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seiya-starsniper · 2 years ago

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and if I get burned, at least we were electrified - Chapter 2

Ao3 Link [Here]

Chapter Summary - The Corinthian and Hob have established a fairly comfortable relationship. But then it all comes crashing down.

Life in the Waking World is pretty interesting for The Corinthian these days.

His tongue still fumbles awkwardly around the differences in slang over the pond, he hates that the weather in London makes his hair fall flat on his face no matter what he does to it, and he misses Taco Bell like an old drug habit.

And all of this inconvenience, he thinks, is for the immortal who’s currently asleep next to him, snoring something fierce right up against The Corinthian’s ear.

The Corinthian has never met anyone quite like Hob Gadling before. From their initial meeting, Hob has defied all of his expectations and then some. His immortality, first and foremost, should not have caught The Corinthian completely off guard, but it did. Hob doesn’t smell like other immortals, he tries his best to blend in with humans, to be average, unremarkable . To this day, The Corinthian cannot understand how the man pulls it off so well.

Especially because underneath that false unremarkable exterior lies a wild beast that may just be as ferocious and unrestrained as The Corinthian himself. He's clever and ambitious in all the ways a regular mortal is, but the centuries have allowed Hob to fully master the act of humanity. Hob has managed to bend the world to his will without showing his cards. It's performance art at its highest peak. It's a tenaciousness The Corinthian hungers for, something he realized he looked for in all his victims. The vivacity, that addiction to life and the willingness to, as they say, grab it by the horns and never let go.

It's why The Corinthian kept coming back time and time again, to test the bounds of that tenaciousness, instead of fucking off to do something else after his first few attempts had ended with him disembodied and transported back to The Dreaming. Having his corporeal form completely destroyed and then reformed hurt like a bitch, and he hated how long the rebuilding process took, but every subsequent trip back had left him wanting .

Lucienne had been less than impressed on his fourth trip back, he remembers.

"Ah, welcome back. I take it you've once again failed to eliminate your target,” she'd greeted, amusement barely concealed behind her glasses.

"Shut the fuck up Lucienne," The Corinthian had growled, already working on creating a portal to get him back to the Waking. It didn't take long. He'd gotten good at this with all the practice Hob gave him.

"You know Corinthian, maybe the Waking is trying to tell you something!" she yelled at his retreating back.

"Good thing I've never been good at listening." The Corinthian then gave her the bird on his way out to London.

Shortly after that, the cult happened. And then Hob had glimpsed his full face for the first time and The Corinthian was left gobsmacked by the desire radiating off of him. He's only ever been appreciated for his full appearance by one other being, and even so, it had never felt like this. It's delicious, it's dark and all consuming. It's everything The Corinthian didn't know he wanted, couldn't ever have imagined having, before that moment.

What started out as a simple revenge quest to stave off some boredom had suddenly turned to one of the best fucks off his life.

Afterwards, The Corinthian had tried not to make it a regular thing, but well, he's never been known for being a man who's able to reign in his vices. And Hob Gadling is such a strong vice he feels like the Original Sin itself. He doesn't flinch when the Corinthian bites hard enough to draw blood, leans into the blond's grip when choked, and the immortal will sometimes spend hours licking into his eye mouths while keeping three, sometimes four fingers buried knuckle deep inside The Corinthian.

When Hob wants The Corinthian to submit, and it's become a more regular thing, he takes and takes with brutal force, slamming his head into walls and twisting his arms just hard enough to leave a threat of dislocation. It's an echo of their old sparring fights, but Hob now knows The Corinthian favors his right side for an outright attack, his left for a feint. Hob also knows how much he loves those iron cuffs (forged by Hob, and made just for him), and loves testing the limits of their strength. It's the height of pleasure and pain that he knows neither of them have experienced with other human lovers.

And now here they are, playing domestic, where The Corinthian agrees to not murder anyone Hob doesn't explicitly approve of ahead of time, and in turn Hob spoils The Corinthian with anything he comes up with on a whim.

Well, almost anything.

"We are not getting a murder yacht,” Hob had said to him just the night before.

“Oh come on! It’d be so easy to get rid of the bodies with one!” The Corinthian argued back. “And the Channel will do all the cleanup for us!”

“Do you want to be on the radar of the British Royal Navy? Because that is exactly how you get on the radar of the British Royal Navy. Not to mention, I don’t know how to drive a boat, and I’m certain you don’t know either!”

The Corinthian does not pout on principle, but it’s an almost thing. Hob Gadling was a terrible influence.

“ He would get me a murder yacht,” The Corinthian declared, pointing to the television. Hob glanced at the screen and sighed loudly.

“Hannibal Lecter is a fictional character , Cory,” Hob said, exasperated. It’s not the first time The Corinthian had brought up the comparison, and really, if Hob didn’t want to be compared to a fellow doctorate holding intellectual with a DILF vibe and a hobby of murdering criminals for sport, then he really shouldn’t have let The Corinthian run free with his Netflix account while he's off tending to lectures.

Speaking of criminal murders, though. The Corinthian glances at the calendar on the wall above Hob's nightstand and grins when he realizes tonight's the night for their next job.

—

“ Another sex trafficking ring, Hob?” The Corinthian groans. It’s the third one in a row. “I know you're a bleeding heart for the helpless, but I’m starting to think you feel personally responsible here.” He probably does, in all honesty. Hob had mentioned to him how guilty he felt over participating in the slave trade in the late 1700s.

“I thought you liked the sex traffickers!” Hob exclaims, surprised. “Because there's always so many of them! You gorged yourself on eyeballs for days after the last one.”

“Yeah, sure they're great, but not so much when it’s what we go after every time . Where’s my corrupt CEOs, the drug lords, hell where’s another serial killer hiding, tell me, Hob!” Variety is the spice of life and while The Corinthian may be satisfied for now filling his palette with unrepentant humans, he still wants some flavor distinction amongst them from time to time.

"All right, all right, I promise you get to pick the next target after tonight," Hob assures him.

"Can it be-"

“No- we are not going to kill a Member of Parliament. There’s murder of the irredeemable every day man, and then there’s assassination , and we are clearly staying in the first camp, love.”

The Corinthian really doesn’t see the difference. Dead people are dead people, but Hob’s the mortal in this relationship, so The Corinthian just shrugs and decides to think on who he’d like for them to go after next. He thinks he’ll consult his little black book on the matter.

Hob thinks it's ridiculous that blond keeps a hit list, but then if he didn’t want him to, then he shouldn’t have bought The Corinthian such a nice leather bound journal in the first place.

—

Much as The Corinthian hates to admit it (and he'll never do it aloud), Hob is right about the gluttony of hunting down sex enslavers.

There had been at least six men guarding the shipping container that had come in to dock the night before. Two more are in charge of negotiating the handoff, and still another three show up as drivers to transport their "cargo".

In short, it had been a blood bath. None of the men had ever stood a chance.

The Corinthian doesn't quite have a stomach, so he doesn't get full, per say, but there does come a point where there's diminishing returns on the enjoyment he feels the more he eats in a single sitting.

For occasions where he hits that point, like tonight, Hob has acquired an extra refrigerator. It's an antique red monstrosity that the immortal had flown in from a shop in Oklahoma just because The Corinthian had complained one time that English kitchens were too drab for his tastes. The blond had made fun of Hob's peasant roots at the start of their relationship, but Hob is no peasant now. It’s another one of the ways the immortal is sin-incarnate, his willingness to indulge The Corinthian’s hedonism at the drop of a hat is both endearing and addicting. The Corinthian has more than enough mortal money of his own, but there’s just something extra enticing about spending another man’s wealth on unnecessary luxuries like this.

Sometimes, The Corinthian will wake to the smell of cooking flesh, and he'll find Hob has fried a pair of eyes for him in his homemade garlic butter. He'd then spend the morning hand feeding them to each of The Corinthian's eye mouths, before handing him a cup of black coffee. It’s domestic. It’s overindulgent. The Corinthian thinks he'll ask for them to be mixed with scrambled eggs tomorrow instead.

–

"I’ve got a surprise for you," Hob says once they've wrapped everything up at the docks. He stamps out the last bit of his cigarette before continuing. "Call it a bonus for a job well done."

"Dessert? You spoil me, baby," The Corinthian grins, unable to hide his excitement. Hob is good at surprises. So far, The Corinthian has yet to be disappointed.

The brunette drives them over a few bridges to a different shipping port on the other side of town. He makes sure that there’s no one on guard before he leads them over to a particular container, which he unlocks and leads The Corinthian inside. There's a few lights strung up on the inside, enough for The Corinthian to easily look at his prize.

Near the center of the container is a single man tied to a chair with a bag over his head. He sounds like he’s gagged underneath the bag as well. The Corinthian cannot help the little gasp of pleasure he lets out when Hob pulls the bag off.

The man is dressed in a three piece suit that was probably freshly pressed a day or two ago, but now sits wrinkled as a result of futile struggling. He’s got multiple layers of duct tape over his mouth, as expected. The Corinthian also clocks a newer Rolex model on the man’s left wrist barely hidden by a sleeve pinned together with solid gold cuffs. He looks like he would be incredibly well groomed if he weren’t currently rotting in a shipping container, with dark hair and sparkling blue eyes that are now comically wide as he takes in his two captors. The man cannot be more than 28 years old at most, which just screams Daddy’s Boy to the Corinthian. It’s his favorite type of meal.

“All for me, baby? You shouldn’t have.” The Corinthian purrs, and he can feel his eyes drooling at the sight, the smell, the exquisite taste, of the man’s fear.

“Only the best for you, love,” Hob murmurs in his ear, hands resting possessively at his hip, voice dripping with pleasure. The Corinthian shudders when Hob delicately removes his shades and places a tender kiss to each of his eye mouths, dragging his tongue along their teeth. They come to life under his attention, all soft sighs and heavy breaths. The man in the chair is now thrashing wildly in horror, his screams muted by the tape.

“His name’s Thomas Mason, Hob supplies. "Father’s done pretty well for himself in the United States, but he insisted on his kids being raised in the home country. Tom here is a little bit of a brat you see. Awful student too, he's been kicked out of at least three universities in London." The Corinthian snorts at the blatant offense Hob seems to take at this fact.

"Knocked up some poor girl when she was far too drunk to fully consent at a networking event," he continues. "And then he killed her when she told him she wasn’t going to abort. I have it on good authority that he’s buried her out in his mother’s country house. Naturally, Scotland Yard isn’t really looking into it since she was here on a student visa and his parents have more than enough money to make it look like she just got up and disappeared out of the country on her own. Her family’s absolutely distraught."

"Distraught, you say?" The Corinthian asks in mock concern. "Well, we can't have that now." He takes out his knives from their holsters in his jacket, and now the man in the chair is moving even more wildly in his chair, trying to tip it over, maybe hoping to break it and free himself. It won't matter, there's nowhere to go in the tiny container. The Corinthian cuts a line through Tom's throat to get him to stop thrashing and then begins to start the task of carving out those gorgeous blue orbs.

The start of the task is always the hardest. Humans are so sensitive when it comes to their faces, but they all give up soon enough, and Tom is no exception. It’s all in the thumbs, really. Once they’re sufficiently popped out, all The Corinthian has to do afterwards is sever the optic nerve, and bam, instant snack. Hob had winced the first few times he watched The Corinthian had done this while the victim was still alive (their memories are freshest when he does this, even if he stores them in the fridge for later), but now he watches with rapt attention, unable to tear his gaze away from The Corinthian's skilled yet brutal movements.

When he’s done, The Corinthian savors the taste of Thomas Mason’s eyes, drinks in the memory of hands choking the life out of a pretty little thing too young to be taken from the world, then revels in the feel of the cool dirt underneath his fingernails during the memory of her crude burial.

“She’s buried right by the rose bushes, near the west wing," The Corinthian says, and Hob’s proud, dark grin tells him he will, in fact, be getting breakfast in bed tomorrow morning.

–

They don’t argue often, but when they do, it always comes back to the same topic. The Corinthian doesn’t even know how or why they started talking about Dream, but he hates the way Hob prods about their relationship, asks about why everything fell apart and led The Corinthian to permanently leave The Dreaming.

“It's better the less you know about him,” The Corinthian says with a finality he hopes Hob will understand.

He doesn’t. "Why?” he presses. “Because you don't like talking about him?"

"Because he's dangerous!" The Corinthian snaps. "He tried to unmake me almost a hundred years ago, and if he ever gets out of his cage and finds out about you…"

"You're worried about me, pet?" Hob’s tone is light, but The Corinthian knows he’s trying to distract him from the threat of Dream’s return.

"Well you're not exactly the pinnacle of human safety if we’re being honest, baby." The Corinthian grumbles.

"I’m immortal, can’t die, remember?" Hob quips in response.

"Right, right, immortality from your eldritch Stranger that broke your heart," The Corinthian sneers back at him.

"Oof, low blow, Cory," Hob winces.

The use of the nickname cools his anger slightly, but only just.

"Is it?" he challenges. The Corinthian is not an open creature by nature, but Hob is also sensitive about his centennial Stranger. He claims he's told The Corinthian all that he knows about him, but The Corinthian finds it hard to believe that Hob had been meeting the same being for 600 years and somehow, inexplicably, does not even know his name. Then again, The Corinthian has not told Hob the name of his creator either. He doesn't know why, but the knowledge of Dream's name is something he wants to keep to himself.

Hob also won't talk about why he and his Stranger had a falling out either. He just knows the creature missed their 1989 meeting, and now Hob has no choice but to wait for 2089 to see if their relationship can be salvaged. The Corinthian, petty creature that he is, still refuses to set foot inside The New Inn, a place dedicated to someone else. He does, however, relish in the fact that shortly after he moved in with Hob, the immortal had begun to spend less and less time in the pub, possibly hoping for an earlier than 100 year sighting of his Stranger.

"All right, all right I get it," Hob placates, and finally throws up his hands in surrender. "No more creator talks, and no more stranger talks tonight, all right?"

"Or we could forget about them all together," The Corinthian tries, wishing to never speak about Dream ever again. Dream's gone, he's trapped, has been trapped for 100 years, and yet The Corinthian feels him at his back each night when he turns off the light and watches Hob sleep.

"Hmmm, I don’t think so," Hob says, thoughtful. "I can’t forget my old friend, yes he’s my friend damnit,” the immortal insists. “And even with your creator locked up who knows where, because you won't tell me, I know you can’t forget him either. And that’s okay. We don’t need to talk about them now, but a relationship is about moving on from past baggage so we’ll need to get there eventually, but it doesn’t have to be now, love.”

"I’ve tried for at least two millennia to move on already," The Corinthian admits, surprised at his own openness.

Hob smiles fondly, because he knows even getting that much out of The Corinthian is better than nothing, and then cups the blond's face gently between his hands.

"Well, you’ve never had me before, darling.” Hob says, tone back to reassuring and gentle. “I can’t promise to heal all your wounds and scars, but I’m going to do my best to love you as you are, murderous tendencies and all. And if your creator ever does get out of his cage, we'll deal with him together."

The Corinthian, even after spending years in Hob’s bed, is still not used to hearing the immortal declare his love for him. Hob offers his love far too easily, and he hasn’t even asked why The Corinthian has yet to say it back. He almost does, just now. It's on the tip of his tongue.

"You’re insane, you know that?" The Corinthian says instead. He’s not ready to inspect his feelings, not yet, not while he’s still taut as a piano wire.

Hob nods, like he knows what’s going on inside The Corinthian’s head, and maybe he does. "Well, you don’t live past the normal mortal expiration date without losing a few screws along the way," he says, and starts tugging The Corinthian towards the bathroom. “Come on love, let’s have a bath. I’ve got a new vintage I’ve been wanting to try out."

Later, when the Corinthian is drunk and spilling wine all over Hob’s overly large and posh bathtub, he thinks that maybe, maybe, this is probably what love is supposed to feel like. They're kissing like Hob doesn't have to get up in the morning for a lecture, and the slowness of it stirs something familiar inside the nightmare.

He thought he'd loved Dream once, until he realized that his creator's affection for him had been conditional on The Corinthian fulfilling his singular assigned function. No room for growth, no room for ambition, for reaching past the limits of the Dreaming. All of the reverence and blind worship had evaporated then. Dream only cared for himself and his stupid rules, his creations were simply there to serve him without question.

Hob is different though. Hob has rules for him, sure, but he indulges The Corinthian when he's done well, negotiates when the situation calls for it, and he doesn't make The Corinthian's thoughts and opinions feel less than, like secondary, unimportant things. He also doesn’t hold The Corinthian’s past crimes against him.

Yes, The Corinthian thinks when Hob finally pushes his cock inside him, slowly, gently, lovingly. What he's got with Hob is probably love. Or at least as close to it as he'll ever get with his nightmarish heart.

He'll tell Hob. Eventually. When the time is right.

–

Their next operation goes tits up.

Statistically, even the best laid plans can go awry when murder is involved, but The Corinthian supposes they really should’ve anticipated a mob boss having more than a dozen men for backup, even if he was just vacationing out in the countryside.

Good thing neither Hob nor the Corinthian can die. Hob’s healing is not nearly as quick as his, but it’s quick enough.

The Corinthian imagines Hob must look like something of an eldritch horror to the mob men when he gets up off the ground, an entire chunk of face missing, and then stabs his shooter in the neck. The resulting blood spray is lovely, and The Corinthian takes a moment to bask in Hob's handiwork before he continues to gun down the rest of their assailants.

