#sculptor of crimson

[sculptorofcrimson]

Yandere! Valdor

Valdor, the most loyal, the greatest of the Custodes, a Primarch in all but name. Who else can obsess more than him, whose every function besides loyalty was beaten out? A/N: Playing “fucked up obsessive twinks” on easy mode here, aren’t I? I’m sorry, SCP-XXXX who requested this, but you told me Valdor was a twink, and evil twinks are the best kind of men, so therefore this is your fault! Full throttle ahead, let us be damned together! ψ(｀∇´)ψ

Relationships: Valdor/Gn!Reader, mentioned Valdor/Emperor Mentions: @kit-williams would you like some food?

Valdor does not love. 

The Custodes simply can not love. Their love perished beneath treachery and fire, ten thousand years ago, and they simply cannot piece the remnants that was a heart back together again. 

The Emperor took away their ability to love any but Himself, and what else could be left but a hollow void, an immortality without substances, a heart that beats while it lacks its other half? 

There was simply nothing left of him to spare when the Emperor had brought down his claws. His love, his joy, his dreams, all gone, wiped away like sand upon the sea. Leaving behind nothing more than a hollow without sustenance, a phantom vestige of a dream crushed long ago, its corpse entombed within perfected flesh and bone and blood. 

He loves no one, not even himself. When the Emperor died ten thousand years ago, he lost his way. He lost his tether to life itself. And for ten thousand years he wandered for the corpse of his master. There was a poem once, a poem so long ago about the loyal dog that stood guard before his master’s bones, who licked the once-petting hand once, and laid down to die. 

Valdor’s loyalty is no weaker than that dog’s.

He loves no one, not even himself. But he loves the Emperor. He loves Him, so brokenly, so obsessively, so utterly insane in his adoration, the First Custodian would have let Him tear him apart if He wished. 

He loved the Emperor. 

And that is why he loves you. He thinks you to be his Emperor. If not Him, then at least a shard.

He doesn’t care who you were, he doesn’t care whether you were once a captain, a Chapter Master, a Thunder Warrior even. He thinks you to be his master, back from the dead, one of His shards caught in life and flesh. 

He thinks you’re Him. Or, if not Him, at least a fragment of His former glory.

Valdor calls you his Emperor, his shard, his beloved, he ignores any name you had once in favor of calling you his master. A name is only a word, after all, and you are nothing but his Emperor reborn, in his mind. A guardsman, an Astarte, a Thunder Warrior, you are all mortal beneath his eyes. He only smiles that cold, humorless smile of his when you attempt to correct him, when he brushes off your words with the same cold, humorless disinterest. 

Valdor thinks you to be his Emperor. And he doesn't care that you were once someone else, you were not always his beloved, you were not the master he imagined, that you are not the master he built from memories and bones. 

You were nothing before his master, he reasons, you will be nothing after his master, and you were his Emperor once upon a time. It is doubtful if he can even know love, if he had not projected his own delusions of his Emperor upon another. Valdor failed Him once and only now the fates have judged him fit enough to protect a shard of Him, one that is so frail compared to himself, so unspeakably mortal, his atonement for the master he failed so long ago. 

He failed the Emperor once, and watched Him die. He will not do so again.

Protection. You will never walk free again, never without his cold presence by your side, that effortless, confident stride as he accompanies his master. You will never know the taste of sunlight, the easy voice of another conversationalist before their words taper off into uncertainty, and then fear, beneath the jealous glare of your bodyguard. How their sentences trail off, how Valdor looms like some ancient, murderous harpy, his shadow constantly overcasting yours.

He knows nothing of love, of human emotion. But he knows protection. And he knows obsession. 

Valdor is not a passionate man. But he is neither a cruel one either. Of course, Valdor will never raise a spear nor blade against his adoration, to strike his master would certainly mean death, but he will slaughter your loved ones without even horror. He will whisper litanies of loyalty on his knees while his Custodes sink in the knives. He will speak ironclad promises and gilded oaths when they label your soldiers traitors and slaughter them upon the snowfields, when they hail for unity, and hear the blade fall. 

He seems to like walks in wintery fields. It reminds him of what he lost long ago, when the Emperor took him atop Ararat, and he enacted His first vengeance upon the Thunder Warriors. He sometimes brings you there, to altitudes higher than even what a Space Marine can withstand, and gathers you beneath his cloak, whispering memories that were never truly yours, asking for your orders, asking for your forgiveness, asking if you can remember what it felt like ten thousand years ago.

(Sometimes, you can nearly believe him when he says you’re a shard. It’s flattering, almost, to be under the eye of the captain-general.)

He can kill. There is nothing left of him if he could not. Nothing but the Emperor’s spear, a sharpened tool meant to kill and to serve, and to be cast away when its function is complete. You have nothing to fear from him, of course, he would rather end himself than raise a blade against his master. But he loves no other. He does not know how to love. And that makes him dangerous. You know it when you gaze into his eyes, you are sure you could imagine him covered in the blood of your loved ones, guardian spear flashing as he hacks through them without even the shadow of hesitation. He will take no fear, no regret, no relief, barely even satisfaction in the grim act, and yet that is somehow more profane than joy in slaughter. Not even a single hint of joy, wild and unfettered in the sheer cruelty, not even a single hint of an ambition for why he would lay such altars of blood before his master’s feet, only simply because He wanted it to be so, and simply because he loved Him. 

In his eyes, you are his Emperor. But he does not always obey you. He does not kneel as he would’ve knelt before his master. Because he knows, Valdor knows that to protect Him, to serve Him properly, sometimes he must smother Him for His own good. It’s the twisted rationale of a dog who has lost his master, whose death had rocked him so thoroughly he was willing to kill to save Him again. 

Valdor kneels, of course. He’ll kneel before you and speak his words of loyalty, he’ll give you his names one by one if you only ask. Valdor has never considered himself eloquent with words, but he’ll listen to you, he’ll even let you command him as the Emperor would have done. Rank be damned, he cares not if his Emperor had been reborn as a guardsman or an Astartes or even a Thunder Warrior. 

But he does not hide his obsession. To obsess is the only way he knows to love, after all. He’ll smother his beloved with his protection, with his adoration. He’ll hack his way to be their only protector, their only bulwark before the madness, the only man they can trust to defend them. Gaze upon his Emperor once, he’ll tear them apart. Love the Emperor more than him, and he’ll bury their bones beneath the snowfields. 

And be loved by the Emperor more than him….and he’ll betray them as he had betrayed the Thunder Warriors. He’ll sink in golden knives and golden spears in turned backs without even the hint of remorse, Valdor will remind his beloved that it is he who is the servant, it is he who serves to be praised for his duty. Valdor can take you from your family as the Emperor took him from his, he’ll so effortlessly ensure the utter protection of his new Emperor, all for himself. 

No one will protect you more than I, my liege. 

It is he who should be the favored servant.

No one can love you more than I, my Emperor.

He’ll croon those litanies of loyalty to you. He’ll whisper those promises of protection, of ambition, he’ll promise you an eternity while standing atop the frozen ashes of your loved ones. He’ll promise you a throne if you don’t cry, if you’ll love him as his master did. He’ll bring you a crown of gold, he’ll strangle the living storm for you, if only you promise to let him protect you, if you promise if you’ll be his Emperor. 

You died once. I will not let you do so again, my Emperor.

And his obsession would never be checked, and much less ended by the true power behind the Imperium.

You are his Emperor. In that mind He broke so thoroughly long ago, you are the Emperor, reborn. Heavy is the head that bears the laurel, bloodied is the hand that holds this mad dog’s leash.

It is Valdor who should be the favored servant. 

No one will protect you more than I, my liege. 

He will protect you. 

He will protect you, obsess over you, guard you with the hollow that is a heart. He’ll bring you a throne, a crown, an army, an eternity, if only you promise, if only you’ll be his Emperor. 

The Emperor died ten thousand years ago. And in turn, he casted you in His corpse.

[meo-eiru]

Micah is like a potter, he coaxed life from the earth, shaping it as a potter shapes clay, and in return, the garden flourished. A paradise, it was— a glimpse of Eden.

He knelt in the soil, hands deep in the black earth, when he heard the soft crunch of footsteps on the gravel path. Slowly, he rose, wiping his hands on his cassock before turning. And there she was.

Sister Y/N, the newest novice.

The Mother Superior had introduced them formally last week, a brief exchange of pleasantries— a mere formality. She, like so many others, had barely registered in his mind at the time. Another novice, another soul seeking redemption to the Lord.

Unspoiled, and faithful. Her face was soft, framed by the simple habit, her eyes wide and too trusting. Micah had smiled, a smile crafted with the care of a sculptor.

Before he knew it— he wanted to ruin that pure expression to something deliciously defiled.

How sweet indeed, terribly sweet.

Y/N approached him, that same sweetness clung to her like the dew that glistened on the petals at dawn.

“Father Micah,” she says. How she looks at him, it was quite adorable to say the least. The way she seemed to hang on his every word— completely unaware of his unholy thoughts… adorable.

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

He turned to her, hands still cradling a delicate white rose, its petals soft like a cloud. “Ah, how thoughtful of you to offer your assistance, fufufu,” he cooed. His fingers brushed the rose almost reverently. "But I fear there is not much to be done in this garden. The flowers here have already been watered and primmed."

“I see…” Y/N looked visibly disappointed, a pout formed on her lips. As she began to turn and move away, she felt a warm hand gently close around her own.

"Before you go, I have something for you."

Grasping the slender stem of the white rose, Micah plucked it carefully. The flower in his hand appeared to match her— pure and delicate in its simplicity.

"I cannot let you leave empty handed, Sister," he extended the rose to her, its pale petals glowing in the light. "Here, a small token of my appreciation for your kind offer."

Her expression brightened like the sun on a clear day. “T-Thank you!”

She reached for it, her smile shy as she accepted the gift. But as her fingers closed around the stem, she winced— so slight, a brief flicker of pain— her finger slipped, catching on one of the rose’s hidden thorns. A single drop of blood welled up from the wound. It was a small thing, a mere prick.

Small tears welled up in her eyes— it set delightful shivers into his spine. He watched, transfixed, as the crimson bead slid down her finger, falling onto the white petals below.

The rose drank in the blood greedily, the purity of its petals stained with red.

Ah, it appears the thorns have claimed their offering. A small price to pay for such a lovely color, his thoughts coo at her, patronizingly.

He reached out without warning, his long, slender fingers encircling her wrist in a firm grip. Y/N's eyes widened in surprise at his sudden grasp. Startled, her gaze met his closed eyes, confused.

"Let me see,” Micah says, there honeyed sweetness in his words. "Such beautiful hands are not meant to bleed.”

Unless he wills it so.

Micah gently brought her finger to his lips, his tongue darting out to taste the blood— sweet as the forbidden fruit. He understood why Eve took the bite of the apple.

He then brought the digit between his own, using his free hand to gently squeeze, coaxing more blood to the surface. He brought his lips to her again, licking the remaining blood away. A tiny gasp escaped her lips, and her cheeks flushed slightly. He could feel her pulse quicken under his fingertips.

She was sweet as he had thought.

"F-Father!”

"Is something wrong?" Micah continued to hold her wrist, feigning innocence.

"It's just that..." Y/N began, stumbling over her words as her cheeks flushed a deeper shade of scarlet.

“Hmmm?”

"N-No, it's nothing..."she replied, her cheeks growing even more flushed.

As he continued to keep hold of her slender wrist, his other hand gently moved to cup her chin, holding her gaze steadfast.

"You seem awfully flushed," he said, his thumb brushing over her rosy cheek. "Are you unwell perchance?"

“No— I-I'm fine,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

"But your face is so red," Micah noted with a slight tilt of his head. "Let me check your temperature.

His hand moved to her forehead, his touch gentle yet firm. He allowed it to linger there longer than necessary.

She closed her eyes as his fingers brushed her forehead, the sensation of his touch sending a shiver down her spine. A shaky breath escaped her lips, and his gaze fixated on them.

"Sister Y/N!"

The voice, coming from further along the garden path, called out. Y/N's attention was instantly snapped away much to his dismay as she recognized the voice of one of her fellow novices calling out to her.

With a small gasp, she swiftly turned, breaking eye contact with Father Micah. "I-I have to go!"

Micah easily masked his irritation with a small smile. He watched as she turned towards the voice of her calling out for her.

"You best run along then. Duty calls, it seems."

She looked at him, and for a moment, he thought he saw something flicker in her gaze— doubt, perhaps. But then it was gone, and she was smiling again that made his blood burn.

He watched her go, his smile still firmly in place. He could wait. He would wait.

He knew he could not rush this. Like the flowers he so carefully tended, he needed to nurture her fall, to ensure it was as inevitable as it was irreversible.

The devil was in the details, and he was very good at details.

GOD THIS WAS SO GOOD

You did such an amazing job writing Micah I loved it so much I need a continuation!!!

[thegoldensanctuary]

Part X Changes Under Louis XV

10.1 The New Fireplace

AN O1/1796 item 528

On Sunday, January 22, 1758, the King, feeling cold during his toilette in the Grand Bedchamber, requested that a tiled stove be installed to warm the room. By the next day, the stove was already in place and operational. However, the very letter informing Marigny (Head of the King's Buildings) about the royal decision also mentioned an unfortunate incident involving a similar stove in the antechamber of his sister, Madame de Pompadour. The pipe of her tiled stove caught fire, though fortunately, the flames were quickly extinguished.[200]

Nevertheless, on March 25, 1758, Gabriel, the King's chief architect, decided to add a new fireplace in the bedchamber instead.[201] The precise justification behind this decision is not explicitly stated, but it is likely that either aesthetic concerns or safety considerations—given the recent fire—prompted the change. The inability to find marble matching the existing one, which resembled Brèche Violette, led the administration to consider removing the old fireplace and replacing it with two new fireplaces of the same marble. The southern wall between the bedchamber and the Bullseye Antechamber had to be disassembled to accommodate the new chimney pipe, utilizing the existing chimney in the antechamber, which was also rebuilt in the process.[202]

Two provisional marble fireplaces were installed temporarily. On June 7, 1761, Marigny ordered their demolition and replacement with the new ones.[203]

Some drawings from the time of the project still exist (see fig.), yet no detailed work report regarding the various stages of the project has been found. However, records indicate that payments made to Trouard, the principal marble sculptor of the Crown, in 1761 significantly exceeded those of the preceding and subsequent years, suggesting substantial work at Versailles during this period.

O/1/1770, folder 4, n��6

10.2 Restoration and Enhancement of the Winter Set (Number 1881)

The Winter Set 1881 bed underwent its first recorded restoration in 1736, under the direction of Dutrou and Saillor. The embroideries were restored, and the fleur-de-lys crimson brocade used for the lining of the valances was replaced with crimson Gros de Tours, while the case curtain was entirely remade.[204]

On November 28, 1761, the Garde-Meuble diary recorded the second restoration of Set 1881. The embroideries were again restored, and those from the stools were transferred onto new crimson velvet. As in the previous restoration 25 years earlier, the embroidery work was carried out by Dutrou. Additionally, two new fire screen frames were commissioned, crafted by Foliot and gilded by Bardou, to match the new fireplaces.[205]

In 1765, Louis XV ordered a more comprehensive enhancement and restoration of the Winter Set, which had begun to appear outdated after 64 years of use. Several artisans were commissioned:

Capin for the upholstery

Chasblier for the embroidery

Bardon for the gilding of sculpted wood

Pitoin for the gilding of metal parts

The L’Héritier brothers for supplying golden braids and fleurets for the embroidery

Foliot for the wooden sculptures

10.2.1 The Bed

The most notable addition during the 1765 enhancement was the incorporation of rich sculptural elements onto the upper canopy, mounted on carved joinery. Foliot, responsible for this work, provided a detailed description:

"To be used in the King’s Bedchamber at the Palace of Versailles: The crown of the Winter Bed, measuring three feet in height and seven and a half feet in length, composed in the middle of trophies of war, including banners, shields, weapons, and other instruments, enriched by laurel branches grouped together. The upper section consists of a piece of architecture featuring a lion’s head holding in its mouth a ribbon suspending the trophy. The corners are adorned with corsets of armor supporting the structure, flanked by palm branches. At the front of the crowned canopy, garlands of oak and laurel extend along the piece, forming festoons at the corners where the corsets of armor are located. The sculpture was carved from a ten-foot-long piece of wood, following the creation of a quarter-scale wax model."[206]

Foliot charged 6,400 livres for this work. The gilding was executed by Bardon, whose report provides additional details about specific sculptural elements:[207]

Three sculpted pieces adorned with shields, palms, and oak leaves

Four corsets of armor

Four garlands

Some elements, such as banners, laurels, and the lion, mentioned in Foliot’s report, are not explicitly listed in Bardon’s work but were certainly included to maintain the harmony of the composition.

