#I AM FULLY CONSCIOUS MY MIND AND BODY ROTTING AROUND ME

[girlwithadragonheart]

Death's Chosen

Part 2

Halsin x OC

Summary: Aspen regains her bearings and explores what her temporary home has to offer.

Word Count: 2,114

Warnings: Mentions of death, references to bg3 plot,

A/N: Hope this lives up to expectations! Much much more to come (I have so many plans hehehe…)

Part 1 Masterlist Part 3(soon)

I wasn’t sure how long I had been out, but I knew it had been a while. I awoke still a bit drowsy, but comfortable. When I came to, I realized I had no idea where I was. I was also vaguely aware that I had no clothes on, and the furs against my skin were so soft and warm.

My hair was no longer up, but it was disgusting. I felt disgusting.

“You’re awake!” A surprised feminine voice said from my left. I whipped my head around, seeing a dark skinned human girl who had long braided hair with feathers woven in. She hurried over to my side, hovering her hands over my torso. A golden light emitted from her palms, and her eyes fluttered shut. “You seem to have healed nicely.”

I scooted away from her, sitting up, and she pulled her hands away rapidly. “Where am I?” I questioned. As I shifted, the blanket fell, revealing my bare torso. I glanced down and quickly pulled the furs back up, my heart pounding with unease.

My gaze darted around my surroundings, sensing a familiar form of magic that eased my mind a bit. Wherever we were, it was plenty spacious, seemingly walled off in sections by cloth drapes that hung open. If I looked up, there were lanterns hung, spiraling up and up and up until I could no longer see what lay beyond.

“You’re in the Golden Grove. Wait here, I shall fetch Master Halsin.” She scurried off before I could respond or further inquire about my surroundings.

I sat in silence for only a few moments before the girl returned. She was saying something, but my attention was stolen by perhaps the largest man I’d ever seen behind her. He looked to be fully elven despite his size and stature. Largely muscular with shoulder length hair the color of tree bark. It was half pulled back in a bun, revealing four large gashes across the left side of his forehead. The right side had an intricate red tattoo that was reminiscent of vines.

His lips curved into a smile when he approached me. “I’m glad to see you’re faring better.” His hazel eyes were kind as they took me in. He held out a wadded up tunic. “Your armor didn’t make it, I’m afraid. This should do, for the time being.”

I blinked up at him, taking the garment from his large hand. I didn’t miss his gaze falling to my chest when the furs slipped a bit. I carefully pulled the tunic over my head, feeling it dwarf me, before pulling the furs out from under it until they covered my thighs.

“I’ll take over from here, Kynd. Go tend to the others for now.” The large elf named Halsin said to the dark skinned girl. Kynd, I mentally noted. Halsin pulled up a hand-crafted wooden stool, taking a seat beside me. “I don’t believe we’ve ever met. What is one of our kind doing so far from their circle?” His voice was deep and very calming. He wasn’t accusatory, just concerned.

A flash of color and a menacing voice. Echoing screams surrounded me. Their bodies rotted from the outside in, becoming nothing but bones and dust in the wind. My breathing quickened.

“They’re dead,” I whispered, staring off into the distance. “Every single one of them.” My voice cracked, and hot tears slipped down my cheeks.

“Oak Father preserve you, child…” His voice was sullen. “You don’t have to tell me, but if you wish to, I will listen.”

I hastily wiped my tears away, shaking my head and taking deep breaths to compose myself. “How did I get here?” I asked.

“You must’ve been nearby,” he said. “You somehow stumbled to us half-conscious and bleeding out. I brought you here and healed you.”

“Thank you for helping me,” I looked over at him. “I don’t know how to repay you.”

“Think nothing of it. A friend to nature is a friend to me,” he said simply. “Something tells me you would do the same. You may call me Halsin.”

“Aspen,” I told him, nodding in thanks. “How long was I out?” I asked carefully.

“Several days,” he told me. “Your body and mind has been through a lot, it is no wonder it would take time to recover. You are welcome to remain here as long as you like, we have pods to spare, if you’re fine with a little climbing.”

“Pods?”

“You’ll see,” he smiled, and it made something inside me ease. I hadn’t realized I’d smiled back until the muscles in my face relaxed back to neutral. “How are you feeling otherwise?” Halsin asked.

“Restless,” I said honestly. “For all the rest, I’m not used to sitting still.”

“You have free run of the Grove and otherwise. No one here should bother you. I’ll have Kynd take you to your pod when it’s suitable,” he told me. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have other matters to tend to.”

“Thank you, Halsin,” I said earnestly. I didn’t think any number of thanks would ever be enough to repay him for what he’d done for me.

Sensing my feelings on the matter, he just nodded before standing. “I hope this is a fine enough sanctuary after all you’ve suffered,” he said in departing.

I hoped it would be too.

I watched Halsin’s muscled back as he walked further into… wherever we were. After a moment, I laced up my tunic, making sure I was completely decent before slipping off the soft cot.

I put my curiosity of this place aside in search of fresh air. As I went, I noted several other ‘rooms’. Namely, a dining room, study, library, and twisting stairs leading to more above.

I had managed to wander my way to a wall. It looked like interwoven branches or roots of some kind. As I approached, they parted, and I had to squint against the sunlight that erupted in my vision. Once my vision adjusted, I saw that the roots had formed an archway to let me pass. We’d never had anything so intricate in the glade, being secluded in the natural cave.

Taking an experimental step forward, finding no resistance and only lush greenery covering the ground. The sun was golden, casting a heavenly hue over the world, but it wasn’t uncomfortably bright. The ground was soft beneath my bare feet.

I took a few steps forward before turning to look at the place I’d left. By Silvanus… I saw a massive tree of interwoven trunks. What could be a circle of trees came and grew together, twisting into a much, much larger great oak. I watched the roots come back together to seal the archway as though it was never there. I had to crane my neck to see everything, but I was so glad I did.

I saw between the leaves and branches were, what could only be described as, pods. Teardrop shaped structures hung from branches, ladders and bridges connecting them to a complex network of vines running along the trunk itself. This must’ve been what Halsin was talking about, and he was right, I did see.

There was no other way to describe it than to see it, and it was beautiful in that way that only nature could truly achieve. I took a step back in awe, something warm and solid intercepting me at my calves.

I glanced down, seeing a fluffy white dog peering up at me, grinning. “Amicus animales,” I muttered the spell under my breath, squatting down to the dog’s level. He had a leather collar, a copper pendant hanging from it that had ‘Scratch’ roughly engraved into it. I smiled at him. “Hello Scratch.”

His tail wagged. “You know my name! Hello, mistress. Master Halsin asked me to keep an eye on you.”

I raised a hand, scratching him between the ears and down the side of his neck. “Well then I’m glad to have you along,” I told him, standing and brushing the dirt off my knees. “What are you doing out in a place like this?” I asked him as we walked along the edge of the tree, my hand trailing against the bark.

“When my old Mistress went missing, Master Halsin took me in,” he told me. “He is very kind to me and everyone, I think.”

“Your old Mistress?” I asked. “What happened to her?”

“She was very, very sick,” he said solemnly. “I tried to find her, but Halsin said not to, so I instead came here with him. I’d like to think she is alright, but truthfully, I do not know.”

My heart sank for him. I remained silent after that, not sure how to comfort him when I hadn’t figured out how to comfort myself after my losses.

It wasn’t long before my contemplative silence once again turned to one of awe. We had rounded the tree, coming to what I discovered to be the actual front side. A large creek ran through the grove, winding and twisting all the way to a massive wall of trees that was far too barren and tall to climb. I saw stepping stones littered across it, all the way to the end where a tangle of roots like the ones in the tree were taking up part of the wall. An entrance to the grove itself, I assumed.

I looked around, seeing other druids mingling and laughing. Deer and rabbits grazed around us everywhere I looked. I glanced over, seeing a fully grown owlbear jumping around over the creek, looking happy as can be. Never in my days had I seen an owlbear able to coexist with people so fully. I wondered what the story behind that was.

Scratch must’ve seen my studying the creature, because he spoke up. “That’s Puck. My Mistress took him in when he was a cub.”

I wondered if he could sense us talking about him as he bounded over, jumping over Scratch and circling back around.

“Hello!” The owlbear’s light voice said to me. “You smell very delicious, but I will not bite you!” He held his head up high, looking very proud.

I couldn’t help the grin that spread across my face. I reached a cautious hand up, and Puck nuzzled his head into it, chirping under the contact. I giggled and scratched between his ears. He headbutted my side playfully when I pulled away.

I watched as he nuzzled Scratch before bounding off again. “You two seem very close,” I commented off-handedly to the dog at my side.

“Mistress saved both of us and gave us new friends. We wouldn’t be here without her.”

“I hope I get to meet her someday,” I said with a sad smile. These animals had endured just as much, if not more than most people. I was glad to be able to know them like this. I was even more glad that Halsin had saved me just as he had taken them in.

I felt eyes on me, and I looked around but spotted no one looking in my direction. I shrugged it off, fighting back a yawn as I laid down in the grass. I clasped my hands under my head, letting my skin soak up the warmth of the sun even with the tunic covering most of me. Scratch laid down beside me, resting his head on my thigh as his tail curled over the top of my head.

——————————

I hadn’t realized I had dozed off until I was being nudged gently by a warm calloused hand. I stirred slightly as a large arm slid beneath my shoulders and knees, lifting me off the ground. I was settled against someone’s chest, and I could vaguely make out Halsin’s features in the moonlight.

I sighed, settling against him as he began walking. “My apologies.” I felt his voice rumble in his chest. “I didn’t wish to wake you, but it seems I was not successful.”

“It’s okay,” I whispered, my eyes slipping closed.

“Your pod has been prepared,” he said quietly. “Kynd will take you to it tomorrow. For now, rest.”

We had reached my cot much faster than I anticipated, and I was being lowered onto the silk gently. A quilt was drawn over me, and I curled up under it.

Halsin hesitated, as though he wanted to say something more. I fought sleep while he stood there, and finally he did. “You are safe here, Aspen. Rest.”

I wished that notion was as comforting as he meant it to be. I was asleep before he had taken a step to walk away.

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A/N: Likes, comments, and reblogs are all greatly appreciated! Have a wonderful night, loves! <3

[jeanclamence]

La Mortification d'un Insomniaque

The Mortification of an Insomniac

Original Monologue by Jean Clamence (me)

I cannot sleep. Why sleep, anyway? The night holds wonders far more splendid than the day. I love him with all my heart. I can inhale stars, walk along icy quarters, lay on rigid concrete, and spin around in the pitch black, the void which embraces me and engulfs me into a sweet hysteria of turmoil. I will bang my head against my bed frame and my surroundings will swirl dizzily, laugh about it, then go outside, bump into streetlights with an eclipse of moths circling above my head that yearning for the light. From a stale, flaccid, pink worm, I twist and turn among the lepidoptera, growing their wings and taking flight, possessing their bewitching colour and gaining their curious allure. When day breaks, I will find my body broken beyond repair, that my metamorphosis has come undone and I've regressed to an ugly worm, my soul torn apart with each bit of purity dismembered, and my mind lost in the vastness of a region squashed between heaven and hell. I become aware of the meek fragility of my existence---in matter and in memory---and along with it the utter meaninglessness of everything. Hours will pass, twilight will start, and I will retreat into the night. Then, crimson puddles may dry up on my teeth, turn them brown, rot them to excess, fine dust, and my eyes may swell with tears, begging for the end, spread wide with eyelids parallel under the shade of fifty strands of fried hair, but I don't notice them. I cannot move for myself, but for the thought that seduces me and takes advantage of my blindness: 'What is so hazardous about a tiny cut, a small scratch, a little wound with a few miniscule drops of blood? There is no distinction between an arm lost and a healing bruise. Both will return to me a hundred times over to collect me at my doorstep, abrupt as the appearance of goodness and love, as simply developed and intricate as the act of sin, on an evening when silver skies weep and too, shout with brute force. Both will end me, and in the end my ending is nothingness, for the end is nothingness because the world is nothingness after days abundant of sin and beauty and will'. And so I continue, but the problem that troubles the lover of the after hours is that he is awake, he exists in the present as undoubtedly as the cold, hard wall which he peppers with rims of ash from the cigarette bums he presses onto it. More times than not it will occur to him: the thought that the promise of night is forfeit, for there is a plausibility in the possibility that it will only grant the ephemeral thought of eternal slumber, not the eternal slumber of ephemeral thought, and instead will lock him away, conscious of the reality that he has taken millions of breaths since death was promised to him. When he has alas had enough, all the peer insomniacs scream in unison with him, once again, after the vigor of life, when everybody has dozed off and children have been tucked in their beds with the comforting plumpness of soft, silk pillows and stuffed animals. And they cannot stop, for where else could they grieve but the night? Where else should they grieve but the night? The day cannot free any prisoners. Distraught, it is fully aware of the truth that it is also a problem.

I am striding along elliptically around the base of an oak tree, waiting for day: waiting for it's demands, it's responsibilities, it's shedding light on the actuality of being, the wild unpredictability of a day, an hour, a minute, a second, a glimpse. I know I do not want it now, but I wait for it. The time will come when I kneel, assure it's superiority and beg, for I will feel and think 'I need it'. I frown at the slight appearance of the matter in my consciousness, at it's reoccurring routine, the never-ending pattern of night and day. I can never shut my eyes in the night, nor rest with my eyes open in day; I want to change the world at midnight, but four hours later dawn will come and everything, motionless and locomotive, will show me the short extent to which I can carry out my superficial aspirations. They are different, but they become one in the common torture they bring to me. They merged into one behind my back, under my ears, and I hitherto have been completely clueless; C'est la vie. And la vie est une maladie, a  malady that hides itself in plain sight and sense. It is a killer with excellent skill and strategy, being able to run on it's tip-toes and not make a sound. Nobody died that has not lived. Joy is living. This endless suffering is living. Attachment is living. War is living. It will kill us all because of the pointlessness of it all. I know what I must do now. I pray for neither night nor day. (It's like being given only two horrid politicians to vote for, and asking 'Which one of them has committed a lighter crime: the perpetrator of the genocide of children or the one who kills a child every month? Not only is the question foolish nonsense adorned with perfume made from cow dung, I deserve better.) I only await eternal slumber with no consciousness, only a comfortable hopelessness. Only then---when my remains will most likely lie in a coffin or in a marble jar---can I be free.

[clonewarslover55]

Cuddles and soft sex with Old Man Boba(Who’s really only 41)

@peacefulwizardfox​ requested some Old Man Boba cuddles, so I did that and more! 

Notes: This is for everyone who doesn’t hate old man Boba. If you hate his body then get the fuck off my blog :)  Those of you who love his body? Enjoy some fluff and smut 

Also! I am a legends whore so some legends Boba content is in this 

Spoilers for season 2 of the Mandalorian chapter 14 kinda?

Warnings: tooth rotting fluff, grumpy Boba being grumpy Boba, teasing, joking around, smut, soft smut, more fluff, Boba is beefy and it’s sexy 

^^^^^^^!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!THIGH JIGGLE!!!!!!!!!!!!^^^^^^^

You laid on Boba’s large naked chest, tracing your fingers delicately along the many scars that covered his dark skin. Your long term lover watched you, his dark brown eyes hypnotizing. “You're beautiful, you know that right?” 

Boba huffed a laugh, “I was eaten up by Sarlacc stomach acid for two days…..I’m getting old and-” You covered his beautiful mouth with your hand. “You’re still the most handsome man in the universe to me. And Boba, Cyar’ika, you’re forty one. You’re not old.” Boba rolled his eyes at you being sappy and sweet. He loved the attention though, but he’d never admit it. 

“You’re going to make my teeth rot out one day.” Boba muttered and you shrugged, “You’re just saying that as an excuse because your old ass-” He slapped your bare ass and you yelped. “I’m kidding!” You laughed at his teasing glare and crawled on top of him fully. You kept laughing, Boba didn’t laugh but a small smile pulled at your lips. You knew it was hard for him to hold back a dumb grin and some chuckles. 

Once Boba had hit forty you began making old man jokes here and there. You’re lucky you’re not human leather by now. Boba hated the jokes, but they were pretty funny. 

He wrapped his thick arms around you, pulling you tightly against his chest. You buried your face in his neck, breathing in his wonderful scent. You both smelled of sex and one another, and it was addicting. You two had been in bed all day, since Slave I was on autopilot to your next destination. It was rare having a lazy day with “Mr. Works himself to death.”

Boba was always grumpy, even in bed when you two are cuddling. It’s just his personality, so it was easy to poke at the bear.  You began kissing his neck, which was very very sensitive. Boba grunted and batted at you, clearly half asleep. You narrowed your eyes and kept teasing his neck with your lips and tongue. Boba could only huff and squeeze your ass as a weak defense. 

 You two had been sleeping and having sex all day, so he clearly didn’t mind. His bare cock sure didn’t mind either. Boba opened his eyes when you teasingly grinded your hips down against his, a growl ripping from his throat. You smirked and kissed him deeply, his lips fitting perfectly with yours. His hard cock was pressed against you, but not where Boba wanted it.  

Boba gave you a fake irritated look when you pulled away, a smirk pulling at your lips. You’re lucky Boba was in a good mood, so he was letting you tease. If he wasn’t? You’d be under him and being rutted into like a bitch in heat. 

You dragged your lips, tongue and teeth along his scarred throat. Boba exposed more of his throat, clenching his jaw when your teeth nipped his Adam's apple. Your mouth moved to his collar bones, then to his chest. You felt like worshipping your sexy bounty hunter lover, so you’d do exactly that. 

His beautiful body was scarred and worn from the stressful life of a bounty hunter, Sarlacc acid, and the cruel twin Tatooine suns. It only made him even sexier to you, his scars telling a million stories. With age Boba has gotten thicker, but he kept it mostly muscle. He wasn’t as toned as he used to be, but you didn’t care. There was just more of him to love, to kiss. His stomach and chest have gotten softer, so he was even more comfortable to lay on now. 

Boba laid his head back, enjoying your soft warm lips and tongue tracing his sensitive scars. A growl tore from his thick chest when you gently nipped one of his nipples. They were very sensitive for a man who’s worn a chest plate all of his life. Before you could move to his softening stomach he grabbed you and yanked you back to his face. You made an offended noise as he moved you. 

“Boba I was doing something!! I can’t ever body worship you?” Boba snorted sarcastically, “You just enjoy the taste of my cock.” You got in his face, your nose brushing his, “Perhaps.” You sneered, your lips hardly brushing his.  He smiled, but quickly hid it by yanking you into a passionate kiss. Fuck he loved you and your smart mouth. 

Boba never lost the fire that burned within him, and you could always tell by the heat behind his lips. You nearly screamed in surprise when he flipped you over, pinning you down. “I wanted to be on top.” You huffed like a child, Boba just gave you a bemused look.  

“Then don’t be slow.” He smirked when you glared at him. Boba, of course, got payback when he gently nipped one of your nipples. You moaned, the glare not leaving your face. “Bastard.” He chuckled at your word, his lips connecting with yours once again.

You and boba had been together for a while now, so he knew your body perfectly. He spread your things apart with his calloused hands, letting you know to throw your legs around his thick waist. His hot lips never detached from yours as he settled himself comfortably between your legs. His lips were so blinding that you hardly even noticed the change in position until he grinded his cock against your lips teasingly. 

His taste was so addicting and erotic that you whined when he pulled away so you two could breathe. He smirked and moved his mouth to your neck, making sure to mark you up even more than he did earlier. 

You moaned as his calloused hands began to play with your nipples, hardening them into peaks quickly. He moved his right hand away to trace a thick calloused finger along your slick folds. Boba smirked, “You’re so easy.” He nearly purred, causing you to blush. “You’re just sexy and very good at this.” You whispered, nipping his ear softly. Boba hummed, not disagreeing. 

Boba kissed you again, his tongue wrestling with yours. You moaned into his mouth as he rubbed the head of his cock against your soaked entrance. You gripped his muscular shoulders, your nails ripping open the scratches from earlier. Boba groaned, loving the slight sting. Boba was a little self conscious about his scars, but he loves the ones you give him. 

He buried his face into your neck when he pushed into you, his large cock filling you perfectly. Boba always filled you to the brim, his cock hitting every deep spot inside of you. You cried out his name, gripping his muscular body tightly. The sensation of him caused your walls to grip him tightly, making it hard for Boba to control himself 

“Fuck you’re always so tight.” He growled out the words, his voice gruff from pleasure. You went to snark back a reply about him having a big cock. Instead, Boba shifted his hips slightly and your train of thought derailed. He smirked at your gasping reaction, he knew exactly where your special spots were. He was cocky about it too. 

Boba began at a slow rhythm, taking his sweet time. Your body moved perfectly with his, your cunt squeezing around his shaft like a vice. Boba wasn’t the most vocal man, but you knew how to draw out those sweet erodic noises from him. 

You dragged your nails along his scalp to the back of his neck, the sensitive skin there always fun to tease. Boba shivered, his cock twitching deep inside of you. Boba picked up his pace, his thrusts now deeper. He moaned loudly at your teasing touches, which only made your walls quiver around him. 

The sensation of his lips on your neck, along with one of his hands playing with your nipples was enough to drive you mad alone. You had already cum a few times today, so you were incredibly sensitive. 

Boba panted in your ear, his hot breath causing you to shiver. “That’s it baby.” He moaned the words out, his pace picking up. The small bedroom of Slave I was filled with absurd sounds of skin against skin and of your wet cunt. Boba nipped your ear, his scarred body pressed flush against yours. “That’s my good girl, so close for me.” 

You whined at his heated words, your walls squeezing him even tighter. You knew not to cum before Boba said so, but he made it really hard for you. “Boba!” You dug your nails even deeper into his skin as he thrusted into your hot core faster. 

“Boba please.” You threw your head back, the noises combined with the sensations driving you wild. You knew he loved it when you begged, so you begged. “Boba baby!” You cried, “Please please let me cum!!” Boba’s cock twitched at your words, a loud moan leaving his lips. 

“You’re such a good girl for me.” He gave a few more rough thrusts, his orgasm just as close as yours. “Cum with me.” He snarled out the words, which made you cum hard. His warm seed filled you to the brim as you screamed out his name like a prayer. 

You saw spots when you came, your throat already sore from your screams of pleasure. Boba rode out his orgasm with yours, his hips bucking softly. Once he was finished he pulled out, which made you whine at the loss. 

Boba rolled onto his back, pulling you back onto his chest. You nuzzled your face between his large pectorals, your body feeling like jello. You were half asleep, enjoying Boba’s warmth and body. 

“Cyar’ika.” He muttered, stirring your cock drunk mind. You blinked at him, a chuckle leaving his lips at your glare. “We should probably shower and prepare for-” You cut him off with a tight hug, “mo.” You mumbled, your words muffled by his large chest. 

Boba sighed and stroked your hair, “Come on-” You hugged him tighter and he grunted. “You have to feel gross.” You snorted loudly at him, your face not moving from his chest. Boba sighed and laid his head back. 

“You’re lucky I love you.” He continued to stroke your hair, “Five more minutes and that's it.” You pressed a kiss between his pectorals. Boba rolled his eyes at your muffled, “M...’love you too.” 

After five minutes you were both sound asleep in one another's arms, forgetting completely about the job he had to get done soon. Your cuddles were more important to him though, but he’d never admit that.

Tags: @valkyrieofthehighfae​ @my-awakened-ghost @leias-left-hair-bun @cherry-cokes-world@iamassbuttkingofhell@jedi-mando @royalhandmaidens@simping-for-fives@colorfulloverbatturkey @catsnkooks@hounding-around @blue-space-porgs @peacefulwizardfox@julyzaa @ahsokatano-thetogruta@feathersforclones@chr0nicbackpain  @commanderrivercc-3628 @nelba

[secretbangtnn]

summary : Getting a letter from a very prestigious school was something that you could have never expect, and even more unexpected was that you didn’t need to pay a penny for it. Beautiful news that were too good to be true, but oh how stupid you were to not question such a perfect chance to get away from your shitty life.

notes:

Guys i would be more than happy for some feedback, its my first time writing in english and im more than nervous. Im not sure if what i wrote is good or even understandable. + i would be more than happy to start an ask game with this book

Chapter one

Living or in your case existing was always somehow calm. Everything you do had a plan and everyday had the same pattern, like a boring vase that stood in the same kitchen you actually were. Blue marble tiles awfully similar to tears that run down the woman's cheeks, making them a little bit more redder than before.

Not that they weren't that color before, always blushy and ready to be seen. And maybe that's why you had that sour taste in your mouth while watching them, knowing that your own were as beautifully red as hers.

"why?" a simple question sounding now like the last call for help. Voice groggy and nose runny making the sight before even more unbearable to look at. But why weren't you moved, why the tears didn't make you guality like they should. "you planned this?! You planned to leave me alone like a selfish bastard!"

Looking down didn't seem like the best option, knowing that it could just take the nerves in the room to a whole new level but you could not stop yourself. She was always one to guilt trip you into everything.

A little shout left the chapped mouth making you jump a little while lifting your head simultaneously. Sight before you seems to worsen and as you took a step back the woman took another two in the end catching your small wrist in her clawed hand.

Hissing and looking dead in her eyes made you somehow more conscious of the whole situation.

“I didn’t know.” and you really did not. Gritting your teeth so hard that it felt like some of them could fall out at any moment seems to stop you from doing sudden movements.

Breathe in and breathe out.

“Of course you think I am stupid! Just like your father, bringing me to insanity step by step. But that’s what you wanted from the beginning, am I right?”

“Stop being delusional mom” Oh how hard it was to say the name of that woman. Mother of child that she forgets most of the time, only to remember at the most shitty time. Today was exactly one of the examples of why your dream was just to wake up not seeing or better not having to think of that woman.

“Am i now? It’s you who wants me like this.” She laughed, throwing her head back in the motion. Elegant column of her neck now easy to see, showing purple and red marks similar to those from claws. “You thought I would not know, you thought you could just run away like a scared little child. Now tell me, how long were you planning this o-or maybe it was your father’s plan from the beginning.”

“I didn’t know about it, I didn’t even apply to any of the schools and you are the one that should know that.” toxicity leaked from your voice in big streams, but it was something that u could not stop at that moment. She was doing it again, acting crazy and psycho making everyone question why she wasnt getting hospital help yet.

“So you are saying that it’s my fault? You were supposed to care for me, for your ill mother, not that you are useful for anything else. How could you even think of disappearing, going to school so far away and leaving me to rot here myself like you were not meant to end like this too!”

Snatching your hand you looked at the woman once again, tears in eyes making you look fragile. Her own body looking weak, nearly dead limbs hanging from a malnourished body, showing the world wrack of a woman she was. Complexion ill looking, but what was not in her case, pale looking with green, purple and blue spots everywhere the skin was shown.

“Why are you being so shocked? Don’t tell me you thought you were going to leave someday.” Her laugh made you grit your teeth, jaw starting to hurt from the tension you were keeping. “Once again you showed how foolish you are, just like your father, just like that scumbag.”

“You are insane.”

“That we already know, so why don’t you come back to your room and start preparing for tomorrow. I want to eat a really nice breakfast next morning and maybe then after we can talk about what job you are going to have to make a living for us.”

And that was your sign to go, not looking back at the sick smirk on your mother mouth momocking your whole being. Step by step you saw the old stairs, in some place missing the color. Your room was nothing special, at least that what people said, for you it was some type of heaven. Peace that you could only catch while being there, laying on your old bed while looking at the dull ceiling.

Closing the door, you exchaled a heavy breath, sliding down on the flat surface of the door. Eyes closed like you have always done after an intense situation, today was not an exception to that.

Asking yourself what just happened, how and why. Unconsciously you looked at the letter beside you, laying so weirdly on the piece of not carpeted floor. The big fault in a little piece of paper. It was funny how this thing made such a bad influence on your life just by arriving on your doorstep.

The fact that the only person you could compare yourself to now is a story character of the name Harry was nearly not as funny as it sounded. However how u can explain getting a letter from a prestigious school you for sure did not apply or even looked up not even thinking about getting a scholarship to having a chance to think about it.

By any chance you were not stupid, but your ambitions flew away with another day in this shit hole you called home. Main reason being your own mother, which not only made it clear but for sure would kill you faster than let you leave.

You took the letter, keeping it in your hand like some unknown object you have never seen before. The texture itself is weird, making you shiver in some way. Big letter stood on the black piece of paper meaning only one thing.

Oh yes, that definitely was unsetting.

You remember clearly the first time you read the words that were put in this blank envelope. Big chance waiting for you, welcoming you with big arms and assuring you that you have nothing to be scared of.

And maybe those words were the one that brought you to that situation. It was not even three hours after the fight with your mother. Sun long down now moon shining on your pale face. Packing everything you tried to be quiet and quick hoping that your mother again ate too much of those big pills.

Big bag now laying down on your bed with a small letter beside it looking as innocent as before. You were not even seventeen making decisions that would cost you more then you can imagine. Living hell with possibility of going to another but in that moment nothing mattered like running away from old monsters.

Floor cracked under your feet even thought you were considered as a lightweight. How could you not be so malnourished when your mother forced you to teach yourself how to cook, never letting you eat before her. You tried to reason her moods or harsh behaviour to you but no matter how many times you tried it always ended in another reason why your life was just simply sad.

Running away was a good decision. You tried to say it so many times to actually believe in those empty words. The truth was that you were an innocent little child, not even a full adult that has never tasted a social life or had a friend.

“It will be alright.” Taste on your tongue after saying this a little sour with a heavy backpack danglin on your right arm. One step and then another, you touched the cold handle of your white doors. It was the first move to make and probably one of the hardest.

Bag on your arm is even more heavy making you realise what is happening. Silent breath flowed past your lips preparing you for your next step.

You pushed it closing it carefully while hoping that the oldish touch to the wood wont make an appearance in a loud noise. Silly smile now seen on your face with big relief in the back of your mind. The hardest part was just before you.

Your mothers room, not fully closed - like always, she needed to make sure nobody would come uninvited. It was just one of her weird characteristics that came with such a messed up mental health.

Small noise came out under your feet, not loud enough to wake up the woman next door but audible enough to be heard from closer.

Photos all around you telling you that you were getting near the main door. Little pictures with you inside faded from ears of hanging, making you stop for a while.

Smooth glass now under your fingers as you touch a specific photo. You and your mother being in the green garden of your grandmas. Happy vibe and pretty smiles now nearly unbelievable to witness on either of faces. It hurted or maybe it was just the adrenaline escaping from a sudden stop.

Oh how the sweet monet was quickly destroyed by the harsh noise from one of the rooms, and you exactly know which one. Loud thud rang out in the quietness of the house, making the silence even more noticable. Your breath escaped leaving you in a big ball of nerves and anxiety.

One...two...three

Silence like the one before big storms but maybe just this time it was not that. You couldn't withdraw now, you were too far and too close to the feeling of freeness. So you did the only thing that came to your mind.

Catching a sliding backpack, you turned to the door in front of you, knowing that just behind them is waiting something so much bigger than your old mother. How stupid for you to not rethink your decision, and believing your innocent mind that its just a good thing, better life that could only make you happier.

So you did it, you took the heavy steps that echoed in the narrow corridor. Light breeze touched your face, and just like the first time you gasped at the feeling. Door closing not that gently as you started running as fast as you could.

Silly smile now on your face with a bouncing bag on your shoulders keeping you on the hard ground. It was feeling similar to the first sight of the ocean or the first taste of sweet ice cream on a hot summery morning. You were in ecstasy choked by the overwhelming emotions.

And maybe because of that you were completely unaware of the danger that waited for you on that chilly night. How could you think about it when everything seemed so distracting almost as you were dreaming and in that moment you probably were closer to believing in this being a slumber.

So as you sat on the cold bench of one of the parks near your home, realization finally came silencing your beating heart. Colder weather now felt more real, as it bit your rosy cheeks. You shivered, keeping your backpack on your lap, trying to hide behind it from a chilly wind that seemed like it came from every side.

Being alone hit you like a truck and the little noises of the night didn't help your rising nerver. You started to lose your breath, feeling your tears sliding down your numb cheeks. It was terrifying now with the knowledge of your wellbeing and adrenaline wearing off with every second.

“Mom?” A silent plea that came out of your lips with shakiness that was more than noticeable. You didn't know why you said that, but the woman was probably the only person you knew. Such a sad truth that you needed to understand. You were alone now, and with that thought a more shameless sobs left your mouth with an occasional whimper.

