Pff. Youre Not Asexual. You Realize Theyre A Bunch Of Incels, Right? If You Think Theres Something Wrong

“Pff. You’re not asexual. You realize they’re a bunch of incels, right? If you think there’s something wrong with your hormones, you should see a doctor.”

“Wow,” Y said, readjusting their glasses. “I never thought I’d find someone like you.”

X smiled. “Someone with common sense?”

“An irl aphobe.” Y started digging in their bag, their face a look of pure excitement. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’ve encountered plenty of people with ignorant questions. But I’ve only seen the true, malicious hatred online. You’re the first specimen I’ve found in real life.”

“I’m sorry. Specimen?”

Y pulled out a round metal calliper and started measuring X’s head. “Yes. Now tell me, how exactly would you define ‘asexual’?”

X blinked at the tool. “Uh … you know. Someone who thinks being a lonely virgin makes them special. Or just someone with a mental illness.”

“Fascinating.” Y used tweezers to pluck a couple hairs from X’s head.

“Hey!”

Y dropped the hairs in a vile, their eyes gleeful. “Okay, and what about ‘aromantic’?”

“What’s that?”

“Oh my god you’re perfect.” Y had a tiny notebook, and was rapidly scribbling down notes.

“What the hell is going on?”

Y looked up, their attention refocusing on X. “I’m sorry. Where are my manners? You see, I’m a moronologist.” They readjusted their glasses again. “We’re a new field aiming to determine the source of intellectual deficiencies in an otherwise fully functioning brain.”

“Uh … what?”

Y looked ready to cry of happiness.

“Oh please,” they said, grasping X’s hands. “Please come to my lab. You are exactly what I need. Are you afraid of needles, by any chance? Or allergic to latex?”

“Uh, I’m not sure. It all sounds a little – ”

“I will buy you all the White Claw you can drink.”

“Deal.”

Y clapped in delight. They were so getting published from this.

MY FUCKING GAWD I FINALLY MANAGED TO DRAW A FACE PROFILE THAT I ACTUALLY LIKE

A visual representation of me drawing

Warsaw-Kyiv pride parade

Children Of The Prophecy - pt. 16

Summary: the Hunters strike again

Next Masterlist

Tw: stabbing, murder, blood, injuries, magic healing & exhaustion

The moment the door to the small, comfy café opened was the moment the pandemonium began.

People dressed in all black, with strange, red symbols decorating their clothes ran inside. They had their faces covered, some with balaclavas and others with plain black masks. A few of them had their hoods up, as if to further hide their identity. They all had one thing in common; each of them was carrying a weapon of some sort.

They surrounded one of the people inside, a boy with curly, salt and pepper hair tied in a ponytail. He had vibrant blue eyes, and was absentmindedly sipping on his coffee. He had a red jumper and black sweatpants on, and generally looked as if he had just woken up. His hands were covered by black fingerless gloves.

The other customers paid no mind to the whole ordeal, as if armed people barging in at random were a completely normal thing.

One of them pointed a dagger at the boy “Khors Alastair Laurealle, by the order of Sari” they started, their voice emotionless “you are under arrest”

The boy took another long sip of his coffee and slowly shifted his gaze to the stranger. “First of all, It's 'Alastair Khors'" the hunter stared at him "second, No, I don’t think I am”

He got up, making some of the people in black back away but stopped, seeing the glare the one with the dagger shot at them.

The boy nonchalantly threw the paper coffee cup at the trashcan and sat back at his table.

"Waiter!" he called out, and upon arrival of said person added: "One latte macchiato with salted caramel and whipped cream, please" he smiled "Oh and don't forget to add extra salty salted caramel"

The person with the dagger followed the waiter with their gaze, as he (the waiter) went back to the kitchen.

"You see, dear demon hunter, your first mistake was trying to catch me." the boy said after a while "The second; doing it here"

He closed his eyes, focusing on the people around him, on their fragile lives, their souls.

One by one the Hunters started screaming, holding their heads, as blood leaked from their eyes, only to fall to the ground moments later. He felt something warm trickle from his nose, and down his face.

Someone lunged at him, and he felt a sharp stab of pain in his side. He paid it no mind and sprinted to the Employee Only door, locking it behind him.

He shot a quick glance as his now stained-dark-red jumper and swore under his breath. There was banging coming from the other side of the door.

The room was small, filled with cardboard boxes and having only one door; the one he came through.

What most people didn't know, however, was that if you moved the boxes, you'd find a trapdoor with a ladder leading somewhere deep below. To The Underground; a world where shadows ruled.

That was exactly where he wanted to go. The tunnels were a deadly labyrinth to an inexperienced person, however the boy, fortunately—or not—for him, had spent a half of his childhood in said tunnels.

He jumped down the ladder, wincing at the piercing pain radiating from his side. He’d have to deal with it later.

The sound of a door getting broken down was enough to keep him running. Being in The Underground didn’t guarantee safety. It was the complete opposite, actually, but it gave him the advantage of knowing the terrain.

He ignored the first five side tunnels and entered the sixth, narrow, round pipe. He had to crouch down in order to fit in.

The boy kept moving, ignoring the small side tunnels, the hunters right on his heels. He was getting tired, either from blood loss or the fact that he stayed up late the previous night.

He jumped down another hole, finding himself in a giant room with just a little ledge protecting him from falling to his death. He walked on it and walked to the other side of the room, where some slightly discolored bricks were. He kicked them, uncovering another narrow tunnel.

He crawled into it and found himself in a painfully small space. He pushed down the claustrophobic feeling; it was no time to panic.

Then, he saw what he was looking for. Light.

He opened the bars and crawled out of the pipe and into a pond.

The light made his eyes hurt, and the water was ice cold.

It wasn’t likely that the hunters would follow that far, but he learned not to underestimate them a long time ago.

He stumbled, and glanced at the red mark on his left wrist. It was glowing faintly.

The boy held back a scream as he collapsed to the ground, feeling his flesh knit itself back together, accompanied with the pounding of his head.

He had never been good with healing, it being super taxing and painful.

He laid there for a while, too dazed to get up. He swore he could hear his mother telling him how weak he is and how his father's death was all his fault.

He closed his eyes, trying to remember his dad. There was nothing. When he thought of him, all he saw was a way younger version of himself at his father's funeral.

The pond he found himself in was surrounded by various tall trees and bushes.

And then he noticed what was scraped on the tree closest to him.

See you soon

~an old friend

Fucking delightful, he thought.

-

Taglist: @heathenwhump @laves-here

*opens Google docs* *screams in my eyes r burning*