#personal but oh my god I HATE trying to talk to my mother about any news/politics events

[outlying-hyppocrate]

i have officially returned. ask me anything.

[cowboyhatesithere]

.

[kyeomofhearts]

Need Somebody | J.WW

+ summary: a heart-to-heart conversation with your best friend leads to an unexpected confession…

+ pair: wonwoo x gn!reader

+ word count: 2.7k

+ content: hurt/comfort, it was never platonic lol, mutual pining, angst, fluff. (I really tried keeping the reader gender-neutral but I’m not 100% sure it is so please lmk if I need to make any changes!)

[borders created by @enchanthings <3]

“So when do you plan on settling down?” Your mother had asked you over dinner. God, you hated the holidays.

Never in your life have you ever dated anyone.

Not that you needed to.

It's not like you haven't had anyone take interest in you either, there would be some people here and there who would pursue you for a bit. You were just simply not interested in them.

Of course, there would be times when you would feel the loneliness creep in even more than usual. But you usually reasoned to yourself that the right person would come with time.

Except tonight happened to be one of those nights.

You see, your family had just left your place a few hours ago. With the holidays coming and going, your family had begun to visit you more often.

Now you obviously loved your family, but man, did they get on your nerves.

Being the youngest amongst your siblings was becoming more difficult as the years passed by. Seeing them get married one by one definitely didn’t help with your case either.

Your mom started to fear for your so-called ‘future’. Which irritated you since you had everything you needed for the most part, that being a well-paying job and a nice place.

Which is exactly what happened today. Your parents (alongside your siblings) started asking you non-stop questions over your love life.

“Mom please don’t,” you tried to keep your tone respectful but it was getting difficult when you weren’t seeing an end to these invasive questions.

“What? All of your other siblings have gotten married… don’t you think that’s it’s time you do too?” Her tone was bordering a slight feeling of concern and stress.

You stayed quiet for a beat, trying to give her a response that would help get her off your back until the next time she saw you.

“We’ve talked about this, I’m not in a rush and surely it will-“ before you could finish your sentence your mom was already finishing it for you.

“-happen with time I know. But don’t you think you are being too picky at this point? Prince Charming doesn’t exist, so stop waiting for him.”

There it was.

Just because you didn’t date around didn’t mean that you were picky.

You just didn’t like wasting your time with the wrong people, that's all it was.

But before you could counter, one of your siblings quickly changed the subject before things eventually escalated into something worse.

And just like that, the rest of your evening had been soured by that single conversation with your mother.

Even hours after your family had left, you still felt bothered by your mother’s disapproving comments.

…

Needless to say, you called the only person who would be awake at one in the morning.

Wonwoo.

You and Wonwoo have been close friends for a few years, having first met in your senior year of college.

At first he was just an acquaintance, someone you thought you would see once in a while. But he somehow happened to be everywhere you were.

You don’t really remember how the two of you actually became friends, it could have been through a mutual friend or class that you shared. But ever since then, the two of you have been inseparable.

You might have had the tiniest crush on him too but you don’t really like thinking about that. You like to think you grew past that stage.

“yn? Is everything okay?” His voice was slightly groggy… shit you might have woken him up.

“Fuck I’m sorry, were you asleep? I’ll leave you-“

What was it with people cutting you off mid-sentence?

“-No I wasn’t. I actually just woke up from my nap, what’s up?”

Wonwoo and his naps. At this point they should not be called naps considering how long he sleeps for.

“Oh you know… just had the best talk with my family.”

You could hear him audibly smile. Wonwoo knew that you didn’t always have the best times with your family, having heard your countless rants throughout the years.

“What did they say this time?” He asked with faux enthusiasm.

“More like what did my mom say. She just kept asking me when I plan on getting married and that I should stop being picky.” As much as you tried to act nonchalant about it, you were really upset by the way things had turned out.

Wonwoo quickly took notice in your slightly wavering voice. It wasn’t normal for you to get emotional over small fights like this. It must have been serious enough for you to remain bothered even after your family had left.

“Hey, don’t take it to heart. I know your mom can say some out of pocket things but try to not let it get to you.” Wonwoo was not the best at comforting people, even he knew that, but he always tried his best to comfort you.

“I know but it’s so…. irritating? Like she told me to stop waiting for Prince Charming as if I’m a little kid.” You wanted to say more but once you started ranting you knew Wonwoo would not be able to keep up.

“I’ve told her so many times that I don’t want to waste my time with the wrong person. I don’t get how she doesn’t understand that!”

Relax. Just take a deep breath and wait for his response.

“Do you want me to come over?”

Even though Wonwoo had been over to your place a numerous amount of times, you still couldn’t help but feel your heartbeat race at the thought of him coming over.

“No, it’s okay I promise. I just wanted to talk to you about it.”

One thing you had learned about Wonwoo was that he was a bit assertive when he was concerned about you.

“Hmmm… doesn’t matter I’m coming over.”

It was always shocking to see him get this bold, seeing how reserved he was with everyone else.

“What was the point in asking then?” You tried sounding annoyed but you knew that your smile was very audible.

“Just wanted to make you feel like you had a choice.” You could hear his cockiness through the phone and somehow, it made your heart do somersaults.

“Don’t you think it’s a little late to be coming over?” Like always, you tried playing it cool, never wanting to show Wonwoo how his words got to you. Maybe he did notice, but if he did, he never said anything about it.

“Never… I’ll see you in ten.”

And just like that he ended the call.

Sometimes you wondered what it would be like when he eventually got a girlfriend. Wonwoo is a good-looking guy, you’re surprised he hasn’t been snatched up yet. Not that you’re worried or anything, but… you know, things will surely change once he finds the one.

Maybe it was you being selfish, but you try to take advantage of the little time you have left before either one of you finds a partner. You know it’s bound to happen at some point, so might as well enjoy it while it lasts.

It actually took Wonwoo a little over thirty minutes to get to your place, which was weird considering you live pretty close to each other.

What was also weird was that he knocked. He never knocked anymore considering that he had a key to your place.

“Hey, what took you so-“ opening the door you were greeted with a slightly disheveled Wonwoo.

Oh.

Wonwoo’s hands were filled with plastic bags. You could see snacks poking out of through some of the bags and… regular groceries? What grocery store is open at this hour?

“Couldn’t come over empty handed.” He stated simply.

Before he stepped another foot you decided to help him with the load. You could imagine how tiring it must have been for him to carry the bags all the way to the third floor of your apartment building.

Seeing him like this felt oddly comforting. It looked like he was just returning home from a long day at work.

“You really didn’t have to Won…” As much as you liked to play it cool, you couldn’t help but swoon over his actions. It was hard to when he was just so caring.

“But I wanted to… everything I do is by my own will you know,” he softly smiled at you while ruffling your hair.

Before you were able to respond, he quickly offered you your favorite bag of chips.

“Sit down, I’ll put everything away.”

And just like that, he quickly went to work. It helped that he knew where everything went so it didn’t take him long before he joined you on the sofa.

“So… rough night?” He asked gently, despite being so bold through the phone. Seeing your defeated face always put a sour taste in his mouth, which made him more careful with his words.

“You could say that.” You tried to laugh it off, but he knew that you were bothered.

“I know dealing with your family is hard but just know that I’m always here for you.” He lightly grabbed your hands over to his, rubbing soft circles over your palms.

This always seemed to do the trick, seeing your tense shoulders drop into a more relaxed position.

“And I’m grateful for that Won… but sometimes it really gets to me you know?” You tried avoiding looking into his eyes because you knew that one look would break the dam building up in your eyes.

“Maybe she is right… maybe I am being too unreasonable. Like as much as I like to think that the right guy will come through one day… what if he doesn’t?”

This seemed to annoy Wonwoo. He never wanted to see you settle for less, because he knew that you deserved better.

With a sharp inhale, he grabbed your chin to make you look directly into his eyes.

“Never say that again. You should never settle for less. You know better than that.” He was obviously annoyed but not at you. He hated when others tried to make you take less than what you truly deserve.

His fingers on your chin stayed, making your skin slightly tingle from his touch.

As great as he was at comforting you, the thoughts of him someday not being able to be there for you started to cloud your mind. It was bound to happen, either you or Wonwoo would find someone and eventually stop hanging out. Wonwoo seemed to notice the shift in your sadness, eyes becoming glossy.

“There’s something you’re not telling me,” he muttered softly.

“It’s nothing,” you weren’t sure if he actually heard your response since it was barely audible to you.

Wonwoo gave you that look. The one he always used when he wasn’t convinced by your responses. You didn't want to tell him about your fear because it would then expose your feelings for him. And that was one thing you could never risk, your friendship. No matter how strong your feelings would get, you couldn't let him become aware of them.

“Talk to me,” his eyes were pleading. He just wanted you to completely open up to him the way he did with you.

There was no way out of this. Obviously, you weren’t going to tell him the actual reason behind your sadness. You had to give him something to get him off your trail.

“Well, it’s just that sometimes it does feel lonely. And having my mom point out the obvious makes me feel like a lost cause. I’m also not getting any younger, so now I feel like I have to rush into something or else my ‘good’ years would have gone to waste…” While this wasn’t the actual thing that was bothering you tonight, it was at least something believable.

Wonwoo seemed to have bought it, since he stopped giving you those judging eyes. He stayed quiet, most likely trying to find the right thing to say.

He cleared his throat after a beat or so.

“Don’t lie to me. I know there’s something else bothering you, if you don’t want to tell me then just say that.”

How? How did he know you that you were lying?

Maybe this was your chance. Your chance to tell him how you felt about it because if you truly thought about it, there was no future with him either way. Either he rejects you or he finds someone, they both lead to you not being in his life in the future.

You took in deep breath, gathering all of your courage before speaking.

“If I tell you, please don’t judge me-“

He immediately cut you off, “Why would I judge you?”

“Please just let me finish, it’s already hard enough having to tell you.” Again, you avoided his eyes, fearful of seeing any sort of judgment in them.

“Look, I know we’ve been friends for a while now… and I’ve been so happy with that, I really have. It’s just that… one day we won’t have each other.”

As much as you tried not looking at him, your eyes landed on his. They looked solemn. You could already tell that he knew where the conversation was going.

“Eventually, we’ll have our own partners-” your voice was beginning to shake, becoming harder to hide your sadness.

“yn stop.” But before Wonwoo could get another word in, he softly pressed his lips against yours. His hands had snaked their way up to your neck, gently cradling your face. His touch was gentle, as if you were the most fragile thing in the world.

You were stunned, to say the least. Even as he pulled away, you couldn’t find any words to say. It was as if he had taken your breath away.

“I tried taking it slow, I really did, but I can’t continue seeing you like this. I like you yn, I really do. I was too scared of ruining our friendship so I didn't say anything, but I hate to see you think that no one wants you… because I do.”

You didn’t even notice you had started crying, only feeling Wonwoo's thumbs wipe your tears away.

He continued, “I’m not even sure if you feel the same way about me, but I really need you to know that you are not unloveable.”

It felt like a huge weight had been lifted off your shoulders. Especially now that you knew that Wonwoo liked you back, you felt elated.

Wonwoo on the other hand… felt terrified. While he didn’t regret confessing his feelings towards you, he was certainly scared. He didn’t even know if you reciprocated those same feelings. It also didn’t help that you were being quiet. The silence that was once comfortable to him was beginning to feel suffocating. But before his thoughts could escalate any further, your voice was able to snap him out of his daze.

“Do you really mean it?” You knew it was stupid to ask, considering Wonwoo was not the type to stay stuff like this without meaning it. But the little voice in your head didn’t buy it one bit, so you needed the reassurance to silence those thoughts.

Without hesitation, Wonwoo answered, “Of course.”

“Okay, well… I do too. Like you, that is…” Your face was beginning to burn up. This was so embarrassing. God, you felt like a teenager again, except this time you actually did get your happy ending.

But like the two idiots you were… you didn’t move a single inch. Were you supposed to hug? High-five? Kiss again? This has never happened to you before, either you rejected the guy or pretended that it never happened. What were you supposed to do?

“So….” Wonwoo’s voice was quiet and awkward.

To be fair, neither of you were expecting to confess to each other tonight. Obviously, now that you both know that you have mutual feelings for each other… the next step would be dating right? Or is that too soon? You have been friends for a while now so it wouldn't be that unreasonable... right?

Wonwoo grabbed a hold of your hand, weaving his fingers with yours. You could see the tips of his ears turn a bright pink before he cleared his throat.

“Do you… want to be my-” Wonwoo was visibly cringing as he said it out loud. It was a no brainer, but he still wanted to ask you, to make it official.

“-Yes. I would be an idiot to say no.”

[ᝰ.ᐟ] hey guys! i know i haven’t been active lately and i’m really sorry about that. school has been so overwhelming for me so i struggled finding the time to write, which brings us to this! i wrote this i think… last year? not too sure but i tried editing it a little but there might be some errors here and there so please excuse that 🥹 also i am still working on part three for Back for More so stay tuned for that!

[mywifeismothman]

THIS IS KILLING ME.

I picked up tbhk in 2021 thinking it was a silly monster of the week style supernatural comedy. Oh my god, how AidaIro has tricked me. I should have turned back before I got too invested, but tbhk is a part of me now, I think I’d die without it.

IVE BEEN SOBBING FOR THE PAST TEN MINUTES AT MIDNIGHT OVER CHAPTER 120!

Spoiler warning for chapter 120 (read it if you haven’t already and suffer with me):

After chapter 119, this world’s Kou and Mitsuba were basically killed in the red house, once again proving that those two can literally never be happy. When Kou said he’d die for Mitsuba in that one chapter, I don’t think this is what he meant.

But when he says he can’t help them go back, I can’t figure out if he’s talking about Mitsuba or the fact that he’s stuck in the red house. Probably both, as he says something later which implies he’s talking about Mitsuba.

Mostly the red house though, as shown in these panels. Which hit me really hard for some reason.

I started sobbing when I saw these panels though,

Just look at his face, there’s something about the shading and detail in his face which captivates you. Watching the one character who is so fixated on trying to have everyone live die was so heart wrenching.

The parallel between this panel and chapter 118 is killing me. In that chapter, Mitsuba and Kou talk about their bad dreams, ones of the old world where Mitsuba is dead. They don’t want to accept that any of those dreams could be real, promising to each other to live their lives to the fullest, only accepting the dreams as real if they failed to forget.

In this chapter, Mitsuba and Kou were never able to live a life where they could ignore those dreams, almost immediately getting killed. So to Kou, he now had to accept those dreams, with their new reality becoming the bad dream he tells Nene to forget.

This panel also killed me.

He’s clearly talking about Mitsuba, who else could he be talking about. Again showing just how much he means to him. Again, it reminds me of the chapter where Kou talks about dying for Mitsuba, showing that he’ll always be there for him, even in death.

I also want to just talk about poor Nene, look at this panel:

This is the second time that one of her only living friends has had some connection with death, but this is the first time one has straight up disappeared before her eyes. This whole ark has Nene being tormented by death and loss and I hate it.

I wanna touch on Teru quickly. I’ve never loved characters with his type of personality before, but I think this ark has completely changed my mind about him. First, there was that face he made talking about his mother being alive, and then him being forced to exorcise his own brother. Which must have been devastating to Teru, considering that his whole motive is to protect his family, the two he has left. I think this is some of the most emotional we’ve seen in Teru. And I’m crying again

I spent like 30 minutes at midnight typing this out because once again AidaIro has delivered a heartbreaking chapter, and I need to talk about it.

Oh my god, I was so busy crying yesterday I didn’t realize his and Mitsuba’s corpses were in the well.

[acciocriativity]

A MOMMA'S BOY - K.H.J. ONE SHOT

Ateez Masterlist

Pair: Idol! Hongjoong x Non-idol! Fem! Reader

Genre: Angst; Slice of Life AU

Warnings: toxic mother and family in general (Hongjoong's side); implied emotional manipulation; descriptions of past emotional abuse; forced isolation; talks of fear of rejection and abandonment; Hongjoong is compliant with his family actions in a sense, he's neglectful at best.

WC: 1,2 K

N/A: This was supposed to be a reaction for all the members, then I got wayyy to excited with this idea, and the result... well, it's this. Anyway! Thank you so much for all the lovely people who read my stuff, Happy New Year!!

Hongjoong reassured you countless times his mother wouldn't mind your presence for dinner. But her to "not mind you there" wasn't enough for you at all. It was his family first night in Seoul after a long time apart, and you tried to do the sensible thing and give them alone time. He insisted they'd want your presence just as much as he did. It was hard for you to believe so.

In your eyes, his mom never made an actual effort to form a real relationship with you. Instead, she liked to see you try hard to earn your spot in her good graces. She was like the bridge of the family in a way, and your only point of contact to the rest of them, you knew, because she said so the first ever time you talked to her on the phone. It was an off-handed comment, and you didn't know what to make of it at that time. You learned later it was nothing but a simple warning. You had to earn her approval, or you were out. Hongjoong probably doesn't remember the first time she called in your presence, but you were fairly excited to talk to her. You remembered how fun and warm everyone said she was. Well, there was nothing fun and warm in the way she talked to you.

Her presence wasn't as constant as it became lately. Her influence never disappeared, but at the beginning of the relationship, it was the only thing you had to deal with. A mental tightrope that brought so many anxieties and bad thoughts became a real one with real-life consequences.

Hongjoong was tired of arguing about the same thing every single time. He understood to a certain point. You don't want to seem pushy, invasive, or bothersome to anybody, much less to his family. Those same words were used over and over to hurt you at some point in the past. You told him so in tears one night, almost a year ago. He was angry then. In his mind, you hated to talk to his mom, like it was a chore for you to become close to her. In reality, you were only scared to slip up and become that person you believed you were, needy, clingy, and inconvenient to others. Your fears and vulnerabilities were open to his eyes in a way that hadn't been before. He never understood why you had that kind of concern with his family, though. He never saw the pressure you were under. He never really saw his family, his mom, the way you did, the way she used your Achilles heel to keep you away from him and his family.

He never told you how he almost broke up with you, then. And thank God, because that would've been the biggest regret of his life. Deep down, he knew couldn’t be with someone who didn't get along with his mom or his family in general. Oh, but you knew. You noticed the look on his eyes weren't the same. Hongjoong's family were known to be kind, considerate, and generous. They had that in their eyes, some of the boys said so to you. Hongjoong was raised as such, but there wasn't any kindness or generosity towards you for a week or so until the moment he confronted you. It was your first big fight.

After you opened up your heart to him, he promised he'd never allow anyone to make you feel that way about yourself again. And you promised to try more. You didn't want to give up so easily with barely a simple tug on the rug beneath your feet by his mom.

And you tried, tried so much to remedy any bad impression they could have of you as well as make the effort to create good memories with them. But no matter how much you did try, his parents never engaged with you. The barrier was clear to you and you only. The consequences of passing through were rejection and abandonment, and you couldn't bear that.

To the unknown observant, your relationship with them improved drastically. You were explicitly welcomed in any space they were in and explicitly invited to every family function from that moment on. Of course, you had their number, but any conversation you tried to make, face to face or online, no matter the topic, were curt and dry on their end. The implicity message was clear, you didn't get the approval.

The whole way to the restaurant, you tried to calm yourself down. It was a familiar place, traditional in a sense, but warm and welcoming with great food to soothe anyone’s soul. Hongjoong chose it intentionally to make you feel comfortable in your skin. He was attentive to you, caring, thoughtful. That was the reason you couldn't bear the thought to lose him, even if his eyes turned blind when his family was involved. With you alone, he was an incredible boyfriend and friend, and that left you satisfied for a while.

The politeness game was a subtle one, and koreans played it really, really well. It was hard to master, but after so many years interacting with people in every step of the hierarchy ladder, you could say you learned it from the best. Did she just ignore you when you arrived? No, you couldn't say so. She smiled in your direction, but she only hugged her son. It wasn't a subtle move on her part, but it could be excused by many variants.

