#alone and palely loitering

[punkahudsonia]

Just to piggyback on this important post: don't believe certain YouTube 'experts' who say your knight will try to breed with high-born Ladies if you have them in the same enclosure. If your knight is exhibiting that kind of behavior you've been misled and what you actually have is a rough knave or possibly a varlet. And don't get me wrong, those are both great varieties with their own super interesting behaviors and narrative patterns! But their husbandry needs are completely different and you'll need to either adjust your expectations or re-home the scoundrel.

If you have other knights re-homing is the only humane option as the two classes WILL fight one another to injury most grievous, yea, even unto death. But well-born knights not only can share enclosures with ladies of most high and noble blood, it is in fact necessary if you want to meet their chivalric needs.

If you really have to do so you can use a quality image or relic of the Blessed Virgin to fulfill the same role but you will be missing out on some truly spectacular displays of subverted longing and chaste devotion, so it's really in your and your knight's best interests to provide both.

hey does anyone know the best size enclosure for my new medieval knight? i want him to have enough space to wander around and go on quests

[metamorphesque]

John William Waterhouse, La Belle Dame sans Merci Dicksee Frank, La Belle Dame Sans Merci

"La Belle Dame sans Merci" ("The Beautiful Lady Without Mercy") is a ballad written by John Keats in 1819. The poem tells the story of a knight who meets a mysterious and beautiful woman in a meadow. (I met a lady in the meads, / Full beautiful, a faery's child; / Her hair was long, her foot was light, / And her eyes were wild.)

She enchants him with her beauty, sings to him, and takes him to her "elfin grot". (She took me to her elfin grot, / And there she gaz'd and sighed deep, / And there I shut her wild sad eyes / So kiss'd to sleep.)

There, he falls asleep and dreams of pale, ghostly kings and warriors who warn him that the woman has enslaved them too. When he wakes, he finds himself alone, "on the cold hill's side," abandoned and desolate. (And this is why I sojourn here, / Alone and palely loitering, / Though the sedge is withered from the lake, / And no birds sing.)

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

More of Stanley's sketchbook because he makes me sick /pos

(Just imagine he was looking in a mirror at the subway to draw this anshfhwj. The london bus ticket is unrelated, it's just a random knick knack he had lying around<3)

People weren't the only ones Stan met on the streets.

------

+ this is an absolute fucking batshit WILD oneshot I initially wrote for these drawings that got WAY out of hand, if you feel like reading that.

The oneshot below is a stand-alone now, and in no way is related to the drawings above, but I just wanted to show you guys because Jesus Christ

------

Winter of 1981, at a subway station Stan doesn't remember the name of-

The sorry excuse of a transport system that this hellhole of a city called a functioning subway was hardly anyone's first choice of a warm place to stay the night. And yet, here Stanley was; standing like an idiot in the middle of a small bustling stairwell that led down to the full screeching chaos of a train stop on a Tuesday evening. A rowdy crowd of exhausted office workers streamed out like a tidal wave from the entrance of the station, the bustle of their footsteps all too eager to go home and relax after a long day of work.

The faint, stuffy stench of old piss and sweat followed the crowd to the surface from the deep depths of a less than sanitary and overcrowded train station. The pungent smell intermingled with the crisp stinging winter air in a cocktail of shitty city gloom often associated with this time of the year; when the holidays were too far away and the sun seemed to come and go with practically the same 9 to 5 schedule as the workers had, leaving them going to work in the pitch dark and coming back out in the inky black as well.

He might have looked like he belonged there, depending on how one would want to look at it. He stuck out like a sore thumb amongst the sea of prim, pressed suits and neart uniforms. His ratty old jacket and generally unwashed appearance certainly didn’t help his case, but he also knew that stations like these also tended to shelter quite a number of homeless wanderers like him, especially during the winter. So, it wasn't exactly uncommon to see other sore thumbs seeking reprieve from the biting cold and the dangerous likelihood of frostbite from within the enclosed walls of the subway station.

Heck, if most of these underground kingdoms didn't also happen to be a breeding ground for several illicit activities, he might even have followed their lead. But, believe it or not, Stanley's already had enough experience with illegal activities to last him a last time, and he isn't looking for a new fill. He was satisfied with what meager shelter his trusty car offered him, as little a difference it might make in terms of safety.

Stanley's obstruction of the already narrow stairs with his loitering went unappreciated, as shoulders roughly shoved past him and swinging briefcases repeatedly bumped into his sides, usually coupled with a nasty glare and a snide comment or two. He paid them no mind, however. He wasn't here to start a fight with some random bum with a dead end job, as much as he thought it would probably do them both some good to duke their stresses out on one another.

The hours ticked by with wave after wave of new crowds being dropped off by a train and left to pour out of the station into the streets. By the time the streetlights turned on and the pale pink in the sky slowly faded to make way for the stark glittery black of the night sky, the tide of people had slowed to a trickle and rush hour was long since over. He was now the stairs’ sole occupier, with a few occasional stragglers stumbling up the steps and hurrying past him without a second glance.

Stanley did not move from his spot, however. He stood resolutely in the middle of the stairway, fervently rubbing his arms and stamping his feet in a futile attempt to try and regain feeling in his extremities as he waited. Rocking on his heels, he titled his head backwards to let his eyes roam the constellations that carpeted the endless expanse of the sky stretched out above his head, almost losing himself in the scintillating canvas of stars.

It reminded him of old times; of the sparkling beach sand twinkling in the dim moonlight, and the soft sound of lilting waves hovering in the background as he lay back on the cold wooden deck of his ship and watched the stars dance.

He still remembered every name his brother had once recited to him time and time again as he pointed out each star and galaxy from the night sky.

Then, like clockwork, he was broken out of his reveries by a telltale meow coming from below. The sound was a familiar blanket that immediately melted away the tension that had begun to build in his chest as he practically sagged with relief.

His body moved almost automatically as he leaned down to detach the frail tabby cat that was attempting to literally fuse with his legs, purring up a storm and rubbing her head against his pants as though her life depended on it. The cat gave a soft chirrup of dissatisfaction at being manhandled, which Stanley absentmindedly replied with a chiding click of his tongue as he lifted her up his chest and gently tucked her into his jacket in a practiced motion.

She thankfully remained blissfully limp in his grasp as he shifted around some more so that she was nestled comfortably inside the dark pocket of warmth inside his ratty jacket. The tiny warm lump that rumbled contently against his front radiated with heat, and his fingers finally began to feel like actual fingers rather than useless stiff frigid lumps of meat and bone attached to his palms.

A pointed cough startled him from his clumsy wriggling to get the cat to settle down. An oddly familiar security guard stood at the entrance of the station at the bottom of the stairs, leveling Stanley an unimpressed look with the metal gate in his grip already halfway closed, ready to seal the subway for the night. He must have been a comical sight; caught awkwardly bent over while trying to get his newly acquired cat to stop kneading biscuits on his stomach, with said cat peeking out from the gap between his collars.

Stanley faintly recognized the guard. He was a much older man, with a shock of thinning white hair neatly tucked underneath a dark blue cap and a strange depth in his eyes that reminded Stanley of the sea; with countless unspoken truths lurking far beneath the surface, but no less grand and knowing of all that the universe had to offer, as though he had already lived a thousand lives before this one.

He had seen the man around before, at another station, doing the opposite of his job by ushering stray buskers and homeless stragglers from the streets and into the (relatively) safe walls of the subway, instead of doing what any other law-abiding security guard would do and kick them out into the elements. He wasn't sure what the older man was doing here, of all places, since all the previous stations he'd seen the man at had been several states over, practically on the other side of the country.

A brief spark of panic shot through his spine at the thought that this man could be following him, but he quickly discarded the ridiculous notion as soon as it entered his mind. He had never even seen him before, and hardly ever even interacted with him; there was no reason for there to be any sort of bad blood between them. Unless he happened to be related to one of Stanley's many, many enemies, then perhaps his fear was a little warranted.

However, the old guard made no move to attack or do anything other than stare judgmentally, almost expectantly. For the first time in a long time, Stanley felt like a child being caught doing something he wasn't supposed to do. He tried his best to keep his uncomfortable squirming to a minimum under the unrelenting gaze, stubbornly returning the man's gaze with his own wary glare. His cat’s muffled whining came from inside his jacket. The traitor, she was leaving him to deal with the old man on his own.

With an exasperated jerk of his head, the security guard gestured towards the inside of the station. For a moment, Stanley stared dumbly, uncomprehending of what the old man could possibly want from him. Rolling his eyes, this time the man gestured more insistently at the small gap that still remained between the metal gate and the entrance, his arm sweeping the air in a low arc as he dramatically urged Stanley inside. Suddenly, it clicked, and Stanley shook his head.

“I have a car,” he said plainly, his voice echoing loudly in the desolate silence of the winter night that surrounded the unlikely pair.

He wasn't sure why he was so nervous, it wasn't as though he was lying. He did have a car, his trusty Stanley-mobile was parked safely away in the corner of an unassuming alley that wasn't often frequented by anyone. There was no way he was reaching it tonight, though; it was practically on the other side of the city, much too far away for him to arrive at a reasonable time. His nightly excursions to meet his small friend unfortunately left him with no other choice than to leave his car behind, the hunk of metal far too unwieldy and noticeable to drive around openly on the streets. He never knew who could be watching, after all.

