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yomogi-mogi-mochi · 2 years

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Pygmalion (I)

Pairings: Rook/ (Pygmalion) MC // Idia/MC (Platonic)

Summary: You were frequently told that your career as a renowned sculptor did not match your dull and less than colorful personality. With your cybernetic hands, you carve the lives and deaths of those long gone‒ producing pieces which have been held in both technical and emotional high regard, dubbing you with the title “Pygm.AI.lion” despite your human heart and brain. When you accidentally still the usually flamboyant archer into silence after he comes across you working in your atelier‒ you find that you’ve become a victim to one of his ceaseless stalkings. Though, you’ve been prey long enough to know how hunt the huntsman himself.

Notes: Reader/OC based off of the myth of Pygmalion, but with a twist of sci-fi/cybernetic enhancements courtesy of the Shroud family. Rook is certainly a tricky character to write because part of his characterization being “mysterious and distant”, but as all humans have, there are layers underneath this simplicity that I thought would be interesting to explore through the avenue of the artist and the cyborg. GN pronouns and TW for some grooming, toxic adult presence, human experimentation mentioned (none of which are perpetrated by Twst characters). Also, inspired by "Apathy Wrapped in Kindness" by @twst-hanaya

CW: Human experimentation, verbal abuse in coming chapters

AO3 Link Here.

Part 1 (Here) // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6

Masterlist

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Cold blood that gradually began to pump through your plastic arteries and into your preserved heart traced your emerging body from the darkness of your recovery pod. Your synthetic arms twitched as the pod brought you into an upright position, and though the consistent palpitation of liquid throughout your cybernetic body prevented blood from rushing to your head, it took a few heavy breaths for your eyes to adjust to this resurrection that occurred every morning. Stepping out of the container, you felt the weight of your body return, swaying your head a bit as you pulled on your new Ignihyde uniform.

The floating tablet read: “Function: stable”, illuminating your room in a ghostly blue in confirmation of your body’s successful resurrection. An icon floated below it, a glowing version of the photo sitting on your desk, the man in the photo piercing his gaze into yours as if to scold you for your late morning as he had done centuries before. “Good morning Doctor Krios.*”, you greeted as always, before heading out for the Headmage’s office to finalize your delayed enrollment.

“Ah! Finally, (name), I was starting to think you wouldn’t show up!”

“Good morning, Headmage Crowley. I apologize for the delay.” You bowed towards him, watching him shuffle through a mess of papers on his desk. “Is this what you are looking for?” Picking up a file with your name stamped on the front, you handed it to Crowley.

He beamed. “Ah! Yes, exactly that. You robots are so useful with your sensors and such.”

“I am not a robot.”

“Because I am so kind‒ I will forgive you for your delay!” The headmage completely ignored your statement. Not that you really cared. He flipped through several pages of the file, before pulling one out and shoving it in front of your face. “Now, here is your schedule. Since you are a sculptor, and because I am so gracious‒ I took the liberty of setting up a tour led by one of our brightest third year art students before the week begins.” Just then, a knock was heard at the office doors.”Ah, right on cue. Come in!”

The heavy walnut doors opened, revealing a tall blonde with a purple uniform, and wide brimmed, purple hat to match. The red feather on it swooshed as he brought it to his chest, adorning a fox-like smile on his slender face.

“Enchante, Maître d’Ivoire. My name is Rook Hunt, vice dorm leader of the Pomefiore dorm and your guide today.” He sat his hat back on his head, reaching his hand out for a handshake. “What an honor it is to finally meet the one and only ‘Pygm.AI.lion’!”

You took his hand into your artificial one, tasting the warmth that came from the red blood flowing underneath his skin. “It’s nice to meet you. My name is (Name) Jupiter. I don’t go by Pygm.AI.lion.” A look of surprise adorned his face when you mentioned the name.

“Likewise, I apologize, I’ve only seen you associated with that name. And,” he lifted a hand to rest his knuckles under his chin in an inquisitive manner. “Jupiter? Of the Jupiter Enterprises?”

You nodded. “Yes. That Jupiter. My cybernetics that were the first in the world to be as automated as they are, were produced by the scientists of Jupiter Enterprises.” You explained, reminded of Dr.Krios’ words. You are the precious child to all in the Jupiter Family. It was as if you could feel him holding your beating heart in his hands once more, stringing various tubes and needles through them.

“Alright, you two. You have much to see, go on now!” The headmage shooed you away, returning to the pile of papers on his desk. Rook held the door open for you, before closing it behind him to lead you on your tour.

“So,” Rook began, pointing his sharp gaze to the bionic components peaking through your Ignihyde uniform. “how ever did a robot‒ excuse me‒ AI make their way into Night Raven College?”

“I am not a robot. Nor am I an AI.” You simply stated. “And a carriage arrived at the lab one day, just like any of the other students here.”

“My apologies. It seems the information on you spread by the media is unfortunately very lacking, I’m a fan of your work. Ah, may I see your schedule?” You handed him your schedule. He hummed in thanks. “What are you then, Maître d’Ivoire?”

“A cyborg.” The hungry glint in his eyes seemed a bit dissatisfied with your curt answer.

“Interesting, I do not see any human components‒ though that synthetic skin is very convincing‒ it reminds me of a student here, Ortho Shroud, you’ll meet him eventually.” He tipped his neck forward to get a better look at your bare skin.

You hummed, gaze stilled forward, a bit bored of his interrogation. Though you were used to pompous aristocrats hogging your time with their ceaseless blabbering of their own mediocre lives, this was equally as dull. You weren’t here really to make friends or experience the school life‒ just to escape the invasive testing and prodding back at the lab now that Dr.Krios was finally gone, which unfortunately ended the little protection you had under him. You ignored Rook’s first statement, reminded of the human heart and brain that were not able to be bionically replaced during your reconstruction. “I already know of him. He’s a member of the Shroud family, after all.” Rook swung his neck back, looking at the paper between his fingers.

“Mon dieu!” His volume made you wince your eyes, cringing at the sudden outburst. “I must be blessed by the great seven‒ we have the same period for art! How lucky am I to lay these eyes directly upon your creations! Ah, I simply cannot wait….” Rook tittered, a Iively energy singing in his footsteps, before he stops in front of heavyset double doors. “This room here is actually the art classroom.” He leads you into a closed classroom, a spacious floor with various mediums stored in all corners of the room. Your eyes shifted towards the unfinished marble structures clustered at the lengthy windows letting in golden sunlight that bounced off the soft skin of the figures. Despite most sculptures being half finished, there were no preliminary wax, clay, or plaster sculptures in sight*. With leisure movements, you circled around the forms, scrutinizing each crevice of soft marble, observing a bit in disappointment. Amateur technique, you thought. But you excuse it with the fact that this was not a specialized college for the arts, and rather one with magic; as well as your eyes being trained through centuries of perfecting your own carving technique, enabled by the prolonged life the cybernetic enhancements allowed you.

