#I think the mannequins have given me a small idea of the fear people feel when they see a spider

[crowcryptid]

Feeling very enriched rn

[crossover-enthusiast]

first things first, obviously, the cult.

×××

lets go to skiddad first.

-

ok. so, lilas husband. my guess is that throughout the years, he has been raised into cults. i imagine he became rather rebellious of this, and tried to abandon that life.

though, became too caught up, and eventually tried to get lila involved, POSSIBLY resulting in his death from fear from lila that he'd try to involve skid. my guess is skiddad is the right hand man of eyes.

theres not much i can grab there, BUT i think its worth noting the mannequin and the spiders, and how theyre probably related to skiddad. the mannequin is seen moving and/or trying to prevent people from escaping or hurting lila (sm6, sm5 where bob tries to catch her)

but, thats all i really got for him.

×××

now, bob velseb

-

judging by this picture, i like to think bob came from a more wealthy family. though, this can just be him in a business meeting, or some other formal event.

my personal idea, is that he was raised in a wealthy family, and eventually left home to go venture outwards and find some quiet peace in wherever-the-fuck-sm-takes-place. small town n stuff.

there, he worked at boys & grillz, selling to kids all around town, and specifically lila. now, to me, its not exactly clear how or why bob got into cannibalism. from what i see, its not exactly a metaphor for anything (besides like, idk, the fact his name is a pun on beezlebub, gluttony) and my only guess can just be the cult. or he was just.. hungry LMFAO

but, what i find the most interesting, is that bob couldve been a family figure (or family friend) to lila. which could explain the theory i have, that lila is the one who caught bob and put him in jail in the first place. theyre close, and lila accidentally digging too deep or stumbling upon bobs secretive cannibalistic tendencies can explain why he went out to kill her (sm1). once thrown back in prison, having help of the cult, he escaped again and tried to hurt lila AND her child, but once again, failed. (and ended up getting fucking killed in the process)

also, i like to think that bob was.. probably found at a low point with his cannibalism, and given a chance out to join the cult. idk. he probably escaped on his own in sm1 though

his role does not seem clear to me, but i like to think he was skiddad's right hand man, and once he died, bob took his place. i mean, in my eyes, he must atleast be in some high authority.

×××

mr clown

-

not even gonna lie, not too much on this guy lmfao 😭😭

though, it is known very well that he kidnaps and kills kids (unlike frank, who most likely.. just holds them for ransom tbh.) as suggested in pelos doodles (obv theyre not usually canon, but i feel like.. this one kinda is)

hes most likely of high authority/ranking in the cult, but is then killed off by jack. oops! (jesus, jack has a streak of killing cult members.)

×××

eyes

-

my favorite one to explore so far, eyes. i love eyes, specifically because of the fact we know NOTHING of their ability and their reasoning of why they inhabit this earth. to me, theyre a parasitic alien. sent, or either just out of hunger to drain the planet. i like to think that they desire to grab the human race, and put it under their control. whether it be hatred, for sadistic fun, or just for their own satisfaction. maybe controlling humans factor into their feeding. who knows.

anyway, thats where the cult comes in. tricking and playing with humans, eventually getting skiddad to lead all these people along.

my idea of eyes powers, really comes down to this. this is only what we have seen throughout sm2-sm6

-stunning, dazing.

as seen to pump, kevin, hatzgang, and gregor.

-changing humans eye color when an inhumane presence is spotted or near.

this isnt tooo important, but i think it should be added. though, unknown why bobs eyes changed. could just be his relation to the cult.

-spectating through the stars

eyes is seen throughout the episodes looking out through the sky, this could be that they are fond of skid and pump, and want to see what danger they could be in. or, theyre just curious of the two little guys' lives.

-manipulation, brainwashingggg, hypnotizing?

this is kind of a stretch, but in the end credits, and in the end of the episode itself, gregor bows to eyes and most likely put under their control. end credits wise, gregor is seen with moloch, being held up while the cult is around them. gregor could be used as a tool to summon demons and eldritch creatures alike to help take over the planet. or wreck havoc. or whatever.

but other than that, thats my idea of eyes. thumbs up.... i wonder if they can die? otherwise everyones screwed lmfao

×××

john and JD (johns daughter)

-

johns daughter is teased through pictures and drawings. it is either thought she died in the housefire in sm4, or was kidnapped, and is currently being held hostage. i like the held hostage situation better, because it adds greater stakes.

we dont know much about her, but she seems to be a bubbly young girl, and john is grief-stricken once he loses her. also, i feel its implied that he is divorced.

my idea, is that multiple cult members helped with the operation, and kidnapped JD while she was sleeping.

see, this is good (on the cults end) for multiple reasons.

while it doesnt remove john off their trail, it does deteriorate him with the loss of his child. though, if anything this makes him more determind to stop the cult.

BUT, they burned the evidence too, he is now rather powerless unless he gains all his evidence back, which would take a while.

idk. i imagine the cult try to bargain with john. and why i think of this, is because of the little poster thats likely to be a spoiler/hint for future episodes.

i mean, long hair, tealish smoke.. it could be JD being possessed? and john having to pick and choose between getting off the cults ass, or having his daughter back (and alive). shrug. thats just my theory.

×××

ignacio

-

heavily implied to be with the cult, and implied to be the one who burned down the house, its also likely he called the cult on gregor.

also, if anything, ignacio seems to be of somewhat.. high ranking or authority. or in the medium range, as he was assigned to burn johns house down. he is the one of only cult member(s) that we know of alive. others include candy dealer, the thieves, and possibly gregor.

not much about him tbh. old ass man.

×××

gregor

-

not much with him either, but its likely hes brainwashed to be apart of the cult and help along with their goals and stuff.

×××

skid (and a little bit of lila)

-

now, this is awesome because theres a very clear tie to skid and the cult. especially with skiddad and stuff.

we know from sm2, that skid is immune to eye's stun/dazing, so this can easily lead us to the fact that skiddad was connected to the cult a little before skid was born.

also! i wanna make it super clear with how lila tries to erase skiddad from everything. countless photos torn apart (specifcally of skiddads face), even ones in the attic.

lila seems to be awfully protective of skid, fearful of the cult in its entirety, but also mournful of what her husband had become. and having to possibly murder him in fear and protection of her and her son being involved.

×××

the thieves and candy dealer

-

now, holy shit, i was NOT expecting the thieves to be apart of the cult, but it does make sense. my idea is that they were sent to rob lila's house specifically so that they could retrieve anything of skiddad and cult related stuff.

their failed attempts seem to be irking candy dealer, and he gives them a good warning before going away. tbh. these guys are silly dumb dumbs. i love them.

ALSOO, that spider. right. do you think that was skiddad trying to scare them away....

candy dealer, i have no idea what the fuck is going on with him, (besides him. like. being a drug dealer obviously) but hes definitely of good importance. its nice to see him ^_^

×××

the cult necklaces

-

i feel its worth mentioning these, as they seem like a bind to those in the cult.

i think me and @deadbatzz talked about this, but we had this idea that if anyone was bound to the cult (whether by necklace or just joining), theyd be like. sent into purgatory, no release from life, just frozen in this half dead and half alive state. yeah. (though, dexters another story, as he was like. possessed and then murder in their own body. AND not to mention the happy fella dolls, but those arent part of the cult.)

×××

closing, and one final theory.

-

i saw this a while back on a comment, and for the life of me i dont think i can find it. i know it was probably on a video that pelo didnt make, but related to spooky month.

the theory is, is that the cult is powered, or just has some significance with candy.

eyes is seen eating candy in sm2, and bob is seen stopping multiple times in sm5 to eat candy. while this could just be him having a sweet tooth, i like the idea of it being much more. he even gives up literal victims for candy.

woofh. but yeah, thats... all i kinda have? sorry jf this didnt help for anything of trying to figure out whats going on with lore, but it was fun to spill my knowledge.

Oh my god dude this is fucking sick!!!! I love everything about this! I don't really have much except

Eyes/the cult having a thing with candy?? That... makes far more sense than it should, especially now that we know the CANDY Dealer is part of the cult. I like this a lot

Also the thing with Bob. The idea of him coming from a wealthy family is honestly really interesting, especially with how his house is in such a state of disrepair in Tender Treats

Him being a father figure to Lila is honestly the most gut punching, because like?? Imagine learning this man you looked up to for years is a serial killer! AND IS NOW TRYING TO KILL YOU!!!

Genuinely I want to know what the fuck happened with Gregor at the end, bc according to the ARG hub he went "missing". Apparently he wasn't even in the town for that long anyway, so like??

Just. A lot to think about.

ALSO I was thinking of them using John's daughter as a bargaining chip!! That makes too much sense! Though tbh I just don't want her to be dead-

[mooshs-crack-headcanons]

Hi Moosh! Congrats on 666!! Can I maybe ask for Yamato, GN reader and training together? Reader isn't that strong but does their best for Yamato, who in all his enthusiasm accidentally hurts them? Nothing too serious though and they laugh it off. just some casual fluff and banter~ Thank you so much!

Did this become a comforting Yamato fic? Yes, yes it did.

(Wano spoilers beneath cut!)

So first of all I like to think with Kaido's genetics in him, Yamato has tons ridiculous amounts build up strength, strength that he sometimes has trouble with controlling sometimes when he gets into his usual moodlets of being too excited he accidentally hurts things and people he necessary doesn't want to which in the end leaves him feeling a little bit guilty about it especially when it comes to accidents with his s/o. 

If there's one thing Yamato loves most, it's training. Since he has spent most of his life held up ok Onigashima, with no kids his age to play with or really anything else to do beside go off and reread through Kozuki Oden's old journal it was kind of his only real activity to do. Though of course not that he doesn't mind, he does want to get as strong as Oden after all so when you come to him to ask him to train you, he's completely overjoyed! 

Most times Yamato doesn't know his own strength, to him the lightest of touches to someone of average height (and a little bigger) can come down full force and knock them into the nearest wall, or hell there was that one time he sent Sasaki all the way across the island and they had to get a rescue boat to go get him near the mainland of Wano and his father didn't stop yelling at him for weeks because of it (not because of Sasaki's injuries but because as when he was flying where he landed just so happened to be the Yonko's next shipment of Sake...which made him go into dragon god pissy mode on the coast of the mainland)

So Yamato has to keep his strength in check in at all times but with you around he has to make extra triple hard not to use more force that the absolutely bare necessity when it comes to handling you, which over time the son of the Yonko has become quite positive that he does a good job in doing, and that's why he thinks himself capable to train with you. 

Since it's just training and you're just not all that experience with close corters, he doesn't use his trusty kanabo just setting it aside to the nearest pillar, still in grabbing distance just in case the two of you get interrupted by his father's 'company' and instead the two of you just use wooden practice swords. The swords are very clunky in Yamato's hands, too small for him if he really wanted he could easily break the thing into splinters with nothing but a simple flex of his fist if he really wanted to, but he doesn't want that he's training you after all. So he has to hold the wooden blade with the lightest but steadiest of grips so it doesn't fling out of his hand with the first clash. 

Once he goes into battle stance he watches as you look him up and down and try to mimic his stance but you're doing it more lopsided and too crouched down, he can't help but to squeal with laughter at how ridiculous you look, making you frown and demanding to know what's so funny (which only makes him laugh more) After a quick apology and quick kiss to the cheek saying;

"I can't help it when you look that adorable!"

This earning a harsh heat to build up on your face.

Yamato helps fix your stance to be just like how he was standing previously, giving up spine chilling instructions as he bends down to meet the height of your ear. 

When your boyfriend steps back in front of you with a wide smile on his face with a - 

"You catch all that, (Name)?" You can't help the uncontrollable thumping of your heart as you instantly nod your head along. 

"Uh huh." 

"Great! Let's do this!" 

You were not ready to do this - all the information he said had just zonked right into one ear and out of the other, with him being so close like that it was almost hard to breathe with his large hands moving your limbs around like a mannequin doll and his sweet voice tingling in your ear you couldn't help but feel all given information immediately just melt away. 

Wing it! Just wing it (Name)!

As the large man quickly got back into his battle stance, you felt your joints begin to freeze up absolutely determined to keep yourself in the pose he put you in. 

"Three," He counts. 

It can't be that hard right? Just copy how you've seen the other's fight- it's fine. 

"Two," 

It's basically just a giant glorified stick anyway, if you get hit it's not like you're going to die or anything relax. 

"One," 

And besides it's Yamato, he-

"Go!" 

Before the word is even registered to you the Yonko's son dashes at your sword in hand and already down low in preparation to just swing. Your mind rushes for some sort of reaction you rotate your wooden blade to block but when your lover clashes into you with a quick rough and hard strike that cuts the wood in your hands in half, the mer force itself sending a mighty shock and sending you rocketing onto the ground, your body sliding across the wooden flooring. 

Yamato's whole world slows in that moment, seeing your body just ragdoll on the floor like that makes him immediately drop his weapon and he springs over to you, gently cradling your head and his copper eyes darting around for any faintest hint of blood.

"(Name)?! (Name)!! I'm sorry! I'm sorry I shouldn't - shouldn't -" 

He knew better. He thought he was being gentle enough but he knew better! This was a terrible idea he shouldn't have went through with it he should have agreed he knew the risks and look the immediate first thing that happens he hurts- 

Your sudden laughter cuts his thoughts short, he looks down at you to see you shifting around to feel at your head. 

"I know I said that I can take you hits but do you have to treat me like a damn baseball, Yama?" 

He immediately pulls you into a hug before flinching and pulling back lightly to see if you're absolutely okay before going in to hug you more gently. 

"I'm sorry," his voice is muffled by your hair. "-I got too excited to finally train with you because I've never really gotten to train with anyone other than my father and-and I thought about Oden and what I strong warrior he was and how pretty, fun, and exciting you are and how- and I just-" 

"Hey, hey, hey, Yamato it's fine. I'm fine." Your hands come up to cup his cheeks, making his verge of tear blurred eyes look at you. 

"I'm fine. I promise it's just a bump. Besides I've been through worse than falling on the floor, this is nothing but barely a bruise." You begin to get yourself up with your lover's help to your feet, his hands never leaving your back. You smirk to yourself as you point to the remains of your training sword. 

"Although I wouldn't say the same about that though." 

When you turn around you see Yamato's frown deepens and his gaze meeting sadly at the floor, once again you have to tell him that's it's okay and this took most of the hit away, which get him to cheer up a little bit but not long enough to plop himself cross legged on the floor and entangle his fingers through his long white hair, you slowly come back down to sit next to him. 

"I really thought I'd had control of my strength around you - I thought that everything was under control and I wouldn't be able to hurt you that I could hold your hand without fear of crushing it or cuddling and hugging you without fear of squashing you to death but I don't - this proves that I-" Your hand clasps with his. 

"You're fine, I'm fine. We're both fine. Look, you're not hurting me now are you?" You hold up your entwined hands, which after a long pause Yamato gives the gentlest of squeezes. 

"Yeah, but-" 

"No buts, you do have this under control. And if we can't directly train sword to sword together that's fine! Yes sword skills are useful especially in the New World but, Yamato, that's not the main reason I wanted to train with you - I love you and I just want to spend time with you, doing the things you enjoy doing!" 

Copper eyes widened in shock as he meets your gentle gaze, he looks down for a second as if pondering something before looking back up at you with the smallest gape of his mouth, speechless, as the one not twine with yours hesitantly reach up to cup the side of your cheek but with a flinch he immediately attempts to pull his hand back, only for you to catch it and place his warmth to the side of your face, his thumb slowly grazing your bottom lip. Ever so slowly his lips flush against yours, quite awkward with the movement but one your hands leave to wrap around his neck you pull him closer he starts quickly catching up with what to do with his tongue. 

When you pull back is all the sadness is lost, with instead those wide pupil blown eyes and white that slowly cascades to a deep neon that frames his face and falls over his shoulder, his lips now plump and kissed does his expression show nothing but pure loving infatuation. 

Which with one look, it all becomes clear how bad this man has it for you. His head tilts as he eyes dart your face, as if he were taking your image if were for the very last time. Finally a small smile appears over his lips as he bumps his forehead to yours.

"I love you too, (Name)." He closes his eyes before breathing through his nose. "Though I am a little sad that I can't train with you, I was looking so forward to it all this week but - I guess that excitement was the exact problem." You peck a quick kiss to his lips before letting your fingers play with his hair. 

"We'll work on it, alright? You've already come to practice with being as gentle as you are right now I'm sure we can also practice that in a train sense. I promise you're not going to hurt me." At first there's a look of subtle doubt in his eyes when he looks into yours but he pushes it back with a nod. 

"How about this? For now let's just focus on positioning - like this!" 

You stand back to your feet, grabbing Yamato's forgotten wooden sword off from the floor, trying your best to mimic his stance from previous, the Yonko's son watches how you stand before bursting into laughter. Your eyebrow twitches before yet again demanding to know what's so damn funny. Your lover stands to his full height towering over you to gently move your limbs around to where you're in proper placement. 

"Oh nothing, just that you look like my father when's he's doing his drunk impression of Charlotte Linlin begging for her 'child support.'" 

Okay that got a giggle out of you.

For the rest of the day the two of you practiced your stances together, once you were comfortable with that you took the next step to attacking stances and even though with him being so close and talking into your ear and moving your limbs around like a doll you forced yourself not to get lost in the inner screaming of your heart telling you just to continue kissing the man until the world's end you listened to his teaching words. 

From how he currently spoke, his tone sounded nothing like how it did previously if you just so happened to walk in now you wouldn't even ever be able to tell he was on the verge of tears a mer hour before. He just looks...so happy. With that handsome smile on that handsome face, you look back at him as he happily blabbers on about some techniques that Oden described in his journal, do you can't help but to smile with glee like an idiot around him. He's just so excited and happy and it's so contagious and it's a feeling that you never want to go away. 

And you're sure of one look of how bad it all looks for you of how bad you have it for the man, something you also to never go away. 

If you like what you read please consider reblogging! It means the world for writers and artists!

[queenjunoking]

Wolf Taming Pt 50

CW: Noncon - Pain - Abuse - Torture

Briar

I spent the next few hours watching Z. Rayne was undoubtedly upset with my methods, but I felt it was more important to have a method that worked than something entertaining that didn’t. I have given their slaves a list of things to do, I couldn’t go any further without it being done. I needed something to unsettle Z and to throw her off her game entirely.

I knew exactly what I needed. The slaves were bringing it out of it’s stasis. Hopefully they could get it to function.

Z did very little during the wait. She quickly realized the position she was in and seemed to want to conserve her energy. She had no idea I was part of this yet. I could only assume how confused she was; Rayne wouldn’t have thought to put her in this position and Flora hadn’t shown interest in getting her hands dirty. She rarely wanted to be directly involved in anything she could make someone else do.

I watched the occasional movements as she tested her bondage. The only sense I left her was her hearing right now, the mask and attached gag took everything else away from her. She shifted every few minutes, obviously uncomfortable. That was the point of course, Z was strong mentally but her body was weak. Her legs started to shake from the strain fairly quickly, but she had no choice but to endure it.

Part of me couldn’t help but fantasize a little about using Z’s own methods against her. I couldn’t help but smile a little when I thought about putting her through a full sensory overload experience like she liked to do to her own victims.

But those were unfortunately the kind of methods Z could withstand.

No, I knew what Z couldn’t withstand. I needed to take a two prong approach to break her. I had days until Sasha would be taken back from Eos, I could waste a day making sure Z was as exhausted as I could reasonably make her.

To break someone you have to make them unable to cope or reject the reality of their situation. I needed her to be as exhausted as possible so she had no choice but to pay attention to what was going to happen to her.

The second prong was more important and needed to be as sharp as possible. The first attack simply broke her armor, the second one needed to decimate her. Unfortunately for someone like Z, she could do that to herself better than most people could. With her senses cut off she had nothing to do but feel her body ache and think.

Think about why she was doing this. Think about how she got here. About how it could go wrong. About how she couldn’t tell how much time was passing. How much time was left. If she had made a mistake.

Little thoughts of paranoia that naturally sprung in her mind. I knew they were there. I saw the amount of security she had on her bedroom door. The look in her eyes when she had tried to taser me in her den.

Z was extremely dangerous. She was great at putting on a neutral face and showing apathy to anyone she was breaking. But deep down Z was scared of a lot of things. Fears culminated in the dark.

I sat down in Flora’s chair and kept looking at Z. Her legs shaking even more from the strain as the stress position drained what little stamina she had. I almost felt bad. But ultimately I was doing this for her. The Society was no place for someone like Z and once she lost her membership she would never have to worry about all the stress it brought her.

