#really plays on his conviction to the cause/what he would do to see it through :3

[poisoncupids]

ONE DAY i am going to write something that delves into luke's character bc there is just So Much to unpack there. he's like the anakin skywalker of pjo i love him so much

[lightseoul]

ooooo could u do 30?? love ur writing sm!! ur an inspiration!!

yes, i can! and thank you so much <3 this one was a bit of a doozy to write, since i really tried to take the unexpected route. enjoy!

(this is lightseoul's 2k milestone event ft. bakugou katsuki! to play, view the numbered list of prompts here, then simply send an ask with your chosen number and i'll whip something up!)

30. "WE SHARE THE SAME NAME!" (1.4k)

he was in the middle of opening the mysterious package—cautious as ever, of course, lest it be a bomb threat sent to the #2 pro-hero dynamight—when he hears the barrage of knocks echo from the door.

he’s not used to visitors showing up unannounced to his home, what with privacy being one of his most deeply held values, especially now that he’s a top-ranking hero in his early 30s.

but it’s not the prospect of having to deal with an intruder that sends his heart racing and his stomach churning with equal parts dread and excitement.

he can easily deal with a non-savory—no doubt about it.

but the person who’s responsible for the all-too-familiar three consecutive, not too heavy but not too light-handed rapping on his door?

not so much.

despite himself, he crosses the distance between him and the entrance in just a matter of few strides, and he takes a deep breath as he steels himself for what’s about to greet him at the other side.

he doesn’t even bother to look through the peep hole, opting to grab the knob and turn it with conviction.

and sure enough, there you are in your—no, his—front porch, decked out in your casual clothes with no makeup on, looking like you just hurriedly dressed yourself to run to his place in a fit of urgency.

it’s that thought that causes his face to morph into worry, even though a million other things are racing in his head, like how long it’s been since you two were alone together, or how fucking pretty you look despite looking so bare and winded.

he gives you another once over, eyebrows further furrowing in confusion, because why the hell would you go out of your way to see him amidst everything? “what’s wrong?”

“nothing,” you start, “it’s just—well, of course it’s not nothing. i wouldn’t bother you if i absolutely had no business to—”

bakugou feels himself frown at your words, but you don’t stop.

“—but i think my package got sent… here…”

you trail off, gaze shifting from him to the cardboard box he was just trying to pry open with his bare hands a few minutes before you unceremoniously arrived at his doorstep, and the second you land on it, your eyes widen, and before he knows it, you’re toeing off your shoes and barging past him and into the living room.

you reach for the package that has been sitting on the kitchen island this entire time, clutching it to your chest and turning to face him, looking absolutely horrified. “you opened it?”

bakugou stammers for a beat, not knowing what to say, before finally settling with: “what else was i supposed to do? we share the same name!”

that must’ve been the wrong thing to say, because your face falls, and for a millisecond he thinks he shouldn’t have went there, but just as quickly you school your face into a neutral expression, before heaving a deep sigh.

“they got my address fucking wrong again.”

neither of you say anything for a while after that, the both of you just standing there in tense silence.

because in bakugou’s case, what the fuck is he supposed to say to that?

that he thinks the universe is telling you two something? that the delivery men can’t even move the fuck on so why should he? that, after all this time, you two do still share the same name, and that it should stay that way—the bakugous—and not separated by a fucking ‘versus’ in the middle?

but he doesn’t say any of these, opting to stare at you instead as you fumbled with the package.

you’re being extra careful with it, he notes, your body angled slightly away from him, perhaps purposely obscuring his view of the parcel.

but then your hands slip and you yelp; down goes the box onto the pristine, hardwood floor, and out tumbles the contents so important that you raced all the way here to what used to be your shared home.

and when he sees it, everything suddenly makes sense.

because sprawled over the ground are what looks to be at least three matching sets of revealing underwear.

before he can even react, though, you swiftly crouch down and stuff the lingerie back into their container.

“they’re not mine—it’s my friend’s.” you then abruptly stand up, awkwardly smoothing back your hair, “she had it sent to my place to save on delivery.”

bakugou doesn’t know how he manages, but he hears himself reply in a surprisingly steady voice. “you don’t have to explain yourself.”

“well, i want to,” you toss back without missing a beat, and he legitimately feels a seed of hope and relief being planted in the pit of his stomach.

because, sure, your reason for filing a divorce against him might be something he can never wrap his fucking head around, but he knows you’re coming from a place of immense love for him.

always, always coming from a place of love.

immense love that he knows hasn’t died out despite your insistent efforts to pull away and keep him at arm’s length.

still, he must’ve been looking pained, because your face softens the way it always did when you were about to soothe him. “i don’t want you to misunderstand, katsuki.”

he doesn’t get the chance to respond to you saying his first name again after what has felt like ages, though, because you reach for the undergarments again before dangling them in the air for him to look at.

“see?” you wiggle them for further emphasis, cringing at the fabric. “you’d catch me dead before you see me in these.”

and he agrees, that type of style was never your cup of tea, and he knows that better than anyone else.

but the way you just said that?

“don’t fucking joke about you being dead.”

“i was just kidding,” you retort defensively, the playful expression that was just etched on your features now long gone. you drop your hand to your side, and you heave such a heavy sigh it wracks your entire body.

you’re exhausted, but so is he.

who wouldn’t be, fighting for a marriage where your spouse is your motherfucking opponent?

bakugou clenches his eyes closed for a second, before opening them and fixing his gaze onto you. you must’ve felt his piercing stare, because your own, timid gaze drifts to him.

and he knows it’s stupid for him to ask, but he just can’t help it—not when you’re looking oh so vulnerable in the kitchen where you’ve cooked a thousand meals together, watching him with palpable longing.

“…are we still doing this?”

this being divorce by litigation—something he never would’ve imagined would be part of his future.

imminent death, life-threatening injuries, global destruction, maybe.

but not this.

and when you nod, he curses himself for even asking in the first place, because no matter how many times you’ve gone over this, the scalding pain that stabs his chest doesn’t get any less excruciating.

“i’m not gonna get any better, kats,” you add on, voice small. “i’m way beyond recovery.”

“and so naturally you have to divorce me?” he snaps, although he instantly regrets it.

you purse your lips into a thin line like you always did when you willed yourself not to cry. “i’m just trying to give you a second chance at love while you still have the time.”

bakugou’s about to spit something along the lines of why you’re talking like you’re already dead but he bites his tongue just in time.

he already knows what your answer is going to be.

so, instead, he shakes his head, muttering to himself. “…whatever the fuck happened to in sickness and in health?”

if you heard him, though, you don’t make it obvious. instead, you gingerly gather your things and start heading for the door.

his eyes only follow your movement as you put on your sneakers, and as you straighten up, he has to fight the lump in his throat at the sight of you leaving.

something that you’ve been doing a lot these days.

“‘m sorry again for the hassle,” you speak up, sheepishly gesturing to the parcel in tow.

he shakes his head. “‘s nothing.”

only it isn’t just nothing.

because at this point, every excuse for him to get to see you is everything.

[zo3mess]

Bitter-sweet

Summary: Officers from other towns were reassigned to help the understaffed police force in Evergreen after the butterfly massacre. The good old game of cat and mouse begins with Vigilante continuing his shenanigans and one police officer determined to catch him. Except it is not entirely clear who is chasing whom.

Warnings: 18+, smut, fingering, p in v, unprotected sex (don’t be stupid and use protection guys), blood play, gun play (but not really) enemies to enemies with benefits type of relationship, violence, dead bodies, alcohol consumption, foul language. Female reader and no use of Y/N.

Word count: 5.4k (my hand slipped, I’m sorry) 

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Extra songs for this fic

Masterlist of my works

Note: I realized I missed writing so much since I don’t write essays in school anymore and I got quite a positive reaction on my last work Laundry girl (I love you guys fr). This time I tried something different? I feel like this is messier than the last one, lousy idea, but you know how it is. Also I have never written smut before, so get ready for some weird shit. English is not my first language, I apologize for mistakes, especially with tenses. Criticism is very much welcomed! Thank you for every like, reblog and comment, it makes me all giddy whenever I get a notification <3

The Project Butterfly was a case that shocked everyone. Aliens invading Earth? Shady business with convicts led by Waller? Something that shocked you personally was the sudden disappearance of whole police precinct in Evergreen. Whole town ended up with no cops and needed help. Which was a great opportunity for you to start up.

Your dream? Gotham. City swarmed with villains. You needed to prove you’re tough enough for catching real supervillains. Where better to start than Evergreen? You agreed to relocate there to help, however your real target was Vigilante.

Some people said that what he was doing was good, catching criminals and ending their lives before they could do it again. But no one deserves to be above law and deciding fate of souls that can still reach redemption. Even if he helped saved the world from alien invasion.

So many times you saw him creeping through the streets late at night, but never managing to get close enough. After a few encounters, he realized you were specifically after him. A fan who kept a close eye on his work.

One night when you were stumbling home back from a bar, you heard weird sounds coming from an alleyway next to an abandoned store. Nothing out of the ordinary you would think, but it sounded like someone was in pain. You would be a bad cop to not help someone in need, no matter if it was past your working hours.

And since then, he started taunting you. Leaving a big V with the blood of his victims for you, quite few times even turning the signature letter into a heart.

And they say romance is dead.

With caution you walked over there, lamp lights did a shitty job illuminating the streets, but you were able to recognize a body laying on the ground. Blood was seeping from under the man who was killed by a clear headshot, judging by the injuries you were able to see.

Quiet shuffling and groaning was audible from a distance. The realization that something is very wrong came far too late. Before you could even recognize what was happening a stranger pulled you around the corner and your yelp was muffled by a gloved hand.

“Shhhh shhh. It’s just me.” Vigilante. As if that made it any better. “If I remove my hand, will you scream?”

Decisions, decisions. You were more likely to punch him in the face rather than scream, but if he just killed the guy, it wasn’t smart to start a fight with someone riding on adrenaline and someone who is far more ready to fight. You would not cause much damage in high heels, short dress and still tipsy from the bar.

Eventually you shook your head, and he removed his hand from your face. Uncomfortable silence filled the air. Should you even ask what happened?

You searched for his eyes behind the red visor, until you noticed he was staring down. Was he…

“Are you staring at my tits?’’

A gloved hand made its way to your cleavage, pressing his hand against your skin to feel it rise and fall with every shallow breath you took. Your wide eyes followed his bold move, you felt the warmth of his body and it was making you feel insane.

“Your heart is beating really fast.” A simple observation that mesmerized him. He also wasn’t completely calm, quite the opposite. Since you disrupted his hunt so abruptly.

Before you came he had been planning on drawing a nice big V on the floor for you, a greeting he sent you every time he left a corpse behind him.

All this time in Evergreen you focused on getting near to Vigilante, to catch him and serve some justice for reckless behavior, for playing God. And now he was closer than ever, even daring to touch you without a doubt in his head, it made your brain circuit.

“Not so fast on your feet now, huh?”  You had to mock him for it of course. All this time he was counting on his swiftness, it finally caught up to him.

You noticed he started to breathe faster too, his chest piece was rising with every deep inhale, and even in the low light of the street lamp you saw a dark stain on his mask. It did not take long before he rolled up the bottom half of his mask in exhaustion.

No wonder he had trouble breathing when blood was flowing from his nose onto his lips that did not look exactly intact too.  Must have been a heavy fight.

“Shut up.” Vigilante tried to wipe the blood off his face with his wrist, groaning as he did so. Simultaneously you were taking a mental note that he was in fact comfortable with showing you the bottom half of his face. What was in your head an investigation of a target, he saw as blunt staring.

For a moment you two kept ogling each other. You took interest in the little human part he showed you, bloody puffy lips, clean-shaven jaw and few moles on his cheeks all felt surreal after all this time you saw him as a simple masked head with a red visor.

Vigilante on the other had studied your eyes, how bright they suddenly looked, how they gazed at him with curiosity and most importantly how they kept flicking to his lips. He was no genius but a voice inside his head told him there was a tad more to this.

Something about stopping the alien invasion made him bolder, more confident, most of the time he felt like king of the world. Of course, people that knew him as Adrian Chase, a dorky weirdo, had no idea he basically saved the world.

But you knew and he loved it.

He suddenly pressed his lips against yours, releasing a low painful groan when your noses got smushed. Hands dropped to your waist to pull you closer and yours found their way to his chest. Finally there was an opportunity to touch the expensive suit.

You saw him as a villain, or at least desperately wanted him to be, and Adrian saw himself as hero of Evergreen.

Heroes always get the girl, right? That’s how it should go.

Vigilante pulled away before you could kiss him back. Maybe the alcohol made you much more reckless than you thought.

“You taste bitter.” He commented and licked his lips. Was it that surprising? Considering you rocked a perfect sour face every time anyone even mentioned his name.

His tongue pried its way into your mouth and brought the savory taste of blood with it. Who would have thought this psycho would be a good kisser. Conscience started flipping with guilt when you realized you enjoyed this more than running after him.

“I’ve been drinking gin and tonic at the bar.” Immediately as you explained your bitter lips and his bloody ones got connected once again in a far hungrier kiss.

Regrets of tomorrow will be ringing in your ears for days. Will you be able to work with peace of mind when you’re making out in a dark alleyway with your nemesis?

Your inner voice urged you to bite his lip, to worsen his wound, make it bleed again. You wanted to get back at him for pulling you into this situation and maybe, just maybe, you enjoyed the taste of iron in your mouth.

The corners of his mouth twitched upwards before he quickly latched his mouth just under your jaw. You felt the sticky remains of blood he left with every kiss on your throat. It felt good, too good, but he you couldn’t grant him the satisfaction of you bearing throat to him. He did not deserve to feel like a predator, like he could simply latch his teeth into your weak spot.

Your tongue swiped over his lower lip, searching and then probing into his split lip. The action made him tighten the grip he had on your waist, bunching up your dress. And when you bit harshly on his lip, tugging away and releasing it with a snap, he whimpered out the most sinful noise you have heard. It got stuck in your head, what would you give to hear it one more time.

He pulled away in surprise and you got a chance to see your work, lip swelling and beautiful red appeared once again and his tongue licked the new blood that trickled down.

“You realize that I have to do something about the dead guy, no matter how much you kiss me.” You manage to find the strength to keep your voice steady in between heavy breaths.

“Or you can just leave him here, he got what he deserved,” You immediately missed his warm lips on your neck. “You could get what you deserve too, if only you weren’t so stubborn. I could take good care of you” Vigilante murmured and left his position on your neck. With a little concentration, you were able to recognize two wide eyes staring at you through a red visor, twitching between your lips to your neck, clearly admiring the claim he landed on you. Blood and spit glistening all over your throat, oh could you get any sexier in his eyes?

“I should be putting handcuffs on you and taking you out of here.” You spat back and straightened your back with hopes of appearing taller, confident.

“How do you know about those?” Blood in your veins grew colder in an instant. Then it hit you, this freak does more than laugh in your face every time you arrive at the crime scene too late, taunting you for every criminal he managed to catch before you.

“Only if they are the pink fluffy ones you keep in your top drawer.” Smug smile played on his face as he presented his wrists up to you with a dramatic sigh. Your pink handcuffs? Wouldn't it be too on the nose for a police officer to have kinky handcuffs?

He got it wrong anyway, you do not keep them in your top drawer, they’re in the third one. A stupid birthday gift can always turn out to be useful in the right situation.

“Are you stalking me?” Your voice cracked a little, it had been a long night and this just gave it a crown. Eyes glinting with surprise? Anger? Excitement? This is wrong, right? So why did your heart skip a beat at the thought of Vigilante watching you through your window?

“No?” More of a question rather than an answer. Fucking liar. “I happened to be walking around your house when you had your curtains open.” The way he said it was so slurred, he realized his mistake. Gloved hands were twitching along his sides, biting his lip in frustration of fucking up, wincing once the pain of split lip reminded him of his condition.

“Fucking unbelievable!” You pushed him away and with wobbly legs, you slithered past him. “I’m reporting this dead body to the precinct. Pack your shit and go.” You absentmindedly pointed to the dead guy bleeding on the pavement.

Meanwhile Vigilante was still standing there with eyes following your every movement as you walked over to his victim, listening to clacks of high heels. Part of him could not believe you would let him go just like that, especially after you learned of his occasional late-night visits, the other part wanted to run and save his ass, just to play this game a little bit longer.

Before he decided to listen to your order and leave, he took a last quick look at you as you tried to scrub off the dried blood he left on you while searching for your superior’s number on your phone.

 Oh, the fire you two just started will keep him awake the rest of the night, he was sure of it. Whether it was cursing the world for throwing obstacles in his life with a bottle of whiskey or succumbing to his perverse mind in the shower.

After your strange run-up with Vigilante in the alleyway everything started to tangle up more than it used to. Starting with a patchy explanation of why you suddenly found a dead guy in valley without blowing out the truth that you made out with the killer a few minutes after he shot the poor guy.

Sharp mind turned into a dull organ sitting in your head, thinking about Vigilante in the opposite way you should. If you were still in middle school, you would be probably drawing stick figures of him and you with hearts all around while simultaneously stabbing a pencil through his head. Were you truly so weak to his charm? All you needed was to clear your head, right?

Same thoughts over and over again swarmed your head, even after a long day in work. You barely dragged your feet to your small house in exhaustion. You kicked off your shoes in hallway with a sigh and went straight to the living room. All you wanted was to lay on the couch, watch some stupid chick flick and let sleep take you.

The last thing you expected though, was a large figure lounging on the couch in complete darkness. Once you switched on lights you quickly recognized the one and only Vigilante.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” You yelped sternly and swiftly pulled out your gun from a holster, wasting no time to point it at him. You were used to having everything under control, nothing could surprise you, so how did this guy manage to catch you off guard all the time, how did he manage to make your life so messy and most importantly how did he manage to break into your home?

“You’ve been slacking, I wanted to know what’s up.” Vigilante cocked his head up with absolutely no other reaction to being pointed at with a gun. You wanted to shoot him in the face just for this nonchalant gesture.

“You don’t chase after me anymore,” Another bored shrug, this time he sat up on your couch and leaned his head to the side like a confused puppy. “I missed your sour face.” The way his tone changed, from accusing to clear and soft, made you loosen the grip on your gun.

The first time Vigilante got almost caught by you got him addicted even more to the adrenaline. All this time he was getting kick from killing criminals, beating up scums that don’t respect rules. Getting drunk on the feeling of power. But the second he was cutting corners, sprinting through streets with you on his tail, unlocked a whole new world for him.

The intensity of danger, one wrong step and you would catch him, put handcuffs on him and throw him in jail. This little addiction he had was as dangerous as being addicted to any other drug. Doing anything to get another dose, this time it meant sneaking into your house and confronting you from eye to eye.

“How did you get in here?” Overreaction was audible in your question and there was no wonder. Usually secure house was suddenly intruded by the masked menace of Evergreen that basked in running away from you while laughing like a maniac. Now? He came up right to you, giving you opportunity to catch him right in act of breaking and entering.

You just kept standing there watching him walk over to you without fear, without a doubt.

“You forgot to close your bathroom window,” The tip of your gun met his chest piece when he finally stopped right in front of you. Even without the benefit of seeing his face, you knew in your bones he was smirking “It was hard to squeeze through, I’m expecting applause or something.”

A frown was all he got in retaliation, nothing more and nothing else was in place for his stunt. A sensible reaction from someone whose house just got broken into, he knew it damn well, yet it did not please him.

Vigilante freed his hands from gloves and threw them hastily on the floor beside your feet, all while staring down at you. Curiosity got the better of your conscience, finger slowly moving away from the trigger, but the gun kept being pressed against his body.

Big hands cupped your cheeks, thumbs pulling at the corners of your mouth and forcing them into a lousy smile as his reward. If you refuse to give him acknowledgment it will be taken by force. His laugh was being muffled by the fabric of the dark mask, the one that had blood all over a few weeks back.

