vii

hi! i either update three times a day or once every three months; there really is no in between.

[jiwuvxlr]

welcome :)

yes, i will reuse this - and yes, the dividers do bother me

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-info

hi, i’m vii.

welcome to my new tumblr! if you have been with me prior to 2020, i apologize for the complete reset/delete, since i’ve removed everything from my previous account and am now officially starting over.

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i also no longer post on ao3 or wattpad, only quotev!

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what i plan to post here: -creepypasta (mainly) -occasional fandom content (feel free to give requests; i am familiar with a wide range of fandoms) -random thoughts -writing excerpts and additional work -wip posts

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asks and requests: my inbox is open for both!

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warnings:

as of now, i do not write hardcore sexually explicit material (though that may change; likewise, that doesn't include innuendos/flirting). my work may include other topics including but not limited to heavy gore and psychological themes. please keep this in mind with engaging with my content.

i prefer to interact with individuals aged 16+, though i understand this cannot be strictly enforced. please do not share your age online if you are younger than that

Currently working on:

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HIDE AND SEEK: (quotev) v!crp x reader

Thirty days. One survivor.

This is the chilling reality that greets you in a preternatural mansion saturated with the scent of bloodshed. Disoriented and starving, you are trapped with a collection of equally terrified strangers. The rules are laid out: while one survives in a period of one month, everyone else dies.

It won't be you.

Trust is a death trap; every face is a potential killer, and the path to survival is paved with difficult choices. Your only advantage is your mind, and even that won’t save you if you hesitate. To live, you must outwit your fellow captives and killers.

One thing is certain: you’ll survive. You have to. But how far are you willing to go? And more importantly... who will you be when it’s over?

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Overdue Rent: (quotev) proxies x reader

Life was already difficult enough managing a building full of tenants and a small side job, with neither of the above being a profitable business, not even counting the utter shit show of a day you were having. So when you had the pleasure of a late night run-in with the new tenants, it really was the icing on the cake.

Specifically, the cake they happened to be carrying in a large, heavy, and very bloody bag.

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The Ghost in the Wires: (quotev) bd x reader

"there are ghosts we speak of, and ghosts we don't." it could be anything—the ghost of your past, the ghost of lies, the ghost of secrets... whether you realize it or not. 」

Who knew that stepping inside an abandoned factory would unravel a mystery, forcing you to confront a buried trauma from your past… as well as a sinister force lurking within your town.

Will you choose to face the darkness head-on, or will you turn away, leaving the secrets—and by extension, your own pain—unresolved?

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In Terms of Decadence: (quotev) m!yansim rivals x reader

"Remember that the most beautiful things in the world are the most useless" You were born with everything, overflowing with incomparable wealth, undeniable prestige and influence, and a future already carved in stone as the sole heir to the L/N business empire. To the outside world, you were untouchable, the one on top of every game, just a few steps ahead of everyone.

But when you are persuaded to take a detour to attend Akademi High, the world of elite academia quickly reveals a web of secrets and danger. What starts as a simple transfer becomes a journey into hidden agendas, unexpected surprises, deadly intrigue, and enigmatic figures vying for your attention. You'll find the higher you climb, the more there is to lose. Will you choose to feed the fire, or to forge your own path in a school where trouble is brewing just beneath the surface?

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masterlist coming soon

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tags: #vii writes - random writings #vii asks - used when answering questions or requests #vii hns - everything about hide and seek #vii art - self-explanatory #vii stuff - mostly used for info or nav, like this one

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[jiwuvxlr]

bloodlust

━━━━━━━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━━━━━━━ e.j. x hunter gn!reader - nobody asked for this but i wanted to publish it anyway

summary: You were a monster hunter, and a damn good one at that. Your life had always been defined by instinct: act first, question later. Rage was familiar, fear useful, especially when everything was something to track, corner, and kill. Hunting those monsters was always the easy part. Learning to coexist with one—especially one who keeps showing up at your safehouse, tracking your heartbeat, and materializing whenever you’re bleeding—is considerably more complicated.

words: 3.7k

tw swearing, injury/blood descriptions, suggestive proximity/touching, play biting, wound cleaning…but with tongue

━━━━━━━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━━━━━━━ 🐺 “You’re fucking staring again.”

The thing crouched on the windowsill didn’t answer.

