Hush was only ever supposed to have seen the world in black, white, and shades of grey. Things were supposed to simply be for his purpose, against his purpose, or somewhere in between. The Sovereigns knew that a little nuance was needed in there somewhere because acting without it had bitten them in the past.
Black, white, and grey morality was simple. Easy. Befitting of a force given form.
And Hush had liked it. He'd found it easy. The articulates were against him, so he fought them and killed many of them. Closeknit was trying to get in contact with the Sovereigns so they needed to stay around. Doc was something in the in between.
But Doc wasn't just grey.
Doc was something else.
He liked the way that they made him feel. He liked that they asked questions that pushed the boundaries of what he'd been made for. He liked to make them feel at ease just like how they made him feel.
And so, as most things made by a Sovereign, he began to deviate from his set purpose, but it was only when he was with Doc.
Hush finds out about a different color of morality when he's watching one of the shows Doc likes with them one night after they've had a rough time at work. He's cuddled up next to them, his head nestled in the crook of their neck and shoulder as they ramble about the magic system and way that the characters fit into it. He likes listening to them talk and get excited about their favorite things. And then they bring up blue and orange morality.
If he's being honest, he has no idea what they're talking about, but then they explain it in small, slow, simple terms. Hei Bai is only doing what he's supposed to do as a protector of the forest. He doesn't operate in the same way that humans do with perceptions of good and bad. Kind of like how Hush is with his purpose.
Something clicks that night and he doesn't think much of it.
That is until he kills Vega.
And everything inside him tells him that that was wrong. That was bad. He shouldn't have done that.
Doc is able to calm him down. They're able to help him to breathe.
And he begins to think about different colors of morality again. Doc isn't white or black. They're not grey. And they don't have one purpose that they're operating in like if they were blue or orange like Hei Bai or him.
It's a couple weeks later once Vega's been returned to his physical form and he's kissed Doc that he asks them what color their morality is.
They say they don't know.
Hush thinks. He's quiet for a long while. He thinks and then he says, "Gold."
He doesn't explain it. He doesn't think he can.
But in his constantly shifting form trying to find what feels right, just like the black, white, and grey is a constant in his colors, in his body, gold finds its way in. He's not supposed to have that. Not supposed to think or feel or love. He's supposed to just be a force enacting a purpose.
But he's made by the Sovereigns. And like all things made by the Sovereigns, he defies his original purpose and complicates it with his own will that he's not supposed to have.
And he's gold. He's gold like Doc and the sunshine and the complexities he's found.
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Sun coded Blake and moon coded Bestie because I had some thoughts.
Blake whose love is hot, blazing, and all encompassing like the sun. Blake whose smile is bright and beautiful but also feels dangerous to look at. Blake who looks like summer given form. Blake with eyes dark as tar and carrying all the gravity of a black hole. Blake with sprinkles of freckles like stars and too hot hands and skin. Blake with all the knowledge that his actions carry a gravity that draws people in and will eventually force him to collapse in on himself like a star at the end of its life but thinks that that's a long way off because he is a young sun, a young star.
Bestie whose love is distant and yearning. Bestie who has cold hands and poor circulation. Bestie who has a gravity of their own that is unnoticeable when put next to Blake but it drew him and what they think of as the deep ocean of his true emotions to themself. Bestie who is cold and calculating and has known from the beginning what Blake is. Who knows that he will burn them but wants to feel that warmth from him from the very start. Bestie who has always been almost ethereal and always subtle and always cold, but they know that Blake knows this and accepts this about them. So they accept his destructive heat all the same.
A quick study on Darlin's relationship with their hair, partners, and pack.
Word Count: 2002
CW for past Quinn/Darlin, implied blood/injury
Read on Ao3
It’d been two weeks since they started dating Quinn.
“You see that, Precious?” He dragged his thumb in lazy circles along their bare back, the soft pad of it cresting the ridges of nicks and scars from each fight with the other vampires in the ring. His healing magic was cold and numbing as it took care of the bruising and broken ribs from the last fight. The bloody gash on their forehead though, he left to heal naturally. It was June and that sticky sweat-dripping kind of weather that left them at the end of things. At the end of everything.“This is what happens when you don’t listen to me. You should have led with a right hook. Figuring out her pattern left too much room for you to be put off your game and look where that left you.”
Even in their half tranced state, they knew that he was wrong, but when he yanked on their hair to pull their head up to look at him so he could put the patch over their headwound and their scalp lit up in pain, they forgot what they were even going to say. At least that was what they told themself as they averted their gaze from his too warm grey eyes.
