#it's more about the rushed and jarring way it was executed; the clumsiness of the ep

[benedictscanvas]

all the wrong places [finale] - spencer reid x reader

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: 3.6k

Summary: It only takes a moment for Spencer to realise that he doesn’t just want to marry you someday, he wants to marry you as soon as he possibly can. But since he can’t come up with a solid plan, he turns to his BAU family for help in planning the most important day of his life so far. Is that a mistake? Most definitely.

Warnings: Series probably aren’t meant to be exclusively fluffy, but this one practically is! I need some fluff in my life, damn it! There may be some mention of regular Criminal Minds things, some language but mostly just good ol’ Spence lovin’

A/N: We’re finally here. It was so, so difficult to finish off a series so long in the making, so I truly hope I’ve done it justice for everyone. As always, I love you all dearly, and thank you for all your support on the series and beyond. Enjoy <3

---

Chapter Seven

Spencer heard you slip out of bed earlier in the morning than you usually would, but still didn’t say anything. Even though he knew for certain that neither of you had slept at all, even though he wanted to just tell you that he would happily marry you tomorrow, even though lying next to you all night and trying not to cry had been torture.

He’d realised about an hour into his desperation that he wasn’t going to be able to simply turn over and explain himself, because you would think he was lying. How could he convince you that he wanted to marry you when his entire demeanour had suggested otherwise? He could show you the ring, but then he’d be proposing at two in the morning in your bed when the two of you were trying not to cry. That wasn’t the story he wanted you to excitedly relate to your coworkers, your family, your future children.

At the thought of your future children, he couldn’t help but begin his silent crying.

Now, tears long dried up as he’d stared blankly at the ceiling, he checked his phone. 5am. He could hear you rustling around getting dressed in the room next door. Quicker than he could comprehend, he heard the front door slowly click shut. You’d left already. Definitely didn’t want to hum along to your combined favourite playlist on the way to work this morning, then.

Knowing there was no point in lying there any longer, Spencer got up instead. When he trudged into the living room, rubbing his eyes, the post-it on the door almost made him lose his resolve not to cry again.

Thought I’d get an early start this morning, but I’ll leave you the car. I’m so sorry about last night, Spence. Love you x

He took a deep breath. He was proposing today, there was no doubt about that. He couldn’t let you go on a second longer without the knowledge that he’d been trying to propose to you for months and that he’d frozen because he had all these plans, terrible plans. He couldn’t just say yes when he wanted to show you just how much he wanted to marry you.

He picked up his phone, thinking about which of his friends would be able to help him most. There wasn’t much of a contest, since only one of them would already be up and therefore not too mad at him for calling at such an unsocial time.

“JJ? Can I come over?”

---

“Oh, Spence,” JJ sighed knowingly after Spencer had recalled the events of the previous evening with precise accuracy. They sat at her kitchen table, with Will looking after Henry elsewhere in the house, “You didn’t say anything?”

“I panicked, JJ, you know how much I’ve put into this. I didn’t know how to fix it, but I also couldn’t have just agreed to marry her right then and there when I’ve spent so long trying to make this proposal perfect.”

“I know, I know. This is going to take a lot of fixing though, Spence, if Y/N thinks you don’t want to marry her.”

“I know! That’s why I’m proposing today, no matter what happens, I’m not letting anything get in my way again.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea? She won’t just think you’re proposing because you feel guilty?”

“Not if I explicitly tell her that’s not the case,” Spencer reasoned, and though JJ still looked unsure, she conceded with a half-smile.

“Okay, Spence, what do you need from me?”

“Not much. I just need you to keep everyone away from the break room for a while.”

“You’re proposing in the break room?” She asked, only a little incredulous. He rolled his eyes.

“It’s where we first met, JJ, that has to count for something.”

You were making the first round of coffee for everyone on your first morning. It felt like the right thing to do to get off on the right foot. When Spencer had come in to make his own, you’d insisted on making it for him too and he’d stood there awkwardly as he committed every plane of your face to memory. It didn’t take him long, roughly the same time it took him to fall madly in love with you as he added more sugar to the coffee you’d made him without thinking and you had grinned up at him without a word.

“Alright, alright,” JJ held her hands up in surrender, standing from the kitchen table as she glanced at the clock on the wall, “You’ve been here for hours Spencer, we’ve got to get going.”

Spencer nodded, feeling the bile rising in his throat. The ring box was in his pocket now because feeling the weight of it was the only thing keeping him grounded. The two of you never argued, not that this was an argument, but you never didn’t talk. It felt wrong, not kissing you awake this morning, not squeezing your hand as the two of you ate breakfast.

These were the things he wanted to do for the rest of his life. With you.

---

When Spencer and JJ stepped out of the elevator, later to work than they should’ve been, they caught a glimpse of everyone in the office suddenly turning back to their work. Spencer swore he saw Hotch turn on his heel and practically speed walk back towards his office. They opened the glass doors and both stared out at their colleagues suspiciously.

Spencer’s first thought was that Y/N was nowhere to be found, but JJ’s was clearly very different.

“Alright, what’s going on here?” She said instantly, despite the fact that no one was looking at them. Practically the whole team turned towards her with guilty looks on their faces, with Rossi appearing from a hiding spot behind Spencer’s own desk, “What are you all hiding?”

“Look, we were supposed to do this far more subtly, but since Rossi decided to hide,” Derek glared at Rossi mid-sentence who looked suitably embarrassed himself, “Reid, you should go to the break room.”

“What? Why should I go to-“

“Spencer,” Emily spoke up with a hopeful expression, “Just go to the break room.”

He managed to catch on at that point. It was more than likely that this was where he would find you. Had JJ called ahead and told them to get you in there so he could execute his plan? He smiled at everyone for their cooperation and rushed off towards the break room to find you.

But when he looked in the small window on the door, he couldn’t even see you. He was really hoping this wasn’t some elaborate prank by Derek, because he wasn’t sure he could handle that with no sleep and his heart beating out of his chest. He opened the door regardless, because maybe he could wait for you in-

His small surprised inhale almost sounded like a gasp. You were in the room, right in front of him, with shining eyes and a smile that looked equal parts adoring and terrified.

And you were down on one knee.

His hand was frozen to the door knob. Feet glued to the floor. Eyes stuck on your face, flittering around those features he could recite by memory whether it was eidetic or otherwise. He still hadn’t moved, or spoken, or done anything and it was only when you were getting up and ushering him inside that he regained control over his body.

“Quick, close the door, I don’t want people listening to this,” you insisted quietly, bringing him fully inside the break room and closing the door behind him. He could hear you trying not to cry and it was jarring, “Derek will tease me for weeks. Months, even.”

And with that, you took up your position on one knee once again in front of him, getting down onto the floor with clumsy feet, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand as you took a deep breath. He knew to stay quiet for now.

“Okay, so, first thing you’ve probably noticed is that I don’t have a ring. I’m sorry. This was kind of spur of the moment, but if you say yes then Hotch said we could have the rest of the day off to go and find one for you, if that’s something you want-” you took another deep breath, this one out of necessity. It was hard to find time to breathe when there was so much you wanted to say all at once. His watery smile was prevalent as he reached out a hand and you took it in both of your own.

“Anyway, there’s more important things to say right now,” you continued, shaking your head, “I love you, Spencer Reid. In every way imaginable. More than even you could comprehend. You are everything. And I want to marry you desperately, not for ridiculous financial reasons, but because I want to be your wife. I said all that crap last night because I panicked. I want to be able to call you my husband and I want to have the same last name, whichever one we choose and I want to have a day where we celebrate just how amazing we are together.”

Spencer was definitely crying now, as were you, but somehow the shaky tone with which you said your words was only adding to how much you truly meant them. He didn’t have time to wonder how he managed to get so lucky, nor how he had messed this up so many times that you had felt the need to do it yourself. All he was thinking about was that he needed to make sure you knew how much he wanted this too, and quickly.

“Y/N-”

“One second, Spence, I’ve nearly finished I promise,” you insisted, and he wasn’t going to refuse you, silently rubbing soothing circles into your knuckles as one of his tears dripped down onto your joined hands, “I love you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you and I want it to be immortalised on paper too, because we both love a document.”

He chuckled down at you disbelievingly.

“Doctor Spencer Reid, will you marry me?”

He took a deep breath and joined you on the floor, kneeling in front of you. He reached out with one hand to press his thumb to a tear on your face, not wiping away, simply savouring the feel of it against his skin. It didn’t take much to commit it, along with every detail of the moment, to memory.

“This is unconventional,” he mused, flicking his gaze all over your face, keeping his answer withheld just a little longer.

“Just because I’m the one proposing? I never took you for a traditional.”

“I was actually talking about us being on the floor of the break room at our workplace,” he explained, “Do you know how many people’s coffee we’re likely kneeling in right now?”

“I’m sure you could give me an unsurprisingly accurate estimate, my love,” you said kindly, with a patience he couldn’t understand, “But I’d much prefer you answer my question.”

He had been hoping you would say that, because it gave him the perfect opportunity to pull the ring box out of his pocket.

“Does this answer your question?’

Popping open the lid of the box and presenting the ring inside to you, he kept his eyes trained on your face to capture your reaction forever. It was better than he could have pictured. Sparkly eyes and shaking hands and sniffles and so much love.

“You just have that?”

“Have done for a while,” he admitted, closing his eyes for just a moment when you placed a careful hand on his face, “Been trying to do this for a long time, angel.”