No more worrying about who had tried to kidnap her. No more paranoia about someone coming after her again. No more indulging in her dangerous urges. No need to worry about the Society anymore. She can live a nice, calm and lovely life with me.

I just needed to get her to crack first.

My thoughts were eventually disrupted by the door opening. A maid walked in and curtsied, waiting to be addressed. Given the scars that covered her body, she had long ago learned that she shouldn’t disrupt Rayne or Flora.

“Have you done the job yet?” I asked, peeling my eyes away from Z.

“We’ve gotten her functioning, Miss Briar.” She stood up straight, but looked at the ground. “Unfortunately…” I watched her swallow hard as she prepared to deliver bad news. I had no doubts Flora enjoyed shooting the messenger so I understood her hesitation.

“Did something go wrong?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Well… t-the slave you requested has been locked in stasis for over a year. She’s primarily been used as a mannequin and has no been capable of moving or talking during that time.”

“I take it that it hasn’t been able to adjust yet then?”

“No. Well yes. Um….” I watched her struggle for words.

“Take a deep breath and just tell me what is happening.” I tried to be as gentle as possible. Getting angry wouldn’t help anyone.

“The slave has… physically adjusted well enough. After a few hours of working with her she can walk and respond to commands. But…”

“But?” I asked as she paused again.

“The slave reacts and talks. When prompted. Physically she’s fine, but I’m not sure she’s mentally there anymore in any meaningful capacity. She needs directions or she’ll stand there and stare off into space.”

That did throw a few kinks into my plan, but nothing I couldn’t have expected. You don’t really expect a slave that went through the kind of breaking it did, followed by a year of being unable to move to be mentally around anymore. But I just needed her to do a few small things.

I looked at Z one more time before I reluctantly left the room. As much as I didn’t want to leave, I needed to sharpen the prong or else this was pointless.

Z

Everything hurt.

I woke up in darkness, my arms wrenched upwards behind me and my legs chained in place to the floor.

I was forced into an awkward squatting position. The bar my arms were attached too didn’t allow me to lower myself into a less stressful position. The chains on my legs forced them to stay in place so I couldn’t stretch. I was stuck at the height that placed the most strain on my muscles.

Any attempts at moving sent waves of pain through my body. Adjusting pulled at my arms. If I squirmed I felt the wounds left from Rayne’s whip. During particularly bad spasms I could feel some of the cuts bleeding again. The gag in my mouth silenced any involuntary sounds that came from the pain. Fortunately it in of itself wasn’t big enough to cause pain at first, but as time went by I felt my jaw getting sore.

This wasn’t something Rayne would do, she was far too impatient to just leave me tied up like this. I doubt Flora wanted to be the one to try and break me. I was supposed to be a gift to her, I didn’t see Flora being the one to try and break her own gift.

They must have hired a new breaker to come in while I was unconscious. Unfortunately I had no idea how much time had passed while I was out. It could have been minutes or hours for all I knew.

That problem very quickly became the focal point of the darkness I was in. I had nothing I could focus on beyond the pain. There were no sounds to distract me. No sight to let me see time passing. Minutes felt like hours as I was trapped inside of my mind and surrounded by pain.

I could feel my legs burning and shaking as I remembered why I was doing this. I was doing this to get Sasha back. I had no idea what Eos was doing to her. She could be hurting her. Breaking her into something she shouldn’t be. She said she wanted to turn Sasha into a pony, but what if she turned her into something worse? What if she made her a cow? Or a decoration.

The thoughts made me angry. My body shook with anger as well as from the strain of the position I was locked in. Eventually being trapped in the same position this long was getting to me. I wanted to move. I hated being stuck in one place.

To my own embarrassment I trashed in my bondage, trying to pull something loose. Bending a piece of metal. Breaking a chain. Something. Anything.

But nothing gave. I was just even more exhausted than I was before. All I could think about was the many slaves I had broken and how they had done the same thing. The difference was that I had been trying to help them. This was just being done to hurt me without any real purpose.

Eventually I just let my head hang. My struggles had open up more of the whip wounds. The only reason I was still on my feet was because I had no choice. My lack of leg strength meant that my arms were being wrenched upwards as they were forced to hold up my body.

I wasn’t sure what else to do. Was this going to be my next few days? I had seen the strongest slaves last weeks before they finally broke. I was stronger than any of them. I could last through a few days of pain.

I wasn’t sure how long I had been hanging there before I heard the door slide open. Even if I could see, I didn’t have the energy to look up. All I heard was the sound of high heels reverberating around the room. Whoever it was walked in front of me and placed a box on the floor before they knelt down in front of me. It was either a first aid kit or torture instruments. Possibly both depending on how they were used.

I thought I was prepared for what was coming.

But then she spoke.

“Hello, Miss Zoey. I have been asked to treat your wounds. I will do so as quickly as I can.”

My blood ran cold as I recognized the voice. One I would always recognize. Someone I never thought I’d hear again.

It was Bridget.

[kokiri-at-the-pack]

1014

October 14

It was raining a lot today. In fact, the weather got worse up to the point my family considered it an enormous storm. Classes were cancelled and we were asked to stay home and prepare ourselves from the effect of this natural disaster.

Earth can be strange sometimes. It is sunny at first and turns gloomy the next day. If that happens, even a person’s emotion follows its path.

I just hope all of this will pass as quickly as possible.

October 16

I could not believe my fear came true. I couldn’t write anything.

I think it was an early morning when I felt something cold and wet under my feet.

Puddle. A huge puddle. No, not just one. They were all over our house.

I don’t know what happened. My parents were there...My sister was shocked as well…

And soon they were moving their stuff…

But...but...what worried me the most…

…

My drawings.

As soon as I finished moving my belongings to a safer room, I sprinted down to the storage room like never before, ignoring my family, who told me to be far from the flooded area. I couldn’t. Those drawings were all important to me. I passed all the other boxes scattered around. I passed all the puddles that were nothing but objects at that time. Then I focused on one antique, greenish box where I kept my valuables. With quivering hands, I opened its lid cautiously, praying and praying nothing would happen.

And… I was wrong.

My drawings were no longer sheets of paper, but ruins soaked by rain water. I could barely touch them nor hold and feel their firmness. Inks and details with which I gave life upon chosen peoples’ new futures were not visible anymore.

No word ever came out of my lips. My body could only tremble in fear, and no space was given for me to realize that I had to go out of my house and ask for help.

Not until my sister followed me and dragged me back outside, without any idea why I was acting like a sitting duck.

October 18

While my parents were working on cleaning and restoring our home with my relatives, my sister and I had to reside in my aunt’s house for a while. Thankfully, she was kind enough to welcome us despite the possibility that our presence could have been sudden for her. There wasn’t much conflict nor awkwardness between us.

However, that was not really why I could not reduce my stress.

It was an early morning, when the sky was releasing final drops of its tears after its bawl a few days ago. My aunt set the news channel to examine if the storm affected other areas as well. What the reporter stated inside the screen was something no one in the household expected.

He was reporting a sudden unconsciousness of the Pattern Creator whom I drew to make her popular. For no reason, she collapsed two days ago, and even though she is slowly regaining herself, she is in a severe condition of memory loss as well as a sign of identity disorientation.

That did not sound good at all. I ceased eating my breakfast and grabbed the newspaper on the corner of the table. I looked through all the headlines, and as if my small hope was put in vain, a large headline on simultaneous faintings of named figures was featured. All of them were people I drew on ruined illustrations, including Jenna, the current pet shop owner. Their symptoms were the same as those of the Pattern Creator. No explanation for the unanticipated coma. Loss of some parts of their memories. Confused of who they really are.

These cannot be a coincidence. Could all these incidents be the effect of damaging my drawings to which my ability was applied…?

...What about Steven?

It was a good thing I got his landline number in exchange for mine. I pressed numbers and listened to the ringing of the phone with my ear near it. After a few seconds, somebody received the call, but the voice was definitely not Steven’s but his mother’s.

“Hello?” I asked carefully.

“Hi...Are you...Steven’s friend?” she answered gently.

“Y-yes, ma’am. May I talk to him?”

“...I’m so sorry...but...but I’m afraid Steven cannot hang out with you today…”

Even beyond the phone, I could feel the woman’s voice shaking. She was definitely not fine and was worried about something. I gulped and kindly asked her the reason.

The reply was the very thing I did not want to hear at all.

“He...he suddenly fell down...did not wake up...I...I had to bring him to the hospital...I have to catch up right now...Oh, Lord, why? He has always been a healthy boy! Why does this...have to happen?!”

October 19

With growing anxiety, I arrived at the hospital after getting permission from Steven’s mother to visit him. On my way, I was able to encounter some of his friends, who were looking for his room for the same reason. At last, we spotted his full name beside the door and entered slowly.

There was no trace of emotion from the friendly and generous guy I have known. At that time, he fortunately regained his consciousness, but he was sitting still on a bed like a mannequin, staring at the distance. His eyes looked empty, and they did not move an inch even as we walked towards him and quietly greeted his family. No one, including the doctors, did not know why such a tragedy occurred to Steven.

No one...except me.

Soon, his mother gently called him and asked if he could remember his friends--or at least say their names. I could see nervousness in his friends’ faces. Of course, seeing their best buddy powerless like that would shock any of them who was so close to him.

Steven observed us for some time and closed his eyes tightly. It was as if he was trying his best to recall who they were. He then opened his eyes which started to gleam a bit brighter. With a shaky and barely audible voice, he murmured the names and turned his head to each of their owners at the same time.

“Audrey ... Sam … Jesse…”

I could hear a few sighs of relief when he displayed what was left of his memories. He could identify his family and friends at least. His symptoms may not be that serious.

However, when he looked at me, he instead asked one of the most heartbreaking questions I have heard…

“Who...are you?”

[thelioncourts]

title: the mannequin gallery fandom: captive prince pairing: damen/laurent rating: (eventually) explicit words: 4695 for chapter one (1/?)

story summary: If things would have gone the way they were supposed to, Damen and Laurent would have never met. But things didn't go the way they were supposed to, not at all, and their meeting ended up being the equivalent of skydiving with a malfunctioning parachute. Damen tried not to complain. After all, he was now living his dream; he was travelling with his best friend without having to make sure their "I"s were dotted and their "T"s crossed. And, sure, Laurent was difficult to work with, to work for, but he was also great to look at and they made it work well as long as they were anywhere but in Paris. But when Laurent's past begins to cause present-day problems, Damen finds out those difficulties Laurent constantly displays were a bit more warranted than he could have ever imagined. And Laurent? Laurent finds out the truth -- and finds out how to smile.

chapter one note: hi, guys! so -- this fic is my baby. i've been fiddling with the idea a bit over a year now and i'm finally debuting it in all its mistakes and all my love for it. before i ramble too long about anything else i feel like i should put a disclaimer here in saying that: this is by no means near finished. i have a plot and major plot points written out in detail and i have the first three chapters completed (prologue doesn't count as a chapter), but that is it. i know how a lot of people feel about WIPs (i feel that way in many cases with WIPs too) and i just want to get that out there for anyone who does want to wait until it's a finished product.now! i fear the summary makes this sound really lighthearted and, while it is and will be (i hope!) it is also going to delve into some darkness, namely in canonical captive prince fashion of pedophilia and rape and molestation. i'm not sure it that will be mentioned or if it will be described or anything, but i feel like that needs to be said for anyone looking for a fluff-fest.

Damen knew what people thought about him. Damen knew that people thought he wasn’t living up to his full potential. Damen knew that people thought he was relying too much on his ‘fifteen minutes of fame.’ Damen knew that people thought he’d be left with nothing in five years. Hell, he had heard it enough from his own father, from his brother, from his ex-girlfriend who was now his brother’s fiancé. Nik had heard it all too.

But Damen knew a lot of other things too. Damen knew that ‘lucky’ didn’t even begin to describe his current life and Damen knew that one wasn’t meant to look a gift horse, or lucky horse, in the mouth. Damen knew, after all his experience, how to cultivate fleeting moments into events to be remembered. Damen knew, after all his experience, that networking was by far the most useful career tool. Most importantly, Damen knew he’d never be happy sitting at the head of a boardroom table or behind a desk in an office eight hours a day. And since the opportunity to do what he did had landed in his lap, he knew he would have been a fool to not take it and run with it. Even knowing what people thought, Damen didn’t regret it, not once.

Still, despite what Damen knew, it didn’t make his brain stop replaying every argument he’d had with his family in the past or, in this instance, about an hour ago via phone call. It didn’t matter how many times Nik told him every harsh word out of their mouths was all out of worry on his father’s part, all out of jealousy on his brother Kastor’s part, all out of regret and envy on Kastor’s fiancé’s part. Each argument always left Damen’s head spinning.

It took the chill of the mountain air rushing against his face to pull him back to reality. He and Nik had been in Cortina d’Ampezzo, a ski town in northern Italy, for just over a week. Today was their last day and they were using it to actually enjoy themselves as opposed to creating content. It’s why they were hitting their favorite ski slopes one last time and why there was cold wind ruddying Damen’s cheeks and why specks of snow were hitting his goggles, leaving them streaked with condensation.

Finally where the ground began to level out, Damen turned his legs, shifting them to just the right angle, before he allowed himself to slide and slow down to a gentle stop. Everything felt wobbly under his feet.

“Quit thinking about it.”

Damen looked up to see Nik who had been right behind him on the course. Nik was already pulling at his goggles, at his hat, and he shook his hair free of both bindings. His nose was red. Giving Damen a pointed look to back up his words, he waited a beat before moving to unbuckle his feet from the skis.

“I’m not thinking about it,” Damen said, copying Nik’s movements.

“Yes, you are. You almost veered off course back there.”

“But I didn’t.”

[Continue on AO3]

“You should really let me photograph you when you’re like this,” Nik said. “We can do a whole thing, call it ‘The Real Damen.’ Let everyone know you’re not always big smiles and no shirts, that sometimes you’re a pouty loser.”

“I’m not a pouty loser,” Damen argued, face screwing up with the insult.

“See,” Nik started quickly, snapping and pointing. “That face. Let me take a picture of that face and we’ll show off the human side of you.”

“You’re a dick,” Damen said. “And what do you mean ‘human side’ of me?”

Their feet crunched across the snow as they made their way back to the ski lodge they’d grown fond of in their week here. They’d grown so fond of it that they made sure to take plenty of pictures outside and inside of the place, of the food and drink offered, of the cute-as-a-button ski instructor who had freaked out upon seeing Damen the first time and who had shown them all the tricks to having a successful ski-filled week.

Just before walking in, Nik clapped Damen on the shoulder and said, “You know what I was thinking about while we were skiing? I was thinking about how you’re going to be lucky to even get a pity invite to your own brother’s wedding.”

“You’re a dick,” Damen repeated, but he was laughing. That was something they were both glad about.

Beyond their dinner reservations that night, Damen and Nik had no other plans for their last day in Cortina and so they spent it wandering aimlessly as opposed to how they wandered about the other seven days, like men on a mission. There wasn’t an urgent need to get content out given how their system worked. They were almost always two weeks ahead, minus the times that they needed to post in real time, though whether that came from posting on Damen’s Instagram story or from carefully, but quickly, edited shots Nik completed in double-time depended entirely on the ‘what’ and the ‘who.’

For the next few hours, they meandered around the streets doing the fun things that inspired them to do just this all those years ago. They ran inside local shops, seeing things that weren’t found in every store across the globe, they took in the talented musicians all along the streets – even in the snow – singing heart-pulling melodies, plucking at echoing strings, pounding on drums that were felt in one’s soul, and they ate so much finger food, making themselves nearly sick. Around them were the Dolomites, larger than life and covered in snow, and sometimes Damen looked up at them and remembered how cold it had been up there, how thin the air was. He also looked up and thought about how awesome those pictures were going to look once Nik got around to editing this stop.

By seven o’clock they were back at their hotel, the Hotel Miramonti, which was made famous for being in a James Bond film (For Your Eyes Only (1981) starring Roger Moore). For their final night, final photos, and for that once-in-a-lifetime thing that had been the inspiration for two teenagers’ bucket list, they decided to dress up for dinner in the best suits they could find in such a town and live it like they were James Bond...because you could do that when you were them.

“Do I look like I’m ready to fight international crime?” Damen asked, stepping out while artfully checking his cufflinks.

“You look like a tool,” Nik deadpanned.

“That’s at least the fifth time you’ve been mean to me today” Damen said. He swiped their room card, tucking it into his black leather wallet, and elbowed Nik as they exited the room. It was cold outside in the mountains in January and Damen was grateful for the coat he’d gotten here as well. He shoved his hands into his pockets, watching as air left from his mouth and rose to form clouds in front of his face.

“Only the fifth time? I’m slacking then,” Nik said. They walked in silence, letting the feeling of being in this place wash over them. Cortina was lively at night. Its restaurants and shops were full of laughter and song, people warming their hands near fires and their blood with alcohol, and Damen wondered how many of these people came here every year and how many were first time visitors, equally as awed by the beauty as he was.

Nik was a step behind him, had been a step behind him all day really, and Damen tried not to dwell on it; but, given how his own conversation with his family had gone, he couldn’t help but think about Nik’s own. He was definitely acting like something was wrong, but he hadn’t said a word about any of it.

“Did your dad give you a hard time again?” Damen finally asked.

Nik huffed out a laugh, that familiar one that said everything he didn’t have to. Still, he said “Not as hard a time as your own gave you.”

A car full of young women drove by them and three of the girls had gloved hands extended out the windows, braving the cold for a ‘hello’ at two well-dressed strangers on the street and Damen, ever the charmer, yelled his own ‘hello’ back at them. They laughed as though he said something awfully funny.

There was a small bar just up the road that was clearly the place to be in Cortina on a Thursday evening. The line, careening out the door, was bubbling with impatience, excitement, and the desire for a packed room of body heat to fight the cold. Damen and Nik both watched as a couple talked animatedly to one another before she moved in, pressing what was clearly an ice-cold hand on her boyfriend’s forearm, making him jump. She laughed and he laughed and the guy behind them mocked them both.

“If this place we’re going to ends up being like that one restaurant back home, we should stop by here afterward and get something good,” Damen said.

“I still maintain that one place is lying about their Michelin star,” Nik said as agreement.

“When you’re a Michelin star restaurant with a three-star Yelp rating, something’s up,” Damen said. “Maybe we should change up everything and talk about food instead. We get real heated about food, I think it’d be great.”

Nik hummed and Damen turned, just so, to look at him. He had his phone in hand, eyes scanning the screen like a teenager waiting for someone to text them back. Damen hit him with an elbow, watching as Nik fumbled once to keep his phone from landing on the snow-wet ground.

“What’s up?”

“Nothing,” Nik said, pocketing his phone.

Damen shushed him. “You’ve been weird all day.”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Yeah, you have.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Nik,” Damen huffed.

Nik sighed deeply, his chest rising high underneath the fitted suit jacket, and he looked up to the sky, watching the cold air moved by the disturbance of warmth.

“Look,” he said after a moment’s pause. “I have something I want to talk to you about. It’s something I should have talked to you about weeks ago, but no time seemed right.”

Damen stopped right in the middle of the walkway they were on, but the few people anywhere behind them just walked on by as though not bothered by the brief interruption in their own journeys. “Spill.”

“No, it can wait until we’re on our way to –” Nik trailed.

“Well, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about at dinner. But let’s talk about this first,” Damen said.

“We need to get on the same page for where we’re going next,” Nik argued. “You know we’re a mess if we don’t have at least ideas in place before we get somewhere.”

“I know, but if whatever this is has you stressed, we should talk about it now.”

“Damen, come on, this is the first dinner we’ve had in seven days that’s not going to be cold by the time we eat it. Let’s just enjoy this, figure out our plans for –”

“I’ve got a few ideas.”

“Right. And then we’ll talk.”

The doors were opened for them because it was that kind of place and they were greeted by a too-gorgeous hostess and an equally stunning coat check attendant who both smiled at them in the dim lighting of the restaurant. They were led to their seats, the way between tables spacious, and just as they were about to sit, Damen put a hand on Nik’s forearm.

“Hang on,” he started. “You’re not bailing on me anytime soon, are you?”

Nik, with his lifetime of patience, didn’t roll his eyes, but the desire to do so was there.

“I knew it,” Damen said with the confidence of someone acting like they had it all figured out.

They ordered wine because they were in Italy and how could they not, and every item on the menu was so tempting Damen spent a good twenty minutes struggling to decide on just one. He decided to voice that fact out loud.

“I know that, at this rate, we’re going to be until the sun rises, but I could genuinely eat everything.”

“Well, choose one of the everything you could eat and get on with telling me about our next destination,” Nik said, having long decided on a nice risotto.