He had simply been hoping to find himself a dark corner to tuck himself into with his cat, just for the night, but it seemed as though the universe had other plans. Or rather, this strange old man had other plans.

Although, if Stanley thought about it, the subway wasn't such a bad suggestion. This was one of the safer stations in the city; and with the rich neighborhoods being so close by, no rogue criminal or dealers dared to come near this area unless they wanted to be slapped with a hefty fine or face a higher potential to be arrested. And of course, there was the obvious shelter from the unrelenting cold that now seemed to permeate his bones, even with the purring warmth that was nestled inside his jacket.

So, that was how he found himself hunkering down for the night inside a shabby old subway station, with a satisfied cat still rumbling away against his chest and a strange old security guard locking down the gates behind him. The man said nothing as he hooked his keys back onto his belt and gave a firm pat on Stanley's shoulders as he walked past him, pausing to scratch his cat behind her ears before moving away. His footsteps bounced off of the grimy tiled walls with an odd reverb as he turned a corner.

“You'll be safe in here,” the man said, voice sage and gravelly. The words had a weight to them, and seemed to hang in the air with such a presence it was as though the old man had never even left his side.

The subway was empty, quiet. It was such a stark contrast to the loud rowdiness of the rush hour crowd these halls once held. Stanley hadn't yet registered the utter silence of the station as he aimlessly made his way down the winding, deserted halls of the ancient station. He mindlessly walked past the aged and peeling advertising posters plastered on the walls, his nose becoming accustomed to the stinging stench of the subway. The quiet seemed to swallow the sound of his steps as he explored the branching paths and endless tunnels. They were almost kaleidoscopic, dizzying, nonsensical. There were doors where there shouldn't be, and deadends where it didn't make sense.

The silence only began to truly settle in his bones the more he walked. He suddenly wished that he would head the telltale footsteps of the old security guard again, just to hear another sign of life in this underground hellscape other than himself. The ghostly memories of screeching trains and bustling crowds haunted the halls; now, only nothingness reigned supreme. He glanced down at his small feline companion, who slumbered away against his chest, blissfully unaware of his jackrabbiting heartbeat threatening to burst out of his ribs. The silence seemed to permeate every inch of space and crush the air out of his lungs. He couldn't breathe.

Stanley’s steps grew faster, more frantic as the walls and ceilings seemed to close in on him. They grew smaller, tighter; squeezing, trapping. He hardly even registered his cat's complaints as she was jostled around in his grasp, breaking into a full out run. His breathing sounded loud, too loud, and the world was collapsing around him.

When he finally broke out into a large, open platform, he could finally breathe again. He had arrived at the tracks, the empty tunnel where the trains would pass an empty, gaping maw in the wall that seemed to swallow all light around it and beckon him closer. He felt his cat wriggle out from within his jacket and hop out with a displeasured yowl, scampering away and disappearing behind a corner much like the old man had. True silence pierced his ears and thrummed like a deafening pressure in his temples. He was alone.

Stanley was stuck in that subway station for years.

[crispy-armpit]

✧ 𝒊 𝒕𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒎𝒚 𝒘𝒉𝒊𝒔𝒌𝒆𝒚 𝒏𝒆𝒂𝒕 ✧

yandere secret agent x reader

‧₊˚ ⋅ ‧ 🍸₊˚ ⋆｡ 𖦹 °

⭒ 𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺: after taking on your friend's offer to head downtown to a hidden bar, you find yourself in the middle of a covert operation. thankfully Messiah is there to hide you from danger. or did he just push you right into it?

⭒ 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵: gn reader, yandere, suggestive position & situation, slight violence, reader held at gunpoint, mentions of a firearm and getting shot, reader pressed against male crotch, sadism(?), auditory hallucination (you hear voices), hair pulling, swearing

⭒ 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵: 1,153 words

⭒ a/n: it was my birthday last month and i had planned to post this by then but ofc i never learn my lesson and kept my drafts in tumblr (leading to it getting deleted) 😭!! so sorry for the wait everyone and happy late new years! :D hope u like the batman wannabe.. it goes from 0 to 100 rq because it's hilarious to me and i'm sleep deprived.. i can smell the hate comments already

will you venture down this path?

it was supposed to be another weekend night spent alone in your home; you, comfortably snuggling against your pillows while playing your favourite brain-rot game from night to morning.

but here you were— unfortunately not in your bed, and devastatingly not romancing your fictional game characters. your friend, Vern, had dragged convinced you to join him and try out some random jazz bar which recently opened.

he mentioned his band would be playing there... he's probably just trying to get more people to hype up his band.

the warm ambience of the bistro & bar, alongside the joyous laughter ringing all over the room, people bantering and simply enjoying each other's presence was enough to erase the thoughts of your usual weekend plans. it was the type of place where you couldn't bring up any negative emotions just because of how chill everyone and everything was. so that's one forgiveness point to your friend.

at some point, Vern had split off from you to meet up with the other Ares band members to go perform— leaving you to drink away your life at the bar.

you channeled your best resting bitch face to avoid any strangers trying to hit on you, which worked. you sat alone listening to the blue voice of the current performer, making small talk here and there with the bartender.

oh, the bartender—

you'd been eyeing him up all night.

he was the only other person at the bar. like all other bartenders, he was charismatic and attractive despite the two deep scars running down his left cheek.

maybe he noticed you looking at it, because he suddenly rasped out, "...animal attack" with a nonchalant smile. which is quite impressive, since your gaze never once lingered on the scars for too long. he must be observing me.

Logan (you read his name tag) was an exceptional conversationist. and he played the bartender role extremely well. he brought up topics like your ambitions, your dreams, and even your darkest passions effortlessly.

but his eyes never seemed to really focus on your figure when you talked.

it was always off to a specific direction in the distance. and when you turned to look at what he was looking at, there would only be the same wrinkly old man sitting on the sofa chair.

"can you see it?"

confused, you reply, "see what?"

do you see it? the eyes? his lack of mouth? with hair as white as his, and skin as dark as void, how can you not see me?

"what the hell are you sayi—" you grow pale when you turn back and see Logan had his back turned away from you the whole time, far from the counter.

who was talking to me?

and for the first time in 3 hours since you've arrived, the old man from the chair moves. he wanders aimlessly for a moment until setting his sights on the bar. multiple random people who were loitering in the room take notice of his sudden movement, and all briskly walk towards him.

you're petrified.

the world is spinning, people are blocking the old man's path from you. and you're so thankful for that because it gives you the time to be pulled on top of the bar counter and then underneath it by a pair of strong hands.

your consciousness recovers and you're met with Logan, body crouched down to your level. his shadowed face shows no semblance of the bright man you were talking to a while ago. now his own icy blue eyes pierced through yours, and the once attractive rasp of his voice is now chilling to the bone.

"Logan—"

"you better fucking shut up unless you want to die."

he pulls out a revolver and points it to your forehead.

profusely nodding your head in understanding, tears begin to prick your eyes; this is so fucking messed up, what is happening??

your brain tells you that this was just the alcohol getting to you, and maybe Logan has some kind of split personality and a murderer... that it's some kind of sick prank Vern is probably pulling on you. maybe my drink got spiked...

but your gut tells you that you are in great danger. alcohol has never made you experience that level of auditory hallucination... hell, you were probably being delusional right now— of course Logan's trying to kill you!!

you could hear the faint sounds of bodies thudding against other people as if they were thrown or pushed. but no screams, just grunts. the loudness of the approaching footsteps came to a halt in front of the counter.

you cover your cries as best as you can with your palms and with Logan's hidden weapon still pointed at you. you could so easily whack it away or dodge it. but you stop once you hear the most grotesque voice ever, the result of what sounded like flesh tearing apart and bones reconstructing.

"where... are... they.....?"

you are faced with two decisions:

scream for help and get shot in the head by Logan

scream for help and face whatever the fuck is out there

either way, you don't get to choose. because the stress of the situation is beginning to overwhelm you and soon your whimpers slip out a little. small enough to not be heard from in front of the counter, but big enough for whoever is on top of you— and that someone happened to be the psychopathic bartender.

you freeze.

but your strength alone is not enough to hold back against the veiny hands that grab the back of your hair and push you against the bulge of the man standing in front of you.

you push and thrash over his grasp, but your actions only lead to him digging the lower parts of your face further into his crotch. WHAT THE FUCK IS HE DOING??? IS HE TRYING TO SILENCE ME WITH HIS DICK?!

and it works...

you stay silent and limp, not because of fear. but because of the absurdity of this situation and the slow growth of whatever beast is hiding under those black waiter pants.

the heat of your muffled breath against his privates collects in your face, it's getting too much but you hold yourself together. your hands that were once pushing him off now lay on the top of his hardened thighs.