A crucial note in Capin’s report describes the new canopy shape as ‘bulging’, indicating its convex architectural form. This explains why Chasblier had to entirely remake the valances to match the revised canopy structure:

"The great valances at the front and sides were almost entirely re-embroidered [...]. The embroidered fringe follows the contour of the new crowned canopy."[208]

Finally, the 1775 General Inventory of the Garde-Meuble provides another significant detail not previously mentioned. The description of Set 1881, which had been reassigned inventory number 116 in the embroidery chapter, states:

"The canopy of gilded and sculpted wood, featuring at its front a cartouche bearing the coat of arms of France."[209]

The gilding of the canopy was initially imperfect, as a 1766 report notes that a new order was issued on November 3, 1766, for craftsmen to fix the gilding on-site at Versailles.

9.2.2 – The Armchairs and Stools

In his 1765 report, Capin mentioned the presence of two armchairs, twelve stools, and a third armchair listed as being acquired “by augmentation.” This term, used by the Garde-Meuble, referred to alterations that extended beyond mere restoration, often involving the addition of new elements or the reassembly of upholstery onto a different wooden structure. A notable precedent is set 1379, which was created by augmentation of set 867.

Given the intent to modernize the Grand Bedchamber, particularly the bed, which was deemed somewhat too sober for its prestigious setting, it is plausible that the original 1701 armchairs were also replaced on this occasion with more contemporary designs. The work detailed in Capin’s report describes standard upholstery procedures, including the application of gold braids and gold nails, which further aligns with this hypothesis.

If we accept this assumption, their creation can potentially be traced to a 1765 work report by Foliot the Elder. On August 2, 1765, the same date his son was commissioned to sculpt the canopy ornaments for the King’s bed, Foliot the Elder was entrusted with crafting a bulging canopy frame for Versailles[210]. His next recorded order, on August 7, concerned the creation of two armchairs.

It is worth noting that Foliot the Elder habitually included seats immediately following beds in his work reports—an example being his Polish-style bed frame, executed following the October 4 order, which, like his son’s commission, was later supplemented with two armchairs and eight regular chairs. These pieces are subsequently mentioned by Capin in relation to their upholstery. Based on this pattern, it is reasonable to assume that the two armchairs mentioned immediately after the canopy commission in August 1765 were indeed intended for the Grand Bedchamber.

The upholstery work carried out by Capin in 1765 did not constitute a full restoration of the embroideries. This is evident from the fact that the armchairs and stools were sent to the Garde-Meuble on May 28, 1766,[211] necessitating a comprehensive refurbishment of the embroidery a year later. Aleau was tasked with this embroidery work,[212] and several notable modifications emerge from the associated report:

The twelve stools, originally adorned with campanes, were now embellished with gold fringes.

The two armchairs now featured textiles on the armrests, with no further mention of campanes or fringes, strongly suggesting a stylistic transition away from the Louis XIV aesthetic. The structure was likely revised so that the seat was now fully enclosed by a visible wooden frame.

Finally, the woodwork, much like that of the canopy, was re-gilded and repaired by Bardou, following an order dated November 3, 1766.[213]

9.2.3 – The Firescreen

As previously noted, the 1701 fireplace was removed on November 28, 1761, and replaced with two new fire screens, executed by Foliot and gilded by Bardou. The textile panels of these screens repurposed the velvet of the tablecloth, which was destroyed in the process. Much like the seating elements, the embroideries on these velvet panels were later restored by Aleau in 1766.[214]

[200] AN O1/1796, item 528; a copy of that letter can also be found in AN O1/1811.

[201] AN O1/1811.

[202] AN O1/1797, item 156.

[203] AN O1/1812.

[204] AN O1/3312, f⁰ 49 v⁰.

[205] AN O1/3317, f⁰ 130 v⁰.

[206] AN O1/3617 – Foliot’s work report.

[207] Ibid. – Bardon’s work report.

[208] Ibid. – Chasblier’s work report.

[209] AN O1/3345, f⁰ 237 v⁰ - 238 r⁰.

[210] AN O1/3617 – Foliot the Elder’s work report.

[211] AN O1/3346, p. 383.

[212] AN O1/3618 – Aleau’s work report.

[213] Ibid. – Bardou’s work report.

[214] Ibid. – Aleau’s work report.

[whatlovelybones-if]

ragged breaths pour out of you as you scrub your hands clean of the crimson liquid which stains your hands and your very soul. it was brutal and beautiful—the colour and how the red strands swirled around as it united before falling down the sink pipe.

you blink and clench your hands. the very hands which so effortlessly carved up the heart from inside the man laying on your rough ‘operating table’. you are terrible, yes. there was no other word to describe you. a vigilante, maybe? but did it even matter when there is a part of you which feels the thrill of the killings and torture that you so cunningly come up with no mercy?

no, actually, there are other words to describe you. heartless, being one of them. the irony of that when you quite literally removed someone’s heart recently is not lost on you.

rotten. sadistic. torturous. depraved. murderer.

it was how you revelled in the pain you caused others; how you can’t stop the excitement spreading across your body when you see the utter terror in their eyes; how you sometimes let them have a moment of freedom, just to tear it all away at once and see as hopelessness encompasses every cell of their body. the scalpel that you used in carving the man’s heart probably possessed more sympathy than you did.

you are not the same, the voice taunts you. you are not the same person who cried over the dead raven for night’s on end. you can’t even recognise yourself. you are twisted and depraved and oh-so sick in the head. you are broken in ways you don’t even know.

you try to deny it at first, try to resist with every shaky breath that you do this for the greater good. but you know, deep down, you know that this is what you are: a monster masquerading as a human. you have as much heart as the corpse on your operating table with the empty chest.

you try to find some semblance of yourself on the broken pieces of the vanity mirror scattered around you. but you can truly see your twisted visage on the abnormal reflections. it was as if a sculptor had chipped away at you to add all the cruelty of the world and none of its gentleness.

you were made of jagged edges and sharp thorns. made to admire, not to love.

[brabblesblog]

As if the gods made you to ruin me.

A little love letter for everyone who makes art for this vampire man.

Inspired by the Greek myth of Pygmalion and Galatea. First person POV. A sculptor confronts a piece of marble, and Astarion is their masterpiece. One-shot.

The idea of statues "breaking free" from the marble is taken from Michelangelo. This can be better seen in his Prisoners.

@spacebarbarianweird mentioned Pygmalion today, and this idea came to me.

Read on AO3.

P.S. If my writing is something you're interested in, please consider my masterlist. I highly recommend beginning with the 'Whither' series. Thank you<3

The finest, purest white marble. I stare at it, unsure, trying to parse out the figure trapped in the block for me to release. An elf, I think, my hands reaching out in front of me, imagining where the curves would be. Curls, long and growing over his ears. A sharp jaw, strong and yet delicate.

I pick up my tools, and begin my work.

It’s almost as if I’m not in control of my creation. My hands work of their own accord, carving in features that genuinely surprise me and were probably not what I would have preferred, but the longer I look, the more it seems right.

It has deep, piercing eyes, with crow’s feet. I find myself staring at it at times during breaks. It looks like it’s trying to escape its stony prison, emerging from the formless block. Its expression is poignant, as if it was lost in thought.

Smile lines? I draw backwards and away from the sculpture, frowning myself. It gave the man a look of maturity even though it was youthful. Together with the smile lines and the subtle wrinkles on its face, it seemed as if the man had lived a harrowing life before being trapped in the rock for me to uncover.

And yet, it was beautiful. There was something ethereal in the way it gazed out into space and pondered nothing.

I keep up the work. I feel myself slowly getting absorbed by it. The compulsion to keep going is overwhelming, and unlike any other. I don’t eat other than the bare minimum. I don’t leave my room unless necessary. I don’t think of much else other than what part of him to carve next.

It - no - he consumes my thoughts. In the day I carve and release him from his marble prison. At night I dream of him. Of his face, of his delicate hands, of his lithe body. I dream, I wish, and I long.

He is my finest work, the star amongst my oeuvre. My patrons are forgotten, their commissions delayed. Their ire is nothing to me. There is only him.

Astarion.

The name, his name, comes to me in a fever dream. He reaches out to me, and I ask him what he would want to be called.

A frown crosses those features, and I want more than anything to press my lips to his forehead and smooth the furrows on his brow. I watch him open his mouth, and it surprises me to see fangs.

“Astarion,” he says, and his voice catches me by surprise. There is a slight nasal timbre to it, and a drawl, almost a purr, at the end.

I snap awake, staring at the marble statue. He is looking at a spot about a meter away from where I am right now, the moonlight streaming through the window illuminating his ivory skin.

Ivory. Color. I remember now. His eyes were crimson, his hair white as snow. Features I had never imagined, the medium of my work limiting me from even considering anything regarding complexion. However, the stone was a close match to his skin in my dreams - a white so smooth it was almost pearlescent.

A vampire, I realize, as I remember one more thing: the scars on his neck. I pick up my chisel and walk over to the marble, my hands searching for the spot I remember from my dreams.

I carve, and it is perfect.

I wonder who he is, and what he’s done in his life. I am almost done freeing him, the stone block now only at his knees. I work on his genitals, shaping them as best as I can. I carve out a vein, which I would imagine to be of a bluish tint.

His body is beautiful, and I step back to admire it. Muscular, but not too large. Delicate, long limbs, the marble’s natural veins adding to the illusion of an actual circulatory system. Fingers that would make a pianist weep. Strong legs, with subtle thigh musculature.

He is full of contradictions. Masculine, and yet feminine, his hands on the delicate tilt of his hips. Youthful, and yet his face belies a strange maturity and melancholy. So real to me, and yet here he is, just the work of my hands and my overactive imagination.

I am enthralled.

I do not put him on display once he is done. I don’t sell him. He stays in my room, taking up valuable working space. I do not care.

He is my muse. I talk to him, argue with him, ask him for his thoughts. There is no response, no more dreams.

I weep. I mourn for something that never was. I seek company in lonely taverns, for warm bodies to lose myself in. It is never enough. It is not even close.

I cover him in a sheet. I don’t want to see him, to be reminded of what I so desperately need and can never have.

I try, so damn hard, to forget.

“You ruined my life!” I scream to no one in particular, to him. I am unable to work, my patrons having moved on to more productive artists. I want to throw my chisels at him, to topple him over and ruin him, as he had ruined me. But I cannot.

I rip off the sheets, staring at that face that had burrowed so deeply into my psyche, and I give in and move to press my lips against it. I close my eyes.

The lips that meet mine are cold - but not stone-cold - and soft. I feel hands move to wrap around my waist, tugging me close. I instinctively move my hands up over his head, and feel hair against my fingers - curly, fine strands that flow against my fingers like silk.

A very good illusion from my mind, I gather. As I pull away I force my eyes to open. Crimson ones meet me, and those smile lines crinkle as he grins.

“Hello, darling,” he breathes.

Taglist: @elora-the-slutty-songstress @tragedybunny @spacebarbarianweird @ayselluna @enterthedreams @coltaire@qiific3 @misscrissfemmefatale @vixstarria @eatyourheartoutmylove @linllewellyn @battisonsgf @micropoe10 @thegoodwitchs-blog @akirahime @velcyrptrr @i-cant-get-into-my-other-account @babblebrain-blog @asterordinary @last-but-not-the-least @artist4theworld

[seospicybin]

DON'T THEY KNOW IT'S THE END OF THE WORLD?

PART II

Lee Know x reader. (s,a)

Chapters: Part I

Synopsis: Making a contact with an ancient object, you meet a demon who takes form of the man you desired and forces you to commit terrible acts to stop the world from ending. (13,1k words)

Author's note: I recommend listening to this track while you're reading this fic. Happy Haloween!

Based on an episode of Black Mirror. Content warnings: Violence, gore, mentions of abuse, assaults and graphic imagery. Reader’s discretion is advised!

"I saw the angel in the marble and carved until I set him free." Michelangelo

-

Save one or billions?

Minho's number one rule may be to not leave an eyewitness but your number one rule is to not kill innocent people. Clearly, the man is merely there in the wrong place, at the wrong time, and certainly not expecting to meet a sculptor who turns a murderer at night.

You turn around to run away through the front door but Minho stops you.

"No, no, no," he strongly against your plan to flee.

He fiercely looks at you and says, "No witnesses. You have to kill him!"

You shake your head and refuse to do what he told you. All you want to do is run but Minho holds his ground, not allowing you to leave.

"He's seen you. You have to kill him!" He persists and steers your body to come at the man whose face turns pale once he realizes the horror he's about to face.

The man starts throwing you with anything in his reach, a bag of bread, a pack of sliced cheese, a half-empty bottle of soda, a spoon.

"Go away! Get out of my house!" He says while keeps throwing things at you, sending a bag of chips flying around the kitchen.

"Do it! It's him or you!" Minho urges you.

With one hand steadily covering your face from objects being thrown at you, you rummage inside your bag to take out your hammer to use it once more for the night.

Getting a good grip on it, you aim it at him while he keeps maintaining a safe space from you by swaying a chopping board in front of you.

"Get out, please!" He demands.

He then kicks you quite hard on the leg and with the strength a grown man has, it's enough to send you fall onto the ground. You see the hammer is still in your hand but the bad thing is the man is trying to escape through the kitchen door.

You drag yourself and hurriedly stop him from getting to the door by catching him by the legs, sending him crash down onto the floor.

The fight continues on the floor, the two of you struggling to survive. You try to hit him with the hammer while he gently grips your hand by the wrist to not let you hurt him.

You notice that his other hand is groping the floor, reaching for the bread knife lying inches away from his fingertips.

He only needs to get it and there's a big chance that he can easily stab you with it. You decide to drop the hammer and race him to get the bread knife before him.

You can feel the wooden handle of the knife on your fingers and close to gripping it, he flips you over on the floor to get the knife.

Before he can take it from you, you use all of the strength you have left to flip over, sending him farther from the knife and you can get a hold of it.

Relentlessly, he turns over not knowing that you're holding the knife, and stabs himself right onto it. You can feel the knife piercing through the flesh and right into his chest.

With the knife going all the way in, he still manages to crawl to sit and leans his back against the wall. He's groaning as he looks down at the knife impaled his chest.

You can only watch as he holds the knife and tries to take it out of him, despite you knowing that he shouldn't do it, you do nothing to stop him.

"I'm so sorry," you sob as he finally grabs the handle and slowly pulls the knife out.

Blood is gushing from the wound, soaking his sky blue shirt with crimson red color. Painful groans are escaping his parted mouth followed by a blob of thick, sticky blood.

"I'm so–" your choked sob gets in the way.

"Sorry," you finish with a shaky voice.

You get up from the floor and take two steps back, looking at him helplessly trying to stay alive. The man looks at you and you can see in his eyes that life is slowly leaving him.

The silence that takes over is deafening and the hands on your shoulders are putting some senses back into you.

"Come on. Let's go!" Minho whispers, reminding you that it's time to leave, not wanting to risk another person finding you like this.

Taking one last look at the lifeless body sitting against the wall, you gather your senses and eye the bloodied knife, collecting it along with your hammer as you make your way out of the door like you haven't just killed two men.

-

No matter how long you stand under the shower, the blood is still on your hands.

You sit on the end of the bed in your bathrobe, drops of water dripping from the end of your hair as your head looks down and your hands gripping the edge of the bed frame.

You're in complete shock at what you just did. Killing Tim was the plan, there was no remorse in killing him because you know he deserved it.

But the man, you don't even know his name to begin with, he got killed just because he saw you. You did that.

You look up and Minho is standing right in front of you, "Who was he?"

He sighs before answering your question, "That would be Tim's brother, Kurt."

"What was he like?" You ask, almost inaudible.

He gets quiet and you glare at him to demand an answer, "You know stuff," you say.

You intensely look into the two orbs in his eyes and ask, "Was he a good or bad person?"

He clasped both hands in front of him, "He was... ordinary."

You feel bile rising inside you, feeling sick of yourself for killing an innocent man. You grip the bed frame tighter until your knuckles turn pale.

"I know it's not what you want to hear but..." Minho says, talking in a soft tone and takes a seat next to you on the bed.

"What's done is done and on the plus side, you scored two tonight," he shares, always has a way of looking at the brighter side of evil things you did.

"I think you've done it, look!" He shows you the talisman.

Those two lines should have disappeared since you killed two men tonight which should release you from the binding contract. You feel a little hopeful that maybe you have done it, you have stopped the world from ending.

Minho is just as confused too. He taps the glass as if that would fix it. His face turns sour, realizing that something is wrong.

He holds a finger, at you. "Wait for one– No, two seconds!"

Minho walks over to the landline phone that you only use to call the concierge or to ask for any services available in the building.

He enters 666 on the dialing numbers and presses the phone close to his ear, "It's me, Minho, yep," he speaks to the phone.

"Yeah, uh... I got a talisman circa 1925 but it failed to register one of the sacrifices," He informs while looking closely at the pocket watch.

"Two kills but only one's been recorded," he turns to look at you and flashes you an uneasy smile.

His face tells that he's receiving bad news, "I mean, yeah, but..."

He puts a hand against the wall, needing to hold on to something, "We can't just, ugh... no, I get it, I get it," he says, defeated.

He slams the phone shut and tilts his head up as he lets out a deep sigh. After a while, he turns around to face you and delivers the news, "Tim didn't count."

You feel all hope has exited your body and feel betrayed, "What? Why?"

"He's a murderer. Makes him ineligible. That's what they're saying," he explains with a strained facial expression.

Isn't that the point? You killed him because he was a murderer, he deserved it.

