#it's because i was watching the Howling performances again

[snoos-tattoos]

so apparently I've been sitting on the draft for this post since January, and I just completely forgot to post it

[boinday]

The God and The Devil

Just a little folk-gothic about loneliness, the countryside, and keeping a cat. For the spooky season! 1.8k words ^_^ (Copyright Bóín Day 2024)

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There's a fire in the garden. Again.

I step outside, careful to close the sliding glass door behind me so Cock Robin can't get out. He prowls the length of the glass with performative indifference, pretending he only follows so far to rub his whiskers against the doorframe. Pretending not to notice the orange flames spitting up into the blue-dark twilight sky.

I take the watering can, already full, from the patio and walk to the center of the garden, where the effigy burns. It is bigger than the last one. About as tall as my knee. I douse it before it catches in the dry summer grass.

Our cottage is in the middle of County Leitrim. In that typical part of Leitrim where nothing really is. I bought it because I could afford it, derelict and rotting as it was, surrounded by a sea of disused fields, twenty kilometers from the nearest shop. It still cost more than my parents' first home; a restored Victorian townhouse purchased in the eighties. I do what I can with the cottage. Funnel all my earnings into making it habitable. Close off the rooms that drive me into despair. I think I got Cock Robin because I was lonely. Or because he was lonely. I can't remember which.

I remember I found him quite endearing at the shelter, though. He is a peculiar shade of brown for a cat – almost chocolatey – with a striking ginger breast by contrast. His eyes are yellow, and suspicious. He's large and fat, and maligned by a snaggletooth that gives him a permanent sneer. Despite his unfortunate face, he is docile, cuddly, and a formidable companion. I don't blame him completely for what's happened, though he must think I do. Why else would he be confined to the house, he thinks. Why else would his dear mother jail him.

Cock Robin, for all his lazy mornings and babyish ways, is a talented and voracious hunter. I never exactly approved of him catching mice, but I suppose I tacitly endorsed it by allowing him outside, into the fields where he was undoubtedly the apex predator. At first I would only find pieces of the mice: a half body, a dismembered foot, an internal organ licked clean of blood.

But as Cock Robin acclimatised to the good life of being a kept cat, and gradually grew rounder from tinned tuna and cold cuts of chicken, he must have grown bored with the taste of mice. Because more and more often, he would bring them home alive.

He would bring them home alive, and with them stunned and confused between his careful teeth, he would howl for my attention. Once I would rise from whatever task I was at, he would wait for me to approach, present his quarry, and kill it in front of me. People say this is a cat's way of teaching hapless humans how to hunt, and perhaps they are right. But from the way Cock Robin would proudly deposit the poor creature on the step, whole but for the killing wounds, and bounce along to the cupboard where he knows I keep his treats, I think this ritual is more akin to a crude, kitty capitalism.

'I have rendered you the service for which our two species coexist,' Cock Robin says with his closed eyes and loud purr. 'Now I shall collect my fee.'

I don't like to watch things die. Even spiders, which I hate, I can't bring myself to kill. Even indoor plants, which are a chore to keep, I endeavour to save from my own habitual neglect. And now even mice, already trapped in the jaws of death, I am compelled by my conscience to rescue. Cock Robin objects to my charity, but he is stupid enough to trust my approach whenever he has some poor living thing in his maw, and once I am close enough, I grab him. Sometimes he drops them instinctively when he hears my stern demands, and sometimes I must pry his mouth open, but he always gives up without much fight.

The difficulty then is re-catching the mouse. I keep gardening gloves by the sliding door for this task, now. If they are sufficiently traumatized, I can simply scoop them up, walk to one of the neighbouring fields, and gently release them into the long grass. If they are lucid, though, they jump away; run, climb, scramble for their life. Those times are harder – especially if Cock Robin is still in the room. But I always catch them. Once they're out of his teeth, I find a way to cup them, grab them, cradle them. Out they go to the fields. Alive to survive another day.

I must have caught at least a dozen mice when the first gift appeared. I didn't know it was a gift then, of course. It was four raspberries, piled together on the doormat. I'm sure I thought it was odd at the time, but I simply picked them up and set them on a fence-post for the birds.

A few days later there were twenty raspberries. A whole punnet's worth. I certainly thought that was odd, and it ignited some paranoia in me. There are no other houses in sight of my cottage, only fields. Not even cattle graze there, so there is little cause for anyone to come out as far as my place on the quiet country road. I fretted about axe wielding maniacs, countryside bandits, the sort of nightmarish characters you might hear about on a True Crime podcast. Of course, as far as threats go, raspberries are a tame and obscure one. Hardly worth calling the Gards over. I think I mentioned it to some friends, and they laughed like I was crazy. I think I laughed too. I didn't want to be crazy.

The raspberries continued to appear for weeks, sometimes with a whole apple rolled into the mix, sometimes ornately arranged among picked daisies and buttercups. I tried to ignore them. Hoped if they rotted on the step, that would send a message. But the damaged, old raspberries were removed in the night, and replenished with fresh ones by morning.

At a certain point, I decided it was best to just wait up. I drank three cups of coffee and, with heart pounding and carving knife in hand, sat in the perfect dark of my kitchen, and waited.

It was just before dawn when I saw them. I'd imagined every manner of strange or dangerous person, - I'd spent the night staring at the middle of the glass door, the height you would expect a person to stand - and so I almost missed them. The tiny, moving bumps of darkness scuttling along the ground towards the door. It looked like the patio stones had come to life, and were rippling towards the cottage in little waves.

I stood and approached. Quite a stupid thing to do, in retrospect, but I did it anyway. I could see them in their droves: hundreds of mice removing the old, imperfect fruit and rolling in the new. Some of them carried the flowers in teams of two or three. I crouched slowly by the glass door, enraptured by their industrious energy. By the sophistication of the endeavour.

One of them must have noticed me, and the noticing spread, because almost instantly the bustling and bumbling little bodies went still. I went still as well. It was relatively dark out, the sky just lightening to a gloomy blue, but I could tell they were looking at me. Then, in another wave of collective movement, their bodies stretched upward – stretched towards the heavens, tiny front paws raised above their mousey heads – and then fell down again. Prostrating themselves on the ground.

I watched the motion repeat several times, paws stretching skyward, then falling back down, before I realised I was watching some strange, cultish worship. They were bowing to me. They were bowing to me.

I ran away, as any rational person would. I closed myself into my bedroom with Cock Robin, who was sleeping none the wiser. And I thought about how truly impossible it is to keep a mouse out of your home, if the mouse has a mind to get in.

It was the following week that Cock Robin was attacked. He came in from the fields, mewling in a pitiful manner I'd never heard from him before. There was a piece of wood lodged in his right eye, about as big as a toothpick. I rushed him to the vet. They couldn't save the eye. An unfortunate accident, they supposed. A mishap while Cock Robin was climbing through a hedge. We agreed he ought to be an indoor cat from then on.

Now they've taken a liking to effigies.

I kick through the smoldering remains of this latest one. Their understanding of human proportions has certainly improved. I see they've stitched leaves together with plant fiber and bug silk to simulate clothing. I wonder how they learned to light the wood. I wonder if this is what we looked like, too, when man discovered fire.

I look up the length of the garden to my rotten little cottage. Cock Robin is sitting politely behind the glass door, watching me through his surviving eye, tail ticking away in simmering upset. He wants to be out here, I know. He wants to exercise his divine wrath.

I wonder, as well, how they make sense of us. It seems impossible to me, that they cannot know how dearly I love Cock Robin. How I infinitely prefer him to any little mouse, no matter what mercy my conscience mandates. How he sleeps beside me, inside the cottage that is so alien and fortified compared to the world of empty fields around it. I suppose it is a contradiction inherent, that they should give me tribute while reviling the cat I openly adore.

I suppose that even God adored Lucifer, once.

I stomp out the last of the embers and wriggle my phone out of my pocket. I've been photographing these things, for posterity – not that anyone would believe them. It would be written off as some natural phenomenon, or AI fakery, or perhaps they'd simply say I'm lying. I photograph it anyway.

Trudging back towards my cottage, I turn on the phone's flashlight. This is a newly formed habit. I hold the light above my head and sweep it over the neighbouring field, in an arc. Tiny pinpricks of light glow back at me. An ocean of beady eyes, watching in the darkness.

I shout at them to go away, please. I say that I have nothing for them, and thank them for their worship but I'd really rather they just move on. There's no response. There never is. They cannot understand my prayers. I am too huge and powerful to be understood. But still, I pray.

[iamgonnagetyouback]

𝟷.𝟺𝚔 || 𝐃𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐁𝐀𝐆𝐔𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄

♡ ︎ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: Inspired by this.

♡ ︎ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: Google translated French.

♡ ︎ꜱʜɪᴘ: Regulus Black x fem!reader, platonic!Barty Crouch Jr x reader, platonic!Evan Rosier x reader

You were seething. Absolutely fuming as you paced back and forth in Regulus Black's dorm, your arms crossed tight over your chest, words bubbling to the surface, but none of them quite appropriate for company.

Unfortunately, you weren't exactly in private. Barty Crouch Jr. and Evan Rosier were sprawled across the two armchairs by the fire, popcorn in hand, looking like they were watching the most entertaining live performance they’d ever seen.

Regulus crossed his arms and scowled at you. His sharp jawline tensed as he fired back, “You’re not even listening to what I’m saying! Why is everything always my fault?”

“Because, Regulus, you never stop to consider how I feel,” you snapped back, your frustration growing by the second.

“And you think you do any better?” Regulus shot back, his grey eyes darkening. “You just assume—”

“Oh, don’t start with the assuming thing! I wouldn’t have to if you didn’t keep everything so bottled up!”

Barty leaned over to Evan, whispering just loud enough for you to hear, “This is better than watching Potter and Black fight in the common room.”

Evan snickered. “Yeah, except with less punching and more, y’know, unresolved sexual tension.”

Your glare snapped to them. “Do you mind?”

They both threw their hands up in mock surrender, grinning like the cheeky troublemakers they were. But the distraction had cost you your train of thought, and Regulus seized the opportunity.

He stepped closer, his voice lowering to that dangerously smooth, velvety tone that always got under your skin. “You’re the one who’s being unreasonable. I don’t know why you’re blowing this out of proportion. It’s ridiculous.”

You narrowed your eyes, your temper flaring again. “Ridiculous? You’re calling me ridiculous? I—”

You opened your mouth, a slew of insults ready to fly, but before you could say anything, Regulus cut you off with a sudden string of French. "Tu sais, tu es vraiment impossible parfois. C'est comme si tu cherches des raisons de te mettre en colère."

Barty and Evan both froze, mid-popcorn chew, eyes bouncing between the two of you. You blinked. Oh, no. He did not just pull out the French card to try and shut you up. The audacity!

"Pardon my French," you began, voice dripping with sarcasm, “but you’re being a douchebaguette.”

Silence.

Evan squinted at you like he wasn’t sure he heard right. Barty looked at Regulus, confused, popcorn halfway to his mouth. Regulus raised an eyebrow, the corner of his lips twitching as he processed your words.

“A… what?” he asked, sounding both bemused and baffled.

“You know, a douchebaguette,” you repeated with a wave of your hand, as if the term was universally understood. “Like a douchebag. But French. You get it.”

Regulus, however, raised a brow, his tone icy and patronizing. “Love, baguette is French for bread. And douche means… well, it means shower. So, what you’ve just called me is—”

“A shower wand,” Barty gasped between laughter, his face red. “You just called Regulus a bloody shower wand!”

Your hand, still mid-wave, froze in the air. “A what now?”

Barty and Evan suddenly burst into uncontrollable laughter. Evan was doubled over in his chair, clutching his stomach, while Barty fell sideways, practically choking on his popcorn as he howled.

“You—oh Merlin—you called Reg a bloody shower wand!” Barty wheezed, wiping tears from his eyes.

Evan slapped his knee. “Oh, this is priceless. A shower wand—I’m never going to let you live this down, mate.”

Regulus, ever the picture of composure, rolled his eyes at his friends. You, meanwhile, were standing there, blinking, as the realization dawned on you.

“A shower wand?” you repeated, deadpan.

Regulus sighed. “Yes, darling. A shower wand.”

You groaned. “Well, that’s not nearly as insulting as I intended.”

Regulus sighed, stepping forward and taking your hand in his, his calm demeanor only making you feel more ridiculous. “You know, if you’re going to insult me in another language, it helps to know what the words mean first.”

You glared at him, though your heart wasn’t really in it. “You could have just gone along with it.”

He smirked. “I could have, but where’s the fun in that?”

Barty and Evan were still cackling like a pair of lunatics, and you and Regulus exchanged an unimpressed glance. Without saying a word, you both seemed to reach the same conclusion.

Regulus turned toward them and said something rapid in French, the words rolling off his tongue with ease. You caught the gist of it—something along the lines of calling them idiots and suggesting they find a new hobby.

You nodded approvingly, adding your own string of insults in French, which Regulus had taught you.

Barty and Evan blinked at you, completely clueless.

“What did she say?” Barty asked.

“I dunno,” Evan replied, still giggling. “But it sounded bloody rude.”

“Come on,” you said, tugging Regulus toward the door. “Let’s leave these shower wands to their laughter.”

As you and Regulus left the dorm, you could still hear them laughing behind you, but you didn’t care. Regulus squeezed your hand, smirking in that infuriatingly smug way he did when he knew he had the upper hand.

“I can’t believe you called me a shower wand,” he muttered, amusement evident in his voice.

“I can’t believe you didn’t just let me insult you in peace,” you shot back, though your heart wasn’t in it. You were already starting to find the whole thing funny now that the embarrassment had passed.

“I’m going to make sure Barty and Evan never forget it,” he teased.

You groaned. “I’m never going to live this down, am I?”

“Nope,” he replied, popping the ‘p.’ “But I’ll forgive you.”

You rolled your eyes, but smiled despite yourself. “Gee, thanks.”

A few days later, Barty and Evan found themselves lurking near the Gryffindor common room, of all places, waiting for a particular Black brother. It was a low point for them, truly.

“Do we really have to do this?” Barty grumbled.

“Yes,” Evan snapped. “I’m tired of not knowing what they said. Regulus was smirking the entire time, which means it wasn’t good.”

