#vostara

A simple assignment, really: be the translator.

As the driver eases the car into a stop, Beatrix glances out of the window. Her eyes scan their surroundings, noting the clusters of people showing off their overpriced designer jewelry and the borderline scandalous hemlines of their clothing. The New Yorkers loiter the space outside of a ritzy expensive nightclub, Das Schwein, a club that is embedded into the bottom three levels of the high-rise building.

To get the woman’s attention, Ares reaches out towards Beatrix, brushing her fingertips against the top of her hand. And when Beatrix turns to look at her, Ares pulls her hand away, signing, We are here.

The assassin nods, before opening the door and stepping out of the vehicle. She smooths the sides of her burgundy dress and takes a moment to straighten the plunging neckline. Though the winter chill encourages a splattering of goosebumps to form along her bare arms, it, for the moment, lacks the biting cold that had permeated the Chicago air.

Ares, dressed in a matching suit, takes the lead and approaches the building. Do not speak unprompted, she commands. Do not leave my side.

Falling into step behind the woman, Beatrix nods. “I understand,” she says.

When the bouncer sees the pair approach, he steps aside before waving them through the entrance. Without even acknowledging the man, Ares steps between the doors. She scrutinizes the first floor of the club, scanning over the patrons boozed up with fine liquor, the grinding bodies on the dance floor, and the sloppy touches exchanged between indiscrete temporary lovers in the booths. Her eyes land on a private elevator tucked away in the corner of the room, protected by a couple of guards.

Ares and Beatrix approach them and the guard on the left greets them with a nod of his head. “Mr. Brecher is on the top floor,” he says, pressing a button to open the doors.

Beatrix tenses at his words.

Brecher?

No, it couldn’t be.

He wouldn’t be here, not in New York. Not right now.

Ares enters the elevator and Beatrix steps in beside her. She clicks on the button for the top floor and takes a small step back when the doors slide shut. They ride in silence, undisturbed by the subtle hum of the ascending machine.

But for Beatrix uneasiness fills the silence, floods her senses with a flight response that’s impossible to act upon in this enclosed space. Threads are tugged in the pit of her stomach, snapping as they attempt to suppress the building worry, anxiety, dread.

It could be a coincidence; a different man with a shared surname.

A button dings, signaling their arrival.

When the doors open, Beatrix realizes that this easy job, this simple task of being the translator, is a far more complicated situation. Her eyes land on the silhouette of a person she had hoped to avoid for as long as she could. And her gaze drifts to the left side of his face, confirming his identity with a familiar scar etched into the skin. One that begins just beneath his eye, before curving to slice into the side of his lips.

Matthias Brecher.

Her last thread breaks, drowning Beatrix with a renewed realization that she has spent too much time dancing next to the growing flames. That frequently tempting fate would encourage it to retaliate with the most severe consequences.

The man notices the Camorra woman first. “Ares,” he greets.

She exits the elevator, stepping into the private room.

Matthias shifts his gaze to Beatrix. His eyes flicker with surprise, before an amused grin weaves itself into his features. “Well,” he says, “I wasn’t prepared for quite the surprise.”

“Matthias,” Beatrix acknowledges.

Ares’ footsteps come to a halt and she turns her head to glance back at the other woman. She watches her, studying the assassin’s face for any subtle twitches that would give away her thoughts, betray her motives.

“I didn’t think we would meet again so soon,” the man says.

Beatrix smiles, but the false joy never reaches her eyes. “Perhaps we meet again too soon,” she forces the joke between her lips.

And the words deepen the frown that’s already forming in the corners of Ares’ mouth.

Matthias slides his hands into the pockets of his dress slacks and takes a step closer to Beatrix. He chuckles, “I thought I was having a meeting with Camorra’s people, not Lilith.”

The woman straights her back, lifting her chin just a tad higher off of the ground. “You are having a meeting with Camorra,” she states. “I am here to translate on Ares’ behalf.”

The man hums, pondering over the woman’s response. “But Lilith would never loan you away for something this trivial.” He nudges his head towards Ares, “especially when it involves one party in particular.”

“I wanted a change of pace.”

“Or,” the man leans down, “perhaps the rumors are true. Perhaps Lilith’s favored rosebud has fluttered away with the wind. I’ve found that loyalty is a tough commodity to find,” he whispers, “nowadays.”

