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haro-whumps · 5 years ago

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Group Whumpees 10: Asking and Answers

So this chapter is interesting in that I wrote a lot of words, but not a ton of it is any sort of particular forward motion. Largely this is just me establishing setting, which I have sorely needed to do for my own self, and sort of giving my characters a breath before the next bad thing I have planned for them (which is just as fun as it is contrived and overdramatic). So if you wanna skip to Sasha’s first “eep” I would not fault you for it, since it is a rather long chapter and the first stretch of it is just a lot of detail work with hardly any action.

CW: slavery, aftermath of torture, referenced noncon, multiple whumpees, referenced alcoholic tendencies, referenced religious... stuff.

Tag List:@bleeding-demon-teeth @theycomeinthrees @redwingedwhump @whimperwoods @inpainandsuffering @whole-and-apart-and-between @whump-whump-whump-it-up @whumpingupastorm @newandfiguringitout @lonesome--hunter @looptheloup @icannotweave @deluxewhump @whumping-every-day @yeet-me-out-a-window @what-a-whumpy-world @burtlederp @constellationwhump @swordkallya @finder-of-rings @fairybean101 @adventuresofacreesty @arlennil @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @lumpofwhump @thatsthewhump @pinkdiamondprince

Masterlist

First order of business: what in the fresh hell was actually happening in this house?

Well, okay, the first first order of business was tipping the locksmith and offering a can of soda before sending them back on their way, but then the first order of business was finding out what the fresh hell was actually happening in this house!

Galo had, admittedly, left it more or less unexplored. He’d gotten down all the weird art of his aunt’s with the help of Nyla and Evan, which meant he hadn’t scoured the place thoroughly, and he had settled into rather regular haunts. He passed through most of the main floor, some of the second (and he begrudgingly accepted that his mission would send him into his dead aunt’s bedroom), but that still left an expansive attic, the majority of the second floor, the rest of the main floor, the entire basement, and most of the grounds. Because Galo was agitated as all hell and his monkey hindbrain said that threats came from outside, he started with the grounds.

He’d run around them, of course, wandered through the gardens and hedges and whatnot, but the fact of the matter was that his aunt’s estate was massive. And since he was on “The Great Easter Egg Hunt: Saw Edition” for horrible things hidden in amongst the grass, it took a while.

The smell of new mulch was thick in the air, pleasant and fresh. Galo also took the time to admire Lilah’s extraordinary work, wishing he was being this meticulous and thoughtful for more pleasant reasons.

He never encountered Lilah, Evan, or Greyson, though he would occasionally glimpse them off a ways. He was fairly certain they were avoiding him, or at the least were cognizant of his presence and deliberately giving him space, and he honestly didn’t mind. He really wasn’t in a place, mentally, to deal with hysterics or panicking slaves. Which sounded awful, but there it was.

He managed to finish the grounds right as the sun was setting, and checked out the secondary garage more thoroughly than just passing through warranted. So far, nothing suspect was to be found. Given Auntie Bethany’s obsession with keeping up appearances, that wasn’t terribly surprising. She liked to host garden parties and had no reason to enter the secondary garage, herself, so it tracked that the estate gardens were pristine and not-evil and the garage was left to Lilah’s devices.

The next day, after working out in a vain attempt to make himself stable enough to explore the house properly, he showered off and set to work. He started with the den.

It was blue, with a greyish-blue, dark, thin carpet, light slate walls and dark blue furniture. Galo opened the cabinets near the tv (and his aunt had so many tvs), but found only a vcr, dvd player, some unlabeled cords that he had no idea what they were for, some remotes, some old recordings labeled with name tags (shows Galo vaguely recognized, but couldn’t tell you anything about). Normal things. Not-evil things. Things that gave Galo no reason to believe this was a horrible, awful room that the slaves hated.

So he turned face and headed towards the other cabinets, the ones in the back of the room, behind a well-worn but clearly expensive armchair. Galo needed to know, but he also didn’t want to, and therefore was, quite literally, dragging his feet. Which was why he tripped, stumbling a bit. He turned back, brow furrowed, and his brain helpfully supplied that this was pretty much the exact spot where Evan had knelt, waiting for his punishment.

There was a D ring in the carpet. Dull; painted? But it blended with the carpet well, really only visible if you knew it was there. Galo sat on his haunches and hooked a finger through it, gave an experimental tug. No give at all whatsoever.

He took a deep breath. He had a bad feeling about this. He straightened, turned back to the cabinets, and flung them open simultaneously.

First he took note of the chains. Hard not to, they glinted--metallic and grey, and there was so goddamn many of them. Handcuffs, padded leather cuffs chained together, collars and muzzles, all of them with lengths of chain that could, presumably, be used to attach them to each other, or to, say, D rings on the floor. Ahahaha god.

Distantly, as Galo pulled a muzzle from the cabinet and examined it, Galo wondered why he even bothered to still be horrified by his aunt’s actions. Sure, she was family, and Galo wanted to believe that his family wasn’t like… this. But Auntie Bethany had proven herself horrible in life and he shouldn’t keep being surprised by how horrible she was, now after her death.

The lower cabinets had a couple of canes, the kind that clearly weren’t for walking assistance, an honest to god whip, a fucking knife, and a metal rod that Galo couldn’t really discern the purpose of. Probably something awful and horrifying. He shut the cabinets firmly, rested his forehead against the cool plywood, and tried to take a deep breath.

He pulled out his notebook and drew a very large circle, in red marker, around “The Den is a bad place.” He then flipped a couple of pages and started up a running list of observations

There isn’t really anything of note in the gardens or garden garage.

The Den has muzzles, collars, cuffs, and chains, plus a D ring in the floor

He wasn’t sure what he was ultimately going to do with this list, but simply making it made him feel a little better. Even if it was a list of horrible things he found in the mansion, it was still nice to have.

But okay. How to be sensible about this? He shouldn’t start removing things from cabinets, especially horrifying tools of torture, until he had somewhere to put them all, and something to do with them. He would need a plan, which meant he would need to complete his list of horrible things. And also probably rent a dumpster. So he removed his person from the cabinets in the den, glanced again at the half-hidden D ring in the floor, and then moved the furniture around a little. He found seven more D rings throughout the room, now that he was looking for them, subtle and easily blending in. One more on the floor, a little beyond the first ring, four in the walls, two in the ceiling, all clustered around the same relative spot, more or less. It further convinced Galo that yes, indeed, this was exactly where Evan had been kneeling.

Okay. Top down? Top down. Galo’s specific curiosity about the den now satisfied, he could just do a thorough, room-by-room sweep of the mansion, and so he made his way to the attic. The door to the attic stairs was in a guest bedroom, one that was meant for “children” in the way that it was cutesy and kitch, but had clearly been designed by someone who hadn’t really ever interacted with an actual human child. Galo had slept in one of those twin beds when he was very little, and remembered a distinct discomfort for the firmness of the mattresses and the scratchy quality of the overly-colorful block-pattern blankets. Should he go ahead and search this room now, since he was in it? No, stick to the plan, start with the attic.

He climbed the steps, flicked on the lights, and then promptly blanked.

How did one human being even own this much stuff?? The attic was massive, a snaking maze of shelves and clothes racks with plastic covers and boxes stacked and arranged. There was a clear path through, dusty but meticulous, and, in a display of wealth so obscene it turned Galo’s head, the ceiling was finished. Who finished the ceiling of their attic?! Attic ceilings were supposed to have dangerously exposed nails and shitty insulation fully visible. Galo was far from a religious man, but even he knew that an attic ceiling was meant to be left unfinished like the good lord intended.

He might have been balking at the ceiling to cover for the fact that he had… no idea where to start, with all this junk. The attic spanned nearly the entire width and breadth of the mansion, and it was full. Absolutely full. Galo turned off the light, went back down the stairs, and shut the attic door. He would devote an entire day to going through all of that shit. Hell, he’d make a weekend out of it. But today was not that day. Kitchy kid room it was.

He explored many different guest rooms, opening drawers and closets and chests and vanities and whatever the hell else, poking his head out onto their balconies, but found them empty of anything troubling. Again, this tracked. Auntie Bethany likely wouldn’t let her non-Guest guests or family members know what she did behind the scenes.

He found another sunroom on the second floor, the south-facing wall made entirely out of glass and a number of gridded skylights making up the southern half of the ceiling. There was a marble statue standing in the center of a tile fountain, here, and Galo held his pressed palms up in front of his mouth, squinting. He would’ve remembered this. He would’ve remembered the warm yellow walls and the aquatic mosaic flooring, he would’ve remembered the sprawling cluster of plants, he would’ve remembered the wall of glass, and definitely would’ve remembered the statue, with its detailed pubic hair and unrealistically buxom bosom. Had he just never been allowed in here? Had he simply failed to explore this far? Or was this an addition that had happened in Galo’s adulthood, when his primary method of surviving family gatherings had switched from “explore the castle away from the people” to “get drunker than them, faster”?

Who knew. What he needed to do was poke around in here and make sure it wasn’t another horrifying abomination. And check and see if the plantlife here was real, or plastic. He touched their leaves, the soil, and found, with surprise, that they were all alive. Huh.

Something… there was some gear in his head that started turning at that, some impression of a thought that was still too close to his brain’s horizon for him to make out just yet. He took out his pen and notebook and simply notated the second sunroom, which he crossed out and relabeled “plant room.” He flipped the page over and drew the general outline of the house, and then made some squares. He labeled each guest room and the plant room, and while he was no cartographer, it’d serve as a rudimentary map until he had a better idea of where everything was here.

There was only one cupboard, and it had fertilizer, a small watering can, a water spritzer, disposable gloves, and PH strips, which were more confusing than alarming if Galo was being entirely honest with himself. He hadn’t seen those things since freshman year of highschool in his mandated biology course. Actually, wait, there was also a folded up piece of paper, which Galo took out. He recognized Nyla’s careful script immediately, and read over her detailed list of the plants in the room, how much sunlight each needed and whether it was indirect or direct, and the watering schedule drawn out in a little grid calendar.

He couldn’t help but admire how meticulous she was. How put together. He had no doubt in his mind that she really was the one who’d run the whole household, when his aunt was alive. Hell, she still was--it wasn’t like Galo knew a ton of shit.

The second floor seemed primarily devoted to guest rooms, with an occasional cabinet or boudoir attached to said bedrooms. There was a large drawing room more or less in the “middle” of the mansion, a number of skylights directly over a sunken sitting area and a couple of tvs, plus places that art had clearly been stationed at before being removed for the crimes of being a bunch of fucking eyesores. A few pieces still remained, though, two different tapestries and a couple of abstracts. Plus a bunch of little tables, which were honestly charming and mercifully empty of tools of torture. Lots of little forks and platters though.

The master bedroom was not something Galo wanted to scour. His dead aunt had slept in there. (His dead aunt had hurt people, every night, in there). He made himself turn the door handle.

“Master Galo,” Nyla greeted, setting down a tiny, antique-looking watering can on the windowsill between a succulent and a corkscrew-curling plant Galo didn’t know the name of.

“Hey, Nyla,” Galo returned, extending his hand for her to cup lightly and kiss as she fluidly sank to one knee, then just as gracefully rose. “Don’t mind me, I’m just poking around a bit.”

“Yes Master,” she said with a charming little bow, her clasped hands dipping into the folds of her apron, “If I may assist at all, sir, please call upon me.”

“Will do, thanks.” He felt a surge of fondness for her. He knew she was just doing what she’d been trained to do, but he liked her smile when it wasn’t obviously-forced, and he liked her put-togetherness, and he liked, well, her.

He was very conscious of her presence, though, as he “snooped” around his own home. So he let her finish with the plants while he was in the en suite bathroom, opening the cupboards under the sink and checking the interior of the shower. Everything was meticulously clean, which he was grateful for (he could not handle it if he caught sight of his dead aunt’s body hair or some such thing). It was also perfectly normal, even if he found the little rugs along the side of the bath and looping around the base of the toilet to be ostentatious.

Nyla was still in the room, so Galo moved onto the closet door. He expected a walk-in with fifty billion changes of clothes (and really, had Galo ever seen the woman wear the same outfit twice?). He did not expect something that looked like it was intended to be a linens closet, stuffed full of canes. Canes, and, Galo noticed belatedly, knives, long strips of cloth and rope, plain eye masks far too crude to be used for her own sleep needs, and--god, was that lube?

The cane Evan had brought, that night he’d begged for punishment, stood front and center, clearly the most recently moved.

“Master?” Nyla’s voice cut through Galo’s shocked immobility, making him jump a little and tear his eyes away, “Is there anything from the tool closet you require, specifically?”

Galo shut the door harder than he should have, his own strength getting away from him and a tight smile on his face. The fact that he’d even opened that door was freaking her out, and the sudden loud noise did not help at all. For once, blessedly, Galo thought fast. “Actually, I was looking for her clothes closet? Which door is that behind?”

There were five doors in the master bedroom, one to the hallway, one to the bathroom, one to a fucking “tool” closet, so that left two guesses. Nyla visibly relaxed at Galo’s words, her smile losing it’s pinched edge (Galo was getting better, better at telling when her smile was tight or neutral or something approximating genuine happiness). Galo unwound a little, too, at seeing her return to the Nyla-equivalent of blank.

“Of course, sir, this one,” Nyla said, leading Galo to a different door, and the exhorbitant display he’d anticipated. There was a fucking… boot bench in the center of it, with tall mirrors in the center of the three walls that didn’t hold a door, separating closets. No, wait, this whole thing was the closet, the little… shelf… hanging rack things were--

Okay Galo didn’t have all the fancy names for ridiculous rich people things, but the point was, there were so many clothes, so many shoes, a goddamn chandelier, and it was all fucking color coordinated.

“You, uh, you set up the…” Galo gestured vaguely in front of him, “rainbow effect?”

“I did, Master Galo,” Nyla said promptly, and Galo nodded. Figured. “Greyson does the laundry, and has kept it meticulously organized since, Master Galo.”

Galo made a mental note to add Greyson being the laundry dude to his list of things he knew about the slaves. “Thanks, Nyla, I’ll let you know if I need anything else.”

He saw her give a cute little bow in the mirror, and she ghosted off while he stepped further into the space. The boyish instinct in him wanted to reach up and smack the chandelier, just because he was tall enough, and he could. So, like, hey, he did. It tinkled and swayed, light dancing around the space, and he snickered incredulously. He sat down on the boot bench, chandelier swinging above him, and pressed his face into his palm, elbow to his thigh, and just laughed, absurdly.

It was too early in the day for hysterics, though, so Galo forced a deep, slow breath, then another, then a third for good measure. He took out his notebook, added Greyson’s laundry duties, and then wrote a bulletpoint on his aunt’s linen closet from hell. The worst part, the part that made him feel incredibly scummy, was that he was kind of tempted to keep the lube, whenever he managed to clear out all of the rest of that shit. It was useful, and Galo wasn’t in the habit of throwing away things that could be used. At the same time, though, why in the fuck and shit and hell was Galo entertaining the idea of using his evil aunt’s lube? Disgusting. But he’d feel bad if he threw it away. But also that was his aunt and she was evil.

Fuck, Galo thought as he ran his hands over his face, taking yet another deep breath. Fuuuuuuuck. Was there an off switch for his brain? He’d like it if there was an off switch for his brain.

Alcohol, aforementioned brain suggested helpfully. Later, he told it. For now: distractions. He stood and began pulling open drawers, lifting clothing in search for hidden horrors like a hyper-controlling parent looking for naughty magazines or diary entries. He found nothing but cloth, more cloth, more cloth, and silk.

Hey, remember how you didn’t give me alcohol? Galo’s brain told him spitefully, I’m going to make you think about your wrinkly aunt in lingerie, now.

Galo shoved the silk back in the drawer and shut it hard, mentally batting at his mind with a cartoon broom. Disgusting. Negative one hundred out of ten. Something he literally never, ever wanted to think about. He bopped the chandelier once more, in a spurt of whimsy, on his way out.

The fifth door led to his aunt’s personal boudoir, which made Galo sigh. He was definitely gonna find atrocities here. And he did! More rope, candles that Galo knew the exact purpose for (he might not have all the kinks, but he possessed some, and was aware of others), more restraints, and more canes. Good lord and he’d thought she had an extensive cane collection back when he didn’t know shit. Even the balcony had a cane on it! He gathered them up with intention to take them to the “tool closet,” where they could all collectively wait for the arrival of the dumpster, and spun too fast and tripped over the fireplace tool set, sending it over and its contents clattering. He sighed, setting down the torture shit on a nearby chair. Why did Auntie Bethany even have a fireplace tool set? All her fireplaces were gas fires, it wasn’t like she had anything to stoke.

Probably decorative. It was shaped to look like an antler, each spoke housing a different tool, which also had intricate carvings/detailing on the handles and along the metal rods.

Galo shoved the canes and shit into the “tool closet” and sighed, pressing his forehead against it. Fuckin… He wasn’t even done with the second floor. But, he hoped, the master bedroom would be the worst of it, he hoped, he hoped. Since that was where the slaves “attended” her, and where she spent the majority of her time in this massive fucking house.

He found a supply closet full of actual supplies, cleaning chemicals and rubber gloves and dust masks and scrub brushes. It was so completely, entirely normal (if heavily stocked) that Galo felt a ridiculous amount of relief. He nudged some stuff around, but ultimately left it alone.

The old craft room, which was slowly turning into Galo’s computer room, was already scoured, so he passed it by. He moved into the music room--sound proofed, which made Galo’s stomach churn anxiously--with its piano and sound system and lounge chairs and folded up electric keyboard tucked behind a fancily carved record player. There were a couple of wind instruments in the cabinets, a violin or viola or whatever it was (Galo didn’t know instruments super well, hardly enough to distinguish on sight), and--yay--more restraints! A close examination revealed D rings in the floor, walls, and ceiling, like in the den, and Galo sighed as he took out his notebook.

There was some sort of… dressing room? Galo couldn’t discern the intent of it, until he found nursing blankets (which he knew were nursing blankets because they had lovely little cherub-like depictions of babies on them) in an otherwise empty cabinet. No devices of torture, so yay, big fucking mirrors for a room that people would allegedly feed babies in, less of a “yay” and more of a Giant Singular Question Mark.

He wasn’t gonna think too hard on it. He’d made that promise to himself the first night--or was it the second?--and he intended to keep it. Just accept things, and let them move on. If he didn’t let water under the bridge, he was going to drown.

There was a well-stocked office not far from Galo’s room, and he added that to a list of miscellaneous notes. He didn’t know if he’d need an office, all things considered, but if he needed a designated space to work on things and focus, this would be a good place to do that. A thorough examination revealed only office supplies, though some of the paperclips had been bent out of shape and there were a lot of those little clips, like what you put on manilla envelopes or stacks of looseleaf.

The library was a two-story thing, the upper floor boasting a large square hole in the middle that allowed a clear view to the main floor, one wall broken up by floor to ceiling windows between the bookshelves (or maybe the bookshelves were the ones between the windows? Eh). An ornate spiral staircase connected the two, and he smiled at it fondly, remembering being utterly enamored with it when he was a kid. Honestly, he was still pretty enamored with it as an adult. He stroked his fingers over the railing, wondering if he could spruce the place up a bit. Add fairy lights to the railing or something. Add more than just his aunt’s pristine, chic, expensive art that took up minimal space, like her home was a museum or some shit. Clutter it up, fill the space, make the damn mansion feel lived in.

Later. He wrote that onto his list of things to do, but lines and lines below keeping his demeanor calm, cheerful, and approachable, and finding therapists with experience with traumatized slaves.

Ugh speaking of he should really get on that. But first, the library. He half expected that if he grabbed the right book, or moved the correct artistically expensive bookend, a secret passage would open up. He’d housed the same belief since he’d been flopping around this place as a kid. He just had different ideas on what he might find behind the entrance. But the library was just a library, well-lit with lots of books on his aunt’s particular interests. He found a couple volumes on methods of torture used throughout history, and a couple of psychology books that he did not trust At All, and he moved those to a lower-level bookshelf where he could find them all later. The psychology books he debated on--he liked psychology, and was also the kind of person to read what was effectively a textbook for fun. And these were officially published, sourced, and researched. So it wasn’t like they were… bad… and Galo didn’t want to throw out useful things.

But he also wouldn’t be able to get a mental image of his aunt, reading over them, thinking up dastardly fucking bullshit as she read them. So if Galo wanted to read a textbook, he’d just buy one for himself.

He took lunch in the library, Greyson bringing it in and leaving it on one of the small tables. Galo picked at it as he picked through the books, and Greyson was quiet enough that Galo didn’t even notice him come in, grab the plate, and leave when he was done.

The library was not far from the foyer, so Galo beelined to the front door, spun on his heel, and took a deep breath. One floor down. Two to go. And the attic, but again, that shit was for another time. The foyer was a large, open space, sparsely decorated, mostly just an ostentatious display of wealth and wasted space and the giant fucking chandelier.

Immediately adjacent was the solar, which was full of tacky and ugly as sin furniture, but no terrible horrible secrets. Next to the solar was the parlor, which had nicer furniture and looked incredibly bare, which made Galo think that there had been a LOT of god awful art in here before the purge. Still no instruments of torture though. The living room was observed closely, but again there was nothing more than superfluous fire pokers for a gas lit fire, uncomfortable tiny furniture, and a wall hanging Galo kept waffling back and forth on about keeping.

After the dining room, Galo entered the sunroom and felt his mood lift. He really enjoyed the sunroom. He peered into nooks and crannies, but he spent enough time here that he wasn’t anticipating anything. A distant shriek made him look out the window.

Evan had lifted Lilah up in his arms, holding her about the waist as she visibly struggled. Galo frowned, alert, and was drawing himself up to his full height, about to bolt out there, when Evan set Lilah down, and draped himself over her. Galo could not hear them from here, nor could he make out the shape of Evan’s words, but Galo would bet his right arm that Evan was proclaiming a sudden increase in gravity. The posture was unmistakable. Galo smiled as Lilah wriggled out from under him, and Evan dramatically threw his arm up over his forehead and fell to the ground. Galo snorted when Lilah stared at him a moment before kicking him.

Galo watched, heart full of something nameless, as Evan wrestled Lilah back into his hold after chasing her halfway to the hedges, and he sank, body unexpectedly heavy, into a lounge chair. He watched Sasha enter the scene, carrying something Galo couldn’t see from that angle and prompting Evan to swing Lilah around like some long-suffering cat, dramatically talking with his hands, which were full of his friend.

Galo felt like he was letting out a breath he’d been holding for a long, long time. Since that first night when Greyson had knelt on his bedroom floor.

He got himself a drink of water and got back to his search, feeling… better. There was a room just next to the pool, with a little rinsing area and changing areas, plus pool supplies. He remembered this from when he was younger, and made a note to go swimming again soon. He had been up to his elbows hooking up his game systems in the entertainment center, so he did a quick perusal just to mentally mark it off. There was a room with gorgeous stain glass windows and old candles and religious iconography that Galo was pretty sure was some sort of personal chapel, which was gorgeous and had stale fucking comunion wafers and, haha, a bottle of wine. He still had to force himself not to drink it, but it wasn’t as alluring as it might have been.

There was a room filled, floor to ceiling, wall to wall, with butterfly pinboards. It was smaller than a room-room, like a walk-in closet but without a clothes rack, and entirely, completely bare of anything except the pinboards. No furniture, no windows, nothing. Galo shut the door, mind blank, and felt the terror-giddy urge to write “set on fire” in his notebook. He did not.

Another drawing room, a study, the salon, the billiards room, and Galo’s search of the main floor ended in the kitchen. Auntie Bethany seemed to have her haunts, and kept most of her instruments of torture there. Galo just sorta poked his head into the kitchen to see if Sasha was back yet (she wasn’t) and left it at that, knowing his aunt wouldn’t set foot in the kitchen unless she felt it absolutely necessary. The pantry, which was large as hell, was also somewhere Galo had been, and wasn’t worried about.

The door to the basement had a series of locks on it, all on the side of the main floor. Galo remembered distinctly how Auntie Bethany had “put her staff away” during gatherings, and imagined each one of these locks being fastened. How had she gotten away with it? With treating them so terribly for so long? Why hadn’t anyone noticed? Why hadn’t Galo?

Descending the stairs was an experience. The basement was fucking vaulted. There was, there was, some sort of fucking ballroom or some shit, Galo couldn’t even describe the space, at the bottom of the stairs. It’d be cool as hell if it wasn’t fucking overwhelming. Actually, even still, it was cool as hell. Whatever architect had designed this place, they’d had the time of their life.

The wine cellar was massive.

Galo made himself walk away.

There were two series of apartments, with bedrooms, a sitting area, a mini kitchen, and a bathroom to each, which took up most of the basement. Concerningly, none of them seemed used. The kitchenettes were certainly something for long-term guests to use, make coffee or some shit before heading upstairs for the day, but the drawers and closets were empty, showing no signs of the slaves living there.

There was a massive bathtub/pool that Galo found, multiple showerheads rigged throughout the ceiling and a basin the size of two people laid out. Well, not Galo-sized people, but like, Lilah or Nyla sized people. Nothing outwardly horrifying to be found, but Galo was a little boggled to find a tub this size when there was already a pool outside. There was another bedroom, just hanging out on its own, also empty. There was the utility room, where Galo encountered Greyson.

“Master Galo,” Greyson greeted, and Galo tried to make his brain switch tracks while he was bending low to kiss his hand.

“Hey, Greyson. You doin’ laundry?”

“Yes Master; do you have need of me, sir?”

“No, no you’re good. I’m just poking around.”

Greyson nodded, and went back to switching the wet load into the dryer when Galo turned. Galo made note of a couple more D rings here, plus two dog cages and a pet carrier. Auntie Bethany had never had a dog. Certainly never one of this size. He added it to his list of awful shit to get rid of, his mind jumping. Who? Who had been locked in these? Nyla? Sasha? Greyson? Lilah? Evan? All of them? It was too easy, too easy to picture any one of them behind those metal squares, far too easy to imagine them forced into a cramped, cold, humiliating space.

Oh hey, the rat poison, just like Nyla had said.

Greyson made no particular note of Galo, after his back had turned, and left somewhere after Galo finding the first D ring. It was just him, alone in the utility room, the sound of the washer and dryer keeping him company. Leaving, he took a deep breath. There were two doors left unopened. It was fucking barbaric, having all this space and all these rooms, and making the slaves pack in like this. They were probably separated by gender, too, one of these belonging to the men, the other to the women, because Galo had a hard time imagining his “good god-fearing” aunt running a risk of canoodling.

He opened the one to the right, aware that he was most definitely entering a space that wasn’t his. But at the same time, he told himself, he needed to know what was happening, make sure they weren’t adhering to some atrocious routine simply because Auntie Bethany had ordered it and Galo hadn’t ordered it to stop.

This space, at least, looked lived in. Which was good, but also made Galo frown, because there was only one, large bed. He hadn’t thought his aunt, terrified of any implication of homosexuality as she was, would’ve encouraged her slaves to share sleeping space. Galo glanced at the dressertop, finding combs and hair ties and floral antiperspirant, so he guessed this was the women’s room. He poked his head into the en suite bathroom, finding only a standing shower and a relatively cramped space, not half as meticulously, tv-ready clean as every other bathroom in the house. Something made Galo relax at that, too, at seeing soap residue in the little indent next to the sink, at seeing the dust bunny behind the toilet. It was still a clean space, just, lived in. The marks of people’s presence were upon it.

Now Galo sounded fancy and old timey. He pulled open the top dresser drawer, and his brow furrowed. These clothes were Greyson’s, crisply folded and put away so that each section of the drawer was dedicated to a different type of clothing. Galo shut the drawer slowly, the idea that maybe he’d gotten it wrong, that this was the men’s room, flitting by once, but only once. He had a bad feeling about what was more likely. He opened the second drawer, and saw Nyla’s clothes, a drawer down was Sasha’s, Evan’s, Lilah’s, and the sixth drawer, the one at the very bottom, held more collars than Galo had ever seen gathered in one place. And men’s lingerie, which was equally horrifying for a different set of reasons. He shut the drawer quietly, sitting on his haunches, and took a deep breath.

He stood slowly, breathing slower, and pressed his palms together before running them over his face, up into his hair, down the back of his skull and lacing his fingers together behind his neck. He stared up at the ceiling, just allowing himself to process this information. He wasn’t particularly struck; he’d established that his aunt was terrible and he really shouldn’t expect otherwise, but he was surprised to know that they were all kept in the same fucking room as each other. And with only one bed, that was the really strange part.

“Eep!”

Galo turned, attempting not to look guilty for sticking his nose where it had no business being, and tried to smile at Sasha. Her dark hair was loose, flowing down to nearly her waist now that it was freed from her high ponytail. Her hands were wringing anxiously up in front of her chest, wide blue eyes on Galo, and he didn’t move fast enough to prevent her from dropping to her knees, forehead to the floor. He winced a little, approaching her.

“Hey, Sasha,” he said, squatting down again and extending a hand to her. She glanced up, took the hand, and kissed it. Gently, Galo curled his fingers around her hand, holding it loosely and stroking her thumb softly with his own. “‘M sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”

Sasha glanced up at him, nodded as she glanced away, and Galo reached out his other hand, giving her shoulder a squeeze before bracing underneath her bicep and helping her to her feet. He left his hands where they were, once they were standing, contemplating her. It was hard to befriend, or, well, gain the trust of someone he couldn’t have conversations with. Not that any of them really talked, but with Sasha it felt like there was an added barrier. An extra obstacle.

“Is everything alright, Sasha?” Galo asked, remembering the most recent instance of Sasha being terrified and close to him. She nodded, and he smiled. “Good.”

He glanced back at the large bed, at the dresser that housed clothes for all of them. “Sasha, do you all sleep here?”

An anxious glance at his face and another, more hesitant nod. Galo’s lips pressed thin.

“Okay, well, we can fix that. There are those dorms on the other side of the basement, those would work, or we could choose individual rooms from--”

Galo was cut off by Sasha squeezing his hand urgently between both of her own, looking up at him with her wide eyes.

“No--!” she gasped, quiet but no less desperate for it, and Galo felt a spike of panic on his own end; what had he done wrong? “Pl--” she seemed to choke on the words, and Galo shushed at her, making as soothing of noises as he could as he pet at her shoulder.

“Easy, Sasha, shhh shsh, easy honey, what’s wrong--” No that was a stupid question, she couldn't answer. She whimpered while Galo was trying to find a yes or no question that could discern what set her off, then the strength in her grip shot up.

“Please,” she gasped, and Galo just wanted to hug her, pet her hair and face and tell her it was gonna be okay. “M-” she choked off again, taking a series of deep and panicky breaths, “Master, don’t m-make--” Sasha cut off with a whine, lifting a hand to cover her mouth as she curled in on herself.

Galo’s brain finally kicked back on and he blurted out, “Typing! Here, just type it out.” He pulled up the notes app on his phone and handed it to her, praying she wouldn't drop it with her trembling hands. Not that he was worried about it getting damaged--it was a good model and he had a solid phone case--just that he knew that if she dropped it she'd spiral entirely out of control, since she was already teetering on the brink.

She didn’t, thankfully, though she did fumble it a little when she handed it back to him, letting go too soon. He caught it, easy peasy, no troubles here, see? Please Master don’t make us separate was written with no ending punctuation, though Galo was pretty sure she was thinking in exclamation points. Aw, shit, okay, Galo read over it twice, then reached out and squeezed her shoulder again, trying to think.

The bed was large, very large, but to fit five people they’d need to pack in. It hardly seemed fair. But the idea of separating distressed Sasha, and given how tight-knit they seemed, would likely distress the others, too. If Galo suggested bunkbeds at this point, there would be no guarantee that if they agreed it would be because they liked the idea, or because the “alternative” was Galo forcing them apart. Still, it was just too much, to force them all to share a single room, with its single bed and single dresser, when they were all living in a literal mansion. But Galo couldn’t let his own feelings of injustice and his own wants preside over their wants and needs, and Sasha was telling him that she wanted to perma-sleepover with her friends.

Actually. This could be a really useful opportunity. Galo would feel bad for… “manipulating” Sasha, was really the only way to say it, but it’d get the idea across, hopefully? It was a gamble. But Galo really, really wanted to make headway with these poor people, so…

“Okay, Sasha, thank you. I like it when you ask me for things,” he said, gesturing a little with his phone, “that’s very good, and since you asked, you get what you asked for, see? No separating.”

Sasha’s eyes were jerking about, looking at Galo’s hand, his phone, the hand on her shoulder, his face, the room, back to Galo. He tried to patiently let her process his words, nervous on how she’d take them, if this would help encourage her to ask for things in the future or if this would be another thing that Galo would need to help her unlearn, this time with him as the culprit. Swallowing hard, Sasha raised a hand and pointed a finger at her own chest. Me?

“Yeah, you honey. And the others. I like it when all of you ask me for things that you want. Like when I took Greyson to the cemetery, yeah?”

Sasha nodded, visibly calming down, and kept nodding, lips moving silently over unspoken words. She seemed to catch herself, glanced up at Galo, and offered a shaky, unconvincing smile. Galo smiled back, surprised. He really hoped that meant it worked, that Sasha, and the others when news spread to them, would feel less anxious about asking for things they wanted or needed, moving forward.

It had the side effect of making Galo feel like a really, really weird sugar daddy, but he wasn’t going to examine that particular thought anytime soon, no sir, right into the repression hole with that concept. Galo gave Sasha’s shoulder a final squeeze and released her entirely, stepping back.

“Didn’t mean to interrupt whatever you were doing, here. Getting a hair tie?” Galo guessed, and Sasha nodded, smile gone and nerves rising once again. Galo gave her a wide berth as he passed her and left the room, giving her a little wave goodbye and a “Alright, have a good one.”