When Sirius finally appeared, they both straightened up, walking over with feigned confidence.

“Sirius,” Evan started, attempting to sound casual, “Can we… talk to you? Alone.”

Sirius raised a brow, looking between them skeptically. “I’m not helping you prank anyone, if that’s what this is.”

“No, no,” Barty waved his hands, “Nothing like that. We just… need a translation.”

Sirius crossed his arms, intrigued. “A translation?”

They nodded in unison, looking awkward. “Yeah, from French,” Evan muttered.

A slow grin spread across Sirius’s face. “And who, may I ask, was speaking French to you?”

Evan hesitated. “Regulus and Y/N.”

That did it. Sirius burst into laughter, clutching his sides as he leaned against the wall for support. “Oh, I have to hear this.”

Barty sighed, rolling his eyes. “They said… a lot. But what we need to know is, um…” He exchanged a glance with Evan, who shrugged. “They called us imbéciles patentés and—oh, and sacrés idiots—”

“Yeah,” Evan added, “and she called Regulus something about a… douchebaguette?”

Sirius stopped laughing abruptly. “Wait. Wait—wait.” He held up a hand, clearly trying to suppress his laughter again. “A douchebaguette? Who said that?”

“Y/N,” Barty grumbled, looking thoroughly unamused.

Sirius stared at them, wide-eyed, before collapsing into laughter again, shaking his head. “Oh, this is brilliant. Absolutely brilliant.”

“Just tell us what it means,” Evan demanded, crossing his arms.

Sirius wiped away a tear, still grinning. “Oh, it means you’re both idiots,” he said cheerfully. “But, uh, douchebaguette? That’s… that’s not French. She was trying to call Regulus a douchebag but added some baguette flair.”

Barty’s eyes widened. “So… she didn’t insult us?”

“Oh, no,” Sirius assured, “You were definitely insulted. But douchebaguette? That’s just art.”

Barty and Evan groaned in unison as they stormed off, leaving Sirius still laughing in their wake.

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

Words: 3,593 Pairing: Negan Smith x Reader Reader pronouns: not really specified, but Negan calls you "doll" and "darlin'" often Warnings: language (the usual), some flirty!Negan Era: Alexandria, post-Negan Summary: Negan and the reader must weather the storm and the horde overnight and find someway to get back to Alexandria. A/N: Sorry this came later than I hoped to get it out. This is why I try to 1.) never write two series at once and 2.) never make a posting schedule because I usually can't adhere to it haha some parts just take longer to get right... so thanks for your patience and HAPPY WICKED WEDNESDAY! Previous part - Part 3

The storm overhead was still raging. Tucked away in the basement mostly underground you heard it only as a dull roar. The wind occasionally whistled and howled lending a haunting soundtrack to your sheltering.

Negan had dug out a couple sleeping bags and used one to cushion his seat on another box of supplies, his back leaned up against the wall and his long legs kicked out toward you.

“Can I have that?” you asked, gesturing to the other bag. You were sitting on the floor and the concrete was cold. He tossed it over to you and you folded it and placed it underneath yourself, sitting down in more comfort. You sighed and leaned back against the wall behind you, shutting your eyes for a moment. You could feel Negan looking at you.

“You’re really not going to tell me anything about you?” You cracked one eye open and looked at him, drawing a laugh from deep in his chest. It was resonant and warm, like the sound from a rosewood guitar. “We’ve been doing this for—I don’t know, three months now and I don’t know a damn thing besides your name,” Negan said, twirling the fireplace poker in his hand.

You sighed and sat up again. “What do you want to know?”

“What’d you do before all this?”

“Before the outbreak?”

“Yeah. Before everything went to shit.”

“Uhh… actually, I was a stripper.”

Negan froze, a shit-eating grin growing on his face. “Really?”

“No!” you laughed. “But it seems like you were hoping for something juicy like that,” you said with a self-satisfied smirk. “God, it’s so easy it’s not even fun!”

He laughed heartily. “Alright, smartass… But can you blame me? Shit, I was about to ask for a private performance.”

“I’m sure you were,” you retorted.

“I noticed that you still didn’t answer the question,” Negan said.

“Oh, that’s funny,” you said with a smile. It crinkled the corners of your eyes and Negan found himself suddenly gulping, nervous. He was nervous? “You know, it’s not like I really know a ton about you either.”

“Well, you know about my Savior days. That’s more than I know about you.”

“Is it?” you asked, one of your eyebrows arching.

Negan felt as if a continent shifted inside him when you looked at him like that; inquiring and graceful and steady. “What do you mean?”

You shrugged. “I think—and this is just my opinion, but I think that was a mask,” you said. “It’s almost as if you were playacting. But maybe you convinced yourself that it was the real you or maybe it was in some ways, for a time, and so everyone else around you believed it. It was convincing to watch.”

Negan gulped. He had that same sensation again, as if you were seeing into his core, his true center. “Jesus, doll, maybe fucking warn me before you say some shit like that again.” But there was no trace of jest or sarcasm in his voice and his expression was sincere as he stared back at you. His hazel eyes looked like there was a glow in them that was shifting like the heat moving over the coals of a fire. Was it turmoil? He drew in a deep breath. “Well, what’s the difference, if I was pretending or not? I still did what I did.”

“It matters,” you replied softly. “First of all, because it’s painful to not be seen, to not have your true self perceived, to be invisible in a way. And—when you’ve been hiding in any kind of shadow for a long time, like behind a mask, it’s all the more painful to—to seek out the light, to feel. To be awake. It’s easier to just—pretend.”

Negan’s brow furrowed heavily as you spoke and his hands were still on the iron rod, fingers curled around the chill of the metal. “You’re talking as if you know something about that,” he replied.

You smiled at him vaguely, sighing a little and leaning your head back against the wall again. “Maybe I’m just observant.”

“Alright,” he nodded. His tongue swept out over his bottom lip. “Well, you know about Savior Negan, whether it was a mask or not… and you know that I was a high school gym teacher and coach, and I still know absolutely fuck-all about you,” he said.

“Correct,” you replied.

Negan sighed, looking disappointed. He stared around the room aimlessly for a moment, clicking his tongue thoughtfully and spinning the iron rod in his hand. “What’s your favorite color?” he asked suddenly.

You laughed. “So, you’re switching to small talk now?”

He shrugged. “What the hell else are we gonna do?”

It seemed harmless enough. “Green,” you said.

“Green,” he nodded. “Hmm. Favorite food?”

You shot him an amused look. “Is this even entertaining?”

He only shrugged again and smiled at you expectantly.

“Raspberries,” you said.

“That’s lucky,” he said, scratching at his beard. “You can still get those. In fact, aren’t there a bunch of raspberry plants back home?”

Your eyebrows lifted. “Did you just say back home?” you asked.

“Oh. Shit! Fuck me sideways, doll, I think I did,” he laughed, looking stunned himself. He let out a scoff and shook his head.

“That was… unexpected,” you replied.

“Well, how long do you have to live someplace before you call it home? Even in a cell, I guess time matters.”

“I don’t know. Home has always been a feeling for me, more than a place,” you said.

“Hmm. That seems like it could be telling,” Negan said, absently rubbing a hand over his beard again.

You rolled your eyes. “Now who sounds like a shrink?” you retorted. He laughed a little and shrugged.

“Alright. Green. Raspberries. Got it. Next question…”

“Negan…” you laughed, rubbing a hand over your face, feeling suddenly bashful at his probing and focused interest in you.

“Come on, doll. Just humor me.” He sighed and stretched, thinking. “Favorite season?”

“I can’t choose a favorite. I like different things about all of them.” Then, you paused thoughtfully. “But fuck southern summers.”

Negan smiled widely. “I can agree to that. What was your first car?”

“Pfft… the city bus,” you said. “You’re really scraping the bottom of the barrel here on the questions.”

“I’m—working up to the really interesting ones… But really? You never had a car? Not even a rusty shitbox?”

You shook your head. “Nope. In fact, I didn’t even learn to drive until after the outbreak.”

Negan’s eyebrows lifted and his eyes widened. “Fuckin’ hell. That must have been terrifying. Everything shut down and you were just—”

“—stuck,” you finished. You were staring down at your hands and fiddling with a loose string on the hem of your shirt. “Though, most of the roadways were pretty clogged up quickly so it probably didn’t matter all that much. The only people who got out of the cities anyway were the ones who left as soon as there was a whiff of trouble. And then came the riots and the bombings and—”

A shadow darkened Negan’s face. “Fucking hell. You were in a city city when shit went down.”

You suddenly realized what you’d revealed and looked up at him, your breath caught in your throat at the sudden rush of memories unbidden. You gulped at the tightness in your throat and nodded. “Yeah. I was, um—I was in Atlanta.”

“That’s where you found Rick’s group,” Negan said. It wasn’t really a question.

You nodded. “More like they found me,” you said, ducking your eyes again. It wasn’t lost on Negan that you were avoiding his gaze. He sensed that there was still a wound there, unhealed, deep down. Perhaps it was one that would never truly heal. “But it also wasn’t really Rick’s group then. He’d just met all of them too, like the day before. But Daryl, Rick, T-dog, and—and Glenn,” your voice broke when you said Glenn’s name, but it wasn’t just for him that your voice wavered. “They found me. Helped me.” You sighed and closed your eyes for a moment. “Now, it’s just me, Carol, and Daryl left, out of all of us at the beginning.”

There was a soft frown on Negan’s face, creases in his forehead, when you looked back up, but it wasn’t pity. It was just… sympathy and no small amount of guilt. “I’m—sorry,” he said. His deep voice somehow seemed to cut through the air between you and right to the bone. “I know I had a part in that. And I’m truly sorry.” You were startled to see that his eyes were slightly glassy.

“Yeah, well… you don’t owe that apology to me. You owe it to Maggie and her son far more,” you said, shifting on the sleeping bag you were sitting on. A shiver suddenly wracked through you and you hugged your arms around yourself. The fingers of the cold, damp of the cellar seemed to be slowly finding their way in under your clothing. “I thought you were supposed to only be asking me small talk questions? How’d we get here?” you said with a wry laugh.

But Negan wasn’t really listening. He was digging out the jacket he’d shed earlier and tucked into his pack. “Here,” he said. He tossed it over to you.

You caught it, and then fixed your eyes back on him. “Oh. I’m okay,” you tried to argue.

Negan smiled at you, a small one that had his hazel eyes looking bright. “I just saw you shiver. I already think you’re a badass, doll. A little chill isn’t fucking changing that.”

You sighed, and relented. “Alright…” you murmured, pulling on the jacket. It swallowed up your frame, hanging on your shoulders and bunching around your wrists, and Negan couldn’t quite put a name to the feeling that suddenly manifested in between his lungs.

“Thanks,” you murmured, huddling into the fabric.

“Of course. Seems like we’re gonna be here a while,” Negan said. “Actually—” he pulled the top off a bin beside him and grabbed a camping stove and lighter. “We’ve got a stove, water… MREs. You’ve got those tea leaves we foraged on the way in?”

You quirked an eyebrow up at him. “Yeah?”

“Perfect,” he said. “It’s about dinnertime by now. Sit back and relax!”

You laughed a little skeptically at him. “You’re gonna… cook me dinner?”

“I don’t think heating up some MREs and tea qualifies as cooking. You should see me in a real kitchen. It’s a real panty-dropped,” he grinned.

You rolled your eyes. “Jesus…”

He laughed heartily and started setting up the stove. “No, no. You can still call me ‘Negan’,” he quipped, winking at you.

“Okay… don’t ever wink at me again,” you retorted, which only made him laugh harder.

“That is a promise that I am not willing to make. Or keep,” he joked. “Now, hand me some of those raspberry leaves you picked.”

_ _ _ _ _ _

You stretched lazily, your eyes still closed for a moment, before you shot up straight, remembering where you were and the events of the previous day. Your eyes were wide as you realized that at some point over the course of the night, you’d fallen asleep. Part of you expected to see that Negan had somehow gotten ahold of your gun or knife, despite them always being stored securely on your person. But you didn’t have any need to worry. When you looked across the small, dingy space, he was still perched on the same box of supplies he had been the night before, though his long legs were now stretched out and up on another box.

He was smiling at you serenely, the fireplace poker resting across his knees. “Morning, doll.”

You gulped. “I—I fell asleep.”

“You sure did,” he said. You could tell he hadn’t slept at all. His voice was a bit gruff and undeniably tired. He’d kept watch all night. “You snore by the way.”

You hastily smoothed your hair and clothes, staring back at him. “What? I do not!” you argued.

He laughed. “Yeah, you do. But it’s okay. I found it strangely comforting actually. Nearly put me to sleep.”

“Shut up,” you said, standing up and stretching again.

“Don’t flirt,” he retorted, still smiling serenely.

You paced over toward the one narrow window in the basement and looked up at the quality of light filtering through the dirty glass. It was clearly early morning and the storm had passed. More than that, you couldn’t see or hear any of the dead outside. “Seems like the herd moved on.”

“Mhm,” Negan hummed in agreement. “It all got quiet in the early hours of this morning.”

“You stayed awake all night?”

He nodded, standing now too. “Yeah. Somebody else was slacking off after their gourmet meal,” he teased you.

You ground your teeth together, angry at yourself for falling asleep. “You should have woken me up. And ‘gourmet’ seems like a stretch for an expired MRE don’t you think?”

“With locally sourced tea? Come on, people would have paid a pretty fucking penny for that shit in the old world.”

You laughed a little and shook your head, then turned and fixed your eyes on him with a deeply perplexed expression on your face.

“What? That’s quite a look for first thing in the morning,” Negan said. “I can’t have fucked up that bad already!”

“Why—why didn’t you leave?” you said. “As soon as the herd cleared and the storm settled… you could have disappeared, taken some supplies.” The jacket he’d given to you the night before was still hanging on your smaller frame. The sleeves had slipped down over your hands and you hastily pushed them back up. “You know what you’re going back to.”

He just kept smiling back at you, his expression surprisingly soft and genuine, no trace of his usual jest or masking. It was doing something to you, stirring up a whir of fluttering just below your lungs that was impossible to ignore. You gulped, trying to clear the sensation. He paced toward you, stopping within a foot. “Yeah. Maybe that’s why I stayed,” he said.

Your brow only furrowed even more deeply. “You’re a prisoner,” you said plainly.

