, looking up at you with those big brown doe eyes.

“Why? Cause now you have your Lego back?”  you snap at him, then regret it as a momentary look of hurt crosses his face.

He lets out a patient sigh, standing only to settle himself down next to you on the couch.  

“No...I just…” he shrugs, suddenly looking around at anything but you as he chews his bottom lip.

You glance at him from the corner of your eyes, noting how the long strands of his dark hair tease at his cheeks.

Before you can stop yourself, you unfold your arms and reach out to brush them back, startling him enough to stare at you in shock.

“Sorry…it’s gotten long.” you mumble, retracting your hand before you give in to the urge to trace your fingertips over his skin.

He holds your gaze, tugging on a strand and nodding in agreement.

“Do you…like it?” he asks softly, his eyes studying you.

“It’s…nice…” 

“Just nice?” He asks, a little teasing smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

“What is it you came for, Hwa?” you ask, redirecting the conversation.

He takes in a deep breath, then lets it out slowly before answering.

“Just...I thought because it’s Valentine’s and maybe you …” he looks down at his fingers, suddenly interested in the state of his nails.

“Maybe I what? Am a pathetic mess because I’m single?” You bite out, hating how your voice wavers.

His head snaps up, brows drawing together.

“No. Why would I ever think that? Seriously?” he retorts and then he’s turning towards you, reaching out to grasp your hands in his.

“We’re friends, best friends…I’ve never once thought you were pathetic. What the hell even makes you think such a thing?”  

Friends.

For some reason, that cuts deep.

It’s been months since you’d both agreed to not be together.

To preserve the friendship.

He’d even moved out to make it easier on both of you; you’d both given in to the physical aspect far too much even after things ended.

Yet here you are, ready to hiss and spit at that term.

“I don’t want to be friends.” 

You freeze as you realize the words have slipped out unintentionally.

“What?” he asks, looking crestfallen.

“Hwa…no…I mean…fuck-” you stutter, angry at how your eyes sting from fresh tears welling up.

He lets go of your hands, cupping your cheeks to brush away the errant tears starting to spill down your face.  

“Don’t-” you try to swat him away, but he slaps at your hands, slipping an arm around you to pull you into a tight hug.

“What’s wrong?” he asks softly, tucking your face into his neck as he pets your hair.  

All of the internal struggles, the pressures of work, the sleepless nights…everything just seems to bubble up and you finally just feel the dam break.

Your hands fist into his soft sweater as you open your mouth and your heart just spills out.

“I feel so lonely, and sometimes it’s too much.  I miss you, I miss the stupid shit you do, I miss the way you get angry over how I leave my shoes or how I don’t dry things before putting them away.  It’s stupid Valentine’s and I was thinking about last year and all I want to do is just drown myself in wine and a bubble bath but I thought about you-” 

His body tenses in your arm, his hand halts, resting on the crown of your head before he’s slowly pulling you back to look at you.

“Shut up, I know it’s stupid, I know we agreed to be friends and I fucking thought I was fine-” 

The rush of words are cut off as his lips find yours.

Stunned, you freeze as the familiar sensation of his tongue prods at the seam of your lips, then you melt into his arms, opening up to allow him access.

His scent surrounds you, a small gasp escaping your parted lips before he’s planting kisses over and over on your mouth.

“I was going to tell you-” he says, breaking away for a moment before he closes the distance again.

“That I missed you too-”

“That I was stupid, I was wrong-” 

“I don’t even remember why we-”

You grasp his face, halting him before he can go on.

“I don’t either, why did we stop?” 

His eyes flick back and forth between yours, and he shakes his head.

That dark silky hair teases at his face and you feel the entire world fall into place.

Your lips quiver as your eyes fill once more, but this time it’s not painful.

It’s not in agony.

He blinks rapidly as he smiles as you, yanking you back to return his mouth to yours.

Time seems to stop, and bleed away as you cling to one another, basking in one anothers embrace before he’s breaking away from you.

“Hey…shhh…” he hums, pulling you into a gentle hug.