Ugh, shit, and, he knew Sasha was the kind of person who did better and felt less anxious when she had something to do. He meant to give her extra tasks, just as soon as he could think of some, but now would it feel like he was trying to keep her on her toes, or demanding “payment” for letting them all stay together? Fuck, everything was walking on eggshells, and he knew he couldn’t rush them, couldn’t push them without serious consequences, but damn if he couldn’t fucking wait for when they weren’t so… well, petrified and broken.

He turned the handle of the final door in the basement and came to a halt in the doorframe of the dungeon.

Sasha woke up before her family, just like every day before that one, and slipped out of the family bed, shivering in the early morning air. Her bra, when she put it on, was uncomfortably loose, and she wondered if Nyla could maybe… just put another one on the grocery list and buy one for her. Master Galo didn’t seem to check over anything that Nyla bought (he didn’t seem to check over anything), and also wouldn’t have any idea how recently Sasha had gotten this one even if he did, so she might not get scolded for wearing out the elastic so quickly. She tugged on her dress, settled her apron on, and combed her hair and pulled it up into a ponytail, then picked up her shoes and sat on the steps to the main floor to lace them up. The rest of the family sat on the bed, but Sasha didn’t like to risk waking any of them up.

After thoroughly washing her hands, she prepared Master Galo’s breakfast juice. Was it juice? Sasha was never sure what to call it. She didn’t really know what else it would be, but it also didn’t really seem like a juice. It wasn’t a slushy, though, and was it a ‘drink’ if it was technically food?

Sasha reliably saw their Master once a day, almost like clockwork, except there was a whole half-hour range when he might show up, and she was invariably nervous that whole half hour until he finally arrived, smiling at her and thanking her for his… thing. He showed up early, that morning, right on the upper limit of that half hour, and the way he clasped her shoulder was now familiar and not particularly alarming. It helped that he did it every morning, and it was always on her right shoulder, and it never hurt. He was still big and his hand was still very warm and very strong, but especially on the heels of what had happened to Nyla yesterday, Sasha wasn’t frightened by his touch.

Bread was next, and Sasha contemplated what she should make for breakfast for her family and herself that morning. Now that it was her job to make sure they all ate every day (and what an incredible responsibility to have!), she was experimenting a little more with what she made, branching out. That morning, she decided on blueberry muffins, making two trays of six so that when Evan and Lilah finished theirs, they wouldn’t need to split a muffin between them. Sasha also soft-boiled an egg for each of them, peeling the tricky shells off with practiced efficiency.

“Morning Sasha,” Lilah greeted as she entered the kitchen, Evan right on her heels and yawning loudly. Sasha smiled and bent down so Lilah could press a kiss to her cheek, then gave her an egg to keep her busy until the muffins were done. Same for Evan, who ate the whole thing in a single bite. While it was the best way to keep the yolk from spilling out, Sasha had to wonder if it was tricky to eat like that, what with his mouth being so full and all.

Sasha asked Nyla about the bra when she was up, and Nyla jotted it down on her neat little notebook with a small nod, voicing Sasha’s thoughts on how Master Galo didn’t really check the grocery purchases, and probably wouldn’t care if Sasha got a new bra. Nyla was so smart.

When the muffins were gone and the bread was sitting on the cooling rack, the family departed to do their tasks, moving slower and easier with their workloads reduced and their Master out of the house. Greyson stayed noticeably close to Nyla, and Sasha didn’t doubt why. News that Lady--no, not Lady, Master Galo had told them to stop calling the Guests Lords and Ladies--Barbra had nearly stolen Nyla had shaken them all badly, left them clinging to each other, Nyla in the middle, in bed that whole night. Master Galo had kept anything terrible from happening, though, and if he was right back to his routine, then they could go back to theirs.

It was nice, too, that Master Galo’s routine didn’t involve checking over their work as frequently as Mistress Bethany had, or maybe his standards were perhaps just possibly a tiny bit less exacting than hers had been. Conceivably.

He seemed to like what Sasha made for food, at least. She’d only been wrong once, so far, trying out breaded pepperjack cheeseballs that Nyla couldn’t eat because they were too spicy, and Master Galo had sent back with one single bite taken out of one single ball. She’d spent that evening terrified, pacing listlessly about the kitchen and pantry, wondering when the punishment would come, but it hadn’t. She’d made other food that he had liked, which had probably been her saving grace. But also, he just, didn’t punish her for the mistake. Which she was grateful for! And she would never take for granted! She wouldn’t get complacent just because he’d shown her mercy, no sir!

Stuffed bell peppers sounded fun, and she’d asked for all the ingredients last time Nyla got groceries.

She got all the prep work done, doing everything except actually cooking the peppers, and stuck them in the fridge. She decided a roast might be nice for dinner, so she rubbed the salt and herbs into it and settled it into the crockpot with onions layered overtop. She set the crockpot on low, knowing it would ever so slowly cook over the course of the day and be fall-apart tender by the time dinner made its way around.

Sasha went to the cupboard just above the kitchen phone (and she never understood why there was a phone in the kitchen; even when cooking had been Greyson’s job no one but Nyla or Mistress ever answered it) and pulled out the small tablet. Sasha was given internet access and allowed to peruse for the sake of finding recipes, which worked out, because she genuinely loved watching food videos. She could, and did, spend hours watching people mix together ingredients in aesthetically pleasing ways (she had the materials, she could do it like they did, if she felt like washing a lot of dishes). She enjoyed watching the time lapses of the food actually cooking, and she liked watching the specific action of people cutting into their creations with such intense precision, perfect triangles skewered on perfect forks.

She set a timer, checking that the tablet was still on its lowest volume, and let herself lose a little time until she needed to put the bell peppers in to cook.

It was kind of lonely, in the kitchen, but Sasha didn’t usually mind. She liked being secluded, most of the time, and she got to make all kinds of fancy, interesting things. Her family would pass through from time to time (more often now, with Master Galo), and she was out from underfoot. She’d been at this for long enough, she wouldn’t know what to do, if she were reassigned to another area of the estate.

She saw a video for fluffy cheesecake with strawberries and decided she wanted to make that for dinner that night.

After Greyson brought lunch to Master Galo, Sasha got food out to her family, first Evan and Lilah, who were both outside, then Greyson, then Nyla, who was… perturbed.

“He seems to be looking for something,” she said, the two of them in an unused boudoir that had, as Nyla reported, already been checked. “I don’t know what it is he’s looking for, but he certainly seems to be looking for something.”

“M-maybe he just wants a nicer b-bedroom?” The one he had wasn’t really the best in all the mansion.

Nyla seemed to shake it off, and smiled at Sasha. “Maybe. We’ll know when we know.”

It was a mantra that they’d clung to, with Mistress Bethany and her games, but it had hardly been a reassurance, then. More like a final thread to grasp. Hearing Nyla say it now, it was almost like… almost like a “we’ll worry about that later,” even though they’d absolutely worry about it now, too.

Things were different, with Master Galo, Sasha mused as she started planning potential meals for the upcoming week and composing a grocery list for Nyla. She pulled out an apple, after, and sliced it, carving the peels off in such a way that they looked like little red rabbits. It was cute, if a little time consuming, even for her practiced hands, and when she was done she rinsed her hands and then stared at the plate, towel in her palms. What to do with them now? Evan and Lilah were pretty guaranteed to always be interested in food, and Master Galo had said to feed people a minimum of three times a day.

She had waffled for days, now, on whether or not to bring people food outside of mealtimes, or if she was supposed to wait for them to approach her. Today, she mustered up the courage to pick the plate and… leave the kitchen with it.

She felt like a rabbit, herself, out in the open air just waiting for a hawk to catch sight of her. Just waiting for something sharp to carve into her, reshape her how it wanted her to look. She tried to remind herself that it was fine, it was fine, it was fine. Master Galo told her to leave the kitchen to bring people food, and even though it wasn’t a meal this still counted. Besides, he never really saw her anyway, and it was a big house, what were the chances of them bumping into each other?

Sasha would try to be quick, even so. She felt marginally better once she was out of the door, out into the sunlight which warmed her. The weather was gorgeous, that day, and Sasha hardly ever got outside...

Evan and Lilah were roughhousing, Sasha could see them at a distance, and part of her was happy to see them having fun, but another part of her was anxious to see them slacking off. What if Master Galo saw them? And what if Master Galo saw her, with them, and got mad at all three of them? But Master Galo was looking for something inside the house, and he’d already been out in the garden the evening before, so it was fine, it was fine.

Evan caught sight of her before she tried to call out, and grinned wide, hoisting Lilah up into the air with both arms around her waist, setting off another peal of laughter. “Avast! Intruder! A second stowaway beholden to mine eyes!”

Sasha giggled, shoulders hunching up.

“Nay nay f-fair sea ca-captain. It is only your h-h-humble scullery maid.”

“Aarrrrg,” Evan called, swooping Lilah down so she dangled close to the ground, wiggling only a little because she didn’t actually want to be dropped. “If ye were truly of my crew you would know me for a pirate! No fair captains here, lassie!”

“Oh,” Sasha said, taking a moment to switch gears while Evan pretended to chomp at Lilah’s face. “Then m-mayhaps this rowdy p-pirate can be bribed?”

“Death! Death to the pirate king!” Lilah pretended to shout, because none of them were actually stupid enough to be loud. “I shall have him mounted to the bow as my new figurehead!”

“Arrg, big talk for such a wee lass!” Evan kissed her temple and set her down. “But maychance I shall let the shrimpy go uneaten, at the lovely dame’s behest.”

Sasha giggled again, accepting a kiss on the cheek from Evan while Lilah “awww”ed at the apple rabbits. A hand on her elbow brought her attention to Lilah, red rabbit pinched between her fingers. “Are you good to be out of the kitchen?”

“I… don’t know,” Sasha said honestly, nerves kicking back up. “N-nervous.”

Evan nodded, chewing on the apple slice in his hand, and hooked his arm around her shoulders, giving her a squeeze. He tongued the mouthful into one cheek and said, “You could say you’re giving us a late lunch, if Master gets bothered. We’ll back you up.”

Lilah nodded, and Sasha felt her nerves uncurl. It was hours after they’d actually eaten, but not so late to warrant scrutiny for the excuse.

“Though, if I’m c-caught out here, you t-two definitely would b-be.”

“Point,” Evan and Lilah chorused. They moved further into the hedges, sitting down on a little stone bench together and Sasha told them about how she planned to start doing more food carvings, since she had all this time on her hands, and she liked the extravagance and challenge they presented. The sun was really hot, actually, and Sasha wondered if maybe she’d already started to burn. She didn’t want to leave, though.

But she did, when Lilah playfully gave her hair a tug and her worn elastic finally bit it. She sighed, taking that as her cue to head inside, and set the plate down in the kitchen before moving down the stairs.

Master Galo was there.

Sasha couldn’t help the “Eep!” that escaped her, only a decade of practice keeping her from recoiling, from shrinking back, her now-trembling legs barely saved from backing away. Master Galo turned, face indiscernible before he gave a smile to Sasha. He filled their bedroom, loomed inside it with the light casting his face in a shadow, massive, like he was waiting--

Her knees gave out, body instinctively curling so her forehead was to the floor, hands wringing and clutched close to her chest. She couldn’t even breathe as he approached her.

“Hey, Sasha,” he said, his voice taking that easy, careless tone he always seemed to take when he played his games with them. Not like his morning greetings or thanks for his green juice, something sinisterly akin to comforting, to soothing. She glanced up, and found his hand outstretched. Graceless, she took the hand, and pressed a shaking kiss to it while she prayed he would forgive her the oversight of not doing that when she saw him. She knew he preferred that to kneeling--she was so stupid! And she must have fucked up, because this time Master Galo didn’t retract his hand like he normally did, instead he curled his fingers around her hand, holding it loosely and stroking her thumb with his hand that could crush the fragile bones of her own at any moment.

“‘M sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”

Sasha glanced up at him, terrorized; how was she supposed to respond to that!? What did he want? Did he want anything in particular, or was this just some script for manners that he included in the game? She nod nod nodded as she glanced away, and in her peripheral she saw him reach out his other hand, but it only landed on her shoulder. That at least was familiar. Comforting. But then, with a squeeze, he shifted his hand underneath her arm and brought her to her feet. She’d been graceless the first time he lifted her, and she was graceless again this time, too, weeks to adjust and prepare herself and still she couldn’t keep her weight off him, made him take some of her disgusting weight in his own hands in order to position her how he wanted and she knew that wasn’t forgivable. She braced for it, shivering minutely as his hands lingered where they were. She could barely breathe, standing there under his scrutiny, feeling his eyes on her as another one of his slow, thoughtful silences dragged on.

“Is everything alright, Sasha?” Images of Barbara came unbidden, of terrible things that had happened just the day before. But nothing had happened that day, so she nodded. “Good.”

It occurred to her, belatedly, as he took another (far briefer) pause to think, that perhaps he had been asking if she was behaving herself, or if she had any reason to be out of the kitchen at this time of day. Really, where did she get off even thinking that he might be voicing concern for anyone’s well-being? Stupid! (Unprecedented; her own thoughts alarmed her).

“Sasha, do you all sleep here?”

She dared a glance at his face, not understanding. Why… why..? But hers was not to understand, hers was to obey, and her Master had asked her a question. She nodded, but it was the wrong answer. Master Galo’s lips pressed thin.

“Okay, well, we can fix that. There are those dorms on the other side of the basement, those would work, or we could choose individual rooms from--”

Sasha felt panic flood her, her anxiety lancing her with sudden, violent intensity, enough for her to cry out a choked “No--!” He looked to her, surprised, (and in truth, she was surprised by her own actions, or at least would be later, at her defiance, at her arrogance) “Pl--” don’t stutter, don’t stutter, she couldn’t stutter, it’d make it worse, Master Galo was being forgiving still, she hadn’t fucked up the game he was playing he was shushing her and touching her but she needed to not stutter. Maybe, maybe if she could ask without stuttering, maybe then he’d, maybe they wouldn’t have to--

“Easy, Sasha, shhh shsh, easy honey, what’s wrong?” She choked down a high whine, a small whimper escaping her anyway (sloppy, the rest of her family would’ve stayed quiet, she was supposed to be quiet).

She needed to get herself together. She was the one he was playing his game with, now, she needed to… to win. She squeezed his hand with panicked desperation, maybe if she could prove she wanted it enough, he’d find it entertaining. “Please,” she gasped, “M-” She cut herself off, feeling the stutter before it could bubble out of her, breathing hard like that had ever once made the stutter go away before. “Master, don’t m-make--” No! No, no, she covered her mouth with tears stinging her eyes, curling in on herself (ugly, poor posture, no-good rotten girl). She wanted to beg on the floor, curl down on her knees and huddle in on herself without it being bad but he was still touching her so she couldn’t!

“Typing! Here, just type it out.” He pulled out his phone and tapped on it before handing it to her, and she took it with shaky hands. Now she couldn’t curl down on her knees because she was holding his property, his possession, and she didn’t let herself even think about the possibility of dropping it because if she thought about it she would make herself sick. Right now, she needed to focus on begging, on keeping her family together in the one space that had been some small degree of safe, that had been in some miniscule way theirs.

Please Master don’t make us separate, she wrote, and when she handed it back she fumbled it. She gasped, one tear slipping out, but she wiped at it while Master Galo read what she’d written and she thought maybe he didn’t even notice. When his hand approached her she flinched, but he just touched her shoulder again, and maybe it was just because nothing bad had happened to her while he was touching her there, so far, but it almost soothed her.

Master Galo had another one of his long thoughtful pauses, staring at the phone screen and moving his thumb slowly, lightly over her shoulder, skimming the edge of her apron strap. She stood, shoving down the tears, shoving down the trembling, shoving down her need to curl into a ball at his feet and beg him to just kick her and get it over with, as she waited on his response. Please, Master Galo, please don’t make us separate she willed, like if she just thought hard enough maybe he’d feel it.

“Okay, Sasha, thank you,” he said at long last, “I like it when you ask me for things, that’s very good, and since you asked, you get what you asked for, see? No separating.”

Sasha’s eyes blew wide, looking at Master Galo’s hand, at the phone in it, then the hand on her shoulder, his face, the room, back to her Master. He, he liked? He liked it, when, when they--or, when she? When, asking would, he liked it when they asked for things? She didn’t understand. She’d ask her family later, what they thought, what the game was, if he was lying, if they should ask--or if she should ask? Swallowing hard, Sasha raised a hand and pointed a finger at her own chest. Did Master Galo want her, Sasha, to be the one to ask, like a responsibility, like it was her responsibility to feed everyone?

“Yeah, you honey.” God oh no oh no Nyla was the one who was good at talking why did Sasha have to be the one--she couldn’t even talk right and-- “And the others. I like it when all of you ask me for things that you want. Like when I took Greyson to the cemetery, yeah?”

Oh. Oh! Oh!!! Sasha nodded, feeling herself calm down. Like Greyson and the indulgence. Like how Master Galo had made Evan beg to be punished before he would--oh, oh it made sense! It made sense now! Master Galo, it must be some sort of power display or something, it was the act of being asked that he liked! Like, maybe like just the reminder that he had the ability to tell them yes or no because he owned them and--and she should be paying attention to him, right now, in front of her. She risked another glance up at her owner’s face, and maybe it was just because she felt like she finally understood one of the rules to a game but she gave him a shaky, if genuine smile. Master Galo smiled back, and it almost felt like Sasha was in on something. First to know. The one who would share with the rest of the family, what she had learned.

Master Galo released her with a step back, and Sasha drew in a tremulous breath. “Didn’t mean to interrupt whatever you were doing, here. Getting a hair tie?” Sasha nodded, remembering that just now, herself. Master Galo passed her by with a “Alright, have a good one,” and Sasha took two hesitant steps toward the dresser, out of the line of sight of the doorway, before collapsing onto the carpet. She… didn’t even feel particularly scared. Just, just, so much, so intensely, and it had drained her of all her strength. She just needed a moment, please, just a moment, to collect herself, to refind her strength and composure.

She didn’t let herself stay down long, just enough for the worst of the shakes to pass through her in ebbing waves, cycling out of her, before she rose, grabbed a hair tie, got herself presentable again, and left.

Master Galo was in the Punishment Room.

Sasha knew better than to recoil, but even so, on her quietest feet, she ran. Through the basement, up the stairs, to the kitchen, and she was cornered, she couldn’t leave, but, she was hiding, “hiding,” he could find her he could come find her any moment but this was where she was supposed to be she was good she was good she wasn’t being bad she didn’t want to be bad there wasn’t any reason to put her in the Punishment Room god please god not the Punishment Room even Evan hadn’t been in the Punishment Room in so long and Mistress hadn’t put her in it in so so long and Master Galo didn’t need to use it please please not the Punishment Room why was he there what was he doing why please no please not--

“--sha? Sasha?”

“Nyla!” Sasha gasped, clinging to her the moment her eyes registered that she was there.

“What’s wrong? Sasha, what happened?”

“I--he--” Sasha choked, curling into Nyla, face pressed into her shoulder, clutching at her apron skirt, desperate, needing, and Nyla’s arms came up around her back, holding onto her (safe, safe, Nyla was safe Nyla would protect her Nyla would make everything better). She tried to speak, her mouth not working, and it took her three, four attempts before she finally managed to get it across that their Master was in the Punishment Room. Nyla soothed her, soft shushes with her hand in Sasha’s hair.

“He’s been searching the house,” Nyla said in hushed tones, “He’s looking for something, that’s all, he isn’t,” Nyla seemed to falter, but pressed on, “Master Galo isn’t going to hurt us. Not, not there, at least. He’s just searching for something, that’s all, it’s alright Sasha, pull yourself together it’s alright, sh sh.”

Sasha nodded, trying to tamp it down. Master Galo had searched the garden the day before, he’d been through the house that day, Nyla had discussed it with her earlier! Master Galo was looking for something, and, and that had to be it, right? He was just checking all the rooms. Slowly, far too slowly, Sasha wound down.

Nyla pulled back enough to cup Sasha’s cheek in her palm, and searched her eyes. “Maybe… do you suppose he’s surveying the household; he didn’t go through room-by-room when he arrived, perhaps he’s just doing it a little late?” Nyla suggested. “Or possibly inspecting our work?”

And Sasha had just been thinking, earlier, on how lucky they all were that he didn’t seem to do that. She couldn’t help but feel that she’d jinxed it.

“M-maybe?”

Nyla took a deep breath and Sasha caressed her cheek in return, their foreheads pressing together.

“Just focus on your job, for now. I’ll speak up if something happens.”

Sasha felt herself soothe down a little more. Nyla would handle it. She nodded, trying to seem more confident than she was (her nerves were shot), and Nyla drank a glass of water before leaving.

Sasha remembered belatedly that she needed to tell Nyla that Master Galo wanted them to ask him for things, but this way she just ended up telling everyone at once, once their Master had eaten and they were gathered together in the kitchen for dinner.

“So he likes grovelling,” Evan mused, not sounding as bitter as he might have. Maybe despondent? But not angry, and Sasha’s brows knit to see him so… reduced. But maybe this news would cycle through and he’d feel better.

“It explains why I didn’t have to pay for the indulgence,” Greyson mentioned quietly. “Why he rewarded me for it.” Oh right, Greyson had gotten an easy day, hadn’t he?

“And why Evan was given prolonged threats with a comparatively mild punishment,” Nyla mused, “And it also might actually explain why we weren’t allowed to eat that first week. He was waiting for us to ask, and Lilah’s stumbling indicated that we would pass out first.”

Lilah huffed and stabbed her potato. “Mistress only liked begging when we were hurting,” she groused, voicing frustration that Sasha, personally, wasn’t even brave enough to feel. “And we sure weren’t supposed to ask for anything.”

Nyla could, because Nyla knew when to ask, and how to ask, and how to ask for only so much at one time, so it didn’t come off greedy, but balanced it with not asking too frequently, to avoid pestering Mistress. But now Master wanted to be pestered.

“Arrogant,” Evan whispered, barely a breath, not bold like he was normally (like he was supposed to be (no, that was a bad thing to think)).

“We c-can grovel,” Sasha said, kinda hopefully, “I don’t m-mind grovelling.”

“It’ll take a bit to get used to,” Nyla said, setting her fork down on her empty plate and patting down her apron, “but I think ultimately this is going to be a better situation for us. And, by some stroke of fortune, it doesn’t seem that we’ve left the adjustment period yet.”

“He might not like that he had to spell it out for us though,” Lilah said, and oh, Sasha hadn’t even thought of that. He kept waiting for them to figure it out and they hadn’t. That was… probably not good.

“We’ll…” Nyla huffed through her nose. “Everyone just keep minding their manners, and let me know if his temper seems shorter or if you notice anything peculiar, or any changes, really.”

“He seemed different during tonight’s meal,” Greyson mentioned, and the family turned to him. “Not in any discernible way, but,” Greyson shrugged, a small barely-there movement that Sasha knew as well as her own skin, “different. Stiff, maybe.”

Nyla took a deep breath, the family looking to her, waiting for her verdict. “That probably means he’s a little irritated, but still not inclined to hurt us. It might also be from not finding--or finding, possibly--whatever it was he was looking for during the day. Don’t step on his toes.”

The sensation of mild alarm left the room, and Sasha… honestly felt good. Wrung out from her encounter with their Master, but they knew he liked begging, he liked being asked for things, that was--hopeful. That was a good thing, important to know, and, well, he seemed inclined to grant the things they asked for. Probably just to encourage them to keep doing it. But his motivations still meant he would do it!

It had been many years since Sasha had received any formal training, but, she vaguely remembered a unit on how to ask for things attractively. She shut down that line of thinking, because her stutter meant she would never be able to, but… as she cleaned up the kitchen, it made for a nice idle fantasy.

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mirkwoodshewolf · 4 years ago

Text

Guardian of creatures; AU! Queen x oc female x reader Chap. 3

*Author’s note*

Wow just two days of writing and here we go with the next chapter. Now here you as the reader finally learn the truth about the owners of the BEWITCHED nightclub, as well as it’s star employees. More of a background will happen in later chapters but for now I hope this will do for you all enjoying this series.

Warnings: Objects coming alive, some swearing, graphic mythology.

Taglist:

@plethora-of-things

@waddles03

@psychosupernatural

@ixchel-9275

@simonedk

@kinole009x

@queen-paladin

@queensdivas

@jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels

@dancingcoolcat

@queendeakyy

@klausidiot

@geek-and-proud

____________________________________________________________

Chapter 3

Monsters are real!?

Hissing, deep roars, flashing lights, and something scaly. That was what was flashing through your mind like a film. You also remember hearing faint voices of Serafina and John talking to someone, but the last thing you could recall seeing was two eyes staring down at you.

The hypnotic, enticing yet warm yellow eyes staring down at you. You also remember feeling something smooth and scaly wrap around you before everything went black.

Finally you find the strength to open your eyes and you let out a loud, breathless gasp. The kind of gasp you make when you’ve been underwater for too long, the kind where you’re so desperate for air it didn’t matter whether a fly flew into your mouth or not.

The first thing you feel is a cool rag at the top of your head and you take in your surroundings. You’re in a large bedroom. The walls were a mix of purple and grey pattern wallpaper. One strip of the wall was a beautiful dark shade of purple, and the other was a grey with a floral design, then another strip of purple, and the pattern continued around the entire room.

The bed you were lying in was the softest thing you had ever felt. It was like sleeping on a cloud and the blankets were the softest of silk. Or was it Satin? Whatever it was, it was soft. Much better than any bedsheets you’ve ever slept on. After removing the damp cloth from your forehead you turn to see a beautifully hand-carved dresser.

Through the blackwood, you could see that engraved onto it were what appeared to be wolves. Wolves running alongside the entire dresser. You continued to look around to also see a large wooden wardrobe to your right and a small purple loveseat just at the foot of the bed.

Two Elegant candelabra lights were also on both sides of the room as well as one more right above you. Slowly you get out of the bed to feel the soft yet fuzzy texture of the carpet beneath your feet. The fuzzy points of it tickled your bare feet but one thing was screaming in your mind.

Where the hell were you?

Sneaking towards the door, you open it up to reveal a grand hallway. The wooden walls and low lighting gave it almost a haunting quality to it (and it didn’t help that it was still dark out).

Quietly as you could, you sneak down the hallway hoping to find a way out. As you walk, you can’t help but notice some of the pictures that hung along the walls.

In normal homes you’d see pictures of family members, paintings by famous artists or paintings of family members themselves. But this house—well one picture was of what appeared to be an evolution of some kind of human-serpent like creature.

Another picture was of the ocean but under the waters of the picture were terrifying creatures with sharp teeth, claws, webbed-like hands and tails like a fish. After what felt like forever of walking down this dimly lit hallway, you finally arrive at a grand staircase. A split staircase with one set of stairs (that you were in front of) and another set of stairs across from you joined together on a grand landing and then continuing downward to the main floor of the mansion.

The carpets were blood red and floral designed as well as some other intricate designed patterns that you had never seen before. You hold onto the railing as you quietly sneak down but of course the floor creaks beneath your foot.

You quickly take back your foot and quickly look around, your heart racing with anxiety. You then try your luck at a different part of the staircase and you thank God above that you didn’t hear a creak beneath your foot this time around. Cautiously you walk down the steps when you hear the strangest sound you had ever heard.

It sounded like a mixture of animals, it had the light cooing sound of a dove, but it had the deep resonance of an owl. You thought you also heard the purr of a cat mixed in there too. Slowly you turn your head around and you were frozen in fear to see the wooden shape of some sort of snake.

Half it’s body had lifted from the column that stood by the top of the staircase. It’s head tilted curiously at you as it’s wooden forked tongue occasionally came out. You and this wooden snake didn’t break eye contact with each other for even a split second, it’s unblinking eyes staring straight at you. You feared if you had blinked once, you’d be dead in an instant.

Suddenly all along it’s neck began to spike up into some sort of frizzled up wooden mane as it let out a demonic hiss/roar like sound. You yelp as you suddenly felt yourself falling backwards along the staircase.

The loud roar like hiss soon began to call up an alarm as the lights began to flicker on and off, the sound of an organ began playing but you saw no one was pounding on the keys and a few suits of armor started to come to life.

You let out a terrified scream as you scramble yourself up and tried to flee out the backway but you hear the sound of the locks clicking, telling you that it had locked itself up. Keeping you trapped inside. The suits of armor continue to come towards you so you now run to our left and you soon arrive at a very large den-like room.

Thinking fast, you shut the door and pull a chair towards it and lean it against the doorknob so that nothing could enter inside. As an extra measure, you ran towards a giant desk and hid underneath it trying to control your breathing.

“Oh my god, oh my god oh god oh god!” you whimper fearfully. Slowly you peek over the desk just to see if anything is trying to break down the door.

Unaware of a dark green tail that was slowly slithering towards you. Slowly feeling around your ankle you feel something cold wrap around your ankle. You look down and see a dark green snake tail wrapped around your leg. It then begins to tug at you hardly but you quickly grab onto the desk and try to hold on.

It’s a tug of war as you scream and beg for the tail to let you go. You kick at it with your free foot but it does little to deter the snake tail. Soon coming through a second door that you had no idea existed, John and Serafina are there.

Serafina grabs you while John shoots out a purple light from his hand down onto the snake tail which reals back and vanishes from sight. You scream up at Serafina as you try to escape from her grasp.

“(Y/n), sweetie it’s okay. It’s just us.” She tried to assure you. But you let out another terrified scream.

“Well that’s one way of saying thanks.” John said in a sarcastic tone.

“John behave!” she snapped at her husband. Wait, you then noticed that her low, southern accent wasn’t there. She sounded British. Was she faking the accent when you first met her? She turns back to you and says softly, “I know you’ve been through something traumatic but……”

“Traumatic!? TRAUMATIC!? You call that traumatic!?” you yell at her.

“It’s a lot to take in but please just let us……”

“What were those people!? Who are you!? Are you both gonna kill me?!”

“What no. No we’re not gonna kill you.”

“You guys are gonna kill me. You’re gonna chop me up into little pieces and serve me up in a pie!” you panicked.

“Sweetie no one’s gonna chop you up and bake you into a pie.” Serafina assured you.

“Then why did the house attack me!? Why am I here? Why—” suddenly your voice goes quiet. You can still feel yourself speaking but no voice is coming out of you. You panic once more and mime out a scream as you rake your hands through your hair.

“John Richard Deacon!” Serafina snarled. You stop screaming for a second to see John lower his hand as he said.

“Well how else were we gonna get them to stop overtalking you?”

“Uhh not with magic. And like civilized people with compassion and reassurance.” Magic? Did she really just say magic?

“Yeah like that was going so well just now.” John sassed as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“John I’m serious. Give them back their voice, and try to be empathetic about the situation. You were the exact same way when we were told of this.”

“That was a different story.”

“Not really.”

“Yes it was!”

“No it wasn’t.”

“Yes it was!” I tapped Serafina’s shoulder and she turned to me and sighed softly.

“Sorry love. We didn’t mean for things to go out the way they did but—we had to make sure the curse on you was fully gone. That’s why we brought you here. To our manor in Cold Spring.” Cold Spring?! You were in Cold Spring New York?!

You then feel a warmness coming back in your throat and that’s when John said to you.

“Try not to go screaming at the top of your lungs again. Otherwise your voice will be gone for a week.”

“John!” Serafina warned.

“Who are you guys?” you finally ask. The two young owners of the Jazz club looked at each other when John said.

“That’s—a long story.”

“At this point I don’t care. I want the truth!” you tell them.

“Come with us.” John said as he walked out of the room. Serafina held out her hand for you. Her red eyes giving you a sense of calmness and maternity. You give her your hand and she helps you stand up and walks you out of the study room.

You now stand before a grand library filled to the brim with books. Shelves so high you swear they touched the ceiling, you also notice that there is a giant globe at the center of the room, a few display tables with some pretty interesting and freaky stuff. Like one was a mummified hand or a golden statue of a cat.

As you walk through the library with curiosity that’s when Serafina asks you.

“What’s your knowledge of witches and wizards (Y/n)?”

“Not much. I mean I know about the Salem witch trials that happened a long time ago. But other than that……pointy black hats, broomsticks, and are said to be green skinned, old and ugly.” You say as you look at some of the books and items in the display cases.

“Well, I think they’re a little bit more than hats and broomsticks.” Serafina said as she sat down on one of the red velvet chairs.

“And they’re not ugly. That’s just a stereotypical characteristic.” John said as he came up and stood over Serafina’s chair.

“Well I don’t know. I’d classify your mother as one of the ugly bitches if I could.” Serafina teased.

“Can’t argue with that.” John chuckled.

“Wait.” You say as you turn to them. “Are you saying—you guys are witches?”

“The technical name for a male witch is a wizard. Or Warlock but that’s only reserved for the most powerful of wizards. But—yes. We are.” John replied.

“Does that frighten you?” Serafina asked.

“That depends. Are you both good or are you bad?”

“Well, it all depends on what you mean by ‘bad’. I’m nice but not that good.”

“You always degrade yourself love. You’re the best potions brewer I’ve ever met. You can name every single ingredient of every potion known to any wizard and witch. And you don’t even need a spell book. Not to mention your knowledge of magical creatures.” John said as he lowered his head towards Serafina’s and pressed against it lovingly.

“You’re one to talk Mr. Honor’s degree. You were the top wizard of our class in everything.” Serafina said as she gently poked John’s shoulder.

“A school? You mean to tell me there’s a school for wizard’s and witches?” you ask.

“Yes.” Serafina say breaking her eye contact with John to turn back to you. “There is only one school where wizards and witches go to become the best they can be—”

“But it was a long time ago when we went. I can barely recall it’s name.” John said as he turned his head away from Serafina.

There was a look in his eyes that read out—anger? Regret? You didn’t know but it you did know that it seemed John didn’t want to talk about it anymore. You see Serafina take John’s hand and stroke the back of it.