“Do we have an atelier here? Or just this classroom?” You asked, resuming an upright position to look at Rook, observing you with an amused look swimming in his eyes. You felt like you were being slowly trapped under the viridian of his gaze, tracking every movement of your synthetic muscles and whir of your polymer joints to trail you back to the inner processing of your brain. His name was fitting, you thought, you felt hunted by the slender slits on his face. However you were used to such hungry color saturating the eyes that met your form‒ so you paid no mind, silently stalking his movements back‒ a game of par force*. His lips curved into a smile that was not at all kind, sorry, or warm‒ but rather, above all, polite. It was with a cool distance stretching far into his eyes that you had become accustomed to within yourself, over the centuries of bearing the weight of time like a feather.

“Unfortunately no, just this classroom. Does this space not satisfy you?”

“I’d rather have more space to work with all of my tools at my disposal. This place is lacking in terms of proper maintenance and available materials. The oils and other mediums of this room will taint the stone, and I don’t see a single block of wax in sight.”

Your guide let out a laugh. “As expected from Maître d’Ivoire, I can certainly lend you the key to one of the abandoned sheds in the gardens on campus…” he decorated an artful smile on his face, positioning his hand below his chin as if to think. You quirked your eyebrow.

“Great. Take me there.”

“Ah but alas, I have one request.” He dangled the keys on a hooked finger. “I am a devotee to archaeology and unearthing ancient beauties which sleep beneath this earth you see. I happen to catch wind of the fact that you bear direct knowledge of ancient techniques, lost to the modern day?*” He eyes scanned your response through the brim of his hat, measuring the change in your features with the knowledge that he knew of your extended life. You didn’t really care much, he didn’t seem like the type to be going around and sharing people’s business.

“If you allow me to stop by periodically to study your technique, I will lend you this key in my hand.” His hand reached out to seal the deal. “What do you say, Maître d’Ivoire?”

You weighed out the options. On one hand, this guy seemed to be a hassle to deal with and you didn’t like people disturbing you during your process…on the other hand, even if you were able to avoid him during class, it wouldn’t matter if your final product would turn out imperfect and even potentially damaged. Which seemed likely with the clumsy handiwork you observed in the sloppy expressions decorating marble. You took his hand into yours, reflecting his own hunger in the glass of your bionic eyes. “Alright, we have a deal.”

He shook your hand with vigor. “Magnifique! Splendid! Surely, you will not regret this.” You wiggled your hand out of his tight grasp, already drained from his antics. Gods, you hoped the students of this school weren’t all like this.

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It was good this time period was full of technological innovations that made your life much easier than it had been when you were younger. Ah the marvels of technology, it made transferring all of your materials and works from the lab to your new atelier much easier rather than having to haul heavy materials from the lab, to your dorm, onto campus‒ not that it would be an issue with your cybernetics. Still, you were thankful that with a simple click of a button, everything was sent over with expedited shipping. You arrived early in the morning to unpack everything, picking the heavy materials up with ease with the help of your enhanced strength.

You were eager to get to work‒ finally out of the lab that scrutinized every move of yours. Do this, make that, carve this, don’t do that. You didn’t necessarily think sculpting was a personal expression for you per say, but you were tired of having to make such lifeless art appealing to the easily amused mob of aristocrats and stuffy high end clients that swamped your galleries. The rhythm in which you tapped your hammer onto the pointed chisel echoed through your gloves, into the microscopic sensors on your synthetic skin, reverberating into your metallic skeleton and into your human heart. You quietly relished the feeling so close to warm flesh.

“Such dutiful dedication! Already at work, I see.” Rook beamed, rested his hand on his chin, examining the detailed ivory ornaments sitting next to your drafting desk. Your flow interrupted, your hand hovered over the stone, phasing out of your automated trance. “Oh, apologies for interrupting.” He weaved through the statues littering the room making his way towards you.

Bit late for that goddammit.

“Just…knock next time.” You say monotonously. Anger would only feed them, him. Rook hummed in response.

“What are you working on?”

You motioned towards the wax sculpture next to you, he bent his neck down to examine it closer.

“What is this supposed to be?” His head turned to the side, positioning it to see if it would give him a better perspective.

“Whatever it wants to be.” You stated, getting back into the rhythm. In your mind there was no intention, no meticulously crafted idea that came deep within. An image descended to you like a dream, and you thawed it out, warming the figure of a life and death chilled by the stillness of time. You merely carved this life and death into stone‒ taking the past into your hands and infusing it to this present moment. Historians, archaeologists, and academics often labored over the meanings of your work‒ and you let them, knowing they would never understand the lack of novelty or personal intention within your creations, induced by the experience of eternity washing over you like a light breeze hardening in your still beating human heart.

“Whatever it wants to be?” His eyes held surprise above all, trained on your hands as his own pulled out a purple pen and leather notepad.

“Whatever it wants to be. The years I’ve lived have made me an observer to humanity.” Your gloved hands worked with a lightness almost impossible to the heavy mechanical components packed inside your synthetic skin. “I am possessed by it.”*

A hardened smile grew on his lips, as he steadied his hand on the surface of the notepad. “Beaute‒ such inspiring words! Such love and beauty felt through your art…” He scribbled something down on the paper.

“Love? Art? Beauty? No. This is not art, not knowledge‒ it is possession. Possession of life, of death, of ugliness, of nuance no longer…” found within yourself. You reeled yourself from your daze, pausing mid-way through your sentence. Perhaps you had lied when you said you weren’t an AI. An AI can only replicate the human brain efficiently because it cannot do so with the human heart‒ because when a heart emerges, it becomes something entirely new‒ too fearful, too longing, too passionate it then yearns, it wants more, more, more‒ feel something, reach out, call out, the heart says. It is not an AI then, it becomes a monster. That voice existed in you at some point in time, but now you merely stand in front of it to reflect if onto stone. Your gloved hands trembled when you stopped your hammer. To lull them, you continued your rhythm. This French bastard was really messing with your flow, humming carelessly as he continued to scribble in his notepad.

You two sat in silence after that, you continuing your work with the material as he sat and studied your every move before he announced it was time for lunch. Wanting to continue with your piece, you merely hummed in response, glad that he was no longer scrutinizing you under that falcon-like gaze. This hunt didn’t feel as dehumanizing as it was in the lab, but it definitely kept you on your guard enough that it was disturbing your usual rapid pace with production. But maybe it was because, for the first time in a while, it was not mere production‒ you had to allow yourself to be possessed by humanity, rather than the vapid requests of the people in lab coats or garish jewelry. Hearing Rook close the door, you ascended into a deep trance, your hands dancing across the surface of the marble to realize the vision.

