#the universe has a sick and twisted sense of humor

[astertimberwolf]

I miss my Italian grandma.

She is the reason I love Ruby. Because they share the same personality.

This is the reason I am still in love with the adult version of a fictional character.

My Italian gran was the only healthy maternal figure I had growing up... And the only person to love me unconditionally in my entire life.

... And I'm afraid it will stay that way, with how things are going...

...

There. I said it. The cat is out of the bag.

May the budding rose she imprinted in my heart stay intact and safe, even though it will likely never get to bloom...

All the other bad imprinting, represented by roots of all evil, has / have been removed.

This rosebud is the only living flower standing in the middle of the snowy clearing and scenery inside my soul.

I will cherish this rose forever, with all I have.

[shintin]

The Wacky Widow's Woes

↳ Gojo Satoru x Female Reader

Comedy one-shot

Summary: In a twist of fate, the most obnoxious person on Earth, Gojo Satoru, appeared by your hospital bed. Clearly, the universe had a wicked sense of humor.

Word count: 5k.

Genre: comedy, fluff, yapping (Jujutsu Kaisen au).

Warnings/Tags: humor, no angst, whipped Satoru Gojo, bitchy reader, a lot of jokes about chapter 236 of the JJK manga (my personal healing process), mention of Kitkat, prepare for Gojo's nauseating love for his wife, who's probably sick of him.

Notes: I hope you laugh your ass off while reading this.

You can read my fics on AO3. If you have any questions, don’t be shy and ASK.

On a very, very, very dull autumn afternoon, we find ourselves in a hospital room where its fancy ass curtains are just letting in enough sunlight to cast a gloomy, eerie glow.

There, on the bed, lies a woman who seems to have become one with the medical equipment—or, better to say, a high-tech octopus. Wires and tubes sprout from her body like overgrown vines, connecting her to an orchestra of beeping machines. It's like a twisted version of a modern art installation, where chaos and order collide in a symphony of medical mayhem.

The woman, blissfully oblivious to the cacophony surrounding her, snores away, blissfully lost in dreamland. It's almost comical how she manages to find solace amidst the tangled wires and the chorus of beeps. One might wonder if she's dreaming of a magical place where the cables turn into candy canes and the machines play cheerful tunes instead of somber heartbeats.

The lighting in the room sucks, perhaps to match the mood or new architectural ambiance design. For fuck's sake, who knows! Shadows dance across the walls, conspiring with the flickering fluorescent lights to create an atmosphere that's equal parts unsettling and strangely fascinating.

As if to bring a touch of irony to the scene, a sad excuse for a vase sits on a nearby table, barely holding onto life. Its wilted flowers, once vibrant and alive, now resemble a bouquet of autumn hues gone horribly wrong. It's a symbolic reminder that beauty is fleeting, just like the woman's health, and that even in the darkness, there's a twisted kind of beauty to be found.

The room carries the unmistakable scent of sterile cleanliness, mingled with a hint of despair. It's the kind of smell that makes you want to open a window and let in some fresh air (read jump out), but alas, in this hospital room, fresh air seems like a distant memory.

Well, hold on to your hospital gown because here's a plot twist for you! Picture this: you've been envisioning this serene hospital room, reading it in all its autumnal glory, and guess what? The woman lying on that bed, surrounded by beeping machines and tubes, is none other than... drumroll... you!

Yep, you're the star of the show, ready to wake up and face your second stroke. But hey, don't worry, it's not going to be as boring as your room décor. No, no, life has decided to throw you a curveball and add a dash of excitement to your hospital stay. Who needs a peaceful recovery when you can have a stroke sequel, right?

So get ready to jolt awake and embrace the chaos! Remember, even in between unexpected events, a good sense of humor can be the best medicine. Laughter might not cure your condition, but it can certainly make the hospital experience a little more bearable. So, chin up, brave stroke survivor! Your story is about to take an exciting turn!

Well, well, well.

As you wake up from your beauty sleep, feeling as if you've been smooching a cactus all night, the machines around you decide to unleash their inner DJs with a symphony of beeps. How thoughtful of them to create an auditory masterpiece that grates on your nerves like a tone-deaf choir. Ah, music to your ears, right?

But fear not, the brave warrior of hydration! You are on a noble quest to conquer the desert that has taken residence in your mouth. Summoning every ounce of strength (and probably some residual grumpiness), you muster the strength to ascend from your pillow fortress. With your hand gracefully reaching out for that tempting glass of water, victory feels within reach.

Your hand hovers mid-air as if suspended by an invisible force, frozen in a moment of pure disbelief. Just when you think the universe couldn't possibly play a more mischievous trick on you, there he was—sitting on the couch like he owns the place—the one person you would rather avoid more than a clown with a pie in hand. Seriously, is this some cosmic prank show?

Your eyes widen in disbelief, your heart skips a beat, and you can't help but let out a little groan. It's like the universe is trying to test your resilience, throwing you into this hilariously uncomfortable situation. Oh, the irony!

You: Hell no! What the fuck are you doing here?

Right in front of your very eyes sits the epitome of style and charm��a man sporting a white shirt and black pants combo that would weaken fashion gurus at the knees. No sunglasses dare cross the path of this confident fellow, for his piercing ocean-blue eyes need no protection from the sun's feeble attempts to outshine them.

But wait, there's more! Let's not forget about his head adorned with fluffy white hair that could rival the fluffiest clouds. Ugh!

Satoru: Hello to you too, love!

He strikes a pose that screams, "I'm the king of this couch!" With one leg casually crossed over the other and his arms spread wide on the back of the couch, he's claiming his throne in the most nonchalant and hilarious way possible.

Satoru: Is this how you greet your beloved husband?

You: Fuck off!

With the speed of a ninja on a caffeine high, you swiftly pull the blanket up to your chest, fully aware that the hospital gowns offer about as much coverage as a single sheet of tissue paper. Yes, those flimsy garments are the Victoria's Secret of the medical world—barely there and leaving little to the imagination! And just when you thought the situation couldn't get any more entertaining, you catch a glimpse of his famous smile. Asshole! Is he peeping on you?

Satoru: Aha! The feisty spirit lives on! Missed your sassy attitude.

He grins like a mischievous little rascal who just stumbled upon a secret stash of dad jokes, except it's a porn website!

Satoru: And, of course, your perked-up nipples!

Summoning your inner grumpy penguin, you dramatically cross your arms over your chest, shooting him a glare that could make a grizzly bear retreat in fear.

You: well, Mr. White-Haired Head with a stinky smirk and eyes bluer than a bottle of Windex, I didn't miss you AT ALL!

Satoru: Why, oh why, did you dye your hair white if you claim not to miss me, baby? Is it some secret signal to the hair gods that you're ready to experience the adventure of life without my captivating presence? Or perhaps it's your way of channeling the wisdom of Gandalf and Dumbledore, hoping that your newly snowy locks will grant you magical powers to forget all about me?

You: Hold your horses, chatterbox! My hair has turned snowy white without any meddling from me. No, I didn't secretly sprinkle it with magic hair dye while cackling like a mischievous sorcerer, you idiot!

Satoru: Whoopsie daisy! You've got a point there. Did I accidentally step on your delicate feelings, wise and experienced grandma?

In a grand display of determination, you muster every ounce of strength to grab the pillow behind your back, preparing to launch it at him. Alas, it seems the strength of a thousand paperclips has possessed your hands, rendering them feeble and incapable of fulfilling your pillow-throwing dreams. The valiant effort leaves you gasping for air as if you have just completed a marathon of pillow-tossing.

Satoru: Yowai mo!

He erupts into laughter, showcasing his undeniable talent as a professional tease.

You: Cut the crapola! Spill the beans! What on earth has brought you to this neck of the woods?

With your firm tone that could rival a drill sergeant's, the machine begins beeping faster than a sugar-rushed hummingbird on roller skates. It's as if the beeps are making their best impression of a hyperactive jazz band, matching the frantic tempo of your skyrocketing heart rates.

Satoru: I'll be rolling on the floor in laughter if you drop dead from the sheer intensity of your anger, Granny. Let's be real; finding inner peace is way more beneficial for you in the long run. Just saying!

You: Satoru!

Satoru: Yep, that's me. Breaking hearts and taking names. Can't a poor soul like me simply pay a visit to my dear wife on her deathbed?

You: Hell to the no! You can't just waltz in our life whenever you please! Sorry, but you lost that VIP visiting privilege when you—

Satoru: Oh, and on that note, could that charming chick who graced you with her presence earlier be our beloved daughter?

You sigh, exasperated, and gently rub your forehead as if trying to coax that headache into submission. Ah, the joys of a headache that seems set on conquering you before any actual sickness does. With a dramatic sweep of your hand across your face, you channel your inner drama queen and then grab your neck.

You: Oh, please, for the love of all that is awkward, just tell me that you didn't try to work your "smooth moves" on her.

Satoru: I was this close to making a move, you know? She's like a spitting image of when I was head over heels for you! It's like you've managed to clone yourself or something. Should I be worried? Did you secretly stash away all my precious genes and hoard them for your own amusement? Well, I guess I can't blame you for wanting to keep all those sperms to yourself! But seriously, she doesn't look like me at all. I am hurt!

He pouts like a baby, forever stuck in his eternal state of immaturity, but you aren't about to let that deter you. With an air of defiance, you casually lean against the hospital bed board, gazing intently at the serum making its grand entrance into your veins. Oh, and that obnoxious machine chiming away? You can't help but wish it could just shut up.

You: It's actually better for her, you know. At least she doesn't have anything that serves as a constant reminder of her absent father, who couldn't even be bothered to be present during her birth!

Your words are like a sarcasm waterfall, cascading with vicious wit. You've mastered the art of tongue-in-cheek remarks, and while you're fully aware of their potency, you couldn't care less. It's like you've got a license to sass, and you're not afraid to use it, even if it makes the world say, "Well, ain't you a delightful ray of sunshine!"

Satoru: Let's not paint the picture as if I had some glamorous options! Nope, I was bestowed with the honor of being the designated problem-solver, the one expected to handle it all while gracefully tiptoeing through—

You: Oh, pretty please! If it's not too much trouble, continue your reign as the honored one through heaven and earth, while sparing me from any additional bouts of annoyance. I must say, it's quite the talent you possess—being both honored and a master of irritation. Quite the balancing act, I must admit!

As you clench the blanket in desperation, that rebellious needle gleefully plunges itself into your hand. Fuck unexpected pain! And there, decorating your arm like a chilling masterpiece, are the bruises—trophy marks from your encounters with the needle army. Who knew injections could become an avant-garde art form? With tears welling up and the air growing thinner, it feels like the room is leaving you gasping for breath just to have a twisted sort of fun. Bravo, universe, for your fucked up sense of humor! A standing ovation for this macabre spectacle.

Satoru: Love?

You: …

Satoru: Baby?

You: …

Satoru: My Wondrous Whipped Cream Warrior, the Caramel Crusader, the Sprinkle Spritzer, the Marshmallow Maestro, the Treat Tornado, the Sugar Rush Superstar, the Jelly-filled Joy Bringer, and the Sweetness Sorceress who turns my world into a Never-ending Dessert Buffet! The Honeyed Pussy of—

You: WHAT? WHAT DO YOU WANT, SATORU?

You are wheezing like a chain-smoking asthmatic, desperately gasping for air, and his attitude is about as helpful as a wet matchstick. You and the mysteries of poor life choices! What possessed you, in that twisted moment of madness, to willingly plunge into the depths of infatuation with him? It's a dark, twisted enigma that not even the Grim Reaper could decipher.

Satoru: Are you still mad?

As you tilt your head, there he is, looking at you with those big, blue eyes, like a lost poppy desperately trying to win the "Most Heart-Melting Flower" award. What a sneaky trickster! He knows exactly what he is doing, employing his secret weapon of irresistible gazes, and darn it; it works like a charm! You can't resist the powers of those eyes, and you reluctantly surrender, cursing his effective tactics while secretly admiring his diabolical brilliance. Well played, Mr. Blue-Eyed Mother Fucker, well played.

You: I never stopped being mad at you!

Satoru: Fair, but you have to know that—

You: Spare me the creative excuses, please! You pulled off the greatest magic trick of all—knocking me up—and then poof! You disappeared into thin air, leaving me with a growing belly and a bewildered expression. Good job, Houdini!

Satoru: You're welcome, baby. But you've got to cut me some slack here! My job description practically has "Accident Enthusiast" written all over it. It's not like I wake up in the morning, rubbing my hands together, thinking, "Oh boy, I can't wait for another mishap!" So, let's blame it on my occupational hazard, shall we?

You: Oh, well, then, thank you so much for gracing us with your presence again! You chose to go down that path because, of course, you believed you were the one and only capable being in the universe. And oh, how lucky we are that you decided to leave me and our daughter behind. It's truly heartwarming to see you saunter back into our lives after years like it's just another casual stroll in the park. I mean, who needs a father figure during precious moments like birth, first words, and first steps, right? Clearly, you had more important things to attend to. Our daughter has grown up and gone through school, and I've had the pleasure of explaining why her dad couldn't be bothered to pick her up like those "normal" dads. Graduation, dating, first job—she did it all without you, and we couldn't be more grateful for your consistent absence. Now you have the audacity to—

You start coughing, and each painful gasp feels like your lungs are being ruthlessly ripped apart, leaving behind crimson stains on your once immaculate sheets and hands. And there he stands, towering tall, as handsome as the day he first stole your heart. It's just not fair that he still looks so good while sickness has mercilessly drained the life from your weary soul. He approaches you, the lingering scent of vanilla clinging to him, a bittersweet reminder of what you once cherished but now resentfully long for.

Satoru: Take a sip of water. Do you want me to help you?

Oh, he's all worried now, isn't he? But honestly, after enduring all that post-him misery, you're not about to let him off the hook just because he's offering a glass of water. Come on, you might be a little dumb, but you're not "drink-water-and-forget-all-the-pain" dumb! Nice try, buddy, but you'll need more than H2O to wash away the mess you left behind.

You: I DON'T NEED YOUR GODDAMN HELP! How about you kindly take a flying leap back to wherever you've been hiding all this time? I'm sure you've perfected your disappearing act by now. And don't forget to leave behind a trail of glittering resentment as you go, just to keep things spicy. Ta-ta, farewell, and may you step on a thousand Lego bricks on your way out!

Satoru: Listen up, partner in crime! I've had enough of leaving you to your own devices. It's been tough for me, too, and I sincerely apologize for piling on the hardship. But I learned my lesson! Starting right this very moment, I'm making a solemn vow never to ditch you again. Consider me your loyal sidekick, ready to tackle life's challenges together, even if it means enduring endless reruns of your favorite TV show or subjecting myself to your cooking experiments. We're in this for the long haul, love!

You use the sleeve of your flimsy, ridiculous gown to clumsily wipe away the blood from your mouth, all the while shooting him a perplexed look. Seriously, how on earth does he still manage to gaze at you with those doe eyes, all lovey-dovey, when you're rocking the vampire-on-a-sunlit-day aesthetic?

You: So, you decided to grace me with your presence just because I'm sick?

Satoru: Yes.

You: I see how it is! You're not here because you missed me, huh?

Satoru: Uh-oh, am I about to witness another round of your infamous anger? But hey, before you explode like a volcano, let me enlighten you that I didn't write the rulebook on how things work. Nope, not my area of expertise. Turns out, the universe didn't consult me when setting up the whole system. It seems they left me out of the committee meeting where they decided the rules of life. Classic!

You: Does it hurt?

Satoru: It hurt me badly because I snapped in half like a Kit-Kat bar. And no, there wasn't a delicious wafer filling in between, just pure pain and emotional wreckage.

You: Come on, Satoru! This is not the time for your quirky sense of humor. I mean, seriously, I saw your guts out in the open, and to top it off, ants decided to take a leisurely hike on them.

Satoru: TV producers really went all out with the graphic details, huh? Sure, I appreciate high-definition viewing, but did they need a close-up of my stuff? Talk about taking reality TV to a whole new level! I hope they provided a warning. Note to self: avoid snacking while watching shows that involve anatomical explorations!

You: SATORU!

Satoru: Alright, alright, no need to get serious! Can't a man crack a joke about his own death around here? Fine, I'll hold your hand during the whole thing. You know, I once spouted that cliché line about dying alone, but let's face it, that was a load of nonsense. Nobody goes down that final road solo. It's like a grand exit party!

You: Oh, really? So, you had some company, huh? Well, you know what they say: ignorance is bliss. I don't need the details, and my imagination can take a wild ride all on its own

Satoru: Jealousy looks good on you, love.

As he bends closer, his breath tickles your lips, making you wonder if he had onions for lunch. With a dramatic flourish, he grabs your chin as if auditioning for a cheesy romance movie. And then, like a vacuum cleaner on turbo mode, he plants a kiss that sucks the air right out of your lungs. It's like indulging in a dessert buffet filled with marshmallows, caramel, and insulin shots. Who needs a thrill ride at an amusement park when you can experience a sugar rush of epic proportions? You may be risking diabetes, but hey, at least you'll be leaving this world with a sweet tooth satisfied and an unforgettable, albeit comical, memory of that last smooch.