You checked to see Hongjoong's reaction, but he wasn't looking at you. He was glad to see his mom after so long. You sat instead of waiting for a warm reception from his father or brother. That would've been worse, humiliating even. Hongjoong were beside you, so maybe he hadn't noticed how uncomfortable you became after similar situations kept happening. That's the excuse you used for him up until now.

Whenever you commented on something that was said or asked about something they said, they would be polite but wouldn't engage with you further. His father did that many times, his mother only a few, and his brother barely directed words at you, so he did not have such an opportunity, but you didn't doubt it anymore. It was like the fluidity of the conversation met a brick wall the moment you spoke up. The water had no place to go further ahead, then it had no option but to slowly float along the edge in search for a way out. This was your punishment, their of way of telling you there wasn’t a place for you with them.

When Hongjoong left to go to the toilet, you almost got up with him. Instead, you stayed stiff on your seat as awkward silence filled the table. Well, awkward for you, of course. They didn't seem to mind your presence, unbothered, as they made small comments about the quality of the meat and whatnot.

You held yourself back, aware that confrontation would lead you nowhere but to your way out of this relationship and family. There's was no anger or resentment left in your heart against them, only the slowly realization that you wanted to leave on your own terms and the consequences that you wanted them to deal with.

That thought alone made you smile once again and casually agree that the meat was, in fact, delicious, but you'd rather have a colder meal in the near future.

[bunnivez]

-ˋˏ 𐔌 𝐈’𝐥𝐥 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 𐦯 ˎˊ-

⟡ ݁₊ . 𝐀 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐞, 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐢𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐚 𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐚𝐧𝐭, 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐚 𝐰𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧; 𝐬𝐡𝐞’𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐨𝐲𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐥𝐞, 𝐨𝐫 𝐛𝐞 𝐚 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐲.

⟢ 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠.ᐟ — Homophobia, Angst

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱

Grace, kind, strong, smart, obedient upon her parents. Any little girl’s dream is to be a princess, wear those beautiful high quality clothes, live in a palace and find their true love. You hated it though, if being a princess was all that good why are you unhappy? Isn’t it every girls dream? Why is it not yours?

‘Perhaps i’ve gone crazy’ is what you tell yourself, perhaps you aren’t grateful. It’s sad, really. Why must it be that a princess should marry royalty? Or a man? To continue the royal bloodline? Foolish. It pains you, it’s like a parasite eating you from the inside every time you look at her and remember she can’t be yours, nor can you be hers.

Why? Why was fate so cruel? Why did you have to fall in love with the one person you can’t have? A woman, a woman who fights for your country and serves for it. Your parents would never accept it, never; god knows what they’d do if they ever found it. Beat you? Or worse: remove her title as a knight and ruin her life.

You hated her, you hated her stupid short hair, her kind eyes, her lips you oh so want to taste, the smile she cracks when she see’s you, you hated the mornings you would see her walking her horse through your window, you hated her. You hated Cinnabar, but not as much as the fact that you can’t have her.

Would it be different if she was a guy? If she was royal? In another universe would she be able to touch you so lovingly, kiss you, hold you in her strong arms without being punished?

“You’re going to become a wonderful queen once you take the throne, princess. Whoever gets to marry you will surely be one lucky man.” Is what she once told you. It made you feel sick, you couldn’t tell her though. It would make things worse between you both and risky.

In another universe you’d be able to get married yo her, call her your wife, wake up next to her, run your fingers through those soft locks of hair—

“You’re getting married to Prince Philip.” Those words quickly made you snap, “What?” You asked. Your mother sighed,

“Lovely, we found you a proper prince for you. Prince Philip surely you remember him correct? He is a good gentleman, smart, kind, and seems to have interest in his people, your father and I have talked about it and we think he is a suitable husband for you.”

You wanted to cry, you wanted to throw the bowl of soup at them, turn the table over, rip your skin off, but you maintained a straight face. A princess must always be graceful, a princess must be obedient and not make a fuss to her parents.

When you made it to the privacy of your room however, it’s as if your walls crumbled all together. Tears can’t stop falling from your eyes, why did you fall in love? Was this a punishment? Because you fell in love with a woman? Because you fell in love with a mere knight who worked for your parents?

You sobbed against your pillow, you just couldn’t stop— when will it stop? Will there be a day you will finally forget about her and this pain in your stomach will go away?

You wish she was here. You cannot deny it. She’d run her fingers through your hair and whisper sweet nothings in your ear, “everything is going to be okay, my princess.” However that’s a foolish thing. She probably thinks you’re happy that you’ll marry someone as kind hearted at Philip, but he isn’t her. No matter how kind he is, how loyal, how charming he is; never will he compare to your Cinnabar.

You’ll just love her silently, watch her walk her horse in the mornings, try to catch her smiles, her cute tired face after training, imagine how sweet and perfect her lips would feel, the conversations you both have in your head.

Yeah, you’ll just love her silently. She will never know, you can’t tell her. You can’t grab her hands and elope with her, you can’t be that selfish to risk her life no matter how much you need her by your side.

You’ll just love her silently, imagine her naked body next to yours, whispering your name and touching you in your most intimate parts.

You’ll just love her silently.

⟢ 𝐛𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐳 ᵎᵎ — do not repost, plagiarize, translate, or adapt any of my works without my permission and or confirmation: reblogs and hearts are appreciated ૮꒰ྀི∩´ ᵕ `∩꒱ྀིა

[remperoni-melt]

I’d Ground You If The League Didn’t Already (REPOST FROM OLD BLOG)

Dom!Matt Rempe x short!alt!sarcastic!fem!Reader

TW:// NSFW, p in v, oral (m receiving), unprotected, hate fucking???, very rough handling, ANGSTTTTTTT, sarcasm, bullying out of love, lowkey CNC??, HARD kinks, Kinda porn with a plot

(Credit to @amourtoken for the idea)

*kinda rushed but I was excited to get this out 🤷‍♀️

“Matthew Rempe! You’re fucking lucky I respect your mother so much or I’d beat her ass in the street for raising such a bitch.” I exclaimed as I let myself into my best friend’s apartment. Matt and I always gave each other shit but it was always out of love. Our relationship was built off of bullying each other. That was just our dynamic. We wouldn’t be us without it.

“Oh my god, how does something I can punt so easily manage to catch such a big attitude?” Matt groaned and ran a hand over his face in frustration. “I know I fucked up, okay?! Do you think I’m happy about the suspension?” Matt snapped at the short girl that had just barged into his apartment.

“Well, you didn’t seem too bothered when you got ejected!” I snapped back at him, crossing my arms over my chest. “I saw that little smirk on your face. You didn’t care about your actions until you got in trouble!” I scoffed and rolled my eyes at the 6’9 man I had come to know as my best friend. “I mean, Jesus fuck, Matt! 8 fucking games?! I’d ground you myself if the league hadn’t already done it for me!” I all but spat at him.

“Fuck you, ankle biter! You don’t know what the fuck I was thinking!” Matt yelled, his patience wearing even more thin as the tiny woman dug into him like the first person to find a T-Rex skeleton. He couldn’t deny that she had a point. All he heard was the cheers. All he felt was the adrenaline coursing through his veins. He hadn’t even considered the consequences until they were laid out in front of him.

“Regardless, it was reckless.” I said sternly, as if I was scolding a child. I sighed and ran a hand through my hair before I spoke again. “Listen, Matt. Maybe I just don’t want my best friend qualifying for a tear drop tattoo.”

“Oh my god, I’m not gonna fucking kill anyone.” Matt rolled his eyes at the petite woman’s dramatics.

“Well you came damn fucking close this time.” I said bluntly, calling out the giant man with the confidence of a man taller than him. “I fucking love you, Matthew.” I said in anger. “And the next time you do some dumb shit like that, I won’t fucking hesitate to fold your clothes with you still in them.” I threatened him. Was it stupid? Yes. Did I care? In the moment I didn’t. Not really.

“God, do you ever shut the fuck up?” Matt groaned. “Any time I get into a fight, all you fucking do is bitch and moan. I get you care but… fuck, woman! Hop off my fucking dick!” Matt yelled with a scoff and a bitter chuckle. “Y’know what? Better yet, choke on my fucking dick since you can never shut the fuck up! Maybe with something in your mouth I won’t have to hear you whining about decisions I make in my fucking career!” Matt shot at her. He knew his words were harsh but he was stressed. They both were. And god dammit, he just wanted her to shut the fuck up for a minute.

I scoffed and bit the insides of my cheeks as I took in his words. I nodded slowly, pissed off at his audacity. Someone that looked like they left Gumby in the oven too long was talking to me like that? Is he on fucking crack? The next words to leave my mouth were not my own but that of a demon clearly trying to sabotage and kill me.

“Make me.”

POV switch - Matt

At the sound of her words, my resolve crumbled. Her lips curled up into a sinister smirk, her gaze on me hard and challenging. This pint sized little bitch genuinely thought she was indestructible at times.

Fuck, I can’t wait to break her.

I pressed my lips together in a tight line and stomped over to her. I grabbed a fistful of her black hair and dragged her to my bedroom. The sound of her yelping in surprise, or maybe it was pain, just caused a dark chuckle to escape my throat. I roughly pushed her down on my bed and swiftly slapped her across the face, making sure to support the other side of her face with my other hand. I squatted down in front of her, smirking at her as she held her probably bruising cheek in shock.

“I’m gonna beat your pussy up like it fucking owes me money.” I said with a smile. “But first, you’re gonna choke on my dick like the pathetic little fucking slut you are.” I said bluntly and stood back up straight. I quickly pulled my gray sweats down, my dick slapping against my stomach. I chuckled as she gasped and looked up at me with those damn doe eyes. Fuck, those eyes. I roughly grabbed her chin and yanked her closer. “Open.” I commanded.

POV switch - Reader

I opened my mouth, almost on instinct. My eyes met his in a look that begged ‘please, Matt. Please fuck me. Take me. I’ll do anything. Take me right here, right now. Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me. I’m your slut. I’m yours. Please.’

“Good girl.” Matt smirked, his eyes narrowing down at me. His hand twisted in my hair and he slammed my head on his rigid cock, causing me to gag and tears to prick at my eyes. “Too much?” He asked before he started guiding my head. He moved fast and aggressive. I had no time to breathe or think. All that existed was his dick popping in and out of my throat. His tip sliding against my tongue. His groans and curses as he face fucked me with reckless abandon. God damn. He wasn’t kidding about shutting me up. Finally, I couldn’t take anymore. I grabbed his thigh, digging my nails in and making him hiss in pain and still his movements.

“Fuck. You.” I choked out in a hoarse voice between panted breaths as I collapsed back on the bed.

“You have manners. Say please.” Matt teased as he looked down at the already ruined girl on the bed. The sight changed something in him. He wasn’t sure if it was the banter or what had just transpired, but he wanted to ruin her.

I looked up at him, clear annoyance on my face. We had always been best friends. We always bullied each other but this? This was way too fucking far.

“Please.” I croaked out sarcastically, my eyes narrowing at him. He smirked down at me and swiftly ripped my shirt over my head and yanked my jeans off my legs, baring me to his hungry and devious gaze.

“Fuck.” Matt had pretty much breathed out the word. “I didn’t know you were built like this.” He smirked while he undressed himself at an agonizingly slow pace. Somehow, the sight was teasing. It was seductive. It was intoxicating. It was completely unfair and I needed him now or I was gonna go crazy. Absolutely fucking ape shit insane.

“Shut up and fuck me, goon.” I said in a quiet but venomous voice. By the look on his face, I knew I didn’t have to tell him twice.

“Watch how the fuck you talk to me, brat.” He growled out the words as his hand shot out to wrap around my already sore throat. He smirked as I winced and gasped, his grip getting tighter just so he could watch me squirm further. Once I groaned in pain, he chuckled. “Want me to stop?” He leaned down to whisper in my ear, his lips brushing against the shell of it. I quickly shook my head ‘no’, making him chuckle darkly.

Slowly, he climbed on the bed to hover over me. His eyes raked over my body slowly, a dark and dangerous look in his eyes. Suddenly, his hands grabbed my knees and roughly pushed my knees apart, causing me to gasp and whimper. His eyes caught the glint of something in my folds and he smirked, knowing exactly what it was. To be sure though, he reached out and brushed his fingers against my clit. The cool metal of my clit piercing was a stark contrast to the warmth of the wetness coating literally everything else.

“We’ll play with that later.” His voice came out in a husky whisper as he lowered himself on top of me.

“Just. Fuck. Me.” I growled out as I tangled my hand in his hair, pulling roughly. He groaned and without wasting a second, he plunged into me. Both of us let out low moans simultaneously as he sank into me.

“Oh fuck.” He hissed. His hand gripped my left hip with enough strength that I thought my hip bone would shatter. His mind went blank as the feeling of me consumed him, and his hips started moving. Slowly at first, as if to savor the moment.

“You’re still a fucking idiot.” The words tumbled from my lips between the soft moans that he drew from my lips.

“You bite sized bitch. Are you seriously still bitching at me when I’m balls deep inside you?” He hissed, his hips still keeping their slow and steady pace. He slowly drew his length all the way out before slamming back in full force, causing me to scream.

“Your fault,” I got cut off by a whimper, “for thinking you were safe.” I finished my sentence, my nails digging into the back of his neck.

“You’re insufferable but fuck if this pussy isn’t fucking life changing.” He groaned into my ear. His hands moved to my waist, his grip strong and bruising as he kept up with his slow but hard and punishing strokes.

“Life changing like an 8 game suspension?” I asked breathlessly, followed by a whimper as he nipped at my neck.

“You’re not gonna be talking all this shit when I fuck you so good that you’re talking to your higher self.” Matt groaned, his tone cocky. He punctuated his statement with a particularly deep thrust from a different angle, hitting that spot within me that made me scream out and scratch down his back. “In case you doubted me.” He chuckled before replicating the thrust.

“Yeah but you can’t fuck me harder than my childhood trauma.” I said shakily, holding in my moans. He picked up his pace, as if to challenge me. “8 games and you’re still lucky enough to fuck a pussy this good.” I teased him in a sultry whisper. “Even when you lose, somehow you still win.”

“Yeah?” He scoffed lightly. “Who’s the one stretching this pretty pussy out? Who’s the one making you scream?” He growled through gritted teeth as he started fucking me harder. Faster.

“Who’s the one that’s gonna cum?” I shot back through gritted teeth as I clenched around him as hard as I could, causing him to groan loudly as a shudder passed through his body.

“Jesus Christ.” He hissed. With that, I knew he was close. My hips began to rock with his, my walls clenching around him as he would pull back. “Fuck. Chill. Chill.” He said breathlessly, his hips stilling so he could last longer.

“No.” I said with a smirk. Despite my size, I was able to flip us over pretty easily. I sank down onto him, my hips immediately grinding on him. His length was rubbing against that sweet spot in me and the room filled with the sounds of us whimpering and moaning. “Play smarter when you’re back on the ice and just imagine the nasty fucking shit I’ll do for you then.” I giggled as his hands found my hips, his fingers digging into my skin.

“Oh fuck.” He groaned, his head falling back. “I’ll be smarter. Fuck, I’ll be smarter.” He whimpered. My hips sped up and his mouth hung open in a silent moan, his eyes shut tightly. Finally, his grip on my hips got tighter and his body began to tense before shudders ran through him as he released his load inside me. I kept going, determined to milk him of every last drop, thought, breath. I wasn’t satisfied until he was completely braindead. Once he was staring at the ceiling with glazed over eyes, I knew he was thoroughly fucked out.

“Believe it or not, I came here to comfort you.” I said with a smirk as I hopped off him, collapsing on the bed next to him. “How’d I do?” I asked, with a cocky grin.

“Fuck you.” Matt rasped out with a breathless laugh.

And with that, he started fighting more. He fucked me once and ran with it. Fucking idiot…

**Re-posting this here bc I’m deleting @remperoni today to avoid confusion between blogs and Idk if the post will be lost when I delete the blog soooooooo…

[writing-nothing-but-spilled-ink]

Could y'all just imagine the bat kids at a gala and someone drugging there drink and what would happen ... Especially when Jason comes back into the fold and slowly starts trusting Bruce again and like just imagine...

Bruce recently has felt really concerned about the food and drinks being served at his galas he's unsure but he has a weird feeling that no one here can truly be trusted even though he's done thorough background checks on each and every single person attending he still has an odd feeling especially about some of the older people attending his gala and he's especially concerned with the fact that this will be Jason's first official not dead appearance he's being brought back into society not just society but high society Jason hates these people with a passion Bruce knows this but he understands that good things can be done through the Wayne foundation and sometimes that means dealing with people you don't much care for,...

Eventually he sees his son with his white streak in his hair stepping out in a suit dressed to the nines looking like a real socialite, and Dick is also here helping him with his tie because that's still his baby brother,

*Damian is spending time with his grandfather and mother, tim is working on a case ..*

Jason comes down the stairs looking incredibly and oddly calm as if he couldn't be bothered by the fact he's officially coming back from the dead as if this is just a normal Tuesday ...

At the gala the Wayne's appear together ofcourse the press flocks around them shooting question after question at Bruce,

"who's this handsome stranger you have with you?"

"is he a knew partner of Wayne's enterprises that your bringing into the fold?"

"is he a knew child you adopted?"

The questions all start to blur together and become an indescribable babble of words and shoutes nonsense all he could really hear was a dull wringing in his head and all he could focus on was the blinding lights from the press eventually security ushers them inside into the gala..

Bruce has to break away from hiss two sons to go meet with potential buyers and other business types and make connections with other socialites

Dick gets pulled away to talk to some of the older members that remembers him from when he was a kid and oh my god you've grown into quite the handsome young man, I remember when you were small and Brucie couldn't find any babysitters that would take you because you were always on the ceiling, dick just smiles brightly and puts up with the cheek pinching and hugs and the random older women touching him even though he's much rather bathe in a pit of magma then let them be anywhere near him but across the room he notices Jason seems to have been swarmed by press and socialites alikes and each time dick or Bruce try to maneuver themselves over there a new person pops up much to both of there annoyances ...

... (This is Jason's perspective)

...

Since coming out of the pit Jason's senses have been on overload he can smell things he shouldn't be able to he can hear way to well almost painfully well, and lights god those got annoying now he has a crowd of people chattering at him trying to get him to date there daughters he thinks but he's unsure because one women keeps trying to grab his ass and honestly if she does it one more time he might just fucking shoot her, but he forces himself to remain calm he's been through worse much worse, eventually a waiter cuts through the throng Jason's almost relieved because he's expecting Alfred but unfortunately it's not irra just a random butler serving ourderves and drinks to the women.. he's pretty sure he heard something about an auction but he can't be sure because at that exact moment a women shoves a drink down his throat which fucking burns alcohol shouldn't fucking burn not like this wtf, it's almost worse then fear toxin and jokers laughing gas combined things start to tilt a little it's almost like he's tipsy but that's not possible he's never been tipsy not even when he'd challenge villains to drinking games..

"aw if looks like he can't handle his liquor"..

Jason forces himself to walk calmly and steadily towards his brother and father because for ducks sake he just got fucking drugged.. he feels repulsed in ways he can't even process right now if one more person touches him he's killing them he'd rather be laabled a killer then allow anyone to touch him in this state he cuts through throngs of people forcefully but he can feel himself losing control he's starting to see streaks of green everywhere people's faces are comforting into sickly smiles...

God that laugh

Eventually he feels someone touch him and he just can't take it he forcefully smashes then to the ground screaming get the fuck off of me he's back at the warehouse only this time he has the power but God he's weakening he needs to get out before it's too late but the walls there suffocating and god there's people? Thugs? He can't be sure everyone's going blurry ...

...

Bruce immediately cuts through the throng of people and is ruthless about it dick is using his acrobatic skills to get to his brother much faster eventually to Bruce's dismay dick pulls out his officers gun and in a voice he's never heard before starts commanding for everyone to make some room ofcourse no one listens not immediately because this is the party of the year dick points the gun to the ceiling and fires the crowd immediately looks to him and starts parting ways he's immediately by Jason's side whos no longer able to walk steadily and is stumbling words slurring and being both a danger to the public and himself .. by the time Bruce gets to Jason's side it's obvious what's happened he was drugged he knows his son can handle hiss liquor he also hates drinking during these things because it dulls his senses..