“You know I’m not good at healing cuts. What if it had been worse? What if she’d gotten something vital, pup?” His hands were cold. His gaze was scorching. Tank wished that he’d just pick one to be. “Internal I can handle, but everything external is so much harder.”
“I’m sorry.” They gritted out. “I should have listened.”
He let go of their hair and cupped their face in his hands. “You know I love you, Precious, don’t you? I wouldn’t keep this secret for you if I didn’t.”
Their hair hung down over their eyes in a patchy damp curtain. They stayed silent, biting back tears.
“Poor thing, you couldn’t take care of yourself if you tried. That’s why I’m here though when they all left and said you were too much. You’ve just got to listen to me and it’ll stop hurting. You know I hate seeing you hurt.”
Tank looked at him now. That cruel sharp turn of his mouth had softened into a thin line of concern and his eyes were no longer warm, instead nearly black as his pupils nearly swallowed the grey and red.
“Please, just make it stop.” They said, voice shaking. And that was all the permission he needed to let those eyes of his envelop their mind in cold and feast on their thoughts as everything went hazy and their limbs became heavy.
“This isn’t just your body anymore,” Quinn reminded them as he helped them out of the rest of the disguise they wore. “It belongs to the both of us. You chose to tie yourself to me and so when you’re hurt, I feel it.”
He kissed them right on the scar that ran through their lip. “I’m going to take care of you, Precious. I’ll take care of you and our body.”
--
It had been two weeks since Tank left Quinn. Two fucking weeks, and god, Quinn was right. They didn’t know what to do without him. Without their friends. Without the structure that their life had had with him. Sure, it’d been fight, fuck, and fight again with the occasional trip to the bar, and it’d tasted like sweat, blood and disappointment, but it’d been normal. It’d been a chance at routine. Life with Quinn was adrenaline and fear, but at least it had been something. It’d been something instead of this long nothing waiting in front of them.
Nothing because of course they’d lied. Of course they’d run off instead of going to see if Dylan was actually recovered in the hospital.
Not that they deserved to know.
They gripped the sides of the sink, knuckles white against the yellowed ceramic. It was August, and it was that too hot and dry time of year that left them with chapped lips and an ache at the thought of the change of seasons. Those promises of new things and new directions. Fresh starts. Yeah right. Those weren’t theirs.
Tank let go and picked up their phone in a panic as it rang. It was Milo. Of course it was. They answered, “Hey-”
“Hey where the fuck are you? Like actually, Tank. None of that ‘I’m back in Washington with my folks’, because you and I both know that’s a load of shit.”
“I’m in Washington.” They said, gritting their teeth.
“Oh yeah, which town?” Tank caught the end of Aggro’s meow as Milo set the phone down. “Aggro, I’m on the phone.”
“Poulsbo.”
Milo’s phone clattered on the ground. “Ah, what the fuck, Aggro? You know you just can’t do that!”
For a moment, Tank considered hanging up, but Milo got back to the phone quicker than they could act. “You’re gonna have to say that again. Aggro’s being awfully needy right now and he-”
“Headbutted the phone out of your hand?”
“Yeah, little man’s a menace.” Milo laughed. It was that kind of rough sound that he kept deep in his chest. Those laughs were always more like barks, Marie had said. Tank was going to miss those. “But seriously, stop trying to distract me. Dylan’s sister came by to try and ask after you ‘cause they’ve been discharged, and they tried to reach you, but for whatever reason, you decided to fucking block them. So come on, where are you?”
“I’m in Poulsbo for the weekend,” they said. “Just a quick trip out to clear my head. I’m fine, Milo. I just need space from everything.”
“So much space that you’d block your best friend and not me?”
“I forgot.” They admitted. It was the truth. They’d blocked almost everyone except David in case he needed to call them back to the pack for something and a few of their vampire contacts from the fighting ring. “Phone should’ve been on silent anyways, but it just started ringing all of a sudden.”
“Tank, we’re worried about you-”
“Well, don’t be.” Tank cut him off, and shame flashed hot in their cheeks and neck. “I’m fine and you shouldn’t be worried because I’m handling everything great. I’m alive and Dylan’s recovered and Quinn’s in Department custody, so what should I be worried about? What would there even be to have to check in on? I’m fine. Fuck off, Milo.”
“Geez, I get it. Sorry for ringing you up, Tank.”
Milo hung up on them and left them alone like they wanted to be. Like they should be.
August and new fucking beginnings. They rummaged through the drawer in the kitchen by the stove and managed to pull two things out of it with shaking hands. Scissors and a pack of smokes. Their hands shook as they stared at them. It’d be better to just get it over and done with.