Caked head-to-toe in black mud, dripping with stagnant swamp water, and smelling of rotting leaves and wet earth, you sat in the middle of the dark safehouse, frantically pressing a now-bloody, makeshift compress against your side, wincing hard as a deep gash leaked a thick, warm red stream down your ribs. Your shirt was torn half off, hanging in shredded strips that unfortunately exposed your skin, webbed with angry red welts and countless tiny, stinging scratches from tearing straight through the briar patch to shake whatever had been hunting you through the swamp. 

The blood was still deafening in your ears from that chase, a hot rush of adrenaline that left your customary fury simmering. To top it all off, the first drops of rain had started when you were still outside, turning into a relentless downpour—because of course it did—and you loathed every second of it when you were already half-dead, soaked, and miserable.

“Fine, maybe not stare. But I know you can at least hear me, piece of shit. You could at least pretend to have some fucking manners.”

Nothing.

“Fuck you.”

He was almost invisible in the dark. The hood swallowed most of him, shoulders folded in on themselves with the strange stillness of something that wasn’t really resting, only waiting. One leg hung over the sill, tapping against the brick outside every few seconds. Tap. Tap. Tap. Driving you right out of your fucking mind.

A few minutes passed in silence.

“…Done?”

The low, vibrating rumble tore up from his chest, heavy like an animal growling deep in its throat, yet resembling something like patience. You knew he wasn’t exactly asking whether you were finished with the emergency medicare.

“Yeah.”

He didn’t move.

“…Well?”

There’s another wet plop as liquid drips slowly down the windowsill.

“What?” you sighed.

A low purr-growl in the dark, dragging out the syllables. “…Hungry.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Your heart skipped a beat out of sheer instinct. “Don’t say that.” 

You’re suddenly hyper-aware of the shredded, barely covered ex-skin-tight top hanging off your shoulder, the expanse of bleeding skin mapped across your chest, and the way the shadows clung to him. 

Outside, thunder rolled somewhere over the trees.

Then, without warning, he was in front of you. The old springs of the couch groaned and dipped beneath his weight.

Instinct slammed you backward into the cushions, while every single survival lesson entrenched in your bones screamed threat, weapon, strike, your hand violently twitching for a weapon before your brain managed to slam the brakes.

Your thighs were pinned hard between his legs, trapping you beneath him. Up close, the stench finally hits you: the heavy smell of dried blood clung to him, even though you knew, with a bizarre flash of irritation, that he usually hated being messy and tried to keep himself sanitary.

Your mind violently shoved away the sudden, nauseating thought of where that smell of blood came from.

He leaned over your body. Unmasked tonight, his face dipped down with terrifying weight, pressing in close until his cheek hovered inches from your jaw. You knew how his features look exposed—taut, ashy skin, jaw clenched tight, and the hollow sockets where his eyes should’ve been. That had been a particularly nasty uncovery at the beginning.

A thick viscous drop of ink-black fluid leaked from the empty sockets. It fell, landing straight onto your blood-smeared collarbone, the black instantly smearing and bleeding into the red wetness of your skin. He stayed there, completely poised right above you, his face inches away from the crook of your neck as he inhaled, long and deep, drinking in the scent of open wounds and mud. There was an unnatural, suffocating heat radiating off him.

“…Blood,” he rasped, the sound low and vibrating with an ugly coiled bloodlust that made your stomach twist.

“Get off,” you breathed out, your hands shoving hard against his chest, though your fingers just sank uselessly into his unyielding chest. “I mean it. Get the fuck off.”

He didn’t budge an inch, pinning you deeper into the cushions. 

“…Don’t,” you muttered automatically, your voice dropping shakily as you breathed harder.

“…Heart.”

“I know it’s my heart.”

“…Fast.” That was an understatement. Your heart was pumping blood at a breakneck speed up through your throat and ears in a desperate bid to keep you conscious and alive. A freak like him could probably hear the exact rush of it singing through your veins, smelling the hot and iron-rich panic sweating right out of your pores. 

“I said don’t.”

Another pause, thick and heavy with the sound of your own breathing.

“…Sorry.”

You exhaled through your nose as he settled back an inch, the feral tension humming just beneath the surface without truly easing up entirely. Per usual. Tiny, shivery tremors rippled straight down your spine; it’s the electric flutter in your gut that usually felt like the hot rush right before a kill, the sickeningly familiar high of adrenaline when a blade met your hands. 