Negan shrugged. “Am I? I think I’m starting to fucking forget that…” His hazel eyes were flickering over your face, studying your features. You were the one to fell a sudden wave of emotions cresting up within you and you backed away from it.

“We should—see if the coast is clear,” you said softly, ducking your eyes. “Get back to the car. Everyone back home will be worried. They may even have come looking already.”

Negan smiled to himself. He’d felt something in the air profoundly, but he’d also seen how you’d stepped away and the spell was broken. “Okay,” he said simply.

The two of you gathered up your essential gear and headed up the steps cautiously, listening at the barricaded basement door for any noises on the other side. You pounded on the door with your bandaged hand and pressed your ear to the wood. Nothing. Steady silence.

“Okay,” you said, breathing a sigh of relief. “I don’t hear anything. You can hang onto that poker until we know for sure the house is clear, but then you’ll have to leave it behind. Got it?”

Negan agreed, a little hesitantly, but he wasn’t going to argue with you this time.

You unblocked the door, lifting the wooden board you’d secured it with the night before, being careful to avoid the sharp metal brackets this time. The next moment, you slowly pushed it open.

The house was clear and once you’d thoroughly looked out through windows on all sides of the house, he begrudgingly left the iron fireplace poker behind. Stepping outside, the destruction from the storm and the horde were blatantly evident. Most of the windows in the surrounding buildings, including the house you’d sheltered in, were busted or hailed out. There were large branches blown down off trees and the leaves of many were also shredded in the hailstorm and wind. Shingles and scraps of siding and wood were lying in the scraggly patches of grass.

“Good thing we didn’t try to make it out in the car. I’ll be surprised if the windshield is intact when we get back to it,” you said, nudging a shingle with your boot.

“Yeah,” Negan agreed. “What’s the plan? We still have all those supplies to load up.”

“Um… I guess we can try to get the car in here and load them up. That side road didn’t look too bad on the way in.”

The two of you headed that direction immediately, still on guard and wondering where the herd had gone to. Knowing only hours had passed, it was possible they weren’t far at all. But you arrived at the car safely. However, there was another problem.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you swore, staring at the scene in front of you.

Negan stopped beside you and all he could do was laugh wryly. “Well, shit.”

A huge old cottonwood tree had come down in the storm and the trunk had entirely crushed the car. You sighed and dropped your pack down beside you heaving a huge sigh. “Well… Daryl and Michonne will have noticed by now that we aren’t back. Let’s hope they’re already on their way.” The two of you waited by the car, and luckily it wasn’t long before you saw an approaching vehicle down the old highway. The two of you scrambled into cover, just in case it wasn’t who you were hoping for.

But it was. A truck pulled up and you saw Daryl behind the wheel as it stopped behind your smashed vehicle. Aaron, Rosita, and Daryl piled out and quickly ran to check the car. That’s when the two of you stepped out of cover on the side of the road.

“Hey!” you called out to them. “Can’t tell you how happy I am to see you all,” you said, jogging over. Negan walked over more slowly, his hands stuffed into his pockets. “Hell of a storm,” you said, gesturing at the smashed car.

“Goddamn, ‘m so glad to see ya in one piece,” Daryl said, pulling you quickly into a one-armed hug, his crossbow in the other hand. “We were worried sick, but figured it was the storm. Are ya okay?” he asked, shooting a tense look in Negan’s direction. “What happened to your hand?” he asked, noticing the bandage.

“I’m good. Just cut it while scavenging. It’s fine. How’s Alexandria? Everyone okay after the crazy wind and everything?”

“Yeah, all good. Definitely better than yer car,” he said, looking at the crushed vehicle.

“Thank God you weren’t inside,” Rosita said, slinging her rifle over her back.

“No. Instead we were trapped by a horde in a house,” you explained, crossing your arms.

“A horde?” Aaron repeated. “You’re serious?”

You nodded gravely. “Yeah. I was worried you were going to run into them on the highway to be honest. They moved on overnight.”

Negan was standing nearby, looking out of place. Daryl kept shooting him tense glances.

“We found a pile of supplies though, in a hidden survivalist cellar. I bet we can get a vehicle to the house and load them up, especially with your four-wheel drive vehicle.”

“At least something good came out of your trip then!” Aaron said cheerfully, patting your shoulder. “Glad you’re safe.”

You nodded and you all started back towards their truck. Daryl fell into step beside you. “Hey—” he started in an undertone. “Everything really went okay? Even with him?” he asked.

You nodded and felt your cheeks flushing inexplicably. “Yeah.” You hesitated for a moment, wondering if you should even tell him this… but you did. “I—I didn’t mean to, but I fell asleep overnight. Negan stayed up on watch the whole time, Daryl. He could have—taken my weapons, overpowered me—the herd and storm were clear. He could have left, disappeared. But he didn’t. He stayed,” you explained in a low voice. “I—I don’t understand it.”

“Hmm,” Daryl hummed, his brow furrowed deeply, shadows cast over his blue eyes. He looked up and caught Negan staring in your direction. “’M glad yer safe, especially considerin’ that. But ya gotta be more careful.”

You sighed. “I know. I’m already angry at myself. I just—I don’t understand why he stayed,” you said, hesitating with your hand on the door handle of the truck.

Daryl chewed on his bottom lip for a moment. “‘M startin’ to have an idea.”

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

My tears ricochet

Previous chapter

summary: There are thunder clouds in the horizon that threaten Eris’s chance of being a high lord. Rhys strikes a deal. The only thing left to find out now is who gets out of this deal alive?

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You have been watching the flames dance in the fireplace ever since. Blazing right in front of you. It felt as if it was a theater, and this was just a performance. One that had struck you to your core. Or maybe one that you had seen so many times that you had grown numb to it. The shouts? You no longer heard them. Turning them all out into the background noise. Making sure that all of it would blend into one unidentifiable mush.

“I will cut your eyes out," Mor howled as she trashed in Azriel’s unmoving hands. His arms too meet the anger seeping through her. Sharp nails dug right into his flesh as she hissed at her cousin, “Let go of me or else...", “Calm down, Mor." Azriel tried to reason for what felt like one hundred times that night. You could tell that he was frustrated. The spymaster simply hated showcasing his emotions. Reading him was impossible most of the time. Yet you saw the way he had glanced at Cassian even back in Autumn. A look alone clearly showed that the two were just as clueless.

“How can you just sit here?", Mor shoved at Azriel, her eyes now finding another victim. Cassian. Who had practically folded into the chair the moment everyone had returned. You had always been close. At times, you even thought that he was more your brother than Rhys himself. So his slightly shaken form didn’t surprise you all that much. “He will not agree," Rhys muttered, rubbing his hand over his face. Mor stopped for a moment before her hands found the roots of her perfectly wavy blond hair that had long lost the natural curl from all the pulling. “Have you hit your head or something?", she chuckled in disbelief. “I think it’s the or something part because, what the fuck, Rhys?", Cassian growled for the first time, his hands gripping the armrest of the chair.

“Do you trust me?", Rhys looked through the room, trying to capture everyone’s eyes, even for a second. He was hoping to pour out his hopes. Ideas. Something into his family. "No," everyone hissed in unison, making the high lord shake his head. “I couldn’t say anything because it would have ruined it", Rhys tried to justify his actions once more, only to be cut off by Mor, who once again had launched forward. “At the cost of YN?" she growled right as Azriel caught her mid-jump.

You let out a sigh. And for the first time that evening, everyone turned to you. The person all of this affected directly. “Why aren’t you saying anything?", Mor muttered angrily, “Say something?”. You knew that her intentions were good. Mother strike. You had sat with her and bandaged her wounds when she was brought back from the border. You had turned into her shadow. She had quickly become more than a cousin. She was a sister. In a way, filling up the role of your older sister. One that cruelly got taken from you.

“Can I go?", you muttered. Staring right ahead. Too tired to look at every one. To watch their faces. Their emotions. “I’m tired," it was barely a whisper as you pushed your chair back. You felt their eyes on you. And only now did you understood that they had no idea what was set into motion. “My darling," Rhys muttered, but you only gripped the note that had sat in your palm for the entirety of this circus that had been happening. "I will meet you at breakfast," you muttered, “Have a calm night.”

Eris didn’t sleep at all that night. While he had spent the nights after his father’s death cooped up in his chambers, tonight he couldn’t stand the idea of being anywhere near that house. It held too much power over him. Too many memories of pain and suffering still lingered. He could swear that parts of Beron still lingered there, and while on other nights Eris could battle that, tonight wasn’t that night.

The two dogs stiffened by Eris’s legs. Low growls filling the silent forests. But the high lord didn’t open his eyes. Simply scratching the hound's ears - a clear sign that they didn’t have to worry about anything. Because he wasn’t worried about anything. “You look like shit," A little smile crept onto Eris’s face as your voice echoed. Followed by the rustling leaves beneath your feet. “Thank you; I can only say the same about you," he mustered teasingly. “Your eyes are closed, asshole," you huffed, stepping from beneath the branches to fully come face-to-face with him.

“Did you read through it?", with the question, Eris’s eyes snapped open, piercing right through you, even in the dark. You simply nodded your head. You had just gotten back and were angrily undoing your corset when a piece of paper fell out. Your initial thought was to ignore it. That was most likely just a grocery list you had forgotten on your venture earlier in the day. But the more you looked at the brown paper, the more you felt the urge to look at what was written on it.

“Thoughts?", Eris crossed his arms over his chest. Assessing your every move. Every reaction. This too, in a way, was a test. One of his own. "Diabolical," you smiled at him before shaking your head, “Want me to keep going?”. Eris only rolled his eyes, his hand coming up to rub at his chest. "Fine," he shrugged. But that fine stirred something deep within you. It wasn’t all that simple. And the answer wasn’t easy to give out. Especially to a man like Eris.

“You can be executed for shit like this," you tapped at your temple, letting the tiredness of today sink in finally. Or maybe it was the fresh autumn breeze that practically screamed for a cozy blanket and a nap. Not a midnight meetings. “Oh, would you look at that?", Eris muttered, clearing his throat with a cough that he tried to hide. “You care about me, little bird?" he asked, moving his eyebrows suggestively. “Get over yourself," you huffed, reaching out for the black pup that had been nudging your leg all this time. “I would be the first to claim your head.", you threw Eris your best angel smile, making the high lord laugh. “And hang it in your room so you could look at me," he whistled in delight. “More like shoot arrows at," you cut in quickly to correct him”, before adding, “We do it my way."

Eris shook his head immediately, “We won't." You shot him a daring look, but Eris didn’t seem phased by it. “Then no," you said, crossing your arms over your chest. "Y/n," Eris growled. "Eris," you mimicked his tone in return. “Compromise? Have you ever heard that word woman?", he huffed angrily, rubbing his temples in frustration. “Not when it comes to you," you chirped back.

“You are so fucking..." he had started to say as another cough slipped past his lips. “Lovely, I know," you finished happily, but Eris didn’t return your smile. He turned back as another cough made his shoulders seize. A strange feeling ran right through you. Watching him lean against the tree... "Eris," you called out, not sure what was happening. He raised a dismissive hand, but you weren’t about to leave him like this.

"Eris," you muttered, stepping past the two whimpering hounds that suddenly, truthfully, looked like two terrified puppies. “Hey, what’s going on?", your hand touched his shoulder. It felt as if he was on fire. And not in the autumn male way. It felt as if he was burning from within. "Eris," you hissed, pulling your hand away quickly. He turned his head slightly, his fingers coming up to dig at his throat. "Can't," he mouthed. Your heart instantly skipped a beat. An unknown panic filling your body.

“Let me," you breathed, your cold palms reaching out to rest on Eris’s chest, slowly letting your cold magic seep into his burning flesh. “Come on," you muttered, no longer sure if their words were directed at you or Eris. You stood like that for a couple of hearts only. Yet it felt like two heartbeats were too long. Because Eris never lost control. He was one of the males who knew how to carry himself.

“What was that?", you muttered once Eris’s heartbeat evened out. The high lord tilted his head towards the starry night, letting out a deep sigh, "nothing." You huffed at his unbothered tone. "Nothing, my ass! You were choking," you huffed, pulling back, nearly tripping over the dogs, eagerly waving their tails now. “It’s nothing," Eris claimed once more. You watched as he slowly moved his head in circles, followed by his shoulders and hands. As if stretching. As if he had now filled out his own body. I was uncertain as to where the limits lay. “Eris Vanserra", your warning tone made Eris finally look up at you. You could see him contemplating his words for a moment. His eyes drilled into you as he no doubt ran through the worst scenarios. “The magic hasn’t settled yet," he said so casually, yet it pretty much knocked all oxygen out of your system.

"What?" you muttered in disbelief. There’s no way because... “I'm not fully in control," Eris admitted as he flexed his fingers. “I know what that means." You frowned, “It’s just... they can kill you," you whispered, but Eris didn’t seem to worry about it that much considering that his laughter filled the space between you two.

“The joy you must feel," he chuckled, reaching out for his hounds. “Don’t joke about it," you frowned. Hate it or not. Death was not something you would wish for anyone. Even if that person was Eris, "Careful, I might start to think that you care." His blazing eyes found yours, taking you off guard for a moment. “Get over yourself, Vanserra," you rolled your eyes, gathering your skirts up as you turned back from him.

You had barely made it down the stairs the next morning when someone caught your hand, pulling you through the door of the closet study. “I have a plan," Mor muttered breathlessly. The dark circle under her eyes was a clear evidence of her sleepless night. "Mor...", you muttered. Rhys had called you into a meeting that same morning, but you had chosen to ignore his offer. You didn’t want to miss the sunset, and the river bank was way more to your liking than your brother’s office. “No, listen to me," she said, grasping both of your hands. “We will hide you. We’ll get one of the high lords involved”. She rambled on, but you quickly shook your head, “Did you talk to someone outside our family about this?" A slight panic ticked deep within you. She looked up at you in confusion but quickly shook her head in response, “Good, Mor, no one can know about this." Now it was you who had pulled her closer. “Do you understand?", “This is bullshit," she huffed, pulling away from you.

