#the story itself is more than enough to make you weep

[recents]

so we all know astarion was named after the minotaur of greek myth, who, despite widely known as the minotaur (“bull of minos”), was named astarion/asterion (“starry one”) by his mother at birth. asterion the minotaur was trapped in a labyrinth and cursed to devour virginal men and women thrown in there as sacrifices.

”The House of Asterion” is a 1947 short story by Argentine writer Jorge Luis Borges that retells the story of the minotaur from the minotaur’s point of view. it’s one of his best early short stories and it’s very short, only 3 pages long. you can read it here.

borges is in my top 3 favorite writers of all time, and “The House of Asterion” obviously deserves to be considered on its own merits, so i feel slightly irreverent connecting this text to a recent video game. but i reread this short story today and there was much to think about, there were many more seeds planted in my mind in terms of interpretations of the minotaur myth and how asterion the minotaur relates to the story of astarion the vampire. i think it will for you, too.

anyway. if you don’t click through and read it, please at least read how it ends, remembering, of course, that the speaker is asterion the minotaur:

:)

#baldur’s gate 3 #astarion #bg3 #bg3 meta #OPENLY TAGGING THIS. WHO CARES. CRY WITH ME. #maybe im the only person openly weeping abt this in *connection* to astarion bg #the story itself is more than enough to make you weep #god theres something about #I hope he will take me to a place with fewer galleries and fewer doors. #also like. obviously. tav as the redeemer. #‘will he be like me?’ (full of trembling hope) makes me think of durge tav ok shut up #the way ‘my loneliness no longer bothers me’ is so clearly not true from the rest of the pragraph #OKAY

[hazbin-writings-and-musings]

Lucifer Morningstar x Pregnant!Reader Headcanons Part 2

I had a blast writing part 1, so here's some more headcanons of reader progressing through their pregnancy!

Warnings: Pregnancy Mention, Implied Smut

- He doesn't have a pregnancy kink per say, but... seeing you pregnant with his child does things to him that he can't even begin to put into words. He's always found you beyond gorgeous, of course, it's just that now it borders on literal worship. Said worship will be expressed quite physically on a daily basis; he'll slide his hands over your middle, leave trails of kisses up and down your body, and catch himself staring multiple times even before the two of you get out of bed each morning. He can't even really believe that you've somehow managed to get more beautiful, but he'll consistently try to describe the depths of his devotion in song, gifts, and countless hours spent adoring your presence.

- He'll want to start preparing for all baby related events as soon as possible, in part because the arrival of another heir is going to be quite the occasion, but he also just wants everything to go perfectly. The official announcement will come with multiple days of celebration across Hell, including a massive party in the castle itself, and each event that follows will somehow manage to top the last. You'll get enough gifts to fill up multiple rooms, and so many cards with well wishes you could fill up an entire library, but Lucifer expects nothing less. Every ounce of his considerable power is dedicated to making sure you get the best of everything. This dedication also applies to the little things the two of you do together, like decorating the baby's room. He'll insist on hand crafting the furniture, the toys, and every decoration with you directing at his side, and he'll use the most magical materials at his disposal. Hand painting the walls with stardust is not out of the question.

- Things have changed a lot since Charlie was born, and he was previously unaware of the many technological advancements now available for expecting couples, specifically ultrasounds. He's amazed and wants to attend every appointment even more at the prospect of actually seeing your child before they're born. Of course, upon beholding the lopsided blob on the screen for your first check up, he's far more overwhelmed than he could have ever imagined. He can see little hooves and everything! The doctor doesn't quite know what to make of the King near to weeping at the sight of a being no larger than a peanut, but you take it all in stride. Once he finds out that pictures can be taken of the scans, he requests as many as he can carry, and his pockets are bursting with photos of Charlie and her not-yet-born sibling. He'll show them to everyone that does and doesn't ask.

- While he can be overly protective and his efforts to provide for you are more akin to spoiling, he's not at all without cause in doing so; carrying a child of Lucifer is no easy task. As your body becomes the epicenter for a developing power beyond imagination, you'll need him by your side with increasing frequency, especially once the baby's uncontrolled magic starts surging and affecting your reality. You'll be unharmed, but it's still quite nice to have Archangel level powers around to get things back to normal once you start inexplicably walking up the walls, speaking in dead languages or levitating random items with a glance. He takes it all in stride with humorous stories about how Charlie did the same before her arrival, though your cravings for increasingly esoteric rare foods do have him apologizing for the inconveniences of angelic biology, as even he needs a few days to acquire the rarer items your body demands.

- As delighted as he is to have another child, he can't help but be haunted by doubts of all he's done wrong as a father so far. No matter how much of it was out of his control, he fears everything that went wrong will happen again, and that he might just be gaining a second child to fail. It's only through your loving reassurance that he retains some faith in himself, and dares to believe he'll be a halfway decent dad to two children.

#hazbin hotel #lucifer morningstar #lucifer #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin lucifer #hazbin hotel x reader #lucifer x reader #x reader #hazbin x reader #lucifer smut #lucifer imagine #lucifer morningstar x reader #hazbin #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin x you #hazbin headcanons #lucifer morningstar headcanons #lucifer headcanons #hazbin hotel headcanon #headcanon #hazbin imagine #hazbin hotel imagine #lucifer morningstar imagine #pregnancy #charlie morningstar

[daisyswift3]

UMM so cruel summer and a lot of other songs are making a lotttt more sense now that I’ve realized the “devil” that Taylor keeps referring to is actually the music industry as a whole thanks to @keepingsecretstokeepyoutk (see this post). “He looks up grinning like a devil” // “I would’ve stayed on my knees and I damn sure never would’ve danced w the devil AT 19” // “Dear reader if you aim at the devil make sure you don’t miss.” Do you remember the Top Global Artist vid that spotify released that had cruel summer as the background song and had a bunch of cruel summer references? Yeah go back and watch that again w this context in mind 😃 Taylor (the angel) has had enough of the games and is gonna end them once and for all which is very Katniss Everdeen of her—hello the archer 🏹 if any of you have read or watched the hunger games you know how the story ends

And you'll also remember that Katniss escapes the games twice by cheating--the first time w poison berries and the second time by destroying the arena itself (which was a clock) WITH itself using a lightning strike current at midnight that shot thru her arrow -> "And there was one prize I'd cheat to win." Not to mention Katniss was the mockingjay, a symbol of rebellion and resistance. And the fire symbolism in this trilogy was meant to represent how that rebellion can spread from a spark of hope. Snow lands on top but fire melts snow. Taylor is a huge hunger games fan so I wouldn't be surprised at all if these parallels were intentional. Also I'm not the first one to notice the hunger games connections, I saw some other gaylors point this out so I can't take full credit for that

“You play stupid games you win stupid prizes” // “Devils roll the dice” // "Baby let the games begin" // The scrabble instagram post // The mastermind chess board // "You see all the wisest women had to do it this way, cause we were born to be the pawn in every lover's game" // "No more keeping score now I just keep you warm. No more tug of war now I just know there's more"

I think it's possible Taylor knew that her masters were gonna be sold hence all the game imagery and songs abt heartbreak on lover

She's literally gonna take down the industry as a whole and expose everything. This is the reason for all the cryptic messages and meticulous planning. AND THIS IS WHAT THE ALBATROSS IS ABT TOO. “She’s the albatross she is here to destroy you.” They tried to keep her locked away in cages and towers and closets and tried taming her and pulling out her teeth but it didn’t work

“Devils that you know raise worse hell than a stranger” SHE’S the devil now and she’s abt to make their lives a living hell

“She’s the death you chose” i.e. the music industry chose to kill Taylor (which is why TTPD is a post-mortem album) so now she’s coming back to haunt them hence the ghostly Victorian attire. “We gather here we line up weeping in a sunlit room and if I’m on fire you’ll be made of ashes too.” THIS is the karma she’s talking abt that will happen at midnight!!

“You’ll see me in hindsight tangled up w you all night burning it down”

I am the APPARITION. I am the LINE OF POETRY. THAT’S TAYLOR. SHE’S THE GHOST WRITING POST-MORTEM POETRY

Literally feel like I am abt to explode from all the earth-shattering revelations I’ve just had

#pumpkin anon i can’t thank u enough for these messages #also sb^2 u can suck a fat one #gaylor #gaylor swift #ttpd #closeting #bearding #pumpkin #the albatross #karma mv #orange karma theory #devils #cruel summer #top global artist #spotify #angels #games #mastermind #meet me at midnight #hunger games #the archer #katniss everdeen #parallels #maathp #the industry

[bhaalergate]

I offer another snippet of my gortash/dark urge writing. I will come back to this story, but right now I have been consumed by my own dark urge: to cowrite a massive fix-it fic with my friend. Please look forward to it and accept this token in the meantime.

“You sought my attention and now you have it,” the killer ground out. “You will show proper respect and get to the point or I will demonstrate the lengths of my patience by making you beg for my Father’s blessing, Banite.”

Thus did another thread loosen from the tapestry and resolve itself before Enver's eyes. To worship Bane, in his humble and unbiased opinion, came easier than worship of Bhaal. Fewer men didn't seek power and control than those who did; it was the natural instinct of thinking creatures, just a few cognitive functions above fighting and fucking. Bane bid men to embrace that instinct and make their desires manifest at every cost. He sanctified the spinning of straw into gold and cared not whose fingers were broken upon the wheel or bloodied by its needle. Bane forgave all but failure. Either man embraced his ambition or he was crushed beneath the ambitions of another. 

(Enver knew the weight of a tyrant's heel upon his back and he would never, ever fucking suffer it again. He would crush the world first.)

If Bane was a spinning wheel then Bhaal was a pair of bloodied shears, jaws gaping open to sever the strings of fate before they could fray and fade. He commanded power over life through death, and death alone, endless endings wrought by ravenous hands that hungered for slaughter, every pair yearning to be the last. It was a faith populated by only the most depraved, a reflection of the Murder God’s own pervading madness. 

But for all his ferocity, the man before Enver was utterly lucid. A son of Bhaal, by his own admission, and his wording had been very precise. Mortal flesh suffused with divine blood and will. It had been over a century since the last Bhaalspawn was recorded in Baldurian history–long before Enver’s time, but recent enough that the stories were still alive and well; cautionary tales told by parents to their children to see them safely home at nightfall. Scars still tender-pink that gouged the city’s underbelly. 

This revelation only made Enver want to wrap that thread around his fingers even more, all that potential within arm’s reach and begging to be seized. Patience, however, would be crucial–after all, no wolf was leashed within a single day. 

He swallowed and the motion of it pushed against the knife’s point like a swooning lover, neatly splitting the surface-level capillaries and weeping a thin trail of hot blood down the length of his throat to pool in his collarbone. 

“And how shall I address you, son of Bhaal?” Enver inquired. 

“You have not yet earned that right,” said the killer haughtily.

#bg3 #writing wip #dark urge #enver gortash #durgetash

[cleromancy]

while from the doylist perspective the stories are specifically propping tim up compared to jason by doing this... i am obviously still very interested in, and compelled by, jason canonically having a pretty high opinion of tim going all the way back to their first meeting.

(for the record, absolutely nothing in-universe justifies jason having this opinion of tim up until tim springs him from prison imo. he beat the snot out of tim in tt29 and it wasn't even hard and yet for some fucking reason he still walks away thinking tim is a Better Robin than he was? like... ok. sure. more thoughts on this later in the post tho)

so the new earth (post-crisis pre-reboot) continuity tim-jason interactions we have, in order, are batman 617-618 (from batman: hush, this ones a retcon and barely counts, its just jason holding tim hostage with a batarang to his throat; and you might also get a glimpse of jay doing this in batman annual 25 lol but its in the other room so im not checking), tt29 (published in the middle of uth coming out, lol), tt47 (countdown tie-in), robin 177 and 182-183 (post-countdown, immediately after jason dumps his red robin costume and one of tims rogues fishes it out of the dumpster to wear, correctly intuiting *for some reason* that this will get to tim), and......... sigh. stupid battle for the stupid cowl.

(and, since were talking about jasons perspective, theres also the picture wall in lost days. i dont know what issue it is because to me lost days is not "made up" of "issues", it is one book i simply open to devour whole whilst weeping.)

i think tt 29 is the interaction i find the most frustrating because... we have an idea what tt29 would have been like if it were good. bc we have ga01 69-72. and granted Tim is such a cocky little shit (affectionate) that jason simply. Would probably not have been able to scare him no matter what, lol... but imagine if this fucking issue had been good.

ok cutting 4 length

the problem with johns. .......the FIRST problem with johns. is that he regularly has interesting ideas and his execution of them completely falls flat. the second problem with johns is that he can't write dialogue. the third problem with johns is that it was really really important to him that you understood what a Talented And Special Boy tim is but instead of showing you that he just forced other characters to. tell you. over and over. jason is not johns' only victim in this quest. (and johns was also not the only perpetrator, as we will see when i get to fuckin fabnic.)

but like i said i *am* actually interested in the potential here, because i do think there is potential.

and i also think that--at least when you read into it as deeply as i do--jason is sympathetic in this issue. (don't give me "hes beating up a child" crap here btw. jason's only 2-3 years older, tims a peer to him, they could easily have gone to high school together if jason hadnt fuckin died.) johns deliberately shows us Jason hoping raven gets a reprieve from the nightmares, and he certainly was *trying* to show us how much it would fucking suck to be remembered as the Bad Robin, forgotten except to be a cautionary tale, what kind of things that would do to a person emotionally. AND he makes a point of highlighting Jason's loneliness and isolation as robin, and. tbh i dont think the issue itself rly blames Jason for that. (you most certainly do not gotta hand it to him though. under no circumstances do you gotta hand it to johns for anything.)

and while jason tearing off his clothes to reveal his party city knockoff robin costume--the better to beat you with, my dear--was, erm. falling mostly on the wrong side of the line btwn camp and cringe... i do think jason writing his own name in blood on the wall was right on the money, *especially* because it was obviously not tims blood. like, tim wasnt bleeding anywhere near enough for that. it was either fake blood or jason prepped his own beforehand for them to DNA test--but also if they saw it before they saw tim, to make them fear for tims life, as a reminder of the risks theyre dealing with here.

oh but i was planning on talking specifically about like. what Jason might actually have seen in tim that left him with a positive impression. as-written? kinda nothing. lmao. or well the one thing imo is this

just kidding i couldn't find the panelz somehow despite posting them literally like yesterday and i ran into this lol:

>:| got distracted again. by this.

anyway i give up ill add the pics later. but its the exchange where jason has *decisively* won the fight, tims crumpled on the floor concussed and winded, and jason demands if tim *really* thinks he was good enough to tail bruce unnoticed for weeks.

and tim says "yes." hes beat up enough he can barely talk but there's still no hesitation whatsoever. and jason is *really* down on himself in this issue--he calls himself a failure, he feels like no one cared about his death, he feels unremembered. and jasons stated intentions here were to get the measure of tim but i also stand by the interpretation that he wanted to warn tim off of the sidekick gig, to remind him you uh. you have to be dick fucking grayson to survive it. (i dont believe either of them mentions him by name, but hey, dicks shadow is big enough for the both of them.)

i think what jason finds worthy of respect here--and, on top of that, intriguing enough that in robin 177 he entreats tim to join him--is the confidence, and also? at absolutely no point does tim believe jason is there to kill him. not a fuckin high bar, i know, but like i said i do think jason had *planned* to try and scare tim off (just also mega derailed himself by accident bc he got too in his feelings about the statue room 🥺), and... its not a bar he would have expected Tim to clear, is all im saying. particularly because while it is *possible* this took place in the middle of uth (tt 29 was released in november 05, between batman 646 and 647, which is the part where slade shows up bc black mask hired him to take jason out, so tt29 couldnt have happened in the middle of those two specific issues, but there are several other points at which jason could have taken a break in menacing gotham to fly to san Francisco), with Jason talking so negatively about himself i have to assume this is after the end of uth.

(you might be able to place this in the in-universe chronology by if/when teen titans mentions chemo dropping on bludhaven, which happens immediately before the bruce-jason-joker final showdown. however i dont feel like poking around for that or any other details to anchor tt29 to the other events happening at the time rn.)

i just also think so much of what jasons doing in this issue is like--he doesn't know *what* hes there to do. he had a plan and hes kinda fumbling it, not because tim is being especially resourceful but because jasons still licking his emotional wounds from uth, and titans tower is bringing up ones i dont think he ever realized hadnt healed. hes feeling everything at once. hes angry and hurt and full of self loathing but i think by the time tim simply says "yes," jason hits the stage of just being... burnt out. done lashing out, fucking tired, just wants to go home, if he can ever find it.

but i do think that "yes" would stick in his craw for a long time afterwards.

tt47: tim kicks jason in the nuts and pretty much declares them even for tt29 lolol. you may have seen my post about how jason only *sometimes* wears armor in countdown--hes drawn in the armored turtleneck and tac pants in tt47, but there are times in countdown hes out there fighting aliens and metas and shit in his jacket, a *t-shirt,* and *jeans.* just a squishy regular degular baseline human doing this and no one ever brings it up. but anyway. do i think tim would have seen jason wearing the equivalent of civvies plus a domino mask, narrow in on that, and immediately decide to kick him in the balls? i sure do. do i also think that this would make him rise in jasons estimation?

yeah. yeah, i really do. lol

anyway after this! after this is jasons briefish world-hopping stint as red robin saving the universe being a big damn hero and getting paid dust by everyone around him, in countdown; i think i mentioned before in this post that at the end he abandons the red robin suit in a dumpster, where it gets picked up by one of tims rogues. this storyline sucks and fabnic is a hack unfortunately. the rogue did it bc he wants tims attention or whatever. not important except for how irritating it is that fabnic fumbled a concept this juicy (tim inheriting and eventually purposely adopting The Bad Robin Mantle) which is also further fumbled by stupid battle for the stupid cowl, and the people who it falls to to salvage it are. johns again, in adventure comics 3, and yost, who is a better writer than johns or fabnic but not by like a huge margin.

and while i do think tim having a bad opinion of jason at this point was inevitable i find it so frustrating the way it was executed... like so often with Bad Tim Writing and also fuckin DC Editorial's Jason Slander Agenda shit it wasn't because in-universe thats how the characters would feel, the writer was using tim as a mouthpiece, and jasons competence and things he cares about arent taken seriously... BUT WHATEVER the point is that when Tim goes to stop Jason from his villainous scheme to reduce crime or whatevr jason has such a high opinion of him that he asks tim to join him:

and jasons loneliness, his desperation to be heard, is such a theme for him in the new earth/post crisis era and i wish it had been. Handled better lol are you noticig a theme here its that Jason has been written badly. (tim too, tbh.) and when tim says no jasons dejected but unsurprised acceptance breaks my heart. but to me the most interesting part of jasons appearance at the end of tims robin series is in 182, when tim--for absolutely no good reason--gives jason the means to break out of prison.

he says something about how its what Bruce would have wanted, but for. reasons i wont get too deeply into rn, that absolutely does not hold water.

anyway i just think there's no way jason doesn't start crushing on tim at least a little at this point. shrug.

bftc sucks and i dont want to look at it rn. but its also got examples of jasons high opinion of tim. and also im mad at it bc both countdown AND his appearances in robin feel like they could have been taking jason to a like. more of an antihero type of role and then we get bftc and morrison and its kind of. fucking hard to get jason anywhere near back on track after that for those of us who still like playibg in the post-crisis pre-reboot sandbox. and i wouldnt be mad about that if bftc had been good bc Jason absolutely does make an incredibly interesting and effective and tragic antagonist when handled well but well. he wasnt. and i have no idea what bftc would.have even been like if it was good bc it was so off the wall and dumb and assassinated actually *everyones* characters. so.

anyway

im just going to roll back to robin 183 now

jasons referring to the damage tim got when he got a little bit exploded in 180, this pretty nasty burn on the back of his head, which was actually why he wore jasons RR cowl for the first time (he was still robin). but what you do see here--aside from Tims narration which puts him *firmly* on the side of obnoxiously arrogant and judgmental instead of charmingly cocky in this issue, to my estimation, thanks for nothing fabnic--is the two of them on firmly cordial terms. jason still thinks more highly than tim does of him, but theyre asking each other about their injuries... tim caring about the wellbeing of people he doesn't even like is par for the course with him, ofc, but once again Jason doesn't really get that a whole lot. constantly haunted by this panel from countdown btw:

does he though!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

here is another jaytim preboot canon interactions post from a few months ago with some more thoughts, some repeated lol.

anyway. incoherent rambling complete for now. however. jaytim time is all the time 👍 i will revisit this.

#dc #text #jaytim again? no problem #jaytim #meta #jaytim text

[nirikeehan]

Dragon Age Lore Prompts 

Bits of lore compiled from codex entries, letters, and other marginalia found throughout Thedas.

In the Mists: The Windline Marcher. A ghost ship. Still, the story continues to be told, its intent to chill, amuse, or even titillate. As a consequence, the tale has grown more colorful over time. In many later versions, the "Marcher" is manned by a crew of stunningly beautiful spirits, who can fulfill one's deepest (carnal) desires, should one succeed in boarding the ship.

The Lost City of Barindur. A city lost to time or disaster. Swaying grass hid flocks of birds so vast that when they took flight, their numbers blocked the sun. This, our guide informed us, was the great city of Barindur, wonder of the ancient world, famed for its fountains which were said to grant eternal youth.

The Pyramids of Par Vollen. Structures of unknown purpose pre-dating the Qunari. Par Vollen's distinctive pyramids, looming from the overgrowth, have remained largely intact, even if their intended purpose has been lost. They do not seem to be tombs, though some chambers contain bodies that have been carefully preserved. Amazingly, the pyramids' proportions are mathematically perfect. 

Confessions of a Lyrium Addict. Rare first person account of the Templars' plight. But the ration's too small. If they don't give you enough, your hands get cold. The sky starts to press down on you. Little things slip away. So you have to stay.

The Aeonar. Mage prison found abandoned by Seekers, with no sign of violence, during the Mage-Templar war. Accused maleficarum and apostates are held in the confines of Aeonar. Those who have a powerful connection to the Fade, and particularly to demons, will inevitably attract something across the Veil, making the guilty somewhat easier to tell from the innocent.

Notes on Methods of Enchantment. Ancient notes on enchanting eldritch items. Using up the last of the stock was well worth it, as I explained to it as a courtesy before final work began. Adjustments to the underlay were a great success, and will allow the recipe to be made with material taken from lesser animals, if the need arises.

The Hand That Cuts. A unique ring. This ring grows unusually warm when slipped onto a finger. It pulses slightly and steadily, as if in time with the wearer's heartbeat.

The Eye That Weeps. A unique amulet. This amulet is heavy for its size, and the metal is clammy and sticks jealously to the flesh. The gem in the center contains a liquid that glowers a sluggish red in bright light. Condensation slowly forms on the gem's outer surface, no matter how many times it's wiped clean.

