#he spends one second of eternity killing himself over and over and over and he remembers it and still decides to each time

[lucky38s]

he asks how long can he keep burning himself to make another him at seven thousand years

and goes for four billion four hundred ninety-nine million nine hundred ninety-three thousand more

did you know 7000 is 0.0000015% of 4.5 billion?

#he spends one second of eternity killing himself over and over and over and he remembers it and still decides to each time #just for a chance to burn the universe she’s no longer in #riot talks #doctor who #whouffaldi #twelveclara #heaven sent #can’t wait to do hell bent next lol (: #otp: don’t run stay with me

[soobnny]

labyrinth — lee minho.

trope. best friends to lovers. college au. slow burn. angst. fluff. a story on second loves.

synopsis. sometimes, the path towards healing involves not only mending your heart but trusting in the love of those who have been there all along, or alternatively, in which lee minho teaches you to love again

word count. 20k words

warnings. drinking, mentions of vomiting, curse words, intoxication, the aftermaths of heartbreak, not feeling good enough

note. hello it’s me again! have this semi self-indulgent lee know fic i wrote

one.

When Mark breaks your heart in the first weeks of summer, Minho doesn’t say “I told you so”. Instead, he becomes your gentle refuge, sitting still and letting you cry on his shoulder. 

He’s careful to touch you, doesn’t want to shake you out of the pretense of composure you’ve built for yourself. Though, it only takes a brush of his hand before the inevitable scrunch of your face that follows into a sob. His hands pull your waist closer, running soothing circles down your back.

You bruise yourself for your naivety. 

In the tapestry of first loves, it’s easy to be bound to the intoxicating notion that he will be all you’ll ever know. When you fall, you think it’ll last forever. The memory of him emerges from around you, slipping in like sand through your feet. Most of it passes quickly, but some moments sink on your skin, desperately pulling you down and forcing everything down your throat—–the sound of ocean waves bathing the seashore when he held your hand, barefoot and laughing, the birds singing from outside the window as you spend the morning in, the scent of coffee in the morning, the sound of laughter in grocery stores, and the feeling of rain dripping down your clothes as you run for the night train where you tell each other everything. 

How are you supposed to forget pieces of him you’ve cemented in your heart? 

Loss is too terrible to grasp at once, especially when unexpected. Especially when you had thought the world of him only to have your heart shattered. 

Pain only stems from the comfort of memories. It snags on you, clinging onto you and reminding you that they will just be memories now. You will only remember him now, remember falling in love over and over again, remember your first kiss and every single one after. You will only remember how he looked at you, with so much love in his eyes, you thought you would last an eternity. 

“I’m going to kill him.” Minho’s voice is soft despite the connotation behind his words. He has his arms firm around you, bringing one hand to pat your hair down. 

“You don’t even know what he did.” You mumble, voice coming out shaky and incoherent from sobbing the past few hours. There’s snot running down your nose and staining his shirt, and your prickling tears still haven’t stopped. His favorite shirt is soaked, but he couldn’t be less bothered.

“He—,” Your best friend pauses, taking a deep breath in. It’s something he does when he tries to recompose himself. “He made you cry.” He breathes out, taking the back of your head and pushing it further into his chest. He doesn’t think he can bear the sight of your tear-stained eyes, doesn’t think he can handle the quiver in your lips. 

“Maybe I just wasn’t good enough. If I was prettier–” 

The words sound practiced in your lips, slipping far too easily that it breaks Minho’s heart to think it must’ve been something weighing in your mind for a while now. He shakes his head rather fervently, carefully peeling your head back from the crook of his neck so your eyes meet.

“I don’t want you to finish that sentence.” His thumb swipes at the tears falling from your eyes, and while Minho hadn’t had the time to switch on the living room lights when you had knocked on his door at close to midnight, you can still see anger swimming in his eyes. You know it isn’t directed to you, know that he’s trying his best to subdue his rage and not drive and crash into Mark’s house right now. 

“He’s going to hell for even letting that thought run through that little head of yours. There’s already barely anything in there, and he dares plant something so painfully untrue?” You notice his lips are twitching in effort of a teasing smile.

Despite the unbearable pain, you can’t help but laugh at your best friend’s words, even though it comes out sounding more like a sob. “My head has a few things in there.” You manage to croak out, and Minho pockets the accomplishment of making you laugh to think about later. 

“Of course, of course. Definitely not differential calculus, but there are a few things in there.” His eyes are soft when he speaks. “One of them is that you’re enough, and it’s that fucker’s loss for letting you go. Want to hear you say it.”

He follows along with you, accompanying you with every word. “I’m good enough.” He nods his head, urging you to continue speaking. “And?” 

“And it’s that fucker’s loss for letting me go.” You almost cry when you say it.

“There you go.” 

Minho pulls you back in his arms, wrapping you in his scent and the entirety of his comfort. He says nothing, only listens to your heavy inhale and exhale. You’ve never been here before, never felt this pain before so he lets you feel your emotions. It’s an ache that doesn’t need to be taught, but is inevitable to learn. 

“Thank you, Min.” Your voice wavers, sucking in a deep breath. “I’m…” An apology sits on your tongue, but you know your best friend won’t let you. He’s picked you up multiple times before–failed tests, college admissions, family arguments, and never once has he let you apologize for crying. “Thank you.” You say through the clatter of your teeth. 

He doesn’t say anything, only squeezes you in his arms. It’s two in the morning now, and Minho can hear your quiet snoring. It’s prominent, sitting louder than the few honks of cars outside. You must’ve barely gotten any rest these past few days. 

Your face is still wet when he lays you down on his bed, pulling his covers over you and letting it fall just by your chin. Minho falls asleep on his small, run-down couch. 

two.

The process of disentangling Mark from you is a lot harder than you thought it would be. The first time you cross off his favorite candy and brand of milk from your shopping list, you sobbed for two straight hours. At one point, when Minho was accompanying you, you had started crying in front of the sweets section and he’d had to whisk you away embarrassingly and calm you down in his car. 

Since the break up three weeks ago, you’ve refrained from doing anything that remotely reminded you of him. For one, you’ve stopped wearing his favorite hoodie, the one tucked away at the back of your closet. You don’t know how to return it to him yet. It’d be too hard to face him when you can barely hold yourself together even by just the sight of it. You stopped viewing his Instagram stories, after making the same mistake a week ago. Minho has told you to block him, but it’s too big of a step to take right away. 

Though, you think the most painful was seeing Juyeon on your way to class. You don’t know whether to greet him or not. He was Mark’s friend over yours, but you’d like to think you’d gotten along quite well to consider him a friend. Though, it seems too much of an overstep towards the boundaries created when Mark had called it quits. His friends will take his side on the breakup, and your friends will take yours. It’s no longer a shared “our” friends. It's just yours or his now. 

The realization stings so badly that it physically hurts you, and what starts as stabs of pain evolves to a dull ache. You crave for the time to come where days without him would feel far, especially when you can’t sit still at this stupid restaurant without recalling your second date and how you’d spent everyday thinking forever of him.

“(Name)? You okay?” Felix’s voice is piercing, reverberating through your thoughts. 

“Hm? Yeah, yeah, sorry.” You swallow, propping your elbows on the table and leaning forward to seem more present. 

“You spaced out a little bit.” He laughs, taking a sip out of his service water. “Is it cause you miss Mark? I know you had one of your dates here.” His voice is teasing, and you shiver a little at the mention of your ex-boyfriend. 

Minho shifts in his seat, scooting a little closer and ghosting a hand behind your chair. He’s looking at you now, unrecognizable expression on his face as he waits for your response. He hadn’t told any of your friends, kept his promise when you had asked him, but he doesn’t like the way you’re cornered into a response. 

“Oh…” You blink, eyes scanning each person from the table before dropping down to your glass of water. “We— we broke up actually.” You swallow again, taking the glass but not quite bringing it up to your lips. 

There’s a recollection of Mark sitting adjacent to you, his voice sodden and repeating. And you don’t like all the eyes frozen on you as you share the pathetic end of a relationship you thought would be everlasting. 

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” Felix feels guilty, voice growing smaller and smaller with every word. You’re quick to reassure. 

“It’s okay. It happens.” You shrug, even though it’s not okay. Even though it wasn’t supposed to happen to you. You were supposed to be an exception to fate's horrible hands. 

Everyone’s eyes buzz, and you know they’re thinking of it. You bite your lip, eyes searching for Minho’s in desperation. For a barrier. For someone to break the pity dripping from everyone’s features. It makes you feel small. 

Minho’s head peps up, smile pulling on his lips as he suddenly claps his hands. “Hyunjin-ah, do you remember the last time we were here?” 

“Why are we suddenly having this conversation?” His friend groans in embarrassment, but rides on the conversation anyway.

Hyunjin pretends not to remember even though he doesn’t think he’ll ever forget the shame of mispronouncing the names of the dishes while you, Minho, and Jisung were stifling in your laughter. You’d almost forgotten the way you laughed until your stomachs hurt when the waitress finally walked away after a cruel 15 minutes of asking Hyunjin to repeat himself. 

“The one I ordered was pretty good though. I have a pretty good eye for food.” Jisung joins in on the conversation, heart clenching at the way you quietly retreat in your seat. He’s always had a soft spot for you. 

“Yeah, sure, you have eyes, I guess.” Minho replies without hesitation, which has Jisung dropping his mouth and staring at the boy in disbelief. “Excuse me?” 

Laughter falls in laughter as everyone stares between the two, who are bickering back and forth. You turn to them with a smile on your face, grateful to break away from the impending conversation about Mark. The attention is elsewhere now, and you feel like you can finally breathe properly.

“As if you didn’t order something horrendous too. It was a silly time.” Minho leans towards you with challenging eyes at your input in the conversation. It’s abrupt, the way he suddenly twists his body so he’s facing you, and so Minho-like.  

“You had fun.” He points at you. “You had so much fun. You had fun.” 

“Okay, okay, damn. You’re being really aggressive right now.” You laugh a little, falling back in your seat and pushing his pointing hand away.

“We enjoyed ourselves.” He says one more time as a matter-of-fact, just as the food arrives. The conversation takes a short pause as hunger hits, long arms reaching out to grab as much food as they can on their plates. 

Jisung stares at the variety of dishes, mouth watering as he holds a critical stare–as if he’s about to make life-altering decisions with the food he chooses. There’s everything you could name, variants of chicken and beef and noodles and seafood all plastered on the table. You quietly take a few portions when it looks like no one’s going for the same serving spoon. 

“Oh, oh, yes, try that (Name). I tried it a while back, and it’s so good.” He waves his spoon around, eyes lighting up at your choice and you laugh at the way everyone moves away from the table to avoid getting hit by the splattering sauce. 

Jisung only stops holding you hostage when Chan moves to distract him.

By the time you fill up your plate, Minho is already digging into his food, chewing diligently with furrowed eyebrows. The steak he ordered for himself looks good, and a smirk forms when he senses your prying eyes. He plays dumb, like he always does, slicing the meat in an annoyingly slow pace before sticking his fork into it. 

“Your order looks good.” Your smile is nothing but innocent as you stare at his fork without shame. He mirrors your grin, sly as he picks up his fork. 

“I thought you said the food I ordered was horrendous.” He interrupts, lifting up the slice of meat and waving it around cartoonishly. He is so annoying with his rolled up sleeves and his hooded eyes. 

“That was before. I’ve changed!” 

“No.”

You pout, stuffing a piece of fish in your mouth at failing to coax Minho into sharing his food. All efforts against Minho always end in vain, but you’ve always held pride in the way he takes a second longer to reject you. You’re just about to twist some noodles in your chopsticks, terribly hunched over posture, when a fork is shoved in front of your face.

Minho doesn’t say a word as he waits for you to eat the slice of steak, free hand hovering just under your chin in case the food falls. Your eyes fall on his, horribly failing to hide the smile on your face as you lean forward to bite the meat off. 

“Oh, it’s so good.” You huff, chewing carefully with widened eyes. It’s a close second to the steak Seungmin and Minho cooked for you on your birthday last year.

Though, it’s only taking the Number 1 spot because the criterion was solely based on who made it, and how they took time out of their day to cook one of your favorite meals for you. The taste of the steak in this restaurant wins by a landslide, but you don’t think they can replicate the love put into your birthday steak. 

Minho makes that face exclusive to his friends when he wants to put up mock annoyance at being forced to do something out of his will, like sharing his food, yet everyone’s accustomed to his cold exterior. 

“Have you ever—” Jisung starts after your table becomes a victim of silence, stuffing his mouth with a few chips. He doesn’t finish his thought, though, reaching out for Hyunjin’s glass of water after having finished his before the food was even served.

“What?” Changbin asks the question brewing on everyone’s throats.

“Nevermind. I’m gonna keep it to myself because you guys are gonna say it’s gross.” 

The ongoing conversation falls deaf in your ears. You hate to admit you were too busy weighing your options on whether you should have shrimp or not. It takes you a feverishly long time to peel them, and everyone might as well have finished their meals before you can make it to five shrimps. But the sight makes your mouth water, and you’re stuck at a crossroad. Maybe Jisung was onto something when he had stared at the food earlier, as if it was the most important decision in his life.

“Woah, woah, woah. I peed on a tree recently if that makes you feel any better.” Jeongin says without a stutter in his sentence, and everyone pauses from their meals. “Now, what was that gross thing you wanted to talk about?” He nudges Jisung’s shoulder.

“....Have you ever wondered if there’s snot flavored chips?” 

“Jisung!” Chan chastises as everyone else shares judging stares. Hyunjin is having a hard time holding his laughter, and Changbin almost spits his water out. Minho is too busy peeling his shrimps to give the conversation the time of day.

“We shouldn’t have allowed you to talk in the first place.” Seungmin grimaces.

You’re too immersed in still deciding whether you should eat shrimps or not to notice Minho transferring the seafood he had peeled on your plate. He doesn’t say anything when he reaches for your plate, doesn’t even look at you when you glance at him. Instead, he resumes eating and listens quietly to the ridiculous conversation from his friends. 

“This is why I didn’t wanna say it!” 

“Yeah, you definitely should’ve kept that to yourself.”

The breach of silence from Jisung doesn’t last long as the noise quiets down into chewing and Minho’s quiet yet persistent “eat more” when he sees small portions on your plate. He knows you haven’t been having the appetite to eat lately, but he still makes sure you’re at least intaking a healthy amount to sustain your body. 

An hour and a half later, you find yourself in the passenger seat of Minho’s car as he drives you home. He lets you connect to the Bluetooth, lets you control the music despite preferring to drive in silence. Though, he’s ill-prepared for you to actually start singing.

“You are an expert at sorry and keeping lines blurry, never impressed by me acing your tests—”

Minho groans, briefly gazing in your direction before keeping his eyes on the road. A half second is enough to see you moping with your head leaned against his window. 

“All the girls that you’ve run dry have tired lifeless eyes cause you burned them out.”

“When I gave you control over the music, I didn’t expect you to start playing Taylor Swift.” He shoots you another glance, one hand on the steering wheel and the other just behind your headrest. He’s giving you a judging look, as if he hadn’t blasted Adele when he had his first heartbreak years ago. 

“Deal with it.” You stick your tongue out childishly before turning to your mini karaoke session. “Don't you think I was too young to be messed with? The girl in the dress, cried the whole way home—”

It takes four more songs from your Spotify playlist titled Taylor Swift but you’re heartbroken before Minho’s finally pulling up to the front of your dorm building. You know he’s so fucking done with you, with his eyes closed and head rolled back as he waits for you to finish sulking. He doesn’t kick you out of his car, though. He only crosses his arms with his lips pressed into a bored line until you’ve decided you’re done singing for the night. 

You don’t think you can take the quiet. Without music blasting in your ears, you’re confronted by a suffocating silence. There is no relief when you see how the night sky looks so peaceful outside his car window because why can the night sky bask in calmness while you have to sit there in this excruciating hurt? 

So, you stay there for another two songs. You are too fragile to be nudged right now, and Minho doesn’t think it’s an appropriate time to confront you about the band-aid you’ve stuck to temporarily keep your heart together. 

three.

Time doesn’t stop for your grieving. Everyday, the same sun will mockingly look down at you, reminding you that days would go on without you. That despite the squeezing pain in your sternum, time will not stop for your hurt. People will go on about their days unknowing of your suffering. 

Ironically, while time stops for no one, it does move excruciatingly slow. When you’re in love, time passes by you so quickly that you don’t know it’s the last time. You’re never given a warning. Endings are always so sudden that it makes no sense. When love unclasps its grip from you, days and nights drag on longer, stretching out the pain. There is nothing to do but rot over your break. 

The past two months have felt like a year. It’s strange how one moment you could be in the middle of clinging onto your lover’s hand, and the next it all feels like a very long time ago, and none of it is ever coming back. How are you supposed to cope with the loss of someone you know too much about as life continues to progress around you?

You don’t understand how you’re supposed to endure this. There is nothing to do but to stare at your ceiling until you feel horrible about yourself. 

You’re curled up on your bed like the day before, and the day before that, when the sound of your door opening jolts you awake. Though, Minho’s voice is quick to reassure that a stranger hadn’t broken into your dorm. You didn’t know he was back from his parent’s house. He had even invited you, a few days ago, telling you a change of scenery might do you good but you were pretty adamant on crying through your hurt in your dorm room alone.

“I’m walking into your bedroom. You better not be naked.” Your best friend announces before his familiar silhouette emerges from the dark of your make-do living room. He has his arms folded across his chest as he leans against your doorframe. 

“What do you want?” 

“You’re coming with me to do groceries.” He speaks with vindication, pacing inside your room in search of something for you to wear in your closet. 

“I don’t want to.”

He throws a hoodie to your face, standing by the edge of your bed expectantly. You thrash around for a few seconds, mostly for dramatism, before stubbornly sitting up to wear the hoodie he had thrown at you. “What do I even get out of this? Just let me suffer in peace.”

“Vitamin D.” He’s still hovering. “Your bones are gonna break if you don’t see the sun, and we promised we’d race each other when we’re eighty.”

Your heart rises to your throat at the recollection of when you were seventeen and unaware of what the future would hold for the both of you. It had been some stupid agreement you’d come up with when you had snuck a bottle of soju into Minho’s parent’s house. Perhaps it was the excitement from drinking for the first time or the numbness from losing your grandparent just a few weeks ago, but the alcohol had made you cry. You couldn’t bear the thought of losing anyone else, not your parents, not your friends, not Minho. The introduction to loss was so overwhelming, and you hated how permanent it was. In an attempt to make you smile again, Minho had promised to buy you a house if you could outrace him when you’re both eighty and frail. Prideful and under the influence, you accepted.

“I’m getting that house.” You say with a lazy grit, unmoving from your spot. He laughs, shaking his head as he grabs your hands, dragging you out of your bed. 

“I’m not gonna go easy on you even if you’re old and wrinkly. Now, hurry up. I’ll cook for you if we get back before 4pm.”

“Seafood pasta and steak?” Your eyes light up for the first time today, and Minho lets out a long sigh at your request. 

“Yeah, whatever.” He scrunches his face. 

“And you’ll make it spicy?”

“Hurry up before I take it back and let you starve.” Minho takes his leave, turning his back around heading for your front door as you make it out of your bed in record time. You hate to admit that it’s the first time you’re leaving your house in days. And while you were planning to spend the rest of the break like this, Minho’s temporary accompaniment and the meal awaiting you is very much appreciated. Otherwise, you would’ve let your limited supply of cup noodles suffice and seafood pasta outweighs instant noodles by a mile. 

The trip to the grocery store is short, but it’s enough to play a song and a half. When you arrive, Minho makes a beeline to the frozen section to restock on his pudding. You sigh, bowing your head faintly and following the bunny boy. 

You have to admit, the lighting from the lined up refrigerators does well in making Minho look adorable with his pink nose and a smile that frames his two front teeth. It’s a shame he only ever directs this look to his cats and oddly enough, pudding. 

He throws a few cups in his shopping cart before moving along to another aisle. You match your footsteps with his, walking next to him as he pushes the cart along. The grocery store is dangerous. There are ways to find Mark everywhere. So, you look anywhere but aisles–the ground, Minho’s back, his cart. Anything but his favorite candy and the brand of milk he uses. 

“Want anything?” You look up at your best friend, and he looks at you with pointed eyes before gesturing towards the bags of junk food lining up. 

“I thought you said this was unhealthy for me?” It’s with incredulousness that you look at him. 

“Do you want me to take back my offer?” 

Smiling sheepishly, you reach out to grab a few bags of popcorn and some honey butter chips before adding it to the pile you hadn’t even noticed. It seems he’s gone through half of his grocery list as you stared aimlessly at the ground. 

He tells you to stay there and have a look around if you want anything else, and by the time he comes back, he has two cartons of milk in his arms that he places in his cart. 

You skip past the dairy and sweets section as Minho finishes up. 

“I’m gonna have a piece of chocolate as a treat. Don’t worry, I’ll pay for it.” 

“You’re giving yourself a piece of chocolate?” Minho asks, pulling you back by your wrist to stop you from wandering around. 

“Yeah, I think I earned it for leaving my dorm today. I think I earned it.”

“No, you can’t do that.”

“Why not?” You ask defensively. “I don’t understand.” 

“Not good enough reasoning.”

“Oh, but I worked so hard today. I feel like I really earned it.”

Betrayal seeps through your features as you head towards the cashier, and your shoulders sag in defeat as you begrudgingly help place the contents of your cart on the counter so it’s easier for the cashier to scan. Though, as Minho runs to grab an ingredient he’d forgotten for the meal he had promised you, you notice a box of chocolates tucked under his other arm as he returns. The price of the chocolate is added to his total bill, and he doesn’t look at you as he puts it in the shopping bag with your chips and popcorn.

Minho drives you back to your dorm, and you busy yourself with putting his frozen goods in your refrigerator so it doesn’t melt while he cooks. He can take it out later when he goes back to his dorm. 

You admit to being a little useless in the kitchen, so you sit still as Minho shuffles through the ingredients. He looks mesmerizing, save for the Hello Kitty apron too small for him that he had borrowed from you. It does add to his charm though as he moves around like he takes up the whole space of the kitchen. You can tell he’s used to this by the way he moves and the way he uses a knife. He looks focused, radiating. He always has this look on his face when he’s concentrated, plush mouth parted a little with furrowed eyebrows. You’d teased him about it once. 

It’s habit the way he cooks, the way his hand shapes around the knife, the way he chops vegetables and measures in a heartbeat. And it’s pattern that he checks on you once in a while, eyes traveling from the boiling pasta towards where you’re seated on the kitchen counter. From time to time, he walks towards you with a wooden spoon, hand habitually falling under your chin so the sauce doesn’t drip. 

Minho hums in satisfaction when you make a noise of approval, eyes widening as you nod your head with fervor. He turns away, licking his lips as he returns to finishing up his cooking. The sizzling of the pan, the bowl of the water, and your quiet humming is the sound of his heart right now, and he smiles to himself at the visible peace of being in the kitchen. He doesn’t have much time to cook these days. 

It takes almost an hour for him to finish, but it doesn’t feel that way. Unlike the past two months, time moved at a hare’s pace just in this moment, with Minho presently on your heels as he sets the plates down on your dining table. 

“Min, this is so good.” You note at how good the sauce tastes, and how the spice ties everything in. The way Minho prepares food is nothing like the ones you eat at restaurants. It’s better.

“I know. I’m the one who made it.” His response almost makes you scoff if not for the fact that he’s feeding you right now. So, you stay silent as you eat. Piece by piece, bite by bite, that you almost forget the last time you’ve sat on your dining table. 

You prefer to eat your meals anywhere but—the couch, your bedroom, the kitchen floor. The last memory leaves a bitter recollection on your throat. Dinner used to almost always be with Mark. He’d bring takeout and you’d spend the rest of the night updating each other on your days. Then, those nights became sparse and you were left with Facetime calls until they were nothing at all. There’s still a space for his shoes by your doorway, and you have yet to throw away the spare toothbrush he kept in your bathroom. There’s fragments of him in your dorm, and you hate it. 

The past hangs a heavy air around you that you don’t realize the gutted look of heartbreak on your face and the tears slipping past your eyes until you move to wipe them on instinct. You don’t know if it’s the chili oil on your fingertips or the sudden trip down memory lane, but you start to cry even more as you stuff your face with seafood pasta. 

“Is it too spicy?” Minho gently leaves his spot adjacent to you, puts his utensils down in favor of standing by your side. “You okay?” 

He laughs when a choked ‘yes’ leaves your lips before you’re stuffing even more pasta down, chewing animatedly as you try to blink the tears away. Though, when you make a move to rub your eyes, Minho is quick to grab them, pushing your arms away from your face. 

“Be careful. It’s gonna sting even more.” Pulling down the sleeves of his hoodie, he carefully uses the fabric to wipe the tears off your cheeks. He’s gentle with his movements, consciously mirroring your gutted, frowning look in his usual teasing. It makes you laugh, dropping your hands to your sides before suddenly letting out another sob. 

It’s a funny sight, seeing you laugh and cry at the same time and Minho can’t stop the periodic chuckles that escape his lips as you whine out for him to stop laughing at you. It only makes him laugh harder, patting down his sleeves on your eyes. 

“Do you want to keep eating?” His tone is significantly softer when your tears finally subside. “Do you want to finish it later?”

“Keep eating.” You mumble.

“Keep eating? Okay.” Disappearing to the kitchen, he hands you the glass of water, and takes your hand in his to start wiping away the chili sauce from your fingers with a tissue. It’s only when you finish gulping down the water does he return to the seat across from you.

“You’re babying me.” You sniffle, staring down at your food before twirling some noodles into your fork. 

“Because you’re a baby. Stop pouting.” His lips curve into a smirk. “Want some more steak?”

You grumble, and Minho rolls his eyes as he takes the steak he had sliced for himself and transfers it on your plate. “Come on, eat up. I didn’t waste my time cooking for you not to finish my food.” 

“Thank you.” He brushes you off, though, it’s with a small smile on his face. 

“Do you think you can stay here tonight?” You ask in small. Under normal circumstances, he would have called you clingy. It’s the answer you’re waiting to hear when the question slips out of your mouth. You don’t expect him to just hum, answering, “okay”. 