"Mor," you pleaded, but her distress was way too strong by now. “You can’t go. I won’t let you go”, she continued her rant, pacing the room. "Sweetie," you said, moving in front of your cousin, taking her hands in yours. “You’ve seen the scars. You’ve seen...", she muttered, her eyes slowly filling up with burning tears. You reached up to cup her cheek. Offering her a soft smile because no words were going to make this any better. “That man has no soul; Satin has nothing against him," Mor hissed through gritted teeth, right as you wiped the angry tear away from her cheek. “Maybe he hasn’t met Satin yet”, you muttered under your breath, resting your forehead against hers.

“What about the borders? There have been breaches”, the booming voice sent shooting pain through Eris’s scull. It had been the fourth meeting that day, and if his patience was thin in the morning, now the male could barely find any fragments of it. “I already sent out another handful of soldiers to monitor the outskirts," he said, trying to keep his cool. His people deserved better. Way better than what his father had given them. Autumn could be a court like the others. Not full of scum and drunken lords.

“When will the payments roll in?", another angry tone echoed through the hall, and Eris all of a sudden regretted offering the merchants to join the meeting. “I’m looking through the scrolls," Eris said through gritted teeth. Yes, he had stopped the money flow because, with his father’s death, a lot of the men who had drained this place to the last drop had planned on running away with their pockets full of coins. “People are starving," another claimed. “Beron would have sorted it out by now," someone added which had Eris frozen in an instant. Eyes scanning the crowd till they land on the male who had just slipped up. The high lord pushed his chair back, clapping his hands on the table. "You," he pointed an angry finger at the order farmer, “Who do you think you are?" The anger deep within Eris bubbled. Why was it so fucking hard to earn respect? Why did every move he made meet with so much resistance and always mention that monster?

"I...", the male muttered. "I... I… crapped your pants already?", Eris clipped. “I’m your high lord, and you yap at me like I’m nothing," his voice echoed now. Drowning out the crowd of people who had gone dead silent. His anger flared, fires burning so brightly that the vax started to drip, drip, dripping down onto the floor. “Forgive me, Your Majesty." The male had pulled his hat out, now clenching it right against his chest. “What do you need? Coins?", Eris reached into the side drawer, scooping down a handful of silvers before throwing them at the man. The metal clicking against the stone floor was now the only ringing sound. The old man had been left to stand all alone. Anyone who had been throwing demands alongside him now stood with their heads stooped low at far corners of the room.

“Go ahead, pick it up," Eris gestured to the floor. "Forgive...", the man had started, his face now as white as paper and his legs shaking as he barely found his footing. “Pick. It. Up," every word came out like a growl louder than the one before. The man fell to his knees. A crooked smirk stretched onto Eris’s lips as he reached for his sword, rounding the table. “Please… I have kids and a wife”, the man pleaded. Eyes as big as the moon. “Why not think of them before you speak?", Eris assessed the blade, running his finger along the rim. “I did... We're starving”, the farmer whispered, now almost lying on the floor as he threatened beneath Eris’s cold glance. “Pick up the coins," The high lord’s bitter tone sliced the light sobs.

“Your Highness," the male tried to plead his case once more, but Eris only let out a growl. "Pick…," but his voice died down. As if someone had cut his vocal cords. It felt like a whisper. A cold touch. Most of the candles went out in a cloud of smoke. Suppressing the scolding heat that Eirs had thrown at the hall. Then there were the cold fingers that snaked down his wrists, stilling his hand, ready to strike. Reaching for the blade.

“Let him go." It was barely audible. Eris doubted that anyone besides him heard it. But his whole body. Every fiver within perked up at the sound. “For me," it pleaded, “This is not your way." Bile rose in Eris’s throat. It wasn’t his way. This was his father’s way. His father’s methods. Pain. Suffering. Terror. The oldest Vanserra felt his face seize as fear of that monster rooting within him washed over him.

“Breathe through it," Eris turned back from the man, coming face-to-face with purple eyes staring right up at him. "Out of all of you," you ordered, pulling the blade out of Eris’s hand and pointing it at the gawking crowd. It seemed like no one had to be told twice as people rushed out, pushing one another in the process.

"You," you called out, making the farmer stop in his tracks. The man had barely made it off the floor. The sudden joy of being freed disappeared impatiently at your next words, “Pick up the coins." His bottom lip quivered. "Please," he seemed in his later years. The grays had started to show. Hands cracked, clearly from the long hours in the fields. “There’s no catch," you said softly. You handed the sword back to Eris before stepping to the side. “Pick them to buy food," you crouched, picking the silvers yourself. Reaching for the pouch at the side of your skirt to neatly place them inside, “If there’s none to buy, stop by the kitchen tonight." The farmer's eyes watched you move, too stunned to speak. “There will be food to spare here,” you smiled at him, reaching out to touch his shoulder, “Even better, stop by to eat with us. Bring your family with you."

“But miss...", the male stuttered, shaking his head in disbelief. “No, please. Let this be our way of settling peace. This court deserves it after all the years”, you muttered, watching the msn taking a deep breath and nodding his head at your words. “Thank you. Mother will never forget your kindness, my lady.” Bowing, the farmer reached for your hand, placing a kiss on it. You watched him hurry towards the door with his head bowed low. No doubt, still frightened.

“What the fuck are you doing?", Eris’s rough hands clasped over your shoulder as he turned you over to face him. You simply raised your eyebrow at him, “Saving your ass twice now." His nostrils flared as he tried to suppress the frustration bubbling inside. “You have no word in this house," he growled, moving to step closer. Towering over you. You could feel the heat pouring in waves from him. "Wrong”, you crooked your head back, tapping the tip of his nose, “If you want to play this game, then we are equal in this." His lips thinned into a tight lines. His jaw clenched so firmly that you had no clue how his bone hadn’t cracked. But you enjoyed him like this. Frustrated and bubbling inside. Smirking slightly, you crossed your arms over your chest, "So, Eris Vanserra, are you playing along?”

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Taglist: @hnyclover @slytherintaco @fxckmiup

[kiyo-cant-write]

I kind of forgot I did ask you about your favorite character and dorm. Sadly is not align, but is okay. I do want to request for Jack 👉👈🥺

About his chef card, imagine his crush is the judges and trying to impress them. While they would like to see Jack perform.

jack trying to impress his crush in culinary crucible ✧･ﾟ

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Thank you for requesting! I actually love Jack!! I love the whole cast a lot and while he isn't my bias, I think he's cute. So this was fun to write. I like the concept of beastmen but I am a dog owner so xD

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Summary: Jack is participating in the Culinary Crucible with his childhood friend, Vil Schoenheit. To his surprise, one of their judges is... [Name]??? Things just got interesting.

TW/CW: None

Notes: gender-neutral reader, the reader is Yuu/Ramshackle Prefect, they/them pronouns for the reader, the reader is implied to be a first-year

Guest Stars: Vil Schoenheit, Rook Hunt, Idia Shroud

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✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:

Jack Howl

Jack was already going to try hard, now he's trying harder.

Vil actually has to stop Jack and tell him to breathe.

Jack is appreciative to have an upperclassman paired with him for the Culinary Crucible because he is sweating bullets at the idea of [Name] eating his food as a judge. What are the odds?

Will they like it? What will they say to him?

He wanted to do a good job for them.

Vil comments that his tail is wagging up a storm.

Jack denies it but Vil just laughs softly like the radiant upperclassman he is, knowing Jack's feelings for [Name].

Jack is trying so hard that he's almost messing up the recipe.

He is making macarons and Vil says they are hard to do.

He really wants [Name] to like them.

Jack always strives to be his best and this is no different.

He will impress [Name] with his awesome cooking skills!

Vil thinks that it's going to be quite some time before those two realize they like each other. All the same, though, he's sure they will be happy when they do.

Jack had been starring off into space for far too long and Vil wasn't having any of it. He had joined the Crucible to learn more about cooking, to see if it was something he could do while maintaining his beauty. It was hard to focus on such a task when he was watching this lovesick little puppy staring toward the judges' table where Idia Shroud, [Full Name], and Rook Hunt were sitting.

"Jack, I have had just about enough of this nonsense," Vil told him.

"Huh? What?"

That snapped Jack out of his daze. This caused him to almost mess up the task he had been mindlessly doing. It was a miracle that nothing had exploded in their face thus far with Jack's spacey mood as of late.

Vil sighed. Why were all of the first years like this?

"Jack, I need you to focus. Your behavior reflects on me as well, you know. As an upperclassman," Vil told him, pausing his own task of mixing for a moment to shoot Jack a pointed look.

"Ah, sorry," Jack offered before his eyes drifted back to [Name] again.

They were so pretty. And they were going to be judging his work? Then he had to do a good... No! A perfect job! He would impress them with his work and then they would say what a good job he had done. It was all worked out and planned for. Perfectly, if he said so himself and—

"Jack."

"Huh? What? Sorry, Vil. Did you say something?"

"I said, you'd best focus on the task at hand... My word."

Jack could sense Vil's annoyance with the situation and he was frustrated with himself too. If he was distracted, he wouldn't be able to impress the judges. He had to focus. Shifting his stance, he got back to work making the macaron batter.

Vil continued his own preparation across from Jack, watching the younger boy every once in a while to ensure he was working and not daydreaming about [Name]. It was a good thing they were allowed to use magic in this event or they would surely fall behind on time.

[Vil & Jack - Cooking Montage]

As it would happen, they completed the macarons without any kind of disaster. Vil was thankful that it was all nearly over. Wasn't that a good thing? He would have this experience for his career and not get splattered in cake or lit on fire because of Jack's lovesickness-induced negligence. The things upperclassmen do for their underclassmen...

"Ready?" Vil asked Jack.

Jack nodded, ears perking up as they were about to present their creations to the judges. Vil smiled at that. He just couldn't stay upset with him. He knew Jack meant well by all of this.

"Let's do this!" Jack said, grinning.

Together, the actor and the first-year presented their culinary masterpieces to the judges. The array of judges had varying reactions. Rook stood up immediately and praised the simple staging of the food, ready to give 100 pts on sight for the beauty of it all. Vil shot him a look as he did this.

"I'd like to know how it tastes as well as how it looks, Rook," he chided.

The Pomefiore Vice Housewarden nodded as he tried both Vil's cake and Jack's macarons, eyes sparkling the entire time. He seemed to thoroughly enjoy the food with his animated reactions to it.

Next came Idia Shroud who attempted to eat macarons with a fork (one of the ghosts mumbled about this being a "crime"). He prodded the food with the utensil and ultimately only took a few bites, pushing the plate away after that as he attempted to avoid the eyes of both Vil and Jack alike.

Finally, there was [Name]. They tried a bite of the cake Vil had made and smiled at the taste of it, giving Vil a thumbs up. [Name] might have been the only person on the judging panel who knew what they were doing. They moved to the macarons, picking up one that was a bright shade of orange and taking a bite.

"Mm, this is good!" they said, smiling.

Their reaction was enough to make Jack's heart soar. He had done it, or he thought he had. Still, the scores could tell.

In the end...

A 10 from Rook (obviously, he was about to faint from the mere thought of eating the food almost as soon as he had seen it).

A 2 from Idia (now Vil was ready to throw down but he hid it).

And a 10 from [Name], melting Jack's heart in a single motion of holding up their score marker.

Vil sighed as he went to speak to the ghosts, followed by Rook Hunt for some reason but Jack didn't ask questions about it. Vice Housewarden stuff? Maybe? Probably. Jack had other things on his mind. Tail wagging behind him, much to his chagrin, he made his way over to [Name], calling out their name to get their attention.

"[Name]! Hey. I'm glad you liked... what I made," he told them, a bit sheepish about it all.

"I did! They were good!"

[Name]'s smile was the sunshine that came through the clouds after rain, that was what Jack was feeling when they praised his work.

"Uh, I have some extras if you want more?" Jack offered.

"Eh? Really? Sure!" they said, "Grim wanted to try some, or I think he would like to. That cat sure loves his food."

"Ha, sure!" Jack agreed, "Let me go get that for you."

"Thank you, Jack! I really appreciate it!" [Name] told him.

Jack's face reddened at the words. It was so simple but it got him.

He made his way back into the kitchen, tail wagging up a storm and face growing redder with every passing minute. It was painfully obvious what this was but Jack couldn't figure out why his heart was racing and he felt so... floaty?

Vil watched from a few feet away with the ghosts (and Rook). He sighed, he might have to step in if Jack remained unawares.

A minute later, Jack walked back to [Name] with some packaged macarons for them.

"Ah. Here you go, [Name]."

He handed them the package.

"Thanks again!" they said as they put the package of food in their bag, "I'll tell you what Grim's thoughts are too if you want."

They giggled as they spoke.

Jack only nodded, trying his best to calm down the heat on his face.

"Sure," he told them.

"Alright, it's a date!" [Name] said before heading off to their next period.

The wolf watched as they left the dining hall. What was he going to do? What would he say? Was it a date? Had he been on a date before? He tensed up at the thought that there was some protocol for this.

Who would he ask? Ace would laugh at him. Deuce wouldn't be able to help. Grim wouldn't be able to either. He didn't want to tell Ruggie and Leona... That left...

Sighing, he walked up to the table where the two Pomefiore students sat, taking an empty spot next to the dorm's housewarden.

"Hey. Vil... I'd like to, uh, ask you something," he said, trying not to seem as nervous as he was about asking an upperclassman something like this, "If it's not a bother."

Was he supposed to ask his upperclassmen about these feelings? They did say they would be there for their underclassmen... Right?

"Oh? And what might that be, Jack?" Vil hummed.

.

.

…Imagine the rest yourself~ <3

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✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:

Thank you for reading! Likes and reblogs are appreciated! Do NOT repost my writing/headcanons as your own >:c Check the top of my blog for the inbox status and read the rules before requesting. This is not a twst-only blog! ^^

[yangkitties]

bros before hoes ✰ chapter 08: 7th sense

wc: 0.7k

Sunghoon was used to loud sounds. Growing up on the rink, the rush of the howling wind as he danced was nothing. Performing at award shows and concerts in front of thousands and thousands of screaming fans? No problem.

But the thundering of his heart as he walked to the practice room was like nothing he had ever heard before. The consistent pumping of his heart drowned out his thoughts, forcing him to focus on each beat. 

His heart was so loud, he could barely hear his own thoughts. Not that he was thinking much anyway. 