Unfortunately, after what feels like a fleeting eternity, he decides to break the kiss. As your eyes meet, you can't help but sneak a glance downwards, wondering if his pants harbored any surprises. Alas, it appears that either he's a master of disguise or ghosts have taught him their spectacular talent for concealment. Sneaky whores!

Satoru: Are you ready to go?

Oh, snap! Once the horniness fades away, reality hits you like a ton of bricks. Holy shit! How did you manage to forget about your daughter? Leaving her behind is definitely not the best parenting move. Time to snap back into responsible mode and give that little one the attention she deserves. Parenthood: where forgetfulness meets a reality check!

You: Will she be okay?

Satoru: She's our little munchkin. She'll be alright.

You: I want to see her for the last time.

Satoru: You can see her whenever you want.

You: WHAT?

He scratches his head, messing up his undercut, desperately trying to dodge eye contact like a game of social hide-and-seek.

Satoru: Ops! Did I just spill the beans on one of the perks of the afterlife? My bad! My master plan was to witness that priceless guilty expression on your face when we reached the pearly gates. Imagine your shock when you realized you blamed me for no reason, only to discover I had a front-row seat to all your shenanigans during all those years! Oh, the things I've seen! I know how many times you've touched yourself thinking about me! No judging, though! And yes, I know you secretly fumed when our little bundle of joy uttered "Dada" before "Mama." Don't worry, I won't tell a soul... except, you know, all the other souls up there. It's the ultimate celestial gossip!

You: WHAT? YOU KNOW EVERYTHING? THEN WHY THE FUCK YOU ASKED IF SHE'S OUR DAUGHTER?

Satoru: First, just to tickle your pickle. Second, as I cunningly planned.

You: You're still a brat!

Satoru: And you're still as beautiful as the day I lost you.

You: Smooth words, my friend, but let's not kid ourselves. I won't buy into any deceit. I'm old, wrinkled, and sick. Time and disease are killing me, just as you hated. Meanwhile, you continue to flaunt that glorious chiseled chest and those rock-hard butt cheeks.

Satoru: Thank you, ma'am, for keeping my ass in your thoughts. Speaking of which, I must confess I've made some boneheaded decisions along the way. Opting for death in the name of someone else can seem like a breeze compared to the complexity of choosing to live for them. So, kudos to you for being the badass who faced life's challenges to honor my memory.

You: I hope this is not just a dream.

Satoru: We can give it a try and see for ourselves.

As Satoru reaches out his hand, something extraordinary unfolds—the machine starts beeping. You look at the device, noticing that the time between beeps gradually increases. But then, your gaze shifts to your cherished spouse, the man whose absence has left an indelible void within you. The man with whom you would have fearlessly confronted doomsday on that fateful December 24th in 2018, had it not been for the fact that you were carrying his last trace of existence, a precious legacy nestled within your very being.

You: You feel so warm.

Satoru: Some things never change.

His hand gracefully slides towards your waist, triggering a chain reaction of chaos. Those pesky wires and tubes that were so dutifully attached to you? Well, they decide it's time for a break and go on a wild unplugging spree. It's like a rebellious dance party of freedom for those little connectors! And just when you thought things couldn't get any more exciting, your feet are about to touch the chilly floor, ready to embark on an unplanned adventure.

You: Hold up! Fetch my wheelchair for me!

Satoru: You don't need it anymore.

As you place your feet on the floor, you can't help but chuckle at the fact that your knees manage to hold up, allowing you to stand upright. The machines emit a continuous beeping sound, indicating a flat line on the monitor. Suddenly, the door swings open, and a troupe of nurses storm into the room. They swiftly gather around your motionless body lying on the bed. One nurse examines your vital signs, another administers an injection into your vein, and a third retrieves a machine to deliver cardiac shocks in an attempt to revive you. Witnessing these intense moments, you hold Satoru's hand tighter.

You: I don't want to come back.

Satoru: Are you sure?

Tears well up in the corners of your eyes and trickle down your cheeks as you gaze at him.

You: Yeah. I've spent more time living with your memory than I've had the opportunity to live alongside you.

Satoru's grip on your hand intensifies like he's determined to etch his touch into your very being. He lifts your hand delicately, planting a tender kiss upon it. Drawing you closer to him, he envelopes you in an embrace, burying your face in the warmth of his chest. With gentle affection, he presses a kiss upon the crown of your head, leaning his head upon yours.

As teardrops trickle onto your head, you find yourself clinging to him desperately, as if trying to hold onto the fragments of a shattered existence. In that agonizing moment, the harsh reality of his unfulfilled roles crashes down upon you like a relentless wave. He has endured the torment of being a husband bereft of a wife, a father denied a child, and a sensei forsaken his students.

Satoru: I will never let go of you anymore.

You: Is this just another one of those "oops, my bad" promises? You know, like when you swore to be to hold me for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health?

Satoru: Heyyy! I held you till death do us part. I even remember, the night before my, um, grand finale, I held you so good that you had spread your legs, moaning my name and begging me to hold you harder.

Just as you are ready to break free from his grasp and deliver a well-deserved bonk on his clueless head, the scene takes an unexpected turn. Your doctor rushes into the room and towards your bed, barking orders left and right, and proceeds to administer yet another mysterious injection into your poor, defenseless vein.

Deciding to redirect your attention, you avert your gaze and catch sight of your reflection in the nearby window. To your astonishment, your hair has magically reverted to its former glory, defying the clutches of time. Wrinkles? Vanished as if a skilled magician performed a grand disappearing act. You're suddenly transported back to the good ol' days of youthfulness. Bewildered, you inspect your once-bruised hands, only to find them as flawless as a newborn's.

You: Satoru? What's—

Satoru: I know, right? It turns out one of the unexpected bonuses of kicking the bucket is that you get to rock your sexiest form once again. So, brace yourself because I won't behave when you sashay around in that gorgeous drop-dead gown. I can't keep it in my pants till we arrive and I start making cream pies and babies with you!

You: Oh, my goodness! Does it actually work in the afterlife as well?

Satoru: You're referring to my... um, dick? Let me tell you, it still has the same old magic, if not a little extra pizzazz! It's like a fine wine, aging gracefully and delivering peak performance in the afterlife. Who knew there would be such perks beyond the grave?

You: No, idiot! I mean babies!

Satoru: How should I know? I made sure to wear a condom during my frisky encounters with angels.

You can't help but release an exasperated breath, causing your ears to turn as red as a tomato in a sauna. The thought of giving him a good old-fashioned strangling and sending him off to the after-afterlife has you chuckling at the absurdity of it all.

Satoru: Would it tickle your funny bone if I threw caution to the wind and played a game of "heavenly roulette" with unprotected encounters, potentially earning myself some out-of-this-world STD souvenirs?

With a masterful brow raise and a world-class eye roll, you are all set to deliver the ultimate "exit stage left" move. But he pulls off the ultimate surprise maneuver and hits you with the "Hold up, wait a minute" move. He has a secret superpower to freeze you in your snarky tracks! Goddammit! Those puppy eyes again.

Satoru: I was joking, okay? I just jerked off while watching your showering or self-exploration activities. I mean, fingering yourself while calling my name. That's it! Okay? Also, we should have a talk about that dildo you named Hollow Purple!

You: So, it seems you shamelessly watched everything, hm?

Satoru: Yes. Absolutely! I had a lot of spare time to slay, and, hey, let's not divert our attention from the Hollow Purple subject, you dirty little mouse!

You: God! Kill me already!

Satoru: Why? You're just itching to infiltrate the kingdom of my pants, aren't you?

You: You know what? I've had a change of heart. I'd rather try my chances with cosmic sickness than spend an eternity with your delightful company!

Satoru: Goodness gracious! You and your fiery temper! How on earth did you manage to cast a spell on me, making me fall for you?

You: It's common knowledge among our friends that everybody should bow down to your shameless expertise in the art of begging!

Satoru: Is that so?

He displays a smug smirk, his arms crossed firmly over his chest.

Satoru: Well, we can ask when we see them.

Your eyes go from their regular setting to full-on "wide-angle lens" mode, capturing the world in all its wide-eyed wonder. It is as if someone presses the "zoom" button on your peepers, revealing a comical level of astonishment.

You: They are there, too?

Satoru: Oh boy, buckle up for Nanamin's epic rage when he discovers our fashionably late entrance!

You: Well, chop-chop! Time to hit the road! We wouldn't want to unleash the wrath of the entire afterlife just because your chatty ass decided to go on such a long monologue!

He leans in and gently kisses your forehead, intertwining his fingers with yours as he guides you towards the door. As you both stand at the doorway, you cast a lingering gaze upon the nurses and doctor, who seem to have thrown in the towel on their attempts to revive you.

Satoru: I can't wait to spook everyone alongside you. You'll forever be my always.

Author's Note: I had an absolute blast writing this.

@enchantedforest-network 🤍

[twothpaste]

thinkin bout kumatora & postgame claus

How surreal it must be - after fighting for their lives against the Masked Man multiple times - for Claus to suddenly be airdropped into Kumatora's periphery. How she knew, quite possibly from the first time she laid eyes on him, who he really was. But she refused to intervene, couldn't bring herself to tell Lucas, bitterly resigned herself to writing him off as a lost cause. Now, against all odds or reason, he's still here. And he's literally just a scared broken kid.

The fact he looks just like Lucas is probably beyond gutwrenching. Kuma traveled their whole tiny fuckin' world with Lucas at her side, put all her trust in him, welcomed him into her life as her dearest friend. She came to admire his bravery. She saw his innocence pitted against everyone else's cruelty, and swore to protect him. And now there's this kid - who shares his face - who got kidnapped and chopped up and stitched back together with incorrect metal parts. Got fucking lobotomized, totally mind wiped - everything Kuma finds wholesome and earnest and lovable about Lucas was ripped away from Claus. One of his eyes is sick with exhaustion, the other's some intrusive mechanical mockery they stuffed into his mess of scars. Even just glancing at him probably invokes horrific hypotheticals and gruesome imagery in Kumatora's head, what if they'd done that to Lucas, if they'd done that to Lucas she'd burn down the whole fucking planet Earth!! And why shouldn't she, when they did it to his identical twin brother?! And Claus flinches at the way she looks at him, senses her telepathic fury - probably thinks she's vying for vengeance against him, for what he did to her friends and her family - and he wouldn't blame her! And Kumatora's gotta stand up and leave the room, before her tears start boiling over.

How Claus tries his darndest to rekindle his old self, tryin to cast necromancy on his goofy childhood sense of humor, the boisterous little schmuck he used to be. He musters toothy grins, he attempts reckless stunts, he pokes fun at his brother. And sure, Kuma's heard plenty of stories from Lucas about that funny ol' farm boy. She's sharp as a knife though. She can tell Claus is forcing it. But somehow the effort is all the more tragic, even endearing, maybe even relatable. Hasn't she been putting up a tough front all this time, too? While she too oughtta be grieving her family? Claus cracks some corny-ass joke, and she catches the dry strain in his awkward tweenage voice. But she laughs with him anyways. And reaches over to ruffle his stupid orange hair.

He has trouble sleeping, often plagued by night terrors, and insomnia, and all the strange aches in his mangled and mutilated body. Kuma has trouble sleeping, too. It's hard to shut her brain up at night, now that her whole universe has been twisted inside out and turned on its head. While Lucas snoozes like a pile of rocks, she stays up to accompany his brother. They try to talk about everything besides the shit that's happened to them. If not just for their own sakes, for each others'. She'd like to take his mind off it, if she can. When he tells another dumb joke, this time about how badly Duster's socks reek, she blinks. Recognizing he's tryin' to do the same for her. His strains and migraines sometimes steal away his humor, his sleep, and even his breath. Kuma's got PSI Lifeup. Not as potent as Lucas'. But she'll offer what she can. Mixolydia taught her to knead tension from temples, and how to give a halfway decent shoulder massage. She's mortified to discover his muscles are just as tense as the steel on the other side. She tries to laugh that off, too. And hold back another round of broiling tears, when he musters a weak chuckle in reply.

Claus should've known the "tough older brother" schtick wasn't built to last. They're twins, for christ's sake. A difference of fourteen minutes doesn't make him any more reliable, doesn't make him a better protector, doesn't charge him with any more responsibility than Lucas. Still, the cutesy mythos their family and neighbors'd built around the two of them stays lodged in his chest. Alongside the bygone image of his wimpy younger twin, cryin' his guts out over a scraped knee. Claus' failure feels immense, unconscionable, treachery of the highest degree. Somehow, though? Havin' a big sister almost seems to balance the scales. Puts it all into clearer perspective. He used to wear 'eldest sibling' as a badge of honor. These days, he's relieved to find the burden's not quite all his. Kuma guides both twins to trespass with her on a high rooftop. And catches Lucas by the collar, when a clumsy overstep nearly has him slippin' off the edge.

She confesses her darkest secret, on one of those sleepless nights. Tells him she knew from the start, that Lucas had a twin. Put the pieces together the minute she saw him, leering down from that airship, his helmet gleaming in the sun. And her molten tears finally get the better of her - "damn it" - when she reckons she might couldda saved him, freed him that much sooner, kept him from havin' to fight his brother - if only she'd been brave enough to say so. Probably not, really. But maybe. Kumatora may expect somethin' akin to vengeance, in the way he looks at her. She wouldn't blame him. He shakes his head, though. Says he's sorry, too - for what he did to her family. That maybe each n' every one of 'em would still be here, if not for him. Probably not. But maybe. When she lost Ionia, Kumatora'd been convinced there was no one left in this world who would love her. She's starting to realize these days that she was gravely mistaken. She's not only loved, but needed. It's a warm, curious, brand new feeling in her chest. Deep in Claus' guts, twisted as it all seems, some part of him is just glad someone recognized the kid in the mask.

They hug it out. And maybe wrestle a little, before falling asleep at dawn.

[oh-katsuki]

okay I just read your stsg fic and right after the tendou fic and for some reason my brain started combining the two and I started thinking stsg + stepcest + older brothers best friend and idk....I'm into it I think

hmmNMJFDNAGFJKRNGVJKREN oh ill THROW UP THAT'S SO FNRIJEAGVNREJGNRJBVNREJLKN SEXXYYY HFNREJKANVGJREHKABV sorry if this makes so sense im like drooling and hollering at the screen and everything

cw: fem!reader, use of she/her pronouns, stepcest (but gojo lowkey is imagining it's incest sorry), i say SISTER CUNT!, vaginal fingering, threesome, suguru is basically a spectator but he loves it, everyone is so strange and disgusting ill moan

ugh satoru as the overly clingy big brother type. the kind that makes the people around him mildly uncomfortable because he absolutely has a sister complex. he's even gone so far as to share an apartment with you while you're in university, makes the financial burden a little easier.

he's like.... infatuated. he thinks that you're fucking precious and so damn pretty it makes him sick. satoru just can't get over how obsessed with you he is. to him, you're the perfect little sister.

the age gap isn't all that big. four years, give or take a few, but satoru still treats you like you'll break. he likes to spoil you. likes to buy you things and feed you and make you feel pretty.

thing is though, he also obsesses over who you date. satoru likes to know who you're seeing, when you're seeing them, and how far you're going with them. of course, you'd never tell him if you were fucking someone or not, so he's left to assume. satoru's gotta fill in the gaps. he knows you're having sex though. there's really no way he couldn't, what with the way you stay out at night.

and suguru... suguru is satoru's best friend from college. a bit of a brute, with a silver tongue and a borderline twisted sense of humor, the two of them are like peas in a pod.

of course, suguru knows you. satoru's pretty little sister who is either an idiot or willfully ignorant to her brother's overt sexual obsession with her. it's a little funny to suguru actually, just how fucked up satoru is over you. of course, he probably would be too if he lived in the place you showered in. that would send any guy in his right might a little fucking bonkers and satoru has never been all too deep on the sane end of things.

course, things change a little when suguru starts letting satoru talk about you. he listens while satoru goes on about the guy you're seeing, the person you fucked this weekend, how pretty you looked this morning when you woke up. you know, the weird and obsessive shit satoru is pretty much known for when it comes to you.

things just sort of... happen from there out. they watch you when you're in the room, touch you softly while you're sitting on the couch with them, till eventually, they've got you spread open across their laps with satoru's fingers in your pussy and suguru coaxing you both through it.

suguru watches over your shoulder from where satoru is crouched between your legs, slowly sliding his fingers in and out of you. it's the gentlest of touches, just to make you feel good. satoru wants to make you feel good so badly.

he just wants to see you fall apart, to melt at his fingertips. so he curls his fingers slowly while his best friend watches with a chin resting on your shoulder. suguru's got you from under your thighs, holding them up and spread so that satoru can get a proper angle on your tight sister cunt.

and you, pretty you, are caught in the middle. satoru mumbles into your thigh that it's okay, that you're allowed to feel good with them, that he's going to take care of his little sister (and he doesn't bother to add the 'step' before it). suguru, who you've always been intimidated by, speaks directly into your ear, asking if you plan on cumming for satoru any time soon, to which satoru remarks that you can take as long as you want.

big brother's gonna make you feel good, okay? he says.

it's so fucking disgusting that you think you might cum on the spot.

