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ayyy-pee · 7 months ago

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𝔼𝕡𝕚𝕤𝕠𝕕𝕖 𝟘.𝟝 - 𝕋𝕠𝕠 𝕄𝕦𝕔𝕙 𝕥𝕠 𝔻𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕜

Discord 18+ - Twitter - Next Episode

Pairing: JJK Men x Female Reader

Episode Summary: After a drunken night of binge watching your (least?) favorite show, you find yourself making a grave mistake.

STORY TWIST: READERS WILL VOTE AFTER CERTAIN CHAPTERS TO CHOOSE WHO GETS A ROSE AND MAKES IT TO THE NEXT WEEK. KEEP A LOOKOUT FOR THE VOTING LINK AT THE END OF CHAPTERS

Story Warning: DRAMA, lying and scheming, REVERSE HAREM, profanity bc I can only be me, arguments, fights probably, heartbreak and tears, (more to come)

Artist Credit: momoya348, Umbra3terna, ilameys,maoyaoyao519, _0_0219 Divider Credit: Cafekitsune (Tumblr)

A/N: IT'S FINALLY HEREEEEEE! I hope you guys enjoy this ride (that you're in charge of in later chapters!!!) I'll put up Episode 1 tomorrow after proofreading!!! <3

“God, this show is so stupid,” you mutter, shoving a handful of popcorn into your mouth while you get settled onto the couch.

“Please…It’s so bad, but I tune in to every season.”

You glance over when your friend reaches into your lap and dips her fingers into your bowl of popcorn and grabs a few kernels.

That was the perfect way to describe what was happening now. You’re currently huddled up on the couch, having spent the day binging the most recent season of The Bachelor until you’re all caught up. The new episode airs tonight and you’re eager to see who Joey ends up picking. Will it be Rachel? She’s gorgeous, funny, and her family seems to really get along with this season’s Bachelor. They have great chemistry. Or maybe it will be Daisy? Though you couldn’t see that working out. The girl is a total bore. Or it could be…what’s her name again? The one who looks a little bit like she could be his sister. Ah, whatever.

You’re not sure when you really began to even give a shit about this mess of a show. It’s corny. No one falls in love within a few weeks of knowing each other. And why does one man or woman need to date twenty people to find someone to marry? Are they that unlikeable in the real world? Not to mention, it’s totally unrealistic. Do these relationships even work out once the cameras cut off? Unlikely. You find the entire premise of the show downright stupid.

And yet, you can’t tear your eyes away as this season’s Bachelor takes each girl out on an extravagant date that…you can’t lie, you would love to be on.

Dancing in Malta? Sunbathing on a yacht off the coast of Spain? Getting to see Niagara Falls up close? Sign you up. You don’t think you would stand a chance being the object of everyone’s affection, but you could definitely milk being a contestant for free trips and good food.

“Why can’t he see that Rachel is the best pick here? Ugh, annoying. You know he’s going to give what’s-her-name the last rose.” Your friend downs her wine in one swig and you don’t bother to hold back the laugh bubbling in your chest. She’s all red faced. You’re not sure if it’s from how passionate she is about the show or from the two empty bottles of merlot she’s managed to down practically on her own, but the glowing hue it gives her highlights the thick scar across her face. A product of her line of work, and said line of work being the reason she’s guzzling wine in the first place.

“Maybe take it easy on the drinks, Utahime.”

She hiccups next to you, slouching in her seat. “I haven’t even had that much to drink!”

“You’ve had most of the wine just on your own!”

“Oh my god, you have one or nine glasses of wine and suddenly you’re wasted,” she mutters sarcastically. “I’m fine.”

You roll your eyes, because you know there’s no going back and forth with her stubborn ass when she starts drinking.

The living room dims for about three seconds before it lights back up, the show now having gone on commercial break. The rose ceremony is next and despite shit-talking the show only ten minutes ago, you’re eager for the commercials to wrap up so you can see who goes home. It better not be Rachel. You use this brief intermission to go and get some water for yourself but mostly Utahime so she can sober up.

This has been your routine for the last few weeks. Every Monday night, Utahime comes over, peels you out of your bed and forces you on the couch to chug alcohol and watch this ridiculous show. While you find the entire premise of the show nonsensical, you’re grateful for the time it’s given you with Utahime.

You’re fairly new to the Kyoto area and Utahime was the first person you’d met on your first day at your new – how can you put this? – unique job. You see, you and Utahime both work in the field of Jujutsu sorcery. But there’s about where your similarities in the field stop.

Utahime is an active Sorcerer. She’s an instructor raising up the next generation of Sorcerers, building them up so that they can one day join the frontlines to protect the unaware non-Sorcerers of Japan. She’s strong– a grade 1 Sorcerer. Quite impressive. She could easily knock a curse’s head off if she wanted to.

But you? Well, while Utahime is at the top of the ranks of Jujutsu society, you are what some would refer to as a bottomfeeder – an unranked, unimportant, lowly Window. You’re someone who has just enough cursed energy to see a curse. But can you do anything about them? Not unless you want to end up in the nearest trauma center. So if you’re smart, you’ll do your job and whip your phone out to report it so that the real Sorcerers can handle it.

You’ve been in this field for several years now, but working outside of the major cities of Japan. Transferring to Kyoto was your idea of wanting something new and different. Utahime had quickly taken you under her wing. You were certain it was because she took pity on you. A weak, barely gifted Window. But as time went on, you came to realize that that was just Utahime. She was kind and funny, and had a good heart. Well, except when it came to –

“Hey!” Utahime calls from her spot on the couch. You can hear a slur in her words as she speaks and you know she’s opened yet another bottle of wine from who knows where. “Come here! Look at this!” You peer at the television from the doorway of your kitchen and see Utahime has it paused on a very ugly ad. It’s bright white with a background full of red rose petals across the screen. Your eyes roam over the words.

“THE SEARCH IS ON FOR THE ELIGIBLE WOMEN WHO ARE READY TO FIND TRUE LOVE! DO YOU OR SOMEONE YOU KNOW HAVE THE CHARM, STYLE, AND PERSONALITY TO BE OUR NEXT STAR? IF SO, APPLY OR NOMINATE SOMEONE NOW!”

“Will you hurry up? Come look!” Utahime demands, messily pouring more wine into her glass. But it looks like a normal advertisement to you, so you’re not entirely sure what has Utahime’s interest so piqued.

She beckons you again, yelling “Come here!” So you quickly grab a couple bottles of water from your fridge and head back. Utahime is pointing insistently at the screen. “Look. Look really hard.”

You follow the path where her finger points, shuffling closer to the t.v. to get a clearer look. It takes a moment for you to see it, like really see it, but it’s definitely there. Underneath the last line, hidden from the eyes of those unable to see the horrors that you and those like Utahime can, is another message. You fall to your knees, eyes glued to the tiny additional message floating beneath, glowing with cursed energy that reads, “JUJUTSU SorcererS PREFERRED”.

Confusion slowly takes over your features, the corners of your lips turning down with a frown, a brow arched and skepticism in your eyes. Were you missing something? Was this some sick joke? Were Jujutsu Sorcerers huge fans of The Bachelor or something? You spin around to face your friend who has a look of mischief twinkling in her eyes. You know it all too well, mouth falling open and a finger pointing when you scream “NO” at the exact moment Utahime yells “YOU SHOULD APPLY!”

“Absolutely not!” You must be looking at Utahime like she’s grown two more heads because she looks just as confused as you.

“Why not?! You’d be great on there!”

Maybe she hasn’t grown two more heads. Maybe her brain was swapped while you were in the kitchen because why the hell was she suggesting this?

“Well, for starters, I’m not really looking to date.”

Utahime rolls her eyes, as if that’s just not a good enough excuse. You should just ignore her, snatch the remote from her hand and hit play so you can get back to the show and see who this guy chooses to potentially get engaged to. But for some reason (could be the single drop of wine your friend allowed you to have while she downed the rest), you feel the need to keep listing off reasons to not sign up. “Secondly, I– why would I even want to go on this show?”

Utahime sips her wine, eyes low as she falls into her drunkenness, but you can still see the sparkle of mischief in those brown hues…and it scares you. So you keep talking, chatting away and listing excuse after excuse to your friend, eventually finding yourself back on the couch trying to drive your final point home.

“Besides, they want Sorcerers.” This seems to get Utahime’s attention again, makes her set her glass down as she looks at you.

“I’m sure it’s fine. You are a Sorcerer.”

“I’m a Window.”

“Semantics. You can see curses, can’t you?” Utahime argues.

“...yes.” You shift uncomfortably in your seat. “But I can’t do anything about them.”

It’s not something you should be ashamed of, but there’s just the tiniest bit of you that is ashamed. Because being able to see these monsters and not having the power to do anything about them…well, it feels like a curse in and of itself.

To this, she sighs. “Sorcerers, Windows. They’re just terms used by the higher-ups to keep their stupid, fucked up heirarchy intact.”

You know it’s the wine that’s loosened her tongue. In public, Utahime would not dare to speak so freely. The Jujutsu politics in Kyoto were a lot stricter than they were in Tokyo. Not that that said much anyway. The politics were shit regardless. But Utahime worked closely with those connected to the higher-ups, so outside of this little bubble in your apartment, she kept pretty hush hush about her true feelings.

You watch Utahime closely as she fiddles with her wine glass. She really is beautiful. You think she’d be incredible on a show like this. Which gives you the idea.

“What don’t you apply?”

Utahime leans back, a cackle so loud and abrupt leaving her tiny body.

“No way. I would never date any of these Sorcerers.”

“And you want me to?!” You ask incredulously. You don’t know whether to be offended or not.

Your friend fixes you with a deadpan stare. “You don’t know them the way I do. The only good one out of all of them is Nanami Kento…and Shoko.” She mutters the last name quietly, like it’s a secret that she thinks so highly of her. And maybe it is a secret…the way she feels about the doctor in Tokyo who you couldn’t help but notice has Utahime’s cheeks glowing red whenever she’s mentioned.

“Besides,” Utahime continues. “If I signed up for this and got paired with Gojo –” she shudders at the mere thought of being near the man. “I don’t think I’d be able to keep myself from projectile vomiting just at the prospect of having to kiss him.”

It’s your turn to laugh obnoxiously now, because – “Why the hell would the strongest Sorcerer in a thousand years sign up for this shit? You don’t think he has anything better to do? Like, you know…keep all of Japan safe?”

“Satoru Gojo does whatever Satoru Gojo wants.”

You can’t argue with that. Utahime would know best. She did grow up with him after all. She knew him well. You’ve never met the man, being just a Window, you doubt you ever will. Out of all the Sorcerers, you’ve only ever met Utahime and Principal Gakuganji. You’ve never even met any of the students. You all run in different circles, but that doesn't mean you don’t keep up with the going-ons of the Jujutsu world. Everyone knows Satoru Gojo.

“You should really sign up, though,” Utahime suggests once more. “You might meet a good person. If anything, you’ll get a good vacation out of it.” With that, she stands. It’s clear that the wine is hitting her again, because she wobbles clumsily to the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.

If it’s anything like every other week before this, you’ll be peeling Utahime out of your bathtub because she will have inevitably fallen asleep.

Your eyes fall back on the hidden message on the television, reading it over and over before you finally just hit play and let the finale finish.

Joey chooses whatever that girl’s name is. You’re only halfway paying attention because against your better judgment, you’re actually thinking about applying to this. But you think the show is stupid, right? Why would you waste your time? But what if Utahime is right? What if you do meet someone? It’s not that you’re against dating. You’re just not actively in the market for romance because you’ve found that dating non-Sorcerers is more stress than it’s worth.

The constant obligation you feel to regulate their emotions so you can avoid the creation of a cursed spirit that you’ll have to call in and do paperwork for? Exhausting. Not to mention, if you ever grew to truly love this person, you’d be overwhelmed with guilt if a curse manifested and harmed them in any way and you couldn’t do anything but watch in horror as you made a phone call.

You’d never really given any thought to it, but perhaps dating a Sorcerer is what you needed. You could end up meeting an amazing man!

But also, semantics or not, you were not technically a Sorcerer. You were simply a Window. Why the hell would an actual Sorcerer want to be with you? Better yet, what were the chances of this show even choosing you as their next Bachelorette?

- - - - - -

Apparently, the chances were extremely high, because one phone call, four video interviews, a nearly five hour drive from Kyoto to Tokyo, and days of promotional video and photo shoots later, you find yourself standing outside of the Bachelor Mansion, donning the most expensive gown that money could buy.

This is not what you expected. Not at all. There is so much going on. You want to run and hide from every single camera you see being propped up. You want to curl into yourself when the lights come on and the director calls, “Action!” And you see some man you’re just meeting for the first time approaching as he speaks directly to the camera.

“...and she’ll be making history tonight as The Bachelorette’s first Jujutsu Sorcerer,” you hear him tell the camera as he stops just a few feet short of you. Tall, blonde and handsome. He looks like an American football player. “I’m Jesse Palmer, ladies and gentleman. Now, let’s meet our Bachelorette!”

He turns to you, wearing a bright smile. The cameras follow, moving closer to catch a close-up of your face, so you smile as naturally as you can and try not to flinch when Jesse moves forward to embrace you in a swift hug.

Jesse calls your name as though you’ve been friends for a long time. “So nice to finally see you. You look great.”

The camera pans down your body and back up to your face. “Likewise, Jesse.”

“How’re you feeling?” he asks.

“I’m nervous! Definitely nervous, but feeling good! I’m so excited for this,” you lie. You’re dreading this process. But it’s too late to back out now. So you just hold your smile, conversing politely as Jesse makes small talk and gets to know you before the first contestant pulls up.

And you hope that if Utahime is watching, she sees the message behind your eyes screaming that you’re absolutely going to kill her.

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paradiseismine · 7 months ago

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After party - Finn Wolfhard x reader

Pairing: Finn Wolfhard x f!reader

Warnings: reader is in the public eye; soft smut (cause, again, Finn is a gentleman); praising; lots of dirty talk; car sex; sex while someone else can hear you (but they can’t see you).

Summary: you were Finn’s plus one on a red carpet for the first time. Heading home with him afterwards, you two are going to have a… Private celebration of your own.

It was the Emmys ceremony. Your first red carpet ever, and Finn’s first red carpet accompanied by his girlfriend: you. He was wearing a fancy black suit by some fancy stylist, and got you a beautiful matching black dress with a high slit that exposed your smooth thigh.

After a ton of pictures at the entrance, you could finally sit down to watch the ceremony and have dinner afterwards. Stranger Things 5 ended up winning the Emmy for Best Drama Series, and you cheered happily for your boyfriend and his cast mates as they got on stage to thank everyone for the prize. It was such a happy evening.

The dinner that followed was delicious and also a great chance to get to know the cast a bit better. Until Finn suddenly gripped your thigh firmly under the table.

- That slit on your dress goes up so high - he whispered to your ear, his hand slowly caressing your skin through the slit. - I’m pretty sure I’ve seen a bunch of guys staring at your legs. I know you’re stunning, but they should know you’re mine.

You bit your lower lip discreetly, you whole body feeling the effects of his touch.

- Finn - you whispered back to his ear, your voice a bit higher than usual. - Don’t touch me like this now… Wait until we’re back at the limo, at least…

- Sure - he agreed, mischievously. - But just until we enter the limo.

The rest of the dinner was good, you were able to keep chatting with some of Finn’s costars and a few other friends, but your mind was still on what could happen afterwards. That boy was such a tease, oh my.

When dinner was over, you two walked up to the limo holding hands. As you entered and Finn shut the car door behind himself, he asked the driver to roll up the partition. You looked at him in a naughty way, already knowing what he was up to. He only promised to keep his hands off of you until you were both in there, of course.

After the partition was up, he spread your legs open gently, making sure you were comfortable with the touch. You grabbed him by the collar of his dress shirt, eager for his lips. His hand was gripping your exposed thigh in a way that made you shiver and moan into the kiss. Your moans have always driven Finn crazy. He groped your ass firmly, his eyes squeezing in delight, to which you moaned loudly in a surprised way. Suddenly, you put your hand over your mouth, remembering that you two weren’t alone in there - the limo wasn’t driving itself, obviously.