Logan shares a couple words with the old man before pointing him elsewhere. you catch a strange name falling off the old man's lips, Messiah. fuck, is this a cult? shortly afterwards, you hear the light sounds of evacuating feet. he's finally gone.

and with the speed of a middle-aged lady during black friday sales, you manage to push him off to the side and stand up across him, ready to give him a piece of your mind.

you were humiliated, violated, mentally tired and— and—

why the fuck is he blushing.

[temporary-gentleman]

O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms, Alone and palely loitering? The sedge has withered from the lake, And no birds sing.

(a study of Gustave Courbet, Les Amants heureux, c. 1844)

[honeyedwords111]

summary: You struggle with life as a young adult with a father who has a gambling and alcohol addiction, you seek comfort in the arms of your dads best friend

2.3k words

Warnings: 18+ age gap (reader is 18 Arthur is 36). Descriptions of abuse, abuseive father. Father’s best friend.

Please note that there are possibly triggering tropes/story lines that might affect you so read with caution!

(This is my first ever fan fiction to I have NO CLUE how all this works) Lmk if you want another chapter!!

As the day stretches on, the late afternoon sun pours through the window, casting everything in gold. Long shadows dance across the whitewashed walls of your room. You sit on the edge of the bed, pulling your white cotton socks up over your knees. Standing, you smooth out your slightly crumpled dress—a delicate eggshell-colored silk piece with embroidered flowers and puffed sleeves. Your father’s favorite dress. He bought it after a big win one night, not out of love, but to show you off, like a prize he could parade around.

He always brought you along to his games. Sometimes to serve drinks, sometimes to clean up after the men. But more often than not, just to sit in the corner, silent, an ornament to enhance his status.

A familiar sense of dread settles in your stomach. You have always hated game nights—completely ignored unless your father needed to introduce you to the men. And even then, he wouldn’t speak to you, wouldn’t acknowledge you as a person. Just an object.

You let your hair down, golden strands cascading over your shoulders, and dust a light layer of blushing powder over your cheeks. You don’t really need it, but anything to delay the inevitable. Taking a deep breath, you catch your reflection in the mirror. Pale. Tired. You quickly look away, pushing down the uneasy feeling rising in your chest.

The hallway outside your door is quiet as you make your way downstairs, where your father waits. The moment he lays eyes on you, his expression tightens.

“Your dress is crumpled.” His voice is cold.

“Yes, Daddy. I’m sorry,” you murmur.

“You know that appearance is everything, Y/N. Don’t let this happen again.”

His gaze is sharp, disapproving. You want to roll your eyes, maybe say something, but you don’t dare. Not when you know what awaits you if you push too far. The memory of sitting in a corner, back bleeding, for hours stops any comeback you may have had. And besides, a ruined dress would only make things worse.

He grabs your chin roughly, forcing you to look at him. His grip is tight, painful, but careful—never enough to bruise. A bruised face would make you less appealing.

“Well?.” “Yes daddy, I’m sorry, it won’t happen again.” He releases you with a grunt and turns away. You stand there for a moment, alone in the dimly lit hall, before following.

……………………………………………………………………………………………

The cart jostles down the rough road, and you keep your hands neatly folded in your lap, gaze trained straight ahead. Careful not to disturb him. You can tell your father is tense.

You don’t know much about this game, only that it’s off the books, taking place in Flatneck Station.

“Is it a big game tonight, Daddy?” you ask, your voice small.

No response at first. Then—

“Big money on the table today, baby.”

You blink, slightly surprised. You had been under the impression that money was running low.

“Can we afford that right now, Daddy?”

His face darkens.

“You think I’m going to lose? You think I’m fucking stupid?” His tone sharpens, a warning.

“No—Daddy, that’s not what I meant!”

“Don’t ask stupid questions, Y/N. Just worry about sitting there and look pretty.”

Ironic, considering he’s the one who cares about your appearance more than you.

You don’t say another word.

The cart pulls into the station. Your father hasn’t spoken since snapping at you, and you don’t dare break the silence.

……………………………………………………………………………………………

Men loiter around the platform, cigarette smoke curling in the humid air. Most of them are unfamiliar, but then—your gaze lands on a broad, familiar set of shoulders.

Arthur.

You hadn’t expected to see him here.

“Arthur’s here?” The words slip out before you can stop them.

Arthur is your father’s best friend—if you can even call it that. Your father always said friends are for the weak. A man only needs allies. Still, Arthur has been around for as long as you can remember. Sometimes months pass without a word from him, but whenever he’s in town, he makes a point to see you both. He’s gruff, rough around the edges. You’ve heard all the horror stories about the things he’s done, the things he’s capable of.

Yet, somehow, you can never quite picture it. Not with you. With you, he has always been… gentle.

Your father grunts in response, barely acknowledging your question as Arthur strolls over, hands resting on his belt buckle. He tips his hat.

“Well, how’s it going, Y/F/L/N? Been too long, brother.”

They exchange a brief hug, slapping each other’s backs. Then Arthur turns to you.

“Hey there, kiddo,” he says, thick Southern drawl coating his words.

Despite your father‘s previous mood and the feeling of dread you have had the entire day, you can’t help but feel something when seeing him, you just couldn’t quite put your finger on it.

“Arthur! I had no clue you’d be here.”

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t sure if I’d show. But here I am.” He smirks, just a little, and something about it makes your stomach twist.

“I’m real glad to see you. I missed you.” The words come out shyer than you intended.

Arthur tilts his head slightly. “Nah, you missed an old dog like me?” He adjusts his stance, still gripping his belt.

Your face flushes, but before you can respond, your father’s hand clamps down on your arm, his grip like iron.

“Nice seeing you, Arthur, but we better get inside,” your father says, tone leaving no room for argument.

“Yeah,” Arthur nods, gaze lingering on you for just a second longer. “See you in there.”

The back room of the station is dimly lit and stuffy, the air thick with cigar smoke. Your father marches you inside roughly, his grip firm on your arm. As expected, he sits you down in a corner, away from the table.

“You are to sit here, not say a word, and if anyone speaks to you, you smile and be just about as sweet as you can possibly be. These men are going to be very valuable connections. You understand me, girl?”

Of course, you obey.

Time drags on.

You keep your hands folded in your lap, eyes trained on the table, trying to appear as small and unnoticeable as possible. But as the hours stretch on, your eyelids grow heavy.

Without realizing it, you slip into sleep.

……………………………………………………………………………………………

You wake up a short while later, the low murmur of voices and the occasional clink of glass filling the air. The men are still gathered around the table, their cigarette smoke curling into thick clouds above them. The room is warm, stuffy, the scent of tobacco and whiskey hanging heavy.

You sit there for a little while longer, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, before deciding you need to step out. Quietly, you slip from your seat and make your way toward the door, moving carefully so as not to draw your father’s attention.

The platform outside is slick with damp, the wooden planks green with age and slippery beneath your feet. The night air is sharp, biting through the thin fabric of your dress, sending a shiver down your spine. You fold your arms over your chest in a weak attempt to keep warm.

The sudden scratch of a match being struck makes you jump.

Your head snaps to the left, heart hammering, only to see Arthur leaning against the fence, his hat dipped low as he lights a cigarette. The flame briefly illuminates his face before he shakes the match out, exhaling a slow stream of smoke into the cold night air.

“Jesus, Arthur, you almost gave me a goddamn heart attack!” you exclaim, pressing a hand to your chest.

Arthur huffs out a low chuckle, his voice a deep, gravelly drawl. “Sorry, doll, didn’t mean ta spook ya. And you best be careful—yer daddy hears ya talkin’ like that, he ain’t gonna be too pleased.”

You roll your eyes but step closer, leaning against the fence beside him. The rough wood is cold beneath your fingertips, but Arthur radiates warmth beside you, his frame tall and broad. He smells like tobacco and leather, with something earthy and warm beneath it—something that feels like home.

“You win anything tonight?” you ask softly.

Arthur exhales another slow breath of smoke, watching the glow of his cigarette. “Lil’ bit…”

You glance up at him, studying his profile in silhouette. He’s got that familiar half-smirk on his lips, the one that always makes your stomach twist in a way you don’t quite understand. The two of you stand in silence for a while, just listening to the distant hum of the night.

Then the cold catches up with you. Goosebumps rise along your arms, but you don’t want to leave Arthur’s side. So you stay, pressing your arms tighter around yourself, pretending you’re fine.

Arthur notices.

Without a word, he shrugs off his leather jacket and drapes it over your shoulders. The weight of it is comforting, the warmth seeping into your skin.

“Can’t have ya gettin’ sick,” he mutters, his tone gruff, but there’s something soft beneath it.

Your heart skips a beat.

“No, you don’t have to—what if you get—”

“Shush, girl.” He cuts you off before you can finish. “I’ll be fine. Got thick skin.”

A beat of silence.

“I miss you, Arthur.”

The words slip out before you can stop them.

Arthur glances at you, but you keep your eyes down, staring at your fingers where they clutch his jacket.

“Why don’t you visit no more?” you ask, the sadness creeping into your voice before you can shove it down.

Arthur sighs, shifting his weight. “I’m sorry, kiddo. Life’s been busy lately.”