There’s a short pause after his response.

“But only because I know you’ll spend the night crying if I’m not here, and you look stupid when you cry.” It’s his own way of telling you to stop crying. Though, you still sigh for show.

“What?”

“It’s nothing.”

“What, what?” He acts oblivious, and when his eyes blinks, it’s almost caricature. 

“I just love this.” Sarcasm drips heavy, but your heart flutters anyways. You don’t remember the last time you’ve smiled like this, so much that your cheeks start to hurt even if you’d just finished crying. 

“Right!” He grins.

Minho cares in ways that others don’t recognize. You can only see it when you pay attention, can only hear the quiet and gentle underlie in his words. He’s loud with his teasing, but he doesn’t need words for you to know he cares. 

It’s nice to be cared for.

four.

Autumn sends a harsh breeze as it takes over Summer without much of a warning. It marks a shed of the things that had transpired over the previous season, almost a big red button labeled restart. You have every intention to use it well, to usher in change alongside the changing color of the leaves. 

But what kind of heart doesn’t look back?

You wonder, do the leaves hang on tightly to not fall? Do they beg the trees not to let them go, to stay a little longer?

You sigh. The cycle is neverending, and you’ll have to spend the next seasons without Mark. 

“Are you even listening to me?” You’re tugged back to your body at the sudden breach.

Minho’s voice is whiny, plush lips pulled in a pout at having caught you spacing out while he was mid-story. He had made an effort to be especially animate with his story, after numerous previous complaints from you that he was a boring storyteller, only for you not to listen.

“I am, I am!” You’re nowhere near convincing as you defend yourself, trying to recall the last words you had heard from him before you had lost yourself to your thoughts. Something about Jisung and fruit punch? You’re not quite sure. 

It was a horrible idea to try and balance your best friend’s stories with your own thoughts, letting the former slip so easily. Now you’re being called out for it.

“Then what did I just say?” 

“That… you want to buy me coffee?” You ask with a sheepish smile, head tilted slightly to mimic a feigned innocence. 

Minho’s lips press into a line in response.

“I’m sorry!” You apologize almost immediately.

It’s funny the way you give up your act right away, pressing your palms together as if begging the boy to forgive you for your inability to listen to him. You were technically listening, synching your movements with his and staring at the way the words rolled out of his mouth. It wasn’t your fault they had fallen short before reaching your ears. 

“You just lost a point on my friend tier list.” He walks a little ahead of you now, refusing to match your pace in the name of dramatism. 

“You have a friend tier list?” You snort. “That’s kind of lame.” 

“Did you just call it lame? At this point, you’re at bottom place with Kim Seungmin.” 

Your reaction is funny despite shitting on his tier list: mouth dropping, eyes boring on his back as you struggle to keep up with his long limbs, hurrying to catch up to him. 

“Okay, now you’re taking it too far. First of all, I do not bite you so that should nudge me up a spot.”

“If you say it nicely, maybe I will.” 

You know he’s messing around when he starts to slow down his pace, waiting for you to reappear beside him before resuming his walk. 

“No, but seriously, what were you saying?” There’s laughter laced in your voice, elbowing Minho gently to coax him into repeating what he had said earlier.

“I asked if you were going to Jisung’s party later.” 

Minho notes the way your face visibly scrunches at the thought. As if it wasn’t enough, you pair it with a shake of your head. 

“Absolutely not. I hate the taste of alcohol.” You pause, head snapping towards him before adding, “Why? Are you going?” 

His eyes don’t hide his disinterest, narrowing in judgment as you ask him. 

“No. We have a 9am class tomorrow.” He mutters. 

You begin to laugh, always amused by the way your best friend expresses himself, but then you stop. It wasn’t immediately made clear to Minho why your demeanor had suddenly shifted so hastily, as if someone had forcefully switched it, and why your eyes were suddenly glazed. The cogs only stop when he follows your line of sight after having noticed it was drawn somewhere behind him. 

Mark’s butterfly tattoo isn’t hard to miss. It’s so potently his that you vaguely register his hand holding someone else’s. Someone that wasn’t you.

She looks beautiful, so radiant that it almost blinds you. She looks like she has him wrapped around your finger, and you don’t feel that horrible for hoping she’d break his heart the way he did yours. Though, anger is temporary when pain starts to sift through—especially when Mark is looking at her with the same sparkle in his eyes when he used to look at you. 

You try to make the hurt look calculated, the way you will your eyes to draw away, the way you purse your lips. Perhaps you were trying to convince yourself that you were over it, that you were emotionally mature. And while it is half true, there is still pain. No one teaches you how to deal with this. There is no guidebook to tell you what to do when you see your ex with someone else only months after he had called it quits. 

It is difficult to look at them without breaking.

A haunting silence settles, before Minho’s scrambling to break it.

“Ah, let’s go. I’m suddenly hungry.” 

Minho watches as your shoulders slump in relief when he speaks, turning away from Mark in favor of looking at him. “And my legs are getting tired from standing around. Come on.” 

It’s meant to be teasing, but you do not miss the anger in his eyes. It’s always painstakingly obvious when Minho is angry. He didn’t say painful words, never did anything hastily, but his eyes would always tell you he’s angry. They have a look to them, and when they were glassy, you’d know he was angry. 

There’s a tap on the back of your hand before he takes it in his, pulling you away from the scene of the crime. It makes your whole face look up at him, and your heart softens when he offers a small smile. It does something inside of you. 

“Have you eaten anything since lunch?”

You only shake your head in response.

Minho doesn’t say anything at the sudden drop of your mood, though he doesn’t find any pleasure in seeing your attitude change so quickly. He just squeezes your hand in his. And you’re sure you’re imagining the way he intertwines your fingers because your best friend hates skinship. Lee Minho is always so repulsed when you attempt to take his hand, so why is his hand on yours? 

“Don’t think I care about you or anything, but let’s get something to eat first? You know, before we meet up with the guys.” 

You hum in compliance, and also because you know he’s teasing you. His hand feels warm. 

It’s silent for a while, save for distant honks and the echo of your footsteps. Soft, blinking eyes look down at you when you finally make it to the small food stall, tugging on your hand to get your full attention. 

“Come on, get whatever you want.” You lean forward, tilting your head to look at your options.  “I’m not doing this again, by the way.” He jokes, looking down at you. 

Minho doesn’t eat despite being the one who had said he was hungry. Instead, he hovers next to you, hands in his pockets as you quietly eat your food.

“Are you full?” His voice softens when he speaks. 

“A little.” You mumble.

“Okay, now go pay for what you got.” There’s a smug smile on his face when you glare at him, and he only laughs at you when you pull out your wallet from your bag.

“You dragged me to eat here because you’re hungry, and you’re letting me pay.” Your feet hold your ground, flipping through the compartments on your wallet before pulling out a bill—for your pride, more than anything else. 

“Of course! What kind of best friend would I be if I paid? I need to teach you independence.” 

You scoff. “A good best friend.”

Minho is looking at you up and down as you stretch your hand towards the man to pay for your food, mapping out how he can remember this moment. 

“Ah, miss. Your boyfriend already paid.” 

“Huh?”

There’s laughter from behind you, and you humiliatingly turn back around and shove your wallet in your bag before slapping Minho’s arm. He flinches, but his laughter doesn’t stop. 

“Thanks for paying, I guess.” You mumble, heavy footsteps walking ahead of him the way he did with you earlier. It’s touching, really, and there was a nudge in your heart when the man had told you Minho had already paid. Your best friend’s laugh is too maniacal to ignore, though, so your slap is well deserved.

Kim Seungmin’s face is nothing but irritated when you and Minho finally show up to your meeting spot, hand lifting and pointing an accusing finger at the pair of you for being late. The rest of the boys except Jisung and Jeongin are all sprawled on the empty parking lot’s concrete floor, and you can hear a faint mumble from Minho–something about how the ground was dirty for them to be sitting on it. You sort of agree, already cringing at the thought of rubble sticking to your clothes and the prospect of dusting them away. 

“They’re finally here!” Seungmin puts an emphasis on the word ‘finally’, and he’s about to berate you even more when he spots the skewer in your hand. “You guys ate without us?” 

It’s so loud and relenting, but Seungmin’s by your side in a second and opening his mouth for you to feed him the remaining of the food Minho had bought you earlier. You suppose you owe him this much for delaying their wait. You know Seungmin’s not very known for his patience. 

“We’re all going to Jisung’s party, right?” Chan finds himself asking, head perked up as he plays with his car keys between his fingers. 

Seungmin mumbles something incoherent, still glued to your side and still stealing your food. When he moves to grab the stick from you, Minho slaps his hand and tells the boy to leave you and your food alone. It’s like a scene straight out of a sitcom, and all you have to do is stare at the non-existent camera directed at the three of you.

“I don’t think (name) and Minho are?” You hum in confirmation at Felix’s response, spotting him get up from his place on the ground. He asks Hyunjin to dust off the specs of concrete sticking to the fabric of his pants. 

“What?” Changbin’s voice is loud, in contrast to the sooth of Felix’s, and he looks his squinted eyes with yours—as if you had wronged him for not going to the party. “Why not?”

Though, the thought of drinking doesn’t seem all that horrible to you anymore. You refuse to acknowledge it might be because of what you had bore witness to earlier, but it is one-hundred percent the reason why. A drink wouldn’t hurt, would it?

“Actually… I think I might.” Your eyes are still on Seungmin as he finally finishes the skewer you’ve been holding, though, your gaze shifts in a split second towards a shrieking Changbin who has jumped from his spot on the ground at your change of mind.

“Really? Let’s get it!” He cheers, hands clapping temporarily in a way that is so fitting for him. His smile is etched, pulling you towards where the others are. The exaggeration makes you laugh a little, at how something as simple as you suddenly agreeing to drink has Changbin giggling and smiling. You know he’s always loved when you guys hang out together.

Similarly, Felix and Hyunjin are cheering alike.

“So, you’re coming too then?” In the span of time it took to confirm your attendance, Chan has dragged his feet towards where Minho is standing, nudging his side and looking at the boy expectantly. 

Minho sighs. “I guess I’m coming too.”

“I don’t think we’ll all fit in Chan’s car, though?”

Chan’s fancy 6-seater car would have sufficed for them. However, with the sudden addition of you and Minho, there’s a need to adjust the seating arrangement. It seems Seungmin’s realized the problem right away when he hovers by the front seat, basically denying entrance from anyone that isn’t him. 

“Let’s just eliminate people instead. Kim Seungmin, start walking.” Minho is too quick with his response, as if he had already been thinking about it. Seungmin stays unbothered, though, still at his post at being Chan’s passenger princess for the afternoon.

“I can sit on Changbin’s lap.” Felix proposes as Chan unlocks his car. It triggers a sinister smile on Seungmin’s face, and you can tell that whatever he’s about to say next will not benefit Minho in any way after your best friend’s comment earlier. 

“And (name) can sit on Minho’s lap. Okay, that’s settled, let’s go.” As predicted, Seungmin is already seated at the front, tugging at the seatbelt to solidify his position before Minho can stomp on his newly bought pair of converse for revenge at the proposition. That boy and Jeongin really need to cut down on their shoe purchases. 

“Is that fine for you, (name)?” Chan asks, opening the backseat door for you. You nod, not missing the way Minho’s eyes travel to yours in confirmation of your comfort. 

“Is no one going to ask how I feel about this?” Minho asks as the boys start to hunch over and take their seats in the back. Seungmin simply says a ludicrous ‘no’ as he twists his body so he can see the way everyone struggles while he has the front seat all to himself. 

Minho pulls you and seats you on his lap, as Changbin does with Felix. The position is extremely uncomfortable, with your back slouched and your cheek pressed against the headrest of the driver’s seat, but it isn’t something you haven’t done before. In fact, you remember a time when even Jisung and Jeongin were present in this same car. Although, you don’t recall much of what happened, just that your neck hurt so much from being craned the whole ride. 

“I’m not holding you by the way, so if Chan breaks suddenly then you’re on your own.” Your best friend feels the need to inform you, his arms pressed to his sides to offer you no support while Changbin has his arms wrapped around Felix’s torso. 

You know what happens to kids that don’t wear seatbelts. 

“Hyunjin, can I sit on your lap instead?” 

Hyunjin laughs, staring at the two of you before jokingly offering his hand to hold onto. You doubt it’ll be much help. 

The rest of the ride is spent engulfed in Minho’s warmth and the joint scent of everyone’s perfumes which is a little suffocating. And untrue to his words, when Chan does make a sudden break, you find Minho’s arms suddenly wrapped around your waist and tightening around you so you don’t stumble forward. 

Chan mutters something with a smug smile as he looks into the front view mirror, though you can’t hear anything over the loud beating of your heart.

five.

The music echoing around Jisung’s house thrums loudly in your ears. It’s the type of volume that solicits yelling just to hear each other, and you’re unsure if you’re prepared for the amount of screaming you’ll be doing tonight just to be heard by your friends. 

Jisung is the first to greet the seven of you, a bottle of beer in hand and loud laughing as he tugs all of you in for a hug. You can feel his insobriety, can smell it off of him, but he looks so adorable with excitement basically leaping out of him at seeing his best friends. 

Though, his eyes do narrow with a curious brow at the sight of you and Minho who had texted him earlier that you couldn’t make it.

“You made it!” It’s endearing the way his smile grows even more, cheeks protruded as he leans in to hug you. He does the same for Minho, and you can see him whisper something to the boy which earns him a harsh push. You can’t hear it though, and you doubt it’s anything serious when Jisung simply laughs in response. 

“Come on, let’s get you guys something to drink.” He yells over the music. 

The base from the speakers offers a steady rhythm as you navigate your way across sweaty and drunk college students, and it allows you the time to give the space a good gaze. It’s amiable, as expected from Jisung, and he doesn’t seem to have any form of fear at the lack of supervision of his things during a party. Though, you suppose he must’ve locked up anything important down in his basement. 

“Here we go.” He grabs a few bottles for those who ask for a beer, and offers cups to those who want to venture into the unknown mixture of alcohol in the fruit punch bowl. Jisung also apparently has a shot glass, and tells you where he hid the bottle of vodka in case the seven of you want any. He doesn’t want anyone else touching his precious stash of alcohol. Jisung’s lips wrap around the rim of his bottle, chugging down a few gulps, and then he’s pumping his fist up into the air to tell you guys to start drinking. 

Chan and Changbin start to take swigs, popping the cap from Minho’s bottle. It’s second nature to them that they don’t even bat an eyelash. You wonder how many times they’ve done this before. Meanwhile, you, Hyunjin, Felix, and Seungmin take a chance at the mysterious concoction. 

Chan scolds Felix for smelling it, immediately discouraged by the familiar scent of alcohol.

With a cup in hand and a countdown falling from Changbin’s mouth, you bring it to your lips and take a big gulp. The taste is strong, scorching down your throat as you swallow it down immediately the way you’re taught. There’s a tinge of spice, and the disgusting bite on your tongue solicits a scrunch on your face. 

“Oh my god, I actually hate alcohol. Why am I doing this to myself?” You exhale, pushing the cup away from your lips and squinting your eyes in disgust. It’s a mixture of vodka and some type of juice, but it seems they half-assed the ratio of juice so it’s majorly the hit of hard alcohol. You’d kill to have a Cola in hand as chaser.

Felix mutters the same remarks, and you laugh at the way he puts the cup down. At most, Felix is a sweet boy, and he could never swallow down anything as vile as alcohol so he goes to find some more juice to dump into his mixture while you, Hyunjin, and Seungmin force yourselves to empty the contents of your solo cups. 

It doesn’t really take long for the tipsiness to kick in, especially with whatever the hell they put in that bowl because before you know it, everything looks a little hazy and the simple scrunch on Felix’s face has you doubling in laughter. Everything is always funnier when you’re tipsy. 

“I’m definitely hit.” You bite down at your lips, teeth gliding and chewing. You feel nothing but numbness, and that’s how you know you’ve taken more than you can handle. “Min, you should be drinking more.”

“Min, you should be drinking more.” Minho repeats your words, almost mocking. In his grip is his second bottle of beer, and he stands by your side unperturbed by your swaying and your yelling over the music so your friends can hear you better. 

“Are you mocking me?” You’re on your toes, poorly trying to match his height to confirm whether he had repeated your words in mocking or because he can’t hear you properly. You know it’s the former. “Are you serious? You guys heard that, right?”

“Yo, that was so disrespectful. Personally, I wouldn’t stand for that.” Of course, Seungmin is the first to respond. He’s always the one instigating arguments, though, he can’t do it to the best of his ability when Felix is resting his head on his shoulder, grumbling about how awful the alcohol tastes even after he had dumped every juice he could find in Jisung’s refrigerator. 

You almost stumble when you bring yourself back to your original height, and Minho’s arms are around you in reflex. Though, they’re quick to let go so he can laugh at you. “Are you really already drunk off of, like, three cups?”

“Where’s Jeongin anyway? He should be suffering with us.” Felix peels his head from Seungmin’s shoulder, breath intertwined with alcohol before dropping his forehead back, eyes half-lidded.

“Crying over his minor subjects.” 

Your small circle falls into laughter at Seungmin’s response. Minor subjects were hell, especially when your professor treated them as if they were a major one. You could still recall barging into Minho’s dorm to cry over a project. Thinking back, you really could’ve half-assed it and still passed the class.

“Oh, that poor boy. I remember crying over Foreign Languages.” Changbin’s laugh doubles in volume at the memory of Jisung crying while mumbling some Russian gibberish. 

“No, because why would you think to take Russian of all the languages offered? You were setting yourself up.” The way Changbin’s voice cracks at laughing too much is contagious and has everyone clutching their stomachs in laughter. 

“I took German with Hyunjin. What did you guys take?”

“Spanish. I’m actually really good.” You boast, laughter slowing down into broken chuckles as you guys try to recollect your breaths. 

Seungmin passes you your newly refilled cup. “Okay. Tell us something in Spanish then.”

“Si Papi!” 

There’s a pause before all of you laugh your loudest for the night. It’s the type that makes your ribs hurt, bending over with aching cheeks from smiling too much. It even has Minho almost spitting out the beer he had just sipped from his bottle, taken aback by your response to Seungmin’s question. He had spent the night nursing a beer bottle in hand and listening in to your conversations, almost looking bored, though, you always find ways to solicit pure amusement from the boy.

Only you would ever say anything like that. 

Minho has to bite down on the back of his hand to stop him from choking over his own laughter and the beer he had almost spat out. 

“Yeah! That sounds… yeah! You nailed it!” Felix interrupts with more laughter. 

You’d give anything to stop time at this moment. Perhaps it’s because you don’t want to have anything in your mind but the happiness that you feel right now. You allow yourself the time to enjoy yourself, to take away the scorching image of Mark in your head and replace it with the overwhelming volume of the music. 

Hyunjin, who has grown more extroverted after chugging down his cup, pulls you, Jisung, and Felix to where everyone else is dancing. Chan’s gone to look for another bottle of beer while Changbin is singing along to the music at the top of his lungs, your personal karaoke as he sways from side to side just right next to the three of you dancing. Minho is the only one sitting up straight from your group, and while the look on his face can be deceiving, you know he’s having fun watching over everyone. 

When you turn to look at him, he’s already looking at you, unblinking. He throws you a thumbs up with an arched eyebrow and you nod your head before returning your attention to the music and the way you’re jumping around and singing along to 2000s pop hits with your best friends.

Exhaustion hits pretty fast. You can smell the fatigue on yourself after having jumped around for almost an hour. You stumble your way to where Minho’s seated, and he brings your chair closer to you so you don’t drop yourself on the floor. The way you attempt to sit straight is a pretentious act that you aren’t out of it, but you are, and your stomach’s starting to not feel so good. Your blurry vision and the overwhelming lights and music doesn’t really help your case either.

“Minnie.” You hiccup, putting away your cup on the table and bowing your head faintly. “I don’t feel so good.” 

Now the alcohol doesn’t seem that much of a great idea because the after effects are hitting you, and you know tomorrow will be much, much worse for you. At least you were offered a short getaway to stop thinking for a while. The temporary accompaniment was good until it wasn’t.

Minho frowns, having already made his way next to you and helping you up. “Come on, I’m taking you to Jisung’s room. Is that okay? Are you done having fun?” 

It’s endearing the way he asks if you’re done, though you can’t fathom any other form of response except for a grumble and the way you almost collapse into his arms from your wobbly legs. You don’t really remember how you end up on his back, but when you peel your eyes open, you’re moving past the crowd with your cheek pressed against the top of his head. 

“What’s wrong?” Jisung hiccups, making his way to the two of you and helping move people aside so the path towards his room is easier on Minho.

“I think she’s had too much to drink. I’m taking her up to your room, is that fine?” 

“Yeah, of course.” 

Minho is strong in the way he carries you with his hands on your thighs, crouching down and hoisting you up when you feel like you’re about to fall. When he successfully makes his way to Jisung’s room, Minho makes sure to knock loudly on the door, ear pressed against the door. “Nobody better be making out in here!” And it’s only when silence greets him does he allow himself to twist the doorknob open. 

“Sit down for a moment.” You burp when he places you down, body swaying alarmingly as you move to lay on the ground instead. Minho bends down to sit you back up so you don’t accidentally choke on your own vomit. It’s happened before with Chan, and he is not about to have a repeat. 

“Just let me get a few of Jisung’s clothes for you to change into. And I should probably get you water. It’ll help you sober up, kay?” 

“No, Min… wait!” The sudden movement has you clutching your head and forgetting what you were going to say to the boy. “Ugh.” 

“Are you okay?” He takes a look at your heavy eyelids and your disheveled hair, and the way you hold your head in the palm of your hands. Minho moves from his place by Jisung’s closet to crouch down next to you instead. “Why did you drink so much?”

“Stop scolding me.” You hiccup. The music is more drowned out hidden in the four walls of Jisung’s room, and you know Minho’s teasing you by the tone of his voice.

“I’m not scolding you.” His eyes hold yours, and he speaks softly. 

Your faces are a few inches apart, and even in the hazy way you’re seeing things, you can still admit that Lee Minho is beautiful. His hair is a little sweaty from the warmth of the overcrowded house, and his cheeks are dusted pink from the alcohol, but you know he’s not hit. 

“I think I’m gonna throw up.” You clear your throat before he can say anything else.

“No, you’re not. I am not cleaning anyone’s vomit. Not today.”

Minho lifts you up from the ground, taking you to the bathroom so you’re seated directly in front of the toilet. He pulls the hair tie around your wrist, taking it from you so he can tie your hair up in case you do end up vomiting.

Tears prick in your eyes in your attempt to puke, though nothing but choked coughs come out. It makes you feel pathetic, so much so that you swat away Minho’s hand that’s rubbing your back. You don’t want anyone to look at you like this, teary eyes and hunched over so you bury your face in your hands where no one can see you. 

“I’m so miserable and so unlovable.” You mumble incoherently, banging your head again and again on the wall before it meets contact with Minho’s palm instead. His free hand guides itself across your face, peeling away your fingers so he can see you better.

“Don’t be stupid. You’re not.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m misera—”

“Unlovable. You’re not unlovable.” There’s a pause as he exhales. 

“How would you know?” 

There’s an unreadable expression on Minho’s face when you ask. He looks like someone you’ve never met with the way he stares at you, although familiar. It’s clear that he’s thinking, but of what, you have no idea. He looks so concentrated.

“I just do.” 

He’s so soft-spoken that you can’t bring yourself to rebut. And he doesn’t seem to wait for your response when he bends down to scoop you back up in his arms after making sure you showed no more signs of vomiting. 

“I’m gonna get water. It’ll help you sober up.” He repeats, placing you down on Jisung’s bed and you immediately roll over to get yourself comfortable. Minho notes to change the sheets for the boy after classes tomorrow. 

When he comes back, you’ve already fallen asleep.

six.

“Wake up.” 

Minho’s shaking is unforgiving, peeling the comforter away from you despite your protests. He cringes at the way you grab the pillow, gripping it over your face so his whining would come out filtered and a little mumbly. Though, you fail to consider the way the pillow can easily be yanked away from you, especially from someone like Lee Minho.

His shaking are full-blown shoves now, and his voice is growing louder and louder despite the grumbling from Seungmin who had apparently also stumbled into Jisung’s room and fallen asleep on the floor some time in the night.

“Wake up, or we’re going to be late.” 

The mention of class causes you to abruptly sit up, and Minho is about to drag you away from the bed when you fall back down, hands clutching your head and eyes squinted. “Oh my fucking god, my head.”

Too much is happening for your liking. The trance of sleep is still lingering in the way you blink slowly, and the headache you’re suckling under is hard to ignore. This is what you get for drinking on a weekday when you have 9am classes the next day.

The sight of your disheveled hair and the terribly grumpy look you’re sporting almost makes Minho snort, but he focuses on the mission at hand, and it’s to get you out of your bed so you don’t miss the only class you have for the day.  And, as much as you want to be pissed off at Minho, you know he has your best interest at heart.

“Drink this and go take a shower.” 

You rub your eyes, resentfully sitting up once again with Minho’s helping hand on your back. It’s only now you notice his damp hair, and the way he’s standing there with a plain black shirt and the gray joggers he wears almost everyday–you swear he owns ten pairs. He’s holding a whole pitcher of water too, shoving it in your direction as you blink away the restlessness.  

You drink straight out of it even though the water seems to want to expel out of your body. You’ve had a few drunken nights to learn this, and it’s best that you finish it so you aren’t dehydrated for the rest of the day. Something about alcohol and the way it causes excessive urination which makes you lose more fluids than you should.

There’s barely any time to adjust to real-time when your best friend starts shoving you to the direction of the bathroom, throwing you a pair of Jisung’s joggers when he was in high school and an oversized hoodie that the boy had stolen from Minho. You don’t process how you manage to take a shower with your headache and the lack of sleep, only remembering the way the cold water felt and how relieving it was to brush your teeth to try and rid the scent of alcohol.

“You ready?” Minho runs a hand through his hair before pressing it down, eyes meeting yours just as you stumble out of the bathroom. He already has Chan’s car keys in hand. 

You follow him tiredly, keeping your head hung to try and remedy the aching, all while Minho is gently shaking Chan’s passed out shoulder on the couch. “Channie, I’m taking your car.” The older boy just stirs, hand lifting in approval before it falls limp on his chest. 