He couldn���t wait to see Tsuki again, with her pretty pink hair and lovely eyes. The previous two times Sunghoon had seen her, he could barely thing. He could only focus on her and nothing else. She captivated him, with her soft voice and kind smile. 

Before he knew it, Sunghoon was standing in front of the practice room. He could feel himself smiling at the thought of seeing Tsuki again, his heart picking up speed. He took a deep breath, forcing his heart to slow down. He wrapped his fingers around the handle, the cool metal calming him down as he pushed the door open.

Before he could register anything, he registered the song on the speakers first. It was the last chorus of 7th sense, a song he’d heard over and over again during his trainee days. 

And then he saw you. 

You were in the zone, focused on your movements, Sunghoon knew you didn’t notice him come in. He watched you, observing the way you danced. 

The more we watched, the more mesmerised he became. The way you moved, so smooth and so sure of yourself, Sunghoon wondered if you were being controlled by another being. The way you hit every beat was incredibly satisfying, and the way you nailed the footwork was beyond amazing. 

He stood there in awe, jaw on the floor. As the music stops, Sunghoon begins to clap. 

‘Wow. That was… incredible…’ He whispers softly, slowly making his way closer to you. He walked in a trance, still reeling from watching you. 

You yelp in shock, stunned to see him here. ‘Sunghoon?? What the hell are you doing here???’ Your heart threatens to beat out of your chest, not just from the vigorous choreography. 

‘Oh! Uh Jungwon told me Tsuki would be here???’ He says, face contorting in confusion. Your face began to mirror his, wondering why on Earth Jungwon would say that. 

‘Ah damn, you can’t even go see her now… it’s almost 5, she’ll probably have Haewonnie or Jooyeon with her.’ You shrug, secretly happy that Sunghoon was with you, and not Tsuki. 

‘Eh.. it is what it is. At least I got to watch you dance because Y/n holy SHIT??? You’re one of the best dancers I’ve seen!’ He lightly punches your arm, his smile wide and genuine. 

You can feel yourself blushing, heat prickling your skin. ‘Please, you flatter me.’ 

‘No, no I’m serious!!! But why are you practicing 7th sense of all songs?’ Sunghoon looks at you quizzically, and you can’t help but be endeared by the way he jumps from topic to topic, his enthusiasm infectious. 

‘Oh! Well award shows are coming up and I want to be in my best form you know? And 7th sense has a complex choreography, so it keeps me on my feet.’ You shrug, smiling as you grab your water bottle. Sunghoon frowns lightly, ‘But you’re already so good??’

You turn away from him, overwhelmed by his compliments. ‘Well, as they say, there’s always room for improvement! Plus, practice makes perfect, you know?’ You shrug, taking a sip of your water. 

‘In that case, want to practice 7th sense with me?’ You choke on his words, almost spilling water all over yourself. 

‘HUH?? I mean- What…?? Don’t you have other schedules?’ You ask, tapping your head before you could choke some more. 

‘Nope! We’re quite free this week, other than our individual schedules…’ It takes you almost a full minute to process what he says, distracted by the way he shakes his head, soft hair flopping side to side, reminding you of a puppy’s ears. 

‘So…? Do you want to practice together?’ He tilts his head, and instantly you are reminded of Berry, Chan’s dog. 

You laugh lightly and agree, happy to have someone accompanying you. 

You begin practicing, and it is as if you are two halves of a whole machine, and the dance comes out incredibly. You match each other’s dance styles, his fluid motions and beautiful contrast to your sharp footwork. 

The time slips by faster than you both could have expected, and soon enough you’re parting ways, tired, yet content with the outcome of you practice. 

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synopsis > with the help of fukutomi tsuki, park y/n finally gains the courage to face their long time crush, the one and only, park sunghoon. park sunghoon thinks it's love at first sight when he sees her. paired up as the new mcs of music bank, shenanigans ensue when y/n learns about sunghoon's crush...

note: this post would've come out a LOT earlier if not for a mix up between my sister's and my laptop 😭 also menace jungwon my love 😁 also i love sunoo :P

©️ yangkitties 2024 do not copy, plagiarise, or repost

[pinguwrites]

Drabble: William fakes a PTSD nightmare

pairing | william killick x reader

Warnings: william being manipulative/possesive/controlling/kinda creepy, mention of PTSD trauma, implied to take place years after WWII, baby boy nickname, lowkey forgot how his house looks like

A/N: Ugh I've literally been so busy I can't believe I managed to get this out. I'm planning to get a long-length fic out but for now here's a drabble

The wind howled outside, sharp and loud, as the trees rustled against the wood of the house. The atmosphere was bitter and tense, the air cold and the silence thick.

William didn’t dare apologize, and as it seemed, you had no plans to as well. He was by no means content to sleep on the couch, missing the warmth your body provided, but he wasn’t sorry for what he did. He wasn’t sorry for his possessive nature. He was only controlling you because he was trying to keep you safe, couldn’t you see that? And the way you demanded more freedom earlier today — like that was something you needed. You were being completely unreasonable.

But still, you were stubborn. William knew that this wasn’t going to blow over until a few more days, and by then he’d be forced to make some compromises. If only the whole thing had never happened . . . He would be in your arms, held by you, cared for, and loved again.

If only he had a nightmare like he usually did on stormy days like this. You would forget everything, start cooing him, comforting him, and being a good wife.

And that was when it hit him — you would never know the difference. He could fake it! He could fake it and then everything would go back to normal. There was absolutely nothing stopping him, and it wasn’t wrong to do. The distant thunder did remind him of bombs, and the reminder did take him back to Greece. It was only now that he was better at controlling it, at not letting these minuscule things take him back to that hell.

William got up and walked towards the bedroom, leaning against the wall, watching you sleep. Your chest rose and fell slightly, your hair slowly falling across your forehead until it finally rested over your face. It was a beautiful sight. Sometimes, while you were asleep and he was awake, he would sit upright in bed and just watch you.

My darling girl. The love of my life. Why do you have to be so difficult?

William put on his best performance. He pouted his lips slightly, forcing tears to well up in his eyes. He tried his best to look like a wounded dog.

Before he even called your name, you woke up. Immediately noticing the dark figure standing by your door, you gasped, but when you recognized it as William, you got rather annoyed.

“What is it, William?” you asked groggily.

William shivered. “I—I dunno. I’m sorry — you always told me I could come to you . . . whenever it happened.” He let some tears fall. “I just got so scared. I thought — I thought I was back there, and . . . and.” He paused. “I’m sorry, I’ll go. I’ll go.”

“William,” you said softly, shaking your head with a look of pity on your face. “Darling, come here.”

William didn’t hesitate. He crawled into bed with you, wrapping the blanket which smelled like your perfume around his body. The tears dribbled down his chin, and he sniffled, snuggling his head in the crook of your neck.

“I’m sorry — it’s just, you were there. In the dirt, with all the other bodies. I couldn’t protect you,” he babbled.

“Shh,” you whispered. “I’m right here, baby boy. I’m not going to die. Can you feel me? Here.” You placed his hand on your chest, right above your breast. Your heart thumped, and he could feel it.

William was almost surprised that you had been fooled so easily, but also heartened. Your care for him outweighed any suspicion. It was at that moment that he knew things would be alright. You were going to forgive him.

"I-I can feel it."

William snuck his hand a bit lower, on your breast, and cupped it a little bit. Maybe you were too sleepy or just didn't mind, but you didn't move his head away, and instead let it rest there.

"I'm sorry about the argument," he said softly, after a while. "I just . . . what would my life be if you are not in it? What kind of husband would I be if I didn't protect you as best I can?"

You were quiet. Then, "Okay, Will. I'll stop visiting my friends so often. And I won't go past the property line without telling you . . . I know you only want to keep me safe."

William let out a sigh of relief and affectionately nuzzled his nose against your shoulder. "Thank you, my love."

He was a bit afraid that you would change your mind, so the moment he got what he wanted, he pretended to doze off into sleep, his breathing becoming more rhythmic and patterned.

"Will?" You shook him slightly. "Have you . . . ? Oh, it's alright. Rest." You kissed him on his forehead, leaving a wet mark. "Sweet thing," you murmured, before you yourself drifted off into sleep.

Taglist: @mrkdvidal1989 @slut4thebroken @qqquartz7 @madeinuk @flwrs4aust @httpxgray

[fluffywings13]

Binding Vow Loophole (2/2)

“I can’t–! I cahahahahan—Kuhuhunaaa!”

Their new Binding Vow didn’t pertain to any forceful usurping of Control between them, no magic word that tore Yuuji out of the metaphorical drivers seat without the ability to reclaim it, the details are quite simple but without any room for potential abuse of loopholes.

One; Sukuna had the right to yank him down into his Domain whenever he pleased, so long as Yuuji was in a safe location to be rendered Unconscious, whenever he was feeling particularly restless and/or a sense of irritation that needed to be cured without a more physical approach.

Two; Yuuji was only required to hand total control over their Vessel retaining the ability to coexist in that metaphorical drivers seat. (Sukuna taught him how to manage that feat–guy was a surprisingly decent Sensei when in a mellowed out state of mind)

Three; Sukuna was required to step in if something or someone Yuuji was not suited to handle on his own or with his partners to ensure he remained unharmed (healed if unavoidable harm did befall him) without complaint or an attempt to mutilate the other two bratty students. Control was to be given back upon assurance the threat was neutralized completely unless the child was not capable of handling control at the moment. In which a suitable location must be found with haste to allow control to be returned while the boy recovered within his domain.

Four; Yuuji could summon Sukuna into the physical plain just as Fushiguro could summon forth his Shikigami if the need arose, Sukuna was tied to remain within a specified distance to the boy at all times, and could only cause harm to whatever reason he was summoned forth. (Again, Sukuna taught him how to perform this particular technique because though akin to his friend’s ability it was starkly different in the finer details of the act)

“You most certainly can. I’ve seen it with my own eyes. Take it, you brat, this is your consequence for summoning me for such frivolous reasons.” Sukuna rakes his nails, sharp as ever, up and down the bratty child’s abs. Taking in his howling shrieks of laughter as one would a much needed tonic or such. “Let’s go over them, shall we?” With the child hanging over his lap, bent at the back over his knees, legs anchored at his hips as he rests contentedly upon his Throne as usual. Sukuna made sure that the bend of the boy’s back would not cause discomfort, legs spread open only just to ensure the skirt of his kimono cushioned his position, his head resting upon the tops of his feet. “Summoning me to assist with your daily chores, I think not, they’re your chores to complete not mine.”

Yuuji screams and jolts at the sharp pinching spider crawling of fingers racing over the sides of his tummy, the sensitive belly surface spasming with the intensity of his peals of squeals, no regrets for summoning the Curse forth for stupid reasons. Arching his back as they come around to knead and scribble over his lower tummy, bursting with a loud shrill squeal, the most lighthearted sound to ever ring within this typically dismal place.

“I don’t mind you summoning me to assist with your studies. I know you struggle with sciences and history studies. That I won’t punish you for. I’m, dare I say, happy to be of assistance in that regard.” Sukuna tugs the hem of the brat’s lounge pants down enough, a discovery made upon the very first torturous endeavor, a rather ticklish waist. “However, the same can’t be said when you summoned me to assist in folding your laundry.” He watches in content as the boy screams and bucks, head lifting from the cushioning his feet provide him, as his claws scratch lightly over the sensitive waist. “It never ceases to humor me that you lose all hope with something as simple as me lightly scratching your waist.”

“Pl–Pleeaaasseehehehhehehshshahahahahah nohohohot theheheheere! Nonononononoahahahhahahhahahaha I caaaaaahan’t! Anywhere but theeheheheheheheere!”

Oh, how the sounds of his pleas always falling short of their desired outcome are music to his ears. “Perhaps I’ll stay right here for, I don’t know, ten minutes–longer–how would you like that, hmm?” Sukuna feels the boy’s legs jolt against his hips and grins. “If you kick me, no matter if it’s accidental or not, I’ll bring you to absolute tears kid.” The strain of those little feet just under his elbows, toes flexing in agony, is so harsh it’s felt. “Don’t you dare. You asked for this, daring to abuse our Vow for your own childish gain, something you should have considered was this being your atonement for using me to your whims.”

When that right foot, bare and warm, so very small compared to his own, makes contact with his hip Sukuna follows through on his threat. Yuuji wails at his misfortune and shrieks in surprise when he’s yanked up into the Curse’s lap entirely, nothing more about his position changes, legs tugged up to curl comfortably over the man’s shoulders the apologies he spews are met with deaf ears as far too knowledgeable fingers attack his inner thighs with a viciousness that has shrill screeches mixing with great loud shrill squeals and cackles.

Kicking and bouncing, Yuuji can’t find the mental capacity to form actual words for further pleading and apologizing for the unintentional assault, fingers wander down kneading and clawing vicious as ever to the spot that started the exploration of his thighs in the first place. Drumming his legs, careful not to kick the Curse King again, his head whips around as his hair messes completely as he pushes himself upwards with his feet against the backrest of the Throne they reside on.

“Oh, little one, you didn’t say you wanted me to get that particular spot.”

He didn’t! Yuuji did no such thing! Fingers far more gentle than they’ve ever been return to that insanity inducing spot just under the curve that would be considered a groping of his rear end. Collapsing in a fit of guffaws, fingers leave that life altering spot to race up his sides again, the teen writhes and twists as they race back down. Up again, shrieks and squeals, down once more, twist and turns like a cackling little worm. Up. Down. Up. Down. You get it.

Tears slowly begin to entice his eyes to burn, laughter becoming a tad hysterical, as one set of fingers continue to race up and down his side as he tries to curl sharply away from them and the other set claw up to his defenseless armpit.

Sukuna’s cruel. Obviously. Worming one finger under the clenched arm. Then two. Three. Four. All five. Yuuji feels those tears threatening to burst as he socumbs to the horrid tickle torture as penace for kicking the man who gave him fair warning. Clawing and vibrating in his sensitive pit, the pinkette’s laughter slowly falls to silent crackly cackles, tears soaking his cheeks.

Then it stops. Giggling deliriously, gulping frantic breathes of much needed oxygen, the aid of a warm large hand rubbing his sore belly in a manner that could definitely be taken as tenderness helps him settle far quicker then one typically would. “Don’t you ever kick me again.”