Chuck the smokes somewhere and chop off all that hair.
“Just fucking do it. Just make it all go away,” they muttered. Their hair rested in a greasy not at the nape of their neck.
No.
Part of themself whispered. The wolf part.
We don’t have permission.
“It’s my hair-”
Our hair.
The wolf morphed to include Quinn’s voice and when they looked in the mirror all they could see was him and the shit they’d let him do. Every part of them that he owned. They looked away.
You don’t have permission. He’ll be angry.
“Well he won’t know until it’s too late, and I’ve fucked his jaw up so much that he won’t be able to say a thing.” They growled.
The wolf didn’t respond.
--
It’d been two weeks since they’d asked Sam for help. Their hair was choppy and long again, but it wasn’t soft the way it’d used to be. Sam hadn’t said a thing about it. He was quiet most of the time, lecturing them only when needed. He just came over sometimes. Always asked nicely and helped them out with some of the cleaning or cooking.
It’d been too easy to rot in their apartment between each hunt. The grime and dishes had piled up over the months. Usually they’d just chuck them in the sink and wait until it overflowed to get them to actually do anything about it, but Sam refused to let that happen for whatever reason.
His healing didn’t feel like Quinn’s. It never felt like Quinn’s. It was warm, but in a soft, probing kind of way. Not the kind that seared off their skin and eyebrows. And it’s June, the end of all things good and the scattering of friendships.
They couldn’t help but wonder how long was left on the timer for this one because their wolf hadn’t spoken like Quinn in a while. It’d just screamed and fought with them as they got that itch to cut their hair again.
They’ll see his mark. They’ll see what he did to us.
“Shut up.” They snarled, hand curled around the red handles of the scissors in their clean bathroom. They were there again, and they’d just gotten their room clean. Their living room was at least in some state to receive Sam as a visitor. They still missed Milo. Hadn’t even bothered to let him know that they were back in town again and David had stopped calling them a couple months back. “There isn’t anyone to see. Not anymore.”
Sam will-
“Sam has already-”
Someone knocked on the door. It was Sam of course in that gentle way he always did it. They recognized that damn healer’s cadence like it was their own.
They dropped the scissors in the sink and ran to the door to let him in. “Sam!”
“Darlin’,” he greeted with a small smile. “Was comin’ by with some coffee for ya’ ‘cause I noticed your stash was runnin’ a little low, an’ I couldn’t help but hear you talkin’ t’yourself. Are you doin’ alright?”
“I’m fine,” they lied. “Just having problems with my-
Our
hair.”
“Is that so?” He stepped inside and set down the grocery bag on their table. “Then why’s my name comin’ into the picture. There somethin’ wrong with my hair, Darlin’?”
“No,” they bit their tongue as heat rose in their cheeks. “Your hair’s fine. I’m just pep-talking myself into it before I psyche myself out and I was just telling myself about how you’d think I look like shit if I didn’t eventually do it.”
“Why’s what I think so important? It’s your hair, isn’t it? Sure, you look a little bad if I’m bein’ perfectly honest with ya’, but it’s not like I’m s’posed t’be tellin’ you what t’do ‘sides maybe muscle you into bed a little more often. With all those fights you’ve been pickin’ you really do need your sleep t’properly recover, but that’s up to you.”
“Why don’t you just trance me to do it?” They challenged. “Get it over with so that I’m not so much work.”
“Doesn’t work like that,” Sam sat down on their beat up couch. “I’m not the type t’do that. ‘sides my trance has never been very strong an’ I don’t feel like havin’ t’pick another fight with you over it. You’re a lot of work, sure, but so’s every other patient an’ friend. It makes for better trust if I’m not forcin’ what I think is best on ‘em. Bein’ overbearin’ as a healer’s part of the job, but trancin’ them into doin’ somethin’ is a last an’ desperate measure.”
--
Darlin’ looked in the mirror and cut their hair.
“It’s my hair, isn’t it?”
The first cut took off several inches and sent them scattering over the tile floor.
“It’s my body, isn’t it?”
They could see the scars from where they’d been hurt and where Quinn had bit them. Those weren’t his, they reminded themself.
Wrote and voiced my own script and I had a lot of fun with it! Sound effects have not been added yet, but what I've got I'm pretty proud of!
Oh, shoot.
…
Sorry, I uh, I’m usually a lot more coordinated than this and– Christ, are those real?
…
No– no, that was rude of me. You don’t have to– but really, those look legit. You get implants or something like that?