“Alright, in you go.” Minho reaches over, grabbing your seatbelt for you so he can fasten it. The position is a little compromising, and he’s inches away from you that you get a waft of his scent. He smells like Jisung’s soap, the same one you had used on yourself. Though, you don’t want to obsess about how close he is. 

When he’s sure you won’t topple over in the case that he breaks, he stumbles out of your space and positions himself in the driver’s seat. 

He doesn’t need to make much adjustments to anything considering he and Chan are nearly the same height. So, he takes the handbrake off and pulls on the gearshift before he’s guiding you out of Jisung’s parkway and towards the direction of the university. 

Lee Minho is attractive as he drives steadily down the highway, eyes never leaving the road. His posture is sharp, fingers wrapped around the steering wheel and turning it in perfect control when he needs to. It’s a little addicting to look at, and you’re sure you would’ve spent the entire duration staring at him if not for the lingering headache that causes you to veer away from your staring and close your eyes instead. It makes you grumble, head falling back into the space between the car window and your headrest.

“You sound like a dying mouse being suffocated by a small knife.” It slips out of his mouth, and even without looking at him, you know he’s wearing a small smirk on his face. 

“...You need to go to a psych ward.” 

You spend majority of the ride trying to recall what had happened last night, not that you remember much. You vaguely register laughing over Jeongin’s demise, dancing a lot, and Minho’s voice while you tried to retch out what you had for dinner over Jisung’s toilet. “What the hell even happened last night?”

“Do you really want me to tell you?” 

“Why? Was I that embarrassing?” You open your eyes for a second to glance at your best friend, though his eyes remain glued on the road. It only makes you whine even more when he nods, shutting your eyes back closed after feeling dizzy over the strain of lights on your vision. “This is why I should never drink ever again.”

“You really don’t remember anything?” Minho tries asking. 

“I remember pieces and chunks of it. I… uh, remember dancing and eating ice cream? Dude, I don’t even know. I think I tried to pick a fight with someone at one point.” You start. “And in the bathroom, when… oh.” You smack your lips together at the sudden memory, a pit in your stomach suddenly forming at the recollection. 

You’re not unlovable. His words ring in your ears, hovering over the honking of cars and the bustle of business outside as people start their days. Did he really mean it when he said that or had he taken pity over your self-wallowing? Was he only saying it to comfort you? He didn’t feel cold when he said it though. While you don’t remember much, you can feel the faint warmth and the gentle lull in his voice when he spoke to you. 

“What?” He eggs you to keep going, but your mouth suddenly feels bitter, pressed together in trial of sealing the words in your mouth. 

It was embarrassing enough to yap about it drunk to Minho last night, you don’t need to repeat it this morning. Clenching your fists, you bring them to shield your eyes, shaking your head. “Nothing.”

“If you don’t tell me, I’m leaving you on the side of the road.” 

You sigh. 

“DoyoureallythinkI’mnotunlovable?” You shuffle out the words as per his request, head tilted away from him so you’re facing the window instead. 

“I literally cannot understand you, please learn how to speak.” He deadpans.

“Do you really think I’m not unlovable? Do you actually mean it?” You repeat, slowly this time, like he’s asking of you. You don’t see the way his grip tightens around the steering wheel. 

There’s a pause, and he’s silent for a moment. You almost regret bringing it up again had you not remembered that this was a usual thing for your best friend. There’s something about him–in the way he presses his lips together, front lip tutting out, and the way he blows his hair away from his eyes and peeks at you for a second before leading them back on the road. It’s indicative of when he thinks, when he ponders over teasing or being genuine. 

“Of course I do.” If you listen close enough, you would’ve heard the way his voice cracks a little at the latter part of his sentence, though it’s well hidden beneath an exhale. “A lot of people love you, (name). The boys love you, your family. I— Soonie, Doongie, Dori too. You aren’t a reflection of what one stupid fucker thinks of you.”

You can’t help the quiet, airy laugh at the way his voice significantly grows softer, free hand patting your thigh for a second before returning on the gearshift. There’s something about the way he says it that makes you feel something inside, a small silver lining piercing through your heart. 

“Wow. I didn’t think you would actually… that you had it in you to tell me that.” Your eyes meet his side profile, and you can tell he’s taking quick glances at you before he heaves a heavy sigh.

“Don’t act like I don’t care about you.” He mumbles, and there’s a little hoarseness in the way he said it. You think you might be imagining it.

“You don’t care about me.” You say as a joke, and almost out of impulse at the way Minho is making your bones rattle right now. Maybe if you moved the course of your conversation somewhere lighter, the rattling would stop.

“I don’t care?” He scoffs, but you can tell he’s chaffing by the way his voice increases in volume. “I… don’t… care?” It’s incredulous the way he says it, mouth dropping as if you had dropped the biggest, wrongful accusation his way. 

“Okay, okay, okay, maybe you care a little. It’s touching that you give me coffee.” 

He hums. “Because for coffee, there’s a minimum order amount.”

You merely laugh.

“That’s right. I guess I’m just a means to match the minimum order amount.” 

“Okay, but seriously, you aren’t unlovable, okay? You’re just sad and a little bit angry. Let’s have some coffee after class, hm?” The pace of the car slows down as he puts Chan’s car on hazard. You recognize the building to be his dorm. His words make you look down at the sleeves of the oversized jacket you’re wearing, stomach tying in knots. “Now, wait here. I just need to get my homework.” 

That surely makes your head spring up. 

“Homework?” 

“The one Miss Kim assigned us last time? You know, when she left class early and had us do a few equations.” 

“Oh my god.” When your exasperation meets his gaze, he laughs. 

“You didn’t do it?”

“I didn’t do it!” You say in panic, eyes widening as he hurriedly jogs into his dorm room to grab the paper hanging on his desk before he shoves his answered worksheet to you. You catch it, immediately rummaging your backpack from the day before for a pen and paper so you can start copying off of Minho.

You don’t finish by the time you make it to your building, and Minho has to push from behind you as you look nowhere but your paper. You don’t even realize you’ve made it to your seats until your best friend pushes you down to sit while he mindlessly scrolls on his phone.

“Minho, Minho, Minho.” You don’t look at him as you call his name, still scribbling down numbers and equations you don’t understand. “If she comes in, please distract her. I’m only halfway done, please, please, please.”

“What do I get in return?” He cracks a vexatious grin, one you want to wipe off his face so bad because of course he’d find a way to profit off of your suffering. He puts down his phone, fixing his gaze on your hunched over figure with the same stupid smirk. You almost want to stab the pen in his eye.

“Please, I would take back every insult I’ve ever said to yo— Actually wait, you’re the one that insults me. I’ll forget every insult you've ever said to me if you do this, please.”

He sighs, body falling limp on his chair in defiance. He’s acting like a three-year-old when their parents don’t get the toy they’re begging for in the mall. “You’re taking me to that cat cafe that just opened.” 

“Fine, just do it.” You respond harshly. 

It’s with perfect timing that Minho arrives at the entrance to your classroom, just as Ms. Kim walks in and the students start going back to their seats from having gossiped with their friends. This prompts you to look over at your best friend, seeing him pull out his phone and shove it in your professor’s face. You would have laughed if not for the homework that’s staring at you maniacally. You try not to fuck up your numbers. 

Minho glances up at you from time to time, and when you’re still bent over the table, he knows he has to keep scrolling through his photo album appropriately labeled Soondoongdori. You better be paying for his coffee later in exchange for the stupid things he does for you on a daily basis.

“Don’t you have a cat too, Ms. Kim?” He asks, tone sickeningly sweet as he forces her to look at another video of Doongie meowing in front of his door. In the first minute, it’s actually kind of cute and sweet for him to show her endearing photos of her favorite animal. That is, until six more minutes pass and he’s still showing her photos when she’s supposed to have started class by now. 

“Oh, wait. But look at Soonie and the hat he’s wearing.”

“Lee Minho. I appreciate you showing me photos of your own cats, but please go back to your seat so I can start the class.” She tries to keep an even tone, and Minho all but smiles in faux innocence as he finally returns to his seat next to you just as you finish. “I’ll send you a Google Drive if you’d like!”

She dismisses his offer.

“Alright. Pass your homework.” Ms. Kim announces, and you let out the sigh you didn’t know you’ve been holding as Minho takes both of your papers from you so he can put it on your professor’s table as instructed.

“You’re paying for my coffee.” He whispers threateningly, chucking his phone back into the pocket of his sweatpants before crossing his arms and relaxing in his seat in preparation for your 2-hour lecture. 

You would’ve thrown him a gentle punch in retaliation for attempting to steal money off of you, but you can’t bring yourself to do it. Lee Minho is your lifeline, and you’re sure you would’ve dropped out of college if not for his constant nagging and the way he saves your ass every single time you need it. In fact, you were fully convinced you would’ve fallen prisoner to your breakup if not for the way he forces you out of your dorm to do something as simple as grocery shopping or eating dinner with him. 

“Alright, fine.” You say, turning your attention to your professor as she begins her powerpoint presentation. 

You risk one last glance at your best friend, lips jutted out the way they do when he’s concentrated and bored eyes directed to the front. It’s awkward timing to be grateful for him while your teacher rants about something, but it can’t be helped. 

It’s uncommon to come across a Minho in your life. Perhaps all the reincarnations of you before had suffered tremendously for the lack of luck on having Lee Minho, so you suppose the price of coffee will suffice in hinting at your appreciation for the boy for the lengths and hoops he goes through for you. 

If you’re lucky enough, maybe you’ll get him again in your next life.

seven.

The Cat Playground is a cafe that recently opened a month ago just outside your campus. You’ve been meaning to head there for quite some time, however, the initial buzz of a newly opened establishment is terrifying. Whenever you and Minho had passed by it, a truck load of people were filling up the space, and you really didn’t want to stress out the kittens. 

Though, it’s a little more bearable now that people have gotten over that fizzle. As promised, you take him to the coffee shop for the “embarrassment” you had put him through earlier this morning. Plus, coffee will do the light dizziness you’re still nursing. 

The inside of the small building is cold, though the sun does a wonderful job reflecting through the huge glass windows to perfectly balance the temperature. You coo instantly at the sight of the cats, pacing around and jumping to sleep in their little wooden cat houses. There’s a sort of friendliness the place houses that’s striking to you. The paintings lined up give the place a character of its own, pillows on the floor and tables surprisingly stout. You suppose it’s so that it’s easier to play with the cats, though, there is space in the back with normal-sized furniture. You don’t pay it mind. You know exactly where you and Minho will be seated. 

You continue to walk a few meters as Minho lines up for the both of you, instructing you to find a seat. The closer you got to where the cats stayed, the more you could distinguish their scent, and there are a few toys sticking out that only look familiar to you because Minho has them back at home for his own cats. 

Though, a sharp squeeze turns in your sternum when you spot an empty space only for a huge butterfly painting to decorate its wall. Your throat dries up at the sight.

Oh.

You contemplate whether or not you should just suck it up and sit here, eyes unmoving from the painting that you don’t notice your best friend until he places a hand on your shoulder and pushes you past the painting towards an empty space not far away. 

He drops on a beanie bag right away, hand outstretched to start calling the attention of the cats. They come stumbling in, purring loudly and situating themselves by your feet. You wonder if they can sense cat owners, almost convinced they can by the way they comfortably sit by Minho. 

One of them jumps on his lap, patting down on his stomach before flopping down to lay down. On instinct, Minho reaches out to rub its head, moving down to its chin and neck. “What are you doing on my belly, hm?” He mumbles, leaning down to bump his nose with the cat’s. 

The sight you’re subjected to makes your heart soften significantly. 

“Your order is horrible, by the way. How the hell do you drink that?” Minho laughs, face scrunching in faux disgust when you start sipping on your drink. It has way too much cream and sugar for your best friend’s liking. You simply roll your eyes. 

“You literally drink straight black coffee. I don’t know who thought that was good for human consumption. Ahh—” You’re immediately distracted by the cats passing by you, trying to coax them to come to you but they don’t. You pout, holding both your arms out to the little group settled around Minho. “They don’t like me very much.” 

“They don’t?” Minho coos, eyes full of mirth as he reaches down to one of the cats. A british shorthair. “Can you go to her and make her feel better, hm? She’s being a little sulky right now.” 

On command, the little kitten paces towards where you’re seated, hovering around you before you finally scoop the little boy in your arms and place him on your belly, mimicking Minho. Your eyes fall towards the cat before making contact with your best friend’s, big smile on your face so much so that the apple of your cheeks are visible. 

“See, they just needed some time, but they like you too.” 

The softness in Minho’s gaze takes great effect in whatever the hell you’re feeling inside that you have to avert your eyes back to the small cat lounging on your stomach. This cat, and Minho, and the hot coffee waiting for you on your table makes you so overwhelmingly happy, as little things often do. It’s new, this feeling of contentment. 

It’s quiet and nice to just be with your best friend, and the cats, and your coffee. They make you feel like everything will only get better from here on out, make you realize that sometimes happiness is this simple.

“Mark didn’t like cats very much.” Your voice softens, hand scratching the kitten’s head. “So… this is nice.” You mumble the rest of your words, but it’s at the right amount of silence that Minho still hears you. 

“Hmm… should’ve ended things right then and there.” He murmurs.

You laugh at his response. “I should’ve. I hate that I can’t— like some things will never be the same.”

Minho scoots his seat closer to where you are.

“Like what?” He asks.

“Like—” You sigh, biting your lips and staring down on your lap. “You’re gonna say it’s stupid.” 

Minho raises his eyebrows, not diverting his gaze anywhere but on you. “Only if it is.” 

“Like butterflies.” Your shoulders slump, and there’s a dejection in your voice. “We were gonna sit there, but then it reminded me of his stupid tattoo and I just… He took away something beautiful from me— I know it’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid.” He places his hand over yours, stopping you from fiddling with your fingers. The contact makes your heart jump. “Do you think it’s something you can regain?” 

You look down at his hand on yours, carefully taking it to play with the ring he wears, pulling it out and pushing it back in. When you look up at him once again, you’re met with his softening stare. 

“I want to… I hope to. It doesn’t hurt as much when I buy milk.” 

“That’s good. Hopefully, you’ll be able to feel that more than you feel haunted by it.” 

You swallow, nodding your head. “I’m trying.” 

Minho doesn’t say anything else, taking your order from the table and handing it to you so you can satiate your thoughts temporarily with the taste of coffee. Then, he positions himself next to you so you can rest your head on his shoulder the way he knows you want to. It’s quiet, aside from the gentle chatter of those around you and the purring of the cats walking around. Minho still has a cat in his arms, his knee would nudge yours from time to time just to check on you. 

Then his phone rings. It doesn’t look like he wants to make a move to pick it up, groaning at the sudden breach of his peace. Sighing, he finally picks up the call and presses it to his ear just as the cat hops off of his lap. 

“What? Don’t call me if you don’t need anything.” He hangs up just as quickly as he picks up the phone and you laugh a little at the abruptness and his urge to return to the moment with you.

“Min?” 

“Hm?” He hums, pocketing his phone and turning to look at you. The sound of his name falling from your lips always makes him perk up like this. 

The irritation on his face has dissipated, and he looks at you with nothing but gentleness. You treasure these moments with Minho. He might not look like it, but really does care about the people around him. You’re lucky he let you into his circle.

“Thank you.”

You don’t need to specify for what. He already knows. 

eight.

Finals season for the semester marks the arrival of winter, sweeping in mounds of snow. 

Your university is blanketed in white, frosted windows as students hurry towards their next exam wearing layers upon layers of coats. The winter’s breeze settles heavy, harsh winds nipping at your dorm window. Though, you can’t quite hear the frigid weather over Minho’s unabashed laughter, meshing with the chilling winds outside. It’s so infectious, that if you hadn’t ensnared yourself into this situation, you would’ve been laughing with him.

“Will you stop laughing?!” The perplexity etched upon your face only seems to make Minho laugh harder, one hand clutching at his stomach while the other grips tightly around your notebook. “Minho, I am going to fail!”

You drop on the ground, piles of papers and notes surrounding you. You suppose this was on you for mistakenly thinking your Calculus exam would take place after your winter break, only realizing it was actually in three hours when Chaeryeong had texted you with a picture of her notes, asking you if it was included in the coverage for the exam later.

You called Minho in a panic, knowing he had taken this class a year before. However, when you had told him of your predicament, he had fallen into a fit of laughter. He knows your distress is genuine, yet he can’t help but find it funny. This would only happen to you. 

With your face buried in your hands, you kick your feet around messily, akin to a child denied of things they wanted their parents to buy. 

“Get up. Come on.” He interrupts himself with more laughter, kneeling down next to you and slapping your legs so you can get his message. “Get up, we can do this! We still have three hours!” 

“I didn’t know the exam was later. I thought it was after the break.” Your muffled cries are punctuated by Minho's choked laughter. He’s still shoving your legs, persistence heavy until you actually sit up from your place on the ground. 

“Focus!” Minho’s laughter finally subsides, eyes scanning over the pages of your notes. “Okay, you know how to write polar equations in parametric form right?” 

“Dude, I don’t know.” 

“Oh my god, you’re actually so fucked.” 

“Minho, please!” There is no way in hell you can scold the boy. You need his help. Otherwise, you’d have to fail your exam without so much as an effort to even get a passing grade. And you were not about to retake this class next semester. 

He’s laughing again. “You can use the standard transformation from Cartesian coordinates to polar coordinates. Come here, look at this.” 

He finishes up writing out the equations and formulas on your notebook, propping it up for you to see better. “You just have to memorize these, and you’ll pass. I swear.” 

“This is so ridiculous.” You whine, grabbing the notebook from his hand and staring at it as if your life depends on it. You’re desperately wishing you had just checked on your schedule again, clarified with a classmate, absolutely anything that could’ve gotten you out of the hell of cramming formulas you don’t understand in three hours.

“You’re a lost cause.” 

Minho flinches when you attempt to hit him with your notebook. 

“I know I am, but one of us has to be optimistic and as my best friend, you’re going to be playing that role.” You drop your head back down on the floor, although the collision isn’t as harsh when your head makes contact with Minho’s head. 

“Why are you trying to hit your head? You’ll lose everything you have left in there.” His eyes are mirthful, and you know there’s laughter brewing at the tip of his tongue. 

“Minhooooooo!” You whine.

“Look, I’m going to be honest with you. You’re probably going to fail this test. It’s not that I don’t have faith in you, but there’s just nothing we can do about it now. Besides, you still have that final project, right?” You feel a section in your brain twitch and Minho lifts his hands up when you direct a chilling glare at him. 

“Maybe Seungmin can be my new best friend.”

“Good luck with that.”

“Minho!”

“Okay, okay! Memorize the formulas and you’ll at least pass.” 

You do better than you expect, and it’s all thanks to Minho’s stupid list of formulas.

nine.

You hate that it hits you randomly. 

It had been 2 months since you last saw Mark, back when you had gotten so drunk at Jisung’s party. The pain isn’t so much over him, but the powerlessness that you feel. You’re sure you’re over him, but insecurities are so hard to banish when the breakup acts as a fuel to send everything in flames. 

When you feel this way, something as easy as your bracelet snapping can set you off. It’s a silly thing to be worked up over, but you are. 

It’s how you find yourself in front of Minho’s dorm, nose red from the nipping snow and snowflakes littering your eyelashes and your hair. There’s visible puffs when you breathe, and you’re sure your tears have frozen over from the harsh winds, though the tug of the breeze does nothing to hide how swollen your eyes are.

Snow pollutes your vision, and it’s a little difficult to trek through the heavy snow, but you make it to his dorm building. He doesn’t expect to find you crying in front of him at eleven in the evening.

“Hey, hey, hey, what’s wrong? Are you okay?” His voice wavers, gently tugging you into the warmth of his dorm room. He positions you by the heater, grabbing the blanket he had been using and wrapping it around your shoulders.

“Min…” You try to speak, but your face almost breaks.

He sucks in a deep breath at the sight. “Don’t cryyy. It’s okay, come here.” 

Minho dusts away the snowflakes on your hair, tugging you to sit on the couch. He’s careful with his steps, guiding you forward as he walks back. 

“Be careful, the floor’s slippery. I just mopped it.” He brings his palms together, rubbing them and blowing into them before resting them on your cold cheeks when you’re finally seated on the couch. There’s a prominent furrow to his eyebrows, but his eyes are soft. 

“It’s broken.” Your face twitches, staring down at your clenched fingers. 

“What’s broken?” He murmurs, hand wrapping around your wrist to bring your fist closer to him. 

“My bracelet. It’s…” You have to bite back the sob that bursts from your throat, opening your hand to reveal the broken string and a few beads that had fallen off when it had snapped earlier. You’re feeling so much—embarrassment, frustration, everything. 

“Okay, it’s okay.” He draws himself closer to where you’re seated, wrapping the string around your wrist. “I’ll fix it, okay?”

“Okay.”

Your vision is distorted as Minho ties the string around your wrist, head hung inches away from yours as you stare down at his hands. His elbow nudges your chest gently as he works on your broken bracelet, and you can feel a few strands of his hair tickle your cheeks at the proximity. 

“Is that better?” It’s temporarily fixed, string tied in knots just enough so it’s clinging onto your wrist but it’s enough. “See, all fixed now. Nothing to worry about.” 

At his words, you start to break into another silent sob, face scrunching as you bow your head so he can’t see you properly. Your free hand goes to fiddle with your temporarily fixed bracelet, sniffling as you feel a few tears dripping down and sinking into the skin of your arm.

“Hey, look at me.” Minho coos, but it only makes you cry harder when you finally lift your head to meet his gaze. You wipe your eyes with your sleeves, taking in a deep breath as you struggle to keep eye contact. 

“Have you eaten dinner?” 

You shake your head.

“Do you want to eat now? I can cook you something really fast.” He whispers.

You sniffle, blinking back your tears until you can see him enough. “Okay.”

Minho rushes to the kitchen, leaving you with the rabbit stuffed animal you had given him in your senior year of high school. He says it’s to keep you company while he cooks, and that you should take in slow deep breaths with Leebit.

He does return fast, bowl of hot food in hand that he blows into before handing it to you. “Careful, it’s hot.” He blinks at you, voice as soft as you had heard it that time you had cried over his spicy steak and pasta. 

“Good?” You nod, chewing into the food slowly. There are still tears bunched up in your eyes, but they don’t fall anymore. 

“Of course it is.” There’s a teasing edge to his voice as he leans forward to brush your hair out of your face, soothing it down, and it makes you laugh a little like it did before. 

The boy reaches forward, decides to wipe a stray tear away as he sits cross-legged beside you on his couch, eyes staying on you as you continue to quietly eat the food he had made for you. There’s still a lingering feeling in the pit of your stomach, but Minho makes you forget about that.

“Thank you.” Your voice comes out shaky. “I don’t— I don’t know why I was crying.”

“Oh, this poor baby.” There’s an intonation in the way he speaks, setting down your empty bowl on the table as he pulls your head to rest on his shoulder. His heart clenches at the way you instantly succumb, eyes dropping from exhaustion as you nuzzle your head on his shoulder.

“Stop babying me.” You whine. “You always baby me when I cry.”

“You make it so easy, though.” He murmurs.

A warm hand comes up to your chin, stroking it like he would a cat. And you don’t understand in the slightest, but it lifts a pressure off your chest just being here with him. It feels familiar here with him, so comfortable. You’ve always been made to think that crying makes you weak, but it’s never been a problem with Minho. 

You’re thankful for exactly who he is, and for offering a type of relationship you would have only dreamed of when you were a child. He makes you feel easy to love, that you don’t have to try and make yourself digestible so people will love you more. 

You’ll do what makes you happy, and that’s all he’ll ever ask from you. 

ten.

You spend the night before New Years at Minho’s dorm room. 

He’s out buying a few things for dinner, and he comes home to you staring outside the window. Your lips are parted, like you want to ask him something, but no words come out. He lets you be, feet waddling to stand next to you as he tries to see what’s outside that has so much of your interest.

“What’re you looking at?” Minho stirs, piping down to try and see things clearer, but all he sees is snow. 

“Why? Are you so interested in the things that catch my eye?” He looks down at you with a judging eye, lips drawn together into a line. 

“I’m going to stick my fingers in your eye.” 

“I wanna go out and play in the snow.” He knows the question hanging in your statement, knows you want him to come out with you. But he also knows that you know he’s not the biggest fan of winter, and the heavy snow, and how it’s prone to make someone sick. 

“No.” Minho responds, moving away from the window to start arranging his groceries in the kitchen. You drag your feet to follow him, pouting up at him. It’s manipulative, you’re trying to manipulate him with your stupid pout, but it isn’t working. 

“Please! I wanna go outside, and it’ll be boring to play in the snow alone!” 

“I know a really nice place where we can go.” He suddenly grins, the kind that meets his eyes in a haunting manner, but you know him better than that. You know exactly what he’s going to say.

“You’re gonna say this dorm, aren’t you?” You mumble. “Okay, fine. I’ll just go outside alone.”

“Really? Great thinking!” Minho laughs directly in your face, and it only makes your pout grow. Even reserve psychology isn’t working on him. 

“Minhoooooo.” You whine, tugging at the ends of his shirt and smiling bright at him—almost as if a politician begging for his vote. 

He finishes putting away his groceries, head hung back as he lets out a sigh. “You are such an old woman. Fine, let’s go.” 

“That’s the spirit! You know, I think this should be your year of yes.”

“I say yes to everything though.” 

“Yeah, but like begrudgingly.”

“And that’s the best I can do. Now hurry up, you’re taking too long.” He’s already waiting for you by the door, arms crossed as you struggle to put on your coat and your boots. 

When you attempt to run outside, he tugs you back before grabbing an extra pair of gloves for you to wear. You smile at him thankfully before running outside and instantly dropping to start playing with the snow. Minho stands by your side, watching as your eyes stay focused on the falling snow. It’s an endearing sight, the way you crouch down and gather as much snow you can in your gloved hands. 

He’s not too eager for the season as much as everyone is, doesn’t find the appeal in freezing your ass off, doesn’t have the time to scoop away the snow just to get his car out of the driveway. He’s almost everything that you aren’t. Though, he thinks he can make an exception by the way you excitedly show him the snowball in your hands. You look like an example of pure, unadulterated happiness brought by the season, and in the moment, Minho sees why people enjoy the snow so much. 

