#mock less monster

[silly-lion-art]

fucked up creature in my brain telling me to draw more sparklecare

[degrees-of-lili]

Me: I'm gonna open and read Ren'py's documentation/make some test stuff Also, Me: What if I played DoL instead: Also, Also, Me: What if I just stared at DoL's landing page and not did anything for several hours

[daydreamerdrew]

The Hulk! (1978) #25

[yanderenightmare]

Ryomen Sukuna

TW: captive reader, no-name character deaths, Sukuna in general

fem reader

Sukuna, in his true form some thousand years ago, carrying you on his arm so that your feet and dress don’t stain with the blood on the floor. A sea of carnage he’d laid to waste only a moment ago—soldiers sent to slaughter the monster’s concubine, a heathenness whore. They’d fallen no different from flowers trampled underfoot.

It's a tragedy. If anyone could free you from his prison, it would have been them.

A heavy finger catches the tear dribbling down your face before it can fall to join the red below. “Don’t water them with your tears,” he says, bringing the droplet to his lips. “Not even in death do they deserve it.”

You view his second face—the warped array of eyes upon an inhuman mask—as a punishment from the Gods for his vile ways. 

“Did you think I’d find it flattering?” you ask sharply through the sorrow. “Murder in my name?”

Nothing betrays the look in his garnet eyes, nor does the way he holds you. He simply lets you sit there, upon him like a thrown, admonishing him no less—as if he hadn’t just saved your life from a thousand swords.

“I don’t,” you bite out when he doesn’t answer. “It sickens me. I curse whichever part of me attracted such a monster.”

That makes him smile. “I’m afraid that’s all of you, turtledove.” He turns you around in his many arms and lays you to rest like a bride. “From your toes to the finest hair atop your head—I covet it all—like treasure.”

He doesn’t rush while wading through the filth who’d tried to take you away from him, basking in their still-warm blood as if soaking his feet with their failure. He would have made it long-lasting if they’d come close enough to breathe the same air as you. But since you’d begged for him to spare them, he’d acted with mercy—making their deaths quick and all but painless.

The things he does for you.

“Does it frighten you to be the only one I care about?” he asks.

You look disgusted. He finds it rather cute.

 “No,” you reply. “It simply hurts.”

He throws his head back and laughs then—boisterously. The echo rings throughout the temple, even making ripples in the red. When he looks down at you again, he bears a great smile.

“Fine then, as you wish.” Evidence of his amusement remains while he speaks. “I won’t subject you to any more carnage from this moment onward.”

You know better than to take him for his word—especially when that awful grin stretches his face.

“No, I shall rather keep you tucked away where no one will ever dare go looking—and before I even dare come see you myself, I’ll make sure to have washed the filth off first so as not to trouble your pretty head with my savage habits. Now, does that sound satisfactory to you, my Queen?”

He’s mocking you, you surmise—cooing at you, laughing at the way you mourn. But it shouldn’t surprise you. If he can rip people to shreds without so much as batting any of his eyes, making light of their deaths isn’t all that more of an offense.

“All this inanity has given me an appetite,” he states with a hearty sigh—dismissing any further argument. “Let’s find Uraume and eat.”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA masterlist ♡ JUJUTSU KAISEN masterlist

[thestarsarebrightertonight]

but daddy i love him! // theodore nott x fem granger reader

playlist : but daddy i love him - taylor swift

summary : being hermiones slightly younger , less intelligant and more reblellious sister, it is your duty to have a boyfriend no one approves of to match.

y/n used , gryffindor granger reader , swearing

masterlist PART 2!

"merlin hes so hot" you whined with you head in your hand , staring across the hall at theodore nott.

hermione shuddered in disgust , "yeah and hes a terrible person."

"mione hes really not , just because hes slytherin doesnt mean hes some kind of horrific monster," you rolled your eyes , finally looking away from theodore and looking at hermione across from you.

"dont mix your delusion with reality y/n. him and his friends have bullied us since first year," hermione snapped back.

"whos us? ive never been teased by him before but stay safe i guess," you argued , getting more annoyed by the second.

"you cant be with him y/n , not only does he not do relationships , clearly , hes not good for you!"

"oh but daddy i love him!" you said in a mocking childish tone.

"did you just call hermione daddy?" ron cringed inbetween his quick eating.

"its a little mermaid reference ronald." you said sternly , judging the boys messy consumption of the food on his full plate.

"whats a little mermaid reference?" he mocked.

you, hermione and harry all looked at him with pure shock , forgetting ron wasnt really accustomed to muggle films , "please educate your man mione."

she gasped in pure horror as ron pretened to gag , they both argued over eachother throwing loud defenses and digs at eachother.

"look! i would actually rather die than listen to one more second of all this bitching and moaning!!" you shouted over them , silencing their arguing as harry nodded along with your statement.

"y/n i dont mean to stir the pot but i dont really think nott is a great partner either," ron said with disgust.

"thanks for that ron! wanna add your two cents harry? seems like everyone cares who i have silly crushes on nowadays!" you fumed , turning to the twins who sat on the table besides you , "good morning george , fred, would you like to give your opinion on theodore nott?"

"hate him," fred stated plainly.

"i always target him in quidditch," george quickly followed with a shrug as you let out a defeated groan.

you turned back to the trio , crossing your arms in anger , "im going to go see ginny , see what she thinks of all this , she always supports me unlike you little goblins!"

"yeah cause ginny has a crush on basically every guy," ron scoffed.

"atleast ginny can admit when she has feeling for someone and doesnt pine on her best friend for years! atleast she isnt in denail!" you said smugly as hermione and ron squirmed in discomfort , blushing.

you abruptly stood up from the table , beginning to stomp away when harry shouted after you , "have a great day mrs nott!"

you turned to look at him , flipping him off before shouting back , "aw you too mr weasley!".

harry blushed as ron looked between the two of you , "shes insane , calling you weasley , what weasley could you possibly marry!"

ron scoffed and continued eating his food as harry scratched the back of his neck awkwardly and exchanged a look with hermione.

---

you now found yourself storming the corridors , looking for ginny when someone fell into step besides you , their deep voice making you shudder.

"hello mrs nott."

you stopped in you tracks and looked besides you in horror , theodore smirked down at you.

"erm hi," you mumbled quietly , face deep red in embarrassment. how could you forget the whole time that theodore had been sat with his friends on the table across from you?!

"dont go all shy on me now , i liked how you defended me." he smirked.

"i was really just joking dont get excited ," you teased , finally shaking your shyness.

"didnt sound like a joke to me? you got really worked up granger," he still held his smug expression , eyes peircing yours even when you didnt look back.

"look nott , i just like picking fights with them its funny to tease them." you shrugged continuing your walk as theodore followed still looking at you the whole time.

"go out with me," he said sternly as you paused again.

"are you being serious?" you said trying to seem not as interested as you truly were.

he grabbed your hand and pulled you to the empty classroom besides you , pushing you against the door to shut it.

he put one hand beside your head on the door and the other playing with your hair and grazing your cheekbone , "dead serious."

you looked at him , finally silent for the first time in your life , your silence allowing him to continue , "you can say you dont like me all you want. that its jokes , that its just to get a reaction. but i think we both know its more than that."

"im not gonna be one of your girls nott , im not like that. sure i have a different type to my sister but that doesnt mean i go for fucking man whores who just wanna get me in their bed."

"ouch , your words hurt me, bella. ive never touched a single girl asides from you. ive waited for you." he said softly.

"basically every person in this school says otherwise nott."

his hand that was resting on the door cleched into a first tightly , "stop calling me nott. its theo to you."

"why do you care?" you asked as his frustration grew.

he stared at you now with cold eyes , danger in them like he was staring at his prey. you simply looked back , folding you arms and watching as his eyes flicked down your face.

"dont play hard to get. you practically announced your love for me a second ago y/n." he mumbled.

"sure. ill go out with you, charity work." you joked as he finally dropped his anger and laughed.

"i like it by the way," he said looking up with a smirk as you stared back with confusion , " 'mrs nott,' it suits you."

"hm i dont know. ive always been kinda progressive , mr granger," you smirked before pushing him away with one hand and walking out of the classroom, leaving him to stare at your figure.

the second you found ginny you practically screamed in her face with excitement , "ginnny you will not BELIEVE IT!!"

PART 2

[slytherinslut0]

SLYTHERINSLUT0’S KINKTOBER

october 4th — virginity loss / corruption kink.

PART ONE | kinktober masterlist. | 2024.

pairing: mattheo riddle x berkshires!sister

summary: mattheo’s conscience can only hold him back for so long.

warnings: 18+, hogwarts uni (putting this even tho it’s obvious), jealous mattheo, flirting, tension tension tension, “we can’t do this” type of vibe, “your brother is right over there” type of vibe. bestfriends lil sister trope. part one of two.

Morality—what is it, really? How is it measured? Is it a linear scale? Could someone be morally sound yet sometimes make an exception when the situation called for it?

Perhaps it's subjective. Anything that falls outside of the law, that is.

Mattheo forced a breath from his lungs, the drink in his hand was tasteless, some watered-down excuse for a cocktail. But that didn't matter, not really—what mattered was the way you kept laughing, the way your hand lingered a second too long on that random bastard's sleeve. The sight made something concerning coil tight in his chest, but he stayed where he was, back against the wall, sucking down drinks like he'd been tasked to it.

God, this was stupid. Morality. Right and wrong. He knew the difference, of course he did. Just because he was a Riddle didn't make him a monster. Not yet, anyway. But that line, the one between you and him—the one drawn so clearly in the sand—was practically mocking him with its absolutes and daring him to cross it. Forbidden, off-limits, the one thing he shouldn't want.

His best friend's little sister. The good girl. A virgin, no less.

"Riddle—you coming?"

Mattheo's head jerked slightly, but his mind was miles away.

He waved a hand. "I'll catch up in a bit.”

Malfoy and Zabini nodded, slipping into the night, leaving him behind in the dim, crowded ballroom. Spring dance. Hours past dusk. He didn't even know why he was still there. Normally, he was long gone before the clock struck twelve, but tonight the room pulsed with bodies and the music hummed under his skin. His drink was half-forgotten in his hand, and his gaze was fixed on a group across the room.

Or, more specifically, on you.

You were standing, black dress to your mid-thighs, half-listening to boys from your year drone on about quidditch tryouts and the usual chatter that filled the space between your breaths. But your eyes—your eyes weren't on them. You were looking at him. A soft smirk tugging at the corners of your lips, like you knew something he didn't.

His heart kicked against his ribs. Where was that line again?

You winked, and he sipped his drink. He'd always said bad decisions made good stories—but even if this (unnameable thing between you) was a story worth telling, the people to hear it would be few.

The tension grew suffocating and he finally looked away. You took that as a win, but you weren't about to let the game end there—not after you noted the tense of his fingers around his cup. You excused yourself from the group, your body moving through the crowd like water, fluid and unhurried, weaving your way toward him.

You knew the line well, the one Mattheo pretended so hard to respect. Restraint wasn't his nature—it never had been, not in the decade you'd watched him take whatever he wanted without a second thought. He wasn't made for holding back, and it showed every now and then—every time his lips crashed against yours in some hidden corner, whispering confessions of how badly he wanted more, how he ached for what he couldn't have.

You loved pushing him to that point. You loved knowing how bad he wanted you. Your brother would lose his mind if he found out. But that didn't matter, not even a little. Not when Mattheo looked at you like that.

"Having fun?" He asked upon your approach, his voice a shade too flat.

"A little." You leaned against the wall beside him, close enough that he could feel the warmth of your skin, your presence seeping into the space between you. "What about you? You seem a bit...tense."

"Tense." The word came out bland, barely audible, and he took a slow sip of his drink, like he needed it just to find his voice. "Why would I be tense?"

You wet your lips, slow, deliberate, studying him with that sidelong glance that made his pulse skip. His jaw tightened, and his eyes—those beautiful, dangerous brown eyes—scanned the room with something too close to desperation.

"Good question." You tilted your head, gaze playful, curious, like you were dissecting him right there in the half-light. "Maybe it's because you've been watching me like a hawk. Like you're waiting for me to do something...wrong."

"Maybe I'm just looking out for you," he muttered, his gaze sliding to your brother across the room, lips locked with some brunette. Mattheo's eyes flickered back to you, just for a moment. "Your brother's a little...busy, after all."

You raised an eyebrow, the corner of your mouth curving into an amused, almost wicked smile. "Ah, so that's it. You're just being my big, overprotective babysitter."

"I don't need to babysit you," he grumbled, though his gaze betrayed him, darting over to the group of boys you'd been talking to. "Just keeping an eye on the company you keep."

It was almost amusing—the way Mattheo stood there, sizing up your guy friends like they were targets in a lineup, probably mentally noting who he'd hit first if any of them dared to step out of line. He was different tonight—and you could have brushed it off, could have let that flicker of vulnerability slide, but that wasn't how this game was played. Not with him. Not with you. There was no room for naivety here.

You turned to face him now, full-on, shoulder resting against the wall as you raised a hand, fingers brushing lightly up his arm.

"Keeping an eye," you repeated as you traced the hard line of his shoulder, then down, lower, over his chest. "Ever my hero, Mattheo Riddle."

When your fingers grazed his abdomen, his breath caught and he grabbed your wrist—hard—the suddenness of it making you gasp. Then, he turned to face you, and his gaze finally met yours—really met yours—for the first time since you'd crossed the room.

"Don't." His voice was low, strained, like he was fighting himself as much as you.

Your eyes widened in mock surprise, that innocent look you'd perfected like a sport. You wore it like a halo you knew you didn't deserve.

"Don't...what?" You damn-well knew what.

His grip tightened, just enough for you to feel the heat of it, pulling you closer, so close you could feel the tension radiating off him. He wet his lips, and you melted—remembering how it felt to kiss them.

"Don't play games with me." He said. "Not tonight."

The warning was clear, but instead of pulling away—heeding his words and letting that heat simmer down—you leaned closer, defying every unspoken rule. The thrill shot up your spine, into your brain, turning everything hazy, electric. You were drunk on it.

"Why not?" Your free hand traced up his other arm and his gaze followed the movement, lips parting ever so slightly. "...afraid you'll lose?"

Before you knew what was happening, he had you spun around—so fast you barely registered the movement before your back hit the cold stone wall. His drink found the table beside him, his focus entirely on you.

"Don't to this to me. Not here," he whispered. "Your brother is right over there."

You glanced toward Enzo, still too preoccupied with the brunette to notice a thing.

"He's a little distracted, don't you think?" Your fingers on your free hand resumed their path, this time up toward his collarbone. But his other hand found them, too. You looked down. Two large hands, wrapped tight around your wrists, like he could stop the fire running through your veins if he just held on hard enough. Your thighs shook. "Gods, you really are tense tonight, aren't you?"

Mattheo's eyes narrowed, two embers gleaming in the night— his lips twitching in a way that made your pulse stutter. There was need in him now, a raw, visceral energy that vibrated between you. Untethered.

He leaned in, closer, his breath brushing against your skin. "You're impossible."

"Impossible..." you echoed, the space between you shrinking with every second. There was no choice in it. It was magnetic, inevitable. He leaned closer, and you—against all reason—matched him, drawn by a force you couldn't name. "Impossible to...resist, Matty?"

Your lips were so close, you could almost taste the flavours lingering on his breath. The heat of him drew you in like gravity, pulling you into that dangerous space where everything blurred—boundaries, rules, reason. His eyes flickered down to your mouth, his tongue darting out to wet his lips in a way that felt instinctive—

And then, the world snapped back.

Cheering—loud, raucous—followed by the sharp crack of glass splintering against the floor. It cut through the moment, pulling you both back to reality. Mattheo's gaze jerked toward the sound, and in an instant he took a step back, his hands releasing your wrists like you'd burned him—like you were the danger here, a fire he'd gotten too close to.

"We can't," he whispered, and it sliced through you. It hit harder than the crash of glass, harder than the noise around you. "You don't want this. I promise you don't."

You stared at him. You knew what he meant, what he was trying to say, the warning etched in every tense line of his body. The two of you had been over this before. You knew Mattheo Riddle was not the man who would love you, not the man who would stay, who you'd call your forever. You weren't that naive. You weren't looking for forever—you just wanted a beginning. A first. A first that would teach you the edge of desire, with someone who knew what to do.

Someone experienced.

"I do," you whispered, barely holding steady under the weight of it all—the realization that you'd almost kissed him, right here, where anyone could've seen, where your brother wasn't far. "More than anything, I do."