God, he's missed having access to guns. The Corinthian has a small collection of antique rifles in his penthouse back in the States, and though he's never used them for more than target practice, he likes the heavy weight of such a small and unassuming thing that holds so much potential for death, resting in his hands.

Using other people’s guns against them though? That’s an entirely different feeling, one that The Corinthian is all too happy to indulge.

All total, there’s around 25 men dead in the villa after Hob and The Corinthian are through. More than double the amount they expected to be here. The Corinthian makes a note to pay a visit to his source later to personally thank him for the terrible intelligence.

“Hey Cory, look what I found!” Hob’s voice sounds throughout the otherwise quiet room.

When he locates the immortal on the other side of the bloodied living room, he sees that he’s thrumming with excitement about something. When he gets closer, Hob holds up a mostly mangled piece of flesh that the Corinthian quickly realizes is the part of Hob’s face that was blown off with a rifle. Surprisingly, the eye socket is fully intact.

It’s the most beautiful thing The Corinthian has ever laid eyes on, and he wants.

Hob then offers the lump, eye socket and all, to The Corinthian with a pained grimace that he looks like he’s trying very hard to pass off as a smile. The Corinthian is too shocked to take it right away. It can’t possibly be that easy.

Can it?

Hob notices his hesitation and sighs.

“Might as well have it, it’s a goddamn miracle it’s even intact the way it is,” the immortal grunts. “I can already feel a new one growing in, and let me tell you, it fucking hurts. Waste not, want not and all."

The Corinthian knows that he shouldn’t think too deeply about the gift, it’s borne out of circumstance rather than intent after all, but the irony of being freely offered something he’d spent years trying to carve out of the man’s face himself is not lost on him.

The Corinthian gently takes the eye from Hob and cuts around the tender flesh, then pops the ball into his mouth.

The memories hit him like a monsoon.

The Corinthian has consumed hundreds, perhaps thousands of eyes at this point in time, but consuming Hob is an entirely different experience.

Hob's eyes have, by default, seen far more than a regular mortal, and so there’s just more, more, more to be seen and more to be experienced. It feels neverending.

He feels Hob’s determination to never die, even in the days before he was granted immortality. His surprise when he realizes that he's stopped aging. His fear at thinking he'd made a deal with the Devil himself.

He sees the immortal's warmest memories, feels the touch of his first silk shirt, hears the sound of his son's first cry, tastes the flavors of his first meal after being dubbed a knight.

He also witnesses Hob's worst memories, the horrors of war over the centuries, the stabbing pain of hunger that would have killed another man, the smell of decay from the bodies lost to The Black Plague, the pain of each and every time his body breaks but doesn't die.

But above all, he feels love. Pure, unfiltered, unconditional love. Love for humanity, for his long life, love for The Corinthian himself.

Love for his mysterious Stranger.

The Corinthian chokes when he realizes who this stranger finally is.

It’s Dream.

Of course it's fucking Dream.

"Cory? Are you all right?"

No he's not fucking all right. Nothing is ever going to be all right again. The Corinthian has never needed to breathe but in this moment he feels like he is suffocating.

Hob is Dream's pet immortal. The one that Death had spared on a bet with Dream back in 1389.

The Corinthian thinks he's a fool. That's why Hob doesn't smell like other immortals, because he smells just like Endless, like The Corinthian, like Dream .

He also knows now that Hob was telling the truth about not knowing Dream's name or what he was all this time. Dream's always had a stick up his ass about personal information, the only reason The Corinthian even knew his creator had a pet immortal in the first place was because The Corinthian had tried to follow his master out into The Waking once, back when their relationship was still good, when Dream still indulged him, when The Corinthian hadn't yet begun to hunger for more.

Dream had shut him down so fiercely, Lucienne had had to step in on his behalf. She was the one who filled The Corinthian in on the date and its significance to their creator. And, most importantly, that Dream went to these outings alone.

It had been the first time The Corinthian had experienced jealousy, and it had ignited a fire in him he did not know how to tame. Why did Dream get to go into The Waking for nothing more than his own pleasure? To experience humanity when his own subjects could not? Who was this human who had impressed him so much, had captured his attention enough that he stole his creator away from the Dreaming, time and time again? None of Dream's other human companions had ever been able to sway him so.

It makes sense to The Corinthian now that the human was Hob. The Corinthian devours the memories of their meetings, quick snatches in time, insignificant in length yet so significant in substance. He doesn't know if he wants to tear Hob's throat out for daring to call his Dream his friend , knowing now that it means something more, or if he wants to cut Dream's eyes out for the way he looks at his Hob.

Fuck. When had he gotten so possessive? When had he gotten so soft ? He'd been thinking just a few days ago that maybe he loved Hob, had been picturing the rest of their life together, had been thinking of their future .

If he'd known this would be the consequences for consuming Hob's eyes…

No, he still thinks he would've done it anyways. Even in his panic, the taste of Hob is so unique, so unlike anything he's ever experienced, The Corinthian thinks he could probably go on forever without having to consume another set of eyes. That thought terrifies him more than the idea of Dream hunting him down to unmake him for all his crimes.

He has to leave.

"I have to go," The Corinthian says, perhaps a little too forcefully. Hob nods quickly with no argument. It means he’s already realized something is wrong.

"All right we can go, I just gotta make sure the cameras-”

"No," The Corinthian interrupts and he says it with such venom that Hob whips his head towards him in alarm. The Corinthian steels his nerves for what he’s going to say next.

“I need to go, Hob. This…this was a mistake. All of this.” He gestures between them.

"Wait what?! What are you talking about?" Hob's beginning to panic now and The Corinthian can feel his resolve weaken. But he has to go. He’s been a fool, no, he's been willfully blind this whole time. He thought he’d finally found something, someone that was uniquely his , but all roads lead back to Dream, and The Corinthian feels pathetic for thinking he could ever escape the reach of his all knowing and all encompassing master.

Hob may love The Corinthian now, but he was Dream's human first, and Dream will not take kindly to the Corinthian touching what doesn't belong to him. The Corinthian thought he'd been afraid of his unmaking before, but it feels secondary to this new fear. The fear that Dream will go to Hob, that Dream will spill all The Corinthian’s crimes at Hob’s feet, will turn Hob against him, and then finally, steal him away for his own.

He'd rather burn down the only good thing he's ever known than let Dream take it away from him.

“Goodbye Hob. It's been fun but now our time's up.” The Corinthian does not stutter.

Shit, he can feel the tears. His shades hide them for now but if he doesn't leave now, then Hob will see.

“Cory, wait! Talk to me, please , what's going on…?"

But The Corinthian is already gone.

#hobrinthian #eventual hobrintheus #hob gadling #the corinthian #the sandman fanfic #lots of angst near the end of this chapter #but don't worry #next chapter is dreamling fluffy vibes #sandman fic #seiya writes #mystuff #seiya writes hobrintheus #seiya writes hobrinthian

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tadbitqueer · 2 months ago

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So basically in wild life episode two, the mod they have on gives them hunger (the side effect) but they can’t eat food. They can however, eat blocks and tools and literally anything other than food. Different items give you different side affects like poisoning, blindness etc. Some items give you hearts the best ones give you three hearts. When the wild card got activated, Lizzie ate stone shovels the whole time because they regenerated three hearts (I think?) until the side effects got shuffled and she had to find something else to eat. THANKS FOR LETTING ME INFODUMP :D 👍

wild life episode 2

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sebastophanes · 1 year ago

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I had another reading with the Emperors the other day.

I like to keep space between my readings with them, so as not to pester or irritate them, but the possibility of an exciting new job opened up and I had to ask them what they thought of it — a hospice chaplain position in the wilds of Montana. I am, at absolute best, under-qualified as a hospice chaplain (I have most of a certificate course under my belt + a diploma in theology) but I sometimes apply for positions anyway when I gaslight myself into thinking I could pull it off.

Anyway.

It wasn’t a bad reading, per se; unlike the reading I got for my birthday my diviner rated this one as “harsh, but ultimately positive.” Classic Emperors. Interestingly it focused comparatively little on the job; my Lords evidently feel that if I manage to blunder my way into the position it could end up doing me good. I’m not so sure — I’m inclined to turn down a second interview if offered; I don’t think I can hack it. It’s nice to know there are options, though, should I ever seriously choose to pursue that line of work. Which I may not! I’m still breathlessly waiting on the government to determine whether I’m too disabled to work. Fingers-crossed.

So at top we had 6 of Wands, which I was told was “very auspicious” as it “signifies success in the public arena, very visible and public victory.” So far, so good. After that, however, things took a turn: apparently I’ve been “resisting taking the right path” as far as what the Lords want of me as far as giving them good PR and doing public works in their name.

Whoops!

Followed by a Knight of Pentacles, the Hierophant, and the Queen of Pentacles reversed. The upshot is, as said, ultimately positive — when all is said and done they’d like to see me as a religious authority related to them, a pope figure — but that I have a lot of hard work to get to that point of mastery and command.

Ugh.

I hurt my back about a week and a half ago, just getting up from a chair. I’ve been on steroids, painkillers, muscle relaxers, and I can still barely walk with a cane, hunched-over in pain. No more meds for me either — back pain is suspicious to clinicians and if I go in for meds they’ll label me as painkiller-seeking and I won’t be able to get so much as an aspirin ever again. So instead I’m going in for a prescription for physical therapy — and good fucking luck finding a PT who takes Medicaid.

I’m tired, is the point. Tired, and scared, and despairing and in pain.

and still they want more of me!

I complained on my pagan Discord server about what a pain in the ass godslavery is and got a fair rejoinder: your gods are emperors. The very nature of empire is to always hunger for more.

Truer words!

I chose to be a hierodoulos. I gave myself over as an oblation; opened myself up and told the Lords to take whatever they want of me, whenever, forever. What should I expect beyond what I’ve received? It is comforting to know even in dark moments such as these that my Lords have a plan for me — a vision of what I can, should, and will achieve for them. Of the 6-card reading that I paid for there is still one card left to be pulled, clarifying what exactly it is that I’ve been resisting as far as their wishes go. I hope that it’s clear and helpful, and brings me closer to their path.

#Spotify #paganism #polytheism #devotional polytheism #religio romana #deity devotion #roman paganism #cultus deorum #pagan #greek polytheism #deity work

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love-little-lotte · 2 years ago

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2023 Oscar Predictions

Happy 95th Academy Awards! (Imagine me saying this with Effie Trinket's accent when she says "Happy Hunger Games!") It's time for my annual Oscar predictions! I'm glad to say that this year, I watched 50 out of 54 of the nominated movies. Those 4 movies were probably not available on streaming sites, or I avoided them due to a negative or lukewarm review I heard from a mutual.

This year's contenders were overall really great, and I loved most of them. While these Oscar predictions are not necessarily my top choices, they are the movies that I think are most likely to win.

Anyway, here are my 2023 Oscar predictions!

BEST PICTURE: Everything Everywhere All at Once

BEST DIRECTOR: Daniel Kwan and Daniel Scheinert, Everything Everywhere All at Once

BEST ACTOR: Colin Farrell, The Banshees of Inisherin (Brendan Fraser and his "transformation" for The Whale may sway Oscar voters but I am sticking with Farrell idc!)

BEST ACTRESS: Michelle Yeoh, Everything Everywhere All at Once (!!)

BEST SUPPORTING ACTOR: Ke Huy Quan, Everything Everywhere All at Once (!!)

BEST SUPPORTING ACTRESS: Kerry Condon, The Banshees of Inisherin (this category is such a wild card but again, I'm sticking with my favorite choice)

BEST ORIGINAL SCREENPLAY: Tár

BEST ADAPTED SCREENPLAY: Women Talking

BEST ANIMATED FEATURE FILM: Guillermo del Toro's Pinocchio (Marcel the Shell, you'll always be my favorite ❤️)

BEST INTERNATIONAL FEATURE FILM: All Quiet on the Western Front, Germany

BEST DOCUMENTARY FEATURE: All the Beauty and the Bloodshed (another uncertain category, so I'm going for my personal favorite out of all the nominees; Fire of Love was great, too!)

BEST DOCUMENTARY SHORT SUBJECT: Haulout (or maybe The Elephant Whisperers)

BEST LIVE ACTION SHORT FILM: The Red Suitcase

BEST ANIMATED SHORT FILM: Ice Merchants (but I like My Year of Dicks, too!)

BEST ORIGINAL SCORE: Babylon (I have faith on you, Justin Hurwitz) (also Babylon, you deserve more nominations!!!)

BEST ORIGINAL SONG: Naatu Naatu, RRR (my personal favorite — and guilty pleasure — is Hold My Hand, tho!)

BEST SOUND: Top Gun: Maverick

BEST PRODUCTION DESIGN: Babylon (PLEASE)

BEST CINEMATOGRAPHY: All Quiet on the Western Front (a surprise Tár win will be inspired, tho)

BEST MAKEUP AND HAIRSTYLING: All Quiet on the Western Front (one of the only two deserving nominees in this category tbh)

BEST COSTUME DESIGN: Everything Everywhere All at Once

BEST FILM EDITING: Everything Everywhere All at Once

BEST VISUAL EFFECTS: Avatar: The Way of Water (I mean...)

#2023 oscars #oscar predictions #films #movies #95th academy awards #95th oscars

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hawksugarbaby · 4 years ago

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Todoroki x reader- Fix you with gold

Angst + Villain reader Au

Quirk: kintsugi- you can manipulate strings of gold hardening it as soon as you need to you can also remelt it.

Crimson lights flooded the bare brick room as you watched from the corner waiting for your dear hero to wake up. Shoto todoroki. You had been well acquainted a few years back. When you haven't been coined as (y/n) (y/ln) the UA traitor but now, well not so much for obvious reasons.

Thankfully, the boy you had once loved more than anything was chained up against a chair with his head hanging low avoiding the glare of the red filter. No no this isn't your boring old yandere simulator storyline. You had no intentions of killing everyone who looked at your dear peppermint boy, you had no of killing him because you loved him that was just absolutely ridiculous... no, you were killing him because he was a hero. But was he really?

Your chair screeched as you pulled it along behind you appearing from your corner and sitting yourself down drinking a lovely tea from a beautiful porcelain cup... well, beauty is subjective. "Good morning shoto" you greeted, your cheery attitude slipping between your grit teeth. Yes, today would be a good day "lovely day, isn't it? For a little chit chat hm?" silence. Once again your response was silence "oh come on my little hero I know you're not dead. Yet" it was a fun game you two had. You would talk, he would not, but all your conversations were rather one-sided and you decided chess was more fun with 2 people. Today was going to be the day you broke him once again.

"Shoto, are you interested in what would happen to you if you keep up this silly game of silence?" you asked and finished off the tea spinning the handle around your index finger. You stood up and launched the cup against the wall fragmenting into small pieces that rained down like drops of blood, he winced knowing that the cup was expensive and not easily found. rich boys and their pottery. "I wonder how easily you shatter compared to a teacup. Shall we find out?"

You put your finger on his chin and forced his head up to look at you. His mismatched eyes bore into you with sadness "I used to love you" he whispered. You let go of him and maniacal laugh erupted from inside you which bounced off the walls into his ears "Shoto you still love me. You want me to change my ways and go back to the way I was, maybe join you as your sidekick hm?" he looked at you his eyes wide with the kindling of hope "WELL NEWSFLASH HERO I never was that girl. I was a lie, a book wrote and edited to suit you" you watched as the hope dwindled away the kindles blowing out in the icy wind of your words you leaned down to his ear and whispered "everything you saw in me was an illusion. I could never be a hero, do you know why? Because heroes aren't real"

you stood back up stretching your arms behind your back a Cheshire smile graced your face. "you still have so much time to join me sho, no ones coming to find you, dearest" you sat back down on your chair leaning forward on your hand "you're a villain (y/n) there isn't a way in hell you could convince me to come to your side" you bit the inside of your cheek and pushed yourself off the chair and walking up to him, your face barely inches apart. You kicked his chair over, flicking a butterfly knife out holding it close to his neck "NO. I'M THE GOOD GUY HERE I-IM THE GOOD ONE. YOUR NO HERO I'M CLOSER TO A HERO THAN YOU'LL EVER BE" you spat while he struggled on his back like a helpless tortoise. You were in the right of course you were. Heroes aren't real anymore just read the news the hierarchy was crumbling and the ones who were at the top had the furthest to fall.

No one needs saviours anymore. "Your insane (y/n) your sick please just let me help you" you hated it when they told you that "SHUT UP. I'M NOT I'M NOT I'M NOT. I'M NORMAL. YOU'RE THE SICK ONE YOU KNOW WHY" you pushed the knife up drawing pinpricks of blood that trickled to the floor slowly "because you crave to feed a hunger you cannot satisfy. You want to save as many people as possible, lock up all the villains yes?" he couldn't look away from the intense expression that hadn't left your face since he told you you were a villain "what happens when you lock up the villains hm? When you run out of people to save? Who runs wild through the city then? You pump out heroes every day leaving less and less for you and between you and me it looks like your going to run out of us soon" you pulled the knife back and todoroki released the breath stored up. Now he looked at it, you weren't wrong? What would happen when the villains disappeared. The heroes that were supposed to make people feel safe no matter what had struck fear into the hearts of every civilian in the world, no one dared to steal, to murder, to light their fires across the country for them to trace back to a warehouse in the middle of the wood?