You swallow hard. “I’ve missed you,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

When Arthur was around, your father wasn’t as angry. He still had his moods, but he made an effort to act like a decent man, pretending to be gentle, pretending to care. You knew it was just for show, just so Arthur wouldn’t suspect anything—but even fake kindness was better than none.

And Arthur… Arthur made you feel safe.

“I missed ya too, kiddo,” he murmurs.

Then, without hesitation, he shifts closer, draping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you into his side. His warmth surrounds you, steady and solid, and for the first time in a long while, you feel safe.

[missygoesmeow]

O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms, Alone and palely loitering? The sedge has withered from the lake, And no birds sing. - La Belle Dame sans Merci by John Keats ref by Frank Dicksee

[whoopsyeahokay]

October Sun

summary: Xavier had been acting cagey for weeks, a fact you hadn't had the heart to address since Maddie's disappearance. but with his dubious return to school and how he loitered in the periphery of Nicole and Simon's orbit, you thought it was about time to get answers. too bad one pale, cow-eyed jock had other plans.

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: eventual smutty smut smut. and mad spoilers. and obvious Canon divergence. very involved, very dense plot.

bon reading, frens

___________________________💀

OCTOBER SUN pt.5

You felt stupid, dressed like a Parisian cat burglar, but you hadn't exactly spent your night strategizing how to avoid Wally Clark come morning. Instead, you'd pored over several small, ratty books searching for information about sudden and immobilizing human-ghost attraction.

Not the kind of attraction that makes your heart beat love songs, but the kind that draws elements together. The scientific kind that had nothing to do with what the shape of Wally's mouth might feel like against various pulse points.

Thankfully, the universe seemed to be on your side. You'd managed to slip from one class to the next unnoticed, only seeing the shy boy with the glasses and the spacey girl who roosted atop the library return bins. No towering athlete with big hands and bedroom eyes.

Jesus, girl, get a grip, you chided yourself in a voice that eerily resembled Mathilda's.

Mathilda, who you'd managed to waylay that morning by dragging her into the girls' bathroom and holding her hostage until Xavier had texted you the OK. Mathilda who'd spent the time before and after History barking insults at people who'd thought it'd been a good idea to share their opinions of Xavier aloud.

What she lacked in height, she sure as hell made up for in loyalty and intimidation. Qualities you admired and wished you could emulate. If Mathilda had chaotic, ancestral ghost powers, she wouldn't let herself be pushed around by the idea of a ghost getting the better of her.

No. She'd probably browbeat the ghost into submission and get on with her day. No swarms or storms or ectoplasmic squalls; no mother eventually stepping in to fix her daughter's mistake, cursing I told you over and over again because, yeah, she had. Sadly, Mathilda didn't share your abilities and couldn't chase Wally away on your behalf.

Frustrated, you shoved the hood of your uncle's sweater over your head and yanked the drawstrings, encasing yourself in a void of soft fabric.

It sucked. You didn't want Wally chased away. You just wanted him never to figure out that you could see, hear, or (apparently) pseudo-touch him...Which would result in him eventually losing interest and never seeking you out again, as he'd done in your sophomore year. And you wanted that even less.

When had 'don't tell anyone' become so complicated?

Naturally, you didn't want to get your mother involved. Were determined to weather the storm alone. Had been doing a decent enough job of it until yesterday, despite some minor missteps here and there. But if Wally remained steadfast in his promise ("I'm not going anywhere until you admit it"), she'd find out—she always found out—and you'd never see him again. Poof. Gone. Disintegrated into the ether; his beautiful, summer-sun soul vanished from the earth as if he'd never existed.

You couldn't let that happen.

"How's the undercover operation?" Xavier's voice penetrated the dead air from somewhere above you.

You groaned in response, loosened your hood and pushed it off to stare up at him, likely making a pitiful picture with staticky hair and a pout.

He prompted you with a twitch of an eyebrow, you rolled your eyes; he grinned, you untucked your knees from your chest and blossomed to invite Xavier to sit with you on the library floor.

"Who are you hiding from, again?" He asked, making himself comfortable across from you between the shelves of autobiographies—the section furthest from the door.

You teased him with a delicate smile, "No questions, remember?"

"Normally, I'd respect the hell out of that, but I feel like I should be concerned." He regarded you carefully, eyes flitting between yours as if he could summon your secrets through them. "I don't have to kick the shit out of anyone, do I?"

"I love you, Zav, and, don't get me wrong, I appreciate the thought," You really did, "but, trust me, it's not that deep."

"Okay...and how many lunches do you plan to have in the back of the library?"

"As many as I need to." You replied vaguely. He bit his lip to stop a smile and nodded. "I'm good, Xavier, I swear. I just need some space right now." You weren't going to fabricate a lie for him. Anyone else, yeah, water off a duck's back, but Xavier? It toed a line you weren't comfortable crossing.

While not entirely placated by your statement, Xavier respected it, getting back to his feet and shouldering his backpack. As he was about to round the bookshelf and leave you to your business, he paused.

"You'd tell me, right?" He peered at you over his shoulder, "If things were bad...you'd tell me?"

Without hesitation, "Yes," you assured.

His expression relaxed, "Thanks."

Xavier didn't leave the library altogether, simply walked away to give you the space you'd said you needed.

For awhile, you occupied yourself with homework—notebook in your lap and Frankenstein open beside you—taking advantage of your free period to catch up on what you'd put aside last night. It would've been a good use of your time, except...your uncooperative brain kept ambling back to Wally. To his puppysoft brown eyes; his cocky, boyish grin. Then to how he'd glided his fingers up your spine and had made your blood surge.

God. No. Stop!

Growling inwardly, you shifted to your knees, notebook sliding to the floor, and grabbed your backpack. Dragged it toward you so you could pack up and find another place to sequester yourself. A change of scenery might help prevent your brain from tap dancing into very bad no good territory.

The pen you'd been using had rolled away when you'd repositioned yourself, now sat at the end of the aisle. Standing, you went to retrieve it when you heard someone who sounded a lot like Nicole mutter an apology. Peeking around the bookshelf, you caught sight of her as she hurried out of the library, phone in hand.

What's that about?

Before you could apprehend it, you saw movement in the corner of your eye. Xavier reshelved the book he'd been flipping through and made a hasty exit, clearly intending to follow Nicole.

Well. Now you had to know. You swooped over to your backpack, double-checked that you hadn't forgetten anything, and strolled as fast as you dared after them.

Completely unaware that, beyond the school walls, the ghost you'd cosplayed Sid Vicious to avoid was gleefully running amok.

💀___________________________

PART FOUR - PART SIX

also available on AO3!

MASTERLIST

[kittyt-hexxed]

Bad Together

Sevika x Gang Leader!POC!Reader

*This is a scheduled post so it will not be linked on the main page immediately.*

Warning: Gang Leader! POC!Reader, Rivals to Lovers, Crazy Offer, You’re also a scary lady, Dom!Reader, Dom!Sevika, You’re equals, Sexual Tension, An idea inspired by Valentine’s Day, Taunting, Flirting hidden as threats, Throat Grabbing, reader dresses slutty, Cursing, horny from fist fighting your rival, Sevika womanhandles you, you get folded, Making Out, Sevika bites your tongue

Summary: You and Sevika have been rivals since you were in high school. That only worsened when you both became gang leaders and tensions rose when Sevika became Silco’s right hand. You were scary, but Sevika was scarier… you had an offer for her - what if you combined forces?

You knew this idea could blow up in your face in more ways than one. But, you wouldn’t have ended up in your position if you didn’t go for things that came with a substantial risk. If you were honest with yourself, this would be the riskiest out of all of them. One wrong move could find you losing your gang, your cred, your reputation, and your identity. In these fissures that was worse than death. You’d become a laughing stock or worse. That thought put a sour taste in your mouth that you wanted to spit out.

The Silver Dagger’s territory wasn’t hard to find. It covered the best parts of the Undercity which included the expensive side of the Red Light District. Your business involved the boss herself, so you were headed into the snake’s den. Contrary to belief, the Silver Dagger’s did not operate out of The Last Drop. That’s where Silco kept them for easy access, but they spent most of their time in an old townhouse they had completely renovated. You’d been there before - once, a long time ago. It was a day you didn’t know whether or not to look back on fondly or with disgust.

As you approach the townhouse, two guys playing blackjack at the gate stand up when they see you. One of them pulls out a gun while the other steps forward with a hand outstretched. The other people loitering around the area don’t even pretend they’re not paying attention. They blatantly stare at you, watching as you reach for your weapon and pull it from its holster.

“A bat?” The one with a gun snickers. You look at him and twist both parts of the handle away from each other. There is a click and nine-inch spikes pop out along the body.

“Do you want a demonstration?” You raise an eyebrow. The guy pales.

“Hand it over. You can’t go in with it or any other weapons you have on your body.” The other guy says, giving you a look-over as you retract the spikes.

“That’s all. I’m not stupid enough to walk into Sevika’s territory with more than necessary. I don’t have a death wish.” You scoff. “Can I go in now?”

“What about there?” He motions to your crotch. You glance down and realize your leather shorts make the bulge of your strap more prominent.

“I’m packing, but not a weapon.” You flash a smirk.