The Bind that Guides. A unique belt. No matter how loosely this belt is tied, after a few steps, it warps itself snugly around the waist. The stitching, while fine, is of a strange, thin thread that resembles hair and can't be cut with even the sharpest knife.

The Skin That Stalks. Unique armor. The leather of this armor gives off a faint, living heat. It is heavier than it looks, but the weight and warmth are somehow comforting. The armor makes little noise in motion, and after a surprisingly short time, wearing it feels quite natural.

Chronicles of a Forgotten War. An account of encounters with mysterious Scaled Ones in the Deep Roads. A robed Scaled One stood before the altar. Its voice was different from the others: softer, almost feminine. It chanted and raised a basin of blood towards the altar. The other Scaled Ones bowed low. The robed Scaled One produced fire from its palm and mouth and ignited the blood.

Grim Anatomy. A book on animal dissection and demonic possession, by an unknown author. It's not wearing the creature's skin. It has become the creature: its mind, its senses... its blood.

The Hedge Witch. A witch who transformed herself into a giant hawthorn bush. She possessed only a modicum of magical power—enough to draw the templars' attention, but not nearly enough to defend herself from them. As the templars closed in on her, Saramish worked a spell of transformation. No one knows what her intentions were, but the outcome could not have been to her liking. 

Arboreal Fort. Creative solutions to uncommon problems. Flatten the area? —Cullen. Of course the commander suggests hitting the hills until they forget they're hills. —L I was joking. Meanwhile, have you threatened to cut out anyone's tongue today? —Cullen Thinking about it right now. —L

A Compendium of Orlesian Theater. Fascinating cultural practices from the artistic heart of the empire. If a director believes they can sell the part, men can play dowagers, women can play dukes, and even an elf can play a king. Once donned, the mask is understood to be absolutely them. None of the actors I spoke to could explain to me the history behind this tradition, but bristled when I suggested other nations find it strange. 

She of the Highwaymen Repents. A song unsung for a dead man walking. For know my crime was cruel, and all my pain deserved. I stand here as a fool, despite my brother served.

The Silver Knight. The final verse for a fallen knight. In lost verses of a song, painstakingly unearthed, I found the answer to my question. Who could bear the weight of a people destroyed by his hand?

The Executors. Those across the sea. “Remember that, for the moment, we are not your enemy.”

Constellation: Visus. The Watchful Eye. The early Inquisition took Visus as the symbol of their holy calling when they joined the Andrastian faith: the Eye representing both their search for maleficarum and the Maker's judgment upon their actions. When the Inquisition ended and became the Seekers of Truth and the Templar Order, the templars took the sword while the Seekers retained the eye.

The Lover's Alcove. To be seen not being seen. Dignity of course requiring that one does not also make use of the darkness for actual physical gratification. This has, of course, never occurred.

#writing prompts

[the-hinky-panda]

I don't think you're right for him (Hey) think of what it might've been

You can read the previous parts of this series here.

Relationships weren’t your thing. They never really were. You had been married once, when you were young and dumb enough to believe the promises that people made to you. It lasted for three years before you ended it and cut him loose. Two years after that came the double whammy of a life-saving hysterectomy and the MS diagnosis. You were helping another professional when you came off the horse and the rail splintered, impaling you in the abdomen. The hysterectomy saved your life but it also opened the door for them to run more tests when they saw a shadow on your spine from one of the scans to look at the internal damage caused by the rail. 

The nurses had tiptoed around you, fearing weeping and wailing over the loss of not being able to have children. But you had never wanted them to begin with. You certainly didn’t want them when you were with your ex. As a single woman trying to make it in a man’s business, you didn’t want the complication that a baby would bring. And now with the monster of MS staring down at you, a pregnancy would bring about too much of a strain on your body. Not to mention the possibility of passing it along to your child. 

You tell Filip this, with the orange dawn light peeking through the lace curtains of the hotel room in Ireland and his fingertips trailing over the raised scar on your abdomen. He’s the first man that you’ve told about the surgery, about how your diagnosis came about. This, laying in his bed, with his hands still on your skin, while you tell the story of the worst day of your life, and it’s far more intimate than anything else that has happened in the bed. 

You can’t just walk away from him now. This is not a one night stand where you both go back to your lives as if nothing significant has happened. There are signs, little tells that occur when reality starts bleeding back into your world that he feels the same effect. Bags need to be packed, flights need to be caught. Business as usual. Except it isn’t. He carries your bag downstairs for you, gets you both coffee while you wait for the cab to take you to the airport and yours is fixed exactly the way you like it. You sit close together in the backseat of the cab, hands entwined so naturally you didn’t even realize it until you arrived at the airport. 

You’re not a touchy-feely type person. You used to be though. As a child, you felt everything, the entire range of emotions. You felt connections to people, animals, the earth itself. That’s what drew you to the horses, you felt like you spoke the same language. But then people started to demand things from you when you became a teenager. They wanted that connection you had to the horses, they wanted your riding talent. And when your body changed, they wanted that too. Alcohol and drugs dulled the feelings of being used so that you could enjoy the horses. No one could touch you when you were on the back of a horse so that’s what you lived for. But as you sit next to Filip on the flight from Belfast to Newark, you wonder what it would be like to live for something else. 

Someone else. 

You study his profile on the flight, your thumb absently dragging over one of the bulky rings on his hand. The sweep of his iron gray hair, tucked behind his ear. The straight line of his nose, the deeply etched scar across his cheek. You know he’s smiling when a dimple appears and you quickly avert your eyes in slight embarrassment. 

“What?” 

“Nothing,” you respond, continuing with your fiddling with the ring. 

“Uh huh,” comes the disbelieving response. “You haven’t said hardly a word all morning. Normally, you can’t stay quiet. Something’s going on inside that head of yours.” 

This is the part when you would disappear, slink away to get lost on the dance floor or go to another club and get tangled up with someone else. But you’re stuck on a plane, somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean, and there’s no place to hide. Maybe that’s a good thing though, not having an escape route this time. You have to face this, face him. Because out of all the one night stands and possible suitors, Filip Telford was worth taking this chance. 

You’re not able to find the proper words, or any words to address his observation until you’re both sitting in an airport bar waiting for your flight to LAX. You’re on your second martini when you blurt out the truth of the matter in the most simplest terms you can manage. 

“I don’t know what I’m doing.” 

His dark eyes scan your face, looking for any clues as to what you’re talking about. The comment he had made about you being quiet had happened three hours ago so confusion over your statement isn’t unexpected. “Don’t know what you’re doing with what?” 

“This. Us.” You rub a hand over your face. “Relationships.” 

“Ah.” 

You hear the defeat in his voice, realize there’s some untold story behind the disappointment, that you’re not the only one with baggage. You have no idea what to say because you have no idea what has happened to him to make him jump to the worst interpretation of your statement. You brush your fingertips over his knuckles. “Filip, listen…” 

***

“I can’t do this anymore.” 

He had heard the music, some R&B shit that Althea plays whenever she’s in the trenches of self pity and doubt. The scent of weed came after he opened the door to her apartment. It was going to be one of those nights. And he’s tired. So bone weary exhausted that he doesn’t have it in him to play this game. But he has to say something. They can’t stare down each other until the other blinks. It’s best to give her the floor, let her rant and see where they end up afterwards.That’s the dance they step to, that’s what’s so tiring.“What?” 

“I don’t know what I was thinking. Jesus, I’m an idiot. It’s not you, Filip.” 

The side of his mouth quirks up in a disbelieving grin. The old “it’s not you, it’s me.” He would have hoped she was a bit more creative than that. Maybe she’s tired too. 

“I always put myself in these situations where, that just can’t go anywhere. I just seek out shit that I know is going to crash and burn. I’m sorry, I should have never let this happen.”

No, he shouldn’t have let this happen. Certainly not for this long. The cop and the criminal. Only one of them is going to win at the end of the day. If she loses, she’ll be dead. If he loses, he’ll be incarcerated. There are no happy endings in sight for either of them and the old feelings of failing in a relationship, failing someone, start to rise in his chest. He’s twenty-two and leaving Ireland, leaving a wife and sweet faced baby girl all over again. So much for waiting over twenty years and trying it again. Failure was his destiny. 

He took the joint from Althea, inhaled a couple deep breaths, and blew it out in a long stream of smoke. “Okay.” 

He stood up and grabbed his kutte, pulling it back on. He heard Althea get up from her crouched position on the floor. “That’s it? ‘Okay?’” 

He sighed and raised his eyes to the ceiling. “What do you want from me, Althea?” 

What does anyone want from him? God, he was so fucking tired. 

That tiredness settles like a familiar weight on his shoulders. He knows what’s coming next. Last night was fun but…This was just an international fling…you understand, right? 

“Filip!” 

Your fingers are still tapping on his hand and he slips it out of your reach, picking up his scotch glass. “Aye, I heard you.” 

“I don’t think you did.” 

He glances over at you, sees that smart ass slight twist of your lips. He’s struck with just how beautiful you really are. And how that doesn’t matter anymore. “Then what is it?” 

“I’m trying to tell you I’m shit at being in a relationship. But,” you take a deep breath, “but I want to try. With you. If you want.”

He feels some of the weight start to lift. This isn’t a “go separate ways” speech. This isn’t a “it’s not you, it’s me” excuse. You want the opposite. You want to continue this back in Charming. And the hope that blossoms in his chest forces him to tamper down the relieved smile that wants to appear. Instead, he tones it down to a half grin and takes a sip of his scotch. “You really are shit at this.” 

You huff in annoyance but there’s no real edge to it. “You’re not much better, are you now?”

Maybe this is how it’s supposed to work, this open acknowledgement of not knowing what to do and moving forward anyway. Maybe he’s not giving the two of you enough credit. He finishes the scotch before laying his hand over yours. The tattoo on your wrist is peeking out from the cuff of your cardigan and he traces it with the pad of his thumb. He asks the same question he posed to Althea that night, the night he should have continued to walk back out the door. 

“What do you want from me?” 

Your hand turns as you slip your fingers between his, you go back to playing with the heavy silver of his rings. “Just you, whatever you’re willing to give.” 

#chibs telford x you #chibs telford x reader #filip chibs telford x reader #filip chibs telford x you #chibs telford fic #filip chibs telford fic

[shady-tavern]

Preview for "Sanctuary" the November Patreon Short Story

(warning for minor violence (once against a child) and implied murder, please be sure to take care of yourselves!)

*.*.*

The village you grew up in was near an ancient forest, one so old and large it had become known as the Myth Forest, for it housed many a magical creature and forgotten ruin. 

Usually, villages like yours didn't survive long near such places. Neither the creatures nor its guardians took kindly to humans and sooner or later the villages were either starved into abandonment or slaughtered out of existence.

Your home was one of the lucky few, for it had been built along the king's road and therefore mercenaries and monster slayers visited frequently. Those people were what kept your village alive, bringing coin and business. The fact that barely any of them ever came back didn't seem to deter other adventurers or blades for hire to try their luck.

You had always kept your distance to the forest, as did all the other villagers. The elders had long since stopped warning the outsiders passing through, for no one ever listened. Your home was the last one the road by the Myth Forest and therefore the last pit stop of those who wanted to venture inside, to bring back spoils and slain beasts for mages and alchemists.

"We have more common sense than them," your mother answered when you asked her about why no one in the village ever walked past that wild grassland separating the neat fields from the wild forest. Why no one ever went inside, not even when they had had a bad harvest.

"You don't return alive," your father added. "The guardians make sure of that and you'd be a right fool to cross beings a forest as old as that listens to."

"Pay attention to the winds, child," your grandmother said, knitting socks at a steady, swift pace. "The next time one of those groups goes into the forest."

It took less than a fortnight for another group of monster slayers to show up and that day you kept the windows in your room wide open. You knew what your grandmother had talked about as soon as the sun set. 

You had heard howling winds plenty of times, had once seen a storm so terrible it had uprooted trees and you had heard sharp winter winds whistle through patchy walls.

This was different. This was fury made air, it was violence and ruthlessness and the forest creaked and groaned like a thousand shrieking and moaning voices. Very faintly you heard screams so terrified it made all the fine hair on your body stand up straight.

You slammed the windows shut quickly, heart pounding and you never again asked about the forest.

You were as determined to ignore the forest and the mythical creatures within as the rest of the village. There was no reason to get close, no reason to think or talk about it as long as your home remained safe and untouched.

Right up until you stumbled across an injured, curled up child near the fields. You had gone to pluck blueberries from the bushes at the edges of the village territory and you gasped in alarm, hurrying over to the small shape. It looked to be a few years younger than you.

"What happened?" you asked, horrified when you noticed the blood and the broken arrow shaft sticking out from its side. You knew enough from the hunters in your village that that was bad. They never let any of you or the other older children play with a bow and arrow without them around.

You stilled when the child lifted it's head and you realized this was no human child. It had bright, spring green eyes and hair like spun copper and it bared sharp teeth in warning. It tried to push itself up, only to collapse back with a weak cry of pain, shaking all over.

Then it began to weep as it curled up tighter, trembling arms covering its head, muffling sobs that sounded too resigned for your comfort. As if it knew it would die. Your heart clenched as tightly as your fingers held onto your berry basket.

The monster child was going to die if it didn't get help and there was no way the village would lift a finger to aid it. Everyone was too scared of inciting the wrath of the myths and their guardians to touch it.

You glanced over at the forest. It was too far for the child to make by itself, it couldn't even sit up anymore.

Then you heard calls in the distance, men shouting and hounds barking and the child flinched and whimpered. You made your decision then and there. 

*.*.*

Would you like to read more? Head over to my patreon! The story will be posted on 1st of November, but until then, there are already three other stories available, previews to which you can read here, here and here!

#my writing #preview #short story #fantasy #forest guardian #patreon #monster lover

[sillyfanatic]

Opposites attract

Hiiii everyone, happy holidays!!! For those of you who like castlevania, here's some smut <3 Minors DNI i dont want to see anyone under 18 interacting with this fic.

This fic is directly inspired by 'first sip of early spring' by tragic performer on AO3, read it here. (And read it before you read my little fic <3)

p.s; if you're not a part of this fandom and / or don't like smut, no need to interact with this :3

click here to read this fic on ao3!!!! ooooo

(wc; 6313)

-

Trevor had not been keen on Alucard’s invitation – it wasn’t the proposition itself, nor the person who offered it that uneased him, no, it was something else, it was, it was…

It was because they’d finished their mission, fulfilled their purpose – and was it not supposed to be over, now? Was this partnership – if you could call it that –finished?

Should they be parting ways? Shouldn’t they be?...

He wanted to. More than anything, he wanted to leave – there’d been an itch in his legs for months now, a pulling sensation in his chest that pleaded him to turn tail and run, to be the coward he’d always been.

God, he wanted to.

But now? Now, he felt closer to death than ever before. It was a dreary feeling; an aching in your bones, sharp pains accompanying your every breath. It was sore muscles and the inability to feel your limbs properly, and a question floating in the back of his mind; had living always felt this dreadful? He was not sure he could recall.

There was a dull sensation in his head that’d been there for a while now – an overwhelming tiredness, a mix of despair and exhaustion, the kind you only had the misfortune to feel in that moment after the near-death adrenaline wore off.

It’s why the sight of the guest bedroom was almost enough to make him weep (if he could remember how to do so; he might have let himself.)

There was a bed. It’s all he could focus on now. A bed. The kind of bed fit for a castle, for God’s sake.

“Belmont?” The voice besides him managed to captivate his attention again, and as he turned to his right, he was met with the face of an acquaintance. Those piercing eyes, the kind that lived a life so different from Trevor’s. It sent a chill down his spine – or perhaps, was that the result of all the blood he’d lost?

“Yes?” He found himself replying rathe dryly. Bed, bed, bed, bed. It was the only word spinning around in his mind, an undeniable desire that grew thicker as the seconds passed him by.

It was offered again. “You could stay the night, if you’d like.” The voice was far too quiet and faraway this time.

What happened to leaving? What happened to running away?

Those ideas were far, far away.

And so, he turned to look at the bed again, nodding quietly.

Please. He’d beg if his body allowed him to.

It wasn’t long before he found himself alone, alone in an unfamiliar room, with soft sheets and pillows plusher than he’d ever felt before. There was a small fire whispering in the hearth of the fireplace, and he certainly did not remember the last time he’d felt so warm.

He tumbled into unconsciousness in between blinks, succumbing to the fatigue that wore him down.

-

Trevor had always been aware of the size of Dracula’s castle, from distant childhood memories to stories spread from one village to another, each re-telling seemingly more dramatic than the last. Seeing it up close had put the stories and rumours to shame, for the castle was much more imposing than words could allow.

It’s black structure – a material he could not identify – extended for miles in every direction, stylistically slashing through the inky sky. Describing it as ‘imposing’ felt like an injustice to its menace. The thing looked alive, ready to swallow any who dared to trespass.

And that was from the outside; the interior was beyond ridiculous. The stylistic choices mirrored those of the outdoors, a black and grey colour scheme with the occasional pop or red and purple, if you looked close enough to find it.

It was pretentious, to say the least.

Much too large for the both of them, Trevor wondered how Dracula had managed to live by himself for so long without going insane (ignoring the fact that he very much did go insane, albeit from different circumstances.)

Empty hallways stretched for miles, forgotten rooms with forgotten functionalities plagued the castle. There were stairways leading to nowhere, and doors that faced a brick wall.

Trevor felt as though this worked in his favour, figured the odd architectural choices, and the sheer massiveness of the place were enough to keep the two of them apart. They wouldn’t have to see each other, and by morning he’d be gone, no goodbyes or lingering glances.

Just a cold exit – his favourite way to go.

It was a fine plan; he could maybe go so far as to say it was a good one. It worked in his favor, he didn’t want the dry conversation Alucard provided, did not care for it.

They weren’t friends. Conversations were for friends, pleasantries and stories were for friends. And they aren’t friends. Nor are they enemies – they are strangers that could no longer be so. Fate had decided to acquaint them, had decided to meddle in their personal lives, and now Trevor was trapped with an obnoxious vampire roaming around in his head when he should be focused on tomorrow, or on anything else, really.

It would come to surprise him, how quickly he’d given into his own exhaustion. It was unlike him to be unconscious in a stranger’s home. Trevor had found himself asleep in strange areas before; fields, dumps, random piles of hay, underneath a tree in the forest- but never in another’s home. He’d not allowed himself to be that vulnerable before.

Not only was he sleeping in someone else’s home tonight, but he was sleeping in fucking Dracula’s castle. He was a vampire’s guest.

If Trevor had not been so exhausted, he would’ve been far from this place. Now, he was unwilling to listen to the instincts that told him never to sleep in a vampire’s home – instincts that were most likely genetic as well as learnt, and ignoring them would surely disappoint his mother.

But she wasn’t here, was she?

And so, against all better judgment, the vampire hunter slept in the nest of the beast, wrapped in satin and surrounded by duck feathers. The smoky smell of the fire lulling the man into a deeper slumber than he’d had in months, or perhaps even years, at this point.

It was a dreamless sleep, the kind of sleep where your body melts into the mattress, where consciousness feels like a concept you’d only briefly known, a long, long, time ago.

And like all the good things in a Belmont’s life, it was over much too soon.

“You’re awake.” The remark was quiet.

He should’ve jumped, shouted, reacted in any alarming way, like a normal person would be. He should’ve been scared at the suddenness of the other’s presence – but he could not find it in himself to do so.

“Do you always watch your guests sleep?” He replied tiredly, opening his eyes to stare at the source of the disturbance in the room.

And there he was, in all his glory, leaning so effortlessly against the wall of the bedroom. Simply existing, and yet Trevor felt his blood beginning to boil as he rose from his sleeping form, letting the sheets tumble away from his bare chest.

He was unusually warm, he noted, though he only bore his trousers from the other day. A quick glance to the fireplace showed a bright flame dancing in the silence, one that had been nurtured in his sleep.

“Not always.” Alucard replied, unmoving. The hunter could not decipher if this was meant to be humour or not – it was rare that the half-vampire allowed his façade to slip enough to make pleasantries.

A silence settled between them as Trevor stood reluctantly, stretching the muscles that ached in the aftermath of yesterday’s combat, and of the weeks of travel preceding it.

And then he noted something truly odd – apart from the orange glow of the fire, the room was plunged in darkness, a moonless night staring down at him from upon the large windows.

And as if he could read minds (Trevor had yet to fact-check this about vampires), Adrian spoke again; “You were asleep for three days, you know?”

The man turned towards the other then, observing him with furrowed brows.

“What?” He questioned, feeling a sense of overwhelming disorganization flooding his mind.

Alucard was the opposite of this, calm as he spoke; “It’s been three days since we’ve last spoken.” It was said as though it was obvious, or common, to which it was neither. It didn’t feel like he slept for that long, given how tired he still was, and it sure as hell wasn’t a weekly occurrence. “You’ve slept for a long time.” The half-vampire remarked casually as he pushed himself off the wall, approaching his guest with soft steps.

There was a certain familiarity in this closeness they now shared, a warmth that the Belmont dismissed as something else entirely.

“Why did you let me stay?” He mumbled, crossing his arms against his bare chest. The gesture made Adrien’s eyes flicker downwards, a small smile appearing on his pale face.

“Now, now, you wouldn’t think of me as cruel, would you?” He spoke coyly, tilting his head to the side in a manner that was far too endearing.

“Hmph.” Trevor squinted, unamused.

Alucard simply huffed a small laugh, patting the other’s cheek with his hand.

“Come now, I’ve made dinner.” He spoke, turning on his heels to head outside of the door.

Trevor did not follow, eyeing the other man as he stood still.

He was supposed to be far away by now, getting drunk in the tavern of a nearby village and running his mouth off, not here, half naked, being invited to dine with someone he’d really rather never speak to again.

“What, not hungry?” Adrian teased from the open door, that sly smile sneaking itself onto his pale features once again. Trevor’s stomach felt fuzzy at the sight – perhaps he was beginning to feel dizziness from his hunger.

With a sigh, and against his better judgment, he relented. Not bothering to dress himself, he followed the other. The castle wasn’t any less confusing, in fact, it seemed a little more like a maze now that he had slept for much too long.

They walked in silence, the stone floor cooling against his feet – it helped ground him, if only slightly.

The hunter could almost hear the complaints of his ancestry, could practically feel the shame that paired well with his parent’s angry remarks and disappointed looks.

He ignored it.

It was fine – he’d been a disgrace to the family name for a long time now, what did having dinner with a vampire worsen?

-

He’d expected to be led to some sort of grand dining hall, the kind that has a table so long that you can barely discern the edge of it from one side to the next.

But Alucard did not bring him to such a place, instead, they found themselves in a small room lined with large windows, a round wooden table in its middle with two chairs to accompany it. There was a fireplace in this room too, one that had already been lit, its flames painting the room in a living light that waltzed ever so slowly.

