#((Also- feel free to throw ideas at me! Things that plague him most commonly and such!

[abrushwithdeath]

@thcangriestboy It happened so fast. He knew it was an accident. Just a brush of skin while he and Rogue were alone out on the grounds. They were always careful, too careful. They weren't even *doing* anything that would mean a likelihood of touching. He knew it only took a second. He'd felt a little queasy, but hoped Rogue wouldn't be hit with much, some light telekinesis, maybe. Minor telepathy. It could be fun, right? "My dad says it's a bad idea to just go to the astral plane while your powers - or my powers - are unstable. We'll just ride it out here. Are you -- Are you feeling okay?" He asked tentatively.

She felt like it was her fault. She'd not been paying attention, talking, and almost tripped. It shouldn't have constituted more than a laugh. But David had reached out to grab her arm, to steady her, and all it took was the brush of a finger against the barely exposed skin at her wrist...

She heard what he was saying, but, for just a moment, he felt distant. That wasn't entirely unusual after her powers had kicked in. A bit of disorientation was normal, though it usually came with longer contact than the brief second they'd shared. She just had to blink it away, welcome herself back to the present. Are you feeling okay? "Yeah." She assured him. It was the truth. She felt fine. Well, as fine as she could feel when she was still worried she'd hurt him. "Yeah, no, yeah... I'm fine." Clearly David was too. He was talking to her. He was checking on her. Maybe she hadn't really taken anything from him at all. That would be the best case scenario, right? "Yer a'right?" She asked, tossing the question back his way just to be sure. Even if he seemed okay, she couldn't not check on him.

Except that concern was short lived because, rather suddenly, she was well aware that something was wrong. The voices started first. The thing was- Rogue was used to hearing voices of other people in her head, she heard them all the time. But most of those, aside from a stray few that she had stolen too much from, were almost... static. They repeated the same things a lot, like NPCs in a shitty video game. A student reciting facts for a history test. A man worried his wife would find out about his affair. One spoke lewd thoughts. Another was caught in prayer. She knew them each by face, by sound, and she knew how their voices would cycle in and out of a one-person conversation until they eventually faded from her forever. This was not that. It felt so different, in fact, that she paused to look around them, as if anticipating the voices were coming from elsewhere. From a person hiding in a tree nearby. Or slinking across the ground. But there was no one. Just her and David. They had to be from somewhere though.

In hindsight, she should have realized that she'd maybe taken something from him after all- some symptoms of his illness. But she hadn't experienced them before herself. Her only basis for what he endured was, well, what he said. What little he explained. So then, why should it have occurred to her, in this moment, that what she was hearing (or seeing) wasn't entirely real? Eyes still darting about, searching, she grabbed at David's wrist. Her gloved fingers held a little tighter than she should have. Despite being a girl who wasn't really scared of much, she looked borderline terrified. "I don't think we're alone..." She told him quietly, so that she wouldn't be overheard. Someone was out there with them. That was the only explanation. And it made all the more sense when she thought she saw something out of the corner of her eye, head whipping to the right to search for it to no avail. "We should go... go back inside... somethin's not right..."

[alphacrone]

MAGIC TOWN SAMWELL AU

Based loosely on this older post of mine.

When the charm shop went in next door, Jack was wary. But plenty of his tomes still had the residue of charms and spells lingering in the dust between their pages, seeped into their cracked spines, and Jack managed well enough. Still, an entire store devoted to mood charms and luck potions – the idea of it alone made his skin itch.

When a sign went up above the cheerful, red awning declaring the shop “Peachy Keen,” Jack was skeptical. The name indicated to Jack that it was probably some gimmicky chain store, pretending to be quaint and local while really forcing out actual local businesses. But the sign itself looked genuinely hand-painted – it was either a very clever marketing tactic, or Jack was wrong in his assumptions.

When the shop’s owner came by to introduce himself, wearing a pastel pink button-down shirt and smiling like he’d just won the lottery, Jack knew he was utterly, totally fucked.

Jack and Bittle – “Eric Bittle but my friends call me Bitty oh is that cookbook I love old cookbooks my moomaw has a dozen-” – didn’t speak much after that initial introduction. Their respective shops kept them busy, and Jack tended not to go out with the other shopkeepers from the square when they had their weekly pub crawls. Bittle, from what Jack could tell, was bubbly and outgoing and almost as talkative as Shitty.

Jack was...not.