“Loyalty can be rather expensive,” Beatrix says.

Matthias takes a step away from the woman, turning to face Ares. “Would you mind if we postpone our meeting, for a just a few minutes?”

Ares narrows her eyes.

“Miss Amsler and I are old acquittances,” he continues. “Conversations with her are always a treat. And I do enjoy splurging on a bit of pleasure before getting into business.” Matthias chuckles, “You never know which job is going to be your last.”

Ares shifts her gaze to meet Beatrix. When the other woman gives her a slight nod of assurance, her eyes dart back to Matthias. She gives him a nonchalant shrug and then retreats to the small bar on the left. She sits down on one of the stools, before gluing her eyes back onto the pair.

“Come, Süsse,” Matthias places the palm of his hand against the small of the woman’s back, directing Beatrix towards the open balcony on the other side of the room. “We have much to discuss.”

When they are just far enough away that Ares is unable to listen to their conversation, Beatrix pulls herself away from Matthias. “You said there are rumors that I’ve been disloyal,” she says. “Did you know that I was working with Santino?”

“It wasn’t my first guess,” he admits. “But I knew you wouldn’t stay with Lilith forever.”

Beatrix frowns.

“I am surprised,” Matthias continues. “The last person I expected you to align yourself with would be such a prominent figure for the Camorra.”

“People have stooped to less for a few extra dollars in their pocket.”

“I’m almost offended,” the man says. “You would choose his company, before committing yourself to someone like Tarasov, or to someone like me?”

“At the time,” Beatrix leans towards the man, “I found this to be a more favorable business opportunity.”

“Must be quite the pay,” Matthias says. “Perhaps I should consider dropping my lifestyle as the boss, huh? Work as one of D’Antonio’s lackeys. After all, you must be swimming in riches. The pay must be good, good enough to convince you to work for the man who told his people to brutally torture and murder your best friend.”

The woman tenses, nails digging themselves into the palms of her hands.

“Tell me how you sleep at night,” he continues, “knowing that you’ve chosen to snuggle up to the devil himself. Do you still think of Evie? Do you hear her screams? Her pleading cries for help?”

Beatrix takes a small step away, increasing the distance between them.

But Matthias inches closer. “Or do you hear the wails of your baby?”

“Fuck you,” Beatrix shoves the man away from her. “Don’t you dare—”

“—No wonder you look so tired.”

The woman scoffs. “Is there a reason why we’re discussing this?”

“Süsse, we’re just having a conversation,” he says. “But if you want a change of topic, let’s talk about Ares.” Matthias smiles, briefly shifting his gaze to the Camorra woman. “She’s your type, no? Deadly, powerful, commands the room, when she wants to. And stuffed full with information that you could sell for quite the pretty penny.”

The man chuckles. “I know you, more than you’d care to admit. You’d never work for Santino, but you would target him, hurt him, cripple him. So, are you going to seduce his right-hand woman? Manipulate her? Convince her to confess all of those valuable secrets?”

“Targeting her would be pointless,” Beatrix says.

“Why? Because she understands the concept of sworn, unfaltering loyalty?”

“Because it would take too long,” she says. “I have no interest in wasting my time with a pointless task.”

Matthias smirks and pulls a phone out of his pocket. His fingers press against the screen, tapping on the buttons, before angling the item towards the woman. “Is that why poor Luca got chopped up into itty bitty pieces?” He taunts. “Because he wouldn’t spill any of Camorra’s dirty secrets? Was he a waste of time?”

Beatrix glances down at the phone, swallowing the nerves brewing in the bottom of her throat. Filling the screen is the image of a body, blood spilling out of appendages that had been sliced into manageable pieces. The body had been placed inside of bathtub, one that Beatrix recognized.

“Izzy may be your friend, but she is still under my employment,” Matthias explains.

“Does she give you documentation on every job she takes?”

“Just for the handful of people I care to keep tabs on,” the man shrugs. “Is your contract for intel or disposal?”

“I think it’s best that I keep that information to myself,” Beatrix says.

“I disagree.” Matthias puts the phone away, before reaching inside of the pocket concealed beneath the jacket of his suit. He pulls out a small circular object, which he holds up, displaying it for Beatrix.

It’s a Marker.

Her Marker.