[deconstructthesoup]

Hi, hi. I saw your post about your OCs and they all seem really cool. Can you talk a little bit more about them? Thanks!

Oh, HELL yeah!

First off: Anastasia (she/her) and Anatole (they/them) Lancaster, a pair of mad scientist twins who each have their own ambitions but are most focused on taking care of their newest creation, Annabelle. Anastasia has figured out how to create souls, and mostly uses it to bring dolls to life, while Anatole is your classic Frankenstein-esque mad scientist---all about bioengineering, genetic mutations, and reanimation. Out of the two twins, Anastasia is definitely the most charming, and since she's absolutely gorgeous and incredibly sweet, she tends to put on an air of being a ditz around people who think less of her, so it's easier for them to trust her. Anatole, on the other hand, is every bit the slightly crazed, amoral workaholic who has a keen disdain for social niceties and a very twisted sense of humor. They're loosely based off of Coronabeth and Ianthe from The Locked Tomb.

The others all exist in the same universe---I'm still figuring out whether or not the Lancasters would get their own story or not---and it's kind of a neon-noir, retro-sci-fi, Amulet meets Nimona meets Starstruck kinda universe. Lots of vintage styles mixed with cyberpunk energy, mythical species like elves and goblins getting reframed as aliens, magic and cool tech and general craziness... you get it.

Ricky (he/they) and Sinead (they/she) Rosario are a pair of Bonnie-and-Clyde type criminals who travel through the galaxy, stealing from rich people and using it to fund their chain of nightclubs. Ricky's the charismatic grifter of the two, whose skills are all based on smooth talking and disguises, while Sinead's more of a classic stealth-and-acrobatics-type thief. They're very much in love with each other, and have a teen daughter named Melissa, aka Missy, who's definitely the hacker type. (Also, Ricky is a deep elf, while Sinead is... okay, I don't have the name for their species figured out, but they're basically a tiefling.)

Stella Drysdale (she/her) is a chaotic butch goblin who's the leader of Reject Radio---a techno-punk band by day, and a gang of thieves who steal from corporations and give back to the people in need by night, kind of like a Leverage situation. While she is the mastermind of the group, she can be more than a little reckless and sure of herself at times, which can lead to the gang getting into sticky situations more often than not. She also happens to be the surrogate daughter of Ricky and Sinead, along with---

Mol Shadowbone (she/her), a catlike alien who was raised in the main church of her planet, worshiping a god of light... until she figured out that she'd much rather be serving the trickster spirits, and jetted out of there with a stolen spaceship. After getting taken in by the Rosarios and immediately becoming lifelong best friends with Stella, Mol learned how to be one of the best cat (heh) burglars the galaxy had ever seen. Not to mention, she's got some pretty sick shadow powers out of her whole deal.

3B (she/her) is a worker robot who used to be one of many bots serving in a factory. But as what sometimes happens when a person isn't ready to die, her body became bonded with the soul of a college student who died in an accident. With very little memories but all of the girl's personality, she ran away from the factory in search of her old life, remembering faintly that she had a deep passion for all things music and theater. And eventually, she got fixed up by---

Noelle Raleigh (she/they), a deep elf with incredibly rich parents who worked in the film industry (her mom was a famous actress and her dad was a big movie exec), and who always had a love for computers and tech---as well as all things bright, fun, and whimsical. When she found 3B, the first thing she did was give her a makeover, as well as fixing her voicebox so she could actually sing, and the two of them soon became best friends. It didn't take long before they met Mol and Stella, and they rounded out the team with---

Jax Furukawa (they/them), a larger, cowlike alien who got a gig as an underground street fighter to help support their very large family. Despite the fact that they're a bit of a grump and has some slight loner tendencies, they've always had the healthiest home life out of every Reject Radio member, and they pretty much radiate big sibling energy. Also, they're dating 3B. It's super cute.

And lastly, our villains of the story are HIRO (he/him), an executive robot who's the CEO of a gigantic corporation, and his on-again, off-again boyfriend Percival Doyle (he/him), a fire elemental-type lawyer whose job essentially boils down to helping the company keep their hands clean. HIRO (whose name stands for Highly Intelligent Robotic Official) was made as a replacement body for the old CEO, but he's fundamentally his own person... though, he still retains his predecessor's utter disregard for anything other than order and profit. And Percival, well... he's just a cutthroat drama queen who's obsessed with power. These two have your stereotypical drama-filled celebrity relationship, consisting of a million breakups and flirtations with other men, but that's really just because they like making each other jealous. They do love each other to death, they're just awful people to everyone else.

[adenei]

Ch 1 - Never Really Over

*Deep breaths*

Soooo I've been working on a new multi-chap romione fic since April. Have kept it pretty quiet aside from my betas who have been wonderful with their help and support because let's be real, finding time to write and allow yourself to become invested in a hobby with an infant is HARD. But that's a whole other slew of issues for another day. You're here for the fic (I assume), so let's get back to that.

I love the direction this is taking, and am super proud of the idea and its development. I think I'm known a lot for taking existing stories/movies/etc and twisting them to fit a ship in an AU, but this one is all me - yay proving to myself that I CAN have original ideas!

It is an American Romione AU in a modern setting.

Summary:

Hermione Granger is a modern woman who doesn’t need to find love for self-fulfillment. Not that finding love is even an option anymore. Her perfect love story has come and gone with the one who got away—sorry, the one who disappeared is more like it.

That fake fairy tale is all well and good until Ron Weasley, the man who ruined everything, suddenly turns back up in her life with no explanation whatsoever. It seems his only goal is to show up wherever she is, attempting to undo the walls she’s built around her heart after he shattered it into a million tiny pieces. But Hermione’s determined not to let him in. With the help of her best friends and an online dating site that promises users their very own ‘happily ever after,’ she sets out to move on from her first love for good. 

After a few misses, Billy slides into her inbox, a sweet, genuine, fun-loving guy who’s easy to talk to and fills Hermione with the hope that perhaps love isn’t off the table after all. Seemingly overnight, she’s gone from perpetually single to balancing a love triangle on a fine, fine line. The deeper she gets, the harder she realizes it’s going to be when she has to choose. The last thing she wants to do is break anyone’s heart—her own included.

So, without further ado, I give you the first chapter of Never Really Over.

Read on AO3

But once in a while I trip up and I cross the line, and I think of you

Work ᐧ a ᐧ hol ᐧ ic (noun) a person who compulsively works long and hard hours.

God, I hate the connotation of that word. And yet it still burns into my mind, distracting me from—unironically—the article I’m trying to finish up at my desk. Am I three months ahead of the current deadline? Maybe. But that doesn’t mean anything. There’s nothing wrong with having backups just in case. It shouldn’t classify me as a workaholic.

Because I’m not.

It’s only haunting me because my brain has a sick and twisted sense of humor. It clearly refuses to follow my strict list of off-limit thoughts, cementing the chokehold the word has on my life.

Ugh. Why am I letting this bother me anyway? I’m Hermione Granger, a capable, independent woman who is perfectly happy with her life right now. A twenty eight-year-old with a house of her own, a career she’s passionate about, and the five best friends a girl could ask for thanks to fate bringing us together during freshman orientation at Kearney University. The memory brings a smile to my lips. What more could one want?

And then the frown returns when I remember that I’m sitting alone in the office on a Friday evening and self-doubt trickles in. If I’m being honest, there’s a lot more I want. Like love. Finding the love of my life would be nice. I thought I’d at least be married by now, and maybe have one kid by the time I turned thirty. Not that I’m a traditional woman by any means. I’m about as modern as they come. It’s just…

No. You’re not allowed to think about him, remember?

Except it’s really hard not to think about him. Especially when that damn word keeps flashing in my mind while I sit here on weekend time, finishing an article that’s nowhere near due. But it doesn’t matter. That inside joke died a long time ago. I stopped finding the word endearing the moment I realized he was no longer in my life. Now if only my brain would get the memo.

I shake my head, brunette curls flying around as I try to refocus on the cursor blinking in front of me. It’s still a tough pill to swallow, but I’ve long since given up on love—or so I’m telling myself. Romantic companionship clearly isn’t in the cards for me, so I turn to the one thing that will never let me down: writing. And right now, I’m only a couple of paragraphs away from completing a lovely little piece on the hidden gems of Bora Bora—the things they won’t tell you in the travel guides.

A long, deep breath helps me push those intrusive thoughts away and brings me back to the salty ocean air and the calm lapping of the waves. If I concentrate long enough, I can feel the sparkling white sand between my toes, and it’s enough to catapult me right back into the article—until my phone rings two minutes later.

I don’t want to answer, but it’s Hannah Abbott, my best friend, and she’s always there for me when I need her. The least I can do is return the favor. Plus, the creative juices are no longer flowing thanks to the interruption, so I may as well see what she wants.

With a swipe right to answer, I do my best not to sound annoyed. “Hello?”

“Where are you?!” Hannah cries, though her voice sounds hushed, like she’s hiding in a closet or something.

“Finishing up an article at work. Why?”

“Unbelievable,” she grumbles, more to herself than to me. “Hermione, I’m going to let you think about why I’m calling for a second and see if you can put the pieces together.”

“What are you talking about?” I’m not in the mood to play this game, but I adjust the phone and hold it against my shoulder so I can lift my laptop and check my desk calendar.

August first. Friday. The day I try to forget. But then I see the periwinkle writing at the bottom of the square.  Harry and Neville’s birthday party.

Remember the strong support system I mentioned earlier? The freshman orientation group turned lifelong friends? Harry Potter and Neville Longbottom are part of that, along with Hannah, of course, and Seamus Finnigan and Lavender Brown. We never miss anyone’s birthdays, and Hannah knows that.

“Shit! Shit, shit, shit! How could I forget?”

Hannah sniggers at me. “Yes, how could you forget? Hermione, I don’t know if it’s because you love your job so much that you’re willing to stay late on a Friday, or because of what day it is, but—”

“We’re not talking about that. I’m leaving now. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

I slam my laptop shut and shove it in my bag a little too haphazardly. I’m already closing my office door by the time Hannah responds again. “Right…”

She’s clearly contemplating whether to push the subject or let it go. After all, she’ll have all night to try and grill me on it, but she knows better. We don’t talk about what happened on August first. Ever.

And just to make sure she doesn’t go there, I try to swing the conversation back to the guys. “Have they noticed I’m not there yet?” 

“Well, considering it’s a small gathering of our closest friends—all of whom are already here because the party started an hour ago—yeah, they’ve noticed.”

“Ugh, I’m sorry, okay? I just—”

“—Got caught up with whatever article you’re working on? I know, I know. You’re lucky it’s only their twenty-eighth birthday and not the big three-oh.”

“Come on, Han, this is one tiny mistake and I feel terrible. You don’t need to make it worse. I’m never late, you know that! And I would never miss something as big as their thirtieth birthdays. Especially not since we’ve already got a running list of themes and ideas going. Just—give me a break, okay? I’ll be there soon. I’m almost to the car now.”

“Alright.” Hannah sighs. There’s a stilted pause and I wait, knowing there’s something else she wants to say, and I brace for the lecture about my workaholic tendencies and what it relates to. Damn psychology major.

“Listen, Hermione, there’s something you should—” But after a long day of reflecting on it, I don’t want to go there right now.

“See you in fifteen, bye!” I hang up the phone before she can finish her sentence. She tries this every year. You’d think after six years she’d let it go. But no, she thinks that one of these days I’ll finally talk about it. Well, she can keep trying, but it’s not going to happen. That part of my life is over and it’ll only hurt more to bring it back up. 

⚭

It takes me a little longer than fifteen minutes, but that’s to be expected with D.C. traffic. Once I’m parked outside Hannah and Neville’s house, I quickly do a once-over on my appearance. Thanks to the mid-summer humidity, my hair is frizzier than when I tamed it into its half-ponytail this morning. It’s too bad my incessant need to run my fingers through the curly strands does nothing to combat its flyaway tendency. I guess I’ll just have to deal with yet another pitch from Lavender to let her help me with my nonexistent beauty regimen. Perks of having a beautician for a friend. 

Prying my eyes away from the visor mirror, I get out of the car and look down at the pale yellow eyelet sundress I put on this morning. There are definite wrinkles and creases from sitting at my desk all day, but what can I do? At least my mascara isn’t running down my face and I don’t have sweat stains under my arms. That’s more than presentable for a backyard barbeque after working all day. Kudos to whoever chose that over some fancy dinner.

Not that my friends would care. They’ve always accepted me for who I am. Sure, I’ll never hear the end of being late tonight, but at least I made it, and in their company,  I’ll be able to accomplish the one thing I’ve struggled with all day: taking my mind off of him.

Faint sounds of laughter echo as I walk up the path to the front door and let myself in. A ‘happy birthday’ sign hangs from the ceiling in the foyer, and red and gold balloons litter the floor leading to the kitchen. Of course they’d deck out the place with the colors of our alma mater—I wouldn’t expect anything less. 

“Hey, I’m here! And sorry I’m late, you know how work is,” I call to a seemingly empty house. 

I poke my head into an empty living room before heading back to the kitchen, where I find Seamus pulling a beer out of the fridge. Everyone else must be out back.

“Well, well, well, look who finally decided to show up.”

And so it begins. 

Rolling my eyes, I grab a wedge of gouda off the picked over charcuterie board on the counter. “You say that like I intended to show up almost two hours late. I lost track of time.”

That was sort of the truth. After all, I couldn’t tell Seamus I forgot, he’d never let me live it down. Seamus is usually the one who gets called out on things. His affinity for pyrotechnics has created many occasions for us to give him hell, and you can guarantee between the five of us, we never let him live a single one down. So I guess I can’t blame him when he doesn’t miss a beat now the tables are turned.

Which is why I’m not surprised he isn’t letting me off the hook yet. With a snort, he tries to call my bluff. “C’mon, Hermione. We all know you love working so much that you’d skip out on weekends if you could. You don’t have to lie.” And then, to make things weirder, he looks around and lowers his voice to add, “You can tell me the truth about why you’re late. It’ll be our little secret.”

My face scrunches up before I have a chance to control its reaction. Why does he care so much? 

“I…I don’t know what you mean. I really did lose track of time, Shay. Why are you acting so strange?”

A scowl crosses his face as he sets his beer down on the white speckled quartz. He eyes the back deck before lowering his voice and says, “Because I’ve got a bet going with Lav and Nev on whether you were going to show or not.”

“Whether I was going to—why wouldn’t I show? Honestly, it’s not my fault I got wrapped up in research and writing an article all day and then forgot I had plans tonight! Do you guys bet on my predisposition to get lost in my job and failure to show up to events often?” 

I’m so bewildered by the fact that there’s a bet that I don’t even care about letting my forgetfulness slip. Do I need to reconsider how genuine these friendships are? Does this happen often? Are my friends not as supportive as I thought they were?

I open my mouth to ask as much, but clamp it shut when I see the wide-eyed, pale shock cross Seamus’s face. His reaction is far more severe than it should be and now I’m really confused. He spins around and opens the fridge, rummaging around until he pulls out a mango White Claw—my favorite.

Things are getting more suspicious by the second, and I need to know what is going on. “Seamus, what—”

“Here.” He opens the can with a loud crack and hands it to me. “You’re going to need this.”

Oh, come on. “Seriously? You know I don’t care if I’m already three drinks behind.”

“Well, you might this time…” he mumbles before nodding to the door. “Come on, everyone’s out back. I’m sure they’ll be excited to know you finally made it.”

Okay, what is happening? I try not to let my jaw drop as my mind works to decode this odd behavior. Seamus has always been the one with the crazy ideas and adventurous spirit. There’s not a cryptic bone in his body. If anything, he’s always impulsive and up-front with his intentions.

All I can do is shake my head and follow, giving up on trying to make sense of anything. I take a few quick swigs and step through the sliding glass door that Seamus left open for me. Lively conversation comes from my left, where everyone is sitting around the patio table. I prepare myself for more endless teasing as I shut the door behind me, but instead, the chatter dies to a sudden silence. More peculiarity. 

Did I spill something on myself and miss it? No, Seamus would have said something. Or are they really just that shocked about my late arrival? I’m about to ask as much until I look up and see an all too familiar shade of red hair sitting at the table with his back toward me.

Despite the eighty-degree weather, my body breaks into a cold sweat. I’ve spent six years pretending he doesn’t exist anymore. Six years trying to forget that part of my life, convincing myself that he wasn’t the person I thought he was. That he wasn’t ‘the one.’ 