It had been maybe two or three weeks since Peachy Keen opened its doors when Jack came to work only to find a pie sitting on his stoop. It smelled heavenly, of nutmeg and cloves, apple and lemon, and seemed to still be piping hot. There was no note, but Samwell was a safe and friendly hamlet; Jack assumed it was from one of the older ladies who ran the butcher’s shop, or maybe even Shitty, learning to bake while baked. Jack was a little wary to eat anything that had seen the inside of Shitty’s apartment, but it smelled so good he couldn’t resist.

That turned out to be a huge mistake.

Thanks to some very creative hand gestures and the suspiciously intelligent crow who roosted in Jack’s chimney, Jack managed to get his medication before the bright purple welts on his arms and face got too horrific. A trip to the nearest urgent care center later, and Jack was perched behind the counter at Shitty’s nursery, Weeds n’ Things, glaring daggers at his laughing friend.

“Someone tried to poison you with pie?” Shitty asked incredulously. “Really? That’s your theory?”

Jack shrugged, feeling a little defensive. His father was a famous Necromancer, and while he had many fans, Bad Bob also had many enemies. It had been one of the numerous things that had plagued Jack’s anxiety as a child, knowing that there were people who wanted his father dead.

“Jack,” Shitty said, face softening. “I’m pretty sure that pie’s from Bits.”

“Who?” Jack frowned.

“Bitty?” Shitty sighed. “Bittle- you know, cute as shit, owns Peachy Keen. His whole schtick is charms and spells that aren’t disgusting – infused in desserts, snacks, drinks. Pie is, like, his forte, man.”

“Oh,” Jack said, feeling a mixture of relief, embarrassment, and irritation. “It’s sort of rude to just give someone an infused pie without telling them what it is.”

“Yeah, you got me there,” Shitty said, scratching at his jaw. “That doesn’t seem like Bits at all. Want me to talk to him about it?”

Jack thought about it for a moment, then shook his head. “No, I don’t want to make him feel bad for almost killing me.”

Shitty laughed again and slapped Jack on the back. “You’re not that allergic, dude. But I gotta ask – how was the pie? What flavor was it?”

With a long-suffering sigh, Jack said, “Aside from the hives all over my skin, it was the best thing I’ve ever eaten.” Shitty gave him a wide, knowing grin. “And apple. The pie was apple.”

“Hmm, good fortune,” Shitty said. “That’s usually what he puts in those.”

Jack snorted. “I guess from a certain perspective,” he said. “I was pretty damn fortunate.”

“That’s the spirit, brah,” Shitty said, nudging Jack with his elbow. “Now come help me water the herbs. Those babies have missed you.”

When Jack got home that evening, the chimney crow was waiting for him outside the shop. In its beak it held a small, torn note. Hesitantly, Jack reached out and took it. The crow gave him an appraising look and flew off, leaving Jack feeling very nervous as he unfolded the cheerful, yellow paper.

Everyone in the square’s tried a pie but you! Hope you like apple & fortune – it’s one of my best. See you around, neighbor :) - Bittle

Despite himself, Jack smiled. So Bittle had sent a note – and that damn chimney crow had nicked it. The grudge he’d been harboring towards the man lessened in intensity; the grudge he now bore for the crow doubled.

“You’ll be lucky if I don’t call an exterminator,” he called up at the roof where the crow’s nest hid. “I mean it.”

The crow did not respond, but Jack hadn’t really expected it to. He sighed and tucked the note into his pocket, ready to collapse face-first into his bed and sleep off the terrible day.

He wouldn’t remember how it happened in the morning, but the note was stuck to his refrigerator, right next to the ice maker. It stayed there for a long time.

It quickly became evident that, for the first time in his loud, obnoxious life, Shitty Knight had not intervened in Jack’s business.

Unfortunately, this meant another pie appeared on Jack’s stoop a week after his trip to the hospital.

The note taped to the tin was intact this time, written on light orange paper. Jack wondered idly how many colors of paper Bittle had in his shop, then realized he had never even seen the inside of Peachy Keen. The whole place could be covered in different shades of colored paper, and Jack wouldn’t have the faintest clue.

He was almost certain the air in that shop alone would be enough to break him out, which he definitely wanted to avoid in front of the cute baker.

