#we have an inside joke that every book she gets me has cannibalism in it. so im returning the favour!! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mde1011 · 4 years ago

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when i got into the dsmp i started a note and wrote down any quotes or moments i thought were funny, and im bored at 3 am so enjoy some of them

how is being arrested real? just walk away!!!”

⁃ “once an american always an american. go...go protests masks...or something”

⁃ “...yEAH BUT DID YOU HAVE WAP” “what’s...whats wap?” “...WORSHIP AND PRAYER”

⁃ “HOW DO YOU LIKE POLITICS MOTHERFUCKER”

⁃ “i’m naked” “...no you’re not” “i can be...”

⁃ “uhhhh i’m in a high stress situation....i deal with these poorly”

⁃ “i should go first i’m naked”

⁃ “yEAHHHH WE KILLED AN OLD MAN WITH HEART PROBLEMS”

⁃ “what are you going to do?” “i...have no idea i think i’m gonna start out by punching a tree”

⁃ “tOmmy...did i just hear you say shit ass looking mofo?”

⁃ “i aM gOinG to gEt nAkeD to iNtiMidAtE HiM”

- “...i want freedom !” “you want BALLS.”

⁃ “...down the line. yeah that’s where we discover the art of cannibalism” “oh it’s an art?” “it’s an art”

⁃ “oh there’s some logs here. wonder what they’re saying to me. uh huh. uh huh. oh yeah that’s very racist” “tommy you gotta burn those logs.” “burn ‘em before they spread their racism to other logs”

⁃ “are you pooing?” “*whisper* i’m charging up-““ “he’s ejaculating on the tent.” “he’s WHAT?”

⁃ “he’s sPEEDING. LOOK HOW FAST HES GOING” “i’ve taken so many drugs. someone tell badboyhalo”

⁃ “we should make a pact. and that pact is, uh, we make a book...and in that book...we declare that saying ‘muffin’ is a, is a slur”

⁃ “i was thinking what if one day your bladder just,,,,stopped working.....AGGGFFFFF i was tHINKING ABOUT THAT THE OTHER DAY IVE GOT TO PREPARE IVE GOT YO PREPARE thisiswhydiapersaintthatbad”

⁃ <sapnap> i think i was ordered to um

<tommyinnit> boobed

<sapnap> kill you

<tommyinnit> boobs

<sapnap> if this happens

<tommyinnit> think about boobs man

<sapnap> tsk tsk tommy

<tommyinnit> iM DISGRUNTLED

⁃ “why is this deadman so good at making drugs”

⁃ “i just learnt that a girl hero is called a heroine and it freaked me out”

⁃ “memento memento me-“ “that’s actually the worst word i know so you can’t keep saying that” “oh, really.....? have you ever heard the term ‘racist’?”

⁃ “the person who invented the phrase ‘be yourself’ hadn’t met you!”

⁃ “you seem like the type of guy whose dad would throw him overboard as a joke but he would just drown”

⁃ “shout out to dream for twerking!”

⁃ “let’s talk......let’s talk about sex” “wonderful. what do you think about sex, lazarbeam?” “i ain’t saying SHIT in front of a sixteen year old”

⁃ “what the- i think i’m seeing things” “....tommy i told you not to drink the sea water” “well i DID drink the sea water because it TOLD ME TO”

⁃ “it’s like the movie when that guy gets stranded on an island and has sex with a coconut” “whAT?? dream- dream, you vastly misinterpreted this” “it one hundred percent does”

⁃ “oh mastICATE.....isn’t that when a fish turns inside out?”

⁃ “what are some bad words YOU know, clay?” “i don’t-“ “what about ‘terrorist’?”

⁃ “my mind has to be on the same frequency as jesus when he walked on water”

⁃ “you wanna know why i was late?” “no i really do-“ “i was having a MASSIVE poo. really just a HUGE poo”

⁃ “jUST CUZ YOU TALK ABOUT POO ONCE AND THEN YOU SEE A BIG GREEN BASTARD AMD YOUR LIFE IS FLASHING BEFORE YOUR EYES AND THEN YOU CANT REMEMBER- YOU CANT REMEMBER IF IT WAS YESTERDAY OR TOMORROW YOU HURT THAT WOMAN”

⁃ “i love america. mmmmm patriotism

⁃ “LIFE IS NOT A HAPPY SONG KERMIT THE FROG”

⁃ “please stop taking the cock”

⁃ “two four six eight who do we appreciate? not the government let’s gooooooo”

⁃ “oooo look at the dogs😍” “wHAAAAAT. WHAT. THERES ACTUALLY LIKE. A MILLION DOGS HERE. WHAT THE HELL.”

⁃ “yeahhhhh bitch i stab- i don’t stab women-“ “woooooooah tommy you stab women?” “heyyyy sapnap”

⁃ “do you know what happens whne you reach the top of the ladder? there’s only one place to go.” “.....side to side😨” “down.” “...i really thought you were gonna say side to side🥺”

⁃ “one last time.” “just like in hamilton😓”

⁃ “you don’t know how many times i’ve mistaken trees for hot women”

⁃ “ i don’t feel better i just destroyed penis”

⁃ “i’ve never seen a snail with bad morals”

⁃ “awwwwwwww😢 i’m doin’ drugs🤧 just like the good ol’ days😓” “.....define the ‘good old days’” “back when i did drugs”

⁃ “have you ever fought a baby? i have and it was trivially easy to defeat, phil.”

⁃ “the only other i egg i know about was the one i learnt about in school....not allowed to say which one....”

⁃ “did you know one of my new years resolutions is to be more like 2010 justin bieber?”

⁃ “apparently cats don’t lay eggs”

⁃ “thinking about trees- if i saw a tree with a beard mmmmmm...holy shit id hit it”

⁃ “we’re in hell dude. science doesn’t matter here”

⁃ “i cant die i cant die i’m GOD”

⁃ “hey pig your letter is the same as pussy, hmm?”

⁃ “are we cool are we COOL guys? CRYSTAL COOL like CRYSTAL METH”

⁃ “he- he’s crying because - because i killed his mother isn’t that right? mother dearest mother deadest mother gonest”

⁃ “bro ive been drinking since i was six and let me tell you...it’s not good to be drinking that young. led to some poor life decisions when i was 8” “what did you do” “i cant say” “...who did you hurt” “....only myself”

⁃ “je suis” “ay i know what that mean you prick” “what does it mean” “it means you’re racist dickhead”

⁃ “i’d never poo in the presence of a women- which is why i’m scared to get a girlfriend i think i’d just explode”

⁃ “biff tannen is one of my idols”

⁃ “black widow died and i thought ‘wow it should’ve been the man’ because he’s a man”

⁃ “there’s a character called captain america and i think he’s stupid”

⁃ “i’m a GOOD LAD i’ve got GOOD MORALS and if i’ve DONE SOMETHING WRONG it WASNT MY FAULT I JUST GOT A LITTLE EXCITED”

⁃ “sam....what’s the longest you’ve ever wiped your arse? for me it’s 48 minutes”

⁃ “why are you standing in the shitter?” “....that’s a SINK” “uhhh welllll” “hAVE YOU SHAT IN THE SINK?????”

⁃ “you’re like a living ghost” “...i think that’s called a human, tubbo”

⁃ “maybe i accidentally kill ranboo and we just never see him again *laughs* ay? and then i go ‘april foooools!!!�� and then i kill their child. i kill him”

⁃ “you built a penis” “it’s a PENIS OF SAFETY”

⁃ “i saw the penis of safety and i pressed mouse button four my friend”

⁃ “the penis on the other side of the river is larger” “ive heard that before....”

⁃ “you’ve turned the penis into a wall” “a wall of safety is better than a penis of safety” “i think the penis was better”

⁃ “if you wanna make a penis i know where we can make a penis and i know how big we can make it”

⁃ “i don’t conceptualize death but i think i just saw it!”

⁃ “yeah i- yeah i know i’m- my first impression on eret was making him read a shrek fan fiction so- i’m not one for first impressions”

⁃ “i-i’m scared for him- i’m scared OF him. yknow the first thing he did when he saw me was imMEDIATELY strip down then jump off then immediately die?”

⁃ “where are you?” “getting stabbed, one second”

⁃ “you’ve seen the joker?” “yea-“ “i resonate a lot with that man” “...oH. oh. that’s- that’s not-“

⁃ “he bURNT DOWN MY HOUSE” “out of LOVE”

⁃ “ohhhh my god stop making me play with the neighbor kid” “o-okay if you don’t go play with him i’m kicking you out of the house-“ “wHAT THE FUCK???”

⁃ “there’s a STRIP CLUB” “oh yeah for wood!” “are you into strippers?” “i mean all it does is make the wood look different so....yeah it doesn’t really do much”

⁃ “no no we have categories, we have the poo-saster- you might have to take a shower after-“ “no, no i’m gonna stop you right there”

⁃ “as i was saying you can have a 1-to-3 wiper, that’s an A-tier poo, my friend”

⁃ “i want you to eat your sock”

⁃ “you know i’m a child- i’m a minor” “sO AM I DICKHEAD”

⁃ “everyone is calling you dresus” “yeah i am”

⁃ “ayyyy ayyyy los DROGAS LOS DROGAS” “no no big q- she’s thirteen- how does this happen with every 13 year old girl you meet?”

⁃ “my poo has muscles like i do”

⁃ “i cant hear the words among us without crying they’ll say there are aliens among us and in the back youll just hear me *choking noises*”

⁃ “tubbo...tubbo is like...tubbo is like mary” “.....did you just call me the Virgin Mary?”

⁃ “i’m just saying, have you ever seen me and jesus in the same room?”

⁃ “do you smoke sam” “all the time”

⁃ “i thought you were talking about the- the speeeeed drug”

⁃ “have you ever sold drugs to kids sam?” “......no”

⁃ “we can’t let the girlboss rule because she will gatekeepe my feelings” “that would not be good”

⁃ “THEY DIDNT INVITE ME TO KILL ME???? NOW I HAVE FOMO”

⁃ “you have obviously taken part in scientology-“ “i have not-“ “you’ve donated to tom cruises cult shit”

⁃ “....am i worse than david dobrik?” “are- are we worse than david dobrik?” “oh- oh god”

⁃ “he has broke one of the rules of the hit best seller ‘the bible’- this kind of looks like a cock”

⁃ “well i’ve moved now, KING”

⁃ “what is an angsty teen and am i one? because when i USED to hang out with my friends they use the word angst a lot”

⁃ “yeah yeah yeah i bench”

⁃ “sam i think i’m angsty i think i’m an angsty tik tok teen looking for a community to help me out”

⁃ “i don’t think you’ve followed the train of logic all the way-“ “there’s a TRAIN INVOLVED????????”

⁃ “i’m like the orange fucker from that animated rom com”

⁃ “i’m under the influence of big cock”

⁃ “it’s meeee big cock man”

⁃ “i cant look away” “sam please use your twitter alt for this” “he’s horny on maaaainnnnn” “and what’s wrong with that?” “.......”

⁃ “you’re a FUCKING IDIOT” “IM NOT A FUCKING IDIOT, BIG COCK”

⁃ “i’m gonna call you ‘cockity’ big cock” “sHUT THE FUCK UP SHUT THE FUCK UP-“

⁃ “STOP LOOKING AT IT” “ITS SO VIBRANT”

⁃ “at least this guy doesn’t have a cock-“ “itS NOT A COCK” “horny on main jesus-“

⁃ “is that a cock” “SHUT THE FUCK UP”

⁃ “.....i wanna see the inside of it again do a split”

⁃ “okay sam-“ “tommy that guy wants your cock-“ “no- no he doesn’t sam”

⁃ “sam, sam and i need you to hear this....dont. act. up.” “i don’t act up-“ “you were acting up-“ “i-“ “you were caught in 8k.” “but- but we both agree it’s not a tie-“

⁃ “please don’t tell me to kill cockity i am overwhelmed”

⁃ “why is there an anus in my tie?”

⁃ “what are the legal implications of this?” “...i mean besides hell you’re good”

⁃ “whatre the legal implications?” “i mean usually that’s a no-no but today, today it’s fine” “yeahhh lets go murder his family”

⁃ “i’d be an antivax landlord”

⁃ “jesus never does drugs” “well- well you turned water into wine king and wine is alcohol”

⁃ “can you put on pants i can’t- i cant stop looking at it- sorry tommy i know you said-“ “yeah sam i know you tried-“

⁃ “you know i fuck with satan”

⁃ “i’m sorry jesus lucifer is just such a good man-“ “oh you- hold me BACK FROM THIS FUCKER HOLD ME BACK ILL SEND HIM TO HELL YOU LIKE HELL-“

⁃ “are you jesus or just a man who grew a beard and put on a suit?”

⁃ “even the guy with his cock out is telling you to stop-“ “oh jesus, and i mean jesus-“ “shUT THE FUCK UP MAN”

⁃ “the best best way to slander him is to stop his offspring; we need to kick him the balls.....no? not a good....? alright us four each take a ball-“

⁃ “......why did jesus give him four scrotums man🙁🙁”

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lfcology · 4 years ago

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you’ll float too | fred weasley

summary: another part of the phobia series. FRED LIVES AU! two years after the war, victoire weasley is turning 1 year old! hermione plans the party with muggle surprises including a clown -- something you’ve had a crippling fear of since you were a child. fred is a bit insecure.

pairing: Fem!Reader x Fred.

word count: 1.7k

warnings: None besides the fear of the clowns.

When the war was over, and all the rubble was gone, everyone in the Wizarding World did their best to return to any sense of normality they could. For Hermione and Ron that meant finally exploring a relationship together. For Fred and George, it meant opening up the shop again. Bill and Fleur however had arguably the most exciting change of all.

A year after so many lives were lost, little Victoire Weasley was brought into the world. Molly and Arthur made it their goal to spoil the first Weasley grandchild like no other and all of the siblings were enamoured by the tiny angel. Her hair was a gorgeous blonde that matched her mother’s, but her eyes held the Weasley mischief inherited from her father.

Charlie made it a point to move closer after the war and being away for so long and Percy made sure to stop by every Sunday after he made amends (Molly welcomed her boy back with open arms). Fred was one of the only constants in your life over the years so when he asked for you to move into the flat above the shop with him and George, it was a no brainer. Family time was at an all-time high for the Weasleys so with Victoire's first birthday approaching it was going to be a monumental celebration.

Hermione suggested she plan the party so Bill and Fleur could finally have some much-needed rest (for once). As expected, she was an excellent party planner. Everything was mapped out but the most exciting part for her was her plan to incorporate some muggle traditions into the party. With the Weasleys having never experienced muggle treats like blowing out candles, pinãtas, or (your least favourite) clowns. You were over the moon to be part of this special day, however, when she mentioned bringing a clown you knew you couldn't go. Without thinking, you made up a quick apology as to why you couldn't attend – something about needing to work, covering a shift for someone on short notice.

Being muggle-born meant you were exposed to clowns at a fairly young age through carnivals, parades and parties. You were never overly fond of them, always finding them quite strange but when a friend of yours suggested you read Stephen Kings It, you despised them. They scared you in a way you could barely put into words. From their laughs to their makeup and wigs, it made your skin crawl. As much as you hated them, however, you knew how excited everyone else was to have this muggle experience: Fred and George specifically.

Once Hermione had explained to them that the whole purpose was to tell jokes and make people laugh, the twins were hooked. Much to your dismay, this meant they didn't stop talking about it around the flat and both had quite the pouts when you said you couldn't go (they were almost convincing enough to make you change your mind).

"You've never worked a Saturday until now," Fred said as he crossed his arms. "Can't someone else cover? Why does it have to be you?"

You sighed from your spot in the bath. You'd set up a lovely spa evening for yourself as Fred was supposed to be working late like he did every Friday. However, 10 minutes into your bubble bath and champagne time, he was home and questioning you. You two had been dating for 2 years and friends for even longer so it wasn't hard for him to tell you were hiding something.

"It's a scheduling mistake I made." You shrugged. "It's too late to get someone to cover."

His only reply was a not so intimidating scowl. Which made you sigh and sit up from the tub a bit more (the bubbles hiding all the important stuff). "Everyone else will be there Freddie, it'll be okay." Fred sat on the closed toilet seat and undid his tie from around his neck. He was tired from a busy work week and didn't feel like arguing with you but he wanted answers.

"Georgie and I are closing the shop for it.... 'Mione is getting time off from the Ministry too. Even Harry ended an Auror mission early!" You rubbed your temples and sighed: if there was one thing about Fred Weasley, it was that he was stubborn as hell. What you didn't expect however, was what he said next.

"Listen, George thinks it's something else but you're hiding something and avoiding me and-" He sighed looking away from you as his shoulders sagged. "Are you cheating on me?"

You stared at him with your mouth agape. Did he have so little faith in you? You needed to make sure he knew the truth ASAP – you never meant your white lie to lead to this. "I never meant to-" You began.

"Who is it?" He asked, jaw clenching.

"Fred-" You said getting up and wrapping yourself in a towel. "I would-" He tried to cut you off again but you'd had enough of him pointing fingers. "I'm scared of clowns!" You all but shouted at him.

He was confused, to say the least.

"What?"

"I'm scared of clowns." You repeated more firmly as you walked closer to him. He was still quite speechless, to be honest, he'd prepared himself for the worst after all. Fred, despite many thinking he was incredibly carefree, overthought absolutely everything. George tried to be a voice of reason and calm him down but once the idea of you hiding something from him entered his mind – it spiralled.

"Freddie, I would never ever cheat on you. You're the only one I'll ever want." You reassured as you stroked his shoulders. He sat up straight and looked up at you from where you stood between his legs. "I knew you and Georgie were excited about the clown coming so I didn't want to ruin the mood and mention that they scared me." You said softly.

His hands found their way to your hips and he ducked his head in embarrassment. "I-I'm sorry... I didn't mean to assume the worst but you know how I can be sometimes." He chuckled sheepishly. "You wouldn't have ruined the fun love, I'm sure if we mention it to Hermione she can cancel the clown."

"No!" You interjected. "Victoire will probably love it and I don't plan on ruining even more peoples fun..."

"Victoire also loves you," Fred reassured and squeezed your hips gently. "And she may not remember her first birthday but I'm sure she'd rather see you in the photos than a grown man dressed up in a silly costume."

You leaned down and kissed his softly feeling relieved for the first time in a while – he always had a way with words. "Why don't we change into some PJs then talk about why you're scared of them?"

Fred, having so many siblings, was extremely good when it came to being open and communicating one's fears and dreams. The pair of you got into comfier clothes (you donned in one of his old quidditch sweaters for an extra sense of comfort when discussing such a daunting subject). Once you two were settled on the double bed you shared, you reached under and pulled out a worn down box. Inside you found a few knickknacks that never found a place when you moved in with Fred and a tattered copy of It. Despite being the bane of your existence it looked well-loved from being lent out to friends, cried on and thrown around over the years.

"This is It." You said laying the book in your lap. Fred quirked his eyebrow in confusion and took the book as you explained more. "When I was younger, my friend suggested I read this. It's about an evil killer clown named Pennywise."

Fred nodded along and read the description on the back of the book. His brows furrowed in concentration as he looked through the worn-out pages.

"This does seem rather frightening." He said after you looked at him expectantly. "Especially if you read this as a kid!" You nodded and felt relief wash over you when he didn't laugh or make fun. You'd always thought it was a stupid fear to have – something that was meant to bring joy to people ended up terrifying you.

"What really got me was the film." You began. "There's a muggle adaptation and seeing the clown made it so much more real." You shivered as you explained.

"I reckon I could take him." He said puffing his chest out proudly. It wasn't what you expected him to say but when has Fred Weasley ever been one that someone can easily read? Your hand came up to your mouth and you stifled a giggle.

"In what way?" You teased.

"Well, in terms of comedy I've got him beat hands down! Eating kids isn't funny so I reckon he's a terrible clown." He replied not quite understanding that you were egging him on. He was more focused on proving his superiority over Pennywise. "And phyically! I'm 6'4" and even though I don't play Quidditch as regularly anymore I don't doubt I'm still more fit than some old cannibal git."

You couldn't hold back your booming chuckles anymore and leaned back in bed laughing as he stood up. "I'll give him the one-two Weasley special!" He continued as he adjusted his PJs more comfortably. The contagious smile on your face was enough to tell him that his plan was working.

"He'd try to-" He took a bite of the air as if Pennywise was biting at him. "And I'd-" He followed up with a swing of his arm and a kick of his leg.

"My hero..." You said climbing off the bed and hugging him around his middle. He gave you a dimply smile and pressed his lips to yours quickly. "'M the only clown allowed in your life. I promise to fight off all the others."

"You have got the red hair and pale skin after all." You chuckled poking him in the side.

"Don't act like you wouldn't let me bite you." He replied cheekily.

By the time the next day came you felt much more at ease with Fred knowing how you felt. The icing on the cake was that the clown wasn't funny at all. Fred and George stepped in to do their own show after the comedy flop and the finale was Fred challenging the other clown to a brawl before sending a wink your way. Victoire had the time of her life and unanimously everyone agreed that the twins were a much more fitting form of entertainment.

Maybe clowns aren’t so bad after all.

#fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley fanfic #fred weasley oneshot #harry potter #weasley family x reader #phobia series

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brelione · 5 years ago

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Dating JJ and Rafe Alphabet

A-Affection. These boys are probably the most affectionate out of the pogues and the kooks, always needing reassurance that you werent just a dream. One of them was always holding you in some way, a hand in your back pocket, kisses pressed to your neck and forehead when you made breakfast, hugs from behind when you made coffee. One of the boys will always drive and you always end up leaning against the other in the backseat.

B- “Babe.”One of them would grumble, grabbing the back of your shirt and pulling you back into bed, arms around you as they leaned against your shoulder.

C-Cuddling. You end up either sandwiched between them or under JJ’s arm while Rafe uses your thighs as pillows.

D- Dates. Rafe’s the planner, JJ is the driver and you just do what you’re told. “Before you ask what you have to wear, I think you should wear that cute striped shirt that you have over like the white shirt, right? But then you can wear your overall shorts with it.”JJ suggested.

E- Everything. Although they can be goofy sometimes they always let you know that they love you. “You’re my everything...you know that?”Rafe would ask, JJ nodding in agreement as he leaned forward to kiss you.

F- “Fuck….”JJ grunted, gripping your hips tightly as he came, Rafe’s eyes on the two of you. “Hmm….you should keep going, show her how good she is.”Rafe suggested, ghosting his fingertips over your cheek. “You’d like that, wouldnt you?”Rafe whispered.

G- Game nights. In the beginning of the relationship it was just a way to calm tensions but its become much more intense than ever intended.

“YOURE A WHORE, JJ!” “NO IM NOT!” “NINE KIDS! NINE! AND YOU THREW ONE AWAY!” “Rafe, sit down.” “NO! WHERE’D HE GET TEN? NOT FROM YOU!”

H- Hugs. At least twenty a day and sometimes you even get picked up and dragged out to the car to go to a coffee shop.

I- “I love you.” “I love you too.”

“I love you.” “I love you too.”

“I love you.” “Okay.” “EXCUSE ME?”

J- “JJ, go to sleep.” “But cannibalism isnt-” “JJ!”

K-Kinks. Between the two of them you cant walk the next day. You’ll get spanked, tied up, blind folded, overstimulated, degraded, bitten.

L-Learning. You learn new things about them everyday. JJ likes to wear dresses and dance around the house when hes alone, Rafe has a passion for adult coloring books and JJ ran an Avengers fan account when he was 14.

M-McDonalds. You guys go to McDonalds every Saturday and get happy meals, sit in the car and listen to early 2000s music.

N-NSFW. A lot of your texts are very….inappropriate. JJ accidentally opened a text from you when he was around the pogues and he still gets teased about it.

O- Orange picking. It was something that JJ had planned, the three of you getting into the truck one afternoon with a basket and spending the entire afternoon picking eachother up to reach oranges on the high branches.

P- Pranks. They pranked eachother at the beginning but now they work together to prank you. Nothing too serious, usually hiding your hair ties or putting them in the pockets of your pants.

Q-Questions. You guys get a lot of weird glances and questions. Mainly from old white women. “Honey, your girlfriend is kissing another boy.” “Yeah, her boyfriend.” “No, no. She’s kissing another boy. She’s your girlfriend.” “Yeah, hes also her boyfriend.” “No hes not.” “Yes, he is. We’re both dating her.” “No youre not.” “Yes we are.” “No.” “Yes.”

R- Rides. A lot of car rides dont go anywhere, just driving down the quiet roads at night and enjoying eachothers company.

S-Shoes. They have a problem with accidentally putting on eachothers shoes or not putting on any at all. Half the time you have to remind them to put on shoes before you leave the house.

T-Texts. The groupchat is so chaotic. “What do you guys want from the grocery store” “A mother” “Tortillas” “JJ, seriously” “I seriously want a mother” “(Y/N) can be your mommy”

U- Unicorns. It was an inside joke since you had a unicorn snow globe in your bedroom and now whenever they see a unicorn on anything they buy it for you.

V-Videos. The amount of videos that they have of you dancing around the kitchen, driving and running around is ridiculous. They might have some interesting videos as well.

W- “You’re so wet for us and we havent even done anything yet.”

Z- Zombie movies. They have this obsession with zombie movies and shows and they always get scared after watching them. Rafe even started working on a secret room in the basement and wants to build underground tunnels just in case of an apocalypse.

@nas-marie-loves-u @28cnn @sexytholland @yuxsh06 @ifilwtmfc @cherryobx @poguestarkey @n1ghtsh4d3-67 @poguestyleskye @judayyyw @sunwardsss @meaganjm @sarcasticsagittarius1998 @jj-fic-recs @homophobicclownmoviestan @jj-iz-bae @natalie-kate-98 @negativity4you @nxsmss @ofmaybankheart @broken-jj @joshy-obx @curroptbunnie @outerbnx-stiles @angelreyesgirl100 @hannahhh-marie @sadnessrehab @purple-vodka-99 @annmariek8 @harryswigss @imagines-07 @pink-meringues @popcrone818 @fttayla @cherryobx @drewstarkeyobx @jjtheangel @jj-iz-bae@sunwardsss @natalie-kate-98 @nxsmss @broken-jj @prejudic3 @outerbongs @copper-boom @httpstarkey @teenwaywardasgardian @drewswannabegirl @simonsbluee @jiaraendgame @khiaraaa-in-spacee @on-socks-off @abbiesthings @kindahavefeelingskindaheartless @i-love-scott-mccall

#rafe headcanon #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron headcanon #rafe cameron #JJ Imagine #JJ smut #jj maybank smut #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank x you #jj maybank headcanon

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snackerdoodle · 5 years ago

Audio

(via https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7vTyjuuslUqiHauSgsmbuQ?si=WJHuwxgiQ422gub_5ZEC5w)

I got a little obsessed with the idea of creating a Lyctor Love Songs playlist for The Locked Tomb. I’ve finally finished fussing with it and wanted to share! You can read a breakdown of my rationale for these songs below the cut because I always wish other people would do this for their playlists, and now it’s time to put my money* where my mouth is.

This playlist is conceptually a definite spoiler for the process of achieving lyctorhood as revealed at the end of Gideon the Ninth, so proceed with caution if you haven’t finished that book yet. I also made this after reading Harrow the Ninth, but I’ve tried to censor (or at least be vague) in my references to spoilers for that book.

Possibly obvious content warnings for murder, suicide, toxic relationships, and cannibalism mentions—stuff you’d kind of expect from this series, honestly. I’m adding an additional content warning for the lyrics of We Both Go Down Together by the Decemberists including implied rape, which is not in line with the content warnings you might expect for these books.

*obsessive energy

Umbrella - Rihanna

This is a much more wholesome song than the rest, but I really wanted to include it for "When the sun shines, we'll shine together, told you I'll be here forever, said I'll always be your friend, took an oath, I'ma stick it out til the end," and "You're a part of my entity, here for infinity." It has a bit of a “one flesh, one end” feeling to it.

#1 Crush - Garbage

This song is creepy, obsessive, and uses some upsetting violent imagery, which is exactly the mood I’m after here. I really like the idea of being haunted by the other person—”See your face every place that I walk in, hear your voice every time that I’m talking.” I also like the implications of seeking power—”Throw away all the pain that I’m living [...] and I could never be ignored.” The line about selling their soul doesn’t hurt this song’s case either.

Drain You - Nirvana

This feels like a pretty easy connection to syphoning for me, and for this context the gorey, semi-medical imagery is spot on. Also how could I resist “with eyes so dilated I’ve become your pupil,” when there is just so much eye-related lyctor baggage in this series?

Animals - Maroon 5

Here comes the cannibalism. There are so many cannibal songs. I also included this one for the language about absorbing the other person and not being able to escape each other.

I Will Possess Your Heart - Death Cab for Cutie

Here for creepy possessiveness, pure and simple. Also, “I wish you could see the potential, the potential of you and me”—the potential for achieving ultimate necromantic power? Maybe!

Banks of the Ohio - Dolly Parton

When I first had the idea for a “Lyctor Love Songs” playlist, it was just going to be a bunch of murder ballads, but expanding my criteria turned out to be more fun. I really love the way Dolly Parton sings this traditional American murder ballad. This one gets to represent the traditional songs on this playlist because of its river imagery and because I think lines like “she cried my love don’t murder me, ‘cause I’m not prepared for eternity” play well with the lyctor concept. It also makes me ridiculously happy to include a 19th century song on a playlist for a distant future sci-fi setting. We’re all lucky I’m not making a playlist of the oldest extant folk songs I can find for the archives on the Sixth.

Phenom - Thao & the Get Down Stay Down

More cannibalism imagery, yes thank you. Anatomical imagery? Yes, thank you. “Scorched earth”? Sure, I’ll just take that for my distantly post-apocalyptic playlist, thank you. I also like the narrative in this song around rising to power. “First of the secondary class” plays well for me with our spoilery knowledge about the nature of lyctorhood in relation to the powers of the Emperor.

Under My Skin - Jukebox the Ghost

I’d never heard this song before I started working on putting this playlist together, and a friend suggested it in our group chat. It’s completely perfect, and in my opinion, a total bop. “I can fit two people under my skin […] crawl up in there and join me within. I can feel your heart beating under my skin,” etc, etc.

Two of Hearts - Stacey Q

Same vein as the one before! I also think there’s room here for intentionally misreading “I got this feeling that you're going to stay, I never knew that it could happen this way, Before I met you I was falling apart, But now at last I really know we're made of two hearts that can beat as one…” with lyctoral intent—the narrator is in a stronger position now that they’re entwined with the other person.

Tears of Pearls - Savage Garden

So this song is here in part because my high school friends and I once accidentally listened to this Savage Garden CD on repeat at a sleepover for like 5 hours straight, so I love taking the opportunity to break out this song in particular. That aside, I think the toxic relationship structure described here plays well with the lyctors, especially as we see them in Harrow. I particularly like this part near the end: “We twist and turn where angels burn, Like fallen soldiers we will learn, Once forgotten, twice removed, Love will be the death, The death of you.” I would love to include some religious imagery on this playlist, thank you Savage Garden. Also, as we see in Harrow, the older Lyctors sure do handle their emotions...poorly.

I’m Sorry - Margaret Cho

An excellent murder ballad! “I’m sorry I killed you dear, I only wanted you to be near,” and “And I sincerely apologize, My actions were unwise, And now I realize that it killed me when you died,” and “My pride was stronger than your will to live.”

We Both Go Down Together - The Decemberists

Another murder ballad, and even within the murder ballad genre, I think this one is exceptionally creepy. Especially with the murder-suicide implications, I think “we both go down together” works well with the creepiestreading of “one flesh one end.”

Arms Tonite - Mother Mother

Another absolute bop suggested by a friend in my Locked Tomb group chat. I love the imagery, and I think it works exceptionally well for the lyctoral concept—”That I died right inside your arms tonight, That I'm fine even after I have died, That I try to escape the afterlife, That I try to get back in your arms alive.”

Genghis Khan - Miike Snow

Another super possessive song. I know it isn’t really explicit to cannon, but between this and Banks of the Ohio, I really like taking the literally all-consuming lyctoral process as a weird extension of the possessive “I don’t want you to get it on with nobody else but me” energy in this song and some of the others. Please also accept for consideration these lines—“'Cause I don't really want you, girl, But you can't be free, 'Cause I'm selfish, I'm obscene.” That has been part of the fun of this playlist for me—while I think some songs track for some characters more than others, I’m really having more fun with playing with the idea of someone who would intentionally murder and absorb someone they love in exchange for power.

The Beast - Concrete Blonde

Another creepy, somewhat cannibalistic song. “Love is the leech, sucking you up, Love is a vampire, drunk on your blood, Love is the beast that will, Tear out your heart, Hungrily lick it and, Painfully pick it apart.” Cannibalism and that idea of draining someone of their power is a great combo.

Savages - Marina

I love Marina, which is probably the only reason I’m not bowing to the fact that it bothers me that this isn’t even arguably a love song. We see in Harrow how vicious the old lyctors are, and how their dinner parties feel like a thin veneer of civility over some truly rotten cores (I say this as a person who genuinely loved Mercymorn, but like… they’re terrible). Also, how am I supposed to resist “Is it a human trait, or is it learned behavior, Are you killing for yourself, or killing for your savior?” and “I’m not afraid of God, I am afraid of man.” More religious imagery? in my locked tomb playlist? It’s more likely than you think.

Cannibal - Kesha

More cannibalism! I love how vicious this song is, for this purpose. I also feel like “I have a heart, I swear I do, But just not baby when it comes to you,” works well, even if I’m not sure I can 100% justify it.

Bring Me to Life - Evanescence

An explicitly canonical choice. “Now that I know what I'm without, you can't just leave me, breathe into me and make me real” and “Save me from the nothing I've become.” Because I’m an absolute turd, I love the semi-joke I’m finding in many of these song lyrics about the partner being unable to leave. Also because I’m terrible, I really like that this song can be read as regret over having become a lyctor in the first place.

Monster - Lady Gaga

Cannibalism again, and I like that there’s some eye stuff in here.

Cellophane - Sia

I like the anatomical imagery, with veins and blood and brains and all that. I also like “Patience is your virtue, saint o' mine” for a little call out to one of our extant lyctors.

Most of All - Fuel

Like “Bring Me to Life,” I really like the regret and self loathing in this one. I also like the mentions of memories because [redacted]. “And I hate you now, And I miss you most of all, All those times we laughed, The scars that you left.”

‘39 - Queen

First of all, I really like this song. I don’t think I should quite call it a bop like some of the others—maybe a jam? A song that’s explicitly about leaving Earth behind for deep-space exploration and the passage of time works wonderfully well for this sci-fi series about a society that has abandoned a dying(?) Earth and that is populated with a group of very damaged people staring down the barrel of a traumatic immortality. I also like that there’s a bit of eye imagery in the song. I especially like “For my life still ahead, pity me” as a cutting line for a lyctor.

#the locked tomb #locked tomb #gideon the ninth #harrow the ninth #snackerdoodle actually makes a post #enjoy!

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szopenhauer · 5 years ago

Text

Has anybody ever told you that you’re too young to be in love? from what I remember that could happen

Did you learn anything from the last BIG mistake you made? no comment...

Do you have a favorite brand of shoes? nah

Do you like rollercoasters with big drops? I don’t do rollercoasters

Do you have any inside jokes with your parents? yes

Did you ever want a pony for a gift as a kid? nope

Do you know who your mom’s favorite singer is? she doesn’t really have one because she doesn’t listen to music tbh except what I blast

Have you ever gone to a school that made you wear uniforms? middle school

Have you ever tried to surf? nooo

Do you want to learn? absolutely not

Did you pick out the furniture in your bedroom? I wish...

Yes or no: Apple pie? yes

Yes or no: Candy apples? no

Are you a heavy sleeper? not anymore

Honestly, have you ever re-gifted something? What was it? plenty of stuff

How many months away is your birthday? 1-2

Is the closet in your bedroom a walk-in closet? I’d love to have one like this :3

Do you enjoy cooking? I do not

Which one of your family members do you wish you could see more often? grandma... and aunt Alice

Have you ever (accidentally or not) set off a car alarm? just by walking by

Do you call it sitting “criss-cross” or “Indian-style”? criss-cross is less offensive

Do you have dimples when you smile? I do indeed

Do you find graveyards scary? Jack kinda does

Have you ever carved anything into a tree? don’t do that :(

Do you give or get advice more often? give

If you have caffeine late in the day, does it cause you to struggle with your sleep? no idea, I don’t drink coffee

If you have a pet, have they ever embarrassed you in public or in front of friends or family members? What happened? sigh...

Do you leave the house every single day? almost

Would you rather spend the day at the beach, or a day in the snow in the mountains? beach

Do you prefer tops that are plain, or ones with patterns/logos/slogans? plain are lame

Do you enjoy buying gifts for other people, or do you never know what to buy them? it’s complicated

What book do you wish they’d make into a film or TV series? few of my favorites

Do you prefer zip-up or overheard hoodies? overheard, I hate zippers in clothes

When was the last time you stayed overnight away from home? Was this with friends, family or in a hotel somewhere? What was the occasion? recently, my partner[s] apartment, no occasion

Would you ever be interested in seeing a live magic show? I already did but I don’t remember anything

What’s your favourite period to learn about in history? What got you interested in this particular era? I liked interesting facts no matter of the period, I hated dates and names

Do you still use or carry cash, or do you pay for everything via card? cash forever

Are there any TV shows that remind you of your grandparents for some reason? Moda na sukces głównie

Do you know how to tie a tie without looking it up? Did you have tie in school (uniform)? maybe, we didn’t

Do you prefer having carpets or hardwood floors? hardwood

When was the last time you took a bath? Is this something you do often or do you prefer taking showers? last night and gonna have one now

What’s your opinion on clothes for dogs? If you have a dog, have you ever bought any clothing items for them? cute but my dog doesn’t wear any

What will you be doing once you finish this survey? What were you doing before you started taking it? I will go to sleep, I’m also playing Choices

When was the last time you played a game of Monopoly? Did you play until the end or did everyone get fed up and start arguing? this year, we don’t argue about it which is weird because we often argue in general

Do you have anything fun or exciting planned for tomorrow? I hope I will meet with Slytherin system

Don’t you love it when you meet a dog or cat and they instantly love you, especially when the owner says “they normally hate strangers!”? awww sounds like Nat don’t ya think? :P

Would you rather do a wordsearch or a crossword? Word Search but sudoku is cooler

Do you prefer multi coloured or plain white fairy lights? good question

Do you have a favourite TV detective (eg. Sherlock, Poirot)? Poirot <3 and Don Matteo

Do you hear any animals right now? not even kotszop

Is your trashcan full? it’s small so it’s almost always full

Are you hungry? am not

Is it rainy where you’re at right now? not tonight

Is your dishwasher full? we don’t own a dishwasher

Do you like to wear gloves? not really

Are you wearing anything pink right now? nothing

What is the creepiest bug you’ve ever saw? maggots are

Do you chew on your lip? might

Are you afraid of needles? I’m not

Do you like Batman? mhm

Can you see a star shape in the room you are in? I can

Do you use hand sanitizer? obvi

Are you in any kind of club or group that is trying to save animals? I’ve been signing petitions

Where were you two hours after you got up, and what were you doing there? dentist...

Have you ever played fetch with a dog? it didn’t listen XD

Do you use Netflix? if I only had an account...

Do you play games on your computer? when I’m in the mood

Did you have anything bad happen to you today? ...

Do you use the term “lol” if you don’t have anything to say? not when I have nothing to say wtf

Should you be sleeping right now instead of taking this survey? yup :x

Do you currently have any blemishes on your face? yep

Do you use smileys often in text convos? maybe

Would you ever consider being a cannibal? hell no

Did you forget something important in the past week? yeah

Are the floors in your house creaky? there are creaky places and I love it

Do you fear death? sorta

Is your mouth dry? it’s complicated

Do you have any scars from an animal? weirdly no

When was the last time it snowed where you live? Do you like snowy weather or is it just a pain? this week, it’s pain!

9 - When was the last time you got off work early? What was the reason? I don’t have a job

What time did you wake up this morning? Did you get out of bed right away? 8 and had to

Do you ever watch movies or TV shows that require you to read subtitles? why not?

When was the last time you had a haircut? When was the last time you dyed your hair (if you ever have)? Nat is gonna kill me for this bangs, I dyed my hair over 5 years ago

Do you prefer wearing tight-fitting or loose-fitting clothes? loose

What was the last piece of good news you received? Was it expected? pfft

What time of year do you start listening to Christmas music? after Halloween

Are there any names you can think of that just go well together? where should I start...

Do you enjoy museums? whatever

Do you have a username you use for everything? Or does it change each site? it changes but not for EACH

Do you have any disorders or disabilities? what I DON’T have...

Do you ever watch How To videos? in my whole life like a few

Did you have a tree house when you were a kid? If so, did you ever fall from it? I wanted to but never did

Do you enjoy designing things? Anything? I sure do

Do you know what a raincheck at stores is? I know

Can you learn the lyrics of a song by ear, or do you have to search them up? I never remember even the titles...

Do you like the name Amy? Amy Anya :(

Who was the last person you spoke to on the phone? Are you close to that person at all? I called my dad but he couldn’t talk so... he’s my friend

Do you enjoy watching bloopers or outtakes from TV shows? could

Have you ever dreamed of owning your own shop? What kind of thing would you like to sell? antiques and such

Are you a twin? If not, would you ever want to be a twin? If you are a twin, do you ever wish you weren’t? ;)

Would you ever want to go and visit the moon? it’s bought by Tom Cruise, no thx

Does anything on your body hurt or ache right now? shut up...

When was the last time you struggled to get to sleep? Was there was a specific reason for that? constantly

When was the last time you had a cold? With everything going on in the news, did you worry that it was COVID? my dad had a cold

Do you think people should have to pass a test in order to own pets? it’s not the worst idea

When was the last time you fell asleep/had a nap during the day? Is this something that happens often? it happens very rarely

so how are you today? bad

have you ever been to London? in the past life lmfao

do you enjoy going to the library? heh...

what’s the last movie you watched? we rewatched Asterix and Obelix

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umbramatic · 5 years ago

Text

Night Of The Living Tuesday (Revolutionary Girl Utena X ???)