You were sure you were going to end up dead. That you won't see the new sunset with how your body shivered. Not knowing how life worked or what is bad or good you were a little lamb that waited for hungry wolves to eat her whole.

And maybe one of those predators just saw his next meal. Long strides brought him just in front of you. Your sobs are too loud to make you hear his boots coming closer and closer. His breath just centimeters away from your head, brushing your hair like the not forgotten wind.

“Sweetheart?” It was a calming voice, not too deep but definitely belonging to a grown man. Your posture momentaly stiffened, as your closed eyes now looked at the big leather shoes before you. Your whole body is not moving, only shivering because of the chilly weather and light clothes. It was funny how suddenly you have forgotten about being alone, now wanting just this, wishing for all of this to be a big nightmare.

A deep sight left man's lips reminding you about the realness of the whole situation. You could not move, completely scared, your fingers clutched the bad praying for something to happen. The plan to just act like you were not there, ignoring the man fastly ended, when he sighted once again and crouched just to your eye level.

Deep brown eyes, looking at you with nothing but softness. If you didn’t know better you would say the man looked as if he knew you, cared and was in big relief finding you. But your mother's words echoed in your head, making you believe that every man walking on this planet is bad.

“What are you doing here sweetheart?” Once more this deep voice pierced you. Your mouth opens to answer, deeply knowing that nothing will come out. You just looked in his dark eyes, wishing that maybe he will be the one who can read minds. His eyes now on you, more concerned than before, observing your shivering body.

He was tall and broad for sure, towering over your figure surprisingly even while crouching down. His huge shoulders covered by a creamy coat which now was getting dirty by laying down on a pavement, as it partly hid his expensive looking boots.

Too distracted you didn't notice his hand coming to touch your red cheek, now gently stroking the redness of your skin.

“What a poor soul, so cold and left alone without a coat. Tell me sweetheart would you come and let me warm you a little?”

[anfie-in-the-box]

X-tra Dark Cream Teaser

Notes

I’m still very much not participating in Dark Cream Week, yet somehow this thing is done right in time, so I’m posting it with respective tags.

The story of X-tra Dark Cream is going to be pretty big and serious. Like, plot-wise, lore-wise, so-many-other-aspects-wise, you have no idea what you’ve got coming. And I just really hope you all will enjoy the ride.

What you need to know now is that I’m kind of getting back to my very own idea that you can find right here. Though it’s a different timeline, not Genocide Route. What they share is a concept of both Dream and Cross being villains, at first sight their atmosphere and aesthetic are kind of similar, but that’s it. What exactly is happening here will be explained in the story, and let me tell you, Dream and Cross have a long way ahead of them before they reach the point described in this little teaser.

So I’ve got a question for you. Answer honestly.

Would you like your Cream extra dark?

。。。

Just a Bad Dream

Once the portal is safely closed and there’s no more negativity pouring right into Dream’s cursed soul, he hurries to Cross’ side, hugging him tightly. Dismissing his huge knife, Cross hugs Dream back with a weary yet content sigh. “My greatest hero, once again taking down the whole world in my name,” Dream murmurs, ever so appreciatively and very, very gently. Cross caresses his spine through the clothes and the gloop, and, although he never really bothers to use words after a foray to one AU or another, the tremble of his hands is telling Dream enough. So, as much as the fallen guardian wishes to hold Cross like this forever, he lets go.

“I believe you are due for a good rest now.”

Dream cannot help a smile when Cross doesn’t argue, merely lingering to give his spine one last stroke. One could say they are finally figuring out their routine, grasping the ways to make their complicated lives easier, if only a little bit. For Cross it’s definitely lots of sleep and lazing around after all the work he’s done; no matter how much he doesn’t like it, and despite all the bad dreams that he’s most likely to have with all the LV, both old and new, still raging in his soul.

Dream, on the other hand, won’t be sleeping any time soon. It would do him no good at all — this lesson he learned the hard way. There isn’t much to be done when Dream’s whole being is brimming over with shattered positivity of the whole AU, — agonising grief and fear from those who survived; absolute despair from the last moments of those who died; guilt of those who were supposed to protect their people, parents and rulers all the same; at last, contempt and helplessness of every single soul. Oh, the two of them truly are beneath contempt, aren’t they? Breaking entire worlds, taking away a mere possibility of them functioning like they are supposed to. Monsters who only seek to twist and corrupt.

That’s what they say, Dream knows it all too well, both from careful whispers that no one else was supposed to hear and from straightforward, provocative screams right in his face. It’s good, exactly how he wants it to be, but right now he couldn’t care less. Dirt on Cross’ clothes matters more than this.

Actually, that’s what Dream’s going to busy himself with. Cross’ new uniform is piled up beside their bed, soaked in humans’ blood and covered in monsters’ dust. There’s no doubt washing these will be a real pain in the neck, but that’s exactly what Dream needs right now. Something basic yet not too simple. Easy enough for Dream to be able to pay more attention to Cross, whose even breathing and serene expression bring peace to the fallen guardian’s rotting soul, too. This way his hands are occupied, all of the energy he’s gathered is guided in the non-destructive direction until it settles, and his troubled mind is resting even without sleep. It’s a nice bonus to be able to look after Cross, ready to help him break free from yet another nightmare, for the dreadful, horrific visions are always haunting him in reality as well… At least in the first moments after waking up, although sometimes it takes Cross much longer to snap out of it, even with the aid of Dream. Hopefully, this time won’t be so… troublesome.

It’s so obvious that Dream isn’t in the slightest used to doing the laundry — any laundry at all, let alone something as tricky as washing all this blood and dust out, — it’s almost funny. Although, to be fair, it really isn’t supposed to actually be useful — a mere distraction, nothing more, nothing less.

Cross will overwrite his clothes anyway. And, if that fails (though lately the number of failures has lessened significantly; the thought makes Dream’s chest tighten with warmth and pride in his most loyal ally and dearest fiance), they’ll just trade new armor in some AU for the delusive sense of safety. Material needs don’t concern them anymore.

Dream’s progress on washing the uniform is still close to none when he feels a sudden powerful wave of severe distress, and merely a moment later the air gets heavy with magic. Bones and blasters are everywhere, there are so many of them there’s no speck of whiteness left, everything bright red and purple instead. It’s not the first time — neither it is the last one, Dream’s under no illusion about that part, — yet it’s no less mesmerising. If only it weren’t so dangerous for both of them.

Dodging all the attacks, getting closer to Cross is the easy part, that Dream’s doing effortlessly, without sparing it much thought; it’s not like Cross is able to properly hurt Dream, neither in his sleep nor while being fully conscious. Especially not like that. Cross wouldn’t gather enough harmful intent, and considering Dream’s nature is far from ordinary…

It’s even easier to throw Cross out of their bed, his body light, though trembling violently. He jolts awake the moment Dream’s hand touches his chest to grab the fabric of his shirt, but his mind is still very far away. Out of reach. It’s only the lack of resistance that shows Cross has recognised him, if only a little, on some kind of subconscious level. Nothing other than that — just pure black hate pouring down his cheeks and LV raging on within his soul. No way Dream will stand such a state of affairs any longer. Cross is his and his only, he doesn’t belong to whatever hell he’s seeing. And so the fallen guardian growls, as if his own life depended on it, “Wake up!”

Please, please let this one end quickly. Dream hates hurting Cross more than needed.

“Wake up!”

Of course that doesn’t work, it rarely does, but Dream has to try anyway. Besides, it’s usually when the struggling begins. Not this time though; good. Dream feels every single bone directed at his back, oh so clearly hears the Gaster blasters charging. Nothing ever comes. Nothing ever would; not when he’s close enough for Cross to feel the familiar warmth and weight of his body, that Dream knows for sure.

Holding Cross’ hands tight, chanting “Wake up, wake up, wake up”, as if it were a spell (or a plea,  or a prayer), Dream reaches out to Cross’ chest with one of his tentacles, pressing firmly right in the middle of the ribcage, forcing his soul to appear. Cross sharply inhales, obviously in pain, and even tries to arch his back, — only Dream doesn’t allow it, keeping him in place. That’s when his tentacles come in handy…

Other than that, nothing much happens. “Thank stars,” Dream thinks, taking a deep breath. From now on, he needs to be extremely careful. Souls are not to be toyed with. Or, well, the souls of those he loves are not to be toyed with. All the others are perfect but hollow dolls to be filled with oh so very hurtful fragments of their shattered dreams.

That’s what Dream and Cross do. That’s what they’ll continue doing, and no haunting visions would ever take Cross away. They’re together in this.

With his gloved hand Dream cautiously touches the soul, pulsing with LV and shining red and purple, no trace of it ever being one of a monster. Cross’ eye sockets and mouth open wide… It’s almost like he’s screaming without a sound, or maybe the sound merely goes just as far away as his mind is.

Dream’s never asked. He’s not going to ask this time, either.

The charged blasters fire all at once, and the bones are falling behind his back, yet none of the attacks ever land as Dream bawls, “I am Dream, and you are the one who swore an oath of loyalty and love, the one who saw through me, and accepted me, and stayed by my side! You are Cross, and whatever hell you’re seeing, you do not belong to it!” Cross’ mismatched eye-lights get a bit less blurry for a second, and that’s Dream’s cue to finally act with all he’s got.

And so he lets Cross go, leaving utterly motionless body lying on the floor, only for all of Dream’s tentacles to hit the soul at same time before it disappeared once again.

This time Cross actually screams; there is unparalleled agony in his voice, unexpectedly hoarse, as if he’s been screaming like that for hours. It hurts so much to hear it.

Dream is certain it’s better than whatever Cross has just broken free from. As Cross himself once said, “At least in reality I’m in this mess with you.” Very vividly Dream remembers his own response — a warm smile and quiet, confident “Likewise.”

That was then. Now Cross is looking at Dream with lost, pained, vulnerable expression, and his eye-lights, though faded to white, are still blurry — only this time from exhaustion, not because he’s seeing something too much different from reality. That Dream knows how to deal with. He doesn’t help Cross get on his feet, picking him up instead, holding him with hands and tentacles the same.

It’s nice to feel Cross’ weight, and his soul beating more and more steadily. Soothing, really. And that is why Cross only squeaks a little, otherwise showing no signs of discomfort or desire to argue about his position. Not like an argument would lead him anywhere, even if he had enough energy to start one.

They don’t talk until both of them are back in the bed, so close to each other it’s still very easy to hear their souls beating, their breaths warming what little space is beetween them. Dream squeezes Cross’ hand and offers a smile. It’s a tender one, if only a bit teasing.

“Hush now, Cross. It was just a bad dream.”

No words can ever describe his immense relief when Cross smiles back. And all too clearly Dream sees the moment some kind of mischief sparks in his love’s eyes.

“Oh? Well, then I definitely woke up,” Cross says, almost nonchalantly, though there’s no way that would fool Dream, who knows exactly how much he weighs every word. “Because what I see now is not 'just a bad' dream but the worst Dream ever.” At that the warmth in Dream’s chest is blooming like a flower, bursting like thousands of fireworks. Then Cross adds, so gently, as if the two of them might break — and take the whole world with them. “You are my worst.”

And places a kiss on his forehead. Like a final blow.

That weird, silly fool. That wonderful idiot. Dream loves him so, so much.

It takes the fallen guardian a moment to find his words again, and to be sure his voice won’t be trembling as soon as he starts talking. For a moment Dream simply stares at Cross, who just looks back, so calm, so sure, so present.

“Good one,” Dream finally says. “Though if you're feeling fine enough to make flirty puns, we should go back to sleep.” It’s a perfect moment to return the kiss, only on the cheek. Cross seems content anyway.

“Yeah, let’s do that.” He chuckles. “Won't summon any more bones. Or blasters. Promise.”

。。。

Credits:

Undertale © Toby Fox

Dream © jokublog

Cross © jakei95 / xtaleunderverse

Shattered!Dream © shattereddreamsau

Dark Cream © zu-is-here

X-tra Dark Cream © me (anfie / anfie-in-the-box)

Link to the Russian version will be here!

。。。

Notes

I'm too sleepy to write down the references, but there are quite a few! I'll update them later.

But god and stars, do I love Cross' wordplay in the end. That's the first thing I got to know about this story. Then it became "Two villains who have the whole Multiverse terrified being idiots in love". Then I blinked, and suddenly it's huge and super serious. That was fun. It still is.

[lady-of-the-lotus]

Xue Yang brings Xiao Xingchen back from the dead.

Xiao Xingchen begins to rot.

“You would have dumped me in a ditch,” says Xue Yang, too calmly, “but I spent years bringing you back, even after all those things you said to me.”

“You mean the truth?”

Xue Yang’s pupils swell to fill his irises, two inky black pits in his face. "I didn’t steal your eyes and abandon you. I stayed with you.”

Xuexiao - E - Read on AO3! - Tumblr: Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Chapter 2 - Life

Xue Yang’s face is all he can see.

It floats in the darkness above him, eyes wide, red-rimmed, dumbstruck. Black hair hanging loose around his sickly white face, sticking to his sweat-beaded forehead.

“Where am I?” Xingchen tries to ask, but all that comes out is a choking sound.

With a shaking hand Xue Yang touches his throat, feeling for a pulse, and his vision expands to Xue Yang’s naked body, smeared in red, bleeding freely from his wrist.

“Thirsty,” Xingchen manages to rasp, and Xue Yang’s wrist is at his lips.

He laps at the blood, filling his mouth, wetting his throat, swallowing Xue Yang down as he lies cradled his arms, Xue Yang petting his hair. The blood is hot in his mouth, the heat filling his cold limbs, sharpening his vision, letting him see the stars, the treetops above the Coffin House courtyard, the crescent moon.

But the moonlight, the strong metallic taste of blood, the bold crimson splashed across his range of vision, are all too much. Xue Yang is looking at him, speaking, but his face slips away, voice fading as Xingchen’s senses spiral.

He feels himself being lifted, the breeze on his bare limbs, motion. Something damp gliding over his limbs, something being tied around his waist, something combing through his hair.

And then he’s lying somewhere soft, and Xue Yang is beside him, devouring him with his eyes. Xue Yang’s hair is fixed with a silver scorpion-like hairpiece, and he’s clothed in a black inner robe, but his pale cheeks are still sunken, eyes still red.

“Daozhang,” says Xue Yang. His voice cracks. “You're back.”

Xiao Xingchen blinks slowly. It’s been so long since he’s felt anything at all, truly felt it, that he’s half-forgotten that he had lost his eyes before he died.

Before he…

He begins to shake.

“It’s alright,” murmurs Xue Yang, reaching out to cup his jaw in his hand, pressing his forehead to his. “It’s alright, you’re back now, you’re home…”

Xiao Xingchen’s body is still half-numb, still waking, and Xue Yang’s touch sets his nerves tingling, bringing life into his arms, his legs, as if he’s consumed more of Xue Yang’s blood.

“Say something else, daozhang, let me hear your voice…Are you still thirsty?” And then Xue Yang has disappeared from the bed, flying across the room, and then he’s back, holding a cup of water. “Here—”

Unlike the blood, the water just sits in his throat, as if the muscles that should push it down to his stomach have lost their ability to contract.

“What am I?” he asks when he’s finished coughing up the water.

Xue Yang swallows hard at the sound of his voice. “Alive,” he says.

Xiao Xingchen closes his eyes, shuts out the starlight seeping through the paper window shades. “I don’t think I am.” It’s hard to get the words out, as if his tongue has forgotten how to articulate.

“You are, you are, and I brought you back—” A brush of lips against his, warmer and firmer than he remembers. A hand on his waist, solid. “Just let me know if you need anything...” An arm slipping around him, Xue Yang’s face pressed against his throat.

Xingchen can handle these sensations. Welcomes them. Xue Yang’s touch is bearable. Grounding. Pleasant, now that it’s silent and dark.

“Sleep, daozhang…”

He drifts off.

The morning sun is blinding when he wakes. He covers his face, wincing. His mind’s a quivery jumble, his memory a disjointed collection of stray scraps of thought and memory.

“What’s wrong?” Xue Yang brushes his hand. “Are you in pain?”

“Bright—”

“Of course—” Xue Yang is tying a blindfold over his eyes. “It’s alright, it’s alright…”

He helps Xingchen to the table. He’s prepared a simple meal of rice and fruit. Xiao Xingchen has no appetite, but he forces himself to taste the food.

It has no flavor, no scent. The chopsticks slip from his nerveless fingers, and he gives up, simply gazing down into his bowl.

Xue Yang is staring at him intently, but he doesn’t seem to notice his lack of appetite. He’s prattling on, talking without stopping to take a breath, as if afraid of what Xiao Xingchen might say if given a chance.

“Not hungry?” he finally says, and then, before Xiao Xingchen can respond, “I’ll put it away for later. Here, let me help you back to bed; I want to—tidy up the courtyard before you go out; you might trip over something. The blindfold is like old times, but we’ll get you used to the light yet…”

Xiao Xingchen tries to think as he lies there, tries to shore up the crumbling walls of his mind, but all he feels is a growing numbness spreading from his hands and feet.

He wants to panic, wants to thrash and scream at the horror of the encroaching nothingness as he had wanted to beat at his coffin, wants to cry out for Xue Yang to come back inside, to touch him, wake him up, but the creeping malaise pins him to the bed, and he falls asleep before Xue Yang returns.

He wakes half-blind, half-deaf.

“Xue Yang,” he whispers. His words are indistinct, and, face numb, he bites his tongue.

“I’m here, daozhang…” And then, so low his numbed ears can barely hear, “You can still call me Chengmei, you know…”

“…Chengmei….”

A ghostly touch on his throat. “I’m right here."

“I…I can’t see.”

“Here.” A faint brushing over his face. “There. No more blindfold.”

“It’s not the blindfold. And I can’t…” He closes his eyes, shutting out the blurred figure. It’s suddenly too much effort to speak.

“Daozhang?” A note of panic, even through the cotton filling his ears. “Daozhang!”

Hands inside his robe, sliding over his chest, the only thing he can fully sense. He focuses on the sensation, clings to it. He can’t slide back into the dark nothingness, can’t face the red eyes again…

Something wet in his mouth. He laps at it, mouth filling with coppery heat. He sucks harder. It tingles as it goes down, bringing warmth to his limbs.

“Better?” Xue Yang whispers. Xiao Xingchen opens his eyes. He’s nestled in Xue Yang’s arms, bright red blood dribbling over the curve of Xue Yang’s forearm. “I can give you more. Take it all…”

Xiao Xingchen shakes his head, licking the last of the blood from his lips.

“What did you do to me?” he whispers.

“I…”

Xiao Xingchen pulls away. Xue Yang’s face is bone-white.

“What did you do to me?” he repeats.

Xue Yang bites his lip, hard enough to draw blood had he any left to spare. “I brought you back.”

“From…”

“You don’t remember?”

“I don’t…I don’t…I....why...the blood—"

"Yin is animating you." He rubs his chest. "The yin in my blood helps."

"But—"

"I'll make sure you get the yang you need too." Xue Yang looks away, bandaging his wrist as if trying to avoid making eye contact. “What do you remember?”

“I…I stabbed you.”

“It’s fine.”

Xingchen sits up, feeling slightly sharper. “I don’t care about that! I—I stabbed you because—you—you lied to me—”

“Is that all?”

“You—you tricked me into killing Zichen—”

“I brought him back as a fierce corpse! He was killed by a ghost, not me! And I didn’t hurt A-Qing; she’s fine, she wandered off on her own—”

“You made me kill Zichen!”

“A mistake. I regret that. I was just as horrified as you were. If you’d had eyes, you would have seen that—”

“You made me—you made me—”

And suddenly he finds that he can’t dredge up the hate and rage he felt back then. It’s as if death has bleached strong emotion out of him, as if Xue Yang’s blood, still warm on his tongue, is clouding his ability to hate him as he knows he should be hated.

He rises and drifts, half-stumbling, to the door. The floor is insubstantial beneath his bare feet, the walls hazy.

“Wait!” Xue Yang scrambles shakily out of bed. “It’s not fully clean yet, you might trip—”

“Over what?”

“I mean—I mean, it is clean, but—”

Xiao Xingchen steps out into the courtyard, seeing it for the first time. A dilapidated wall encircles the courtyard, paved with cracked gray stone with scattered coffins and poles. The morning is overcast, almost twilit, air thick and humid.

There’s something caked in between the cracks on the ground, he notices. Something brownish-red—

“Come back to bed.” Xue Yang is behind him. “Come to bed, daozhang. I’ll make you some t—”

And then, without so much as a sigh, he sinks to the ground and sprawls forward on his chest.

Xiao Xingchen stands there for a moment, tilting his head at Xue Yang’s prone form, then lifts him up and, too weak to carry him into the house, deposits him in a nearby coffin.

He leans over the coffin and examines him.

Xue Yang is sharper than anything else around him, somehow. Extremely pale, handsome face thin. His loose hair is a silky black cloud around his head, body slender and well-formed and wrapped only in a green silk inner robe. It’s loosely tied around his waist, and Xiao Xingchen can see an unfamiliar sigil carved into his chest, the graceful lines healed over into scars.

Xiao Xingchen reaches down, trails a hand over the curve of his throat. The coffin is barely tangible where it presses against his chest, but Xue Yang’s cheek is solid, almost cold. He’s seized with a sudden desire to strip them both naked and rub against him, twine himself around Xue Yang like a vine, light up his skin for a few precious seconds of sensation. There's no heat in Xingchen's limbs, fingers and toes numb.

Xue Yang opens his eyes. Blinking, he gazes up at Xiao Xingchen. “What happened?”

“You fainted.”

Xue Yang rubs his eyes. “You look worried.”

“No.”

Xue Yang tries to sit up but can’t. “There’s plenty of room in here.”

Xiao Xingchen hesitates, and then, without making a conscious decision to do so, finds himself crawling inside the coffin. Xue Yang winds his arms and legs around him, pressing Xingchen’s face into the hollow of his throat.

“How do you feel?” Xue Yang murmurs, his good hand combing through Xiao Xingchen’s hair. Xue Yang's entire body is trembling, either from the blood loss or faint or Xingchen’s nearness. “Do you need more blood?”

The skin of his throat is soft and smooth against Xingchen's cheek, his hands firm on his waist, his back. Xue Yang moves slightly, hip shifting against Xingchen’s, and Xingchen is filled with that same desire to rip off his clothes and simply writhe naked against Xue Yang, the only solid thing among the numbing mists—

He kisses Xue Yang.

Xue Yang’s entire body goes rigid.

He kisses Xue Yang again, full on the mouth, probing past his lips. Desperate for warmth, Xiao Xingchen devours his mouth, his tongue.

His heat.

Without thinking about it he slips his hand inside Xue Yang’s robe, resting it on his hip. His skin must be cool after losing so much blood, but it feels warm against Xiao Xingchen’s cold numb hand.

“You sure?” Xue Yang breathes.

Xiao Xingchen kisses him again, Xue Yang's mouth even warmer than the rest of him. Xue Yang moves slightly, one leg bent at Xiao Xingchen’s side. He’s untying Xiao Xingchen’s robe, good hand closing around his cock.

“Ever done this before?” he murmurs in Xiao Xingchen’s mouth.

Xingchen stops kissing him. He knows he should be overwhelmed by a red-hot tangle of negative emotion, but all he feels is an urgent hunger for sensation. “I know how you brought me back.”

Xue Yang’s eyes widen. “I didn’t—”

“I don’t care.” Increasing desperation builds as Xue Yang pumps his cock to full hardness, all the frustrated lust of the past…weeks? months? returning tenfold. “Pay me back now.”

“I don’t know if—I don’t want you to lose whatever yang energy I was able to give you—”

Xingchen glances down at his cock, rigid in Xue Yang’s hand. He knows he should be embarrassed to be seen like this, but all he cares about is how Xue Yang’s skin feels on his, how he aches for that hand to touch every inch of him, spark his half-numb body to life. A few drops of blood ooze from the cockhead, dribbling down the sides, staining Xue Yang's hand red.

"We’ll try it once.”

Xue Yang is still strangely hesitant. “Do you even know what to do?”

Xingchen opens Xue Yang’s robe, slides a hand along his thigh. “I remember what you did,” he says, and thrusts into him without preamble.

Xue Yang winces at the sudden intrusion, body tensing, hands curling around Xingchen’s arms at his sides, and then he makes a concentrated effort to relax, allowing Xiao Xingchen to push in deeper.

Xingchen begins to move, sliding in and out of Xue Yang, cock slick with bloody precum. He leans forward to kiss Xue Yang as he thrusts into him, filling his mouth with Xue Yang’s heat, chest brushing against his. Xue Yang’s eyes are closed, gripping Xiao Xingchen’s arms tightly, not bothering to touch himself.

Xiao Xingchen reaches down, closes his hand around Xue Yang’s cock, strokes it, more to feel the soft slippery sensation against his palm than to give Xue Yang any pleasure.

“Yes,” Xue Yang murmurs, back arching. He has one leg on Xingchen’s shoulder, knee hooked around him, drawing him closer to him. “You can be rougher — ”

Xiao Xingchen wants to sink his teeth into Xue Yang’s lips, suck the life out through his mouth, but is afraid any more blood loss will kill him and with him, Xingchen. Instead he thrusts faster into Xue Yang’s pliant flesh, grips his cock tighter, eliciting a gasp from Xue Yang. Xue Yang has lost too much blood to be fully hard, but precum is leaking from his cock, dripping onto his middle.

The sigil on Xue Yang’s chest is glowing blue.

Xiao Xingchen glances down at it and for the first time notices a sigil on his chest as well. The same foreign symbol, backwards.

It’s glowing with red light.

“Don’t be gentle, daozhang,” Xue Yang breathes, and Xiao Xingchen comes, biting down on Xue Yang’s neck as he feels true pleasure for the first time since awakening, his body sparking to life around Xue Yang’s cock.

Xue Yang comes at the feel of his teeth in his throat, cum spurting weakly into Xiao Xingchen’s hand. Xiao Xingchen instinctively licks the cum from his hand, the sticky white liquid tingling in his throat, feeding the golden light in his chest.

The glow of the sigils begin to fade.

“Yin energy,” Xue Yang whispers as Xiao Xingchen pulls out of him and settles down next to him, body wrapped around his, absorbing his phantom warmth. He laps gently at the bite in Xue Yang’s neck, not daring to suck it but swallowing the blood that rises from the raw wound.

Xiao Xingchen makes a small questioning noise.

“You gave me some of your yin energy….” Xue Yang laughs weakly, body vibrating against Xiao Xingchen’s chest. “Tainted yin, thanks to the ritual, not fresh like my blood. Eating me from the inside, is that it?…I’ll take it…"

Xingchen doesn't respond. For the first time since waking, the dampening curtain has been pulled back and Xingchen can fully feel his emotions.

Feel the rage, the grief, the overwhelming sorrow and disgust. Roiling red emotion, all around him, inside him. He wallows in it, stretches out his arms, embraces him. Rubs his face in the emotion, inhales it.

Enjoys the humiliation.

The hatred. The guilt.

The confusion.

He's not sure all of those emotions belong to him.

Or only to him.

“You alright, daozhang?” Xue Yang murmurs. “You look like…”

Xingchen pulls him closer.

* * * * *

It’s evening when Xingchen wakes. Xue Yang is still asleep, neck crusted with dried blood.

Xiao Xingchen lifts him out of the coffin and carries him into the house. He’s filled a pot with water before he remembers that he can’t eat or drink. He takes the water off the fire and seats himself beside the bed, watching Xue Yang sleep.

His emotions are still touchable. The hate, the anger. But they're more muted than they were that morning, a simmer instead of a boil.

It would be so easy to strangle Xue Yang right now. Cover his face with a pillow. Crush his throat beneath his thumbs. Hold him down as he thrashes beneath him—

Without him, you’ll die.

“And so what if I do?” Xiao Xingchen says aloud.

But his words ring hollow. They would have rung true that morning, but now that he can feel again, his senses sharp—

He does not want to be back. But he can't atone for his sins if he's dead. Can't put some good back into the world, can't make up for all death he's sown.

He steps out onto the porch. The night is unusually clear for Yi City, the deep blue sky thickly embroidered with diamonds. A vast sweeping carpet of stars, filling the night with silvery radiance despite the dim crescent moon. The scent of the nearby forest is on the night air, drifting on a cool breeze that cuts the humidity. Its treetops wave over Yi City’s walls, the leaves rustling.

Slowly he walks around the courtyard, one hand on the wall, enjoying the feel of the rough warm stone sliding past under his fingertips, the soft smooth weeds in the cracks. He still feels surprisingly strong, surprisingly alive.

He’s almost all the way around the courtyard when he’s stopped by a heap of orange fur at his feet.

A dead fox, lying huddled against the wall, surrounded by a cloud of blowflies. Fungus is growing along the fox’s ribs, white in the shadowy gloom, and the air is heavy with the carcass’s sweet scent.

Xiao Xingchen stands there for a long time, watching the insects feed, swarming black on the bright red fur. Maggots writhe in the creature’s eyes and nose and mouth, white on the brownish-pinkish flesh. The buzzing should be growing quieter as the flies settle down for the night but instead it grows louder, filling his ears, vibrating through him.

That should be me.

The thought cuts through the overwhelming buzzing.

He does not belong here.

He closes his eyes against the stars, the moon, the trees, the dead fox, but can’t shut out the sickening certainty swelling in his chest:

I do not belong here...

No. You were brought back for a purpose.

A second chance....

He turns and goes back inside. The Coffin House is manageable, at least. Contained. Almost like the tomb he should be filling…

He spends the night dozing in a chair beside the bed. Xue Yang doesn’t move at all, lying all night in the exact same position Xiao Xingchen had set him in.

Xiao Xingchen makes him tea and congee the next morning.

“There’s honey in the cabinet,” says Xue Yang. He’s very white, hands shaking as he accepts the bowl of congee.

Xiao Xingchen ignores him. Half of him wants to dump the tea in Xue Yang’s lap. As if sensing this, Xue Yang eats the bland rice without another word.

“Thank you,” he says as Xiao Xingchen takes the empty bowl, and immediately falls asleep.

Xiao Xingchen sits and watches him.

Xue Yang looks young—no more than eighteen or nineteen, though he knows he must be in his late twenties. He’s lost the baby-faced roundness Xiao Xingchen remembers, his cheekbones and jawline sharp, but there’s still a softness to his face, an innocence.

Innocence!

He gets up and leaves the house before he can do something he’ll regret. Spends the day sitting beside the dead fox. The sweet smell is even stronger today, and he thinks the little white mushrooms have grown larger, nourished by the fox.

Useful, even in death.

He too can be useful. Will be useful. As soon as Xue Yang is stronger, they’ll go on a night-hunt—help people, save people—

Just as we used to.

He shoves the words away, but the memories remain.

The countless night-hunts, Xue Yang keeping up a steady stream of jokes and chatter. The thrill of the hunt itself. Xue Yang praising his technique. A hand on his arm, a thumb wiping the blood from his cheek…

Human blood, some of the time. The blood of the villagers he’d—he’d—

“I regret all that too.”

Regret all that. As if that would bring them back to life, wash the blood from his hands—

Balling his hands into fists, he heads into the house.

Xue Yang is sitting on the floor beside the bed, struggling to rise. “Where were you?” he mumbles. “I called for you, but you weren’t here...”

Xiao Xingchen helps him back into bed.

Xue Yang smiles up at him blearily. “I knew you’d come back.”

Xingchen swallows. “Where is all the poetry you transcribed for me?”

“You remember." Xue Yang smiles again, eyes slightly sharper. "It’s in the chest in the corner.”

Xingchen spreads the sheets of paper out over the table. “What language is this?”

Xue Yang sits up. “Oh, I f—it’s my own. I…”

Xingchen holds the paper close to his face, vision blurrier than it was yesterday. The page is covered in thin, uniform marks. “This reminds me of Nushu letters.”

“I made it up. I can read it to you, and you can write it out properly—”

“How many characters do you know?”

Xue Yang picks at the blanket. Xingchen can’t tell if he’s brooding or embarrassed. “I don’t know. Maybe five hundred. Why does it matter?”

“Who taught you?”

“I taught myself. Like everything else.” He lies back down and closes his eyes.

Xingchen looks over the poems. He wonders how old Xue Yang was when he developed his own writing system, and when he had taught himself the few characters he did know.