That time you were the one under the influence of alcohol that bent your consciousness, this time you felt a whiff of alcohol in Vigilante’s breath. The thought of him having to take a shot or two to give him enough courage to actually step into your territory made you all giddy inside. Maybe the all-mighty Vigilante, the menace of Evergreen, is not as indestructible as he claimed to be.

“Just between you and me, I know you don’t want to lock me up for real-“

“But I do.” You quickly interrupted him. Don’t give in.

“No, you don’t. I can see it on your face. You’re enjoying it far too much just like I do.” Debatable. But he had a point. “I mean yeah, you are pointing a gun at me and shit, but you kissed me back that night. That means something!”

He threw his hands in the air and a cheery voice just completed his dramatic bravado. However, as much as you would like to deny it, you did in fact make out with him back in that alleyway instead of doing your job.

“Do you usually make out with police officers to shake them off your track?”

“Just with you.” His hands found their place on your waist and started to play with the belt loops. And you let him continue… What is wrong with you?

“Oh I’m flattered, how is it working out for you?” With a fake smile, you pressed the gun more into his chest.

“You tell me.” Vigilante strikes again with painful truth. Yes, you were pointing your gun at him, but he had you cornered in your living room, hands seductively rubbing your hips and you let him get away with yet another murder. Well done.

His mask got rolled up and you got a chance to admire his lips. Before you could say another snarky remark, Vigilante silenced you with an urgent kiss. It was his time to shine, to bite your lip, to shove his tongue in your mouth and tangle with yours. He gave you no time to think about anything else except him.

“You know how the saying goes: Keep your friends close and your enemies even closer.” He hastily unbuttoned your work slacks, pulling the zipper down far too hard you were afraid for a moment he got it stuck. Even though you should have been more worried about the fact you just got your pants shown down your thighs.

“You consider me an enemy?” You sighed out and focused on his warm fingertips playing with the elastic of your underwear. Touches light, like his fingers were asking for permission. The lack of protests signalized a green light he was waiting for.

“Only if you shoot me.” A toothy grin plastered his face when you pressed the barrel of your gun sternly to his chin and tilted his head up. How could you pass on that opportunity to rile him up like this.

“If it means you’ll stay close to me I just might.”  With those words his hand slipped past the hem of your panties, going straight for the kill and giving all the attention to your throbbing clit. He chuckled at your reaction, how you acted all tough and yet your body begged for his touch.

Your eyelids fluttered at the sudden contact, the precision he held in killing criminals clearly dominated other areas as well. Small and stern circles changed to slow and light flicks and back and all of it was accompanied by an intense gaze that searched for any kind of reaction.

You wonder what color his eyes are, that red visor was not flattering them in any way. Would he stare at you so shamelessly even without his mask or did it bring him a fake feeling of anonymity that pushed the boundaries of this escapade.

Vigilante bent down his head to the gun that lingered near his face. You could not believe your eyes for a second when he pressed a kiss to the tip of it before smirking. He’s practically begging for a bullet in his head with bullshit like this. He did not care he was basically being held at gunpoint.  A decision was made to hide your gun back in the holster harness, for the safety of both parties involved.

Your hands sneaked up to his neck that was bared to you, nails lightly scraping along his prominent Adam’s apple. You soon found out it made him wild, because the second you touched his neck, two fingers were recklessly shoved inside you, forcing out a loud moan out of you.

Shameful whimpers started pouring out from your lips, wetness seeping into your completely ruined underwear. You had to ground yourself against the wall since your legs started buckling under you. The feeling of submission poured over weak body, something you weren’t used to. With an abrupt yank you pulled Vigilante’s lips onto yours to give yourself just a second of control. You will allow him to take you apart with his fingers, but you will control when a how much he will kiss you.

Twisted part of your mind craved the taste of his bloody lips on your tongue again. There was no doubt he wouldn’t tolerate you biting his lip again to make him bleed like the last time. Or would he? You did not dare.

A better option was to sneak your hands to the back of his neck. A bit of hair poking out from his bunched-up mask caught your attention. Now you knew he had brown hair. Add it to his dimples, surprisingly sweet laugh, bold demeanor and an idea of a person is born, suddenly so real. Especially when he was jackhammering his thick fingers right to your G spot.

You wanted more. You needed more. Fingers tried to slip under his mask with hopes he would not notice it when you were distracting him with your tongue in his mouth. This wasn’t fair towards him at all, he was making you feel so good and you were trying to pull his mask off.

If you knew how he looked like it would not be any trouble to find him and arrest him. That’s why you came to Evergreen voluntarily after all. If all of this was just a means to an end…

But Vigilante quickly realized what were you trying to do and caught your wrist before you could continue. “Seriously?” Annoyance seeped from his voice, grip on your wrist so tight to the point it almost hurt. But your wide eyes that stared at him like deer caught in headlights made him soften his hold.

“At least buy me a dinner before you try to pull my mask off.” He laughed it off, but pulled his fingers from your pussy and you whined at the loss.

He let go off your hand and let it drop to your body. Instead he pulled his fingers from your panties and inspected the arousal coating them before bringing them to his lips. The sight alone made you sigh.

“You taste so sweet. If only you treated me so sweetly too.” Fingers popped from his mouth, covered in spit instead of your wetness. Oh, you’re fucked.

“Lose these.” You playfully tugged on his tactical belt.

“So demanding. Very sexy of you.”

The suit had quite a complicated mechanism and rather than losing his pants he just popped the button open to free his cock, hard and leaking precum. Hot and ready to go.

His gaze lingered on you as you pulled your pants and underwear down your legs. Breath got caught in his throat at the sight of your skin. A blank canvas for him to paint.

In an instant he lunged back at you, hooking hands under your knees to raise you up and making you hook your legs around his waist. Heat radiating from his body to your core was such a lovely contrast to the cold pieces of his suit that pressed against you throughout the evening.

“Are we really about to do this?” You were breathless, sandwiched between a wall and Vigilante leaning over you.

“Only if you want to.” So genuine. A man with no boundaries asking for consent, it surprised you more than it should have. “I do.”

“Baller”

Head of his cock swiped over your clit roughly. That bastard was teasing you more and more and enjoyed every second of it. His lips parted in awe, eyes were glued down to watch the pretty sight. You became something more than a police officer going after him or prey for him to take, but God forbid if he ever admitted that to you or even himself.

“I hate you.” Voice was shaking with anticipation and so was your body. A quick chaste kiss washed away the hate you felt even if it was just for a second, then he slid into you in one clean glide until your pelvises were flush against each other.

You both moaned out into each other’s open mouths. Someone would say it was just a noise of shameful lust. For you? A nasty symphony that set off something inside, the same type of addiction that controlled the man in front of you.

“If you sound so heavenly when you hate someone I’m really curious how you sound when you love someone.” He licked his lips and bucked his hips up to force another sweet mewl out.

“Go to hell” You knew it did not sound convincing and that fucker saw right through you. Because if you truly hated Vigilante so badly he wouldn’t be balls deep inside you, stretching you out with burning pleasure. With another vain chuckle, he started snapping his hips into you with urgency.

Vigilante filled you in the best and the worst way possible. Relieving the thirst your body was screaming with as well as putting a patch over the deep hole of anger and frustration he had been digging in your heart since you met him for the first time.

There was nothing gentle or graceful about what happened. Messy, desperate, vicious, and addictive is what it was.

You tightly hold onto him with arms around his neck, clinging like a koala.

If only your squad saw you like this. You have been boasting and promising how you’re gonna be the one to catch Vigilante. And here you were, it seemed he caught you more likely. Driving his cock into you in the dimness of your living room like it was his usual nightly activity.

Truth be told, he kept fucking with you all this time to make you mad, but never in a million years you would have guessed he will be fucking with you for real.

The strong grip he had on your thighs loosened with every hard thrust. Legs were slowly but surely slipping from his waist to the floor. All his power was concentrated on snapping hips and harsh kisses until nothing was left for his arms to hold you up, yet he refused to let go of you. Gnarly bruises were forming where his fingertips dug into the soft skin of your thighs, making this meeting even more bitter-sweet.

“You can be so good when you want to be,” You barely whispered it against his lips between your combined moans “You’re so good for me. Such a good boy-“

“Fuck I’m gonna cum! Fuuck!” His whine was long and high-pitched, you wanted to hear more of it, but he muffled his cries with a bite on your neck. Normally you would not allow him to bite you, there could always be an exception, and this was one of them.

Especially when he got into a sprint to the finish line, he found hidden strength to bounce you on his cock as much as this lousy position allowed him.

His pelvis was hitting your pulsating clit so gloriously, wet slaps filling your ears, moans and whimpers digging deep into your memory, there was no way you could hold on.

And you did not. Fireworks exploded behind closed eyelids, tingly heat spread from your core to the very tips of your toes, ecstasy consumed every fiber of your being.

Too busy floating on cloud nine to notice Vigilante clenching his teeth around the skin of your neck, creating another vulgar bruise. Too busy to register a loud groan he let out with one last thrust. Too busy to notice ropes of cum coating your spasming walls, filling you to the brim.

His hold no longer supported you when he leaned all his weight on you, chest rising and falling against yours with every deep breath. Being too sensitive to pull out he nestled inside you, basking in the warmth of your cunt.

“You know… You almost got me that one time. After that burglary in the liquor shop,” He murmured against your neck, pressing apologetic kisses to the spot he had bitten. “And I’ve been thinking about it tonight-”

“Where are you going with this?”

“I’m trying to tell you! Don’t interrupt me, dude.” Did he just call you ‘dude’?

“I wanted to say that I realized if I’ll keep fucking you until you can’t walk, you have no chance of catching me.” He pulled away from the crook of your neck and genuinely smiled at your dazzled face.

“Bold of you to assume I’m letting you inside my house ever again. I will remember to close that window next time.” At this point, you started to struggle to keep your head calm.

“Bold of you to assume I don’t know about the spare key in the flowerpot in front of your house.” That motherfucker. Now you have to relocate the key somewhere else.

“Sounds like a threat.”

“More like a promise.”

He pulled out and tucked himself back into his pants without a second thought. You watched with open mouth as he gathered ruined panties and pants while you leaned against the wall with weak legs. He acted so nicely, it made your heart melt. Just a little.

All of this almost made you feel bad for your intentions. You were there to throw him in front of a court and move on to the big league, but Vigilante just enjoyed your presence, your interest, albeit the wrong kind.

“Don’t pretend you hate me,” He handed you clothes and booped your nose with the tip of his pointer. With one last pretty smile, he pulled the mask over his face and made his way to your front door. “See ya later, loser!”

He just left you standing there with his cum running down your legs like it was nothing. Like he didn't just give you the best orgasm you had in a while. Oh God, What have you gotten yourself into…

[mae-gi-writes]

rile you up | lee Minho (xo kitty)

You’re Minho’s latest form of entertainment and he cannot just get enough of riling you up.

Genre: romcom, slice of life, school!au, minho is a little dick

———

“Fuck you, Minho.”

“What a ray of sunshine you are on this fine day.”

You grit your teeth together, almost grind them to nothing, and repeat the words with even more conviction, “I said fuck you.”

”Watch that tongue sunshine, might fall out if you’re not careful,” Minho’s grin just widens at the way your eyes have narrowed into slights. If looks could kill, he would’ve been shot int he head twice, revived, and shot once again. But thankfully for him, your narrow-eyed stare is nothing scarier than a cute kitten ready to take her claws out.

It’s a boring, rainy and muddy Wednesday afternoon and you really don’t want to be here, in English Lit, listening to professor Lau drone on and on about love and friendship in the verses of Lord Byron’s poems and how, if you read in-between the lines and analyze the intonations, the words, the onomatopieas, you’ll find a much deeper definition of Lord Byron’s feelings.

And Minho sitting right beside you is not making it much easier.

“You’ve got a pimple growing on your left cheek,” Minho squints at your face as you turn away, cupping your face with your hands as your eyes find the lock tick, tick, ticking at the far end of the classroom. Thirty more minutes of this torture.

“Can you just stop hyper-analyzing me like I’m some kind of lab rat?I’m really not in the mood for this right now.” You snap back.

“Woah,” Minho sighs before he shakes his head, “you really did wake up on the wrong side of the bed today.”

“And you, my friend, need to mind your own business.”

“Minho and Y/N.”

Professor Lau’s voice causes both of them to wince, physically, before looking up to see the said old man with bespectacled glasses, the book of poems in his hand and his eyebrows raised as though he expected better.

If you’re being honest, you really do enjoy Professor Lau’s classes, normally. Normally.

But not today. Today, you’re having a completely off day. You woke up late, you couldn’t sleep at all last night, and all the coffee had run out by the time you’d made it to campus. Your grades are suffering and you’re currently trying to ploughing through all the assignments without drowning.

And the worst of it all, you miss home.

You miss your mom. You miss your family, your brother with whom you would fight with at every occasion and play Mario kart with. You missed your grandma, your aunts, the food they cooked, the shared laughter, the smiles…

You’re in so deep in your thought process that you haven’t even registered that Professor Lau is telling you off until he calls for your name that brings you back to attention.

“—yes?” Your eyes flit up to Professor Lau’s and a wave of emotion suddenly takes its toll on you. You try hard to blink back the sudden burn of tears at the corner of your eyes, crawling up your throat.

“I was expecting better of your behaviour, miss Y/N,” he says, pointedly looking between you and Minho with pursed lips, “in my office after class. You’re up for cleaning duty.”

Great. That’s exactly what you need. After everything.

Fucking. Great.

———

“These pretty hands cannot clean,” these are Minho’s first words as the rest of the class files out to leave you two alone on cleaning duty and as you had predicted, there are papers all over the place, test papers and pens and pencils, “I’ve taken care of my hands all these years. I am not ruining it just to clean a classroom.”

“You are so freaking dramatic,” you roll your eyes, standing up to find the cleaning supplies that are stacked at the back of the class, in the storage closet, “let’s just get this over with and we can both move on with our lives and I won’t have to see you again for the rest of this week.”

“What’s up your arse, dude?” Minho follows you, one hand leaning on the doorframe as you start pulling out the duster, the cleaning rags and the shiny new broom that Professor Lau is currently obsessed with, “you’ve been acting really weird.”

“What?” You scoff, proceeding to hand him the broom because you know he’s never going to be the one on his hands and knees cleaning the floors, “I’m not. I’m just tired.”

“No, you’ve been acting off all week. You’re all snappy, your dark circles are so prominent you look like a walking zombie and you keep asking me to go fuck myself,” Minho rolls his eyes, “also, how do you use this?”

“Jesus chri—“ you make a move towards him, grabbing the hand holding the broom while struggling to circle his back and grabbing the other, “you keep that thing steady, then you brush the dirt from this one—“ you grip his hand and shuffle it over the floor in a sweeping motion, “until it goes into the pan. Got it?”

It's only then you realize the warmth emanating from Minho's back. If you move a little closer, you could press your cheek against him. He smells like something citrus and fresh mint and man.

Somehow, it makes goosebumps explode all over your skin. You step back abruptly, noting the heat searing through your palms where you had touched him just as he turns to face you, "you seem to be a natural at this. Why don't you do it?"

"I'm gonna take care of the floors," you're glad for the distraction that comes in the form of the rag, for there's a knot of heat in the middle of your chest and you're not quite sure how to deal with it, "let's just get this over with."

There's a long moment of silence as both of you focus on your tasks, which helps to calm down your nerves. Somehow, the sound of Minho's brush is conforting to hear.

Until he speaks up, "so you're gonna tell me what's wrong?"

"Why should I tell you, of all people?"

"Because there's nobody else around and seeing you all mopey makes me actually feel bad for you."

You wipe off the dusty corner by the teacher's desk, "Do you have any ounce of decency in you somewhere?"

"Not when you're involved," Minho snickers.

You whip around, throw the balled-up rag at him and smirk in satiafaction when it hits him square in the head, "ow--what the fuck, Y/N?!"

Glad that you managed to piss him off, you turn and continue, "oops sorry. My hand slipped."

It's not ultimately Minho's fault that you're more anxious, more easily irritated than usual. So you can't really take it out on him. But he doesn't make it any easier either.

Thankfully, the rest of the cleanup goes smoothly as butter and he parts ways with the excuse that he needs to go find his aupposed lunch date, to which you merely rolles your eyes and headed for the dining hall alone.

It doesn't normally bother you to be alone. On the contrary, you relish in those silent moments of freedom without having to hear an earful from Kitty and Q, or having Yuri complain about yet another one of her life's family miseries.

But as you find a vacant seat by the door, you can't help but suddenly feel a little small in a room full of people who seem to be right where they should be. And something in your heart constricts and clenches so hard it causes a soft sob to die at the back of your throat.

You grip your spoon a little tighter and bite down so hard on your lip that you feel the tangy taste of blood.

It feels lonely.

------

You're kind of sick.

Not physically sick.

Just sick of hearing christmas carols ringing all over campus. Sick of smelling hot chocolate in the air, sick of seeing luggages being dragged on vacation.

Sick of being here.

For an international student, returning home for Christmas was never an option. The airplane ticket is too expensive for your familt to afford, and you wouldn't ever impose that on them. But if you had to admit to that selfish part of you; you wished you were privileged enough to get to fly out at every chance you got.

Alas, that is not the kind of life that you live.

So when the doorbell rings at seven-thirty in the morning on Christmas Eve, you're more than surprised to find none other than Minho standing by your door with his hands in his pockets.

"Wh--Yeah? What do you want?" You frown upon noticing the lack of luggage behind him. Knowing Minho, he packed like a diva.

He hums and peeks inside your flat, causing you to shuffle into his peripheral vision, "what do you want Minho?"

"You're not packed."

"Wise observation, smartass."

He brushes past you and strides inside, taking his shoes off casually by the door, "why not?"

"None of your business."

He throws you an exasperated look, "you gonna keep being like this?"

"I don't know, are you gonna keep annoying the hell out of me?"

He can't help the grin that spreads over his face at that, "you're fun to mess around with."

"Well for your information, it's not fun. Not for me," you don't hesitate to walk over before grabbing onto his arm and tugging over to the door, "really. I'm fine. Now leave."

"I'm surprised you're not going home for Christmas," he continues as you're pushing him out of the door.

It stings, "why?"

"International kids usually do," he folds his arms, proceeds to lean into the open doorway and you got another whiff of his scent, "what? Daddy didn't want to pay for you this time?"

"My dad died. Two years ago."

There's surprise first, that flashes through his eyes. Then realization slowly dawns.

There’s some kind of weight in your chest. Like your heart has just broke.

"What?" You laugh but it's dry and twisted, "cat got your tongue? Too shocked to speak? Poor little Y/N, who doesn't have a father to pay off her credit card bills, right?"

"I didn't know--"

"Of course you didn't. You never asked."

"I'm--" he swallows, looks away, "—sorry."

You scoff, "don't. It's okay. I've been over it for the past two years."

It's not what he says but rather the way he looks at you that makes your insides shrivel up with dread and fear and the idea that he'll never look at you the same way ever again.

Because the thing is, no matter how much Mjnjo teases you, bullies you into oblivion, you do enjoy the attention, the banter. It's almost as if it's better than just being ignored altogether.

And amidst all his teasing and his annoying personaity, there are bite and smidges of Minho's kindness smattered in-between, flecks of tenderness that makes your heart soar, your brrath

To have such a man look down at you, pity you, makes you want to be sick.

"Y/N--" you cut him off before he can even try to make it up to you, "it's fine, Minho. Just drop it--"

"Wha--I said I was sorry, don't give me that look--"

"I said drop it!" You swerve around on him, anger bubbling from deep within your chest as blood pulses through, rushes through you, "for one goddamn second, can you just leave me alone?! I don’t need this—this constant bullying of your part! It’s tiring and it’s just so goddamn frustrating and humiliating so will you just stop?!”