Beatrix can feel the intensity of Ares’ stare, can feel her processing and examining the situation as it unfolds. And though she wants to look at her, wants to tell Ares that she wants, no, that she needs this conversation to end, she chooses to ignore the Camorra woman. She maintains eye contact with Matthias, determined to not shudder, to not buckle, beneath his gaze.

“You owe me,” he says. “We’ve made an oath, you and I, a blood contract. I’ve completed my end of the bargain, but I still need to cash in on your side.”

Beatrix remains silent.

“Tell me the truth,” Matthias continues. “Which of your many skills have you been hired to perform?”

“What would you do with that information?” She says, “If you sell it to the right buyer, I’ll end up killed, regardless of my answer.”

The man frowns. He raises a hand towards Beatrix and weaves her loose curls between his fingers. “You think so little of me,” he says. His fingers tighten around the hair, and he pulls Beatrix towards him, before shoving her towards the railing at the edge of the balcony.

The assassin gasps when the metal slams against the bottom of her ribcage. Instinct kicks in and her fingers latch onto the rails.

“If I wanted to kill you,” Matthias growls, “there are much more convenient ways for me to do so.” He releases his grip on her hair and takes a step closer. With his chest pressed against her back, he traps her between himself and the metal that is preventing her from tumbling to her death. “I have every intention of using the task you owe me. Ratting you out would be a waste of time and resources. You owe me, Beatrix,” he hisses, “not the other around.”

“Boss,” a man calls.

“What?” Matthias answers, ever so slightly relaxing his stance.

“Do I shoot?”

The man pulls away from the woman, turning towards his henchmen.

When Beatrix turns to see what the man was referring to, her eyes widen at the sight of Ares. All thirteen of Matthias’ men have their weapons trained on the woman, whom has a gun pointed directly at the their leader’s head.

“How fascinating,” Matthias says.

a/n: thank you so much for reading. if you liked what you read, please considering reblogging this chapter. every reblog truly does help a small author like me! but any likes, comments, or other indications that you enjoy this story is also appreciated!

this chapter was meant to be much longer, but i didn’t to split it into two pieces in order to prevent even further delays in getting an update out. the next chapter’s rough draft is over halfway done. if all goes well it will be published before the end of next month.

“Thanks for the help,” Beatrix says. “That guy really got the jump on me.” With the gauze secured in place, she pulls her hands away from the injured skin.

Her eyes lift to meet Ares and a moment of silence passes between them.

No problem, Ares signs.

~ ~ ~

Beatrix knows that she is being foolish, that her evolving emotional involvement with Ares will never lead to a happy ending. But against her better judgement, she allows herself to be a fool.

Ares is a distraction, one that she’s grown quite fond of. Nights of bruising kisses, breathless pants, and hushed moans are an irresponsibility that grants her a passage to escape the world she’s trapped in. With Ares, she escapes from the lingering suffocation of being under Eli’s control. She suspends her subconscious fear of failure, of the punishment Lilith would distribute whenever she had displeased her. Her thoughts replaced with a flood of colorful butterflies, fluttering in the depths of her mind. It’s dizzying and entrancing, but Beatrix becomes addicted to this feeling. When Ares coaxes her to let go, submit to break the coils building inside of her, she obeys without hesitation. And she’s overcome by the sensation of the exploding stars that consume her.

The beginning of the end is set into motion when Ares undoes the silk fabric restraining Beatrix’s wrists against the metal poles of the headboard. Beatrix looks up at the woman hovering above her, longing to leave more bruises against her swollen lips.

So she reaches towards Ares, pulling her as close as she can to her body. And she meets her lips with a kiss that’s too gentle, too passionate. It’s too revealing, but Beatrix allows her emotions to slip through the cracks, just this once. And she knows that this could be her downfall, that everything she has worked for could unravel. That growing fond of the someone could lead to her failure, her demise, her heartache and betrayal.

But she ignores that; she chooses to live within this moment. To allow herself a rare chance to experience how it feels to be with someone that she yearns for, even through the disguise of lust.

For life isn’t guaranteed beyond this night; for Ares’ lust could fade, leaving her empty and abandoned. Is it not better to grant herself one single indulgence? To quench her desire, her curiosity, before it can bloom.

~ ~ ~

Beatrix develops a cough.

It’s a tiny discomfort, really.

Just an annoying needle, pricking the back of her throat.

She tries to clear it. She gurgles warm salt water. She drinks green tea with honey. But nothing works, and as the weeks progress the cough gets worse.

