Exactly one (1) dumb enby writer || any/all/get weird with the pronouns || Main is @witched-kid || creator of the 31 Days of Horror writing challenge || Current project: 31 Days of Horror 2025 || Next project: fanfiction??? probably more polytrix tbh
Everything blurs together. Words, time, space, thoughts. It all becomes one mush your head. One thing leading into another into another into another into another.
The table is scattered with books you picked out, ones you had hoped would help sort things. But the words on their pages have become incomprehensible smears. Words that should have been information have bled into time which gave way to space which turned into a discordant cacophony of sound in your head. But you are not done yet.
The library is empty besides you. Silence fills the space between your ragged breaths. Nothing is coming for you. Not to help. Not to hurt. It is just you and the old fluorescents flicking overhead that distort the faint shadows that can't be cast. But you are not done yet.
You stand, wandering into the stacks looking for something else that will give you answers. You never turn but you can keep walking forever. Endless books stretch before you, beckoning you to get lost within their muted halls. But you are not done yet.
You pull a book off the shelf and turn back around taking only a few steps back in the direction you came from to find your seat again. The books you left behind are dust covered, your notebook yellowed and curling at the corners. But you are not done yet.
The new book does not help. All it does is add. To the mess on the table. To the mess that is time. To the mess in your head.
The lights cut with a crack. The TV in front of Isabel flickered blinked off and she was left in complete darkness. Or it would be darkness if it wasn't for the near constant flashes of lightning that scattered across the sky.
The power outage wasn't a shock, more of an inconvenience. The storm had been raging for the better part of an hour at that point just getting stronger as it crawled its way over her home. If she was going to be honest with herself, she should have gone to get some candles long before this happened. But no, she had decided to watch just one more episode.
So Isabel let out a huff and made her way toward the kitchen where she knew a few spare tealights hid in the junk drawer. She used her phone to guide her way to the kitchen and to rummage through the mess of cords, business cards, and dead pens she probably should have thrown out ages ago until she found seven tealights a single BBQ lighter that mostly worked.
She tossed her phone onto the counter, the white light of the flash light spilling up to the ceiling and coating the whole room in shadows that seemed to move wrong. Even though they were the comfiest pants she owned, the pajama pants didn't have pockets which made carrying everything back to the living room harder than it should have been. It wasn't like she was about to grow a third arm so she was just going to have to settle for coming back for it once she had a few of the candles lit.
Back in the living room, Isabel set out and lit two of the tealights which cast the room in a warm orange light. The lightning outside still flickered as roll after roll of thunder shook the frames on the wall, but the warm light seemed to chase away the worst of the feeling the storm was trying to pull into the house. She set the pile of spare candles on the edge of the coffee table before heading back for her phone.
Humming as she walked, she considered what she should do to try and pass the time until the lights came back on, or until she decided to head off to bed. There was a book she had been meaning to read, a journal she had promised herself she was actually going to try and keep up with, or maybe just some drawing. Something quiet to pass the time.
As she made her way back into the living room, plans of what she should do wandering through her head, she found that both tealights had gone out. She rolled her eyes, thinking that they both had not been lit properly before she left for the kitchen. She grabbed the lighter, lit the left candle, and turned and lit the right one. But as she turned back around she found that the first one had gone out once again.
Confusion shot through her. She couldn't feel a breeze in the house and it wasn't like any of the windows were open in the house. Isabel relit the candle again and got down on her knees to bring her nose close to the candle, staring it down. She furrowed her eyebrows as she concentrated, focused on the little dancing flame like she was daring it to go out again. To try and plunge the house back into darkness.
Then, from over her left shoulder, she felt someone blow and the light went out.
At least that's what they kept telling themselves.
So they went down to Home Depot, picked out a paint colour that was a close enough match to the god awful paint the landlord had picked to begin with, and went home with enough supplies to have the whole wall repainted. Rollers, tarp, trays, painters tape, brushes for those spots that needed a little bit of extra care. It was all there for a weekend of painting.