His jaw clenched, that flicker in his eyes darkening. He ran a hand through his hair, curls falling messily back into place, his face twisted in thought, already calculating the fallout, already seeing the inevitable consequences.

"Your brother will kill me," he muttered. "He'll kill you."

"He’s not my dad, Mattheo. I’m an adult. He doesn't have to know." The words came out firm, too firm for how fast your heart was beating. You didn't dare move closer, but the tension between you was still electric, still alive. "No one except us."

For a heartbeat, his eyes locked onto yours, and you felt it—that gravity pulling you both back to the brink. It was visible—the weight of his indecision, the way he was measuring the risk, the pull of you against the walls he was trying to keep intact. It'd been months of this. You were relentless. His scowl deepened, but he didn't pull away. He let the silence stretch, your words simmering between you like a match lit, waiting to catch fire.

And then, a nod.

Barely there, just a sharp dip of his head, almost as if he didn't want to acknowledge it himself. You couldn't tell if it was for you, or some silent permission he was giving himself, a final surrender to the pull that neither of you could fight.

"Room of Requirement," he said, vibrating with the tension that still hummed in the air. "Ten minutes."

Your stomach leapt into your throat, every bone in your body suddenly weak. After a moment that felt as though it went on forever, you nodded, and he took another step back.

"Ten minutes." You repeated.

"Ten minutes." He confirmed, before turning and heading out of the ballroom.

[autolenaphilia]

The anti-kink moral crusade rests on a lot of transmisogynistic assumptions.

Of course it’s no surprise, since it rests on ideas from the moralizing arguments about bdsm made by radfems in the 70s. The only change is that they are being massively hypocritical and inconsistent about which kinks are bad now, as I pointed out before. Now it’s only certain kinks, like consensual non-consent and fauxcest, that are bad because they “fetishize abuse”, and not bdsm as whole, despite that being inarguably true about bdsm.

And that’s purely to broaden the appeal of such arguments, so that even self-described “leatherfags” can moralize about fauxcest. The morals and principles are frankly just “It’s okay if gay men call their boyfriends “daddy”, because I find that hot, but if a trans lesbian couples pretend to be sisters it’s evil.”

And you can’t really appropriate the radfem arguments about kink without taking their transmisogyny onboard, since they stem from the same transmisogynist bio-determinist root ideology. Janice Raymond in The Transsexual Empire explained trans women through a lens of pathological sadomasochism. Years before Blanchard’s autogynephilia concept, radfems have seen transfemininity and kink as the same thing.

The image of the trans woman painted by radfems then and now, is of privileged males appropriating the pain and suffering of real wombyn, and playacting this suffering for their own perverted sexual amusement. And that is the same image painted of trans women with incest and cnc kinks in modern callout posts. They just remove the explicitly terfy language to make it less obvious. Instead of making a mockery of misogyny in general, we are instead accused of mocking the experiences of the survivors of sexual abuse.

And that boils down to the same thing. Survivors of sexual assault are often as a group assumed to be afab. This ties into a specific transmisogynist discourse. It’s one that argues that afab children are more often sexually assaulted, and that trans women are not targeted by sexual violence pre-transition, and comes to the conclusion that this proves that trans women are male socialized and privileged. This is the fairly nasty transmisogynist undercurrent here.

And it’s proven when in discussions about the transmisogyny of callout culture, a common cliché line in response is that “clearly some people’s worst oppression is being told they are freaks for shipping incest.” This treats transfems as ultra-privileged and transmisogyny as not real at all.

Of course in reality, transfems are disproportionate targets of sexual violence even in childhood and pre-transition. And many survivors of childhood abuse have these problematic abuse-fetishizing kinks, and use it to deal with their trauma, including many of the kinky transfems being called out.

And even if no one involved in the sexual roleplay and fiction being criticized have trauma, the trauma of other non-involved people is not a good argument for its destruction. It’s a reasonable demand to ask for triggering material to be tagged properly so you can avoid it, it’s unreasonable to demand it shouldn’t exist.

Yet transfems are expected to accede to the latter demand. And I think this is because of what May Peterson calls transfeminized debt. It’s how we trans women in feminist circles are expected to be perfect women and perfect feminists to be acknowledged as women at all, instead of as monsters to be destroyed. Of course because nobody is perfect, this leads to every trans woman eventually being thought of as a monster.

We are treated as having to pay off the debt of male socialization/privilege to get basic human rights. And this in practice means conceding every disagreement with TME people, and agreeing to every demand they make of us. Or else we get the hot allostatic load treatment.

And that’s why kinky transfems are expected to fulfil the ridiculous demand from certain puritanical TME people that “I’m not involved in your kink, but I have trauma relating to it, so you can’t do it.” And are treated as evil monsters for not fulfilling it. It’s clearly transfeminized debt and transmisogyny, we are treated as privileged perverted monsters, inherently exempt from sexual violence. And that is used to justify sexual harassment, in the form of callout posts for our sex lives.

[fumifooms]

I don’t like minimizing the importance and gravity of Laios and Toshiro’s fight into just being a childish squabble, even if to a degree it is framed that way, because to both of them it has a lot of personal significance and emotional weight and runs very deep to their characters… The fight isn’t nothing it’s a LOT, they made up but it’s not something easy to express and to get over for either of them which makes it all the more meaningful! I’m on both sides but there very much are sides, there’s no "they’re both having a ball, Toshiro and Laios hand in hand yay" side to the fight, that comes after

The fight with Toshiro WAS very scary to Laios, almost existentially so, but it’s moreso the "I thought I’d made a friend!!" bit and my god. My god actually

Like it’s not "just" about oh his friend liking him less than he thought, THAT IS SO MUCH. It’s a bond he thought he had being a lie it’s all the time and moments spent together either being a lie from his perspective or marred now looking back. It’s not only being upset at Toshiro for lying but upset at himself that he’s so easy to fool, it’s being upset that there’s something so wrong with you that you can’t even tell if your "close buddy" even actually likes you or not, it’s like. Holding my head. He can’t trust his own vision of events that happened do you see. There’s always this film of distrust that it could be a lie that should be there when he interacts with people there’s always this sense of cloak and dagger to expect backstabs out of nowhere because you CAN’T see it coming you CAN’T you CAN’T there’s something about you which makes it impossible so you CAN’T-

He’s so scared of not being able to read people. He knows it’s a weak spot he has, he’s always known. All of these bits are centered around social expectations and betrayals, the assumption that he doesn’t belong either in society or with other humans.

And Laios’ level of awareness is actually sort of complex to analyze, but it’s there, there’s how out of him and Falin he was the one sensitive to the ~aura of hatred~ he felt from the townspeople, there’s of course his nightmares whispering to him about the mocking looks, and how yeah actually he realizes that his gold stripper coworker was taking advantage of him. There’s of course the Winged Lion speech about his trauma and how he fundamentally mistrusts/dislikes humans to some deep seated degree, this distrust that he still keeps under control always. There’s how pre-canon he often wanted to suggest eating monsters but never worked up the courage to bring it up with the others. There’s how he gets across as stoic when he isn’t being enthusiastic…… We don’t know how aware and wary he is exactly in the moment but we do know he has some anxiety around social stuff, and looking back he does notice and aughh augh, the sense you have to hide yourself to not get hurt and be on your guard and shit and.

When you don’t know what to look out for and when to look out for it, the general ‘common sense’ of not always trusting people or noticing when someone’s messing with you becomes hypervigilance in social settings

"Man they really know what you hate huh". Being socially unaware literally plagues him, he knows, he knows it so well.

It’s so quick that it’s almost hard to digest how literal and blatant Laios summoning his monster to crush all the people who’ve hurt him is. His literal go-to coping mechanism for comfort in his literal monster-induced emotionally intense nightmares, saving him by taking away the upsetting element (the humans)

"Monsters are his coping fantasy, where they can whisk him away from humanity, all the hurt it’s caused him and its arbitrary rules" with the subtlety of a brick. Monsters are his comfort safe zone "because they kill humans" yes but no it’s because he pits them as the guardians against humans who to him are in the role of the agressors. To him they represent freedom from the shackles of what it means to be part of humanity, a fundamentally social species

[vexwerewolf]

why is it that we only have like two licenses from any mech producer that’s a good guy? For a game where like there are clear good and bad guys (even if who you play isn’t necessarily linked to that) it seems strange to me that the only loot and XP you get is… more benefits from the bad guys

I can tell you the answer, but to do so, we're gonna have to talk about a completely different TTRPG.

If you've read @makapatag's truly excellent Filipino martial arts TTRPG Gubat Banwa (and if you haven't, here it is), you may notice that every single character class description (with one notable exception) ends with one of these babies:

I am not Makapatag, and I cannot write with quite as much grace and eloquence as he can, but I will try:

If you choose to become a Lancer, ask yourself why you mock the name of peace with these weapons of war. You call yourself a saviour, but your steed was forged from the murder of a world. You stride across the sky in a colossus built in your own image, so why are you too cowardly to give it your face? Why do you believe these machines of death can preserve life?

It is important to note that the admonitions in Gubat Banwa are not just there to make you feel bad; they are there as legitimate questions. The Sword Isles have seen so much blood, death and tragedy. Wars are not glorious and killing is not a game. So, knowing all of that, why have you taken up this discipline - no matter how noble and virtuous it might claim to be - to shed more blood, to bring more death, to write more tragedy? What could possibly drive you to this? What need is so great that you must kill?

The thing with Gubat Banwa is that there are legitimate answers to these questions! There are bad people doing bad things, and some of them will not be stopped with words or kindness. Sometimes, as sorrowful as it is, killing is the correct choice to prevent greater suffering and deeper tragedy - but adding less misery and death to the world is still adding some amount of it. Even the most necessary wars will drench the ground in the blood of the innocent.

A sword is a tool meant to kill humans; while it can be used for other things, it is not well-suited to anything other than this. A mech is, in its most basic essence, just a very complicated sword: it's usually used on things larger than a person, but it's still a tool built to kill.

So why have you taken up this path? Humanity was saved from the brink of extinction and has created wondrous technologies like printers, cold fusion and mind-machine interface, and yet you use them to play soldier in a giant metal man. Why do you choose to take up this machine of death, built by the greedy and pitiless? Why do you think these machines can ever make things right?

Because sometimes, despite everything, they can.

Warhammer 40K shows an awful world full of monsters and monstrosity, and in the darkest moments of its history, Lancer's world looked just as bleak, but Lancer's world differs in one crucial way. Warhammer's world has long given up trying to be better, but Lancer's world never did. Lancer's world kept insisting a better world is possible, and it used what tools it had to make it so.

Sometimes the correct choice, no matter how bitter it may seem, is to kill someone. When you need to do this, a sword is a perfectly good choice for the job.

If you find yourself discomforted by the fact that all the people you can buy mechs from are corrupt and immoral - good! You have correctly engaged with the text. You have understood that the sort of people who would make giant walking death machines and sell them for profit are not good people. But you still have a job to do, and you need the correct tools, and those people have them.

Lancer is not a game about a perfect world - it is a game about a deeply flawed and imperfect one that does not let its imperfection stop it from trying. You have to try to make a better world, even with imperfect tools made by unpleasant people.

[maybcnksgf]

— defending you ; remus lupin x black!reader 𐙚

☆

summary: remus lupin knows when to keep his mouth shut, and as do you. until it comes to each other.

warnings: swearing, violence, bullying directed at both remus and reader & slut shaming directed at the reader.

a/n: in love with my protective!marauders so here's this !!! also, snape has his suspicions of remus in this, just to be clear.

check out my masterlist & send in any requests <3

remus lupin knew when to keep his mouth shut. he knew when not to react and how to stay under the radar, but that didn't stop you from not keeping your mouth shut for him.

you knew it was going to be a rough day when your defence against the dark arts professor unexpectedly changed the lesson plan from banshees to lycanthropes.

remus, if he had known prior, would've faked an illness and skipped out, too uncomfortable with the wandering eyes and the permanent fear that someone would find him out.

instead, he sat beside you at your shared desk, having been there for too long now to get up and leave and ultimately cause a scene. more eyes on him was the last thing he needed.

you had kept his hand in yours, feeling it squeeze and tense and shake throughout the entirety of the class, and you were sure all the skin of his bottom lip was bitten clean off from his nerves.

everything was okay for the majority of it. the professor was surprisingly respectful in his delivery and you, james and sirius spent the whole time calling out immediate answers to his questions. the three of you, for obvious reasons, knew everything like the backs of your hands and tried your hardest to avoid any snarky comments from other students for the sake of poor moony, who remained dead silent.

everything was okay until the group of slytherins opened their mouths.

you'd left the classroom with the three boys, grip still tight on remus' hand as he let out a relieved breath, glad to be out of there. you didn't, however, make it that far down the corridor before you heard snape's voice.

"those freaks need to be studied in mental hospitals. that professor had no idea what he was talking about, still calling them humans. they're monsters, that's what they are-"

remus tensed beside you at his words and sighed as he felt the inevitable coming on. the four of you stopped in your tracks, and in no less than a few seconds you'd whipped around and had your wand pointed directly at snape.

"i think it's you that has no idea what you're talking about, right severus?" you challenged.

james stood protectively beside you, ready to jump in if you needed him and sirius stood just behind, arms folded and a proud smirk on his face.

"i think the lady asked you a question, snivellus," james piped up, sporting a similar smirk to your brother as he raised his hands in mock defence. "i'd answer her if i were you."

malfoy snickered behind snape, not knowing the true intent behind his words as the latter stared back at you, head tilted with a gross sort of grin as he looked between you and remus. "did my words hit a little close to home, black?"

remus just sighed again, head bowed in slight humiliation as the rest of you tensed up.

"fuck you, snape, i swear to merlin-" you seethed, grip on your wand incredibly tight as you started towards him before you felt a gentle hand on your forearm pulling you back.

"it's not worth it," remus spoke softly into your ear, his voice conveying more hurt than he would've liked.

you didn't lower your wand, still breathing heavily as you remained in place. snape was still grinning at you and it took everything in you not to hex him into oblivion.

james moved to stand in front of you to get your attention and also put some distance between you and snape. "we'll get him later, yeah? i swear."

"trust us, we have a plan," sirius clamped a hand down on your shoulder, his signature smirk returning as the three of them pulled you away.

true to their word, the marauders had pulled of a series of pranks on snape that left him too terrified and humiliated to even leave his dorm, the last two turning his hair semi-permanently pink and breaking him out head to toe in bubbling warts.

remus had seemingly gotten over what was said by the end of week (after two or three vulnerable moments in the safety of your arms), and snape hadn't left the slytherin common room in days.

it was the following saturday afternoon, and the five of you were scattered about by the fountain in the courtyard. you, remus and peter were studying for the upcoming charms exam whilst james and sirius... pretended to.

remus was just about to test you on your recently read chapter when a shout from across the courtyard rudely interrupted.

"oi, gryffindors!"

"here we go," james spoke proudly, smirking to himself as he pushed himself up off the ground. "and what is it you want on this fine afternoon, mulciber?"

the slytherin boy in question stalked over to your group, malfoy and avery in tow. "did a fine number on our snape there, didn't you?" he spat in james' face, sizing him up.

the rest of you stood up at that, sirius particularly fast as he threw an arm around james and flashed mulciber an innocent grin before scrunching up his face in disgust. "oh mate, you might wanna get your mouth cleaned out before getting too close to my james here."

you snorted out a laugh at your brother and mulciber sneered, shoving him away by the shoulders. "you keep quiet, black. you think you have any right talking to me?"

"snape got what he deserved," you spoke up, narrowing your eyes at the group of boys as you got between him and sirius. "you should teach your friend to keep his big nose out of where it doesn't belong."

avery barked out a laugh, your attention turning to him as he joined mulciber's side. "you're funny, little black. all bark and no bite, aren't you?"

peter stood back, eyes wide in fear. remus, remaining his usually calm self, tensed up and took a step closer to you when avery jabbed his finger into your chest, only for it to be slapped away by sirius with an angry "don't fucking touch her".

"alright, avery. that's enough," remus spoke up, his voice firm as he rested his hand on your lower back.

avery did nothing but laugh again, not taking his eyes off of you. "you're nothing but the gryffindors' little slut, aren't you?"

sirius suddenly shoved him back with an angry force just as remus stepped in front of you, his voice scarily calm as he spoke. "the fuck did you just say?"

"you heard me," avery shrugged, clearly unfazed by sirius' actions as his smirk grew even more. "i bet she gets passed around you all like the little whore she is. is she good?"

you stumbled back into peter in shock, his words ringing through your ears as the blonde boy wrapped an arm around you protectively.