I'm sorry

Night Of The Living Tuesday

It was evening at Ohtori Academy. The setting sun's rays dappled upon Student Council Burger, the campus' premiere restaurant. A green haired, slender young man excitedly approached the doorway from the inside and changed the sign from "open" to "closed." "Eight-oh-clock! So long, everyone, I've got a date with a little lady, and her name is... is... actually I forget."

It was then he noticed another student standing at the door.

"What do you want?"

"Saionji is the restaurant open?"

Saionji sighed. "Read the sign."

The student glanced over, then continued. "I want an Ohtori burger deluxe and double smashed egg fries."

"No. I can't hang out here all night! I've got a life."

The other student frowned. "Well fine, if you don't want my money..."

"Did you say money?"

A red-haired, elegant young man strode over gracefully, perhaps too gracefully.

"Are you saying if this venture stayed open later you'd give us more funds for the student council?"

The student smiled and nodded as he pulled out money. More students came to join him. The redhead smiled back, pulled out a katana, and sliced the "closed" sign in half.

"Ladiies, gentleman, nonbinary fellows, welcome to the night shift. From now on Student Council Burger is open 24 hours a day."

Saionji's eyes widened in horror. "What? No, Touga, you can-"

He was interrupted by the other students barging in the restaurant eagerly. There was the click of a stopwatch as a blue-haired, wide-eyed boy approached from further inside, eyes sparkling. "Wonderful! We can do so much for the Student Council this way!"

"Not you too Miki..." said Saionji. He turned to the redhead. "Touga please..."

"See you in the morning, you two," said Touga. I can't stay here all night, I've got a life."

And he strode off into the sunset.

"T-Touga..." Saionji said.

"Isn't this great Saionji?" said Miki. "Just you and me together for hours and hours and then the sun will come up and we'll have help[ed the student council so much!" He clicked his stopwatch. "Are you ready to do this Saionji?"

"No."

Miki shrugged. "Well we've got customers!"

They took their places, Saionji at the counter and Miki in the kitchen. Saionji produced a wooden sword, handed it to the nearest customer, and gestured to his chest.

"Please stab me as hard as you can."

"Look Saionji!" said Miki. "I'm working in the kitchen! At night!"

:"...Don't hold back."

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

"Hey Saionji! Guess what? I'm frying eggs... at night!"

"Look at me! I'm clicking my stopwatch... at night!" "SAIONJI I CUT MYSELF ON MY SWORD! At night!"

Not even by plugging his ears could Saionji drown it all out. Now Miiki was - he was marching around the counter in a circle, chanting "night night night" over and over to the tune of... Never Gonna Give You Up? That song was like ten years old. Weirdo.What had gotten into him? He needed a distraction.

"Miki! Stop your prattling and get rid of this!"

He hurled a bag of garbage toward Miki, which he caught.

"Oh! Good idea! I can take out the trash at night too!" said Miki.

He approached the door and then promptly froze.

"...Oh. Right. The dumpster is outside."

Saionji sighed. "Where else would it be?"

"...Are you sure you don't want to do it? It's unusually dark out tonight."

Saionji smirked. "How unbecoming of you. Your sister certainly wouldn't approve."

Miki scowled. "...Fine." He lifted the bag over his head.

"FOR THE WORLD REVOLUTION! AND MY SISTER!" And he barged out the door.

For the next several seconds Saionji heard loud screaming from outside. Then Miki barged back in and started heaving breaths like he had almost drowned before standing straight and clicking his stopwatch like nothing had happened.

"Twelve seconds."

Shit. He still hadn't snapped out of it. What was a Saionji to do?

Wait. That old schoolyard rumor...

"So you're not really afraid?"

:"Of course not," said Miki. "I'm a MAN."

"You're braver than I am. Especially after..." He shuddered.

"After what?" Miki said, eyes widening.

"You haven't heard? They've been gossiping about it for weeks!" said Saonji, throwing up his hands.

"I haven't! Gossiping about what?"

"I shouldn't tell you. It'll RUIN the night shift for you," Saionji said with a grin.

"N-no it won't! I'm a man, remember?"

"You mean... You've never heard the story of the Shambling Duelist?" Miki blinked. "D-Dueling Shamblist?"

"Shambling Duelist!"

Miki's eyes crossed. "The Crambling... The Ambling... the Scrambling... the Brambling... the Gambling... the Rambling... Gah!"

Saonji sighed. "...Alright, the Shambling Duelist. But most people call him-" he screamed, eliciting several odd looks from the patrons - "because that's all they have time for before he robs them of their manhood!"

"W-what is the story of this fearsome duelist?"

"Years ago at this very academy, the Shambling Duelist used to be a Student Council member just like you, only CLUMSIER. And then, one night, during a climactic duel, it happened..."

"He forgot his Rose Seal?"

Saonji raised his eyebrow. "...No."

"He forgot to turri on the Dueling Arena?"

"Still no."

"He learned to respect women?"

"Of course not! His opponent cut off his hand!"

Miki put a hand to his mouth. "N-no..."

"And then he replaced his hand with a rusty sword! And then, he got run over by a runaway elephant! And then at his funeral they expelled him! So now every... What day is it?"

"Tuesday."

"Every Tuesday night, his ghost returns to Ohtori to destroy the patriarchy!"

Miki gulped. "He's... Coming tonight?"

"Indeed."

"Does he... have a calling card?"

"There are three signs the Shambling Duelist has returned to Ohtori. First, the lights will flicker on and off. Next -"

A student approached the counter. "Hey can I have some ketchup?"

"Oh, sure," said Saionji, handing the student their ketchup. "NEXT, the phone will ring, and there will be no one there!"

At this point Miki was nervously biting his fingernails.

"The final sign is the Shambling Duelist showing up in front of this very restaurant, atop the ghost of the elephant that trampled him! Then he gets off and crosses the street without looking both ways because he's already dead! Then he taps on the window with his rusty sword hand..." Miki shuddered "N--no please..."

"He opens the door..." he leaned in very close to Miki. "He slowly approaches the counter... And you know what he does next?"

"W-what?"

"Oh never mind. You don't want to know."

"What is it?"

"You sure?"

"Tell me!"

Saionji suddenly appeared behind Miki. "He ROBS YOU OF YOUR MANHOOD."

It was then Miki started screaming.

...And screaming and screaming and goodness he wouldn't stop screaming. Saionji just laughed at it for a while but once he stopped laughing and Miki was STILL screaming he realized he should probably do something maybe.

"Miki- Miki I was joking."

Miki finally stopped screaming. "Huh?"

""It was all a lie! I was just messing with you!"

Miki blinked. "So the Shambling Duelist isn't real?"

"Of course not! I just exaggerated an old schoolyard rumor. It's all baloney."

"Oh! You got me good!"

He started laughing. And laughing. And laughing some more. Saionji sighed. This was going to be a long night.

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

Hours later, in the dark of the night, Saionji was reading a book, and by that I mean writing in his exchange diary, when something dripped on his head. "Wait what?"

The drip was accompanied by strange noises. "What's that?"

"This is wonderful Saionji!" said a voice.

Saionji screamed and whipped toward the source of the voice to find Miki cleaning the ceiling with suction cups. "I never have time to clean the ceiling during the day!"

Saionji turned back to his post and sighed. "Why did Touga even bother opening this place 24/7? No one wants an Ohtori burger at 3AM!"

-----------

It was dark in Nanami's room. She was sleeping soundly. Then her alarm clock rang and she bolted upright.

"Three AM already? Oh boy!" She pulled an Ohtori Burger from an expensive minifridge next to her bed, fought off intrusive thoughts about cannibalism, and chowed down.

----------

"I mean look around!" Saionji said. "This place is deserted!"

It was then the lights started flickering on and off. Saionji rolled his eyes.

"Good one, Miki."

"Thank you! But good what?" said Miki, now on the ground.

"The lights, you're flickering the lights, just like I sai-"

He looked over to the nearest light switch and to his horror saw it wasn't moving even as the lights changed. Miki looked too, a puzzled expression on his face.

"How are you doing that, Saionji?"

"It's not me! It must be- must be a power surge through campus-"

It was then the phone at the desk started ringing. With dread, Saionji picked it up. "H-Hello?"

All he heard from the other side was strange moans. Miki giggled.

"Good one yourself Saionji!"

'"W-what do you mean?"

"Your fable said the phone would ring and there'd be no one there! So you're making the phone ring somehow."

"Miki I'm not doing this!" Saionji slammed the phone down. "Okay breathe, breathe... what was the stupid story, it had the lights -" they flickered, "the phone-" it rang, "and-" He looked out a side window and gasped.

"And SHADOW GIRLS WILL PUT ON ALLEGORICAL PLAYS!"

He paused. "Oh, wait, they always do that. What WAS that third thing?"

He heard a trumpeting and froze, slowly turning toward the entrance.

There, outside the glass doors, wass an elephant.

"Wow," said Miki," "I didn't know they kept elephants on campus!"

"They don't," said Saionji.

The elephant stepped aside to reveal a shadowy figure, nebulous, with four glowing red eyes.

"Hey, that must be the elephant's handler!"

The shadowy figure drew a rusty sword.

It was at that point Saionji started screaming.

"The Crambling... The Ambling... the Scrambling... the Brambling... the Gambling... the Rambling..."

"The Shambling Duelist!" said Miki.

"Now you get it!" said Saionji. "We're going to die!"

"No, no, I'm honored! You dressed up as this mythical duelist so you could beat me in a duel!"

"First off, I could beat you in a duel anyway. Second off how could that be me when I'm right here?!"

Miki stared at Saionji, Then at the Shambling Duelist. Then at Saionji. Then at the Shambling Duelist.

Then finally screamed.

By then the Shambling Duelist had opened the door.

"Nonono please-" said Saionji.

"Have mercy!" said Miki.

The Shambling duelist approached the counter.

"M-Miki, deep down, I always kinda felt I should respect women..."

"Saionji I used your katana to pick my teeth."

"What?"

The Shambling Duelist raised its sword. The two screamed. The Shambling Duelist pointed the sword at Saionji.

"YOU!" said the Shambling Duelist, in a booming voice that sounded like multiple. "I CHALLENGE YOU TO A DUEL!"

Saonji stared, "H-Here? Now? This isn't the Dueling Are-"

The Shambling Duelist slapped him. "NOW, COWARD."

Saionji hastily got up and drew his sword. Miki stood back to watch.

He made a thrust at the Shambling Duelist but it was countered with ease. His jabs grew more frenzied, but they were all expertly parried until he was knocked flat on his back, the Shambling Duelist's sword pointed at his throat.

"No... Please... I'll do anything... I'll apologize to every girl on campus if that's what you want!"

The Shambling.Duellist laughed a booming laugh and tossed its shawl aside, revealing a pink haired, fair-skinned girl and a purple-haired dark-skinned girl, laughing in unison.

'"..Utena? Anthy? said Salonji. "You two? How?" said Miki.

"We overheard your story when we were here earlier and decided to pull a prank," said Utena.

"IIt was my idea," said Anthy with a giggle. "Well, at the very least, you sure fooled us!" said Miki. "So that was YOU the whole time?" said Saionji. "With the elephant and the phone calls and the lights?"

Utena raised an eyebrow. "What lights?"

The lights flickered again and everyone turned to see a tiny monkey flipping the light switch.

"Chuchu!" everyone said in unison in mock scolding. Chuchu winked and turned off the lights.

***

The whole reason this ABOMINATION exists is because I've been rewatching Utena with a bunch of people who have never seen it before. The watch parties were usually on Tuesdays, I kept making jokes about the Tuesday Night line from the original Spongebob episode, and that snowballed into... This. Happy Halloween.

#revolutionary girl utena #fanfiction #fanfic #halloween

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morganbritton132 · 5 years ago

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You don't have to write this, but consider an AU where Abigail lives and ends up staying with the Freds.

When your father kills your mother, and your father kills girls that look like you, and when your father tries to kill you and the guy that shoots your father dead also kills you, and when Hannibal Lecter tries to kill everybody but especially tries to kill you, people will tell you how lucky you are.

You’re lucky to be alive. You’re lucky to still be able to talk and that Alana Bloom isn’t pressing charges. You’re lucky that you’re not dead, or jailed, or disfigured in a way that makes you ugly. You poor little thing.

They tell you this.

They press their cough drop sticky lips together and smile hospital brittle lies, pushing sighs out of their fat faces as they redress her bandages, you’re so lucky, Abigail.

Somebody in the equations that is her life is most definitely a cannibal and honestly, she doesn’t remember if it was the father, the cop, the therapist, herself, or all four, but she’s lucky. She’s alive. She’s lucky.

Her hospital room was guarded by FBI agents and her wrists were in restraints, and she was so lucky that there was a psychiatrist on duty that could visit her room every day for a week. It was what the nurses said. It was what Kade Prurnell said when she told her that the FBI was not planning on pressing any charges against her.

She’s lucky.

It was all anybody said. Nothing else. Nothing at all.

Most people didn’t look her in the eyes and the nurses weren’t quiet enough when they pull straws to see who has to come into her room, and even the psychiatrist that is no Hannibal Lecter stares at the floor when he talks to her.

Everybody treats her like a funeral.

Abigail is her own haunting, she should not be surprised when she attracts a ghost.

There is a ghost in her doorway, step, step, stepping into the room with red soles and needle-point high heels. There is an inferno under a big hat, a spiraling blaze, but this ghost is sharp corners and red lips. This ghost is pale skin, not scorched, not burnt. And this ghost smiles.

“I knew he didn’t kill you.”

Three days in a row, the ghost of a dead woman talks to her, a ghost of a dead girl. She tlls her of Jack Crawford and his dying wife, of Alana Bloom and how she dragged her broken bones behind the iron gate of the Verger Estate. She told her of Will Graham, who did not visit dead girls anymore, and how he carried his guts to the edge of the sea and set sail to settle a score.

She is a ghost, a brighter fiery version of the Freddie Lounds that had once upon a time ago offered Abigail a platform to tell a story. There’s still a haunting of that offer left.

“The chips have already fallen,” Freddie tells her. “The only thing that you got to do now is decide if you want to leave them where they lay or if you’re going to pick them up and cash them in.”

“You have a story that people want to hear,” She tells her. She has a story that Freddie wants to exploit is what she meant. “Do you know how power that is?”

Abigail knows power in the dying light of Nicholas Boyle’s eyes. She knows power in pressed suits and a kitchen knife. She knows power in the words written all over the home she grew up in, and she knows Freddie Lounds.

She did not plan on staying with Freddie, but that is where she ended up. She has no money, no parents. Hannibal is not here anymore, and Will is gone.

Freddie is a lending hand when there was none, and Abigail knows how to make the best of a bad situation. So, she nods.

And she decides, I’ll make the best of it.

She decides, I’ll make them come back for me.

She decides, I am going to kill Freddie Lounds.

She is going to do what Hannibal and Will couldn’t, what they didn’t do even though they wanted to. She is going to make something so beautiful and so big from Freddie’s tiny bones so that they – so that they’d have no choice but to come back and witness her.

So, Abigail follows Freddie inside of her small, overcrowded apartment. She follows her into the closet-sized guest room that Freddie offers her. She follows her into Target and TJ Maxx, into Home Goods and thrift shops, and watchs wordlessly as Freddie buys stuff to decorate her room. And she thinks, I’m going to kill you.

She watches Freddie hang up curtains and string together lights. She watches her order takeout and watch tv, write articles and argue with the big men who pound on her door and demand retractions. She watches her meticulously put together every edition, every outfight, and talk to Abigail like she is flesh and blood, and alive even though she isn’t. Even though Abigail is going to kill Freddie, you’re not even going to see it coming.

Freddie doesn’t push for the story that she was promised, but she prods. She pokes around and jiggles the handles just to see if she can get inside, and then she backs off. She tells jokes that aren’t funny and makes comments that are only funny because they’re mean, and she suggests selling t-shirts that say, I was held captive by a cannibal for over a year and all I lost was my ears.

Freddie photocopies the death threat nailed on the door and says, “I don’t blame you. I’ve wanted to push Alana out a window for years.”

Abigail doesn’t really talk anymore.

She just watches and she listens, and she thinks about snapping Freddie’s neck every chance she gets. She smiles and huffs wordless sounds at crass comments, and she shrugs her shoulders to the suggestion that they get Chinese food. She eats it in her room with the door closed between them.

She does that a lot, closes the door.

She keeps Freddie on the other side and sharps wood torn from the baseboards into daggers, and she wonders how much ink it takes to fill a human body. She makes promises to herself, to them, that they’ll be proud of her, that they’ll come back and say they missed her.

Abigail keeps scissors under her pillow and Freddie keeps secrets.

There are three toothbrushes in the bathroom and concealer that’s too dark to be either of theirs. There is a new passcode on her computer and a lock on Freddie’s bedroom door.

The first time Abigail meets Frederick Chilton, he’s not wearing shoes.

Abigail doesn’t really have a frame of reference for Chilton.

She’s only knows what Hannibal has told her about him, but he is smaller than even that. He is nasally and prideful in how he talks, but it’s a thin veneer. He is a shell of a man that he wanted to be, and he is cracking.

Frederick seems startled by her presences in the kitchen even though it was morning. His voice breaks, slurring at the ends, and he blushes through the pound of makeup on his face, “Oh, hello.”

She blinks at him.

She looks between Freddie in her bathroom and Frederick without his shoes, and she speaks for the first time in a very long time, “You don’t look like a man who had his face blown off.”

Originally, she thinks that Freddie is helping Chilton write a book and that is why he keeps existing in the same place as her, but she was wrong about that.

Frederick Chilton is afraid of his own house. He make lame excuses to justify his reason to be there and chides Freddie when he doesn’t think that Abigail could hear him about her having that – that girl in here.

One day, Abigail skips therapy and sneak back into her room through the fire escape. She lay in her bed and stares at the ceiling until she hears Freddie tell someone to stop worrying, “She’s at therapy for the next hour and a half, babe.”

Abigail presses the side of her head against the door and she listens to Frederick huff, and the uncorking of a wine bottle, and how two people laugh when they were in love, “The romans used to kill flamingos just to eat their tongues.”

“Does that pick-up line work on all the ladies?” Freddie asks and laughs. And Frederick laughs. And Abigail decides, I’ll kill them both.

Her chance comes at midnight.

It’s not her intention but the chips were on the floor, Abigail is just doing what Freddie told her to. She is picking them up. She is cashing in, big.

She carries a sharpened piece of wood in her hand so tight that it cut into the palm of her hand and she is going to – she was is to do something drastic, something big.

All she wants is to turn the tv off, but her hand is bleeding and she’s going to commit a murder, because she has to, or Hannibal won’t come back for her.

Frederick is asleep on the couch, his hands tucked under his armpits and his feet on the table. His head is tilted back, and he is snoring. It’d be so easy to slit his throat, but…

But she hesitates.

He’s so small and fragile, so frail and defenseless, and she could end him now. All she needs to do is strike. Strike. Strike, goddamn it.

She drops the piece of wood.

She lets it thump soft against the carpet and she gets close. She presses one knee into the couch cushions next to him, and towers over him, and when she tucks her hair behind her ear, it falls into her face.

Frederick is asleep.

Abigail presses the tip of her fingers to Frederick’s bottom lip and she pushes pass it into a mouth that’s only half there. She touches cold porcelain teeth, brushes her fingertips against the twisted angry scar on the inside of his cheek, and she pulls.

She curls her fingers in, digs them beneath the prosthetic, and she pulls it out, slowly.

Frederick’s eyes open frightened and wide, and he does not move. He stares at her like a man who has faced death twice and did not deserve it, jaw stretching as she pulls the prosthetic from his mouth.

His face sags. His whole face just – melts, and she does not feel good, or powerful, or brave. She felt – she felt so fucking hollow.

She stares at him.

She just stares and her eyes burn, and she askes him in a voice that was shattered from unused, and knives, and people leaving her when they said they wouldn’t, “Do you feel lucky like this?”

“None of us are lucky,” Freddie said, a ghost to a dead girl and a melted man. “But we survived. That’s good enough.”

#in my head the whole time writing this #'did abigail ever meet frederick'#somebodyhelpthenotdeadfreds

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thisisnotacomp · 5 years ago

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R.I.P. MF DOOM

At around 1 PM Pacific on New Years eve I scrolled through twitter after putting my little dude down for a nap. I was looking to take a mental break after trying to keep my 20 month old occupied inside for 5 hours on a rainy ass winter day in Seattle. That is when I read the news of Daniel Dumile’s aka MF DOOM’s passing. It hit me like a ton of bricks. Of all the artists who I have closely followed MF DOOM has to be the most iconic. He was a singular talent that stood high above all but a few others in my book. To say I was shocked would be an understatement. This was not the mental break I was looking for. I took a few mins to digest the news, luckily I had at least 90 mins left of nap time to work through it.