There was a desk as well, and a small bookshelf, all wooden. There were paintings on the walls and a few empty pots where he imagined plants had once lived.

It all felt much too alive.

“My mother’s favourite place to eat breakfast. She despised the dining room, always spoke of how cold and lifeless it felt to her.” Trevor fought back against a snappy retort, something along the lines of ‘finally, someone in this family who makes sense’. It was best to leave it unspoken, to spare himself from the death glare that would’ve surely killed him, should he have given in. “She would eat here whenever it was possible for her to do so – I used to join her in the mornings.” Adrian spoke as he sat on one of the two chairs, moving a few plates around the table. He did not speak of his mother often, and when he did, his tone seemed so quiet, so soft. As if the memories were so fragile that speaking of them loudly might shatter them.

The half vampire shed his coat, revealing a simple white chemise underneath, one that billowed so ornately around him that Trevor had to fight the urge to roll his eyes at the sight. He bit his tongue again, sitting down on the free chair.

Wine was poured in their glasses, and Trevor was silently thanking the gods for the alcohol, taking a generous swig before replying to the other.

“Your mother had excellent taste in furniture.” He spoke, uncertain of what to say. Adrian simply nodded at this, handing him a plate of what looked like salad.

“Yes, now shut up and eat.” And there it was, a familiar tone. One of general annoyance, a feeling Trevor seemed to invoke a lot – which only made him wonder why he’d been invited to such a seemingly private thing.

Too hungry to object, Trevor put himself to use, devouring anything that seemed edible enough – and by God, it was a lot more than he’d thought. The spread was generous, from familiar meals to exciting new ones, each dish cooked to perfection. There were meats cooked in thick sauces, vegetables that were seemingly fried, and yet tasted so light it almost made him choke.

Dinner was spent in a quiet silence, one that wasn’t necessarily awkward, but not exactly welcomed either. Adrian poked at plates here and there, naturally less hungry than Trevor – one of them hadn’t eaten for over three days and it really showed.

With every plate, the wine seemed to taste sweeter, and before he knew it, the familiar buzz of alcohol had crept underneath his skin, rendering him fuzzy and content.

“I didn’t know you could cook.” Trevor spat out as he poked at some peas in his plate, too full to conceptualize eating any more.

“Is that your way of thanking me?” Alucard replied, his hands woven beneath his chin. He looked so calm here in the low light, his skin gaining a warmth in the orange glow of the fire.

“I suppose.” He mumbled, pouring himself another glass of wine.

“You’re welcome.” The vampire replied, pausing to take a small sip of wine. And then, a silence again, until Adrian decides to fill it; “You learn to cook when you’re alone for a while.” It’s accompanied by a little shrug of his shoulders, which makes the fabric of his blouse sway in a mesmerizing, yet very pretentious way.

Trevor almost laughs here, a smile cracking his wine-stained lips. “Not necessarily – I can’t cook for shit.” He confesses, leaning back in his chair. The heaviness of the meal and the sweetness of the wine was beginning to tire him, and despite the three days of uninterrupted sleep, he felt himself yawning.

“Hm. Why does that not surprise me?” The other retorts, a matching grin lining his features. It’s surely an insult, but he says it so elegantly that its rudeness is almost completely lost. Still, Trevor allows himself to roll his eyes at this, the fuzziness of the wine rendering him more content than he’d be comfortable with, should he be sober.

There’s no good retort here, he knows he’s lost the battle, and he accepts it. Alucard just cooked them both an excellent meal, where Trevor would’ve burnt himself trying to get a fire started.

“You’re welcomed to stay the night again, if you wish.” The man before him offers then, so casually, inconsequentially. As if they knew each other. As if one wasn’t a hunter, and the other wasn’t the prey. (If asked, they’d both claim to be the hunter.)

Trevor did not respond immediately, letting the sentence float in between them as he pondered it.

On one hand, he was three days overdue – he needed to be gone two nights ago, and yet he was still lingering.

On the other hand, perhaps it would be wise to stay. He was still exhausted, and he was now a little tipsy as well – those weren’t ideal conditions in setting out for a voyage, now, were they?

He did not wish to be here much longer, but here there was a bed, and a warm fire, and one more night wouldn’t be the end of him, would it?

He nodded curtly, an acceptance of the invitation that’d been so kindly extended upon him.

If he’d come to regret it, he was not sure, but he knew it fit him in the moment. He’d made the final decision, the consequences (should there be any) would be a problem for another day.

And so, their conversation fizzled out – before long, Trevor had finished his wine, and Adrian was beginning to gather up the dirty plates – he didn’t ask for help, and Trevor did not offer it either. They simply parted ways, wordlessly.

Like strangers.

-

For a second – technically fourth – time, the vampire hunter slept in the night creature’s home.

-

They had developed a slight routine. They ate together once a day, nothing as lavish as that first time, but equally as delicious. Trevor spent some of his time hunting for wildlife outside the castle grounds, bringing with him anything he’d caught. Adrian would usually cook whatever he had slain, and they ate it together by firelight.

Words were rarely exchanged, as if sound would rupture the odd system they had going for them.

Every night, Trevor would convince himself to leave for the next morning. He ran the plans in his head as he lay; he would head to the east, find the nearest town or village, not stopping his journey until he found it. From there it’d be odd jobs and favours, wandering semi-aimlessly until he found his purpose, or his purpose found him.

And yet, every night, the soft bed and the warm meals kept him around, kept him comfortable and warm, cared for in a way he’d never been.

In his empty moments, he would search the castle, unable to resist the vast knowledge at his fingertips – for centuries, his ancestors had longed to be in Dracula’s castle, dedicating lifetimes to locating it, and yet… And yet, here he was, so casually residing in it, with all the technology the Belmonts had sought to study, to destroy.

Who would’ve thought that it would end up like this? The last of generations, alienated and uneducated, trying his best to fulfill a destiny he did not belong to.

If he was going to stay here for a little while, might as well try to, right?

As he familiarized himself with the castle, there was one room he avoided like the plague, not daring to venture into it. It was Adrian’s bedroom, of which the door was always closed shut. He hadn’t gotten so much as a peak inside, and he was not planning to. It’s not like he was afraid of Adrian or anything of the sort, no, it was something different… it seemed as though it was not for any reason in particular, like he could not put his finger on it, on why the sheer thought of opening that door turned him away – but it did.

As the days passed him by, his sleep had returned to something akin to normalcy. ‘Normalcy’, in this case, meant that Trevor was back to no longer sleeping well – no matter the comfort of the bed. Still, it was considerably more sleep than he’d get out there, but it wasn’t good by any means or standards.

Tonight, it irked him in particular as he tossed and turned within the sheets, the sheets whose softness was becoming unreasonably unbearable, a pleasant sensation turned sour for no apparent reason. His sleepwear this night consisted of a pair of old shorts and nothing more, and yet, his body seemed to burn with an unknown heat, one that made him too restless to sleep.

The fire in his hearth had gone out long ago, and the sun was beginning to rise somewhere in the distance, but as much as his body ached for it, it could not find sleep, could not find relief.

Pent up, and warm beyond belief, Trevor huffed an annoyed sigh before giving up on trying to sleep. Annoyed, he stood, throwing on a random white chemise from the closet on the guest room – of his room.

Exhausted, he began walking, trying to entertain his body with something, anything. Perhaps walking would be enough to make his subconscious realize that he needed rest, not restlessness. As he roamed the castle, he found himself walking a familiar path around the home, down corridors and up a few flights of stairs, taking specific turns, movements that worked on muscle memory alone.

It wasn’t long before he found himself in the small dining nook, the most familiar room in the entire manor. (And perhaps, it was beginning to be his favourite, but he had yet to admit this to himself wuite yet.)

It was rare to see it in this setting; it was dim, the light of dawn softly illuminating it as the sun rose to greet them. It was a beautiful sight, but he was perhaps too drained to enjoy it. Instead, he went straight for the small cabinet where the wine was stored, hastily uncorking a bottle for himself. He stared at the uncorked bottle for a moment, the habit of drinking himself to sleep was pushing him to just do it, do drink it now.

Reluctantly, he put the bottle down, grabbing a glass from the desk and the other end of the room, a desk that had come to serve as more of a surface for Adrian’s wine glasses. Adrian, who was the reason Trevor grabbed himself a glass in the first place – he knew his host would be very displeased if he were to drink straight from the bottle. He’d done it a few times before and had earnt himself a few lectures because of it – a result he was not intent in re-living.

When had he come to know the other so well?

He didn’t care. All he could focus on was the exhaustion that clawed as his brain, the familiar feeling of despair that often clung to him on sleepless nights, on sleepless days.

The wine was quickly poured into the glass, where it did not stay for long. The alcohol was too sour for his taste, but he did not care enough to stop drinking, feeling the familiar burning sensation that had carried him through a thousand nights before this one.

Old habits died hard, and if he wasn’t the living proof, no one else was.

“Couldn’t sleep?” A voice behind him spoke, and he was far too used to the way Alucard appeared, seemingly out of nowhere. The sudden presence did not illicit a reaction, merely a soft sigh of acknowledgment on his part.

“How’d you ever guess.” He spoke tiredly, voice practically dripping in sarcasm as he lulled his head to observe the other. “Care for some?” He lifted the bottle as he spoke, and Adrian nodded, grabbing a glass and pulling his chair up to face the Belmont. His glass was quickly filled, and they were soon drinking in silence, a silence that had come to be very comfortable, too comfortable.

The man before him was wearing an odd outfit for this time of day; pleated black pants and a ruffled chemise that matched the colour of their drink, the colour of which made it seem like his skin glowed in the low light.

“You know, I have no fucking idea why I’m still here.” Trevor spoke with the honesty of someone who’d already had half the bottle. It’s not like he had anything to lose, anyway. “You know, I really hated you. I wanted to leave, as soon as I was done with everything.” But it wasn’t true, and he knew it. He’d never hated the other. He’d yearned to, felt obligated to, in a sense. “I really wanted to hate you.” He took a generous sip and topped his cup off – this was far stronger than the other red wines he’d gotten used to, and he could feel its effect a little too well.

“I never would’ve guessed; you only declared it every five minutes.” Alucard remarked, smiling from behind his wine glass. And Trevor huffed at this, too tired to muster a real laugh.

“Then why the fuck isn’t it true? Why can’t I hate you?” His heart was beating a little faster than usual, and confessions were slipping from his tongue much too easily. “Your ancestors killed mine and vice versa, and yet here I still am, getting hammered on your wine. It’s laughable.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know the answer.” Adrian crossed his legs, legs that were so long and slim in comparison to Trevor’s. Legs that were always hidden away beneath fabric, skin that was so hard to see.

They both took another sip as the man’s gaze squinted.

“The real question is, why haven’t you chased me out of here? The Alucard I met a few months ago would’ve never let a thing like me live within his walls for so long.” His words were beginning to drag on a bit, the alcohol heavy on his tongue.

Adrian shook his shoulders tiredly. “I’m not sure.” Another sip, and was it just Trevor, or did the other’s cheeks tint a bit rosier? It was hard to tell in this lighting. “Perhaps I’m lonelier than I’d like to admit.” A smile accompanied the sentence, but it was a small one, a sad one. Trevor could not muster the energy to ignore the flutter in his chest.

“Lonely, huh?” He threw back, downing the rest of his wine. “I have trouble seeing that.”

Alucard laughed at the statement; it was a rare sound, one so full of mirth that the Belmont could not help but smile at it.

“It’s that hard to believe?” The half-vampire asked then, leaning his chin in the palm of his hand.

“Yes, quite.” Trevor crossed his arms, a gesture meant to convey seriousness, that he was not joking. “Me, lonely, that’s logical. You? I think you’re lying.” He accused now, to which the half vampire feigned offense.

“Why is it so hard to believe, Belmont?” He pried, furrowing his eyebrows in what seemed to be an invitation.

And Trevor was drunk enough to say something very regrettable; “Because I believe that should you ask anybody; they would be glad to indulge you in anything.”

“Anybody, huh?” Down went the rest of the wine, his glass now discarded onto the table, besides Trevor’s.

“Anybody.” Trevor confirmed.

“Anything.”

“Anything you desired.”

The half vampire ran a pale hand through his golden locks, letting a thick silence reign over them for a second or two. There was a tension in the air that hadn’t been there before – and why was Trevor’s heart beating so fast?

“You’re clueless, aren’t you?” Adrian spoke after a bit, tilting his head to the side in that way that drove Trevor insane.

“Wouldn’t be the first time.” He shook his shoulders, too lost in his contentment to think about the other’s statement.

The other, who stood so suddenly, tossing his chair aside. The other, who offered a hand, and when it was taken, guided the hunter. They walked away from the breakfast nook, from the open wine and the dirtied glassed, down an unfamiliar path – or perhaps it was recognizable, but not in the state Trevor was in.

He was so at ease, Adrian’s hand fit nicely around his; it was slimer, and colder, but it was comfortable in a strangely beautiful way. They went up a staircase, maintaining a fairly quick pace – they took a right into a hallway, and a few doors down to their destination.

Trevor was shoved into the room before he could begin to protest, or to realize where he was. He stood in a rather modest bedroom, an unfamiliar one – it was the only room in the castle he had not yet been to.

“This is-“

“My room.” He finished the sentence with impatience. The curtains were drawn and there was a dying fire in his hearth, but there was enough light to show the slight tint on Adrian’s, the flush of alcohol that rendered him so much more attractive than before and – when had Trevor come to think of the other as attractive?

“Why are we..?” He began to question, his head several steps behind.

“Because I’ve been trying to get you to fuck me since the day I invited you to stay, and I cannot go another second without it if you keep looking at me the way you do. You said I could get anyone to do as I desired? Well, I’m asking you now to indulge me so that I can finally sleep at night.” The words were spoken hastily, so hushed they could’ve almost been misheard.

Almost.

Trevor could not deny the effect the confession had on him; he felt his blood rush south at the thought of it.

He’d expected a realization like this to feel like planets crashing, systems colliding inside his mind, but it didn’t. It was a gentle snap, two pieces of a puzzle clicking together in a manner that could only be described as gratifying. He felt warm as a smirk settled on his face. “I thought you’d never ask.” He did not linger then, unceremoniously joining their lips together in a kiss that tasted of aged berries and desperation.

And it made too much sense, the way his heart tried to beat its way out of its cage, the way his blood buzzed in something entirely different than the wine.

Alucard’s mouth was too eager to part for his as they stumbled upon the bed. The kiss was only momentarily interrupted as the half vampire let himself fall into the mattress’ embrace, Trevor in toe.

They weren’t apart for very long before Trevor was marking the other’s neck, biting and sucking anywhere he could reach, leaving traces dark enough to pierce through the dim lighting.

The hunter was soon unbuttoning the others’ blouse, stripping himself of his chemise as well. Fingers roamed across pale skin, eyes committing every juncture to memory.

The way the vampire was half propped up on his elbows, long hair cascading down bare shoulders – it drove him absolutely mad, a madness he was barely aware he’d been containing.

“Why on earth would you ever hide such a thing.” The Belmont spoke, mesmerized.

Adrian’s eyes were dark and half-lidded, and Trevor did not need much more to continue.

Trevor was speaking more than he usually did in situations like these, but he could not keep the words from falling off his tongue, sugary sweet confessions that surprised them both. “I tried to hate you; I had no idea it didn’t work because of this.” Pants came off very quickly after that, leaving them both unveiled, intoxicated not only by the wine that flowed through their veins, but from the tension that rose between them.

“Stop talking.” Adrian hissed, firmly grabbing the other’s chin to bring him down again, leaving hungry kisses on his lips.

In between heavy breaths, Trevor spoke; “Tell me what you want from me, and I will deliver it.” It was a promise, an oath to stop talking, should his mouth be put to good use. He sealed the words by leaving marks on the other’s jawline, relishing in the little hisses that came of it.

“I want you to be inside of me, I want you to fuck me until I can’t remember my own name.” A request he couldn’t wait to oblige. Before he could do so, however, he felt a soft hand on the back of his head, fisting his hair. His head was easily lifted then, eyes forced to meet the other’s. There was a hint of malice there, a dark glimmer in Adrian’s eyes he could not ignore. Everything about this was so wrong; he’d never been more turned on in his entire life. There was no kindness in the other’s eyes when he spoke again, instead, the words resounded in Trevor’s ears like a threat. “Do not make me beg.”

And the hunter could do nothing but oblige, putty in his prey’s gaze. He ran a thumb between his lover’s folds, gathering the wetness to cover his shaft. It was sinful, to use another’s arousal as lubrication for penetration, it was sinful and enticing, pulling him further down a path with no return.

There was no preparation beyond that, they were much too far gone for it.

As Trevor sheathed himself within the other, he made sure to be as gentle as possible, savouring every inch that was taken. “Fuck.” He groaned beneath his breath as the feeling of Adrian’s walls hugged him so tightly, he could barely hold onto logic anymore. Perhaps he’d be the one to forget his own name.

“Ah-“ It was a small intake of air, barely a moan, but it managed to make him even harder than he already was. The half vampire threw his head back as Trevor was fully situated, taking a few audible breaths before meeting his gaze again.

Slowly, he began to thrust, baring his cock to slide it in again as gently as possible. When his lover began to grow restless, he upped the tempo, setting a steady rhythm.

And by God, it felt damnable how wet Alucard was, the sound of his arousal resonating lewdly in their ears with every thrust.

“Jesus, I’ve wondered what was beneath all those layers for so long.” He grunted, setting the pace to something somewhat regular.

“Hm?” Came a small noise from the person below him, whose elbows were getting too weak to hold them up – and so they fell to the mattress, their back arching gracefully as they did so.

It was a sight to behold, smooth skin that seemed to run for miles, a lithe body that was moving for him, in response to him, and only for his eyes to see. He’d declare the scene heavenly if it weren’t for the raunchiness of it, because by God, Trevor had never laid eyes on anything as gorgeous as this.

A lifetime of travel could not reveal such beauty, it was only found here, in his lover’s dips and curves, in the way his eyes rolled back, in every shaky breath, every silent gasp.

“Too modest for someone as pretty- shit- as you.” He struggled to keep his sentences focused, words slurring in a mix of intoxication and lust.

Adrian keened at the compliment, and Trevor took it as a sign to pleasure him harder, better – he quickened the pace a little more, hooking Adrian’s left leg over the crease of his elbow, almost lifting his partner to give a deeper angle.

The other’s breaths quickened, his chest moving up and down quickly as he struggled to contain the pleasure that rang throughout him.

Such a beautiful sight, watching his cock get lost in the vampire’s folds again and again, its tip prodding his belly with every deep thrust – Trevor could not tear his gaze away if we wanted to.

“Aaah- Belmont, you-“ They could not be considered conscious any longer, no, they’d stumbled into another state of being at this point.

“What is it- mm- Adrian?” The mention of his name made him whimper, his body writhing in pleasure.

“More.” He demanded, and so Trevor obliged.

With his loose arm, the trained killer brough his hand to rub circles around the other’s clitoris. It was by no means elegant or methodical, but it made the vampire react in such a delightful way, his walls clenching tightly around the shaft that penetrated him.

“Hng-“ The moans were becoming more and more frequent, sweet sounds that his ears drank up so greedily, trying desperately to commit them to memory. They’d be all he’d think about for weeks, this, he was certain of.

“You’re, fuck, sofuckinghandsome” The words tumbled out of his mouth without rhyme or reason. He pushed harder, bending the body beneath him to better reach the inside of his lover, to nestle himself deeply, in a desire to never be anywhere else but here.

With a glistening chest and the firm squeeze of his eyes, Adrian’s body seized in the throes of pleasure, wave after wave of shock coursing through his sensitive nerves. It was done rather quietly, and yet it made the scene all-the-more ethereal, like having watched something so rare that it only came once in a lifetime – to those who were lucky enough to get it.

And lucky felt like an under-statement as Trevor relished in the feeling of his lover’s orgasm, coming undone in tandem with him. He felt the pleasure crawling up and down his spine, relishing in the sight of the bump he left in Adrian’s stomach.

They stayed still for a moment or two before Trevor decided to move, pulling out of the vampire, leaving a trail behind the action. Lazily, the hunter took his thumb to the opening, gathering any liquid that had escaped and pumping it back inside of him.

Adrian was back on his elbows now, observing the gesture and shivering in sensitivity.

The two locked eyes, the exhaustion and elation of love-making heavy in their gaze, unspoken sentences staying in their minds. It was that comfortable kind of quiet again, the one that meant a lot more to them now.

They weren’t really strangers anymore.

-

A/N

>happy holidays... i love queer people so much. thats all.

>if you like this work i am So sorry but i have published nothing similar LMAO i doubt anyone will read this since its so outside of my norm. sonadow fans ill write some good stuff for you guys now that i've finished this <333

#my fics #myr writes #my writing #castlevania #trevor belmont #alucard #adrian tepes #trevor x alucard #alucard x trevor #if yer under 18 and interact with this im blocking you

[valoisfulcanellideux]

One of my favourite scenes from These Stones Remember

This is the start of chapter 64, and it contains some of my favourite scene and location description of the entire story :)

For context, the Great Caravan is approaching the savannah that will eventually become the Ancient Capital of Empires S2.

Featuring the following characters (in case you're new to the story)

The Copper King: Onorait Paix al-Lareiff (Pixlriffs)

The Astrologer: G'tehm ah-Shker (Goodtimeswithscar)

Plus a brief honourable mention of:

The Grav'n er-Rachzem: N'dachVeip (fWhip)

Behind the cut with you for some writin'!

HOW LITTLE WE NEED TO BE HAPPY {EARLY AUTUMN}

The Great Caravan moved slowly, inexorably, ever onward. Through dense forests and across broad plains, camels and horses plodded and wheels turned. Wherever a large vista of flatter land presented itself ahead of them, they set up camp and rested awhile. Never more than a few days, as the year was already past its midpoint and heading into cooler months, and both Paix and the q’ayadasi were anxious to find warmer lands before winter set in, but the encampments provided a pause in the endless motion and were gratefully embraced by those who - unlike Paixandrians - were not possessed of nomadic ancestry.

A distant sparse jungle proved a welcome sight through Paix’s spyglass as he rode a short way out from the camp late one afternoon. It hinted at the warmth he had hoped to find, and as he waited for the sun to dip low enough for the stars to become visible he scanned the horizon.

Less than a week ago, they had narrowly avoided a large swamp, its watery ground tangled with thick roots that were clogged with mud and shaded by a dense canopy of weeping, drooping dark leaves that dripped in the dank air within. The detour it had forced them to take led them across a river, and they were much exercised to find a shallow enough spot across which they could safely ford. Upon the river’s far bank, though, were the rolling plains they were now encamped upon.