- Isn’t the driver going to hear us? - you whispered, a bit embarrassed, loosening his black tie.

- Probably - Finn shrugged, chuckling lightly. - But he’s well paid to keep his mouth shut, don’t worry about him. Focus on us.

He grabbed your chin possessively, leaning in for another passionate kiss. His lips felt like velvet on yours, tasting faintly of red wine, as he was finally old enough to drink at the ceremonial dinner.

- Can I touch you, beautiful? - he asked, the tips of his fingers nearly reaching your underwear.

- Of course, love - you reassured him, breathless.

- Can I tear these off? - he asked again, his voice raspy and sensual as he toyed with your thong. - I need to have you right here, I can’t wait until we get home.

- S-sure babe - you responded, pretty sure you were soaking wet already. He tore off your thong with a single movement, the useless piece of lace now tossed at the limo floor.

His long fingers went straight to your core. He knew exactly what he wanted.

- Ah, you’re so wet - he licked his lips in excitement. - Get on my lap, I need to make you cum. Such a soaking wet pussy needs to cum immediately. - he declared, making you chuckle.

You got on his lap, your back now wrinkling his expensive suit. He used the slit on the dress to expose your thighs and spread your legs across his own.

- Such a good girl - he praised, his lips on your ear, his long fingers now circling your clit slowly. - So pretty and poised for me at the ceremony, so lady-like… Now you can be my naughty little slut again, you can cum on my hand and let out all your pretty moans, my love…

You convulsed slightly on his lap as he continued to touch your drenched pussy, whose wetness made splashy noises that echoed through the entire backseat.

- Finn… - you moaned his name, you mouth agape and your eyes fluttering shut as your climax approached.

- Yes, baby girl, cum for me… I know how to touch you just the way you like, don’t I? You just have to cum, you can’t help it…

You nearly screamed as you came undone under his touch. Your entire body was shaking, squirming, completely wild as your orgasm took over.

- It’s such a shame there’s no mirror on here - Finn cooed to your ear. - You should see how pretty you look while you’re cumming for me.

That dirty mouth was driving you crazy. With his hand still over your pussy, he now took his slick fingers and slowly inserted them into your dripping hole. You could hear Finn pulling air in between his teeth as his fingers were swallowed by your cunt.

- One more time, love? - he said, but you knew it wasn’t a question. Finn absolutely adored getting you to cum multiple times before he even entered you.

His fingers curled inside your soaking wet pussy, finding your g-spot in mere seconds. Massaging your sensitive insides and feeling you clench around his fingers, it’s obvious he couldn’t stay quiet.

- I love seeing you like this - he nibbled on your earlobe. - All spread out for me, moaning my name, desperate for relief… Such a needy little slut.

- Finn, love… - you managed to moan in return. - I’ll…

- Are you gonna cum all over me, baby girl, yeah? Are you gonna make a mess on the backseat with your sweet dripping pussy?

You squirted uncontrollably onto his hand, covering the leather backseat in your arousal, just as he had said. Ugh, he knew you so well. His fingers left your core and met his lips, as Finn loved to taste you after he’d make you cum.

The sight of him sucking off his fingers reminded you of how much you loved to suck his dick. You mouth was watering at the mere thought of having his thick shaft down your throat. You needed him, you needed to please him. Now.

You reached for his belt, trying to unbuckle it in a clumsy way. Finn gently put his right hand over yours.

- Not now, my princess… I’ll have my pleasure once we get home and I tear that dress off your body. - he sounded so feral you could feel some more wetness build up inside you.

You couldn’t wait till you two would finally get home.

#finn wolfhard smut #finn wolfhard x reader #imagine #mike wheeler x reader #mike wheeler #miles fairchild #smut #trevor spengler #trevor spengler x reader #finn headcanons

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mirai-e-jump · 4 months ago

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TV Life, 8/2/2024 Issue (No.15) ft. Kamen Rider Gotchard Cast Members (translation below)

Publication: July 17, 2024

The film version for the currently airing "Kamen Rider Gotchard" will finally release in theaters! We heard alot from the six main cast members on the highlights of the film and each other's future!

"What were your thoughts after reading the script?"

Motojima: I was very excited, as it felt like a side story to Kamen Rider Gotchard. In this film, the process of how past Houtaro became Kamen Rider Gotchard Daybreak is carefully depicted, so please pay attention to it.

Matsumoto: It was so moving, that tears would start flowing every time I read the script. I did my best to convey those emotions into my performance so that those who watch feel the same way.

Fujibayashi: When I first read it I thought, "Huh? Is Spanner even here?!" (laughs), but as I kept reading, it wasn't like that at all. In this film, I play a double role, which I think doubled the highlights, and personally, I felt a great sense of accomplishment after filming.

Abe: As it's a story that goes back and forth between the past and future, I found some parts to be alittle difficult to follow. However, as Reiyo-chan said, there are many scenes that moved me and gave off an intense feeling that only a film can give.

Tomizono: I also want to see this film on the big screen in theaters. I think one of the highlights is seeing how the characters who also appear in the TV series will affect the future in which the film takes place.

Kumaki: That's for sure. Those of you who have seen the TV series will recognize some things that'll make you think, "That thing from back then!," and I'm sure that you'll enjoy the film while reflecting on these various things.

"This time, DAIGO-san will make a guest appearance as "future Houtaro," who transforms into Kamen Rider Gotchard Daybreak."

Motojima: I was nervous before we even appeared together, but he was very kind to me. I could feel how much he cared about the character of Ichinose Houtaro. I was really happy that we were able to create this one role together.

Matsumoto: While they play the same Houtaro character, his personality and way of thinking are slightly different in the present and future. As Rinne, I was saddened at times by these differences, but I was able to empathize with him because I got to see Motojima-san and DAIGO-san's passionate performance up close. The two of them inspired me, and it also made me want to work harder, so I'm very grateful.

Fujibayashi: Ah! Junsei looks embarrassed!

Motojima: I didn't know you thought that way…that makes me happy!

"Now then, the theme of this film is related to the future. Please make a prediction about each other's futures."

Abe: I think that Kumaki-san will appear in a period drama.

(everyone but Abe & Kumaki): Oh~!

Abe: He's got a stern face, and I feel that a kimono would look good on him.

Kumaki: Oto-chan is both an actress and model, and her expressiveness is powerful, so I believe that she'll eventually become a top actress. With how sexy she is, it's hard to believe she's only in her early 20s, and I think she'll become an even more attractive actress as she gets older.

Fujibayashi: Well then, I'll talk about Rikiya. Even now, I think Rikiya has an androgynous aura to him, and I actually think that's precisely his strong point. That's why I hope he'll challenge himself to continue moving forward as he is now and become a one of a kind actor.

Tomizono: That makes me happy. I'm gonna make a big assumption that Yasu will continue to be an actor, and that he'll probably be traveling around the world (laughs).

(everyone but Tomizono & Fujibayashi): We can see that happening!

Tomizono: I think he's the type of person who always wants to try new things, so regardless of the country or location, he should be a globally active actor.

Motojima: I think that Reiyo-chan's crying performance is appealing. Her smile is cute, but her worried facial expression is also wonderful, so I'd like to see her play a two sided role that evokes the positive and negative of her character.

Matsumoto: When we were filming the scene where I become possessed by Zukyumpire, I thought about how Motojima-san would also be a good fit for 2.5D productions and roles, so I definitely want to see you challenge yourself to them!

Motojima: I might give it a try. I look forward to all of our futures!

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doll3tt33 · 6 months ago

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Unnecessarily lengthy ramble abt losing interest and moving on with a new acc + last few bot/fic ideas I might post (feel free to ignore idkidk)

I’ve been having a hectic week regarding academic stuff so I have the worst brain fog rn, and I have a feeling I should unwind a couple more days before writing this but I honestly don’t care atp 😭😭

Basically, as you can see with the title, I’m losing interest in AHS, evan peters, his characters - all that. Besides Colin Zabel (he’s still my husband fr), creating content for everything else feels like a real chore now, whilst back then it was truly enjoyable and exciting.

Don’t get me wrong, I love writing and making bots, like this stuff is basically for life lol. But nowadays, it feels like I’m simply utilizing the evans as tools to write out the tropes I enjoy, rather than actually experiencing a desire to write FOR the characters like I used to ((which still can be gratifying in its own respective way… until a certain motivating factor begins to lack, if that makes sense??

It really sucks cuz I chalked it up to me being burned out, when in reality my attraction was clearly just plummeting as we speak 😔. What’s worse is that I’m really comfortable in this fandom - like I have super cool moots here, there’s no drama, there’s a bunch of evan characters for everybody 😂, and I gained over 500 followers, which is still crazy to me! I tried to “prolong” my interest for the sake of all this progress, but I think the inevitable has arrived and I can no longer keep up, my resolve is crumbling y’all 😭😭😭

I was hoping to wait until the Tron movie comes out in 2025, cuz maybe seeing Evan in there would reignite some of ✨la passion✨ within me, however I don’t feel like hanging around anymore, since I no longer relate to the fandom. I feel so out of place now, like a fRaUD 😩 ((I’ll still most likely watch it, but until then we’ll see

And to clarify, I will most likely NOT post and interact as frequently as I used to anymore. I’m not deleting this account, though I am going to make a new account to post The Boys content, as I want a fresh clean slate to start new.

Before I do go, I might drop a bot or two, maybe even a fic in the near future since they’re halfway done and I did NOT use all that effort for nothing 😭💀:

- corrupt cop!Colin Zabel ((most likely will make this next…. For personal reasons 😳

- a standard pre-cult Kai bot ((not brown hair pre-cult Kai, the recently dyed blue hair one iykwim. sorry

- as for fics, I’ll most likely post a very short smut when Kyle goes down on reader, cuz why not 😏

- might finish the older!grumpy neighbor!kit I talked about before since I’m halfway done

- not sure about this but I have a really random JPM fic where reader (accidentally but also not so accidentally) killed their spouse and they have no one to call but him for help ((heavily based off the tv show Fargo, the first season

No promises tho! I might occasionally come back to post if some random ideas for the evans come up, and ofc for Colin cuz he’s still the loml, no debate <3

#this lowkey feels like a breakup and I’m sad 🥲#*starts playing the blackest day off in the distance*#american horror story #ahs #ahs fandom #evan peters

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sadesluvr · 6 months ago

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SUPER RICH KIDS MASTERLIST

DILF! Kook! Pope thoughts… (SFW)

DILF! Kook! Pope who starts off as a guest speaker at your university, speaking about his family connections to Denmark Tanny -

DILF! Kook! Pope whose eye catches yours from across the lecture hall, all too proud of himself as he catches the gleam in your eye as he speaks. He’s used to it, but you’re a pretty young thing in a room full of bored students and he can’t help but pay attention to you.

DILF! Kook! Pope who’s all too happy when you find him after the fact, a smirk on his face as he watches you avert your gaze to the floor - “ ’Scuse me Mr Heyward, I-I was wondering if we could get a coffee? I’m really interested in your family’s history, and you could really help with my paper...”

He rubs his chin, giving you a once over.

“Ah, I’d love to, but I have to pick up my daughter from daycare. Let me give you my email --”

DILF! Kook! Pope who meets you that next week for coffee, all too happy to buy you a drink and a pastry. Unlike the other girls who fawn over him, you actually seem to care, and he gets a weird sense of pride from seeing you take notes, nodding enthusiastically at everything he says.

DILF!Kook! Pope who’s transfixed on the way your lips gloss over the edge of your pen as you chew on it absentmindedly.

DILF! Kook! Pope who gushes non-stop about his daughter, showing you the pictures of them together in his wallet. He’s the ultimate girl dad.

DILF!Kook! Pope who selfishly takes up on your offer to become his babysitter. He teaches at another college, and often works late. He could really use the help around the house....

DILF! Kook! Pope who watches you from his study, door slightly ajar as you play with her, fascinated by the way you take to each other so quickly. You’d be a great mother.

DILF!Kook!Pope who always makes you dinner, sometimes casual, sometimes Southern recipes he inherited from his mother.

DILF!Kook! Pope who always lends you his clothes, and gets turned on by seeing you in his designer shirts or oversized sweatshirts from his old college days. It makes him imagine domestic life with you, with a ring on your finger and a baby in your belly...

DILF! Kook! Pope who keeps you on the low, but he doesn’t hide. He’s not your teacher and he doesn’t need to.

NSFW

DILF!Kook! Pope who takes you to university fundraisers, just so he has the excuse of buying you something nice; a dress, shoes, all the works. He never takes you home during those days, instead spending the evening peeling your clothes off you before he fucks you in the shower.

DILF! Kook! Pope who’s a passionate lover; always making sure you’re taken care of before he does. His favourite position is with you on your back, draped in his sweaters or a dress, legs wrapped around his head as he eats you out.

DILF! Kook! Pope who takes advantage of your ‘studying’ at his house. He lets you use his desk, but you always seem to end up on his lap, his thick fingers in your pussy as he ‘tries’ to get you to focus on your studies - “That’s it, princess. Read that last line back out to me, I couldn’t understand you...You know you’ll fail if you don’t get this right...”

DILF!Kook! Pope who’s sweet but can make your head spin. It’s always on the days where work or divorce drama gets to him, and it’s those times when he fucks you the hardest, watching your ass bounce on his thighs as he drills you from behind - “You’re not like those other girls, are you? No, you’re always a good girl f’me...That’s why you’re taking this cock, huh? Pretty girl, lie there and take it...”

Credits to @gardengirl222 for the original idea!! 🫶🏼

#florence writes!!#dilf!kook!pope #pope heyward prompt #kook!pope heyward #kook!pope #super rich kids au #pope heyward x reader

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sunnyrosewritesstuff · 2 months ago

Text

Ambassador to Madness

Rating: NR

Warnings: No warnings as of yet

Status: In-progress (9/?)

Summary: All Bilbo wanted was to be an ambassador to one of the richest kingdoms in Middle Earth. Upon meeting its prince, his opinion is greatly lessened. However, Bilbo still finds himself agreeing to play the part of his consort to help free Erebor from the gold mad Thror. Turns out, Thror may not be as blind as his grandson thinks, and intends to use Bilbo to get rid of Thorin once and for all.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

New Chapter- Chapter 9: Feast and Fashion

Bilbo allowed it as walked over to pluck the book out of Thorin’s hands, his fingers ghosting over the section fondly. “Yes, she helped the author understand flower language for the story.”

“That’s like our gem language, right?” Thorin asked.

Bilbo nodded.

“Would you translate this part for me then?”

Bilbo’s heart was beating wildly in his chest especially when he could probably guess what part Thorin was at. Sure enough, as soon as the book was passed over to Bilbo, he saw that Thilion had just given the longing bouquet to Linnadis even though she had told him she was accepting Míriedir’s proposal to court. Thorin leaned over Bilbo’s shoulder so he could see the words as well, and as his breath tickled his neck, Bilbo thought he was going to combust.

“A-ah, yes. So the pink camellia means “longing for you”. The edelweiss is “courage in one’s devotion”, and the red salvia…”

Bilbo trailed off as he looked up into Thorin’s uncomfortably close face. Unable to pull away from the encouraging blue of his eyes and wistful smile across his face.

“Forever mine.” Bilbo ended up near whispering.

Thorin hummed in sympathy, but did not pull away or take the book back. He merely continued to stare at Bilbo the same way.

“In gems, we would have used Ruby, Amethyst, and Diamond for such a message. Although it’s not an exact translation. Ruby is strengthening the decision making in passionate displays. Amethyst is about clearing one’s mind, but also being courageous in relationships. And then Diamond is practically indestructible so it’s a symbol of eternal love. Then there’s the matter of where you would place it. Possibly in a bracelet because our hands are our greatest gift from Mahal.”

At this, Thorin stroked the inside of Bilbo’s wrist causing the hobbit to gasp lightly.