Since reading the news I was a bit surprised to see the outpouring for this relatively obscure MC. That is not to say DOOM was an unknown figure, quite the opposite. Q-Tip summed it up best saying that MF Doom was your favorite MC's favorite MCs. I expected to hear quite a bit from the legends of the underground and NYC hip-hop community but was a bit taken aback from the articles published by NPR, The Financial Times and many others. Reading them has helped, it feels good to see DOOM get his do.

DOOM has been a constant presence in my life so long I honestly don't remember when I heard him first. All I know is that it was sometime in 2001. Over the past days I have been listening to a lot of his music and if I had to guess it was the track “Black List” off of Prefuse 73′s 2001 Vocal Studies + Uprock Narratives LP. At the time hip-hop made up about 10-20% of the music I listened to. I was more into electronic and rock music at the time and 2001 had some great releases. Here is a short list:

Avalanches - Since I Left You Radiohead - Amnesiac White Stripes - White Blood Cells Herbert - Bodily Functions Jay-Z - The Blueprint Daft Punk - Discovery

But the top 3ish for me that year were: 1. Strokes - Is This It 2. Prefuse 73 - Vocal Studies + Uprock Narratives 3. Cannibal Ox - The Cold Vein / Aesop Rock - Labor Days

To say there were a few good LP’s released in 2001 would be an understatement. But back to DOOM. I loved that Prefuse album, what he was doing blew my mind. I was also a huge fan of Aesop Rock who like DOOM is one of the best MC’s ever. Hearing DOOM rap on the cut up beat had to be my intro. Now remember this was before you could stream anything, and at a time record stores were over charging for everything. Also remember Napster and the other P2P services were in full effect so if you knew how, you could find just about anything on the interwebs. I did some digging, talked to a few friends and tracked down DOOM’s first LP “Operation Doomsday” and my world was never the same. I still remember hearing lines like: Clang! Crime don't pay, listen, youth It's like me holding up the line at the kissing booth I took her back to the truck, she was uncouth Spittin' all out the sunroof, through her missing tooth I was hooked. From then on out I have been following Dumile ever since. At the time I was in College and had more time than money. Listening to music filled a lot of that time. The money I did have started going to records in early 2002. Back then vinyl was cheap, as everyone was still buying CD’s. I figured if I could just burn a CD where was the value. I can still support artists by buying vinyl so that is what I did. To give credit where credit is due, my buddy Alex was a huge influence. One weekend he brought me to a record on 13th and Pine called Respect Records. They had a ton of underground Hip-Hop and I we hit that place up every time we were back in Seattle. I bought most of my Def Jux and Stones Throw albums from there. Its closed now and I really miss that spot. The owner knew us and what we were looking for. He held a white label copy of Madlib’s Stevie LP aside for me. At the time I thought I had found the holy grail. He also pushed me to Doom. I picked up a few singles there along with Take Me to Your Leader, Madvillian and Special Herbs 1 & 2.

The 2 MF DOOM releases that had the biggest impact on me were Operation Doomsday and Madvillian. The later is still my favorite hip-hop LP of all time and in contention for my favorite LP ever released. Its damn near perfect. I think what makes is so great is its timeless feel. If it dropped today I feel it would be just a relevant. It hasn’t aged a bit, or I should say nothing feels dated which is a rare accomplishment for a 16 year old release.

03/04 was peak DOOM. Between June of 03 and November of 04 he released what can only be described as an historic run of classic LP’s:

“Take Me to Your Leader” under the King Geedorah alias “Vaudeville Villain” under the Viktor Vaughn alias “Madvillainy“ a joint release with Madlib “MM... Food” as MF DOOM

Along with these LP’s he dropped another one as Viktor Vaughn and half of his Special Herbs instrumental albums. At the end of 2004 there was no doubt MF DOOM was one of the greatest MC’s of all time. In 2005 he released the Mouse and the Mask as a joint LP with Danger Mouse. The album was clearly a way to get DOOM some cash flow from the folks at Adult Swim but its a solid release in its own right. Up until 2005 everything Doom touched was gold.

After this point, his output slowed down. There was talk of a second Madvilian LP which we are still waiting for along with a host of other side projects. DOOM did a few guest verses here and there but overall things were quite. DOOM’s final full length “Born Like This” was released in 2009. It was a return to form and while it might not be a certified classic like his early works its damn close.

I put this together to get some thoughts out of my head. Honestly the news of Daniel Dumile’s passing was a gut punch. He was more than an MC he was an icon for so many. No one wrote rhymes like DOOM. No one in hip-hop has created a universe like DOOM. There will never be another MF DOOM. Here are a few lyrics to prove it.

“He came with more rhymes than molecules in air”

“What up? To all rappers: shut up with your shutting up And keep a shirt on, at least a button-up Yuck, is they rhymers or stripping males? Out of work jerks since they shut down Chippendales They chipping nails, DOOM tipping scales Let alone the pre-orders that's counted off shipping sales This one goes out to all my peoples skipping bail Dipping jail, whipping tail and sipping ale”

“Already woke, spared a joke, barely spoke, rarely smoke Stared at folks when properly provoked, mirror broke Here, share strawberry morning, gone an more important spawning Torn in, poor men sworn in Cornish hens switching positions, auditioning morticians Saw it in a vision, ignoring prison Ignoramuses enlist and sound dumb Found 'em drowned in cow's dung, crowns flung”

“Don't let the drama getcha In the only genre of music where the fans shoot the messenger Bitch niggas talk behind your back like a catcher Either M-Y-O-B or B-Y-O stretcher”

“Oooo my aching hands, from raking in grands and breaking in mic stands”

“Catch a throatful from the fire vocal Ash and molten glass like Eyjafjallajökull”

“Livin' off borrowed time, the clock tick faster”

“Ever since the womb ’til I’m back where my brother went That’s what my tomb will say Right above my government; Dumile Either unmarked or engraved, hey, who’s to say?”

R.I.P. MF DOOM.

#mf doom

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so-langdon · 6 years ago

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In The End - Michael Langdon x Fem! Reader (Final Part)

Summary: Michael tries to get Y/N back after the world has ended.

Warnings: Swearing, slight jealousy, dirty talk, a whole lotttta angst, fluff

**There’s no Emily character in this story**

A/N: I was hiiiigh off meds for my wisdom teeth removal pain when I wrote, edited and posted the first part of In The End and don’t think it’s my best work rip. But I wrote this second part to give it some closure lol. Thanks for reading! <3

Tagged!: @hecohansen31 @michaelsapostle @fallenangel4996 @sarcasticfuck101 @redlovett @rocketgirl2410 @gypsylilacs (tagged those who commented for Part 2 !!)

The world was certainly cruel when it wanted to be. The world could fuck with you if it had you in it’s sights, daring and testing you, seeing all that you could handle.

Y/N had never forgotten the day Michael spoke those harsh words to her. Claiming he never loved her, never actually wanted her, only used her for sex. She had so much inner hatred for him, the memories she thought back on reminding her of her broken heart every time. But she hated herself more for still loving him anyway.

Even though her feelings of love and adoration had never faded for Michael, she was bitter and resentful towards him too for the way he treated her. She never wanted to let any man have control over her in this way; to have a man cause her this kind of pain and hatefulness inside her. But falling in love with someone truly did open up a series of doors to other emotions you had no control over.

Y/N had managed to not date anyone else up until the bombs, never feeling ready to meet anyone new. She was so skeptical and hurt from what Michael had done to her, she could never bring herself to open up to anyone like that again. Also from the fact that she was still in love with Michael and didn’t want anyone else. The way Michael had captured her heart, though a cruel joke for his own amusement, had served it’s purpose with her and her heart would forever belong to him.

It didn’t matter, she figured, as the world had sadly come to it’s end. She didn’t know how or why she had secured a spot in an underground survival headquarters, called Outpost 3. She was conflicted on being thankful for the spot as she felt there were many other people who could have taken her place. But that was just the kindness and consideration in her.

Routine had formed nonetheless, everyone adjusting as best they could and understanding the rules and protocol of living their new lives at the Outpost. But after a long eighteen months, someone had breached the premises.

When the world had ended, being overrun with decay and tragedy, Y/N of course thought this meant she’d never see anyone she knew again. The world and most of it’s population had died with it. But this wasn’t the case when of all people, Michael Langdon, walked down the corridor and into the dining area, announcing his position, the interviews and sanctuary.

She couldn’t believe her eyes. She thought she was hallucinating. There was no way this was the Michael Langdon she had spent a year of her life with and then had broken her heart so coldly. But she knew those blue eyes anywhere, recognized that soft tone when he spoke, and knew it was really him even with his hair grown out longer, had grown to look more mature and superior and was wearing black Victorian-like clothes.

Y/N never would have thought in a million years she’d come face to face with Michael again everything that had happened. Once he’d ended things, once she left his home that day, once the world ended, she figured that would be it. She’d never hear from him again under any circumstances, and she hadn’t, disregarding her overflowing thoughts of him constantly.

But not now. Not anymore.

She’d done well with avoiding him for the most part. Michael didn’t seem interested in interacting and spending time with anyone in the Outpost unless he was interviewing them. So it was easy to keep her distance from him. But she knew it was only a matter of time.

She’d tried to keep herself busy. Reading books, talking with Timothy, who she was closest to at the Outpost, taking naps to avoid the consistent thoughts and anxieties she had when she thought about seeing Michael again. But all the nerves and worries, and even embarrassment for some reason she felt, all faded away into anger when she sat for her interview in front of the man who once hurt her.

Y/N was doing her best to contain her rage and annoyance. But Michael was so obviously cocky and smug, making it apparent he remembered her from the way he called her “darling” and spoke about seeing her after so long.

“What a pleasure it is seeing you again, darling,” Michael grinned arrogantly, making Y/N want to slap him across the face. “Fuck you,” she’d retorted back, not wanting to show him an ounce of happiness of getting to see him again. “I see you’re still harboring some anger.” “Fuck you,” she repeated, unable to form any coherent reply aside from that, considering how upset she was becoming with him seated so smugly in front of her.

The one on one continued, but only lasted so long before Y/N couldn’t handle it anymore and stood up from her seat, shoving the chair away from her. “I’m done with this conversation. Throw me to the cannibals, I don’t care. I refuse to have this interview with you for a second longer,” she states, walking to the door to leave. Michael stands up, waving a hand quickly to shut and lock the doors as she’s just opened them to leave. He’s not going to be letting her out of his sights that easy. Y/N knew of Michael’s title and abilities. Michael had confided and told her of everything, always venting to her when plans of him with Mead and his prophesied path became stressful and overwhelming for him. It took a long while for Y/N to come to the conclusion that he was telling the truth, and for her to even trust and accept who he was, considering he was supposed to be evil. But she’d already fallen so hard in love with him, that even with hearing his story up until that point, she had trusted him and never wanted to abandon or leave him like so many people in his life had already. She realizes she made a mistake with staying with him considering the way things panned out. She looks over at Michael with an irritated expression. “Let me out.” “We’re not finished talking,” Michael says. “You don’t get to dictate that.” “Actually, I do,” Michael says in a fluid tone. He waves a hand to her chair, it turning to face her as he gestures for her to sit down again. “Your life is in my hands now.” “I just said throw me to the cannibals. Doesn’t that tell you enough that I don’t care?” “And yet, you know that I know that you do care. I can sense in you that you value your life, understandably. Just like how I can tell you still have feelings for me.” Y/N narrows her eyes, harshly staring at him. “It’s why you’re so angry,” he says matter of fact. “You wish you didn’t still love me, but,” Michael grins and shrugs carelessly. “You do.” “You don’t know anything about me anymore,” Y/N grits. “Stay out of my head.” “Come have a seat,” Michael gestures to the chair again, ignoring her reply. “What do you care what I have to say? Why do you care to have this interview or to talk to me anyway? You don’t care about me,” she crosses her arms. “Of course I do,” Michael states. “But you won’t sit down long enough to let me explain everything.” “Explain,” Y/N raises her eyes. “Oh, you want to explain now? I thought this was an interview to see who deserved a shot at salvation for the sanctuary,” she spoke sarcastically. Michael stares at her, becoming impatient. She rolls her eyes. “You had your chance to explain, but you didn’t. You don’t get to decide now that you’re ready to talk to me.” “If you do not come over and sit in this chair yourself, I will make you. You know I will. Do not test me,” Michael speaks flatly, but a slight annoyance residing in his tone too as he sits back down. Y/N is furious. She’s never felt so much fury in one moment before. She’s livid from having to face Michael again. She’s annoyed she can’t escape her feelings for him. She’s flushed because he knows obviously her feelings for him still exist. She’s pissed he still has a hold over her and that he knows it. “We have much to discuss,” Michael says, gesturing to the chair one final time. Y/N looks away, crossing her arms tighter across her chest. “Y/N,” Michael repeats firmly. Y/N looks at him. “If you’re going to keep me hostage here to listen to whatever bullshit you have to say -- fine. But you can do it while I stand here. I don’t want to sit.” Michael sighs out, sitting in his chair and leaning back. “You can’t make this easy, can you?” “Make what easy? I just want to stand.” Michael rolls his eyes. “If I’m being so problematic, then just let me go,” she snaps. “That’s the problem, isn’t it,” Michael stands again, striding around his desk and over to her in assertive steps. “If I could let you go, it would make things a hell of a lot easier. But I can’t. Instead, I have to deal with your stubbornness, still years later, just to try and get you to listen to me.” “You’re whining because I won’t listen to you? Years ago I wanted to listen to you, wanted you to open up and explain whatever the fuck was going on,” she gestures out to him. “But you weren’t having it. Now you’ve ruined your chance.” Michael exhales a deep sigh. “Why would I want to waste any time listening to any bullshit you have to tell me anyway?” She scowls. “After how cruel and mean and awful you were to me? You expect me to want to listen and comply to your demands now? No. That’s not how this fucking works.” "You’re angry, you’re upset,” Michael begins. “You’re hurt. I know you are. I am too.” “Oh, please,” she rolls her eyes. “Do go on about your pain and make this all about you now, alright.” “I’m not trying to make--” Michael halts and breathes out. “I’m not trying to do that. There’s just so much you don’t know. Which is why I want to explain to you. But you’re making it difficult.” “Well, it could have been easier had you not been so fucking arrogant and smug in the beginning of this interview; practically taunting and teasing me with all the bullshit that’s happened in the past,” she glares. “Fine. I apologize for my arrogance,” Michael says, trying to get her to hurry and comply, tone just as cocky as before, placing a hand over his chest. “Now come take a seat so we can discuss this maturely,” he gestures again towards the chair. She shakes her head. “You don’t fucking get it, do you,” she exclaims. “That was a shit apology, first of all. Second, I want nothing to do with you. Regardless of whatever feelings I have for you still, I don’t want to hear anything you have to say.” “What if I were to tell you that I have the same feelings for you as you do for me,” Michael starts. Y/N hesitates, repeating his words in her head. “I’d.. say you were either lying or.. that it’s too late.” Michael clasps his hands behind his back, looking at her sternly. “You broke up with me,” she frowns. “You made it clear you do not care for my presence. And the way you did it? You’ve ruined any chance of redemption.” “You say that now, but you don’t know the whole story,” Michael says carefully. “And clearly I don’t want to know it,” Y/N adds. “What do you have to lose?” Michael tells her. “To just listen to me?” “My time is clearly limited at this point,” she says sarcastically, “so I’m losing valuable time, actually.” “Do you know why you’re in this Outpost in the first place?” Michael asks her all of a sudden. “Does everything I say go in one ear and out the other?” She raises her eyes. Michael suddenly appears directly in front of Y/N, causing her to gasp a bit from being startled at the closeness. She steps back, creating space. But Michael doesn’t allow this as with each step she takes backward, he takes one forward. When she can no longer step back anymore, she stops, her back lightly touching against the wall. Michael takes advantage of her placement and presses his body firmly against hers while her back presses further into the wall behind her. He places a hand on each side of her on the wall to prevent her from escaping. “When I said I didn’t want you anymore, when I told you I only used you to fuck, when I said I never wanted to actually be with you -- all of that horrible stuff I told you -- I lied,” Michael states, eyes burning into hers. “I don’t want to hear what you have to say,” Y/N says quietly, diverting her eyes away. “You don’t have a choice,” Michael says. Y/N looks back at him, pressing her lips together. “I lied to you, about it all,” he begins again. “I had to, I had to make you leave me. I didn’t want to, I never wanted to lose you. But it wasn’t safe,” he informs. She shakes her head. “You’re full of shit,” Y/N whispers. “You told me back then you were lying about everything between us, all your feelings for me, about loving me. Now you’re saying you were lying about initially lying? How am I supposed to believe anything you say now?” She glares. “Why would I lie to you now?” Michael asks. “For your own sick amusement, to gain my trust and hurt me again, to fuck with me, I don’t know? You’re the fucking antichrist, you’re the evil one here. Do you need a reason?” She narrows her eyes. “You’re right. I am the antichrist, and because so, I had a very specific plan formed with Miriam Mead. You knew of her religion and what she believed in. We had a plan to get me in contact with the warlocks and witches. Things fell apart after,” he waves a hand off, “but that’s not what this is about,” he explains. “The plan that led up to the warlocks and witches -- it wasn’t safe for you. I had to protect you.” “You destroyed me,” Y/N admits. “You did anything but protect me.” “I had to keep you safe from getting hurt,” Michael declares. “The only one who hurt me was you, Michael,” she exclaims and pushes his arms down to walk away, wanting some distance between them. Michael turns to her as she takes a few steps away from him. He has her attention though, he knows he does, otherwise she would try leaving again. But he knows it’ll only last so long before she really will leave, and he’d lose any hope of getting her back. “I hated what I had to do to you,” Michael says sorrowfully. “I loved you, so much. I still do,” Michael affirms. Y/N puts a hand up to halt him from talking further, narrowing her eyes at him. “Don’t,” she starts, “don’t you dare do this to me.” Her eyes begin to water, making her curse under her breath from her behavior. She wipes her wet eyes away quickly and takes a deep breath. “This isn’t fair. You don’t get to fucking say these things, make me feel bad and want to believe you when you hurt me and broke my heart and made me realize what real agony is,” she looks at him with a despair. “I know I hurt you,” Michael says sadly. “But I had to. I had to so you wouldn’t come back to me. I couldn’t risk there being any chance that you’d come back over to see me or Miriam, or for you to be associated with me in any way. It would have brought you danger and harm. That’s why I had to do it,” he explains. “Why wouldn’t you just tell me that then? Instead of what you did instead -- if you are telling the truth,” she crosses her arms once more. “Because of the risk,” he steps over. “If you knew there could be potential danger involved with me, I knew you’d be worrying and freaking out, and could maybe get involved somehow and then bring yourself to harm’s way. I wanted to avoid that risk.” Y/N in a way understands his explanation, but she still doesn’t completely believe him. Being who he is, he of course would be trying to entice her into forgiving him so he could cause her more pain again somehow. She wasn’t going to be falling for his words again, not like last time. Y/N takes a deep breath, exhaling quietly. She looks away, thinking for a moment. She looks back at him, seeing his face is trying but she can’t give in. “Can I leave now,” Y/N asks suddenly. “No,” Michael furrows his eyes at her abrupt question. “No you can’t leave now.” Michael understood her lack of trust and not being interested in what he has to say. He knows he really hurt her, but he thought he would have a chance to clarify things. But even with explaining, things weren’t falling into place as he had hoped. “Are you done explaining?” She asks next. Michael stares at her, hesitation present on his face. He doesn’t want to answer her question. “If you’re done explaining, I’d like to leave now.” And that’s why Michael didn’t want to answer the question. He didn’t want her to leave, didn’t want her to leave his side again for any reason, even to just go to her room. He’d been deprived of her for so long, and finally had her in his grasp. She wasn’t making it easy, but at least they were communicating, which was more than they had done in prior years. He’d missed her so much. But Michael knew he had to keep talking and trying with her to make her understand truly, so he could be with her again. “It wasn’t supposed to happen this way,” Michael says quietly. Y/N pauses for a beat. “What was supposed to happen then? What did you think would happen after you hurt and insulted me and treated me like shit?” She gives a look. “You thought I’d just forgive you and come running back into your arms?” She shakes her head. “I can’t trust you, Michael. I don’t know what’s real or not. Even if what you’re saying is true, I still don’t know if I,” she trails off. “What,” Michael questions. Y/N tries to think of her words carefully. “Just.. Just because if what you said is true, that doesn’t mean I want you now, or ever again, for that matter.” Michael laughs, looking away as the laughter leaves his throat, causing Y/N to glare at him again. “Are you seriously laughing? This isn’t funny,” she states. Michael looks at her, “I’m sorry. I wanted to let you have your moment, but I just couldn’t hold it in.” “You’re a fucking asshole,” Y/N exclaims, dropping her crossed arms. “Let’s be honest, shall we,” Michael begins, stepping over to her again. “Let’s not waste time lying to one another.” “I’m the only one that’s never lied between us.” Michael pauses, “Okay. You got me there. So, let’s have a fresh start: No lying.” Y/N shakes her head, bewildered at his behavior. “There’s no fresh start between us. I don’t want anything new starting between us.” Michael gives a look. “Just because I may or may not still have feelings for you, doesn’t mean I want to be with you again. Because I don’t. I don’t -- I don’t need you,” she tells him. “And why is that,” Michael hums, taking another step to her again. “Because I value myself more and would prefer to be surrounded by people who actually care and value me too.” “Oh?” Michael raises his eyes curiously but also cocky. “People like who? It’s a bit limited around here.” “No thanks to you,” Y/N shouts. This shuts Michael up for the moment, causing him to look away. “I know there’s limited people in this Outpost, thanks to your fucking demise, Michael,” she glares. “I should hate you and want you dead for that alone. But clearly some fucking deranged part of me isn’t focused on that so much as I should be.” “Because you love me,” Michael looks at her. “You care about the world, of course you do. But you’re more upset with the way I treated you, compared to what I’ve done to the world because you still want to be with me, and there’s still hope in that for you compared to everything else.” “Don’t fucking tell me what I do and don’t want, or feel and don’t feel,” she yells. “You don’t know me, Michael! We haven’t seen each other in years and you can’t just say this shit like you still know who I am.” “At least I’m admitting it here,” Michael says, voice raising a bit. “Admitting what?” “Admitting I still love you!” He shouts now. Y/N stares at him, swallowing, his words sending a jolt of electricity through her. “I still want to be with you,” Michael exclaims. “I’m at least admitting that if I don’t know who you are now, then I’d like to, because I want you. I want to be with you.” Michael was doing a good job with breaking her down. Trying to explain what he did, how he feels, that he still loves her. She wants to believe him, wants to say it’s all okay and go over and kiss him and forget the last few years without him. But she has to be stronger than that, she has to hold her ground. Michael was most likely fucking with her, trying to humiliate her just like before. “Well you fucking blew it and lost your chance. So, go cry to your ‘father’ about it, and maybe restore the world while you’re at it, you fuckface,” she exclaims. Michael laughs lowly at her behavior, “You need to be careful with how you speak to me, darling.” “Don’t call me that,” she glares. “And I don’t need to do or listen to anything you say if I don’t want to. “Right. Fine,” Michael states nonchalantly. “Tell me, what is it you do want, then?” “I want you to leave me alone.” “What happened to our fresh start of no lying?” Michael grins. “You’re full of so much shit,” Y/N says, voice raising a bit, turning around and pushing a hand through her hair., becoming exasperated. “Fuck, I hate you.” She turns around, Michael standing there in front of her, just as close as earlier. Except now he grasps the side of her neck, where her jaw connects to her throat. Not choking her, but holding her in place. “You don’t fucking hate me,” Michael glares. “You might wish you do, but you don’t. And it’s killing you inside that you still love me. Don’t deny it, because I know it’s true. I feel it -- I feel you.” “I do hate you,” Y/N breathes out, glaring back. “I want nothing to do with you, how many times do I have to tell you this? I don’t need you.” “Yeah, and who do you have then? Huh?” He raises his eyes. ”One of the Outpost members here? Gallant? Coco?” Michael says carelessly. “Timothy,” he adds irritated. Y/N narrows her eyes. Timothy and Y/N were the closest in age at the Outpost and of course got along the best as they had the most in common. Both were in college, and were suddenly pulled away from their families when the bombs were announced and taken to this underground facility. Nothing romantic had grown between the two, mainly due to the fact that any romance and intimacy was forbidden in the Outpost. But also because Y/N only saw Timothy as a friend. She wasn’t sure where Timothy stood with his feelings, but she hadn’t bothered to question or really think about it since she knew nothing would happen and she never wanted it to with Timothy anyway. “I know you two are close,” he says casually, eyeing her carefully. “One second into his interview and I could sense the attraction and affection he has for you.” Y/N huffs, smirking. “Does that bother you,” Y/N asks tauntingly, almost provoking Michael like he did earlier to her. “I mean, I know Timothy’s never lied to me.” Michael tightens his hand on her throat. “What are you trying to say? You want him, you want Timothy?” Michael narrows his eyes, leaning in. “You really want him -- over me?” “Maybe I do,” Y/N says, forcing a grin across her face. She doesn’t like Timothy of course, but a little payback and torture to Michael was what she was focused on for the moment. And she was going to use Timothy as her pawn if she needed. “I know you’re only saying that to piss me off,” Michael scowls. “Because the world revolves around you, including all of my actions and motives, right?” She rolls her eyes. Michael leans in more, “You would never be happy with Timothy. Nowhere compared to how I made you happy; could make you happy now.” “Timothy wouldn’t fucking lie to me,” she frowns. “Timothy actually cares about how I feel.” “Does he?” Michael smugly grins. “In every way?” Y/N glares at him. “You’d get bored of Timothy faster than you know.” “You don’t know him.” “I know you. Well enough,” he half shrugs. “And he couldn’t, wouldn’t, make you happy,” Michael says confidently. “He’d bore you. He doesn’t know the things you like, how you like them. He doesn’t know how to make you really feel.” “What the fuck are you going on about,” Y/N asks, grabbing Michael’s hand on her, feeling a stirring starting in her. She tries to push his hand away but he tightens his hold. “Timothy couldn’t please you the way I can,” Michael smirks. Y/N’s eyes narrow, confused as to where Michael is taking this discourse. “Can he touch you like I do,” Michael hums, hand holding along her neck still, the other trailing along her body smoothly. “Does he know how to make you feel good?” “Michael, stop,” Y/N swallows, his words having an effect on her of course. But she didn’t want to acknowledge them, didn’t want to embrace them and have Michael know that he was having this carnal impact on her. “He wouldn’t have the first clue on how to make you cum,” Michael adds as he leans in so close, almost kissing her, eyes flickering over her face as her eyes stare back at him, pupils dilating. “Michael,” Y/N warns. “No one has any idea how to make you scream or cry or shake in undeniable pleasure, except me,” Michael seethes, grabbing her throat fully with a tight hold, and pulling her into his body. Y/N diverts her eyes away, hating herself more than anything for Michael’s words having this effect on her, especially so quickly when she was just so annoyed and angry with him seconds prior. She was holding her ground, for the most part, but now it was all falling apart. “No one can fuck you like I can. No one will ever be able to make you feel pleasure so deep, so intensely, like I can. You do need me for that, if not anything else.” Y/N looks at him, trying to regain some of her composure. “You’re a real piece of work. Trying to seduce me into, what, into making me forgive you or?” Michael lets go of her throat, only for his hand to slide down to her collarbones and down her arm before dropping. “To make you realize that I’m here for you in whatever way you need; that I’ll have you in any way at all as long as I can have you in some way.” “I have everyone here in the Outpost to be whatever I need. We’re.. a family,” she says, knowing it’s bullshit, but tries to come off as though she doesn’t need Michael for any reason because she “so clearly” has whatever she needs with everyone else. Michael rolls his eyes and laughs a bit humorlessly. “What is this Disney bullshit you’re going on about now? You’re a family?” He shakes his head. “No. Your hopes for them are too high. You’re not a real family, they don’t give a shit about anything but their own selfish lives.” “Can you blame them,” Y/N snaps. “You took their lives away by giving them this shithole of a world instead,” she throws her arms up exasperated. “It only makes sense they’d care about their own lives as they don’t want it to get any worse. It’s not their fault. It’s yours,” she exclaims. Michael takes a step back, feeling a sudden shift in him. Not a good one. A heartfelt, sorrow one. He’s tried everything he can think of, everything he knows of Y/N to try and get her to give in, to forgive hin, to accept his words and let the past go and to be with him again. But it wasn’t working. What’s worse is that even though this place was full of people who had such darkness in themselves, Y/N still validated and defended them. The goodness in Y/N was something that always attracted him to her. It was sickening to him otherwise, with anyone else. But she was always the exception. But he wasn’t the exception for her. The goodness she possessed was his last hope and it hasn’t worked at any angle. “And years later, with your hardened heart and inner turmoil, you still manage to find the goodness in others, trying to rationalize their behavior,” Michael says quietly. His eyes flicker over her face. “Why can’t you do that for me?” He whispers. Y/N doesn’t say anything. Michael takes another step back, turning away a bit. “Nothing is breaking you down.” Y/N narrows her eyes. “I tried explaining. I tried seducing. I tried to bring up and make you see everyone’s true motives and selfishness. And none of it matters,” Michael looks down. “I.. really hurt you.” Y/N swallows, trying to keep an impassive expression on her face and crosses her arms quietly. ”I always thought that, even though I’d lost you, there would still be a way for us to find our way back to each other. I never wanted to lose my future with you,” he looks at her. “That’s why I secured your spot. Even when we weren’t on speaking terms, you were my first priority,” Michael exhales a discreet breath. “I made sure you had a spot here in the Outpost, before the bombs went off so we could find each other again,” he explains, sounding more like he’s talking to himself now. “You’re the only person I’ve ever cared about and loved. But, I guess I’ve ruined that.” Michael waves a hand, the doors in the room opening as he turns around. “You may leave,” he says flatly, walking off. Y/N watches him walk to his desk, shoulders slumped now compared to his superior, cocky stance before. She pauses a second, but walks over to the door, finally free to leave. But she stops, looking towards the ground, knowing she wants to turn back around to Michael. Part of her was screaming at herself for stopping, cursing at her to hurry up and leave, to save her heart so it wouldn’t be broken even more. But the other part was feeling the agony already of being apart from Michael, and she hadn’t even left the room yet. Though she’d spent the last however many minutes bickering back and forth with Michael, at least she was talking with him at all, which was different to how she felt before the interview when she despised him and didn’t want to talk to him at all. Maybe she never really did despise him. She was just hurt and afraid of opening back up to him in the fear of him hurting her again. She couldn’t have actually hated him, now that she thinks about it because she does love him. And you can’t have love if there’s hate. She begins to turn around to Michael, but stops. She bites her lip and makes her foot move forward, walking away from the room, letting the doors close behind her, and leaving Michael all over again.

