#Chapter Two: Gluttony

[luc1ferian]

DELTARUNE. DELTRARUNE'S OUT. I..WHY AM I DRAWING PARALLELS BETWEEN SMG4 AND DELTARUNE OF ALL THINGS SOMEBODY SAVE ME

[kwilquib]

Promised 9

chapter - 0

Fromis_9 x Male reader

Word Count: 4.5k+

Chapters: One | Two | Three

a/n: This is just set up of the story, no smut in this chapter. but this chapter is important, for the story.

The classroom buzzed with the faint whispers of students exchanging notes and furtive glances at their phones. You sat slouched at the back, staring blankly at your open notebook, the pages still pristine except for a single doodle in the corner: a coffee cup. You idly tapped your pen against the desk, your thoughts drifting far from the lecture.

“Mr. Kang Junho!”

The sharp voice of your Professor Min snapped You back to reality. The room fell silent, and all eyes turned toward you. You straightened, blinking rapidly as the professor leveled a stern gaze at you from the podium.

“Care to join us in this riveting discussion, or are you busy solving life’s great mysteries back there?” Professor Min’s voice was tinged with sarcasm.

“Uh, no, sir. I mean, yes, I’m listening,” You stammered, scratching the back of your neck. A few chuckles rippled through the classroom.

Satisfied, the professor adjusted his glasses and continued, pacing slowly across the front of the room. “As I was saying, today’s topic is about myths and their reflection of humanity. Take, for instance, the legend of the Promised Nine.”

The room quieted, the students now leaning in slightly. Professor Min always had a way of making even the dullest of topics sound compelling.

“Long ago, during a time when humanity was steeped in chaos, war, and unrelenting greed, there was a king—a wise man, yet weary of the barbarism that plagued his people. No matter how many treaties he signed or how many battles he fought, peace was fleeting. He despaired, knowing that humanity’s greatest enemy was not the sword but the emotions that drove men to wield it: pride, envy, wrath, greed, gluttony, sloth, lust, apathy, deceit…”

Junho’s attention perked up. There was something strangely familiar about the words, though you couldn’t place why.

“So the king, in his desperation, climbed the tallest mountain in the land to plead with the deity who ruled the heavens. He begged for salvation, not for himself, but for humanity. The deity listened, moved by the king’s earnestness. But salvation comes with a cost.”

Professor Min paused dramatically, glancing at his captivated audience. “A promise was made—a sacred pact between the king and the deity. Aid would be sent to humanity, not as armies or riches, but as nine beings, each representing the most volatile of human emotions. Their purpose? To keep the balance of these forces, preventing anyone from consuming the world.”

He walked over to the whiteboard and wrote the words The Promised Nine in bold letters.

“But there was a catch,” he continued. “The deity warned the king that these emotions, though tempered, could never truly be eradicated. The Promised Nine would struggle with the very forces they were meant to contain. And should even one of them fall to the temptation of their burden…”

Professor Min trailed off, his gaze sweeping the room.

“What would happen?” a student near the front blurted, unable to resist.

“Should one of the Nine succumb, their emotion would consume them entirely, turning them into a force of destruction. And that destruction could spread unchecked, tipping the scales and plunging the world into chaos once more. To prevent this, the Deity decreed that the Nine would be connected to a chosen mortal—an anchor. This anchor would serve as their confidant, grounding them when the weight of their burden became too great to bear.”

He turned back to the whiteboard, writing in large, bold letters: The Promised Nine.

“The anchor is as important as the Nine themselves,” he said. “Without them, the balance could not be maintained. The king agreed to the Diety’s terms, knowing full well the cost. And thus, the Promised Nine came into being.”

Professor Min stepped back from the board, his expression somber. “But the Diety’s warning still lingers in the echoes of time: no balance lasts forever. The story of the Promised Nine reminds us that humanity’s greatest strength—and its greatest threat—lies within ourselves.”

The shrill ring of the bell echoed through the room, breaking the spell. Students began packing their bags, the hum of chatter returning.

“Read chapters six through eight for next week!” Professor Min called over the noise.

You gathered your things slowly, the tale still turning over in your mind. As you slung your bag over your shoulder and made your way to the door, you muttered to yourself, “Promised Nine, huh? Sounds like something out of a fantasy novel.”

—

You exit the lecture hall, slipping into the stream of students flowing out into the bustling campus courtyard. The sun dips low in the sky, casting long shadows and a warm orange glow over everything. You glance at your watch—just enough time to get to your part-time job.

The café isn’t far, a cozy little spot just outside the university gates. Its charming wooden sign, Golden Brew, sways slightly in the breeze. The place is always busy, a favorite among students and faculty alike. But there’s one reason it stands out from the dozens of other coffee shops around: its owner, Gyuri.

You push through the door, greeted by the familiar hum of chatter, clinking cups, and the hiss of the espresso machine. The café smells like roasted beans and freshly baked pastries—a comforting combination that feels like a second home.

“Junho, you’re late!”

The voice is soft yet commanding, and you immediately straighten, turning to the counter. There she is—Gyuri, the radiant owner of Golden Brew. Her beauty is the kind that leaves people momentarily breathless. stood effortlessly graceful in her casual white t-shirt and mint-green cap, her gentle features framed by stray strands of hair and a gaze as warm as the morning sun

“I-I’m sorry, Ms. Gyuri,” you stammer, bowing slightly as you head toward the staff room to put your bag away.

“It’s fine, just don’t make a habit of it, okay?” she replies, her voice as warm as the golden light streaming through the café windows.

“Yes, of course!” you reply quickly, though you can’t shake the sense of unease you always feel around her.

It’s not fear, exactly. Gyuri is unfailingly warm and generous. She treats her staff like family, remembers the names of regulars, and always has a smile for everyone who walks through the door. Still, you find yourself hyper-aware of her moods, as though disappointing her might lead to something far worse than a lecture.

When you emerge from the staff room in your apron, Gyuri is already behind the counter, expertly steaming milk for a cappuccino. “Can you handle table seven’s order? They’ve been waiting a bit.”

You grab the tray, carefully balancing two lattes and a slice of cheesecake, weaving your way through the maze of tables. It’s almost automatic at this point—sidestepping bags, dodging half-turned chairs—but when you reach the corner table, you stop.

She’s there.

Seoyeon.

She’s a regular, not a student or faculty, just... always here. You’ve seen her enough times to notice the details: the dark circles under her eyes, natural and striking, framing her otherwise delicate features. She’s beautiful in a way that sneaks up on you—her sleepy, almost lazy demeanor masks something deeper.

She’s hunched over her laptop, typing slowly, as if testing each word before committing to it. The oversized navy shirt drapes over her frame, and her hair carelessly tied, some falls messily around her face. You set the tray down gently, not wanting to disturb whatever she’s working on.

“Thanks,” she mutters without looking up, her voice soft, almost as if she’s halfway to falling asleep.

You nod, even though she doesn’t see it, and glance at her screen. It’s filled with text—lines upon lines of words you can’t make sense of from this angle. Stories, maybe? Essays? You don’t know, and it’s not your place to ask.

As you turn to leave, she stretches, her movements slow and languid, like she has all the time in the world. For a moment, you wonder what keeps her coming back here, day after day, to sit in that same spot, typing away.

But you shake the thought off. You’ve got other tables to serve.

.You make your way back behind the counter, tray in hand. It’s a small relief to retreat to this spot, even if only for a few moments. Manning the cashier is easier—less weaving between tables, fewer chances to trip or spill something. The register beeps softly as you organize receipts and prepare for the next wave of customers.

The door opens, and the atmosphere in the café shifts. It’s subtle, like a faint breeze stirring through a room, but you notice it immediately. Heads turn—students and faculty alike—and conversations falter as if someone hit pause.

You glance up and freeze.

Jiheon.

Her name is spoken in hushed tones across campus, her presence both admired and untouchable. She moves with an effortless grace that feels out of place in the mundane setting of the café, her bright smile commanding attention without even trying. But it’s her eyes that hold you—the way they curve into crescent moons with a hint of something sharper, more mischievous, just beneath the surface.

To your utter disbelief, she walks directly to the counter. Your counter.

“Hi there,” she says, her voice smooth and casual, like she’s greeting an old friend. Her gaze locks onto yours, and her smile widens slightly. “You’re Junho, right?”

You blink, caught so off guard that you almost drop the pen in your hand. “Uh… yeah?” Your answer comes out as more of a question than a confirmation.

Her smile grows, as if your awkwardness amuses her. “Thought so. I’m Jiheon.” She leans in just slightly, resting one hand on the counter. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Your wariness kicks in. Jiheon—the Jiheon—is talking to you? Asking for your name? It feels like the kind of thing that only happens to other people. Your eyes flick briefly to Gyuri at the other end of the counter. She’s busy steaming milk, not even sparing a glance in Jiheon’s direction.

“Nice to meet you,” you manage, your voice steadier this time, though your thoughts are racing. “Uh, caramel macchiato?” You blurt the question out more out of instinct than anything else.

Her laugh is light, lilting, but there’s something playful in it, like she’s already decided you’re her new source of entertainment. “Hmm. Good guess,” she teases, tapping a finger against the counter. “Sure, I’ll have that. But I’m impressed you remembered. I didn’t think I was that predictable.”

You feel your face heat up, fumbling to punch her order into the register. “It’s not that, I just—uh—” You stop, realizing anything you say will just dig you deeper.

She watches you, clearly enjoying the way you stumble over your words. “Relax, Junho,” she says, her tone soft but undeniably amused. “I’m just messing with you.”

Handing her the receipt, you attempt a smile. “Coming right up.”

Instead of moving to find a seat, she lingers by the counter, her eyes drifting lazily around the café before landing back on you. “Nice place. Gyuri’s done a great job here, hasn’t she?”

Your gaze flicks to Gyuri again. Still busy. Still not looking this way. “Yeah, she has,” you reply, keeping your voice neutral.

Jiheon tilts her head, her smile still firmly in place. “You two seem close,” she muses, her tone light but probing. “Gyuri’s lucky to have someone like you helping her out.”

The way she says it makes you feel like she’s toying with you, testing your reaction. “I just do what I can,” you say cautiously.

Her eyes light up, as if you’ve said something particularly amusing. “I bet you do.” She straightens up and takes a step back. “Well, Junho, it’s been… enlightening.” Her smile takes on an almost cat-like quality. “Thanks for the drink. I’ll be around.”

As she walks away to find a seat, the tension in your shoulders eases, but her presence lingers like a shadow. You glance at Gyuri one last time, hoping for some kind of reaction, but she’s focused on the drinks in front of her, her usual calm smile in place.

And yet, for just a moment, you swear there’s something almost knowing in the way she glances at Jiheon’s retreating figure..

—

The bell above the door jingles as the last customer leaves, and you let out a long breath, leaning against the counter. The café feels different now—quiet, peaceful, but heavy with the lingering scent of coffee and pastries. It’s nighttime, and the warm glow of the overhead lights gives the empty space a cozy but slightly eerie feel.

“Good job today, Junho,” Gyuri says, flashing you one of her signature warm smiles as she locks the cash register.

“Thanks, Ms. Gyuri,” you reply, your voice softer than usual in the now-empty café.

After finishing up your closing duties—wiping down tables, stacking chairs, and sweeping the floors—you grab your jacket and step out into the cool night air. The streets are quieter now, with only a few scattered groups of students heading home. You adjust your backpack, your thoughts already drifting toward the comfort of your cramped boarding room.

As you turn a corner, someone bumps into you.

“Ah, sorry,” you mumble automatically, stepping back.

The girl doesn’t even glance up, her eyes glued to her phone. She’s wearing what looks like an e-sport jersey jacket, its bold colors contrasting with the dark street. Her brown hair catches the ambient glow of the streetlights, faintly shining as she moves past you. For a brief moment, her face is illuminated, and it’s enough to leave an impression.

She’s stunning.

Before you can fully process it, your impulse kicks in. You take a step forward, clearing your throat. “Hey, uh, I’m Junho...”

But she doesn’t respond. Her focus remains solely on the screen of her phone, and she keeps walking, oblivious to your presence.

You stand there for a second, feeling a bit foolish, then shake your head. The image of her lingers in your mind as she disappears into the night, leaving you with nothing but the quiet hum of the street.

When you finally reach your room, you fumble with your keys and push the door open. It’s as small and cramped as ever, but it’s yours. You toss your jacket onto the single chair by the desk, only to realize something’s missing. Your bag. You groan, running a hand through your hair. You must’ve left it at the café in your rush to leave. There’s no helping it—you’ll have to go back.

The walk feels longer this time, the quiet streets amplifying the sound of your footsteps. As you get closer, a strange unease settles in your chest. The air feels heavier, the streetlights casting elongated shadows that seem to move just out of sync with your steps. Your skin prickles, as if something unseen is watching.

When you reach the café, you notice something strange. Cars are parked outside. Not just any cars—luxury vehicles, sleek and expensive, the kind you’d expect to see in a high-end district, not outside a cozy student café. Their polished exteriors gleam under the soft glow of the streetlights, each one a testament to sophistication and taste.

Your gaze drifts across the lineup, catching details that feel oddly personal. A jet-black SUV, imposing and understated. A sapphire blue Porsche, sharp and vibrant, eerily luring you in. Your eyes stop briefly on a compact car that feels out of place among the giants—a Mini Cooper. Its emerald green paint shimmers, the kind of green that feels rich and alive, paired with racing stripes that speak of personality rather than pure extravagance. It’s less ostentatious but undeniably stylish, a subtle standout among its peers.

As you approach, an inexplicable resistance builds inside you, like a pressure against your chest. Your feet feel heavier, your thoughts fuzzier, and for a brief moment, you consider turning around. The café seems distant, almost unreal, like it’s shifting away even as you step closer. But you shake it off, forcing yourself forward.

You head to the backdoor, fishing out the spare key Gyuri gave you for emergencies. Pushing it open, you step into the staff area and spot your bag right where you left it. Relieved, you sling it over your shoulder and turn to leave.

That’s when you hear it.

The faint jingle of the front doorbell breaks the silence, followed by muffled voices.

You freeze. The café should be empty, but there’s a light seeping through the crack of the door leading to the main lobby. Slowly, you step closer, curiosity outweighing caution.

Peeking through the door, you see her.

She steps inside like she owns the air she breathes, her presence commanding yet effortless. Her long, jet-black hair cascades down her back, perfectly straight, with sharp bangs framing her face. Under the glow of the café lights, her striking blue eyes seem almost unnatural, as if they were cut from the sky itself.

For a moment, her gaze sweeps the café, and then it lands directly on you.

Your heart skips a beat. You’re sure you’ve been caught—your face heats up, and you’re ready to stammer some excuse about being here after hours. But her expression doesn’t shift.

Her lips curl into a smile, slow and deliberate, as if she’s been waiting for this very moment. It’s the kind of smile that feels personal, like it holds a secret meant only for you.

But then, as quickly as her eyes found yours, they slid away.

It’s deliberate—you’re certain of that. She must have seen you. And yet, she acts as if you’re invisible, as if your presence is of no consequence. She turns, her hair sweeping behind her like a silk curtain, and addresses the others in the room.

From your hidden vantage point, you take in the scene.

The café, which should have been empty, is instead alive with movement. A group of women fills the space, each one radiating an aura of distinct confidence and beauty. They aren’t just sitting or lounging; they seem to command the room, transforming it into something that feels foreign, almost sacred.

“Chaeyoung,” one of the women calls out, her tone both teasing and sharp, “you’re late.”

Your eyes dart to the source of the voice, and your breath catches—it’s her. The same woman you bumped into earlier, the one engrossed in her phone. She’s still wearing that e-sport jersey jacket, looking as effortlessly confident as she had before.

“And Nagyung? You’re not late?” Chaeyoung fires back, her tone teasing, her smile sharper now.

The casual banter between them feels like watching something private, yet you can’t look away.

Your gaze shifts to the rest of the table. The initial shock of seeing Chaeyoung fades as you take in the others, each of them equally striking in their presence. You almost stumble backward when you spot familiar faces.

Gyuri, whose warmth you’ve come to rely on, sits with an unfamiliar coolness about her. Her brow is furrowed, a faint trace of annoyance crossing her usually gentle features. It sharpens her striking appearance, making her seem like someone you’ve never truly known. There's a tension in her posture that makes you feel like you're seeing a side of her that’s been hidden until now.

Seoyeon leans lazily toward the women beside her, her relaxed posture contrasting the air of composure around the table.

The woman Seoyeon is leaning into feels strangely familiar, as if you should recognize her. She matches the others in beauty, her jet-black hair framing a delicate face. A soft smile plays at her lips, radiating warmth and charm. With luminous skin and deep, expressive eyes, she exudes an effortless elegance that captivates without even trying.

And as if that weren’t enough to leave you reeling, on the other side of the table, you recognize Lee Saerom.

The Saerom. The top celebrity, known for her flawless visuals and commanding performances.

Sitting next to her is Song Hayoung, the famous songwriter and soloist whose music dominates every chart. 

They’re casually leaning into the conversation, as though their combined fame and aura aren’t enough to make this room the most exclusive place in the city.

“Is Jiwon not here yet?” Chaeyoung asks as she slips into a seat, her voice nonchalant, but her eyes scanning the room with interest.

The front doorbell jingles, and the door swings open.

“I’m here!!” a bright, piercing voice calls out.

Your head swivels toward the source, and there she is. Jiwon, bounding through the entrance like a whirlwind of energy, her grin lighting up the room before her words even have a chance.

“Jisun, did you bring food?” Jiwon’s question comes rapid-fire, her tone playful but undeniably demanding.

The woman Seoyeon was leaning into rose. She moves with calm precision, her composure stark against Jiwon’s lively presence.

"Of course, I brought food. Wouldn’t want you to starve." Jisun says, her voice soft but firm, as she produces a stack of containers seemingly out of nowhere. She places them on the table, the gesture practiced, as though she had been anticipating the request long before it was asked.

It hits you then. Roh Jisun. The world-famous chef. Known for her culinary brilliance and beauty. You've seen her multiple times before in magazines, tv, or online articles. You can hardly believe she's here, so close, exuding an effortless elegance.

“Can we finally get started? I still have to clean up after all of you,” Gyuri complained, her annoyance clear.

Now that the group had gathered, all eyes shifted to Saerom, who was waiting for their attention.

“Our youngest is losing control,” Saerom began.

“We all constantly are,” Nagyung shrugged off the concern.

“This isn't the same, you know that,” Saerom replied firmly.

“Don’t try to ignore these meetings, Nagyung. I’m losing millions just being here,” Jiwon said, flaunting her wealth.

“Must be nice having all those millions,” Hayoung remarked. While her gaze focuses on the only fork on the table, in the hands of Chaeyoung.

“You’re a millionaire too. Why are you eyeing my money?” Jiwon shot back defensively.

“Ahem!… Losing control?” Gyuri steered the conversation back on track.

Saerom, now commanding their full attention, spoke with purpose.

“We need to consider finally finding an anchor.”

“Then we’ll get an anchor. Meeting is done,” Soyeon said with a yawn, stretching.

Charyoung, still twirling the fork between her fingers, smirked. “Do we have to? I’ve been liking her attitude recently.”

“It’s time,” Saerom replied, her tone serious. “We can’t risk it. If deceit consumes her…”

“It will consume all of us,” Gyuri finished, her voice dark.

You stay frozen, trying to make sense of the conversation. Consume? Anchor? Deceit? The weight of their words sinks in, and though you know you should leave, something keeps you rooted to the spot. The truth behind their cryptic conversation is just out of reach.

Then, without warning, a soft voice whispered near your ear.

“Curiosity can be dangerous, you know.”

You nearly jump out of your skin, spinning around to find Jiheon standing inches away, her signature eye-smile curved upward in amusement. You’re certain she wasn’t there a second ago. How could she have gotten so close without making a sound?

“Wha—how—?” you stammer, instinctively taking a step back, only to hear the door creak open behind you.

Seoyeon, now fully awake, leans forward slightly, her drowsy facade giving way to genuine surprise. “How did he get here?” she asks, her voice carrying a rare edge of curiosity. Her eyes scan you, but it’s not just scrutiny—it’s disbelief, almost as if you’re some kind of anomaly.

“Who’s this?” Nagyung asks, clearly not remembering you.

“Junho,” Gyuri says softly, her voice now laced with concern and confusion. “How are you here?” Her warm demeanor has returned that almost makes you feel safe. Almost.

Your mind scrambles for an explanation, but Jiheon, ever calm, steps forward, her gaze fixed on you as if she’s reading your very thoughts.

“He overheard,” Jiheon says simply, her tone neither accusatory nor dismissive.

“Clearly” Jiwon crosses her arms, her lively energy dampened by suspicion. “Why did you let him through?”

Jiheon doesn’t answer. Instead, she steps forward, closing the already narrow distance between the two of you. Her eyes glint with an eerie amusement, her head tilting slightly as she examines you like a puzzle she’s just begun to piece together.

“Regardless of how,” Saerom says, her voice cutting through the murmurs and drawing every gaze. She rises slowly, her commanding presence quieting the room once more. “What matters is why. What did he hear?”

“I didn’t mean to listen!” you blurt out, your voice shaky as you raise your hands in defense. “I—I just came back for my bag, and then I heard voices, and—”

“And stopped to eavesdrop,” Chaeyoung interrupts, her voice playful but her eyes uncomfortably sharp.

“No! I mean—yes, but not like that!” you stammer, feeling the weight of their collective stares crushing you. “It’s not what you think! I swear I won’t tell anyone!”

Gyuri sighs, stepping closer. “Junho, you don’t understand. This... what you’ve heard... it’s not something you can just walk away from.”

“I don’t know how you got through the mist ” Jisun adds, her tone firm but not unkind. “But this isn’t something just anyone can know.”

“Maybe,” Chaeyoung says, her lips curving into a sly smile, “he’s not ‘just anyone.’”

“Enough.” Saerom’s single word silences the room, her authority undeniable. Her eyes pierce through you, weighing your very existence. “What’s done is done. The question now is what we do with him.”

Your heart pounds in your chest. “Wait!” you cry, your voice desperate. “I swear I won’t say anything! I don’t even understand what I heard! Just let me go, and I’ll forget everything!”

“That’s not how this works,”  Hayoung says from across the room, her voice carrying an edge as she’s now holding the fork she was eyeing earlier.