The instructions were pretty clear. honestly it would be easy enough as long as they remembered to follow them without verring too far off script. All it would take was applying a few coats of paint and all of it would just be a bad memory.
So, over the weekend, and the Monday they took off, they repainted the wall and buried it. Hid it behind layers off an ugly beige that leaned closer to yellow. By the time that the sun set on Monday thwy couldn't even tell that it had been there. It was gone and things could finally go back to normal.
The next morning, as they got ready for work, they adimired their handy work. The paint job was good, or at least better than the one that had been done before. They had even replaced the old socket and light switch covers that were covered in paint from the landlord special. The wall looked better than it probably had in years.
That knowledge gave them a pep to their step for their whole day. It felt like nothing could take that feeling away from them. Their day was good, better than good if they were going to be honest with themselves, and that was such a nice change of pace.
On their way home, as they sat on the bus as it crawled through evening traffic, they shot a message to some friends asking if they wanted to come over or go out or just do something. They just wanted the day to keep going.
Music played through their earbuds as they unlocked their front door and made their way inside. They could see the wall from the doorway and the pristine paint job, the fix wall, stared back at them. In their pocket their phone buzzed as someone finally got back to their request about coming over.
They closed the door with their foot as they fished it out and read the message. They turned to lock the door, so they could go start getting everything ready for people to make their way in.
And then they saw it.
That same red-brown substance, the one that seemed to stain and flake, was brushed against the door like a mocking paint job. Two words that made their blood turn to ice in their veins.
oh my god I just put two and two together that having a tattoo appointment that's gonna be likely 4+ hours long on the first means I'm probably not going to have the energy to write on the 1st and 2nd
which means I realllly need to prewrite some stuff for 31 days of horror
I wasn't lying when I said I was working on polytrix stuff
ANYWAY new fic.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
I'm gonna put a TW of suicidal thoughts and ideation above the cut as a warning. The rest of the fic info is below the cut
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: KPop Demon Hunters (2025)
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Mira/Rumi/Zoey (KPop Demon Hunters)
Characters: Rumi (KPop Demon Hunters), Zoey (KPop Demon Hunters), Mira (KPop Demon Hunters)
Additional Tags: Suicidal Thoughts, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, technically but like don't worry about it, Post-Canon, Rumi Needs Therapy (KPop Demon Hunters), No Dialogue, because i decided to do a fun little writing challenge for myself, Rumi Needs a Hug (KPop Demon Hunters), Rumi-centric (KPop Demon Hunters), Mental Health Issues, maybe ooc just a little but i also can't tell, no beta we die like jinu
Summary:
They found out Rumi's secret and they still loved her regardless. So, she is better. She has to be better.
Welcome to the sixth annual 31 Days of Horror writing challange!
To anyone who hasn't participated before it's simple. This is a horror writing challenge that takes place through the month of October. Everyday you take the corresponding prompt and write something spooky to go along with it. Then, you can take your work and post it under the hashtag #31DOH2025 so others can see what you've written for the prompt!
if you're looking for inspiration or just to see what kinds of things have been made for this challenge there are four other years worth of writings under the hashtags 31DOH2024, 31DOH2023, 31DOH2022, and 31DOH2021.
If you have any questions you can check out the FAQ, send an ask, or pop into our community here on tumblr!
Fandom/Characters: The Magnus Archives - Agnes Montague
Rating: Mature
Word Count: 178
Warnings and Tags: quick musings, death, burn, flames, burning, quick writings, mentions of Jack Barnabas, Agnes Montague/Jack Barnabas (if you squint)
Summary: Some very brief thoughts on Agnes Montague.
Author Notes: When I saw this prompt, all I could think about was Agnes. Inspired by @fanfictionlibrary01 drabble prompt: Burn.
Read, Burn with Me, Rated Mature, in full below or on my Ao3.
*note, this story (and all of my others) on Ao3 is locked for registered Ao3 users.
Burn with Me
There was always the burn.
It was all she was, all she knew, and all she remembered in the end.