“You’d be surprised how many people still try to sneak in weapons there, too.” He exhales, crossing his arms. “Just have to be through. Head on in.” The door swings open and a third, larger guy stares down at you with an annoyed scowl. You raise an eyebrow at him, too. You knew a lot of the people who fell in with Sevika tended to be quite interesting. She was very picky with whom she accepted into her gang. They had to be smart, resourceful, and loyal. Not much unlike your criteria except you liked to accept the ones with a bit more personality.

You were guided through the hallway until you reached what used to be the living room. You recognized the people lounging on the couches as Sevika’s inner circle. It was rare for her to be somewhere without them. They stuck to her like glue unless she was out on an errand for Silco. You wondered if she ever cared that they did that. You didn’t when it came to your circle. If you needed to tell them to leave you alone, they were more than likely to oblige.

“When I was told the Puppeteer wanted a word with me, I thought you’d be on death’s door… but you don’t look half-dead to me, Y/n.” Sevika’s voice sends a thrill up your spine. You look up to see her leaning against the second-floor railing. It’s been some time since you’ve seen her instead of hearing the gossip about her. The smirk that crosses your face at the sight of your target is positively feral.

“I’m sure seeing me bloody and bruised would give you a hard-on, Sevika.” You respond, taking a step forward, “But I didn’t come here for you to get off.”

“Pity. I was looking forward to something to celebrate.” She says, then motions to the stairs, “Come up. Third door to your right.” She turns and moves out of your sight, likely into the room she just told you about. Grinning to yourself, you head up the stairs with a newfound pep to your step. Oh, she was a sight to behold. ‘How long has it been? Ten years? At least sometime before Silco took over.’ She’d cut her hair and put on more muscle than you remember. She was taller, too.

You swing the door open to see a decently sized office. It was decorated in the way you expected it to be - covered in trophies. There were items or weapons from other gangs hanging from the walls or displayed on shelves. What shows the gap between you and her are the items from Piltover. The sheer number of them showed Sevika’s strength as a leader and her cunning to have them in the first place. You couldn’t help but feel slightly awed by the sight. You have a few of your own but she had to have dozens. This is what it meant to be number one in the Undercity.

“So, what does the famous Puppeteer want with me?” Sevika asks, leaning back in her chair. You could tell it was custom-made, glossy with the telltale sign of being cared for with a linseed oil tincture. ‘I wonder how cocky she’d be if she was the one being fucked in that chair.’

“Me? Famous? You must be thinking of yourself.” You scoff, sitting down and resting your ankle on your knee. You make a show of checking her out, slowly dragging your eyes over her body. “From all the talk I’ve heard about you, I’d expected to find that you’d turned into an Oni. Color me disappointed to see that you’re normal.”

“An Oni?” Sevika snorts, “That’s a new one. Are you sure you didn’t make that one up?”

“A normal person can’t tank a fucking explosion and only get out missing an arm.” You point to the cloak hiding her metal arm. “And, I didn’t make it up. You’re not that lucky to have been on my mind all these years.”

“I could say the same.” She responds and the two of you intensely stare at each other trying to spot a glimpse of a lie. ‘Always so annoyingly attractive. Her makeup is always done so nicely. It used to piss me off that when it was smudged after a fight she still looked hot.’

“Anyway,” You direct the topic to where you want it, “I’m here to make you an offer that you won’t be able to refuse.”

“Oh?” She raises an eyebrow. “And what delusional thought have you brought to me?”

“Get in a relationship with me,” You start, taking note that Sevika’s eyes widen, “and we can run the Undercity together.”

“You walk into my territory after years of not seeing each other to say… that?” She spits out the word as if it refused to leave her tongue. “You’re being serious? This isn’t some stupid joke because it’s Valentine’s Day?”

“I’m serious.” You nod, smirking. She’s clearly startled by what you said and it makes you gleeful to be able to knock her emotionless mask. “Let’s be honest, we can’t stand each other. You and I go together like gasoline and fire to a fucking explosion,” Her jaw clenches, eyes narrowing as you continue to talk. You knew that expression too well. One she’d give you over and over again while you were in school and competing for top dog. The one that made your rivalry all the sweeter. “but I know you better than anyone else. You’re a fucking powerhouse on your own. Imagine what we can do together.”

“You’ve been so horny for me that your fantasies have convinced you I want you in real life.” Sevika says bluntly, “You should take my spot at Babette’s for the day. Consider it a gesture of goodwill.”

“Why would I go to a brothel when I want to touch you, Sevika?” You purr, reaching out to caress her shoulder. She grabs your wrist, constricting her grip tight enough for the bones in your wrist to creak.

“What makes you think you can touch me, Y/n?” Her voice comes out low in a warning. You grin at her, your heart pounding harder with adrenaline as she glares at you with wild eyes. She didn’t scare you. She never did. Watching Sevika slip into her authoritative mode brought you nothing but a thrill. That’s what she was for you—a thrill.

“I’m the only one who has touched you.” You retort. A moment passes and she lets you go. You glance down at your wrist. There was nothing there but you knew there would be a bruise eventually.

“You’re wasting my time with this shit.” She deflects, taking a cigarillo out of a wooden box. “That’s nothing new with you though. You’ve always liked to waste my precious time.” You roll your eyes and stand up. She follows you with her eyes, tucking the cigarillo between her lips as you walk around her desk. You grip the back of her chair and push it away from the desk, taking up the space between the two. You lean against the desk, crossing your arms as you give her a disapproving stare. She looks up at you, trying to show that she’s disinterested in what you’re saying but the stormy look in her eyes says differently.

“While you continue running errands for Mr.Pink Eye over there, you will be left in my dust, Sevika. And I know how much you hate that. I’ll be number one in the Undercity and you’ll be racing to catch up to me.” You taunt her.

“If that’s what you want to believe.” She chuckles, flicking the lighter in her hand open. A soft green flame flares to life. She lights her cigarillo and you watch as she inhales, exhaling the smoke through her nose.

“Believe? I already see it.” You take the cigarillo from her lips, extinguishing it between your fingers, “You’ll fail without me. But, go ahead and continue being Silco’s bitch, all you have left to do is bark.”

Sevika’s metal fist connects with your stomach and you hunch over gasping for breath. She grabs your hair and throws you into the wall, your shoulder taking the brunt of the hit. You’re quick to shake off the stun and dodge out of the way from her next attack, bringing your leg up to kick her in the side and launch her away from you. She stumbles and you lunge at her, landing a punch across her jaw. A gleeful laugh leaves your lips as you and Sevika brawl around the office. She had a permanent smirk on her face and she laughed as you narrowly dodged her sword slash. The weapons around the office were used and Sevika had to roll out of the way when you got your hand on a mace. She got a good hit to your leg that knocked you off balance and you staggered but caught yourself in time. You wipe the blood off your arm, wearily eying that metal arm of hers. You’d heard people talking about it, but to fight her with it was a whole different process. You were bruised and bleeding but you were having a lot of fun. Sevika was standing in front of the door breathing heavily and wiping blood from a cut on her face. It was a delicious sight to see.

“Is that all you’ve got? I’m still standing.” You taunt her, gesturing to your body. Sevika looks at you silently, standing up straight as she catches her breath. “Well?” You continue. Her hand is closing around your throat before you can blink. A grunt is forced from you as you’re slammed onto the desk. Your hips are pressed into the wood, pinned in place by Sevika’s as she leans over you. A shiver goes through you as you realize she’s furious with you. Eyes of molten metal glaring down at you as if she wants you to burst into flames.

“It’s funny how you call me a bitch, but you’ve been barking at me since you’ve walked in here. If anyone is a bitch, it’s you.” Sevika says lowly, her face inches away from yours. “My bitch.” You can feel her strap pressing up against yours, forcing the base of it to your body and sending a tingling feeling through your clit.

“Prove it.” You smirk, purposefully pushing back with your hips.

“You’re so fucking frustrating.” She exhales sharply. You reach up and wrap your hand around her throat, pulling her face closer to hers.

“I said prove it, Sev.” You goad her with the nickname you gave her. She hated any form of nickname for her name. It was Sevika or nothing. So naturally you didn’t listen to that.

“If you insist, Y/n/n.” She responds with the nickname she had given you. Your eyebrow twitches. You make a noise in the back of your throat as she lifts you off of the desk by your throat. You let go of her neck to grab at her wrist. You don’t have to look to know that your feet are nowhere near the ground. Her lips curve up into a wicked smirk before the world around you blurs. You cry out in pain as your back is slammed against what you assume to be the desk once more. Her hand vanishes from your throat and the next thing you know she’s kissing you.

Sevika’s arms hold your legs to her body and you can feel her strap press against you due to the position you’re in. You feel yourself blush as she leans down, her hair brushing against your cheeks before her lips touch yours. Like your fight moments before, your kiss is anything but gentle. You’re rough, trying to be the one in charge and take the lead. Sevika’s tongue is in your mouth and you’re enjoying it until you want to put yours in hers. It takes a bit but you’re successful and get a low moan from her. You can’t help but feel smug about it, and almost as if she knows that Sevika bites your tongue. You yelp and jerk away from her, breaking the kiss and glaring at her.