You nuzzle at his neck but he shakes his head as you brush your lips over that one place you know gets him going.

“Wait..” he protests, and you pull back to give him a pout.

“Don’t do that…you’re killing me here.” he chastises you, and your stomach flips as he gets a stern look on his face.

Fuck you’ve missed this.

He halts you once more as you go in for another kiss, taking your hands in his.

Confused, you tilt your head at him, about to ask him what’s wrong.

Before you can, he leans in to brush his plush lips over your forehead.

“Shh…I know how quickly things can escalate between us.  While I want that…I want you…I think rushing back into sex isn’t the way I want to begin again.” 

Your heart stutters in your chest, and while the ache between your legs argues against his logic, your mind and heart are in complete harmony about that sentiment.

Still, you give him yet another overdramatic pout.

He lets out a soft laugh, reaching up to flick his fingertip over your lip.

“Temptress.” he teases, and you can only grin as he tugs you back in to cuddle you.

Your entire body liquifies in his arms, and you run your hands over his shoulders, his back, his arms.

“Have you been working out?” you ask him, your voice muffled by his shirt as you rub your face into his chest.

He chuckles, his chin rubbing against your cheek.

“If you still feel the same way tomorrow, maybe I’ll show you.” he offers.

“Mmm…promise?” 

“I promise.” he answers, pulling away a little to look at you.

You hold one another’s gaze for a moment, then he stands and turns towards your kitchen.

“What are you doing?” you ask, watching as he rummages around, pulling out a stemmed glass, then finding a familiar cupboard.

“You said you wanted wine and a bath.  I’m going to give you exactly what you want, angel.” he hums.

Your heart thumps in your chest; firstly because he’s always been so caring and sweet, but also because of the use of his pet name for you.

“I love you, Seonghwa.” you blurt out, knowing you should feel embarrassed but the sudden admission but unable to find it in you to feel anything but relief at the confession.

He smiles softly as he pours the glass, walking back over to hand it to you before placing a kiss on your head.

“I know, angel…I never stopped loving you.”

His words linger in the air as he wanders off, tossing you a peeking glance before he disappears into the bathroom to start running your bath.

The familiar scent of your bubble bath fills the air as you take a sip of the velvety wine.

There’s still a lot to talk about, alot to discuss but tonight…

You stand, glass in hand and try to figure out how you’re going to get him to join you in your tub.

[just-null]

Wowie rly digging the yandere clone headcanons… how would each react if their darling tried to run away from them?!

You said tried so I assume this was a failed attempt!

Short answer: they get really upset and try making it your fault (shocker.) Ain't no way any of these mfs think they're the problem. Good news! you're mostly unharmed and alive.

This will just be purely writing bc i mostly had thoughts! sorry no drawing this time!!

[cw! mentions of potential harm to reader (no actual harm done), manipulation, toxic relationship dynamics (yandere flavor), obsessive behavior]

Sekido

You're always being hunted the moment the sun comes down and you don't return home in time. Reasons like that are exactly why he hates it when you part from him. 

This time is different.. he can't find you in your usual spots. There's no fucking way, right?

How could you.. No, how DARE you? Do you think that he's some joke? That his feelings for you are something that you can run away from like it's nothing? 

The second he's sure the sun won't harm him, he's already white knuckling his khakkhara, swinging at anything and everything in his path until he gets to you.

They know how to sense if you're near or not, hell, they probably know how your specific blood type smells like. 

Did you think cuddling up to you and memorizing every detail about you was for nothing? Don't be stupid. All he needs is a trace of you and he's gone in the blink of an eye.

You better enjoy running while you can because when he catches you, and he will, those legs of yours won't have much use after he's done with them. 

Sekido doesn't WANT to do this, but you honestly give him no choice. After he trusted you enough to stop looking over his shoulder, you do this? How can he ever put any faith in you again!?

On the bright(?) side, Sekido's rage wouldn't be solely on you, it'll ricochet onto everyone, especially the other clones and himself. 

They were supposed to be looking after you! But they can't do anything right, even a task as simple as this. 