The shocked silence that follows your sudden outburst is heavy. If the tension had been thick before, it’s now so hard you can barely cut it with a knife. You try to regulate your staccato breaths, try not to let your body take over your mind as you focus on breathing in, breathing out, breathing in. Breathing out. Just like that.

Calm. Like water. Like you’re a river that never stops.

“Just go, Minho,” your words are bitter. You can barely look his way, an overwhelming surge of irritation, guilt and hurt swimming through you.

Thankfully, the young man seems just as surprised as you are and leaves without even a backward glance. That’s when you finally cave in and allow your legs to crumble to your floor. Pressing your head against the door, your body instantly gives into the sadness that crumbles through you like used up tissue, soaking in all the tears that are suddenly cascading down your cheeks without restraint.

You cry yourself to sleep that night.

———

“Minho, I’m really sorry about my behaviour.”

You stare.

Your reflection stares back.

Shit. This doesn’t feel right. You close your eyes, exhale a soft breath, and open them once more only to find a set of familiar brown eyes gazing back at you.

It’s just the day after Christmas and though the majority of your friends were still off campus, you’re well aware that a certain Korean young man has decidedly stayed back because of his mother’s offshoot shooting commercial.

However, you still hadn’t gotten the guts to go back and ask him for a formal apology yet. Did you even need one when he’d been the one prodding you with a stick like he would with a nest of aggressive bees?

Oh well. You decided you’d be the bigger person and make the first move. As always.

So you look back to your reflection with renewed determination, take a deep breath before forcing the words out, “I am really sorry for my shitty behaviour, Minho, I should’ve—no,” you shake your head, start again and clasp your hands together for good measure, “I’m really sorry if I offended you in any way, I was hurt—no. God. I sound so pathetic.” You can’t help but curse at the mirror.

Inhale. Exhale. Deep breath. And you try once more, this time adding a small smile.

“I’m really sorry for everything that I said. I was being a bit insensitive and wasn’t in the right headspace—“ you break off with a frustrated snarl, “god! Why is it so hard to apologize to the dude?!”

“The dude’s standing right here.”

Shocked, you swivel around only to find none other than the said question in person leaning against your doorway, eyebrows raised and a semblance of a smirk lining his lips.

“M—Minho,” you feel like slapping yourself for sounding like a stuttering goldfish. Quickly, your hands smooth down your sweater, hiding them in the big bell sleeves as your eyes find everything — anything, to get off his face, “what—what are you doing here?”

“I was looking for you, actually.”

“Why?”

You’re still not looking, deciding that the faint crack in your dorm room is much more interesting.

Minho’s footsteps approach as he strides close, close enough that you get a whiff of his expensive cologne and restrain yourself from sighing out loud.

The bastard smells too good, you feel like crying.

“Why?” He scoffs, “isn’t it obvious?”

“Not really.”

“Alright. Fine,” you’re still not looking at him, which is why you almost jump out of your skin the moment you feel the gentlest graze of his fingertips at your jaw.

“Wha—“ you stutter, eyes flashing up to his on instinct.

Dark brown meets swirls of maroon. You almost lose your breath.

In the mid-morning light with sunshine falling over half of his face, Minho looks like he’d just walked out of some fashion magazine.

“What are you…doing?” You manage to murmur out. Barely.

It’s hard to concentrate when he’s right there, in your personal space, looking a little too dashing for his own good.

“You’re right. I was being a selfish dick to you two days ago,” his grip on your chin is firm, his dark eyes even firmer, “so I’m sorry if you took it the wrong way.”

You laugh, “wait—is Minho actually apologizing? To me?”

“Don’t get used to it.”

“But this is a legendary moment,” you fake a mocking gasp at him, “I should record this right now.”

“Don’t make me regret it, Y/N.”

Chuckling, your eyes crinkle up as you allow yourself to roam over his features, “okay okay, I’ll stop.”

Minho fidgets and doesn’t say anything back. Weird, considering that he has a comeback for everything. You feel his hand drop from your chin as he takes a step back, lips pressed together and face looking like he’s uncomfortable being here.

Do you make him uncomfortable? It’s not a sight you’re used to seeing. Something tugs at your heartstrings but you try and ignore it.

“What is it?” You ask instead.

“There is…” his eyes dart away, “something I need to tell you.”

“About?”

His hand drops. Instantly, cold swoops in.

“About me. And you.”

You squint, “Minho I swear, if this is one of your stupid jokes again—“

“I like you.”

You blink.

He gazes back. His eyes. They’re gazing straight at you. Focused. Intense. Hot.

So hot it causes a flame to burst in your chest.

Wait…your mind backtracks, what?

“You—“ your mouth opens. Closes. Opens once more, "I'm sorry--what?"

His eyes answer in his stead. Dark orbs swirling with a depth that makes your skin explode in goosebumps. You realize, all too soon, how close you are, how -- if you want -- you can diminish the space between just with one single step forward.

"I like you," he says it honestly. Somehow, you relish in the way he says it. Clear and transparent. No inside games, no beating around the bush, "maybe more than a little."

You sense a but. "And?"

He rolls his eyes, "and maybe I just don't know how to show it."

"You mean, acting like a five year old boy who bullies his crush for fun because he likes her?"

"Something like that."

"Okay," you drag out the word in hopes that it will hide the way your heart suddenly skips a beat, the way your legs feel weaker at the knees, "so what--what now?"

"Well, that's the part where you tell me you like me back--" Minho catches himself upon seeing you raise a brow at him, "--or not. Your choice, your rules, doll."

Doll? You can feel the flame bursting through your chest and squeezing your heart. It aches so much it hurts, though it seems that your smile can't help tugging at the corners of your lips as you watch him and despite his seeming nonchalance about the whole matter, there's the slightest sheen of pink that gives him away.

Cute. Your brain chants.

"Well," you tilt your chin up in what you hope is a confident manner, "you normally take a girl out to dinner first."

"Is that a yes?" Minho smirks.

"Did you hear what I said?"

"Yes, yes I heard alright. Fine," he sighs and crosses his arms over his chest, "tomorrow night. Dinner. Be ready by six. I'll pick you up."

"Tomorrow? But wait I--"

"You better be there, doll."

And with that, he swivels on his feet and walk away while whistling a soft tune, leaving your heart flooded with a tide of mixed emotions that erupt through your chest and butterflies running along your skin.

---

Minho: I'll come pick you up by six. Be ready then. Wear something cute but casual. Nothing fancy.

Y/N: i like how you're telling me how to dress up when you're the one who's supposes to be wooing me.

Minho: oh you don't have to worry about that.

The way he replies so smoothly has goosebumps running along the back of your neck and you squeeze your hands into fists. You're still sitting on your bed, trying to digest all this new information as another flurry of messages burst through your phone, probably fron Kitty's latest reaction your news.

Kitty: what?! Minho?! And you?! He asked you out?!!! Omg how did I not see this coming!!!

Y/N: i thought you were a matchmaker.

Kitty: well YEAH before he went and ruined it!!! Anyway, what are you WEARING?!

Y/N: i have absolutely no idea. He said something cute but casual, so I'm guessing there's not gonna be any fancy dinners or anything.

Kitty: omg!! Minho and casual doesn't sound right. Maybe he really is trying to woo you!!

Y/N: should I wear shorts? Pants? A skirt?

Kitty: definitely no pants. Maybe that cute skater skirt you wore to Yuri's party last semester?

So you do. The skirt's baby blue colour contrasts well with the simple white tshirt you decided to wear with it, and throwing on a beige cardigan and some white sneakers complete the look. You add a small blue bow into your hair to match, and take one last look at yourself in hopes that you're looking exactly how Minho wants you to--

No. That's the wrong way to go about it. Minho likes you. Yes. You. Not the girls he's always so uses to seeing. You don't have to impress him.

That’s how you meet him right outside your door, with your newly-found resolve as you catch the simple white tee and ripped jeans, hair styled just the way he likes it, just enough to make every woman’s heart swoon.

His eyes do a once-over, “not bad, Y/N. You clean up nice.”

“Not bad?” You scoff, “I’m sure there are much better adjectives to use.”

He grins, “we’ll see.”

Minho brings you over to the Han river by electric scooter, with you standing in front and holding on to the handlebars as he guides you across the street even though it’s technically illegal for people to do such a thing. But with the wind in your hair and Minho’s warmth at your back, you don’t find yourself complaining.

“Han river?” You raise a brow at him as he parks and pays for his e-scooter ride, “really? So cliche.”

“The Han River is a classic,” he looks at you pointedly, “and I’ll have you know, I’ve never brought anyone here before.”

“Ooh, does that mean anything?” You wriggle your brows and he scoffs, looks away, “shut up.”

You weren’t expecting him, of all people, to be a fan of romantic gestures such as this. But when he parks his scooter in favor of walking alongside you by the trail — even with his multiple complaints about the dirt being too dirty and people needing to revisit their wardrobe fashion — you can’t help but wonder how much effort he’s putting into just being with you. Because knowing Minho, walking on crushed grass and having his shoes in dirt is quite a big deal.

“Look, do you want to be swooned or not?” He replies when you ask him the question, even looks offended that you’d dared ask such a thing, “I thought girls loved it when boys brought them here.”

“Yes I know that,” your grin is so wide that you’re surprised it hasn’t broken your face in two yet, “and don’t get me wrong. I love it, but I never thought you—of all people — would bring me here, of all places. It’s just not…”

“Not what?” He scowls.

“Just not you,” you confess, and then, seeing that his frown seems to take a permanent fixture on his face, you quickly add, “so the fact that you’re doing it…thanks. It means…something. You know?”

Heat springs through your cheeks at the sudden confession and you quickly look away, anywhere, but not before glancing at Minho to see that he has a faint smile dancing across his lips.

As the evening wears on, you get to talk about everything and anything; from worries about your future and the rigorous routine of adult life, about which game box is better and which restaurant serves the best korean noodles, which Minho argues does not exist, considering that every single noodle joint in Seoul is a pro in making them.

"We're the city of noodles and gimbap, obviously there's more than one good noodle stop."

"You speak like someone who hasn't tasted Uncle Cha's food yet. You know, the snack from across the road to campus."

Minho's nose wrinkles, "nah I'm good--"

"Oh no you don't," you grab onto his arm before he has a chance to run away, "nu-uh. Let's go get them right now, actually."

Surprisingly awed by Cha's cuisine, Minho has no other choice than to grumble out a faint agreement. It's no secret that it makes your day.

"But the environment--" Minho shudders, "I think I saw a cockcroach scuttling about in there."

“Oh yeah,” you let your eyes follow the wall and trail back up to him, pointing at his face, “there’s one.”

Shoving you playfully, he pulls out his tongue in such a childish manner you can’t help but burst out laughing.

You decide to take the walk back along the Han River even if it makes a detour, stopping by a coffee shop to grab some hot chocolate. The city lights now illuminate the city like stars scraping the earth’s surface and you can’t help but feel amazed by how beautiful the scenery is, with the wind trickling through your hair and soft music from busking sessions in the background.

“I’ve never actually walked along the Han River before,” you confess to him as you gaze down at the black waters sloshing against the river edge, “thanks, Minho.”

He has the look of a satisfied five year old child who got a gold star for his best behaviour, “you’re welcome.”

“Who knew you’d be the one to bring me here?” You jostle his shoulder playfully before taking a sip of your hot chocolate.

“What’s that you’re implying?” He frowns.

“That you’ve surprised me and my expectations.”

“And that’s supposed to be a compliment?” He looks horrified and dramatic, “you’re harsh, Y/N. I’ll have you know, I haven’t—“ he stops himself just in time for you to swoop in and push, “yeah? You haven’t what?”

“Nevermind,” he sips his own drink and you notice the way his ears have turned red.

You giggle, “tell me, have you gone on dates before?”

“Wha—of course I have! What kind of question is that?!” You keep on laughing and laughing at his face, shaking your head as you try and muffle your chuckles the best you can, “oh god—oh my god, you never have. It’s written all over your face—“

“You talk too much,” he mutters into his drink and turns away from you, ears as red as a fire engine.

You nudge him, smiling, loving that side of him that he’s never really shown anyone before. Because you all know the cool, confident Minho. But this, this side of Minho is uncharted territory.

And you’re all here for it.

“Why not, though?”

His eyes narrow as he looks back at you, “what?”

“Why haven’t you brought anyone out before?’ You fidget with your cup, glad that it’s warming your hands so you can busy yourself with something, “because I’ve seen you, with different types of girls. All the time—“

“Yeah that didn’t mean anything.”

“But you still went out with them.”

“Is that jealousy I hear in your voice?”

“What?” Heat flushes through you, “no, I just—“

That’s when you feel it. His hand, fluttering up to yours. He pries your hold from your cup gently before bringing it down between you, fingers entangling with yours like they’re meant to be there in the first place.

And when your eyes flutter to lock onto his, there’s liquid warmth in those pools of brown, a tenderness you’ve seldom seen before.

“This is new too,” he murmurs then, “all of this.”

Your heart skips a beat. There are no words to be said.

You swallow thickly, look away, and don’t miss the soft chuckle that falls from his lips as he keeps swinging your hands back and forth between you, his smile a permanent fixture on his face. One that your lips mirror faintly as you keep walking back towards your dorms in comforting silence.

———

“Was that romantic enough for you?”

Minho’s question is met with a chuckle from your part as you finally reach your dormitory. A few stray students are still studying deep into the night, some already asleep on the deep blue couches in the common room as you make your way through, hands still entertained from earlier.

Your heart has been skipping and rollerblading into ecstasy ever since.

“Hmm,” you hum, even tilting your head in thought, “guess so. Though if I had any complaints—“

“You wouldn’t tell me, because there aren’t any,” Minho finishes for you, “right?”

“Oh i have plenty, but I’ll keep it for another time,” you flash him a mischievous smile. You’ve reached your corridor by that time, your words causing Minho to shoot you a suggestive look.

“another time?” He repeats with a cock of his brow.

You bite your lip and look away to avoid the fact that there’s a faint, yet growing smile on your face, “yeah. Maybe.”

The said young man’s lips pulls into a small smile, “I can work with that.” He murmurs, and something warm pools in the middle of your chest.

It’s hard to control yourself around Minho especially when he’s not being a little shit. Because the fact is; he’s very enticingly charming and likable.

“Well, that’s me,” you’ve reached your door then, glad that for once your dorm room is free of activity since both your roommates have gone home for the Christmas season, and turn towards Minho.

“Thanks you, for tonight,” your cheeks are warm with heat but you can’t resist grinning up at him, “I had more fun than expected.”

Minho sucks in a dramatic breath, “wow. I think i finally got a compliment out of your mouth.”

“Trust me, that’s me being nice.”

“I know,” he flashes a grin at you and before you know it, his arm has gone up to press against the doorway, caging you in and suddenly making you feel smaller than you are already. His body heat rolls into you in waves, the scent of his boyish cologne making you dizzy as your body leans into him unconsciously.

“So,” he breathes. He’s so close, so close that if you move just a little, your noses would brush, “since I’ve taken you out on a date, do I get to kiss you now?”

Air stills in your lungs. Your teeth find your lower lip.

“It depends,” your whisper is so soft he barely catches it, too enthralled by the way your mouth curves and moves with the words, “will you take me out again?”

“If her highness wishes,” Minho chuckles, tilting his head so that your noses brush. Electricity zaps through your body, goosebumps raising at the back of your neck, “I’ll take you wherever you want.”

Your eyes lock. There’s warmth, want. Desire swimming through his own pools of brown.

“Sounds like a promise,” you breathe, “so when will that—“

“Y/N.”

The way he says your name has a knot tightening in your stomach. Your body tenses in anticipation.

He’s gazing at you as if he’s only just seeing you. His lips are so close, you can feel his breaths on your lips. Hot against cold. He smells divine.

You’re so lost in your own daydream that you respond a few seconds late, “y-yeah?”

“Do me a favor?”

One hand cradles your cheek. You freeze.

“Hm?”

“Stop talking.”

And before you can do anything else, his mouth presses against yours.

Fireworks explode. Behind your eyelids. Through your body. Blood races and your brain goes fuzzy with want and desire as Minho’s other hand wraps around your waist to tug you in, his other hand clasping your jaw firmly as he kisses you. Once. Twice. He’s a good kisser, yet so gentle and tentative.

You’re taken by surprise for a few seconds, before you finally melt into him and kiss him back. A sigh escapes you as your hands go up to wrap around his neck, and the groan of satisfaction he lets out makes your entire nerves buzz with delight.

Tilting his head to the side to kiss you deeper, longer, you let out a gasp against his mouth as he pulls you even closer still, as if he can’t get enough of you. You haven’t realized you’re pressed to the door until your back meets the hard wood underneath and you yelp softly at the way his tongue swipes over your bottom lip to ask for entrance.

He kisses you softly, yet so firmly as if you’re the only thing keeping him alive, satiated. His hand at your hip moves up, tracing the back of your spine, the side of your rib cage before brushing against the corner of your bra and making you squirm while your hands curl into his hair. You tug, causing a grumble to echo out of Minho’s chest. His tongue darts in and you part for him like melted butter so that he can kiss you and ravage you without restraint.

Everything falls away, with only Minho being your anchor. You smell him, feel him against you, and want nothing else other than the dizzying rush that makes your stomach erupt with fireflies.

Your mouths part with a pop and he takes this chance to nip at your jaw, littering kisses down your neck before suckling on a soft patch of skin. Your body reacts instantly, curving into him as your lips part in a soft, minuscule moan. That’s enough to snap him back to attention.

He gazes up at you, chest heaving and all heavy breaths. His lips are swollen and red and just so beautiful. Hair tousled like he’s just tumbled out of bed and you quickly decide that’s the look you love best on him.

The curfew bell sounds and he curses.

“Minho,” you murmur when he leans in, noses brushing to capture your lips into his once more. You sigh, eyes falling shut as he takes your next set of words away.

It’s almost as if he’s drunk on you, as if he just can’t get enough.

The thought makes you shiver. Your heart swells with emotion.

“Minho,” you murmur once more against his lips. He groans, pulls away onto to bury his face into your neck and humming, “yeah?”

“Curfew’s in two minutes.”

“I know,” he’s pressing open-mouthed kisses over your collarbone and you can’t help but whimper and cradling his head closer to you despite trying to make sense of your thoughts.

“Y—You should go,” you stutter out but it’s almost like you’re talking to yourself. He’s clearly in his own world, suckling onto your skin and leaving purple marks to claim you as his. He pulls away, groaning appreciatively at the sight you make.

“Do I really have to go?” His dark eyes — darker than you’ve ever seen them — flickers over your features. There’s a kind of hunger to them that makes you shiver.

“Yes,” you stammer out, heart almost bursting out of your chest when the boy merely tugs you close before he rests his head atop yours. He holds you, breaths you in, and your eyes close on their own accord, taking in the moment like it’s the last.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” his whisper grazes the shell of your ear and you shiver. He pulls back and there’s the kind of crooked smile that makes your heart tighten, “goodnight, Y/N.”

“Good night, Minho,” you murmur and dropping a last kiss atop your temple, you watch him walk away, raising a salute with his hand as he does so.

———

A/N: GAHHH IDK WHAT I WROTE AND I GAVE UP AT THE END I HOPE IT’S ALRIGHT BUT ANYWAY I’VE BEEN OBSSESSED WITH MINHO THESE DAYS.

[sylusjinwoon]

{ 104 }

the price of a lie.

lies of p.

pinocchio x reader

warnings: unedited and a self indulgent mess.