“Seriously? You bit me?”

“Don’t be so smug about it.” Sevika shrugs. “You’re not in the position to be.”

“Would you like a redo of what happened the last time I was here? Then I will be.”

“If you call me your girlfriend in front of anyone, I’ll run you through with my sword.” She ignores what you said in favor of addressing the offer you made her.

“We’re partners. Nothing more. Nothing less.” You tuck your arms under your head, “I told you you wouldn’t be able to refuse my offer.” You smirk up at her.

“Shut the fuck up before I shove my dick in your mouth.” She says seriously.

[roseniji2704]

터닝 (Turning) - Kishyu short 🧵 fic

Yuder and the other Deputy Commanders (+ Gakane) were having a meeting inside Commander’s office when Yuder suddenly triggered his heat.

Everyone: Yuder!

Yuder: Stay away…!

Ever and Gakane were Alphas so they stayed away as far as possible.

(I’m holding my breath but his scent is still so strong...!)

Kanna and Steiber were unaffected, so they tried to move Yuder to the ward designed for second-gender awakeners; however—

Before they could reach Yuder, who was crouching on the floor, gripping his chest, trying to suppress his feverish instincts, a shadow moved with extreme speed in the corners of their eyes.

When Kanna and others could finally realize what had happened, they saw the black-haired assistant nestling tightly into the fluttering hems of a white coat, embroidered with golden threads.

Their commander, Kishiar, had wrapped his arms around the trembling omega, embracing him firmly as if leaving no gaps. Yuder weakly fluttered his eyelashes when Kishiar whispered something in his ear, before shutting them close again.

The other members were stunned at the sight, as if they were witnessing a huge predator with its prey. In midst of their confusion, Kishiar had ordered Nathan to bring the members outside, and no one was allowed inside the office until further commands were given. Only then did they remembered, that, the commander was also an Alpha.

An Alpha, together in a room with an Omega in heat.

They all went pale at the obvious thought of what would happen next in that place, as they all inquired Nathan in a rushed tone.

Ever: Sir Zuckerman! Why did you leave Yuder alone with the Commander?! You know they have opposite second genders right?!

Nathan: …I know.

Ever: Then why?!

Ever wanted to barge into the office and separated Yuder from the beast; however, she was also an Alpha. She gritted her teeth, thinking of how useless she was when her friend was in danger, when she herself couldn’t even think straight when she took a whiff of that extremely sweet scent.

Nathan: …Please don’t worry. His Grace knows what to do.

Ever was about to protest, but Kanna and Gakane, who understood the truth in the adjutant’s words, sided with Nathan and she reluctantly withdrew. However, they didn’t mention the relationship between the commander and the assistant; thus, a strange rumor had spread out within the Cavalry from the curious members loitering around when Ever was yelling on top of her throat at Nathan in the hallway.

~ 5 days later ~

Cavalry members: Yuder!!

Yuder finally emerged from the tightly locked bedroom of the Cavalry Commander, Duke of Paletta, after 5 days. The members who saw him immediately flocked to him.

No one opened their mouth first, but Yuder could tell what they wanted to ask just by looking at their worried faces. After a moment, one courageous member raised his voice, followed by others.

#1: Yuder! Is it true that the Commander attacked you?!

Yuder: (…………….What?)

#2: Treating you like this when you were vulnerable…!

#3: Even if he’s the Commander, it’s unforgivable!!

Yuder: ……..

Yuder had mentally prepared for the backlashes, but he never expected anything like that. He was at a loss of word when the members kept blaming the commander. He was dumbfounded, didn’t understand why the story took a twisted turn, when a laugh was heard behind them.

Kishiar: Oh dear, I haven’t had the chance to explain, but everyone had already misunderstood me.

The members immediately shut their mouths when Kishiar walked in, they were shocked to see the alpha holding a big bouquet of red roses, confidently striding towards one person. Everyone gasped in astonishment when they saw the imperial family member, their commander, kneel down on one knee before the black-haired man, holding his gloved hand.

Kishiar: I had planned for a more extravagant and grander stage for this; unfortunately, however, since it had come to this…

Pressing his lips onto the slender fingers, Kishiar smiled sweetly as he stared into the deep obsidian orbs.

Kishiar: Yuder Aile, will you marry me?

And a national wedding was held soon after.

- The End -

———

…I’ll polish and write this on ao3 one day 🥹

[x-blue-spring-x]

I SAW U HAVE REQS ON BESTIE AND I HAVE THIS IDEA FLOATING IN MY HEAD

ITS SOFT

SO FUCKING SWEET OMGGGGG

AND THE SONG STRAWBERRY MENTOS

P P P PLEASE GIVE IT A LISTEN

IT CAN BE ANYONE U THINK FITS😗😗 I JUST NEED LIKE A QUICK RAMBLE IM

im dying

I love this so much pookie!

I’ve finally written a lil angsty thing for the king of angst Satoru who is the love of my JJK life. I hope you like it 💘

“Do you want a candy?”

Suguru blinks at you, violet eyes faintly surprised.

“I’m sorry?”

You hold out a little packet of pale pink sweets, squeezed tightly into a foil wrapper. Glossy and saccharine, they glint up at him from your palm.

Suguru had been desperately swilling a crumpled and warm bottle of water into his mouth, following a particularly nasty exorcism. The truly abysmal taste of the curse is so potent, it’s nearly made him dry heave twice on the walk back to the subway station. Usually he can tolerate it without complaint, he’s probably one of the only people to know what swallowing a curse is like, but today was difficult.

Nagging thoughts loiter at the back of his mind, ones without the usual honour or ambition others have come to expect from him. Plaintively he wonders what life would be like without having to consume the worst of humanity every day, whether he’d still feel fulfilled by reading his favourite novels or skipping stones on a sunny autumn afternoon spent on the banks of a river. Suguru doubts it.

He’s alone in this quest and for now it’s a noble one. But you’ve noticed something is wrong, seen the way his throat bobbed uncomfortably with each passing step, while his stomach churned. It’s rare to for Suguru to allow a chink in his armour, even less common for another person to be around to spot it. It warms the ice cold negativity in his chest, heals some deep wound festering from the inside out.

Suguru accepts the little candy, his long lashes curling over his gaze as he smiles in thanks. Strawberry flavour, soft and delicate just like you are. You don’t make a fuss of it, carrying on to the subway like nothing’s happened. In reality you’ve brightened his entire day with just one small gesture. But the artificial sweetness is enough to disguise the foulness of the spirt he absorbed.

Suguru sees you in a new light that day, one painted with perfect pink bathed clarity. On the way back to his apartment he buys three packets of strawberry mentos, making a mental note to distract Gojo with one of them before engaging your attention again.

While the candy rests on his tongue, the world is back to shinning simplicity, good versus bad righted as they should be.

Also, the scent reminds him of you, bringing a dazed look to his features from time to time.

That, will be more difficult to hide from Gojo.

[please-be-nice-im-sensitive]

o what can ail thee knight at arms

alone and palely loitering

though the sedge has withered from the lake

and no birds sing

[stray-tickles]

Passing Through

Read on AO3

Eiffel tried to act nonchalant. He was back on the Hephaestus now, there was nothing to worry about. He was safe. “I’ll uh, see you guys in the morning, I guess.” He muttered, quickly leaving before he did something stupid.

Every inch of his body ached with fatigue, but the thought of sleeping was terrifying. He’d had dreams that he was back before, only to wake up alone on that tiny shuttle. This wasn’t a dream, he knew that, but still…

Minkowski stared at the closed door for a long time after it closed. Probably too long. She’d wanted to stop him. A weak, scared part of her had wanted to call out, to grab Eiffel and not let go, because she knew now how easily he could just disappear, and she knew she couldn’t handle that happening again. She didn’t stop him because that would be childish. Eiffel was the one who’d just been through hell, and what he needed was rest.

She could keep a lid on it. She had to.

She couldn’t sleep. And she couldn’t even pretend it was because of their new crew members lurking around doing who-knows-what with her station. It was the thought of her Communications Officer, too skinny and too pale, his eyes sunken, looking like the universe itself had chewed him up and spat him out. In a way, it had.

Hera would tell her if anything was wrong. Especially if anything was wrong with Eiffel. She could ask Hera if he was okay right now and she would tell her.

Minkowski got up anyway, floating to the door in her standard issue pyjamas and feeling quite foolish. Maybe just seeing his door would be enough to set her mind at ease.

She did a double take when she floated down the corridor and found someone else already outside Eiffel’s room.

“Captain.” She said, as casually as she could manage given that they were both outside of Eiffel’s room in their pyjamas. “Imagine seeing you here.”

Lovelace covered her surprise well. That or she wasn’t terribly surprised. “Minkowski. Come here often?”

No. She’d barely looked in the direction of Eiffel’s quarters in months. “Just passing through.”

Lovelace nodded. “Yeah, me too.”

Neither of them moved.

Minkowski hummed. “You’re passing through very slowly.”

“I could say the same about you.”

“You were here first.”

“I was, wasn’t I?”