Bruce quietly types a secret code into his watch the gala is immediately on lockdown Bruce has security escort himself dick and Jason out of the room into a private room where he leaves dick to tend to Jason he returns to the gala where all hell breaks loose because someone's just drugged his son and the socialites are now locked in with him ...

...

(man idk I have no ideas on how to finish this little blurb use your imagination for what happens next ig)

[smokey07]

How do you think Achilles and Neo(around the ages they were when the war ended) would interact?

I understand this ask 2 ways:

1- If Achilles was somehow resurrected for a day (Like in Dragonball) when the war ended, before the Achaeans left for home and Neoptolemus freaked the f out (ultimate delulu super crack version, do not take this seriously)

Shameless cheerleader dad meets “I hate everyone and everything” teenager.

Basically Zeus and Hades were feeling generous, he popped up in the middle of his camp, scaring everyone else and his first question was: “Where’s my son?”

Only to hear the clanging of the shield. His shield.

Oh my god the chase of the century. Forget Achilles chasing Hector around, this is the thing that we’re in for.

Neo ran away in full speed with “I don’t know who the f you are”, “Get the f away from me”, “You’re not my dad”, etc etc

While Achilles' “Pyrrhus you pooped on my shirt, I know exactly who you are”, “Pat wants to meet you so much”, “Get back here you gremlin, let dada hug you” was right after him. Oh and he punched Agamemnon along the way, because bich it’s fun.

After a while Neoptolemus jumped into the water and swam away, only for Achilles to call on his mother to tow him back. Neo was then tried to escape again and it turned into a wrestling match. After a few rounds, Neo started punching him and accused him and Pat for leaving, and to everyone’s surprise Achilles agreed. Sorry for dragging you into this so early or something along the line.

The kid broke down crying like a baby in the middle of the fight, and Achilles had to coax him, saying how proud he was. Then he tugged the tired child into bed just like the old days, only for Neo to almost kill him in his sleep. Sword by his throat, feet on his chest ready to strike. The same eyes of war reflecting in his. Neo realized what’s he done but this time Achilles did not let him run away. they hugged each other. In the end, they spent the night talking about Pthia, Skyros, Achilles’ past, Patroclus, Deidamia and a small farm in the woods, far away from everything.

Next morning Achilles was of course gone.

Enough petition and I could make a fic out of it XD

I personally don’t think Achilles will ramble about any Neo’s moral problems and just go “Yo there’s my kid, you fought so well, noiceeee” like he did in the Odyssey.

2- The ghost of Achilles returned (darker and Polyxena incident related). He’s dead so his age doesn’t change, so ig this qualifies XD

Based on the idea from the superstition from many cultures that when someone died in lots of regret and rage, they don’t really leave but linger in places that familiar to them. In Achilles’ case, his f-ing camp. Their soul is also corrupted and often demand a worthy sacrifice, especially for souls full of vengeance. (yeah it’s a thing, you could see where this goes)

I plan to write this for my AU so I’ll make it brief.

It was not Calchas who started everything but Neoptolemus. After the event of the siege, he then dreamt of a man in dark armor, his own to be precise, standing in the corner of his room trying to reach out to him. This man’s flesh was corrupted and rotten, only one of his eyes remained and they were identical to Neo. Day by day the man stood closer to his bed until one day closed enough to reach out and strangle him in his sleep. Neo could not fight a ghost, even when he tried. And for some reasons, he froze whenever the ghost touched him. The ghost always muttered the same thing “Murderer.” He woke up in terror, and the same happened again and again. Every single night.

Neo became sleepless and agitated, he even attacked his own troops out of insignificant errors and almost cause a brawl in the briefing, with everyone. It was so terrible that everyone forced Calchas to consult the gods, and the rest is as you know it.

Hope you like this stupid rambling of mine

[edgessunflower]

Welcome to my and @romanthereigns prompt list! 🩷🩵

Give credits to us if you use any prompts

⚠️18+ for smut! ⚠️

☻ "So we’re officially starting a family now?"

☻ “I’m pregnant, not handicapped”

☻ "The only thing owed is this child having both parents and if you're in I'm in"

☻ “I can’t wait to see you be the best dad”

☻ "Look at you, absolutely wonderful just like your mom, you're gonna be an amazing human"

☻ “I hate this” “hate what?” “Hate that I’m huge and I know you don’t want me anymore”

☻ "That's our baby, kicking my hand" "They love you already"

☻ “Why are you crying?” “Because our baby’s so cute”

☻ "You’re doing so well sweetheart, just a few more weeks my superwoman"

☻ “I’m not going to be in a place where my baby and I aren’t wanted”

☻ "Can't keep your hands away can you?" "Why would I when you're always so damn pretty and with my baby in you"

☻ “If this baby doesn’t get out of me soon, you’re gonna have to just push me in a wheelbarrel for the rest of my life”

☻ "The first one is always an adventure"

☻ “This baby is messing with you, I want you all the time. You’re not huge, you’re pregnant and even if you were, I don’t care I love you”

☻ "I'm afraid of being a dad because of how my dad was with me..."

☻ “I’m sorry I couldn’t do anything for your birthday” “You gave me the best gift of all, being a mother/father”

☻ "Look at my little baby, absolutely beautiful head to toe and already smiling"

☻ “We gotta think of a name soon, I’m not gonna call my baby ‘baby’ for the rest of my life”

☻ "Hi little one, you're so beautiful and perfect my little baby"

☻ “The baby hasn’t stopped crying and if you don’t hug me soon, I’m going to start crying too”

✫ “Everytime I get sad, I think of your beautiful face and I’m reminded it’s on a be okay”

✫ "You can trust me"

✫ “When we first met, I never thought I’d fall in love with you”

✫ "You're different and that's what makes you wonderful"

✫ “When I look at you, I think about how happy I am, I can’t believe you’re mine”

✫ "You brought so many things to my life that I thought I never deserved"

✫ “When I look into your eyes, it’s a reminder of who I do it for”

✫ "Remember, you're not alone"

✫ “When you smile, I can’t help but smile too. Your smile makes everything better”

✫ "Come closer, I'll warm you up in my arms"

✫ “I often wonder how different life would have been without you in it… I’m glad you’re in it because you make everything better”

✫ "I never expected to have anyone love me the way you do"

✫ “You’re this lovable goofball who I’m so lucky that I fell in love with”

✫ "You brought so many things to my life that I thought I never deserved"

✫ “When I talk about you, I tell them that the one thing that makes me fall in love with you… your heart of pure gold”

✫ "You're my home"

✫ “When I think of you, all these bad thoughts disappear”

✫ "The person who I want in my life by my side and to love forever, it's you"

✫ “Do you feel my beating heart? It only beats for you”

✫ "You're not broken, you're human and not everyone is willing to accept and understand it, but I am"

✫ "You make me feel safe when I'm vulnerable, and I can never trust or love anyone to do that than you"

☼ "Come to my room, there’s this thing I wanna try"

☼ “Look at you doing such a good job”

☼ "You’re so beautiful all spread out like this... just for me"

☼ “I love watching you taste me”

☼ "Don’t worry, I’ll take of you"

☼ “Oh, you’re so sensitive I love that”

☼ "I bought a few pieces of lingerie, want me to model for you?"

☼ “Fuck me!” “Alright, bend over”

☼ "Don’t be afraid, it’s just me"

☼ “God, you’re soaked is that all from me?”

☼ "I don’t know what to do" "Then let me teach you"

☼ “Look at you…falling apart because of me”

☼ "Don’t cover you’re face, I want to see you"

☼ “When I think about you, I touch myself”

☼ "Spend the night with me"

☼ “I want to remember this night for the rest of my life, you’re just so perfect”

☼ "I’ve been thinking about this night"

☼ “I don’t care how long it takes, but I’m gonna make you scream my name”

☼ "So damn sexy, just keep moving like that"

☼ “Oh god, I’m so close baby”

☼ "More beautiful than you already were"

✎ “I hate that I care so much about you, but I know you don’t care about me in the slightest”

✎ "I wanna know why, why did it have to happen to me?"

✎ “You’ve broke me for the last time”

✎ "Stop looking at me like I'm damaged goods"

✎ “I’m so scared to trust you because I know what happens in the end

✎ "I trusted you...and you left me broken"

✎ “One day, I’ll be moved on and you’ll want me, but I promise you, I’m not coming back this time”

✎ "The worst part is I truly loved you"

✎ “I fucking hate you for this, there’s no forgiving you this time”

✎ "I just want to know you care about me"

✎ “Don’t tell me you’re sorry if you’re not gonna mean it”

✎ "You saved me then killed me all over again"

✎ “I can’t hate you for everything you’ve done and I don’t know why”

✎ "Why am I always your second choice?"

✎ “You make me feel so stupid”

✎ "I loved you, believe me I did then you turned into someone else, someone... scary"

✎ “I can’t stay this time, I don’t think I love you anymore”

✎ "You were my ride or die"

✎ “I can’t think of any reason we should still be together”

✎ "Why did I even think I could be enough for you"

[kkaewrites]

real or not real — nagi seishiro x reader !

warnings. indecent language, ooc nagi.

tropes. meet-ugly, enemies to lovers.

you hate nagi seishiro.

he was stone cold, often referred to as socially awkward— but you feel like those were just excuses to make up for his rude and nasty behavior. personally, you think he’s overrated just because he’s considered a soccer genius. of course, no one ever believes you. they think your hatred clouds your judgement (it obviously does not).

you first met him when you were in grade school, deskmates for the first day of class. he was shorter than you at that time, but aside from his height, everything about him stayed the same. he still has the same gunmetal gray eyes that’s either reflected with boredom or reflected by the screen of his gray nintendo gameboy. he still has the same white hair, as clean as the first drop of snow, but as wild as a lion’s mane.

to you, there was absolutely nothing about him that’s fascinating— he was the same as any average boy. playing mobile games was his favorite past time, so much so that you believed that it was his lifeline at one point. or so you’d assume. he always kept to himself and was left to his own devices (quite literally), most things that kids enjoy don’t seem to pique his interest. you guess those were the reasons why he didn’t have many friends.

no, scratch that— he didn’t have any friends.

at first you wondered why. if there’s one thing you noticed about him even at a very young age, it’s that he’s handsome. he doesn’t have to be the “rich kid” with amazing gadgets and fancy toys, or the “cool kid” who knows what right words to say and way to say it, but he’s nagi. he was conventionally attractive without even trying. however, that fact doesn’t seem to make up for the fact that he looks lonely.

so, you’ve devised a plan to talk to him.

“hey. sei-chan, wanna be my friend?” you’re everyone’s friend. the sunshine child, the one who always lends her classmate crayons or pencils, the kid with pigtails who smile at strangers for no reason. you’re the kid that everyone loves, and if by some miracle, someone hates you (which has never happened and will never happen)— everyone would simply take your side. you’re loved by all.

if nagi was shocked by your sudden proposal, his features didn’t show any signs of it. what he does is pause his current game and faces you. it’s the first time you’ve ever stared at him eye-to-eye. your heart jumps.

uh oh. is this what they call a crush?

eyes filled with hope, you patiently waited for nagi’s response. you expected him to utter “sure” wearing his usual monotone voice, but it doesn’t come. and what he says instead ruins you. your heart does a somersault and tumbles, crashing onto the pavement and breaking into tiny, gliterring pieces. it did not feel good.

“no thanks. i despise people like you.”

you’re not sure what you’ve done wrong at that very moment. maybe you were too blunt, too cheery, too whatever — just something too much to be able to upset someone like nagi seishiro, who doesn’t feel strongly about anything or anyone. you didn’t have the courage to ask him what you’ve done wrong because your vision blurs. you always reckoned that it was due to anger, but your mother who saw you run home with tear-streaked cheeks says otherwise.

you still don’t know how you managed to piss off nagi, even until your very first year of college. after grade school, you never saw him again. you heard he studied at some prestigious high school but that was the end of it, you never really asked because you had no interest whatsoever. you somehow managed to assure yourself that there was no way you’d ever cross paths with him once again— so why is he here?

why, of all places, would he be your deskmate for your politics class?

at this point, you thought maybe the gods above despised you, too. did they hate you enough to not only be schoolmates, not only be classmates with this man, but to be deskmates? hate is the only logical explanation for this fucked-up coincidence. you’re not keen on fates or invisible strings so you’re sure this was just a punishment for you.

oh god. you hate it so much. you hate him so much.

without a word, you took the seat right next to him, taking the opportunity while he’s sound asleep. you’re not sure why he would take politics as his subject, because as far as you know about him, all he ever cares about is his mobile games. maybe soccer as well, but that’s not exactly related to politics, either.

when the professor enters the class, you found no reason to wake him up. he could get screamed at for all you care, but there was no way you’d ever converse with him at your own accord. because the only way you’d ever survive sitting next to him for the whole semester is by not acknowledging him at all. you can do that. you can avoid talking or looking at him. he’s not that talkative (and he’s not even awake) to begin with.

until your plan crashes and burns.

he turns out to be your partner for a school project— a big one, at that. you considered going solo, but the whole point of the project is to make sure two people are working together. it was a community development kind of plan, so unless he works with you and you work with him, you’d be getting an F for your politics class. that, you can’t have. even if it meant talking to him and enduring his presence.

he wakes up right after the class ended and you could barely contain your scoff. he sat through the whole 2 hour lecture just like that, does he have no care for his grades? doesn’t matter. it’s none of your business if he fails, that simply means that you won’t see him much anymore (which is a win for you).

you sighed. he should’ve been paired with someone else. why did it have to be you? why did it have to be your deskmate? and why did he have to be your deskmate? it was too much. how could you ever work with someone you hate? with someone who hates you?

you’re going to fail politics. you’re 100% sure of that. there was just no way that you’d ever accomplish this task— or you could beg your professor to let you switch partners. or you could ask your classmates to let you switch... but who would ever want someone as lazy as nagi to be their partner? fuck.

from the corner of your eye, you saw nagi yawn. it took all of you to swallow your pride whole and gulp it down to ever approach him, but it’s better than not trying. if you fail, at least you tried. even if it meant battling your inner demons.

so, clutching your bag straps tightly as if it would ever help, you turned to your sleepy deskmate. “nagi. it seems like we’re partners for the politics subject. i’m expecting you’d cooperate willingly so that—”

“sorry,” he interrupts with half lidded eyes. “do i know you?”

“you’re going to rip your paper to shreds.” nagi commented from behind you, peering over your shoulder as you aggressively wrote on your notebook. you imagined the page to be nagi’s face as you cruelly stabbed it, not caring about your pen or your paper’s state. you cannot believe that for some reason, you’re still stuck with the snow white haired guy. you’ve tried everything there is to get rid of him but nothing seemed to work.

“right,” your teeth could break with how hard you clenched your jaw. “will you be free later?”

“oh. i have soccer training.”

of course he fucking has soccer training.

you gave him the strongest deadpan you could muster before exhaling a deep breath. once to calm yourself down, twice to clear your head and thrice in hopes of losing all of your lungs’ air so you could shrivel and die on the spot. nagi seems to be unaware of your thoughts— and even if he had understood your facial expression and body language, he simply did not care.

“i’ll be free after, though.” he adds, as if you’d ever know that information if he hasn’t uttered it. this at least gives you the sense that he might care about the group project, and that he won’t be a complete inconvenience.

“okay. let’s meet up at the coffee shop near school. will you be done at 8?”

“yeah. but,” he pauses. “i thought we’d just do the project at my place.”

“who died and made you king?” you blurt out before you could think of a proper response. you wondered if you’d ever feel so strongly about a person the same way you did for nagi. he was driving you mad.

“what?” his clueless face almost made you feel guilt— almost. but you ignored the sensation and frowned instead. the least you could do was give him a clearer sentence:

“there’s no way i’d ever step a foot at your house.”

“it’s fine. no one’s home anyway.”

“that’s even worse.”

“huh? oh. don’t worry. you’re not my type.”

the conversations you somehow hold with nagi infuriates you. he has this way of making you feel like shit for some reason, and he does it with so much nonchalance you’d wonder if he insults everyone. but you know better and you know he definitely doesn’t, because you’re the only one he treats like this. it’s the absolute worst.

what does he mean you’re not his type? were you not pretty enough? not tall enough? not skinny enough? not fair enough? not what? ever since grade school, you’ve always thought that he sees you as someone “too much” and yet as he stands here with you, in an empty classroom— you wondered how you could be “too much” and yet be “not enough” at the same time.

and since when did you care about how he views you? since you were kids, apparently. because the words he would utter up until this day shatters you all the same. and you hate him— so goddamn much. but beyond all that anger, there’s grief. it doesn’t subside even as you grabbed all your things and shoved 6”3 foot tall nagi aside.

for some reason, he shows up at the café you mentioned at exactly 8 o’clock in the evening. you were typing away on your laptop, while a cup of caramel macchiato and a bunch of scattered papers littered your desk. you didn’t expect him to come, and it would’ve been better if he didn’t. but somehow, he’s here and he looks a little apologetic.

“are you upset?” he asks. his sports bag slumped over his shoulder as he stands right next to you. there’s an unoccupied seat in front but he doesn’t take it— at least, not yet. his whole, undivided attention was poured onto you and you alone. it makes you squirm in your seat, so you decided not to look up from your screen to greet him.

“no. take a seat.”

“you look upset.”

“do you want me to be upset?”

“no.”

“then shut up.”

wordlessly, he takes the seat right in front of you and slouches. he looks battered and fatigued from practice, but he doesn’t say a word to complain (to your absolute shock). you guessed that he walked straight from the field to the café without even changing or taking a shower, because his clothes clung to him like a shirt a few sizes smaller.

“shouldn’t you go change?”

“yeah. but i left my clean clothes at my apartment.”

fifteen minutes pass and you suddenly closed your laptop shut, eyes fixated on nagi’s gunmetal gray ones. he looks surprised from your sudden move, a look that you didn’t expect to recognize due to how miniscule it was. you felt bad for him. the café was getting too cold for comfort and all he wore was his jersey (one that’s drenched with his sweat). if you stayed any longer, he’d probably catch a cold.

why you care, however, that was not a question you could currently answer.

“let’s just go to your place.”

despite his constant need to laze around, his place wasn’t a complete mess— well, yes, there are (presumably dirty) clothes on the floor and used dishes on the sink, but you’ve seen worse. you expected his apartment to be so much worse. it seems like he’s not a complete monkey to not understand basic hygiene and cleanliness.

your only problem is that nagi seems to be bored. you caught him dozing off the coffee table as you ramble about your politics project, and you don’t even have to ask if he cares at all— because he’s trying to hide his obvious distate and boredom. so, even though you’d rather proceed to do your work rather than humoring this 6 foot tall giant, you pipe up:

“wanna play a game?”

“what game? i don’t like games that require effort.”

“it’s called real or not real. we take turns in guessing if the other person’s sentence is real or not real.”

“sounds like a pain.” he groans.

“you know what truly is a pain?” you turned to look at him. “this politics project. so take it or leave it. i’m kind enough to give you a break.”

“shouldn’t we play a different game? a mobile game, maybe.”

“what about a wager, then? the winner’s the boss.”

the game was a piece of cake— to you, at least. nagi’s an open book and it’s easy to read him. you explained that the mechanics goes like this: you take turns in giving very specific sentences about yourself, and the other party has to guess whether it’s real or not real. five wrong guesses means that the other person wins. so the only thing you have to do is to make sure that nagi loses first.

unfortunately, you were down to four mistakes while nagi only had one. the game wasn’t going like how you imagined it would be. how were you supposed to know that nagi keeps a cactus as a pet? how were you supposed to know that he only figured out how to play soccer when he was in high school? how were you supposed to know that he’s got a picture of his crush under his study table? (you still had no idea who that crush is, and it quite literally shocked you). how were you supposed to know that someone like nagi seishiro, was capable of liking someone romantically?

on the other hand, out of the six sentences you threw at him— he had only guessed wrong once. you don’t know how he’s so good at this game, too. it was either he knew awfully a lot about you, or was really good at second guessing things. you’re pretty sure it was the former. how could he know a lot about you, when he doesn’t even know your name?