No, he couldn't be thinking about that. He was a hero through and through you wouldn't change his mind with a petty butterfly knife. You scoffed at his pathetic state squirming under you and stood up pulling his chair back up along with you "you're still so handsome shoto, it really would be the biggest shame to ruin you" you sighed remembering a time when you truly wanted to be with him no matter what. But your ideologies just weren't compatible. "Do you know what happens when you mix bleach and rubbing alcohol?" you pulled a bottle of anti-septic out of your pocket and slipped a white cloth down from your sleeve to your hand "no answer? Or are you being ignorant again" he pursed his lips keeping his words sealed in the front of his mouth "fine. Let me show you." you poured the anti-septic on the cloth and walked up to the gorgeous boy in front of you stooping down "last chance my love" he looked at the wall and you groaned in annoyance. You forced the cloth in front of his mouth and nose and smiled sweetly "you make chloroform"

Day 2

Well, it turns out yesterday wasn't the day. But he was getting close you could feel it, you would take a slightly softer approach today there was another name for this, manipulation. "Morning shoto, are you feeling chatty today?" he looked up from his chair quickly when you entered. Despite what others thought, you weren't completely heartless, you would bring him food and water, and for a hostage, it was pretty good food. Maybe it was the remnants of your love that made you treat him differently. You unlocked his chains and passed him his plate. He knew there was no chance of escape, he had tried and failed a hundred times, he couldn't use his quirk in this room, and you were waiting around every corner when he tried to run.

"You know what I really don't understand shoto?" you wandered around the ruby room admiring the walls that kept him inside "when I first met you you said you despised your father and you would go against him in every way possible" he ceased eating at the mention of his father his appetite suddenly lost in the crowd of emotions "so why even become a hero. Why did you not run off? be the opposite of what he ever told you to be?" you were getting there you could feel it ripping through the air. He was lost, and confused? Who did he want to be? Certainly not anything like his father? Why did he ever want to be a hero? To save children who had to bear what he bore, why should he care for them if no hero ever cared for him "as I see it your father is worse than ever is he not? He lost Touya, he can't find you, he's wearing fuyumi and natsuo away desperate to have his perfect creation. Wouldn't now be the best time to join me sho" the plate hit the floor splitting apart just like his own sanity. Here we go. This would be so fun.

You sat cross-legged on the floor in front of him and picked up the pieces of the broken plate stacking them in your hand "you've heard of kintsugi I assume?" of course he had he grew up with everything, he nodded hesitantly his dual coloured fringe hanging in front of his eye as he leaned over watching you intently. You started laying the pieces of the plate out like a jigsaw fitting them together perfectly "if you just took my offer sho..." you started pushing the pieces together and lines of gold brushed over the old cracks, you lifted up the plate and put it on his lap "I could fix you up with gold" you whispered he gulped and traced his finger over the gold that welded the plate making it better than before. "We could get to know each other again. Love each other REALLY love each other shoto please I'm begging you" you really hated playing the broken lover card especially to someone you truly did love, and of course, you wanted to know him all over again but the begging really was a chore you had to fake so much emotion.

"I-i missed you (y/n) I really did I want you to come back to me the way you were before. Don't do this please" he begged. He knew this was it. He couldn't hang on any longer he had missed you for so long he couldn't stand being away from you again and ... you were right! Why should he strive to be a hero when none had ever cared for him when he was almost dead, beaten up by his own father who had the audacity to call himself a hero. He was nothing more than the creature to be puppeteered by Viktor Frankenstein. "THIS IS ME. can't you see that shoto this is who I am? The way I was before was fictional I tailored for you" you brushed your hand across his scarred cheek and brushed his hair out of his face "but you could know me, you could love me like this, couldn't you. You just need to join my side."

he looked at you, taking in your details for the first time in 4 years. You're (e/c) orbs didn't even try to attempt hiding the craziness behind them, the way your grin had a sadistic twist that could make any god coil in fear, your (h/l) (h/c) that was matted and bloody, the way the red light mimicked the bloodlust radiating off of you, yet he could still find comfort in it. "I want to know you," he said in his low monotone voice. The breaking point. You were his breaking point. "Let's get to know each other then hm?"

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alltowoo · 4 years ago

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So... I will be posting the links here for the Wonwoo Contents

Fluff

(new) 5 ways to say I love you by @moon-stars01

(new) A Dream is a Wish your Heart Makes by @wonniehae

(new) A Special Ingredient by @svttism

(new) A Silent Love by @nctxdreamies

Bad Fight! by @callmebcby

(new) Better Better by @serenityseventeen

Bookstore employee by @sptegami

Colour by @ally-127

(new) Comfortable by @m1ng-how

(new) Counting Sheep by @serenityseventeen

(new) Curious Cat by @lavenonie

(new) Damaged: Before by @kpop-cakepops

Drunk Confessions by @chillihansol

(new) Earl Grey by @seokmingiggles

(new) Feel So Lucky by @toriasaurio

Fearless by @minghaocouture

Friends to Lovers by @akwablu-blog

(new) Giggles by @insideofrose

(new) Haunted House by virryth

(new) Heart & Seoul by @bubblebeom

Hi, I’m Wonwoo.by @novawon

Hogwarts Alumni Shirt @tonicandjins

(new) Home by @geminirules

(new) Homework Nights by @quicksilverster

(new) I Found Love in your Smile by @wonlouvre

(new) If you had 3 Wishes, What would they be? by @glowonu

(new) Just you by @justasoftstan

(new) Kairosclerosis by @nose-bandaid

(new) Late Night Wonders by @snowydaffodils

(new) Like the Movies by @binniesthighs

Literature by @heartgyus

(new) Let me take you Home by @ctrlhao

(new) Letter to You by @writer-k-pop

(new) Letters to You by @wooziujidoots

(new) Library Crush by @serenityseventeen

(new) Library Trips By @bootyful-seventeen

Modest Jeon Wonwoo by @woozisnoots

(new) More Than You Know by @writessvt

Neighbors to Lovers by @thekpopaus

Never Change by @stuckwithsvt

Not So Cold-Heart by @mywonuderful

(new) One More Chapter by @justasoftstan

(new) Opposites by @serenityseventeen

(new) Outward by @gamerwoo

(new) Popular Guy by @gyugiggles

Ranked Game by @ribosoons

(new) Ready to love by @3raaaachachacha

Saudade by @uriurijihoonie

(new) Say You Won’t Let Go by @geminirules

(new) Setting It Up by @justasoftstan

(new) Sharing is Caring by @gamerwoo

(new) Shiny Star by @wonwoonlight

(new) Shy Desires by @serenityseventeen

Shy Shy Shy by @okaykpop

(new) Snuggle Donation: Pact by @kpop-cakepops

Something Old, Something New by @kwanisms

Soulmate by @svtskneecaps

Summer Scent by @escapewriter

(new) Squishy by @justasoftstan

(new) S𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗍 𝖺𝗇𝖽 S𝗈𝗎𝗋 by @mieohmy

(new) The Cat Cafe by @purplehoranghae

To Die For by @starlightshua

(new) To my Growing Child by @serenityseventeen

(new) To my Youth by @viastro

(new) The Best Friend A Girl Could Ask For by @kpop-cakepops

(new) The Ulzzang Project by @hongnanglen-arina

(new) Villain! by @ @solarwonux

(new) Valentine’s Day with Wonwoo by @kpop-in-new-albion

(new) Welcome to fatherhood by @woozibby

White Lies by @luvshuas

(new) Winner by @serenityseventeen

(new) You Give Me PVCs by @chal-kagyu

You Mean the World to me by @svtskneecaps

(new) Your Cat Loves You by @jeonflo

Angst

(new) Avenue of Tears by @dropsofletters

Blind by @wtf-taeyong

Boundaries by @nobodyeverasked

Child of Athena by @keeper-of-the-uwus

(new) Chili by @cherrycheolliesc

Daydream by @tonicandjins

Dreamcatcher by @love-dreams

(new) Encumber by @jeonstellate

Everything I Didn't Say by @tonicandjins

(new) Everything Leads Back to you by @boowanie

Fear the Wraith by @gamerwoo

(new) He lost you by @zarryscherrys

Hearing Lips by @gamerwoo

How could I ever forget about you? by @woozibby

Hurtful Eyes by @shuatoyou

(new) I Found You by @uchukiyoo

(new) In the Spring by @viastro

(new) Lie to Me by @haokyeom

(new) Like a Dream by @yakultberry

Look me in the eyes and tell me you love me by @infinitum-imaginaerum

Lost by @min9yusnovia

Lost Souls by @cheolgyushua

(new) Love & Letter: To The Thirteen Boys I’ve Loved Before: The Seventh Letter by @serenityseventeen

(new) LoveLorn by @themyunghoxo

Missing You by @geminirules

(new) Moonlight by @solarwonux

(new) My Dream is You by @cheolbooluvr

New York: The City Of Dreams By @tonicandjins

Not So Sweet by @extrasugafree

(new) Oh my God, They were Roommates by @luvvchwe

(new) See You Again by @geminirules

(new) Surprise by @wonwoonlight

Ten Questions by @chocosvt

(new) The Art of Healing by @boowanie

(new) The Moon Told me so by @nose-bandaid

(new) Things I Wish You Never Said by @gayforseungcheol

(new) To Bloom and to Wither by @sunduskwine

(new)��Wedding march by @sincerelyshobe

To all the boys by @shra-vasti

(new) Why haven’t you kissed me yet? by @solarwonux

(new) Yours by @gyukult

Smut

(new) 3 nights by @hotgirlwonwoo

A Moon Without Stars by @chocosvt

(new) Anteric by @smileysuh

(new) Baby Doll by @solarwonux

Birthday Treat by @multmilk

Caffeine by @meltwonu

(new) Champagne Kisses by @solarwonux

(new) Crash, No Burn by @softhaos

Crop Tops & Tattoos by @solarwonux

(new) Cuff 1 by @smileysuh

Dream by @sebuntease

(new) Gam3 bo1 by @sunflowergyeomie

(new) Game interrupted by @diamondyjh

(new) Getting Closer by @bubblebeom

(new) Getting Closer II by @bubblebeom

(new) I Though you Hated Me? by @glossyeon

Let Me Watch by @kinksvt

Limitless by @alltheattractiveasiansimgines

Math Tutor by @sebuntease

(new) Meanie Sandwich by @meltwonu

Missing You by @sebuntease

(new) Movie Night? by @hongnanglen-arina

(new) Payment Due! @solarwonux

Private by @17mounteens

(new) Punished @otptings

(new) Refresh by @snowydaffodils

Rich Girl by @blushnote

(New) The Bet by @hotgirlwonwoo

The Copy Machine is Broken Again By @tonicandjins

The Other Side by @17mounteens

(new) Something told me it was you by @wonwooze

(new) Sugar by @solarwonux

(new) Strawberries and Bad Decisions by @solarwonux

The Step Brother by @sebuntease

(new) Under The Moonlight by @solarwonux

(new) Until I met you by @meltwonu

(new) Until It Feels Like You’re In Heaven by @odetojeons

(new) Valentine’s Day Drabble #5 - First Time by @solarwonux

(new) Wasted Game = Wasted Night by @starryse

(new) Will You Punish Me If I Don’t? by @odetojeons

(new) You’re the perfect view by @halloweenniles

Other AU’s I dont know where to place (hehe)

700 Years Promise @onetwosevensquad

(new) Accidents Happen by @fluffyyunho

(new) Achilles by @gamerwoo

All Fun and Games by @gamerwoo

Big Bad Wolf by @for-dogs-and-flowers

(new) Bittersweet by @networkluvs

Bodyguard Wonwoo by @jungnoirr

(new) Camera Lens Pointed At You by @svt13roses

(new) Cat Cafe with Wonwoo by @17cafe

(new) Cooperation by @serenityseventeen

College AU by @seventeen-teen-teen-trash

(new) Give Your Heart by @gamerwoo

Familiar Faces by @i-see-thevision

(new) Here’s My Problem: I Can’t Get You Out Of My Head by @just-some-random-blogger

Hunger by @svtwrites

I Can’t Let You Go Until I Win @narika-a

I Never Meant to Make You Bleed by @jungnoir

Invitation by @tonicandjins

(new) Level Seven by @heeseungsapple

(new) Neighbor next door by @svtshine

More Than That by @neoyeppuda

(new) My Little Ghost by @seodami

Second Life by @starlightshua

Sober Up by @geuyeoreum

(new) Sweet Home by @devoidwrites

(new) Tell me the Same by @ joonsgalaxy

(new) The Beat of a Love Rhyme by @dropsofletters

(new) The Little Flower on your Wrist by @nose-bandaid.tumblr.com

(new) The King by @craby-bouquet

The Switch by @woozibby

(new) The unDead's Love by @chupacoupsie

(new) Tinkerbell by @softforhao

(new) What happens at the party by @craby-bouquet

(new) Wild Card by @serenityseventeen

Note: Will update.. this list is not yet complete :D

Dilemma: There are fics I’ve ready with no titles and i don’t know how to include them here

P.S: If there’s anything I need to add or to change PLEASE feel free to send me a message or a comment :D

• 10/26/2020 I updated this again with a few more stories and I think I might separate each genre into one post. I just realized there’s a lot of them.

• 07/22/2021 I updated this with new fics around I labelled then (new) so many fics we can read now.. Enjoy!!

#wonwoo #jeon wonwoo #seventeen wonwoo #wonwoo angst #wonwoo au #wonwoo fluff #wonwoo smut

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revengeoftheantichrist · 4 years ago

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Red Flags

Warnings: Serial killers, breaking and entering, torture, manipulation and broken bones AN: Huge thank you to @9layerdevilfoodcake and the lovely Carissa for bouncing some ideas and beta reading this while I was struggling!

AO3

Michael had enough. He was tired and hungry, getting nothing more than delirious in this forest. He stood on shaky legs, not caring about the blood of the goat he just killed. He didn’t know where he was going, just letting his feet carry him to wherever they pleased. He no longer cared about the destination. His surroundings faded into nothingness, until a familiar white-picket fence came into view. He finally focused on his surroundings, immediately starting to sob when he recognised where he was. His childhood home, his grandmother’s house. His body must have craved the familiarity and the warm embrace that only she could provide. But like every other mother figure in his life, she was dead, and he blamed himself. With bleary eyes he pushed open the squeaky gate. The smell of roses made the memories rapidly flash through his mind. With a deep breath, he opened the door.

The house had been untouched for years. Dust and cobwebs everywhere. He thought of his grandmother watching the house fall into this state of decay. Watching.

He felt the eyes of the house next door on him. He refused to look out the window. He didn’t want to see the looks of disgust and pity. He wiped his eyes and stood a little straighter. This was his house now. He could do whatever he wanted here. No one to answer to, no more deadlines and most of all, no more older blonde woman dictating his life. ////

He stared at himself in the mirror. The stubble and lack of sleep seemed to age him. His hair was no longer perfectly styled, it was wild and uneven. The more he looked at himself the more his face began to morph into the women in his life. He hated it. He didn’t want to look like the woman that threw him out at his lowest. Or the woman who, even in her death, could not accept him as hers. He carried the ghosts of next door with him, and he’d do anything to alleviate himself of that burden. He could only change his appearance for so long. Hair dye would eventually fade; contacts would need to be removed and he wasn’t willing to put himself under the knife.

The smell of blood on his clothes pulled him out of his thoughts. The mirror reflected the decrepit house he was in, turning his nose in disgust. With the last of his strength, he mustered a tiny bit of magic, using a spell to clean the house. He walked through the house as it returned to it’s former glory, remembering his own attempts at interior design when he was younger, looking up the beams and archways where he would nail his ‘gifts’ to his grandmother. Times were simpler then. He shook his head of the nostalgia, hoping the plumbing was still working; he needed a nice hot shower.

//// None of the clothes in the closet fit him anymore, he didn’t realise how much he had grown. For now, a towel was the best he could do until his other clothes were out the dryer. He spent his time scouring the house for legal documents, anything that entitled him to some money and the deeds of the house. He needed to get this all under his name, just in case his grandmother used that stupid medium to undermine him. He tugged open the last drawer. Bingo. Everything he needed conveniently placed in one place. Money, a will and the deeds of the house. He would need to go to whatever legal office to get it sorted. The dryer still had time to go. With a big sigh, he sat on the couch. The one that faced the ‘other’ house. He gave a smile to those still watching him. He must have looked demented by the reactions he got from them. The exhaustion and hunger were catching up to him, succumbing to sleep on the couch.

////

It was morning when he woke up. He let his towel fall with a big stretch. Thus was his house; he could do anything. Even walking around naked. He kept the blinds and curtains that faced that house open. Let them watch. He pulled his warm clothes on. The detergent brought back memories, he’d buy a new scent when the time came. He grabbed some cash and whatever documents he needed for the day, venturing out into the big bad world.