Dotted with small stands of oak and apple trees and thickets of rangy bushes, and dusted with a glory of wildflowers whose heads nodded lazily toward the low afternoon sun, it was home to roaming herds of shaggy ponies who ventured curiously and fearlessly close to the caravan.

As leaves crisped and curled and yellowed, drifting down from sparse branches to carpet the grass with gold, laughter rang around the camp as the placid little ponies trotted good-naturedly around with a child or two on their backs, watched over by the q’ayadasi, each of whom had one eye for a sturdy beast that might join the caravan and the other eye on the safety of their young charges.

Friendly donkeys accepted windfall apples picked up from beneath the trees, nosing into hands and pockets in search of treats, and distant flocks of sheep settled like sleepy clouds on the hillsides as the gentle lowing of cows travelled through the deepening gloom of dusk.

Far, far to his left, Paix could make out through the lens of the spyglass tall towers and peaks of red stone, curiously flattened at the top as if sliced off by a sharp knife. They looked dry and hot, and gave him even more hope that he was heading in the right direction.

He lowered the spyglass, closing it and tucking it into the small pack before him on the saddle. Tilting his head back, he gazed up at the sky, quick eyes darting to find familiar groups of stars. They were lower in the firmament than he was accustomed to, but even here - far from home - they were enough to guide him. With the red land to his left, he would strike a course across the plains and toward the jungle. 

He closed his eyes, letting the starlight bathe his face, and breathed in the warm ochre scent of the autumn air, damp and smoky, redolent with spores and fungi and dried leaves dappled with mould that heralded the coming death of the old year.

“We need to find so many new names,” a familiar voice said quietly, as he heard the chink of small copper-framed lenses being moved around and in front of each other, a little way to his left.

He smiled, not opening his eyes.

“Indeed we do,” he murmured. “I wonder if the peoples of these lands, whoever they are, have their own names for what moves above us.”

“And how might those names differ from those we would give them,” G'tehm ah-Shker replied, as Paix opened his eyes and lowered his head, turning to look across at him.

The astrologer was peering through his lenses, which he was resting upon a peculiar contraption that sat before his camel’s saddle; a sort of counterbalanced brace that kept the lenses steady even if the camel moved. Paix wouldn’t be surprised if that wasn’t the work of N’dachVeip, for it was the kind of thing he liked to set his hand to. If a problem needed solving, or there was a better way to do something, one could count on a Tinkerer to mull it over until their hands grew tired of their mind doing all the work.

“I ponder often,” G'tehm ah-Shker mused, focusing on his lenses, “what shapes other peoples see in the stars, how they might group them into meaning something only to them. Where we see the Ibis, do they see the Swan? Or do they see not a bird but a plough, or a horse. Or do they see the gods themselves? It’s enough to keep me up at night.”

He looked askance at Paix with a little grin tweaking at one side of his mouth.

“Which,” he added, “is no bad thing, when this is my profession, eh?”

---

New, and want more? Start here :)

#pixlriffs #goodtimeswithscar #fwhip #pixlriffs fanfic #goodtimeswithscar fanfic #fwhip fanfic #these stones remember #empires smp #empires s1 #esmp1 #empires smp fanfic

[armageddon-generation]

Rewriting The Power of the Doctor as a finale to the 13th Doctor’s Era instead of an Anniversary Special

PotD's best parts were all 80s fanservice. It resolved none of Chibnall's plot threads, nor did it celebrate 13’s era overall. I’m not fully resolving the Timeless Child as that would need a different plot. But by adding more callbacks and payoffs I hope to strengthen this era overall as a worthwhile investment

International broadcasters split PotD into 2 episodes, and its first edit was 2 hours long. I’m thus splitting it from 1 85-min special to 2 60-min specials

Forgive my cringe attempts at dialogue.

What changes would you make to the story?

PART 1

The Thijarian Assassins from 11x6 Demons of the Punjab appear in the background throughout the episode, like the Ood in the buildup to The End of Time, 

Karvanista & Tie-ins to The Battle of Ranskoor Av Kolos

Swap the space train in the opening for Karvanista, Bel & Vinder from Flux, transporting cargo for the Coalition of Galaxies from 11x10 The Battle of Ranskoor Av Kolos

Bel: Being boarded by Cybermen once was more than enough for me, thank you very much.

Karvanista recognises the Cybermasters’ regeneration.

When 13 sends Dan to stop the ship crashing he spars with Karvanista again:

Dan: Hello Muttley my son, it's been a while

Karvanista: Just what I need. Leave, you'll only make everything worse-

Dan: Rubbish, I just need to wave my space wand and-

[the ship accelerates]

Karvanista: 'Space wand'? Bloody useless! In my day she didn't need that rubbish.

Dan: Eh?

He is still bitter- he doesn't want to be saved by 13 and when she fails to stop the Cybermasters he rips into her.

13: You lot are working for the Coalition of Galaxies now? Why?

Karvanista: Because two-thirds of the universe got destroyed and then suddenly reappeared after weeks of chaos. They need all the help they can get, and you certainly weren't offering, were you?

The cargo they carried isn’t the alien made  of pure energy. Instead it’s the young Ux from 11x10 The Battle of Ranskoor Av Kolos, an omnipotent species who followed 13's advice to ‘travel hopefully’ and was using its abilities to help rebuild the universe

Karvanista has a heart-to-heart with Dan after his near-death experience, encouraging him to leave 13 before she leaves him. Closure for their relationship.

Afterwards, Yaz asks why Karvanista was so angry. 13 finally opens up to her, last-minute character growth to make her regen more tragic:

13: We used to travel together. When I was Ruth. Remember her?

Yaz: Of course.

13: We were... sort of time spies together. For Division.

Yaz: The people who sent the Weeping Angels after you?

13: And the Judoon after Ruth. But my memory of that time was taken and I don't want it back. I want to focus on now. On our moment. On you. And Dan-

Dan, from the doors: You don't have to come back for me.

13, closing her eyes. Taking a steadying breath: Oh. Right then. OK.

13 REPLACES DAN'S HOUSE because leaving him homeless is careless and callous.

13: I get it. Life's important. Home's important. Speaking of…

[She produces Dan's miniaturized house on a little metal disc]

13: Just press the button and this should take care of itself. That, or you'll be transported to the moon. Worth a shot though, eh?

Dan: You just had that in your pocket ready to go?

13: I knew you'd ask to go back eventually, Dan. When you did... I didn't want to be holding you hostage.

After Dan leaves, instead of an out-of-nowhere rogue Dalek, 13 is contacted by the Order of the Custodians, the group from 11x11 Resolution, who guarded the divided pieces of a Dalek Scout for centuries. Being dedicated to fighting Daleks, they're investigating an incursion on Earth

The Cyber-planet is a dead, Cyber-converted Gallifrey, after 12x10 The Timeless Children

The Ux is hooked up to the planet in the same lab Tecteun experimented on the Timeless Child in

The Master is using the Ux to maintain his cyber-constructs like Tim Shaw did his fortress. By saving the Ux again 13 comes full circle from her first series.

As a young, omnipotent alien all-but alone in the universe, the Ux is a direct parallel to the Timeless Child. In a way, 13 is saving her younger self

Once they've found the Ux, 13 calls Karvanista & co to retrieve him. Karavanista comes alone (Karvanista > Vinder). After crashing he reports to Mark Addy’s character from 11x10 The Battle of Ranskoor Av Kolos, via video screen. He promised to keep the Ux safe after that episode

Karvanista recognises the Master’s perverted TARDIS exterior. It brings back bad memories.

The Master & Nikola Tesla

Ra-Ra-Rasputin is great, but I’m swapping the Master taking over the Winter Palace for Wardenclyffe, the power station from 12x4 Nikola Tesla’s Night of Terror

We open on Tesla, years after we met him, stumbling out of the realtor’s into the rain. Wardenclyffe is being foreclosed and he is penniless

Tesla walks down an alley and in a flash of light is transported to the Kassavin’s dimension from 12x1-2 Spyfall. 

Tesla: What- where am I? Fascinating. What manner of construction is this? [hears rustling] Who’s there? Did you build this place? Please… you should know this isn’t my first time meeting creatures from beyond. If… If you want my help, my skills… perhaps a deal could be negotiated.

Distorted voice: Want your help? No no, I am going to help you, Nikola Tesla. With my help, your skills will change the universe.

Tesla: This place… did you build it?

Voice: No. But I was once trapped here, for an eternity or two. I picked up a few things. 

Tesla: Who are you?

Voice: I am the Doctor.

Tesla: Doctor?! You’ve come back for me- Is being trapped here why you never came back? [the Master appears] ...You are not the Doctor

Master: Not yet. But you’re going to help me with that.

He hypnotizes Tesla into building the cages that will force 13 to regenerate.

13’s favorite historical figure making the thing that kills her is a huge personal blow. The Master rubs in 13’s face that by ‘abandoning’ Tesla & letting history take its course, she let this happen.

Ryan & Graham replace Ace & Tegan

Ace & Tegan were the best parts of PotD imo, but bringing in Classic companions last-minute doesn’t help tie up 13’s era 

Because I cut Rasputin, swap the missing paintings for tech-savvy Ryan investigating a sudden acceleration in Earth's technology. 

He tours VOR (Daniel Barton’s Google stand-in tech company from 12x1 Spyfall). At the end of that story Barton went on the run, so without him the company should have collapsed. Instead it’s leading a worldwide tech revolution.

It’s not just VOR; history itself is changing. Technological advancement is accelerating decade by decade. The microchip was invented 30 years early etc

After leaving, Ryan hosts a group video-call: Graham is investigating the missing Seismologists with the Three Idiots Roaming from 12x6 Praxeus. At the end of that story they left to travel the world and protect it from environmental disaster, so they fit well for the volcano subplot

Travel-vlogger Gabrielle is with Graham (she and Ryan are dating, building on the suggestion of flirtation in Praxeus, and Graham jokes about it) while couple Jake and Adam are investigating elsewhere. 

Reuniting with the Fam & the Daleks’ trap

13 remarks on Earth’s accelerating technology seeing UNIT’s new building. It’s part of a chain of cutting-edge facilities across the globe, designed as refuges for humanity in the event of another disaster like the Flux

13 & Yaz awkwardly reunite with Ryan, who has traced the acceleration of Earth’s technology back to a now super-successful Nikola Tesla in the 1920s. He shows them several newspaper articles, starting with NIKOLA TESLA’S NIGHT OF TERROR!, that show Tesla’s fall into ruin after they left him. A somber moment. But then Tesla re-emerges with a new ‘business partner’; the Master. The final article shows them taking over Thomas Edison’s factory 

Graham contacts Ryan; he and Gabrielle have followed their lead on the Seismologists to a university; we watch them enter via Gabrielle’s camera, when they’re captured by the waiting Master

13 books it over there, high-tension, but the Master is just waiting for her to arrive.

UNIT arrives from another of their brand new facilities

Graham goes to UNIT with the Fam and the captured Master, but Gabrielle stays behind to help UNIT with the dead seismologists. She gives Ryan a parting kiss that Yaz makes fun of. He notes how much closer she and 13 are, which shuts her up

At UNIT, the Order of the Custodians call 13: They’ve infiltrated the Dalek base in the Bolivian volcano, unaware the Daleks are using them as bait.

In the Volcano, the Order try to give 13 a Dalek-killing chemical weapon they developed testing tiny samples of the Recon Scout mutant, when the trap is sprung

The Order are killed. Instead of trapping 13 in a Dalek casing a mutant puppeteers her, one of Chibnall’s best gimmicks

13 gets the Order’s Dalek-killing weapon to Yaz as she’s captured, and Yaz flees to the TARDIS as the Daleks open fire. The Order’s weapon will replace Ace’s Nitro-999 later

Cyber-Attack & the Master in Wardenclyffe

No miniature Ashad: Instead the Cybermen appear like the Kassavin did in 12x1 Spyfall, in a blaze of white light, and invade from that pocket-dimension

This is how they appear on every floor at once: Army of Ghosts callback!

The Master escapes and travels to 1920s Wardenclyffe, where 13 is held captive

On using Tesla:

13: You’re telling me our Great and Powerful Master needs a lowly human inventor to work on his machines?

Master: Of course not.

13: Then why go to all the trouble of enslaving Tesla?

Master: Why? Why use one of your favorite scientists? The inventor after your own hearts, who you fought side-by-side with before abandoning him to the cruel fate history dictated? I found him penniless and alone! Your fault. You had the power to step in, the power to save anyone. Everyone! But you never had the vision to. 

Like international broadcasts, the forced regeneration is the cliffhanger for Part 1

PART 2

The Master-Doctor 

The Master possesses 13’s body, calling back to the TV Movie. This is so Jodie can play the evil Master-Doctor, showing off her range and giving her more screentime in her final story (plus Sexual Tension with Yaz)

Expand the Master-Doctor’s rampage. The Master brings the hypnotized Tesla along to restrain Yaz.

She leads a jailbreak, blowing a hole in the Judoon prison from 12x11 Revolution of the Daleks. Angela the Angel abducts a Judoon through the flickering lights; the P'Ting eats one of the guard's guns.

Master: This is payback for locking me up! [to the escaping prisoners] when you're out there spreading chaos through the universe, tell them the Doctor sent you!

Then, the twin planets he visits are the ones from 12x7 Can You Hear Me?

Yaz watches helplessly as the Master introduces the planet’s peoples to the two evil gods- the enemies who affected Yaz most- and promises they will be just and noble rulers. She then encourages the gods to 'play' with her gift. 

The TARDIS jumps forward in time to show the planets a war.

Yaz overpowers Tesla to lock the Master out

Fugitive Doctor: Guardian of the Edge

The Classic Doctor cameos were great but I’m cutting them for the same reason as Tegan & Ace. 

13’s personality has been buried deep in the Doctor’s subconscious, where she meets the Fugitive Doctor, also repressed long ago. The Fugitive is our Guardian of the Edge, trying to save 13 from the same fate that befell her

The Fugitive shows 13 a flashback of the ‘reality’ behind the last part of the Brendan visions in 12x9 Ascension of the Cybermen- namely his memory being wiped, which wasn’t covered in 12x10 The Timeless Children

The Fugitive has her regenerations reset by Tecteun, in the same lab she experimented on her in as a child, the same one the Ux is being held in on cyber-Gallifrey

Tying up more of the loose ends from the Timeless Child arc leaves a blank slate for the next era. I don’t like the arc but the least Chibs could do is clean up his own mess before leaving. 

Fugitive: And now the Master has stolen Mother’s favorite punishment-

13: Don’t call her that.

Fugitive: She might be dead and she might’ve been a monster, but Tecteun is all we had. Now he’s out there making a monster out of us too, just like she always wanted-

13: Tecteun was not my family. We make our own family, you and me. Everywhere we go. Speaking of which… 

Cybermen and Daleks

Keep the hologram implants, letting 13 have final moments with Ryan & Graham

Graham gets Tegan’s job helping Kate fight the Cybermen at UNIT. 

It'd be cool if Ashad confronted Graham about his cancer

Ashad: You think you are rid of it but the traces linger. The ultimate betrayal of the flesh. Does the thought of it returning keep you up at night? We can free you from that fear!

Graham: Fear of death is what makes us human. It's what makes us value our time. Sure I suffered. But I found meaning in it too. I fell in love. You'll never know what that's like. And I feel sorry for you.

I was always bothered by the contradiction of the Daleks trying to destroy Earth when the Cybermen want to convert it. So, my adjusted Cyber-plan is to take over the new UNIT strongholds across the globe. When the Daleks blow the volcanoes, people will evacuate to the UNIT strongholds where the Cybermen will be waiting to convert them

(I basically stole Harmony Shoal’s plan from The Return of Doctor Mysterio but shhhh) 

Meanwhile, the Three Idiots Roaming feel the volcanoes start to activate, and lead the evacuation of people living nearby to the UNIT strongholds, but the Cybermen are waiting and trap them

 Ryan gets Ace’s role, parachuting off the roof (a big moment highlighting his dyspraxia). 

Yaz collects him and they save the Three Idiots from the UNIT stronghold, letting the evacuees flee.

Yaz drops Ryan and the Idiots under the volcanoes, using the Order of the Custodians’ anti-Dalek weapon to fight them as Ace did

Meanwhile, once Graham saves Kate from conversion she self-destructs all the UNIT strongholds around the globe, stopping the Cybermen

Saving the Doctor

Karvanista gets Vinder’s role shooting the Master. He also comes face-to-face with the hologram of the Fugitive, his Doctor.

THASMIN KISS immediately after Yaz saves 13, when her guard is down in her post-regeneration haze, overcome with joy at being alive again. This makes their parting more tragic, but 13 doesn't look cruel like she would for initiating that intimacy when she knows she's dying, opening a door she knows she can't go through

After 13 has been saved, the Fugitive-hologram and Karvanista have a heart-to-heart like 5 & 7 do with Ace & Tegan in the original, giving him closure & resolving his bitterness.

Once freed from the Master's hypnotism, Tesla goes in the TARDIS and helps fix Karvanista's ship while 13 deals with the Master's TARDIS.

Once free, the Ux destroys the Cyber-constructs grafted onto Gallifrey’s architecture

Instead of the ‘what a universe. I’ll never understand it’ line, 13 looks back: We get brief flashes of Tecteun's experimentation on the Child and the Fugitive's forced regen, which both took place here. 13 finally makes peace with that loss and leaves it behind

The lasting effects of the forced regeneration are what kill 13. Like slow radiation poisoning.

Thasmin & Demons of the Punjab Callbacks

THASMIN HUG. 13 removes the hologram implant from Yaz, but then gifts it back to her as she leaves- the same projector she had in 13x5 Survivors of the Flux.

 She says "This is us. Our moment in time.", calling back to the watch from 11x6 Demons of the Punjab

It'd also be nice to call back to 13’s speech on her family from 11x1 The Woman Who Fell to Earth:

Yaz: I'm not sure I can do this without you. You helped me.. helped me learn who I am-

13: And now you know. You don't need me, Yaz. I needed you in the end. Look at everything you did today, on your own. You saved me. You led everyone. Just- carry me with you, if you can. Just do that. What I would've thought and said and done. Make that a part of you. So I might be going from the universe, but I'll never be gone from you, eh?

Yaz, huffing through tears: What would the Doctor do?

13: What would you do?

As I’ve cut the Classic Companions, I’m replacing the Companion support Group with Yaz’s anniversary dinner with her sister Sonya from 12x7 Can You Hear Me, commemorating when she ran away as a teen.

In contrast to the lonely, somber affair of that episode, this time Yaz has invited Ryan, Graham, Dan and Diane round, as well as her parents and grandmother

Ryan's dad Aaron could also show up since he never appeared again after Resolution

13’s ‘Fam’ has become Yaz’s extended family and support network, highlighting how much she’s grown

We leave the companions with a similar sentiment to Graham’s idea of telling stories from the original. Yaz is ready to open up to her family and tell them about her time with the Doctor.

Intercut 13 leaving the TARDIS with Yaz calling back to Ryan’s opening line from 11x1 The Woman Who Fell To Earth:

Yaz: So tonight, we want to tell you about the greatest woman we ever met. Smart. Funny. Caring… Special. Proper special. 

The Thijarians are there to witness 13’s regeneration. They exchange a look of understanding with her before she goes

The story now ties in plot-threads from Series 11 (Demons of the Punjab, The Battle of Ranskoor Av Kolos & Resolution), Series 12 (Nikola Tesla's Night of Terror, Praxeus, Can You Hear Me? & Revolution of the Daleks, as well as The Timeless Children) and Flux (Karvanista). Paying these plot threads off retroactively gives the era thematic unity, validating viewers’ investment. 

As it was, PotD’s refusal to resolve anything made the whole thing weaker and less worth investing in overall.

art credit to @lostcosmos and @softest-butch!

EDIT: I have now written a fic exploring some of these ideas, linking the Chibnall era together and giving the characters more closure. Check it out if you'd like!

#doctor who #chibnall era #thirteeth doctor #thasmin #jodie whittaker #mandip gill #the power of the doctor #potd spoilers #13th doctor #13 x yaz #yasmin kahn #ryan sinclair #graham obrien #the fugitive doctor #jo martin #my wriitng #bbc dw #doctor who series 12 #doctor who series 11 #doctor who flux #doctor who series 13

[sednonamoris]

fran's 2023 read it and weep 🫵

a comprehensive list of everything i read this year and why you should (or shouldn't) read it as well...

how to read literature like a professor by thomas c. foster

i picked this back up again when i took on a teaching job as a refresh - it was my fourth or fifth reread and as always my main man thomas c. did not disappoint!! not joking when i say i quote this thing on the reg: it's a symbol if you think it is became a permanent fixture in my vernacular ages ago. this book aligns perfectly with my yes the curtains are blue on purpose agenda and serves as an excellent foray into deep/active reading, which i am constantly preaching about to my kids. fun and fresh literary analysis, just the way it should be!

tiny beautiful things by cheryl strayed

gritty, witty, and full of heart. this advice column-turned-book is shocking but so very human, and it got me out of a months-long reading slump.

bridge of clay by markus zusak

yes, a boy named clay builds a bridge, but it’s sooooo much more than that. this book weaves the past and present together in a beautiful way and really brings meaning to the concept of haunting the narrative. the descriptions are vivid and lived-in which makes the setting - 1980’s australia - entirely accessible, even to a foreign homebody like me. the family dynamics at play are outrageous and charming and the whole thing is gorgeously written and it made me cry. read it right now.

the hunchback of notre dame by victor hugo

i LOVED this book but unless you are just as obsessed with the story as me, this is not a rec. victor hugo anything is more of a warning or an i-read-it-so-you-didn't-have-to. did i learn more than i ever wanted to about french gothic architecture and the paris catacombs? yes. was i still utterly enthralled by the layers upon layers of tragedy woven together? also yes. it was so neat to see the (obviously many and major) differences from the children's movie and musical that i grew up loving. so many good quotes for my commonplace book in this one.

song of solomon by toni morrison

i had read just about every toni morrison book except this one, and since this is like theee book i figured it was high time i rectified that. to no one's surprise, i loved it. a brilliantly written coming of age novel with family history and family mythology in dialogue with cultural history and cultural mythology. who are we but the stories we tell ourselves? is common history alone enough to have in common? morrison is an author who poses difficult questions and lets her readers grapple with difficult answers and i always come away from her work feeling exhilarated. if you let me influence you in anything let it be this - whatever book of hers you choose, Everyone should read toni morrison and experience her brilliance firsthand.

the first law trilogy by joe abercrombie (the blade itself, before they are hanged, and last argument of kings, respectively)

gritty political fantasy with the most lovable evil bastards of characters you ever met - it's safe to say i'm obsessed. each and every character has themes and lines of repetition that carry through the series, but they're Anything but one-note. this trilogy is all about cycles, and what i love is that everything - literally everything - comes full circle while still feeling fresh and true to both the story and its characters. also logen ninefingers is my wife now.

the pale blue eye by louis bayard

i watched this movie first on netflix and had a great time, but to no one's surprise i'm going to tell you that the book is better. the character voices are strong and enjoyable - the kinds of personalities that keep you turning pages - and the mystery itself is full of wonderful twists and turns. it's in dialogue with sir arthur conan doyle, as all post-holmes detective fiction is, but does not feel shadowed by or beholden to it. the historical fiction aspect is fun as well!