“Look, it’s been a long night for all of us. I think it’s best if we all go back to sleep, we’ll continue this discussion in the morning with the others.”

“You mean…….” Serafina placed her finger over her lips in a shushing motion.

“Come now dear, I’ll take you back to your room. John, you can go downstairs and apologize to you know who for the shock you gave.” She sat up from the chair and placed an arm around your shoulder to guide you out of the library.

“If I end up a ghost after talking to him, I’ll be coming for you first.” John told her.

“Please I know what you would do to me as a ghost.” Serafina called out back to him.

The two of you walk back up towards the room you were just at, every now and then you watched as Serafina ordered the suits of armor to go back into position, silence the piano, and shoo the wooden snake back against the column pillar.

“Do you and John always fight like that?”

“What married couple doesn’t? John and I can go at each other like dragons but through all our fights, we’ve never loved each other any less. Trust me when you’ve been with someone for over 1000 years you learn to compromise through your fights.”

“1000 years!?” you exclaim. “You’ve been married to John for a 1000 years?!”

“Technically we got married in 1465 so it’s only been 500 when we legally became husband and wife. However we were childhood sweethearts back in 1020. So we’ve just counted our relationship from when we first met.”

“So do witches and wizards age slower? Or are you guys immortal? Sorry if it sounds to personal. It’s just that you don’t look a day over 24.” She chuckled softly.

“Thank you dear. Well it goes both ways. You can form a spell to keep your immortal looks, but typically wizards and witches do age slower than muggles.”

“Muggles?”

“Oh that’s what we call humans back in England. Muggles, people who can’t do magic.” You nod.

Finally you arrive back to the bedroom and Serafina guides you back to the bed. As soon as you get into it, she tucks you in gently and adjusts your pillow.

“There we go. Comfy?” you nod. “As I said, we’ll explain everything in the morning. But for now rest is the most important thing you need right now. Goodnight (Y/n).”

“G’night.” You tell her. She then leaves the bedroom and with a snap of her fingers the lights go off and the door softly closes behind her.

Okay. So witches and wizards are real. The owners of the jazz club your boss wanted you to look into and expose are a witch and wizard. Just when you thought they only belong in storybooks, you find out witches exist and are real.

You could only imagine what else could exist in this world.

Morning came and you awoke to the smell of pancakes. You open your eyes and saw the sun’s rays coming through the windows in an elegant way, kinda like a hanging halo of light.

You get out of the bedroom and follow your nose till you stand before a grand kitchen. Inside you see the Blonde Siren sitting with Brian at a booth table. The blonde siren had basically every kind of breakfast meat there was on his plate. Bacon, sausages, ham, etc.

While Brian had some toast, two pancakes, and a tall glass of what looked like red wine. What really caught your attention though was the way the both of them were eating. Even a sip of the wine, Brian handled his breakfast with a high degree of grace and decorum (like those high aristocratic people), while the Blonde Siren was eating away at his food like a starving animal and—were those fangs in his mouth.

“Honestly Rog, must you eat like an animal?” asked Brian.

“Must you eat like you’ve got a pole shoved up your arse?” retorted Rog. Was that his real name? It sounded more like a nickname or something but what was it short for?

“Honestly I can’t see how you can devour animals like that. It’s quite sickening to watch at times.”

“You know what else is sickening? Listening to you complain while I’m trying to eat. Seriously Brian, you elves go on hunting parties, and yet you can’t stand the sight of me eating other animals? That’s very hypocritical of you.”

“I never once participated in a hunting party and you know it!” Brian exclaimed.

“I swear do you two ever stop arguing with each other. It’s like watching two children fight over a toy.” John said as he came through the back door entrance of the kitchen and headed back to the stove. He then turns his attention to you and says, “Ahh I see that my wife’s cooking has woken you up.”

When Brian and Rog look up, their eyes widened in shock as they look around trying to pretend their conversation didn’t happen.

“I was just…..I didn’t mean to intrude.”

“Nonsense, come sit. Eat. Regain your strength, you need it. Also I would like to apologize for my behavior last night. I get a little testy when I’m woken up after a battle.”

“It’s okay John.”

“Now we have a selection for breakfast, do you prefer vegetarian or the regular breakfast selection?” you tell him what you prefer and he shows you the selection they have for your preferred breakfast.

After getting your breakfast made, you go towards the table where Brian and Rog sat and take a seat across from the two men. As you take the first bite of food Rog speaks up.

“How—much of that did you hear?” before you could answer that’s when John speaks up as he snapped his fingers and soon the plates began to clean themselves up.

“We told them Rog. Well the partial truth about what Serafina and I really are. So they know to an extent of what creatures really exist.”

“I see.” Brian said.

“Serafina said she wanted to talk about it with you guys as well. Are you guys wizards like John?”

“Thank Poseidon no. I don’t know what I’d do if I were one of those stuck up, pompous, egotistical……”

“Watch it stallion! You forget Serafina is a witch so insulting me means you’re insulting her.” John warned.

“Oh I would never put Serafina with the likes of you. She is something extra special.” Is he sure he’s not in love with Serafina. Cause the way he praises her is. You feel Brian touch your arm as he explains.

“Roger here comes from a Scandinavian race known as the Nokks.”

“Neck, Nokken, Nixy, Nix, there’s a shit ton of ways to spell our name.” Roger waved his hand nonchalantly. “Just depends on where you come from is where the pronunciations differ.”

“Anyways. His kind are nothing more than horny hound dogs that seduce women and lure children away with songs or beautiful music.” John sneered as he took a bite of a piece of toast that had cheese on it.

“I NEVER ONCE LURED A CHILD TO THEIR DEATH!! I could never stomach something like that.” Roger first snapped angrily before softly speaking with solemness.

“But you don’t deny the way you are with women.” Brian said more as a statement than a question.

“Is there anything wrong with that?” Roger asked as he turned to the curly haired man who held his wine glass in his hand with purpose (was that even possible?).

“You have always loved your beautiful women.”

“Beauty should always be praised and treasured, wouldn’t you agree Elf Lord?”

“Elf lord?” you ask. At that point Brian sighed heavily and set his glass down and said to Roger.

“Thank you for that.” Roger merely grinned cheekily at him. Brian then turns to you and pulls back some of his hair to reveal the pointed ears of an elf.

“Back during the middle ages, long before people started over populating the land with their cities and towns. Brian here was known as the High Elven lord of the West. Skilled fighter, wise ruler, protector of the forest, and Seer of the stars.”

“I…..I thought elves like you know—worked up at the North Pole and were……and don’t take this the wrong way Brian but uhh…..I honestly thought you’d be shorter.” At this point Roger began to laugh hysterically as Brian pinched the bridge of his nose groaning.

“I don’t know where humans got that idea that elves were supposed to be as short as dwarves and worked far up North were hardly anyone can survive.”

“Oh man! That is probably the funniest thing I have ever heard! How come you never told us that’s what humans perceive you as?” Roger said through his laughter.

“Because I knew you would react this way!” Brian shouted.

“Oh Trident’s spear. You are never gonna live this down mate.” Brian groaned as he dropped his head to the table.

“Now, now Roger don’t tease him like that.” Serafina’s voice soon spoke up. You look up and coming from the back entrance was Serafina.

She walks up to John and the two of them share a kiss with each other and you see as John wraps his arms around her. You also couldn’t help but notice that in Serafina’s eyes she seemed—sad.

“How you’re awake, how did you sleep (Y/n) dear?” she asks you.

“Better. And the breakfast is delicious.”

“Thank you. John always prepares the best meals.” She said as she looked up at her husband who looked down at her and gave her a kiss to the crown of her head.

“Flattery will get you anywhere my love.” She rested her head against his collarbone when Roger spoke up.

“As lovey dovey as this is, it still makes me sick to my stomach seeing you to act like that in front of me.”

“Which is why we do it.” John sassed at him with a glare.

“Darling, behave yourself.” As they continue to argue, your mind then transitioned back to last night when you met Jarod. When you saw all those creatures with fangs, and then that one man.

The man with the long, crazed black hair, the yellow piercing of his eyes, and the scales all over his body.

“(Y/n)?” Brian’s soft voice calls out to you. You snap out of his and he asks you, “What’s on your mind dear one?”

“I—I was just thinking about…….what happened last night. With Jarod.”

“It’s my fault. I should’ve fought back! He never would’ve touched you had I just not been afraid to reveal my powers.” Serafina snapped at herself.

“My love you were in the right mindset. We all agreed to never show our true selves before the eyes of humanity.” John said as he held her closer to him. Roger whose eyes showed pure sympathy at Serafina now turned to you and you saw them shift into anger as he explained to you.

“Last night you had the unfortunate pleasure of meeting one of the fae Princes, Jarod. Son of Queen Titania of the Faeries.”

“Fairies?”

“No not fairies, faeries. There’s a HUGE difference.”

“What is the difference? Aren’t they all the same?”

“Not in the slightest.” Brian now took over saying. “See, you humans think of fairies as tiny, miniature versions of yourselves. That fly about with pixie dust trailing behind them, and in some cases mending and taking care of the earth?” you nod. “Well there’s not like they are in your books.”

“They are dark, evil creatures. In touch with all things beyond morale and humane.” John then spoke up.

“Faes can take the form of humans, far past the human standards of beauty, and lure humans to be their pets of sorts. Draining your life force or forcing you to bare their children till you’re nothing but a withering whisp of your former self.” Serafina stated grimly.

“And all you have to do in order to form that contract with a fae, is tell them your name.” Roger finished.

Oh shit! That means…….you had told Jarod your name. Does that mean he’ll be coming back for you? Or send in more faes to kidnap you?

“It’s alright though (Y/n). They won’t be coming back for you though.” Brian assured you.

“How do you know that? I told Jarod my name, how could I be so stupid!? I’ve put you all in danger! I could get you all killed!”

“No, no, no, no, no darling no. You are not a danger to us because you’ve been freed of the contract.” Serafina said to you as she came up and cupped your face in her hands.

“What? But he said that I had to tell them my name. And I did…..”

“You did do that yes, but the way to free a human from a faes control is if the fae that knows your name dies, the contract is no longer valid. Jarod is dead sweetie, and Titania isn’t stupid to try and come back for you.” she strokes you cheek assuringly.

“Was it……was it that man with the long black hair that killed him?”

“You saw him?” asked Brian.

“It was fuzzy. But—I remember seeing a flash of scales, and—hypnotic eyes staring straight down at me. And his voice—it was…..soft and warm. Like honey. Yet……”

“Struck the earth like an earthquake.” They all said together. Okay that was creepy that they all said it together in a chorus-like monotone.

“Yeah. Who was he?” they all went quiet. Serafina walks away from you and stands before a window looking outside.

“He is an ancient creature that has been around since the beginning of time itself.” She started off.

“A great race of creature, the like of which no one had ever seen before. A creature that can see the past, and the future.” John spoke ominously.

“His race is said to have been Gods themselves. No other creature would dare challenge the likes of his kind. Except one.” Brian said. You notice his eyes briefly flicker towards John before turning back to you. “Now he is the last of his kind.”

“The last of a supreme race of mythical creatures. All fear yet respect him. For he is law of the world, seer of all, and shaman of life.” Said Roger as he fingered the table, tracing an infinity symbol.

“Freddie Mercury, the last of the Nagas.” They all finally chorused out once again.

You feel a sudden cold chill in the air as that name was said. A shiver ran up your spine and your heart almost stopped. Just hearing that name made something in you feel—afraid, but at the same time comforted.

“What’s a—a Naga?” it sounded so foreign to you and even through all your love of fantasy genres of books, not one book ever spoke of a Naga before.

“They are a hybrid like creature. The first ever to roam the earth. Their upper bodies are human, whether man or woman, but their lower half is full on snake. The biggest Naga ever said to exist was over 60ft long from his human head to her snake tail.”

“They are gifted with all things magic, and cannot be effected by other magical creatures. Which is why the faes let us go when Freddie came to save our arses.” Roger said as he took a bite out of his food.

“But make no mistake. Nagas are neither good nor bad. They stand on a neutral ground, only observing the world around them. But it’s always wise to never, ever anger a Naga. Less you end up their next meal.” Serafina said.

“God knows we’ve all nearly been on Fred’s menu at least once since meeting him.” John said.

“I haven’t.” Brian said.

“Don’t go bragging Elfling.” Roger snapped.

“I’m over 4000 years old Roger!”

“Yes and I have been around since the oceans and seas formed. Which makes me older than you!”

“Enough! Both of you!” John snapped. You sit there in silence for a moment before John asks you. “You alright poppet?”

“Yeah I just…….”

“It is a lot to take in over breakfast.” Brian said. “We don’t expect you to accept it all right away.”

“Will I ever see Freddie?” you ask them.

“He’ll see you when he wants to see you. But now isn’t the right time.” Serafina tells you as she picks up the empty plates from the table and uses her magic to clean them up.

“When I do see him, he won’t……eat me. Will he?” you choke out.

“So long as you don’t give a reason to.” Roger said as he stood up and headed out of the kitchen.

“And how am I supposed to do that?”

“We’ll tell you when the time comes. For now let’s just get you properly dressed. Brian, why don’t you take (Y/n) to your room and have a change of clothes ready for them.” Serafina said.

“Of course Serafina.” He stands up from the booth and comes over to you extending his hand. “Come with me dear one.” You look up at the Elf Lord and take his hand. He helps you out of the booth and escorts you up towards his room.

*3rd Person POV*

“I really hope we’re doing the right thing.” Serafina said softly as soon as the Elf Lord and human were out of range.

“It’s what has to be done my love.”

‘He’s right. I thought you of all people expected this Serafina?’ Freddie’s voice soon entered into their heads.

“That was before the faes came into play. Freddie must it be them?”

‘Yesssss. I have seen it with my own eyes. This is the human that will lead us to salvation. To our bright future.’

“It’s just……”

‘That’s why the next part of our plan will come to place; you and John will teach them everything you both know. Turn them into a magic wielder.’

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ordinaryschmuck · 4 years ago

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Top 20 BEST Animated Series of the 2010s-2nd Place

If you’ve been paying attention to Disney’s televised animation, you’d noticed that there’s been a weird trend going on with their shows. Recently, most of Disney’s shows begin as random comedies only to have a deep story to them in later seasons. Some shows soar as they do this right, and others tend to flail as they do it wrong. Personally, I would like to think it’s all because of one show that Disney has made. And since its series finale, the network tries their hardest to replicate it due to how well received it was. And despite the many attempts, no one can do better than--

#2-Gravity Falls (2012-2016)

The Plot: Twin siblings Dipper and Mabel Pines are forced by their parents to spend the summer in Gravity Falls, Oregon. But don’t worry, their parents are not entirely careless. They just sent their only children to spend the summer with their con artist of a great uncle with a deep, dark secret...okay, so they're a little careless. In fact, the parents might be more irresponsible than you think because Gravity Falls isn’t the small backwater town as it seems. Soon enough, Dipper and Mabel will learn that it’s a town with monsters, demons, and a mysterious author who recorded all of the town’s weirdness in his journals. Will the Pines twins solve the town's mysteries, or is their summer going to be over sooner than they thought?

By the way, I FREAKING love this premise! The idea of an entire town being filled with mysteries and monsters is so compelling to me because the possibilities are endless. One episode could be dealing with zombies, and another could be dealing with an entire society dedicated to keeping the town’s weirdness a secret. On top of that, every monster/weird oddity that Dipper and Mable face is just so creative, from a multi-headed bear to even the main antagonist being (and I kid you not) the Illuminati symbol wearing a top hat. And even when the show does use monsters you’ve seen before, they utilize them in a way you wouldn’t have expected. For example, there are two episodes where the characters deal with ghosts. In both scenarios, the methods these ghosts use to haunt the living are not just creative and scary, but in some instances, they can also be kinda funny. There’s just no telling what this show is going to pull off. Or at least, not entirely.

Because another great thing this show has is its mystery element. And I don’t mean just how well it handles mystery within a single episode (although it does that phenomenally too). What I mean is that Gravity Falls has a great overarching mystery that you, the audience, can solve for yourself. With that comes the show’s impressive attention to detail. From the secret codes to solve, to the lines/scenes you wouldn’t have thought twice about, to even a single license plate. That’s right. A single license plate is an essential clue to the show's most significant twist ever. In fact, it’s a twist that fans have solved years in advance due to all the hints that were left within previous episodes. And most of the credit goes to Alex Hirsh and his team. They really put a lot of effort into what many would describe, a kids cartoon. Even though this might just be the most adult kid's cartoon that I have ever seen.

You know how Pixar movies try their darndest to make films suitable for both children and their parents? That’s basically what Gravity Falls does. Whether you’re an adult or child, odds are you will be entertained in nearly every episode because rarely does it feel like an episode leans too far in either direction. If there’s an episode with a serious story, there’s always a silly/lighthearted subplot to keep the kids entertained. And if there’s an episode that is just silly all the way through, there are adult jokes that make you ask, “How the hell did a Disney cartoon get away with that?” Even when the show gets genuinely creepy, it works just perfectly above the line of going too far for kids (except in “Northwest Mansion Mystery." S**t gets real in that episode). Many kid's shows in the 2010s struggled to find this balance, and Gravity Falls is another one of those rare exceptions that somehow feels like it does it without even trying.

And what keeps that balance? The show’s sense of humor, that’s what. Even in the darkest episodes of the series, there is almost a well-placed joke to lighten the mood. And with Gravity Falls, the show relies on four types of humor. Being random, being surreal, being smart, and being dark. And not just dark for a Disney cartoon. I mean that Gravity Falls has a dark sense of humor that I would have expected in something like Rick and Morty (which is fitting because the creators of both shows are actually close friends in real life). As for how funny the jokes are in this series, they. Are. SO. Funny. I’m not kidding when I say that every single episode--and I do mean, every. Single. Episode--has made me laugh at least once. Not even the best comedy shows that I’ve seen have been capable of doing something so spectacular.

But do you want to know why the comedy is so hilarious? And do you want to know what really kept me invested in all 40 episodes? The answer is simple: It’s all because of the characters. Most jokes are funny because the right person said them. I care about the show’s mysteries because the characters make me care about those mysteries. And when the stakes get high, I’m invested because I care about the characters so much that I fear they’ll get hurt. In fact, I was so invested in all of these characters that the series finale made me cry FOUR TIMES due to how heart-wrenching it was. And I don’t weep that often when it comes to specific media. Most of the time, I get a little misty-eyed, and even when it feels like a scene has yanked at my heartstrings, I usually get myself under control before any real tears show up. But with the series finale of Gravity Falls, I was so emotionally invested with this cast that I was tearing up with them as tearful goodbyes were said. This is because Gravity Falls’ writers know that the key to making any story work is to have a great cast of characters. Because it doesn’t matter how epic your plot is. If I’m not invested in the characters winning the day, then I won’t be invested in the story.

Now at this point, you’re probably wondering what is wrong with this show. To that, I say virtually nothing...Okay, that’s not true. There are some problems the show has, but trust me when I say that the good heavily outweighs the bad. Are there occasional continuity errors? Yes. But they’re usually intentional for misdirection or made up with really great attention to detail in other scenes. Are there occasionally bad jokes? Of course. But like I said: EVERY. EPISODE. IS. FUNNY. So who cares if not every joke lands? Are there also a couple bland characters? Obviously. However, they’re either made better in later episodes or forgotten quickly due to even more memorable characters. And now the big one: Are there bad episodes? And there are...in comparison to the show’s usual quality. Even when Gravity Falls is at its “worst,” the writing is still somehow entertaining in its own right. Hell, the real complaint I have involving the series isn’t even about the show itself. It’s about other shows on the network.

Like I’ve said in the beginning, as of late, there has been a lot of modern Disney cartoons trying too hard to be the new Gravity Falls. And they’re all best intentions met with poor execution. The best (or should I say worst) example I can think of is Tangled: The Series, a television series based on Disney’s Tangled. The first batch of episodes was cute, harmless, and downright charming. Then halfway through the first season, it becomes dark, dark, and even darker. And unfortunately, the show’s quality feels like it took a dip with its direction. As for other Disney cartoons, they follow a similar pattern, with the thought that Gravity Falls did the same thing. The problem is that it didn’t. From the very first episode, the show started off by hinting that it isn’t as cute and innocent as it seems. Sure the stories got significantly darker in season two, but they slowly worked their way towards earning that by slowly becoming more dramatic with each episode. And like I said, even at its darkest, the writers still knew when to keep the tone light. So that’s really the only logical problem I have with Gravity Falls: It made people think they need to be more like Gravity Falls.

When I hear that people wish the show was brought back, I honestly don’t get it. The series ended on a perfect note, with very few questions left unanswered. And the unanswered questions were actually answered through other media such as books or comics. And if you ask me, I’d rather have the series come to an end in the way that it did. It had a perfect premise told with fascinating mysteries, funny comedy, infesting characters, and even a kickass theme song (I know that I didn’t mention that last bit, but trust me when I say that it’s so GOOD). Why ruin that by turning it into something like The Simpsons, where a show would just get stale after too many seasons? In the end, while I was sad to see it go, I’m still happy to say that this is always going to be a show that will make you Fall in love with it.

(But the real mystery is: What series is going to top a cartoon that was practically perfect?)

(...)

(Who am I kidding. You’ve probably already figured it out by now.)

#top 20 of 2010s #gravity falls #what i thought about

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justasparkwritings · 4 years ago

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Codename Cupid: Chapter 8

Previous: Another Shot At Love Pt. 2

Pairing: Min Yoongi X OFC, Park Jimin X OMC

Genre: Secret AgentAU, AgentAU, Government Agent AU, Slice of Life

Rating: NC17

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: Swearing, Legal Alcohol Consumption, Degradation, Humiliation, Verbal Abuse, Horrible Family, Bullying, Sibling Rivalries, Homophobia, Toxic Masculinity

Summary: Codename Suga joins Codename Cupid at her parents house for family dinner. It’s both everything he imagined, and so much worse.

Codename Another Shot at Love Part 3

Fall Post Graduation

Park Yoongi, Codename Suga, arrived at the Lee residence dressed to the nines, a new suit, top of the line glasses and Ferragamo loafers that Hoseok had picked out especially for him. Nothing about his look screamed mid-level employee at a top-level bank, or government agent bent on destroying a company from within, which was the point. Namjoon had determined that to impress the Lee’s, Codename Valentine, Suga had to be runway ready. His hair was slicked back, and in his arms, a bottle of Makers 46, a bottle Cupid had ensured her father would appreciate. In his ear, a flesh-colored earpiece, specially designed, allowing his teammates, Codenames RM, Worldwide Handsome and J-Hope, to feed him lines when needed.

Adjusting his spectacles and turning them on, Suga’s vision was momentarily blocked as the sensors began their job scanning everything and everyone insight, transmitting data in real time to his set up at OT7 headquarters. The glasses, a creation he had spent the better part of a year working on, were a modification of his third-generation specs. Not only could they recognize faces, scan for heat sensors, but log sounds such as alarm codes and lock patterns, decoding their passcodes in seconds. This was a marked improvement from the generation twos, which recorded sound and took up to 24 hours to decode. The recorded surveillance was wired through the major databases used by OT7 to track down faces of everyone Suga came in contact with. Tonight, their goal was to memorize every aspect of the Lee’s estate, transmit the layout into a CAD (computer aided design) drawing and print a scaled blueprint. They were also responsible for identifying every human in the Lee’s house, pulling names, birthdays, permanent addresses and social security numbers. In his glasses case, Suga had placed several microscopic microphones, which he placed on any surface he touched. They might not have eyes inside the mansion, but OT7 would have ears.

“Park Yoongi,” The attendant declared as he stepped through the foyer and into the sitting room, where the entire Lee, Codename Valentine, family sat waiting for him.

“Good evening,” Yoongi bowed deeply, a remnant of his heritage and a sign of respect.

“Yoongi!” Euna said, standing and quickly wrapping her arms around his neck. Leaning in, she placed a delicate kiss on his cheek. “Mom, dad, this is Yoongi, my boyfriend.”

Mr. Lee rose, looked Yoongi up and down before he spoke, “I hear you work for us. Good.”

“Yes, sir, I do,” Yoongi nodded.

“Your work is good, you fly under the radar, if you’re to continue this with Euna, you will need to do better,” Mr. Lee extended his hand, shaking Yoongi’s, before moving past him.

“Sir, I brought you a gift, I heard it’s one of your favorites,” Yoongi handed the man the bottle and watched as he unwrapped it. His oafish hands tore through the tissue paper, impatient to get his hands on something he didn’t buy but eagerly wanted.

“Ahh, a bribe, thoughtful,” Mr. Lee said before handing the bottle to the head of house, who had quietly walked into the room. She took it and carefully moved to place it on the shelf which housed an impressive collection of whiskey.

Mrs. Lee looked at her cohort of older children. “Don’t be rude.”

The three children rose and walked towards Yoongi. Towering over him, Dae-Seong and Jun-Seo glared down at him, a sinister smirk on both their faces.

“Dae-Seong,” He said, squeezing Yoongi’s hand harder than necessary.

“Jun-Seo,” He repeated the action, his hold lighter, his smirk faded into a thin line, laced with more concern than Yoongi imagined Dae-Seong could ever muster.

“Yoongi,” Kwan-Min bowed before extending her hand, “Kwan-Min.” Her smile mirrored Euna’s, gentle and vibrant. Her eyes told the same story as her brothers, watch your back.

“Nice to meet you,” Yoongi responded. Carefully taking a seat next to Euna, he smiled tersely at the family.

“Yoongi, tell us about yourself,” Mrs. Lee requested. She slowly clinked the perfectly shaped sphere of ice in her glass, it slowly melting into the brown liquid.

“Is there anything specific you want to know?” He responds politely.

“Your file is thin, you don’t seem to want to advance at Lee Enterprises, so how’d you end up here?” Dae-Seong doesn’t mince words. Much like the booming timbre of his voice, his words cut straight to the point.

“I worked in the Manhattan branch every summer of college, had two internships my junior and senior year, and then applied for an entry level position,” Yoongi could hear Namjoon, Codename RM, in his ear, repeating the fabricated story made ever more real by Hoseok’s ability to forge documents.

“They moved you out here?” Mr. Lee questioned.

“Yes, they asked if I would transfer,” Yoongi replied.

“Why?” Dae-Seong was perplexed, no new hire was asked to transfer unless they were a problem worth handling.

“They said I was polished, and my work was good,” Yoongi shrugged. WWH reminded him to lean into the nonchalance, the ultimate fuck-you attitude the Lee’s hated.

“Seems vague,” Jun-Seo remarked. “Your childhood was rather bleak, wasn’t it?”

“It wasn’t the best, but it was temporary,” Yoongi knew this was the line of questioning they’d take, and not just with him, with anyone not from the upper echelon, anyone not worth less than 100 million.

“Your parents were, sorry, are, quite poor,” Dae-Seong pressed.

“Poor to some is rich to others,” Yoongi answered.

“But poor is still, poor,” Jun-Seo responded.

“You haven’t dated much, either have you Yoongi?” Kwan-Min’s voice was velvet, soft and supple in the tense air.

“I’ve had a few relationships, but none like Euna,” Mr. World Wide’s voice was clear and gentle, sell it Suga.

“What makes her so different? Clearly you see things that we don’t,” Dae-Seong snorted back a laugh, it was a hideous sound, loud and haunting.

“I see a lot of things in Euna. She’s thoughtful, considerate, she’s caring and funny. She accepts me for who I am, and makes me a better person,” Yoongi laid on the compliments like he hadn’t spent the last two weeks rehearsing them for OT7.

It had taken him a while to list the characteristics he liked about Cupid, and ultimately had recruited WWH to write it for him. He stared at the words Mr. Handsome wrote, and was shocked that he still cared this much about her. Yoongi felt none of these things, none of these adjectives or memories that Mr. Handsome had strewn together resonated with him in the slightest. Cupid was a mark, a pawn in the play, nothing more.

“Huh, lucky someone does,” Jun-Seo laughed, ribbing Dae-Seong and leading him in a cackle all their own. Yoongi glanced at Euna to see her jaw set, cheeks flushed, eyes glossed.

“Jun-Seo, you have a guest,” The attendant from the front door announced, standing taught at the door. A blond-haired man entered, smirking with a hint of humor. Yoongi stared at his dazzling smile and kind eyes.

“You made it!” Jun-Seo stood to engulf the man in a hug, lips pressing aggressively to his lips. “I thought you said you were busy.”

“I got away,” The blond responded.

“It’s lovely to see you,” Mrs. Lee stood to embrace the man, followed by Kwan-Min. Yoongi watched carefully as Dae-Seong and Mr. Lee scowled, arms crossed, brows set. They didn’t have to speak their distaste for Jun-Seo’s apparent partner, it was written in their body language.

“It’s lovely to see you too,” He said. His eyes didn’t glance at the elder males but landed squarely on Yoongi and Euna.

“Lee Euna, is that how you greet me?” He questioned, a hand resting on his hip, hair lightly falling in his eyes.

“I’m so happy to see you!” She bounded off the settee towards him, arms around his neck, holding him close. “I didn’t think I’d get to see you before the big trip!”

Yoongi stared, dumbfounded, and blinked quickly, trying to understand the rapid change in her demeanor. Gone were the tears, the anger, the hate that was coursing through her body. It was replaced with care? Genuine excitement? What the hell is the big trip?

“I had to get in one more family dinner before I’m gone for the month,” The blond smiled warmly at Euna, a twinkle in his eye as he glanced at Yoongi. “Is that?”

“Oh! This is my boyfriend, Park Yoongi. Yoongi, meet Jun-Seo’s partner, Cho Jimin,” Euna said. The two men exchanged a handshake before sitting down next to their respective partners.

“How long have you and Jun-Seo been together?” Yoongi inquired.

“Hm, a year?” Jun-Seo replied, a hand resting gently on Jimin’s thigh.

“Did you meet at work or-

“Twenty questions with the twinks! Line em up, it’s time to play!” Dae-Seong yelled, earning a chuckle from his father. “First question, who tops and who bottoms? Follow up, is Jun-Seo as weak of a top as he-

“Dinner is ready,” The head of house said, stepping into the room just in time. Rolling his eyes, Dae-Seong stood.

“You’re gonna need your strength,” He winked at Jimin before brushing past them and heading for the dining room. Yoongi followed obediently and cautiously, taking his time putting one foot in front of the other as he followed the Lee’s. Pausing every so often, he carefully trailed a finger over a surface, leaving a singular mic, completely invisible, behind.

The dining room was stunning, taken out of the palace of Versailles with a Korean twist, the marble floors and ornate chandeliers were out of this world. Flowers blooming in ancient vases, artwork that looked to be that of Picasso and An Kyŏn, Monet and Manet, lining the walls like the Louvre. There wasn’t anything the Lee’s money couldn’t buy, even 15th century originals were bound to become fodder in their quest for prestige.

Draped across the table, a gold runner, glittering with what could only be described as actual gold flakes. Waterford Crystal glasses, and hand painted china rested delicately against the gold, the white shining brilliantly under the lights of the chandelier. Awaiting the guests, an endless array of traditional Korean food: Jjajangmyeon, Bulgogi, Samgyetang, Kalguksu, Galbi, Dubu Kimchi, Kimchi Fried Rice, with bowls of Hobakjuk as everyone’s appetizers, and Gyeranjjim waiting on a refined plate to be consumed with each passing spice.

Yoongi’s eyes were wide, his lungs breathing rapidly to take in the scents of home, of familiarity. How peculiar to be eating the cuisine of his ancestors, of his blood, in a room with people who would willing spill each other’s.

“Yoongi, sit next to Dae-Seong.” Mr. Lee instructed.

Excellent, Namjoon muttered in his ear.

“Dae-Seong, I hear that you’re making quite a splash as the Chairman,” Yoongi voiced.

“Only bottom feeders eat my ass, Yoongi. For that you need to see Jun-Seo, appointment only,” Dae-Seong rolled his eyes.

“Please, do not speak of your brother’s depravity at dinner. Save it for dessert,” Mr. Lee scolded, eyes hard on Dae-Seong.

“When are we going to discuss Kwan-Min’s latest triste?” Jun-Seo inquired.

“Now seems like the perfect opportunity,” Mr. Lee answered. “Dae-Seong?”

In some sort of twisted ritual, Dae-Seong cracked his knuckles, then his neck, swirled a sip of whiskey between his lips and leaned in. Batting his eyes delicately at Kwan, he bared his teeth. Yoongi restrained from asking “you getting this?” to his team, because they were in fact, watching with bated breath.

“The category is, colossal fuck ups. The reining champ, for the first time in, Euna, how old are you? Never mind, age has no number when you’re a twat. Kwan-Min, for a million dollars, explain how you found yourself cunt up with a political fundraiser? I’m sorry, a Republican political fundraiser?”

Mrs. Lee gasped, her soup spoon dropping aggressively into her bowl, rattling the china. Euna didn’t look up, but quietly shoveled soup into her mouth, feigning ignorance.

“Kwan-Min, how could you?” Mrs. Lee demanded.

“If the rumors are true, and we’ll need Jun to confirm, Mr. Brady, I believe?” Dae-Seong inhales, eyes never leaving Kwan’s, voice even, “He’s particularly gifted in a few areas, and very well endowed and what was that other word? Oh yes, generous.”

“Quite a generous tongue on that one,” Jun responded, shame flickering past his eyes in a brief moment before his resolve solidified.

“How could you?” Mrs. Lee repeats again. “You are the second eldest of this family, the face of our philanthropy, and you are consorting with a known republican? Not to mention a man so cruel he, he,

“He thinks Dae-Seong is weak,” Euna spoke. Her wavering voice echoed over the table, everyone’s eyes turning to her. “I mean, that’s what you’re doing, right Kwan? Find someone so repugnant that Dae is outraged, spurring on another break down in hopes he’ll OD and you’ll what, become chairwoman of the board?”