"But we've been picking people who deserve it," you state the only truth you know.

Minho nervously smiles, "Well, you're not supposed to do it that way. It's just..."

He leans against the wall and continues talking, "I thought you'd find it easier that way."

You drop your head and pinch the bridge of your nose, trying to asses everything. You need to process the fact that you need to kill another man.

"I'm sorry," Minho sincerely apologizes.

He then sits next to you, turning his body to face you as he explains, "Look, basically anyone who's already been directly responsible for the death of another human being, they're off limits."

He gets concerned by how you're so quiet and afraid that you would change your mind by the slight changes in the rules of the game.

"As far as my boss is concerned, they're playing for the home team," he reassures you.

Suddenly, you don't see the point of doing it anymore. Kill an innocent has certainly way out of your boundary and you can't find it in you to do another one.

"We're actually lucky, you know. His brother turned up thus made your effort didn't go to waste," he calmly concludes.

Lucky? You wouldn't call killing an innocent man lucky. Tonight, his words don't quite comfort you like they usually do. You feel played and maybe it is his trick just to make you do his evil deeds.

It's like you finally came to your senses, you don't see how it benefits you because it's going to be a win for him either way.

You shot up from the bed and sharply pointed your index finger at him.

"Fuck you!" You curse him.

"Go fuck yourself!" You curse louder.

Minho just sits there and takes it all in like you didn't just spew your thick, hot rage on his face and it pisses you off more.

"This is all right for you, huh?"

He lightly shakes his head, "No, it isn't."

He has it easy because he doesn't need to do the heavy workload, he just needs to be there and keep tabs on you.

"No blood on your hands. You're just watching," you lay out the facts with rage bubbling inside of you.

Minho seems to decide to let you finish talking, knowing that you need to get it all out.

"This is entertainment for you!"

You're the only one doomed in this contract, not to mention, that you accidentally put your blood on the talisman and he forced you to permit entry. It's one sick game that he likes to play.

"If the Apocalypse does come, you'll have one big, fun finale!"

"That would be upending the whole place—"

"Yeah, you failed your initiation and got told off," you easily resolve because you don't see why it's so frowned upon. Shouldn't they be happy that the evil won?

"If I fail my initiation..."

You cut through his sentence again, "Get kicked out of the demon school? How sad!" You mock him with a sinister laugh.

"More like cast out," Minho corrects.

You shrug his words away, "Whatever."

The silence takes over for a moment until Minho speaks and fills the air with his light, whispery voice.

"Cast out into a boundless cosmic void and doomed to spend eternity in a vacuum of infinite nothingness."

You look at him as he stares at the thing he describes in his words flashes right in front of him.

"Absence of matter, time, space, light, and sound. I would endure a profound, palpable, and ever-present lack of existence..."

Hearing that makes you feel cold inside and the way he speaks as if he's been feeling that emptiness already makes you empathize with him.

"Alone in perpetuity, forever more," he finishes with a blank stare at you.

It's something that you can easily relate to. Your whole life you've been alone, living in your head because no one cares for you except for the art you made. You can see why Minho spoke with so much sorrow in his voice.

All these times, his fear has been hiding behind his indifference.

You swallow air, then say, "That sounds like my life..."

He watches as you approach him and sit next to him. He closes his eyes as if what he's about to say next is too painful.

"To be honest, I'm scared," he honestly says.

You take his hand and let him rest his head on your chest, you caressingly cradle his head, protecting him any way you can.

Minho turns his head and looks at you, letting you see everything in his eyes. In that moment, you can see that he's afraid, lost, and lonely, feelings that are way too familiar to you and you find comfort in knowing that you find yourself in him.

You slowly lean in and kiss him, letting him know that he's not the only one living such a life.

Something flickers inside you the second your lips meet his in a kiss that feels like a long time coming, it's ever-consuming, taking over.

Minho returns the kiss passionately, allowing you to let go of the worries that chained you and hold you down.

For tonight, you let yourself free.

-

FOUR DAYS TO THE END OF THE WORLD

The sliver of sunlight shines through the cracks of the blinds and hits you right in the eyes, waking you from your deep slumber.

You're lying on your side and feel another body next to you, taking a moment before turning your head in the other direction and seeing Minho there.

Sharing the bed with him feels natural. It's as if you've been sleeping with him for years that he belongs there, lying right next to you.

He reaches for the strand of hair falling over your face and endearingly tucks it behind your ear, then places his hand there, holding the side of your face.

"Morning," he softly says.

For a split second, it feels possible to connect to another human being without feeling afraid that you'll be misjudged. He knows you, he knows the darkest thing you ever done that you don't feel the need to hide yourself anymore.

Then the truth hits.

This is not what normal people have. Normal people don't kill, they're following the rules and stay on the safe side.

You inhale air and close your eyes for a second, "So, one more victim then?"

He drags his hand down to your neck. His thumb tenderly rubs your jaw, "Yeah, the only thing for it," he answers.

There's only one thing crossed your head at that moment, "I can't kill another total innocent," you remark.

Minho takes a breath and slides his hand down to your shoulder, "It's just murderers we have to avoid," he reminds you.

"You mean people like me," you sadly say.

You roll over and lay on your back, staring at the ceiling as the truth once again sinks in: You're a murderer.

"My whole life... I never wished harm on anyone," you sigh with so much remorse and guilt.

When you think Minho would do the look-at-the-brighter-side-of-evil-things, he scoffs at your words. You look at him and he is chuckling at you.

You sit on the bed and turn at him, "I-I didn’t," you persist.

Minho also gets up and puts his hands around his knees, smirking.

"Uh..." he scratches the back of his head.

"You couldn't have summoned me for my trial if you hadn't," he says with the smirk still plastered on his face.

You look away and think it over. Were you thinking of hurting someone that night?

"Well, you had to be corruptible not beyond corruption," he further explains.

He then reaches for your hand and holds it, "You know what? You must have had some dark force inside you when you touched the talisman," he says.

That gets you shooting a death glare at him, feeling offended that he takes you as that kind of person.

"There's no shame in it," he assures you with a squeeze on your hand.

That night, you were indeed feeling so much anger and you remember channeling all of that anger on your work. You know exactly what and who happened.

"No, go on," Minho encourages.

He then leans in, not stopping until his head meets yours. With gleaming eyes and whispery voice, he asks, "Who pissed you off?"

-

"There she is!" Kim exclaims.

"Don't you just stand there!" She gets up from her chair and welcomes you with a hug.

It was supposed to be a celebration dinner that she promised, but you see that she invited the director of the gallery with her.

She hugs you and keeps her hand on your shoulder as she pulls away, "You look..." she pauses as she takes a look up and down at you.

Since she said it would be just her and you, you casually dressed in jeans and a blouse.

Kim leans in and quietly asks, "Did you wash your hair?"

She then peers over at Jeff, the gallery director then looks back at you, "Let's sit!"

The waiter pulls a chair for you and prepares another set of cutlery for you on the table.

"She's nice," Minho appears behind you.

He walks over to Kim's chair and looks down at her, "She's a front runner for the..." he mimics throat slitting with his hand on his neck.

He stands behind her chair and continues talking, "Do you know that she takes a bigger cut on your art sales than the one written on the contract?"

You ignore him by taking the napkin and putting it on your lap, at the same time, Jeff talks to you.

"Kim said you're already working on new sculptures?" He asks.

You nod and take a sip of water before answering. Well, you're busy stopping the apocalypse from coming.

"Yeah, I am," you shortly answer.

"Oh, she loves working. There's no way of stopping her from doing what she loves," Kim says with an extra wide smile and false compliments.

Jeff asks the waiter to refill everyone's glass with more wine even though he can do it himself with the bottle sitting not so far from his grasp.

Minho props a hand against Jeff's chair and points at both Kim and him, "These two just fucked earlier in his office," he shares.

That's not the information you needed to know. You kind of guessed why they're so overly friendly with each other, you just didn't expect that Kim would screw a married man.

You quietly sigh while watching the waiter carefully pour wine into your glass without spilling a drop.

"Thank you," you mutter in gratitude.

"Should we start by making a toast?" Jeff suggests.

Kim enthusiastically agrees to his idea, being the first person to lift her wine glass and you have to follow suit, taking your glass in your hand for the toast.

"To our talented artist," Jeff says as he glances at you, then looks the other way, "And to the hardworking art dealer!"

In which Kim smiles and blushes at his words. The second after everyone clinked the wine glasses together, you take a long gulp of your wine in the hope of washing down the sour taste in your mouth.

Once the food is served on the table, you keep yourself busy by stuffing your mouth with food, not wanting to engage in a conversation with them.

You don't mind that you're now only there as a cover for their affair yet you were wrong to think that's the worst thing that happens tonight.

A waiter comes to your table and pulls the chair next to you for someone else. You turn your head to see who else Kim invited to the dinner.

"I apologize for being late," Nick says, taking off his coat with help from the waiter.

"Oh, please! We're more than pleased to know you're still willing to come and have dinner with us," Kim says with yet another fake, bright smile.

If this is her idea of torturing you, she won big. There's nothing that agonizes you more than sitting with these people at the same table.

"You come just right on time, no worries," Jeff says, also pleased by his presence.

Nick sits on the chair next to yours and looks at you when he says, "Yeah, I came just in time for desserts."

You sip your wine to avoid talking to him but that doesn't stop him from talking to you.

"How are you?"

"Good," you shortly answer.

He nods even though looks dissatisfied by your short answer. He takes a sip of his wine as Jeff starts talking to him.

"Thank you for letting us keep the sculptures until exhibitions end," Jeff says.

He waves him off and puts down his wine glass, "No problem at all."

Kim leans on the table at you, "He's the one who bought all of your sculptures," she informs.

"Really?" You innocently ask.

Kim laughs in response but you sense the scornful in that laugh, "She's still in awe," she puts it politely for everyone to

As an artist, you would love for someone appreciative of your art as the one who bought it, not someone who solely has the power to buy it. You know which one is Nick, worse is, he bought them just to impress you.

"Must be busy campaigning, huh?" Jeff says as he digs into his dessert.

Nick lets out a low chuckle yet not denying it. You've been busy stopping the end of the world from coming and not been keeping up with the news.

"Campaigning for what?" You innocently ask again.

Kim leers at you and places a hand on yours, "Nick is running for congress, honey," she says with a strained smile.

"Ah," you swallow a piece of cake down and your throat feels like closing up.

"Young and smart, oh... anyone would be lucky to be with you, Nick," Kim praises with her eyes oozing with admiration.

She looks at you to seek your agreement, "Amazing, isn't he?"

You don't see what is amazing about that when he uses his family's wealth to back his political campaign but surely, you can't be honest about it.

"Yeah," you half-heartedly answer.

Nick seems to be delighted that you show a tad interest in him a smile rises on his face.

The waiter has taken all the plates away and everyone is draining the wine bottle with more conversation that you're not part of and you don't want to be a part of it anyway.

"Nick's brother and I went to the same private school," Jeff boasts of his connection with Nick's family.

"Oh, really?" Kim asks with her saccharine smile.

"We still play golf together now and then, right Nick?"

"Yes," Nick confirms.

"Fuck me," Minho comments as he sits on the table behind Nick.

Nick thinks that you're looking at him and asks, "I've been meaning to ask you," he says.

You gently put your coffee cup down on the saucer, "yes?"

"Our family has this villa, we're renovating it now and I'm wondering if I can personally request you to make a sculpture or two..."

It's a mystery how you manage to have not puked at this point. These subtle bragging and power moves, they're suffocating you.

"I'm not sure," you vaguely answer.

"She's busy working on her new series," Kim answers for you and you feel thankful that you don't have to reject him.

"But maybe if she manages to finish it sooner, she'll reconsider the offer," she adds, shattering the kind thought you have for her just now.

Jeff pats Nick on the shoulder and says, "I can't wait to hear your big speech at the city hall!"

"Oh, please!" Nick politely smiles and leans back in his seat, "Jeff has been kind enough to lend me his villa as our temporary office."

Jeff laughs while squeezing his shoulder, not sure who they're trying to impress beside Kim.

"Oh, fuck me some more!" Minho groans with a dramatic eye roll.

Even when it's time to leave, Nick and Jeff get into a little argument about who should be paying for dinner tonight and the fight has to happen in front of you and Kim.

You're itching to pull out your credit card just to get it over with but you don't want to make a dent on two grown men's egos.

"Thank you for dinner," Kim says to Nick as the winner of the argument.

You meekly follow suit, "Thank you!"

"It's my pleasure," he says with a smile that showcases his perfect white teeth.

Even Minho has disappeared from the scene, probably fed up with everything.

"Can I give you ladies a ride home?" Nick offers as he fixes the collar of his coat.

"I would love to!" Kim eagerly answers, "But since our homes are on the same way, I'm getting a ride home from Jeff."

She holds her purse by the other hand and pulls you close to her side, "but she'll take the lift home, right babe?"

When Kim says, it has to happen or else it's going to end badly.

-

Despite that he can afford a chauffeur, Nick drives his own car.

You've been meaning to ask if he knows where you live because you don't enjoy spending more time with him but how to do that without initiating a talk with him.

"You live in the Crystal Palace, right?" Nick asks.

Should you be grateful that he knows where you live or spooked? But one thing you know for sure is that Kim tells him about it.

"Yes," you answer.

"Isn't the owner just passed away a few days ago?"

"Yes."

"My grandfather knew him when he was still working as the company's mailman," he says.

That's news to you because what did a mailman do that led him to own one of the most luxurious apartment buildings in the city?

"Oh, I never knew that," you weakly say.

"I know, right? One day he just... turned wealthy," he says, gobsmacked by the simplest of mysteries.

He puts one hand down and places it on the space between you and him, "Guess, we'll never know," he says.

He stops the car right near the entrance of the apartment building and you quickly gather your bag, don't want to waste time to exit his car.

"Thank you for the lift home," you tell him, your hand pushing open the handle of the car door.

Nick grabs your elbow and stops you from stepping out, he catches you off guard to place a kiss on your cheek.

"I had a great night," he says, then lets you go.

You don't wait for another second to get out of his car and wipe his kiss off your cheek until your cheek is raw by the excessive rubbing you do on the elevator ride up to your floor.

"So, have you decided yet?" Minho reappears in your apartment.

You toss your bag and take off your coat, "What?"

"Are you going to kill Kim or do you have your eyes on someone else?"

Going to your bedroom, you open your laptop and type a name on the search engine. The results come in under a second and you scan every article there is about this person.

"Oh?" Minho lowly gasps from behind you.

You lean back on your chair and stare at Nick's photo on the laptop screen, "What's his future?"

Not getting an answer from Minho, you swivel your chair to face him, "Can you show me his future"

He seems to hesitate when he has no problem showing you everyone else's. After a moment of consideration, he finally answers, "Yeah, but let's not."

You lean forward on the chair and press him, "Show me right now!" You demand.

He takes a step back and puts a space in between, refusing to do what you ask.

You get up from your chair and stand in front of him, "Show me or I'll confess to everyone and then it's over," you threaten him.

Not letting him get away, you place a hand on his shoulder before continuing your words, "And then you're fucked," you enunciated the doom lingers on those words.

Minho clicks his tongue to try to diminish the threat in your words but it falls short on itself. He knows that he has to cooperate with you for this to work.

"Show me!" You pressure him with a squeeze on his shoulder.

He takes your hand away and now putting his hands on your shoulders, steers you back to your chair, then sits you down.

"Alright, I'll show you," he says, turning the chair the other way. He covers your eyes with his hand to show you what you want.

It's like a movie playing in the back of your head and each scene is taken from war, apocalyptic movies. Getting a seat at the congress is just the beginning, from there Nick will climb the power ladder and become the worst of evil.

Minho snaps you out of it and you gasp as if you've been pulled out of water.

"He's a fucking satan!" You say out of spite and that is the first thing that crosses your head.

"No, he's not one of us, not literally," Minho denies.

You turn your chair to see as he sees him sitting at the end of the bed, "They do like him, they're fans of his work, you might say."

When you thought Nick couldn't be more vile, the future Nick is far worse than you imagined. From what you saw through Minho's vision, you're assured of your decision.

"He's got to go. He's next," you remark.

You see Minho's face turns dim as if someone flipped the switch off, "Uh-oh, they're not going to like that."

Not accepting that Minho refuses to get behind your decision, you come up with your own defenses. You walk up to him and stand firm on your ground, "The only rule is to avoid murderers. You said that!"

He licks his lips which are as red as his hair and lets out an exasperated sigh, "Right. But he's responsible for an impressive number of juicy deaths—"

You cut him off with the current fact, "Not yet he isn't."

"But he–he... he likes to assault women," he argues.

You tip your head and come up with a reply, "But hasn't killed one, though, has he?"

"I mean, he killed a dog with a rock when he was 11," he shares information that he doesn't really favor him.

"Animals don't count!" You remind him of that, "That was one of the first things you said."

Minho seems to be struggling to come up with another excuse. It's the right opportunity for you to push him to the edge and give in.

"Is he qualified or not?" You corner him with the important question there is.

"Technically, yeah. But..." He meekly answers with a defeated sigh.

"He's the one. That's that," you end the conversation there.

With or without Minho's approval, you're going to kill Nicholas de Ville and stop the end of the world.