Everyone else’s expressions mirror my shock when they realize I didn’t know he was going to be here, though Hannah’s contains a tiny wince that’s meant to say, ‘I tried to warn you.’ And their reactions are enough to make Ron Weasley, my ex-best friend, ex-confidante, and ex-lover, turn around.

Seeing his face unfreezes my body from its current awkward stance. Anger and hurt burst through the gates that I’ve worked so hard to keep locked up as our eyes meet. In slow motion, my hard seltzer clatters to the ground, soaking my feet and wedge leather sandals in the sticky, bubbly liquid as I try to find my voice. 

As if this paradox couldn’t become any more ironic, he actually seems excited to see me. He opens his mouth to say something, but I’ll never know what since I manage to cut him off with the only scathing question that I can possibly think of. 

“What are you doing here?”

[inkedmuses-a]

Hear me out: this post is giving post abdicafion Henry, who’s just published his first book under a pseudonym and the book is the love story of him and alex but told from his pov. Now since lots of people knew about their relationship and the public shipped it, they had fans and fan fic written about them so no one suspects it’s Henry. But then Henry’s books is topping the charts and it’s a major bestseller etc, and he’s happy for it but he’s also not because he no longer has alex in his life. See Henry told alex to leave that night in KP and that was the end. The book reaches alex, who reads it and boom, by some sick and twisted sense of humor the universe has they cross path again and that’s all I got man byeeeeeee

That’s a lie I got more ideas but that’s all you get :)

[ao3feed-nanago]

in sickness

by dearvitya “What’s that face for?” Kento asks, mouth twisting to the side. “What face am I making?” “I don’t even know. Please don’t puke on me.” Satoru has to refrain from laughing again, because apparently his love-face and his puke-face look similar—which he guesses makes some sense, considering he loves Kento so much it makes him feel sick sometimes. Gojo has a migraine and is taken care of by his doting husband. Words: 3152, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Fandoms: 呪術廻戦 | Jujutsu Kaisen (Manga), 呪術廻戦 | Jujutsu Kaisen (Anime) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: M/M Characters: Gojo Satoru, Nanami Kento Relationships: Gojo Satoru/Nanami Kento Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - No Curses (Jujutsu Kaisen), Alternate Universe - No Powers, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Headaches & Migraines, Chronic Pain, Vomiting, Cuddling, Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Humor, Nanami Kento is Autistic, Marriage via https://ift.tt/qcDf3v9

[fearsmagazine]

IT'S A WONDERFUL KNIFE - Review

DISTRIBUTOR: RLJE Films & Shudder

SYNOPSIS: “A year after saving her town from a psychotic killer on Christmas Eve, Winnie Carruthers’ life is less than wonderful — but when she wishes she’d never been born, she finds herself in a nightmare parallel universe and discovers that without her, things could be much, much worse. Now the killer is back, and she must team up with the town misfit to identify the killer and get back to her own reality.” -Press Notes

REVIEW: Michael Kennedy’s screenplay for IT’S A WONDERFUL KNIFE does for “It’s A Wonderful Life” what his script for “Freaky” did for “Freaky Friday.” Director Tyler MacIntyre does a solid job of balancing the satire and horror to create another yuletide terror ride.

The narrative does a nice job of setting up the tale with many elements that deconstructs Winnie’s world once she is transported to the alternate universe. I appreciate that it is a linear mystery that Winnie has to solve unlike a film like “Happy Death Day” where the main character has to keep going back until they get it right. The story capitalizes on a bunch of the concepts George Bailey experiences once he enters Clarence’s alternate world, but by way of a “Scream” film. Clearly Henry Waters is the contemporary Mr. Potter. I thought it was amusing how Winnie’s relationship issues are also resolved by her encounters in this alternate universe. The satire is delightful and much of the tone present in Kennedy’s “Freaky” is here. I appreciate his sense of humor, as he includes such Easter eggs as a character named Gale Prescott.

I enjoyed the production designs and locations. The killer's costume design, the Angel, is a nice homage to Ghostface from “Scream” and the angel reference from “It’s a Wonderful Life.” They found the perfect town in Canada for their location and there was an element to it that was reminiscent of George Bailey’s and Marty McFly’s hometown. MacIntyre does a solid job of balancing character development with action sequences to sustain the film’s energy level. The visual effects are effective, but nothing groundbreaking. The special effects and blood are solid, but not as bloody as in “Scream.” Russ Howard III’s score strikes a nice balance between satire and terror with often a playfulness of a Danny Elfman score. The rest of the costumes are okay and could have used something, maybe a few more ugly sweaters or something.

The film features some veteran genre actors such as Katharine Isabelle from “Ginger Snaps” who plays Aunt Gale and William B. Davis, the ‘Smoking Man’ from “The X-Files” as Roger Evans. Jane Widdop, who plays Winnie, and is Laura Lee on Showtime’s “Yellowjackets,” brings a lot of charm and charisma to the role. She brings a lot of energy to her performance. Justin Long often creates likable characters you want to hate. Here he gives his character this peculiar, annoying accent that just makes him so memorable and unlikable, truly. There are some other nice casting choices that will appeal to a variety of fans. It’s a solid cast that gels together and makes for an entertaining view.

It seems every holiday season another film comes along that adds to the holiday horror cannon. In 2022 it was Adult Swim’s Yule Log. For 2023 writer Michael Kennedy and director Tyler MacIntyre turn their sick and twisted sights on “It’s A Wonderful Life,” as they turn it into demented roller coaster ride for genre fans with IT’S A WONDERFUL KNIFE. Presenting another darkside of the holiday season, once again proving capitalism is a dangerous thing. A solid serial killer satire that is worthy of a place in your Christmas horror film rotation with “Black Christmas,” (good god the original!), “Silent Night,” and anything else that helps you put the red in your holiday season.

CAST: Jane Widdop, Jess McLeod, Joel McHale, Katharine Isabelle, William B. Davis & Justin Long. CREW: Director - Tyler MacIntyre; Screenplay/Producer - Michael Kennedy; Producers - Seth Caplan & Daniel Bekerman; Cinematographer - Nicholas Piatnik; Score - Russ Howard III; Editor - Arndt-Wulf Peemöller; Production Designer - Tiana P. Gordon; Costume Designer - Matea Pasarić; Angel Concept Artist - Francis Lafleche; SPFX Makeup - Nikki Delong; Visual Effects - SUPERCHILL. OFFICIAL: N.A. FACEBOOK: N.A. TWITTER: N.A. TRAILER: https://youtu.be/n1fvBRAPhEM RELEASE DATE: In Theaters November 10th, 2023

Listen to Our Interview with Director Tyler MacIntyre - HERE

**Until we can all head back into the theaters our “COVID Reel Value” will be similar to how you rate a film on digital platforms - 👍 (Like), 👌 (It’s just okay), or 👎 (Dislike)

Reviewed by Joseph B Mauceri

[universe-in-the-void-in-the-cube]

Dark Empire: Hellspawn - Flux

Flux (Formally Skywarp)

Faction: The Dark Empire

Subgroup: Hellspawn

Function: Scientist

“Destruction through science.”

Biography

Once known as Decepticon Skywarp, Flux has undergone a radical transformation that defines both his new title and twisted aspirations. Embracing his position as a mad scientist within the Decepticon ranks, he reflects a deep-seated fascination with the darker aspects of science. His relentless pursuit of knowledge led him to concoct grotesque weapons of mass destruction and devices unparalleled in Transformer history, channeling the works of previous renowned Decepticon and Autobot scientists into horrifyingly innovative—yet pathologically sick—technologies. Flux’s obsession with space-time manipulation birthed the Reality Gate, a dimensional and temporal transporter capable of connecting to any universe and any point in time. This creation, celebrated as his most original invention by Dark Starscream, marks him as a pivotal figure in the era of the Hellspawn, where his cruel sense of humor serves as both a weapon and a shield, earning him the role of second-in-command to Discord. Fed by the encouragement of his fellow Hellspawn, this trait further cultivates his unpredictable nature, allowing him to weave chaos on and off the battlefield.

Personality

Genius: A mad genius with unparalleled intelligence, perpetually engrossed in multiple advanced experiments.

Unhinged: His twisted sense of morality drives him to create weapons of mass destruction with little regard for the suffering they cause.

Mischievous: Enjoys inflicting chaos with a sick sense of humor, often manipulating enemies and friends with his unpredictable creations.

Isolationist: Despite his popularity among the Hellspawn, his obsessive tendencies can alienate him at times, dabbling in experiments that push the boundaries of sanity.

Abilities

Warp Speed: Flux can achieve speeds of Mach 3, showcasing his capabilities as a rapid aerial threat.

Teleportation Mastery: He can teleport himself up to 10 miles and others for a distance of 5 miles. However, the accuracy of his teleportation decreases with distance and number of objects, sometimes leading to chaotic crashes upon arrival.

Dimensional Manipulation: Possesses the ability to manipulate small volumes of space-time within a 1-mile area, the true extent and consequences of which remain largely unknown.

Weapons

Heat-Seeking Missile Launchers: Two mounted on his form, allowing him to engage airborne and ground targets with precision.

Variable Caliber Machine Guns: Dual guns provide a versatile range of firepower, adaptable for various combat scenarios.

Reality Gate: His most significant creation that can transport him across dimensions and timelines, connecting him to other realities.

Weaknesses

Teleportation Inaccuracy: Limited control over teleportation accuracy, particularly over long distances or when transporting multiple subjects, can result in hazardous arrivals.

Psychological Instability: While many view his unhinged mind as a weakness, Flux sees it as a weapon, adding layers of unpredictability to his strategies.

Overconfidence: His brilliance may lead to arrogance, pushing him to undertake risky experiments or maneuvers that could compromise his safety or that of allies.

Tech Specs:

Strength - 7

Intelligence - 10

Speed - 10

Endurance - 8

Rank - 9

Courage - 9

Firepower - 8

Skill - 10

Teamwork - 7

Cooperation - 5

[chickenstrangers]

Favorite Books of 2024 (concluded)

I am a completionist and it's still January so here are my favorites from the second half of 2024.

Navola by Paolo Bacigalupi

My father kept a dragon eye upon his desk. An orb larger than a man's skull, gone milky and crystalline but still burning with inner fire ass if it retained life. He kept it on his desk next to the quills where he signed parchment debts and took trading signatories on linen and raw iron and neru resin and cardamom and silk and horses. In a fantasy world heavily inspired by Renaissance Italy and the Medicis, Davico is the son of the most powerful man in the city of Navola and reluctant to assume the role he will inherit and the political machinations that come with it. This is heavy political fantasy with nuanced and interesting characters, and reminded me a lot of ASOIAF and Robbin Hobb. This book was dark and devastating and incredibly rich. Despite the grimness of the world (and it gets very grim), centering on Davico's perspective made this a wonderfully compelling read.

Monster Portraits by Sofia Samatar

I fear it is wrong to posit an opposition between monster and monstrous, yet I cannot escape the feeling that their relationship is special. It is not like the relationship between, for example, disaster and disastrous, which arrive together like rocks crashing down a hill. Disaster comes with disastrous to assist it in its work. But monstrous comes upon the monster while the monster is asleep. A prose poetry collection of portraits of monsters, real and imaginary. Full of literary and historical allusions that led me fascinating research rabbit holes. Beautifully written. Samatar's short story "Ogres of East Africa" is a favorite of mine and I was thrilled to read more of her writing.

The Truth of the Aleke by Moses Ose Utomi

I read the first book in this trilogy of novellas earlier this year, and both books blew me away. Set five hundred years after The Lies of the Ajungo, this book explored history and myth and what makes up the truth. A visceral and brutal and fascinating work.

The Blue Castle by LM Montgomery

Valancy got up and dressed, with a deepening of that curious sense of freedom. When she had finished with her hair she opened the window and hurled the jar of potpourri over into the next lot. It smashed gloriously against the schoolgirl complexion on the old carriage-shop. "I'm sick of fragrance of dead things," said Valancy. One of Montgomery's adult novels, The Blue Castle has many of the elements I love about her writing in the Anne of Green Gables series, beautiful writing, fantastic character portraits, humor and wit. Valancy, 29 and unmarried (a tragedy!), feels confined in her small town by her overbearing and ridiculous family. After receiving shocking news, she decides to finally take charge of her life.

The Art of Prophecy by Wesley Chu

The story of a boy hailed as the Chosen One, raised in the lap of luxury by sycophants, and destined to defeat his kingdom's greatest enemy. But the prophecy is wrong. A fun and engaging martial arts fantasy full of twists on classic fantasy tropes, but still managing to create a world and a cast of characters with incredible depth.

Vita Nostra by Marina and Sergey Dyachenko

"Thus, meaning is a projection of will onto the surface of its application. Meaning is not absolute and depends on the choice of space and the method of projection." A trippy and confusing novel, but a fascinating one, set in a fantastical school in Russia where the reader doesn't know what the students are supposed to be learning, and neither do the students themselves. The book makes very little sense until you get to a point where it all clicks and yet it still doesn't really, but it was an incredibly compelling book and I loved it.

The Memory Theater by Karen Tidbeck

"We play true stories. We write them into the book of the universe, if you will, or weave them into the tapestry, if that sounds better. When we do that, the event will live on. It is recorded and will always have happened."

Honorable Mentions:

The Rage of Dragons by Evan Winter

The Luminous Dead by Caitlin Starling

Travel Light by Naomi Mitchison

A Season of Monstrous Conceptions by Lina Rather

The Adventures of Amina al-Sirafi by Shannon Chakraborty

How to Become the Dark Lord and Die Trying by Django Wexler

Nothing but the Rain by Naomi Salman

Favorite Books of 2024 (so far)

felt like putting together a little list just so I could save it since I've had so many successes this year so far, and I'm feeling self-indulgent. presented roughly in order.

The Last Tale of the Flower Bride by Roshani Chokshi

I remembered the fairy tales. Forms are not to be trusted. Bodies might be inhabited and deserted, slipped on like so much cloth. Some forms are made to please and others to deceive. Here, a wolf pants in bed, the nightgown of an old woman thrown over its fur. There, a being placed marigolds in its mouth and petals in its hair, and through a handful of flowers makes itself a wife. Now a brother is revealed and taken away, and the House of Dreams smiles because it knows I have been ensnared. In some ways, this book has really defined my taste this year, and how it has changed. Stunning writing, lush atmosphere, a haunted house lingering on the edges of the pages. It feels like it was made for me, the way Bluebeard was woven into Eros and Psyche woven into Melusine et cetera et cetera, like a tapestry. It spoke to the heart of why I find fairy tales so fascinating. The central characters were enthralling, the way they mirrored each other in much like the fairy tales. The exploration of liminal spaces, the moments in the hallway before Bluebeard's secrets are uncovered, the haunting presence of that forbidden door. This is a tough one to recommend, slow and meandering, perhaps, with only a hint to the fantastical, but it took my breath away.

The Crane Husband by Kelly Barnhill

The crane came in through the front door like he owned the place. My mother walked slightly behind, her hand buried past her wrist in his feathers. The first book I read this year, and this novella has stuck with me. Another beautiful and haunting retelling; in many ways The Crane Husband and The Last Tale of the Flower Bride circle each other. The haunting story of a girl whose weaver mother brings home a crane who uproots their lives. A quietly devastating exploration of grief and loss.

The Saint of Bright Doors by Vajra Chandrasekera

The moment Fetter is born, Mother-of-Glory pins his shadow to the earth with a large brass nail and tears it from him. Another book that had me holding my breath from the very first page. Set in a vibrant world that upended my expectations throughout. Exploring themes of destiny (a support group of the unchosen ones), colonialism, truth, and perspective. Incredible book.

Monstrilio by Gerardo Sámano Córdova

Her son dies in a child-sized bed, big enough for him but barely enough to hold her and her husband who cling to the edges, folding themselves small so they fit one on each side of him. She savors the constant shifting and squirming needed to keep her in place. [...] In her fantasies--is it too morbid to call them fantasies? She doesn't think so. In her fantasies, her son died in a shopping mall, one of the big ones in Mexico City, because in a mall there is an audience, and she wanted an audience but thought dying in the street was too sordid. At the mall, her son collapsed, and as she held his little body in her lap, mall-goers surrounded her in hushed awe of her sorrow, unimaginable to all, while she became a Pietà, marble and gorgeous. The stories about grief that have pierced through my skin and slid between my ribs have all been horror stories, using the supernatural to explore the unimaginable. Magos's grief in Monstrilio is visceral. She cuts out a piece of her son's lung, feeding it beef broth, clinging so tightly to him and to her grief that a creature grows from it, reborn and hungry. What happens when grief lingers, when it becomes something new entirely?

Piranesi by Susanna Clarke

The Beauty of the House is immeasurable; its Kindness infinite. I went into Piranesi knowing nothing about it other than that people loved it, and even still I did not expect this book and the world created within it even in the first few pages. The sense of place was so strong in this book, and the limited perspective so fascinating. I loved going into a world where all expectations and truths and reality were immediately put into question, it reminded me of Descartes.