“Fuck you for insinuating I make my decisions based on Dae. Do you live and breathe at his request?” Kwan spat, the heat from the food and the fight rising in her cheeks.

“No,” Euna was incredulous, how could Kwan assume that?

Through gritted teeth she responded, “Neither do I.”

“For two million, Mr. Chairman,” Jun motioned toward Dae, “explain to us how you could be fucking a member of the opposing party, who has tried to ruin this family numerous times? Is the dick that great?” Jun-Seo pressed.

“Don’t pretend that you haven’t fucked him, fag,” Dae laughed. “You two are the biggest whores in the game.”

“That’s not true,”

“The fact that you’re Eskimo siblings, not once, not twice, but have shared more than three sexual partners is revolting. You’re fucking freaks, sodomizing the legacy of this family for some log cabin taint who can’t even be bothered to pay the child support for the kids he knows about.”

“How do you know so many categories of gay men?” Euna asked, eyes narrowing at Dae-Seong, “You been experimenting?”

“Oh, don’t even get me started on you and your choices, Euna,” Dae rolled his eyes then glanced at Jun-Seo, who was sneering at him.

“What could you possibly say that you haven’t before?” Euna cackled, a sound so foreign Yoongi can’t help but feel his eyes bug out.

“Whoa,” Mr. Handsome says in his ear.

“Oh shit,” RM responds.

“You’re not even worth discussing,” Kwan-Min stepped in, and swinging the last of her cocktail back, she turned to Dae-Seong. “I’m more interested in your affinity for homosexual stereotypes. Tell me, when you’re alone in your house, your wife sleeping in a separate apartment, cities away, is that what you’re watching? Is that what gets you off? Picturing a willing gaping hole, just waiting to be ruined? Or no, I’m sorry, but Jun, don’t you think he’d be-

“A power bottom? Absolutely, he spends his nights ogling over submissive bears, trying to find one big enough to fill him, scrolling through chatrooms under, what was his username?” Jun-Seo doesn’t look at Kwan, he knows she understands what is about to transpire.

“Beary-willing007,” They recite together.

J-Hope guffaws in Suga’s ear, followed by a loud “oh shit!”

“I can’t imagine how it would look if your little, what did you call it?” Kwan asked.

“The twink or the fag?” Jun-Seo repeated Dae’s words so seamlessly, so effortlessly, to a blind eye it would’ve been hard to tell that Jun wasn’t Dae’s twin.

“Both, if your nefarious activities and browser history was discovered, or dare a say, leaked?” Kwan raised an eyebrow.

“You think you scare me?” Dae-Seong asked. “Summer, 2012, what happened to you?”

“Why would you bring that up?” Kwan’s glare faltered, a subtle shift in her brow, the sneer dipping before returning at full capacity.

“We need to know what happened summer 12,” RM stated, voice low as he jotted down the date.

“You want to throw dirty laundry out into the open, might as well air yours,”

“Fuck you,”

“I didn’t start this,”

“Yes you did,”

“Jun-Seo, care to tell us what happened to you winter, 2014?”

“No,”

“I thought so,” Dae pointed his knife at each of them, “Before you go accusing me of being a fucking homo, check that I don’t have your history sealed and filed.”

“Did you get that?” RM asked.

“Yeah, got it,” J-Hope responded.

“And Euna,” Dae turned his attention to his youngest sibling, who sat quietly eating her food. “Don’t ever bring a bottom feeder home again, unless he’s going to eat my ass, you hear me? Or I will do to you what was done to Kwan-pussy-ass-Min.”

“Fuck you Dae,” Euna spewed.

“Excuse me?” He yelled, standing to his full height.

“I said, fuck you,” Euna repeated with a little more gumption.

“Oh Euna, little Euna, too smart for everyone, too polite and meek to ever be taken seriously, to fucking boring and oblivious to know that her boyfriend’s only date her for access or career status, so stupid that she can’t recognize that the only reason she’s getting the company is that she’s so incompetent, no one will believe her when –

“Dae-Seong!” Mr. Lee yelled.

“Don’t bring a fucking knife to a gun fight, Euna, I will end you.” He seethed.

“What is your problem with Yoongi? He’s the first man I bring home and you-

“What do you not understand about our family? What do you not understand about the caliber of person we need to be with in order to-

“What, watch porn, order sex workers and pray the gay away?” Euna yelled.

“Watch your tone,” Mr. Valentine said.

“You’re acting like you don’t have secrets, like your marriage is pure and good, it’s not Dae. I don’t blame her for leaving you, anyone with a modicum of sense would see that you are nothing more than a toxic, manipulative, alcoholic coke head, who only has his job because daddy loves him the most.”

“You think your relationship with Yoongi is going to be any different?” Jun-Seo spoke up, deflecting from the rising anger in Dae. “What makes you so special?”

“First, I love him,” Euna responded, earning a scoff and eyeroll from every member of the Lee family. “Second, if he makes it out alive from this dinner with you assholes, then he truly is the most resilient person in the world. Finally,”

“Thank fuck,” Jun-Seo exclaimed.

“Finally, he was raised to be kind and respectful, unlike the four of us,” Euna concluded with a haughty exhale and a glare at her mother.

“Wait – are you sure that’s not just Seokjin in a new suit?” Dae-Seong cackled, nodding at their father who also laughed.

“I hate this family,” Euna rose and tossed her napkin on the floor, a dramatic flair that sent her brothers and father into a fit of laughter.

“You act like you aren’t the ingrown hair on the taint of this family, and I think I speak for all of us when I say that I would love to extract you,” Dae said.

His words hung in the air as Euna walked out of the living room, Yoongi on her tail.

Catching up to her, Yoongi reached for her hand, which she hastily pulled away.

“Euna,” His voice was measured.

“Can we please just go?” She whispered, tears beginning to stream down her face.

“Yeah, can I just run to the bathroom quick? Grab the coats and I’ll meet you outside,” He pressed a kiss to her forehead before following one of the workers to the nearest bathroom. Hoping to shake the worker, Yoongi deftly exited the bathroom before wandering down the hall. He followed the sound of voices and stopped short of what he assumed was Mr. Lee’s office.

Mr. Lee stood next to Dae-Seong, a fresh glass of whiskey in hand. “Did you read the brief on UAE?”

“Yes,” Dae-Seong answered.

“I want your recommendations tomorrow by 9AM,” Mr. Lee instructed, “None of that pussy shit you drew up for Spain, either.”

“Pussy shit in Spain is child’s play in the Emirates. I’ll bring something, nuclear,”

“Don’t jerk me around like you do with your pathetic excuse for a cock, Dae. I do not want to have to fire you and replace you with Jun-Seo,” Mr. Lee slammed his glass down before retreating through a door Yoongi hadn’t seen when he’d glanced in.

“I’m sorry father, I will have the materials ready,” Dae’s voice was pathetic, deflated in the wake of his father’s anger. He hated being belittled and demeaned, hated the hurt his father hurled at him, the constant need for him to be better than everyone else. He hated how easily it came to Euna, how she could understand the numbers and draw connections within seconds of being presented with the problem. He hated Euna’s prowess, how businessmen and women flocked to her, a cello prodigy, ballet star in training, perfect grades, whored out to different branches so she could learn the business. Every fuck up Dae-Seong had made resulted in Euna’s success, and their father and mother, though more covertly, had egged his jealousy on.

Yoongi placed a mic on the inside of the door before slipping back into the hallway and out of the Lee estate, to Euna’s embrace.

“Your place or mine?” He asked as he sat in the driver’s seat of his car.

“Anywhere but here,” She responded, eyes blinking down tears as Yoongi drove.

Next: Searching for Seokjin Pt. 2

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nobody-wants-ice-cream · 5 years ago

Text

Everything Wrong With The Umbrella Academy. Episode 5, Number Five.

We Only See Each Other at Weddings and Funerals

Run Boy Run

Extra Ordinary

Man on the Moon

Disclaimer: This is all in good fun! I wanted to do a really nitpicky re-watch of the series and found some really cool and interesting things I didn’t notice before. This is meant to have a Cinema Sins-esque tone. However, I did take off a lot more sins than Cinema Sins would have because I do genuinely like the series and the people that made it possible. So all of the good things got one sin off and all the bad things got one sin added. This is a really long post, so grab some popcorn. If there’s anything that I missed, feel free to add it!

I would also like to add that normally you wouldn’t watch a show this way. I am purposefully looking for mistakes, easter eggs, and other things that we’re not supposed to notice. I am watching not with the goal of entertainment, but for analysis. So most of the things that I sin, I am seeing for the first time.

Number Five

The apocalypse looks incredible. Well done special effects team! I know I already shouted them out, but they deserve another one. Or two. -2

Five shades Dolores with an umbrella. What a considerate dude. -1

Heat of the Moment is an awesome song. -1

Five’s survival gear. Well done costume department. -2

Also, the progression of skill and age is really well done. -1

Dolores’s little santa hat. -1

And her sunglasses. -1

“Do you remember that little mansion just outside city limits where we-- yeah” Noodle incident. However, the way Five says this implies that I really, really don’t wanna know. +1

Argyle Public Library. Suddenly the reason why Five went there makes sense. -1

How did Five get all the way up there on the library walls? Did he use a ladder? If so, that was begging for him to fall and break his name. +1

Sean Sullivan (who plays Old Man Five) does an excellent job imitating Aidan Gallagher’s vocal patterns and movements. -1

The Handler is the first person Five sees after 45 years of isolation. +1

Title screen lunch box! -1

Also, Five kept a lunch box to remind him of his family. He had Vanya’s book but nothing else with their images on it. I’m sad now, but glad that Five at least had something. -1

Five is so hungover. +1

Luther looks like he’s about to cry when Five tells him about finding their dead bodies. My boy! +1

Tom Hopper is an excellent actor. -1

Five also looks like he’s about to cry. +1

Aidan Gallagher is an excellent actor. -1

Luther lifts up Diego and holds him like Diego is an angry toddler. This amuses me. -1

See! I told you. Diego figured out that Five was involved with the shootings at Griddys and Gimbel Brothers on Patch’s doorstep! -1

“They work for my former employer. A woman called The Handler.” No one in this show is allowed to have a reasonable name. +1

Underneath how callous Five is about Patch’s death, he shows genuine concern for Diego. -1

Diego has not slept at all. And he is planning to go after Hazel and Cha Cha. Good luck with that, buddy. +1

Luther finally gets tired of Five vagueing everybody. Good job, I’m curious too. Er, I was when this was my first time watching it. -1

The Handler decides to wear three inch red pumps to the apocalypse. +1

The Handler is as vague as a Multi Level Marketing schemer would be.+1

The Commission decides to wait 45 years to recruit Five instead of a more reasonable number. Like zero years. Honestly, if I was the Handler, I would have picked up Five as a young, impressionable thirteen year old. Then he would feel indebted to the Commission and wouldn’t have had time to come up with the equations to escape. The Commission has no logical reasoning skill. +1

“You’re saying that I could actually leave here? Go...go back?” Heartbreaking. Sean Sullivan gets another sin off. -1

“All of this, was supposed to happen”. Kate Walsh is a kick ass actress. -1

The Commission is composed of dicks. +1

Five asks Dolores for permission before running off to join The Commission. -1

Five’s mustache. +1

I would watch a spin off of Five’s time in the Commission. Hopefully season 2 explores this more. Dallas plot, here we come? Sin until we get some answers. +1

You can see Five’s epiphany in his eyes. His expression says “I’ve got it! I’ve got it!” -1

The words on Vanya’s book look real. The props department did not have to go that hard. -2

However, whatever notes Five wrote are indecipherable. And for good reason if he was attempting to fool an entire time commission. -1

The fire extinguisher Klaus throws confirms for Five that the portal works. -1

Also, Five is clutching Vanya’s book. It’s like he’s nervous to see them again after so much time. -1

The fall from the portal to the ground doesn’t break, scratch, or hurt Five at all. +1

Also, Dallas plot foreshadowing? Remains a sin until we have answers. +1

I hope that they show Five picking up his hat, radio, gun, and possibly the fire extinguisher and that is why we never found any of those in a grassy knoll. Season 2 better resolve this. +1

“But that’s murder”. Luther, you threw people out of buildings when you were twelve years old. That is also murder. +1

Aidan Gallagher kills the delivery in this scene. Well done. -1

Klaus still has Dave’s blood on his hands. Also, putting Klaus through even more trauma. +1

Robert Sheehan and the heartbroken thousand yard stare. -1

The music choice really works. -1

That emotional, awful scream. -1

The briefcase exploding may foreshadow Klaus’s comic powers. Sin until we get answers. +1

Hazel and Cha Cha casually murdered Claudia. +1

“Unauthorized round trip travel to 1968”. This is how we found out where Klaus went. It requires a bit more brain power to figure out the Vietnam war from here, however, I think that this was a clever way to do it. It brings us back to the reason Klaus ended up there. -1

Honestly, Hazel was right to not carry the briefcase on him. If Five had seen it at Gimbel Brothers then he would have taken it because he knows what it is. It would be an insurance policy or could be used as leverage. Either way, Hazel and Cha Cha were going to lose their briefcase. +1

Allison, you were there when Vanya made breakfast plans with Leonard. Is the coffee and bombolini your way of trying to distract Vanya? Because based on the makeup and the nice scarf, it isn’t likely that you will be successful. +1

Vanya has a framed piece of sheet music. Either that’s some really valuable manuscript or its something kitschy. Either way, it’s a sin. +1

“What are you concerned about?” Vanya, the red flags are everywhere. +1

“Like a woman who’s based her whole life on rumors.” Ouch. Allison is trying to give you genuine advice, Vanya. This was uncalled for. +1

Leonard is getting progressively creepier. +1

“Can you imagine sharing your birthday with six world-famous assholes who all know they’re better than you?” Choke on that irony. +1

Leonard doesn’t stop her by saying, “Wait, that’s salt!” he waits until she already put salt in it. Dick. +1

“What happened to the other girl?” Harold, you know damn well. +1

Good use of Beethoven. -1

Klaus is back in the bath. Bookends to his tourture. +1

Klaus is haunted by memories of Vietnam this time instead of just ghosts in general. Trauma. +1

I made eye contact with Aidan Gallagher again. +1

Klaus doesn’t want to talk about Vietnam with Five because the last time he tried to connect, Five jumped away. +1

Five looks really excited to connect about time travel with somebody in his family. -1

Five doesn’t care that Klaus was tortured by Hazel and Cha Cha. +1

Five, Klaus has been tortured and then was in some war (Five wouldn’t know yet) for almost a year. This proves that Five’s decision making is impared. Presumably by his hangover. +1

Diego takes out his dagger from episode 1’s bank robbery. This is significant because of something Patch said. That Diego runs around as a vigilante to prove that what he did with the Umbrella Academy had meaning. Now that that has gotten Patch killed indirectly, he feels upset and confused. The dagger that he used as a child is now a symbol of what he did to Patch. -1

The fridging of Detective Patch. Yes, I’m still pissed about it and will continue to be pissed about it. +2

At this point, Klaus doesn’t know about Mom’s “death”. And I don’t think Five does either. The Umbrella Academy of Not Talking To Each Other should be the school’s full name. +1

Allison and Cha Cha don’t see each other when getting into or out of the chairs right across from one another. +1

Allison is doing the equivalent of social media stalking her sister’s boyfriend. Smart. -1

Extra Ordinary bites everyone in the ass. Thanks, Vanya. +1

Five and Allison have the same slow, blocky handwriting. Did Reggie teach them to write as slowly and as large as possible? +1

Hazel and Agnes’s flirting. It’s cute? -1

Klaus ran down the stairs wearing Grace’s heels and broke his jaw when they were twelve. Trauma. +1

Diego can’t park for shit either. Diego and Five need to learn how to park vehicles. +1

Klaus’s little “Hey, Dave” when he sees Dave’s picture. -1

The show fakes out the vet confronting Klaus. Clever. -1

Diego is genuinely concerned for Klaus. -1

The vet is itching for a fight. Asking a drunk person to apologize? Dumbass. +1

“I’d like to apologize...that you are depriving some village of their IDIOT!” -1

Klaus and Diego get into a bar fight in less than five minutes. Checks out. -1

Agnes sees the birds the way Hazel sees normal people. I like the analogy. -1

Agnes does not own Griddys. Who does? Is she the manager or something? +1

Hazel and Agnes theme. -1

Diego’s face when Klaus says he lost the only person he ever loved more than himself. He’s thinking, “Klaus lost his Eudora”. -1

No way in hell Five would have been able to get up as high as the chalk goes. +1

Five is still using Vanya’s book as a notebook. Checks out. -1

The rifle Five pulls out looks a lot like the one he points at the Handler. It doesn’t look like the one he pointed at Kennedy. Why would Five lie about this? +1

Luther, you murdered people when you were twelve. +1

Luther dangles Dolores out the window by her neck. Logical, yeah. Fucked, also yeah. +1

The level of concern Five has for Dolores. -1

Also, well done creating tension, show. My heart was beating like crazy. -1

The Gigue from Partita No. 2 in D Minor by Bach is one of my favorite pieces. -1

No one stops playing like that. +1

Allison takes her not-stalking info to Vanya and presents it really accusingly. At this point, Vanya is sick of your shit, Allison. +1

“You’re trying to dig up dirt on a guy that I like, who does that?” Everyone with an internet connection does this for the people they care about. What Allison did was hella extra though. +1

Vanya is getting more assertive. -1

Vanya is a dick to Allison. +1

“They’re a real frickin’ mess”. Understatement of the century. +1

Cha Cha wouldn’t know about the moon mission because Vanya’s book came out before it. Also, Vanya wouldn’t know that Five could time travel. +1

Diego you haven’t slept at all, as soon as you drop you’re gonna sleep like a baby. +1

The motel clerk doesn’t notice Cha Cha’s pistol, which was directly in his line of sight. +1

Diego doesn’t notice Klaus’s footsteps. +1

“Yeah but you also told me that licking a nine-volt battery would give me pubes” “We were eight”. Sibling culture. -1

Klaus saves Diego from gunfire the best he can. Even though Diego still gets shot, sin off for Klaus’s heroics. -1

“Was this all part of your master plan” “Shut up”. Sibling culture. -1

Audition panels are always dicks. +1

If you start an audition the way Vanya just did with the shaky bow contact, you’re fucked. +1

Imogen is a great violinist. Ellen Page is not. It’s really easy to see when they switch out. +1

Allison goes to Leonard’s place with no backup. Come on, even Diego has backup! +1

Allison doesn’t tell Five and Diego about how she got into Leonard’s house when they were breaking in again later. The window would have been much better than breaking the door. +1

Vanya’s powers are distorting her music. It sounds like her intonation is gone. Yet the conductor looks impressed. +1

Allison almost finds Helen Cho’s body. +1

The camera cuts to the attic entrance to show that it will be significant later on. -1

The Hargreeves car has HERMES on its licence plate. A.) nice comics reference. B.) Hermes is the God of Travelers. C.) Of course Reggie has a vanity licence plate. -3

Five and Luther connecting over their forced isolation. -1

Also, Aidan Gallagher and Tom Hopper play off each other really well. -1

“I’ve lived a long life, but you’re still a young man. You got your whole life ahead of you. Don’t waste it.” Luther’s face amuses me. -1

Five threatening while Hazel and Cha Cha doesn’t look ridiculous. I genuinely belive it. Props to Aidan Gallagher. -1

Five and Luther look so confused by Klaus and Diego arriving in an ice cream truck. This is such an underrated scene. -3

Ride of the Valkyries -1

Klaus’s little wave. -1

“Whee” I love Ben. -2

I want to know how they shot this. The behind the scenes after the Handler showed up and stopped time must have been strange to look at. -1

Luther protects Five with his whole body without question. -1

Five puts his hands in his pockets but then they’re behind his back in the next shot with no motion to explain it. +1

The Handler is a creep. She’s into Five. +5

Where and When did Five get that pistol? +1

So many memes come from this scene. -2

Five doesn’t have his finger anywhere near the trigger in some shots, but in others it’s two seconds from shooting the Handler. What’s up with that? +1

The Handler is so, so creepy. The hand caressing Five’s cheek? Eww. That all but confirms that she wants to be his Mrs. Robinson. +5

Kate Walsh plays an excellent villain. -1

Five made a deal with the devil because it was his only option. -1

[Gerard Way and Ray Toro’s “Happy Together” playing.] -1

Cha Cha was planning to abandon Hazel. Otherwise why else would she open the briefcase? +1

Ben gets shotgun. -1

Klaus finally gets to flip off Hazel and Cha Cha. -3

“SHIIT” Cha Cha, you got played. I love my smart boys. -5

Vanya did well at her audition! I’m proud of her! -1

Leonard knows the exact words Reggie would have used to describe Vanya’s powers. And he uses them here. +1

“I got first chair!” Congratulations, Vanya! -2

“No one’s ever believed in me like this.” Fuck you, Reggie. +1

Having sex with Leonard/Harold desereves a couple sins. +2

Helen Cho and Reggie’s book reveal. Leonard is a creep confirmed. +2

Dr. Pogo? More like Dr. Complicit in Reggie’s Bullshit. +1

Overall Review:

In case you couldn’t tell, this is one of my favorite episodes. Finally, all of our characters are invested in the apocalypse plot, even indirectly. Vanya’s powers emerge, the Handler and the Commission enter the chat, and Leonard is revealed to be a murderer and to have Reggie’s diary. Things are really heating up in this episode.

I had a really hard time finding anything wrong that wasn’t character flaw is character flaw and villain character is a villain. This is a fun episode. If I wanted to show someone an episode of The Umbrella Academy to get them hooked onto the show, I would show them this episode. It moves at a perfect pace and has enough mystery to keep everyone on their toes. When I first watched this episode, I decided to stay up all night and binge the rest of them. Before I was watching one every couple of days. Episode five is what really hooked me. Props to everyone that worked on it!

I want to give a special shout out to Sean Sullivan. He did really well playing Five! I hope we see him in season 2 for that one scene. If you’ve read the comics then you know the one.

Sins: 4

Sentence: Watching Klaus’s breakdown after Vietnam was more than punishment enough.

#The Umbrella Academy #all in good fun #luther hargreeves #diego hargreeves #Allison Hargreeves #klaus hargreeves #five hargreeves #ben hargreeves #vanya hargreeves #leonard peabody #hazel and cha cha #the handler

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fluffy-marshmallow-heart · 5 years ago

Text

20 Seconds of Courage -Part 20

The Elementalists au

Beckett x mc (Oriana)

Words: 3183

Warnings: Sensitive topics such as death, rape, drugs.

Series Master List

Complete Master List

There's probably just going to be one more chapter to this series.

As soon as Beckett got home and realized Oriana was nowhere to be found, he called the police. “What do you mean, there’s nothing you can do?” He demanded. “She’s missing!!”

“Sir, I understand your frustration, however, she’s not considered a missing person until there’s been no contact for 48 hours. Being gone for only a few hours means she could have turned off her phone and gone shopping.”

“No!” He shouted angrily. “She wouldn’t do that, you need to do something!!”

“You may come down to your local precinct and meet with a detective there, however, they will tell you the same thing. But at least you can start the process.” The police officer on the phone told him.

Beckett hung up, seeing red. He called the Detective he’d spoken to about Katrina while he was in the hospital with Oriana.

“You’ve reached the voicemail of Detective Blanc. Please leave a detailed message and I will call you as soon as I am able.”

“This is Beckett Harrington, we met the other day at the hospital. Oriana Miller is missing; call me back!”

He was furious and didn’t know where else to turn. No one had seen her since she left the office. It was like she vanished into thin air, and he had the worst feeling in the pit of his stomach. He knew that if he didn’t find her soon, she’d be gone forever, and he couldn’t accept that fate. He couldn’t let Jason win after all this time, let him take another person he loved away from him. He wouldn’t survive it. He wouldn’t even want to. It took him three years to finally open up to someone…and now his past was coming back to haunt him, as if it didn’t enough already. And this time, he didn’t have a clue where to start. He sank down on his couch and buried his face in his hands. It’s all his fault. If he’d never met her, she wouldn’t be in danger right now. If he’d never pursued her, she’d be living out her life in safety. He knows he needs to get up, needs to do something, anything…but he’s frozen in place, terror coursing through his veins. He was completely helpless for the first time in his life, and the more he thought about how he needed to find her, the more his body seemed to be shutting down. He was paralyzed in fear.

Oriana looked Michael square in the eye as he rose his gun back up and put his finger on the trigger.

“Goodbye Oriana.”

She squeezed her eyes shut and let out a scream as the gunshot rang out, the house falling still as a candle fell over and lit the curtains on fire. But she was still aware of everything. She wasn’t in pain. After a brief moment of silence, there were suddenly voices sounding from everywhere all at once. She peeked out of one eye before the other flew open and she gasped as she took in the sight before her. There were at least a dozen armed police bursting into the room. One was putting out the fire, three were tending to Michael, who lay motionless on the floor, and now several more were heading towards her.

“Ma’am? Ma’am, are you alright? Can you tell me your name?” One of them was speaking to her as another took Jason’s pulse, shaking his head to yet another man when he found none. Together, they rolled Jason off of her. She felt like she couldn’t talk. Where did all these people come from? Where was Beckett? Surely he’s the one that managed to find her…he always finds her.

“Wh-where’s Beckett? Is he okay?”

“Sorry, Ma’am, I don’t know who that is. I’m Officer McMillan. Can you tell me your name? Do you know how you got here?”

He began untying her carefully, starting with her hands, and then she untied one leg as he did the other. She kept looking around the room, and the office spoke into his radio. “How many ambulances are on their way?”

His radio beeped and a voice crackled through. “One is pulling up on scene, two more are en-route, eta ten minutes.

“Thanks.” He turned back to her, helping to her feet. “Come with me. There’s an ambulance downstairs.”

As they moved across the room, Oriana’s eyes landed on Michael again. His skin was ashen, and his chest had a bullet wound. His gun had already been picked up and placed in an evidence bag. The officer kept trying to get her to speak, but she couldn’t help but continue to look at everything around her. She was in an old decrepit house, where the wallpaper was peeling, and floorboards creaking. It was cold and drafty, and the stairs were missing half of the railing. Once downstairs she could tell that at some point this must have been a grand house. The ceilings were high, the floors, although stained, were hardwood, the trimming looked to be mahogany. But at some point, someone had stopped caring for it, and if fell into dilapidation. Finally being ushered out the front door, Oriana gaped at the dozens of cars pulled into a long driveway and all over the grass, with more coming.

A moment later, two paramedics rushed to her side with a stretcher, one of them wrapped a blanket around her shoulders. “Name?”

“She hasn’t given one yet.”

“O…Oriana Miller. My name is Oriana Miller.” She told them quietly. “Where’s Beckett?”

“She keeps asking for someone named Beckett. We’re not sure who he is or his relation to the crime yet.”

“What? He has nothing to do with this!” Oriana shrieked. “Didn’t he send you??”

“Ms. Miller, we’re going to put you on this stretcher and take you to the hospital. There’s a lot of blood, where were you hurt?”

“I…I wasn’t…um…a couple scratches…”

“The majority is not her blood.” Officer McMillan explained.

As she laid onto the stretcher, she looked back at the cop. “How did you find me? How did you get here?”

“An officer is going to meet you at the hospital to take your statement and answer any questions you have.”

“But…”

Officer McMillan was already striding away, and Oriana cursed under her breath as the stretcher was loaded into the ambulance. The EMTs were nice enough, taking all her vitals and bandaging up the cuts Jason had made with his knife. But she refused to answer any questions without getting some answers herself. After what seemed like an eternity, they finally pulled into a hospital and she was steered into the Emergency Department. As Oriana was moved from the gurney onto a bed, she recognized the policewoman walking towards her as one of the ones that she met with the last time she was in the hospital.

Detective Blanc smiled sadly at her. “Oriana, I’m so sorry to meet again under these circumstances.”

“Please. Tell me what is going on.” Oriana begged.

The woman pulled up a chair next to her bed. “I was told to come here and take someone’s statement, I just found out it was you. Before we get started…I have several voicemails from Mr. Harrington. Is it okay with you if I tell him where you are right now?”

“Yes! Please!” She cried.

The officer nodded and pulled her phone out, dialing Beckett’s number. “Mr. Harrington, this is Detective Blanc. We’ve located Ms. Miller.”

Oriana made a grab for her phone. “Beck?? I’m okay. I’m at the hospital, please hurry!” She breathed a sigh of relief when Beckett’s voice sounded through the other end of the receiver.

“Thank God. I’m on my way.”

She handed the phone back to the Detective. “I’m sorry. I probably shouldn’t have done that.”

The woman smiled. “Under the circumstances I’ll allow it. Try it again, however, you’ll be in trouble.”

“Worth it.” Oriana grinned. “Please, tell me what happened. I mean…I know what happened…but how did the police know to go there?”

“Jason Mulvaney has been under investigation for several months. A few days ago, after Mr. Harrington told us about his sister’s death, he provided us with the bracelet, along with other materials he had gathered over the years. Bank statements, text messages, phone recordings, maps. The amount of research he put in is really quite impressive. You’re aware Jason was recently engaged and fathering a child with a woman named Lisa?”

Oriana nodded.

“Lisa’s family is extremely well off. In fact, there’s a lot of similarities between them and the Harrington’s. Her father thought Mr. Mulvaney was after Lisa’s money, and he hired a private investigator, without telling anyone. The investigator unearthed a large number of suspicious activity, and when cross-referenced with disappearances and deaths in the locations he’s be in…a pattern developed. It was well-hidden, he did a good job covering his tracks. The investigator was tailing him today. He saw Jason arrive at the old mansion on Dewey, unload what looked to be bedding, and go inside. A couple hours later, Michael arrived and also went inside. About an hour after that, Michael went back out and removed a body from the trunk of his car. That body turned out to be you, unconscious. The private investigator was using high-tech equipment and recorded every word that was said inside that house. He immediately phoned the police.”

“But I…I thought I was there a long time.” Oriana puzzled.

“Right now the thought is, Jason set up his idea of a beautiful murder scene while Michael grabbed you off the street. Exactly how we’re not sure yet’ we’re hoping the doctors can determine if you were given anything. Do you remember anything about how you got there?”

Oriana shook her head. “I don’t. I remember leaving my office after quitting my job, I went outside…I think maybe I flagged a car? I…I’m not sure.”

“That’s okay. At least you didn’t lose your memory of the entire day.”

“Or more.” Oriana muttered.

“Ori!”

Her snapped over to see Beckett running full speed towards her, dodging anyone that came in his path. “Ori thank god!!!”

Her eyes welled up with tears that spilled over, yet she couldn’t stop grinning at seeing him. He dashed to her side, climbed next to her in the bed and wrapped her in his arms tightly.

“I was so worried.” He cried. “I knew it, I knew he had you.” He took in her blood-stained slip, his face turning pale. “Are you hurt? I’ll kill him! Why isn’t anyone tending to your wounds yet?” He looked at the Detective. “What happened? Where is he?”

The woman rose her eyebrows. “First, the blood on Ms. Miller’s clothing is not hers. Second, Mr. Harrington, threatening someone’s life is a serious offense. I could take you into custody right now, except…”

“Except he’s already dead.” Oriana finished. “Michael shot him.”

Beckett gasped. “Mi-Michael? From Adams?”

At that moment a doctor arrived, greeting the three of them warmly. “I need to take Ms. Miller to get some tests done, but I promise she’ll be back in no time.”

“Can he come with me?” Oriana asked in a small voice.

The doctor nodded. “He can, yes, but he’ll need to wait outside the couple of rooms you’ll be going in, for security, safety, and sanitation purposes.”

“Anything. As long as she’s not alone.” Beckett said quickly. “I’ll go wherever you tell me.”

“I’m so sorry to interrupt, but I’m afraid I need to bag her clothes as evidence. And I need to be present to record any hidden wounds and treatment.” Detective Blanc told the doctor. “May she be given a gown to change into?”

“Of course, just one moment.”

The doctor left, returning just a minute later with a gown. “If you both want to accompany me, she can change when she reaches the lab.”

“Perfect.” The detective told him.

“Very well. Let’s go.”

Beckett stood up from the bed as rails were put up so it could be rolled away. He couldn’t believe the amount of blood she was covered in. What happened? What has she been through? Even if she’s physically fine…mentally she may not be.

Arriving at their first stop, he waited outside the door while Oriana and the policewoman went inside with the doctor. An hour later they came back out, the stained slip in a bag held by the detective, and Oriana now in a clean hospital gown. “What did you test for?” He demanded. “What kind of bloodwork takes an hour?”

“Ms. Miller can tell you later if she prefers. Legally, I cannot.” The doctor informed. “We’re going to take her for an MRI in case there’s any head trauma., and then we’ll move her back into her room as we wait for the results. Depending on what those results are, she’ll be released or admitted.”

The air whooshed out of his lungs and he felt faint. The police officer caught his arm. “This is going to take awhile. Are you sure you want to come? You might be more comfortable somewhere else?”

“No.” He said flatly.

“I don’t want him to leave.” Oriana agreed; Beckett shooting her a grateful look.

As Oriana was wheeled away again, this time to a cold room with a large machine inside, Beckett followed behind while talking to Detective Blanc, who informed him of the events of the night.

“I don’t know the complete details, but she’s been through quite an ordeal. But, thanks to your previous research, as well as the research the private investigator did, as well as the recordings he took…Mr. Mulvaney confessed to your sister’s death before he met his demise. I keep getting more snippets of information throughout my time here tonight, but for a full account…I still need to take Oriana’s statement. We’ll be going to a private room after her MRI, where can take down the events of tonight while we wait for her test results. You are more than welcome to sit in, however, she will need to grant that permission.”

“Whatever she wants.” Beckett whispered.