-

THREE DAYS TO THE END OF THE WORLD

"Miss Kim is in a meeting with Director Lane," The assistant says as you're about to push into Kim's office.

You turn around with your hand still lingers on the handle of the door.

"I know," you calmly reply.

"You don't mind if I wait in her office, right?" You ask the assistant.

Knowing Kim's traits, you're not surprised that she changes her assistant every few months. Must be hard to find someone who can handle her.

She seems to hesitate to let you in. You let go of the door and hold your bag in front of you. The occasion calls to use your power.

"You know who I am, right?"

"Y-yes," she stammers.

You walk up to her table and look her right in the eyes, "Are you?"

She nervously swallows air and gets up from her chair, "I don't think Miss Kim would mind letting you wait in her office," she says.

You maintain the gaze with her then smile, "Right."

Before you push inside, you stand in the doorway and request, "And can I have a cup of coffee?"

"Sure," the assistant replies.

"With cream, no sugar," you add.

"Yes," she answers.

"Why are you still standing there?" You ask with a subtle glare.

She fumbles to get out of her desk, "Right away, Miss!"

The coffee is just an excuse to send her assistant away so you can get on Kim's desk and search for something on her computer.

To cut time, you use the search box and type in what you're looking for. It takes a few seconds until the desired result appears on the screen, and you take a picture of it with your phone.

"Playing spies, aren't we?" Minho asks as he plays with a figurine on Kim's desk.

Hearing footsteps outside, you hurriedly sit on the sofa and pretend to play with your phone.

"Your coffee, Miss!" The assistant says, serving the steaming hot coffee on the glass table.

She holds the tray close to her chest and informs, "Miss Kim is on her way back and will be here in a few minutes."

"Thank you," you mutter.

Right after the assistant left, Kim came into the office, looking like she just ran a whole yard in her exquisite, pencil skirt.

"Oh, you're here!" Kim exclaims as she steadies herself with her hand on the handle of the door.

"That's what you called sex hair!" Minho shares as he sits next to you.

It takes no genius to know that the so-called meeting means so much more than that. The tousled hair, the untucked shirt, and the folded collar of her blazer are enough to explain what happened in the meeting. You lift your coffee cup and blow on it before taking a small, careful sip.

"What's up? How's it going?" She nervously asks, putting her notebook and phone on her desk as she quietly fixes her hair.

You swallow your coffee first before answering, "I came here to return the paperwork," you answer.

You take them out of your bag and place them on the table, "And also to taste the coffee your new assistant made," you add with a smile.

You seem so calm and collected that Kim takes it as unusual. She stops fixing her appearance and leans against her desk, her eyes are scanning you.

"Are you okay, babe?"

You smile at her and coyly answer, "Never been better!"

Your words only worry her instead of the opposite, she's nodding yet her eyes remain suspicious.

"I have to go back and work on my sculpture," you get up from your sofa and take your bag with you.

You walk up to her and look at her, looking at her face that would usually make you feel the slightest bit of distress. However, as you keep looking at her, you realize that there's no need for you to fear her. With or without her, you'll manage to live because she needs you more than you need her.

Kim senses that you're analyzing her in your head and you see that her cool exterior starts to crumble.

"Is something wrong?" She stammers

You smile at her and sling the strap of your bag on your shoulder, "I'm sorry for interrupting your meeting."

She rubs her neck and chuckles, "The meeting was close to finish anyway," she says.

"Jeff must be satisfied, huh?"

She rapidly blinks her eyes, "Pardon?"

"Satisfied with your amazing work," you put a context to your words.

She dryly chuckles and flips her hair to the back, "Yeah, I guess?"

"I'll let you get back to work," you say and make your way to the door.

You stop by the doorway and look at her, you point at her lips to tell her, "You might want to fix your smudged lipstick."

Kim's hand flies to her lips, cluelessly wiping the excess lipstick on her lips. You leave the room with a triumphant smile.

"You make good coffee but I suggest you work for someone else," you tell Kim's assistant on your way out.

-

After spending most of the day to prepare the technicalities.

You come back to your apartment to create the perfect plan for tomorrow. You lay out the city map in the living room.

With the address of Jeff's villa you stole from Kim's computer, you can look for the right place to execute your plan.

"After Nick finishes his speech at the city hall, he's got to head for Jeff's villa which is here," you mark the place with a marker.

You look at the distance between city hall and Jeff's villa, guessing which way Nick will likely take with his car.

"So... whichever way he goes, he's heading out of the city," you mutter.

A country road means it's less crowded therefore, it's an advantage for you.

"I'm thinking... I wait outside the city hall, then I follow him from there," you look at Minho.

You expect an opinion or two since you should be working together on this but he's too busy worrying about other things, worrying Nick is more like it.

Instead of solving it for you, he asks you another question, "What if he's not alone?"

You stack your hands on the table and look at him, "Is he going to be alone? You tell me," you ask him back.

He acts like he doesn't have the power to know everything, "Well, yeah but..."

You point at the map with the marker, "All I have to do is follow him and intercept him somewhere along—"

"Didn’t you hear me?" Minho suddenly stops you midsentence.

He waits until you look at him before continuing to talk, "They're not going to like it," he says for the umpteenth time.

You have enough of him reminding you of it but you have decided therefore, you will not back out of your decision just because he told you so.

"It's within the rules so they can suck it," you dare him.

Minho runs out of things to defend himself and this will be the last time you let him try to change your mind.

"It's him or no one," you sternly tell him.

With two days left and a plan you created, you don't see why you should back down now. Nick is the perfect target, he needs to be killed.

You sit face him on the floor and urge him to pick a side with the most important question of all, "Do you want to fail your initiation or not?"

Minho knows that he doesn't have much of options, he either helps you with your plan or lets it blow and obliterate everything.

From his silence, you know what the answer is.

-

TWO DAYS TO THE END OF THE WORLD

It feels right to kill him.

At this point, you can't tell what's right and wrong anymore. But killing Nick feels like the right decision, you'll not only save the world from ending, but you also save the world from a doomed future.

You've been waiting outside the city hall in the used car you bought yesterday and have your eyes on Nick's car that is parked not far from yours.

Your hands are steadily holding the steering wheel, knowing that Nick is going to come out of the city hall soon.

When he does, you grip the steering wheel and your hand is ready to turn the key in the ignition.

You watch as Nick talks to someone else before getting into his car. You turn your car engine a minute after him and drive, trailing not far behind him.

You look to the side, at Minho who has been so quiet sitting on the passenger's side, and give him the one last chance to say something.

"You've changed," he says and you're not sure if he is disappointed or impressed.

Minho is simply running out of things to say to change your mind. What he can do now is go along with the plan.

You wait until you're entering the quieter country road to pick up the speed, getting closer to Nick's car.

You step on the gas and align your car with his, before hitting the back of his car, almost sending his car out of the road.

Aware of what you're trying to do, Nick drives faster and you catch up to him by not letting go of the gas, pushing the car to its limit.

To get momentum, you slow down your car to give you space to hit his car harder. You brace yourself for impact and crash your car with him.

There's a loud banging sound and you hurriedly step on the brake, not risking your life until you know for sure that he's dead.

Your car swerves before the brake stopping the car from hitting the tree even though you ended up hitting your head on the steering wheel.

You look through your rearview mirror, Nick's car is turning over on the side of the road.

"Let's just go!" Minho says.

You shake your head, "I need to make sure that he's dead."

Ignoring Minho who keeps telling you to flee the scene, you get out of your car and check Nick's car. The car is upside down, you have to kneel to see if he's still showing signs of life.

There's only one way to make sure of that. You walk to your car and open the trunk, you retrieve the gallon of kerosene you bought.

"What are you doing?" Minho asks in a panicked voice.

"I'm making sure that he's dead," you answer.

You pour it all over Nick's car and stand a few meters away as you look for the lighter in your jacket pocket. The bursting flame swaying away with your shaky breath you let out through your parted mouth.

"And he doesn't deserve an easy death," you add.

You toss the lighter and the inflammable catches it fast, setting the car on blazing fire. Your eyes are filled with glowing embers, reflecting the hatred you have for him.

-

The last thing to do is to get rid of the car.

You drive it to the nearest junkyard and have it crushed with the machine by paying the worker there. You fetch a bus from there and throw all of the clothes you're wearing into the bin a block away from your apartment building.

Nothing feels as good as knowing that you've done the worst of things for the greater good of humankind.

You come home to see Minho is already inside, leaning against the back of the sofa with his arms crossed.

"You did it!" He says with disappointment tainted his triumphant smile.

With the adrenaline still pumping, you come up to him and not stopping until your body crashes into him. That's enough of arguing, talking, scheming, plotting, and not enough physical contact.

After everything you've done, you learn that fear is nothing to you but something that's been holding you back. You don't want to let fear dominate you anymore, you want to take back your life into your own hands.

Without hesitating, you grab the front of his shirt and pull him close, close enough that you can land your lips on his.

Something explodes inside of you the second both of your lips collide in a rapturous kiss.

The two of you stayed like that, encased in a moment that slowly set the fuse on your desire.

You gasp as you pull away from the kiss and you look at him, finding comfort in what once was a scary pair of eyes. He looks back at you with his arms locked around you.

Gosh! He's so beautiful, even more beautiful than the one you created in your head. Using your hand, you tenderly touch his face, you run your finger down his sharp nose and remember sculpting it.

And these lips, oh... you remember how hard and cold it felt under your touch but now, it feels warm and soft, like a flower under the sun.

"Just let me—" You let your desire finish your words.

You lean in and kiss him again, tasting his lips that get even sweeter with each kiss and with each kiss, your hand gets curious.

You let them explore his clothed body but that's not enough.

Minho gently pushes you away, breaking the kiss and putting a space between your bodies. For a second you thought he refused to do this and instead of that, he takes all of his clothes off right in front of you, exposing his body that is you eager to explore. It takes you a moment to take everything in.

Minho has to take your hand and put it on his body, letting you know that it's okay to touch him.

"You're beautiful," you breathlessly say, overwhelmed by what you're seeing.

You whimper at how perfect he is, smooth and warm. His muscles are firm yet you touch him with so much tenderness, afraid that you would break him.

"You're ethereal..." you dreamily sigh.

Minho puts his hand around your neck and tilts your head to kiss you. As he puts you in a spell with his kiss, his hands are swiftly removing your clothes and let them fall onto the floor.

Slowly, he draws your body close until your body meets his, skin-to-skin with nothing in between.

-

It's unclear what has gotten into you but you like it.

You like how confident you are, how carefree yet in control you are. Other than that, you like how Minho looks at you as you sit, straddling him on the bed.

Aligning his cock with your entrance, you slowly lower yourself down his length while letting a long, breathless moan out of your parted open mouth.

You mewl feeling his cock filling you to the hilt, keep mewling as you're adjusting yourself to his size.

Minho places his hand on your chest, right on your beating heart then slowly drags it down, then to the side to hold you by the waist.

Then out of the blue, he chuckles at you.

You open your eyes and place a hand on his chest, "What?" You ask as you look down at him.

He places his other hand on your waist, "I haven't permitted your entry yet," he says.

You break into laughter and lean in, stopping him from laughing with a kiss.

"Say yes, say yes, say yes," you say with each you plant on his face.

Minho is smirking under you, not answering your question just to annoy you.

You catch his lips in yours and bite on his lower lip before you let it go, "You're not going to say yes?"

Still not getting an answer, you place both hands on his chest and slowly, roll your hips in circular motions. You're lowly moaning feeling his whole length inside you.

You look down at Minho and he has his eyes closed, his eyelashes fanning out so beautifully along his eyelids, and his mouth is slightly parted open, you hear him lowly whimpering as you keep rolling your hips with his cock inside you.

Now moving your hips back and forth, Minho is grunting, digging his fingers into the flesh of your thighs. You keep your hips moving and keeping a steady pace.

Driven by the desire, your body is taking over and picking up the pace. You plant your foot on the bed, launching him deeper inside you and earning a groan from him.

Minho grabs you by the waist, trying to slow you down but you don't seem to be the one in control of it, you keep chasing for that high.

You throw your head to the back while keep taking his cock, in and out of you at a quick pace, getting you closer and closer...

"Oh..." you let out a broken moan.

You keep moving despite the immense pleasure that clouds your mind and dulls your senses. Your hands are grasping at nothing but clawing at his warm, smooth skin.

Minho catches you as you collapse into his arms, putting his arms around you with your head resting on his chest. He put all of your hair to the side, allowing him to place a kiss on your neck.

"Yes," he whispers into your ear.

You weakly chuckle at his late response. You look at him and say, "Too late."

Yet he tightens his hold around you and begins to buck his hips from under you, making you moan with your head buried in his neck.

Minho presses his mouth close to your ear and whispers, "I said yes nonetheless."

-

ONE DAY TO THE END OF THE WORLD

Today is going to be a good day.

You can just tell from the moment you open your eyes. You have to squint for a moment to adjust to the light and see the bright, beautiful day through the window.

You stay lying on the bed while looking at the morning sky and as you gather your senses, the recollections of last night come into your mind. What you touched, you tasted, you kissed... and without you intending to, your hand is wandering to places where he laid his hand on you.

It reminds you of the company you're with and you turn on the bed to see nothing but a crumpled sheet next to you.

You clutch the duvet close to your chest to shield your naked body from the cool, morning air.

"Minho?"

There's no answer but your call that is echoing in your empty apartment. Wrapping yourself with it, you get up from the bed to look for him.

"Minho?"

Still no answer and the first thought that runs through your head is that he's gone. The contract is finished, therefore, there's no need for him to stay.

Tears pool in your eyes as you keep looking for him from room to room, dragging your duvet across the floor wherever you go. You're getting hopeless the more you search and not finding him there.

Fear is spreading inside you, telling you to give up and stop hoping. You return to the living room and finally find him there, standing in the middle of the room.

You rush to come up to him and break into tears as you bury your head in his chest, "Where have you been? I've been looking for you!"

Minho holds you, putting his arms around you, and tangles his hand in your hair. He places a soft kiss on the top of your head.

"I have to make sure of it," he says.

With teary eyes, you look up at him, "Make sure of what?"

He takes something from the inside pocket of his black coat, it's the pocket watch and he opens it to show that the line hasn't gone yet.

Another kind of fear spreads all over your body and you feel cold all of a sudden. You slowly let go of him and take the pocket watch from him, looking at it in disbelief.

"But I–I killed him..." your voice breaks at the end of the sentence.

Minho turns his head to the side and magically turns on the TV. It's a broadcast of the morning news with the anchor in the middle of reading breaking news.

"...running for congress, Nicholas de Ville of the de Ville family got into a fatal accident on his way to a private residence where his campaign base is located. The car was on fire when the emergency service came and luckily managed to pull him out a moment before it exploded. Nicholas de Ville is now getting intensive medical care at the Unity Hospital. It is announced that he suffers from third-degree burn and a broken—"

You stop listening to the news and look at Minho, "Why—"

A moment ago, everything was so perfect, so right, and now... you're at a loss for words. You should have checked thoroughly, you should have stayed there and made sure he was dead.

"I have to finish it," you remark with your eyes still prickled with both tears and fear.

Minho sighs and puts his hands on your shoulders, "Just let it go," he says.

You take a step back, sending his hands to slide off of you and drop to his sides.

"Nick has to die," you persist.

Before Minho can try to change your mind again. You go back to your room and toss the duvet, you get dressed as quickly as you can.

Minho is trailing behind you as you make your way out of your apartment "We gave today to find someone else—"

You shut the door closed to stop him from talking. You should have taken him out with your own hands and that's what you're going to do today.

This time, you're going to do it right.

-

The studio looks like an abandoned place when you haven't visited it for a few days.

You came here to retrieve something. You make your way to carving tools and you remember throwing away the one you used to kill Tim into the river, along with the bread knife.

You have a selection of hammers but the sight of the sharp end of the chisel catches the light and reflects it to your eyes.

Your hand is reaching for it but before you get a hold of it, the doorbell rings.

No one visited your studio except for Kim but she wouldn't come this early, not on a Friday morning. You check through the window and see a man standing outside your gate.

"He's a police," Minho informs.

The police may catch up to something at this point but to your surprise, you don't feel scared at all. Maybe the scariest thing for you at the moment is letting Nick live and giving him the chance to rule the world to only stir it into its doom.

It's either now or later. You calm yourself down and put on your game face before opening the gate.

"I'm Detective Leon from the police department," he says, showing you his badge, "I'm just making some routine inquiries."

You keep the door open just enough to show yourself that you're unarmed.

"Do you mind if I have a word?" He asks.

"Yeah," you answer.

Then you realize that you're saying the wrong thing, "I mean, no, I don't mind," you correct yourself and put on a courteous smile.

He nods and asks, "Inside?"

You don't want to let him inside, not when he can see that you have all your carving tools on display.

"Invite him and kill him," Minho comments from the back of the door.

Not letting him in would only add suspicion, you open the door wider to let him in, "Yeah. Please, come in!"

With his salt-and-pepper hair and beer belly, Detective Leon looks too old to be a police detective, he should be retired already.

He walks around your studio and now is observing your far-from-finished sculpture.