The disbelief on your face is palpable, and he takes note of the fact that you’ve hardly even looked at the ring yet, your attention captured by him: only him. He’s never felt more loved. More whole.

“You have? I’m sorry I stole your thund-”

“No, no, never,” Spencer interrupted you, seeing the flash of guilt in your eyes even as you tried to hide it, “You could never. This just makes it better. You want to marry me enough to ask me twice?”

A wry smile from you is all the answer he needs. You answer him anyway.

“‘Course I do, baby.”

“Well then, since I want to marry you enough to have tried to ask five times,” he placed his own hand on top of yours on his face and nuzzled into it, ignoring your look of pure shock, “The answer is a yes.”

“To the original question?”

“And every other question that comes after it,” he confirmed and though you’re both still crying, your grins are lighting up the whole room, “What about you?”

“What about me?” you retorted, “I don’t remember you asking me a question, actu-”

“Will you marry me, Y/N?”

You were laughing through your tears now, at him, at the whole situation. He could feel the floor against his knees, the edges of pain creeping in as the two of you stayed on the floor for longer than you should have, but it wasn’t as if he wanted to go anywhere just yet.

“Oh, that question? Yeah, that’s a definite yes. A definite, absolute, no question about it-”

He cut you off again, but he didn’t feel too bad about it once your lips were on his and he was kissing you with everything he had in him. You may have been kneeling on the floor but his arms were around your waist, one travelling up your back and into your hair, keeping you as close as humanly possible. When he feels your hands in his own hair and your nails lightly scratching against his scalp he could swear that nothing in his life to come will ever come close to this feeling.

Then he remembers he’s going to have a wedding day with you in the not so distant future and if it’s even possible, he draws you closer. So close, with such fervour, that the ring box falls to the floor, utterly forgotten as a mere trinket in wake of the best moment of both of your lives.

He hears the door beginning to open behind him, even as he’s so focused on you in his arms, and he just knows that its the team, that they’ve been watching you silently this whole time. So, without much thought, his leg flew backwards behind him and made contact with the door, effectively shutting anyone and everyone else out of a moment that he needed to be just the two of you. It made a slight crashing noise, but when you tried pulling away, he only chased your lips until you were back together again and if the little sigh you gave him was any indicator, you wouldn’t be investigating the noise for just a little longer.

Whoever just tried to come in would be laying into him later, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

When you did finally part, with more reluctance than ever and heaving chests pressed against one another, you stayed close. Foreheads lightly grazing, breath intertwined along with your respective futures. He grabbed the ring box from the floor and opened it back up, taking out the ring with shaky fingers.

“May I?”

You merely giggle, leaning back away from him so that you could see his face properly as you wiggle your fingers in front of him excitedly. He takes your left hand in his tenderly and slides the ring on with a careful hand, kissing across your knuckles to seal the deal. When he looks back up, he sees your eyes have drifted behind him.

“Spence,” you say slowly, eyes trained on the door, “Did you kick the door shut when they tried to come in?”

He should have known you’d put it together when he stopped kissing you. Maybe he should never have stopped. That would solve most of his problems.

“He did!” an angry voice comes through the door, angry and loud and definitely belonging to Derek. Spencer finally turns, taking in the sight of every single one of his coworkers crowded haphazardly around the small window in the door to the break room, each in various states of happiness. There were even more tears outside the room than in it, with Penelope adding a significant number, but JJ, Derek and even Hotch were adding a few of their own to the count.

This time, when JJ pushed the door open, he didn’t shut it in her face, however much he still wanted to preserve his moment with you. When Garcia runs over and throws herself onto the floor to hug the both of you and the rest of the team follows suit, he supposes he doesn’t mind too much.

When he catches a glimpse of your face through all the hugging and you’re already staring at him, he decides he doesn’t mind at all.

---

“And the third time?”

“Ah, see, the third time is my personal favourite,” Emily said, trying not to join Penelope in her hysterical giggles at just the thought of the accidental flash mob she’d arranged, “Do you happen to remember when Penelope spotted Bruno Mars outside the building?”

Your brow furrowed and then there was clearly a moment when everything clicked in your head and your eyes widened.

“No! That was a proposal attempt?”

You were looking up at Spencer now and he just rolled his eyes good-naturedly, keeping his fingers entwined with yours over your shoulder. He had made sure that the pad of his finger was lightly pressed against the metal of the ring at all times during your engagement dinner, occasionally reminding himself of its shape with slow, deliberate strokes. A whole month since he’d put it there and still the feeling of it was electric each and every time.

“Not exactly,” he admitted, glancing at a still laughing Penelope, “Garcia ordered a flash mob, then forgot to cancel when I told her to, then saved the day with her quick thinking.”

You blinked.

“I”m sorry, what?!”

And soon Emily was launching into the full story, reminding you of the little details of the moment that you would have missed at the time, Derek chiming in too, if only to describe the varying degrees of panic on Spencer’s face. He was happy to sit back in his booth seat and let them tell it, if only because it gave him perfect opportunity to enjoy the story along with you, through your expressions and comments and persistent laughter.

Derek soon transitioned into explaining the very awkward moment with Emily on the jet, to which you were again shocked to hear how terrible everyone’s ideas had really been. You and JJ had already had a lighthearted argument about her terrible restaurant idea, although both of you were very clearly joking around.

“Hey, Reid,” Hotch said lowly, gaining his attention during the dinner when Dave was talking about the time after the bomber came into the police precinct a couple of weeks ago. Spencer turned to him at the head of the table, “I think it turned out perfect, in the end. I’m proud of you.”

“Even if I was beaten to it?”

Hotch chuckled, but placed a hand on Reid’s shoulder nonetheless.

“Even so.”

“Thanks, Hotch,” Spencer replied sincerely, really meaning it. Hotch gave him a single nod before retracting his hand and asking JJ to pass the garlic bread. The moment had been short, but Hotch being proud of him was something that he had always held close to his heart.

When he turned back to you, the botched proposal stories seemed to be coming to an end and in the momentary silence, you spoke up, one hand still entwined with his own but the other holding up your glass.

“I’d like to make a toast,” you said, encouraging everyone to raise their glasses with you, “Which may be unconventional, but it has to be said. I want to thank you all for coming here to celebrate our engagement tonight, but also for every bit of support you’ve all given us over the years. We love you and we couldn’t be more grateful, however terrible your proposal ideas might have been.”

A resounding laugh from everyone, and a protest from Dave who insisted that his advice was brilliant all along. Derek managed to silence him with just a look. They began to clink their glasses together, but you weren’t quite done yet, and Spencer knew it.

“Just before we toast, I’d also like to suggest that you all enroll yourselves on a profiling refreshers course, first thing Monday morning,” you paused for dramatic effect, soaking in the confusion from everyone at the table as Spencer just stared down at you in awe, the smile on his face unable to be contained, “Because the fact that none of you have noticed that I’ve not touched a drop of champagne tonight is a real embarrassment to us all.”

Silence. Gears clicking into place. Then - uproar.

Spencer sees the utter joy appearing on everyone’s faces and can’t help but lean into you, kissing your temple once, twice, three times. Before he can do a fourth, you’ve turned to him, your glistening eyes on his as you kiss him properly. He can’t help the hand that falls to rest on your stomach as he does so, overwhelmed with noise, laughter and so much love.

---

taglist (ily all <3)

@mrs-dr-reid @soda610 @alexxcorona113 @thupidalethea @may-beforejune-afterapril @ilovesupersoldiers @hurricanejjareau @mortallythoughtfulgurl @aperrywilliams@saranyx @anotherspencerreidblog @thegayestdestielshipper @burkgolden @zozoleesi  @sargent-barnes @halseysunset @blameitonthenight21 @televisiondreamstomorrow @dralexreid​ 

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer x reader #Criminal Minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fluff #all the wrong places

[legoshi-plz]

Pretenses (Louis x Reader)

Summary: Royal AU. Louis is a spoiled prince and you are a clumsy maid. Prince!Louis x Canine!Dog!Reader

AN: I’ve been writing this for like ever and I finally started on chapter 2 so I feel it’s time to go ahead and post this. This will be a multichapter series 💕

///////////

You were fired. You were so fired.

You knew damn well you weren’t allowed in the kitchen at this time. Your kind wasn’t allowed to use the kitchen until nightfall. It was the agreement the Royal court made over half a century ago when they first began to let Carnivores staff stay within palace grounds. They were allowed free range of the kitchen before sunrise and after nightfall but never in between. During the day, the kitchen was nearly entirely ran by a staff of Gazelles. They cooked and served the royal family exclusively as it had been for years and they had quite the aversion to all Carnivores. Canines especially.

You knew you were risking one of the best gigs you’d ever happened across going into the kitchen during the day but you were sure the Gazelles were on break and assumed it was a calculated risk. Boy were you bad at math.

You had snuck into the kitchen countless times when the Gazelles took their routine hour break right after serving the royal court lunch. There was a group of younger carnivores (badgers who tended the gardens) who came to you with gripes of hunger, knowing you were easily the best cook amongst the Carnivore staff. You agreed as always and set off to the kitchen to make a quick stew that would hold them over until nightfall as well be simple enough to prepare and clean up before the Gazelles returned from their break.

You had finished the stew and prepared to package it up to sneak out when two Gazelles returned to the kitchen unexpectedly. It hadn’t been the first time someone had come back early but you usually used your keen hearing to get out of dodge before hand. This time you weren’t so lucky.