The detective looked at him sympathetically. “Beckett…whatever happened tonight…there are unsolved cases going back years that may be related to the men who took Oriana today. It’s going to take time to sort through, but we’ll get there.”

Beckett sank down onto a chair. “I can’t believe this. This only happened to her because she’s involved with me.”

“No, that’s where you’re wrong. It’s been recorded multiple times that she was used as a decoy. Which means she was targeted long before you came to town. For what it’s worth…you being involved with her probably saved her life on more than one occasion. Also, she’s only been asking for you.”

Beckett stared at the woman in shock as she joined Oriana inside the room. He ran his fingers through his hair, taking deep breaths, trying to calm himself down. After what seemed like an eternity, everyone came back out. Oriana grinned seeing him again, reaching for his hand. He took it immediately, walking alongside her bed as it was wheeled to another part of the hospital and into a private room. As Detective Blanc took her statement, Beckett listened in horror at everything that had transpired while he couldn’t find her. She broke down several times, wracked with sobs, and his heart broke for her. When she finally finished, she signed the affidavit.

“I’ll give you a few minutes.” The detective told them, exiting the room.

“Oriana…” Beckett breathed. “What you’ve been through during these past few months…I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

Her eyes still glistening, she pulled him into the bed with her, burying herself into him. “I’m okay.”

“You don’t have to lie to me.” He murmured. “Being drugged was trauma enough…Ori…someone was murdered right in front of you. On top of you. That’s not simply okay.”

She let out a watery chuckle. “Physically I’m okay. Mentally…I’m going to need help. And patience while I get it. You’re right…in that sense…I’m not okay. And I don’t know when I will be.”

“What can I do?”

She looked up into his eyes. “I want to leave.”

His face fell. “I know, sweetheart. And as soon as the doctor comes back…”

“No, you misunderstand. I want to leave. I don’t want to live here anymore. I want to move far away from here, where no one knows me.”

Beckett felt shattered. “I…I can arrange for your transportation and get you set up wherever you want.”

She furrowed her eyebrows. “Aren’t you going to come?”

“You…you still want to be with me? After all of this? Ori…”

“I love you, Beckett. Please don’t leave me.”

He gave her an incredulous look. “Ori, I am yours for as long as you want me. I’ll do anything, give you anything…we can move to an entirely different continent if you want to.”

He kissed her gently, savoring every second of it, until a knock came at the door, and the doctor came back in.

“Ms. Miller, I have your test results. I have already been over them with the police.” He looked pointedly at Beckett.

“Please just tell me. I’ll sign a form if you need me to so you can say it in front of him.”

Beckett gave her a squeeze.

“Very well. You were given chloroform, that’s how they were able to subdue you, and why you had a splitting headache when you woke. There are no other drugs in your system. The initial results of the rape kit are negative, and the MRI showed no signs of head trauma. We’re going to be releasing you, as long as you’re okay with that.”

Beckett stiffened at the word ‘rape’, while Oriana nodded to bring the release forms. The doctor left again, closing the door behind him.

“Ori, you didn’t mention that you were…”

“I wasn’t raped. I…I almost was. Twice.” She whispered. “But, since I was unconscious as well, I guess it’s standard protocol to run a rape kit. Because it…it could have happened when…” She broke off, tears filling up her eyes again. “Can we just go home, please? I want to go home.”

“Home it is. When everything is over, Ori, just pick a place anywhere in the world, and we’ll go. I swear it.”

“I’m so sorry about your sister. You were right the whole time.” She sobbed.

“Hey, Ori, look at me.” He placed a finger under her chin and lifted her head to meet her gaze. “I will always miss my sister. But I don’t have to miss you. And I am so incredibly grateful for that. I love you more than I can ever tell you. When Katrina died…I died right along with her. You brought me back to life, Oriana. And I can’t thank you enough. And if she were here…she would be absolutely crazy about you, just like I am. I told you I saw the world when I looked at you. I just didn’t realize at the time…that you are my world.”

@annekebbphotography @gardeningourmet @eileendannie @alesana45 @drakewalkerfantasy @friedherringclodthing @mfackenthal @coffeebeandragon @jlpplays1 @desiree-0816 @lapisreviewsstuff @cora-nova @thequeenofcronuts @drakewalker04

@walkerismychoice @confessionsofabrokegirl @lilyofchoices @darley1101 @perriewinklenerdie @justendlesssummerfeels

@feartheendlesssummer @elainew13 @the-soot-sprite @paisleylovergirl @dottie-minerva-mikas @emichelle @kendrasgue @pbmychoices @divergentofhogwarts @sonsie0613 @cordoniasmost @raffsbaby @brightpinkpeppercorn @symonde @emceesynonymroll

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dermankey · 4 years ago

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Lucas and the Vampire - Part 2

Lucas arrived at Rose’s house promptly at eight fifty-five, the sun having set not too long ago and the moon in the sky. Stepping out of his dark crimson Cadillac, he was dressed in a buttoned down shirt with small green circles of various shades on it and a black pair of dress shorts. He originally thought to wear pants, but the night was much too warm for that. The house that stood in front of him was just as Rose described it: larger than the other houses on the block and a deep purple with black accents. It gave off the feel of a haunted mansion one would see at an amusement park. Then again, Lucas thought as he walked across the lawn’s pathway and up the stairs, this is the home of a vampire. The house had a large front porch, but there was not a single thing on it save for the welcome mat in front of the door that read “Welcome to our haunt!”. It made Lucas feel a bit unnerved but also a bit nervous, as the whole setup almost made the house feel abandoned. There was no doorbell, but a brass knocker on the door, which had a smiling styrofoam bat stuck to it. He took hold of it and rapped it three times, making it feel like the whole house was shaking.

He stood there for a moment, and was quickly put at ease by the sound of incoming footsteps. The door opened, revealing a woman who looked like she had just woken up. She was wearing a Beatles shirt that was very obviously too big for her, nearly reaching her knees. Her hair was short and dark as the night, with her skin looking slightly paler than Rose’s did. The woman at the door blinked twice. “Who...who’re you?” She asked, yawning mid-sentence. “Uh, hello, I’m Lucas,” he greeted with a friendly grin. “I’ve come to pick up Rose.” “...oh, yes! I remember you now!” She exclaimed with a laugh, sounding a lot more awake. Her accent sounded much stronger than Rose’s. “Rose told me about you. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lucas! I’m her cousin Violet. Please do come in.” The inside of the Bailey home was a lot more inviting than the outside was. In fact, it seemed relatively normal for a home of vampires. The main entrance entered into a living room that had the classic set up of a couch and chair, both leather, and a coffee table. Along the right wall was mostly a staircase, with a single doorway leading to what looked like a den. Across the room was another doorway that led into a kitchen. “Rose!” Violet called up the stairs, “Come down! Lucas is here to take you out on your date!” “Be down in a minute!” She called back. “Well, I wouldn’t call this a date, really,” Lucas laughed awkwardly in response. “It’s just a...more like a night out, than anything else.” “Same thing, different name,” she gave him a sly smirk. “To-may-to, to-ma-to, as they say.” Lucas gave a slight nod as a kind gesture. “So, is it just you and Rose in this great big manor of yours?” “When she visits, yes,” Violet smiled, clasping her hands in front of her. “Usually it’s just me and the occasional guest that stops by. You see, I’ve recently begun renting out some of my unused bedrooms for a bit of cash, as it is not cheap to keep a house this big running. Fortunately, I’ve only had other vampires come in, so I don’t have to worry too much for breakfast for them, but there is still the odd human or werewolf who pops in. In fact, there was this one chap who came here a week ago and stayed here for quite a bit. When he was here, he and Rose had such grand conversations on vampire culture and—.” “Vi, please do not bore my new friend so quickly,” Rose spoke as she descended the stairs, her voice and clicking of her high heels being heard before being seen. She wore a one-piece dress that was tan in color and decorated in a red floral pattern. While it did flow behind her, the front part of it was removed, revealing her legs that were covered only to the top of her knees. Her brown hair also appeared to be curled slightly, most notably at the bottom of it, and across her shoulder was a silver purse. “Not everyone is so intrigued by our lives as housemaids.” “Oh, Rose!” Violet made a mock-scowl at her, and turned back to Lucas with a smile. “My apologies if I did bore you. I do tend to ramble on now and again.” “It’s fine. Happens to the best of us from what I’ve seen,” Lucas assured. “Ready to roll, Rose?” “Ready, indeed,” the vampire said with a smile. “And might I add you look rather handsome tonight.” “Oh, uh, thanks,” Lucas blushed slightly, rubbing the back of his neck. “You look nice, too.” “Oh, this old thing?” She asked playfully, spreading out the flowing part of her dress. “I just put this on when I want to feel pretty.” Before they left, Violet called Rose back just as they were descending the stairs. From where he was, Lucas could not make out whatever she was telling her, but she seemed somewhat angry at Rose. Despite that, Violet’s expression softened and the two hugged, and Rose quickly rejoined Lucas down to his car. “So, if you don’t mind me asking,” Lucas began as they drove through the residential square, “what did Violet tell you?” “Playing the nosy game again, are we?” Rose said with a smile. “Well, she just so happened to warn me that the Miller family has a track record of doing terrible, unspeakable things when they are alone with a woman.” “I would—!” Lucas began defensively, then thought for a moment. “You’re joking, right?” Rose giggled. “See, now you’re getting it. No, she just told me to be careful out here, that there are bad humans out in the night. Common big sister like stuff.” Lucas nodded. “That’s nice of her. Are you two close?” “Close? We practically are sisters,” Rose said with a laugh. “We have been together for as long as I can remember. We haven’t always lived together, mind you, but we have always kept in touch. She is all the family I really have left, and I really care about her.” She turned and looked out the window, the quiet houses replaced with the loud lit up stores as they entered the city. “Are you...gonna be okay, Rose?” Lucas asked, turning to look at her as they were at a red light. “Uh? Oh, I’ll be fine. It was years ago, anyways,” she assured him, and her smile quickly came back on. “So what is this hidden gem of a restaurant you hinted at earlier?” “Just a little place called Pierre’s,” Lucas told her. “It’s a local restaurant, but it’s pretty darn good. And no, before you ask, it’s not French, it’s just the owner’s name. In fact, here it is up on the left.” The front of the restaurant—which was the only part visible as the rest was embedded in the block—was made of a red-brown wood, with a single line of windows high enough to just make out the heads of the people eating inside. Higher than the windows was the name Pierre’s written in a golden cursive. Fortunately, there was a parking spot along the side of the road not far from the restaurant, which Lucas quickly took advantage of. Inside the restaurant, square tables filled the majority of the room, with a single row of booths along the left wall. At the very back was a bar that boasted a large wall of drinks, as well as the doors to the bathroom and the kitchen, the latter of which had waiters popping in and out at a constant rate. The whole place was nearly full, with almost every table seated with people dressed both casually and formally, the combined chatter of them nearly drowning out the swing music that was playing. Lucas walked up to the host at the stand. “Yes, hello. Reservation under ‘Miller.’” “Yes, right this way,” the host nodded after checking his book, guiding the two to an unoccupied booth. A waitress soon followed after him, asking for their orders on drinks. Lucas ordered a coke, while Rose got a wine. “Way to be the dutiful designated driver, Lucas,” Rose joked from behind the menu. Lucas gave a small laugh. “Well, someone’s got to be it. I’m not really a big fan of liquor anyways. Maybe every once in a while, and on special occasions, but usually not when I go out.” “Is not tonight a special occasion?” Rose asked, leaning over the table slightly, the menu now flat on it. “Or do you get to date beautiful girls every Friday night?” Lucas’s face flared up as he tried to hide it slightly behind his menu. “Well, um...we were going to continue our conversation we had earlier?” “Yes, I believe we were,” Rose agreed, rubbing her chin as she laid back on the cushioned seat, “Now let’s see. You asked if vampires still eat normal food, am I correct?” Lucas nodded. “Well, we can, but it does not do much, so we tend not to. Most of our strength and energy comes from drinking blood, and one would not need protein and nutrients when one’s body has stopped being alive. Sometimes, though, if we eat food often enough, we develop the feeling of being hungry again.” “That’s interesting,” Lucas commented. “So, what about other stuff you like to do besides reading?” “Other stuff?” She pondered, tapping the tabletop in thought. “I do like—oh, this is sort of embarrassing—but I do like to play video games.” “Really?” Lucas responded, a smile coming onto his face. “That’s cool. Play anything good recently?” “Oh, I know! How—!” She began somewhat dramatically, but stopped herself in surprise. “Uh, pardon me?” “Have you played anything good recently?” He asked again, this time noticeably slower. “Sorry, I just talk fast sometimes. It’s something I’m working to get better at.” “Okay, um,” Rose started again, seemingly at a loss for words, “I have been playing some of Dragon Quest XI on the Switch.” “Nice. I haven’t gotten the chance to play that yet, but I want to!” Lucas said. “Never really was into the series before, but it piqued my interest when they put the Hero into Smash Bros.” “Oh, yes! I have gotten into Smash, too, recently,” Rose replied, a smile growing on her face. “I like to think I play a pretty good Inkling.” “We should totally get together for some quality Smash time, then!” He declared. “We’ll see how well you do against my Mega Man.” The waitress soon returned to their table, their drinks in hand. She also got their orders: Lucas a classic reuben with fries, and Rose a New York strip. “As rare and bloody as you are willing to serve it,” Rose added. The waitress gave her an odd look, but nonetheless took the order and went off. “The less cooked the meat is, the more blood remains inside of it,” Rose explained to Lucas as she sipped her wine. “Plus, it makes the blood taste like steak. That is a thing a vampire with experience only knows.” She winked at him. “Cool. So, back to what we were talking about—.” “Hold on there,” Rose stopped him with a raise of her hand. “You got the drink order round. It’s my turn to find out about you.” Lucas smirked. “Alright then. Ask away! I’m an open book!” “Ooh, my favorite,” Rose giggled to herself. “Where to start...I believe you said you worked at a comic shop?” “Yep. Old Maelstrom Comic down on Blizzard Boulevard,” Lucas confirmed proudly. “I’m one of the founders there, actually.” “Oh?” Rose said in surprise. “That’s how most people react to that,” Lucas chuckled. “Me and my pal Regina started it up, like, six years ago. We got some pretty big names like Marvel and IDW selling at our place, and we even got some local comics on the shelves. There’s also something of an open mic night Regina started up a couple of weeks ago, which we run alongside some local card and video game tournaments.” “Sounds like quite the all around comic shop,” Rose commented. Lucas leaned back in his seat, looking wistful. “Hard to imagine that two kids like me and Reggie fresh outta college could start up a pretty successful comic shop. We even get people from outside Calume at our tournaments sometimes. Oh, yeah! We’re having a Smash Bros. tournament coming up in a couple of weeks. It’s gonna start pretty late, so you should be good to come.” “I will see if I can be there,” Rose smiled. “Now what else are you into besides your silly comic books and video games?” Lucas thought for a moment, making an exaggerated thinking expression that got a small laugh out of Rose. “Well,” he began, “I’ve started drawing again after I dropped it a year ago. I’ve gotten a bit rusty from not doing for a while, but it’s been fun being able to just draw whatever pops in my head.” “An artist, eh?” Rose raised an eyebrow and bit part of her bottom lip. “You wouldn’t happen to have some certain...life drawings, would you?” Lucas sighed, but smiled. “Yes, Rose,” he whispered to her. “I did draw some nude models. It was a part of my college drawing class.” “Glad to know I’m dealing with an experienced man, then.” “And just what is that supposed to mean?” “Maybe you will find out when you are older,” Rose jokes, smiling as she sipped her wine. “Just know that if you ever need something to draw, you know where to find me.” Lucas’s cheeks flared up, and before he could say anything the waitress returned with their food. “Are you sure you're okay with your steak being that rare, Miss?” She asked Rose, indicating the large streak of red that revealed itself when she cut open the steak. “Yes, this is just fine. Thank you,” Rose confirmed with a nod and a smile. The waitress gave her another odd look, this time with a bit of concern, and took off without another word. Even Lucas was looking at Rose’s meal with a raised eyebrow. “Jeez, it’d be generous to even call that steak cooked.” “Remember who you are dealing with here,” Rose reminded him as she cut off a small chunk of steak. Instead of putting it in her mouth right away, she stuck her fangs right into it and a small sucking sound could be heard. Slowly, the red faded into pink, and before the pink faded all the way she dislodged her fangs and ate the piece normally. “I tend to not suck all of the juice out so there is still some flavor left over.” “Huh. Rad,” Lucas chuckled, and began on his sandwich. “Pffff, ha ha!” Rose barely tried to hold back the laughter. “Lucas Miller, of every human I have ever met, you are by far the most relaxed in response to my vampirism. If I may be so bold to ask, how is that possible?” “Well,” Lucas paused as he swallowed the bite in his mouth, “you seemed pretty nice when we were first talking, and you didn’t really change your demeanor when you revealed you are a vampire. So I didn’t see any reason to treat you any differently if you weren’t gonna, like, suck my blood out of anything, heh heh.” Rose did not laugh. “You seemed a bit too trusting there,” Rose replied as she cut off and sucked on another piece of her steak. Lucas shook his head with closed eyes. “No, no. No offense to you, Rose, but I don’t completely trust you yet. You haven’t done anything to get me to not trust you, but you haven’t earned my full trust. Does that make sense?” Rose took the steak chunk away from her fangs, any traces of pink completely sucked out of it. She looked up at him with a soft smile. “I understand, Lucas. So, got anything else that is interesting about you?” The two continued talking over their meal, though discussion was sparse as they focused on their food. When they finished, the waitress returned and presented them with the dessert menu. Lucas passed, but Rose eagerly ordered a strawberry shortcake. “What was that about vampires and not needing to eat food?” Lucas commented on her enthusiasm for the desert with a smirk. “Oh, hush,” Rose playfully told him with a wave of her hand. “Shortcakes used to be my favorite desert when I was alive. They are one of the few things I still enjoy having every once in a while.” “Alright, but now I remember something I wanted to ask you: when were you alive?” A slight grin came to the vampire’s face. “I’ll tell you, when you trust me, capiche?” “Fair enough.” When the waitress returned, she had both Rose’s desert and the check, which Lucas quickly snatched up. When both were done, they headed out and went back in the direction of Rose’s house. “Hold on, turn right here,” Rose spoke up at an intersection, at which her home was usually straight ahead at. “I want to show you something.” The alternate path took them to the outer edge of the residential area along a straight road. The moon was now visible and high in the sky above all the rooftops, giving a slight illumination to the city. “You can park right along there,” she pointed out to an open spot on the right side of the road. “The cemetery?” Lucas questioned as he parked his car. “Um, any particular reason for coming here?” “It’s nothing personal, mind you,” Rose assured him as the two got out. “I just find this to be a quiet place for an evening stroll.” “Through a graveyard?” “Well,” Rose asked, “have you ever been to a loud graveyard? Come on, Lucas, don’t you want to trust me?” She stood at the cemetery’s entrance, her hand extended to him. Lucas gave her a cautious look. “...okay, I’ll trust you.” He took her hand, and she playfully pulled him across the entrance’s threshold and by her side. There was a premade path in the cemetery, wide enough for two people to walk by in opposite directions. Save for the moonlight, the two walked together in near complete darkness, with Rose’s hands clasped behind her and Lucas’s stuffed in his pockets. “Were you,” Lucas spoke with great hesitation, “ever...buried in a graveyard?” “No, but being buried is part of becoming a vampire sometimes,” Rose stated in such a way that he decided to just drop the topic. Eventually, the graveyard dissipated around them as they entered the next door park. A bench appeared on the path, and the two took a seat, looking up into the night sky that was empty save for the moon and the clouds that were lighter in color than the sky. Slowly, Rose began nudging herself closer to Lucas’s side, until she was close enough to rest her head on his shoulder. She could feel him tighten up for a moment in surprise, and she could so clearly smell the blood that flowed right under his skin. Her fangs were already out, part in anticipation and part in routine, and she exhaled with a smile on his neck, sending a shiver through him. Just as she was about to say something, Lucas quickly started before her. “R-Rose,” he began a bit hesitant, “I just wanted to say I really enjoyed our night together. Probably one of the more enjoyable nights I’ve had this week.” He laughed a bit, and to her surprise she felt his arm slide behind her and around her waist. “You seem like a really cool person, and I’d, and I’d like to get to know you better. Maybe we could do something like this again? Something a bit more casual?” Rose’s smile was gone from her face, replaced with a look of contemplation. Lucas’s face, on the other hand, had a healthy amount of blush on his cheeks and his mouth was curved in nervousness. Neither of them could see the other’s face as silence filled the air around them, save for the sound of the creatures of the night. “...Rose?” Lucas asked. Rose sat up and looked at him. “Lucas, your hand, please.” He was confused for a moment, then realized. “Oh! Uh, sorry.” He retracted his hand from behind her. “I-I just thought that—.” In another moment of surprise, Rose took his hand and held her free one over it. She mumbled something that Lucas could not make out, but as she spoke her fingertips glowed purple and a tingly feeling came onto Lucas’s palm. When she let go of his hand, he saw a phone number written onto it, accompanied by a smiley face with fangs. “Just a little something vampires can learn naturally,” Rose explained, “and don’t worry, it comes off with soap and water. Just make sure you get it down first.” She gave him a fanged grin. A goofy grin came across Lucas’s face alongside his returning blush. “So, um,” he began as he stood up offering his hand to her, “how about something like this on Sunday?” “Asking a vampire out on a holy day?” Rose sounded appalled, putting her hand to her chest dramatically. “You have quite the nerve, Lucas Miller.” “I get the feeling you don’t really care,” Lucas replied as the vampire got up and took his hand. “I was never big into religion myself anyways.” “That makes two of us then,” Rose smiled, and the two walked back the way they came, the air between them now filled with jokes and laughter and their hands together.

“You can just drop me off,” Rose told him as they pulled up at her cousin’s house. “It’s pretty late for you, isn’t it?” “Yeah, it is. Jeez, eleven already. Where does the night go?” Lucas sighed with a smile as Rose got out of his car. “Well, see you Sunday, then.” “Until then,” Rose waved goodbye as Lucas drove off. She walked up to the path to the house and gave a sharp rap on the door with a single knuckle. “Come in!” Violet called, and Rose did so. Her cousin was seated on the couch, wearing a gray college sweater and black shorts. She was halfway through some slices of toast and had the old widescreen TV turned on to a show with a black cat in a red cape on screen. As Rose closed the door behind her, Violet asked, “So, how was this Lucas tonight? Was he an adequate meal?” “Actually, I let him live tonight,” Rose told her as she pulled off her high heels with a happy sigh. “Oooo!” Violet replied with genuine surprise. “Is Rose finally feeling charitable tonight? Or has she finally given into her true desires?” “Hmph,” Rose smirked, somewhat amused. “Don’t get any ideas, Vi. He merely amused me and nothing more, so I’ll let him live a little longer. I wouldn’t be one to give up O negative so easily.” “If you say soooo,” Violet teased in a singsong voice. “And I do,” Rose assured her as she began ascending the stairs. “Maybe if you're lucky, I can bring him here and we can share him.”

#Lucas and the Vampire #Part 2 #Lucas #Rose #Violet #vampire #vampires #ocs #OC

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black-wolf066 · 4 years ago

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AU where Five dies young in the apocalypse part 3

[Part 1] [Part 2]

[A03 link if it’s easier to read]

Our Place to Call Home

Being homeless had never truly bothered Klaus after he had left the academy behind him. Especially not when he had chosen it of his own free will.

At the ripe age of seventeen years, four months, and twelve days old (“Yes Ben, I remember the exact date I left. No one can forget that week of utter fun; no matter how hard one tries.”), Klaus hadn’t had very many choices laid out for him to pick from. It had been either leave everything behind for the streets (where he had a better chance of making it on his own) or stay and deal with a cruel man who had never cared for him—or any of them for that matter—and never hesitated in reminding him of his uselessness in that household.

Sure, leaving would have entailed wandering into the unknown, with food, shelter and his next fix not ever being a solid guarantee, but staying hadn’t exactly been an option for him either (not after Five, and certainly not after Ben—still so very fresh in his grave at that point in time). Staying would have required him to accept the knowledge that Reginald would end up killing him—or his remaining siblings—with the missions the old man continuously forced them on.

In the end, the streets were the lesser of two evils in Klaus’ opinion.

(As he crept out late in the night with nothing more than a knapsack, three hundred some odd dollars pilfered from Luther’s shoe box hidden under the floorboard beneath his bed, and the clothes on his back; Klaus spared one fleeting thought to the rest of his brothers and sisters; hoping they too would be smart enough to leave before it was too late.)

Once out there, he—and by extension, Ben—had finally been free to do whatever he had damn well pleased. To go wherever his feet led him, without a single care in the world. Sure it hadn’t been easy; some days worse than others (a fight here, a drug deal gone south there, the lack of food or a warm place to sleep when the nights would get too cold), but he had finally been handed the reigns of his own destiny and nothing anyone could do or say would have stopped him from enjoying that high (not even a concerned Ben dogging his every step).

It took plenty of trial and error on his part (but Five wasn’t the only one capable of adaptability in the family), and plenty of months honing the skills he had learned for a different purpose then what they were originally intended for. Nevertheless, Klaus had made his new lifestyle work.

And for seven blissfully, foggy years, it did work.

Then Five up and died, came back from the future (“Called it!” “Congratulations, you’re not a complete idiot.” “Hey! I could deal without the sarcasm, Five-y, but I’ll still take the compliment!”) to haunt him, and suddenly Klaus’ blissful little world went up in figurative smoke and flames.

His lifestyle, he knew, was no longer a viable option; not with his resolve to stay relatively clean for Ben and Five’s sake. Not with the streets being a vixen of temptation he would succumb to the longer he was out there, and certainly not with the end of times looming like a distant gale in the background of what his life had apparently become.

God, no one told him being a responsible adult would suck quite this much.

(***)

“Sorry, occupancy is full.”

With a tired sigh, Klaus turned on his heel and left the shelter for the park.

“You could try another one rather than just giving up, you know. It’s not even that late out.” Five griped.

No, it wasn’t late at all, but Five didn’t know the streets like Klaus and Ben did. Five didn’t know each and every shelter within the city limit or that that particular establishment didn’t have a very reputable reputation to begin with. Herman Housing was usually the homeless’ last pick; the staff habitually rude and ill-tempered, the food border-line questionable, and the water from the showers leaving one feeling dirtier then when they first walked in. So, if Herman Housing—of all places—was full at this early hour of the day, then there was no point in wasting his time and energy trying for a bed somewhere else.

He was too tired and grumpy to communicate any of this information to Five.

Ben—bless him and his knack for knowing just what he’s thinking—voiced this for him.

“Well, you still can’t just sleep out here on the bench, Klaus.”

“Watch me.” He flopped back dramatically in his seat for added effect and grinned as Five looked for all the world like a riled cat.

“Klaus,” Ben cut in sharply before the argument could start. “You saw the news at Griddy’s. A blizzard’s coming and it’s going to be bad. Just go to Diego or Vanya, please—you know they won’t turn you away.”

No, they wouldn’t (not with the incoming threat of four feet of snow looming on the horizon), but his wounds were still fresh from their blatant dismissal when he tried to tell them Five had finally showed up to haunt his pathetic ass. It shouldn’t hurt, not when none of them every really believed him to begin with (even before Ben), but it did and still does. Ghosts were his thing after all, it shouldn’t have been that hard to believe. Sure, the drugs fundamentally nulled his powers almost completely, but his siblings should know by now that nothing he put in his system would stop Ben—or Five or any of them—from manifesting if they wanted too. His siblings were just that right side of stubborn pain in the asses that Klaus hoped none of the other spirits ever caught on too or he’d really be in trouble.

As the temperature continued to drop, and his brothers continued to pester and hound him like the mother hens they freaking were; he threw up his hands in defeat with a frustrated “Fine, I’m moving, I’m moving, you happy?”

He went to Diego.

(***)

The next incident, was just two weeks before Vanya would begin writing her book (not that Klaus would know that). It was just a normal night, the chill not as biting despite it being the dead of winter, when Klaus’ past actions finally came to bite him annoyingly in the ass.

He fought as hard as he could—he can honestly say that he did try—against his ruthless ex-drug dealer, but hand to hand combat had never been one of his strong suits growing up, and even if it had been; eight pitted against one simply wasn’t a fair fight (and a little over kill if you asked him). Being nimble and light on his feet also didn’t help when his exits were being blocked at every turn.

He managed to take out one fellow and roughed up two more before he was down for the count; knocked out cold and still being beaten and shaken down for what little money he had left in his pockets.

Ben and Five watched it all happen fearfully and angrily; helpless to do anything but be silent witnesses as their brother was beaten black and blue in the alley he was chased into.

When he eventually, and thankfully, awoke the next morning, he didn’t go to the Emergency room despite their concerned prompting (“You could be bleeding internally, Klaus!” “Don’t care, Ben, still not going.” “You’re a dumb-ass, you know that?” “Why thank you, Five.” “That’s not a compliment asshole, go to the damn hospital!” “Nope.” “You are insufferable!”). Hospitals were as bad as graveyards, and Klaus avoided them both like they would give him the plague.

Instead, in the early hours of the morning, with the streets and sidewalks still quiet with the sun not yet out to wake the living; he shuffled and limped his way slowly and blurrily towards Vanya’s home; her apartment being closer than Diego’s place of current residence or an emergency room either way.

Vanya took him to the hospital anyway.

(***)

Within a span of five months after the incident, bouncing from homeless shelter to endless homeless shelter (occasionally crashing at Diego’s or Vanya’s when the nagging got to be too much) and applying for whatever aid the government would be willing to give him; found Klaus with his very own studio apartment to call home.

The building was washed out and unkempt, the neighborhood he was located in looking as though it had never seen what better days even looked like. The apartment itself made even his old room seem bigger, but it was affordable with the temporary grant given to him (and would continue to be affordable once he found a job to better sustain himself) and that was enough for him.

No matter how small, it was his, and between the three of them, they filled it with everything their father would have hated. With bright colors, tacky furniture (that was cheap, and well used, but still comfortable to sink into) and wacky patterned curtains, pillows and throws, that shouldn’t normally go together but somehow Klaus had made work (despite Ben’s and Five’s obvious doubt before seeing it themselves).

Ben finally had the library of his dreams. It wasn’t nearly as big as the one back at the mansion, but it was an ever growing collection that Klaus continued to enable (sure he had to hold open the books for Ben to read, but if it made the book-worm happy, he was willing to do it; a small price to pay for all the shit he’s put him through over the years). There was even a section for Five’s theory and mathematical volumes and an even smaller section for Klaus’ own collection (nothing noteworthy, just a few comics and fictional works of fantasy and romance).

The rest of Ben’s knick-knacks were just as random and odd as Klaus’, but the Polaroid camera and the photo albums Klaus began to fill up for him; were definitely among Ben’s top favorites.

In the beginning it was hard to figure out what Klaus could bring home for Five to make him feel included. Five’s interests geared more toward having to be tangible to do them (much to his displeasure). That still didn’t stop Klaus from buying the chalkboard easel he later found at a second hand store, and on days when Five would get restless and fidgety, Klaus would humor him for a few hours and write whatever complicated and convoluted equations he wanted written out on that very same easel (“No Five, I’m not writing on the walls.” “I don’t care if there isn’t enough space left on the chalkboard, you aren’t gonna be of any help when I have to paint over it now will you?”). He ends up buying another chalkboard and a white board to appease the irritable gremlin.

The dart board he had found not long after, had also been a nice addition as well; it wasn’t as nice as the one Five had back in his old room, but it still played a melancholy homage it (to the fonder memories Five had of challenging Ben or Diego or Klaus during their down time between training—more so Ben and Klaus, since Diego’s power was essentially cheating).

Ben and Klaus also learned—along with Five himself it would seem—that the forever stuck thirteen-year-old held an interest for anything nautical or tropical in nature; having seen him eye certain pieces every time they’d walk into some of the antique stores Klaus liked to frequent.

The spyglass, the random colorful sea shells, the oceanic themed paintings, and the little anchor shaped paper weight— the metallic object situated on Five’s side of the bookshelf—went without much fanfare, but that was okay, the smile on his brother’s face when he placed them in their home was reward enough.

Their place might not be much worth noting—maybe even a little crazy, and a little over-crowded with nonsensical junk to the outside looking in—and though his brothers really didn’t need the space or any of the knick-knacks Klaus continued to buy for them; it was their home regardless.

It was the home the three of them were making for themselves and it was enough.

(Oh, and they bought a coffee machine that Klaus honestly has no idea he will even use, but said why the hell not anyway ‘cause fuck you dad!)

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inexchangeforyoursoul · 5 years ago

Text

Hello, hello, here’s my piece for the Halloween minibang organized in courtesy of the Chicken Tendies and Bacon Bits DabiHawks server~ and have the link to a more sensible reading experience (as t gets rid of formatting, too, and I’m lazy to put it all back in, at least for now): ao3

I was paired up with pineapple hair boy (dunno his url still rip) and our promt was haunted maze! \o/ I kinda included the other two we were gunning for, devil deal and ghost stories, so... multitasking, yo. Also put in my suggested fog, because as time passed, I realized how good it was even though I just put something into the box lmao

I’ll link pineapple’s accompanying piece as soon as they’re done with it, right here, in this line!! AND HERE IT IS!!! 👀

(Some of you may note... that I was supposed to be the artist. Well, it’s a long story, and likely on me tbh; I spent p much the entire week working on my piece, but I also started writing this one, and suggested doubling down on content, but unfortunately timetables are evil, and pineapple got mobbed enough as to likely run out of time if he also wanted to finish writing, so, um... yeah. This is not to say that we won’t do our original project, though, so stay tuned for the bonus round, hopefully soon! \[T]/)

(... also, I may or may not be considering to make this a full story, so there’s that)

Keigo trips for what feels like the millionth time on this way through the undergrowth- by day, the manor labyrinth is fairly easy to navigate, the kids frequenting it has kept it threadable. Nobody has legitimately tended to it for years, though. Or rather a decade, actually, it’s been a while he was here. Honestly, who cares, because--- oh, for fuck’s sake, more rose or blackberry or whatever vines to untangle his legs from. Great. Just… great.