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The joints in your arm rasped with exhaustion when you finished the piece. Stretching your stiffened body, you searched the room for your maintenance box, hoping it wasn’t buried in the several boxes that littered the corners that you had forgotten to unpack. Finding it under your drafting table, you opened it, revealing various tools to tweak the cybernetics on your body for better performance. You grabbed a wrench, opening a compartment on your arm before loosening the tension within it with a few twists.

“Bonsoir, still in the studio at this late hour?” You turned to the voice, revealing Rook, the crimson feather on his head bobbing as he waltzed into the atelier. Giving a grunt in response, you continued to work on the weariness of your arm.

“I was just about to lock up since I’m finished.”

“Won’t you indulge me in your latest creation?” That smile, those hungry eyes again.

You let out a silent huff through your nose, getting up to flick on the light that illuminated the sculpture. There lay a hunk of marble that held its fleshy luster under the delicate layers of plaster and wax you stratified on top of the stone‒ emerging from it a disembodied figure resembling the pose of a crouched fetus despite its large, meaty form, cracked and dismembered. The wax, dyed in splotchy bursts of red, glowed pink like human tissue under the warm lamp, and supple like soft skin you could almost squeeze. You were satisfied with your handiwork today, this was exactly the image which descended upon you‒ fleshy, poignant, ghostly, writhing with hot blood. You had once known her, the figure imprinted onto the stone. She always wore a woeful smile on her flowery face until the sickness overtook her entire body. The last night you met with her to hold her hand through the eternal darkness, she cried like a worn infant, rasping in your ear a covet for another life, sweet as a summer’s child. You don’t remember her name, or your tears‒ but you remember the feather light touch of her fingers and salt on your tongue. Her divine thirst seized your hands today‒ and you carved it into the tender wax over soft marble.

You curiously looked over at Rook, who turned his back to you, stilled at the moment you flickered the lights. Stepping closer, you saw that he had an unreadable, if not, slightly perturbed expression on his face‒ the creases made between his deep set eyes feeling unnatural to his demeanor. Drinking it in with slight surprise, you stepped back quietly, gathering your tools in your canvas wrap case to let him sort out..whatever was happening to him.

“This is…different from your usual pieces, no?”

“My usual pieces are patroned by Jupiter Enterprises. I have no patron currently so I can allow my sculptures to do as they like.”

“You speak as if…this is alive.”

A phantom sensation grazed your palm. “It is very much so. I can even make it more alive, but I won’t do that.” Rook looked at you, searching your flat expression for an answer. Ah, you had forgotten Dr.Krios had framed your sculptures as a technological wonder, rather than a result of your magic. Grabbing an ivory sculpture off of your shelf, you pulled off your glove with your teeth. “With my touch, Aphrodite’s Kiss,”* the creature began to flutter in your hands. “I can animate my carvings.” The bird chirped, snuggling its soft ivory wings into your hold hands, before it began to gradually lose the lively jitter of its body, petrifying it before its heart stopped. “But it does not last for long. It will harden again before its short lived life is over.” You carefully set the bird back in its spot, encasing your synthetic hand back in the glove. How desperately you wanted to lock your hands inside that fabric to veil them for eternity, or tear them off your body entirely. But your body shook with a quiet tremor, even with the cold blood and metal‒ create, create, create.

Rook observed your movements silently, then slowly turned his head back to the pink statue, lips pursed in a thin line, breathing slowly rising his chest up and down.

“Not her though, it would be cruel.”

He flashed a polite, distanced smile again. “Thank you for indulging me. Sweet dreams, Maître d’Ivoire.” A gloved hand tipped his hat as he bade his goodbye, leaving you in the chilled room, sharp eyes tracking his movements. A slight fragrance of bitter anger wafted from his passing expression‒ you felt that it wasn’t directed towards you, but it also seemed it wasn’t not directed towards you. You weren’t really sure. Gathering your supplies, you readied yourself for a full schedule tomorrow, hopefully with less weird students than the one that you met today.

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Notes:

Much of the cybernetic inspiration comes from media like Ghost in the Shell, Battle Angel Alita, Violet Evergarden, etc.. since I grew up with them during my childhood in my mother country lol. But also some of it comes from my academic research area, mainly addressing feminism and queer theory through the allegory of the cyborg (ie Cyborg Manifesto by Donna Haraway). I hope to continue with these ideas because I think it’s such an interesting concept that holds a lot of relevance to our current world.

Krios is a translation of “Aries” in Greek‒ both a representation of the animal symbolizing the god of war, and the god of death (black ram specifically). Like a ram, both war and death stops for no one, and charges straight through with force. Kind of like a mad scientist breeching on ethical codes lol

Marble sculptors usually make preliminary drafts made of more malleable materials like clay, plaster, or wax to tackle any potential technical issues that might have to deal with. Also results in a better replication of soft things like skin and fabric because of the malleable material. Kind of like a sketch, studies, or etchings that oil painters do before starting their piece.

Par Force: A style of hunting used for centuries, which became the preferred method of hunting during the medieval period during the cultural shift of hunting to an activity for nobles, because it was considered to be the “purest” and most elegant form, requiring lots of technical and intellectual skill in heightening danger within a controlled context. It basically exhausts (some theorize heat exhaustion) the prey into yielding. However some, even during this period, claimed that this was not pure‒ and liked to take their prey with “gentleness” and “nobility” with a bow and arrow or with traps, favoring the process and rituals to the hunt rather than say, exhausting the biggest hunt to capture it. ALSO hunting has a lot of romantic/sexual implications during medieval periods (especially in France, as they decorated many illuminated manuscripts, tapestries, and wooden chests) so I’ll definitely be using this analogy a lot lol

Though ivory sculpting has been traditionally used in ornamental pieces since prehistoric times, it was usually a very rare and expensive material to work with before the colonization (robbery) of Africa in the 19th century. Though marble is favored for sculptures with human forms because its luster is similar to that of human skin‒ ivory was favored in religious and decorative objects (mostly for high political/social classes like the church or the Chinese royal dynasty) because of its softness, creamy color, and smooth grain/texture. Ivory is also the tusks of elephants or walruses, so it’s hard to create grandeur with just size alone, so many ivory sculptures are extremely detailed.

Unlike metal it also can’t be recycled or reused, so not only is it a precious material to start with, but it also becomes even more important over time because its higher survival rate (used a lot in Byzantine art, and we actually still have a lot of well-preserved pieces, such as the throne of Maximianus).