But your hands were empty, your hunting knife discarded on the floorboards, and this wasn't a fight. You were entirely unsure whether your body was screaming to strike, if it was too cold, or was shivering from something else entirely.

He was still just sitting there.

The immediate threat had receded into that strange stillness, but he didn't actually get off you. He just stayed planted squarely across your legs, a heavy weight keeping you trapped in the cushions. The petty irritation flared up again in your chest, replacing the panic with a buzzing annoyance.

What is he doing? Just sitting there like an obedient dog?

It was utterly absurd. You exhaled another huffed breath, your gaze sweeping up to meet his—or where it was supposed to be. Making direct eye contact was always a deeply unsettling, surreal experience when there were literally no eyes to meet, just those indented hollows dripping that dark pitch down his jaw.

With a scowl, you yanked your arms tight across your chest, folding them self-consciously over your torso to shield the skin and bleeding gashes from plain view.

“What?” you snapped again, your voice thick with exhaustion. “Like I said, don’t tell me if you’re planning on going hunting today or drag me along lest I lose my job, I swear to god.”

He managed to look—against all laws of nature and anatomy—almost rueful. That stupid, seven-foot-tall, skin-crawling thing actually looked almost rueful.

Somehow, that recognition made you tremble even harder, even more pathetically, the residual adrenaline turning into a cold sinking feeling in your gut.

Your voice slipped down, suddenly small and thin against the drumming rain outside.

“…Don’t tell me you’re thinking of… eating me or something.” It was a stupid statement. The terrifying part was that you actually thought about it—you always thought about it whenever you were stuck this close to him. 

Monsters had been plaguing your town and its outskirts for decades, killings its people and leaving strange mutilated “sacrifices” everywhere, and you’d trained your whole life, clawing your way into the hunter corps just to put an end to it. You wanted to be the one who stopped them. To stop generations fed to things that crawled out of the sinkholes, bleeding the local bloodlines dry until families just learned to leave an empty chair at Sunday dinner for whoever didn't make it back from the woodline.

But no, instead, based on some fucked up luck and circumstance, you were stuck in a cramped safehouse with this particular nightmare in the dark. 

It was a weird and complicated story how you two got tangled up to begin with, the kind of annoying improbable collision of bad fortune and worse timing that no training could ever prepare you for. Words forced things into neat little boxes—monster, human, ally, enemy, friend?—drawing blurred lines where nothing made sense anymore. After countless silent intersections, a weary familiarity had somehow woven itself into your life. It had taken a long, agonizingly slow time for the distinction to shift in your own head—from it, to him, to Jack. He had told you his name somewhere a few months ago, but you never actually called him that. It was as if giving him a real name would somehow solidify it, make the impossibly strange reality of what you were doing a little too real to outrun. And he never said your name, either. You both just circled the fire that was burning you both to ash. You most certain of all.

He knew your irritable temper as well as you knew his shadow trailing you during a patrol. He started leaving before dawn every single night just because he knew you hated waking up to find someone watching you sleep. If you ever looked up at him and whispered, “you’re still a monster,” he would just quietly leave. And if he ever looked back down at you and said, “you should just kill me,” it would instantly make you furious, because the statement was just too damn easy. And sometimes you’d cross a freshly butchered carcass rotting in the bracken and realize with a sickening jolt exactly where he’d been, tracing the invisible lines of his path. 

The attraction wasn't rational; hell, it was like leaning your bare throat into the bloody jaws of a rabid timber wolf. It was that fucking awful, fluttering feeling of butterflies, the tremor that’s the rush before a kill. Every time he approached, your body still whispered run. Every time he left, the silence felt infinitely worse. And yet, sitting there with him, that dark, morbid curiosity clawed at the back of your mind again. 

What if this is the time? What if tonight is when he finally stops playing along? What if he just... snaps? Like a monster? The monster he is so-called to be? You just stared up into those black hollows, wondering how long this fragile wire act could possibly hold. 

What a pathetic tangled mess you'd made of an otherwise simple life.

The air between you felt stretched to a thread, belied by the steady, miserable drumbeat of the rain outside. You were waiting for him to move, waiting for him to answer, or at least break the suffocating weight of his not-gaze.