“real or not real: i hate you.” you stated. his nonchalance was putting you off, but you’re not sure if you were uneasy because of it or if you felt guilty for saying that sentence out loud. you told yourself you could just take it back and act as if it’s not real but nagi himself looked so convinced when he said:

“real.”

he was right once again. but you didn’t have enough time to dwell on the whole thing when his sentence comes.

“real or not real: i want to kiss you right now.”

the silence was so loud it pierces your ears— or maybe you have gone deaf with that sentence. you’re not sure of anything at the moment because it feels like your senses were slowly slipping from your own fingers. if nagi was joking, his face didn’t show any signs of him laughing soon. but maybe you should know better, maybe he could joke like that with a straight face.

so you waited for a few minutes, for him to tell you that it was a joke— that it’s not part of the goddamn game because how could it be part of it? but nothing comes. his eyes were simply on you as he patiently awaits your answer. your make it or break it answer, at that. and it only dawns on you that this is real, this is his sentence and he’s expecting you to play. he’s expecting you to answer real or not real. because you were the one who proposed the game in the first place.

you wanted to scream and to run away, but you were rooted on the spot. time stood still and it froze you under nagi’s unblinking gunmetal gray eyes, as if the situation’s not bad at all. but this is a trick question, your rational mind says. he told you when you were younger that he despises people like you, asked you if he knows you upon meeting at your politics class, and told you that you’re not exactly his type— so there’s no way he’d want to kiss you. right?

you meet his gaze. right, nagi?

against your better judgement to think it through, you suddenly blurted: “real.”

his face doesn’t shift and nor did the mood of the room. your heart was beating erratically as if you’re not facing the guy you clearly hated with a passion, but the silence ensues. you were screaming at yourself, why the fuck did you say real? were you out of your goddamned mind? were you crazy? the answer’s clearly not real!

nagi, however, only looks away. “huh.”

“what?”

“i almost won. what a pity.”

“the answer’s real?”

“yeah.” he tilts his head and answers as if you were stupid. as if you were the one who’s weird and doesn’t get what’s happening— but maybe that really is the case. because you’re mind hasn’t caught up yet. what does he mean the answer’s real? does that mean he wants to kiss you, right now? how is that possible after all the things he had said to you?

you laugh. not the quiet giggle or the chuckle you were accustomed to doing, but a belly laugh— one that could rival a hyena’s. because this was funny. too funny. he’s definitely joking and you’ve only figured out that now.

“okay, fine. you got me.”

“what do you mean?”

“the joke. you’re so serious that i almost missed it.”

confusion marrs his face. “what joke?”

“about the kiss.”

“i wasn’t joking.”

“well, i’d rather have you joking than for that sentence to be real.”

“you hate me that much?”

he almost sounds hurt, but you knew better. how could he be hurt, out of all people? if there’s anyone who’s hurt, it would be you. how can he say all those hurtful things with so much nonchalance and tell you things like he wants to kiss you? how cruel must he be to toy with you like this? it was not funny. none of this was funny.

and it reminds you of your childhood— of your little crush on nagi that never seemed to go away. somehow, the little you screams that you should not fall for something like this. that it is easier to hate nagi than to love him. that it is easier to stand up from your seat, smile, and tell him: “yeah. i do.”

it has been a week. maybe two. or three? you’ve lost count. you’ve never visisted nagi again after the whole real or not real game, and you never saw him often because he’s been excused. something about soccer championship that you didn’t bother listening to. besides, you liked the comfortable silence now that he’s not around.

your phone dings. and it’s from an unknown number. but somehow, you guessed it has something to do with nagi.

unknown

real or not real: i’m sorry

oh. that’s right. the game technically hasn’t finished yet because no one has won. you told yourself numerous time that you won’t reply to his message, but against your better judgement, you somehow still did.

you

real

when your class ended, nagi seishiro was right outside. he was panting and sweaty— as if he ran just to get where you were. but this is nagi we’re talking about. there’s no way he’d actually do something like that, despite his lingering look on you. what’s that supposed to mean, anyway?

breathless, he speaks up to catch your attention. you were busy stuffing your books inside your locker, back against him as you completely ignored his presence. you did not say hi. you did not meet his gaze. but even without direct contact, your heart was drumming against your rib just by knowing that he’s near. what the heck.

“we won the game.”

there’s a lot of responses that entered your mind at that very moment. entry #1, who asked? entry #2, who cares? entry #3, why are you telling me this? and the list goes on. you’re pretty sure none of them were positive— but this was all so confusing. why was nagi chasing after you like a lost puppy who lost its mom? what’s he going for here?

“that’s good for you.” you slammed your locker shut and walked away. nagi eventually follows after you, as if there’s something in his throat that he wants to let out, but you didn’t give him the chance to. you’re sure nothing that would come out of his mouth is good. you’re sure he’s running after you because of the politics project, or because he wants to annoy you.

and you hate it. you hate him. your gut twists at the thought of him running after you like this is some shoujo manga and that’s the annoying part. how is your heart flipping with your every waking step if you hate him so much? you’re supposed to hate nagi, god fucking damn it.

you finally stop in your tracks, whipping around to face the 6 foot tall soccer player. to get it all over with.

“is there something you need to tell me?”

“we haven’t finished the game.”

“i don’t care about the game. leave me alone.”

“it’s your turn. your real or not real.”

this was stupid no matter what angle you look at it. it was just some game you made up and decided to try with nagi. it didn’t mean anything to you because all you wanted by then was to get his attention, so why did it matter so much to him? you don’t get it. you’re not sure how nagi circuits because everything he does confuses you. and before you know it, your irrational side takes over. reason left your body when you blurted the words:

“stop it. fucking stop this.”

why are you so persistent?

“was it fun to toy with me? was it fun when you told me you despised me when we were kids? was it fun when you told me i was not your type? i don’t fucking get it.”

you were angry. mad. seething. your blood boiled underneath your skin and you feared that it would leave your whole being in nothing but dust. through it all, you’re also confused. perplexed. lost. your mind can’t understand the fine line between hate and love anymore. your feelings overlap with each other and merges— you’re not sure what you’re feeling now. you’ve wondered how long you’ve buried this string of emotions you’ve had for nagi. that would explain why you’re nothing but a ticking time bomb now.

“if my playing with my feelings give you so much fun— then do it elsewhere. i have no time for things like this, nagi.”

“but i’m not playing, though. i’ve liked you for quite awhile now.”

excuse me?

“oops. i accidentally gave the answer to my next sentence. what a pain,” he scratches the nape of his nexk and looks away.

how the fuck am i supposed to respond to that?

“do you expect me to believe you?”

“i’ve got no reason to lie,” he shrugs. “plus, lying’s a pain. i don’t like it.”

“but— what you said back then...”

“i, well. i go blank when i talk to you. i guess. my stomach flips when you’re around and my throat goes dry.” nagi doesn’t look at you once while he utters this. tinge of red coats the tip of his ears and this is where you think ‘this is it’. he’s not lying. this is real, and you know that much— nagi never looked nervous until now. you think maybe that explains why he would avoid your gaze and why he would say the most confusing things. you think maybe this is nagi. the socially awkward nagi. the one who can’t talk to people properly nagi.

“i’ve always thought you were pretty. i despise pretty things because it makes me feel things. it’s a pain.” he mumbles. “of course i know you. of course i know your name. but it’s the first thing i thought to say because your face was too close. you’re prettier up close.”

he should stop talking. he should drop it all together and just kiss you, but you could never say these words because you haven’t wrapped your head around the whole thing yet. nagi likes you. nagi thinks you’re pretty. nagi short circuits when you’re around. nagi thinks you’re pretty. nagi’s actually confessing. nagi likes you. he thinks you’re pretty. he likes you.

“i don’t like pretty things. that’s not my type at all. but reo said i might be in love with you.” he finally turns to look at you and tilts his head. your face burns— and you swore it was because of the remnants of your anger, but everyone else could tell that it was not. your heart does a somersault, but this time it does not drop. it stays in the air, lingering like nagi’s perfume scent, until he carefully waits for it to land on his palms when he said: “i think he’s right. i’m in love with you.”

for the duration of your game with nagi and with all the truths shared between the both of you— this is probably the most real out of them. this is the only time he doesn’t ask the question ‘real or not real’ because his face says it all. his face says that it’s the real and raw truth. his face says that you must believe this because he’s not making it up. it was the first time you could read his expression. it was the first time that you’re not confused by nagi.

“fucking dumbass,” you comment. “that’s not how it works.”

you reach over to grab his collar, on your highest tip-toes because of his height. you’re pretty sure you’re the only ones present in the secluded corridor but the clamors of your heart makes an illusion of people cheering for you. somewhere in the parallel worlds of your universe, you think maybe those cheers exist. it only silences when you pulled nagi down with you, whispering:

“i hope you still want to kiss me, then.”

when he closes in the gap between the both of you, his answer was loud and clear.

i do. always.

notes. YES YES YES i finally finished this long ass fic! i’ve been writing it since forever & im just SO glad i finally get to finish it 🥹 as u can see, there is nothing on my mind rn but nagi seishiro. he’s literally living in my head rent-free and i’m not complaining. i love him too much. i hope u enjoyed this ‼️ as always, likes & reblogs are appreciated <3 thank you so so much for ur patience & love for this blog ❤️

ִ ࣪𖤐 masterlist !

[skywalker1dream]

Title: Interview with the four-time world champion.

Hii! so this have been in my mind quite long time and I'm listening to my impulsive thoughts and doing this.... first I want to say English is not my mother tongue so please let me know if there are any mistakes...Give me some advices if you want...which I'm sure will help me..If you want, share your opinion on what to write..And I won't say much here. Hope you guys like it

it's all fiction(ofc we can only fantasize about this fine man) please don't hate my work or me (I have traumatic experience bc of wattpad) if I missed something pls tell me. Thanks for your attention:3

Sebastian x journalist!reader

Warning: I don't think there is any Warning

The sound of engines roaring and the smell of burning rubber filled the air as you walked through the paddock, your heart pounding with excitement. It was race day, and the energy was palpable. As a motorsport journalist, you had the privilege of being up close to the action, but today was different. Today, you were here to interview the four-time world champion, Sebastian Vettel.

You had met Sebastian a few times before during post-race interviews, but today’s meeting felt more personal. Maybe it was because you had been following his career since his early days, or perhaps it was the way he smiled at you last time, a genuine warmth in his eyes that made your stomach flutter.

As you approached the famous ferrari garage, you spotted him immediately. He was talking with his engineers, a serious expression on his face, but when he saw you, his features softened into a welcoming smile.

“Hey, Schatz” he greeted, pulling you into a friendly hug. “Ready for our chat?”

You nodded, trying to keep your cool despite the proximity, and fact that when he hugged you you felt butterflies in your stomach. “Absolutely. Thanks for taking the time, Sebastian.”

You found a quiet corner near the garage, the noise of the track a distant hum. As you set up your recorder, Sebastian leaned casually against a stack of tires, his relaxed demeanor putting you at ease.

The interview began smoothly. Sebastian answered your questions with his usual charm and thoughtfulness, occasionally making you laugh with his witty remarks. But as you wrapped up, he surprised you with a question of his own.

“So, Schatz, what do you do when you’re not chasing after us drivers?” he asked, a teasing and mischievous glint in his eye.

You chuckled, a bit taken aback. “I guess I try to have a normal life. Reading, cooking, maybe catching a movie when I can.”

Sebastian’s smile widened. “Sounds like we have more in common than I thought. I love cooking too. Maybe we should compare notes sometime.

Your heart skipped a beat at the suggestion, but you played it cool. “I’d like that. Maybe after the season ends?”

“It’s a date then,” he said, his tone light but his eyes sincere.

Before you could respond, an announcement over the loudspeaker called the drivers to the grid. Sebastian stood up, giving you one last, lingering look.

“Wish me luck out there.”

“Good luck, Sebastian,” you replied, your voice a bit breathless. “I’ll be cheering for you.”

As you watched him walk away, your heart raced faster than any car on the track. You couldn’t wait for the season to end, and for that promised dinner with Sebastian Vettel. Until then, you had his smile to hold onto, a beacon of warmth and possibility in the high-octane world of Formula 1.

hope you guys like it, I know its short but i had to try..I can write part 2 if you want. Oh and have you seen him in Imola god he looks good..and as they say dululu is soululu I hope he comes back..fingers crossed 🤞

[beauty-and-passion]

TMA - Chapters 111-120: Best boys save everything

You asked for one single post. Even though you know how much I like to ramble.

And this is probably why you're the best readers ever and I am extremely lucky to have you all 💖

It's time to end season 3 and oh boy, there is a lot to talk about. Stuff happens, theories are born and, of course, we should take some time to show our appreciation to Elias.

So let's not waste any more time and jump right into it.

<< Main Masterlist < Previous post  _______________________________

MAG 111 - Family Business

My man Gerard Keay truly died. I thought they were joking, with their "ahahah Gerard is dead, sure". And we had Gertrude reading a book over his body, so I thought she was making some weird magic to bring him back to life.

But nope, he’s still dead. He’s just bound to a book now :(

At least he’s still a rebel and a sarcastic badass. I love him so much <3

And unlike Leitner and Elias, Gerard gives us very juicy answers! I said he’s the best and this chapter confirms it: he’s the best.

*

Next step for the Unknowing

I suppose Jon’s next step will be to visit that storage unit near Hainault. I even remember that key Jon found in the past seasons! Glad to see it coming back, can't wait to find out what it will open.

*

A stronger connection?

That’s intriguing. Despite her flaws, at least Gertrude seemed to not really enjoy her Eye powers. Jon, on the other hand, despite trying to save the world and being a good person, seems to like the persuasion powers a lot more.

I fear this isn’t a good sign. And I’m scared for his life, again. This man literally can’t stop worrying me.

*

Lore about the Lukases!

Let’s resume:

There’s no Fairchild family, only Simon Fairchild, the old man who wakes up and chooses violence - and he’s associated with the Vast.

The Lukases worship the Lonely. So I suppose the fog is just another facet of it.

These entities don’t care about the family, and we have already seen that multiple times. They always talk about “psychological profiles” and “being suitable.” Elias himself told Melanie her family was just one of the reasons he chose her, and actively used her background to his advantage.

*

The tragedy of Mary Keay (and Leitner)

While Mary Keay was obsessed with the Leitners and being close to these entities, poor Gerard just wanted to live a normal life and do normal stuff, but nope, spend your time with the supernatural, son.

My boy deserves a huge hug.

Also, this explains why he hated Leitner so much: if my mother kept obsessing over this guy and forced me to care about him and his stupid books, I would grow resentful too.

And it’s very telling that, once Gerard met Leitner, he let him go. In his eyes, Leitner was probably like a mythological figure, someone larger than life. But in the end, he was just a little man.

I can understand it, because that’s what I felt too: I also thought he was some kind of huge evil mastermind, but in the end, he was only a man blinded by hubris… just like Mary Keay.

I love the tragedy of these characters, who are clever enough to know about these entities, but stupid enough to believe they can be very close and trap/use them without repercussions.

Mary Keay basically died because she tried to… bind the book with her skin? I think? It’s a bit vague, but I don’t blame Gerard: that’s unsettling enough as it is.

*

Not gods, but fears

See? See? This is why Gerard is the best character. I know Elias is funny ahah killer and lazy and everything. But Gerard. My man Gerard.

Gerard gives us answers - including everything about the entities, so I don’t need to search for any list! Thank you, Gerard, for doing the job for me. And thanks Mr. Sims, for understanding that your readers would’ve been quite confused by the time they reached season 3, so it was necessary to make everything clearer.

So we’re not dealing with gods who feed on fear, but on gods who ARE fears. They take the shape of the primordial fears we humans have. Maybe because these fears mirror their real aspect, maybe because they got inspired by humanity’s fears and decided to take that shape.

And also, not all of them inspire fear, but “ooze into the world” without purpose. They just hang out. Or someone calls them.

… is this what Elias does with Peter Lukas? Does he summon him, just to play pranks? That’s why he’s “wasting each other’s time”?

Elias being a prankster was not on my bingo card, but now I really want to see him interact with Peter Lukas.

*

Positive god-like Powers?: A theory

The Powers change with our fears. So they’re not always the same, but evolve too. Super cool, super terrifying and it makes them even more fascinating.

But also, this:

I believe this sentence could have two purposes:

it’s a way for Mr. Sims to make his world even more terrifying and pessimistic, because there is no positive godly power that can come and help our heroes.

it’s the biggest Chekhov's gun ever made.

Honestly? I would love it if it’s a Chekhov’s gun. Also considering there is another series right after TMA… well, maybe there are positive, god-like Powers. After all, why should only the negative ones exist? Maybe the positive ones haven't appeared yet.

Or there’s another possibility. And to explain it, I would like to quote this part too:

Maybe it’s just me reading too much into things, but this conversation seems to imply something very interesting: the Power is based/shaped around a fear. However, the servants and avatars seem to control how this power should be expressed.

Think about Michael: he’s part of The Spiral, he’s The Distortion, he used his power to get people in and lose themselves inside it. Pretty standard “evil Power” activities.

However, he also used his power to “save” Martin and Tim in season 2 and bring them back to the Institute, without harming them.

If I am right, that means every avatar can control and direct the power bestowed upon them in more harmless, positive ways and not just to harm.

Sure, I have no idea how thin the line is and how much of said power the avatar can control/use in ways that are both convenient for their patron and normal people. But if the avatars have a certain range of action, this could mean a lot of things:

Gertrude’s choice to “sacrifice” Michael to The Spiral proved how much she trusted him, because she knew that, in the long run, he would’ve directed the power in more positive ways.

Gertrude’s final, hidden plan behind stopping all rituals implied giving each Power a trusted avatar - a human she knew would’ve directed that power for good.

If Jon becomes the new avatar for The Eye, he can direct the power differently and stop the ritual.

And finally: if a human becomes an avatar, if they have a wide range of actions and if the Powers evolve because fears are not always the same… then nothing stops them from switching into the positive god-like figures now missing.

I know this is a theory I’m making without the full picture - heck, I’m pretending to see far into something that, if I am right, would probably happen around the end of The Magnus Protocol. And I don’t even know what that series is about! But hey, that’s the fun of making theories ;)

*

A list of fourteen

Gerard, by being the wonderful man he is, gives me the list I was hoping and asking for: the one that includes all the most important entities.

Let’s all thank Gerard for his service and let’s examine Smirke’s list of fourteen:

The Eye: fear of being watched, followed, exposed. Hunger for knowledge.

The Spiral: fear of madness, of lies.

The End: fear of death.

The Stranger: fear of the uncanny and unknown.

The Lonely: fear of being alone.

The Desolation (the Lightless Flame): fear of pain, loss, cruel destruction.

The Slaughter: fear of pure, unpredictable violence (watches over wars).

The Vast: vertigo, agoraphobia, the dread of deep water/the universe, losing yourself in too much space.

The Buried: fear of small spaces, crushing, being trapped.

The Dark: fear of the dark (duh).

The Corruption (the Filth): disgust, fear of everything rotten, decay / infection.

The Web: fear of spiders, being manipulated or puppeted.

The Flesh: animalistic fear of being eaten / of the slaughterhouse, body twisted up.

The Hunt: predecessor of The Flesh, fear of hunting, killing each other.

Well, that puts A LOT of stuff into perspective. And it proves some of my points were right too.

As we already knew, The Distortion is part of The Spiral and the Spiral already attempted a ritual.

The Death is associated with The End.

The Stranger is associated with all the weird stuff we already mentioned (like the clowny dolls).

The weird fog is part of The Lonely.

Michael Crew and Simon Fairchild are both associated with The Vast.

The Hive was just another facet of The Corruption.

The supernatural meat is The Flesh. Makes sense, but I liked how silly “the supernatural meat” sounded.