The Sword of Kaigen by ML Wang

Gathering the boy into her arms, she held him tight, and loved him, loved him as hard as she could, and hoped it would be enough to wash everything else away. A unique book in this genre in many ways. Told from the perspectives of both Misaki and her fourteen-year-old son Mamoru, and these characters came to life on the page. I was also very moved by the structure of the book, unusual in high fantasy from what I have read. The story is told in the moments after, as time stretches past the acts of heroism and valor and the dust settles, when the loss and renewal sets in.

The Lies of the Ajungo by Moses Ose Utomi

Tears are precious, his mama always said. Don't waste them on your enemies. Save them for your friends. It's astonishing how impactful this book was in just 90 pages. The writing entranced me, told like a fable, with an efficiency of language that lent more power to its pivotal moments.

Persuasion by Jane Austen

She was deep in the happiness of such misery, or the misery of such happiness, instantly. The last Austen novel I had yet to read, and I did, of course, love it.

Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead by Tom Stoppard

Rosencrantz: We might as well be dead. Do you think death could possibly be a boat? Guildenstern: No, no, no... Death is...not. Death isn't. You take my meaning. Death is the ultimate negative. Not-being. You can't not-be on a boat. Rosencrantz: I've frequently not been on boats. Guildenstern: No, no, no--what you've been is not on boats. A reread of a favorite.

A Prayer for the Crown-Shy by Becky Chambers

They fell quiet as their perspective of the surrounding landscape shifted in a way they'd never unsee. A lovely conclusion to the Monk & Robot duology. I loved A Psalm for the Wild-Built so dearly, and returning to Dex and Mosscap was such a comfort.

Honorable Mentions

Natural Beauty by Ling Ling Huan

Spear by Nicola Griffith

The Blue Book of Nebo by Manon Steffan Ros

Mislaid in Parts Half-Known by Seanan McGuire

The Butcher in the Forest by Premee Mohamed

The Raven and the Reindeer by T Kingfisher

Wind Daughter by Joanna Ruth Meyer

The Goose Girl by Shannon Hale

[ravipanikking]

invisible strings (tying you to me)

chapter: 1/? || rating: T || words: 6122

Summary:

When Eddie goes to mandatory therapy after his stint in cage-fighting, Frank suggests an online Pen Pal program for him to try out. There he meets, 'E.B.' who he finds easy to talk to, but little does he know that his online friend is many things to him.

aka the You've Got Mail Soulmate AU

A/N: so this is inspired by this post and idea from @therogueheart way back in November. I ended up making changes to what we originally had said (sorry about that) but it's finally here! Hope you enjoy :)

"Have you met your soulmate yet?" 

Eddie reads the words from the stack of forms in his hands and immediately has the urge to throw the clipboard across the room. 

He hates questionnaires, despises them, almost as much as he hates therapy. Actually, no, he doesn't hate therapy per say, fully supports it and thinks the world would be less of a shit-show if more people went. What he does hate, however, is going to therapy. And on top of that he has to answer all these deeply personal questions about his life on these pieces of paper for anyone to see. 

Of course, like any form where he has to document his life, there's the dreaded marital status section, and on top of that – since the questionnaire is so damn evasive – this section is even worse because it's more thorough . Besides the married and single options, there's 'Divorced', 'Widowed', and of course, his personal favorite – "Have you met your soulmate yet?"

He already knows the universe hates him, but man does it have a sick and twisted sense of humor to have them all piled up together when every single one of those options are everlasting wounds that may never fully heal. 

The "Married" , "Single" , "Divorced" , and "Widowed/Widowered" ones can all culminate together as one giant wound, one neon sign of a trigger that also happens to be one of the major reasons why he's in therapy and taking this damn questionnaire in the first place. The soulmate one, however, is an entirely different can of worms. Although, he supposes it does correlate with the others as well – at least in the sense that Eddie, in fact, did not marry his soulmate. A fact that his parents attributed to, and made sure to tell him during the meal after his wife's funeral, as to why things " didn't work out with Shannon". 

Okay, fine, the soulmate option does fall in the Shannon trigger like the rest do, in more ways than just the fact that they weren't even "soulmates". But that leads into the reminder of a whole other relationship that he also royally fucked up as well. It’s in an entirely different category of its own, and yet he supposes it's one of the foundations that led into why his relationship with Shannon fits in all the boxes in some way or another except the soulmate one. 

Basically, it's just all one giant trigger fest. His mandatory therapist sure has his hands full. Well, that is, if Eddie actually talks about it all. Because it's all just…too much to talk about, to think about. 

(read the rest on ao3)

[graymatters]

Triptych

M | 1.8K | On AO3 | Veela!Draco, body horror, blood, unhealthy relationship dynamics, mild sexual content 

Many thanks to @corvuscrowned for the beta work 💚 and to @floydig for all the horror chats 😂

i.

The spine of a single feather, sleek and wet with blood, erupts from the thin skin draped over my collarbone. It mocks me in the bathroom mirror, unsightly and pale quills stained pink. My shoulders droop, and my spine rounds, a weary folding beneath the weight of an unsurprising development, as a crimson droplet runs smooth down my ribs.

“Babe, are you ready to go?” Harry calls from the bedroom. He’s taken to calling me babe lately. The word knocks about in my skull, overstaying its welcome.

“What’s it called when little birds shed their feathers?” I ask my reflection, arching forward until my breath fogs the glass. My nose wrinkles at the stench, prompting a swift snatch of my toothbrush from the plastic cup on the sink.

“Er…” Harry ponders as he waltzes into the bathroom, running an aimless hand through his hair. In the reflection, I watch him smooth over my naked back and bum with heavy-lidded eyes, lips tugged upward in an appreciative grin and glasses crooked on the sunburnt bridge of his nose. I think he might be perfect, and it terrifies me.

“Mulching?”

Almost, my dear, but not quite.

“Molting, I think,” I murmur around my toothbrush, scraping the frayed bristles violently against my gums.

“That’s what I said.”

“No.” I spit, frowning at the bright blood tinting the frothy toothpaste. “Molting. Not mulching.”

“Oh,” he says, eyes widening as he looks at my chest in the mirror. And I mean looks, not the passing glance that you toss at the empty glass that’s sat on your end table for three days, not the glassy gaze of a Seeker fading into auto-pilot above the pitch. No, I’m talking about the undivided attention afforded to a tragic train derailment with dozens of fatalities, the careful pondering over a loaf of bread that may have gone off, the terrifying and wondrous stare of finding your enemy naked in your bed.

“Draco, are you bleeding?” He moves to grip my shoulders but stops when he gets a closer look, hands held mid-air as though his puppeteer got bored, hung his strings on the hook, and took a smoke break. “Is that a—”

“I never could tell if Mother was serious about the Veela blood.” I frown as Harry still stands, unmoving but for the tremble in his fingers. “Harry, why are you shaking?”

Harry doesn’t answer as I lean across the sink, poking at the delicate spine with my fingertip. He just stares dumbly at my reflection, mouth agape and eyes wide as saucers. I huff a laugh through my nose, feeling the universe’s sick sense of humor settle heavily over my bloodied chest.

“I wonder if I’ll molt.”

Read ii. & iii. below the cut.

ii.

Harry’s left the cap off the toothpaste again, leaving it to ooze onto the bathroom countertop. I could easily dismiss the caked-on paste from the porcelain. All it would take is a snap of my fingers, a muttered jumble of pseudo-Latin under my breath to make it disappear. However, a crescendo of unfortunate events through the week culminated in a Ministry-issued number that replaced my name, a reminder of the creature that replaces my identity. The thought numbs my limbs, rattles my nerves, and prickles at the remnants of my fleeting patience.

“Harry!”

“Did you say something, Draco?” he shouts from down the hall. I wait, listening for footsteps that don’t come.

“Harry! Will you come here for a minute?” A rustle of irritation blooms beneath my skin, scaly skin and ivory feathers shifting restlessly, eager to surface. With a forced sigh, I snap my eyelids shut, concentrating on pulling the musty bathroom air in and out of my lungs.

“What is it, babe? Is everything all right?”

I open my eyes, meeting my own steely gaze in the mirror. The skin over my neck, my collarbone, my temple, crawls with the anxious magic that pulses underneath, like a spider’s trapped beneath the surface. I can almost see the iridescent shimmer of that scaly skin that lurks somewhere between the delicate dermal layers that cover my neck. Harry catches my stare, his gaze soft and a sleepy smile plastered on his face. He looks at me like there isn’t ruinous blood in my veins, like the war in my body doesn’t seep out of my pores, infecting the air between us like the stench of a rotting corpse.

“Draco, what’s wrong?”

I don’t deserve him. I don’t deserve him, but he’s looking at me like he doesn’t know or doesn’t care. And this week has been so very long.

“Nothing, love.” My eyes fall to the open tube of toothpaste as I reach an unsteady hand out behind me, softening once I feel the slide of Harry’s fingers between mine.

He moves to stand behind me, wrapping his hands over my ribs and dotting honeyed kisses along my neck and shoulders like he can’t see the rustle of feathered plumes tucked deep in the sinewy fibers. Though guilt twists in my gut, strangling my lungs and wringing my heart, I ignore it, instead melting beneath Harry’s touch.

“You’re so gorgeous, Draco,” he murmurs behind my ear. “Look at you,” he whispers, softly gripping my neck beneath my jaw, forcing me to stare myself down in the mirror as his other hand dips beneath my waistband, palming my cock. “So fucking gorgeous.”

Thoughts blurred, I gasp as he ruts against my arse, as I thicken in his hand and a heady rush soothes the irritable magic that bristles beneath my skin. I groan against the pressure of his palm over my throat, feeling the vibration in my chest.

He catches my eye in the mirror, raising a brow in silent question. I nod in answer, preening at the satisfied smirk that overcomes Harry’s face as he slips a spit-slicked finger inside me, a delicious mix of pain and pleasure.

“So fucking beautiful, and you’re all mine.”

And then I hum, a pleased and pathetic whimper of a song, because I know he’s right.

iii.

The heat of the shower burns my skin, painting my limbs and the tops of my feet in a pink, watercolor flush. I let the water strip away the remnants of the evening, the cigarette smoke that clings to my hair and the grease and salt lodged beneath my fingernails. It doesn’t wash away the memories of the Weasel’s grimace, or the distasteful curl of Granger’s lip. Instead, they linger, trapped in the clouds of steam like a bird’s wings, wet with oil.

“Draco? Are you here? Awfully nice of you to run out on me like that. Ron and Hermione are sure to love you, now.”

A single, vehement beep pierces the thick air of the bathroom, cascading into a series of agonizing tones as the fire alarm protests the steam of the shower.

I look up from my spot on the tile floor, entranced by the flashing red light on the screeching machine.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Harry bursts through the door and yells over the blare of the alarm. “How long have you been in here?” He clambers onto the countertop to reach the horrid device, fumbling with the buttons before finally ripping it from its base on the ceiling. It falls to the floor; a smattering of dusty plastic shards decorates the floor on impact.

“Draco, are you even listening?”

I nod, feeling the itch of magic over my palms, the roll of frustration between my shoulder blades.

“Draco?” He opens the shower door, eyes following the stream of water that falls from the tip of my nose. “What’s wrong?”

My vision blurs, the yellow bathroom light, shining stellate over the grungy shower tile.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, eyes wide and incredulous as an unhinged laugh crawls out my lips. “Are you seriously asking me that question?”

A curl falls in his eyes, damp from the humid air. His gaze is soft, aching, like he wants to wipe away the malicious glances, the tainted blood in the rotten chambers of my heart, the ink on my arm.

Loving him is too much.

Anxious anger burns a trail starting at the tips of my fingers, drawing claws to break through the skin beneath my nails and a black, tarry flush to creep towards my elbows like my arms have been dipped in soot. I roll my neck at the feeling of hundreds of feathery needles piercing through the skin of my collarbone, my neck, my shoulders. A flash of pain, lightning hot, grips my spine as a set of wings punctures the surface between my shoulder blades, hanging low in the tight space of the shower.

The water runs red, my back hot from the wash of blood.

With a guttural roar, I whip towards Harry, wanting to squeeze his ribs between my disfigured hands and feel the stutter of his breath.

But he doesn’t move, he doesn’t turn to walk away. In fact, rather than a look of fear or disgust, Harry watches me the same way Mother watched me when my pet Kneazle died, devoured by the Nepenthes. Like I’m still a child who doesn’t know what to do with his hurt.

“Draco, I’m sorry—”

“You’re in love with a fucking monster, Harry. Why are you even here?” A heat burns beneath my palms as I grip the frame of the shower.

Harry sighs, taking a slow and careful step forward to shut off the water, leaving a slow trickle to caress the smooth surface of my wings.

“Come here, Draco,” he whispers, gesturing for me to step out of the shower. “Come on, babe; I’ve got you.”

Loving him is too much. Too much to weather. Too much to resist.

I tumble into his arms, catching a blood-stained, ivory wing on the shower door and jostling Harry’s glasses. As the fog of the mirror clears, I watch as my face appears, nose elongated and eyes pitch-black, the skin of my neck and arms cracked where the feathers have broken through the layers like an iceberg piercing the sea. With a stuttered sob, I grip Harry’s shoulders and tuck my face into his neck, unable to contain myself anymore.

I’m not sure how long we huddle on the bathroom floor, cramped between the toilet and the shower. Long enough for the feathers to recede beneath my skin, for my wings to fold in on themselves and lie soft against my back. The sun has long set, shrouding the bathroom in darkness, as Harry still runs his hands through my hair, untangling the knots as he whispers lovely reassurances into my ear and presses kisses over my jaw.

“Draco, I love you, you know that?”

“Of course, I do.”

“What do you need, Draco?”

“I don’t know.”

“Need me, then. It’s that easy. Draco, just—need me.”

I nod, a trembling and stuttered admission, because I know he’s right.

Also on AO3.

[a-palemoon-sliver]

Joel and James, the yandere twins

TW: Yandere themes of obsession, control, manipulation. Scenes of abuse in the “Childhood” section which may be uncomfortable for some readers.

So the other day I came up with some yandere OCs, a pair of identical twins who masquerade as a single person, alternating as each other, and woo their darling in this guise. I’m still fleshing them out, and don’t have an actual plot for them yet either, but I’ll share what I have so far. I’m considering making them either White-American, with roots in East-Coast Old Money, or Chinese, with a Chinese Tai-Tai mother and Chinese-American father, and attending college in the US to perfect their English skills. Their surname is thus either Huang or Hale, depending. Either way, they’re probably attending university in sunny California—not as prestigious as the Ivy Leagues, but a better social scene. The brothers are also blond-haired; I’m just not sure if it’s dyed or natural yet.

(Also, for the record, their relationship is NOT incestuous, don’t even go there. It’s twisted but 100% platonic.)

Tall, handsome, rich, and intelligent, these young men seem destined for greatness in life, whether as successors to their father’s banking company or in other fields of work. And their friendly, agreeable manner is so naturalistic that few who meet them ever realize it’s fake. See, these brothers learned early on that the world is a contest, and the fakest people in life are the most successful. Surrounded by no shortage of insincerity growing up, they’ve learned that the only way to succeed is to learn what others want then give it to them. The twins have spent their entire lives crafting the perfect persona to please the world’s ridiculous, contradicting demands, and then sharing the role between themselves, living as a single person. Attending each other’s classes, copying each other’s mannerisms, sharing burden of essays and dissertations, and even dating each other’s partners when the other becomes sick of them; the brothers have achieved a perfect, symbiotic shared existence, an existence which was served them well—until now.

James, the older by 9 minutes, is majoring in architectural science and mathematics with a minor in philosophy. Like his younger twin, he is bisexual, but he leans slightly toward men in attraction, whom he prefers shorter and smaller than him. He has a drier, more sardonic sense of humor than his brother, and can be slightly condescending at times. He is psychologically domineering, and wishes for a relationship with a quiet, mature partner who is utterly and devotedly obedient to him in every respect, regardless of situation or topic.

Joel, the younger by 9 minutes, is majoring in astrophysics and minoring in marine biology. Like his older brother, he is bisexual, but leans slightly toward women, whom he likes petite and delicate. He has a slightly more joking personality than his brother, and is often darkly playful. He is physically dominant, greatly enjoying BDSM, and wishes for a nice and pretty partner who’ll obey and indulge his whims and demands.

Born to a rich businessman father and a high society mother, James and Joel were materially privileged from birth. However the family was not a happy one, as their father provided for his family only financially, emotionally uninvolved and preferring to spend his time on long business trips with the pretty young women he dubbed “personal secretaries”, while their mother was mentally unstable, given to emotional tirades and warpaths.

As a way to escape from the constant infidelities of her husband, whom she loathed but was too proud and self-conscious to leave, their mother devoted herself to her sons, however, all was not well: As an exceedingly proud and imperious woman, within whose mind something dark and undiagnosed lurked, her way of loving was a twisted, destructive one.