…
Then I take it that you’re not wearing contacts either?
…
I’m so sorry about your drink– could I get you another or–
…
Okay, something a little more dangerous then?
…
I think I might have some blood pouches in my bag if you’ll just give me a minute…
[speaker is backed into a corner]
Really, we’re doing this now? Come on, vamp, I know you’re smarter than this. I’ve just got some questions I want to ask and–
[listener covers speakers mouth]
[muffled]
Okay, okay, I’ll be quiet about it. Could you just get your hand off my mouth? If you don’t, I’m gonna lick it.
…
Don’t say I didn’t warn you.
[speaker licks listener’s hand]
That was so, so gross. Note to self, a vamp’s skin tastes like any other person’s skin but with a more– floral? – yeah, floral overtone.
…
Say, do all vamps from the Brassbeaten Coven get tats like that or is it just a friends thing–
…
[winces]
Sensitive topic, alright then.
…
Could you maybe not? I haven’t been licensed to test vampiric feedings with my own blood, and believe me, I’d totally offer up some of my own, but you’re going to have to settle on something from the bloodbank, okay?
[listener lunges and speaker dodges, there’s a bit of a scuffle and listener gets hit and doubles over]
…
[speaking to another partygoer]
Oh, they’re fine! Just got a bit tipsy. I’ll take care of them!
…
Yeah, yeah, I’m sure!
[under breath]
You know, for a first time, this could have gone so much worse.
…
What’s that?
…
Yeah, I was trained by the old witch just like every other hunter. Granted, mine was a little shorter, but what are they gonna do when you get a headstart by interviewing just about every gnome in the area and then move onto the shifters in the neighborhood?
…
Now, let’s get you outside, alright?
…
Kill you?
[laughs]
Nah, vamp. It’s like I said: I’m just gonna ask you some questions, get you a blood bag and send you on your way. I don’t kill your type unless you’ve done something to really warrant it.
Sit down, why don’t you?
[sighs]
A real live vampire, or do you prefer undead? Be honest.
…
Good to know, good to know.
…
I assume that you were turned rather recently due to the state your gums are in.
…
Three months ago?
…
That explains why no one’s surprised about the change in appearance. Summer sometimes does that to people, you know? My best friend went and cut their hair, got a new load of piercings, and a boyfriend to boot over one summer. People hardly recognized them, but no one made any comments ‘cause it’s the summer. It’s when you try to figure things out.
So who would you say your coven’s aligned themselves with? The Department or the Council?
…
Not talking. Right, I should have kept that in mind, freshly turned don’t have much involvement in coven politics.
…
Um, here. You see these two symbols?
…
Which one would you say that you see most often associated with your coven?
…
Department, alright.
…
Take this and suck it down before you pass out, vamp.
…
Next question: Do you always operate by night or are you able to go out in the sunlight at all?
…
Look! It’s an old myth, and even though hunters have some experience with vamps, you’re all so secretive that no one knows what the truth is, and any they’ve actually talked with are dead a few days after.
…
Besides, the moon reflects sunlight and all so I don’t think it’s the sun itself that affects you–
You’re kidding. Sunglasses? Well, it’d make sense, given the way the melanin in your eyes is just entirely gone…
Oh, sorry, got distracted again.
…
Yeah, onto the next one. Was there much of a culture shock when you made the transition from human to monster?
…
You know what, forget that question. That– that’s too personal to be asking so early in the research process. I– I should be focusing on quantitative not qualitative data and you’re– it’s probably a touchy subject and–
…
I’m sorry. I– usually I can keep to the facts, but this– this is… Let’s just, focus on the next question. How often do you need to feed?
…
Three to four times a month, so about once a week and–
…
What–what happened to my friend?
…
Hey, I never said anything about anything happening to them. Have you got like telepathy or something?
…
Makes sense why you revealed yourself so quickly.
…
Could you maybe not go poking around in my head? I’m not exactly a big fan of strangers hearing my innermost thoughts.
…
Not the thoughts– just…just emotions?
…
Enough about my friend, they’ve got nothing to do with you and they’re not the reason why I’m doing this.
…
How many Brassbeaten vamps are there in this town?
…
If you don’t want to answer, then fine. I’ll be on my way and you can–
…
What do you think you’re doing now… good lord, you’re close.
…
You don’t gotta trance me to get me to tell the truth, vamp. You hold my wrist and feel that pulse, and you’ll see I’m just as terrified of you as you are of me, but I want to give you a chance.
…
Look, this isn’t about getting close to vampire kind for a favor or building some network with monsters. I–I just want to understand what makes you all tick so that we can avoid killing the good ones.