And why did he think it was a good idea to trust them with something of big importance when all they do is fuck everything up!? Everyone's idiocy is rubbing off on him!

The entire time on his search for you, he's cursing and wanting to crush anything he can get his hands on, especially your bones. 

He doesn't even bother with speaking to the others, too busy spewing out all sorts of hurtful and frustrated comments about everything. 

The brutal thought that you’d rather run away than be with him isn't one he wants to entertain, but it's echoing in his head.

At least, once the other clones get there, Karaku and Aizetsu brawl with Sekido so you're unharmed while Urogi carries you overhead. 

Sekido's jealousy flares up when he sees you in Urogi's arms, making him even more pissed if that's even possible. Great, now he looks like the bad guy and the other three, the saviors. Fucking perfect.

There's a lot of yelling and a lot of blood, especially with Urogi making things so much more annoyingly difficult in the air. Karaku and Aizetsu aren't helping. Why is Sekido suddenly the problem?! You ran away!! 

But when he calms down enough, he's cursing at everyone through clenched teeth. Sometimes trying to convince the others that you don't even need your legs anyway!!

Once you get back home (or temporary prison until you somehow regain favor), Sekido will eye your legs while gripping his staff from time to time. 

Exactly why he's forbidden to be in a room alone with you for a while until he settles down..

He glares at you more often and grows colder than before. Arguments are more common where he twists your words just to have you talk with him and be angry within reason. 

Any other type of conversation makes him so irrationally upset that the others need to step in so that he doesn't lose his temper again.

Karaku

The calmest out of the group. He brushes it off as “you're playing hard to get” again, and if he makes a ruckus, you'll scamper back and beg him to stop like always!

Then it gets darker out.. and when Sekido left, he seemed pretty pissed. Like more than usual..... shit.

Karaku sprints after Sekido when it clicks that he's found you. His mind starts reeling, unsure whether he should laugh at the absurdity of your decisions or get pissed off because you didn't even bother to give a hint! 

Not like that would do anything aside from give you away but regardless!

Everyone needs to relax, this is obviously something they can sweep under the rug. This isn't that big of a deal and you're just having a fit, but things like these can get you hurt, y'know? 

They're fun and all, sure, just maybe give him a heads up next time, yeah? Sekido can't take a joke, you know this!!! Still.. There's a way Karaku can work with this.

He'll be able to swoop in, save you, be your hero, and remind you why staying with him is kinda important. Just in case you forgot~ 

You don't wanna be out and about without his charming grin and protective hold would you? Don't answer that right now, he has a feeling you'll say something wrong!

Yet.. what if you need a firmer hand to remind you of what Karaku provides? What if you got a little too comfortable being protected so you thought you'd be alright leaving them? Man, who knew you could be spoiled!

Because of this, he would purposely fumble, letting Sekido get near you just so he can stop him at the perfect moment. He purposely gets hit too and makes sure some blood gets near you. To remind you how that could've been yours.

When Sekido calms down, Karaku laughs in your face and would pinch your cheeks if you weren't up in the air with Urogi on the way home.

You should've seen your face! It was really cute~! Maybe getting scared is your thing? He'll note that for later.

He offhandedly advises you not to do things like that all the time, fighting Sekido always kinda sucks, but it's not like you actually had a chance of successfully running away so he won't chastise you too much for it. 

That's not his job, and his heart hasn’t pumped that fast in a long time.. not even in a fight! You're so amazing~~

And delusional if you think he's not going to milk this “heroism” thing back there for some extra affection points with you. 

Don't be so mean. he got his head blown off twice and jaw dislocated thrice, not to mention everywhere else on his body. Don't you think those parts of him need some extra loving? more than usual?

There's not that much Karaku can say after that aside from reminiscing like it was a funny story. He's not upset about it, mostly a little miffed you got kinda far without him noticing, but he gets over it. 

The usual routine starts back up for him when you're back home. It's like nothing happened, but he keeps a closer eye on you since everyone's so tense.