“Or a necklace to keep close to your heart.”

For more of this chapter, please click the AO3 link above!

#sunny's wips #the hobbit #bagginshield #ambassador to madness #arranged marriage au

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yourheart-inmyhands · 1 year ago

Note

Hiya, I love your yandere archons and a someone else request got an idea brewing in my head. You said the reader can’t be powerful or more because it would make them like the traveler… But what if the reader isn’t even a human? Like a primordial deity/being or something like lovecraft? An eldritch being? Basically a darling who can’t be physically chained or overpowered? How can they charm/persuade the darling? Like trying to seduce Azothoth!like darling, like those scheming yandere they are? Like you know those court drama where the consorts fight for the emperor? Ya know poison, blackmail, etc? That’s the archons for the darling. Is this too complicated? Anyway keep up the good work.

ah this was such an interesting ask! it definitely let me bring out some more obscure head canons of mine so thank you so much! :3c

Warning: this post contains yandere-themes, including delusional behavior, mentions of animal slaughter, uh not much this is actually a pretty tame post, archons are actually kinda nice for once, and other potential topics. Please read at your own risk!

Yandere!Venti would hound you constantly, showing up wherever you seem to be staying to constantly chat you up. At first he starts just straight up begging but slowly it devolves into just chatting, slowly making you fall in love with him as he learns more about you and you him.

You couldn’t help the smile on your face as you saw the familiar green bard bounding over to you, a bottle of wine in his hands and a basket of some human food you had mentioned enjoying. He made sure to always bring something to share with you while you talked, just a little something to keep the conversation going for longer. The bottle of wine was usually for Venti but if you showed interest he wouldn’t mind sharing. Slowly, as he visits you day after day, you find yourself enjoying the presence of the boisterous male. He may have fallen first, but you fell harder.

Yandere!Zhongli would use his history of Liyue to woo you, thrilling I know. This somehow seems to work in his favor though as he can invite you on walks with him and then spend the whole time telling you about the history of the area and all the fun little details. It may seem boring, but somehow the century old dragon seems to make it fun, his passion for history rubbing off on you just a little bit.

You listened intently as Zhongli told you random, generally useless facts about the spot you currently stood at. While you will admit that he had bored you at first, you had come to love his strange little information tidbits. The passion he had for history was admirable and the joyful effect it seemed to have on him rubbed off on you the more he told you. It had started with a simple proposition: join him for a walk and if he told you something you didn’t know, that he could prove was true, then you’d join him for another. If you did know it already, then he would leave you alone. What he didn’t tell you though was that he had no plans of leaving you alone, setting up something that was entirely untrue just to win the little deal. It’s the only time he’s ever lied to you.

Yandere!Raiden would act similarly to male birds, where she flaunts what she’s capable of to entice you to choose her. Though she doesn’t do a silly dance with pretty feathers, instead she showcases her power. She flaunts her capabilities as a partner and uses that to entice you.

While your power as an eldritch being was scaled differently from Raiden, it didn’t mean she couldn’t still showcase her strength to you. Showing you the skeleton of the giant serpent she had slain was only so impressive so instead she challenges you. Bring her anything and she’ll kill it. From wild boar to giant whales, everything you had brought to Raiden she made quick work of. She even offered to dive into the waters and hunt down something herself but you insisted it wasn’t necessary. She had proven herself plenty, you were simply giving her a hard time to see how far she’d go. It almost made you feel bad, killing the insignificant wildlife simply for a bit of a show, but Raiden always made sure the animal went to good use. That was something you liked about her, even if she was busy showing off and flaunting to you, she still made sure that nothing was wasted.

Yandere!Furina would have nothing to offer but herself. She isn’t incredibly funny, she’s not super strong, she can’t tell you cool facts about her nation or even spend all day talking to you. All she can give you is late nights under the stars, laying there as she points out all the constellations to you. In her early years as the Hydro Archon she would often spend her time stargazing, finding the action perfect to unwind when she was stressed.

Every night, after finishing up with court proceedings for the day, Furina would meet you at the same spot. She’d lay out a blanket, whether you lay on it with her or not, and stare up at the sky. Sometimes she’s silent, just enjoying your presence as a calming figure in her life, and sometimes she’ll point out the constellations to you. Furina thinks you’re absolutely darling but you’re way above her league and she doesn’t have anything that she can use to attract you to her. So she settles for these quiet nights with you, gazing at the stars as she used to in her youth. On nights where she does tell you about the constellations, she tells you how to find it, where the name comes from, and if it applies, the story behind each one. Her favorites are Cassiopeia and Cetus.

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silverfoxstole · 10 months ago

Text

Recording Shada in 2002.

From DWM 330, May 2003:

PAUL MCGANN

INTERVIEW BY GARY GILLATT

We first spoke in Vancouver in 1996…

[sings] Ah yes, I remember it well…

…And here we are in Bristol, years later, with James Fox and Andrew Sachs. Would you ever have thought it?

Well, when my agent was telling me about it, I thought we had a bad line. She said, ‘James Fox is in it, and Andrew Sachs, and so-and-so and such-and-such’ and I assumed I was mishearing. I mean, how could it be?

Were you familiar with the work of Douglas Adams?

Not really, only Hitchhiker’s Guide. I’m not a sci-fi reader at all, that’s not my thing. I didn’t really know a great deal about Adams – I certainly didn’t realise he was this amazing polymath. But Lalla speaks so eloquently and passionately about him, and I’ve come to understand why he was so well-loved and respected, and, of course, the quality of the script speaks for itself.

Are you enjoying playing the script?

Well, compared to last year’s plays, and the year before, you can definitely tell it’s from a different source. It has a different tack, and a whole different kind of wit. If you were at a blind tasting, and shown just a page or two of every script we’ve done, you’d easily spot that this one came from somewhere else, from a very fertile mind. It’s great stuff.

Everyone seems to have treated the script with great respect. Almost every line seems to be debated as you all try to get the best of out it.

Comedy is a very serious business. If it was a so-called straight drama, you probably wouldn’t find that much discussion.

So it’s exacting work?

Oh yes, very much so. If a thing is meant to be funny, you’ve got to make sure it’s funny, so you’ve got to get it right. In drama, your main directions are ‘quicker’, ‘slower’, ‘louder’, ‘quieter’. But on something like this you have to watch how you spin every word. It’s not something you can be lazy about.

I hear you’re missing India Fisher…

I sure am. Every time the studio door opens, I think she’s going to walk through. It’s the association with this place, where we do all these plays, and this is the first one we’ve done without her, so it seems very strange. She’ll be back next year, though, won’t she?

I certainly hope so. Will you?

Well, yes, that’s in the planning stages. Apparently, as was revealed to me yesterday, 2003 is the 40th anniversary of Doctor Who, and they’re planning something of a special with me and Davison and Sylv and Colin Baker. I think they’re going to have us as some sort of barbershop quartet or something.

So you’re still finding it fun, being the Doctor?

You sound very sure of yourself when you ask that… You’ve phrased the question to get the answer you want, I think!

Well, I guess as a fan, I’d like to think that Doctor Who likes being Doctor Who…

Well, I’ll put your mind at rest, then, because I am still enjoying it. I like working on audios more than on screen. Day in, day out, it’s just more of a laugh. Doing the visual work, on TV or in pictures, you never get to hang around with the rest of the cast. Here we can swap stories in the green room, or go off in a gang to the pub for lunch. When you’re working on pictures it’s not like that. You go in, do your little bit, and then you’re shunted off to a trailer out of the way. This is much more fun. It’s what being an actor is all about, and I have Doctor Who to thank for that opportunity.

Extracts from the recording of Shada:

The Doctor decides it’s time to get to the point. “What have you done with the Professor’s mind?” he asks.

“It will be put to a more useful purpose,” replies Skagra, haughtily.

“I would argue that it was serving a very useful purpose where it was.” ”Not to me.”

“You realise he died?” says the Doctor.

“Only his mind was of use to me,” says Skagra. “Not his life.”

“You take a very proprietorial attitude to people’s brains,” responds the Doctor, calmly.

“It seems to me,” says Skagra, his voice rising slightly, “that the Time Lords take a very proprietorial view of the Universe.”

There is a pause.

“Hold on,” says Lalla Ward, looking across the room to Nick, the director. “Surely the Doctor would be more accurate about his reference there. Skagra hasn’t stolen the Professor’s brain, only his mind.”

“That’s right,” agrees Andrew Sachs, dropping his thin, high Skagra voice. “The actual brains stay in their heads, don’t they?”

“It’s a good point,” replies Nick. “I imagine that Douglas was trying to avoid repetition of the word ‘mind’.”

“Well Douglas should have known better,” says Lalla, firmly. “And it’s a bit silly to worry about repetition of the word ‘mind’ now. It’s all ‘I want your mind, I want his mind’ for the next 60 pages.”

“So would you like me to change ‘brain’ to ‘mind’ on that line?” queries Paul McGann. “Because, y’know, I think the Doctor would be far more accurate about his reference there.”

—-

The Krag commander growls its greeting to Skagra. “What are your orders, my Lord?”

Andrew Sachs peers over his script. “Cod and chips twice, please. And a carton of mushy peas.”

—-

Paul McGann is recording assorted screams and moans to signify the Doctor’s mistreatment by Skagra’s mind-sucking sphere. “Argh!” he groans, “Aargh…ugh…aaargh!”

“Thanks, Paul,” says Nick. “That’s just brilliant.”

“Three years at RADA for that!” laughs Paul gleefully. “Would you like me to do some more?”

Nick smiles and turns to Andrew Sachs. “Now could we just do your lines as the sphere attacks the Doctor again?” Andrew nods and clears his throat. “This time, Doctor,” sneers the icy voice of Skagra, “This time no one will come to your rescue. I shall have your mind.” It’s chilling stuff.

“Y’know,” says Paul, “I believe you!”

“Poor Skagra,” says Andrew. “I have the feeling he’s a very lonely man. I think he needs a wife and kids. A talking spaceship’s no real substitute for the love of a good woman, is it?”

—-

Skagra has some seriously sexy transport, and the Doctor is stealing it.

“Ship!” shouts the Doctor. “Activate all re-aligned drive circuits.”

“Something very strange is happening,” says the ship, all sultry sibilance.

“Ta-daa!” cheers the Doctor.

Hannah Gordon is in a separate sound booth. “Should I be getting more roused there?” she asks over the loudspeaker.

“I don’t think so,” says Nick. “Just keep it honey-voiced and seductive.”

In the gallery, artist Lee Sullivan crosses his legs. “I don’t think I can take much more,” he says. “I may have to leave the room. I never found myself attracted to a spaceship before!”

In the studio, Sean Biggerstaff is fidgeting with his headphones. “It’s very strange working with a sexy, disembodied voice in your ear,” he says.

“I can’t see any downside to that,” muses Paul.

“Hey, that’s me you’re talking about,” replies Hannah in a sexy, disembodied way.

—-

An invisible spaceship,” smiles Lalla. “Such a brilliant idea from Douglas.”

“And now we have an invisible spaceship on audio,” adds Paul.

“Douglas would have laughed at that. It’s just so marvellously perverse.”

“Shall we go and explore it?”

“Oh, yes, let’s explore…”

#doctor who #eighth doctor #8th doctor #big finish #shada #paul mcgann #lalla ward #john leeson #andrew sachs #james fox #susannah harker #sean biggerstaff #hannah gordon #doctor who magazine #what poor k9 ever did to deserve a kick up the circuits is anyone’s guess #you meanie paul

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archiveikemen · 4 months ago

Text

Xeno Main Story: Chapter 6

This is a fan-made translation solely for entertainment purposes with no guaranteed perfection; expect mistakes, grammatical errors, and some creative liberties. All original content and media used belongs to Cybird. Please support the game by buying their stories and playing their games. Reblogs appreciated.

Read this before interacting

Xeno-san walked to the centre of the deck, and…

Without a microphone nor any equipment, he started singing an acapella.

Rina: …!

Xeno: ♪ Even if the world turns its back on you… ♪

It was a jazz song everyone knew. Xeno-san’s sweet and melancholic voice spread through the party venue…

(What’s going on… I feel like my heart’s being tightly squeezed…)

Up till then, I had heard Xeno-san’s songs many times through videos and music recordings.

I thought I knew very well how great his singing was.

However… listening to him live for the first time went far beyond my expectations.

It was as though Xeno-san’s voice had created a whole new world.

… When the song ended, sounds of loud claps and cheers erupted around him.

Director Smith: Bravo, Xeno!

Director Smith clapped his hands while walking towards Xeno-san.

Director Smith: That was splendid! I’ve never heard anything like this before… Xeno, you’re one incredible man!

The director couldn’t contain his excitement. Emma-san’s cheeks were bright red and tears were welling up in her eyes.

Emma: I knew you were the BEST!

Director Smith: I firmly believe in it now. With your voice, my drama series will surely reach greater heights than it already has!

Director Smith: And to the young lady, you were right!

Rina: Y-yeah!

Director Smith: Not only this time, but I’d love to continue collaborating with you guys long term if possible. Please feel free to contact me!

Xeno: Thank you very much.

… Despite being the centre of all the excitement, Xeno-san’s response was as calm as ever.

The lavish party on the ship continued.

Xeno-san’s performance seemed to have greatly lifted the spirits of everyone present.

Emma: So, Xeno. Do you have a lover?

Xeno: No.

Emma-san was clinging to Xeno-san the whole time.

Emma: Then how about dating me?

Xeno: I don’t have the time for that right now.

Emma: Cool. But that’s another thing that makes you so amazing!

(Even though she’s a passionate fan, I still feel like she’s going overboard…)

Xeno-san responded non committedly to the fervent advances.

(He looks tired… I wonder if he’s okay. I should find a way to get him out of that situation.)

I wanted to avoid placing any additional burden on Xeno-san.

(But he might tell me off again for being overly meddlesome.)

I didn’t wish to anger him, but seeing him interacting with Emma-san with that stuff facial expression…

(… I can’t let it go.)

I made my decision and approached the two of them with a phone in hand.

Rina: Um…! Xeno-san, there’s a call from the office.

Xeno: From the office? Why would they call you?

Rina: I- I’m guessing they have something to inform me of! Anyway, please just come with me!

Xeno: ! Oi—

Emma: Xeno, are you leaving!?

Rina: It’s a work call, so he has to attend to it… please excuse us!

I forcefully grabbed his hand and moved to a corner of the venue.

…

(This spot won’t draw too much attention.)

Xeno: Kawanaga, pass me the phone.

Rina: Umm, well… that was a lie.

Xeno: A lie?

(Ah, I’m still holding onto his hand!)

I quickly took my hand off him as he stared at me in astonishment.

Xeno: What’s going on?

Rina: … I thought you looked like you were in a tough spot, so I…

Xeno: … [shocked]

(His staring so hard it hurts. So I was being too meddlesome after all…)

Xeno: … Good judgement.

Rina: Eh?

(He’s not angry?)

Xeno: She was indeed being annoyingly persistent. I wasn’t in a position to be rude, so I had a hard time dealing with her.

(So that’s what happened. … I guess I was of some help to Xeno-san.)

I heaved a sigh of relief.

Rina: Do you want to rest here for a bit?

Xeno: Let’s do that.

Xeno-san sighed.

(He must be exhausted. Today’s happenings were unplanned, then there’s the impromptu singing performance…)

Rina: Um, I’m sorry about just now. I meddled too much and you ended up having to sing for everyone.

Xeno: Exactly. Didn’t I tell you to watch your behaviour?

Rina: I’m really sorry… but I thought he was belittling exe Creed, so I couldn’t help it and…

Xeno: Such things happened a lot in the past. There’ll be no end if we take everything to heart easily. If we feel that we’ve been belittled, then we’ll shut them up with results.

Xeno: … However, I don’t think that was wrong of you either.

Rina: Huh?

Xeno: It would be unprofessional if a staff member from the company remains silent after hearing their artiste get underestimated.

Xeno: Your “presentation” ended up becoming a good advantage.