"Would you like something to drink?" You offer as you make your way to the kitchen.

He is now standing close to the table full of your carving tools, "Oh, no. I won't keep you," he kindly refuses.

"Like I said, it's just a routine," he adds with an unsettling smile.

"Okay."

Yet you proceed to try to make a cup of tea as to seem you're going on about your day like normal people.

"Were you at the bar on the Monday night?" He asks.

You open your drawer and see the knife blinking at you, tempting you to pick it up.

"It'll be an easy kill. He was gonna have a heart attack next year anyway," Minho encourages you to take the chance.

You almost forget the question and retract yourself back, "Yes, I was," you honestly answer.

"Regular, are you?" He asks.

You put your hand inside the drawer and take a spoon instead, turning to face him so as to not be seen as rude.

"Nah. I wouldn't say that," you reply.

"How often are you in there?"

You lean against the kitchen counter with your hand ready at the handle of the drawer

"It's not like he has any family. No one is going to miss him," Minho whispers from behind you.

You close your eyes to remain composed, "To be honest, that night was the first time."

"First time?" He asks in disbelief.

He stands next to a block of stone and lowly chuckles, "Isn't it just around the corner?"

You don't see why it's something unbelievable? It may sound suspicious but you tell him the truth.

"Well, I don't drink. Not usually," you tell him and that is also the truth.

"But you did that night," he points out and the one corner of his mouth curls into a subtle smirk.

You quietly exhale air to maintain your composure, "I was busy working on my sculpture and I'm not meant to drink. I was... having a creative block, you might say," you're eyeing the unfinished sculpture standing close to him.

Detective Leons also looks at it, touching the rough edges of it.

"I don't have alcohol in the studio or anything, but... I needed it that night," you lie. You needed the courage that night and that's why you drank.

Detective Leon walks and stands in the middle of the room "Well, we all need to let off steam every now and then," he says.

He shows sympathy just so he can earn your trust, to allow him to dig deeper until something slips out of your mouth. You catch his eyes and hold his gaze for a moment, not long enough to see the anxiety stirring inside you.

"Thank you," you mutter.

You dare to look at him and casually ask, "What's this about anyway?"

It's been a while yet you only asked about his intention to come here just now.

"Well, you've probably heard about Tim and Kurt Shaw," he answers.

Now that you know which murder he linked you to, you get more cautious with everything you say to him.

"Who?" You play innocent.

He walks up to you and leans against the end of the kitchen counter, "Tim and Kurt Shaw."

It's no use to play dumb, detective Leon probably knows by now that you went to the same school with Tim.

"I know Tim Shaw but Kurt... I don't know him," you lie.

You're well aware he's analyzing every gesture and word you said and he gets quiet after getting an answer from you. After a moment, he talks again, "Tim Shaw was there at the bar that night, did you see him?"

"Yes," you shortly answer, stalling would only make you seem suspicious.

"I wasn't sure it was him at first and when I did, I came to greet him, you know as a friend from art school," you further explain with a thin smile at the end.

"Did you see him after that?" He asks, getting more specific with his questions as if he has decided that you're the one he's looking for.

"No," you coyly answer, "I went back here and continued working on my sculpture.

He gets closer to you yet maintains a respectful space in between, "So you didn't see him after?"

"No," you tell him without showing flinching and blinking your eyes.

This time, he looks right into your eyes and you can't avoid it, or else he knows you're hiding something.

You walk him back to the gate and open the gate for him, "So sorry, I wasn't much of a help," you tell him.

He stands in the doorway and gives you his card, "Well, if you recall anything, please let us know."

You take it from him and smile, "Have a lovely day!"

Detective Leon takes one last look at you and exits the gate, you're more than glad to slam it closed.

"Well, one good liar, aren't you?" Minho comments from the top of the stairs.

"I'm impressed," he adds as you walk past him to get back inside the studio.

"He didn't buy it though," Minho informs.

You make your way to grab a chisel and put it inside your coat pocket, "Better hurry then!"

You hail a taxi the moment you're out of the gate and get into the back while clutching your chest, feeling the cold chisel inside your coat pocket.

"The cop is following us," Minho says.

You can worry about the police later. You have an urgent task and you have to get it done as fast as you can.

You look away from Minho and tell the taxi driver where to go, "Unity Hospital, please!"

-

Taking a look at the map of the hospital, you guide yourself through the hallways of the hospital.

"It's not too late to find someone else," Minho urges you to change your mind.

"Oh, shut up!" You snap at him, it's his fault to talk at such a dire time.

You take a turn to the right that leads you to where you're heading and there it is. It's not hard to find where he is, a rich family like him would be staying in the VIP room.

The hardest part of it is to enter it, you have to sneak your way in.

Seeing that you hit a dead-end, Minho takes this as his last endeavor to turn it all around, "I'm just saying it'd be much easier for me if you found someone else," he explains.

Minho seems to not get it yet that it's not about stopping the end of the world anymore. It would be pointless if Nick is still alive, he has to die no matter what.

You turn your head at him and intensely stare into his eyes, "If you're not going to help, then piss off!"

He looks at you, doubting that you dismiss him.

"I mean it," you tell him, feeling fed up with everything and you don't need him to keep interrupting you.

He sees it now that you want him to go, "Fine!"

With a snap of his fingers, he disappears right in front of you, leaving a cloud of black smoke behind him.

You manage to grab a medical mask from the nurse station and put it on, pretending as a mere relative of a patient.

Looking around the hall and making sure the coast is clear, you let yourself into the room with his name written outside the door.

There he is, lying on the bed with his body wrapped in gauze. You get closer to see his face, the burned skin around his eyes that is now closed, you guess he must be heavily sedated.

You hate to give him the easy way out but this is your chance to end everything for good.

You stand close to his unconscious body and take the chisel out of your coat pocket, pressing the sharp end to his neck.

This is not the good time to hesitate but you can feel your determination shrinks in each passing second, ultimately because Minho isn't here.

You take a deep breath and press the chisel deep into his neck. All it takes is one good stab at it, poke it real hard, and make a hole in his throat.

You lift your chisel and decide to aim it at his heart, taking one long breath, you put all of your strength into—

"Stop!" Someone shouts with the door wide open.

Your head snaps to see Detective Leon aiming his gun at you and taking cautious steps toward you.

The time is closing in and if you get caught now, you won't get another chance. You make another attempt but Detective Leon takes another step toward you, taking a good aim of his gun at you.

"I said stop!" He orders you.

You put away the chisel but keep holding it, gripping it tight until your knuckles turn pale and cold.

"I have to do it," your voice is quivering as your anxiety rises inside you.

"It's not right!" Detective Leon says, taking another careful step to get close to you.

You point your chisel at Nick's body and desperately say, "If I don't do this by midnight..." A choked sob gets in the middle of your sentence.

Standing right across from you, Detective Leon pushes his gun right at your face. He stares straight into your eyes that were filled with suspicion now filled with a slight terror and repulsion.

"Put it down!" He orders you

You quickly wipe away the tears rolling down your cheek with your hand, "There'll be fire... everywhere," you continue your words.

For the umpteenth time, he urges you with his gun steadily pointed at you, "Put it down!"

Giving in means that you've given up on everything and wasted away all of your endeavors but at the same time, you just want it to end.

"I... I can't!" You resist with your heart filled with despair.

As your eyes get blurry with tears, you wipe them away only to get caught off guard. Detective Leon successfully got ahold of you.

You keep crying as you get pushed to the wall and he puts your arms together behind your back, putting you in handcuffs.

"Minho, I'm sorry..." you mutter even though you know he's not there.

-

After hours of being locked in the interrogation room and refusing to talk without the presence of a lawyer like Kim ordered you through the phone, they let you go.

It feels good to let go of the cold of metal handcuffs around your wrists, but it's not yet the time to let out a breath of relief.

Kim sits you down on the dining table while she sits next to the lawyer, drilling you with questions about everything you've done.

You're too busy looking at the clock, seeing that it's getting closer and closer to the end. You turn your head and realize that the lawyer asked you a question, but you're too distracted to hear him.

"Pardon?"

He fixes his sitting position and clears his throat "You have to kill three people?"

You've been holding your glass of water with both hands on the table, watching the droplets of condensation dripping down the back of your hands.

"Yes," you weakly answer.

"You're saying you were only targetting people who have done something wrong?"

"Yes," you answer, "Except for Tim's brother."

You take a moment to recall his name, "Uhm... Kurt?"

The lawyer is fiddling with the stack of papers as he further asks you more questions.

"And each time you sacrificed someone, it got registered on the talisman? Is that right?"

You nod again, "Yes, but they said Tim didn't count."

The lawyer clears his throat again, but this time, he does it while glancing at Kim. He then takes a ziploc bag of your things that got confiscated when you were at the police department.

He takes the pocket watch out of the bag and slides it across the table, "Is this the talisman?"

You let go of the glass of water to take the pocket watch, opening it to find the watch is dead and the glass cracked. It appears to people that it's just an old pocket watch and nothing more.

"Before, it had numbers on it and that sort of changed when you looked at it..." your words are trailing off the second you realize how crazy you sound.

The lawyer stacks his hands on the table, "And the demon who told you to do all this?"

"Yes."

"And what did he look like?"

"A monster at first, then he turned into the man of one of my sculptures," you shortly answer.

"He looked like the man you carved? Like your sculpture you made?"

You nod.

A moment passes in silence as the lawyer exchanges a look with Kim.

"So the demon..."

"His name is Minho," you keep holding the pocket watch, hoping that it'll summon him and assure you that it is all real.

You can hear the lawyer letting out a big sigh before asking the next question, "And if you don't do what he told you..."

He sighs again as he writes something on his note, "It'll be the end of the world?"

Instead of answering it verbally, you nod.

"He didn't just tell me," You say.

You hold the pocket watch inside the palm of your hand and put all of your fingers on it, "He showed me what it would be like."

The vision Minho made you see is still vivid and you can see it replaying in the back of your head, "I felt the flames. I smelled people burning..."

The lawyer seems to have given up trying to get something that would help you avoid getting sentenced to life for what you did.

He turns to Kim and quietly whispers, "Her mind's gone, that's for sure."

It's Kim's turn to draw a big sigh and sits straighter on the chair, "You may leave now. It's late, we can continue this tomorrow," she says to him.

The lawyer collects his papers and pens, putting them into his briefcase, looking impatient to get out of here.

Kim has been eerily quiet. She comes back after sending off the lawyer, she then drinks her glass of water just so she can fill the glass with liquor next.

"I tried to stop it, Kim," you tell her.

She looks at you as she drains her first drink and refills it with more liquor.

"Honest I did," you assure her, feeling like a failure that you let down everyone, billions of them.

"Enough!" Kim snaps, throwing the glass she's holding at the wall and it's breaking into pieces, glimmering under the fluorescent light.

"You have to trust me. You have—"

Kim slams her hands down on the table, "Enough with this nonsense!"

You understand that it's a lot to take in, not to mention that she's upset and tired. You try again even though you know it's going to be another fruitless effort, "I know that you think I'm crazy, Kim, listen to me..."

"No!" She cuts you off with another slam of hands on the table.

"I told you to take your medicine!" She screams at you until her voice is strained.

You admit that you haven't taken your medicine the last few days but that doesn't mean you made everything up. You remember taking them and still seeing Minho which doesn't prove that you made it all up.

Then it hits you that the reason why she always reminds you to take your meds is not because she cares, it's because she thinks you are crazy.

"You're just like everyone else..." you meekly say.

You didn't know you're crying until you touch your cheeks and they are wet with tears, "You think I'm crazy..."

Kim doesn't say anything but goes to your room and returns with your bottle of pills in her hand. She uncaps the bottle and lets the contents spill onto the table.

"If you had taken all of these pills..." she says, letting the empty bottle roll across the dining table, "All of these wouldn't have happened!"

You take the bottle and see your name written on it, seeing all the pills scattered on the table, you realize how many days you have gone without them.

This is when your reality starts to distort. You don't what's real or not anymore. Did you make it all up? And if it's real then where's Minho?

"I—" You look around for any signs of him, of his figure, or the sight of his red hair.

"I'm not..." you pause to wipe the tears pooling in your eyes, "...not lying."

The only way to prove everything is by showing Kim that you have only a few minutes left until the world is burning and comes to an end.

You look at the clock on the wall and the time shows that you only have less than two minutes to midnight, "Not long now," you mutter.

You look at Kim and tell her, "Know that I tried to stop it."

Kim grips the edge of the table and lets out a long sing, having enough of all of it, "Just... stop," she says through her gritted teeth.

"It's coming..."

You clasp your hands together in front of you and push it close to your mouth, nothing prepares you for what's coming. You close your eyes as you keep listening to the ticking of the clock that intensifies with each passing second.

Tick, tick, tick...

-

THE END OF THE WORLD

It's midnight and you open your eyes to look at the clock to make sure of it.

The needle has ticked past midnight and you look around to see that nothing happens. You hesitate to get up from your chair and look through the window to see that the world looks exactly how it usually looks like.

A single tear escapes the corner of your eyes and rolls down your cheek, you feel faint all of a sudden. Other than that, you feel like questioning everything you know.

Are you crazy just like everyone said you are? You ask yourself.

Your legs are wobbling, you collapse onto the chair as the answer hits you.

Maybe you are crazy.

Kim turns away, possibly holding herself back from screaming at you and telling you how right she was all along.

When she turns around to face you again, she looks frustrated by you and the whole situation, but mostly by you to the point that she can't look at your face anymore.

She walks to the sofa to retrieve her handbag and then stands at the end of the dining table, "I'll... see you tomorrow," she says.

She then heads to the door and the sound of her closing the door echoes in the big space, leaving you to process everything on your own.

A moment later, you get up from your chair and walk over to the window, looking at the world that seems so small to you from up here.

And tonight, the view makes you feel smaller than you already are.

Then you hear sirens blaring in the distance. You turn around and see him there, sitting on the chair you sat on earlier with his hands on the table.

"Hey..." Minho says with an apparent sadness in his eyes.

It doesn't matter anymore whether people think you're crazy or not, now that the world is ending, you're just glad that he's there with you.

"I failed," you can hear your heart breaking inside your chest as you said it.

He inhales air and then lets it out, "Yeah, well... me too so that's that," he says.

He turns the chair to face you and puts his leg over the other, "Just got word that they're casting me out."

Minho doesn't look like he's delivering bad news with a smirk dancing on his face, "so... eternal oblivion it is," he finishes.

To say that you're disappointed with yourself would be an understatement, you are devastated. Not only that you failed the billions of people from raging flames, but also Minho.

"I'm so sorry," you sincerely tell him.

Minho gets quiet. He then gets up from his chair and walks up to you. He looks at your face and stares deeply into your eyes, he seems to have something to say to you.

You look back at him and patiently wait for him to say whatever he wants to say to you.

"Do you want to come with me?" He asks.

"What?" You ask in utter confusion.

"That's where I've been, checking the small print," he says, placing his hands on each side of his waists, "The rules don't cover it."

He takes a step closer toward you and continues speaking, "There's another loophole, apparently."

He looks at the view outside as the world slowly stirs into chaos with the sounds of sirens blaring everywhere, exactly like he showed you that night.

"They don't say anything about a human companion," he explains, then slyly smiles before talking again, "So, I mean... you could come with."

The offer comes so sudden and you remember how he talks about this place that he tried so hard to not fail his initiation.

"To eternal oblivion?" You ask for confirmation.

He scrunches his nose, "It's much worse than that," he says.

The sheer enthusiasm you have fades away with his answer, perhaps it would be bearable when you have him with you, wherever it is.

"It's with me," Minho adds with a playful smirk.

Well, the choice is here or there, but you can't have him here. You look at the world then at him.

"I'll give it a go," you say with a smile.

A smile rises on his face too, a smile that shines brighter than the fire that is about to engulf the whole world. He takes another step, closing in the gap between your bodies.

At the same time, an explosion occurred at the end of the horizon and it's so bright it's blinding you.

Now you know that it's the end of the world from how everything falls into place and in the end, nothing matters anymore. It doesn't matter that they choose not to trust you and think you're crazy.

What matters now is the one that sticks with you to the very end.

Minho takes your hand and intertwines it with yours, "It's going to be alright now."

You look at him and hold his hand back, everywhere it is, you can't wait to spend eternity with him.

Together, you're walking hand-in-hand, leaving the world as it goes up in flames and into the oblivion you go, forever more.

-

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[pupsmailbox]

ACADEMIC ID PACK

NAMES︰ adeline. agatha. alastair. alex. alexander. alexandria. alisa. amber. ambrose. ambrosia. amorette. andrew. annabel. annabeth. annalise. anya. arden. artemis. arthur. ash. ashford. aspen. athena. atlas. atreus. augustus. avery. beatrix. blair. blake. blythe. bram. bronwyn. caspian. charles. charlotte. christopher. circe. claude. coraline. crimson. damian. damien. damon. daphne. darcy. demeter. diana. dorian. durant. ebony. eden. edgar. eleanor. elenor. elizabeth. elvira. emberl. enid. eris. everett. fantine. felix. fern. genevieve. george. grey. griffin. haven. hazel. hecate. henry. hester. holmes. hyde. inkesse. inkette. inkie. inky. isolde. ivie. ivy. james. jane. journalle. julian. julius. juno. kane. killian. lenore. lilith. lorelei. luna. magnus. malachi. mallory. maude. meredith. naomi. narissa. nicodem. nightesse. nightwing. nimue. noire. noiresse. noirette. odessa. odette. oliver. ophelia. orion. percy. persephone. peyton. phineas. phoebe. quill. quille. quinn. raven. ravenesse. ravenette. ravenne. remus. romero. rory. rosalind. rose. rowan. rowena. rufus. salem. scriptesse. sebastian. stoker. sylvain. tanith. theo. theodore. theodosia. trista. tristan. victor. victoria. vincent. virgil. wilhelmine. willow. wynona. xanthe. zoltan.