Everything she touched, she was, she could be. Burned.
There would always be burning. It was consuming.
But nothing was sweeter than her flame, than the destruction it could bring. Though perhaps he— the idea of him, of them— could attempt to try to come close, but it could never be.
The sweet fire laced with oranges and reds that caressed and soothed as much as they stole and eradicated. It was all there was or would be or could be.
As that’s what they did, her god-- her reason for existing. It stole and destroyed until there was nothing left but flames and the ever lasting burn of complete desolation.
It was her home, her only real home. A home made of burning flames and loss and suffering.
It housed and held her, but in the end it would destroy her too. It was all she would ever be, an echo of fire, pain, and loss incarnate.
hey small reminder: if you're posting a chapter to a fic and don't feel like editing it still read it BEFORE publishing so you won't miss things like "(how many blocks is it again????)" for days until you happen to go back and see it
you:
me:
me: here’s a weird oc ask meme involving various mysterious, supernatural, and paranormal subjects that you can fill out on your own or with the help of your followers 👽✌
(01) Is your OC superstitious?
(02) Would your OC be phased about walking under a ladder?
(03) What would your OC do if a black cat crossed their path?
(04) How would your OC react if they broke a mirror?
(05) Does your OC avoid any certain numbers? If so, which ones, and why?
(06) What is your OC’s favorite cryptid?
(07) Would your OC ever go cryptid hunting? Why or why not?
(08) What does your OC think about ghosts?
(09) Has your OC ever seen a ghost?
(10) Would your OC ever go ghost hunting? Why or why not?
(11) What does your OC think about magic? Is your OC generally for or against magic?
(12) Does your OC know any magic? If so, is it a natural talent or a learned skill?
(13) What would your OC say would be their favorite use for magic?
(14) Has/would your OC ever made a deal with a magical or supernatural entity?
(15) What form does/would your OC’s familiar take?
(16) Has your OC ever traveled into the past? If so, did they change anything?
(17) Has your OC ever traveled into the future? If so, what was it like?
(18) Has your OC ever had a prophetic vision or dream? If so, what did they see?
(19) Has your OC ever had an out of body experience or astral projected?
(20) Has your OC ever visited another plane of reality or existence? If so, was it by choice?
(21) Has your OC ever attended a seance or used a ouiji board? What happened?
(22) Does your OC keep things like salt, garlic, or silver on hand for defensive purposes?
(23) Has your OC ever cleansed their surroundings with things like sage or holy water?
(24) Does your OC believe in the existence of extraterrestrials? Why or why not?
(25) Does your OC believe any conspiracy theories? If so, which ones, and why?
(26) What would your OC do if they were face to face with a rabid zombie?
(27) Would your OC allow a vampire into their home?
(28) Has your OC ever witnessed a werewolf transformation?
(29) How likely is it that your OC would be charmed by and fall prey to mermaids?
(30) What supernatural creature would your OC most prefer to be?
There are four pictures in front of you. Each one feels more real than the last. And why wouldn't they? AI generation is easy to spot, there is always something wrong in the work, in the picture, in the way that the account posts. As long as you know where to look you can pick out the fakes with no issues.
At least you could at first.
And then everyone started picking it all apart piece by piece. They would point out every flaw and without knowing dump the corrections directly into the programs learning algorithm. It would go over every ounce of feedback it received, even if the person giving it didn't realise that's what it would end up being, and take it all in. It would make adjustments, wait for someone else to ask for something new, and then put the corrections to work.
Something new would come up in the picture and people would point it out and laugh about it in their chats, on their pages, posted for all to see how stupid the AI was for making the mistake. No one seemed to notice every time it happened those mistakes wouldn't be repeated. There was something new to point at and say "see this is how you can tell it's AI" without ever noticing that the rules changed every day.
Hands got better. Lighting got nicer. Limbs became the right length. The glossiness began to fade. Piece by piece it all got better. It happened so slowly that no one noticed. No one was able to point out in a single moment that one image was significantly better than the one before. Subtle changes over the course of years.