{ how many lies would you tell to be human? }

truth be told, pinocchio never understood what it truly meant to be human.

his journey throughout krat was no easy task, for surrounding him were enemies who wanted nothing more than to witness his demise; automatons who held such deep contempt for him and his goals, being just as deadly as the plague that wracked through the city.

with each challenge that he faced, he was forced to play the role of a real boy, acting as though he desired nothing more than for his lies to become a reality someday. even though he knew that being human was seen as a good thing, he didn't really understand it. when asked about it, his father often told pinocchio that he was the key to saving humanity; that it was due to pinocchio being geppetto's creation that he held him in such high regard- that this was something only he could do.

but it was difficult for pinocchio. he felt as though the weight of the world had been placed on his shoulder, and he was forced to navigate through such a dark world entirely on his own while given little to no motivation. despite how he wasn't quite human yet, there seemed to be a looming weight within his chest, one that filled him with an inexplicable emotion.

the feeling was so great that he couldn't help but dwell on it, the curiosity of it all spilling over that he had to ask sophia about it.

"that emotion you are describing sounds a great deal like dread." he recalls sophia telling him one late evening when he was last seeking refuge at hotel krat. her graceful figure seemed to float along the marble floors, voice ever so gentle as her slender fingertips ran along the oakwood shelves, exploring the spines of the various books settled within it.

she hums, not quite facing him, yet pinocchio knew that she was simply deep in thought. "it is not strange for you to feel this way, after all, we are asking a lot of you at this very moment."

"however," her gentle laughter makes pinocchio finally meet her gaze, seeing her smile as she reassures him, "how you decide to move forward and continue your journey is entirely up to you. and truly, i have faith in you- we all do."

sophia stops herself from speaking further then, her gaze becoming a bit more solemn as she clasps her hands together. she steps closer to him, the skirt of her blue gown swaying back and forth with her movements when she settles herself before him. her gaze was unwavering, placing her hand on pinocchio's shoulder as she tells him:

"but it won't be easy... you must have a strong conviction in order to become what you truly desire. so, tell me..."

just how far would you go to truly be human?

pinocchio hears sophia's words echoing within him, the cogs in his mind whirring as he fought to find the right words to say. could he really tell her of how numb he felt? would she understand if he spoke to her, finally telling her that single phrase i don't know?

instead of being truthful with her, pinocchio found that he could not get the words out; the silence was deafening, and despite how no words had been spoken or exchanged, the pain in sophia's gaze said it all.

as if taking pinocchio's unspoken words as his answer, she simply nods at him before letting him go, leaving him feeling numb.

if pinocchio were to be honest with himself, the puppet simply felt... empty at the thought of being human. he felt no innate desire to become one, and only felt such desires simply because he was told to.

the lies he tells were only made to put up a façade; one that he was meant to uphold if he were to ever survive the dangers that were seen all across krat. he never had a reason, nor felt the true desire to become real-

but that all seemed to change one fateful moment, when he came into contact with a human-

when he came into contact with you.

it was raining that day, the downpour causing the cobblestone streets to become slick. puddles surrounded the city as pinocchio could feel his own clothes becoming wet from the rain. his shoes made splashes all across the roads when gemini's voice became panicked.

"whoa, b-bad news, buddy! i sense a group of rogue automatons just a few blocks away. maybe we should retreat for now? you seem unprepared, and you were only meant to be out here to do recon."

pinocchio ignores gemini's advice, simply sharpening his rapier with his legion arm as he stepped forward, eyes narrowing when he sees a figure coming towards him, seeing you running to him. he stops walking, watching as your footsteps pound against the streets as gasps escapes from your parted lips. you were dressed in a tattered shirt with torn pants, and your shoes were so worn and torn that they nearly made you slip and fall into the slick streets.

when you finally see him, you let out a sigh of relief all while reaching out to him with your hands, "p-please, you've got to help me!"

he takes note of the way your heart raced from within your chest and how wisps of smoke seemed to escape from your parted lips due to how cold it was. the constant thumpthumpthump heard from the confines of your chest intrigued pinocchio a great deal, and he was uncertain why his curiosity was so piqued by you.

"pino, this is bad, the enemies are right in front of you!"

without saying a word to you, pinocchio places you directly behind him, shielding you from the automatons. he watches the rogue puppets with thick oil escaping from their porcelain lips, staining at their skin as heavy grunts and groans were heard from them. their movements were slow, dragging their feet along the slick streets. pinocchio held no concern when it came to defeating them and shielding you from the dangers that they pose.

using the speed and grace he had developed from his past battles, he manages to take down the rogue group of automatons with ease. his rapier slices through them as he dodges their attacks with great succession. within what seemed like seconds, they all collapse in a pile of broken limbs, the rain already beginning to turn their bodies into rust.

he faces you once more, seeing you wrap your arms around your chest, your eyes wide with wonder. "t-that was amazing! and goodness, y-you are also an automaton? i truly thought you were real! simply a young man taking a stroll across krat! well, actually, that would be quite crazy, since humans like me would definitely struggle surviving here!"

pinocchio listens to you and the way you excitedly spoke to him. it was here that he learns of your name, how you were not originally from krat and had simply traveled here to learn about the city's accomplishments with automatons. you spoke highly about your dreams and how you wished to be a master engineer like geppetto.

"that is my father." pinocchio wasn't sure why he felt the need to tell you of this simple fact. something about you seemed...bright. so achingly bright that it made his chest feel this strange tightness. the fact that you were all alone in this dangerous world made pinocchio wish to help you- to shield and protect you from it.

he watches as your eyes widen in response. "you're kidding, that's amazing!"

"yup, it sure is! master geppetto is a genius, and i along with everyone else agree that pinocchio is his greatest creation!" gemini chimes in, further adding to your excitement.

"then that means-"

"you may come with me." pinocchio softly tells you without a hint of hesitation, simply holding his hand out for you to take. your features appear surprised once more before turning a bit sheepish a mere moments later. "i-i don't know. i don't wish to intrude, but...krat has become a living nightmare since the plague hit. i was a bit foolish in coming here so...so unprepared. "

"hey listen, your only hope of survival is to follow pinocchio here. if you stay out here, you're gonna be made into mincemeat for sure." gemini continues to urge you to follow pinocchio, "he can take you to geppetto. and who knows? maybe you can work as his assistant along with eugénie."

throughout it all, pinocchio never stops keeping his hand outreached for you to take. as gemini's voice slowly softens before becoming silent, he could see your eyes shining with excitement and happiness once more. with a sigh, pinocchio watches you as you step forward and call out his name for the first time. "pinocchio, right?"

he feels himself shiver a bit upon hearing the way you call out to him. giving you a simple nod, he extends his hand out even more to you, to which you finally take. the warmth that came from the palm of your hand was what pinocchio initially feels, his fingertips lightly grazing against your wrist as he felt the pulse along with the warmth that radiated off of it.

there was a sudden surge felt within his chest, one that pushes him forward as he ends up interlocking the fingertips of his non-legion hand with yours, pulling you along as he safely lead you out of the city and towards his sanctuary found within hotel krat.

and it didn't take long for you to find a new home within his found family. as predicted by gemini, his father welcomed you with open arms, along with eugénie. you were a fast learner, and offered many insights to both of them when it came to optimizing pinocchio's legion arm.

pinocchio wasn't sure why your presence instilled something so profound within him. he has had his fair share of communicating with humans. he was close to his father, and he enjoyed listening to eugénie prattle on about the modifications she has made to his legion arm.

but interacting with you sparked something deep from within him. each day he returned to hotel krat, he found himself basking in your smiles and the sound of your voice as you told him about your day all while asking pinocchio about his own adventures.

he never tired of hearing your voice, and how your warmth seemed to permeate at the air before seeping into him. and it was while he was in your presence that he found himself regretting that he could not feel your warmth nor share it with you. pinocchio's body was cold, being carved by the richest wood and sewn together with metal. his glass eyes were incapable of reflecting the same emotions that you showed each time you met his curious gaze, and that part bothered him greatly.

that was the first time pinocchio felt a great sense of regret at not being truly human.

he wanted to bask in the rain and feel the cold droplets against his skin and dance in it with you;

he wanted to share cups of hot chocolate with you and be able to lick away the cream that decorates your lips;

but more so than that, he wanted these feelings he was beginning to feel to come into fruition and have a true, beating heart.

it was a yearning that pinocchio felt growing inside him, getting stronger and deeper with each passing day. each time you walk by him, his gaze would ultimately follow you. the longing that he felt was certainly becoming more evident, and an almost knowing smile would grace sophia's features each time she witnesses your interactions with pinocchio.

with a newfound passion, pinocchio continues his journey, now believing his lies of being human each time he uttered them while exploring the city of krat- allowing the thoughts of you to push him forward.

and it was with these thoughts of you plaguing his mind that he returns back home from his exploration around krat. the night was at its peak, with hotel krat remaining silent as evident of its inactivity. pinocchio was the only one still awake at this time, and he found himself wandering aimlessly around the library, unable to rest.

his fingers run across the spines of the books, yet he felt no desire to read any of them. as his eyes scan the various titles, he was aware of the familiar sound that never fails to bring him comfort.

thumpthumpthump...

his ears pick up the gentle pitter patter of your heart, its slow beats alerting him of your sleeping state. yet despite how he knew that you were resting, pinocchio couldn't stop his footsteps from moving forward. he allows the sounds of your heartbeat to lead him away from the library, his steps echoing throughout the marble flooring of the hallways.

as if running on instinct alone, he does not stop his movements until he reaches the front of your room. like a moth being drawn to a flame, pinocchio lifts his hand, pressing it against the door as he pushes it aside and steps within your bedroom.

his eyes adjust to the dim lighting of the room within seconds as he moves forward. he follows the sounds of your breathing and ends up standing before your bed. it is here that he sees you curled up against the sheets, your hair splayed across your pillow as you cling to your blankets. pinocchio allows his eyes to trail over to your chest, becoming mesmerized by the gentle rise and fall of it.

unconsciously, he reaches out to you, allowing his hand to brush back the strands of your hair. upon feeling his cold hand against your skin, you wince in your sleep before letting out a soft groan. pinocchio simply stiffens in response, not even attempting to move his hand away from you even when you slowly began to awaken.

"huh? pinocchio?" you sat up in bed, forcing pinocchio to remove his hand away from your cheek. "what are you doing here?"

pinocchio knew that the right thing to do in this situation was to simply apologize for waking you up, yet no words seemed to come out properly from his parted lips. "i...i..."

yet miraculously, you seemed to inherently understand him. "it's alright, you can't sleep, right?" wordlessly, you scoot over on your bed, making room for pinocchio to settle beside you. "come on, it's alright, you can stay here, with me."

his hands began to itch with a sudden urge, a pinprick of desire that seemed to grow as your smile was all he could see. following along with this strange emotion, pinocchio lets out a tiny thank you in response to your kindness before laying in bed with you.

not wanting you to fall off the bed, he wraps his arms around your form, bringing you closer to him as you let out a gasp. he says your name in yet another soft whisper, adjusting himself so that his ear was pressed against your chest.

"p-pinocchio?" your voice had risen a few octaves, and he could hear the way your heart began to beat faster in response to his touch.

"ssh...just let me...let me listen to your heart beat- listen to what makes you human." pinocchio's voice began to take on a richer tone, being filled with wonder as he closed his eyes and listened to the steady beat of your heart.

thumpthumpthump...

how far would you go to be human?

how many lies would you tell?

in this moment, with you by his side, pinocchio knew that he would tell an infinite amount of lies-

for if he could become human and share his heartbeat with yours, than what greater bliss could possibly exist for him?

a.n. - so a new lies of p trailer just dropped, and i find myself falling for pinocchio all over again 🥹

all stories are written by rei; reposts, translations, and plagiarism are not allowed.

[sohnric]

BELOVED — E. SOHN

pairing: eric sohn x fem! reader

genre: hurt/comfort, friends to lovers. angst, fluff. the tiniest bit of swimmer! eric for some reason. wrote this in a moment of weakness handle with care!! :~)

word count: 2.4k

warnings: reader is said to be red in the face from the cold (alludes to specific skin color - im sorry i wrote this for me only and yall just get to read it), swearing, insecurity and jealousy, unspecified mental illness (?)

a/n: once again thank you to @csenke for beta reading and encouraging me to post this :p and also for existing. ily <3 btw swimmer eric is such a concept it gave us both whiplash maybe i need to revisit this in a full fic....

The coldness of the crisp evening makes you sniffle, your bones freezing and fingers going numb even in the comfort of your coat pockets. Your brain is full of thoughts fighting amongst each other, running around and hitting the corners of your head, slowly causing you an annoying migraine. You now regret not taking your headphones with you, because the music could help you drown out the noise of your inner voice, but the you from an hour ago that decided to go on a walk to clear your head had other plans for you, so you now have to suffer the stream of your thoughts instead. The stream is so loud you swear you can hear it resonating through the silent campus, but you know that’s a foolish thought, so you fight it away with a bitter chuckle.

Eyes zeroing on the orange fluorescent lights coming from inside of the building you’re standing in front of, you start feeling a little silly for coming here. It’s not like you think you’d be sent away, but there’s also that little bugging voice inside of your brain that keeps reminding you that you weren’t invited. Your feet have dragged you here without your consent or order. One moment, you were walking down the river, shuddering from the cold, and the other, you found yourself in front of the pool– as if the tugging of your heart was stronger than your own brain, stronger than your own thoughts.

Sometimes you feel bad for taking it all out on him. At least that’s what you suppose you’re doing– with your annoyed remarks whenever he checks in on you, with your sighs whenever he asks what’s wrong. It’s not like he’s incorrect with his suspicions– he always somehow knows you’re in a bad mood, no matter how hard you try to mask it– you just don’t often feel like discussing the matter with him. Or anyone, really. Sometimes, you feel bad for pushing him away or not texting him back. Sometimes you feel truly shitty for the fact that you can’t open up to him, no matter how hard you try. 

And sometimes, you just truly think that he wouldn’t care. It’s weird how your mind works– someone could spend so much time with you, making memories together and laughing at your jokes, yet, your mind could convince you that they don’t really like you at all in the first place. That this is some sort of a game they’re playing, trying to see how long you can stay convinced that they enjoy your presence in their life before you notice and they step away. You don’t even know where this conviction is coming from. If you knew, maybe you could fix it. If you could locate it, you’d try to delete the flawed code from your system. 

Sometimes, you think he doesn’t care about how you are, what you’re doing, what you think. It has nothing to do with the way he treats you; more so with the anxiety nibbling at the corners of your brain whenever he talks to anyone else– with the constant fear of being replaced, of having him find someone better, someone less difficult to be friends with. In its full essence, the image is terrifying. You think your world would crumble if you lost another person in your life.

More so, you think your world would crumble if you lost him. You recognize that there’s a constant desire in the depths of your heart to be someone’s favorite– his favorite– to be the person someone would choose in a room full of people. To be the one they walk up to first with a smile and their arms wide open. 

And it’s silly. You’re his best friend. He tells you so every day. It’s the way you’re introduced to everyone out of his circle that you meet on parties or at campus.

Admittedly, you like hearing him say it. Best friend– the title shows you’re the best at something: at being his companion, at making him laugh, at being there for him, whatever it is that you do to earn that sticker. The title shows that you’re somebody’s favorite– his favorite– and it makes you deeply satisfied with yourself. It makes you proud, even. 

Some days, you still have a hard time believing it, though. Some days, you still feel stranded. Lonely. Isolated. It’s weird. 

Somehow, your heart, your feet and the unconscious part of your brain took you right where you knew you’d find him. You didn’t choose to go here– if you realized you were nearing the building, you would’ve even tried to stop yourself– and as you contemplate turning on your heel and going back home, hell, you even take the first step away from the pools, the sound of the main door opening and his voice calling for you makes you halt in your movements, gluing you to the pavement. 

Sometimes, the heart knows what it needs even before you get a chance to register it.

“Y/N! How long have you been standing there?” he calls after you, making you bite down on your lower lip. There’s no escaping him now– you guess it’s for the better, though.

Turning towards him, a guilty look spreading over your features, you shrug. “Not long.”

“It’s freezing out here! Why didn’t you come inside?” he asks, a wrinkle forming in between his eyebrows as he walks closer to you, his friends from the swim team patting his back and saying their goodbyes to the two of you as they pass the commotion on their way out.

“I didn’t want to intrude your practice,” you peep, sniffling a little from the cold.

“Gosh, you always do this,” he says, rolling his eyes at you. He almost looks mad at you, and by the way he raises his voice and throws his arms in the air in frustration, you think you’re correct with assuming he might be. “I texted you the whole day! Hell, I called, even though I know how much you hate phone calls. And I get that you probably didn’t feel like talking, but a simple ‘I'm okay, don’t worry’ text would’ve been nice!”

Dragging his hand through his hair in defeat, he shakes his head at you. “Besides, you can’t just keep shutting me off every time you are having a hard time, for god’s sake! Not only do I worry, but I hate seeing you suffer all alone.”

Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you listen patiently to his lecture. You know he’s right– he almost always is, because the rational side of your brain ceases to exist every time your insecurities fail you– so there’s really no aim in trying to argue or fight with him. 

Eric sighs as he steps even closer to you, adjusting the strap of his duffel bag on his shoulder before he reaches for the hood of your jacket and puts it over your head. “You could’ve texted me you were here, I’d leave practice early for you,” he says, voice now softer as he stands in front of you, not really wanting to scream straight into your face. 

You shrug in response, not really knowing what to say. Telling him you contemplated leaving  just seconds before he found you here would make him even more mad with you, so you choose to gloss over that fact. Besides, it’s kind of comforting, the way his words work. The way his presence calms you, makes the screaming match of your thoughts drown out with his firm comments and scolding remarks. His words, although full of frustration, make your insides warm up and your muscles relax, like you’re coming undone.

His face shows concern. His actions speak even louder than his words when he tugs the sides of your hood closer together at your neck, the hole for your head previously exposing your bare skin and making you shiver. “Couldn’t you dress more warmly? Do you want to catch a cold?” he mutters, shaking his head in disbelief. “You scutter here all unannounced, wearing close to nothing, and expect me to not be frustrated with you?”

You study his expression for a while. It’s not often you get to see Eric from so up close, but even in the darkness of the evening, you recognise the familiarity of his close-to-flawless features. Anchoring yourself into his gaze for a second, you move to study the sculpture of his cheekbones, the furrowed nature of his brows, the slope of his cupid’s bone. His hair falls into his eyes, making you instinctively drag your hand up and move his bangs out of the way, having the male wince at the contact of your fingers with his skin. “Hell, your hands are cold! You didn’t even take gloves? It’s minus five degrees outside!” he grunts.

It makes you chuckle. You did something nice for him, yet, there he is– complaining about the fact that you have yet again failed to take care of yourself. “I’m not even surprised, y’know, since you didn’t put on a scarf either, but sometimes I wish this little brain of yours,” he point his finger to the side of your temple, “had better self-preservation instincts,” he finishes as he fishes for something in his pocket.

Taking out his own gloves and holding them up to you so you can slip your numb fingers into the fabric, he continues on with his little tangent. “Next time,” he adds when you’re successfully wearing the warm garment, “text me as soon as you get here, okay? And look outside before you go out, so you know what to wear. Maybe open that little weather app on your home screen, even. Might be helpful,” he jokes, although a little dryly, as he brings out a scarf from his duffel bag, tying it around your neck and almost suffocating you with how tight he wraps it, making sure you’re defrosting under his tender care.

When he’s done dressing you up like a doll, you’re left staring at him speechless. Eric reciprocates the gaze, something gentle, yet worried mirroring behind his dark orbs. There’s comfort lingering in the air now that you’re not so cold, and with the added essence of his existence, the act of living doesn’t seem like such a hassle anymore. You feel lighter, in a way.

“Sorry,” he hums after a heartbeat of silence, “how are you feeling?” he asks, an apologetic look sent your way when he realizes he slipped into a heated lecture again, not knowing that this is exactly what you wanted and unknowingly came here for. (For his furrowed eyebrows and the crease in between them, his worried orbs and words tinted with frustration, showing you that he cares and wants you to be safe. For his little tangent, yet also gentle touches as he takes care of you and makes sure you’re staying warm. For the familiar look in his eyes, whispering to you that you’re the only thing in the whole world that matters to him right in this moment and always, forever.) 