"if you know what's good for you, avery, you'll shut your fucking mouth," remus seethed, his eyes never leaving avery's face as he slowly moved closer towards him.

the boy didn't answer him and instead turned his attention back to sirius as he lowered his voice, sneering at him evilly. "i bet you join in on the action too, don't you? some sick fantasy you blood traitors like to indulge in, huh? regulus is the only worthy one out of you three, you ever invite him to join?"

sirius exploded in a fit of rage and james grabbed him as he lunged towards the slytherin, holding him back before he'd kill the guy. "who the fuck do you think you are, avery?! i swear, you're so fucking dead!"

"you'll be done with her soon enough," malfoy joined, shrugging his shoulders casually as he sneered at remus, stalking towards him. "maybe then you'll let us have a go, yeah? she was meant to be one of us, after all. she may be a blood traitor but she's hot as-"

a sickening crunch interrupted him as remus sent his fist reeling directly at his nose, nothing but pure rage seeping through his veins as he sent punch after punch to avery's face.

"remus!"

james and sirius watched in shock for a moment (both quite frankly more than happy to let remus beat him to a pulp, and in fact cheered him on for the first two or three hits) before your pleading voice snapped them out of it. they each grabbed one of remus' arms and narrowly avoided getting an elbow to the face as they dragged him off of the half-unconscious boy.

"you even look at her again and i swear to godric you'll be spending the rest of your lives in the hospital wing."

the two other boys scrambled to grab avery and ran off towards the castle, terrified of remus' sudden outburst.

"alright, show's over you fuckers!" sirius called out to the relatively big crowd that had formed around you all, who reluctantly dispersed out in different directions. "give us some bloody space!"

"well that felt good," remus chuckled quietly as he shook his hand a few times.

you just stared at him with wide eyes and your mouth dropped open slightly. "you.. you just-"

"fuckin' hell, moony that was bloody brilliant!" james broke out into a cheer, him and sirius praising him and re-enacting just how brilliant it was as remus laughed quietly again before turning to you.

he gently took you from peter's grip and raised his eyebrows as he looked down at you, going back to his usual gentleness as he scanned your features worriedly. "are you alright, darling?"

you didn't quite know what to say, looking up at him slightly starstruck as you just nodded your head and stumbled over your words. "yeah, i- yeah."

he gave you a gentle smile and cupped your face with his non-bloody hand before leaning down for a kiss, conveying all his usual love and softness into it as if he didn't just completely wreck avery's face.

the sounds of gagging filled your ears and you broke away from remus with a soft laugh at james and sirius' antics.

"don't forget that's my sister, moony! merlin, what that fucker said about us is going to haunt me forever."

[puzzled-pegasus]

Do you ever just think about how awful it is to be a demigod before you know about it?

I've been thinking about it a lot lately. How much demigod kids and teenagers don't fit in with mortal society. Their mortal parents don't know what to do with them, even if they do care for them immensely. They are labeled as troublemakers, as bad kids, as mentally ill, as freaks and monsters who see things they shouldn't see and have an aversion to authority that they shouldn't have and a strong sense of justice and an inability to sit still, read, play, act, feel normally. Percy got in trouble for getting into fights, for speaking impulsively, he was mocked and spoken down to and expelled from lots of schools who couldn't handle him and he didn't know why until he was twelve years old. Sally wasn't able to tell him why.

Annabeth was the product of her father's relationship with a goddess, and he loved her for a while, but she wasn't a normal kid. When he fell in love with a mortal and Annabeth didn't get along with her or her kids, he chose the mortal side. How could he understand Annabeth's side? She was just a badly behaved kid, while his new wife and children were the normal good ones.

Jason always knew he was a demigod, he was accepted and praised and tons of expectations were placed on him from a frighteningly young age. Part of the reason the others resent him and see him as a sort of golden child is because he was placed on a pedestal and he will never, ever know what it was like for all of his friends to be looked down on as children, to be scolded for things they didn't understand and told that the things they saw and experienced constantly were not real.

Piper was always loved by her father but I think he loved the idea of her, he loved that she reminded him of the beautiful woman he met years ago. He was always kind to her and usually gave her things she wanted, but he couldn't always spend time with her as his job got busier. Piper sensed that her father's attention was occupied by something else, and as he got busier, she felt less supported and stole things and got in fights and her dad didn't know what to do with her after the BMW so she was sent to a troubled teen program where she was bullied for her disabilities and her race.

Leo feared his power because it killed the person he loved the most, and after that, everything in his life was hell. He didn't feel safe anywhere, he didn't have anyone he could trust, and adults saw him as a troublemaker who would never amount to anything.

The books don't emphasize these things as much with any of the other demigods, or maybe Annabeth, Percy, Piper, and Leo are the best examples we have. I just. They're so tragic. They're all my children all of them. I love them and I feel so sad for them

[myspacebrat]

𝖎𝖓 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖋𝖑𝖊𝖘𝖍

succubus steve x eddie munson x girlfriend reader

summary: after finding a weird book of summoning spells from the library, your boyfriend eddie proposes an idea where you’d put the spells to good use, but what happens when you both actually summon a succubus demon who’s been starved of his lustful desires for centuries?

warnings: smut ahead, 18+ mdni, monster fucking, big dick steve, mmf threesome, oral sex ( f & m receiving), p in v sex, p in a sex, dom!steve, sub!eddie, sub!reader, spit as lube, being spanked and choked by a tail, squirting, breeding kink, cream pie.

authors note: another one shot for y’all, hope you like! As always thank you to my baby loves @xxhellfiregirlxx & @take-everything-you-can for beta reading, and always listening to my crazy ideas <3

wc: 3.1k

“This is such a bad idea.” You grumble as Eddie’s eyes squint, trying to make out the scription that was hastily written in the black leatherback book your boyfriend had found when he was in the library, browsing the shelves for a new fantasy book.

Instead, he found a creepy looking one filled with summoning spells and incantations.

“C’mon babe, this shit isn’t real. Who would leave a legit book of spells in a library? A Hawkins library, no less.” He huffs with a devious smirk “the only demon you’ll be summoning tonight is this big dick having one, right here.” He pacifies before chuckling at his own words as he continues drawing out the intricate looking pentagram.

You scoff and roll your eyes as you sit on your shared bed, socked feet dangling off the side as you watch the metalhead; his tongue poking out while he curves the chalk, finishing off the circle.

He quickly looks up at you in disbelief, “what? You tryna say I don’t have a big cock?” He taunts as his lips curl up into a mocking smile. “Oh Eddie, I don’t think it’ll fit! Your cock is so big! You stretch my pussy out so good!” He teases in a high pitched voice that you are certain, sounds absolutely nothing like you.

“I sound nothing like that you ass!” You screech as you pick up and throw the black bunny stuffie your boyfriend had recently won for you at the Hawkins annual All Hallow’s Fall Festival.

“Baby! You’re gonna fuck up my masterpiece. C’mon!” Eddie cries as he throws it back where it previously sat, between your two pillows.

“Well I don't sound like that…I sound way hotter.” You protest before playfully sticking your tongue out at him, making the boy quickly jump to his black boot clad feet and lunging at you. You both fall back onto the plush mattress as Eddie's body weighs you down.

“Stick your tongue out at me again and I'm gonna bite it.” He playfully growls in your ear before softly biting at your lobe.

���Ed’s I can't breathe, get off!” You can no longer hold back your giggles when he begins nuzzling his nose into your neck.

“Okay, undress and put that silk robe on. I'm gonna go stand in the closet and when I come back out, I’m no longer Eddie, okay?” He reminds you as his nose sweetly rubs against yours. “You remember what you're supposed to say?” Your boyfriend questions before standing up and making his way to the closet, dramatically whipping open the bi-fold doors before clambering his lanky body inside.

“Yes, of course I do.” You mutter before standing up and making quick work of removing your cropped t-shirt, little sleep shorts, lace panties and socks.

Eddie winks at you then quickly closes the doors. You slip your silk robe on, loosely tying it around your body before crouching down to get on your knees in front of the pentagram and black burning candles. You wait a few minutes before you begin to recite the words on the paper:

Lilith, please receive this offering. I give this truthfully and willingly

May the light of these candles burn brightly and guide your son to me

The light from the candles flicker as a heavy draft from your cracked window seeps in, sending a deep chill down your spine.

The closet doors burst open and Eddie steps out, wearing a shit eating grin and red devil horns he had picked up from the local costume shop. He was shirtless, his tattoos on full display, black jeans laying low on his hips showing off his deep v lines you always went crazy for, the chain wallet he often wore caught your attention as it swayed while he sauntered over, boots stopping right in front of the pentagram you were kneeled behind.

“Hello, little one.” Eddie growled, but something off in the corner of the room caught your attention, a black figure that swiftly moved out of the shadows, white teeth gleaming as he sent you a sinister smile.

“Holy shit.” You murmur, making Eddie’s face break character as he curiously follows your eyes to the shaggy haired demon who had now fully revealed himself to you both.

Eddie’s whole body turns in shock as his black boots side step the perfectly laid out incantation.

“Holy fuck!” Your boyfriend shouts as the back of his knees hit the bed, he quickly loses his balance, body bouncing off the mattress as his eyes almost pop out of his head from his state of panic. “Who the fuck are you? W-what do you want?” He stammers, his voice cracking as it came out too high pitched for his liking.

You sit there with wide eyes, your body feeling as if it's being weighed down by a ton of bricks and unable to move as the demon studies you, from head to toe before hungirly licking his blood red lips.

“Well you summoned me, silly child.” The demon says before he begins to study your boyfriend.

“N-no, w-we didn't mean to.” You finally spoke before standing up and moving closer to Eddie, but as you do your robe slips open exposing your bare breast and cunt to the demon.

The succubus looks around with a snarl on his face.

“Oh but it looks as though you did, little mortal.” He chuckles as his eyes find the leatherback book splayed out on the floor. “What is the meaning of this if you did not summon me?” He asks as his clawed hand motions to the summoning circle.

“We were roleplaying.” Eddie admits as his cheeks tinge pink from his confession.

“Roleplaying?” The demon questions before he stops right in front of you, his glowing eyes take in you and your boyfriends terrified faces.

“Y-yeah, we uh well I was gonna play the demon and she was supposed to summon me, then we’d ya’ know?” Eddie stutters before making a crude gesture to the demon.

“Hmm, I see.” The succubus says as his clawed hands rub against the soft skin of his chin.

The closeness gave you and Eddie the opportunity to take in the horned monster's face, his rather human looking face. He had dark curled horns surrounded by perfectly coiffed brown hair, honey brown eyes that appeared to change to a glowing yellow when he was excited. His face and body were covered in beauty marks, he was dressed in clothes that looked like they were from centuries ago but his arms were big and muscular and his hands were veiny with long pointed claws. You and Eddie couldn’t help but to think he was fucking beautiful, enthralling.

“W-what’s your name?” You ask as your robe slips back open, revealing your hardened nipples to both males.

“You may call me Steve, my sweet one.” The succubus purrs before his hand reaches out towards your bare breasts, his clawed thumb gently rubbing against your peaked bud, making you shiver but you make no attempts to move away.

“Hey man.” Your boyfriend demurs, but the words come out weaker than intended.

“Shh, little lamb.” Steve murmurs, bringing the same hand he’d just caressed you with, up to Eddie’s lips “You’ll get your turn.” He winks at the boy, whose eyes are now cartoonishly bulging from his head.

Steve steps closer to you both, his very prominent erection now making itself known, as his hands move to yours and Eddie’s faces. He rubs his thumbs over both sets of your lips as he moves in closer towards the metalhead sitting beside you.

“Would you like that, pretty boy?” The demon solicits, his lips mere inches from your boyfriends, so close that Eddie could feel Steve’s shallow breaths.

Eddie had never found men much attractive but he couldn’t deny the allure he felt for the demon standing before him.

“I-I would.” He admits with a slight nod of his head before the succubus pulls him into a passionate kiss, tongues swirling against each other as you look on in desperate arousal.

“Mmm.” The demon hums after he pulls back. “I need to fuck you both.” He declares before bringing his swollen lips to yours, he licks into your mouth making you moan into the kiss, he removes your robe and slips it off your body. His hands rub over your tits, down your sides and land on your hips, holding you tightly as his lips continue to move against yours.

“Sit on his face, sweet one.” Steve demands, easily lifting your hips and moving you further back on the bed.

“Lay back for me, little lamb.” The demon tells Eddie before he falls to his knees and makes rapid movements to remove the metalheads belt, button and zipper. Eddie lifts his hips up, helping the succubus as he roughly rips his jeans down the rest of the way.

You straddle Eddie’s face, your glistening pussy captures Steve’s attention as he now hungrily eyes you and your boyfriend's sexes.

“I haven’t played with such a pretty cunt and cock in what seems like eons.” The demon groans before taking Eddie’s tip into his mouth and sucking.

Eddie moans as his tongue swirls over your swollen clit, he takes your bundle of nerves into his mouth and lightly sucks. Your head falls back in pleasure before he’s gliding his tongue down and licking into your pussy, tasting your sweet nectar. His favorite flavor.

The succubus working between your boyfriend's thighs takes his cock further into his mouth before wrapping his abnormally long tongue around the metalhead's girthy length. Eddie’s eyes roll back as he continues to lick and suck you. The rings on his fingers are digging into you just as his black polished nails are, creating a sting that amplifies your pleasure tenfold.

“Fuck, your tongue feels so good Eddie!” You whimper as you feel your orgasm creeping up on the horizon.

When you bring your head back down, your eyes immediately meet the glowing pair you've vaguely grown familiar with. His long snake-like tongue moves up from Eddie’s asshole to his balls, then up to lick the beads of precum that had built up in his absence while his long, wet, pink muscle made its travels further south.

“Are you going to cum, little one?” Steve questions before his tongue dashes out to lick at his obscenely wet lips.

“Mmhm!” You whine as your mouth drops open into the perfect little ‘o’ as heavy moans begin to fill the room.

The demon crawls up your boyfriends body, straddling his waist, rubbing their cocks together as he begins licking at your clit while Eddie fucks you with his tongue.

“Cum for us.” Steve demands, his thumb now taking over, making swift gentle circles.

“Oh! Oh!” You mewl as your legs shake, knees digging into the mattress as you ride your boyfriend's tongue, while the succubus continues to rub circles on your sodden clit.

“That’s it, pretty thing. Yes, that’s it!” Steve growls, hips still bucking creating the perfect friction as his and Eddie’s cocks rub together, both of them leaking with need.

Once you’ve come down from the euphoria, Steve manhandles you off of the long haired boy and onto your back before he grabs Eddie’s glistening chin and begins licking your slick off of his lips, he quickly dips his tongue into the other boys mouth moaning as he sucks your taste off of the metalheads wet muscle.

When they finally come up for air, the demon turns his attention back on you, making his way between your twitching legs.

“Here is what is going to happen, little doves…” Steve huffs as his eyes roam over your body that lay still beneath him. “I am going to fuck her little cunt as you fuck me.” He growled, his glowing eyes now on Eddie.

“Uh, okay.” Your boyfriend mutters as if he still hasn’t fully comprehended what’s happening, but his cock is so painfully hard and throbbing he’ll do whatever you or Steve asks of him.

“You..” he says as he points a long nailed finger in your flushed face, “on all fours. Now.”

You do your best to move quickly while the demon is still kneeling between your spread thighs. Once you’ve successfully shifted your body onto your knees, head face down into your sheets as you arch your ass nice and high for him. When you begin to wiggle in anticipation a quick whip is descended onto your backside, making you wail out in pain and pleasure.

That definitely was not his hand!

You look over to Eddie whose eyes are wide as his hand comes to a full stop around his cock.

“Holy shit, was that a tail?” Eddie asks in disbelief.

you look back at Steve who is now rubbing his tip along your entrance, gathering your wetness onto the heated skin. You decide to confirm you and your boyfriend’s suspicions when you wiggle your hips impatiently again, and just as Eddie had said a black spiked tail came out from behind the demon giving you another good lashing that made your eyes water and your teeth bite down so hard on your bottom lip you could practically taste the blood.

In one swift motion the demon plunges his big, girthy cock inside of you, steadily dragging it against your walls before his thrusts slowly begin to speed up into an unforgiving pace.

Steve looks down at where Eddie is still sprawled, the look on his face is that of utter shock.

“Get back there and fuck me. Now.” The succubus growled as his eyes glowed, before desperately hissing from the tightness of your pussy around him.