Do you need a doctor? Ares asks.

Beatrix declines, claiming that it is nothing more than a simple cold. “Santino is stretching me thin,” she says. “I just need a chance to catch up on my sleep.”

It’s a lie.

She can sense that something is wrong, that something is trapped and growing inside of her. It’s something that she can’t dislodge, something she won’t be able to force out of her system.

Ares raises an eyebrow. No more nights together, then?

Beatrix laughs. She glances at their surroundings, making sure that no one is watching them. And with the confirmation that they are alone, she leans towards Ares. “We can still have our fun,” she whispers the words.

Their lips brush against each other.

And Ares smirks in response, before giving the woman a playful bite on her bottom lip.

~ ~ ~

Beatrix lurches forward into an upright position, retching and gasping for air.

The noise startles Ares, whom was sleeping beside her. She reaches a hand towards Beatrix, rubbing it against the curve of her spine.

Between coughs, the woman sputters out the words, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Ares frowns, but continues her soothing motions.

“I’m gonna grab some water,” Beatrix says. She pushes the covers away from her body and climbs out of the bed. The woman can sense Ares’ gaze latched onto her back and she turns to look at her.

You sure you okay? Ares asks.

“Yeah,” Beatrix nods. “I’m fine.”

As she enters the hotel bathroom, she closes the door behind her. Beatrix reaches for a glass cup placed beside the sink and twists the knob for cold water on the faucet. After filling her glass with the cool liquid, she takes a long sip, hoping to settle the aching pain engulfing her throat. Instead, she chokes and falls into another fit of coughing.

The glass slips between her fingers and cracks when it crashes against the marble floor.

But Beatrix doesn’t notice the broken glass, nor does she notice the sound of footsteps approaching the door. Her mind is focused solely on the excruciating pain, on her body’s desperate attempt to rid itself of whatever is lodged deep inside of her throat.

A splotch of crimson distorts the simplicity of the porcelain bowl of the sink.

And Beatrix breathes a sigh of relief and closes her eyes. The discomfort that had been etched into her throat has finally alleviated, giving her a sliver of momentary bliss. She gives herself a few moments to enjoy the sensation of breathing normally, before glancing down at the dark color tainting the simplicity of the pearl colored bathroom.

She expects to see blood.

But she sees a single rose petal.

It can’t be real; it’s impossible. There’s no way she could be so careless, so stupid. She’s just exhausted, overwhelmed by this persistent cough, by her weakened immune system. She must still be asleep, trapped in a nightmare, and she will wake up any moment, any minute now.

With a trembling hand, Beatrix reaches towards the object. And when she touches it, when her fingers brush against the soft material, she knows that she isn’t dreaming. She knows that her recklessness, her impulsive decision pursue desire has marked her. That her exit won’t be sudden, won’t be due to an unforeseen bullet to the back of the head. That, should she live long enough, her demise will be slow, painful. Utterly miserable.

There is a firm knock against the wooden door and Beatrix is quick to hide the petal inside of her fist. The door swings open, revealing Ares, concern etched into her features.

“Everything is fine,” Beatrix says, before the woman can question her. The answer is too quick, too panicked. And she knows that Ares can see right through her, but she does her best to keep herself composed.

~ ~ ~

One petal turns into two.

Three.

Four.

And soon, one petal coughed up at a time, doubles, multiplies.

Beatrix can barely breathe, can barely stand. She can’t focus on her meetings with Santino; she spends her time rushing to the bathroom to hurl petals into ceramic sinks. To flush the evidence down the porcelain bowls of toilets.

You are not getting better. Ares tells her.

But the woman brushes off the concern, insists that she’s fine.

Go to the doctor.

Beatrix sighs.

Please.

“Okay,” she says.

~ ~ ~

Beatrix already knows the diagnosis; she knows long before the words exit the doctor’s lips.

Hanahaki Diease.

Her love is unrequited.

And the petals growing inside of her lungs will eventually kill her, suffocate her.

“It’s progressing quickly,” the doctor says. “The disease has already consumed more than 50% of your lung capacity. I’m afraid that, even if you recover, there will be lingering damage.”

Beatrix stares at them, unable to muster the words that she needs to speak.