[literatemisfit]

Thoughts on my second viewing of Macbeth at the Harold Pinter Theatre, Thursday October 3, 2024

For posterity.

(SPOILERS ON EVERYTHING)

Okay I cannot describe to you how much I absolutely ADORE the folk dancing scene. So playful, so rugged:

It begins with the cast (sans Macbeth) spinning in two circles hand in hand and laughing, then Macbeth joins to stand in the centre (back) opposite Lady Macbeth (front), they join in the middle and put each others arms around their shoulders, hands held on shoulders, and then they hop and march, turn, hop and march, turn, then all chaos breaks out (my favourite part of the entire play maybe???) and Macbeth and the others all shout and howl and whoop as they spin fast fast arm in arm in circles, Macbeth and Lady Macbeth meeting in the centre to spin, then returning to their respective circles to spin fast fast, then returning again and again and then:

Bam. Everyone freezes as Macbeth and Lady Macbeth stare each other down in the centre, lights whitish blue on them as they share in their plot secretly, everyone else slow-motion clapping as they stand chest to chest and then:

Zzzzip. Everything speeds back up to normal time and they spin and howl and whoop as if nothing happened, showing that the freeze frame was a mental picture, the exact thoughts they are having as they are outwardly acting happy and normal.

David's WOO! with finger pointing up as he shouts red-faced and rough and aggressive is maybe one of my favourite things he's ever portrayed. I'm just so happy to watch them play within the play.

Tonight was different from opening night. The actors played more with the rhythm, speaking more slowly, pausing in different places and emphasizing different parts of the speeches. It was completely fascinating to watch, having just seen it done differently. And David's performance was so much more emotional than opening night, I think. The slanted eyebrows and big sad eyes were more prominent, his voice cracked more, his eyes were maybe even more teary, his speeches turned to whines and wails in his grief.

The boy was played by a different actor. Both of them are good, though I found the first one to be more energetic and wild like the cast. This time around, the entire cast seemed a little slower with pacing, less "On It", which maybe was because I had already seen it and knew what to expect, or maybe in line with them speaking slower, the rhythm of movement maybe also changed.

Because the rhythm of the words was slower and more experimental, it felt like the emotion was more palpable and the words felt more conversational and real, coming from humans rather than a slightly more formulaic rhythm of lines being said as they're written. Not that it was ever that stiff or strict, but there definitely seemed to be a loosening of the rhythm and there was freedom there to play with it and feel it out.

The second witches scene. Fuck. I completely forgot that they grab him by the hair and drag him down (how could I forget that???) before they make him convulse and whimper and moan and shake and tremble, then they drag him to the other side of the stage, feet dragging on the ground, before they surround him and one witch slowly slowly approaches his chest and YANKS outwards making him cry out and bringing him back to consciousness.

David also had shaking hands during at least one scene where Macbeth was frightened and tense, which I thought was a great acting choice: showing some weakness, some fear, some un-put-together-ness as he's trying to prove himself to be manly and brave and unbeatable.

I also think that maybe - just maybe - David made a mistake tonight. After he washes off the blood from his face and hands (opening scene) after returning from war, he puts all the rags back in the bowl before handing it all over to Ross who brings it off stage. Well, tonight David had one of the rags wrapped around one hand for the entire following scene and I didn't notice him wrapping it but I think he may have left it behind? It added nothing to the scene, just wrapped it around his hand as he bowed to the King, stood to attention with the others, and was ushered offstage to warn his wife of the incoming guests.

I felt the Banquo's Ghost breakdown scene was even more pathetic and emotional, his legs getting caught under him as he writhed and kicked to run away from the imagined spectre, ending the scene a bit crooked and not looking so comfortable.

The self-harm scene. I don't know how I forgot about it but gosh it's good. He's so desperate, so guilt-ridden, so willing to accept pain and punishment for the crime he committed. Same as the emotional, distraught lilts in his voice during this speech, so moving:

No son of mine succeeding. If ‘t be so,

For Banquo’s issue have I filed my mind;

For them the gracious Duncan have I murder’d;

The word "murdered" was almost cracked, almost whispered, for how much shame and guilt he displayed tonight. It really hit me. Similarly when he talked of Duncan sleeping peacefully when he never would "Macbeth shall sleep no more" he whines desperately.

The Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow speech: I thought he might actually cry. Then at the end, bitter shame and anger on the words "signifying nothing" almost spat out in a growl with how much he resents the meaninglessness of his actions and of his own existence.

This time around, it was delightful to hear the audience gasp when Macbeth snaps the young boy's neck, "you were born of woman" /snap/. So badass.

The slap slap slaps on Macduff to taunt him in the last scene. Macbeth's final moment of fear "I'll not fight with thee" then Macduff calls him a coward and he squares his shoulders and goes on to fight, and win, and taunt, and die.

Still no blood on the stage during his death. I wonder if they plan to bring that back? Also still no lifting-david-by-the-witches which I assume they've just removed from the scene although I do wish I had seen it.

It was so fascinating to watch the same play, only two days apart, and to realize how they were both exactly the same and surprisingly different. Live theatre is alive, and it moves and changes and breathes life and lives on, to be repeated and yet reinvented night after night for audiences who (most likely) would never know it.

David was right, theatre is alive, it's there and then it's gone. Just as we cease to exist, so does a performance the moment it comes to an end, never again to be repeated exactly, only the same but somehow entirely different.

[mercmorales]

The Job of a Ballerina! - 1

The soft taps of the pointe shoes she wore. The setting sun that glared through the windows. Her swift movements across the shiny wooden floor. Merry Go Round of Life played in the background as she did elegant and quick spins and jumps that matched the beat of the music.

She spun and spun until she eventually bumped into someone who had somehow entered the room quietly.

“Shit—” Y/N fell to the floor, feeling her ankle twist a bit.

“I didn’t know the second scholar was a dancer!” The person said, their voice sounding upbeat.

Y/N looked up to see a blonde boy with purple eyes looking down at her. His lips curving into a smile that would make any girl swoon at the sight.

Y/N sighed, “If you have nothing to say to me, you can leave.”

“I just wanted to see you dance, mademoiselle.” The blond boy winked at Y/N as he sent her a kiss.

Y/N stared at the boy for a second before speaking again. “Do not call me miss. I’m probably younger than you.”

The blond chuckled at the girl’s quick reaction. “You really are sassy! Perfect for the offer I’m about to give you.”

“Oh yeah? What’s this oh so great offer you have for me?” Y/N shook her head as she massaged her ankle.

The blond boy held a hand out to the girl, “Become the manager of the Ouran Host Club. I promise, it’ll be worth your time.”

Y/N stared up at the boy, letting her eyes wander across his features as his lips curved into a genuine smile. His purple eyes becoming brighter due to the setting sun shining through the large windows.

“Will you consider my offer, dame Y/N?” The blond asked again, making Y/N swallow a lump that had formed in her throat.

The music playing in the background made the moment all the more memorable. Y/N had taken the blond’s hand and stood up.

“I…” Y/N gulped. “I’ll think about it a bit more.”

The blond nodded and left the girl a bit stunned. Just who was the blond haired boy?

“Tamaki-senpai?” Haruhi had tapped on the boy’s shoulder as he daydreamed about a host club managed by Y/N.

Hikaru came up behind Haruhi. “Maybe he’s still a bit dazed from meeting the second imperial scholar.”

Kaoru came up next to his brother. “I wouldn’t be surprised. People say that she’s incredibly blunt and quick-witted.”

“Oh that makes sense.” Haruhi said as she let the twins’ words register in her head.

“THERE’S ANOTHER SCHOLAR?!?!?!”

Honey had shown Haruhi a picture of the lady of the hour, smiling as he did. “This is her! She’s one of the smartest people in her class and she does ballet! She’s amazing! Isn’t she, Mori?”

Mori nodded.

“She’s been approached by so many big shot Ballet companies cause when she dances, it’s like she draws people in. To have her here at the host club managing would be like getting a free performance everyday.” Kyoya said as he wrote down some notes in his notebook.

Haruhi looked back at Tamaki, who was still stuck in his trance. “She probably thought I was so cool… hehe.”

“Uh oh. It seems that daddy is still in his little trance.” Kaoru said as he came up behind Tamaki.

“I guess we have no other choice.” Hikaru shrugged and picked up a bucket of water along with his brother.

The twins dumped the two buckets of water at the same time, causing Tamaki to get wet.

“I guess that’s one way to cool him off.” Haruhi said with a shrug.

Tamaki sighed. “You guys should’ve watched her dance… she was so ethereal. She held my hand…”

“How about we all watch her dance tomorrow? Then, we can formally ask her about the managerial position.” Kyoya said with a smile.

“I don’t think she’ll agree just because we all ask.” Haruhi said, the other members of the host club dismissing her.

Honey jumped up and down repeatedly. “We can make her cake!”

“We can seduce her~” The twins said with sly smirks on their faces.

Tamaki’s thought bubble was popped by the words spoken. Seduce… the seducer?

“NNNNNNOOOOOOOOOO!!” Tamaki slapped both brothers with the back of his hand, making them go flying into a flower display of roses.

Haruhi looked at Tamaki in surprise. “Tamaki-senpai!”

“I will not let you two taint such a majestic sight…” Tamaki had a dark aura surrounding him while his eyes were hidden by his bangs.

Kyoya heard the door of the host club open while everyone was focused on calming Tamaki down.

Then, he saw a girl enter the club with hesitation, as if she didn’t think she should’ve been there.

“I don’t think that seduction or cake will be needed,” Kyoya smirked as he adjusted his glasses. “Cause the woman of the hour came right to us.”

The rest of the host club members turned their attention to the entrance, noticing the girl fiddling with her fingers as she waited for someone to speak up.

Tamaki had dropped Kaoru, making him fall to the floor. “So you’ve decided to take my offer?”

Y/N sighed deeply. “I’ve.. decided to do a test run.”

“Splendid! You’ll be given a day-to-day schedule of all of our daily guests, and what themes we’ll have during each day you’re here.” Tamaki said as he held the girl’s shoulders.

Tamaki kept on rambling on and on about all the things Y/N will be doing as their “temporary” manager, all while the other members try to introduce themselves.

“You’ll also be—?” Tamaki was cut off by Y/N sliding the male’s arm off her shoulders and stepping in front of him.

Y/N pointed a finger at the blonde. “Let’s just set the record straight. I’m only here cause I wanna see how this gig will go. And you haven’t even told me your name yet!”

Tamaki stopped dead in his tracks.

“All the other members have gone out of their way to try and tell me their names, while you’ve been babbling about all my duties!”

Tamaki starts stuttering. “I-I didn’t—“

“It’s common curtesy to give your name to someone who you consider a guest.” Y/N huffed.

Y/N held out their hand to the blond. “My name is Y/N L/N! I am a scholar and a ballet dancer! What’s your name?”

Tamaki chuckled before placing his hand in the girl’s smaller one. “My name is Tamaki Suoh. And I am the king of this host club.”

Y/N’s eyes widened. “Tamaki…”

Property of Mercury Indou! Repost anywhere and I’ll kill ya!

[sgiandubh]

Our Lady of the Earrings

Almost 3 AM and as always before any flight/train (but mercifully not when driving myself) trip I am struck by a severe case of Reisefieber, which translates to almost complete insomnia, in this noble house.

Thanks to one of @bat-cat-reader's Anons, I immediately went to watch C & Alfred Enoch's seven minute segment on The Booker Prize 2023 Livestream you can watch, too, on Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/live/OgIGnfxISk0?si=nfUz7KoCFgEzQmQB

Some quick observations:

Not one, but two new ear piercings I took the gracious pain of documenting (sorry for the thumbnail size, it's the best I could do with the primitive technical means readily available) :

What would that be? Punk C? How could that even be? A speculative coin dropped: last time, it was cutting her hair, but now I see a body modification impulse. I am still pondering this one and I have to say I am torn between a simple fashionista reflex and something deeper than that (new beginnings? healing? letting go?). Either way, I am not in a hurry, because I know dots will eventually connect.

Thoughts?

Also, the rings. I have never been paying much attention to that particular merry-go-round, but anyways, for the fandom pundits, there goes:

Because I am not an Our Lady of the Rings kremlinologist, I shall leave it here as is. By all means, do comment, if you feel inspired.

Onwards to content. You know, by now, that I am a book freak (after all, my fandom journey started with a bookshelf!), so I listened very carefully. Her answer to the comment prompt on Paul Lynch's Prophet Song was, I am sorry to say, so restrained it sounded almost cookie-cut. She mentioned the tension of the quoted and performed (almost to perfection, I have to say) passage of the book, but little else and it left me still hungry for more. I mean, when you love a book, you have this urge to talk about it at length. She was almost subdued, even if I am absolutely sure she read it and liked it.

By contrast, Alfred Enoch (🎵it's a small world, after all 🎶) was totally chill. I shamelessly skipped, yet couldn't help but notice the contrast.

Second question was very interesting: 'what books made you fall in love with reading?' I always find this very telling about people, because anything related to books is very personal. We are not only the sum of our choices, but also the sum of all the books we read. Something C apparently knows very well, too, because she elegantly sashayed and said absolutely nothing about her first love book. She simply mentioned her mother taking her to the library, from a very early age and how all these books were windows which opened on The World and finally how seminal this experience is for someone growing up in a small village. But no particular book made it to her lips and again, I found it very curious. I am nobody and I can still quote not one, but two books that changed my whole world (and then I never looked back): Alice in Wonderland and The Wind in the Willows. It's not that she couldn't, it's that she wouldn't. So, for Christ's sake, Mrs. B, stop punishing your fandom like that! There's nothing wrong about sharing your joy of books, it really isn't!

Third and last question: 'are you a Kindle reader? do you like a physical book? audio books? what's your favorite medium for reading?' I could have bet handsome money she was not a Kindle reader, for obvious reasons (cannot remember/retain information), but I found endearing the almost sneaky confession she needed her couch and snacks for a good reading session (same, same and since forever: I grinned). She buys a lot of books, 'and then they sit and look at me and it takes a certain time to get in'. Same as Enoch, who wondered what the Japanese word for 'buying books for the simple pleasure of seeing them pile up' was (it is, correct me if I am wrong, tsundoku).

One of the other people talking about reading and books was Dua 'Behave' Lipa. I am legit howling like the cretin I am, but the project she supports is about bringing Booker Prize books to women in prison. And this, my friends, is absolutely extraordinary.