All just frogs making fun of the water that is slowly coming to a boil.
Until it was boiling and no one noticed. Until the pictures could pass as something perfect, normal, human, but it had never seen a human hand. No way to discern the fake from the real. No way to tell if you were speaking to a friend or a computer on the other side of the world. No way to tell if you're actually all alone here.
Statement of Evelyn Myers on the apparent disappearance of her sister Lisa Myers. Statement given March 12th 2013.
Statement begins.
It's not her. You don't have to believe me but I know. I should probably start from the beginning so you can understand what's going on, I just haven't had anyone willing to sit down and talk to me about this. No one seems to believe me when I tell them that Lisa isn't Lisa anymore. They have all been telling me that everything is the same. That she's the same. But I know.
Okay, right. The beginning. Lisa was five years, six months, and two days younger than me. Which meant when I moved out at twenty-one she was still fifteen. Our home life was good. Our parents loved and doted on both of us. Hence why I didn't move out until I was in my twenties. Lisa was honestly the most excited for me out of everyone, she knew how much I needed to get out of the house and be independent.
I didn't go very far though. I was close enough that I could still visit a few times a month. It was a few months after I left that my parents got a new table. Said they found it at some second hand shop and just couldn't leave it behind. I thought there was something deeply wrong with the thing but I couldn't tell them what they could or couldn't bring into their home, so I kept my mouth shut about it. I keep thinking that if I had said something to them, told them to get rid of the dam thing, then Lisa would still be here. The real Lisa would still be here.
Lisa didn't seem to care one way or another about the table. At least not at first. Every time I would go over she would be more and more... I guess the best word is enamoured by it. Or maybe I should use obsessed. A few months in and nothing could pry her away from it.
Then there was a period of a few months where I couldn't go visit. Too much was going on at work and with my boyfriend and just in the rest of my personal life I couldn't make the time to make the trek out to all of them. I still called my parents as much as I could but Lisa never seemed to have time to talk to me any more. It worried me, I kept thinking maybe she was going through something at school but I didn't want to pry too much. I tried texting her but all of her responses just seemed off. I told my parents to try and keep a close eye on her but they kept saying she was fine at home.
I should have known then that something was up. She had never been like that with me. Sure there was time when we were kids when we were at each other's throats, but once we both started to get a bit older she really started to open up to me. It was never like her to just go so radio silent on me.
It would have been Lisa's sixteenth birthday when I finally was able to make it back home. I had specifically taken some annual leave to make sure I wouldn't miss it. It had been so nice to finally get a hug from them, it was something I so desperately needed after everything that had been going on with work and the fact that at that point I was newly single. The only other person i really wanted to see at that point was Lisa. And when I followed my parents into the living room what I found was not her.
Me and my sister both took after our father. Same dark hair and eyes, darker skin tone, tall and a little gangly. This person sitting playing on my sister's phone was shorter, stockier like our mother. She had our mother's fair hair and skin and these crisp hazel eyes. The difference, the shock, stopped me in my tracks. there was confusion across both my parents' faces as my Mom asked me what was wrong. I told her that that wasn't my sister.
And my Mom laughed. Like I had told her some joke and not the fact that my world was crumbling around me. She said of course it was. Dad asked me how I couldn't recognize my own sister. I put on a smile, how could I not. If they thought that that person was my sister there had to be something so deeply wrong it would take more than just me pointing it out. I would have to find some old pictures and show them that that this was wrong.
After about an hour of catching up I asked if we could go through the old photo books to look at past birthday pictures. I knew that there would be the proof I needed to show them that there was something up. My Mom was completely happy to go dig them out and put them on that same damn table that I hated since they brought it in and flip it open. I was so ready to show that I was right, to prove that the person sitting in this room with us wasn't my sister.
You can understand my utter horror when the photos from Lisa's last birthday were of the same person sitting right there. I remember the day that the picture was taken, I remember pulling her in close and both of us smiling as my Dad snapped a picture of the two of us on his stupid digital camera I had been telling him to replace for years. I can remember the pictures getting printing and me, Lisa, and our Mom sitting around the kitchen table putting them into the photo book. But I knew it wasn't that person who I had taken the photo with.