“Unfortunately,” they continue, “it’s too late for you to fall out of love with this person. Your first method of treatment is, of course, the natural route. However, you are running out of time, so you will need to act quickly. I suggest that you tell this person how you feel. Be direct, straight-forward about your feelings.

“If all goes well, and the feelings are mutual, you will be able to reverse the progression. It is important that you have this conversation face-to-face. This cure will only work if their requited feelings for you are stated out loud.”

A crack forms, breaking the composure that Beatrix had worked so hard to maintain. She laughs. It’s a desperate, defeated noise. One that does little to disguise the realization of her doom.

“I understand if you need time to process what I’m telling you,” the doctor says. “But we are working against the clock, your condition is accelerating faster than the typical—”

“She’s mute,” Beatrix interrupts.

“I see,” they say. The doctor pauses, taking a moment to type notes into Beatrix’s patient file. “Then your only alternative is surgery. It is an invasive, aggressive method. And in your current condition, it is quite dangerous. I would go in and cut away the infected ares, including the root of the disease. Right now, your chances of surviving the procedure is about 45%. The longer we wait, the higher your risk of death.”

The doctor stops speaking when Beatrix begins to cough.

When the woman pulls her face away from the palms of her hands, five rose petals are nestled against her skin.

“Hanahaki Disease isn’t contagious, but there is no sure way of knowing who is at risk of developing it,” the doctor continues. “On top of the risk for your life, there will be risk for the life of the person you love. Once I remove the root, your feelings for them will disappear. You will never be able to fall back in love with them. If this person happens to return your feelings, there is a possibility that they will also suffer from the disease.”

Beatrix frowns. “It would be impossible for me to save her?”

“This procedure is your only shot at survival, Miss Amsler. As your doctor, I advise you to act quickly,” they sigh. “But I cannot, in good conscience, recommend you do this without first having a discussion with this person. If they are in love with you, they may also need surgery in the future. It is best that you give them a proper warning, so they can be prepared if the worst case scenario does occur.”

“Thank you,” Beatrix says, “for the advice.”

When Ares inquires about the woman’s diagnosis, Beatrix tells her the truth. That an infection has manifested inside of her lungs. That the treatment is easy, simple. But she omits the fact that the easy cure for her illness is outside of her grasp. And the alternative is a path that she will not pursue.

~ ~ ~

It isn’t long before the severity of her condition becomes impossible to hide. Her health deteriorates at a rapid pace, and soon Beatrix is unable to stand for long periods of time. She frequently collapses, consumed by long fits of painful coughing. The woman is almost breathless, barely able to fill her lungs with the bare minimum of oxygen required to keep her going.

You need to go back to the doctor.

“No,” Beatrix says. “I already got my diagnosis.”

They were wrong. Ares says. You need new treatment.

The woman coughs and it’s exhausting. “Nothing will help,” she whispers.

Bullshit. Ares frowns. You are just stubborn.

When Beatrix attempts to respond, she unleashes a new onslaught of coughing. The pain is overwhelming and liquid pools in the corner of her eyes. She feels the petals sliding through her throat. They exit her body and land on the cold stone of the floor beneath her.

“It’s Hanahaki Disease,” Beatrix says.

Ares lowers herself to the ground, sitting in the empty space next to Beatrix. She places a hand beneath the woman’s chin, turning her head to look at her.

Who is the cause?

The truth almost slips out, but Beatrix quenches that instinct. Would it not be more kind, to hide the truth? To spare Ares; to save her from experiencing the guilt, the knowledge, of being the cause for her demise? And what if her affections are returned?

It would be selfish to tell Ares. Selfish to expose her heart, to force Ares to cope with the knowledge that their relationship was cursed from the very beginning. That there exists no solution in which they are both able to live and be together. Because even with the surgery, it would be pure torture for Beatrix to share her feelings, just to have them sliced away, ripped from the confines of her body. And the risk of condemning Ares to share the same fate was nothing more than cruelty.

It would not be fair.

No, it would not be kind.

Ares had not forced Beatrix into falling in love her. Beatrix had done so willingly, had been the pursuer, not the pursued.

Beatrix pulls her gaze away from Ares, focusing her sights on the stone. “Santino,” she says.

But had she not looked away, she would have seen it.

It was there, for just a split-second, painted and unconcealed in Ares’ features.

Heartbreak.