Also, no red carpet pictures on Getty. The only one who made it was Alfred Enoch:

And somebody else seems very interested by Getty, lately (as of yesterday, to be more exact):

But surely, that is only a coincidence.

PS: it has been asked in the comments thread chez Bat. C's pinky ring is Cartier's Trinity. My favorite of them all, spare my big butterfly 1925 chevalière (which is a Chaumet, by the way).

[Edit]: I am told she had the three ear piercings for years. My bad. I can't know just about everything. Thank you @crispyflapdeputyflower for the info. The rest is fresh, though!

[corviiids]

For the director's cut fanfic thing: ⭐⭐⭐ (these are THREE stars valid for whatever. I'm giving you blank checks)

thank you again <3

blank check 2/3 goes back to as you like it again! but this time i want to talk about my shadow designs for the akechi bossfights we've encountered in the preceding chapters >:3 there are five - the Puppet, the Singer, the Bard, the Dancer, and the Magician.

but this got really ABSURDLY long this time so ill stick to mostly the Puppet, and just do a brief ("brief") overview of the others for now.......

(for context: this is my palace au and akechi's keywords are akechi goro, the world, theatre.)

the Puppet (photos of giant puppets below if that freaks you out!)

the first Wing the thieves encounter is the puppet show, and the boss shadow is a giant marionette:

For one thing, it’s huge—maybe three or four times the size of a human being. It’s also gleaming, carefully polished and buffed, reflecting light more viciously in the areas where it seems the wood might be chipped or worn. The polish throws the lines of joints and pieces into sharp relief, giving the puppet the general impression of something whole that had been cut up and pieced slowly together with hinges and nails. Behind it, mostly concealed by its limp bulk, is a door. As they might have gleaned from the chatter of the audience, the show does not yet seem to have begun. As such, the puppet on stage is limp on its strings. Most disturbingly, it’s draped backward, not forward, snapped unnaturally at the spine and giving it the extremely uncanny look of a corpse on uneven ceiling hooks. They can just make out the side of the thing’s eyes from where they’re standing. Gravity has not been kind to them: the puppet’s eyelids are dropped open, bulging eyes left wide and staring up as far back as the build will let them. They haven’t rolled all the way into the wooden skull, presumably because they can’t. Instead, the unseeing yellow eyes remain fixed on the back corner of the stage. The puppet is entirely still. “I think I’m going to be sick,” Makoto says faintly.

i think the Puppet is my favourite of the five because he's so disturbing. i imagine he looks a bit like the giant marionettes by the french street theatre show royal de luxe:

but i really love these guys, so i think it's uncharitable to say akechi's shadow looks exactly like them. i know giant puppets are always a little freaky but i genuinely love the royal de luxe puppets and i think the workmanship on these does genuinely do a ton of work to dispel that uncanny vibe.

puppet akechi on the other hand is absolutely drenched in uncanny valley, so i guess imagine these puppets but much scarier. the main thing is those places where different pieces of wood are joined, in the joints / on the limbs / etc, because that's very key to puppet akechi's look in my mind, hence "something whole that had been cut up and pieced slowly together with hinges and nails". the Puppet is a marionette, but the way he's been constructed and set up on stage almost calls to mind the imagery of a corpse that's been reconstructed to perform. the way he moves is really unnatural:

Ren is beginning to think they might be able to get past and slip through that door without a fight when the whole creature rears up, back strings going taut, and lashes wildly out at him with a horrible clack of its arms—he leaps back and crashes directly into Haru, who catches and dips him like a princess before twirling him frantically into Ryuji and the puppet gouges a deep gash in the stage floor.    As they watch it screeches, howls an unnatural shriek, eyes suddenly wide and bulging larger. They ‘blink’ a few times, eyelids flipping, then the puppet Akechi goes limp on its strings again, though decidedly more upright than before, like whoever’s pulling the strings is now on guard. Its eyes stay open this time, bright gold and piercing.

very much not like something exercising its own agency, but like a body on strings being operated by someone who did not care to practice in the artistry of operating a puppet to make it look like a live thing - the puppet is literally just a tool to be flailed about.

this also shows in the way the puppet sits when it's at rest. guys do you know how god damn hard it is to find normal pictures of puppets? when you google marionette it just comes up with a bunch of fnaf shit. anyway check this guy out

at rest, they usually just kind of dangle innocently, or might slouch forward if given too much slack, right? it was important to me that puppet akechi look very wrong at rest, as if he's not "at rest" so much as he's just been left to hang. hence: "it’s draped backward, not forward, snapped unnaturally at the spine and giving it the extremely uncanny look of a corpse on uneven ceiling hooks." i'm basically imagining meat hooks, like, in a slaughterhouse or something you know? like he's just dangling from those.

that imagery was inspired by persona 5 dancing, actually - akechi's finishing pose in his dance is this:

this is just such an unnatural pose. when i saw it for the first time, i just couldn't get the image out of my head of a string puppet who'd been hung up and left to dangle without any regard for how it might look or feel (lol). not to mention that blank look in his eyes. i think a lot of the Puppet was born from this dance because the dance itself is so dynamic and silly but then the lead-up to the end suddenly gets very jerky and puppet-like. i really like his dance!

the Puppet's battle mechanic is that the applause will continue as long as the Puppet is either acting or getting hurt (kind of like the mettaton fight in undertale actually?). if the applause stops, then the Puppet will be inflicted with Despair - in p5 the Despair effect means you lose SP for each turn and then instantly die on the third turn. makoto ends up healing the Puppet and yusuke mercy-kills it before it can commit suicide:

Fox silently raises his gun. The Thieves collectively flinch as the Puppet dissipates. The applause starts back up. “If we’d left things silent,” Yusuke says, “it would have only happened again.”

because this is the first shadow bossfight the thieves encounter in the Theatre, i needed it to have some broader implications (vs some of the later shadows who have more specific interactions). so obviously the analogue for akechi is that the performance needs to continue and he needs to continue receiving acknowledgement from the public / from shido / etc because if he's not useful and entertaining and noticeable and such, then he's nothing - his life doesn't mean anything. obviously, if he doesnt perform for shido (perform in the sense of working, but also in the sense of showmanship) he'll probably be killed. but also, akechi really externalises his sense of self to an insane degree. the conceit of the palace is essentially that his entire internal world is the show, it's just this shallow performance, the backstage is empty. if he stops existing in the cognition of the masses, he essentially "stops existing".

i think a lot about third semester akechi in royal and how completely he's faded from public awareness. he doesn't care because he's a dead man walking and has locked into nihilism at that point. but if you look at what akechi says in the engine room:

his voice when he says this says a lot to me. akechi's envisioning the world as it will look when he has to return and face the consequences of the world discovering what's behind the curtain and realising his credibility was all a show. to be honest, i think this also plays a role in his decision to sacrifice himself in this scene. i don't think he wanted to die, but i think he did realise that the post-thieves, post-truth world wasn't a place that held anything for him anymore, and his desire to return to that reality was dramatically weakened, so it was an easier decision for him to choose to make that sacrifice than it otherwise might have been.

um, i had a point. okay, so, i was saying that once the applause stops, the Puppet begins to despair. the Puppet also is the most direct representation of akechi as someone who is being used. all the shadow bosses correlate to some aspect of akechi's need to perform and to the varying reasons why they all have that sense of desperation:

“Kinda feels like they’re just defendin’ themselves, you know,” [Ryuji] says. “Or somethin’. Look too much like him. It’s weird they can’t talk, cos it’s like fighting a dumb animal. Don’t they all seem real scared to you?” None of Akechi’s Shadows have delivered grand speeches about conquering the world. Even Futaba’s Shadow had given them a fairly strong indication of what was going on with her, that overwhelming guilt which had given birth to a resolve to lock herself up in her mind and die. Akechi’s Shadows have lashed out, tried to destroy them, sure. But it feels different in a way that’s growing more and more impossible to ignore. Desperate to fend them off, more than anything, like each one is the final bastion standing for a world that could crumble at any moment.

that's why once you figure out how to stop each shadow's "show" from going on, they instantly die:

ripping the Singer's mask off causes him to cease to exist (see below)

silencing the Bard, who relies on the power of his words to manipulate others, removes his power and reveals that he's pretty easy to take down

the Dancer's feet are always bleeding because he can't stop moving. he's hard to catch, but the moment he stops dancing, he's revealed to have extremely low defence and can be taken out very easily

but the Puppet is literally being manipulated by a puppetmaster. because he no longer has any use when the applause stops, he no longer has a reason to exist. i also just thought this would be a fun effect to start on because it's so drastic as an introduction to akc's psyche and really gives the thieves a sense of what they're working with by throwing them directly into the deep end.

ok let's leave the puppet behind for now. im gonna be more brief with the others i promise (maybe)

the Singer

LET'S TALK about. beneath the mask. a song about ren. but it's also a song about goro.

I'm a shape-shifter at Poe's masquerade Hiding both face and mind All free for you to draw

the fic goes over some of my meta about this:

[Yusuke] I have done some research. [Makoto] Oh? [Yusuke] I believe when the Opera Shadow sang of “Poe’s Masquerade”, he was referring to a short story by Edgar Allan Poe, entitled “The Masque of the Red Death”.

eternally grateful for the scene during the pyramid arc where yusuke loredumps about egyptian mythology so i have precedent to do this

yusuke summarises the story in this chapter (chapter 4), but basically: the story is about rich people abandoning the common folk to a plague, until a personification of the plague wearing a red mask enters the castle. when his mask is removed, it's revealed there is nothing underneath. everyone in the castle then succumbs to the plague.

the superficial connections to akechi are pretty obvious - red mask, plague doctor. etc. but this song is really, really telling for both ren and goro. i briefly went over this in my last dvd commentary post about the palace fic, but this relates to my meta around both of them as mask wearers. the line "all free for you to draw" is a big one - ren is "all free for you," the player, "to draw" - he becomes who you need him to be, and because you need to max out your confidants, he becomes (via you) who his friends need him to be.

goro is similar on a different scale because he moulds his personality to what the public expects him to be. he takes it one step further, because it's less utility for him and more foundational - as i said, to an extent the performance is the substance of his personality, which is the core of the distortion. so both ren and goro are wearing the mask, malleable in character, their actual personality being somewhat questionable, but that emptiness is only true for goro. ren's definitely got something underneath it, but goro feels like he doesn't.

brief cw for suicidal ideation, but i also generally take it as a given that goro doesn't really expect to live past 18 after defeating shido. not that he's actively suicidal, but i think literally or figuratively he knows after shido's downfall, his own life will pretty much be over, and that's part of what drives the emptiness. the show really only needs to go on until that point, and after that there's no need to build a real thing underneath to return to. he's very much living for that goal.

anyway: so the Singer starts out singing the Phantom of the Opera - the Shadow is very much modelled after the phantom - but swaps to beneath the mask and begins to connect with ren. the Singer wears a red mask. i really like this mask! i envision it as looking like someone pouring blood over his face and then the blood freezing in place, so it just looks very molten and liquid but fixed over half his face.

ren defeats the Singer by ripping his mask off:

[Ren] Please don’t take off my mask, revealing dark [Ann] OMG!! [Ann] THAT’S WHAT HAPPENED WHEN WE TOOK OFF HIS MASK!! [Ann] HE REVEALED DARK!!!! [Ann] HE DISAPPEARED!!!!!!!!!!

(i love the thieves because i dont have to be subtle about my symbolism i can just make them say it)

anyway, just like the figure in the Masque of the Red Death, ripping off the Singer's mask reveals "dark" underneath - he ceases to exist.

Just a cage of bones There's nothing inside

the Bard and the Dancer

when i was first plotting this fic, i was actually designing the palace not as a written environment but as though it would be a playable place. so a lot of it is informed by me picturing what this palace would be like to play through and explore, building it out as a video game environment in my mind's eye and then trying to describe it from that point. i took the same approach to the bossfights, so they're all designed around central gameplay mechanics which are largely based on status effects and how the player would strategise around them. (to that end, a lot of the design stuff in my doc never made it into the fic...)

the conceit of the bard was a shadow who can manifest abstract concepts into being by manipulating reality with his words. so the status effects he uses are brainwash and sleep, mostly. his monologues are modified versions of shakespeare's works.

part of the reason why i started writing this fic was specifically to challenge myself in aras of writing im not very confident in: so longform planning, progression of plot, environment description, and action scenes being major ones. writing all the boss fights was and continues to be a real challenge. the chapter that the bard shows up in (chapter 5) ended up taking ages and ages in part because i kept putting off writing this fight. now that it's done, though, the bard fight is actually maybe my favourite fight scene i've written lol. it always turns out that way!!! the reason i like it is because i realised the physical action wasn't the fun part of writing a fight like this. since it was focused on status effects, it meant i got to crawl into ren's headspace when he got brainwashed, which i really really enjoyed doing because i got to drag out some trauma that joker has lovingly repressed.

   to set my fellows, phantoms in the wings    in deadly hate the one against the other…    This isn’t the Casino. This is somewhere else entirely. The Casino, and everything that came with it, that was months ago. How did he forget? The cottonwool that had crept so slowly into his blood dissipates in a mad rush that leaves him dizzy with disbelief. His hands, now that he can feel them again, are trembling. The knife between his fingers, trembling. The cool floor beneath him, the air in his lungs. How close had he come to never feeling that again?    Had he really just been feeling safe about that plan? Had he really felt everything was going to be okay? If anything had gone wrong—anything at all—he’d have been gone. He’d have been dead. How had they made it so he felt okay with that?    A trick? A ruse?    How blasé they’d all been, when it was his life they were gambling with like a worthless set of poker chips! And they’re here—all around him. Safe? He’s never been in more danger.    “Joker!”    Surrounded. He’s surrounded by the ones who left him for dead.

the Dancer doesn't get as much attention in text because i didn't want to slow down the pacing of the story every few minutes to do another huge scene tgat doesn't really serve a purpose, just like the exploration of the Globe Wing didn't. all that mattered was that he was shown to be adaptable, agile, and resilient - the Dancer needs to be in top condition at all times and ready to dodge any threat. the imagery that came through to me the strongest was the idea that his feet are always bleeding, so he leaves bloodstains all over the floor.

