#AND IT PAINTS HARLEQUIN IN A BAD LIGHT

[running-with-kn1ves]

Can you do a yandere killer clown that has been following you all night on Halloween

A/N:I wrote this a long time ago and hated it at the time but it really wasn't as bad as I thought! Hope you all are having a wonderful 2024 :>

Synopsis: A suspicious "killer clown" has been stalking you on Halloween to your dismay. Is it really just a costume?

CW: murderous clown, clownery, slight in-depth stabbing(death), stalking, intimidation, general fear 

Word count: 2.7k

“Nice costume, man!” The echoed memory rang hollow inside your bobbing head. “I bet the black helps hide all the blood, huh?” 

At the time you mischievously brought a hand to your mouth, shielding it from the eyes of curious and terrified children who mersmerisingly watched you joke to the killer clown. The masked figure hovered in front of you, staring blankly from behind the blur of white and red. The figure didn’t move, didn’t alter to his dominant hand with the bloody knife that rested in his palm. 

You were met with silence as your comment passed; dark, invisible eyes watched you through the small eye-slits of the clown’s mask. Its elaborate makeup donned diamonds under and above each eye hole, a spongy red nose covering the mask’s nostrils. Though, you could still hear whoever was underneath, breathing-- the air pushing against the silicone. Painted black lips covered the faint outline on the masks mouth, detailed to almost look feminine. However, the broad shoulders underneath the harlequin patterned suit made you think otherwise. 

You gave an amused smile, letting the figure keep in-character as he watched you slowly pass. A whiff of reeking gore and thick blood came across you as you walked away; a thought of ‘maybe you should have honked the clown’s nose for good measure’ crossed your mind, but the smell made you think otherwise. If he was dedicated enough to cover himself in pigs blood, who knew what else he’d do to you to stay in character.

Your mind ran in circles as the heels of your feet ached, your subconscious desperate to know what you said that made it all go wrong, or what made it go too right with this costumed killer clown. 

Because here you were, walking down your neighborhood’s sidewalk with flickering light posts barely brightening the road in front of you as you sped passed your front door for the third time. With a dirty hand mirror gripped in your sweaty palm, you faced it slightly below your shoulder, hoping it was low enough that the shadow behind you couldn’t see it. You caught a glimpse of the red-speckled plastic mask and dazzling crimson hair of the clown behind you. Shutting the pocket mirror immediately, you picked up your pace again for whatever time again that night-- you've lost count. But it didn’t matter, the masked freak always seemed to be just a lamp post away, gradually getting closer with a joyful pep in his step.

After your first interaction with him at a lame Halloween festival, you then saw him again at the gas station right across your friends’ street, and once more at that same friend's costume party. You thought it must've been a coincidence to see him inside the gas station, only witnessing the back of his crazy dyed hair that looked too attached to be a wig; talk about being dedicated to the bit. Maybe he gets paid for being a scare actor? You didn't know, you didn't get the chance to ask before he ran out at the sight of a police officer perusing the candy aisle. Too bad for him, it was only a prominent gay dressed up in a sexy uniform. 

But there he was again that night, peeking behind your friend's bedroom window that you sat across from. Seeing him there nearly made you shriek, jumping up enough to spill your drink all over the guy next to you. When you tried to explain, the clown had disappeared, only to show up mere minutes later from the bathroom window while you tried to rub beer out of your costume. 

Seeing him the second time was nearly as startling, but you managed to keep your reaction to a minimum, merely glaring at the bloodied clown from behind dark glass. You threw your cup at the window, hoping to scare him off or show that you weren’t worth fucking around with, but he… didn’t move. Through the tiny hole in the mouth of the mask, breath came through, just slightly fogging up the glass. How the hell did he get up here in the first place, weren’t you on the second floor?? 

You turned away, hoping to just turn the light off and that’d be the last you’d see of him; but a thump on the glass told you otherwise. Another thump, this time almost with a clinking crack. Your hand still resting on the lightswitch; you nonchalantly looked back to see a familiar knife jabbed against the window pane, small cracks growing as he twisted it further into the window. Your hope of giving an apathetic reaction to deter him did nothing, gloved hands coming up to squeakily draw a dark red line on the window. 

A threat? Maybe he's trying to apologize? What was he going to write-- you wondered if it was worth even sticking around for. But instead of words, the red line was finished with another, creating a small, dripping misshapen heart on the bathroom window. You slammed down on the lightswitch and shut the door quickly at the sight, making your way down the stairs. 

He had to be one of your friend’s frat-guy pals, someone who went out of their way to terrorize on the nights of halloween in unassuming grocery stores or parties like this one. Someone here at this party who was just fucking with you-- that’s just what it was. 

But now, hours later on the dark pavement of a street that looked so unfamiliar at night, you were starting to second guess yourself. The sweet whistling of what could only be from the clown behind you grew louder, squeaky shoes mimicking your steps and seeming to pick up in pace. You did the same, nearly jogging as you saw something moving in the distance. It was oddly pale and hunched over, going faster than you could run. 

It was a biker! Some random fucking guy on his bike at 2 in the morning! You assumed this was what people meant when miracles roamed the earth, waiting to be found. 

“Hey!” You shouted, running towards the speedy white demon as you blocked the middle of the sidewalk, hoping the guy would see you waving at him. But his stare was blank, not focusing on you nor the sidewalk in front of him. All he did, was bike. 

“HEY! Can you please help me--” a pair of white wireless earbuds were nestled deep in his ears, immune to your shouting. Once he came cycling up close, almost too close, you realized he wasn’t stopping. His eyes completely looked past you, swatting you away with a sweaty arm as you stumbled into the street after narrowly avoiding his bike.

“What the fuck!” You yelled, watching him ride away as you threw your hands in frustration. You stopped to watch as the clown stepped to the side to give the incoming biker a clear path. This guy was just going to go past like everything was fine, not paying attention to the person in distress right in front of him, OR the creepy ass harlequin clown he was approaching. You gave a heavy, exasperated sigh and turned around, beginning to walk again as you hoped maybe the new distraction would stop your bloody walking partner. 

But a sudden thud against the sidewalk caught you off guard. 

Did he really ride into the clown?

 No, from behind you, the man’s bike laid twisted with spinning wheels in front of your hunched clown stalker. The man was grasping his side with one arm, having fallen on top of his bike as his hand shielded from above. 

Well, that's kind of what he gets for biking at the witching hour. And for not helping someone in distress! Karma's a bitch. 

You hadn't noticed where the gore-striken clown's weapon had landed during the whole ordeal, not even thinking of it until a wet 'shlink!' and violent howl was released. The biker held his raised wrist with a shaking cradle, looking up at the knife that was just pulled out of him.

And just as the knife was removed, it was slammed back in with great inertia and skilled positioning on the clown's part. A wretched sound left the biker's throat, along with the odd crunching that came with him being pushed farther down onto his minimalistic bike. 

A great red gash split onto his forehead, leading to the knife's metal stem that seemed to make peace with its new home inside the biker's skull. One of his earbuds popped out, crashing onto the sidewalk as blood flecked into his left eye. He seemed to look at the fallen earpiece, no longer acknowledging the knife now pushed as far as it could stab.  

The clown seemed to stand back, watching the creation of his short few motions. He let out a whistle similar to an animated sigh. Comically, he wiped invisible sweat from his brow, looking over at you. 

Your feet began to shuffle backward, grating against the rubble on the road as your hands flew to your mouth with an intensity that made you lose breath. 

The mask seemed to look at you with no emotion, blankly watching with a sad smile as the clown stood simply. With the silence of the street, the stillness of the wind, you could hear faint breaths from across the street. They were soon replaced by a muffled whistle beneath the plastic, the clown's eyes dark and unseeable behind it. But the tiniest speck of light, a teensy reflection from the streetlight showed the human eyes of someone…unpredictable. 

He stopped, only to give a high-pitched whistle as he pulled his steel weapon out of its created hole and rammed the knife back into the cowering biker, this time his chest receiving the treatment. The clown pulled it out again, only to prepare in the same position, raking up the bikers chest with the blade once more. Each time, he whistled and heightened it to mimic the sound of the knife flying through the air, only to crash down into a body of meat. He stopped once the knife made a connection to the skin, only to begin again. 

You stood in grotesque awe, mouth ajar as you tripped over the sidewalk's curb. If it wasnt clear already to your record-broken mind, you needed to leave, now. You knew the guy was a creep, someone wayy to into the “murderous killer clown” trope but now, shit was a little too real. You began to run, making your way around the rest of the block without a care of whether or not he chased after you, finding your home. You needed to get inside, somewhere with locked doors that would be a barrier too thick for him to cut down. 

Sweat and tears blinded you as black road filled your vision, along with your dim phone screen. you pressed the all too familiar three numbers on your phone. A nine, and two ones. 

You waited for the shrill gurgles and distant whistling to stop from behind you, to hear a human voice pickup from the screen against your ear; which thankfully came after about two consecutive rings. 

“Hello!?” You unknowingly interrupted, hearing the end of an “your emergency?” 

“Hi-- uh, some freak has been following me and,” You were cut off by a grating voice, one slightly deadened and distant. 

"Now that's just being mean." 

Your heart jumped as you ran, dread settling inside you as the voice hummed in disappointment.

In the distance you could see the familiar front porch of your home, only about five houses down.

"You've got..to be…kidding," you huffed out of breath, elongating your stride to look like a wild runner as you sprinted to your driveway. 

"Clowns are universally beloved; maybe you're the freak; considering you picked me I'd say you already had questionable taste."

"How'd you-- but I called--" You huffed, yet the clown cut you off. 

"You really shouldn't leave your phone unattended in a room full of people…who knows when a devious comic of a murderer might strike! Especially one so handy in manipulating technology." You could practically hear the animated pose he struck along with the words. "So, having fun yet?"

You didn't answer, or rather couldn't from the lack of oxygen in your throat. All you could do was focus on running; but that's alright, because the freakshow on the other side talked enough for the both of you. 

"We'll I hope so; in fact, you know I've chosen you to be my last man standing. My final girl," He paused for dramatic effect "My, surviving victim of tonight's excursion… you'll be a grand commemorating prize to bring back home, to be sure. You're just lucky that buddy boy back here took your place-- if he hadn't, I can't say I'd have been able to restrain myself enough to keep you alive until we got back home."

What the fuck was he going on about? What did it matter anyway, your sides were cramping so twistedly that it and your upcoming mailbox were all you could manage to concentrate on.

An infectious laugh cracked over the line, running from one ear through the other as you ran with your phone gripped tight. Looking down at your smudged screen, the caller ID read a simple “Unknown number.” You tried pressing the end call button, only for your screen to remain frozen. The caller screen almost looked like a screenshot, holding your phone captive as none of the buttons managed to work. The on/off button clicked and clicked, not altering the white screen. 

“Ahh I can still see you running down there… trying to hang up on me while sprinting is hard, huh? Just make this easier and stop where you are, save me the trouble of having to play this hide and seek game for tonight. I promise if you make me play, I'll win."

You stop for a moment to catch your breath, turning around to see neon red hair in the distance and a black outline, the red diamonds on the clown's suit blending in.  He still stood next to the fallen biker, holding something to his ear. 

You wheezed out a laugh, throat beginning to close up.

"Oh yeah?... I'm halfway down the road, bitch! Once I get inside it's.. gonna be over for you. I don't, I don't know what the fuck this is-- but you're not gettin away with--with anything!" You held onto your knees, heaving into the phone as your chest burned. The silence on the other line was hardly noticeable as the sound of blood rushing through your ears and your heartbeat drowned everything else out. 

"...Don't say I didn't warn you, doll."

The phone without warning went dark, line cutting off as the caller screen went missing.

Through blurry eyes you saw the clown lower his hand that was once at his ear. With a short moment of stillness, he stared at you. That stillness, morphed almost automatically into a full-on run. The pitter patter of squeaky rubber shoes on the gravel was adrenaline-inducing, filling the silence of the dark street besides the heaving of yours and the clown's breath. 

"Oh fuck…" you murmured, turning around to begin your sprint once more. 

As long as you could reach the house first, open the door with your keys in time, lock the door-- you'd be fine. You didn't have another phone in the house, but you'd be fine-- you'd just, at least be safe. From him.

 But speaking of keys, where were yours?

You ran your hands over and over the pockets in your clothes, feeling nothing but the scraps of empty candy wrappers in your pockets. Where the fuck were your keys?!?

Finally, the grace of your front door made its way directly in front of you, your exhausted legs running up the short porch steps. You hadn't given even one second to looking back at your fellow runner, panic of losing your keys and the upcoming door occupying your mind. You jiggled the door handle, banging against the door with your shoulder as you let out a panicked exhale. 

You could hear him getting closer, hear the labored breathing and chaotic deep giggling muffled by silicone. 

The sound of heavy shrill footsteps stopped-- but beside your rapid heaving, hot breath covered the side of your shoulder. Wet red locks touched your ear, a deep inhale came to grace the top of your matted hair.

Four fingers covered in a frilly, harlequin-patterned glove were thrusted in front of your face, jingling your precious keys in their grip. 

"Looking for these?"

[feeling-grubby]

I see you have a puppet child. I am curious to know more about them. Spill the beans :gun emoji:

Oh, you dumb motherfucker I am bout to info dump on your ass. Fucking had me redraw this wriggler just so I can show you some half decent art of what they used to look like. Cause there was no way in hell I was gonna show you my initial drawing of him from when I was still in middle school. You better buckle in bucko this is a long one.

The character you are referring to is Rakker Dolika. The name "Rakker" means "a rascal, a tomboy, a scamp," which points to his mischievous nature. I also chose the name because it sounds close to "wrecker," which I think fits a destructive clown boy. "Dolika" means "doll," which correlates with how he does his makeup and how he dresses up.

Rakker was created when I was working on a stupid project. The idea was to take Wonderland characters and turn them into trolls. These trolls would be part of a circus/carnival that would buy low-blood slaves and make them perform. They would try to sway the public's opinion about the church by using the supposedly not-enslaved performers as an example. They would claim that the low bloods had seen the light of the mirthful messiahs and converted to believers.

I ultimately scrapped the idea, but I enjoyed Rakker a lot and ended up keeping him. I can't tell you what character in Alice in Wonderland he was supposed to embody, because it was a very obscure one.

(The art is bad I know. it's just to help you visualize em. I did not spend a whole lot of time on it. wasn't gonna go all out when I plan to revamp the design later to something I like more. would've been a waste of time really.) Originally, Rakker was supposed to follow the Alice in Wonderland theme and look like a character from the book. However, I strayed away from that theme and instead made him look like a ventriloquist dummy. I thought the face paint design was interesting, and I never really had an idea for his horns, so I didn't draw them in the image above. Because ya know I had nothing to go off of. So this is close to how Rakker originally looked without having to show you my horrible old art work.

For the revamp version of Rakker, I have some things figured out. Some of those things include his sign and horns. His horns are designed after his sign. I took the weird circle thing on the left side of the sign and rotated it upside down. That ended up being his horn design.

As for what his future revamp design will be, I'm currently on the fence about that. I thought about changing him from a ventriloquist dummy to a Harlequin. I will eventually get around to drawing him and figuring him out fully.

Story wise, with this revamped version since the carnival doesn't exist anymore, I've been fussing around with some ideas. I was thinking he was kind of like an internet troll. He plays pranks on the elders at the church and starts really stupid online debates. He acts like those 14-year-olds you see on the internet who think being obnoxious is a charming personality. He is only 13 though.

That age there actually has me a little worried about adding him to my blog. So, he has a personality, but I may more so only show art I make of him and will refrain from using him in rps. He will also most likely not be included in the narrative I might build up for my blog.

Rakker is a character that I created specifically for my own enjoyment. He isn't complex with some insane backstory. His only real story is his relationship with his best friend, Angora, who is the same age as him. He is supposed to simply be a character that brings me back childhood nostalgia. I could go into more detail about Angora, but since you only asked about Rakker, I will spare you. Need to show you some mercy after this if you even read it all lol.

(Thank you for the ask and sorry for taking so long.)

[daughterdooley]

[ID: a photo of the toy soldier from the mechanisms, next to it are a variety of different clothing and accessory items that fall under the j-fashion style lolita.]

styling lolita coords* based on fictional characters i like part 1 of idk i'll be making these until all the pieces of my first coord get here so it'll probably be a lot.

full image description + piece names + notes under the cut.

*coordinate, or coord for short, means lolita outfit

[extended ID: a photo of the toy soldier, a white person wearing a cartoony black and red military uniform with a handlebar moustache drawn on, editted next to a bunch of clothing and accessory items, from top to bottom, they are a black beret with a red tartan bow on it, a light brown wig with strawberry streaks that falls just below shoulder length and has bangs, a military-esque tartan jacket with black lapels and gold buttons, a short-sleeved white frilly bib front blouse with gold fringe hanging from the sleeve hems, and a red bow lined with the same gold at the collar, a black dress with a waist tie and strap sleeves that has a white lace border depicting teapots and teacups, a bag shaped like a white and gold striped teacup with "angelic pretty" "tea" written on it, a pair of red and black harlequin print tights, and a pair of black heeled lace-up ankle-boots. END]

ok so. going to drop item names and then my notes on them going from top to bottom.

lief - 2017 tartan school series tartan school ribbon beret, notes: i hate lolita piece names so much it's unreal, at least baby*'s names actually make sense when put together. i have a lot of bitterness towards this piece bc i couldn't find a single other stock photo of this colorway even though i know they're out there

gothic lolita bible x angelic pretty - melty doll wig set, notes: ap uses this wig to model every single headpiece they've ever made and i think it causes a pavlovian response in me to glance around for a price tag to avoid looking directly at

excentrique - check napoleon jacket, notes: i mean for this to be worn open around the shoulders the way military lolitas tend to wear jackets, so the sleeves aren't covering the arms and the cuffs are on their own

angelic pretty - fantasy theater blouse, notes: oh angelic pretty bad stock photo era my beloathed

angelic pretty - napoleon cuffs

jane marple - tea party lace jsk, notes: i don't like the silhouette shown in the stock photo very much, if i were to actually coord this i think i'd pair it with a much bigger petticoat

angelic pretty - tea time bag

alice and the pirates - diamond tights (2012), notes: yeah the red is a lot darker in Literally Any Other Photo of these tights and is closer to the colors shown in the tartans, the exposure is just really turned up in the stock photos ig

alice and the pirates - clara short boots (2021)

ok so. for the ts i was thinking of finding the middle ground between classic and military styles, now, as someone whose personal style can only be described as "hime or bust" (hime: japanese for princess, hime lolita is a style i like to say is based around looking like you stepped out of a roccoco painting), which makes things hard because while classic and hime are comparable styles, hime has the styling conventions of ott sweet which is. very drastically different, and military lolita is more than a bit rare in the west, has nothing in common with the hime substyle, and something i personally steer clear of bc a lot? of military lolita stuff? is filled with red flags?, also i am nothing if not anti war i do not want to look at things fashioned after military uniforms. but i think i did manage to strike a balance with the classic mainpiece, military style jacket, cuffs, and boots, and lack of accessories which physically pained me.