Taking Nik’s words to heart, Damen spent another minute or so finalizing a decision before landing on a bollito misto to pair well with the Barbera wine they had already drained a bottle of.

“Alright. I know we’ve been talking about exploring the more eastern parts of Europe, but given that I’d actually like to have the time to research it and to also not go there in the endings of winter, I’ve decided on a new place in a familiar country,” Damen explained. “Berlin.”

“Berlin?”

“Yes. We’ve spent time in Frankfurt and did that tour of Rothenburg a few years back, but it’s been some time since we’ve been to Germany and Berlin is full of things to do. I could also really do with some of that schnitzel we had that one time.”

“You don’t even remember the schnitzel,” Nik reminded him. “You were so drunk because we were there during Oktoberfest and you were competing against veteran Germans at their own holiday. I told you the schnitzel was good.”

“Well,” Damen started with a laugh, “then I’d like to try the schnitzel and remember it this time!”

They were about to start a meaningless bit of banter, something they always did, like brothers who couldn’t keep their mouths closed and their thoughts to themselves, when Nik’s phone rang, causing a few glances from other patrons in the restaurant. It wasn’t uncommon for them both to get a slew of phone calls throughout the day. They had plenty of family, friends, and acquaintances all around the world to keep them busy, and none of those categories included the times they got called for interviews or received offers from brands to advertise in their posts. When they were out like this though, they were both pretty good at giving their eyes and brains a rest from social media so Damen was surprised to see Nik’s hand jump to his phone as though it was a lifeline, or a ransom.

“I’ve got to take this,” he said after remembering to breathe, and he didn’t wait to get a ‘No problem!’ or ‘What’s going on?’ from Damen. Instead he quickly and politely stood from the table and excused himself out the door that led to the currently empty outdoor sitting area.

Damen couldn’t stop himself from leaning forward in his seat like a nosy ya-ya watching the neighbors from her open kitchen window. It was dark out and the lighting of the outdoor seating area was minimal given nobody was going to brave the cold just for dinner and a view; it made it hard to see Nik who was swathed in an already-dark suit. Still, Damen watched, hoping to see something akin to relief or peace or excitement or something good take over his best friend’s face and replace the anxiety that had been there as they had talked on their walk to the restaurant.

For the first few minutes, Damen, continuously sipping on his wine and munching on the bread sitting on the table, could just see him through the throng of people between their table and the door, through the smaller windows of the door itself, through the decorative greenery falling into perfect place just beyond the entrance. Nik was standing there, back to the window, with one arm up and holding the phone to his ear and the other crossed over his chest, hand clenching at the fabric of his newly rented suit. In the time it took Damen to order another drink and wait for its arrival, Nik moved, his walk and talk taking him out of Damen’s eyesight. So, Damen continued to sip on his drink, waiting.

And waiting. And waiting. And ordering another drink. And waiting. And waiting.

It was safe to say Damen’s head was appropriately fuzzy when Nik came back, goosebumps on the exposed skin of his wrists. Damen watched him carefully, looking for familiar signs of something good, but the only thing Damen could recognize was a thrumming anxiety he hadn’t seen since Nik hit the decline button on his acceptance to university all those years ago.

“What was that about?” Damen asked. The words felt heavy – no, furry – on his tongue.

When Nik finally looked up at him and took in the almost-emptied wine glass, he physically shook his head no, as though telling himself instead of Damen. “I’ll tell you later.”

“Are you sure?” Damen asked. The tablecloth was moving with the shaking of Nik’s leg.

“Yeah, it can wait.”

Even though Nik said it could wait, it clearly couldn’t. The remainder of dinner was tense. It felt weighed down by the phone call that had Nik all discombobulated. Damen had tried for conversation, had tried explaining plans for a stopover in Germany, but he was drunk, and things were coming out jumbled and Nik was only responding with disinterested sounding hums, so Damen stopped trying. He opted for more wine instead.

The walk back to the hotel was even worse than the remainder of dinner. Nik seemed to do everything he could to keep with the day’s pattern of staying one step behind Damen at all times and Damen was so focused on walking in a straight line that he couldn’t keep the energy about him to care, not until they were back at the hotel and attempting a climb up the staircase to their room. 407.

Damen tried swiping the room card once, twice, and he was too uncoordinated having exhausted all the energy on walking. Nik gently pried the card from Damen’s hands and, once inside, beelined straight for the bathroom, hands pulling at the suit that felt sweltering in northern Italy’s chilly January weather, and Damen sat down on one of the beds, fingers fumbling with the fine laces of his shoes. It seemed like an eternity until Nik came back out, the whole scene nearly identical to the one at dinner, but Damen had had time to come up with something to say this time, even if his brain was still fuzzy – furry? – with Barbera wine.

“Are you breaking up with me?” he asked, the laugh in his voice unavoidable with the wording, but the honest fear behind the words tangible.

“What?” Nik asked, incredulously. He looked a lot more comfortable, dressed as they usually did in shorts and a thin t-shirt. It was his old football tee from school, the number on the back almost completely faded and the lion of their team name not near as ferocious as it had once been.

“Did your family finally get to you? Did you finally get a real job? Are you going to be a salary man now? Are you going to wear a suit like the one tonight all the time?”

There was a beat, then two, and then Nik was laughing, the sound so wonderful after hours of strained silence. And it was such an infectious laugh – though whether that was because the situation was actually funny, because it was late in the evening, or because Damen was still drunk, he wasn’t sure – that Damen started to laugh too. They laughed so loud and so long that someone in a room next to them banged twice on the wall, shouting something indiscernibly Italian through their laughter.

“You really think I could give up all of this for a desk job back home?” Nik asked, though they both knew the question was rhetorical. They had talked about it enough in their travels for it to be too familiar a topic. “I’m not going anywhere. But you might after I tell you about that phone call.”

“Try me.”

Nik sat down across from him on the other bed, leg shaking like it had been at the restaurant. He looked like a man standing at the gallows, allowing himself to be subjected to his fate. And Damen was quite confused and continued to be confused even as Nik started to speak.

“Do you remember three months ago when we were in Morocco and I woke you up at three in the morning and dragged you out to take pictures until after the sun had risen?”

“I definitely remember that because I was not happy. You didn’t even let me get coffee.”

“Do you remember how you told me that that whole thing was really weird and the day after you said it was even weirder that I spent over twelve hours going through all the photos and getting them edited the way they needed to be?”

Damen hummed. “Yeah, you’re not usually that anal about it all.” Nik sighed heavily at him.

“I was finishing my portfolio to send to,” Nik sighted again, “well, a lot of places. Places in Paris. For Paris Fashion Week.”

The raising of Damen’s eyebrow said everything he didn’t have to and Nik put his hands out in an almost defensive manner, face mimicking Damen’s own of surprise, as though he was surprised by himself for saying it, for doing it.

“I know I’ve never shown interest in photographing the fashion world, but the opportunity can’t be overlooked. Especially if I want to stand out from the thousands, or millions, of social media photographers out there. I saw Lazar, that French photographer we ran into last year, talking about it and the impulsivity hit me.”

“You’re never impulsive,” Damen said.

“But I was.” Nik stood and moved to the window, eyes searching the barely illuminated night of Cortina. “I spent a day thinking about how I was submitting my type of work to a bunch of snobs in the fashion industry who don’t care about anything we do. Then I forgot about it. We were busy enough and it wasn’t the most important thing to be focused on, so it fell to the back of my mind. It wasn’t until I saw Lazar say Dior had called him that I started to try and brush it off as a lost opportunity, but two days later I got an email from a man named Estienne asking if I would be available for a phone call. A phone call from Etoile whose owner called at dinner and offered me an opportunity to come shoot for them.”

“Wait, which brand is Etoile?” Damen asked.

“You’ve seen them before. They were big in the news about two years ago for a floral design they did for their fall collection. They’re also the only all-male modeling and clothing agency in Paris,” Nik said.

“And they called you? They want you to come to Paris and photograph their models and their clothes during the,” Damen struggled for a moment to find a good comparison, “fashion Olympics?”

“Calm down,” Nik said, but he was smiling; he couldn’t help smiling. “Because this time is such a big deal for all the brands and because they get so many applications, they’ve called ten photographers back. They want us all to come to Paris early and attend a few photoshoots with their runway models. They want us to get to know them, to familiarize ourselves with the models and the fabrics. The owner says he believes photography is best when the subjects are familiar. After that, they’re going to choose four photographers to stay for fashion week.”

“Nik,” Damen said once. “Nik! This is amazing, this is –” he got up, coming up next to Nik at the window, and smacked him hard in the arm. “Why they hell didn’t you tell me sooner? Why didn’t you want to tell me tonight?”

“I didn’t want to tell you when I was putting it together because I didn’t want it to be a thing. You get intense about anything that could remotely be viewed as a competition and I didn’t want you getting caught up in something that, honestly, I thought had little opportunity to be a success. And then tonight I was just nervous for the call and then it happened, and I didn’t know how to tell you.”

“You didn’t know how to tell me you got offered the opportunity of a lifetime?” Damen asked incredulously.

“No, I didn’t know how to tell you that I’m going to be in Paris for at least a whole month,” Nik said. “I know you can do some of your own stuff, but also most of your ‘stuff’ is you doing shirtless workouts on your story. And while that keeps your followers, you’re a shit photographer and a whole month without new content might be too long. I was going to wait until I could contact a few people who could maybe meet up with you in a few places and be temporary fill-ins for me.”

“Dude,” Damen said, starting to laugh again. He smacked Nik’s shoulder even harder this time. “I don’t know what you’re talking about because I’m not going anywhere without you anytime soon.”

Nik’s eyebrows furrowed close together, wrinkling his forehead and squinting his eyes, and he looked ridiculous. “But it’s going to be an entire month, Damen. I don’t think you’ve stayed in the same place longer than a week since you came down with the flu while we were in Wales.”

“I’ve never had a reason to stay in one place longer than a week. But to miss out on seeing you around a bunch of highbrow models and their high maintenance lives? I’d regret that the rest of my life.”

It was Nik’s turn to smack Damen in the shoulder. His hit was harder than any of Damen’s had been, but Damen didn’t even flinch. He smiled, the smile of a proud brother that just watched his own kin graduate or a father having taught his child to ride a bicycle, and it made Nik turn away from him to hide his own smile.

“Besides, I think Paris has plenty to offer us for a month. I’m all about once in a lifetime opportunities and front row seats at Paris Fashion Week seems like one of those, even if I don’t quite get it. And who knows, Nik,” Damen said, getting Nik’s attention back on him. “It’s the city of lights, the city of love.” He waggled his brows. “Maybe we’ll finally get you a girlfriend and you can stop saying photography is your only love.”

Nik smacked him again.

Surprisingly, Nik fell asleep first just an hour later. It gave Damen time to come down from the wine, to let the chill from the room sober him up, and he laid there, letting his mind wander freely and his eyes get heavy when two far too sobering thoughts hit him at the same time.

Reaching under his own head, Damen pulled at the pillow and flung it with perfect precision so it hit Nik in the face with a resounding thwack, making Nik yelp and snuffle with a startle.

“Wha—?”

“Are we going to Berlin tomorrow or not?” Damen asked. “We never decided.”

“Yeah, that’s fine,” Nik said, definitely half-asleep and thinking of nothing but falling back to complete-sleep.

“Hey.” Damen threw another pillow with the exact same perfect precision.

“Damen, I swear to god,” Nik grumbled into the pillow that was now on top of his face.

“I’m mad at you.”

“About?”

“You’re doing something our families would consider worthwhile now,” Damen said. “This goes way beyond social media. Now my dad’s going to call me going ‘Why can’t you be more like Nik? Why don’t you have any skills beyond standing for pictures? Why do you insist on shaming the family name?’”

Nik was laughing. “Go to sleep, Damen.”

Damen was laughing too.

[joelmillerthirstqz]

Fill for this ask~

(slight liberty taken with request for reader to get excited about the shop; Ellie's working through sixteen-year-old, new-to-commitment-as-a-concept with Cat, pre-dina tattoo girlfriend, so i went with that)

Joel, y/n, and Ellie are all out on patrol and come across a small town. In the town, there’s an abandoned wedding dress shop. Y/n gets all excited and goes inside to see there are untouched wedding dresses. Joel’s slightly annoyed when y/n and Ellie want to try some on for fun. But then he sees y/n in a wedding dress and realizes he sees her as more than a friend.

yeah, of course I wrote with reference images up:

texture/sheerness/skirt shape/front dress ref back of dress ref, specifically the window-back with the little covered buttons up over the lower part of the hips

[I evade y/n as a convention like the plague, it’s really immersion crushing for me. However, I’ll edit it for your OC’s name if you hit the ask box, so.]

There's already a second chapter if you we want to get into this, comment or kudos and I'll get brave!

----

Ellie grimaces, scrunching her whole face. She looks across the main street of the town you’d come to scout out, Joel taciturn on his horse a few yards away, scanning storefronts and alleys.

“What?” you jerk your head to her sightline and back at her, unholstering your revolver on reflex. Your horse snuffles below you, hoofing at the ground. You can never tell if the creature is clueless, indifferent, or confident in his rider, but he would certainly be perturbed if there were infected.

“Dude, people had whole shops just for weddings?” Ellie asks, snorting derisively.

You follow her extended arm to the storefront she points to, a frilly off-white dress draped over a sunken model, glass from the smashed display window embedded.

“I mean, you had to have seen them in Boston, plenty of bored people with money,” you supply warmly. You’d grown up there, a cataclysm between the city you’d known and Ellie’s birthplace. Weddings were for people who’d given up, who’d aged out of chasing their dreams, settled into dull domesticity. People, usually the woman-coded partner, whose parents had quarter of a million to drop on a party with lifelong implications.

You’d been a little relieved when social ritual had been mostly taken off the table by the apocalypse, so the wedding pressure never reached you. Hadn’t thought about the concept in years.

You wondered who in Victor, Idaho, just over the border from Jackson, had kept a bridal shop open even before the outbreak. The demand just couldn’t match thousands of dollars of dress.

“Oh, no,” Ellie said softly.

“Well, it was a whole thing. Get some champagne, drag a bunch of girls with you, try on all the shapes and get yelled at by your mom, make jokes about the wedding night. Mostly pointless rituals,” you explain.

“You ever go to one?” Ellie asks.

“I mean, I was my cousin’s bridesmaid, so I got drunk in one and shoved into a blue satin thing, if that counts,” you clarify, shifting in your saddle.

Ellie nudges Shimmer forward, Joel drawing up to your position with a helpless shrug to you.

“It was strange. Were you in Jackson for Tommy’s?” you ask. Maria and Tommy still have that thing where they see each other and tune everything else out, even for a beat, seeming like every sense recognizes the other, no matter what else they’re doing. It feels so belligerently normal, and you watch the younger couples in the town taking note to emulate it, like they knew what they were doing because they were born before.

“No,” Joel says, looking wistful. “Seen pictures,” he adds.

“Imagine they were a bigger deal in Texas,” you say, your horses trotting a few paces behind Ellie.

Joel looks at you, face cycling through the decision to keep speaking, the same circuit you always saw him loop before he bit down on a memory and fell silent. You let the afterimage of a smile cross your face before looking down, feeling like he needs the same privacy he’d proven skilled at respecting in your own expression.

—Yesterday—

“Ask you a favor?” you feel your bones leave your body and slam back into place with fear, registering Joel’s low drawl. You’d groggily found your way into the stables to start patrol, hoodie tucked over a beanie, praying not to be seen. Nobody was supposed to be awake this early—you were avoiding a less experienced, loquacious patrolmate you’d been sentenced to and your throat clasps around itself to find that the previous night’s team, Joel’s, was only just returning.

“How bad was it?” you tip your head at the blood spatter on the side of his jacket, reddened bucket and sponge set where he’d been cleaning the infected byproduct off of his horse.

“Oh, I straggled, rest gone home. Patrol route’s quiet now, though,” he non-explains. You’re not sure if he’s trying to keep his voice low out of respect for the early hour or if that’s just his usual rumbling tone resounding it in the stark, chilly air.

“Mhm. What’s the favor?” you ask, busying yourself with saddling your own horse.

“About scouting that town for the group to search, tomorrow. Ellie’s comin’ and…” he trails off, looking at the wood-plank wall, blinking an eye at the fierce early morning sun beaming through a sliver.

You’ve learned not to rush him, learned he’s easier to talk to with his hands full, and he finishes scrubbing off his horse’s bridle while you tack up your own.

“She talks to you, easier,” Joel admits, face obscured behind his horse, taking his time to brush through the animal’s fur, obliviously slurping hay into its mouth before crinkling it in its teeth.

“Huh?” you ask, marvel of articulation that you are.

“Ellie, she’s more talkative,” he repeats himself.

“No, I mean, what?”

You hear a sigh and he leans around his horse, hands on his hips.

“Please?” he asks, slightest edge of irritation at having to say more than he’d practiced. It's all insecurity, not directed at you, but you bristle anyway.

“Alright. It’s your business, but I’ll lend my girl talk instinct,” you prod with bite, stuffing your foot into a stirrup and swinging a leg up onto Clover, who’d been named before you got to Jackson. Your emotional labor threshold never existed, and Joel was fucking pushing it.

“That’s not what I meant,” he sounds defeated as you look down at him, Clover slowing helpfully. His eyes look full, and you peer at him. He looks a little vulnerable—even if your worst anxieties read it as him noticing that you squint to avoid looking at his mouth—which is parted a little, black beard flecked with, for you, exactly the correct amount of grey. Joel rubs his lips together three times, quick, the way you’d seen when he wanted to stop talking at town meetings, shy of the eyes on him.

You soften, aware you’re irritable from lack of sleep and scarcity of good caffeine. You look ahead, reins creaking in your gloves conspicuously in the still space.

“Owe me a beer when I’m back tonight, okay?” you nod at him and press into Clover’s flank as Joel silently assents, focus snapping back to brushing out his horse. You risk looking back as Clover picks up, relieved and let down to see Joel doggedly focused on his task. You’d taken to drinking with the other patrolmen in the Tipsy Bison, edging into something resembling a social life borne of something like mutual responsibility. The group repeatedly made plain his welcome over the last few months until Joel had started to show up routinely, even murmuring a few words here and there, coming to the point that you’d notice when he wasn’t there.

—

“Okay but, why, though?” Ellie paws at a veil as you enter the store, pompous fabric ballooning halfway down the mannequin’s back.

“Dunno, it’s what people wore. I think that was for modesty, symbolically. Only went to a couple. My friends never hit the ‘wedding season’ stride. Too young,” you explain, your senior year of college on outbreak day. A look crosses Joel’s face and he spins the barrel of his revolver, leaning against the counter, trying to look busy checking the register, just in case something helpful lingered.

“Go try one on, Ellie,” you try, unsure what the sixteen-year-old is working through. Her attention hasn’t drifted to the next shops to explore, yet, so it clearly matters.

“Not for me,” she protests, hands raised. “Will you?”

You laugh ruefully, years away from the last time you’d put on something close to a dress, much less something formal, and you'd certainly never thought about being a bride. Not materially.

“C’mon, I’ve never seen like, a normal human in one,” Ellie pouts. You narrow your eyes for a second, lightly dubious.

“That’s not the best idea,” Joel grouses next to you, looking over both his shoulders like he was expecting an ambush even though it had been placid the whole way up here. Two of your three horses nudge each other for space near the tree you’ve secured them too, whinnying.

“I’ll keep my boots on for running. And you’ll keep a lookout,” you reply blithely, rolling your eyes at him.

“Yell for help!’ Ellie still discovering nuptial detritus she’d seen alluded to in comics at most.

You busy yourself finding something not set through with rot, moving towards the back of the store. Ellie swings open a display case and picks up a circular, springy fabric, a pale blue garter, squinting with the effort of discernment.

“Were the hair tie things a thing for a reason?” Ellie asks Joel, looping the blue-ribboned elastic around her wrist for later. Joel’s eyes widen in horror, ready to run towards the nearest infected to avoid explaining the whole garter thing to Ellie.

A second, more frigid wave hits him, remembering his own wedding day, Tommy helping him get just drunk enough to go through with the embarrassing ritual that complemented the bouquet toss. Sarah’s mom had loved all the stupid little wedding-day-things, though, so he’d accepted the shot(s) his brother snuck him and was grateful his red face would be under a skirt. He’d barely been eighteen, doing the right thing with Sarah’s mom pregnant, and two-years-younger Tommy held it together for him the whole day. He thought of not being here for the day his little brother had gotten hitched, a candid Polaroid in focus in the reel of guilt he’d built for himself these last twenty-some years. Tommy looked like his brother as he was before in it, looking up Maria with rapt awe as he accepted her hand to be led back to the dance floor. The crinkling at the corner of his eyes, though older, looked like Tommy again, and the joy Joel felt for him was dulled by the impossibility of ever speaking enough words to draw a partner near.