Rina: Xeno-san…

Xeno: Besides, if a staff member like you were to step in the way you did earlier on, it’ll deter people from pestering the artiste.

Xeno: I did think of you as a nuisance at first, but it was the right decision to bring you here.

(… It’s hard to comprehend, but he’s praising me, right? This might be the first time Xeno-san has ever praised me.)

Xeno: This party has led to the director thinking highly of me. Even though it’s an impromptu gig, the results are good.

Xeno-san muttered and gave a satisfied nod.

(Spoken like a real workaholic. … But still, I can’t spot any hint of joy on his face.)

In the glamorous venue, he was the only one silently exuding a chilly aura.

(He had everyone’s attention drawn to him just a moment ago.)

Whenever I thought of that voice, my heart would get the same feeling of being squeezed.

(Truly wonderful…)

Seemingly having noticed my gaze, Xeno-san turned to me.

Xeno: What is it?

Rina: I was thinking about your singing voice and that it was truly wonderful.

Rina: But why did you choose that song?

Xeno-san sang a jazz song earlier instead of one of exe Creed’s songs, so I was rather curious.

Xeno: The reason is simple. Even people who have never heard of exe Creed would’ve at least heard that song somewhere before.

Xeno: Moreover, Director Smith’s hometown is the American state where jazz originated from — New Orleans.

Xeno: He may not be familiar with the latest music, but he might know jazz music very well.

Xeno: Most importantly, the melody of jazz music suits the atmosphere of a party on a ship.

Rina: You’re amazing for thinking of all that in such a short period of time.

Rina: You even knew about the director’s hometown.

Xeno: I looked it up when we got invited to sing the theme song for “Strange Game”.

Rina: Eh…

Xeno: The theme of the production, cast members, director’s past works, his artistic direction, his origin…

Xeno: Thoroughly researching everything about a project upon accepting it before proceeding is to be expected from a professional.

Rina: You did THAT much research…

Xeno: It’s nothing. Didn’t you also do research on exe Creed? Same thing.

(He’s right about that. I did a thorough research too for my proposal presentation.)

Xeno: That is exactly the reason why you were able to smoothly introduce exe Creed in front of the director just now.

Xeno: Is it not? Kawanaga.

Rina: … It is.

(Xeno-san and I have something in common when it comes to working.)

I didn’t know why but it made me happy to realise that.

Xeno: Speaking of your presentation…

Xeno: You came to the condominium to make your presentation successful, but you never once brought it up to me.

Xeno: Honestly, I’m surprised. I thought you’d definitely be more annoying about it.

Xeno: I had initially intended to kick you out the moment I get irritated.

Rina: That’s true.

Xeno: Did you already give up on it?

Rina: No way, I would never. It‘s just that right now, I want to do a good job as a housekeeper first.

(So that you’ll acknowledge me.)

Xeno: … Do whatever you want.

Rina: Okay, I will.

Although he was being as curt as ever, for some reason his attitude felt gentler this time.

Rina: At any rate, you’re really so talented for pulling off a jazz song that perfectly.

Rina: An acapella on a boat too…

Xeno: That’s no big deal. As of now, I’ve sung songs of every genre.

Xeno: In much harsher conditions, and even busking on the streets.

(Looking at him now, I can’t imagine him doing that. But Xeno-san indeed…)

I recalled the information I found about his experiences while I was researching exe Creed.

Rina: Xeno-san, you went to New York alone when you were a teenager to study music, right?

Xeno: … Yeah.

Rina: That’s very respectable. I’d never have the courage to take that big of a leap alone.

Xeno: That was only because I had no other choice.

Rina: Leaving Japan on your own at such a young age… it must’ve been so lonely. Your family members were worried about you, weren’t they?

Xeno: … [sad expression]

(I never would’ve imagined it. Xeno-san’s tough past was the exact reason why his voice had the power to move people’s hearts.)

(To think he worked that hard to get to where he is…)

Rina: You truly love to sing, huh. It must feel so good to be able to sing like you, Xeno-san.

Xeno: Eh…? [poker face]

Rina: After watching you, I now feel like I should work harder too.

Rina: As an advertising planner, in order to someday create an advertisement that will move hearts like you do… I’ll work hard!

Xeno: …! [shocked]

… Xeno-san’s response was unexpected.

Xeno: Like me…?

Rina: … Um, is something wrong?

Xeno: No… [sad expression]

(I’ve never seen him look like this before. Why is he making this face? Did I say something weird?)

Xeno: It’s nothing. Don’t mind me.

Rina: Okay…

He shifted his gaze away and went silent.

(What’s the matter? I’m concerned, but I have a feeling that I shouldn’t pry.)

(I was just thinking that perhaps I’m starting to understand him a little bit, but I still can’t figure out what he’s thinking…)

And the night grew later and later… like being awakened from a dream, the unexpected party was over.

…

Feeling as though the night I spent on the boat was a lie, my busy life at the advertising company resumed as per usual.

Mori: Kawanaga-san. Go help the sales department with some miscellaneous tasks. They look like they’re short-staffed. This is also part of your learning.

Doing miscellaneous work for other departments. If it were the old me, I might’ve felt so dejected.

However…

= Flashback Start =

Xeno: That’s no big deal. As of now, I’ve sung songs of every genre.

Xeno: In much harsher conditions, and even busking on the streets.

= Flashback End =

(Even someone as incredible as Xeno-san started from the bottom. I can’t complain about such minor things.)

Rina: Understood. I’ll take this chance to learn.

Mori: W-what? Are you being sarcastic with me?

Rina: Not at all. Like you’ve said before, Mori-san, I’m inexperienced. I’m willing to take on any tasks.

Rina: In order to succeed one day, I’ll work as hard as I can with whatever I have. … Well then, I’ll get going!

(This definitely won’t be in vain. Someday, it’ll become my source of mental strength. … I got this!)

Mori: … She’s gone insane.

…

Lately, my housekeeping duties have been going well.

Rina: Xeno-san, I’m done cleaning.

Xeno: … Okay, you pass.

Rina: Thank you!

(I’ve gotten used to this, I guess? Or it could also be that I no longer feel nervous around Xeno-san.)

Also…

Rina: Xeno-san, you’re going to continue working, right? I can make you a cup of coffee if you like.

Xeno: Yeah.

Rina: Right away.

Xeno-san recently started drinking the coffee I made too.

(I’m so glad…)

Just like that, my days went by smoothly—

…

Rina: Xeno-san, I’m here to clean. … Xeno-san?

(That’s strange. His room’s lights seem to be turned on.)

Xeno-san often returns from work late at night, so I was instructed to enter as I pleased to clean.

I hesitated for a moment before deciding to open the door.

Rina: Pardon me…!?

The first thing I saw was…

Xeno: … [asleep]

… Xeno-san laying on the sofa, sound asleep.

#morganatic idol #ikemen series #cybird ikemen #cybird otome #morudoru translations #+one by ikemen series #otome #morudoru main story #xeno main story #xeno #exe Creed

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poraphia · 1 year ago

Text

“Cross My Heart As You Crossed The Line.”

➵ PAIRING! teen!rebel!clinic!Wilbur x teen!rebel!reader

➵ CREATING! 9.29.23 | 2347 words

➵ CONTAINING! mini robbery, gunshots and death, arguing, angst.

➵ SAYING! this is the siren x reader enemies to lovers i wanted to work on for SOO long! I really hope this doesnt flop because I’m literally in love with this story. So I hope you enjoy! this chapter is roughly based off favorite crime, but dw its not a song fic! just some inspo and I def recommend listening to it while reading :)

My masterlist :)

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

“Wil, please, I’m not sure about this.” I quickly muttered.

“Oh, come on, (y/n). We’re going to be fine.”

The midnight air sent chills down my spine. The moon shined down on us like it wanted the world to know the dirty crimes we were about to commit. I rubbed my own arms reassuringly, but the feeling of skin-tight gloves against my bare skin just reminded me of our current situation.

We were outside of a stationed train as Wil picked the lock of one of the carts. I glanced around every so often, paranoid for any officers or snitch pedestrians walking by. “I saw them load this cart earlier and heard that one of the crates inside is full of cash. All we gotta do is take it and go.” He smirked. A small hum rumbled in my throat.

“Wil, this isn’t as typical as stealing snacks from the gas station or sneaking out in the middle of the night. This is actually serious.” I whisper-shouted at him. Again, he groaned and rolled his eyes.

“(y/n), honestly, we’ve got the skills to do this. We’re going to make money and you’re finally going to be able to support yourself!” He announced proudly.

“But like this—?! Wilbur—!”

Before I could finish, Wil dropped the lock onto the dirt ground and slid the cart right open. He turned around to face me, a devilish smirk on his face. A smirk that made me weak in the knees. A smirk that he knew I couldn’t say no to. With a defeated sigh, I followed him into the cart, searching for our cash reward.

“It has to be here somewhere…” He thought out loud. I examined the area. There was nothing here other than crates and boxes labeled in sharpie. As I walked while looking around, a rope in the middle of the floor caught my foot.

“Ah, shit—!” I hissed, losing my balance. Wil immediately took notice and rushed to my side. Before I crashed into the ground, he caught me by my waist with one hand, holding me up as my hair brushed the floor.

“Can’t stop falling for me, can you?” He cheekily commented.

“Oh, be quiet!” I exclaimed. Wil helped me up, and immediately I wrapped my arms around him for a quick but passionate kiss. He kept his hand on my hip, pulling me close to his waist. My hands then trailed to his chest, only to lightly push him away. He whined a little as he tilted his head.

“Don’t give me that look!” I lectured. “You wanted to go on this heist.”

“I did…” He said, jokingly sad. I laughed before we continued searching through the piles of crates. Will examined the crates that were on the opposite corner of where I was stood. Most were against the wall and stacked on top of each other. Curiously in one corner there were three crates visible. I lifted the crate that was on the top and luckily enough there was a special crate that was a darker shade than the rest of them. On the top it was labeled: “do not touch!”

“Hey, honey, I think I found it.” I called out. Wil stepped to my side, examining the crate with me.

“Yup, I think that looks like the one.” He said. We worked together to move the other creates out the way, and once we were successful, we placed the special crate in the middle of the cart. I dusted my hands off and looked at him. Wil had his hands on his hips with his eyebrows knitted together. Once he finished his thought, he slid off his jacket and backpack and clasped his hands together.

“Okay, (y/n), here’s the plan,” He said, digging into his backpack. He pulled out a crowbar along with a drama mask that frowned. “First of all, put on your mask because this is when things start to risky.” I immediately obeyed. I placed my backpack onto the floor and pulled out my matching drama mask that smiled. I placed it on my head, making sure it was secure. He nodded before placing on his own mask. “Next, I’m going to open this crate. Once I do, we stuff this money into our bags and don’t look back, got it? We’ll go through the back alleys so that we don’t look suspicious to anyone wandering around the streets.”

I stared at him a bit, my heart beat starting to race. Is this really happening? Are we actually about to rob a train and try to get away with it? There was no turning back now. With a reluctant sigh, I nodded. Wilbur positioned the crowbar between the actual box and the lid. Using all his strength, he pushed down, cracking the wood open and revealing the bundles of cash inside. I stared down at the container in awe, but even then, I could never push that this nagging feeling of guilty and selfishness.

Regardless, I brushed off the feeling for now and began stuffing my bag with as much wads of cash as I could. Wilbur did the same as he crouched down, digging up as much money as he could and stuffing it deep into his bag. The smell of freshly printed money started to fill my nostrils, so much so I felt a little lightheaded. Once I filled my backpack to the brim, I zipped it right up.

As I stood up, not only did the weight of my backpack held me down, but so did this pit in my stomach. Or maybe it was the immense guilt on my shoulders? Nonetheless, I felt like some sort of… Monster—

“This is LMPD! Step out of the train cart now!”

Flashes of red and blue were highlighting our bodies. My heart dropped to the floor as I all I could do was stare down at Wilbur, who was still crouched down gathering money. The beams of blue outlined his hair and body. I looked down at my pants, noticing that only red was all over my body.

Blue

All over his body.

And red

all over mine.

“(y/n), we need to fucking run.” Wilbur said hastily.

“W-What—?” I trembled out.

“LMPD! OUT OF THE TRAIN AND HANDS UP NOW!”

“(y/n), start running now.”

Without thinking, I bolted out of the cart with my legs in total control. Desperately I tried to ignore the blaring lights and screams that were behind me, but the more I did, the more I crumbled in fear. I dodged through the bushes and litters of trash everywhere. My feet slapping against the concrete as it echoed through the alleyways. Soon enough, I spotted Wilbur from above, who was jumping off elevated ledges to catch up with me. He eventually dropped down beside me before continuing to run.

“W-Where are we going?!” I sputtered out. My body ached and I was running out of breath. Ahead of us in this small alleyway was an open view of what seemed to be an open graveyard.

“We’re almost near the hidden exit! Come on, we—!” We exited out of the narrow path only to be welcomed with three police cars and dozens of cops surrounding us. Both of us had paused in our tracks. I stood closely next to Wil as his arm was held out as if to shield me.

“DROP THE CONTRABAND NOW WITH YOUR HANDS UP!” an officer shouted. My heart was thumping out of my chest. I turned to look at Will, but I could just barely read the expression on his face.

Reluctantly, he spoke. “Cover your ears.” He whispered.

“W-What—?!” Tears started to form in my eyes.

“YOU HAVE ONE LAST CHANCE BEFORE WE SHOOT!”

“FOR FUCKS SAKE!” Wilbur threw off his backpack and rushed to cover my ears. I covered my eyes too in a sense of panic. All I could hear was the muffled sound of screaming, but the screaming then turned into gunshots. Gunshots that would pop in your ears if you weren’t getting them covered. I cowered in fear as my knees buckled with each gunshot.

I was in fear, and I was terrified for my life.

But that itch of curiousity was there.

Begging to be satisfied.

My fingers began to part ways with a little light peeking into my vision.

Everyone knows the phrase “curiousity killed the cat,” right?

Well curiousity also killed the cops.

I watched in utter horror as the cops who were once standing before us shot at each other until they saw red.

Red.

Gradually, Wil started to uncover my ears. The shooting was over and all of the cops were dead. Wil took a step away from me, giving me space to gain my composure. Each inhale felt like another step from sobbing my brains out, and it was apparent.

“Okay, we have to go now before they send more, come on!” Wil grabbed my hand as he carefully navigated me through the dead bodies and weapons scattered along the grassy patches. I trailed behind, not having the courage nor strength to voice any type of concern. We had finally arrived to an alleyway that was hidden and led directly to Wil’s house just a couple of block from here. From there, Wil let go of my hand, but instead of following him, I stood stiffly with my head down.

“(y/n)..?” Wilbur whispered.

My heart was thumping hard out of my chest as tears quietly streamed down my face. I threw off my backpack in frustration, landing it close to Wil’s feet. Without a word, I began walking away.

“(y/n), hey! We finally did it!” He reached out and held my hand again. “We won, didn’t we? Come on, let’s just go home.” Wil quietly begged. I pulled my hand away, not even hesitating for a bit. Even if he wasn’t wearing gloves right now, I just know that his skin would’ve been cold. Cold and painted in blood.

“Wil, I can’t fucking do this anymore.” I said. “I— I have to draw the line here.”

The world fell silent for a minute. I turned to look at him, but I didn’t see his face. No, instead I was only bet by that drama face frown. It honestly felt like some sick metaphor. Seeing the agony on his face, but it wasn’t even his.

“W-What do you mean?” He stuttered out. He let go of my hand as we both stood facing each other just a few feet away. “Come on, (y/n)! We did it. We have the cash and we got away! What’s the problem?!” He cried.

“This!” I gestured behind me. Though the bodies were out of sight, they were definitely not out of mind. “Fucking killing people, Wilbur?! What is wrong with you?!” I screamed at him. My throat ached from the sob I forced to choke down.