////

Humanity deserved to perish simply for the time it took at the bank. The manger was an old lady, greying blonde hair and a pair of ill-fitting glasses. Michael thought she was extremely rude and didn’t hide his distaste when he spoke to her. She asked far too many questions for such a simple procedure. “Young man, aren’t you far too young to be accessing these funds?” she asked, looking over her glasses. “I can’t control when my entire family dies now can I,” he spat back, sick of her already. She continued to look him up and down as she typed away. Printing something off, she slipped a booklet of paperwork to him. “Everything has been approved, your card should arrive in the next few days. Can I do anything else for you?” “I’d like to take out some cash.” “How much?” “$500.” She paused, “what are you planning on doing with that?” Michael was getting beyond irritated, his jaw clenched, and he rubbed his temples. ��There’s no need to be so rude young man,” she huffed. Michael gave her a sarcastic smile before snatching the money and walking out of the bank. The world would be better off without her. He’d deal with her soon. ////

Michael returned home with numerous bags of clothing and food. He would learn how to cook for himself, takeout was not sustainable. The pantry was stocked with basic essentials, but most of it was stocked with candy and other snacks. No one could stop him from indulging in his gluttony now.

His wardrobe was full of blacks and reds, the perfect colours for him. He was most looking forward to the black jumpsuit. It stood out to him in the store, a style he had never tried before. His fingers drifted over the seams when he tried it on, turning and admiring the various angles in the mirror. He looked up to the clock through the mirror, it was almost 5pm, if he didn’t leave now, he would miss her leaving. ////

Michael waited for the old bank manager to leave. Biding his time in the shadows. He watched her as she said her goodbyes in her shrill voice, then as she walked to her car. Michael stalked behind her, waiting for her to get in. As she got comfortable, she dropped something by her foot pedals. When she reached down to grab it, Michael took the opportunity to get in the car and lock the doors. He smiled at her when she screamed. The parking lot was empty, no one would hear her. “Shhh,” Michael put a finger to his lips, the other hand held up a gun. It was one of Constance’s that she had hidden in the house. The woman suddenly stopped, her shaking hands on the wheel. “You’re going to drive, and I’m going to give you directions,” he said, his tone left no space to argue. She nodded, tears in her eyes, hoping he would let her go eventually.

////

They pulled up outside the murder house. Michael got out first, taking the keys from the ignition. The woman stayed in the car, still shaking. She wasn’t given much time to think, Michael dragged her out of the car and up the steps, his hand over her mouth. Her legs flailed around, heels falling off and feet dragging on the ground. Sill, Michael paid her no mind, not even as she thumped down the stairs when he threw her into the basement.

He felt eyes on him again as he went into the kitchen, looking for something sharp. When he got to the basement door, it was blocked by none other than Dr. Harmon himself. “You don’t have to do this kind, you know you’re better than this,” he tried to convince Michael. “You didn’t have to cheat on your wife, now here we all are, miserable in the same fucking house,” Michael spat back. “He didn’t give Harmon a chance to respond, teleporting into the basement where the woman cowered in the corner.

“Please, I’m sorry if I did something, there’s other ways to solve this,” she cried. “I need to get home to my grandkids,” she tried to appeal to his softer side. He continued to stalk towards her, ignoring her and inspecting the sharp knife. “You’re far too old to still be this rude. I think that it’s a habit that can’t be solved anymore,” Michael replied, sounding disappointed. The woman couldn’t back away any further, stuck to the wall. Michael got down to her level, wiping away her tears. “You have grandkids?” She rapidly nodded, hoping he changed his mind. “I had a grandma too. Looked just like you,” he took a blonde hair and sniffed it, it didn’t smell like her. “At least she had basic manners. And, she wouldn’t be caught dead in this hideous number,” he pointed out. He had to give Constance credit where it was due. “Do you want to know what happened to my grandma?” he whispered in her ear. She was too shaky to respond. “I killed her too,” he whispered again, this time his voice cracked a little; remembering the day he found her dead in this very house. Even if she was a ghost, she could have at least spared him a hug. His eyes began to well up. The woman took this as an opportunity to reach out, placing her hand on her face. He snapped back to her, taking her hand in his. “But no one can ever replace her,” his voice still shaking. He felt like a little boy again. He could feel the pity from the woman. She wasn’t scared of him anymore and he didn’t like that. He was no longer a child. He had a greater purpose. Without hesitation, Michael sliced her throat, letting himself be covered in her blood. He looked at his reflection in the knife. Maybe this was the look for him, covered in blood. He licked his fingers, tasting the liquid. “I’ll save the heart for later,” he thought to himself, before ripping it out and making use of one of the fridges. This was one way to pass the time and maybe, it would finally get his father’s attention. //// A car was found on a random highway. In it was the mangled corpse of the owner, and a simple letter signed by ‘the Alpha’. This marked the beginning of a new wave of violence in southern California. A serial killer was on the prowl. The victim profile was quite strange. Typically, killers would choose young women. However, this killer liked older blonde women, usually grandmothers or mothers. It scared you regardless, worried that one day the preference might change. You worried for your co-workers too, many of them fitting the description. The thought that you might have even interacted with the culprit made your skin crawl. ////

Things would inevitably go wrong if one were fuelled by bloodlust alone. Michael had broken into the wrong house. The woman that pissed him off at the supermarket lived a few doors down. Regardless, he was curious as to who lived here. The home was so different to what he was used to. The interior design choices were not the standard ‘live, laugh, love’ and farmhouse kitchen with seashell bathrooms. This house was nice, it had a younger feel to it, the heels by the door further proof of his theory. He quietly made his way up the stairs, looking into every room and taking it all in. He finally found the occupied room. The dark-haired woman was fast asleep in her bed. Comfortably sank into her pillows. He adjusted the blinds a little so he could see better. The way the moonlight reflected off her face took his breath away. His fingers twitched, he wanted to take her home this instant. He could take care of her, he knew he could. He liked a challenge however, he wanted her to come to him. He didn’t know how long he stood and stared at her, only leaving once she stared to stir. He’d be back. ////

Michael’s heart was jumping out of his chest when he arrived back to the murder house. The residents were surprised he didn’t come home with another victim or even a drop of blood on him. His face was flush and he was in deep thought. Luckily for the residents, souls were not congesting the house, as Michael would make sure to burn the new souls as soon as he could. He whispered nonsense to himself as he made his way up to the attic. His trance was interrupted by his foot hitting a box. Had it always been there? He slowly took the lid off, finding an old camcorder and lots of tape. Was he living in the movie ‘sinister’? He was the scariest thing in this house, no ghoul could ever top him.

The box gave him something to do for the rest of the night. Returning with some snacks and in his pyjamas. The entertainment didn’t last long. It was just shitty home movies from former residents. It got worse when they’d come forward and explain them. He turned his face in disgust at the last one; a homemade sex tape. He gagged before turning it off. The sun was rising, telling him to go to bed. As he put the camcorder way, he had a genius idea.

////

You felt weird when you woke up. It was as if someone had been watching you. Your blinds were slightly open, and your bedroom door ajar. Had someone been in? As you walked through the house, something just seemed a little off. Things were ever so slightly out of place. There even seemed to be less fruit juice this morning than you were sure you had last night. Maybe it was the paranoia of the current situation getting to you. You sighed and shook your head before going to get ready for the day.

////

You hated working in the family and wills sector of the legal profession. You were hoping to make the move to fashion law soon, just waiting for the right opportunity. You really weren’t made for the requests of dead people and their bickering relatives.

You greeted one of the partners. Ms Grace everyone called her. She was your mento and a mother figure to you out here in the big bad legal world. Hopefully, she’d give you a good reference when you left. “New client for you today, just… entire dead family,” she whispered the last bit, making a cutting gesture with her hand. “That sounds horrible.” She nodded, before letting you set up for the day. ////

It was afternoon before said client showed up. Your office phone rang informing you of his arrival. A tall, blond man sat in the waiting room; his eyes widened in recognition when he saw you. You decided to ignore it. “Hello, are you Mr. Langdon?” “I am.” “Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, in Y/N and I’ll be taking your case,” you held your hand out for him to shake. It was comfortably warm. “Please, call me Michael.” You nodded and smiled, before leading him to your office. “Any refreshments before we get started?” He shook his head. From the outside, his case looked simple However, the deaths in his family left a convoluted mess, but you were sure Mr Langdon would get what he wanted. He was the only legal and living heir after all. You chatted away as you printed off and filled out the relevant forms. The conversation came easy. It had been a while since someone had caused butterflies in your stomach. You weren’t unprofessional however, keeping it professional with clients. When all was done for the session, you saw him out and waved him off. The interaction with him had left you a little flush. The receptionist giving you a knowing look.

////

This was totally unplanned. Michael wasn’t expecting to see you so soon. He thought that maybe his father had a hand in this, a reward for his hard work. He made his way back home, keeping the packet you gave him close, it still faintly smelled of you. He sat on the couch facing the other house. Images of you occupying his mind. It all got too much, lazily stroking himself to the thought of you that afternoon. ////

He left the house again, camcorder in hand. He pressed record as soon as he got inside your house. Filming every little detail leading up to your room. Even filming himself waving in the hallway mirror, as if he were recording and innocent home video.

He slowly opened your door. You accidently left the lamp on that night, giving him the perfect lighting. He zoomed in on your face before getting closer. Your duvet was blocking the view, reaching forward to carefully move it a little. Running his thumb over your lips and getting it on camera. He groaned at the softness. His fingers skimmed over your face, neck and collarbones. He watched as your nose crinkled a little at the touch. Cute. His evening plans were abruptly cut short when your phone began to ring. At this hour? Who was it? You began to stir at the invasive sound. Michael didn’t have time to run, transmuting out the house as fast as he could.

////

In his free time, Michael indulged in all that his family would disapprove of. And nothing could vex Constance Langdon more than her shitty grandson doing all types of drugs. He liked the feeling weed gave him. It helped him relax after the adrenaline rush of a kill. Sometimes, the murder house had a horrible stench of weed and rotting flesh, prompting the residents to keep the windows open. He even tried other things, like Acid and MD. He didn’t like the restlessness they gave him. He especially hated when his face would morph in the mirror, turning him into the people he hated the most. He wondered what it would be like to get high with you. He wanted to melt into you just like he did the floor when the THC finally got him. If he couldn’t get to you that night, he would replay the tapes on the big screen and jack off, wishing you were there. The residents of the house watched in disgust and horror. They may have done terrible things but surely, they weren’t this bad.

////

Mr Langdon’s case had successfully ended, he had gotten what he wanted. You bumped into him a week later, on your lunch break. “Oh? Y/N? so nice to see you,” he stood in the line at your favourite coffee shop. “Like wise,” you smiled up at him. “Would you like anything? I insist. It’s the least I can do.” You tried to reject his kindness but didn’t want to hold up the line, giving him your order. You both sat at a quiet table, waiting for your drinks and pastry. “I don’t usually see my clients on lunch breaks.” “Former client,” he pointed out, taking a sip of his coffee. You watched him add five packets of sugar and wondered why he didn’t just get a sweeter drink. Your conversation continued, with your shoes constantly touching under the table. It felt very childish, but maybe you were missing the playfulness in life. Your phone alarm went off, indicating you had to get back to work. As your phone was unlocked, Michael took it and tapped his number in, leaving you at the table with a wink.

////

These interactions led to casual dates. The murders began to slow down, making you feel a little safer. With this in mind, you accepted Michael’s invitation when he invited you over. You were nervous as you waited for him to open the door. The evening breeze did little to distract you from the feeling of being watched. Michael opened the door and you sighed in relief. “You look… beautiful,” he stuttered. “Not too bad yourself,” you smiled back.

He moved aside to let you in, leading you to where he had set up. “I didn’t know you could cook.” “I’m a man of many talents.” He looked out the window, making sure the other house was watching. They looked nervous, hoping you would leave in one piece. They watched you laugh and talk. This could not have been the same boy that had terrorised so many. He was confident, suave, and personable. Worlds away from the awkward, nervous cry baby of a serial killer that they had become used to. He cleaned up well, even tidying up his wild hair. They wondered how long it would last. How long would it take for you to see the real him? They hoped you got out before it got to that state. The time flew by, and you both seemed to get closer by the second. You didn’t notice until your noses were touching, conversation halting. He seemed to be waiting for something, almost hesitant. You took the initiative and captured his lips. All of his hesitation melted away, his hand reaching around you and pulling you closer. The kiss got more heated, indicating that it would lead to something else. However, luck was not on your side. You phone ringing and interrupting you. Michael wanted to smash that phone; this was the second time it had stopped him. You apologised before picking up. Michael watched your expression change and brows knit in annoyance. You put the phone down, apologising. “I’m so sorry Michael, but I’m going to have to go, I’ve been called into work tomorrow and this is an important client, I hope you can understand.” “Of course, I’m sure you’re busy and I won’t keep you. Do you want me to drop you off?” He didn’t know why he asked that question, he didn’t have a car. “Oh thank you so much for understanding, and the offer. I drove here myself so there’s no need to worry about that,” you smiled at him. Michael helped you with your belongings, leading you out the door. You turned to thank him again, before he leaned down to give you another kiss, causing you to blush. He walked you to your car, taking in the interior. He waved you off with a smile. He knew you’d be back soon. ////

Michael shut the door behind him. He thought the night was a success. He opened the cupboard and pulled out your jacket. He hid it away, so you’d forget about it. The designer logo stood out to him. He buried his face in the fur, taking in all of it. Your scent, your warmth, everything. He had been so close to you. He wanted to watch the tapes with this in hand, for that he would have to venture next door. He wasn’t prepared to finally come face to face with his grandmother, looking down on him, cigarette in hand. “Michael fucking Langdon,” her southern drawl was harsh. He hadn’t been spoken to like that in years. He gulped as he watched her slowly walk down the stairs. “Why haven’t you grown out of that terrible habit of yours. You just have to destroy pretty things.” She stopped at the step just above him, still looking down. She gently stroked his face like she used to when he was a child, and he leaned into the touch. The peace was disturbed by a loud slap echoing through the house. Michael’s face turned to the side. He held his cheek, slowly turning to the woman with bleary eyes. “You have some nerve coming back to this house with that attitude of yours, clearly the ‘Church’ didn’t teach you any manners” Michael was trying to find his voice, to finally face the woman that he blamed for half of his problems. “And now look at you, that poor girl doesn’t even know the half of it.” She snatched the coat away from him. “Look at this Michael, this is Prada. And did you see the car she drove? What makes you think you deserve her? Look at yourself,” she gestured towards him. “Hair unkempt, Jobless, all you eat is candy and human flesh. What are you going to when she finds out the truth?” Michael hadn’t actually thought about that. He had neglected himself and his appearance for a while now. Did it really matter that much?

////

“Look, Y/N, all I’m saying is that you can do better. Look at you, you’re beautiful and well dressed and have such a good job. And him, well… he’s a little scruffy and I’m pretty sure he doesn’t even have a car,” Ms Grace did not approve of your relationship with Michael. She thought you could do better. “I see where you’re coming from but he’s charming. Although I do agree he could clean up a little better. I’ve seen him all dressed up and he looks so good. I just don’t understand why he chooses to look like… that most of the time,” the last bit was more meant for yourself. Your conversation was interrupted by Kevin, a colleague from another office. “He should take a page out of Kevin’s book,” Ms Grace pointed out. Kevin raised a brow at the conversation he had just become a part of. He too was on a lawyer salary, a well-dressed man that anyone would swoon for. “Who’s ‘he’?” “Y/Ns …. Boyfriend?” Ms Grace replied. “Nothing to concern yourself too much with Kevin, you know what Ms Grace is like,” you interjected. “I didn’t know you had a boyfriend. He must be something to reach those high standards of yours,” he pointed out. “Oh he’s something alright,” Ms Grace muttered. You huffed at the conversation. You didn’t think you were a superficial person, but your colleagues thought otherwise. //// Michael had heard enough. Sometimes he would scry into your workplace, just to check on you, to see if you thought of him as much as he did. The conversation reinforced Constance’s criticisms from the other day. He hadn’t felt this self-conscious in a while. He was not one to idle, immediately finding a hair stylist with an availability. He wanted a transformation that would floor you. With that in mind, he headed to ‘Gallants’. //// The hairstylist was truly annoying, yet he seemed to have magic in his hands. The final reveal shocked Michael also. The confidence he had at Hawthorne seemed to return. He held his head just a little higher as he walked out. He felt everyone’s eyes on him, people stopping to stare at the angelic looking man that strutted down the street. On his way to his next destination, he stopped at the sight of a certain symbol. An inverted cross. His feet had a mind of their own, leading him inside. His scar began to tingle. The congregation turned to stare at the man that had just walked in. They knew. It had to be. The high priestess getting on her knees before him. He could get used to this. //// He reached his final destination for the day. He didn’t usually kill men, but if they got in his way, he didn’t care who he killed. He waited for Kevin to come home. He was going to kill him here. He wasn’t worth the effort of taking him all the way to the murder house. Michael didn’t even give the man a chance to scream. Getting rid of him with a snap of his fingers. //// The murder house watched Michael carefully curate his image the next few months. An entire new wardrobe, his old clothes dumped in the murder house. They watched the elaborate skincare ritual every morning. Carefully peeling away masks and applying serums. How very American Psycho of him. You loved the new look. You made sure everyone in the office new you’d made the right choice. Michael loved the new attention, but he made sure you knew he only had eyes for you. He even planned on offering you a better job in Kineros’ legal team, just so he could keep you close and get you out of the sector you complained about so often. //// A strange thing happened one night. Michael took the camcorder down into the basement with him, setting the lens to record his newest victim. After he was done, he burned the footage onto a disk. What was he up to? //// You were on autopilot as you opened your door. You felt numb. Ms Grace had become another victim to ‘the Alpha’ along with one of your neighbours. You spent the entire day in police interviews, trying to make sense on the situation. As you walked into the house, you stepped on something. A thick envelope, labelled only with your name. You picked it up with shaky hands and opened it. In it was just an unlabelled disc and a sticky note saying ‘love from the Alpha’. It made your blood run cold. This had to be a joke. Some was messing with you; it could be the only explanation. You ran to your DVD player, you had to see what was on the disc, you hoped it was some shitty quality movie ripped from the internet. The video came on, starting in a dark room. The camera turned to a woman tied up, it zoomed in on her face and you immediately recognised her as Ms Grace. Your eyes widened and you felt ill, running to the bathroom to be sick. It was still playing when you came back, changing to a different video. It was dark again but it all seemed so familiar. The camera panned up and you gasped, your hands covering your face. It was a video of you, sleeping in your own home. You no longer felt safe here. You quickly took the disc out and grabbed your essentials, running to your car. As you pulled out your street, you had no idea what turn to take. Turning right would lead to the police station, you could submit the disc and ask for protection. However, they rarely did anything about stalking cases, and the disc had your finger prints all-over it. A left turn would lead to Michael. You felt safe around him and you were sure he could offer you comfort at this time. The beeping behind you made you make your decision. //// You pulled up outside Michael’s house. You rapidly knocked on the door, there was no answer. No light was on in the house. You prayed to whoever that would listen that he didn’t have any other plans for the night. As you lost hope and looked around, your eyes fell to the imposing structure next door. You remembered a conversation where he had said he was restoring the home. A light was on. With a deep breath, you ran up the steps, repeating your previous actions and hoping for a response. A shocked Michael opened the door. You immediately wrapped your arms around him, burying your face in his chest and sobbing. You didn’t notice the feral look he had going on. Hair dishevelled and blood-stained clothes. He gently put the knife down and wrapped his arms around you, cooing and shushing you. Telling you to calm down and it would all be okay. He was glad you were wearing a dark colour; you hadn’t noticed the stickiness of his hands and the stain they left. He gently moved you into the house, shutting the door. He used his magic to shut the basement door too. Your face was still buried in his arm as he walked you up the stairs. You should have paid attention to your strange surroundings. The ghosts of the house looked at you with the greatest of pity, wishing they could do something.