Jiheon smirks, her eyes gleaming with mischief as she takes another step closer. “Oh, Junho,” she purrs, her voice dripping with playful malice. “It’s not your fault, really. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.” She tilts her head, her smile widening. “But... well, it’s a little late for regrets, don’t you think?”

Her hand lifts, faint cyan light dancing at her fingertips, and you can’t tear your eyes away. The glow reflects in her eyes, making her look ethereal and otherworldly.

“Jiheon, stop!” Saerom’s voice cuts through, but Jiheon doesn’t even flinch.

“Relax,” Jiheon says lightly, her tone almost soothing as she looks at you. “I’m just helping him... rest a little.”

“Jiheon!” Saerom’s command comes sharper this time, but it’s already too late.

Jiheon’s fingers flick, the cyan light tracing an elegant pattern in the air. “Just a little nap,” she whispers, her voice lilting and playful.

The moment the light touches you, an overwhelming drowsiness washes over your body. Your knees buckle, the edges of your vision darken, and Jiheon’s playful smile is the last thing you see as the world fades to black.

a/n: Before you move one the next chapter, can you guess who's who, with their pairing emotion?

(Pride, Greed, Lust, Envy, Gluttony, Wrath, Sloth, Deceit, and Apathy)

Next ->

[storytowrite]

Seven deadly sins (OT8 x F! Reader)

Genre: Suggestive, Angst, Fluff

Warnings: 18+,

Summary: Y/N performed every one of the deadly sins and that's means that she's going to hell.

Author's note: the idea of the story is inspired by the TikTok I saw. This is my iterpretation of seven deadly sins. It's not going to be biblical story. Each of the members is going to have their own chapter and represents one of the sins. Chapters will be slightly connected so I recommend to read them one by one. Please enjoy :)

Also it's a short series, chapters are not gonna be too long. And there's not much sexual interaction here, so if you are for the smut, go find it somewhere else ;)

-> Prologue -> Sin one: Pride (Lee Yongbok) -> Sin two: Greed (Yang Jeongin) -> Sin three: Lust (Hwang Hyunjin) -> Sin four: Envy (Kim Seungmin) -> Sin five: Gluttony (Seo Changbin) -> Sin six: Wrath (Lee Minho) -> Sin seven: Sloth (Han Jisung) -> Epilogue (Bang Chan)

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

Taglist: @dinogal97 @velvetmoonlght

[justakaku]

Confidentiality - Chapter 7. - yandere!ATEEZ OT8 x f!reader

Introduction: Joining a peer support group for mentally ill was a good idea for the last two times you were there. Then it's only natural for the third time to go well too, right?

Pairings: yandere!Hongjoong x reader, yandere!Seonghwa x reader, yandere!Yunho x reader, yandere!Yeosang x reader, yandere!San x reader, yandere!Mingi x reader, yandere!Wooyoung x reader, yandere!Jongho x reader

T/W: This story will include talk about mental health struggles such as body dysmorphia, paranoid thoughts and more. Possessive and obsessive behavior, stalking, manipulation, violence. Dark themes are to be expected. A/N: I'm so scared to post this... Forgive me for the long wait! I was about to post this sooner, but my friend said this wasn't good, so I was devastated and swore to myself to delete my account (overreacting a little?) I'm definitely not confident in this chapter, and I have to apologize to the people who have been waiting for this; you deserve better. I've been having a tough time in my personal life these past weeks, and I'm not in the same state as I was in when I started posting. The chapters will be posted less often compared to the usual pace - for now at least. I am sorry. I hope at least someone will find this enjoyable. Word count: 4 859 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ “Yeosang, we shouldn’t...” 

“It’s okay. Jongho won’t know,” Yeosang whispered to you with a reassuring look, trying to ignore the nervousness of what would happen if Jongho found out. 

“But he would get really angry.” 

“That’s only if you tell him. Please, let’s do this. Okay?” 

The mix of hesitation and guilt was evident on your face, as you pondered what to do. You had no reason to feel guilty; you hadn’t done anything wrong yet, but just considering of accepting Yeosang’s offer made you feel ill. 

“Fine... But just one,” you murmured. 

Yeosang smiled shyly, a gleam of triumph in his eyes, and scooted closer to you on the couch, that suddenly seemed too small for both of you. 

“Just one...” 

Then, Yeosang took two chocolate bars out of his brown bag, and gave the other one to you, wrapper rustling. It was your favorite one, which baffled you, because you couldn’t recall ever telling Yeosang that. 

“How angry do you think Jongho would be if he found out we’ve eaten before dinner? He said I should save my hunger for the food,” you spoke while munching on the bar. 

Yeosang chuckled sheepishly at your worry. It seemed like he hesitated for a bit, almost like scared to touch you, before setting his hand on your shoulder, “You’re a grown woman. He can’t tell you what to do.” 

His hand lingered longer than necessary. It sent tingles around your upper half; you weren’t used to affectionate touch, but after joining the peer support group you received it more than maybe necessary. 

“I think you should take another one,” Yeosang offered you more chocolate, working as the devil on your shoulder while looking like an angel, tempting you to give in to the pleasure of gluttony. 

You were too far gone. The first chocolate bar had woken up your hunger that shouldn’t be satiated until Jongho was there. 

“I guess one more wouldn’t do any bad.” 

After devouring nine more with Yeosang, to your horror, you didn’t find yourself hungry anymore. Your stomach was full, and to be honest, it even ached. It was expected, and you felt guilty to have betrayed Jongho. 

“I... think this was a mistake.” 

Yeosang looked away in shame and took his hand off your thigh he had placed it on, as the warmth left you too, “I-I’m sorry. I just wanted to buy you something nice.” 

He looked like a kicked puppy, staring at the floor. It would have been cruel of you to let him believe you didn’t appreciate his kindness. 

He had just wanted to make you happy, which he succeeded in, but you were afraid of Jongho’s reaction. Yeosang and him didn’t even know each other properly, having shared only a couple words. 

After a little hesitation, you patted Yeosang’s shoulder in reassurance, “It’s okay. I appreciate your gesture.” 

Yeosang and you had been hanging out a lot after last therapy session. You found yourself enjoying his company and even starting to trust him – maybe a bit too much to your liking. You let him in your apartment, of course under your surveillance, but still; it was a big step in starting to give people chances. 

But this was a day you were supposed to spend with Jongho. Still, Yeosang had come to your apartment, smiling sheepishly and convincing you to let him hang out with you and Jongho. How could you refuse him when he looked at you with those hopeful brown eyes? It would have been a crime not to let him in especially when he had brought you chocolate. 

Hopefully, Jongho wouldn’t mind that much that you had already stuffed yourself with candy before dinner. 

The doorbell rang, indicating Jongho was there, making your full stomach flutter with anxiety. 

Every step you took towards the door felt too fast, approaching the inevitable danger. You hoped the floor had a sinkhole under it and you’d fall into it, rather than you having to open the door. Jongho could be furious, but like usually, he would show it in other ways than pure aggression. 

And behind the door, there he was, standing drenched because he had walked in the sleet on his way to your apartment. 

“I brought the ingredients. We’re making soup” Jongho said, two heavy grocery bags in his hands, undoubtedly filled with other stuff as well than just the ingredients. 

“Oh, splendid. By the way, Yeosang’s here,” you revealed nervously. 

Jongho’s expression turned sour as Yeosang peeked behind you. Neither of the men smiled at each other, but you didn’t think of that as a big deal. Jongho wasn’t one to smile that much and Yeosang was shy; they’d get along just fine. At least you wished so, because if they started fighting, you wouldn’t be able to handle that. 

“Do you need a towel? You look quite wet.” 

Jongho seemed to contemplate your words for a second before answering, “Yeah, that would be nice.” 

“I’ll bring you a fresh towel.” 

“No need to. A used towel is just fine. I wouldn’t want to cause you more laundry.” 

You frowned but nodded slowly. All kinds of thoughts tangled in your mind, ranging from Jongho wanting to steal your towel to darker scenarios, like selling it on black market to old perverts or criminals who wanted to steal your DNA and make a clone of you. But you had to remember: you had a bad habit of overthinking. 

After he had dried himself off with the towel you brought, Jongho walked past Yeosang, shooting him a glare as he made his way to the kitchen. 

“Yeosang grates the vegetables,” Jongho informed with a tone that left no room for discussion. 

Poor Yeosang didn’t have the courage to refuse so he just walked to the kitchen as well, steps slow and sad. You had to catch the chuckle that was about to fall from your lips despite feeling bad for him. 

The three of you started cooking, the kitchen filling with delicious scent and sound of the water boiling and meat frying on the pan. There were no other sounds though, just awkward silence. You didn’t want to be the person who would have to start the conversation, but you were the only one who could do it. You had to be the savior, although you couldn’t afford to hope for Yeosang and Jongho to become friends.  

“Uh, this smells really good. I’m sure it will be yummy,” you started, sounding like you were pathetically awful at holding conversations. 

Jongho didn’t reply, focused on frying the meat. Luckily – and surprisingly – Yeosang had the social capacity to answer you. 

“It will be yummy because you were preparing it.” 

It was corny but kind of cute. Jongho didn’t seem to think so as he scoffed. 

“With that logic the food will taste like shit because Yeosang is preparing it. He’s cutting the carrots wrong.” 

You almost gasped at Jongho’s mean words directed at Yeosang. There was nothing Yeosang could have done to make Jongho hate him; Yeosang was a sweetheart. 

The room fell silent once again, but you tried desperately to keep the conversation alive. Usually, silence didn’t bother you as much, but this kind of quiet, tense atmosphere made you uncomfortable. 

“Wow Yeosang, I could never cut vegetables as well as you.” 

“Instead of cutting vegetables, he should cut the bullshit and tell us why he’s here.” 

The situation started feeling even more tense, making it hard to breathe. Surprisingly, Yeosang didn’t seem to take Jongho’s harsh words into heart as much as you would have thought. Sure, he looked flustered and a bit scared, but he still bravely defended himself. 

“I-I didn’t know you were coming here... I just wanted to spend time with Y/N.” 

“I let him in. Don’t blame him,” you joined in to protect Yeosang from Jongho’s wrath. 

You didn’t like to anger Jongho either, but throwing Yeosang under the bus and letting him take all the blame didn’t sit right with you. 

It was silent for a moment as Jongho just stared at you two before murmuring, “I’ll let it slide. But I just wished I could have spent today with her alone.” 

A pang of guilt hit you, but it was too late to kick Yeosang out. Jongho just had to deal with the situation now, and you’d apologize later. 

The food was done in about 30 minutes, and the three of you were sitting at the table. Jongho had stolen the place next to you before Yeosang could even utter a word, and Yeosang was sitting opposite to Jongho. It wasn’t a nice spot to sit at, under Jongho’s spiteful eyes. 

“Jongho, how was the weather? You looked pretty upset when you got here,” you wondered. 

“I was upset about the weather, yes. Now I have other reasons.” 

You couldn’t come up with any else response than just nodding to him. It was not your fault he seemed so grumpy and unresponsive – well, maybe it was your fault for letting Yeosang in. 

The food was good, but you definitely did not feel that way otherwise. Yeosang must have felt very uncomfortable, you thought, so instead of dealing with Jongho’s attitude, you wanted to talk to Yeosang. 

“How have you liked hanging out with me?” 

That was the best you could do in that atmosphere. 

“Well, I think you’re lovely and-” 

“Have you been hanging out? How much?” Jongho interrupted Yeosang and raised his gaze from the food. 

The look on his face startled you. It was intense, burning through your skin to find out the truth. You had done nothing wrong, just hanging out with Yeosang. Even if the relationship between you and Jongho wasn’t fake, it wouldn’t be wrong of you to have friends. 

“Well, we’ve been meeting pretty frequently this week.” 

Jongho’s eyes narrowed. He gripped the utensils tighter, but couldn’t find the words to say. His body language told enough. 

Not to Yeosang though, because he didn’t drop the subject, “Y/N and I went to a restaurant. It was very romantic...” 

The chair you were sitting on felt so uncomfortable but it was like you were tied to it, unable to leave the room. Your eyes begged Yeosang to stop, but he didn’t seem to notice. 

“A-At one point, she needed help with the zipper of her dress. The dress was beautiful just like its wearer.” 

Jongho nodded, signaling Yeosang to continue. 

“We also went ice-skating. It was freezing so I gave her my jacket.” 

You sensed a catastrophe was about to happen. The tension and Jongho would snap any moment now, and you were not waiting eagerly for that to happen. Yeosang was like a completely different man, not seeming so reserved and anxious anymore. 

“If she was my girlfriend, I would treat her like a queen.” 

It all happened so fast. The sound of the plate shattering and the sight of Yeosang’s bloody face were something you couldn’t realize first nor forget. 

Yeosang’s nose was bleeding, eyes teary in pain, yet his face was also covered in soup. The plate shattered on the floor in thousand little pieces served as a reminder to you, that Jongho had really thrown the plate at Yeosang’s face. 

The room was silent for a small moment. Yeosang’s pain and state made you feel sick in stomach. Jongho had no reason to throw the plate; he didn’t even love you. It was just pure, cruel violence towards Yeosang who had complimented you kindly. 

“What the hell?!” your head snapped to look at Jongho. 

Against all expectations, he looked horrified. It was a sight that had never been seen, Jongho being so calm and collected usually. He didn’t look guilty, but yet his eyes were wide open in terror, after he had finally realized what he had done. 

“I-I didn’t mean to do that.” 

It wasn’t like you to show your anger, but this was a serious situation, serious violence towards your friend. One thing you couldn’t accept was hurting people close to you. It wasn’t always easy to defend them since you were afraid of the consequences, but you couldn’t let this slide. 

“It doesn’t matter! You still did it because you couldn’t control yourself. What did Yeosang even do to deserve this?” 

“He was flirting with you,” Jongho muttered despite wanting to present himself stronger. 

“And why does it bother you? We’re not even really dating.” 

Yeosang’s eyes looked like the plate that had just crashed into his head; that’s how wide they were after hearing your revelation. 

You didn’t even care about the fake relationship anymore. You couldn’t care less about Jongho either anymore, at least that’s what you told yourself. But deep down, you knew it was a lie. After all the dates and days you had spent with him, despite them being fake, you had grown fond of him. 

But resorting into violence when he didn’t even love you, was what you found repulsive. At that moment, you saw him as a monster worse than the stalker. 

“Get out and never talk to us again.” 

“I’m sorry. I’ll do anything to repair this.” 

“There’s no way you could redeem yourself,” you said sharply. His face you had found handsome just a few moments ago made you feel disgusted now. 

“Let me help you, Yeosang-” 

Jongho’s attempt at fixing the situation was shut down by you instantly. You wouldn’t let him touch Yeosang. 

“Don’t touch him. Get out or I’ll call the police. They’ll arrest you for assault.” 

He looked so sad as you demanded him to go out. The mention of police apparently worked though, because he started making his way out. You wouldn’t grant him any access to your apartment anymore. He had no keys to your home and definitely none of your sympathy. For the rest of his life, he would be banned from entering. 

You rushed to Yeosang as Jongho left the apartment, the sound of the front door shutting signaling that. 

“Are you hurting much?” 

“Y-Yes. I’m pretty sure my nose is bleeding.” 

With careful movements, you wiped his face clean of the food. Once his face was clear of the hot soup, you noticed his nose was indeed bleeding. 

You couldn’t help but feel guilty, despite nothing being your fault. If you hadn’t let Yeosang in your apartment, this catastrophe would have never happened. 

“I’m so sorry, Yeosang-” 

“Were you really fake dating Jongho?” 

You hadn’t expected Yeosang to ask that, but he deserved your honesty after what happened. 

“Yes. Jongho suggested it so he could protect me from a stalker that has been sending me disturbing stuff,” you sighed. 

Yeosang hummed in acknowledgement, before he frowned, “Do you have any idea who it could be?” 

“It’s someone from the therapy group, but at least it isn’t you... I hope so.” 

Yeosang let out a shy laugh at your comment, “What can I do to gain your trust?” 

“Only time will help,” you grinned sheepishly, “So you’d do well to not be revealed as the stalker.” 

Yeosang started looking dizzy, so you decided you’d let him take a nap on your bed. While you tucked him in, he gave you a sleepy smile, making your heart ache in guilt yet warm up with gratitude for him not blaming you. 

He slept like a baby the whole night, and you checked up on him frequently to see if he had stopped suddenly breathing or suffered concussion. You weren’t one to abandon your friends... and you were also kind of afraid if he died the police would blame it on you. That night, you slept on the couch, too scared to sleep next to Yeosang. He was your friend, but he could backstab you any moment both figuratively and literally. 

The next day, you were at the therapy meeting once again. You didn’t know whether to be surprised or not about the fact that Jongho wasn’t there. Yeosang and San were sitting next to you. 

“What’s up with Yeosang’s face?” San leaned to whisper to you, wondering why Yeosang’s face was bruised. His scent was appealing, and you felt both nervous yet somehow excited to be so close to him. 

“Um, he hit himself with a hockey stick.” 

“Dumbass,” San chuckled in response. 

You wanted to punch him, but after some thinking, he probably hadn’t meant anything bad with it. San was playful but you had never seen him act hostile except when Hongjoong had insulted you. 

As Hongjoong himself came in the room, being the last one to enter, you realized Yeosang wasn’t the only one who had been assaulted. 

Hongjoong’s cheek was bruised and it almost hurt you to look at it. There was an eyepatch in front of his left eye – if there even was an eye there anymore... 

“Ahoy! The pirate king’s here!” Wooyoung cheered gleefully, earning a few chuckles around the room. 

Even if the eye patch wasn’t enough to make Hongjoong look like a pirate, he was limping. It was honestly a sad sight. 

Hongjoong shot a deadly glare at Wooyoung, looking like he wanted to say something. But he held back from starting to argue with him. He knew what mean words had gotten him into last time. 

“May I ask what happened to you?” Charlotte directed her question at Hongjoong who looked like he wanted to kill someone. 

“You may not,” he sat down as far away from Wooyoung and San as possible. 

Right at the moment Hongjoong spoke his words, the tension tightened, like a rubber band being pulled from both sides. Even though Charlotte started speaking again, explaining that today’s subject was inspiration and motivation, nobody could concentrate, just focusing on Hongjoong’s pathetic state. 

“Looks like Jongho isn’t here. Does anyone know where he is?” 

You felt cold shivers when the attention was on you, listening ears all around you, waiting for your answer because you were supposedly Jongho’s girlfriend. What could you tell? That Jongho had thrown a plate at Yeosang’s face and gotten kicked out of your apartment? 

“Last time I hung out with him he seemed a little sick,” Yunho informed. 

You had had no idea that Yunho had even spoken to Jongho, but now he was revealing that they had been hanging out. 

“That’s weird. He told me that he... Never mind,” Charlotte shrugged, “Let’s start with Mingi. What is your motivation to keep living?” 

Mingi seemed to be deep in thoughts before looking straight at you and smiling happily like you had asked the question, not Charlotte, “I keep living because my music helps people.” 

Wooyoung snickered and turned to look at San swiftly, who just smiled faintly in response. 

“Weren’t you performing at the Valentine’s Day event?” 

Mingi nodded confidently at Wooyoung’s question. 

“I happened to see Y/N and Jongho there. They were the only ones that stayed,” Wooyoung mentioned. 

But unlike Wooyoung had hoped, Mingi didn’t seem fazed by his mocking, “It means the world to me that Y/N stayed. Have you done anything to gain and earn her attention?” 

The way Mingi stayed confident and didn’t back down made you feel proud of him. He had been ridiculed so much before that he deserved to finally stand his ground proudly. 

Wooyoung shut up when Mingi didn’t react to his comment in the way he wanted. A rare sight truly, was to see Wooyoung embarrassed, murmuring something to San. 

“Let’s not mock each other here, okay? This is a place of acceptance and love.” 

Charlotte’s pacific words almost made you cringe. How was it that when Hongjoong had insulted you, Charlotte let it happen, not caring to defend you, but now she wanted to play an ambassador of peace? 

“Yunho, go ahead and tell us your motivation and inspiration to life, please.” 

“Protecting the people I love keeps me going.” 

“Why not protecting all people? You’re a policeman, you just can’t pick and choose who to protect,” Wooyoung chimed in again. 

“Oh, shut up already,” San smacked Wooyoung in the head. 

In your opinion, Wooyoung’s question was valid. Maybe it was just because you wanted a reason to suspect Yunho, but it was reasonable to consider why Yunho mentioned only his loved ones. 

“Oh, of course I want to protect everyone. Justice means everything to me. Locking up criminals is just my way of protecting my girlfriend.” 

You felt incredibly stupid and shocked – yet also relieved. All this time, Yunho had had a girlfriend, but you had been suspecting him of being the stalker. A wave of relief washed over you, making you relax on your seat, finally knowing that Yunho wasn’t the stalker. He was just an innocent man who seemed a bit twisted. 

“You have a girlfriend?” San asked, eyebrows raised in surprise. 

Yunho’s smile was an odd and dreamy one, “Well, she’s not my girlfriend yet but she will be. Sooner or later.” 

And it was gone, your relief and belief that Yunho would be safe after all. His words sounded ominous even if it wasn’t possibly you who he was talking about. 

“Yeosang, your turn.” 

“I’m motivated to live because I finally have a friend by my side.” 

As Yeosang turned to glance at you quickly, the corners of your lips rose into a soft smile. Having had deep conversations with him before, you knew about the loneliness he had had to endure his whole life due to his social anxiousness. 

“Do you think she really wants to be your friend? Or does she hang out with you because she pities you?” 

Hongjoong dared to speak ill again, and you weren’t about to accept that. Maybe you didn’t know how to defend yourself, but you had developed an instinct to take care of Yeosang, so you spoke before thinking. 

“Pity him? If I befriended people because I pity them, you would be my best friend. You’re pathetic, thinking you’re so much better than others just because you were born with a silver spoon up your ass.” 

A forced scoff made its way out of Hongjoong’s mouth when you insulted him, “That’s the best what you can do? I’ve gained my wealth and glory by my own. You wouldn’t know that, leeching off government’s aids.” 

“Do you talk about anything other than money and how successful you are? You’re making your whole personality orbit around things that are going to disappear anyways.” 

“Everything and everyone disappear eventually. Just like your parents did.” 