You smile at the clueless boy. It seems to make something in him settle into a more comfortable place. “All better now,” you reply.

“Good,” he says. “God, you look awful,” he jokes– laughing airly to reference the state of your frozen face– cheeks and the tip of your nose red, eyes watery from the wind, hair messily sticking out from the bottom of your hood– as one of his hands comes up to cradle your face and squish your cheeks together, turning your chapped lips into a big pout. The contact of his skin on yours makes your stomach feel light with the contrast of his warm hand on your cold face, all your senses coming alive when his voice drops a few octaves lower, seriousness tinting his tone. “Promise me to take better care of yourself from now on?”

Nodding, not really having it in you to even make a noise, you watch as the male studies your face for a while. In any other circumstance, his gaze would make you shy away, but not now. Not when everything seems suddenly so simple, not when all your worries seem to slip through your fingers. When his eyes point towards your lips– your puckered, dry mouth– a sense of expecting takes over you, a strange kind of excitement buzzing in the tips of your fingertips. When you breathe in through your half-clogged nose, the mixed scent of his fabric softener coming off the scarf tied tightly around your neck and the smell of the shower gel he uses to wash the chlorine off after his swimming practice hits your nose, making you a little light-headed. No words are spoken as the male suddenly leans in and presses a quick peck to your lips.

His warm lips meet with yours in what seems to be a second-long contact, but it’s enough to have the ghost of his touch lingering, enough to make your stomach churn in joy.

The action was so painfully casual– as if it was second nature to him. As if there was no reason for him to contemplate the decision– as if this was what he wanted to do all the time, and so he did it. Sometimes, actions speak louder than words.

Selfishly, though, you must admit you need both– you need the words just as much as the actions. Good thing Eric knows you so well– sometimes you think it’s even more than you know yourself.

“Now come on, let’s get you home,” he hums, hugging you to him with his right arm as you two walk down the sidewalk, “wouldn’t want my beloved girl to freeze to death right here.”

His beloved.

The words resonate in your brain. This time, it’s a good type of screaming match happening with your thoughts– all worries battled, using his sentence to cut out the bad parts like a sharpened knife. This time, your mind is full of fireworks and excited buzzing, sending the happy signals all across your body, helping you fight winter with the power of gentle loving. 

And sure, you know that those feelings might come again. There’s no way of telling when the skeletons will appear, hunting down your happy thoughts. But you know that even if they do, you will always somehow find your way back to Eric, and he’ll make sure to remind you of what you need to hear, and you’ll be okay again.

You guess The Beatles were right after all. Maybe all you need is a little love sometimes.

[writethrough]

The Diviner (Part V)

(Morpheus x Prophetess Reader)

Synopsis: Your body needs time to heal, but your unconscious is finally dreaming.

Warnings: None? (Message me if you see any.)

Word Count: 3219

A/N: Did you really think I'd leave you hanging a full week after that little blurb of a last chapter? I think I've more than made up for it with this sucker.

Thank you to everyone who's stuck it out with me. I really enjoyed hearing what you like about this series.

To everyone who has reblogged, you are spectacular humans and deserve an endless supply of your favorite food.

I hope you all enjoy this final chapter! I'd love to know what you thought of this series, and if I should post more multi-part fics in the future.

Series Masterlist

You wander. A maze of darkness before you.  

You exhale and remember Morpheus.  

A room appears, lit by stained glass, with a throne in the middle. And he's there, alive, staring at you in shock. 

—  

“I don’t understand,” you say. “How am I awake?”  

You were dying. At least it felt like you were dying. So, why are you...fine?  

“If I may?” Lucienne asks. Morpheus called for her as soon as he saw you.  

His chin dips a fraction, but it’s enough for Lucienne to continue.  

“Given your abilities, I believe the severity of your injuries—and healing in the Dreaming—has allowed your subconscious to manifest.” She smiles, pleased with her next words. “You’re dreaming, my lady.”  

Your brow furrows, and you glance from her to Morpheus.  

“How is that possible? If I’m healing, shouldn’t my mind be recovering as well?”  

“Your mind is the most resilient part of you, prophetess. It stands to reason it would need little to no time to replenish,” Morpheus says.  

Your eyes lower to the floor, considering this.  

For centuries, you’ve seen possible futures—travesties no one could imagine. And you haven’t forgotten one.  

Day in and day out, vision after vision, a constant rush of images, sounds, smells, and even sensations when intense enough. Your mind has built up a tolerance for nearly anything and everything.  

It seems almost dying is child's play for it though your body would be down for some time.  

You take in Morpheus’ throne room, truly seeing where you are. “I’m…dreaming.” And you laugh. In disbelief, in wonder—in sheer joy.  

You are dreaming.  

—  

Morpheus transported your body into his realm as soon as you fainted.  

Between your physical injuries and the attack meant for Morpheus, your only chance was the magic and tools in the Dreaming.  

Lucienne, Matthew, and Death helped him stabilize you, but he never expected you to walk right up to him as if you were fine.  

However your body absorbed the attack, it caused your powers to shut down, and you’re experiencing the Dreaming for the first time in centuries.  

You’re acting yourself mostly, but sometimes you grow tired, your physical form telling your unconscious you aren’t out of the woods yet.  

Morpheus urges you to take a seat, worry flashing through his eyes.  

“I’m okay,” you say. “It’s just a minor spell.”  

“I wish I could do more,” he says, hand still on the back of your bicep.  

“You’ve done plenty. More than I could ever hope for.”  

His jaw clenches, a twitch of movement, but you catch it. You’ve gotten better at picking up his micro-expressions.  

“I mean it, Morpheus. I wouldn’t be alive if it wasn’t for you.” You try to push as much conviction in the words as possible.   

“You wouldn’t have been in harm's way if it wasn’t for me.”  

You shake your head, dizzying yourself and need to rest it on your hand. Morpheus’ brow pinches slightly.  

“Warrens decided to trap you and use me. I should've predicted that.”  

“That’s not in your ability,” he says.  

“And I should’ve figured I'd be in danger when Death said you’d be fine. I should’ve known she saw me dying and not you.”

It clicked not longer after you woke up. Of course, Death knew what was supposed to happen.

“You must not focus on the past. It will do nothing to aid your recovery.”  

You sigh. “I know. I just feel so stupid.”  

Your eyes are downcast. It surprises you when a gentle touch lifts your chin and directs you to focus on him.  

“I will not have you speaking as if you’ve done something wrong,” he says. “Because of you, I am alive. I will forever be grateful.”  

He waits for an answer. All you can do is nod.  

His touch vanishes, and he stands.  

“Perhaps I can show you more of the Dreaming.”  

You give him a small smile. “I’d like that.”  

—  

Time moves differently in the Dreaming. It was best when you stopped trying to keep track of it. All you know is that you’ve been recovering for some time. Long enough for you to have your role carved out here and for the residents to call you by name.  

Your exhaustion and dizzy spells are few and far between, but they’re intense and accompanied by symptoms of visions. A faint smell, a phantom touch, even a whisper of a voice, but no matter how much you try, you can’t hang onto them. They slip through your fingers before you recognize what they are. It’s like you’re missing a limb.  

Today, the loss is affecting you more than you thought it could. You miss your ability. As much trouble as it can cause, you somehow feel untethered from yourself. Even with your body lying unconscious, you’re more of a shell now than ever.  

And as much as you try to hide it, somehow, Morpheus knows.  

“You will return to yourself,” he says.  

You’re sitting in Fiddler’s Green on a bench beneath a grove of magnolia trees.  

“It feels like it’s been years,” you say, rubbing your arm. You haven’t felt the breeze on your skin since the attack. You hardly notice it now as the grass moves with it.  

You can tell he’s about to respond, and you already know what he’ll say.  

“Don’t tell me ‘it takes time’ or ‘be patient.’ I’ve been patient. I’ve had to be patient since Destiny gave me this damn power, and now I can’t even access it because I missed the signs last time!” You rub your face, trying to push the frustration out.  

He lets you have your moment to feel that anger.  

“Immortality is crueler than death,” he begins. “It's companions are loneliness and waiting.”  

You look at him, scanning his features, and nod. Your agitation cools into sympathy. 

“I forget what happened to you sometimes. I’m sorry.”  

“I will not accept an unnecessary apology,” he says. “My experiences do not outweigh yours.”  

“Nevertheless, I’m free here. You weren’t.”  

He locks eyes with you, a softness to them. “I am also free.”  

It’s like he’s latched onto your soul. His timbre pulls you closer. And you realize you don’t feel so lost when he’s around.  

“Boss!”  

You lean back and look toward the sound, missing Morpheus’ eyes widening a fraction at Matthew’s interruption, too.  

“Boss! Death’s here.” Matthew lands in front of you.  

Your brow furrows, and your heart quickens. “Death’s here?”  

Why would Death be here? She wouldn’t come to the Dreaming if she didn’t have a good reason.  

What if she’s working? What if you aren’t improving and the Dreaming is masking your worsening condition?  

Morpheus tilts his head slightly, sensing your tension. He puts the pieces together quickly as he stands. 

“I requested she come.” He turns to you, voice tender, reassuring. “I wished to spend time with her.”  

—  

You haven't seen Death since you arrived.  

She and Morpheus urged you to stay even though you wanted to give them privacy. You forgot what it was like to have friends—to be close to others. It was nice.  

Then she whisked you away, telling Morpheus it was “girl time.”  

You’re strolling on one of the paths: one that extends as long as you can walk and leads to wherever you wish.  

You’ve had enough time to think about that day, your limitations, Death’s, what Warrens did to you…  

“You knew I’d be there,” you say.  

Neither of you stop walking. It’s not a surprise that you’ve brought this up.  

“That’s why you were surprised. Not because I had a vision of Morpheus, but because I was supposed to be there all along—because I was supposed to die—and you couldn’t interfere.”  

She grimaces. “I’m sorry.”  

You let out a breathy laugh. “I should be used to all the secrecy, but I’m not.” You pause. “And yet, I get it. Price of power and all that, I guess.”  

Now, she halts. “I know this won’t bring you comfort, but your being alive is a miracle.”  

“Then how am I…”  

“I don’t know. And that’s not something I say often,” Death says. “I can only speculate, but the day Destiny came to you—before that, he came to me and asked I keep you here. I didn’t ask why, but maybe this was meant to happen. You were the only one who could save my brother.”  

You shake your head. “I still don’t understand. Why give me this power at all? Why not just put me on the path so I could save Morpheus at the end? And how could you see my murder if you made that promise?”  

“Not even I am sure of that.” She answers your last question. “But: Is that not what Destiny did? Put you on that very path?” She pauses, then softly. “And gave you a purpose. One bigger than anyone should have, but a purpose nonetheless.”  

That thought runs around your head. 

Did Destiny do that? 

It's hard to imagine that being the reason. But why else would he— 

“Do you…Do you think Destiny gave me this power so I would survive?”  

You aren’t sure that makes sense. 

You. Out of everyone that could make a difference in the world, Destiny chose you.  

Death shrugs. “Again, I can’t be certain. But think about it, it brought you to Hob, to me," she gives you a knowing look, "to Dream.” 

You roll your eyes. “Need I remind you that I hated Morpheus for the longest time.”  

“Need I remind you that was in the past tense.” She grins.  

“So, you’re saying it’s harder to kill me than I originally thought,” you say, trying to change the subject.  

“None of that,” she tuts. “Even though it’s not under the best circumstances, I am happy you and Morpheus are getting to know one another.”  

You hum. “I spent so long not knowing what to feel for him—having all of these unanswered questions—it’s strange…to finally have that behind me.” You pause. “I enjoy his company.”  

“I would’ve used a stronger word than that,” she says, grinning cheekily. 

The tiny smiles Morpheus sent you and the glances you threw him could’ve made her squeal if she was the type.  

“Okay,” you wave her off, “enough.”  

She puts her hands up, yielding.  

You hesitate before telling her this next part.  

“I think—No, I know my visions are returning.”  

“That’s great!” She grabs your arm. “...Isn’t it?”  

“It’s just…They aren’t back yet. They’re not full visions. And I don’t know what that means. Or how long I’ll be like this.” You gesture to yourself.  

She smiles empathetically. “It means you’re getting better. I can only imagine how frustrating it’s been, but you are healing.”  

You nod. She’s right.  

She slips her arm into yours. “Now, let me tell you all the embarrassing stories about my brother.”  

You throw your head back and laugh.  

—  

It’s been a few days since then, you think. You and Morpheus have spent most of your time together. He’s become someone you care for deeply, and you wonder if he feels the same.  

You think he does when he pulls out your chair or helps you cross a stream. He’s interested in your life besides your visions. And when you told him about your family and loved ones throughout the years, he placed his hand atop yours. You could still feel it sometimes.  

You’re both in the library. A rare occurrence of rest brought Morpheus to curl up with you on the plush sofa. Well, you curled up. Morpheus has his feet on the floor but is leaning into the cushions.  

“I’ll have read everything in here by the time I wake up,” you joke, flipping your page.  

“I can feel your bouts of power when they rise. It will not be long now.”  

He always speaks so assuredly when it’s about your healing. His steadfastness has rubbed off on you. You aren’t so pessimistic about it anymore.  

You don’t notice you’re staring at him until he asks if something’s wrong.  

You shake your head. “No. I just don’t know what I would’ve done all this time if you weren’t here.”  

He faces forward, not staring at anything, and silence settles over you. The atmosphere shifts, and you can almost feel the tension coming from him.  

“There is no universe where I would have been elsewhere,” he says, as still as ever.  

And it’s his seriousness that makes you drop your light tone and scoot closer.  

“I know. And I appreciate that.” You glance at your fingers. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”  

“You haven’t.” He rests his hand on yours. “But know that you are my priority, and I am happy to have been by your side.”  

“Morpheus…” you lock eyes, “we’ve been over this. I hate that you feel obligated to help me.”  

His brows twitch inward. “I feel no such compulsions. I am grateful you saved my life, but I can never repay such sacrifice.” He pauses. “Your wellbeing is my concern as your…friend.”  

His thumb brushes your cheekbone as he searches your eyes.  

You pull your lips into a thin line, hoping he can’t feel the heat in your cheeks. “Just know that I wouldn’t change what I did. I wanted to save you—I needed to.”  

“You didn’t—”  

“I did!” You say almost desperately. “You’re the only connection I have to my past. You’re the only one who knows who I was. I can’t lose you…”  

You’re afraid to look him in the eye, but he lifts your chin with a slightly hooked finger, tenderness in his gaze.  

“You won’t.”  

He pulls his hand away, and you realize how much closer you both have gotten.  

“You can’t promise that, though,” you whisper.  

“No. I cannot. But I can promise that ritual is gone.”  

You clench your jaw. “That won’t stop me from worrying.”  

“Then you know how I feel.”  

He says it like a joke—mirthful—a tone that’s both strange and welcome in him.  

You roll your eyes halfheartedly. “You don’t need to worry. I’m fine.”  

“I will stop worrying when you’re awake,” he says. “Until then, I will watch over you.”  

A slight shiver runs down your spine. Morpheus' entire focus on you always makes you a little weak, but hearing him say those words? They almost send your knees buckling.  

“I don’t understand. Why have you been so insistent about this?”  

Something seems to settle in his eyes, his head tipping closer.  

“When you were writhing in pain—screaming—something came over me that hasn’t in a long while.”  

You tilt your head, waiting.  

“Fear.”  

“What?” you whisper.  

The back of his fingers grazes your cheek, lingering, caressing.  

“I feared I would lose you.” He’s searching you, analyzing every twitch and passing emotion.  

“Morpheus,” you start, “what are you saying?”  

The corner of his lips lift briefly.  

“You’ve become important to me,” he breathes. “My prophetess.”  

His lips are so close to yours. A moment more, and they’d touch. But as much as you want this, you stop him.  

“I don’t want our first kiss to be when I’m dreaming,” you say. “I want it to feel real because…you’ve become important to me, too.”  

Softly, he rests his forehead against yours.  

“I will wait as long as I must. Knowing you feel the same is enough.”  

—  

Your dizziness has been nonexistent these past couple of weeks. You’ve been able to help Lucienne in the library much more. However, this morning, if you could even call it that in the Dreaming—it’s like you’ve been getting hit from all sides.  

A breeze on your cheek while you were indoors.  

A shimmering red when you paged through a book.  

And whispered words of “regret this” and mumblings you couldn’t decipher.  

But this is your strongest one yet.  

It’s not images or scents, not even a noise, but an expansive, all-encompassing feeling blooming within your chest. You swear you’ll burst when Lucienne sees you steadying yourself against a table.  

She says your name. “Are you alright?”  

The feeling keeps getting bigger and bigger, and then Lucienne seems so far away, then the entire library. And you realize it’s time.  

“I think…I think I’m waking up.”  

A moment after you spoke, it feels like you're falling backward.  

Your eyes open with a quick inhale, and you look around.  

You’re in a bed, and everything feels so much more tangible. There are soft sheets, a comforting breeze from the open window, and that unmistakable feeling of something new beginning.  

You slowly rise, but where you thought there would be soreness, none comes.  

You've healed.  

You laugh in disbelief, running out of the room and to the one person you need to see.  

He’s creating dreams, something you’d usually take a moment to marvel at, but you can’t seem to give a damn.  

He glances over his shoulder, lips ticking up when he sees you.  

He’s about to speak. Then, his eyebrows twitch downward when you don’t stop walking, and you barely contain your smile before you kiss him.  

It takes him no more than a moment to grip your waist and pull you closer. To feel him like this instead of those phantom pressures, it's indescribable.   

You reluctantly retreat, and he stares at you with this kind of awe, tracing the back of his knuckles down your cheek, his features brighter than you’ve ever seen.   

“How are you feeling?” he asks.   

You take a moment before answering. “I’m okay. Everything feels…stronger now.” You give him a small smile. “Real.”  

“Not many have visited the Dreaming as you are,” he says. “If you’re overwhelmed, please tell me.”  

You shake your head fondly. “Not overwhelmed, just…happy.”  

“I am glad.”  

Your hands rest on his chest as you stare at him, too thrilled to care that maybe you should say something. But all you want to do is look at him—feel him now that you’re back in your body.  

Thankfully, he doesn’t seem to mind.  

He’s gripping your hips, the lightest of touches, yet it almost burns you in the best way possible. His thumb grazes one side, grabbing your attention. Like he knows you’re daydreaming. 

“I must give you something,” he says.  

He reaches within his coat, and in his palm is a gold band embedded with a ruby, a piece of Morpheus’ Dreamstone.  

“Stay with me,” he whispers, forehead pressed to yours. “Come and go as you please, but always return. To your home.” He pauses. “To me.”  

You stare at him, eyes wide with wonder and glistening.  

“Yes,” you breathe, beaming.  

He strokes your cheekbone with his thumb before cupping it fully and slotting his lips between yours.  

You giggle. “I have to say I really didn’t see this coming.”  

If Morpheus was one to roll his eyes, he would have.  

“Do not make me regret this.”  

The lit in his voice pulls a playful gasp from you.  

“It’s too late. You can’t change your mind,” you say, eyes alight.  

His warm smile sends gooseflesh up your arms.  

“Never,” he whispers.  

Destiny has strange ways of working, but after centuries of unanswered questions, you finally think you understand why he chose you.  

Maybe the eldest Endless has a softer spot for his younger brother than any of you realize.