Michael didn’t like it, but he understood Y/N’s reaction and why she was so hesitant and untrusting of him. He had hurt her in the end on that day, saying awful things to her even if he never really did mean it. Of course she was weary and cautious of Michael now. Why wouldn’t she be suspicious and skeptical and so unwilling to be back with him?

Michael could always place a spell, use his abilities or his father to make her forgive him and be back with him. But he didn’t want her love and want of being with him to be unnatural or forced in any way. It was going to kill him for the rest of his life, but he was going to have to live with his consequences.

Later that evening, with Michael settled in his room, he sits at his desk, typing on his computer about some important matters. He doesn’t even bother thinking about the interviews and selections, knowing what he has planned for everyone. Except Y/N. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do with her yet.

The door of Michael’s room suddenly swings open, the door slamming back against the wall until it falls back and closes. Michael turns in his chair, narrowing his eyes as he sees Y/N practically stomping into the room and over to him.

Michael stands up, narrowing his eyes at the sudden outburst. “What’s this?” “You’re a real fucking asshole, you know that?” Y/N exclaims as she reaches him. Michael looks at her confused, “I don’t know what you mean -- for this time.” “You’re an asshole. An infuriating, fucking..” she huffs out, annoyed. Michael raises his eyes. “I told you earlier to stay out of my head. But apparently, you can’t get out even when you don’t try,” Y/N raises her arms, them slapping back down to he sides. “What are you talking about,” Michael asks her. Y/N sighs. “That day... that final day between us...” Y/N starts, voice faltering as she thinks back. “When I said I knew there was something wrong with you, when I said I could see something wasn’t right.. Was that what what it was? You were upset about,” she shrugs, “what you had to do?” Michael nods. “Yes. It hurt me to see you hurting,” he looks down. “Especially when I was the one causing it.” Y/N studies him cautiously. She hates herself for all of her actions. She should be stronger, but Michael’s hold on her is too powerful, coming to full term with seeing him again after so long.

After Y/N left Michael earlier, all she did was think about him and everything he said. A lot of it could be bullshit and made up, just a ruse to fuck with her and hurt her again. But some of it made sense too. Especially about securing her a spot at the Outpost. She hadn’t heard of the Outposts spots before or done the family tree DNA test like Timothy did. She didn’t know how she got a spot, no one ever answered her except Michael now. So if Michael really didn’t care about her, why would he go through so much trouble of securing a place for her to survive the bombs? If he didn’t care, wouldn’t he just let her come to her end with the bombs, not even bothering to give her a second thought after so long and letting her die off like everyone else? If Michael really did save her, and really was telling the truth about hurting her just so he could keep her safe, then... “I don’t know what any of this means,” Y/N starts, Michael looks at her. “I don’t know what’s going to happen or what you’re going to do, and quite frankly, I don’t think I want to know,” she says boldly. “But what I do know, is that, even though you hurt me and broke me down and caused me all this heartbreak,” Y/N trails off, Michael sighing over her words, feeling upset with himself. “I know that.. I stupidly for some fucked up reason.. still love you.” Michael grins a bit, a bit of hope welling up inside him. “I don’t know what any of this means,” she repeats. “But, I’m willing to,” she stops. She sighs. Michael grabs her hands, making her look away. “I know what I did caused you to be apprehensive of me now. I understand that. But as long as you’re here with me now, I swear, I will never hurt you again, in any way.” She looks at him. “I can’t make you trust me again straight away. I know that too. But what I can do from here on out is show you how sorry I am. I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you to prove to you I’m sorry and that this is real and I won’t hurt you. I love you, Y/N. I can’t bear another moment without you,” Michael pleads. Y/N hesitates, taking his words in. She might be stupid for doing this, but love makes you crazy. It was time she embraced it. “I’m sorry, Y/N,” he cups her cheek, eyes showing the same sadness they did that same day when he ended things. “I’m so sorry. I’ll always be sorry. I never want to let you go again for any reason.” Y/N knows she can’t bear another moment without Michael either. So she gives in, leaning up and pressing her lips to his, a surge of fire, a longing flooding through the two of them as they kiss, feeling like they can finally breathe again. In the end, they will always find their way back to each other one way or another. No matter who ends up showing at the door.

#Michael Langdon #AHS #American Horror Story #Michael Langdon Writing #Michael Langdon story #Michael Langdon imagine #Michael Langdon fan fic #Michael Langdon fanfic #Michael Langdon one shot #Michael Langdon oneshot #Michael Langdon x reader #Michael Langdon x fem reader #Michael Langdon x fem! reader #Duncan SHepherd #Duncan SHepherd imagine #Duncan Shepherd writing #Duncan Shepherd story #Michael Langdon edit #ahs imagine

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9uk · 6 years ago

Text

Where Are You?

⌲ summary : Kim Taehyung. That is the name of a nobody in school constantly carrying a camera around with him. Also, the name belonging to the guy who carried your last words

⌲ pairing : thirdeye!taehyung x reader

⌲ word count : 10k

⌲ genre: pinch of fluff, heavy angst

⌲ warnings : themes of depression, suicide, self-harm and paranormal activities. character death. taehyung can see ghosts that is.

⌲ a/n: this is quite different from what i usually write but i just needed to get the plot that has been bothering my head for months out of me. nonetheless, enjoy & feedback is always welcomed.

The way life works is a true wonder.

Expect the unexpected, predict the unpredictable. It's all bound to happen one day, at a certain point of time in our very lives. You just have to catch that split moment, the millisecond on the dot—where a mini twist in your words or actions can bring about a very drastic change. It can be a tiny alteration that causes the downfall or rise of a situation. The choices we make for ourselves or others, is very much alike to a heavy dew sliding off a leaf and carelessly falling into stagnant water. The mini waves of the impact send the lily pads nearby dancing, a floating hibiscus petal to drift further into the unknown and push a sleeping fish a centimetre away from entering the opening of a heron's beak. It's the butterfly effect, minuscule yet major. Be it a coincidence or some cruel twisted joke god decided to play on you—you solemnly swear you heard a voice of another being in this house. A house you were supposedly alone in. It could be the cannibal. There is more than a fair share of emphasis placed on 'supposedly' because at this very moment, you are certain as heck that you are not the only one in here. Here being the old crooked house that sits alone by the edge of the second highest hill in town, standing obstinate to the ground despite the occasional flooding showers and hurricanes your region suffered. The old folks claim that the house belongs to a war veteran whose entire family starved while waiting for their sole bread-winner to come home. The man never made it back to his doorstep where his three children and spouse awaits, hope draining with every growl of their stomachs and in complete oblivion to the impending fall to the grave. Every so often, the family of five could be sighted behind the murky windows. However, there are also mediums who concluded from ridiculous superstitions and calculations of the house's location that a possible dead body could still be inside, and its vengeful spirit is bent on seeking retribution for the plain injustice of their murder. Depressed souls would see it as the way to the end, Blank minds and torn hearts enter the house with nothing but one wish—death. The number of suicides that occurred in the house is a little over a hundred—one hundred and three spirits to be exact, nothing more, nothing less—loitering within its four walls. There were instances of teenagers stepping foot into the forbidden site with hopeful hearts for a thrill and a video camera in hand, seeking for juicy content to gain views and be the first to break the belief — the bunch of kids were reported missing on the news a few hours after. The statistics are somewhat the building blocks to the infamous reputation it holds today. When the police went inside to search for the families' missing loved ones, it did not work out at all. In fact, the number rebelliously increased, the police force losing yet another one of their colleagues.

That's when they decided that everyone is prohibited to enter, unless they carried a death wish. It is almost like the Suicide Forest in Japan, tarnishing those who visit with a conflicted soul. Even the authorities chose to not touch the house, claiming it was still on a long-term lease. And under whose name?

They would never reveal.

The house became something everyone refuses to lay finger on, or even talk about. The ominousness it contained drove humans miles away, like a sleeping dragon not wanting to be bothered the slightest bit. It's almost like a door to a parallel universe or something. You did your homework regarding the possessed piece of property. The internet's local ghostbuster website shares more about the rumours circulating the house.

You can't escape once you make it through the two front doors. This is as clear as day already, the number of missing bodies serving as solid evidence. Questions however, still bugged at your mind.

Why exactly is that? Were all the window sills locked? Or is the door just created to be one-way? Sometimes people are so caught up with their fantasies that they forget to look at things more logically.

A cannibal was living inside. This is just a mere speculation, but it was not impossible. It seemed like the most rational explanation one could provide to the disappearance of people. Leftover bones can be easily cremated, destroying all traces of the deceased. But you had rather resort to jumping off a cliff or simply overdosing to kill yourself—than to ferociously be feasted on by your own kind.

It was some kind of portal to another world. Although these kind of things were not scientifically proven, it was still a valid suspicion because nothing ever made sense about that creepy house. Maybe people went in and get sucked into another dimension or flung into hell. Maybe the books were right. As well as the shows and movies on television. Everybody was afraid, of what the gaunt and creaky relic held between its paint-flaked walls and dirt-smeared window panes, why people went in and never got out, why citizens were constantly missing—but the discovery couldn't be anything more valuable than a life. But you clearly cared a whole lot about yours, because you are not even batting a lash when you tell your friends that you were going to check the cursed place out. All you receive is the dropping of jaws and the heavy pleas for you to not go, because apparently ten years ago a man as bold as you executed the similar plan you had and- "Guess what Y/N," Woo-gi leaned across the table, the bowl of mashed potatoes shifting forward a little. "He died. Unnatural cause of death. His body was never found and the saddest thing is that the family couldn't even give him a proper burial or send him away in peace." Her attempted blazing eyes fixes on yours, and her fingers creep to the knife resting on the surface of the table cloth.

Woo-gi is making the best efforts to get you to empathise with the family of the deceased man, knowing that trick works perfect on your soft putty heart. Lifting the cutlery up, she brings it down and mercilessly stabs into the piece of char-grilled pork chop for effect. There is a shredding sound of the piece of meat being torn apart by your dear pal. The vegetables at the side jump up in shock. "Gone. Just like that."

Her voice is a cold, menacing one which intended effect worked perfectly on your rather timid self, the bumps on your skin appearing unwillingly.

Her gaze finally drifts to the dish plate and leaves yours, allowing you to ponder over her words. In her final attempt to scare you out of the hasty decision, you only chew on your corn salad nonchalantly. She was right, it was a deadly risk but you wished you treasured your life as much as a normal person would. You didn't have any care in the world, dead or alive. So why not make the reason of your death be 'died exploring a haunted house', how cool and mysterious would that be on the headlines? "Sounds like a dream come true for me," You sweep the coleslaw you have no interest in to one side, isolated from the rest of the dish. Gone forever, just like that? You have been spending the past few years of your life sinking into the mattress and hoping the blankets would swallow you whole and cease your existence—what made her think that you would be afraid of something like that? Then you realise that your friends have no clue about your disorder. In fact, no one did. In their eyes, you were this outgoing girl who cracked plenty of jokes and lived with a happy family. At times, you would go overboard with your imagination but that's something people who felt constrained and suffocated often possess. Their stale life is the cause of their fantasies and aspirations running too wild.

But nobody would understand. She shakes her head and sighs, exasperated. It was like there were no words in the dictionary that can come together to bandage the open wound in your heart, or get rid of the black sticky substance bugging your insides since day one—even as a close friend, the most she can do is to pray for the best for you. No one can really help you out of this sunken pit, the route is yours to take.

"I'm telling you one last time," Woo-gi lunges forward to grab both of your hands, eyes glistening with worry, trying yet again, her utmost best to stop you in your dangerous expedition. For the last time. "Don't go."