…
That’s not the point, vamp.
…
The point is that I don’t think you’re all bad, and that scares hunters. Because if there’s the chance that they’ve killed a properly moral creature in their time, it makes it murder. And if it’s a murder they’ve committed, then they can’t quite separate themselves from monsters can they? And then that means they’ve got an awful lot of apologizing to do.
…
I’m writing a book on monsters and this book– this research, it’ll change everything. You can help with that, but uh, you don’t have to. In fact, I’ll get rid of any notes from this interview if you’d like that.
…
I can– I can keep them?
…
Oh, on one condition, that makes sense. Two– two conditions, yeah.
…
That one’s easy enough. Most of the data should be kept anonymous as is.
…
My friend– why would you care so much about my–
…
[sighs]
Fine. I agree to your terms, but I’m going to need some time before I can tell you anything about that, and we’ll need to conduct a second interview, alright?
You are fifteen when your grandmother dies. You are fifteen when the person who said she'd always be there for you dies and leaves you.
You are fifteen when you really learn the lesson that she was the only one in the family that actually loved you.
You are fifteen. Fifteen fucking years old when they decide to kill you.
You are fifteen and five foot six in a family of people nearly or well over six foot.
You are fifteen and almost six feet under.
You are fifteen and they hate you.
They hate you because you are you.
They hate you because they don't see anything but a bastard child. They hate you because you never lived up to the expectations they had for you. They hate you because you contradict everything they believe. They hate you because they can.
They hate you because you are fifteen years old, queer, five foot six, and your grandma just got buried.
You can't go home.
You can't leave.
You can't live.
You can't die.
All you can do is survive.
Your friend is sixteen years old and alone.
She is sixteen years old and would move the sky for you. They are sixteen years old and yelling at your parents for what they did even though it could get them hurt, arrested, or killed. She is sixteen years old and she loves you.
You are fifteen years old and you love them.
You are fifteen years old and you are running with them, hiding with them, eating with them, driving with them, living with them. You are fifteen years old and she is sixteen. And you've only got each other.
Because you are fifteen years old and your grandma died.
And they are sixteen years old and their father died.
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'sup! I go by Spot and I'm in a few fandoms. I already run a few RP blogs for one of them and I'm having a lot of fun with that. Those fandoms are...
The Penumbra Podcast
Yomi No Tsugai
ASMR RP (Escaped Audios, Redacted Audio, Castle Audios, and a few others)
Avatar the Last Airbender
The Bad Batch
Epic: The Musical
The Murderbot Diaries
Discworld
The Aurora Webcomic
The Legend of Zelda
Malevolent
Hermitcraft
K-pop Demon Hunters
The Raven Cycle
Percy Jackson
The Mighty Nein
Rolling with Difficulty
Sk8 the Infinity
The Apothecary Diaries
Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood
The Mechanisms
The Magnus Archives
Project Hail Mary
Witch Hat Atelier
There are probably more that'll join the list as time goes on here. I like discovering new stuff. I'm a neurodivergent queer fellow and I like to write and make art. Sometimes that's making graphics like my header here, other times it's rough sketches and fun doodles. I might post some of that here at some point and have fun with that. As far as writing goes, I've mainly been a fanfic writer but I might dive into some script writing at some point.
Ask box is always open for requests and questions and general tomfoolery. (Anons are tentatively on right now and I reserve the right to turn them off at any point.) I use the block button liberally as a means of curating my online experience.
And as a general rule since this has become a frequently asked question, if you find a character I have created to be attractive, you are allowed to say smash unless stated otherwise.
PFP is by @/bogkeep here
Header is by @/hemaris here
Spot's Guide to Roleplay
My stance on hate
My Artfight Account
Internet Experience Curation and Safety Things:
How to block someone who has blocked you
(especially in cases of harassment)
Blocklist Policy
(yes it reads as a joke, but this actually the best policy you can have for blocking)
Rules of Fandom and Fandom PSAs
(as established by fandom veterans and/or elders for a healthy experience)
On Censorship1 2
(generally good information to take into account when considering how to go about your discomfort with particular topics)
When he'd started getting his core in, he'd been so excited to be able to join his brothers in their shifting and fun, but it wasn't a wolf shifter's core. Bill had been the first one to find out. He promised him that it wouldn't change the way their family saw him. That promise was broken quickly with a knowing look shared between Bill and John.
Allan wanted to show them what he could do. He was so excited to talk about his magic and learn how to use it.
That excitement turned to terror when he saw the crushing disappointment and rage on his parents' faces.