*nickname for brand baby the stars shine bright, every piece has the same naming conventions as a fallout boy song

[sw124]

Ask Sun and Moon AU

[Reader!Insert]

New Addition!

[curse you @shandzii you made me do this…but man I love your version of Sun and Moon! Also shout out to @rainy-nomad thanks to your four armed version of Sun and Moon I created Clover…yes to all you fans of mine Clover will be in this. This version of her will only have two arms. I couldn’t help myself! This is a Y/N story yes, I love the reader insert aspect and….I may do more with Clover in other versions]

“I can’t wait to see the look on their faces when they get a load of you!” You chuckled, they were adding the finishing touches on a their newest creation for the daycare.

You tilted its head back and with a freshly dipped paintbrush began painting the little details on the face, three black flower-petal eyelashes for both eyes, then a nice spring green for the eye color, followed by two adorable little shamrocks on the cheeks. Next came the clothing choice, sticking with the ‘green theme’ you pulled out a large oversized nightshirt Moon left out once. You had a friend make some alterations and added a large patch on the front, followed by some striped pants from a clown costume, green ballet shoes. Lacing them up was a bitch but eh, it brought he look together.

You stepped back…..she looked like those old harlequin dolls old ladies collected, you started noticing somethings you added in…probably unconsciously. The button nose for one…too much Cuphead cartoons you thought but if it works it works. She defiantly had a type of ‘rubber hose’ cartoon look to her which was adorable.

“Alright the easy parts over…..now the hard part…what the hell to call you.” You sighed, you hadn’t thought of a single name for this thing.

……Then you had a ‘face palm’ moment, it was fucking staring right at you!

[Later at midnight]

You made triple sure not to get caught when the lights went out, you wanted this surprise to STAY a surprise, especially for Moon. You were carrying this said ‘surprise’ on your back for a bit before opting for one of the strollers, they were small enough to fit….but it still looked pretty damn suspicious of you to push around a stroller. Thankfully your ‘surprise’ was staying quiet, after a quick jog you made it to the Daycare.

Now came a bit of a challenge…sneaking the surprise in without Sun noticing, peeking through the Daycare doors you saw him cleaning up. He was going back to his room above the ballpit to get something, this was the perfect!

Quickly you picked up your little ‘surprise’ and brought them in, hiding them in one of the tubes of the play-structure. You were sure this was going to be epic….

Until the lights suddenly went off.

You froze, checking your watch…it wasn’t even the end of the hour why the hell did the lights go off?! You told the surprise to stay where they were and crawled back out, you quickly scanned the area. It was gonna be bad if Moon found the surprise first, you wanted to introduce him slowly to the ‘surprise’ but that wasn’t gonna happen now.

“Well~ your here early~”

Well shit…..you caught sight of Moon right above you, taking a chance you looked over and saw the ‘surprise’ staring…an instantly you forgot that the ‘surprise’ had light up eyes! You tried to think of a way both tell the ‘surprise’ to hide but not alert Moon…at least your ‘surprise’ was smart and covered their face.

“Hey freak.” You said.

Moon gave his usual villain chuckle, you knew him well enough to know he wasn’t mean…just an asshole…a child friendly one at times.

“Now, there’s not need for name calling, though I’m willing to forgive….if you tell me what your hiding.”

…..Fuck he saw….well of course he did! Pinching the bridge of your nose in frustration…you stared directly at the nap-time animatronic before getting out your flashlight.

“Its a surprise for you and Sun, I’ll show them to you first Moon… huge condition, if you don’t behave I’ll stick this flashlight so far up your ass-“

“Language~” he purred at you.

“Save it, I’ve heard you curse that five times yesterday an all in the span of five minutes I might add! Now listen, I mean it Moon….please be at least decent to them…I made them specifically for you and Sun.” Your voice became softer….you watched Moons expression go from impish….to mild surprise.

“For…Sunny and I?” He asked.

“Yeah…I know you hate it but…remember a month back involving that mom who neglected to tell you guys about her daughters allergies?”

An as expected, Moon’s face turned from surprise…to down right disgust. You watched those sharp teeth start gnashing and pretending to chew on something despite having nothing in his mouth. The incident in question was an attempt to try and sue the Pizzaplex, the mother purposely neglected to tell Sun about her daughters peanut allergies. So when the daughter had a bad allergic reaction the blame was placed on Sun and the Pizzaplex.

But unfortunately for the mom, her daughter turned out to be a huge fan of Sun and exposed her mother’s plan when her mom threatened to have they Daycare permanently shut down. The mom was arrested for child endangerment and divorced, the little girl wasn’t banned cause…well she can’t control her mom’s actions. Needless to say it left a toll on Sun, he was so panicked and slightly traumatized by the event….

“Yes….I remember…” he growled.

“Well I made you guys something to help prevent another incident like that and also help take some of the burden of watching so many kids off your back.”

You turned and walked over to the tube, your ‘surprise’ was still in there…smiling you turned to Moon and motioned him to turn around.

He gave you a very unamused look..you repeated the motion and this time he complied. You turned back to your ‘surprise’ and motioned them to come out. They did…all be it slowly, apparently intimidated by just the sound of Moon’s voice. Geez you were hoping this would go well cause if not…well you tried not to think about it.

You made your ‘surprise’ stand in front of you, you held back a chuckle as they covered their face with their sleeves.

“Ok Moon, here ‘she’ is.”

You watched Moon turn, obviously confused by the little figure. Though you felt some panic when he knelt down and pulled on the sleeves…..but that panic disappeared when you saw his face when he got a look at the ‘surprise’s’ face.

You smirked. “Moon, this is Clover. Your new baby sister, Clover this is Moon. He and Sundrop are going to be your big brothers, don’t be shy now say hello!”

Ooh the look on Moon’s face was just priceless! The look of shock and confusion made whatever prank he planned for you later worth it, though you still were worried about how he’d react to Clover. If anything he’d just ignore her, Sun you knew would welcome her with open arms. You gently backed up to give Clover room to move…she shuffled in one spot…a bit bashful on first meeting.

“H-Hi….I’m Clover…you-your new assistant, I’m designed to help kids with medical an emotional health. I’m programmed with stories to help with both story time and helping other children who are reluctant to nap.”

Well she was more confident in speaking to him….Moon was just staring at her, you watched her shuffle more and fidget with her fingers..an before long…

You watched Moon pick her up into his arms���look directly at you…

“She’s mine…an we are leaving.” An with that he turned and walked away back towards the play-structure.

“Whoa Moon wait-“

Too late, he had disappeared along with Clover…and you were being called to help with a parent acting like a fucking dick-bag….

[two hours later]

“Shit, shit, shit, shit!”

You got a call to return to the Daycare, something happened you knew it! Oh you should’ve waited, waited or at least fucking TOLD THEM! You ran up to see another worker, just giggling her head off, you slowed down and overheard her muttering.

“Oh my god, that is so freaking cute!”

Confused…you walked over and looked through the glass surrounding the Daycare…only to see Sun chasing Clover in a game of tag. You wondered for a moment if the lights came on after you left…maybe Moon didn’t scare her too badly..?

“Oh Y/N there you are, man you missed some cute stuff!”

You stared at your co-worker…unaware of what their name was you asked what had happened.

[Flashback after Y/N left]

“Well isn’t this a pleasant surprise hmm~?” Moon gave a sinister chuckle, he looked over Clover another time.

She was such a cute little skrundly, yes she was. Big green eyes, shy personality…of course Moon would fix that, he’d turn her into a sassy little spitfire soon. Although Sun was already begging to have the lights on so he could meet their new ‘sister’ but since the lights were on a timer…Moon would make the most of his time.

“As you know, I’m Moon and I am your big brother. So you know, I share a body with Sun. When the lights come on we switch places…he takes over when the lights are on and I take over when the lights are out. Got that?” Moon asked, gently poking the button nose on his new sister.

This…earned him a giggle…gosh even her giggles were adorable. What on earth did that human create?! Seriously, they made a walking doll…wrapped up in a jesters costume.

Moon had to give credit where credit was due….now on to the fun part, since Sun would go crazy if he tried teaching her ‘bad’ words right away he figured he’d do something else. Setting her down for a moment he sat down to ponder…already contorting his body in his ‘pondering’ pose. He sat like that for a moment…when he noticed Clover attempting to copy him.

“Hm?” He looked over at her, she was pretty flexible he could tell…but she just couldn’t seem to figure out where to put her parts.

Moon gave a chuckle. “Here now little dewdrop, follow my lead”

Dewdrop…that was a cute little nickname for her, he wondered if that would be the name of her own candy. Would she get that treatment though? He threw the thought out an focused, he started out with simple things like splits and seeing if she could touch her toes. Then came more challenging ones, scorpion poses, folding poses…she copied them perfectly. Moon decided to be bold and see how she faired using the wires, he attached himself to his own and sprang up…but looked down and saw she wasn’t following..but staring with wide eyed amazement.

“You can fly?!” Clover gasped, Moon chuckled and lowered himself.

“In a way, its a harness. I’m sure you’ve got one built in too…don’t you?”

Clover reached and felt the latch on her back, nodding but then pointed out something Moon had missed.

“I do, but there’s only one cable in the Daycare and that belongs to you…and Sun I think..”

Thats right, there was only one cable…well no matter. Moon knew how to improvise, he lowered himself before detaching himself from the cable. He motioned Clover to turn around, she complied. When he was sure she was attached safely he rose the cable up enough so the two were at eye level with each other.

“Alright thats good enough.”

An so began his lessons on using the cable, of course she got tangled but only a few times. She was lasting a lot longer then Sun could…speaking of which he was trying his best to keep Sun calm as well. He was going absolutely nuts over their new ‘sibling’ an was being rather loud…well loud for ‘him’ at least.

He was watching her try and do a twirl…when she paused to look at him.

“Um…Moon?” Her voice was as soft as a pillow.

“Yes?”

“….You and Sun…share a body..right?”

“Yes, we do.”

Slowly Clover lowered herself back to the floor, it didn’t take a genius to see something was bugging her.

“Is..does he see…what you see? Is he aware of what happens when you take over?”

Huh, well he was going to expect a question like that from her someday just not now…he knelt down and gently patted her head.

“Yes, he see’s what I see and is always aware of what I’m doing. Why do you ask?”

He watched her eyes dart from side to side, trying not to make contact with his…before working up the courage to look right at him.

“Does…he like me? I mean…can you ask him if…he’s ok with me being here?”

Well….that caught him off guard, Moon was expecting questions on Sun’s personality or mannerism but..already assuming she was being a burden or a problem. Sun was screaming at the back of their mind how she could assume such a thing..but Moon quickly told Sun to calm down mentally and focused on Clover.

“He’s excited to meet you personally, why on earth would you think he’d not like you?”

“…I…sorta overheard some workers talking…saying how mad you or Sun would be if I showed up..”

“Well my dear, those workers can pound sand…with their heads for all I care. Sunny and I are very happy to have you here, it’ll be nice to have more company. That an the children here will just adore you, after-all…I just met you an already I like you…a lot.” Moon patted her head before standing up, he had to time this right.

“In fact…how ‘we’ show you ourselves?”

Clover blinked, suddenly the lights came back on. Startled for a moment she turned to Moon-….only to find he was gone…and instead, Sun standing there with a big grin on his face.

“Hoo! Hoo! Hoo! Clover! We finally get to meet face to face!” Sun waisted no time in scooping up the smaller animatronic into his arms in a tight hug.

“Oh Clover, I heard what you said and no, I absolutely adore you! You are just the cutest little sweetie I’ve ever seen! Moony and I would just love having a little sister like you around the Daycare, you’re absolutely perfect!”

Sun couldn’t contain himself, he spun around with his new sister in his arms. Pausing a moment to let her rest, the spinning making her dizzy….or at least thats what she wanted Sun to think. The moment he sat her down though she poked his ‘nose’ and gave a little wink.

“Boop, your it!” Clover giggled and bolted.

Sun sat there confused…before realizing what she had just done and what challenge she initiated.

“You sneaky little girl! I’ll have you know I’m one of the best at tag!”

An with that….the game was on, Clover felt at home, she felt this is where she was meant to be…

She was going to like it here.

End.

Oh and here’s a pic of Clover for those who wanna know what she looks like, Credit for this art goes to @rainy-nomad

https://rainy-nomad.tumblr.com/post/674425406031577088/happy-belated-birthday-birthday-buddy-for-the

[rosepetalwings]

DESSERTRUNE

okay, looks like people are interested in my AU dessertrune so..... please enjoy the upcoming jumble of words i've strung together to explain this au!

(TRIGGER WARNING - This is a horror AU and will deal with dark and disturbing topics, including gore, murder, and even cannibalism, intended to disturb the viewer. The post will be tagged with the appropriate tags to warn for such things but please do not read if such things will affect you negatively. Please stay safe and enjoy something else that may bring you joy, for you are worth it. 🖤)

Story

There's giggly chattering amongst the more naive and imaginative students of Hometown's school of a world in the shadows made of saccharine enchantment and wonder... Taffy trees and frosted fields and sweet smiles from the saccharine people that inhabit this magical land. How terrible it is to know that their innocent dreams are but sugar coated nightmares.

But all is not lost.

For you see, Legend tells of 3 brave young heroes from the Light banishing the Angel’s Confections from the land which promise to bring ruin to them all. To rid the Dark of its extra Fountain and the curious candies that have sprung up in ostentatious billboards and flashy, loud ads all through the Dark World is the Heroes’ Quest; a quest that may consume them whole.

Locations

Light World

Everything in the Light World is mostly untouched, save for the bunker which sports an odd little sticker for some strange candy... Curious when you consider the sticker's brightness and newness against the bunker's weathered and dilapidated age. Probably just some kid with new stickers wandering where they shouldn't have been.

Dark World

????? - Dark and haunting, this muted pink area sports rock candy jewels that glint strangely in the shadows that bathe the area. Best to keep moving along, judging by the strange iridescent sludge that pool around everywhere here and open mouthed grinning puzzles that seem to giggle quietly at you specifically...

Castle Town - A break from the burnt bubblegum-pink, there is an empty town that surrounds a lonely castle. It is dark, and so very quiet, but completely untouched by the sludge from before. Abandoned? Or, perhaps it is so lonely a location, everyone overlooks it.

Field - A long field of pastel purple grass and luscious strawberry pink-red trees with tall buildings off in the horizon... There’s an overwhelming scent of fruit punch on the breeze and- oh! It seems a “Lancer” has left up signage everywhere, warning others in a childish scrawl to not eat from the candy stalls that advertise so loudly and brightly on every path... "The taste of happiness!" the wrapper proclaims. Upon meeting him, there’s a sense that he is perhaps not the most upstanding child with how much he loves to call himself a villain... But- perhaps he has a point, with how the candy seems to beckon the observer with its bright, happy colors... Would you believe this mischievous young lad?

The Scarlet Forest - The smell of sweet fruit punch fades out into spicy cinnamon as the crimson trees seem to grow brighter. A few fallen leaves float on by with the wind as their vehicle, and the stalls from before disappear... Smaller strip malls and buildings abound here... Though there is a large store that calls to each Darkner that approaches with bright neon signs. “Come and see the new line of Halberd Inc. treats!” the dark-circled greeter cries out with a smile so big it looks like it aches, "New improved formula! 150% more sweetness packed in!!" and the huge line of much too eager Darkners that queue up for a taste of the reformulated sweets cheer cacophonously...

Great Board - The smell of licorice envelopes the air in the Great Board, which in and of itself, is filled to the brim with billboards and bright lights and neon signs and weathered posters out the wazoo. It is a smog ridden area, lit only by the blinding neon lights that guide the way up to the castle. There's a small maze of a city here, before the Factory. It's gritty, and dingy, and it smells like a burning dumpster fire there but it is a small bit of respite before trekking elsewhere... Perhaps one could stop at the Boardway Theater, where there's a quaint little horror musical about a killer barber. Song about having "a little ponman", the Halberd Inc. papers last said.

The Factory - Halberd Inc.'s core production facility. Every facet of it is highly secured, contained, and protected. It employs almost every Darkner in the area, in some form or another. If they do not work in the production line, they work in transportation of the products. If they do not transport Halberd Inc. products, they sell the products. Or advertise. Halberd Inc. is inescapable. Halberd Inc. loves you. Halberd Inc. provides for you. Working for Halberd Inc. is happiness. Don't you want to be happy? Feel all sweet inside? The cagey silver-haired assistant hugging his clipboard a little too tightly too his chest doesn't seem all that happy. Maybe if one presses the stressed man, he'll give up the dark secret of this sordid manufacturer... And, quickly, do inform him of where his adopted(?) son has tarried off to.

Characters

Lightners

Kris - The hero of our tale. A quiet kid, normally. Though, normally not so quiet as when they enter the Dark World. They enter a world of sweets and yet their mouth is taken from them, replaced only with a thin, red smile against the purple of their mixed berry gummy flesh. They have no mouth and they must scream.

Susie - A rude girl that's about as tough as leather. ...Makes sense as to why her hide becomes fruit leather, in the Dark World. About as sweet too, deep down. Hard to convince her away from not just absolutely wolfing down all the free food around her though. But... she does listen to Lancer's warnings, thankfully.

Noelle, Asriel, Alphys, Undyne, Toriel, Asgore, Sans, Papyrus - Unchanged. Speculate on what you'd like with them. Though I have thoughts here and there for "sweets" versions of them.

Darkners

Ralsei - A fluffy boy that smells like toothpaste. He'll correct you that it's spearmint that you're picking up and then offer you some sugar free gum. Or an apple. Or some celery. As a healthy snack.

Lancer - The bad guy! ...Or so he says, as he continues to help you through this strange, saccharine world. Just kind of seems like a little kid that means well... A little, jawbreaker-looking kid, with how round he is and the paint splatters from all the signs he makes all over his clothes. ...Are those meant to be there or not?

Seam - The local shopkeep. This purple rock candy feline knows much about this old world and how very terribly the world has been corrupted since the rise of Halberd Inc. Stay a while to keep out from the not-so-fresh air and ask about all the nitty-gritty details, Seam certainly won't mind.