Strawberries, cream, & focus, the note read. Mr. Crappy at the nursery buys a slice every time he needs to focus on paperwork. Of course, you don’t seem to need the help in that department! Hope you enjoy, and stop by soon! -ERB

Careful not to touch the crust, Jack picked up the pie and deposited it on the first flat surface in his store – the front counter. He didn’t want to just throw it out, but being near the thing, so chock full of pixie dust, was making Jack uneasy.

Though not all magic came from pixie dust, it was a large component in most Western spells, charms, and potions. It was potent, cheap to produce, and incredibly flexible in use.

And Jack Zimmermann was allergic to it.

Pixie dust allergies were not unheard of, but they were pretty rare. In his studies, Jack had found they occurred more frequently in East Asian and Southern African countries, where pixies were not native and their dust less commonly used. As a child he’d dreamt of running away to Antarctica, where it was too cold for pixies to survive, and he could live totally free from the fear of reaction with the penguins and the seals.

Jack sighed and glanced at the pie, tucking the note into his wallet so it wouldn’t get lost. He had a few minutes this morning before he needed to start his opening routine, so Jack grabbed the pie again and decided he'd take it over to Ransom and Holster, who ran the popular bar and grill, the Haus. They were also the leaders of Samwell’s very own werewolf pack, and therefore ate...a lot. As did their pack mates. The pie wouldn't last five minutes at their place.

Hesitation tugged at the back of Jack’s mind. It felt rude just getting rid of a pie specially made for Jack, but he certainly couldn't eat it. He needed to express gratitude somehow.

A small collection of antique cookbooks caught Jack’s eye. They weren't big sellers, not when Jack had colonial spellbooks and first edition grimoires on his shelves, but Bittle had noticed them right away that day he came in.

Shifting the pie to one hand, Jack grabbed one of the cookbooks with the other and slipped back out of the shop, not bothering to lock up behind him.

Ransom and Holster accepted the pie with as much gusto as Jack had expected.

(“Bro! How’d you get Bits to make you personal pie? That's dope!”

“I propose to him every other day or so, just so I can have that pie in my life forever. He thinks I'm kidding but I'm not.”)

Half of the pie was gone by the time he was back out of the door, and Jack breathed easier with its hauntingly delicious aroma far behind him. His anxiety spiked again as he remembered the book in his hand, and Jack scrambled to pull a piece of scrap paper – the back of a Jiffy Lube receipt – and scrawl out a quick note: Thanks for the pie. -JZ

Jack left the book and the note leaning up against the door of Peachy Keen and sped-walked away. He’d already diverted from his opening routine too much today; getting caught in conversation with Bittle was out of the question.

It wasn’t until he was back in his shop that Jack let himself breathe easy. He let out a deep sigh and began organizing the displays and cleaning up paperwork, readying himself for the day. Nursey, his assistant and one of the calmer members of Ransom and Holster’s pack, slipped behind the register with two minutes to spare, nose stuck in a well-worn book. Jack nodded at him in greeting, somehow still surprised when Nurse managed to nod back without taking his eyes off the page.

“I’ll take the register today,” Jack said as he flipped the sign in the window to say OPEN. “We got a restoration order in yesterday, seventeenth century French herbiary. Thought you’d like to take the reins on this one.”

Nursey looked up, surprised. “Really? By myself?”

Jack shrugged, shooing Nurse away from the register. “You’re one of the fastest learning conservators I’ve ever met. I have faith in you. I’ll be here if you have any questions.”

“Chill,” Nursey said, face still blank with confusion, but a small smile tugging at his lips. “I’ll, uh. I’ll be in the back.”

Jack grinned at Nursey’s retreating back, and steeled himself as the door opened. He wasn’t the best with customers – even Nurse, as laconic as he could be in conversation, had an ease and charm about him that enticed patrons of the shop – but Jack could answer questions and handle the register as well as any awkward teenager working their first job.

Around noon, just as Jack’s stomach began to rumble, he was pulled away from the counter by a customer who couldn’t reach the twentieth-century wizard’s almanacs. (Why anyone in Massachusetts needed a 1957 almanac for Prince Edward Island was a mystery to him, but, hey, it paid the bills.)

When Jack returned to the register, a pie was sitting on the counter, still steaming. There was a hot pink note attached to this one, but no sign of Bittle.

Found your gift this morning and HAD to put one of the recipes to use! Buttermilk pie with Comfort. Glad you liked the last one. <3 ERB

Jack sighed, heart fluttering uncomfortably in his chest. This feeling was like anxiety, gnawing at his diaphragm like acid, but something in it made his limbs and heart light. Bittle loved his gift. He loved it so much that he used it immediately...and had given Jack another pie he couldn’t possibly eat.