“Joel?” she pokes, twanging the elastic a little to jar him. He eyes it warily, expression the most intimidated you'd ever seen him.

You trudge past Ellie, awkwardly dragging a plastic-encased parcel of a voluminous dress, the best-preserved and least yellowed you’d found. You really didn’t relish the idea of figuring out how to get it on alone, but seeing their exchange, you fully self-preserved your way away from that particular explanation to the changing space.

“Fuck me,” you grimace, noticing the trail of covered buttons leading from the open mid-back to the very last point it could presentably grace between the dimples on your back. Wrestling this on would be a chore.

Before you shuck everything but your boots and socks, you try to smooth your hair down, the moss-flecked mirror of the changing space indicating how hopeless it is. You re-strap your pistol holster to your thigh, an overabundance of caution rubbing off on you from Joel's mere anxious proximity.

You look at your reflection a minute, appraising heavy breasts, softer hips than before. You’re proud that your abdomen and arms remain taut and toned from a combination of riding and patrolling, sprinting for your life, and helping around Jackson. For once in your life, you fall asleep at night when you hit the pillow, naked and alone, no longer captive of the ceiling’s backlighting of unidentifiable darting thoughts. Blinking your musing away, you remember how your cousin’s bridal attendant had made a circle of the dress for her to step into, and do your best to prepare it so you can slide it up and ask Ellie to help.

—

Ellie slingshotted the something-blue at Joel’s face as he finished explaining the garter tradition, hushing her ferociously and finally placing both palms over his whole face, crossing and re-crossing his ankles where he leant against the counter, rifle over his shoulder.

Ellie rolled her eyes, haughtily full of recent knowledge of thighs and what they connect to from Cat, fern and moth tattoo freshly peeling over her acid burn.

—

“Ellie!” you call once the skirt is over your hips, bodice with laced cap sleeves over your shoulders. You feel a little bad stepping past the carefully sewn fabric in your hiking boots and high socks, grimy from the trail’s dust, trying to hold it up while keeping the bodice straight.

She smiles wryly as her head pokes around the corner.

“I’ll help if you tell me if people really launched their bouquets at people and one person really pulled a—uh, shit, uh, thigh lingerie thing—off of the bride in front of everyone?”

You honk a laugh, a horrible sound, thinking of the velocity with which you’d seen Ellie launch bricks, knowing she has no sense of the soft lob of flowers at friends that she refers to. You guess she's picturing a full-bodied overarm spike ending in flower shrapnel instead of the over-the-shoulder choreography towards the bride's most single friend that happened in reality. You clasp the delicate buttons at your lower back together as best you can with your palms.

“Sounds like that was regionally universal in America, yeah, but—”

“Holy shit,” Ellie comments, suddenly shuddering in a very teenage, possibly exaggerated ripple of disgust. “Looked like a hair tie,” she mutters.

“Just—please help,” you hold the tulle and hand-cut lace near the buttons out to her.

“Wow, this was for everyone to see you in?” Ellie asks, alluding to the sheer fabric that gave the impression that the lace filigrees were directly applied to your skin. Asymmetrical, hand-sewn flowers cinch around your breasts and middle when she finally secures it.

You turn to the angled three-part mirror, noticing where your epaulet tattoo complicates the sheer effect the designers intended by the lace, nose bunching up. Not the flesh of the intended buyer of this thing, for sure.

“Come on, in the light!” Ellie goads gently.

Bracing to self-deprecate, you tuck your hair up in one hand and hold the front of the dress up and away from your muddy boots. You and outward, finding the weird little podium that was apparently customary—you remember your cousin twirling on it a similar one in delight when she’d found the right dress.

“Yeah, fuck, I can’t do this for long,” you bristle, feeling ungainly in the garment, dropping the skirts around your feet.

“And you’d just walk up to someone and kiss them in front of everyone and that worked?” Ellie prattles, tailing you closely.

Joel’s retreated to the store entrance, hunting rifle comfortable in his hands but pointedly ready.

He turns in the middle of running some sort of ten foot patrol route along the length of the store’s entrance, inevitable that he’d face you eventually. You realize he’s just pacing, the town quiet, stuck in a situation he accidentally created.

Ellie gives you a look that looks through you, and you recognize the contemplation in it. She’s thinking of someone, and what formalizing intimacy means, probably. Certainly where your mind was at around her age. Fuck, you’d not go back to sixteen for all the pre-outbreak world.

“I’m gonna go check the horses,” she mumbles, maybe in her own head, maybe more deliberate than that.

Your eyes bulge as you realize you’re stuck in this fucking thing and Ellie’s across the street.

You turn to Joel with a prepared face, tugging your dimples into a self-effacing “look at this shit” face.

“Wanna try one on?” you jab first, trying to get there before Joel can make this worse, more stupid. He’d kind of asked you, or asked for a favor that led to this, so you felt contented blaming him for it. You definitely will if his slight over-caution is vindicated and you get rushed by anything hostile while you're wearing this. Your holster may feel comforting, but the weight of the skirt would put a real drag on any reflexes you had if you actually needed your pistol.

Joel halted at the midpoint of his circling, rifle slack in his hands, hanging limp before him. The light from outside rings his form, broad shoulders and imposing frame worn uneasily in his posture.

His mouth parts the way it had when you’d ridden past him in the stables, chest expanding and falling in quick iterations, hazel eyes stranded on you.

You breathe as you hold his eyes, unable to back down from any time he proved capable of holding direct eye contact. Now that you had it, you realized you’d been teasing it out of him for months, forcing him to look right at you, any creative way you could, driving him up the wall.

Joel might as well have been waist-deep in water for how slowly he moves towards you.

“Sorry, not meaning to bring up anything—” you swallow the word painful, revising quickly, “from before,” you finish weakly. Gold star, idiot. You had no idea, but what if it had been a wife he’d lost? Fuck’s sake. Though, Ellie wouldn't be cruel like that—

Joel shakes his head absently, dismissive. He was run aground, captive to taking you in. The dress made no overtures to performative modesty, sheer tulle slits up to the edge of your hipbones, catching on your holster where you shift. Joel assesses the fabric spread over your chest quickly, mouth upturning too subtly for you to feel 100% confident you’d seen him do it. You’d seen him get the lay of a whole horde in a split second, and stood curious what it was he’d noted from the two and a half seconds his eyes drifted over you.

“‘m here, now,” he mumbles, looking down and pulling the bolt back, a dull click as it confirmed he’d chambered this particular round ten times in the last five minutes. If a weapon could sound exasperated with him, it did, and he jerks his head without turning it to Ellie’s retreating form.

Joel’s mind sprints between stations, picking up an artifact of your expression at each one: your body, your easy conversations on patrol, fumbling between them all, not sure where to start.

Ellie wasn’t far enough away for Joel to start this now, to cross the shop and kiss you, podium leveling you to the perfect height for him to lean into, hands on your face. Something in his posture looks ready to move quickly, and it's not to use the weapon his knuckles whiten around.

The edges of his eyes pinch, like he’s struggling to make sense of an indescribable noise. The tendon running from your ear to collarbone stands out as you look to the side, pretending to appraise the way the dress fits over your hips, snugly buttoned. Joel’s face shifts from startled to starved while you take reprieve from his focus.

Your furrowed brows while you watch Joel watch you spark understanding of the mechanics of a constant, firm draw towards your person. He’s recognizing you as more than a formidable shot he can be at ease with, not just a pleasant confidante with different but complementary pre-outbreak life experiences and a healthy sense of privacy.

Joel glances down one more time, catching your eyes on the way back up as he clears his throat, finding you looking at him sheepishly. He hadn’t tried to say a word in minutes.

“I’m. I’m stuck in here. Ellie—” you stammer, face reddening viciously. This was going to be a long, tiring patrol excursion, and you worried you had already made it weird.

You idly wonder where he might put his hands on you if you were alone, right now, and your terror is visible as the thought drifts by. If he would.

Joel doesn’t look back at Ellie where you’d normally expect a concerned jolt at her name, hazel eyes heatedly dark. You can chalk it up to the dimmed interior of the shop, but enough sunlight streams in to make you doubt its just the environment.

Grimacing at a clearly out-of-earshot Ellie, you need to be out of this fucking thing and redouble.

“Joel, can you? I feel bad ripping it and would really like my jeans again,” you offer weakly.

Joel’s fingertips, fingertips you wish you didn’t know were callused and so goddamn cautious when they’d had the occasion to meet yours, flex on his gun.

“Not sure I know how to, I mean, those seem—special?” he stammers at the prospect, you having turned to bare your back to him.

Joel breathes in a way you can hear on the silent street, usually so contained.

She’s just helping you see the buttons. Joel thinks, counting out twelve of them, in total.

Joel steadies his gaze, tipping his head forward and choosing to take in the slope of your back, mostly bare and deep-dipping expanse scantly wreathed in lace. His face looks like he’s staring something potentially fatal down, gritted jaw muscles pulsing. He steps towards you, though. He’d never done anything in the right order, not Sarah, not with Tess, not a bit, one single time. Might as well get you dress off before he can even get the courage to kiss you.

Slinging his rifle’s strap over his shoulder, Joel keeps his fingers at a careful angle, purposefully not against your skin. Pushing the top button through the satin loop containing it, he steps up on the podium with you, only because it puts his lips well out of an easy distance to drag along the nape of your neck. Hoping he can feel his way down the buttons without touching or looking at you, he fails three buttons down, knuckles brushing the bottom of your spine.

You laugh nervously, looking back at Joel. Every part of your core is twining into a spiral, abdomen first, then a layer deeper, then a clench you won’t register because then you’d have to admit that something was going on.

For his part, his dark brows are furrowed in effort, decidedly back in the realm of watching every movement to avoid the electrocution he’d just experienced from grazing you. Now was the time for accuracy, not speed.

Joel takes in your little cap sleeves between buttons, down to the eighth of twelve. The hand-cut lace outlines your shoulders, leading to lean skin below, dipping lower in the front than he should be noticing now that you’ve turned away from him—but he’s too tall to miss it once you’re standing on level ground. He wonders what you would do if he pulled you against him now, back pressed to his front, his mouth on your neck before your own.

‘Thank you,” Joel says.

You crane your head to meet his eyes again, hands pressed to opposite shoulders to prevent the now-loosened dress from slipping all the way. Maybe you didn’t need the rest of the buttons, but there they went. You blink at him, wondering what would happen if you leaned against him.

“What?” you feel all wrapped in half-fabric, half-suggestion, no idea what the fuck he means.

“For comin’,” he gives. “Didn’t, uh, thanks for…” he trails off, so unaccustomed to indirectness and illocution that he doesn’t know what to call it. He clears his throat.

Joels hits the tenth button and breathes deep, flicking through the last two like he’s reloading, stepping back to reclaim his rifle and get so, so many feet away from you.

You turn to him, holding the weighty dress flush against your skin with both hands.

Joel’s chest is rising and falling every three seconds in rapid cycles, peculiar as you’d patrolled enough together to hear how he can silence his breath, the infrequent draws of someone yards underwater. He either can’t control this or made a choice to stop, and you can only think that the rust colored plaid he’d worn today was truly nice on him.

The rest of your scouting trip is deafeningly quiet, like Joel riding next to you and his surly expression produce volume equivalent to standing under a roaring set of falls. Ellie punctures it every few minutes with an attempted joke and you can almost feel Joel groan before you hear it each time, thoughtful.

Notes:

Here's the meta you didn't ask for

In current 2020, hard to see in weddings as anything other than class signifiers/routes to wife-n’ up, but:

holy shit does the apocalypse , esp. Tommy’s hope-imperative thing, make room for meaningfully coded rituals and aspirational ideologies not hijacked by the wedding industry’s profit motive.

Joel’s coming from the context of a wife who left Joel alone because having Sarah ruined her young life, so his view of it is understandably dismissive. Reader was more interesting to make opposite—college-aged asshole without responsibilities on Outbreak Day, less room for traditions.

But: Jackson is frozen in time and CRAVES ritual. Where it was meaningless in a world of abundance, you need markers of the years and ways to say “that person is my person;" it's joy as resistance.

For instance, something about Christmas hits different when you’re not fist fighting consumers for prelit trees after scuttling past a Salvation Army Santa in a mall. Jackson feels so sincere, every decoration scavenged or hewn with love, with purpose and forethought.

There’s joy in scarcity and glut in abundance is my point, I guess. Joel gets that on a basic level, even though he’s obstinate as hell about letting himself have anything good or even open to the idea.

[kittinoir]

Echoes of You Ch. 17

Read on Ao3

Her heart pounds in her ears, echoing the sound of her footsteps on cobblestone. She forces herself not to run, even as panic and adrenaline urge her to hurry, hurry, but she knows nothing will draw his attention like a mouse scurrying for cover.

That is, if he even knows who she is.

She can’t be sure, but that monster, that thing, cornered her too close to home for her to rest easy. Her ribs still ache from how it surprised her. It’s terrifying, because it shouldn’t hurt, but in the end her bruised ribs are what spurred her to leave her house so late. They are a testament to her nemesis’ strength, an unavoidable truth that he is stronger than her and he will not rest and until he’s ripped her earrings from her ears and a name from her lips.

If it were anyone else, she might have been able to withstand the storm.

But love has made her reckless and desperate to change her fate. It may not be enough. As she passes through shadow after shadow she racks her mind for any other answer, any other hope. She wishes she could ask for advice, but she’s already relinquished her companion, hidden her away. Besides, she knows if she puts those earrings back on she won’t be able to take them off a second time. The plan is in motion; any disruption now could mean disaster. She can not hesitate. She won’t.

She stumbles to a stop as the mansion comes into view.

She hadn’t thought out this part. She pulls her hood closer around her face. Even so, it might be enough - but it has to be, or this is all for nothing.

As she watches, a figure appears outside the stone wall, half in shadow, like her. A glint of blonde hair catches the light off a streetlamp and she can’t believe her luck, though it’s been her domain for more than a year now. It makes sense; he should just be coming off patrol now. It’s careless to detransform on the street like he must have, but she knows how strict his father can be. She’s had three weeks to get used to the idea, but she still can’t quite reconcile it. If anything, though, his appearance out here on the street is proof. How else could he flout his iron-clad schedule?

This is it. The beginning of the end of everything. She has to stop him now, before he disappears inside the gate and she can convince herself she tried.

‘Adrien!’

She sees him stop, sets him turn as she she hurries across the street, stepping into shadow with him. She should tell him. It’s what every fibre of her being is screaming at her to do. Tell him, and figure out a new plan together. 

But she knows he won’t let her follow through on her plan, and she knows she’ll let him stop her, because she would give anything for a different answer. In that moment, she commits to her course of action. She can do this for Paris. She can do this for him.

‘What - ’

‘I don’t have time,’ she cuts him off. She has to do this, now, before he realizes what she’s doing. ‘I… I wrote everything down in the tablet. Give the earrings to Chloe Bourgeois. I know it doesn’t make sense right now, but trust me on this. There’s good in her, and… I’m sorry. I’m sorry. If love were enough, I’d still be here. But it’s not, and this is the only way I can… I’m sorry. Goodbye…Adrien…”

She stretches up on her toes and kisses his cheek, the barest feathering of her lips on his skin. As she does, she shoves the box and the tablet into his arms, hard enough to make him stumble back. Then she runs. 

She runs until she is sure he isn’t following her, until she is sure he would have gone inside, until she is fairly certain there is no going back. And then she gives it all up.

‘I, Marinette Dupain-Cheng, former Ladybug and guardian of Paris, hereby relinquish the Miracle Box and name Adrien Agreste the new guardian.’

Marinette groaned as her eyes popped open. They felt dry, and she blinked a few times as she reached for her phone to check the time. The display read 2:35 am. She let the phone drop as she twisted into a more comfortable position, but between the moon shining through her skylight and the flickering, fading images of her nightmare, her body had decided she was awake.

“Fine,” she grumbled, flipping the covers back. She climbed down to her room and flicked on the lights, careful to roll her chair silently across her floor as she settled down by her dress. Extra cash for extra fabric was all well and good, but it also meant extra hemming. Given the design, it all had to be done by hand. And that meant hours of extra work.

As Marinette threaded her needle, she couldn’t help but glance at her open window and the plate she’d left there. She knew what she’d see before she looked, but she couldn’t stop hope from springing up anyway. It frayed into frustration and embarrassment as she took in the untouched plate. She’d spent the better part of a year and a half chasing after Adrien, and as soon as she started to even think of someone else, they…

Well, they broke her heart.

It had been like that for over two weeks now. At first she’d thought Chat Noir just hadn’t had the time until four nights ago when she’d seen his silhouette bounding across the Notre Dame on patrol. He hadn’t even paused. Not that he had, to, she’d reminded herself. They barely knew each other, hadn’t made any promises. 

So why did it sting so much?

“It doesn’t matter,” Marinette reminded herself as she took up the hem. “It was just a silly little crush. It wasn’t even real. It just makes things easier, really.”

Besides, it wasn’t his fault if she imagined something that wasn’t there. And anyway, Alya was always swearing up and down that Chat Noir was in love with Ladybug. When she’d shown Marinette the pictures, she’d had to agree with her friend. Even if it wasn’t obvious to the super heroine, it was obvious to her.

“Ughhhh!” Marinette jabbed the needle into the mannequin and leaned back, covering her eyes with the palms of her hands. “Why? Why am I such a disaster?!”

“I don’t think you’re a disaster.”

Marinette sat up so fast she almost fell off her chair. “You! What are you doing here?”

Chat Noir cocked an eyebrow as he slowly bit down on a macaron. “I thought I had a standing invitation? Or did I misread the open window and plate of goodies? Though I feel I should warn you, as far as keeping people out goes, that only officially works on vampires.”

Marinette bit her lip, taking a chocolate chip cookie from the plate when he offered it. “I thought you weren’t coming by anymore,” she admitted. “Not that you have to, or that I want you to; you can do what you want, it doesn’t bother me, it’s fine, I’m fine.”

Those impossibly green eyes darted to the ground, then back up to her face as his smile faltered.

“I was…afraid to come here,” he admitted, setting the plate down.

“Afraid?” She knew the heroes were just people, but she’d never imagined Chat Noir afraid of anything. “Afraid of what?

“Not ‘of what’,” he said, twisting on the sill so his legs were dangling into her room. “For you.”

The words sent a chill skittering down Marinette’s spine. “For me?”

He nodded. “Hawkmoth has been… no.” He ran a hand through his blonde hair in frustration. “You know the senti-monsters that have been popping up the past three weeks?”

Marinette nodded. “One attacked Alya and Nino.”

“One also attacked Chloe Bourgeois,” Chat Noir said. “I think Hawkmoth is trying to hunt down Ladybug.” All members of Paris’ super hero team.

“But why?” Marinette asked with a shiver. “You guys always show up when there’s an akuma, why would he be…”

“Because that’s not Ladybug.”

The precipice yawned in front of Marinette. This time it felt like the ground crumbled under her feet, and she was falling, falling, falling.

“What do you mean?”

Chat Noir dropped into her room, pacing silently on the floor. “It’s…complicated. But Ladybug gave up being Ladybug and gave the earrings to someone else in order to protect someone. I think Hawkmoth knows that, and I think he’s hunting her down by attacking members of our team, trying to find a weak point.”

Marinette flexed her fingers, trying to work some warmth back into them. “And…what does that have to do with me?”

“Don’t you get it, Marinette?” Chat Noir dropped to a knee in front of her, snatching up her hands as though he could convey the urgency of his fear through touch alone. “You’re part of that team. No one but me knows you’re Multimouse. And if I lead one of the monsters to your door… I would never forgive myself if something happened to you because of me. Not after everything…”

Marinette leaned forward and cupped Chat Noir’s cheek, running a thumb along his cheekbone.  “It’s ok,” she said softly, wanting more than anything to ease the burden he must be feeling. “I’m ok. I understand.”

“I have to ask you something,” he said, “Even though I have no right, I…”

“You’re my friend,” Marinette said with a small smile. “You have every right. Ask me.”

He squeezed her hands once, then let go. “I don’t want you to wear a Miraculous again,” he said softly, unable to meet her eyes as he spoke. “It’s not about your skill. You’re one of the best team mates we have, and I can see why my Lady chose you, but…”

I’m afraid for you.

“Chat Noir.” She waited until he met her eyes again. “If the roles were reversed - if it were me out there everyday, fighting to protect Paris, and I asked you not to help, would you?”