I didn't say anything else about it for the rest of the night because I couldn't make sense of it. I don't know how the picture, the picture I knew was taken, had been replaced. How my parents didn't realise their daughter had been replaced with someone who was not her. There was just no explanation for anything that happened.
When I went to leave that night I didn't bother saying goodbye to this fake Lisa. But as I made it to my car and looked back out the house I saw her staring at me from Lisa's bedroom window. When she noticed me looking she smiled. And in that moment I knew, I just knew, that whatever that thing was it knew what it was doing.
note: if you are one of my curse of strahd players you should consider not reading this
They don't see it roll in in the night. That, of course, is by design. If they see it all coming then they might leave, then they might try to get away and then the plan cannot go ahead, and she has been so bored as of late. The last group who came wandering into her lands didn't last nearly as long as she had wanted, which meant the game of it all was over far too fast.
This new group, a small group of four just starting their life at the burgeoning new university, seemed to have more of what she was looking for. They wanted power, strength, adventure, everything she needed to make this all work. Everything she needed to make playing with them so much more fun.
She watches as they each wake, one by one, to an empty campus coated in a layer of fog that seems to go on forever. Concern flits across each of their faces as they stumble out of their dorm rooms and come face to face with nothing, not even the warmth of the sun they are so used to. She watches as they all find one another, all ask if they had seen anyone else or if it was just them. There is a moment she wonders if they might just stay on the campus and try and wait it all out, but then there is a cream from out in the woods.
The timing couldn't be more perfect. It makes her smile as she watches them all look to one another for just a moment before taking off towards the sound. They don't know there is no one to rescue, they don't know that they are already well within her trap and there would be no going home for them.
She watches as they make it to the old road, to the gate, to the body, to the town. She gets to revel in the look of horror on their faces once they learn that there is no escaping this place. She cannot watch always, there is too much that needs to be handled but every time she has a spare moment she looks to them.
She meets them a few times, egging them on, pushing them to try harder, to see if they can actually do anything at all.
She watches them plan, she watches them problem solve, she watches them make allies and friends. She watches them gain hope that they might win. That they might actually beat her. That there might be a chance for them to tear her down and take this world from her. She watches her subjects begin to gain a little bit of light behind their eyes as they follow these dear, sweet adventures lead.
It makes it all that much sweeter when she tears their hearts from their chests.
It stands as a looking glass into a world I cannot reach. I can stretch my hands out, stretch as far as my body will let me, and it is still not something I can have. It's not fair that I can see it but I cannot have it. That life should be mine and it's not. I am forced, instead, to stare through the pane of a window and watch everything I was supposed to get fall further and further away from me.
There is dinner around the table, there are two happy kids, there are loving smiles on both your faces. Those were all things you were supposed to give me but instead I am forced to stand outside in the cold, frost nipping at my cheeks, and watch my life drift past. You had been the one who promised me it would all be mine one day. You were the one who decided that you needed to leave. It was all you that made it so we could not have the life we dreamed of.
Do you even remember me? While you pull some shitty casserole out of the oven do you ever think about what we could have had? Do you think about how much better it all would have been if you had just learned to sit down and shut up? Our lives could have been good! They could have been perfect. And instead you decided to go and leave it all behind.
I thought about showing up to the wedding on that bright spring day. I did show up to the wedding but it was like you knew something was going to happen. So my plan of letting everyone know what you did was stopped before I could even do anything about it. I wanted to make it right and you could even let me have that.
It's not fair that you get to go on with your life and I have to sit here and watch. It's not fair that I don't get to have what I want, what I deserve. I am owed something greater than what I ended up with because you couldn't wait for things to be perfect. You thought that it would all be perfect right from the jump, that there would be no rough patches. I know that relationships need work, I know that they take actual effort.
You should have made it work. It would have worked if you would have just let it.
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