Urogi

If you're not home before the sun sets, Urogi's clawing at the walls with stress. He usually accompanies Sekido to go find you, but this time is different. Urogi could just barely tell you were around.. When Sekido bolts, Urogi's flying as fast as he can, trying to find you first. 

You're so far.. you must've gotten kidnapped!!!!!

The stress from before burns into anger, expecting to see someone having their hands on you while you're calling out in vain. How could he let this happen?! Damn sun! 

He darts through the skies even faster imagining it, and when he finally reaches you, you look.. fine? and alone. and looking at him like he's the danger. He's here to save you, dummy..

Urogi falls to his knees, burying his face against your stomach and finally wrapping his arms around you again. Your fists violently hit his head and yank fistfuls of hair back, but it doesn't phase him. 

Your comforting warmth is back, that's all that matters. And god, your smell.. it's almost making him dizzy. He missed you so much.

There's many holes to the story in Urogi's head as to why you're so far from home, but he fills them in with more convoluted delusions. It's just a peaceful reunion right now.. 

That is until Sekido finally arrives and starts swinging his khakkhara way too close to your fragile bones. 

Now he's back in defense mode where he scoops you up and tries flying out of reach. This is so stressful!!! There's lightning everywhere and he keeps having to dodge the multiple staffs thrown his way. 

He shields you with his wings as best he can while trying to stay in the air, so you don't get hurt during Sekido's outburst.

In the skies, it's much clearer to see the hurt behind the haunting glow of Urogi's eyes. Did you care about how he might feel? Did you miss him at all? Did you not feel loved enough? Did someone say something to you? 

As he maneuvers the sky, he holds you as tightly as possible, lightly digging his talons into your skin.

Being without you for a couple hours is agonizing enough on its own. If you HAD left him, abandoned, cold, alone.. he doesn't want to think about it. All that matters is that your kidnappers or liars or whatever influenced you are gone, and you're back safe with them!!! 

You.. you still like him, right? Of course you do, fate wouldn't force your paths together if it wasn't for a reason!

Coming back home is uncomfortably tense, especially with how violently Aizetsu kicked Urogi across the room, nearly through the wall, when he tried to lick your wounds clean. It really hurt! 

When you're patched up, Urogi is ten times as clingy if that's possible. He has his arms looped around you constantly so you can't stray too far, and if his hands are busy, he always has his wings!

As happy as he is that you're back, he can't help but cry into your chest sometimes. Everything is so tense nowadays, he hates it! How could you go and do something like that? Apologize immediately! Or at least hold him too? Doubt creeps in a lot, and your attitude isn't helping.. 

His mood swings are stronger. From sobbing uncontrollably into your clothes to being all smiles and radiating with joy the next just because you said something vaguely decent.

Aizetsu

The demotivation started to creep in the second you left. During the day, Aizetsu sits by the door, wanting to be the first one you properly greet. Sekido and Urogi usually bring you back and he'll be the one in your good graces without lifting a finger. That sounds nice.. 

But as the footsteps fade and the silence lingers, Aizetsu feels miserable the longer he waits... Hold on, silence?

Before he realizes what's happening, he's already dashing to where the familiar commotion is coming from. Dread sets in as his legs take him as fast as they can whilst being the slowest of the four. This doesn't feel like they're rushing over to you after a long day, it feels.. dangerous?

What did you get yourself into..? Why do you insist on going to places Aizetsu can't follow? Are you safe? He hates not knowing.

Usually you're the one who's fine. You deal with four demons almost daily! Please please please be okay. He can't fathom it if you were hurt. 

When he gets there, the puzzle pieces fall into place and Aizetsu gets even more depressed, but at least you're not hurt. Well, not if he interferes. His movements are sluggish, a perpetual frown plastered on his face as he tries holding Sekido down. 

Aizetsu wants to dissolve into the floor, and he does sometimes. Not wanting to fight Sekido off anymore, he slumps over. 

This could've been a regular day where you came home.. Are you serious? Leaving? How pitiful could you be to actually think you could get away? Or was it that you wanted to play some sick joke on them? Well, it's not very funny... It's terrible actually.

Aizetsu stays silent on the way home, walking with a bit more energy knowing you're near despite his heart ache.