Taglist: @sayumiht, @hatterripper31, @snowsatsu, @1950schick, @navs-bhat, @bookshelf-dust, @sapphireonline, @fictional-hooman, @steph-speaks, @ladyredstar1991, @secretdreamlandmentality, @ababycake, @morpheuss1mp, @boofy1998, @alice-the-nerd, @herfantasyworldd, @poemfreak306, @under-kitty

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[cavalorn]

Eye of newt and toe of frog: what was really in the witches’ cauldron in Macbeth? (CW: torture, death, historical racism, historical antisemitism, animal and human body parts) Ever since Scott Cunningham first made the following claim in the 1980s, there has been an increasingly widely circulated belief that the ingredients of the Macbeth potion were not grisly animal parts at all but merely herbs and plants, concealed under code names:

“every ingredient (Shakespeare) lists as being in the witches' pot refers to a plant and not the gruesome substance popularly thought”

This proposal had not appeared at all in analyses of Shakespeare prior to Cunningham’s Magical Herbalism: The Secret Craft of the Wise but is now extremely popular, especially the often-cited proposal that ‘eye of newt really meant mustard seed’. Lists of ‘herbal codes’ circulate online, purporting to explain all the different ingredients of the Macbeth potion away as plants. Witches, according to these lists, were grossly misrepresented. Their grisly concoctions were nothing but herbal mixtures.

Code-names and substitutions have certainly played a part in magic in history. Cunningham was familiar with, and makes reference to, the Greek Magical Papyri in which a famous list of secret substitutions is given. For example, ‘the tears of a Hamadryas baboon’ are to be taken to mean ‘dill juice’. The concept of a secret herbal code in which grisly-seeming or mythical ingredients are in fact plants – and only the enlightened few are aware of this - was therefore not a new one.

Was Cunningham correct?

First let’s look at the historical context.

Shakespeare wrote Macbeth under the patronage of James VI of Scotland / I of England. The King was paranoid about witches, was personally present at the interrogation of at least one, and wrote a book called Daemonologie all about them. The depiction of witches in Macbeth would have needed to flatter and support the King’s personal convictions. These fictional witches are therefore evil through and through, and we should be suspicious of any interpretation that seeks to lessen their horror.

Other plays were written around the same time that feature witches in similar roles, such as Jonson’s Masque of Queens and Middleton’s The Witch. We will come to those in due time.

Let’s examine the evidence for Cunningham’s claim, line by line. Round about the cauldron go;

In the poison’d entrails throw.

Right from the start, we have a reference to ‘poison’d entrails’. This immediately tells us that the ingredients are characterised both by being poisonous or venomous in nature and by coming from living creatures. Herbs and plants do not have entrails.

Toad, that under cold stone

Days and nights hast thirty one

Swelter’d venom sleeping got,

Boil thou first i’ the charmed pot.

The first ingredient is, quite plainly, a living toad. Specifically, it is a toad that has been secreting venom over a period of time.

The choice of a venom-secreting toad as the very first ingredient cannot have been a coincidence, seeing as the King had himself interrogated an accused witch who had been put to torture, and who had ‘confessed’ to collecting toad’s venom in order to use it in a sorcerous attempt against the King’s life.

The alleged witch’s name was Agnis Thompson, and the King interrogated her in 1591. His account of this is written up in his book, Daemonologie. Agnis Thompson 'confessed' to having taken a black toad, hung it up and collected the venom that dripped from it over three days in an oyster shell. This venom was supposedly intended to be used in a spell that would bewitch the King to death, 'and put him to such extraordinary paines, as if he had beene lying vpon sharp thornes and endes of Needles.'

It is worth noting at this point that the King also recorded his belief that the Devil causes witches to "joint dead corpses, & to make powders thereof" which are then used in spells. This belief can also be found in Daemonologie.

So in the very first ingredient that goes into the cauldron, the live toad steeped in its own venom, we have an immediate disproof of Cunningham’s claim that ‘every ingredient refers to a plant’, along with a clear reference to the King’s own personal lived experience and profound beliefs concerning witches.

It ought to go without saying that King James VI/I was a deluded bigot who had innocent women tortured and put to death in service to his twisted agenda, but let’s say it anyway.

Fillet of a fenny snake,

In the cauldron boil and bake;

As with ‘entrails’, the use of the term ‘fillet’ leaves in no doubt that we are dealing with a dismembered living creature. A fenny snake is simply a snake from the fens.

Convoluted attempts have been made to identify ‘fillet of a fenny snake’ as a plant of some kind, but given that Cunningham’s claim has already been disproved, there seems no point in not taking Shakespeare at face value.

Eye of newt

Let’s get this out of the way: there is zero historical evidence that ‘eye of newt’ ever meant ‘mustard seed’. There are no herbals that give this as a name – not that were written prior to the 1980s, at any rate. The obvious conclusion is that it is modern lore created in sympathy with Cunningham’s claim. The ‘mustard seed’ interpretation is all over the Internet, of course, because sites typically copy one another without bothering to look for original sources.

(I would like to say, for the record, that if I assert here that ‘no historical source says X was ever used to mean Y’ and anyone later provides a historical source that unambiguously DOES say X was used to mean Y, I will print this article out and eat it. With mustard.)

Assertions that eye of newt meant mustard seed usually also assert that it was a popular component of witches’ spells. In fact, Macbeth is the one and only historical instance of ‘eye of newt’ appearing as a spell component. It is famous because the play is famous, not because it was in widespread use. The idea that it was a codename for some other ingredient thus appears even less credible.

Other attempts to interpret Shakespeare according to the Cunningham agenda include the rival claim, sometimes seen, that ‘eye of newt’ actually meant a type of daisy. Just as with mustard seed, there is no historical evidence at all to support this.

We should perhaps expect to encounter multiple claims as to the ‘real meaning’ of the potion ingredients, because the point of these claims is not to provide a definitive substitution code that was actually used by practitioners of the past, but simply to repeat the insistence that Shakespeare’s words do not mean what they say.

It is, of course, possible to assert that the enlightened ‘mustard seed’ interpretation has simply been handed down secretly through the years from witch to witch, never once appearing in print until the 1980s when such things could at last be shared openly within the hallowed pages of Llewellyn books. Claims of this sort are unanswerable.

Incidentally, the typical construction for plant names is not ‘B of A’, but ‘A’s B’ or simply ‘AB’, as we find with names like day’s eye (daisy), baby’s breath, coltsfoot and foxglove. If Shakespeare’s spell had run ‘breath of babe and eye of ox / foot of colt and glove of fox’ then we would be having a very different conversation.

Tongue of dog

This ingredient is the first one where the Cunningham agenda might seem credible, if it had not already been disproven by the very first of the ingredients. There is a herb called ‘houndstongue’, Cynoglossum officinale, which is also known as houndstooth and dog’s tongue.

Was Shakespeare referring to a herb here, then, rather than the tongue of a literal dog? Given the anatomical specificity of some of the later ingredients, there is no reason to think so. Animal tongues have played a part in magic for centuries. The Epistula Vulteris (800 CE), for example, proposes putting a vulture’s tongue in your shoe to make enemies adore you. The 16th century Tree of Knowledge instructs the reader to take the tongue of a hoopoe and hang it on the right side of the body, close to the heart, in order to defeat anyone in court.

Wool of bat

Despite this ingredient being relatively innocuous – ‘wool’ could theoretically be harvested from a bat without harming it – attempts have been made to identify this as moss, or even as holly leaves, via a convoluted train of association that links the shape of bat’s wings with the shape of holly. No historical sources give ‘wool of bat’ or ‘bat’s wool’ as a term for a plant.

Toe of frog

Some modern sources assert that ‘toe of frog’ refers to the buttercup, possibly because the Latin name Ranunculus means ‘little frog’. One is left to wonder what part of a buttercup the ‘toe’ might refer to.

Unfortunately, no historical sources give ‘toe of frog’ or ‘frog’s toe’ as a term for a plant.

Adder’s fork

At first sight this looks like another possible point for Cunningham. Adders have forked tongues, and there are several plants that bear the name ‘adder’s tongue’. However, there is no evidence of the use of the specific term ‘adder’s fork’ to refer to a plant.

We would also have to explain why, given that these ingredients are demonstrably not being presented in an overall context of plant symbolism, any of the plants known as adder’s tongue would be intended here over the surface meaning.

Blindworm’s sting

The ‘sting’ (fang) of a venomous snake, or possibly a slow-worm, which are ironically not venomous. This ingredient is probably intended to pair with the last one: they are both from the mouths of reptiles.

No historical sources give ‘blindworm’s sting’ as a term for a plant.

Lizard’s leg

The leg of a lizard.

No historical sources give ‘lizard’s leg’ as a term for a plant.

Owlet’s wing

The wing of an owlet, or baby owl.

No historical sources give ‘owlet’s wing’ as a term for a plant. (I am getting as tired of typing this as you probably are of reading it.)

Scale of dragon

An ingredient that at first glance appears to buttress Cunningham’s claim, because unlike the others it cannot possibly mean what it says. Dragons don’t exist. However, ingredients that use the term ‘dragon’ in their naming do exist, such as ‘dragon’s blood’.

Excitingly, there is a plant known as the dragon’s scale fern, Pyrrosia piloselloides. Should we concede a point to Cunningham here?

Unfortunately, I do not think we can. The dragon’s scale fern is native to Singapore and was first catalogued by Carl Linnaeus in 1763. There seems no way that Shakespeare could possibly have heard of it. Moreover, ‘dragon’s scale’ is merely an English translation of the term ‘sisek naga’. I’ve been unable to find any use of the name ‘dragon’s scale fern’ in English prior to the 20th century.

Did Shakespeare mean a literal dragon, then? Considering his plays involve literal ghosts (e.g. Caesar, Banquo, Hamlet’s father), literal monsters (Caliban) and literal witches with the power to ‘hover through the fog’ and summon storms at sea, we needn’t worry about Shakespeare depicting things which we now know to be impossible. So yes, literal dragon’s scale. Tooth of wolf

It is tempting to identify this ingredient as the herb houndstooth, but the problem there is that houndstooth is the same as houndstongue, for which see ‘tongue of dog’ above.

No historical sources give ‘wolf’s tooth’ as a term for a plant. Witches’ mummy

Either ‘the mummified flesh of dead witches’ or ‘mummified human flesh, as used by witches’. Bizarre though it may sound, mummified human flesh was used for medical purposes before and after Shakespeare’s time. See Sir Thomas Browne, Hydriotaphia, 1658: ‘The Egyptian mummies which Cambyses spared, avarice now consumeth. Mummy is become merchandize, Mizraim cures wounds, and Pharaoh is sold for balsams.’

No historical sources give ‘witches’ mummy’ as a term for a plant.

Maw and gulf

Of the ravin’d salt-sea shark

The mouth and stomach of a shark.

No historical sources give ‘shark’s maw’, ‘shark’s gulf’ or ‘shark’s stomach’ as a term for a plant. There is a succulent called Shark's Mouth Mesemb that is native to South Africa, but given the additional description lavished on the shark – ‘ravin’d, salt-sea’ – it seems pretty obviously a literal shark.

Root of hemlock digg’d i’ the dark

Here we come to our first actual plant ingredient, which is named as such. Do please note the significance of ‘digg’d i’ the dark’. It’s not just hemlock, it’s hemlock that has been gathered in the ‘proper’ way. Where literal plants are concerned, the time and method of harvesting is magically significant. This suggests that far from everything in the spell being a plant as Cunningham proposed, the actual plants involved are special and treated with particular care.

Liver of blaspheming Jew

Exactly what it appears to be, disgusting historical antisemitism and all.

Gall of goat

The gall (bile) of a goat. (Goat’s gall and honey were used as a treatment for cancer in Saxon times. Who knew?)

No historical sources give ‘goat’s gall’ or ‘goat’s bile’ as a term for a plant.

Slips of yew

Sliver’d in the moon’s eclipse

Another actual plant ingredient, named as such. Just as we saw with the hemlock root, when the spell calls for actual plants, the witch is careful to specify the method of gathering. ‘Sliver’d in the moon’s eclipse’ means that the yew was peeled off in slivers during an eclipse of the moon.

Nose of Turk

The literal nose of a literal Turkish person. My suspicion is that this mocking of foreign people and their religions was deliberate pandering to the King, almost to the point of pantomime.

Tartar’s lips

See above.

Finger of birth-strangled babe

Ditch-deliver’d by a drab

The severed finger of a baby strangled at birth, having been born in a ditch to a sex worker.

There is a Korean succulent called ‘baby’s finger’ but there is no hope whatsoever that Shakespeare could have meant something so innocent.

Tiger’s chaudron

A tiger’s entrails. Derives from the exact same source as ‘cauldron’, so Shakespeare was frankly cheating a bit to use it as a rhyme here.

No historical sources give ‘tiger’s chaudron’ or ‘tiger’s entrails’ as a term for a plant.

A baboon’s blood

Curiously, ‘the blood of a Hamadryas baboon’ is one of the ingredients in the Greek Magical Papyri which is deemed to be a code name. Unfortunately for Cunningham, the ingredient it is a code name for is the blood of a spotted gecko, bringing us all the way back to lizard’s legs and newts’ eyes.

It’s worth noting in passing that Shakespeare wouldn’t have been familiar with the Papyri Graecae Magicae, given that they weren’t rediscovered and republished until the 19th century.

In any case, no historical sources give ‘baboon’s blood’ as a term for a plant.

In summary, of the twenty-three ingredients that go into the witches’ cauldron:

two – yew and hemlock - are unambiguously plants and named as such, with the method of gathering described

two – tongue of dog and adder’s fork – resemble extant folk names for plants, i.e. houndstongue and adder’s tongue

the remaining nineteen are all animal or human body parts, or in the case of the toad, the entire animal

Cunningham does not seem to have considered that disguising innocent herbs with grisly sounding names would have invited trouble rather than deflecting it. For example, even if ‘wool of bat’ had been a codename for moss, no practitioner with an ounce of sense would have referred to it as such when they could just call it moss. Gathering moss might be eccentric; gathering wool of bat could be seen as diabolic.

Some commentators have taken the view that Shakespeare might have been using ironic humour, by listing ingredients that were grisly sounding but also folk names for ordinary plants, intending the audience to pick up on his clever references. The audience would, so the theory claims, have recognised the wordplay because the folk names would have been in common use at the time. This theory falls apart, however, simply because the vast majority of the ingredients were not folk names for plants, and only two can possibly be considered such. Even in their case it is necessary to use some creative interpretation.

There is an additional problem with the ‘secret herbal code’ hypothesis. Cunningham’s core argument is that ‘witches, magicians and occultists wished to keep secret the most powerful of the old magics’, hence the use of codes. And yet, the arguments advanced for which ingredient represents which plant are based on common folk names, not secret lore unavailable to the masses. One cannot draw a link between ‘tongue of dog’ and the herb houndstongue, insist that the parallel is obvious, and then claim that this was a secret code.

To use the Papyri Graecae Magicae as an example of a genuine secret substitution system, ‘a physician’s bone’ is code for ‘sandstone’. There is no conceivable way a person could have inferred the real ingredient from its code name. And yet, the supposed herbal codenames in Macbeth are all based on inference, such as ‘finger of birth-strangled babe’ being taken to mean ‘bloody finger’ and thus ‘foxglove’.

Media magica in other Jacobean dramas

As mentioned above, it was not only Shakespeare who wrote plays in which witches prepared concoctions that contained human or animal body parts. However, only Shakespeare seems to have been singled out for his alleged use of secret herbal code names (which, as we have seen, does not bear scrutiny).

Ben Jonson’s The Masque of Queens was written for King James VI/I and was first performed in February 1609 (three years after Macbeth) in honour of the King’s eldest son, Prince Henry. Like Macbeth, it flatters the King’s obsession with witches by featuring a gathering of them. They discuss the ingredients they have gathered, such as:

I have been all day, looking after

A raven, feeding upon a quarter;

And, soon, as she turn'd her beak to the south,

I snatch'd this morsel out of her mouth.

This hag has snatched a morsel of human corpse that had been cut into four pieces (as in ‘hung, drawn and quartered’) out of the beak of a raven.

Just as in ‘Macbeth’, we then hear of a miscellany of gruesome ingredients, such as the bitten-off sinews of a hanged murderer, the fat of an infant, the brains of a cat, frog’s blood and backbone, owl’s eyes, viper’s skin and basilisk’s blood, none of which can possibly be taken to be codenames for plants. Moreover, we are fortunate to have Jonson’s own notes on his work, in which he laboriously details the sources he used and the practices he intends to depict:

But we apply this examination of ours to the particular use; whereby, also, we take occasion, not only to express the things (as vapours, liquors, herbs, bones, flesh, blood, fat, and such like,

which are called Media magica) but the rites of gathering them, and from what places, reconciling as near as we can, the practice of antiquity to the Neoterick and making it familiar with our popular witchcraft.

Jonson’s representation of plants is of particular interest here. He has one hag declare: And I have been plucking, plants among,

Hemlock, henbane, adder's-tongue,

Night-shade, moon-wort, libbard's-bane;

And twice, by the dogs, was like to be ta'en.

And offers the following explanatory text: Cicuta, hyoscyarnus, ophioglosson, solanum, martagon, doronicum, aconitum are the common venefical ingredients remembered by Paracelsus, Porta, Agrippa, and others; which I make her

to have gathered, as about a castle, church, or some vast building (kept by dogs) among ruins and wild heaps.

Just as with Shakespeare’s mention of hemlock and yew, there is no suggestion of code names.

‘The Witch’ by Thomas Middleton was also performed by the King’s Men. It, too, depicts witches in exactly the way the King expected to see them depicted. For example, Hecate says to Stadlin: [Giving her a dead child's body] Here, take this unbaptised brat.

Boil it well, preserve the fat

The subject of herbs comes up in this graphic exchange: STADLIN

Where be the magic herbs?

HECATE

They're down his throat:

His mouth cramm'd full, his ears and nostrils stuff'd.

I thrust in eleoselinum lately

Aconitum, frondes populeas, and soot-

You may see that, he looks so b[l]ack i' th' mouth-

Then sium, acorum vulgare too,

[Pentaphyllon], the blood of a flitter-mouse,

Solanum somnificum et oleum.

Middleton even brings a comic touch to the loathsomeness of the witches’ concoctions. Almachildes (who has brought the witches toads in marzipan as a gift) is invited to dine with them, and responds

How? Sup with thee? Dost think I'll eat fried rats

And pickled spiders?

Conclusions

The witches depicted by Shakespeare, Jonson and Middleton for the entertainment of King James VI/I are shown employing animal and human body parts as well as plants in their spells, in accordance with the King’s personal beliefs and with the playwrights’ understanding of magic as depicted in such texts as Cornelius Agrippa’sDe Occulta Philosophia.

There is no evidence to support the suggestion that any of the ingredients named are meant to be taken other than literally. They are not codenames for plants. Eye of newt in particular is not a folk name for mustard seed and never has been.

Scott Cunningham’s assertion that “every ingredient (Shakespeare) lists as being in the witches' pot refers to a plant and not the gruesome substance popularly thought” is simply wrong.

Although Cunningham was wrong, and may well have known it, his motivation is understandable. Modern witches are revolted by the idea of body parts being used in spells and wish to distance themselves from it. The ‘herbal code’ interpretation provided a means to recast the horrific Jacobean witch (who did not exist outside of the popular and kingly imagination) as an enlightened and humane herbalist.

But if we allow ourselves to misrepresent Shakespeare in this way, we risk erasing the memory of the real victims: Agnis Thompson, the accused witch who was tortured into ‘confessing’ her use of a toad, and her fellows. Squeamishness must not be allowed to prevent us from confronting the uncomfortable facts of history.

[kortacqueen]

MORE ELDRITCH KÖNIG WITH KORTAC:

(Thank you @artbythedarkside because you reignited this flame, also, credit to them for inspiring some of these)

Since KorTac provides König with bodies to eat, they are technically giving him human sacrifices

A byproduct of this is now König is kind of indebted to KorTac so he stays

But it’s definitely more of, you keep giving me food so I’ll stay and play nice but i won’t hesitate to kill you if a better deal comes along

That being said, he is definitely more loyal to the operators than KorTac itself.