#fran reads #this was fun let me know if you read any of these #also send recs!!!!!!

[magini0]

Kimset - (I)

Pairing: ot6 x Jungkook | Jungkook x Everyone

Genre: Witch AU, Ex's to lovers, Romance

Summary: Jungkook has until the next Witching Moon to develop a cure for his chronic illness. With his race against time, he really doesn’t have the nerve to be constantly pestered by his old coven mates—whom he had left behind after a mission gone wrong. Back as a famous healer and sponsored by a renowned magical society, Jungkook is ready to do what it takes to survive. Now, if only his former coven would back off and stop being so damn persistent in making up for their old mistakes…

Word Count: 14k

Also accessible on ao3 => Here Next Chapter => Here

"Souls are priceless. They exist only once, tied to the nature of our very existence. They thrive when their host does, weep when we do, and wither when we pass. Souls cannot lie. They lack the ability to speak and, therefore, compensate for their silence through the non-negotiable. Emotions. A language in its own right, complex and intricate, and on most occasions, we fail to understand them ourselves." 

The train was more relaxed than it usually was during rush hour but packed enough that some people had to stand and grasp onto the railings to keep themselves from losing balance. A sharp contrast to the near body-to-body contact one would be familiar with during Busan rush hour when businessmen and women would return home from work. Permanent-looking frowns and scowls etched onto their features, their smiles seemingly drained away from the exhausting facade of customer-friendly dedication. 

"People have the innate ability to do what souls cannot, and that is to deceive and lie. Whether to others or ourselves, is a completely normalized aspect of humanity." The woman stated, a natural tut to her voice that lingered with a chiding nature. It was clear she disapproved of dishonesty. "A flower cannot lie about its withering nature nor conceal its yellowing leaves. A cat will never lie about stealing food from the canary; it will simply defend its actions through sharpened claws and ruffled fur." 

Lying is a uniquely human ability. 

"It's this dishonesty that forces souls to weave a more noticeable, irrefutable honesty between each other. People are not meant for solitude, the cumbersome weight of loneliness marrying itself to a melancholy so heavy, it kills. That is why, on every individual, there is a red string. An extension of one's soul, connected to another across some part of the world. Those connected by these red strings are called soulmates."

Jungkook's playlist had run its course a few minutes ago, headphones now resting pointlessly over his ears. He had listened intently to the little lecture the kid's mother provided, his eyes drifting to the red strings attached to his pinky. The tip of his tongue toyed irritably with his lip piercing. Six loops, tied and knotted securely around the little appendage. Secure, occasionally tugging him in one way or the other. 

"So, like you and Appa?" The little kid asked, his voice innocent and cheerful. It had a lilt to its tone. 

The woman laughed, lips creasing upwards and revealing small dimples on each of her cheeks. Small little smile lines were beginning to grow across her features; the woman seemed to smile a lot. Jungkook thought briefly, looking away from the sweet display as if it singed him to look at it. In many ways, it did.

"Mhm, just like me and Appa." Again, that sugared tone made Jungkook cringe. He knew he was being dramatic; he wasn't even supposed to be listening in on this clearly tender moment between mother and son. But the train left little space, or rather, privacy. 

"Soulmates are meant to be together, my little cherub. It's meant to be." 

Bullshit.

Jungkook nearly had to restrain himself from spitting out those words. Memories of Namjoon dragging him to the nearest bookstore off campus because apparently the author of his favorite book series released multiple versions of the same story, but with different endings, and Namjoon just had to have all of them. Even the threat of getting caught by the cynical dean didn't deter Namjoon. Which is what ended up happening. They were stuck in detention for two weeks and had cooking duty for one, but how could he have been mad when all Namjoon could do was beam and gush about the endings, revealing his dimple and shaping his eyes into little crescents?

Or Hoseok, who had bandaged him up after a nasty fight with Ju-won, the academy's grade-A asshole. He had hidden out in the botanical greenhouse, sulking quietly and licking his wounds as he tried to recuperate himself; tears trickled down his cheeks and soaked into his uniform. Jungkook had the nasty habit of hiding his pain rather than seeking comfort in his hyungs. Hoseok was a phenomenally skilled witch, but his greatest skill pertained to finding Jungkook when he didn't necessarily want to be found. It's how he ended up sitting on the edge of the garden's large mahogany work table, Hoseok hiking up his pants and tending to his scratched knees. Kissing his bruised and split knuckles and wiping away his tears one by one. Until his pain felt phantom and eventually disappeared altogether. 

Jin had gone ballistic when he caught word of Jungkook's brawl when he and Hoseok returned to the group's shared dorm. Pacing up and down the room, flailing his arms in a dramatic fashion as he lectured and chided Jungkook. He could still recall the way Jin's eyes melted from stern to a weakening tenderness. Kneeling down in front of Jungkook, an action that nearly gave him a heart attack at the time, pulled him into one of the warmest embraces he'd ever felt. How delicately Jin draped a blanket over his shoulder and pleaded with Jungkook to confide in them in the future if Ju-won became too much. Jin had whispered that once they graduated and were officially able to form a coven, Jungkook's burdens would become theirs as well. 

They never did form a coven. 

The light-recorded voice of the subway station announcer declaring his stop had Jungkook forcing the memories of his past away. Glancing down, he stole a brief look at the six red strings attached to his finger, and his heart squeezed painfully. As if the truth of his situation pained it enough to halt its beating purpose, and weep alongside him. He inhaled sharply, forcing air into his lungs as the metro's tightly sealed doors slid open. Placing one robotic foot in front of the other, he got off the subway and returned to the busy world of Busan. Businessmen shuffled alongside him, shoulders tense and strung uncomfortably straight behind them. Jungkook momentarily remarked how grateful he was to not work in a cubicle all day. 

In the dimly lit depths of the subway station, a sense of unease gradually began to bloom. An unsettling, familiar itch underneath his skin warned him. Practically declared the wrongness inside his body. As the trains rumbled and screeched on their tracks, he felt the tight, spine-curdling sensation—a fleeting brush of something unsettling against his senses. His lungs halted, body tense as he paused his steps. Bracing himself for the approaching horror of his growing symptoms, the city's constant hustle and bustle oblivious to the quiet terror Jungkook fought within himself in public. 

He leaned against a concrete pillar, eyes darting toward the flickering fluorescent lights that cast uneven shadows upon the worn tiles. It was there, in that indistinct interplay of light and darkness, that he sensed the dreaded whisper, a sensation akin to a cool breath upon his neck.

Shifting his gaze over his shoulder, Jungkook felt his fear cement him to the dirty tiles. The shadows around him seemed to move like wraiths seeking form, flickering at the edge of his vision. He blinked, wishing the taunting shadows to leave him be. To abandon their morbid pursuit towards him and return to their rightful place. But then, in the corner of his vision, he caught a glimpse—a shadow that moved, distinct from the others. It was as if it had detached itself from the ordinary play of darkness. Like the outline of a silhouette, a barely perceptible figure materialized for a fleeting instant before fading back into obscurity.

The subway arrived, its doors sliding open with a hiss, and a crowd of commuters shuffled forward. The shadows returned to their rightful place, and only then did he feel his lungs fill with air again. The world stayed oblivious to his dilemma because, of course, they would; they couldn't see what he saw.

Jungkook stood frozen against a directory board, displaying all the subway station stops across Busan. His aura quivered, and the dread torpid pull of experiencing one of his illnesses' symptoms weighed him down immensely. Sometimes, he forgot he was sick to begin with, that the magic inside of him was running rampant and inviting things—shadows, to come and torment him. With a slight push, Jungkook leveled his breathing and began walking again.  

The plastic grocery bags rustled against each other as he navigated his way through the crowds with practiced ease. Upon leaving the station, Jungkook took notice of the soft drizzle from the sky. Littering the ground in small dots before darkening the paved asphalt entirely. It was raining, because of course it had to be. The sky seemed to cry whenever Jungkook lost himself in his reminiscence. 

Taehyung and him had missed the bus back to the academy, having gotten separated from the rest. No doubt an intentional act now that he thought about it. Although all seven of them were connected by those red strings of fate, Jungkook and Taehyung took the longest time to bond. Taehyung was bratty and stubborn, and Jungkook was hot-tempered and just as obstinate. The tension between them was usually thick enough to slice, and most of their conversations were spent bickering and annoying each other. Jin used to joke about how their sole purpose in life was to give him gray hairs and premature wrinkles. It wasn't until they had their biggest argument to date and Taehyung had taken to spray painting a local store in Hangawoondae—the town adjacent to the academy—an act of vandalism the store's owner grew livid over. Typically, a breach of rules would be punished through acts of service, but this was Taehyung's third offense. The punishment would have been expulsion. Jungkook still recalled bursting into the Headmaster's office and berating Taehyung for taking credit for his artwork, effectively taking the blame for him. Jungkook had ended up with weeks' worth of detention and unpaid labor at the store Taehyung vandalized. Neither of them talked about that moment, a lingering awkward tension now between them as neither of the two wanted to start the desperately needed conversation. Neither of them wanted to initiate vulnerability. 

The two had decided to walk back to the academy in the rain, fearing the dean's punishment for their tardiness. But the rain had been ferocious, forcing them to seek shelter in a nearby shrine. They were soaked, uniforms drenched and clinging uncomfortably to their skin. Jungkook could still recall the sound of Taehyung's unfiltered laughter and could picture the way his eyes creased and face contorted into one of sheer amusement and happiness. A lot had been said underneath that shrine, a vulnerability blossomed between them, and the red string tying them together had never felt more in place. 

Taehyung and Jungkook returned to the academy that noon, standing beside each other as the dean scolded their existence to the high heavens. Neither of them could force the smile off their lips, hide how their fingers occasionally brushed against each other, and how their relationship seemingly had changed upon their return.  

Ironically, Jungkook had felt the closest to Taehyung. Both of them were troubled, lashed out, and dealt with their emotions in problematic manners; they understood each other's deviant natures. 

Now, in the present, Jungkook refused to shield himself from the rain. The drops darkened his clothes, cooled his skin, and pulled down his hair as it grew wet the longer he walked. A part of him hated the rain, perhaps mainly because it reminded him so mercilessly of the delinquent he fell in love with underneath the cover of a shrine all those years ago. 

The bookstore was a small distance away, half a block, and clearly visible from its location as a corner piece of the street. The brick walls were painted a mat black, while the doors wore a more rundown but still striking auburn color. Over the two red doors, on a black ledge before the bookstore met the classic unpainted bricks of the apartment overtop, stood bold golden letters reading, BOOKS. The name always made Jungkook snicker; his Halmoni was never the creative type. Opting to be direct over some mystical fantasy titles. She sold books and prefered to make that quite clear. The red doors had a similar design to old telephone booths in England; beside them, separated by a black pillar, was the store's display window. Books are neatly organized and spaced, entirely deceiving of the chaotic nature inside the actual store.

Seeing the familiar store always made Jungkook release the tensions residing inside him; he wouldn't be surprised if that was due to some of his Halmonis spells, but she vehemently denied these accusations, boasting about her calming aura instead.  

The inside of the store was a sharp contrast to its outward appearance; the black and reds gave the store an elegant impression. The interior was different, the floorboards an assortment of different woods. Bookshelves overflowed with books to the point that Halmoni had opted to simply start piles on the floor, some nearly beginning to kiss the ceiling. Small lounge chairs were placed by the windows, and plants and ivy snuck around any pillars and support structures within the store, sometimes raining down on bookshelves. The store always smelt acutely of cinnamon and vanilla, depending on what tea Halmoni had chosen to brew herself that day. The aisles were narrow, with occasional floorboards creaking depending on where you stepped. 

Jungkook adored the store, in all its hazardous nature. He felt at peace at the disorganization, the warm scents, and the smell of old pages. The idly chit-chat between patrons, Jungkook loved it all.

"Aish, if I didn't know any better, I'd say your mood was causing this weather," Chae-Won stated casually, pulling Jungkook out of his memories. The hell was going on with him today? He thought bitterly; entering the bookstore he worked at must've become so familiar; not even the calming jingle of the bells attached to the door frame had alerted him to his arrival. 

"Sorry, Halmoni." He muttered half-heartedly, his head filled with too much to really feel any remorse. Quite frankly, Jungkook wasn't even sure what exactly he was apologizing for. He held the plastic bags of groceries loosely, walking around the front counter and into the actual home he shared with Chae-Won, an elderly woman who had practically adopted him and insisted he addressed her as his halmoni. That was approximately six years ago, and now Chae-Won felt like family to him.

He set the groceries down on the kitchen counter, vaguely aware of the soft footsteps that had followed him into the space. He focused on organizing and storing the supplies he got, Chae-won was a very disorganized person. However, most items need to be stored in the lower cupboards to accommodate her small stature. He devoted his sole attention to the rather mundane task, all to avoid the worrisome stare of his halmoni. The elderly witch had the innate ability to detangle Jungkook with a simple look, finding the root of his problem with frightening accuracy. Jimin had that ability, too. 

Jungkook nearly flinched at the thought, his movements halting as he looked at the now spotless kitchen. Vegetables in the fridge and other dry ingredients stored in the pantry. There was nothing else to do, and yet he still struggled to look up and meet his halmoni's gaze. 

A long sigh filled the room, sounding both tired and sympathetic. Jungkook nearly recoiled at the sound, stealing his body as it leaned against the kitchen counter. His eyes were transfixed against the window, watching the raindrops trickle down the glass and race towards the bottom. The sound of shuffling, footsteps, and the kettle being filled and turned on occupied the room. Two mugs clink together as they are grabbed from the top cupboard and placed on the counter, followed by more rustling of clothes. The water began to screech as it boiled; a moment of silence and then the sweet aroma of herbs and oranges filled the small space. 

"Sit with me, honey." Jungkook forced his gaze to part from the window, glancing at Chae-Won, who had already sat down on the couch in the living room. Adjacent to the kitchen, a large archway connected the two rooms. Two cups of tea simmered on the coffee table, and Jungkook pushed himself off his spot against the countertop, walking over at a lethargic pace before sitting down beside her. Grabbing his cup of tea, thanking her quietly, before taking a sip. 

Halmoni was a short, elderly woman. With gray hair that was often tied into a round tight bun atop her head, her body naturally hunched over as she stood and walked. She had smile lines and wrinkles to indicate all the happy years she's experienced. Usually, a wool shawl was draped over her shoulders, as she tended to get cold rather quickly. If one were to picture a sweet, old witch who tends to a bookstore, that'd be his Halmoni.  

"Repressing what has happened will not make it go away, honey." Halmonis's voice cut through the rooms stillness, the pattering of rain against the windows accompanying her gravelly tone. Soft, but a clear indication of her old age. Jungkook inhaled sharply, releasing a shuddering breath as he tried to focus on the tangy smell of oranges, the taste of sweet herbs, and fruitiness. 

Yoongi had loved tea. Exam season was always so stressful for all of them, but Yoongi upheld himself to the strictest regime. He'd burrow himself in books and papers, hold himself up in his room, and pull all-nighters. Jungkook recalled how dark circles always formed underneath Yoongi's soft features during the weeks leading up to the exams. Shoulders permanently tense, a usually relaxed expression contorted into one of exhaustion and concentration. Jungkook, who often struggled with insomnia, would sneak into Yoongi's room with a tray of sweets and tea. He'd coerce him into taking a break, light the fireplace because Yoongi tended to let the flames dwindle and drape a blanket over the both of them as they took a break on the couch. Yoongi would often feel too drained to uphold a conversation during those moments, and Jungkook didn't mind; they basked in the comfortable silence their company provided them with. Yoongi would tend to fall asleep in those moments, head resting against his shoulder. Jungkook couldn't bring himself to mind and would make his late-night visits more frequent. 

"I know," his voice came out raw in tone as if the words were forced out against his will. Despite himself, Jungkook knew. He knew running was fruitless, he knew ignorance was temporary, and that he'd continue to hurt for so much longer. 

"I know, Halmoni." He repeated, voice more stern this time. A weak attempt to convince himself that perhaps if he repeated the words often enough, he could begin to believe them as well.

The sound of small clinking porcelain chimed throughout the room; Chae-wons eyes appeared downcast as she set the cup down and back onto the coffee table. "Emotional healing is a process, just like physical injuries; we have good days, where we can walk on our own, and we can have bad ones, where we are once again confined to our beds." 

I know, the words were itching to escape him. He knew, he knew how futile his attempts at suppression were, how pushing through what had happened wasn't healing him. But sometimes Jungkook just felt so cursed to be one of the only people in the god-damn world whose soulmates didn't end up together. How fortunate it was to have found them all, how much praise they had gotten for their sheer luck; the thought nearly made him snicker. Luck, yeah, he didn't have any of that.  

"Oh, my little cherub." Chae-won sighed, a pained lilt to her tone that made Jungkook gaze harden. Her hand reached out and placed itself atop one of his, her fingers wrapping around his cold hand and giving it a tight squeeze. "With everything that's been going on, the diagnosis—"

Jungkook couldn't prevent his expression from contorting, eyebrows furrowed, and expression scrunched up as he cringed at the words. Delicately chosen, all to avoid hurting him further. Nexus Entropy is a chronic disease that gradually kills the afflicted individual in stages.

Jungkook was dying; his own magic was slowly devouring him. It was a rare illness, genetic apparently, but it seemed to have skipped over both his parents and actual grandparents. To summarize, that meant that Jungkook was once again being fucked over by fate itself. 

"By shunning the world, honey, you're punishing yourself." His Halmoni finished, once again ripping Jungkook from his heavy thoughts. His mind was like a viper, his thoughts snaking around his body, piercing his soul with its venom. A fierce-like grip around his throat and heart, squeezing and seemingly choking him on his own words. 

"Jungkook, you've done so much already. You've contributed priceless information to medical research for supernaturals. For heaven's sake, m'boy!" Jungkook couldn't bring himself to meet her gaze because, at the core of his research breakthroughs, it was all accidental. Jungkook hadn't meant to necessarily cure any other disease, but his own, curing E.E disease was only a successful byproduct of his failed attempts of curing himself. He vaguely recalled the news uproar about his discovery, but Jungkook went by the pseudonym of JJK. He didn't want them to see his discoveries. 

Jungkook was a green witch, meaning that he had a knack for anything pertaining to nature. Most supernatural diseases couldn't be cured by modern human medicine; they needed to be derived from specific mystical ingredients that Jungkook had a tendency to cultivate. His powers were slowly waning from his illness; cultivation, potions, and medicine is what he chose to distract himself with. A sharp contrast to the bellicose habits of his youth. 

Chae-won got up, ignoring Jungkook's questioning gaze as she walked over to a drawer and pulled out a familiar-looking letter. It made his slack body tense, posture straightening, jaw clicking as he ground his teeth together. The red taunting wax seal makes his body cold, hands and feet tingling with wild nerves. His stomach dropped, coiling and clawing inside of him like two meerkats fighting and tussling with each other. 

"Halmoni I–"

"I found it while cleaning your room," She cut him off, giving him a look that quietly scolded him for even leaving his room in such a messy state. Jungkook had grown messy, too tired to force himself to clean. Sometimes, the reality of his situation dawned on him so harshly that he couldn't force himself to even escape the clutches of his bed. Sometimes, those days turned into weeks. Halmoni was very considerate during those times, bringing him newly delivered books before she put them onto her shelves, bringing him tea, and letting him pace himself while still providing her presence as support. Occasionally, she'd cast a spell to clean his room while he was out. She always insisted that a clear space was key to a clearer mind. 

The letter had a wax seal keeping it shut, the wax being indented with the design of a golden eagle. It was clear that Jungkook hadn't even bothered to open it because he had known that it was a letter from the Vesperium Veil University, a place he swore he'd never visit. No, Jungkook swore it all off. Studies, magic, adventures, and love. He wanted to work at his Halmoni's bookstore until he died, peacefully miserable and wallowing in his own puddle of self-pity and remorse. 

"You're hurting, honey. You're allowed to be hurting. But there's a part of you that loved magic, and I know you still do cherub. You worked so hard back then; please don't give all of that up." She pleaded, handing the letter over to Jungkook. Although only a flimsy piece of paper, it felt like the most cumbersome weight he had ever been forced to carry. The sight of that letter choked him. 

"Your hearts hurting—it's been hurting, and the wounds done to our heart take the longest to heal. Sometimes they don't heal at all," 

Jungkook didn't think he'd heal. 

"Eventually, we have to learn how to move forward. Hun, I think it's time for you to take that step." She finished, standing up and gently resting her hand on his head. She petted it, once, twice, before leaning down and pressing a gentle kiss to the top of his head before leaving the living room and returning to the front of her store. 

And just like Halmoni, the sun seemed to leave with her. The noon casting the world in a golden glow made the living room look oddly tranquil. A peacefulness that sharply contrasted with his emotional turmoil. Jungkook had grieved for the past six years, had tried coming to terms with his break-up for one, accepting his diagnosis for another, and had stopped moving forward the day he left the academy. In the third year, he began pursuing his education under Kwang-sun in an attempt to cure himself. 

Glancing at the retreating sunlight, a memory of him and Jimin at fourteen flashed before him; the two had known each other since elementary. Since then, Jimin used to call that red string connecting their pinkies his lucky ribbon. Jimin had run up to him, huffing and puffing, cheeks reddening from his galloping pace as he panted before him. Nearly doubling over as he rested his hands on his knees, Jungkook had been so worried, but all his anxieties were stilled when Jimin looked up. Flashing the brightest smile, eyes scrunched together in crescents at his sheer happiness. In his hand was a letter, folded neatly with a silver wax seal. That night, Jungkook and Jimin had both gotten their acceptance letter to the Sable Spire Institute: For Young Witches. There wasn't a more prestigious and well-known wizarding academy in all of Korea. That night, they had snuck onto the rooftops to look at the stars, a woolen blanket draped over them. Jimin had held his hand and made Jungkook promise to always stick together. Jungkook did and, in return, made Jimin swear the same.

Jimin had broken his promise.

They all did.

A bitterness he usually swallowed resurfaced, his eyes refocusing on the letter in his hand. He stared at it for some time, unsure for how long exactly, but by the time he pried away the seal from the paper, the golden hour had long passed. The sky is now covered in dark maroons, purples, and a growing blue. 