Hongjoong’s snarky reply froze you. There was no way he could know about your parents’ disappearance in your childhood. Either he wanted to use a petty, unoriginal insult or he actually knew secrets about your past that only people who you trusted should have known. 

It was the last thing you expected, him bringing up things about the most painful time in your life. About the time you so desperately wanted to forget. 

“I advise you to shut your mouth, Hongjoong,” San said coldly. 

It worked to your surprise and luck. Hongjoong’s bruised lips shut and he was glaring at San with the visible eye. Despite his undeniable fury, he kept all of his thoughts where they belonged. 

“Y/N, could you tell us about your motivation next?” 

You had to learn to open up, but after Hongjoong’s comment, you couldn’t. Your mouth was sealed, sewn shut. 

It was humiliating to have let him get under your skin once again, but it was impossible for you to speak anymore. You were silent, while everyone was waiting, but you did not care. 

“It’s okay, say something vague,” San took your hand gently, making you flinch. 

Everyone in the room was nuts. They were way too intrusive, though in many variable ways. 

But you couldn’t let Hongjoong win, to make you shut down completely. The satisfaction it would bring him made you feel disgusted, so you managed to come up with an answer. 

“My motivation to live is to prove that I refuse to die like this.” 

The others were silent, taking your words in. 

“Wow, that’s inspiring. A bit cringe, but inspiring,” Wooyoung nodded. 

The round continued, it being San’s turn next. He talked about how his aspiration was to be the best version of himself. Wooyoung didn’t have an answer that deep, but it was okay. Apparently, he dreamed of having a sword battle with Hongjoong, because he was convinced he’d win the ‘pirate king’ himself. The notorious pirate king did not even scoff but he was embarrassed, looking away with his one eye. 

It was Seonghwa’s turn. 

“My motivation to live is not anything special,” he started sheepishly, “I just want to take care of my loved ones. Make them feel like they’re the most important people in the world. Because they are – to me.” 

Seonghwa’s admission melted your heart into a puddle. How could one be so sweet and still be friends with Hongjoong? It was suspicious. 

Maybe they weren’t friends after all, because Seonghwa hadn’t been sitting next to Hongjoong that therapy session. There was an empty chair between them, a spot where Jongho was supposed to be. Jongho could have been next to you if he wasn’t such a madman and hadn’t thrown the plate at Yeosang. The memory still made you boil. 

Hongjoong was the last to speak. For a second, he didn’t look as angry as before, but the soft expression was quickly gone. 

“My motivation is to prove I am better than everyone else. And my inspiration to all of my recent work... it’s someone special.” 

Your ears must have been damaged or lying, because you couldn’t fathom the fact that Hongjoong had called someone ‘special’. Unless he meant himself, of course. The man with a heart made of iron had a soft spot for another human being. It surely wasn’t you to your luck. 

As if he wasn’t intimidating enough with the pirate type of look, his gaze made you shiver. It stopped on you for a moment, reading you like a book he was strangely interested in. 

He stared at you with his eye, and surely the one under the eyepatch would have been directed to you as well. 

The feeling of being watched and stared at didn’t stop even when you were walking home. Your home wasn’t far away from the bus stop, actually a very small distance, but the need to run was overwhelming. Like someone was breathing in your neck, you knew it was just the wind. 

The couple hundred steps it took to reach your apartment felt excruciating, pure torture to your mind. But when you finally got home, feeling the warmth and turning on the lights, the world seemed to brighten up a little bit. Out there, you were in danger but your home was the safest place you could be at – although you always had the nagging sensation of someone watching you. Home inspectors had told you countless times there was nothing to be afraid of but you knew better. Others may have thought of it as highly unlikely but there was always a possibility of the stalker living inside your walls. 

Looking around the apartment for any signs of something suspicious like letters, you came to the conclusion that nobody had been there. So, for that night at least, you were safe. This had become a ritual for you. It was impossible for you to fall asleep if you hadn’t checked every room. 

As you were brushing your teeth in the bathroom, you glanced at yourself in the mirror. Eye bags told the story of your restless nights, tossing and turning around in anxiety. Your psychiatrist advised you to start taking melatonin but that was too risky. What if someone really broke into your apartment and you wouldn’t wake up from your slumber? 

The bedroom was always the last room you checked. It was small, so there weren’t a lot of potential hiding spots for stalkers and murderers to attack from. Still, you had to check it thoroughly. 

In the bedroom, there was a pile of pieces of fabric on the floor. Instantly, you recognized the pattern being your bed sheets. 

You just couldn’t remember changing the sheets before you left. Sure, Yeosang could have changed them as an act of kindness after he had slept on your bed. His blood had surely stained the pillow sheets, and Yeosang was a considerate man. 

Nonetheless, you were exhausted, and the clean bedsheets invited you to snuggle in, smell the fresh scent of laundry detergent. You knew you should have been more careful, think about the situation with more depth. But still, you let yourself fall onto the bed and let it embrace you. 

You instantly noticed something was off though. The sheets didn’t smell like the laundry detergent or anything that you could reason with. They didn’t carry the scent of Yeosang either. 

As you sniffed the sheets furiously, trying to dig your memories to realize what the scent was, you realized something. The scent was too familiar. It wasn’t Yeosang. It wasn’t you. There was absolutely no reason for the sheets to smell like Jongho, but they did.  ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ <- Chapter 6. Chapter 8. -> Masterlist ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Taglist: @devilzliaison @lover-with-dolar-sign-is-a-loser @passerbyforfun @gigikubolong29 @peqchplvto @eighttens

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⌜Godly Things | Chapter 05 Chapter 05 | tension⌟

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Odysseus let his gaze drift across the grand hall, every muscle in his body taut beneath the ragged cloak that disguised him.

His eyes narrowed as he took in each suitor, noting the way they disrespected his home, their laughter cutting through the sanctity of his hall.

These were men who had grown fat and careless on his hospitality, who dared to feast on the resources of his land while vying for the hand of his beloved Penelope; unaware that their gluttony and arrogance would soon face reckoning.

Odysseus watched the suitors, one by one. There was Antinous, smug and sneering, the clear leader in brazenness and disrespect. He sat near the center, barking orders to the servants, his voice grating, his laughter cruel.

Not far from him, Eurymachus leaned back in his chair, his eyes roaming over the maids who moved about the hall, his grin spreading wider every time one of them blushed under his gaze.

But it was the brawny, red-haired suitor, Andros, who drew Odysseus' attention most tonight.

Andros was on his feet, striding towards Penelope, a confident swagger in his step that made Odysseus' fingers curl tightly under the table. Andros' scarred face, a testament to his battles, bore an expression of arrogance as he approached the queen.

"My lady," Andros began, his voice dripping with insincere charm, "you are as radiant as ever tonight. Truly, this palace, these halls—everything feels grander in your presence." He paused, his eyes narrowing slightly as if weighing his words before continuing.

"And of course, you have an array of fine young suitors here, all vying for your hand, each eager to prove himself worthy." He began slowly, the sweetness in his voice almost syrupy as he praised the beauty of the hall, the dignity of Penelope, and the devotion of the gathered men.

Then, the smile on his lips grew strained, and his tone hardened, the false charm giving way to impatience. "But, my queen, surely it is time to stop playing these games? Do you not think, after all this time, that Ithaca deserves a new king? That the kingdom, your people, deserve stability?" He leaned in slightly, his voice lowering, but still loud enough for those nearby to hear.

"These delays... they serve no one. Least of all you."

Odysseus felt his anger rise, but he forced himself to keep his composure, swallowing the rage that threatened to boil over. Instead, his gaze shifted down the long table, allowing him a moment to rein in his emotions.

His eyes landed on Telemachus, who sat further down, trapped between two suitors. Telemachus was doing his best to remain civil, nodding curtly at whatever nonsense one of them, Leodes, was muttering.

The young prince's jaw was clenched, his shoulders squared, but Odysseus could see the weariness in his eyes. He could see the strain in his son's expression, the way his jaw tightened when they clapped him on the back or spoke of his mother's need to choose.

Telemachus' hands were clenched under the table, and Odysseus knew that the boy was holding himself back, trying to remain calm in the face of their mockery.

He was tired of this charade—tired of having to entertain these men who disrespected everything his family stood for.

Odysseus' gaze moved again, coming to rest on you, seated on your cushion at the far end of the hall.

You were playing soft tunes on your lyre, your eyes lowered to avoid the wandering gazes of the suitors.

It hadn't escaped Odysseus' attention how often they had approached you tonight, using the guise of speaking with Telemachus as an excuse to stand too close, to linger too long.

The way their eyes lingered on you made Odysseus' blood run cold with fury, but you had handled it with quiet grace, always managing to sidestep their advances, your focus never wavering from your music.

He watched as you adjusted your position, your fingers gracefully plucking at the strings, the gentle melody you played seeming almost out of place amidst the crude laughter and loud conversation.

It was your retreat—your way of coping with the unwelcome attention.

Odysseus clenched his jaw, forcing himself to remain still, but his gaze never left Penelope.

He knew every nuance of her expression, every flicker in her eyes. She had always been able to mask her feelings when necessary, but Odysseus could tell what lay beneath that serene exterior.

Penelope smiled at Andros—a smile that did not quite reach her eyes. It was the same composed expression Odysseus had seen countless times, the one she wore when she needed to hide her exhaustion, her irritation, her true thoughts.

To the suitors, it was the smile of a queen; to Odysseus, it was a testament to her resilience.

And despite her age beginning to show, Penelope was still a beauty. Her dark hair, partially veiled, framed her face gracefully, and her eyes—those sharp, clever eyes—were as full of life as ever, though Odysseus could see the weariness she tried to hide.

The years of waiting, the pressure from the suitors, the uncertainty of Odysseus' fate—everything had taken its toll.

Yet, she remained dignified, her posture straight, her expression composed.

He watched as she tilted her head slightly, her smile widening as she looked up at Andros, her voice her voice smooth when she spoke. "I understand your concerns, Andros. Truly, I do. But you must understand... a decision like this cannot be rushed. It is a matter of not just my heart, but of the people of Ithaca. They must have faith in their ruler, whoever he may be."

There was a flicker in her eyes as she paused to adjust the folds of her gown, her gaze never leaving Andros'. Odysseus recognized it—the subtle shift of someone preparing for a move, a small, almost imperceptible signal.

She was not done yet.

"Besides," she added, her voice carrying just a hint of playful reproach, "there is still work to be done. My weaving is not yet complete, and it would be improper to leave it unfinished, don't you agree?"

Odysseus' heart swelled with admiration as she elegantly deflected Andros in a way that left no room to argue without appearing impatient and self-serving.

She had always been a master of this—a weaver not only of thread but of words, her diplomacy a match for his own cunning on the battlefield.

Andros' face twisted in frustration, but he forced a smile, nodding stiffly. "Of course, my lady. As you wish," he said, though his tone made it clear he was far from pleased; he grumbled something under his breath, turning on his heel and retreating to the other end of the hall, his pride clearly wounded.

Odysseus couldn't help the small smile that tugged at his lips.

Clever Penelope.

She must have been weaving and unweaving that shroud she'd promised upon his return, using it as a tactic to delay choosing a husband.

It was a brilliant move, one that had kept these men at bay, if only barely.

Odysseus cleared his throat, drawing Penelope's attention for just a moment. He nodded subtly, his eyes filled with admiration. "A true queen knows how to manage her duties wisely," he murmured, low enough that only she could hear.

Penelope glanced at him, her eyes meeting his for the briefest of moments. She smiled—a genuine, soft smile that held a glimmer of gratitude. "Thank you, good sir."

She was too clever not to sense something beneath his words.

Before any more could be said, the head servant stepped forward, clapping his hands to gain the attention of the room. "Honored guests," he called, his voice loud enough to carry over the noise, "we have a special treat for you tonight. A storyteller has arrived to regale us with tales of old. Please, make yourselves comfortable and enjoy the story."

Odysseus shifted his gaze from Penelope to the gathered suitors, watching their interest shift with the promise of entertainment. The momentary tension diffused, but the underlying stakes remained, clear and unspoken between him and Penelope.

He settled back, the tension in his shoulders easing only slightly. The time for reckoning would come, but for now, Penelope had bought them a few more precious hours.

And for that, he was endlessly grateful.

Penelope then rose gracefully from her seat, her movements fluid despite the heaviness of her role. She addressed the suitors, her voice warm yet distant. "Please, enjoy yourselves," she said, her gaze sweeping over the gathered men. "I shall take my leave now. May the story bring you joy and reflection."

She turned then, her eyes finding you. "Come, dear," she called softly, beckoning you to follow.

You rose from your cushion, gathering your lyre, and moved towards her.

Telemachus appeared at your side, his expression gentle as he offered to take the instrument from you. "I'll put it in your room," he said, his voice low.

You nodded, offering him a grateful smile.

As Penelope left the hall, you followed closely behind, Telemachus walking beside you. The suitors began to settle down, their laughter quieting as they prepared to listen to the storyteller.

A few torches were extinguished, casting the room in a dimmer, more intimate light, the flickering flames creating shadows that danced along the walls.

The storyteller, an older man with a voice like honeyed wine, began his tale—a story of Perseus and his quest to slay the Gorgon Medusa. His voice wove through the room, captivating the suitors, their attention fixed on him as he painted vivid pictures with his words.

"In the days when gods still walked among mortals, there was a hero named Perseus," he began, his voice deep and rhythmic. "Born of Zeus, he was destined for greatness. The king, jealous of his mother's beauty, sought to rid himself of Perseus by sending him on an impossible quest—to bring back the head of the dreaded Gorgon, Medusa..."

A bit into the story, you slipped quietly back into the hall, your steps light and careful as you approached Odysseus. You knelt beside him, your voice barely a whisper as you leaned in. "The queen requests your presence for a private conversation," you murmured, your eyes flicking up to meet his.

Odysseus nodded, his heart pounding at the thought of seeing Penelope away from the prying eyes of the suitors.

As he began to rise, he paused for a moment, his gaze locking onto yours. There was something in his eyes—a depth of understanding, a quiet gratitude. He gave you a subtle nod, and though no words passed between you, you understood the meaning behind his expression.

"Thank you," he whispered, his voice rough from emotion, but his eyes softened—a fleeting but genuine acknowledgment of your loyalty, of the way you had quietly supported his family in their most trying times.

You nodded back, your heart pounding from the weight of this unexpected acknowledgment. With a small, reassuring smile, you gestured for him to follow, and he rose, moving carefully to avoid drawing too much attention.

As the disguised king followed you out of the hall, a sense of hope stirred within him.

The time for reckoning was drawing near, and he would be ready.

☆

☆

Shutting the door behind you, you leaned against it, letting out a slow breath, your mind still racing from everything that had just transpired. The hall was dim, lit only by the moonlight filtering through a narrow window, casting pale streaks across the stone floor.

You barely had time to collect yourself when Telemachus appeared from around the corner. His eyes lit up at the sight of you, his expression softening with relief.

You stepped forward, whispering a bit excitedly, "Your mother is currently speaking with 'Aethon.'" You made air quotes as you said the name, a knowing look in your eyes.

Telemachus's face broke into a boyish grin, his eyes shining with happiness and hope. Without thinking, he reached forward, grasping both of your hands in his. "She's with him? Truly? I've longed for this day," he said, his voice filled with raw emotion. "I've prayed to the gods for this—prayed that he would return to us."

The excitement that had been coursing through you settled, and for a moment, you both stood there, realizing just how close you were.

Telemachus cleared his throat, his face flushing slightly as he took a step back, though he didn't release your hands, letting them hang between you.

You cleared your own throat, your face heating up as you tried to fight through the embarrassment. You forced yourself to look at him, even though every instinct urged you to look away. "What... what do you think will happen next?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Telemachus' brow furrowed slightly, his lips pressing together as he seemed to consider your question. He hummed thoughtfully before speaking, "I'm not sure," he admitted, his voice softening. "Father will be king once more, so I suppose that leaves me to prepare—learning the ropes to one day take his place." He shrugged, a small, almost shy smile playing on his lips.

Before either of you could say more, you heard Penelope's faint voice calling for you. "____."

You quickly turned, your heart skipping a beat as you realized you were needed. With a final glance at Telemachus, you hurried towards the room where the queen awaited.

As you stepped inside, you found Penelope seated across from Odysseus—'Aethon'—the two of them bathed in the soft glow of the flickering torches. There was a gentleness to the scene, an almost untensed, elated expression on the queen's face as she looked at the man before her.

Penelope's gaze shifted to you, her smile warm as she spoke. "Would you please fetch some water? I believe Aethon could use a bath," she said, her tone kind but carrying an air of authority.

You bowed your head respectfully. "Of course, my queen," you replied, your voice steady, though your heart was still fluttering from the earlier conversation.

Before you could turn to leave, Telemachus suddenly appeared in the doorway, his expression slightly awkward as he scratched the back of his neck. "Mother, if I may," he began, his voice a bit rushed. "Could Nurse Eurycleia tend to Aethon instead? I'll be dealing with the suitors soon, and I could use—well, I could use her help."

Penelope blinked, her brow arching in mild confusion at her son's apperance. There was a hint of humor in her eyes as she slowly nodded. "Of course, Telemachus," she said, her lips twitching up into a small smile. She turned back to you, her gaze softening. "Please fetch Eurycleia, dear."

You nodded, quickly excusing yourself to complete the task.

Telemachus was right by your side as the both of you made your way back to the dining halls. He stopped a passing servant, relaying the queen's orders for Eurycleia, ensuring she knew where she was needed before continuing with you.

When you both arrived, the scene had shifted; the storyteller had departed, and the dining hall had taken on a different air.

Torches were being relit, their flames flickering back to life, casting long shadows across the grand room.

The table was in disarray, the remnants of the feast scattered across the surface. Bowls that had once held fresh fruits were now empty, their contents devoured, and goblets lay tipped on their sides, spilling the last traces of wine.

Servants moved quickly to clean up, their hands deftly collecting the mess, while the suitors lounged heavily in their seats, many of them still indulging in wine, their laughter and voices echoing through the room.

Antinous' drunken voice suddenly rang out, slurred but commanding. "Telemachus!" he called, his words dragging slightly.

He pushed away another suitor roughly as he stood, his steps unsteady. His clothes were crumpled, the once fine fabric now stained, and his blue eyes hazy as he downed another gulp of wine. A few drops trailed down his chin, unheeded.

He moved closer, his breath heavy with the sour scent of drink. Raising his goblet again, he swallowed another mouthful, his lips curling into a sneer. "Your mother," he began, his voice harsh, "she should choose. Tonight. Enough of these games."

Telemachus tried to placate him, his tone gentle. "Antinous, now isn't the time. She's—"

But Antinous cut him off, his snarl deepening. "Twenty years!" he spat, his voice thick with frustration. "We've waited twenty years. Many of us grew up hearing tales of the widowed queen of Ithaca. We've seen hundreds of suitors come and go, all left empty-handed. And now? We have nothing but that damned shroud she always weaving." His face flushed a deeper shade of red, the anger twisting his features until his once handsome face seemed almost ugly.

He took another unsteady step closer, his eyes locking onto Telemachus' with a fierce intensity. "She must choose, boy. We won't wait any longer. The patience of everyone here has run thin. It's time she makes her decision, and it's time for Ithaca to have a new king."

Before Telemachus could even attempt to calm him once again, the other suitors drunkenly joined in, their voices melding into a cacophony of garbled shouts, all demanding that Penelope choose.

"Enough of this waiting!"

"She must make her choice now!"

"We've had enough of her tricks!"

The noise grew overwhelming, the suitors crowding closer, their faces flushed with drink and impatience.

Your heart began to race, the chaotic shouts and the looming bodies making it difficult to breathe. You felt the walls of the dining hall pressing in, the weight of the drunken mob becoming unbearable. The suitors' demands echoed in your ears, their voices blending into a thunderous roar that drowned out all reason.

Suddenly, you felt Telemachus step in front of you, his body shielding yours from the advancing crowd. His arm moved behind him, his hand finding yours and holding it firmly.

You clung to him, pressed against his side, the solidness of his presence the only thing keeping you grounded amidst the chaos.

Telemachus could feel the sweat on his palms, the nervous tremble in his grip as his fingers curled tighter around yours; he glanced back at you for just a moment, catching the fear in your eyes, and he felt something inside him snap—a determination, a need to protect you, stronger than his own anxiety.

Telemachus shouted above the noise, his voice carrying a note of desperation. "Please, just calm down!" but his pleas fell on deaf ears. The suitors were too far gone, too consumed by their own frustration and the haze of wine.

His free hand clenched into a fist at his side, nails biting into his palm as he struggled to keep his composure. He knew he couldn't show any weakness.

Not here, not now.

"Enough!"

The shout cut through the noise like a blade, the authority in the voice silencing the room instantly. The suitors froze, their heads snapping toward the source of the command.

At the entrance of the hall stood Queen Penelope, her posture regal and unyielding, her expression one of fierce determination. A few steps behind her stood Odysseus, still disguised as the beggar Aethon, his eyes narrowed as he surveyed the scene.

Penelope's gaze swept across the suitors, her eyes cold and unforgiving. She held herself with a dignity that seemed to grow more luminous in the flickering torchlight, her presence commanding the attention of every man in the room.

"These demands are unbecoming," she said, her voice calm but edged with steel. "You forget yourselves and the courtesy owed to this house." She paused, her eyes locking onto Antinous, who had the sense to bow his head, though his jaw remained clenched.

Penelope continued, her tone softening slightly, though it lost none of its strength. "I see that you will not be satisfied until I make my decision. Very well. Tomorrow, as soon as Helios crosses the sky, I shall hold a contest. The man who can string Odysseus' great bow and shoot an arrow through twelve axe heads shall have my hand in marriage."

She let the silence hang for a moment, her eyes scanning the room before continuing, her voice now laced with authority. "It is only right that the one strong enough to succeed in this great feat, one that only my husband could accomplish, should be deemed worthy to take his place. Consider this the final test—to determine who, among you, is truly deserving of Ithaca's throne."

A murmur ran through the suitors, their frustration giving way to excitement at the prospect of a resolution.

Antinous, along with several others, nodded in agreement, finally placated by her words.

Slowly, the suitors began to disperse, their drunken grumbling fading as they made their way out of the hall, satisfied for the time being. The tension in the room began to ease, the oppressive weight lifting as the crowd thinned.