--

There were voices, Eiffel was sure of it. He’d already grabbed every spare blanket he could and wrapped himself up like a hibernating animal, and now he was hearing voices. He swallowed nervously. “Hey, Hera?”

“Yes, Officer Eiffel?” She responded gently.

“I-is- is there someone there? Outside?” He hoped there was. Even if it was Kepler or Jacobi. Better than more hallucinations.

“Oh.” Hera sounded… amused? “Yes, there is.”

Eiffel relaxed. “Oh. Good.”

Hera made a sound that made him think she was trying not to laugh. “Do you want me to patch the audio through?”

--

“Where are you even going that you’d be passing through at this hour?”

“I could ask you the same thing!”

Minkowski growled. “I am… I needed some air.”

“Oh yeah.” Lovelace scoffed, “Sure.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Please, you’re not fooling anyone.”

“And you are?!”

She shrugged. “I’m a free spirit. Sometimes I like to loiter.”

Minkowski rolled her eyes. “Bullshit. You could loiter anywhere and you’re outside Eiffel’s room in the middle of the night?”

“Is that where we are?”

“Don’t pretend you’re not worried about him!”

Lovelace raised an eyebrow at her. “You first.”

Minkowski glared at her fiercely, but before she could respond, Eiffel’s door whooshed open, making them both jump.

Eiffel was giving them a sappy, tired smile from his disaster of a bed. “You guys are so sweet.”

Her face burned. “You- Hera!”

Hera laughed. “What? A crew member just wanted to know what was going on.”

Eiffel gave them his best puppy eyes. “You coming in or what?”

Slowly, awkwardly, Minkowski moved to go in. It seemed that Lovelace had no qualms, almost barrelling into Eiffel after launching off the wall, somersaulting into one of the spots and giving him a quick hug. It took a lot of restraint not to tell her to be more careful.

Eiffel didn’t look like… Eiffel. It was him, she knew that, but he was quieter and too skinny and pale. Not much at all like the man who had left. She sat beside him quietly, regretting the decision to come until that too skinny arm slung itself casually around her shoulders and his pale head knocked against hers. All the tension and regret left her in a shaky sigh.

Eiffel hummed, feeling very happy and peaceful sandwiched between them with Hera’s presence floating over them. “I really missed you guys.”

“We missed you too.” Lovelace murmured.

Minkowski was silent. ‘Missed’ didn’t feel like enough to express the hole that Eiffel had left behind, and she couldn’t even say that. She returned the hug and hoped that was enough.

The lost look on Minkowski’s face wasn’t exactly hard to spot. “Hey.” Eiffel chided quietly. “Sleepovers are meant to be fun, stop looking so sad.”

The words did help a bit. He was teasing her like he used to. “Sorry.” She muttered, smiling weakly.

He grinned and squeezed her tightly. “Better.” Hmm… “Still room for improvement though.” And the next thing she knew, Eiffel’s cold, bony hand was poking and squeezing up her ribs, making her jump and yelp.

“Eiffel!” She tried to squirm away, fighting not to smile, but couldn’t bring herself to actually stop him with how skinny and weak he was.

He chuckled and brought his other hand into play, which was enough to break her resolve. “Sorry Commander.” He teased, wiggling his fingers over her sides as she giggled into her hands. “You were given an order to cheer up.”

Okay, so maybe this wasn’t so bad. The last time she’d laughed at all was before Eiffel had left, and him being kind of a menace and tormenting her… she’d missed that. But that didn’t make it any more bearable. “Eiffel!” She yelped again, managing to squirm out of his grasp and onto her side, trying to guard her weak spots.

Did he really have to do this in front of Lovelace? She didn’t need her argumentative smartass second in command knowing about this particular weakness. It was embarrassing enough without her giggling like a little kid.

Eiffel smiled down at her, continuing to poke and tickle. He’d missed his crew. Especially missed seeing them happy, and his commander seemed like she needed a cheer up.

Minkowski was starting to feel light-headed and giddy. She batted half-heartedly at his mischievous hands. “C-cut it out!” She said with a snort, and was somewhat surprised that the hands were withdrawn.

She was less surprised when she opened her eyes and saw that Lovelace had pulled Eiffel into a tight bear hug. She grinned at him wolfishly. “I’d call that insubordination, wouldn’t you, Officer Eiffel?”

Eiffel bit his lip around a smile. “I mean, technically…”

That was as far as he got, dissolving into bubbly giggles as Lovelace scrubbed her fingers back and forth over his stomach.

Minkowski sat up, on the brink of telling Lovelace to stop for risk of hurting him when their eyes met, and Lovelace winked. Then her gaze moved to Eiffel’s face and something inside her melted. His hair was gone, and he was pale and skinny, but that smile and that goofy laugh were exactly the same.

He also wasn’t fighting her off even a little bit. Just hanging there in Lovelace’s arms and giggling himself silly. Huh.

It was hard for Eiffel to worry about reality or hallucinations or sleep or his crew when he could barely form a thought. All he could feel was a warm body pressed against his back, arms around him, and hands setting his nerves alight and drawing out laughter he couldn’t contain if he wanted to. He didn’t want to. He’d spent months convinced he’d never see another person again, and nothing else in his life had made him crave affection quite that much.

All that to say, the thought of escape wasn’t one that held much value to him.

His chest was just starting to hurt when Lovelace’s hands stilled, letting him heave in breaths between residual giggles. He felt buzzy. He felt happy. He opened his eyes and saw the fond look Minkowski was giving him and couldn’t even bring himself to feel embarrassed. Even though he apparently wasn’t above pouting and making grabby hands at his commanding officer.

Minkowski rolled her eyes. “I know your game.” She said playfully. “You’re just waiting for me to get close enough.”

“Who, me?” Eiffel grinned, holding a hand to his chest in mock offense. “I would never.”

“You weren’t gone for so long that I forgot about your scheming, you know.”

He put on his best puppy eyes. “Please?”

Minkowski scoffed, looking away and trying to bury her smile.

Lovelace smirked. “Wow, Minkowski, never thought you’d be scared of Eiffel.”

Their eyes met and Minkowski levelled her with the best glare she could manage. Based on Lovelace’s lack of reaction, it wasn’t very effective. She gave an exaggerated sigh and surrendered. “Fine.”

“Yay!” Eiffel said quietly. Easier to make light of it then admit how desperately he needed the closeness right now. He was grateful that they didn’t mention it, or God forbid, leave. Minkowski crawled that bit closer to them and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. He was the tallest of them but felt very small sandwiched between them. Very small and very safe.

Eiffel’s eyes had just about fluttered shut when a finger wiggled against Minkowski’s side, making her twist away and let out a shaky laugh. Lovelace smirked at her and she glared back, face flushing.

A cold hand caught Lovelace’s mischievous one and pulled it away. “Ssshh.” Eiffel whispered, his head resting comfortably on her shoulder. “Time for the sleepy part of the sleepover.”

Minkowski leaned against him as gently as she could, still weary of hurting him. “Good to have you back.” She said in a low voice.

“Good to be back.” He mumbled, squeezing her shoulders.

It was. It really was.

[beaft]

october 14th

today's spooky poem is "la belle dame sans merci" by keats. what can i say. it's a classic. it's got dream-ghosts, faery women (well, one), and an ambiguous ending - what more could anyone ask for? read more about it here.

LA BELLE DAME SANS MERCI

O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,        Alone and palely loitering? The sedge has withered from the lake,        And no birds sing.

O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,        So haggard and so woe-begone? The squirrel’s granary is full,        And the harvest’s done.

I see a lily on thy brow,        With anguish moist and fever-dew, And on thy cheeks a fading rose        Fast withereth too.

I met a lady in the meads,        Full beautiful—a faery’s child, Her hair was long, her foot was light,        And her eyes were wild.

I made a garland for her head,        And bracelets too, and fragrant zone; She looked at me as she did love,        And made sweet moan

I set her on my pacing steed,        And nothing else saw all day long, For sidelong would she bend, and sing        A faery’s song.

She found me roots of relish sweet,        And honey wild, and manna-dew, And sure in language strange she said—        ‘I love thee true’.

She took me to her Elfin grot,        And there she wept and sighed full sore, And there I shut her wild wild eyes        With kisses four.

And there she lullèd me asleep,        And there I dreamed—Ah! woe betide!— The latest dream I ever dreamt        On the cold hill side.

I saw pale kings and princes too,        Pale warriors, death-pale were they all; They cried—‘La Belle Dame sans Merci  Thee hath in thrall!’

I saw their starved lips in the gloam,        With horrid warning gapèd wide, And I awoke and found me here,        On the cold hill’s side.

And this is why I sojourn here,        Alone and palely loitering, Though the sedge is withered from the lake,        And no birds sing.

—John Keats

[banjjakz]

notes: major character death; gojo satoru is not a good person (we know this); direct continuation of geto suguru's route; if you have not completed the good end may you rest in pieces.

➡ Sneak out of the fire escape.

The thought of trying to navigate your way even further through the deep, dark bowels of this strange place fills you with a fearful repulsion – and not the good kind. While you got off quite lucky with such a faithful encounter with Geto, you shouldn’t get cocky. After all, the security guard from earlier could still be lurking around…imagine if he caught you in such a state of obvious erotic disarray: hair mussed, knees scraped and bruised, face flushed, lipstick smudged…you can’t imagine that would go over well.