Steve hadn’t been fucked by another man in centuries, and holyfuckingshit if he wasn’t the most backed up he’d ever been, but I guess that’s what happens when you haven’t been summoned in a millennia. He needed that ultimate power of fucking and being fucked.

“Well, I’ve never fucked a guy before… do I need something to make it wet before I-I…” your sweet, sweet boyfriend bashfully asks Steve.

“Just spit will do.” The demon groans, as his once erratic hips fall to a leisurely pace.

The metalhead spits on his fingers before he’s bringing the big glob between Steve’s cheeks and timidly rubbing it against his puckered hole.

“Mmm, that’s it.” The succubus hisses before Eddie begins to slowly sink his middle finger into the tight hole, it almost sucks him in immediately and he bottoms out to the knuckle within seconds, god he’s so tight and warm, Eddie couldn’t wait to be engulfed in his little asshole. Those are words he never thought he’d utter to himself. But here we are.

Once he’s gotten three fingers in, and has pumped them in and out enough times to successfully find the demon's prostate.

Eddie removes them before spitting on his tip for extra lubrication, then lines his hard, aching cock up with Steve’s hole and slowly but surely pushes in.

The feeling that comes over both males is very obvious as throaty grunts and groans fill the room. Finally Steve starts to pick up his pace as he fucks into you with reckless abandon. You can feel your boyfriend fucking the demons cock into you even harder, which causes more wetness drip from your stretched hole and down to the succubus’ balls that harshly slap against your clit.

“Oh! Yes, fuck that’s so good!” You whine as your eyes roll to the back of your head.

The grunts coming from your boyfriend who’s hands now roughly grab at your waist, using you to fuck himself deeper into the hole he’s pounding, and Steves hisses and whimpers, make you feel as though you’re floating on the precipice of blinding white pleasure.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. Mmhm.” You continue to moan as you’re being fucked absolutely dumb.

“You hear that?” Eddie whispers into the demon's ear, “you’re making my girl feel so good, am I making you feel good, too?” Your boyfriend questions before licking at the succubus’ neck, then taking a chunk of skin between his teeth and biting before it turns into a harsh suck.

“Yes, yes you are making me feel so good!” Steve howled, the pleasure of both you and your boyfriend had the demon’s thoughts disintegrating into nothing but filling and being filled.

When you begin to fuck yourself on Steve’s cock, pushing back to engulf even more of him into your soaked walls, his tail swings out from behind him, swiftly wrapping around your neck and pulling your body up towards his.

“Am I fucking you good, little one?” Steve murmurs into your ear, creating a pleasant chill down your spine.

“Yes, it feels so fucking good!” You admit once his tail loosens from around your throat.

“Are you going to cum for me?” He whispers again, both males' hands caress your body as your high begins to peak.

You can hear Eddie mutter over Steve’s neck “cum for us baby.” The acknowledgement from the love of your life sets off your orgasm as you begin to shake and writh making the demon's tail tighten around your neck creating the most perfect spacey feeling that has your high lasting far longer than usual. A splash of liquid hits Steve’s thighs as your moans grow louder.

“Fuck!” Steve growls, his tail completely leaving your neck and swooping back to where it came from, causing you to fall face first into the mattress, tears and drool wetting the sheets beneath you as he drills harder into you, the need for his release makes him move at an inhuman pace.

Eddie stills allowing the demon the fuck himself on the metalheads cock as there is no way he can keep up with the thrusts he’s fucking you with.

“I’m going to breed this little fucking cunt, while your boyfriend breeds my asshole.” Steve hisses into your neck, before his groans get louder and his warm spunk shoots deep within your walls.

Steve clenches so tightly around Eddie’s cock, milking the cum right out of him as it shoots into his used up hole. Your boyfriend whimpers and whines at the feeling of being completely squeezed of every last drop.

Eddie falls beside you, both of you panting to catch your breaths, bodies mere seconds from being taken under by drowsiness.

Your boyfriend moves the hair out of your face before playfully pinching at your cheeks, the demon looks on at the tender display of affection between two lovers, it makes his chest tighten with an unfamiliar feeling.

“Oh, but we are not done, we have all night and my hunger has yet to be satiated.”

𝚜𝚞𝚙𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚝 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚜 & 𝚛𝚎𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚐𝚜!

[angelribbon]

DONT YOU LOVE ME ANYWAY?

tw: slapping, slight breeding kink, smut, dark!luke, corruption kink, daughter of aphrodite!reader

a/n: from your #1 yappist

There was something sacred about it-how he would desecrate-ruin you. Bruises littered your inner thighs, neck, anywhere he could find to mark you. Own you.

And he did.

There was some thrill in it for him, that you'd allow him to fuck with you like this, turn you into something as depraved and corrupt as him. Watching the guilt settle in your eyes when he finishes fucking you, mock disappointment crafting his words.

"should cover those up, yeah?, cant have everyone knowing what a cock dumb slut you are now, can we?"

People began to notice it, slowly. The way your face would burn with embarrassment turning into shame when they pointed out the hickeys. The fact that you were luke's toy to fuck and use as he pleases. And it was, until it became because even after he betrayed you, its his name that falls from your lips when you cum on your fingers.

You shouldve known better. Maybe checked the borders harder, more than twice-brought more weapons. Anything, that would take you back from being here. The metal presses against your throat, sending shocks of fear through you as he tilts your head up, back pressed against the rough bark of the tree.

Clarisse and the others had left camp for some special mission, chiron called it, leaving you and the other year rounders. It was calm for the first few weeks, until it wasnt.

Monsters started attacking more frequently, breaking the borders which you couldve sworn you thought could never happen. And there was only one culprit. The same one that had his head between your thighs-just weeks earlier and now a knife under your chin.

"isnt it past curfew sweetheart?" he asks tilting his head as he smiles "should report you for that"

Like the fucker cares.

Your eyes scan your surroundings, looking for atleast a dagger, seeing most of your weapons discarded too far from arms reach. He sees you, of course, eyes darkening in irritation.

"None of that yeah? just want to talk-"

Something in you clicks, anger that causes you to almost bite at him. "now you want to talk? you fucking left me luke!, no note, not even a simple goodbye-i had to hear about this from annabeth, a-and you want to speak to me with a sword at my throat?!"

He shifts, eyes moving to unreadable, as he backs up only slightly.

"There wasnt enough time-couldnt get you roped up in this shit and risk somethin' happening to you, you wouldnt have understood-"

His words fall on deaf ears, not caring-trusting-what he says anymore. You're quick to move, acknowledging that his sword is now at his side, completely out of the way. The first fist hits and you cant tell when the second one reaches. He lets you hit him, takes it until it actually begins to hurt, grapping your wrists as you attempt to fight his grip. He discards his sword on the ground, moving his other hand to keep you still. "Stop before you hurt yourself" he says sternly, backing you right up against the tree. Theres tears on your face now, he cant tell if they're from sadness or anger, choosing the latter pains him less.

"Just calm the fuck down"

Its the same tone he would use with you before, whenever you'd ask him to stay with you after he'd fuck you for hours on end. Producing the same result, tears brimming along your waterline until his tone changes. "I'm sorry okay? just dont-dont-fuck- stop crying, cant take it when you do that to me"

Your lip stops trembling, soaked eyes looking up at him as his hand cradles your chin. Its silent, none of you knowing what to say anymore and even though, you know better, you kiss him. Your lips are soft against his at first, but when luke gets over his shock? he's all teeth and blood. Violent and angry and so so desperate. Your brains in a fuzz, a high from the way hes kissing you. Maybe you've spent too long alone since he left, maybe you should've moved on. But whatever it is that leads you to do something like this, you're to fucked out of your brain to care.

Fuck elysium, he's got his own little heaven right here, in the way you sculpt your lips into his, letting him find solace in you after everything. His hand reaches to the curve of your waist pulling you into him, as he begs you to let him go further. To fuck out his frustrations onto you once again. He's sick for even asking, and you? you're just as bad for agreeing.

He practically rips of your skirt, ruining the pretty lace hem, muffling your protests with his lips. "I'll but you ten, okay a whole fuckin' set after-"

A promise you know he's not going to keep, but for now, you let him have it. His hand trails over your panties, pressing the damp spot he sees there. "That desperate huh? been waitin' for me princess?"

Somewhere in your stupor, your lips form into a pout.

"Dont be silly"

His lips form into a smirk at that, slapping your clit from your tone as you yelp. "Yeah? you've just been whoring yourself out since ive been gone?-looks like i needa remind her who she belong to hm?"

Another slap connects at your silence.

"Y-yes-fuck-please-n-need it so bad-" you babble out mindlessly, pushing your hips up into his hand-a desperate attempt to get some friction. He chuckles at your neediness, like his cock isnt leaking through his pants right now. He pulls your panties to your knees, fingers teasing at your hole, gathering your slick before he's sliding both inside of you. The sound you make is pathetic, giving him exactly what he wants, to see you pliant and indigent for him again. He's not slow or careful, instead fucking you with his fingers like hes almost enamored with the motion.

"L-luke-!" you whine, when you feel his other finger pinch your clit, the stimulation making your body jolt in pleasure. "I know, baby, I know-'s really abandoned her didnt i? dont even know how much ive missed this pretty pussy"

His words are so sweet, an illusion for how fucked up this all is. He continues to pump his fingers into you, feeling how you tighten up around him as his hand goes back to circle your clit. Your hips buck up into his hand, letting him use it as motivation to move faster. Head falling back, feeling the familiar tightening in your stomach as whimpers emit from you, eyes rolling back in pleasure. Your brain goes white when you cum, thighs trembling as you clamp down on his hand. He pulls out of you, watching the wetness that drips down your thighs.

"theres my girl"

He's quick to pull out his cock, all angry and red, precum dripping along his veins. He rubs his cock along your thighs, shivering at the feeling. He's slow at first, easing himself in, until he fully enters you, a wheeze coming from him.

shitshitshitshitshit-shit-" his thighs quiver, jaw clenching from holding himself back. "g-gotta relax for me, mami-fuck-"

He buries his head into your neck, gritting his teeth as his hands tighten on your hips. It take everything in him not to just rut into you right there.

For your sake, he tries to be slow, be patient as he thrusts into you at an antagonizing, gentle pace. You mumble something under your breath, begging him to go faster, to ruin you again, to break you. And he remembers that really? he was never a patient man.

His hips snap into yours, his movement prompted from that primal need to fill you with him to the hilt. Its disgusting, lewd-almost pornographic sounds that come from you as his curls stick to his forehead from sweat. He fucks you like an rabid animal, harsh, violent and angry-he doesnt understand whats wrong with him-why he needs it so bad. To feel you clench around him, scream out his name as if everythings normal again, as if he's human again. He presses against your stomach, causing a mixture of a moan and a sob to come from you, as he moves against you faster-harder.

He's on cloud nine when you clamp down on him. Hips stuttering, choked out whimpers falling from him as he buries his face back into your neck to try and stifle his sounds. Stars dance across your vision, and you swear you're drowning-mouth formed in a permanent 'o' shape, thighs trembling as you sink deeper. Crash after crash of ecstasy hits you-coming in relentless hard waves that make you see white. Your speech is slurred, rambling about how you love him so much-need him so much, begging him not to leave you again.

And thats what pushes him over the edge. He knows hes gonna leave you again, abandon you like the piece of shit he is, but the reprieve he has is too good to deny. He cums with a fucking sob, your name echoing from him like a solemn prayer, not even recognizing the fact that he just came inside of you as he holds you to him.

He cleans you up, carrying you back to the aphrodite cabin. Lucky for him, its empty. Most of the year rounders being in his old cabin. Laying you down on the bed, as your eyelids flutter, he sits on the side of your sheets, watching your face until you fall asleep.

And whether its guilt or regret, this time he stays and holds you until he disappears in the morning.

[boy-eater11]

-Paper Confessions-

- Kurt Wagner/nightcrawler x Shy!Reader

- After Kurt receives two anonymous confession letters, written in slowly improving German. He comes face to face with their quiet author. -

- CW: fluff, bad German, references to insecurities, Gn!reader

The first time it happened, Kurt didn't know what to think. Messy handwriting, horrible grammar, and other blatant mistakes led him to believe the note must have been some kind of elaborate prank.

It seemed honestly quite rude, that someone he knew would go through the trouble of translating an entire fake secret admirer note into German, just to mock the idea that someone could honestly have feelings for him.

Compliments like, 'Der netteste Mann, den ich kenne' or 'der schönste Mann, den ich je gesehen habe' read as cruel insults instead of words of appreciation.

Needless to say, the following day, Kurt was visibly disheartened. You however, were quite proud of yourself. The days before, you had spent countless hours reading and practicing German, in an earnest effort to learn it.

Ever since you had developed feelings for Kurt, you had been painfully unable to communicate how you felt towards him, any attempt to have a genuine conversation resulted in stammers and awkward silences, so you opted to appreciate him from the sidelines. Spending quiet hours in each other's company.

Yet, it had been months since then, and the need to express to him how you felt was becoming too great, so you crafted an idea. You would write him a note, something truly meaningful, to get the stress of hiding your emotions off your chest, even deciding to write it in German, in order to show Kurt just how much you cared.

Your efforts were seemingly in vain however, as the first attempt went incredibly poorly, so poorly you trashed it, where without your knowledge, it managed to find itself into the hands of the very person it was written for.

Kurt had been in the library when he found the crumpled paper with his name on it. He thought it was odd of course, but figured its author wished him to receive it. He regretted that decision after reading it. A cruel insult to all the effort he had put into seemingly as kind and approachable as possible, not wishing to be seen as a monster.

You were of course, confused, when Kurt was inexplicably downtrodden the next day. Everyone could tell, yet any attempt to comfort him was brushed off. When approached, he just claimed to be tired or unfocused.

Observing this, you poured yourself into your books again. Writing, practicing, translating, anything you could do to perfect your skills. Finally, nearly three days later, you had finished your note. Imperfect, but unlike your first failed attempt, you felt confident in your progress. You slipped it under his doorway of course, anonymity was your saving grace.

Despite your original plan, you couldn't bring yourself to admit the confession, leaving it unsigned. You hoped that at least getting your feelings off your chest would help you relax.

Kurt however, was only further confused. This second note, properly addressed to him, left for him to find, was much less demeaning. Still imperfect, in fact it was painfully clumsy in his eyes, but a vast improvement. If he had read this note first, he would have been over the moon with joy. Yet, the cruel doubt etched in him from the original note, clouded his mind from the possibility of sincerity.

He thought through his suspects, Logan, Storm and Jean, seemed like obvious no's, Remy, Scott, or even Rogue seemed more likely, yet he had a hard time believing any of his teammates would do this.

Then you crossed his mind. Painfully shy, but confident in a fight, you seemed far from anyone who would do this. Yet part of him hoped it was you. That he had gotten this whole thing wrong, and that you had been secretly reciprocating his affections.

Kurt had liked you for months, after you patched him up after a seriously bad mission, he felt comfortable around you. When you first arrived, Kurt assumed you were scared of him, you always seemed to avoid him, and never seemed to want to keep a conversation with him. Yet, when he asked if you found him monstrous, you were honest. Saying that you found him quite kind, but that you simply struggled to make friends, and had been intimidated by his forwardness.

So, Kurt took his time. He let you approach first, he was constantly welcoming, and you two had found yourself in a pattern of spending quiet afternoons in each other's company. Not talking, or even really hanging out, just being in each other's presence.

That's when he developed feelings, the quiet moments you shared, seemed like the most relaxed Kurt ever got to be. You were beautiful of course, but being near you reminded Kurt of a warm blanket or a cold towel on a hot day. gentle, and refreshing.

So, that's what Kurt hoped for. That his assumption was wrong, and that you had been writing these for him. It seemed unlikely, and part of him truly believed he was wrong, but it made him feel giddy to think you could feel the same.

You, on the other hand, and only dig yourself a deeper hole. Your work was pointless, you still felt overwhelmed by your wish to confess to Kurt, and the fact that you had put so much time into trying to escape it, weighed you down like bricks on your shoulders.

"You've got to tell him properly. Right now he's probably thinking he's about to get swept off his feet by the girl of his dreams, and you're too scared to admit it's you." Jean teased.

"You're right...I know....I just can't even bring myself to look him in the eyes." You signed, running your hands through your hair in frustration.

"Then don't, hell if you don't want your work to go to waste, just actually put your name down this time." Jean rolled her eyes in response.

"Are you sure that's a good idea though? I mean I can hardly talk to him now, what if after he finds out he doesn't even want to be around me?" Jean patted your back and you rubbed circles into your temples.