Pain flashed across his face but he answered honestly. “No. Not if I could. But it’s different, Marinette. You don’t even know me.”

“I do,” she promised, pulling him to his feet as she stood. This close she could feel the warmth of his body next to hers. She was acutely aware of the few inches separating them. “I know you’re brave, and selfless, and kind. I know you’re funny, but you also use jokes because you’re afraid. You take on too much and you don’t like to ask for help, and when you love someone, it’s with your whole heart. I would guess the only thing I don’t know about you, Kitty, is your name.” 

“How do you do that?” he whispered, searching her face.

“Do what?” Marinette asked. She tilted her head back, her heart skipping as Chat Noir laced his fingers with hers.

“See through everything,” he murmured, “See me.”

“Almost everything…” she said, reaching up to trace the edge of his mask. “Just lucky I guess.”

His lips crashed into hers, one arm around her waist, the other in her hair as he pulled her in, like he’d thought of nothing else for days. Marinette wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him tighter. Tingles raced over her skin. She couldn’t get a breath in, but she didn’t care. She tangled her fingers in his hair and heard him moan in response. She liked it. She wanted to hear more.

But he abruptly broke away from her, falling back against the window. Cold rushed in where his body had been pressed against hers moments ago.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” he said, but he ran his tongue over his lips like he could still taste her on them. “I was supposed to be making sure you were safe, not endangering you more. I shouldn’t have… I should go.”

“Don’t.” The sound broke from Marinette before she could stop it. “I…I know things are complicated. I don’t expect anything, but please. Don’t go. Don’t disappear on me.”

“I would never do that,” Chat Noir said. He straightened as though he would reach for her again, but seemed to think better of the idea. “I just…don’t want to be the reason you get hurt.”

“I understand,” Marinette said. She took one step, then another, until she was standing in front of him again. “I’m asking you to trust me. Do you?”

“More than anyone else,” he said softly. “Stay safe?”

“I’ll do my very best,” Marinette promised, “Though you should know I’m the clumsiest person in the whole city, so you’re kind of asking a lot.”

She leaned in, slower this time, giving him time to stop her if he wanted to.

Instead he tilted his face, meeting her half way in a kiss that was much more gentle than their first, a tentative beginning. She broke away after a moment, but instead he just leaned his forehead against hers, eyes closed, as though trapped in her gravity.

“Good night, Marinette.” He placed a soft kiss on her forehead, the faintest brush of his lips against her skin. “Sweet dreams.”

He pulled away again and disappeared through her window into the night. Marinette watched him go as long as she could until his shadow finally disappeared from view. She placed a hand over her heart as she turned back to her room and flicked off the light, suddenly exhausted, but paused to trace a finger over her lips. 

So much, she thought, for things being easier.

[penciltopbear]

OKAY I’ve been thinking about Tasky and tma stuff even though I’m not caught up at all and I’ve come to the conclusion that Taskmaster is SUPER hard to pin down entity-wise so I’ve compiled my thoughts for and against each entity. Disclaimer that despite this being all I ever talk about I am by no means an expert on either tma or Taskmaster and will probably misremember a lot of stuff so please feel free to tell me what you think! Also I’m gonna be taking some of these points from @lhassinu so hi :)

Under a cut because I have a lot of thoughts

These aren’t ordered based on compatability or whatever it’s just based on what order the wiki has them 

The Buried 

For: He has a fear of drowning, one that was fairly pervasive in his childhood

Against: While he does have a fear of drowning, it’s not an overwhelming fear, especially since he has taken specific measures to minimize that fear so that it isn’t an issue. He doesn’t have any other fears associated with the buried, nor any financial issues, and I mean. Let’s be real here. Buried would be the lamest entity to go with. The man kills people for a living and wears a cool cape and you want to go with the fear named Too Close I Cannot Breathe? Lame. Moving on.

The Corruption

For: There really isn’t much in the way of support for this one. The closest you can really get is that he seems to have a general aversion to rot and decay, but nothing beyond a normal reaction. You could maybe spin something out of his best friend hanging around ants, but that’s a stretch. 

Against: Like I said, not much for it in the first place. Aside from a lack of strong fear towards most of the Corruption’s manifestations, he also doesn’t have the need for love that people like Jane Prentiss had; there’s no way that something like what happened in Love Bombing would happen to him. In fact, he actively betrays most of his friends and doesn’t get especially attached to anything or anyone.

The Dark

For: Some parallels can be drawn between the Dark and the Abyss, namely the whole cult thing, and Tasky seemed vulnerable to the Abyss, so there’s some evidence that would suggest that he would align himself with the Dark/The People’s Church. There’s also the fact that, given his line of work, darkness can be incredibly advantageous for stealth missions.

Against: While there’s some support for aligning with the Dark out of love or something similar, there’s little in the way of fear. A big part of the Dark is the unknown, what can be lurking beyond, but Taskmaster just would not give a shit. He’s far too confident in his abilities to have anything more than mild caution.

The Desolation

For: Tasky has no aversion towards destroying people’s lives if it means making a quick buck, and he has definitely set fire to quite a few things.

Against: Despite that, however, he doesn’t necessarily enjoy doing those things. It’s more of a means to an end, that end being money, and it would take quite a bit of provocation before he would take the initiative and do it for free. The Desolation, much like the Corruption, also tends to pull in people with a need for companionship, people who want to be a part of something, which Tasky just doesn’t care about. Plus, while he’s not afraid of setting fire to things, it’s not a common enough occurence to really warrant devoting himself to a cult about it, ya know?

The End

For: There are a few obvious ties, namely the fact that he does kill people a lot and he utilizes imagery closely tied to the End in the way of his Skull mask. He also has a fear of dying, at least to a small extent. After all, you can’t really be a mercenary without a healthy fear of death. It’s possible that, if he were to die, he would choose to serve the End rather than go quietly.

Against: That being said, he’s also far too cocky to really be afraid of dying, at least enough for him to turn to the end while he’s still kicking. And, again, he doesn’t kill for pleasure often, it’s just a job. 

The Eye

For: This one works really well in the context of Unthinkable. I tend to ignore Unthinkable for reasons I’ve gone over in the past and don’t care enough to talk about right now, but it definitely plays into the whole “need to know even if it could destroy you” thing. Aside from that, there is also his drive to constantly be acquiring new skills, and he keeps records of different fighting styles on tapes. In a way, he’s sort of like the Archivist, but instead of cataloging fear, he catalogs actions and behaviors. 

Against: This man hasn’t stepped foot in a library since middle school and he can’t remember shit. Whether or not he knows how to read is questionable

The Flesh

For: There’s really not much here. If you’re reaching, you might be able to make something out of him being something of a butcher, but you can’t get anything super concrete. 

Against: Piles of meat is just sort of part of the job, he’s not gonna be bothered by it much. Plus, he’s seen so many weird people in his line of work that he’s not gonna bat an eye at someone like Jared Hopworth, no matter how grotesque their body may be. 

The Hunt

For: The Hunt was the first entity I thought of while trying to pin him down. A big part of the Hunt is how easily it can take a hold of people. As soon as they are exposed to hunting, whether it be monsters or people, there’s a chance of it taking hold. In that sense, the Hunt is somewhat of a hazard in Tasky’s line of work, so it wouldn’t be a stretch for him to be aligned with it at some point. Plus, I think that Taskmaster with a wolf skull mask would be a really neat aesthetic. 

Against: I know I’ve brought this up a lot, and I’m gonna keep bringing it up, but killing isn’t something Taskmaster does for sport, it’s a job. He doesn’t necessarily derive joy from the chase, and if he isn’t going to keep it up if he doesn’t have a reason. If the money runs dry, he’s not gonna keep going. In a story, it would take a bit of build up for the Hunt to really work, but that’s not to say that it can’t work at all. 

The Lonely

For: Tasky tends to work alone a good bit of the time. Every time someone does get close, he ends up betraying them in one way or another.

Against: He has been shown to care about his friends, and does feel bad about betraying them. He also has been shown to be effective when working with others, possibly even more effective than when he’s alone. Being a mercenary, being completely cut off from society is impossible, since good networking is crucial to getting jobs. Plus, his abilities rely on him being around other people. All of that put together prevents him from willingly cutting himself off like Peter Lukas. He doesn’t have a fear nor a love of being alone, thus stopping the Lonely from really taking hold. That being said, it’s not necessarily impossible. Much like the Hunt, if you really develop the idea it could make for a really neat story, but it won’t work well in the current state of his character. 

Oh holy shit there are a lot of these

The Slaughter

For: He kills people bro

Against: The Slaughter is founded around unpredictable, unmotivated violence, which Taskmaster just does not do. Whenever he kills someone, it’s either because he was paid to or because someone really pissed him off that much. You could make the argument that from the victims end it seems unpredictable, but if they’re watching their actions and how they affect people it really isn’t. People aren’t gonna hire mercenaries to kill you for no reason, even if that reason is just “they have money and I want that money”. He also isn’t afraid of violence against him, he knows the dangers of being a mercenary and is prepared to deal with them. He also has no strong ties to war or music, at least when it comes to violence.

The Spiral

For: This is another one that I think is good in the context of Unthinkable. Throughout that entire run people are actively lying to him, and memory issues can definitely mess with your perception of the world to the point of thinking that things are wrong. He also does lie and betray others quite frequently.

Against: He doesn’t really tend to doubt himself, nor does he suffer from any hallucinations or mental illness that would alter his perception of the world, and his lies are often more short-term deceptions in order to gain the other hand as opposed to gaslighting someone or making them question everything they know. 

The Stranger

For: Again, this can work well with Unthinkable. His sense of self gets entirely screwed up by his memory issues. Outside of that, masks are closely tied to the Stranger and his mask is one of his most recognizable features, and it’s definitely one that can invoke an uncanny valley sense. He also has the ability to quickly change his mannerisms, which I personally think could fit quite well with the Stranger,

Against: He doesn’t have strong ties with most things commonly associated with the Stranger, namely the circus and mannequins and taxidermy. He doesn’t have a strong fear of the unknown and unfamiliar, if anything it’s just another thing to be understood and for him to learn from. He doesn’t show intense paranoia, no sense that things are wrong, and I doubt that he would feel any fear of things associated with the Stranger beyond “haha that’s kinda creepy”. 

The Vast

For: There’s not really much in defense of this one. 

Against: He’s too full of himself to worry about his own insignificance or whatever. His only fears relating to wide open spaces would be drowning, but that’s a Buried fear and not Vast. 

The Web

For: This is another one that I think shares a lot of similarities with the Abyss, namely being controlled. He has been manipulated multiple times in the comics, with one example that I can think of off the top of my head being when he worked for AIM in Secret Avengers. He strikes me as someone who could definitely be one of the Web’s puppets.

Against: I don’t necessarily think that he’s afraid of being controlled or manipulated. After the whole Abyss thing, he honestly seemed unfazed by the whole ordeal. He likely thinks himself too smart for it to be really an issue. He also isn’t afraid of spiders, so that can’t be used as a jumping-off point, so to speak, unlike Annabelle Cane. 

I’m not doing the Extinction because 14 was enough. 

So, based on all of that, it seems like the Eye is the best fit without changing any characterization, with a few others having the ability to work with a little bit of storytelling. BUT there’s also the possibility that he serves none of them. There are plenty of people in tma that don’t serve an entity but still profit from their existence, like Mikaele Salesa. I could definitely see Taskmaster sort of staying on the fringes of the whole thing, taking jobs to kill monsters and retrieve artifacts as he pleases and ignoring whatever the fuck Elias has going on. 

IN CONCLUSION this was a really horrible idea and I should not have put this much time and thought into this. Anyway I am tired and refuse to read any of this over again so if I got something wrong feel free to tell me so and I would love to hear everyone’s thoughts :)

[perspective-series]

Meta Perspective (10)

By: @arc852 and @hiddendreamer67

Warnings: Slight fear and injury mention

(Check the reblog for the links to any future chapters)

————————————————————————————————–

Patton hopped up the stairs, Virgil close behind as he made sure his pocket was still during the ride up the stairs. The one that held Amanda. Having her the entire day had made him a bit paranoid but things had gone relatively smoothly, so that was a plus.

 He stopped, however, when he saw two familiar faces at their door. “Roman? Logan?” Patton asked. “What are you doing here?”

 Virgil came up next to them a gave them a confused look. They usually texted when they were on their way over.

Logan was tense, stiff as a board as he attempted not to move and jostle Allison in any way. Luckily, Roman jumped to his aid.

“We were waiting for you!” Roman explained. “We...need to talk to the two of you.” Roman hesitated slightly, realizing they hadn’t exactly rehearsed what exactly they would say to their two best friends slash possible kidnappers. “Although I think it would be best for all involved if we discuss this inside.”

Amanda froze, hearing the mention of other humans. That...certainly wasn’t part of the plan. Though she may be growing comfortable around her humans, Amanda was still wary of meeting any more.

 “Oh! Um, okay?” Patton moved past them to unlock the door and Virgil gave Roman and Logan a look. 

 “The two of you are acting weird…”

“I’ve never acted weird in my life!” Roman insisted.

Logan followed him into the apartment, looking almost like a mannequin with his inhuman movements.

 “...Right.” Virgil said, also stepping into his apartment. He glanced over at Logan, eyebrow raised at how he was walking. “Um, L you good there?”

Logan froze. “...I am functional.”

 Virgil frowned at that but Patton spoke up before Virgil could. “So! What did you want to talk about?” Patton asked.

Roman took a large dramatic step forwards, pointing an accusing finger at the pair. “Are you or are you not harboring a tiny humanoid captive?”

Logan smacked his own forehead.

Inside Patton’s pocket, Amanda paid rapt attention to the conversation going on above her. How could these other humans possibly have reason to suspect she was here?

 Allison groaned. She had wanted this done subtly! Now the other humans were going to suspect she was there.

 Both Patton and Virgil froze. “Um, we uh, we have no idea what you’re talking about.” Patton put on an innocent smile. Meanwhile, Virgil was slightly panicking. Had they not hidden Amanda as well as they thought?

“I think you know exactly what we’re talking about.” Roman insisted, noticing their unease.

“Amanda.” Logan piped up, deciding to cut straight to the point. “We are referring to Amanda.”

Amanda hadn’t thought her back muscles could get more tense. How did these humans possibly know her name? Did Virgil and Patton tell them about her? Was she being set up?

 At the sound of Amanda’s name, Virgil stepped in front of Patton, glaring at his two friends. “...How do you know about her?” 

 Allison’s breath hitched. Oh no, she wasn’t ready for this. Please don’t reveal me.

“A little birdie told us,” Roman answered, realizing it wasn’t that far from the truth. “And we will not stand by and let our best friends be kidnappers any longer!”

Amanda’s eyes widened, beginning to gain an inkling of what was actually going on.

 “Wha..? We’re not kidnappers!” Patton exclaimed. “She’s not here against her will!” Well, not anymore.

 Allison tensed. What? No, that couldn’t be true. They were obviously lying.

Logan and Roman glanced at each other.

“Prove it.” Roman narrowed his gaze.

“Indeed, we would require significant proof of such a claim.” Logan backed him up.

 Patton and Virgil shared a glance with one another. “Uh, one moment.” Patton excused himself and Virgil as they both disappeared into Patton’s bedroom. Once inside, Patton carefully took Amanda out of his pocket and, after checking her over to make sure she was okay, asked, “So...what should we do?”

“Well…” Amanda thought about it, her heart pounding. If her suspicions were correct and Allison was involved in all this, then maybe these humans weren’t so bad. Especially considering the fact that Allison was too timid to get involved with anything but the nicest of humans.

Of course, Amanda also had to consider the path where she was wrong and Allison wasn’t involved. Was she really comfortable revealing herself to two human strangers? The idea seemed daunting, but they were Virgil and Patton’s friends. That meant they couldn’t be too bad...right?

“What do you guys think of them?” Amanda asked, deciding she needed a second opinion.

 “Aww, they’re the best! Roman can get excitable and Logan has trouble expressing himself most of the time but they really are good people.” Patton smiled.

 Virgil shrugged. “Roman’s a bit more than excitable but otherwise, yeah, they’re good.”

“...I think they might have found my friend.” Amanda admitted.

 Patton blinked. “Your...friend?”

 Virgil’s eyebrows furrowed. “Wait, since when did you have a friend?” This was news to the both of them.

“I have a life outside of you two, you know.” Amanda reminded them. 

 “Oh, I know!” Patton was quick to say. “I just, well, I guess I never thought about there being others like you. Though, I guess it only makes sense, huh?” Patton chuckled sheepishly.

 Virgil frowned, remembering what Amanda had just said. “So, wait, you have a friend and you think Logan and Roman have them?”

“Well, she is the only one besides you two who knows my name in the building.” Amanda looked between the two of them. “So, unless it’s an uncanny coincidence, or one of you two told them about me…” Amanda trailed off, having not completely ruled out the possibility.

 Patton put a hand up in a sort of surrender. “We didn’t! We wouldn’t, we promise. Right, Virgil?” Patton turned to his friend, who nodded.

 “Yeah, we didn’t tell anyone. Despite whatever you still may think of us, we wouldn’t do that to you.” Virgil said.

“Sorry.” Amanda winced. “I didn’t mean to accuse you of anything, I just thought...maybe earlier...whatever. Doesn’t matter.” Amanda shook her head. “Then it’s either sheer dumb luck, or they found Allison.”

 “Well...what should we do?” Patton asked. “Do you...want to reveal yourself? Or maybe we can get Allison back another way?”

“...I’m not sure,” Amanda admitted. It felt wrong to reveal herself and possibly put Allison at risk if she wasn’t already involved, but at the same time, it seemed as though there could be no other foreseeable outcome.

 “Well, we have to do something. They’re waiting out there as we speak and coming in here already basically confirmed you’re here, so we can’t exactly tell them you’re not.” Virgil spoke, crossing his arms.

“Ugh, you’re right.” Amanda groaned, hating to admit that. “I just...they’re your friends, right? Do you think that would go, I dunno,” Amanda twiddled her thumbs anxiously, “...poorly?”

 They both shared a glance. “It shouldn't,” Patton said. “If anything, we won’t let it.” He said with a determined look.

 “I think it could have gone worse if they didn’t already know about you but since they do…” Virgil shrugged. 

“Okay. Okay okay okay.” Amanda gave herself a shake, psyching herself up. “Let’s do this then. Quickly, before I lose my nerve again.”

 “You just want me to...carry you out there? Like this?” Patton asked.

“Patton I said quickly!” Amanda rubbed against her forehead, feeling tense. “Now you’re making me second guess it again!”

 “Ah! R-Right!” Patton wasted no time in heading out the door and back into the living room. Virgil was quick to follow and Patton bit his lip as he looked between Amanda and his friends.

Logan’s eyes widened, almost unnerved to see another girl so small. This borrower sat atop Patton’s palms, and just as Allison had said Logan was concerned to see she looked injured.

“...Amanda?” Roman guessed, taking a step forward.

Amanda hesitantly nodded.

 “And she can tell you herself that she isn’t here against her will,” Virgil said with crossed arms.

 Allison desperately wanted to see Amanda for herself but she was still scared to pop her head out and be seen by these new humans. She still didn’t believe them, how could she with the state she saw Amanda in?

Roman and Logan looked to Amanda expectantly.

Amanda pursed her lips, torn between her desire to thwart Virgil and her desire to not anger four human beans at once. 

“...I’m not being held against my will.” Amanda finally admitted.

“How were you injured?” Logan pressed, remaining unconvinced.

“Ah…” Amanda winced. “Long story?”

 “She got her leg stuck in some string. That’s how I first met her, actually.” Patton explained.

 “She also jumped off the bed, which was her own fault.” Virgil also chimed in. “Anyway, enough about Amanda for a second.” His eyes narrowed at his friends. “Because she seems to think you have a...friend, of hers.”

“Where’s Allison?” Amanda pointed an accusing finger at the human Beans.

Roman and Logan shared a glance with one another. “...just one moment, please.” Roman excused them both as this time it was their turn to disappear out into the hall. Once there, Logan held open his pocket, Roman peering over the edge.

“So, what should we do?” Roman asked.

 Allison bit her lip. “I-I don’t know…” What if Amanda was being forced to say those things? But...knowing Amanda, if she was being forced to say something she probably wouldn’t even say it. So...did that mean she really was okay? That those humans were...okay?

 “Do...do you believe them?” Allison asked, looking up at the two humans.

“It seems a plausible explanation, given the state of her injuries.” Logan reasoned. “Although I am a bit confused by the implication of her bringing herself to harm throwing herself off furniture.”

 “Yeah…” If they weren’t keeping her captive, why would she feel the need to do that? Allison groaned, knowing what she would have to do. “I think...I think I need to reveal myself. I need to talk to Amanda and that’s the only way it’s going to happen.”