The idea that those Powers can have a predecessor is very cool.

Now that I know all of them and their names, it makes me want to re-read all statements and find out to which Power they’re connected. Maybe I’ll do it once I’ll finish the series.

*

The rituals

So:

Each Power has a ritual

It takes a ton of time to build up to a level of power when they can try it and if it fails it’s back to square one

The rituals shift the world enough for the Power to come through

A Power that comes through can bring others akin to it

Now the Powers take what they get/the weak ones, but if a ritual succeeds, they can get all the fear/people they want

The people who help them do it for power, obsession or because they can feed on it

The rituals happen quite close to each other, so we got the Great Twisting, next is the Unknowing, then there's the Watcher's Crown

Well guys, here it is the final boss of season 5. I thought it would’ve been the Unknowing but nope, now it’s pretty clear the big final boss will be this ritual. And considering we have nothing by now, I suppose Jon will have to read a shit ton of stuff, before understanding how to stop it - hence why two more seasons.

I hope stopping the ritual wouldn’t involve Jon putting himself in danger, but considering everyone wants him dead and he’s getting closer and closer to The Eye… I fear for his life. Again.

*

GERRY!!!

GERRY

GERRY

GERRY

Sorry Elias, you’re still my favorite bitch, but Gerry has my heart. He got me with his rebel spirit, now he revealed he’s also a cinnamon roll. I love Gerard and I hope the fandom loves him too, because he deserves all the love of the world.

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MAG 112 - Thrill of the Chase

So the statement is about… mmmh, my bet would be on The Slaughter, considering that it starts from a random guy who tried to kill this group of friends and this act of unpredictable violence triggered something inside each of them, pushing all members of this club to hunt and kill each other.

Uhm, but it’s also connected with The Hunt, so it could be about it. But the Hunt also shifted into The Flesh… my first bet goes on The Slaughter.

Statement aside, it’s nice to get more updates regarding Daisy and Basira:

Daisy is now Elias’ killer but also Elias’ chauffeur, considering he called her to pick up Jon. Elias using everyone to work for him will never stop being funny.

Jon came back to say hi and went to the storage unit - after picking the key, I suppose.

Tim, Martin and Melanie disappeared. Considering Tim has been plotting something since he found out the Circus is involved, I fear he’s building… I don’t know, some kind of bomb to put in the theater and blow the whole place up.

Basira and Daisy have weird dreams! They’re involved with some Power, aren’t they? Can’t wait to find out which one.

_______________________________

MAG 113 - Breathing Room

Oh, my bad: Martin and Melanie were not with Tim at the old abandoned theatre to put explosives everywhere. They were with Jon, finding explosives everywhere.

And Martin is, apparently, all for touching the C4. Maybe holding a knife is “out of character” for Peter Lukas, but this guy has a clear bit of insanity, considering he can’t stop putting his hands on something dangerous.

The statement is… well, okay? Random guy serves The End, by entering other people’s dreams. And guess what, this statement in particular comes right after Daisy and Basira talked about dreams. Will we see dreams come back too and become a main topic - maybe in the upcoming season?

Now that I think about it: what’s exactly the difference between servants and avatars? The two terms are both used in the statement - once by Adelard Dekker to talk about Justin Gough and once by Jon, who refers to him as “an avatar of The End”. So… are the terms interchangeable? I thought it was more like:

Servants: minions/slaves who can only obey and access a limited amount of the Power’s… well, power.

Avatars: figures with a lot more power, who are like embodiments of the Power (or their facets) on Earth. Like Michael for The Spiral, Elias for The Eye, Michael Crew/Simon Fairchild for The Vast and so on.

Maybe this will be clarified later on, for now, I’ll keep considering them like this.

_______________________________

MAG 114 - Cracked Foundation 

Hill Top Road is back! And I feel it will be back even more in season 4! After all, it’s connected to The Lightless Flame and that weird wooden box at the foundation of the tree with the apple and the spiders - which means The Desolation and The Web will come back and I can’t wait to meet the spider lady again.

Jon himself said Hill Top Road is “a thread that’s been nagging at me for a while” and even expresses his desire to visit the place himself… so I feel we will see more of it in season 4.

Tim and Jon finally talk! And Tim clarifies why he’s so weird and disappears! I thought it was for revenge reasons and revenge reasons only, but it was deeper than that: Sasha’s situation left a mark on him and, as he says, he doesn’t know the others well enough. And if we add the tape recorders who are literally everywhere and sometimes turn on on their own, how can he trust anyone? How can he be sure some other weird supernatural entity won’t listen and hurt him?

Fantastic, I can already see Tim jumping head-in and trying to kill the dolls by himself, because "how can I trust you all?" This man is more dead every second he speaks.

HOLY SHIT WHAT?! The clowny dolls took the skin of George Icarus (I suppose we’ll soon find out who this guy is) and Gertrude’s?! When I heard her name, I was aghast. These little fuckers! Since one of the Archivists wasn’t available, why not take the other? Holy shit, the final battle will be incredible.

And I was right about the plan! Even though I was joking, by saying Tim was going to blow up everything! But I can’t blame Gertrude nor Jon: why attempt to stop the dolls one by one, when you can just blow up the entire place and call it a day? Best decision ever, I suggest doing the same for every ritual.

_______________________________

MAG 115 - Taking Stock

Statement of Mikaele Salesa? We’re really calling back all the people we left aside in the previous seasons, didn’t we? And considering Salesa said he could’ve talked about how he started the business, because “that’s a story I haven’t told you yet”, I feel that season 4 will be all about exploring the backstories of other recurring characters.

Especially because this guy worked with Leitner in the past! This explains how he knows so well these creepy artifacts and how confidently he says the Institute wants a story (“You want to know how I came by this rule? I know you do.”): he knows about The Eye, of course.

Per se, Salesa’s statement isn’t particularly useful: The Flesh is here, this time in the shape of a meat grinder and Salesa’s cook gets a bit too attached to it. Hence why Salesa, being the perfectly normal, sane guy he is, kills the cook and successfully sells the creepy meat grinder. Good job, I suppose.

I love Jon’s take on it: sure sure, creepy evil meat-god and everything, but hey, a good meal is still a good meal.

And you know what? I. Absolutely. Agree. If there were a creepy pastry/chocolate/pasta monster out there, I would still enjoy every meal with a goddamn smile on my face.

Helen! The Distortion is back! And its conversation with Jon is very, very interesting:

HELEN: I took a man, wandering the halls of an old tenement. He’s dead now, he never even came close to finding me. It was nourishing, but… ARCHIVIST: But… HELEN: I didn’t like it. (...) HELEN: I just want… I just want to feel better. (...) HELEN: I have never told you a lie, Archivist. I wouldn’t dare. I, I just thought you might understand. ARCHIVIST: Uh… How could I possibly… HELEN: We’re both changing, Archivist. I had hoped, that together –

The Distortion/The Spiral changed. And when it changed, it tried to do the same thing it did before (aka killing a guy) and it was nourishing… but it didn’t like it. The Spiral did what all other Powers do and relied on fear and death and it didn’t like it. It changed - Helen’s words, not mine.

This could imply my theory about the positive god-like Powers is correct. This could be a huge hint about a very far future, in which the Spiral might evolve into a positive god-like Power.

It’s already changing, by its own admission: nothing stops it from evolving, by adopting a more “positive” approach - especially if this new approach proves itself more beneficial for the Power.

And if this is a hint and everything is evolving according to my theory, then what Helen is saying has the potential to become huge. It could be the beginning of a new way, for the Powers, to deal with humanity - not by relying on fear, but on something else, something more positive. Like, for example, a Power made of lies and madness can evolve into protection/self-preservation.

But let’s put my theory on the side: maybe this isn’t the beginning of a possible positive evolution of the Powers. Still, this is very huge! One Power (the only neutral one, as far as we know) is approaching Jon, not to kill him but to ask for help.

That’s Jon’s chance: he can easily make an ally out of Helen. He can have someone who, for once, is on his side and doesn’t want to kill him. He can even make his own crew of Powers and fight his enemies. So, what does he do? 

He sends Helen away.

Oh, no. No no no. Jon has been clever until now, he had made some good choices. But this? This is the worst choice EVER. And I fear it will come back to bite him: I mean, he had the perfect chance to get a powerful ally and threw it away only because he was angry?!

Sorry, Jon: I always support you, but this time, you did something very stupid and I fear there will be consequences. Huge consequences.

_______________________________

MAG 116 - The Show Must Go On

Awww, look at Elias. He wants to warn the others about how the Unknowing might take place. He’s a bitch, but he can also be helpful, when he wants to.

Speaking of the statement, it’s funny because I remembered the name Wolfgang von Kempelen and I remembered the Mechanical Turk. So I checked and yep, I was right: it existed in real life! That’s cool, I don’t know if all the other things mentioned here and there are also taken from reality, but it was fun to see one here.

So, the Unknowing itself is very trippy and crazy-looking and I love this kind of stuff. But I also loved how, out of the blue, this soldier comes out with a fucking cannon and stops the ritual just by shooting at the Turk.

That means rituals can be stopped by any other avatar - or anyone else in general. And this avatar of The Slaughter seems interesting: why did he stop the ritual? Was he trying to stop all rituals, like Gertrude? Or did he just have something against The Stranger? No idea, but I would love to know more.

It’s also very funny how the Unknowing can be simply stop by using violence. It turns out the women of this series were right all along: wake up and choosing violence can really save the day.

Speaking of rituals and Gertrude, she also says that “Disrupting the others has been successful largely because I was able to do so before they had reached any form of culmination”, which means:

Gertrude stopped other rituals before the Spiral’s and I want to know which ones

Jon & gang should be fast, before the creepy clowns start making everything weird and trippy

I love how Elias keeps running the Archives as if it’s a normal place. Sure, you’re doing a trip to save the world and we’re all servants of a supernatural evil god but hey, claiming expenses is important, so if you take a coffee, keep your recipe.

Oh no, Martin is not coming and Melanie not coming either, oh nooo- yes, yes, I know it’s all part of the famous plan mentioned in the previous MAGs and I can’t wait to find out what it is.

Tim, my beloved Tim! He will come because of course he will, fuck Elias who is trying to keep him alive: my man has decided he wants to die, so he will die and no one can stop him.

And NOW he just told us how he will die. Well, at least he will be happy. That’s the only thing that matters: I am devastated by this, but it’s Tim’s decision and I can only accept it.

_______________________________

MAG 117 - Testament

Oh, what a promising - and scary title! Well, it really conveys the feeling we’re approaching an end.

*

Jon’s part:

I am proud of my boy for finally trusting everyone, except Elias. Fuck Elias, even if he’s a funny bitch. And great job, Jon, you’ve learned from your mistakes and I am happy for you.

George Icarus was Jurgen Leitner?! Holy shit, that was NOT something I expected. Welp, it looks like The Stranger has very powerful skins, this time. I am scared for the Unknowing.

*

Basira’s part:

How did you end up saving the world? No idea, girl, but I get you: I would ask myself the same, if I were you.

Is there a subtle crush for Daisy or am I reading too much into things? Sure, they’re just very close friends, but the way she talks about Daisy, how she’s a fixed point in her life… maybe it’s just an impression.

*

Melanie’s part:

As every other woman, Melanie decided to wake up and choose violence. Or go to bed and choose violence. Same thing.

She wants Elias DEAD. And I fear she will succeed, sooner or later. Maybe during this plan? Who knows?

*

Martin’s part:

“This feels like an ending, or something, like nothing can go back to normal after this”. Well, now I fear for him too. Jon won’t die - he cannot die. But Martin? What will happen to him? Last time, it was Sasha who got “eaten” by a Power…  will something similar happen to Martin too?

Oh great. Martin is going to come in contact with The Web / become a servant of it. He’s calling it all day, every day, 24/7. I wouldn’t be surprised if the spider lady pays him a visit.

“I need them to be safe. I need him to be ok.” Martin is still down bad for Jon, good to see some things never change. I ship them SO MUCH.

“Also, I get to burn some stuff so that’s cool.” See? I said Martin is a bit fucked up and I was right: he’s a pyromaniac too. And I stan him, because I also like to set stuff on fire. Sure, I do it in my fireplace not on the job, but same thing.

*

Daisy’s part:

Very long, very explicative, maybe a bit too wordy. I would’ve cut out some parts, just to keep is short and simple.

*

Tim’s part:

Tim isn’t making his statement for himself or Jon: he’s making it for The Eye. He talks directly to the evil god and has no problem showing how much he hates it.

Tim has the biggest balls ever and I am so sad he’s going to die. He’s such a badass <3

Tim wants to reconfirm he’s going to die soon, but he won’t die in a corner: he will take inspiration from the women of this series, especially Gertrude, the woman who, more than any other, woke up and chose violence. Tim will also wake up but not choose just violence: he will go for ultra-violence.

AND THE SATISFACTION WHEN HE ENDS THE STATEMENT? You can literally hear the angry smile, the bitterness. He knows this is his last statement and he couldn’t be happier.

*

And then, the last part:

That’s so powerful - and fucked up at the same time. Jon didn’t burn Gerry’s page because he wanted to keep him around as his personal dictionary. He didn’t even mean to ask him anything. He didn’t do it, just because of the knowledge inside the page. Because getting rid of the knowledge was the real problem. And when he did, he felt physical pain.

And that, of course, made me think:

Is this one of the flaws of being a servant of the Eye? You cannot destroy any kind of knowledge, because it would physically hurt you?

Martin talked about burning stuff. Is this what he’s going to do, to get rid of Elias? Burn things until the bitch is writhing in pain on the floor, pleading for Martin to stop? If that’s the case, I agree with the plan. Elias deserves to suffer a little.

_______________________________

MAG 118 - The Masquerade

HOLY SHIT I WAS RIGHT MARTIN’S PLAN WAS TO BURN STATEMENTS!

Unfortunately for him, the bastard didn’t fall on the floor, crying in pain. But at least Martin managed to deal with him in such a badass way that made me fall in love.

He’s right, why do people keep underestimating him? Don’t they know that the most feral guy is always the quiet, calm one?

Martin’s crush is so obvious, even Elias, the magic lazy bastard, knows about it.

And since Elias is magic, lazy and especially a bastard, he deals with Martin just like he did with Melanie: by hitting him in his weakest spot.

And… wow. Just wow. I should’ve imagined Martin’s background was fucked up: it’s usually the kindest, calmest, quietest people to have the most messed up situations.

In his case, it’s especially heavy: just imagine, loving and caring about your mother and got only hatred in return. Hatred, because you’re the spitting image of your abusive father.

Damn.

And you know what? This makes me appreciate Martin even more. Just think of how fucking strong this man is:

he dealt with his mother’s hatred for all of his life and yet, instead of being bitter and angry at everyone else, he decided to be a good, friendly person.

Despite knowing about his messed up family, he elaborated a plan that included Elias torturing him about said messed up family. He put himself on the line and dealt with a huge trauma, only to let everyone get on with the plan.

He endured Elias’ mental torture like a boss and managed to calm down and keep himself collected and focused.

Even though Melanie’s suggestion of killing Elias was very tempting, Martin kept his focus on the plan and didn’t let his emotions get the best of him.

Elias, you’re still my favourite bitch… but I hope you like company on top of my list, because Martin is becoming my favorite character. Sure, I love Jon and I’m proud of him like a mother. But Martin… Martin is incredible. He’s amazing, he’s a badass, he’s so strong and so kind - UUURGH.

In the meantime, the “let’s blow up the Unknowing” gang, is dealing with said Unknowing starting. And I am so SO afraid of what will happen - especially because the gang includes “trigger-happy” Daisy and “death-wish” Tim.

However, if Tim dies, because Daisy misses and shoots him, I will die laughing.

_______________________________

MAG 119 - Stranger and Stranger

Holy shit, we listened to the Unknowing! And it was… well, less trippy than I imagined, but more on the “everyone is very confused” side.

Still, it’s weirdly coherent: The Stranger is a Power based on the unknown and the stranger (ah ah), so of course its effect would include making everyone feel confused/unable to understand and taking away all clarity and knowledge from people’s minds.

And of course Nikola used the day of her victory, to diss Jon through the voices and skins of Gertrude and Leitner. Pretty basic torment, I expected something like this and I’m okay with that.

I hope someone made a fanart of this scene, because I need to see it. I need to see a lot of fanarts, once I finish this series. If my blog will turn into a photo album, you’ve been warned.

Loved how Daisy went in full “wild rage mode” and started to tear throats and kill everyone, while laughing hysterically. I already knew she was insane and radiating killing energy, so it was coherent with her character to contrast the Unknowing with blind fury.

And yes, "the hunter" is a pretty cool name.

Also, it took me a while to understand who the fuck Sarah was and then I found it out: Sarah Baldwin from MAG 28! Well, now I understand why she was peeling her own skin off and putting it on: of course she was a creepy doll too.

And then, just like the hero he is and will always be, Tim rushes in ready to kill, recognizes his old enemy (Nikola being Grimaldi is obvious and I’m pissed with myself I didn’t realize it sooner) and decides to go out with a bang.

TIM IS OUR FOREVER HERO. I love him so much and I am so sad but he’s also so badass…!

And yet, I don’t feel like it’s a shame he died. On the contrary, this is probably the best possible way for him to die. He dies by closing his arc, getting his revenge, like the great character he has always been.

_______________________________

MAG 120 - Eye Contact

What. The. Fuck.

Two seasons in which he did absolutely nothing, now Elias is making statements too. This man decided to do everything now, from showing how badass he is, to being a huge bitch. With every new episode, I fall more in love with him.

Jon’s dreams are a huge trip and I love that. I noticed all the references to previous MAGs and a lot of things I didn’t recognize, but oh boy, that was super fun. I hope some good artist made an animatic out of it, because Jon’s entire dream sequence is incredible and I would love to see it.

"All through it the shadow is above him, the shape that gazes down upon him, bloodshot and unblinking.  (...)  His only fear is that even here at the centre of the world, barrelling towards a lightless, infinite tomb, still he will be watched. Still he will watch."

So Jon goes around and looks at stuff and moves through this dream flow, all with a huge, unblinking eye above him watching everything? That’s terrifying, I adore it <3

"And at last, the Archivist looks up. At last, he looks into the eye that sees all, and knows all, and clutches at the secret terrors of your heart. The Ceaseless Watcher of all that is, and all that was; the voracious, infinite hunger the tears at his soul, invoking him to discover, to observe, to experience all, and everything, and forever. It stares into him, and it stares out of him, and he is falling into the devouring eternity of its pupil. He wants to cry out in horror, but he cannot. He. Is. Whole."

I said it the previous two times, I’ll say it again: I love how humans describe their relationship with the Powers. Fine, in this case it’s not Jon talking about it - it’s Elias describing what Jon feels in his dream. Still, it conveys very well both the terrifying power of The Eye, it confirms how it works (it truly is a Power hungry for any kind of knowledge) and it reconfirms how the avatars love the connection with their patron. The Eye terrifies Jon, he would scream and yet, it also makes him feel whole.

Beautiful, amazing, brilliant.

And, honestly, I like The Eye. It’s a voracious hunger for knowledge taken to the extreme. It’s not even a full negative, nightmarish force: the hunger for knowledge defined humans since our birth: The Eye is just an “overwhelming” version of that.

It also works pretty well with my theory of the positive god-like powers: something like The Eye can easily evolve from a horrifying force, to something that thrives on human’s push for curiosity and knowledge.

Wait, since when did Elias become Jon’s mentor? This man, who did nothing except now, suddenly decides he’s a mentor and talks like a mentor.

I love Elias, he’s so goddamn funny.

Oh, so that was Martin’s plan! See, see when I say that my man Martin is a good, kind guy? He could’ve done anything, but he chose to put Elias in jail.

Martin is too good for this world, hence why he deserves everything and to survive all this shit <3

ELIAS: I must admit I’m impressed, Martin. I knew you were all planning something, of course, but I didn’t believe you specifically would have the, ah, capacity for boldness that you displayed. Took me quite by surprise.