“Alright, come on, let’s build a snowman.” Your head snaps in his direction, smile so bright that you have to bite down at your lips to hold the giggle that’s trying to escape your mouth. A winter ago, you had complained to him about how Mark never wanted to build a snowman with you. He had taken his side at the time, having hated the snow himself.

“Actually?” Your eyes are wide as you ask him. 

He thinks you look like an idiot as you drag him to where there’s a few piles of snow, but he’ll be mute with amusement as you actually start to build one together. He travels the distance of where you are to his dorm twice just to grab a carrot and buttons for eyes as you scour around to look for a few sticks as arms. It’ll be worth it when you jump back in amazement at the snowman you had built.

To be frank, Minho thinks it looks a bit scuffed. His arm is about to fall off, and his head is way too small in proportion to his body, but he watches with an unconscious grin on his face as you excitedly take photos of the snowman. 

When your face starts to flush red, Minho ushers you back inside his dorm. “Let’s get back inside. It’s time for you to go into the oven.” 

You laugh.

“Thanks for coming out with me.” 

He clears his throat at the sudden sincerity. “Yeah, yeah, whatever.” 

You jump back when his hand makes contact with your bare skin. It’s his silent revenge for you dragging him out into the cold he dislikes so much. “Your hand is so cold! Get it away from me!”

“Ah, I must be passing away soon. My temperature keeps dropping.”

“Can you stop saying stuff like that!”

Minho laughs at the way you throw the gloves you had worn at him, a cute string of chuckles with his habitual ‘ah’ right after. He catches it with ease, setting them aside on the table in case you feel another sudden spur to go outside. 

He makes you hot chocolate a few minutes later. Another begrudging yes upon your sudden request. Leebit keeps you company as he cooks up something for dinner. 

eleven.

Winter settles heavily, and you’re handed the hot chocolate you were promised. You eat dinner over quiet conversations, new year's resolutions spilled after small sips of the wine Minho had opened. Though, around an hour before the calendar restarts, his voice falls mute in your ears. You just nod at the right times, smile when he does, and focus on the way the words fall out of his mouth.

This is the most relaxed you’ve ever felt. 

You suppose you should feel guilty for your inability to listen to him, but there is something enchanting about the way Minho laughs. You didn’t know it looked as beautiful as this, starting from his throat before bubbling out in a boyish chuckle. You would’ve never noticed otherwise.

The moment only unmutes itself when he pinches your arm. 

“Ow!” You yelp, drawing your hand back. “What was that for?”

“You weren’t listening to me anymore.” He whines, setting his empty wine glass down.

“I’m sorry, I’ll listen now. I swear”. You laugh, staring down at the space between your thighs before looking up at your best friend. He’s wearing a pout, but you can tell there’s a small smile threatening to pull at his lips. 

“Was just talking about how we should ruin children’s dreams by telling everyone Santa Claus isn’t real.”

It’s such a Minho thing to say, and you can only laugh at the boy fondly as he pushes himself to his feet. You’re about to ask where he’s going when he tells you to wait a second, disappearing into his room with a purpose in his eye. Though, when he comes back, he says nothing as he resumes his place next to you.

“Close your eyes.” He finally says. 

“Why?” 

“Just close them.” 

“The last time you let someone close their eyes, you had violently shoved tissues down their mouth.” You accuse, recalling the time when Hyunjin had fallen victim to your best friend’s antics. A smile ghosts on his face at the memory. He truly is a psychopath. 

“I don’t have any tissues on me, so close your eyes before I shut them myself.”

“Jesus, alright, I’m closing them. How have you gotten away with this behavior for years? You should be locked up somewhere.” You joke, finally shutting your eyes. 

“Give me your hand.”

“Minho, I swear to God, if you put a bug on my ha—”

“Give it to me.” He interrupts you, taking your hand. You feel a weight being pressed down on your hand. It’s light, and it feels a little scattered. 

“Alright, open your eyes.” 

You feel yourself freeze momentarily, staring at the bracelet on your hand. You had expected him to pull some sort of gag, to put a fake plastic bug on your hand, not a bracelet that looked identical to the one you had broken almost a month ago. It leaves you speechless, looking up at him but he instantly breaks eye contact. 

Minho is looking down at his feet, scuffing it around his floor. His lips are parted like he wants to say something, but it looks a little hesitant. Pondering even. And he does intend to say something, but of the thousands of words he has learned from the day he was born up until this moment, he doesn’t think he can find the right words to say to you.

He still tries.

“I know that Christmas is over, but it took me a really long time to find the exact one you had broken.” He settles on something teasing. It’s what he knows best. “I know, I know, I’m the greatest best friend in the world.”

You look down at the bracelet that he quietly wraps around your wrist. You can only blink, frozen in your spot. He’s wordless as he encases it, and it’s only now you see that something’s different about him. There’s a small butterfly charm sitting at the center, beautiful and dainty. Your heart squeezes.

“The butterfly…” You start.

“Is to regain it. No boy has power to take away the things you find beautiful. I hope… in this way, it can be yours again.” He finishes for you.

You’re sure the nudge in your heart is easily seen in your expression. His name falls from your mouth, looking down at the bracelet before back at him. He looks so beautiful. His smile is too pretty, hair too soft. It’s hard not to look at him. It’s even harder when he does things like this, little by little making your heart feel whole again. He introduces you to a warmth you’ve never known. 

“What’s with that face? Don’t get emotional. I’m not saying this to move you.”

His response makes you laugh when he says it because it’s just so him, but even his words contradict with the way he’s holding back his smile.

10…9…8…

There’s silence right after your laughter subdues and you hear nothing but your muted breathing.

“I’m really happy I’m spending New Years with you this year.” 

He makes you feel like flying that it feels like you need to hold onto him to keep you grounded. With bated breath, you lean forward and wrap your arms around him. It’s hard to express how grateful you are for him, so you hope that your thoughts get closer to his heart if you hug him like this. 

Minho jumps back in surprise, hand gingerly resting against your hip for a split second before wrapping his arms fully around your waist and pulling you closer to him. His fingers dig into your skin gently in a warm embrace. 

7…6…5…

Minho’s gesture is still taking root in your heart, everything he’s done for you from the moment you met, and all the things he continues to do. It’s all still processing in your head when something registers in your head. Blood rushes to your ears at the realization. This can’t be right. 

A million thoughts rush through your head. Maybe it began with a few brushes of contact, so fleeting that if you blink, you’ll miss it—a hand on your back, a shoulder brushing against yours, thighs pressed together. Maybe it was in your stomach, the butterflies fluttering around that you had thought you’d imagined. Maybe it was in your heart, in its constant thrumming and the unidentifiable nudge you felt once in a while.

4…3…2…

You look up at your best friend, taking a good look at the small smile on his face. When he catches you staring, his mouth morphs into a smirk, but it doesn’t look as teasing as it usually does. His features are softened. You think it might be in how gentle his eyes look, gaze so soft. 

There’s a look on his face when he looks at you, and you only realize it now—the look he reserves for his cats, and his stupid pudding. There is no better feeling than having the hope of reciprocation.

1…

“Happy New Year, loser.” He mumbles, and the way he’s smiling down at you right now could mute all the fireworks decorating the sky. 

Oh no. 

You’re falling in love again. 

twelve.

Spring arrives overnight, like an unexpected guest. With each budding flower and unfurling petals and the chirps of birds early in the morning, you’re only reminded that things do get better. Spring’s sudden flurry signifies the coming of change in a sweet promise of healing. The barren branches of winter snow now adorn young flowers

You do nothing about your feelings for three months, allowing them to cement themselves deeply into your heart until you’re sure of how you feel. But you’re unsure if you can keep it in anymore, not when the petals of cherry blossoms float around Minho who’s walking next to you, like he always does. 

It feels different, like there has always been a premonition of love sitting on your chest until it was the right moment. Like the young flowers growing from the barren branches of the winter snow, you feel your heart adorn a feeling that is blossoming.

It’s quiet, save from your footsteps and the rustling of petals around you. His eyes glisten with a certain warmth that no one can replicate, and it’s something you’ve grown familiar with. A confession is brewing in your throat, and you try to make it look like your mind isn’t reeling. You fail to consider the way Minho knows you like the back of his hand, watching you closely as your brows furrow purposefully. 

“Something on your mind?”

The prospect of confessing to your best friend is scary, almost uncharted territory. The realization that you’ve fallen in love once again is even scarier. Your first love had left you with a kind of sadness that took some time to recover from, but being with Minho had made you believe in everything again, at a time when you thought your whole world had crashed down on you, at a time when you thought you’d never feel this way again. 

He makes you happy, so screw everything else. Screw that fear. There is nothing else to do, but—

“I think I like you. No, I think I…” You blurt out, stabbing the silence.

The word is sitting on your throat, but it’s much harder to say out loud. Minho’s eyes widen, caught off guard by your words. He feels the need to reassure you, can see the way you’re bruising yourself over being unable to say it.

“Hey, you don’t have to say it right now.” 

“But I do. And I… I need— I need to know how you feel… about me.” Your voice grows significantly quieter. You try to maintain eye contact, but it’s a little difficult when he’s looking at you like that. Doe eyes and soft lips parted. 

He meets your eyes, as if searching for something. He looks so entirely Minho that it has your heart tumbling.

“I love you.”

“I… What?” Your heart fills with hope.

“I love you.” He says so easily, as if they had been words sitting in his mouth for a very long time. You look into his eyes, searching for any sign that would indicate any teasing, but you don’t find anything. You only find a type of genuineness and softness unique to him, when he’s stripping himself vulnerable in his truth. 

“Do you really mean that?” Your breath is shallow, staring at him straight in the eye. You step closer to where he’s standing.

“I do.” Minho’s face visibly relaxes. “Ever since you visited my house for the first time and met Soonie, Doongie, and Dori.”

You remember that day as if it was yesterday. He’d been so excited to finally let you meet his cats, bag slung over his back as he tugged you towards his door. He’d stopped and stared when you crouched down to his cats’ heights, pulling out a few treats you had bought for them when Minho had told you you’d be meeting them. You thought nothing of it, nothing of the way his eyes flicker from you to his pets, lips curved into a small smile and eyes softening significantly. And then you realize that had been years ago. He had been in love with you for years.

“But that was… that was way before. That was…” You stutter over your own words, unable to believe that he had been harboring these emotions for such a long time, far longer than you could fathom.

“And I have loved you every single day after. Even when you wore those god awful bright red parts almost everyday.” He says, taking your hands in his. You snort at the memory. 

“Minho, stop joking around.” 

“Me? Joking around? I would never.” He brings your hands to his lips and presses a sweet kiss to your knuckles. “I’ve loved you, and I’ve loved past those pants, and your snot when you cry, and when you were puking over your toilet after drinking for the first time, and the crumbs you leave on my couch when you eat your chips.”

A soft laugh escapes you, and you jut your lips out in recollection of every single memory. He mirrors your laughter, eyes forming crescents. He’s been so good at hiding how you make him feel, but maybe if you looked close enough, you would’ve seen it. 

“Now you’re just embarrassing me.” 

“Hmm, but I love you.” 

You crack a smile, even though it feels like you’re about to cry from the way your heart is aching from the overwhelmingness of Minho’s softness. It doesn’t take long before the tears start to form, laughter cracking in a stubborn way when a bubble forms in your throat. 

“What are you doing? Are you crying?” He teases, letting go of your hands so he can hold your face in his hands, so he can see you better. There’s no need to answer him when it’s painfully obvious by the way he swipes at the tears on the corner of your eyes. 

“I’m not!” You sniffle, letting your hands rest atop of his that’s still cupping your face. “Stop looking at me. This is so embarrassing.” 

“Even more embarrassing than when you cried over milk when we were doing groceries?” He murmurs, thumb stroking up and down your cheeks and lips brushing over your face that it makes your heart contract.

“Okay, we don’t have to bring that back.” You pout, trying to will the tears away from your eyes. You fail, but it does make Minho laugh. “Why didn’t… If you loved me for so long, why didn’t you tell me sooner?” 

“Because you were hurting. And I’ll always be your best friend before someone who’s been in love with you.” His words take root in your heart, injecting itself as he leans in even closer. Now you feel all soft and putty in his hands. 

“Do you really mean all this?” You’re having a hard time believing that any of this could be true. Your voice falters as you speak, staring into his eyes but all he was fixated on was your lips. 

“Mhm. I love you. Get used to it because I’m never saying this again.” His eyes light up, and it squeezes your heart. Then, his eyes flutter closed and he pulls you gently to his lips, finally closing the distance and allowing himself to fall into you freely, in the open. It’s slow and sweet, and it almost makes you tumble that you have to hold onto his shoulders to keep yourself standing.

He kisses you like he wants you to feel the love he’s kept locked up just for you, and you think you imagine the whimper that falls from his lips against yours. Minho keeps his hands on your cheeks, unable to touch you anywhere else, unable to act out on how in love he is with you. So, he keeps kissing you, and kissing you until he can cement every detail into his head. 

When you break away from the kiss, he doesn’t fight back the giddy smile on his face, he doesn’t mask the softness he’d bared himself in front of you. Minho only rests his forehead against yours, leaning down to press a few kisses to your face. 

You’ve never been this happy, never felt more love than in this moment. Second loves don’t get as much credit for the way they’re able to rebuild a heart you thought would be shattered for a long time. They don’t get enough recognition for the way they teach you that maybe your first love hadn’t been your first love after all. That maybe everything was meant to happen to lead you down a single winding path towards Minho’s heart. Maybe this has always been your predetermined destination.

In a few months, summer will come again, and you’ll be ready to move past the seasons with Minho, the way it was always meant to be. 

note. u have made it to the end !!! let me know what you think :’) i hope you enjoyed reading this as much as i did writing it 

#k-labels #lee know x reader #lee know x you #lee know scenarios #stray kids x reader #stray kids x you #stray kids oneshot #stray kids fic #skz x reader #skz x you #skz x reader fic #skz fanfic #lee minho x reader #minho fic #stray kids minho x reader #stray kids lee know x reader #lee know fanfic #lee know fluff #lee know angst #lee know long fic #stray kids long fic #stray kids angst #stray kids fluff #college au

[mizading]

Upper Moon Yandere Headcanons 

Characters: Douma, Akaza, Aizetsu, Kokushibo.

Description: If I’m being honest, I suppose this is how some of the upper moons would express their love normally, but a lot of it is unhealthy. For that sake, I’ll classify this as yandere headcanons for the upper moons with a female reader.

Warnings: Verbal abuse, death, forced affection, unstable behavior, paranoia, etc. 

Douma..

Once Douma declares something his, it belongs to him until he says otherwise.

Douma’s love is sincere but expressed in a twisted way.

As a cult leader does, Douma provides a facade of a perfect life with him if you stick by his side.

The lack of love and nurturing from Doumas parents causes an insatiable desire for the foreign feelings within him.

Douma uses you to replace the love he never received as a child.

His affection begins in a controlled manner. Consisting of little things such as random hugs, quick kisses, or asking you to hold him for a little while.

Over time, Douma would get a bit possessive. You were lucky if you managed to go more than five minutes without Douma forcing you into hour-long cuddle sessions.

One of his favorite things to do is cling to your body and nuzzle his head into your chest.

The feeling of your body's warmth is the only thing that calms his nerves.

Denying Douma’s love is like stabbing him in the heart from his perspective.

"You don’t really love me, do you..? You're just like my parents."

Denying Douma only makes your situation worse.

In Douma’s world, if he forces enough of his affection on you, you’ll eventually love him.

There are periods when Douma is severely mentally unstable.

During these periods, Douma made it clear that you could not and would not leave his side.

You're extra careful when he’s unstable. Any wrong move, and Douma’s threatening to end everyone close to you.

It’s hard for Douma to understand human emotion. Due to his lack of feelings, he can’t possibly understand why you would want to ever leave his side after he’s provided you with a perfect life.

Regardless of how you feel, Douma needs you too much to ever let you go.

Over time, Douma may possibly turn you into a demon to trap you with him for eternity.

He can’t risk losing something that he may never find again. Your love. 

Akaza..

Akaza would kill for you in a heartbeat if it came to it.

The word love itself isn’t nearly enough to convey how much he loves you.

He would love to buy you little things, such as hair pins, just to see your face light up a bit.

Every time you leave, Akaza must be accompanying you.

Akaza always keeps at least one hand on you.

He wouldn’t mind if you didn’t have much physical strength; that’s what he’s there for.

Akaza would rather die than ever see you hurt.

He has a tendency to hurt anyone who causes you just the slightest bit of inconvenience.

Nobody should ever dare gaze upon you with any ill intent.

The other upper moons avoid interacting with you; they know how Akaza can get when it comes to you. 

You're sacred in Akaza’s eyes; he’s practically on his knees for you.

Akaza can become delusional about your love for him. If you don’t hold the same feelings for him, he’ll convince himself otherwise.

Akaza will literally spend hours kissing every inch of your body to prove himself to you.

With night comes Akaza’s paranoia.

There's much more danger for you once the sun sets.

He won’t leave your side for a single second.

In bed, you're always in Akaza’s arms; he’ll refuse to sleep any other way.

Once the sun rises once more, his nerves calm just a bit.

He simply can’t bear the thought of a life without you.

Akaza will pursue your love until the end of time. 

Aizetsu..

Aizetsu is pretty sensitive. Please don’t be too harsh on him.

He craves your affection constantly; it’s the one thing he needs to keep going.

Aizetsu can get aggressive when you refuse to show affection.

He won’t hurt you, but he might get verbally abusive.

Once he’s calmed down, he’ll cry at your feet, wrapping his arms around your waist begging for forgiveness.

He always regrets his behavior once he’s rational again.

Aizetsu sees the world as a depressing place, and you are the only light in his dull life.

One of his many nicknames for you is Sun. 

When Aizetsu gets deeply depressed, he tends to get distant.

He’s running back into your arms soon enough. 

His favorite thing to do is hug you from behind and follow you around.

Aizetsu is excessively clingy on a normal day.

If he is not all over you, something is wrong. 

He’ll ask you to hold him when his anxiety gets hard to bear; you're the only one who can get him to calm down.

He struggles immensely with his mental health.

You happen to be the one to handle Aizetsu when he’s at his lowest.

A lot of it is taken out on you, and he hates himself for it.

A few hours of being in your arms is usually enough for him to be able to function again.

Aizetsu will always do anything he can to make it up to you the next day, starting off with flowers in the morning.

If you don’t forgive him immediately, he’s on his knees once again choking on his own sobs. 

He can’t sleep without you next to him, helping him keep his depressive thoughts away.

At night, he’ll often rest his head in your lap and ask for you to play with his hair.

The feeling of your hands touching his scalp takes his mind off of the billions of things running through his head.

Aizetsu depends on you, don't fail him.

Kokushibo..

Kokushibo is always lurking in a corner, watching your every move.

He prefers to watch you in silence rather than interact with you.

Kokushibo is aware of his unhealthy attraction to you.

Small gifts, such as earrings or handwritten notes, would be left by Kokushibo on most mornings.

He manages to find something to give you each time he goes out.

Kokushibo secretly has a soft spot for you; you're the only one who knows this, of course.

Any affection coming from you stays on his mind for at least a day or two.

Don't upset him. Kokushibo is quick to completely disappear for a few days to teach you a lesson.

Leaving without Kokushibo by your side is forbidden. Once night falls, you can’t leave at all.

His rules may be harsh, but they're for your own good.

On nights that he’s feeling extra stressed, he may ask you to play with his hair.

There's not too much physical contact between you and Kokushibo, despite his hidden obsession.

He has to have a lot going on within himself to flat-out ask for your touch.

Kokushibo will die protecting you. He vowed to keep you protected, always.

You’ll be kept secret from everyone except Muzan. He won’t have you around the upper moons, especially Douma.

If you're feeling particularly stressed, Kokushibo will sit you down and tell you stories from all throughout his 480 years of living.

Kokushibo deeply appreciates your simple presence since he’s been alone for so long. Knowing that you're there is enough for him.

He spends hours watching you sleep at night; he doesn’t sleep much at all himself.

It brings him a sense of peace to watch your sleeping face, knowing that you're at ease.

Kokushibo can live in some type of peace knowing that you're safe and his.

#demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #akaza #douma #muzan kibutsuji #demon slayer x reader #anime #aizetsu #kokushibo #kokushibo x reader #kokushibo x y/n #kokushibo x you #douma x reader #douma x y/n #yandere akaza #yandere douma #yandere kokushibo #akaza x reader #akaza x y/n #upper moons #12 kizuki #aizetsu x reader #demon slayer imagines

[signalburst]

“Hell’s no place I haven’t seen before. Let it from your mind."

Gif: @yocalio

'Shogun showrunner Rachel Kondo revealed that the idea to have Blackthorne step up as Mariko’s second was initially “a shock” to her.

“It was one of those things that felt both surprising to us, but also inevitable. Like, naturally, this is the woman he loves. He doesn’t want her to writhe in eternal hell that he knows she believes in, right? I don’t even know if he believes in it, but he, this was his moment to look at her and to see her and to do something,” Kondo said.

“The one thing he does not want to do — he most doesn’t want to do — and he does it because of her, for her.”

Blackthorne’s poetic “last words” to Mariko during the seppuku scene were a suggestion from Cosmo Jarvis: “Hell’s no place I haven’t seen before. Let it from your mind,” to help him grapple with Blackthorne’s out of character decision to volunteer to kill the woman he loves.

“It was quite a challenge to find the motivation for a man to do that,” Jarvis said. “A man who hates unnecessary violence. Blackthorne hates unnecessary violence. And this would be the pinnacle of unnecessary violence and it’s somebody that he cares deeply for.”

“But, you know, that’s the joy of the work. You have to find motivations for these things and you have to do them and commit to them,” he said, explaining the genesis of the line, applauding the showrunners' collaborative nature for keeping it in.

According to Anna Sawai, Blackthorne’s decision to step up and second Mariko’s seppuku was “the biggest gesture of love that she feels from him.”

Gifs: @yocalio

“It’s when she realizes how much she means to him. Because he is a Protestant and he’s going against his religion and he’s taking her over himself. He’s allowing her to die a loyal Catholic and a samurai,” Sawai said during an interview earlier this week. “It’s a very romantic thing for her and she’s in a way kind of seeing him in different eyes because of what this means."

“He’s taking her over his own religion and beliefs,” Sawai explains of the powerful moment. “A couple scenes before that he’s asking her to keep living for him. And so I think that it just shows that he really, really cares, and that is the most romantic thing that you could ever do for someone that you love.”

Mariko is spared, for a night. A night that Mariko and Blackthorne get to share together. Although Yabushige’s treachery would result in Mariko’s death later that night, the two lovers get to spend one last evening in each other’s arms.

“It was just a moment of like, ‘I deserve this. We deserve this. We accept each other, we see each other and we can share this moment together,'” Sawai said, giving Mariko’s story a bittersweet, tragically romantic ending.'

Full interviews:

Anna Sawai Reveals the Moment Mariko Fell in Love With Blackthorne

Anna Sawai Details How Mariko’s Seppuku Attempt in Episode 9 Binds Her and Blackthorne Forever: “It’s a Very Romantic Thing for Her”

#shogun #shōgun #shogun spoilers #shogun 2024 #fx shogun #perioddrama #shogun fx #anna sawai #cosmo jarvis #toda mariko #john blackthorne #mariko x blackthorne #dailyflicks #cinematv #tvandfilm #akechi mariko #my fucking heart hurts please help 😭

[ckret2]

You know, after seeing your evil Ford au, I wonder what would happen if evil! Ford, met cannon! Ford. I feel like Cannon! Ford would hate him because he's just an example of what would happen if he haven't learned his lesson on perfection and how it's impossible to reach and how he doesn't need to impress people to be happy. I wonder what evil! Ford would think of his original counter part..would he be a little regretful? Since his cannon counterpart got more happiness than him? It's honestly intriguing to think about.

That's actually part of why I made Evil Ford: I was thinking about a dimension of lost Fords (like the dimension of lost Mabels in Don't Dimension It) and asked myself, which Ford alternate would Canon Ford most hate to meet?

So yeah you're right, Canon Ford would HATE Evil Ford—but not for thematic "you haven't learned the moral lesson about perfection & family" reasons. That's how audiences think about characters, it's not how people think about other people. When's the last time you hated somebody in real life because they missed the point of their own narrative arc—rather than because, say, they're rude to cashiers?

No, the reason Canon Ford hates Evil Ford is much simpler.

Similarly, meeting Canon Ford wouldn't make Evil Ford feel regretful because Evil Ford still thinks he made the right decision. What does he care if Canon Ford is "happier" if he only found contentment by—what—giving up on his high ambitions and settling for being a washed-up burnt-out ex-academic with no memorable achievements to his name? Evil Ford would rather die as a miserable overachiever than live as a peaceful slacker.

And he didn't spend thirty years on a completely different life path from Canon Ford without developing a totally different perspective.

Note: when Canon Ford found out Bill lied about the portal and declared he'd stop Bill no matter what, Evil Ford thinks that's Ford betraying Bill, not the other way around.

Also note: Evil Ford thinks Canon Ford is only motivated by anger over being deceived—not concern for the safety of the whole planet. Like yeah sure, he's HEARD that excuse; but that's what he thinks it is: an excuse. If he'd decided not to forgive Bill, he probably would've used the same excuse himself. A convenient, heroic-sounding moral justification for a thirty year vengence quest—but he doesn't really care that much about who's running the Earth, why would his alternate self?

(And really, Canon Ford? Thirty years? Thirty years?? You never found anything more productive to do with all that time than stalk your former mentor because you're MAD about ONE LIE?? If Canon Ford had said he thought killing Bill would net him more interdimensional fame and praise than he'd ever have as his underling, then Evil Ford could understand THAT—he himself has had misgivings about the fact that he's signed up to spend all eternity playing second banana—but as it is, though...)

Also also note: Evil Ford never reconciled with Fiddleford because he never acknowledged Fidds was "right" about Bill. He spent two-thirds of his life estranged from his brother. He moved across the country from his family. He made no friends in Gravity Falls, and likely no other college friends than Fidds. But he spent over half his life working with, dreaming with, living with Bill Cipher.