“Where’s Nurse?”

Jack looked up from the pie to see Dex and Chowder, Nursey’s friends and packmates. Dex was the Haus’ handyman and least flirty bartender; Chowder, however, had left his job at the butcher’s shop to apprentice at Peachy Keen. From what Jack had heard, Bittle adored Chowder. Something a little too close to jealousy stirred in Jack at that thought, so he tamped it down and gestured at the pie.

“He’s restoring. You two want pie?”

“Is that one of Bitty’s?” Dex asked, eyeing it carefully. Jack snatched the note away from the tin before either man could read it, stuffing it into the pages of his ledger.

“Yeah. He dropped it off while I was in the back,” Jack said. “You two want it?”

“Chyeah we want it,” Nursey said, coming up behind Jack. His reading glasses were dangerously low on his nose and his hair was tousled, but he seemed in high spirits. Jack assumed the restoration was going well. “Takin’ my lunch break, boss. Bitty Pie Lunch is the best lunch.”

Jack scowled. “Try to eat something with a bit more protein,” he said sternly. “You’ll crash by three if you just eat sugar.”

“Sure thing, Mr. Z,” Nurse said, waving him off. “Be back in thirty.”

“I can’t believe you call him Mr. Z,” Dex scolded as they walked away. “He’s a Zimmermann, don’t you think you should be a little politer?”

Chowder was clearly, willfully ignoring the fight that was about to erupt. “Guys, I can’t believe we get free Bitty Pie! I don’t even get that and I work for him!”

Jack knew his face was flushing horribly as the boys left the shop, but he schooled his features as he put up the BACK AT 1 sign in the window and grabbed his lunch – and another cookbook – and all but ran to Weeds n’ Things.

“Two pies in a day? Jacques,” Shitty said as they ate their lunches among the perennials. “Go into that shop and talk to that man. You know how many pies he’s made me? One. To introduce himself. And he made me share it with the Taddies.” Shitty jerked his head at the couple of kids he’d hired after Ollie and Wicks left the nursery to open their own store. “He clearly wants to get to know you, which is not easy seeing as you’ve decided to be the token hermit of Samwell.”

Jack ducked his head, concentrating on his sandwich. He couldn’t deny that he wanted to get to know Bittle, but he knew stepping foot in Peachy Keen was out of the question. “I hate Ransom and Holster’s pub crawl nights, though.”

Shitty patted him on the back. “I know, bud. But Bits is, like, the most outgoing person I know. You’ll be able to talk with him as long as you try to leave your cave every once and awhile.”

“If you say so,” Jack mumbled into his PB&J. “Is he always so cheerful? He seems really...chipper.”

“Chipper?” Shitty snorted. “We’re in America, speak American, Jack.”

“I’m sorry,” Jack said, rolling his eyes. “I can’t understand you, your accent is so foreign to my sensitive, Canadian ears.”

Shitty snorted again and elbowed Jack in the ribs. “See? When you hide away from the world, I’m the only one who gets to see how funny you are. And, to answer your questions, yes, Bits is the chipper-est person I’ve ever met. He’s, like, the opposite of you,” he added with a teasing grin. “He’s great, really, I think you guys’d really get on.”

Jack nodded, getting lost in memories of Bittle smiling and waving at him across the square as they went about their days. He seemed so bright, so sunny, that Jack always wondered what kind of glamours he used, or if the way he shone was all in Jack’s imagination.

“I’m gonna ask Chowder to drop off this book for him, after lunch,” he said eventually, patting the cookbook by his lunch sack. Shitty beamed at him, (probably) unaware of the spinach stuck to his mustache.

“You beautiful fucker,” Shitty sound through a mouthful of salad. “Wooing Bitty Bits with books. You guys are gonna get married and have twelve thousand sparkly nerd babies. I love it.”

“Shut up,” Jack muttered with no real heat. “He likes cookbooks.”

“So cute,” Shitty said, batting his eyelashes. “Mushy cute. I’m gonna ralph.”

“So Lardo’s been hanging around a lot,” Jack said casually, taking a bite of sandwich. “That’s interesting.”

“She needs herbs for the apothecary,” Shitty said, a little too defensively. “Apparently it’s salve season.”