You can feel the harrowing disappointment radiating off of him the moment you all go back home.

He's tired, annoyed, and so unbelievably upset. Aizetsu grimaced when Urogi got near your scratches with his tongue, so he “politely” ushered him away. 

Knowing a human's weak points is good in battle, but he started trying to learn how to heal them, specifically because he knew these types of things might happen.

As he cleans your scratches, he's actively scolding you for leaving in a cold emotionless tone. And by scolding, he's using manipulative language, trying to make you guilty for everything you did. 

He barely has the energy to live, but now that he finally found his light in the darkness, you want to leave? Is it so wrong he wants to hold onto what makes him even a smidgen happier than usual? He reminds you that he'll wither away without you, but he's not really too keen on dying just yet.

When he tries to get back into a routine, he just can't. He knows why you left, but he doesn't want to hear it. Even if you're sweet to him or not, he'll hold you from behind when you rest.

Looking at you is too much, but being away from you is even worse. Aizetsu compromises this way, but gets quieter, occasionally sniffling when he hides his face behind you.

There's too much going on and he's so tired.. If it weren't for the others, he probably would've held you so tight for so long so that you both would perish together.

Maybe that’s why he's only allowed to hold you when you're asleep. Just please don't do that again.. He NEEDS you. Please, please, please.

Safe to say you gave them a scare. When they double down on the protectiveness, living is ten times more difficult for EVERYBODY. when you lose their trust, it's pretty difficult to gain it back, but not impossible!!

Sekido and Urogi will always assume the worst if you're gone for too long while Karaku and Aizetsu give you a little more freedom until the others drag them along into their worries.

[dykedvonte]

See like the only reason I think the others seriously believed Curly may have crashed the ship is cause he basically had a 30 Rock "I lie to myself" momentary breakdown in front of them after one too many mocktails and like completely forgot about it.

[ganondoodle]

11 pm again and i spent my evening trying to draw but ending up deleting like 5 attempts again and i just want to cry

cant even get upset anymore, i just sit here looking at the wasted time and just kinda going 'yeah ... what did i expect' and the tears are already back :I

[telesodalite]

I need to be weirder about the scavengers and cannibalism...

[sydmarch]

no interest in any of my hobbies next to no concerts going on all summer feeling abandoned by the majority of the few irls I still have no idea where to meet new people to replace them now that I'm not part of the highly social hard partying sales culture I spent basically all of my post college life in anymore literally what reason is there to keep trying

[fuckimrowan]

please please say things about “speaking of courage”. it was my favorite chapter in the novel, and

hi anon ABSOLUTELY this was my favourite too. we singled out this short story for my lit class, actually, and it's the reason i ended up reading tttc by myself. (which also means might've taken this ask as a reason to, like, almost analyse it... i'm so sorry.) i had that entire chapter annotated it but lost the print-out :/ BUT i still remember everything i need to. lol.

keeping this under the cut because it got too long lmao:

so. speaking of courage is objectively a fucking masterpiece. to me, it's about exactly what the real norman bowker expressed in his letter for o'brien: that sense of sudden lack of purpose. like, okay. the war's over. we survived. what's next? this? where do we go now? where do we go?

so, norman bowker goes in circles. the circle thing is pretty fantastically done. the story, the structure—it brings you back, and then away, and then all of that just to bring you back again. and then it happens, again, slightly different but it's really just the same.

it's a pleasant day. the lake is in the center of everything. there's nowhere to go and norman bowker is driving. in another world he would've been able to say this or that or would've had someone listen to this or understand that. norman bowker rolls the windows down or turns up his music and takes a turn of his dad's chevy. the world is moving around him and he keeps driving. locked away in this metal box with windows. driving.

on a broad level, that same structure just goes on the entire story. it's so beautifully done. and i believe it's literally the language lending to that too? the lake and town and weather is "smooth" and "flat" and the houses are "handsome" and these descriptors remain the same throughout.

there's this line i really like, about a sprinkler scattering water on a garden. and it's described to be doing it, like: hopelessly. round and round. it's a brief on-the-nose symbolism and i love it.