Penelope let out a long, quiet sigh, her gaze dropping to the ground for a moment. She looked weary, the weight of the years and the evening's events heavy on her shoulders. But then she straightened, her head lifting once more, her eyes clear as they found you.

"Come, ____" she said, her voice gentle but firm. "I'm ready for bed."

As Penelope moved closer to Telemachus, she paused, her expression softening. She reached up, her fingers brushing against his cheek in a tender gesture. "Goodnight, my son," she whispered, her voice filled with warmth and love.

Telemachus leaned into her touch for a brief moment, his eyes closing as he nodded. "Goodnight, Mother," he replied softly.

Penelope then turned her gaze to Odysseus, her expression guarded but polite. She gave him a nod, her voice carrying a hint of formality. "May you rest well, Aethon."

Odysseus bowed his head slightly, his eyes holding hers for a heartbeat longer than necessary. "Thank you, my lady."

With that, Penelope turned on her heel, her steps graceful as she made her way out of the hall.

Telemachus gave your hand a gentle squeeze before releasing it, his fingers lingering for just a moment longer. You gave him a small, reassuring smile, bowing your head slightly.

"Goodnight, Prince Telemachus," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

He nodded, his lips curving into a soft smile. "Goodnight, ____" he replied.

With a final glance at both the prince and the disguised king, you turned and hurried after Penelope, your footsteps quiet against the stone floor.

The hall behind you grew silent, the echoes of the evening's events lingering in the air.

Tomorrow, everything would change.

The contest would begin, and with it, the fate of Ithaca would be decided.

A/N: if y'all can't tell i'm shamlessly plugging in my wish of finding a boyfriend through telemachus 😩😔. also, sorry for the spammed updates, lolol i'm excited to start getting into the juicy stuff; also, to answer a question or two, no worries the gods are popping up, i'm just playing it close to gods being as a bit more removed from everyday mortal affairs, sometimes communicating through dreams, omens, or indirect interventions, rather than physically "walking among mortals" as they did in earlier myths like Perseus' or Hercules, so that's why you don't see Apollo walking down the courtyard, loll. (but i understand if this pacing is too slow 😭)

[house-hussy]

Dr. Wilson’s bleeding heart. Chapter Two: Dinner on the house.

Reader x James Wilson

Summary: Y/N is a talented geneticist, working clinic at Princeton Plains-burro for a chance to work near the world renowned Gregory House. What you never expected was to fall head over heels in love with his best friend, Dr. James Wilson.

Which of course isn't an issue until House's obsessive nature decides that you and Wilson's relationship is its next fixation, putting a strain on your relationship you never could have prepared for.

A small black dress with silver earrings. You questioned it a few times, was it too casual, too nice, too short, but it was too late now. You felt the sweat on your palms against the steering wheel.

You didn't know why you were so nervous. Yes Dr. Wilson was extremely cute and sweet, but it's not like you were drooling over the guy. You aren't even entirely sure what this dinner is supposed to be, a date, or just a dinner between colleagues discussing an exciting new medical breakthrough. You knew what you wanted it to be, but as the great philosopher Jagger once said, "you can't always get what you want".

————————————————————————

You walked in the front door of Giovanni's right at eight, it was nicer than you had expected it to be. That didn't help your anxiety. Just as you were about to text Wilson to ask him if he was there yet, you saw him wave at you from across the left side of the dining room. You couldn't help but smile as you approached the table.

As you got closer you got a better look at him -guess you didn't overdress. He was wearing a freshly ironed white button down with the top two buttons open, and a simple pair of black pants. Somehow he was even cuter outside of his white doctor coat.

"Hey! I'm so glad you made it." He said beaming. You were relieved that he seemed just as excited to see you as you were for him. You take the seat across from him.

"Hi! Yeah me too, I am starving." You say, immediately cringing internally, you didn't mean to sound like you were cruising for a free meal, nice work. But he didn't seem to notice.

"How was the drive over here?" He asks looking a bit nervous.

"It was fine just some traffic, I'm really glad I made it on time I was afraid I was gonna be late because of the crash on 34th"

"Oh my gosh, I hope everyone was okay." He says with a concerned tone.

'Great job (Y/N)', you think to yourself. 'Nothing more romantic than gluttony and car crashes.'

"Yeah everyone was fine it was super minor. How about you? Make it here okay?" You ask. The small talk was killing you, at work everything felt natural, like you guys always had something to talk about, but now for some reason you feel like the most boring person ever. Thankfully, the waitress interrupts before he can answer, buying you some time to break the tension.

"Hello! I'm Samantha, I'll be your waitress today. Can I get you started with something to drink? Tonight we have this incredible blue chardonnay as a special" she says expectantly. You aren't much of a drinker but you figured you could use it tonight.

"Yeah I'll try that, sounds delicious" you reply smiling.

"I'll have one too, actually you know what how about we just get a bottle." He says. You guess he's just as nervous as you are.

"Alright sounds good I will be back with that in a little bit" she smiles and walks away.

"I don't think I've ever had a blue chardonnay before" you say looking at Wilson again. You could make this work, at least until she came back with the wine.

"That's because there is no such thing. It's just a marketing tactic" he replies with a smug smile.

"Look I haven't worked in a restaurant since med school and I don't drink like ever, cut me a little slack."

"Oh no way, I also worked in a restaurant in med school"

"Back of house?"

"Server"

"Oh yeah of course how silly of me" I chuckle.

"What's that supposed to mean?" He asks trying to sound defensive but wearing a massive goofy smile on his face.

"Just that you clearly have an excellent bedside manner" you retort, laughing. You still can't tell if he's flirting or not, but at least you feel more relaxed. "Well Dr. Wilson, thank you for inviting me out tonight, this is lovely."

"Oh you can call me James" he replies. Is this flirting? Who knows how many other coworkers he's on a first name basis with. But you tell yourself to stop being an overthinking dork.

"Well James, you can call me (Y/N)" you say, definitely blushing a little. The wine finally comes and you don't even feel like you need it anymore. But you drink it nonetheless, and it's the most awful thing you've ever drank. James shares the same sentiment. You laugh about the drink, you laugh about work, and you start to realize, yeah, this might be a date.

"You know this is kind of silly but before I decided to go to med school I actually wanted to major in film." You say smiling widely, feeling a little flush from the alcohol.

"You're kidding" he says with a deadpan look on his face. "I was actually an actor in college."

"That's crazy, what did you act in?"

He pauses for a moment, with a look on his face like he regretted bringing it up. "Nothing you would have seen"

"Oh come on"

"Maybe I'll tell you after a few more glasses but it is genuinely the most mortifying thing I have ever done."

"Oh stop now you HAVE to tell me" you say giggling uncontrollably. He doesn't tell you, but you sure as hell won't forget to bother him about it at work. You can't remember the last time you've laughed this much. How was he so charming and funny, and single. Part of you wanted to be cautious, like this was too good to be true, but a bigger part of you had went from kind of liking him to really liking him.

The rest of the dinner is incredible. You can't remember the last time you've clicked like this with another human being. You were probably at that table for three or four hours before you finally got up to go.

James walked with you to your car, standing oh so close the entire time. So close that you could smell his cologne, the man smelled incredible. Once you get to your car you lean on the driver's side door.

"Thank you so much for dinner tonight, it was a lot of fun." You said smiling at him. Wow he was so close.

"You're very welcome I had a great time. How would you feel about doing this again sometime?" He spoke more confidently with the Chardonnay in his system, even if he was slurring his words just a little.

"I would love that" you reply. You study his face. He really does have pretty eyes, a great facial structure. You wanted to lean in for a kiss, and part of you thought he did to, but alas.

"Have a great night (Y/N)" he says stepping back so you can open the car door.

"Goodnight James." You sit in your car and close the door behind you, watching him walk in the opposite direction. Dang, you should have kissed him. At least that's what you say to yourself as your drive home, but realistically, you just didn't have the balls to make a move like that. The only thing you knew, was that you were way to excited to see him tomorrow.

———————————————————————

The next morning at work you feel a mix of excitement and anxiety, waiting to pass Wilson during lunch or while delivering files. You hadn't called or texted since last night, not wanting to come off too strongly, but wow did you want too. And then the excuse came. You had some files you needed to deliver to the head of cardiology, who was conveniently two doors down from the head of oncology.

You walked nervously down the halls, peering cautiously around every corner. You aren't sure why, Wilson isn't a ghost, just a cute guy.

You were a little disappointed when you got all the way down to the head of cardiology and you saw his door was shut, but you knew you would see him at some point that day. All you could do was sigh and deliver the file to Dr. Smith, who eagerly accepted the case.

He thanked you and you left, and just as you closed the door behind you, you saw Dr. House himself, come boldly out of Wilson's office. He stopped in his tracks and gave you a strange look. All you could do was smile at him.

You start to walk away before hearing House shout, "Dr. (Y/L/N)". You turned around, shocked that he even knew your name.

"Yes Dr. House?" You respond. As much as you had wanted to talk to him, you didn't have the words in that moment.

"When did you start working up here?" He asks limping over. You were taken aback by his interest in you, but managed not to show it.

"I'm working clinic actually I just needed to deliver a case to Dr. Smith"

"What is a well respected geneticist with a specialty in a rare metabolic disorder doing working clinic in a learning hospital?" He asks accusatorially. Okay now that was weird. He had no reason to know that much about you.

"What's a world renowned diagnostic head doing interrogating a newbie?" You retort. Even you were a little surprised at your defensiveness. You had been warned that Dr. House was... abrasive to say the least, but you hadn't expected to be the brunt of it before even being fully introduced.

"A brilliant doctor can't take an interest in a less brilliant doctor's work?" He responds with a sarcastic undertone. But you don't let it phase you. If you know anything about people like him it's that you can't let him bully you into submission. You still needed his respect if he would be of any use to you.

"Not a doctor with actual work to do." You retort.

"Well I'm sure you can't have that much work to do if you're spending your time drinking at a restaurant with coworkers you don't ever work with. I at least have the decency to drink at home alone."

Abrasive is one thing, but why does he care about your dinner with Wilson? And furthermore, why would Wilson tell this prick about it in the first place.

"Good point" you reply. "I should get back to work" and with that you turn on your heels and high tail it out of there. That was not how you thought your first conversation with the man was going to go. You knew you would need to talk to him again eventually considering that's why you started working there in the first place, but now that you knew first hand what he was like, you needed to mentally prepare for it first.

———————————————————————-

Wilson exits the elevator leading into the clinic. You wave as you spot him, a wide smile on your face. He smiles back and begins walking over to you.

You weren't sure if you should bring up your earlier interaction with House. You almost wanted to ask him why he told House about your dinner in the first place, but you figured you weren't on good enough terms quite yet to start being accusatory.

"Well hello Dr. Wilson." You say with a smile. You weren't quite used to the first name basis thing yet so you figured you'd just stick to Wilson at work.

"Dr. (Y/L/N), hello how has clinic been today?" He beams. The house thing wasn't that big of a deal, you could bring it up another time if it got any worse.

"Same old same old, Oncology?" You reply.

"Mostly just paperwork today. I don't usually see many patients on Tuesdays it's more of an in office day."

"Honestly I envy that, I wish I could have paperwork days." You chuckle. All you were really thinking about was your dinner. You wanted to bring it up, hell you wanted to just straight up ask if it was a date but you decided against it. Thankfully you didn't have to.

"I wanted to tell you I had a lovely time last night" he says. Your heart flutters a little.

"So did I. We should do it again sometime" at this point you could feel the stupid grin on your face but you just couldn't hold it back.

"Yeah um.." he pauses for a moment. Uh Oh. "I actually have an event this weekend. A colleague of mine is giving a presentation at this conference in Glassboro, I was wondering if you maybe wanna be my plus one." Ok maybe I shouldn't have been so nervous. "It sounded like something that might interest you" he adds hurriedly. Can this dude not tell you like him already?

"That sounds wonderful." You reply grinning. "I assume we're carpooling?"

"Yeah! I can pick you up around 7 on Friday and we'll make it to the hotel around 10ish."

"That works for me I'm not off until five so it'll give me time to pack."

"Perfect, well you have my number, just call if you have any questions."

"Alright will do, I'll see you on Friday Dr. Wilson." You flash him one more smile. It had been quite a while since you'd been to a medical conference. Doesn't help you come any closer to figuring out if this is a professional or personal relationship, but you will certainly find out this weekend.

The whole ordeal makes you completely forget about your weird interaction with House in the hallway. But you would remember soon enough.

[omkookie]

Abaddon is Asmodeus’ red prison. Only the most obscene and lustful devils reside in it, driven by nothing but pure desire and Asmodeus’ Energy.

What happens after the mark Asmodeus left on you manifests and drives your sexual desire forward? You need to feed it lust! ❤️

Welcome to a lusty series of fanfiction.

Each chapter is a scenario and you don't have to read the previous one in order to know what's happening in the current

ᡣ𐭩 ─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ── ᡣ𐭩

{ COMPLETED! LV.1 } Feeding Lust begins with domination! satisfying your inner femdom by conquering the one who is the most prideful of all can bring you a great boost of confidence! Now gently start with Heaven's star, Lucifer.

ᡣ𐭩 ─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ── ᡣ𐭩

{ START SIN LV.2 } Feeding the lust mark when it doesn't need to be fed is a bonus! Always satisfy your inner femdom by kissing, spanking, and fucking your favorite demons! Satan is passionate and just lets his missus be in charge.

ᡣ𐭩 ─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ── ᡣ𐭩

{ START SIN LV.3 } Introducing! Your shameless boy who jerks off while you clean his room. You punish Belphie for not helping you by lightly edging him! And you make him do all of the work himself, until you're satisfied and your lust mark feels so hot it makes you take over again.

ᡣ𐭩 ─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ── ᡣ𐭩

{ START SIN LV.4 } One fleeting romance is perfect. So, how about two? Or three? You can have as many as you want! Indulge in each other's bodies for as long as you crave with the king of Gluttony! Feed your lust mark what it craves, live the night out shamelessly and add whoever else you desire to your fun party! 

ᡣ𐭩 ─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ── ᡣ𐭩

{ AUTHOR'S NOTE } : Hello, Everyone. I don't think I'll finish this series?? I might. Idk. Maybe

ᡣ𐭩 ─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ── ᡣ𐭩

[shiongenkai]

Taiga, Romeo, and Gluttony

NOTE: This post contains spoilers for the entirety of the recently released Auction chapter. Read at your own risk.

So the recent chapter was everything to me. It was the shortest, but in my opinion it showed us a lot about Taiga and Romeo and their relationship to one another, and it also helped me refine a specific thought I had about Taiga and his whole deal he has going on.

To put it shortly; I think Taiga has a gluttony curse, and I think it functions as a mirror to that of Romeo's stigma, and is part of why they had a falling out, and why they can't seem to get away from each other.

To put it horrifically, horribly long....

So what do I mean when I say Taiga is cursed? Well, exactly that. I believe he's cursed in a similar way Rui or the MC are; he has an insatiable need to eat anomalies. I believe that this grants certain side effects like the MC and Rui's curse, and that one of them is a sixth sense for anomalies and anomalous circumstances.

I want to explain this before the Romeo part, because it's the basis for my analysis and thoughts on the two of them.

To start from the very beginning; I think Taiga, during one of his missions, was cursed by something like a jikininki as punishment for his 'gluttony' — the rapid rate at which he completed missions in his first year. This left him with his insatiable need to eat anomalies, but more specifically, is the reason he doesn't seem to want to eat them.

While I'm not certain the anomaly is for certain a jikininki, especially because there's certainly other similar folk legends out there, I chose that one specifically because they are noted for their sharp teeth and for not liking the insatiable need to eat corpses.

Now, what does this mean for Taiga? I think he's stuck between being a ghoul and being a jikininki, or whatever anomaly it ends up being, and I think this has given him a sixth sense that messes with his perception of time, self, and memory. But why would it do that?

Jikininki are immortal creatures, and wish to be freed from the torment they're in for the most part. If one was cursed to be part Jikininki, it would make sense for their existence to be similarly excruciating, with a difference being a lack of full immortality.

Remember the Mortkranken chapter, with the failed mermaid flesh? How their bodies continued even as their minds didn't? Taiga has multiple lines detailing how his 'body' remembers, even if his mind doesn't. Yuri and Jiro also explain that part of the side effects of the reaction are rapid mental deterioration. If Taiga had gone through a similar deterioration, it would explain his seemingly sporadic memory loss (not total blackouts like Jiro, nor specific category based amnesia either, just like. Random shit) and the fact that he doesn't have a concrete sense of identity (showcased through his constantly shifting first-person pronoun choice in Japanese). His cells of his body are reverting to their pre-aged self, and his mind is attempting to do that too, but it's imperfect and messy.

The key to the idea of the sixth sense comes from the fact that he's specifically cursed for anomalous gluttony. I think that he can sense anomalous material or anomalies themselves, and as demonstrated from Ed, this includes some sort of future sense. While we don't know the full specifics of what a sixth sense grants, we can see him utilise it in multiple different places. It's also, in my opinion, why he was sent on the Prologue mission.

Some examples of his supposed sixth sense are how he intuitively understood the anomalous dealer's entire thing, the scenes where he knows the Like Dove will appear before it does, when he senses Romeo approaching (Romeo is carrying an anomaly: his artifact), how he understands the auction is an anomaly, when he gets the mask under unknown circumstances, when he directly knows there's no anomalies... the list honestly could go on forever.

There's one other fact that I personally believe sealed this theory for me; his association with Haku.

In the recent chapter, when the MC is thinking about who to talk to about curses, Taiga instantly knows who we're thinking of, and rejects it on the basis that '[He] can't get rid of curses unless the anomaly that did the deed's right in front of him.' and that he's a 'Simp for the rules anyway.'

... Which is interesting, since it seems like Taiga has tried to ask him about this before. But if you think of this as Haku's stigma, and imagine Taiga trying to get his curse cleansed before, it makes sense! It would also be a good reason to put Haku and Taiga together in the prologue; Taiga can track the anomaly with his sense, and Haku can cleanse whatever curse it gives so long as Taiga manages to capture it or subdue it for long enough.

(Which, side note, is so tragic for the MC...)

Okay, now that the basis of 'Taiga is cursed' is out of the way, how on earth does this relate to Romeo?

Simple. I think Taiga's curse directly mirror's Romeo's stigma, and it's what caused their rift.

Romeo's stigma, as we learn in the new chapter as well, is dependent on his attachment to the items he throws. This, thematically, works with Romeo, who is known to be greedy. Everything he does is motivated by a profit of some kind, whether that profit is social or monetary or whatever. He wants special privileges so he does special missions. He wants money so he raises fees and coerces people to gamble. He wants popularity so he dresses nicely and pampers himself. It doesn't always mean he is money grubbing and stingy (because we see he's willing to spend lavishly on grooming and decor!) but it means that he's attached to what he has. His stigma requires him to give up that attachment. It is a punishment, a sacrifice, as a result of the pact. Similar to how Luca lost his brother (and gained a protective stigma), Romeo has to lose what he feels is worth something in order to fully utilise his ability. Call it a sort of pride.

I think, on the other hand, Taiga's curse is one of envy. He has a desire to eat anomalies, yes, but the desire becomes stronger the more attached someone else is to the anomaly. He doesn't need any interest in it, really. If someone else likes it he will need to eat it.

Taiga covets Haru's Peekaboo to eat instead of the wild one that we also know is in Jabberwock. He's composed about the Like Dove (barely, but he restrains himself!) until Romeo wants it. He steals the plants from Rui's BAR, not the ones in the garden outside (both are Rui's, but his bar is arguably the more loved thing of his since it was fully his choice). He covets Mortkranken's anomalies, and becomes mildly obsessed with the immortal one as soon as it becomes a major research subject. He's also completely fine holding and handling the mask, presumably for a long time, up until Romeo sees it as valuable and worthy.

Now, this doesn't necessarily make them instantly incompatible. But when you take one of Romeo's core traits being 'Greed towards anomalies' (He wants to collect them and frequently complains that other houses are 'stealing' them from under him; he sells them; he gets missions from Hyde to get them; etc), it becomes evidently clear that Taiga's curse is directly oppositional to it.

I think it's pretty obvious by now that Taiga and Romeo have a pretty turbulent relationship now, but were extremely close in the past. Multiple characters state that it would be nice to see them on good terms again, and it's certainly worth mentioning that Romeo is one of the few people Taiga consistently remembers. They both know each other exceptionally well, too. Taiga knows how to get under Romeo's skin and Romeo knows Taiga's habits.

Going back to the idea of this curse causing their rift, if Romeo was constantly on the verge of an important capture, or even if there was just one mission that was important, and Taiga ruined it by eating the anomaly, I doubt Romeo would easily forgive and forget. I think it could very easily cause a massive rift that just kept growing with each new snack Taiga picked up.

I think a moment that gets its nuance overlooked a lot is the scene just before Taiga eats the dove. The Japanese line emphasises that Taiga is referring to HIS heart, that Romeo could shoot through HIS heart, not just a general appraisal of sharpshooting. He even points directly to his heart as he says this, and it makes Romeo hesitate. They're BOTH in pain in this scene. They're both conflicted; this is their ex-partner (which I don't mean in the romantic sense, just in the general sense) who they were very, very close with, and who is now literally at arms length with a loaded gun. Romeo could just shoot him. Romeo could put an end to all of this supposed pain. And Taiga might even let him. And wouldn't that be karma for all he's done? But he can't. He hesitates.

And you know what appears after that? The dove.

This dove that symbolises both general desire (flies over peoples' heads when they're thought about) and Romeo's desire. His desire to escape probation. His desire to make money. His desire to capture, not kill. His desire to reconcile instead of fight. His desire to shoot.

And Taiga kills it. Eats it.

I think this is the most tragic scene between the two of them. This is the crux of it; they both want to reconcile. They want to be friends, to be close, to stop the war raging between the two of them that has done nothing but hurt them both AND hurt the wellbeing of Sinostra, but they can't, because Romeo will ALWAYS desire, and Taiga will ALWAYS take that from him.

It's a cycle they can't escape. The auction chapter shows it too. Taiga is almost disappointed at Romeo's greed. He seems jaded by it, and seems proud and happy when Romeo gives it up for once. Romeo is happy too; MC goes out of her way to say that Taiga handing him the mask makes him look more peaceful than he ever has before. It is quite literally a perfect ending for the two of them and a perfect way to reconcile.