Jack grinned. “Sure, Shits.”

“Oh, shut up, you big book wooer,” Shitty grumbled. Jack laughed so loud that the Taddies all jumped, and the one named Tango tripped over a flower pot.

Jack returned to his shop that afternoon in higher spirits and with one less cookbook in his inventory.

Jack and Bitty traded pies and books for almost a week without actually speaking in person. Jack could never manage to catch Bitty outside of Peachy Keen, and the chimney crow was always making a ruckus in the back whenever Bitty dropped by the bookshop. Nurse thought it was all too amusing, and had started calling the bird Johnson, just because “it suits him, man.”

“It’s because Johnson is a euphemism for dick,” Lardo said when Jack told her. “‘Cause that bird sounds like a fucking dick.”

“Okay,” had been Jack’s only response, because, really, what was he supposed to say to that?

It was Friday evening when Jack was just locking up the store that he finally got his chance to speak with Bittle. As he headed down the steps to the sidewalk, a bright, cheerful voice called his name. “Jack!” Bittle jogged down the sidewalk, waving with one hand, carrying a pie in the other. “So glad I caught you! I was gonna stop by earlier but we were packed all day, then this disoriented crow flew smack dab into the window of the shop and I had to rush the poor critter to the Falconer’s Lodge – I know he’s not a falcon but I couldn’t think of anyone else who’d be able to heal a bird! So George – have you met Georgia Martin? She’s delightful! – George managed to patch the silly old thing up in no time, and then the thing just flew off! So I had to run back to the shop – poor Chowder had to close up himself, I felt so bad – and grab this pie to thank you for the last book you sent! I’ve really been so interested in incorporating more herbs in my baking, they have such wonderful properties that come out in cooking, but I’ve never had time to study them! Anyway, sorry for rambling, I’m just so glad I caught you – and in person this time! I hope you like key lime and cheer.”

Bittle all but shoved the pie into Jack’s hands, and he took it hesitantly, careful not to touch the crust, just in case. Brow furrowing, Bittle seemed to notice Jack’s caution.

“Do you not like key lime?” He asked, wringing his hands together. “Oh, goodness, you don’t, I should’ve gone with pecan, I just couldn’t decide-”

“Bittle,” Jack said softly, cutting him off. “I...I really appreciate all the pies, but. But, I can’t eat them.”

“Why?” Bittle asked, tilting his head. “Are you on some sort of diet? Are you gluten free?” He gasped. “I should've asked if you had celiac or were lactose intolerant or-”

“It’s the pixie dust,” Jack said, feeling his cheeks burn against his will. “I’m allergic.”

Bittle’s eyes widened. “You’re...allergic to pixie dust?”

“Yes.”

“But your dad is Bad Bob-”

“I’m aware.”

“Wow.” Bittle carefully took the pie out of Jack’s hands, gnawing on his bottom lip. “Gosh, Jack, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed you could eat these- oh! Please tell me they haven’t affected you!”

Jack knew his face was probably bright red, but he soldiered on. “I, uh. Did have to go to urgent care after the first one. It was delicious,” he added, scratching the back of his neck. “But, uh…”

“Oh, my Lord!” Bitty shrieked, dropping the pie to cover his mouth. “Oh, Jack, oh, gosh- Let me pay your medical bills- I can help out at your shop, too, I’m real handy with cleaning without any pixie dust, I promise-”

“Bittle,” Jack interrupted, holding up his hands. “It’s okay. I have insurance, the urgent care bill isn’t going to force me into debt, I promise. It’s not the first time this has happened nor will it be the last.”

Jack was stunned to see tear – actual tears – in Bittle’s eyes. “Jack, I could’ve killed you.”

“It’s okay-” Bitte scoffed, wiping at his eyes. “No, seriously, I’m not deathly allergic, I promise. And do you know how hard it is to navigate life in America when you’re allergic to pixie dust? I had so many incidents growing up my mother seriously considered putting me in a bubble.”

“I shouldn’t have assumed,” Bitty insisted, wrapping his arms around himself. “I just wanted to talk to you so bad, but you seemed so cool and standoffish-”

Jack snorted, against his better judgement. “You are the only person who thinks I’m cool.”

“Please let me make it up to you,” Bitty pleaded. “I’ll clean your shop, wash your car, anything-”

“You wanna get dinner?” Jack asked, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I know a great, little Thai place. No pixie dust,” he joked, nudging Bitty’s arm with his elbow.