and there's another layer beneath that all, obviously. with kiowa & the silver star, and really it's the war. and just... peeling away any analysis or whatever right now, the story itself is disgusting if you imagine yourself in there. it's shit. the way it's written just. you think you're brave? could you jump in front of a bullet? could you take this? could you sit and wait? if you've had courage in the hardest of times could you have the type of courage you don't get a say in, at all? could you just be?

that line. "he knew shit. It was his specialty. the smell, in particular, but also the numerous varieties of texture and taste." maybe i'm thinking about this too vividly—but that's objectively horrifying to me. sinking in shit. objectively, you could say that "oh, it's better than facing the threat of being gunned down to death," but... let's be so fucking real. think about it: imagine yourself there.

from an analysis perspective, the ending is what gets me, most of the time. it's such a traditionally happy ending, has all the good symbolism points. gets out of the car, dips his head in the river—which, you know, cleansing, rebirth, all that bullshit (ha)—he watches the fire works for the 4th of july and yeah, it's a nice scene.

and then he says it's a pretty good show. that word pretty changes the entire fucking thing! and he's been doing this throughout, hasn't he? objective comments about the weather -- it's nice -- the town -- it's clean, sanitary -- and that's all he does. he's very carefully detached from the meaning of july 4th, too. the colours of the fireworks are pretty much identical to the colours of the flares from the night kiowa died in that shit field.

in a way, norman sort of died then too. with kiowa. the stupid analysis stuff, cleansing, rebirth, whatever—all of it, but inversed. it wasn't the water, it was the goddamn waste. instead of clean it makes you feel dirty—and norman's feeling of "dirty" means so many things. the guilt of kiowa. the distance from the town, the handsome, neat town who doesn't want the dirty war stories. the general view of the vietnam war. how he's completely clung onto all that this "dirty" means because he's still stuck in the war. my favourite description(s): the place looked as if it had been hit by nerve gas.

i have so much to say about that lake too. there's a really fucking oomph factor about the lake, you know? it's the lake where his old friend died. i wish i could explain this bit properly but god, i dunno, i just feel like there's some sort of parallel between the lake and the shit field. he tastes the water too. they're both described as flat bodies of water. there's something about that scene.

the ending isn't depressing, just because that word's too harsh, but it's... not happy. the way i see it, norman's attempting to achieve what the water is meant to symbolise. cleansing, just trying to wash it off of him again. all that shit. the waste of the war, of his guilt, of—and it leaves him disconnected, because that's a part of him and the only way to get rid of it is cutting it off. he doesn't talk about it, doesn't have anyone to talk to. it's not that he doesn't want to talk about it—he desperately wants to, so much that it genuinely breaks my heart. "want to hear about the silver star i almost won?" he whispers it at one point: the more times i read that, the more i feel his quiet anguish. he shouldn't have to be so disconnected, but he is because they don't want to listen. the place could only blink and shrug.

anyway i just think there's so much to take away from this story in particular. yeah, if you analyse it in that classroom style there's the repetition, that lost quality, the idea of being unable to speak. but more importantly there's the gross reality of it -- it was a shit field and he lost his friend and no one wants to hear about it. because it's shit and that's not what we want to hear of war. because norman wasn't able to save him and where's the good ending to that? we want to hear nothing about war that is war, really.

my thoughts on this will never end btw. there is so much more i have that is unsaid. there's just so many angles to this story -- on a literal sense, as a standalone, connected to the rest of the novel,

and it isn't norman's fault he can't speak. because since this isn't a pretty story, since there isn't a moral or point to it, there's just no one who'll fucking listen.

[cherubytes]

does the guy complaining about the amount of gay ultrakill fanart they see know they're on the gay fanart website???? "i cant scroll through the tag without seeing 30 fanarts of gabriel in a skirt" my brother in christ that man isnt wearing pants

[snekdood]

i feel weird even claiming my family used to be considered "rich" bc a lot of yall immediately jump to having summer homes, 20 yachts, and enough money to save a country