“What’s wrong with me?! (y/n), we could’ve gone to jail. Are you fucking kidding me?! I SAVED YOUR LIFE!” He shouted back. “YOU’RE FUCKING UNGRATEFUL! I helped you get this money so you can finally have some sort of income and I just saved your ass from getting prision for life!”

“WILBUR THAT DOESN’T MEAN KILL PEOPLE! THERE WERE SO MANY OTHER SOLUTIONS.”

The tears were streaming hard now. Thank God I was wearing a mask.

Wilbur, after some careful silence, began talking again. “If you don’t want this, (y/n), you can fucking leave. You can keep living this fantasy that this world is just rainbows and sparkles, but this is the real shit we have to get through in order to get by.” He turned around, picking up my backpack along the way. He walked slowly, as if waiting for some sort of argument from me. Some form of plead that showed that I still loved him.

I couldn’t lie to him.

I just couldn’t.

He stopped in his tracks, turning his head to the side so I was at least in eye’s view. “I fucking loved you.” He mumbled. “And I thought you did too.”

Wil was not only my first boyfriend, but was also my first friend. After roughly a year of him moving into West End, we became neighborhood best friends at the age of 13. When we started to go to school together in high school, we started dating. The night of the incident happened when we were 16, and life hasn’t been the same since.

“Delusion?”

I turned around, noticing that Dream was also on the rooftop with me. I sighed before returning my gaze back onto the abandoned train stationed on the tracks.

“I know, patrol time and all. Just give me a moment.” I said, absent-mindedly. He made a noise of confirmation before vanishing behind me.

My name is Delusion. A highlighted hero of The Hero District with the power to enforce visual and audio imageries, fucking with people’s minds. I’d like to believe I’m loved and appreciated in this city, but I know deep down these people fear me. No matter how much I engage with the citizens or how I volunteer to patrol Eastside, I’ve already created a sense of paranoia for them without using my powers.

But at the very least, I’m not using my powers to kill them.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

a / n ~ @deadphantomsociety I KNOW WE BRAIN ROTTED ON THIS LIKE WEEKS AGO BUT I FINALLY DID IT EEEEE hope yall enjoyed!! reblogs and likes and replies are super appreciated and they what help me continue writing! Much lovee

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male-reader-haven · 1 year ago

Text

~That Horrible, Wonderful Feeling~

Author note:

Here is chapter 1 of the project I've been working so long on!! I'm super passionate about this storyline, so I'm hoping you guys enjoy it as much as I enjoy writing it. As of right now, I have about 4 chapters completed, and depending on how well this is received I plan on posting them as well. Enjoy your Namjoon crumbs, there is SO much more to come!

Chapter 1: Ideal Woman

Namjoon's POV as he deals with prying reporters, stalkers, and some unwarranted feelings that send him spiraling. How can he claim to know and protect his fellow members if he doesn't even know himself? Y/N, one of 8 members of the worldwide popular K-pop boyband BTS, slowly helps Namjoon along in his journey of self-discovery and acceptance, dealing with his own feelings along the way.

Pairing: Kim Namjoon x male idol Y/N

TW: Stalking, internalized homophobia, heavier topics, invasion of privacy, slight NSFW, 18+

Word count: 2801

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“Now, RM, the fans are dying to know. What are your ideal traits in a girl?” The interviewer smiled and held out the microphone towards Namjoon expectantly. The camera pans over to his face and he forces a smile and glances down.

What a stupid fucking question.

He is so tired of being asked the same questions. Although he knew it was bound to happen due to BTS being worldwide famous idols, still, indulging reporters and tabloids who are constantly hungry for new content and scandals to feed their prying gossipers is so exhausting.

“Ah, well, you know, we all are focusing on our career and don’t have time for anything like that.” He avoids the question, hoping the reporter will drop it. She doesn’t catch on. She has a smile that is too wide and obviously faked. Honestly, Namjoon is pretty sure this american interviewer doesn’t even really know BTS too well or even listen to their music.

“Come on, everyone has a type. ARMY wants to know what kind of woman is RM’s type?”

As if you can speak for ARMY.

“Why do you care?” Namjoon snaps. He surprises himself with his response and immediately follows it up. “I-I mean, it doesn’t really matter. As long as they love and accept me, I guess.” He saves it the best he can. The interviewer stares him down.

“Awe, how sweet. Well before you go Namjoon, we just gotta know! There have been rumors going around that you secretly have a girlfriend! Is it true? Should we be expecting an announcement soon?” As she speaks, pictures flash across the screen of Namjoon caught in the street taking pictures with a fan. Namjoon feels frustration bubble up, not only at the accusation but at the lack of privacy and how the tabloids must have been following him around taking pictures.

“Wow. Really? Shameless.” He loses his patience. “I don’t appreciate being followed and stalked everywhere I go, you know. She is a fan and we took a picture. Sorry I couldn't satisfy your gossip.” He can’t stop himself. “Do you guys really get paid for this? Pushing this scummy, heteronormative agenda on celebrities hoping for a sliver of drama just so you can get a few clicks in by exaggerating and lying? We are people too, just like you. Normal people. So no, you don't get to make assumptions about me or pry into my life.”

“Heteronormative? Are you saying you are something other than straight? Is this official?” The woman interjects. Namjoon is fuming.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Namjoon gets up and storms away from the lit up booth and over to his staff, who briskly apologize to the interviewer and team and take him back to the studio.

Namjoon knows he went too far. Luckily his agent made sure that the interview would be scrapped and not published, but that is now an entire news group that BigHit won’t ever get an interview with again. Honestly they didn’t need the extra publicity, since at this point any company would be more than ecstatic to host an interview from BTS, but this was supposed to be a series of solo interviews from each of the artists, which would have no doubt been popular. Still, he didn't feel bad. Too many times have people asked BTS questions about their private lives and tried exposing them with false accusations and start scandals, none of which ever stick due to ARMY being so protective of them, but it took a toll on their mental health sometimes. Namjoon sinks into the back seat of the car as he looks out the window, listening to the patter of rain on the roof and watching the street lights reflect off the dripping window.

My ideal woman, huh?

He reflects. Everywhere he goes where people ask him these questions, they always say “ideal girl” or “woman,” always assuming he is straight. I mean, he IS straight, but it bothers him nonetheless. It’s not like anyone bothers to ask, they always just assume. He knows that people just want to hear him talk about specific traits and types to fulfill people’s fantasies. It seems people also assume that all ARMYs are straight fangirls. It’s 2023, how are people still pushing heteronormative standards? He takes out his phone to see new messages in the BTS group chat.

WWH: How’d the interview go?

Namjoon sighed and typed out his response.

Me: Horribly. Pretty sure I ruined it for all of us, sorry guys. JK: How so? Me: I lost it and kind of snapped V: Dang, sounds like they deserved it then. No worries man, probably for the best Me: Stupid private questions. I got too pissed though, it is my fault, but still Y/N: Ew, don’t they have anything better to do? Jimin: Fr. Don’t feel bad, I would have been short tempered too J-hope: Does this mean we have a free weeknd? WWH: Nice spelling J-hope: thx dad JK: Hell yeah, let's do a movie night! (read by SUGA, WWH, J-hope, and 4 others)

Namjoon puts his phone away and looks out the window again.

“Are you saying you are something other than straight? Is this official?”

The woman’s words echo in his head longer than he would have liked. Namjoon has always liked women, that he is certain of. Ever since he was little he had crushes on disney princesses and actresses all the time. He had his fair share in heartbreaks and girlfriends in school too. Ever since becoming an idol, however, everything relating to romance seems to have left his life and been put in the back of his mind. He knows it's because they are idols that they aren't allowed to publicly date. That isn’t to say however that he didn't fantasize about having a partner or being in a romantic relationship. Despite BTS being his family and never truly being alone, he couldn’t help feeling lonely in some ways. These days, Namjoon finds himself stuck in his room working even in his free time. Maybe this weekend becoming suddenly free would be a blessing after all.

Namjoon walks into what he and BTS know as the “safehouse,” which is a large home away from the city where all 8 members have access at all times and their own separate rooms. They usually go to the safehouse when they want to meet up, have events and parties or just whenever they want to get out to somewhere private from their own separate homes. The other members are already gathered around in the dining room as he comes through the door.

“Hey, there he is! Welcome to the finest restaurant in all of Korea.” Hoseok yells over from the table where they are all feasting on what looks like bbq.

“Join us, I slaved away at making this for all of you, congratulate me.” Jin’s bubbly voice calls.

“As if. All you did was order the food hyung, don’t act like you prepared it!” Jimin teases Jin and reaches over to put some beef over the bbq and then dips it in some sauce.

“Ah, perfect. I’m starving.” Namjoon puts away his things and sits down in the empty chair next to Y/N. They all get into food and conversation, laughing and smiling and having a great time.

“I’m curious, what did she ask you that sent you over the edge?” Jungkook quired, sitting back as Taehyung brought over some beers.

“The interviewer started asking about my ideal type of woman, a question which I can usually dodge, but she was persistent. Then they pulled up pictures of me back when I was visiting Switzerland where I met a fan and they tried to frame it like a secret girlfriend situation.”

“They followed you to Switzerland?” Y/N looked up, a disgusted look on his face.

“Guess so. Anyways after that she-” Namjoon cuts himself off.

“Are you saying you are something other than straight? Is this official?” Her words came bubbling up again, making him feel nauseous.

“She what?” Taehyung presses. Namjoon shakes his head.

“Nothing. I just got pissed, snapped at her and left after that.�� He avoids eye contact with any of them, hoping someone will change the subject.

“I think you were in the right. I would have been so snarky.” Yoongi speaks up from the corner seat.

“Yeah, don’t think about it too much man. There will always be more interviews, with better and more respectful people.” Jungkook says, trying to make him feel better.

The conversation shifts from there and as the night goes on, the boys get more and more inebriated. Jin is practically howling from laughter at Hoseok, who is falling over in his chair with his face bright red. Jimin is half asleep, Jungkook is not far behind him, and Taehyung is talking about some nonsense with Yoongi. Y/N and Namjoon seem to be the better off in the bunch, simply making stupid jokes and laughing at the other members. Namjoon speaks up.

“I’m drunk, gonna turn in for the night. As should all of you.”

“I think Jimin is already there.” Jin laughs and points at Jimin, who is face flat on the table.

“I’ll take him to his room.” Jungkook sighs and lifts Jimin up and carries him away. The other members eventually all go to their respective rooms also. Namjoon makes his way to his room.

Namjoon closes his door and goes to get ready for bed. His tipsiness makes him stumble sometimes, but he manages to get changed and brush his teeth. After getting ready, he practically falls into his bed and crawls underneath the light brown and white covers. He drifts into thought.

Ideal woman…

Namjoon starts thinking about what he finds attractive. He imagines lean, fit bodies and smooth skin. Silky hair and slightly parted lips. Sparkling eyes and light voices that entice him. He imagines a pair of hands caressing his face, feels the hands move down his neck and to his chest, constantly moving. The hands then become arms attached to a lean and skinny body, a dancer’s body. He feels the body with his own hands, moving to the sides of the person and down to their hips. The person materializes even more, revealing defined abs that lead to a man’s chest and strong thighs that straddle Namjoon’s middle, masculine shoulders that carry beauty and grace. The person is a beautifully built man. The face is blurred, but he can make out plump lips that shine, half parted in a silent breath. The figure leans down into Namjoon, hands on his chest and head as it gets closer to his face. Namjoon is lost in a trance by this beautiful person, and leans in to meet his lips with theirs, when he is met with air. He opens his eyes to his empty room and him in bed.

What a strange dream.

He winces as he adjusts under the covers and discovers that he is partially hard.

Great, just what I need.

He doesn’t have the energy to fix it right now, so he just takes a deep breath and ignores it. Eventually, Namjoon drifts off to sleep.

The next day arrives quickly, and the members are all hung over in the house waking each other up and groaning in the living room.

“What’s everyone’s plans today?” Jimin pipes up, cheerfully, as if he didn't get absolutely wasted the night before. J-hope looks up at him from his fetal position.

“How are you a real person?”

“Yoongi-ssi and I were going fishing if anyone wants to join us.” Jin puts the offer out there, to which nobody volunteers.

“I thought you hate fishing?” Y/N asks Yoongi.

“I do, but it makes Jin hyung happy. And it's more fun with friends.” Yoongi half spoke, half groaned his response.

“Awe, he does have a heart!” Jimin teased. Yoongi curled deeper into his blanket in response.

“I want to go hiking today, anyone want to come with? We can get ramyeon after and karaoke!” Jungkook suggests.

“Oh, that sounds fun! I'll come.” Hoseok blinks the sleepy away from his eyes and nods.

“Jimin and I will come too.” Taehyung holds up his arm.

“Do I get any say in this?” Jimin smacks Taehyung’s shoulder.

Guess that leaves Namjoon and Y/N. Namjoon turns to him.

“Would you be interested in going to the National Folk Museum of Art in Seoul? I haven’t been there in a while.” Namjoon and Y/N both share a passion for minimalistic art and artists as well as art history. Y/N looked up at him and smiled through groggy eyes.

“Sure, that sounds fun!”

Cute.

“Sounds like we all got plans then! Get up and get going boys, or these hangovers are gonna take your Friday away.” Jin initiates the march to get ready for the day and get going. As everyone gets up and gets ready to leave, Namjoon also stands up. Y/N stays on the couch for a second before groaning and putting his arms out.

“Help me up hyung, i'm dying.” Namjoon smiles and exaggeratedly pulls Y/N up from the couch.

“I take it I will be driving us?” Y/N teases.

“It’s safer for us and the universe that I don’t.” Namjoon laughs and lets Y/N go upstairs. He trips over the first step, making Namjoon smile.

Was he always this adorable?

Some time goes by and Namjoon gets a text.

Y/N: I’ll be ready in 15, meet me in my car? Me: SOunds good Y/N: Lol typo

He puts his phone away and gets ready. After 15 minutes of looking for a good art museum outfit (he decides on jeans and a hoodie because he couldn't decide) Namjoon heads downstairs and to the parking lot to meet Y/N. He sees the light mint green beetle with its engine on and in the driver’s seat is Y/N, in what looks to be a brown sweater and a green beret with thin circle glasses. He opens the passenger door and buckles his seatbelt.

“You look nice! Perfect for the museum.” Namjoon compliments his outfit.

“Ah, a classic Namjoon look.” Y/N laughs, pointing out Namjoon’s plain outfit.

“Yeah well, I'm okay with being inconspicuous.”

“You will be my staff as I get all the attention!!” Y/N smiles and gives Namjoon’s shoulder a light punch. Namjoon looks around the inside of Y/N’s car, taking it all in. The interior is light brown and clean, Y/N likes to keep his things tidy. On the windshield mirror is hanging a car freshener that looks like a daisy. Y/N turns on his bluetooth and connects his phone to the radio.

“Any music suggestions?” He asks Namjoon.

“I want to listen to what you want. What are you listening to these days?” Namjoon inquires. It has been a while since he hung out with any of the members one on one. Y/N nods and scrolls through his phone as if it was a super important decision.

“I need to find songs that you wont judge me for.” Y/N laughs, half joking.

“You know I listen to a bit of everything, not much can surprise me.” Namjoon reassures him. Y/N smiles and a song begins to play. Namjoon recognizes it as Troye Sivan’s “Lucky Strike.” Y/N bops his head along to the music and looks at Namjoon for approval.

“I know Troye Sivan. He has a great voice.”

“God, what I would GIVE to do a collab with him!” Y/N reels, then puts the car in reverse and they set off. The car ride is pleasant and calming as they take turns recommending songs and vibing to them, moments of silent listening as well as gushing about artists they like.

“I wish we could be more open in our music. Like Troye Sivan or Frank Ocean.” Y/N expresses. “I mean, I know we technically can, and there is nothing wrong with expressing your true self through music, but I feel like we have to be so on edge because of how many people listen to our music.” Namjoon understands what he means.

“I get it. We have to tiptoe around certain topics because of how international our reach is.” Y/N nods solemnly to Namjoon's response.