Unfortunately because ivory doesn’t survive so well underground or in certain climates, our knowledge of Ancient Greek ivory carving is very restricted, though most Roman (the later half towards Constantine’s rule) are well preserved because they were kept above ground in church treasuries. So most of our knowledge on Ancient Greek ivory sculpting comes from the plaques and relief carvings of the Roman/Byzantine times. So I think Rook would be very interested, as an aspiring archaeologist, to get the inside scoop about Ancient Greek ivory carving, especially as its trade has been forbidden since the late 20th century.

In the Odyssey when describing the materials for the palace of Menelaos as “the heavenly palace…There was a gleam there, which was like the gleam of he sun of the moon…I want you to notice something, so of Nestor, you who are so dear to my heart. Notice the flash of bronze as its ight pervades the echoing hall and also the flash of gold and of electrum and of silver and ivory. I’m guessing that Zeus, who lives on Olympus, has such a hall inside his palace, and he would have as many indescribable things as are here. A sense of holy awe takes hold of me as I look at these things.”

Ivory is illustrated as a material favored by the gods, specifically to Zeus. SIDENOTE‒ the Iliad/Odyssey are set during the Mycenaean Greece (though written during Archaic/Ancient Greece) and therefore Zeus is not yet the headgod he is known to be in the Hellenistic Pantheon (Mycenaean Greece put more of a emphasis on Chthonic/Underworld gods like Psidon, who fulfilled the head god role). But Homer go off I guess I get what you’re trying to say‒ Ivory is a material favored by the gods, and even associated with the head god of the time period it was written in.

Side note to side note: there are so many inconsistencies like this in Homer’s narratives lol. Like Aphrodite isn’t even found in any Mycenaean texts but she’s like the main person responsible for the Trojan war?? Make it make sense lmao

In Plato's Ion, he discusses with Socrates how artists preform and create. He states that art is form of divine possession and inspiration, a type of divine madness that acts as a vessel to gods' truth. It comes not solely from a place of knowledge but experience and inspiration (capturing the essence). I think this would definitely be an interesting perspective to take with art (not one I personally believe in), especially with a being infused with the eternity of time.

The piece was inspired by both Medardo Rosso’s The Golden Age (L ‘Ea d’oro) (the materials and technique), and Jean Fautrier’s Sarah ad Petit nu Assis (the form and concept). I wanted to mainly focus on abstract pieces for the stuff created outside of the lab since it elicits a feeling, an experience, and a life and death than an image. Tachisme, which is the art movement Jean Fautrier belongs to, also is very intuitive‒ so I wanted to show the essence of memory‒ something which doesn’t take a clear form but can still make us feel depth and emotion. Memory is also something which betrays our heart and mind in the end as well, so that is also something which shows that there is still humanity inside the character, despite their willful distance away from it.

Rook is a bit ticked off when he can’t really intellectualize your art, because I think he sees beauty as truth above anything else, which can only really be pulled from objective reality and observation (explains his vote for RSA‒ he saw that the students had passion in what they did, rather than justifying his vote with his adoration for Vil). So when he can’t really put a finger on what makes his body feel the beauty of the piece, he feels like he’s being denied a part of him‒ which is something that instills a cold anger and green inside him because I think he really values “I” in the holistic sense. He won’t give parts of himself to anyone because of this greed‒ he wants to take things and run‒ hunt, kill, and move on to the next thing. Also why he admires Trey for the respectable distance he keeps from others because Rook himself wants to maintain that distance from almost everyone. He’s so complicated lmao

Aphrodite’s Kiss is a reference to the original myth of Pygmalion‒ in which Pygmalion quietly pleads to Aphrodite to bring his beloved Galatea to life. When he goes home to kiss his ivory statue, he finds that her lips are warm and soft, discovering that the goddess grande his wish. Thought it’d be cute, ya know?

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beheamothscreamoth · 8 months

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TWST Characters as the Cast of Les Misérables

So recently, I’ve been getting back into the Les Misérables musical, but I’ve also been having heavy brainrot for Twisted Wonderland,, So, of course, I got the random thought of combining these two fandoms, and for the fun of it, I decided to match characters from TWST with people from Les Mis - Who matches the vibe with this other character the best? Who would be who? This is all incredibly self-indulgent, but what the heck, why not?

You’ll see a few repeated TWST characters under some Les Mis people, but that’s because I think that character would fit them too! If you’re also confused about the question marks, that’s because I’m a little unsure of the TWST character’s placement in that role,, The more question marks, the more unsure I am- Again, I’m mostly basing my choices on pure vibes and delusions-

(Warning: Book 6 and 7 spoilers [There’s a pretty heavy implication for 7 + spoilery vibes, and I basically spoil the premise for 6] below! They’re under the ‘Read More’ section, but still, be careful when proceeding! And of course, I’m essentially spoiling the entirety of Les Misérables, and if you haven’t watched the musical, please do! It’s really good :D)

Jean Valjean:

Lilia Vanrouge

Trey Clover???

Inspector Javert:

Riddle Rosehearts

Rollo Flamme

Fantine:

Lilia Vanrouge???

Malleus’s mother-

I’ll be honest, I’ve debated a lot on who would fit Fantine, but I’ve come up with a lot of mixed results,, What do you guys think?

Cosette:

Malleus Draconia??

Silver

Yuu / MC

Marius Pontmercy:

Yuu / MC

Deuce Spade

Enjolras:

Ace Trappola?? (It’s mainly because he gives off a lot of main character energy,,)

Sebek Zigvolt???

Silver??

Éponine:

Ace Trappola????

Jack Howl

Epel Felmier???

Monsieur Thénardier:

Ruggie Bucchi

Azul Ashengrotto

Fellow Honest

Madame Thénardier:

Ruggie Bucchie again

Floyd Leech

Jade Leech

Gidel

Gavroche:

Grim

Grantaire:

Cater Diamond (/lh)

Rook Hunt (even for me, this is a WILD reach,,)

Other Thoughts + Random Quotes from the Musical

I definitely feel like Kalim would be the bishop that houses Valjean after he gets out of prison!

I was a little unsure about Jack's placement as Éponine, but the more I thought about it, the more I liked it? There was something funny about someone with a strong sense of justice living with such scammy people like the Thénardiers- And that moment where Éponine turns on her father, and takes the gunshot to protect Marius? Yeah, Jack betrayed his dorm to do what he thought was right, and I can see him getting in harm’s way to protect the person/people that he loves,,,

I’ll admit, while Azul does fit with the more “scammy” category of Monsieur Thénardier, I have to say, I think he’s a bit too,, “clean,” for him if that makes sense??