And then Taiga eats it! Again! But I think the most horrifying part of it is that he tries to warn Romeo.

The comic doesn't translate or even transcribe it, so it's so, so easy to miss, especially if you don't speak Japanese, but Taiga grunts out the words 'I', 'Eat', and 'Next' as he approaches Romeo and the mask, and it's the direct reason why Romeo is able to realise that Taiga is about to eat it before it actually happens. He basically just grunts out 'I'm gonna eat that next' as he's fighting against it! But inevitably, neither of them can stop it. The cycle continues.

As long as Romeo is greedy, and as long as Taiga is gluttonous, they will never be able to fully reconcile, no matter how much they both want it. Both of them have to change, but I want to point out that at this moment Romeo is the bigger active obstacle between the two of them. Romeo can't let things go, he holds onto everything and lets it build until it explodes in one way or another. Tiris, his stigma, is symbolic in that sense, that he has to learn to let things go, because if he lets it build too much it will explode spectacularly.

(All of the ghouls have this sort of symbolism with their stigma, so it's not just a Romeo thing, but it's definitely important to his character.)

But Romeo can't get over it yet. He can't get over his greed, he can't let go of things he can't achieve (like getting Kaito's necklace), he can't get over past betrayals (Taiga, what happened with his family, etc)... He's too stuck and stubborn, and his refusal to budge has therefore lead to Taiga's refusal to push. Taiga has stopped caring about getting on good terms because he knows it won't turn out well. He's given up and become cynical, which in turn means that IF Romeo were to change, Taiga... still probably wouldn't. They're cyclical again. Always, always missing each other. So close and yet so far.

I hope the MC can be the catalyst for this cycle to end. Or Ritsu, who is a good equalizer to the two of them. But until she learns to see her own worth in the Academy, and until Ritsu accepts that sometimes he's wrong / he doesn't always know the most out of everyone in the room, I'm afraid Romeo and Taiga will remain stuck in this loop forever...

[kaylopolis]

Alastor's Shadow (18+) Chapter Two

Alastor x F!Reader, Alias: Thestral

Synopsis: There’s a new Overlord in town and it isn’t the Radio Demon. Six years after you fell into Hell, you have finally earned your seat at the table as Pentagram City’s newest and baddest and with the Extermination coming six months sooner than planned, it is now time to implement your ultimate endgame. Afterall, who doesn’t love a bit of power and chaos? Your plans brings you to the doorstep of the Hazbin Hotel as Charlie’s newest Redeemer, but who you find waiting for you will not only turn your entire plan upside down, but also challenge your grab for power… 

Tags: Slow burn, rivals to lovers, eventual smut 

Link to Masterlist: Masterlist

Chapter Two - Breakfast

Content Warning: None (Let me know if I missed any!)

“Coffee anyone?” You call out to the foyer as your feet hit the carpet. 

It was early and you had a lot to do today, but there was always time for coffee. Besides, you spent half the night tossing and turning before finally winding down into a few hours of sleep. You were exhausted - not just from the night’s meeting, but the silence of the Hotel was deafening. You usually slept to music, but the record player in your old room didn’t belong to you and so you couldn’t take it when you left. 

Angel sat before the old television, Husk standing at his side, his arms crossed before him. Angel lay sprawling across the sofa, dark circles under his eyes. With the type of jobs these two had, you were surprised to see them up so early. 

“… isn’t that right Tom?” You recognized Katie Killjoy’s voice echo from the television. 

666 News this early in the morning? You joined the cat and spider in the alcove. 

“That’s right Katie! Another pile of ashes was discovered in the alley of the Pride Ring this morning as the Shadow has claimed yet another victim! The remains have been identified as Chazwick Thurman, a known member of the Crimson Mafia...” 

“Too bad they weren’t your ashes, aye Tom…” 

You drowned out the voices of the broadcasters as images of an alleyway in the Entertainment district flash across the screen. The only thing left behind was a bone-shaped belt buckle and a pile of grey. 

“Crimson was invited to comment.” 

You stiffen.

The screen cut to a cameraman chasing Crimson into a car. “Get that fucking camera out of my fucking face!” He slams the car door and the screen cuts back to the reporters. 

Goddamn that almost gave you a heart attack…

“How do yous think they identify ‘em?” Angel motioned to the screen, now turned back to Chaz’s ash’s blowing away in the breeze. “All I see is a bunch o’ dirt.” 

“Something Gluttony whipped up I heard,” Husk grumbles. He looks just as exhausted as Angel. 

“What would Beelzebub want to do with a bunch o’ murders?” Angel argued. 

“Don’t look at me, those are just the rumors!” 

“I heard it was a new Voxtek technology,” you chime in. “They have some sort of electronic scanner that can detect soul signatures.” 

You were right, of course, but they didn’t know that. 

“But he was a Hellborn Native? Do they even have souls? And what was he doing in the Pride Ring anyway?” Angel argued. 

You shrugged, “Like Husk said… Only rumors.” 

“Seems a little shady if you ask me.” Husk rubs the scruff forming on his chin. “That’s the first Hell Native to have been slain by the Shadow. So far he’s only gone after Sinners. Why change now?” 

You weren’t interested in playing conspiracy theorist today. Too much to do. Instead you decided to shift the conversation, “Coffee?” 

Angel and Husk look to you. 

“It’s the only reason we got up,” Angel answered. “Heard ya’ had a busy morning and didn’t wanna miss ya’.” 

The sentiment made your face turn pink. Day two and already you felt some sort of connection forming with the two of them. 

You followed them into the kitchen, but froze on the threshold as the sound of soft jazz hit your ears and a jolt of static ran down your spine. There, standing in a frilly apron tied at the waist, serving spoon in hand, was the red demon Alastor. He didn’t look up as he scooped the remaining eggs into the white dish set on the table. 

“Good morning fellow Sinners!” The demon sung. Husk and Angel grumbled in response. Not morning people. So, the maniacal demon has a domestic side? What a weird change of pace after literally beating the shit out of someone yesterday and then turning around and pissing off an Overlord. 

“Morning, Mr. Alastor,” you mumbled, trying to match his cheerfulness but frankly, you hadn’t had coffee yet and didn’t enjoy talking to anyone before your first steaming cup. 

Finally his eyes landed on you, the soft jazz music coming to a small and almost imperceptible skip you would have missed had you not been listening for it. This man gives away so much in his audio alone. 

Half-lidded, his eyes dragged over you, from the Mary Jane heels - short as can be, you couldn’t handle anything over an inch - to the red puffy dress that hugged your sides and expanded into layers of black landing just above your knees. The dress was long sleeved, with black lace running across your back, hiding your tattoo perfectly. It came with a matching metal red clip for your hair. 

Normally you hated wearing dresses, hated looking girly, but etiquette called for it this morning. You’d be far more comfortable in a pair of trousers and button up collared shirt. 

You waited as the invisible radio clicked through a few stations before returning to a soft jazz. “Well, well, look what the spider and cat dragged in. And where is our fine hotel guest off to today?” He returned the pan to the stove before untying the apron at his waist. 

Okay, he was acting cordial. So maybe that meant whatever happened yesterday on the cobblestone streets wasn’t him? Or maybe he hadn’t realized it was you who did it? Either way, there was a question mark next to whatever power slapped the shit out of you yesterday - “proceed with caution,” the sticky note next to it read. 

“I have a breakfast date…” You start but Angel’s whistling interrupts you. 

“Ow! Oooow!” He called, “And who is the lucky Sinner bestowed with the honor of taking your fine ass out today?” 

Your cheeks couldn’t get any redder. “My old land lady?” You curled into yourself, feeling eyes on your skin, resisting the urge to rub the back of your neck. 

“Oh, you like ‘em mature, don’t ya’?” Angel purred. It made you laugh, breaking some of the tension. 

“Now, now Angel Dust, one musn’t speak such profanities to a young lady before she’s had her breakfast.” Alastor settled into his chair. Snapping his fingers for a newspaper, he disappeared behind the black and white text. The air around you grew a little colder with his closeness, like the heat was being absorbed by the red demon himself.

“Hey, I didn’t mean anything by it.” Angel shrugged, spooning piles of egg onto his plate. “Hair clip knows I’m good for it.” 

“Same thing as yesterday, Husk?” You ask sheepishly, making your way to the Breville in the corner. The coldness wrapped around your legs, as if it was following you across the kitchen.

“That would be great, kiddo,” he rubbed his temples, his chin resting on the table top. Hangover? 

You felt the bubbles in your chest die down as you got to work, filling the portafilter with beans and finding a white espresso cup in the cupboard. 

“Angel?” You called over your shoulder. You feigned a small kick at the air around your ankles, wishing for whatever invisible coldness to leave you alone. It didn’t. 

“A vanilla soy latte if ya’ could be so kind, sweet cheeks,” he asked, mouthful of food. You heard the door swing open as Charlie, Vaggie, and Nifty’s voices filled the air. 

I thought the tiny maid normally cooked the meals? 

Rummaging through the cupboards you couldn’t find any syrups for his request - only a chai tea blend. You apologized but made a mental note to pick up some supplies today. 

Passing him his soy latte - complete with a spider on top - you got to work on everyone else’s orders before finally turning to Alastor. 

Your palms instantly started to sweat. What was it about this demon that made you so nervous? 

“Can I get you anything Mr. Alastor?” Was your voice shaky? Did you seem nervous?

The top part of the newspaper folded down to reveal his face. His smile was strained despite the sweet jazz playing over his radio. His radio? Was that correct? 

“Alastor’, darling, and a hot cup of joe would be wonderful,” his eyes lingered on you a little too long before you finally nodded. 

Swallowing, you turned back to the Breville and began grinding the beans. You debated making a second cup for yourself, you did still have thirty minutes before you needed to go, but didn’t necessarily wanna smudge your red lipstick before you left. It’ll give you something for your hands to do, to calm the nerves that is, and to warm your bones - the coldness eliciting goosebumps across your legs. 

Making two cups of coffee, one in Alastor’s “Oh, Deer!” mug - which made you chuckle - you paused, an idea forming in your mind. You didn’t have many ingredients to work with, but you did have one thing. Opening the chai you took a sniff - fresh. You had a feeling, and it was a risk, but you decided to jump off that cliff anyway. Using a strainer you let a few leaves steep in his cup, before swirling it around and straining it out. 

Dropping the mug before him, you finally noticed the extra chair that had been added to the table - right next to him. When did that get there? Nifty sat to your right with Angel right across from you. You tried to catch Angel’s attention, to thank him for adding the extra seat, but he didn’t notice you as he was too busy licking the foam from his lips while sending Husk a sexual retort. Meanwhile, Nifty was stabbing away at her plate, too busy to notice your sudden hesitation.

Was it because of Alastor? 

Your mind flits back to the radio broadcast last night and Alastor’s grand display?-battle?-sing a-long?-with the media demon Vox. Seems he had a chance to go big at one point but never really made it. You wondered what happened? 

“I don’t bite, darling,” Alastor snapped and his newspaper disappeared. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his knees before taking a sip of his mug. His eyes lit up, his smile curling at the edge. You held your breath as you waited for his reaction. 

“Please, take a seat,” the chair before you slid back without a touch, a puddle of shadow beneath it shifting ever so slightly. 

He took another sip, his shoulders dropping an inch. You took that as a sign that he enjoyed your coffee concoction and wasn’t going to rip your head off for changing his request. 

Rejoining the table, you swore the air around your legs warmed slightly. 

“Hey, Hair clip, I gotta know something,” Angel chimed across the table, his belly finally full. “What’s a sweet lil’ thing like you gotta do to get yourself down ‘ere?” 

“Angel!” Charlie protested. 

“Wha’? Come on we was all thinkin’ it.” He crossed his many arms. 

“You don’t have to answer that,” Charlie’s eyes twinkled. 

“Uhm, no it’s okay,” your hands clench and unclench around the mug, letting the heat soothe your fingers, resisting the urge to rub your neck. “I had the unfortunate circumstances of finding myself at the center of a web of…” you searched for the right word, “disappearances.” Your lips curled into a smile you couldn’t help but form. You tried to hide it by siping your cup. 

Lying was all too easy these days. 

“Oh, shit.” Angel jumped in his seat. 

“Wait, are you telling us you killed people?” Husk breathes. 

“Stab, stab, stab,” Nifty drove her knife into her toast over and over. Vaggie reached over and carefully pulled the needle from her fingers. 

How much do you reveal about this backstory now? If you reveal too much it’ll appear as if you have nothing to hide, but chatty Sinners were suspicious Sinners. Give them just a nugget to chew on for now. 

“Technically, the cases were never solved. While I was alive anyway…” You mumbled into your cup, conscious of your lipstick on the rim. 

Not denial but not confirmation, either. 

“So, you didn’t kill people?” Husk clarifies. 

“I didn’t say that…” You mumble into the steam.

The beans aren’t bad, but the undercut of chocolate wasn’t your favorite. Add that to the shopping list for today. 

So much to do before tomorrow… 

“So, then you did?” Angel asks. 

You didn’t answer. This conversation was going in circles. 

“Might we have heard of you and your endeavors topside, Ms. Thestral?” Alastor’s forearms were suddenly on the table, his presence leaning into you. 

You felt something slip past your ankles, like a small breeze. You crossed your legs instinctively. 

There’s power in a name down here in Hell. Knowing who people were before gives others leverage, gives them blackmail to use against another. They could threaten your family still alive up top. They could use it to find others who have died but knew you from before for information. The possibilities are endless. 

Alastor knows this. It’s an unspoken rule. It’s why Angel goes by Angel or Husk goes by Husk. He knows you’d never give any exact details leading to who you were and what you did, so he’s decided to toy with you. Much like Sir Pentious from yesterday. 

Let him eat his own medicine then.

“Might we have heard of you and yours, Mr. Alastor?” You leaned into him, your gaze never wavering from his face. A fleeting flash of amusement so swift had you blinked you would have missed it. 

The air was sucked out of the room in one collective gasp as the Hotel Natives waited for his response. 

Geez, were they all afraid of this guy or…? You’d hate to see what they’d do in the presence of an Overlord. 

He tipped his head back and laughed. “I believe you and I are going to get along quite well, darling.” With a snap of his fingers the newspaper reappears, his face disappearing before you got a chance to study it.

The tension in the room drops as everyone lets out their breath. 

You were really going to have to figure out what you were going to do with this Alastor fellow. Perhaps your little outing today would shed light on the subject. 

BANG! BANG! BANG! 

Vaggie is up and out of her seat before you have a chance to register what’s going on. More bangs - coming from the front door. Someone was knocking? Next thing you know, everyone is up and out of their seats and in the foyer - except for Alastor, who decides to take his time. 

Throwing open the door, Vaggie comes face to face with Sir Pentious. “Hello, my dear… Ah!” 

Vaggie plants a facer right into his nose before pulling her spear from the Void. The snake demon collapses at her feet, begging for mercy. 

“Oh, hello again!” Charlie has inserted herself into the situation. This ought to be interesting. You had to admit, you’ve taken some pretty boring jobs before, but the people here were so fun to watch, it made the slow progress worth it. 

Sir Pentious mentions something about redemption, which is exactly the thing to say to the Princess Morningstar. The next thing you know she’s practically dragging him inside.

Angel jumps in to point out the obvious but Vaggie eventually crumbles under Charlie’s begging. 

The gears in your mind turn as they talk, the Princess showing him the foyer, noting how convenient this turn of events just so happened to be. 

Sir Pentious did not just come here on accident - especially after yesterday. Maybe another plan of attack on Alastor? He did catch the red demon off guard, perhaps he was trying again with the same “element of surprise” tactic. 

Regardless, Charlie was dotting on the poor demon like he was a small child in need of shepherding. Was she clueless to the situation or just a bleeding heart hopeful?   

Either way, the mosquito has returned. 

From the corner of your eye, you catch Angel’s mood change. From general intrigue to irritation and… was that guilt you were smelling as Charlie showed the snake about? No - self-loathing. They always smelled so similar, it was easy to get the two confused. 

Great now Nifty is fawning over the serpent. The tiny demon is a fucked up enigma that you had no intention of figuring out.

“This is Thestral. Our most recent guest!” Charlie escorts him before you. You shake the snake demon’s hand - gross, he’s slimy. 

Static fills your ears, making your hair stand on end as you shake the demon’s hand.

“And over here is… Oh! Uh, Alastor!” Charlie squeaks. “Our gracious facility manager! You’ve met our newest guest, Sir Pentious… Hehe…” 

You feel Alastor’s eyes on the back of your head before he turns to the snake demon. The serpent cowered before the well-dressed Joe, the room filling with the scent of oranges and mint: fear. 

“Ah, yes! You’re the one who ruined my coat!” The demon’s eyes begin to glow, their eerie red light impregnating the room with their aura. “I definitely remember you now.” 

Was that irritation you sensed? You watched his shoulders as the snake demon attempted to apologize, noting their stiffness despite his relaxed demeanor in the kitchen. 

This guy had a lot of pent up aggression. He carried himself like a clogged overflowing sink someone left the plug in too long. The interaction yesterday with the Vees did nothing to quell his attitude despite the flux he sent the media demon into. The entire grid shut down after you joined Husk at the bar - cellphones, televisions, electricity. It was a blackout for a few hours before his system finally reset. Guess Vox has more of a hold on Pentagram City than you knew. 

Sir Pentious hands Alastor the small piece of fabric he ripped from him yesterday. 

“Ah-Ho!” The Radio Demon sings. “Not many people have been able to take even this much off me, it must have meant quite a lot to you.” 

You snort into your hand, catching a side glance from the Radio Demon. 

The fabric spontaneously combusts into green flame. 

What!? He has access to Hellfire? You try to not let the shock show on your face but he catches it regardless. 

The clock chimes 8 on the wall.

Shit, you were going to be late! 

Shoving your hands into the pockets sewn into the dress, you double check that you did indeed grab your wallet before heading for the door. “I’m sorry Charlie, but I have to go now!” 

“Oh, yes! Don’t forget, one o’clock!” She waves after you. 

The cold sensation slips from your ankles, making you shutter as you head for the front, but before you have a chance to pull the door open, Husk steps into your path. “Hey, kid,” he whispers, looking over your shoulder at something. “Stop by the bar later, wouldya?” 

His tone was far more serious than one would expect for a casual hangout invitation. 

“Sure, Husk,” you nod, worried that something was wrong. 

“Stay safe out there,” he pats your shoulder before heading back to the bar, his eyes downcast as he passes the red demon and Princess now entranced in their own conversation. 

You swear you see Alastor’s shadow move, like it was waving goodbye…

Anyway… That was… weird, but good! Making progress with Husk and an opportunity to hear some gossip from the grumpy bartender. 

You headed out into the cobblestone streets with a new pep in your step and a smile on your face. 

____________________________________

“Thanks, Susan,” you smiled at the potted daisy in your hand. It was half dead but so was she. 

“Of course, sweetheart,” she pinched your cheeks as she screamed. She was deaf, everything she said was in a scream. 

“I’ll see you next week!” You smiled, slowly inching away. “With the lemon finger sandwiches this time!” 

She laughs as you parted ways, flipping her boa over her shoulder as she shuffled. 

You loved the lady, she gave you a room when you had nowhere else to go. After you moved out you thought it would be the end of breakfasts with the old crazy lady, but she begged for tea and snacks once a week in the park. She was lonely - even though she was to blame for her loneliness. She did eat her third husband and all… So, you bought her breakfast and tea once a week. It was the least you could do after everything she has done for you. 

You rounded the Plaza and headed for the doors of Rosie’s Emporium but your stride came to a crashing halt as static filled your ears. 

“Don’t be a stranger, Alastor!” Rosie’s voice carried to the front of the store. 

Fuck! 

Flattening against the other half of the double doors, and hiding your face against the wall, you prayed he would walk right past you and not notice your anxiety-riddled form in the doorway. But, alas, you were never that lucky.

“I wouldn’t dream of it… Oh!” The Radio Demon stopped half stride out the door, his eyes immediately finding yours. The edges of his lips curled far past what you thought possible for his face. His radio faltered just a moment before he addressed you. “Why, hello there.” 

Red bloomed across your cheeks as you came face to face with him. He tipped an eyebrow up, unleashing a flurry of butterflies in your stomach.

You searched for something to say but words seemed just out of reach. 

What was wrong with you! Why did this demon have so much sway over your emotions! Get yourself together. Why…

Rosie cleared her throat, causing you to jump. She was quiet when she was being sneaky. “And what do we have here?” Her charming New York accent was doing nothing to qualm the nerves in your belly. 

“Thestral, this is Rosie. The most darling, delightful, and dangerous Overlord this side of the Pentagram!” Trumpets echoed through his radio. 

You tried hard not to roll your eyes.

“Oh! Always a charmer,” Rosie smiled wide, her razor sharp teeth on display.

“And Rosie,” his arm wraps around your lower back, pushing you closer to the man-eating Overlord. That cold sensation wraps around your legs again, making you shiver. “It’s my pleasure to introduce you to…”

“Actually,” you interrupt, trying to keep the bite from your voice. Stepping out of Alastor’s grip, the cold follows you. What made him think he could just touch you like that!? “We’ve met.” 

A flash of irritation crosses Alastor’s eyes before being replaced with his mask.

“Oh! What a regal surprise!” Rosie drags you inside, taking the dead potted plant from you. “You’re early!” She goes for a tray of fingers. “Can I offer you something to eat?” 

“I just ate actually,” an uncomfortable laugh escapes your lips. 

You didn’t detest cannibalism - I mean, who doesn’t enjoy a good shoulder steak? - it was the way Alastor was looking at you that was setting those butterflies in a flurry. It was a look of… suspicion? You sniffed, but smelled nothing. Hmm, interesting.

“You two know each other?” Alastor twirled his cane, clutching it behind his back. His smile was strained. 

Shit.

“Oh, Thestral and I go way back!” She spun, placing the finger food aside before clamping both her hands atop your shoulders. You were trapped. “Practically fell on top of me when she died!” 

Alastor’s eyes light up with the addition of the new information. “Did she now?” 

You stop him from asking anymore questions with an awkward laugh. “Rosie, don’t you have to take my measurements?” 

“Oh, my stars! You’re here for a dress!” Her eyes sparkle. Cupping your cheeks, she pulls your face to hers. “Finally! This one was getting a little old,” she thumbs a hole in your sleeve you were desperately trying to hide. You frown. 