He squints at his watch; still on time. Catching his breath after getting free surprisingly fast this time around, he takes a look at his surroundings. Not that he sees much, bear you. It’s near midnight and pitch dark. To top it off, the thick-ass fog often present, source: right damn here, has also crept into town. In fact, this is the worst it has gotten this year yet. There’s also barely anything he can hear from the dying-off autumn festival two streets and half an estate over.

It’s only him, his phone's flashlight, and the camera around his neck that also keeps getting caught in shit. That, and his own breathing that's getting his lungs numb from all the cool, wet air they are being exposed to.

Fooling around for so long has made him feel… antsy. Just a bit. The fact that his goal, that is to say the family crypt of the moneybags who used to live here is so close doesn’t help, either.

The entire plot is the stuff of local legends. The mansion is-was infamous for its… flammability, so to speak. Every few years, at least one room got totalled. Some believed that the last master had been a pyromaniac, up till the umpteenth house fire snuffed his line, and himself at the age of 60-something, out for good. But old folk said that the building had been ablaze just as frequently before his time- and truth to be told, there had been two more fires ever since, although those could have been the aforementioned kids or the occasional squatter. Two fires in about ten years is pretty normal in an abandoned place like this.

A few of those old people said the mansion had been built on hallowed grounds in their parents’ time, and the fires were punishment for disturbing the church ruins and the dead it used to house. Even fewer said the church must have been built on the very gates of hell and the ruins had kept the flames at bay.

And old geezer Giran in particular said that you could see the devil himself on the night when spirits roam free, around where the isolated belfry’s foundation stands still with walls crumbling- the place around which the crypts were erected on top of upturned graves. To be frank, the dude himself looked as if he escaped from hell, so what better myths to bust as an aspiring photographer? And even if the devil won't drag his ass outside, this will still make one hella Halloween photoshoot. He has loads of candles and some lampions in a backpack to get the mood right as well.

If anything remotely threatening pops up, though, like a mean stray dog… or a horde of drunk homeless, he's so ready to run for the hills, you have no idea.

He’s pricking his ears good as he closes in on the center of the once-upon large cemetery. One has to acknowledge the effort those rich bastards put into this dumb maze layout just to hide their own dead. It’s as if they feared a zombie apocalypse and concluded that they wouldn’t be able to get out if the hedges grow in a pattern, like, seriously. Then again, if the ‘horde of drunk homeless’ situation comes true, it will feel and work just the same, so who’s he to judge.

The scenery, too, is something to behold still. The entire area is surprisingly… not very foggy. One can see just as far as there is anything relevant to see, nothing more, nothing less. The waning moon even came out to play for a bit, shedding some decent light on his surroundings.

What catches his attention is not the excellent lighting to make photos, though, but rather someone sitting on the ruins of the old belfry, right under where the plump planet is working her magic.

He checks the display of his watch again- two past midnight. He’s late. Well, bummer… maybe next time.

That… guy, though? He doesn't look like any devil he knows of, but rather a human figure. One he also doesn't know of, actually. Which is remotely more interesting than Satan himself, because… that’s a goth silhouette if he’s ever seen one, and he’s seen all in town. All three of them.

They are a chill bunch, so he figures he might as well go up to this one. May be an acquaintance of Tokoyami and company’s who was also told about this spooky deal.

"Hey. Have you seen the midnight devil, or did he not get the memo this year?" He lifts a hand over his eyes to let him have a clearer look.

Just the way the other looks over to him, even while slouching quite a bit, is in a manner that’s nothing bar… uh… majestic, should be the word? Sublime? Yeah. That's peak cinematography. He’s… a bit at a loss of words here, because? People have waxed lyrical about the positively blessed relationship between him and sunlight, but this guy?? Has legitimately the most beautiful pair of eyes ever, period???

Before he could get too entranced by the sight of the sky blue pins of the overshadowed figure sitting between a moonlit sky and milky deep sea of mist, he notices that said eyes skim over him. Slowly, creeping down, and then up. Um…

Did… did he just check him out?

A hardly concealed grin can be heard out of his voice as he speaks up. “Hey there, angel."

… that's a yes.

This… coming from someone with eyes and a voice like… that, is actually… hm.

Like, look… he’s been looking forward college to maybe… find someone he genuinely clicks with. But he has been through this immediate infatuation thing a hundred times already… and knows from experience that falling for mere potential is a grave mistake. What even are the chances that he’ll be the one? Put the aesthetic boner away and think rationally, Keigo. You don’t even know his name.

However, if, and IF he plays his cards well and this is not a total asshole… he could get both a photoshoot and a phone number out of this endeavor, which sounds like an excellent deal.

“Straight to the point, eh?” he acknowledges with a grin that's almost genuine. “Witching hour stuff aside, I don’t think I’ve seen you around…? A friend of Tokoyami’s?”

The other hops off the wall as he’s talking, stirring up some fog. Keigo could swear to hear absolutely nothing upon him hitting the ground. Must be the grass, but still, confirmed for cat. Not having to deal with the moon’s flare, he can now also tell that he’s about as old as expected.

The young man pauses to think for just a second before walking up to him. Nonchalance and weariness mingle in his steps.

“No, but I think I do know who you’re talking about. The kid with the raven.”

“Oh? Yeah, that’s him. Just visiting, then?” So he’s somewhat familiar with the area. Huh… how in hell did he never notice someone so obvious? Maybe he should come out here more often.

Also, is it just him, or did it get really cold all of a sudden?

“Him and his friends spend a lot of time here, I know enough. And yeah, something like that.”

As he stops in front of Keigo, an odd sensation trickles down his spinal cord, raising every hair on his nape. He’s had this once or twice when watching a legitimately good horror movie or catching a glimpse of an especially beautiful scene, or at least something very similar. It’s just the cold and being out in the middle of nowhere with a handsome stranger this time (which is kind of a combination of both), but still.

… this is not the time to be thinking ‘but what if he’s a serial killer and you are stuck out here with him alone’, brain. Thanks.

“Family business, gotcha.”

He’s onto something, because a certainly troubled look flashes over the hot--- the goth’s face as he reaches up to his own nape to rub away at it. “... yeah. That.”

The train of thought is seemingly swept out of the way after short consideration and his attention returns to Keigo. His neutral staring face is actually a little unnerving, no lie. “What about you, coming out here? Didn't quite catch what you first said.” He eyes him in a way similar to when he was sitting up on the wall, as if measuring him up.

“Oh, I wanted to take some photos,” Keigo starts, lifting the camera and the first candle he can grab from the bag, swinging it playfully around a few times with a smile to mask the nerve building up inside. “I figured it would be a nice opportunity even if the hearsay tale of the ~devil~ coming out at midnight was total humbug. This place is very atmospheric.”

What he says rouses a chuckle from the other. “Oh, so I wasn't imagining things. Been a while since I last heard that one.”

For someone deadpan he really has a cute smile. We are on a schedule here, but please never stop?

Keigo presses the tip of the candle into his cheek in contemplation, trying to steer his thoughts back on topic. “You mean, that local legend thing? I heard about it fairly recently… from the most suspect old dude." He rolls back and forth on his heels, watching out for reactions; "Giran, if the name is telling. But asking other old folks made them ring a bell, too, so I guess I was just ignorant.”

The other raises an eyebrow in amusement as the fading smile pulls into a smirk. "Maybe you are, a little bit."

Oh, come on. "Nobody is born cool, wise, or a folklore expert, okay…?" He pouts.

"I could already tell you were born without a trace of those things, alright."

"..."

He just said that. Looking him dead in the eyes.

Wow.

Dude's lucky his smile is cute, because that was so uncalled for and he's way too proud of himself. Sheesh. Anyway…

"Said the one who wouldn’t know manners if they hit him in the face…” He sighs. "Before we go down the name calling path, though… I’m Keigo." This was getting a little awkward without throwing it in, although he doubts the cocky asshole deserves it.

“Touya. My pleasure.”

Keigo hums as he moves to rummage through his stuff for the lighter he definitely threw in the bag before setting off. That’s not a very common name, but… “I think I’ve heard of you before…? Beats me where, though.” He’s pretty sure the conversation happened years ago by the crypt here, though.

Everything he says seems to amuse the other to no end. “It’s probably for the best. You seem like the type to run for the hills.”

Keigo gives him the side eye; being right aside, the hell is that supposed to mean…? And he’s so smug about it, too. About everything, really.

And no, it really wasn’t a line even remotely connected to serial killers, shut up, brain.

“Cryptic, are we?” he sighs, lighting the candle with a flickering click at last. The gentle flame sheds some dim, fog-broken light onto Touya’s face, and Keigo hates himself for being charmed by what he sees once more. That pale skin looks too perfect to be true… should feel like silk under one’s touch. If he ever gets a proper close-up look, he swears he’ll get a heart attack.

Touya blinks once, resetting his expression to nearly a default. “It's the two of us in a haunted, abandoned graveyard, inside a fog ridden maze, on the night after the 31st of October. You are basically begging to wind up dead. Coming off as cryptic and creepy as possible right now is elementary, angel.”

He… he legitimately can’t argue with that. The guy's almost as good at this as the bird kid is. “... touché.”

Stunned for words, he places his candle where planned instead. It's so stupid, but makes… so much sense. Is this why they all are like… that?

As he moves on like that without a word, Touya seems to get weirded out himself. "... You okay there?"

"I just had… an epiphany." He says, putting the first lampion with pinpoint precision. This guy just accidentally revealed some kind of arcane goth knowledge too advanced for him to begin to understand and doesn't even know it.

Touya heaves a deep sigh. "... you obviously got the wrong one out of that, but congratulations nonetheless."

“Maybe? I have not the foggiest what you were trying to imply.” He’s not that thick, but the dude’s being ~cryptic~ or whatever, and he’s not in the mood to write an essay on what edgy goths mean by what they say.

“Ah… figure that's why it's so clear out here this year… all the mist from the glade must have relocated to your head.” concluding that, Touya’s eyebrows pull closer upon seeing whatever else the blonde pulls out from his backpack while shooting a glare in his direction. “… what are those for?”

Keigo considers not answering at all, but decides against it. Being the bigger person by default is such a chore sometimes, but… “There’s some decent moonlight to work with, but these umbrellas help me get the little extra I need right where I want it. See?” With that, he turns the flashlight on and blinds the other with the sudden brightness.

“Ow, seriously?! I haven’t seen daylight in decades, turn that shit off…!”

… but, he can multitask and still be an asshole while answering the question. And laugh at the reaction, then laugh some more the decades comment as the other rubs his eyes, because he positively has the looks of a display-tanned indoor hermit. A hermit who is having a bad time.

“Wanna help, or would you rather brood somewhere the umbrellas won’t be able to reach you?”

A mechanical click can be heard in the distance; now that there’s no music playing in the streets, the bad (and always slightly ahead of time) clocktower bell can be heard signalling quarter past midnight. This seems to catch Touya’s attention and remind him of something as he stares into a nondescript spot for a while. At the very least, Keigo is certain he’s not thinking about the question that slipped out and which he will regret- if he says no, it’s gonna be the disappointment… if yes, then it’s because of all the things that will definitely go wrong.

“... well, it’s not as if I had no time to kill,” comes the apathetic answer a few seconds later, although the wrinkling eyebrows are telling of his misgivings regarding the idea.

“...”

Now, hold on… hold on, he may have an even worse idea that he’s definitely going to regret…

Keigo taps his pointing fingers against the camera anxiously. “Actually… say, what would it take for youuu… to be my model tonight?” He takes out his best puppy eyes as he looks over to him with the tiniest smile, blinking slowly.

It’s as if Touya had another light induced migraine immediately. He looks almost disgusted, which… is hilarious. “For that I'll take both your life savings and your soul.”

Keigo stifles both a giggle and a sigh at that, resulting in somewhat of a snort. He must be put off by those umbrellas quite a bit. "Really…? If that’s all, fine by me."

The answer brings back Touya to a much more reserved, if not vaguely sceptical stance. “You… sure are ready to jump the gun for that, huh.”

"Well I, too, am asking a bit much of you out of nowhere, aren’t I?” He asks, shrugging. “I figured it was worth asking, at the very least… you fit the mood a little too perfectly, one doesn’t get an opportunity like this every day. If all it takes is my birdie bank, that’s fine by me. … We can also talk about the soul part later if you want to.” It takes him every ounce of self restraint not to throw in a wink at the end.

“...” Touya stares in contemplation before taking a deep sigh and scratching his head. "Fine. I guess it’s going to be much less bothersome than posing for hours to have a portrait painted."

Keigo’s ears perk up at that. Like, a lot. "Y---you… there's a portrait?!"

Whaaa?!? A professional-ass painting, of him?? And, even more importantly, where?!?

"... I know what you're thinking of, and no, I have not the slightest idea. Who knows, maybe it even burned along with---" he cuts himself off right there. For the first time that night, he seems upset, or rather angry; whichever it may be is the strongest emotion the blonde has seen him display in these past minutes, affecting even him quite a bit. His hairs stand alert once more--- but the sentiment goes as it came, along with Touya’s stifled ire.

"... never mind. Let’s just… get on with this."

"..." He figures that being nosy would be straight-down rude, having just met and already asking for quite a bit… so he lets it slide as if nothing happened.

Keigo turns around to the lampion that he placed before the convo started.

Huh… that’s weird.

He doesn’t remember lighting it.

Overall, Touya seems to pay quite a bit of attention to what he's doing, visibly taking mental notes of the processes he goes through. First, it's a little embarrassing to be watched so closely, but eventually Keigo gets used to it and just does his thing. He soon finds himself in the zone, in fact. Hell knows how much time goes by as he keeps clicking away, barely even instructing, but rather just basking in whatever the other does, giving the okay to everything. He’s not even bothered by the bone cutting cold that’s now heightened by a breeze, because Touya seems to be a natural, and by god, does his presence do things to him. He’s had phases of architecture, mixed media with cutouts and shadow play, birds, and abandoned places, but this… this must be what finding a muse feels like.

When he's looking for the misplaced lighter for the hundredth time again, it's already shoved into his face.

"You should just keep this in your pocket, angel."

"Ah, thanks." He takes it, then turns to Touya sheepishly while pulling his jacket tighter as the light wind blows especially cold air down his collar. "I've been… stupidly quiet for a while. It must be really awkward, uh… am I really not bothering you?"

"It's fine. I like having the company."

Maybe his voice is softer than before… or maybe he’s just imagining things.

“I, uh--- same.” Keigo feels blood creeping to his face, so he quickly moves on; “I have enough of these candles left for like about one more location. Any ideas?”

It takes Touya only a second of consideration before he nods towards the belfry ruins.

He flashes a smile; “Gotcha.”

In barely 10 more minutes, Keigo is speeding through the hundreds (whoops?) of photos he’s taken, walking circles around the ruin. His breath hitches over the one where Touya looked directly into the camera right by the wall. He’s gonna frameit and putitonhiswardrobedoor andmmmakeit his ppphone wallpaper---

He can hear a chuckle behind him, and remembers that whoopsie daisy, he’s not alone. “You're pleased as punch over a few pictures… It’s adorable.”

Keigo gets red to the eartips this time around, realizing that he’s got that goofy-ass smile Rumi keeps teasing him for. Unfortunately for him, once it gets pointed out… it always sticks. “I’tsjustthat---…!! I… didn’t think I’d get such nice photos at all? Moody scenery is nice and easier to sell, but I prefer lived-in spaces and models, anything that feels alive. Especially when they’re so pret...ty. Patient.”

Someone kill him.

“...”

The thin eyebrows twitch the smallest amount and for a torturous, silent pause Keigo wishes for some kind of deity to strike him down and grant a merciful, immediate death.

“I suppose I’ve had a few years to put some patience practice under the belt.”

He fights the urge to run away crying. There’s no way anybody exists who wouldn’t see right through that… at least he gets to see that cute smile once more.

He forces one on, too. “... I can tell.”

The wind starts picking up, distracting the other. Touya takes a look up to the moon, which has made quite some progress on its route since they’ve been there. Then there’s three clicks echoing through the night, signalling that it’s nearing 1 a.m. “Well… you were babbling about showing me, too, so you better hurry. I don’t have much time left.”

Keigo snaps out of the shameful frustration only to be legitimately ashamed. “Oh… sorry, I… hadn’t even considered that you had other business tonight.” Shit. He just assumed he had all night, but Touya was just humoring him until he had other business.

The other shakes his head. “It’s no issue, just get your fidgety ass over here already.”

As he makes his way over to him, Keigo feels something grab onto his leg and the familiar itch of thorns scratching up skin through his jeans.

Fucking vines again.

He should have expected this, shouldn't he. As he stumbles forward, he sighs in immediate acceptance.

He would have never expected being caught, though.

Nor Touya’s hands being as cold as a frozen piece of meat that can be felt even through his jumper and jacket. His touch sends shivers down his spine, freezing him in surprise first; if the strap didn’t get caught around his arm, the camera would hit the ground as his hand loses its hold on it.

What he’s definitely not ready for, however, is the arctic chill radiating from every inch of Touya’s, the same icy presence that he’s been feeling ever since… since he got close.

The thing that makes him break into cold sweat and brings even the blood in his veins to a halt, however, is the pair of forget-me-nots staring into his soul from mere inches.

Those beautiful, blue eyes, that… that are glassy and clouded and definitely not… human.

His lips part, but the scream dies off in his throat.

The realization flashing in his eyes draws a lenient, gentle smile onto the pale face. “You’re slow, angel.”

Keigo's paralyzed in what he can only guess is sheer terror, his body's last resort in hopes that the threat will just leave if it's not interesting enough to investigate. His mind, however, is racing and panicked as his inevitable end leans in for the kill.

Fuck.

Fuck, he's… dead.

He's dead, he's dead, he's dead---

He’s dead.

At least, that’s what he remembers thinking before passing the fuck out… not knowing who exactly he was referring to anymore. Because he feels positively not alive when waking up on the belfry’s cold ground, on the patch of concrete that lay behind where the catafalque used to be, surrounded by what remained of the candles and lampions he had brought along, and some of the flowers that people decorate graves with.

The spot where everyone suspected a former hidden path… or another grave.

He turns around, because now he remembers where he last saw the name Touya- it’s barely legible, but there it is, crudely chiselled into the stone right above the grey ground.

At first he supposes that the cold, empty feeling that seeps through his entire being must be the nasty cold and pneumonia he gets after the deed. As the days go by, however… the shivers and cold sensation persist and his dreams are plagued by endless mazes, fires, and haunting, blue eyes all the time.

His second guess for the cause of it is lingering fear: on the camera, he finds creepy photos of himself lying in the grave once he gets better. When going through them all, he considers to delete the ones he took of the other or use them for digging, (there’s no fucking way he actually hung out with a ghost, is there?) but… they all pop up as vaguely distorted landscapes, with light spots where a pair of eyes may or may not be.

Having stared blankly for like an hour at the one he really liked back then, he throws the camera into the corner of his armchair and doesn’t touch it for weeks.

This carries on through winter, in spring, and he's convinced of how badly he fucked up when even in the suffocating summer heat he feels the veil of an icy embrace.

Once leaves start catching rust again, the chill makes his bones ache, much like they did after the encounter. And it only gets stronger by the day. He hasn't shown the pictures, developed or otherwise, to anyone. Somewhere down the line he figured… that he should just give him the photos and trade them back for his soul, because hell if that dementor did not help himself to it right along with the kiss he definitely got but doesn’t remember. Trauma alone cannot possibly cause this.

It's midnight again. This time, he's already there, waiting for the toll of the distant church bell they had fixed and reset sometime in spring. The autumn fog is as thick as ever.

His grip tightens on the envelope; deals like this are notoriously hard to break or undo. Hell, the guy agreed to have the photos taken, creating a nice little loophole. Whether he printed them, deleted them all or whatever might be a moot point.

… no. No, he can't start thinking about this right now, if he comes he'll get this thing annulled, get his damn soul back---

As the last gong dies off in the night, a pair of lean arms slink around his aching chest and pull him against a body so cold it's scalding his skin.

"Hello again, angel," greets the voice, sounding a hundred times sweeter than he remembers.

…

Or maybe… he'll just let him keep it forever.

#DabiHawks #dabi #Takami Keigo #ctabb halloween bang 2019 #toukei #hawks #bnha fic #Kate writes

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vocalfriespod · 5 years ago

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What’s in a Name Transcript

Megan Figueroa: Hi, and welcome to the Vocal Fries podcast, the podcast about linguistic discrimination.

Carrie Gillon: I’m Carrie Gillon.

Megan Figueroa: I’m Megan Figueroa. Carrie, Arizona went viral with a running javelina.

Carrie Gillon: Which everyone keeps calling “pigs.”

Megan Figueroa: I’m like, “Have you not read the book Don’t Call Me a Pig? C’mon.”

Carrie Gillon: No, nobody knows outside of Arizona what a javelina is. It does kind of look like a pig although, when it’s running, it looks way less like a pig than normal.

Megan Figueroa: Right? Because pigs don’t run that fast, do they?

Carrie Gillon: Oh, they probably do. Well, at least the smaller ones probably do. I was shocked though when I saw that javelina boot it like that. I was like, how? How? Because I’ve only ever seen them amble at most.

Megan Figueroa: I’ve been semi-chased by a javelina. It wasn’t going that fast. Because I was taking my trash out and boy, do they love the smell of trash. [Laughter] But, yeah, no, I’ve mostly seen them with their little babies and they’re following along, just ambling along very cute-like. If you haven’t seen it, go to the Twitter account “javelina running to.” You can see the javelina running to all sorts of hilarious, perfectly matched songs. Like “Born to Run” by Bruce Springsteen or “Fast Car” by Tracy Chapman. It’s beautiful.

Carrie Gillon: My favorite is “Going the Distance” by Cake. It’s also the first one that I saw, so I’m a little biased.

Megan Figueroa: Well, for some reason, that song is so funny to me just by itself and I don’t know why.

Carrie Gillon: He sounds so unconcerned like he doesn’t give a shit while he’s singing. Yeah.

Megan Figueroa: Okay. Maybe that’s what it is. That is perfect.

Carrie Gillon: I was a nice little bit of light-heartedness. It felt like 2015 when we had both the dress and the escaped llamas. It was a wild, wild day. That javelina running was not quite the same but it felt a little bit more like, “Oh, I remember the good old times and the before times.”

Megan Figueroa: Yes.

Carrie Gillon: When the internet was not just people yelling at each other about their favorite candidate and about how every other candidate sucks.

Megan Figueroa: I know. Well, now I’m like, “Javelina 2020” – “Running javelina 2020.” [Laughter]

Carrie Gillon: Frankly, couldn’t possibly do a worse job than what’s happening right now.

Megan Figueroa: It’s true. Speaking of our fucked-up government, we did a bonus episode, which you can get to by being a Patreon supporter, about this new change in social security disability benefits. They changed a language requirement.

Carrie Gillon: It’s definitely a good bonus to access.

Megan Figueroa: I mean, it’s just a rage bonus which, you know, I would say about 80% of them are rage bonuses. [Laughter]

Carrie Gillon: Yeah.

Megan Figueroa: Maybe we could all stop being assholes and we wouldn’t have to rage bonus.

Carrie Gillon: Well, I mean, yes. It seems like it’s unlikely that the government’s ever gonna stop being this level of asshole, at least anytime soon.

Megan Figueroa: On a light-hearted note, I re-watched Knives Out, the movie, and I just truly the first time – because I mean, one of my favorite things is just old, haunted looking mansion houses and a Clue-type vibe. So, I was just enthralled by all of that and somehow missed some of the language stuff, but the character that Toni Collette plays, they make her very much sound like a very stereotypical valley girl. There’s no evidence to prove that she spends any time there.

Carrie Gillon: No, I mean, valley girl is not about being from the Valley anymore. It hasn’t been for a long time.

Megan Figueroa: I guess I’m still – I mean, I spend most of my time toward the west coast that I was surprised – because it’s supposed to be Massachusetts, but it’s on-brand valley girl, and I’m like, “She sounds like no one around her.”

Carrie Gillon: Well, we don’t know where she came from, right?

Megan Figueroa: That’s true. That’s true. Okay. Well, and they do make her into basically a Gwyneth Paltrow kind of a Goop brand.

Carrie Gillon: Exactly. I was gonna say she’s very Goop-y.

Megan Figueroa: I mean, that is really calling on that kinda vibe or that, at least, stereotype of the wellness – like they show her meditating in this very – yeah. She definitely has this vibe. I mean, it’s not unfair to say that LA is kind of an epicentre for that kind of stuff.

Carrie Gillon: Oh, no. It 100% is, but again, it doesn’t even really matter. She might not be from there at all. She might just be adopting that because that’s her identity, right?

Megan Figueroa: Her brand. I mean, it’s literally her brand at whatever company she has.

Carrie Gillon: She’s really good in that movie in that – that actor.

Megan Figueroa: She’s so good!

Carrie Gillon: I mean, she’s always amazing because she’s just amazing, but there’s just something really entertaining about that character like the languidity with which she speaks and the ridiculousness of most of the things that come out of her mouth.

Megan Figueroa: Oh, she embodies that character. It’s amazing. You see her in like – I mean, the last thing I saw her in was a serious role and I’m like – it was just like, the range! Speaking of range, I am enthralled by Daniel Craig’s character. I was the first time, but he does that thing where it’s kinda like – well, fuck Kevin Spacey – but the Kevin Spacey “House of Cards.”

Carrie Gillon: Yeah. He’s Frank Underwood sort of except that a detective and probably actually a better person. Yeah. He’s definitely adopting this Charleston-ish accent that no one speaks anymore. It’s a really old school variety.

Megan Figueroa: I just, I dunno if anyone ever asked the director or anyone if that was on purpose, but I feel like it had to have been. I feel like thought was put into making him seem like this old school kind of dude.

Carrie Gillon: I assume it was on purpose. I haven’t heard anyone ask Rian Johnson about that choice because I’ve heard him talk about “Knives Out.” Daniel Craig’s character putting on this accent really – just putting it on really strong because he wants people not to take him seriously because he's kind of Columbo-ing.

Megan Figueroa: Columbo-ing! Wow. [Laughter]

Carrie Gillon: Right? That’s the kind of character he feels like. He feels like he’s bumbling but he’s not. He knows exactly what he’s doing the whole time. Spoiler alert.

Megan Figueroa: Right.

Carrie Gillon: I dunno. It could’ve been a choice that the character even made.

Megan Figueroa: Well, to be fair, when he kinda reveals at the end that he knew what he was doing the whole time, I was like, “You’re fucking shitting me because you seemed like you didn’t know what you were doing.” Absolutely. It’s a really fucking fun movie.

Carrie Gillon: Oh my god, it is so fun! I was just grinning watching that movie because I enjoy murder mysteries. I always have. I grew up on them. But there was just something so fun about this one because it kind of turns everything up on its head.

Megan Figueroa: All of the references were very up to date. You’re like, “This movie is obviously made in 2019.”

Carrie Gillon: Yes. Yes.

Megan Figueroa: Anyway, lots of fun language stuff. Today’s episode’s fun.

Carrie Gillon: Yeah!

Megan Figueroa: We wanna gift our listeners with things that aren’t always very, very sad.

Carrie Gillon: I mean, there’s obviously a little bit of sadness associated with names, so we do talk a little bit about the dark side of names. But, for the most part, it’s more fun stuff like why you can tell what era someone’s born by their name.

Megan Figueroa: People should let us know on Twitter or wherever about their names or their name stories. That’d be really fun.

Carrie Gillon: On Anchor, you can record a voicemail for us if you wish. Let’s maybe do it. Let’s do a show where people call in. You can talk about your name or whatever – anything you find interesting. But I think names are fun.

Megan Figueroa: Well, names – I mean, like talking about it in the episode – everyone has a story about their name – probably a million. If you wanna share that with us, that would be great. How do you get to that, Carrie?

Carrie Gillon: You can add a message at anchor.fm/the-vocal-fries

Megan Figueroa: Yes, leave us a voicemail. Enjoy this episode!

[Music]

Megan Figueroa: Today, we are joined by Dr. Laurel MacKenzie who is an assistant professor at NYU who studies the variability inherent in language. She’s interested in linguistic choices we make and how and why we make them. The goal of her research is to better understand the patterns that underlie variation and change in language. We have her here today to talk about names.

Laurel MacKenzie: Yep.

Megan Figueroa: Thank you so much for being here!

Laurel MacKenzie: You’re welcome. Thank you for having me. My pleasure.

Megan Figueroa: I say “here” as if we’re all in the same space, but it’s really just the same virtual space.

Laurel MacKenzie: We’re in the same cyber space.

Megan Figueroa: Exactly. [Laughter]

Carrie Gillon: Cyber.

Laurel MacKenzie: I know! Good word, right? Let’s bring it back.

Carrie Gillon: We wanted to talk to you about names. I believe it was Daniel Currie Hall who wanted us to talk about names.

Laurel MacKenzie: So, this was a request?

Carrie Gillon: This was a request, yeah. We didn’t know who to turn to, and I think Lisa Davidson told us to talk to you.

Laurel MacKenzie: I can tell you a little bit about why and how I’m interested in names. Well, I don’t know if there’s a reason for why I’m interested in it, but I have always sort of – well, yeah. As someone with a name that you can’t find on keychains and mugs, I guess I was always aware of names growing up. I think it might actually have been Bill Labov, who was my PhD thesis advisor, who introduced me to the academic literature on names.

Bill had grown very interested in questions about how innovations in language catch on and progress and propagate through a community. He found a line of research by the sociologist Stanley Lieberson about how innovations and fashion catch on and propagate through a community. Lieberson particularly investigated this with respect to names. The anecdote that Lieberson told was that he named his daughter “Rebecca,” thinking, “Oh, that’s a nice, interesting, unusual name.” Then, Rebecca got to kindergarten and was “Rebecca L.” because there were three other “Rebecca”s in the class.

Labov had the exact same experience, also naming his daughter “Rebecca” at around the same time as Lieberson. Labov was really struck by this and told this anecdote a few times. The question it raised for him was, what’s going on? Why do so many people pick the same name at the same time but not at other times? What is it about certain names that are trendy, temporarily, but not at other times? How do people who don’t talk to each other about “What are you naming your kid? What are you naming your kid?” nonetheless pick the same names?

Labov saw an analogue in that the way names go in and out of style, in and out of fashion, to the way sound changes in language and changes in language more generally go in and out of style and in and out of fashion.

Carrie Gillon: Brilliant.

Megan Figueroa: That is so brilliant. The way some people’s brains work is so fascinating to me.

Laurel MacKenzie: That’s Bill’s brain. Bill is like the galaxy brain on the galaxy brain meme. [Laughter] you never would’ve put that together. That clued me into the fact that there’s an academic literature on names. At around the same time, when I was in grad school – so like mid-2000s, 2006 – 2008 or so – there was this blog that came into being, “The Baby Name Wizard.” The author, Laura Wattenberg, was a social scientist – a quantitative social scientist – and she had downloaded all the social security data on names given to babies in the United States going back to the 1880s. She had put it into a searchable database with graphs, so you could search for a name like “Brian” and see the rate at which “Brian” was given to babies from 1880 up to the present day.

You could see trends go in and out of fashion. You could search for just the beginning of names. You could see all the BR names – “Brian,” “Brady,” “Brianna,” “Britney” – which are very 80s/90s era-sounding names. That was really fun. I enjoyed playing around with that. Then, it all came together my final year of my PhD program when I was on the job market. I applied for a job at the University of Manchester where I was asked to propose three new courses at each level of the undergrad curriculum. Anyone listening to this who might wanna go on the academic job market one day, be prepared that this is the kinda thing that people might ask you about.

I was like, “Oh, that’s kinda fun. It’s a little exercise in teaching creativity.” The hardest part for me was figuring out what to teach first year undergraduates because it had to be something new that was not on the course curriculum already – so it couldn’t just be Introduction to Phonetics, Introduction to Sociolinguistics – but also it had to be appropriate for students who didn’t have much background in linguistics.

I kind of mulled over this for a long time, and it came to me one day as I was brushing my teeth, “What about the linguistics of names?” I like names. You can talk about how names go in and out of fashion, but you can also talk about things like the phonology of nickname formation or the morphology of naming in cultures that have interesting morphological systems. You can talk about gender and naming. You can talk about sound symbolism and naming – the way that researchers have found that certain product names might sound more rich and creamy, or more crunchy, based on the sounds that they have in them.

The more I thought, the more I was like, “You know, you could fill a one-semester undergraduate course on the linguistics of names.” I proposed that, and I ended up getting the job. In my offer letter, they said, “Next semester, you will be teaching Linguistics of Names,” and I was like, “Oh, god!” This had to go from a 30-second “You could do this” to a genuine one-semester course in a very short amount of time. I had to really put my money where my mouth was and read all this literature on the linguistics of names. But there is a fair amount of it out there.

I taught that course for three semesters at Manchester. I was very popular among the undergrads. It was a lot of fun to teach. I put it all together in that article for the “Teaching Linguistics” section of Language on the hopes that it might help other people.

Megan Figueroa: Do you still teach it at NYU?

Laurel MacKenzie: Haven’t taught it here at NYU, no. I would like to bring it back one of these days. I think it would make a good freshman seminar. That’s the kind of level it’s appropriate for.

Megan Figueroa: The reason why it’s so good that we’re talking to you about names and the reason why this is such a successful class, I’m guessing, is because we all care so deeply about our own names. Either we really hated it growing up or whatever, we just have lots and lots of big feelings about our names. I can imagine you as a little girl going by the mugs and seeing “Lauren” and being like, “Ugh! There’s ‘Lauren,’ and there’s where ‘Laurel’ should be.”