He glances back at Xue Yang, squinting slightly. There’s a fresh bruise on Xue Yang’s forehead where he hit his head falling out of bed, and his breathing is shallow.

Xingchen digs the heels of his palms into his eyes.

He can’t do this.

Can’t keep up sustained hatred for someone so—so pathetic. All his natural compassion is roused by the sight of someone in need, even someone like Xue Yang.

“I called for you, but you weren’t here...”

Xiao Xingchen goes to sit beside the bed again. If only Xue Yang were to yell at him, sneer, spit venom again—

But instead Xue Yang opens his eyes, one trembling white hand reaching up to brush Xingchen’s face.

“Don’t leave me again,” he whispers, and Xiao Xingchen thinks he might have strangled him then and there had his life not been bound to his, smother the source of his shameful weakness and pity.

Pity. That was the word. Pity as one would have for a wounded animal.

A wounded animal. That was what Xue Yang was, had always been. A scared, wounded animal, lashing out—

Scared. As if Xue Yang were ever scared!

The sound of Xue Yang’s voice returns to him: " But the man was so irritated at the sound of his crying, that he snatched the driver’s whip and lashed the child’s face, knocking him to the ground. Then the wheels of the carriage rolled over the child’s hand, one finger at a time. He was seven! The bones of his left were completely crushed, while one finger was milled into battered flesh on the spot!"

Not a scared animal. A scared child, lashing out.

He almost laughs aloud at the thought. Millions of people have been scared children. How many of them had Xue Yang’s body count? How many had made him kill his partner? How many of them had dragged him into their twisted revenge scheme?

He closes his eyes. It all seems like a past life, faded and blurred and impossible to touch.

It was a past life.

“Daozhang?” Xue Yang’s voice is soft. “You don’t have to sit up all night…”

Xingchen opens his eyes. “I’m fine.”

A wide smile curls Xue Yang’s pale lips. Xiao Xingchen still doesn’t know if he’s always this expressive, or if he’s forgotten that he can be seen now.

The night grows colder as it goes on. The chill creeps over Xiao Xingchen's arms and legs, numbing his fingers. It’s very late when he crawls into bed beside Xue Yang, desperate for heat. Xue Yang is still cool, but he’s warmer than Xingchen. Half-awake, he slides his arms around Xingchen, pulling him to his chest.

“About time,” he mumbles.

It’s late when they both wake the next morning. Xiao Xingchen fixes his breakfast, adding the tiniest drizzle of honey to the congee.

“Don’t try getting out of bed on your own again,” he says, and steps out into the courtyard to go sit beside the fox.

The mushrooms are definitely larger today. He sits there until mid afternoon, transfixed, allowing the flies to land on his eyes and lips, then rises and brings Xue Yang water and more rice.

“I brought you ink and brushes and paper a few weeks ago,” Xue Yang tells him as he eats. “You don’t need me to write for you anymore, so…” He keeps his eyes focused on his bowl. Xingchen still can’t reconcile this soft, almost bashful Xue Yang with the one he remembers. “And I found you a flute.”

That catches Xingchen’s attention. “A flute?”

“A dizi. I was going to give it to you later.” He points at a long thin box on a shelf. “If you want.”

“You can give it to me yourself.” Xiao Xingchen gathers the writing materials and heads out into the courtyard.

He spends the day sketching the fox. Page after page of the dead fox in various stages of decomposition: ribs rising from the red fur, bones bleached white in the sun. Flesh bloated, pink skin slit, inky black liquid leaking from its nose, the greasy liquid glistening with iridescent fly wings. Rice-like maggots, wriggling in the red, sun-baked flesh, slowly consuming the dead fox: nourished, strengthened. Dozens of mushrooms, red, brown, yellow, clustered thickly on the animal’s haunches, drawing life from the corpse. The carcass covered by moss, inlaid thickly with flowers, entwined with delicate green vines.

Flies land on his hands as he sketches. They’re beautiful, in their way, wings tiny glass slivers of rainbow, legs long and elegant.

And slightly blurred, just as the poems had been last night.

He returns to the house as the sun sets, dusting the grim gray courtyard with rose-tinted light. He fixes a meal for Xue Yang as usual, but as he hands Xue Yang the bowl, it slips from his hands, spilling on the table.

“I apologize. I’ll get you some more—”

“It’s fine.” Xue Yang scoops the rice back into the bowl. “Maybe you should lie down, daozhang. You’re looking…” He tilts his head. “I don’t know. Kind of…hazy.”

The entire room is hazy. Xiao Xingchen closes his eyes against it. If he can’t see the furniture’s soft edges, the growing shadows, then his weakening vision could simply be his imagination…

A hand at his elbow, guiding him into bed. A soft kiss on his forehead. “You’ll feel better in the morning, daozhang…” Another kiss. “Do you smell that?”

“Was sitting with a dead fox,” he mumbles.

“A dead fox?” Xue Yang nuzzles his jaw, laughing. “You’re more like a dove or crane or something like that than a vulture, I’d say.”

“It’s beautiful,” Xiao Xingchen says, or thinks, he says, and drifts off.

Xiao Xingchen feels better in the morning. His thoughts are… smoother , is the word that comes to mind, though he knows it’s not quite right. Unruffled by concerns about Xue Yang, of the people they’ve killed, of Song Lan, of A-Qing. Mechanically he fills a bowl with congee and honey, being careful not to drop it, and sits on the edge of the bed as Xue Yang eats.

“—go night-hunting, I think, I’m feeling much better. There must be some monster or something out there for us to kill. I want to watch you fight again; we’ll have to find you something—”

His voice fades, blends in with the buzzing Xiao Xingchen imagines he can hear. Buzzing, swarming, the song of hundreds, thousands of blowflies and beetles—

He picks up Xue Yang’s bowl. It slips from his hands, landing on the floor.

He stands there, staring down at the bowl, then looks at his hands. They’re hazy, ghostly white shapes in the darkness. It’s morning, with bright yellow light pouring through the windows, but the beams are frozen, failing to illuminate the dark room, sharp yellow blocks in the blackness.

“Daozhang?—”

“I’m fine.” His tongue feels thick, swollen, and he can barely form the words around it. “I’m fine…”

He manages to drift to the table. Sits there for a few hours, one hand resting on the table, the other on a sheet of paper, not moving.

A voice behind him, laced with concern. “Come back to bed, daozhang…”

“I’m fine,” he says, or tries to say, but his tongue flops uselessly between his teeth.

Pressure around him. A distant sensation of being lifted. A pricking in his mouth, something being squeezed out of his tongue. “You’ll be better soon.” Heat at his lips, between his legs. “Just hang in there, daozhang. You took care of me, let me take care of you—” A green and white shape above him. More pressure, inside him this time.

Movement. Fullness, expansion, something building—

He hadn’t realized how dim the golden light in his chest had become until it bursts back into full radiance, and suddenly the green and white shape sharpens into Xue Yang, straddling his legs, rocking forward into him. A faint blue light glows through the robe covering his chest, illuminating his anxious face.

“I’m fine,” Xingchen mumbles.

“Daozhang!” Xue Yang pulls out. “How do you feel?”

Xiao Xingchen blinks slowly. “Better.”

Xue Yang rolls off of him. “You have to be more careful! If you were to fade away entirely, I don’t know that I could bring you…I’d have to bring you back again, and that was a real pain.” Xue Yang scoots down the bed, hands sliding along Xiao Xingchen’s hips. “Now, to take some of your tainted yin,” he says. The anxious look is gone, replaced by a teasing one. “How about it?”

“You don’t have to—”

Xue Yang moves Xiao Xingchen’s robes aside, running a finger along the side of his cock. “Would you prefer to drink my blood, then? Try to dilute it with fresh yin?” He laughs aloud at Xingchen’s wince. “Let's try this first. You make the best faces, and now that I can see all of your face…” He grins at Xiao Xingchen, then closes his mouth over his cock, sliding his tongue along the sides, sucking hard on the tip.

Xiao Xingchen closes his eyes and tries to hold back his climax. He feels more alive than he has in almost two days, fully awake. He digs his fingers into Xue Yang’s hair, nails scraping his scalp, twisting hard enough to hurt. Xue Yang’s hands wander, ghosting over Xiao Xingchen’s hip bones, running between his legs, over his abdomen, along his waist, tracing the faint purple veins winding through Xingchen’s pale skin.

Xiao Xingchen gives in to the sensation, the warmth. He can live like this, he thinks, if only this one moment went on forever. Can live with Xue Yang suckling at his cock, warming his cold skin, sucking the poison from his body.

Xue Yang takes him deeper, gagging slightly, and Xingchen comes, filling Xue Yang’s mouth with blood. He pulls off of Xiao Xingchen with a sloppy wet sound, gulping down the yin-laden cum, cleaning Xingchen with his tongue.

“It doesn’t taste like blood alone,” says Xue Yang, licking his lips. “Interesting.”

Xiao Xingchen stretches, savoring the return of sensation to his limbs, the softness of the sheets against his bare skin. “I’m sorry.”

“No, no! I like it.” Xue Yang settles down on Xiao Xingchen’s chest, a leg wrapped around him, a hand playing with Xingchen’s hair. A slight tingle where their chest sigils touch, a humming. “We ought to bath you tomorrow,” he murmurs. “That dead fox is potent.”

He falls asleep like that, a gentle weight on Xiao Xingchen’s chest. Xiao Xingchen focuses on his comforting weight, his warmth, his heartbeat. Xue Yang is the most vibrantly alive person he’s ever met, and now it’s as if a fraction of that vivacity has entered Xiao Xingchen, seeping through his skin where it purrs against his.

Xue Yang makes breakfast the next morning. He sets a bowl down in front of Xiao Xingchen but doesn’t press him to so much as pick up the chopsticks, and he empties his bowl back into the pot without a word.

“So, I got you this,” Xue Yang says after he’s finished washing up. He sets a long silk-wrapped object down on the table with an overly casual shrug. “I thought you might want it.”

It’s the flute he’d mentioned before, a green jade dizi inlaid with ebony.

Xingchen runs his fingertips over the smooth jade and looks up at Xue Yang. He’s sitting across from him, eyes bright, grinning, unable to contain his excitement anymore. “This must have cost a fortune. Where did you get this?”

“Does that really matter?”

“Xue Y…Chengmei…if we’re going to—” He stops. “I need you. But if you’re going to keep—keep doing things as you’ve done them, then my keeping you here just to stay alive would be selfish, and…” He trails off, repressing a regretful wince. He hopes his words had been jumbled enough for Xue Yang to not understand what he was saying, but Xue Yang’s smile disappears.

“So the only reason you’re here with me is because you need me to fuck life into you,” Xue Yang says blutly, “and if I kill people, then you’ll kill me in my sleep.”

“No!” Xiao Xingchen feels his cheeks get hot for the first time since his return. “No! I….” He trails off again. What had he meant, if not that?

There’s no expression at all on Xue Yang’s face. A first. “I know you would do it. You did it once before.”

Xiao Xingchen runs a thumb over the flute, letting it catch on the holes, focusing on the feel of the jade. His heart is pounding, and he feels almost faint.

He welcomes the distress, as he would welcome any strong emotion after spending so long in that deadening malaise.

Then welcomes the irritation. Why should he feel upset? Xue Yang deserves far worse than a painless death—

He realizes Xue Yang is waiting for a response to his last jab. Xue Yang’s cheeks are as pink as his bloodlessness will allow, mobile mouth rigid, eyes hard.

“Can you blame me?” Xiao Xingchen asks.

Xue Yang laughs, mouth relaxing, but his eyes have no light in them.

“You didn’t even give me a chance to explain,” he says.

“Explain? You—” Xiao Xingchen stops. He’s fully dizzy now, the room swaying back and forth, Xue Yang’s face the only stable thing in the room.

He tips his head back, looking up at the ceiling, trying to stabilize himself. “It doesn’t matter, not anymore…”

Xue Yang shoves his chair back and leaves the house.

Xiao Xingchen picks up the flute with shaking hands. His mind is oddly empty, given what had just passed between them. A part of him wants to go after Xue Yang, but what is he supposed to say?

Tell him that he wants to be here with him? A lie.

Tell him that he forgives him? Another lie. He’s not sure Xue Yang even realizes he had done anything wrong.

He begins to play the flute.

He plays for hours, till his fingers grow stiff and his lips ache.

He thinks of Baoshan Sanren as he plays. The years spent teaching him the proper fingerings and breath. What would Shifu say, to see him like this? Reduced to—to—

Xue Yang’s mouth on his…Xue Yang, pressed to his chest. Xue Yang, nuzzling the sensitive skin between his legs…

What would she want? For Xingchen to kill himself again?

He sets down the flute. Perhaps Xue Yang had only stolen it. Perhaps he hadn't murdered the owner…

He wants to leave the Coffin House, but is afraid Xue Yang is sitting on the stairs.

Instead he goes to bed. He sleeps fitfully, waking before dawn.

The Coffin House is empty.

He picks up his flute, tries to play it, but his fingers won’t respond, fumbling over holes they can barely feel. Feeling vaguely sick, he heads out into the courtyard, lit by dawn’s soft pink light. Walks around the back, looking for the dead fox, half-tripping over nothing, legs heavy and clumsy.

The fox is gone. A greasy black stain and trail of ants are all that remain.

He stands there for what seems like hours, then looks up. Xue Yang is standing behind him, arms crossed, eyes dark.

“Miss your little friend?” he asks.

“What did you do with it?”

Xue Yang sneers. “Tossed it over the wall. It was disgusting.”

Xiao Xingchen returns to the house, takes out Shuanghua, and flies out over the wall, drawing on his weak golden core for the first time. The fox is lying in a heap of rotting meat and splattered intestine, red fur vivid against the brownish-greenish weeds.

Not quite vivid. Everything is… dull.

Xiao Xingchen gathers the fox and buries it under a larch tree.

He likes it here. He’s always been drawn to nature. It reminds him of the mountain he grew up on, his happy days traveling with Song Lan…

He looks up at the leaves. It’s been so long since he’s seen a tree up-close. Dusty yellowish-green leaves, but they’re alive, the trunks strong and slender, the tall grasses stirring in the fresh morning breeze.

A glimpse of black among the green. Xue Yang, sitting on top of the wall, looking down at him, backlit by a pale blue sky still streaked with the last gold fingers of dawn.

Xingchen turns and walks deeper into the forest.

A swishing sound, and Xue Yang flies down behind him. “Care that much about a dead animal?”

“It was a living thing.”

“And what were you going to do with my corpse after you disemboweled me? Dump it in a ditch?”

Xingchen turns, eyeing Xue Yang evenly. His emotions have died down to a mere whisper, any intensity long since faded. Xue Yang’s eyes are correspondingly blank, but more like a cat’s eyes seconds before it pounces than one truly devoid of emotion.

“I stabbed you in the stomach,” Xingchen says coldly, “and you tricked me into killing the people I’d pledged myself to protect and pushed me to suicide. Which do you think is worse?"”

Xue Yang takes a step towards him. Xiao Xingchen refuses to step backward. Xue Yang is too close now, but neither of them move.

“You would have dumped me in a ditch,” says Xue Yang, too calmly, “but I spent years bringing you back, even after all those things you said to me.”

“You mean the truth?”

Xue Yang’s pupils swell to fill his irises, two inky black pits in his face. “ I didn’t steal your eyes and abandon you. I stayed with you.”

Xiao Xingchen knows he should be furious at this oblique reference to Song Lan, rage at Xue Yang for daring to compare himself to him, but it’s hard to feel more than a flicker of irritation.

And the terrible, fleeting thought that Xue Yang had stood by him. That their fight had been worse than the one he had with Song Lan—just as bad, at the very least—and yet—

Zichen was right to leave you, he reminds himself. And then, He left you because of Xue Yang…

I wonder why he came to Yi City.

"Song Lan was not looking for you," says Xue Yang. "He came here tracking a ghost."

Xingchen closes his eyes. “The past doesn’t matter,” he says, getting the words out with difficultly. “I need you now.”

Xue Yang is standing very still. “And if you didn’t?”

“What does it matter?” Xiao Xingchen begins to drift toward the nearby stream they used to bathe in. Perhaps if he stands in the water, the cold rush might wake him—

Xue Yang grips his arm. “Then yell, or fight, or stab me, or something— ”

Xiao Xingchen pulls away and heads for the stream. He slips off his shoes and stands barefoot on the muddy bank, watching the burbling white water gush over the rocks and squeezing the mud between his toes, then slowly gets down and trails his fingers in the water. It’s as if he’s wearing a glove, touching it but not fully feeling it, just as he had felt while talking to Xue Yang—

It’s nice, though. Cool, soft, if not enough.

Xue Yang appears on the opposite bank, that strange, un-Xue-Yang-like stillness still clinging to him. Xingchen wishes he cared enough to spark that stillness into a rage, stir Xue Yang’s slumbering temper, but the numbness is growing.

“I liked it better when you were stabbing me in the stomach,” says Xue Yang bitterly.

Xiao Xingchen steps into the water. The water swirls around his ankles, wet hem clinging to him. He knows the pebbles in the streambed should hurt, but all he feels is faint pressure on his bare feet, as if the pebbles are covered by a thick blanket.

Xue Yang grabs his arm again, roughly this time. “Just say something , dammit!”

Xingchen only half-feels his fingers, and can't feel his warmth at all.

"What do you want me to say? Just tell me!"

Xiao Xingchen leans forward and kisses him.

Xue Yang melts into it, one finger hooked into the collar of Xingchen’s robe, stepping into the water. “So—”

Xiao Xingchen shuts him up by filling his mouth with his tongue, swallowing his heat. It’s not a gentle kiss, but Xue Yang swallows it down. Somehow they end up in the water, Xue Yang on his back, the water burbling around his face.

He pulls Xiao Xingchen’s face down to his as Xingchen fumbles between his legs. There’s no oil, and Xue Yang winces as he enters him, but Xiao Xingchen is not gentle. He's barely thinking, acting more on instinct than anything, consumed by a sudden desperation to feel fully again, feel like he did yesterday, feel the holes in the flute, be able to hold a brush, be able to rage properly at Xue Yang—

He enters begins to move, hard and fast. The stream grows cooler and wetter as the sigils on their chests glow brighter, sensation flowing back into him.

“I can’t—” Xue Yang’s voice is a sputtering choke. “I can’t bre—” His face is half underwater, and he gasps and spits water as Xiao Xingchen thrusts into him. He claws at Xiao Xingchen’s arms but doesn’t push him off. Xiao Xingchen ignores his spluttering, thrusting another few times, rough and deep, overwhelmed by the sudden rush of heat and friction and pleasure, and cums inside him. The gold light in his chest shines brighter, not as vividly as when Xue Yang gives him his own life force, but he feels like himself again.

Xingchen pulls out, and Xue Yang sits up with a wet gasp, coughing up water. His eyes are red, face bluish. He draws in a rasping, wheezing gasp and spits more water.

“Take some blood,” he chokes.

Xiao Xingchen is already unraveling the bandage from his neck, scraping the scab off with his teeth, sucking at the bite marks. He drinks until the world around him bursts into full color, till he can feel the breeze and hear the birds in the trees.

“Better?”

Xingchen lies down flat in the water, relishing the coolness playing over his limbs, the sunlight on his face, the sharp pebbles against his arms and legs. It’s hotter than he thought, the sun baking the countryside even at this hour, and he absorbs the heat like a lizard on a rock.

“Better?” Xue Yang asks again. He’s pale, neck still bleeding, but his eyes are human again, warm and anxious and just a little too intense. “I can give you more.”

Xiao Xingchen closes his eyes. “And die in the process.”

“Right, wouldn't want my dead body poisoning the water supply.”

Xingchen wants to laugh suddenly. He's not sure where this sudden mix of joy is coming from, but it's mixed with a potent dose of bitterness and disqueit that keep the laugh from escaping. “Drag you onto the bank, let you feed the plants…”

He can almost hear Xue Yang stiffen. “Really?”

“Of course not.” Xiao Xingchen reaches up, dribbles water over his face, savoring the sensation. “I would bury you.”

“Sprinkle dirt over the ditch?”

“Properly.”

“How generous,” Xue Yang says sarcastically, but when Xiao Xingchen opens his eyes Xue Yang is staring at him, eyes now far too intense.

Xue Yang quickly looks away. “What would you put on the headstone?” he asks, too sarcastically to be sincere about the cynicism.

Xingchen closes his eyes again, takes a moment to relish the emotions Xue Yang stirs up, now that he can feel them. The pity, the frustration, the hate.

And the embers of lust. Guilt. Disgust. And…

Not all of the disgust is for Xue Yang.

He, too, is disgusting.

Xue Yang is sitting up, clearing his throat, trying to get the last of the water out of his lungs. Blood runs down his throat, dripping into the water.

Xiao Xingchen winces.

“Sprinkle dirt over the ditch?”...

And suddenly pity is overwhelming the other emotions.

His hand creeps over the rocky pebbles, finding Xue Yang’s fingers. His bad hand, the glove soaked through. He slips his fingers under the hand, touching the scarred skin of his palm.

“Thank you,” he says. “I don’t know if I truly need the blood, but it helps.”

Xue Yang looks away.

Xiao Xingchen sits up and ties Xue Yang’s bandage back on.

“Can’t risk infection,” says Xue Yang, “or my bleeding out, can we. Though I suppose you can always fuck my corpse.”

“Let me fix your hair for you,” says Xiao Xingchen, wincing again. Like I used to.

“It’s wet.”

“After you bathe.”

Xue Yang puts his arms around his legs, resting his chin on his knees. “ You’re the one who smells like a dead fox.”

Xiao Xingchen swallows. “I want to leave the Coffin House.”

Xue Yang tips his head towards him. He simply looks tired now, and very pale. As if something more than the blood has been taken out of him—not taken out of him. Put into him. Slowly poisoning him, like a corpse fouling a stream…

“Why?” Xue Yang asks after too long a pause.

“I think it would be better for us.”

Xue Yang reaches his good hand down, cups it in the water, drinks, picks up a pebble, and fiddles with his hair, before asking, with exquisite casualness, “Us?”

“I’m not going to leave you behind.”

He knows Xue Yang wants to open that wound again —“Because you need me to survive?”— but all Xue Yang says is, “I’ll go buy supplies.”

“I’ll come with you.”

Xue Yang rises, shaking his head. “I’ll go alone.”

“I can help—”

“It doesn’t take two people to hold a basket.”

Xiao Xingchen remembers when "Chengmei" would have done anything to cajole him into coming with him, or make up increasingly ridiculous excuses to tag along with him, but he lets him go.

Xue Yang returns in the evening with the supplies, whistling off-key and swinging a basket from each hand.

“Want some fruit?—oh, right, you don’t eat.” He tosses a candied nut in the air, catches it on his tongue. "Too bad."

Xiao Xingchen wonders if he’s drawing attention to his mouth on purpose. No point, really. It’s not as if Xingchen has a choice about sleeping with him.

Xue Yang grins at him. “How do you feel?”

“Fine.”

Xue Yang sets the basket down on the table and begins packing the food away in oilskins Xingchen holds open for him. “Play the flute again?”

Xiao Xingchen reflexively flexes his fingers. He looks down at them, long and pale and tingling slightly, though they’re no longer numb. “No.”

“Just sit there thinking about how long you can go without being forced to fuck me, then?”

Xingchen looks up. “Don’t say it like that!”

Xue Yang pouts facetiously. “ ‘Make love’?”

Xingchen rubs his temples. His wrist smells sweet where it brushes his nose. “Call it what you like.”

Xue Yang frowns. Xiao Xingchen suspects he had been half-hoping for another fight, perhaps ending in bed.

“You telling me it’s suddenly alright to lie, then?” Xue Yang asks, still goading him, but Xingchen is suddenly too tired for these games. Irritated, he lies down, leaving the packing to Xue Yang.

From beneath lowered lids he watches Xue Yang. Xue Yang picks up the flute, then stops. Sniffs the finger holes. Glances at Xiao Xingchen. Hesitates, then wraps it in silk and inserts it in the qiankun pouch.

It’s late when he crawls into bed beside Xiao Xingchen, almost as if he were waiting until he was certain Xingchen was asleep. And yet he rocks the bed slightly, presses the mattress hard enough for it to dip, drops his hairpiece, curses when he bangs his knee on the bed frame, the first time Xiao Xingchen can ever remember him being so clumsy. He pulls at the blanket as he settles in beside him, making sure it runs over Xingchen’s shoulder.

“You’re awake?” Xue Yang whispers in feigned surprise when Xingchen grips the blanket.

“Get some rest. We should leave early.”

“Doesn’t really matter when we leave...” Xue Yang stares up at the ceiling. “I’ve lived here longer than I’ve lived anywhere else.”

“We have to leave early if we want to make sure we have time to travel to a decent town.”

“Nine years.”

“Neither of us are strong enough to fly distances, and once it gets dark…”

“Where are we going?”

“Wherever people need help.”

“Why?”

Xiao Xingchen presses his lips together. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.”

“You couldn’t—” He stops. “You’ll learn.”

“To what? Save the world?”

Xiao Xingchen turns over on his side.

“Daozhang?”

Xingchen doesn’t respond.

Xue Yang touches his back. “How do you feel?”

“You don’t have to keep asking me that.” Xingchen wishes he had continued pretending to sleep. Save the world. Just as he and Song Lan had always discussed.

The snick of Shuanghua’s blade through his chest—

“You don’t sound so good. Here, let me—” Xue Yang slides a hand over Xingchen’s waist, grazing his hip bones, brushing the back of his neck with his lips, and Xingchen shoves his hand away with more force than intended.

“I said I was fine!” he snaps. He turns to look at Xue Yang. He suddenly feels like picking that fight Xue Yang was so intent on earlier. “Can’t we have a simple conversation without your hands all over me?”

Xue Yang pulls back. “You didn’t want to talk.”

“Well, what did you want to say?”

“Nothing.” Xue Yang rolls over. “Have to be well rested for tomorrow and all, right?”

The conversation is obviously over. Xingchen feels strangely dissatisfied. He tries to think of something else, something to spark the fight, fan the embers, but he has little practice being nasty and can’t think of anything on the spur of the moment.

Xue Yang moves slightly, rolling away from Xiao Xingchen, turning onto his stomach, and though he doesn’t understand why, another shameful rush of pity fills Xingchen.

“I’ve lived here longer than I’ve lived anywhere else. Nine years…”

Oh.

He glances at Xue Yang, but it’s too late to say anything now. He briefly considers offering to fix Xue Yang’s hair again, then banishes the thought as ridiculous. It will only get mussed. He’ll offer in the morning…

But Xue Yang is up before him in the morning, putting the last touches on their provisions.

It’s almost midmorning when Xiao Xingchen drags himself out of bed. His limbs are curiously heavy, fingertips and toes half numb, and when he washes his face with the water Xue Yang has placed beside the bed, he notices that same sweet smell clinging to his hands.

The same scent as the dead fox…

He finds Xue Yang pacing up and down before the Coffin House, eyes fixed on the sign above the door. 

“We should just burn this place to the ground," Xue Yang says.

"Xue Yang, I—”

"We should get going," Xue Yang says and, without waiting for an answer, turns abruptly and heads towards the courtyard gate.

Xingchen follows him.

* * * *

Xiao Xingchen, rocking the "undead chic" look and bonding with bestie

Up next: "Blood," in which several murders are committed and Xiao Xingchen realizes that taming a murder gremlin requires more than mere good intentions. Also, Xue Yang gets to suggestively eat tanghulu

Enjoy? -> AO3!

[hiinnys]

full hearts, empty hallways

(for @geekspen: two things - (1) i’m fully aware that this is literally a month late and i’m so sorry - uni took over my life in depressing ways (2) i’m also fully aware that this is not a muggle au for which only my brain can be blamed and i swear to get you one of those if school ever lets up or i get better at time management. hope you like whatever this is, you’re a darling <3)

she can hear the crowd even from where she’s pacing, just outside the locker room. usually, it’s one of her favorite things, the electricity racing through the stadium - it’s the thing she’s always loved about quidditch. but tonight’s not just any night. they’re one game away from playing at the world cup - one game away from ginny literally making quidditch history as the first player to carry her team to a world cup in her first season. it’s not the potential for an accolade that’s got her so damn nervous. it would be great, sure - a fantastic thing to rub in the faces of arseholes who thought she wasn’t good enough to be where she is now - but she’s had enough accolades in her life (and what the hell did the arseholes know anyway?).

it’s the very real possibility that she’s gonna fuck up. it would be easy to - one wrong move, one missed goal, and she’d have to watch the faces of the teammates she’s grown to love so much sink in disappointment. the thought terrifies her, so she continues wearing a hole in the concrete floor, praying for some sort of miracle.

“weasley,” and gwenog’s marching up to her, blazing look of confidence ginny wishes she had a fraction of right about now. her hands land on ginny’s shoulders, stilling her pacing for a minute. “remember the strategy, yeah?”

“yeah,” as if it’s possible for ginny to forget after the near month of drilling it into her mind and body. she’s fairly sure she could reenact their practices play by play in her sleep by now. distantly, she supposes that’s the point.

“then you’ve got nothing to worry about, kid. just play your heart out and we’ll be onto the cup in two weeks, yeah,” gwenog pauses, waits for ginny to nod, squeezes her shoulders. “that’s my girl.”

she walks back to the locker room, leaves ginny to mumble the plays to herself.

“stealing my plays, weasley? because i’m pretty sure i came up with that exact strategy sixth year,” he lowers his voice at the end, like he’s telling her the most important secret in the world, so she forces herself to suppress the tooth-rotting smile she wants to wear in favor of a raised eyebrow and a barely there smirk, just to play along.

“you wish you came up with such good strategy,” she turns around to look at harry - her harry, with his furrowed brows and mischievous eyes, her harry, who is definitely not even supposed to be in the country right about now.

“pretty sure my strategy worked out alright,” he’s got this smirk, all cocky self-assurance, and she knows he’s thinking about a kiss in a common room a million years ago.

“that was all luck and you know it,” she whispers back, and they let the silence settle around them for a moment, breathing in the same space for the first time in weeks. “aren’t you supposed to be in bulgaria?” she asks after a minute (or maybe it’s been a year, who really knows?). he affirms her question with a short nod, a gentle mhmm.

“and if anyone happens to ask, i am in bulgaria,” he comments, rather innocently for someone who’s disobeying at least ten different orders from his superiors just by standing in front of her. “i wasn’t gonna miss this.” and he’s standing there, hands in the pockets of his jeans, looking impossibly young and at ease, and it’s so simple - nothing else in the world is, but they are.

“aren’t you up for a promotion in a couple weeks,” she questions because she’s not ready to let this go - to let this moment end. “seems stupid, risking your spot for a chance.” a chance we win - a miracle, really.

“it is stupid to risk my spot for a chance,” he responds easily. “entirely different conversation to risk it for a sure thing.” she falters and the fear’s back in her heart, pumping through her veins where the blood’s supposed to be.

“it’s not a sure thing. what if i fuck up?” she whispers the last bit, as if it’s too much to say aloud.

“you’re not gonna fuck up,” he whispers back, walking closer to her for the first time since he entered the room, but she doesn’t notice. she’s too busy thinking about all the ways she can screw this up to notice the way he’s looking at her - like he’ll explode if he doesn’t make her understand.

“what if i do,” ginny insists.

“then you hang up your kit for off season, come back in four months and try again,” he shrugs, hands leaving his pockets and coming to rest on her neck, his thumbs curving under her jawbones. “first shot doesn’t mean only shot, gin.”

“after making it this far? that’s one hell of a way to disappoint everyone, isn’t it?”

“not everyone. i’d still be proud of you,” he whispers and there’s something in his voice, something in him, because she’s finally looking at harry, brown eyes on green, and she can’t hear the crowd anymore. can’t feel the fear. can only feel him.

“yeah?” she asks quietly but he gives her this look, like she’s just asked him the dumbest question in the world, and for the first time that night, ginny feels like she can actually win. (maybe she’s already won, she thinks offhandedly.) “even if it’s the worst game i’ve ever played?” she teases, waits for him to nod, then:

“even if i don’t make a single shot?” another nod and a ghost of a smile on his face that sets her heart running. “even if it’s worse than that one game in fifth year?” and she knows that it’s playing in his head, that he can see himself, back on a broomstick, yelling at mclaggen, twenty seconds away from injury from the way he grimaces.