"He won't. You two just need to communicate for once."

So, you wrote again. One last letter, rambling painfully about how much you cared for him. Detailing every way he made you smile. Reading it back made you want to almost vomit with cringe, but you didn't know how else to say what you felt.

So, as you had done days prior, you snuck to his room, slipping it under the door frame. However, this time, as you turned to flee, you were treated by a familiar *bamf*

"Mein freund... This was... You?" Before you know it, you're face to face with the fuzzy blue boy of your dreams.

"I... Uhm..yeah." you nod, staring down at your feet, a bright red blush stinging your cheeks.

Without another word, Kurt begins to read your most recent note. You shift uncomfortably, debating whether to run, or to freeze in place.

"You've improved quite a bit Schatz... I am glad." He looks down at you, a wide smile, and indigo blush gracing his features.

You chuckle awkwardly, unable to formulate a genuine response.

"Ich liebe dich auch." He rests a hand on your shoulders, calming your fidgeting, and freezing you in place.

"y-you.... Really?" You stare at him, wide eyed in disbelief.

"of course, meine Liebe. I have for quite some time. In all honesty, I had been wishing it was you."

Without thinking, or saying a word, you pull him into a hug. Burying your face in his chest, wrapping your arms around him.

"good."

- end. -

[pirateshelly]

There really is a sort of tragic irony to the fact that Armand's one moral line in the sand that he's managed to maintain despite centuries of adapting and having his identity shaped and reshaped by others (his refusal to turn anyone else into a vampire) is just kind of never taken seriously by those around him. Louis dismisses it as him being contrary and difficult and Daniel reacts with the sort of mocking disbelief you often see in people if they've been told someone doesn't want children or has never had sex; like it's more of a slightly absurd failing than a choice worth respecting.

Because honestly, saying 'I may literally depend on taking other people's lives to survive and I can't change what I am, but the one thing I will never do is make more of us or condemn anyone else to this" is a completely reasonable stance to take! It's a more practical way of attempting to be a vampire in a way that minimizes harm than trying to just not eat people, which is inevitably going to fail. Which is obviously not to say that this makes Armand, like, a good moral person lol (none of these characters are, and they'd be less interesting if they were, but it's still more interesting to me to recognize the ways they struggle with that than to act like the story exists in some sort of amoral void where nothing matters because everyone's a literal monster).

Like. That's his one single personal boundary, the one tiny thread of humanity he'd managed to keep for himself and has control over. And obviously I'm not defending his choice to betray Louis and Claudia and Madeleine. But you can still understand, as a viewer, how (from his understandably very warped and defensive way of interacting with the world) Louis and Claudia choosing to turn Madeleine anyway and essentially making him complicit was the one big thing that pushed him over the line to thinking "this relationship is not something I can trust enough to be worth risking my standing with the coven I've been a part of for centuries for"

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Yandere König Headcanons

Warnings: Some 18+ Moments (Nothing Explicit), Social Anxiety, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Bullying, Acts of Revenge, Gaslighting, Kidnapping, Underwear Stealing, Possessive Behaviour, Yandere Behavious, Toxic Behaviour, Intimidation, Social Sabotage, No Pronouns used for Reader Except 'You', etc.

Wordcount: 14,544 words

A/N: Hey Guys, Happy Valentine's Day <3 ! Thanks for stopping by to read my fic ! Much love and wellness to you all :-). I've had to split the bulk of the text and the ending into two posts because Tumblr will not let me keep them in the same post - it just won't save or post. A link will be provided below the main body of text to take you to the ending post <3

You and König became friends the very same day you met.

You were a new student to the school that König called Hell; not yet alive – conscious – to the incessant bullying and ignorance that occurred there.

Upon seeing you for the first time, feet pointed in, shoulders rigid, lunch pail squeezed – compressed – tightly between your tiny fingers, König felt… strange.

He’d never met you before, but he already felt that there was something to be done in the way of you.

As to what that ‘something’ was was completely lost on König.

But alas, he tore his resting head from his palm, his senses sharpening as he was drawn from the fantasy world he’d crafted for himself, becoming aware of his surroundings,

He watched you, for the first time, a child no older than himself, nigh-quivering under the curious gazes of students.

As if by instinct, König’s gaze drifted to the table that housed his tormentors.

And, sure as ever, their eyes held nothing less than malice. Intent.

Something in him told him to sit up straighter, to get his hands off the desk – anything to appear bigger than how he did now.

He recognised this feeling. Though, he’d never felt it towards a person.

In König, it only ever manifested whenever he happened upon some small, injured creature.

Despite being just children, König was already a little taller than everyone else in the class; foreshadowing of the monster he’d become, whose horns just peeked through his skull, made him an inch or three taller than the rest.

And yet, he was still the butt of every joke, the object of needless ridicule.

Little did he know that would all change the very same day he met you.

Something in him prompted him, told him, to talk to you, to find out as much about you as he possibly could.

An impulse he had never known until today.

Though, as to how he’d initiate conversation was tricky.

He could barely talk to his own parents, let alone a complete stranger.

As you peeked up from the floor every now and then, scanning the room and all its pieces, its players, your gaze fell upon König.

His heart fitted, adopting an irregular rhythm – a genre of music he’d never heard before.

Usually, he’d tear his gaze away, look down or out the window.

But he couldn’t.

With you, it was impossible.

The seat beside him was empty, a sliver of mercy his favourite teacher had imparted on him.

The possibility that you would be seated next to him – that you might choose to sit beside him of your own volition – filled König with a dangerous sense of hope.

He found himself clenching his fists when you made a move to go to him, taking but a small step in his direction. The right direction.

Before the teacher pointed to another seat halfway across the classroom.

König deflated, his shoulders sagging, his mood dampening as if sodden with tears.

He looked upon your reluctantly retreating form, your friendship withering away with each step you were forced to take.

König looked upon his teacher that day with something he hadn’t felt for them before.

Contempt.

The lesson dragged, yet playtime loomed.

It was less of a break for König than it was an opportunity for his bullies to find him. Capture him.

Yet today, he was the one seeking them.

He’d seen the way they’d looked at you, leered at you, repeated your name in mock mimicry when the teacher called on you for attendance.

König’s heart thrummed in his chest, an off-key harp.

He swallowed thickly, trying to hear over his internal symphony’s failing orchestra.

He almost considered calling off the search and searching for a teacher to help when he heard it.

You.

A sniffle. Then, insults.

Hissed and seethed and quiet, just below the radar of the adults ‘watching over’ the students.

König turned, only to find a long corner before him.

He pressed himself close to it, and listened.

Another sniffle, verging on a cry. Then, more insults.

The Cycle.

König’s fists clenched, his heart flared with the anger he’d felt many a time when he’d been on the receiving end of such torment.

Yet somehow, now that it was you receiving it, it was as if the cap König had set atop his anger, to prevent himself from doing something drastic, or displaying too much emotion, had blown off.

The anxiety that occupied König’s every waking moment boiled with his growing fury, a chemical gas that threatened all life that came into contact with it.

Without thinking, blinded by something greater than his limitations, he embarked the corner.

There you were, surrounded by four boys, each as diabolical as the last.

Devils in cherubs’ clothing.

König’s shadow descended upon the scene, covering your cowering frame.

The leader turned around.

He gave a sly grin, and turned partially from you.

He didn’t even have the courtesy to face König completely.

“Oi, oi,” he said, voice shrill and piercing. König stood his ground.

“And what’d’you want, König,”

König said nothing still, though the expression on his face was twisted, a far cry from the doe-eyed boy he was just two minutes ago.

The leader, when König didn’t answer, abandoned you, leaving you to his lackeys.

He approached König with a walk too old for his body, a cheap imitation of intimidation.

He only came up to König’s chin.

“I said–” he poked König’s chest, punctuating each word with a demeaning splinter.

And yet, König wasn’t paying attention to him.

He was looking at you.

You, having your hair pulled and your shirt practically torn.

König’s eyes narrowed.

“What. Do. You. W–”

Everything happened so fast that König scarcely thought it happened at all.

One minute, the bully was barely chest-to-chest with him. The next, he was on the floor, wailing, clutching his nose in his hands.

König almost couldn’t look away as a thin trickle of blood seeped between the boy’s fingers, staining his hands, and the concrete, a dark red.

König’s body shook, much like that displayed in starvation. He caught a glimpse of red along his knuckles.

And then, looking up from the bully, to his dumbfounded lackeys, he found you.

The lackeys were slowly backing away from you and making their way around König, as if he were a tiger, to their leader.

“Leave (Y/N) alone.” he said to the group, his shoulders heaving with his fresh victory.

The odd few nodded, mouths agape as they watched the leader struggle to get up onto his feet.

König walked past them and, taking cautious, slow steps towards you, stopped just shy of three feet away from you.

You were still shaking, your eyes wide as you craned your neck to look up at König’s face.

König felt giddy. A bubbling feeling welling up inside his chest.

Though, something caught in his throat. Something uncharacteristic of this situation.

“Hey–” König said, coughing, clearing his throat, when his voice cracked.

His face began to heat up, and he tried again.

“Hey,” he said, quietly.

You, awe-struck, with your mouth hung open, said nothing.

“I’m (Y/N)–...wait, no…I’m– König–”

König’s stilted introduction, and the fumble he made of it, was cut short with a soft, almost invisible feeling.

You’d thrown your arms around his middle and buried your face in his chest.

He looked down at the top of your head, only your hair visible.

The warmth on his face multiplied, growing hotter by the second as the gratitude in your muffled words – your ‘thank you’s – spilled from between the fabric of his jacket.

And, that feeling from before, the one that told him to act, returned; prompted him to do that which he thought best.

He put his arms around your shoulders and held you.

Only a moment later did you look up at him, eyes reddened with tears.

“I’m (Y/N),” you said.

König smiled, his teeth crooked.

“Hello, (Y/N).”

Immediately after the incident, a swarm of students gathered where the bully lay, ultimately unable to peel himself from the floor, his lackeys too frightened to turn their back on König for even a second.

The incident was passed around the playground like folklore, and König, and yourself, never had any trouble from those bullies again.

They’d all but discredited their leader, claiming that he’d “Tripped and fallen on a  rock,” and hadn’t finally gotten what was coming to him.

They could hardly say otherwise when König was staring them down with the look of hatred they’d all so mastered.

The group was disgraced, some of the boys eventually refusing to come to school altogether, transferring.

And all the while, you and König became inseparable.

That was the day you learnt what true friendship was.

Your parents came to know König very quickly, as his family came to know you.

You both walked home together every day, memorising the paths to each other’s houses “In case aliens invade and I need to find you!” as König justified his vested interest.

The first time he visited your house was like visiting another country.

You were much different at home than you were at school.

For one, you were more vibrant, more prone to voicing your opinions rather than keeping quiet.

And König found this quality to spark something in him.

The fact that he had gotten to know this side of you while no-one else had felt like an accomplishment.

Whenever you had anything to say, he was listening.

Regardless of how menial it was, how borderline unexplainable or just plain complex, König tried to make sense of it every time.

The two of you would spend every waking moment together, never apart for a second save for sleeping and the singular day of the week when your family would take you away somewhere; and even then, König was often invited to go along.

You had sleepovers as often as you could manage, exchanging stories like currency in a continent where only you and König lived.

König’s favourite to recite was Edgar Allan Poe’s The Tell Tale Heart, which, the first time he relayed it to you, had you peeking out from beneath your bed sheets, shivering.

That night, as König tried to sleep, he heard you whisper his name in the dark.

He spared no hesitation as he answered.

“König,” you said. “Will you…” your tiny voice barely permeated the suffocating dark.

“Will you sleep next to me ?”

König froze, then, as understanding gripped him, he thawed.

He clambered out from his sleeping bag and onto your bed, unsure of where to look or what to do once he got there.

He rested his arms above the sheets and stared up into the abyssal ceiling, hearing your breathing next to him.

You shifted closer, wrapping an arm around his front.

König became a corpse.

He stiffened, his breathing stopped, and he dared not move a muscle for fear of doing something wrong.

“Thank you,” you said. König could feel your smile against the fabric of his shirt.

"Goodnight, König,” you whispered, your face buried into him as it had been the day he confronted your bullies.

Swallowing thickly, and, sliding an arm around you, König shot a reply into the darkness.

“Goognight, (Y/N).”

After that night, König began to feel…different where you were concerned.

He couldn’t put his finger on it, but it would hit him whenever his mind drifted back to you, which he found himself doing much more often than he already did.

Considering you were his only friend, you already occupied a good portion.

König always shelved the feeling, promising to try and make sense of it later.

Later, later.

He tested his tolerance for physical contact again one day when you were both walking home.

He’d calculated what he was going to say, to do, and, taking a deep breath, he grasped your hand in his.

His palm was sweaty, the anticipation of this action weighing on him all day.

He couldn’t even bring himself to look at you – to see your reaction.

His heart spasmed.

With nothing to say, to rebuke, you just smiled and squeezed König’s hand.

He felt a weight fall from his shoulders, the sky clearing, his face heating with that feeling of butterflies rather than crushing doom.

You would walk hand-in-hand everywhere you went after that.

Eventually, when all the stories you each had to offer were spent, you found another way of amusing yourselves – of remaining connected regardless of how far away the other was.

The Bestie Bible.

A scrapbook, patchwork, Frankenstein’s novel of shared memories, diary entries; testaments of the people you were.

The book would be passed between you each week; a ‘safer’ alternative to sending letters where your parents were concerned.

An encyclopaedia of your lives right at your fingertips.

You got to know things about König that not even his own family knew, details that he was too shy to tell you, causing him to write them to you instead.

Like his hopes to become a ‘protector’ when he got older.

Little did you know, he wanted to do it for you – to protect you.

That part, he kept to himself.

And vice versa, König got to learn of your life, too; everything from your second favourite colour, bands you were into at the time, your favourite foods, shows - anything.

And he’d feverishly consume your every entry, committing them to memory.

Bible verses.

Whenever he was with you, he felt as if his whole world got brighter, that he could see a clear future with you and him in it.

And that feeling would always come with you. That damned feeling.

It only strengthened the older he became, heating his cheeks and knotting his words in his mouth.

And he’d shelve it, every time.

Because his time with you was precious.

That much was innate; he just knew.

He didn’t have time to understand, only to enjoy.

You celebrated birthdays together.

Every year, without fail, König would buy you a present that remained as timeless as your friendship.

And you’d always thank him the same way; a bone-crushing hug, a squealing “Thank you!”, and a lifetime of gratitude.

That, and one birthday, you kissed his cheek, sending him bright red, making both your families point and coo and stare.

A social nightmare for König, one which you rescued him from by finding a table to hide beneath and sit with him.

You apologised. He told you that you’d done nothing wrong.

You didn’t kiss him again after that.

Which, little did you know, evoked something from within König that was stronger, more potent, poignant, than the feeling he’d felt before. Its predecessors.

At what point König stopped seeing you as just friends was clear to him, yet the shift in his behaviour was subtle enough to be a snake hidden in the grass, a knife slipped between the mattresses – the ribs.

Or, perhaps he had always been that way. Completely and unequivocally in love with you and simply unaware of it.

Or, as close to love as one as young as him could interpret his feelings to be.

But that didn’t mean he understood what he was feeling.

It was light yet strong, a great army pounding on the walls of an even greater empire. A takeover.

He’d lay in bed most nights, hands clasped over his racing heart, as he thought of you, your smile, your everything, and he’d hope beyond hope, pray beyond heaven, that this feeling would last forever.

At first, he’d condemned it, and while he continued to shelve it, he couldn’t deny the butterflies you made him feel.

The warm jitters you’d give him whenever you’d hold him.

One day, sat in the tunnel of your favourite slide, in the local park you and König had claimed as “ours”, you sat together, waiting for your mothers to pick you up. König sat close beside you, almost fused to your side.

His hands shook in his lap, his gaze drifting to yours in a similar position, just lacking the jitters.

He wished he could be calm like you, to not be plagued with the mental anguish that he was born with.

He’d rehearsed this many times the night before, speaking with himself in the mirror – the only person aside from you he felt comfortable talking with – and prepared himself.

He took a deep breath, and before he could think about what he was doing, took your hand in his.

König waited a second, then two, before looking to you and gauging your reaction.

You didn’t even flinch, instead looking back at him with a small smile.

You squeezed his hand as you had done many times before.

So why did this time feel so different?

“What’s wrong, König ?” you said, tilting your head.

Wrong wasn’t even a word when König was with you.