Their relationship with him is odd

Like, they understand he could kill them whenever he wanted but they can’t wrap their heads around it

Like when the sweetest person is suddenly convicted of a crime

He’s the only member to get along with everyone, even if he hasn’t really tried to or had made some major mistakes

They eventually got him to come out of his shell a little and this was through physical affection

Declan would smack his back after a good mission, Stilletto and Fender would pay his shoulder and back, Hutch would grab his hand and pay his arm, Horangi…well he’s weird

Horangi probably helped the most with König’s weird urges (not nsfw hold on)

See, König sees the operators more as cats/pets rather than actual human beings.

Not derogatory or anything, but he thinks that their squishiness is cute and how breakable they are is funny

Like how elephants think of people like people think of dogs

It’s actually why he can come off as socially anxious, he is worry about that but it’s a lot of him reminding himself that he can’t just mess and touch people

He really wants to pet their heads, ruffle their hair, squish their faces and sometimes squeeze them to death

Sometimes he has the urge to snap them in half cause their cute

He thinks this with everyone, anyone and everyone. For some reason the urge is stronger with Ghost and Callisto. Probably because they will fight back the most

Horangi helped a lot by instigating lots of physical affection

Laying in him, leaning on him, CLIMBING on him, petting his head and patting his nonexistent cheeks

König is incredibly protective of what he believes is his and if that is threatened, he will do whatever it takes to protect it

This is especially true with Horangi since they are a thing

Surprisingly, Horangi is the dominant one in the relationship and both have staked a claim on each other

If on base, König will wear a collar under his hood. Not for anything sex related (mostly) but its mostly just satisfying to be the only one to know König is wearing it

Horangi got piercings. Idk what else to say, they’re permanent, beautiful, and make him extra sensitive

Over time Horangi’s body started to change because of their bond and he becomes his summoner skin

Everyone just rolls with it and König thinks it super hot. They have a very healthy stable relationship

That being said, König is INCREDIBLY picky about the people he surrounds himself with.

If he doesn’t like you, you’re done.

At first when he was new, he ignored the assholes because of his rank, but that quickly changed

The Eldritch beings like him are very violent and harsh beings, so when he doesn’t like something he will lash out and hurt you

And be prepared because there is one warning and they are not always that easy to spot.

It is highly unlikely that he will ever act out against any members of KorTac, because they treat him well, when they could treat him badly

That being said, if he is offended he will say so

Despite having to learn about the more subtle nuances of living like a human, he can blend in very well to a stranger

Once you spend time with him, it becomes more clear he is not from wherever he is at that point

For a long time he watched people from his world

He was summoned for a military project that did succeed (he’s still there are serving so…)

But they didn’t give him an any food so he ate some of the workers there

When summoning König, one needs pigs blood to draw the summoning circle, to say the proper words and (most importantly) a human sacrifice(s), eight octopi, and two hearts.

Summoning a creature of König level requires 5 sacrifices and no less.

The whole thing is very tiring for him and leaves him as vulnerable as he can be (which is not very)

When retelling the story of his summons, he was questioned by Zeus if he would ever turn on them

He said ‘I would turn on KorTac easily, you all, not so much.’

His masks are incredibly important for him to keep his shape. His body needs an outlet or some part to be more free, that’s were his masks come in

He can keep a stable fully human shape for 5 hours max but after that he gets super exhausted and things get weird

However, this 5 hours is under extremely controlled circumstances, on a mission he can comfortably do 3 hours

In the case that his masks are ripped, cut, shredded, burned, or damaged in some way that reveals his face, problems occur quickly

The short version, things begin to leak

The void usually kept under control in his hood and balaclava leaks, multiple eyes will look out of the void, sharp teeth and multiple smiles, an eye with multiple irises, his neck will open up and in the middle is his giant mouth.

He also becomes mentally unstable and paranoid.

All in all, not a fun experience for anyone

He can keep his eyes and use his tentacles (like some fanart where he lifts his mask and stares with his tentacles out)

It is just more difficult to eat people and he mostly uses that form for intimidation and not much else

[marvelousmop]

The King in Yellow and the War Over the Mind

I think one of the most powerful aspects of Robert W. Chambers's The King in Yellow, and one which sets it apart from a lot of later Weird Fiction about academics who become too invested in the world of the arcane, is the idea that there just isn't anything explainably wrong with the play. People know there's something wrong with it, especially once you get to the second act... but if you just looked at the text itself, you wouldn't find anything.

'No definite principles had been violated in those wicked pages, no doctrine promulgated, no convictions outraged. It could not be judged by any known standard, yet, although it was acknowledged that the supreme note of art had been struck in The King in Yellow, all felt that human nature could not bear the strain, nor thrive on words in which the essence of purest poison lurked.' ~ The Repairer of Reputations

Despite how central it is, I completely missed it on my first reading (mainly because I was young and grappling with a particularly bad printing of it which made the text really small). I only started to grasp it when I listened to the concept album The King in Yellow by experimental post-rock band "Ah Pook, the Destroyer".

This album is largely inspired by Chamber's work, using that premise - an idea that you can't see but can still cause genuine harm - to talk about the current political climate. Songs touch on a wide array of cults and conspiracies - from the modern-day antisemitic ramblings of Qanon and Lizard People conspiracies to the strong figureheads and interpersonal conflicts of cults like Heaven's Gate. They even find time to touch on the Time Cube somehow, all under the framework of the King in Yellow propagating harmful ideas and bringing about the New Age of Madness.

But it's not as simple as just looking at these people and calling them mad. Okay, sometimes it is that (best exemplified in the gospel stylings of "The Tribulation of Alex Jones"), but there are cases where the characters are presented with genuine empathy, such as in "The Road to Carcosa" where we hear about the life of a man who, through exposure to the Yellow Sign (which here is attached to Right-Wing conspiracy theories) ends up destroying his relationship with his family. The singer gets a moment of lucidity in the refrain "The fall of my life came after; And all of my mind was scattered", though this fades away as we hear the end of this story: Him living alone in a gun-filled squalor.

Another thing that elevates this album is how it turns it all back on the listener. There's obviously a specific audience of Left-leaning listeners a project like this would attract, and those people are very unlikely to also share the beliefs of the average Qanon-minded person, but (much like in the book) it constantly emphasises that the actual specific beliefs don't matter as much as the spread of ideas. This is most visible in the refrain heard throughout the album:

The fall you believe Is not far as it seems And the deep can not be so alive The blithe poison meme That you did not believe But you saw and it entered your mind

Belief doesn't matter. Sheer exposure to these toxic ideas means that, in a way, you've already been harmed no matter what you take away from it. This idea is also present in the book, most directly in the story "The Yellow Sign".

In it, Mr. Scott is fully aware of the King in Yellow, but has actively tried to avoid its influence, partially due to the unfortunate fate of Hildred Castaigne (who featured in the story "The Repairer of Reputations" and at the very least wanted to do a monarchist coup of America that would place him as King - all after reading The King in Yellow). By all means, he should be doing the right thing - he has no interest in The King in Yellow and is actively avoiding the play... and it's not like anyone's staging it anymore, so he should be fine... and yet, after strange dreams, an erie watchman, and other bizarre events, he and his model, Tessie, are driven to read it. This is also a story the album quotes right at the start:

'Then, as I fell, I heard Tessie’s soft cry and her spirit fled: and even while falling I longed to follow her, for I knew that the King in Yellow had opened his tattered mantle and there was only God to cry to now.' ~ The Yellow Sign & Beautitudes

It's an idea I think is also evoked in the structure of the anthology. While the first 4 stories directly feature the King in Yellow in one way or another, the rest are tragic, sometimes supernatural romances with seemingly no connection to the title character, to the point where some reprints just do the first 4 and ignore the rest... though I feel it's deliberate when keeping this idea in mind. While the King is absent, Yellow is a recurring motif throughout the book, often emphasising death or danger, and reminding the reader of that titular presence. You have been exposed to the King in Yellow, and now your mind is his domain.

[noonaishere]

Online/Offline [C.S] - sixty-three | ACAB

It was like your stalker knew - somehow - that San and Seonghwa would be gone for the week. You didn’t know if he actually did, or if you had just gotten so paranoid that you just convinced yourself that he did, but he came in every day that week.

Every. Fucking. Day.

Seven days of him trying to talk to you, trying to ask you about yourself, trying to figure out what your schedule was for the next week. You were pretty sure that there was even at least one obfuscated attempt at trying to ask you out. You cranked up the blender at that moment and pretended that you couldn’t hear what he was asking, but unlike the other times you had done similar, he seemed to be annoyed by it. Maybe it was because there were no men near you - someone who could protect you from him, someone he actually thought of as a human and respected, someone he could possibly fear - but he seemed much more brazen in the week without your boss and coworker.

The meeting finally had a break and San and Seonghwa both excused themselves to the bathroom. San washed his hands as Seonghwa came out of the stall to wash his.

“Did the police really say they couldn’t do anything?” Seonghwa sighed. “Unfortunately, yes. They said he hasn’t become violent--

“Yet.”

He nodded. “They also said he could press charges if I kick him out and don’t have just cause.” San shook his head angrily and grabbed some paper towels to dry his hands. He looked at Seonghwa as he did so.

“What?”

He shook his head. “What can we do if the cops won’t do anything?”

“Well,” Seonghwa got some paper towels and dried his hands, “I’m going to keep compiling the CCTV evidence. I think if I have enough at some point, they’ll have to take it seriously.”

“And if they don’t?”

“I don’t know yet. This is completely unreasonable.”

They stood in silence for a few moments as both thought.

“What about your lawyer?” Seonghwa asked.

“My-- I haven’t talked to her in a while. Not since the last payment from the emancipation came through.”

Seonghwa nodded. “Do you still have her number?”

“I do.” “I think you should call her. We might need some advice at the very least.”

San nodded. “She’s not a criminal lawyer… but she might know some. I'll see if she can help.” Seonghwa nodded. “Other than that… if what the cops say is true then it’s almost like…” He pulled his hands down his face with a sigh. “It’s almost like we need to wait for him to escalate.”

“Hyung--”

“I know.”

“What if he hurts her?”

“I know.” Seonghwa paused for a few seconds. “We need to think of something else, first. Before it gets to that.” Seonghwa put his hand on San’s arm reassuringly. “I know you don’t want her to get hurt, I don’t want her to get hurt either.”

San nodded.

Seonghwa nodded and threw out the paper towels he used. San did the same.

“When we’re done with this meeting today, we’ll put our heads together, okay?”

San nodded again. “Yes, hyung.”

“That’s literally just--” Gun shots rang out in your left headphone speaker and you died suddenly. You sighed. “...Yeji.”

“Was that you?”

“Yes, Yeji. It was me.”

“Oh my god I’m so sorry!”

Ryujin laughed. “We might as well just throw in the towel here.”

“I hate shooting games,” you said.

“But you’re so good at them.”

“Are you making fun of me?” You laughed.

She laughed. “No. Yeji!” she called her.

“Yes?” She asked quietly. Her character was moving around erratically, as if she was looking for somewhere to hide.

“What happened?”

You clicked through to Ryuijin’s viewpoint as she alternated hiding and shooting.

“I just saw a head pop up and shot! I’m sorry, y/n.”

You clicked back to Yeji.

“Don’t worry about it,” you sighed. “On your left.”

She spun ninety degrees and shot.

“Your conviction is good, Yeji.”

“It is?” 

“It’s your aim we need to worry about,” Ryujin added.

“Yeah.” You said.

You couldn’t play until your team either won or lost, so you looked through the chat while you waited.

Yoon.Kee.Ho: Hey Namhae! Yoon.Kee.Ho: Nice to see you back! 🗻of Namhae✅: Why aren’t you streaming, Keeho? Yoon.Kee.Ho: I’m at dance practice 🗻of Namhae✅: Ahh. Fighting! Yoon.Kee.Ho: Lol thanks

Namhae was back?

🖤🖤JGG🖤🖤: Hey, Namhae 🗻of Namhae✅: Oh, hi! 🖤🖤JGG🖤🖤: Are you coming back? You didn’t say anything 🗻of Namhae✅: Oh, I’m just checking in for a second. I’m still dealing with family shit 🖤🖤JGG🖤🖤: Ah 🗻of Namhae✅: Hopefully it’ll be done soon though 🖤🖤JGG🖤🖤: I hope it all turns out well 🗻of Namhae✅: Me too 🗻of Namhae✅: Yeji got you good, huh? 🖤🖤JGG🖤🖤: I mean… you “get” me you *kill* me 🤷‍♀️ 🗻of Namhae✅: LOL 🗻of Namhae✅: Wait… sorry boss 🖤🖤JGG🖤🖤: Not a fireable offense JohnnyYuta: Are we in the way of something 🖤🖤JGG🖤🖤: Workplace training 🖤🖤JGG🖤🖤: Lol 🗻of Namhae✅: She killed you really early on, huh? 🖤🖤JGG🖤🖤: YES A🌲SurroundedBy🌷s: Shade 🖤🖤JGG🖤🖤: No shade 🖤🖤JGG🖤🖤: But now I’m sitting here and I can’t do anything 🖤🖤JGG🖤🖤: And I have to wait until they die or they kill the other team for the game to end… 🖤🖤JGG🖤🖤: I’m bored :(

Unfortunately, Yeji killed you a few more times that stream. She was only replacing Keeho since he had dance practice he had forgotten about, and he was replacing San anyway because he was on his trip: A double replacement, no less. And of course, it had to happen when you were supposed to have an - admittedly friendly but still way too competitive - charity “March Madness”-style bracket series of matches with a few other popular streamers. 

Somehow the JGG/Keeho (and Ryujin) team placed third, despite Yeji’s constantly mistaking you for the enemy. She apologized afterwards and bought some subscriptions as an apology. You, knowing you made much more than her, bought them back from Ryujin’s stream; you didn’t feel it was fair of her to give you her money when the only crime she was guilty of was being a bit goofy.

You laid in bed after streaming and scrolled through youtube trying to figure out what you should watch to fall asleep. Should you watch a compilation of people restocking food and cleaning items in their house? Maybe a compilation of Get Ready With Me’s, where a disembodied hand with very nice nails packed all their Sanrio items into a Sanrio bag? Or maybe you could watch [your favorite youtuber] Out of Context for 6:78 minutes? Maybe instead of soothing, you should giggle yourself to sleep to get rid of the stress that had been mounting all week. You pressed the heels of your hands into your eyes for a moment and sighed as you thought. This whole stalker thing had you tired and wired at the same time, like you were waiting for something bad to happen but didn’t know when it would happen, and actually falling asleep meant nightmares in your state. You didn’t want those, you just wanted the rest. Maybe you should watch the Out of Context compilation.

Your phone lit up.

“Why’d you call?” You rolled over in bed and propped up the phone against the pillow so you didn’t have to hold onto it.

“You can’t keep talking like that.”

“Like--”

“I know that like… the cops don’t take you seriously… but you need to get out of that black hole.”

You thought to yourself for a few moments, and sniffed as you felt tears come on.

“Hey.” He said.

You cleared your throat and sniffed hard. “Yeah?”

“We’re going to figure it out, okay?”

“Are we?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t we?”

“... I don’t know.”

“Hey.”

“Mm.”

“We’re going to figure it out.”

“You keep saying that--”

“Because we are. I’m not going to let that bastard do this to you, okay?”

You scoffed softly. “What’s in it for you?”

He was quiet for a moment as he looked away, thinking.

“See? Nothing--”

“I’ll get to see you smile again.”

“What?”

“You’ll be happy again. Isn’t that enough?”

You thought.

“Just because those cops are pieces of shit doesn’t mean we’ve all abandoned you. We just need to think of something else.”

You rolled over onto your back and looked at the ceiling. “There you go with that ‘we’ again…”

“Hey…”

You looked at him.

“I speak for everyone at the café when I say that we all want you to be happy and free from that fucker.”

Your eyebrows raised. “Mr. Choi, I’ve never heard you speak so forcefully before.”

His stern, almost angry expression softened and he brushed his hair back. “Sorry.”

“No, it was very powerful. You’d make a good chaebol heir in a drama.”

He laughed awkwardly.

“Has Yunho ever asked you about auditioning?” You laughed.

“He has and I told him no. Don’t change the subject.”

You snapped your fingers. “Darn. You got me.”

He chuckled. He brushed his hair back again as he thought. “He’s come in every day, you said?”

“Yeah.”

He pursed his lips. “I’m going to do something tomorrow, so please don’t get mad.”

“What is it? And what are you doing? You’re all the way over there.” 

Was he coming back? You really wanted him to come back. You were a strong, independent streamer who didn’t need no man. But you wanted him to at least stand next to you so the stalker would fuck off.

“Are you coming back?” You asked, smiling.

“I can’t, we have a bunch of appointments with vendors tomorrow.”

“Oh.” Your smile dropped.

He looked into the screen and smiled. “Why? You miss me that bad?”

“I mean… you don’t shoot me like Yeji does when we play PUBG.”

“It wasn’t that bad.”

“What?”

He tilted his head, processing what you said. “Oh-- sorry. I meant: I’m sure it wasn't that bad.”

You sighed. “She killed me right at the beginning of a round. Twice.” San paused. “...Did you win?”

“We placed third.”

“That’s not too terrible.”

“We were first last year.”

“Ah.”

You sighed, hands folded across your stomach as you looked at the ceiling, only mildly despondent.

He laughed. “I’ll be back soon enough.”

You waved him away. “She’ll have killed again me by then.”

He laughed. “Well, I can’t be there for the game, but I can help with the stalker a little bit.”

You rolled over. “How?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Why not?”

“Because it has to be a surprise.”

“Why does it have to be a surprise?”

“Because you have to react like it is.”

You went to respond, but he smiled at you, eyes in upturned crescents and dimples on full display like the cat that ate the cream (if that cat had dimples).

You scoffed. “I could just pretend!”

“No, no, no.”

“What ‘no, no, no’?”

“If you know what it is, you won’t react the right way.”

You laughed. “It’s not bad is it?”

“Of course it’s not bad. Why would it be bad?”

“I don't know, I’m nervous,” you laughed.

“It’s fine. It’s a present, does that help?”

“Maybe…”

“You’ll like it.”

“Ugh.”

“What?”

“I don’t hate surprises, but with the stalker involved I hate everything.”

“You’ll like it.” You sighed. “Okay… what are you doing right now?”

“Eating dinner.”

“This late?”

“The people we met wanted to drink after and it was a whole thing.”

“You don’t seem drunk.”

He smiled. “I didn’t really feel like drinking.”

You nodded. You wondered if it was because of everything happening, but you didn’t want to ask.

“Want to see my food? It might make you feel better.”

You laughed. “Sure.”

You chuckled.

He smiled and put it down again.

“Now I want fries.”

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@rachs-words • @stayatinykatsy •

[the-fiction-witch]

Baby Mama P2

Media The Queens Gambit

Character Benny Watts

Couple Benny X Watts

Rating Sweet Af

Concept Pregnancy

I stood holding the small of my back as I desperately tried to quell the pain. Everything hurt my feet. My ankles. My legs. My hips. My stomach. My back. My shoulders. My neck. Every single part of me was tired and aching and generally unhappy as the baby kicked almost per minute.

"Uhh stop just stop. For five minutes" I complained

"Baby really beating you up today" Benny chuckled from his chair

"I don't know why baby won't settle and sit damn still for five minutes" I sighed

"Would you like some tea?"

"No thank you, Benny"

"Would you like me to run you a bath or a hot shower?"

"No thank you, Benny"

"How about I give you a nice massage?'

"This better not be another excuse"

"No, no excuse A proper massage, Will that make you feel better?"

"Maybe?"