Life works in mysterious ways, and you're the kind of person who would stubbornly step on a freshly mopped floor and try walk across it despite having a bright yellow caution sign shoved in your face. Maybe this would be the turning point in your life. A life which encompasses of...well, nothing much. The world's too tiring of a place to live in. And that is also why, you are in said haunted house, face to face with an unexpected human being. "Hey," Every drop of blood in your body freezes. It's the first thing you hear before a piercing scream leaves your chest, rattling the window panes. The sudden call startles the shit out of the shivering mess you were, your body jumping backwards out of reflex. You shun away from the piercing light being aimed straight into your eyes, arms coming up to block the sudden encounter. Cannibal? Cannibal! You shrieked and jumped back further upon realisation, making a beeline for the doors. Both feet took you there as fast as they could, the wooden planks beneath your heavy stomps threatening to snap. Except when you reach for the handle, the first rumour is proven to be true. The doors wouldn't budge. You shake them with all your might, only left with creaks and a stubborn obstruction to your fleeing. Your heart pounds wildly against your chest, with the knowledge that the monster is a few feet away from your panic-stricken form. "Just give up." The low voice appears behind you, the hairs on your back shooting up and your hands frozen. Why were you even so afraid? You wanted to die anyways. Nothing is able to coherently come out of your parched throat, only able to quiver in fear. "Do I really look that ugly?" The tone is derisive, so human-like and you think you may have overreacted. Whipping around, you are only met with bright white as a beam of light is pointed directly to your face. You may have been mistaken. But that doesn't stop you from feeling threatened. "Put that away." You commanded and once the shining path of white is directed to the ground, your hands slowly descend from shielding your face. "Kim Taehyung?" "Y/F/N?" The both of you speak out in unison upon the recognition, despite the low lighting playing as an obstacle. It was dark, but you can almost make out the look of shock on his face as he takes a moment to register your existence right in front of him. As for you, relief overwhelmed the surprise you felt and for once, you were thankful to see Kim Taehyung. A fair bit of questions were going through your mind now, and your heart was close to jumping out of your mouth any time soon. But somehow you managed to stay relatively calm.

As long as Taehyung was standing there, looking at you with a face of confusion, you wanted to end your life faster to escape the interaction with this guy. Or to explain what in the world you were doing in a horrid place like here. God wouldn't let you die in peace, he had to let you bump into Taehyung minutes or hours—nobody knows—before your anticipated death. The only thing going through your mind is how you have to explain why you were inside the most forbidden house in town. Then, another thought flickers in your mind. What was he doing here then? It couldn't be... For some reason, he stands there, still astounded by your presence. Wait no, it had nothing to do with your presence. It was you. Just like how having a guest in here came off as no surprise to him, but the fact that it was you... You feel like you rendered him speechless, disbelief widening his eyes and parting his lips. He was acting strange. Just a few moments ago, he was telling you so confidently about the fate of the doors and now there was a 180 degree change in his vibe. He kept staring at you, the moonlight flaunting a light shimmer to his black orbs and you felt queasy under his relentless gaze—like he held some sort of power over your empty soul. You couldn't decipher just what is it in his eyes, your head hurt as you tried to think.

It was never the same case in school though. While you exuded an aura of confidence wherever you walked, leaving a trail of your floral scented shampoo and fruity perfume, Taehyung would keep his head low and try to blend in with the shadows. He didn't smell like anything, nor did he frequently speak.

To his pals, at the very least. The moment you hear the name Kim Taehyung, the first word that comes to mind is eccentric. You weren't exactly someone to judge people in this manner, but you know him barely—only to the extent where you can only think of an adjective like that to describe him. You've seen him more than a couple of times around in school—always carrying a vintage camera around—but have never spoken a word to him. For an obvious reason, he was located in the best class—the one where the top students are—while you are in just another average class.

He was just another schoolmate to you. The both of you have never interacted during your whole journey in high school, except for that one time. However, you have only heard things about him. Unpleasant things that make your blood boil a little, because you feel like everyone should be treated equally no matter the circumstance.

One would say, "Kim Taehyung? You mean the guy who sits in the garden for an hour after school, waiting for a butterfly to land on his pinky finger? I mean, who even does that?"

Another would comment, "He's constantly talking to himself and his polaroid films, if that is even possible. Other than that, he either talks to flowers or trees. Sometimes, he eats by himself and then he raises his spoonful of rice to feed the person sitting opposite him—only that there isn't anyone there. Some girls screamed and ran away, even their boyfriends were scared of such a person. That is mainly why they didn't do anything bad to him.”

You didn’t have much thoughts about the guy, but you admired how he could be himself without the fear of being excluded from the norms of this society. He could find the comfort in being alone, and that was the type of peace you wish you possessed.

That one day, things blew out of proportion. It was a normal Tuesday, nothing extraordinary but school and sleep. You were seated with your usual group of friends during lunch, when suddenly a yell breaks through the canteen, followed by several laughters induced with pure evil. Almost the entire cohort turns to the infamous corner—just a small turn into the back kitchen where the trash is taken out by the vendors—the place where many students are dragged in there and come out with a blue black to the eye and nasty purple patches all over their limbs.

The whole cafeteria slowly fills with hushed whispers and serious gossiping, heads turning to one another unable to drop the topic for now. Yoongi walks out from the corner, followed by a few of his friends of a milksop. Wussies, you silently remark on their terribly feigned outer strength and masks of bravery. Nothing but imbeciles, you curse them in your head. Yoongi and weaklings plop right next to you, the eyes from the surrounding tables discreetly catching up on the interaction between the both of you. "Y/N! You look gorgeous today." He tries to place his hand onto your waist but you quickly shun away from him. The small action itself caused the whole canteen to blanketed with silence, every pair of eyes now focusing on the drama that was about to unfold between the notorious gangster and his proclaimed girl. "Don't fucking touch me you disgusting piece of shit." You have had enough. The menacing words seem to pierce through every wall in the school, every person at the scene being informed of your opinion towards Yoongi all this while. You stand up, pointing a finger of accusation directly at his face—to which he flinches at, caught off-guard by your swift movement. If you had the opportunity to get away with it, you would have dug your nails into his eyeballs and gouge them out of his eye sockets, then feed one each to the weaklings by his side. Instead, you take a deep breath. Small gasps leave everyone's lips and he panics—ego bruised by your harsh rejection. Yoongi was your boyfriend. You've been tolerating him for quite some time now, all for the sake of your parents. Without this relationship, your dad would have never been able to clinch the business deal with his father. All it took was a couple of sweet phrases and fake smiles, you couldn't be bothered with the rest of him other than the profit he could bring to your company. Yoongi on the other hand, seems to interpret the relationship in a very different way. He seems to have grown fond of you and naively believed that love between the two of you is real. You never put a single thought or effort into the relationship with Yoongi, not wanting to mislead him any further but some guys just can't seem to get the message, despite the many obvious hints you've dropped. You never ask him out.

Or when he does, you would only politely decline. In school, most of the time you stick like glue to your friends and try to avoid him and his rambunctious clique at all costs. Your dear friends took empathy in you and helped you out of certain situations concerning Yoongi at times. Somehow your boyfriend's pleasant way of proving his worth was to step on the backs of people who seemed inferior to him to climb his own ladder of pride.

It was like after each time he nailed someone to the ground and kicked their guts out, Yoongi feels like he reached another level of achievement. It's sickening to the thought and you want to have nothing got to do with that narcissistic asshole. This behaviour of his begin not too long ago, a few days prior when he marked his first victim. You were puzzled, but you didn't probe. He bullies physically and mentally, using their screams and pleas to feed his ego and push himself higher up the ladder. He started torturing anyone who ticks him off or come in his way to no end, and you think you may just be next albeit being his supposed girlfriend.

The conduct only made you despise him even more. Come to the thought of it, the things you do for your parents include self-depreciation and the loss of any shame left in your skin. You can feel the anger slowly twisting in his veins, radiating off his now clenched fists. Contrary to his untamed anger building within him, his friends are slowly retreating from his side, trembling in fear at your spit of acid. You chuckled, almost despicably—both at the cowering of his tough underlings and the way he almost peed his pants at the mere fling of your index finger. He realises that you are mocking his fragility and there are a couple of muffled giggles ignited in the crowd—his temper starts to get the better of his mind as the emasculation finally dawns over him. Before he can lay a finger on you, you are already a step ahead of him—grabbing the cup of hot tea off the table and splashing the boiling liquid onto his uniform, scalding his body. You thought you had might as well went all out in punishing a rascal like him. Your friends reach for your arm, trying to hold you back from going any further in dealing with the jerk and you throw the cup onto the ground, causing it to shatter into fragments—the sound of the porcelain splitting and cracking into pieces haphazardly rings through their ears. You'd like to refer it as a clear warning to everybody witnessing the event—to simply not mess with you.

You wished to be left alone.

While he screams in agony at the possible second-degree burn, you waltz away from the commotion nonchalantly. You think that that scumbag ought to have a taste of his own medicine someday, and if no one else dare stuff it down his throat, you would more than gladly do so. You find yourself striding off—to the hidden corner behind the stalls. And there, you discovered the bloodied body of Taehyung. With a broken camera by his side. A boy like him deserved more than this, no human should ever be hurt as badly as this—especially for no reason at all but one's inability to control their emotions, and the poor decision to vent it out on others can make horrible things happen. You kneel down by his side, checking the wounds inflicted on him. Fishing out a packet of tissues you always keep in your pocket for emergencies, you wipe the blood stains off his abused skin. He's in too much pain to express his surprise at your assistance, grunting as you pressed the tissue against the wound. When the bleeding on a certain cut has stopped, you offer him the support of your arm to let him sit up straight. Taehyung holds onto your forearm and pulls himself up from the ground. He groans as he does so, his back clad with bruises and soreness.

You noticed that he was stunned into a daze, probably at the grasp of realisation that someone was actually helping him. But you ignored his feelings, just shifted your attention fully onto the fixing of his injury. You recall having a plaster tucked away in your purse and you quickly take it out as well, secretly laughing at its design—hot pink with Hello Kitty.

Taehyung doesn't miss the sound of light escaping your lips, and he himself bites down on his lip to hold back a chortle at the girlish visual of the bandaid—temporarily pushing the questions behind your intentions away. You actually felt glad you could bring a smile to his face with something like the childish print of a bandaid. Nonetheless, you peel it off and gently place it over the deep cut on his forearm as he tries to control his wincing. "Hey, it's alright. You can cry out for all you want," You smoothed the plaster flat and tight on his skin. When you lightly slap the face of the Hello Kitty to tease him, he lets out a yelp—something that sounds puzzlingly adorable coming from him. "Here, have this." You fish out a piece of candy from the other side of pocket, handing it over you the victim. The amount of surprise he shows never ceases. You let out a short laugh, "I know you're not a kid, but still..." You smile up at him. "Just take it as a form of apology for what I caused you to go through." Taehyung doesn't move a muscle, just sillily blinking at your actions. You take his hand and shove the sweet into his palm, closing his fingers around it.

For a brief moment, both your eyes meet.

There is an unexplainable exchange of thoughts running through each other's minds and it was close to feeling like the two of you shared something in common. Taehyung was ostracised in school and probably the life he had out there judging by his abstruse personality and unfathomable behaviour. He was a prisoner out here in the real world.

Freedom, but yet he can't truly express himself without being placed behind bars in the eyes of others.

You are guilty of doing so in the past, when he was nothing but a lingering, mystifying shadow that held no importance in your life. That's exactly what you did to him—judge and rule him out of the ordinary. All you feel for him is sympathy, and that isn't anywhere better than the culprits themselves if you weren't about to step out and lend him a helping hand. Regret washes over your system as his dark pupils venture into your soul.

You were not as innocent as others perceive you to be. Bystanders were the invisible strokes of support to the metal bars that locked him up. His hand, although held by you, was trying to cling onto your grasp and not wanting you to leave. You would consider yourself a lucky chap indeed, having born into this world with food and shelter, kin and kith. In fact, rather luckier than the rest to be able to own what you like and not solely what you need. Above all of the materials your parents could afford, you were trapped in incongruity of being a prisoner of your own. You didn't know what you were passionate about in life, and to live without passion is akin to being dead. You just did well in your studies because the society deems that degree certificate as a strong foundation in your job. But you truly did not know if you really enjoyed burning the midnight oil to continuously mug or if the elation of attaining a perfect score on your assessment is pure, or just for the sake of your insatiable parents. Education is key. Well definitely, to a certain extent and you have witnessed how far your own set of parents are willing to go as long as you achieved soaring colours of distinction.

Sleepless nights, wandering mind and a stagnant heart. Sometimes the urge to pretend to be ill to escape the torment of school. Sometimes the subconscious act of bringing the kitchen scissors to your wrist and slit... You want to collapse to the ground and never be able to wake up again. You wished a drunk driver would accidentally run you over and end everything for you. Then nobody would know about how tired you were of this pointless life. You were a prisoner of yourself too. With no doubt, you and Taehyung are definitely similar in many ways the world can't see. "See you...soon, I guess." A soft chuckle emits from you like that happening would be a miracle, but the expression does not reach your eyes. Your eyes that were blocked by a wall of defence to your vulnerability of an emptiness. She is broken. A whisper goes by his ear. She needs help. The raspy voice travelled to his other ear, making him shiver slightly but unnoticeably. Taehyung could feel it too but he was in no place to ask about your wellbeing. He could only stare and wonder. The eye contact was broken off, before your hand recedes from his, carefully. He catches the way a faint smile ghost on your features as quickly as it appeared. A bittersweet kind of happiness. But he doesn't say a word, even after your figure grows smaller with every step you take back to class. What you missed, is the shutter of the camera lens, floating in the air. "Hey, don't touch that!" He snatches the device back and winces at the stretch he feels in his back muscle.

"Y/N." The wooden planks beneath him cursed out loud, warning sirens of his voice turning stern. Besides his low voice and creaks of weak wood and nails, there is only a dripping sound from some leaking pipe. "What are you doing here?!" It is the second time he has raised the question to you, but you only keep silent, eyes searching the room for answers.

Why hadn't you disappeared or get eaten by some ferocious beast yet? Taehyung was only complicating your attempt of suicide. You tried to keep your head clear when you first pushed the rusty front door open, disallowing the memories to flow into your mind.

It was a blockage to all forms of happiness in your life, to prevent your pathetic self from backing out. But Taehyung, an actual human being, catching you in the act of wanting to kill yourself just shot a dose of reality into your numbing heart and racing thoughts.

"Uh..." You wet your lips.

"What about you? What are you doing here?" You turn the cameras back to him. It would not be shocking if he came here to take his life as well. Taehyung purses his lips in serious contemplation before candidly answering. "I can see ghosts," He looks down like it was something to be ashamed about.

That wasn't the case for you. You were completely taken aback by his confession but you found it extremely intriguing. "Oh—Wait what?" One thing about the revelation was that it for sure explained a lot about the way Taehyung acts. You trust his words, but you don't know how to link it to the fact that he was standing right in front of you in the living room of this damned house. Raising a brow at him, you wish for him to elaborate further. "I uh, heard r-rumours circulating around in school, that uh," He pinches his brows.

"You were going to come in here. So I kind of decided to see if it was true." You were amazed by his candidness.

"And it is." You mused.

It was heartwarming to see that someone actually bothered to risk their life to come look for you. Then again, Taehyung is a guy filled with secrets. God knows, but maybe he is the owner of this house. When his eyes capture yours for one more time, it drowned you into the whirlpool of emotions he was feeling.

Something like denial, frustration and lastly, regret. The eye contact is never broken. Like Taehyung was staring so hard at you to try and figure the different parts of you out, to evaluate every inch of you and you squirmed uncomfortably under his gaze. "Why are you looking at me like that?" You croaked out, beginning to feel very creeped out despite the tinge of softness laced in his eyes. "You—Urm, you—! Argh!" He only hesitates even more, turning into a stuttering mess. You jump back in surprise at his reaction. Lost and confused as to how to provide you with a suitable reply, he yells and pulls at his locks of hair. It was when he proceeds to fall to the ground on his knees and seemingly begin whimpering into his palms, all surprise turned into worry for the guy. You kneeled down and called out to him. "Shit—Taehyung!"

"What do you seek, young man?" "Your whole point here is to know and advice me." Taehyung bites back. "Very well. An unsolved mystery, something concerning a girl and regarding the old house just down the street." He shuffles his cards and keep them away neatly. It seemed like those tools will not be of any use to Taehyung, and he clearly understood why the man's face have fallen drastically—it isn't a simple case a few cards can crack. You were not only beautiful, you were inculcated with kindness, you held a type of pureness lost by many as they grow up, you spoke in a manner that is highly respectable and the crowfeet that form at the side of your eyes whenever you laughed too hard couldn't get any more adorable. He shifts uncomfortably on the hard wooden seat, and gulps anxiously. "Was her body found?" Taehyung doesn't know.

He doesn't know where the hell you went or what the fuck you were doing, he only knows that when his eyes flew open, he felt the cold of the night stinging on his skin and an empty space next to him. You were no longer in his arms and the next moment he is springing up from the worn out couch and beginning his search for you. He looked every nook and cranny of the house for you but to no avail. The only resort left got him sitting across a renown psychic. But even the expertise in this region seems to find this case uncrackable. "No." He tilts his head, bringing out a rock of some sort. Taehyung sees it as a mere rock but not to him apparently. "This is the Magic Stone." His fingers fidget around with the purple coloured object. He does this continuously, causing Taehyung to perk an eyebrow up at his claim. The psychic burrows into deep concentration, a conclusion forming in his head. Then, all movement ceases. "Her soul has to bring you there herself."

The medium's advice sounded strained, like it was the hardest thing to come to a conclusion like that. It's a clear excuse when he says the reason of those teardrops rolling down his cheeks are caused by the wind.

You want to reach out and pat him on the back in hopes of alleviating his pain but you quickly retract it back as the muffled sobs through his fingers grow even louder. All you could wonder at that point in time was whether something bad was happening to Taehyung. Maybe the demons in this house were taking him away first.

Maybe he is really going to die. Then, with every drop of care drained from your exhausted body, you placed your hand on his clothed back with a strong determination to do your best and ease him (into the underworld most likely) without any pain. "Are you okay?" Only for his cries to stop abruptly when he feels your hand smoothing over his back. Hastily, Taehyung removes his hands from his face and turns around to look at you. His eyes were red and swollen from all the desperate weeping, saliva of sorrow pooled in his mouth as he watches you with a kind of anguish and concern. It mirrored the look you gave him when you saw him lying on the ground, beaten up. This is where the two of you are similar.

Prisoners, but of two entirely different reasons. You drifted your gaze to his elbow and notice the striking dash of pink. The band aid still being there was what solidified the certainty that this was all real. This wasn't some kind of twisted dream. And that would only mean one thing. Because your hand did not manage to rub his back, for the paleness casting over it only sank into his body, deep into his spine—only for his body to be in one piece as you fast to recede it like you had just touched a strong flame—unable to feel anything touching your palm even when you made that physical contact with him. "Taehyung... why..." You inspect your hands carefully. Your skin was never this white. All the hairs on your forearm had disappeared as well, your whole body lacking any hint of life. It felt surreal. Like something that would only occur in dreams.

"Why can't I touch you?" Maybe if you try pinching yourself, you would wake up. Maybe this was just one of your daily nightmares from stress. It was when you started aggressively pinching the pale skin on your arms, thighs, waist—you realised you could still feel yourself. The only difference being that it was so, so cold. It was similar to touching an ice pack, frosty and nothing much else.

Cold. That's how you feel and the perplexity that hit you all at once began transforming into larges beams of anger, sadness and helplessness. You wanted to cry as loud as you could for help. "Why do I feel so cold?!" You refused to believe anything your senses were telling you. Everything your naked eyes were showing you.

Lunging forward, you run your hands all over Taehyung again and hope to actually feel something tangible.

To your dismay, your fist only goes through his heart like he was made of air—no, like you were made of air.

You were the dead one here.

"The police have searched the whole compound of the town and spread the news of the missing school girl country wide. In the past two weeks of finding the teenage girl, Y/F/N is still unable to be located. If you have come across—Zap." Taehyung clicks the button on the remote control and flings it to the other end of the couch in frustration. He ruffles through his hair, hoping for hints of you to magically pop up in his head. The thing is, the both of you had barely spoken to one another. Plus, he had a tough time speaking to the people at his-and your-school. One week. One whole week since the disappearance of your body. The police are proven to be fucking useless and incompetently unreliable, he mentally notes. He figured that the fastest method to locate you, would require him to act out on his own. The list of things that can happen to your body goes down a long scroll that even Taehyung himself is unwilling to imagine. He wants you to at least, still be in one piece when he finds you. He uses the term body, because your soul is for sure loitering somewhere in town. It can't go too far from your body, a rule he remembers by heart. So, it wouldn't be entirely impossible to detect where your corpse would be. Think, think, think! He repeats like a mantra in his bursting head. Where would you go if you were this free, lingering spirit? And then he recalls.

"You're up here again."