“Yeah. I just wish I could write about what I want without worrying about scandals. We write about girls all the time, I'd love to write a boy love song.” Y/N is focused on the road. Namjoon turns to look at him when he says that, but doesn't say anything. They bop their heads to music the whole way, Y/N making silly gestures and expressions to the music as he drives. A slight burning feeling arises in Namjoon's chest, and upon realizing he is staring quickly glances away and swallows.

Must still be hungover.

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Aaaaaa what did you guys think?!?! I have SO much more written that I'm excited to share with you about this story. If you enjoyed and want to see more chapters please show this some love and tell me what you think below!!!

Stay tuned, Jae loves you <3

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bun-lapin · 11 months ago

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The Gingerbread Gauntlet (part 2)

Summary: The housewardens have a gingerbread house competition

A/N: Winter themed gingerbread house twst fanfic~!! Part 2~!! The overall fic is a bit long so I decided to break it into smaller parts for readability. I'll be posting one part per day and will add links for the other parts after they post <3

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4/END - AO3 (whole fic)

Word Count: 1 k CW: crack, silly, shouting, insults, mild swearing, candy/gingerbread

The rest of the housewardens watch the tiny cookie drama play out with a mixture of mild interest and curiosity. Leaning into view, Idia speaks up from his seat at the far end of the table, “K-Kalim-shi. Are you making cookie versions of everyone?”

Kalim turns towards Idia, eyes sparkling with excitement, and practically shouts, “Yes! Aren’t they so cute and fun?!” He holds up two gingerbread figures decorated with blue and white edible glitter before passing them down the table to Idia, “Look! I even made you and your brother Ortho!”

Idia looks down at the tiny gingerbread version of his brother in his hands with a soft smile on his face, “Wow, that was really nice of you. Thanks, Kalim.” After carefully setting the two cookies on a plate next to his workspace, he then picks up another gingerbread figure from inside of his mostly finished gingerbread house. “I made some cookie characters too. See?” He holds up the little cookie, decorated with a strangely chiseled face drawn in colorful icing, for Kalim to see.

Kalim tilts his head and says with a friendly smile, “Oh wow~! That looks really good! Who is that? A friend of yours?”

Idia stares at Kalim with wide-eyed disbelief, “A friend-? What are you talking about?! This is obviously the character Gogo from the hit anime series ‘Gogo’s Mundane Daily Life’! Even a group of normies like this one should know of a series that popular!!” Idia turns to look at the other housewardens and is met with a series of blank stares. Quickly grabbing another gingerbread figure from his house, he holds it up and asks, “Well, what about this one? There’s no way you wouldn’t recognize this guy! It’s Two Kick Man! He’s an icon!”

Azul closes his eyes in frustration and pinches the bridge of his nose, “Idia, I keep telling you that those shows you watch are not mainstream at all and unknown to the majority of the student population here. Please listen to me for once.”

Idia bolts up from his seat and points angrily at the Octavinelle housewarden. “Like you’d even know! Do they even have TVs where you’re fr-” Idia’s accusations are suddenly cut off when, instead of passionately slamming his palm on the table, he mistakenly brings his hand straight down in the middle of his gingerbread house. With a high pitched squeak, he looks down in terror at the pile of sugary rubble in front of him. Grabbing the sides of his head in anguish, Idia cries out, “AUGH!! NO!! WHAT HAVE I DONE?!” He drops heavily into his seat as he mutters gloomily, “This is gonna take forever to fix. Ugh, fuck my stupid baka life.”

Azul chuckles darkly and adjusts his glasses, “Oh dear, what a tragic accident. You should really be more careful, Idia.” Turning back to his intricately designed, sea-themed gingerbread house, he shakes his head with a little sigh, “Ah well. It’s unfortunate but I suppose that just means less competition now. How fortuitous for me!”

Idia’s head snaps up and he glares at Azul with a bewildered kind of fury in his eyes. “Wha-?! Excuse me?? Did you just tell me to be careful?!” He jumps to his feet once more and points an accusatory finger at Azul, “If anyone should be careful here, it should be you! You filthy, cheating, no-good scrub!”

Raising a hand to fidget with his glasses, Azul’s reply is smooth but his left eye twitches imperceptibly, “I’m sure I have absolutely no idea what you mean, Idia. That’s a rather heavy accusation and frankly, I’m feeling rather hurt by your rude language.”

Whipping his smartphone out of his pocket, Idia holds it up for the group to see before pressing the speakerphone function. He faces Azul with a haughty grin on his face, “As soon as I realized you were wearing the camera glasses I made you for your last birthday, I knew you were up to something. You’ve been on a video call with a world-famous pastry chef who’s been giving you instructions this whole time! I hacked into the call ages ago. Everyone! Look!! Do you see the little earbud in his ear?! It’s so sus!!”

Almost instinctively, Azul places a hand over his ear and flashes a dazzlingly charming smile towards the rest of the group, “I assure you all, absolutely no cheating is taking place here. I’m simply listening to some relaxing music as I work!”

From Idia’s phone, a tiny voice rings out, “Mr. Ashengrotto? Is everything alright? Should I end the call?”

Azul springs up out of his seat and yells, “SHUT UP ROBERT! STOP INCRIMINATING ME!”

The sudden speed of Azul launching himself to his feet knocks his glasses loose, causing them to slide off of his face and fall directly into a bowl of runny, vanilla icing. As they slowly sink into the sugary liquid, a crackling sound like static and tiny electric sparks are emitted by the glasses before they finally drop to the bottom of the bowl. Everyone at the table stares at the drowned eyewear for a few beats of stunned silence.

Letting out a tiny, strangled scream of panic, Azul grabs the bowl of icing and thrusts it towards Idia, “My glasses!! Idia!! You have to fix them!!

With an arrogant grin on his face, Idia folds his arms over his chest, “Sorry to burst your bubble Mr. I’m-not-a-cheater, but I’m not an optometrist. So there’s no way I could fix your totally normal eyeglasses.” His eyes widen with glee and he sharply tilts his head, making himself look like some kind of demented owl, “Unless, that’s not the case and there’s something electronic in those glasses? Like a camera and microphone, perchance??”

Azul narrows his eyes and glares at Idia in silence for several seconds. He then firmly sets the bowl of icing down on the table and sits down with a petulant scoff, “Fine. Be that way. I’ll finish this gingerbread house brilliantly and without any help.” He swiftly looks up and addresses the rest of the group loudly and defiantly, “As I always intended and have been this whole time!” Turning back to his work, Azul squints shortsightedly and squeezes a few messy lines of icing on his gingerbread structure.

With a weary sigh, Idia shakes his head and drops back down into his seat. He mutters to himself in a voice inaudible to the others, “Even if the camera and mic are broken, you can still use the glasses for your vision…?”

-continued in part 3-

#this part is mostly just idia and azul sillies lol #twisted wonderland #twst #twst imagines #twst fanfic #twst housewardens #kalim al asim #idia shroud #azul ashengrotto #crack fic #bun lapin écrit

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late-to-the-magnus-archives · 2 years ago

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Five Times John Wanted to See a Movie, and One Time Kayne Made it Suck - a Malevolent Podcast Oneshot

In which Arthur struggles with right and wrong, bemoans the Hays Code, tries (and fails) to define love, and gets a second chance.

Spoilers up to Malevolent ep. 31.

AO3

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In January, John says, Arthur, I want to see a movie.

“Damn it, John… fine. You know what? Fine! We’ll go sit in the dark and be perfect targets for someone! Is that what you want?”

He gives in, though.

Arthur can be stubborn. He can be foolish in refusal, often saying no just to say it.

But to this?

To an innocent request, almost childlike in its intensity, and in its expectation of reply?

Arthur can’t hold out for that long.

Not when it seems to bring John such uncomplicated joy.

The movie is called Dancing Lady, and Arthur already knows nothing will ever be made like it again once the Hays Code has its way.

It’s a ridiculous love triangle, a “tarnished” woman (a concept Arthur finds absurd) torn between a rich sponsor and a poor lover, both of whom, at least, see her talent for what it is.

There are some scenes in this one. At one point, Clark Gable massages Joan Crawford’s leg, raising it above his shoulder, only hinting at the things that must surely be on display from Gable’s point of view.

Yowza.

It’s hard not to imagine Joan Crawford making the kinds of faces John describes, and Arthur can’t help a little bit of distracting response.

He focuses on his popcorn instead of anything else prone to explode.

“Those guys are a lot of silk hats and silk socks with nothing between,” says Clark Gable on screen, and Arthur laughs.

John huffs. Why are they being so particular about this?

“Particular about what?” says Arthur.

Tod, Patch, Janie. Why the fuck doesn’t she just lie with both of them? Why do they give a fuck?

Arthur is completely taken aback. “Well, it… I mean… she can’t do that.”

Why not?

Arthur has never in his life considered this question.

It’s about offspring, John decides.

“Ah… no, it’s not really—”

They demand monogamy so there can be no question of inheritance.

“She’s a dancing girl. She has nothing to inherit.”

Sure, but Tod does.

“Yes, but… that isn’t it, John.”

Then what is?

Arthur’s really not sure how to answer. What’s he going to say? That it isn’t the Christian thing to do? “I… it just isn’t done that way. Generally.”

Though in his musician days, he witnessed some truly unique romantic configurations.

It’s a lot to think about.

Stupid, pronounces John with fiendish delight, and continues to tell Arthur everything that’s happening on screen even though Arthur does not reply.

In February, John says, Arthur, I want to see a movie.

Arthur sighs. “John. I’ve been fucking stabbed.”

Only a little, says John. The three stitches are fine. You’re fine.

He is fine, honestly. It wasn’t that bad, and in the end, they took out the giant bug-thing that poked him.

He’s pretty sure he isn’t poisoned. Maybe that alone deserves celebration.

Arthur sighs. “Well. I suppose an evening of distraction isn’t such a terrible idea.”

Of course it’s not a terrible idea. It’s mine.

Arthur rolls his useless eyes, but can’t help a little smile.

This movie, though. This movie hits different.

Death Takes a Holiday is about Death himself, who is tired of being misunderstood, and decides to go slumming among humans for a few days to see if he can figure out why.

And he falls in love.

With a human.

Which can’t end well for that poor lady.

Arthur forgets his popcorn.

The drama is absolutely contrived and thoroughly effective. The struggles of the inhuman to understand the human—

The choice of the human to understand the strange—

“And tonight, I must go back to my distant kingdom,” says Fredric March, whose portrayal of Death is passionate, quiet-spoken, and rife with tortured drama.

“Will you take me with you?” says Evelyn Venable, who plays Grazia, the love interest, and whose name means grace.

“Take you?” says Death, who is pretending to be something he is not, who is carrying on a wild con with the goal of… enlightenment? “Take you? I should be so unhappy alone. Take you? Oh, no, no… don’t tempt me. But Grazia, give me one hour of you—let me hold you once, and feel your life.”

Holy shit, Arthur thinks, because he’s pretty sure he knows how Grazia feels.

Sort of. He’s no damsel, and whatever he and John are isn’t romantic, but still?

“Now you see me as I am,” says Death, at last revealed as shadow, as monster, as darkly divine.

“But I've always seen you like that! You haven't changed,” says Grazia.

She chooses him, knowing what he is.

She chooses him, knowing what it will cost.

The music swells, and Arthur finds himself tearing up. “Then there is a love which casts out fear, and I have found it! And love is greater than illusion… and as strong as death!” Death declares.

John cheers. She goes with him! She went with him! Yes, Arthur!

Does John see the parallels, too?

Arthur isn’t brave enough to ask.

He wipes his eyes, amazed, moved. Almost envious of that stupid made-up girl.

Yeah. This one hit different.

He can’t help wondering, silly as it is, if this movie was based on something that really happened.

Death and Grazia, reaching across the gap.

It’s not him and John.

But then, who can say just what they are?

In March, John says, Arthur, I want to see a movie.

Arthur is tired. “Really? Now?”

Why not? We owe ourselves a little treat.

They do, but after Death’s little romance, Arthur’s not sure he’s ready.

He has decided “friend” is the word for them, but only because he doesn’t have a better one.

Its problem is, it’s not strong enough. It’s nowhere near strong enough.

Arthur is well aware that facing off against the damned pallid mask cult again is the reason for his mood, but what he needs to remember is they failed.

He’s alive.

John is still here.

John did not take his exit, his gilt and crafted fire escape, much to the cult’s confusion.

When Arthur destroyed their framework of magic and bone, John cheered him on.

John doesn’t seem to miss them, or regret Arthur’s success.

That means a lot.

Friend? Sure. In lieu of a better word.

Arthur sighs. “What do you want to see?”

Jimmy the Gent is bonkers.

Arthur half wonders if it pushes the bar so hard because the Hays Code is breathing down Hollywood’s collective neck, threatening to end artistic freedom forever.

He also wonders if anyone but James Cagney and Bette Davis could have pulled this plotline off.

Cagney plays an unscrupulous man who seeks out wealthy folks who died without a will, then produces heirs to rake in the moolah—heirs who aren’t even real.

The main conflict is his girlfriend balking at his techniques, bailing to join a competitor, and coming back again when the eponymous Jimmy shows himself to be slightly less wicked than the other guy.

There isn’t actually a hero. It’s not black and white; it may be comedy, but it’s comedy gray.

“The only thing he's got that I want is you, and he took you away from me,” says Jimmy.

Oof. Those are some words to hear, and Arthur struggles not to apply them.

“He's got ethics,” says Davis, the dame Joan.

“I don't care if he has carbuncles. The only difference between him and me is he's got a smoother line,” says Cagney as the eponymous Jimmy.

Haha… ah. Wow.

“You can't make yourself clean by making him dirty,” says Joan, and Arthur’s stomach twists.

Arthur slowly exhales. This is a poor allegory for the King in Yellow and him, isn’t it?

But it maybe isn’t so bad for him and Larson.

He’s a little bit better than Larson. Just a little. Is that enough to make him good?

John, funny enough, doesn’t wrestle with morality at all in this, but has a blast with the humor, and praises the cleverness of the characters. He particularly appreciates the way Jimmy puts on airs to win back his lady love. Goal achieved, intimacy earned, all for the price of a barrel of determination and a pinch of deceit.

Arthur is uncomfortable as fuck, and eats all the popcorn at the film, too much popcorn, and gives himself a stomachache.

Somehow, he feels it is deserved.

In May, John says, Arthur, I want to see a movie.

They end up picking one all about deceit, romance, and false identity.

The Thirty Day Princess is a heck of a ride.

Are you trying to tell me something? Arthur thinks at a god he doesn’t believe in, thinks at the King in Yellow who is and is not John.

“She Reminds Me of You,” croons Bing Crosby as the hero dances with the princess-under-false-pretenses, who’s filling in for her sick counterpart for a total of thirty days.

Who looks exactly like the ill royal, but most definitely is not her.

I'm standing all alone I've got nothing to live for She reminds me of you And she reminds me of you And it breaks my heart in two

Dear fucking gods.

John is not the King in Yellow.

Except that he is.

Arthur hasn’t processed this. Hasn’t figured it out.

I am the King in Yellow, sounds John’s voice in Arthur’s memory, and Arthur ends up physically ill at the end of the film.

John is quite concerned, but Arthur doesn’t know what to tell him when he asks what’s wrong, and leaves all his questions unanswered like unraveling thread.

In September, John says, Arthur, I want to see a movie.

Enough time has passed that Arthur’s resistance has worn down.

He refused two months in a row. He rejoiced (in silence) that the madness with the Order of the Falling Star prevented any such frivolity through August.

But now that’s done, and Kayne has another poorly defined deal that began with an entire group of cultists violently dead, and Percy has Arthur’s blood in a jar for some reason and a promise of future contact, and it’s done.

For better or worse, it’s done.

And it’s quiet.

And John wants to see a movie.

“You know what?” says Arthur, who could use the distraction. "There’s one I want to see, too. Do you know the poets Elizabeth Barret and Robert Browning? Well… Elizabeth wrote some of the most wonderful verse about love and longing that anyone ever has, and apparently, there’s a movie about it, so let’s go see.”