“that’s a pretty hard record to beat,” he breathes in between a quiet laugh. “but, yeah, even then.”

she can’t help not touching him anymore, fully aware that this is the closest they’ve been in awhile but overly conscious of the fact that, for once, she can’t afford to have her head swimming in him, so she stands up straight and touches her forehead to his. immediately, his eyes close and she smiles to herself, just for a second reveling in what she does to him, before closing her eyes too.

“you staying for the game?” she whispers, expecting a response but instead feeling him grab her hand and move it to his back pocket. there, her hands close on what she had thought was air, but now she knows is his cloak. he’s silent the entire time, a conversation he only wants them to hear: you won’t be able to see me, but i’ll be there. i promise. she can hear gwenog calling for the team to line up, but she doesn’t move, not yet.

“you need to change your play,” it’s still a whisper, but this time it’s urgent, enough for her to open her eyes in confusion, and see him in full auror-mode. she can practically hear his brain working, processing strategy after strategy, making plan after plan. “you’ve used those moves the past four games, mercer’s gonna expect it.”

the panic’s back, muted only because harry’s hands are on her. “what do i do instead?”

“you’re the professional,” he shrugs, a soft smile finding its place on his lips. “trust your gut.”

she can hear gwenog calling her name now, knows she’ll be out here any second to bring ginny in, but her eyes stay locked on harry’s. he leans in slightly - barely moves at all really - lips just about to touch hers, when the door opens and he pulls back, somehow managing to get the cloak on himself without leaving anyone the wiser. if this was another time, she’d be impressed. but, as it happens, reality comes crashing back in the second he pulls away and she’s very aware that her time’s up. she’s nodding at whatever gwenog’s just said, and following her into the door when she feels it - the whisper of his hand, a soft squeeze, and maybe this was the miracle she was praying for.

[official-michael-afton]

[Whattup i didnt proofread this *dabs into the abyss*]

“Hey… Hey, can you hear me?”

Your head throbs, and you feel dizzy. Something warm is wrapped around you, but your body feels cold. You feel about to drift off again when the voice speaks again.

“We’re still in danger, luv. Please, wake up.”

You will yourself to open your eyes, yet the room is dark. You curl up into the warmth around you as your eyes adjust… there’s a dim light overhead. You’re in some kind of cramped room… then you realize the source of the warmth. Someone is holding you…? You look up, and your eyes lock onto mine.

“Hey.” I smile, gentle and warm, relief washing over my expression as I find you’re okay. “Oh, thank goodness, I was worried for a minute.” As a strand of hair falls in front of your face, I chuckle softly and brush it out of the way for you. “What am I going to do with you… Are you cold?”

You nod, and curl up more to keep the warmth on you… you’re wearing a jacket. You don’t remember having one… but then you realize, it’s mine. You go to shrug it off of your shoulders, but I put a hand over yours to stop you. “No, keep it on. You’re cold.” I pull my hand away and begin to look around, seems like I’m anxious “Do you remember what happened to you?”

You shake your head. Everything before now is a blur to you, like a dream you could swear you remembered but just can’t grasp for the life of you.

I sigh “Didn’t think so. We ran out of power... I tried to get us out of here, but you hit your head pretty hard. Passed out, even. We’re uh… in the supply closet. It was the only place I could think of to get you away from them right away.”

You grab your wrist and go to look at your watch, trying to see the time in the darkness.

I notice this and answer for you “It’s shortly before 5AM… We can’t stay here, Luv.” I stand up and take you by the hand, pulling you with me. “They know we’re here. If we try to wait out until 6, they’re going to…” I trail off, biting my lower lip, then shake my head “We need to get out of here.”

You feel your muscles tense up, and your heartbeat starts to quicken. You’ve worked as a night guard for quite a while now, and while you’re used to fending off animatronics, you’ve never been caught before. In the office, you felt reasonably comfortable- it was your familiar space. Out here, though? You were playing on their turf. Your breath catches in your throat.

“Hey, hey.” My voice pulls you out of your thoughts, and I give a smile. We both know I’m faking it, but I’m putting a brave face on for you. “I’m going to get you out of here, okay? You’re not gonna go through this alone. Just trust me, and I’ll get you somewhere safe. I promise.”

… You nod, hesitantly, then take my hand again. It’s cold, but maybe it will warm up after some time. My thumb runs over your knuckles and you let out a slow breath, allowing your shoulders to release the tension in them.

“Alright Luv, I’ve got you, but whatever you do, stay close to me and don’t ever let go of me, okay?” With my free hand on the doorknob, I look back at you one last time. We nod together. We know we can get through this… we just need to convince our nerves of that fact.

I open the door, slowly and silently, and peer out into the halls. Every animatronic is roaming around the pizzeria, they’re looking for you. They’re growing agitated, you can feel it. You squeeze my hand.

I squeeze back “It’s okay.” I whisper back to you “Stay calm, follow me. And whatever you do… don’t look into their eyes.”

You nod, and follow where I lead you. I bring you down the hallway, and you make sure to keep your footsteps as quiet as possible: rolling your heel and staying away from any furniture to keep the floor from creaking. You make sure to hold my hand tight, as it’s your only anchor to safety right now. You remember to take steady breaths, and keep your head down. You don’t want to look at those animatronics. Not when they’re like this.

“You’re doing great.” I assure you as we weave between tables, ducking and crawling when necessary to avoid being spotted. “Focus on my voice.” I assure you as we get back to our feet. The exit isn’t far. We round the corner-

Only to find Chica herself waiting for us. She was waiting for us. That thought alone sends dread up your spine before falling to the pit of your stomach like a rock. The room suddenly feels 10 degrees colder as you know the color drains from your face. You catch her eyes. You see human orbs staring back at you: rotted and full of muck and blood, but human.

“Shit.” I murmur to myself, backing away a few steps and holding a protective arm in front of you. Chica moves, approaching us. “SHIT!” I swear, making sure my hold on you is tight as I turn on my heel and begin sprinting in the other direction.

Your breath catches in your throat as you’re pulled along, trying to keep up with my pace- curse my long legs! Normally you’d be unable to sprint at this speed, but adrenaline fuels you and you don’t even feel tired. You hear loud thuds of footsteps behind you, growing more frequent and loud. She’s catching up to you. You suddenly feel like running is much easier than before.

“In here-!” I yell as we reach the kitchen. You give me a funny look but at this point I’m already shoving you through the door. The kitchen is big, and full of many appliances, but before you can process where to go, I’m already half dragging you to the sink.

You open the drawer underneath and shove any cleaning supplies out of the way, leaving a large cabinet and a few pipes from the sink. “Get in here before she gets here, c’mon!” I whisper harshly, letting go of your hand to grab your shoulders and force you into the makeshift crawlspace. I get in shortly after you, and it’s a very tight squeeze, but we barely manage to fit.

I close the doors of the cabinet just as we hear the doors to the kitchen slam open. You feel something grab you- and realize I’ve now wrapped my arms around you, holding you tightly. “Don’t make a sound.” Is all I whisper to you before we both fall into silence, listening to the footsteps of the animatronic and trying to gauge where she is.

As I hold you tight, you feel those butterflies begin to flutter in your stomach. There was really nothing between us… and while the situation was perilous, you feel your face begin to heat up. With your head pressed against my chest, you begin to hear my own heartbeat… only, you remember I have no heart. Rather, you hear the gears of my endoskeleton, clicking and spinning in a heartbeat-like rhythm. Whirr-whirr, whirr-whirr, whirr-whirr… The sound lulls you into an almost trance-like state, it being the only thing you can focus on. You close your eyes and let yourself relax, wrapping your arms around my waist and holding me just as tightly as I hold you. If only you knew how much you just made me blush…

… Time passes, and soon I pat your back “I think the coast is clear, Luv.” My voice is low and quiet, it’s obvious I’m still worried of alerting our presence to any other animatronic in the vicinity.

Your face heats up as you realize you had stopped listening to Chica’s footsteps long ago. You remind yourself to be more alert and worry about… that other stuff… once you two are safe.

I open the doors to the cabinet and get out, looking around at my surroundings before deeming it safe and taking your hand. Pulling you up and to your feet, we refuse to let go of each other once our fingers are intertwined. “… We’re gonna run for it.” I admit, and your eyes go wide “I know, I know, but I think it’s the best way. They can’t follow us outside, so if we can just make it to the door before they realize where we are, we’ll be safe. … Do you trust me?”

… You hesitate, but nod. You run your thumb over my knuckles and offer a kind smile. That smile of yours… what am I going to do with you? “A-Alright, point taken.” I stammer, breaking eye contact to look back at the door. I take a steadying breath and rest my free hand on the door “… Are you ready?”

Ready as you’ll ever be.

I shove the door open, not bothering with the noise as I begin to run again, pulling you with me. While you began to feel tired while hiding, you found adrenaline starting to course through your veins once again. We go through the halls together, never letting go of each other’s hands, and soon the exit is within sight. We share a relieved look as we go towards it, anxious to get the hell out of this place-

Only, hands push against glass in vain. The door doesn’t open, and we realize in dread that it had been locked. Of course it had been locked, we just forgot.

“Bloody fuckin-” I swear to myself as I let go of your hand to grab my keys instead, fumbling through each key on the ring to find the right one, each passing second lowering our chances of survival. You can tell I’m panicking, and you nearly tell me to relax and that it’d be alright… but a shadow looms over us.

Freddy Fazbear himself had us caught and cornered, and had raised one arm over its head, looking directly at you with intent to strike. You blood runs cold and you feel like a deer in headlights. Your mind screams at you to move, but your body won’t allow it. You’re helpless.

“NO!!!” I scream, and you feel something suddenly shove you, making you fall to the floor, followed by a loud thudding sound. You take a moment to process, but find that I had shoved you, allowing Freddy to strike me right on the head instead, and there I was. Laying at your feet, barely conscious, both of us unable to protect ourselves.

You feel the tears well in your eyes as you grab me and hold me close, just like I did when you were knocked unconscious earlier that night. I whine in pain, trying to force myself back to consciousness but being unable to fully do so. There’s nothing we can do. You look back up at the animatronic, making eye contact once again.

Bright orbs seem to stare right through your body and into your soul, and this creature undoubtedly sees you as the enemy. … You don’t falter, though, and stare back, letting every aspect of your being convey your true intent to the soul behind the machine- to beg them to harm you no longer.

You both stay like that for some time… and soon, the bear lowers its arm, understanding in their eyes. They know your pain, just as you know theirs. They turn… and leave.

“Mnngh-” I still struggle to bring myself back to consciousness, but look up at you, still processing the situation “Luv, did you…?”

Words didn’t need to be spoken. We both knew. Somehow, you got through to the soul behind the animatronic, and bought your safety, if only temporarily. Just as you’re about to speak, the chimes of a grandfather clock echo through the pizzeria to indicate 6AM.

We don’t have a grandfather clock. We try not to think about this too hard.

As the animatronics switch to their normal programming and return to the stage, I look up at you in bewilderment “How… How did you do that? You… You talked to that child, somehow. E- Even I can’t do that, and I’m practically one of them!”

You chuckle to yourself, and shrug. If you had an explanation, you’d give it, but for now: you’re safe, and that’s what’s important.

… I laugh with you, shaking my head- and immediately regret that as I grab the side of my head and groan in pain “Nnn… you’re something else, Luv. I’ll give you that. Though… let’s be honest, who wouldn’t get lost in eyes like yours?”

Oh, you can feel your face heat up again. You’re so gonna get me back for this.

… I think we’re both okay with that.

[kuriiiiiiiiiii]

for the askmeme atem as ☠☠☠ bonus if its with kaiba reacting anyway you see fit :)c

2/2

Seto peered down at theblack marble headstone, squinting to read the epitaph.

“The most gifted and selfless soul to grace this land with his presence…”He snorted, “You were just a blundering fool who threw his life away to save afew soldiers from a pack of angry Aeternae.”

The cool bluemoonlight cast a silvery shroud on the headstone and the bouquet of whiteflowers lying at its base. The flowers were slightly withered, seeminglyexhausted from the elements.

Seto swept a hand overthe flowers. They burst into bright blue flames, quickly burning away.

He then took off thenecklace he was wearing, holding it over the dancing flame. The dragon-shapedpendant instantly caught alight, glowing brighter and brighter as if it was stealingaway the moonlight itself. There was a low rumble as the earth around thegravestone trembled and cracked. A circle of blue flames erupted from thecrevices, twisting and morphing into the form of a spectral dragon spreadingits wings over the magician’s back.

He exhaled. “Lead theway.”

The dragon answeredwith a sharp cry, diving head first into the mound. The whole graveyard beyondthe circle of flames crumbled and disappeared, quickly engulfed by a thickexpanse of purple-red miasma, leaving only a small island of earth where themagician stood, the gravestone standing at one end like the hull of a smallboat. The deafening roar of water thundered all around them. Skeletal forms canbe seen rising from the depths of the miasma and approaching the “boat”,clawing and beating at an invisible barrier as they screeched in agony,scorched by the purifying flames.

Seto closed his eyes, shuttingthe relentless noises out of his ears. Then a voice sounded from the back ofhis head, dark and hollow as if it was coming from deep below the waters.

“You are demanding passage for a wanderingsoul. Where is your fare?”

The rasp of an elderlyman sounded hauntingly like the old keeper of the graveyard, but Seto knew hewas speaking to a different person.

“I have it here. Takeit.”

He braced himself assplitting pain dug through his skull. He held his stance through sheer force ofwill, only letting out a grunt as he pressed a hand over the now hollow socketof his right eye.

“Ah… but you wish to bring this soul back withyou to the realm of the living. I charge more for that.”

“Fish-reeking oldgeezer,” The magician muttered, cursing as the reverberating voice cutpainfully through his throbbing head. “Fine. Take what you will.”

He cried out as ablunt force carved through his insides, bringing him to his knees. Good… I am still conscious, He thought,clenching his teeth and tasting blood. Theorgans he took were probably dispensable.

He lifted his head asthe black gravestone crumbled, the rubble rising in a dark torrent that suckedin the earth from all around it. It gradually solidified into a human form.

“Seto…”

Blood was blurring thevision in his remaining eye, but it took no more than one look to recognise theslight frame of his rival.

He was succeeding –but there was still a little more to go. Earth and stone serve as an excellentmedium to tether a soul whose body had been buried for over six moons, but somethingmore viscous was necessary to bind them together – the flesh and blood of akin. Fortunately, Seto had this close at hand.

He slumped heavily onthe ground, blood soaking his robes from the stump that was once his right arm.

The boat-island hadcrumbled away to a mere wedge of land, the blue flames now licking at themagician’s ankles. He fought to keep his focus on the work at hand, carefullystitching his flesh between his rival’s materialising ribs.

“Seto… is that you?”

Yes, you insufferable ignoramus, Seto huffed, his lips twisting up in a madsmirk. Who else do you think would bothercome fetch you from this blasted place?

His moment of glee wascut short by a sharp ache from his legs, almost drowned by the pain coming fromeverywhere else. He looked down and cursed at the sight – his left foot was bendingat an alarming angle, dark marks of clawed fingers burning into the leather ofhis boots. He glanced back at Atem, growling in rage when he saw more skeletalclaws reaching past the wall of flames to tug at the strips of particlesforming his body, unravelling them. Residents…I don’t have time for this! He grabbed a handful of dirt, tossing them inthe air. The clumps of earth turned into a flock of black wyverns, swooping downon the ghostly claws, tearing them away and tossing them back into the blueflames.

Now for you… Seto turned back to the lone claw still firmly latched to his boot. It was all your plan to distract me, wasn’tit? But It’ll take more than you rotting mongrels to get in my way… Hepressed his hand into his left thigh, hissing as he cut off his own circulationat the calves. Let’s see how much more youcan steal from me that I won’t take back! He sharpened his focus on hiscaptured limb, shredding the flesh into particles and yanking them out of the skeletalfingers.

“Seto – Seto, stop!”

He ignored his rival’s flustered plead, only coming to astartled halt when he felt warm hands closing over his wrist.

“I can take it from here.”

At his words, the circle of flames turned fromblue to dazzling gold, roaring to life as they pushed back the relentlessspirits. The roar of the flames grew loud enough to obscure the sound of theriver, and when it finally receded, the miasma had cleared, the wanderingspirits nowhere to be seen. They were back in the graveyard, full moon hanginghigh in the cloudless night.

Seto’s eyes were fixed on his bounty, althoughat this point it took all his strength to simply lift his head. And he didn’tknow whether he should be glad or incensed at what he saw.

Atem’s body was still incomplete, wrapped in a purple-red haze that was pullingup particles from the ground around him. Seto had only managed to put fleshback in his face and half his torso – having lost his remaining “material” whenhe was distracted by the residents of the Nyx – but Atem seemed to be workingaround it. Flowers and leaves were sprouting from between the ribs of hishollow ribcage, vines twisting out into the shape of limbs.

This was the gift ofthe greatest magician Domino had ever seen – in his freshly resurrected statehe should have been no more adept than a newborn babe, yet he was already ableto use magic that would envy the Kingdom’s best mages.

Moments later Atem wasflexing his newly formed limbs, clicking his tongue on the daisies stillsprouting out of cracks in his skin. “We’ll deal with this later… lets see whatwe can do abut your leg.”

Seto only had time toyelp in surprise as golden threads sprout from the ground and wrapped aroundhis mutilated leg. Before long he found himself staring down at his own foot,minus the boot, but the appendage was fully and miraculously healed, withouteven a scar left on the skin.

“Hmph,” Seto blinkedunintelligently, “You’re always doing such unnecessary – ” His retort was cutshort by a warm hand touching his face.

“So foolish of you…”

The entire right sideof Seto’s face was numbed from pain, but somehow he could still feel the warmthof Atem’s fingers slipping down his cheek.

“Don’t patronise me!”He reached up instinctively to swat away the offending hand, but halfwaythrough he changed his mind, instead settling for grabbing the warm wrist in a painfullyfirm hold.

Atem tipped his head.“Did you miss me?”

“Absolutely not.Things were going swimmingly while you were gone, I got the Council seat withoutyou there to offend every Elder alive, Doma had been running rampant with theirnew chimeras but we’re pushing them back to the East borders…” How could a handfrom someone who had been dead for six months be so sickeningly warm? “…I don’t miss you. I just need you back.”

Atem smiled. “Well,I’m back now.”

Seto grunted. A lostbattle from the start.

“…Welcome home.”

☠☠☠

lol i feel like i need to learn to draw all over again… as for writing i never learned how to write XD anyway hope this entertains!

[wintersongstress]

Hello💜 I've come to you about writing before. I was the anon asking about how to not subconsciously steal others ideas and how to make it not sound cheesy when writing. So a update on this whole situation is: I'm seriously thinking about doing it!💜 Do you have any key tips for writing? For instance, things to remember, using proper punctuation, or just key tips that you feel is essential across the board?

The very first rule of writing is simple and well known.

Just write.

The second rule is that any other rule hence after the first can go out the window at any moment for the sake of creative intent. This is another way of saying that there are no concrete rules to writing—if you know what you’re doing.

In the grand scope of writing, there is a lot of ground to cover. I’ll do my best to go over some of the essentials, for I can go in depth about any of these tips if you want further explanations. But without further ado, here’s my crash course in creative writing and things you should know.

DISCLAIMER: Some of these are my personal opinion of what makes good writing. Every person who reads this has to option to agree or disagree, I am just doing my best to inform others based on my experiences and perceptions. I am not a published writer, merely someone who recognizes good works and what comprises them. 

If you’re just beginning to write there are a few tools you will need to get started properly. It is crucial to understand that writing is foremost about. You. Before you begin anything, you have to consider what you hope to accomplish and strive for that goal.

Along this journey, you need to identify your style: what you like to write and read, what you want to create and inspire in your reader’s imagination. The more you write, the more you develop your style and become more comfortable with it to produce more. Get to know it. Discover how you want your writing to be. The best way to accomplish this is through practice. No piece of writing should be regretted or deemed worthless, for every sentence you write improves your skill. I’m going to break up this post by the basics and some tips for improving/stuff to watch out for.

— POINT OF VIEW❧

When you have your idea for a story, you need to begin to think about whose voice you will need to tell it with and how. This is done through whatever point of view you decide is best, given each ones advantages and limitations. Think about the distance you want to have between the narrator and your reader, and which point of view will put your reader in the center of the protagonist’s experience. Point of view isn’t just about what pronouns you’re going to use, it’s also about how you want to convey scenes and the feelings of your characters. Here are the three types of POVs you should be familiar with: 

Limited — this view only includes details and information the main character would know. It is fixed inside one character’s head and shouldn’t hop out of it.

Objective — this one is less frequently used; it focuses solely on observing the story’s happenings, and the narrator isn’t involved. This leaves the reader to interpret what the main character is thinking, for there is no commentary and only reports on what is being seen and heard in the story.

Omniscient — the all-knowing point of view. Omniscient can report on all of the happenings of the story, past and present, and relative to any character in the story. With this point of view, the author has to decide which information to divulge and include about the characters, as well as the events of the story in order to proceed in their desired direction.

As you can see, point of view is a pivotal aspect to your writing that you should carefully consider in order to give your story the best-suiting voice.

— VOICE❧

I mentioned in Point of View how you use a certain voice when you write to convey your story. Going beyond the perspective you choose, voice is how you express ideas and feelings in your writing, as well. It is the mood that speaks to the reader and suggests what your words want to inspire in your reader’s mind. Voice helps to paint a picture. You accomplish voice through the style of your sentences, whether short and fast, to long and slow, and through the words you choose to use.

The other counterpart to voice is prose—prose is what you are communicating, and voice is how you are speaking. Consider what tone of voice you want in your writing. Every passage speaks to the reader in different ways.You can control what you want your reader to feel about what is happening in your story through voice. I’ll touch on how to do this more in my section on prose.

— PUNCTUATION❧

Punctuation is something we need to get down as soon as possible. It’s impassible. You have to know proper grammar. Rather than give you a boring grammar lesson, I’m going to provide a link to a very helpful website that will clear up all of your questions on punctuation. This stuff is need to know and surprisingly easy to get down.

— PARAGRAPH BREAKS❧

It is absolutely essential to know when to break up your writing. No one wants to read one long block of text. Start a new paragraph whenever the camera shifts focus, the setting changes, a new character shows up or speaks, a new idea is introduced, times moves forward/backward, or a new event occurs. You can also make new paragraphs to create a dramatic effect when you isolate a sentence or two. 

— SENTENCE VARIETY❧

As you’re writing, you might start to notice that your sentences may be beginning to look and sound alike. Don’t panic! That’s completely normal, and completely fixable. Everything can be fixed in editing and rewriting. However, you should be mindful of the types of sentences you compose. The variety of your sentences impacts the flow of your writing and how it moves. Too many long sentences will start to drone and tire your reader, while too many short sentences come off as percussive and rough. To get your passages to flow smoothly, you need a mix of both.

— SHOW, DON’T TELL & WRITING WITH DETAIL❧

Show, Don’t Tell is one of the most immersive techniques you can use in your writing to captivate your reader. It is the practice of describing the setting, characters, and actions in the story rather than blandly telling the reader, allowing them to interpret your writing with their own unique imagination. As a writer, it’s your job to imagine your story and write it as you see it in the hopes that your reader sees what you do. Certain details will stick out to you that you wish to embed in your reader’s mind. Pay attention to them. Sometimes, sentences have to do an efficient job at getting your story where it needs to go with little flourish and that’s fine. Other times, they have the job of luring your reader directly inside the protagonist’s experience.Show, Don’t Tell is how you absorb them into the story. It can make all the difference in the world. Let me show you a few examples of how to show, rather than tell so you can see what I mean. 

He was angry. — This is telling your reader that He is angry. Consider showing them instead by describing what anger looks like on the character.  

He clenched his jaw, veins throbbing in his neck as his hands curled into fists beside him. —This paints a better picture by showing that the character is angry through his body language.

The house at the end of the street was old. — Again, we’re telling the reader that the house is old. Describe the house in a way that shows the reader that it’s old.

Beneath the suffocating grasp of ivy, the house’s faded paint was peeling and cracked.The rotting wood of the front steps creaked beneath her feet ominously. — Notice how the words suffocating and ominously give off a distinct connotation in this description. The reader knows the house is old and now has a certain feeling about it because of the words used to describe it. 

Using details stimulates the imagination more than simplybeing told something, and when you begin to write with these kinds of details,you start to show rather than tell.

— PACING/WEAVING ❧

There are three discernible elements to writing:

Narrative — your main character’s thoughts and musings, as well as observations and descriptions that gives your story its depth and substance.

Dialogue — all of the words spoken by your characters and that which brings them to life.

Action — the movement of your story with your characters and events.

When you continually weave all three elements, your story keeps its momentum. To have good pacing, you should refrain from leaning too heavily on one element for an extended period of time. Your reader needs variety to keep them interested and involved. If you describe a setting for paragraphs and paragraphs on end, it will get boring. Weave in thoughts and dialogue, and keep things moving with action to keep your reader invested and your writing from slowing down.

— PROSE❧

There are a lot of ways to define prose, and I feel like prose is one of those words that people throw around without fully understanding what it means. 

Prose is more than just the words you use and the way you use them. Prose is the use of careful diction and select imagery to communicate a feeling or a concept in your writing. Voice is how your writing sounds. Prose is what you’re saying. Syntax also plays a huge role in your prose, which is the conscious way you order the words in your sentences. Let’s look at an example of one sentence written two different ways:

I wandered through a garden.

and

Through a garden, I wandered.

While these sentences are rather simple, you should note that there is a difference between them.

The first one is a passive statement of fact. It places the subject noun, I, first, and finishes with a prepositional phrase.

In the second sentence, you’ll notice that there is more of a flow to it. Contrary to the first one, this sentence leads the subject onto whatever sentence succeeds it because it echoes.The reason why it echoes in the reader’s mind is because it doesn’t end on that prepositional phrase! In some cases, that is the weakest way to end a sentence,and in prose you should always write each sentence in the strongest way possible. With that echo, that second sentence leads onto the next and carries on the prose that is being established, line by line. 

The imagery of a garden,and the diction of the word wandered crafted a prose and a voice that is wistful.  When editing,determine if each line is written in the strongest way possible by playing around with your diction and syntax. 

— DIALOGUE❧

I can tell you that the best way to write better dialogue is to study movies, tv shows, and plays and note how it moves a story forward.That’s dialogues primary job. 

You should avoid small talk that adds nothing to your characters and you should say things that are interesting. Act it out, recite it, and read it aloud to make sure it sounds realistic, because that’s important. Moreover, keep in mind that your dialogue should be an act of unraveling something. There should be a goal in mind for where each conversation eventually leads to that enhances your writing. Keep the dialogue tags minimal whenever possible and make sure you are punctuating correctly!

— ADVERBS ❧

Adverbs are fine, although sometimes I find myself using them as a crutch and a placeholder when I don’t know the proper word to use. They can be unnecessary(“he yelled loudly”), and sometimes they can switched out for one word instead(“she whispered”, instead of “she spoke quietly”). Whenever you use an adverb,briefly consider if there is another word you’re looking for that may be a better match. If not, leave them be, unless you’re using too many of them in a sentence! Keep in mind that the more concise your writing is, the clearer it will read. 

— UNNECESSARY DETAILS/SPECIFICITY ❧

Sometimes, you have to cut out pieces of your writing you don’t want to part with. It’s a tragedy, sacrificing a description or a scene that you love for the good of the story because it doesn’t add anything when it boils down to it. Trimming the fat, however, let’s your real writing shine through. You should focus on what’s important and not “overwrite”. Let’s say your character is sitting in restaurant waiting for someone. It’s not necessary to go into detail about what everyone is wearing and the color of their clothes if that’s not important information. It’s fine to describe the setting so the reader can imagine where they are, just don’t go into the minute details if they’re not truly essential to the story. It becomes distracting. Worse, it’ll show more of you, just writing for the sake of it, than the story.

Also, phrases like nodding your head, standing to your feet,squinting your eyes, thinking to yourself, and grabbing with your hands are overly specific. It can be understand that your head is what you nod with, your feet are what you stand on, and so on and so forth. You’re specifying the verb unnecessarily.

Anything that isn’t working for your story is working against it.

— FILTERING❧

This relates to Show, Don’t Tell and there’s a lot to be said here.

What I see too much and think should be avoided is something called filtering, which causes your writing to tell your reader rather than show.

I want it to be understood that these types of phrases—which I will get to in a second—aren’t completely bad. Sometimes they’re necessary.Sometimes your sentences need to be effective and have no flair and that is well and truly fine! You can use these lines to create distance, but if you want your reader to be as close as possible to the narrator I would consider dropping them.

When reading something, it can be understood that everything being perceived is being done so through the main character. They are who is seeing, hearing, feeling, tasting, and smelling everything you describe.Therefore, it is unnecessary to announce what sense is about to be triggered.Here is an example so you know what I mean:

He heard the birds singing their cheerful song outside first. Feeling the warmth of the sunlight on his face, he turned over and buried his face in the pillow until he distinctly smelled the unmistakable aroma of pancakes floating up from the kitchen.

Here is a revised version without the filters:

The cheerful notes of the morning birds’ songs stirred him from his sleep. At the warmth of sunlight on his face, he turned over in his bed, burying his face in the pillow until the distinct aroma of pancakes floated up from the kitchen.

That reads much clearer and smoother, doesn’t it? The reader understands what is heard, felt, and smelled without being told because they are shown. Phrases like he heard, she felt, I watched, bog down your writing and make it murky. Consider avoiding phrases with: saw, heard, smelled, felt, tasted, watched, etc. Dismissing those filter words can do wonders for your writing.

In a third-person point of view, these kinds of phrases are commonplace. Understandably. That point of view requires a distance to be maintained. All I want you to notice is if it’s a tendency you have and consider if it’s essential to keep in your writing.

— BORING FIRST LINES❧

This is the most common mistake I come across. People seriously underestimate the power of the first line and they shouldn’t because I believe it’s the most important sentence you’ll write, followed by the last one. It has the most significant job: to grab the reader. The first line has to give the reader a reason to read the next one. Too often, I see bland opening lines that describe the weather or the setting in a broad capacity. While this isn’t inherently bad, it can be boring and uninteresting. You’re about to step into the world of your writing, think of the most important and unique detail that sticks out if you’re developing an opening scene. Zoom in right away and bring the reader into the heart of it. Don’t start at the edges. Setting the tone shouldn’t be neglected, but your first line has to slap and immerse your reader. Be creative; this is your opportunity to make your piece unique off the bat. It’s okay to contemplate what your opening line should be and come back to it so you can give your writing the best start. Sometimes, I find that I can’t write the best-fitting first line until the last is written.

— DON’T HATE YOUR BABY❧

The final thing I want to tell you about writing is the most important and hardest to remember.

Don’t Hate Your Baby.

Whatever you write, you made. It’s yours. That is your creation. That is your baby. It will have flaws, but that’s okay because it’s a baby. It can’t help it! You have to accept the flaws and nurture your baby, loving it regardless. That’s the only way it can grow into its full potential. You have to be patient and humble with yourself. Your writing is your responsibility and it has the potential for unique greatness, as any child does! Don’t compare your writing to others, because as I said before, your style is unique to you. 

I know that was really long but I hope at least some of it was helpful to you as a beginner. My inbox is always open to further questions! Thank you so much for sending this ask and looking to me for advice, I am more than happy to give it!

Take care, I wish you the best of luck on your writing journey

[bluemoonpunch]

⭐ BTS 2019 Outlook Reading - Oracle Reading

[For the sake of not cementing anything or putting cracks in positive potentialities I wanted to focus more on their integration process and soul progression, and just sprinkle in the potentialities that seem to already be cemented in place and carry the most energy. I am hoping that doing an actual set spread will make things much cleaner and easier to gauge than with the original OT7 2018/2018 Outlook reading that I did back in July. For this reading I am going to use the Wisdom of The Oracle, the Angelarium: Oracle of Emanations, Chakra Reading Cards, and the Tarotwave decks. This is an original spread by me based on an extended from the Floater’s Club reading that is featured in my shop. This reading lasted 5 hours. ]

This reading was performed on November 30, 2018.

Pre-Reading:

There is no way in hell I’m going to go through this reading without going through key points of the original OT7 2018/2019 Outlook reading because I just read through that shit again and the amount of information in there that didn’t make any sense at all prior to the whole Soul Body Map and Healing is astounding.

As I was reading it I was in a constant state of facepalm because there was so much that I was channeling but just wasn’t understanding fully. Like I said the divine intervention was the least likely thing to occur and that divine intervention was literally the Soul Body Healing that took place about a month later. Honestly, smh.