I did the same thing where I was like – at a certain period “Megan” was being spelled with H a lot. My name, “Megan,” M-E-G-A-N, would be missing but they’d still have the H ones and I’m like, “It’s not the same thing. I can’t just buy that mug.”

Laurel MacKenzie: Scribble it out.

Carrie Gillon: Cross out the H.

Megan Figueroa: Yeah, exactly. [Laughter]

Laurel MacKenzie: There was a viral tweet a while ago, something like, “Every name has a natural enemy” or “a natural nemesis” or something. It was by a guy named Josh, and he was like, “Mine is ‘John’” or something, “What’s yours?” It was really fun to see all the racks of responses that it accumulated.

Megan Figueroa: Carrie’s would be just “Carrie” spelled the other way, right?

Carrie Gillon: No. Mine is “Karen” because it gets misheard as “Karen” a lot. Pretty recently I went to a Starbucks, and she asked for my name, and I said, “Carrie,” and she misheard it as “Karen,” and I was like, “That’s fine because who cares,” right? She was like, “Oh, I got it wrong.” Then, she put down “Anna.” And I was like, “What?” [Laughter]

Megan Figueroa: You mentioned the “Brady/Britney/Brian” sounding very 80s, is there actually literature – were you able to track that that the /bʁə/ sound was very popular at that time?

Laurel MacKenzie: You can actually go look up the Baby Name Voyager, which is –

Megan Figueroa: That was the Wizard?

Laurel MacKenzie: Yeah. That’s that website I was telling you about. It’s still there. The Baby Name Wizard was, I think, the name of the website and the Voyager is the search engine, basically, where you search through all the data.

Carrie Gillon: My impression is “Brian” is at least somewhat older because I know older “Brian”s – but “Britney,” for sure, I don’t remember hearing any “Brittney’s until the 80s.

Laurel MacKenzie: So, I just typed it in, and the peak is definitely right at the 1990s. The most popular names that are showing up are “Brandon,” “Bradly,” “Britney,” “Brianna,” “Brian,” spelled a couple different ways – “Bryan” with a Y, “Brian” with an I – “Brooke” is in here, “Bruce.” There’s others but there was a big peak.

Carrie Gillon: “Bruce”? My uncle’s name is Bruce.

Laurel MacKenzie: Yeah, “Bruce,” to me, doesn’t seem to show. That peaked in the 50s. “Bruce”hais a slightly different trajectory.

Megan Figueroa: My mom’s name is Charlotte, which sounds so old school to me, except then the –

Carrie Gillon: It’s coming back.

Megan Figueroa: Yeah, Princess Charlotte over in –

Laurel MacKenzie: “Charlotte” came back.

Megan Figueroa: I mean, it cycles, right? That’s one of the things you looked at.

Laurel MacKenzie: Yes. That was something that I learned from reading Lieberson, yeah. He looks at these roller coaster type patterns where names that were really common in the 1880s/1890s/turn of the century get recycled. His theory is that those names get imbued with an old fashioned feeling when they’re the names of your parents and grandparents, but once all the old “Charlotte”s have sort of died off, they lose those connotations and they’re ripe for being revitalized in a way.

That doesn’t hold for everything. I don’t think “Ethel” is coming back, some of these –

Carrie Gillon: No. Or “Doris.”

Laurel MacKenzie: Right. But a lot of them – so “Emma,” I think, is a very similar trajectory. I’m looking at it in the Voyager right now. It shows a real trough and then a massive peak.

Carrie Gillon: That makes sense.

Laurel MacKenzie: All the FL starting names – so I just typed in “FL,” so you get “Flora,” “Florence,” “Flossy,” “Floyd” – those have all just tanked and they’re not really coming back. Although, you never know. “Florence” –

Carrie Gillon: “Florence” is a little bit nicer than “Doris.” Maybe.

Laurel MacKenzie: Yeah.

Carrie Gillon: You’ve already sort of answered this but maybe you can delve into one area that you think is the most interesting. What can we learn studying names?

Laurel MacKenzie: I designed my undergrad course around a single question which was whether names behaved like other elements of language or whether names are somehow linguistically special. From a lot of perspectives, names do actually seem a lot like other elements of language. Phonologically, they behave very similarly. For instance, nouns in English tend to be trochaic, they have stress on the first syllable. Most of the names in English do too, or at least the disyllabic ones.

Names follow similar processes of hypocoristic formation, so the way we make nicknames. We use very similar processes when we make nicknames or play names of non-name words. There’s a lot of phonological literature on when you make a nickname, what part of the name do you chop off, basically.

Megan Figueroa: Is this in English?

Laurel MacKenzie: Yeah. In English, at least, but other Germanic languages and French as well has specific nickname formation patterns that are followed by names but also can be done to non-name words, I think. Those were similarities. I thought the sociolinguistic similarities were really interesting too because names are a lot like accents. You’re brought up with them. They’re bestowed upon you. They’re not necessarily something you choose. They can be really hard to change. They can carry hallmarks of somebody’s ethnic background, their social class background, their gender certainly, and they’re subject to taste and fashion in the same way that changing elements of language can be too.

Megan Figueroa: Also, I bet we’re seeing a spike in gender non-conforming names right now – those vague names.

Laurel MacKenzie: It’s an interesting question, yeah. There’s a fair amount of literature on the phonological correlates of names given to babies of different genders, different sexes. Researchers have found – again, in English and using data in the US, although I suspect the UK would be really similar – that names given to babies assigned female at birth tend to be longer. They tend to have more syllables. They tend to be more likely to end in a vowel, specifically schwa. Think of like, “Amanda,” “Rebecca,” those sorts of things. They tend not to have stress on the initial syllable compared to names given to babies assigned male at birth. That’s, again, like, “Amanda,” “Rebecca,” “Marie.”

One exercise that I had my students do is to look at whether names have become less likely over time to show these gender hallmarks like, “Have names given to baby boys gotten more quote-unquote ‘feminine’ in their phonology and have names given to baby girls gotten less feminine?” What we actually found is that both sets of names seem to have had more phonological correlates associated with femininity over time, at least in the US data, which is a little surprising.

Carrie Gillon: I’ve also heard that boys’ names tend to end in /n/ like, “Brandon,” and “Aiden.”

Laurel MacKenzie: That’s a huge spike. Yeah. Boys’ names used to end more in obstruents, so your hard consonants – stops and fricatives and things. Now, there’s been a big rise in N-final baby names. Part of that I noticed in digging through the data is that there’s been a big spike in a lot of rhyming names. “Aiden” became popular in the early 2000s, I think. Then, we see this massive influx of “Braden,” “Zaden,” “Jaden,” “Raden,” “Hayden,” “Kayden” spelled a couple of different ways, seemingly all on the model of “Aiden.” That’s probably beefing up the number of N-final boys names.

Megan Figueroa: I wonder if that’s like the whole “Lauren” and “Laurel” thing, if that’s just a little bit different than “Aiden.” Maybe it’ll be a little bit more unique. Then, it just so happens that since it’s similar to “Aiden” that other people were thinking the same thing. It kinda starts trending.

Laurel MacKenzie: This is exactly what Lieberson says – the sociologist Stanley Lieberson – about how innovations in taste and fashion catch on. They catch on because they’re just a tiny little bit different from what was popular before. They’re not so different that they feel threatening, but they’re different enough that they can seem a little bit innovative or interesting. He makes the analogy to skirt lengths changing over time, actually. He tracked this in, I think, ads in fashion magazines. Over the course of the 20th century, skirts got much, much, much shorter and then they worked their way longer again. But it was only by tiny little increments. It was never a massive jump.

Carrie Gillon: That’s so fascinating!

Laurel MacKenzie: I know! If you see which names are popular, you can trace “Jacen” to “Jacob,” to “Mason,” to “Aiden,” among the topmost popular boys names. They’re all phonologically similar but not identical. It’s really neat.

Carrie Gillon: That is really neat.

Laurel MacKenzie: Another thing I learned in researching names is that there are countries and cultures where naming is very government regulated. Your name has to be on a list, and those lists have assigned genders with them too. There was a big news story a few years back where parents in Iceland wanted to name – I believe it was that they wanted to name a baby girl “Blaer,” which means “breeze” or something. But “blaer” is a masculine noun in Iceland so the government wouldn’t allow it because the child was female.

Carrie Gillon: I’ve heard of this before. I hadn’t heard about this particular case those. I wonder if there’s a way to feminize it in Icelandic that would’ve made it acceptable.

Laurel MacKenzie: That I don’t know.

Carrie Gillon: Not that they should be forced to do that, I’m just curious.

Laurel MacKenzie: “Blaer,” B-L-A-E-R. It means “light breeze.” Oh, apparently the decision got overturned.

Carrie Gillon: Oh, okay. Well, that’s good.

Megan Figueroa: Since you’ve looked at this, do you notice that there’re some countries or pockets of the country where family names are more important to pass on?

Laurel MacKenzie: Oh, as first names?

Megan Figueroa: Yeah.

Laurel MacKenzie: Anecdotally, I always had that impression in the south.

Megan Figueroa: That would be my guess but, yeah.

Laurel MacKenzie: That’s just my association. I grew up in Texas and I knew kids at least whose middle names were their mother’s maiden name.

Megan Figueroa: Oh, that’s very Mexican too.

Carrie Gillon: And also very British. My family – that was a tradition.

Laurel MacKenzie: Maybe there’s just a lot of that out there.

Carrie Gillon: That was a tradition. But my parents decided not to go with that tradition anymore because they just – I dunno. They were kind of non-traditional, I guess. Yeah. It’s common, I think, in lots of different cultures to do that. I guess the United States may be – depending on which country your family originated from – you may or may not continue to do it.

Laurel MacKenzie: It occurs to me, I don’t know of any research on middle names, and that could be actually pretty interesting because I feel like middles is just a whole wild west. They don’t really get used much. You hardly ever see them except on really official documents. It’s like people could go kinda wild but I’m not sure that they do. I feel like growing up I knew a whole lot of people whose middle name was either “Marie” or “Lee” or something.

Carrie Gillon: Or “Anne.”

Laurel MacKenzie: Yeah! Very small set.

Carrie Gillon: The only time we really hear about people’s middle names is if they’re a serial killer, and that’s only to distinguish them from all other people with the same name.

Megan Figueroa: That’s so funny.

Carrie Gillon: Or there’re people in Hollywood who will use their middle initial because they also have to distinguish themselves from the other Michael Fox or whatever in SAG. Middle names are interesting, and I do know people without any middle names at all. That also gets them in trouble because it’s expected in North American culture, but they’re not necessary.

Laurel MacKenzie: Harry S Truman does not have a middle name. His middle name was just “S,” right? He just made that up as a president because he felt he needed on.

Carrie Gillon: You’re not supposed to put a period afterwards because it’s not an abbreviation. It’s just S.

Laurel MacKenzie: That’s right. That’s a good point of punctuation trivia.

Carrie Gillon: I just found this out a couple weeks ago.

Laurel MacKenzie: I had this thought the other night, I wonder if anybody has ever used a middle initial of a letter that is also a roman numeral and then insisted that, no, my middle is not “V,” it’s “Five.”

Carrie Gillon: Why not? [Laughter]

Laurel MacKenzie: You might hear that on the next kid.

Carrie Gillon: Experimentation through having children.

Laurel MacKenzie: Yes. But, yeah, you mentioned surnames as first names and that, from reading the blog associated with the Baby Name Wizard, was something that I think she noticed had been on the rise, definitely. I mean, to take an example at random, I definitely noticed where there were a bunch of little Makenzies starting – that started to be a thing. I hadn’t known anyone with my last name as their first name until, I think it was about high school when this started happening for me.

Megan Figueroa: I had the opposite, since my last name’s not “MacKenzie,” but I always thought that was a first name. When I see it as a last name, I’m like, “Oh? Okay.”

Laurel MacKenzie: Yes. When I started seeing it as a first name, I was like, “I had it first.” [Laughter]

Megan Figueroa: I think a lot of interesting things are happening with names too because people are, I dunno, coming to terms with it or deciding for themselves that you don’t have to name a child with the father’s last name too. A lot of different things are happening with that too. I feel like it’s a really interesting time for names.

I grew up with a lot of girls whose names were like, “Alexandra,” or “Samantha,” and they would by “Alex” and “Sam.” I’m seeing those just becoming names for girls now – just naming your child “Sam” or “Alex” – which I think is pretty cool.

Carrie Gillon: Well, technically, my name is a diminutive of “Carolyn” or “Caroline,” but I was named “Carrie.” That is my name.

Laurel MacKenzie: Yes. Nicknames can sort of take on a life of their own.

Megan Figueroa: I dunno. I think that there is still some societal expectations that a “Sam” or an “Alex” is perhaps more masculine coded too, so to see these nicknames being first names for baby girls is interesting to me.

Laurel MacKenzie: Right.

Megan Figueroa: This shift.

Laurel MacKenzie: So, the question is, does the gender shift ever go the other way? Do we ever find feminine-coded names being given to baby boys?

Carrie Gillon: Not that I’m aware of.

Laurel MacKenzie: The closest we can get is that – so names like “Noah” and “Jonah,” ending in an /ə/, which is, in many English names, a feminine ending because a lot of them come from Latin and other romance languages, I think.

Carrie Gillon: But those are Biblical names.

Laurel MacKenzie: Yes. They’re not feminine coded even though they sound a little bit feminine. They don’t even.

Carrie Gillon: Yeah. I think it’s because they’re Biblical where they just would never shift in that way because, unless everyone stopped reading the Bible for, like, a hundred years or something, then maybe.

Laurel MacKenzie: I suspect that other Biblical names like “Rebecca” has really plummeted since the 80s and 90s. I mean, obviously “Mary” – “Mary” was the Number 1 name given to baby girls until the 1970s. In 2017, it was down to Number 126.

Carrie Gillon: Wow. Yeah. Now’s maybe the time.

Laurel MacKenzie: To bring back the Biblical names?

Carrie Gillon: To use “Mary” for a girl child that’s gonna be somewhat unique maybe.

Laurel MacKenzie: She’ll probably be the only one in her class, yeah. It’s possible. I think another reason I was always so interested in this was because my mom was an elementary school teacher for about 20 years. Every year she was coming home with “You can’t imagine the new names in my class this year.”

Carrie Gillon: When I was growing up, it was a lot of “Jennifer”s. So many “Jennifer”s.

Laurel MacKenzie: “Jennifer” was Number 1 in the 70s and 80s.

Carrie Gillon: When I was growing up, you could sort of tell – I’m from Canada, and you could tell if a boy had come from the more Ontario area or more from the British Columbia area. There were a lot of “Dave”s from Ontario and a lot of “Mike”s from British Columbia.

Laurel MacKenzie: Hah! Yeah. It’s like pinpointing where someone is from based on their accent. It’s this linguistic hallmark that you get stamped with depending on when and where and what culture you’re from.

Megan Figueroa: I think this has been of interest to a lot of people recently because of Hassan Minhaj. Am I saying his name right, Carrie?

Carrie Gillon: I think so.

Megan Figueroa: I think I said it right because I had been saying it /ˌhəˈsan/ for so long, but then he corrected Ellen so it was /ˈhəˌsən/, having that whole viral thing where he talked to Ellen about his name and he was like, “Listen, my parents named me this, so this is how you’re gonna say it,” right? I think there has been some interest, at least looking at Twitter and the Vocal Fries and what people will tag us in, that people are real interested in how we can be assholes about names, which I think is great because it’s not like suddenly it’s possible to be an asshole about names. It’s been possible the whole time. But now people really seem to care and want to know how not to be an asshole about it.

Laurel MacKenzie: Yes. There’s some good literature on this in education and in linguistic anthropology about teachers and students’ feelings when they’re basically – the term is – “indexically bleached” or “racial/ethnically bleached” by teachers just either butchering their name pronunciation – not trying to get the pronunciation right – or even just renaming the kid entirely. “Oh, I can’t say your name. You’re Jeff now.”

[Excerpt from Key & Peele Substitute Teacher]

Kegan Michael Key: All right, listen up, ya’ll. I’m ya’ll’s substitute teacher, Mr. Garvey. I taught school for 20 years in the inner city so don’t even think about messing with me. Ya’ll feel me? Okay. Let’s take role here. /d͡ʒɛɪkwɛlɪn/? Where’s /d͡ʒɛɪkwɛlɪn/ at?

[End excerpt]

Megan Figueroa: It’s so ridiculous to think that one population or demographic of people have “normal” names, like they’re the only ones with quote-unquote “normal” names. It’s just so absurd to think that. I think a lot of us get stuck in our little bubble – not that you’re meaning to be an asshole, it’s just so easy to get stuck in that idea that, “Well, of course, my name is normal. Why is your name so strange?”

Laurel MacKenzie: I know. That’s like accents. You don’t realize you have one, you think everybody else does.

Megan Figueroa: Absolutely. That’s a really good analogy.

Carrie Gillon: There’s many ways that ethnicity or race can be encoded by names, but I think black names in the United States are particularly noticeable to white people. Is there any interesting research on those? And how can we tell white people to be less of an asshole about that stuff?

Laurel MacKenzie: Let’s see. So, the research that I know of – I know Stanley Lieberson, again, the name guy, has research looking at distinctive African American names and when they came into being. He actually found that they correlated really well with the civil rights movement and the black rights movement. People started becoming more likely to actually make names up entirely or use variations on existing names. That was where black naming practices and white naming practices – we can really see them diverge quantitatively.

The flip side to names are like accents is that the fact that accent discrimination exists means that name discrimination exists. There have also been studies that have sent out identical resumes with traditionally black names and traditionally white names and found fewer call backs to the resume with the black name than the traditionally white name, just like we find with linguistic profiling – the work of John Baugh – who called up a bunch of different real estate agents speaking mainstream American English or African American English or Chicano English and got different amounts of call backs depending on the accent he was using. There’s a parallel for any sociolinguistics study about discrimination in names it seems.

Megan Figueroa: Someone once told me that I was lucky to have my last name because surely that helped me with my resume if people saw my resume. And I was like, “No, I’m sorry.” That’s very offensive to say that to someone. Like, you can think it, sure, but keep it to yourself. But also that’s not how it works, not yet.

Carrie Gillon: I mean, maybe there’s one job where that might work for you but, generally, no.

Megan Figueroa: Well, there was one time where I was told I was – I did AmeriCorps, and the man, who was Mexican-American, he’s like, “I saw your name. I looked at your statement about your story with Spanish,” and he was like, “You’re gonna be able to connect with these kids.” That’s, I think, a very good thing that that all happened but, for the most part, a name like my last name, unconsciously to a lot of people or consciously, is not gonna do as well as “Smith.” My point there is that a lot of people – well-meaning people – do not know that. They really think it’s changed.

Carrie Gillon: I know a lot of white people are living in a fantasy, maybe less so now – the last three years maybe, hopefully, woke some of them up. But I think a lot of white people are living in a fantasy of a post-racial world.

Laurel MacKenzie: It’s interesting. There’s the one line of research on this, I’ll call it, “overt” discrimination of names. There’s another interesting paper I found a while back by a researcher named Latanya Sweeney. It’s called “Discrimination and Online Ad Delivery.” What she did is she tried googling a bunch of different names – more traditionally black-coded names and white-coded names – and seeing what sort of ads Google offered her up.

She was finding, when you google a black name like “Latanya,” you were more likely to get ads for arrest records than if you google [sighs and groans] – yeah – than a more white-coded name like “Emily.” It’ll say, “Latanya. Has she been arrested? Click here to find out,” which you’re not getting when you search for “Emily” for instance.

Carrie Gillon: I should not be shocked but I actually am.

Megan Figueroa: I am too because I thought you were gonna say like maybe some black hair products or something very, very – that you could buy.

Carrie Gillon: That’s where my brain went too.

Laurel MacKenzie: That could be productive, but this is just like, “Oh, yeah. Algorithms are racist too.”

Carrie Gillon: We’ve talked about that before and, yes – yes, they are.

Megan Figueroa: Because they’re created by humans who are racist, and misogynistic, and all of this.

Carrie Gillon: Speaking of that connection there, there was also a guy who was talking about sending out resumes and his name is “Kim.” He had to change his resume to “Mr. Kim Whatever” because he wasn’t getting call backs. There’s also sexist –

Laurel MacKenzie: Yeah. There’s another study that I think it was published in Science or Nature. The researchers sent out resumes for a lab manager position that were either “John” or “Jennifer” or something like that – experienced that same sort of thing.

FiveThirtyEight, the website, had an article a few years back, “How to Guess Somebody’s Age When All You Know is Their Name,” and they combined name statistics and actuarial tables to basically include like, “Okay. If your name peaked around the 1930s, you’re likely to live X number of years. If you meet a ‘John,’ they’re probably from this era,’” or so.

Carrie Gillon: I loved that. That’s one of my favorite things that they’ve done.

Laurel MacKenzie: It’s just remarkable having never – once you realize that names can be pinpointed to an era with such accuracy to then think about the next level of like, “How on earth does that happen? How do these things really go through those sort of chronological waves?”

This is something that Lieberson points out. Unlike fashion, we don’t have magazines telling us like, “Name your kid ‘Rebecca’ now! It’s the trendy 80s thing to do. Everyone else is doing it.” But somehow, we pick it up. That’s how innovations in language progress too. Nobody goes around saying, “Oh, it’s the trendy thing nowadays to say /æ̃/ instead of /æ/. Everyone else in Michigan is doing it,” but it happens.

Megan Figueroa: It’s true. I think baby name books existed back then. It’s nothing like today where it’s like, “Baby Name Generator,” or all these websites that you can look at. Still, you see these trends.

Carrie Gillon: That’s a good point. Has anything changed as a result that now that we have more information at our fingertips? Or is it still the same?

Megan Figueroa: Game of Throne names.

Carrie Gillon: That’s a change.

Laurel MacKenzie: Celebrity names – that’s always been a possibility, right? There’s a little “Shirley” peak for Shirley Temple back in the 30s or 40s. You can see presidential bumps – “Franklin” for the Roosevelt bump and I think there’s a little “Herbert” bump around Herbert Hoover that you can see in the data. Game of Thrones names for that – and they’re not that different there, I guess. But the question of like the way information is just more available to us now than it used to be, is that changing naming? I don’t know.

Carrie Gillon: What you might, maybe, expect is, “Okay. I see that this is on the rise. I don’t wanna join.” Whereas, you couldn’t really do that before because you didn’t have that much information. I dunno if that’s actually happening.

Megan Figueroa: Again, along with that access to information, I’m again reminded of people caring more about being right – “being right” – trying hard to be right about people’s names and caring that that’s a very personal part of someone. What are some of the biggest ways you would that there are to be assholes about names? What is it?

Okay. We’ve talked about perhaps this is happening unconsciously – but seeing someone’s last name and thinking maybe they’re not as qualified or they’re more likely to have been arrested. That’s one asshole thing.

Laurel MacKenzie: Yeah. Snap social judgments about somebody’s character or personality or interests or even language abilities or anything based on their name.

Megan Figueroa: Ah! That feels very personal because – I’m at Verizon. I tell the person my name. Okay Gave them my last name. He was Mexican American. He’s like, “Oh, you’re Mexican too. You speak Spanish then?” It’s like, “No.” [Groans] Yeah. Also, of course, it’s not even without a foreign language, right? Or “foreign” – or another language. With black names, people can be assholes and assume that their English isn’t as good because we have these assumptions about African American English.

Laurel MacKenzie: Just like opinions and attitudes toward people seep into attitudes toward people’s language, the same thing happens with people’s names. There’s that aspect. There’s the aspect of perception of traits based on a name. Then, there’s also the production aspect. How do you pronounce somebody’s name when they ask you to pronounce it? I know you talked about this in the episode when you had Zack Jaggers on – former colleague of mine from NYU.

Megan Figueroa: Ya’ll are doing good stuff over there.

Laurel MacKenzie: I know! It’s a great place to be. There’s actually a poster down the hall from me on which Zach was the first author and other colleagues here at NYU were co-authors. It’s called, “What it Means When You Say My Name Right: Subjective Evaluations of the Linguistic Reproduction of Names.” Zach and his collaborators did an online study where listeners heard audio clips in which a conversation participant either accurately or inaccurately reproduced the other conversation participant’s name.

One person says, “Hi, my name is Natalia.” And the other person either says, “Oh, hi, Natalia” or “Oh, hi, Natalie” or “Nataliea” or something very anglicized. Then, they asked subjects’ opinions of the person who repeated the name – “Do you think they’re working class or middle class? Do you think they’re likely to vote republican or conservative? Do you think they’re intelligent? Do you think they’re friendly?” – and so forth and had people rate them on a number of different metrics.

Accurate reproductions of a name, whether it was either Anglo or not, were rated more sociable, more friendly, more polite, more cooperative. Listeners were more likely to wanna be friends with those people who accurately reproduce names. It’s the nice thing to do. Listen to people when they tell you how they say their name and do your best to reproduce it.

Carrie Gillon: Yes. Do your best. Some are easier than others. “Natalia” is not that hard for an English speaker. There’re other names that are harder.

Laurel MacKenzie: I mean, in my experience, people are reasonable. They understand that their name has a sound in it that is hard for English speakers and they will often give you an alternative. “If you can’t say the /ɖə/ say it like a /də/, but please don’t say it like a /ɹə/.”

Carrie Gillon: Right. Exactly.

Laurel MacKenzie: I find, even from my own experience with a name that is not phonologically difficult to other people, they often just seem to listen to the first part when I say my name and tune out the rest of it, so I just say, “Hi, I’m Laurel” – “Oh, hi, Lauren,” as if they had just stopped listening after the first syllable.

Carrie Gillon: That’s what’s happening with me too! I didn’t realize that. I actually thought it was just I was pronouncing it funny or I wasn’t being clear enough. But, no, they’re not paying attention.

Laurel MacKenzie: I wonder if that’s part of it.

Megan Figueroa: I gotta say though that I get really anxious when I meet people for the first time – it’s getting better with age – that I can see tuning out on the second half of a name, or just not even getting the name the first time.

Carrie Gillon: Well, I’ve definitely said the name wrong to someone because I’ve misheard it. I mean, that happens. As long as they correct you and you go, “Oh, sorry.”

Megan Figueroa: But it’s a pattern for you both. I totally get it.

Carrie Gillon: I don’t really care. If it’s a person that I’m gonna talk to more than once in my life, I want them to get my name right. If it’s a Starbucks person, I don’t care.

Megan Figueroa: Although, some of the Starbucks people care so much. You know why though, and it makes me sad? It’s probably because they get so much shit from people.

Carrie Gillon: They do get a lot of shit. That’s why I don’t want to be an asshole by them because like, “Eh, it’s fine. ‘Karen’ is fine.”

Laurel MacKenzie: But they could also just call out order numbers. Do they really need to do names?

Carrie Gillon: This is a corporate decision, right, because they wanna humanize –

Laurel MacKenzie: Yes. It’s not the barista’s fault, sure.

Megan Figueroa: I dunno if it’s true elsewhere or what the major company is for Safeway. I know that fries is Kroger, but Safeway here in Arizona, they have a company policy where they say the last name on the person’s card. And I’m like, “Ugh! That’s so stressful for me.” Every time. Especially when I’m with my dad who says it always with the Spanish pronunciation.

Then, I remember as a kid, he would say that, and they wouldn’t understand, and it was one of those awkward moments, and I just hated it. At a certain point, he had decided that he didn’t care. He was gonna do it no matter what. I’m at that point too where I can see why, when you get to that point, it’s freeing, but as a kid, I was like, “Oh, we’re having one of those moments again.”

Laurel MacKenzie: See, that policy is extra problematic because you need a title in addition to the last name, right? Then, I get, “Thanks, Miss MacKenzie,” and it’s like, “Ugh.”

Carrie Gillon: Yeah. Same. I also have a problem with my last name. So, “Gillon” is just like “Dillon” but, for some reason, everyone wants to pronounce it /gɪliən/. Again, I don’t really care if it’s someone I don’t know but, if we’re gonna know each other for more than one interaction, it – yeah.

Laurel MacKenzie: Actually, Carrie, with your last name, I have the /gɪf/d͡ʒɪf/ problem. I wasn’t sure whether you were /gɪlən/ or /d͡ʒɪlən/.

Megan Figueroa: But not /d͡ʒɪliən/, right?

Laurel MacKenzie: No. That one I could tell. There wasn’t another I in there. This just goes to show that, I mean, yes, there can be idiosyncratic pronunciations. You don’t know whether someone says their name with the French pronunciation or the English pronunciation. It’s like, just ask! Ask people how to pronounce their names.

Just two days ago, we got an email from NYU saying, “We have now made it possible for students to enter their name pronunciations into the student system.”

Carrie Gillon: Perfect. But that should’ve been earlier.

Laurel MacKenzie: It should’ve been earlier. And I won’t be entirely happy until everybody knows IPA, and then they can actually enter it in IPA because, I mean, it’s great to get pronunciations, but if they’re not in IPA, I’m not gonna be able – will I really know how to say them?

Carrie Gillon: I totally get it. I mean, especially if it’s not English. You’re like, “Hmm.”

Laurel MacKenzie: “That makes sense to you but” – yeah.

Carrie Gillon: We have the same problem. We say, “If you want us to pronounce your name correctly, can you please give us” – like, if it’s not obvious from the spelling – “Can you give us a pronunciation guide?” A lot of people don’t know the IPA, so they’re like, “Oh, I’m so sorry.” And I’m like, “You shouldn’t apologize, but also, I don’t know!” My best guess. I do my best guess.

Megan Figueroa: I know. I get so nervous pronouncing people’s names on this podcast, even when I ask them before. Then, we start recording and I’m like, “This is so important.” I’ve gotten better but it’s like – because interviewing gets easier, everything gets easier, but the name just feels so heavy and important still. It’s the one thing – okay. We’re gonna respect this in the most perfect pronunciation that I can possibly do.

I dunno. It’s great to talk about names. I could talk all day about names. I’m just realizing how many stories I have about my name. And I know that everyone has tons of stories about their name. Some of them happy, some of them quite discriminatory. There’s all these things.

Laurel MacKenzie: It’s this funny thing that we didn’t choose our names, and yet we’re basically stuck with them unless we wanna jump through a fair amount of hoops.

Megan Figueroa: That’s a good point too though. We should really make it easier for people to legally change their name.

Carrie Gillon: I know. It’s such a mess. Considering that for a long, long time – and women are still doing it – women were expected to change their last names. We still make it very hard for women to do that, all things considered, that that was the norm for so long. It still is, technically.

Megan Figueroa: The money involved – I remember my friend changed their name and it was like – we all had a little get together party for it because it was a big deal because not only is it legally hard but they had to get money for it and there was some fundraising involved. It shouldn’t cost emotionally and financially like it does.

Carrie Gillon: It also has implications for voting later because every time the republicans make it harder to vote, often it affects anyone who’s changed their name.

Megan Figueroa: Yeah. Because of the IDs they have, you mean? They won’t match?

Carrie Gillon: Mm-hmm.

Megan Figueroa: Well, universities are getting a lot better, at least. I can say that working at the University of Arizona. It’s much easier to put which name you would like to have on your ID that will show up with the professors or any of your TAs. They’ll see that name.

Carrie Gillon: That’s good. That’s very good.

Megan Figueroa: It’s a small thing to do, but it’s big because you actually realize how –

Carrie Gillon: Important it was.

Megan Figueroa: – hard it was. Yeah. How important it was – or “is.” Are there any other big ways that – well, okay, here’s the opposite question. How can we not be assholes? You said just be kind and ask people how to pronounce their name. Are there any other advice you have?

Laurel MacKenzie: Don’t make snap judgements by names. Call people what they wanna be called and how they want to be called it – how they want it pronounced. Yeah. I think that pretty much sums it up with names.

Megan Figueroa: It sounds so simple. It could be if we wanted it to, right?

Laurel MacKenzie: Right. Why is it hard?

Carrie Gillon: I mean, I think it’s mostly simple as long as people don’t wanna be assholes. It’s just we get anxious when we don’t know how to pronounce a name. That’s the only thing that makes it kind of emotionally hard, and we should recognize that, but other than that, I think, it’s very easy.

Megan Figueroa: As someone who is an anxious person, I totally get it.

Carrie Gillon: Me too!

Megan Figueroa: Yeah, yeah. Gotta be some room to forgive yourself for it because it’s harder when you make a big deal about it after, right? You don’t wanna make the person uncomfortable by being like, “I’m so sorry. I’m the worst.”

Carrie Gillon: Right. Just remember with Kirby’s episode when we talked about using the wrong pronouns, don’t go like, “Oh my god! I’m so sorry.” Just be like, “Oh, sorry.”

Megan Figueroa: Then, we move on. Make the change.

Laurel MacKenzie: I mean, name spelling is also something that is very variable. There’s “Elisabeth”s with an S, and with a Z, and that’s another thing where, make a good faith effort to get it right, but it’s not the end of the world. As a MacKenzie who has an A in the last name, I get “McKenzie” without an A a lot and – correct it and you move on.

Megan Figueroa: Except, if you spell “Meghan” with an H, I will kill you. Just kidding. [Laughter]

Laurel MacKenzie: I’m gonna send you a box full of Megan-with-an-H coffee mugs. [Laughter]

Megan Figueroa: Are you gonna do it with a sharpie and take the H out? Just put an X through it?

Laurel MacKenzie: Yes. All I could find. Hope it was good enough. [Laughter]

Carrie Gillon: Well, this has been so fun. Thank you so much for coming to talk to us.

Laurel MacKenzie: This has been great. My pleasure.

Megan Figueroa: Well, shall we say, “Don’t be an asshole”?

Carrie Gillon: Don’t be an asshole!