PRONOUNS︰ acade/academia. amber/amber. an/antique. arch/architectself. arch/archive. art/art. art/artist. arti/article. arti/fact. artifact/artifact. baro/baroque. bea/beauty. bis/bisque. book/book. bookworm/bookworm. calligraphy/calligraphy. can/vas. candle/candle. cer/ceramic. char/charcoal. chess/chess. clas/classic. clay/clay. clock/clock. co/collect. coco/coco. cocoa/cocoa. cof/coffee. coffee/coffee. col/color. coll/collection. collage/collage. con/cept. crea/cream. crow/crow. cur/curate. dra/drama. dust/dust. essay/essay. fea/feather. feather/feather. fig/figure. fil/film. flicker/flicker. gal/gallery. glaze/glaze. globe/globe. gold/gold. hazel/hazel. his/history. history/history. hon/honey. hue/hue. hypo/hypothesis. illus/illustrate. ink/ink. journal/journal. ki/kiln. knowledge/knowledge. le/letter. learn/learn. letter/letter. li/library. lig/ligature. lit/literature. mar/marble. mur/mural. murder/murder. muse/muse. muse/museum. night/night. no/note. novel/novel. page/page. paint/brush. paint/paint. paint/painting. paper/paper. para/dox. pen/pen. pho/photo. pi/pigment. piano/piano. poe/poet. poem/poem. por/trait. porcel/porcelain. print/print. qui/quill. quill/quill. raven/raven. rea/read. read/read. ren/renaissance. rev/revolution. scrapbook/scrapbook. script/scripts. scroll/scroll. sculp/sculptor. sculp/sculpture. sketch/sketch. speci/specimen. spine/spine. sta/stamp. stai/stain. stamp/stamp. statue/statue. story/story. stu/dy. study/studie. study/study. surreal/surrealism. tea/tea. theo/theory. theory/theory. thes/thesis. time/time. tweed/tweed. violin/violin. wheel/wheel. ⌛. ⌛︎. ☕. ✒︎. ✒️. 🏛️. 🏺. 📜. 🕯️. 🖼️.

[ashiristic]

SNIPPET 16:

Warning;: Mentions of blood

The hero and villain challenge each other on who'll last longer in a kiss. Chaos ensues.

It was just a kiss, the hero's final thought before the villain's lips met his. Soft and intoxicating like poisoned red wine. This kiss wasn't filled with passion and hunger but was a fight for dignity and pride.

The hero's eyes remained open, occasionally biting and chewing on the villain's lips, just as his nemesis did. Their hands roamed each other's bodies, searching for something to hold onto in this battle. The hero's fist harshly gripped the villain's hair, pulling it downward, drowning in his nemesis' low grunts.

He always told himself the villain was ethereal beyond recognition. A siren luring him to the sea, making him lose control like a sculptor molding him anew. But he'd never admit it.

They eventually fell onto the mattress, staining the white sheets with congealed blood from their previous battle. Before all of this began, the villain struggled, breathing heavily as his chest lifted up and down. He wished to see the villain's debauched state, but he couldn't lose. Not yet.

It seemed the villain had a different idea. He hissed, feeling the villain's nails dig deeper into his wrist, drawing blood. The hero attempted to pull away, but the villain chased him, biting his reddened lips severely.

"Fuck," the hero muttered under his breath, catching a smirk from the villain.

The villain parted away from the hero, a string of saliva connecting them. He wiped his lips with his white long-sleeves, lolling his head a little on his shoulder. His bangs fell in place to cover his eyes, yet his debauched lips still displayed that irritating smirk.

"Funny," the villain said, taking advantage of the hero's trance state, pushing him away. "Can you even win against me—"

"You're the one who pulled away," the hero suddenly said, huffing a breath, trying to steady his rapid pulse.

The villain paused for a second, blinking his eyes. After a long ponder, he suddenly blushed, a profound crimson color dancing on his cheeks. His grip loosened on the hero's wrist, but an odd smile crept on his face, followed by a chuckle. He was certainly amused. On what? Then, he raised both of his hands in defeat.

"Right, I did," the villain stood up, walking towards the small white lamp in the corner of the room. He grabbed a candy randomly placed on the table, twisting it between his fingers. "And I admit defeat."

Odd. One word to describe it. He knew the villain was a person who would never admit defeat and would try to find a loophole. But today, he didn't do that. The hero wrapped his hand on his wounded lips, trying to wrap his head around the villain's action. Maybe he looked like a monstrous, sexually frustrated guy after he pulled away from him. That must be it (it's not).

"All of a sudden?" the hero leaned against the headboard, running his hand through his sweaty hair. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't confused. So, he asked, "Why?"

The villain halted before the open window. He bathed in silence, turning his head a little to the hero. "Why? What stupid question is that?"

And he continued unbuttoning his shirt with no care regarding the well-being of the person behind him. The sun had already set, but the warm light engraved on the dawn remained, embroidering the villain's skin with gold. Mesmerizing and otherworldly. That is what he is.

"Can't I be curious?"

"You wouldn't like it. You would be embarrassed if I told you," the villain shrugged, shaking his head a little.

The hero rolled his eyes, darting his gaze on the bookshelves, crossing his arms. He sat still for a few minutes, but his impatience lingered as he tapped his fingers against the side of the wooden cabinet beside the bed. And don't add the drowning sense of not knowing what to say to the villain once he finally breaks the silence. He should think of one now, for emergencies.

"It is because I pity you," the villain suddenly said, and smirked, before placing the candy on his tongue, savoring the sweetness. "You are such a bad kisser."

The audacity.

"Ten out of ten. Bravo joke."

"Oh, thank you," he placed his finger on his lips, laughing to himself. It was red with a fine line of deep rose on the middle of his bottom lip.

The hero watched the villain caressing his own lips before he froze and stopped, slapping his cheeks a little. What was wrong with him? And the villain veered towards the hero, fixing the collar of his shirt.

The villain grinned, "I have to go now—"

"We should do this again," he interrupted, blankly staring at the villain as he spoke. "You liked it, didn't you?"

The hero would lie to himself if he said that he didn't love it. Plus he was willing to sacrifice a few of his dignity to admit it. But the villain only smiled, his eyes not revealing anything on what he was thinking. The hero's heart plummeted in his chest, its hope bursting out of his chest cavity as he covered it with a smile.

"If you say so,"

Then he left. And the hero never felt happier.

[suguwu]

your face is not your own.

you've spent years wearing other people's faces, a way to ease the commotion that comes after a kill. no one ever catches up to you.

until diamond.

luckily, he likes you. or at least he likes your skill set. it isn't long before you're an ipc asset, their finest blade, whetted sharp and cruel.

it's a dangerous position to be in, being favored by him. it means work that dirties your hands more than an average kill, smears crimson across your palms in streaks that never wash away.

it's fine, though. each new face comes with a clean slate. a new chance to be better. you could run—no one can pin you down as you shed your skin, born anew from a bloodied cocoon.

except diamond.

he knows you through every disguise, through every face you mold your features into. some days you think that maybe he's the one shaping the clay of your face. a sculptor always knows their own work.

and then suddenly, there's aventurine.

he's young, with keen eyes and a charming smile that sits like a mask. you're assigned to him early on, when he's still finding his feet among the stonehearts, still slipping into the role of the master he killed.

aventurine sees through you.

it aches, being seen. he pins you in place by the wings, a collector's specimen. opens you under the scalpel of his gaze. he finds you in a crowd every time, no matter whose face you wear.

finally, one day, you have to ask.

"it's a secret," he says, a smile curling on his pretty lips. he drops you a little wink when you bristle.

"tell me," you demand.

"tell you what," he says. "i'll give you a chance to win the answer from me."

you roll your eyes. "i don't take losing bets."

he grins again. "then i guess you'll never know."

diamond calls you back a system month later. you say goodbye to aventurine in port, his golden hair gleaming under the flashing lights. his vivid eyes sink into you like a knife. opens you up one final time.

you're halfway down the gangway when you hear his voice again, floating to you like a melody you've always known.

you turn back to look at him. he's smiling still, but you think he looks sad.

"it's your eyes," he calls. "they never change."

you incline your head to him; he walks away.

you change your face in the bathroom of the ship, arranging yourself into the features you know that diamond likes best. for a moment, you stare at your own face and wonder if you even know it anymore.

you think aventurine would.

it aches to be known, but you want more.

[sculptorofcrimson]

Tyrant’s Lullaby

Once upon a time, there was a glorious, terrible man. He built horrors. He built wonders. He brought monsters up from the deep. He took a child from the arms of a horrified, weeping family, and raised him not as a boy but as a general. He took a child and ruined his future, He took a child and made him a king, a pet, a dog. He marched armies over the face of the ravaged earth, and trampled all that did not kneel before the weight of the storm. He burned tundras to ash and shook the mountains until they crumbled, He boiled the seas to mist and the skies to charcoal. And when the scouring was done, and the earth was entombed in ashes, He turned His dreaming, endless glare upon His own. 

He strangled the thunder that had bore Him a throne, He sent the golden, the children stolen from their cradles, to plunge down long knives into turned backs raised so fervently before His regard. With their blood they had built Him a kingdom, and with their bones He crowned Himself a throne. And when Terra knelt, cowed, battered, in awe and in fear, He turned His gaze skywards.

And the stars felt His benevolent wrath. 

He bore twenty sons, two of them sacrificed, and He unleashed them upon the earth, the skies, the stars. They hunted for Him, they loved Him, they adored Him, yet some had strayed too far from His light, some had gazed upon the man that would be a god with sullen, hungry eyes, doing His bidding, and knowing His wrath. They are those who were there when affection curdled to treachery.

There was no peace among the stars, no mercy, no rest, simply a slow, heartless drowning as the gold claimed them limb by limb, inch by inch, and swallowed them into the endless light. 

And then war. Treachery, when the stars themselves were swallowed. When brother turned against brother, and father against son. When the Phoenix cleaved the Gorgon’s head from his shoulders, and the Immortal bashed in the Haunter with a hammer, when the Angel fell to the Traitor and He stained the Palace’s stones red with His son’s blood. When Horus burned, when the Angel shed his wings and the golden were shattered upon the anvil of betrayal, the Father fell to His son. 

He was buried upon a rotting throne, screaming hollowly into the fading dark, the stars basking in His rage, His pity and His wrath. He was buried alive in a tomb made from gold, ashen bones ruling a decaying kingdom from the grave, dreaming forever of brighter days. Dreaming of His sons, and how He betrayed them first, how they betrayed Him, how they abandoned His bones. And finally could the golden rest, bathed in the heart of their greatest shame, enshrining the decaying dust of a master they had failed, in an empire He had forsaken. 

That man was the Emperor. That corpse is the Emperor, golden, glorious, and decaying just like the slaves.

Do not think your bones different from a slave's. When you rot, your corpse will be indistinguishable from those of your servants.

[xxfaithlynxx]

A Daze and a Dream

Pairing: Sylus x f!(Named)OC; Rafayel x f!(Named)OC; Xavier x f!(Named)OC; Zayne x f!(Named)OC

ENJOY the next installment of OBoE: Part 2!

Songs: The Deep Sea- Love and Deepspace, eclipse- Josh Makazo, I Can’t See You In My Dreams Anymore- Martin Czerny

NOT PROOFREAD!

Please DON'T steal or plagiarize my work. Much appreciated! As always. ҉ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ҉

Chapter 10:

RAFAYEL

The bloodied image of her collapsing on that stage, only to fall through fractured wood and shattered glass, her eyes, ears, mouth, and nose dripping with crimson were what made me snap my eyes open from a dead sleep. I took a deep breath before shifting my eyes over my surroundings slowly. Right, I was in snow cone’s office… leaning upright, I felt a warm presence to my left. Shifting slightly, Xavier came into focus. He was seated much like I had been. Arms laying over his lap, his legs stretched out before him, ankles crossed. I felt a grimace building as Xavier’s cheek graced my shoulder.

“No touchy, Lite Brite.” I reached up to grab his blonde head with my fingertips, only to lean it back against the wall. His eyes scrunched briefly, and he grumbled, his jaw working as if he was chewing on something before, he settled back into a deeper slumber. “I don’t just cuddle anyone, you know.”

Scooting away from the wall and moving into a crouch, I took in the rest of the dark room, a small lamp had been switched on, on a filing cabinet behind the good doctor’s desk, and it cast a soft amber hue over the rest of the room. Besides Xavier, Sylus was on the couch across from me. He was stretched awkwardly across the piece of furniture. Laying on his stomach, facing the door, arms crossed under his head. His legs looked uncomfortable in their position; knees lifted slightly off the cushions as his socked feet dangled over the furthest armrest. Maybe he was comfortable… he was asleep after all. With all the big man’s posturing and his hard-shelled demeanor, he certainly looked young while he slept. That silky looking hair falling across his forehead making him even more attractive, making me bite my cheek. Damn him… the enormous cotton top lizard….

Pushing myself to standing, I looked around the room some more, ice pop wasn’t here? Maybe he was in with Era, if that were the case, then did that mean she was awake? Maybe? I shuffled my way over to the door and pulled it open, just enough so I could sneak out without waking the other two. I can be nice… sometimes. I stuck out my tongue to the room before letting it slide shut. Sometimes.

Combing my fingers through my hair with one hand, I looked up and down the hallway. A desk inlaid to the soft eggshell painted wall stood a few meters away, a petite brown-haired woman in a pristine white nurse’s uniform sat behind it. Her soft brown eyes glued to what could only be a computer monitor. Tall shelves loaded with manila folders stood behind her. As I approached, her eyes flicked up as I came up to the desk.

“You’re Rafayel aren’t you? The famous artist and sculptor?” Her voice was soft as she smiled kindly at me. This happened everywhere… people recognizing me. I didn’t answer right away, thinking she’d jump into a tirade of wanting an autograph, but instead, she surprised me. “Era has mentioned you a couple times when she’d come in for her check-ups in the past. I looked up your work, it’s beautiful. Are you and Era close?”

I blinked a couple times, before I reached up to brush a hand over the back of my neck, the feeling of a blush spreading through my cheeks. “Uh, yah, we are.” I leaned against the counter, suddenly feeling weirdly self conscious, “Do you… know what room she’s in?”

I glanced down, seeing a nametag on her left breast pocket. Yvonne… wait, that Yvonne? She smiled at me before pointing down the hall, back towards Zayne’s office. I bent back to look as she said, “Room CW-41. It’s not far from Doctor Zayne’s office in fact. Would you like me to help you get there?” I wasn’t sure why she’d ask, after saying it was near his office. I think I can even see it from here. Then a thought struck me, maybe she wanted to see how Era was doing too?

I gave her a soft smile, “Sure. Lead the way.” She nearly leapt from her chair and looked like she’d rather vault over the counter than walk out from behind. Excited much? “How do you know Era?”

Her smiled momentarily faltered, had she not expected me to ask her that? “Since her first accident… with the building. I was the one Doctor Zayne had placed as her personal care giver while she went through physiotherapy and regained mobility in her legs and arms. We grew close over time. Since then, every time she scheduled a follow-up or a routine check up, we always try and grab coffee together… but now….” I looked down at her when she stopped, having heard the catch in her voice.

This news surprised me, had Era been quadriplegic after that accident? She had a spinal fracture, obviously a pretty bad one to need that kind of strenuous therapy. “I… see. Do… you know how she is?” We approached a wide double door with those steel looking push to open bars across them and I eyed it warily before my eyes drifted upward to the words printed in black across the surface of the wall. CARDIAC WARD – ICU.

ICU… Intensive Care Unit. A flutter within my breastbone made one of my hands reach up absentmindedly to press over the spot just under my left collarbone. I swallowed thickly around a suddenly dry mouth as Yvonne brushed an ID card over a panel, a small light flickering green as the door begun to swing open. I realized after she pocketed the badge, “You knew I’d have to come back to have you open the door, that’s why you offered, yeah?”

I watched a blush form over the apples of her cheeks, and she looked down while she bit her lip. “It gave me a reason to go see her.” Her response was barely a whisper, but I got it. She certainly cares about my little pearl, I’m glad. And I was… Era seemed so reckless with her own health and wellbeing but moved mountains for those she cared about. And yet… she thinks she’s useless and selfish of all things.