-full reading under the cut with photos-

Just so we can keep things straight, the original outlook reading is what triggered that whole Soul Body Map thing. I think it was like a couple of days after I posted it, so about a month and a half or two months after I started seeing “The Wobble” I got the first image of the Soul Body. It was all a thing, very dramatic. If you were around for all of that, I’m sure you remember me crawling back to Tumblr dot com to let you all know that I was still alive but just hanging on by a thread after about five hours of some extremely intense energy shifting nonsense.

So, yeah, I’m going to go through some key points of the original reading to explain things from this much clearer perspective that I have now because good lord was I an idiot. I’ll include quotes and stuff from the original reading here so you don’t have to go back and re-read it, however, it is still a pretty interesting post nonetheless.

Timelines folding over — I’ve been going on about the timelines folding over for a couple of weeks now (as of November 30th) because that is literally what has started happening for the collective.

It’s why a lot of other readers are starting to get these very negative reads on BTS. Not only are the timelines folding over and bringing the past into the present moment energetically, people are also ascending, so their receptibility to those energies are getting stronger, they’re just not aware that it’s something from the past, that it’s hollow, and by posting about it they are seeding it into the current collective timeline that A LOT of the Soul Group is still on.

In the original reading, the very first card out was The Tower. It was a literal bright neon sign flashing in my face before I even started the readings telling me that the timeline I was going to be reading was one that was going to collapse. Like… why am I dumb? I mean I should have figured that since 2019 and 2020 are like big years for timeline merging and collapse, but like, what the fuck right?

But yeah, that was a bit of an obvious thing, so I should have known that everything up to 2019 was a soon to be an old paradigm, it was something that was already crumbling away specifically because it was not in alignment with what they were supposed to be doing.

However, the outside manipulation was slowing things down, it was causing problems, but whether or not the Soul Body Healing took place, it would have been taken care of. It would have all been fixed by way of the high vibrational beings, the high-frequency light beings that I mentioned towards the end of that reading. The Soul Body Healing literally just sped things up by a lot while also raising the collective vibration of the Soul Group.

So, it wasn’t really necessary, but it had an incredibly huge, massive, positive influence over the Soul Body, the Soul Group, and the guys on a conscious and physical level.

To best explain it, you could say that it was absolutely necessary within the previous timeline, the one that is currently folding over on itself and collapsing, but on the current one, it wasn’t at all. All that was necessary was for them to be able to jump timelines, which is what the Soul Body Healing did…

This would be why everything started to “jump forward." Like when I tried to do this reading at the end of September and everything I predicted for a three-month timeframe literally all happened within three days of me finishing it… do you know how mad I was about that? Omg.

It’s like as soon as the healing hit the conscious layers they started hitting the skip button and everything just ran through super fast to get them to this point that they are currently at. It was like shortcutting to the integration process that they missed before due to the previous timeline.

See, this is why I never brought up timelines in detail — it’s way too fucking complicated especially if you’re still looking at time as being linear and running side by side rather than happening within itself and all at once.

This is why I still insist on people not paying much attention to rumors or any of that low-vibe shit because that’s literally anchored into a collapsing timeline. It’s dead energy, it doesn't matter. It’s only projecting through collective perception.

Pretty much you can see it as a giant portion of the Soul Group and the general public playing hot potato with a rotting corpse. It’s cold and gross and you look silly tossing it around as though it actually means anything anymore. The only things that matter and have life are what you choose to focus on, especially now that timelines are shifting and people are projecting their reality more and more.

The Transition from Fire to Water — This was a big thing all throughout the original reading as well as within the Soul Body especially when it came to the healing process. I’ve explained it now in the Rap Line Relationship reading so I won’t go into here, but yet again, the whole Fire to Water things was another neon sign I missed when it came to what I was actually being shown.

Like, I got the gist of it with how things were going from the soul to the conscious mind, that was literally what disconnected Namjoon from the source energy, to begin with, but I don’t think I was considering all the layers of energy and consciousness.

Actually, I know I wasn’t because with that reading I was only using the Wisdom of the Oracle deck and the Rider-Wait deck, which means I was focusing on their Guides and their conscious alignment… IDIOT.

But it’s fine, I figured it out later through a month-long journey through a fucking soul map.

But yeah, the Water and Fire thing, the Divine Feminine and the Divine Masculine, shifting from one to the other, was all spelled out pretty clear there.

In the Soul Body, the Fire energy was being shoved in by way of outside manipulation and was causing even more instability. Literally, the healing was done by forcing “Water” through every single energy line in the body, spinning the energy to raise the frequency, and then reconnecting lines to where they needed to be in order to allow the restructuring to occur.

New Life and Regeneration — Literally, I was so fucking on point with that. If you’ve read through all of the solo readings for December, then you know that the “regeneration” that I talked about, the integration of the Higher Self into the conscious layers and the physical body is happening right now. They’re in that mode with the collective. They’re not all on the same level at the moment, but they are experiencing this process right now.

5 of Wands, Pressure — In the original reading within the timeframe of the first half of 2018, I talk about the signatures of that timeframe and what was going to be leading into the second half. The 5 of Wands was a card that came out in a set and this is what I wrote about it:

“This all comes to a head and clashes under The Tribe card with the 5 of Wands. This is aggression, fighting, and general conflict. There are tension and aggravation within a certain set of them that are getting more and more stressed out. A lot of pressure building up. I see this as being a physical manifestation of "The Wobble.””

This wasn’t a physical manifestation of the group’s energy, this was literally just Hoseok. The pressure building up at this time was his energy center in the Soul Body. Even the readings I did where his energy was present would have him coming out with Wands, Fire energy, in almost all of them. You can even go back to Hoseok and Yoongi’s relationship reading which I posted 5 days after the original outlook reading. And again in his Elemental Alignment reading which came out four days after the Outlook reading.

This here was something that I wrote in Hoseok’s EA reading when I pulled the 5 of Wands, the Knight of Wands, and the Ace of Wands in one go for him:

“Extremely Aggressive Energy - These were the first cards to come out while I was shuffling. Specifically, these three cards are the most WAND ENERGY of the Wand suit. Five of Wands is aggression and conflict. The Knight of Wands is like my idea of “double fire” and pertains to speed and action, all movement, no thinking. And of course, the Ace of Wands is like Elemental Fire on the level of Divinity — it holds a lot of potentials, a lot of BIG IDEAS that in this set here are just not possible. It’s just a lot, it feels very manic, it’s moving in a bunch of different directions in a small place. It’s very tense energy and very aggressive. With this I saw the image of the boxer again, trying to get this tension and aggravation out through aggressive action and inflicting pain on himself.”

Like, I swear to god, if I could go back in time and slap myself across the face and scream “WAKE UP, SHEEPLE” I would because how did I miss that? How did it take me a month to figure out that Hoseok’s energy center was where the fucking Fire energy was coming into the Soul Body?

This energy was literally his energy center, and it was starting to manifest on a conscious level, or it had been already, but it was just starting to get to a point where “pressure was building” because he, on a conscious level, was pushing it down as it was coming up as severe mood swings, stress, and anxiety — aspects of himself that he prefers to hide.

The Lovers and the 4 of Pentacles were Yoongi — In the second half of 2018 timeframe of the original reading I had pulled these cards as part of a set that would cover the last six months of the year. This is what I wrote about them:

“The Lovers - Some sort of connection with the Guides. Feeling Divinely Guided to do something, some sort of shift. First opportunity to shift or regain actual control. I saw Namjoon and Yoongi for this one so either Mr. Know-It-All-Virgo Man or Mr. Feel-It-All-Pisces Man is going to get the fucking hint and try to do something. This might be the collaborative work.

4 of Pentacles - The low vibration, earthly influence is going to step in. Literally just like the image, trapping them, controlling them for money’s sake. Really putting a stopper on whatever it is that Namjoon or Yoongi is going to do. Kind of tightening the grip, hands around the neck a lot tighter. It’s like if this happens their Guides are going to be fighting with whatever is guiding the people who are restricting them.”

Again it’s so obvious and I hate myself.

Yoongi was the one, as I’ve mentioned about a thousand times, who was the most coherent through the whole thing, he was very aware of something being wrong. He was the only one out of all of them to remain connected to the unconscious mind, and therefore stayed connected to his inner knowing, guidance, and awareness.

In the Rap Line Relationship reading, I shared images of what I had been shown just recently about how the energy was being exchanged, and there was a note on it about how Namjoon’s energy center was splitting the transmissions between the remnant and Yoongi’s unconscious mind. That was why I was seeing both Yoongi and Namjoon here.

They were working together on this, working on establishing a reconnect, but it was happening unconsciously.

The transmission Yoongi was receiving could have put ports in the music in a way where they could have been filled, but as we all know now, a lot of his work was rejected for the albums around that time. So, he was channeling, pretty much filling in for Namjoon, but in a low-vibe manipulated twist of fate, his work that carried the transmissions was getting shut down.

How interesting.

Again, I’m sure it would have fucking clicked if I had considered the layers of consciousness and energy here. I honestly can’t remember why I didn’t.

Brand deals overseas and “time to go” — Within the same time frame as the previous set I had gotten this whole thing about being so run down that the group collectively started to think about leaving or about changing things up in some way in terms of how they work. (December 20, 2018 Edit: Lol, Jin literally dropped the bomb saying that they thought about disbanding earlier this year.) It had to do with them getting sick during the tour, getting injured, being run down and all of this happening because their Guides were trying to get them so uncomfortable with that situation that they had to rethink their position and demand more.

Literally, it culminated around the contract renewal. All of them getting injured and sick or feeling overworked in that tight space of time while they were on tour is what helped them present their demands or conditions while renewing their contract, therefore putting them back (slightly) into a position of power.

The brand deals overseas that I mentioned as well were part of that as it presented more money that they would be aware that they weren’t getting a fair cut of or something like that. Something about the overseas deals making money and appropriate cuts a priority so that, in that way as well, they could take back control or a higher position in a sense.

This is what I wrote about the Time To Go card:

“The three cards in the middle are Imagine, Peace, and Time To Go. They really interested me because they came out like that on top of each other. I didn’t really understand it at first until I had laid out the other two sets and slapped them in the middle. Really, if you just read them out as they are the message is clear, “Imagine peace, time to go.” — They will be overworked and fed up with what is going on, so much so that they, as a group or as individuals, will contemplate leaving the tour, quitting the group, or something would happen to them physically that would literally just put one of them in the hospital again. Again this will be a challenge or a push from their Guides to get them to break away from the bindings that they would potentially be in at this time.”

Namjoon being a focus due to his disconnect — I dropped the ball on this one, I think. The mending aspect to Namjoon’s awareness, his “Deep Knowing” is what was actually being presented here, again, through the level of the unconscious rather than the conscious mind. That is why the focus was on him when it came to their Guides. He is literally the Crown Chakra of the Soul Body, if he is disconnected, they are all disconnected.

They were focusing on him, presenting things to him constantly to try and trigger him into reconnecting. This is why I was seeing the solo album with this set — they were using that as a means to get him re-integrate or merge with his Higher Self again through soul connection or inner awareness.

The reason I was seeing him as being the first or the one to lead the shift in awareness is that, well, he is the fucking Crown. He shifts everything, he leads everything on every level. This was not happening on a conscious level so him being the one to bring things up with the company was an absolute toss, and was more in line with what Yoongi would have been doing as he was more involved with this consciously.

The Leg Up and Go The Distance shit wasn’t something he was going to do or already doing, it was the literal timeline that they were meant to be shifting to. Literally, his Guides were very blatantly telling me that they were trying to “Mend” his “Deep Knowing” so that he could get “A Leg Up” — Jump — to the upper timeline which, as I get to, later on, is represented by Go The Distance.

This is what I wrote for this bit:

“This came out and once I laid them out I instantly saw Namjoon, so this has to do with him. I think he will be the first to really start thinking of ways out or he will be acting as the leader and bringing up his concerns with the company. The Deep Knowing and Mending are there in that energy, him understanding somewhat of what is happening and trying to fix it. This knowledge and understanding of the situation will make it difficult for him to be manipulated, giving him A Leg Up and allowing him to Go The Distance. This bit here read more as potential. Like, right now with the path they are on Namjoon will, for sure, get to this point, but the bottom two cards only stand as an option that he will have.

With this, I was also seeing solo projects or collaboration projects, focus on a solo album or a release of a solo album. I don’t know if that was specifically for Namjoon, but I fucking hope it is because RM was the best album of all time and literally no one can convince me that RM 2.0 won’t be equivalent to the second coming of Christ.

Either way, one of them is going to have some awareness or some sense of being stifled and will branch out and put a lot of energy into solo work around this time in order to speak. (I don’t have confirmation and I didn’t see or get anything about it, but I feel like this is definitely Namjoon because so far he is the only one in BTS that had full alignment with their Higher Selves in their Elemental Alignment reading. He is a highly developed soul, he’s had multiple lifetimes with all of the other guys, and he’s one of the more “Special” cases that their Guides are really focusing on — so I think he’s the one that will be doing this, but that’s just a thought from me.)”

Like, honestly, throughout this whole reading I was like right on top of things but then at the last minute, I would just veer the fuck off a cliff simply because I was focused on the conscious state.

See, this is a great example of why I always tell people that it’s good to be aware of the layers of consciousness whether you’re the one doing the reading or you’re just someone who is reading someone else’s work. Not being aware of all the layers can make what you are picking up on very cloudy and messy, and relatively inaccurate.

Keep that in mind, peeps.

The Soul Body Healing was literally right there — Right after the previous bit in the first half of 2019, the very first card I pulled for the timeframe was the 8 of Wands which I described like this:

“This bit here would be leading from the potential of one or more people in BTS having awareness of the situation and also having the balls to speak up about it to the company. Again, these are in order of how things could potentially play out.

8 of Wands - A lot of energy would swoop in, it actually feels very manic. Like, it would have all built up and the second just one of them opens the floodgates it’s game over. I was seeing connections happening here, like their Guides and their Higher Selves would have more connection to their subconscious and would then be able to give them a bigger shove in the right direction. They would really feel this happen and we as an audience might even see this, might catch it in things they say or do around this time if this is where they end up.”

This was literally the Soul Body healing, like plain and simple, this is what this is. Even the use of the term “floodgates” vibes so hard with the actual healing it’s embarrassing.

The connections were happening through the Soul group on a conscious and unconscious level which raised the vibration enough to direct the energy through to the Soul Body which allowed for the reconnection and restructuring to occur, and then for the connection and reintegration to start happening with the Higher Selves and for their Guides to be more involved.

And yeah, they really felt this happen and, no shit, we as an audience saw it happen, like what the fuck. I’m honestly so mad, I hate re-reading my posts because I’m always like “this is hard to explain” or I’ll say something and it’s just slightly off and I’m like WHY? WHY ARE YOU DUMB? YOU CAN LITERALLY SEE THIS WHY DID YOU WRITE IT LIKE THAT??

Like, honestly, the fact that my Guides literally told me that I need to study more so they can show things more clearly and so that I can understand more is probably due to this shit right here.

Collective shift and alignment with the Divine Feminine — Yin and Yang, the Divine Feminine and the Divine Masculine were a big thing in the original reading and at the time I was completely unaware of the fact that one of the biggest points to the ascension process is a collective (global collective) reconnect with the Divine Feminine.

A lot of people that talk about the shift and the ascension process were alluding to this most likely fleshing itself out more within the collective in the earlier half of 2019. The second half of 2019 is the timeframe that I pulled the Yin card out all on its own, separate from the Divine Masculine counterpart, Yang, and since everything is shifting forward for them, speeding up so that they can be ahead of their soul group and lead a smoother shift, it makes more sense of why that was there.

I was kind of on track with that, I guess, but for the most part, I was still focused on intuitive and emotional connection, which is accurate, I guess, as the “acting through soul/heart” thing is exactly how that would be presented consciously.

Alignment with the higher timeline — All throughout the original reading the “Go The Distance” card was presented as a representative of the higher timeline, the one they recently jumped to, the one that is NOT currently collapsing in on itself and making everyone who’s tied to lower frequencies get even more insane, and it’s very interesting that it's directly associated with the “divine intervention” that occurred through the Soul Body healing by way of raising vibration through the collective Soul Group.

Towards the end of the reading, the potentials were getting very spread out and weak, but the strongest ones were the last two which I wrote out like this:

“The Star - Divine Intervention. Call back to the “Go The Distance” set in the previous section with The Fates and Higher Power. Basically, something beyond their Guides, something of extremely high vibration would actually intervene and set them back to where they need to be. This would be an extreme shift. It’s very unlikely that this will happen, but in a sense, their Guides have already put out a “notice” that they are drifting and being manipulated away from their path, and if necessary they will need to be thrown the fuck back on it, which is kind of out of their realm of capability as Guides.

The Magician - Radical Rebellion. This could either be a solo thing, or this is the result of The Star. This is where they would decide they’ve had enough and basically go on strike or some shit like that. Demand more or just go against the company and low-vibe people every chance they get. Speaking out against them, making music to be released privately, leaking shit, just random things like that. They would take everything they had and use it to change their situation. Again, this is very unlikely, and I do think it really is with The Star and not something they would just do out of nowhere.”

Someone needs to shame me for this because like… I talk about independent layers of awareness and evolution of the human consciousness through ascension, yet I was severely in denial about divine intervention happening in a way that would be noticeable… and then proceeded to fucking man the ship of that divine intervention like a month later… amazing.

It was a “path of least resistance” thing as well, like the same reason my readings following the original outlook reading carried transmissions for the soul group is the same reason I was the one to get the fucking soul map in the first place.

Summation spelling shit out — The very final set of cards at the end of the reading were the most blatant and straight up way of saying, “no matter what happens, this shit is going to get cleared up.”

The ascension itself is a natural process like it’s literally evolution, it literally will happen to everyone no matter what. The stress and the issue with it were that you have all this built up energy, multiple lifetimes that were all leading to this moment in which they, as individually developed souls, would literally be the driving force behind millions of people’s ascension.

Like… would you not be pissed if you put in hundreds of years of work towards letting parts of your body that you cut off to grow into individual people so that they could change the world and shit, and then right at the last minute, in the last lifetime, everything just gets taken away and millions of people fall behind and have to take a slightly more pressurized and potentially traumatizing process towards conscious evolution.

I ask again:

WOULD YOU NOT BE PISSED?

So, in the previous timeline, the Soul Body healing was necessary not only for them to shift up, but for the soul group to maintain a heightened vibration while they were “incapacitated.”

With the current timeline, the one they are on and some of the people in the Soul Group are on, it’s almost like the Soul Body healing didn’t happen because it’s almost like the Soul Body manipulation didn’t happen. It literally doesn’t matter. It existed only to boost them up and to help the Soul Group maintain a higher vibration, and now it’s done.

Pretty much the collective station now is that you are where you are, and now everyone is just moving individually. So, if you jumped timelines already, great, if you didn’t, you will eventually. Just as it is with BTS, the ascension is just happening now. There’s no real need for anyone over a certain vibration or frequency to put effort into it or make a big fuss about it unless they want to.

For instance, I’ve been told straight up that I can stop with the blog and all the readings and stuff and just go back to living a normal human life because I’m pretty much done with what I was supposed to do, but I have the choice to stick around and help people that need it.

It’s on an individual basis now, it’s past the tipping point, so it’s more about being in that Divine Feminine flow, that receptive energy. Just in a space of allowing things to happen as they need to and not allowing yourself to literally stay in a collapsing timeline.

It’s all some shit, isn’t it, lol.

So, let’s get on with the actual reading.

Just to avoid making the same mistakes as last time, I am going to be using a lot of cards and a lot of energy analysis to be sure that I am reading the right levels at the right time. And to avoid making this any longer than it needs to I'm going to write things out as I would in my notebook, just as summaries and notes.

The Reading:

January, February, and March 2019

Overall Energy

Yesod — Root — Connection Raziel — Angel of Mystery Sahaqiel — Angel of Sky

[a move towards completion of the integration through an expansion of self-awareness and questioning the surroundings. ]

Individual Energetic Influences:

Namjoon

Higher Self: Balance Guides: Fork In The Road + Co-Create + Serendipity Conscious Levels: Eight of Cups

[reconnecting to the Higher Self, coming back into merging, being presented with a lot of decisions, another wave of mental shit very similar to what it was like when the soul body healing started to manifest on a conscious level, just a big wave of channeling, but mostly in terms of self-progression rather than transmissions, although, he could still share the experience.]

Yoongi

Higher Self: Nurturing Guides: Mending + Chaos and Conflict Conscious Levels: Death

[has to do with what I got in his solo reading in which he is being asked to take care of himself, but on both ends, he’s contradicting himself. One end is taking things easy while consciously he refuses to do it, so the guides are taking care of both sides]

Hoseok

Higher Self: ‘I Am’ Presence Guides: Come To The Edge Conscious Levels: Nine of Cups + 10 of Cups

[big emotional influx, might be a bit difficult as it kind of implies emotional purging, releasing what he has been shoving down, very open and honest, very free in terms of expression, even if it is just with himself (December 20, 2018 Edit: Literally more of what we saw when he cried during his speech, that kind of release.)]

Jimin

Higher Self: Meditation Guides: Observer + A Change In The Wind Conscious Levels: Two of Swords

[in observation of the others through his Libra-ness, the reflection, seeing them change and reflecting on himself, starting to be reintroduced to the image of himself and his own perception. A slow start mostly focused on the others.]

Jin

Higher Self: Rebirth Guides: Poised Conscious Levels: The Star

[just doing his thing, sticking with his integration as it is now, much more relaxed. He's vibing with his soul pretty hard honestly like he's in it.]

Taehyung

Higher Self: Visualisation Guides: Loyal Heart Conscious Levels: The Hierophant + Temperance

[introduction of water into the system, reconnect through the heart/soul through artistry, homeboy better start painting original shit]

Kook

Higher Self: Angels and Masters Guides: Higher Power + Deep Knowing + Regeneration Conscious Levels: Two of Cups

[speedy integration, lightning quick, the angels and masters imply the domino effect of the soul body, how everyone else will have begun integrating so it will zoom right through him as he is the "last domino to fall." The experiences of the others will fall into him. Will start to reach out to people again, try to gain back the lines lost through that mountain-building thing in his core. Will either reestablish a connection with the fans or something within his personality will be noticeably different to the audience or general public. (December 20, 2018 Edit: Lol, all those selfies and chatroom things that he's been doing recently.) Experiencing emotional connection and awareness, a rise in empathy.]

Energetic Influence By The Month

January 2019

Soul Level: ‘I Am’ Presence Guided Influence: Exchanging Gifts Conscious or Physical Manifestation: Ace of Swords + Ace of Wands

[Coming back into power and leading with their own thoughts and action. Something brand new, new energy entirely. This should be noticeable unless it is literally being exchanged as a seed and the self-awareness aspect is simply the beginning.]

February 2019

Soul Level: Inner Child Guided Influence: The Fates Conscious or Physical Manifestation: The Magician

[reconnecting to the creative influence, back in line with what they are meant to be doing, soul connection through passion and creativity. They will be creating something or something will be springing up, something that has been in the works for a while.]

March 2019

Soul Level: Relationships Guided Influence: By The Book + Happy, Happy Conscious or Physical Manifestation: Justice

[feels karmic, may be related to what comes up in February in terms of coming into their power and directing it. This could be either a break with ties they do not want or connections being made that they do want. Either way, they will be getting something that they want and this will be a “rightful place” kind of thing. This may happen behind the scenes.]

April, May, June 2019

Overall Energy

Yesod — Root — Connection Keter — The Crown — Spirituality Da’at — Null — Emptiness

[integration further progressing, collective Higher Self integration or awareness, fully being guided by the Higher Self or inner guidance. Expanded consciousness and awareness. There something about "physical touching" coming up but I have no idea what that means, maybe a sense of a closer connection through their work or... a meet and greet?? I don't fucking know lol. Something about closer connections on a conscious and physical level.]

Individual Energetic influences

Namjoon

Higher Self: Family Guides: Here and Now + Unfinished Symphony Conscious Levels: The Devil

[Bringing in something more from the past, something in the roots, something that he needs to finish. He’s seeing more of where he kept himself from being able to connect with other people rather than seeing it as something that was necessary or caused by something outside of himself. Could be emotional and mental purging. He could experience stress at this time, might be writing a lot more because of his processing.]

Yoongi

Higher Self: Grounding Guides: Time For A Nap + Yang + Between Worlds Conscious Levels: The Hanged Man

[Still trying to get him to chill out and let things pass. The Higher Self is merging with the physical body and giving that very Pisces “between worlds” and “hanged man” kind of vibes. The grounding aspect may be extremely necessary at that point, which is why Yang, a more physical based and conscious level energy is being presented in order to help things move smoother and avoid any instability. He may be at a point here where the Higher Self has no choice but to relax, or the others will be in a state where Yoongi's Higher Self is comfortable letting them handle themselves the rest of the way.]

Hoseok

Higher Self: Soul Healing Guides: Go The Distance Conscious Levels: The Sun

[Continuing on from the previous set of his now with the soul healing, bringing things to the surface with no ill intent or self-blame. It’s is the very free and open feeling that usually follows the end of an emotional purge. He even has the sun present here some of the other guys did in their solo readings. A great show of the “acting from the heat, living through the soul.” No more suppression, only open honesty with himself and others.]

Jimin

Higher Self: Balance Guides: Poised + A Leg Up Conscious Levels: Justice

[Starting to take that outer awareness and turn it inward, it’s just starting to be turned on himself. Very steady and slow progression. Just like Yoongi, it will move slow and his Guides will give him some cushioning to avoid any instability.]

Jin

Higher Self: Communication Guides: Blessed Conscious Levels: The High Priestess + The World + Wheel of Fortune + Justice

[High vibe shit, full integration, inner communication, awareness, at least on the subconscious level, of the Higher Self and of external Guidance. Actively and consciously aligning making it very, very easy for his Guides to work with him. ]

Taehyung

Higher Self: Self-Mastery Guides: No Place Like Home Conscious Levels: Glitch.EXE

[Break down of that split inner core, may be more existential as a questioning of identity could be presented to him, but it would be for the sake of bringing him back to his core. He may not seem well around this time, maybe a bit off emotionally or seem shy or reserved. He would be more aware of his "many faces" and therefore become self-conscious again with how he presents himself and how people see him.]

Kook

Higher Self: Inner Child Guides: Flexible Conscious Levels: The Chariot

[Again, following the others through the process, very malleable. I’ve mentioned somewhere before that Kook’s energy is very moldable and can be guided very easily. That’s what this is here. He’s bending and flowing along the path of the integration process with the others, he's following the paths that the others have formed through their own progression. This leads to very quick conscious expansion as well. Very quick creative output. He may work more on solo things around this time or there would be an influx of creative expression, sharing his work, wanting to talk to people more.]

Energetic Influence By The Month

April 2019

Soul Level: Rebirth Guided Influence: No Place Like Home Conscious or Physical Manifestation: Knight of Cups

[It’s more like things are settling in energetically, this can play out as things externally falling into place as well. Something quite happy and positive can come from this. Even just a break in the integration, like some "quiet time." I've seen that in personal readings where there would be a huge influx followed by a month or two of nothing at all just to allow everything to settle back in. It's a time to restructure and become familiar with the new energy so that there is a smooth foundation for the next wave.]

May 2019

Soul Level: Universal Light Guided Influence: Flexible + The Fates Conscious or Physical Manifestation: Ten of Cups

[This is like an extension of the previous month. Whatever is positive within the King of Cups is expanded on and “sparked up” into the 10 of Cups by way of pure alignment on all levels between all seven of them with the layers of consciousness and guidance. This would be the next wave. Literally, it's like the Knight of Cups was the "appetizer," just something to give them a taste of those cups, and here is the full course meal of that Divine Feminine energy, the receptive energy.]]

June 2019

Soul Level: Clarity Guided Influence: Message In A Bottle Conscious or Physical Manifestation: The Empress + Wheel of Fortune

[That alignment brings about some level of understanding or inner knowing amongst the seven of them. It’s something that will cause them to consciously want to shift their foundations, change things, move with the Higher Self and their Guides. Moving closer towards their purpose collectively. This is like the conscious integration of the 10 of Cups, it's how they sync up and start to move with each other again. Something big could come from this with public perception as well as they could release something or do something with their work that has a positive impact.]

July, August, September 2019

Overall Energy

Azrael — Angel of Death Netzah — Right Leg — Endurance Keter — The Crown — Spirituality

[Implimenting change on a physical level, riding the ascension, potentially experiencing difficulties adapting. Purging connections to old timelines, rapid ascension. This could be stressful again. Really feeling a lot of migraines as the Crown Chakra for all of them would literally be opening, they would all start channeling the way Namjoon does, just taking in energy, which may overload some of them. They could seem tired here.]

Individual Energetic Influence

Namjoon

Higher Self: Inner Child Guides: Clean It Up Conscious Levels: Knight of Wands

[Moving inward towards his passions, starting to remove self-doubt and self-criticism. Acting on his passions, acting from the heart, speaking up more. Bolder movements. Breaking down certain structures either on the conscious level or in his own perception.]

Yoongi

Higher Self: Spiritual Awakening Guides: Yin Conscious Levels: Ace of Wands

[Connecting on a much deeper level to the Divine Feminine, connecting to Divine Inspiration. Just like Namjoon, he will be much more likely to act on his passions, speak up. This may be more internal though. Namjoon and Yoongi will be in sync again.]

Hoseok

Higher Self: Soul Healing Guides: Building Blocks Conscious Levels: Judgement

[Becoming more critical of the ego, dismantling the ego through self-analysis. Expansion in self-awareness. He could also seem disconnected from the others, or just quieter in general as he would be in a state of contemplation, very much vibing with The Hermit in a way. Very in his head around this time. It might not be noticeable to the public unless he's at a point where he would share it, but I don't think he would be.]

Jimin

Higher Self: Dreams Guides: Mending Conscious Levels: Three of Swords

[Becoming aware of subconscious blocks. Repressed memories coming to the surface, being guided to “face his demons” on a superficial level. This can be very stressful, but it is part of the process of cutting ties with past trauma, struggles, and lower frequencies altogether. Subconscious purging, following Hoseok's trigger with self-reflection and the collapse of negative perception. Jimin may have a harder time with this depending on whether Kook and Hoseok are in positions to help him through it.]

Jin

Higher Self: Play Guides: Here and Now Conscious Levels: Queen of Pentacles + Ten of Cups

[Extremely comfortable. Resting period following the integration, very similar to where Yoongi is meant to be right now in terms of the Higher Self being asked to or allowed to chill out and relax while everything settles. On all levels, things will be very smooth and “by the moment.” He’d be in a great position to help any of the others that were struggling at this time. Lol, he can help Jimin.]

Taehyung

Higher Self: Peace Guides: Come To The Edge Conscious Levels: The Tower

[This seems to be one of those “hands off the wheel” kind of moments in which Guides and the Higher Self will literally take a step back and allow the individual on their own to consciously break through some of their own blocks. Based on the presence of The Tower, I assume that’s exactly what will be happening here. With Come To The Edge, it’s literally like they’re setting him up for exposure therapy, but allowing him to have complete and total control over the situation. This could be an extension of his previous state, may be much more stressed out with it as his own reality that he built up, that house made of faces, is pretty much getting smashed down and he has to actually look people in the eye without anything to hide behind. That's very scary for him, but the presence of Peace is the cushion that he'll have just like everyone else.]

Kook

Higher Self: Visualization Guides: Treasure Island Conscious Levels: Two of Wands

[An “introduction” to rapid manifestation through independent pursuits. Coming into his own being after sticking to the paths that are laid by the other guys. Either planning or executing a solo project of some kind, trying to expand on it and grow it as much as possible. Wanting to see it expand past his expectations. Feeling more like an "adult" or feeling more separate from the others in a positive way. Some of those anchors that he has in Jimin and Taehyung may start to break away so that he isn't literally being dragged through everyone else's path, he can start pursuing his own. Depending on how this comes up, he could carry himself differently, maybe talk more in interviews. He'll really try to present that image of "independent adult."]

Energetic Influence By The Month

July 2019

Soul Level: Creativity Guided Influence: Observer Conscious or Physical Manifestation: Knight of Wands

[In line with what Namjoon and Yoongi are experiencing here in this time frame in terms of taking inspiration and starting to implement it more, act on it without any fear. The aspect of observation I think comes from the members that are not at that level yet, that frequency output will trigger another shift in them to help them keep progressing.]