I do like the image of all the TWST characters fighting side by side and saving the world,, Technically that already happened in Book 6, but still,,

While I did slap Sebek with the role of Enjolras, a part of me thought that the army officer who sings to the student revolutionaries that they “have no chance at all,” would also fit him, considering Sebek is serving a royal,,

‘Little People,’ but with Grim,,

Okay but why does Deuce kinda match with the pipeline of Valjean so well though. Valjean used to be a prisoner and stole from a bishop, but he became a better man and a mayor. Deuce used to be a delinquent, but he became a better person and aims to be an honour student. Deuce doesn’t really match the old man energy Valjean has, but do you see how deep my delusions go??

Ace/Sebek, to a pining Deuce/Yuu: Who cares about your lonely soul?

Sebek: Diamond, pUT THAT BOTTLE DOWN

Ruggie: At the end of the day you’re another day older, and that’s all you can say for the life of the poor.

Ruggie/Azul: Nothing gets you nothing. Everything has got a little price!

Sebek: You have no friends. [Wow, thanks.]

Grim: This only goes to show what little people can do!

Ruggie: It’s a world where the dogs eat the dogs, where they kill for the bones in the street... I raise my eyes to see the heavens, and only the moon looks down. The harvest moon shines down!

Riddle: I am the law, and the law is not mocked!

Rollo: And if you fall as Lucifer fell, you fall in flames. And so it must be, for so it is written on the doorway to paradise - that those who falter and those who fall must pay the price.

Malleus: How strange, this feeling that my life’s begun at last. This change - can people really fall in love so fast? ...What’s the matter with you, Malleus? Have you been too much on your own? So many things unclear, so many things unknown...

Lilia: Dear Malleus, you’re such a lonely child. How pensive, how sad you seem to me. Believe me, if it were in my power, I’d fill each passing hour! How quiet it must be, I can see, with only me for company.

Yuu / MC: Get out before the trouble starts. Get out Ace, you might get shot!

Ace: I’ve got you worried now, I have! That shows you like me quite a lot!

Yuu/Deuce: As for you, take this too! *PUNCHES AZUL/RUGGIE AND THROWS MONEY AT HIM* God forgive us the things that we do!

Ruggie: Paris at my feet, Paris in the dust. And here’s me breaking bread with the upper crust!

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senka-mesecine · 11 months

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Super late to the party on this but I played Far Cry 3 for the first time ever recently and just wanted to say your Hoyt content is INCREDIBLE. You really fleshed out a villain who deserved far more development and screen time than he got.

also v random but I’ve seen a semi-common thing mentioned in any fic about him owning five villas but I don’t remember hearing anyone say that in the game? Do you have any idea where it came from? You seem like pretty much the definitive expert on his character lol

Won't lie, but I don't remember either (😬) because the last time I played this game was eons ago (and I'm not active in this fandom anymore) so frankly, I would definitely have to brush up my lore to see where the 'Hoyt Volker owns five villas' thing originated from in the first place (Maybe a side-character mentions it? I don't recall anymore. Sorry. Would be hilarious if it originated from me and I have no recollection of it.) but I like to think it is simply a logical piece of fanon, among others. Man's a slave trafficker. Arms dealer. Drug peddler. A whoremongerer. The biggest one in the South Pacific. It's a very lucrative, albeit horrendously ethically wrong sort of business. It's easy to become filthy rich when you've no qualms about stepping on other people's backs to acquire it. Stands to reason that outside of his bubble on Rook Island, the man actually lives, boasts and maintains a lavish lifestyle...that is, if he was ever off of that archipelago enough to actually enjoy it, because that damned place doesn't let anyone get off, invertedly tying and trapping everyone and everything in its midst and most people aren't even aware of it. Therein lies a huge bit of irony about Hoyt.

Man's richer than God.

He runs everything he surveys within this microcosm, sure, but he's also overworked, greasy, cranky and looks like he's seen better days. Has the appearance of a common street pimp too, rather than someone who's effectively a millionaire. Looks like he hasn't left Rook Island in ages either, so whatever bit of revenue, real estate, ships, boats, money, wealth, cars and luxuries this guy owns, and I'm certain he technically owns a lot, is let unattended, unused and unsavoured somewhere abroad, because even Hoyt himself might not realize just why he has never left his base on Rook Island to actually indulge in the spoils of his own hard work. But, that's why Rook Island is so eerie and accursed. Why it has such a mystical quality to it, almost like an entity with a will of its own. Because Volker has profited off of exploiting the place for decades. The people on it. He turned its hallowed wildlife and sacred grounds into a base for his illegal operations. Its nature into fields where he grows his narcotics. Transformed the place into a gathering place for privateers, pirates, junkies and hookers. Rook Island has a way to repay that offence, ensuring Volker never leaves to actually be able to find joy in any of the material goods he's earned through his labor, in some beautiful villa somewhere, soaking in a jacuzzi with a martini glass, even though he owns that and much, much more.

Nope. Rook and his office is where he stays.

Occasionally going out dish out some order and authority when it's required to the other ends of the islands and come back and continue his same old routine, at that very desk, in that very chair, overlooking the courtyard to his equally decrepit looking compound.

Of course he has five villas.

Never lived in them a day in his life, though.

#hoyt volker #far cry 3 #character analysis #thank you for your lovely complements though #that's very kind of you #magical realism #rook island

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painful-pooch · 2 years

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Silent Pain - An Oscar Tale

Whumptober 2022 (@whumptober)

NO. 4 - DEAD ON YOUR FEET

Hidden Injury | Waking Up Disoriented | Can't Pass Out

NEXT: A BISHOP'S AGONY

Taglist: @straight-to-the-pain, @whumper-in-training, @ocean-blue-whump, @for-the-love-of-angst, @thethistlegirl, @whumperofworlds, @poc-whump, and @hopepetal

CW: military whump, hidden injury, stab wound, blood, can't pass out, insomnia, autistic whumpee, slight ableism, panic attack, and death (not major character)

To all the haters that have pestered me before about Oscar: fuck you and enjoy reading me whumping him

PRE-MISSION BRIEFING DATE - 17MAR20XX TIME - 1057

Oscar is sitting at the conference table in an undisclosed location, watching the pre-mission briefing General Alfonso Kane, who is standing in front of the projector board and pointing out the mission objectives, has set up. He doesn't like him much, but Kane is technically his boss' boss, so he can't do anything about it, though something is rubbing him in the wrong way. It probably stems from how upset General Kane always looks. The second Kane makes eye contact with him, Oscar breaks it and stares down at his notes, trying to scrawl in what is needed while also doodling a 3D chessboard with the pieces on them.

"Mr. Cortez? Is there something you would like to add or give your insight on?" Kane's voice echoes in the room, and Oscar feels sick to his stomach.

Why me? I don't want to talk to you, but I have to anyways. Right… words. I can do this. Do I have to stand up?