The Barretts of Wimpole Street turns out to be completely not what Arthur expected.

Love disallowed by a sex-repulsed parent, physical illness barring the freedom afforded any ordinary adult, a stressful and creepy scene with incestuous undertones, and a decision to kill a beloved pet dog (which fortunately did not pan out) leave Arthur feeling absolutely weird about the whole thing.

The movie tiptoes a lot about morality, about right and wrong, about societal norms and familial expectations.

At least some of it reminded him of arguments with Daniel, after Bella had come down pregnant.

At least some of it reminded him of arguments with James, the day Faroe was born.

All of it reminded him of whatever he has with John, and he doesn’t know how to interpret that.

Norma Shearer as Elizabeth asking, “Robert, have you ever thought that my strength may break down on the journey?”

Frederick March as Robert answering: “It had occurred to me, yes.”

Arthur feels so very mortal, these days.

“Supposing I were to die in your hands?” she says.

“Are you afraid?”

Yes, thinks Arthur. I’m very afraid.

And then comes the line that hits hardest. “Yes,” says Robert Browning. “I am prepared to risk your life, much more my own, to get you out of that dreadful house and into the sun and to have you for my wife.”

Was that an okay thing to say?

Arthur doesn’t know.

He feels like he and John have each made that decision for each other, more than once.

But nobody’s a wife.

Or something.

He’s not really sure what he’s internally protesting.

“I'm sick of fighting alone. I need a comrade in arms to fight beside me,” Robert says.

“But not one already wounded in battle,” Elizabeth says, who feels lesser, who feels so weak.

“Wounded but undaunted, unbeaten, unbroken. What finer comrade could a man ask for?”

Undefeated.

Arthur swallows hard. Maybe this one was pointed at him, after all.

That was kind of depressing, John pronounces with great cheer as they leave, having enjoyed every moment, and described it all to Arthur in an effort to help him enjoy it, too. I can’t believe he wanted to kill the dog!

“Well,” says Arthur. “Some people are… cruel… when they lose.”

Someone should kill him instead, John says, and he is joking.

Probably joking.

It feels like John’s moral compass is more reliable than Arthur’s own, these days, so Arthur decides to just let that one go.

In October, Arthur says, “John—I want to see a movie.”

Really? You do? You want to hear one, you mean? says John, who’s being clever.

Arthur is able to laugh. “Yes, you whacko.”

John’s pleased. Arthur can feel it. I know you are, but what am I?

Arthur laughs again.

The back-and-forth is ridiculous, but feels so damn good in spite of that. Easy; effortless. Affectionate, knives long stashed.

Three whole weeks have passed since the Rancid Ruby case, and their successful retrieval of the jewel (and the minister’s daughter, whom they hadn’t even known was missing) has brought them enough business and enough income that Arthur has begun to believe John is right: they’re going to be okay.

It’s also put the final nail in the dismissal of their murder case. The minister stood as a character witness, and finally swayed the judge. Who knew?

Parker and Eddie’s deaths have been officially attributed to a burglary gone wrong—backed by Arthur’s wrecked car, miles from the scene; by hospital proof that Arthur, unidentified, had been in a coma; and by Arthur’s indisputable claim of amnesia, causing his disappearance for many months.

Larson is MIA, having been carried off by the monstrous thing he summoned.

The Butcher is retired, having philosophized himself into a monastery, eager for hypocritical redemption and literal flagellation.

Kayne hasn’t called his favor, but right now, it’s hard to look toward that with horror.

Even this latest case worked out, with a wild showdown in Central Park, loads of witnesses, and the Jade MacGuffin returned to its owner.

It’s all coming up roses. Arthur is almost able to hope.

So what did you want to see? says John.

“Well, they’re saying this will be one of the last great movies—the Hays Code, and all,” says Arthur, who has tried to explain it, and shared John’s frustration at the enforcement of false human experience and morality on screen. “It’s about the great Egyptian queen Cleopatra—a tragic love story, and one that’s inspired all manner of art, music, poetry, and more for centuries.”

Sure. Sounds good. The theater on 15th has popcorn, you know.

That’s all Arthur needs to hear.

And it isn’t pointed, it really is not. But it sort of fits how he’s feeling, anyway.

“Together, we could conquer the world,” Cleopatra says, Elizabeth Taylor making every word so sensual that Arthur could drown in any one of them for a week.

“Nice of you to include me,” Warren William’s Julius Caesar replies, and Arthur chuckles, and John says, Hahaha! You can do better! and it’s such a beautiful, perfect shared moment.

And of course, she can do better—in the form of Marc Antony, played by Henry Wilcoxon.

Arthur loses himself in it all, even though he can’t see. The cast is huge. The effects (via John) are jaw-dropping. The music score is moving and expertly done.

When Taylor says, "On. Your. Knees,” Arthur feels some things he really doesn’t know what to do with, but the moment passes quickly.

Cleopatra is everything Arthur wanted in an evening of self-indulgent escape, and John’s continued enthusiasm only makes it more sweet.

Arthur sniffles at the tragic ending, even though he knew it was coming, which Taylor plays to the hilt.

It definitely doesn’t feel pointed like the other movies did. Arthur figures out why when it’s done, while he’s waiting for everyone else to file out so he can leave the theater unhindered.

A lack of communication and irreconcilable core values led to the tragedy on screen.

That’s not him and John. Well, it used to be; but Arthur is certain it’s not anymore.

John says, I think I understand her.

“Her? Cleopatra? How so?”

And with that unnervingly good memory John sometimes demonstrates, he quotes: ‘So Rome would forgive and take you back? And all they demand is for us to part. Why don't they ask the sun to fall right out of the sky?’

Arthur swallows.

That’s how I feel about you, says John, who has never said he loves Arthur, but has shown it, repeatedly and without hesitation.

Arthur has some thoughts on that. "I feel the same,” he says, who has never said those words to John, even though the King in Yellow called him on it months ago.

But Arthur’s fairly sure he’s shown it, too.

He's been thinking a lot about love, of late.

About what it really is, and how it is expressed.

About how the movies usually portray two kinds: romantic, and familial.

This love is neither. It’s different, loaded with unknown spice, broken free from a mold Arthur cannot name.

But it is absolutely real, and Arthur has come to a conclusion that shakes him to his core: he was already willing to die for John, many months ago, yes. But now?

Now, he’s willing to live for him.

Even if Kayne decided to offer me a body, I’m not going anywhere, John says out of nowhere.

“A body?” Arthur isn’t sure where that idea came from. “I doubt he’d do that.”

John says nothing.

Arthur tries to bridge whatever unexpected gap this is, squirming with things in the dark. “It shouldn’t be too difficult to obtain papers for you, if that happened. Make you all legitimate.”

Really. Is that so?

Arthur has to poke. “I’ll say you’re from Montana. That should explain away any obvious social gaffes.”

Gaffes! I’ll have you know I’m far better at handling people than you.

“Well, I suppose we’ll see, won’t we? In this theoretical future that probably won’t happen.”

There’s another slight pause. Arthur frowns.

I want my name on the business, John suddenly says.

Arthur snorts.

Arthur! I’m serious!

“Yes, yes. I don’t see why not.” Arthur is more concerned he might not get his sight back than that John’s name is painted on frosted glass. “Lester and Doe, Private Investigators For Hire.”

Doe and Lester.

“Excuse you. I was in it first.”

But I’m clearly the smarter partner.

Arthur laughs. “You dork.”

And will probably be better-looking, too.

“Now, that’s going too far,” says Arthur, chuckling.

You’ll see. I’ll draw everyone’s attention with my glorious form, and that’ll give you time to riffle their drawers.

“That’s… not a horrible idea, honestly, though there are a few problems with that—namely, you have no body, and even if you did, I’d still be blind.”

Well, I… well, we…

“Gotcha,” says Arthur, smug, because it’s easier to laugh at this possible future than actually deal with any of it, though even the shadow it casts hurts.

You did not. That’s not even a point. Half a point, maybe.

“Lester and Doe, it is,” Arthur says, because it’s fun to poke the bear.

Instead of answering, John gasps.

Arthur knows John. Knows him well. And immediately stops walking.

“You know, just when I think you two can’t get any cuter, you go and wrap a bow on your dicks and call it Christmas,” says Kayne so close that Arthur can feel breath on his lips.

Arthur staggers back a few steps, then stops himself. Running won’t help. “What do you want?”

Kayne must have kept pace with him, because he speaks just as close, an inch away. “It’s your lucky day! Oh, did you tell him, snippet? Did you? I assume you would have by now, I mean, it’s not like you had half a year or something to figure out how to broach the topic.”

Oh, no. What?

It’s like the ground under Arthur’s feet is shaking, ground he’d thought was solid, but hides a deep and jagged fault line. “What is he talking about?”

Arthur, I—

“Too late now!” says Kayne, and there is a whoosh of air.

Arthur staggers. He didn’t move, but he did, and the sounds and smells tell him he’s no longer on the sidewalk, but in an alley.

And then comes a voice he hates.

A drawl, casual and arrogant, and it doesn’t even matter that it’s coming from waist-height, because his immediate urge is to attack it at once like a bird in a mirror.

“Well, this isn’t what I expected,” says Wallace Larson.

Arthur takes a step.

John reaches across his chest and grabs his arm, hard, like a physical restraint.

“Oh, the webs we weave when we practice to deceive,” says Larson, who sounds fine and dandy, if a little shorter than before.

Arthur, says John, evenly. He’s not alone. He’s strapped to a weird, short table, barely fitting into the alley, and his legs are jammed against the wall. And he’s not alone.

And because this wasn’t fraught enough, the next voice is identical.

Identical. But it isn’t John.

You! Murderer!

“Yellow?” says Arthur, shock stealing sound and sense from this moment, tingling through his body so his face feels numb.

Kayne bounces something light off the side of his head.

“What?” Arthur startles.

“Sorry, thought you’d open your mouth for it, like a baby bird. Popcorn?” Another one hits right under his eye.

“Stop it! What are you doing?”

It’s time for justice! Yellow declares.

Oh, shut the fuck up, John snarls.

Traitor! bellows Yellow.

And Larson starts to sing. Insultingly, it is a hymn.

“Bury my body,” Larson croons in a surprisingly pleasing baritone. “Lord, I don't care where they bury my body. Lord, I don't care where they bury my body, ‘cause my soul is gonna live with God.”

Arthur is going to kill him. The rest of this can sort itself out. He takes another step.

“Hold on there, boyo,” says Kayne in the Butcher’s accent, and takes Arthur’s hand. “You’ll need this.”

That is the handle of a knife. A knife, pressed into his right palm, which means Kayne wants him to do this, and that pours cold water all over the whole operation.

The handle burns, but Arthur ignores that.

Go ahead, says Yellow. You’re already a killer. I see it in your eyes. I know you, Arthur Lester!

This can’t be happening.

“It is, though,” whispers Kayne in his ear. “Looks like Little John didn’t tell you anything, did he? That’s a real foundation for trust.”

“What?” says Arthur, who feels stuck like a skipping record.

You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, says John.

I do. He confessed. He murdered that man and fucking ATE HIM.

He did that because of you! John roars at Yellow. You’re the one who put him in the pit! You’re the one who sent him the gods-damned cannibal! What did you want him to do, just sit back and be eaten?

“What?” says Arthur, weakly.

Because for Yellow to have done that means—

I did? says Yellow, sounding as confused as if he’d been thocked on his phantasmal head.

“Oh, oh, oh yeah,” sings Larson.

Arthur needs a moment.

“I’m not leaving,” he snaps before anybody can yell at him, and turns to stand at the entrance to the alley, just breathing.

He’s very, very glad he had no alcohol with dinner tonight.

“I dunno, pal, it might’ve helped you out,” Kayne says.

“What is this?” says Arthur.

“Isn’t it clear? No, I suppose it’s not—guess good old Liz (or maybe Henry) redirected the blood from your brain to elsewhere. You’re here to kill your enemy, my boy! End the torment. Flip the switch. Bring that hammer down.”

Arthur swallows. He’s tasting metal again—a thing he’s noticed only happens when he’s on the verge of panic.

Which he is. He doesn’t know what’s going on.

Arthur, I can explain.

“Shhh,” says Kayne, and touches Arthur’s lips.

Arthur tries for him with the knife.

Of course, it only hits brick, jarring his hand. “Ow,” he mutters. “Damn it!”

“He’ll get to explain it all after. For now, however, you, being the key in this situation, being fully entangled with him, and thus, his representative with a physical form, have a job to do.”

“What job? I haven’t agreed to—is this my favor? For killing those cultists?”

Kayne laughs. “No, you sweet thing. It’s his.”

“His?” Arthur’s voice is small.

I… Arthur, I…

Get back here! Coward! Yellow calls from the alleyway.

“I have questions,” says Arthur, but he honestly can’t think of one.

Kayne tsks at him. “I can see you’re in shock, you tender soul, you, so let’s make this simple. Do this, or John’s gone.”

“Gone?” Arthur’s voice cracks.

“Removed. Incised. Purged, if you will. It’s what he agreed to.”

“John?” says Arthur.

This is what you wanted him in New York for? John says, sounding incredulous.

Arthur’s brain has skipped parts of this conversation like it touched an electrical fault, and he blurts, “Yellow is the King in Yellow, isn’t he?”

Kayne laughs. “Wow, are you behind! They’re both the King in Yellow, my darling rose. Snippet, what have you been teaching him? What, nothing? Well, this is on you, then.”

Get back here! howls Yellow. We’re not finished!

“I said all right,” Larson starts singing again. “You know it's alright. It's alright, c'mon.”

And it calms Yellow. It calms the piece of the King in Yellow, the copy of John that Arthur betrayed, that Arthur ruined so badly that he’s refused to think about it because there’s no fixing what went wrong.

“You are correct on that one,” Kayne confirms. “This is fun, and all, but boys… you’re losing my patience. It’s time.”

Arthur finds himself walking back into the alley.

It’s easy to follow Larson’s voice.

To follow the sweet-syrup sound of that most hated man, who is awfully damn calm about this, and that is the one thought that surfaces. “You’re awfully damn calm about this, Larson,” Arthur snarls.

“Of course I am, my boy. I’m about to enter immortality. Little hard not to face that with some sorta joy, given all I paid for it.”

“Paid for it!” Arthur’s voice breaks. “You didn't pay for it! Your daughter did!”

“So did yours,” says Larson, who shouldn’t know that, who must have been told by Kayne. “We both got to where we are through that most unfortunate necessity, didn't we?”

Murderer! Yellow declares.

Six months ago, that would have been it.

Arthur would have lost it. Gone feral, melted into violent goo, stabbed and tore and shouted until he was covered in gore, until Larson was unrecognizable, until the form could compete with Uncle for mess and mayhem and pulp in bad places.

Today, he pauses.

It’s not the same, says John, calm, because this is only for Arthur. You know it’s not. We’ve been over this.

He killed his daughter! says Yellow.

He made a mistake and she died—and what the fuck are you crowing about? Your guy sacrificed his on purpose! One’s an accident and the other isn't! Fuck, how stupid are you? Did I get all the intelligence, is that it?

What? says Yellow, again taken aback, again stuttered to a halt in the middle of rage.

Arthur realizes with a little gut-twist that Yellow is weirdly naive.

Gullible. That’s the word. He just accepts what anybody says in the moment, then applies that black and white, childish morality.

Yellow would not understand half the movies they’d seen of late.

Why? Why was this?

“Because he didn’t get to spend a month all alone, silly,” says Kayne. “Isn’t that neat? It’s all about godhood and nature versus nurture and all that kind of thing. If you’d been awake the whole time, your John would be even screwier than he is. It’s almost like your bad luck scratches the itch of some eager, chaotic observers. Anyway! What’s the hold up? That’s the guy who hurt you, Arty. That’s the guy who made your teeth loose. You really gonna hesitate now?”