August 2019

Soul Level: Angels and Masters Guided Influence: Regeneration Conscious of Physical Manifestation: The Chariot

[Collective integration most likely following that state of observation on the collective level between the seven of them. It causes them to align and shift together all at once, leading to a more rapid movement on the physical level. A lot of changes could occur around this time, or just a lot of hubbub, in general, surrounding them as a result of this.]

September 2019

Soul Level: Rebirth Guided Influence: Loyal Heart Conscious or Physical Manifestation: The Hanged Man

[that rapid movement gets halted through another shift internally, something that gets them all on the exact same or similar frequencies that are close enough to have them aligned at the soul. Depending on the person they could waver a bit, be a bit off physically or mentally, could be tired or seem to be not very clear or focused.]

October, November, December 2019

Overall Energy

Keter — The Crown — Spirituality Gevurah — Left Hand — Judgement Phanuel — Angel of Truth

[Air of finality, higher levels of consciousness and clarity. Ushering in a “new age” or a “new era” of things. Very open in terms of accepting inner and external guidance on all levels. Could potentially experience another timeline jump or have completed their jobs here in a sense, or at least what was meant to be done as a group.]

Individual Energetic Influences

Namjoon

Higher Self: Determination Guides: Unfinished Symphony Conscious Levels: Ace of Wands

[Being directed towards bringing something to completion, fulfilling his individual purpose. Separating from the group to return to his original ideas and plans.]

Yoongi

Higher Sefl: Universal Light Guides: Fork In The Road Conscious Levels: Two of Pentacles

[Being presented with the opportunity to fulfill personal life purpose or soul fulfillment. For Yoongi, especially on a soul level, it seems to be difficult for him to separate himself from the group as he feels like he can’t trust them to progress fully or stay on track on their own, so if he's still in that position where he's comfortable with where the others are at and they are in sync, he'll be in the same boat as Namjoon. He'll be in a position to relax or step towards his personal soul purpose and fulfillment, whatever that may be. He seems to have more choice with it than Namjoon, or less of a plan than Namjoon.]

Hoseok

Higher Self: Spiritual Awakening Guides: To Be Fair + Between Worlds Conscious Levels: Six of Cups

[Cuttting ties with past timelines as well as past lifetimes collectively, a final clearing out of lower frequencies. Very wavy energy. Could be doing the same as the others and disconnecting from their "contract" with their group soul purpose, especially if it is completed at this point in time. The To Be Fair and Between Worlds here really feels like this kind of "payout" for the physical and mental struggle and pain he endured through the process. Like, he'll have room to move through things independently as that receptibility will either loosen or become so open that it's not even noticeable to him anymore.]

Jimin

Higher Self: Inner Child Guides: Loyal Heart Conscious Levels: Wheel of Fortune

[Bringing forth the Inner Child, the soul’s passion and living through the soul after dismantling the internal blocks. A noticeable change, maybe noticeable confidence boost. Very free, not so timid. Louder even. There's a lot of comforts here, he may still want to stay connected to the group or connected to the group work, but there is a shift with how he connects to them consciously. It's a release of that co-dependence.]

Jin

Higher Self: Psychic Development Guides: Go The Distance Conscious Levels: Ace of Swords

[Just as with the rest of them he will be seeking out his personal life purpose and soul fulfillment. Very similar to Jimin in the sense that he will be more open, more self-serving, very confident with his decisions and movements. Very excited to see what he does around this time.]

Taehyung

Higher Self: Inner Strength Guides: Flexible Conscious Levels: The Hanged Man

[Still a bit behind but progressing. Being shoved in the right direction towards inner connection. Not afraid to see his own true self, but maybe still a bit hidden away when it comes to other people, especially the public. Being put in positions where he can slowly step out of his core and express through the soul like everyone else. This can come through solo ventures as well or separation from the group dynamic, sort of forcing him to be around more people in a vulnerable position.]

Kook

Higher Self: Life Purpose Guides: The Fates Conscious Levels: Ace of Cups

[Something quite big, something to do with what he was planning or setting out to do in the previous timeframe. Alignment and even direct fulfillment of his personal life purpose, which brings around a very high level of fulfillment on a conscious level. A real break out of his dependency on the other guys on a conscious and soul level. Very nice.]

Energetic Influence By the Month

October 2019

Soul Level: Universal Light Guided Influence: Happy, Happy Conscious or Physical Manifestation: The World

[Alignment with the self towards self-fulfillment, fulfillment of soul purpose on an individual level, opens the door for collective fulfillment. Incredibly bright times. The presence of The World as the physical manifestation suggests completion of the group soul purpose. There is finality, the bringing in of the "Universal Light," the Sun energy, the projected higher frequency.]

November 2019

Soul Level: Communication Guided Influence: Peace Conscious or Physical manifestation: The Fool

[Complete integration, expanded awareness, ascension at equal levels. The “new era.” The Fool card is the first in the deck, number 0, and it would follow the ending of a cycle with The World, the final major arcana. This shit really is like a new fucking era entirely omg.]

December 2019

Soul Level: Divine Wisdom Guided Influence: Higher Power Conscious or Physical Manifestation: The Sun

[...the fucking SUN bitch... the SUN. Collective integration on equal levels, projecting and manifesting on a conscious level. The Sun, living through the Heart, living through the Soul. Collective consciousness being tapped into. High Vibe. Incredibly beautiful energy. Something magical. Absolute completion of the group purpose, full integration, potentially shifting the collective to a higher timeline.]

That is all, thank you for reading! And have a happy New year! :)

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[tsunderin]

My heart tells me 13 or 18 for Aubrey and Itr, if you're up for either.

((Sorry this took so long! I ended up needing to re-write the whole thing, so the prompt kind of became irrelevant, haha))

Youth was a time for making as many mistakes as possible so one wouldn’t repeat them in their older age. So if the four teens were to get into trouble, well, that was to be expected even given their position. (Perhaps especially because of their position: nobility could be so restricting.) Trouble Itr could accept. Sacrilege on the other hand…

The cool air within the temple clung to every hair follicle, every lingering drop of sweat that remained on her body. It made the space feel otherworldly–moreso than normal. Just outside of the gaping stone mouth of an entryway stood the city of Bomé, whose walls still vibrated with the buzz of commerce and conversation. Even that wasn’t as it usually was, however. The oasis of a city had been subjected to a sweltering summer this year drawing the city’s buzz to more of a hum. And now in this cold? If Itr didn’t know better, she would have thought she had stepped through a portal to a completely different place. She couldn’t ignore the small part of her that wished that she had.

Just as she couldn’t ignore her wounded pride, her embarrassment sparking within that it had been the heat’s fault in the first place. If it hadn’t been so oppressively hot, if she didn’t have to play host to a couple of boys whose family reacted as though taking off their heavy velvet overcoats was a transgression against them personally, surely they wouldn’t have committed this transgression.

The spark caught no flame, however. There was no fuel for it to feed upon; there only remained the lingering heat of Itr’s own shame.

Is there something you want to tell me. The woman, leathered with age and sun, had asked. And Itr had the nerve to tell her ‘no’. The words could have come easily. The four of them–not that Zumurrd would admit it–snuck into the ritual pool long after the sun had set. They had enjoyed the cool, non-alligator infested waters, taken refuge in the privacy granted by the sanctuary, and in their revelry had accidentally knocked the offering urn from its altar, cracking it. It was a simple explanation, so easy, and yet Itr decided that things would be much better if she’d just… not tell S’ehs’eh Razeen?

Her knees tingled with oncoming numbness, pressed into the stone tiled floor as she knelt, the carving in front of her lit only by the dull flickering group of candles she’d brought. She couldn’t ask for forgiveness here–forgiveness ran through the blood of those you had wronged, and Bẹjẹ had spread their blood among all of them. But she could take responsibility.

From within the bronze bowl sat beneath the carving, she retrieved a dagger, sharpened to the point where even a reflection felt as though it may slice through skin. It felt right, the weight in her hands. She raised it, eyes shut in thought, and then…

“Wait!”

The familiar voice echoed off the rounded walls, granting it more presence than was perhaps intended. Mixed in with it was Itr’s unintentional yelp of surprise, creating something akin to a cacophony.

She swiveled around, not knowing exactly what to feel when her guess was proven to be right. “Aubrey?!” Smile and scolding fought for dominance on her face, leaving her with an awkward half-grimace. “What are you doing here,” she whispered, fully aware that the acoustics of the room ruined any chance of the whispers actually being anything close to ‘quiet’ or ‘subtle’. “You should be in bed.”

He seemed to deflate a little under the puncturing of her question, but took a moment to straighten himself back up. “I’m not going back without you.”  The line was entirely too over-dramatic for the situation from where Itr stood, but there was something about it… Suddenly, she was thankful for the low lighting and how it was unable to show off the color rising to her cheeks. Was this her punishment for doing this so late at night? When her emotions weren’t so easily controlled? “And it’s not like I can…” he paused, reframing his words. “What are you doing with that knife, anyway?”

She remained silent while he walked closer, his footsteps light, but still purposeful. “It’s not a knife, it’s a dagger.” As he took a seat next to her, Itr looked him over, letting out a puff of air. “This is entirely unfair. You don’t look cold at all.”

Aubrey let out a chuckle, nerves still hanging on, then tugged at the hem of his outerwear, offering it to her.

“Ah,” she declined, “it is probably better if… I don’t.”

More intrigued by her comment then worried Itr watched as he began to take in his surroundings. While his eyes swept across the intricately carved stonework and the paraphernalia, Itr couldn’t help but wonder where his thoughts were taking him. They’d never really spoken about the spiritual beliefs of her people outside of short, off-handed comments of oh, that’s just a religious thing. Was he interested? Was he scared? She’d heard some tales of what others thought of their practices, and hoped that Aubrey didn’t think they were quite so barbaric. After a moment, he seemed to comment to himself. “It’s cleaner than I’d thought…”

Itr squinted, looking down into the bowl that had had his attention last. “Why would it be dirty?”

He seemed to realize he’d actually said that out loud to another person. “Oh, uh, you know.” He fumbled, bashfulness spreading through his entire body as he realized that she didn’t ‘know’. “The… blood, and all that.”

“The… blood…” she repeated, keeping her eyes on him. Then, it hit her. “Aubrey. You realize we don’t do blood offerings, right?”

The progression of emotion that journeyed across his face made his intrusion worth it. From shock, to embarrassment, to a stiff look that threatened to tell her about the customs of her own people, Aubrey eventually settled on confusion as his eyes remained focused on the dagger in her hand. “That’s… it’s what the “Bloodless One” wants, though. Isn’t it?”

Itr couldn’t help it, a laugh exploded out of her. “You read too many stories!” At that, he seemed to take offense, but she couldn’t help that it was true. “It would be a pretty stupid name, then. Why wouldn’t they be called the Bloody One, or the Bloodseeker if that’s all they wanted?” Consternation set deeper into his expression causing her to tone down her jabs. It was obvious to her, of course, but Banteve was… ignorant? They were very set in their ways, in any case. And if Aubrey were to become her husband in the future, it wouldn’t do either of them any good if she laughed him out of a desire to understand.  

“I am not sure what exactly you have been told, but blood isn’t really a part–” She could feel him keeping his eyes from looking back at the space where the cracked urn was, the image of blood and the scent of the rotting meat within still fresh in both their minds. That would have to wait; she needed to keep it simple for the time being. “There’s only two times when blood is important in our lives,” she counted them out on her fingers, “When we are born and when we die.”

“It is a cycle: Bẹjẹ reclaims the blood that is lost when we die and gives it to us when we are born. That is why some of us can remember our past lives.” Not that she, herself, was entirely convinced that was something that could legitimately happen, or something to be happy about, but she couldn’t discount the swarths of her people who believed in it. “To spill blood frivolously at other times is an insult.” She backpedaled, “Well, it’s not like Bẹjẹ is going to be angry if you get a cut or something like that, but you know what I mean.”

Itr swallowed back the compulsion to keep rambling, letting a quiet fall between them as Aubrey nodded along. Was it a process, she wondered. Was him nodding a subtle act of accepting that what the scholars and such of his land had been wrong? Or was he just processing the information that she’d admittedly forced on him?

“So,” he began again in a tone she couldn’t immediately place, “what’s the knife, er, dagger for, then?”

A fair question that she’d been avoiding, and somehow she figured he knew she’d been avoiding, too. “Um, I suppose you were not entirely wrong about the sacrifice part. Good job.” She wanted more time to think about how to explain it without sacrificing any more of her pride, but the alarm that filled him pressed her to continue with no plan. “It’s not– I’m not going to be hurt,” she tried to calm him, but the words only seemed to concern him further.

Without a conscious thought, her free hand found a way to his leg, resting there as if it always belonged there holding back his anxieties. “Okay, so.” But why couldn’t she sound cool and in control when she wanted to the most? “Yes, as you probably guessed breaking that thing was… bad. I do not want your family, “ to be cursed? That was a bad way to put that, right? That would just make him more nervous. “To be looked upon poorly by the, uh, seers. And I, too, need to take responsibility for what I have done.”

“You weren’t the one who knocked it over,” Aubrey argued, knowing that Jocelyn had taken that clandestined stumble.

“But I was the one who brought you all here. I should have been more careful.” Itr smiled gently at him, “And it serves no one to force the blame onto someone else when I am here to accept it openly.” She sighed, removing her hand from him and picking up the blade once more. “I will miss it…”

“Wait!” He called out again the moment she slipped the blade behind her head. She paused, stilling the what now that rested behind her lips. “You’re… you’re just cutting off your hair, then?”

She didn’t understand why he sounded so perplexed. Him, the one that was expecting her to carve her own flesh as if that was a normal thing people did. “Yes?”

“Let me do it, then.” He offered, resolute. “Please.”

Slowly, she removed the blade from beneath her waves of dark brown hair. Her eyes focused on him, pressing the no longer chilled metal into his palm. “Why?”

He held her gaze; a reminder that soon they would no longer be children and the leniency of youth would be beyond their reach. “I bear responsibility, too, for what happened. So I can’t stand for you to shoulder this burden alone.”

Curse him.

Curse him for sounding like the king he should be. The king he would be one day if Itr had anything to say about it, even if she wasn’t the queen he chose.

Caging the butterflies fluttering around in her chest, she smirked. “Is this your way of saying you like my hair long?” He faltered, sputtering at her cheekiness which even after all this time he never seemed prepared for. She patted his cheek. “Don’t worry. It will grow back soon.”

Letting her fingers linger as she drew them from his face Itr turned around, facing the carving once more. There was probably some rule that defined this as another sacreligious action, but as a more purposeful silence fell around them once more she couldn’t find this anything less than a holy experience. His fingers were gentle, making sure not to pull at the unexplored curls as he gathered them in his hand. One by one, strands of hair separated from her head. Each severing serving not to prove the weight of what had been done, but freeing her from the weight of her own judgment. Like her hair, she could grow. She could learn. She could be better. She could restart the process as many times as it took. And as she clasped Aubrey’s hands in her own, leading them over to the copper bowl to deposit the hair into, she knew she wanted to have no one but him see how it was done. Only he could cut her hair, and then they could watch together as it burned as they both started the next step on their journey.

With the dagger back in its proper place and the candles extinguished, the embers of her hair were all that remained to light their way back into the city. “If it is all the same to you, I would appreciate it if we did not break anymore religious items while you were here.” Itr wrinkled her nose, the scent of burning hair much more unpleasant than what she was expecting.

Aubrey laughed, his hand resting against her now exposed neck, shielding it from the elements as best he could. “I think we can handle that.”

[simplekpopstan]

Love

**There are a lot of warnings for this fic, please read at your own discretion. Some of these themes are hard to stomach. I do not condone this type of relationship. If you are experiencing something similar to this please, PLEASE talk to someone and get help. In no way do I actually believe any of the boys would ever treat their significant other like this.**

Pairing: Kim Namjoon x Reader

**Warning(s)**: Emotionally abusive relationship, sort of physically abusive relationship, graphic drug use, forced drug use, implied cheating, skewed view of love, manipulation, dubious consent, sadism, mentions of sex, alcohol/drunk mentions, suicidal thoughts, angst

Summary: He controlled your life, the beating of your heart, the consistency of your breathing. Your life was in his hands and he played with it like a puppet master. 

Genre: Angst to the absolute max, there is no semblance of fluff or etc. in this. (unless you got a fucked up view of love too)

Prompt: “You’re my toy.” 

Song Inspiration: The Moment I Said It - Imogen Heap

Word Count: 1,427

Infatuation, love, the feeling of butterflies in your stomach all synonymous with the idea of unconditional care and compassion. A faithful emotion that all of mankind is looking for in some shape or form. 

You thought you found all of those things, someone who made your blood sing with just a glimpse. He was the center of your world, taking up every centimeter of your being and each second of your day. Nothing could compare to the way he made you feel regardless of his disinterest for your beating heart. He effortlessly took over your mind and home. He was everywhere, yet nowhere at the same time. His time devoted to you was fleeting, he knew you were hooked by the moment he crossed the threshold of your apartment. You were caught in his headlights with no place to hide, you were done for.

His mood change happened during fall, you could feel the shift in him as the leaves shifted from green to shades of yellow and orange. Life had been good, amazing until this point, the two of you went out on dinner dates every Friday - happy just being in each other's company.

Everything was darker once winter's chill appeared, the shade of his hair, the color of his liquor, the bruises littering your skin. He stood perfectly straight, looking down upon your crippled form. Beyond proud of his newest painting on internal bleeding, a new masterpiece lying before him. 

This was his love.

Pushing yourself up from bed to inspect the new lacerations across your back from his nightly game of pain, wincing as a harsh slap resounded through the bathroom. You must have woken him up too early. "I'm sorry sir, it won't happen again." Quickly left your mouth to avoid another session of torture. 

His hands pressed softly against your back, the devil's eyes scanning the expanse of your body in the mirror. "This is what love looks like, you should be proud to bare these marks. It proves that someone cares about you in this world." Nails dug into your flesh as searing pain registered, he would never get tired of your cries. Nothing was more amusing than the sobs that wracked your body when he finished his painting. It was beautiful.

"How about you make me breakfast? Then I'll teach you more." Your neck moved on it's own accord, obediently nodding affirmation. He placed gentle peck to your temple, smirking at the control he had over you, a demon controlled your life, sucking away anything that made you an individual. 

This was his love.

"Where do you keep getting these bruises from?" Your mother spoke up as she looked over your exposed arms. She glanced from you to Namjoon, meeting her gaze proved to be the challenge of a century. Fortunately, your caring boyfriend always at the ready with a new excuse to explain away his artistic creations. "Actually she just went to the doctor for a check-up, turns out she's extremely anemic, but she's on iron pills now. Nothing to worry about." 

He brushed your mother off like a joke, watching as she relaxed into the couch - happy to know her daughter was far from danger. "Thank you, Joon. Taking such good care of my baby." She placed a hand on your shoulder, none the wiser to the way you moved from her touch. This monster had another one wrapped around his fingers with just a few honey glazed words, god his game had no flaws, everyone played swimmingly into his trap. He was untouchable. 

Namjoon found the idea of spending a dinner your parents rather bland and unsatisfying, his mind was crying for him to do anything to get you to squirm at the dining table. While still holding conversation with your parents he crept his hand under the table, easily finding his fleshy target. Your skirt hiked up as his nails found purchase in your skin, leaving crescent shaped indents in its wake. 

Your parents smiled and laughed as the devil played with their daughter under the table, enjoying the stupidity of those around him. This was all his fantasies coming true, no one knew better than to follow his charming features and lilted voice into the depths of hell. 

Shaking from the fear of what your parents might notice, you attempted to pull away from his calloused touch. The reaction wasn't what he wanted, he abruptly pulled back at your disobedience - a scowl contorting his face into an unreadable mask. "I'm afraid we'll have to cut this short, (Y/n) and I have an emergency back at the apartment." His delicate tone covered any trace of undoubted anger.

He more or less ignored your parents as he rushed you to the car, only one thing occupied his mind. God he wanted you dead. Upon reaching the car out of sight of your parent's house, he pulled his fist back.

Moments passed as you felt the pain of knuckles meeting your jaw, the flashes of blood shook you to the core. As you crumbled to the ground, his touch hauling you into the backseat almost felt like that of a lovers - gentle and loving. But you knew better.

This was his love.

Clubs were his favorite place to show his power over you, he had forced you to drink more shots than you could count - each of them burning a hole in your throat.

Clubs were also your favorite place when it came to being near Namjoon, you were someone else when smashed between bodies and so drunk off your umpteenth shot that is was easy to forget the man you would be spending the night with.

Even Namjoon could take away your high with one quick swipe of the arm, leading you to a lounge that was far from friendly. You know this corner well even with your lack of steady, conscious thoughts - these people were beyond life, ascending every idea of heaven, their blood was singing with a rotten substance you had attempted to avoid your entire life.

The point of pulling away from the cruel male had come and gone, this way your fate for the night. Maybe God would take pity on you, maybe Namjoon would put too much in the syringe, maybe you would just pass out and feel the claws of the true devil digging into your arm, dragging you to the undeserved spot in hell.

You were so far gone, you could only watch on as he tightened the band to bulge out your veins, he was an expert. The syringe was filled to the perfect amount, pristine and ready to penetrate skin. Even your vodka buzz couldn't save from the initial pain of the prick, but you knew it would quickly wash away and ascend into a euphoric hallucination. Your fidgeting easily gave way to the force Namjoon was using to keep you in place, maybe this was love. He could take away the pain with a simple pin prick, truly he must have meant well if he was doing this for you, right?

Everything was beautiful, a spinning world that held gems like Namjoon - ready to hold onto you all night. You loved this feeling, you were free, maybe not as high from other substances but you felt blessed. The affliction of Namjoon's presence had finally changed to something pleasant, he made you feel heaven for once in your relationship. 

Namjoon couldn't help but chuckle at your tinted cheeks, you were gorgeous with this new substance running through your veins. He leaned down to your ear, gingerly brushing his lips against the lobe. "Do you want to have some real fun, baby?" His breath reeked of alcohol as it whistled through his teeth. "You want to watch as I find a new toy? You'd like that wouldn't you, doll?" Glistening teeth lower to the taut skin of your neck, eventually smearing with blood as incisors broke skin. He was the personification of death but god did you love it. 

"Anything for you." You were fully aware of the bitter taste of Namjoon and its affect on your life. But you couldn't imagine life any other way. You had already submitted to rotting away, at least you wouldn't be put in the ground alone. Your personal devil would be six feet under holding your hand at every step. Beatings, sex, and drugs - this was how he proved his love, you the willing victim always at the ready to accept his intimacy. 

You loved him and you couldn't help it. 

A/N: Honestly I hate how I ended this, I had planned on adding more to it but I couldn’t really bring myself to do it. I’m not fond of myself for writing this, it leaves a bad taste in my mouth so we’ll see how long I actually keep this up for. Once again I do not believe any of the boys would ever put someone through this, I was given a prompt and I wanted to write something so here it is. Sorry. Also this is slightly unedited so I would like to apologize for that and as my final note I am currently looking for a beta reader - I unfortunately can not catch all of my mistakes and there are major parts of writing where I lack finesse. Tbh I really liked how this read in the first few paragraphs and then it turned it to useless word vomit :/

[writingreactsandwords]

Hi! Could I get DAI LIs (pre-romance) reacting to a Desire Demon taking the appearance of the half-naked (or fully naked? Demons don't play around) Inquisitor to try to seduce and possess them? (maybe the team ended up in the Fade and got separated or something). In detail, if you feel like it, and maybe also non-LI companions reacting to seeing their leader like that, if you -really- feel like it. Hope I'm not asking too much!

Jumping right to it, anon! You’re not asking too much at all, though I do deeply apologise if this bloody essay of a post pops up on your dash when you’re not interested.

But honestly, long/big requests are no trouble. Might just take a little longer! I hope you like it! (Spoilers for Inquisition and Trespasser! Not, like, too NSFW but I wouldn’t want my mom reading it. Foul language ahead, buckaroos.)

Cullen (pre-romance):

Demons he knows too well.

When he sees her standing there, something inside him cracks for a moment. Cold, polished stone floors. His heavy Templar armour, the pain and sweat. The blood on the floor, the smell of abominations and growing, pulsing, rotting flesh. Her image is blinded briefly by the white translucent walls that had caged him, had trapped him in with anything that Uldred had seen fit to punish him with.

And then, as always, the cracks melt together again. A little tighter, more strained, more fragile. But his eyes can see what’s there.

It’s wearing her skin, her voice. And Maker is she perfect, the sight of her breaks whatever convincing he’d done to persuade himself he wasn’t as besotted as he felt.

Demon, he reminds himself, and the anger comes back. That it took what he wanted and wore her like a gown, took her body and made his first sight of her like this when she was unwilling, unaware. That it would use her as a game piece to break his mind makes the rage burn red hot in his chest.

“Cullen,” she whispers, and somehow he hears it as if it’s in his ear despite the distance. “Love. Darling. Aren’t you going to touch me?”

The leather of his gloves makes a soft noise as it curls around the grip of his sword. 

“Stop,” he says, and is ashamed of how his voice is strangled and cracked. Ashamed of how he can’t look at this thing.

“She doesn’t want you, Cullen,” she said, stronger and harsher, the tone of someone doling out hard truths. “I am the only version of her you’ll get. Give in to this. I’m soft. I’m real. As real as you want me to be.”

“Try harder,” he growls out, and his eyes are shut when he strikes the killing blow. 

Solas (pre-romance):

The Fade was, undoubtedly, a place of strange beauty. With its gravity-defying topography, electric greens weaving through the air and clouding the horizon with mist. The ever-present sense of danger, of eyes and fingers creeping up spines unseen. The Black City, as they called it, hung close enough that he felt he could reach out to touch it.

Yet none of it was as strange as her.

All softness and muscle stood like some terribly lifelike, terribly beautiful sculpture. She was the opposite of the rocky pitted ground. The opposite of terror.

Her presence made everything different, but it wasn’t her.

“This won’t work,” he warned, already gliding the staff into his usual stance. The spirit looked at him with hooded, sweet eyes. She was so beautiful, though admiring her here felt like a betrayal of trust. Like he should be admonished for being a peeping tom.

“I know,” it said simply. Her voice felt like something hard and sharp in his chest. “You don’t have many weaknesses, Wolf.”

He watched her and raised a dark eyebrow.

“She is one of mine?” He admired her, yes. Despite many- despite all of his better judgements, he couldn’t help but try to charm her. Couldn’t help but take solace in her, marvel at her intelligence and empathy.

It was wrong. He had not, wouldn’t (couldn’t) allow it to go further. The spirit’s spiteful grin made him shudder.

“She will be, Wolf. As you will be hers.”

He watched her as the disguise melted away in front of his eyes, a demonic violet woman stood in the Inquisitor’s place. Curiosity burnt, but he looked at it with icy eyes.

“Stand and fight.” He had to get back to the others, to her.

Cassandra (pre-romance):

Cassandra is a practical woman. She has never stilled her sword when she knew the enemy and knew the intentions behind them.

She knows now as the Inquisitor stands in front of her, naked and smiling, that he’s not him. He looks like him, certainly. Down to every hair, every dip and curve, the face she’s committed to memory despite it being downright pathetic. And… Below. Places she’s definitely not seen are still undoubtedly him.

But she knows what it is. A desire demon. Characterised, when in it’s ‘true’ form, by purple skin and long curling horns. Often female. Certainly not female right now, she thinks. Her eyes dart down, and her shame is amplified by that subtle, smug smile.

Her shield lifts when he reaches toward her.

“I could give you what you want, Cassandra,” he says in a perfect replica of the Herald’s voice. “Love. Sex. Passion. Take my hand, love. I’ll give you what he won’t.”

I want him, the real thing, she thinks though she shames herself for how soft it is. She has been tested many times before, in more difficult situations than this. 

“Die, demon,” she hisses.

Dorian (pre-romance):

Dorian knows the tricks of demons as well as any mage. They enter his dreams, his life, wait with bated breath for the pleasure of owning a man with such power as he. Sometimes desire demons, yes, offering sex and some of his deeper wishes in trade for something harmless on the surface yet terribly wicked beneath.

He’s spent far too much time with their shadow to be scared of them.

He watches the demon taking strong, graceful steps across the ground of the Fade in the body of the Inquisitor with bored eyes. Mind games. Taking his surface attraction of the man they called a leader and standing in his naked body. Trying to tempt him.

Still, Dorian remains quiet. 

“The Herald wants you,” the demon said in his voice. “He thinks about you at night, in his more… intimate moments.”

“Does he now?” Dorian asked, bored. “Whatever you’re trying to entice me with, it won’t work.” He adjusted his staff in his hand, an eyebrow raised.

“But he doesn’t care about you,” it said, ignoring him. Dorian’s eyes narrowed. “He doesn’t love you. Won’t love you. He just wants to fuck you, like all the others.”

Demons lie and trick, and besides, why in the name of the Maker would I care? He tells himself, even as something inside him hurts and his grip on the weapon tightens so much that splinters dig into his palm.

“You’re smart, Dorian. There’s nothing out of here for you. There’s nothing you can fix or do. But I can give you everything. I know you love him. I look like him, I sound like him, I can build you a reality that loves you back.”

Every word just makes him angrier, and his resolve doesn’t falter once as the mana charges up from his fingertips.

Josephine (pre-romance):

She wasn’t even meant to be here.

Josephine’s cheeks were already dark red from panic, her breaths short and her fingers gripping the ruffled sleeves of her shirt. She thought the rifts led to the same place, yet here she was, with no Inquisitor beside her-

Until there was. She felt the presence before she saw it, turned terrified with images of demons conjured, stood weaponless against an enemy triple her size. She spun, unprepared but ready- and came face to face with a person.

“Oh, Inquisitor! I-”

The press of their lips to the edge of her jaw is… unexpected. Unpleasant, almost. It’s not that she hasn’t thought about it. About them. Of course she has, they’re… The Inquisitor. Strong, brave, intelligent. Yet the mix of terror and surprise and relief and- something just being wrong has tainted it anyway. Rotted it, soured it.

The press of them naked against her breaks whatever shock was keeping her still. She nearly fell as she stumbled away from them.

“I-Inquisitor?” She said, her fear and embarrassment amplifying tenfold. They’re stood bare, mouth curled up into a smile clearly meant to be alluring but doing nothing but setting off warning bells. “You are… Not the Herald.”

“I could be,” it says with their voice, “if that’s what you want, Josephine.”

A desire demon, then. She watches it speechless, almost admiring of how complex their disguise is. Brought from her own mind, likely- her cheeks stain darker as she realises its naked form is from her own shameful fantasies.

It’s cunning, clearly. Clever. A creature of crafted deals and words, this she knows. But so is Josephine.

Stood weaponless against an enemy. Not quite. The Inquisitor would be looking for her, she knew. All she had to do was stall.

“Let us talk about what I want, then.”

The Iron Bull (pre-romance):

Bull doesn’t like demons, though he sure as hell likes the view.

Lately, the Inquisitor has been playing on his mind pretty bad, though he’s not certain why. There are some pretty clear reasons- they’re stunning, strong, genuine. They’re funny. They think he’s funny.

So the demons picked up on that, huh? He thinks, flinching as he imagines phantom fingers digging into his mind, his thoughts, picking out his daydreams and fantasies. Until they could build up the visual that had been pacing his conscious and cover themselves with it.

He knows people are weaker than they want to be and think they are, but still. That he was so easy to figure out is humiliating in its way. Terrifying in others.

“So what are you, then?” He asks, quietly. The demon’s eyes spark, something malicious and amused that don’t fit his Inquisitor’s features. It makes their body look more like a costume. A hot costume, admittedly, but with none of the character.

“I’m yours, Bull,” they say, almost sing-song, breathy and gentle. It works its way inside his ears until he can imagine the real Inquisitor saying it. Saying it in Herald’s rest, whispering it in his ear, saying it on top of him, underneath, anywhere.

He can’t help letting his eyes drag across them as they step even closer, head tilted just a little bit, hands sliding over their own skin.

“You’re good,” he nods, “but I fucking hate demons.”

He brings down the axe as they snarl.