“Alright, if you’re sure,” Roman said. “We’ll support you no matter what, and we can guarantee nothing will happen to you either way.”

“Guarantee is perhaps the wrong term.” Logan corrected. “After all, we cannot predict any and all outcomes.”

“...fine.” Roman gave the nerd a brief glare. “We will protect you no matter what. There, happy ya linguist?”

 Allison felt a small smile growing on her face. “Th-Thank you.” Now to get out of this pocket, she shifted and managed to get to a stand but was now just hanging off the lip of the pocket. “Um...a little help?” She asked shyly.

Roman glanced to Logan.

“Me?” Logan raised an eyebrow.

“Well, it is your pocket.” Roman reasoned. Frankly, he was beginning to feel odd about focusing so much of his attention into Logan’s chest pocket.

Logan carefully maneuvered his fingers into the pocket, gently lifting Allison out. He set her down on his palm, just as Patton had done with Amanda.

 Allison shook slightly as she sat on Logan’s palm. She had been hoping Roman would help her out but she supposed it made sense for Logan to get her. Still...Logan was still not her favorite person.

“All set?” Roman glanced back, his hand already on the door handle. With a nod from Logan, Roman dramatically threw it open. “All right! Everyone, this is Allison.” Roman stepped to the side, allowing Allison to be seen as Logan entered the room.

Amanda’s eyes widened, shocked to see her assumptions confirmed as Allison sat openly in a palm just like herself. “Allison?” 

“Yes, that’s what I said.” Roman nodded.

 Allison laid eyes on Amanda and her eyes widened. “Amanda!” She felt a smile come on her face but then she met eyes with the other two humans and she started to shake again.

 Patton nor Virgil could believe their eyes, despite the fact they both knew Amanda. It was just strange, seeing another borrower. Patton, however, noticed Allison’s fear and he gave her a gentle smile. “Hey, it’s okay. We’re not going to do anything, promise.”

“He’s harmless,” Amanda assured her, finding it almost odd that someone was afraid of Patton despite herself being frightened of him just the other day. Amanda glanced up at the human holding Allison. “...what about him?”

Logan bit the interior of his lip, concerned about Allison’s response.

 Allison looked behind her, remembering whose hands she was in. “Uhh…” What did she say? “He hasn’t...hurt me?” Physically, at the very least.

 Virgil raised an eyebrow, looking to Logan. “And what is that supposed to mean?” He crossed his arms. Patton was now looking at Logan with a confused and concerned expression. 

Roman muttered something about an idiot jar.

“I placed her inside a mason jar for an extended period of time,” Logan admitted guiltily.

Amanda’s eyes widened. So, it seemed Allison hadn’t gotten quite as lucky as herself and had ended up with regular, bad, run-of-the-mill humans.

“And what did you do?” Amanda turned to point an accusatory finger at the other human.

“I didn’t do anything!” Roman raised his hands in self-defense.

 “Logan, how could you?” Patton said, still hung up on what Logan had said. Virgil had glared at Logan but was now on Roman as well. 

 “Don’t lie, Princey,” Virgil said. 

 Allison looked between Virgil and Patton, surprised by how much they seemed to care about what had happened to her. “I mean...Roman wasn’t too bad.” Allison admitted. At least he hadn’t trapped her in a jar.

“Are you okay, Allison?” Amanda leaned forwards, looking at her friend earnestly. “Are you being held against your will?”

“Now hold on a moment, we were supposed to be rescuing you!” Roman pointed out, confused on how this encounter had turned so accusatory.

 “She doesn’t need rescuing,” Virgil said. “But by the sounds of things, Allison might.” 

 “N-No! I…” Allison sighed. “No, not-not anymore. They let me go and I came back because I thought...I thought you needed help.” Allison said, looking at Amanda.

“...oh.” Amanda was certainly surprised to hear such a tale. Allison must have been really concerned about her to go back to all that; Amanda felt a bit guilty for not trying to get a message to her. “Well thank you, but no. I’m good.”

 “Well...I’m glad about that,” Allison said with a smile. She glanced at Patton and Virgil.

 “Yeah, see. Nothing to worry about.” Patton smiled. “She’s in good hands. Literally!” She grinned as he held her up slightly.

“Pat…” Amanda rolled her eyes, letting out an amused snort.

Roman watched the pair of them, his defensive posture slowly deflating. “So...if you’re not in danger...what now?” He looked back to Allison, not sure what the plan was now.

 Allison noticed Roman looking at her. “Oh! Uh...I-I don’t know.” She turned to look at Amanda. “Are you...staying here?” She asked.

“Well, I mean… I was planning on it.” Amanda shifted slightly, embarrassed to admit her clearly against the rules plan to another borrower. “I have to allow my leg to heal a bit more.”

 “Oh, right.” Allison bit her lip. “I mean, as long as you feel safe with them then...I guess it’s okay?” Having humans around to help would probably help her leg heal up faster too.

 Patton grinned. “You’re welcome to stay here if you want! Unless you’re going to stay with…” he glanced between Logan and Roman.

 “Uhh…” Allison didn’t know.

“Yeah! You could stay with us!” Amanda’s eyes brightened at this suggestion. It would certainly be fun to have everybody together.

“You are, of course, under no obligation to stay with us,” Logan assured her.

“...right.” Roman murmured, confirming Logan’s statement as he looked down at his shoes. It made sense that Allison would want to stay with another borrower, after all.

 Allison looked between Logan and Roman and then at Amanda and Patton and Logan. She really did want to be with Amanda again. It had seemed like forever since she had last seen her, especially when she thought she was never going to see her again. But at the same time…

 She shook her head to clear her thoughts. “I um...I’ll probably swing by later.” She still needed to properly talk with Amanda, after all. “But...I’m tired. I think-I think I just want to go home for a little bit.” Now that she knew Amanda was safe, she could finally relax.

 “Well, our home is always open to ya!” Patton exclaimed.

Amanda blinked, surprised and almost hurt that Allison had rejected the offer. Of course, as Amanda glanced at Allison’s humans she understood. Amanda didn’t want to go with new humans either.

“I guess we’ll see you later then,” Amanda said. She wondered if Allison would come by to visit, or if she’d wait until Amanda was away from Patton and Virgil. Amanda hoped Allison wasn’t mad with her decision.

“In that case, perhaps it would be best for us to leave now?” Logan’s statement was more of a question than usual, looking to his companions for reassurance.

“I guess.” Roman shrugged. Honestly, he wanted to stick around and hang out with both borrowers, but it seemed that wasn’t going to happen. It was still a shock that even Allison wanted to come back with them, but that was likely due to the fact she knew them more than Patton and Virgil.

 Allison nodded. “See you later Amanda.” She said with a smile. 

 “See you!” Patton exclaimed, using his free hand to wave bye to her. 

 Virgil was still glaring at Logan, had been for some time. He would have to talk to him-and Roman, despite what Allison said-later.

Logan placed Allison back into his pocket, heading out the door. 

Roman followed, sending one last curious look Amanda’s way before shutting the door behind them.

“Well, that was...unexpected,” Amanda announced after they left. It certainly wasn’t how she had pictured today going.

 “You can say that again,” Patton said. Out of everything, he hadn’t expected Logan and Roman to find a borrower themselves. 

 Virgil turned away from the door. “I hope Allison is doing okay.” She seemed fine for the most part but still…

Amanda just nodded, her eyes still locked on the door. She trusted Allison to speak up if she was in trouble, but...well, they were dealing with humans.

[endofjunee]

📖 sweet, sweet fate by @bottomlinsons Harry’s lived with a NSFW soulmark for almost twenty-five years now. When he finally meets the man responsible, he gives him a little piece of his mind. 🌷 Everywhere And Nowhere by @2tiedships2​ Niall took a seat and said, "Apparently Louis' downstairs neighbor is a fan of giving Louis creepy gifts. Maybe I should go introduce myself and tell him that Louis actually prefers food." "What has he given you?" Liam asked.Louis shrugged as it were no big deal. "There was a rabbit's foot keychain on the door a little after he left from introducing himself and there was a small teddy bear sitting by my door tonight. Obviously I can't prove it's from him, but they seem to have his scent. I could be wrong though." "Wow," Liam said, looking deep in thought. "That's old school." "What's old school?" Niall asked. "Giving creepy gifts?" "I've never known an alpha to do it, to be honest, but he's courting you." Louis couldn't contain his look of disbelief directed at Liam. "He's courting me. Like some sort of romantic shit they'd do in the 1800s or something?"

📖 all we can do is keep breathing by @avocadolouie “Harry, I-I’m so sorry…” Louis stutters out, trying to keep his voice level and even, to portray a depiction of strength, but with the way Harry is looking at him, staring at him like he has a personal passage way straight to Louis’ soul, it’s so hard, nearly impossible. That simple opening phrase, that short introductory acknowledgement that is often rushed out so easily, painlessly, at a safe distance. Giving a doctor the ability to portray empathy without true emotion, without feeling the full brunt and sheer force of the underlying pain itself. But Louis feels it, he feels the crushing agony laced behind the phrase, he feels the weight of the painful words slipping from his lips, the cause and effect that the three-word expression holds. The distantly empty “I’m so sorry” that doctors throw out in self-preservation, isn’t at all empty for him. Louis recognizes it, he understands it, he feels it.  Or, a fated story of two broken and battered boys who barely survived the unimaginable and how the love of one little brave girl defies all the odds and somehow puts them back together. 🌷 Baby Honey by @bringmetheharry “Lou, did you see these little baby tea boxes I found yesterday?” He tossed one towards Louis and watched as it thumped Louis in the head. Louis groaned and reached for the little box, rolling it around in his hands, “If you’re about to make a joke about me. I strongly suggest you don’t.” Harry frowned and bounced his tea bag in the water watching the liquid darken, “M’ not! I just thought the baby tea boxes were cute.” Louis’ eyes narrowed and he looked at the tiny boxes, and back at Harry. Harry watched, he could see the wheels turning inside of Louis’ mind. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Louis looked at the box once more and back at Harry Or, After four years of Marriage, Harry discovers he is expecting. He could go home and hand the ultrasound photo to his amazing husband, Louis. Or… he could have some fun with this. Only Louis catching on to all the hints Harry is dropping. Or is he? 📖 Do You Wanna Ride by @phd-mama When Liam’s attractive new business partner wins riding lessons with Harry, hilarity ensues. 🌷 Tainted Saints And Velvet Vices by @toomanylarrytears A self-fulfilling Hogwarts AU in which Louis is new to seventh year and Harry is the resident devil-may-care Slytherin set to make his entire experience a living misery. Due to less than favourable circumstances they’re forced to forge an unwilling, tentative relationship for their own survival. Repressed emotions, decidedly unromantic ballroom dancing, Triwizard Tournament tasks, creative jinxes and twilight flying above the Forbidden Forest ensue. 📖 the act of making noise by @suspendrs “Oh,” Harry frowns, waving him off. “No, I could never. I respect myself too much to sing for a living.” It feels like a slap across the face, but Louis does his best not to stiffen, blinking once and then frowning. “What?” “Those people are always so miserable, you know?” Harry says, hopping down off his stool and straightening his sweater. “There’s so much pressure on them, and they have to work so hard to keep up appearances, I can’t even imagine how difficult that is. I can’t even stand to listen to pop music today, let alone watch TV or read the magazines. It makes me so sad, thinking that those people, you know, the ones who actually went into it with heart, they only ever just wanted to make music and instead they got turned into things on leashes being paraded around to make money for other people,” he says. “Anyway, you can have the stool.”  Or, Louis’s famous, Harry has no idea who he is, and they get snowed in together at a ski lodge in Vermont. 🌷 Laundry Room by @thelovejandles The third Wednesday of the new year, Louis finds himself in the laundry room, just as he was the last Wednesday and the one before that. He’s doing pretty well with his New Year’s resolution. The only problem so far is the company he finds in the laundry room. It seems that it’s just him and one other boy who’ve chosen late Wednesday nights as prime laundry-doing time. That wouldn’t be a problem except for who the other boy is. He’s seen this boy around; it’s hard to miss the long-legged, long-haired dream that lives in Louis’ complex. He likes to wear very sheer shirts and very high boots; he is incredibly fucking gorgeous and yeah, Louis’ noticed him but he’s never spoken to him. Until tonight, apparently.  Or, Louis and Harry are both students living in the same apartment complex. They end up having the same laundry night and time. Louis can’t stop staring at Harry and he can’t figure out why Harry consistently points out Louis’ inside-out shirts, and his untied shoes, and messy hair. Enter slow burn-ish flirting, banter, awkwardness, and a lot of laundry. 📖 your rainbow will come smiling through by @hazkabaan When harry isn’t working at his stepfather’s cafe, he’s trying to make swim captain and trying to finish all his coursework on time. when he’s not doing any of those things, he’s talking to the boy he met on the oxford hopefuls subreddit. when they decide to meet, he’s elated. he finally gets the chance to meet the boy he’s been crushing on! when the day comes to meet his prince, he learns that his online crush is none other than louis tomlinson, captain of the football team and friend of his terrible stepbrothers. now harry has to decide whether telling louis the truth is the right choice or if it’s better to just let sleeping dogs lie.  Or, a cinderella story au 🌷 Nothing’s Gonna Stop Us Now by @allwaswell16 Louis is having a personal crisis, a third Valentine’s Day being single. Unless he meets someone this week at the high end department store he works at, he’ll be stuck going to Niall’s Valentine’s Day party–again.  Or, the one where Harry mistakes Louis for a mannequin. 📖 Falling For Me Won’t Be A Mistake by @all-these-larrythings Harry is married to his job and so overworked that he doesn’t know how to stop. All it takes is a forced Hawaiian get-a-away, the warm tropical breeze of the island, and the most beautiful, elusive man he’s ever seen to make him remember what living is like outside of work. Well, that, and the little souvenir he accidentally takes home with him. 🌷 Latching Onto You by @reminiscingintherain “Wait a sec,” Harry interrupted. “Zayn and Liam?” “Yeah, my best mates, who are getting married?” Louis said slowly, slightly baffled at the question. “This is a gay wedding?” “Is that going to be a problem?” Louis asked, his voice losing its friendly edge and taking on a decidedly icy tone.  Or, the one where Louis wants to book Harry Styles to perform at his best friends’ wedding. 📖 Face Your Fears by @sadaveniren Harry is a single father, pretending to be a beta after his alpha mated him and left him. He’s getting by just fine raising the twins when Louis walks into his bakery. Too bad him and Louis will never be a thing. 🌷 streetwise hercules by @bottomlinsons “I said,” Louis’ voice is venomous, “who the fuck is this?”  Right.  This is Harry’s part.  Or Uni AU, where Louis pretends to be Harry’s boyfriend to scare away his one night stands. 📖 Counterbalance by @louandhazaf Harry Styles loves two things: teaching ballet and racing motorcycles. Those two worlds collide when his greatest rival on the track, Louis “Tommo” Tomlinson brings his tiny siblings to Harry’s class. 🌷 cut your teeth on my heart by @turnyourankle (WIP) Louis has worked as a security officer for years, but he’s handed his first opportunity to be team lead. The assignment is nothing like what he expected. Harry has spent years trying to distance himself from the pressure of the Twist name and legacy. But it’s going to be hard to avoid when his mum hires him a bodyguard. 📖 wild love twisting all over for you by @angelichl Harry and Louis meet on the set of a video.

[notsoaveragjoe]

#1 Hello World

Hello, cruel world. It is the middle of the night and I have made the decision to take the leap into what will hopefully be the continuation of the personal journey of a boy who has been lost for too many seasons. As I near the end of my BA in Music Performance and World Music, I stand before a critical crossroad between my world in small-town Ohio and the beginning of the rest of my life. It is WILD to me that in less than a year, I will have a bachelors degree, no job prospects, lots of debt, and an even stronger, more intimate connection to the sonic world than I ever imagined possible. By the way, my name is Joe and this late night post is sponsored by Lana Del Ray, Sesame Chicken, and Tanqueray and Raspberry LaCroix.

Setting the Stage:  Tonight, I find myself 400 miles from home in the middle of a sort of internship/ sort of research fellowship... situation? -- Let me explain.

Before I get to that, I find it worth mentioning that the inspiration of starting this blog came from a dear friend of mine from high school, Keni. Though we are not very close anymore, she has always been a young woman who I have looked up to and admired for her strength and effervescent personality. So, go follow her blog, or don’t. I’m not your mother.

This spring, I was awarded a prestigious fellowship through my school which is giving me the opportunity to study a new style of music: Appalachian Old-Time (new to me, at least). As part of my proposal, I desired to learn how to play the banjo, connect with old-time musicians, and research the forgotten experience of the African Americans from whom the tradition was (partially) appropriated from. I traveled North for my first interactions with the community with my new instrument and to meet some of the people who would become my mentors. Now, I am in Washington D.C., doing an internship that is turning out not to be what I had hoped. I am also conducting individual research at various libraries and museums and am drowning in data. I am also trying to keep up with my saxpohone-ing, and attempting to implement a self-care regimen that I will be able to keep up when I enter my last 2 semesters of college.

Earlier today, I was doing some research in the Library of Congress’s main reading room. Though I had been there many times, I am still constantly astounded at the sheer beauty and size of the hall. Though I have spent most of my research time in other rooms, the smaller reading rooms that I frequent are sadly closed on the weekends. After my journey through tourist traps, 3 levels of security, and a few strange looks from other, much older library patrons, my anxiety finally settled itself as I began my descent into the state blissful ecstasy that only comes from room full of old books.

Just kidding. The truly old books are kept underground in a storage facility, and I was mostly scanning articles for later use, but you get my point. During my moments of clarity between books, articles, and whenever someone sneezed, I would occasionally glance up for inspiration as my jaw would drop to the floor in awe of where I actually was.

God am I such a lucky boy to be where I am today.

Then I remind myself of the sleepless nights, anxiety attacks, and hundreds of pages of reading and writing that got me where I was.

God am I such a lucky hardworking boy to be where I am today.

I was truly proud of myself because even though I am still figuring out how to use the collections, I was able to confidently navigate my way from my apartment in Maryland all the way to the main reading room without the help of a map of any kind. I even gave a few tourists directions to with total confidence- A truly astounding accomplishment for my anxious self. This is especially astounding because I heard a woman say “I don’t think we should go over there because everyone has an ID badge that way”, which made me chuckle a bit. However, it also started a snowball of thoughts:

“Why do I wear my intern id from a different government org when navigating the halls?

What possessed me to think that it was a good idea to wear long sleeves, khakis, and leather oxfords on a humid Saturday in Washington D.C. in JULY?!?!

Why did I stop wearing the bright colors that bring my joy?

How dare I feel knowledgable enough of the maze that is the Library of Congress tunnels and tourists' needs to interrupt them and offer directions to a room that I only found for the first time literally yesterday?

What the hell am I doing at 21 years old with a fellowship, when I actually have no clue what I’m doing?

Why do I not feel deserving of the opportunities that I have earned?

“It is crushing to realize that I have lived in the academic bubble these last 3 years where I am *mostly* not being judged by my skin color or sexual orientation only to be thrust into a city where these issues are not only very real, but personally hurtful. I myself have even caught myself glaring at other people of various demographics while taking part in this judgmental culture. Being a midwestern, queer, man of color, I realized that I have subconsciously made these changes to my behavior, dress, and language in order to pass as a non-threatening, older-than-I-look, more-put-together-than-I-actually-am academic. I flaunt the little knowledge that I do have to others to prove to myself that I am doing alright, even though I am only a few-hours-of-wandering-around more familiar with the building than they. Hopefully I helped them out and did not come across as condescending. This is something that I need to work on as I continue.”

Immediately following these thoughts, I then remind myself, “It’s okay to be happy and confident with where you are today, even if you only just got here today.”

Breathe, Joe. Your brain is just mean sometimes

I am proud of how far I have come in order to have this dialogue within myself without loosing my cool. I am proud that I have found something that I genuinely enjoy and am able to guide my independent learning experience in a productive direction. I want to be happy that I was willing to helped a confused family as much as I could. I hope that I arrive to a place where I do not feel the need to change my appearance and actions to ‘prove’ to myself and others that I am well adjusted to my current environment.

After a cup of iced coffee at one of my favorite coffee shops in town, a brief walk around Columbia Heights, and evening plans with friends falling through, I began my long journey home which eventually brought me to this lovely moment in time.

I could write for ages about my current projects, internship, and city experiences, but that will have to wait for my next big post.