That’s the guy means Yellow, not Larson, and this just got more complicated. “What happens to Yellow if I do this?” says Arthur, because he never asked that before, and he should have, and it’s probably too late, but that’s just how his life goes.

“Hm? Oh, he’ll die,” says Kayne.

John gasps.

Shit. “And what happens to John, then?” says Arthur.

“Heck if I know. This is all new territory, which is why I’m being so patient. Don’t want to miss a thing.”

“Lead me, Jesus, lead me,” sings Larson. “Why don't you lead me in the middle of the air, and if my wings should fail me, won't you provide me with another pair?”

“So you’re crackers,” says Arthur. “Barmy. Lost your damned mind. This isn’t Jesus. This is Kayne. He’s not going to do anything good for you.”

Kayne gasps. “Such ingratitude!” And he laughs. “Next, you’re going to say you don’t want your office filled with music boxes.”

Okay, that—

Okay.

Arthur needs another moment.

“You don’t get one,” Kayne whispers in his ear. “It’s time. John didn’t tell you, and I’m glad he didn’t, because you are fucking glorious this upset, but it’s time. Kill him.”

“Why?” whispers Arthur, and means so many things.

Kayne doesn’t bother to reply.

I… Arthur, I….

“Will you be all right, John?”

I don’t know.

Arthur grips the knife. Its burning leather handle creaks, and Arthur accepts the pain in his palm, because something this messy should not be easy.

Yellow gasps. You’re going to do it in cold blood?

“I’m sorry, Yellow,” says Arthur, because Yellow is not really the King in Yellow, any more than John is. “It seems I fucked up for you all over the place.”

You’re a killer. I don’t expect anything better from you.

He’s human, says John. He’s made mistakes, and stayed alive. Your guy’s no better.

Yellow seems stunned again. He’s not?

Larson laughs. “Little guy, it’s all right. This is where it was always going. Why do you think I had to get you to New York? You’re my final step. My sacrifice. Your death’ll elevate me, son. Mister Lester, I’m fully ready. Do the deed. Let’s get this over with. Then, when I’m ascended, and I’m a god, I’ll be sure to stop by and say hi.”

Arthur’s throat is tight. “He can’t be serious.”

“His deals aren’t for you to know,” says Kayne. “Also, you’re out of time.”

“Wait,” says Arthur.

“Say goodbye to John in three,” says Kayne.

“Wait!” says Arthur, who has an idea, who suddenly thinks—

“Two,” says Kayne.

With a choked, miserable sound, Arthur cuts Larson’s throat.

But not with the knife Kayne gave him.

“Oh, foul!” Kayne cries. “Oh! Oh! Cheater!”

Andrew! says Yellow, sounding distraught. Andrew! No! No!

What did you do? says John.

“Improvised?” says Arthur, who has no idea what he’s done, except he had to save John, except the knife Kayne gave him was maybe special, except this complete guess was the only hope he had, and he’d only had time to stuff Kayne’s knife away and grab his own instead.

Larson gargles. He sounds like he’s trying to laugh.

Andrew! Yellow sobs it. Andrew! He doesn’t seem to be dying.

So it worked?

So Larson doesn’t get godhood?

Arthur’s hand is warm with blood. He doesn’t know what to do. He tries to clean that knife inside his jacket, where he hopes it won’t show.

Kayne sighs. Paces.

Kayne punches the wall.

It’s a bad sound, cracking, crumbling. Something inside the building crashes down, and there are screams.

Arthur shakes.

“You know,” says Kayne. “I’ll give you this one. I’ll hand it to you. Didn’t predict it. That’s awful rare. So I’m really pissed at you, and you’ll feel that soon enough—but I can appreciate a good scam.”

“I didn’t pull a scam,” Arthur says, quieter, because Yellow has begun to sob.

It is an ugly sound, wretched, utterly unselfconscious.

He’s doing that because Larson is dead.

It doesn’t feel good. None of this does. Arthur isn’t the same as he was in Addison. “I’m sorry,” he says.

Yellow doesn’t stop crying long enough to answer.

Kayne shoves him suddenly, bruisingly, against the wall. “I am… really… mad at you. I won’t get to pull an experiment like this again for who knows how the fuck long. But… that was the deal. You did the deed. Technically, you’re off the hook. But you, Arthur—you still owe me a favor.”

“I won’t kill Yellow,” Arthur says.

Arthur!

Arthur takes Kayne’s knife back out of his pocket and throws it down, and the clang it makes in the alley is weird, wrong, otherworldly. “I won’t. I’ve done enough to him! Fuck you, I—”

He chokes.

There is a fist is in his throat, impossibly swelling, knuckles distending, expanding, distorting, threatening to tear him from the inside. Can’t swallow around it. Can’t—

It stops.

Arthur gasps, ragged.

“Better idea,” says Kayne, and suddenly, Yellow’s sobbing is inside his head.

“John!” Arthur manages, gagging, terrified John was swapped into the dead man’s body.

I’m here! I—what the fuck?

Leave me alone! Yellow howls.

They’re both in there, equally loud, equally growly, and it’s too much, there is a weight to the fulness of an eldritch god in his brain, and his own soul feels pinched and battered and stepped on, and he can’t breathe, and—

“This should be fun,” he hears Kayne say, and then he passes out.

The arguing is what wakes him.

That doesn’t matter. I don’t care.

Then you’re a hypocrite of the highest order, John snarls.

What does that make you?

Look, you moron, just calling me things doesn’t make it—Arthur! The change in tone is remarkable. Arthur—are you all right? Talk to me, Arthur.

The sharp concern in John’s voice—tenderness mixed with violence, crafted for him.

Arthur recalls Yellow weeping over Larson, and he aches for him, and wonders if his own inner compass has gotten even more broken over the last day. “I’m… I’m here. Fuck, I sound strangled.”

He does. Haggard, raspy.

Larson could out-sing him at this very moment, and he won’t be able to sing to calm Yellow for a while, and that is such an odd thought to have that Arthur’s face burns, and he rolls over to press it into the cool pillow.

Wait. Pillow?

Lucky, says Yellow, low and bitter. Yours woke up.

I told you he would. He’s remarkable.

Andrew was remarkable.

Wallace Larson was a motherfucking cheat who traded children and people’s lives all the time to seem interesting. Arthur does it all on his own.

Arthur feels not all on his own a little too much, right now. “Yellow.”

What? says the new voice, and the tone is fearful, and challenging, and tight.

Is he doing this?

He’s doing this.

Arthur already decided he’s doing this, and he may be many things, but he doesn’t easily change his mind. “I’m sorry.”

Both the voices in his head are still for a moment.

What? they say together.

“I’m sorry. I met you when I was… I was at the worst of myself. I lied to you, and tried to control you, because I was so afraid of losing you again. Losing… John again. Kayne told me you were him, and I thought… you know, it doesn’t matter what I thought. I fucked up, Yellow. I’m sorry.” It feels weak. “That’s all.”

There is a trembling inside, a non-corporeal shaking that feels like maybe the fault line has been transplanted into him.

How dare you? Yellow says.

I told you so, says John.

How dare you lie to me! You just murdered my… you killed him!

Arthur sighs. “I did. I wasn’t letting John get taken. No matter what shape I’m in, that’s… just how it’s going to be.”

That trembling again.

Larson was ready to sacrifice you, like I said—but you’re safe now, says John to Yellow, which Arthur did not expect. You’re me. He won’t hurt you.

That’s more faith in Arthur than Arthur has for himself.

I’m not you. We can’t even merge, Yellow says.

“You can’t?” says Arthur, who’d forgotten that was a thing until this moment.

No. We… we’ve both changed too much. We can’t.

There is sorrow in John’s voice, deep and aching, a finality that communicates loss Arthur can’t fully comprehend.

It’s a farewell to a thing Arthur cannot even imagine needing.

He has no idea how to engage with it, so he goes for familiar ground. Not a poem, but the movie they just saw—a way to say, I love you, without saying those words. “‘You choose me, Cleopatra, against the world,’” he says.

John practically surges to respond. ‘Then we'll meet it! We'll smash it to pieces, put it together again and call it ours!’

Yellow is, understandably, confused. You’re going to smash the world?

“No, we… no. It’s a movie.”

What’s a movie?

John scoffs. Your asshole of a guy didn’t even take you to see a movie? We’ve seen six in just a few months!

But what is one? I want to see one! What is it?

Arthur is not going to see a movie right now. He feels like his head weighs a thousand pounds. “How did I get to a bed? Did Kayne bring me here?”

There is a distinctly guilty pause. So, says John. When you’re fully unconscious, uh. We. Um.

We have control of your hideous form, Yellow informs him. You’re in your hotel room.

“What? Wait, what?” Arthur sits up. He feels the same. Blind, left hand and foot numb. Head too heavy, but—“What?”

When you’re unconscious, repeats John, we have control. So we got you out of there, because there’s a dead body, and we don’t need to face the police again.

Cowards, both of you, says Yellow.

Maybe he should take Yellow to see some morality plays before the movies, or something. “Where’s the knife? It had my fingerprints.”

Fucking Kayne took it back. It was weird, Arthur. I’m glad you couldn’t see it. Even with me looking through your eyes, they bled.

Arthur stiffens and reaches up. Sure enough, there are dried tracks of blood from his eyes down his neck. “Fuck. Can you see?”

Yes. You seem all right. Just… that knife was bad.

Why—Yellow stops.

“Why what?”

Why didn’t you use it?

Arthur’s not sure he’s in any shape to verbalize this. “What I did to you before wasn’t right. What Larson was doing to you now wasn’t right. It’s time someone didn’t do the wrong thing by you, is all.”

Silence in response.

Whatever that means.

Arthur stands, shaky as a newborn lamb, and feels his way to the bathroom. He strips as he goes, dropping clothing in a trail.

Is it time for a rite? says Yellow, oddly hopeful.

Rite?

He’s naked.

So?

This is too weird, and Arthur does not engage. He turns on the shower.

But… humans get naked for rites.

John scoffs. He told you that? What the fuck?

They don’t get naked for rites? Yellow sounds lost again.

“So what you’re telling me is fucking Larson never washed his arse,” Arthur mutters, and John laughs.

Don’t you know anything about humans? says John then, disgusted.

Of course I do! More than you!

They are clearly going to be at this for a while.

Arthur lets them, hoping they tire themselves out.

He’s scraped from the bricks in the alley. Bruised from Kayne’s manhandling, and, he thinks, inside his throat. His right hand, disturbingly, seems to have been slightly burned where he held that weird knife. He can’t be sure, but he thinks he’s lost his fingerprints.

But he’s okay. He made it.

He always makes it.

And for the first time in his life, weirdly, he feels like he might have a second chance at something he truly fucked up.

They’re still fighting about naked humans. It’s obviously a cleansing rite!

You’re a moron!

“Yellow,” says Arthur. “I’m sorry you lost your person. He was a monster, but… I get it, and I’m sorry. Good, bad—they don’t matter when there’s grief.”

Another trembling pause as the steam rises, and Arthur washes away the blood, the sweat, the dubious stickiness he finds where Kayne grabbed him through his suit jacket.

I… didn’t like it, says Yellow, soft.

“I know. I think we’ve all… we’ve all gone through some loss here, through no fault of our own.”

Don’t tell me you feel bad for taking that fucker out, says John. You’ve been wanting him dead for months.

Arthur knows clarification is needed, and it is the hardest thing to do, but he has to make this second chance count. “Since I learned he sacrificed his daughter for power, yes. It made me think of losing my little girl, and though that was… that was an accident, I couldn’t… imagine someone doing it on purpose. I went a little insane.”

A little? scoffs John.

“A lot insane, then. Still. Yellow wouldn’t have landed in him at all if I hadn’t been such an ass.”

Actually, says John. About that.

Arthur has been thinking. “You made a deal with Kayne.”

I… yes.

Why? says Yellow.

To get back to Arthur.

Why? Yellow says.

He’s mine, says John.

“And, what? It was just about getting me to New York?”

Yes. He said if I did that, I could stay in you. He even hinted he might give me a body, if I paid his debt right, though it wasn’t… worded clearly. If I failed, and couldn’t get you to New York, I’d… I’d go back to the Dark World. But then we were here, and nothing happened, and I… I sort of hoped he’d forgotten.

“You could’ve told me.” It hurts a little. More than a little.

I’m sorry.

Arthur sighs. “I forgive you. We made it through. Just tell me anything else like that, all right?”

I will. I promise.

Yellow is quiet.

Arthur has no idea how this conversation might stack up against whatever else Yellow has heard.

He dries off and limps back to the bed, where he falls face-first into the pillow. “No joyrides while I’m out. I need rest.”

You adapted to that news pretty quickly, says John, suspicious.

“I have not adapted at all. I’m simply too damn tired to engage with it right now. Tomorrow, I’ll have a proper panic over it, but for the next few hours, I mean it. No joyrides.”

Fine. No joyrides.

But what if we—

We promised. No joyrides.

I didn’t promise, Yellow grouses.

I did, and we are both the King in Yellow, and that’s our word. Shut up.

They are never going to stop.

Weirdly… it’s not that hard to tune them out.

It reminds Arthur of the strangest thing: those noisy, chaotic, wonderful days when Faroe’s “friends”—really just toddlers her age, in the neighborhood—came over, and everybody was yelling and squealing and laughing and demanding, and all the other parents (mothers, they were all mothers, and Arthur never fit in) clustered like chortling geese to add to the ruckus.

And it shouldn’t have been peaceful, but it was.

It shouldn’t have been the kind of noise he could sink into, but it was.

Why this is like that, Arthur doesn’t know.

Maybe he doesn’t need to know.

For some reason, John is now telling Yellow the plot of The Thirty-Day Princess. And then the Baron said, ‘We are on a wild goose egg!’

Yellow laughs.

Is it safe, to leave them unmonitored like this?

Then again, maybe they need it.

Arthur certainly needs it.

He has no idea what to do with this. He has no idea if he can keep them both in there. His skull feels oddly… strained.

But now, right now, he needs sleep.

John promised no joyrides. (Arthur will deal with that horror tomorrow.)

John’s promise, in spite of today’s unpleasant surprise, is good enough.

Yellow’s grief is real. That’s going to take time to navigate. Arthur feels he owes that much.

So… is everyone safe now? At least until Kayne returns?

Maybe.

Arthur doesn’t know how this works, and he’s no longer arrogant enough to assume he ever will.

Maybe he doesn’t have to know.

Maybe it’s enough to survive, and listen, and forgive, and try to make up for mistakes.

To take his chance to make up for one, and hold it with all his heart.

Arthur drifts off to the sound of John’s attempt at a Ruritanian accent.

Maybe it really is coming up roses, after all.

--------

NOTES

Of course, I had to do ridiculous research for this so it would all be accurate.

It's part of my self-indulgence. Hush.

Dancing Lady on Wikipedia, and you get to see the scene that made poor Arthur hot and bothered right here on YouTube.

Death Takes a Holiday is on YouTube in terrible resolution here, BUT if you skip to 1:04:44, you get to see where Grazia chooses to go with Death.

The romp that is Jimmy the Gent. The quip about ethics and carbunkles is right here, at 1:25.

The Thirty Day Princess was hard to track down, but I found a solid review of it, a clip of the Ruritanian accent, and of course, Bing Crosby's She Reminds Me of You.

The Barretts of Wimpole Street, including that DEEPLY uncomfortable clip where the father seems to think all sex is evil, then gets weirdly handsy with his daughter. Yowza.

Oh, Cleopatra... they don't make movies like this anymore. On. Your. Knees.

As for Yellow... well, I saw how he responded to Larson at the end of 28. He just... accepted whatever Larson said - weirdly innocent about it, which made Larson even creepier to me. I sort of figured without a chance to reset and think (like John had during the coma), he wouldn't be able to grow the same way.

The hymn Larson was singing, My Soul is Gonna Live With God. In your dreams, asshole.

#malevolentpod #malevolent fic #malevolent podcast #malevolent #malevolent kayne #arthur lester #john doe malevolent #malevolent fanfic #malevolent arthur #john malevolent #malevolent fanfiction

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