“Era is… a special girl. She doesn’t see what’s right in front of her on a good day, she holds a lot of her emotions in, thinking she’d be a burden if she even remotely released some of her thoughts. She hates asking for help but will go out of her way to help others.” Her eyes drifted as we stopped in front of a heavy, wooden looking door. A metal folder was magnetized to a panel next to the door, Era’s name was scrawled in purple across a thin white board above the folder. “She needs someone to make her realize her worth, Mr. Rafayel… before she loses what’s left of her light. Its all she has left.” For once, I wasn’t sure what to say, if anything. So, I simply nodded when she glanced back up at me, the rims of her eyes wet with unshed tears. She took a deep breath before resting a hand on the silver metallic handle, “I don’t know how she is… Doctor Zayne hasn’t left the room since Doctor Greyson was here. All I know is… she’s in a coma. She’s been intubated, and her heart is beating on its own. Doctor Greyson mentioned that she seemed healthy in all aspects, she simply wasn’t conscious.” There was an ire behind her words, like she was having a tough time coming to terms with that news.

I felt my brows scrunch, “And what do you believe?”

Yvonne froze before looking up at me, “I think she’s in the verge of giving up. She’s been through so much and doesn’t believe in herself or think she needs to be here anymore.” She looked back to the door, and I watched as her small shoulders drooped, “While she was administered here during her therapy… people we unkind to her, the doctors saw it, same with the nurses, myself included- but they did nothing about it. And yet, all she ever did was smile.” A tear escaped the corner of the little woman’s right eye, “She cried  herself to sleep most nights. Once she was discharged, after the physio… that radiant smile never touched her eyes again. I think she tried, but even then… I think she was done making any attempts. The weight she clutched to was all she seemed to need anymore. She may call it selfishness… I call it survival.” Another tear, “I’d heard of her from my peers, from other Hunters who came in… and nothing they said was ever good. I didn’t understand how they all could simply hate her like that when they didn’t even know her, nor tried to know her.”

I swallowed around the lump in my throat as she spilled her emotions to me and the door. “She has a façade, that’s for sure. I didn’t really know her well before that accident… but I know you’re right. She puts everyone before herself and thinks its selfish to want.” I stared at the door this time, recalling how her and I had initially met. She’d been beach combing or at least, she’d said she was, but I remember seeing the tears streaks down her cheeks as she sat alone on the sandbar on the furthest edge of Whitesand Bay, just staring out at the waves. “We won’t give up on her. Not now, not ever.” I whispered before reaching up to rest a hand over the nurse’s shoulder.

“Thank you, Mr. Rafayel… between you, the tall gentleman with white hair, Mr. Xavier, and Doctor Zayne… I know she won’t be alone in this.”

I tipped my head, a small smile pulling my cheeks up as I bopped her nose with the pad of my finger, surprising her, “Don’t forget about yourself. You mean a lot to her as well, you know. I’ve heard nothing but good things about you, Miss Yvonne.” I had to chuckle as a blush rushed up her neck and into her face. You’ve similar to her, aren’t you Miss Nurse… always thinking about others before yourself.

“Ahem. Should we go in?” She cleared her throat before tapping her cheeks with both palms and turning to face the door. “I do hope Doctor Zayne decided to get some rest, at least… I know he’s never okay when she’s in here, even for a check-up that he’s conducting.”

Hearing that, I felt my cagey barnacle covered heart soften for the icy man. We most certainly all love her. As she turned the handle and pushed the door open, nothing could have prepared me for the sight of her. Tubes and lines feeding off of her limbs, face and from beneath the blankets from every direction. She looked so pale, a ghost within an angel. The soft looking mint green blankets draped over her in what looked like heaps. Her arms were bare as they lay over the surface of the bedding, an IV line pushed into the back of her right hand, as it lay palm down. Her hair had been almost artfully cast over the surface of the pillow as the back of the bed had been lifted just enough to allow for better airflow as the machine pumped her lungs for her.

I heard Yvonne gasp before running to the hunched over figure sitting beside the bed that I hadn’t noticed at first. “Doctor Zayne? Come on, lets at least get you to the couch, please?”

I watched the scene play out, his eyes were glazed over and puffy, rimmed in red as he looked up at her. His brows arched momentarily as if he didn’t recognize her. His dark hair hung across his forehead haphazardly from having rested in the same spot for too long. When she encouraged him to stand up, he shook her off and returned to laying his forehead against the bedside. How many times have you seen her broken? I had to think to myself before I stuffed my hands in my pockets and walked up to the opposite side of the bed.

My eyes lingered on her, again… words failed me. Had we been too late? We’d just managed to get her back, even after Q-tip fucked our little investigation up. I blinked back the sudden heat that had formed in my eyes. Am I crying? Reaching out, I brushed the backs of my fingers down the visible curve of her left cheek. She’s so cold…. Yvonne and Zayne no longer mattered to me in that moment as my eyes swept over her again, a choked whine came from within me chest as I whispered, “You better not be trying to run away from me… I won’t let you, my pearl.”

                   ҉       ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶      ҉

                XAVIER

“That piece… it seems different.” She was leaning against the piano I was sat before, her hair draping over one shoulder as she rested her chin against the heel of her right palm. A small smile lifting her soft, pink coral-colored lips at the corners. The celeste blue little knee length number she had on brought out her eyes, making them pop in the dim lighting of the stage.

I smiled at her, “Of course, it’s an echo from the cosmos. Would you like to try it?” I held out my hand, and she hesitated for just a moment before placing her hand in mine and shifting around the edge of the instrument to sit snuggly beside me on the bench. “Watch.” I returned my hands to the keys and started brushing my fingers over the chords, the sounds echoing through the venue like a lullaby.

“This piece, is reserved only for a certain listener.” I whispered, watching as she reached up to try and mimic the placement and movements of my fingers. I smiled again as she began to match my playing. “Good, now…” I reached up to the sheet music on the stand and flipped the page over. “This part starts the same, go ahead.” A blush flew into her cheeks and an expression of concentration overtook her, furrowing her brows as she attempted to play the notes with both hands instead of one. I couldn’t take my eyes off her. She was awe inspiring.

“Xavier, why aren’t you checking my playing? I don’t know what I’m doing!” She giggled, leaning her shoulder into my side.

“I don’t need to. The music tells me all I need to know. I feel as if those echoes found their answer.” I whispered into her ear, reaching around with my right arm to pull her against me, not wanting to be parted from her any longer.

She smiled before looking up at me, “Then I hope the answer wasn’t too late.”

“There’s no such thing, in that moment, it’s perfect.” With the hand I’d still had laid out over the piano keys, I lifted to her cheek, brushing my thumb over her bottom lip before I leaned in and pressed my mouth against hers in a gentle caress before pulling back to rest my forehead against hers.

Where had that come from? What was it? A memory? Something I’d concocted? I had no idea, but when I opened my eyes, I wasn’t where I thought I was. A dimly lit office came into focus, a small lamp stationed behind a dark wooden desk on a filing cabinet was the only light, and as I eyes began to adjust, I took in the rest of my surroundings. The office itself was wide, beside the desk and the few cabinets, there was a couple tall bookcases loaded with medical texts and other thick medical related issues, a thick counter stood against one of the far walls, files, small odd-looking machines, and more books were placed sporadically. Moving my eyes further through the room, slowly remembering where I was, and why I was here. I came across the long L shaped couch on the opposite wall, beneath the curtained window.

Right… the hospital. This is Zayne’s office. When I pushed myself off the floor into a stand, I felt my knees, elbows, and shoulders pop as I stretched my arms above my head. A movement on the couch caught me attention, stopping me mid stretch to look over. A dark figure was stretched across the piece of furniture. I inched closer, trying not to disturb their slumber only to come into view of the side of their head. Sylus…. His white hair was sleep messed and staticky from brushing against the cushions. His eyes were red rimmed and puffy, closed tightly as his enormous figure twitched beneath the large black and red embroidered jacket that had been draped over his torso.

I guess even monsters have nightmares… should I wake him? I looked around the room again, looking for something that might aid me in waking up the sleeping beast. Finding nothing, I sighed and went to the end of the couch where his feet hung over the armrest. How this position was comfortable for him… went beyond me, although… I could pass out just about anywhere, and I was six-foot-one, so maybe he was similar in that aspect. Doubt it, he seems too bougee for that.

“Sy-…” Should I call him Sylus? Or Skye? We are alone in here, does it matter? “Sylus, wake up.” I stretched out a hand and nudged one of his socked feet. He groaned, so I said it louder, “Sylus, wake up!” Having stayed at his abode in the N109 Zone while digging up info to find Era, I’d noticed the man wasn’t exactly a deep sleeper, so what the fuck was this? “Sylus.” I added a note of annoyance to my tone, the feeling mutual in my mind.

“You rang, bunny?” The figure on the couch groaned and then rolled, the jacket falling to the floor as he ended up facing the ceiling, an arm moving to sling over his face. I went to open my mouth to say something, but he suddenly sucked in a breath and sat up, “Is she okay? What happened?”

His abrupt movement had made me take an unsteady step backwards, “Shit, no- nothing is wrong… I just woke up. Saw you were having a nightmare.” I watched him slide his legs off the edge of the couch and stand, his own arms stretching above him, the tips of his fingers’ mere milometers from the spackled surface of the ceiling. I reached up to brush my hand over the back of my neck. It was always rocky terrain between Sylus and me, and we both knew why.

“If you just woke up, you haven’t gone to see her then.” His voice was ragged, none of his flare for whimsical control or teasing lilts. He sounded frayed, shattered. He had sat b ack down on the edge of the couch as he reached up with both hands to brush through his hair, attempting to tame it from its chaos.

“No, not yet…” I paused, looking around the room again, Rafayel wasn’t here, and neither was Zayne. Were they with her? Wouldn’t one of them have woken us up if something had gone wrong? “Do you think we’re allowed to see her?”

Sylus dropped his hands, his elbows resting over his knees as he looked straight forward, those crimson eyes looking dull in the dim light. “I honestly don’t know. I don’t remember much after my boys dropped off a change of clothes for me.” One of his knees started to bounce while his right hand came up to insert the edge of his thumb into his mouth as he started chewing on his cuticle, an image that made him seem much younger than he was. Big bad crime boss, yeah not right now.

I nodded before turning to head to the main door to the office. I’d reached out to take the doorhandle in hand but paused with it hovering above the smooth looking metal. I half turned my head to check on him from the corner of my eye. “Would you like to come with me?” I wasn’t exactly his biggest fan, then again… I knew I had a jealous streak when it came to Era, so truly, I wasn’t a fan of any of the others. I accepted them because of her. Well, Zayne was okay… so was Raf, having now gotten to know them. I watched as he nodded silently and pushed himself back to standing, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he approached me. It was as he approached that I took in what he was wearing, instead of the tweed suit straight out of the fifties, he wore a brown sweater and black slacks, a chain hung around his neck.

“Alright, lets go.” I said as I pushed the door open and exited into the very well-lit hallway, making my eyes burn as they adjusted. Blinking a few times, I turned my head left and right, looking for any signs of life in either direction.

I felt an elbow nudge my arm as Sylus suddenly appeared on my left, nodding to a reception desk that was built into the wall, as we got closer I could see manila folders filling every available space of the shelves behind the desk, colorful sticky notes and labels stuck out everywhere. Behind the desk, was an empty chair, a ringing and flashing phone and a computer screen that had gone into screensaver mode.

I looked up and down the hallway again, “Do you think she’s with her?”

“I have no doubts she is.” Sylus said quietly before rounding the desk and leaning over to come in front of the computer screen, giving the mouse a shake so the screen came back to life.

“What are you doing!” I hissed at him, “That’s illegal!”

“Oh please, just put it on that ever-growing tab you’ve got going. It’s fine.” His eyes scanned the screen as he clicked a couple times, “Got her. Room CW-41.” He blinked and then frowned, his silver-gray brows pulling together, “She’s in the ICU.” The words struck me in the chest like a knife. The ICU… intensive care? Really?

“How do we get there?” I asked, monotone. Sylus scrolled through something before standing upright and looked down the hall to my right.

“That way, but… we’ll need an ID badge. This is Yvonne’s station, if she’s already with Era, then we will have to ask around. Obviously.” So, the clipped tone was back, as was the amused expression of boredom.

I sighed through my nose and turned to head down the hallway. Every hospital looked the same and smelled the same. My eyes scanned the walls, the wheelchairs and the empty beds that seemed to sporadically line the walls near any splitting intersection we came across. A large door gave me pause and I halted in front of it. A wide set of double doors with thick steel looking push bars at hip height, small, panelled windows with crisscross patterns in black and thick black lettering stood above the doorframe. CARDIAC WARD – ICU.

On the left-hand side of that fading gray frame was a panel with a solid red light at its crest, another blank green light next to it. Below was the image of a badge being scanned. So, we found the door…. I glanced up and saw another nurse just down the hall as she disappeared into a room, head bent as she looked at a clipboard in hand. “Excuse me!” I found myself calling out.

Another nurse popped her head out from the opposite side of the hallway the first had disappeared down, and she waved, “You boys need something?” She called out, suddenly appearing entirely from behind whatever counter she’d been behind, coming towards us.

“Yes, ma’am. There’s a patient we’d like to visit if that’s possible?” I said, giving her a soft smile as she stopped in front of the door.

“Are you family?” I winced, of course that’d be the obvious first question. Clearly not.

Sylus piped up at that, a note of exasperation in his tone. “We have Doctor Zayne’s express approval to be let in,” he gestured to the door, “if you would be so kind.” I shot him a look and he simply smirked at me as the nurse became awkwardly silent, a flush creeping up her ears as she turned and swiped a badge across the panel. She immediately turned and briskly began walking back up the hall where she’d come from.

“Uncalled for.” I said as we passed the threshold of the now open double doors.

“It got us in, didn’t it?” True, and yet….

I rolled my eyes and hastened my pace as my eyes began scanning the signs above the doors. We’re only at twenty… great. As we walked in silence, my mind began to wander back to the dream I’d had. Era and I had never played piano together… at least, not in this lifetime. There was a life I recalled where I played the piano for someone, had it been another version of Era at the time? For some reason, I couldn’t remember her face entirely. Just bits. The only thing I remembered entirely was that she was spectacularly beautiful.

“Forty-one, right?” Sylus’ voice broke me from my thoughts as I nearly walked into him. When did he get ahead of me? Lifting my gaze from the side of his face, I followed his line of sight and saw the sign he was looking at. CW-41.

“Yeah, you said forty-one.” I looked down at the handle of the door and felt myself freeze. A tightness within my chest made my lungs release a shallow breath as I felt the build of anxiety cling to my heart. What do I expect when we walk in there? Was she okay? Was she awake? Was Zayne and Raf in there with her?

Gathering from the lack of movement beside me, Sylus seemed to be in a similar boat. He stood stock still on my right, hands hanging at his sides as he stared at the door. “For what its worth, I wanted to thank you, for being there for her.” My eyes snapped up to the glistening reds of Sylus’ as he continued to stare at the door.

I wasn’t sure if he wanted a response to that, it sounded rhetorical. Even so, I wasn’t sure what I could’ve said. A moment later, he seemed to break out of his stupor as he reached out and gripped the doorhandle. I heard him exhale heavily through his nose before he twisted the handle and pushed it open.

As we slowly entered the room, soft voices could be heard from further in. “For her sake, Zayne… you should go get some proper rest, food… something to drink even. You of all people should know what you’re putting yourself through is not healthy.” Peering around Sylus, I could see another doctor standing beside a chair, a hunched over Zayne was sat in it. I couldn’t see the raven-haired man’s face, but I could imagine the exhaustion and shattered expression he had. I’d seen if before…. The other doctor, a kind looking guy with glasses turned as we entered, his words tapering off. “Ah, you must be Skye and Xavier. Rafayel mentioned you two would be coming by eventually.” The man looked to his side, eyes fixating on the bed that Zayne sat beside. “Her heart seems stronger than it was when she was brought in, we did have her intubated, but she started breathing on her own roughly an hour ago,” He said, flicking his eyes to the clock on the wall, “Otherwise, there haven’t been any notable changes thus far.” I watched as the man’s eyes dragged over Zayne once again, I had to keep my eyes on him, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to look at the bed yet, “Maybe he’ll listen to one of you… he hasn’t moved, slept or eaten anything since you guys got here, that was over twenty-four hours ago.”

Sylus spoke up suddenly, “Hey, Zayne….” Was all he said, he’d moved out of nowhere and was crouched beside the chair Zayne was occupying. A hand on his shoulder, while the other was resting over four slender fingers. I gave a curt nod to the doctor who’d stopped talking and was simply watching the two giant men beside the bed.

When I finally managed to pry my eyes away from the far wall, I could already feel the heat behind my eyes. I sucked in a choked breath as I took her in. She looked like a corpse, she was so thin, so pale, I couldn’t imagine having come in here while she had all of those tubes coming out of her, this alone was enough to cause a crushing feeling within my chest. That anxiety that had nearly collapsed me earlier had returned and was constricting my heart as my eyes swept over her, stopping finally on her face.

Her cheeks were gaunt, sunk in, showing off the angles of her bone structure. Her lips were no longer their usual kissable pink. They were white and thin. Her eyelids showed all the veins and seemed so thin, amplified by the shadowed circles beneath. Her skin was placid and rough looking in spots. Probably where they had the sensors…. I finally managed to get myself to move to the side of the bed in front of the window, close enough that I could see how still she was, only the rise and fall of her chest beneath the blankets the only form of life. I didn’t look away from her when I heard the door open, and then softly shut again. But Rafayel’s voice cut in as he spoke quietly to the doctor. They’d moved to stand in front of a side door, chatting quietly, though I could feel Raf’s eyes on me.