Unfolding the letter, he read with a shaky breath:

"Dear JJK,

We are delighted to extend our warmest congratulations to you on behalf of the faculty and administration of Vesperium Veil University. It is with great pleasure that we offer you a place at our prestigious and exclusive magical university for the upcoming academic year…."

Jungkook's eyes skimmed over the acceptance letter half-hazardously, rushed, and partially uncaring. Accepting this invitation would fulfill his seventh ring of education and would provide him with a complete magic permit, subsequently allowing Jungkook to use magic anywhere. But most importantly, it would declare him a Master and enable him to teach. A silent ambition Jungkook would most likely carry to his grave. 

The seventh ring was held back at an establishment, but for non-magicals, it was simply referred to as an exclusive university. The Vesperium Veil was one of these esteemed locations, notorious for its brutal trials but famous witches. Anyone who managed to succeed at Vesperium Veil was bound to become a renowned witch.  

Jungkook scoffed; he never sent in an application. It must've been Kwang-Sun, too hellbent on not letting his "talents" go to waste. But perhaps if Kwang-Sun hadn't, Jungkook wouldn't have been presented with this opportunity; the thought lessened his agitation from not being consulted about this. Vesperium Veil University was famous for its achievements; it was legendary. 

And here Jungkook sat, uncertain if he even wanted to attend. But the nagging voice of his Halmoni beckoning him to move on, ringing throughout his mind on repeat. It made the decision, which would've been much clearer a week ago, uncertain. 

Standing up and promptly ignoring the sharp popping of his knees—something that visually aged him nearly a decade—he left the living room. He headed to the wooden staircase, a crooked assortment of wooden planks that creaked and sang of old age depending on where one stepped. On the second floor were three rooms, one being his bedroom, another being a storage closet, and the one closest to the stairs was Halmoni's room. Jungkook was conveniently the furthest, and it comforted him to be distant. The silence his room carried was comforting, a stillness inside that generously seemed to offer him time to think, to process.

Swinging his door open, he glanced at the cluttered mess that was his room. He had three windows, one on each side of the corner where his bed stood. Both large and tall, giving a clear view of the street before him. The last was against the ceiling, where the roof came down to reach the building's walls. The windows provided ample sunlight, which was necessary for the sheer amount of plants Jungkook had accumulated over his years of living with Chae-won. Over one of the windows was a shelf nailed to the wall, a simple wooden plank upheld by sturdy metal hooks. From the ledge, vines and ivy rained down onto the wall and nearly provided a curtain for the window. There was a bookshelf that mainly held medical books and research he had studied throughout completing the fourth, fifth, and recently sixth level of education. His desk, an abomination to any neat freak, was littered with papers, spread open books, pens, and pencils. A candle resting on an elegant candle stick, for when the old building once again lost power and Jungkook needed to resume his work, was already half melted. Wax dripping onto the wooden tabletop.  

Kicking the door closed with his heel, Jungkook threw the letter onto his desk before promptly flopping himself onto his bed. A queen-sized mattress without a frame, mostly because he couldn't be bothered to buy and build one, was pushed against a corner. Multiple blankets and pillows decorated the surface, and upon all the trouble today brought him, it was all too tempting to just sleep his complexities away. 

But he couldn't; peace wasn't necessarily something he got a taste of often. Sometimes, he entertained the idea that perhaps overthinking was his true talent. 

Perhaps it was time to come to terms with what had happened; their mission had failed, his soulmates had broken their promises, they never became a coven, and Jungkook suffered from a chronic illness that would one day kill him. In many ways, the letter in his possession felt like the last opportunity he held for tasting magic again. To indulge in the pleasures of learning, discovery, adventure, and intimate connections with other witches. He'd never have to see them again, and although his soul seemed to sob at the thought, it brought him relief.  

Glancing towards his desk, the folded letter sat like an elephant in the room. His gaze lingered before drifting upwards towards the decorated walls. Newspaper clippings were framed, along with specific certificates, that illustrated his achievements throughout the past years. Jungkook hadn't been the one to suggest or even collect evidence of his accomplishments. It was his  Halmoni's idea; the old woman was hellbent on celebrating him. 

If only he could share those same sentiments. Jungkook thought, a strange heaviness taking form inside him at the sight of the cut-out articles, once again celebrating the anonymous JJK. They branched out from small achievements like developing a more obtainable medicine for the common witching flu by substituting newt syrup with a subclass of thistle. To extend the life expectancy of someone diagnosed with Draemori Flux and his most prized achievement: providing a curing for Faerune S. Fever. A brutal disease with even more terrorizing fatalities. 

But despite the evidence of his good deeds, Jungkook couldn't bring himself to be proud. Because he knew, he knew that those discoveries weren't intentional. They were byproducts of his selfish pursuits and desperate attempts to cure himself. It hadn't ever been his intention to heal others; he came into this field because it used little to no actual magic and relied upon knowledge instead. It was something Jungkook's depleting body could still do without causing harm. When he looked at that wall, eyes lingering on the testimonies of his supposed selflessness, all he could really feel was guilt. 

Despite what has happened, losing his coven to the third level trial, Jungkook still loved life. The uncertainty of existing, not knowing when or where the next change will emerge. The raw purity of morning dew, the charming melodies of singing birds at the crack of dawn. The purity of emotion, hate, love, despair. Despite its pain, Jungkook loved living. 

He wanted to continue living.

"Hello, sweetheart. Jung-so is in his usual spot." The sweet barista—Han—mused as she set his coffee on the counter. After completing his apprenticeship, Jungkook had begrudgingly decided to take a year off. He now focuses his efforts on small jobs like helping out in the bookstore and occasional tutoring. 

Tutoring, by far, was his favorite job. Teaching kids, watching them learn, and taking in new information brought him joy. Perhaps because he had met some inspirational teachers throughout his childhood and wanted to return the same level of care he had received as a kid to the next generation. Besides, kids were cute. 

He tutored a small batch of kids, ranging from anywhere from elementary to high school. He had to silently thank his strict parents to value his grades above anything else; when showing his academic history and apprenticeship under Kwang-sun, parents seemed more than eager to accept his cheap labor. Jungkook didn't do it for the money, sometimes even offering to teach for free if the parents seemed hard on cash. After all, education shouldn't have a price. 

Jung-so was one of the kids he tutored for free; he had met his mother—Iseul—in Halmoni's bookstore trying to barter on a zoology book for her son. They exchanged more frequently when she visited and eventually she disclosed her situation. A single mother working at a twenty-four-hour convenience store to keep them afloat. When she mentioned her ten-year-old son, Jung-so, struggling in school, Jungkook offered without thinking. 

It was only supposed to be a short session until Jung-so got caught up in math, but upon seeing how eager Jung-so was to learn, it quickly became a long-term arrangement of meeting every Wednesday and Sunday to go over anything the kid needed. They met at a cafe across the street from the convenience store where his mom worked; after each tutoring session, Jungkook would walk the kid back there to ensure he got to his mother safely.  

Grabbing his coffee and the kid's hot chocolate he always ordered, he walked to the back of the cafe and greeted the usually hyper boy. Only he wasn't acting hyper today. 

No, Jung-so was a cute kid. Normally cheerful and a little hyper, unable to sit still for long and shifting his focus constantly. But today, he sat still. Head lowered and gaze focused on his restless hands that played with the hem of his school uniform. Something was clearly wrong, and it worried him deeply. 

"Hey kid, what's wrong?" He asked softly, setting his bag down and shuffling into the booth beside Jung-so. 

"The MCA came to our school today," Jung-so all but mumbled, not even bothering to reach out for the warm hot chocolate he usually leeched off the moment he set it on the table. Okay, now he was really worried. 

"What happened?" He asked worriedly, the MCA were government officials who worked for magicals, but usually, they were very friendly. It took a moment for him to realize that the MCA must've conducted the annual magical testing to see if students were part of the magical community or remained null. People presented with magic throughout elementary school, which is why during those three years the MCA came to test the students. Still, that didn't explain why Jung-so was so upset. 

"Well.. my eomma isn't magical, but it turns out I am," Jung-so mumbled, playing with a loose button on his school uniform. 

Jungkook's eyes widened, nodding dumbly as he processed the information. Of course, witches didn't necessarily need to be related to a witch to develop magic; mana could build within anyone really. But perhaps Jung-so's father could have had mana, but Jungkook didn't know. It wasn't his business to pry. 

"Ah, and you're upset over that?" He asked carefully, watching as his little question seemingly unleashed the dam of tears the little kid was trying to hold back. The sight broke his heart, Jung-so hiccuping and rubbing his eyes harshly with his sleeve out of frustration. Without sparing it a second thought, Jungkook pulled the kid into a comforting hug. Rubbing his back in soothing circles, letting the kid freely express himself as he held him. 

At first, Jung-so was just some kid he tutored, but throughout their time together, Jungkook really began seeing him more as a little brother. Someone Jungkook wanted to protect. 

When Jung-so calmed down, his eyes were a little puffy, his hair a tangled mess, and nose a little leaky. Jungkook got up, went to the cafe counter, and grabbed a few tissues before returning. Besides his gentle reassurances, he didn't say much until he was sure Jung-so had calmed down. 

"Do you want to talk about it?" He finally asks, silently hoping Jung-so would accept his offer. Jungkook, after all, was a witch himself. 

"Everything's gonna change," Jung-so admitted, sniffling. 

"It is. Magicals go through a different system than humans do." 

"I don't want things to change." 

Ah. There was the actual problem. Jungkook nodded, beginning to gently rub small circles onto Jung-so's back. 

"Change is constant. Even for humans. You won't be able to escape it either way," He began, keeping his voice light and soothing. Gentle—a little scared to make Jung-so cry again if he was honest. "But it can also bring a lot of good things; you'll get to do cool stuff now that others can't." He added, trying to cheer the kid up a little. 

He assumed that Jung-so and Iseul didn't know much about magic, mostly because he could recall how the stressed-out mom marveled at their magically self-organizing bookshelves. A sense of responsibility washed over him, feeling like it was somehow his job to gently introduce them to the upcoming changes they'd be facing. 

Still, on the pursuit of cheering Jung-so up, Jungkook focused on the hot chocolate still left untouched on the table. Focusing on the object, zeroing in, and recalling the simple levitation spell every witch learns during their first year at a magical cratered school. He makes the warm beverage begin to float, watching observantly the way the corner of Jung-so's lips curve upwards. The little boy watched with slight fascination as the cup floated around him, making him chuckle before landing back on the table. 

He ignored the dull ache that erupted within him, his core upset at the usage of magic. Technically Jungkook shouldn’t even be using it, not if he wanted to extend the little life expectancy he had left. But seeing Jung-so cheer up made the uncomfortable pressure oddly worth it, so he opted to ignore the throbbing and simply massage the sore spot over his chest instead. 

"Can I do that too?" Jung-so asks, mimicking Jungkook's earlier gaze on the cup and joyfully exaggerating his actions with displayed hands. It was Jungkook's turn to laugh at that. 

"You'll learn how to levitate objects during your first year; pretty cool, huh?" He mused, leaning in and covering his mouth with his hand as he mimicked telling Jung-so a secret. "But don't tell anyone I used magic in public, okay? I'm not exactly allowed." 

"You're not allowed to use magic in public?" 

Jungkook shakes his head, leaning back against the soft booths padding with a small but amused smile. "Well, not yet. I'm not qualified yet." He explained, trying to uphold his smile as he thought of that abysmal letter. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table as he took a sip of his coffee. It had been a week since his Halmonis had confronted him with it, and the folded paper still remained blissfully untouched on his desk. 

"Let me explain," He began, setting the cup back down. "Unlike humans, us magicals—"

"Why don't you just say witches?" Jung-so interrupts. 

Jungkook chuckles, shaking his head at the boy's impatience. "Well, magicals is an all-inclusive term. Witches are only one aspect of a much larger community." He could practically see the next question forming on the boy's lips and held up his hand to pause him. "There's all kinds of people out there that carry magic, such as demons, Dokkaebis, vampires, fairies, Selkies, sirens, and so much more. Us witches are the most like humans; the only difference is that we contain mana." 

Jungkook didn't want to overwhelm the boy, but he also wanted him to understand that he wasn't nearly as alone as Jung-so thought. A brief sound of acknowledgement and Jung-so continued on with his questioning. "What's mana?" 

Jungkook scolded the human education system for that because why didn't they at least prepare the students, even just a little? Magicals and humans were separated after elementary school, not for any segregational purposes but to fulfill more specific educational needs.

"Mana is the magic inside you; it's what witches like us harness to perform magic. Without mana, we'd be just like everyone else. The more mana, the stronger spells you can perform." Jung-so nodded, letting out another sound of acknowledgment. 

It made Jungkook hum in amusement, trying to recall his earlier point before he was derailed by the boy's question. "Ah! Yes, unlike humans, we magicals diverge from the traditional education system after elementary. This is why the MCA—Magicals Class Association—tested you. It's to make sure you get the education you need." He explained. 

Jungkook never got tested by the official governmental process; he was the son of two powerful witches and, therefore, got tested privately. He only knew about the actual happenings during the testing from Jimin, who had also found out about his new abilities during elementary. Although Jimin was much more aware of witches due to his association with Jungkook. A fact his strict witching parents were most unhappy about. 

"Instead of attending a regular high school, you'll go to one specifically for magicals and—"

"What if I don't want to go? I have friends now, and none of them tested as a witch." 

Jungkook couldn't even be mad at getting interrupted; this was a lot to take in, after all. He ruffled Jung-so's hair, chuckling softly. "You'll have three full years until you do that; I'm sure you'll find magical friends throughout that time. Even if you don't, you'll make lots there! I promise Jung-so, you won't be lonely." 

"Promise?" That timid, insecure voice once again violently tugged at Jungkook's heartstrings. He nodded quickly, pulling the kid into his arms once more. "I promise, buddy." 

"Now, let me finish before you interrupt again. I might lose my point completely if you do," He jokingly chided, pulling away and playfully nudging his pointer finger against Jung-so's arm. The kid laughed, letting him continue. 

"I want to explain this to you so you know what's going to be different in your life; uncertainty is only going to let that mind of yours go wild, and lord knows what'll happen then." He teased, rolling his eyes before continuing. Unable to hide his smile at the giggles his exaggerations earned him. 

"Magicals follow a seven-level system. From preschool to high school is a total of three levels. These are the only necessary levels you need, they are mandatory.” He explained. “If you want to pursue a human career after that, you’ll simply attend a human university. However, you won’t be allowed to use magic in public or apply for magical jobs.” He glanced at Jung-so, waiting for an approving nod that the kid was indeed—still following along. 

“However, if you want to work in the magical community things will go differently.”

“How different?” 

“After you're done with high school, you won't be attending university—" He watched Jung-so's mouth open for a question and shook his head to keep the kid quiet. "Instead, you'll get an apprenticeship with another magical. For me, that was an old, pruney but kind man who studied medicine. Apprenticeships range from three to six years; mine lasted five. A completed apprenticeship will take you to level six. The seventh is an extra level, not necessarily needed—but advised if you want to involve magic in your profession or use it outside in public." 

The thought of the letter currently sitting on his desk flashed through him, haunting him like a ghost. That was his ticket to completing his seventh level, and then he could become a teacher. He could gradually teach little kids like Jung-so about magic instead of giving them a crash course in over an hour. 

"Have you completed your seventh level, hyung?" 

I might, I have the letter, I could, but I won't. Right? 

"No, buddy, I haven't." 

Instead of redirecting the attention back to math or science, Jungkook spent his tutoring hour purely on magicals. He wanted Jung-so to be knowledgeable about his own community, and every moment he spent gushing about his own experiences made him feel more and more like an utter hypocrite. 

After having a chat with Iseul, Jungkook returned home to the bookstore. Unable to look at the letter waiting on his desk, instead hopping into his bed and trying to tune the rest of the word out. 

He wasn’t very successful. 

It took three more days of avoiding his own bedroom until he caved. Glancing at the letter, Jungkook made the rash decision of accepting. By the time he was done, an odd feeling emitted in his chest. It wasn't negative, no—it felt similar to when one would plant a seed and stare at the tilled soil expectantly. Anticipation. 

Glancing at the window as he stood, Jungkook marveled at the night-cloaked sky. Walking back downstairs to the bookstore section of their home, he pushed open the door and glanced at his Halmoni, standing a few meters away from him by the cash register. Sending off a customer with her signature smile, Jungkook waited as the man left. Silence seemed to drag between them, even as the store's usual customers wandered about. 

"So?" Her nasally voice dragged out curiously. 

"I'm moving forward, Halmoni." 

Her sigh was quivered, a look of relief washing over her wrinkled face. Shoulders sagging as she released the breath Jungkook hadn't even noticed she was holding. 

"Good. That's very good, Kookie." 

"We can salvage this," Jungkook's voice trembled, a shaky quiver to his words that hinted at the raw turmoil being erupted within him at the moment. His heart was frantic, clawing inside him—reaching, all because he was currently losing the only thing in his life that mattered. Tears pricked at his eyes, unyielding as he tried pushing them back. But the anguish inside him was rampant and wild. Because this was his nightmare, sparking such a guttural clenching as his soul coiled inside himself. 

"Speak for yourself; I'm not the one who ran off like some dog with its tail between its legs." Seokjin huffed, crossing his arms over his chest as a scowl etched its way onto his usually calm features. Eyes, usually holding such devotion, were now clouded with contempt. Seokjin's gaze was focused on Taehyung. 

The boy previously sitting hunched on the couch looks up sharply, gaze narrowed, and nose flared in barely contained anger. "Who the hell are you calling a dog?" He spat, the sheer venom in Taehyung's voice making Jungkook swallow. No, none of this was right. Taehyung only used that voice with rude people, people he brawled with, people he cussed out before vandalizing their dorm rooms. Not one of his soulmates. 

"Taehyung–" Jungkook knew what they saw wasn't real; the Deep toyed with their minds. Made them envision and hallucinate their worst fears in one another; they were angry at each other over nothing. 

"Shut it, Kookie." Jungkook's words got caught in his throat, eyes widening at the bitter tone. It was a tone so painfully familiar that its presence nearly sent him back to his childhood. A time filled with neither happy endings nor warmth. A place in his past his hyungs had promised to keep him from, to help him heal from.  

Taehyung had stood up, taking quick, forceful steps towards Seokjin. When in reach, he began jabbing his pointer finger into Seokjin's chest as he spat every word. "I'm not some snobby princeling who only validates their existence solely through mommy and daddys praise–"

"Oh please, what do you know about responsibility?" Seokjin had cut him off with a burst of cold, empty laughter from his own rebuttal. The rudeness and unfamiliarity of such actions made Jungkook cringe internally, but he wasn't sure how schooled he was in keeping his expression. No, not when what was happening felt so devastating. No, this wasn't like their previous bickering; this felt like more—this fight would have consequences. 

"Enough! Clearly more than you." Taehyung nearly barked, eyes narrowed and jaw tense as he clenched his fist so tightly it began turning a pale white. 

"Let's not kid ourselves here, Taehyung; I think we're far past the point of lying." Namjoon's oddly arrogant tone chimed in, laced with disapproval usually reserved for Namjoon's parents. 

This was getting so out of hand Jungkook needed to find a way to stop this. "Namjoon, not you too." Their leader, usually a gentle and patient staple of their soon-to-be coven. Namjoon would never talk to any of them like this, so why now? Why, why, why, why?

"Ha! Calling me a liar—that's rich coming from you, Namjoon." Taehyung was livid, it was apparent. Jungkook reached out, placing a hand on his lover's shoulder, only for Taehyung to brush him off roughly. The rejection stung; it was too familiar. 

They had been passed this.

"Oh, and what's that supposed to mean?" Namjoon's eyes narrowed, silently analyzing and challenging Taehyung to go on. To put it simply, a look like that from Namjoon was demeaning. As if you were the product of insubordination itself. 

"You know exactly what I mean, Namjoon. Whatever it takes to remain in charge, em' I, right?" Namjoon tensed, shoulders pulled back and back straightening. 

Jungkook didn't understand that reaction but didn't want to delve deeper into it. He wanted this to stop. It wasn't real; the Deep was at fault. "Lets all just calm down, take a moment to ourselves—"

"Jungkook, stop playing pacifist here." Jimin's voice cut through his desperate pleas, making Jungkook's words catch in his throat like a noose. Eyes flicker over to his childhood friend, his first love, his soulmate.

"Jimin?" The words escaped Jungkook the moment he found his voice again, although the tone he used was pained and hoarse. Jimin no longer met his gaze. No, no, no, no, no.

"Don't let this out on Jungkook, Jimin." Yoongi's baritone voice berated, and a part of Jungkook was grateful for it while another winced. Yoongi's voice sounded just as raw and uncertain as Jungkook's. 

"Oh, yeah. I should just bottle everything up until I accidentally implode on someone. Or, maybe just lock myself away all day long—" Jimin and Yoongi were complete opposites, while Jimin was open and vocal about his thoughts and feelings. Yoongi struggled; he handled his emotions differently. A way that may be different than what they'd prefer, but it was a way Yoongi felt was best. They understood this, so why was it being brought back up? 

"Fuck off." A defensive tone Jungkook hadn't heard since they'd met Yoongi. No, they were going backwards.

"Please, spare us the noble-knight facade, Yoongi; we all know who you really are." 

“And who am I, Jimin?”

"Stop–" Jungkook felt desperate, his own soul weakly tugging on the strings around his finger. Something that had always made him smile, something that he cherished more than the stars in the sky. This coven was Jungkook's world, and he was watching it go off in flames at the moment. 

"A lying, secretive, deceptive son of a—"

"Stop It!" Jungkook's voice boomed for a moment, the arguing halting. Namjoon, Seokjin, and Taehyung stilling. Jimin and Yoongi paused, and Hoseok turned his attention to Jungkook. Hoseok hadn't said a word since they came back from their debriefing. But he had a distant, calculating look in his eyes. It unsettled Jungkook to his core, acutely anxious about what was happening inside the witch's head. Why wasn't he trying to contain the situation with him?

Jungkook wanted this to stop; all of their emotions were too strung up. Another sharp tug or pull, and he was afraid they'd snap. "Stop it! Can't you hear yourselves? Fucking—stop, please. This isn't how we handle things." 

“I’m sorry, Jungkook.” Jimin's voice filled the room, sounding apologetic but strained. Stealing a glance, Jungkook can see the remorse in the boy's eyes. The way they looked so unhappily at him, it took that string of fate between them and wrapped it around his heart—tugging painfully. 

"But I can't be a part of this coven anymore, not with these people," Jimin whispered, single-handedly crushing Jungkook's heart to pieces. 

"What?" He pleaded—begged, that he had misheard. 

"I second that. You make me sick." Hoseok's voice cut through the room, and Jungkook felt tears cascading down his cheeks. This couldn't be happening, no, no, no, no. 