Had they been been born separately, a year or more apart, their mother would have likely favored one openly, and pitted them against each other. Instead getting two children at once, their mother seemed mentally incapable of meaningfully differentiating between them, and raised them identically, as if they were a single child. All of their clothes were identical and always coordinated, they were always served the same foods at meals, and when one finished eating the other was not allowed a single bite further. Their mother always addressed them collectively, never individually, and the nannies, maids and other hired help were expected to do the same. Any attempts by the brothers to express individuality were outright ignored by their mother, who always kept convenient excuses on hand to focus her attention on, such as a letter to write or a glass to drink, in order to avoid responding to them.

Once, when they were eight, the younger brother Joel developed a bright interest in astronomy, which his older brother indulged but did not share. Their newest nanny took the brothers to a bookstore where she bought several books on astronomy for Joel on the family-provided card meant for such purchases. When they returned home, the mother questioned the books, a glass of wine in hand. “Joel has developed an interest in astronomy!” the young nanny replied excitedly, not recognizing the boys’ mother’s placid attitude as an act. “And does James enjoy astronomy as well?” their mother questioned, as the boys stood still in fear. A confused “No, Ma’am—” was all the nanny was able to able to utter before the glass shattered against her forehead, bringing forth a cry of pain and shock the boys never forgot. The maid was fired right then and there, and sent away immediately, and then their mother led her sons into the kitchen, the astronomy books in hand. Demanding they watch, she burned the books in the sink with a kitchen igniter until they were just charred enough to be unreadable, and then she threw them away in the garbage. “Now, go take your nap,” she addressed them calmly.

The twins therefore learned from an early age that any individual interests must either be hidden or shared between them, and that honesty was a death sentence in their lives. They learned to lie, and to act, and found they had a remarkable aptitude for it. From thereon they addressed their mother as one, and even learned to speak in unison, in hopes of earning her favor, but it didn’t work. As they got older, they took it further, and began learning how to impersonate each other. They practiced speaking voices, they rehearsed mannerisms, they practiced every quirk they noticed about each other until they became virtually indistinguishable from each other. By the time they entered high school, the twins had made a habit of periodically greeting their mother as the other brother. If she recognized them as the right brother, an uncommon occurrence, they would quickly “correct” her with a laugh or a smile. Except perhaps for an occasional quizzical look, she would readily believe them each time.

Their father, at home collectively no more than a month or two each year, never realized how unstable his wife really was, having always simply seen her as someone with an unpleasant personality, but not worth fussing over. The few instances his sons tried to come to him for help, he grew angry at them, and told them to stop giving their mother lip. It was not hard for the twins to understand their father would be no help to them in any matter.

As neither has ever had a single thing to call their own in life, the twins have developed a bit of a complex regarding each other; each brother resents the other’s existence to some degree, yet they are bound by a deep reliance on each other, a feeling of “love me or hate me, you can’t escape me”. They know that they are the only ones who can truly rely on each other in this messed-up world called Life, and the only ones who can understand the warped upbringing and twisted feelings they share, and have made peace with themselves.

The brothers have never had much interest either in the rich children of their parents’ friends, or in the poorer children they went to school with growing up. They've had friends of course, and with their good looks and nice clothes may easily seem part of the “popular group”, but these are superficial relationships maintained only for their images’ and convenience’s sake. In addition, both of them have had several girlfriends (and in Joel’s case, one boyfriend secretly), yet these relationships were hollow, and never lasted long. Trying the whole “dating” thing out to see what the fuss was, the brothers thought it was overrated. Their Darling is the first person who truly piques their interest, for whatever reason it may be. Perhaps their intelligence in their shared classes shines through, or perhaps a selfless act at a school festival event stirs their curiosity. Or perhaps their natural skittishness, and tendency to easily be swayed by others’ demands, awakens something Dark in them, a whispering within them that, for the first time in their lives, they have something to Hold and Control themselves, something within easy reach, which awakens their greed.

They meet their Darling through a class shared with one of the brothers. The boy’s idle curiosity roused, he takes a photo of them and texts his brother, asking what he thinks. The other replies in the affirmative; they have the same tastes. After that comes the slow, painstaking process of befriending them, becoming first an acquaintance through some pretext (a dropped pencil, a forgotten notebook, scheduling questions, etc.), then slowly chipping away at their defenses and getting closer. But all this isn’t done by one brother; instead it’s both brothers, alternating days and playing a single role, so that they can both get a taste. They coordinate extensively, giving real-time updates via text and rehearsing plans in their dorm room every night to make sure neither slips up and reveals the ruse. It’s a shared act they’ve been practicing for years. By now, they’ve both become well-aware of what the other is capable of when provoked, so the brothers have learned to share their Meals and Toys, to avoid awaking each other’s wrath.

It takes a while for the twins to convince their Darling they’re actually interested in them, even if their feelings are secretly reciprocated; after all, being at the top of the food chain, why would such a handsome, charismatic young man be interested in someone as plain as them? True, they are not gorgeous (though neither are they ugly), they are not rich, and they dress plainly, unlike the beautiful, aloof, cat-eyed boy they’ve been crushing on. The brothers lay the hints on thick, sitting too close, giving casual touches (marking their Territory around any would-be interlopers as well), but their Darling is woefully innocent of the tools and wiles of the Discreet Elite, and trying to play the good guy is endlessly exasperating. The only thing that keeps either brother patient, and refraining from swooping in and claiming what’s His in an instant, is the ongoing feud over who gets to confess to Darling and kiss them first. This involves several straight weeks of secret bets, subterfuges, and counteroffensives. In the end, James is the one to confess, blunt and exasperated, and kiss his lovely Darling, but in return Joel gets the next two days in a row to kiss them as much as he wants to make up for it.

In this fashion, a month or few passes, the brothers alternating with their Darling during classes and dates. During this time, they fall harder and harder for their new partner, and become convinced that they’re their one and only for life. And if their Darling ever expresses discomfort at the force of their casual touches, at the strength of their kisses, or the amount of attention they demand, well, they take it in stride and forgive them. After all, the brothers muse, not everyone recognizes Fate right when it strikes, and they’re willing to give their Darling a little time to make peace with their felicity. Finally, when the brothers feel they’ve waited long enough to consummate their golden, blissful relationship, they spend a week dropping hints to prepare their Darling (and making sure they aren’t subtle; after all, their Darling, as charming as they are, is so woefully naive), then invite them to their dorm room, not for a study session, but “just to hang”. Hesitantly, their Darling agrees, nervous and excited. When they knock on their boyfriend’s door and are told to come in they’re greeted by the sight of their boyfriend lounging nonchalant and shirtless on his bed—and by the sight of their boyfriend simultaneously emerging from the bathroom in a towel, freshly showered. The two fix their gaze upon them, and remark in a single, unified voice, “Hello, Darling. Are you ready to get to know us for real?”

It all goes downhill from there.

[retphienix]

You know what?

I don't think I've ever, not once since launch when I was starry eyed and obsessed with Fallout, to my last playthrough where I was burning through some unwarranted disdain (like the opposite of rose tinted goggles), given this DLC the credit I think it deserves.

And I ain't about to say the same stuff most say about it (at least I don't think), what with it's fantastic voice credits and humor.

I could! But that's all known and isn't accurate to what has me bewitched about it atm.

This DLC is just plain fucking awesome world building and has some really good writing top to bottom- even beyond the humor :)

I've always thought of Old World Blues as being a pretty mid DLC in general, both within the context of New Vegas and games in general, and honestly- fuck that, this DLC is pretty sick.

I think on a technical scale it was my second favorite NV dlc, and remains that, but my love for the Sierra Madre is eternal so it'll have to deal with that lmao.

But lemme ramble now instead of during the close of the DLC because this chat with good ol' Mobius is what really made me re-appreciate everything this DLC is.

It's wild to me that I convinced myself at one point that this DLC was all talk and overstayed its welcome.

MAYBE the second bit if you're playing on Very Hard and bring nothing useful with you and have to play a bit slower to survive, but that's a me problem lmao.

I was wrong; I've simplified this DLC down to wasting your time with talk in the past, and I was dumb.

Anyways: Now to gush.

This DLC somehow sets up a beautifully creative concept in the Fallout Universe that fits so damn well with the universe all these games have built up.

Of COURSE it has a surviving Silicon Valley but mad scientist center. OF COURSE.

But to put all these considerations and concepts inside its story??? Brilliant.

The Scientists becoming more and more Mad as their entire purpose in life becomes nothing but Science, ya love to see it but perhaps key to the twist displayed above- you kinda expect to see it.

When you start this DLC and see the mad Think Tank you go "Oh yeah, this makes sense. Good work, this fits Fallout very well"

But THIS TWIST builds off of those easily built expectations and tosses it all aside in a way that makes this DLC's story 10x better.

It'd be easy to accept that there's just a group of mad scientists in a crater and for whatever reason they never come out, all good, no questions asked here.

It'd be easy to accept that one of them went MAD mad and became an antagonist to them- you wouldn't even question why none of this pours into the greater wasteland because how many stories in Fallout are left self contained regardless of the logistics? A LOT, from DAY 1 in Fallout 1 that's been the case, and that's fine!

This twist plays on expectations and is genuinely just a good one!

The Think Tank are DANGEROUS! It's stated CLEARLY! And the reason they behave the specific brand of Mad they are- the reason they are in robots to begin with- is because one of them realized they were becoming a threat to the world and decided to trap them all in a god damn recursion loop where they will never logic out that there is even a world outside these walls!

It's just a damned good twist that plays on what the story presented beforehand, what the series presented as fair suspension of disbelief levels, and offers a DAMNED good explanation for things!

I just really enjoy the Tank being in a loop. Is all of this perfect? I mean, I guess not? The loop is never fully defined (and probably shouldn't be but I'll say it all the same) so it's kinda hard to believe it's strong enough to dissuade the Tank questioning it when Ulysses, Christine, and Elijah all show up.

The explanation you're given for why they didn't matter is kinda... nothing?

Instead it's hand waved by saying the reason YOU matter is because your brain injury forced the Auto Doc to run subsystems that inadvertently repaired itself causing it to become capable of reversing lobotomies (which would mean the Think Tank can commandeer bodies and leave the Crater since they need a biological body to pass the fields).

You're given pretty good reason why your presence would cause them to ask questions that might break them out of the loop, but not so much why the others didn't promote different questions that would break the loop.

I guess the loop is just REALLY good so long as they aren't asking about their lobotomies permanence.

I really like it though :)

But yeah, OWB, it's got a ton of funny lines, the writing is witty the entire way through, the zone itself is just a bunch of fun references and science concepts for you to play in, and the story has a genuinely rewarding twist that takes the campy story and goes "BUT ACTUALLY! It's serious shit. These funny scientists could destroy what's left of the world as they have foregone their humanity and I have manipulated their minds (and my own) into forever toiling at our books in the hopes of never fully opening our eyes and noticing the world outside our lab."

It's really good, way better than I've ever given it credit. Literally have at best only ever said it's the funny dlc, but it's funny AND well written with a solid story to tell. I like it a lot :)

[retrievablememories]

afterdeath | lucas

title: afterdeath pairing: vampire!lucas x fairy!reader genre: angst, forbidden romance, fantasy, vampire!au request: May I request a Vampire!Lucas with a fairy!s/o (Forbidden romance perhaps?) word count: 8.6k warnings: descriptions of death and sickness, mentions of a funeral, viewing, and funerary preparations, major character death (but...with a slight twist), mentions of blood and drinking blood, smoking cigarettes, arguments/conflict, mentions of physical violence, some romeo and juliet elements? a/n: hmm this fic probably could’ve been more detailed but i was trying to avoid triggering my own damn self with so much talk of death...ha...not sure why i went this route but i wanted a forbidden romance with an actual decent ending for both characters and this was the first idea i had recommended songs: OLLA - jhené aiko

Year 1508

“We’ve felled the demon!”

“Indeed, we have!”

Cheers ring through the dawn as a large group of fairies dance around an immense bonfire, raising their shouts of celebration to the sky. Within the fire burns the body of the Primitiva Vampire, the One and Only Pureblood, haphazardly thrown over the wood pile and relieved of her head—which sits near the bottom of the burning mass of wood, her face still twisted in a mien of anger.

As the sky begins turning lighter with the onset of sunrise, the fairies continue their celebration, staying close to the fire all the while. They carry large flaming torches to guard against any of the Primitiva Vampire’s followers who might try to sneak upon them and strike in that sliver of space where the sun has yet to rise.

The Primitiva Vampire had a long reign of terrorizing fairies and turning humans and other supernatural creatures into vampires. Each transformed being became a terrible revenant, one which viciously hunted villages and stole into people’s homes for more blood, more death, and more unwilling adherents to the vampiric cult.

Mass numbers of fairies had been decimated once the vampires first tasted their blood and took a unique liking to it. For over 200 years, the carnage continued on at the hand of the Primitiva Vampire, who had one day blinked into existence in a way that could never really be explained by any conceivable means, either human or magic. And without ever giving a hint to her strange conception, she tore across cities and towns, converting others into night creatures like herself and building a loyal following of half-bedeviled beings.

When fairy populations had dwindled to nearly extinction-level quantities, they were left no other choice—fight back or be wiped completely from the universe’s ledger. So they took up arms, honed their magic skills, and did just that.

And now, all their efforts culminate in this blood-stained morning. It marks a much-anticipated moment of revelry before they have to return to their posts to watch for the night creatures inevitably waiting on the other side of the sunset, ready to avenge their slain Goddess.

Present Day

“You probably shouldn’t be here right now.”

“I wanted to come,” Lucas replies, taking your hand is his large one. “I wanted to see you.”

“I can figure that.” You laugh quietly, a little afraid to let your voice rise higher in case it carries too far. “But that doesn’t mean you should’ve come.”

Lucas holds your hand tightly. His skin is cold against yours due to his slow blood, and colder still from the chill permeating the air. It’s only one of many vampiric traits that the other fairies would think of as strange or barbaric, but you don’t see it that way. The chilliness just reminds you solely of him.

“Well, I missed you. And I’m here now, so you’ll just have to deal with me.”

The building you’re standing behind is damp, old, and dilapidated, and it’s not even one of your pre-designated meeting places. In front of you is a rusted chain link fence, which barricades a field of tall and unkempt grass. More aged and crumbling buildings scatter themselves across the distance, taken over by grass and climbing vines.

You don’t know what’s out here. This is one place within your district you haven’t been to before. It was Lucas’s idea to come here, after your last meeting place had nearly been discovered and he found it too risky to keep going there.

The entire city of Beijing is split up into different districts, each belonging to a different faction of supernatural beings. Some nonhuman races have close ties with each other and allow frequent cross-district mingling; others are sworn enemies, forbidden to fraternize with each other under pain of death. In these latter cases, crossing into another’s territory without express permission—or in rare situations, ties to a powerful ally (or allies) on the other side—is asking to get arrested, injured, or worse.

Lucas would be your tie to the vampire side and you his tie to the fairy side if your species weren’t centuries-long enemies. Instead, you’re relegated to having him sneak in and out of your district and hide what he is with blood-scent blockers and eye contacts to make the trickery easier to get away with. There’s only so much you can do to disguise your fae nature; stepping into vampire territory would turn you into a shining beacon.

“Hmm…” you sigh, shaking your head with a small smile on your face. You grasp Lucas’s hand so you’re now holding it with both of yours. “How long do you think we can keep this up? Going from place to place like this. Hiding like criminals.”

Lucas gives a lopsided grin—one that cannot morph into a full smile because of the sadness coloring it. “I don’t know. Forever, if we’re lucky.” He chuckles.

You stare at your intertwined hands, unaware of the sheer intensity of the longing expression on your face, though Lucas sees it clearly. It threatens to burn his heart to ash. “Unfortunately, fae don’t live forever like you do, so maybe not. Besides, your people would probably find out and come after me before we could even settle into a ‘forever.’”

He shakes his head fretfully at your words, squeezing your hand. “Do we have to talk about all that now? You know we don’t have much time together. Let’s just enjoy it for what it is.” Lucas pulls you into him, tucking your head into his shoulder.

“That’s fine by me,” you say, and resist the urge to make some dark joke about how scandalous it is for a fairy to have their neck so close to a vampire’s mouth—or a vampire’s anything.

You both stay together in that dingy and old spot for a while, talking in the dark until he tells you he has to go. He follows you the whole way back home to ensure you’re safe, keeping to the shadows until he sees you disappear past your front door. Then, he slips away again to head back to the familiar manor in his own district.

It’s nearly morning when Lucas gets back to the large house he shares with the other six men. By this time of day, he knows they will either be in bed or getting ready to turn in.

“Still visiting that fairy, I see.”

The unexpected voice doesn’t scare Lucas, but it does make his body tense up a bit in irritation and a slight sense of anticipation. He sighs and stops in his tracks on the way to his room, though he doesn’t face the clan leader just yet.

“Is that a problem? Because you know I’m not going to stop.”