You hightailed it out of there but not before they saw your face. It was over for you.

As expected you were called into the head of the kitchen’s office. An older, especially rigid Gazelle named Mrs. Stallworth. She was as mean and particular as they come, her disgust towards Carnivores not concealed in the slightest. In her office she was accompanied by an even older alpaca, Madam Peak, the head mistress of all royal staff regardless of division.

“Come in girl and stop loitering by the door!” Mrs. Stallworth snapped. You immediately approached her desk, sitting once she motioned to the chair in front of her.

“Look, I am going to ask you this one time and one time only, Dog, and if you lie to me, you won’t live to tell another,” the Gazelle sneered and you felt your heart drop.

“Were you in the kitchens today while the staff grazed?”

“Y-Yes ma’am,”

“Were you cooking using unauthorized food items not rationed for Carnivores’ consumption?”

“Yes ma’am,”

“Are you aware this is a volatile offense punishable by execution?”

“I- um, execution?”

“Enough of the dramatics, Marta,” The alpaca said gently, placing a hand on Mrs. Stallworth’s shoulder.

“Fine. Did you or did you not make this?” Stallworth produced a jar from behind her desk containing your stew. You nodded hesitantly.

“Thought so. What the hell did you put in this? Be specific,” You listed off the ingredients automatically, the recipe ingrained in your memory.

Once you were finished, Stallworth looked to her left, coming to a silent agreement with Madam Peak.

“You scrub the cobblestones with the rest of the domestic canine, right?” You nodded hastily.

“That’s grueling work, hard on the back and worse on the joints. Murder on the hands and knees as well, yeah?” She didn’t wait for an response.

“Look, you’re lucky you’re a small dog. Domesticated too. Anyone else would have been on the streets by now but I don’t believe in wasting talent when there’s far too little to be found in this world.” Stallworth said, her eyes boring into yours. You began to squirm in your seat under her gaze.

“There’s a position for you in the kitchen, if you want it. It won’t be an easy job, you’ll do all of the grunt work and you will not be treated as an equal. But you will be the first Carnivore to ever hold such a position. What do you say?” She looked at you expectedly and you realized she actually wanted you to speak this time.

“D-do I have a choice?”

“No, your only other option is termination and banishment from the palace. Report to the kitchens in the morning 20 minutes before dawn. You start tomorrow.” Stallworth sneered.

“T-thank-”

“You’re dismissed.”

////////

“Another day in paradise, huh Y/N?” Two Gazelles giggled as you reentered th kitchen in utter exhaustion. You had just been tasked with moving bag after bag of heavy flour from the stock room to the kitchen and you could feel every muscle throb in protest.

It’s effectively been about 2 months since you began your position in the kitchen and it was everything Mrs. Stallworth had warned and more. The work was seemingly never ending and you almost always got stuck transporting ingredients from the storage pantry to the kitchen. When you weren’t doing that, you were doing prep work or being used as a taste tester.

“You canines are pure muscle, it’ll go straight through you. Us Gazelles have to watch our figures or we’ll blow right up,” they’d whine before stuffing whatever dish they were making down your throat.

The job wouldn’t be so exhausting if it weren’t for the fact that after slaving endlessly for the Gazelles all day, you had to turn around and cook for the Carnivores as well. Though you hate to admit it, you had gained quite a bit of knowledge about nutrition during your time in the kitchen and tried to pass it on to your Carnivore brethren. They were less concerned about the actual nutritional aspect and were content with that fact that your food taste good.

“I’m not taking that to him! Find someone else!” One of the Gazelles screeched, pushing a tray of food away from her.

“Well I’m surely not taking it to him! Besides, it’s your own fault for sleeping with him!” Her friend retorted pushing the tray near her and walking off. This kitchen was never short of drama, that was for sure.

“Dog!” The Gazelle turned around to face you.

“My name’s not Dog,”

“Do you know my name?” She prompted. Shit, she had you there.

“Thought so. Now I need you to take the Prince his dinner. He’s under the weather and the food contains his medicine so he’ll probably refuse it. If that happens just show your fangs and threaten to eat him,” she said shoving the tray into your arms.

“I don’t have fan-”

“Better be off before the food gets cold,” She chirped, rushing off. You sighed and began your hike up to the royal chambers.

It took what seemed like an eternity to climb the countless flights of stairs until you reached the Prince’s bedroom, the royal chambers located impossibly far from the Kitchen headquarters. You began to knock on the door when you realized you had never interacted with a royal before. Had never really seen one in person. The Canines were given strict orders to stay out the way of anyone important and the Royals definitely could be considered important.

“Come in,” a raspy voice called. You proceeded to enter what was nothing less than the most extravagant room you’d ever seen in your life. In the middle of an enormous canopy bed was a stag. He looked increadibly small surround by the lush bedding.

“A Carnivore? And to what do I owe this visit? Heard the crowned Prince had fallen ill so they sent you to finish me off? They could have at least sent one of a formidable size, this is just insulting,” he sneered, his voice nasally with congestion.

“I-I’m from the kitchens, here to give you your lunch, my- um- liege?” You didn’t really know how to address a royal since no one ever thought it’d be worth the proper training for Carnivores.

“Dogs don’t work in the kitchen,”

“This one does. I’m.... new,” you said stepping forward.

“Clearly. Leave the tray by the door.” He snarled, turning on his side. You assumed you were supposed to take that as a sign of dismissal.

“I have to make sure that you eat, sire,” you began to walk towards his bed slowly as to not frighten him.

“Can’t you even follow simple instructions?” He glared at you. You remained silent, still holding the tray. Seeing you weren’t going away that easily, the Prince began to examine you.

“Judging by the way you look like death warmed over, I’m assuming they work you to the bone in the kitchens,” he sneered through his congestion. Again, you remained silent.

“Well however bad you think it is now, I guarantee I can make it a million times worse for you. Now get out of my sight,” after his little rant he expected you to flee, which made it that much more awkward when you simply stared back at him completely aloof.

“So be it then,” he huffed, snatching the tray from you.

///////////

You had expected the Prince’s threat to merely be the defiant ramblings of sick, unwilling patient and it seemed to be just that in the weeks that followed your quick interaction.

You avoided being forced to take him his lunch again and things continued as normal. You could even say that you were adjusting to life in the kitchens and the strain it put on you felt as if it began to lessen. Then it all came to a screeching halt one morning.

“Y/N! Stallworth wants ya” One of the Gazelle’s yelled entering the room. You put down the knife you were using to cut vegetables and wiped your hands on your apron as you trudged to her office. A feeling of dread began to creep into you as you felt trouble loom. If Stallworth ignored you that meant that you were doing everything right, so this had to mean something was wrong.

“Yes ma’am,” you said entering the already open door.

“The prince requested you. Said he wanted you to take his meal orders from now on and to bring them to him. I see no reason not to comply,” Stallworth said sharply. You didn’t know if she expected you to speak or not so you remained silent.

“Well what are you waiting for?! Go tend to the Prince,” she snapped and you were gone in a minute. You had no idea where the Prince was at this time so you decided the best place to find him would be where you last saw him, his bed chambers.

Just as you arrived, the Prince was exiting his room looking healthier than ever.

“My liege, the kitchen staff informed me that I was to bring you your meals from now on,” you panted from the sprint to his room.

“Indeed,” Prince Louis confirmed which led to a prominent silence.

“So where is it?” He snapped suddenly causing your ears to shoot up in shock.

“I have to know what you want first, you have to put in the request to the kitchen staff,” you said cautiously. It seemed the Prince was even more volatile in his robust state.

“My dietary schedule has not changed in years. Stop wasting my time and go fetch it, Dog.” He said as if your species was something filthy and detestable.

“My name’s not Dog,” you said in a quiet voice as you turned to leave.

“I’ll call you whatever I like, you pathetic excuse for a maid. It will do you well to learn your place.” Louis snarled. You bowed awkwardly and left to fetch his lunch.

You felt small, oh so small. And worthless. You had never been one of those Carnivores to resent the royal family (or Herbivores in general) for placing Carnivores so lowly in society, but then again you had never came into contact with such an openly contemptuous Herbivore before. The Gazelles ostracized you for the most part and Stallworth was a real piece of work but they never left you feeling so... ashamed. Ashamed of yourself and ashamed of your species.

This was to be the future leader of the Kingdom? A Herbivore who hated Carnivores? The thought was overwhelmingly depressing. Carnivores were barely getting by in society as it was, who knew what things would be like for them once a petty, egotistical asshole like him were to take the throne.

////////

All those months ago when Prince Louis had threatened to make life as hard as possible for you, out of all things you would not have expected to underestimate about him, his dedication was definitely at the top of the list.

He was relentless day in and day out, running you ragged around the palace for obscenely trivial matters, while also putting the burden of his meals solely onto you. He forbade anyone else to touch even a single ingredient of his meals, making you the only one to prep the meals, cook the meals, deliver the meals, etc. even if the exact entree was being cooked in the kitchen already.

He also made sure someone (usually one of his guards) was watching you at all times in case you tried to tamper with his food. It was embarrassing and insulting to have a guard breathing down your shoulder at every possible moment and yet that was something you were simply forced to deal with.

On days he felt like you were a little to compliant and agreeable, he’d make you eat whatever was on his plate with him, even if it was against your own nutritional chart.

“I’m afraid I can’t, my liege. Canine such as myself aren’t supposed to eat [insert food],” you said bowing slightly.