Bittle sniffed, but gave Jack a small smile. “Okay, but it’s my treat.”

“Sure, Bittle,” Jack said. “This time.”

Bittle pursed his lips but took Jack’s proffered arm, leaning in to Jack’s space to chat as they wandered down the street. Behind them, a suspiciously intelligent, happily meddlesome crow pecked at the remains of the pie that were splattered across the sidewalk.  

Monday morning, Jack arrived at his shop to find another pie sitting on the stoop. The note on top was robin’s egg blue and read: Sterilized my kitchen. Bought all new utensils. There is not a speck of pixie dust in this pie. I hope you enjoy blackberry, Mr. Zimmermann.

Jack smiled to himself and picked up the pie, breathing in its scent.  Even without pixie dust, everything about it smelled magical.

Careful not to drop it, Jack unlocked the door with his free hand and shouldered his way into the store. He went straight back to his small, personal office and stowed the pie inside. This was one treat he would not be sharing.

[realmonstersrp]

❛ don’t get cocky, don’t get clever, don’t get cheesy on me cheddar

INTRODUCING AHN HAESUNG, OUR NEWEST STUDENT WITH THE POWER OF VICE INDUCEMENT.

WELCOME TO GUMI INTERNATIONAL SCHOOL FOR THE POWERED.

WHO ARE THEY?

PERSONALITY

(+) articulate, resourceful, astute (–) self-serving, vain, manipulative

BACKGROUND

300 kid : was the first label he’d learned to loathe. 300 kid, a child of the california court system, since his parents couldn’t keep their fists away from each other. they were deemed unfit for parenthood because of a house full of violence, but is it one hundred percent their fault if he’s the one in the background, pushing passive thought into motion and inciting idle hands into action? but is it really his fault if he doesn’t even know what he’s doing? if he doesn’t even know how to control it?

you always bring out the worst in people : learning to talk might have been the absolute worst thing for him. it’d be less damning if his ability had manifested during puberty (like you need those kinds of changes along with the ones already happening!), but he just wasn’t that lucky. foster home to group home to another, different, group home. he was never involved in any of the incidents that he was cited for, but when the chaos had been broken up–all parties always turned their fingers toward him. there were never any formal accusations; he was deemed low-risk and was never involved physically, so he slipped through the cracks of the united states criminal justice system.

shit happened how it happened so the past is perfect : his pre-teen years come, and with it a pair of foster parents that were different than any of the ones before. these two–they knew how to handle him, and he didn’t know how to handle that. most kids dream about a foster family that turns into a real one, but haesung didn’t know how to react when they reveal that they want to adopt him, permanently. but, what’s he got to lose? he leaves the us for south korea at fourteen with legal guardians that are intent on helping him control his ability. to haesung, it’s just another new place until he’s there for a year, then two, then three, and then it’s the closest thing to stable he’s ever had. his new legal “parents” both graduated from some place he only knows as gumi. college wasn’t too many years ago for them, so they’re more like older siblings than parents, but with the way they talk about it–haesung wonders if maybe he’ll be okay there.

trust no one that puts you in the wrong light : being the personal project of the two of them was refreshing but also suffocating, so when he was unleashed onto gumi, the freedom was almost overwhelming. at gumi, the idea of legacies were both familiar and strange all at once, but it was something he wanted to experience, even if briefly. alpha was a playground for someone of his type. pride, envy–all things he could work with. first year initiates were to be seen and not heard, so no one payed him any mind until it was too late (three upperclassmen alphas with latent grievances, pitted against each other by haesung, who whispered wrath cloaked in honey. the ensuing brawl was more than enough reason to throw him out–he’d barely made it into the legacy in the first place.) hellion was unfortunate enough to be his next target. there happened to be less of a specific concentration regarding vices, but everyone has their weaknesses. haesung, quite literally the definition of a ‘charity case,’ found more of a home in hellion, but even then his impulses outweighed his survival instinct. (here, he was more discreet, and his handiwork was spread out over a longer period of time. at the core of his abilities, self destruction is the ultimate endgame. but he would never take it that far–just enough to entertain. inevitably, once found, he was also stripped of membership from hellion.)

i hate the way the things i say incinerate a room : he hides any insecurities and shortcomings (of which there are many) with vanity and standoffish behavior. he lives off of reactions–with a constant chip on his shoulder and terrible impulse control, haesung thrives off attention, positive or negative. in fact, he seeks it out and craves it. sometimes he wished he’d made better decisions and cultivated better relationships, but the mini reputation he’d built in his short time at gumi is something he’s willing to shoulder if it means that people will look at him and pay attention.