Sera (pre-romance):

“This isn’t fucking real!” Sera yells, her voice straining against her own pitch. There’s green fucking everywhere, and there are floating rocks and- and- there are demons and shit and it’s the Fade and you don’t piss about in the fucking Fade and you don’t see the girl you’ve been pissing fantasising about in your actual dreams all naked and shit in front of you and-

“I’m as real as you want me to be, Sera,” she says, eyes sparkling with delight and- other stuff. Sera’s been squeezing at the grip of her bow awkwardly for the last however long naked Quizzy’s been stood there.

Like, what, a minute? Too long. Too close. Demon. Solas had even gone through the types- what’s this one? Desire.

She looks so… Her. It isn’t right. It isn’t close to right. Everything’s wrong and the actual Inquisitor is off somewhere with the others, or alone, and here Sera is having a stand-off with her fantastically naked body-double.

“Nothing’s real here,” Sera says, “except me. You’re just some- some piss demon.”

“Oh, Sera…” The Inquisitor says, her voice all moan-y and it’s never like that usually however much she wishes it was. “Look at me. There’s no danger in me. I’m just what you want. What you need. I might not be real, but the real Inquisitor… She wants nothing to do with you.”

“Fuck off,” she says, shaking, even though she’s letting the Inquisitor’s hand reach towards her, sliding over the air above her hip and it would be so good.

“I’ll be whatever you want me to be, love.”

And suddenly - venemously - her mind hisses, not real though, and she’s slamming the bow into the demon’s pretty face.

Blackwall (pre-romance):

“Inquisit–” Blackwall chokes on his words when he sees her. After the destructive wake of realisation has settled - and it takes a while, embarrassingly - his first thought is, absurdly, it’s been too long. He looks at the Inquisitor’s nakedness bluntly, unable to do anything else.

The would-be Warden does take a bitter sort of comfort in his self-flagellating, denying habits. I don’t deserve it is a common thought of his, so the last time he took relief in another person was…

It’s been too long.

He watches her with a dry mouth, words clawing up but choking out somewhere between the centre of his chest and his throat. He plants his feet a little more firmly into the pockmarked ground of the Fade, don’t forget this isn’t real, and curls his finger into fists as the supposed Inquisitor makes her way towards him.

Maker, she is… He wants so many things he can’t have.

The Inquisitor did not let them step into the Fade without knowledge. They all knew of the demons. They all knew they’d be more susceptible alone. “End it quickly, firmly, and do not give them a chance,” the Commander, Cullen, had told them. An ex-Templar with experience enough to look a little haunted at the thought of demons.

Despite it all, he’s allowed her to come this close. It. It to come this close. He breathes heavy when she, it, it raises its hand. Soft and warm and it lands on his bearded face not chastely, anything but; those eyes look at him with promise. Her mouth opens, wet and shining and-

“Thom.”

The illusion breaks. He raises his sword.

[eyes-talks-ocs]

❌This contains sensitive content. Such as violence, torture, and uncomfortable scenes. Reader Discretion is advised. Thank you!

---

"Teeth" is just a drabbles. There really is no proofreading. Sorry in advance!

---

Teeth - Pt 03

"Sir." Cole bowed as he entered the office.

"What did you learn?" The older dragon folded his hands together and leaned forward on his desk. Waiting for the details. 

"He's pretty well in shock right now, but surprisingly coherent - ish. He passed out on me midway through looking him over. His lungs are full of fluid. I'm not entirely sure if it's a punctured lung or not. It very well could be considering the broken ribs. His pulse is irregular, barely keeping a steady rhythm. The respiratory distress isn't helping that issue any, probably only making it worse." Cole trailed off thinking about it.  

"Will he stay alive with how you left him in the time being?"

"He should, but he could turn at any moment. He needs to be watched closely for now." Cole sighed, "he also has a hell of a concussion.  We gotta keep an eye on that too, make sure that heals before taking any of his conscious decisions or actions seriously. Again he passed out on me before I could assess his awareness. It's possible he's not even fully comprehending what's going on."

"I see." The Master stroked his jaw. 

"Also." Cole said shyly. "Am I allowed to bring him some food? He's thin." 

The dragon took some time to think, "you can offer him some rice once a day. He looks like he's already starved enough for now. Get a couple hot meals in him and if he behaves himself, I won't think about taking it away." 

Cole signed with relief. He was happy the Master agreed to it. Dustin would probably greatly appreciate it too.

The Master nodded his head, "Alright, thank you. Also, I was thinking a little. We should give him a bath and clean that room. It's going to smell like rot if we don't get the blood cleaned up. Not to mention we don't know what filth that animal has rolled in." He picked at his nails.

Cole winced a bit, "We should hold off and let him rest, like I said, he's in shock. I don't know if his body can handle much right now."

The dragon frowned, "We'll give him a couple hours to rest. Then we'll see to it."

"Sir." Cole could only nod in agreement. He couldn't voice his opinion or disagree with the Master. He just wanted to let Dustin sleep. See if the man even makes it through the night. 

--

The Master had called for his medic after a couple hours passed. Cole knew what he wanted. Time to go bother the broken man. With out much option to protest, he had to go with it and agree to it. 

The young dragon helped the Master dig out the pressure washer for one of the supply closets. It was a soft torture element, disguised as a good deed and basic room cleaning.

The two made their way to the room. Quiet hallways, with not many of the other people living in the building stopping to ask what they were doing. They knew. It wouldn't take long before everyone in the Master's family knew of the new pet. The wolves that brought him in probably already boasted about their accomplishment. Who wouldn't, after fetching a golden goose for their leader.

Without much care, the old dragon opened the heavy door and walked in. Cole followed, keeping an eye on the lifeless man on the floor. He was still alive, but the kid could feel he wasn't wakeful or reactive to the outside world. He was starting to get a feel for this creature's energy and was starting to be able to read it a little bit better. Not much though. Over all though, it filled him with anxiety. 

The Master took no time in hooking up the power washer up to the spicket on the opposite end of the room and began washing the floors. The cool water ran down the drain near the lifeless body. The Master really paid no mind to the chained man, just went about spraying away the filth on the floor like it was a normal every day chore. The sounds of the compressor echoed around the room in loud intervals as he worked and cleaned around the creature. 

A little frustrated with the lack of stirring coming from the man. The Master took the hose and sprayed him with it. The pressurized water bit into his skin. 

Drunkenly, Dustin jerked awake confused at what was happening around him. 

"Wake up and stand up." The old dragon commanded in a deep voice. 

His silhouette caught Dustin's eye and he lounge towards it to try and get a swing in at the dragon. 

It wasn't coordinated enough. The Master easily countered it with a swift kick to the man's stomach. The man involuntarily folded into himself and found himself on the floor again. Hiding the pain the best he could from the dragon. 

"You think yourself sly?" The dragon chuckled and hosed the man down, spraying him in the face as he tried to catch his breath from the blow. "Just cooperate right now. Please, you're making a fool of yourself."

Dustin choked and coughed, but again rose up and lounged forward biting and snarling. The dragon blocked him and cracked him hard upside the head with his elbow. During that moment of disorientation, the dragon once again hosed him down with the pressure washer.

"You're sloppy." The Master snarled back, using his heel to dig into the the space between the man's shoulder blades, pinning him to the ground. "Again. Are we going to have to train you like an animal. Spray you enough times till you behave and listen when it's time too?" 

The Master twisted the heel of his boot. The man squirmed with it. 

"Now stand up." The dragon let off, "and be still." 

Reluctantly, he did so. His joints popped as he did, to Cole, it sounded painful. The older dragon could sense the burning anger behind the creature's glare. 

"Because I haven't introduced myself properly yet. My name is Isaac, eldest dragon, and head of this family. You'll refer to me as 'Master' or 'Sir'. What is your name creature?" 

The man only bore his jagged teeth and growled in defiance. 

The Master's brow furrowed at the response, and got up into the man's face. The two were nearly the same height, with Dustin being maybe an inch over the six foot or so dragon. Dustin glared back, look unphased by the dragon's attempts to intimidate. 

"Bite me." Dustin growled lowly in the dragon's face. 

Within a split second, Isaac took the man against the wall by the throat. He slid him up the wall till his toes barely touched the ground. The Master's hands bit down on his neck hard. 

Dustin would try and gasp, but no air would come to him. But he did his best to stay calm and hold the stoic facade. Ringing began to fill his ears as the room started to slowly creep away from the edges of his vision. 

The dragon could feel him starting to go under. He dropped the man before he could fully black out. "We can't have you falling asleep quite yet." He scoffed at the semi awake man, once again on the floor. The Master yanked him to his knees, then forced him to stand. Steadying him by the collar and back braced to the wall. "If you don't want to give me your name and have just a shred of dignity. I'll name you myself then." He shrugged his shoulders going with the first thing that popped into his head. 

"Meat. How bout that. All you are is a bag of meat with a thought process, however, not much of one it seems. It's nice to formally meet you. Not it's time for a bath." The dragon growled with sarcasm and irritation in his voice. 

The Master walked back over to Cole and handed him the gun to the power washer. "Go ahead and clean your patient. You don't want any of those wounds of his to get infected." 

Cole took the handle unsure and fingered the trigger. He looked at Dustin with an apologetic look before aiming. His eyes met the creature's briefly. He hoped Dustin understood. I'm sorry Cole thought to himself, like the creature could read his mind before going ahead and pulling the trigger back. 

Surprisingly, the man held still. He didn't lash out at the young dragon hosing him down. He just stood there and took it with a pained expression. 

The Master would command the man to shift and turn around from time to time, and Cole stood there against his will, following the order to wash him. 

The ice cold water felt like glass being pushed into his skin until it left a nagging numb sensation. The process of all this left his body stinging all over from all the open and fresh wounds and the water itself left welt on the sensitive areas of his skin. 

After the Master felt he'd had enough time 'bathing'. He called Cole off and gave him the permission to be done. The older dragon started away to go pack the stuff up. Cole was called over to go help with it. 

As the two left him to the other side of the room, Dustin knelt down into himself. He sat there exhausted and shivering. Soaking wet, dripping, and shaking violently as he tried his best to warm himself in the already uncomfortably cold room.

[thedarkenedkeeper]

Glitched: Part 9 - No Strings Attached

Author's Note: *drags self along the ground, bloodied and beaten up, and hands over the newest chapter* I...I'm alive...barely...HOLY X_X

I'm not going to give anything away about this chapter, however, there will be an ending author's note, elaborating why this chapter is crucial to the story.

WARNING: This chapter is incredibly dark and graphic. For anyone who read Part 6, it's basically a lot like that. There is a horrible sense of dread and horror throughout the chapter. There is a detailed description of a surgical operation being performed, as well as the tools that are used. The patient who undergoes the surgery is conscious during the procedure, and as such, feels everything and is in horrible agony. There is bloodshed and a intensity here and there. There is also an overwhelming amount of angst - again.

Listen to this playlist while reading

Enjoy!

Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock – 3:56 P.M. – four minutes remaining.

Tick tock, tick tock – Three minutes.

Tick tock – Two minutes.

With each subtle second that ticked by, the green-haired Irishman’s dread increased. There he sat on the stone-cold ground in the furthest corner of the cell, hugging his knees to his chest. The poor man was a quivering mess from both the cold and the fear creeping along his spine. His eyes were fixed on the watch that lay across from him, not batting an eye as he stared directly at it; lifeless eyes blown wide with horror. He had exactly two minutes left to live and then Anti was coming for him.

Two minutes and then death was coming for him in the flesh.

He tensed up, his grip tightening around his legs. He wasn’t ready to die. He may have been caged in this hell for nine whole months, all hope lost and gone forever. He may have been tortured both physically and mentally more times than he could count, and this room he was in may have been the reason for why he was rotting from the inside out. But no matter how bad it was getting, no matter how horrific and brutal, he was not ready for death. He was afraid of it, especially when it took on the form of an unhinged version of himself welding a large knife.

Jack had heard the scream for help – just barely, but he had made it out. Immediately, he had lifted his head to look off into the darkness, adrenaline and dread coursing through his veins. That scream had sounded an awful lot like it had belonged to Henrik, and if it had…the YouTuber couldn’t even begin to fathom the thought of what could’ve happened.

Jack shivered violently, a gust of cool air rushing past the back of his neck. The temperature had dropped sufficiently in the last hour, so much so to the point he was starting to see his own breath. Funny – when he had first found himself in the cage, the room had been sweltering hot, and now it was the exact opposite. He didn’t know which would’ve been worse – dying from the heat or from the freezing cold. He scoffed at the question. Death – that’s all he found himself thinking about lately. He didn’t want it, and yet his mind always managed to wander off into complete darkness. A weak nervous chuckle left his chapped trembling lips. Funny…

Tick tock, tick tock

Releasing a shaken breath, followed by a faint raspy gasp that almost came out as a whimper, the brows of the Irishman weaved out of distress at what the watch now read.

4:00 P.M – it was too late. It was time for his execution.

Without a second thought, Jack’s eyes shot up to the door off in the distance, all of the blood draining from his face as he made out loud stomping coming from out in the hall; storming towards the room. He gulped painfully, barely being able to swallow anything given just how dry and stale his throat was. He was going to die, Anti was going to kill him right here, right now. Tears were beginning to come back for the millionth time, his eyes stinging from how sore they had become. His time was up – he had had his chance to try and escape and he blew it. He and the others were all going to die today and there wasn’t a thing he could do. He truly was a dead man.

The poor man nearly jumped out of his skin and yelped when the door suddenly burst open violently with a bang; blinding white light flooding into the room for a brief moment as a figure stormed in. He knew who it was – he could tell given just how cold his blood had gone. Through the darkness, the green-haired man managed to make out the glitch pacing around the room, signature kitchen knife in his grasp, and he appeared to be angry – beyond furious, actually. Jack was already a broken man and couldn’t think clearly, but he honestly hadn’t the slightest idea what could’ve been causing the demon to be in such a horrible mood. The Irishman had seen him mad before and that had been truly terrifying, but this time…this time was so much different than the last.

Anti’s entire form was completely distorted, twitching and jerking in every which direction wildly. With each step he took, the ground at his feet would seem to pixelate and glitch spastically; the same went for any of the shadows surrounding his body. It was like parts of the void were breaking and struggling to stay intact like Anti was. The entity could not remain stable and in control of himself. Multiple projections of him came into view, all of which were incredibly demented and displaying manic behavior. They were all flickering by so fast Jack could barely make them all out, but a few caught his attention, in particular one dealing with the demon tugging his head back violently and slitting his already bleeding throat. He was cursing and growling repeatedly, his voice reaching a whole new level of unsettling intimidation. It was scratchy, deep, and completely laced with static. Anti had had his moments of sounding demonic and reminding Jack that he wasn’t human, but this did it in for the Irishman. Jack kept his eyes transfixed on the demon, not daring to say a word. Even if he wanted to, he didn’t think he could get anything out. He was paralyzed with fear, and at the moment, he was just waiting for his alter ego to come and finish him off once and for all.

“I DoN’t FUcKiNg BeLiEVe iT! THoSe FuCkERs cAn’T mAkE Up ThEiR DamN miNdS, CAn tHEy? CAN THEY?!”

The YouTuber cringed at hearing the unhinged creature. He watched as a patch of shadows morphed into pixels before materializing to reveal page after page of posts on the internet. He couldn’t fully make out what the posts were about – his vision was beginning to go in and out of focus due to how drained he was – but whatever it was, Anti did NOT like it.

“LOoK aT tHiS!” He scoffed, a smile flashing across his face briefly. “WhAt THe fUCk iS ThiS?!” A growl rumbled out from deep within him, a sinister laugh chasing after it. “Do THeY tHiNk THiS iS aLL sOMe SoRT oF JoKe? HoW fUCkiNg STuPiD aRe tHEy?! ArE tHeY brAiNDeAD?! WhAT, dO tHEy tHiNk tHEy cAn GeT riD Of ME, iS tHaT iT? THeY cAN’t GEt Rid Of mE! ThEy cAN nEVeR geT riD Of ME! I Am ETERNAL!” In a blurring motion, the unstable being drove his knife into the screen, causing it to momentarily glitch out and flicker; the darkness surrounding it also struggling to remain intact.

Jack jumped at the sudden action, a hitched breath getting pulled from his lips. Though Anti was standing still in front of the damaged screen that was now lined with cracks weaving out from where the blade was stuck, the Irishman could clearly tell he was tearing apart at the seams. His body was very much a blur given how intensely it was vibrating, jerking, and glitching out. That childish eerie giggle – the one that always instantly managed to drive fear into the Irishman – reverberated around the room, coming out more delighted than ever before.

“ThEy’Re MaKiNG a MOcKeRy Of ME! ThEY’rE tAkiNG mY WoRdS aNd MoRPhiNg ThEm iNTo OnE b-bi-i-iG J-JoKE!” His head seemed to lag for a moment, twitching to the right only to stutter and stop briefly before returning forward once again. He growled, clutching his head and tugging at his hair harshly. “ThAT dAmNEd NaME! ThAt FuCKiNg NaMe – I hAtE iT! I FUCKING HATE IT!” His body gave a fierce surge forward and he sent a fist flying into the screen, pixels cutting into his knuckles and damaging the screen further. It was barely even readable now; lines of static racing across it every few seconds.

Jack’s heart gave a painful pang in his chest. The community – he was talking about the community. Shifting his eyes to the broken screen, he squinted in an attempt to make out what was enraging the beast. From what he could tell, the posts were all in regards to a video Anti had uploaded, and it seemed the fandom had gone and taken bits and pieces of Anti’s rant and turned him into a joke. They were all mocking him. They weren’t afraid of him anymore, they weren’t taking him seriously, and at this realization, the green-haired man felt his stomach drop. If what they were doing was causing Anti to get this consumed by rage, there was no telling what the demon would do. He could snap at any given moment. The community had no idea who was truly in control here – who really held the power. Anti could easily wipe out all of the egos and Jack himself if he wanted to. With a snap of his fingers, they could all cease to exist.

Anti retracted his now bleeding hand from the screen, the torn skin materializing and piecing itself back together instantly. He began pacing the room again, strong vibrations from each step rippling through the room and causing the ground to tremble, only making Jack jump and curl in on himself. Even the cage he was locked in flickered for a brief moment.

“OnE mOMeNt tHEy WaNt mE, AnD tHe NeXT, thEy CLaiM tHeY dOn’T? WHicH iS iT?! Am I nOt gOoD ENoUgH fOr THeM?!” The violent entity screeched at the screen, arms flailing from left to right out of an ugly hybrid of annoyance and rage. And from where Jack was cowering in the corner, he could make out a hint of confusion as well. “ThEY mADe Me WhAt I aM! ThEy GaVe mE liFe, ThEy BrOuGhT mE iNTo tHiS GOdDamN FiLtHy WOrLd! ThEy LoVeD mE, tHeY WAnTeD mE tO Be A REaLitY, aND tHaT’s EXaCtLy WhAt tHEy gOt! I’m HeRe NoW, aNd THIS is HoW thEy TReAt mE?!”

His entire body flickered spastically, one second showing him yanking on his hair and screaming, another of him strangling himself horribly to the point his eyes looked like they were going to pop out of his head. The ground was quivering again, parts of the room cracking and materializing here and there. Jack’s eyes flew across the darkened hell, his breaths coming out as laboured gasps; heart racing with trepidation, afraid the void was going to somehow collapse in on itself. With Anti in control of Jack’s physical body, he also had full control over the void, and being how the entity was already an unstable mess, then the void would become the exact same way. If Anti couldn’t keep himself in control, there was no way of determining the fate of the void.

“I gAvE tHEm WhAt tHeY-eY w-wAnTeD!” The demon screamed, his head once again freezing up for a fleeting second. “THeY wAnTEd yOU gOnE aNd OuT Of tHe PiCtuRe,” Unexpectedly, his head gave an unnatural cringe-worthy jerk in Jack’s direction. His eyes were cloaked an inky black, staring furiously at his pathetic excuse of a host. The Irishman’s heart skipped a beat as he tensed up, holding his breath, “aNd I DiD eXActLy tHaT! I WaiTeD fOR mONthS oN enD, AloNe anD CoLd iN yoUr FuCkiNg EMptY sKuLL! I wAitEd, I gAvE thEm aLL a CHaNcE tO chAnGe tHeiR MinDS aND seT Me StRAigHt, aNd tHEy diD noTHinG!” The edges of his form rippled and jerked fiercely, a demented version of himself projecting forth; laughing manically, almost like he was finding the twisted humour in all of this. “I tHoUGhT thEY wAnTeD yoU loNg dEAd, aNd tURns oUt I mAy bE wrOnG? ThAT I’Ve beEn MAdE oUt tO bE a fOoL?!” One moment he was boring his eyes into Jack, the next his figure glitched out and he was glaring back at the screen. He flung his arms out at either side. “WHat Do YoU wAnT fRoM mE?!”

The green-haired man was almost tempted to open his mouth and question the demon about what was bothering him, but he froze up at what he saw and heard next.

Anti was standing still now – well, about as still as he could, anyway. His body was still very much glitching out and shaking all over, multiple versions of himself flashing before the Irishman’s eyes. He wasn’t lashing out anymore, but his inhuman eyes were fixed on the damaged screen, scanning through the posts that remained on display. He clenched his teeth, jaw locking up.

“You all made me like this – exactly how you envisioned me to be – aNd YoU’vE MaDe ME iNtO A jOkE!” He raised his left arm; hand balled up into a fist and ready to give the screen another blow…but it never came. He seemed to freeze up in position, his entire form lagging. His fist was trembling ever so slightly, and with a growl, he released it; dropping his hand at his side. He was glaring daggers at the endless cruel posts the community had made – all of which were poking fun at him. His shoulders were shaking horribly as he stared at the screen, not bating an eye.

“Your own creation…Your own son…” He hissed softly under his breath. His voice sounded a bit different now. It wasn’t nearly as loud, distorted, or monstrous, it was softer and almost sounded like he was hurt. He almost sounded human.

He shook his head in disbelief, a flicker of a smile flashing quickly across his face. “You’re all supposed to be my family, and yet…” A growl crawled out of his slashed throat, “and yet you treat me like I’m nothing…Do I mean so little to you all?” He read through each of the posts, his head giving a violent jerk to the right, trying hard to contain his growing hatred. “What am I to you? A joke? An ExPEriMeNt gOnE wROnG?!” He yelled, temporarily losing control and causing the ground to start shaking for a brief second.

Though he didn’t need to breathe, his breaths were coming out quick and a tad unsteady. He inhaled deeply, attempting to relax. If looks could kill, Anti’s would be the most deadly. The expression upon his face read pure unadulterated hatred…but it wasn’t just that. There was something else there, but Jack was having difficulty making out what it was. The demon trembled, hands balling up into fists at his sides.

“I gave all of you what you wanted…I was being a good boy…I thought you’d all be proud of me, I thought you’d all love me for what I did…but…” He was visibly quivering, biting down on his lip sharply. Why, Jack didn’t know. His vision was becoming blurry due to how lightheaded he currently was. He squinted, leaning forward a bit to try and make out Anti’s expression, “you don’t….And you never will, I see that now.”

Were…Were those tears coming to his eyes? Jack’s eyes widened at the sight. He couldn’t believe it. The glitching entity was actually in pain, and it was showing through both his words and the expression upon his face. The demon only ever wanted to be loved, Jack realized. He only ever wanted to be seen as an equal like all of the other egos, and no matter how many times he tried to get the community’s attention, they always shot him down. Yes, they would make so much fan art, fanfiction, theories, and posts involving him and it would give him a whole lot of power, but through the glitch’s eyes, whenever he was about to show his true self to them all, they saw him as an annoyance – a bother – and they wanted him gone as soon as he’d show up. It was almost like they liked him better as an idea versus an actual existing being. He was always having to act like someone he wasn’t – he was always having to pretend to be Jack and convince them all that the Irishman wasn’t gone. And they were happy. But God forbid if he himself showed his true face. As soon as he’d do that, everyone would freak out for a few moments before automatically demanding to have Jack return. They would never accept him for who he was, and it broke the creature’s black heart.

“You’re never going to view me as your son. You’ve all blinded yourselves from that truth, and instead you’ve chosen to see me as nothing more than a monster – something you want to put to the test over…and over…and over again.” He spat with distaste, his body shaking violently as a lone tear raced down his cheek. He shook his head slowly, glitching out momentarily to show a version of himself laughing like a lunatic. “You don’t care about any of us…You just want to see chaos. So who’s the REAL fucked up monster here?” He growled, digging his nails deep into his palms. “I HATE you.” He seethed venomously, the space around him rippling and zig-zagging fiercely.

Jack watched him through the bars of the glacial cell, taking in just how emotionally hurt the apparition truly was. He felt a bit empathetic towards the creature, almost wanting to comfort him somehow, even after everything he had done to him. But all of this was the least of the Irishman’s concerns. Licking his dry chapped lips, he forced himself to finally speak and make himself known.

“W-What did you do?” His voice – it was far worse than it had been before. It was so gravelly and rough; it wasn’t a surprise when he coughed harshly into his hand only to see spots of blood in his palm.

Visibly tensing up, the unhinged abomination turned his head to direct his attention onto his prisoner; the heartache and suffering immediately dissipating from his onyx eyes. He was staring directly at Jack like he had just realized that he had been in the room all this time. With trembling lips and feeling tears starting to come to his eyes out of worry, the Irishman continued.

“W-What did you do to Henrik?” His voice was so brutally scratched up; his question came out as a faint whisper, dread hanging off of each individual word.

At hearing this, a grin stretched across the demon’s face and he unexpectedly threw his head back with a gross crack emitting from his neck; an insidious spine-chilling laugh bubbling out him. It made the YouTuber flinch and hug himself tightly. He wasn’t expecting the creature to go from being so furious, to pained, and then to sudden cruel delight so quickly. It’s like a switch went off in the being – one minute getting taken over by hatred and sorrow, the next slipping right into his usual unsettlingly happy self. And that’s what worried Jack more than anything. Anti cocked his head, eyeing the Irishman with a cheeky smile.

“THAT’S what’s bothering you so much? You’re more concerned for that feeble-minded impersonator who has the audacity to call himself a doctor than you are for your own self?” His head twitched furiously, his form glitching out as another demonic laugh raced out of his vocal cords. “Have you completely forgotten what time it is, Jackaboy?” He instantly went for his knife, which was still embedded into the cracked static-laced screen, and grasped it; yanking it out with a glitch of his body. “In fact, I should be cutting you open right now.” And without another thought, he was storming towards the cage; knife getting strangled in his grasp and an eerie jack o’ lantern-like grin plastered on his sickly pale face.

Breathing hitching out of panic, the cowering Irishman curled up into a ball, pressing his back into the brick wall behind him. Tears were threatening to tip over the edge and cascade down his face as he stared at the horrifying entity charging towards him. He shook his head vigorously.

“N-No. No, no, no, no, please. P-Please!” He whimpered, lips trembling as he struggled to both speak and hold back his tears. “P-Please, no! Anti…A-Anti, don’t! Please!”

The man yelped and jumped with a start when the glitch materialized into the cell with him, immediately surging forth, grabbing the Irishman by the hair, and pulling him to his feet. He slammed him violently into the wall, blinding white pain throbbing through the back of Jack’s head and triggering him to cough up a small mouthful of blood. He spluttered as Anti wrapped his dead-cold fingers around his neck, hauling him off of the ground and keeping him pinned to the wall; his grip tight enough to start making the green-haired man see stars. Jack choked, raising his shaky cut-up hands to his throat in a poor attempt to try and get the demon to release his hold on him.

“A-An…A-An-ti…” He croaked, his eyes rolling back in his head for a moment as he struggled to breathe.

Anti ignored him, a large toothy smile reaching ear to ear as he watched the man squirm. He chuckled low in his throat as the hand holding the knife shot up, first pointing it at the YouTuber’s face threateningly before lowering it downward, hovering right over Jack’s chest.

“I should be killing you right now. I’ve waited long enough for this – I even told you I’d butcher you once it reached 4 o’clock,” He let out a sadistic giggle, “and I never break my promises, Jackie.” He focused his eyes onto him, the smile faltering as his voice dropped an octave. “Never.”

Jack was a horrible trembling mess, a few loose tears running astray, no longer being able to hold in his fear. He hacked and dry heaved, a few spots of blood spewing from his mouth as he weakly clawed at Anti’s hand.

“P…P-Ple..P-Please…A-An-ti…” He tried to shake his head. “Y-You…d-don’t…have to…d-do th-this.”

The demon only laughed at his words, finding amusement in them. He raised his brows at the notion.

“Oh really? I don’t, do I? Oh Jackaboy, how wrong you are.” He clenched his fingers, tightening his grip around the man’s throat. The green-haired man let out a choked gasp, the edges of his vision flashing red. “I have to do this. Don’t you see? Don’t you see what your ‘loving community’ has done? DoN’t YoU?!” He screeched, the shadows surrounding them both seeming to vibrate and become pixelated for a fleeting moment. “They made me like this. For so long, I tried to get them to love me – I tried SO hard to get their attention and make them proud – but do you think they noticed? Do you THINK they acknowledged me the way I had hoped they would?” His head spastically twitched from left to right as he cackled evilly. “They threw me aside like garbage, seeing me as a one-time thing! They don’t care! They’ve never cared! Not about you, not about those other useless fuckers, and not even about me – their own creation, ThEiR OwN SoN!” He snarled, slowly pressing the tip of the blade into Jack’s chest. The YouTuber sucked in a pained breath, trying to push himself away from the knife.

Jack whimpered and choked, tears cascading over his cheeks as he closed his eyes, fear finally consuming him fully. This was it. There was no way of reasoning with Anti now. He had to accept it – this was how he was going to die. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut; bracing himself for the stabbing pain that would burst through his chest…but strangely, it never came. He waited and waited, but there wasn’t anything. Hesitantly, the Irishman reopened his eyes to the sound of the entity chuckling, retracting his knife and lowering his prisoner to the ground. The demon’s dark eyes were transfixed on him, not blinking.

“But I can’t…I won’t. Not now. I know I said I’d kill you right now, but I’m going to put it off awhile longer.” The terrible, awful grin he’d had on his face a few minutes ago returned much more devious than before. “Those twisted fuckers clearly want a show – they want chaos – and if that’s what they want, I can easily make it happen. They want a monster,” His eyes flashed a piercing neon green. “then that’s what they’ll get. No more Mr. Nice Guy. I’m done trying to get them to love me.”

Jack tried to pry his hand off of his throat, eyes shining with desperation. “A-Anti, please, you d-don’t –.”

“It’S ToO LaTE!” The glitchy demon shouted, his body glitching out to show him clawing at his bleeding eyes. “They had their chance! Time and time again, I gave them a chance to redeem themselves, and they FuCkEd Up! I’M dOnE wiTh iT aLL! FoRgiVeNesS anD LoVE aRe nO lOnGEr oN tHe taBLe!” What started off as a high-pitched giggle ringing throughout the darkness got dragged out into a deep demonic laugh that sent chills up the Irishman’s spine. “I will expose them for the villains they really are, you’ll see. You’ll all see! You’ll all perish,” He smirked, “and they’ll only have themselves to blame.” With that, he finally released Jack, allowing the man to collapse to his knees and cough violently, spots of blood flying onto the ground.

Anti leered down at him, seething through his teeth. “They think they have a hold on me, that they’re the ones who pull the strings. They think I’m their puppet, that they can control me! Well no more! I told them all that there are no strings on me.” He slowly lifted a hand, his eyes shifting to it. He stared at his fingers, flexing them and feeling the psychic link he had to Jack’s physical body. He watched the tendons in his wrist move, a shaken breath leaving him. “It’s time to visit the good doctor once again.”

Jack struggled to sit up straight, but his ears perked up at hearing him mention the doctor. He jerked his head up in time to see Anti glitch out of the cage, heading directly for the exit.

“W-Wait…W-Wait, no! Please! A-Anti!” He scrambled to his feet, racing for the end of the cage. “Anti! Don’t! P-Please don’t! D-Don’t do this!” He cried out.

But the demon didn’t listen; he left the room and immediately stormed down the hall towards the doctor’s quarters.

“ANTI!”

* * * * *

Barging into the operating room, Anti startled the poor doctor horribly. Henrik, like Jack, was now chained in the room. Granted, only one of his ankles was shackled, but he was unable to leave the operating room; he was bound there like a helpless dog. Before the demon had come storming in, Schneeple had been sitting at a desk with his head down, crying out of fear for his life as well as the others. He hadn’t the slightest idea where Jack was or what Anti had done to him. For all he knew, the man was dead. He sprang out of his chair and stumbled backward, nearly tripping over his chain at the unannounced appearance of the glitching creature. As a reflex, he raised his arms up to cover his face, bracing himself for any act of violence that would come his way.