Steeling your nerves to do something truly unhinged, you begin to search for the fire escape.

At least you aren’t jumping out of the window, or something insane like that – albeit, sneaking out of the fire escape is a little out there, even for you.

But you no longer inhabit the normal and upright world. It is almost as though you are now floating through reality, your soul wandering through life in an ambiguously disparate state, hopping from absurd situation to absurd situation, motivated by little more than the capricious nature of your arbitrary whims.

It's not like you have much left to lose, after all. The most important thing to you – perhaps the only important thing to you – in your life is ShinShow. And you’ve just achieved the highest goal of any dedicated fan: ultimate recognition.

The eventful evening’s erotic high and the delusional adrenaline coursing through your veins gives you the courage not only to locate the fire escape, but also to slip through the dingy, rusting door and shimmy down the rickety, narrow steps. Even by Japanese standards, the contraption is quite small. Several times, you almost lose your footing and go tumbling down over the railing. Instead of instilling you with healthy fear, the near-accidents only serve to propel you forward with renewed vigor each time you brush closer and closer to impending mortal injury.

As soon as your chunky platforms hit the worn concrete, now back on solid, stable ground, you find it difficult not to deflate a little bit. What a night! What an experience! And you have Geto Suguru’s personal LINE ID to show for all of it…how are you supposed to return to your ordinary, mundane life after such an experience?

The thought depresses you. Work, school, family, friends…it all pales in comparison to the evening you and Geto shared together. Oh, if only every night could be that way!

But that would be selfish of you. Geto is a leader, after all; an inspiration to many, and an idol to all. To usurp him for your personal pleasure and only yours alone would be doing a disservice to his life’s work. You recognize that you must share Geto-sama, as much as it might pain you to do so.

“I don’t wanna share him,” you mumble to yourself, aimlessly launching the decrepit corpse of a crumpled beer can across the alley with a limp, half-hearted kick. “Geto-sama should be all mine…”

In the desolate boughs of this seedy in-between limbo sandwiched between towering buildings of various questionable services and wares, your pathetic utterances should be private, unheard by only your own self-pitying ears.

Operative word: should.

“Haha. That’s a funny joke!”

Your heart drops faster than you can turn around. By the time your body processes the shock at not being alone (seriously, when the hell did someone else get here? You’ve been loitering for several minutes, at this point!) the owner of the unfamiliar voice is already entirely too close for comfort. One moment, the snarky quip bounced off of the aged reinforcements of a residential building several paces away – but now, as you pivot on your heel to confront the stranger, your nose is but a hair’s breadth away from painfully colliding with a wide, solid chest clad in nondescript black cloth.

When you finally glimpse his face, the first thing that comes to your mind is that he’s definitely a douchebag. If the bleached platinum faded undercut weren’t bad enough, this asshole is wearing sunglasses at night. His over-six-foot stature is worn with a sort of self-reverential pride; he carries himself like he knows he’s probably the hottest guy in any room at any given point in time.

How annoying.

This is why, outside of ShinShow, you don’t really care to interact with the male species. They’re all cocky, self-assured, greedy, immature, uncaring, inconsiderate morons! Nothing like your hard-working and self-made idols…ugh.

Just being around this dude makes your skin crawl. Not in the sexy way.

“Excuse me,” you mutter, cutting him a sharp glare with wide, whaling eyes as if to actually convey the more sincere message you hold for him within your heart: get the fuck lost, creep.

But when you go to rush past him, his body moves – again with that mind-numbing, preternatural speed – and you run straight into his annoying firm and solid abs.

Oh God, is this it? Is this really how you are meant to depart from this world? You would’ve preferred to be sent to hell by Geto’s hand over anyone else’s…

Despondent and kind of over it, you direct a firm stare upwards at this asshole’s infuriatingly unbothered smirk. “What’s your problem?”

“You,” says the stranger, simply, distracting you with his blindly white smile so that it is far, far too late by the time you realize that both your wrists are now incapacitated by one of his large, strong hands. “Don’t struggle. It won’t make a difference. Or do! It would actually be kinda funny to watch.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” You demand, instinctively jerking away and finding his grip to be even more iron-solid that it had initially seemed – if that was even possible. “Let me go!!”

When you go to kick him, you find that your perception of reality shatters apart like glass skittering across kitchen tile in a million, tiny, irreparably disparate fractured pieces.

Your foot cannot connect with his body.

The more force you put behind your futile defense against your assailant, the more frustrated and exhausted you become. How can this even be possible? It’s like there’s an invisible paper-thin shield dividing you and him – and yet, despite the thinness of the protective layer, the intimate proximity of your limb and his infuriatingly chiseled torso, there is an endless ocean of space that separates you. No matter how hard you try, you cannot touch him.

You cannot win.

How this is even possible, you haven’t the faintest idea. Some sort of illusion? An advanced kind of electromagnetic technology?

Horror dawns upon you like a red sun on the horizon: there’s no way you can escape this.

The stranger is a seasoned and well-trained predator, that much is for sure. He senses the fight leaking out of your body as a shark might follow the intoxicating scent of blood in the water. He pursues your misery with a keen appetite, one that threatens to devour you whole.

“You’re almost cute,” breaths the strange white-haired man, crowding you up against the brick wall with little more than the oppressive force of his presence. “I can see why he thought you’d be easy.”

A stab of familiarity pierces clear and true through your thundering innards. Surely, he couldn’t be talking about… “Do you know Geto-sama?”

The bastard has the audacity to laugh in your face. His breath is annoyingly minty fresh.

“Oh, wow. You actually call him that? I thought it was just an inside joke between him and the fans, or something. Hah! That’s really good. That’s just too good…” He, honest-to-God, wipes a tear from his eye, underneath his sunglasses.

Even the precarity of your dangerous situation is not enough to cow the bullish indignancy that flushes through you, hot and temperamental, at the suggestion of a perceived slight against your (new?) oshi.

“Hey,” you grunt, chin checking up towards the sky, “you shouldn’t talk that way about Geto-sama. He’s really hard working, and such a good leader…the best there ever was or could be.”

“The best,” mulls the stranger, one large hand descending to stroke his jaw. You can’t tell if the gesture is more a mockery than it is a genuine display of sincere pensive contemplation.

“Tell you what. I’ll let you in on a little secret.”

And then he leans down, easy and natural as breathing, as blinking, lips coming to ghost along the crest of your quivering, hypersensitive ears:

“I already know that.”

With viper-like speed, his fist shoots up to close around your throat. “You don’t think I know that?” You’d sputter out a response if you could breathe. Or think.  “Sweetheart, I’ve been here before that statement could even be said to be true. You could say we’re high school sweethearts. My one and only, he is.”  

Oh, fuck.

Oh, God, oh, fuck.

Did you just mess with an OG fan?

Crap, this is bad. This is really, really bad. Never did you think you’d fall victim to the string of violent, sometimes deadly assaults that ravaged the streets of Kabukichou. But pissing off a dedicated wota by getting caught fucking around with their ultimate oshi is one of the fastest ways to find out!

S-sorry, you try to mouth as your weak, floundering hands doing nothing to persuade his grip into loosening, even just the tiniest bit. Didn’t know!!

“Don’t care~,” sing-songs the stranger, strangely cheerful given the circumstances. He’s not normal. It hits you quite belatedly. Even for a superfan, he isn’t normal. “No one told you to go around playing with other people’s toys~”

You don’t stand a chance. This is the end.

His next retort slips out as a simpering purr: “Good girl. You’ve accepted your fate.”

Can he read your mind, or something? This is seriously a scene out of some horror movie…

“For that, I’ll spare you. Quick and painless death it is! Simply deleted from existence. All your icky atoms and particles will end up somewhere in Timbuktu, probably. Hopefully. How does that sound? For a masochist like you, that’s almost a worse fate, I suppose.”

Huh?

“Huh?”

“Bye-bye~”

The last glimpse your poor, foolish mortal eyes catch of this cruel world are the slight peek of his startlingly blue over the rim of those opaque, black sunglasses. As you lose consciousness, in the split second before your existence is entirely wiped out from this chapter of reality, your vision blurs, doubling, then tripling, his bright, cerulean eyes appearing to you not as two, but six. They are everywhere, all-seeing, surrounding you, bearing down as the heavens might itself upon the woeful frame of a mortal slated for smiting. Soon enough, the six double, then triple, then multiply so fast that all you can see are rows and rows and rows of wide, unblinking, omniscient eyes. Staring. Judging. Tracking.

Why does it feel familiar, this sight?

[MAY YOU REST IN PEACE.]

ENDING ACHIEVED: GETO SUGURU BAD END 2

SECRET ROUTE UNLOCKED: RYOMEN SUKUNA.

> PROCEED TO ROUTE [coming soon!]

[darknessdrops]

And this is why I sojourn here, Alone and palely loitering, Though the sedge is withered from the lake, And no birds sing.

John Keats: La Belle Dame sans Merci