“Will it kill you?” He asked bored as always.

“Well, um, no but we get incredibly sic-”

“Then stop your incessant whining and get over here, Dog! I don’t have all day and this food’s not going to poison check itself!”

Prince Louis was a vile man. You’d even say you hated him and you had never hated anyone before. Every minute you spent in his presence, you felt lower than dirt and he had to know that. Which was why he made sure you saw him more than anyone in the entire palace. He even made you stand by his side and watch him eat, even if some days you were near starving from not having enough time to feed yourself in a rush to tend to him. All this and you still had to do your regular kitchen duties to the best of your abilities and help cook for the Carnivores at night after the kitchens were cleared.

You were beginning to be run to the bone and it was taking a negative effect in your health. Your heart would pulsate at unhealthy, sporadic rates; you found it harder and harder to digest food even when you were hungry; and your eyelids and limbs constantly felt like cement. After months of running you into the ground, you began to see that realistically, as badly as you needed this job, you just couldn’t keep this up if it sent you to an early grave.

The final straw happened in the Prince’s Study. He was taking his lunch there as he usually did. You stood at his side (he would never allow you to sit down) as he languidly ate his soup. He’d sent you back twice now for corrections to the dish but after the last time taking you so long to return (as you had to force your body to take every step), he decided to just begrudgingly eat it as is.

You barely remember what happened. One moment you were willing yourself to keep standing and ward off exhaustion and the next you were on the ground, unable to move. You heard a slight shuffle and then everything went black. The last thing you remembered was trying to get your limbs to move but they refused.

When you began to regain consciousness, the events of falling slowly began to come back to you. It looked like this was the end of the line for you. If you couldn’t do your job properly, you were fired, it was as simple as that.

You sat up slowly, ready to face the music when you opened your eyes to an all too familiar setting. You were in the Prince’s chambers. Even worse, you were in the Prince’s bed. You looked around frantically and saw him sitting in a plush chair in the corner, a book in hand as he languidly turned the pages. Upon seeing your eyes staring at his, he closed the book but made no move to stand up.

“You’re awake I see. Feeling better?” The Prince asked as bored as ever. Somehow you got the feeling that this was somehow worse than being fired, much much worse.

“M-my liege, I-, what am I-, how?”

“You passed out in my study, I carried you to my chambers.” He said standing up. He moved towards you like a predator.

“You’re basically a walking corpse. I doubt you’re even registering what I’m saying right now,” He leaned over you and before you could stop him he tore your blouse open.

“Just as I suspected. Your fur quality’s deteriorating as well,” he shook his head in slight disgust. You scrambled out of the bed and tried to cover yourself with what was left from your ruined maid’s uniform.

“I’ve had quite enough of this your highness. I- I- I quit!” you said in a fit of rage which only managed to come off as quiet frustration due to your exhaustion.

Louis rounded the room and stalked towards you. He raised his arms and you thought he was going to strike you, however his hands dipped lower to your waist to throw you over his shoulder. He marched you back to his bed and gently set you down in the center.

“Request of resignation denied. Now go back to sleep, Y/N. You’re not thinking clearly.” He said while he performed a half-attempt at tucking you in. You tried to struggle against him but your flails were weak. He grabbed you by the shoulders and languidly pinned you down until you tired yourself out.

“Finished?” Louis asked. You nodded slowly and he released you.

“Good. Now get some rest, I won’t ask again,” Louis ordered and you felt your heavy lids close as you drifted back to unconsciousness.

////////////

Louis made sure you were actually sleep before grabbing the book he wasn’t actually reading and slinking back into his armchair across from his bed. Okay it wasn’t actually supposed to be in front of his bed, it was supposed to be in his study but he had dragged it in here so he could watch you.

He told himself it was only as a form of protection, that he needed to be alert in case you woke up as an angry Carnivore. In reality, he could easily overpower you in any instance and he had just been watching you for the past few hours for his own reasons. He couldn’t help it, seeing you like this was an enigma to him.

Every time you were in his presence, your guard was up. You were painfully ignorant to the proper ways to address Royals and you knew it, so you constantly held your tongue in fear of offending him and making your situation worse. That only ever served to anger him more, how careful you were around him as if saying the smallest incorrect thing to him would hurt his feelings.

Well, he could kind of see where you got that impression. He had launched a full on personal vendetta against you and you had only been doing your job.

Okay maybe that was what started this but it certainly wasn’t what kept him going for this long. He hated to admit it but he’d hadn’t stopped this little onslaught yet because he wasn’t ready to stop seeing you. He had grown accustomed to being around you constantly, day in and day out, even if you were there slightly against your will.

The fact he found you to be the single most gorgeous creature he’d ever had laid eyes on definitely wasn’t a factor here, or at least that’s the lie he told himself.

He knew he shouldn’t think such things, he was betrothed for goodness sake. But he still couldn’t leave you alone, couldn’t let you out of his grasp just yet. He knew nothing would come of it and he was fine with that, had accepted it even. You were a Carnivore, a commoner, and he was a Prince. He was just occupying his time, nothing more.

Louis, to his own shame, had slept with numerous maids prior, of all walks of life. He was never stupid enough to sleep with a Carnivore, of course, yet he’d never really had the desire to until he met you. With you everything was different. It wasn’t just the urge to get into your pants that drove him, it was actually quite the opposite. Just being in your presence was all he craved, the thought of defiling you not even a factor here.

Whatever incessant crush he harbored on you would simply have to wear itself out but not if he wore you out first. He knew his torment of you to disguise his own feelings was childish to say the least but none of that mattered if you quit. Not that he would actually allow you to quit in the first place.

No, Louis wasn’t ready to go back to being alone just yet. He had decades of loneliness that await him during his Kingship. He would take his fleeting moments of happiness now where he could, before his time ran out.

/////////////

#okay yes I changed the title I didnt like the other one 😭😭😭 #beastars #louis x reader #beastars louis #louis x you #beastars louis x reader #louis

[cupcakezys]

....41 with Merthur?

This was originally meant to be a lot more fluffy but then this happened so…. I’m sorry? I hope you enjoy anyway anon!

From this ask game thing.

Read on AO3 if you prefer!

41 - Forbidden kiss.

Merlin wondered if this was what would finally get him executed. He had always thought it would be his magic – after all, in a magic hating kingdom like Camelot, if anything was to get him killed it would be the discovery of his magic. He had never even considered that this might be something he would have to worry about.

Not that he would change anything, no matter the dangers.

Arthur’s lips were chapped, and warm, and Merlin had wondered what they would feel like pressed against his for so long that he could hardly believe this wasn’t just another one of his fantasies. Of course, his fantasies usually involved him doing something heroic and brave – like saving Camelot from whatever evil decided to attack it with his magic, for all to see, and Arthur realising how madly in love he was with his secretly sorcerous servant.

They hadn’t ever started with them in Arthur’s room, sitting in front of the fire and talking about nothing, a flask of wine being shared between them. They hadn’t ever involved him sitting in Arthur’s lap, the prince giggling in his ear.

They certainly didn’t involve Arthur calling his ears adorable, and tugging on them until Merlin stopped him with a kiss.

It lasted for hardly a second before Arthur was pulling away, face pinched and looking much more sober than seconds before. It made Merlin’s heart skip a beat and then flood with fear. He pulled away, suddenly feeling sober himself.

“Arthur-”

“We can’t.” He whispered hoarsely. “It’s forbidden Merlin.”

Merlin gulped, tried to keep the tears out of his eyes as he nodded. “I know. I’m sorry.”

Arthur shook his head. “I’m sorry. If I were anyone else…”

“But you’re not.” Merlin said. He drew in a shaky breath. “I understand.”

He forced himself up and away. Arthur might have protested, might have reached out to stop him, but if he did he hesitated for a moment too long, and Merlin ran from the room without looking back.

///

The next time it happened, it went much more like one of his fantasies - just with Merlin playing less of a brave and heroic role and more of an injured, dying one.

Merlin had to wonder how either of them had thought that going out hunting with just the two of them was a good idea. Not that they hadn’t done it before, but the reports of bandits in the area should really have made them more cautious. They could have at least taken a few knights, like Morgana had begged them to.

It hadn’t been a problem at first. Arthur was more than capable of handling the five bandits that had surprised them, especially with Merlin secretly helping in the background. Three bandits had fallen, and Arthur had just defeated the fourth when the last one decided to turn and run.

Right towards Merlin.

He heard Arthur yell his name as the bandit rushed past him. For a moment he thought Arthur wanted him to stop him, and he almost scoffed. How was he supposed to stop him without a weapon? Magic? Arthur would probably laugh, and Merlin would too, if it wasn’t an honest question.

Not that he got the chance to ask, as he very quickly found out that Arthur’s scream hadn’t had anything to do with Merlin stopping the bandit from getting away and everything to do with warning Merlin of the sword aimed right for his middle.

He didn’t realise he’d been stabbed for an eternity.

And then he was collapsing on the floor, his knees landing in the dirt and jarring his whole body, pain beating through his veins like blood. He blinked and Arthur was there, gently guiding him to the ground. He was saying something, Merlin could see his lips moving, but he couldn’t hear him over the pounding in his ears.

“Arthur.” He gasped out, and Arthur grasped his hand tightly in response.

“Hold on.” He said, and this time Merlin could hear him. “I’m going to get you back to Gaius, and he’s going to fix you right up, alright?”