König stifled the urge to withdraw, to retreat to his bedroom and hide beneath the covers of his bed until the day melted away and began anew, wiping your memory of this ever having happened.

But, again, König ignored the impulse.

He breathed deeply, hoping you wouldn’t notice as he tried in vain to placate his racing heart.

“Do you–” he swallowed, looking away, into the skyline of the fading sun, a sun set, then returning to you.

“D’youwannakiss?”

It came out so fast that even König had a hard time understanding what he was saying.

Your eyebrows crumpled, and you looked down in thought.

König’s heart stopped.

Had he said something wrong ? Had he offended you?

He thought his body would just seize up and release his soul to the heavens right then and there.

You turned to face him, your previous expression dissolving.

“König, we’re twelve. We don’t know how.”

It took König a second to understand what was happening until, yes, of course, the answer came to him.

Come to think of it, he’d only just realised.

His, and your, only knowledge of what ‘kissing’ was was something that people did when they loved each other.

He knew he loved you, though he knew the love he felt for you was different from the love he felt for his parents, or other family members.

He was rather sparse on the friend front, so he had little to compare you with there.

He bit the inside of his cheek, and, thinking, found a solution.

He said nothing as he placed his forehead to yours.

You seemed confused for a minute, before you understood and applied equal force, your forehead resting against König’s.

And you stayed that way. Just you and König sat in a kaleidoscope of childhood with your heads pressed together; two halves of an arch way, one side meaningless without the other.

Act 2

Your childhoods came and went, a flambaic fanfare of hopes, dreams, and cartoons. And your teen years gave way to feelings you’d never felt before.

And throughout it all, König was at your side.

Even now as he shot up in height, you lagging behind in that same department compared to him, he would gladly bend the knee to take your hand in his.

As was the case on your first day of high school, where you and König hurried down winding, identical corridors that you could only ever have hoped to be liminal; too many people existed here for them to be so.

Eventually, you found your classroom, miraculously having an identical timetable – at least for now.

And as you sat beside each other, your knee bouncing, watching the students filter in, König squeezed your hand in his, casting you a small, quivering, nervous smile.

Your shared anxieties would continue on from this day forth, solidifying as, just as you had been in elementary, you and König seldom spoke to anyone outside your duo, having created an impenetrable wall through which nobody could enter and neither of you could leave.

Your habits from elementary continued on, too; you both completed homework together, you had sleepovers, you continued the Bestie Bible.

But something was…amiss.

This feeling, this loss of something, grew as you did, and by your early teen years, you realised what it was.

It was around every corner, at every block of lockers, leaned against them, gazing into the eyes of the most wanted.

Love.

Sure, you knew what love was, hypothetically. You could identify it on paper, sense it between two people you’d never even met. But you never felt it.

Not the kind that you observed, anyway.

Perhaps it was your young curiosity.

Perhaps it was simply a longing for something new.

But you wanted to feel what everyone else seemed to feel.

What on-screen heroes and heroines so easily attained.

And thus began your pursuit of that which would be your downfall.

Your gaze would begin to linger more on boys in your classes who you could see yourself liking.

Prospectors, you called them to König.

Your first mistake had been ever trying to like someone in the first place.

At your sleepovers, your homework and study sessions, your park wanders, you’d spill your heart to König.

Just not in the way he wanted you to.

You’d tell him of guys you thought you may, perhaps, just a little bit, be interested in.

The first time you told König, he almost laughed.

He cast you a doubtful look, only to unfurrow his brows, unhook the smiling corners of his lips when he found you to be dead serious.

That night, König went to bed with what you could characterise as indigestion of the heart.

What you’d said didn’t sit right with him. Stirred a storm in his chest.

And he hadn’t even interpreted your words correctly.

He thought you just wanted to be friends with other people.

More people.

The idea made him anxious, made his nerves light with doubt.

And he calmed himself, looking upon your Bestie Bible, reminding himself that your friendship was God, stronger than all the forces that kept the earth together.

Or so he believed.

One evening, weeks later, during one of your routine visits, König sensed a shift in you.

You were quieter, almost as if you had clouds drifting around your crown.

Over time, as your desire to experience more, do more, grew stronger, your gaze began to wander to your classmates.

One in particular.

Just some boy, really nothing objectively noteworthy about him at all, save for perhaps his kindness, his wit, and another benign personality trait you could romanticise.

Initially, you thought little of him.

But as the weeks crawled by, and you had extra time in your classes to simply retreat elsewhere, into another world, he would be there, smiling, waving.

And you would speak with him, imagine what his opinions would be, what his voice would sound like up-close.

Fleeting instances of a desire for friendship.

That’s what you thought they were.

What else could they be ?

Meanwhile, you and König still shared as much time together as you could, even when school was becoming troublesome. Difficult.

You’d study together, have sleepovers, write in your Bestie Bible and exchange it like a letter, a story almost as old as you were.

Whenever you’d fall asleep, König would watch you, unabashed and unfettered.

An identical habit to that he’d created during childhood, with a similar goal in mind; to protect you.

Though, that was not his only motivation now.

König would watch you, watch over you, and look for as long as he liked upon your sleeping features.

And, as he advanced into his later teen years, he couldn’t deny that he found you to be very attractive.

Anyone with eyes and common sense would !

He always found his heart stuttering, his breath catching, his body heating at every docile gesture you made.

Not that you knew this, of course.

He’d studied, learnt enough from watching failed couples and friendships in school to see where mistakes were made – where friendships ended due to another’s impatience. Lack of restraint.

He made sure to avoid them at all costs.

And so he fed from you as you slept, unawares, your vulnerable state further motivation for him to protect you.

From what ?

He didn’t quite know yet.

But he held an answer, and it hung in his mind, a constant.

Everything.

During your study sessions, König began to notice that your attention seemed to be elsewhere.

Let me rephrase that; he’d noticed weeks ago that you seemed taken with something, but König couldn’t tell what.

He’d studied your Bible many times over, trying to find something indicative of your newfound interest.

And yet, nothing struck him.

Nothing new, at least.

And now, sitting here with you, König grilled you. Politely, with enough characteristic fragility in his tone that made him sound endearing enough to be spared any wrath you’d think to impart on him.

“Nothing’s wrong, Köni,” you assured him, smiling.

Your words were clear, but your eyes held a dream in them, a haze which settled over them like clouds before the moon.

König’s eyebrow raised, and, with a playful lilt, pressed further.

“That’s not true,” he said. He put his pen down and rested his hands upon the table.

“Something’s occupying your mind – I can see it.” He took a shallow breath, trying to keep his mouth stretching into a smile for as long as he could.

The fact that he didn’t know what was causing you to be this way killed him.

He recognised it in you, much as he recognised it in himself.

Love.

Or the infantile beginnings of it.

And yet he knew not from what it was borne.

You shrugged him off again, smiling, returning to your work.

“Really, König, it’s nothing !” You made mindless markings on your paper. “Now come on, drop it. We have a history test tomorrow.”

That night, König couldn’t convince you to stay over.

You both knew the evening would drag on ‘til the early hours of the morn, and neither of you wanted to fail this test.

As König embraced you, his giant form eclipsing yours, he saw the back of your bag unzipped.

He knew exactly how many seconds he had until you’d pull away.

Without a sound, he slipped his hand inside and withdrew the paper you’d been scribbling on earlier.

For once, he withdrew first, though it pained him to do so.

That night, he looked upon the paper.

There was little he could decipher from the obsolete doodles and scribbles, but something did stand out to him.

A name.

Nothing more.

The name of a boy.

It was given neither ceremony, nor decoration, simply slapped onto the paper as if it belonged there.

Looking at it made bile churn in his stomach, so he folded it, tucked it away somewhere he didn’t have to think about it.

The next day, it was his turn to receive the Bible, his makeshift friend, to give a near-identical account of experiences as you.

Given how you were both attached at the hip, there was little fluctuation in your day-to-day encounters.

In all honesty, he’d hoped that whatever had been plaguing you last night would emerge in the pages of that book, somewhere between the Frankenstein’s monster pages of glitter and brightly-coloured card paper and receipts from shops that exposed a most ambitious fashion sense.

And, like an answer from God, it did.

Laying in bed, leafing through the shared history book you and König shared, he sought your latest entries.

His heart burned as he discovered them, and, enthusiasm unmatched, he consumed every word.

He’d initially suspected that perhaps you’d taken up a new hobby, was maybe, in even a miniscule capacity, planning a gift for him, what with all your secrecy and all.

But König could read you like the book in his hands, and though he wanted to believe anything that crossed his mind, he knew any answer he came up with wouldn’t be the right one.

He truly had no way of knowing what was making you tick.

And then, he saw it.

A needle in a haystack; a whimpering puppy in a darkened alleyway.

A name.

A confession.

König’s body seized, his heart palpitating, his mind beginning to burn.

His throat tightened, and his stomach clamped shut, causing an immediate sickness to shoot through every nerve in his body.

The corners of his vision darkened, as if a cloud – or the cape of a villain – had settled over him.

And for a second, König thought that this was death.

There, in your handwriting, your letters, your words, was the cause of your distractment.

‘I like someone,’ you said, and König heard your voice in his ears, his head, as if you were speaking these words to him now, tearing his heart out now. ‘A boy from our class – the one who sits at the front, with the vintage biker jacket.’

König’s mind acted of its own accord, searching every frame of memory from the beginning of your school career to now to find the perpetrator.

All the while, König’s throat stung, the antiseptic truth bleaching, purging, the hope that had grown there over the years, a feeling which had persevered above all others.

The tightness in his chest gave way to a smouldering, burning, second death, the peeling of his heart in two, acid poured into the separate halves to be drunk by you, disintegrating the cumulative joy he’d felt there. Once.

The pages of the book tore in König’s hands, his grip on the edges enough to give the impression of a seizure, or some primal, uncontrolled bodily spasm.

The searing behind his eyes gave way to tears, an onslaught that choked him, choked him as the fiery clump in his throat burst into a sob.

König threw the book aside, feeling minimal relief from having done so, instead simply discarding the cross from his Hell-skin.

It hit something, unknown damage being done.

It would not compare to the damage done to König.

His hands clawed at his chest, pounding against the skin as if to search for the stolen heart beneath.

No words could, or would, leave König, no language of anguish or despair elaborate, violent, or loud enough to express what he felt.

On his knees now, König keeled over himself, compacting his large frame to a ball, as if to disappear entirely.

His mouth hung open, moulded to The Scream’s tune of horror, saliva stringing from within and onto the sheets.

He sobbed, convulsed, the same, nerve-frying stress that turned one’s hair white crushing him.

He knew now.

He knew what that feeling was, all those years ago, as another, younger version of himself lay in the same bed he wept on now, the agony his older self was benign subject to unseen by him, merely a pin-prick in the fabric of the universe, a bout of sadness, brief and fleeting, the desire to mourn, if only for a second, yet not knowing what for.

That feeling he’d felt…

It was love.

In all her most glorious, radiant terms, what he’d felt since the beginnings of your friendship, to the tumour it had developed into now, malignant and all-consuming, was love.

König wanted to part from it. To tear its parasitic tendrils from his mind and erase it so thoroughly from the universe that none should ever know it again, not its name, nor its face. Neither its feeling.

König’s face, pressed into the sheets to stifle his cries, to block out external stimulus, was scrunched in a portrait of terror, mid-scream, mid-death.

Eternities passed. The infernal suffering encapsulating König in its current made him break out into sweats, soaked his shirt and his body.

Through the dense thicket of heartbreak, König saw a thinning of trees, a glimmer peeking between distant gaps.

He searched for it, sought it, followed it blindly – anywhere but to be here.

An idea was brewing. A dangerous one.

König fled to the treeline, tangling in the vegetation and clawing his way free, sacrificing whatever material sentimentality he had to propel himself to freedom.

Body shaking, trembling, König threw himself into the light.

He shot up from the sheets, still clutching his spectral heart in his hands, breathing heavily, panting.

The idea settled, nestled in the forefront of his mind, incubated and basking in his attention.

König’s eyes darted from one dark corner of his room to the other, only the lamp by his bedside enough to fend off the monsters.

That, and the demon which sat upon his shoulders, bringing with it a weight which did not crush König, but grounded him, anchored and committed him to the plan festering in his mind.

If I can’t have you, he said to his two selves, the spirit of his innocence watching helpless and fraying from the sidelines.

Then nobody can.

Every time you returned with your findings, of guys you thought were nice, of those whose personalities you analysed and decided would be optimum for your first relationship, König felt his blood start to simmer.

Anything to get you away from those Prospectors.

You were slipping away from him.

He knew it.

Especially when you started liking that guy.

König never bothered to learn his name – not properly. Even after he’d seen it square on your research paper like it was printed there intentionally.

And besides, it seemed to please you greatly whenever he’d get his name wrong, making you laugh.

Every night whenever you and König lay parallel, one on the floor and one on the bed depending on whose house you were staying at – since when did you stop sharing a bed…? – all you could seem to talk about was this feeling your whatever-he-was gave you.

And König listened, albeit unwillingly.

Though, even as he lay, fists clenched beneath the bed covers, his ears would prick as you relinquished something new, something palpable, taintable, to him.

Like how he drove a car, how he was an athlete, how he was tall – “Not nearly as tall as you, though, Köni~” – and how he’d be taking you to the school dance.

König felt his heart seize.

Oh no.

That wasn’t right.

Everything faded into white noise after that, König’s head burning with a thousand ways to separate you and your “crush”; how to remove him from your portrait and replace him with König.

But, having been willfully confined to the incredibly small circle that was only you and König, your social skills left… a lot to be desired. Made it easier for König to keep a closer eye on you without you flitting off to your other ‘friends’.

And whereas König never even thought about trying to alleviate his affliction, the “curing” of yours was all you ever thought about.

Each night, as you lay in bed, you dreamt of another you who was unafraid of public speaking, of private speaking. Of interacting in even the most broad or minimal of capacities.

Of talking to him.

And whenever you’d wake from those dreams, your chest puffed with the remnant confidence your alternate self gave you a sample of, it would deflate, crumble into ash the second you set foot over the threshold of the classroom.

People casting you a passing glance, the close proximity to others in a packed classroom…

It shot you straight back to square one.

And each time, you’d sit beside König, shoulders slumped, hands clasped in your lap, eyes devoid of any semblance of hope.

König wasn’t an idiot; he knew what that look was.

He’d encountered it many times in his youth before he’d grown comfortable with the uncomfortable; laid to rest his desire to remove the enemy and instead just live with it – anything for an easy life.

But with you…it was different.

He could tell.

And as he watched your mind become filled with calculus and angles and the dates of histories that barely sounded factual, something, a wicked little thought, crossed his mind.

You were going to be difficult to break.

The idea cracked in his mind’s eye, a flash of lightning against the clouds.

It shocked him, made his heart stammer.

He wondered where it had come from, and he glanced over his shoulder, as if to find the person who had put it there.

When the blazing cold panic fizzled out, calmed and quelled, he gave a glance to the thought, which hovered just out of reach; a legendary sword – antagonist – with not enough room in the inventory to keep.

And so König cast it into the Memory Pit, to die and to fade, while he returned to the lesson.

But it never left him.

It clung to the sharpened cliff edge, giving way to a bottomless pit.

The wright remained the day after. And the day after that, and the day after that.

Weeks passed, and König continued as normal.

Normal to you, at least.

He had another set of eyes now, up above him, behind him, wherever he needed them.

His intuition sharpened, a cat in all but disposition, as he discerned the most miniscule of gestures in the most benign of people.

All excluding you, of course.

Knowing what he did now, König could see what you were thinking and when, especially whenever your attention turned to the boy at the front of the class with the decrepit cyclist’s jacket.

One time, you’d actually gone up and spoken to him, coincidentally on the one day König was off school ill.

Beginning a dark descent into something you couldn’t even fathom as of yet.

A ‘secret’ friendship that, when you’d tell König of it, excited and overjoyed at your progress, his face soured, his mood darkening.

And yet his demeanour remained unchanged.

König had pretended not to have seen your entry, pretended not to have actually had the book at all, but to suggest that someone may have stolen it, or that it had been thrown out when his parents were cleaning his room.

You found it difficult to believe, but what other alternative was there?

Trust your best friend or the possibility of pure, freak chance?

You chose the latter.

König neve let you out of his sight for a second.

Whereas he could trust you before, to handle yourself, to be loyal to his friendship, he could no longer.

Even when you were separated by timetable differences, he still had eyes on you.