You didn’t have money to burn often, but when you did you let Rosie dress you up as she pleased. She never wanted money from you, in fact she hated that you offered, but it didn’t feel right to just take her creations without giving her something in return. 

“Oh, don’t fret, doll! You’re still a tomato! Don’t you think so, Alastor?” She pinched your cheeks, turning your face to the red demon in his newly fashioned pin-striped suit.

You met his eyes, he was clearly loving the embarrassment Rosie was showering you with. 

“As cute as a bug’s ear,” he smiled, his eyebrows relaxing in amusement. 

God, did this man do anything other than fucking smile? 

Your face reddened under his direct gaze, its burn bleeding into the cold of Rosie’s fingers. You didn’t like being dotted on and you sure as Hell didn’t like being showed off like this. 

Wait… what did he say? Did he call you cute? The Radio Demon called you cute. 

“Oh!” Rosie finally releases you. You rub your cheeks to lessen the sting from her pinches. “Ya-know, Alastor. I got a premo-connect on a guy with about eight blocks of territory and not enough goons to run it. Prime pickin’s for a deal to be made, my friend!” 

A deal? Rosie didn’t just throw people a bone out of pity. She didn’t freely offer up anything to anyone unless she respected them. Rosie - the Rosie - respected… him? The Radio Demon was turning out to be a bigger fish than expected. Still, he remained a mystery. God it was irritating. 

“I appreciate the offer, but I must be off. So much to do at the Hotel!” He sung, his radio clicking on a smooth jazz. He picked at invisible lint on his shoulder before his half-lidded eyes met yours. “I‘ll see you this afternoon, darling.” His voice purred, sending butterflies in a flurry within you. With a small bow he slipped out the front door and into Cannibal Plaza taking your breath with him.

You spun as the door shut, swearing you saw a… shadow follow him? 

Fuck, you needed to figure this guy out fast, but that was why you were here wasn’t it? Rosie knew all the best gossip in Pentagram City, she was the ideal source to go to for information on Alastor without raising suspicion at the Hotel. Couldn’t let any of the Natives think you too interested in the Radio Demon. 

“You’re late.”

You spun to face Rosie, a hand on her hip, one eyebrow sky high in suspicion. 

Shaking off the conflicting emotions stirring within you, you met her energy, crossing your arms in front of your chest. “It appears you were entertained in my absence.” 

“Don’t start with the attitude, young lady.” She waved a finger at you as she led you into the parlor. 

A set of tea was waiting, half drunk and already cold - tea which was supposed to be for you had you been on time. 

“Susan was extra talkative this morning,” you huffed, taking the chair across from her usual spot. “Seems she missed me.”

The Overlord began tidying up the tray, but as you watched her collect the cups, you couldn’t help but wonder something. “Was that planned?” You huffed.

She gave you a look as if you had asked a stupid question. 

“Why?” You grommeled, shrinking into the chair.

“Posture!” She waved her finger at you. You rolled your eyes but obeyed. “It appears Alastor is back from his sabbatical - which I was only made aware of yesterday when he came in here with a torn suit. I asked you here to create a pho-run-in with the Overlord so that you might be aware of his presence, considering the events of tomorrow.” She placed the tray on the side counter. 

“Wait…” Your ears perked up. Did you hear her correctly? You swallowed hard. 

“I didn’t get a chance to learn of his endeavors with the Hotel until this morning. He made quite a stir yesterday, and when Alastor is in a bad mood you tend to keep conversation short.” She snapped her fingers and a new tray appeared - tea steaming and ready to be served. 

Every nerve in your body was screaming at you. “Rosie, did you…” 

“Now, come to find my surprise when I learned that he had not just already met you, but already had suspicions of your power. He asked questions, Thestral, questions about you, and I…”

“Oh my God, Rosie!” You jumped to your feet, arms clenched at your sides. 

“What has gotten into you?” She stopped mid pour, a hand feigning surprise on her chest. 

“Did you just say that Alastor is an Overlord?” Your heart was beating at a million miles an hour now. 

Taking a breath, the woman who had become like a mother to you finished pouring your cup before she set the tea kettle back onto the tray. She took her cup and plate in hand before finally answering your question. “Yes.” 

You stopped breathing completely. “Fuck,” you mumbled before slowly melting back into the chair. 

Oh my God, how could you be so stupid! Of course the Radio Demon was more powerful than you could ever have imagined. Of course the Radio Demon was an Overlord. Of course an OVERLORD had to be the Hotel manager. Of course an OVERLORD had to sleep across the hall from you! All the planning you put together, all the research, all the preparation and now you had to deal with this! 

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” Rosie sipped her tea - jasmine, your favorite. 

Alastor had beef with the Vees. He pissed off Vox to the point that it overloaded his circuits and shut the entire grid down. No wonder you didn’t see him in the commercial. What Overlord would want one of his biggest enemies being able to capture him using his greatest asset of surveillance - a camera. 

Sir Pentious came to challenge Alastor your very first day at the Hotel because he had heard that Alastor was back! Which meant the Hotel was now a target! Which made you a target! Alastor’s mere presence was attracting attention - attention you didn’t want and would inevitably get in the way of your plans! 

You had always been a behind the scenes type of person. Operating behind a mask was your specialty. Merely shedding the cloak was filling you to the brim with anxiety and now you had to deal with this! 

No! No! No! No! 

“Thestral you’re burning my couch,” Rosie scolded. 

Looking down, blue flames licked the seat’s plush arm rest. Silently cursing, you pulled the power back in and suffocated it, leaving behind a bit of blackened fabric.

“This is going to be a problem,” you spat through gritted teeth.

Now you knew why everyone was so afraid of him. 

“Why are you so surprised? I thought you knew by the way you were acting when you ran into him in my parlour. Actually, now that I think about it, you looked more smitten than… Huh!” Rosie gasped, her teeth growing into a smile. “Are you sweet on him?” 

Your jaw dropped. “What? No!” 

That was completely illogical! You, sweet on an Overlord!? Preposterous! 

“My dear, you’re blushing!” She practically sang. 

Your hands flew to your cheeks so fast you almost slapped yourself. “Just… What… I… Are you going to take my measurements or not?” 

Rosie laughed before pulling out a measuring tape. “Oh, I am going to dress you to the nines, tomato!” She gave you a knowing smile as she shepherded you to the block before a set of mirrors. 

“Rosie, I do not like the Radio Demon. If anything he poses a problem. A really big problem.” You stepped onto the block as she circled you like a vulture. 

“I am pulling out all the stops for you! Two new dresses, maybe a couple pair of those trousers you adore so much, and definitely a few ideas for a night out on the town. Just in case.” She winks at you in the mirror. “And new shoes too! Those little heels are done for.” 

“Rosie… Just..” You sank your face in your hands. 

She stopped immediately. “What’s wrong, darling? Talk to Auntie Rosie.” 

Running your hands through your hair, you took a deep breath, releasing as much anxiety as you could with it. 

Things were a lot easier when you operated in the shadows. 

You faked a small smile before pulling the money clip from your pocket, trying to turn the conversation to something you could handle. “At least let me pay you this time.” 

Rosie’s face turned into one of determination and pride. “You got it back from Crim, didn’t ya’?” 

You pulled your other hand from your pocket to reveal the black calling card. “Indeed I did.” 

_______________________________________

You took your time heading to the Entertainment District, letting Rosie’s words simmer within your brain. 

The Radio Demon was an Overlord and a mysterious one at that. He disappeared seven years ago, only to magically reappear recently under the guise of Charlie’s Hotel Manager. 

Funny how Lilith also disappeared seven years ago. Funny how this Extermination just so happens to be a special one. 

But before Alastor took his paid time off, it seems he was quite the shit around here. That at least explains the radio broadcasts: the incessant screaming of souls Alastor plays at whim. You had to admire that part. The man had class, he had art, he had theatrics. You just killed and walked away, not wanting the media spotlight, but Alastor? He thrived off of it. He was a walking entertainment broadcast dependent upon the attention of others. 

God, and his ego? You didn’t even want to start down that road. No wonder he got so pissy when you didn’t cower before him like thousands of others do. Fuck, the only one not afraid of him is Princess Morningstar - not because she considers herself more powerful than him but because she is naive. Alastor would kill her in a heartbeat if it meant accomplishing his goals.

Speaking of, what were his goals? Surely he didn’t wish to climb the ladder of hotel management. Alastor wasn’t an assistant type of guy. He had to be the boss. So whatever plan he has, playing make believe with the Princess has put him in a superior position despite what it appears. 

Was that it then? Was taking down Charlie his endgame? But why? Charlie doesn’t rule, she doesn’t utilize her power, she doesn’t do anything. She just kind of hangs out with Vaggie and cleans up chemical spills and hugs trees and shit. She wasn’t someone all powerful to target and take down - not like Lilith. 

Wait. Fuck. Lilith.

That’s what this is about. He disappeared seven years ago with Lilith and he’s back now because of Lilith. 

So get to Charlie to get to Lilith, but what does Alastor want with Lilith?  

So entranced in thought you finally realized you were heading in the complete wrong direction and had stumbled into a part of town you had never been. 

A window of television screens suddenly shifts to a bright yellow light. “Voxtech Angelic Security coming soon!” The ad chimes along with the new Voxtech logo sprouting a pair of wings. 

That was going to prove a problem for your late night activities. Not that anyone has ever really been able to capture you on camera before. You're a mass of black smoke when you fly and a dark hooded figure with glowing yellow eyes when you weren’t. Hell, the entirety of Pentagram City thought you were a dude. A little sexist but whatever… 

“Fuck,” you mumbled under your breath before turning down an alley you were hoping was a short cut. 

“That fucking, fuck!” Vox comes flying out of a side door, trying desperately to tie his bow tie which has now become a knot around his neck. 

You would have hid, you would have turned around and ran the moment you saw him, had he not run right into you. 

Vox’s back slams into your shoulder, knocking you to the ground. The media demon turns on you, his one eye glowing red, a look of pure wrath flashing across his screen. 

“Watch it!” He bites.

You give him an exasperated look before climbing to your feet. Great, now this dress is truly ruined! Your right hip is covered in black dirt, and there’s a tear along the hem. Rosie is going to kill you. 

“You ran into me,” you brush your skirt. You didn’t snap at him, you simply stated the truth. 

The demon is taken aback. How dare you speak to him like that! Did you not know who he is? 

“You want to repeat that again you, little…” He stops mid sentence, his attention drawn to the hand you were extending him. “What are you doing?” 

You gesture to the bow tie, nonchalantly, “I had a lot of brothers growing up. I got good at tying ties and bow ties and you look like you could use some help.” You nod to his left thumb, thoroughly stuck in the knot. 

He raises an eyebrow in confusion, staring at you as if you had just sprouted a second head. When he doesn’t respond, you roll your eyes and begin unraveling the silk around his neck. The demon stiffens beneath your touch, freezing in place. You could feel his eyes boring into the top of your head as you worked. 

It was a simple red bow tie, the slipperiness of the fabric made it difficult to get the ends even, but a few twists and you had it back to normal. You even closed the distance, folding the band around his neck beneath the collar of his shirt. 

He doesn’t have that aura of static like Alastor does nor that sense of coldness which hangs about his shadow. Really you expected more similarities between the two, given that they were practically each other’s counterparts. But here, now, you didn’t get the same feelings being around Vox like you did the Radio Demon. Actually it was lack thereof. 

It was probably just Vox’s lack of power. Really and truthfully you meant it when you said Vox is only ⅓ of an Overlord. Without the other Vees, he isn’t a threat. Alastor? That man was full power in only one suit. 

Wait… why were you so focused on comparing him to Alastor right now? 

“There,” you slapped your hands against your thighs. “Ta-da!” You gave him a show of jazz hands before continuing down the alleyway. A shiver runs down your spine as you could feel his gaze still on your form. God, he’s such a creep.

“Hey! Wait!” The media demon calls after you. 

You roll your eyes before spinning, cursing under your breath. 

The look on Vox’s face made you pause. Was that…? You sniffed. Curiosity? No, that wasn’t quite right. You sniffed again, not able to place the emotion. You’ve never really smelled anything like it before. 

The demon clears his throat, suddenly self conscious. “Can I at least offer you a ride to wherever you’re going… as a thank you?” He crosses his arms in front of him, taking a few slow steps in your direction. 

Fuck that. The last thing you wanted was Vox to know anything about you. Anything at all. 

“No, thanks,” you spin again and…

“Can I at least know your name?” He tries again.

Ugh! 

“Why?” You bite, your hands finding your hips. 

The demon looks confused before his screen flashes back to a neutral face. He smiles and it’s far softer than you expected, “I just want to know the name of my savior.” He chuckles. “I got a little mixed up back there and am grateful for your services in fixing the situation.” 

Okay… You’ve never actually seen Vox be nice before. This was weird. 

Your eyes trail his form from his shoes to the broken antenna atop his head. You’ve never actually seen the media demon in person, but he cleans up well. The suit was nice but the hat was a little corny. No one wears top hats anymore. Also, his head is a flat television screen, how does that thing even stay up there? 

“Uh, no.”

He blinks. “No?”

“Yeah, no.” You repeat. Was he dumb? 

He scoffs, “do you know who I am?” 

You spin, not daring to stop this time, “yup!” You waved to him over your shoulder, not looking back. “Bye!” 

______________________________________

Vox sprints through the door, the wood vibrating off its hinges. 

“What the fuck has gotten into you?” Velvette snaps from her place on the couch. 

“I don’t know…” The media demon slams his hands against his desk, a look of madness on his face as his one eye blinks red. “I didn’t get her name…” He whispers to himself. 

“Who?” Velvette smacks her lips against a lollipop, a loud ‘pop!’ with each suck. 

“The most beautiful creature in Hell…”

Link to Chapter Three!

Masterlist Link: Masterlist

[n0t-evenhere]

Heyo friends, gotta admit, nothing has been going the way I had hoped these past few days. However, I am feeling better and I am back on track for writing and such. I’m finishing up the first chapter. However, before I release it. I would like to introduce you to “The Syndicate” members that Apollo works with and a few details about them. I drew just some floating hands for now. Might of more later. The designs are semi finalized. May change things. Nothing too major.

The ring leader, Anthony. 34

A few things to note is he has…a thing for consuming blood. His deal is that he’s a top tier hunter. Heightened senses, smell, sight, sound, taste even touch is in that group. Blood is just tastes really good, give him a high in a way. An apex predator at its finest!

Yǒngyǒu, he however selected to go by Mel

Been around before the 1600s. Fought in wars against demons during the Shang Dynasty. Speaks Archaic Chinese (old Chinese) but later learned Mandarin to keep up with the time. However, he’s is only recently learning English.

Mel, during the war against demons, he was possessed. Not by one. Not two. Three. Three demons took form of a mask that he can use. When Mel uses them the demons benefit from it.

Mask: “Mask of wrath” : Fine “Mask of heart” : can see into the depths of the soul. Hurt, pain, joy, desires. “Mask of Gluttony” : sucks the years out of who ever is on the receiving end of it. Giving the life to Mel. That’s why he’s been alive for so long. Doomed to live a life of longevity.

Black hole, (brighten up the screen to see) 26

Black hole is and experiment by none other that the NAHA. In the experiment she lost all of her color. Leaving nothing but a void with a glowing center in the middle of her chest. Where her heart would be. Her power is to absorb light into herself. With enough absorption that light can be blasted back out at a scalding 435 degrees.

Finally, Roy. 28

Roy isn’t easy to be with, several times has Ray and just about anyone else on the team almost kill him.

His power is screaming….yea. However, don’t be fooled, if he screams at the right pitch, it’s not just glass that would shatter. Brains. Heads going ka-pow!

His ears weren’t naturally elf shaped, when he was younger he had a little surgery to get them to stay in that shape. Cut off but of the ear and stitched together others. He’ll do basically about anything that’s deem cool by society.

[shortentheway]

I Can See the End ~ Series Master List ⋆˙⟡

In the beginning, there was darkness. And in the end, it remains. It has always been there, lurking in the depths of the human psyche. Lust, depravity, gluttony, sin. Each and every individual consumed. One by one. It is human nature. As to overcome sin is to overcome God.

Warnings: explicit sexual content (18+), age gap, power imbalance, profanity, unprotected sex, degradation, dubious consent, unhealthy relationships, manipulation, emotional abuse, codependency, obsession, drug use, implied prostitution, violence, mental illness.

Chapter One ~ Genesis

Chapter Two ~ Purgatory

Chapter Three ~ Judgement

Chapter Four ~ Assimilation

Chapter Five ~ Vacillation

Chapter Six ~ Gnosis

Chapter Seven ~ Perversion

Chapter Eight ~ Odium

Chapter Nine ~ Acrimony

Chapter Ten ~ Treachery

Chapter Eleven ~ Annihilation

Chapter Twelve ~ Revelation

[constanttea]

Employment Status: It's Complicated

Chapter Four: Close Enough to Touch

༻⋆ Chapter Five: Ask Again ༻⋆。

You hear your name called out with some exasperation as Jon has more to lecture you on. 

Always doing things wrong, but he doesn’t outright say that. He takes the statement from you after you stumble over a particularly hard to read section of handwriting. As if it’s your fault that Marie writes like she has bugs crawling up her legs. Her writing is crooked for the one and the r’s and n’s are practically indistinguishable from each other. 

You have only been struggling through this statement for a minute or so when he snatches it back from you. “You are not recording this,” he dismisses you without sparing you a glance. “Go have Martin make you tea or something,” his attention is already fixated on the statement he’s just freed from your grasp. You could be difficult with him, but it’s not worth the trouble. An excuse to get away. Tea. Maybe you’ll go visit with Elias since you have been dismissed so totally. 

It slights you a little, sparking an unpleasant knot in your chest. Shuffled from your old job to archives, shuffled around by Jon. You’re not meant to take it personally, but you certainly are. It makes you want to see Elias, which is also frustrating. Maybe bother him a bit. Fish into what exactly you’re doing in archives or how to deal with Jon because you are NOT getting along with him currently.

Your time in Artefact Storage had been quiet, yet it devoured all your attention.. Dangerous, sure, but it made sense. More importantly, you had fun. Then Elias plucked you out of it, set you down in Jon’s path, and smiled like he’d done you a favor.

Your feet carry you to the lift. By the time you press the button for Elias’s floor, you can already feel his attention on you. The sensation starts at the base of your skull, crawling down your spine like fingers pressing against your thoughts.

Clearly, he knows you’re coming. He should have expected it. What with the banter you two have been having anyway.

And yet, when you step inside his office, he still looks at you like he’s surprised. Like you’re something more interesting than expected.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" he asks, smiling in that way that makes it clear he already knows the answer.

You don’t answer him. Not right away. Instead, you close the door behind you and cross the room with a slow stalk, letting your fingers trail along the back of one of the chairs in front of his desk. He watches your approach, waits, expects, knows. Typical.

"You already know," you say.

Elias leans back in his chair, one hand clinging to his chin as if he is thinking, his other hand still poised over whatever paperwork you’ve just interrupted. He hums, feigning consideration. "Perhaps."

He sets the pen down, and you feel the shift before he even moves. His gaze rakes over you, and you recognize the way his eyes settle. The slow drag of it grazing here and there. He raises the now liberated hand and crooks a finger at you. A part of you wants to play difficult and act as if you don’t know what he’s insinuating or asking of you with the gesture. A part of you isn’t entirely sure what happens next. You slip around the desk, standing almost over him. Almost because, even seated like this, there is still something larger than life about him. 

His hand reaches out, fingers catching the fabric of your collar, and pulls. Your whole world tilts. Your mind is racing, taking in the glow of his desk lamp, the scent of old paper, and something older, sharper, distinctly him. 

You stumble into him, but he catches you. His lips crush against yours, swallowing the startled breath you let out. You grab at his shoulder to steady yourself, leaning into the heavy kiss, your teeth grate against each other in the desperation of it all. You pull yourself away from his gluttony with some difficulty. He looks almost disappointed, severely disappointed actually. A question sits behind his teeth, as you fish for air. 

He leans back, and you see him pulling away again. Something you refuse to let happen after this turn of events. You sink into his lap, your hand at the base of his neck to pull him in for another kiss. His hands find your waist, squeezing at you through the fabric of your clothes, pulling and grasping as if trying to assimilate your bodies together.

He gasps against your lips, pulling away this time. “This is…highly unprofessional. You’re–”

God, shut up already. You hold his chin, pressing your thumb over his lips, effectively expressing the already bold thought that flashed above the noise of the normal chatter. 

You lean in for another drink of his breath, a hand sliding over his chest. As the room spins around you and your thoughts fly out of your head, you feel the pace of his heart racing in his chest beneath your palm. You pull a hair’s breadth away from him, your breaths fanning and mingling in the space between you. His lips are bright from the onset of blood and shiny from your interactions. “My bad. Do you want me to stop?” You ask the question innocently, but the curl of your lips reveals it for the teasing comment it is.

His heart palpitations double-cross him just as well. He stares boldly at your lips, and his eyes meet yours again. Your face burns with the attention and the rising warmth between you. Sitting in his lap, pressed against him like this is something out of a piece of fiction. The acceptable amount of time for cooking up a snarky response is gone. There is a deep set satisfaction in you at having torn away his ability to come up with a quick response this time.

He chews on his lower lip, the room shifting around you. “No,” he gasps, as if the answer has been forced from him. His eyes are glossing over, his grip on you so incredibly tight. His face is more flushed than you have ever seen it. “I was wrong… when I said you are deeply inexperienced.” He licks his lips, “Ask me again.” 

The despair at the wait is evident in the pressure of his fingers digging into you, refusing to release you. This is strange, but you’ve witnessed more. You are strange after all. “Do you,” you press the lightest of kisses against the side of his mouth. “Want me,” another pause, another kiss, this time on his cheek, “to stop?”

He shivers beneath you, surrenders in a battle of wills you didn’t know you had been a part of. 

He smirks at that thought, turn of phrase, his tongue snakes out of his mouth for a moment. “It’s nice,” he whispered, “I can show you what it’s like.”

Then this–the feeling cradling the back of your skull making you feel light and airy–part of it’s because of the Watcher? He kisses just below your eyes, soft pecks before pulling away. “That was nice,” he says, “but you should probably go back to work.”