He pushes himself up onto his usual spot—a high wall surrounding the perimeter of the rooftop, granting anyone up here a perfect view of the school field and vast blue sky. The job of the wall is to prevent any students from falling over and have their bodies crush to pulp when they plop to the ground floor. But Taehyung doesn't play by the rules. Where is the fun in that? He often questions anything that has to do with system and order. As a person who lives by pure intuition, Taehyung brings himself to the top floor for the second time after just doing so the day before. It could be the voices whispering encouragements for him to pay upstairs a visit, or maybe it had to do with a very strong gut feeling tugging at his chest. Nonetheless, he was here.

The boy from yesterday is situated at the exact place as before. His skin was terrifyingly pale—but not translucent—and the cracking of his bones could still be heard whenever he swinged his legs. He must have just died a few days ago, Taehyung concludes. The boy doesn't acknowledge Taehyung, nor does he reply.

"What are you doing here?" Taehyung cranes his neck a little to face the boy properly—who in turn was staring at his feet with a strange amount of attention. Then upon following his line of sight, Taehyung realises how small and young the boy was—his own legs were almost twice as long as the kid's.

"My brother," He finally speaks, but only softly.

Taehyung digests his answer for a moment, before cautiously popping the second question. He knew better than to ask why the boy had died, it would probably even send the kid into a fury and then to hell, which was the last thing Taehyung wanted to happen to him. "If you don't mind me asking," He nervously grips the edge of wall.

The boy tipped his chin up slightly, intrigued by his words. His big round eyes came into view, leaving a heavy load to weigh at Taehyung's heart. His eyes, still freshly glistening and vibrant with blackness illustrated the bright and long road that awaited him in his life, only to be torn apart by whatever fatally tragic accident he was met with. It's a pity. It's a pity how some promising futures can be so easily robbed of in a blink of the eye. It is not a frequent occasion where tears pricked at Taehyung's eyes. He closes them for a second, before getting the question out. "Who is your brother?" The boy now turns to fully face him, legs still swinging regardless. His eyes looked way bigger and innocent than Taehyung had thought they would be. And it doubled the pain beneath his ribs.

It's suffering to bump into an innocent soul. He had rather someone who acted the way they deserved their death. The boy switches his stare on Taehyung now, silent while his orbs grow shinier. "I'm sorry in advance," The child looks like he was about to burst into tears. Taehyung felt the same. What was a sweet boy like him even apologetic for? "Min Yoongi." Taehyung blinks in surprise. The boy was gone. A series of giggles echoed in the stairway and without another thought, Taehyung hops down to hide himself from whoever was there. He does not recall any platform being built after the wall. He simply knows that if he falls over from such a risky position, he would die. He heaves a deep sigh of relief when the platform does not crumble into pieces under his full weight. He thinks it must be the doing of the boy. His smile is cut off when the footsteps and voices grow louder, noticeably two female students just hanging out. Unlike being rash as himself, they only prop their elbows on the wall, admiring the scene as that. Which he was grateful for, otherwise he would definitely get caught for loitering around carelessly. "Finally. Something great about this shit hole." Taehyung sticks onto the wall like a lizard, trying his best to be away from the edge. "Honestly, the perfect spot to take fresh breather," the other voice makes an appearance. "No one ever comes up here unless you want to be making a serious offence." A flock of birds crosses the sky and Taehyung secretly hopes they don't share the tiny space with him. "For peace and quiet, I'd give anything." The first voice replies. He silently nods in strong agreement. And he recognises it as yours, because of that one time you were called up to present a book review in Literature class. Your voice was distinct yet soft, you spoke with a sense of urgency to bring your point across and yet still manage to maintain your composure in your tone. He must say he’s never been this impressed by a presenter before.

And here he is, hearing the same voice again. This time, much quieter and lower compared to in class, but it leaves him beyond intrigued of the next content spilling out of your mouth. "Then, where are you going to get your dear peace and quiet after this semester?" The second girl with the higher pitched voice asks. "Hm, great question." The first girl ponders and probably stares into the horizon.

Then she replies, after the earth spins a full round. "Somewhere with sand and salt maybe." She answers seriously, after much consideration. "Can't you just say the beach? You idiot." "Whatever. Just checking if that peanut brain of yours is working." A gasp can be heard. "You better run before I catch you!" Their shoes leave heavy footsteps on the concrete and their voices gradually fade away.

Taehyung feels bad for eavesdropping onto their conversation, but it was something he couldn’t help even if he did not want to.

Speaking of which, Taehyung hasn’t thought about what he’d like to do during spring break. Maybe he’d bring some flowers and offerings for Yoongi’s brother and the others always by his side. Without being seen, that goes without saying.

They’d be over the moon to receive flowers because no one is really there for them. Or have simply forgotten about them. Taehyung wonders if anyone would bring him flowers when he passes on.

Still, Taehyung felt a seed of envy being planted inside of him, wishing that he could go to the beach or park during the season of blossoms with friends and genuinely have a good time. He has never gotten the opportunity to hang out with any normal human ever since birth. He told a friend he trusted about his ability of seeing things normal people couldn’t and the boy went about telling everybody about his confession which led to the beginning of his ostracisation

Weirdo. Freak. Those were the names he eventually got accustomed to being called as.

The seed of envy grows. The both of you are lucky enough to be discussing about where to head to for vacation, something he couldn’t do.

Lucky enough to be going on a vacation. Not everyone has that blessing.

He wish he could be like everyone else. Lead a normal life, have friends, and be wealthier. This way, he wouldn’t have to struggle so much.

For a moment, he wishes that he could replace the position and live the life of anyone else.

Like the girl who can play the violin.

Like the boy always sleeping in class.

Like the school’s janitor.

Like Yoongi.

Like you.

"Hey you! What are you doing up there?!" Someone like a security personnel yells at him from downstairs. Now, how the hell was he supposed to get back up there?

You must not be far. His feet dents the soaked sand beneath, leaving prints that queued in line to be washed up by the incoming waves. With the ends of his pants rolled up, he spins around aimlessly to search for you. It was fortunately a weekday, which allowed the beach to be emptier. And that would make the task of spotting you much easier. He strolls along the coast, patiently kindling his instincts to take him wherever you were to be. It feels almost surreal—the texture of the grainy sand rubbing against the sole of his feet, the gentle whispers of the arriving waves, the wind slicing through his thick hair, ruffling it like feathers—how peculiar it felt to realise that he is alive, being hyper aware of all five (or six) senses.

The tangibility of things would signal that he is actually a living human, but something intangible is missing in him and it makes the whole experience of being alive feel so...detached. Every part of his body felt like it didn't belong to him—it was his toes coming in contact with the sand and not him, it was his hair dancing with the wind and not him, it was his legs moving on their own accord and not Taehyung. This is what happens when you interact with supernatural beings for the whole of your life, he thinks.

"Hey watch your step!" A shout intrudes his thoughts. Taehyung pauses, retracting his feet back. The small kid carries on building her sandcastle with her companion. Watching their busy hands, Taehyung tries to figure out who exactly was the one who warned him. Regardless, he whips out his camera to take a shot of the girl building sandcastles. "Yay! It's done!" The girl pats the top of the castle and runs towards the benches shrieking in contentment, failing to withhold the excitement of breaking the news of the small achievement to her mother. The other girl however, only smiles at Taehyung and vanishes. He runs his eyes across the ground. Just below his toes, there laid a tiny baby turtle. It scurries, towards nowhere, seemingly unable to acquire the skill of waddling on the fine sand like all his other pals. A meter ahead, his friends totter in clusters towards the entrance of the sea. The poor buddy struggles hard to walk properly, let alone find the correct direction home. He suddenly grows conscious of the couple of seagulls chilling by the water. But he was too preoccupied with the aim to find you to bother about the weak creature. As he was just about to dismissively stroll away, something tells him to make a turn and save that baby animal. He should make a difference when he can. He definitely should. He could actually salvage a situation. A life that is. He jogs back faster than the predator birds could, quickly finding the turtle again and gently picked it up. The shell looked too big for its body and its two big ebony eyes popping out of its sockets gazing at Taehyung—are filled with gratitude. Or so he assumes. The creature makes some kind of fuzzy noise—of happiness—when it is put down onto the sea line to join its siblings. The rambunctious clique waddles their way into the ocean, gliding across and surging into the water, one by one, delightfully. The seagulls trots away, lunch stolen. He continues his trail. Slowly, a pier approaches. And similar to Yoongi's brother, a girl sits at the end of the wooden platform all by herself.

She radiates frozen, cold heat and as he gets closer, the temperature dives. He carefully crafts his steps towards the lone spirit, begging the planks to not creak too loudly in fears of scaring her away. With every inch he gets closer to the girl, the clouds present in the sky turns darker, accompanied with the flush of even more greyness which eventually overlays the initial coat of cyan. The familiarity of the uniform boosts the confidence in him to call out your name. "Y/N?" She stands up—indeed the girl reported missing—and Taehyung was glad it was you. The troubles fogging his mind seem to have cleared at the plain sight of you. He was relieved that he had at least found your soul. It was another thing to find your body though, and that is the main objective here. Connecting your body with your soul would be the final resort in sending you off in peace. He had a day left. Twenty four hours before you wouldn't be able to leave in peace. Before your pure soul would dissipate into a fiery pit of wrath, abandoned in the darkest abyss until you transform into a vengeful spirit. All the hatred, pain and misery would be instilled in your afterlife that is deadly inescapable. These overwhelming amount of negative emotions trapped in your soul would then leave you in this state, forever. The sight was inexplicably depressing. Just a few days ago, you were real to the touch. He could feel your fingers smoothing over the plaster on his arm. He could see the satisfaction radiating off the smile you flashed at him before, leaving. He could smell the light cherry blossom from your shampoo flowing in the air. He could hear the base of your sneakers hitting the floor as you paced your way to class. Yet now, the wood underneath wouldn't make a sound as you got up.

Your lips were chapped and your crusting skin was faded. Compare to a few days ago at the house, you looked much worse and haggard.

The corners of your mouth quivered, itching to bring forth expression but unable to do so. You couldn’t even smile. You couldn’t even cry if you wanted to.

Now you were toeing the line that crossed the real world and heaven apart.

Somehow he feels like it is partly his fault. Maybe if he had tugged onto your wrist and asked you to stay back a little longer. Maybe if he was quick enough to catch you after school. Maybe then, you wouldn't have had the chance to end your life. Caged by your fingers, was a head of pink.

"I heard that pink carnations stand for the remembrance of the dead,"

His brows furrows at your words. How is it that you were able to comfort him so easily, while he is here having a difficult time to even form words to express his grief. But he was sure that like him, you didn't crave for sympathy at all.

Maybe if he had clung onto the empty look in your eyes, thinking more than he should, stepping out of his comfort zone to care for you. Then perhaps, this situation would never take place. Then with a heaving chest, he clenches his teeth to embrace the fact that you are no longer existent in this real world. It was pointless to think about all the possibilities that could have dodged this situation.

"I hope someone remembers me."

Uncontrollably, a bead of tear seeps out and rolls down his cheek. His nostrils flare up as the sadness and realisation overtakes every cell in him that was fighting against the tide of sorrow. His heart feels like someone plunged their fist into his bare chest and ripped it out. Thrown onto the ground and stomped into pieces.

Lips quivering, Taehyung fights back the devastation and gathers the last scrapes of sensibility in his mind, using all the energy his rationality could afford—brings the camera looped around his neck up to his eyes, and snaps.

Through the lens, a pink carnation levitates above the pier, the ocean a transverse blue spread across the rectangular panel, accentuating the vibrant colour of the dainty flower.

The camera lowers, along with his head.

He was sobbing by now, all the while you gently hold the flower and stare at him with the same hollow eyes. “Why?!” He grits out between cries.

"Why..." The later one comes out in broken, incoherent snippets.

You are really not here anymore. With him.

"I'm weaker than you think," You breathed out with a faint smile following the confession. His heart clenches and twists into a tight knot, pulling at his conscience.

"And don't you worry, I will return to my body."

The fact that you were still trying your best to maintain cheery for him despite being dead twists his heart viciously. The world is too cruel to you, and to him. An angel like you deserves to seek your happiness in a better place like the skies above. The visage of you is becoming transparent, signalling your departure. Taehyung musters all that is left in him to take a step forward and press his palm softly to your face. He could not feel anything but his hand was just there, for support and consolation.

"I will remember you."

His words of affirmation sets your heart at ease. You finally understand how they would all say, that the true pain does not lie within the process of dying, but in truth lies within the witnessing of those who love and care for you, break down. After climbing out of your state of denial at your own death, you have come to terms with that fact and wish for nothing more than to end the whole suffering. It lurches at your heart seeing a guy like Taehyung who you were not even that close to, crying like he had just lost a precious belonging. Like the world had just lost a precious belonging. You hoped that people remember you. For all your hard work in this world, for all the full marks you attained, for all the certifications you achieved, for all the smiles you have bring and the band aids you have placed on others. You hope that when people think of you, it is nothing but filled with goodness. There were, no regrets to say the least.

Your body may not be in its best condition, but the accident pulled your death off pretty well. It left you with no second thoughts, no last words, just a brutal blow to your side and head. It killed you with perfection, leaving no hesitation and last words—just met with the end in a solid second. You're suddenly worried Taehyung gets into trouble again.

"If anything, I'll protect you alright?"

Taehyung chuckles unbelievably through sniffs.

"We'll meet again.”

Your final words splinters apart, the bottom half of your body already beginning to dissipate. You gradually dissolve into the thin air—the cold mist and you becoming one— and the skies clear up in no rush. The carnation drops to the wooden floor with a thud.

I will remember you.

It was a chilly night, an expected downpour to attack in about an hour. His curtains danced to the rhythm of the wind, flowing about violently. "The body of the missing school girl has been recovered after a hiker going for his morning exercise smells rotten flesh in the woods. The police suspect that the girl may have jumped off a cliff from above as an attempt of suicide." Taehyung shifts his attention back to the mac and cheese turning cold on his lap. At one point, the winds were so rough that the vase sitting on the top of his dresser wobbles in jeopardy before another ferocious blow arrives through his window and topples the glass over, onto the ground. Shattered into fragments. Water spills out and the pink carnation flows along on the liquid like a dead body in a river. He internally groans at the mess he has to clean up afterwards, but it is only for a short moment before his attention is snatched by the voice of news anchor on television once again. "However, the forensics department has confirmed with the backing of further detailed analysis of the crime scene, that there were skid marks indicated on the road at the edge of the cliff accompanied by scraps of car paint evident on the victim's clothes." The carnation on the ground blackens, curls up into a crushed stalk of wither.

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victorineb · 6 years ago

Text

A (horribly belated) birthday fic for the incomparable @devereauxsdisease in tribute to her adorable but troublesome muse. Featuring a cannibal with a crush, an elusive profiler, and a tracksuit-wearing hamster named Mads.

Also on AO3.

“Hello, Han… uh, Dr Lecter?”

“I believe first names are acceptable post-midnight, Will. Especially when I am the one rudely encroaching on you in the small hours.”

“Wee hours.”

“Hmm?”

“It’s… doesn’t matter, not important.”

“Forgive me, Will, my grasp of the English idiom slips under stress. It is ‘wee hours’ rather than ‘small hours,’ yes?”

“Uh, yes. Sorry.”

“Nonsense, I prefer to know when a mistake occurs; means I’m unlikely to make it a second time.”

“O… kay. Good. Why are you stressed?”

“Ah, of course, the reason for my call. It’s… in fact it would be easier to show you than to tell you. Could I invite you for breakfast tomorrow?”

“Yeah, I can do that. It’s not… you don’t need me now, do you? I mean, uh, it’s not urgent? I can leave the dogs for a couple of hours if you want, drive over to you.”

“That is extremely kind of you, Will, but entirely unnecessary. Tomorrow will be more than sufficient.”

“Oh. Well, ok, tomorrow then. What time?”

“Shall we say around eight? My appointments don’t start until ten. Are you engaged in teaching tomorrow?”

“Not until the afternoon.”

“Good. I shall see you in the morning then, Will.”

“Yeah. Bright and early.”

“Goodnight, Will.”

“Night, Hannibal.”

“Well…” Will stared into the box, equal parts fascinated and taken aback. “I’ve never seen anything like that. You were right about showing rather than telling.”

Hannibal’s mouth ticked with amusement before settling back into an expression of mild alarm. “Indeed. I really have no idea what to do with it.”

“It?”

Hannibal sighed. “Him, I suppose.”

“So you called me?”

“You are the expert in such things.”

“Dr Lecter, owning dogs does not qualify me to deal with all furry little creatures.” Will tapped on the glass to get the attention of its tiny inhabitant. “And definitely not hamsters dressed in miniature tracksuits.”

Together, Will and Hannibal peered at the furry little newcomer, united in bemusement. In fact, it was less a tracksuit the hamster was wearing, and more a miniature onesie in fire engine red. The three tiny, hand-stitched stripes on each arm marked it out fairly obviously as sportswear, though, and as Will squinted, he was pretty sure he could see a teeny but perfectly-formed Adidas logo. Whoever had supplied the little guy with his wardrobe had clearly been a) a talented tailor, and b) completely insane.

“Well, I suppose it was a long shot,” Hannibal sighed, straightening up. “I can’t help but wonder what I will do now, though. You were my only hope, Will.”

Will scrubbed at the back of his neck and gave a huff of laughter, hoping that the heat he could feel rising beneath his hand wouldn’t make it all the way to his cheeks. “I- uh, I was?”

“My social circle is rather lacking in ‘animal people.’” Will could hear the quotation marks around the last two words and wondered if the dig was at Hannibal’s friends, or just the concept of people who liked animals.

“Alana likes animals, she’s good with my dogs,” he pointed out.

“True, but I happen to know Alana has a phobia of small, furry creatures. Something about ‘dead shark eyes and creepy pink feet,’ if I recall correctly.” Hannibal’s smile was fond and amused, and Will felt a sharp little tug inside himself. He forgot sometimes that Hannibal and Alana were so close, that they had a relationship that preceded his own with either of them.

“And my own experience with pets was decades ago, in my childhood,” Hannibal added, as though it was an afterthought.

For the first time since he set eyes on the Doctor’s new housemate, Will’s full attention was on Hannibal. In fact, he was pretty much failing not to stare, his jaw dropping a little, to Hannibal’s clear amusement.

“You’re surprised I could care for another living being?”

“No, that’s – Hannibal, no, of course not. I just never took you for a… what did you call it? An ‘animal person.’” Will grinned. “Can’t quite imagine you allowing hair all over your suits, or muddy footprints on your floors.”

Hannibal gave a little huff of amusement. “I suppose that is well-deserved, not to mention true. But there were others to worry about such things when I was young.”

Will was faintly aware that there were shadows lurking in Hannibal’s childhood that he didn’t necessarily want to raise during a friendly breakfast. But the image of little lord – little Count – Hannibal surrounded by a menagerie of exotic animals was irresistible; he had to hear more.

“What did you have? Peacocks? Horses? A herd of elephants?”

“I believe you have me confused with another Hannibal.”

Will grinned, always pleased when Hannibal got his jokes.

“In fact, we had several dogs,” Hannibal continued. “I couldn’t tell you the breed, now, but I recall them being enormous things. Officially meant to be guard dogs but really no more than very spoiled floor pillows that occasionally needed to be walked. They were very well-behaved and affectionate with my sister; I would remember them fondly for that alone.”

Will nodded, wondering dimly if he could bring Abigail to meet his dogs. Perhaps Hannibal could be there too, just the three of them tucked away in Wolf Trap, maybe for a whole weekend if the care home would allow it.

“I have a confession, though,” Hannibal said, his tone lightening into something playful.

“Oh?” Will followed his lead, allowing an insouciant raise of an eyebrow, and dispelling his thoughts about where everyone would sleep in his little house.

“Yes. I’m afraid that, fond of the dogs as I was…” Hannibal tailed off, theatrically drawing out the tension, “…I am more of a cat person.”

“No!” Will exclaimed, mock-wounded, clutching at his chest in a pretence of shock.

“I had hoped to spare you this blow, but I cannot betray the memory of the barn cat who was my best friend as a boy.”

Will could just imagine it, a young, fair Hannibal lying on his back in the warmth of the sun, a book propped against his raised legs and the cat sleeping curled up on his chest. Will felt that same warmth in his chest and he wished a little that he could meet that version of Hannibal, before tragedy had entered his life. He wished he could have known that boy when he was a boy himself.

“And did it have a name, this cat?” he asked, wanting to draw out the story a moment longer.

Hannibal blinked. “Of course. It was called Cat.”

Will couldn’t hold back a snort of laughter. “I should have expected that.”

Hannibal gave him one of those little knowing smiles that alternately endeared and terrified Will, depending on the subject matter. This, fortunately, was one of the not-terrifying versions and Will responded with a smile of his own, before looking back at the hamster, who was currently exploring one of the farther corners of his cage. Farther being the operative word – the thing was, frankly, enormous, split over several levels and fitted with what Will rather suspected was more furniture than he owned himself. There was even, he realised, looking through a luridly pink plastic tube, a hamster-sized hammock suspended from the bars.

It didn’t exactly fit in with Hannibal’s aesthetic. It did look pretty comfy though.