Evil Ford is evil; but he's not heartless.

Bill's the muse that gave him the blueprints he needed for his greatest invention and for the culmination of his life's work as a scientist and explorer. Bill's a near-god who hailed Ford as the greatest genius of his century, the man who's going to change the world, and via divine weirdness intervention he personally made sure that prophecy come true. Bill's the guy who—after Ford's embarrassing failure of a portal accident—welcomed Ford into his gang with open arms and the assurance that all his hard work wouldn't be for naught. He's Ford's longest-lasting friendship, his partner in crime and in science and in just about everything else by now, the person he trusts to puppet his body.

Is that a very skewed perspective on Bill? God, yeah. But it's Evil Ford's perspective.

If someone told you that all your suffering is due to the one person you trust most in all the world and the one person outside your family you care about the most—someone you've known for over thirty years—and your life would be so much better if you'd ditched this person the very first time you didn't get along—and that ditching them would have been the moral action—and that, in fact, you should have dedicated your life to killing this person...

Would you regret your life? Would you envy the life of the man who told you all this?

Or would you despise him?

How much more would you despise him if you knew he was you—had lived the same life as you—and that he had killed the most important person in your world?

Oh, Evil Ford resents the hell out of Canon Ford. Who are you—you slacker, you betrayer—to say you're "happier" than your counterpart? How do you deserve that "happy" ending? How is that fair?

Evil Ford only has one regret: not locking up his entire family before Weirdmageddon, where they'd all be safe... and where Bill would be safe from them.

#stanford pines #grunkle ford #gravity falls #evil ford au #fanart #my art #(I made these pictures much tinier than i usually draw to ensure they'd actually upload lmao)

[steveshairychest]

tw: mentions of death

Eddie will forever be grateful that he got a second chance but now he's starting to feel the consequences of his immortality.

Steve's old enough to be his dad now. His hair is almost completely grey at 45; he says the stress of babysitting 6 kids really sped up the process. Eddie still thinks he's the most beautiful person alive, he's aging like fine wine right before his eyes and he's so glad that he gets to spend every second of his immortal life with Steve.

He just wished they'd grow old together.

Dustin's kids think it's weird that their dad is friends with someone who's only just 'freshly 21' but Eddie thinks it's weird that they've never questioned why the man they've known since they were infants hasn't aged a day. He's starting to realise that children are very oblivious, especially if you bring gifts everytime you visit.

He still DMs for the party except now their children join in too. They like to remind Eddie that his rules are very outdated. He gets a disappointed frown from one of his friends when he kills their kid's character just because they annoyed him.

He thought explaining his eternal youth to his friend's kids was going to be the hardest part but he was wrong.

The hardest part was watching all his friends die.

It never got easier. He held their hands, whispered words of comfort as he listened to their hearts slowly stop. He cursed his abilities in these moments; wished he couldn't smell the illness in their blood and hear their hearts get weaker and weaker as they grew older.

Steve went sooner than he expected.

It came on so suddenly, he had no time to prepare himself, no time to figure out a way to go with him.

"See the world for me." Steve whispers to him. He's smiling, he's fucking dying and he has the audacity to smile at Eddie.

"I don't want to live in a world without you." Eddie's voice cracks and he scoots his chair closer so that he can gently rest his head on Steve's stomach. Steve weakly plays with his hair, that stupid smile still on his face.

"Always so dramatic." Steve traces Eddie's face, runs his fingers over his eyes, his nose, his lips, the scar on the side of his face from the bats; something that feels like a lifetime ago. "I love you, Eds, I won't be mad if you find someone else. Just make sure you visit and tell me about them." Eddie's sobbing now, his body shaking as he cries and grips Steve's hand tighter. He can hear it. He can fucking hear his heart slow. It's a sound he'll never be able to forget.

"My heart belongs to you... in this life.. and the next." And then he's gone.

Eddie's ears ring and he knows he's causing a scene, knows that screaming Steve's name won't magically drag him back from whatever place he's gone to, but he can't stop. He has to be forcefully dragged out of the room which is a struggle because Eddie is stronger than the average human.

He hates the silence, hates that he'll never hear the calming, steady beat of his lovers heart. He doesn't sleep for weeks, it feels wrong to sleep in their bed without Steve. He doesn't eat, can't even bring himself to open the fridge and drink the last bit of blood Steve had put aside for him.

It gets to a point where Dustin's oldest kid, Julie, comes to visit and finds him curled up on the floor, hunger so bad he's unable to move, to speak.

"Steve wouldn't want this." She chides and force feeds him the blood from the fridge. He doesn't know when Dustin told her about him, doesn't really care at that point. All he can do is sob weakly as Steve's blood fills his mouth and brings him back from the edge. "Come on. We're going to visit dad."

Dustin's in a retirement home now.

He'd gone downhill after his wife died and the kids had their own lives, they didn't have time to look after him 24/7. Eddie would have taken him in if he'd known, but he's been in a state of limbo for 2 months now. He'd collapsed on the kitchen floor a week ago and would have stayed there if Julie hadn't shown up, his body can withstand neglect a lot better than he thought.

He's missed Robin's 70th birthday.

He's missed the birth of Mike and El's 4th grand kid.

He's missed the release of Will's final book in his series.

He's missed so much life while mourning Steve. He didn't realise so much could happen in just 2 months.

"Hey, dad, I've brought a visitor." Julie says softly, making sure not to startle Dustin. He's sitting on the small lounge next to the window, an old fantasy book in his hands, and seeing him sit there brings back memories of when they were younger. When Dustin used to come by Steve's house just to be near Eddie, to remind himself that Eddie was okay. They'd sit in the bay window in Steve's lounge room and read together for hours. Steve would walk by and flick the lamp on for them because they wouldn't even notice that the sun had set.

He can still see that little kid in the old man in front of him, he's hidden under the wrinkles and grey hair, but when his eyes light up and his smile takes over his face, Eddie sees the kid that he risked his life for. "Eddie!"

Julie leaves them to talk, says that she'll grab them all a cup of coffee. Eddie declines. He hasn't been able to drink coffee since Steve died. It reminds him too much of waking up to quiet humming from the kitchen and coffee flavoured kisses.

Dustin scolds Eddie for neglecting himself, for not calling him or coming to see him so that they could mourn together. It feels strange to be scolded by someone that you used to babysit.

"He told me to move on." Eddie says quietly, bitterly. "But I don't think I'll ever be able to forget him."

"You don't have to forget him." Dustin scoots closer to Eddie on the cramped lounge and makes him look him in the eyes. "You're going to be around for a long time, Eds. You can't be that stereotypical vampire that mourns his long lost love for centuries."

"Maybe I want to."

"Steve would strangle me when I see him next if I let you do that."

When I see him next.

That makes Eddie ache. Will he ever get to see Steve again? Can he even die? He doesn't want Dustin to leave him too but he knows Steve is probably lonely wherever he is. He never liked being on his own for very long.

Eddie leans against his friend's shoulder and sighs shakily. He doesn't want to cry again. He's tired of crying. "I feel hollow, Dustin. I think Steve took a part of me with him."

"He was always quite greedy when it came to you."

Eddie smiles for the first time in 2 months. "He was, wasn't he. He always stole your time with me." He playfully jabbed Dustin in the side and it felt good to laugh with him, to smile and see the familiar twinkle of joy in his friend's eyes.

When they stop laughing and the room fills with a comfortable silence, Eddie asks quietly, "Do you really think you'll see him again?"

Dustin hums and leans back into the lounge, a knowing smile on his lips. "You'll see him again, Eddie. I know it."

Eddie scoffs with a smile. "Why? Because you're old and wise?"

"Precisely."

Eddie knows Dustin is just saying what he wants to hear, what he thinks he needs to move on with his life, but a small part of himself hopes it's true.

He hopes that after he's seen the world, he'll be able to tell Steve all about it.

#SORRY THIS IS LIKE REALLY LONG #I GOT CARRIED AWAY LMAO #steddie #kas eddie munson #eddie munson #stranger things #steve harrington #st4 vol2 #steveddie #dustin henderson #tw mentions of death

[mayhem-things]

Euronymous x reader / Movie night

Euro and Y/N watch a horror movie until he suggests recreating one of the scenes.

SMUT

(1561 words)

----------------------------------------

Øystein sat on his black leather couch, his arm wrapped around her slender figure. The room was dimly lit, creating an intimate atmosphere. They had been arguing for what felt like an eternity, going back and forth about spending more time together. After much deliberation, Øystein finally agreed to meet up, but with a condition - a movie night of his choosing.

Her eyes reflecting a mix of curiosity and apprehension, reluctantly accepted his terms. She had already seen 'a Serbian film' he suggested, and their differing perspectives on the movie made it a controversial choice. 

Y/N understood the film's true irony, recognizing it as a provocative work meant to disturb and challenge its viewers. However, for Euronymous, it was a dark masterpiece of raw emotion, an exploration of hate and lust that fascinated him.

Sitting side by side, their attention fixated on the screen, Y/N became engrossed as the scene unfolded. The protagonist, drugged and disoriented, found himself in a sterile white room with a simple bed. A girl lay motionless on the bed, and he was instructed to perform unspeakable acts with her. The reader, feeling uneasy and finding the scene tasteless, requested to skip it. However, Øystein leaned forward, urging her to be quiet, his eyes locked onto the screen. She sighed, crossing her arms and leaning against the couch, her gaze wandering aimlessly around the room.

When the scene concluded, Euronymous  stole a glance at her, a certain satisfaction gleaming in his eyes. It was a look that stirred a mixture of excitement and trepidation within her. His voice, low and suggestive, broke the silence.

"We should try that

"

he whispered, his words laced with an unsettling intensity.

"Are you insane, Øystein? I'm not planning to get killed"

 she responded, her annoyance palpable at the audacity of his suggestion.

He chuckled softly, his arm tightening around her as he reassured her.

"Without the killing part, babe"

he said, his voice tinged with a mischievousness that both intrigued and frightened her. She hesitated, weighing the risks and consequences in her mind. Her eyes locked with his, and a surge of adrenaline coursed through her veins as his touch sent shivers down her spine. Slowly, his cold fingers slid down her shoulder, tracing a path along her arm until he found her hand, gently intertwining his fingers with hers. The chill of his touch mirrored the icy aura he exuded, causing her hairs to stand on end and goosebumps to form all over her body.

Caught in the intensity of the moment, almost entranced, she nodded, her decision made. Øystein rose from the couch, pulling her up with him, their hands still entwined. He led her to the bedroom, anticipation and uncertainty mingling in the air as they ventured into uncharted territory together.

To her surprise, Øystein opened the nightstand drawer and revealed a pair of handcuffs. The glimmer in his eyes hinted at his eagerness to use them, to bind her hands behind her back. Before Y/N could utter a comment or express her surprise, his lips crashed onto hers, sealing them in a passionate kiss that mirrored their deepest desires. The intensity of the moment engulfed them, drawing them further into the realm of lust and longing.

Their breaths mingled, growing heavier with each passing second, only parting their mouths briefly to steal a much-needed gasp of air. Øystein's slender, pale hand traced a path down her body, his fingertips leaving a trail of anticipation along her skin. With a deliberate motion, he reached the end of her shirt, pulling it up and over Y/N's head, revealing her to him in all her beauty. For a fleeting moment, he paused, his gaze drinking in the sight of her exposed torso, his mind filled with aching arousal.

Their hearts pounded in perfect synchrony as Euronymous pulled her waist closer to him, their chests colliding with an electric surge of desire. The fervor between them intensified with each passing moment, their mouths hungrily exploring one another as the layers of clothing were shed and tossed haphazardly onto the ground.

Øystein's voice, husky and filled with command, instructed her, 

"Arch your back and let me take care of the rest." 

Yielding to his dominance, Y/N complied, lying on the bed in a position of vulnerability, fully exposed to his penetrating gaze. The cold metal of the handcuffs encircling her wrists sent a shiver through her body, raising goosebumps on her skin, but it only served to heighten the sensations coursing through her.

The room was enveloped in an air of raw passion and unspoken desires as Øystein hovered over her, his eyes filled with an intoxicating mix of power and reverence. With deliberate and deliberate movements, he explored her body, his hands tracing every curve, every dip, every cuts and every contour, igniting sparks of pleasure along their path. His lips followed suit, leaving a trail of fiery kisses and teasing nips, stoking the flames of desire within her.

The symphony of their moans and whispers filled the room, becoming a chorus of their shared ecstasy. Bound by desire and the constraints of the handcuffs, Y/N surrendered herself completely to the pleasure that Øystein evoked within her.

In that moment, the world outside ceased to exist. They were consumed by the powerful magnetism that drew them together, lost in a realm of sensuality and vulnerability. Nothing else mattered except for the intoxicating union of their bodies, entangled in a dance of passion and surrender.

Øystein continued his teasing exploration, his lips ghosting along the curves of her spine, igniting a trail of electric sensations that intensified her lust with each lingering kiss. Her body ached for his touch, craving the moment when he would finally enter her. Aware of the desperate longing etched across her frame, he reveled in the power he held over her and cruelly took his time, savoring the anticipation.

As her desire reached its crescendo, nearly pushing her to the point of begging, Øystein abruptly seized her bound wrists, pressing her into the softness of the pillows and lifting her hips to meet his own. With a deliberate slowness, his finger traced the outer contours of her vulva, registering how wet and ready she already was for him. The sight of her defenseless and vulnerable body, arching and yearning for him, caused his own arousal to surge, his length growing impossibly harder.

A whimper escaped Y/N's lips, a plea forming on her tongue as she implored him, 

"Please, fuck me. I beg you, please."

Those words proved to be his undoing. Unable to resist her fervent entreaty, Øystein yielded to his primal desires, plunging his throbbing length inside her with a raw roughness that sent a mutual moan rippling through the air. The initial pain of being stretched to accommodate his size mingled with a pleasurable ache, intensifying the intimate connection they shared. Y/N reveled in the sensation, the fusion of pain and pleasure, wanting the ecstasy to stretch on endlessly.

Pausing for a brief moment, Øystein fought to regain control over his insatiable lust, his body trembling with the effort. Gradually, he began to move his hips, establishing a rhythm that sent waves of pleasure coursing through both their bodies. Y/N's own instincts took over, her every motion harmonizing with his, yearning for more intensity, for the unyielding union of their beings.

Their movements grew rougher and more intense with each passing thrust, their bodies locked in a primal rhythm of pleasure and need. Moaning and groaning words escaped Øystein's throat, his voice filled with a raw urgency.

"I'm gonna cum."

Those words sent an indescribable surge of arousal coursing through Y/N's veins. Eager to amplify the pleasure, she pressed her hips against him with greater force, their connection becoming even more intense. He filled her completely, his length seemingly molded perfectly for her, erasing any coherent thought from her mind. The sensations overwhelmed her, rendering her unable to hold back the symphony of moans and heavy breaths that spilled from her lips.

With each deep and powerful thrust, Øystein claimed her completely, their bodies melding in a crescendo of ecstasy. He became noticeably louder, the intensity of their union pushing him to the edge of control. Finally, unable to hold back any longer, he released his climax with one last forceful thrust, emptying himself deep inside her. His grip tightened on her hips, ensuring she wouldn't move further, the need to prolong their shared pleasure driving him to restrain her.

Y/N could feel his length twitching inside her, his cum sending shockwaves of pleasure rippling through her. 

Seconds later, his grip loosened, their heavy breathing gradually subsiding as his chest rose and fell with the return of a normal heart rate. After he withdrew from her, the click of the handcuffs opening reverberated through the room, freeing her wrists. The cuffs had left faint pink marks on her soft skin, but it was a trivial concern amidst the aftermath of their passionate encounter.

As they lay intertwined, their bodies basking in the aftermath of their intense lovemaking, Øystein broke the silence with a suggestion.

"We should have nights like this more often," he said, his voice laced with a hint of longing and satisfaction.

Y/N's heart skipped a beat, her own desire echoing his sentiment. In that moment, they both knew that this night had ignited a flame that would burn brighter and more passionately with each encounter, a connection that they yearned to explore further in the depths of their desires.

#mayhem #black metal #euronymous #fan fic stuff #fan fiction #fanfic #oystein aarseth #lord of chaos #depressing shit #depressiv #smut

[frankenkyle19]

A Lesson In Vulnerability

Request

warnings: mentions of murder, ooc James (my bad), angst, and probably grammatical errors

word count: 1.4k

(gif is not mine, again, found it on Pinterest)

It was hard. Being trapped in a hotel for all eternity with nothing to do. Boring as hell. Nearly unbearable. James had made it better. Given you nearly everything your heart desired. You had been one of the spare few who had resided in the hotel without getting killed by the infamous Mr. James Patrick March. 

No, you had come to the hotel to end your own life, not expecting that it would backfire, trapping your soul within the confines of the property. 

It was a boring existence. One in which you wandered the halls, hoping to come across someone worth talking to. That’s exactly how you had met James. You had stumbled into his suite right as he was in the middle of dispatching his latest victim. The sight should have scared you. Should have made you turn tail and run, but dying had changed the way you saw things. You weren’t afraid of him. Instead, you were curious. 

Your relationship only grew after that day, but it would be many years before James gave in to his desires and took you to bed, truly making you his. You were the first person he’d shared such intimacy with after his falling out with his dear wife, who you knew as the countess. You’d only been in her presence a handful of times over the years of which you resided in the hotel.

James had confided in you his desires, his secrets and fears. He truly trusted you with the knowledge of which he gave. He was still closed off, though and you figured he always would be in a way. 

For example, you had never seen him break. Never seen a single tear drip from his beautifully dark eyes. Never so much as seen a mournful look on his face. You didn’t know if he just never showed it, or if he was truly lacking such emotions. Would you become like that after spending centuries as a ghost? Or did James already have that darkness in him?

That’s exactly why you were in for the shock of your undead life when you opened the door to his suite and found him on his bed, head in his hands as he cried. His shoulders shook from the force of it. At first, you wondered if he’d been hurt, but no… that couldn’t be it, he couldn’t hurt as a ghost. At least not physically.

He startled when he saw you, having not heard you come in. He wiped his eyes with the palms of his hands and cleared his throat, trying to pull himself together. He knew you had seen him crying, but still he tried to cover it up.

“Darling, I wasn’t expecting you so soon-“ he stood up, looking at you intently, his usual pale face a bit red from crying.

You wanted to know what was wrong but you didn’t want to pry and risk upsetting him more. You decided it would be best not to ask, but as soon as you turned around to leave and give him space, he grabbed your hand. When you faced him again, a fresh wave of salty tears began to form in his eyes. He looked absolutely distraught and you wondered what thing could effect a man like him so much.

“Please stay, you mustn’t leave. You can’t leave like she did, I won’t allow it.” 

At first, you were confused by his words. Who? Who left him? But then it clicked: The countess. His wife. You knew the story well by now, but seeing him so upset by it made it all the more real.

“I won’t leave James, please talk to me. You can tell me anything.”

He seemed to consider it for a second, which took you by surprise. You were ready for him to completely refuse you and your ‘sappy words of comfort’. You just wished he understood that even a man like him could be broken, and could be put back together with the comfort of someone else. He didn’t have to deal with this all on his own.

“It’s my anniversary. Nearly a century together my dear Elizabeth and I.” He swallowed hard after the words left his lips, as if they physically hurt him to speak aloud.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“What have I said about talking?! Talking does no good, talking is futile. It cannot change the past and it will not solve the future. Therefore I see no point.”

You wanted to scream right back in his face. Call him a selfish man who, even after beginning his relationship with you, pined after his estranged wife who couldn’t care less about him. You knew she hated him, and she had her reasons. He had done awful things to people she loved. 

But you didn’t yell back. You were calm, after all you knew that he was only yelling because he did not know how else to expel his emotions. He’d never been taught, and he’d been stuck in a past that didn’t fit the world he now lived in.

Instead, you put a hand on his shoulder, which seemed to surprise him. He was so used to pushing people away that just the mere fact that you stayed sent a whole new wave of tears to spring up in his eyes. 

“You don’t have to be afraid of vulnerability, James.”

“But my father said-“

“Your father isn’t here, James. You are your own man, don’t let him keep haunting you.” You looked up at him eagerly, cupping his pale cheek and wiping the remaining droplets of tears he had missed. His bottom lip quivered ever so slightly, no doubt his feeble effort of trying to pull himself together. 

“Let it go, James. It must be so hard keeping it all inside for so long. You don’t have to be like that with me. Whatever you need, I’m right here.”

Carefully, he laid his head on your shoulder. You could tell this kind of physical touch was foreign to him. He was so used to roughing up bodies, he had forgotten how to gently touch one. To savor the feeling of another’s body against his in a non sexual or violent way, just a loving, gentle and caring way. He finally did let a few silent tears slip from his eyes as he wrapped his arms around you as well. He was taller than you, so he bent at the knees to better hold you. This was what he needed, for you to just stand there and let him hold your body, to remind him that not everything in this world had to be so rough and harsh. That he could enjoy being gentle too. 

“I miss her.” He whispered, voice muffled against your shoulder as he seemed to squeeze you impossibly tighter, body nearly molding itself against your own.

“I know you do. You loved her so much, you still do.”

“How can you handle it? Knowing I love another woman, and yet you stay with me? Knowing I could never love you more than I love her-“

“I’m willing to settle, James. I’d be a fool to let you go. You’re such an amazing man. There truly is no one like you.”

You felt hot tears drip onto your neck, sliding down to wet your shirt no doubt. It was incredible how silent his cries were, and it made you wonder, with a bit of sadness, how he had perfected this silent cry. How many nights had he been crying alone to finally silence himself? 

Never again, you decided. Never again would he have to cry alone in his room over the loss of love, the loss that looked over him like a thunder cloud filled with such heavy weight that it nearly crushed him. He had you now. 

“Darling, you’re too kind. I do not deserve such kindness.”

“Nonsense James. You deserve just as much as anyone, if not more. I wish I could find the words to tell you how much I care for you.” You held him a bit tighter, rubbing his back before sliding his jacket off of his slumped shoulders. He needed to relax.

“Come lay with me James.” And with no resistance, he obliged, kicking off his freshly polished shoes as he crawled into bed. He seemed a bit confused when you started spooning him. That was usually his job when he was in the rare mood to cuddle. 

He ended up relaxing into your arms instantly, closing his eyes and letting out a deep breath. 

As a ghost he couldn’t sleep, but he felt at peace for the first time in a century. All because someone took the time to see through his hard exterior and comfort him. 

#evan peters #american horror story #evan peters icons #ahs fandom #american horror story rp #james march x reader #james patrick march imagine #james patrick march #ahs hotel #american horror hotel

[feralghxuls]

Hiding From the Light

Rating: T

Pairing: Dew/Mountain

Tags: First Kiss, Fluff, Ghoul Lore, Breeding Mention

Words: 1,218

Summary:

Dew was Mountain's first kiss topside, and also ever.

“I’m going to kiss you,” Dew said, raising himself up on his toes and pulling Mountain down at the same time. “I don’t know what that is,” Mountain said, but whatever it was, he knew he wanted it, and he wanted it from Dew. He didn’t laugh. His thumb brushed slowly over Mountain’s cheekbone, and Dew said, “I’ll show you. Stop me if you don’t like it.” Mountain nodded, and let Dew pull him down further. Their faces were very close together, close enough that Mountain could count Dew’s eyelashes, and see the patterns in his irises, and the faint white freckles across his cheeks he’d never noticed before, and still Dew was moving closer.

When Mountain was first summoned, he had a very difficult time with the other ghouls. He didn’t understand why they were so friendly, he didn’t get the social cues, he didn't like the touching. Dew wasn’t like the others. He kept to himself, bright, intense eyes taking in everything before him, observing conversations and interactions, and when he chose to participate he was blunt and straightforward. He largely ignored Mountain for a good long while, until the day he strode up to him in that oddly precise way of his and asked what his problem was. Demanded to know why Mountain was always staring at him

Mountain didn’t realize he was staring. He felt inexplicably drawn to Dew. Where he came from in the pit, there was no friendliness. You met other ghouls only to chase them out of your territory, or to be chased yourself, and trying to befriend the others was a good way to get yourself killed. That wasn’t a threat here, though, as far as Mountain knew.

Dew had asked him two questions, so Mountain gave him two answers: it’s too loud and too bright; he stares because Dew is interesting to look at.

Dew barked out a laugh and took Mountain by the elbow, grip firm but surprisingly gentle, dragging him down a half dozen halfways and halfway across the abbey. He took Mountain somewhere he had never been before, where the air smelled of dust and the walls were old, uncovered stone bricks, and the next thing he knew he was being steered through a doorway and into a room. Just before Dew kicked the door closed, Mountain could see shapes covered by white cloth and a layer of dust. Then it was dark. And quiet. Quieter than anywhere in the abbey, except for two sets of lungs breathing and two hearts beating.

After spending an eternity in the pitch black, Mountain’s eyes only needed a few seconds before he could see everything in the room as plainly as if all the lights were on. He was only looking at Dew, though, standing in front of him. unmoving and staring right at him, his pupils reflecting the tiniest bit of starlight filtering in through the covered windows.

“Even in the dark, you’re still staring at me,” Dew said, tone flat. but then he laughed. It wasn’t the rough, caustic laugh he’d barked out earlier, or the bitter, scathing one Mountain usually heard from him. It was still rough around the edges, but it was warm. Sincere.

“I want to touch you,” Mountain said.

Read the rest on Ao3!

#dorito.txt #dorito writes #dorito fics #mountain ghoul #dewdrop ghoul #sodo ghoul #the band ghost #the band ghost fanfiction

[cheatingwifelover]

Our yard guy. Lucas, is a hunter. I hunted in my younger days but in my old age I'm too sentimental to kill any animals. Sometimes when he's taking a break from mowing we talk about shooting. I've been wanting to try some target shooting on a 1,000 yard range but there aren't any I'm aware of near where we live.

Lucas told me about one in the Boerne area and one near DFW. I decided to spend a couple days at the one in the Boerne area and made reservations. My wife didn't want to put our dogs in the kennel to watch me shooting so she decided to stay home.