There’s a scowl that distorts your face at the sudden dismissal. So much rejection in this life. “Relax,” he murmurs, thumbs rubbing circles at your waist, “after work. It’ll be more comfortable, I promise.” You feel sickeningly codependent and self-aware as he comforts you. Right. You can wait that long for answers, for him. You waited this long already. 

He pushes you off him, but his eyes follow you as you step away. They follow you all the way out of the office, and probably continue to do so once you leave. Possessive much? You chew on your lip, ruminating over what just occurred. You really just got hot and heavy with your boss in his office. You were crowded onto his chair with him, on his lap, and you wanted to do it again.

The taste of his tongue is still fresh in your memory. Talk about employee benefits!

Chapter Six: Don't Look Away

Master Post

Taglist: @elf-punk, @s0ggyrats, @marichankitty

[obae-me]

Promise I'm not dead. Health has been iffy as per usual, but I'm slowly working on projects. In fact, the next Tainted Reflections chapter is almost done! To get those looking forward to it excited, here's a small snippet.

---------

A single cottage raised out of the snow. The wooden walls and beams were worn; gaps yawning throughout the frame. More peculiar than its age was the undeniable fact that it had not existed in that spot just two seconds before. Creepy bones of old structures abandoned in the woods were rather high on your avoid-at-all-costs list, but…something about it was calling to you. The typical churning in your gut that served as your survival mechanism wasn't present here. Was it hope? Destiny? Divine guidance? Or simply the work of something more sinister lowering your guard and beckoning you towards your doom? Hard to tell… It wasn’t like there were several hundreds of stories already forewarning the dangers of foolhardy souls wandering towards sequestered buildings.

Your company who followed your gaze seemed just as skeptical. Gluttony’s eyes scanned the square inch of every surface, as if he could spot the sign of curses or monsters before more problems popped up in front of you. His expression told that he’d much rather hop up in a tree and rest in a nest of branches than try going inside. He had come here expecting a demon before, not a cottage. “I don’t like this place.”

[cj-ghostemoji-destielpie]

⚠️⚠️⚠️PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS IN THE ABOVE SCREENSHOT BEFORE CONTINUING!!! ⚠️⚠️⚠️

This is my fic btw 💖 it'll only get worse. Chapter two will be posted soon and it's... F-d up.

Royal Tastes, by Dragonborn_Eldenlord on AO3.

Chapter 1: The Young King, The Cannibal Knight, The Dead Knight:

Sir Hannibal Lecter. A knight, ruthless and merciless in his quests. Or hunts, as he calls them.

Hannibal was infamous among many kingdoms as the Cannibal Knight, or Hannibal the Cannibal, that ate his enemies as a show of strength; not a popular habit. Most Knights hated or reluctantly accepted their jobs, but he reveled in the bloodshed. The scars, the agony, the screams, the light fading in his victims eyes, blood gurgling from their mouths or dripping from shallow wounds til they slowly bleed out… He saw beauty in it all.

Hannibal was visiting a kingdom he hadn't visited in a good twenty years or more; the Ophiuchus Kingdom, named after the serpent constellation due to the multiple snakes that infest the forests. Ophiuchus was infamous. The past rulers were known for their vicious and violent tactics, for their greed and gluttony. The only reason Hannibal was coming here in the first place was to and get in the good graces of the new ruler, as they had recently had their coronation if rumors were to be believed.

Walking into the throne room, Hannibal noticed the grandiosity of the palace. The new King is obviously doing some remodeling since there's multiple portraits stacked in a corner, many of which are torn. Hanging on the walls in their place are tapestries, animal hides, and furs, making the throne room have more of an animalistic, wild, and feral vibe.

Hannibal noticed the lack of the King as the throne was momentarily empty but he knelt anyway, the dark gray metal of his armor scraping against the expensive tiled floor; dark inky black tile with gold outlines and occasional intricate designs. He kept his head hung low, and soon he heard the footsteps of who he presumed to be the new King.

“Sir Hannibal Lecter, at your service, my Lord,” He greeted, head still positioned towards the dark ground.

"My apologies, Sir Lecter, but I'm not exactly... Educated on the proper etiquette of societal expectations for how I'm supposed to act and talk so I hope you'll be patient with me. Stand. I'm Lokka La’Rose, new King, blah blah blah. Killed the last King because he was a dick, so on and so forth," Lokka says casually as he perches on the arm of the fancy throne, not even looking at Hannibal as the Knight stands, instead he's briefly frowning in distaste at the gawdy throne before finally looking back at Hannibal with curiosity, golden eyes slowly taking in Hannibal's armor clad body and handsome face.

Hannibal stood, looking at the new King now fully. He seemed young. At least, younger than most rulers. If he's an adult it's just barely. His outfit—well, it lacked any form of royalty. Wearing something like that in court would make him the laughing stock of all the nobles. He's dressed in simple hunter-like garbs; a simple dagger on his hip, faded animal hide trousers and shirt. His curly hair is messy but pulled back in a low ponytail to keep it out of his face.

There's an old ugly scar running across his face that somehow danced between both eyes without harming them. And his eyes are peculiar as well; unnatural gold, reflecting all light, and feline-like with slit pupils.

"No worries, there's nothing wrong with not knowing etiquette. You’ll learn, it’ll feel like second nature in no time at all, Your Highness,” Hannibal studies the scars on the young King's face, "May I ask how you got those?”

"The scar? I was eight years old, a starving orphan, tried stealing from some noble man and he actually noticed and decided to teach me a lesson. Left me with a scar so I'd be reminded of the consequences of theft. Instead it just reminded me of the power imbalance in the Kingdom and the greed of the rich.”

Hannibal stayed silent for a moment, his eyes locked onto the other man. He studied the scar again, as it ran across his face in a jagged line. It had clearly scarred over years ago, but it still looked quite prominent. He knew the old King, and he was a greedy man, for sure. He thought the entire Kingdom was a piece of him to flaunt around. And many of his nobles had the same mentality.

"I see. You didn’t deserve that, child," He said the word in a somewhat condescending tone, though his facial expressions didn’t change from their almost emotionless state.

A small quiet huff of amusement escapes the King, “So, what are you here for? You requested an audience with the King. I know I'm not probably who you expected but I suppose I can still hear your piece and possibly assist.”

Hannibal smirked at his slight amusement, finding the King somewhat amusing. He began to circle around the throne, eyeing the golden details. He then came back to the front of the throne, locking eyes with the young King who'd allowed the Knight to pace and circle around him, looking entirely unthreatened.

"I didn't expect y ou , no," He paused for a moment, "Though I heard that you killed the last King. Tell me, was it worth it?”

Lokka tilts his head in thought, ".... worth it for the people....perhaps not for me though. I didn't want to be King. I just wanted there to be change. But no one else had the power to do it.”

Hannibal nodded slightly, silently admiring his slight vulnerability. He seemed to have thought about it a lot. He crossed his arms behind his back, shifting his weight to one foot. He seemed to look him up and down again before speaking again.

"You did this for the people, not yourself. That’s very admirable, Lord La’Rose.”

"Thank you, but please, just call me Lokka. I'm still not used to that title… and you're interesting enough to keep around and befriend.”

"Very well, Lokka ."

The way Hannibal says the King’s name makes the young King shiver and his cat-like pupils dilate.

Hannibal tilted his head downwards slightly, his arms behind his back casually and nonthreatening but somehow still imposing. The boy seemed somewhat shy, but somewhat confident, at least for speaking to a Knight that was feared by many for his bloodthirsty killing. He took a few steps closer to the throne.

"How old are you, if you don't mind me asking?”

“17,” The young King states simply.

Hannibal nodded as an indication of acknowledgement, slightly impressed that he had managed to kill a man—let alone a King—at that age. There was clearly a lot of determination and courage, perhaps some foolish bravery as well. He took another few steps, now being a few feet away from the throne.

"Ah. Young and full of life," He teases.

Lokka gives a small playful smirk, "I've heard of you, Sir Lecter. Hannibal the Cannibal . The Cannibal Knight . Are you here to add another man to your diet or are you after something else? I'm not easy to kill so I'd think twice if I were you,” His tone isn't threatening, just playful but with a hint of promise.

Hannibal chuckled dryly at Lokka’s comment, his hands still behind his back. Hannibal seemed amused by Lokka, intrigued even. Lokka was a curious thing.

" You're smarter than you look, kid ," He paused for a moment, looking into his odd eyes, before continuing, "And you seem a tad bit cocky for a young Lord.”

“Fake it til you make it," He says with a simple shrug, a hint of insecurity in his strange eyes.

Hannibal chuckled, noting a hint of vulnerability in his eyes. He tilted his head to the side, studying him a little closer.

"You're not confident, are you?" He teased him, finding a way to get under the new king’s skin.

Lokka shrugs, unperturbed, “No, I'm not. But I'm stubborn and spiteful so I'm planning on sticking around as King for a long time. At least until I find a suitable heir."

Hannibal hummed in acknowledgement, somewhat impressed by Lokka's determination and stubbornness. He seemed like a boy filled with ambition and power…and yet so vulnerable. So…breakable.

He'll be fun to break . Hannibal thinks to himself with a secret smile.

" And when you find that suitable heir, will you simply pass the throne over to them without a fight?" Hannibal asked, taking a small jab at him.

"I'll train them, have them educated on the life of the nobles and the poor, make sure they have decent morals and a support system, and then I'll peacefully step down, give them the throne when they're ready, and perhaps stick around as an advisor or something if needed.”

Hannibal’s eyebrows raised slightly, impressed by his thought-out plan. He had clearly thought it through for a while, which he respected.

"So you already have a plan in mind, that's quite…ingenious." He paused for a moment, "And you're sure they’ll be fit enough to rule your kingdom?”

"I've no idea. Haven't met a suitable heir yet. Enough about that though. What is it you wished to accomplish with your audience with the King, Sir Lecter?”

Hannibal chuckled at him, slightly amused. Lokka was clearly done talking about the subject for now, which Hannibal was willing to respect. Sometimes you have to play the long game when playing with a new toy you wish to enjoy breaking.

"Ah. Straight to the point. I like you, Lokka." He commented, now towering over the shorter man, "I simply came to offer my services to you—to the kingdom, I mean.”

Lokka gives Hannibal a small playful smile, not bothered at all with Hannibal towering over him- most Kings would've had Hannibal thrown out for the attempt at appearing imposing or threatening, instead Lokka just peers up at Hannibal in amused interest, "You wish to be my knight?" He basically purrs sweetly.

Hannibal found Lokka's lack of fear for him amusing, almost down right hilarious. Most rulers would be intimidated by a man like him, but the boy didn’t even seem slightly bothered by it. Hannibal found it quite interesting.

"Yes, of course," He said, somewhat amused. "I am the best in my field. You’d be unwise to decline my services, kid.”

Lokka chuckles, "Most would be practically begging or at least respectful when offering their services to a King, even a young and naive King enjoys respect instead of being called a kid," Lokka says with a playful smile, casually crossing his legs as he remains perched on the arm of the throne.

Lokka studies Hannibal for a long few moments, golden cat-eyes piercing and intelligent as he takes Hannibal in, like a wild cat studying its prey. Slowly he returns his gaze to Hannibal’s.

"Ask again." He says, a small smirk tugging his lip, “maybe with a pretty please ?" He asks, basically taunting Hannibal.

Hannibal was taken somewhat aback by his request, his eyes widening a slight bit. He had expected him to be polite and shy in his response, not demanding and confident. Hannibal’s smug expression soon faded away, the slight teasing look still in his eyes.

"My apologies," He began, his expression almost blank by now, "I'll be respectful , like you'd like."

He took a deep breath, knowing he was going to hate it.

"May I please be your Knight, Your Majesty, Lokka ?”

Lokka giggles in honest amusement, golden eyes lighting up with joy before he schools his expression.

"hm...no," He says before smiling again. "I'm not going to waste your services as a common Knight. If you'd like to work for me, I'd rather you be my main security. Top knight, Housecarl, or whatever the fancy noble terminology is. I've heard of your skills and I'd love to see them in person. I've had multiple attempts on my life within just a week so I imagine you'll get a chance to prove yourself interesting . If you grow bored of being a bodyguard, then I suppose I can send you out to play with the other Knights. Does that sound appealing enough to you, Sir Hannibal Lecter ?”

Hannibal’s eyebrows shot up at Lokka's words, surprised. He was expecting to be a regular Knight of the castle, which was just fine. But security for the King? That was unexpected, but he was very much intrigued by the offer. And it would make it easier to toy with the King and slowly break him.

"That sounds very appealing," He commented, his smirk returning once again, "I agree to those terms.”

"Good. Splendid. Hope you don't mind explaining the seemingly stupid noble jargon the people here keep expecting me to understand. Do you understand the purpose of so many forks for one meal?" He asks, tone switching from the teasing playful to genuinely open and curious

He chuckled at his question, amused by the King’s clear lack of knowledge of the social rules.

"Of course. And I know the noble jargon.” He explained. "And it’s stupid, honestly. There’s so many rules for a simple meal. A commoner would eat an entire turkey with their hands, while Kings and Queens have to use specific forks and spoons for specific items of a meal. And don’t even dare to use your hands; you’ll be chastised by the etiquette police.”

The King sighs dramatically as he lays across the throne, "Everything has so many ridiculous rules and yet the commoners are more concerned with surviving, which is more understandable. Why so many forks when hands work just fine? It's stupid…”

"I think I'm going to like you, Sir Lecter." The young King says, rolling his head where he lays across the throne to look up at Hannibal.

"Perhaps I may say the same," Hannibal replied, an amused smile tugging at his lips. He studied him for a moment, admiring his confidence, especially for a young king like him.

“ Goddesses ! I need to get rid of this throne !" He jumps off of it dramatically, a good three feet in the air before landing on his feet in a squat like a feral cat before slowly standing like a normal human, "that thing is so ridiculously uncomfortable. And such an eyesore . Like, we get it! This is a throne! But if you're going to show off wealth you may as well use it for something comfortable . Especially if you're expected to sit in the evil thing for days on end and play nice with other nobility.”

Hannibal was surprised by Lokka's sudden outburst and unexpected agility as he jumped from his throne, not expecting him to be nearly as physically adept as he was for a King or a human. He let out a dry chuckle as he stood next to him.

"Most nobles and royalty don’t care about what’s comfortable. They just care about what looks good and makes them look better than everyone else," Hannibal replied dryly.

Lokka huffs and crosses his arms, glaring at the throne like a petulant child who was just told that he has to eat his veggies before dessert, “Well I'm not most kings. If I could have that replaced with a recliner I would... I suppose I'll just settle for having this fancy throne melted down to coins and donated to the commoners, maybe the orphanage. Then I'll just feckin' carve a nice throne from some cherry wood perhaps and get some nice comfy- but I suppose fancy fabric- cushions to line it with."

Hannibal chuckled at Lokka's…rant, finding his determination for a more comfortable throne quite amusing. He tilted his head to the side, studying the younger man.

"A cherry wood chair," He repeated, a single brow quirked, "With plush velvet cushions," He added dryly with a slight tone of mockery. He was clearly holding back his laughter.

The King huffs and throws his hands in the air with dramatic exasperation "Ye have better design ideas, Sir Lecter?”

Hannibal let out a few dry chuckles at his dramatic actions before replying with a smirk.

"Maybe. I was thinking something a little more… aesthetic ," He said, thinking over the design in his mind, "Dark oak. Gold or a dark material for the trimmings. Soft light fur as a cushioning.”

"....I might actually be able to work with that...I'll sketch something up and have you look it over,” the King says after actually seeming to seriously be pondering over Hannibal's words.

Hannibal hummed, finding him quite amusing. Who would’ve thought a newly crowned King would ask for his input on a throne design of all things? Hannibal had to hold back his smirk at Lokka's eagerness.

“Of course. I’ll look it over once you have it sketched up, Lokka.”

"....so," Lokka clasps his hands and rocks slightly in place, "I'm supposed to play nice and be all Kingly for a few more hours today. One of the servants told me that there were a couple different knights and messengers from different kingdoms coming today- aside from you. I was even warned that at least one messenger is going to try and get me to marry some King's daughter from a neighboring kingdom," he says, looking disgusted but hides it mostly, "Are you ready to play advisor/bodyguard today or do you wish to have a servant show you to your new quarters and start tomorrow?”

Hannibal could sense Lokka's disgust in his voice and almost chuckled but contained himself. It seemed he disliked the prospect of having to listen to someone ask him to marry someone’s daughter for political purposes. He smirked, crossing his arms over his chest once again.

"I’m quite ready. And if any messenger does decide to try to convince you to marry an ugly daughter, I’ll be your bodyguard and advisor.”

"I'm not concerned with their looks , I'm just opposed to marrying some girl I don't know nor wish to know ," He says simply, reluctantly sitting back on the throne, though properly this time. He glances at the grand fancy clock across the throne room, "The next person should be here soon. Don't remember if it's a knight or some noble, or a messenger though.”

Hannibal watched as Lokka sat back down on the throne, this time properly. He still found the throne to be a little gaudy looking, no amount of proper sitting would change that. He took a few steps closer to the throne, positioning himself on the right side of him.

"Well, whoever this next person may be, I’ll be right here," He replied, referring to his position beside Lokka.

Lokka gives Hannibal a small smile, "Good boy," He says playfully, but praising, and before Hannibal can snark or react, a servant enters and announces the arrival of another visitor; another Knight.

Hannibal’s smirk quickly faded in surprise with Lokka's playful praise, his cheeks taking on a slight red hue. He was not expecting him to say that, but he quickly shook it off. He refocused his attention back towards the entrance to the throne room as the servant announced the arrival of another Knight. His eyes narrowed slightly as he watched the Knight carefully for his mannerisms.

The Knight was mature in age, probably around Hannibal’s age. His armor was shiny and well-polished; he's probably rather stuffy and hasn't actually seen many battles. He entered the room rather arrogantly—like most Knights were—and began to speak in an overly cocky tone.

“Your majesty, I am Sir Charles,” The Knight said, standing in the middle of the room, not bothering to take a knee or bow or show any respect, making Hannibal curl his lip in distaste.

Lokka tilts his head, studying the man, "Sir Charles... I'm Lord La'Rose. What have you come here to ask of the new King of Ophiuchus?" Lokka asks, all previous playful energy gone, in his place is now a serious calm intelligent King.

Hannibal noticed that Lokka even used his title this time, instead of being casual like Lokka had been with him. The change was sudden. Happened as soon as Sir Charles entered, only a brief moment of Lokka sniffing the air prerequisites his personality shift when Sir Charles entered.

Sir Charles was taken aback by Lokka's sudden and unexpected shift into a completely different person. From a giddy, happy, young King to a stoic, serious individual in a matter of seconds. He paused for a moment, almost intimidated by the change, but eventually responded.

"Well, your majesty, I have come to… congratulate you.” He replied, the word ‘congratulate’ sounding almost bitter coming from his lips.

"hmmm... Is that so? You could've just sent some gift like most of the others singing my praises lately," Lokka doesn't sound cocky despite his words, he actually seems uncomfortable with the thought of being praised for what he'd done, "So, what else is it you wanted from me, Sir Charles, aside from wasting my time?”

Sir Charles was once again taken aback, clearly not expecting the King to brush off his praise and assume he was just there to waste his time. He stood silently for a few moments, almost shocked, before speaking up again.

“I wasn’t just here to give my congratulations, your majesty.” He replied, his tone somewhat snarky and somewhat irritated now. “I also came to request something.”

"speak, no need to dawdle.” Lokka says when Sir Charles doesn't get straight to the point, making Hannibal fight a proud smirk.

Sir Charles let out a snort, crossing his arms over his chest and taking a few steps closer to the King.

“If you’d be so kind, Your Majesty, I was hoping you’d send a few of your troops to help us in a little battle we’re having.” He explained, the tone in his voice still demanding.

"A little battle?" Lokka asks, a single brow raised, "Why? Plead your case, Sir Charles.”

Sir Charles let out another snort, his arrogance seemingly taking control as he spoke again.

“My kingdom has been at war for over a year now. We just lost a significant amount of soldiers and are requesting backup.” He said, as if the reason was obvious and simple. “It would be immensely appreciated if you would send whatever soldiers you can spare.”

"...you have yet to explain why you're even at war or why I should be inclined to help. Perhaps I'd rather help your enemies, hm? What say ye to that?"

Sir Charles stood silent, shocked, for a few moments. The arrogance on his face now faded into disbelief. Obviously, he hadn’t expected the King to be so indifferent and ask for a reason to send soldiers to help.

“The reason for our war…” He repeated, “Why- the reason is…”

He paused for another moment, trying to come up with a reasonable response on why they were at war and why they needed his help. A good reason. One that wasn't seeped in greed.

Lokka chuckles, darkly, in amusement, before speaking with a light disturbingly kind tone despite his words, "Give me a good reason, Sir Charles, before I send you back to your King without a head.”

Sir Charles almost staggered backward in shock, horrified by the King's response. His dark amusement and the threat of beheading him if he can’t come up with a good reason was enough to nearly make Sir Charles piss in his armor, but he managed to stay composed. Mostly. He swallowed thickly before replying again.

“We’ve been at war with our neighboring kingdom for years now. A war we can’t win without you. If you do not help, Your Majesty…” He paused once again, his voice wavering slightly, “We will be overtaken and lost.”

"Still," Lokka says, casually standing from his throne, and slowly walking down the steps of the platform to the main part of the throne room, gesturing with one hand casually for Hannibal to stay, back for now, "You've yet to explain why you're at war. Just that you are and that you're losing." Lokka's tone softens to an almost teasing seductive tone as he nears Sir Charles and raises a hand to gently caress the taller older man's cheek and tilts his gaze to meet his eyes, "so... Explain to me, Sir," Lokka practically purrs, "why," he traces his fingers over the Knight's pulse point, "you need me?”

Sir Charles froze as the King suddenly approached him, his hand gently caressing his cheek and moving his head to face him. The sudden shift in his tone and attitude to something more seductive and playful shocked him, his heart almost stopping as he felt his slender fingers tracing over his pulse point.

He inhaled deeply, unable to find the words to respond. His words got caught in his throat, but he eventually began speaking despite the dryness in his throat.

“I- We…” He paused, swallowing the lump in his throat.

"ooh, has a cat got your tongue?”