Really, the fact that he wasn't answering was the most worrying of all.

His grip, where his hands rested against the cushions on either side of your hips, suddenly tightened, and you felt the curving pressure of his claws sink just a fraction deeper, nudging agonizingly close to your skin. It wasn't enough to pierce—not yet—but it was a sharp, distinct reminder of what he actually was. An apex predator casually flexing its weight.

Your chest rose and fell in a rapid, shallow panic, your gaze locked onto the dark tears weeping down his gray jawline.

“When's the last time you fed?” you asked tentatively, as much as you could muster to mutter the words.

He didn't move a muscle. He just tilted his head down at you, completely silent. 

“Are you broken or just being annoying?” you said, your hands shoving uselessly against his chest again, your voice sharp and slightly irritated. “Stop being silent, damn it. Answer me.”

Right as you opened your mouth to snap at him again—

“…You…” he started, stopping awkwardly. “…make me nervous.”

Hearing this flesh-eating eldritch creature essentially admit that you made him nervous was so profoundly ridiculous that you almost laughed. And despite yourself, a tiny pathetic fraction of your human soul felt a bizarrely twisted pang of sympathy for him, even as you realized how completely unhinged that made you.

The blunt pressure of his claws immediately eased off your skin, the tension in his massive frame retracting just enough to let you breathe. You winced slightly as the phantom sting left your hips, your shoulders slumping a fraction against the cushions.

“…Almost two weeks,” he finally murmured lowly.

You let out a long, pained groan, throwing your head back. “Yeah. Definitely too long, you fucking idiot.”

That made sense. Looking back, he had been acting entirely cagey lately. If you didn’t know him better, you'd think he was tracking you—lurking around the edges of your shifts, showing up whenever you got hurt, even in obscure, out-of-the-way places. It had been happening for a while. 

Then again, you remembered why. You thought about the explosive, one-sided shouting match you had a while back, when you finally snapped and gone off on him about killing civilians, laying down the law and forcing some unsaid twisted compromise out of him, spitting out reasons for why he couldn't touch humans, who were your family and friends. 

Well, you hadn't exactly told him to starve himself or sit in a dark corner wasting away.

And now he was just... lingering. Making his pathetic, half-assed excuses like showing up because he wanted to see you instead, hovering over you like a possessive, starved animal guarding its only kill.

He didn't move away, but his head tilted slightly as he added, “...Don't like the taste of animal.”

You knew damn well what he meant. He didn't want the deer or livestock rotting in the deep woods; he wanted red meat, warm and complex and human.

You squeezed your eyes shut for a second, a wave of bitter disgust washing over you—not just at him, but at yourself. Here you were, a sworn officer of the hunters, trading casually morbid banter with the exact kind of freak you’d dedicated your life to putting in the ground. Every syllable exchanged, every second you spent letting him stay this close, felt like another brick chipping away at whatever fragile moral code you had left. You were rotting from the inside out, especially when you knew about this and hid it willingly.

What is wrong with me?

The scorching self-beratement sucked. You were losing your mind. Absolutely, irrevocably losing it. Here you were, lying bleeding out on a grimy safehouse couch, playing house with a cannibalistic abomination. What kind of monster hunter sits there negotiating meal preferences with the enemy? You were disgusting. Sick. Pathetic. Pathetic.

He leans in again and you stifle a breath, that massive frame blotting out the dim light. You have to violently squish your spine back against the cushions until the wood (the wood!) dug painfully into your back. Underneath your ribs, your heart went to a full-blown panic sprint, its rhythm accelerating instantly into a fast pit-pit-pit-pit sound, so loud you could even hear it echoing in the heavy silence between the drops of rain. 

Instantly, a low rumble vibrated through his chest, acknowledging the sudden spike in your terror.

“...Faster again,” he rumbled softly, tracking the acceleration of your pulse.

His head dipped lower again, right toward the torn gashes on your side where the blood was still sluggishly leaking through your wounds and its haphazard dressing. A wave of ice-cold dread and darkly sickening fascination crashed over you simultaneously; you were revolted, your stomach churning, but also... paralyzed, waiting to see what he would do if you gave him free reins.

“Will... will blood be able to sustain you for a bit?” you blurted out before your brain could stop it.