Rouxls - Rex Halberd's right hand man, a frigid blue raspberry slushie of a Kaard and a yes man if ever there was one. Though, only to keep the peace and his life. He only trusts the CEO of Halberd Inc. as far as he can throw him, now that he knows what the candy contains. (He almost throws up every time he thinks about it.) He wants to see the company crash and burn and run away with Lancer to build anew but he's powerless to do so. Rex owns just about everything Rouxls knows... And if Rex doesn't own it yet, he will. A little help or direction for this hopeless assistant would be appreciated.

Jevil - Must be quite the sucker to have searched this far down in the Factory. This swirling lollipop man with a harlequin smile only laughs uncontrollably as you near the bloodied vat of... candy(?) within the room. He was locked in here a while ago and forgotten for the crime of upsetting the CEO with silly games. He wishes to open your mind, see the real truth of this world... Or kill you in the process. Either or.

King - The Rex Halberd. CEO. Father. Friend. Leader. And the most awful person alive. He has more money than most would ever see in 100 lifetimes. He would dangle his own son off of the roof of his factory building. And he would more than happily consume his own products because, just like his workers and his family, the Darkners' bodies used to create his sweets are nothing more than something for him to use and discard when they have become worthless. Kick this dude's fucking ass.

[dailybeastarsthings]

Chapter 4 - Can This Day Get Any Worse? 4.1. It's Not Easy Being A Bunny

The school’s cafeteria is one of the main areas where all students can meet with each other without any boundaries. The area was designed to be able to serve all kinds of animals regardless of their species and sizes. The main area was dissected into three larger levels, which looked like platforms. They were bordered by wooden walls planted with succulents and tiny shrubs to create a greener atmosphere. The roof was made out of glass to ensure that natural light can always get inside. In the four corners and the middle of the cafeteria, there were large oak trees planted with decks on multiple branches. This served as the dining area for smaller animals, such as mice, squirrels or songbirds. The tree was specially developed so its leaves would rarely fall, in order to avoid any accidents.

The cafeteria was packed for dinner, as usual. Students lined up at the kitchen ladies, who served them the food. The meals were specially chosen and prepared to satisfy both herbivore and carnivore students. Each day, there were separate meals for carnivores and herbivores. Today, carnivores were given steamed soy beans, egg salad, black bean pastries and milk, while herbivores were given vegetables boiled in soy milk, fruit parfaits and orange juice. Of course, if a carnivore student preferred something from the herbivore menu, they could change their meals and vice versa.

In the mass of animals, there was a small Netherlands dwarf rabbit girl. Her name was Haru. Her fur was pure white with no marks or any other colors. Her eyes were pitch black. One could easily get lost in them, wondering what thoughts were being kept secret behind them. She was quite short even for her species so she wore shoes with thicker soles to add to her height. As she walked along the line, her uniform was flowing in the air.

Today’s dinner is my favorite, I just can’t wait to eat it!” she thought. “Now I just need to find a place to sit.”

She paced the area for free seats and found three tables with free seats. First, she walked up to a female mongoose student.

“I’m sorry, may I sit here?” Haru asked.

“Umm… Sorry, but I’m waiting for my friend” the mongoose replied.

Next, Haru walked up to a feline student, who didn’t even pay much attention to her. It seemed like she recognized her and since the situation was too awkward for her, she just went back to eating without saying anything.

Haru was a bit annoyed, but she still had one option, a group of rabbits.

“Hey, may I sit with you, please?” Haru asked them.

But they were so busy chatting they didn’t even hear her question. Haru’s ears drooped but she wasn’t the type of girl to get upset over a situation like this. She walked outside and sat down on the stairs to enjoy her meal.

“Oh well, I’m sitting alone behind the building but at least the food is delicious” she thought as she was eating her meal in silence. She suddenly heard another student calling for her. It was her roommate, Sally.

“Haru! There you are.”

“Oh, hey, Sally. Are you heading back to the dorm?”

“Well… umm… yeah. Why are you eating your food alone in this place? Don’t you think it’s too dangerous for a small herbivore like you to be alone after the incident?”

“Well… It’s better than eating alone in the cafeteria. Anyway, if you’re so worried about me, why don’t we have dinner together?”

“Oh… Sorry, I can’t. I can’t be seen together with you. Everyone in the school knows what you did.”

“Well, that figures” Haru sighed. “Everyone’s been avoiding eye contact with me for two days now…”

“Mizuchi is really mad about it. Take it from your roommate, okay? Try to act less resilient.”

And with that, Sally walked off without saying goodbye, leaving Haru by herself. Haru lost herself in her thoughts…

“Is it just me? When an animal is as small as I am, their body will sometimes shake uncontrollably from the pressure of their own heartbeat. If I were to just follow my instincts, I would just keel over and never get back up.”

Haru sighed. For the first time, she felt lonely. Yet she was determined to not allow it to get to her and stand up from this situation even stronger. She finished her meal and went to the main building. She still had some homework to do for tomorrow and wanted to finish it in the library. As she was going up the spiral stairs for small animals, a walnut shell fell down in front of her. And then a couple others followed, but this time, they landed straight on her head.

“What the…”

“Oops, my bad! My hand slipped” said a high-pitched voice.

“Did you get hurt?” asked another one.

“Oh, you’re probably fine, aren’t you? No doubt some boy will come running to save you!” a third added.

“Oh, don’t worry, I’m fine” Haru replied. “Nothing you do can hurt me.”

Haru continued her walk up the stairs, trying to ignore the laughs of the other three girls, but she suddenly came face to face with them. It was Mizuchi and her two allies, a black cat and a raccoon. Mizuchi was a harlequin rabbit and a pretty popular student in Cherryton. If anyone, she could completely destroy someone’s reputation with a gossip in just a few days’ time.

“I guess all of your friends are ignoring you…” she said. “And yet, you’re still holding out quite well. But you do understand your situation don’t you? No one wants to deal with you” she said with the most satisfied smile on her face.

Haru didn’t mind the harsh words Mizuchi threw at her just now. She picked up one of the walnut shells and threw it at her.

“Yeah, yeah. I don’t have time to deal with you or your little friends so bye” Haru said while passing the others without even looking at them.

“Hey! I’m not finished with you!” Mizuchi yelled.

“If you’ve got enough time to spread rumors about me, you surely have enough time to make up with your boyfriend.”

“You have no right to say that! You’re the one who split us up in the first place!”

“I’m sorry, but he’s the one who kissed me. I don’t know what you were told and I don’t really care either” Haru said while turning around with a smug look on her face. “Still, a buck who’d get infatuated over a little kiss isn’t worth much if you ask me.”

And that was it. Right then and there, Mizuchi was destroyed and she knew it. The frustration caused her two-toned face to turn completely red. She picked up the janitor’s water bucket and threw the water at Haru, who fell to the ground.

“Listen well. We were a harlequin rabbit couple. Harlequin rabbits are an endangered species. We’re on a completely different league with obvious pedigree. And yet you, a plebian dwarf rabbit, went and destroyed that couple! How dare you! We’re going to spread rumors that you’re messing with other male students as well.”

Haru was not surprised by Mizuchi’s reaction but she was still a bit upset. Her clothes and fur were dripping wet and the other three were laughing at her.

“Let’s go girls” Mizuchi said. “You should really pick yourself up from the floor, Haru. Or don’t. It suits you anyway.”

And with that, the terrible trio was finally gone. Their footsteps echoed in the corridor for a few moments but with each passing second, they became quieter. Haru stood up and looked at herself. Her clothes were dripping wet. Fortunately, the water didn’t get into her bag, so at least her schoolwork was safe. She looked for the nearest restroom and walked inside. She went inside one of the stalls, closed the door and hung her dress on the door. She sat on top of the toilet seats and started the rest of her homework.

“Well, it’s not the library but at least no one should bother me here” she thought.

It didn’t take Haru to finish her school work. She completed an essay and two multiple choice exercises and was ready to go. She reached out for her uniform, which was almost completely dry. She got dressed, exited the stall and washed her hands.

“I don’t want to go back to the dorm yet… I’ll just spend some time around the back of the gym” she thought.

She looked in the mirror and took a good look at herself.

“When males see this face, they start to approach me thinking »I want to help her« or »I want to protect her«… But when they realize that I’m different from their fantasies, they use me and eventually leave. Right… The winners of this world are the animals who live by their feral instincts. I was destined to be a loser. I lived a life of being used as fodder for other animals.”

It was already late when Haru exited the main building. It was really quiet all over the school and only a few lights were on in the dorms. A thin layer of mist was resting lightly on the ground, deterring from Haru’s way as she took her steps towards the gym. It almost felt to her like even the mist didn’t want to touch her anymore. She reached the gym and headed towards the fountain in front of it.

Haru was always mesmerized by the dancing water. She didn’t know why, but she enjoyed looking at it for hours, enjoying the sight of the little drops being painted into colorful gems by the surroundings or silver tears by the moonlight. It was a place where she could calm herself down in all cases – exams, arguments, family life… But the peace and harmony didn’t feel the same this time. She felt as if someone was watching her. She heard a rustle from the gym’s entrance.

“Someone’s here. But who could it be? Do they know who I am? Do they want to hurt me? Or… can it be the one who killed that alpaca?”

She heard the rustle once again… The other one moved closer to her… Tears started to flow from Haru’s eyes. Her legs were trembling. She wanted to run but her legs wouldn’t move – they were heavy as stones.

“I’ll let you have me… But please… Just once in my pathetic life…Give me a reason to run away in fear… Give me a reason to cry in fear… Give me a reason to value my life…”

With all these thoughts in her head, she started running towards the arches. She couldn’t even make two steps though when she could feel her body being grabbed by large hands with sharp claws… She was trapped. And yet, she felt completely calm.

“Could you understand what valuing your life is?” she thought. “He doesn’t understand. He doesn’t have to. I can feel that his desires resonate with mine. I’m just glad they are not here to see me like this…”

[holdthosebees]

La Belle Dame

Rating: T Pairing: John/Martin, pre-slashish. Background Melanie/Georgie. Summary: No powers, drag queen AU. In which John’s ex-girlfriend drags him to a charity show, and he has an awkward encounter with one of the queens.

A/N: A procrastination oneshot that I wrote while not working on any of my many, many WIPs. Shoutout to @jinxedlucky, who helped me workshop this idea and then told me not to work on it until I finish something else, and who was right. Also--Martin’s drag name, and the title, both come from the Keats poem La Belle Dame Sans Merci. 

The drag queen on stage had glitter in her beard and the most impressive biceps John had ever seen. The red sequins on her skintight dress shimmered as she walked up and down the edge of the crowd, mic cord trailing behind her, as she reached out to regulars, all winks. Georgie tapped John’s shoulder; he had to lean in to hear her, her hair brushing against his ear.

“That’s Sasha’s friend,” she said. “Tim. The one I was telling you about.” 

John nodded. He’d been struggling to keep track of all of people in Georgie’s new social circle, her girlfriend’s friends and their friends who were all supposed to be his friends by some sort of mathematical transference. The drag queen on stage tapped the mic, and grinned. Her lips were very red. 

“Ladies, gentlemen, monsters, everyone else,” she said, pitching her voice low. “Welcome... to Eastbenders!” 

There were a few half-hearted cheers. 

“Oh, come on, you can do better than that. Anyway, for the virgins in the audience, all our queens are local and all our proceeds will go to providing shelter and services to trans youth.” Another pause for cheers, more enthusiastic this time. “If you have any questions, ask comrade Sasha over there in the booth. Wave to the people, Sasha!”

John had met Sasha a few times over drinks. She seemed a very sensible person, unlike Georgie’s new girlfriend Melanie, who hated him on sight. He resolved to go and find her after the event, and maybe donate a bit. That was why he was here, after all; the charity.

“And the rest of you old slags, go say hello anyway. I promise you she’s very friendly.” The queen punctuated her sentence with a slow roll of her hips and a leer. John scowled down at his ginger ale, and ignored Georgie’s knowing look. She wasn’t going to tell him to lighten up, because she knew that he’d just roll his eyes in response, and she didn’t need to, because he knews she was thinking it. 

It was just that this, the lewd jokes for the sake of lewd jokes, the self-conscious decadence, it was very much not John’s scene. He didn’t have anything against it, exactly; he just found it childish, and strange, and there was something profoundly alienating about it besides. If it were up to him he’d be at home, reading, or putting a few more hours in on the project he was supposed to have in by Monday, somehow, although Elias clearly didn’t understand how long database work actually took.

But it was for charity, Georgie had said, and it had been ages since he’d been out and around, and he wasn’t going to meet anyone new if he just sat around moping. To which he had responded that he didn't feel the need to meet anyone new, and she’d looked at him with her eyes so knowingly sad, tinged with an insufferable pity. And so here he was, crammed into an uncomfortable booth in a dim bar, watching a man in a dress with a wig as tall as his head and heels you could punch through metal sheeting with croon into a cheap microphone.

“I am your host for the evening, Kinky Spice--” someone in the back booed. The queen sighed exaggeratedly. “Fine, you caught me. I’m your host, Kim Morningwoodburn--” More booing, and scattered laughter. “Tough crowd! I’ll deal with you later, you naughty audience members you. I am, cross my heart, your host, Diana Explosion, and I’m here to ask you to welcome in our first performer, the bizarre, the incomparable Honey Wilde!” 

The lights dimmed, and turned blue. The crowd applauded as flog began to slip in from the corner of the stage, creeping across the floor. The music started, something slow and electronic. John was intrigued despite himself. 

Honey Wilde slunk slowly out of the shadows. Her shoulders were hunched, and she moved with a slow lurch. Her straight black wig hung in front of her face, like a creature from a Japanese horror movie. The lights flickered out. 

When they turned back on, she was standing at the edge of the stage, arms spread wide. She was tall, even without the heels; with them, she towered. Her hair was back, revealing a beautifully painted face; even John, who didn’t see the point of this sort of thing, had to admire the artistry. She was wearing a black gown of some sort of matte material, and black opera gloves. And on them, marching up her arms and around the curve of her bodice, curled around her throat--spiders. Huge, plastic spiders. And in her right hand, which she stretched out to the audience, slowly walking across her palm--

“Don’t worry,” she said, in a husky stage whisper. She stroked the back of the tarantula with one finger. “She won’t bite. Unless you ask nicely.” She snapped her teeth, and then smiled, looking suddenly self-conscious. Diana Explosion wolf-whistled. John shuddered. He looked around, plotting an escape route. When he looked back at the stage, Honey’s eyes were on him. 

“If one of you could please do me a favor,” she said. “Tell the silver fox in the back row that I bite, too.” 

John’s face burned. Georgie jostled him with her shoulder. 

“He’s twenty-five,” she yelled back. The crowd laughed. Honey Wild ducked her head, and when she looked back, her smile was crooked. 

“I suppose being with you has aged him prematurely, has it?” she said. Georgie laughed. John didn’t. The tarantula walked slowly along Honey Wilde’s palm.

“Only a joke,” she said. “Don’t let it... eat at you.” 

Diana Explosion jeered. Honey shrugged. The gesture was strangely sheepish; it didn’t belong to the person in the gown and the dark red lipstick. Then the music shifted abruptly, pitched eerily up, and the performance began.

It seemed to be some sort of performance art, with slow techno interspersed with half-song stanzas of Keats’ Ode to a Nightingale. What that had to do with spiders, John couldn’t say. He stopped paying attention. As the queen lurched and undulated across the stage, John stared down at his drink and thought angry, vague thoughts about pointless, fatuous entertainment and pretentious artists and men who thought that having a cock counted as a political statement. The next number featured a queen in a ridiculous harlequin costume and some kind of calliope remix, and John ignored Georgie’s worried glances and insistent nudges and pulled out his phone. 

When the break came, he slid past her and went out the side for a cigarette. It was a cool night; he stood with his back to the brick wall and looked up a the sliver of orange-grey sky above the buildings. He breathed in, felt nicotine fill his lungs, allowed himself a moment to relax.

The door swung open. The man who emerged was tall and trying not to be. He had unruly brown hair that seemed pressed down on one side, and was wearing a jumper, ripped shorts, and fishnets. There was a grey smudge of hastily removed eyeliner around his eyes.  “Oh,” he said. “Sorry. Hello. Mind if I share the alley for a bit?”

John shrugged. He offered the man his pack of cigarettes--might as well be polite--but was turned down. 

“It’s just--need to get some air, you know? Decompress. I always get a bit jittery after a number. Can barely hold my hands straight, ha.”

“Hm,” John said. 

“I don’t know how Tim does it. Of course, can’t hurt that he’s just like that all the time, I mean. It’s not really work for him, he just puts on a dress and goes out there, does his thing. Stuff really comes natural to him, you know?” 

“I suppose,” John said. 

“Sorry--you’re probably trying to relax, and here I am, talking your ear off.” The man ran his fingers through his hair, making it even more untidy, and looked down. There was a flush creeping up the side of his neck. “I, um. I’ll be out of your hair in a second, I promise. Just, while I’m here, I wanted to apologize.”

John raised an eyebrow. 

“If I crossed some sort of line,” the man went on, as though that explained something. “I mean, it’s what most people are here for, to be honest, someone to flirt with and be mean to them, but you seemed sort of uncomfortable? So. Sorry about that. It’s just, I don’t really do this that often anymore, I’m only here because Tim made me, and for the charity. So I’m out of practice with the back and forth, is all.” 

John squinted at him. The lighting was different; so was his posture, the shape of his face without makeup. But no, he recognized him now. 

“You’re Honey Wilde,” he said. “The one with the tarantula.” 

“Oh! Yes. Sorry. Not right now, I mean, right now I’m Martin. But yeah, that’s me.” Martin gave an awkward little wave. John took a deep drag on his cigarette and let the smoke out slowly. 

“It’s fine,” he said. “Are you sure? You seem sort of...”

“It’s fine,” John said again, more firmly. Martin’s smile was pained. He had dimples, John noticed; they were slightly asymmetrical, the right one deeper than the left. 

“Well that’s--good. I’m glad.” They stood in awkward silence for a moment. Martin kept looking at John, and then away; after a moment, John realized that he was being checked out.  

He considered this. Martin wasn’t bad looking, as far as John could tell. He seemed nice enough. The apology had seemed genuine. And there was a part of John, a vicious, petty corner of his heart, that enjoyed the thought of leaving Georgie in the bar to go home with a virtual stranger. 

“I’m sorry if it’s a step,” Martin said slowly, “but you don’t really seem to be enjoying yourself? Did your girlfriend drag you along, or something?”

“Ex girlfriend,” John said shortly. Martin’s eyes went wide.