"No—"

"Fuck all of you, honestly. I can't believe I fell for any of this bullshit in the first place." Taehyung spat, turning around and walking towards the door. He swung it open, not sparing the rest of them a glance as he stormed out. Seemingly taking the sunshine with him, Jimin scoffed another last insult towards them before leaving, too. Jungkook's eyes darted towards the remaining members, his own lip wobbling pathetically as his mind wailed for the two to return. They could sort this out.

"This was such a mistake," Seokjin muttered, unearthing his breath. Brushing his fingers through his hair and successfully tussling up the messy strands further as he, too, walked out the door. 

Jungkook couldn't do it; he couldn't bring himself to look up at the remaining three. Not when all he'd get to see was them leaving—leaving him. 

"Please." He whispered.

Neither Namjoon, Hoseok, or Yoongi had the decency to look him in the eyes. Something Jungkook was both grateful for and hated. Because he deserved to be looked at, for them all to confront him while they left.

"Sorry, Kookie, but I can't do this anymore either. It was nice while it lasted." Yoongi sighed, hands in his pockets as his slouched figure retreated from the room and left, too. 

Namjoon and Seokjin remained silent before they, too, left. 

Seven turned to one, and one turned to none. 

The sun stopped shining that day, and his world stopped spinning. Jungkook had lost all that mattered to him in a single day. They had completed the third trial, but at what cost?

Eyes fluttering open, Jungkook slowly returned to the present. Watching the trees move past as the train moved, the tracks provided a nearly soothing thumping soundtrack. Rich green fields, occasional patches of grass that remained unattended and therefore let the blades reach impressive heights. Farmer fields, dirt patches, agriculture, fenced cows and horses. Jungkook took his time getting lost in the present beauty around him, his chin resting in the palm of his hand as he suppressed a dry chuckle. 

He was hopeless. 

He was constantly returning to the past, unable to stay, and haunting himself with the possibility provided by two simple, daunting words: What if? 

His six soulmates left, but they never really left. 

Watching the world pass by him, he gradually lets go of the Jungkook, whose nickname became Kookie, a nickname he hates nowadays, and slowly accepts that he is someone new. 

That's what all this was for, anyway, for him to move on. To hopefully complete his seventh trial and begin teaching; if he failed, then Jungkook wouldn't really have much time to do anything else regardless. The two options were oppressive in nature, but somehow, they still provided him with a strange sense of hope. 

This year would change everything, better or worse; Jungkook was ready to be himself again. Despite the past, who he lost, Jungkook wanted and will move on. 

The train halted thrice before it settled on his stop, his back cracking as he stood up. A small grunt escaped him as he rubbed his sore muscles. He preferred train rides over flying, but sitting in one spot for several hours resulted in soreness no matter what he did. Grabbing his backpack and slinging it over one shoulder, he pulled his suitcase from its resting spot above his seat before hopping off the train. Other students wandered around the station, a little chaotic as everyone tried navigating their own way through the busy crowds. 

To say he was a little overwhelmed was an understatement; tired from the trip and hungry, all he could be bothered with was a meal and a bed. 

"Mr. Jeon?" 

Perking up, Jungkook looked around before something tugged on his pants. Looking down, his eyes widened at the sight of a Siamese cat, an elegant blue bow tied around its neck like a collar. It sat before him, tail swishing irritably as it looked up at him in mild annoyance. 

Of course, how could he forget? At VVU, students were assigned familiars; guides to help them through the process of their seventh level. Glancing around, he saw that some students were greeted with all kinds of animals. Sheep, deer, and an assortment of birds, from pigeons to hawks. Others got significantly more intimidating—cooler, familiars. A tiger walked past him; a short blonde student even got a bear. 

"They gave me a cat?" 

A sharp swipe at his ankle made Jungkook drop, hissing at the painful scratch just delivered to his exposed skin.

"Ungrateful bastard, I'll have you know I'm the prettiest familiar here." The feline hissed, cold blue eyes peering up at him with a judging look. 

"I won't have myself be judged by someone who dresses like they've only ever heard of the word fashion through a dictionary. Honestly, just because something is on sale doesn't mean you should buy it." The cat's voice was high-pitched, an accent to her tone that made her sound oddly formal. As if she crowned herself royalty. 

"I should leave you here." Her voice chided, tail flicking. Somehow, Jungkook managed to feel a little small in front of the feline's scrutiny. 

"But I won't, Mr. Jeon. Now follow me," Without another word, the cat turned around and began walking off. Leaving Jungkook slightly stunned because he had just been told off by a cat, scrambling to compose himself and follow. 

"And for the love of all, straighten your posture." 

Straightening his back and lifting his chin, he followed the authoritative cat. It was amusing seeing a tiger familiar lead another student down the same gravelly path from the train station. Comparing the cat and the tiger, one would think the cat had more power. She carried herself with a natural prowess, not even sparing others a glance. 

"And before you address me as just some cat again, I'll have you know my name is Balam, and I have overseen several royal witching generations." 

Ah, so he was correct about the cat treating herself like royalty. A practiced snobbish attitude that one would usually imagine when engaging with royalty was very present in the small feline. 

"I'll be your guide throughout this year. I'll help and aid you wherever I can; however, I will not do things for you." She continued, not even glancing at him. Simply assuming the newcomer and her new witch would follow. "You'll do well to remember that." She finished, walking up to the university entrance. 

Upon handing in his acceptance, the university's familiars could choose which student they'd like to guide for the respective year. It was one part choice, and the other was instinct. It made him wonder why Balam seemed to have chosen him; by simply glancing around, there were a lot more posh looking students wandering around. People who might've been a much brighter fit for Balam, compared to him, of course. They carried themselves with the same aristocratic arrogance Balam did. 

"Of course; if I gave you my full name, we'd still be standing at the train station. The one I gave you shall suffice," she stated bluntly. Completely ignoring the slight stupor Jungkook gave in response, proving his suspicion right that the familiars sole intention throughout this year was to scold him. 

Upon entering the actual campus, Jungkook quickly realized that University was a light term; it was more of a gothic European castle. Large winding towers point to the sky, a courtyard filled with chatting and bickering students. If it weren't for the fashion and students littered with electronics, Jungkook might've assumed they had entered another time period altogether. 

There was a courtyard in front of the building, enclosed by open stone hallways leading to other parts of the building. A gravelly path began from the front gate and snared itself around the fountains in the center of the field before splitting off and leading towards the stone steps towards the—castles—main entrance. A set of large, impregnable wooden doors that led into the university. Although the architecture was imposing and a lot to take in at its naturally dark demeanor. Jungkook didn't actually find himself halted because of the building but because of the abundance of magic in the air. 

Throughout the lovingly tended to courtyard, pruning shears seemed to magically float about. Skillfully trimming, tending, and aiding the bushes, flowers, and trees throughout the space. Two students had carelessly plucked one of the white roses from the lining rose bushes and began shrieking as a subsequent pruning shear began chasing him. Water cans also seemed to be flying about, tending to the flowers diligently. 

Jungkook had nearly forgotten what it was like to be present around active magic, visible incantations, flying objects, and other notable hexes. It was refreshing, and an odd part inside himself felt oddly rejoiced at the sight. 

The inside of the university did not disappoint either, although filled with winding hallways he'd surely get lost in later. The entire space—no matter what room—felt special. Rich and purposeful. 

Jungkook hadn't even been aware his mouth sat slightly ajar until Balam’s sharp hiss, "Close your mouth before you begin to catch flies." Perhaps if he wasn't so tired or in awe of his new situation, he would've sent a snarky or sarcastic remark right back at her. 

"I'll show you to your dorm now. Considering that you are in your seventh level, you'll be sharing your space with students on the same level as yourself. You'll have a total of six students—" 

"Seven people all in one room?" 

"If you'd let me finish." She huffed irritably. 

"Sorry." 

There was an awkward pause, and Jungkook was sure that if he looked down, he'd be burnt to a crisp from Balams scolding glare. Eventually, she cleared her throat before continuing, "In total, there are seven bedrooms; you won't be sharing a bedroom with anybody, but what you will be sharing is a living room, two bathrooms and a kitchen." 

Jungkook nodded, not necessarily surprised. It was a similar living situation during his time at the academy, only that the bedrooms were meant for two people instead of one. He had been bunked with Taehyung, something Jimin and him had been devastated over when they first arrived. Of course, Jimin had grown all too fond of the idea when he realized they were soulmates. But Jungkook had remained devastated for much longer. Taehyung and him had been in constant competition with one another over Jimin's attention. Something Jimin revealed later to have been utterly amusing. 

When confronted with the front door to his dorm, he stood in front of it silently. Shifting his weight anxiously from one foot to another. He grabbed his phone, opening the camera and quickly fixing his hair to the best of his abilities. 

“Will you stop that? You’re worse than a fish out of water.” 

“Ok, ok. I’ll open it.” 

Entering his new living quarters became both nerve-wracking and exciting, leaving a mixture of giddy anxiety to settle within him. Silently, Jungkook prayed to whatever god would hear him that his new roommates for the year would like him. Balam seemed to have little regard for his own nervousness, walking past the shoe rack that seemingly already had six pairs of shoes neatly resting against the wooden storage. A neat set of pale yellow house slippers were set out for him, and Jungkook carefully took his own shoes off before slipping into the more appropriate houseware. 

"Hyung, I think that's them!" An excited voice chimed out; the nature of its tone sounded strangely familiar to Jungkook. 

"Jimin, calm down. You'll scare them off before they're even properly inside." 

Jungkook recognized that voice. 

Park Jimin 

That was Jimin-ssi getting lectured by Seokjin-ssi. 

As if being able to sense something was off, Balam sent Jungkook an inquisitive albeit concerned look. Ah, Jungkook hadn't spent much time with familiars. His Halmoni had one when she was younger; she would talk vaguely about the owl with a deep nostalgic melancholy that didn't let Jungkook question why the familiar wasn't physically summoned anymore. Familiars couldn't necessarily die; when they became close to death, their physical bodies would depart, but their spirits would continue living in the spirit realm. They only needed time until they could be summoned again. The bond between a witch and their familiar was inseparable, and it was the familiar that chose the witch. They'd form a bond, and the familiar would eventually die alongside the witch. 

It was why familiars only ever bonded to one person, and even then, it was a rare occasion. Despite that, Balam seemed rather in tune with Jungkook's current emotions, and her tail changed its pace from a gentle swaying to a rather cautious flicking. 

Spinning out from the corner, Jungkook's thoughts came to a screeching halt. His throat locked itself in place, and his body froze. Before him stood his oldest friend, the love of his life, and the creator of so many firsts. 

Jimin looked older—it had been several years, after all—now having dyed his hair a warm bleach blonde, some of his roots still hinting at the natural color of his hair. His face, as strikingly stunning as it had always been, looked back at him with pure shock. Eyes wide, flicking over his entire body rather rapidly before zeroing in on his own face. As if confirming Jungkook's very presence to himself as well.

Jimin wore a dark beige cardigan, the knitted and oversized garment looking cozy and warm. Underneath was a loose white shirt that complimented a silver necklace around his neck, leading Jungkook's eyes to Jimin's piercing. Ah, that was new. He thought, being able to recall Jimin's lingering gazes on the earring jewelry in stores. Always claiming that one day, he'd get one. 

Both of them stood frozen, eyes taking in the form of the other. Perhaps if he wasn't dealing with years worth of emotional heartbreak suddenly getting figuratively thrown at him, Jungkook would cuss himself out for only wearing a simple black hoodie and some gray sweatpants. The trip from Halmoni's bookstore to Viel was lengthy, a nearly ten-hour trip. So he had chosen comfortable instead of fashionable; he hadn't expected to meet one of them again, regardless.

But he couldn't bring himself to waste much attention on the fact, now that he was being assaulted by a past he had just come to leave behind.  

Footsteps seemed to be approaching from a distance, soft and slow, as the person seemed unaware of the silent moment transpiring between himself and Jimin. Every emotion he had refused to acknowledge for years was bubbling inside him, fighting for dominance, leaving him stunned and unable to pick one to actually go with. 

"Jimin, what did I tell you about bombarding our new roommate—"

Kim Seokjin. 

Kim fucking Seokjin stood before him now, too. 

Seokjin stood just as still as Jimin as if he was being confronted with a wild animal. Seokjin had dyed his hair as well, a brown color with a reddish warm tint to it. It was nicely styled with the part off to the side, complimenting the turquoise satin sweater he wrote that loosely shaped his upper body before being tucked into some white pants. It was simple but painfully familiar. 

The eyes of his older hyung—friend? Ex—flickered over him, but unlike Jimin, Seokjin seemed to find his voice much quicker. 

"Jungkook?" 

Again, that voice he hadn't heard in forever addressed him like a deer caught in headlights. As if he was about to make a break for it, and the thought seemed all the more tempting now than ever before. This wasn't what he came here for; the plan was to come to Veil to move on from his past, find new people, and build new relationships. They weren't supposed to be here. 

Jungkook was pulled out of his stupor by the nudging of Balam against his leg; the familiar must be tuning in with his emotions. Even if it was just surface level, Jungkook's entire being felt heavy. A glance down seemed to answer a question of hers she hadn't even asked, prompting the familiar to step in front of Jungkook and redirect the attention of the room. 

"How rude, a new guest enters, and you neither offer to take his coat nor provide some refreshments." She scolded, and oddly enough, that familiars chiding tone seemed to provide him an odd sense of comfort at the moment. He watched as both Jimin and Seokjin straightened at the scolding, unable to form words as they stammer and stumble over themselves like baby giraffes. 

It would've been an amusing sight if Jungkook didn't have a hundred-and-one things to think about at the moment. 

"Now, my witch is tired after his travels and needs to be shown to the remaining available room to be given time to recuperate and freshen up before dinner." 

Being redirected by the strict familiar once again, Jimin rushed to grab Jungkook's suitcase, and Seokjin carefully ushered him inside. He decided to ignore the lingering gazes, the hovering touches; he couldn't think about any of it. Especially not when the entrance hall led to the open-spaced living room, where the rest of his past resided. 

Yoongi had large, clunky headphones on and was nodding his head off to some music. Sitting on the floor by the coffee table, sheet music sprawled about in utter disarray, with a laptop resting on top of some of the papers, his headphones connected to the device. He had kept his hair black, slightly longer, as his bangs threatened to slightly cover his eyes. Yoongi's back leaned against Hoseok's legs, who was sitting on the couch mindlessly scrolling on his phone. He also kept his hair a natural black; however, Hoseok's hair had more of a natural wave to it. Compared to Yoongi, whose clothes resembled a dark academic style, Hoseoks seemed more light and summery. Much like his personality, Jungkook noted. 

His eyes lingered on the sight for a moment, soaking up the sheer domesticity surrounding the two. It was a sight he had taken for granted all those years ago, something that would've warmed his heart now cultivated an uncomfortable bitterness inside his chest. 

Namjoon sat not too far off, a steaming mug of what he assumed to be coffee in his hand with a book in the other. Unlike the rest, Namjoon was the only one who had dyed his hair an unnatural shade of gray. With the sunlight hitting it, making those natural highlights practically glow—his hair nearly looked silver. A warm, black sweater covered him. He sat comfortably on a cushioned windowsill, reading silently as he took occasional sips from the mug. 

It felt strangely surreal like nothing had happened to them, making Jungkook acutely angry. Another nudge against his leg had his momentary rage return to a simmer, a strangled sigh escaping him, sounding shakier than he'd have liked. 

"Jimin, have you seen my hairbrush—" Taehyung had come out from a hall down the left side of the living space. No doubt where the actual bedrooms were. 

Wide fox-like eyes met his own, widening and ironically also taking on the expression of a deer caught in headlights. Just like the rest, Taehyung's hair had been dyed as well. A medium shade of brown, complimenting his soft features despite the messy nature of his hair. He wore a mustard colored wool sweatshirt, with a white dress shirt seemingly underneath. Its white collar and sleeves folded over the sweater, and his pants were a light beige. Glancing at Jimin, Jungkook noted that both Jimin and Taehyung wore a rather light academic style of clothing. 

"Jungkook?" 

Taehyung gasped a name that seemingly grabbed the attention of all the others inside the room. He could feel their eyes on his body, practically bolting him to the ground with how much he hated this situation. None of this was supposed to happen; he wasn't ever supposed to see them again. The sound of a mug drooping pulled his attention towards the windowsill, Namjoon stood practically frozen as he had dropped his mug and stumbled onto his feet. 

Seokjin had muttered something under his breath at Namjoon, something along the lines of 'you clutz’ as he walked over, grabbing a towel from the kitchen and hurriedly beginning to dry the floor. That sheepish look on Namjoon was strikingly familiar, from the blush that dusted his cheeks to the way he rubbed his neck to relieve a phantom pain. It was too familiar; it hurt. 

"Goodness, sake! Has everyone here lost their manners?" Balam exclaimed, promptly pulling whoever was still in a daze back to reality. Hoseok stood up, grabbing Yoongi's forearm and helping him stand as well. 

"My room," Jungkook finally muttered out. Cringing internally as those were the first words he had managed to say in all of, well, this. "I'd like to settle in," he added. 

Jimin perked, clearing his throat. "Oh. Yeah, right. Follow me!" He cheered softly, ushering Jungkook down the hall and into the last room. Opening the door for him, Jimin set his luggage down by the closet. The room was nice and simple. Veil was a very rich institute, and it showed. Especially in housing, as the room was set out with a queen bed in the left corner. A bookshelf, a desk, and a closet built into the wall covered by a mirror. 

"Ah, Jungkook I—"

"Jungkook needs some time to freshen up from his travels." Balam's strict voice chimed in, effectively shutting Jimin up as the blonde halted, mouth ajar before promptly shutting it with a lowered head before closing the door. 

For the first time throughout that entire encounter, Jungkook felt himself regaining the ability to breathe. Balam hopped from the ground onto the chair and eventually to the desk, sitting down and looking at Jungkook with a prodding look. However, Jungkook couldn't bring himself to care. He walked over to his bed and sat down, a long, shaky sigh escaping him. 

The edge of the bed dipped under his weight, his head in his hands as he breathed sharply, trying to process everything that had just happened to him. 

None of this should be happening. 

He wasn't ever supposed to see them again; he was supposed to move on. What was he to do now? He couldn't possibly live with them for an entire year! Frustration seemed to catch flame inside him, flickering and growing as he sadistically delved further into his own misery because he had been improving—slowly. He had been returning to a normal rhythm and had carried himself out of the thick of his regret and anger. Only for them to be back and look at him again—stand before him. Flooding his mind and heart with all the feelings, the memories he had tried so desperately to suppress. 

It wasn't fair, it didn't feel fair—

"Mind telling me where that mind of yours is wandering off to?" Balam mused, her tone uncharacteristically sweet. Ah, he had nearly forgotten that he wasn't alone in his little spiel. Balam reminded him of a strict guardian, someone who didn't hesitate to smack their young across the back of the head after doing something idiotic, but also the type that would hug and console their pupil if they were upset with open arms.

"I—" What exactly was the best way to approach this conversation? He didn't need to tell Balam anything; she wasn’t entitled to his past. But Balam was his familiar and would continue to be throughout the duration of his year. Familiars could tune into their witches' emotions, and although his and Balam's bond was very brittle and new, the cat could still feel a small amount of what he felt. Glancing at the change of demeanor from the feline, it was enough. 

"We knew each other." He said, inhaling sharply as he tried to steady his own heartbeat. Mind searching for words, simple but capable of conveying the depth of the broken bond between the other six men in the shared complex. Silence filled the room, the only sound consisting of Jungkook's quivering breaths. Glancing at Balam, those icy blue eyes stared back at him quizzically, silently telling him to continue. 

"Soulmates—we, we were soulmates." 

"Were?"

Soulmates. A word that has haunted Jungkook throughout his entire life. From childhood, he didn't make much of the term nor the red string around his pinky; it had been Jimin who sparked his own anticipation for the others they were connected to. It was Jimin's senseless rambling about true love, princes and trolls, love at first sight, and happy endings. Jungkook had always just been content with Jimin by his side; having that red string connecting them was all he really needed or wanted. But it wasn't just Jimin's fault; the media romanticized the living hell out of soulmates. Through songs, literature, art, dance, cinematography, photography, the list was endless. And everyone had fallen for it. 

Including Jungkook. 

Pinpointing any specific emotion inside Jungkook at the moment would be like trying to shoot for a bullseye with a blindfold on. Like a circus of wild raging monkeys, his feelings switched between hate, hurt, conflict, anxiety, and so much more he couldn't put a name on. 

He slowly pulled his face out of his hands, the weight of the world suddenly feeling like too much on his shoulders. Pressing onto his chest, misting his eyes, and with choked words, he muttered a simple response.

"Yeah, were."

Balam didn't ask for more, eyes narrowing incrementally as she took in the implication and meaning of those words. It was clear that without asking for much more, that Jungkook hadn't expected nor necessarily wanted to see those other witches. Fortunately, Balam wasn't their familiar and, therefore, had no obligation to the other witches or their feelings. Her main focus would remain on her witch. 

"I see," She muttered, prompting Jungkook's eyebrows to knit together in slight confusion. 

He wasn't sure what the familiars next steps would be, how Balam would try and approach this situation. He already hated this enough as it was that he had to be vulnerable so quickly in front of his otherwise strict familiar. That all too familiar embarrassment washed over him, prompting him to wipe away any rebellious tears from his eyes and straighten up. He didn't meet her gaze, a slight fear that those eyes might have turned patronizing throughout his little display of weakness. 

"Well, wallowing won't do us any good." She stated, tone softer but returning to its regular sternness. Jungkook nodded meekly, lifting his head to try and glance at the cat's general direction. She seemed to have waited, staying silent until Jungkook finally decided to meet her waiting gaze.

"In moments like these, it is easier to take one step at a time. Looking at the bigger picture will get us lost in its details; it is an invitation to become overwhelmed." She explained, hopping off the table with a nonchalance usually associated with cats. "So, let us take our steps slowly." 

Again, Jungkook found himself nodding. Watching as his familiar stopped beside his suitcase, sitting down beside it before glancing at him again. "You have traveled far today; I suggest you go take a shower. I will go and arrange for your dinner to be brought to your room in the meantime; I think it is best you fully collect yourself before facing any of your roommates again."

"So, three steps in total. Freshen up, eat, and rest. Tomorrow will be another day; we shall figure out how to proceed then." She hummed. 

Jungkook nodded a final time, finding those short instructions manageable. He got up slowly, going to his suitcase and opening it carelessly. It would have prompted a scolding from Balam, but she remains oddly quiet at the moment. He grabbed some clothes, simple but comfortable, grabbing his toiletries afterward. Taking a deep breath and bracing himself, he felt Balam brush against his leg silently before opening the door. The hall and living room were deathly quiet; one could hear a pin drop, and it gave him the impression that he wasn't the only one holding his breath at the moment. Balam was familiar with the dorm layout, so she guided him to one of the two bathrooms. 