Stupid stupid stupid. Do you want to die right now? You’ve seen what he does with those weird preserved things he tore and harvested from his victims. Hell, you still vividly remembered that one grim night he’d tried to offer you a glistening strip of intestines like some grotesque romantic gesture, and you had nearly vomited right into the dirt. 

Another full-body shiver wracked your frame, your muscles locking up.

“...yours might,” he murmured right against your skin. Deep in his chest, a strange low vibration rattled outward.

Your head tilted back slightly, neck straining forward as your spine instinctively straightened your posture. You squinted up at the peeling paint of the ceiling while his weight pressed heavier into you, heart bouncing like a pinball inside your chest, and you could feel the blood rushing to your fingers as your fingernails clawed desperately into the upholstery. He was again completely ignoring any concept of human boundaries, but he was still. Maybe he was waiting. Maybe he was waiting for some sort of sliver of consent before he crossed the final line, except you knew better. Creatures like him didn't care.

“Fine,” you said. 

Fine. Just take it. Take whatever it takes to get you to shut up, to get you off my chest, to make you crawl back out into the swamp so I can stop living like a cornered animal. And if letting him have a taste of your blood kept him from ripping apart some helpless patrol or civilian, then fine.

Silence swallowed the room, save for the fucking maddening drumming of the entitled rain.

The last remaining scrap of his “restraint” snapped in a low snarl as he completely flattened himself over you, all dense muscle, blood-like smell, and radiating heat pressed down until every ounce of your weight was crushed into the cushions. You let out a choked gasp as he began to lick, the wet, forked slide of his tongue dragging directly across the torn edges of your wounds and blood-soaked bandages.

Oh good god.

It was the most revolting sensation imaginable. Your stomach heaved violently though that was maybe from the pain, your eyes squeezing shut so hard stars danced behind your eyelids as you let out a wheeze, trying desperately to suck in oxygen through your teeth. The abrasive friction of his tongue against your still raw, stinging skin sent a sharp jolt through your ribs. It hurt—it actually burned like acid—mixed with a nauseating, liquid heat that felt entirely too weird.

Can you get some kind of disease from this? Tetanus? Some necrotic swamp rot? What the hell is tetanus? You were a monster hunter, but you sure as hell weren't well-versed in the pathogen portfolio of a literal corpse-eater.

Where else has this tongue been…

His massive hands tightened around your waist until you again felt the threat of his claws pressing into your bare flesh, pressing you so hard against his frame that you couldn't move an inch even if you tried. Another violent shiver started racking your frame, sending a wave of electric goosebumps exploding across every square inch of your skin. Slowly, agonizingly, the points of the claws began to sink at where they held you, biting into your soft flesh. You could barely even notice the exact moment they broke the surface, just a sting swallowed whole by the overwhelmingness flooding your veins.

Little, breathless gasps started spilling past your lips as his tongue kept doing its work, moving past the minor scratches and tracing closer to the open edges of your deepest wound. The sting was bad enough to make your vision swim, but it was overshadowed by the feeling of teeth, brushing against your wounded skin.

The sharpness of his canines grazed right over the sensitive edge of the gash, a deliberate, suggestive friction that made your stomach drop straight into a freefall. You were scared—genuinely, frantically terrified of how easily he could tear you open right then and there—yet your back involuntarily arched up into the cushions, pushing your spine deeper into the couch as your legs twitched slightly against him, trapped beneath his weight in a desperate, confusing response your body refused to authorize.

When his mouth closed over the torn, pulsing skin—right where the deepest gash throbbed—a sharp, white-hot explosion of pain and agony lanced straight through your body.

“Ah—ah—shit—”

Your voice was trembling on the edge of a pathetically pained whine. The dangerous curve of his canines pressed directly against the bleeding nerve endings, cold and sharp and entirely too close to drawing more blood for real.

“Don’t—don’t bite, don’t bite—!” you whimpered, your hands flying up to blindly shove against him as he did exactly what you just said not to do. Panic was a live wire sizzling through your veins.

This is so fucking bad. What in the actual hell am I doing, shit. Shit, shit, shit.