~ ~ ~

With Santino’s permission, Ares takes Beatrix away from their Camorra duties. The pair travel to Germany, locking themselves away inside of a cottage; one that is hidden within the woods of a rural town. It’s a location that Beatrix has escaped to before, a shelter she latched onto when she had first attempted to slip away from Lilith’s grasp.

Though Beatrix is embarrassed by her dependence on the woman, she is thankful that Ares was more than willing to help her. The lack of sufficient oxygen being supplied to her body leaves her weak, unable to do tasks that were once easy, thoughtless.

Just a few months ago, showering with Ares was energetic, fueled by intoxicating kisses and touches that ignited quickening heartbeats. Masked by the noise of running water, Beatrix had allowed herself to be more vocal with her sounds, had allowed Ares to fully experience each response she was coaxing from the woman. But now, bathing has simplified to the two woman laying together inside of the small bathtub.

Their routine is simple.

Ares starts the bath, ensuring that the water’s temperature is warm enough to soothe the aches permanently settled inside of Beatrix’s chest. When the water has filled the tub halfway, Ares carries Beatrix into the bathroom. She helps her undress, before undressing herself. The pair settle themselves into the water, and then Ares washes her hair, her body. She rubs her hands across the woman’s chest, hoping to alleviate some of the pain.

And in those moments, Ares wishes that she could switch places with Beatrix, that she could save her. That she could go back in time and convince Santino to ignore the woman, to refuse her offer to kill Angelo. A life where she hasn’t loved Beatrix, hasn’t known Beatrix, is a sacrifice she could make. A sacrifice she would willing make, if it meant there was a chance of Beatrix never developing this disease. Because she knows that she will never care for someone again, not in the way she’s cared for this woman. And to live the rest of her life without her embrace would be worse than torture from the cruelest of tormentors.

Beatrix leans back, pressing her skin against the woman’s chest.

Ares responds by wrapping her arms around her, embracing Beatrix in a hug that’s too intimate, too revealing of her buried emotions.

Everything is just too overwhelming. Beatrix knows that it’s no longer a matter of months or weeks, that her time left before the disease fully consumes her has been reduced to a number of days. But it’s painful to cry, an exhausting action. It eats away the little amount of air that she can hold in her crowded lungs.

“I lied,” Beatrix whispers.

Ares tightens her grip on the woman’s waist, urging her to continue.

“It was never Santino,” she admits. “It was you. I love you.”

Ares removes her hands from the woman, lifting them out of the water. I love you, she says. And then she pulls Beatrix back into her arms and nudges her nose against the skin of her delicate neck.

Beatrix is never able to speak again.

~ ~ ~

In her last moments, Ares is with her. An oxygen mask is secured in place, but it only delays the inevitable. Still, Beatrix cherishes these few extra moments, this tiny extension of time that she can spend with her lover. They lay together in the bed, covered by a mountain of emerald green blankets.

Even knowing her fate, there is nothing she would have changed. And given the chance, she would do it all over again. Because love was never something she thought she could experience; the concept of love has always felt like a gift that would never be granted. She has done terrible things to those who did not deserve it, has sealed the tragic fate of innocent people. And if this is her punishment, her only chance to repent, she accepts it.

And the truth is that she has been lucky, to survive the consequences of betraying Eli, to survive the wrath of Lilith. She has been lucky to live long, long beyond the day when Angelo had planted a bullet inside of her. Throughout her career, her life, she has come so close to embracing the hand of Death himself. Yet, she has always refused him, choosing to push him away and cling onto the robes of the Angel of Life. But the Angel is tired, tired of her relentless begging, her pleading for another day—just one more.

Beatrix accepts her fate, accepts the pain. And she does so, knowing that unlike her victims, she can spend her last moments within the embrace of someone who loves her, is devoted to her. That this is a luxury she doesn’t deserve, but has been gifted, regardless.

She wraps her fingers around the woman’s hand, pulling it close to her chest.

And she smiles, knowing that their love is requited and Ares will be safe.

a/n: hello! thank you for reading my work. if you like my content, please consider reblogging this piece. it is a simple action that truly helps a small author like me be seen by others. i do also appreciate any likes/comments you are willing to leave.

sorry for being a sad clown and writing this, but i had an idea and i was itching to write it. normal updates for hypnophobia will resume after i’ve settled into my new apartment! so you can expect that in the next 2-3 weeks, depending on when i’m able to set up wifi.