“Ok, look,” Will said, “I really don’t know anything more about hamsters than you, but I’ve probably got more experience in finding pet advice, given that Google hadn’t been invented when you and Cat were hanging out. So why don’t I do some research today, and I’ll come back over tonight and help get the little guy settled?”

“I would appreciate that very much, Will, thank you. Not least because of the chance to see you twice in one day.” He gave Will a look of such open pleasure at the prospect that he had to drop his eyes away to cope with it. He never knew what to do with Hannibal’s displays of friendship – which was bad enough when he was in one of his fancy suits, but now he was standing in his living room, all soft hair and immaculate robe and it was… causing a confusing reaction Will didn’t want to examine too closely. He diverted.

“By the way, what’s his name? Please don’t tell me he’s called Hamster.”

Hannibal smiled. He was doing a lot of that this morning. “Mads,” he said.

“Mass? As in weight? He’s called Fat the Hamster?”

The hamster in question glared at Will as if insulted.

“I don’t believe he appreciated that, Will,” Hannibal scolded, much to Will’s amusement. Defending his pack of one already, it seemed; Will would make an ‘animal person’ out of Dr Lecter yet. “In fact his former owner was of Danish extraction and Mads – spelled M-A-D-S – is a popular name there.”

“A psychiatrist with a hamster named Mads.” Will took care to pronounce it as it was spelled. “How appropriate.”

It was just after six when Hannibal put the phone down, murder – not, to be fair, unusually – on his mind. He did not have any current plans to transform Jack Crawford from dinner guest to entrée, but if the man continued to monopolise Will’s time with cases he should have been perfectly able to solve himself, well… he was sure he could find room in his freezer should the need arise.

“It should only be an overnighter, I’m hoping,” Will had said, apology coating every syllable. “Sounds pretty straightforward, I think Jack just likes using me to freak out the locals. Will you and Mads be ok for the night?”

Hannibal had assured him that they would be perfectly fine, that he had been left several days’ worth of supplies and basic instructions on food and hygiene when the little interloper had been dropped off. That had been over an hour ago, though, and he was now wondering if perhaps this entire scheme was a sign that he had taken leave of his senses. He was quite used, of course, to receiving bequests from patients, but they generally took the form of a generous lump sum, or perhaps a tasteful antique or piece of art. Why on earth Mrs Mikkelsen had chosen him, of all people, to become guardian of her beloved hamster, he could not fathom. Indeed, his first thought had been to quietly dispatch the little pest and claim the stress of changing homes had destroyed its fragile body. It had quickly occurred to him, however, that this might be a useful in with the still-elusive Will.

And it had worked so beautifully, up until Jack’s untimely interference. Hannibal hadn’t failed to notice the flush of Will’s cheeks with every compliment bestowed, nor the softening of Will’s eyes during his tale of a childhood surrounded by animals. He hadn’t thought of that cat in decades but he sent its memory silent thanks now, before locking the past securely back in his mind where it belonged. As for Will, his absence was frustrating but hardly a killer blow. He would surely return full of apologies and eagerness to help Hannibal with his predicament, which could easily be parlayed into more time spent in Hannibal’s presence, into visits that would extend into dinner, perhaps into nights spent in a guest room. And then, inevitably – Hannibal would make sure of its inevitability – nights spent in his own bed as he introduced his lovely Will to pleasures he had never before experienced.

In which case, Hannibal considered, it would behove him to make an effort with the rodent, that he might further Will’s growing image of him as a fellow animal-lover. He had placed its cage in his private sitting room, thinking that Will would object if he housed the rodent in his laundry and enjoying the idea of Will in one of the parts of the house where visitors were not normally allowed. He went there now, following a quick diversion to his study to collect paper and pencils with which to occupy himself while observing the creature’s behaviour. Later, of course, he would have to resign himself to clearing out its waste and providing it with sustenance, but he had dealt with far fouler things for far less noble causes.

Truly, if Will Graham ever realised the things Hannibal would do for him, one of them would be in very grave danger indeed. What worried Hannibal was, he wasn’t entirely sure which of them it would be…

Stepping into the sitting room, he set his drawing equipment on an armchair and crossed to the far side of the room, where he had placed the hamster cage on an occasional table.

“I suspect this will not be a long-term arrangement for either of us,” he said, leaning down slightly to address his companion, “but if you remain quiet and unobtrusive, I will ensure your stay is a pleasant one.” The hamster, who had turned at the sound of Hannibal’s voice, regarded him from behind its twitching nose and then promptly dove into its large pile of bedding, disappearing from view. “Very good instincts,” he murmured approvingly, before returning to his armchair and propping his sketchbook up against his crossed leg. He had plans for an attempt at capturing the expression on Will’s face during his earlier tale of feline friendship and wanted to get the preliminary sketches down while the image was still fresh in his mind.

Half an hour later, Hannibal sighed and placed the drawing to one side. Will was certainly a beautiful subject but also a remarkably challenging one, defying all standard knowledge about symmetrical faces being the most pleasing. His face was a jumble of mismatched features, a crooked nose and ears that were… generous, to put it mildly, all of which somehow came together to form a visage that would have made the old masters weep for joy and was currently causing Hannibal to come very close to snapping all his pencils in frustration. Perhaps a rear view would prove more productive.

Taking up a fresh sheet of paper, he attempted to conjure an image of Will’s derriere from the prodigious selection stored in his memory. His efforts were interrupted, though, by an odd chugging, clacking sound that put Hannibal strangely in mind of the kind of miniature train sets that children no longer had any appreciation for. It was, of course, coming from the hamster cage.

Hannibal rose from his seat, primarily in order to investigate the source of the noise, though possibly also in order to smother the little beast in its own bedding, he hadn’t quite decided yet. Subjecting the cage to the kind of stare that would make a rodent like Franklyn Froideveaux quiver in fear, Hannibal found that the noise was being created by the hamster’s furious running pace in its little plastic wheel.

“Is that entirely necessary?” he asked the creature, and then was forced into a moment of self-reflection as he realised he’d unthinkingly addressed it as if expecting an answer. That was behaviour verging on eccentric, which would have been quite fine had anyone been around to witness such a display. However, since it was only Hannibal and the rodent, he briefly considered whether he was becoming addled by his pursuit of a pretty boy, as though he were a teenager with a crush. Then again, no doubt Will spoke to his pack as he went about his day, informing them of the latest murder he was wrapping his delicious brain around or perhaps recounting his sessions with his dear new friend Dr Lecter. Perhaps this was an impulse he should indulge, so that he might convincingly repeat the act in Will’s presence…

He glanced back at the enthusiastically spinning hamster. The speed the thing had built up was, he had to admit, impressive, and Hannibal could appreciate the evolutionary efficiency of disguising raw physical power beneath a deceptively soft exterior. “Perhaps I will not kill you today, little Mads, not after such an impressive display of athleticism.” The hamster seemed to take his reprieve in stride, continuing to plough his infinite furrow with determination.

Feeling unaccountably buoyed by this little encounter, Hannibal returned to his chair, deciding to have one more stab at pinning his elusive muse down on the page before giving it up and starting in on dinner preparations. In the background, Mads continued to clack away in his wheel and Hannibal found himself tuning into the sound, letting it bleed into his mind like white noise as he sketched out a few foundational lines of Will’s fundament.

The next time Hannibal looked up, it was with a start that he realised the room had gone dark around him, the only light coming from the lamp angled over his work. He had experienced no sense of time passing, all his focus on keeping up with the suddenly steady stream of ideas fighting their way to the front of his mind. Piles of sketches surrounded him, so many that a good number had cascaded onto the floor, fanning themselves out like a halo around Hannibal’s chair. And from every one, Will’s wide eyes stared up at him, caught in every variety of emotion, from innocent suffering to wicked lust.

What, Hannibal wondered distantly, could have caused such a rush of inspiration in him? He looked up, a suspicion suddenly forming in his mind, to see that he was being watched from across the room. The hamster was standing quietly behind the glass of its cage, up on its hind legs, front paws folded neatly against its chest, black eyes glinting in the darkness. Hannibal rose from his chair as if pulled by a string, eyes never leaving the cage until he was standing directly in front of it.

“Hello, Mads.”

The hamster made a chirruping noise that, were Hannibal more given to flights of fancy, might have sounded a little like, “Hello, Dr Lecter.”

They gazed at each other for a few moments, Hannibal ignoring the creeping sensation that he looked rather foolish, apparently communing with a sportswear-clad rodent.

“I believe an experiment is in order,” he said, eventually, exiting the room with a thoughtful expression on his face. A moment later he returned, wheeling a drinks trolley in front of him, onto which he carefully placed the hamster house.

“Come, young Mads, we shall see if your helpful influence extends to musical composition.”

Hannibal didn’t startle awake, his reflexes were far too well trained to allow for that. He did, however, need a moment to take stock of his situation after raising his head from his desk. He had never, not even during the frenetic days of medical school, fallen asleep unintentionally and yet now he found himself roused from a sound slumber on top of another pile of drawings. Roused by…

Belatedly realising that it had been a knock at his door that brought him back to consciousness, Hannibal rose from his seat, peeled off the sketch that had attached itself to his cheek, and hurried to the front door, throwing it open with uncharacteristic haste. As he had suspected, the figure of the only person who would knock on his door unannounced at five thirty in the morning – possibly other than Jack Crawford and he would simply have continued knocking until the door was answered or pounded into sawdust – was halfway down his drive.

“Will!”

Startling slightly, Will turned back to Hannibal with a sheepish smile on his face. Which quickly twisted into an expression of apology as his eyes raked over Hannibal’s dishevelled state.

“I, um, I just got in – that is, the plane just got in and I didn’t want to leave you in the lurch with Mads, so I came here first and then I realised when I knocked what time it was and I figured you would still be asleep…” He trailed off from this rambling explanation and looked Hannibal up and down again before continuing, “…which, I guess you were from…” He raised a hand to his hair and made a series of swooping motions which Hannibal guessed were intended to convey that his own hair was not in its usual state of slicked-back neatness. He reached up to it and attempted to pat it back into something less eccentric, which caused Will to groan miserably.

“I didn’t mean it looked bad, it looks… I mean, I like it when it’s soft like that but-” He cut himself off abruptly, shoulders slumping in defeat. “I’m gonna go before I humiliate myself any further. I’ll just call the cab company,” he said, fumbling in his pockets for his phone.

Hannibal, only barely resisting the urge to grab Will and kiss the awkwardness out of him, instead reached out and put a gentle hand on his arm. “Will,” he said, firmly, “I am very happy to see you.”

Will’s frantic motions stilled and he turned a shy but radiant smile on Hannibal. “You are?”

“I am,” Hannibal told him, attempting to convey utter joy in a way that would not scare Will off with its intensity. “And I am certain Mads will be too. Why don’t you come in and say hello?”

Will’s smile grew at the invitation and though he hesitated a moment when Hannibal offered his arm, he took it without comment and allowed himself to be led into the house, where Hannibal steered him towards the study he had been sleeping in when Will knocked. He pointed out the hamster house, situated in front of the desk on its new rolling transport, and excused himself to make some clearly much-needed coffee for both of them.

When he returned, it was to find Will crouched in front of the little house, speaking in a low tone to Mads, who had taken up his apparently preferred position for conversation, nose practically pressed up to the glass, regarding his visitor with charged intensity. Stopping in the doorway, Hannibal tuned into Will’s soft speech, picking up what he was confiding in his new friend.

“You’ve landed on your paws here, really. He can seem pretty scary, Dr Lecter, but so long as you behave yourself, he probably won’t eat you.”

Hannibal raised an eyebrow. That was verging on suspicious.

“And if you manage to convince him to like you, well,” Will continued, his tone conspiratorial, “it’s amazing just what you can get away with.” Still crouching, Will turned his head and positively grinned at Hannibal. “Isn’t that right, Doctor?”

Hannibal regarded Will thoughtfully, his face placid as his mind briskly sorted through possible courses of action. Presently, having discarded the more fatal options, he set down both cups of coffee and came to stand by Will, who rose to meet him.

“Indeed,” he said, curling his hand into Will’s and finding no resistance, “once a person has won my affection, I’m afraid I’ll let them away with murder.”

Will looked, for just a moment, as if he were reconsidering all his life choices and Hannibal wondered if perhaps he’d misjudged the situation. He was quickly reassured, though, by the way Will squeezed his hand and stepped in close to him, a tilt to his chin that seemed to call out for Hannibal to kiss him…

…Which he absolutely would have done had Mads not chosen that precise moment to fall while trying to get into his hammock and make an almighty racket while righting himself.

Hannibal glared at him. “Your buffoonery is ill-timed, young man.”

Will sucked in a mock-dismayed breath. “Damn, maybe I overestimated that whole affection thing.”

Hannibal turned back to him with an indulgent smile. “In fact, no. Mads and I have formed an unexpected bond in your absence.”

“You… really?”

“Yes. Strange as it may sound, his presence appears to have had rather a positive effect on my creative output. Something about the rhythmic sound of his wheel, I suspect…”

“Oh, so that explains this sorta scary pile of drawings, then?” Will asked, drifting over to the desk to take a look at Hannibal’s work.

All of which, somewhat unfortunately, featured Will himself as the subject.

“Will, it might be better if you didn’t…” Hannibal said, attempting to put himself between the real Will and his charcoal avatars.

Too late.

“Oh… these are… these are all…” Will trailed off as his cheeks flushed bright red and he very deliberately didn’t look at Hannibal.

“I must apologise, Will, I realise this is a gross infringement of your privacy-” Hannibal stopped as Will held up a hand to cut him off. He could do nothing but watch as Will continued to leaf through the drawings, his eyes growing large and round as he took in each new image. At one point he seemed to choke a little; Hannibal imagined this was because he’d got to the sequence in which Will had a faceless (though, if Hannibal were honest, still fairly recognisable) male partner tied to a chair and was alternately riding his cock and wielding a rather extravagantly braided crop.

“Is this…” Will had to clear his throat before continuing, such was the roughness of his voice. “Is this really how you see me?”

Hannibal decided there really was no point in holding back. “It is an image I have entertained with some pleasure, yes. But were I to spend the rest of my life doing nothing but drawing you, Will, I could not hope to capture all that I see in you, nor a fraction of your beauty even in the most mundane of circumstances.”

This was met with a slight bulging of Will’s eyes as his brows attempted to rocket off his face, but no words. Instead, Hannibal watched, transfixed, as Will shuffled the offending drawings to the back of the pile and then riffled amongst the pages as if looking for something. Finally, he pulled out a single drawing, strode over to Hannibal and thrust the page against his chest.

“Let’s start with this. I think I’ll need to work on my horsemanship before attempting the more advanced stuff.”

Hannibal, too full with a sudden rush of hope to look away from Will in case he vanished, let the drawing flutter to the floor without even glancing at it. “In this, I shall be led by you, dearest Will. That you would allow my touch at all-”

“Oh, good grief, you really are way too fancy for me,” Will interrupted, though he immediately contradicted this statement by pulling Hannibal in by his lapels and kissing any further declarations of devotion out of him.

Some time later, having moved to Hannibal’s sofa and figuring out that it could hold two fully-grown men surprisingly easily and without creaking even slightly, Will propped himself up on his elbow and gazed down at Hannibal thoughtfully.

“About this burst of productivity your furry little muse inspired in you…” he said.

“Yes, darling?” Hannibal responded distractedly, somewhat preoccupied with deciding which side of Will’s neck he’d like to bestow a mark on first.

“Was it just the drawings?”

Hannibal raised his head but failed to quite look directly at Will’s amused expression.

“Hannibal?”

“There may have been a sonnet. Or two. And the opening bars of a composition.”

“Only the opening bars, huh?”

“Well, he had a nap at one point.”

“He looks a little out of sorts, don’t you think?”

“I believe he may be lonely. I have been rather… distracted, of late.”

“Are you claiming that I’ve usurped his place in your attentions with my hot body?”

“Yes.”

“Fair enough.” Will pressed said body back against Hannibal, who had just wrapped his arms around Will from behind. They both peered at Mads the hamster, who was curled up dejectedly in the corner of his house, his back – somewhat pointedly, it seemed – turned away from his audience. He was clad today in a tracksuit the colour of a pumpkin, the luridly cheerful shade in complete opposition to his demeanour. (Hannibal had made an attempt to introduce Mads to the joys of tailoring, having enlisted his somewhat bemused tailor to create a selection of miniature suits, but thus far the hamster’s response to each sartorial experiment had been to tear the offending article off and proceed to shred it and add it to his bedding.)

“Maybe he needs some companionship of the furry kind,” Will suggested.

“You are suggesting a second pet?”

“You want Mads to be happy, don’t you?”

Hannibal considered this. He owed the little creature a debt, it was true, not only for bringing him and Will together, but also because he had finally finished that composition that had been bothering him for years the other day. And two hamsters could hardly be much more of a nuisance than one, after all.

“All right, I agree to your proposal. On one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“Well, with a second housemate to take care of, I believe I will be in need of your excellent advice on a more regular basis. I will find a new companion for Mads, if you agree to spend the night here at least three times a week.”

“Damn, Hannibal, you might as well ask me to move in.”

“Well, as you have mentioned it, I would be delighted to share my home with you.”

“I… Hannibal, I…” Will stopped and took a long, assessing look at Hannibal, followed by an almost comedically deep breath. “…would have to bring the dogs.”

And that was how Hannibal came to share his home with one empath, seven dogs, and two hamsters. And also how Hannibal quickly decided they all needed to move to a rather bigger house in the country.

Epilogue:

“Would you like the honour of naming him, my love?”

“Really? Ok, um… how about… Hugh?”

They both looked down at the newly arrived hamster, still in his travel box, waiting to be introduced to his new housemate. It looked back at them, blinked and gave a small squeak, then went back to grooming its paws.

“I think he approves,” Will said.

“Winston, Buster, Hugh. You seem to have a predilection for giving your animals names that might better be suited to upper-class English gentlemen,” Hannibal mused.

“What can I say, I like posh foreign men,” Will grinned, groping Hannibal’s ass to underline the point.

“Hmm, I’m not sure I appreciate the implication that I am one of your pets,” Hannibal said, leaning into Will’s touch regardless.

Will leaned in and bit at the lobe of Hannibal’s ear, before breathing, “You sure about that?”

Hannibal shuddered despite himself and made a note to explore this avenue more thoroughly later. “If you continue to behave in this fashion, poor Hugh will be trapped in that inadequately sized box until tomorrow.”

Will relented, as Hannibal knew he would – Will might be many things, but a man who would put his own pleasure before the wellbeing of an animal was certainly not one of them. He detached himself from Hannibal’s back and retrieved the newly-christened Hugh from his box while Hannibal opened up the hamster house so Will could gently place Hugh inside.

They watched, tense with the knowledge that hamsters often did not get on well with each other, and that this could all go disastrously wrong. For a moment or two, Mads and Hugh did nothing but stare at one another, the strangely bright blue rings in Hugh’s eyes seeming to flash as they did so. And then, with a tiny chirrup from both animals, they scurried towards each other and began scenting intently.

Both Will and Hannibal held their breath. This was the moment of truth.

The hamsters scented each other for rather longer than seemed entirely necessary, and then suddenly Mads scurried off, followed closely by Hugh, towards his bedding. The two of them plunged into the depths of wood pulp and soon the sound of happy scrabbling could be heard as Hugh and Mads burrowed through their bedroom together.

Will and Hannibal let out relieved sighs.

“That seems to have gone well,” Hannibal remarked.

“Yeah, it did. In fact, I thought Mads looked like a hamster in love.”

“Given the way Hugh followed him into bed, I think it might be mutual.”

“Can’t blame them, really.”

“Terribly handsome fellows, both of them.”

Will shot Hannibal a conspiratorial glance. “Maybe we should give them some privacy?”

Hannibal tilted his head, considering. “I do have some laundry that requires folding.”

Will hummed in agreement. “Sounds good. Unless, of course, you can think of something else that would be fun to fold…”

The two hamsters re-emerged just in time to see Hannibal giving chase after a giggling Will.

Are they always like that? Hugh squeaked.

Ja, they’re horny bastards, responded Mads, wrinkling his nose. Sometimes they don’t even make it out from the kitchen. Humans, he added, with something that might have been a shrug in hamster.

Strange creatures, Hugh agreed. Mind if I have a go in your wheel?

Our wheel, wee man.

Hugh regarded Mads from beneath surprisingly long eyelashes. Our wheel, right.

Mads sidled a little closer to his new housemate. Could always give it a spin together, if you fancied it.

One wheel, two riders? Hugh’s head twitched to the side. That’s a pretty unorthodox suggestion.

I’m a pretty unorthodox hamster, kaere.

Oh yeah? Hugh considered his companion. Prove it.

A moment later, Hugh took off towards the wheel, squeaking happily, as Mads scampered after him in delighted pursuit. And soon, the only sounds that could be heard were that of bouncing bedsprings and a frantically spinning hamster wheel, all of the house’s inhabitants enthusiastically exploring the joys of cohabitation.

#hannibal #hannigram #hannibal fic #hannigram fic #madancy #i mean technically #but they're both hamsters so...#hamster!mads #hamster!hugh #my fic #mads mikkelsen #hugh dancy

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