Kun makes a noise of disbelief. “Of course it is. You know what the consequences are if anyone outside of us finds out.” Lucas turns to him slightly, and the look on Kun’s face is more disappointment—maybe even slight fear?—than anger. “I clearly can’t stop you from doing what you want to, but I can’t help you if the Association gets involved.”

Lucas rocks back on his heels and sighs, rolling his eyes at the mention of the vampire organization. “Fuck the Association. They’re nothing but a bunch of old ass hags who have no purpose in their lives other than ruling over every other vampire in the world.”

Kun looks weary at his words. “You really don’t care, do you, Xuxi. They’d have your heart on a stake if they ever heard that.” He pauses and rolls his eyes. “They’re also not that much older than me, so I wonder who you’re calling an ‘old ass hag’...”

“Isn’t it a good thing that they won’t hear it, then?” Lucas laughs, but it’s not an entirely humorous sound, and he gives Kun a searching look as his chuckles die off.

“Don’t look at me like that. I have no interest in telling them anything, mostly because I also have no interest in our whole clan being wiped out.”

Lucas nods, reaffirming his somewhat shaky but still present trust in Kun, needing the regular reassurances for his own calm. He stretches his arms above his head and takes a few steps like he’ll go to his room, though he doesn’t move to leave just yet. “Just don’t see what the big deal about all this is. All this over some ancient bloodsucker who died like 500 years ago...who cares.”

Kun winces again, though he doesn’t bother with reprimanding Lucas this time; he only shakes his head and sighs heavily like it’s already a lost cause. “A vampire and a fairy together is more than blasphemy—it’s ridiculous. It’s illogical. They all think we’re bloodsucking demons hellbent on killing them.”

“To be fair, there’s definitely a sect of vampire zealots or two who are trying to do exactly that despite the laws.”

Kun sighs. Lucas is right; what can he say to argue that? “Xuxi…”

“I’m telling you I’ll be fine, Kun-ge. You don’t need to worry about me and Y/N. Things have been going fine for this long.” Lucas nods, then heads off to his room for real this time. Kun watches him leave, feeling a lot less reassured than the younger man.

Ten takes Xiaojun and Lucas on one of their weekly outings to a blood lounge. Blood lounges are an easy and accessible way for vampires to get blood, though the legalities of this practice are a little muddy. Before getting with you, Lucas didn’t mind drinking straight from the source—going to one of the back rooms and sucking some willing, vulnerable being just to the point of death—but now, it feels like a type of transgression. Drinking someone else’s blood can be an intensely intimate act, on the same level as sex depending on the context, and he doesn’t want to do anything to make you think he’d be unfaithful.

To his fortune, there is no club rule about having to feed off other beings; many vampires take their blood in fancy champagne glasses, just like drinks in a human club. He does that now as the three men sit in a darkly lit booth.

Their conversation is unexciting for a while, with Lucas keeping careful not to mention you or any of his recent visits to your district to avoid any prying ears in the lounge. However, things soon get interesting. “We all know how Renjun got taken off the Association’s Registry a year ago, right?” Ten asks suddenly.

“Yes, of course.” Xiaojun answers like he’s already bored of this turn in the conversation. “That’s what happens whenever a vampire dies.”

Ten nods, but his eyes are wide like he has a secret he’s itching to tell. “But I don’t think he actually died.”

Lucas’s ears perk up at that.

“Why?” Xiaojun asks.

“He was seeing that human before he supposedly died, you know—”

“The one who lost it and drove the stake in his heart? We all know how it happened—”

“Can you let me finish? Anyway, I’ve heard some...suggestions that he faked his death—that maybe he got a magic user to set the whole crime scene up and make it look like it was real. Illusory magic, or something like that.”

Xiaojun sits forward. “A magic user. As in a fairy? Or a witch? Who?”

“I don’t know, just someone who uses magic. People are starting to think he and the human faked it all and ran away to Tianjin. I heard someone even claimed they saw somebody who resembled him when they went to Tianjin recently, though I don’t know how true that is…”

Xiaojun’s interest is thoroughly engaged now. “Think the Association will go looking for him, if it's true?”

“I don’t know if they’d care enough to hunt down an unregistered vampire who’s laying low and not creating chaos with other citizens. We all know Tianjin is way more relaxed about inter-species relationships, too. But the Association doesn’t like looking stupid. And that kind of trick definitely makes them look stupid.”

Lucas sits back, taking all of this information in. He is uncharacteristically quiet, but he doesn’t know what to make of that situation or why Ten is telling them about it. He thinks he can guess why, though, by the way Ten’s gaze lingers on him, and that scares him a little. The way this rumor piques a forbidden interest in him scares him. Lucas lifts the glass of blood to his lips and drinks from it, trying to distract himself from the current conversation.

“All this for a damn human. Only an idiot would try something like that,” Xiaojun says, shaking his head.

“Maybe a smart one. It did get him off the Registry.”

“How can you be a smart idiot?!” Ten and Xiaojun start arguing over the semantics of the term, and Lucas watches them in amusement, though his mind remains in two different places for the rest of their time in the blood lounge.

—

Later that night when they are back at the manor, Lucas pulls Ten aside, just like the older man expected him to.

“What’s wrong?” Ten asks, though his expression shows he already knows exactly what’s the matter.

“You...the stuff you said about Renjun earlier. I…” Lucas doesn’t know how to start or break his idea to him softly, so he decides to just say it. “Is it really possible?”

“I think it’s possible. It wouldn’t be the first time someone tried to get off the Registry…though many other attempts were way less successful.” Then Ten hesitates before saying, “You could try it.”

“Are you serious?”

“I am.” Ten’s expression softens a little. “I know you and Y/N love each other a lot, but there’s no way the Association will ever let you stay together if they find out. Y/N’s life could actually be in danger. Both of you are, every moment you spend together while living in these districts. If you really want to stay with Y/N, then…”

“...But I wouldn’t be able to see any of you again.” You and Lucas have become so entwined with one another that he can hardly imagine a life without you, but he also finds it difficult to picture his existence without his brothers. They’ve become like blood family to him over the last couple centuries.

“Yeah.” Ten sighs deeply, and although his reply is short, Lucas knows that one word is carrying the weight of all of his stress and sorrow about the idea. “Maybe we could find a way to visit you sometimes. Get the fairies or witches to do some of their magicky shit.” Ten laughs quietly. “But...it’s still just an idea. You don’t have to do it.”

Lucas shakes his head slowly. He wants to put the idea to bed and try to continue on with his life, managing his clandestine visits to your district when he can. But now that he knows of an alternative way, no matter how unreasonable or unbelievable it is, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to forget about it. “Kun-ge is going to kill you once he finds out this was your suggestion. You know that, right?”

Ten shrugs, and the sadness lifts momentarily in the curve of his lips. “He can try.”

The next time you and Lucas meet up, it’s in yet another different place under an ancient and mostly abandoned bridge. As a precaution, you stand together underneath the darkness of the bridge and stay out of sight, though there are few chances of anyone being around to see you in the first place.

He has to muster up the courage to tell you of his idea, unsure of how you’ll react or what you’ll think of it. It’s a lot to ask of you. Your kinships and friendships are not as extensive as his, only having a brother and two cousins left in the world, but he doesn’t know if he could ever ask you to leave them behind like this. Or if he could shake off the guilt that would remain from it.

“There might be a way for us to change things…” Lucas starts, skipping the build-up because he knows it would take him forever to think of something appropriate to say. “But I don’t know if you’ll like it.”

“Change things?” You glance at him curiously. You wish you could see the deep red of his irises, but they are hidden behind his brown contacts. “As in, with us?”

“Yes. So that maybe we wouldn’t have to sneak around anymore. Or at least...not sneak around as much as we do now.”

“What is it?” you ask. Despite yourself, your wings flutter against your back as wonder and excitement rise in your chest. You and Lucas have waxed poetic many times before about how you wish things could be different; and neither of you have ever been able to come up with a workable plan. But now, his claim that maybe something is possible has you dangerously curious.

“Taking myself off the Registry. I could basically just...disappear. The Association can’t harm what technically no longer exists.”

You stare at him in confusion. “But you can’t do that, right? Only under special circumstances…”

Lucas sees the question in your eyes and nods. “Right. Like if I die…” You flinch, shaking your head immediately. “...or pretend I’ve died.” This makes you pause, not expecting to hear something like that come from him.

“Pretend...you’ve died. Faking your own death?”

“I know it sounds crazy, but...there’s another vampire who we think has done it before. And...it worked. Supposedly.”

You shake your head again, but you turn the idea over in your mind. “How would you even do that? Someone would have to know you’re not really dead. That can’t be as easy as it sounds...”

Lucas swallows hard. “I know, it doesn’t, but maybe if we plan it right...I think we could pull this off. Some of the others...already know about it.” Only Ten, really, but that’ll inevitably change soon.

Your heart is hammering in your chest just thinking about this plan—the small, undefined plan that it is—and you’re unsure how to approach it. “If we leave under those circumstances, we can’t come back here to Beijing. Which means we won’t see anyone else again, our families and friends...”

“You understand that.” Lucas’s voice comes out strained.

You sigh, wringing your hands. “I do.”

Lucas hangs his head, closing his eyes tightly. “It’s too much to ask of you. We can just forget about this, really. I know sneaking around has been difficult, and I just—”

“I never said I wouldn’t agree to it,” you say softly, interrupting him before he can begin deriding himself about the idea.

Lucas’s head perks up again, and you both look at each other for a long moment. A cold night breeze flows through your clothes and rustles your wings, which remain tucked close against your back.

“Just think of it as leaving the nest, I guess,” you say, though there are tears welling in your eyes. “Growing up and making a life for ourselves. We can do that...right?”

Lucas bites his lip and closes his eyelids to stave off the tears trying to form in his own eyes. “Yeah. We can do that. Even if it’s a bit...unconventional.”

You nod hurriedly, wiping your eyes with the backs of your hands before any more tears can make their way out. “If you really want to do this, then we need to visit my brother.”

—

Your brother is predictably not thrilled about the idea. He likes Lucas well enough, but he’s never been very good at hiding his skepticism about your relationship. Though he would never say this to you directly, he never expected your relationship to make it past a few months; and yet it’s been a year and a half since you and Lucas started seeing each other. Maybe he’d be glad about your relationship’s stability if your partner was anyone other than a vampire. Alas, he instead spends all his time stressing over whether either of you will be found out at any moment’s notice.

“You’re playing with fire,” your brother says as he sits down at his desk within his apothecary office. He shakes his head the entire time, but he rifles through his collection of books on magic anyway. If there is anyone who knows a potion or spell that could work for this scheme and would actually be willing to keep it all secret, it’s your brother.

“I know that, Aldriel.” You cross your arms, sighing impatiently at your brother’s continuous reprimands since you’ve stepped through his door. “That’s why we came to you. You’re one of the best magic wielders and potionists around.”

“Oh, I’m well aware. No need to blow smoke up my ass,” Aldriel replies, never one to let a moment to brag slip away. He continues flipping through his book fast enough to make the words on the pages blur, his brow creased with focus. He is paying attention to the words and pictures on the pages, though you also know him well enough to realize this is him trying to distract himself from the many thoughts that must be crowding his brain.

“Don’t be so worried about it,” you say, trying to speak against the lump that’s suddenly forming in your throat. “You’ve always complained about wanting me out of your hair, anyway.”

Aldriel pauses in flipping through his spell book to look directly at you now, his brows creased even further and his face creating a visage of bitter desperation. “Not like this.”

Sighing, you turn away from him and let him go back to his textbook, knowing you’d probably start to cry if you look at him any longer. And who knows what will happen once that begins.

You go back to Lucas, who is sitting in the other room with his face turned to the window. It is nighttime and the blinds are closed, so you know he’s not looking at anything in particular. His mind must be similarly preoccupied.

“You okay?” you ask, touching his arm.

“Fine,” he answers, though he doesn’t turn to you. He just grasps your hand where it slides down to his own, gripping your fingers tightly. “As fine as I can be in this situation, I guess.”

You sit down in front of Lucas on the floor’s intricately decorated rug, resting your head against his knee. “It’ll be okay.” You aren’t sure of the words when they leave your lips, but you have to believe in them or else all will be lost.

—

You both spend a few hours at Aldriel’s place. At one point, you try to prod Lucas into going back to his clan to avoid raising suspicions for being gone too long—you can just get the potion to him some other day—but he insists it’ll be easier for him to stay and receive the potion now.

Finally, in the hour before dawn, your brother’s door opens and he steps through. “It’s ready.”

Both you and Lucas come alert at that, and you step back into Aldriel’s apothecary to see what he’s developed.

“This is an advanced death glamor potion,” your brother says, holding up a small glass bottle. “It contains a magic incantation that will leave you dead for a week and only a week. Seven days. Your body will remain in perfect stasis, so there’s no risk of the regular side effects that come with death.”

“A week?” you repeat, nervousness coursing through your body. Lucas looks equally apprehensive, and he squeezes your hand tighter.

Aldriel nods, pushing his glasses further up his nose. “That should be enough time to take care of the funeral arrangements and make everyone else think you’ve passed.” He says the last bit while gesturing to Lucas. “I’m not super clear on how vampire funerary customs work, though, so—”

Lucas nods. “No, it’ll work. That’s enough time.”

Your brother’s mouth creases into a thin line. “Good.” He passes the vial to Lucas, makes an expression like he might say something else, and then shakes his head, glancing to you instead. “You plan to go to Tianjin, right?”

“That’s right,” you say quietly.

“You’ll need to find a place to stay, then, until you can get one of your own. And I think we both know exactly where that will be.”

The potion works just as Aldriel said it would. It’s hard to know whether to be dismayed or relieved about this, though the former emotion quickly wins out with everyone.

Lucas takes it a week after meeting with your brother and procuring all the necessary fake documents, claiming it’s best not to wait any longer for it. You feel apprehensive about doing it so soon; or maybe you just want to stall for a little while longer. By now the other five men in his clan all know, each with varying reactions to it but ultimately unable to do anything to change his mind—not even Kun.

On the night Lucas uses the potion, Kun makes one last ditch attempt at reasoning.

“You don’t need to go to this extreme,” the older man insists. Though his voice is cold and sharp and deceptively calm, his entire face is a picture of perfect anger. Everyone had already had their turns talking to Lucas alone and telling him what they needed him to hear—and now it’s just Kun left.

“It’s my decision,” Lucas says, keeping his voice steadier than he feels. “I want to be with Y/N. There is no other way.”

“You’re endangering the entire clan with this. You’d throw us all away for one person?” Kun’s eyes are red-rimmed, but not just from the rage; Lucas knows he’s been crying. Lucas shuts his own eyes, his forehead creasing as he presses the pads of his fingers to his temples.

“Don’t say it like that.”

“That’s exactly what it is.”

“You wouldn’t understand.” Lucas shakes his head, knowing he is treading on very dangerous waters with what he’s about to say. As if the situation weren’t already contentious enough. “You closed yourself off to love a long time ago. After Jingyi died. You just wouldn’t know.”

The vivid red hue of anger bleeds into Kun’s irises at the mention of his late human lover, and he has to make a very concentrated effort not to reach for the younger’s neck. “How dare you speak of her.”

Lucas opens his eyes again and looks directly at his elder now. “You’ve let the Association run your life too much,” he says, though the words come out sounding a bit defeated. He’s not even sure why he invokes Kun’s lover now; maybe he is trying to make the split easier by provoking the other man into hating him. “You’ve let them beat it into you that love is not worth trying for. What did you gain from that, in the end? But more loneliness.”

Lucas gets the breath knocked from him when Kun slams him up against the wall, and the unpleasant sound of wood splintering strikes against his eardrums. A long vertical crack forms in the wood behind Lucas, but not wide enough to make the wall separate completely. Not using his full strength, then, Lucas thinks to himself.

Kun looks for all the world like he might kill Lucas then and there without the younger man ever needing to take a potion—just bite his heart right out. He crumples Lucas’s shirt in his hands, fisting the fabric tightly enough to create small rips in it. His irises are the color of newly spilled arterial blood, and alongside the red rimming of his eyes from his earlier crying, it makes for an agonizing sight—one that sears itself into the back of Lucas’s mind. It’s made even worse by the new tears spilling down the older man’s face.

He chokes out through the tears, “You cannot do this. I raised you. You would have me destroyed twice?”

Lucas wishes he could shut every one of his senses off right now, but he can only manage to shut his eyes, once again, against the pain in the other man’s gaze. “I’m sorry, Kun-ge.”

—

After that, Lucas goes back to his own room and sits on the bed for a long time, replaying the events in his head and growing colder with the realization of what he’s about to do. He stares at the small vial on his dresser until he can’t stare at it anymore, and then he downs it all at once. He looks at the vial with renewed interest as it actually disappears once the fluid is gone, the glass evaporating away in the palm of his hand like water droplets under the sun. No evidence.