He sat you down on the bed, kneeling before you and taking your hands in his. “Hey, look at me. What’s going on?” he asked gently, wiping your eyes. You sniffled and calmed your breathing, trying not to freak out again as you explained the situation to him. “I… I think he’s after me,” you whispered. “Who’s ‘he?” “The Alpha, he’s after me, I know it.” Michael paused, you must have seen the DVD. He had to stop himself from laughing. “Why do you think that hmm?” his thumb stroked your cheek. “Three people I know have died and then I got this DVD in the mail,” you paused, “It… it’s a video of Ms Grace tied up and then one of me sleeping,” you began to cry again. Michael sat on the bed next to you, pulling you in for a hug, you buried your face into him again, taking in his scent and trying to calm down. “You’re the only person I feel safe around,” you mumbled. Michael smiled into your hair. He had you exactly where he wanted. ////

You decided to wash your face after you had calmed down. Wetting a towel with cold water, you placed it on your eyes in an attempt to de-puff them. The ghosts thought this was the perfect opportunity to warn you about your possible doom. Vivienne pulled open the shower curtain behind you. Revealing a bathtub full of ice and another victim placed in it. However, their plan didn’t seem to work. You didn’t even look back at the sound, having walked out the bathroom just in-time. Michael was sitting on the bad, waiting for you. He had changed into more casual clothing and was rolling a joint. “It might help you calm down,” he smiled up at you, twisting the end off. You sat back on the bed and joined him, relaxing into the headboard. The conversation was casual and mundane, something you really needed right now. Between the sound of his voice and the passing of the joint, you had no idea how much time had passed. All you knew at this moment was that you wanted to be as close to him as possible. Hands began to wander, and your lips met for a heated kiss, you ended up straddling him. You let yourself be lost in the haze, not knowing exactly when your clothes came off, just that you enjoyed the feel of his skin on yours. You lifted your hips, moving to finally having him inside you, to be as close as you could be. You waited a little, resting your forehead on his shoulder as you got used to his size and took it all in. The feeling of his hands rubbing up and down your spine was blissful. His hands finally rested on your hips, gripping them and encouraging you to finally move. You complied, taking your time. You moved away from his shoulder. He took the opportunity to leave marks all over your breasts. It just felt so good. You could feel that you wouldn’t last much longer, your movements becoming sloppier. Michael rested his hand on your throat, his face morphed into something a lot more vicious than you were used to. It must have rang some alarm bells, but you weren’t listening. His grip on your neck tightened, and his hips began to thrust up, meeting your movements. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as his grip tightened once more, causing the coil in your belly to snap. Your legs shook, walls pulsing around him as he followed not long after. He pulled you into a deep kiss by your neck, slowly moving you off him and onto the bed. You lay there catching your breath, staring into his eyes. Just for that brief moment, nothing else mattered, forgetting about the serial killer that was on the hunt somewhere. You got closer to him and got comfortable, your head resting on his chest, being lulled by his heartbeat. “I was thinking,” he started. “Hmm?” you mumbled back, enjoying the vibration of his speech. “Maybe you should take a break from work for a while and stay with me for a bit, just until things calm down,” he suggested. At that moment in time, the combined high of weed and sex made it seem like a genius idea. Surely it was the most obvious solution? “Yeah it’s a good idea,” you yawned. The exhaustion caught up to you, your heavy eyes falling shut. Michael squeezed you just a little tighter and smirked up at the residents that had surrounded you. Their looks of pity towards you were something else. Michael buried his face into your hair, turning off the lights around him. It was the most blissful sleep he had had in years.

////

You woke up sometime the next afternoon. Michael was nowhere to be seen. After using (the now empty) bathroom, you ventured through the house. It looked different. It looked complete in a way. The tarp, random cans of paint and building materials that you were sure where there last night, were gone. It was as if it had been transformed overnight. The strangest thing was how familiar the décor and interior looked. It looked like a bigger version of your own home. It felt familiar yet uncomfortably so. Quite frankly, it looked like your dream home, styled as if it was going to featured in Architectural Digest. You knew it didn’t look like this last night, nothing close to it. Then you thought back to the wardrobe upstairs, the one you had sleepily pulled your current clothing out of. It was full of your own clothing. Clothing that you didn’t bring with you. Did Michael do this while you were asleep? When did he get the time? You scoured the house for your car keys and purse. Only finding pieces of familiar décor instead. Your stomach got the better of you, heading to the kitchen and hopefully finding something to eat. The pantry was stocked full of your favourites, pulling out a box of your favourite cereal. It was at this moment you were sure that all the pieces were taken from your home. One of the cereal bowls had the same chip that yours had. The nervousness and paranoia of last night began to seep back into you, your face visibly twisted in those emotions. As you mindlessly ate your cereal, the basement door creaked open. You stopped mid chew to look. You quickly swallowed and slowly walked towards it. Telling yourself that there was nothing to fear, and that you were just going to shut it. You heard a thud as you reached the door. Maybe Michael was down there and needed some help or something. You slowly walked down the steps, being careful not to make any noise. Your hand covered your mouth to stop your scream and prevent you from vomiting from the smell. The image forever burned into your memory. There was blood everywhere. Michael had his back turned to you, you were sure he hadn’t sensed your presence yet. You slowly backed away, trying to be quiet and not alert him. You let out a shaky breath when you were back in the hallway. You didn’t care about finding your things now, you had to get out of here. The front door wouldn’t budge open, the backdoor was no different. None of the window’s downstairs would open either. You then remember one of the windows was cracked open in the room you were sleeping in. You may injure yourself, but it looked like your only way out. You pushed the window up even further, making enough room for you to jump out. You hoisted one leg over the ledge, looking out for your landing spot. You prepared yourself to move the other leg, but it wouldn’t budge. You tugged at it a few times before looking back. Those blue, rage filled eyes were staring back at you, holding your leg, and preventing you from getting out. “Get. Back. In.,” he said, through clenched teeth. You shook your head, looking away from him. You didn’t want to think about who’s blood he was covered in. “Please let me go,” you whispered, hoping he’d take mercy on you somehow. His grip just got tighter. You mustered up all your strength, kicking him off you. He let go of your leg, it gave you enough time to jump. You felt the wind rush around you as you fell. You hit the ground a lot harder than you thought. Your head ricocheted off the ground painfully. You ignored the crunch your legs made. Everything hurt so bad, the pain wouldn’t even let you scream. You knew you had calculated your fall right. The ghosts thought you did too, all watching with various shocked expressions. You tried to move and look around you and stay awake. You could only look up. Through your darkening vision, the last thing you saw was Michael leaning out the window, smiling down at you. The cat had caught the canary.

////

You groaned in pain as you opened your eyes.

The light was blinding, difficult to adjust to.

Where were you? Why were you here? How long had it been?

As you looked around, the room looked familiar, but you couldn’t quite put your finger on it.

“Oh? You’re finally awake, It’s been a few days, I missed seeing your eyes” a male voice spoke from beside you.

You slowly turned your head to the voice.

The man looked familiar; you raked your brain to figure out who it was.

He placed his hand on your cheek, you hissed and flinched as he stroked scabby and bruised skin. “Look at you. If you had stayed inside, we wouldn’t be here now, would we?”

His eyes finally met yours and everything came rushing back.

A feeling of dread overtook you. You tried to shuffle away from him, but something was preventing you from moving.

You tried to figure out what it was. Looking yourself over, noticing the blanket was bulky.

You momentarily forgot about the predator in the room, pulling the blanket away and revealing your legs, both in casts.

One of the casts had been signed, ‘get well soon, Love, your Alpha’.

You wanted to sob, but you knew any sudden movements would be painful.

Michael rolled his eyes and pulled the blanket back over you, tucking you in.

“If you’re good, you’ll get your painkillers. If you’re bad…,” he leaned over you, putting his weight on your legs, “I’ll cut them off next time,” he grinned.

He got onto the other side of the bed, holding you close to him, squeezing you just a little too tight, and giving your forehead a kiss.

Not even the apocalypse could get you out of his grasp now, he’d kill you both before anything tried to take you from him. Wherever you were, that was his sanctuary. Even if it meant eternal torment in the pits of hell, it didn’t matter, as long as it was with you.

#my writing #michael langdon #michael langdon x reader #Oneshot

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onemistresstorulethemall · 4 years ago

Text

There is darkness in the light

This is nsfw, as well as 99% of my blog, oops

Ship: Mammon x F!Reader

Word count: 1859

“Oh, don’t tell me you got cold feet now. It was just getting interesting.”, you faked some sweetness into your tone, “Don’t fold now. Let’s raise. Indulge me.”, you shifted your legs, changing which was on top of which, moving them a little too slow, catching the attention of a few hungry demons, “Unless, of course, you’re scared of losing to a human…”

Your last line sparked something in the demon you were facing. He seemed offended. Good, you thought, that was the point. You needed him to play right into your trap.

“As if you could scare me.”, he snapped back, “Sure. I’ll humour you.”, he pushed a few more chips in the centre of the table.

Turning towards one of his friends, who already folded, he stated with a big smirk on his face:

“Bet she’d be set for life if she won my pocket money.”

His friend chuckled at the remark, but his eyes didn’t follow. You had beat him enough times for him to know better, but you’ve yet to destroy every crumb of pride, so he still kept up a confident façade. However, it meant little to you. All that counted in that moment was to win.

“So, what have you got, little one?”, the demon mocked you.

Your eyes burned through him and fell onto your date for the night. The second born was eyeing you from the bar, flashing a cheeky smile and raising his glass in your honour. Mammon knew you’d win this round. You both knew, actually. His pact mark burned in a particular way that let you know you were lucky. It came in handy at times like this or times when you had to guess answers to a RAD exam you didn’t study for.

“Please, do the honours.”, your attention shifted to the demon in front of you.

A pair of kings. Not bad, but not good either. At least, not good enough. However, you were here to have fun, so you faked defeat.

“My…That’s a good hand.”, you bit your lip and frowned.

At that point in time, a bunch of demons gathered around your table, waiting to see the results. Funny enough, demons made bets on who would win.

“Wish you backed away when you could, huh?”, your opponent lit up a cigarette.

“I…”, you looked down before revealing your cards, “I could ask you the same question.”, you glued your gaze to his as a huge grin spread across your face.

Three aces. You won.

“Motherfucker…”, he hissed while exhaling the smoke.

While you pulled the chips towards you the demons gathered around you loudly expressed their emotions. Some cursed, some cheered, but it mattered little to you.

Your opponent felt a tap on the shoulder. A woman handed him a glass of demonus and ruffled his hair.

“Lost to Mammon’s girl again?”, she laughed, “You should’ve known better.”

Happy with your earnings for the night, you left the table and headed towards the bar. When close enough to Mammon, your hands found their way around his neck. You leaned in close, your lips almost touching, breathing heavily, tension thick enough you could cut it with a knife.

“Tell me…”, you bit your lip, “Did you manage?”, your eyes full of desire.

“Yeah, baby, let’s get outta here.”, his smirk made your knees weak.

After you cashed in your gains, both of you got into Mammon’s car and the moment the door closed, you started laughing, no longer being able to contain it.

“Fucking hell, I can’t believe how dumb they are!”

You turned around to face the blue-eyed demon and cupped his cheeks, pulling him in to kiss him forcefully. Your hands knew no boundaries and travelled across his entire body, sneaking under clothes to feel his warm skin, grabbing with unsatiated hunger while your nails dug into his soft flesh. He was far from shy as well, high on the smell of money and one too many glasses of demonus. One of his hands rested on the back of your head, tangled into your hair a bit too tight, as if to make sure you weren’t going anywhere, while the other curiously explored your body, travelling from your waist to your ass and your thighs, making its way under your dress.

When you broke off the kiss, a strig of saliva still connected your mouths. Panting, you smirked and dragged your nails across his ribs.

“Let’s get out of here.”, you suggested.

“You wanna go home already?”, he seemed confused.

“No, silly. Let’s get a hotel room, see how much we made.”

Mammon seemed to like the idea, speeding up after planting a kiss on your lips one last time.

It was overwhelming. The cold wind blowing your hair around from the parted window, Mammon’s hand on your thigh occasionally squeezing and the thrill of accomplishing your plan.

Soon enough you got pulled up to a hotel and rushed into the room, unbearable to wait a second longer. You threw your heels on the floor quickly and opened up your purse to let a wave of grimm flow onto the bed.

Grinning, you turned to face Mammon who pulled around six wallets, three watches and a few pieces of jewellery from his pockets.

“Fuck, I can’t believe this worked…”, you finally broke the spell.

“Oh, of course it worked. You put on quite a nice show, princess. With your plan and my skills, it couldn’t go any other way.”

He emptied the contents of the wallets onto the bed.

It was your idea, actually. Mammon played first. You made quite a scene after he lost all his money and demanded that he backs off for the night. Instead, you asked he let you play a few games before you leave. He complied. You tried your best to make the matches entertaining and attract as much attention as you could. When people gathered around, Mammon used the opening to empty their pockets. It was all premeditated and you couldn’t believe you actually pulled it off.

“Do ya wanna count them?”, he asked.

As a response, you pushed him onto the grimm-filled bed and began to kiss his neck.

“Fuck…”, he hissed in surprise.

You loved being on top, having control over him, making him squirm under you and enjoying his every reaction. However, tonight, you wanted him to completely take over you. All you needed to do was to bring him to his breaking point.

Without hesitation, you reached for his jeans, unbuttoning them pulling them off along with his boxers.

“Shit, someone’s eager.”

“Mmm, you bet I am.”

You began to sloppily lick along his shaft, making sure it’s nice and wet before taking all of his length down your throat in one go.

“F-fuck, gimmie a warning first.”

You raised your head, drool dripping from your mouth, and looked into his ocean eyes.

“Gotta serve my king well, right?”

After a quick smile, you resumed to pleasuring your favourite demon. This time, slower, rolling your tongue around his tip and using a hand to stroke the rest.

“Shit…”, he breathed out, “You’re perfect.”

His hand found its way into your hair, pushing and pulling, controlling the pace. At this point it was less of a blowjob and more of a facefuck. Drool kept dripping from your lips and filled the room of wet, sloppy sounds. You couldn’t help but moan as he used your mouth. Mammon’s free hand bunched up the sheets and along with it a bunch of bills. That was probably the last drop for him cause he pulled onto your hair and freed your mouth. As if you weighted nothing, he switched the positions, pulling you under him before beginning to undress you. Your dress hit the floor and so did your panties.

His eyes were full of desire as he grabbed your waist and pulled you into a kiss. In the process, a bunch of grimm ended up on your stomach. When Mammon broke the kiss and leaned back his cock twitched when faced with the view.

Between your legs, his hand began to play with your wet folds, making you arch your back.

“You’re my most prized possession. Fuck, it’s like you were made for me…”

His fingers entered you, moving inside, hitting just the right spots. Your hips gained a mind of their own and moved without you even thinking about it.

“Doncha think so, y/n? That ya belong to me…”

His lips fell onto your neck before you even had a chance to reply. His teeth sank into your flesh, marking you as his own in yet another way.

When his thumb traced circles on your clit, a cry escaped your lips and you knew you reached your breaking point.