Instead, a low growl rumbled deep in his throat, vibrating straight into your collarbone as he sucked harder at the wound, a pull that drew a loud groan that sounded entirely too much like something else. The wet, abrasive drag of his tongue scraped raw over the torn edges of the flesh, turning the open bleed into an absolute agony. It made your toes curl slightly, your back violently arching upward off the cushions.

The tearing feeling of teeth against your side pushed you past the absolute breaking point, finally overriding the paralyzed haze in your brain, and you shoved your palms flat against his face, pushing him away with every ounce of strength you had left. “Okay, enough, get off—”

Your hands plastered hard against his cold forehead, shoving him back as he tugged and worried at your flesh with his teeth, reluctant to let go. When your palms finally came away, your skin was slick and smeared with that thick, tar-like black fluid—whatever ungodly ichor ran through his veins, staining your hands in the dim light.

He finally drew away with a low, disgruntled growl rumbling deep in his chest, head pulling back just enough to break the seal, though he still loomed over you like a mountain. Jarring back to reality, you stared straight up into those terrifying, eyeless hollows. How did my life come to this? 

He was entirely silent, the heavy rain outside providing the only soundtrack to the suffocating quiet. Then, slowly, he parted his jaws. His mouth was completely coated in a thick, wet crimson, glistening under the shifting light. Your blood smeared across his gums, bright and sickeningly vibrant, framing his sharp, inhuman teeth as they peeked through the red.

Your blood.

The corners of his jaw stretched, maybe in a smile, one that wasn't quite human and wasn't quite beast—a slow unhinging grimace, the kind predators make when the taste lingers and the hunger hasn't been put to bed, the dripping crimson split across the lower half of his mask.

"...Not enough," he rasped wetly.

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[jiwuvxlr]

The games 1

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~hide and seek anniversary p.1

[jiwuvxlr]

i wanna try writing fanfiction for the first time and I really admire your writings so I wanted to know if you have any advice!!

that is wonderful to hear! and thank you, i am glad you have been enjoying my writing.

if i had one piece of advice, it would be not to be afraid of writing. writing is an expression of self, and there is no “right” way to do it. i think the biggest thing i struggled with early on was treating every sentence as something that had to be “good,” instead of simply letting myself express what i wanted to express. ironically, i think the writing became much stronger once i stopped chasing the idea and complex themes of “good writing” and focused on communicating the scene as honestly as i could.

for scenes itself, personally, i try to immerse myself completely in whatever i am writing and how people would realistically respond, how conversations naturally progress, and how emotions build from one moment to the next. the human mind is surprisingly good at filling in those details if we let them. i also would not worry too much about writing something “bad.” every writer has work that makes them wince a little, myself included, but that is simply part of improving. it’s a rewarding and clear way to see how much you have grown.

and above all, write because you want to explore ideas, not just for the sake of writing something/trying to prove that you can write. technique comes with practice (not that i believe there is an objective definition to good technique); having something genuine to express is what keeps writing enjoyable.

i realize this probably sounds rather vague and mildly didactic, but those are the thoughts that immediately came to mind. best of luck with whatever project you take on, and happy writing! :)

[jiwuvxlr]

Hide & Seek shot to the top of my all time favorite fanfics with record speed and then it promptly moved into my home like a cat. It just slinks about as I move through my day, not underfoot but in my peripherals, giving me mixed signals of slow blinks and the occasional surprise attack to my ankles.

Your style is so enjoyable and digestible, descriptive enough without tangling my focus on too many details. Scenes and emotions are set up so well I can imagine them like a little movie, set dressing lined up to let imagination fill in around the shown/told pieces seamlessly.

The characterizations are such a treat too. Everyone feels really, genuinely considered in a believable way. The realism is balanced with the canon unrealism beautifully, I'm not pulled back to mutter to myself "what- how- okay, I guess, sure" because the suspension of disbelief isn't being poked. Well, it is a bit, but alongside MC's own sense as they have moments of grappling with what's happening. It feels relatable rather than jarring.

Also, the original cast members are fantastic. I'm so protective of Finn already, I know only one survivor can "win", but dammit if I'm not going to hold a massive grudge against whomever starts shit with my suspiciously educated son. I'm gonna go mama bear feral when shit hits the fan and need a week to mourn when the rules of the "game" snap taut on Finn and Kenji.

I really enjoy the hidden links, even if I'm not really grasping how to solve the passwords, I'm still stoked they're there! The map is fantastic too. Fuckass Dog will never not be funny (Smile, I love you, why must you have deranged dogdad Jeff as your person).