WHAT CAN THEY DO?

vice inducement is the ability to evoke specific vices or sins that are contained within an individual’s soul. at it’s most powerful and potent (think demon), it calls forth the worst vices that plague a person or thing, which can cause them to chase this vice into self destruction (usually death or insanity).

***however, haesung’s power of vice inducement is always temporaryand not nearly strong enough to drive anyone to extremes, though the repercussions from those temporary states can sometimes be more damning than the actual inducement itself. mainly, he speaks the vices into the front of the conscious. though it is possible to use his ability through eye contact, his sway is significantly lower when conducted through this medium. the vices that haesung has sway over are envy, wrath, pride, sloth, and violence. when he is using his ability, a red outline forms around his pupils, seeping into the dark brown of his iris but never completely taking over the iris.

though everyone responds a little differently, these are the most common reactions that people have when haesung focuses his abilities onto them: envy: if a person’s main vice is envy, then it invites cruel and vindictive behavior towards those that the individual is envious of whether it is something as tangible as possessions or looks, or as intangible as achievements or reputation. wrath: those with wrath as their main vice usually hold some sort of lasting grudge. wrath inducement means the lowering of inhibitions and self-control, which in turn unleashes the full brunt of someone’s retaliatory, usually violent, instincts. pride: filters are often removed with vice inducement of  those with pride as their main vice. they will act as if they are above all those around them, asserting themselves inappropriately and overbearingly–the literal embodiment of a god-complex, if you will. sloth: targets of this vice oftentimes find themselves feeling extremely lethargic as well as feel a lack of motivation to do anything. they will oftentimes forget about things in favor of sleeping, sometimes forgetting to perform essential functions and therefore skip meals, etc. violence: while similar to wrath, this affects those with explosive personalities or tempers. the target often feels a sudden, murderous instinct and will oftentimes harm those around them without care. in the case of vice inducement in animals of monsters, this is oftentimes the vice that is easiest to induce in them.

WEAKNESSES

physical flaw: the ability is easiest to wield when haesung can be heard. his ability is most effective when spoken in soft, relaxing tones over a period of time as this “coaxes” the soul into giving into the vice. if the surrounding area is loud or chaotic, and the need to shout arises, haesung’s accuracy is thrown off, and the inducement will usually fail unless he utilizes other means (for ex: eye contact).

range: while best utilized in close proximity (about 1 meter/3 feet), it is still possible to use his ability up to 2 meters/6.5 feet away from the target. anything further and disruptions or distractions commonly prohibit him from carrying out the full inducement.

eye contact: while it is possible to induce vices through eye contact, the chances of success are cut by about 50%. with humans, eye contact inducement is extremely difficult unless he knows a person’s weakness, and aims to target that vice specifically. with animals or monsters, inducement through eye contact is easier than their human counterparts because of their (usually) simpler range of desires and emotions.

potency: at most vice inducement encourages the lowering of the inhibitions and encourages self destructive behavior. it cannot drive anyone into actual insanity, or induce a vice that is not already a major weakness of the target.

time limit: the longest time someone has ever been under an inducement was about four hours, but they had haesung’s complete attention focused on them , and he would intermittently tamper with them throughout that time period. as it is, most commonly haesung’s power induces a temporary mindset of an hour in a conductive environment, but only 30 minutes in a less ideal environment for inducement.

exceptions: people with extreme levels of self-control or those with abilities related to virtue inducement are for the most part, immune to haesung’s tampering. those with abilities related to other mental inducements can usually break free from temptations due to the similar nature of the abilities, as they are more likely to recognize the intrusive thoughts and feelings of his vice inducement.

repercussions: as his abilities are not particularly physical in nature, he does not become physically drained with overuse. instead, if he overuses his ability he usually has intense bouts of vertigo that can render him immobile. he’s never actually lost his voice before, but if he’s been continuously tampering with someone, his voice has a tendency to go hoarse, but whether that’s a side effect of his ability or just general overuse has not been exactly determined.

DID YOU KNOW?

for some reason he has immense eco-guilt without any particular inciting incident; once things settle and he has his own place he wants to start composting.