A well-timed bathroom break, the revelation that he’d left his textbook in his locker – anything to slip out of his classroom and glide past yours, his eyes on you all the while.

Even if you’d caught him, you’d have assumed he was simply being humorous, as all friends were, or, again, pure chance.

He’d work harder than all other students, earn the teachers’ praise and trust, all to worm his way out the classroom a few minutes early to ensure he could pick you up from your class whenever you were separated.

In the corridors together, König would watch your line of sight carefully.

He’d see who you were looking at, who was looking at you.

Luckily, he never had to do much to deter others from interacting with you.

His rapidly growing height did that for him.

By his mid-teens, König towered above everyone else, giving an unsuspecting you scary dog privileges, and giving everyone else a heart attack when they caught sight of the well-dressed Austrian constantly at your side.

Given his stature, König could cast rotten looks to those who seemed even marginally interested in you, completely unbeknownst to you.

And besides, you wouldn’t believe anyone who told you as much.

König, the shy, quiet, socially anxious boy shooting daggers at another student ? Preposterous !

With this crush of yours, König already had enough to deal with. He wasn’t about to relinquish you to the throws of another person’s friendship as you seemed to already have done with your heart.

The one person König could never seem to do away with was your crush.

He truly was fearless. Or arrogant. Or braindead.

Not that you knew, but König would catch his eye in the hallways, see him stare at you for a moment before the reaper beside you caught his eye.

He looked away, and König hoped that was the end of it.

It was not.

The boy would look at you again.

A feat not yet coined by any.

Except for him.

König knew he was losing you.

Or, losing what part of you was meant to be his.

And so he brought you to where you’d frequent as children, where you scarcely came to now ever since life had become so much more complicated.

The playground was desolate and empty, void of distractions save for the equipment – rides – which seemed too small for you now.

That didn’t stop you from trying to squeeze down the straw-thin slide, though, or into the seats of the roundabout.

König only watched, knowing he wouldn’t even have a chance of fitting like you would.

His palms were sweating, the script he’d rehearsed laying in some crevice in his room, ink smudged with anxiety and sweat.

König clambered up onto a climbing frame, the one which you had occupied when you ‘kissed’ for the first time.

The memory warmed König’s cheeks. But he couldn’t lose focus now.

He called you over, his voice deeper than it had been then, all those years ago.

And you came, bounding over to him, a labrador or a kitten.

You clambered the frame and came to sit with him.

He offered you his hand. Wordless. Intentionless.

(Or so he would seem).

And, wordless, equally intentionless, you faltered, just for a moment, then took it.

He pulled you into the tunnel, the tube wide enough to support König’s staggering height.

Comfort wasn’t the goal here; not for him, at least.

You fit perfectly, a perfect, perfect, perfect specimen as ever in König’s eyes.

That word reverberated in König’s soul, the only sublime measure capable of describing you in your purest form.

Now, hand-in, hand, you and König sat in silence.

Geese called somewhere in the distance, flying through the sunset gates in the sky to a land unknown, collecting passengers on their non-stop express to salvation.

The wind blew the trees as night began its slow descent, ink hands reaching down from the top of the canvas to transform this half of the world into its playground.

Much like the one you and König inhabited.

König looked down at your conjoined hands.

He ran his thumb across the back of yours, your knuckles.

He saw – felt – you wince, flinch. The beginnings of doubt, of retreat.

He knew he had to be quick.

The crippling anxiety that had shadowed from childhood sat with you in that tube now, your Venus, your evil twin.

It was you, who spat at him, at his attempts, and fed him tales of rejection and deceit, of your loyalty to that boy instead of him.

And yet here you sat, eyes wide as ever, curious and ambient, an ocean of possibilities.

The demon on König’s shoulders growled, its claws taking König’s heart in its clutches, knives to your feather-touch, and squeezed it.

König gave a cavernous, inward sigh and returned to you.

It’s now or never.

“(Y/N),” he said, timid, lamb.

He tried looking into your eyes. Peering into them as if they were the future.

You leaned in, swearing you could hear his voice twice.

One which spoke the truth, one which spoke a darker truth.

You listened for your friend’s tone.

“Yes, Köni ?”

God, that nickname.

As old as König himself.

Stay focused.

König swallowed. His throat prickled.

An oncoming sickness. A nestled affliction.

Lovesick.

“Do you remember…when we were kids – and we…”

He faltered. His gaze dropped.

Keep going !

He cleared his throat again.

Your hand lay limp in his.

”And we…we did that…thing?”

Your head tilted and your gaze flew to the sky in remembrance.

Your nose scrunched.

“König…that doesn’t particularly narrow it down,” you laughed, returning from the Heavens to him once again

König swallowed, thickly. He gave a wavering chuckle that barely reached his chest.

“Yeah…yeah, you’re right.”

With his free hand, he rubbed the back of his neck, only to mortify himself when he found sweat collating there. Colony.

He slapped it back down on his thigh, desperately, discreetly, trying to wipe the sweat off.

He returned. Head above water, bobbing.

“I– what I’m trying to say…is…”

He shuffled closer. You mirrored him, ear-first, trying to catch his words, butterflies in a net.

“What I want to say is…”

He looked at you, dead in the eyes.

He was partially hunched, giving his tilted face a menacing, sharp look.

It almost took you aback.

His free hand, puppeteered by his demon, snaked past your body, fingers crocheting through your strands. Fusing you to him.

Your breath hitched, your guard defiled, as he placed his hand firmly there, the cold tips harsh against the warmth of your scalp.

“König–” you said, as if trying to identify the person in front of you.

König – or what he was now – didn’t listen.

He pulled your head closer, braced your hand in his.

You felt your heart pounding in your chest, your nerves beginning to spark with…something.

You didn’t know what it was, but you knew you’d never felt it with König before.

You couldn’t place it, tried as you may.

It was only when König’s forehead kissed yours, his skin scorching, his eyes puppy-like and pure, that you found the answer.

It was the same feeling you felt for the boy with the vintage biker jacket.

You felt frozen, breath stilted, thinned with revelation.

And, with your forehead to König’s, a mirror image of the past, you were flooded with an ocean and all its creatures.

Confusion, apprehension, affection, and…disgust.

You’d never viewed König like that, not once.

And even now, it made you uncomfortable to feel this way.

And so, with the vigour of one escaping a trap, your eyes squeezed shut and tore yourself away, past König’s grip, his hold, and landing a foot or two away.

The umbilical cord, his hand in yours, was cut.

Your body felt cold, a phantom gust of wind prickling the skin, your heart.

König looked at you with wide eyes, pleading eyes, and a hole in his chest.

You looked upon each other, trying to find an answer, trying to see what the other would do.

Swallowing, breathing uneven, you crawled out from the tunnel, not looking back at König as he all but whimpered in your absence, eyes stinging, throat singing. A familiar condition settled upon him.

A paroxysm of his loving sickness, seeping deeper into his veins when you’d done your part in trying to uproot them.

Neither of you spoke about the incident after that.

It took a week of wavering smiles and faltering waves, of a wince or a jump when one of you spoke to the other, for you to eventually put it behind you.

Even with your minimal experience in Romantics, you knew something about the way König held you was different from every time before.

Or, maybe, you had only just awoken to the fact that such intent lay in all his actions towards you.

You tried not to think about it.

And besides, it made no sense to.

Since your crush had asked you to the school dance !

You’d made an effort to conceal that information from König, but he was fluent in the language that was you, and all its most obscure dialects.

You knew he’d figure it out sooner or later, whether you told him or some Rogue of Fate did.

But you wanted to live in this bubble of possibility for a bit longer.

Sure, you didn’t know your crush to a degree that you could call him as close a friends as König, but you’d done something to make him want you.

Your heart soared, chest swelled, the pit of pride held within.

And you waited.

And waited.

Your face grew sourer over time, the dripping of wax work, as realisation crossed your mind.

You didn’t want it.

This ivy – creeping – dread lacing around your heart, chains.

You felt your eyes kindle the embers of tears, your shoulders lowering yet remaining rigid, deflating.

And you jumped as a hand found your shoulder.

You knew who it was.

You could feel his fingerprints against your skin. Distinct as he was.

You turned, a sliver of relief finding you, nesting between the cracks in your chest as you set your eyes upon him.

He wore a dark suit, altered in the sleeves and legs to accommodate his height.

He’d gelled his hair to appear as one would in a romance film. At least, that was what you thought.

The very incarnation of a classic heartthrob.

Just for a second did your mind dare to tell you that this situation would not have happened if König had taken you to the dance.

The thought left you as you faced him fully, your hand coming atop his.

You squeezed it.

“Here all by your lonesome?” König said, voice low, a hint of humour within it, just short of malice.

You nodded. Dropped your head.

You went to talk, to say whatever came to your mind, when your voice gave way to tears.

König didn’t even flinch, even as your grip on his hand tightened.

Instead, he offered himself to you, bringing you close to him by your waist and holding you to his shoulder.

Bystanders would give a glance and König would give them death in a stare, and they quickly turned away.

The material of König’s jacket felt lavish, a far cry from the polyester of the other boys’ outfits.

You couldn’t place it. Not as your head panged with an oncoming headache and your heart burst with a reddening ocean, fire beginning to spark at the edges, boiling it.

You couldn’t help but go over every interaction you’d ever had with your crush, analysing it, scanning it, identifying any and every discrepancy that could have caused him to leave you this night.

And each time, your heart was heir to the shocks and bolts of despair, a palpable, gaseous substance that burned each time you inhaled, each time you thought

And as he held you, felt you shudder, quiver, into his shoulder the weight of your rejection bearing down on you, a far greater weight rested on his.

His demon sat there, smiling, grinning, the ghost of god.

He already had you flush against him, two cards packed tightly into the same pack.

“What’s wrong, Engel?” he said, softly, quietly. He rubbed your back, squeezed you.

“I am certain that whatever has you so upset is not worth your tears.”

And that just made you want to cry more.

The fact that König always knew what to say and when made the doubt from before – the regret – materialise.

König wouldn’t have done this to you. He wouldn’t have even thought about it.

“Come now, (Y/N),” he moved, his hand on your shoulder trailing the length of your arm and taking your hand.

You made no attempt to move.

He sighed, though you knew it was not of frustration. It was…something else.

König went still, then, his arm from your waist disappeared.

You nuzzled closer, an unconscious practice, as cold air hit your back.

“Listen !” he said, enthusiasm uncharacteristic of this situation laced in his tone.

You risked a glance, sniffing as you looked up at König.

He had a hand cupped over his ear, a makeshift megaphone. His gaze was occupied elsewhere, over your head.

“Do you hear that ?” he said.

Your chest stuttered with the remnants of your upset, and you strained to cease, to hear.

Music drifted over the sound of both idle and excited chatter, of the hazy, dusty, dusky layer of first love that had encompassed all.

All except you, it seemed.

You nodded into König’s chest, giving a cracked hum.

He finally looked down at you, both hands coming to yours.

He held them. Squeezed them once.

“It would be a waste for this song to go unremembered,” he said.

You gave a smile, strong as you could, yet it still turned out watery. Incomplete.

Something about König was…different.

You couldn’t quite tell what it was, but you knew you’d never seen it before.

His vehement denial of attending events such as these in the past had led you to the assumption he’d have stayed well away.

Now, you were glad he hadn’t.

Still, the prospect of König even existing in a roomful of people, nevermind being watched by them, stunned you to the extent that you were sure it usually would have König.

You gave a short nod, and offering you his arm, you rested your hand upon it.

That night, König kept you close to him, sheltering you from everything.

When you were at your lowest, he brought you cake and a drink, watched over you as you tried to make sense of it all.

Then, he encouraged you, slowly, softly, to dance a few steps with him.

It started with him taking your hand and pulling you, like rope, up from your chair.

You resisted, initially, terribly invested in the comfort and protection of the corner you’d both taken up.

You felt as if everyone else knew of your predicament – like they were aware of your suffering.

Were somehow party and privy to it.

It took König’s reassurances, his placating tone as he promised he’d “Let nothing happen to you,” and “you’re safe with me, Little One,”

And, on your knees, with nothing else filling your head save for the crushing defeat of a love you hadn’t even had chance to know, König was your only salvation.

At first, dancing was the last thing you wanted to do – especially when it was what you were planning on doing with the person who had ripped your confidence out.

Other couples melted into the atmosphere, the ambience, becoming the backdrop to this milestone in your life, making the experience feel somewhat…less lonesome.

That, and the gentle grasp König had on you.

He was particularly agile as he kept you both in time with the music, setting a gliding rhythm and spinning you in his arms.

Initially, he was slow, despite the upbeat music not permitting such.

It shocked you how little König cared about the million ways he himself would have identified his actions as making him ‘stick out like a sore thumb’.

And yet, his confidence reassured you.

Created a buffer between you and the rest of the world.

Though the sting of rejection followed you from each scene of this tragedy, its bite dulled, grained and blunted by the sheets of film placed over it, filled instead with the growing phantom of König, and you.

Little did you know that, inside, König was dying.

This place, this event, was a composite of all his worst nightmares, you being stolen from him included.

But, he knew that if he were not to face his demons – at least the ones that held him back – tonight, he’d lose you forever.

A sacrifice he’d make any day.

He only hoped you wouldn’t hear the clattering of his heart, feel it amid the plush layers of his suit.

Amidst the streamers and music and sticky scent of perfume and the slice of cologne filling the air made your mind hazy.

The music slowed the deeper into the night it became.

You swayed with König, your head against his shoulder, eyes shut. A glint of the dimming, pink lights reflecting against the disco ball pierced your eyelid, making you squeeze your eyes tightly, rub your face into the confines of König’s jacket.

He resisted the urge to let out a yell of victory.

The evening was drawing to a close, and König knew that, now, he had you.

Both mentally and physically.

He knew how untrusting you’d be towards your crush if you ever saw him again – if he ever dared to exist near you again.

And he knew how likely you were to take things like this – no matter how minimal the inconvenience – to heart.

König rested his chin atop your head. And, when you didn’t move, not one muscle, he relaxed onto you.

His mind and body had been a firework of nerves all day, waiting for even a second of doubt to cross your eyes, or your crush to come staggering out of the bin König had hidden him in.

But, here he was, the person he loved most in all the world with him and him alone.

Yet, despite his victory, he knew he couldn’t have you fully.

Not yet.

While no longer children, you both still had a considerable amount of time to change your minds, your mindsets, and so acting now while your life would be at its most volatile would be a wasted opportunity. A dangerous opportunity.

No, König knew when he had to act.

For now, he would abstain, take to your hand holding and secret sharing and forehead kissing until, one day, your eyes would open as his were, see the world with him as he did with you.

Pink. Rose-tinted as the very hall you occupied.

Act 3

König’s inclination of ownership over you did not cease with the coming and going of age; not as he advanced from teenhood to adulthood, nor as he outgrew his parents’ house and moved into his own.

If anything, it grew more palpable, yet not stronger.

It was already at its most imposing height, its final form, as König thought it.

The demon on his shoulders had retired to the corners of his mind since Prom night, surveilling everyone and everything that it thought a threat to your relationship with König.

And all the while, König kept it concealed from you.

König’s inclination of ownership over you did not cease with the coming and going of age; not as he advanced from teenhood to adulthood, nor as he outgrew his parents’ house and moved into his own.

You both ended up moving within close proximity to each other, though, given his occupation (which you’d vehemently warned and even denied him of doing) kept him away for many months of the year.

Resultingly, König could think of no-one better to guard his house and all its worldly possessions than you.

“What’s mine is yours,” he told you, handing you your very own set of keys.

“So you’ll see no point in stealing my shirts again.”

“Oh my god, that was one time! I was cold and it was just there !”

“Just say you missed me and save us both the effort.”

But seriously though, König almost died the first time he saw you in one of his shirts.

He leaves them strewn about in easy-to-reach places in the hopes that, one evening, he’ll come home and see you bundled up on the sofa, wrapped in one.

He gets a little frisky when he sees you in them.

First time, he thought you were adorable, pint-sized in his clothing.

And then, once the initial shock had worn off, his mind began to wander to…places.

He himself was rather taken aback by the ferocity of these fantasies, now breaking through the surface of his dignity to plague him.

He knows you have a preference for one of his hoodies, and he’s seen you wear it enough times to know that your birthday present this year was going to be very easy to choose.

He could have wept for the joy that spread across your face when he gifted you the hoodie, watching you wriggle into it before the wrapping paper had chance to fall to the ground.

He had to excuse himself to the bathroom soon after, though.

You honestly spent as much time at König’s as you did at your own home.