Off I went with my Ruger Precision Rifle. My plan was to leave early in the morning, do some shooting in the afternoon, spend the night, and drive home after shooting on the second day. I enjoyed the shooting but I missed my wife. On the rare occasions I'm staying overnight somewhere without my wife I call her and we talk on the phone before calling it a night.

I called home that night around 10 PM. No answer. I figured she might be out walking the dogs, or taking a shower, so I left a message for her to call me back. When I hadn't heard from her by 11 PM I called home again. Still no answer. At this point I felt the worry creep in. We hadn't been separated much in our decades long marriage and this was the first time my wife did not either call me herself or answer the phone when I was on an overnight trip.

I started calling every half hour. Every 30 minutes felt like an eternity. I didn't know what to do. I was worn out from the afternoon and fell asleep around 3AM. When I woke up about an hour later There was still no word from her. I tried calling with increasing frequency. I had a drink to relax, then another and another until I once again fell asleep.

I woke again at about 930 AM and checked my phone. There was a message from my wife. I'd had my ringer on vibrate and hadn't heard it. The timestamp on the message was 8:06 AM. She apologized for missing my call and said she was tired and going to bed, and that we could talk when I got back.

When I got back that evening she apologized again, said she didn't know what came over her, but she wasn't in the mood to talk about it. She told me I needed to give her some time. I'd learned over the years that pressing her was not only useless but could also be quite counterproductive so I just let it drop. It took almost a month and a lot of alcohol before she was ready to talk and I was glad I'd waited.

“So where we you when I called,” I asked her when she finally told me she was ready to talk.

“I was with Orin and Tony” was her surprising reply. I wrote about Orin and Tony in “Young Lust,” posted a few months ago, referring to them as O and T.

I immediately grasped the implications and felt my cock starting to harden in anticipation of what I was about to hear.

“What does being with Orin and Tony mean exactly,” I queried? “With them where, how? All night?”

“They took me out and then we went to a motel room.”

I was actually trembling a little when I asked “did you fuck them again?”

“We didn't go to a motel for Bible Study,” she quipped rather snarkily. “Of course we fucked, you're my husband not my owner.”

I had a raging hard on at this point, and out came my cock.

“Come on baby,” I coaxed, “tell me everything. I need to hear details. Don't hold anything back.”

Apparently, Tony had been unable to keep that first time with him and Orin and my wife to himself and had mentioned it to Lucas. Orin was embarrassed when Lucas asked him if it was true that the two of them had fucked my wife.

“Was your friend Tony bullshitting me or did the two of you really fuck Mrs. D” he asked?

“Fucking Tony,” he replied, “I told him to keep his mouth shut.”

“So it's true then,” said Lucas. “I'd love to get some of that myself, I can't believe you two beat me to it.”

“Well,” he continued, “if you want to try your luck with her again her husband is going to be out of town overnight next week. Let me know how it goes.”

Orin and Tony rang our doorbell at around 730 PM the night I was gone. Orin was holding a bouquet of flowers.

“These are for you Mrs D.” he said. “We heard from Lucas that Mr. D isn't home tonight so we thought we'd see if you'd like to go out to dinner with us. Our treat. Or maybe we could just go for a ride?”

“Where are your scooters,” asked my wife?

“At home tonight,” he said, “my parents finally bought me a car. I just have to pay the insurance/”

“It's sweet of you to ask,” she replied, “but I'm not really dressed to go out anywhere.”

“Please Mrs. D, you've been nice to us and we'd like to do something for you. We can wait while you get ready, or come back later.”

My wife couldn't help but feel flattered that these two young men were basically asking her out on a date at her age. What could it hurt she thought.

“Ok,” she relented. “Why don't you two give me some time to get ready. Come back in about an hour, and it's a date.”

As she got ready she downed a couple martinis feeling like if she was going through with this she needed to have a good buzz on. Even before an hour had elapsed she saw them on the security cameras waiting in the driveway. It was cute she thought, two young men this attentive. She wasn't naive though, she knew what was on their minds, what they really wanted, which was why she needed the martinis. Alcohol relaxed her and made her horny.

When she was finally ready she walked out to their car hoping they'd appreciate her outfit, and of course they did.

Tony couldn't restrain himself, “fuck do you look hot Mrs D” he said as he exited the car to make a place for her in the front seat.

“Well thank you Tony,” she replied, “I was hoping you'd like my outfit.”

“Fuck Mrs D, I love it,” Tony replied, climbing into the back seat. “None of our friends mom's are anywhere near as hot as you are.”

“Flattery will take you places,” my wife said in return.

|”We know a club where they don't check ID's” said Orin as my wife climbed into the passenger seat.

“I thought we were going to dinner,” said my wife. “Now I'm thinking you two just want to get me drunk and fuck me.”

“Sorry, Mrs. D, we were just thinking it was kinda late for dinner now,” said Orin.

“It's ok,” my wife said, “the club sounds like it might be fun. I haven't been clubbing for years, much less with two handsome young men as my escorts.”

She'd already down 3 martinis by the time they picked her up. You know what they say I'd quipped to her in the past, 3 martinis under the table, 4 martinis under the host. My wife joined the two of them one martini away from being under the host.

Sure enough, no one at the club asked for any ID. Orin and Tony ordered drinks for my wife but were careful not to drink much themselves. After another couple martinis my wife behaved very much out of character for her in a public place. She took turns sitting on their laps being fingered and making out with each of them, but no one else in the club really seemed to be paying them much attention.

By midnight my wife needed assistance just getting back to their car.

“Where are we going now” she asked, noticing they weren't headed in the direction of home.

“My parents are home,” said Orin, “so Tony and I got us a motel room. Is that ok Mrs D?”

“Sure,” replied my wife pretty much having accepted where the night was heading when the two of them showed up at the door with a bouquet of flowers asking her out on a date. “But I can't stay all night, I have to get home and let our dogs out.”

“I was surprised to see you two tonight” my wife said once they were in the motel room. “I thought you'd had your fun and were no longer interested.”

“No, “ said Orin, “we've both been wanting to fuck you again but this is the first time we've really had the chance. My parents haven't gone anywhere since the first time.”

“Yeah,” chipped in Tony, “we didn't think you'd want to do anything at your place, and we were afraid to try again with your husband around.”

“When Lucas told me your husband was going to be gone tonight we decided we'd try to see you again,” added Orin.

“Why would Lucas say anything about my husband, does he know what we did?”

“He does,” replied Orin, “Tony couldn't keep his big mouth shut.”

“He wants to fuck you too,” chipped in Tony. “He told Orin he couldn't believe we got you before he did.”

Somehow, thought my wife, it all seems rather disturbing, but she was too drunk at the moment to object or care. My husband is away and I'm in a motel room with two young guys who want to fuck me, so why complain? I'm so horny right now I don't care about anything but getting fucked said her inner monologue.

Tony wrapped his arms around my wife and kissed her. Orin took out his cock and began to stroke it watching the two of them making out. Tony slipped one hand down to unzip his pants and my wife extracted his cock, stroking it as they kissed.

Tony put both his hands on her shoulders and applied pressure to push her down onto her knees.

“Suck my cock,” he told her, “be a good wife and put that hot mouth of yours to work for me.”

Tony was the bigger of the two of them and had the biggest cock. He also was the more aggressive of the two and inclined towards arrogance and swagger, an attitude my wife claims to dislike. I have no doubt that his arrogance was at least partially the product of that fat 8 inch cock that was now poised with its own seeming arrogance in front of my wife's face.

“Come on,” said Tony putting both hands behind her head and pushing his cock to her lips, “swallow that fucking cock.”

She was aware of Orin behind them stroking his cock, enjoying the show, even though she couldn't see him. She opened her mouth and did as requested, swallowing that big cock until Tony's balls were pressing against her chin. He relaxed his grip on her head but used both hands to guide her mouth up and down, bouncing his balls on her chin with each stroke.

“Fuck yes,” Tony said to Orin, “look at this fuckin' slut swallow cock. The bitch has zero gag reflex.”

From “Mrs D,” to “bitch,” and “slut,” she felt an atmospheric change in the room but she didn't let it interfere with her performance. She wrapped her left arm behind Tony for support and used her right hand to squeeze and milk his balls as she sucked on that big flesh pipe, determined to drain those heavy balls.

“Fuck, the slut is going to make me cum,” said Tony, but I want to fuck her. Help me stand her back up Orin.”

They each took an arm and lifted her to her feet. She stood before them in her short black dress, hot thick thighs sexily exposed under flesh colored pantyhose hose, and high-heeled black fuck me boots. Tony had resisted the urge to fuck her in the car even before they got to the club but he was going to satisfy that urge now.

“Oh god I so want to fuck you,” said Tony, lifting her dress and exposing her pussy in crotchless pantyhose.”But first I want to suck on those big tits,” he said, tearing open the top of her dress and just pulling her bra down to get them out.

“God I love your big tits Mrs D,” he told her, sucking first one nipple into his mouth and then the other.

Between the making out and fingering in the club, sucking on his big cock, and now Tony sucking her tits, her pussy was gushing. She couldn't remember the last time her husband had made her this wet, if ever.

Meanwhile, Orin grabbed some astroglide they had left on the nightstand when they'd rented the room earlier in the day. He approached her from behind and felt his friend Tony push his cock into her pussy and start fucking her. Orin generously lubed up his cock with the astroglide and then tossed the rest of it onto the bed.

“Hold her still for a second Tony,” he said, then grabbing her hips, began to slowly push his well lubed cock into her ass.

She froze with surprise and the initial pain of anal penetration.

“Don't move,” pleaded my wife, “let me adjust.”

“Ok, go slow” she said momentarily.

Orin eased his cock in balls deep and said, “I'm in her all the way. Fuck is her ass tight. Go ahead Tony, fuck her.”

My wife wrapped her arms around Tony's neck, kissing him deeply as the two boys began to establish a rhythm. Now that the initial pain of anal penetration had dissipated she shuddered in pleasure at the sensation of the two of them pushing into her at the same time. The pressure of two cocks thrusting into her was simply exquisite. She felt like she was being hoisted into mid-air by young cock. She'd always enjoyed anal sex, or at least tolerated it, but with a cock in her cunt at the same time she remember how good it felt and wondered why she hadn't indulged it more frequently?

She felt Orin behind her turning her head away from Tony, wanting to kiss her. It was a little awkward but she kissed him back as best she could then turned back to Tony. The lust these two young men expressed for her ignited her own passion, deepened by a pending explosion of pleasure she felt about to overwhelm her. She was glad she hadn't gone with her husband but she felt a brief flicker of guilt at the thought before returning herself completely to the moment.

She suddenly felt Orin wrap his arms over her shoulders and push her body down into him. He thrust up on his tiptoes trying to push every millimeter of his cock into her ass. She could feel his body shudder and knew he was about to cum.

“Oh fuck,” he exclaimed....”oooohhhhhh....fuck” and she felt his cock pulsating and emptying into her.

She had been trying to hold back, to extend sensation as long as possible, but Orin cumming as he did pushed her over the edge and she was unable to contain the explosion. She saw light flashing behind her eyes and felt momentarily like she might pass out.

Oh my god,” she cried out, “oh my god,” feeling her whole body flooded with wave after wave of orgasmic bliss.

Orin pulled his cock out of her with an audible “plop” and settled back, practically falling into the chair behind him. Tony wasn't done yet and continued pumping his cock into her married pussy with increasing vigor. He turned her around and began backing her towards the bed as he fucked her.

His cock never entirely left her cunt as he re-positioned her onto the bed and climbed on top of her. He reached up and squeezed her big tits, and then started sucking her nipples, first one, then the other, alternating continuously as he fucked her.

She felt another orgasm building. As Tony continued pistoning into her and working her tits with hands and mouth, she reached down between their bodies and fingered her clit. She thought she'd felt Tony cum in her but he didn't get soft or stop pumping that big cock into her so she wasn't sure. She came again and just laid there as his cock kept sawing into her.

She was aware of Orin approaching and was surprised to hear him tell Tony to turn her so that her head was at the edge of the bed.

“Help me with her then,” said Tony, “I don't want to stop fucking her.”

Between the two of them they managed to move her into the desired position without Tony having his cock slip from her pussy.

“Again already,” she asked Orin, looking up at his hard cock hovering over her face.

“We both took some Viagra before we left the club,” he replied to her surprise. “We didn't know when we'd get another chance like this with you and didn't want to waste a minute of it.”

She didn't know whether she should feel flattered or used, but in the moment wondered if it really mattered.

Getting her head just right over the edge of the bed Orin bent his knees slightly, placing his cock against her mouth.

“Suck my cock Denise,” he told her, using her name for the first time.

He'd always called her Mrs D before and she didn't realize he even knew her name. There was something about it that seemed to make it feel more intimate, narrowing the gap between them, and yet at the same time a little threatening.

“Oh yeah, that's it” he told her as he pushed his cock into her throat. “I've missed this mouth Denise, I've never met another girl who can suck a cock like you do.”

He called her a girl. Was that a good thing or a bad thing she wondered? As Tony continued to fuck her pussy Orin now fucked her throat, pushing into her until his balls were pressing against her nose. Not pulling all the way back each time but keeping most of his cock in her warm mouth then pushing back all the way into her throat.

Tony had never stopped pumping into her, never gone soft, but she thought she had felt him cum in her two or three times without slowing down. Now Orin seemed renewed and kept plunging his cock into her mouth and throat until her jaws ached. She fully understood what it meant to be spit roasted. She felt like meat on a spit but there was something about the idea of it, of her, a married woman three times their age taking cock like this, that overcame with lust any doubts or reservations.

She wanted to be the “girl” of their sexual fantasies, to be the unforgettable female they would savor the memory of for their entire lives, and she threw herself even more completely into the moment and into the night. They need not worry about having another chance with her, she'd make it happen, and she'd get her cuckold husband to help. Not help sexually, but to help create the opportunity for her to enjoy them like this again.

Orin interrupted her reverie by pulling his cock out of her mouth and dangling his balls over her lips.

“Suck my balls Denise,” he told her.

She took his heavy balls into her mouth and sucked on them, something she had never done for me, and the idea of it increased her arousal. She felt him pushing down with his cock as she sucked, apparently trying to get it into her mouth at the same time. She opened her mouth as wide and she could and heard him moan as she managed to get both his balls and his cock into her warm wet mouth.

“Oh fuck that's good,” he moaned. “Suck it, fuck, I'm gonna cum,” he said, and pushed in with his cock just as he erupted down her throat.

She didn't miss a drop and neither did she stop sucking on his cock and balls. He never softened. Maybe she could make him cum again like that she though and decided she would try. Tony was still sawing his big cock into her cunt. She didn't want the night to end. She kept hearing her cell phone ringing in her purse. She knew it had to be her husband calling like he did whenever he spent a night away but she didn't care. Good cock had to come before good husbands.

“Let's change up,” said Tony. “Let's DP the slut again, and this time I want that ass.”

Orin got on the bed and Tony helped my drunk wife straddle him. She guided his cock into her married cunt and he pulled her down to suck her big tits which were hanging out of her dress.

“If Lucas was here we could make this bitch airtight,” said Tony, climbing onto the bed behind her.

“Maybe next time,” said Orin.

Tony picked up the astroglide Orin had earlier thrown on the bed and lubed his cock to fuck my wife up the ass.

“Oh my fucking god,” he said as he pushed his big cock into her ass. “This shit is fucking tight. I was wasting my time in the slut's cunt.”

“You belong to us now Denise,” said Tony as he fucked my wife up the ass. “We won't be waiting so long to have you next time.”

At some point everything became a blur. Memory faded. She woke up between them and looked at her watch. Fuck, almost 8 AM. Her husband must be worried and near panic. She shook Orin awake.

“You have to take me home,” she said, “right now, if you ever want to do this again.”

[horror130]

general headcanons yandere losers club

request made by: @user40724432sworld

warning: mentions of manipulation, emotional dependency, abusive relationship, some profanity, and threats,kidnapping

*Manipulative, adorable, loving, stalking, overprotective, possessive, dependent, those are the words to describe what it's like to have this group obsess over you.

*now no kidding you have a big problem on your hands, even though they aren't as aggressive as gang bowers doesn't mean they are any less dangerous, don't get me wrong none of them and they go crazy to the point of killing someone for you or go crazy around point of kidnapping you but they're crazy enough to manipulate you or spread bad rumors about you so that the people of Derry turn away from you and the kids at school start bullying you so the losers can play hero and go to your rescue.

*yeah they are two faced little shits but don't worry you have losers club "in love" with you its not that bad it has its good side too you pretty much have loyal subjects who are willing to do anything for you they can be very manipulative but did you know that they are also very manipulable? you just have to know how to say the right words.

*Ben, Beverly, Mike, Bill know that manipulating you just to make you dependent on them is wrong but they delude themselves into thinking that this is a necessary evil so that they can protect you from the cruel world.

*Richie,Stan,Eddie really don't think they are doing anything wrong, it's true that they used emotional blackmail on you to get you to spend more time with them or that they caused the entire population of Derry to hate you but why would you like the company of other people when you have them?.

*when georgie disappeared you were always by bill's side helping him investigate georgie's disappearance or consoling him for what bill is eternally grateful (perhaps it was those specific actions that made bill "fall in love" with you), because of georgie bill's disappearance started to have a deep fear of losing you this fear resulted in Bill being the second most overprotective of you (Eddie is above Bill in terms of being overprotective), luckily Bill tries not to smother you with his overprotection even so he ends up being rather clingy with you,Bill often manipulates you subconsciously he doesn't want to but he can't help his yandere instincts,Bill really likes to feel like he's his hero he loves to feel like he's protecting you from the world, he has a notebook where he dedicates himself to writing absolutely everything about you he keeps in detail every piece of information he discovers about you whether it's your likes, fears, what you hate seriously this boy always finds something to write about you (the other losers constantly ask for information about you to Bill he doesn't always share this information).

*Richie Richie Richie this guy is a needy little shit who loves to constantly have your attention on him, Richie loves to make you laugh with his jokes which he always manages to do successfully as his sense of humor isn't the best but Richie is the one probably the most possessive of you he was the one who suggested starting to spread bad rumors about you so the group more specifically Richie doesn't have to worry about some little turd trying to steal you from him, Richie loves having his hands touching you somewhere be it on your shoulder or your waist maybe your thighs…..but he'll stop doing that if you make it clear you don't like being touched.

* Eddie is the most overprotective of you, he's possessive and overprotective so expect him not to respect your personal space too much and he's the best when it comes to emotional blackmail using your imaginary illnesses as a reason for you to be worried and focus on your watch out for him (like mother like son), he always has band-aids with him if you get hurt he will be the first to help you, Eddie and Richie always chase you hiding watching you sometimes all losers chase you but usually Richie and Eddie are responsible for making sure you get home safely, you by some miracle got Eddie's mother's approval and Eddie is very proud of you, Eddie already suggested kidnapping you just to make sure you're always protected but the group quickly dismissed this idea.

*Ben is the easiest yandere to deal with in the whole group, Ben has a strong dependence on you and will do everything you ask him if he pleases you and spoils you maybe you don't abandon him or don't trade him for someone else, he is the easier to manipulate since he is willing to do anything you tell him to do, Ben has a lot of insecurities and you always comfort him and assure him that he is adorable just the way he is it makes the boy's heart melt and his cheeks melt pink, if you're suspicious your friends are lying find out the truth from Ben he can't lie to you so if you push hard enough he'll tell you anything you want, if you like candy Ben will always be carrying some candy for you,ben likes to write poems for you and leave them in your school locker hidden away and he thinks it's adorable how excited you get when you get a new poem or how you wonder who wrote that poem for you.

*Stanley is probably the shyest he is a little standoffish but he always touches you discreetly whether it's touching your shoulder or hugging you every little chance he gets, Stan likes to impress you with his boy scout knowledge, Stan is a mix of super protective with possessive he is afraid of someone hurting you and feels a strong jealousy when he sees someone close to you, Stanley uses his good boy charm not to manipulate you but his parents so he convinces his parents that he is the best partner for you.

*Mike is the third most overprotective he would take on the Bowers gang all alone if it meant keeping you safe,compared to the others Mike and the calmest he resists the temptation to crush you with affection,Mike fell "in love" with you when you defended him from henry's name calling,Mike sometimes buys you presents are simple but meaningful gifts,Mike has talked you through his deceased puppy with you,Mike is so sweet and empathetic you can always have deep conversations with him or if you need to vent to someone he is your Boy, sometimes Mike feels unworthy of you so you'll have to comfort him.

*and last but not least Bervely (I left my favorite for last), out of all the boys she is the hardest to manipulate and when it comes to manipulating she is one of the best, you met when Bervely was being bullied by Gretta and you defended her, Bev risks running away from home just so she can sleep in yours, she's not very overprotective but and insecure it makes her possessive I really hope she doesn't see you too close to someone who isn't part of losers club (spoiler someone stopped at the hospital), she is the second most affectionate of the group she loves to hug you or kiss you on the cheek (or lips), Bev is the only one of the group that doesn't spread bad rumors about you she knows how horrible it is to have rumors about you scattered around the city and she refuses to make you suffer to be the cause of your suffering maybe threatening other people to stay away from you is enough

*losers club are those types of yanderes you don't realize are yanderes until it's too late.

(ok this took more work than i thought but i really hope it turned out good)

#it 2017 #yandere it #soft yandere #yandere male #yandere girl #it stephen king #it 2017 x reader

[cardierreh15]

When love finds a way

I do not give any permission to copy or repost my work!

Warnings 18+: Death , Blood .

Pairings: Henry Cavill (Drake/Dracula) x Misty/Mia (Black!plus size female)

Description: The past comes back to haunt Drake in the most strangest way.

Song(s): Time Of The Season by The Zombies

Word Count: 2.9K

One

Shadows casted and danced as one with the candlelight upon the walls. Sweet angelic laughter had filled the air as he nuzzled his pointy nose into her soft warm skin; pampering sweet kisses on her flesh.

A toothy grin had curled on his lips, with a glint of sparkle in his blood pigmented eyes. ‘I really must go now. I told you I’d stay for a glass of wine and one had turned into 4.’

‘Ah,’ He smacked at his teeth and leaned over to grab the neck of the wine bottle, ‘Just one more my love.’ Then he’d reached over and poured a few more ounces into her once again empty glass. ‘I’d wished you just move in with me already.’

The woman wanted to object, but instead she just laughed and looked over at him, ‘If I didn’t know better, Id be thinking you’re trying to get me drunk! And, if we moved in together, I don’t think I’d be able to keep my promise to myself.’

‘And what promise was that my love?’

‘To at least wait a month into our marriage before you put me to bed.’

‘Hmph. You do make it hard to wait.’

The couple chuckled before he looked up at her, ‘And Perhaps I am… or maybe I just enjoy your company that much.’ He placed the bottle back down on the glass table and sat back, ‘We are to spend the rest of eternity together after all.’ He smiled softly.

The woman scooped up her wine glass by the neck and look at the beautiful wedding ring that donned her hand. A hesitant smile curled on her lips before she took a sip of her wine once more.

Drake’s eyebrows pulled into one as he noticed her happy demeanor had faltered some. He sat up and scoot closer to her, ‘Don’t tell me you’re having second thoughts my love?’ He took her hand carefully and placed a gentle kiss upon her diamond.

‘N-no. It’s just that … eternity is a long time. I want to experience life first before … immortality. I want to birth a son, or a daughter—‘

He sighed softly, closing his eyes before, ‘Mia—‘

‘Dracula…’ she said as she snapped her head towards him. ‘You are my husband… is it not your job to give me what my heart truly desires?’

‘Yes but—‘

‘But?’ Her sweet honey brown eyes stared into his.

He broke the eye contact before looking down at her mahogany hands. ‘What if—‘ he swallowed his spit and looked back up at her, ‘What if I can’t? What if all these years have finally caught up with me and I can’t provide you with what you want? What then, Mia?’

Mia placed her small warm palms on his cheeks and pulled him into a sweet kiss. She could taste small remnants of blood upon his lips but it didn’t bother her much. She’d gotten use to the taste in the past year and a half.

When she’d broken the kiss, she whispered against his lips, ‘I know we can. Plus, It is always fun… practicing.’ She giggled.

Drake chuckled as well, pressing his forehead against hers, ‘It is. Maybe we can start practicing tonight?’ He then rushed in another kiss, before pampering her face and neck with sweet pecks.

A tickled laugh bounced off the walls before they were smothered with his own mouth once again.

The two were barely out of their clothes when they heard someone call his name, “DRACULA! SURRENDER YOURSELF VILE CREATURE OF HELL!”

He looked over his shoulder as he hovered over his lover.

‘Who is that?!’ Mia said in worry.

Drake quickly and carefully pulled himself off of her and walked over to the window. Once he’d pulled the winter curtain to the side, there stood the whole nearby village with pitchforks and lit up torches in their hands.

‘Mia, stay here.’

‘What?! No, Drake— they’ll kill you!’

‘Mia!’ With his immortal speed, he grabbed her face, ‘Please… stay… here. They mustn’t know you’re here—‘

‘DRACULAAA! COME OUT, THE CHURCH ONLY WISHES TO SPEAK WITH YOU!’

‘Hide. Do not come out until I come to you myself do you understand?!’

Mia nodded quickly before she hurried off and searched for hiding places.

He walked towards the large door of his home, unlocked it and pulled it open. He was instantly greeted with the scent of burning oil. He could hear the racing of everyone’s heart. They feared him. All of them except the priest, who held that cursed book in his arm.

Shutting the door softly behind him, he then walked forward, ‘My I help you… priest?’

‘Hmm… indeed you can.’

Drake narrowed his eyes as he took in the individual. He donned dirty blonde hair, green eyes and had a lean, tall frame. He wore a black cloak with red trimmings around the wrists and around his neck he work a silver necklace with a large cross pendant.

‘I Am Priest Darius Obadiah. I preach at the local town’s church. And I specifically specialize in exorcisms and vampire hunting. Basically, I am a servant of God, here to rid the world of evil. Such as yourself. ‘

‘I do not know what you mean Priest. Perhaps you’ve stumbled across the wrong man.’