“Mammon if you don’t fuck me right this second…”

“You’ll what? Whine?”

“Fuck, please…”

Without another exchange, he flipped you around, turning you on your stomach before aligning himself to your entrance.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, y/n”

That was the last thing you heard before your head was pushed into a pile of grimm while his cock slowly entered you.

“Don’t fucking be gentle!”, you warned him, “Be as rough as you can.”

“You’ll break”, he chuckled.

“Good.”

He grabbed your hands by the wrist and pinned them to your back, so you had no choice but to sit there and take it. Mammon’s movements became rougher and faster while your moans became louder.

“You’re taking me so well, fuck…”

You weren’t half as coherent. You could only alternate between “Mammon” and “Fuck”. His free hand reached between your legs and rubbed against your clit in an attempt to relive all the built up tension. Your legs started to shake and your walls spasmed around his cock as you came undone. The demon did not slow down at all. Instead, his grip on your wrists became tighter and his thrusts deeper, chasing his own release. Soon enough, he spilled inside of you with a loud groan before falling onto his back next to you.

Still in a daze, you were a bit shocked when Mammon pulled you into an embrace and kissed the top of your head.

“Ya know… With your cash, there must be like a hundred thousand grimm here.”, he turned to face you, “How about we clean up and spend them all?”

Tomorrow you were bound to get back to the house of lamentation at some point. You’d have to do your homework, cook dinner as it was your turn and help Lucifer with a few documents. Basically, you had to take care of your responsibilities and be a good girl. So, of course, you nodded. Mammon was going to spend all the money regardless, so you took the chance to go wild and he was the only one you could go wild with. Your first demon, in every sense of the word. The only one who knew about the darkness in your soul and cherished it. He was both your chaos and your anchor. Your temptation and your guardian. Your sin and your virtue. He was yours, your Mammon.

#obey me!#shall we date #obey me! shall we date?#obey me mammon #mammon x reader #shall we date mammon #obey me! mammon #mammon x mc #smut #the smuttier the better #obey me smut

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its-monster-mash · 4 years ago

Text

Paul(The Lost Boys) X Michael’s Ex!Fem!Reader Imagine(Part 1)

Content Warnings: Vaguely Love-Triangley? (Reader and Michael are still good friends and broke up a while before Mike moved, but things are a little awkward because they were each other’s first serious relationship; so he’s more protective than he needs to be, and there might be a few hurt feelings, but I wouldn’t quite call it a love triangle), Brief Sexual Harassment

Part 2

This turned out SUPER long so I’m putting it under a readmore; also I think I’m going to make it a series because I want to go a lot further with this but I suspect I’m going to run out of space soon

• Michael Emerson had been your best friend since you were kids, growing up in Phoenix only a ten minute walk from eachother...if you knew the right shortcuts. You knew all of them, thought you knew everything when you were younger, and you got yourself and Mike into a fair amount of trouble because of it...but he had always been a good kid, and was able to temper your more destructive elements.

• It surprised exactly no one when the two of you eventually started dating, nor did it surprise them when you broke up a few years later. You had always been inseparable, and the love had always been there, but over time you just couldn’t help but feel stifled. You had spent your entire teen years with him, and so many people liked to joke that Mike tamed you...at the rate you were going it seemed like sundresses, picket fences, and a couple of kids weren’t far off in your future...and that scared you.

• Mike was heartbroken when you left him, and for the first few weeks he absolutely held it against you, but due to your shared friends and history your friendship survived. Unfortunately, his parents’ divorce separated your iconic duo once again.

• When Mike’s dad showed up on your doorstep a few days after the move, you tore him a new one for basically abandoning his sons. He set a box on your porch, Mike’s Tools...his Grandpa gave them to him when he was just a little kid and they were one of his most treasured possessions...they were forgotten in the chaos of the move...His dad thought you might visit him sometime...

• That’s what led to you hopping in your shitass El Camino and making the drive to Santa Carla. Lucy had given you their new address before they left...you knew she hoped that maybe you and Mike would get back together some day, but that just wasn’t in the cards. At the end of the day he was just too good, too normal, for you.

• Driving through Santa Carla, you can’t help but be drawn to the sheer...strangeness of it all. Looking at the people, you feel like you actually fit in here. You definitely plan on hanging around the town for a while.

• Mike isn’t home when you get to his Grandpa’s house, but his mom could not be happier to see you. It’s a bittersweet reunion for you; she had been more of a mother to you growing up than your own parents, but after breaking her son’s heart you just don’t feel like it‘s right for you to call her “Mom” like you used to. She has a million questions, and she even suggests you stay with them for a while...you politely decline.

• You didn’t tell her that sleeping in your beat-up old car was preferable to her hospitality, but it would just be too weird, with how recent your breakup was. You and Mike are still friends, but you think sleeping under the same roof might be weird for him

• You still want to see him though, so you decide to explore the town on foot for a while; maybe run into him. You’re wandering around when you hear a familiar voice coming from the open door of a comic book store.

• As soon as you walk in you see the unmistakably garish patterns of Sammy Emerson’s signature style and break into a wide smile. “Long time no see, huh kid?” Almost the second he sees you he practically knocks you over with a hug, backing away in embarrassment after a second of thought. You and Mike were already best friends by the time he was born, so Sam was almost as much your little brother as he is Mike’s.

• “Now What was that about Vampires?” You had overheard Sam and the Frog brothers when you walked into the store...Sam rolls his eyes, and the Frogs assail you with some insane story about how the town is overrun with vampires. Some imaginations these kids have.

• You bail out of there pretty quick in favor of wandering the boardwalk, seeing what Santa Carla had to offer...before you know it, the sun is starting to set

• Maybe going out alone in “The Murder Capital of The World” wasn’t your smartest decision, but you weren’t exactly known for your self preservation; that had always been Mike’s job...but he isn’t here now.

• You grimace as you notice a group of surfers take notice of you. You had wandered a bit aways from the main crowd, so you aren’t sure anyone would notice if things went south... “Hey Sweetie.”

• “Get Bent.” You sneer as they close in on you. “Awe well that’s not very polite,” the leader says, giving your ass a firm squeeze. “You should try being a little nicer.”

• You humor him with the sweetest smile you can muster as you stomp as hard as you can on his foot. He calls you a bitch and you flinch as his fist flies toward you.

• You open your eyes when the hit never comes, and are shocked to see that someone had caught the guy’s fist. You look up at him and your cheeks flush; when was the last time you saw a guy this handsome? “This guy bothering you, babe?” He asks as he squeezes the guy’s fist so tight you hear something pop. The guy falls to his knees and gasps in pain as his friends back away nervously. You smile wickedly. “Not anymore.”

• You watch the douchbags storm away with their wounded pride, shouting empty threats, only distracted when your Knight in Shining Tight-Pants tucks your hair affectionately behind your ear. “So what’s a pretty thing like you doing alone in a town like this?”

• You bite your lip, eyeing him appreciatively; now that you could get a good look at him you can tell he is definitely your type...and you hadn’t been with anyone since you broke things off with Michael. “Hoping to run into an old friend, but I haven’t seen him.”

• He grins, clearly appreciating your look. “That’s too bad, wanna make some new friends?” His eyes are fixed on you with a certain hunger, there’s a palpable danger to him; it excites you.

• You shift your stance flirtatiously, leaning into him ever so slightly. “That depends, are they all as cute as you?” He pokes his tongue into his cheek with an amused grin. “Almost.”

• He takes your mischievous smirk as agreement, and throws an arm around you, leading you back to where his friends are gathered by their bikes. “This the chick you ditched us for?” The curly-headed blond asks, humor in his tone.

• “Well I for one am grateful for the timely rescue.” You grin. “How grateful?” The blond on the bike asks, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively; making you laugh. Your hero slaps at him playfully, and the favor is returned.

• Seemingly the leader of the group, the spiky-headed blond interrupts the roughhousing. “Paul, Marko, knock it off and let’s go.”

• Paul nods, climbing onto his bike and grinning at you seductively. “You wanna go for a ride, babe?”

• His smile is infectious, and his innuendo isn’t lost on you. Maybe it’s not your safest decision, but you climb on the back of his bike; earning a loud “HELL YES.” From him, and hooting and hollering from Marko.

• “Make sure you hold on tight babe, I’m about to take you on a ride you’ll never forget.” “Shut up and drive,” you tease as you wrap your arms tightly around his midsection.

• They all laugh deviously as they rev their motors to life, and you’re glad you’re holding on tight, nearly falling off when they take off from 0 to 100. “HOLY SHIT!” “What’s the matter sweetheart, can’t handle a little speed?”

• “That all you got?!” You ask, acting tough. It was a mistake though. “That all you got, Paul?” Marko asks, mocking you. “I dunno girl, I think that’s all he’s got.” The big brunette says, first time he’s spoken since you met the boys. “Fuck off, Dwayne!” Paul shouts. The leader gives his engine a rev, egging Paul on. You scream, forced to cling tightly to his back as his bike tears into the night. Marko pulls up next to you, mimicking you with a falsetto squeal.

• “Damn babe, already screaming for me,” Paul teases over the roar of his motor. You’d sass him back if you weren’t too busy burying your face in his back for dear life. You’d ridden on the back of Mike’s bike plenty of times before, but he was never this reckless. You’re as terrified as you are thrilled.

• By the time you start to get used to the speed, the boys are slowing down, and much to your surprise, they pull right up to Michael, who is standing with a girl you haven’t met. His eyes snap to you instantly and go wide with confusion, he hadn’t even been aware you’d come to town. “(Y/N)?”

• “This that friend you were looking for?” Paul asks. “Yeah, (Y/N), care to introduce us to Star’s new friend?” “David please.” You watch the exchange a bit uncomfortably, shifting on the bike, arms still around Paul. “Yeah...Hey Mike, I uh, your old man dropped your tools off at my place so I took them up to your mom.” Your chest feels impossibly tight. You aren’t jealous to see him with a new girl, but you had hoped that maybe he’d be a little happier to see you here...and him, the earring and that jacket...it doesn’t feel like Mike at all. Paul can feel you shrink against him.

• “Hope I’m not stepping on any toes here,” Paul says, giving your thigh an unsubtle squeeze; deliberately antagonizing Michael. You smile a bit awkwardly as Mike scratches the back of his head in discomfort. Star looks between the two of you, avoiding eye contact with David. “No, Mike and I used to date but...” “But it’s over,” Mike says, a bit too shortly, trying to cover the awkwardness with an unconvincing smile.

• David shoots him a not-all together-friendly look. “Well, you seem to be moving on well enough,” he says, gesturing to Star, who shrinks beside him. “So’s (Y/N),” Paul interjects, looking over his shoulder to smile at you. You smile back at him, despite the awkwardness.

• “We should go, Star,” David urges. Star hesitates, but climbs on the back of his bike. Michael looks mortified, and you can’t help but feel awful for him. You’re shocked when David nods his head toward Mike’s bike. “Come with us, Michael.”

• You know the look on Mike’s face; his first instinct is to back out, avoid trouble...but then he looks at you, and he looks at Star; like he’s worried what will happen to you if he doesn’t come along. “Mike,” You don’t have to come, you start to say, feeling Paul tense in your arms. “I’m coming.”

• “This is gonna be so sick,” Marko says with a practically manic grin, before Dwayne swats him upside the head. “Don’t be an ass.”

• “Don’t forget, (Y/N), hold on tight,” Paul says, side eyeing Michael a little less than subtly. Mike rolls his eyes and you shrug apologetically. This is awkward, for sure, but one way or another you want to see this through. Paul and the boys seem cool as hell, and at the very least seem like a good way to get back on the horse after getting over a long relationship.

• You squeeze Paul a little tighter, heart pounding against his back. He revs his engine. “You ready, babe?”

#Spotify #mypost #the lost boys #music tag #paul lost boys #I DID NOT EXPECT TO MAKE THIS SO LONG #I thought this would be a lot more condensed but I’m liking it a lot so I’m drawing stuff out more than originally intended #probably will do at least one more part #I LOVE Paul #and I want to have an emotional scene between Reader and Michael where Reader worries that his ‘new look’ is because she dumped him for-#-being too good of a guy #he’ll kind of joke with her like ‘No don’t worry my first love leaving me for not being a bad boy right before my parent’s divorce didn’t-#-fuck me up at all’#and then he’ll clarify that no; the breakup made him realize that he DID want to make his life more exciting and reinvent/explore himself-#-since he had to start life over in a new town #Mike is SLIGHTLY an ass in this chapter but I do want to Emphasize that he and reader were VERY close friends before they ever thought-#-about dating and are still friends now #It’s just a bit complicated now that they HAVE dated #Mike probably thought they were going to get married some day #so cut him some slack this is hard for him lol #the lost boys imagines

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missesdavinci · 4 years ago

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This is one of my few first POV and I’m still playing with it 🖤

As I’m a hoe for Daisuke this is a Daisuke Kambe x reader. I hope you’ll enjoy it ✨

We make Love and War

[Kambe Daisuke x Reader] [word count: 1716] [smut]

His cheek felt cold underneath my fingertips, I could see myself reflected in his steel orbs.

“Kiss me.”

My voice was resolute, but my mind started to run haywire.

This will be your only chance. Take it or leave it.

The plane shook gently, and I was pressed deeper into the silken sheets. He stared at me with a gaze I couldn’t decipher, but I wouldn’t repeat myself. I felt already crazy enough for giving him this chance. A moment ago I had scolded him telling he was absolutely ridiculous, his actions outrages and now I was nothing more than a woman desperate for his touch 35 000 feet above the ground.

I was about to pull my hand away, but he caught it in midair. Daisuke’s gaze flickered like something had just awakened. I took a sharp breath.

Within the blink of an eye I felt a hot, moist sensation covering the tip of my index finger; it set ablaze my entire body. A whine escaped my throat. His tongue skillfully played around my finger, I trembled. This was dangerous. Kambe Daisuke was unpredictable in so many ways, and now I was driven into another corner. What irked me was that I could never wrap my head around his many facets. I judged that his demeanor resulted from his upbringing but even being aware I still could not comprehend him.

I was so lost in thought and my body so busy processing the sensation his actions evoked, I completely missed our faces getting closer.

“Do you want it now?”

“Pardon?” I blinked.

“The kiss. I asked if you want it now”

There it was again. How could someone be so skilled at riling me up and, at the same time, ask such stupid questions in a situation so clear?

Frankly, it was a bit frustrating.

“Daisuke” it was a groan not his name.

Please, give me back the guy who closed the door behind us, pushed me into the bed and licked my finger to ecstasy.

My prayer was heard or his patience running low. Daisuke’s kiss was a little sloppy but exquisite, it made my toes curl. The taste of the champagne we had for lunch was still fresh. It suited him, and strangely it felt like he had never done anything else than kissing me. Like kissing was just made for us. The warm feeling in my veins returned, I lost myself in his kiss. He explored me, every inch of my mouth, every piece of my being until the urge to breathe made us part.

I enjoyed the art in front of me. My fingers carded through his neat dark hair, disheveling it on their way. His face was flushed as he watched me through half-lidded eyes. He was already a picture painted, stirring the vixen inside me.

Fueled, I scraped my nails over his scalp softly. Daisuke grumbled, eyes full with disdain. Still, I chuckled to myself, it was usually so hard to catch his feelings.

“Don’t” he said, voice threateningly low while dipping his head and biting into the sensitive spot that was my earlobe. I cried.

Soon his teeth scraped all the way down my jaw and my neck until they turned into butterfly kisses atop my collarbone. A pleasurable shiver ran down my spine, I dug my fingers deeper into his mane and he growled again. A swift bite into the thin skin shook my senses but was soon replaced by the feeling of his tongue running across until it settled in the hollow of my collarbone. I shuddered underneath him, my need coil deep, I wanted him.

My legs wrapped around his hips, one of his hands nimbly traveled up my bare legs past the hem of my summer dress. Excitement mixed with raw feelings. We drew closer and lost ourselves in a passionate kiss again.

In a rush, teeth clanked together. He cheekily squeezed my butt, my hips buckled upwards drawing a whimper from the pits of my despair. Daisuke’s moan was lost in the kiss.

Every inch of fabric between us was too much. My skin was on fire and in need of his cool touch. I wanted his hands, his body all over me.

We switched positions, and in one swift move he had me undressed. I was exposed to the comparatively cold air inside the bedroom cabin. My bosom swayed gently with the plane’s unsteady movement.

What in the world had I thought not wearing a bra when I walked out of my apartment this morning?

Cocking a sleek brow, my companion’s eyes wandered around my perky mounts, seemingly with the same question.

“Oh, shut up!”

I was about to cover myself when Daisuke grabbed my wrists. He threw me a look that said, “Did I complain?!” and hoisted himself up. His mouth covered my perks, sucking them to his devilish heart's content. I melted in his arms.

My hands roamed through his hair, down his neck, finding a steady grasp onto his shoulders.

A sigh that stretched into a moan fell from my swollen lips. Deftly, his fingers ran down my spine while his mouth never left my skin. Our hips ground together impatiently, begging to be released from their clothing prison. I could feel him getting harder with every capricious move.

With a plop he stopped his teasing, leaving a purplish pink patch on my cleavage just where my chest started to swell.

Territorial, aren’t we?

I used the momentum to get rid of his shirt, pushing him back into the mattress and making my way down. He looked a little messy, strands falling unruly onto his forehead, but his face was confident while watching me work my magic.