Overall, I'm floored with the quality and consideration in Hide & Seek. I'm gonna go binge your other works (Good god, that BEN fic has pages) and send you good vibes and well wishes. I hope life is kind and your muses participate with you! (That's not fanwork exclusive, I hope you just have a good time with your creativity in general!)

ahh sorry for the delayed response! i truly just saw the message and am still trying to figure out tumblr again ^^;

thank you so much for the thoughtful comment! as a cat owner, i particularly enjoyed your analogy. as for the story, i invested a ridiculous amount of time putting together the premise, the characterizations, and all the little bits of lore, so it is gratifying to hear that those were some of the things that stood out to you. this is also the first time i have written something with a cast this large, so making everyone feel distinct and believable was probably what i worried about most. constructing the links/secrets etc was quite an undertaking, particularly given my lack of technical expertise, but it was rewarding to pull together, and i’m glad it’s interesting!

hearing that the realism holds up semi-well and that the original characters landed is awesome. of course, a high-stakes survival story inherently involves a degree of unreality and plot armor, but i try my best to keep it grounded. and introducing ocs into an established cast is always a bit of a gamble, so hearing that you have already adopted finn/kenj is both reassuring and slightly concerning for your future. rest assured… i hope.

thank you again for taking the time to write all of this. it truly makes the hours spent outlining and revising feel worthwhile (speaking of which- that ben fic is going through massive editing gosh) but i hope you enjoy the rest of the story!

[jiwuvxlr]

[ 28. C L I C K ] wake up little runner

The parasite continues to muse. It’s an absurd little puzzle. You have no strength, your body is failing, you have absolutely nothing of value, and yet…

Shut up and let me go, you think, focusing the sheer, white-hot fury of what you can now label as resentment.

Oh, but you do care, the voice murmurs, and for the first time, a dark, amusement-laced chill laces through its tone. That is your greatest vulnerability. 

The static clears, replaced by two vivid, agonizingly distinct mental projections. On your left, a pathway of blinding, suffocating white light opens up. You feel a sudden, jarring tug on your consciousness—the visceral, agonizing sensation of your physical heart hammering desperately against your ribs, the metallic taste of blood in your mouth. You can wake up. You can drag yourself back to consciousness, fight off the fever, and force your broken body to stand between them and the horde.

On your right, the grey void deepens into an absolute, abyssal velvet. It offers instant, permanent silence. You can simply let go. Surrender, let the parasite consume your memories at its leisure, and drift away into nothingness. No more fear. No more responsibility. No more breaking yourself into pieces to keep others alive.

It is entirely your decision, child, the parasite whispers, the chorus fading until it sounds entirely like your own mother's voice—soft, sweet, and infinitely weary. Choose to carry the weight, and you will suffer until your inevitable, agonizing end. Choose to surrender, and everyone you are trying to protect will be gone by morning.

Screw you, you spit back. Of course you were going to live. Did you really think some pathetic, head-invading leach was going to finish you off?

The heavy, suffocating pressure doesn't intensify. A vast, echoing blankness fills the grey expanse, as if the entity had already calculated this exact outburst before you even formed the thoughts.

Click.

Curious, isn't it? The shifting voices have unified into a single, level frequency, stripped of all malice and irony. You speak of survival with such fierce conviction now. Yet, a mere few weeks ago, you would have preferred to die. You welcomed the quiet. What changed?

You offer nothing. The voice doesn't press you. In fact, you suspect it knows the answer, when even you yourself do not.  Then wake up, little runner, the parasite whispers, its cold venom splicing into your veins with a sudden, agonizing clarity that shatters everything into nothingness. They’re waiting for you.

[jiwuvxlr]

PLEAAASE VII R U DEAD /J </3

i come from hns on quotev btw qwq pls when is the next update coming? i will literlaly die

but anyways big fan!! pls dont have the fanfic author curse PLSEASE I LOVE UR WRITING

hi! happy to see you here!

unfortunately school has been a pain in my ass AND i'm concurrently focused on personal publishing projects, so updates are a while away.

nothing has been discontinued though, so keep an eye out! i have multiple drafts in my drive right now that i should get to polishing (but haven't yet lol)