Watering his plants, dusting the shelves, cleaning before he returned home; König found it all to be quite domestic.

Especially whenever he was ill and you were always there to make him feel better.

Like one time, when he was hit with a  particularly bad cold, and was bed-ridden for three days.

You came and cared for him, cooked for him, catered to his every need with neither hesitation, nor complaint.

During his delirium, he couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like to have you around like this all the time – to have you as his housespouse.

The thought, to König’s heavy, weary head, was particularly appealing, nigh euphoric, and when he slept he dreamt of you, serving him as you did now.

And he’d return the favour, of course.

It was in times like these that König’s mind began to…degrade, one might say.

More so than it already was.

Whether it was delusion or a sheer desire to have you, König began to try and make these scenarios a reality.

Make no mistake, he’d had similar ideas when he was younger, but now he had both the means and the time to actually do it.

And König’s mind had no qualms with exploring the darker avenues of this possibility, of the methods of how to enact it.

In the meantime, he was perfectly content with keeping you close to him while you watched films together, your head on his chest, arms wrapped around him.

“My big bear,” you called him.

And a bear to most, he was.

Ferocious and positively massive, his mere presence was enough to frighten off potential suitors.

And friends.

That, coupled with his often silent exterior made for a terrifying experience to all that were not you or the handful of allies König had.

Often, you’d call him whenever you were frightened, or anxious.

Especially if you were out in the evening.

Not that König ever left you during those hours; regardless of the time of night or day, he’d accompany you anywhere and everywhere, your shadow.

But, on the rare occasion he was kept away, you’d call him, ask him to talk to you, keep you grounded.

One evening, you’d made the mistake of not telling König you were leaving to go out, and when he woke up at some odd hour of the night to find you gone, his first, soldier instinct was to panic.

He swept the house, found you nowhere, and began calling your phone so many times it very well could have exploded.

And when you answered, voice laced with sleep and heavy without judgement, König had to resist the urge to cry out in relief.

“(Y/N), where are you?”

“Corner shop. Had to get some snacks.”

Had he not still been coming down from the panic high, König would have considered being angry.

“All right, just stay there. Don’t leave the store until I find you.”

“How do you even know which store—”

Needless to say, König was not best pleased to find you practically putting your life on the line for a bagful of crisps, a chocolate bar and…a toy fish?

“Impulse buy,” you told him.

König sighed.

“Next time, try not to act on your impulses so quickly.”

Like me, the voice told himself.

Your hand was shackled in his for the duration of the walk home.

And the whole night as you slept together.

Though, despite your blatant lac of self-awareness or judgement, König couldn’t help hut find you endearing.

The chocolate in your bag was his favourite brand, one which you couldn’t stand.

You’d gone out to do it for him.

He pulled you into his chest, practically purring as you nuzzled into his chest, enveloped completely by him.

“I’ll always protect you, Y/N,” he said, running a hand through your hair. “I promise.”

Even during those moments where you were at your most intimate, regardless of how innocent your intent.

The first instance of this, a most shocking development, occurred when you and König had visited the beach.

It was a few months before his deployment to a far-away military base to train.

The two of you, as was to be expected, wore swimsuits.

Nothing out of the ordinary.

It was only when you’d shed your thin jacket that König was affected.

His gaze fixed on you, unable to be torn away as he took in the silhouette of your body.

He’d never had an innate desire to see you partially, or fully undressed, even when he was at his most hormonal.

His love and appreciation for you had been based purely on you, your demeanour, your personality.

So to now see you having shed your fledgling body in return for one that was more mature, more defined, König couldn’t take it.

Sure, he’d seen people scantily clad before, though that was in magazines and shopping catalogues and movies that never quite took his fancy.

Not real life.

And they had never been you.

König felt a familiar tightness forming in his swim shorts.

He swallowed thickly, the sun suddenly too hot, the sand suddenly too sharp.

And then, you had to bring him closer to ruin.

“Köni,” you called, melodic, a tune König would fall for every time.

“Would you help put this sunscreen on my back?”

This was all moving so fast.

Sure, he’d had thoughts of being intimate with you before, but they’d only been thoughts, hallucinations, even.

And he knew they weren’t real, weren’t palpable.

Unlike this.

Hesitantly, fearing his secret would become apparent to you, he sat beside you, legs clasped together as he tried desperately to keep you oblivious to the growing issue.

He’d lathered the cream between his waiting hands, and his breath shuttering, placed them upon your skin.

You were soft. Tiny in König’s giant hands.

He’d have cursed his genetics for making him so adept at this practice – for making it pass too quickly – was he not fighting every moral and ethic he had yet to break.

You purred as his hands slid from the to the bottom of your back, your unintentional mewls destroying König’s resolve.

His hands dipped, slowly, fractionally, down your sides, close to your front, your chest.

He wanted to.

God, he wanted to.

But he knew not to risk it.

Abstain. Abstain, the voice told him.

He resisted, took in your body feverishly one last time before he got up, finished, his hulking figure blocking out the sunlight.

“Be right back,” he’d told you.

And off he sped to the nearest bathroom, where, whimpering into the jacket he’d balled over his fist and put to his mouth, he apologised over and over to you, his toes curling as he brought himself to a reluctant conclusion.

He returned soon, just as he’d said.

You smiled back at him from your shallow edge of the ocean, waving him over.

He declined, instead hiding beneath the shade of the umbrella.

He was still sensitive between his legs, as was his mind.

He wouldn’t risk compromising himself again. Not when he was so close to having you.

Or so he thought.

After that first encounter with his own beasteous appetite for you to a more…carnal degree, König had begun to indulge in some personal delights.

AKA, stealing your underwear and using it to get off during his long trips away.

And, whenever he stayed over, he’d take his opportunity to rifle through your drawers, gather intel (as he was so trained), see what new clothes you’d bought (why – and who for?).

You and König took to sharing a bed again.

Perhaps it was the false assurance of maturity that stopped you from realising – from seeing – how König felt about you.

Whenever he would come and pay you a visit, the afternoons would transform from a dusk-ridden sky to a languid black wine speckled with the universe’s offspring.

And there you and König would be, in bed together, talking for what would always be hours about anything and everything.

Much like that time in the tunnel, neither of you spoke of your time at the dance, though rather for you it was a source of hurt, whereas König, proof of conquest.

Regardless, you’d both matured, left school, and had pursued your own paths.

All while remaining as close as you had since childhood.

König’s decision to join the military had been one you’d discussed at length.

Or rather, you’d tried to convince him of staying.

He won that particular argument.

Not that he’d have let you stay mad at him, anyway.

“I can handle myself extraordinarily well, mein Maus.”

Your eyebrow quirks up.

“König, I’ve never seen you hurt a fly, nevermind a person.”

His stomach dropped when he remembered that you didn’t know about his…altercation with the boy who almost stole you from him all those years ago.

And the odd few he’d instigated whenever a potential suitor walked onto the scene.

He gets called away on business a lot, so you find other ways of communicating.

He’s not permitted to use a mobile phone since it serves as both a distraction and a vehicle for tracking, and the last thing König would do is put you in harm’s way.

Instead, you send each other letters, from addresses different to your true ones, of course.

You often send him books you know he’ll like, going through and annotating all the parts you found funny, sad, or profound.

And there was always a heartfelt note trapped within the pages, pinned to the paper in ink.

He has a limited edition copy of Edgar Allan Poe’s The Tell Tale Heart and a body of his other works that he keeps hidden beneath his bed.

‘Limited edition’ because you’d gone out of your way to print out each page of the book when you were just children, unable to purchase the book for both a lack of personal finances and not wanting to get König into trouble for reading such dark material.

Perhaps that had been some precursor to what your lives would become – a foreshadow over you.

The copy König had was worn, despite his best efforts to preserve it.

Dog-eared corners, blunted edges and yellowed, softened paper.

Some of the ink had scratches through the letters, faded.

And between those pages, a picture of you was held.

Each night, König would hold that photograph between his fingers, sometimes quivering with adrenaline, other times numb with the same affliction.

And, without fail, your visage brought him to sleep, to slumber, to a recreation of your domestic future that played behind his eyelids.

Your letters kept him more than excited, too.

When he’d be gone for months at a time, you’d update him on your life occurrences; birthdays, anecdotes, work complications; König lived for it all.

All, except, for one sliver of news which you’d so foolishly told König.

And, as he held your letter between his clenching, grasping, white-knuckled hands, his teeth gritted, his eyes going wide, breath billowing from his nose like steam.

You’d started to fancy someone at work.

König did something he’d never done with your letters before.

He crumpled it between his fingers, his every nerve ablaze with the need to do something, to intervene.

König knew he wasn’t thinking straight, but he didn’t care.

This was different from Prom; he couldn’t reach you here.

That day, König’s kill count far exceeded that of his peers, many bodies ravaged with enough stab wounds to think them sacrifices for some angry god.

His teammates seemed a little reluctant to cooperate with him this time round, and steered clear of him for the duration of the mission.

Days later, König was home.

His fury remained with him, that demon he’d harboured for so many years now emerging from the corners of his personality.

But he knew to conceal it from you – knew how to.

He arrived at your doorstep before he’d even gone home yet.

To him, you were his home.

And as you invited him inside, his mask no longer an instigator of fright to you but of your best friend, your soulmate in another life.

König took little time to settle in your living room, putting his overnight bag somewhere, all the while his mind still rubbed raw with the mission.

And you.

Seeing as he’d been gone for some months, he knew he’d need to be attentive to the way you spoke of this new ‘crush’ of yours.

I’ll crush him, all right, he said to himself.

He couldn’t be sure how serious you were about him.

How deep a threat he was.

You’d cooked König’s favourite in anticipation of his arrival, having developed something of a sixth sense when it came to his making an appearance.

And as you brought him his fresh, spare clothes from your wardrobe, König couldn’t help but let a comment slip.

“We’re like an old married couple,” he said, stitching a laugh between his words to give the illusion of jest. Of humour.

An easy deflection tactic.

You gave no indication of rejection.

No idea of disgust.

You only laughed.

“Yeah,” you said, placing König’s meal down in front of him.

“I suppose we do.”

And, as you went to pull away, König took your wrist, gently, in his hand.

He dwarfed you in every aspect, and this was no different.

But something that was different that you’d picked up was his stare.

It was deep, almost half-lidded in its demeanour.

König’s hand slipped from your wrist into yor hand, holding it, gently, like porcelain.

You squeezed his fingers.

“Something wrong, König ?” you asked, turning to give him your full attention.

He paused for a moment, then two, then three.

“No.” he said, final and certain. He let you go.

“Nothing at all.”

König began showing up to your work.

Since you stayed at each other’s houses as much as you did as children, König found it almost frighteningly easy to make you blunder.

He’d take your lunch out the fridge and hide it, only to deny ever having seen it when you searched for it in the morning.

Later that same day, König would come and pay you a visit, dropping off your lunch, claiming it to have “been in the back of the fridge. Must’ve missed it, Silly,” and he’d give you a smile.

The first few times, he’d treated your artificial oblivion to your surroundings as ‘cute’, ‘endearing’.

Then, when you began ‘misplacing’ your keys, your phone, everyday essentials, König would shoot you a concerned look.

“(Y/N), Sweetie–” he’d look in the cupboards with you, a look of concern laced into his features.

“Are you sure you’re feeling all right ? You’ve been losing track of your things for quite a while now.”

At first, you could only give him quick reassurances before rushing off to work.

Rushing off to see him.

And König would remain.

Searching the house not for your lost items, but for those he could hide next.

You’d never find them again.

You’d have to get copies of your keys, a new phone – replace all the contacts you lost,

And even then, König made sure you’d have to work for the ones he didn’t want you to have.

Like His.

Eventually, three months into this plan, this scheme, König made a proposition.

He sat you down at his dining table, his hand atop yours, holding it.

He appeared genuine.

True.

“(Y/N),” he said, almost exasperatedly.

“I’m…concerned about you.”

He gave you a second to consider what he was saying, wanting to give you the illusion of verbal freedom.

When you only nodded eyebrows knitted together in mirrored concern, he inhaled deeply.

“And, considering how…” he pretended to rummage around in his mind for the right word. “Forgetful you’ve been recently…” he watched you. Tried to gauge your reaction. Something flickered behind your eyes.

Annoyance.

König began to tread carefully.

“I thought that, perhaps, just for a week or so, you could try…living here.”

He waited in silence, for your confirmation.

Or denial.

You sniffed, rubbed your eye, and settled your weary head into your hand.

König pushed further.

“Unless…” he cast his gaze down, to the oak table.

“You don’t think I’d be able to care for you.”

At that, your eyes widened, and you clasped König’s hand between yours.

Desperate.

“Oh, no, Köni !” You exclaimed. “I-I can think of no-one better to look after me than you !”

König cast you a doubtful look.

“But…?”

You swallowed.

“But…” you retracted. König had to resist the need to pull you back into his arms.

“But you’re just so busy. I don’t know if… I’d just be a burden to you.”

König almost let out a snort.

“A burden ?” he said, leaning back in his chair, as if taking an arrow of offence straight to the heart.

“My dear, you would never be a burden to me.”

He leaned in, took your hands in his again.

His voice lowered. Soft. The flight of a bird across the ocean’s face.

“Ever.”

You looked up from your lap.

Your eyes were glassed. Doll-ish.

You sniffed. Sniffed again.

A tear fell onto the hoodie you wore. The one König gifted you.

“Okay.” You relented.

The shark tore the bird from its glide, dragging its corpse into the abyss.

König squoze your hands.

“You won’t regret it,” he assured you.

You were his prisoner from then on.

You just didn’t know it yet.

König left on official business not long after you moved in.

You still had you other apartment, but the way König spoke of it, using ‘was’, ‘were’ and ‘used to be’, gave the impression that it was off-limits to you now.

Lost.

You were allowed time off work after explaining your predicament to your boss.

She was supportive, told you to take as much time off as you needed.

As you bade König a farewell at the door, something about him felt…different.

You could feel it in the way he gripped you, pulled you up to him, his arms around your waist, hanging lower than usual.

His breath hot against your neck, the phantom brush of his lips against your most sensitive part.

And when you withdrew, König imparted only a sliver of advice to you.

“Don’t go into the basement.”

The look on your face implored ‘why?’, yet your lips did not.

König set your mind at ease regardless.

“There’s a bit of damp down there. Don’t want you getting sick–” He looked at you, smiling. “–er.”

And he bore himself into the night, shedding König and becoming a killer.

That night, when the TV had little to offer in the way of entertainment, and your phone offered little incentive to play games or socialise, your mind began to wander.

Through meniality, then obscurity.

You thought about your old home, and everything in it you loved.

Your heart ached for it, for everything you’d left behind there.

I’m sure König wouldn’t mind if I…just had a little time at home.

You consorted with your mental audience.

After all, he’s going to be gone for at least a few weeks.

Standing from the sofa, legs wobbling with inactivity, you hunted for your keys.

König kept his on a hook by the door.

But when you checked it, yours were nowhere to be found.

You searched your shared bedroom, the drawer.

You found something…peculiar.

You lifted a pair of underwear from within that you swore you’d lost months ago – before you’d ever moved in with König.

Perhaps I’m mistaken, you thought.

Rationalised.

I probably just packed these without thinking. Found them in the wash bin and threw them into a suitcase.

And you continued your search.

Soon, however, you were beginning to run out of rooms, and you were growing restless.

The longer you were forced to abstain from the outside world, the more ants felt like they were crawling under your skin

Eventually, despite König’s warning, you had no choice but to descend into the basement.

And you did so.

Quietly.

The feeling of having König over your shoulder didn’t leave with him.

Not this time.

And, as you clambered the newly-cleaned stairs down, you saw a dim light peeking out from beneath the door frame.

You reached for the handle, breath bated with the hope of discovery.

Your keys had to be here, right ?

Reaching for the handle, you opened the door.

And everything stopped.

For a second, you didn’t believe what you were seeing.

The source of the light had been candles.

Many, many candles, varying shades of your favourite colours, blended into a macabre rainbow over a horrifyingly familiar artifact you’d assumed had been lost to time.

The Bestie Bible.

Mounted on a makeshift pillar and aged with childlike handling, though it was noticeably pristine.

Stepping back, you hit something.

A wall that hadn’t been there before.

You gasped, turning on your heel.

A man stood before you, but it wasn’t König.

It couldn’t be.

Though identical in build, in height, and in the way he stood, this veiled man was not your König.

At least, not the König you’d grown up with.

He took a step forwards. You scrambled back.

Ending...

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