“Oh,” he said. “Oh, I’m--that makes it worse, doesn’t it. I’m sorry.”

Of course, there were the negatives. Sex with someone he knew well was just as likely to be uncomfortable and awkward as it was pleasurable; with a stranger, the risk was doubled. Martin seemed courteous, but he still might take it personally when John asked him not to touch him, or have weird kinks, or just expect John to be more into it than he could possibly be and come to his own conclusions when John inevitably wasn’t. 

John watched Martin run a broad hand through his hair again, and decided that it wasn’t worth it. 

“It’s--it’s fine,” he said, shrugging. “It was a long time ago. She has a girlfriend now, actually, who’s working behind the bar.” 

“That’s--Oh, you mean Melanie? That’s Melanie’s Georgie?” Martin smiled, more genuinely this time. “Melanie won’t shut up about her. They seem sweet.”

“I don’t know if sweet is the word I would use to describe Melanie King,” John said. “But yes. They do seem to suit each other, don’t they.” 

“Yeah.” There was something wistful in the way Martin said it, and a little sad. They looked at each other. John felt an unpleasant roll of anxiety; this was it, this was the moment when Martin would make a move, and John would say no, and they’d both go back inside feeling uncomfortable and awkward. 

But Martin just pushed off from the wall and looked back at the door and said, strangely tentative, “Well, it was good to meet you. I should get back in. I’m not performing any more, thank god, but I don’t want to miss the second act. I’ll, uh, see you around, yeah?” 

John blinked at him. 

“Right,” he said. Martin flashed him a quick smile, and then opened the door. Through it, John could hear Diana Explosion, calling out, “--your seats, my lovely monsters, let’s get this show back on the road.” Then Martin was gone, the door closed behind him, and John was alone.

He took another deep drag on his cigarette. His phone buzzed, a text from Georgie, asking him where he was. He muted his phone and put it back in his pocket. Not yet. Soon, but not yet. 

[eyebright-iris]

Review: Birds of Prey (and the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn)

“I’m the one they should be scared of.  Not you, not Mr. J – me.  ’Cause I’m Harley-fuckin’-Quinn.”

A triumphant riot of not just girl-power, but the true indomitable spirit of women who have been wronged their entire lives kicking back at the ones who have tried to ruin them.

Birds of Prey is truly one of the greatest movies I have seen in a long time, and this is after having seen some fantastic competition.  Finally, a Harley movie that actually cares about her as a character, as a person, that shows off all the things that makes her great and somehow doesn’t have to make her the film’s sole lead to give her the space she needs to perform.  She’s naïve, excitable, an emotional rollercoaster in a pair of rollerblades and the most delightful not-quite-villain to watch on screen.  Harley has broken up with the Joker and set out on her own, but she never forgets the clown look she is so known and loved for.  Where so many Joker depictions try to show of the madness of clowns, the scary side to make the Joker a formidable villain, Harley Quinn is joyous.  She’s a jack-in-the-box with a rocket launcher, pigtails and smiley-face mallet and maniacal glee in every bit of mayhem she causes.  Yeah, in her own words, she’s not a good person – but you want to be her best friend anyway because you can’t help but love her. Every outfit was sexy but not sexualised, all about Harley’s wild self-expression and not about how much of her ass could fit into each shot; you can feel that this was directed and produced by women; created by women, a project loved by the women behind it. There’s enough emotion to make you really feel for the characters despite the comedy, but manages to flip effortlessly between genuine emotion and humour without cheapening the authentic feelings like other films have done in the past (looking at you, Deadpool).

The film also makes brilliant use of its 15 rating with an explosion of foul language and violence – but none of it gratuitous.  The fights are gritty, lively, and feature none of the signature lady-fighting technique synonymous with Black Widow that involves bringing a man down with her thighs around his face.  The women in this movie punch, brass-knuckle or bare-knuckle; they swing bats and break limbs, they smash windows and noses and get punched back themselves because they aren’t reduced to something pretty for the time of the fight; the fights are fun, but never feel fake.  There’s enough weight behind the combat scenes to carry each of them without losing the fun of watching them.  The Booby-Trap fight scene is the obvious standout, the title scene of the movie where we finally have everything the movie promised us delivered on perfectly, but there are so many others – Harley’s raid on the police station with the shotgun is another personal favourite.  And good news – rumours of Harley having an ex-girlfriend are in fact true!  Bisexual badass Harley Quinn takes centre-stage.

But speaking of Harley, this isn’t just her movie: I couldn’t review this film without paying proper homage to the other characters.  Renee Montoya, a detective overshadowed when her partner took credit for her career-making case, watching him be captain while she never gets the respect she deserves.  For a movie with a cop as one of its leads I was surprised (very pleasantly) at the general tone the film takes towards the police (in colloquial terms, BoP said “fuck blue lives!” and I love it).  Renee’s a force to be reckoned with, a good heart in a bad city and she knows it. The film openly makes fun of how she speaks like an 80s cop movie, but only for the cheese of it all, because the intention behind the cheese, the desire to do good despite the rules, is what this film is all about and while I won’t spoil Montoya’s ending, I was ecstatic for her.  Oh, and did I mention she has an ex-girlfriend who appears multiple times in the movie?  Dinah Lance, Black Canary, is an iconic heroine of DC.  A crime lord’s club songbird with a bite, she clearly has a rough history with police and a lot of mistrust, but there’s a heart of gold beneath it all and she breaks all the rules she’s set for herself to save an innocent life.  Dinah also gets to show off her powers in a fight and it does not disappoint.  Lastly of the Birds, we have Huntress.  A mystery for much of the movie, she’s a lot of motorcycling around and mysteriously killing people for reasons unknown. However, when she does join the gang and come into the light, she’s incredible.  A ruthless assassin with not great people skills which make her formidable but adorably awkward as well, her character realistically reminds the audience that childhood trauma can indeed make superheroes – but that doesn’t magically undo the fact that it is, in fact, trauma.  Her interactions with Cassandra Cain are touching and she’s a fascinating case of someone with no real stake in the affairs that all the other characters are caught up in but takes a stand regardless because it’s the right thing to do.  Also, all these ladies are in fact very beautiful and powerful and kickass and I am very gay.

Cassandra makes the last of the protagonists and she doesn’t let her young age or small stature make her seem any smaller against her co-stars.  Fabulously cast and brilliantly acted, Cassandra is a little shit that people can’t help but take a liking to, but also very much a child in a frightening world who has no idea what she’s gotten mixed up in.  I can’t lie, it’s also very refreshing to see a kid being played and acted like a damn kid, not a thirty-year-old in a schoolgirl skirt.  The Booby-Trap fight where the Birds and Harley are furiously fighting dozens of goons whilst working to protect Cassandra is a really powerful scene, not just for the technicolour girl-power but also because the sight of women working together to protect a young girl in ways they themselves could not be protected is…*chef’s kiss*.

I don’t want to spoil any more than I may already have done, but the villains are phenomenal.  Ewan McGregor does an amazing job with Black Mask, terrifyingly unstable and violent, yet so entertaining at the same time. Also, queer-coded (or canon, if you take McGregor’s own words on the matter) villains are absolutely no issue with me when at least two of our main cast of incredible ladies are queer on screen in this movie (and yes, imo, the bad guys are gay your honour).

Conclusion:

A supernova of harlequin madness and an absolute resounding triumph.  Birds of Prey is everything we needed when Suicide Squad’s own neon-painted violence failed to live up to its potential.  The movie is vividly coloured and non-stop fun.  It’s lurid, violent, and perfectly Harley.

10/10

[split-n-splice]

Last part to Distance! Now to procrastinate making a new banner for the next arc... pfft

[Chapter Guide]

12. Distance – 5

Drakken lay blinking up at the figure above him surrounded by a halo of light. But she was no angel. She was a far cry from angel. As he gawped up at her, he came to the very sudden and very shocking realization that he couldn’t breathe. There was something very wrong with him – and that damn demon had done it. She’d taken his breath away – literally.

She had some nerve to smile and laugh, even as she reached down to pull him up by an arm, sitting him upright. He made a weak attempt to shove her away as he fought against a paralyzed diaphragm to draw in air. Horrendous wheezes coming from himself drowned out whatever words of ridicule or support she spared as she rubbed his back.

She’d hit him – hard – but maybe he deserved it. He deserved it for the smack he’d given her in the garage last week. Just maybe not so hard as to debilitate him.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t brought it upon himself though. “Are you going easy on me?” had been a slip of the tongue, but it was a serious question regardless of however teasing it came out. He’d known the answer though. She’d worked at a more intensive pace with the henchmen yesterday, and he was beginning to feel shamefully inferior. Until that point, she’d thrown halfhearted blows with next to zero force behind them in a lesson on blocking, moving just slow enough he could react after she’d explained what to expect and how to respond. Clearly it had been the wrong thing to say because she suddenly struck him in the middle with a jab like a viper to remind him what a real punch was like.

At least she hadn’t given him a black eye or bloody nose or split his lip, which had only just healed from last week’s robot mutiny. He was still thoroughly humiliated as he hung his head between his knees and heaved for air. He tried to ignore her crouched next to him as she reigned in her giggle fit.

No sooner was he breathing steadily again did Shego give him a rough pat between the shoulders. She hopped up, grappling at his arms to pull him up along with her. “C’mon, big guy, it’s not that bad. On your feet,” she said through stifled chuckles.

Drakken rubbed his sternum as he rose, blinking against the haze. “Glasses—?” he managed to grumble, trying not to look toward the shape of black-painted lips parted to flash pearly whites. Of course his glasses were pushed up atop his head, and of course she’d reach over to push them down because she’d been the one to push them up for safe keeping while he’d bellyached on the floor.

He glared back at her cheeky smile and jerked away the arm she’d been hanging onto.

Having the wind knocked out of him should have been a clue to call it quits. He didn’t know why he gave in to her goading to continue. Resuming the practice and letting her put her hands on him to instruct him on self defense was a big mistake from the get-go, but he didn’t learn his lesson.

He’d been knocked on his butt enough for one day, and even if there was a padded mat below him, it wasn’t padded enough. Drakken began to wonder if she was keeping tally of how many times she could take him down. He’d lost count himself. He just considered himself lucky she didn’t knock him out cold.

Breathing deep just to be absolutely certain he still could, he stared up at her blurry shape once more. The woman in green and black harlequin uniform knelt down next to him, returning his miraculously-intact glasses to his face for the umpteenth time so he could see her smug smile clearly. He glared past her instead.

It was then he finally noticed the gathering of henchmen lined up on the catwalk above, and he blanched as Shego twisted to look back herself.

Only two henchmen had been summoned to the gym this morning to sharpen their skills with Shego, yet the whole damn crew had come to spectate. They were chattering lowly among each other, passing cash, blatantly taking bets – on what, Drakken wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to know. Probably on how many times he fell.

He bolted upright so fast he nearly knocked into the superhuman leaning over him. He checked his watch – it was five till ten – the henchmen were early. And he had the sneaking suspicion they’d been there a while. Long enough to see him flattened one last time, anyway. Somehow that was worse than having the wind knocked out of him.

“Why didn’t you tell me they were there?” he growled over, tucking in his shirt neatly even though he’d be changing it in a few minutes anyway. Force of habit. He caught her sidestepping away, her face flushing a funny shade as she fidgeted behind her back, but the best answer she gave was a shrug to suggest their arrival was news to her too.

Drakken turned his glare up to the henchmen, barking at them to quit standing around and get to work. The two assigned to Shego came forth while the rest of the group split off to the workout equipment. He was conflicted between sticking around to oversee the session and hurrying off to avoid the peer pressure of watching his employees getting daily exercise he so regularly skipped out on. There was no reason for them to all be here, all at once, and he had the queasy feeling it was Shego that lured them to the gym.

But Shego was a skilled fighter. She could handle herself – she’d made that abundantly clear, both to him, and to the whole henchcrew. Worrying about leaving her to them made no sense when her knack for fighting played such a considerable role in why he’d hired her in the first place. They were no match for her. If anything, he should be worried for his crew.

With that in mind, he tried to leave her to it. He changed out of his sweats and T-shirt and tried to unravel scrolls of paper to work on blueprints to fill a custom order, but his mind kept straying from the unfinished page in front of him. He slumped over his lab desk and scratched behind his ear with the pencil, his knee bouncing away anxiously.

This morning, he’d made a point to park out front of her apartment a full hour before she was due to show up at the lair. He’d been just in time, because the civilian Shilo appeared a couple minutes later with her bag of gear. He’d had to honk the horn to catch her attention, because she almost hadn’t noticed him, but he’d seen her breathe a sigh of relief as she turned away from the bus stop down the street to climb into his van instead. He’d suggested grabbing breakfast at the Cow-n-Chow, but she’d vetoed it, reminding him of their arrangement by graciously informing him he’d puke if he ate beforehand. He hadn’t taken her courteous warning seriously then, but he didn’t doubt it now.

Skipping breakfast thanks to her was the only reason he found himself in the kitchen rifling through the cabinets. In the back of his head, he could practically hear his mother’s nagging voice telling him to make a proper breakfast of bacon and eggs and all the works, but he tuned it out, especially when the phantom voice insisted he be a good host and fix enough for a guest.

Popcorn was not a balanced meal.

Popcorn did not need to come with him to the gym.

But it did, and he stood on the catwalk, leaning on the rail and munching away at salty buttery puffs as he watched Shego at work. After a short while, he became aware of chatter behind him, and cast a glance back to the array of equipment the rest of the sweaty henchmen were taking a break from.

He caught one nod up at him as they chuckled amongst themselves, and he straightened up and turned his stare sharply back down to the matted corner where Shego had been tutoring the two newcomers.

But she wasn’t there – she’d already crossed the gym and was climbing the stairs in long strides.

Suddenly his mouth was too dry to even grunt a greeting as he watched her make a beeline straight for him, and she paused just in front of him, if only to snatch the bag of popcorn from his hands. The collar of her uniform was unbuttoned and unzipped enough to expose her throat, and for a fleeting moment Drakken was inclined to shoot a suspicious glare down to the two henchmen plopping down to rest. But Shego tugged the collar open further, her chest heaving, and he saw the sweat on her brow and glitter of green fire over her skin and realized she was simply overheating.

She nodded to the door and strode off with his bag of popcorn. He followed, but didn’t take the bag back from her as she filled him in on how promising or hopeless the dropouts were. She’d snacked through a good portion of it by the time they reached her room, at which point she passed the bag of cold popcorn back and asked if she was done for the day.

He wanted to say no. He didn’t forget that this was Sunday, that she’d be busy all morning and then some tomorrow, as she would every day for the rest of the week. But it would be a little on the absurd side to order her to continue exerting herself on a weekend after earning a day off. He checked his watch needlessly, confirming it wasn’t quite noon yet, and gave her a nod.

Before she ducked into her room, she wondered, “You gonna give me a ride back to town?”

“Sure,” he answered a little too quickly.

She gave him a small smile in a halfhearted show of appreciation, and disappeared inside.

Drakken made a point to drive slowly on the ride in. Broaching the subject of a schedule was disheartening in some way. More formal than he would have liked, maybe, but it had to be done if he wanted to see more of her than a few hours here and there whenever she decided she was bored enough to make the trek to the lair.

By the time he dropped her off at the local library, they’d come to an agreement. It worked in his favor that her apartment didn’t have the luxury of air conditioning, because that was the excuse she gave for agreeing to come to the lair in the afternoons to work with the boys for a couple of hours.

Drakken had no qualms with taking a break from the lab to personally make the trip to town every weekday afternoon. It was good to get out for fresh air to clear his head anyway, so he told himself.

He didn’t dare set foot in Buckley’s Brew that first week. Thankfully the civilian Shilo could be found waiting faithfully for him behind the shop, puffing away at a cigarette more often than not. She’d roll her eyes and snuff it out when she saw him coming.

Over the next few days, he diligently oversaw Shego’s mentoring sessions from the catwalk, though he had the courtesy not to bring popcorn to watch the show. It was still a tempting thought nonetheless, but one he resisted. The men were all business, to his relief, and Shego had more self-control than he would have guessed. He’d been worried for nothing.

After training, she’d spend an hour either on his couch in front of the television, or in a spare chair nearby while he worked on his blueprints and began applying them to prototype instruments of torture as the henchmen gradually supplied the parts.

Friday, she voiced her satisfaction with the progress of the henchmen she was tutoring as she met him up on the catwalk. It brought a smile to Drakken’s face – he was sure he’d seen improvement, but he was no expert. He expected her to follow him at a distance to the lab as she had the past few days, but instead she skipped ahead a few paces and walked backwards as she questioned him about Friday night plans, which he had to shake his head and dismiss. He was too busy to be thinking about Friday night merriment.

“You should really get out,” she said in a chiding manner, swinging around to fall into step beside him. “And I don’t mean grocery shopping. You can do that tomorrow.”

“I’m not being your getaway driver so you can rob a 24-Seven, or whatever you have in mind,” Drakken sighed.

“I wasn’t gonna rob anything,” she scoffed. It was hard to believe her when she gave a small laugh, especially when she shrugged and added, “Well, not really. Unless you’re down to dine and dash.”

“Pass.” He didn’t need to be banned from more businesses than he already was.

She was quiet for a moment too long, and he made the mistake of glancing over to see her chewing a nail and watching the floor in a way he’d come to recognize as meaning she was thinking. He snapped his head to stare straight down the hall again when she looked up at him and said, “You have to take me home anyway, so we might as well stop for Chow.”

“Actually I was going to ask Lux to take you,” he lied. It was reflex. It shouldn’t have been reflex. He regretted it almost as soon as he said it, but going back on his word was almost as bad.

“Fine,” she chimed, taking a swift step ahead of him. “Lux works. Goodness knows he’s a junk-food junkie.”

Drakken knew it was reverse psychology. She wasn’t fooling him. Yet he threw his hands in the air anyway, letting out a noise of exasperation as he quickly stalked forward to cut her off on the way into his office. He gave himself half an hour to get the henchmen sent off for the weekend before she was done with her post-workout grooming.

It was pushing it, but when she came trotting back down into the office to ask about her ride, he shrugged and deposited a folder into a filing cabinet. The henchmen weren’t all gone-gone, but they were officially off duty and therefore out of his control.

She snorted and turned on her heel, calling from the stairwell, “Fine. I’ll walk.”

Drakken hesitated behind his desk before hurrying after her. If he wanted to stay in her good favor, then effort on his part had to be made. He’d taken her home – or at least to the library – every night this week, and there was no reason to make the exception now.