A little too cocky for my liking.

I stopped right above the groin, face hovering close but never touching. Eyes slanted, he almost frowned. What was he thinking? Our gazes met, and I smiled in amusement. Who knew he could be this impatient.

Deviously, I stuck out my tongue, making careful contact with his sensitive skin. I could feel tremors rising. Still, he tried to remain steadfast. Who would I be to refuse a challenge?

I worked my way further down, mixing kisses with saliva trails blowing against his flesh. Daisuke shuddered, yet his voice was still amiss. My tongue trailed further and further, I quickly opened his suit pants and was greeted by his erection.

His breath hitched. Finally. Without hesitation I took him in, full length sliding across the wet, hot inside of my mouth. He grumbled low, head falling backwards into the cushion. I bobbed my head up and down, playing with his length, sucking and stimulating him with my tongue much to his satisfaction. The room was soon filled with ecstatic moans and his erratic breathing.

Feeling him tense I thought he was about to come but surprisingly he stopped me.

Thumb caressing my lower lip, he thirstily pulled me closer while I got rid of my last piece of clothing. With his eagerness, I felt it would only be a hindrance and I wouldn’t want him to rip off my panties.

Languidly, I draped my arms around his neck while our lips found each other again. Through my eyes half closed, I observed him and saw a hunger speaking from his eyes I hadn’t seen before. His hands became hasty exploring the curves of my body, touching and tasting every corner of me.

We switched positions again. He brought me down tenderly, as if I was the most delicate thing he had ever owned. I felt myself getting restless and greedy, his mere caresses not enough to satisfy my needs. My abdomen was tingling, fueled by every electric touch and I wanted him even closer, to feel him, to become one.

I whined. He read my thoughts, his erection poking my entrance. Already drenched down there, I was begging for him and he filled me up.

“Haaaah” I arched my back.

Ferociously, he thrusted inside, lifting one of my legs over his shoulder to gain even more access. From the start he didn’t bother to build up his pace. No, he went all in.

The stimulation made my body tremble uncontrollably. It tickled deliciously, rolling out a wave of electrified heat with each thrust.

“Daisuke” I cried out his name in an attempt to slow him down.

Unfortunately, it triggered the opposite reaction calling on my demise.

“Say it again” he grunted huskily, lifting up my other leg.

“Dai- suke”

His length penetrated so deep, it felt like a lance piercing through my body accompanied by waves of pleasure making it hard for me to speak.

“Again” he demanded, his sonorous voice reverberating through my chest.

“Daisuke”

His hips slammed down even harder.

“Again”

“Daisuke” I moaned.

Each push ached, a pain tinged with pleasure. Desperately I clung to his arms, I felt the coil inside me slowly starting to unravel.

“Again” he cooed, voice raspy.

“Daisuke”

His name fell in a breathy moan. My nails dug deep into his triceps. At the edge of my consciousness, I heard him hiss, yet his pace didn’t falter.

Slowly, I felt the corners of my eyes dampen. Unable to hold it any longer, my inner walls clenched. Behind closed eyes my world exploded, new galaxies burst to life. My body had completely gone out of my control.

At the same time Daisuke howled, a warm sensation spread inside me and he folded into my arms completely limp, breathing haggard.

I pulled together what little strength I had left and embraced him. Salty beads trickled down our bodies, but I didn’t feel uncomfortable. He didn’t bother to pull himself out; I didn’t mind. I felt serene and at peace.

Carefully my fingers wound through his silky strands and I felt him purr with each motion. A smile tucked the corner of my lips. So this haughty man was nothing more but a big cat. This image fitted well with the way he curled into the nape of my neck. I felt his soft breathing returning to normal and gradually getting more shallow as he drifted into a deep slumber.

Kambe Daisuke was a wild cat, and my best guess was that I was gradually on my way to tame him.

#fugou keji #fugou keiji balance: unlimited #fugou keiji daisuke #kambe daisuke #kambe daisuke x reader #smut #fugou keiji smut

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feliix · 4 years ago

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Fortuitous Chapter I ✦ (18+)

✦ Pairing: Witch!Jungkook x Reader x Jimin

✦ Word count: 3.3k ✦ Rating: M

✦ Genre: angst, fluff, smut, soulmate!au, fantasy!au

✦ Summary: You have gone your entire life believing that Park Jimin was your soulmate, but when you meet the shopkeeper of your local potion store your world turns upside down.

✦ Warnings: unprotected sex, dirty talk, fingering, oral (female receiving), praise kink, unrequited love, explicit smut

✦ A/N: thank you to my favorite person ever @hobiance for helping me plan this monster ilysm and thank you to my lovely beta @ally-127 for helping me out! the beautiful banner is made by the wonderful @kimtaehyunq

taglist: @krystle1990

The many tales of soulmates dated back as long as anyone could remember. It was one of your favorite stories that your mother read to you when you were young. The story was about a princess, locked in a tower her entire life, but on her 18th birthday, she was allowed to leave for the first time.

On the princess’s first trip to the city she met a man, one who she fell in love with. When she locked eyes with this man, the village people saw their eyes turn pink. The princess and the man’s hearts became full, illustrated with hearts surrounding the characters in the storybook, showing you this was true love.

You had always thought back to this story when you thought of true love. A heart becoming full at first sight as your eyes became stunned with the sight of your lover. It was a romantic concept for sure, and you hoped that it was everything you had thought it was your whole life.

In a world of all things magical, you were not. You had grown up with faerie friends, demon enemies, and in a family of angels.

Unfortunately, you were the only one in your family without any supernatural gift.

Being a human wasn’t that bad. It just wasn’t anything interesting either. Living a life surrounded by supernatural beings was a lot of work.

Well, mostly surrounded.

Meaning everyone in your life except for your very own fiance was supernatural.

You had known Park Jimin for your entire life. His family was full of angels too, and your parents all grew up together. It was certain that the two of you were destined to be friends. You’d known him for so long that you don’t even remember the first time you met, because the two of you were just that long. For very obvious reasons, this complicated things.

When one first meets eyes with their soulmate, their irises glow pink and their heart becomes whole. You had heard that it was the most outrageous feeling in the world, but you never did know if you experienced it yourself.

Although you had no remembrance of experiencing this feeling, you’ve gone your entire life with the belief that Jimin is your soulmate.

If you couldn't remember the first time your eyes met Jimin’s, how would you know if they had glowed pink like soulmates are supposed to? Your parents had always told you it was Jimin, and his parents told him the same. But if that was true, why didn’t you see the world with rose-colored glasses like the princess? Why didn’t you feel like your heart was complete?

That was the question you had been trying to figure out the past few years of your life – ever since you started dating Jimin. Jimin was a good fiance. He was kind, smart, and he had always been good to you. He respected you, your career, and allowed you to be as independent as you wanted to be.

Things with Jimin were…comfortable? He was a good friend to you, even before you started dating. The two of you had always got on very well. None the less – the sex was amazing. It was lust-filled and just as dirty as you liked it to be, but it just seemed like there was something missing in the intimacy department. Like a spark or something beyond just lust that drove you absolutely mad – it wasn’t complete. You weren’t exactly sure how this love thing worked, and maybe you were overthinking it – but it just wasn’t as eccentric as you expected it to be.

“Everything okay?”

His voice snaps you back to the present – sitting over your bowl of cereal, now fairly mushy. You must have dozed off for a while.

“I’m good,” you confirm, dropping your spoon into the bowl. It isn’t appetizing anymore and there is no point in sitting here if you never planned on eating anyway. Breakfast for dinner was never really your thing. “I think I’m gonna head to bed.”

Something was missing between you and Jimin. You weren’t sure what was missing but there was something that wasn’t there. Weren’t you supposed to feel undoubtedly in love? After all these years there was a piece of your heart that was missing. The way your parents talked about soulmates, the way your friends felt while being away from their significant other, the things that the fairy tales told you. Something was missing but what was it?

As you prepare yourself for bed your mind races with these thoughts, thinking of ways to feel this spark you had always longed for. The way Jimin looked at you, you knew he felt it – you can’t help but think that maybe it's you.

Was this what it’s supposed to feel like? If it was then soulmates are not all they’re cracked up to be. Maybe it's because you can't remember the first time that you locked eyes, or you don’t remember falling in love – if you even had fallen in love in the first place.

The downwards spiral of your thoughts was never-ending, and Jimin could sense something was wrong. He knew better than to ask you, though. It was in your nature to keep your thoughts to yourself, it wasn’t your style to let him worry about your internal sufferings.

Anyway, you knew Jimin was your soulmate. Your parents told you so, and Jimin was confident in it too. He loves you, he tells you so each and every day. Maybe you just needed to let down your walls and let him in. Maybe it was your own thoughts that were containing you from allowing yourself to fall in love.

You watch him as he gets into bed beside you, wearing nothing but his pajama bottoms as he slides beneath the covers. Glasses adorn his face, a book placed in his hand as he flips on his bedside lamp. He’s focused on the pages in front of him, reading over each line (intently) and allowing the book to consume his thoughts. He’s handsome, perfect in almost every way. Why wasn’t he enough?

“Jimin”

“Yes?”

“Touch me”

His eyes grow wide as you stare at him with a waiting expression, he’s caught off guard – but he doesn’t turn you down.

He takes your cheek in his hand, soothing the skin with his thumb as he tilts your head to the side. Goosebumps litter your skin as his lips meet your neck, sucking lightly and making your senses grow wild.

A breathy moan leaves your lips as his kisses trail down your neck, satisfied with the feeling and letting lust overtake your emotions. That's what this was, lust. You lusted after Jimin. If sex could be enough to make you fall deeply in love with him, you already would be.

Delicate fingers trace along the hem of your t-shirt as sloppy kisses are placed on your collarbones, your fingers carding through his hair and gripping it at the roots.

Your clothing is lost in the crossfire, landing sporadically around the room as Jimin ravishes your body, no surface left untouched by his plush lips as he worships your every angle.

The cool air washes over your naked body, shivers run through your body as his hands meet you once again. And then he’s pushing your knees to the sides, your legs separating as he dives in between them. And just like that, Jimin’s lips are moving south and his tongue is diving into your soaking depths. Involuntarily your hips buck towards him, unable to control your own actions from the pleasure his mouth is bringing you. Jimin’s thumb soon meets your clit, circling the bundle of nerves gently as his tongue presses flat along your slit.

You let out an airy gasp as his fingers move down to your entrance, circling the hole before dipping just one inside. Unable to resist, your hips jump up towards him as your mouth releases a loud moan. A hand flies up to cover your mouth, shocked at your own body’s response to his touch.

“Eager, aren’t we?” he smirks as his finger pushes into you slowly. Your walls swallow his finger deliciously, adjusting to the new sensation well. Soon enough he’s adding in another finger, causing you to tense up at the added pressure, taking a moment to adjust to the greater size. The feeling of mild discomfort quickly subsides as his lips reassure every movement; soft kisses pressed to the inside of your thigh as his fingers explore your depths.

Your hips jut forward as his fingers begin to separate, stretching your walls as his fingers move in scissor-like motions inside of you. He does his best to comfort you as his other hand gently rubs under your navel, his fingers quickening in pace and spreading further apart to prepare you for the size of his cock.

Your stomach churns with anticipation as his fingers reach new depths inside of you. All the pain is gone, morphing sweetly into pleasure as Jimin meets your desires.

“Jimin,” you breathe out, a moan-like sound following his name. It was a way to get his attention, not a cry of pleasure. He narrows his eyes in response, his eyes still locked on your expression as he waits for you to continue, “please.”

You don’t have to say anymore before Jimin is rocking himself back onto his heels, not before leaving one last kiss to your clit. His fingers reach for the waistband of his sweatpants, ripping them off with his underwear in one fell swoop.

His cock springs outward as his clothing is removed, his tip red, dripping and begging to be touched. Swiftly, his hands return back to their place on his cock, looking so pretty and delicate wrapped around his fully hardened member.

Hunger fills his eyes as he moves to you, his body positioning over yours ever so slowly. This is what you had been waiting for. To feel something, anything – even if it was lust.

Your body tenses as the tip of his cock presses against your entrance, readying yourself for his size. Adrenaline rushes through your veins as the sound of blood pumping thumps against your eardrums.

Jimin pushes into you slowly, your velvet walls wrapping around his hardened member. A muffled grunt leaves his lips as he basks in the feeling of your cunt swallowing him (nicely). “Feels so good baby girl,” he moans as he begins to pull backward slowly, “so fucking tight.”

You keen for his praise, shifting your hips slightly for extra friction. He hums in satisfaction at your movements, grinding slowly as he sinks into you. Pleasure is written all over your face; jaw hanging loose as your eyes roll back. It was like an itch waiting to be scratched, and Jimin was fulfilling your every need.

“So good for me,” He whispers, the sensation of his smooth voice igniting a fire through your body as he thrusts his cock outwards, leaving you feeling empty and begging for more.

Whining in response, your hands meet his back, fingernails dragging down his spine in retaliation. Jimin’s face contorts as your nails pierce his skin, leaving lines of red scratches on his supple skin.

Again, Jimin pushes past your entrance – this time with greater force. You shudder as he plunges into you, his tip finding your g-spot instantly. A sharp cry leaves your mouth as your head is thrown back in pleasure, a smirk growing wide as he plays your cat and mouse game.

Your velvety walls welcome him again and again. The stretch from his length and his rhythmic motions sending your senses into overdrive. If the repeated tap of his cock against your g-spot wasn’t enough, Jimin’s fingers now roam your body, looking for another area to awaken your senses. One digit finds its way to his mouth, popping it past his lips to coat it in saliva. You watch him intently as his finger leaves his mouth, your eyes dark and focused on him as he drags the digit down your body. He finds your nipple, rolling the perky bud between his fingers before his mouth takes their place.

His tongue washes over your sensitive bud greedily, soothing over the surface with his hot breath. The ministrations of his tongue continue while his cock glides in and out of you so effortlessly – almost like you were made just for him. And as far as you knew, you were.

Words of praise leave his lips in the form of mumbles, only amplifying the sense of your arousal as the vibrations from his voice (wash over) your nipple. You can’t stop yourself from grinding down onto him, your growing desire now too strong – you needed more.

“So good for me,” he groans as his thrusts begin to deepen – recognizing your needy movements against him. That much-desired knot in your stomach was growing and growing, begging to be tugged and snapped, leading you to your sweet release.

Sweat gathers on Jimin’s brow as he bucks his hips harder into yours, the pace of his thrusts quickening as his elbows flatten on each side of your head. Your hand brushes back his hair to read his face. His eyes are closed and his face is scrunched, he’s focused on his movements as beads of sweat drip down the sides of his face.

Before you had any time to catch a break he was moving upwards, his back straightening as his hands grip tightly around your waist. His hips drive into yours as he chases his high – bringing you closer to your own in the process. Extending your neck, a high pitched moan screeches from your throat. The force of his tip against a sensitive spot inside you pushes you over the edge, your impending release finally in reach.

The band in your stomach snaps as you chase your high, screaming Jimin’s name as your back arches off the mattress and into his body. Stars cloud your vision as your orgasm takes over all your senses – body numb yet sensitive under his touch all at once.

With the sporadic throbbing of your pussy pulses around Jimin’s cock, he can’t hold on much longer. With just a few more thrusts he was coming undone inside you. The white, hot spurts of cum coated your walls, making you feel so unbelievably full. You had never felt closer to Jimin as you had in the moment his body collapsed on top of yours, holding you close as you came down from your highs. And with as close as you felt now, in the back of your mind you knew the feeling could never last.

It was becoming nearly impossible to accept your fate as Jimin's soulmate. For 2 weeks you tried to find it inside yourself to come around, to accept that the universe was trying to tell you something, that he was put in your life for a reason.

You’d made it a point to be intimate with him every night, hoping some kind of spark would ignite and you’d feel that connection you’ve been longing for. To no avail, your feelings remain the same.

After hundreds of google searches about “how to fall in love with someone” you were about to give up. Well, that was until you stumbled upon an ad for ‘Botanica Magica’ – a store specializing in all things witchy. The ad said the store had over a thousand kinds of potions, something for every occasion. Want to get back at an enemy? They had something from that. Want to break free of your inner demons? For sure, there was something there for that.

To no avail, they have what you were looking for too. A love potion.

Once Jimin had finally left your place and headed to work you decided to check out the shop for yourself. There was no harm in trying to find a solution to your ongoing issue. As weird as it felt, the clarity given to you with your past spell felt uplifting, and there was some sense in finding it again.

Botanica Magica was a little hole in the wall downtown, adorned with green vines over white wood covering the small building. It was cute, not what you expected a potion shop to look like. Maybe you were expecting it to look a little rougher around the edges – something dark and haunting perhaps.

Today was rainy yet again. It's like you should have taken this as a sign like something strange was going to happen. Was the universe punishing you for trying to meddle in your own love life?

The shop smelled of rosemary and sage, the strong fragrance filling your nostrils as soon as the oak door swung open. Bells chime on the impact of the door, alerting the shopkeeper that a customer has arrived.

The shop looks very sweet. One wall lined with bookshelves from floor to ceiling, another with shelves full of candles and crystals. And then there was what you were looking for. A small display filled with small vials of liquid lined up on a round wooden table. The bottles glowed with all different colors, the bright blues and pinks immediately catching your eye as you approached the display.