the Magician

this was another scene i adored writing. i think environment-wise, the House of Cards is my favourite Wing in the palace because it's the most unique structure. it's not a styled theatre like the others, it's more on-theme to the Magician, like he's set up his own performance environment. so it's just a huge house of cards made of crumbling playing cards which is really difficult to navigate and which joker kind of blends into.

the premise for the Magician was someone who needs to perform miracles and present impossible illusions as reality with a flair for drama. the Magician fools the Thieves over and over and over again, because they are good-hearted people who want to save him.

did you ever see that unused mementos request in royal where akechi tells the thieves about a target to save someone, and doesn't tell them that the someone in question is dodgy themself, and watches to see how quickly the Thieves immediately trust them?

i don't think i based this fight off this request because im pretty sure i had it planned out before i ever saw this, but i was really pleased to see it because it's very much the same idea. even in the engine room, akechi calls the thieves idiots for inviting him back into the team. of course, this isn't a good or healthy worldview lol and it's something he has to unlearn because he literally trusts no one and that's not an extreme anyone should be endorsing, but he also has a point in that the thieves are willing to throw their faith into things way too easily and don't look critically at people or situations. so the magician fools them, victimises them, tricks them into considering him a victim, fools them again, traumatises them, but they all continue to feel empathy for him and try to save him when he's in trouble. akc's cynicism vs the thieves' faith is a big theme of this one i think and the question is like, when to doubt vs when to trust even when you have evidence to the opposition. i think the right position is somewhere between thesis and antithesis (which iirc is not actually the wording hegel used when describing dialectics? lol... i might be wrong. i never studied hegel so my knowledge is pretty superficial. but i think this was a translation thing anyway because allegedly goro doesnt refer directly to hegel in jp? someone can confirm or deny idk)

anyway those are the bossfights we've had so far!!! just the VIP Box to go now......................... :3

[rootbeerrex]

Moot opinions on the calling by tad?????????

it's my absolute favorite thing ever????? I like actually think it's one of the single greatest songs ever written. the lyrics are fucking incredible with all the symbolism of the water and the rain and the fox,,,, and that's without even factoring in Madeline's vocals aka the most incredible performance of all time??? and ofc we can't talk about the calling without at least MENTIONING the transition between secret worlds + the calling OH AND THE FUCKING PERFECT SECTION OF

"Back then, I wasn't hopeful

But now my ink's blood-red, not black

And I'll blink like ripping envelopes

In the hopes that you'll write back

And on the banks of that river

I shiver as a fox stands frozen

And I close them, I close them, I close my eyes

'Cause I'm between that just-one-more

And drank-too-much-again

And I promise you I'll write "I love you"

With my fingers on your sleeping hand

And when that fox howls, I'll howl with it

In its cries I'll find an end

And when I think I'm fine, you'll visit

And then you happen to me, you happen to me all over again

In the waters, I see a face I don't want to look back

Do you like my dress? It's got pockets

The rocks beneath my feet begin to crack

Oh, I look into the waters, long ago that current caught us

And we tried, I tried, I really fucking tried

But the rain kept coming down, I watched that woman drown"

then into the SHOULDER THE SKYYYYYYYYYYYY and YES I HAD TO INCLUDE THE ENTIRE SECTION BECAUSE IT'S SO PERFECT I meant the whole song is perfect but that section ignites something inside of me anyway the calling is a perfect song on a perfect album by a perfect band GOD I love the amazing devil thanks for asking!!!

[beautifulpersonpeach]

Suga has to be the best gatekept secret in BTS. He is so beautiful, cute, caring, charming, and funny!!! After months of questioning your taste ranking him second after Jimin in visuals when tkk is right there!, I'm sorry to say I was wrong. Yoongi is THE visual. I'm not going to the concerts but every photo I see on Twitter makes me wish I was going BPP. Does it sound like I'm getting wrecked? It's because I am. I relate to your other anon so bad haahaha. Before this tour, only Jimin and Jung Kook turned my head, but Suga now owns my soul. Is this how people become true OT7? Through BTS concerts?

*

Ask 2: Anyhow, did you notice how obsessed (maybe too heavy a word) Yoongi is with BS&T Jimin?? I just noticed after Suchwita. I think he really likes & remembers bst Jimin fondly & fervently. Please correct my delusion, if you think it's farfetched. (While reading your blogs and army detective twts, I'm realizing more and more how clueless and unobservant I am. I've given up being astute in noticing these matters and just gonna outsource these insightful findings to others. haha) +

But I think, Yoongi really LOVES bst Jimin. I mean who wouldn't?!? I just watched the MV & performances, and WOW JIMIN!!!! My words don't do bst jimin justice. That head tilt?! the fluttering of his eyelids?! his hand motion? his jaw line? the way he glides?! I see a ballroom behind him! GAH. the song is a BOP. I'm absolutely mesmerized, and let's be real, who can blame Yoongi for forgetting how to close his mouth in front of jimin! I want members reacting to mvs back!! T T

***

Hi Anon(s),

I started reading your asks giggling, by the time I got to the end I was full on howling lmaooo. Anon in ask 2, I too want the guys reacting to their MVs back, just cause we'll see them all going "Ahh, Jimin!"

Anon in ask 1, sigh, you have no idea what you’re in for with Yoongi.

Maybe all Yoongi biases are the same, because I truly feel like gatekeeping everything about him and I see that impulse in other Yoongi biases too. I’m very selfish with Yoongi.

You mentioned his visuals and him being caring etc, so let me try something here. It’s easy for me to talk about Jimin, but near impossible for me to talk about Yoongi, so I’m going to try talking about Yoongi through some of his actions with Jimin. And I’ll sprinkle in some okay pictures of him I don’t mind sharing, since you’ve acquired a taste for his visuals as well. :)

First, a preamble of his delectable visuals:

(ASDHJKJLSHKSADLK)

*

When people typically talk about Yoonmin, they stick to a rotation of Yoongi’s mouth hanging open watching Jimin, Jimin’s teasing of Yoongi, their bickering, etc. This is a jikook space so we hear all the time about how Jungkook looks out for Jimin, cares for him, encourages him and protects him. JK is introverted so when he becomes very assertive, usually on account of Jimin, it stands out. Yoongi too is introverted, but when he deals with Jimin he doesn't really break character, and so, oftentimes his quiet encouragement of Jimin, the significance of his actions, typically goes under the radar for a lot of people.

For example,

I'm not sure how many people realize how big a deal it was for Yoongi to recommend Jimin for A&R director when the boys were making BE. Jimin has said during that time, he felt lost - with their tour getting canceled, all their plans upended with no end in sight, the pandemic had taken away his core reason to live by his own admission i.e. performing for ARMYs. He was starting to drift and become unmoored (emotions we now see in Alone), and so Yoongi recognizing that, and recommending that Jimin take on the responsibility for determining the direction of their self-driven album, to get Jimin "closer to music again", is a small thing, but I see it as one of many ways Yoongi was pushing Jimin to better express and assert himself in that situation. Advice that Jimin finally took to heart during their Vegas concerts, when he began pursuing his solo music in force. The A&R role would’ve typically gone to RM since he drives most of their songwriting and oftentimes sets the tone of their music with BH, but Yoongi pushing for Jimin to be active, with Jimin eventually writing some songs for BE (though those were rejected), registered in my mind as yet another way Yoongi sees Jimin in ways many of the members don’t, and quietly advocates for him. Pushes him to go out of his comfort zone, because of how much he loves him. RM eventually took on a more active role during BE but Jimin being able to come on YouTube lives in Fall 2020 to talk about things he was doing for BE, those glimpses into him starting to find himself again, those details registered for me in ways I’m not sure I can properly express.

Yoongi sees Jimin, and loves him dearly. And it's mutual.

(I've never cared for animal prints but that leopard-print furry hat on Yoongi... he's a big cat)

*

Another moment I want to highlight is their 2016 Festa dinner. You know the one, where Taehyung talks about how Jimin grabs the spotlight/center. Yoongi was the first to come to Jimin's defense, saying how Jimin just naturally knows how to be a good performer, that a friend had told him that Jimin naturally knows how to act on stage to capture the audience. I'm not sure if it's obvious to many people, but that comment shifted the direction of the conversation, and soon other members were talking about how good and confident a performer Jimin is. J-hope would later say he's learned about performing by watching Jimin, and Jungkook would say this in later years too.

(… I have no words)

Yoongi saw Jimin's potential since way back in pre-debut, encouraging him and advocating for Jimin to be added to the final line-up in BTS, and has supported him in key periods of doubt since. Everyone saw how hard Jimin was working as one of the last trainees to join a nearly bankrupt agency with limited resources to train even just 7 people - I can't imagine the anxiety Jimin had to deal with but I imagine it was so much. And so when Jimin talks about that period and nearly always mentions how Yoongi supported him, I don't take it lightly.

(There's a reason Yoongi will always choose Jimin)

*

[Full disclosure here, but yoonmin's antics during the whole Shadow/Daechwita MVs shooting drives me to near madness. Because if you understand what Yoongi is, (which Jimin does btw), you'd see why this is borderline one of the most homoerotic unresolved cases we've ever had in Bangtan history.

If not for the fact that Jungkook exists, I'd be in a very different blog space right now honest to God. And I'll just leave it at that. ]

*

Whew! Okay, I need a break so enough about Yoonmin for now. I’ll try to focus more on Yoongi now.

Anon in ask 1, his pictures on Twitter is what’s fucking you up? Then welcome to my world lool. What got me initially though, was his music. Like, weeks later and I’m still struggling with myself not to loop D-DAY 40 hours a day 10 days a week. The fact he makes music like HUH?! while looking like this

(…and the fact this isn’t even in the top 30 hottest pictures I have of him. Just…)

I’ve written sonnets and poems about his voice and it still doesn’t feel enough to explain what it does to me.

(More Yoongi…)

(…just because…)

(…he’s that perfect.)

Good luck to you becoming a Yoongi bias because I have no idea how I’ve been surviving all these years. If we’re both still standing by the time this tour is over, please stop by my inbox again to tell me how you’re doing. I’d love to hear all about it. :)

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

Sherwod Forest - a Malevolet Nonsense One-Shot

Kayne has sent Arthur and John somewhere to find the black stone, and the stakes are high, and it's all very serious.

This is not that Arthur and John.

Spoilers for Intermezzo. I promise it'll all make sense if you read through to the end and last notes. With sugar on top. Dedicated to @spinning-logic because the wild fool gave me the idea.

AO3

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“All right, boys! It’s been a blast.” Kayne snapped his fingers, and reality parted. Arthur (this particular one was even more verbal than most) gasped, a voiced sound that was honestly beautiful, and Kayne captured it in a crystal for some other time. Rain said hi, cold and shocking (and Arthur gasped again). “Watch your step, please. I think it’s 700 years ago, maybe, somewhere, around there. And look! You boys get to go to England after all!” And he laughed, because that was funny, and proved he’d been listening, and also, was cruel.

Kayne liked being cruel.

“England?” Arthur choked while John puffed and panted as if he had lungs (which he did not, but kinetic memory was a bitch).

“That’s right!” Kayne lied. “Welcome to thirteenth century England! I know, right!? Who would’ve thought? But this is where the Soldiers left off, so.”

Cue thunder. Cue… strangely artificial thunder, the kind one might create via judicious use of a mallet and suspended gong.

“Hold on!” Arthur’s voice broke, pleading, rising. “Please. We have no money, we—”

“Look, look, look, look, look,” said Kayne, who couldn’t worry about details. “Arthur! I can’t worry about the details, okay? Call me when you find my stone. Good luck!” Kayne took three steps back. And… as far as they could tell, he wasn’t there. 

“No!” Arthur cried, abandoned his self-ruined, half-a-bee god (not named Eric, and dear hell , Kayne knew it was time to be away from humans for a while because they were seeping into his thoughts like mold, and he would know). The comedy act resumed at once. “Kayne!” Arthur howled. 

He’s gone, Arthur, said John, sounding weary.

“Kayne!”

He’s gone. The gateway he opened—

And of course, Arthur turned on him, and probably would have hit him if he’d had a body to hit. “Shut up! You fucking… villain!"

Villain?

Fuck, these two were hilarious. Oh, they’d work it out, and use their words , and end up even more entangled than they already were, but in the meantime, this was gonna be a blast. A reprieve, really, from the actual Arthur and John Kayne was following.

Those two… he had high hopes for those two.

These were not those two.

“After everything! After you tried to murder Oscar, and I forgave you, after lying to me about everything! You—"

Blah, blah, blah. They’d be at it for a while. And they’d stumble around, and run some couture monsters, and a few deeply confused method actors Kayne had yanked out of bed and thrown into the mix, and eventually, they’d realize where they were, and be even more confused than the actors, and it was going to be fucking grand.

This wasn’t England. Kayne didn’t need to take them to England. This Arthur had already blown his role, refusing to move toward the gray stone (Trust me one last time, said John, and what a performance it was). From now on, they would be comedy relief only. 

Such comedy. Kayne wondered if he should film and find a way to sell the rights. It’d make one hell of a TV show, even being black and white.

Fuck you, Arthur! You can’t tell me you wouldn’t have done the exact same thing! 

Ooh spicy.

"What? I absolutely would not have! We were supposed to be friends."

Tee-hee. Frönds for sure, forever and for life, no matter what the circumstances, and even when one of them fucking murdered the other, tears were shed, and it was all so beautiful.

You can brush me off again, just like you did with Oscar!

Jealousy always raised its ugly little head. Kayne made a note to feed it so it grew.

Refusing to peek at the right Arthur and John (not at all because he was invested in them, no, certainly not that , but more that if they couldn’t do this without his help, then they weren’t right), he took a bag of Gardetto’s, and a 1928 glass bottle of real-sugar Coca-Cola, and he settled in to watch.

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Notes:

SO! In 1927, Paramount studios decided it was too expensive to fly around the world and film on location, and instead, they made a new and exciting map of California:

You might notice they actually have a medieval England area on that thing. Wild.

This Arthur and John may not have reached the gray stone, but they're not a total waste of resources. Yes, Kayne dropped them in California. Yes, he might have messed with things a bit more, so now there are monsters running around SoCal. He's a horrible person, but you know, I'm with him on this.

I, personally, would like to watch.