Cow-n-Chow was out of the question. She complained as he drove past it, but hummed in consideration when they pulled into a bar and grill instead, only to groan loudly when she saw the karaoke sign in the window. No sooner had they climbed out did a red Beetle pull up alongside the van, and henchmen in casual attire greeted Drakken amicably as they piled out of the clown car. It came as a genuine surprise to him, and maybe not an agreeable one.

Cow-n-Chow down the street was looking a lot more appealing suddenly.

At the first sign of second thoughts, Shego – Shilo – grabbed his arm and tugged him along, smiling wickedly and reminding him, “This was your idea, Doc.”

So it wasn’t just the two of them, but half the henchcrew too. Big deal. She still sat next to him. And when he went up on the platform to take the spotlight, he still had her full attention. Unfortunately for him, she had his as well. She looked him dead in the eye from across the room as she plucked a chicken strip from his platter to munch on. He’d stuttered and slurred a couple lines, but he still earned a few claps for his rendition of Bad Moon Rising, just not from her.

He didn’t feel particularly dignified as he tripped down the stairs either, though that was on him for foolishly glaring at her rather than watching where he was going. His ego was taking a beating lately with her around. Judging by her look, he braced for her to grind salt into the wound, but instead she gave his shoulder a light thump with the back of her hand and rolled her eyes, nonchalantly complimenting, “Alright, that was pretty good.”

She excused herself to use the restroom then, and that was the last he saw of her until Monday afternoon.

She was found smoking behind Buckley’s Brew again, only this time she was chatting with a gal, one of Buckley’s henchgirl apprentices. Making friends wasn’t something he himself had been especially good at, but it was nice to see her give a hearty laugh at some joke and playfully shove her smoking buddy before Drakken ruined the moment with a beep of the horn. Her smile fell when she saw him – he shouldn’t have hated that as much as he did – but she waved goodbye to her coworker and came sauntering over to him nonetheless.

He didn’t linger as long in the gym to supervise that afternoon. He spent less time there on the catwalk the next day, but it was the same old dance as he’d been watching all of last week. He didn’t particularly want to be on the receiving end of her strikes, but he didn’t want to hover with an unreasonable growing envy of the henchmen either.

He had work to do in the lab anyway. She’d come and take her turn to hover soon enough.

At least, until Thursday came, and she didn’t pop up in his lab after the training session. He was determined to not notice, determined to focus on the special order. But after some time of building the framework and upholstering a seat in red leather, he yawned and checked his watch and realized it was nearing midnight and she’d never come around to ask him for a ride home. If he’d hoped to find her on his couch, he was disappointed, but he supposed he deserved her unannounced departure for not speaking a word to her since waving her off to train the henchmen earlier.

She wasn’t waiting for him behind the café on Friday afternoon. But he waited for her, no matter how impatient he was. He even risked venturing into Buckley’s to see if she was still working the counter, but when he asked about their coworker Shilo, the baristas there smiled nastily and feigned ignorance. He didn’t waste any more time there and left without ordering, although in hindsight doing so and tipping may have gotten him better answers.

He was completely caught off guard when Shego showed up in his lab hours later, startling him with the announcement, “Sorry I’m late. I caught a matinee.” It wasn’t a particularly heartfelt apology.

There was no reason for those words to wound him, but they struck him nonetheless. It stung he wasn’t invited after she’d been pestering him about getting out on Fridays all this time. But he knew if he complained, she’d just shoot him down with something along the lines of, “You wouldn’t have gone anyway.”

Just thinking about it, he twisted a bolt too carelessly with too much force. The wrench lost its grip and a pop in the face had him instantly too distracted to give Shego a proper greeting or complain about the exclusion. He had a bloody nose to tend to, and her laughter to run away from.

[imnotcameraready]

chivalry is dead (20)

A/N: BIG YEEHAW HOURS TODAY Y’ALL ITS BALL TIME!!!!!!! AND WE CAN’T HAVE A BALL WITHOUT A PRINCE *stars bawling*

costumes will come in another post bc i. got really excited and then drew them all like, last month (most of them, some were finished last night y e e et)

WARNINGS: remus mention, heist details, wound descriptions, sword mention, scar descriptions, threats of violence, thoughts of dying — alright, im pretty sure that's it, but this chapter has thicc details so if i missed anything pls pls pls lmk

Words: 4550

AO3 link!

MASTERPOST! <– look here!! for the longterm warnings!! including sympathetic Deceit and cursing/swearing!

enjoy !!! <3 <3 <3 ,3 <3 

Deceit really was right, Patton thought while he looked around at the town. His arm was linked around Logan’s as they walked down one of the town’s side streets, from Dr. Picani’s office, and he was taking the time to admire how intricate all of the architecture had gotten. It was intricate and worn and every building seemed unique now, something that he hadn’t realized was missing during their first pass through. 

There were arch ways, bridges between doors on the third floors of buildings. There were seemingly hand-woven canvases shielding some of the streets from the sun and, if Patton squinted hard enough, he could see actual detailed stitching and some stains of age. They passed buildings that had scratches and chisel marks, and Patton could clearly see that it was made from stone bricks that had been painted over. Twice, actually. Once with a very old and faded blue, then with a lighter cream that still let the blue show through in spots where the paint was gone. 

He wondered a little what had caused those spots. Was it because you weren’t supposed to layer house paint? The spots were different sizes — how many memories were made here? 

Patton stumbled, tripping over his thoughts and heels, and leaned more into Logan’s side.

Logan tugged at his arm. “Don’t ponder too hard, Patton,” his voice was soft, hushed to not draw attention.

They’d figured that the best thing to do was to not think about the world around them. Thinking too much about the world and specifically the things that they would affect about it made their focus wander onto fixing those things. Logan would get a headache, Patton would space out, and Deceit would….well, okay, Deceit hadn’t disclosed how and if he’d been affected. But Patton noticed he’d been sweating like a sinner in church, and how his fist would clench every so often, so it was clear that something was happening with Deceit. He didn’t want to force him to talk; honesty wasn’t Deceit’s strong suit.

The four Romans had agreed that that was the smartest decision; none of them nor all of them together were able to limit the Imagination enough. The Playwright had argued that, had Dragon and Damsel known that it was hurting the other Sides, then they would probably all have a unified thought enough to close up the unused worlds. But that would require discussing the entire matter with them, which, as the Thief pointed out, is “pretty fucking useless where they are now.” 

So the focus thing was their current strategy. Patton grinned at Logan. “Thanks for the reminder, Octo-cutie-pie,” he smiled wider as Logan blushed. 

“I–I’m–Octopi is the plural for octopus and there is only one of me,” Logan bit his lip, then patted Patton’s hand gently, “Thank you.”

Patton giggled, snuggling against Logan’s side briefly as they kept walking. They hadn’t actually talked about the whole love thing, hadn’t really established boundaries, but that seemed like a problem for tomorrow. 

Right now, they were all going across town, invitations in hand, to the ball. And, at the very specific right now, Patton was admiring the Playwright and the Artist’s handiwork. They’d worked together to make everyone’s outfits and he’d be a liar if he said they weren’t handsome and beautiful.

Patton himself was themed after a cat — a grey cat, but a cat nonetheless! His dress had a long train for a tail, made of shimmering silver tulle, the same as his poofy sleeves. The skirt went from his waist to the ground, with a built in flair in his corset at the waist. Like, all of it was sparkling, all three tiers of his skirt, which went from grey to black with an inner layer gradient of blue to grey. His favorite part were his gloves, though. Silver for the most part, but with soft circles on his palms and the tips of all his fingers. His own lil’ toe beans! 

Logan’s outfit was one of Patton’s favorites. His was themed after an octopus (“Known for their intelligence,” the Playwright had explained, face bright red as he tied Logan’s necktie into an Eldritch knot) with a dark blue blazer and slacks. He wore a vest that shimmered royal blue, with a white button down underneath. There was a piece of coral in his lapel where a flower would usually go, and his coat tails seemed to spiral in shapes that resembled an octopus’ arms. There were even rhinestone bubble decals on his shoulders, or suckers, if you wanted to interpret it that way. The Artist and the Playwright had a small argument about that.

He was dashing, in summation. Patton leaned his head against Logan’s shoulder. “Who knew the town was so big!” he said. 

“That’s actually on purpose,” the Playwright said from behind them, “It’s actually not so big as the castle is small, using the same foreshortening techniques used at the Disney theme parks to make Cinderella’s castle, or Sleeping Beauty’s castle depending on which park you’re at—”

“I think he means how far Picani’s office is from the castle, God Mod,” the Thief responded.

The Thief and Deceit were walking in front, swords drawn on the chance that they ran into any guards, and so that the Thief could critique Deceit’s sword fighting skills. Surprisingly, he’d taken to the weapon, something about it being good to have at his disposal while dealing with the Others. The Thief offered to make him one once this escapade was over. 

Or maybe it was an excuse for the Thief to keep touching Deceit’s hand. Because that was happening every so often. A lot more often than would be considered normal. 

It wasn’t like Deceit was complaining about the touching. It was more the other way around. The yearning for physical contact was frustrating, but neither of them were going to admit that they wanted to hold hands. Even though they’d confessed to at least caring about each other. 

“Oh,” the Playwright hummed.

“Cheer up, butter cup, I love hearin’ bout the forced perspective! The Disney parks are so~o~o fun,” the Bard sang out. “When’s the next time we get to go to California? Are we making a trip down to Anaheim? Can we PLEASE take a trip down to Anaheim!”

One of his arms was looped around the Playwright’s, while the other was looped around the Artist’s. They had settled on outfits that complemented each other’s, pulling from the same red and black color palette.

The Artist was the only of the trio in a suit, though his outfit could be considered the loudest. Buttoned down the middle with a high collar, half of his shirt was a solid black, while the other half was a diamond checkered pattern. All of the accents were gold, and his pants were half solid red and half checkered as well. Tonight, the Artist would be a jester. 

An improvement on his self-esteem, the Bard had thought. The Artist had said so, too, saying he’d be dressing like a joke. It...was nice to hear.

The Playwright had also gone with a more light-hearted outfit, pun completely intended. He was dressed as the queen of hearts, with an A-line skirt that skimmed the ground and was almost entirely a replica of the skirt worn by the Queen of Hearts in Disney’s Alice in Wonderland animated movie. His corset had a low scoop neckline with a long heart that stretched down from the neckline to the bottom of the waist. His sleeves were poofy, black with red stripes between. 

It was a deck of cards theme between the three of them. Honestly, they took a bit of solace in their three Musketeers situation. The Bard was dressed like a harlequin in a ball-dancing dress. His entire dress was checkered, a stiff corset traded for a looser fit bodice that was sinched at the waist by a thick black belt with a heart clip. Bits of tulle were attached to his wrists, ideal for dancing in, which was perfect for the plan. He and the Playwright had matching heart chokers, too. 

As he’d said earlier, “We cute.”

Neither the Artist nor the Playwright had argued, and they had yet to pull away from him holding their arms. Maybe they didn’t hate him. 

They didn’t! They were moving beyond all that! 

Because they had to get the Child back, and Virgil back, and save the Damsel and they had a plan. Actually, they should run through the plan again, because the Bard had already forgotten most of it. 

“Thief?” he called ahead. 

“Mhm?” 

“Can we run through the, uh,” they had a code word for it, shoot, what was it? Oh! Oh, right, “The waltz again?”

“Great Mona Lisa, Bard, how the fuck did you forget how to waltz?” the Artist groaned. “We’re going to a ball.”

“No, no, no, THE waltz,” the Bard nudged the Artist’s side with his elbow. 

The Artist shot him a small confused glare, but realization struck his face quick after. “Oh. Oh, that waltz. Yeah, uh,” he turned to the Playwright, who also seemed confused, then to the front again, “Before we get in, we should go over the waltz again.” 

The Thief and Deceit both stopped as well, fingers brushing once again. The Bard saw the motion and chuckled to himself. Sweet Chopin, they needed to just hold hands already. He could envision the love birds flying around their heads. 

He felt a smidge bad, though. After all, he was the lucky Roman who got to kiss Patton. 

Logan and Patton both turned back to them. Patton let go of Logan, then looked around. They weren’t quite at the castle yet; a side alley, wide enough for all of them to stand in and with ample trees, barrels, and an open door beside it would provide good cover. 

“Let’s go over there,” Patton grabbed Logan’s arm again and led them all into the alley. 

They grouped up into a small but tight circle, the Thief pulling them together. He was in a suit, and an ironic one at that. Originally his costume was intended for Deceit, but he suggested switching them, so that the Dragon would think he were Deceit while being less suspicious. He was themed after a snake, though the theming was less noticeable than the color palette; there were yellow sequins arranged in scale patterns across his black blazer’s forearms, and his vest was black as well, undershirt yellow, and bowtie black. It looked a little like a snazzed-up version of Deceit’s lawyer suit and, though he’d tell no one, the Thief loved the look.

Deceit had said it looked nice on him, too. The bowtie, specifically, but also the entire outfit, and also the Thief simply looked good — yeah, they were both kind of messes. Gone was the ability to seamlessly flirt, apparently.

Still, it was nice to see Deceit in something other than yellow for a change, too. He was dressed as a peacock, with no blazer but a side-cape that shimmered iridescent purple and green. Part of it had blue and green rhinestones inching up the shoulder, and his vest beneath was teal, while his undershirt was mint green. There were bands on his upper arms, keeping his shirt bunched back, that were dark blue. Even his ascot was an iridescent purple and blue. 

They leaned against each other in the huddle. Brown eyes trailed all around the group, meeting similar expressions of steely determination. 

They could do this. 

“Alright,” the Thief started, “For the first hour, we’re gonna scope out the room and surrounding rooms. Meet wherever the snacks are in pairs, alternating pairs, and spread details. Patton and I will go twice.”

“Because you and I are gonna peel off after the first hour to go get Virgil and the Child,” Patton said, meeting the Thief’s eyes.

The Thief nodded. He looked around at everyone — Deceit and the Bard had both been fairly defensive about that choice, but he argued that they needed people who were good at causing distractions on the floor. Patton would be the best at comforting both Virgil and the Child, and the Thief was the only one who had any inkling of what the inside of the castle looked like. 

He continued. “Right. We’re gonna try to get out and—”

“Say, what d’ya think that’d make us?” Patton asked, a tiny grin on his face. 

“Oh, no,” Logan groaned, “Not—”

“Cat burglars!” Patton exclaimed with a giggle. 

The Bard immediately broke out into a fit of giggles, leaning into Deceit a little as he did so. Deceit just rolled his eyes and patted the Bard’s back, letting him cling to his side. 

The Artist stifled some chuckles of his own, and the Playwright grinned. Oh. Oh, no, not the idea grin. 

“I think Dragon will be hard pressed to find flaws in our purr-fect plan,” he said, eyes shining as Patton laughed as well. “We’re just gonna have to distract him with our adorable kitty-Pat.”

Logan groaned again, in good humor this time. “I thought you were supposed to be on my side, Playwright,” he grumbled. 

The Playwright immediately sobered up, mouth pressing into a line. “Ah, Logan, darling, I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

“Hey, but,” the Bard raised a finger at the Playwright, smile wide and mischievous, “If he catches wind of anything, you, Artist, and I can pull a wild card and deck him.”

That got the Artist and Patton to both laugh aloud, and even Logan smiled a tiny bit at the Playwright, if only to reassure him that his frustration was not directed at him.  

The Thief seemed actually annoyed, though. He snapped his fingers in the center of the circle. “C’mon, focus here. Patton and I are going to get Virgil and the Child, then we’re going to come back up to the ball room at the second hour. At that point, Deceit—”

“I’ll be dancing with Dragon and, once you’re back, I’ll be distracting him enough for you to get out,” Deceit waved his hand, also slightly exasperated. He wanted Virgil back immediately and, as the time to pull off their hest approached, he grew more nervous.

“Right. Then, Playwright will take you backstage once everyone else has filed out,” the Playwright nodded to the Thief regarding his involvement, and the Thief looked around the group once more, “All of that sound good? Everyone else, be on the look out for Damsel. We don’t know where he’s gonna be. If he’s out on the ball floor, Logan, you—”

“I will approach him and explain that we are here to get him out,” Logan grimaced, “If he is not on the ball floor….”

“Then I’ll be on standby to head into the dungeons,” the Artist said, smile deflated, brow furrowed in thought.

“Good,” the Thief patted his shoulder, gripping reassuringly, “And if Remus is there, then Bard is going into the dungeons with Patton and I’m staying in the ball room to kick his ass.”

“This all sounds like a plan, Thief,” the Bard said, smiling at him, “Logan, thoughts?”

Logan huffed, frowning at the ground. He’d rolled the details over in his mind a few times, so he’d already worked out some of the issues, such as the irrationality of the original plan’s “jump out the dungeon’s windows, really, how large are the windows, and how do we know it’s not underground.” For right now, it seemed as though the plan were efficacious, but they couldn’t be certain until it was enacted. 

But at that point, it’d be too late to change the plan to any degree of impeccability. They would have to wing it. And Logan wasn’t a fan of that. 

But what choice did they have?

“It is as detailed and as faultless as we can arrange for it to be currently,” he said.

The Thief’s mouth twitched into a slight grimace, but he nodded all the same. That was as optimistic as he would be. “Once this is all over, we meet at the tree as fast as we all can get there,” the Thief said, casting one more look around, “If we pull this off right, no one’ll be leaving alone. If your partner gets injured, you carry them to the tree.”

“I don’t think….” the Artist said, frowning a tiny bit as his voice trailed off. 

The possibility of injury was very high, actually. Death for the Romans, at least. And they didn’t know if the Dragon had injured Virgil or the Child. To be honest, they didn’t know if the Child was alive. Oh, goodness, what if Dragon had killed him? 

“It’s gonna work,” the Bard said, “It’s gonna.” 

He squeezed the Artist’s arm and gave him a nod. It was going to be okay. Roman was optimistic by nature, and the Artist did crave that sort of positivity. 

“It must,” Deceit affirmed none too positively. 

“It will,” Patton said, smiling at them all again before clapping, “And break!”

Everyone stood up on instinct. Then, they all shared slight laughs, small smiles.

The Bard leaned over and hugged Deceit with an arm, reciprocated a little. Patton leaned against the Artist, who didn’t hug back, but also didn’t flinch finally. 

They were getting somewhere. It was going to be okay. 

It was going to be okay. 

….Without Virgil, they all felt as though their optimism was naively placed. But that was why they were going to get him back! 

Once he was back, Deceit thought, he was never letting go again. If he was back. No, no, once he was back. He was coming back soon. 

“Let’s go,” the Thief pulled his mask out from his coat, a black half-face mask covered in yellow sequins arranged like scales.