“We’ll keep an eye on her in here for now, I want to make sure she’s okay to move come tomorrow afternoon.” I heard, a small pulse of anxiety burst from my chest as I knelt beside the bed then, my knees no longer feeling like they could hold me as I felt the stress begin to consume me. Reaching out, I slipped my hand beneath her left, feeling the chill of her fingertips seep into my bones. With the heat around my eyes, I finally looked up, at the men across from me.

Zayne looked entirely defeated, dark shadows under his lifeless looking green eyes, his hair disheveled, sticking out in random places. His eyes firmly locked on her.

Sylus looked like he’d aged ten years since he’d come into the room, he still had a hand on Zayne’s shoulder, but the other was fisted on the edge of the bed, while his eyes, rimmed with tears were locked on Era as well.

When Rafayel came to stand next to the kneeling crime boss, the artist crossed his arms, a glower etched into his usually snide and teasing face. “They’re keeping her here for observation for now.” Came his deadpan words, flicking my gaze behind him, I couldn’t see the other doctor anymore, so I assumed he’d left at one point.

Sylus’ soft voice pierced the silence after a moment, “Where did Yvonne go?”

“She offered to go get food for all of us.” Came the deadpan response, once again.

I spoke up suddenly, a strength in my voice I didn’t feel, “Is there anything we could do?”

Sylus’ narrowed eyes snapped to me, “Like what, Xavier. Please, if you have any idea in that blonde head of yours, do tell the class.”

I looked back down at her, my hand in hers as I mulled over my thoughts. After Melina… when she collapsed and seemed to be more comatose than asleep… what did we do then to bring her back? She’d said she was mentally caged. Imprisoned within her own mind, right? What if this is similar, if not the same… just in a purer form? I could feel the stress in my chest, throbbing along to the beat of my erratic heart, I didn’t want to be wrong.

We had no answers, but we had inclinations. Ideas after having seen this prior, just more diluted. We weren’t facing the same thing this time, she’d been gone, taken by Belamy… sequestered away from half a year, having God knows what done to her. Had she really overwhelmed herself by her evol? Or had that bastard done something to her? We had no idea. He was a demon… how do you win against a demon who knows the girl now lying in this hospital bed better than four grown men, one with mind reading powers, another from her childhood, and two more who thought they knew her better than they knew themselves.

I narrowed my eyes and looked directly as Sylus, having felt his eyes on me the entire time I was thinking, “Now that we’re all here. We should reach out to her, using the bonds….”

Zayne suddenly looked up, “And if… we fail?” his voice was so broken, lifeless, and sorrowful.

Rafayel suddenly spoke, reaching over to rest his hand over the one Sylus had resting on the doctor’s shoulder. “We won’t fail.”

                ҉       ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶      ҉

[redrandomposts]

tgcf crack au where there are three (two clones) hua chengs in the world

the flame master, wrapped in black clothes with bright red embroidery. eye covered with an eyepatch, reclusive, and when seen out of his palace is harsh. yet, somehow, the flame master became one of the most worshipped gods in heaven, his "flame" expanding to ghost fires and love. why?

an immortal priest, who wanders the lands. a sculptor, painter, devout worshipper. wearing red and white clothes, looking youthful and mischievous. he has a hand in the most breathtaking idols of the flame master, as well as a companion always by the flame master in his art pieces—a figure clad in white, sword and flower in hand.

a calamity in crimson and silver and black, lighting temples to flames and drawing blood with silver butterflies. in an ominous, crescent-smile mask, constructed a city for ghosts and became the bane of heaven. fell thirty-three gods with his martial arts and intellegence, until worshippers turned to him.

what do they have in common?

they are the same person. hua cheng; san lang; wu ming.

===

notes:

hua cheng imparts some "self" into the clones so they are basically apart of him

when hua cheng creates the ghost clone, he wants to remedy all mistakes wu ming made. he despises wu ming for being powerless. he also uses it as a lure, incase his highness did remember him.

san lang is actually a priest for dianxia, but he also wants to grow power as a god. so. even if he were ugly, he's willing to paint his highness next to him for the power to protect his highness.

with every passing day, wu ming grows more and more self-conscious, because his highness still isnt here, did his highness truly hate him? should he change, become unrecognizable, because his highness wouldn't come if he were there?

...anyways i think san lang should suffer a bit

while passing through yong'an, he witnesses the whole shebakle. in a panic, he shapeshifts into xie lian, effectively diverting all the punishment that should come. unfortunately, even if he were a clone, he still felt all the pain and isolation, and the talismans prevented him from escaping. later, after a few decades when he's finally tracked down, he has to he absorbed back into hua cheng because of the mental damage. hua cheng has to isolate himself after to calm his spirit (the only reason lang qianqiu isnt dead).

its just that i think xie lian should not be in the coffin. hes been through enough

anyways imagine if there were fanfiction about the priest and the god—oh wait.

yeah hua cheng discovers self-cest made by enthusiastic believers. idk would be rlly funny though

hey is there any active hua cheng clones in the books?? asking because i kind of am too lazy to reread it

[brabblesblog]

Astarion (Spawn/Pre-Cazador Mission) x Tav

As if the gods made you to ruin me. - Inspired by the Greek myth of Pygmalion and Galatea. First person POV. A sculptor confronts a piece of marble, and Astarion is their masterpiece.

To be loved - Fix-it fic for the scene with Halsin and the twins in Sharess' Caress. Smut.

Sounds like a plan - Angst with a happy ending. What if Tav wasn't exactly happy about being manipulated at the start of the romance?

In time - Fluff with smut. Astarion catches you during some solo time. Set in act II after his confession scene.

They will never be you - Angst with a happy ending. Astarion's not the only insecure one in the relationship. Set in act III after the end of Astarion's personal quest

A reason to beat again - Fluff, could be canon-compliant or not. What if vampire hearts beat again when they fall in love?

Worth it. - Fluff. A small drabble about that line in the epilogue with Spawn!Astarion.

I hope you die screaming - Angst with a happy ending. After you refuse to help Astarion ascend, he leaves you with a venomous goodbye. Unfortunately the vampire has to come back to get his things.

Goodnight Moon Series

Series about the events that happened within the time span of the game. Canon-compliant, angst with a happy ending. No smut.

This series was my first foray into writing fanfic, so this might be a little rough on the edges.

1. Goodnight Moon

2. Jealousy

3. A Gift

4. Crimson Eyes

5. Fear

6. Safety

7. Hope

8. Feeding

9. Even with all these complications

10. Content

11. Yes.

[ashleyfableblack]

Queen Chrysalis Sparkle reclined on her satin perch, lifting a jewel-encrusted goblet in her magic. Once more Twilight had requested her bughorse wife to privately model for her latest attempt at artistry. Chrysalis was only too happy to comply. She took well to the job of a model, her wife's muse. Being the Queen-mother of her entire species she was quite accustomed to being the center of attention. As she desired no creatures attention on Equus more than her little pony wife's this was truly the perfect way to spend a quiet afternoon for the queen.

She slowly lifted a long chitinous hind-leg, widening her lap in a seductive and inviting manner. very unladylike yet very fitting for the couple. A soft purr rumbled in her long neck as she tucked a hoof to her barrel, adding a hint of coquettish playfulness to her posture.

She almost lost her balance as Twilight smacked an angry hoof against the sculptor's stage and barked out a shrill squawk. Chrysalis stifled a chuckle behind her pitted hoof. She was unaware that Twilight had learned how to swear in Griffonese. Twilight muttered in frustration at the uncooperative wet grey lump, grumbling out whispered threats and slander to its place as a mineral resource. Thus far her adversary resisted her every attempt to ply her fledgling techniques. To be fair her work-in-progress might be mistaken for Chrysalis, that is assuming it was viewed in passing by a near-sighted mole through several mugs of quality cider and perhaps the changeling queen had taken the form of a wad of chewed bubblegum.

Chrysalis touched the goblet to her lips. The dark crimson liquid sipped smoothly through her sabre-like fangs, cool and robust. The changeling queen considered the scene in loving silence. "Why do you struggle so with this new obsession, beloved? You've tried grasping my form with several mediums- charcoal, graphite, paint and now clay. To what end? To capture my likeness? To release your hidden tensions? Perhaps to gift me with your creation of love?" She narrowed her eyes. "Am I to believe you'd go to such lengths simply to try your hoof at new hobbies?" She pursed her lips, dismissing the notion. "No, surely not." Her wings softly buzzed as her forked tongue flickered at the air, tasting her wife's passion. "All artists have their need to create, my love. It consumes them. Why do you...?"

[flamestv]

the   sun   cast   its   golden   rays   over   king's   landing,   warming   the   red   roofs   and   bustling   streets,   light   spilling   over   the   grand   tourney   grounds   just   outside   the   city   walls.   all   roads   to   the   capital   brimmed   with   nobles   and   knights   arriving   from   across   the   realm,   answering   the   king's   invitation   to   the   tourney   of   the   heir.   the   people   of   the   city   buzz   with   excitement   as   targaryen   banners   unfurled   high   above   the   royal   pavilions.

in   the   heart   of   the   king's   city,   the   gates   of   the   royal   apartments   swung   open,   allowing   lords   and   ladies   to   descend   to   the   tourney   grounds.   beneath   brightly   colored   tents   set   in   rows,   the   nobility   gathered   in   splendid   attire,   their   silks   and   brocades   in   hues   of   crimson,   sapphire,   and   emerald.   the   smell   of   roast   meats   and   fresh   bread   wafted   from   feast   tables   laid   out   under   the   open   sky,   while   musicians   played   lively   tunes   that   mingled   with   the   laughter   of   guests   and   the   neighing   of   horses.

king   daeron   stands   atop   a   royal   dais,   dressed   in   the   black   and   red   of   house   targaryen,   silver   hair   gleaming   in   the   sunlight   and   surrounded   by   his   beloved   children.   he   surveyed   the   crowd   with   a   quiet   pride,   gaze   coming   to   linger   on   his   grandson.   as   he   raised   his   hand,   the   crowd   stilled   and   his   voice   rang   out,   strong   and   sure:   “in   honor   of   prince   aenys,   the   future   of   house   targaryen,   and   the   unity   of   our   great   realm,   let   the   tourney   of   the   heir   commence!"    cheers   erupted   and   nobles   hurried   to   sign   their   names   to   the   lists   of   events.

in   the   melee,   those   of   every   rank   and   renown   would   clash   in   a   chaotic,   thrilling   battle.   groups   of   nobles,   sworn   brothers   in   arms   or   rivals   from   distant   lands,   would   fight   side   by   side   and   against   each   other   in   a   contest   of   strength,   agility,   and   cunning.   the   dust   would   rise   and   swirl   as   swords   clanged   and   shields   splintered,   each   warrior   striving   to   be   the   last   left   standing   amidst   the   roars   of   the   crowd. for   those   skilled   with   a   bow,   the   archery   contest   would   test   their   precision   and   focus.   marksmen   of   unparalleled   skill,   some   of   whom   had   traveled   leagues   to   attend,   take   aim   at   targets   placed   further   and   further   away.   in   the   still   silence   of   each   shot,   the   crowd   holds   its   collective   breath,   waiting   to   see   which   archers   would   claim   the   title   of   the   finest   bowman   in   the   realm. the   nearby   kingswood   would   host   the   hunting   challenge,   where   nobles   and   hunters   of   skill   would   race   through   the   trees,   tracking   game   and   bringing   it   back   to   the   tourney   grounds.   with   the   sounds   of   hounds   and   the   thrill   of   the   chase,   those   hunters   strive   to   capture   the   rarest   and   most   impressive   prey   to   present   to   the   heir. on   the   fields,   overlooking   blackwater   bay,   footraces   awaited   those   swift   and   nimble.   nobles   young   and   old   had   signed   up,   some   seeking   the   honor   of   victory,   others   simply   the   thrill   of   competition. the   artisan's   showcase   awaits,   a   gallery   of   the   finest   creations   in   westeros.   armorers,   weavers,   jewelers,   sculptors,   and   painters,   would   display   their   craft   for   the   nobles,   hoping   to   impress   with   their   skill.   they   who   create   the   king's   pick   of   the   showcase   will   have   their   art   proudly   displayed   in   the   red   keep   for   all   to   see,   as   well   as   a   pricey   commission   from   king   daeron   as   a   gift   to   his   daughter   upon   time   of   her   reign. on   the   final   day,   the   jousting   tournament   occurs   at   the   lists.   it   was   set   to   be   the   grandest   display   of   the   tourney,   where   armored   knights   would   ride   into   the   lists,   lances   lowered,   hearts   steeled.   brave   lieges   from   across   the   realm   had   arrived   to   test   their   mettle,   all   hoping   to   the   claim   the   title   of   champion   of   the   heir   ...   and   the   500   gold   dragons   king   daeron   has   promised   to   the   winner.

as   the   trumpets   signal   the   end   of   each   day's   contests,   the   air   in   king's   landing   shifts   from   the   roar   of   the   tourney   grounds   to   the   warm   anticipation   of   the   evening's   feast.   with   nightfall,   nobles   and   common   folk   alive   made   their   way   to   the   great   hall   of   the   red   keep.   under   the   flickering   glow   of   torchlight,   the   hall   transforms   into   a   realm   of   feasting   and   revelry,   every   table   brimming   with   delicacies   fit   for   a   king.   long   tables   overflow   with   roasted   boar,   baked   breads,   platters   of   fish,   and   fruits   glistening   like   jewels.   at   the   head   table,   king   daeron   is   joined   by   his   beloved   wife,   the   prince   and   princess   of   dragonstone,   and   the   prince   of   pyke   and   his   lady   wife;   stark   divide   in   the   targaryens   of   the   crownlands   and   those   of   the   iron   islands.   but   in   these   nights,   the   red   keep   becomes   a   place   of   shared   celebration   where   titles   are   briefly   forgotten   and   laughter   and   stories   flows   as   freely   as   the   wine. 

nobles   are   invited   to   peruse   the   tourney   events   at   their   leisure,   and   those   who   sign   up   will   be   made   a   spectacle   at   each   night's   feast.   following   the   joust   on   the   final   day,   king   daeron   intends   to   gather   the   nobility   of   westeros   within   the   great   hall   for   closing   remarks   before   allowing   them   to   return   to   their   homes   from   whence   they   came.   this   event   is   sure   to   go   down   in   the   history   books   as   the   most   glorious   occasion   within   king   daeron's   reign   —   a   show   of   pride   for   his   children   and   the   families   they   are   creating.

EVENT    ONE  :  THE    TOURNEY    OF    THE    HEIR.

over   the   course   of   the   next   two   weeks,   the   dash   will   host   the   tourney   of   the   heir.   guests   are   welcome   to   attend   the   event   but   may   refrain   and   explore   the   grounds   to   their   heart's   desire.  ��please   feel   free   to   choose   from   which   day   you   would   like   to   highlight   in   your   writing.   there   will   be   threads   within   the   discord   to   sign   your   character(s)   up   for   these   events.   the   schedule   can   be   found   below.

day   one:   the   melee

day   two:   the   archery   contest

day   three:   the   hunt

day   four:   the   footraces

day   five:   the   artisan's   showcase

day   six   &   seven:   the   joust

as   we   are   still   newly   open,   starter   requirements   will   be   waived   for   one   week.   please   tag   all   open   starters   as   #ftv.start.

seeing   as   this   event   will   be   pivotal   in   our   time   of   king's   landing,   please   use   #ftv.tourney   for   all   posts   related   to   this   event.

while   in   game,   this   event   will   occur   over   the   length   of   one   week,   it   will   occur   over   two   weeks   out   of   character,   concluding   on   saturday,   november   9.   throughout   the   course   of   the   event,   results   for   tourney   happenings   will   be   posted   as   well   as   some   other   fun   things   that   have   happened.   any   and   all   information   related   to   this   event   will   be   tagged   on   the   main   under   #ftv.tourney!

[definegodliness]

Parisian street lights

Before me, The ornamental arch Of her silken arms, where, atop, With shimmering rings, And painted fingernails, Svelte fingers interlace.

That, I witness, captivated.

And so it is, my wandering Eyes Have made Her ivory arch, A triumphal gateway, As antecedently, so, Invited, my glances toward Her bosom, blushing, and pearl-adorned, Have — and, so, prolongating — lingered; Welcomed To be more than visitors.

So, I am now held captive; Mesmerized by this image Of an arch of arms and interlaced fingers, Where, atop, by master sculptor chiseled, Perches an angelic face; Her unenigmatic Gaze Deeply penetrating my eyes, Leaving the lastly remaining Mysteries To her Crimson smile.

Her smile, that victoriously unveils, Yet therein, surreptitiously, betrays Only That her mind Has taken me Away from this bistro Table; wandering off to Places; situations, Of which, Before today, I had never dared dream, But tonight — tonight! — she Stares, They will all Become Real.

--- 18-1-2024, M.A. Tempels ©