The first thought of sharing two bathrooms between seven men unnerved Jungkook about the potential mess he’d find inside, despite this being only the first week of everyone moving in and settling. He had met his fair share of messy people, but upon opening the door, Jungkook found a very tidy space. Three baskets were laid out on a shelf, and two seemed filled while one remained empty. 

"We decided to split the bathrooms between us hyungs and the maknaes." Yoongi's calm tone explained, and Jungkook's shoulder instinctively tensed. The voice was painful; it caused an ache inside himself that Jungkook had thought was healed, or at most scabbed over—but hearing Yoongi's voice made it feel raw. Turning around, he took in Yoongi's figure, leaning against the bathroom door frame, arms crossed over his chest. His expression seemed twisted, eyes holding a look he couldn't quite place. 

"Okay," was all Jungkook was really able to say at the moment. A part of him wished he could fake some more nonchalance like he didn't care, but he did, and he couldn't force his voice to sound dull in front of one of the men he had loved. Yoongi shifted, clearly uncertain how to continue the conversation, and Jungkook silently prayed he'd just walk away.

 "Will you be coming to dinner?" Yoongi asked.

"No."

Before Yoongi opened his mouth, Balam let out a small hiss, "The boy wants to freshen up now." She stated, ushering Yoongi away from the bathroom and letting Jungkook lock it. He exhaled a breath he hadn't noticed he had been holding, trying to forget those familiar eyes peering through him. His mind threatened to run off again, and the previous instructions from Balam pulled him back in. Three steps: Shower, eat, sleep. He could do that. 

#bts #bts fanfic #bts ot7 #bts au #ot7 series #supernatural #ot7 #bangta boys #jeon jungkook #kim taehyung #kim namjoon #kim seokjin #park jimin #jung hoseok #min yoongi #Jungkook x everyone #teakook #vkook #vminkook #namkook #jinkook #yoonkook #hopekook #minkook #jungkook centric #poly ot7 #supernatural au

[terrence-silver]

We've seen the adults reactions to Terry Silvers beloved being pregnant while they usher him away in a police car but I'm awfully curious on what you think the kids reaction be. If they'd care at all.

― Miguel might have unexpected feelings of sympathy, because again, not that he was born yet then so he cannot have memories of it validly, but recreated through the stories his mom and his Yaya told him, the image of an abandoned pregnant person fending for themselves and a 'bad man' symbolically and eerily reminds him of his own mother and an unborn him, years ago. History has a strange way of repeating itself and he has left to Mexico to soul-search and now as he watches Terry Silver led away in a police patrol car with someone weeping after him he almost wonders if in saving the day they accidentally created another parent like his mom and...another him, making all things neatly interwoven. He doesn't like the implications.

― Funnily enough, Robby has the same emotions and he feels guilty about it and he cannot tell why, but then again, guilt permeates this kid's existence as a whole. He should've saved all the kids at Cobra Kai and brought them with him, but then there's person who could've easily been his mom Shannon in the past and an unborn him who he couldn't have saved even if he wanted to because they're not his to save. Difference is, it appears that Silver is genuinely distraught, haunted and visibly frenzied at being led away from his close ones and the mixed feelings inside of Robby range from 'he had it coming' and 'even this guy knows well enough to love his family'. It is difficult when even one of the worst people you know cares about his own more than your father does.

― For Tory there's the same follow-up all the kids from broken families lacking a stable network or at least one parental figure have. She is grim at the sight of farewell between a pregnant beloved and Terry. She knows Terry Silver is a bad man. She knows the dojo is a bad place. She almost wants to drown her melancholy by silently declaring beloved's stupid for messing with a guy like that anyway, but she can't because she was entangled with Cobra Kai long enough herself where she feels like a hypocrite for even thinking that. Robby was too. So was Miguel. They've all been there, done that. But, they all had the ability to walk away eventually. It takes a couple of days for Tory to come around and then she does something Amanda did for her. She might show up and beloved's doorstep with groceries.

― Kenny feels profoundly and genuinely upset (and even betrayed) because not only is his mentor being taken away, the one person who ever considered him good enough for anything, good enough to teach, to believe in, but also good enough to single out as a favourite in any endeavor, but his world also shattered when this same mentor in the form of Terry Silver turned out to be someone who relies on corruption to win, but then there's also Terry Silver's partner with an unborn child and they're saying tearful goodbyes to each other and this is a little too much for someone so young to handle so Kenny is very probably to just leave the scene and scurry off. Sensei Silver's broken family is now also just like his own broken family and that hits a little too close to home for comfort.

#terry silver #terry silver x reader #terry silver x beloved #robby keene #miguel diaz #tory nichols #kenny payne

[imastrangeone98]

The Room Where It Happened - Chapter 3: A Simple, Uncomplicated Story

(A/N: I just love writing really cringe stuff... and I'm not gonna stop :D)

No warnings, just some mild angst XD

Here's chapter 2 if you missed it

Your backstory wasn't much to write home about. Quite simple, really: you got bit by a radioactive spider, you dedicated your life to fighting crime- inspired by your deceased 이모, who told you that "with great power, came larger duties to your people." And then there was Miguel.

Your Miguel. Kind, sweet, and so considerate. Even when you both were still working at Alchemax, he never failed to make you feel appreciated: working alongside you on overtime, eating lunch together, gossiping about your mutual head scientist, who you both hated.

He was nothing more than a friend... at first. Then shared lunchtimes turned into shared dinners and invites to go out, movie nights at each others' homes, trips to the grocery store, the amusement park, even road trips.

You grew to love him. How could you not? When his smile was so wide that his eyes crinkled at the edges, when his laughter was so contagious that even you ended up rolling on the floor with tears in your eyes from how hard your stomach hurt from laughing, when he looked at you and held you in his arms like the two of you were the only ones in the world?

You couldn't stop it, even if you wanted to. Even though you should have. You were 거미, the Spider-Woman. Yet he was an unstoppable tidal wave that eroded away even the strongest of wills, including yours. And when he kissed you, the remnants of your strength melted away.

And for the first time since you became 거미, you allowed yourself to crumble in someone's arms. And Miguel embraced you, pressing you close to his heart, murmuring that he would be here, always and forever.

"You knew Miguel?!" Pavitr screamed, nearly dropping his bowl.

"She knew an alternate version of him," Peni corrected.

"Still a Miguel!"

You chuckled at their mini-argument. "It was good... for a while. Then he died in a villain attack that I couldn't stop." You leaned back in your chair and stared off into the distance. "He was gonna propose. He had a ring and everything."

It was in his hands while he was falling. 도깨비 had pushed him, and you reached for him, desperately, webs flying to try and catch him. It wasn't enough. He still ended up slamming to the ground, eyes lifeless, the box with the ring tumbling from his limp hand.

And you held him in your arms, close to your heart, weeping at the memory of him mouthing to you as he fell:

Está bien. Te amo.

Para siempre, por siempre.

The group stayed silent. The unspeakable pain of losing a loved one... The emptiness at knowing that that pain could have been one's own... They knew it well.

"It took me a long time to move on," you sighed, a stray tear stuck to your eyelids. "The way I know he would've wanted for me. I left Alchemax and drifted as 거미 for a while until someone told me there was an opening as a literature teacher at Visions Community College. It was hard; I made friends, I lost friends and family. But... life finds a way. And somehow, I managed to keep moving forward."

You turned your gaze to the ceiling, where a few Joro spiders lazily cleaned the skylight. You smiled at the sight, a huff escaping your lips.

"It never stopped hurting. But I learned how to be okay. And I embraced that pain, and the joy, and the love that never truly faded away.

And that was the end of that... Until I met Miguel. Again."

His eyes were red. That was the first thing you noticed. And the wrinkles were deeper, stress lines etched in his forehead. The twinkle in his eye was not one of excitement at a new discovery, nor was it the dreamy sweetness that held galaxies in its warmth.

No. His eyes reflected his temper: fiery, all-consuming- he was a ticking time bomb where it was not a question of if, but when it would tear you apart. And his shrapnel would embed itself deep in your heart, because when he stared at you, with those inferno eyes, you saw love.

"Mi vida," he whispered, almost reverently. A clawed finger (which your Miguel definitely did not have) softly traced your cheek. And though the sharp blade came close to your throat, you somehow knew he would not hurt you. "You're alive."

"YOU MET MIGUEL?!" Pavitr screamed again. Or as he said, "AGAIN?!"

"She just said that minutes ago," Ham mumbled.

Yes. Your grumpy, angsty Miguel, who now held secrets in his palms as numerous as the stars in his eyes whenever he looked at you. He didn't need to say anything for you to know that, just as you lost your beloved, he had lost you.

But he did tell you about the mysterious Spider Society, of the different versions of Spider People that helped to protect the vast multiverse. He told you that he wanted you to join him.

"We can help a lot of people," not-your-Miguel whispered to you that night you met him. "Not just in your world. In every world." And when you could not bring yourself to agree right away, too lost in the pain that suddenly erupted in your chest at the sight of him, he gently hooked his finger under your chin and tilted your face to his. His lips curled in a soft smile, so strange yet heartbreakingly familiar. "You don't need to give me an answer right away. Whenever you're ready, or..." He hesitated a few seconds too long, distracted by the city lights enshrouding you in an ethereal glow. "If you'd like to... talk... I'll be here.

Para siempre, por siempre."

He wasn't your Miguel. But, once more, selfishness dug its claws in your gut, whispering to you that you worked hard enough, you suffered long enough- didn't you deserve even the smallest chance of happiness? Haven't you earned the chance to have Miguel, even a foreign one, all to yourself just for a moment? Get the chance to know him? To love him, just once more?

And so, suppressing your better judgement, you called for him. And he came to you, as promised, without fail.

Sometimes, on those quiet nights where the two of you simply sat, side by side, on the rooftops overlooking your city, he would tell you stories. About his past, his beloved daughter Gabriella, who loved soccer and cupcakes and all things fairy-related, who dreamed of being a pro player one day. He would tell you about the world he came from, Nueva York- its technology that made the city glow as bright as the sun at night, its moon-rail that went so high you could see the other planets in the vast galaxy he called home.

He never spoke about you. The other you.

But you knew that she lived in his mind and his heart. The way he gazed at you with that distant look in his eyes told you everything you needed to know.

You couldn't help but ask yourself: what type of person was she? What type of person was she to make this seemingly unbreakable version of Miguel O'Hara shatter at the seams that he reached out to you, someone so close yet so far from his memories? Why were you jealous of her?

But the answers never came. And you were left...

"...हे भगवान, if you're gonna say that's the end, I'm gonna lose it!" If Pavitr had a bouncy ball, you were convinced he would've thrown it to the ground. Thankfully, for the sake of your furniture, he only had a fruit plate which he gripped tightly.

"Well... no," you reassured him with a weak laugh. "But it is your bedtime. So off to bed with you! That includes you too, Hobie."

Said teen rolled his eyes. "I don't take orders from no one."

"You do for tonight. Shoo, shoo!" You waved him off, but he didn't budge.

"If ya gimme a kiss, I'll consider it."

"You're way too young for my taste, kid."

"I ain't no kid, I turned 18 a few months ago," he grumbled under his breath.

"Now you gotta wait a few months more!"

"I'll be 19 by then!"

"Exactly! Under my strict requirements for a future husband, you're officially too young to shoot your shot with me-"

"How many a'those you got?!"

"According to my handy-dandy notebook... 51. You meet... 28 of them." You clapped your hands with finality. "Application rejected. Also, I'm 이모 to you!"

The two of you continued bickering while the others slowly made their way to their surprisingly comfortable hammocks. Margo had logged off for the night, and the younger ones like Peni and Pavitr fell straight asleep, while Noir, Ham and Gwen chatted a bit longer before retiring for the night.

When Hobie was finally ushered off to his corner of the room, Peter B. quietly approached you, cradling a sleeping Mayday in his arms.

"You didn't tell them everything," he whispered, glancing at the younger ones. "I- uh, didn't mean to call you out, or anything. Just saying I noticed."

You sighed and rubbed the back of your neck. "Yeah. They don't need to know... all of that."

He nodded before saying, "Hey. If Miguel... does come here-"

"Then I'll deal with him."

"Are you sure? With all of that history... I don't think he'll go easy on you. Even if it's you. No- especially if it's you."

"It wouldn't be Miguel if he went easy," you agreed. "Let me worry about how hard he'll hit; get some rest. Your baby needs it."

Peter B. yawned loudly, a clear sign of agreement. "And what about you?"

"I gotta find that kid you're looking for so badly, so I don't have to think about how hard he'll hit me."

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

A/N: oooh Miguel, ur not a very good boyfriend rn lol I'm being too mean but he'll change... eventually... right?

이모 - aunt; used to refer to an actual aunt or an older female figure

도깨비 - Korean mythological goblin; known for their mischievous nature

Está bien. Te amo. Para siempre, por siempre. - it's ok. I love you. Always and forever.

हे भगवान - according to Reddit, this is the Hindi equivalent of "oh my god"

#across the spiderverse #atsv #miguel o'hara #atsv pavitr prabhakar #hobie brown atsv #miguel x reader

[nabnab-official]

my initial thoughts/observations on chapter 3/deep sleep

this is gonna be a long post. and i mean really long. !!SPOILERS UNDER THE CUT!!

opening thoughts

so, after a long and deserved wait, chapter 3 has finally released. i was very excited, and i wasn't disappointed. this one still follows the formula of gameplay chaper 2 established, but is far longer and far more scary.

as much as i enjoyed chapter 2, it was not scary at all. the only tense moments were during the games, and even then its not scary scary. they failed to build up that atmosphere of dread that a lot of horror games strive to have. chapter 3 delivered. home sweet home in particular, and the red gas hallucination scenes were scary. i still have a quarrel with poppy over their scripted scares, but this chapter was much better about that than chapter 2.

this chapter has a much different, darker vibe than chapter 2, and im glad. i hope they keep going in this direction, and i suspect they will, especially with the morbid story they want to tell with this game.

i was glad we also got to see the majority of the playcare, even if im a bit bummed out that we didn't get to go in the toystore. the playcare itself is a really good environment, it looks cozy but its also so obviously fake, reminding me of those little miniature towns in trainsets. I did not expect it to be inside a dome. my favourite area in the whole chapter had to be the playhouse.

the new hands were also a great addition, and made the puzzles much more fun and varied. changing up the mechanics like that was a great idea to keep people from getting bored of the same puzzle and gameplay every single time.

the school section was fun. miss delight was kept a secret and that was the best choice, because she was a good surprise. the weeping angel chase sequence is great, if a bit complicated. still, its nice to have an actual active threat.

we got a lot of answers in this chapter, including specifics on what the hour of joy was. it seems that the game is being much more open about its dark lore, and im happy about that. im tired of games being theory bait in the sense they make the story next to impossible to figure out to bait theorists. i just want to understand whats going on.

criticisms.

one thing ive always had an issue with about poppy is the scripted scares. in some places its ok, like the huggy tv scene. but i wish there was more of an active, ambient threat. like in the playhouse for example, having to use the flare gun to keep them away. part of the scare is knowing something is out to get you. it helps build up tension and fear.

on that topic, catnap is definitely underutilized, as are the other smiling critters. catnap is good when he shows up, hes got a great design and im really glad they kept him mostly silent. but i wish he showed up more. tying this point to the above one, it would've been cool if he was lurking around in home sweet home. it would be the same way he does in the office towards the end of the game, and you have to fend him off in a similar manner.

the smiling critters in general are underutilized. dogday only appears for a short amount of time, and while his appearance is very good, i wish we got more. we didn't even get to see what the other bigger body critters looked like, or even have them mentioned other than once or twice.

they could have been a sort of resistance group against catnap, or even have been additional threats. picky piggy is a cannibal and craftycorn wants to paint with your blood. something could've been done with that. they couldve even taken the role that ollie filled. though i think ollie is probably important so probably not.

i didnt like the catnap boss fight. i dont know, it just felt weird. i also didn't like the weird nightmare form he transformed into. i much prefer him in his normal state, hes creepy enough as is.

last critique. kissy died. thats it, thats the complaint. look we've done this before in batim when they killed boris. we're gonna have to wait until chapter 4 comes to see if shes alive or not and shes likely gonna be dead in some horrific violent way. this is more of a petty thing than anything but im still sad about it.

deep sleep

so, the ost for the game isn't out yet [once it is i might post about it if i notice anything interesting]

but one thing i did notice is the main [possibly] leitmotif is actually a song from all the way back in chapter 1, titled deep sleep, which likely not a coincidence. i dont know if they had this planned all along, or decided later, but its cool either way.

you can hear it here when you enter the playcare for the first time, and in the menu theme [at the very end before it cuts off]. im unsure when else it plays but it probably does play elsewhere, similar to how the thousand year melody is also a common leitmotif

lots of death [and huggys death]

so, huggy is confirmed dead, by poppys word. im kind of sad about that. i think it wouldve been cool if he had come back, covered in blood and all messed up from his fall, hungry for revenge. at first he just wanted to eat you but now its personal.

but alas we can't always have what we want. PJ is also possibly dead, but im not sure. its confirmed that he doesnt die in chapter 2, as mommy doesn't kill him like she does bunzo and the wuggies. but in chapter 3, it looks like PJ is on catnaps shrine. but until hes confirmed dead im holding out on saying he is. it also seems like huggy is haunting the player, in a way. he appears in their nightmare hallucination, and then again as a cutout later almost tauntingly.

poppy is right, we have killed a LOT of people. we killed huggy, mommy, miss delight, and helped kill catnap. we indirectly caused bunzo and the wuggies to die [mommy killed them, but if we hadn't won the game she would not have done that, so we are involved regardless]. and now, we have to kill the prototype. i did not expect this much death in this chapter, but i enjoyed it.

catnap

out of all the main antagonists, catnap is by far my favorite. in the long wait leading up to chapter 3, the anticipation to his reveal was a lot of fun. theorizing with other fans, making fan interpretations of what he would look like. originally i thought he would be a bat

his actual design is fantastic. i didnt expect him to be so skinny, but it really works in his favor. him being on all fours also sets him apart from the other antagonists. i wont go into detail about his design here

his actual character is really good and is what makes him my favorite. those who followed the arg that led up to chapter 3 know catnaps full story, about how the prototype saved his life. im not gonna talk about that here because im gonna talk about that and his death in a different post. but catnaps religious devotion to the prototype makes him really interesting. hes so obsessed with him he builds shrines, and is even willing to kill all the other smiling critters for being heretics the choice to keep him mostly silent also really elevates his character. i think it wouldve been much different were he talkative like mommy long legs.

i do think he was underutilized though, especially with how much he was teased

prototype

i was kind of hoping to see at least a little bit more of the prototype's body, but we got a voice reveal so thats good enough. the prototype is a very interesting character, and im really excited to see what he looks like in the future. he must be huge, if he took catnaps body to presumably use on himself. the prototype interests me, because im trying to figure out what his deal is. poppy seems to think hes pure evil, but we never actually see him being evil. the only truly evil thing we know he has done is enact the hour of joy. does he kill other toys all the time? what else does he do thats so evil? we dont really know yet i guess he saved theodores life and sacrificed his freedom for it. right now he is morally grey. he also killed catnap, but im not sure why he did that. was it a mercy kill? did he simply not tolerate that failure? its hard to tell with a silent scene.

either way, the prototype intrigues me. some people think he is elliot ludwig, but i dont think so. i think he will just be nobody in particular, ideally. hes good enough on his own as a character

elliot ludwig and ollie

during the hallucination sequence in the home sweet home, its said that they found the body of a young boy in an upstairs room in elliot ludwig's house, a body which was missing organs and bones. this was after ludwig had died, and playtime co seems to want to fight the allegations. so either ludwig killed that kid or someone was framing him. either way, its not looking good for him. its been speculated for a long time whether or not elliot ludwig knew about the sinister happenings at playtime co, or if it happened after his death and leith pierre took over. this might be our answer. now whos body was that? so, i have a weird hypothesis. its said in his backstory that elliot had someone die in his family, which caused him and his wife to split. people first speculated this was his daughter, who became poppy. i think maybe, with this revelation, it was a son. and maybe, like the poppy theory, that son became something else. maybe hes ollie. maybe hes the prototype. who knows. it would explain why the body was there, and parts were missing. maybe those parts were used to make a bigger body. it has a lot of holes, but thats why its a hypothesis

on the topic of ollie, who are they? i definitely think they're a toy, possibly a bigger body, which is why they're hiding their appearance from us. theres also no way its been 10 years and theres still kids here. they either would have died or grown up by now. i dont completely trust them, or poppy for that matter. people have theorized ollie might be the prototype, since the prototype can change his voice to sound like a variety of things. heres my crack theory, which i know is not true but it would be funny: ollie is boxy boo. listen. ok. the phone is first seen in project playtime, which is boxy boo's debut game, and reveals all his lore, like how he was the first bigger body created. the phone also resembles him in appearance. obviously this probably isnt true but its funny to consider.

speaking of him, im really glad boxy boo was in this chapter. i hope he appears physically in the next one, because i like him a lot. make fun of the name all you want but hes my special guy.

kissy and poppy

kissy is my favorite character so im very glad she was here. though i wish she was there a bit more, beggars cant be choosers. im also glad poppy got more spotlight. when she first appeared in chapter 2, she just felt like circus baby 2.0. but chapter 3 expands on her character a lot more and makes her feel more unique and alive, and like an actual character. which im glad for because shes the namesake of the game and is obviously very important she hates the prototype because he locked her in that case, and killed all those people. but obviously she cant kill him herself, shes so small. so we have to do it. ill be honest, i still dont completely trust her. like the prototype doesnt seem THAT evil to me. we havent seen him do a lot of things. imagine if theres a huge plottwist at the end where poppy is actually evil and the prototype is good. no way thats gonna happen but whatever.

the players identity

before chapter 3 released i thought the player was maybe a past orphan who worked at the factory later in life only to return years later to end things. people theorize that they're the head of innovation. now it just seems to make sense that they're rich. i mean why would we be constantly hearing about this guy who seemingly is just another employee. the player also seems to have done bad things, or at least known about them, because the game constantly references their guilty conscience.

chapter 4

its quite possible chapter 4 will be the last chapter. poppy said that catnap was the final obstacle the prototype had set out before us. and now we have the clear goal of killing the prototype.

in the next chapter, we will probably go down to the labs mentioned time and time again, and uncover the final secrets. as we go deeper down and progress through each chapter, things become more grim and dark. this will probably be the darkest chapter yet. if we go down to the lab, with the goal to finally kill the prototype, we are going to be in his domain, his kingdom. we will probably see new monsters, maybe even scrapped toys like daisy.

anyways i will make smaller posts for other stuff like catnaps death, and other things i find deserve their own posts. thanks for reading if you have made it this far