Everyone shared looks, nodding to each other as they slid on their own masks. Logan, Patton, the Artist, and the Playwright all had special masks that mimicked their glasses prescriptions so they wouldn’t need contacts, too. With faces obscured, they nodded once more, squeezing arms in reassurance and patting backs and giving smiles, and hurried out of the alley. 

The Playwright walked at the front of the group, the only one not paired to any Side. He looked up at the sky. A storm had grown, clouds angry and grey above the castle, which was only a few blocks away now. Perhaps it would thunder during the ball. 

He wondered vaguely what had caused the sudden shift in weather. During their week alone, it was all sunny skies. 

Was it….

No. No, no part of Roman was that desperate, to have gone to Remus. Right? He’d been telling himself that ever since they’d begun this game, but the darker their future seemed, the more he worried about the Duke’s involvement. 

The Thief seemed to think it was very real, enough to have a back-up written into the plan. C’est la vie. Such was life, he thought, the show must go on.

They walked quietly for only a few minutes. The closer they got to the castle, the more Imagination inhabitants they saw walking around them, some in pairs, some in groups, some alone. Everyone was in costume, most intricate. Good. This would be good, for coverage. The Thief had been a little worried that the ball would be sparsely attended, but this was good. 

It was going to be okay. 

They approached the drawbridge. Patton leaned against the Artist, gripping his arm tighter as the wind picked up. The Thief and Deceit were stoic behind them, and Logan and the Bard were simply quiet, though their hands were interlaced tight. It was going to be okay.

A line had formed on the bridge, in front of one man in a suit, perhaps the medieval equivalent of a bouncer. The group shuffled into the line, looking around at the castle, at the moat (“I think it’s filled with alligators,” the Bard murmured to Logan, who shook his head and was about to respond that that didn’t make sense, until an alligator’s maw jumped up and snatched a low-flying bird) and at the sky. 

Angry, angry clouds. 

It took an excruciatingly long eleven minutes for the Playwright to finally reach the front of the line, but when he did, he immediately grinned. He had to hand it to the Dragon. 

“May I see your invitation?” Zac Efron asked, dressed in a black butler’s outfit.

Bless the Imagination’s castings. The Playwright handed over his invitation, and Zac looked over a list in his other hand before handing back the invitation and checking off a name. “You may enter to the ball room,” he motioned to the door. 

The Playwright curtsied and hurried in. Behind him was the Artist and Patton, both of whom gasped a little, becau se holy shit, it’s Zac Efron. 

The Dragon was really out here casting Thomas’ celebrity crushes as butlers. It was the first thing that the Artist had wholly agreed with the Dragon on, actually. Once they were Roman, they were going to have to look into that as a possibility. 

One by one, each entered, walking down a grand hall with a ceiling so high and so vaulted that there seemed to be a sky inside. But, then again, there probably was. This was the Imagination. It looked somewhat like the Great Hall from the Harry Potter movies, this time shining with stars and constellations. 

Logan could identify Aries and Pieces. That was actually accurate for the season and hour, so he gave a mental kudos to Roman for his design, then considered if it were his knowledge that had been used to perfect the stars. Well. That was inconsequential, I guess?

The hall was also lined with suits of armor, and bannisters adorned with Roman’s full crest. Though, Deceit noticed while he walked through, the entire crest was outlined in gold and the castle in the center was colored with grey and brown and black. He thought the Dragon was only supposed to be the outer tower and walls. If the Dragon called all of the shots around here, then why was the center tower also colored?

The walk was long, heels clacking against the stone. They turned with the carpet to the left and entered through a pair of double doors that had to be at least two floors high. 

Inside was life. The room was massive, stretching almost the size of a football field. There was a stage near the entrance door where there were musicians (with undetailed faces, Deceit noticed) were playing loud enough to echo across the room. The dance floor seemed to take up about half the room. 

Farther away from the entrance were some circle tables, arranged around with some citizens already sitting down. Further back were some long tables, food stacked atop them, and even further….

The throne was elevated so the Dragon could see across the hall to the dance floor. The Thief’s fists clenched immediately upon seeing him wearing the Prince’s attire, white uniform a stark contrast to the black he was typically adorned with. It was a jarring difference. 

He was taunting them. By Doc Holliday’s pistol, they were gonna take him down.

Beside his throne was a large Ottoman seat, where there was another figure. The Damsel, most likely, though his face was obscured by a sheer red veil and distance. He was wearing a large dress, which had a triple-tiered skirt that seemed to flare out orange, then red, then black. His corset was decorated with red and orange and yellow rhinestones, and raised behind his head. It almost looked like flames. 

Burned. The Damsel’s scars were also entirely visible, scabs on his arms angry and red, clearly not fully healed. They weren’t openly bleeding, but the Playwright could tell that they would start bleeding at some point in the night. 

His nose scrunched as he examined the pair. They didn’t seem to notice him, the Damsel leaning against the throne’s side and not moving, the Dragon stroking his chin and looking across the hall absently. He had a sword sheathed beside the throne, too, with its handle sticking up in an easily accessible manner. 

He was waiting for them, he realized. Of course he was, this was a trap, you fool. You knew this. You’d planned. It was going to be okay.

The Playwright turned back to the group just as the last pair, Logan and the Bard, entered. 

“Okay. I am going to move toward the snack table,” he nodded toward the thrones, “Octopus, would you like to join me?”

Logan let go of the Bard, who curtsied and stepped back, and then offered a hand to the Playwright. “It would be my pleasure,” he said, “How about we acquire a table, Hearts?”

The Playwright nodded, then shot the Thief a look. “Snake,” he said, a promise, a warning, “Let’s waltz.” 

“Let’s,” the Thief responded, squeezing Deceit’s arm. 

The Bard and Patton had already taken each other onto the dance floor, hoping to not be conspicuously waiting in a group by the door way, and the Artist was meandering around — nope, no, he just asked an Imagination citizen to dance. Blending in well. 

Operation save Virgil and the Child was a go. 

Virgil could hear the faint music from above. He squinted up, then closed his eyes and exhaled. What’d that matter? 

His side was throbbing. It seemed that just wrapping a bandage around a wound did fuck all to stop it from hurting, or bleeding, especially if it was just wrapped once and around the front. Virgil would have to remember that for the next time he got stabbed by an evil Dragon, he thought snidely. 

He and the Child had relocated themselves to the bed. Pretending to not be panicking was tiring, but luckily for him, the Child had fallen asleep. 

He sniffed quietly, rubbing his eye with the butt of his palm. For the past half an hour, ever sine the Child fell asleep, Virgil had been silently crying. And there was no Damsel to conjure him a glass of water or tell him it’d be okay. Because he knew it wasn’t going to be okay. 

Even if he didn’t die in the Imagination, he’d be exiting it alone. And that was fine! 

The Child snuggled closer to his chest, tiny arms wrapped around him. Virgil sniffed again and hugged him tight. 

If he did nothing else, he’d at least protect this Roman. 

He wished he’d at least told Roman how he felt. 

Maybe he’d never get the chance. 

Gosh, this was really fatalistic, even for him. It wasn’t like he was gonna die in the Imagination. 

Virgil shielded his eyes with an arm and, as illogical as it was, wished that he could use that one arm motion to block out the sounds of the ball going on above. Shit, he was gonna die in the Imagination. 

….Usually that’d freak him out a bit more. Maybe he’d bled out to the point where he was too tired to be worried. And, maybe it was childish, but he really did want to dance with Roman. 

taglists!

chivalry taglist: @starlightvirgil @forrestwyrm @daflangstlairde @marshmallow-the-panda @askthesnake @k9cat @patromlogil @theobsessor1 @ninja-wizard101 @fandomsofrandom

general taglist: @jemthebookworm @okay-finne

[ask-chef-teruteru]

Teru, I must ask... What's your ideal date? How would you plan it all out? (asking for a friend here)

“I’ve been sittin’ with this question on standby for quite the while now n’ ponderin’ over it, and I’ve finally got the answer.”

“Namely... That it’s a trick question! There’s no one ideal date for me! Dependin’ on the person, on the day, on my mood, how well things fall into place, overall chemistry— that can make the difference ‘tween the best date bein’ watchin’ paint dry n’ grass grow together or make somethin’ straight out of a harlequin romance completely insufferable!

Some days, my ideal date might be gettin’ taken out to a high-end restaurant with rave reviews from respectable critics. Places with multi-month waitin’ lists where there’s multiple choices of champagne and merlot and sherry worth thousands— and yet we still split three bottles between the two of us and sit there more than just love drunk lookin’ into one another’s eyes, gigglin’ while makin’ bets about how many couples are gonna propose there that night. Maybe the night ends with the offer of a nightcap that neither of us has any intention of drinkin’ because we find too soon that the taste of wine on our lips, lingering on our tongues, is so much more intoxicating to taste.

Some days, my ideal date is findin’ someone I can be adventurous with! Maybe it’s less of a “date” in the traditional sense because it lasts a full weekend and ain’t neither of us hardly leave the bed. Makin’ each other’s fantasies into realities, gettin’ to know each and every curve of each other’s bodies so, so intimately. Hearin’ the noises they make, whether their voice gets pitchy, whether they beg, whether they try to hide it all by coverin’ their face with a pillow. The smirks exchanged when one of us is through a bottle of water in the matter of seconds n’ still pantin’ while the other still has tremblin’ legs and only just recently was able to drop their grip on the sheets.

Some days, my ideal date might be just sittin’ side by side on somebody’s worn out old couch, wearin’ the frumpiest pajamas we own n’ binge watchin’ a series or marathonin’ movies. Maybe the two of us pass a carton of ice cream back n’ forth, maybe we got copious amounts of popcorn n’ chips instead. Early hours fade to late a.m.’s n’ maybe I don’t make it through the last movie, wind up fallin’ asleep on their lap or maybe they fall asleep on my shoulder. Sometimes the dates where just bein’ that close to someone’ seein’ how sweet they are at rest, keepin’ their bad dreams away for ‘em is nice.

Some days, my ideal date is busy, busy, busy! Hurryin’ to and fro at the zoo because the seal performances is at 9am but the Giraffe feedin’ is at 9:20 am but the tide pool is right there n’ you really wanna touch a manta ray, but y’all wanna stop n’ get an overpriced lemonade n’ somethin’ to snack on beforehand. Maybe at the beginnin’ of the day, the two of us swear up n’ down we ain’t spendin’ the extra money for the lil’ tram pass that goes all around the zoo to the major exhibits, but by the end a the day everything feels uphill n’ we still wanna go see the elephants again and then we gotta walk to the parkin’ lot at some point and then we remember how nice walkin’ into the zoo was because it was uphill. We leave when the announcement comes over the loudspeakers that the zoo’ll be closin’ soon and no sooner. Maybe once we get back home, we share a shower, maybe not, but we’re too tired for much else anyhow because we’re so plumb exhausted that we’re out like lights soon as our heads hit the pillows anyway.

Some days, my ideal date is goin’ to the movies together, goin’ to a nice enough theater to where we can sit however close or far we want. We split a large popcorn between us and there’s so many times where our fingers brush together n’ it’s almost like electricity every single time even though the film’s s’posed to be the thrill. Maybe the popcorn gets finished off or otherwise set aside so there’s no more accidental touches which spurs one of us to lean over, whisper so quietly if we can hold the other’s hand. Maybe we have to part ways after the date, but there’s still promises of a next time to come and goodnight kisses exchanged. Maybe it’s impossible to come home and not swoon by yourself for a while because you know you’re in love n’ you’d give anything to be hand in hand again.”

“... Oh, I went on a lil’ while longer than I meant to. Um. That’s not a comprehensive list of course, but...”

[fae-fucker]

Review: Shatter Me

by Tahereh Mafi

Juliette hasn’t touched anyone in exactly 264 days.

The last time she did, it was an accident, but The Reestablishment locked her up for murder. No one knows why Juliette’s touch is fatal. As long as she doesn’t hurt anyone else, no one really cares. The world is too busy crumbling to pieces to pay attention to a 17-year-old girl. Diseases are destroying the population, food is hard to find, birds don’t fly anymore, and the clouds are the wrong color.

The Reestablishment said their way was the only way to fix things, so they threw Juliette in a cell. Now so many people are dead that the survivors are whispering war– and The Reestablishment has changed its mind. Maybe Juliette is more than a tortured soul stuffed into a poisonous body. Maybe she’s exactly what they need right now.

Juliette has to make a choice: BE A WEAPON. OR BE A WARRIOR.

*This review contains vague spoilers.*

I uh … I’m having a hard time figuring out where to even begin with this one, lads. I guess I’ll start with the absolute basics:

This book is not a dystopia. This is a superhero (supervillain?) origin story. I didn’t know this going in and it didn’t feel like it until the very end. With heavy-handed romance, heavy-handed writing, heavy-handed messages, and a plodding plot that I’m pretty sure sucked about 25 years out of my goddamn life.

*rubs hands together*

Well, with that in mind, let’s do this!

The “Writing”

Tahereh Mafi isn’t some backwater Harlequin mommy porn writer, nu-uh! She’s an Artiste, and as such, her art isn’t merely art, it’s Arté.

When a sentence could be five words, Mafi makes it a paragraph. When a metaphor could make sense, Mafi confuses your PLEBEIAN MIND with her MYSTIC WRITING POWERS, to the point where nothing fucking makes sense anymore and you’re just scratching your head, wondering how the fuck supposedly near-catatonic Juliette is able to come up with such convoluted comparisons. When other writers use pages to put words on them for people to read, Mafi puts maybe one word at the very top for four or five pages for the DRAMA of it all, except unlike when we all freaked out about Stephenie Meyer doing that, here it’s Artistic.

Jokes aside, this book is the epitome of everything I hate about purple prose. As someone who violently dislikes purple prose (because usually it’s done horribly by people who want to show off how many big words they know rather than evoke any sort of emotion), I knew going in that this book wouldn’t be for me, but I wasn’t expecting this.

Metaphors are long ang confusing, the prose and the rhythm are all off, the dialogue is atrocious and cartoonish, and Juliette’s thoughts are painfully obtuse despite her supposed “deep” personality. Except sometimes her thoughts are so convoluted and specific that it clashes with how dumb she is. Sometimes she thinks of the lackadaisical ennui of the uncaring sun, sometimes she compares her boyfriend’s eyes to buckets of water. It’s a huge, disjointed mess of word vomit.

People have defended Juliette’s narration as being a result of her solitary confinement, but those people’s opinions are bad and wrong and you shouldn’t listen to them, and I will explain to you why when I discuss Juliette’s “personality” in the character section of this review.

This book’s main “thing” is Juliette crossing out words and sentences, but it’s not consistent enough to actually mean anything or tell us anything about Juliette. It also happens in dialogue, which is fucking baffling. How do characters speak the words that are crossed out? Presumably they don’t, and I’m guessing that it’s supposed to represent what Juliette thinks people want to say but don’t, but then why the fuck would you put the crossed-out shit inside the quotes with the actual dialogue? Don’t!!!! Do that!!!! You’re clearly not equipped to ignore the rules of grammar yet, Mrs Mafi! You need to level up!!!

Sometimes, things that are implied to be true are crossed out. Sometimes, it’s the propaganda that Juliette knows is untrue that’s crossed out. With both the truth and the lies, Juliette’s thoughts vs her feelings, being crossed out without any rhyme or reason, we can never be entirely certain what the fuck the strikethroughs are supposed to represent.

If, for example, only the lies were crossed out, it would imply Juliette was aware that they’re lies and isn’t afraid to confront the truth. If only the truth was crossed out, then it would mean Juliette is in denial, knowing something is wrong but believing it anyway.

Instead, the strikethrough bullshit is just … there. What it means changes from instance to instance, and because of that, it loses all the impact and significance it could’ve had and ends up meaning nothing.

In short: the writing in this book is a whole-ass mess and nothing you say will convince me otherwise.

The Characters

Juliette’s mind is perfectly fine at all times, characters even praise her for being able to withstand literal psychological torture unlike all the other female WEAKLINGS in the facility. Her obnoxious inner monologues are just there for show, because Juliette is Deep and Troubled but in a sexy, dramatic way that doesn’t actually impact her as a person or her life at all. She doesn’t suffer from any mental illness or trauma that would’ve been brought on by 260+ days of nonstop psychological torture and years of emotional abuse and neglect.

How do I know that? Because she doesn’t believe any of the bullshit she spouts. It’s made perfectly clear that Juliette only thinks in metaphors because that’s just her obnoxious “personality”. Sometimes one of the Boys says something and she claims that her knees shatter or something similar. Except she doesn’t react as if they were, as if she felt the pain. She only thinks that because … Idk. It’s deep. Shut the fuck up.

I think her narration is supposed to imply that Juliette is smart, but that’s hilariously contrasted by her constant, and I mean fucking CONSTANT thirst and attraction to both Adam and Warner, the latter being especially jarring considering how she keeps saying she despises him and is disgusted by him.

She ogles and fawns over these men even when she’s in pain or in danger, even when they’re the ones inflicting the pain or threatening her. That’s how fucking horny she is, that’s where Mafi’s priorities lie.

She undermines her own protagonist by having Juliette constantly act like a horny schoolgirl instead of the broken and tortured person she should be after what she’s been through. After years of isolation and discrimination, after 260 days of solitary confinement, this girl still acts just like any other normal horny teenager, and it’s fucking awful to read, because it invalidates everything Juliette has been through and once again puts sex appeal and men higher on the priority list over an honest and realistic portrayal of trauma and isolation.

Speaking of sex appeal …

Warner. Oh Warner. What wonderful potential was lost. I think he’s genuinely interesting, or at least had the potential to be. He’s damaged and he’s troubled and he’s complex, despite how edgy he is. He’s hands-down the most interesting character in the book, and I weep for Mafi’s inability to fucking pace herself because that’s what’s absolutely ruined him for me. Let me explain:

I’m all for redemption arcs, alright? And Warner? He’s … salvageable. With some work and some atonement, I can totally see him becoming a complex anti-hero type. He’s clearly fucked up and the things he does are damaging him.

You know where Mafi fails? You know where she fucking destroys the guy?

She’s constantly describing him as hot. When he’s acting like a terrifying and abusive shithead, Juliette can’t help but think of how the anger makes his green eyes flash. When he takes off his shirt, Juliette claims how disgusted she is by the sight, and then in the same breath describes his perfectly sculpted chest in careful detail.

We’re supposed to find Warner sexy.

We’re supposed to reluctantly be attracted to him, just like Juliette, despite that and sometimes even because he’s a dangerous and abusive jackass.