Now, lets start the fade-out with a song from a new album which I thoroughly enjoy, In Love Again- Mannequin Pussy

If you made it this far, Thank You for taking the time to read the words that decided to leave my brain. As this blog continues to develop, I will try to use my musical knowledge to curate a soundscape that will hopefully add another layer of understanding my special brand of crazy on any given day. The first song linked in the title paragraph was Lana Del Ray’s Cruel World followed by Wilkommen, from my favorite musical (at the moment), Cabaret. This blog in no way will accurately represent my whole existence, nor should it. Here in my little corner of the internet, I hope to plant a garden of pure and unadulterated personal expression. Even if this blog showcases the confused person that I actually am, it is my hope that this will become a log of the stages of my thoughts on music, life, and all of the anxiety and fear that comes from the level up to real ‘adult’ status.

Peace and Love,

MoJo JoJo

[thearcaneescape]

Chapter 5

He had never been inside this bar before, but it seemed cozy and calm, unlike the booming bass of the gay bars nearby.

“Good evening, ladies, gentlemen and all those in between or outside the norm. My name is Sugar, and as always, I am thrilled to have you here at my establishment. The cabaret will begin shortly, and I hope you all have a lovely time.” A tall, black-haired drag queen winked at the crowd, the glittering gold and silver flapper dress waving gently against her calves as she walked offstage.

“Welcome to The Arcane Escape. My name is Jeanie and I will guide you to either the bar or a table.” This queen was extraordinarily beautiful, but much taller than Yoongi was, so her beauty was also just a tad intimidating.

“A table is fine.” He rasped out, throat a bit raw from the fight he’d had at work today. That and the pack of fags he’d had as well.

“Alright, follow me.”

The bar looked empty, with just a few people sitting at the tables and watching the show. A petite queen, no taller than Yoongi, wearing a sparkling black mini dress, tight across her curves and short enough to almost ride up and show her perky ass. It was an obvious Betty Boop tribute, and she played it quite well, coquettish and sweet, even with the darker mentions of heartbreak and despair woven into the lyrics, with a lilting high-pitched voice that even through song boasted a strong Irish accent.

“Cute.” He mumbled, watching the show with interest.

“Good evening, my name is Joon and I will be your server this evening.”

A deep, resonant voice made Yoongi look up, eyebrows raising slightly. The server’s nametag had a small addendum in washable marker (they/them), and they had an amiable, dimpled smile on their face.

“Yeah, I’ll just ‘ave a whiskey. Been a long fuckin’ day.” Yoongi cleared his throat, regretting the string of choices that lead to his sore throat.

“Alright. I’ll bring you a glass of water as well.” Joon walked away, and at that moment another queen walked onstage, wearing all-black lace, the flowing robe-like gown becoming see-through in the stage lights, showing the darker undergarments. Her hair was long and black, and her makeup was dark and sensuous, dark fringe hiding her brows. Her jewelry was minimal, but heavy, two big earrings, one saying “hated”, the other “loved”.

“Hello, lovelies. My name is Victoria Nike, and today I am glad to have been graced by our very own Joon. They have given me permission to sing their new song.” She winked at the minimal audience, but clearly most if not all of the people here were regulars except Yoongi. When she started singing, the whole room hushed, awe permeating the room as Victoria’s soulful voice reached everyone’s heart. Yoongi would bet his left lung that not everyone in the room understood what she was singing, as it was all in Korean, but he did. Oh, he did.

“Holy fuck.” He whispered, mouth hanging open as he watched. The beat reverberated in his chest, and it felt like Victoria’s voice was seeping into his skin. He was lost to the music and it seemed like time had stopped for a moment before the song ended and the lights dimmed. With a small lurch forwards he realised that not only had Victoria stopped singing, but his whiskey and water were already in front of him.

“You wrote that?” He blurted out as Joon started leaving, making the taller turn around and smile, wider this time.

“Yeah, I was a music student. I write and compose a lot for the guys here. Sometimes they come to me with their own ideas and I help them flesh it out.” They gestured towards Yoongi. “You work in music?”

“I studied music composition, and I’ve written some things myself, but I’ve never asked people to sing them.” Yoongi chewed on his lower lip, excitement bubbling under his skin. “I work at a cafe and a charity shop. I couldn’t make a career out of it.”

Joon gave him a sympathetic shrug, looking back towards the stage. “Same here, but if I can help the people here, then it’s good enough for me.” A jazzy beat started up again, this time more high-energy, but still sensuous and smooth.

“Please welcome the newest addition to our family. You lovelies might’ve seen her around, but it’s about time that she joined us onstage. Here is our very own Jolie Hopper.”

The lights snapped to brightness again, and a new queen was sitting onstage, her back to the crowd, bright red hair curled against the nape of her tanned neck, black top hat tilted on her head. She was straddling the chair, legs splayed incredibly wide, making the black trench coat/robe slip off of her legs, giving a glimpse at the silky black stockings and garters. The song paused for a moment and she turned her head, giving the audience a glimpse of her profile. Her profile was immaculate, a swooping nose and pouty red lips, high cheekbones and perfectly-arched eyebrows. She opened her mouth, and the song started up again.

“Is it something you can feel?

Or is it something that makes you feel?”

Her voice was rough, but still well-balanced and musical, giving the spoken-word a sense of musicality.

“Love is such a hypocritical thing,

You can fall out of it when you least desire,

But keep in your heart when broken by a liar.

Even then, we are love’s plaything.”

She stood, whipping the chair around and dragging it behind her, grabbing the brim of her hat and pulling it off, shaking the curls on her head. She threw it to someone offstage, and sat back down on the chair, straddling it once more, now facing the audience.

“Love is rife with disappointment,

But even so, lovers should be truly admired,

For fighting through the arguments required,

And escaping with very little resentment.”

She stood up once more, opening the front of the trench coat, showing off a black corset, red and black lace panties and bra, the black stockings and garter that were teased before, muscular legs complimented by the delicate nylon.

“Falling in love is a frightening notion,

Enough to make one wish it away

For fear of being lead astray,

Through pure and unwavering devotion.”

With nimble and delicate-looking fingers, she ran a hand over her chest, slowly and carefully removing the trench coat to walk around unbothered by the heavy garment. She winked at the crowd, making a blush rise on Yoongi’s pale cheeks, her hands picking at the front of the corset.

“But in my eyes, I see this fickle thing’s appeal,

Even through the pain it’s made me feel.”

The corset fell from her hands, revealing a toned stomach, and with the ending chords of the song, an arm raised over her head, she sat back down heavily on the chair, lights cutting out abruptly. The meagre crowd clapped so loudly that you’d think the place was packed, and even Yoongi was clapping, mesmerised. The lights turned on again, and Jolie curtsied, a sunshine-bright, heart-shaped smile on her face, lighting up her previously-serious face. She waved energetically towards the crowd as she walked offstage, a momentary wave of cheers sounding from backstage before the door closed behind her. Yoongi’s whiskey was mostly untouched, and he couldn’t bring himself to drink. He didn’t want to forget about this experience.

-

“You did so good, Hobi!” Jimin’s squeal was deafening, and Hoseok laughed, blushing red.

“Thank you! I was so fucking nervous.” He giggled when Jimin punched him gently on the arm, doing a small happy dance.

“Mate, you were fucking amazing. I’m so glad the whole mood of the bar tonight was dark and sensuous, because you encompassed it so well!” Taehyung had removed his dress, the black lace beauty delicately placed on his mannequin.

“Me? What about you? Mate, Joon’s song was fucking made for your voice, did you see how amazed people were?” Hoseok sputtered slightly, waving his hands about. “You were definitely the star of the show tonight.”

Taehyung blushed and he smiled shyly, but proudly, tucking his fingers under the edge of his wig to take it off. Both him and Jimin had dyed their hair black, recently, and it looked amazing on them.

“We had a new patron come in tonight. Dressed in all black.” Jin piped up from his corner of the room, having cleaned his face in record time. “He was about your height, Minnie.”

“Aww, cute! I hope he comes back again, it’s nice having new customers for once.” Jimin swiped a makeup removal wipe across his eyes, glitter and black eyeshadow transfering onto the white. “Speaking of new customers, I really wanna go to this 24-hour café that opened near here. It looks kinda cute.”

“Yeah, you told me about it. We can go now if you’re not too tired.” Tae mumbled from his own station, wiping his face helter-skelter, so unlike Jimin and Jin.

“Sounds fun! I’m up for some food and a drink.” Hoseok said, stretching his arms over his head, joints cracking obnoxiously.

“Cool! Are you coming with us Jin?” Jimin turned to look at the eldest, who shook his head, a small smile on his face.

“Ah, Jungkook invited me and Joon to dinner. Says he’s paying an everything, so can’t pass up that opportunity.” Jin chuckled, picking up his bag. “I will see you all tomorrow, then.” He waved goodbye with a dramatic hand kiss, making all three of the remaining laugh, except Hoseok could feel the nerves in his belly.

He hoped everything would go well tonight. God knows what would happen if it didn’t.

[another-chorus-girl]

Erik House - Chapter 12

HAPPY HALLOWEEN! 

--

Cherik smiled, admiring his work. 

“Isn’t this quaint?” He asked Kerik, turning the pumpkin over to his yellow eyes.

Kerik rolled his eyes, “Have you missed the concept of this holiday? It’s suppose to be scary.”

The redhead sheepishly turned his carving back around. “But they’re crows?”

“You carved DOVES!”

“I think it looks alright,” Gerik interjected.

Kerik scoffed, “Ok, and what have you got there Gerry?”

Turning his around the novelized man was albeit a little impressed. 

“Well now,” He breathed, “That’s quite artistic. He flipped through the stencils Cherik had brought. “What pattern did you use exactly?”

“I made my own actually. I um...I rather enjoy crafts.” Gerik mumbled.

“Ah yes! That explains the drawings and dolls in your room.”

Gerik pointed a finger accusingly.

“Those are NOT dolls! They are ceramic figurines I crafted thank you monsieur!” He exclaimed. 

But then Gerik blinked, “Wait. When were you in my room?”

Kerik waved his hand innocently, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.

Cherik was oblivious to the masked men’s banter back and forth shakily avoiding Destler’s grin as he proceeded to mangle and stab rather than carve his jack o lantern. 

--

“Yes, and here is the parlour, now mind you the organ can’t be used willy nilly whenever you please. But given the respective time, you’re more than welcome to it.” Crawford explained.

“This all seems quite extravagant. I’m surprised how well secluded such a large house like this is.” A deeper male voice commented.

The masked men glanced up at the new voice.

“Yes, Monsieur Fantome has gotten the odd visitors, but he prefers privacy.”

“New tour?” Warlow asked Wilkinson, whom glanced up from his paper.

“It would seem so. Sounds like we’re welcoming a new face into the house.”

--

Winslow wrinkled his nose in distaste, "What is that awful smell?"

Lerik scowled at his seat at the pipe organ and started scribbling on his board turning it to him, "I wouldn't know would I?"

Carpenter sniffed the air and his face crinkled in disgust, "No you're right, something does smell rather foul."

The men heard a squick squeaking noise and turned to see a rather damp Jerik enter the main parlor.

"Too cold, they're too cold..." The long haired man mumbled, passing by the men as he trudged upstairs.

"I hope the first place he's heading is the shower," Winslow noted pinching a gloved hand over his nose.

Carpenter cocked his head, "Isn't Harley still staying in his room?"

All of the sudden they heard an ear splitting screech.

"RATS! THE RATS THE RATS!" A frightful voice shouted.

"Not anymore," Lerik scribbled before turning back to his music.

--

Jones sighed closing the refrigerator, adding enough cream to turn his coffee almost totally white. As much as he yearned for something with caramel, every time their coffee order came his sugary frappucino seemed to always disappear.

Even this morning he'd rushed downstairs. Davis being the new man it fell on his turn to bring the abnormally large order-this being to the poor baristas displeasure to make every morning. But no matter who placed the order he was left with sad, steaming black coffee lacking any flavor except bitterness. He just couldn’t figure out whom was stealing his hot beverage.

So flavoured cream would have to do.

Jones glanced up, hearing a harmonious sound.

Elle sort de son lit Tellement sure d'elle La Seine, la Seine, la Seine Tellement jolie elle m’ensorcelle La Seine, la Seine, la Seine Extralucide la lune est sur La Seine, la Seine, la Seine Tu n'est pas sou Paris est sous La Seine, la Seine, la Seine

Mug in hand, the Merik walked into the main parlour. Cherik sat by himself on the sofa, totally in tuned to the television.

"What's this?" Jones asked, noting the screen was the source of the music. "A cartoon?"

Cherik's face turned pink behind the full mask. "It may seem juvenile. But I find it rather enlightening."

The Merik sat down, listening to the song.

"That doesn't sound like the voice I heard earlier?" He inquired.

The redhead shrugged his shoulders.

Jones features softened as he smiled. "That was you singing wasn't it?"

Cherik's lip curved upward, "It's a rather nice song if you ask me."

"Well, I think so too."

Hitting the rewind button, Cherik asked. "Care to join me?"

"Of course."  

--

Knocking on the door Gerik tapped his feet impatiently.

When Kerik answered the door his hair was wild and unkempt, his shirt undone in the front hanging off his frail frame. He rubs his eyes, looking as though he just woke up.

"What?" Kerik croaked.

"Where is it?" Gerik asked. "Can't you ask before you borrow it?"

This only caused Kerik to smirk. This was not the first time the mannequin had gone missing.

"Don’t worry it's safe, I’ve been keeping him company while you were out. You're right, it is very life like. Especially after you incorporated Mr. Y's adjustments."

The film adapted man sighed and turned to leave but was yanked from behind.

"I'm not doing anything right now if you'd care to join 'us?" Kerik smugly smirked.

To tell the truth, while Kerik did admire the realistic craftsmanship the film adapted man had made, he moreso took the mannequin knowing Gerik would seek him out.

"Another night wouldn't hurt would it Gerry?" Kerik teased.

"I was intoxicated that night," Gerik sighed.

"You still seemed to enjoy it. Besides you could demonstrate for me your newly acquired skills our friend in the basement has been giving you."

The novelised masked man had a victorious look on his face as Gerik turned back around, walking past Kerik and into the dimly lit room.

--

On this night of All Hallows Eve, known to most as Halloween, the night was young and just beginning.

And it seemed all sorts of strange creatures were running amok tonight. Cherik admired these children and their creativity.

"That one looks quite imaginative!" Cherik beamed as a small group of giggling children zoomed past he and Jones.

"I'd like to think you were too," Jones added regarding Cherik's getup.

The full masked redhead wore a dark leathery material robe with a golden emblem pinned on his label, a maroon belt tied around his waist and adorning tall black boots.

Cherik couldn't help but blush behind his mask.

"I rather like yours too," He smiled.

Jones laughed nervously, "Yes, though I wish I knew Wilkinson was going as the same thing."

The Merik wore a blue and red coat and black trousers. Instead of his slicked back well kept wig he wore a longer, more frazzled and grey one. The facial hair he wore slightly itched against his mask, but it was just a minor annoyance that Jones could ignore.

Destler had to admit the gloves were a little irritating since the knives attached prohibited alot of use for his hands. But it was worth it getting a few good screams out of people he passed. Funnily enough he blended in not wearing any prosthesis on his face, but at the same time still struck fear in peoples eyes. 

A gleam twinkled in his brown eyes as he spied a small boy with his back turned. He was ready to tap the child's shoulder with his knifey finger when a hand clamped on his stripe sweater adorned shoulder.

Destler turned quizzically, "What are YOU doing here?"

Mr. Y stepped past him, "Please refrain from scaring my son monsieur."

The child wore a similar coat to the taller man, his dark hair was combed and gelled back, wearing a white mask over half his face.

"Father look!" Gustauve pointed, sprinting to another well decorated and illuminated house.

Destler smirked, "Interesting costume, Y Jr?"

The older man shrugged, "He insisted, I said he could be whatever he wanted." Crawford was feeling a little tense. Not only allowing the Meriks to run amok the Parisian streets, but the fact that the other adaptations were out and about unsupervised.

Lerik scribbled on his board-his coat lacked big enough pockets so the mute had no choice but to carry it around. Tonight was one of the few occasions he was not wearing his mask, however he did adorn a dishevelled looking wig.

It read, "Why so nervous?"

The older Merik shrugged, "Not nervous. Just...a little apprehensive."

He hadn't intended to dress for the occasion, but the others implored him to once Halloween fever seemed to strike the house-though that started more specifically when Kerik started drinking pumpkin spice lattes.

While his costume was a little more extravagant-from the large collared cape, the long grey white wig and false fang teeth-it made more sense for the occasion than a a grey suit and straw top hat would.

Lerik tried to re-adjust the large lump on his back but was getting frustrated trying to do this whilst holding the board.

"Let me," Crawford said adjusting the hump piece. "How did you very well get this on in the first place?"  

Meanwhile while most of the house residence decided to go out and enjoy being someone else for an evening, some had called it a night early.

Kerik frowned when he opened the door, expecting to see more children to scare. Instead Karimloo and Panaro passed him.

"I understand you, but whom exactly are you suppose to be?" The yellow eyed man asked.

The men turned, Karimloo dressed in a black cape with a raised collar, a maroon vest, and a poet's shirt. A small smear of red 'blood' ran down from a corner of his mouth.

Panaro was dressed a little more raggedly. The white shirt he wore was partially open, torn and red stained, his exposed throat wracked with teeth marks-whether they were painted on real Kerik wasn't too sure. The Merik's wig looked purposely dishevelled and little blips of red had dripped along his unmasked side of his face.

"The Count and Renfield of course," Panaro answered.

"Hm," Kerik mused, "I would have pegged you to be the vampire honestly."

Panaro shrugged awkwardly, "I was going to but that didn't exactly work out."

The Broadway man felt himself be yanked by his collar, Karimloo flashed a toothy grin.

"The night's not quite over yet," The West End man smiled, dragging Panaro up the stairs.

"Yes master," Panaro smirked, following his companion.

Kerik shook his head, “And their lot called me strange for dressing like a spider.”

Ho boy so alot of footnotes coming up:

-If you pay attention in the 2004 film, Gerik has several drawings/paintings, along with his stage diorama featured in two scenes as well as doll like figurines. So therefore, Gerik is artsy. 

-Derrick Davis plays the Phantom in the ALW PotO North American tour (And the one I’m going to see in about a week!!!)

-Cherik is watching ‘A Monster in Paris’, an animated movie dubbed in French and English. The song quoted is ‘La Seine/The River’ it’s an adorable movie with lots of PotO elements to it, highly recommend. 

COSTUME TIME:

-Cherik is dressed as Tywin Lannister from the television series ‘Game of Thrones’ as Charles Dance also plays this character. 

-John Owen Jones is dressed as Jean Valjean from ‘Les Miserables’. He and Wilkinson being dressed as Valjean as both are very well known for playing this character (Colm Wilkinson originating the role in 1985)

-Destler is dressed as Freddy Krueger, Robert Englund’s most notorious role from the ‘Nightmare on Elm Street’ series of movies.

-Crawford is dressed as Count Von Krolak from ‘Tanz Der Vampires/Dance of the Vampires’ debuting in 1997, Crawford stepping into the Count’s role on Broadway in 2001. Also noting unlike it’s German running counterpart the Broadway production was not a huge success.

-Also the reference to a grey suit and straw top hat refers to Crawford co starring in the film version of the musical ‘Hello Dolly!’ in 1969 as Cornelius Hackel. 

-Lerik is dressed as Quasimoto from ‘Hunchback of Notre Dame’ which Lon Chaney also starred in back in 1923

-The comment Kerik makes about Panaro being a more likely vampire is a reference to Hugh Panaro starring in ‘Lestat’ a briefly ran Broadway musical in 2006 based on Anne Rice’s ‘Vampire Chronicles’ novel series. Panaro was cast as the title character Lestat De Lioncourt. Like the Broadway run of ‘Tanz Der Vampires’, this was also not a huge hit. (I guess for some reason vampires and Broadway just don’t mix well together ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ ) 

[egoiistas]

at the center of the world (5)

tag || ao3 || ffn

Amestris becomes a harrowingly silent place on the afternoon of the Promised Day and only the survivors at the center are left to tread over it. Within a few hours, they won’t be the only ones wandering. The sacrifices are rising and leaving Central is more dangerous than the looming threat of invading armies.

Rated: M. it’s a horror/zombie au fic. - or it tries to be Warnings: Gore! Blood. The whole shebang for Zambeez

Chapter 5/11

Alphonse

Alphonse grew up listening to comparisons made between him and his brother. It notably narrowed down to the peculiar color of their eyes and hair, rich and golden like the desert sun, and the attunement to their prodigious understanding of alchemy.