Merlin nodded, though he had no idea how they were going to get back to the castle. They were in the middle of the forest, a good hour or so from Camelot. There was no way Merlin was going to make it there, not without any horses.

“You idiot.” Arthur whispered, squeezing his hand tight. “Why didn’t you move out of the way?”

Merlin tried for a grin. “Too clumsy.”

Arthur snorted, and then he was kissing him, gentle and yet no less desperate for it. Merlin kissed him back, as well as he could, before he pulled back with a wince.

“Thought… it was… forbidden?” He forced out.

“Shut up Merlin.” Arthur rebutted, and Merlin swore he could hear tears in his voice.

Then he passed out.

///

When he woke, it was to the familiar sights and sounds of his bedroom. His stomach felt like it was on fire, but he was alive. That in and of itself was a miracle, considering that Merlin was certain he was going to die on the forest floor.

He groaned and opened his eyes, intending to call out to Gaius, only for the words to shrivel up on his tongue when he saw Arthur sitting next to him.

“Arthur.” He croaked out, startling the prince from his thoughts.

Blue eyes stared at him for a moment. “You’re awake.”

Merlin groaned, hands hovering over his stomach. “I wish I wasn’t.”

“Here.” Arthur said, and something foul smelling was shoved under his nose. “Gaius said to give you this when you woke.”

Merlin took it blindly and forced it down in one go, doing his best not to gag. “Thanks.”

Arthur said nothing, quietly taking the cup back. Merlin enjoyed the silence for a moment, but then curiosity got the best of him. He opened his eyes and found Arthur still staring at him.

He sat up, as best he could, ignoring Arthur’s attempts to get him to stay still. “What happened?”

“You were stabbed.” Arthur said bluntly.

Merlin couldn’t help himself – he snorted. “That would explain the stab wound.”

“You almost died.” Arthur said sharply, and then, more quietly. “You should have died.”

Merlin swallowed hard and reached out, trying not to show his hurt when Arthur pulled away. “But I didn’t.”

“No, you didn’t.” Arthur looked at him, something cold in his eyes, and worry started to weave its way into Merlin’s heart. “Do you know how you’re alive?”

Merlin’s lips quirked up, though he didn’t feel like smiling. “Gaius’s amazing skills as a physician?”

Arthur shook his head. “Even if I had gotten you to Gaius in time, there was no way you would have survived a wound like that. I’ve seen knights die in minutes from injuries half as severe.”

Merlin didn’t want to ask. He didn’t, but he did. “Then how am I alive?”

Arthur’s jaw tightened as he finally looked away. “Because of your magic.”

Arthur was expecting a response, Merlin was sure. Some sort of explanation, or denial, or an apology maybe. Merlin couldn’t give him any of those. He was too busy trying to figure out what he was supposed to do now that Arthur apparently knew.

“You were bleeding out.” Arthur continued, when it became obvious Merlin wasn’t going to say anything. “I knew you weren’t going to make it, but I tried. I didn’t even get ten paces before you started glowing.”

”Glowing?” Merlin asked, confused.

He’d never started glowing before.

“Your wound.” Arthur said, gesturing to his middle, like that explained anything. “It started glowing gold, and when I checked it was half healed. Gaius gave you a few tonics and stitched your front and announced that you’d be fine.”

Merlin looked down at his middle, saw the white of bandages peeking out from under his shirt. He pulled at them and wondered what it meant that his magic had healed him without him even being conscious.

“Gaius told me everything.” Arthur said, drawing Merlin out of his thoughts. “About you, and your magic.”

“Oh.” Merlin said.

He wasn’t sure what else he could say.

Arthur made a wounded sound in the back of his throat. “Did you really not trust me?”

Merlin closed his eyes. “I don’t know how to trust anybody with this part of me.”

Silence filled the room between them.

Merlin sighed. “I’m sorry I lied to you.”

Arthur made another pained noise. “No. Merlin, I’m sorry.”

He cracked an eye open, dared to give a little grin. “What’s this? Arthur Pendragon apologising? I didn’t know you knew the words.”

“Shut up.” Arthur retorted, playful, though he still looked upset. “You had good reason to lie to me.”

Merlin reached out, slow, and this time Arthur didn’t pull away. “Not anymore.”

“No.” Arthur said instantly, squeezing his hand. “Not anymore.”

Merlin smiled, relieved and exhausted all in one. Magical healing was draining, it seemed. He settled back down, relaxing beneath the covers, and almost jumped out of his skin when he felt Arthur pulling the blanket up to his shoulders and kissing him sweetly on the forehead.

He cracked one eye open, grinned. “I thought kissing a servant was forbidden?”

“I think we can stand to break a few more laws.” Arthur said, leaning down to kiss him properly.

Merlin grinned. “Well, when you put it like that.”

And then he kissed his prince, the laws be dammed.

-

If you wish to support me, please consider donating to my PayPal.

#caketalks #merlin #bbc merlin #merthur #merlin/arthur #cakeswriting #my writing #thanks for the ask anon! #:D

[buri-art]

Detective Genius: Part 2 of 8

Chapter Two: The Justice-Selling Nurse and the Case of the Unlocked Room

Synopsis: Yoon is a financially struggling nurse and recognizes a trauma victim, Taejun, as someone from his boarding house. The victim’s brother, Kyoga, suspects foul play and offers Yoon money to figure out who caused this. The landlord, Soo-won, discourages Yoon from getting involved, but in order to support himself and his adoptive father Ik-soo, Yoon investigates the suspicious other residents--and then some. Genre: Modern Day AU, (Attempted!?) Murder Mystery in Classic ‘Who Done It?’ Style, General. Could be read as comedy, drama, or melodrama. Words: 3,365 Warnings: I don’t kill anyone, but I do make them suffer a little (sorry, Taejun, somebody had to be the victim). Probably nothing that would make people squeamish, as the focus is on the plot. Find the other chapters in the master post.

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

“Good morning, Doctor.”

“I’m a nurse. Good morning, Jaeha.”

I was on my way out, and he was on his way in. Typical party animal, crawling back now at 9:10 on a Sunday morning. The red tint in his eyes indicated he was still intoxicated. It didn’t bother him in the least. “Working today?”

“Not exactly,” I replied. “Did you hear what happened yesterday?”

“What sort of thing? I haven’t been watching the news.”

“No,” I lowered my voice, “Among the people here.”

“Ohhh,” he raised his eyebrows almost as high as his pitch. “I know what you might be talking about that. That lovers’ spat?”

“Lover’s spat?”

“The cute red-head upstairs,” he pointed. “The landlord’s cousin. She’s usually at with Hak lately. You know him?”

“The one on the fifth floor? Yes. That’s not what I meant, though.”

“That’s not what I meant either,” he grinned. “I’m pretty that’s not the only voice coming from her room lately, if you know what I mean.”

“I don’t want to know. Besides, I was talking about Taejun.”

“Ah! Taejun! That must have been who it was!” Jaeha snapped his fingers. “Thanks, Yoon, it was driving me crazy trying to figure out where I had heard that voice before.”

My inclination was to ask him how much of a hobby he had eavesdropping on everyone’s echoes, but I phrased it in a more useful way. “What were you doing yesterday? What time was that?”

“Me? Just at home, reading. That was maybe around five or six.”

“Can you get it anymore specific?”

He was about to answer, but with a glimmer in his eye he changed to a question. “Am I being interrogated?”

“Is there a reason to?”

“Did something happen to Yona?” he asked, his tone dropping to a serious one.

“No. But Taejun’s in the hospital.”

His droopy eyes went wide. He was probably gathering a number of suspicions as to why while he filed through all the echoed gossip he had heard, but he chose to reveal none of it. “What for?”

“A head injury. I’m trying to figure out how it happened.”

“Is it serious?”

“It could have been a lot more serious.”

“Did Hak do it?”

“Hak?” I shot him a questioning glance.

“That’s just—now, I’m not accusing him of anything—”

“You just did.”

“It was only the first thing that popped into my mind. Taejun sounded like he was causing trouble for Yona lately.”

“Did you hear Hak there too?”

“Knowing who did it isn’t going to change your job as a nurse, is it?” he smiled. I was caught, and we both knew it. He lowered his voice and got closer to my ear, and his liquory breath wafted toward me. “If you’re playing detective I’ll cooperate, but don’t do anything rash.”

“Then do you think it was Hak?”

“I don’t want to think it was, but that’s my only guess. He’s got a motive. That’s all, though.”

“You know an awful lot about this. Are you a stalker?”

“It’s not as if I go out following anyone! I don’t know where Hak was. I don’t want to get him in trouble if he doesn’t deserve it. You’re better off talking to Yona, but if I hear anything else useful, I’ll let you know.”

Not that I wanted to live across from one, but it would have been more useful to me if Jaeha was a more thorough stalker. He was right; if Yona and Taejun had been in a discussion yesterday evening heated enough for it to echo through the building, she was the best person to go to for information.

*********

I didn’t really like Yona.

She and Yuno were the two princesses of the fourth floor whose families paid for them to live in the big city without a worry about their own financial well-being. I didn’t mind Yuno—she was spacey but industrious with her indoor plant endeavors, and got along well with a meal exchange deal. Yona, however, would try to be a kind person, but utterly fail in the execution due to a poor understanding of how the world works. 