FINALLY! Finally, someone acknowledges Martin is bold and clever and amazing! Martin has my full support: I firmly believe that, by the end of this series, everyone will finally acknowledge how cool he is.

When I read this part, I stood up. I am not kidding. I fucking stood up and applauded Elias.

I am fucking serious.

I stood up and applauded, because even Elias himself acknowledged he’s lazy.

I said it since season one, when I was theorizing everything and suspecting everyone. I said it since his very first appearance. I made it my own meme: ah ah Elias is lazy and does nothing.

Now, Elias himself admits he’s lazy. We came full circle, people. I cannot be happier. This season finale is the best season finale that ever season final-ed.

Elias is such a boss: he accepts to go to jail with the calm and composure of a perfect Englishman. All while saying goodbye to Martin, like a friend who goes on a holiday trip for a while and says goodbye to his besties.

How can I ever hate this man? He’s fucking hilarious in everything he does, I adore him.

But Martin is a spoilsport, so he sends Elias to jail. I am sad, but I know he will come back. He must come back. I want more of Elias being a total bitch.

PETER: Oh! No, nonono, no – not in any metaphysical sense, no. He’s still very much the – how did he insist on phrasing it? – ah, yes, the “beating heart” of the Institute. But practically speaking, he can hardly fulfill his more mundane managerial duties from a jail cell.

“His managerial duties”? Which ones? Sitting on his ass all day and constantly watching everyone with his Eye powers?

And so, Peter Lukas steps in.

Now, I know I must be wary of this guy. He’s a Lukas, he’s Elias’ best pal, he has ties with The Lonely. He’s dangerous, I have no doubts about that.

But he seems such a nice guy! He’s so cheerful and nice and cute! Urgh, why is he so cute? I want to hug him, but I fear to do anything, because I feel like he will let his patron eat me if I do something he doesn’t like.

PETER: Well, if you could send Melanie and Basira up to see me, I’d like to introduce myself. After that, I’ll put through a couple of weeks of paid leave for you all – I think giving everyone some space to try and deal with the loss of Tim and Daisy might do everyone some good. [MARTIN SIGHS] Oh, and if you want to talk to a counselor, the Institute will of course cover any cost.

Oh gosh, why is he so nice and caring? I would’ve fully trusted him two seasons ago, now I am in paranoid mode and I fear what he has in store.

Also: Tim is dead and oh wow what a surprise, we already knew that. But Daisy? Daisy is dead?! Seriously?! I thought she was just trapped in the coffin! Are you telling me she died? Like this?! Are we really sure she’s dead?

I won’t trust it, until everyone confirms it. And even then, I will probably still not believe it.

Perfect, now I fear him even more. This man is dangerous. Elias is dangerous too, but he’s a funny bitch and he makes his evil aura evident to everyone.

Peter Lukas, on the other hand, acts all kind and nice and friendly. And so, it seems like he’s harmless. But deep down, who knows how fucking terrifying this guy is?

Now that I think about it, he’s a bit like Martin, isn’t he?

Oh gosh, please, don’t tell me Martin dies in season 4. Please no. Sasha died, Tim died, Martin cannot be next. Even if the whole series seems to imply that. Even if I had an old theory about how every series would end with the death of one of the main 4 characters.

I don’t care, Martin won’t die, I refuse to accept it. Because if it happens, I will have to enter the story with the sole purpose of killing Peter Lukas.

_______________________________

In conclusion

Best. Finale. Ever.

Elias has been a wonderful treat for the entire season and he became even better in the last episode. Every time he appeared, he made me smile. Everything he did, he made me giggle. I love this man and I am sure we will have more of him. This series need an evil bitch and that role is his and his only.

The other characters have been wonderful as well: Tim went out in a blaze of glory, just like he deserves. Martin had an amazing glow-up and showed, once again, how incredible he can be. Melanie went from “confused af” to potential killer. And Basira and Daisy have something going on we still have to know.

And yes, I still refuse to believe Daisy died like this, almost off-screen.

Jon has been growing… in more ways and not all of them are good. He’s more aware of the Powers, of what they’re going to do, of the challenges that are waiting for him in the future. He has a job to do: he must stop all rituals and save the world.

However, he’s also pulled towards The Eye. The more he learns about these entities and their secrets, the more he develops his supernatural powers, the more he interlaces with his evil patron.

Which of the two forces will win him over? The one who wants to save humanity or the one who wants to feel complete with The Eye? Will the first one be strong enough to help him stop all rituals (Eye’s included) or will Jon succumb to his physical need to be one with the evil god?

Once again, I fear for his life. And I fear for Martin’s life too, because they’re the only two left of the “main four”: Sasha died in season one, her replacement died in season two, Tim died in season three.

I refuse to believe Martin dies in season four and Jon in season five… even though the series seems to imply this. I refuse to believe it. They cannot die. They’re the protagonists, come on! And there’s a ton of things to do!

In conclusion, we learned stuff, but there are still many mysteries left, many more things to learn and a lot of statements to read. And there is a new shift in management, which both terrifies me and hypes me up!

Peter Lukas is right about one thing: they will surely do great things. And I can’t wait to see them.

-> Next post

(How about a coffee? ☕)

_______________________________

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[pynkhues]

Gabrielle likes Nicki more??? Oh my god wait what's the tea? Do Louis and Gabrielle not get along? I figured they did bc the fandom at large seems to think Gabrielle and Louis would team up 'against' Lestat i.e. mock him and stuff

The books (at least the ones that I've read [again, I've only read through Memnoch]) never really explore Louis and Gabrielle's relationship in any sort of meaningful way, but I think the fanon that Gabrielle and Louis would team up against Lestat is a bit nuts, honestly. They only connect at all in the books because they love Lestat.

Not only is Lestat the only character Gabrielle ever truly loves (and lives vicariously through in the books), but any grace she shows to other characters (Nicki included), is a product of that. She looks after Nicki after Lestat's turned him because she loves Lestat, and Lestat's crashing out, and her relationship with Armand is disastrous in no small part because she sees him as dangerous to her son.

Gabrielle's priority is, ultimately, herself - she's a selfish character, and personally, I love that about her - but her second priority will always be Lestat, and the idea that she would mock him with Louis is absolutely and entirely fanon. She doesn't talk much, love doesn't come easily to her, but she would and does kill for him, and he is it for her. That's her child, her surrogate self, her partway lover, she's possesive of him, and the idea that insulting him would result in common ground between her and Louis in the show 'verse now that Louis is (rightfully! excitinglly!) remaining a main character, is wild to me.

Which is to say nothing of the reverse! I mean, do you think Louis would get along with Lestat's mother, who denied him an education to the point she refused to teach him to read when she was educated herself? Who did nothing during situations of abuse with his father and brothers, who withheld her own love to ultimately both survive and control him, and, depending on how the show interprets it, potentially enter a sexual relationship with him? I don't think the show's version of Louis is that person at all, and in fact I think if Louis knows any of that, that there's a part of him who'll hate her on sight. (I love Gabrielle as a character, but she's a very complicated character! And if Louis does hate her, which I suspect he will, he'll be right for that).

Gabrielle had a relationship with Nicki when they were all still human - Nicki grew up in the Auvergne with Lestat! - which shapes a significant part of their dynamic. She doesn't have that with Louis, and honestly I think the potential for conflict there is too meaty and exciting for the show to give up, especially given if the show sticks to the books, Louis and Gabrielle are going to be stuck together trying to save Lestat in the QOTD season/s. With my writer's hat on, they're a really (really) organic source of conflict, and I'd be surprised if Rolin and Co didn't lean into that.

[madisonthetimewalker]

Got inspired by @loryn-art and decided to make some modern AU Wakfu headcanons because I always love making head canons when I see cool AU’s

1. Yugo cannot skateboard for shit. He always face-plants into the pavement (Adamai can skateboard and laughs his ass off at yugo’s misery)

2. Adamai is surprisingly good at baking, he can make a pretty good looking cake (if he try’s)

3.qilby has horrible fucking sleep schedule I cannot describe how bad it is but it is horrible.

4. Chibi is a morning person and has a decently sized ego.

5. Grougal has the best hair in the family (he gets it from his mom what do you expect?)

6. Shinonome (I cannot spell her name for the life of me oh my god) likes to live a cozy and organized life… qilby does not knowing the meaning of organized

7. Adamai works in retail and has clip on earrings (he doesn’t want to get his ear pierced again it sucked for him he hated it. I also have an example in one of my drawings!)

8. Phaeris is very very good at making sure shit doesn’t go down in the house. Mostly because he has a resting bitch face and I love it

9. Baltazar works at a daycare. He likes the job (quilby is not allowed near baltazar because of what happened in season 2, they will full on fist fight im dead ass)

10. Efrim isn’t very responsible with money (do not give him any he will spend it… and so will Nora)

11. Glip is often tired he has a pretty good sleep schedule (unlike qilby) but still often complains of being tired.

12. For mina I wanted to make her a teacher but since she was known to be basically a lawyer in Wakfu but I feel like a teacher would fit her as well.

13. Adamai doesn’t talk about his private life.. at all for that matter he keeps to himself a lot and you basically have to pester him to tell you what’s wrong.

14. Adamai has a creepy smile (this is canon.. oh my poor boy) and often times won’t smile in photos he just kinda grins and walks away.

15. Yugo has such horrible and I mean horrible taste in fashion (you can hear Adamai holding back tears in the background while Mina or Nora has to tell him to change or else he’s gonna scare their mother to death due to his shitty fashion sense.)

16. If you where to ask qilby about a specific historical event, he will tell it in such great detail it makes it seem like he was actually there.

17. The dragon bros cannot taste spicy foods (I heard somewhere since lizards are cold-blooded they can’t taste that thing that makes you taste spicy foods) so if you see grougal chowing down extreme spicy ramen don’t ask.

18. Efrim is very clumsy and often stubs his toes or accidentally hits something when he walks (everyone thinks he needs glasses but he has 20/20 vision this fucker just can’t walk straight)

19. I like to think Adamai is a bit of a nerd. In his own way of course (if you’re lucky you can catch him reading comic books in his room.. which is always locked)

20. Nora and Efrim collect random stuff they find on the ground and they have this huge stash of random shit. Nobody knows how long they have had this but god is it large

21. Glip can often be seen grading papers (I like to believe baltazar is a daycare teacher while Glip is a high school - collage teacher/professor)

22. Chibi does not know the meaning of “social cues” (and neither does yugo.)

23. Shinonome works at a flower shop (qilby doesn’t like flowers mostly because of bad allergies but he supports his sister anyway.)

25. Efrim hates having to work and I mean HATESSS it he will complain the whole time (Adamai is one step away from hitting him with a shopping cart at 100 miles an hour)

26. Yugo can’t focus for shit, but can surprisingly describe how to make a specific meal in great detail (alibert you have raised a good man.)

27. Phaeris is very good with solving puzzles and likes to do them in his free time, he says he enjoys the “thinking process”

28. Chibi is a horrible flirt if he sees a pretty lady and he wants to say hi? Immediately tripping and stumbling and accidentally embarrassing himself (grougal is laughing his ass off silently in a corner.)

29. (Can you tell I like Adamai?) he’s a pretty good babysitter although he isn’t a huge fan of it but he doesn’t mind helping people out.

30. Nora can’t roller skate while Mina is a fucking mastermind.

31. Baltazar and qilby can be seen giving the meanest fucking side eyes at family dinners (Adamai prefers to eat in his room. But once there’s drama he appears and watch’s from afar.)

32. Qilby has the worst back pain in the world.

33. For someone who can’t focus for shit yugo is an incredibly fast learner! And can learn anything in a matter of seconds (Adamai is often jealous out how quick of a learner he is.)

34. Glip doesn’t like being forced to work at such late hours but he has no choice (the curse of being a teacher)

35. Adamai often runs away from yugo when he’s at work. And yugo likes to chase him down for shits and giggles (yugo please he’s trying to do his job)

Great Lordy I have made so many! I might make some insert modern AU ones as well. Involving ecaflip and Xelor and the rest of the gods, I like to think they also live in the world of twelve but they don’t really show their faces (kinda like Greek gods? If you get what I mean)

Anyway I’m glad I got to share more headcanons! Have a great day!

[doublekanble]

dead meat

Alastor/reader (gnc)

romantic-platonic

word count: 11.1k

Or, the progress of going down and deeper. (please treat this as if theyre a bunch of drafts coupled together (they are) this read so much funnier if you keep in mind the fact alastor have genuine feelings/genuinely cares for you but he’s just batshit insane) its 13min til 2am if theres an error no theres not tw: gorish talks and imagery littered thru specifically 1, 5 and 7. alastor chased you down in 7.

1. Because you listen.

When you finally came back — frayed at the seams, run-through you with a headache and a rock in hand. You looked down, the warm wetness oozing from him and seeping into your pants quickly turn cold. You couldn’t tell what you’re looking at for a minute, adrenaline still running through you and your head ache just a tad. When you finally see the pink bits and the leaking blood, your breath runs ragged and your thought run miles. You try to remember all the warning your mother gave you about getting involved with a man like Alastor, you don’t know how you’ll tell mom she never gave you any advice or warning about this.

“God… Oh my God what did I—What—“

Not a single book warned you about the way you physically feel ill touching a body growing cold. So with guts churning and the prickling on your skins, you scrambled to throw yourself off and backing away from the body on all four. Desperately, you called out to whatever is there and beg in your head to wake you up from this nightmare of a show. And when you hit something distinctly warm and alive from behind, you call out to it, thinking it’s your mother, coming to save you from this, to tell you that it’s alright and that everyone make mistakes and this is nothing more than a bad dream. You’ll wake up from this soon, in your childhood bed, in your childhood room, in your childhood house and you’ll be anywhere else and not here.

But when the warmth embraces you, and you feel a warmer breath by your right ear, pressing a soft smile and a bliss-filled chuckle into it, it hit you that your mother would’ve hated you if she sees this. If she sees him.

“Oh, mon Chéri, I knew you’d have it in you” You hate the way the voice swallowed and a take a breath, as if mesmerized by the sight, like you but so wholly unlike you, it whispered in your ear, “What a show. What a show.”

Your eyes is focused on him, but not on him, not a person. That couldn’t be a person at all. Saliva tasting bitter, the bile rising in your throat hurts as you desperately tries and tear your eyes away from it. But enraptured by the intricacies inside his head, you only do so much before finding yourself looking closer for something you couldn’t understand.

“Don’t worry,” setting his lips on your temple, he sigh into your skin, one hand held onto yours and gently rubbing the red from your fingers onto his, as if helping you clean up, “It’s your first time, everything will be so much better once you’re used to it.”

Your eyes flickered between the thing and whatever of yourself visible to you. It’s all red, so much red. Its head, his head was caved in, you can see the front of his skull, everything else is everywhere. How could this ever get any better if it’s going to be this red? Was it going to be this red every other time too? You can feel your fingers going numb from the grip you have on that rock, you can feel the dent from where it dug into your palm, you can feel clearly the traces of well-kept nails running down your left arm from where he tries to pull you away. And every bit of it is red. And suddenly your clothes and his grip and the night air and your skin felt just a bit too tight, too suffocating. Your brain pulses and compressed against your skull. It hurts to think, it hurts way much more to speak.

“I—I don’t want to – I can’t-“

“I thought I couldn’t too, until I did it again, and then again. And then I realized that this,” raising the hand he held onto so kindly, almost like guiding your eyes to the sight. While the pain in your stomach is almost unbearable, he couldn’t sound any more ecstatic. “This, is freedom. Our freedom”

You were sure that the freedom that you’ve been yearning for wasn’t supposed to be associate with a corpse. No type of freedom will ever be going to drive someone to cracked open a skull in the middle of the night. There’s nothing but pure malice that will drive someone to bring a rock onto another man’s head and refuses to stop even when his ears bleed and he stop fighting and started begging. Your mother hated Alastor, and she never break his skull open. You hated your mother, and you never break her skull open.

You want to open your mouth and tell him to shut up. You want to say your mother was right, you shouldn’t have gotten involved with him, no matter how inviting his offer is. You shouldn’t have run off night after night chasing the daylight with him. He is a scoundrel, he is disgusting, he’s the worst type of delusional criminal there is, the most pretentious man in all of Louisiana. But you can’t, because you just maimed a good man and refused to hear his pleas. With nothing left to you, you all but break down into his arms.

“There, there~” he coos into your hair as your wailing get swallowed up by the cold night air, “I’m right here, aren’t I?” if only he’s anywhere else but here with you, mouth spewing reassurances one after the other.

(It’s alright, he’ll take care of it today. It’s ok, he’ll teach you about some other day. From now on, you’re going with him, whether liking it or not.)

2. Because you wouldn’t

“Isn’t he one of those highbrows you like to rub shoulders with?” her tone accusing and upset, you almost choked on your tea when she slapped the papers down in front of your food and walk out the living room. Even though you have an idea about what she talk about – the news came out just in time for it to be covered on the radio first, you still pick it up and scanned your eyes along.

“So I’m supposed to remember every face I came by now?” you glowered to yourself, “How do you know who I’m ‘rubbing shoulders’ with anyway?”

Over the sounds of your heart beating wildly in your ears, over the humming in your head, you hear her mumbled something about “that boy” as she starts to vacuumed the carpet. It’s a ridiculous thought, but for a brief second, you were sure she’s going to ask you about your numb fingers.

‘SON OF FAMOUS MUSICIAN, REPORTED MISSING AFTER NIGHT OUT-’

It’s so odd to you, how much he worth, yet how little people care. Name printed in bold font atop news about the fast declined of the economy and crashing stock markets a full week after he disappeared. He never told you his full name, nor does anyone around him ever make mention of it despite their occasional jeering and jokes. You didn’t bother with it at the time, you two weren’t the most talkative person in the room, let alone together.

Then again, it does make sense. He told you before that he’s not proud of what he came from or what he became, under drowsy lights and forced to sit side-by-side like all the other night. You still can’t drink, he still can’t dance while being miserably drunk, and nobody else wants to babysit a miserable drunk. You don’t get why anyone needs you to look after him, despite being so out of his head, he seems perfectly well with handling himself.

Your lift the tea cup to your dry lips and take a sip, the tea tasted bitter.

A voice loudly called for you, irritation written clear in it. You swallowed the lump in your throat and all but jump to her spot in the small hall, unwilling to let the two talks for more than necessary. Your mother stand with a huff to her posture.

“It’s him again.”

You laugh dryly, “It’s always him, mom.” tugging the receiver from her hand, you bring it up to your ears. The moment you do, a chuckle rang out. You shivers.

“There’s the lad of the hour! Why, I almost thought your mother was trying to stringed me along before shutting the line off again!” the mother in question grunt and grumble about how annoyingly persistent he is, you agree. Last time she did so, the phone kept ringing until she relented. “In any case, I hoped you’re all up and ready today!”

“We have nothing planned today.” Your reply was immediate and flat, hoping he would leave you alone, but Alastor only laughs in an almost affectionate tone.

“And I’m here to changed that!” he exclaimed, you run a hand down your face and try to keep your calm.

“Alastor, John’s missing. This is not the time.” you whispered sharply into the receiver, hoping to whatever’s true he’ll shut his trap for once. You’re not interested in getting caught by the neighbours over the phone of all thing.

“John? Now that sounds familiar…” he pauses, you can almost see the way he turn a brow up and pretends like he’s lost in thought, it’s almost endearing, “Why, isn’t that the lad I named on the radio yesterday?! What a horrible case! Some people are saying he finally throw himself onto a train and-“

“Alastor!” at the sound of your own voice scrapping in your ears, you pauses. You relax your grip and lower your voice, doing your best not to pay attention to the figure peeking out from your kitchen, “Listen, I don’t have the time to play around. Get to the point.”

“Clearly, you’ve the time for nothing, you and your mother…” sighing heavily, he dropped the act. “Fine, fine. I’ll stop kidding. We’ll talk once I get there. Be ready in twenty.”

“Wh— Alastor!“ The phone turn dead in your hand and you’re left standing in the hallway.