It was said Alphonse Elric was patient where his brother was rash, that regarded others with a gentler compassion where Edward was brash, and generally, an optimist down to his soul. It had been a beacon of pride for him. Humility and approachability were traits people loved about their mother and to be seen as such, when they hardly look like her, created a warm spot in the cold hollow of his armor. Throughout the day - in his bouts of straying consciousness, he wondered if there was such a thing as too much optimism, and if he was just wrong about everything. That created a chilling spot in the warmth of his flesh body.

Alphonse thought about everyone he met, he laughed with, and held conversations. The people he knew little insignificant tidbits about, the smiles he had seen, the connections he had felt because of all of this. Not physically, but in his soul. He thought about them and each time he did his lip trembled and his throat became irritatingly tight as he was no longer used to have physical reactions to emotions. But this was the truth now: everyone he came in contact with during his journey - anyone who wasn't sitting in this room - wouldn't be able to celebrate with his accomplishment of regaining his body. He tried not to think of Resembool, fearing he'd spiral into something darker, and the day they had lost everyone somehow worsened.

Someone - or something - climbed through the window of his second floor hospital room and Al functioned on pure adrenaline to save his life and May's. He wished he could cement the idea then and there that it was animalistic and not human. He felt conflicted arriving on that moral decision considering he was without a flesh body up until a few hours ago.

And that was the thing, Alphonse felt nothing but anxiety since leaving his armored body behind at the military grounds. He was frail, weak. He was now made of flesh and bone, not of metal and a bloodseal He couldn't keep nutrients down and while he knew to expect this, he felt like a letdown to everyone. Nerves were on edge after what they saw this afternoon and he could pick it out like weeds around the hallway where they had all gathered the first night.

After the sun ducked under the horizon, the hospital lights shining down on the street had attracted the sacrifices, or so they decided to call them. They had tapped against the pale-red brick until the group ultimately decided to kill the lights. It would have been easier to just completely block out the had made a fire in the middle of the wing.

Colonel Mustang sat with them near the fire created from medical files and wooden clipboards to cook their evening meal. He, Brother and Teacher, they all had the same contemplative look on them – or perhaps it was shock. Their gazes were glossed over from the flames burning meekly in the spring nighttime.

Darius leaned against a wall, one foot propped against it, arms tightly crossed. Jerso donned a white patch right side of his skull. The chimera had lost his ear and they lost Zampano.

Al shifted his eyes away from the disturbed chimera. A loud thump startled him back to Darius's direction. A balled fist created an indent to the wall behind it.

"This is ridiculous. We are sitting ducks!" The gorilla chimera paced anxiously.

Jerso stirred from his seat on the floor, watching Darius warily. Drowsiness clouded his eyes, a side effect of the medicine administered for his missing ear, but caution alerted them.

"You saw those things. Whatever that was was. It's just like the mannequins in that white room. They move the same way, they don't think!" His voice boomed and bounced off the walls. "What do we do about what's out there?"

Alphonse clenched his fists weakly, an answer - for once - not springing immediately to his mind. Brother hadn't moved from his gaze into the fire, but his shoulders were tensed and the bridge of his nose was crinkled slightly.

Darius twisted on his heels to face the Colonel and marched for him.

Lieutenant Hawkeye twisted her body to reach for a sidearm. They exchanged glares; the animosity still hanging from this afternoon.

"Where's your plan now, Colonel?" His large arms were thrown up in the air with exasperation; he spoke an octave louder and with pause in between his words. The Colonel didn't flinch even as the chimera . This seemed to frustrate Darius even more.

Darius opened his mouth to speak again and loud thuds banged against the wall behind the transmuted door.

"Lower your voice."

"Or what? Is Colonel Mustang afraid that those things will break through the wall and get us?" He taunted.

"Lower - your - voice." The Colonel iterated dangerously.

"Darius, stop it, man." Jerso supplied, his eyebrows knit in concern and maybe fright. "We're all just scared here. Nobody could have seen this coming."

Darius inhaled deeply, chest extending and glaring around the room. He lifted his arms and balled fists pounded at his chest. The chimera opened his mouth to release a distinctive, ululating yell several notches louder than his speaking voice.

Alphonse covered his ears and winced, not entirely used to registering sound physically.

Teacher and the Lieutenant sprung up with the former quickly materializing a dagger with alchemy and the latter producing a handgun from her holster. Darius stopped immediately, putting his hands up.

"We don't care if you feel like acting a fool and putting your own life at risk," Teacher warned. "But don't endanger the rest of us`

"Fine," He spat, glancing towards the amphibian chimera. "Let's go Jerso."

Jerso tilted his head at the mention at his name. "Where are you going?"

"Away from here. I say we have better chances out there than stuck like canned meat in here."

Jerso shook his head. "I don't know." It was the first time Al heard him stammer. "You didn't see these things the way I did. If they're anything like those mannequin soldier - I don't want a repeat of the white room. It was the fire colonel who saved us, remember? Not even the twerp stood a chance."

Brother didn't stir.

Jerso bowed his head towards his bent knees, running hands over the braided dreads down the length of his scalp. "And if they got Zampano…"

The tall man pursed his lips, anger and fear flashing through his face. "Suit yourself." He walked over to the window, working on yanking the bolted wood panels off the walls. "You alchemists can fix this right up, right? Just like you fixed me?"

No one responded. Alphonse's heart went out to him. He empathized with Zampano and jerso back in Baschool. But there was nothing to say. The people who he wanted to be angry with were dead; quite possibly walking the streets.

Small feet broke the tense silence as May approached the firelight. He gave her a knowing, appreciative smile whenever he saw her. Alphonse was told of her persistence in helping get through the first few hours, but it was that same persistence that miraculously had him out of bed. "What's going on?"

"Darius wants to leave," Jerso whispered to her. "I think he's scared, little girl."

"I am not scared!" Darius roared. "I just want to live! Without a cage."

They all jumped from the nails ripping from the walls. Some clinked as the metal scattered on the floor.

"Enjoy your trapped existence." was the last thing he said before he hopped out the window.

The silence following Darius's departure hung over them, like a thick humidity, and uncomfortable. Teacher stood up, lifting the slatted barricade and Hawkeye went to help her reattach it. Undoubtedly, it was an easy feat for Teacher. Time, energy, and sound spared by the clap of two hands.

"How is Scar faring, May?" Teacher asked as the two rejoined them around the dying fire.

May fumble with her fingers and her eyes focused on the floor. She released a sigh, "I don't know what's wrong with Mr. Scar. He's warm with fever. I've given him what I know to stop try and bring it down. I've placed a wet towel over his head, but he's unconscious. And I really don't know why."

The Colonel perked. "What happened with Scar?"

"One of the bodies exploded." Brother looked down focusing on the floor as if the scene played on the tile in front of him. He wrung his hands. Alphonse noticed the fluidity of his automail was not all there, but Brother continued, "Something shrouded around him. I don't know what it was. Unnatural if I had to describe it and then Scar collapsed after a few seconds. It was a close call."

Confused, the Colonel frowned, "A gas?"

"A mist or something, yeah," Brother responded and the older man didn't say anything more, turning pensive.

"Did you check his lungs?" Teacher asked.

May nodded at Teacher, looking up with eyes that made Alphonse sad. "He's breathing fine. My medical knowledge only goes so far. His chi flow isn't blocked like when I tended to his wounds this morning."

"May," Mustang called calmly.

After a moment May answered, "Yes?"

"You've mentioned chi and life force before right now."

"It's the basis to Alkahestry."

"Can you sense anything in these things?" The Colonel asked.

"What are you thinking?" Teacher interjected May's response.

He leaned back into his chair, kicking one leg over the other. "Why the dead would rise. Most of this room knows full well the impossibility of the scenario."

Al glanced over to Hawkeye, staring at her commanding officer and unsure if he picked up a sadness in her eyes. It was hard to tell from the limited light.

"Judging by the way that they burn, I'm assuming they look nothing like the mannequin soldier we encountered?"

"No," Brother said, stirring out of his silence. "They used to be human. They were once living humans, but now…" He struggled. "Now, I don't know."

"Then we find ourselves in a dead nation with its citizens suddenly rising up." The Colonel said grimly. His greyed eyes looked into the fire with a focused determination.

Alphonse mused he could probably feel the warmth of the fire on his face; it almost convinced Alphonse that Mustang could see again.

"They are another form of mannequin soldiers," he continued. "But what's animating them?"

"I don't sense anything different about them, not from what I've seen." May answered his question from before."

"And this isn't something you see with your eyes?"

"No, it's more like instinct, but if I concentrate then I can sense it."

Mustang breathed out, "Can you teach me what you know?"

May looked at him thoughtfully, at the others, himself, and then back to the Colonel. "I can try."

"What do you two know about it?"

In Aspec, Al remembered his feeble attempt to learn Alkahestry and their source derived from "chi", "life force", and "the Dragon's pulse". All three turned out to be synonymous. He wondered then if it was it's lack of tangibility that made it difficult for him, or if it veered on the spiritual type of science that Alphonse simply didn't attune well with.

Alphonse jumped again in his wheelchair before he could speak. An earsplitting yell rung through the streets, rattling him and the others. But it was getting nearer.

"Let me in! Let me back in!"

Heads turned towards the window and it took a moment for all of them to realize the cries for help came from Darius whose voice had heightened several octaves.

Brother and Teacher scrambled to give Darius an entryway, collectively realizing why he needed help.

Just like his persistence, his curiosity knew no bounds and his feet touched the cold of the hospital floor despite the warmth of the faltering fire. May stirred from his sudden movement as one hand held onto the IV stand. He took slow steps and his slow approach still managed to jolt his brother and the Lieutenant out of their stupor from watching. He noticed how none of them moved to assist him outside of the building. As if they were grounded by a fear neither of them had known.

He slowly pivoted his head from his brother to the view past the window panes.

Darius was several blocks away, running with all his might. Behind him several bodies moved with impressive speed and a mob moved at a snail's pace behind him, like the foot soldiers to the cavalry charging ahead.

Immediately, he noticed how none of them moved to assist him outside of the building. As if they were grounded by a fear none of them had known before, like an instinct deep down urged them to remain where if they were to keep their lives. With the little strength Alphonse gathered from only a day, he felt it down to his bones.

The running sacrifices looked terrifying, spastically moving forward in a way that wasn't practical but they gained ground on the chimera nonetheless.

Breaking the fear-wrought silence, Brother extended his hand out, shouting in the encouraging, heart-thumping way that he does, "We've got you, Mr. Gorius! Run!"

The chimera, responding to the encouragement, picked up the speed of his sprint and prepared himself for a lunge only a chimera could accomplish.

However, a millisecond before he did, something from the shadows jumped out of the alley and tackled him to the ground. The manner in which it opened its mouth should have broken the joint at its mandible but it bit down on Darius's neck. Darius's arms and legs spastically shot out before he tried to claw the sacrifice off his neck.

In the cast of only the moonlight, Alphonse saw the blood that spilled towards the sky. Any of them looking out the window saw him reaching out towards them pleading them to help him. The front lines of the mob moved in on him and his screams were wretched and pained. Al couldn't see Darius any more as the rest of them moved in on him. They clawed and ate as the survivors watched from the second story window of Central's only hospital.

He screamed until they tore out his throat.

[francel]

rambling;

i have nothing good to post, so i thought it might be fun to compile some answers to various ffxiv- and rp-related memes and questionnaires i’ve done on my private accounts! please enjoy my screaming.

8. Is there a character that embodies your good traits, or traits you wish you had? Several characters? Which ones and what traits?

i wish i was handsome and suave like all my characters thanks

13. What’s something you’ve never thought about your character?

a certain someone recently decided to remind me that francel's house has no bathroom... and i had honestly never considered, in two whole years of playing him, where he goes to pee?

"do you mean poop" francel is a delicate maiden i will not consider this

(we figure there’s probably an outhouse... somewhere...)

3. What’s something that surprises you about your canon?

Wiltswys: You think me cold? Well, fie on what you think! I wanted something better than tilling salty fields and spilling small fry out the nets, and occasionally taking a passing sailor into my bed for more o' the same!

LISTEN THIS IS THE MOST VULGAR LINE IN THE GAME I SWEAR TO GOD

i have done this quest at least... 4 or 5 times now and it never fails to make me scream. and every time i do it i have to zoom in on her and look at her face because she is a really cute roe girl, so i wonder what her taste in sailors is...

19. Give me an appearance-related headcanon of your choice.

LAUGHS OK hmm what have i never said before...

i have definitely mentioned that i don’t think francel likes his appearance very much — he especially wishes he had lighter-colored eyes like stephanivien and aurvael...

i personally want to think that chlodebaimt looked very different from francel BUT, although i have never datamined the necrose knight (i really should), a friend of mine took screenshots and his eyes at least look like francel's eyes

...but they might very well have just used a generic house haillenarte knight model for that, so who knows what chlodebaimt looked like?

i also like to think that baurendouin (francel's father) persists in the belief that his youngest son will do great things because he at least superficially resembles driancoin de haillenarte (the haillenarte founder you see in the haldrath flashback scene). i mean, i doubt portraits of driancoin survived or anything, given the nondescript statues of thordan's knights, but i’m sure comments about him did?

"he was fair of face and fair of hair" idfk some shit like that

5. What do you hate about your canon?

i am always, ALWAYS so tired of hearing people complain about how “no one ever” treats the wol like they’re “a normal person” ah, yes no one no one ever has treated you nicely never mind the fact that people regularly apologize for turning to you in their hours of need, and for asking you to kill things, and you usually just dismiss their applogy no one!!! has ever!! been nice!! to the wol!! i know the entire arc of my francel writing career has been bitching about similar things but at least i find new ways to do it

ok wait i have to vent more about how people still persist in the NO ONE WAS NICE TO THE WOL BUT HAURCHEFAAANT!!!!! delusion like tataru fucking made you clothes recently IS THAT NOT THE ULTIMATE EXPRESSION OF LOVE? YOU'VE FINALLY BEEN REWARDED WITH SOMETHING PHYSICAL AND TANGIBLE!! STOP COMPLAINING ABOUT HOW YOU DON’T HAVE FRIENDS!!

24. What’s a song that reminds you of your character?

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1B7VKiJhU_s “Dear Jack,” by Jack’s Mannequin.

lately, i’ve been listening to this... i don't like every part of this song, but lyrically, it is such a perfect francel song

dear jack, i write you as a friend dear jack, i write for fear the end is coming soon to you it's not so clear it's clear to me it's clear as glass

dear jack, wherever you are, hold tight wherever he is, shine light right there be strong i dare

i had songs for you i had all your music written out the words came when i heard you screaming i had plans for you until the plans fell through now there is no turning back, my dear jack

11. Something you like to look at.

i have complicated feelings about haurchefant these days, but sometimes i go and look at this mug and cry about his handwriting

like from a lore perspective i know he can't be writing in english because they write in eorzean but until then, my friend...

14. When writing for specific characters, is there anything you have to do to get in the specific mindset?

yes! but it depends on the character. for ramza... i either read shakespeare (for real — i have lifted quotes wholesale from hamlet and the tempest) and/or listen to "rather be" by clean bandit? seriously, that is my most strong ramza association... which is weird because the song and the game are like 20 years apart? or i listen to the FFT ost...

for francel i have a whole playlist, but most importantly i either go on twitter and look at wolchefant fanart or read bad wolchefant fanfic on ao3... (don’t judge me; it keeps the bitterness alive)

18. Is there anything you really wish you could do that you feel is outside your current ability? A concept that you wish you could pull off but are uncertain about?

UMMM... hmmmmmmm...

i dont know... i don’t really think any plots are outside of my current ability, but i admire my friends for being so consistent and on the ball with their dignified prose? i can be dignified too, but at some point i'll crash and start writing intensely silly tags

i would like to do more plots where francel is a badass for whatever reason, but that’s just wish fulfillment

17. Which character is the easiest to write? Why do you think that is?

francel is the easiest to write because he has the ugliest emotions

ramza is the hardest because he is always so virtuous

everyone else has varying levels of self control, but with francel i can usually succumb to base impulse reactions. i like his unguarded nature...

6. When writing a character, do you find it easier to work on their external or internal ticks first? oh, internal, definitely. i think my tags suffer from the fact that i often don’t describe what my characters are doing or what is around them? just... just assume on my behalf lmao.... so IF FRANCEL IS CAUGHT UP IN INTERNAL TL;DR there's a 90% chance he's doing that kicked-puppy stare at the floor

5. Has fandom ever ruined a pairing for you? XIV, hard mode: no Haurchefant/WoL.

LMAO THAT HARD MODE...

xiv's fandom has rarely "ruined" pairings for me, as in "i liked them before but i hate them now solely because of fandom"... that said, i think i kind of liked the idea of zephirin and aymeric as a rivalry ship, but i hate when fandom takes the "oMG ZEPH RAPED AYMERIC WHEN HE WAS HELD CAPTIVE" route...

i think this perception of zephirin as this horrible awful evil man comes from the fact that the information on the ward happened after the game was released, so... in the span of time between "zephirin killed haurchefant" and "wait actually zephirin is a virtuous man," people formed their opinions, you know?

but it's still really annoying, and to some degree the misconception persists...

i was also okay with guydelot and sanson at first, but i’m a little annoyed by them now, too... it’s not for any particular reason — i just think the fandom is annoying in the "THEY'RE SOOO MARRIED!! EVEN THE OTHER QUEST NPCS SAY THEY'RE LIKE A MARRIED COUPLE!! THEY’RE SO CANON!!!" way and i’m like Please Shut Up. that said, i guess it’s mostly jealousy because none of my pairings are ever canon, but whatever...

so i guess i'm going with zephirin/aymeric, guydelot/sanson... and oh btw like. urianger/moenbryda to a degree? i remember when the wind-up moenbryda item came out and the english item description was like "you don't want to know what urianger did to this" or something like that, like, i just took it as — like urianger probably dressed it up in a little maid outfit and had it serve him tea or something equally otaku-like?

but the entire fandom was like OMG HE JERKED OFF TO IT OR USED IT AS A SEX DOLL OR SOMETHING and i was like ... okay. like if that's how you're determined to see it, fine, but fandom always takes the worst possible interpretation of something i swear to god

13. Unpopular opinion about XXX character?

LAUGHS WELL I GUESS MY USUAL TIRADE: i don't think of haurchefant as the perfect cinnamon roll angel and actually he annoys me a little...

my friend just finished running coerthas quests on her balmung alt and like... even she commented on how brusque and condescending he seems to francel? and she has no reason to be tainted by my perception of him, it's just... it’s just that he is brusque and condescending.

back when i liked haurchefant/francel, i told myself that it was just how he acted in the heat of the moment and i was sure he was gentler later... but now we’ve seen so much of haurchefant that from the way he treats francel it really feels more to me like francel was just a friend of convenience. i don’t know. i’m bitter. maybe i’m just bitter because it’s easier to cope that way.

14. Unpopular opinion about your fandom?

um... well, i think everyone in the ffxiv fandom also agrees that the fandom is annoying...

something i sometimes worry about, but which is not exclusive to ffxiv, is like... people who rp wind up with such a different impression of things than people who just play the game? 

i'm not judging either side on this but... i have rp friends, and i observe the rp community on tumblr/balmung, and i also have friends that are just gamers? and you know, like. sometimes rpers get carried away and invent all these narratives, like i know some tumblr rpers had a bunch of "plots" where a murder mystery happened in ishgard and it was all full of like noble OCs and intrigue or something?

but my gamer friends will sometimes be like, “ishgard is so boring.” so they... see it differently? you wind up viewing the game differently based on what you do in it.

there's also the divide between the english version of the game and the rest of the world, which i bitch about a lot but

just as an example, in english the nobles of ishgard are kind of broadly characterized as being unintelligent and shallow and foppish, whereas the other versions of the game really take a much more neutral approach?

or well i can really only speak for the japanese, but in general the german and french versions of the game are loyal to the japanese, however, 2.0 content was often based on the english...

so, for example, 2.0 content was EN->FR, but ever since 3.0 most of the patches have been JP->EN/DE/FR

however, the EN version continues to make changes, whereas DE and FR don't really change many things!

so i worry a lot about the different perceptions people have of the game, and what that means, like, when i write fanfic...

does my interpretation of coerthas align with other peoples' interpretations of coerthas? probably not. that’s something that’s deeply distressing, as a writer and as someone who prefers to have control, but i don’t know...

17. Instead of XYZ happening, I would have made ABC happen...

STARES INTO THE VOID it's it's too late for any of this

2 years ago i would have told you without hesitation that i wanted haurchefant to be alive and for him and francel to have eloped together, but now i just...

i've learned to play with the cards i've been dealt