There’s even a makeout session between Juliette and Warner where she’s complaining about how grossed out she is, but the kissing is described in more sexy and hot detail than any Adam makeout, and Juliette can’t help her attraction to Warner despite her believing he’d just killed the man she loves in cold blood.

Do you undersand my problem? If Warner was just a tragic villain and Juliette pitied him and didn’t feel any, and I mean ANY attraction to the guy, I would 100% accept him later trying to change sides to atone or to make up for the things he did. Aka a proper redemption arc.

But here, he’s already written as attractive to us. He’s already sexy and desireable and alluring. The narrative paints him in a good light by undermining the terrible things he does through constant descriptions of his appearance and Juliette’s obvious lust for him.

And you can say that “Woe, Juliette can’t control her attraction!” and you would still be a dumbass, because guess who can control Juliette’s attraction? Tahereh Mafi. It was Mafi’s conscious decision to make Juliette attracted to Warner, to write him this way as a sexy but dangerous man we’re supposed to root for and want to fix.

And that’s just gross. So whatever excuse or justification or explanation Warner’s actions get in lieu of an actual redemption arc, it won’t matter to me, because it’s already been undermined by how sexy he’s supposed to be despite his damage, and the terrible things he does are only there to make him more “mysterious” and his eventual love interest status more unexpected.

Mafi isn’t interested in writing a redemption arc, she just can’t write a morally ambiguous or mysterious love interest without taking it up to eleven and have him be a fucking unhinged dictator, but it’s ok because he’s still hot enough to bang!

I love redemption arcs. I hate abusers who are painted as attractive.

Adam exists. And what a pointless existence it is! He’s very obviously a decoy love interest, too nice and too basic to be endgame, and just vague and nonthreatening enough to have a sinister plan.

See, girls? Boys who protect you and care about you are actually evil! The boys who abuse you and terrify you are the ones who truly love you!

Kenji is very clearly designed to be quirky and snarky and for the Tumblr fangirls to fawn over to the point where he sticks out like a sore thumb among the rest of the cast. I didn’t like him and found him to be pretty boring without any deviation from the snarky flirty guy archetype.

There are a bunch of other characters that are spoilers and who don’t really matter, but I will say that there is a Black man who’s described as chocolate, so there.

Um. Women? I’m pretty sure the only named women we actually get to see on the page are two identical twins who are basically one entity and they show up in like the last chapter?

Before one of you shouts OMG THERE ARE MORE WOMEN IN THE LATER BOOKS, yeah, probably, I fucking hope so, but I’m not reviewing those books yet, I’m reviewing this one, and it’s one fucking giant sausage fest of hot dudes and faceless mooks.

Dems the fax.

The “Plot”

If you go into this expecting an exploration of the importance of human touch and how the lack of it might impact a person, you’re a dumbass and so am I for making that mistake.

If you’re expecting a gloomy but action-filled dystopia based on some more district/caste/personality oppression, you’re wrong again but at least justified because that’s what this is marketed as.

The stakes and conflict are … are they? Are we sure they even exist? Jury’s still out because I have no idea what Juliette wants aside from sucking Adam’s dick (and Warner’s sometimes). I know what she doesn’t want, I think (?), but I don’t know why she doesn’t want it aside from the “uwu i’m too good and pure and love people too much even tho they’ve shown me nothing but hatred and rejection” crap.

I’m honestly having a hard time figuring out what this book even is about. Supposedly the major plot development is Juliette realizing how powerful she is and how nobody will get to use her anymore, but the first thing happens in the very last chapter out of fucking nowhere, while the last thing doesn’t even matter because up until this point, Juliette has already been spending the entire book refusing to be used in the first place.

Oh, and about the first thing again, where Juliette must realize her power? It’s supposed to be this big epic moment for her at the end of the book, but we see her use her powers to throw around threats to get what she wants several times before that, on people she barely knows. She threatens Kenji just because he makes a few inappropriate comments about her, which is fucking baffling because she refused to even try to hurt Warner even though he’s been nothing but an asshole to her up until that point.

The moment Juliette gets her hands on a gun, she’s suddenly super empowered and has no problem spitting badass one-liners, even though she was a sad woobie pacifist up until that point and who couldn’t even IMAGINE hurting anyone, not even supposed monster Warner. The whole gun thing is weird and vaguely gross tbh, because Juliette genuinely seems to enjoy the power it gives her and I’m not into that.

On a technical level, this book is mostly Juliette being pushed around by men, feeling sorry for herself and clinging to morals that only serve to show how pure and good she is despite making no sense and being odd for someone in her position to have.

There are entire chapters of repeated revelations, where Juliette is sometimes literally dragged around from scene to scene by the hand, and she realizes the same thing over and over, seemingly forgetting it at the start of the chapter just to she can learn it again by the end of it: Warner is a meanie poopy-head who’s willing to hurt, kill, and torture other people for his own gain. Every time he shows this, Juliette acts shocked all over again.

This goes on for about half the book until shit suddenly takes a turn and the book becomes yet another Underground Teenage Rebellion Fighting to Take Down the Man drama, except this time the teenagers are mutants with cool superpowers.

It’s a complete tonal shift and it’s jarring as all heck, but at least there’s no more pretense about this being a dystopia because boy oh boy is it painful to watch Mafi struggle to worldbuild even the slightest concept for this superpowered angstfest.

The Worldbuilding

Important Proper Nouns galore. The book’s website (where I got the blurb) says that this book is “fresh” and “original”.

Yeah let’s uuh … Let’s investigate that statement.

The main evil guys are called the Reestablishment. That’s two letters away from Juliette fighting the establishment.

D-do I need to say more?

I honestly don’t know if I can. It’s like Mafi just sorta took all the other YA dystopian “quirks” and threw them all in without rhyme or reason.

Climate is fucked because of Big Corporate? Yeah. All animals are dead or mutated? Yup. Art and religion is deemed bad and terrible and banned for reasons? Throw that in there too, why not? They’re destroying all languages, English included? O-ok?

We never really … dwell on any of these things or figure out why they happened or how or even where. These things are always brought up together like some sort of checklist of all the bad things that the Reestablishment has done.

And I guess for a superhero story with “pulse-pounding” romance, it doesn’t really have to be that much more complicated, and it serves its function, but on Mafi’s website there’s boasting about how it has the worldbuilding of The Hunger Games and honey, you might become a more successful circus act than a writer because the level of contortion required to shove your head that far up your ass is frankly impressive.

The Wokeness

Warner is constantly described and called “crazy” and “insane” and a “madman”, so that’s FUN. Combined with the fact that this book doesn’t seem to have any idea about what solitary does to you and effectively trivializes literal torture, this isn’t looking good, lads.

There’s also, as I mentioned, no women aside from Juliette, and everything’s always about men and how they affect her and her life and how much they matter to her.

Just. Bad. The most progressive thing about this book is the fact that a WoC wrote it, and that’s about it.

The Quotes

I’m … so sorry for this. But you have to see them.

This Kills the Lady

Raindrops are my only reminder that clouds have a heartbeat. That I have one, too.

I always wonder about raindrops.

I wonder about how they’re always falling down, tripping over their own feet, breaking their legs and forgetting their parachutes as they tumble right out of the sky toward an uncertain end. It’s like someone is emptying their pockets over the earth and doesn’t seem to care where the contents fall, doesn’t seem to care that the raindrops burst when they hit the ground, that they shatter when they fall to the floor, that people curse the days the drops dare to tap on their doors.

I am a raindrop.

My parents emptied their pockets of me and left me to evaporate on a concrete slab.

Wot?

I catch the rose petals as they fall from my cheeks, as they float around the frame of my body, as they cover me in something that feels like the absence of courage.

Huh?

He shifts and my eyes shatter into thousands of pieces that ricochet around the room, capturing a million snapshots, a million moments in time. Flickering images faded with age, frozen thoughts hovering precariously in dead space, a whirlwind of memories that slice through my soul.

Come Again?

Summer is like a slow-cooker bringing everything in the world to a boil 1 degree at a time. It promises a million happy adjectives only to pour stench and sewage into your nose for dinner.

The Sun is a Rat Bastard – Poem by Juliette

I hate the lackadaisical ennui of a sun too preoccupied with itself to notice the infinite hours we spend in its presence. The sun is an arrogant thing, always leaving the world behind when it tires of us.

Juliette Contemplates Cannibalism

He whispers, “How are you?” and I want to kiss every beautiful beat of his heart.

He’s Not Wrong, I Guess

It’s the only reason Adam is staying with me – because Warner thinks Adam is a cardboard cutout of vanilla regurgitations.

Get You A Man Who Can Fix Years of Abuse and 260 Days of Solitary!

He’s kissing away the pain, the hurt, the years of self-loathing, the insecurities, the dashed hopes for a future I always pictured as obsolete.

*Sarah J Maas voice*

Realization is a pendulum the size of the moon. It won’t stop slamming into me.

I … What?

He’s a hot bath, a short breath, 5 days of summer pressed into 5 fingers writing stories on my body.

Juliette is a Loony Tunes Character

My eyelashes trip into my eyebrows; my jaw drops into my lap.

Kenji Is the Worst

He grins and hobbles forward. “You know, you’re pretty hot for a psycho chick.”

I … What? part 2

My jaw is dangling from my shoelace.

The Conclusion

Don’t waste your time on this. Trust me. There’s so many things I’ve left out for the sake of brevity, and I still ended up with a mile-long review.

It doesn’t work as a romance, it doesn’t work as a dystopia, and it certainly doesn’t work as a superhero origin story. Mostly because it tries to be all of these things at once and ends up being an overwritten mediocre mess.

For a time I felt vaguely invested and interested in knowing what happened in the next books, but that feeling has passed now and I couldn’t give less of a shit.

I would honestly be very interested in seeing a character like Warner be written properly and watch him try to redeem himself and atone. But that train has already left the station, and Mafi was not on it.

[seeyouinthenextlife]

This Is(n’t) Real?

-- heyyo here’s some angsty platonic King x Helbram oneshot I wrote earlier. Diane is in it towards the end but it’s super brief. (Ps- formatting is kinda wonky on the app so, sorry if it all looks weird. Also, the setting of the story is a bit messy LOL. Maybe if I continue this I can figure out how to make the timelines work but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ oh also should mention sPoiLeRs for if you’re not caught up on the manga and I guess haven’t watched all of the anime either so like?? read at your own risk????) --  “What do you mean this isn’t real?” Half teasing, Helbram laughed at King before playfully flicking him (much to King’s displeasure), “Was that not real?” The fairy wore a crooked smile, trying to stifle a laugh as he cracked himself up. 

Sighing, King’s expression dropped from slightly annoyed and panicky to lost. Though, not the lost as in location wise but lost as in emotionally adrift. His expression wasn’t the only thing to drop though. Gaze once on his best friend now looked out towards the horizon with dull interest. 

Helbram’s lips twitched—that crooked smile faltered but for just a moment. A new smile surfaced. One of warmth and tenderness, he reserved this for the more serious matters. He flew closer towards King, his hand had just started to extend outwards towards King-

“No. It’s not. This is just a dream. You’re not really Helbram, you’re just my memory of him..” he trailed off, watching the sky grow darker as the sun set in his forest. He’s had dreams like this countless times now. Though he always woke himself up when he realized he was dreaming. King didn’t want to spend more time in this nightmare scenario. “This,” he gestured around the two of them, “All burned down many years ago. You were already dead by then.” As he spoke the words, the forrest went up in flames. 

“Geez, Harlequin,” Helbram dramatically sighed, “Always such a downer.” A chuckle left him. “You’re always too busy fixating on all the wrong things and overthinking yourself into panics that you don’t see all your options.” 

King only clenched his jaw and shook his head at Helbram’s words. As well as closing his eyes tightly, King then dropped his head. Having only then to look at what was left of the ground, King trembled but kept silent. He didn’t want to hear any of this, he knew it was true. It was his own subconscious telling him off anyways. And just how many times had it conjured up Helbram to talk some sense into him now? It didn’t matter though—he didn’t want to be lectured by himself in the form of his deceased best friend in the ruins of where they once called their home for many centuries.

“You never let yourself enjoy the good moments. You let so much pass you by because you focus on the bad things instead of the good. Hell, you won’t even look at me, Harlequin. You did before but only until you realized this was a dream. Why do you think you’re avoiding looking at me, huh? Because you’re focusing on this me, right?” With the words spoken he flew in front of King, grabbing his shoulders to keep the fairy king from flying away.

Though reluctant, King looked at Helbram for a moment before looking away, tears threatening to fall from his eyes. What King saw was blood gushing out from his best friend’s nose, mouth and chest—going off of how much blood was soaking and staining the shirt Helbram wore.

“You’re stuck on a version of me that you feel you failed. You keep flying away from making your peace with what’s happened. You don’t even see me, Harlequin, you’re seeing your inability to grieve and move on. To forgive yourself. To grow. You’re too hard on yourself. Everyone makes mistakes, every action and inaction leads you down some path. Don’t fixate on always trying to figure it out and then do the right thing. Listen to yourself, don’t debate yourself on every little matter.” There was a moment of silence where Helbram just smiled at King. Looking at King and easily being able to feel just how proud and fond Helbram has always been of his best friend, “I can’t imagine how badly your head must want you to take a break on over analyzing everything.” Helbram feigned concern, one hand to his chest while the other was thrown up to obscure some of his face in an obviously theatrical manner.

King is only a little surprised when he doesn’t get whiplash. With Helbram switching from serious to silly so often—and in record time—as much is expected any time things start to get tense.

“You poor thing,” the greenish-blond mockingly pouted, “Your head must be an endless screaming void of all different thoughts. What a nightmare!” He tried to hold back a giggle, though behind his teasing, he, too, knew the weight of a mind that never knows peace.

A scoff from King had Helbram raising a brow, a knowing smirk placed on Helbram’s face as King began to speak, “And here I thought you were going to be serious and not spew more jokes for once,” King sighed but there was a small smile painted on him. 

Helbram smiled, too, “Ah, and here I thought you liked my jokes.” He flew a short distance away from King and covered his face with both his hands, “Harlequin, why must you break my heart so?!” He shouted dramatically.

That gained a small chuckle from the fairy king as well as his eyes shifting to look at his older friend. Helbram turned around and peaked at King through his fingers. Upon seeing King giving an amused look his way, Helbram returned his hands back to his sides and flew closer towards King again.

“So your majesty finds such a sight as myself worthy of his time?” Arms crossed behind his head while he crossed his legs while floating a short distance away from King, Helbram continued, “I’m flattered, yes, but it is known to all that I, Helbram, am one hell of a sight to behold.” He smirked after winking at King, who laughed at Helbram’s antics.

After a few moments of comfortable silence, they now gazed upon the stars—side by side. Moonlight was illuminating them dimly and King spoke up suddenly, “You’re wrong, you know.”

“Hmm, I highly doubt that but do tell me so I might have a laugh,” Helbram teased his friend yet again.

King only smiled softly, “I’ve always seen you. No matter if it was you telling some lame joke, showing off some peculiar trinket you’ve collected from humans, smiling away as you always tried to keep things light, when you went lost your mind, when you begged me to kill you, when you sacrificed your soul in hopes of returning Diane back to normal or any other time. I have always seen you, Helbram.”

“Harlequin..” Helbram murmured in shock as he looked over at King during this sudden confession.

“I just-” King continued, tears running down his face now, “I really miss you, Helbram, so much. You always were and always will be the most precious friend I had the honor and privilege of calling my best friend.” He paused before he looked over to see a speechless Helbram, a smile so big on his face as tears still flooded his face, “I hope I make you proud and can show you your sacrifices weren’t in vain. I hope I can be as compassionate and opened minded of a fairy as you were. And lastly, I wish I could have told you all of this before you died, again.” With that he pulled Helbram into a tight embrace, “Farewell..” he mumbled softly before fading out as he woke up from his dream.

}|{   }|{   }|{

Waking up into reality, King sat up and rubbed his face of the tears he cried while asleep. A sad but yet simultaneously endearing smile covered his face. Looking out the window to see the morning sky he spoke aloud, softly, to no one in particular, “I hope you’re not really gone, I hope your soul is still out there enjoying your afterlife.”

“Hnng, King..?” Diane, three-quarters of the way still asleep, rolled over and cuddled into his side. 

«You go make Diane happy.»

Grinning down at Diane, King ran his fingers through her hair as he heard Helbram’s final words to him in his head again. “I will.”

Meanwhile in the ruins of the previous Fairy King’s Forrest

«[...]And lastly, I wish I could have told you all of this before you died, again.”»

With tears streaming down his face, Helbram looked at the same brightly colored sky. A smile so big it hurt adorning his face as he cried, “Oh, look what you’ve done,” he laughed, though it quickly turned back to crying, “Your crybaby tendencies are rubbing off on me now.” He shook his head and took a deep breath as he flew up.

«“I really miss you, Helbram, so much.”»

“I can’t seem to get rid of you, now can I?” He laughed. It was clear, though, that this was his way of saying he misses King too. He flew far up above the remainder of the burnt trees of the old forest, not taking his eyes away from the sky, “Such a fool..”

«”I wish I could have told you. [...] Farewell..”»

“You did tell me, though..” he had calmed down now, the last of his tears falling from his eyes, “Farewell indeed, Harlequin.”

[thegrimwulf]

The Baroness + The Arcanist

    The hooded Baroness made her way down the water-slick alleyways of Boralus. Her heels clicked, accompanied by the distant sounds of drunken festivities. At the midway point, she raised a knuckle to the bricks of the towering building and knocked, just as she had been instructed. Once, twice, three times. And then she backed away.

    The stones wavered and, where dark stone had once stood, black oak took its place. The newly-fashioned door creaked as it was drawn open. On the other side of it, a tall, thin Kaldorei woman wearing a gown that would make Elune weep.

    “Good evening, Lady Sunbane.” The Kaldorei stood aside, welcoming her guest into the building. Upon entering, the Kaldorei silently offered to take Kato’s cloak, to which Kato obliged, shrugging free of it.

    “How are you, Miss Nightweaver?” Kato inquired, knitting her fingers together behind her back as she watched the Kaldorei woman.

    Thelwyn Nightweaver hung up the baroness’ cloak on a silver hook by the door. She soundlessly rounded the baroness, her head tilted down respectfully, “Quite well, Lady Sunbane. And yourself? I do hope the journey was safe. I understand you weren’t on Alliance territory as of late.” Thelwyn led Kato further into the shop.

    It was a welcoming place, elven architecture stretching high above them in peaked arches of silver. Candles floated above them, emitting a low light. Quills and parchment scratched on their own like mice. Moonlight washed over the room from a large door, a balcony on the other side of it. This would be impossible, of course, as they were in the low-alleys of Boralus, not the towering spires of Suramar. Kato’s eyes clung to the balcony curiously, the outside world nothing like the streets of Boralus she had just come from.