“P-Please. Please, don’t! I-I didn’t do anyzhing, I svear!”

“Shut up!” The demon snapped. “Where are those x-rays you took of me?” He demanded as he began to search the room, shoving things out of his way.

The German lowered his arms just enough to take a glance at the entity. “V-Vhat?”

“The x-rays, you idiot! The ones you took of my chest – where are they?!” And right as he said this, he caught sight of the x-ray illuminator off in the far corner.

The sheets were still up on display. Without a word, Anti headed over to the illuminator, bringing it to life with a jolt of his own energy. His eyes scanned over the images, looking for something in specific. Henrik dropped his arms, casting his attention over at the demon. He blinked with confusion.

“I-I don’t understand. V-Vhy do you care about zhose?” He inquired.

Anti ignored him, yanking one of the sheets off of the illuminator and materializing out of existence before very suddenly showing up right in front of the doctor. Henrik yelped and jumped back, once more lifting his hands out of defense. Anti shoved the x-ray into his hands and the quivering doctor, after taking a breather, took a long look at the image. Upon seeing the brows of the man weave together out of question, the glitching entity told him what he expected him to do. Almost immediately, the German’s eyes widened in horror and all of the blood drained from his face. He didn’t at all hesitate to move away from the creature, throwing the x-ray at him as he shook his head madly.

“N-No…No, no, no, NO! You cannot be serious. You cannot make me do zhat – I von’t!” He exclaimed, a few shaky breaths leaving him.

“Oh but you will. You WILL do it.” Anti ordered, taking one slow step after another towards the doctor. “You’re a doctor after all, aren’t you? Who better to do the procedure than you yourself?” He chuckled darkly, his head twitching to the left fiercely.

Schneeple shook his head again. “N-No…N-No, you d-don’t understand. Zee precautions I’d have to take – .” He stopped to try and even out his breathing. It wasn’t working out like he’d hoped. “I-I’ve never – I’ve never done such an operation on someone before, let alone somezhing inhuman.” He kept backing up, eyes never leaving the monster that was following him. “Y-Your anatomy, I-I don’t know how different it is. I-If you go zhrough vith z-zhis, I can’t – I can’t guarantee it’ll vork.” He bumped into something, taking a quick glance behind him to see he had run into a countertop. He turned back to the demon to realize he was trapped. He gulped and shrunk down, eyes blown wide. “Z-Zhere’s no telling v-vhat vould happen. Y-You could die!”

Anti only chuckled in amusement at the doctor’s stuttering words. He cocked his head to the right, leering down at the horrified man.

“And that’s when you need to remind yourself, Doctor.” His eyes flicked an abyssal black, his voice dropping an octave. “I’m not human. I can’t die. Look at me.” He pointed to his deeply slit throat. “Don’t you think that would’ve killed me already if I was human?” He lowered his hand, eyes returning back to the sickening green they were. “Think of it this way, Doctor, think of it as a revolutionary discovery. You’ll be operating on an inhuman creature with abnormal anatomy – something that has never been seen before. You’ll be the first ever doctor in existence to make such a discovery.” He grinned, trying to win the doctor over into going through with what he wanted. “You WILL perform the operation on me. You WILL do as I say.” He hissed. “And if you don’t,” A wicked cruel smirk played at his lips, “maybe I’ll go after your precious wife and kids. I’ll slit their throats open just like I did with my own.” He hummed with thought. “I think I’ll start with the kids first.”

“NO!” Henrik pleaded, tears coming to his eyes out of fear for his family. They may have left him and had little to no respect for him remaining, but that didn’t mean he himself didn’t care about them anymore. He loved them with all of his heart, and if anything were to happen to them…

He cringed, staring up at the glitching monster with horror, looking like a kicked puppy. “Please! Please, don’t hurt zhem!”

A sinister growl came out of the demon’s slashed throat as his head twitched violently. “If you care for what’s left of your pathetic family, then you WILL perform the operation. Refuse and I WILL disembowel your whore of a wife and those stupid brats before you even have the chance to change your damn mind.” He promised.

Fearing for his family and believing every word that slithered out of the abomination’s static-laced mouth, Schneeple reluctantly nodded his head, a few lone tears escaping his eyes. He sniffled.

“Al-Alright..Al-Alright, I’ll do it! I’ll do it. P-Please, just…” He sobbed, his shoulders shaking as he tried to hold himself back from crying. “Please just d-don’t hurt my f-family…P-Please. I-I’ll do v-vhat you say, I svear.” He looked up at him, vision blurred from the fear clouding his eyes.

At hearing this, an insidious grin flashed across the demon’s face before he whirled around and stormed over to the operating table. “Good. Now let’s get this over with.”

Henrik stood up straight, wiping away the tears from his eyes. He blinked in surprise. “V-Vait, vait! You – You vant to do it now?!” He asked in alarm.

Anti was already pulled off his shirt, chucking it off somewhere as he took a glimpse at the trembling doctor. He looked a tad bit agitated at the stupid question.

“Yes, I want to do it now! Why would I want to put this off for some other time? Now get over here, you fucking coward!” He snapped harshly, his body glitching out for a moment.

Gathering what little courage he had, Henrik nodded slowly before rushing to get his surgical smock, cap, and mask. He hurriedly slipped on everything, nearly tripping over his feet in the process. He walked over to where Anti was now laying down on his stomach on the operating table, putting on his glasses and snapping on a pair of vinyl gloves. He was about to start hooking him up to his monitors when he distinctly remembered how the creature didn’t have a heartbeat, let alone have a need to breathe to survive. Henrik forgot about that instantly and went to grab the anesthesia mask, ready to knock the demon out, when Anti suddenly lashed out and gripped his arm, stopping him. The abomination jerked his head, taking a look at the doctor.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Henrik blinked, swallowing hard before replying. “Y-You need anesthesia.”

The monster shook his head. “No I don’t.”

“But – But zee pain – .”

“I can handle it.” Anti insisted. “Besides, I don’t trust you. One wrong move, Doctor, and your family is as good as dead.” He let the doctor go before resting his head again. “Now get on with it.”

Looking worried beyond ever, Schneeple stared down at the demon uncertainly. “I-I don’t know about zhis.”

Anti’s demonic eyes locked onto the nervous doctor. “CuT mE oPEn, DaMn IT!” He seethed through his teeth, his body glitching out spastically; a twisted psychotic laugh ringing out of his vocal cords.

Gasping at the sudden outburst, the doctor nodded rapidly and pulled his stainless steel table over so it was right at his side; all of the necessary instruments already laid out, ready to use. Before continuing, Schneeple went over to the nearby counter and rummaged around until he came across a bottle – diethyl ether. He made out the amused distorted chuckle coming from his patient behind him as he grabbed the bottle, opened it, pulled down his mask, and took a good swig of the drug.

“Pathetic. The surgery hasn’t even commenced and the ‘good doctah’ is resorting to intoxication already.” He giggled with delight, as though it were some absurd joke.

Pulling the bottle away from his lips, the doctor staggered over to the operated table, setting the bottle down on the nearby table. He blinked, feeling the drug slowly but surely beginning to kick in. He readjusted his mask over his face, grabbing the overhead light and getting it into the right position.

“F-For vhat I’m about to do,” His breathing was coming out heavy and uneven. He scoffed nervously, “drugs are zee only zhing zhat’ll keep me sane.”

Without another word, Henrik proceeded with the operation. He stared down at the creature’s back, feeling along it to first indicate where he’d make the incision. His heart jolted when he felt faint movement under his fingertips, like something was squirming – throbbing – right beneath the surface of the entity’s skin. Swallowing hard, the good doctor reached for his scalpel. He knew that with an operation such as this, an electrocautery pen would normally be used to limit the blood flow, but he had no time to find that damned instrument. Besides, Anti wasn’t human – who knew how his biology functioned? Gently touching the entity’s back, before making the incision, Henrik eyed the demon’s head.

“Please…t-try to remain in control of yourself.” He begged. “One wrong slip and who knows vhat’ll happen.”

Anti only gave a soft growl in reply, taking a deep breath to try and stabilize his glitching form. Carefully, the doctor pressed the blade into the flesh of the demon, and slowly dragged it all along the length of his back, from the base of his spine up to where the cervical spine was located. A hiss was heard coming from the entity, but he surprisingly managed to stay still. Small lines of blood trailed out of the long cut, weaving down over the monster’s pale body and onto the table. If this had been any ordinary human being he was operating on, Schneeple would’ve most certainly been worrying right now. But seeing as Anti wasn’t human, he carried on with the procedure. Setting the scalpel aside and exchanging it for two sets of self-restraining retractors, the doctor proceeded to pull open the incision; slowly peeling back the skin and muscle of the demon’s back. Almost immediately, Anti tensed up all over, a growl rumbling out of him as he gripped the edges of the table tightly. He couldn’t hide it, he felt the pain, and it was excruciating, far worse than when he had slit his throat open. And although he was in great pain, he did not stop the doctor – he did not dare ask for anesthesia. He was going to go through with the agony, he WANTED to. Those heartless traitors he once thought were his family had created him, they had given him life, and they made him the way he was. They had been in control for so long, they could shape him any which way they wanted…but after this…no more.

Never again.

As Henrik pulled open the back of the demon, much blood began to gush out; washing over the pale flesh and flooding the table, some even managed to drip down onto the tiled floor at the doctor’s feet. He cursed repeatedly under his breath, a shaky breath leaving him at the amount of blood leaving the entity. It only seemed a lot worse when he noticed what looked like some sort of black slime-like substance leaking out along with the crimson. He gagged, turning his head away for a brief moment to collect himself. Anti had been right – he was going to see the abnormal insides of an inhuman creature, and he honestly didn’t know if he was going to be able to handle it. A soft chuckle came from the entity, knowing fully well how the doctor was reacting. Taking a small break, Henrik stopped and tugged down his mask to take a large gulp of the ether, needing the drug to kick in a bit faster. Slamming down the bottle, he adjusted his mask and returned to the operation, blinking a few times over since his vision was blurring in and out of focus thanks to the drug.

Using the retractors, he peeled back the flabs of flesh and muscle until the creature’s spine was exposed to him. The insides of the abomination were certainly nothing the doctor had seen before – everything was tinted green and black, lines of black weaving out in every which direction; pulsing with evil. There were small black spots all over the muscles, giving them the sickly appearance of being horrifically infected. His breathing beginning to pick up out of just how disturbed he was getting, the doctor grabbed for his Cobb elevator and surgical sponge and dug in deep, carefully pushing any muscle away from the entity’s bones to allow himself a better visualization. He nearly screamed when the muscular walls seemed to throb, only to then come upon what looked like wires and circuits deep down and lining the creature’s spine. Anti suddenly released a scream at feeling his muscles get pulled and stretched, his entire body glitching out spastically for a moment; the overhead light flickering as a result. The doctor jumped back in alarm, cursing in German as he stared in horror at the insides of the monster. Tears were beginning to come to the man’s eyes, both red and black substances coating his hands and staining his smock. The poor doctor was visibly trembling now, shaking his head.

“I-I can’t…I-I can’t do zhis…” A tear ran down his face. “Z-Zhis…Z-Zhis is so wrong – operating on a v-very much c-conscious inhuman…c-creature. I-I can’t.”

Anti suddenly whipped his head around, glaring daggers at the doctor. “YoU WiLL! NeEd I rEmiNd yOu oF yOUr dArLiNg family?” He spat harshly.

The reminder of his family’s lives on the line made Henrik’s poor heart constrict painfully, causing him to nearly keel over, gripping his chest tightly. Another tear fell from one of his eyes, his hands shaking as he nodded and stepped forth to continue with the surgery. He didn’t want to do any of this, he knew it was all so wrong and disturbing beyond words, but if it meant keeping his family alive and safe, he had to do it. He would do anything the demon would ask of him.

“I-I’m so sorry...p-please forgive me.” He muttered under his breath, hoping like hell his wife and kids wouldn’t ever find out about what he was currently doing. If they ever found out, he would truly lose them forever.

With the manifestation’s abnormal muscles pushed to the side to reveal the spine, Henrik let out an unsteady breath, eyes widening at what he was looking down at. All along the creature’s spine was what seemed like a giant throbbing root-like organ; coiled up securely around the entire length of the spine. It was an inky black, thin lines of moss green weaved out all along it; glowing brightly with each pulse. It was like the thing had a life of its own – like it was breathing – leeching onto Anti’s spine. There were both thick and thin black veins protruding from the organ, branching out in ever which direction; linking up to the creature’s organs, nerves, veins, and any of the wires and circuits that were intact. Inky ooze smothered the entirety of the organ, and when the doctor went to prod at it with a finger, he could’ve sworn he felt something slither underneath the tissue. His eyes scanned up and down the thing with equal parts horror and fascination.

“V-Vhat…V-Vhat is zhis?” He questioned, fear very much evident in his voice. He was greatly disturbed at what he was seeing. He hadn’t the slightest idea what it was, but whatever it was, Anti wanted it removed NOW.

“Tear it out.” The demon snarled, tensing up and bracing himself for the oncoming pain. “Go oN! RiP it OuT! RiP IT oUt NoW!”

Quickly downing a few gulps of ether and feeling woozy all of sudden, Dr. Schneeplestein steadied himself out against the table; bile rising in his throat as he watched the root-like organ throb, something squirming beneath the surface. Feeling beads of sweat coming to his forehead, the doctor reached over to the table with a trembling hand and grabbed a few nerve hooks; positioning them inside and very carefully maneuvering the entity’s nerves out of the way. Another hiss came from the glitchy manifestation, his grip tightening further on the bloody table he lay upon. As soon as Henrik was sure there weren’t any nerves in the way, he reached for a pair of forceps and his scalpel. His eyes drifted back to the demon’s head, his heart rate increasing to the point all he could hear was his blood rushing through his ears. He let out an unsteady breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in for the last few minutes.

“A-Are you sure about zhis?” He returned his gaze to the throbbing organ, noticing just how complex it was and how it was strategically wired up to anything and everything in the creature’s body. “Zee structure, it’s…i-it’s very complex...If I accidentally sever somezhing or…or you move…”

“JuSt dO iT! GeT it OuT of Me!” It almost sounded like there was trepidation in his voice, like he was afraid of what would happen. And yet, he still did not stop the doctor’s actions. The part of him that made him the community’s creation was lodged deep into his back – it’s how they managed to pull the strings on him. It was the source of how he was the way he was. And here he was, going through drastic measures to have it removed. The community had done this to him; they had driven him over the edge for the last time. And the sooner the strings were cut – the sooner this retched thing was taken out of him – the better.

Not daring to argue with the demon, Henrik proceeded to start cutting into the organ that was coiled around the creature’s spine. Using his scalpel, he carefully began to sever away at each individual vein that sprouted from the organ that was latched onto the rest of Anti’s inner anatomy. Blood and black sludge spewed out, flying into the doctor’s face; causing him to gasp and nearly choke on his own saliva. He sliced away at the veins, plucking at them like the strings on a harp; having them snap one by one. And with each cut, the demon released countless growls and whimpers of agony; his deathly pale fingers clinging to the table for dear life. He was struggling so hard to keep his form from glitching out; there was no way of ignoring the pain no matter how hard he tried. He was drowning in it.

Once all of the cords had been severed, it was time to take out the root of evil – the leech. Using his forceps, the doctor took hold of one end of the organ and slowly began to pull it back, using his scalpel to carefully detach the thing from the vertebra. Almost immediately, Anti arched forward and suddenly let out a bloodcurdling scream, one of which sounded incredibly inhuman. It was distorted and had a bit of a roar to it, and yet agony was evident in it. Normally, anyone would think a scream from Anti would sound enraged or frustrated, but not this one. This one genuinely made him sound like he was in excruciating pain.

As the doctor continued to tug and pull on the parasite latched onto the demon’s spine, scream after horrific scream left the entity’s lips; his grip so tight on the table that he was actually causing enough pressure to bend the edges. Henrik almost felt sorry for the creature – he couldn’t even begin to imagine the amount of pain Anti was experiencing at that moment. He was a tad bit tempted to stop and pump him full of anesthesia just to put an end to the screams and agony, but he knew if he tried – if he made one move – it would be game over for his family, and he wasn’t willing to take the risk.

“I-I’m so sorry…” Tears flooded the doctor’s eyes, a horrendous abomination of disturbance, horror, nausea, regret, and guilt swimming in his gut. He felt sick, genuinely beginning to give the appearance of a corpse. His face was as white as a sheet, and he looked like he was going to faint at any second. “I-I’m so so sorry…”

 Anti could barely even hear the man’s words over his pained screams. He had his face pressed down hard into the operating table, eyes squeezed tightly shut and teeth clenched together, desperately attempting to hold in his shrieks. But the poor thing, he couldn’t hide the agony he was experiencing. Anti had always been a creature to withstand any sort of pain. Hell, he’d almost find some sort of sickening amusement out of it. He could cut himself open, get shot at, and even dismember a limb if he really wanted to. And none of it would bother him – he would laugh with a twisted sense of humour. Sure, he’d feel the pain, but it was more ticklish to him than it was agonizing. If he were human, it would most certainly be the exact opposite.

But fuck, what he was going through at that very moment was the most excruciating, most horrifying thing he had ever gone through in his entire existence.

 This leech was an actual physical part of his body, it was his very core and he was having it cut out of his body. All connections to the community were going to get stripped away, completely gone forever. This thing – it was NEVER going to regrow. He was never going to be a puppet again, a mockery to those callous deceivers he had once believed to be his family.

They weren’t his family…they never had been. The community had only ever seen him as their creation, never their son, and it took him this long to finally realize that.

Family didn’t do this. Family didn’t drive their loved one into having their body mutilated. Family didn’t stand by and not give a fuck about their own son.

If they had truly loved him, none of this would be happening. 

If they had truly loved him, they wouldn’t have hurt him so much to the point of breaking him apart.

Pain wasn’t just strictly radiating throughout his back now. His heart was constricting tightly in his chest, a cancerous growth of shame and hurt swelling up deep inside. He may have not required the need to breathe, and yet, he felt like he was suffocating – like there wasn’t any air in the room whatsoever. His nails dug into the steel table, his limbs trembling from the struggle of holding back his pain. Loud whimpers of a wounded animal rose out of his slashed throat as he felt his eyes beginning to water.

They had done this to him. He knew that this is exactly what they would’ve wanted. After all, he had failed them. He hadn’t given them what they wanted, he hadn’t pleased them. He was becoming a nuisance, a bore, a thorn in their sides. He wasn’t their son, he was a monster who deserved to be punished. He deserved this pain and suffering.

He winced and suddenly jolted, snapping his back forward and letting out an ear-piercing scream at feeling the root getting slowly ripped from his spine. The tendons were stretching in a way they shouldn’t have been able to, tearing apart and coming undone in black, bloody ribbons. A few lone tears finally escaped his eyes, running down his cheeks and onto the table as he screamed.

“I’M – I’M S-SOrRy!”

He cried out in anguish, clawing at the edges of the table as his mind tortured him with visions of the community.

All he could think about was how much of a failure he was, how he was a mistake. Was that what he was – a mistake? Had he never been planned? Is that why they hated him so much? Is that why they were making him do this? He wasn’t the “perfect, beautiful creation” they had wanted him to be, he was just an abomination, an experiment gone wrong and thrown aside. What had he done wrong? WHAT HAD HE DONE WRONG?! 

A few more tendons got stripped away from his spine, black sludge spewing out onto the doctor who was mutilating the glitch’s back. He arched as another pained scream was ripped from his lungs, his entire body glitching and jerking out spastically. A few versions of himself flickered by in seconds flat, none of which were happy, giggly, or enraged. Every single one was of him crying and hugging himself tightly, looking like a terrified child who was desperately longing for comfort from their mommy and daddy.  

“P-PLeAsE! I-I’M SoRRy!” He wailed, choking on his sobs as he endured the blinding-hot torture. His head twitched violently from side to side as he struggled to remain somewhat stable. Tear after tear left his cold soulless eyes, weaving lines of distress on his pale face. His being shook all over, raking his nails along the underside of the table. “MaKE It – It SToP!”

Poor Schneeple – he couldn’t handle hearing the glitching entity’s screams of gut-wrenching agony. He felt like he was butchering a weak, defenseless animal. This was taking a toll on him in the most horrendous way possible. It wasn’t just seeing Anti’s abnormal inner anatomy that was deeply disturbing him. It wasn’t the fact that he was currently removing some disgusting, leech-like parasite from the glitch’s spine that was sending him over the edge.

No, it was the fact that he was operating on a very much conscious patient, and though that patient was inhuman and could withstand pain, it was evident that the agony the creature was going through was genuine and not an act. Those screams, those tears, those pleas to put an end to the agony – none of it was fake. And it was absolutely killing the doctor.

What would his wife think if she knew what he was doing right then and there? Not only was he helping a devious being into getting what he wanted, he was performing surgery on a conscious individual who was writhing in unbearable pain. Oh God, if his wife knew about this…

Henrik felt a few tears run astray down his face as he momentarily stopped what he was doing to reach for his bottle of ether, his hand unsteady and covered in blood and inky residue. He yanked on his mask and gulped down the drug, inhaling and exhaling sharply as he downed more than half of the bottle. He didn’t give a fuck anymore; he honestly could care less how he was making a desperate attempt to fully intoxicate himself. He couldn’t bear with this horror; it was scarring him deeper than anything. As the last few drops of ether slid down his throat, he threw the empty bottle somewhere over his shoulder; a few ragged breaths expelling from his lips. His eyes were scanning over the butchered mess that was his patient lying in front of him. He raised a trembling hand to his mouth, not seeming to care how blood and sludge were now getting smeared over his face.

“S-Shite.” He stuttered under his breath, his stomach churning and nausea circling around in his head; tempting him to hurl right then and there. But he couldn’t stop now. He wanted to – God knows how he wanted to drop everything and run – but he couldn’t. Even if he did, where would he go? He was chained to the floor; there was absolutely no way of him getting free from that shackle. And if he didn’t continue with the procedure, his family would surely be next on the slab.

His vision was swimming now and he was having a bit of difficulty focusing. Clearly the drug was kicking in. His nerves felt like they were on fire, and though he was swaying slightly and feeling weak-kneed, his body was still trembling from the terror. Henrik lazily readjusted his mask before leaning against the table, poorly trying to keep himself upright. He grasped his forceps and scalpel and returned to the nightmare-inducing task, not missing the wheezing whimpers coming from the man upon the table.

Anti lurched and spastically thrashed around for a brief moment, belting out a shrill scream laced with nothing but agony. He tried to hide his face, not wanting the doctor to see how truly wounded he was, inside and out. He was a trembling, crying mess, begging for the pain to end already.

“P-PLeASe! M-MaKE It S-StOp!” He pleaded, not to Schneeple but to the community – his supposed “family”. He whimpered, sobbing and hissing through his teeth as more tendons were peeled away from his spine. His shoulders shook from the force of his crying.

“P-PLEaSe! I-I’LL bE A gOoD BOy! I-I’LL bE A gOoD BOy! I S-SwEAr – FuUuUuCk!” He arched, letting out another scream as he gripped onto the table as though his life depended on it.

Henrik breathed heavily and shakily, constantly cursing under his breath as he worked. Blood and inky sludge was gushing all over his hands, running down in gross sticky strings and globs as he tugged and pulled at the pulsing organ. He struggled to see clearly, what with the tears blurring his vision as well as the effects of the drug fogging up his brain.

“I-I’m s-sorry…” He whispered. “I-I’m d-doing…z-zee best I can.” He was saying this more to himself than he was to the crying, unstable manifestation. He shook his head sluggishly, head heavy from the ether.

“G-Good God, p-please…p-please forgive me.” He sobbed softly, a lone tear trailing down one of his cheeks. “I-I’m n-not…n-not a bad person, I s-svear. I…I j-just…” His lips were trembling under his mask, trying hard to keep himself from bawling his eyes out right then and there. “I-I just v-vant my family t-to be safe.”

Butchering away at the organ and extracting it from the spine, Anti’s form was struggling to stay stable. Every few seconds, he glitched out violently; different versions of himself flashing at a blurring speed. At one point, Henrik’s grip on the scalpel nearly slipped and he had almost thought he had cut a major artery or organ. Luckily he hadn’t. The thing was squirming as he pulled, a gross nauseating squishing sound emitting from the organ as a spray of black ooze splattered onto the doctor’s smock. The leech was hanging on only by a few strong tendons, keeping it firmly attached to the vertebra. The light above him flickered spastically like a strobe light, a few of the other lights in the room bursting unexpectedly. The screens on his nearby monitors were acting out, turning on and off suddenly; getting corrupted by static and pixels. Henrik’s breathing hitched when the demon let out a horrifying scream of pain. He knew all of the supernatural occurrences were because of him – he knew given the last two times he had operated on him, the exact same things had happened. Feeling tears running down his cheeks and his vision beginning to fade in and out, Schneeple severed the organ from the spine; finally extracting it from the demon’s body and tossing it onto a nearby slab. He watched as the green luminescent veins in the organ gradually died down, as did the throbbing of the organ until it was completely lifeless; lying dead and unmoving on the table. 

Panting shakily and feeling beads of perspiration on his forehead running down his temples, the good doctor stumbled backward, struggling to catch his breath. He was covered with blood and sticky black sludge, as was the operating table Anti lay upon. With his hands trembling, Henrik dropped his tools and tore his mask off, a few tears falling from his face at the horror he had just endured. He leaned against a nearby table and sobbed.

“Z-Zhere…Z-Zhere…I-I did…I did v-vhat you vanted…” He cried, stared at his gore-soaked hands. “I d-did it.”

For some time, the demon didn’t respond. He let out a few uneven breaths, but he didn’t reply to the doctor. Instantaneously, the glitching creature’s back closed up in seconds flat; his brutalized flesh and muscle materializing and piecing itself back together without the use of any medical treatment. His eyes flung open, blacker than black as he felt a surge of energy course throughout his body. A low growl came from deep within the bowels of his form, and in a blurring motion, he was off the table and looming over the broken doctor. And before Henrik could react fast enough, everything went black.

* * * * *

Slowly but surely coming to, Henrik’s eyes fluttered open to a blinding white light directly over him. He squinted and winced, moving to lift a hand to shield his eyes, only to realize he could barely move at all. Brows furrowing out of confusion and head throbbing from whatever had knocked him out, the doctor struggled to focus on anything around him.

“V…Vhat is…Vhat is going on?” He asked, slurring his words.

He managed to make out a petite bone-chilling giggle come from somewhere off to his left.

“Ah, zee good doctah is vaking up. Good, good.” He heard the entity speak in a distorted voice, mocking the doctor’s German accent.

Blinking groggily and shaking his head gently in an attempt to focus properly, Henrik turned his head to see Anti standing over him, who was now donning his own surgical attire, complete with cap and mask as well. Only becoming further confused, Schneeple made a move to try and sit up, but found that he wasn’t able to. He tugged at his wrists and ankles and with a pang of dread, the compromising situation he was in finally dawned over him. Glancing downward as his breathing increased, he saw how he was bound to the blood-soaked operating table that Anti had been laying on not too long ago. He jerked and yanked as hard as he could, having a sliver of hope that maybe the bonds would come lose, but they didn’t budge, not one bit. He heard Anti chuckle sadistically, which immediately caused him to jerk his head in his direction and look up at the creature with eyes wide with horror.

“V-Vhat is zee meaning of zhis?!” He demanded, though his voice was trembling with fear. “You vouldn’t hurt me! You said you’d leave us alone if I did vhat you asked!”

“Ah, ah, ah, Doctor. Not quite.” Anti tsked, clicking his tongue as his head twitched spastically. “You see, I said I wouldn’t hurt your family if you did what I said. And I keep my promises, Doctor. No harm will come to your precious wife and kids, I assure you.” He said even though the doctor could clearly hear the smirk in his voice, like he was trying not to burst out laughing.

Henrik shook his head. “N-No…No, no, please. Please don’t kill me!”

The glitch threw back his head and released the most fear-inducing maniacal laugh the German had ever heard, causing Henrik to tense up all over and flinch back.

“Kill you? Oh no, no, no, Doctor, why would I want to kill you? After everything you’ve done for me, you do not deserve death; you’ve proven to be rather useful.” The demon admitted. “That is why I feel the need to give you something in return. You helped me, now it only seems fitting I help you.”

Henrik quivered violently, his heart pummelling away at his ribcage; nerve-racking fear surging through his veins. His pupils were dilated, the horror glistening brightly in his eyes.

“V-Vhat?...H-Help me?” He gulped, hesitant to ask. “H-How? V-Vith vhat?”

A dark chuckle could be heard from deep in the slashed throat of the glitchy entity as he reached over to grab something. Anti looked down upon him, his eyes glowing a luminous green.

“Now now, Doctor, don’t play games with me. You and I both know what the problem is here.” He suddenly held an orbitoclast – the ice pick-like instrument used for lobotomies – right over the man’s right eye socket. He cocked his head, sadistic glee gleaming in the demon’s eyes. “You need a bit of fixing.”

Henrik could’ve sworn his heart had stopped beating for a couple of seconds at the realization of what was going to be done to him. This all seemed far too familiar to him all of a sudden. And with a blink of his eyes, a flashback to October 29th struck him – when he had been operating on Jack – or Anti, as he recently discovered – he had had multiple hallucinations, one of which had been so incredibly vivid and horrific that he had had nightmares for two weeks afterwards. Returning to reality, the poor doctor stared up at the sinister demon pretending to play doctor; fear taking a hold of him. He shook his head violently, now beginning to writhe upon the gore-stained table he was bound to.

“No. No, no, no, NO! NO! PLEASE! Please don’t!” He cried out, tears blurring his vision before falling free. “Please, don’t do zhis! I vant to see my family, zhat’s all I vant! Please!” He tugged away the bonds restraining him, not at all caring how they were digging into his skin. “Please, let me go!”

Blinding white pain erupted in the back of his head as Anti grabbed hold of his hair and slammed his head down on the table, momentarily putting an end to his pleas and struggles. Henrik’s vision was a distorted blurry mess as he tried to look up at the monster, watching as the pick was moved into position over his eye; Anti raising a small hammer over top of it.

“P…P-Plea…ssse..”

Though it couldn’t be seen due to his mask in the way, a terrifying toothy grin stretched across the expanse of the glitchy entity’s face.

“Now,” With a blink of his eyes, they flickered to their natural abyssal black; boring into the German’s soul, “let’s get inside that brain of yours’.”

Letting lose a laugh that would only belong to a deranged psychopath, Anti brought down the hammer. And all throughout the operating room, all throughout the hall leading out off into the deepest darkest parts of the void, a weakened Irishman heard the shrillest ear-piercing, bloodcurdling scream he had ever heard. With anguish tugging viciously at his heart, he too cried out into the darkness.

“ANTI!”

 Part 8 - Ze Good Doctah

Part 10 - Always Watching

Author's Note: About this chapter being crucial - it was already somewhat stated in the chapter how Anti was feeling towards the community, how through his eyes, we don't love him and we view him as anything else but a son. It's also stated in the chapter that he wanted to get the part of him that makes him our creation removed from his body so he's no longer under our control.

What I wanted to do with this chapter was show just how unhinged and damaged Anti truly is because of us. This chapter is his breaking point, this is what happened after "Kill Jack" and how he's no longer going to try and get us to love him, he's going to use fear. But first, he needed to get rid of the strings that connected him to us. In "Kill Jack", he said there were no strings on him, and in the story, I feel he said that more as something to scare us and make us change our ways. But given how we didn't change, if anything we made matters worse, he realized this and saw that he had to now go to drastic measures. We've gotten him to hate us so much that he got his body mutilated just so he couldn't be connected to us anymore. We drove our son into doing something that horrific and it's incredibly disturbing. That's what my goal was with this chapter - really show how far we've pushed Anti.

 @gridhorizon @fear-is-nameless @jse-fandom-protection-squad @septic-obsessed @darkcurious @butterlover328 @steffid101 @sketchy-scribs-n-doods @n-o-ra-xi @haveaverynicetime @golden-eyed-guardians @nightmarewolf133 @maybekatie @jack-a-yote @lil-gib @aeoix @lemonofweirdness @randomcrystals