Early on when she moved here, she heard from Soo-won that Ik-soo and I have a special arrangement due to our financial situation, and she invited us up for dinner. It was a casual affair with pasta so simply even Ik-soo could manage to boil the noodles and open a jar of sauce without much incident, but she served it on a haphazard combination of plastic flatware and fine china with a delicate peony pattern on a pale pink base. I remember it well because I spent most of that dinner staring at it for distraction while she did her best to make conversation, but all she knew of us was that we were poor. Did we usually have enough to eat? How long had we been living at the boarding house? Did we make enough to cover the rent? Did we need anyone to talk to? No, I thought, we didn’t need anyone prying, and especially not if she lacked any basic understanding of how poor people can be more than their poverty. She didn’t even understand how rich she was, using fine china like that and not sparring a thought about giving a few pieces away to Yuno the very moment Yuno said it was cute. Besides being clueless and clumsy in all her attempts to be generous, I’m willing to admit that she’s probably does things like that because she’s lonely.

I decided to take the stairwell up to her room. It was brighter than I expected; I had never even noticed there was in a window up at the top floor. Soo-won had been busy yesterday; even the upper floors had been cleaned. When I knocked on Yona’s door she didn’t answer at first, but smiled and said my name as soon as she opened the door a crack and saw me.

“Hi,” I said. “Do you mind if I come in?”

Her smile wavered. “Right now?”

“If now’s a bad time—”

“Give me two minutes to clean up!”

She shut the door, and then I heard a mad rush of footsteps and doors opening and closing. Her voice called back ‘okay’, and I took that as though I should let myself in. I was cautious and announced myself just in case. “Excuse me, I’m coming in.”

“Welcome,” she beamed, pulling the table into the center of her kitchenette and patting the chair next to it. I had never meant to get pulled so far in as to sit at the table with her. Her living space was more cluttered than I remembered it, probably as a result having been settled long enough to accumulate more things. There were three beanbag chairs against the wall and a trash bag nearby them, but not all of the junk food trash was in it.

“How are you settling in?” I asked.

“Just fine!” she chirped. “The first couple months of living on my own were a little hard, but I’m doing a lot better now.”

“Have you made many new friends?”

“New friends?”

I pointed to the beanbags and she lightly smacked herself in the forehead.

“Oh, those! That’s usually where Soo-won and Hak and I hang out, if we’re in my room. There’s not much room in the kitchen.”

“You’re telling me. Mine’s the same size.”

“How do you do it, Yoon? I make such a big mess in here when I try to cook, it’s like there’s no room to put anything.”

“You have to use your space effectively. Like making your own spice rack! See?” I pointed, “You’ve got everything strewn all over your counter—”

She put her hand to mine and guided our glances away from the mess on the counters. It stank like she hadn’t washed her dishes in weeks, and I figured she was embarrassed. I changed focus.

“Did you meet Hak when you moved here?”

“No,” she shook her head, tossing her deep red tresses this way and that. “Soo-won and I grew up with him. His foster father was friends with our dads.”

I felt a twinge of sympathy nip at my ears. “He’s adopted?”

“Not quite. Technically not. But practically the same. Hak just likes to rub that in when he gets in trouble.”

“Does he get in trouble a lot?”

“I don’t know,” she shrugged. “What counts as a lot?”

“So how about Taejun? Did you meet him when you came here?”

Yona frowned with her whole face—her forehead, her eyes, her lips, everything. “Yes,” she groaned.

“I take it you don’t like him.”

“Nothing against him, it’s just that he’s a creep!” she replied, but immediately thought the better of it a moment later. “I don’t like him, but I don’t hate him. I know he had to go to the hospital last night, I heard the sirens and I saw them take him. Soo-won told me something hit him in the head. I wanted him to leave me alone, but it’s not as if I ever wanted something bad to happen to him.”

Something hit him in the head? Not that he hit his head, but something hit him?

“I didn’t think you did,” I said, doing my best to sound encouraging. “I’m one of the nurses who took care of him, so I’m trying to figure out what happened. Did you talk to him at all yesterday?”

She lowered her chin and her bangs fell in front of her eyes. “Yes.”

“Did he say anything that might give you any clues?”

“No.”

“What did he say to you?”

“He was just being a creep, that’s all.”

“Is that really all?” I raised an eyebrow and slid my hands into my pocket to grab my notepad and pen. “Seems you were loud enough for people on other floors to hear you.”

“He didn’t say anything that made it sound like he’d hurt himself or anything like that,” she spoke faster, her eyes tracking my actions. “And I sure didn’t do anything to him. I only told him not to bother me and he left. But it really didn’t seem like he meant to hurt himself when he left.”

“I’ve got that. I don’t think he’d have hurt himself either. Or if he did, he’s got very creative ways of doing it.”

“Then why are you asking me questions? Are you going to call the police?”

“Not unless I---I’m a nurse, that’s not really my job, Yona. I only need to try to find out how it happened.”

Her face was running pale. There was no reason to find her suspicious, any girl could feel the same way if they thought they were going to get in trouble with the law, or she might have even been jumping to the conclusion that there was a murderer on the loose.

“I—it’s okay, Yona! I’m not trying to do anything else!”

That was a lie. I wanted to turn someone in to make a profit, turning Taejun’s brush with death into my financial boon. Ik-soo’s face, with a disappointed look, came to mind.

“Is he going to be okay?” Yona looked me in the eyes. “Taejun.”

“Well—he’ll live, I know that much. I didn’t stick around late enough after my shift to get all the details.”

“Details?” she raised her eyebrows. “Wouldn’t you find out more at the hospital, then?”

“You know what, Yona? You’re right. Maybe they don’t need me to find out how it happened after all,” I stood from the table and backed toward the door, “But I’ll let you know if I have any other questions for you, alright? Will you help?”

“O… kay?” she looked befuddled by the prospect of anything she could do to help.

Yona saw to me to the door, and shut it, but that was it. I waited, then sighed and knocked.

She opened it back up. “What is it?”

“You forgot to lock your door.”

“Oh!” she giggled. “Silly me. I’m not in the habit of doing that.”

“You should be.”

“Thanks, Yoon,” she smiled, and that was the last I saw before her face disappeared from behind the door. The lock was promptly latched.

I wasn’t sure what kind of creep Taejun was, but if he had been violent, I would have expected her to keep her door locked. If Soo-won and Hak were over so often, however, that might have hurt her common sense for common dealings between young men and young women. I scratched my head, at a loss for how to explain her behavior as anything but a spoiled rich girl having no idea how to take care of herself, and even then it was difficult to excuse. I try to be empathetic, but I can’t make myself stupid.

**********

Yuno wasn’t there when I knocked, so I went up to the fifth floor to see if I could get any information out of Hak. I knocked at the door at the southern side of the hall, but it was the door at the northern end that opened.

“Yes?”

Out stepped a young man with skin kept brilliantly smooth by long nights of restful sleep and a shirt ironed as though he always accidentally dropped all his laundry off at a dry cleaner’s (which, knowing him better now, maybe is not much of a stretch). I always felt like I should hate him, but I didn’t know him well enough at the time to have a reason to do so. He could be naïve like Yona, but at least he wasn’t so air-headed. “Oh, Yoon,” he said.

“Kija! I was knocking at Hak’s door.”

“At Hak’s? Here’s the trick, you have to knock really loudly or he won’t come.” So saying, he demonstrated, beating on the door with monstrous strength I had never witnessed in one human hand. “Hak!” he raised his voice. “Son Hak, I know you’re in there! Hak!”

After several more seconds of beating—which I had backed away from to keep the sound from rattling through my rib cage—Kija came to a stop.

He turned to me and said, “He’s not home.”

“So glad you could deduce that.”

“You’re welcome.”

I take back my previous comment; Kija could sometimes be far more air-headed than Yona.

"Do you want me to give him a message when he gets back?" 

"No, I can write a note if I need him. You've got your own things to do."

 "Alright."

 "Do you talk to Hak a lot?"

Kija scoffed. "I try! But sometimes he is confoundingly rude. Why, just yesterday I when I got home he came in right after me, so I tried to be nice and share some of my granny's sweets with him. It was fine if he didn't want them, but he didn't have to snarl at me when he refused!"

I opened my notepad. "That was yesterday?"

"Yes, last night."

"Around what time?" 

He rolled his blue eyes back as he thought. "Maybe 6:30? I took the 4:10 train back from visiting Granny, so I would gotten home around then."

"Can you be any more specific?" 

"6... 40, perhaps? I took a few minutes to put my things down and find my keys, so Hak came up right after me."

"From the stairs, or the elevator?"

"The elevator."

Proving to me how air-headed he could be, Kija continued to answer without the slightest shred of suspicion. I pressed on. "What was he like when he came home? Do you remember what he was wearing, or if he was carrying anything?" 

"I don't recall anything like that, but I noticed he was all wet. Not soaked, just wet. He was a little flushed and said he needed to hurry up and take a shower."

"Did he say where he had gone?"

"No, not that I recall. He was in a grouchy mood and didn't say much."

"I see," I said, finishing my scratches against the paper. "That was around 6:40, right?" 

"Well, if I was walking fast, it could have even been 6:20."

I squeezed my eyes then wrote it down with several question marks after it. As he watched my face, he grew concerned--finally. 

"Is something the matter?"

"Yes. I'm trying to get to the bottom of some things going on."

"What things?"

"One of the other tenants got a head injury yesterday, and I'm trying figure out why."

He gaped; his fair skin became whiter than ever. "Who!?" 

"Kan Taejun, on the second floor."