“Love potion,” You read aloud, whispering the words to yourself as your eyes glaze over the description. You bring the bottle closer to your eye, looking at the formula up close, inspecting every drop of fluid.

The directions were clear, you take half of the potion while your partner takes the other. It seemed simple enough on your end, of course – but how would you get Jimin to take it? A cocktail maybe?

“Can I help you, miss?” A man’s voice echos from across the room. His footsteps approach your figure as you keep your back to him, still concentrated on all of the different options in front of you.

“No, I think I’m doing al-”

That was when you saw it. The feeling you had been yearning for your entire life. Heart skipping a beat at the sight in front of you, your hand flew up to meet your mouth, covering the gasp that slipped past your lips.

His iris’ glow pink, a vision you thought you would never see, or experience for yourself. You could feel your own changing as well; as if rose-colored glasses were placed over your eyes and the world became brighter. The breath in your chest was lost, and if you hadn’t had the nice gentleman in front of you, you might have fallen face-first onto the floor. Luckily, he was there to catch you before you fell, his tattooed hands placed on each of your hips for support.

“H-hi,” is all you can muster out, standing up straight and regaining your balance as the man’s hands pull away from your body.

He was a muscular man, dressed in all black and chunky boots to accompany his clothing. He wasn’t the beefy muscular type though, he’s more of a lean-muscular, average height, and has tattoos garnishing each finger on one hand. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up to the elbow, exposing more dark tattoos on his arm. His hair was long and dark, a little bit curly at the ends, and parted down the center, complimenting his facial features well.

He was the most beautiful man you had ever seen.

“Miss, if I’m not mistaken, I believe your eyes turned pink at the sight of me,” He speaks, breaking you out of the haze that overtook your being. Shaking your head to snap you out of it, you blink your eyes hard, surveying the room to make sure this was real life.

You understood what they meant when they said your heart became ‘full.’ If you didn’t know better you’d expect it to have already beaten out of your chest with the rate that it was thumping. Making eye contact with the man again, your mouth opens slowly, “I-I think yours did too.”

#ficswithluv #bangtanarmynet #btswriterscollective #bangtanshadowfamily #cypherwritersnetwork #bangtanhq #goldenclosetnet #kpopuniversenet #magicshopnet #smutcentralnet #jungkook x reader #jimin x reader #jungkook smut #jimin smut #bts fanfction

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100gayicons · 4 years ago

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Oscar Wilde was one of the best known celebrities of the late 19th Century. He was a prolific writer, from prose, to poetry, to playwrighting. He often incorporated themes of beauty, decadence, and hiding ones true feelings in his writings. These were all incorporated into his novel, “The Picture of Dorian Gray” (1890).

It’s three main characters clearly based on Wilde himself. In fact he was quoted as saying:

“Basil Hallward is what I think I am: Lord Henry is what the world thinks of me: Dorian is what I would like to be—in other ages.”

His masterpiece, the farce “The Importance of Being Earnest” also features autobiographical elements. In the play, the two main characters practice “bunburying" (keeping two different personas, one for town, the other for country so they can escape the conventional Victorian social rules).

Wilde married Constance Lloyd on May 29, 1884 and they went on to have two sons. She was an author as well, and the two maintained separate social lives. Wilde was said to have warned his sons about naughty boys who made their mamas cry. They in turn asked him what happened to absent papas who made mamas cry.

Like his characters, Wilde had a second life, he was a practicing homosexual. His most infamous male partner was Alfred “Bosie” Douglas, the son of John Douglas. (The elder Douglas is associated with the Marquess of Queensberry Rules of sportsmanship.)

Bosie was said to have been handsome and spoilt, and he often quarreled with his father.

Wilde was infatuated with Bosie and agreed to his every whim. In turn, young Douglas introduced Wilde to the Victorian underground of gay prostitution. Wilde and Douglas both indulged themselves with a series of young working-class male prostitutes. Wilde later described the debauchery as:

“It was like feasting with panthers; the danger was half the excitement... “

The elder Douglas’s hostility towards his son, soon shifted to Wilde. In June 1894, he arrived at Wilde’s home without an invitation and declared:

“I do not say that you are it, but you look it, and pose at it, which is just as bad. And if I catch you and my son again in any public restaurant I will thrash you.”

Their quarrels continued but in February 1895, the elder Douglas left a card for him at his club, writing, “"For Oscar Wilde, posing somdomite.”

The Younger Douglas encouraged Wilde to sue his father for slander and libel (sodomy was a criminal offense in England until 1967). Against the advice of his friends, Wilde proceeded with the court case against Boise’s father.

But private detectives easily gathered evidence about Wilde’s association with blackmailers, cross-dressers, and male prostitutes.

The elder Douglas won the court case and Wilde was liable for all court costs - bankrupting him. With all of Wilde’s sordid history made public, the British court issued a warrant for his arrest on charges of sodomy and gross indecency.

The criminal case against Wilde was grueling and unmerciful. On May 25 1895, Wilde was convicted and sentenced to two years of hard labour.

Wilde served his sentence, first at Newgate Prison known for its “hard labour, hard fare and hard beds”. In November 1895, he collapsed from illness and hunger, and ruptured his right ear drum in the fall. After two months in an infirmary, he was transferred to Reading Gaol. There he was simply identified as C.3.3 – the occupant of the third cell on the third floor of C ward.

While at Reading, another prisoner arrived to be executed for murdering his wife. Wilde was inspired to write “The Ballad of Reading Gaol”.

The poem describes the execution then moves to a more symbolic focus on all prisoners. He doesn’t justify the crimes nor laws that convicted them. But instead illustrates the brutal punishment that all convicts share.

When Wilde was released from prison, he moved to France. At first he lived on the meager allowance provided by his wife. She have him only three pounds a week to discourage the lifestyle that had led to his disgrace.

Wilde and his wife never divorced, but she changed her last name and that of their sons to Holland. She also forced Wilde to give up his parental rights then moved with them Switzerland. His sons never saw their father again.

Wilde was able to published the “The Ballad of Reading Gaol” poem and it sold very well, providing him additional income.

Oscar Wilde died of cerebral meningitis on November 30, 1900 at the age of 46. Some have speculated that the cause was due to Syphilis. But there’s evidence to suggest the meningitis was triggered from the fall and ruptured ear drum he incurred in prison.

#gay icons #Oscar Wilde #the picture of Dorian gray #the importance of being earnest #gross indecency #sodomy #lord Alfred Bosie Douglas #Marquess of Queensberry Rules #brothels #rent boy #the love that dare not speak its name #slander #libel

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kireiwoo · 4 years ago

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red, blue, my yellow. [jwy!]

˚➶. EXPO ↓

#𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 bestfriend!woo x fem!reader.

#𝐚𝐛𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭 in which woo is your teasing florist of a friend who can’t seem to pick between red and blue; so you add a third option for him, yellow!

#𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 bf2l, fluff, crack, blasphemy(?), animal death, cursing, 6th grader jokes, two dorks being oblivious, kissing <3

#𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 2.0k+

“Okay, so Sky Blue or Cherry Red?”

“What the fuck? Those are so contrasting.”

Wooyoung whined at your indecisive and absentminded response, leaning his head against your turquoise, sweater-clad shoulder while watching reruns of Scooby-Doo on your old TV. You sipped on the sugarless vanilla latte he purchased for you, relishing in the brief but welcomed warmth the drink radiated in waves. Wooyoung obsessively shoved two paint-cards into your face, gaggling over how bright and saturated they were.

He visited earlier with the guise of simply hanging out with you, claiming that while occupied with his 9-5 job downtown as an optimistic florist, he missed your company. Initially he picked the job because it sounded delicate and comprehensively easy. Objectively, the work was relatively standard; water the daffodils and make sure his small, secret rose garden he called ‘wonderland’ was receiving enough sunlight; but his back ached with hauling boxes filled with seeds and bags packed of faux soil.

“Why are you seriously no help?” He chirped. You grumbled in response, focusing on the graphics of the late television show rather than Wooyoung’s juvenile complaints. Your hair was an unkempt rat’s nest and your spongebob pyjama pants were ruffled considerably, but you allowed Wooyoung into your house regardless of your external appearance. You knew he wouldn’t judge you anyways, too occupied with picking a paint colour for his new apartment.

“How about Sunflower Yellow?” You calmly, dismissively suggested, taking another long swig from the now-empty pale brown paper cup before tossing it behind your couch. You’d clean it up later anyways, but for now you had a whiny best friend to deal with. “Dunno if you’re hard of hearing or colourblind but yellow wasn’t an option.” Wooyoung quipped, his eyes flashing with a teasingly stumped mirth.

“You and I both damn-well know who has the better hearing, and she’s lookin’ right at ya.” Wooyoung giggled at your pouty disposition, finding your blushed cheeks and deep eye-bags adorable. He sat casually against your couch, dressed in his own quirkily mismatched ensemble. A pair of khaki shorts accompanied by a dark green sweatshirt and multicoloured socks, his scuffed three-year-old tennis shoes laying by your door. You found it endearing how Wooyoung still tried to come up with his own fashion trends, ending up looking like a stitched together version of brand-name and value-village. But he was being expressive in the form of seasonal apparel, and you were proud of him.

“Byeol?” He teased, gesturing to your mangy, blue-eyed siamese feline as she sat back and observed your get-together, scattering away once the attention was on her. Wooyoung sighed.

“Look, you chubby-cheeked wench, just answer and I’ll leave you to sleep in your little cocoon of grandma blankets.” You huffed at his insinuation, plonking your deft fingers against his cheek softly and gently.

You met Wooyoung in third grade, when sex didn’t determine friendship and the bounds of society were turned away by your blind infant eyes.

You’d been retrieving wild bluebells and dandelions, bunching them in your sweaty grasp as a sort of dedicated bouquet, explaining to the boisterous boy that you needed to leave it as a parting gift to a squirrel you saw that got run over (you called him Tootles). Looking back, it was innately bizarre how indifferent you were to the concept of death, but Wooyoung supposes that it was a sweet thought anyways. From then on, the two of you blundered together—but part of the reason Wooyoung stayed was also because of his obvious attraction to your lopsided pigtails and thrifted summer dresses. He remembers that you always had a food stain somewhere on your clothing.

Now looking at you, still messy and even more vulgar, he can’t help but think that he doesn’t regret any moments. You’ve gone through everything together; Wooyoung was present for your first period when the stomach pain and hunger cramps were immense, and you were there when his family suffered through a rough patch, assuring him that everything would be okay when in reality, the decision of divorce between his parents was settled a week later. Those were some of his most difficult moments, but he can look back at them fondly only because it brought him closer to you.

“Wench? What are you saying? I’m a god.” You offered in the most dramatized tone you could.

“Might wanna get your facts checked,”

“Might wanna get your mom checked,” You snorted, biting your lip while procuring finger guns just for the hell of it. Wooyoung sighed in mock disappointment, his frizzy purple-tinted fringe falling onto his forehead. You grinned and giggled, catching his attention cutely.

Your whiny puppy rolled his eyes before wailing a cacophony of displeased sounds, loudly filtering his discontentment with having a plain apartment. “(Y/N) you don’t understand the seriousness of my situation! Who wants to tell their grandchildren that their first—that’s right, first!—apartment was a boring cream colour?!” Fed up with his childish bumbling, you quickly smacked his forehead, chuckling quietly as he squeaked and softened his stiff posture. It was honestly so lovable how he got so passionate about the smallest, almost insignificant things.

“Listen, we’ll figure something out. I still think Sunflower Yellow should be an option though.” Wooyoung swatted at your covered tummy with an overzealous and enthusiastic expression, clearly excited with the concept of letting you help him. The soft scent of peppermint-chamomile flooded into your nostrils from his clothing, making you mentally note to ask him what detergent he decided to try. “You think wrong, settler! Now choose between these two colours or I’ll be obligated to steal half of your lifespan.” You laughed loudly at the unprecedented silliness of your best friend, shaking your head while sending a fleeting but absolutely enamoured stare in his direction.

“Honestly, at this point why am I letting you help me?” He hummed. You gurgled at his feigned distress, gasping and tackling him against the couch. You straddled his waist, pointing a manicured figure at his face while you fondly cursed at him. “As I recall, Mr. Jung; you arrived to my residence at exactly 12:01 PM with the excuse to hang out, only to badger me with your issues about... paint colours. You came to me.” Wooyoung sat enthralled by your change in attitude, bathing in the flawlessness of your execution regarding exposing him for his wrongdoings.

“Just boom, bam, pow: There’s that dude I’m in love with.” Wooyoung’s eyes widened considerably, a snarky smirk falling across his countenance as his cheeks devilishly flushed, looking similar to that of a ripened strawberry. Immediately you backtracked, wondering what you said that provoked this reaction, and realization struck across your face like a sharp slap.

Oh shit. Shit.

“I-Uh—you didn’t hear that.” You waved shy but frantic hands into his face, as if hypnotizing him into forgetting about your embarrassingly personal confession. But all he did was giggle and take ahold of your wrists, pulling your body forward so you were chest to chest with him.

A soft, addictingly brief kiss was placed against your creased forehead, the perfect lips of your best friend brushing against your heated skin. You swallowed thickly, placing your hands over his sweater-clad chest with confusion written all over your face. What in the hell kind of reaction was this—? Whatever it was, it was warm and delicate and felt right.

Then again, there’s nothing that ever feels wrong when it comes to Jung Wooyoung. Or maybe that’s just you.

“Y’know, you’re not very... secretive.” He settled, making perplexities skip through your mind like stones on water. Had he known? Was this the end of your life-long friendship? Questions ran through your mind endlessly, your heart rapidly beating and mind berating you for admitting your tini-tiny, small-as-a-planet crush. “I had my suspicions but you actually saying it was my sweet confirmation.”

“The fuck? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I-I—Hey! Don’t be angry at me!” He pouted, melting your heart into a pile of mushy and fragmented puddles. “What I was trying to say is, I love you too.” Immediately your face blanched and you dropped your head into the crook of Wooyoung’s neck, appreciating the small dust of red that decorated his ears. You simply couldn’t face him in fear that this was all a simulation; a seemingly harmless gaffe constructed firstly to tease you, and knowing Wooyoung with his wildly oblivious tendencies and boyish lack of empathy, you had no doubt that it was something he would try.

And yet, you couldn’t even force yourself to be angry at him. Because while you speculated that he was joking, somewhere in your heart you knew that he was being honest—simply in denial with the prospect of your long-lasting crush actually returning your feelings. “Hello? Earth to (Y/N)? Airhead? Loafer?” You snapped out of your reverie, staring at Wooyoung’s pinked face as his prying eyes drifted around your facial features, slowly tracing each detail.

“You love me too?” Shock ever-present, you searched in Wooyoung’s loving gaze for some kind of testimony, a confirmation, for some truth to be shed. And when all you could see were the glimmering, almost glowing sparkles in his large pupils, you felt the slightest bit reassured.

“Of course I do, bean!”

“As a friend though, right?” Wooyoung’s face screwed into an intense concentration, expression looking fragile and breakable. But in his wandering mind, he questioned how you could even consider that. He loved you as something more—with your tangled tresses and wrinkled clothes, even down to the fact that you couldn’t handle sugar but grimaced every time you drank your vanilla lattes, simply because they weren’t sweet enough.

It was the little things that he found himself so affectionately obsessed with. He remembers your bleached sundresses in elementary and how you couldn’t tie your shoes without help from a teacher. How you loathed wearing glasses because you thought they made you look nerdy, but complained because you just couldn’t see.

“Jesus Christ, Loser. No, I love you like... like a crush! Yeah, like a crush. Romantically.” He gushed, and if this wasn’t one of the most immature confessional moments in history, it sure was a cheesy one.

“Wait, really? You like-like me?” Good god. Your fingers trembled and lips twitched.

“Yes, how many times do I—” Wooyoung breathed out a shaky sigh as you leaned forward and smoothly took his lips with your own. He tasted minty and sweet, like petals and chocolate. His eyes fluttered closed as your lips meshed together, pushing against each other in a romantic twine of burning passion.

Suddenly, your hands were on either side of his head and one of his deft, spidering hands pressed onto the small of your back. The other hand trailed up to the back of your neck, twirling the loose strands of hair at your nape, his tongue breaching the space between your lips invasively—but then he tried to card his fingers through your hair; and you hissed and pulled away like a disenchanted cat, baring your teeth from the unprecedented pain.

“Shit! Sorry, baby.” Whereas your head flooded with spiking pains from small hairs being plucked, your heart was palpitating at the new but definitely embraced pet-name. “I told you that you should’ve washed your hair! But someone doesn’t like listening!” You tutted at the nagging, harrumphing before placing another complacent kiss against his lips.

“Oh shut up, Mr. I can’t choose between red and blue.” You never thought you’d get the chance to tease Wooyoung after directly smooching him; it was a fantasy and a reoccurring fever dream to feel his plush, pillowed lips against your own. Perhaps a perverse imaginative scenario, but it was a reality now. And reality suddenly didn’t seem so harsh; crowded in the warm arms of a starry-eyed shortie with calloused hands and a knack for gardening.

“You’re right, I can’t. But it’s okay, I prefer yellow anyways.”

Who knows what awaits you in life? Maybe the sky will drain of it’s blue and the roses will deplete of their red—but no matter the changes and disparities that occur over the years, there’s always one thing that you’re forever sure of:

“You’re my yellow, Jung Wooyoung.”

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