Oscar clears his throat and sets down his pencil, his eyes rising slowly, ignoring the gazes of the others at the table and focusing on the screen. There is a map and it shows the route that needs to be taken in order to retrieve the intel, but he can also see where all the reinforcements could be deployed and he purses his lips. "W-Well, from what I can-"

"Speak louder, Mr. Cortez. You are mumbling again, and you know that's annoying in a brief. Also, stand up," Kane commands with a beckoning of his hand.

I was speaking fine… I don't want to stand up. I am fine in my chair. Okay, Oscar… you are a Bishop, and Kane is a… really sucky Rook. Take over the chess board. Simple. Yep. Maybe? Oh no, why do I want to cry? Wait, it's because I am here, standing in front of so many people.

Placing his hands on the table, Oscar pushes himself back a tad and stands up straight, not knowing what to do with his hands, so he keeps them at his sides. "Sorry, Sir. We are dealing with a heavily-coded and important piece of technology that's connected to a server room unlike what we have seen with unorganized insurgents." He looks down at his notes and shyly points at the screen. "You can see from where the tech room is, it's heavily guarded and there are points all over the building where insurgents can storm it and sanitize, or otherwise destroy, crucial intel." He licks his lips and swallows, catching the sight of Bruno and Valdemar putting their thumbs up and Khrystyna making a small little heart with her hands. It makes him smile and rub the back of his neck.

I kind of like it when they see me as a good member of the team. I can be good. I'm useful and stuff. They always get to do the cool stuff, but I like my office. I get to do work and get to play a new game of Fire Emblem: The Sacred Stones. I still think the 3DS download for it was super cool.

Oscar snaps out of it when Kane is humming and staring at the map. "Well, you are right, Mr. Cortez. That settles it: you are getting geared up too. You will enter the facility along with the task force, listen to Captain Stenberg's commands, and make sure you get all the intel you can for us. I need someone I trust to collect as much as they can safely, and you are the most qualified man for this. Son, don't look surprised about this. Can you do this or do we need to find someone new?"

I'm… going to be a field operative?

Oscar has never thought that he would one day be recommended to be on a field team, an operative that is in the center of all the action. But that is exactly what is happening and he glances over at Bruno with wide eyes, watching as the large officer stands up.

"Sir, with all due respect, Mr. Cortez here hasn't been rated in marksmanship since his days in the service."

"Captain Stenberg, are you suggesting that a viable member of this task force sit out on a mission that requires his exact skillset?"

"I am suggesting that this mission would be dangerous to his-"

Kane slams his fist down on the table, snarling at Bruno, "Don't you dare say this mission is dangerous for him! You pitched this team to me and to General Scholtz. You said this is the best of the best. Are you saying you lied to me, Stenberg? Well, answer me!"

Oscar is filled with terror, sitting down in his chair, wincing from how loud Kane is being but keeping his hands from covering his ears. He doesn't want to be the reason they are fighting and arguing. He isn't even listening to the argument anymore, stimming with his pencil in hand. He wants to feel useful so he breaks his own silence.

"I'll do it… I'll uhm… go into the room and do the mission."

Bruno's head snaps over to stare at Oscar, but he won't look back at him. All while Kane claps his hands in mock pride. "Atta there, son. See, Captain Stenberg? Stop holding back your team and let them flourish in their own careers. He won't even be in danger as long as you do your jobs. I would still take him shooting and get him ready for the mission. You all know what to do. Meeting dismissed."

ONE WEEK LATER. DATE: 24MAR20XX LOCATION: CLASSIFIED

The sound of a gunfight echoes through the halls of the facility, the shouting of people reloading, the sound of screams as the bullets find their bodies. It was all making Oscar uncomfortable as he runs around the server room, trying his best to collect all the data he needed for the mission.

Thoughts of what he's going to do when he gets home, from playing chess to playing the new Fire Emblem game on an emulator, is keeping him grounded while typing furiously into the laptop he has connected to one of the towers. "Just keep typing, just keep typing, ignore the crazy stuff outside, just keep typing."

He has the radio that is sitting on the desk, hearing the communications between Bruno and the others, using them as a way to gauge how safe he is. They aren't in the room with him because there have been waves upon waves of attackers, swarming from all sides of the building. They have to keep Oscar as safe as possible, so they all scramble to their own points, taking out as many threats as they can.

Oscar can feel the sweat pouring down the back of his neck, the stress of the situation slowly getting to him and making him want to cry it out. Instead, he pulls out his pen from his arm pocket, clicking it again and again in a vain attempt to regain some control. He continues this broken record of siphoning all that he can from the servers and computers in the room when he hears on the door open behind him. "Whoever it is, I am almost done here, I swear. I only need ten more minutes, okay?"

"Yeah, you are almost done, alright."

Petrification takes over, Oscar staring at the loading screen for one of the hard drives and how long it would take for the transfer of data to be complete. He doesn't recognize the voice, which only means one thing: someone has managed to slip through the numerous defenses set in place. He turns his head slowly, seeing a bloody man, their arm dripping crimson red from what Oscar can only conclude is a gunshot wound from Kieran's sniper rifle or Bruno's assault rifle. His eyes lock on the knife that is gripped tightly in their hand, which makes Oscar turn fully around, seeing there is about five feet between him and the assailant. "D-don't come any closer," he warns with a shaking voice.

"Or what? You gonna kill me? You're shaking like a scared little bitch. And you are going to die like one!" The man lunges at Oscar, slamming into him and pinning him to a wall.

Oscar feels a punch right to the side, but it takes him a few moments to realize the gravity of the situation when he sees the red blade in the man's hand. His mind goes blank and he doesn't know what happened, but he has a gun in his hand and fires it as much as he can, right in the direction of the man that just stabbed him. Each bang hurts his ears and every second that passes by is more time for the ringing and the crashing waves to grow louder.

He sees the man on the floor and he doesn't notice that he still keeps pulling the trigger until an audible click click click is caught. He slides down the wall, staring at the unmoving man, the growing puddle of blood underneath him making him tremble and cover his ears after dropping the gun. He's rocking back and forth while sobbing loudly, unable to breathe and only able to focus on the smoking gun and the man. He's never killed someone before in person, and he hears the computer ping after a few minutes, signifying his completed task.

He doesn't want to move though, the throbbing pain in his side getting worse and glancing over to see a red splotch soaking his shirt. He can't let the others see that he got hurt or they would get rid of him. He leans his head back, breathing deeply and mumbling a few chess terms and strategies to get him back to square one.

He pushes himself off the wall, gasping and crying out when the radio has a voice come through. "Trigger to Bishop. Hey, Bishop, you good in there? What's your status? Over."

Oscar grabs the radio and tries to ignore the wet slaps of his boots stepping into the spilt blood puddle beside him. "B-bishop to Trigger… J-just a few minutes. Someone came in, but the th-threat was…" He trails off to stare at the man. "Neutralized."