    “I am well.” She eyed Thelwyn suspiciously, “I was conducting business on enemy land. I support the war efforts of the Alliance.”

    Thelwyn paused then, tilting her head slowly, “I did not mean anything by prying, Baroness. My apologies if I have offended you.” The arcanist’s dress shimmered about her legs as she walked to the desk in the middle of the room. Kato’s gaze washed over the Arcanist’s back, the expanse of flesh marked by a shimmering tattoo. It was clearly of Highborne origin, exquisitely designed with the steadiest of skillful hands. The Baroness wondered who the artist was. The Arcanist weaved her fingers over the desk, a floating candle swooping down to illuminate the collection of papers and tools there.

    Kato hummed an acknowledgement and nothing more, turning her eye to the balcony. She approached the open doors, the curtains billowing in the breeze. The world beyond the balcony stretched far below, a valley with a thin river winding through it. The mountains could barely be seen against the dark star-lit sky.

    “What is all this?” Kato motioned to the balcony and what lie beyond it. Thelwyn offered a smile.

    “Simply little illusions. Paintings are always nice, but it’s so much nicer when they move.” Thelwyn gave a light hum of laughter, “A little something I learnt in Suramar.” She snapped her fingers and the balcony melted into its frame, growing into a flat painting of a balcony with a view. Kato pursed her lips as she inspected the Arcanist’s work. Thelwyn continued, breaking Kato’s thoughts, “I have finished the project you wished for. I do hope it’s up to your standards, Baroness. I left it as best I could to its original appearance, as you did say it was an heirloom.” Thelwyn was holding a small black box now, taking her soundless, gliding strides toward Kato. She paused before the Baroness, gracefully extending the box to her.

    There was the slightest hint of hesitation in the Baroness, but she took up the small box. The moment the box left her hands, Thelwyn turned away and busied herself elsewhere in the studio. Kato watched the wispy woman for a moment longer before she pried the box open, revealing her pocketwatch. It looked as it had when she had given it to the Arcanist a few weeks prior. She plucked it from the box and turned it over.

    “You will find the only variations are the hands, which had to be changed to a more conductive metal. A small price for the outcome.” Thelwyn spoke, absent-minded, as parchment floated before her, her eyes scanning the words.

    Kato opened the pocketwatch and found the golden hands replaced by a cool silver, though they remained just as delicate as before. She turned it over in her hands once more, brows furrowing, “How does it work?”

    Thelwyn took a few moments, her attention on the gathering scrolls about her. She finally stole her gaze from the written words and approached Kato, her hands falling together before her, fingertip-to-fingertip, “Turn the hands to twelve and then push on the button used to open the watch. That activates the rune I placed within the clockwork.” Thelwyn spoke with a slow wave of her hand, “It took quite a few tries but my partner was a willing test subject, for lack of a better term. She too is a Ren’dorei.”

    Kato did as Thelwyn instructed, listening to her as she continued to tell her tale of how she went about enchanting the pocketwatch. With the hands set at twelve, a push of the button, and in the blink of an eye, Kato’s void-tainted skin was washed clean.

    “Oh, you look so lovely, Lady Sunbane.” Thelwyn chirped before her attention went back to her floating parchments.

    The Baroness looked over her arms, seeing the pale flesh she had once been used to. As she tilted her head forward, her hair fell into her peripheral. White-blonde waves curtained her face and a quiet breath escaped her. She looked to the Kaldorei, “How did you know what I looked like before?”

    Thelwyn hardly twitched an ear, waving a delicate hand and casting one of the parchments to float over to Kato. It turned to a mirror as it came to Kato’s front, reflecting her Sin’dorei reflection. She looked just as she once had, before the corruption of the Void. An unwelcome emotion crossed her face momentarily, wetting her eyes.

    “The illusion cast here is not one made up like an ill-fitted mask. What this illusion is doing – if you want the specifics – is merely covering corruption, restoring what would be.” Thelwyn looked briefly at Kato as she explained, “It’s a tad bit more complicated than merely making a copy of your Sin’dorei appearance, but it will keep anyone from taking on your likeness should they get their hands on the pocketwatch.”

    “And what if someone does get their hands on it?” Kato’s tone was curiously sharp, defensive.

    Thelwyn paid no mind to the Baroness’ tone, “Depends, really.” The Kaldorei turned from her papers and held out her hand Kato, “If I may-” Kato returned the pocketwatch to the Arcanist – her Void appearance returning the moment it left her person – and watched. Thelwyn lined up the hands and hit the button. Her arcane-tinted eyes became purely silver – though without their Night Elven glow. The slight pink hue to her hair drained to leave it pristinely white. A gentle smile pulled at Thelwyn’s lips, “For me, it only takes away the small effects my magic studies have had on my physical appearance. Mine are not as drastic as yours are. My partner, upon testing this, took on her Sin’dorei appearance as well, though it also took it further than that. Fel-corrupt eyes of the Sin’dorei are also hidden. That is the one thing I could not figure out with the illusion. I do hope that is not too much of an issue.” Thelwyn handed the pocketwatch back, and upon leaving her touch, the effects of the arcane returned to her.

    Kato gave a slow nod, watching as her Void-darkened skin turned pale pink once more. She pocketed the watch then, recollecting herself and standing tall, chin raised.

    “I do forget, Miss Nightweaver, what we discussed for payment. I assume a respectable sum of gold to be acceptable?” Kato inquired, watching the light, airy movements of the Arcanist as she continued her studies. Her repeated disregard for the Baroness was beginning to strike a nerve.

    Thelwyn’s ears pricked and she waved the flock of parchments away. She folded her hands in front of her and smiled warmly, “As you may understand, I do not have much need for gold. I can disguise a simple stone as a gold coin if I truly needed to.” Thelwyn’s posture was relaxed – leaving the Baroness surprisingly unsettled. Thelwyn swept a piece of her wild curls away from her face as she spoke, “What I would truly ask for as payment would be my sister’s contract.”

    Kato’s blood chilled. She hid it spectacularly well, nary a flinch or raise of a brow. But she could see in the way Thelwyn remained careless, relaxed, that she knew what she spoke of. She was not poking and prodding for answers. Thelwyn already had them. She had laid out her trap and Kato fell for it without flaw.

    “Your sister’s contract?” Kato inquired, doing some poking and prodding of her own, “I don’t believe I am familiar-”

    “Alryeth Nightweaver.” Thelwyn interrupted coolly, as though she were talking to a casual acquaintance and not a viper, “An Illidari that came to be under the employ of the Harlequin Gang, Lady Sunbane.”

    Kato made a silent display of remembrance, “Oh, do forgive me.” She pressed a hand to her chest, “As a business woman I deal with so many.” Kato gave a slow shake of her head, “I’m sorry if I am the bearer of bad news... but your sister passed some time ago.”

    “I am aware, Lady Sunbane. That is why I ask for her contract. I wish to collect all things pertaining to my sister, as is my right as her blood relative.” Thelwyn gave a gentle smile, her eyes half-lidded. She was leaning against her desk now.

    “I am unable to give you the contract, as it was binding between employer and employee. There are so many messy laws.” Kato gave a pitiful shake of her head and knitted her fingers together behind her back, shoulders held back.

    Thelwyn chuckled like a child, “Yes, but considering my sister is now deceased, any contract that bound her would be finalized, null and void.” Thelwyn paused, watching the Baroness for a few silent moments. The Baroness saw it then, the shift in her body language; the way the arcanist lifted her folded hands, fingertip-to-fingertip, not quite relaxed anymore. Thelwyn continued, “I know you are a wonderful warlock, Lady Sunbane. Your reputation precedes you. And I know that warlocks do not think of death as the common folk do. I imagine the contract signed by you and my sister covered the happenings of death, should it arise.”

    Kato tilted her head away from the Arcanist, glaring down her nose, “You are clever, darling. I seem to have underestimated you.”

    Thelwyn gave a light shrug, “I know it is your gold that is sent to my doorstep every month, as I assume was agreed upon in the contract. And I know it is not the Alliance that you aid in your independant business efforts.” Thelwyn’s voice remained light as though she were discussing yesterday’s dinner and not blackmail, “I am asking for the contract as a show of respect and good faith, not because I cannot acquire it. Regardless of your answer here, I will have that contract.”

    The Baroness narrowed her eyes at the Arcanist. The silence was deafening. Though Kato’s stare bore into Thelwyn, Thelwyn’s eyes wandered about her place of work. Kato moved her hands, the slightest spark of Fel at her fingertips. She saw it, in that moment. Indeed, she had underestimated the Kaldorei. The Kaldorei’s visage wavered in that miniscule moment of threat. She was nothing but a conjured illusion. One that could be touched and heard as much as it was seen. The error of Kato’s assumptions ate at her inside. How could she have grown so foolish?

    “Very well.” Kato said, resting her hands in front of her, mirroring Thelwyn. “I will have the contract delivered to you. Is this address prefered?”

    Thelwyn – or the illusion of – shook her head, “That won’t be necessary. I just needed your verbal approval. I had someone go pick it up while you were testing out that new pocketwatch of yours.” Thelwyn smiled and lifted her hand, a sealed envelope materializing between her fingers. Kato recognized the symbol in the wax, knowing all too well it would match exactly to the ring on her finger.

    “I am not one you wish to make an enemy of, Arcanist.” Kato spoke directly, her voice growing sharp.

    Thelwyn pushed off from the desk, the contract vanishing the moment it left her fingers. The Kaldorei glided effortlessly towards the Baroness, towering over her. Her finger hooked beneath the Baroness’ chin, tilting her head back.

    “I have been walking Azeroth’s lands far before you were even an idea. I will be here long after you are forgotten.” Thelwyn’s face remained expressionless, half-lidded gaze weighing on the small Void Elf, “Don’t forget your cloak on the way out, Lady Sunbane. It’s quite cold on nights like these.” Thelwyn stood upright, her finger slipping free from Kato’s chin as she turned away. Her form collapsed in on itself, confirming that Thelwyn had never truly been there.

    Kato stood where she was for several moments, teeth grinding as she processed what had just occurred. Just as she was wrapping her mind around it, the desk became a pile of torn bags, spilling chicken feed. The floating parchments and candles disappeared. The balcony sealed off and the silvery walls melted away to reveal rough brick and molding wooden beams. The high-arched ceilings were no longer, the rafters of the true ceiling hanging only a foot above the shocked Ren’dorei. The floor beneath her feet was packed dirt, water having gathered about her boots. The pristine workshop of the Kaldorei had been nothing more than a cellar, an immaculate display of spellwork.

    Kato made her way out of the cellar, retrieving her cloak from its place on a broken crate. She ducked into the alleyways, her mind left reeling.

[zenfulmockingbird]

The young doe didn’t get much sleep last night. The memories of the nightmare and the thoughts it gave birth had plagued her through the night and were still haunting her.

(“Why is it still bothering me. Brandr wouldn’t go for a carnivore. I mean,yeah he did sleep with a few girls, but they were all herbivores. Beside, look at them.”)

She stared at a certain grey wolf girl talking to her classmates.

(Juno is a clingy bitch that went after one of Haru’s boy toys and kissed an engaged man. Sure she has cute looks, an upbeat personality, and determination that made her popular among her peers. Combine the fact that she’s one of the candidates to become Beastars and you got…)

Mizuchi frowned at this revelation and shifted her gaze onto Shiela (Then Shiela. If the rumors are true… he would have more fun with her than with…me.)

The anxious doe shifted her focus from one carnivore to another, trying to paint them in a bad light, but each time she tried, the more she felt like a slug among a swarm of butterflies.

Mizuchi shook these thoughts from her head, (“Damnit, I need to get rid of these thoughts.”)

The moment classes were over she headed over to the shopping district. She asked her friends, but each of them had already made plans for today.

The harlequin rabbit made her way through the swarm of animals as she made her way to the nearest clothing store. She grabbed a few clothes that looked lovely on her.  Mizuchi was all set to head to the check out  when something caught her eyes. It was a two piece lingerie that was vibrant red.

As she stared at it, a thought crossed her mind.

(“Maybe if I sex with him…if i show him that I’m better than any of those girls, I can..no…Do I have to do it now? I mean we can wait…but would he wait for that long.") …no, he wouldn't.)

Mizuchi anxiously grabbed a pair and headed to the cashier.

Mizuchi had butterflies in her stomach as she walked the halls. She was betting it all on this. She never had done anything like this and the reasons she was doing this didn’t help ease her nerves.

(“Deep breath Mizuchi. You can do this. You have to do this. This is for the best.”)

Mizuchi kept on chanting the mantra over and over as nervously dragged herself to her boyfriend's room.

"Your so lovely." A cold sense of dread filled her soul. Mizuchi slowly peeked the corner and what she saw caused her heart to skip a beat. Standing in the hallway was her boyfriend passionately kissing a lioness.

Shock soon faded and a sense of rage filled her soul and she would have gave them, but fear held her back. If she tried to raise a hand, there would be a good chance that everything she planned for would go up in smoke.

She decided to retreat for now and wait for her friends to come back so they can both come up with a way to punish her. For now, all Mizuchi wanted to do was just cry.

[pilawforhire-archived]

Headcanon: Valentine’s Day, aka (to Law) Corazon Memorial Day

I wrote a drabble-thing last year (briefly rewritten below) and never revisited the idea, but every Valentine’s, by his lonesome, single bachelor Law disappears for some quiet time in the outdoors to commemorate Corazon. On the solemn occasion, he reminisces about the adventures they had together, the good, the bad, and the ugly. The general custom would be to wander to someplace high with a vantage point and make a toast to the skies.

Granted, Law does already think about Corazon on a daily basis. It’s not difficult with the heart and smiley tattoos staring him in the face every morning when he looks in the mirror. However, that day is important to him, for reinforcing his motivations, especially with regards to his ultimate goal of taking down Doflamingo on Corazon’s behalf. It’s also a reminder that someone thought his life was worth saving; someone believed, against all odds, in his future enough to go to such extents to help him. Corazon gave him hope. Sometimes the hope fades; sometimes people falter. Things get stressful, distressing. Perhaps he’s dissatisfied with actions he’s taken, consumed by various overwhelming emotions. But Valentine’s Day, Corazon Memorial Day, would be a peaceful day with a moment of silence offered to remember Corazon. And on that day, no matter what ails him, on that day, there is calm.

Also, he knows he’s not going to get a willing Valentine, so why bother? Offering to steal their hearts, literally, was apparently not a successful flirting tactic. In other words, man who can’t get laid nor a date decides to isolate himself and brood over the past. While it seems pathetic, he thinks he’s happier this way. (In his own defense, he would argue that he’d never bothered taking a lover, for there were things of greater import than love.)

Valentine’s Day after the events of Dressrosa, however, would be slightly different. Trying to live his life to the fullest, the way Corazon would have wanted him, Law explores the idea of getting a date. There was one problem. What did he know about romance and courtship? Enough to send them running—away from him. Well, the first step was to exude confidence and charm, wasn’t it?

This isn’t going to have a happy ending.

This was the original drabble, which, looking back, is a complete disaster. An attempt at fixing it somewhat:

“It’s so much darker when a light goes out than it would have been if it had never shone.”

The majestic expanse of the open seas, volatile yet captivating in spite of the numerous lives it had voraciously claimed, it was where he had survived most of his years, sailing, journeying, final destination unknown, without a place to call home. Raging waves and an accompaniment of golden hues painted across the horizon welcomed him with open arms as he stepped up to the edge of the cliff and admired the view of the sun sinking slowly into the ocean. He marveled at the thought of how every second was both an end and a beginning, and wasn’t there something absolutely thrilling about staring danger in the face?

A grave of jagged rocks scattered the bottom. The wind soughed dirges from the sea, coaxing him away from the edge. Law stood his ground, unwavering. Waves crashed beneath him, an inexorable process of erosion disintegrating the base of the cliff face one crack at a time, until the entire structure would someday collapse, and the whole process would repeat once the cliff receded inward to land. Nature itself was self-destructive. It only reasoned that so was man. There was no running from life. He had to count on his tenacity to keep him from succumbing—but for how long could he withstand fate or himself? Every passing second, he felt his soul bleeding into the void. In spells of anguish, each breath was sandpaper scraping raw wounds. The resulting formation of erosion was often spectacular, but no one grasps the torment it endured to get there.

Valentine’s Day, with heart motifs ubiquitous, prompted remembrances of Corazon, more than the usual. His goofiness, his clumsiness, his love, his sacrifice, his smiles, which were all bloodied in Law’s memories, they evoked warring emotion within. There was the nagging guilt that gnawed away at him; the unrelenting yearning that carved him into an empty shell; the barely suppressed wrath and bitterness that fiercely ached—

Law spared Corazon a few drops of tears that disappeared silently into the sea. Rather than tears of release from the weeping of his heart as it slogged tirelessly to expunge perpetual grief, they were tears he considered an offering of his gratitude, as part of the annual custom, with only the wilderness to witness his disgraceful sentimentality.

The sky darkened, dusky, subdued blues extinguishing the vibrant tones. He set down his sword and sat cross-legged by the edge before he pulled out a small bottle of sake and filled two sake cups to the brim. He placed them at his side and commenced his typical solemn remembrance and reproachable entertainment of what-ifs. How different would things have been had Corazon survived? Could he sacrifice the past few years of experience, knowledge acquired, attainments, and his crew, his best friend, to go back and redo it all, to fix his initial mistake? He was glad he would never have to make that call.

As the wind continued to whisper, the waves strike the cliff, and the trees rustle behind him, he strained to listen for voices, either from the beyond, or otherwise, while he drifted into a state of recollection. More than seeking comfort from reminiscence, his motivations were derived from the concern of time and age robbing him of his memories, for undoubtedly, his mind couldn’t stay sharp forever. Even if forgetting was inevitable—and would it have been a blessing?—he could at least cling to whatever he could, for it was already fading. When he tried to conjure up the image of Corazon’s face, all he remembered was Corazon’s harlequin paint. What color were his eyes? Had he dimples when he smiled?

Law averted his thoughts and glanced at the ground. Despite the absurdity of the notion, ever since he’d discovered a cup knocked over years ago, he’d always checked to see if it’d happen again. The rational explanation would obviously suggest the wind had toppled the cup, but, what if…? A risible idea, that it could be communication from a ghostly presence, and yet—

And yet, as Law raised his cup to the sky and gave a silent toast in honor of Corazon, as he began to summarize aloud the adventures he’d had over the course of the year, Law hoped, with all his heart, somewhere out there, Corazon was listening.