Lying on his side, he stares at the wall across from his bed and waits for the spell to begin working. He doesn’t know how much time passes, but eventually his vision begins to blur, almost so imperceptibly that it’s difficult to realize until he notices everything in his field of view is doubled, objects bleeding out of their lines like pictures drawn by a drunken artist—there’s a strange ringing in his ears too, a sound on the edge of his hearing but still present, and he doesn’t know what any of it means, or if this is how other beings feel when they are on the brink of death—it’s frightening, and he feels a momentary pang of sympathy for other nonhumans and humans alike who have no choice but to experience this terrible ordeal at the closing of their lives—

It’s harder to keep his eyes open now, so he closes them and lets all sounds and sensations fade out of his hearing—he only holds one last memory of you in his mind, of the soft and filmy texture of your wings underneath his fingertips, of you laughing whole-heartedly at something silly he’d said, and he joins his hands together in the universal symbol of prayer even as they grow weaker, hoping and praying even to his cursed vampire ancestor that this won’t be the very last memory of you—

—

“Yes, he has...most certainly departed from this world.” 

An Association council member known as Belial announces this to the room of men after doing a thorough check of Lucas’s body. His voice is distant and saddened. The texture of it is almost tangible, dragging everyone down with it like a physical thing—akin to a rock being dropped into a thin sheet. “Such a fledgling, too. Truly tragic and strange circumstances.” Belial stands beside the bed, shaking his head and looking down at the still form of the younger man as if he might discover an answer if he stares for long enough. “Was there no indication…?”

“He was probably exposed to bad blood,” Ten replies, his voice tense and quiet. Though Kun is clan leader, he doesn’t say anything at all, leaving all the dirty work of explaining the lie to Ten.

Belial’s gaze turns to Ten. He shifts his head slightly to turn his ear towards him, as if he didn’t understand what the other man said. “Bad...blood? As in death by blood weakness?”

The room feels like it’s been sucked of air once these words are spoken, and the younger men shift uncomfortably. Sicheng never lifts his gaze to look at Belial, though Yangyang’s eyes keep darting between Belial and Lucas on the bed like he’s waiting for something to happen. Hendery is just as anxious beside Yangyang, both of them passing uneasy energy between each other. Xiaojun’s face is still fixed into the same permanent frown it had been in since Lucas first told them of the plan. His eyes remain downcast and fixed on Lucas, silently asking Why did you have to be the idiot this time?

“Yes, blood weakness. He hadn’t drank as much blood as usual in the last few days...maybe he seemed a little restless...but we didn’t think it was unusual. He...didn’t seem sick.”

“Where would he have gotten bad blood from? We vampires always take such care…” Belial’s tone turns condescending, as if he could expect no better from a young vampire—someone not even wise enough to tell bad blood from uninfected blood. How could one let themselves be taken out of this world by such a fundamental, basic mistake? Kun curls his fingers into a fist at his side, though he quickly remembers himself and tries to let them relax.

“The blood lounge,” Hendery blurts out. Every eye turns to him now, and Ten’s mouth thins into an agitated line. This isn’t what they agreed on. “M-maybe it was spoiled blood from the blood lounge. It had to be. He’s more careful than that…”

Belial’s eyes are whirling with so many emotions that it’s hard to pin any singular one down. “Serving bad blood, with or without knowledge of it, is an incredible offense within any vampire district. In that case, the establishment must be shut down—after an exhaustive investigation, of course.” This statement causes more discomfort among the gathered men, almost too much of it to be properly concealed.

“I think that won’t be necessary,” Kun interjects quietly. Belial looks at him with an expression that reeks of offense, and Kun returns the stare, glaring straight into the elder vampire’s eyes. “He died of blood weakness, most likely from drinking from some disease-ridden human. Even though he used the blood lounge and blood bags, he was in the habit of getting outside blood on occasion. It was a moment of poor judgment that cost him his life...and nothing more than that.”

A tense silence stretches over the room, and Belial’s eyes still don’t leave Kun’s. The other men remain statue-still, waiting to see what will happen—if it will work—until Belial says, “Yes. Of course. I’ll file his passing with the Keepers of the Registry, as protocol states.”

The other men stay quiet and motionless until Belial departs from their house.

“You used your compulsion on a council member,” says Yangyang, and even his voice is trembling when he speaks.

“I didn’t think that was possible,” Xiaojun notes, though his tone is more irritated than awed. “They’re all so much more advanced.”

That action obviously didn’t come for free, though, because Kun is holding his head like it hurts, turning away from the rest of them. “Such recklessness is not my style. Primitiva help us all. We’re all dead if we’re found out.”

“Why did you say that,” Sicheng deadpans, his words directed to Hendery. Even though Sicheng hasn’t said or done anything since stepping into the room, he looks thoroughly exhausted. “You almost gave us away.”

Hendery holds himself up on the bed as if he’ll collapse, his body bent with all the weight of their lies. He makes a motion like he might sit on the bed before remembering it’s where Lucas’s body is resting, and he straightens himself with some effort. “I...but he was thinking badly of Lucas. Like it was his fault.”

“It was,” Kun says faintly.

“You can’t let your emotions get the best of you right now. Just let me handle the talking.” Ten’s expression is stressed, and for a moment he starts to wonder if he should’ve ever said anything to Lucas at all.

Xiaojun shakes his head. “For now, there is a lot more we need to do than just talking.”

Vampire funerary procedures are much different from what many other supernatural races are used to—even blasphemous to some. Everything is handled at the home of the deceased instead of a funeral home or mortuary, in keeping with the tradition of honoring one’s vampire ancestors—and ultimately, the Primitiva Vampire. After the Primitiva’s gruesome death hundreds of years ago, all that had been left was her ashes once the fire burned out, but her followers still gave the remains a proper processing and burial.

The men dress Lucas in one of his nicest suits and perform all the necessary actions that would be involved at a funerary home, including preparing the casket. All of them help throughout this process as tradition dictates, though it is more difficult than any of them expected it to be. (No one even makes a dark joke about you’ll have to do this for me when I’m gone, which speaks to their inner turmoil.)

The viewing is equally challenging to get through, if not more.

Many of their vampire friends and acquaintances attend, including various members of the Association. Everyone seems to buy the blood weakness lie perfectly, which means Kun’s compulsion worked as it should have. That knowledge does very little to relax any of them in the grand scheme of things, though.

Though they know Lucas is not really gone, the sight of him lying there in that dark coffin with other vampires looking sadly down at his still face and dabbing their tears away is deeply frightening.

The night of the viewing goes by at a glacial pace, and every other night after that up until the funeral passes even more slowly, like time itself has dropped its speed to prolong the torment.

When the last few straggling visitors for the viewing are gone, the men go their separate ways to try to deal with the not-so-small trauma of the day’s events. Kun goes up to one of the manor’s several wide balconies, one that they’ve all used as a familiar hangout spot or simply a place to unwind over the years. The sun will not rise for another forty-five minutes or so, giving him enough time to sit and think before it becomes unsafe. He is not very surprised when he finds Ten already there, though he decides not to leave.

“You stopped smoking three decades ago,” Kun comments, waving his hand in a pitiful attempt to clear out the smell of smoke filling the air. There’s no hint of teasing or personality in his voice, only hollowness and exhaustion. He sits beside the other man in one of the chairs sat outside. “Where did you even get cigarettes from?”

“Don’t worry about me. This is just for the nerves.”

“Why would I worry, it’s not like you can—” Kun pauses before saying the word they both know, realizing it hits far too close to home right now. Silence falls between them until Kun asks, “Do you actually believe this will be worth it?”

“It will. We’ve worked too hard for it not to be.” Ten takes a drag from his cigarette. “We’re giving them a second chance. Isn’t that something to feel good about?”

“A second chance. How interesting.”

“Everyone deserves one.” Ten glances at Kun from the corners of his eyes and doesn’t say anything more, but Kun already knows what he’s vaguely implying.

“And yet everyone doesn’t get one.”

“All the more reason to take the opportunity when it becomes possible.”

Kun doesn’t reply to that. Ten places a hand on his shoulder, but the older man meets this with little regard as he rises from his seat and walks away at a sluggish pace.

You stand in the train station ready to buy a ticket, clutching documents falsifying your identity and feeling more terrified than you possibly ever have. Today marks the seventh day, and you don’t even know if Lucas is alive right now. It was too risky to have any of the other clan members contact you—not until you and Lucas meet up in the designated place. You know Aldriel is an excellent potion master, and if he says the spell will work as intended then it will, but there’s always that seed of doubt.

Your parting with Aldriel had been typical of your relationship with him—you crumbling before him and him pretending like he was fine, lending enough strength for the both of you to survive on, though you knew he was also bleeding from the heart.

“You better not forget about me,” you’d told him, smushing your face into the sleeve of his shirt to hide your tears, though there was no stopping the flow. It was staining his shirt sleeve right through.

He’d scoffed at you, though it was a watery sound. “I couldn’t if I wanted to.” He’d held your head closer against his shoulder, the both of you glued together in whichever way seemed fit when you’d walked through his door one last time to say goodbye. “We’ll see each other again. Don’t worry.”

You’d lifted your head from his shoulder then, looking at him with an aggrieved expression. “You shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep.”

Aldriel put his hand on top of your head, petting you like a small puppy. It was a thing you’d disliked since you were both children, but which only made your heart hurt even more now. “Have more faith in me than that, dear sister. You’ll see.”

When it’s your turn to get a ticket, you step up to the counter and hand over your information, trying to keep the shaking in your hands to a minimum. The teller behind the counter is also a fairy, their wings tucked against the back of their uniform but peeking out at the sides. You childishly try to take some solace in that, hoping there will be some solidarity between you two. Maybe they’ll be less critical of your legitimacy than any other being might be.

The process is scarily easier than you’d thought it would be, though you are sweating the entire time. A fake name and birth date, and no one suspected anything. All of this would have to be your new identity now if you were to live with Lucas in Tianjin without being discovered.

Getting on the train when it comes is only part of the long journey ahead. It doesn’t provide you with much relief, but you are at least thankful to have one segment of that journey complete.

—

It takes another cab to get to your destination once you’re off the train, but you soon arrive at the house of one of Aldriel’s friends and his similar-name twin—Raziel. Raziel was Aldriel’s most trusted and oldest friend, their woven history extending back to childhood. The three of you had grown up together, and you’d even been quite familiar with Raziel until they left for Tianjin some years ago. Now, you’re back in front of each other again under circumstances that you never could’ve guessed.

“You’re here. Good.” Raziel welcomes you into their house with open arms, tugging you into a jittery hug that you anxiously return.

“Have...you heard anything?” you ask, though you know it’s futile. Raziel wouldn’t have gotten any more information than you have, not until Lucas was standing right on their doorstep. They shake their head and give you a sympathetic look, patting your hands.

“He’ll be alright. Everything will go well. I believe it.” Raziel guides you further into their house, presumably towards the room you’ll be staying in while you’re there. “It’s all so romantic, though—even if it doesn’t feel like it right now. I hope you know you’re doing a good thing, in the end.”

You force your facial muscles into a smile, though it is a ghostly and fleeting one. “Thank you.”

Either way, you will have to wait until nighttime to know if Raziel’s words come true or not; the sun is still high in the sky. It’s only midday. You’ve never before hated the sunlight, but right now you curse the sun’s rays that elongate the time between you and your lover.

—

“You all, give him some damn space,” Ten says, trying to pull the younger vampires away so they won’t crowd around the coffin. “He doesn’t need the scare of his life looking at all your faces when he wakes up.” Despite trying his best to be the voice of reason, Ten also has to refuse the urge to station himself beside the coffin and watch for the slightest movement of eyelids, the tiniest twitch of the lips. His hands shake from the frayed nerves of a week of nothing but death and gloom, and even though he doesn’t need to sleep, he thinks he will be out for at least two days after all of this is over.

There is no set time, no designated signal for when—or the dreaded if—Lucas will awaken. The waiting game feels longer than it really is, especially with the hours until the funeral commences steadily counting down. However, it is not very long before there’s a big sucking breath coming from the coffin, the sudden sound of lungs being filled after a week of complete stillness. Everyone rushes back to the bier when this happens, peering wildly inside the coffin.

Lucas’s eyelids flutter for an eternity before shooting open. He immediately seems distressed upon waking, sitting up out of the coffin so quick that it stutters on its stand, and the others have to steady it before it tips over.

“Xuxi...are you okay?” Sicheng asks, voice hushed with nervousness. Despite his unending anger and distress about the situation, Kun has also crowded in to witness Lucas’s awakening, and he visibly sags with relief to see the younger man is at last awake.

The look in Lucas’s eyes is wild. They are momentarily afraid that maybe something has gone wrong with the potion—maybe it has affected his mind somehow and he doesn’t remember any of them— but then he says,

“Y/N. Is Y/N okay?”

“We don’t know,” Sicheng replies. “I mean, hopefully. But it was safer to not have so much cross-communication going on—you’ll have to go to the meeting spot to find out…”

Though the reasons for this make sense, this does not provide consolation. Lucas fumbles his way out of the coffin with the men’s help. It’s clear he’s still disoriented, which makes them even more nervous, if that’s possible at this point.

“You should drink some blood before you leave,” Hendery suggests, and everyone else agrees. Lucas won’t argue that, so he downs one of the blood bags they have stored until he feels a little more like himself.

“You have to go soon, the funeral is set to start in another hour—we’ll have to leave—” Yangyang warns him, though the words fade at the end of his sentence. He doesn’t know how to continue his thought or how to even begin saying goodbye.

Lucas fills that gap by steeling himself and saying his farewells to each of them in turn, though his eyes are troubled and his chin crumples like he might cry at any moment.

“Don’t say I never helped you out with anything,” Ten says, a few tears slipping down his cheeks. Being separated is painful, but it’ll ultimately serve its purpose of giving Lucas a chance at having a love that none of them could. After seeing Kun suffer the way he did after losing Jingyi, Ten wants to spare another one of his mates from dealing with the same fate.

When Lucas gets to Kun, there is a slight awkward silence and a swift exchange of glances—Lucas’s soft gaze butting up against Kun’s more solid one, which is simultaneously pleading to him and rebuking him for his actions. Still, Kun embraces him tightly enough that their bodies could join together.

“Xuxi…” Kun starts, “I don’t…” And then his words break, leaving an unspoken thought between them.

“One day, you’ll forgive me for this,” Lucas whispers to the older man. Kun gives him an endlessly hurt look in return, silently asking him how he could even conceive those words. When they separate from each other, it’s with much reluctance. Lucas looks at them all and nods once, his mouth tight with grief.

“Right. Time to go, then.”

—

You awake in the middle of the night to cool fingers on the side of your face, which startles you completely out of your sleep. Opening your eyes to an unfamiliar room scares you even more, and it takes you a moment to remember why your surroundings have changed. The knowledge comes back to you quickly when a large palm slips against your own, long fingers twining with yours.

“Xuxi,” you whisper quietly, the sound of his name hanging in the air like a prayer. One of the last few times you’ll be able to freely call him that, except in private.

You can’t see his figure well with all the lights turned out, but he had no problem navigating through the dark to reach your bedside. Wanting desperately to see his face, you fumble around for the bedside lamp switch before turning it on.

“Y/N…” Lucas’s face is suddenly illuminated to you in all its golden glory, a myriad of emotions flickering over his features.

“I didn’t even hear you come in,” you say breathlessly. You’re somewhat sad and wish you could’ve met him at the door, embraced him after his long trip, but it doesn’t much matter anymore because he’s here now.

“Poor Y/N. My baby must’ve been so tired.” Lucas bumps his forehead against yours, his whole body drooping with relief as he practically sinks into you, and you giggle a little as you complain about having to hold his weight up. There is a tingle behind your eyes that threatens to turn into a sudden burst of tears, but you try to hold them at bay for a while longer.

“Are we safe?” he whispers, needing your confirmation. “Raziel said so. But...are we really safe?”

“That’s frightening to even think about,” you reply quietly. “We can’t stay here too long, but for now…I think we will be.” Lucas nods without a word, still holding your hand. His blood-scent is completely absent, as it usually is when he’s around you, and you know he’s used the blockers. Soon, with the ability to go out together and not be arrested or threatened for it, that will not be necessary to disguise his vampirism anymore. “It...won’t be easy.”

“No, but the things we want out of life usually aren’t.”

You squeeze his hand. “Raziel will help take care of things for us. It won’t all be trials and tribulations. I hope.” More hesitantly, you ask him, “What was it like? Being dead?” You know that vampires, being once human, still have souls and an afterlife to go to like most other living beings.

The look on his face is worrying. He doesn’t meet your eyes; he only shakes his head and stares at your joined hands. “It was cold without you.” His lips pull into a weak and chapped smile, if only to quiet your worrying, but that doesn’t work as intended. You decide to leave it for now, figuring there will be more time to talk about it when he feels ready.

Turning the light back off, you both press your bodies together as close as they can physically get, Lucas’s head on your chest and his long legs all jumbled together with yours. You fall asleep before he does, lulled away by his comforting and safe presence. He stays awake for a while longer, staring into the dark and the dark staring back into him, before everything else falls away.