"Copy, Bishop. We need to get to the evac point in five mikes (minutes). Understood?"

"R-roger. I'll be there, Trigger," Oscar murmurs, working on grabbing all of his equipment and putting them in a duffle bag. He turns off the radio and he makes sure he's not crying anymore. He can't let them see him like this. He can be like them too. The throbbing pain grows sharp when he takes his bandana from inside of his bag to place it over his wound, not bothering to look at it either. He then walks over to pick up the dropped gun, holstering it and making his way out of the room that he never wants to be in for the rest of his life.

When he reaches the helicopter and sees the group, he smiles and holds up the duffle bag with pride, loving the praise coming from them. It makes him feel like he's a part of the team for once and he bites the inside of his cheeks to hide the immeasurable amount of pain that is rocking through him.

A short while in the helicopter, Oscar can see that everyone minus the chopper pilot, Sebastian, is asleep. He is thankful none of them pushed to see the soaking blood in his side, his bandana probably heavy with his spilling life.

You can hide it. You can do it. They don't have to know a thing. Yeah… Think about the nice shower back home. Get clean and play fire emblem. Go to the after mission briefing… try and sleep… I can't sleep. I won't be able to.

He stands up and holds his silence, limping to the back of the chopper and pulling out the emergency first aid kit on the wall quietly, taking a peek behind him to see if anyone noticed.

But no one is awake.

He's so happy about that and he goes to take out the bandana that as offered him some reprieve, gritting his teeth and feeling tears fall down his face. He places it to the side for now, planning on discarding it once they have landed. He carefully bandages his wound all on his own, biting his lip so hard that he can taste iron.

Don't let them find out. Come on, you can do it.

When the gruesome task is over, he falls back in his seat with a pained groan, staring out at the beautiful sunset of the jungle before bursting in silent tears. He's thankful he's all the way in the back.

No one can know.

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coochiequeens · 11 months

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USA Cycling will be enforcing a policy to ensure some level of fairness in races and of course some TIM is crying transphobia.

BY ANNE-MARIJE ROOK

PUBLISHED 14 HOURS AGO

When USA Cycling introduced its revised Transgender Athlete Participation Policy earlier this month, the new two-tiered system didn't sit well with all racers.

One trans woman and amateur racer from Washington State was so put off by the new policy that she filed a complaint with the state's Attorney General's Office, imploring Attorney General Bob Ferguson to file an injunction against USA Cycling. She also filed a complaint with the American Civil Liberties Union of Washington.

The racer, whose identity will remain anonymous for her protection, argues that the new policy only heightens the trans community's concern of "exclusionary, discriminating and humiliating scrutinization."

Starting on 1 January 2024, transgender athletes wanting to participate in USA Cycling-sanctioned events will be categorized as either Group A or Group B athletes, depending on their discipline and race category.

Group A athletes are those racing at the elite level (Pro, Category 1 and 2). Transgender women in Group A must undergo a so-called "elite athlete fairness evaluation application," which involves submitting medical documentation demonstrating that their serum testosterone level has been consistently below 2.5 nmol/L for at least 24 months.

Group B athletes are those competing at the amateur and novice levels. These transgender athletes, both men and women, wishing to compete at this level must complete a self-identity verification request, which the USA Cycling Technical Director, Bonnie Walker, will review.

In introducing the new policy, USA Cycling said it aimed to maintain "fair competition standards while providing a welcoming environment for all athletes, irrespective of gender identities."

But in this racer's eyes, the new policy does quite the opposite.

"Outing ourselves for amateur sanctioned racing does not make us feel safe or welcome; instead, it shines an uninvited bright light on our private life, further threatening our safety, as well as our rights on a federal and state level. This rule change creates an exclusionary environment, sets a dangerous precedent and opens a Pandora's box for organized amateur sports with transgender athletes," she says.

This rider was active in the Washington State racing scene for four years. During that time, she says, "no individual, organization or local USAC official harassed or required me to out myself, nor was a complaint filed against me. Many people were aware that I was transgender because it is a small community. I trained just as hard as other female athletes and still did not have a competitive advantage. In fact, most of the time, I rarely finished in the top three in Cat 4 races."

But she hasn't raced in some time, partly due to the changing climate and the fact that a USA Cycling racing license is required to partake in cycling events in Washington, even at the amateur level. By buying a license, she'd be supporting a governing body whose policies she doesn't agree with.

"I know that my racing days are probably done, but for me, it's about the next generation of racers and the freedom I hope they can have like what I had. The freedom to be themselves and just race to race," the source says.

An injunction, if successful, would prohibit USA Cycling from requiring amateur athletes to "out themselves."

"My hope is that the injunction will put a stop to this prejudicial discriminatory rule. I advocate that transgender athletes should be allowed to race as they identify at the amateur level races," the source says. "We are not paid athletes, just weekend warrior bike racers testing our skills against other like-minded individuals."

USA Cycling told Cycling Weekly that it does not wish to comment at this time.

#USA Cycling #Transgender Athlete Participation Policy #USA #washington #Of course the trans whiner is allowed to be anonymous #Interesting take that policies ment to ensure fairness is called transphobic #If the dudes an amateur in the first place why is racing so important?#There's no policies stopping him from just going for bike rides

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the-roanoke-society · 4 years

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now i have a story that i’d like to tell...

about this guy you all know him, he had me scared as hell! / he comes to me at night after i crawl into bed / he's burnt up like a weenie and his name is fred!

horror aus part trois. part one can be found here, and two, here. all warnings and disclaimers still apply--as does the love.

do you dare dare journey below the cut...?

it’s a long way down, a long way down - a holy hell au inspired by the creep series

there are stories are stories on stories on stories about matches made in heaven. about two pure souls destined for the other, finally reaching a ‘happily ever after’ after going through trials and tribulations that, honestly, are played out and boring.

that’s exactly what fergus macleod would tell you, anway.

he’s been inhabiting his mortal coil for a few decades now, engaging in his favorite activity--serial murder.

but lately, something has--gone out.

he’s lost his light. his passion for killing.

so he gets an idea, and puts out an ad for a videographer.

he’ll make a documentary, he decides. a magnum opus to relight the blood and the violence that had brought him so much joy over the years.

what he didn’t expect was andi.

not her beauty. not her courage. not her wit, sharp enough to make a god bleed.

and not her fangs, and a thirst to rival his--even if her moral compass was a bit more lawful.

enough of stories about matches made in heaven.

talk to me about a match made in hell.