You stare at the receiver in shock, then, you grip it. Holding back the urge to break it open over the table it sits on, grinding your teeth, you place the receiver back. You clutched at the end of the table and count to ten, jaws aching and head spinning from anger. Even with your head hanging low, you can hear footsteps falling along the hallway. Your mother red house slippers stand in view from the side, you wondered if you can burn it and buy another pair.

“You’re going out with that creepy radio host again.” she’s standing with her hand crossed and an exasperated look, you just know it.

“Mom, please,” heaving a sigh of your own, you don’t want her to rub it in your face, even if she doesn’t know it, “Alastor’s not creepy. He’s a good man, I promise.” you have to believe he’s a good man, after everything. If you don’t, you’ll lose the rest of your mind. You prayed that she leave you alone, but she kept pressing.

“You keep saying that, but I know he’s nothing but trouble. I mean- look at you!? You looked so exhausted every day. Every time you leave with that scurf, you came back looking more lost than before!”

Turning to her, you have a retort at the tip of your tongue, you always do. But the looks on her face was nowhere near what you thought it was, so you stumbled. For a second, your vision blurs and your head spins. When it cleared up, your eyes met.

“That good for nothing man, dragging you out every night! Have he ever asked what you want before?!”

Standing like a cornered rat, you try to find your voice.

“I-“ you swallowed again, “I don’t mind it, mom. I like going out.”

Have your mother always looked this tired and worn beyond her age? It almost as if she’s been holding the world alone. She said your name, and you feel all lost again. Like a small child with bare knees stripped red and wailing for her to come and save you.

“You don’t even like parties.”

You remember how much she always scolded you when you got yourself into troubles, but your mom always patches you up while she does so. In the time frame before your home became more of a house and your front door is a front door without any sort of implications. And then it hit you just how old mom looked now. She used to be so tall compared to you, but now you’re over her slightly hunching figure, a little bit or a lot, it’s just enough to look down on her. Suddenly, the world feels too constricting and your skin feels too tight.

All this time, she wasn’t angry at all, was she? Your mom haven’t been angry for a long time now. But it doesn’t change you, it doesn’t change anything else. You closed your eyes and push a breath through your nose.

“Maybe I’ve changed, mom,” you walk past her into the living and tug on your overcoat with fingers stained red, fighting against the waver in your voice and hoping she won’t hear it, “maybe you should be happy for me.”

Alastor always take less than twenty to show up, but you didn’t know how long he was watching you for before clearing his throat. You didn’t bother to respond, only lifted your head up to make sure it wasn’t some random prude before shifting aside. He have the decency to stay silent and sit down with you on your front porch, offering a sympathetic smile at your sorry state and gently wiped away your tears with his red handkerchief when you refused to move and take it yourself. It wasn’t the first time you sit out and wait for him on the porch instead of listening to her outburst, but it was the first time you ever cry over it.

You wanted so desperately to turn back and tell her that you haven’t change, that you’re still her little kid. The same one that want to sit out the parties and the smokes and the dancing and the jazz just to spent the days working on something with her nearby, in the kitchen working on something or sleeping in the armchair, always in the old set of red house slippers. You want to show her something you make, only for her to not get a single part about it. You want to fall at her feet and begged her to tell you you’re still the same kid. You want her to go back to closing the front door and locking you away from the world again.

But you’re nothing but a rat, fresh off from a murder. You’d soon throw yourself in front a running train than to ever let mom know her child will ever do anything wrong. So you swallowed everything back, stand up, and walked away from her porch with Alastor hot on your trail, smiling all the while.

(you want to tell her you haven’t changed at all, but you know better than anyone else. you thought you know better.)

3. Loosely, you’ll fall.

The show was an utter bore, you’ve concluded. The allure of watching history made quickly died out when it pertains to dancing, something you’ve been watching people do with much more grace. It might’ve been much more interesting too, if the dull drums in your head invites itself out. But even when you step outside into open air outside the theater, it remains.

“Well, that certainly was… something.” Walking after you in a leisured pace with one hand behind his back, another going back and forth on brushing off his coat or adjusting his glasses, to anyone else, he looked completely normal. But you know him long enough. “I could’ve sworn it’s a musical show.”

Usually, it’s fairly hard to catch Alastor in a flustered state, facial or demeanour wise. You supposed years of practice couldn’t really stamp out personal discomfort. You would’ve felt bad, but you don’t have enough strength to bother.

“There is musical, alright,” you grumbled, a hand to your temple as you walk on without waiting for him, “I’d say it’s too much even.”

Obediently, silently, Alastor traces your footstep as you seethe to yourself. You were supposed to be back in bed and sleep away this headache and your free day at this hour. It’s a shame you just can’t help from talking back to your mom and chased yourself out of the house, onto the street, and right into his games.

You wish you could rub those kissing scenes into his face and mocked his offbeat timid nature and tell him to go shove it. For once, the mere thought of intimacy itself reminds you of that night and forced you to think about how Alastor always stands just a bit too close to you, always just behind you. It takes everything in you to not scratch at your wrist and tears your skin open, so you opted for patience and sympathy, no matter how much the image haunted your eyelids said otherwise.

Before you know it, the voices and the hollers and bumping shoulders traded itself for a single bell chiming, then hushed murmurs and echoing clinks of porcelains and glasses filled the space. You invited yourself to a small spot off in the corner with a lone seat and hunched over with your left hand over your face, while Alastor comes up to the counter. When he came back, he pulls another chair from the table right next to yours and all but covered you from everyone else’s sight. You stare at him in between the webs of your fingers while Alastor rest his chin in his right hand and hums all softly at you.

“You should’ve told me it’s still there, dear. I wouldn’t have bother dragging you out.” His free hand brush against yours in a gesture you can blindly guess as benign and kind. Unlike the Alastor from this morning, unlike him in the theater. Unlike Alastor from the broadcast and unlike the man holding onto you that night. You’ve seen this so many times before in so many people, it’s just make-believe for adults and you’ve already seen this in him. You thought you have, anyway, so you take your hand away from him and look at the approaching waitress. It must’ve been a trick of the light, the way his eyes grows just a bit darker. But you still think hard about what you would’ve said back then.

“I need to get out anyway, better here than there right now.” You would’ve been fine with the idea of going back in, but by the time you do, Alastor was standing in front of you, and you would rather let him think whatever he wants than to pissed him off even further somehow.

“Better with me~” When push comes to shove, he is a bitter man with a silver tongue, you’ve seen him pour drinks onto people and getting away scot-free. It’s always funny to everyone else in the group, until they’re at the direct end of his bitter temper.

Alastor have never even so much as raising his voice at you in anger, but you also thought he would never kill anyone, so you refuse to take any chances. As long as you stay cordial and don’t step past your line, Alastor won’t ever have a reason to. So long as you keep to your leash, he’ll be pleasant and let you go home soon. It leave a nasty taste on your tongue, how you know exactly what to do with him.

“Whatever you say, Alastor.” Gently nursing your headache, you sits a bit straighter. You really couldn’t tell what’s worse, the oddly plastic smell of the café, or the light from the bulbs burning your retinas. “You never told me why we’re out here in the first place.”

Clapping his hand together, he grins. “Oh, yes! Terribly sorry my dear, I figured we shouldn’t talk about it over the party line. Who knows what else is lurking, yeah?” you stay seated despite your instinct telling you to run. You know this was coming anyway, “See, we didn’t get to celebrate the other day. You got so sick, after all-”

He kept on talking, seemingly perfectly fine with you tuning him out. Even if he’s not fine with it, he can’t do anything to stop the almost freakish way statics filled your head and washes your entire body in a cold and numbing wave of sweat, electrics ran through your head while you grips your hair. And it’s almost like he knows what’s going through you, because he wiped away a drop of sweat running from your forehead with a knowing smile.

“Be careful now, if you get sick, I’ll have to take care of you.”

“As if you can take a step into my house.” As if she’s ever going to let him take a single step inside after today. But he kept that irritating look on him, if only the thought of tearing it off his face doesn’t hurt you so badly.

“Who said it’ll be at your house~”

His chuckle right after shuts you up. Right, you forgot. Of course you did. He have a lodge somewhere near a bayou. You weren’t sure whether Alastor meant it as a tease or a threat, you don’t really want to think about it. So you forced a laugh when he grows just a tad silent. Tilting his head, he looked at you with something you couldn’t tell, and like aways, he switch topics without a bat of an eye while you sat there with sweats running down your back in the middle of winter.

You reach for your cup and bring it to your lips without bothering to know what’s in it, trying to follow along while Alastor rattled off a to-do list he made without your consent for today’s hangout. A visit to a confectionary shop, a trip to the tailor, quick stop at a small dinner he discovered recently and, if there’s still time, he can take you to your book shop. As your vision blurred for a second, the bitter taste of coffee hit your tongue, and it took everything in you to bite back a swear and to hold your mask of politeness. Accidentally flitting your eyes up, you catch him smiles. But it isn’t the kind of smile friend gives to one another, it isn’t the type where two people love and care for each other. So you keep your gaze low and keep drinking the coffee he ordered, at least they do a decent enough job at taking your mind off of John.

(somehow, it felt so familiar, it wasn’t until the moment you crawl back into your warm bed after a cold dinner that it hit you. it wasn’t against your ear this time, but it was the same smile. you swallowed the acid in your throat and thought about how many people saw it just before they lay six-feet under.)

4. And when you finally fall,

John wasn’t that much of an asshole, but he lives like he’s the most wretched man in all of Louisiana. A shadow of a person, beyond that of a ghost. Alastor told you that the only reason anyone ever stuck around is because John have more money than anyone could ever understand, and as long as you can withstand the awkward silent and the sneers, you can count your worries for the night’s drinks goodbye.

Coming from a long and well-known line of gifted artist, John was set for life, even with his less-than-responsible lifestyle. His great grandfather wrote plays, his grandfather paint, his father plays the piano and John drink himself blind. He stop touching anything that even insinuate the idea of creating art on his twenty birthday. Ever since, he wanders the night, going from place to place to emptied his family’s wealth into pretty floozies and drink away his own shame.

With an eerily out of place grin, just close enough to his normal happy demeanour to count, just a bit too wide to be normal, Alastor show you off to John like an exotic pet while his friends already dash off to dance.

“Oh! And how could I forget, this one might not be able to play it, but they have a fantastic taste in music!” then, he turns to you with a friendly hand on your shoulder and a sympathetic look, “If only you ever have the means to pick it up, you’ll be the talk of the town for sure!””

“Surely.” John reply with an odd laugh and look you up and down, suddenly the idea of sitting back with him and watching the others felt just a bit too much for you. But you only brushed their comment off with a wave of your hand. Acting like you didn’t pick up on how John down his drink with just a bit more fervour and Alastor smiles breached the border of normalcy before he pats your back gently, as if encouraging a shy dog to socialize, before inviting himself out and leaving you alone with a man you’re not sure was all there.

You tell yourself you just won’t go with Alastor to his night parties next time, but you pick up the phone every time. And every night you have to sit right by John’s side in complete silent when everyone spreads across the bar.

At first, it was somewhat scary and unpleasant. Then, it was awkward and uncomfortable. Every time you sit right next to him, he would scoff and chuff at you under his breath. Refusing to ever talk or look at you. Unless it was time to leave, John will never do anything more than call for a drink and then sip on it until he needs another one. Every time Alastor came to check up on you, he would smile at you sweetly and make a jab or two at John. You figured by now it’s a show of sort to him, but sometimes you still make a small effort to shut Alastor up and direct him back to whatever he was doing before. It became your new normal for half a year at least.

And then one night, completely worn out and tired with the day and the loud jazz inside a loud room with lousy lights and lousy companion, you stand up without a word to anyone and went out the back door. Outside in the cold air of October, you huddled by a wall inside the back-alley and pulled your knees to your chest. Staring at your hands, you can only sigh and ruffled your hair, digging the palm of your hand into the base of your skulls and wishing you can break it open.

“If you’re so tired, then why not haul yourself back home?”

Jumping up with a yelp, you clutched at your heart, completely missing the door creaking open the first time. You forgot how John even sounded like for a minute, voice low and gruff, completely contrasting everyone else in the group.

“…” halfway peeking through the door and staring impassively, you wondered why he even bother when he seems so done with you. Words right on the tip of your tongue, you him a passing glance, debating whether this worth an excuse out of your pocket. He cut you off before you even begin to open your mouth.

“What? You’re deaf now?” John shouldered the door and step outside fully, standing in front of you.

“…And if I am?” You frown, this feels too much like being scolded. At least his voice is kinder to your ears . “Better off if you are.” He chuckled, “…So?” You would be upset, but you’re too tired and he’s not leaving you alone, so you shrugs your shoulder apathetically.

“Horrible day at work, fight with my mom, then got dragged out here again.”

“Heh, figured.” You glare up at him, he raises his hands up in defence, whiskey with a single ice cube in its glass clinking as he does so, “You seems miserable whenever the lot isn’t around to see.”

You want to spat at him, what would he know about you? But you know he’s right. It really does feel miserable, going all the way out here just to sit and having nothing to do. So you dropped your head into your palm and groan.

“Ugh-…Is it that obvious?”

He cackle, you take it as a yes and sink your head a bit lower at the sound.

“Why not just—not come?” taking a sip from his whiskey, he sat next to you without invitation, “You can just say no to him, y’know.”

“As if I haven’t tried.” You grumbled, but stop when he raised a brow at you, motion for you to keep on. A bit clueless, you shrugs again, “What? You know him for longer than me. You should know that.”

John looks at you as if you’re stupid, and you’re beginning to think you are. Pointing a finger at you, he asked you about your job. Then with a nod, he stated outright.

“But you don’t do anything for him.”

You sputtered, the irony of a drunkard basically calling you useless and being right about it doesn’t escape you at all.

“What does that have to do with anything? He’s a persistent guy, that’s it.”

“That bastard doesn’t bother hanging around anything that isn’t useful. He’s not that type of guy.”

“Then what type of guy is he?” you ask. He looks at you, licked the top row of his teeth, then heave a heavy sigh.

Dowing the rest of his whiskey, John stand up and offers you a hand. You hesitate before slowly taking hold of it and nearly fell over when he pulled you up. He mumbled a half-hearted sorry with a look.

“Not whatever you’re thinking of him, that’s for sure,” he drag you inside by the shoulder, snickering when you try to keep up and failing miserably before slowing down for you, “Now common, I need another drink.”

It’s all John ever told you about Alastor, it’s all you ever need, but you never listen.

-

John didn’t change fully after that night, but he still change somewhat. The John that was so drained and empty was still there, but he sits up a bit straighter, as if managed to confirmed whatever else he have in his head. For three months, you two never talked about what happened in the back alley, nor do you talk at all. He still down enough drink to kill an elephant and lost his balance to the point someone needs to take him home. But he nodded his head whenever he’s not tipsy enough that the ceiling spins like a globe and you catches eyes, and sitting beside him felt a bit less draining and off-putting.

You told Alastor about it later, the conversation you two have in the back alley, because of course you do, telling everything to your good friend. Alastor would then look over whenever John’s acting friendlier to you, because of course he does, and joked about it. You saved him five years of his life, he laugh. You laugh along because his tone seems just a bit off. You sometimes think about who Alastor is, whenever you have a moment to sit back and contemplates everything between you two. But not for long, because like clockwork, Alastor would pull you away to do whatever he wants for the day, and like always, you would follow along with little to no complains.

Sometime before John went “missing”, you break the thinning layer of ice between you two and tell him out of the blue that you never actually touch an instrument in your life, but you wished you have the chance to. You thought he would’ve laugh at you, but he sat through your recount of younger you being enthralled by a street musician, seeing it as a form of liberty you can only hope to capture through any other art you made. He asked why, you said there was no space in your life for making music. Not then, not now. He asked if it’s ever a regret, you stay silent.

You asked him to play you something, he huff a laugh behind his glass, but shut up when you didn’t laugh along. A false police alarm got the place empty enough for your group early that night, and the owner was desperate enough for extra cash, enough for him to mousey up and play a song you remember by heart. He played really well, you told him. His playing is the bare minimum, it lacks the souls his father have, he sneers at you. He doesn’t need to have a soul in it, just get used to being mediocre while having fun instead, you reply, leaning against the piano and staring at the group chatting away from you two. He didn’t bother with a counter, but he kept playing, this time it’s a melody you’ve never heard before. You saw Alastor turning his head to you two, but you pay him no mind and turn back to John. He looked so calm playing something like this.

John trips over his fingers and curses a lot, you tell him to keep playing. Until the song’s finished and you left standing in silence for just a bit, waiting for the other to say something. Turning the word over in your mouth, you’re a bit speechless, like you’re face-to-face with a kindred soul. But there’s no real comfort in telling a drowning man he can breathe, so you say his melody felt like home.

Worn beyond his age and exhausted in a way that’s so out of place for someone who have the world in his hand, his smile was genuine, facing towards you, like an old friend and a warm meal. The bar dives and the social circles Alastor loved pulling you along have always made you feel so out of place. Their grin’s too perfect and their voices too pleasant, all with an oddly rotten attitude. It’s like watching a picture show, it’s not how people genuinely act, it’s the semblance of one.

Maybe that’s why you and John never got along too well, he was too busy hiding his face behind glasses of gin and whiskeys, you’re too busy hiding in Alastor shadows. But you both never play along, and you both never faced each other fully before that night. You hope John never have that realization, the fact you’ve never faced him at all.

Then before you knew it, his face to the ground, all red, turned from you. That’s all you knew about John Holloway, that’s all he ever get to tells you.

(deep inside, you want to say that it wasn’t your fault. but the difference between getting swept along with life and standing in a back alley with blood on your hands is that somewhere in your empty head, you did register his scream. there’s a reason you can’t see his face and there’s a reason the rock was in your red hand, sitting in your red palm.)

5. so far down, you won’t know the way home

The forest floor was red, by the time you realized it.

It wasn’t by your hand, but it’s enough for you to step back and breathe. It always so odd to you, just how easy it really is to see in the dark, even when the moon hides away behind strips of clouds. In the dark, at the dead of night, your eyes should’ve been blind to the red that’s bleeding all over, but it never does. It took you a second to remember what you’re supposed to be looking at, and you turn the light towards the main figure, standing so proudly in the middle of this. In through nose, out the mouth. Don’t focus on the thing below, look at him and smile. He smiles back, genuine joy stiches itself on every corner of his face. If only this flashlight is weaker.

“Sorry darlin’. This one have more fight in him than I thought he would,” he strides towards you, the familiar metallic stench overwhelms your senses when his red hand came up to tuck a strand of loose hair behind your ear, “Good thing we got it done before he find his way out, huh?”

Good thing he got it done at all, you thought. You can only bother to hide your exhaustion with a mute nod and a grim grin. Knowing exactly how this will plays out again, you remind yourself to be ready. Alastor laughs and pat your cheek affectionately before pulling you by your hand towards the corpse quickly growing cold amongst the grass. As he does, you try to ignore the echoing in your eardrums.

It was gut wrenching at first. The panting, the gasping, frantic steps that echoes through the empty woods, devoid of bird calls, devoid of life. Just a hound, chasing its prey, and a vulture perched on a tree waiting, watching. The choked exhale when they fall, eventually tired out and tripped over themselves or getting a bullet to the thigh. The way they all looked so confused, then they bargain, then they get mad and calls him every name under the sun before shutting up and look at him in the eye. You weren’t sure just how he looked to them, but perversely, you’re glad you never get to see it.

They scream and yell and beg for someone to please come and save them until they can’t anymore, but it felt like they never stop at all.

“Come here.”

He sits you down by the body, open and ready, still holding onto your wrist while you fight every bone in your body to keep your hand still and keep your foot nailed down. His face, flushed with excitement and sweat running down his forehead as he rattled on about how soon, you’ll have enough guts to do this with him instead of only ever following after and picking up the scraps.

“Remember that feeling? Remember the rush?” lifting your clenching fist up to his lips, he smiles and chases your gaze, you stare back, “Etch it into your brain, don’t ever forget it.”