Priest Darius narrowed his eyes for a second and sighed before continuing, ‘I have received word on your whereabouts from the people of the church. These…’ the priest reached his arm out, gesturing towards the folk behind him, ‘People. But that isn’t the most interesting part…’

Drake’s brows pulled into one, his red eyes searching the crowd for anyone that he would have recognized. He paid no mind to the priest until he mentioned, ‘The townsfolk say you have a woman. I hear she’s the most beautiful thing this world has ever seen. Skin chocolatey and silky. Something you’d kill to dig your fangs into?’

His eyes darted back towards the priest and he clenched his jaw together, ‘I haven’t heard of such a woman… I am a mere farmer… I am alone.’

The Priest raised a brow before continuing, ‘I want to believe you son… but the darkness I feel exuding off of you is unmatched. Joseph, Phillip! Bring her to me please!’

Drake snapped his head over his shoulder as two large men carried her out by her arms. ‘DRAKE! Get off! Get off of me!’ And they tossed her to the ground before the priest.

‘MIA! DON’T YOU DARE HARM HER!’ His crimson eyes glowed brighter than the moon. His large fangs protruded from his gums.

‘Ah! There she is! Just as they have described to be too! And all we needed from you— was a little motivation.’ The Priest chuckled as he walked over to the young beautiful woman and grabbed her by her thick curls. ‘Up, up, up— there you go sweet heart.’

‘AUGH!’ Mia whimpered out.

‘Mia! I won’t let them hurt you my love!’

The priest gave some of the villagers a nod for them to start burning down his stock, and his home.

Drake was aware of what was occurring behind him but he kept his eyes fixated on the priest.

‘Look… I know you planned on living a quiet life. Settling down but you are an abomination. A demon sent from hell to plague this world your vileness. You have and only will put everyone you know in danger… so you can give yourself up now or I will simply break you.’

‘DRAKE! DON’T DO IT!’

Drake kept his eyes on the priest before he looked at his distressed wife. ‘Mia…’

The priest smacked his teeth, rolling his eyes, ‘Fine. Let’s see how you bend under pressure.’ And in record time, the priest pulled out a dagger and stabbed it through her back.

A gasp came from Mia’s lips as he snatched the blade right out of her.

‘MIAAAA!’ He rushed over to his dying lover, falling to his knees and pulled her up into his lap. ‘Mia! Baby, baby— it’s ok! It’s not that bad—It’s.‘ his breathing was shaky. He pulled her up so he could see the wound in her back and placed one hand there, and the other rested on her exit wound in her abdomen. ‘Come on baby! Stay with me!’

‘Such a shame… she was beautiful. What a waste.’ And the priest turned around and walked through the villagers.

‘Dr—… it’s-it’s okay.’ She muttered out, her eyes wet with her own tears. Mia placed her bloodied hands on his face, ‘it’s OK… let it… g-go.’

‘It’s OK baby. I’ve got you. Just… stay with me OK. Look at me!’

Mia gave him a pained smile as a thick tear fell down the side of her face. Her face finally relaxed. And her rhythmic heart had came to a stop.

‘No, no, no. Mia— Mia please! Stay with me please. MIA!’

He sobbed as he held her. A pain he’d never experienced before ripped through him and he just let out a painful wail. He pulled her up into his arms and just held her corpse close. Rocking as if he were putting a baby to sleep.

‘What about him, father?’ One of the villagers asked.

‘He is broken. Death is what he wants. His punishment for his presence shall to live without the one he loves for the rest of his days.’

‘And what if he comes for us?!’ Another villager asked in worry.

‘He will… and we shall be ready.’

In the back, his home was already engulfed in flames. His stock ran around rampant, burning and dying. But cared nothing about it. They’d taken away the one thing he loved in this world.

He sought revenge. And God and his disciples were to feel his everlasting wrath. For those who steered in his way— would meet their dreadful and untimely demise too.

***

Modern Day

The weather was treacherous today. It was almost enough to make Drake stay indoors. But he needed to finished his painting. He was almost done with it, so he bit the silver bullet and got himself together.

He wore a simple black slacks and a button down with a black wife beater beneath it. He then threw on a black blazer to complete the look. And on his way out the door, he grabbed his black umbrella and his sunglasses.

Drake inhaled deeply; taking in all of the scents around him. He could smell the moisture in the air. It was to rain soon, so he had to hurry back. The man was like a cat thrown in a tub! He hated getting wet against his will.

He then carefully pulled his AirPods out of his pocket and plugged them into his ears. Pulling out his iPod, he restarted his playlist and began on his journey.

Drake lived in the city. This way he never felt the need to invest in a car. As far as he knew, he wasn’t being hunted thus, so walking about was a bit more relieving. Plus, everything was nearby! Supermarket, Drugstore, Restaurants, Hospital (where he would stock up his special packets at). A perfect place go blend in.

‘Hi, Mister Drake!’ A little boy with bright ginger hair on a bike chirped out, stopping right in front of him.

He pressed his lips and stopped in his tracks, ‘Oliver, careful with that thing… you can hurt someone… or worse!’

‘What? This little ole thing? You are too big to be hurt by the likes of me.’ The young man said proudly.

‘That’s kind of you young man. Now if you’d excuse—‘

‘My mom keeps asking about you Mister Drake! When you gone call her?’

Drake raised a brow, his neck stiffening at the thought of his mother. She was a beautiful woman, pretty blue eyes, strawberry blonde hair, coke bottle shape. But he would only use her for one thing if not, the other. So he looked behind him and ahead of him before leveling down to Oliver’s height.

‘Look,’ he pulled his shades down to the top of his nose, revealing his bright crimson eyes. ‘Tell your mother to stop sending her son to speak regarding her. It’s inappropriate and unladylike. And if she’d like, I’m available everyday around 7:30. K?’

The young man’s lips were parted open, stuck in a trance almost until he nodded.

‘Good lad,’ he pushed his shades back over his orbs and stood up straight, ‘Now, run along now. Behave now, young Oliver. I will be watching you!’

***

As soon as he walked into the safety of the arts and crafts store, he brought down his umbrella and pushed his shades back over his head. Then, he picked up a hand basket.

Blinking a few times he allowed his sensitive orbs to take absorb the artificial light. He then inhaled deeply, this way he was able to find out everything about every person in the establishment. Most of the pheromones were the same usual scents, and some were different but not special enough for him to be pulled in. All except one.

‘Hmmm.’ He hummed softly before his attention was grasp by one of the workers.

‘Mr. Drake! How’s it going?’

He snapped his head towards the older woman before giving her a gentle smile, ‘Mrs. King. Hi, how are you? How was your holiday?’

‘It was delightful! Kids had a blast up there in the snow! But I didn’t get to see you before I left. No lie, I was a bit concerned. Are you doing alright?’

November 29th was the day that Mia had passed. And every year since her death he would prepare a memorial in her honor. That was also the last day Mrs. King worked before her vacation.

He nodded, pressing his lips together, ‘Just— had business to take care of. I’m fine, truly.’

‘Well, you know I am a phone call away. Oh! We restocked in your favorite Oil & Acrylics yesterday! Gone head have a blast!’ She grinned happily.

‘Oh goodie! I best be on my way!’ He grinned as he began to make his way towards the back of the store where there were all kinds of varieties of canvases, paints, and brushes. This was his safe haven. His personal Heaven.

Suddenly, that unusual yet, familiar scent danced around his nose once again. But it was a delightful scent. It made love to his senses and made whatever soul he had left in him, feel right at home.

So he just followed it, gaining closer and closer to the smell. To his surprise was a curly haired, cinnamon skinned woman admiring a large squeeze bottle of paint. She was curvaceous, and small in height. She had the same silhouette as his long lost love.

Or perhaps he was seeing things.

Drake quietly walked over and just stood there eyeing the different kinds of paint. A smooth, seductive song began to play in his ears. Causing his eyes to close slightly as he savored the sound.

Until he found himself singing out softly.

‘What’s your name, whose your daddy—‘

‘Whose your daddy,’ the girl adlibed, ‘He rich? Is he rich like mee?’

Drake blinked once and looked over at the woman who was still studying the paint and now humming the rest of the song.

‘You like The Zombies?’ He said with a smirk, his eyebrow raised and curiosity.

‘Not really,’ she said before dropping the blue paint in her hand basket and looked up at him. Her hair bounced and moved effortlessly. So lively and full! ‘Just that song in particularly.’ She giggled.

When their eyes met, Drake felt like he’d been kicked in the gut by a mule. She had her same beautiful, charming smile. Those same honeycomb eyes, and those lips… those full lips he use to just indulge on for no particular reason at all. Just because that’s the closest he got to tasting her. Hell, even her heart beat sounded the same.

He was still as if he was caught in Medusa’s glare.

‘Uh..’

Drake blinked out of his own head, ‘I’m… sorry. You just reminded me of someone.’ He turned his gaze away and started packing the colors he needed.

The girl smiled softly, her small dimples deepening in her cheeks, ‘I hope they were good memories.’ She gave him a gentle giggle.

He bit into his bottom lip and pressed his lips together. He was afraid to say anything else.

‘I’m… Misty… by the way.’

Drake looked down at his basket before looking back over at her with a gentle smile, ‘Drake.’

‘Drake?’

‘Mmmm.’ He hummed in agreement.

‘Like the rapper?’

‘Who?’ He raised a brow before looking over at the gorgeous woman.

‘You know? “You use to call me on your cell phone— late night when you neeed myyy love.” You know that guy?’ She said elbowing him gently.

Drake stared at her, confusion written on his face.

‘Oh dear… that was a very popular song.’ Misty giggled as she picked up another color.

‘Not popular enough, I suppose.’

The girl laughed and shook her head, ‘I guess not. So why do they call you Drake?’

‘It’s short for something…’ he paused, feeling like he was opening way too many doors.

‘OK… what is it then?’

‘I’d rather not tell. I don’t like my name.’

‘Alright, well— it’s been a pleasure “Call me on my cellphone,” man.’ she began to back up and wave her dainty fingers towards him. ‘I must get going. See ya around.’

‘See ya.’ He murmured as she disappeared around the corner. If it were possible for a vampire to throw up, he probably would’ve done that already.

#henry cavill #august walker #henry cavill x black reader #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill x black!plus size female oc #henry cavill x plus size reader #henry cavill!dracula #vampire!august #vampire!sherlock #vampire!henry cavill #count dracula #vampire lore #vampire

[soobnny]

labyrinth — lee minho (teaser)

trope. best friends to lovers. college au. slow burn. angst. fluff. a story on second loves.

synopsis. sometimes, the path towards healing involves not only mending your heart but trusting in the love of those who have been there all along, or alternatively, in which lee minho teaches you to love again

estimated word count. 20k words

release date. mid or end of july

taglist. open (send an ask hehe)

note. i am so so very excited for this one so please look forward to it perhaps. i hope this doesn’t disappoint !!!! i am continuously working on it and will try my best to put it out as soon as i can

When Mark breaks your heart in the first weeks of summer, Minho doesn’t say “I told you so”. Instead, he becomes your gentle refuge, sitting still and letting you cry on his shoulder.

He’s careful to touch you, doesn’t want to shake you out of the pretense of composure you’ve built for yourself. Though, it only takes a brush of his hand before the inevitable scrunch of your face that follows into a sob. His hands pull your waist closer, running soothing circles down your back.

You bruise yourself for your naivety.

In the tapestry of first loves, it’s easy to be bound to the intoxicating notion that he will be all you’ll ever know. When you fall, you think it’ll last forever. The memory of him emerges from around you, slipping in like sand through your feet. Most of it passes quickly, but some moments sink on your skin, desperately pulling you down and forcing everything down your throat — the sound of ocean waves bathing the seashore when he held your hand, barefoot and laughing, the birds singing from outside the window as you spend the morning in, the scent of coffee in the morning, and the feeling of rain dripping down your clothes as you run for the night train where you tell each other everything.

How are you supposed to forget pieces of him you’ve cemented in your heart?

Loss is too terrible to grasp at once, especially when unexpected. Especially when you had thought the world of him only to have your heart shattered.

Pain only stems from the comfort of memories. It snags on you, clinging onto you and reminding you that they will just be memories now. You will only remember him now, remember falling in love over and over again, remember your first kiss and every single one after. You will only remember how he looked at you, with so much love in his eyes, you thought you would last an eternity.

“I’m going to kill him.” Minho’s voice is soft despite the connotation behind his words. He has his arms firm around you, bringing one hand to pat your hair down.

“You don’t even know what he did.” You mumble, voice coming out shaky and incoherent from sobbing the past few hours. There’s snot running down your nose and staining his shirt, and your prickling tears still haven’t stopped. His favorite shirt is soaked, but he couldn’t be less bothered.

“He—,” Your best friend pauses, taking a deep breath in. It’s something he does when he tries to recompose himself. “He made you cry.” He breathes out, taking the back of your head and pushing it further into his chest. He doesn’t think he can bear the sight of your tear-stained eyes, doesn’t think he can handle the quiver in your lips.

“Maybe I just wasn’t good enough. If I was prettier—”

The words sound practiced in your lips, slipping far too easily that it breaks Minho’s heart to think it must’ve been something weighing in your mind for a while now. He shakes his head rather fervently, carefully peeling your head back from the crook of his neck so your eyes meet.

“I don’t want you to finish that sentence.” His thumb swipes at the tears falling from your eyes, and while Minho hadn’t had the time to switch on the living room lights when you had knocked on his door at close to midnight, you can still see anger swimming in his eyes. You know it isn’t directed to you, know that he’s trying his best to subdue his rage and not drive and crash into Mark’s house right now.

“He’s going to hell for even letting that thought run through that little head of yours. There’s already barely anything in there, and he dares plant something so painfully untrue?” You notice his lips are twitching in effort of a teasing smile.

Despite the unbearable pain, you can’t help but laugh at your best friend’s words, even though it comes out sounding more like a sob. “My head has a few things in there.” You manage to croak out, and Minho pockets the accomplishment of making you laugh to think about later.

“Of course, of course. Definitely not differential calculus, but there are a few things in there.” His eyes are soft when he speaks. “One of them is that you’re enough, and it’s that fucker’s loss for letting you go. Want to hear you say it.”

He follows along with you, accompanying you with every word. “I’m good enough.” He nods his head, urging you to continue speaking. “And?”

“And it’s that fucker’s loss for letting me go.” You almost cry when you say it.

“There you go.”

Minho pulls you back in his arms, wrapping you in his scent and the entirety of his comfort. He says nothing, only listens to your heavy inhale and exhale. You’ve never been here before, never felt this pain before so he lets you feel your emotions. It’s an ache that doesn’t need to be taught, but is inevitable to learn.

“Thank you, Min.” Your voice wavers, sucking in a deep breath. “I’m…” An apology sits on your tongue, but you know your best friend won’t let you. He’s picked you up multiple times before—failed tests, college admissions, family arguments, and never once has he let you apologize for crying.

“Thank you.” You say through the clatter of your teeth.

He doesn’t say anything, only squeezes you in his arms.

It’s two in the morning now, and Minho can hear your quiet snoring. It’s prominent, sitting louder than the few honks of cars outside. You must’ve barely gotten any rest these past few days.

Your face is still wet when he lays you down on his bed, pulling his covers over you and letting it fall just by your chin. Minho falls asleep on his small, run-down couch.

#lee know x reader #lee know x you #lee know scenarios #lee know fanfic #stray kids oneshot #stray kids imagines #stray kids long fic #stray kids x reader #stray kids lee know x reader #skz x you #skz x reader #lee minho x reader #minho x reader #lee know long fic #lee know angst #lee know fluff #stray kids angst #stray kids fluff #stray kids au #stray kids x you #stray kids fic

[vvatchword]

Paradise Lost, Book 2 (Non-Zoot Edition): Sin Addresses Satan; Satan Allies with Chaos

I'm not zooted for this one, I just want to talk about it.

Keep in mind this is flow-of-consciousness, so I write down exactly what I think, and then later I sometimes discover i am wrong roflll

“O Father, what intends thy hand,” she cried, Against thy only Son? What fury O Son, Possesses thee to bend that mortal Dart Against thy Father’s head? And know’st for whom; For him who sits above and laughs the while At thee ordain’d his drudge, to execute What e’er his wrath, which he calls Justice, bids, His wrath which one day will destroy ye both.”

“To execute/what e’er his wrath, which he calls Justice” is a metal line and she IS NOT LYING

I am continually struck by how all of these characters have not only acknowledged that God cannot be defeated, they’ve always known God couldn’t be defeated. They still fought him anyway. If I were reading this in a less fantastic setting, I would be like: “M-hmm I feel like a few important documents are missing.”

Another interesting trait: all of these characters know the future. Sometimes it’s awkward—for example, they spend most of Book 2 trying to figure out what to do after falling from heaven, then wax eloquent about events that haven’t happened yet.

It’s hard to know how much was intentional here, and how much was just done in the spirit of the thing, but you know that saying: “With the Lord a day is like a thousand years, and a thousand years are like a day”? (2 Peter 3:8) It’s like these characters are not only devil-and-angel at once, but also every form of themselves from beginning to end. They haven’t yet committed horrors on the human race, but they also have. (This is not free will.)

This book makes constant asides as to God’s greatness. Everybody stops to talk him up—and by “everybody,” I mean “every single devil who gets a speech.” We haven’t had a single “good guy” yet: the only glory given to God that has been from a non-devil is Milton himself. While speaking of God, the devils’ tones rarely feel sullen or angry; instead, they feel very rote and matter-of-fact, as though they’re reading lines out of an encyclopedia. This is just the way the world is, and all the characters accept what is natural.

That’s dissonant on multiple levels. First, these devils literally JUST tried to overthrow Heaven (aka the ideal version of the world, the world-as-it-should-be). Second, given how absolutely broken the devils sound when they give their speeches—the ways they attempt to soothe themselves and comprehend their failure, added to their sudden comprehension of time (did eternity need to be invoked in heaven or Paradise until the birth of pain?)—these acknowledgments of God’s superiority ring false, like another scribe popped in and wrote BUT DON’T WORRY—

I’m trying to figure out Milton’s motivations here. Did he want to reassure the reader, the publisher, a religious authority, or himself? Keep in mind this was published back in a day where “freedom of expression” was not a thing.

By invoking the importance of the monarchy over and over, this may be Milton's attempt to say: "Mr. King sir, this is not supposed to be a story about your overthrow. Please do not kill me."

I’ve also started wondering about the political realities of when this was published. This feels extremely Protestant. Hey Wikipedia whaddaya say

[Milton scholar John] Leonard speculates that the English Civil War interrupted Milton's earliest attempts to start his “epic [poem] that would encompass all space and time”.

YEAH THERE IT IS

This book was published in 1667… by Peter Parker. Aw yeah :) With great power comes great abuse :))))

I also didn’t know Milton was freaking blind! You know, that fits; the story’s rhythm begs to be read out loud. I love the imagery that painters came up with: Milton dictating Paradise Lost to his daughters. I don’t know that this actually happened, but it’s kinda cool. Sounds like a callback to Homer so I’m a little wary—you know how people are.

Milton Dictating to His Daughter, Henry Fuseli (1794)

I bet this is exactly how he looked too.

HEEEGUUUGGHRRRHHHHH

Also, I just discovered that CS Lewis wrote a preface to Paradise Lost. I adored him as a child. I’m definitely reading that at some point.

Anyway, want to go back to reading Paradise Lost? I DO. Remember where we were? The snake-assed lady whose vagine is a Cerberi doghouse? Well, the devil asks who she and this Dart-wielding shade are…

Without research, I’m guessing the “dart” is a spear. The other option is an arrow, which sounds significantly less dangerous, and no bow is mentioned. I mean, you can still stab someone to death with an arrow, it just seems kinda silly. It’s like running at someone and jamming a bullet into their eye.

Of course, it may be meant to be an arrow. There’s a famous image in Revelations I can’t stop thinking about: the white horseman (commonly interpreted as Jesus—Revelation 6:2) comes out with a bow, but no arrows or quiver.

Holy shit, if you put Jesus and Death together you get a bow and an arrow and the arrow is death

I’m just kidding please ignore everything I say

[The devil asks: who the fuck are you guys and why are you calling me father?] T’ whom thus the Portress of Hell Gate reply’d: “Hast thou forgot me then, and do I seem Now in thine eye so foul, once deem’d so fair In Heav’n, when at th’ Assembly, and in sight Of all the Seraphim with thee combin’d In bold conspiracy against Heav’n’s King, All on a sudden miserable pain Surpris’d thee, dim thine eyes, and dizzy swum In darkness, while thy head flames thick and fast Threw forth, ’til on the left side op’ning wide, Likest to thee in shape and count’nance bright, Then shining heav’nly fair, a Goddess arm’d Out of thy head I sprung: amazement seiz’d All th’ Host of Heav’n; back they recoil’d afraid At first, and call’d me Sin, and for a Sign Portentous held me…

Suddenly, allegory!

I’ve been researching allegory lately—not well, and piecemeal—but I’ve been interested in its function, as well as what makes a good allegory and what makes a bad one. Now, before this point, I would have said that an allegory encloses the entire narrative, not just a part of it. But here we have traditional characters (Satan, Beelzebub, etc), all of whom Milton intended as representations of real spiritual beings, and all of a sudden: the allegorical representations of Sin and Death. They are not just characters, they are concepts—and yet I’d say they belong here. I feel like I can almost put a finger on why…

Was Milton a Biblical literalist? I really don’t know. There are most likely cultural and historical differences I’m missing here. I’m sure that, if Milton were a literalist, it would not be like that of the evangelicals we see today. Evangelical literalism is a particularly stupid, flat kind, and I’m not sure it was that simple back in 1660s England.

Another neat little factoid: a lot of Paradise Lost heralds back to the epic poetry of the Greeks and Romans, right? Who else sprang fully-formed from a forehead? Athena from Zeus! So this is a great callback and recontextualizing of an old myth, setting Lucifer on par with The Rapist King.

One big theme of Book 1’s was that all the other gods of the world are demons—every one of them. So Sin popping out, appearing godlike—for a moment, just like Satan himself—is a hell of a backslap. Athena was a virgin god of wisdom. You’re about to see what happens to Sin (hint: she’s a ho)

I suppose it is also possible that this is an attempt of Milton’s to represent an evolution of theology. Speaking of CS Lewis: Lewis believed that all Classical myth was composed of spiritual half-truths—like the ancient pagan faiths of the improperly-godded Classical peoples were reaching for that absolute truth of Christ, and were unable to because he hadn’t been born yet. According to Lewis, all these old faiths would ultimately be brought together under the umbrella of the Christian God’s single one. It’s one reason why Chronicles of Narnia is full of mythological beasts particular to the Greeks and Romans.

What do you mean, “what about the Jews? Weren’t the Jews around in ancient Rome? And at the time of ancient Greece for that matter?” Girl I don’t remember it’s been a minute and this is just me talking shit into the ether and I’m not even zooted right now

“…but familiar grown, I pleas’d, and with attractive graces won The most averse, thee chiefly, who full oft Thyself in me thy perfect image viewing Becam’st enamour’d, and such joy thou took’st With me in secret, that my womb conceiv’d A growing burden.

“Proshippers DNI/Sinatan shippers DNI”

Can we please appreciate “my womb conceiv’d/a growing burden.” That’s so pretty.

“Meanwhile War arose, And fields were fought in Heav’n; wherein remain’d (For what could else) to our Almighty Foe Clear Victory, to our part loss and rout Through all the Empyrean…

Back to the devil and his minions throwing in little asides about how great God is. Does this feel weird to you, too? It’s disingenuous. Every time you’re just about to accept the demons and hell-born as characters with full interior worlds, they give up on themselves. Characters should be selfish, self-oriented, self-protective. These characters keep stopping to bare their throats.

So why did these demons turn against God if they knew they were going to fail?

I mention this because Paradise Lost waffles about “free will” a lot. At first, I thought the devil mentioned “free choice” because “choice” was an inherently fallen concept, but then I remembered that Adam has a whole conversation with an angel and “free will” is uttered as a benefit.

Here’s a fun verse—one of many, they’re everywhere—that Milton was probably trying to invoke:

The Lord has made everything for its own purpose, even the wicked for the day of evil. Proverbs 16:4

That’s very cool. thanks God. Hey free will isn’t free if you brutally punish anyone who sticks a toe out of your arbitrary line you fucking asshole

“…down they fell Driv’n headlong from the Pitch of Heaven, down Into this Deep…

If you repeat this line out loud, it will heal you of all wounds. How do poets talk about this shit properly? I don’t have the language to describe why it’s good. It hurts, it’s so tasty. I started salivating like this was a delicious cookie. That delicious alliteration. Those hard d’s. HEA(D)long, then HEA(V)en. Soft f’s (fell, from). “Driv’n”, then “Heaven.” “Down” repeated twice, both times beginning a phrase. Long phrase, short phrase—the long fall, the hard stop; hard “d” to soft “v.” You can feel the drop.

I don’t know how to explain this so say it out loud ok

“…and in the general fall I also; at which time this powerful Key Into my hand was giv’n, with charge to keep These Gates for ever shut, which none can pass Without my op’ning.”

A woman who is also an opening. That’s really neat. Oh shit Jesus knocks down the gates of hell, right? Does this imply yet more rape or… yeeeeahhhhhh

Again, I’m struck by how the wicked are the tools of God as soon as the angels are. Why does Sin have to keep this key? What stops her from tossing that shit away? What stops her from opening the gates of Hell and leaving?

The glib answer is, “God does.” However, this wouldn’t be completely fair to say. Allegorical limitations apply here: Sin is not a full character.

Now, as Sin is a concept in this case, it’s like she’s transformed Satan into an allegorical concept by proxy: only by Sin might we allow Satan in. Nice.

It’s like… a tiny allegorical universe for a moment. A wee allegorical nugget.

“Pensive here I sat Alone, but long I sat not, ’til my womb Pregnant by thee, and now excessive grown Prodigious motion felt and rueful throes.

No. No I hate this. Stop

“At last this odious offspring whom thou seest Thine own begotten, breaking violent way Tore through my entrails…

remember Alien? Unfortunate

“…that with fear and pain Distorted, all my nether shape thus grew Transform’d: but he my inbred enemy…

I know we’re very grossed out but can we appreciate this use of the word “inbred” for a moment

“Forth issu’d, brandishing his fatal Dart Made to destroy: I fled, and cri’d out ‘Death’; Hell trembl’d at the hideous Name, and sigh’d From all her Caves, and back resounded ‘Death.’