(these--particular films are not easy watches, though i personally enjoy them. the sequel is my favorite, but remember when i said ‘explicit sexuality’ in the first warning post? the especially applies to creep 2. when i imagined this au it was less in-line with the main narrative of the movies and more, say, a meet-cute story you’d overhear at an addams’ family function.)

mini soundtrack sampler includes: lovelytheband, ‘buzz cut’ + catfish & the bottlemen, ‘longshot’ + albert natural, ‘sara loves her juicy fruit’

red sun rises like an early warning - an ancient cares au inspired by sleepy hollow

sleepy hollow was often called a “sleepy” village, in the way that meant that nothing ever happened there. marie van tassel, daughter of the richest man in town--and immediately intrigued by the arrival of one police constable walter vaughn, sent all the way from new york city--would disagree. especially in recent years.

the headless horseman had returned.

and marie, for all the occult studying she’d done far from the gaze of her father’s watchful eyes, still so haunted after her mother’s brutal and untimely passing--couldn’t figure out why.

she knew exactly who he was. what he was. but why had he returned? what had woken him?

and could see really be that mournful, when it had sprung start the machinations of fate that brought walter right to her doorstep?

“i have shed my tears for boom... and yet my heart is not broken. do you think me wicked?”

“no... but perhaps there is a little bit of witch in you, marie.”

“walter, why do you say that?”

“because you have bewitched me.”

mini soundtrack sampler includes: frank sinatra, ‘witchcraft’ + creedence clearwater revival, ‘i put a spell on you’ + the rolling stones, ‘sympathy for the devil’

drunk and driven by a devil’s hunger - a safety nets au inspired by apostle, co-starring @agent-thorn

it was only five years into the birth of an entirely new century, and her twin brother had been taken; her father, lost in his grief, was utterly useless.

it was all up to parker jensen.

she found a fake pass easy enough, slyly dancing her way through conversations with began with “you know, i don’t remember seeing you at any of the prayer meetings...” until finally, finally, they reached that accursed island.

she’d never been to wales before.

she had no idea what to expect.

what are you supposed to expect, when you’re all alone on a solo rescue mission going toe-to-toe with what can only be described as a cult?

but ivar--son of the enigmatic priest of the island, malcolm--was a nice surprise.

the only nice surprise that she’d find.

it wasn’t until she caught jeremy, sneaking home after what she could only guess had something to do with ffion, that she got her first flash of what would be a more and more grisly truth.

this island had its own god.

and something much more sinister than genesis had happened on this soil.

mini soundtrack sampler includes: bakar, ‘hell n back’ + mumford & sons, ‘little lion man’ + neil reid, ‘mother of mine’

let that fever make the water rise - a grace & choice au inspired by the ritual

it was supposed to be like a vacation. diana hadn’t had one in at least fifteen years. vida, even longer.

so why not hiking? why not the kungsleden--the king’s trail--in northern sweden?

the first two days were bliss. nothing but rolling hills, clear skies. up until:

“ah fuck!”

“vida--shit, vida, are you okay?”

“yeah, i’m--urk!”

“all right, that was not a reassuring noise, let’s have a look at that--”

vida’s left knee went from pink to a swollen blue to an agonized, deep purple tinged with green over the course of next day. diana couldn’t bear to watch her struggle to keep up, especially when this was supposed to be a romantic break, nothing as taxing as the fieldwork happening back home.

by the light of a campfire, diana studied their map, humming. “what if we just cut through the forest?” she asked. “if we just went as the crow flies... it cuts the time in half. and you need medical attention, vida, we can’t keep going on like this.”

“has the battalion cleared this area?” vida returned her question with one of her own, eyes shining. the reflection of the fire made them look like stones polished by a river. “we wouldn’t run into anything, would we?”

diana smiled. “nothing we couldn’t handle, love, i’m sure.”

and diana didn’t change her mind when they set off the next morning... up until they found the disembowled carcass of an elk, placed up high in a tree like a religious icon.

she thought of morgan.

“diana, what--what put that up there? something had to have put that up there!”

mini soundtrack sampler includes: billie eilish, ‘bury a friend’ + two feet, ‘i feel like i’m drowning’ + coldplay, ‘paradise’

you can hear the river from my burial bed - a secret gardens au inspired by the legends of slenderman & mercy black, co-starring @agent-hood

she wouldn’t say she wouldn’t remember. she did.

it was just that caroline janson had been in therapy for so long... she was no longer sure what of shards of her memories were real, and what would be, as dr. ward would say, hallucinations.

but she knew one thing: she was glad to be coming home.

“i hope chicken’s okay for your first night back,” parker began gently. “i’m just now realizing i forgot to ask--”

caroline smiled at her, “chicken would be great.”

she watched parker’s profile, as she opened her mouth, then closed it, then opened it again. finally, she inhaled, then began, “you know... carter’s missed you since you’ve been gone...”

caroline rolled her eyes. “parker. it’s been a decade and a half. i seriously doubt it.”

“hey, who knows my brother better right now, me or you?”

that earned a huff... and a grin. subdued, but still there. “... okay. fine. but... maybe not tonight.” parker glanced at her once, and nodded.

“i understand. besides, maybe i want you all to myself for the first few days, anybody think about that?”

and caroline laughed.

and she wished that it felt like she wasn’t still being haunted.

mini soundtrack sampler includes: oingo boingo, ‘dead man’s party’ + shaed, ‘trampoline’ + corrina repp, ‘only a beat’

don’t let it shake your steady thread-cutting hand - a royals & robots au inspired by kristy

it was hardly tilde’s idea to spend thanksgiving alone harvard. but between the pandemic, the weather, and her own growing agitation at her father’s behavior...

it just seemed easier.

and it wasn’t all bad. she still had prudence, who opted to stay with her out of love (and perhaps a lack of family--but she didn’t ask). and they had run of essentially the entire campus--there were several buildings that stayed opened, even over the holiday. the library being one.

but it wasn’t until one night, when they made a late night trip to a convenience store not far from tilde’s housing that things became... strange.

“pru. ... pru!” she whispered, snacks in one hand, the other on pru’s elbow. “... i think she’s following us.”

“she?” pru asked, lowly, careful to keep her eyes down, as if they were just having a very, very difficult time decided on what kind of poptarts they wanted.

tilde, face oddly blanched, couldn’t find her voice, so she just nodded.

at the end of the aisle, a figure in dark hoodie and skinny jeans passed out of view.

one of pru’s arms went around tilde’s waist. “don’t worry. i’m sure she’s just here at the same time as us. it’s a small store.”

tilde would remember that when she got home in time to find a snuff film loaded onto her laptop.

“oh shit--oh shit, oh god--!”

this is why she preferred halloween.

mini soundtrack sampler includes: yeah yeah yeahs, ‘heads will roll’ + rihanna, ‘disturbia’ + nonono, ‘pumpin’ blood’

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