With that, he plunges your fist into the open cavern of flesh and red and it feels so incredibly blasphemous and wrong. While Alastor knitted his fingers atop yours and guide your hand through the process, you feel your senses grows fuzzy around the edge. Half of you wish that headache didn’t die after the 3rd time, at least then you have something else to focus on other than the sopping wet red mush slipping in and out between your frozen fingers. The idea that someone’s inside would immediately cool off after their death is a farce to you, their warmth still so tangible and so fragile it takes everything in you to stop the burning acid from bursting in your throat. He told you on your fifth time that if you vomit on the body, he’ll have you cleaning it with him, sounding just a tad bit considerate, as if the idea of forcing you into doing something you dislike hurts him.

It's almost too much to think about, how you’re becoming something so different, something that’s just enough to his liking, to the point where all you have left are instincts and the alarms in your head. It felt like years ago when your weekdays are filled with nothing but sitting inside your cozy home and looking out the window, hoping one day you’ll be able to experience that high life and being cared for by someone who love you with everything they have, even if it’s the worst experience of your life. It’s almost like decades ago when your thoughtcrimes are no more than passerby on a long day and your smile is a sham but it’s ok because everyone bought into it and you do too. Now you spent your days looking behind your shoulders for excuses while pinprick runs up your neck, waiting for the day you’ll be buried with the people he hate.

You hope when, not if, you do have to, you’ll manage to come up with an excuse to mom for the body in that alley way. You clenched your fist, only the red squelching and spongy inside of a man you barely know respond.

(the hound stare up at the vulture and leave with a red maw, it watches the vulture from the shadow of the trees. the vulture learned to ignore the hound and feast away at leftovers.)

6. I hope you’ll call out for my name.

Unconsciously, you tap your index finger to a rhythm a man showed you some years ago. One you called beautiful, and one that made him smile. Like always, your weary and sunken eye catches red painting your left hand, but you only sigh and return to penning out your letter. A ringing echoes throughout your bleak and empty house, but no voice call out for you. There’s no point in picking up, you simply let the call die on its own. If it’s him, he’ll crawl his way to the front door with or without that call either way.

When the noise abruptly ended and didn’t pick up again, you put down your pen and hold the letter in hands that never lost its stain. Staring down at the words you’ve painstakingly poured over since her funeral, you crumbled the page and held your head. Over and over again, you write and write, hoping that some way, somehow, something can change.

But like always, nothing is enough, so you throw the paper into the small bin next to your seat, holding back the urge to throw everything else on the table with it too; your mom raise a murderer, not an ill-manner rodent. There’s no longer a point in lamenting things that can never be change in your lifetime. You can do this tomorrow, or the next day, or the day next to that, you’re considering how to go out still. As long as he’s not here, that is. You check the clock, eleven and a half, you have around fifteen minutes before he’s here.

Alastor was always suffocating, you thought, dragging yourself to a wardrobe that haven’t felt familiar for more than half a year now. Nosy and meddlesome, it’s something you picked up on even when you were a doe-eye little rat running across the night without realizing you were walking with a hunting hound, but you always thought it was simply how Alastor cares about people. Your mom was right, you were so naïve about him, thinking he can care for anyone else aside from his mother and himself.

He was always suffocating, but ever since the funeral, he all but latch onto you.

The pure black outfit he gave you was something you would wear to mom’s funeral. But coming from him, it makes you feel like a stranger was staring back from the mirror’s view, out of your own skin. So you boxed it and hid it under the sofa after the whole thing.

And of course, Alastor knows this. So whenever he browse through your wardrobe on his own accord, he would always make sure to make a comment about how these plain and boring clothes never look right on you with a good-nature smile. You no longer have the mind to bother with a reply, so you let him do whatever he wants. As long as he get his digs in, you get your peace of mind. The things in here means the world to you, but what use is there to defend something you’ll soon have no use for.

Clicking your tongue, you pulled out something that looks decent for the street and locked the door to your room. You fixed your clothes until it fits right on you and sat on your bed, wondering if you should just stay inside and make him take some couple extra steps. But decidedly, being in your own room with him will always be so much more unnerving of an experience rather than just letting him shuffling through your stuff on his own. So, the door to your room open with a click, and you step out into long familiar but distant hallways. You wish you can unlearn the concept of loving something that isn’t tangible anymore. It’ll make the hallways a bit brighter.

Like usual, you peek into the empty, almost sterile kitchen and walk up to her armchair. After confirming that you’re alone today also, you found yourself back on the sofa with nothing else to do, simply waiting for Alastor. Checking the time again, it’s exactly mid-day now, so his mother must’ve needed help with something, you’ll have to wait for a bit. Gulping down the uncomfortable heavy weight that settled over your heart since a year and a half ago, refusing to ever die, you lie down and close your eyes.

A year, a half, two week and three days, it’s really a wonder how you work. Maybe that’s what Alastor sees in you, a walking list of contradictions, or maybe this is how everyone works, and you were just cruelly kept out of the loop. Even though you never bother to consider her in your own life, ever since a year and a half ago, you wake up staring at the ceiling with bleary eyes wondering what’s she’s doing every day and why you can’t hear her. Then, remembering that she won’t be doing anything from now on, you get up and make yourself breakfast. Sometimes you would still hear someone calling for you, along with the constant ringing from the phone, but then one day, you forgot how she sounded like, so you starts to ignore the calls.

The day you realized you can no longer hear her voice, calling out to you from the door to your house, you’d tried to trace her footstep by opening her cookbook and making the dish she love. One moment, you were staring down into the pages, the next, you’re seated at the counter, surrounded by Alastor’s companions. You’d call for a  whiskey. Everyone find it absolutely hilarious and jokes about your new life while you held the glass in your hand and stare down into the amber-colour liquid. Just as Alastor laugh and reach out for your hand to take it away, talking about how you simply won’t be able to handle the aftermath, you knock your head back and the glass ran clear in one gulp. His friends all cheered for you and shoving another glass into your hand, assuring you’ll get used to this soon, but you don’t know how much you can trust them.

Quite frankly, the whiskey was beyond repulsive. As if you just swallowed flaming charcoal, your throat burns so badly, it’s stopping you from forming a single coherent sentence. You can’t stop yourself from tearing up over it, either, vision blurred and unsteady while a beginning of a headache started creeping up on you, so you down whatever’s in your hand again in the hope of becoming familiar with it fast enough to never have to think twice about it. Before a pretty dame in the group can pass you a third drink, you were hauled up by the shoulder and drag out the door, Alastor hissing a goodbye to the group through his teeth.

Storming off ahead and ranting about how utterly irresponsible you are while you stumbled behind him like a fawn, Alastor would slow down and stare when he can’t hear your soft footstep anymore. You remember walking by a closed tailor shop and flopping yourself down, back against the glass window and weeping without a word. He walked back and sit next to you after a while. You know he’s waiting for you to say something on your own, but you only shrink into yourself. You don’t know what was worse in that moment, the burning in your throat, the head splitting ache slowly brewing or the fact you never know your mother favorite food. How are you supposed to grief someone you don’t know anymore?

In the midst of it all is Alastor, who seemingly lost all of his previous anger. You’ve seen a lot of him over the years, you know he sees all of you. But this is the first time you break down without a word or a reason and you wondered if he feels just as lost and confused as you are. It as if he doesn’t know what to do with you once you actually breaks in a way that doesn’t serve his vision of you, in a way he never have to fix before.

“…Tough day?” with an oddly shy tone, he nudge you from the side, “Didn’t know you’re this much of a sad drunk, honey. Guess I was right to keep you off the bottle after all.” He chuckled, then trail off when you stay silent and stare off into nothing.

It must’ve been no more than ten minutes, but it felt like years before you gave up and open your mouth, voice breaking and quiet. “He made it look so easy.”

“He? Michael?”

He perks up the moment you speak, mouthing off the names of all his associates in hope of finding the one that raises your ire. You would’ve found him endearing if things were different, but you cut him off.

“John,” Then as if it’s not enough, as if Alastor never remembers anyone else, you try to keep your voice even while rubbing your eyes “John Holloway. He made drinking look so easy.” Even without looking, you can see his lips pulled into a taut line.

“Ah, right, John Holloway,” rolling his eyes and shuffling that much closer to you and pulling out his handkerchief, he sneers, holding your wrist still while wiping your face, “No doubt he does. If you didn’t take him out, that chump would’ve drink himself to Hell on his own.”

“At least then he gets to pick his own way out…” You huff.

“It’s been years, honey!” done with cleaning you up, he stuff the handkerchief in his left pocket, “I can’t believe you’re still hung up on him!”

With every word out of his mouth, Alastor’s fake and chipper accent gets just a bit firmer, as if finally knowing what to do. Sitting up straight and pulling his glasses off, he wiped it on his vest and ask dismissively.

“When did he die again? Was it 1928?”

“1929,” you breathe and lean your head against the glass, “Remember that musical you called innovative and new?”

“If only I can forget.” He blanch at the thought of it, you smile wistfully.

“The music was nice, it’ll be nice to watch it again.” From the corner of your eyes, you catches his. You hated how he look so content with this.

“That makes one of us…”

After that, a blanket of silence fell onto you two. With a headache in full swing, you recalled asking whether he ever remembers how they look. Chuckling, he only leans close until your nose almost touch and say that he does. You ask if he’ll ever remember you, he froze and stare into your eyes with an almost incomprehensible look. Standing up, he brushes himself from dust and give you a hand, you take it.

Before you two departed in front of a door that no longer lead to a home, he tells you in an almost too quiet voice that he hope he never have to remember you. You hate his everything in that moment. From how his stands was just a tad bit different from his usual tall and confident poised self to the way he looks so abnormal with the corner of his lips dipped down. You hate how you’ve grown fond of his smile, so you turn and closed the door with a good night.

In the morning, sounding like you just dragged yourself from hell back up, you asked him for a clipped picture from the old newspaper and leave it under your pillow. And ever since, you’ve been rewriting the same letter. To everyone that you ever have a hand on, and to John and your mom. But specifically to John and mom.

John was a good man. It’s a shame he drank too much and care too much in one night. It’s a bigger shame that you can’t keep your thoughtcrime as exactly that, a thoughtcrime. He was right, too. You never knew the man you called Alastor, you don’t think you’ll ever do and you’re happy for it. You only ever find the cowardice to take another man’s life with his help, and you’ll only ever find yourself in more trap than being free from it.

You still bought yarns and cookbooks that you think your mother would’ve love. You come back with enough groceries for two people and the kitchen table are always set for two. You check every day in the kitchen for her still. You still crept up behind the armchair just in case she’s sleeping. Her red slippers still sat patiently just in front of her door. You know she never will be there, but it’s a nice thought. And since mom won’t ever going to be there again, you’ll take a nap. Alastor can have fun dealing with half-asleep you once he’s here.

(you’re woken up by the sounds from your kitchen, the smell familiar. as if finally escaping a bad nightmare, you sprang up on your feet and peek in like a child. Alastor stood at the stove, smiling at you. for the first time in years, his smile didn’t reach his eyes.)

7. we’re going to hell together, after all.

Left, right, right, left.

The silent always puts you on edge, as if there’s something out here, biding for it’s time. If only it’s a beast you can take down with a shotgun. You try to recall the forest trail that you know is somewhere out here as shadows of trees covered you from the moon. But you know Alastor, and you know for a fact that if he wanted to, he could herd you out of New Orleans with just a couple of words and a smile. So you uselessly try to focus past the thundering in your ears, you can’t hear a trace of him anymore. So on the count of three…

Throwing yourself to the right, you almost slammed into a tree as a bullet lodge into the trunk of another just right ahead. A soft chuckle rang out from behind, you kept running. Left hand clutching your right wrist, a sob bubbling up from your aching throat, it’s between running like this and letting the hand ram itself into whatever’s there in the forest. Even if you’re blessed with the chance to get out of this alive, you’ll never have use for your right hand ever again. Bones doesn’t heal right when they sit past five days, but you’re not sure you can even hold a pen with a mangled thumb and a pinkie barely hanging on. You  lost a bit of your will at that, but the silence of the woods draws you from your thought. You want to die by your own hands.

Right, left, right.

But you know you won’t be able to. The moment you let him take you here, you already lost. Alastor knows the woods better than you. He knows hunting better than you. And you’re sure he knows he can outrun you at any time. You refuse to dwell on the meaning of it and push your left hand against a tree.

Another shot rang out, this time hurling right by your head and nicked the tip of your right ear and went into the night. You don’t know where it goes, but you staggered just a bit and nearly launch yourself forward when a small bush snatches the end of your clothes.

“Sorry honey!” his voice gets further and further away while he stand still and yell out to you with a casual tone, as casual as he can keep it, “Frayed nerves and all~” he laughs, the rest of his words intelligible, and then suddenly, the forest went silent again. You can’t afford to stop and think anything through, so you push on ahead.

When you’re stuck with only the breaking and crushing of leaves under foot and your own winded breaths filling your ears, you cursed. Your throat starch, your lungs burns. With every step you take, your visions blackened around the edge and breathing alone hurts so horribly. It’s a blessing you even lasted for this long, you never have to chase anyone like he did. You wishes you burn that letter instead of dropping it in the bin, you wish you burn that house down instead of living with a ghost you can’t see. You wish you burn him. You know something was off with him that day, Alastor couldn’t shut up to save his life ever since he gets the key to the house. But he didn’t so much as uttered a word to you while staring down at the cutting board, but you didn’t care enough to ask him. Biting back a curse when a stinging pain shot up from your ankle, you feel your head spin as a short and pained chuckle escape your dry lips, he was thinking about how he wants you dead, surely.

Left, left? Right. L-

You can’t help but cry out the moment the bullet sink into your right upper thigh and sent you down. You crashed sideway onto the forest floor and black out for just half a second when a rock dig into your left temple. Clutching at your thigh with a broken hand, your laugh sounds unfamiliar to your own ears, almost choking as it drags nails and spikes through your throat, like that of an animal, like you’re an animal. The loss of oxygen is getting to you, the irony doesn’t escape you.

While your body winds down and the pain and exhaustion settles in, you go into the most horrible aftermath you’ve ever have to endure. Your head pulsating with every beat of your heart and your limbs grew heavy and cold. Vividly, you pick up on leaves breaking and sticks crushed under heavy footstep and you abandoned all sort of dignity to scrambled and try to drag yourself away from him, fingernails dug into dirt and grass to pull your lead like body away. But another clink, another shot hit your lower torso from behind as your choke scream got swallowed up by the earth, left to clutch at your wounds with face buried into the earth and tears streaming from your eyes.

“Oh honey, why so sad?” a heel sit on your bullet wound, dancing in circle before he slowly press his whole weight onto it. Your suffocating wail isn’t enough to amused him, but he still laugh with such gentleness in his tone. “I thought this is what you want? Weren’t you writing to dear old John about leaving? Well, here it is!”

The relief he granted you last for all but half a second before he bring his foot down. Stinging, numbing pain spread through your entire body and you’re left gasping for air while he held your shoulder and set you to face him. Hunching over your shivering body with a hand on your face, he smiles. Or at least you think he is, there’s not a point trying to make out a single thing over the agonizing pain that’s making a home in your body. You wanted so badly to just black out and die right here, you pretty sure you did black out at some point, but Alastor slap your cheek lightly and calls your name with almost a whine to his tone. The warmth from his hand stand out amongst the incomprehensible burning of your flesh and the blood rushing through your head, why are you here again?

“Oh come on, don’t leave me hanging like this. You know I hate it when you ignore me.”

You’re not, you want to scream. If there’s anything you can ever say for him to get off of you and leave you alone, you would. You don’t know if it’s the blood lost or the pain getting to you, but your already waning visions of him blurs beyond recognition while he coos at you.

“I guess it really do hurts that badly?” he laughs, “One question solves then!”

At the mention of it, your blood ran cold and the forest felt just a bit more freezing than it already was. Right, he did say something about John, didn’t he? Almost like it was yesterday, when you’re sitting alone in your room at eleven in the morning. Although barely able to remember the exact wording of every letter, you know by heart the concepts and questions in all the letters you’ve written and rephrased a thousand times and over. But the question wasn’t in that one, it was at least several drafts before it, dropped because it was too presumptuous to ask your first and closest victim such a horribly him question. All of it, sitting neatly in the bin right by your writing desk. All of it, he could’ve read in the hours it took you to wake up.

You want to stick to what’s left of you and die raising your head just a bit higher than when you live by not letting him hear a word out of you, either the fact your throat still hurts so badly just swallowing or the fact you know it’s all but useless talking now that’s keeping you. But from the corner of your eye, you saw his right, red hand gripping tightly onto something that you can’t properly make out, and then you remember the reason you never anticipated any of this occurring within your lifetime.

“Th-the letters…” you groaned, “it’s not-you-“

Right, the reason you were caught off guard by him breaking your fingers while pinning you to his car, the reason you couldn’t even begin to make head from tail when he pressed you for the name of whoever it was that makes you do this. The letters that is, for all its intended purposes, your suicide note.

“Yes, yes,” with a draws to his voice, as if he’s tired of this, “Your lovely letters, to dear old ma and John. We both know I read all about them.”

“No-“ you cough, it’s hurts just to breathe, “I wasn’t going to- tell them-“

“Oh, that. I know.”

For just a moment, you’re void of anything. All the pain and the blistering heat and the cold night air leave your body for just a second and left you with nothing at his words. You’re aware of his every movement, even through the darkness of the night. Suddenly, everything is too much, too loud.

“I thought you’re smarter than this, love.” you can’t see him properly at all, but you can’t see him smiling and it scares you,  “It never was just about the letters.”

“Then what-“

Shushing you, he leans down until your forehead nearly touched, you try to focus and find his eyes at this awkward angle but it only worsen the unbearable pounding in your head.

“This, is what you want,” he pauses, you can see the outline of his jaw shifting, like rolling words on his tongue. You want to call him a madman, but you don’t even know if this is him anymore. This isn’t the Alastor you know for years. He would’ve never talk to you without that stupid accent that’s everywhere on the radio. The Alastor you know doesn’t need to considers his words talking to anyone, always with an excuse on his sleeve. And that Alastor would never gotten so close, wouldn’t have sounded so personal. “You said you want to leave. To get to that ‘freedom’, right?”

He sounded so hurt, as if it’s him that’s being crushed under weight with bullets in him and two broken fingers, as if it’s not you writhing on the forest floor, as if he’s the one dying tonight.

“You can’t bear to live anymore, right? You can’t do this with me anymore, can you?” you’re painstakingly reminded of the fact he still have his right hand on you, casually moving it down to your neck while he raises his left. You aren’t sure why, but you still try to claw at the hand clasping gently around you. You think this happened before, but you weren’t sure where the idea came from, the loss of oxygen getting to you quicker than you thought it would. Somewhere in the back of your mind, your fingers, two broken and eight dirtied with dirt and your own blood, it lost the red that have been clinging onto you like a disease.

“Al-“ in that moment, your vision suddenly cleared, like a last-ditch attempt at life. The grip he have around you is like that of a snake, too. Coiling gently and kindly, with a thumb digging into your skin while the inners of your ears felt like bursting open.

“It’s alright, mon Chéri, I’ll help you. I always have, haven’t I?” he always have been helping you, but that was Alastor, your friend and the demon on your shoulder. Not the man that’s staring down at you with such a look and speaking to you with such tenderness and love you can’t begin to dissect.

Desperately, you stare up at the image of an unfamiliar man with voices you’ve never heard before. He smiles a smile so painful, as if losing his mind too, but you can’t tell who he is anymore. Your mom was right, John was right, you’re right, but none of it matters when you’re running out of breath and the rock in his left hand fits so well into his palm.

“I’ll come see you when I’m down there, wait for me.”

Your vision bloomed and blurred away. You stay awake for long enough to hear the first crack of skull, reverberating through your eardrums. You’d stay awake for the second hit, and the third. And you stay awake for just long enough to grow envy of John for never having to faced you that night.

(the hound leaps, sharp fangs breaking tough skin and tearing veins, the vulture, without a mind to think of god, only knows how to cries out.)