Remember the “execrable shape” and the “miscreated Front”? I laughed about it, but Milton was being literal: what else could the devil say about Death? Death is a haze without meaningful form. Death can take whatever form he needs to do what he must. And, in this case, Death is greater than his father. He’s an anti-Jesus.

I also love the use of echo. The feeling of resignation and acceptance… just mwah, mwah.

“I fled, but he pursu’d (though more, it seems, Inflam’d with lust than rage) and swifter far, Me overtook—his mother!—all dismayed, And in embraces forcible and foul Engend’ring with me, of that rape begot These yelling Monsters that with ceaseless cry Surround me, as thou sawst, hourly conceiv’d And hourly born…”

Oh no. Oh no no no. Noooooo

So for the record, this is Death repeatedly raping Sin, who then gives birth to dogs on the hour, every hour, for the rest of eternity. Why dogs? Because nobody wants that.

Let’s take a step back from the allegory for a second, because we can. What did Sin do that was wrong? She was literally formed without choice. She had no choice in her nature and she had no choice in what happened to her. It’s debatable she wanted to fuck Satan. It is possible she did nothing but be born and ravished.

Yes I know she’s a concept, but she’s also playing a character here. If you didn’t want me to feel sorry for Sin you shouldn’t have made her a person. Also, the way Sin is being treated is considered an acceptable punishment. The devil characters, who can be treated purely as characters, are being punished by Milton in what he perceives as acceptable ways, and it’s arguable his audience would think similarly.

If God can treat the devils like this, there's no reason he can't treat us like this.

God is a fucking monster y’all. He’s the equivalent of every redneck who fantasizes about killing an Evildoer. Except then he MADE the Evildoer so he could purposely kill them. Worse than that: he made the Evildoer so he could make them suffer.

You ever see someone write so well they fuck up their own propaganda

“…with sorrow infinite To me, for when they list into the womb That bred them they return, and howl and gnaw My bowels, their repast; then burst forth Afresh with conscious terrors vex me ’round, That rest or intermission none I find.

Heeeyyyy are you supposed to feel sorry for Sin?

According to a quote of CS Lewis’ (from Wikipedia. Again, I’m not trying to do a great job here, I’m just fucking around, who even gives a shit), contemporaries of Paradise Lost would have known there were moments they were Supposed to Feel Certain Things, and that the Devil would be considered Bad right away, without any character-building whatsoever.

This is absolutely true. I’m coming to this slow realization that Paradise Lost exhibits traits of both modern narratives—where a character’s quality is SHOWN by their behavior, which includes their dialogue, which may not be trustworthy—and those of allegories, an older literary form. Allegories of the old days were far more straightforward, with characters written to be as one-dimensional and obvious as possible. Nobody wanted to be misunderstood.

However, this is also such a tone-deaf and willfully stupid take that I reject it in part. Look, Lewis was smart, but he would twist himself into a pretzel before he’d admit God could be a fucker: contemporary readers of this book definitely had problems with the devil’s part, and the devil’s complex qualities are part of the book’s draw. I’d argue that the devil is probably the only reason we’re still talking about Paradise Lost today—plenty of good shit was being written back in Milton’s day, and you have to dig to find it. Why did Paradise Lost not fall into a dark pit where only researchers go? It’s not because its first readers decided altogether to read it in a single manner most pleasing.

People are not monoliths guys. Movements are born and slow evolutions turned.

“Before mine eyes in opposition sits Grim Death my Son and foe, who sets them on, And me his Parent would full soon devour For want of other prey, but that he knows His end with mine involv’d; and knows that I Should prove a bitter Morsel, and his bane, When ever that shall be; so Fate pronounc’d.

This is simultaneously horrible, beautiful, and the most metal thing I’ve ever read.

Sin’s longing for cannibalism is the first overt sign of her interior monstrousness (unless she desired the incest, anyway).

This is a reminder to me that to appear ugly or distasteful was often used as a sign in old literature that someone is trash. It’s not a new concept. People confuse personal discomfort with truth all the time.

I am also reminded of the qualities of old allegorical literature. Dialogue wasn’t used to expand on a character’s inner world—it was used like an encyclopedia entry, to deliver clearcut information. The character was not a person, the character was a concept, and nobody was confused about that.

I just had an interesting thought: does Paradise Lost represent a kind of middle ground between older allegorical works and more modern character-driven works?

Wait, if she wishes she could eat Death, why did she stop him from fighting Satan

I mean, Death would win, but… I don’t know. A slave to the narrative? Yeah, probably an allegorical limitation. Allegorical symbols can’t break character or they cease being allegorical. This is one of their major limitations and it’s why writing an allegory that isn’t hamfisted is like scooping your eyes out with hot spoons. I’m starting to see how it’s unwise to just throw a random allegorical character in with a bunch of Normies: first, because they’re limited; they often can’t act like people. Second, what does that say about the rest of the narrative? It opens a can of worms. The artificial limitations of the devils suddenly becomes suspect. The allegory struggles to stretch beyond its tiny nugget prison.

“But thou O Father, I forewarn thee, shun His deadly arrow…”

Oh… ok :(

goofy-ass specter running at the devil with a goddamn arrow

I mean, it’ll work.

“…neither vainly hope To be invulnerable in those bright Arms, Though temper’d heav’nly, for that mortal dint, Save he who reigns above, none can resist.”

Every now and then, you get a hint as to how a word has evolved. Today, we think of “arms” as weaponry; here, Milton uses it to refer to “armor.” As for “dint”, it could go either as “blow, stroke” (the archaic reading, according to my dictionary) or as “force, power.” Also according to my dictionary, this is where “dent” came from (take this with a grain of salt lol).

I don’t know, it’s very cool.

She finish’d, and the subtle Fiend his lore Soon learned, now milder, and thus answer’d smooth.

I love the current-day connotations of the word “lore.” It makes this kind of funny.

Reading on, I’m honestly not sure if he believes Sin or not. You think you’d remembering fucking your brainchild. Then again, this is Hell; the characters exist in a weird between place. It’s possible that in the spirit world, concepts can be people… perhaps the nature of the spiritual is its adherence to the ideal (both ideal Wickedness and Holiness).

What makes this even harder to understand is: where does Milton intend for double-meaning and earnestness to reside? I ask because it was the style of allegories and parables to be rather straight-forward, as Lewis said. But these characters are sometimes almost modern, with clear snark and ulterior motives.

“Dear Daughter, since thou claim’st me for thy Sire, And my fair Son here showst me, the dear pledge Of dalliance had with thee in Heav’n, and joys Then sweet, now sad to mention, through dire change Befall’n us unforeseen, unthought of,

Smooth.

“…know I come no enemy, but to set free From out this dark and dismal house of pain,

Wait a minute. Is this where House of Pain got their name. IS THIS WHERE HOUSE OF PAIN

(I looked it up. It’s from HG Wells’ The Island of Dr. Moreau, which is just as weird.)

“Both him and thee, and all the heav’nly Host Of Spirits that in our just pretenses arm’d Fell with us from on high: from them I go This uncouth errand sole, with lonely steps to tread Th’ unfounded deep, and through the void immense To search with wand’ring quest…

“From there I go—this uncouth errand sole,” is what I’ll say when I’m heading out on errands from now on.

“…a place foretold Should be, and, by concurring signs, ere now Created vast and round, a place of bliss In the Purlieus of Heav’n…

I had to look up a word. “Purlieu” means “the ground on the edges of a forest, especially when partly subject to the same forest laws concerning game hunting, etc” or “the outskirts of any place; an adjacent district; the environs or neighborhood.”

I really like the implication of “at the edge of law.” That’s what God keeps coming down to—that’s what the book keeps coming back to: the battle between law and anarchy.

“…and therein plac’d A race of upstart Creatures…

fuck yeah. fuck you satan

“…to supply Perhaps our vacant room, though more remov’d, Least Heav’n surcharg’d with potent multitude Might hap to move new broiles…

I had to look up “broiles,” and in the process, discovered what may be the best dictionary of all time: Shakespeare’s Words.

“Broil” once meant “turmoil, confused fighting, battle.”

“…be this or aught Then this more secret now design’d, I haste To know, and this once known, shall soon return, And bring ye to the place where Thou and Death Shall dwell at ease…”

This section is so delicious.

First, Satan is schmoozing, 1000%. We only know this because he first talked shit to Death and Sin, and has now changed his tune. That said, it’s wildly unclear what his motivations are, half because he’s talking to literal allegorical figures. Once allegories get involved, they are stringently policed: neither Sin nor Death can be surprising to us. They will exhibit all the traits of their counterparts as understood by Milton’s version of Protestant Christianity. Their purpose is edification and education. An allegory is an encyclopedic entry given flesh.

Second, for what purpose does Satan offer these things? To pay them off? Probably. Does he offer them because he has grown a heart? No, probably not. Is he just offering what these characters want to hear? Probably. But, as you’ll soon see, he’s not lying. Does he know he’s not lying?

“…and up and down unseen Wing silently the buxom Air…

“Buxom” used to mean “lively, cheerful, bright,” not BIG OL TITTIES

“…embalm’d With odors; there ye shall be fed and fill’d Immeasurably, all things shall be your prey.”

We know, because we are inundated with Christianity in this country, that he’s telling the truth. He’s explaining that once Sin and Death are free, they’ll be free to feed on the Earth.

Is he telling what he perceives as truth, or is he promising pie in the sky?

If we were to be blitheringly flat, like Lewis, we’d recognize Satan’s speech as literal: he’s offering a promise he can keep; he understands what is going to happen before it ever happens. But because he’s complex, and started off his speech with flattery, I’m also not completely sure—I can only know by reading on and finding out if he spoke the truth.

Of equal interest: Satan is also doing right by his baby mama and weird fucking son. Sure, he’s talking shit, but he’s also taking responsibility.

Just. Kinda weird situation all told.

He ceas’d, for both seem’d highly pleas’d, and Death Grinn’d horrible a ghastly smile, to hear His famine should be fill’d, and blest his maw Destin’d to that good hour…

God I love this description. I love how Death contains “famine”, how he blesses his empty throat with promises of glut.

…no less rejoic’d His mother bad, and thus bespake her Sire. “The key of this infernal Pit by due, And by command of Heav’n’s all-powerful King I keep, by him forbidden to unlock These Adamantine Gates; against all force Death ready stands to interpose his dart, Fearless to be o’ermatched by living might.

One guy with one arrow versus everybody.

It’s all right, tell me how it goes

“But what owe I to his commands above Who hates me, and hath hither thrust me down Into this gloom of Tartarus profound, To sit in hateful Office here confin’d, Inhabitant of Heav’n, and heav’nly-born, Here in perpetual agony and pain, With terrors and with clamors compass’d round Of mine own brood, that on my bowels feed…

OH MY GOD SHE’S DOING IT

FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT

On that note: are you saying. That if God had maybe. Not been incredibly cruel to Sin. We may not have had Sin

Lewis would say something about how Sin had made her choice, and about how the brutalities wreaked against her were her own fault somehow, and that her nature was inherently wicked, so she would be wicked even when shown mercy. Then he'd end up with "it's an allegory anyway"

The problem with this is a) Christianity is about forgiving people who have committed some real humdingers, so this is logically dissonant, and b) so far, God hasn’t just punished: he has been nasty and cruel. The only love I have seen is between devils. If this is propaganda for God it’s not doing a very good job

“Thou art my Father, thou my Author, thou My being gav’st me; whom should I obey But thee, whom follow? Thou wilt bring me soon To that new world of light and bliss, among The Gods who live at ease, where I shall Reign At thy right hand voluptuous, as beseems Thy daughter and thy darling, without end.”

YES

Kinda weird but YES

Don’t take shit from that asshole lady he sucks

Thus saying, from her side the fatal Key, Sad instrument of all our woe, she took; And towards the Gate rolling her bestial train, Forthwith the huge Portcullis high up drew, Which but her self not all the Stygian powers Could once have moved… …So wide they stood, and like a Furnace mouth Cast forth redounding smoke and ruddy flame.

I just wanted to share this for the imagery. I love the imagery of a beautiful woman on a serpent’s tail, slipping slimy and bloody over the black earth, her body broken open in a hundred places where her hungry young have burst forth, and all around her the hellhounds loping. Then you can just feel the gates of Hell open and all I can think of is how I feel when I open the front door on a haboob.

“Redound” means “to fall out, contribute, turn out.”

Before their eyes in sudden view appear The secrets of the hoary deep, a dark Illimitable Ocean without bound, Without dimension, where length, breadth, and height, And time and place are lost; where eldest Night And Chaos, Ancestors of Nature, hold Eternal Anarchy, amidst the noise Of endless wars and by confusion stand.

Most of what I’m sharing here, I just LIKE. I like the image of Chaos and void. I love how it dwarfs Lucifer. I can feel the wind surging from that hot black egress. It probably switches back on itself—in direction, in temperature, in violence.

Also, I can't stop remembering that weird starlit void lurking below the surface world of Elden Ring.

...Into this wild Abyss, The Womb of nature and perhaps her Grave, Of neither Sea, nor Shore, nor Air, nor Fire, But all these in their pregnant causes mix’d Confus’dly, and which thus must ever fight, Unless th’ Almighty Maker them ordain His dark materials to create more Worlds, Into this wild Abyss the wary fiend Stood on the brink of Hell and look’d a while, Pondering his Voyage; for no narrow frith He had to cross.

“Frith” is an ancient word for “estuary.”

His Dark Materials is a book series. That phrase and the title of The Golden Compass originate from Paradise Lost. Speaking of which, I need to finish the series. From what I’ve read, the author had a bone to pick with CS Lewis, and I do approve of that.

Again, I love the imagery of this section, and that’s the only reason I’m sharing this. See, so far, Satan has been presented as a giant. He’s enormous. He’s powerful. But the chaos dwarfs him. Could absolutely swallow him. You believe in it as a dangerous place—a primordial place. It feels older than God.

Although the void here is technically allegorical, there’s worldbuilding here. This is an attempt at realism. The boundaries between allegorical and literal smear.

…At last his Sail-broad Vans He spreads for flight, and in the surging smoke Uplifted spurns the ground, thence many a League As in a cloudy Chair ascending rides Audacious, but that seat soon failing, meets A vast vacuity: all unawares Flutt’ring his pennons vain plumb down he drops Ten thousand fathom deep…

I had no idea that “vans” originated as a word for “wings.” For a brief, heady moment, I imagined Lucifer taking off in some cool fuckin kicks.

Here's where you see what I mean about action sequences: Milton is so damn good at making you feel the rough weather and envisioning weird spaces. "Surging smoke," "ascending rides/Audacious," "a vast vacuity."

...i love alliteration and action verbs. so much

…when straight behold the Throne Of Chaos, and his dark Pavilion spread Wide on the wasteful Deep; with him Enthron’d Sat Sable-vested Night, eldest of things, The consort of his Reign; and by them stood Orcus and Ades, and the dreaded name Of Demogorgon; Rumor next and Chance, And Tumult and Confusion all embroil’d, And Discord with a thousand various mouths.

Again, I just LOVE this. I’m trying to only share things I enjoy, but it’s so hard when the whole book sings.

"Wide on the wasteful deep." Mmmmfffffff f f f ffffffffffffff

"Sable-vested Night." You know, when people adjectivize nouns, usually I get mad, but this is gorgeous.

Had to include the bit about Discord because never before have I appreciated the name so well

“Yours be th’ advantage all, mine the revenge.”

Metal. Take whatever you want: I wanna fuck this guy over. (Satan absolutely said this.)

...Satan stay’d not to reply, But glad that now his Sea should find a shore, With fresh alacrity and force renew’d Springs upward like a Pyramid of fire Into the wild expanse…

One thing I like to imagine, especially when I see visual depictions of spectacular events, is wonder how the author came to envision them. As writers, we’re very lucky in this day and age that we can go look up videos and images and firsthand accounts of farflung events, and a lot of us take cues from film and television. Milton would have had a more limited palette.

What is more, not everyone can write an action sequence. Milton can. He understands that language is about feeling, not seeing.

It makes me wonder: what inspired the image of Satan’s launch? Fireworks? Comets? Lightning? The mere interplay with light out in the world?

“Glad now his Sea should find a shore” is a beautiful line and it’s about the devil allying with Chaos rofl

Send that one to your lover one day without explanation.

But now at last the sacred influence Of light appears, and from the walls of Heav’n Shoots far into the bosom of dim Night A glimmering dawn…

The sun is heaven confirmed

We're all gonna live in the sun someday

Oh wait I'm writing this.....

...im going to hell.......

…Satan with less toil, and now with ease Wafts on the calmer wave by dubious light And like a weather-beaten Vessel holds Gladly the Port, though Shrouds and Tackle torn; Or in the emptier waste, resembling Air, Weighs his spread wings, at leisure to behold Far off th’ Empyreal Heav’n, extended wide In circuit, undetermin’d square or round…

It’s fascinating to me that Heaven is seen right away as bending the laws of physics. A different writer whose name rhymes with "HP Lovecraft" would be like NON-EUCLIDEAN GEOMETRY

With Opal Tow’rs and Battlements adorn’d Of living Sapphire, once his native Seat; And fast by hanging in a golden Chain This pendant world, in bigness as a Star Of smallest Magnitude close by the Moon.

“This pendant world” "living Sapphire" UggghhhhHHH it’s so good

Imagine for a second: the peoples of this era already knew the Earth was round, but nobody had seen it from space yet.

Milton could fully envision it—like a jewel hanging in the sky.

What I don’t understand is “the golden chain.” It may be literal lol

Thither full fraught with mischievous revenge, Accurst, and in a cursed hour he hies.

This is a word-by-word account of my green-cheek conure flying into a plate of mashed potatoes.

To Be Continued

#paradise lost #christianity #reading #paradise lost book 2 #vvatchword #books #literature

[terrifiedlimechime]

📺🎀♥𝓢𝓱𝓸𝓻𝓽 𝓬𝓲𝓻𝓬𝓾𝓲𝓽 ♥🎀📻

Hi there!!!

I actually don't ship Radiostatic any more but I spent a lot of time on this. _[ ]_ °•[ -///- ]•°

Vox kicked his feet on his way through the corridor. The Vee Towers were sacred ground in his mind, perhaps solidifying his perception of the man he was about to invite into his penthouse. Maybe not man. Psychopath? Demon? Obsession? All yet to be confirmed. But most definitely, mortal enemy.

It said something about him. Perhaps that he admired the Radio Demon, which was undoubtedly incorrect, he reminded himself. Its wasn't exactly out of the goodness of his heart, he wasn't charitable by any means. But he did a fair bit of facilitating for somebody he hated. Vox knew how much Alastor hated their deal. It irked the deer, having to rely on someone else, and it made him chuckle, before he realized how heartless that made him seem, so he kept it guiltily to himself.

Vox and Alastor used to be close. Regrettably, embarrassingly close. They were so alike, so tragic, so powerful and so deserving of eternal damnation. It was no surprise when they fit together like pieces of a puzzle and placed their undying trust upon each other. Or maybe it was only Vox who did the trusting. But there was a neutral agreement that the enjoyed eachothers presence. They just… fit together. So well that Vox began to help Alastor with his rut.

They speculated that it was part of his punishment. It was cruel, and it was perfect, considering his form as a deer. After all, intimacy had never interested him, so he had no cause to be as obsessed with it as the rest of hell. Not like Angel Dust, and certainly not like Valentino. So Vox had agreed to help. According to their deal, once a month, every month, Alastor would spend a night of…pleasure with Vox. There was no breaking it, they were binded by the soul, and the suffering would have killed Alastor anyway. In public, the Radio Demon and his modern rival would, of course,be presented as adversaries. But in the lustful, dead of night, Alastor belonged to Vox, he was his, and no one's for the taking.

~( •^• )~<

The door opened abruptly, and there stood none other than the Radio Demon. He was exhausted, from a day of running around the hotel with an even faker smile than usual and constant jabs of what felt like electricity through his body. Alastor was visually very desperate, and Vox yearned for his touch. He face planted onto his companions' plush king-sized bed and said, 'My flat faced friend, how I have missed you.' He reeked of pheromones, and Vox knew he would have his work cut out tonight, but even more so tomorrow. He walked over and stroked the deer's tender ears. He shivered at his touch, but groaned in approval. "Thank you."

Vox smiled. 'Rough day, eh?'

'Oh, you have no idea.' Alastor sighed, rolling over closer, till his head lay on Vox's thighs. Vox could feel the vibration of this voice on his lap, and even more so the blush creeping on to his cheeks. The Radio Demon leaned up, and kissed him. Now he was truly flustered, his screen brighter than ever. He panicked astutely, and choked out, "COFFEE.I think I'll have some coffee, Y'KNOW. GET THE CAFFEINE HIT." Alastor looked him up and down, but was in no position to dictate him. He rushed of to the kitchen, obviously embarrassed.

Alastor eyed up a large cushion and pulled it closer to him.He was unsure of himself, he would never act as rash as this, but desperate times required desperate actions. Vox was still in the kitchen, and he hoped he would stay there for the sake of his dignity. He sat up sleepily on the bed, perked up at the thought of what he was about to do. He grinded slowly, at his own, tired pace. His admittedly dashing adversary was coursing through his mind, and he sped up needily. His manhood was growing harder by the second, and he pressed as hard as he could against the pillow, riding it like a mechanical bull. "Voxxxxxx" He moaned, his old-timey voice cracking as he threw his head back. The TV demon watched with a pointless cup of coffee in hand, destined to be ignored. "Oh my days!" Whined Alastor. Vox scooted behind him, beginning to match his thrusts. The two powerful forces collided, both rock hard at the mere thought of the other. Vox grinded hard into Alastor's hips, setting him off, moaning like a fiend, but not begging. He leaned back with a chesire grin and whispered slowly.

"Let me ravage you."

"With pleasure, fossil."

hope u liked this! idk if anyone will ever see this but have a nice day!!

stay tuned~

#hazbin hotel #helluva boss #radiostatic #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel vox #romantic #smut #inner monologue #fanfic #please give me tips #lgbtqia

[chiss-ticism]

I think if I were to break Percy down to his basics, he'd best be described as such:

(Art beautifully crafted by @/belthegore!)

Internally, Percival is an, admittedly violent, hopelessly idealistic Cainite who happens to be shackled irrevocably to the horrors of nights past.

He yearns desperately for the approval of his peers (especially those of his younger brothers, sisters, and siblings in Caine), wouldn't hesitate to put himself in harms way for them, and has exactly zero compunctions about killing in the name of the Dark Father. While not exactly squeamish about the wanton violence the Tzimisce, Toreador Antitribu, and any number of other Cainites perpetuate -I'm looking at you Brujah Antitribu-, he doesn't quite get it either. Murder most foul is a common enough event for him, but only when the shedding of that blood is called for.

While not overly vocal about his criticisms of the self-perpetuating rot within the sect, his job description not exactly calling for the analyzation of his personal political beliefs outside of personal conversations held over candlelight- simply that his charges are well taken care of, his staunchly held beliefs weren't exactly something he'd be shy about sharing.

Dominique Touraine, someone who had more than a healthy influence on his personal ideology had this to say at a Sabbat rally in France:

“Breaking the Blood Bond is viciously hard work. Sundering the emotional, social and supernatural ties between neonate and mentor requires extraordinary temptation. So we dangle before young Kindred the purest bait yet discovered: absolute freedom. We peddle the opportunity to act free from restraint, and that lure draws young vampires to the Sabbat like flies to honey. We tell them freedom means complete recklessness and utter irresponsibility. This has great appeal after the oppressive weight of years of domination by siblings, mentors, elders and Antediluvians in the Camarilla. So the young see the Sabbat as a chance to lead explosively violent lives with no one else to check their basest impulses. But the crucial phrase is no one else.’ We all have to answer to our own inner voices about which desires to act upon. To me, freedom does not mean utter irresponsibility, but complete responsibility. It’s a chance to explore self-control and self-identity far from the stifling restrictions of the Camarilla courts. Eternity is a long time to spend not knowing who one is and what one stands for. Most Sabbat members who have tasted the freedom that comes with inner guidelines and living by a personal code of ethics have found it infinitely more satisfying than slavish devotion to the whim of the moment. Our whims are not our will, and caprices are greater tyrants than the lords of the Camarilla. Only by living a vision greater than ourselves are we truly free. " (Whose Who Among Vampires: Children of the Inquisition. P. 68)

Where they differ in ideology is in the Camarilla's right to exist - Percy, through experience and through propaganda, has been radicalized too far for that to ever coherently ring true in his heart or in his mind - but where they connect is in the expression of personal freedoms. To his eye, gorging oneself in excess (be it in violence or in the partaking of blood) with little regard as to how that effects the rest of your allies is exactly the reason The Sword of Caine faces as many problems as it does on a night-to-night basis, even before the advent of the Second Inquisition. If they could just see past their short-sighted ambitions and take responsibility for their actions and the consequences therein, actually dealing with the threats at hand would be that much more feasible. They sully the good name of the Dark Father with their indolence, yet they'll be mourned all the same...

Externally, however, is another thing entirely: He's stilted. Mildly off-putting to Kine and younger Cainites who don't know any better (which, admittedly, does hurt his feelings. he doesn't hold it against them, though, as they'll learn in time). He doesn't blink often enough. His smile, those made earnestly, is almost a mockery of anything you'd want to call human - far more likely to send a chill down your spine as he seemingly eyes you with the intent to maim (sort of like how primates don't smile jovially, but with the intent of Biting You). His face is chronically deadpan.

His unbeating heart is a large one and, odds are, he has your best wishes in mind (lest you be Camarilla, Ministry, Baali, a Hunter... so on so forth). You just have to get to know him a bit before you can recognize the signs of his undead affection :) please just don't ask him to die for you. He actually might.

#Percy Tag #My OCs #That's where my Ventrue veer off from one another despite both being knights/paragons of their respective sects #In embodying the tenets of their clan factions: #Eliza will kill for you (in the name of protecting her [mortal] family) #Percy will die for you (you are his family) #And Eliza's the one on Humanity lmao :) #vtm #ventrue antitribu