"Come on then," he says getting up and offering his chair I smiled and took a seat on the chair and he moved to the ottoman over so I could put up my feet and recline "One second," he said, going to our bedroom and he returned kneeling beside the ottoman, with a clean fluffy towel sitting it under my feet on top of the ottoman and a small bottle I was confused at first but he clicked and stretched his fingers a moment before pouring some of the bottles onto his hands and immediately the scent of lemon hit my nose reminding me of the massage oil from the box under our bed he rubbed some on his hands and then poured a little on my feet before he began to rub my swollen feet

"Uhhhhh ummmmm" I smiled as he worked

"That's nice?"

"Ummm" I nodded relaxing as he worked "ummm this is the most pleasurable feeling ever" I smiled

"...you're pregnant" he glared

"Yeah?"

"So I've had sex with you" he complained

"I stand by my statement"

"Thanks, well I have to keep my baby mama happy somehow"

I sat at the table going through the various items that had arrived, Of course, ordering things from catalogues as shopping wasn't really an option as I'm in no mood or ability to walk around a department store. Of course, family and friends had heard the news about the imminent arrival of the baby and sent over boxes of gifts so I was sorting baby clothes and various items that had accumulated Benny was supposed to be helping me but I think he was just kind playing with things currently he sat with a small wooden xylophone attempting to play himself a tune

"Benny"

"What?"

"Stop playing with the baby toys"

"I'm testing them," he says "I have to check they are adequately mentally stimulating. We want our baby to be a grandmaster by twelve they need smart baby toys" he explained

"I never said I wanted that"

"You didn't. I did"

"Benny, the baby will be smart You don't have to test all the toys"

"I don't know they are only half chess genius," he says and I glared "I'm just testing them If I can use them without hurting myself then they are safe for the baby"

"I don't know babies are pretty dumb"

"True, y/n watch" he laughed before he began to play a tune

"You just wanna play with it"

"Kinda,"

"Do something else"

"Fine" he sighed moving into another box "Okay I am very confused..."

"That's a nursing bra"

"It's a bra... but buttons to expose the boobs?"

"Yes Benny, for nursing."

"I feel like we had one of these when we first got married that I ripped off you sometime after our honeymoon"

"Different thing Benny"

"I don't know make this in black lace and I'm pretty sure it's the same. That's a point you're planning on breastfeeding right?"

"That's the plan"

"Yes! Boobs!"

"Not boobs for you. Boobs for baby"

"But I'll still get to see boobs which is really what I'm excited about"

"Your my husband you can see boobs whenever you want"

"Yeah but it's not as fun"

I sat bouncing myself on the small inflatable ball I picked up it's supposed to help me strengthen and Widen my cervix or something. By the side of my Bump, I'd kinda wished I'd been doing way more cause I am a planet I've almost convicted the head of this baby is gonna be a literal watermelon luckily it wouldn't be long until this would be over and the baby would be here I mean I'm excited for this to be over but also worried because then I have a human to take care of which I mean I should be fine with I already take care of benny, the longer this goes on the more I question women who say they like being pregnant? I definitely do not. And I was pretty panicked I mean I want it out of me of course so we can have our baby and so I can be done being pregnant but... it has to come out of me which is gonna hurt! It's a complex feeling to have as I bounce.

"Comfy?" Benny asks as he brings me some juice

"Somewhat" I answered taking the juice and having a sip as he sat in his chair "Why?' I glared

"Just a position I should think you're used to" he smirked

For a moment I was puzzled and then I realised oh yeah I'm sitting with my thighs wife bouncing up and down

"Stop thinking with your penis Benjamin"

"Maybe I would if it got some attention" he sighed sipping his own juice

"I'm pregnant" I argued

"Yeah? Not like I can make you double pregnant. It's literally the only time it's a one hundred per cent chance I cum inside you and can't get you pregnant"

"No Benny, it's dangerous"

"Not in any of the parenting magazines I've read"

"Yes but you've been reading husband magazines and they are not helpful"

"Yeah the one at the doctor's office really isn't helpful and they really didn't appreciate me telling them that"

"Their doctor's benny they don't like being told they're wrong"

"But they are"

"Yes dear" I laughed

"Besides that pregnant booklet in the waiting room was printed in 1948, how is it possible that still there best recommendations?"

"I know" I giggled counting to bounce

"How'd baby?"

"Kicking. Stretching legs."

"Not long now and we'll finally get to hold our little one in our arms" he smiled coming to cuddle my stomach and give it kisses "umm Daddy can't wait to see you little one"

"Awww mummy can't either, just maybe... calm the kicking down a little"

"You want some help?"

"Not like you can stop it, Benny"

"I can help" he smiled moving behind me and gently holding my hips "Lay back"

"Are you sure?'

"Trust me"

"Alright" I sighed leaning my body back against him and he gently moved my hips on the ball which admittedly was very relaxing

"Don't hold back lean your whole weight on me"

"Are you sure? I'm very heavy Benny"

"I'm sure to come on"

So I leant my full weight on him my head on his shoulder and it was really nice not having to hold myself up for a little while and it even clicked my back

"Hey, that better?' He laughed as it clicked

"Much better" I smiled

"Good, I have to make sure baby mama is happy"

"It's getting harder and harder to be happy when I'm in this much pain'

"I know, but not long soon then we have the baby"

"I hope it won't be too long" I smiled but I felt a violent kick again"oh fuck-"

"What? Ohh oh. That's okay baby didn't mean to give your bladder a kick It's fine let's get you cleaned up" he reassured

I laid on the bed using Benny to pop my leg up given the size of My stomach made it basically impossible to lay certain ways, he was fast asleep but I couldn't sleep I'd been feeling this gnawing pain like period cramps but I guess it's just more pregnancy pain, but I'd been feeling it for hours now. I kept semi-falling asleep often waking from pain or strange nightmares of My stomach swelling to the point it explodes. I woke up from asleep and sat up having to use the bedpost to get myself up I wondered thought to the apartment and clicked on the light grabbing my book from the table and flicking through the pages in pain to see if I could fix this somehow

'Pain similar to period cramps - contractions usually a sign of active labour'

What! Wait wait wait what! I read on and began to panic I thought my water was meant to break or something or I'd start screaming I didn't know it would just kinda... begin hurting but I read on and found fake contractions or Braxton-Hicks also feel like this but they go away after eating so I made myself a big pile of toast eating a few pieces but it didn't go away

"What's going on?" Benny yawns as clearly something woke him up and he wondered out of the bedroom in his kimono rubbing his eyes

"I think I'm in labour"

He stopped short as I said that completely freezing mid-eye rub "What?'

"I think I'm in labour"

".... right. Okay. Just calm down!" He says beginning to panic

"I am calm Benny. I'm actually freakishly calm"

"I was talking to myself! Okay uhhh what makes you think so?"

"I've been having pains for like the last six hours. The book says there are contractions."

"They could just be Braxton-Hicks, right? Right you've had those before"

"They could, but they go away when you eat something"

"Did they go away after toast?" He asks

"Nope."

"Okay, what does the pain feel like?" He asks looking around the table for the paperwork

"Like a period cramp. Hurts like fuck then slowly goes away then hurts then slowly goes away"

"Holy shit. Yeah, that's a contraction. And ...your fine?"

"I feel fine. It hurts but I feel calm"

"Hu ... okay you think you can get dressed?"

"I think so"

"Good you get dressed I'll call the midwife at the hospital and see what she says," he says

I nodded and went to our room getting into my little maternity dress even if it was barely for me and a pair of my flats the pain only got more and more intense as Benny waited on hold so I grabbed my bag and packed it with a nightie, some slippers, perfume, lotion, body wash, baby's blankets, hats, socks, all the little things they said we would need to bring just in case. And as I came through he Finally thought having got himself dressed in the meantime with clothes from the clean laundry "Hi! Hi yes hello, okay, Watts. Yeah, it's Benny. She thinks she might be in labour. Well this is our first so... yes she's describing period cramp-like pain that comes then goes away again and it's been like that for several hours now" he explained

"Six hours" I added

"Yeah, six hours now maybe more. Uhh just a sec- does it completely stop when it dies down?"

"It did now not so much"

"Yes but now not so much, okay... no, no, no she had about six bits of toast. Uhhh remarkably calm actually. Okay yep no problem" he says before he hangs up

"So?"

"Uhhh she says you need to get in the car. Like now"

"Ohh okay, I packed the bag"

"Everything on the list?"

"Everything and some additional items"

"Okay, let's get going" he smiled giving me a soft kiss before taking the bag and helping me up to the car and stairs They were hard by the time I reached the car the pain was becoming almost unbearable but Benny did his best holding my hand to drive us through the busy New York streets to the hospital and by this point, I was pretty panicked and in a lot of pain 

[insanearchivist]

I need you to know that I'm on my laptop, I have the transcript open in a different tab and I'm about to go through all three episodes. This is serious.

First things first, Martin. I LOVE HIM. I also hate myself for not giving him enough credit, both for the whole convicting Elias plan and also for the ICONIC line "Sorry, Elias. I can’t hear you. There’s – a door in the way." Actually, EVERY SINGLE ONE of his lines in this episode is iconic. He also did not deserve what Elias did to him, even though I'm unsure if it's true...

I just realized that's what the Angler Fish does and Sarah Baldwin was when Melanie met her.

So we have officially accepted that something gets info from listening to the tapes and it is not Elias. I believe it is the entity that the listener represents. I am also inclined to think it's the Eye. I don't really think the listener plays the role of the Eye though but I guess it wouldn't be completely out of the question.

So mag 119...

They all enter a room(?) and Nikola is there and she takes on the voices of people and maybe their appearances? She's also doing something to Jon cause he doesn't even know who he is I guess. And he ends up giving her the detonator.

I guess everyone is confused after all, but Daisy killed Breekon and Hope???? Just Hope I guess...WTF DAISY??? Can Breekon exist without Hope?

And Tim clicks the detonator but not everyone dies. How?

So Tim and Daisy die. I thought we would be seeing more of Daisy. I mean, I listened to the Q&A, I know they are dead but they may come up again, I just thought she would have more of an arc which I don't see happening post-death.

Finally, MAG 120.

I know the whole dream is related to stuff that has happened (mainly in statements) so far and I do recognize most of them, but what information am I supposed to take away from it? I refuse to believe it's just filler.

Anyway, that's it. End of statement. You made it! Thanks!

[cutekittenlady]

I do wish people would have more fun speculating on how Alucards relationship to the rest of the group will play out in season 2.

Like, yes, Maria and Alucard were a thang in the games, but I'm not sure that's going to necessarily follow into the Netflix adaptation. Not because of the pearl clutchy discourse but more because the creative team behind the first series made it clear they weren't doing a beat for beat adaptation and had every intention of doing their own thing with the characters. Plus, thematically speaking, it wouldn't shock me if Alucard and her wind up developing a father-daughter relationship given how Alucard was left off in the first series.

I mean, it is kind of interesting how Alucard comes swinging into the story immediately after Maria has more or less lost both her parents in ways that are way worse than death. (I mean her mom loses her humanity and her dad flagrantly rejected her offer to become a real family in favor of his cause; which is actually way worse than if they were both just dead) And at the end of the first series, Greta makes a point of saying that many of the villages orphaned children were freely calling Alucard 'father' so he's clearly established as a guy who has filled a father figure role in the past.

Plus, Alucard is kind of a fun contrast to the Abbot. I mean, the Abbot is an extremely religious conservative whose conversations with Maria in regards to their idealogical differences are heavily tinged with moralizing and tend to patronize her as a confused little girl. Meanwhile, assuming we keep certain aspects of his character from the first series, Alucard is a half-vampire who leans pretty heavily into science and may prescribe more to a lot of the ideas of the enlightenment movement that helped inspire the French Revolution in the first place. Thing is, I don't see him really agreeing with Maria either, but unlike the Abbot, he'd likely approach the discussion way differently and treat her conviction as something with a real moral core to it. However, I can see Alucard still challenging Maria to think more deeply about her own ideas and what it is she actually wants to achieve.

Like, imagine Maria challenging Alucard to take a hand in something like the revolution. Maybe even asking in a sorta accusatory way as though his refusal to take part is a mark against his character/trustworthiness. Alucard, in turn, asking her if she really wants yet another vampire screwing around in human affairs and potentially manipulating people to their own ends. She might try to argue its for a more righteous cause, but Alucard would be pretty quick to point out that both her father and the vampire think their cause is righteous too. And so on.

I just think, thematically, there is a lot of potential there for Alucard to act as a more sincere father figure to Maria with the added benefit that the two living together afterwards would still feel organic and natural as a result. Thereby getting the same net benefit of Maria encouraging Alucard to interact more with the world, just through a different relationship.

Of course, I mention the father-daughter aspect just because there's a pretty clear theming running through season 1 in regards to parentage and how that can influence/define ones outlook and ideals. (And also a ton of parent related trauma. LIke tooooons of it). The same themeing could be continued given Alucards history with his own dad even if he doesnt play a paternal or romantic role with maria.

Alucard could just as easily be a kindred spirit that Maria just comes to really be fond of. Her bitchy bisexual bishounen bestie, if you will.

[aureatescars]

— closed starter ft. @petrokhelidon

As per the usual these days he comes to in a daze, disoriented and with a dull throb of pain radiating up his spine. It gains an edge the longer he is conscious, gets sharper with each passing second.

In his barely awake state he fumbles for the controls of his pain medication and presses the button once he finds it. Immediately a relieved groan parts his lips as the painkillers take effect and Alexander tries to shift his weight, meaning to move his legs, to shake the stiffness he can feel permeating his limbs, only to find them heavy and unresponsive. His throat tightens.

It really comes back to him then, all that has happened: the civil war, the outbreak, the Plaga, everything that ultimately led to him staring down the barrel of his own gun held by another man. He remembers the fear, the terror at being faced with it, the resignation and eventually an odd sense of relief as his gaze locked with his once enemy turned reluctant ally.

Leon.

Leon, who spoke with such conviction of him having to continue on no matter what, that for a moment the impending doom of the situation didn't seem as insurmountable.

It was a fleeting notion, though. Regret washing over him immediately alongside the agony that followed the gunshot and the bullet ripping right through him.

The only mercy that came afterwards was that his body went into shock after the Plaga's death and near immediately caused him to lose consciousness, taking what he imagined would have been the worst of the pain with it.

Sometime during the third day of being awake and in a state of mind where he could actually retain information, he was told that Leon was not only the one to rid him of the Plaga in the first place, but also the one who brought him here, to the hospital, on his own, while in a similarly roughed up state; apart from the gunshot wound that was.

Alexander sinks heavily back into the pillow after going through the events in his mind for the x-th time, and then turns his head toward the window, noting that it must be way beyond lunchtime already. There is nothing else he can do besides stare out there and follow the movements of various people on the crowded street below.

He thinks it's the tenth or eleventh day after him regaining consciousness for longer periods of time and by what he was told it would yet be a while before he could leave. He is already sick of his current surroundings, but the truth of the matter is that Alexander doesn't even know where he will go once he is discharged, how he would even manage to move anywhere at all—

He shoves the thought away as he feels a wave of renewed panic bubble up inside him, the weight of the decision he has made – the decision Leon has made for him – threatening to hit him full force and leave him devastated once again.

Alexander breathes in deeply, attempting to fight off the sudden dread taking a hold of him, which only works when he is distracted from his thoughts by the sound of a nearby door opening and he tilts his head to look toward it.

His eyes widen as he recognizes the man standing there in the doorway, their gazes lock once more and suddenly Alexander feels that he can't breathe at all.

There is a beat of silence between them in which he can't decifer what emotion plays across the other man's features, or if there is anything there at all. His mind has been known to play tricks on him now that he is constantly high on pain meds.

"I didn't think I would see you again," he confesses, the words almost sluggish in the foreign tongue, his tone nowhere near as rough has he intended it to be. In reality, he sounds maybe a little too breathless, a little too relieved to see a familiar face — any familiar face for that matter.

[hypnotisedfireflies]

William seems to be one of the few parts of Tess’ past that she doesn’t mind looking back on, she always remembers him fondly. But whatever became of dear William? We know that he eventually dies?? but do you have any behind the scenes ideas about his fate? What did the time after outbreak look like for him?

In a different timeline, what would a William and Tess reunion look like post outbreak/Jackson times? How would their friendship change? What would William think of Joel? (I know we get some idea of this in Blood Orange when Tess is bantering with him in her head. (I love that scene)) I’m imagining a lot of teasing and embarrassing stories that make Rachel’s look down right tame.

I hope this ask isn’t too niche btw, I just love all the details you add into your stories and would love to know more.

Oh, what a cool ask! Thank you anon, we don’t talk about William Szulc much so this is nice to explore.

Driftersverse canon, William is definitely gone.  Tess imagines in that Blood Orange banter that cause of death was waffles, which is her way of hoping that he went quickly and didn’t suffer through everything that happened.  She tells herself that he was one of the first directly infected and was put down that first night. 

The truth isn’t too dissimilar from that.  William didn’t make it very far.  He was never infected, though.  He was killed in the chaos of that first weekend - Tess will never know it, but he was caught up in one of the explosions she saw from her home.

Had he lived, William would have been a pretty cunning survivor, not unlike Tess.  They got along so well because they recognised a certain callousness in one another, I guess?  Not the nicest thing, but they knew how to care for someone who held the world at a distance.  They had an extremely low-maintenance friendship.  They could be fucking horrible to one another and it was just water off a duck’s back; they could go without speaking because life was busy for months and pick up right where they left off; they had one another’s backs especially when the other person was in the wrong.  But they didn’t necessarily hold one another accountable or dig too deep below the surface.  Their friendship was close, but it was indulgent.  All about the good times – which is kind of why Tess can’t call him in Snowqueen.  I think we all have some friendships like that. There's nothing wrong with them, it's just the way some relationships are.

Had he lived and made it to Jackson it would have been a very different dynamic.  They wouldn’t have been just able to pick up like they used to.  Too much had happened, and I think William probably went Full Villain in those years.  I mean, Tess and Joel aren’t really the good guys either, but I can imagine William going around with a title like The Commodore and living a very long-term raider/hunter existence.  The kind of survivor group with FEDRA tanks and equipment, cutting FEDRA supply lines and also being a total menace to the Fireflies, too.

So I can see if William had showed up in Jackson – all that left behind for one reason or another – that it would be a kind of strange and heartbreaking time rather than joyous.  Our guys would have their Spidey senses tingling that something is not right with this guy, and Joel and Lachie would come to an agreement that Tess is not to be left alone with him.  So you know, Tess is trying to hang out with William and Lachie is doing a Sam Gamgee outside the window, trimming the verge. 

Lachie and William, btw, on paper should be the best of friends.  Both strangers in a strange land, and Australians and Brits tend to gravitate together abroad.  But they have taken very different paths of survival and have different outcomes.  They’d start a cricket team and teaching Jacksonites how to play, but then end up arguing about the Ashes and batting averages and spin bowling.  Lachie would call him a pom, William would call him a convict, Lachie would argue that he’s only second gen on his dad’s side and third on his mum’s so he’s not a convict, blah blah blah.

Over time, William would start to get better, but I think he would be one of those people who would always be a bit unstable.  But he would have a plethora of stories to tell Joel, anon! You are very right about that.  Rachel was positively PG compared to what William could tell Joel.  In fact, Joel probably doesn’t really want to know some of the stuff William can tell him.  And here also is a person who could give Joel a more unbiased opinion of Tess and Mike’s relationship – but Joel actually doesn’t care about that anymore at this point in time. 🥹 So he never asks.

In return, William would be very mistrustful of Joel to begin with.  Not really Joel’s fault;  William doesn’t trust anyone (not even Tess) by this juncture. Plus, he's very obviously watching him. But over time he would start to respect him, especially given how long he has been in Tess’s life and helped keep her alive. 

Ouch, that got dark.  I hope that’s not a downer, anon.

Not all reunions are happy ones.