Sir Charles tensed his shoulders, his cheeks turning a slight pink at his words. It didn’t help that Lokka was so close to him, his slender but firm and calloused fingers still gently caressing his pulse point. Sir Charles swallowed again, his words stuck in his throat like a frog for a few moments.

“N-no.” He managed to stutter out, cursing himself for stuttering like a boy with a middle school crush.

The King chuckles playfully, dancing around behind the large Knight and draping his arms over the man's shoulders from behind, wrapping his arms around the man's neck and resting his hands teasingly on the man's chest armor.

"hmmm..." Lokka hums in thought, glancing over to Hannibal, "Sir Hannibal, what do you know of Sir Charles and his Kingdom?”

Sir Charles tensed more as the King began to dance around him, jumping slightly as he suddenly draped his arms over his shoulders. He immediately tried to look at whatever Hannibal’s reaction was to the King’s action, his stomach twisting into knots at the King’s forward and almost…flirtatious behavior.

Hannibal’s eyes remained fixated on the pair, his head tilted to the side observing the King’s behavior, and Sir Charles’ reaction. He noted his tension and how he seemed almost afraid of the small young King.

The boy continues to surprise me…

"Don't tell me a cat's got your tongue too now, Sir Hannibal," the young King calls out playfully to his Advisor and Knight, "Do you know of Sir Charles or his Kingdom? Feel free to speak your mind, Sir Hannibal.”

Hannibal’s eyes flicked over to the King as soon as he spoke up, his eyes narrowing for a moment before his normal, calm demeanor returned to him. He raised an eyebrow, a little surprised with the King’s almost childish behavior. He took no issue with it, it was almost…endearing…

Hannibal glanced back at Charles for a moment, observing his behavior further, before speaking up in his usual polite but crisp and composed tone.

“I know of his kingdom and his cause. I also know of his king.”

"Hmm," Lokka hums, teasingly nuzzling his face into Sir Charles' neck from behind, though from where Hannibal stands, Hannibal can see the way Lokka curls his nose in disgust at whatever he smells, or just disgust for the Knight Sir Charles in general.

“Continue to speak your thoughts, Sir Hannibal. What's your opinion? Since you know of him and his King. Should we help them? Why are they in a war?”

Hannibal noticed the way the King’s nose curled in disgust as he nuzzled into the Knight’s neck. That was interesting. Clearly, there was more going on than a simple plea for help. Hannibal kept that thought in the back of his mind for now as he continued to speak up.

“They’re at war with their neighboring kingdom because of a fight over land.” He explained, “Their King wants to expand his kingdom and is willing to take it by any means necessary, even if it means going to war.”

"Hmm...." Lokka hums, tracing his hands teasingly in a sexual manner over Sir Charles chest armor from behind as he continues to nose Sir Charles' neck, "pathetic," he hisses out before suddenly biting down and tearing into Sir Charles' neck, tearing out a large chunk of his flesh and causing blood to gush from his artery.

Sir Charles drops dead to the ground, a few brief gurgling noises before he dies. Lokka is now covered in Sir Charles' blood but looks unbothered. More annoyed with the blood on the beautiful tile throne room floor than anything else.

Lokka whistles out a sharp note and a servant enters.

"Maria, darling,” Lokka says sweetly, almost apologetic, and it seems genuine, “Can you have the gardener get rid of this one like they did with the King? You and the servants may sell or keep whatever he has on him. I'll need someone to clean this blood out of the floor. Again."

Hannibal’s eyes widened in utter shock the moment the young King suddenly bit the Knight’s neck. He stood speechless for a few moments, unable to speak or form any words or coherent thought. Everything about this moment was so…unexpected..

And strangely attractive.

Hannibal watched as the King called in a servant named Maria, almost stunned as he listened to what the pair said. He was still trying to process what just happened, and it almost felt like he was dreaming.

Maria nods and quickly fetches a few other servants. Soon the dead Knight is gone- a handsome but awkward looking man, the gardener presumably, fetching the body and carrying it out- and there's a servant cleaning the blood up. Lokka walks slowly back up to the throne and stops a few feet in front of you.

"Do you still want this job?" Lokka asks, unknowingly licking the blood on his lips.

Lokka's mouth, jaw, neck, and the front of his shirt is soaked in blood from Sir Charles.

"I promise to play nice and let you leave without harm if your answer is no. Though I will be sad if you do choose to leave.”

Hannibal’s eyes remained fixated on the bloody, almost gorey scene before him, unable to tear his eyes away from the blood on the floor.

He stayed silent for a few moments as he finally registered his question to him, his eyes snapping up to meet his gaze. His usual stoic features were now replaced with slight shock and awe. He wasn’t sure how to feel about any of this, it was all so…unexpected…

“I…I do still want the job, Your Majesty.” Hannibal says with a small stutter, surprising even himself. It's not fear though that makes him stutter. Something about the way Lokka looks with blood dripping from his chin is just… delicious. Maddeningly so.

"hmm... Very well then," Lokka turns and looks back at the servant currently cleaning the floor, "Maria? Sir Hannibal and I will be gone for a few minutes. If any guest comes, please apologize for the wait and have them guided to... I don't know where, just somewhere nice and keep them entertained and fed til I return. Understood, doll?”

Maria, a young, brown-haired, and freckled servant, looked up as the King addressed her. She paused for half a second before nodding her head. She didn't seem afraid of him despite the gore and violence.

“Understood, Your Majesty. Will do.” she says simply.

"Good." Lokka says with a soft smile to the girl, though the blood on him ruins the attempt at a kind image.

He turns and gestures for Hannibal to follow as he leaves the throne room and heads for his private chambers.

They're not the original King's Chambers- far too casual and not as overly decorated. There's still nice furniture and a sitting area but it's also decorated with multiple books filled with notes and scribbles in the margins, animal hides and leathers tossed everywhere, half finished crochet and wood carvings and leatherworking projects everywhere.

Lokka leads Hannibal in and practically ignores his presence as he goes to his wardrobe and pulls out a nicer but still not exactly Kingly clothes; simple black pants and a long sleeve black shirt. He changes and washes the blood from his face at the water basin before finally turning to look at Hannibal, not caring that he'd stripped down to his boxers and undershirt in front of the other man since the boxers and undershirt hid the parts of himself he likes to keep hidden from everyone who doesn't need to know his secret.

"So, any opinions or questions as to why I killed that Knight? You're allowed to speak freely. I won't give you the same side of me I gave him.”

Hannibal took the invitation to speak his mind, taking a moment to properly organize his thoughts before beginning to speak.

“You’ve clearly got a distaste for people who you see as weak, a person like the late Knight.” He began, keeping his voice and tone calm, and his words precise and careful to avoid sounding disrespectful. “Perhaps the Knight said something, or you simply got…fed up with him.”

The King chuckles softly, "hm, good theory but not quite, Sir Hannibal," He says as he sits on one of the couches in the sitting area of his private chambers, "I was going to kill him the moment I smelled him- I'm not a normal human if you haven't noticed yet."

Hannibal tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing for a moment as he fully assessed the king now, taking in his unnaturally keen sense of smell. This kid was far more than he seemed. He slowly walked over to the same couch and sat down a few feet away, keeping his usual polite composure still.

“You’re a werecat.”

Hannibal stated, not asking but saying it like it was factual.

“Precisely," the King says with a chuckle.

This was a very interesting development, to say the least. Werecats were relatively rare. Hannibal noted that Lokka's eyes resembled that of a cat. Sharp, unwavering, and almost predatory in a way.

“I assume you could smell that he was a coward…” Hannibal mused out loud, pausing for a moment as he noted more differences about the King.

“I did not kill him for his cowardice. But rather what I smelled on him- what he'd done- before he'd dirtied my Kingdom with his presence."

Hannibal raised an eyebrow, intrigued to know what he smelled on him. He never would’ve expected such a young king to be so…violent. The death was so vicious and sudden, and not to mention messy. And it was all over a particular scent.

But God, was it beautiful…

“What did you smell on him?” Hannibal questioned, his curiosity getting the better of him.

A murderous snarl tugs Lokka's lip, but not at Hannibal, rather the Knight he'd killed, "He smelled of children, suffering children, at least two. Two whose scents were far too different from his to have been his offspring. And scents that reeked of fear and pain. He'd harmed them. I dare not dwell in what ways."

Hannibal’s eyes momentarily darkened as he listened to the kid’s reply. Child abuse, a particular weakness of his. His hatred for it was almost as strong as his cannibalism.

For a split second, Hannibal suddenly felt a pang of…admiration. The kid had a sense of justice, in a way. A strange moral sense of delivering justice but still. He wasn’t a normal royal, that’s for sure.

“Is that why you killed him the way you did?” He questioned, masking his previous internal admiration and remaining composed and polite.

"Yes.”

Hannibal didn’t know how to feel about the King being so…unapologetic and straightforward about his violence, yet he found it almost refreshing and…charming. Usually, nobles danced and tiptoed around the subject and acted disgusted or horrified when acts like this were brought up.

“A brutal, yet justified death.” Hannibal muttered under his breath, speaking his thoughts out loud by accident.

"I'm glad you think so," Lokka says softly, head tilted slightly as he looks up at Hannibal.

Hannibal noticed his head tilt, taking in the small action further. He couldn’t help but find it…cute. The little King was clearly not an ordinary King, especially for his age. He was young, wild, and violent, and yet there was an almost endearing quality to him. Almost like that of a small, feral creature.

Hannibal's eyes drifted to the King's lips.

Soft and stained a faint red from the blood that he'd just washed off.

Lips that had parted to kill a man.

Lethal but beautiful lips that Hannibal wants to-

------

The gif of Hannibal covered in blood belongs to @bloodydancy ☮️💖

[emeritus-fuckers]

How does the Ministry function? Headcanon

Despite what it would seem, the Clergy's ruler is not actually the current Papa, which can be easily seen in the Chapters, where everything seems to be much more under Sister Imperator's control. However, even she seems to be under someone's supervision, aside from Satan himself. How does it all work, then?

Satan

Not much to be added here. Obviously, the person on the very top of the Clergy is going to be the Dark Lord. However, since unlike some deities he actually believes in free will, he doesn't really intervene much,

The Council of Seven Deadly Sins

The ones actually in charge. The Council, as the name shows, consists of seven members, each representing a sin. They are all in some way supernatural beings and have been granted immortality to guide the Clergy, however it is not impossible for the members to change. If one is somehow overpowered and killed, the person who defeated them gets their spot. It is unknown who is the most powerful member of the Council, therefore they do not have an official leader. Instead, they draw lots on who is in charge of their next meeting.

The Council of Seven Deadly Sins consists of:

Superbia (Pride) - The Director

Avaritia (Greed) - Representative currently unknown

Luxuria (Lust) - Representative currently unknown

Invidia (Envy) - Representative currently unknown

Gula (Gluttony) - Representative currently unknown

Ira (Wrath) - Mister Saltarian

Acedia (Sloth) - Representative currently unknown

Due to the fact that they obviously must attend to very many things at once, only one of them (The Director) is actually in the Ministry th entire time. The rest visit when they feel like and for official meetings.

Does Sister Imperator not being here confuse you? That's because she fits in the next category.

The Assistants of The Council

As of now, the only known member of this group is Sister Imperator, who serves as the Assistant of The Director. However, due to how her boss is, she is the one running the Ministry most of the time. Something that she was prepared to since she was a child.

For reasons known only to himself, mister Saltarian does not have an assistant right now and has not had one for almost a century.

The Papa

While the Papa holds a lot of power when it comes to Siblings of Sin, in reality he is completely powerless in the end, as any of the Council members of Assistants of the Council can easily veto Papa's decisions. In reality, the role of a Papa is much more representative than anything. They do, however, have a lot of paperwork to keep up with. So sadly, while the title is a great honor, it actually comes with much less power than one would think.

If for whatever reason there's more than one Papa at a time (for example, one of them is too old to function on his own, but he's not willing to retire (like Papa Nihil), another Papa can be chosen to function alongside him. In this case, the older Papa is mostly in charge of the more mundane tasks while the younger Papa takes on the more "important" aspects of the job. There can be up to two Papas at once, however one of them must be "retired" in theory.

A Papa can serve his duties alone until he reaches 80 years of age, however they can resign at any point (or can be forced to do so). He does keep the title, but it is mostly an honorific. A retired Papa is not forced to work, but they can choose to. If a Papa chooses to keep working after his 80th birthday, he will be forced to accept a second Papa to work alongside him.

The Cardinals

Unlike in the Catholic church, in the Clergy a Cardinal is not just a fancier Bishop, it's a fully functional, separate role. The Papa can have up to twelve Cardinals (which have to be accepted by at least one of the Council members) to serve as his own assistants and advisors. Not to be confused with a Papa's personal assistant, which is a completely different function.

The Cardinals also help manage the Ministry while the Papa is away. They are also temporarily in charge (still below the Council, of course) if something happens to their Papa and the new one is not yet chosen.

All heirs of the current Papa have to become a cardinal when they reach the age of 30, however due to the bloodline, they can, if they so wish, skip all the way from Deacon to a Cardinal, seeing as their education for their role begins way earlier. A younger sibling also counts as an heir. (So for example, Terzo has been a Cardinal to his father and both of his brothers.)

If a Papa dies without leaving an heir, the next Papa is chosen by the Council from his Cardinals.

Whenever a new Papa is chosen, he is given a choice to either keep the Cardinals of the previous one, or he can select a new bunch. Cardinals forced into retiring are given the title of an Archbishop.

The Archbishops

Despite how fancy the title sounds, it's just that. A title. The Archbishops get a fancier outfit, yes, but that's about it. They have the same responsibilities as regular bishops. The Archbishop title is mostly a way to show respect to them for their service, as it is given almost exclusively to former Cardinals and very few Siblings that have done something extraordinary to earn the title.

The Bishops

In the clergy, the role of a Bishop is not as fancy as it is in the catholic church. It can be summarized to a priest with more experience. A Bishop's role is mostly to educate Deacons and help younger Priests while doing the work they did as Priests. Of course, they get more paperwork than regular Priests. It takes 10-15 years for a priest to become a Bishop.

The Priests

Their role is similar to the catholic priests, except satanic, of course. There really isn't much to say here.

The Deacons

The lowest on the "Priest path" of the Ministry. The students. The ones who aren't Priests yet, but they wish to become them. One must be a Deacon for five years to become a priest. The earliest one can become a Deacon is 16 years old. An exception to that is an heir to the Papacy, who becomes a Deacon at age 13.

The Siblings of Sin

Despite theoretically being the lowest in hierarchy among the humans of the Ministry, they can be found all over the positions of power which are not directly related to religion itself. For the Clergy, anyone who has been baptized is a Sibling of Sin. They are under no obligation to become Priests or climb the ladder. Siblings of Sin are simply members of the Clergy, no matter what their exact function is. Can one Sibling of Sin have some level of control above others? Yes, absolutely, due to their administrative function or other things like that. In the Church's ranks, however, they are even.

The Nameless Ghouls

Despite me putting them at the bottom here, the Ghouls do not actually have a fixed position in the hierarchy of the Ministry. They are summoned with a specific purpose and/or to serve a specific person. Unless that person passes a contract made with a Ghoul to someone else, the Ghoul only serves their summoner at first. In most cases, however, the Summoners and Ghouls get attached to each other and Ghouls are granted freedom. While they still usually work under their Summoner, just with much more possibilities. The Ghouls respond to their Summoners almost exclusively. The Ghouls have their own hierarchies, but that's for another post, I guess.

~

Written by Jez.

Taglist: @copias-fluffy-asscheeks @lunarsromantichomicide @randodummy @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @copiaspowderedjizz @calliedion-dungeon @nuntia

[nicorenarin]

Why P5X's third arc changed everything.

There are huge spoilers for the narrative of 'Chapter 3: Concert for Rulebreakers' & 'Chapter 4: Gluttony's Finale' below, please proceed with caution. This also contains mentions of abuse, suicide and trauma.

It's no secret that I'm very passionate about Persona 5: The Phantom X, what many may see as a simple "cash-grab gacha game", I instead see it as what may potentially be one of the greatest narratives Atlus has told across their various series. This includes mainline Persona, Shin Megami Tensei and even the recently released Metaphor: ReFantazio, my second favourite game of all time.

This all started with the release of P5X's third arc, focusing on the palace of Kumi Katayama, the protagonist's homeroom teacher, and a teaching consultant at Kokatsu Academy, Kei Akashi. Without diving into too much detail, the palace itself is a first in the series in that it is technically shared by two people. Whilst the main body of the palace reflects the desires of Katayama, it's secretly being manipulated and usurped by Akashi, who has his own section of the palace known as the 'Control Centre of Gluttony', with Katayama's section being labelled as the 'Dam of Wrath'.

To sum things up early, this is one of the best arcs in the entire Persona series, and it comes from the silly mobile gacha game. I'm sure all those weird Atlus fans are probably having a stroke right now upon hearing those words, but don't threat, I'm here to explain my reasoning without giving too much away if you wanted to experience it for yourself. I will be using screenshots from the blog 'P5X Theories', an excellent blog that does a wonderful job at reporting news and translating various pieces of information about the game, please consider giving them a follow.

Kei Akashi is introduced to us through the 'Dean of Academic Affairs', Yamanashi, who in secret is a lot more sinister than what's initially let on. Akashi has been hired as a consultant to spot problems within Kokatsu and create an environment that allows teachers to better educate its students. In actuality, Akashi was sent here by a mysterious figure known only as 'Magatsukami' to identify the Phantom Thieves. The stakes are high, but only to those in-the-know, our current Phantom Thieves don't have a clue that they're being targeted. It's why I much prefer this current group to our old set of thieves who got lost in the fame of it all, eventually becoming subservient to the internet masses.

The Phantom Thieves of Desire have a much more 'personal' connection to not only each other, but their targets. Kiuchi's career was unknowingly ended by a young Motoha, Miyazawa was nearly responsible for destroying the business of the man Shun saw as a father, and now... we come to Katayama. She's one of the more tragic characters in the series as a whole. Her palace is reminiscent to that of Futaba, born not from guilt of consequences, but of regret, fear, and anger towards her current situation.

Not before long, Akashi's influence is felt around the school. Despite his "lies" as a consultant, it's clear that he exists within the school to sew tension amongst its teachers, mainly that of Katayama, to the point where two girls who 'admire' Akashi call Katayama a 'tyrannical teacher' for simply wanting them to follow the rules. We are also introduced to the eventual newest member of the Phantom Thieves, Riko Tanemura, who has a close relationship with Katayama, having known her for a year or so at Kokatsu. Akashi calls Katayama's way of teaching as "outdated", and he supports the students more than anything. It's clear to both Katayama and the Phantom Thieves that if Akashi got his way, the students would be left to their own devices, potentially damaging their prospects of a future.

And that's what this arc is all about, creating a future for yourself and letting go of the past.

After some more gameplay, the Dam of Wrath is discovered, and it's clear that this belongs to Katayama, but that's not who they first discover in the palace... it's actually Shadow Akashi. Just like at Kokatsu, the dam is receiving advice from a consultant, Akashi, and in actuality, he is using the dam itself to power himself and his control centre. Just as Akashi feeds off of the negativity he creates from harassing Katayama, pushing her to her breaking point and causing her to get suspended, his shadow feeds off of her work in the dam and the workers alongside her. In this reality, Akashi rules over all. He is the judge, jury, and, executioner. During his final fight, Akashi continues struggling for control and power, he's absolutely obsessed with it. He goes down the same villain he was introduced as, and even when he tries apologising for his actions, the man who hired him attempts to have him killed off.

As we discover following the defeat of Shadow Katayama and Akashi's control centre officially opening up... Akashi himself is an extremely broken man. His career within the film industry was ruined after an affair amongst other issues, he eventually fell into a deep depression, consumed by nothing more than to want to lash out at the world. His philosophy gave to him by his superior, that the strong are meant to eat the weak, and it's through that he becomes a consultant, is recruited by Magatsukami, and is willing to do anything to out the Phantom Thieves.

Akashi was taught that he cannot fight back if he is too weak, and so he begins seeing himself as somebody who is strong. It's this philosophy he employs onto Katayama, mentally straining her to the point where it's reflected in Shadow Katayama's eventual transformation into her boss form. Akashi's tendrils piercing the body of Katayama, not draining her power, but giving her power, filling her with the rage that represents her own lashing out against the world. All in all, Akashi attempts to turn Katayama into a version of himself he never wishes to look back on, somebody abused by the powerful and manipulated to their whims. Whilst Akashi himself survived such an issue, potentially from an intervention by Magatsukami, Katayama... was not going to be so lucky.

We find out at some point in the story that Akashi had previous victims as a consultant, all of which had committed suicide. In a vision of Wonder's, he sees something disturbing, and even though I may not have understood the dialogue at the time, the voice acting and image is all I needed to see the put the pieces together.

Once again, just like he had previously, Wonder receives a vision of ruin. What could happen and what he can't let happen. After her suspension, the group end up finding Katayama at Crossroads, where she seems to be quite literally drinking away her troubles. With dialogue from Riko stating that "she was injected with too much power", it's clear what metaphor you can make from such a statement, what Akashi's influence pushed Katayama to do when she was not allowed to help give her students a future.

After her shadow falls, the group talk with Katayama, and they all still see her as their "teacher", their true mentor at Kokatsu. She's weeping at this point, calling herself a terrible teacher and attempting to own the labels that were placed upon her, and it once again links back to letting go of the past and embracing the future. Katayama was manipulated and verbally abused to the point where those lies manifested as reality in her mind, and soon lead to her shadow. The message of this first arc is simple; it's protecting your future. In regular Persona 5, we never had a ruler so personal to the group apart from maybe Sae, but that heist was more-so a well-thought out distraction. As P5X breaks away from doing "another Kamoshida" and "better Madarame", it shows the mainline series what Persona is sometimes missing and that's raw emotion. You feel so sorry for Katayama, and you want to kick the shit out of Akashi.

Maybe I'll write more one day, mainly covering Riko Tanemura's second awakening and why it's so important, but with all the discourse still surrounding P5X, I wanted to talk about how much this arc truly impacted me. This is what Persona should be. Strip the tropes, the wacky bullshit, the jokes, and bring it down to earth. If the story continues upon these beats, choosing a more typical RPG-style of storytelling as opposed to sticking with the main formula, we might be looking at an all-timer.

And hey, what did you think was going to happen when they got the writers of Royal's Third Semester to make their own version of Persona 5?