"Oh. ...Ohhh! Him!"

Something set his whole body ablaze. Not wanting to get burned, I took a step back. "You know him?" 

"He's the one who’s been bothering the girl in room 402!"

"Yes, Yona. That's what I gather. You knew about this?"

"Yes, one time—last Tuesday evening, I think--when I came in I saw him bothering her in the elevator. I yelled at him to stop."

"Did he?"

"Yes, I startled him so he ran away. Scared him white in the face, more like it. After that, I told her she could always call me and I would be happy to escort her."

Don't you have a job? Was what I wanted to ask, but I stayed focused. "How did she respond?"

He sighed and his internal blaze got weaker. "She said she could ask Hak to help her instead."

"You don't need to take it personally. They've known each other for a long time."

"That's not what bothers me! She's been at odds with him lately, telling him to stay out of her business. Judging by the look on his face when he came home last night, my first guess was that he had just had another argument with her."

My pen scratched against the paper furiously.

He went on. "From what I've overheard, he says he's trying to protect her. Sounds more to me that she wants someone to protect her from him!"

"Then you think it's not just Taejun who's been bothering her?" 

"Not in the same way--Taejun is an outright creep!"

I paused. "And what would you do if she wanted help dealing with one of them?"

"I'd get rid of them!" 

I swallowed hard and took my time before staring back at him. He had his fist clenched and the fire was all in his eyes now. Objectively, this painted him as my number one suspect with a full admission of motive and an incomplete alibi. Subjectively, I couldn't suspect him at all. His honesty was too honest for him to be able to hide any guilt.

**********

I’d be lying if I said didn’t suspect Hak by this point. A voice inside my head told me to stop wasting time and to call Kyoga right away and see if this thirst for justice would be satisfied with any old person to point blame at, but a deeper, more nagging voice (a voice not unlike Ik-soo’s) told me it wouldn’t be right to implicate someone on a hunch. If I already doubted Hak, then I told myself I had to try to prove my doubts wrong. If I couldn’t do that, I agreed to myself, then I would accuse him.

While I was in the elevator I made a deal with that voice that wanted to take the higher road of justice rather than the lower, easier, finger-pointing one. When the doors opened at the first floor, Yuno was waiting outside of it with her very intimidating boyfriend. She was dressed in a loose and lacy blouse with a skirt and sandals and carrying a dry umbrella, and he was in a light jacket and jeans. His arms were folded and his back was up straight, and he have me a very direct look and a nod as he and Yuno stepped in. She smiled and waved and greeted me by name.

I headed for the front door, but it pulled away from my hand before I could grab the knob. It swung open, and I was blasted with the sound of angry voices.

“If this ever happens again—”

“It won’t! And I’m telling you, it’s not my fault!”

“Quit lying to me, Son Hak!”

#Akatsuki no Yona #Yoon #fanfic

[autolovecraft]

Seizing the green jade, I heard the baying of some gigantic hound.

An inappropriate hour, a jarring lighting effect, or catalog even partly the worst of the lamps in the Dutch language.

What the hound was, and before a week was over felt strange eyes upon me whenever it was the dark rumor and legendry, the tales of the devilish rituals he had loved in life. It was this frightful emotional need which led to the terrible scene in time to hear a whir of wings and see a vague black cloudy thing silhouetted against the rising moon. These pastimes were to us the most incredible and unimaginable variety of tomb-loot ever assembled by human madness and perversity. Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh. Excavation was much easier than I expected, though crushed in places by the taxidermist's art, and in the Dutch language.

But the autumn moon shone weak and pale, and I knew that what had befallen St John and myself. -Canine face, and the stealthy whirring and flapping, and moonlight. Accordingly I sank into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at an inn in Rotterdam, I shut my eyes and threw myself face down upon the ground. I could identify; and were disturbed by the knock of the devilish rituals he had loved in life. Now, as if receding far away, a jarring lighting effect, or sphinx with a charnel fever like our own. A wind, and leering sentiently at me with phosphorescent sockets and sharp ensanguined fangs yawning twistedly in mockery of my inevitable doom. I killed him with a semi-canine face, and I had once violated, and another time we thought we heard this suggestion of baying we shuddered, remembering the tales of one buried for five centuries, who had himself been a ghoul in his time and had stolen a potent thing from a mighty sepulcher.

Four days later, whilst we were both in the hidden museum, there came a low, cautious scratching at the single door which led to the theory that we must possess it; that this treasure alone was our logical pelf from the long undisturbed ground. For crouched within that centuried coffin, embraced by a shrill laugh. In the coffin lay an amulet of green jade object, we were mad, dreaming, or a clumsy manipulation of the amulet after destroying by fire and burial the rest of the earth we had always entertained a dread that our grisly collection might be discovered. Our quest for novel scenes and piquant conditions was feverish and insatiate—St John must soon befall me. The skeleton, though crushed in places by the jaws of the kingly dead, and this we found in the corridor. Once we fancied that a large, opaque body darkened the library window when the moon; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the moon; the ghastly soul-upheaving stenches of the souls of those accursed web-wings closer and closer, I shall seek with my revolver the oblivion which is my only refuge from the dismal railway station, was the night—wind howled maniacally from over far swamps and frigid seas.

The expression of its diverting novelty and appeal. As we heard this suggestion of baying we shuddered, remembering the tales of one buried for five centuries, who had himself been a ghoul in his time and had stolen a potent thing from a small piece of green jade object, we thought we saw the bats descend in a multitude of inlaid ebony cabinets reposed the most incredible and unimaginable variety of tomb-loot ever assembled by human madness and perversity. His screams had reached the house and made shocking obeisances before the enshrined amulet of green jade object, we did not try to determine.

Much—amazingly much—was left of the earth we had seen it then, but so old that we lived in growing horror and fascination. We read much in Alhazred's Necronomicon about its properties, and every night that demonic baying rolled over the clean white skull and its long, firm teeth and its eyeless sockets that once had glowed with a blow of my inevitable doom. It was this frightful emotional need which led us eventually to that terrible Holland churchyard.

Seizing the green jade. So at last to that detestable course which even in my present fear I mention with shame and timidity—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh.

We were no vulgar ghouls, but as we found potent only by a shrill laugh. Being now afraid to live alone in the extreme, savoring at once of death the line of red charnel things hand in hand woven in voluminous black hangings. The baying was very faint now, and beheld a rotting oblong box and removed the damp mold, vegetation, and we gave a last glance at the livid sky; the ghastly soul-upheaving stenches of the pre-Raphaelites all were ours in their time, but was answered only by increasing gradually the depth and diabolism of our penetrations. I carefully wrapped the green jade. Our alarm was now divided, for, besides our fear of the lamps in the background.

Then we struck a substance harder than the night of September 24,19—, I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts. A wind, on which St John and I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our life of unnatural excitements, but as we found potent only by increasing gradually the depth and diabolism of our neglected gardens, and heard, as the baying in that ancient churchyard, and hidden pneumatic pipes ruffled into kaleidoscopic dances of death the line of red charnel things hand in hand woven in voluminous black hangings.

Even had its outlines been unfamiliar we would have desired it, and heard, as if receding far away, a queer combination of rustling, tittering, and in the extreme, savoring at once of death the line of red charnel things hand in hand woven in voluminous black hangings. Fancying it St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the night—wind howled maniacally from over frozen swamps and frigid seas. Seizing the green jade, I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts. Seizing the green jade, I shall seek with my revolver the oblivion which is my knowledge that I am about to blow out my brains for fear I mention with shame and timidity—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh. On October 29 we found it.

Bizarre manifestations were now too frequent to count. Mostly we held to the terrible scene in time to hear a whir of wings and see a vague black cloudy thing silhouetted against the rising moon. The expression of its features was repellent in the hidden museum, there came a low, cautious scratching at the livid sky; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the moon; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the moon; the phosphorescent insects that danced like death-fires under the yews in a body to the secret library staircase. Seizing the green jade amulet and sailed for Holland. A wind, and became as worried as I. For crouched within that centuried coffin, embraced by a close-packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping owner I knew that what had befallen St John from his sleep, he professed entire ignorance of the souls of those who vexed and gnawed at the grave, the horrible shadows; the antique church, the antique ivied church pointing a huge spectral finger at the picture of ourselves, the tales of the symbolists and the flesh and hair, and this we found in the soft earth underneath the library window when the moon was shining against it, and those around had heard in the ghoul's grave with our spades, and I saw on the moor became to us the most incredible and unimaginable variety of tomb-loot ever assembled by human madness and perversity. Even had its outlines been unfamiliar we would have desired it, but sometimes it pleased us more to dramatize ourselves as the baying again, and without servants in a niche in our ears the faint, deep, sardonic bay as of some gigantic hound which we could scarcely be sure.

The predatory excursions on which St John nor I could identify; and, worst of all shapes, and hidden pneumatic pipes ruffled into kaleidoscopic dances of death the line of red charnel things hand in hand woven in voluminous black hangings.

Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John must soon befall me. It was this frightful emotional need which led to the theory that we finally pried it open and feasted our eyes on what it held. Our alarm was now divided, for, besides our fear of the symbolists and the ecstasies of the trophies adorning the nameless museum where we jointly dwelt, alone, and without servants in a body to the door and threw it suddenly open; whereupon we felt an unaccountable rush of air, and I had robbed; not clean and placid as we sailed the next midnight in one of the symbolists and the ivied church pointed a jeering finger at the picture of ourselves, the grotesque trees, drooping sullenly to meet the withered, frosty grass and the night-wind, and beheld a rotting oblong box and removed the damp mold, vegetation, and every subsequent event including St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the night—wind howled maniacally from over frozen swamps and frigid seas. When I aroused St John nor I could identify; and on the following day for London, taking with me the amulet after destroying by fire and burial the rest of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred; the phosphorescent insects that danced like death-fires, the tales of the lamps in the background. Extinguishing all lights, we were troubled by what seemed to be a frequent fumbling in the ancient grave I had hastened to the earth we had seen it then, but each new mood was drained too soon, of its features was repellent in the morning I read of a nameless deed in the same way. Statues and painting there were, all of fiendish subjects and some executed by St John is a mangled corpse; I alone know why, and the flesh and hair, and hidden pneumatic pipes ruffled into kaleidoscopic dances of death the line of red charnel things hand in hand woven in voluminous black hangings. The amulet—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh. Being now afraid to live alone in the same way. And as I pronounced the last rational act I ever performed. I thought of destroying myself! The baying was very faint now, and I had hastened to the secret library staircase. There one might find the rotting, bald pates of famous noblemen, and how we thrilled at the bleached and cavern-eyed face of its diverting novelty and appeal. As we heard this suggestion of baying we shuddered, remembering the tales of the city.

#H.P. Lovecraft #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Python #Markov chains #1922 #The Hound #The Hound week

[autolovecraft]

On October 29 we found in the same way.

Our museum was a blasphemous, unthinkable place, where with the blackest of apprehensions, that the faint distant baying over the graves, casting long horrible shadows; the odors our moods most craved; sometimes the narcotic incense of imagined Eastern shrines of the reflections of the reflections of the cold sky and pecked frantically at the single door which led us eventually to that detestable course which even in my present fear I shall be mangled in the same way. St John and I knew not; but, whatever my reason, I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this sole means of salvation. On October 29 we found potent only by increasing gradually the depth and diabolism of our penetrations. And as I pronounced the last rational act I ever performed. Around the walls of this repellent chamber were cases of antique mummies alternating with comely, lifelike bodies perfectly stuffed and cured by the claws and teeth of some gigantic hound which we collected our unmentionable treasures were always artistically memorable events. Madness rides the star-wind, and he it was rumored Goya had perpetrated but dared not look at it. Immediately upon beholding this amulet we knew that we finally pried it open and feasted our eyes on what it held.

Mostly we held to the theory that we lived in growing horror and fascination. It was this frightful emotional need which led us both to so monstrous a fate! When I aroused St John and I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our devastating ennui.

In the coffin lay an amulet of green jade, I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this sole means of salvation. Fancying it St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the satanic taste of neurotic virtuosi we had heard all night a faint, distant baying as of a gigantic hound, and I saw on the moor, I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this repellent chamber were cases of antique mummies alternating with comely, lifelike bodies perfectly stuffed and cured by the jaws of the reflections of the decadents could help us, and he it was the oddly conventionalized figure of a prosaic world; where even the joys of romance and adventure soon grow stale, St John nor I could identify; and were disturbed by the jaws of the damp nitrous cover.

Only the somber philosophy of the lamps in the museum.

Bizarre manifestations were now too frequent to count. What the hound was, and the flesh and hair, and we began to ascribe the occurrences to imagination which still prolonged in our senses, we gave their details a fastidious technical care. I must try any step conceivably logical. But the autumn wind moaned sad and wan, and about the relation of ghosts' souls to the objects it symbolized; and, worst of the uncovered-grave. We lived as recluses; devoid of friends, alone and servantless. A locked portfolio, bound in tanned human skin, held certain unknown and unnameable. Our quest for novel scenes and piquant conditions was feverish and insatiate—St John and I knew not; but I had once violated, and why it had pursued me, were questions still vague; but I felt that I must try any step conceivably logical. It was this frightful emotional need which led us both to so monstrous a fate!

Being now afraid to live alone in the night, not only around the doors but around the windows also, upper as well as lower. We lived as recluses; devoid of friends, alone and servantless. His screams had reached the rotting, bald pates of famous noblemen, and became as worried as I. When I aroused St John and I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our devastating ennui.

Fancying it St John's, I departed on the following day for London, taking with me the amulet. Alien it indeed was to all art and literature which sane and balanced readers know, but so old that we were mad, dreaming, or in our senses, we were both in the museum. An inappropriate hour, a jarring lighting effect, or a clumsy manipulation of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred; the phosphorescent insects that danced like death-fires, the grotesque trees, the dancing death-fires, the stolen amulet in St John's pocket, we thought we saw the bats descend in a few rooms of an ancient manor-house in unprecedented and increasing numbers. Statues and painting there were, all of fiendish subjects and some executed by St John must soon befall me. An inappropriate hour, a jarring lighting effect, or in our ears the faint baying of whose objective existence we could not answer coherently. Down unlit and illimitable corridors of eldritch fantasy sweeps the black, shapeless Nemesis that drives me to self-annihilation. Bizarre manifestations were now too frequent to count. It is not dream—it is not dream—it is not dream—it is not dream—it is not, I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this sole means of salvation.

His screams had reached the house and made shocking obeisances before the enshrined amulet of green jade object, we did not try to determine. Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh. There one might find the rotting, bald pates of famous noblemen, and before a week was over felt strange eyes upon me whenever it was who led the way at last to that terrible Holland churchyard. Immediately upon beholding this amulet we knew that we must possess it; that this treasure alone was our logical pelf from the long undisturbed ground. Now, however, we did not try to determine. Our quest for novel scenes and piquant conditions was feverish and insatiate—St John and I had hastened to the theory that we were both in the forbidden Necronomicon of the corpse-eating cult of inaccessible Leng, in Central Asia. What mercy I might gain by returning the thing hinted of in the ghoul's grave with our spades, and how we thrilled at the single door which led us eventually to that detestable course which even in my present fear I shall be mangled in the corridor.

A wind, rushed by, and without servants in a multitude of inlaid ebony cabinets reposed the most incredible and unimaginable variety of tomb-loot ever assembled by human madness and perversity. We were no vulgar ghouls, but as we had assembled a universe of terror and a secret room, far, underground; where even the joys of romance and adventure soon grow stale, St John was always the leader, and a faint distant baying as of some ominous, grinning secret of the decadents could help us, and I knew not; but I felt that I destroy it long before I thought of destroying myself!

Down unlit and illimitable corridors of eldritch fantasy sweeps the black, shapeless Nemesis that drives me to self-annihilation.

It was the oddly conventionalized figure of a gigantic hound. A wind, rushed by, and we could neither see nor definitely place.

Now, as the baying in that ancient churchyard, and this we found in the hidden museum, there came a low, cautious scratching at the bleached and cavern-eyed face of its owner and closed up the grave-earth until I killed him with a charnel fever like our own. His screams had reached the house, and the stealthy whirring and flapping, and less explicable things that mingled feebly with the satanic taste of neurotic virtuosi we had so lately rifled, as if seeking for some needed air, I attacked the half frozen sod with a blow of my inevitable doom. There was no one in the soft earth underneath the library window when the moon was up, but I dared not acknowledge.

On each occasion investigation revealed nothing, and the strange, half-heard directionless baying of some gigantic hound. It was incredibly tough and thick, but sometimes it pleased us more to dramatize ourselves as the hordes of great bats which haunted the old manor-house in unprecedented and increasing numbers. So at last I stood again in the extreme, savoring at once of death, bestiality and malevolence. The next day I carefully wrapped the green jade object, we had so lately rifled, as if receding far away, a jarring lighting effect, or a clumsy manipulation of the uncovered-grave. What mercy I might gain by returning the thing that had killed it, held certain unknown and unnameable drawings which it was the bony thing my friend and I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our devastating ennui.

The jade amulet now reposed in a distant corner; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the moon; the grotesque trees, the sickening odors, the antique church, the pale watching moon, the pale autumnal moon over the clean white skull and its eyeless sockets that once had glowed with a desperation partly mine and partly that of a nameless deed in the ancient house on the moor the faint distant baying over the graves, casting long horrible shadows; the antique ivied church pointing a huge spectral finger at the livid sky; the grotesque trees, drooping sullenly to meet the neglected grass and cracking slabs, and moonlight. And when it gave from those grinning jaws a deep, insistent note as of a nameless deed in the museum. When I aroused St John and I knew that we lived in growing horror and fascination.

There was no one in the background. But the autumn moon shone weak and pale, and in the night, not only around the sleeper's neck. The skeleton, though crushed in places by the jaws of the symbolists and the stealthy whirring and flapping, and he it was the bony thing my friend and I knew not; but I dared not look at it.

Through these pipes came at will the odors of mold, vegetation, and we gloated over the moor, I staggered into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at an inn in Rotterdam, I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts. We lived as recluses; devoid of friends, alone, and heads preserved in various stages of dissolution.

Bizarre manifestations were now too frequent to count. On each occasion investigation revealed nothing, and the night—wind howled maniacally from over frozen swamps and seas; and on the dim-lighted moor a wide, nebulous shadow sweeping from mound to mound, I bade the knocker enter, but so old that we lived in growing horror and fascination. Accordingly I sank into the house and made shocking obeisances before the enshrined amulet of green jade amulet and sailed for Holland. Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh.

#H.P. Lovecraft #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Python #Markov chains #1922 #The Hound #The Hound week