Laurel MacKenzie: Don’t be an asshole.

[Music]

Carrie Gillon: As of right now, we have two patrons to thank for this month. I’d like to thank Jamar Brown and Shelby Greenwood.

Megan Figueroa: Thank you so much.

Carrie Gillon: Yes. Thank you.

Megan Figueroa: I love all of you so much.

Carrie Gillon: heart eyes motherfucker! [Laughter] If you wanna join us on Patreon, you can, at patreon.com/vocalfriespod. We do bonus episodes for the $5.00 level. Everyone from the $3.00 level and $5.00 level gets stickers!

Carrie Gillon: The Vocal Fries Podcast is produced by me, Carrie Gillon, for Halftone Audio, them music by Nick Granum. You can find us on Tumblr, Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram @vocalfriespod. You can email us at [email protected], and our website is vocalfriespod.com.

#linguistic discrimination #names #proper names

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bffhreprise · 5 years ago

Text

Entry 312

Throughout the night, I gave James a rather lengthy tour of my ancestral home. Sadly, he admired the architecture far more than the relevance of the antiques to my family, but I wasn’t particularly surprised. Still, I did my best to explain the family history without boring him too much. If only there were more from Arthur’s time still around, I might have been able to hold his attention at length, since he did have a fondness for that particular ancestor.

When I insisted on doing a little bit of work, he was obviously disappointed. I could understand why he refused to use my secondary computer, given how incredibly slow these machines were compared with Mila’s hardware. I doubted James really considered how much the technology in his house could revolutionize the world, but none of it could be shared. Aaliyah wouldn’t let us. With gaming out, James went out to roam, so I absently tracked his meandering course through the mansion as I did my best to finish quickly. Unfortunately, new problems always arose, though there weren’t any so pressing that I insisted on keeping at them when he returned.

“Have much left?” he inquired.

“Always, darling, but I can excuse myself if you are ready to begin.” I assured him.

“Well, Sebastian has already procured everything we’ll need, so we might as well.” he replied, sounding hopeful.

Smiling, I said, “Excellent. Give me thirty seconds. I’m quite interested in seeing what sorts of spells are utilized in your craft.”

“About that…” he started, interrupting my thoughts immediately. “Will you be completely disappointed if there is something for you to sign? Sorry, but there are reasons, as I’m sure you can imagine.”

I nodded, feeling dejected. “This is precisely why I worried about her getting involved in your life.” I asserted, knowing the reasons revolved around Aaliyah. I knew I was being a little silly, since James probably wouldn’t have discovered whatever he was about to show me without Aaliyah, but I wasn’t in the mood to admit it.

“Still worried about her?” he asked as I hurried to close my meetings.

“Always. As fantastic as she can be, I know her mood can be mercurial, and there is nothing that will withstand her wrath.” I asserted, unable to share what I had seen of the devastation she had done to my family.

James had the nerve to smirk, saying, “I find her perfectly adorable.”

“You’ve seen her other side.” I pointed out, knowing the Reaper wasn’t forgettable.

“As I recall, everyone was a bit put off by her presence when I was fighting for your hand. She seemed fine by me.” he replied, actually looking as if he was considering what had happened.

“Has she actually shown you what happens to someone killed by her scythe? I know she’s generally too quick, but she’s not above demonstrations.” I replied, certain he hadn’t. The chilling display still haunted me whenever my thoughts meandered to it.

“Want one!?” questioned Aaliyah, appearing out of nowhere. She was giddy as ever as she stared between us.

“No.” I told her firmly. “Never again.”

“No promises.” she teased with a wink. “I brought the paperwork for you!”

“Lovely. Was I saying too much?” I questioned, wondering why she decided to disturb us at this moment. I had barely ended my meetings.

“No, Alpy. James is more aware of who I am than anyone else alive today, including Carl, and that’s really saying something.” she insisted, overly happy about the idea.

“Please excuse my disbelief.” I told her, taking the tablet she held and perusing the annoyingly threatening document. Still, part of my mind considered the truth of her words. If James really did know her better than even my family, which was possible given he knew about the flying and Chronos, could he have an actual reason to trust her?

“I can’t explain yet, but I’ve seen her.” stated James. “Really seen her, not how she is now or as Death. She’s magnificent, I assure you.” He winced very slightly as if his head was hurting, but he didn’t look to Aaliyah as if she had done something.

“Don’t worry, boss-man, sir. She’ll know well enough one day.” promised Aaliyah, which made a chill go up my spine, but James instantly relaxed.

“If she’s truly that magnificent, then why must her infernal contracts be quite so complicated?” I asked, uncertain how to interpret part already. “Surely, she could have me promise not to tell and accept that my word would suffice.”

“As you wish.” stated Aaliyah, snatching the tablet away from me.

I nearly reached for it again before saying “What? Are you serious?” Gauging her with all of my senses wasn’t enough. She still seemed perfectly adorable without a hint of deceit as she nodded.

“Uh huh. We’ll be boring this time.” she replied, feigning a hint of regret over the loss of the “fun”.

“But what about…” I started, pointing toward the tablet.

“I trust you.” she replied, interrupting me.

Despite her apparent earnesty, the lack of specifics left an inherently more frightening, vague threat in my mind. “I haven’t even promised anything yet.” I pointed out, hoping she’d give me some defined lines of where I could stride safely.

“And I trust you.” she insisted solemnly. Then her face took on that enormous grin as she exclaimed “Have fun!” She vanished with the sound still lingering in the air.

“She’s messing with me again.” I insisted as I visually looked for her. She could hide her heat from me with ease. “The bloody girl is playing another of her games.”

James suddenly hugged me, kissing the top of my head. “Shall we get started?’ he asked as he pulled back to pull me behind him by the hand. The materials for our project were effortlessly gathered with a spell, reminding me that not even a year had passed since he first learned of magic. He did at least allow me to undo the protective spells guarding my father instead of sauntering through them as if they weren’t there. I wouldn’t fair so well against them.

After greeting my father, which was still a thrill for me after the seemingly endless years of silence, James started explaining the spells he had planned for us, starting with the most basic. His surprise at my knowledge of metallurgy amused me, though I didn’t admit some of his spells seemed slightly better than what I would have used, especially regarding the formation of an alloy I didn’t recognize. As he explained the metal's properties and the reasons behind these particular spells, my trust in his ability grew by leaps and bounds. This was certainly the man who had made my engagement ring. I had given Aaliyah too much credit for its design in my head, not that I was holding that against James in any way.

Then I noticed something disturbing. Pointing to it, I said, “This part here looks like something I’ve seen in a book on the dark arts.”

“I’m sure it’s similar, but we’ll be using that bit to identify one another.” he insisted.

“James, this probably isn’t wise.” I argued, knowing stories of family members who had attempted to unravel the dark arts with unfortunate consequences to their bodies and minds.

Solemnly gazing into my eyes, he said, “I swear on my life that this is perfectly safe. I know in great detail what every part of these spells does.”

I wanted to trust him, but part of that came from his magic having free reign on my mind. Protecting myself in any way from his enchantment while keeping my mind open to Father was impossible. Forcing myself to fight that bewitchment, I said, “How could you possibly know what every part does? No one does. We simply know the rough purpose of any given pattern we use, but I’ve demonstrated to you the disastrous results that can happen when attempting to alter patterns as well as combinations we know to be disastrous.”

He sighed, dismantling his spell while creating another with which I was quite familiar. Taking on the tone of an instructor, he started making claims about what each individual part of the spell did while explaining what the small changes he made throughout it would do, which he certainly could have known from seeing me use it, but he altered it further. Then he released the spell, creating a large wave of fire to shoot outward in a plane above us.

Ignoring my father’s amusement at the sight, I said, “You’ve obviously done that before, so knowing what will happen isn’t that impressive.”

“Yes, but I’ve also studied, as I’ve told you before, from a book of sorts which I can’t share with you yet. Trust me. These spells we’ll be using are perfectly safe for this use.” he insisted, sounding as if he desperately wanted to say more. Indulging himself a little, he said, “I’ve been studying magic a great deal since I enhanced Jarod’s suits.”

“Fine. What is this supposed to do?” I questioned, demonstrating the necromantic portion he had created earlier.

“We’ll be using the part that reminds you of necromancy to identify one another, so the rings will react to us. If you prefer, we could tie the rings to each other and leave things at that, but I thought a little extra information would be nice.” he replied somewhat evasively, smiling at me. He obviously wanted me to ask for more.

“What sort of information?” I questioned, indulging him.

“We’ll not only know precisely in what direction the other is, but we’ll have a sense of distance as well. The rings will also pulse slightly in time with our heartbeats, so you’ll know if I’m alive and calm no matter where I am. Furthermore, the rings won’t function for anyone else.” he stated proudly.

“All that from a bit of necromancy?” I asked, impressed by the notion. If he truly came up with that on his own, James was probably the greatest authority of magic I knew, not that I would admit it to him until receiving further confirmation.

“Well, more than that the bit of necromancy will allow for it.” he replied, still being evasive but unwilling to say more.

“I can easily imagine some saying that feeling your partner’s heartbeat through a ring is a bit much.” I teased, finding the notion romantic myself.

“Are you one of those people? Personally, I’ll find knowing with absolute certainty that you are alive to be wonderful.” he insisted, obviously hoping that I’d agree.

“You’ll also be able to avoid me when I’m angry. Nothing gets my heart pumping quite the same.” I replied, losing my humor as the reality of the thought reminded me of how far I needed to come in self-control. My temper had always been a problem for me.

“I’ll know where to find you, so I can find out what’s wrong. Besides, I always know when you’re angry if I’m nearby. Your magic gives that away.” he explained, gazing into my eyes as he lightly touched my cheek.

“And what if I don’t want to be found because I might lash out at you?” I questioned.

“Marriage isn’t a perfectly smooth ride for anyone. I’d rather know where to find you than be left wondering where you are. There are also a number of protective spells I’d like us to place on the rings. I do need to warn you that undoing these spells is far more difficult than placing them. You could consider this an eternal bond if we go through with it.” he warned, looking quite serious.

“I figured as much.” I admitted, finding that as the most logical point of the necromancy. The rings would draw energy from us. “Let’s do it. All of it. I find myself amused by the idea of always having your heart.”

“Well, there’s that too, but you don’t need a ring for it.” he assured me with a charming smile.

The conversation on spells continued for a time before moving onto a discussion of aesthetics. Our rings would have engravings, imperceptible to most, of us dancing with one another in a sequence around the bands. His ring would have twin bands of rubies to match the ruby of my engagement ring, and mine would have sapphires to also match my other ring. Set into the dark metal of his alloy, we believed the effect would be quite fantastic.

When we started on our test rings, I felt James watching me. He surely wasn’t surprised that I was doing this with my eyes closed, at least he shouldn’t be with how much he knows of my abilities with heat. Our test rings were so perfectly formed that we could have used them if not for a peculiarity of certain spells. James claimed that they would only fully set if applied while the metal was molten, so I took his word for it. I was very impressed that he was able to craft so perfectly without my power over heat.

The final rings took an incredible amount of concentration due to the complexity of the spells going into them, probably the most complicated spells I had ever cast. Keeping myself from wondering how he had managed to come up with these was somewhat easy until after I finished, due to my inability to think of anything outside of the rings or spells in those moments, but the moment I finished, my musings started taking hold… until I saw him smiling at me as he held up my ring.

“Let’s hope you got the sizing right. They won’t come off easily, so we can’t try them on.” he teased, still grinning at me.

I playfully hit him and insisted we showed Father. I knew from the scattered images pressing into my mind, that my father couldn’t fully comprehend what we were doing or why, but he loved me still. Knowing that his love for me lasted through his mental breakdown gave me hope that I could still have a meaningful relationship with him, even in this state, and James was fully in support of it. How lucky was I?

#Best Friend For Hire Reprise #Best #Friend #For #Hire #Reprise #Jovial Times #Jovial #Times #Fantasy #Fiction #Story

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soulofatiny · 6 years ago

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No fear, I’m here...Ch.4: “Gremlin”

-warning(s): minor mentions of symptoms of anxiety

-word count: 4k

-a|n: here is the 4th chapter! there’s finally some signs of character development beginning and i’m super excited! i’m honestly a hoe for character development

happy reading!

Ch.5

masterlist

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“Goodnight, y/n.”

“Goodnight, Hongjoong.”

You finally opened the door to your guest bedroom, fighting off the unsettling feeling that resided deep within you as you entered. Shutting the door behind you, you clutched onto your chest along with the silky fabric of the dress. What was this uncomfortable sensation you were feeling? Were you ill? No, you’ve felt this way before in the past many years ago, the same displeasing nostalgia that has been haunting you throughout your lifetime. You felt your heart beating faster as your chest was getting tighter and tighter.

“Breathe…just breathe.”

You spoke these words often… even though breathing was supposed to be an automatic maneuver for the human body, you still felt the need to remind yourself as soon as you felt your heart rate picking up, restricting the space in your chest.

After inhaling and exhaling for a couple of minutes, the weighty pounding of your heart managed to subside as it gradually went back to its normal rate. Dropping the hand that was clutching onto your dress, you switched the light switch on as the brightness illuminated throughout the room, finally taking in your surroundings. The first thing that caught your attention besides the spacious room was the window that engulfed the farthest wall of the room completely. Something that was an ongoing theme for this entire mansion, large windows. Whoever designed this mansion must’ve admired the view that the world had to offer. You continued to trail your eyes, examining the room. A bed that was rather expansive in size laid on the center of the right wall. It was definitely way too big compared to what you were used to back in your small studio apartment. The floors had the same marble tiles that were used in the hallway and simplistic art was hanged on several areas of the wall. All in all, it was minimalistic and chic except for the sheer vast amount of space that differed from your usual lifestyle.

Suddenly, you were startled out of your thoughts as someone knocked on the door behind you. You peaked through the peephole on the door and saw Seonghwa standing there with a bag in his hand, patiently waiting for you to open the door.

What did he want…? You checked your forearms, making sure you still had your blades on you, the tip of the sharp weapon ready to make its appearance if necessary before you opened the door.

“Hey, y/n! I’m glad you’re still awake. I wanted to give you this,” he extended the arm that held the bag in front of you, “it’s a set of pajamas. I didn’t think you would want to sleep in what you were wearing now.”

You retracted the blades further back into your leather sleeves, seeing the coast was clear, and reached to grab the bag but something within you wanted to poke fun at him, “what’s wrong with what I’m wearing now?”

Seonghwa widened his eyes and waved his hands speedily, “Oh no! No, nothing’s wrong. It’s a really nice dress. I just wanted to make sure you were comforta–“

You chuckled quietly as he continued to banter and a blush began to spread across his cheeks. His cute behavior contrasted greatly from the flirtatious mature demeanor he portrayed back at Fellaz. You finally grabbed the bag from him, being content with teasing him, “I’m just kidding, Seonghwa. Thank you. I appreciate it,” you smiled up at him. Seonghwa smiled back, as the pink tint still briefly remained on his cheeks. “It’s no problem at all. Goodnight, y/n. I hope you’ll sleep well, yeah?”

“Yeah, you too. Goodnight, Seonghwa,” you replied as you both shared one last look at each other and closed the door. You changed into the pajamas that was given to you and head to bed, feeling the much needed rest hitting you deeply. As soon as you laid your head onto the soft fluffy pillow, sleep engulfed you entirely.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Nana……Nana…….”

What’s going on?

“Nana…”

Who’s calling me..?

“Nana! Are you paying attention?”

You looked up to your new teacher, “Miss…”

“Professor! Just call me Professor. Now, come on! Let’s go meet your brother.”

You nodded and followed your Professor back out to the hallway. Her heels clacked loudly and you looked to notice that it was a peculiar color that contrasted from her white lab coat immensely. You tried to inspect it closer but still found it strange no matter how much you examined it.

“Professor…”

The taller woman looked down at you and brought her pen to her clipboard, getting ready to write something down, “Yes, Nana?”

“Your shoes…what color is it?”

She looked down at her shoes and nodded in understanding, “Ah, I see. They probably didn’t show you what ‘colors’ were back at the phase-one training, I’m assuming.”

You nodded, “Yes, but I am familiar with the vocabulary. Please teach me.”

Your teacher smiled widely at you, “Yes of course! My shoes are blue. For example, the ocean is usually portrayed by this color as well.”

“Blue…” you whispered to yourself as you looked at her heels, trying to memorize the newfound color you’ve learned.

The Professor finished jotting down her notes and looked back at you, “Yes, now come on. We’re almost there!”

You both continued to walk down the hallway until she stopped at one of the doors, “Set is in here. He should already know that you’re coming and he’ll fill you in on how things work around here, okay?”

She looked at you expectantly, awaiting your answer.

“Yes, thank you, Professor,” you bowed at the older woman.

“Great! I will see you around Nana!” At that, the professor walked away, the clacking of her heels growing quieter and quieter as the distance between the two of you increased.

You turned to the big metal door in front of you, reached for the knob, and entered.

You walked inside without making a single sound, something you grew in habit of during your phase one training. The room was average size with a bunk bed on the left corner of the room. On the bottom bunk, you saw a boy around your age that was laying down on his back, reading a book. He looked so absorbed in it that you bet he wouldn’t even notice you even if you made a sound. The book was covering his face from your point of view so you moved a little closer.

“You must be Nana,” the boy suddenly uttered without moving from his current position.  “Y-Yes. You’re Set?” you mumbled softly.

The boy finally sat up, setting his book to the side, and answered, “Yeah, nice to finally meet you, Nana.”

You examined Set’s features. He had dark, slightly wavy locks that covered his forehead and had big brown eyes. But what caught your attention the most was the soft pink-hued birthmark that settled next to his left eye. You realized that you were staring for too long and looked down.

Set noticed your nervousness and reassured you, “You don’t have to be nervous. I know this is new, but we’ve been assigned as siblings so if you have any questions, don’t be afraid to ask.” Set smiled at you softly, hoping it would encourage you to be more comfortable but instead you were confused.

“Nervous..? Afraid…? Is this what I am feeling?” You questioned out loud but more towards for your own self. You were beginning to learn all types of emotions and label them to match your current feelings. Set knew that you wouldn’t understand at first. After all, he also went through the same exact thing when he first arrived at the phase-two institution.

“Yeah, that’s most likely what you’re feeling. It’s okay you’ll get used to it soon.”

You looked at the boy in front of you, “Set…how long have you been here?”

“Two years, so I was eight-years-old when I got here.”

Your eyes widened in shock, “How could anyone be able to finish all of their training at age eight?”

Set laughed at your reaction, “I’m only the third person who got here. I think the two before me came here at age seven.”

You whispered, “Wow,” again, more to yourself but Set still managed to hear it and continued, “I would’ve been able to graduate earlier but I sort of struggled with combat training. They actually let me graduate because my academic score was the highest they’ve ever received.”

You saw his cheesy grin and you knew he was proud of himself. Suddenly, your voice came out in a rhythm pattern without your control. Your eyes grew wide as you covered your mouth as Set laughed even harder, “You just laughed for the first time!”

You laughed again…you were laughing. You clutched onto your stomach, as you continued to laugh. You couldn’t really breathe as comfortably but you didn’t dislike the feeling.

You smiled wide, “Set! I think I like laughing!”

To that, Set stared at you for some time before replying, “I think I like it when you laugh too,” sharing your happiness.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You jumped awake.

The sunlight that entered from the large window reflected onto your newly opened eyes from resting. You brought your arm up, letting the sleeve of your pajamas cover your eyes so you could have your momentary darkness again. You knew it was roughly 7:00 am because you have an internal alarm clock that woke you up automatically every morning. You’ve always cursed this function, especially this morning since you dreamt about your first meeting with Set. It may have been a dream, but you knew deep inside that it was actually your memories.

Where could Set have gone…? Why isn’t he in your life anymore…? You truly wished you didn’t wake up so you could’ve continued your dream, desperate to find the answers to your many questions.

“How could I have forgotten you…” your voice struggling to rasp out due to your dry throat.

After debating if you should leave the guest bedroom, you eventually decided to so you could observe the mansion more.

You swiftly exited out of the room without making a single sound, the same habit that stuck around with you since you were ten-years-old.

The mansion was quiet, everyone was probably still asleep. Honestly, you didn’t know where to go or what you’re exactly looking for. You just needed to find something to report to your boss at least once a week. You kept walking, hoping that you’ll end up somewhere until a door you just passed by opened suddenly.

“Y/n? You’re up already?”

You turned around to see the owner of the voice. It’s Jongho.

“Hey, Jongho. Yeah, I always wake up around this time. I wanted something to drink but I think I’m lost,” you silently hoped that you didn’t seem suspicious but Jongho chuckled, indicating that you’re probably safe.

“Yeah, it’s a big place. I’ll show you where the kitchen is at.”

“Cool, thanks.”

Jongho nodded and led you towards the way. You both walked in silence, maybe this was a good time for you to gather information. Just when you were about to speak, Jongho beat you to it instead, “Were you able to sleep well?”

You nodded, you didn’t really know what to say about your rest. Sleeping is just…sleeping. Something that’s a necessity for the human body.

“Are the others awake too?” you questioned, not knowing what to expect.

Jongho laughed, “If you’re wondering if you have to see Yunho’s dumb face, then no. That guy doesn’t wake up until almost noon so you’re safe.”

You stifled a chuckle, “Thank goodness… but what about the others? For real this time.”

You both arrived at the kitchen. Jongho reached towards the refrigerator to grab a bottle of water for you before answering, “Hmm let’s see. Seonghwa, Yeosang, Hongjoong and Mingi are usually the first ones awake. Seonghwa goes to the market every morning and buys groceries to cook breakfast for us so he should be back anytime by now. Yeosang on the other hand, wakes up early but stays in his room until breakfast is ready. Hongjoong stays in his office to sort out missions and Mingi usually follows him to help him. Wooyoung actually sleeps even later than Yunho, usually past noon. No one really complains though because we save money on breakfast. And San, it really depends for him. He could either be sleeping the entire day away or wake up around this time like me to go work out in the training room. Which, I’m sure he must be waiting for me down at the basement.”

As if on cue, Seonghwa enters the kitchen with his arms full of grocery bags.

“Ah, see I was right,” Jongho nudged your arm lightly, “Morning, hyung. That’s a lot of bags you got there.”

Seonghwa placed all of the bags on the island counter, slightly out of breath, “Morning, guys! There was a sale! Oh and y/n, I got some clothes that you can change into for when you go back to your place to pack your things.”

You stood there astonished. This was not what you’ve expected from a crew of deadly members… Joking around is one thing but their lifestyles seemed…normal.

Were they pulling an act so you won’t find out about their true selves?

What were they hiding?

Seonghwa and Jongho exchanged eye contact, not knowing why you fell silent. “Y/n…are you okay?” Seonghwa asked as both he and Jongho looked ‘genuinely’ concerned.

They must be good actors…

“Yeah, I’m alright. It’s just… you all seem really close and.. normal.”

“It’s because we’re like family. No, we are family,” Jongho stated confidently. Hongjoong said the same exact thing last night. How could their leader and their maknae be able to sync so well together despite the major difference in levels of authority…? You truly couldn’t comprehend how it was possible.

Seonghwa added on, “Y/n, we’re really close because we’ve all been through tough times together. We were lucky to be able to build that relationship to where it’s standing today. Hongjoong and I didn’t get along at all at first…but now I can’t imagine life without him.”

“Ew, hyung, sappy much?~” Jongho joked with his older member, earning him a smack on his nape.

“Well, I really gotta go now. San is going to kill me. I’ll see you guys at breakfast!” Jongho fleed, leaving you and Seonghwa alone.

With the absence of the maknae’s energetic presence, you and Seonghwa felt some sort of silence that was a little awkward but you both didn’t dislike it.

“Can I help you make breakfast? It must be tough to cook for the entire group.”

Seonghwa smiled, appreciating your offer, “I love cooking since it’s a hobby of mine so I really don’t mind, but I would love the help! I’m thinking about making omelettes and french toast.”

You nodded, “Sounds goo-“

“What are you two doing here?”

Oh no…it’s that voice. His voice. You and Seonghwa both turned around, seeing that Yunho standing there.

“Yunho! You woke up early today and you’re not half asleep either~” Seonghwa joked with his younger member but Yunho’s eyes remained on you. Seonghwa immediately felt the tension taking over the kitchen and continued, “Y/n is here to help me make breakfast! Isn’t that nice of her?” he emphasized every word of the last sentence, almost threatening Yunho to agree. You expected Yunho to say some sarcastic remark but you thought wrong.

“Sure. Can I help too?”

“What?” you and Seonghwa both blurted out at the same time. It would’ve been a comical moment but you two were seriously confused at his unexpected answer.

“I want to help too. Make breakfast, that is.”

You stayed silent, not knowing what to say this time but Seonghwa was quick to agree, almost too enthusiastically.

“Great! Then Yunho, will you crack the eggs? Y/n you can begin cooking it on the frying pan when Yunho is done. I’ll work on the french toasts.”

Yunho nodded, but you still stared at him. Honestly not knowing what he’s thinking. When Seonghwa turned to work on the toasts, Yunho moved to the counter where the eggs and the bowl were, ignoring your stare. Really, just what was he thinking? He didn’t even apologize for his rude remark last night. Seriously, this boy didn’t have a single drop of mannerism within him.

“Hey, gremlin. Are you going to help or are you going to keep staring?”

Oh no…you sensed the cheekiness in his voice.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer~”

And there it was. Honestly, it was way too early to fight back. Yunho looked at you with a cocky grin, the stupid grin that you wanted to smack off of his face. Obviously content, he turned back to the bowl with an egg in his hand. You expected him to crack an egg like a normal person, but then you remembered that Yunho wasn’t normal and he smashed the egg on the corner of the bowl with full force, causing the egg shells to fly all over the counter and into the bowl. Even then, you decided to be nice and stayed quiet, giving Yunho a chance to redeem himself because after all, every single human being could crack an eg—

*CRACK*

You stared at Yunho, appalled. He broke the bowl….

You could tell Yunho was flustered by the way his shoulders tensed, “Don’t say a single wor-“

A laugh escaped from you, quick to cover your mouth but you still couldn’t help yourself as you continued to laugh despite doing your best to block it. Yunho watched you in shock as you laughed, arm propped against the counter for support. This was the first time he’s ever heard you laugh. Not the fake chuckles you let out occasionally that he really dislikes, but a true, authentic laugh.

“Gremlin, you-“

“What’s going on?” Seonghwa bursts in observing the situation. He was about to ask what you were laughing about until his eyes laid on the broken bowl on the counter next to Yunho.

“You broke my favorite bowl!” Seonghwa picked up the shards, clearly upset over his fine china.

“Sorry, hyung. I’ll buy you a new one. Um...I’m gonna go before I break anything else.” Yunho walked out, leaving Seonghwa distressed and with you finally collecting yourself.

When Yunho left the kitchen, he leaned against the wall of the hallway as his hand was covering his deeply flushed cheeks.

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The members all began gathering at the dining table one by one, a tradition that they liked to at least attempt to keep, to eat breakfast together. According to Seonghwa, it didn’t always work out because some of the members slept in so you were surprised to see that everyone was present this morning, even Wooyoung who supposedly usually slept past noon. You made eye contact with Yeosang and he pulled the seat next to him and you sat down.

“Hyung, I thought today was omelette day?” Wooyoung announced.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Seonghwa replied bluntly as Yunho twitched a little in his seat. Wooyoung nodded, happy even with just french toast, “Let’s dig in!”

Everyone hummed in agreement until Hongjoong stood up, a glass of orange juice in his hand, “Let’s make a toast to our new member, y/n!” The rest of the members collectively joined with their respective drinks of coffee, tea, and orange juice, all cheering. Wooyoung grabbed Yunho’s arm and lifted it for him along with his own drink, “Cheers!”

After the members finished eating and carried their plates to the sink, they all dispersed back to their individual activities or missions. You saw Hongjoong placing his plate into the sink so you walked up to him.

“Hey, Hongjoong. Can I go get my stuff at my place? It shouldn’t take long…”

“Of course,” he smiled at you until he spoke again, voice softer this time, “You don’t have to ask to go out, you know? I trust every single one of my members. I just expect them to stick with their responsibilities but other than that, they all have complete freedom. They’re not robots…”

You nodded, things were definitely different here. It’s strange how something fluttered in your stomach at the thought of that.

“Y/n, I’ll send someone that’s available to help you. Just wait at the entrance, okay?”

“Okay, thank you.”

“It’s no problem at all, y/n.”

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You’ve been waiting at the entrance for almost 20 minutes now… You were fixing to leave without any help until you heard him.

“Gremlin, where have you been? I’ve been looking all over for you.”

You turned to look at Yunho, of course…the help was him.

“I’ve been waiting at the entrance like Hongjoong told me to for the past 20 minutes,” you hated wasting time more than anything.

“That’s the guest entrance. No one showed you the member’s entrance?”

“No…”

“Fine, I’ll show you,” Yunho reached to hold your wrist but you yanked it back a little too harsh to the point that it even surprised you.

“It’s fine… let’s go,” you walked past him as he retracted his hand.

The “member’s entrance” was actually a garage, you noted. Yunho opened the garage door and you were about to walk out until he stopped you, “What are you doing? We’re not walking there,” he tilted his head over to the cars that were aligned perfectly. Each car was spotless and looked brand new. It was luxurious and normal people definitely would’ve loved to ride the lavish cars but when you thought about having to get in the car, you suddenly felt nauseous. The negative memories of you being transported to different training institutions flashed across your mind, the only times you’ve ever ridden a car.

Yunho noticed you not following him, “Gremlin, come on. The sooner we finish this the better-“

“I can’t.”

“What?” Yunho turned back at you to complain but he noticed your complexion being paler than usual with a weary expression on your face.

“Nothing, let’s go,” you swallowed your anxiousness, opened the door, and sat on the passenger’s side, buckling yourself in with shaky hands.

‘Breathe…just breathe…You’re not going to another training base…’ you reminded yourself in your head. Yunho followed and switched the key in ignition. He drove out of the garage and head for your apartment, asking you directions every now and then as you mumbled back.

Only ten more minutes to go until you reach there, it’ll be okay…

Two minutes have passed and you were holding your breath at this point so Yunho wouldn’t notice your uneasy breathing. Little did you know, Yunho kept stealing glances at you, observing your condition. He suddenly swerved to the side of the road, putting the car in break and parked it.

Fear began to creep up as you expected the worse.

“W-What are you doin-“

“Get out.”

He was going to try to kill you. Of course, he would. He hated you and now is the perfect opportunity to do so.

You got out, getting ready to fight for your life. But Yunho simply got out of the car, locked it, and placed the car keys in his pocket.

“Which way now?” he asked looking around everywhere and at everything except for you.

“What?”

“Your place. Which way should we go?” he said as he looked down, finally connecting his eyes with yours.

You meekly pointed at the direction, “Um...left.”

Yunho began walking towards left without a second later, hands in his pocket.

“What about the car?” you asked.

“Leave it. We don’t need it.”

You chased after him, struggling to keep up with his long legs, and confused as to why he would suddenly want to walk.

∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘

-e|n: my heart may or may not have fluttered while writing this... I hope you enjoyed this chapter! let me know what you think, thank you for reading :)

(p.s. the next chapter should be out soon since I’ve already written half of it...)

#ateez #a-tothe-z masterlist #atzwriters #seonghwa #hongjoong #yunho #yeosang #san #mingi #wooyoung #jongho #ateez scenarios #assassin au

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theresneverenoughfandoms · 6 years ago

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Sanders Unsolved - ch. 1

Okay I admit it, I’m trash, but the second I saw the ‘Ghost Hunting’ prompt on @sanderssidesspook ‘s Spooky Month prompt list, I KNEW I had to go with my favourite Sanders Sides AU ever, Logan and Virgil x Buzzfeed Unsolved

Also, as a fun twist, I’m combining two of the prompts and adding ‘Ghost!Sides’ to the mix! So without further ado, Sanders Unsolved!

Word Count: 5,566

Pairings: Romantic Analogical, Romantic Royality

Warnings: talk of major homophobia, talk of murder, swearing, one use of a dated and offensive term for homosexuals, general spookiness

---

“This week on Sanders Unsolved we’re investigating the remains of the mysterious Lovell manor near what is now Riverside, California as part of our ongoing investigation into the question, are ghosts real?” Virgil recited in his signature rich tones as Logan shook his head beside him, exasperated. However, it was quite difficult to remain straight-faced as he heard the subtle excitement in his husband’s voice. Logan and Virgil began bantering easily as the latter told the story that had led them to visit the supposedly haunted locale.

The manor was built in the early 1800′s and belonged to a wealthy aristocrat named Roman Lovell. Lovell lived his life apparently doing all he could to be as adored as possible, from writing and starring in local theatre productions to donating to practically every existing charity and orphanage in western America at the time. All this philanthropy, however, had disastrous consequences for Lovell. Eyes were on the man at almost all times and people began to notice a strange pattern emerging. Lovell had many servants to maintain his estate including a jovial young man named Patton Woodward, a gardener. Despite his duties assumedly being mainly outdoors, Woodward regularly entered the house and did not leave until hours later. Eventually, a curious reporter trespassed onto Lovell’s grounds and supposedly caught a glimpse of Lovell and Woodward waltzing together through an uncovered window. An article written by that reporter was in a prominent place in the next day’s paper and the rumour quickly spread. Roman Lovell was a sodomite. Tragically, soon after the article was published, both Lovell and Woodward’s bodies were found broken and bloodied in Lovell’s home. Their murderer was never identified.

“The devastating events that took place in this mansion have had many believers wondering if perhaps the disgruntled spirits of Roman Lovell and Patton Woodward remain, desperate for revenge. Tonight, we aim to find out.”

After the two finished filming the exposition, Logan went and turned off the camera, preparing to move farther into the house. As he disassembled the tripod, he glanced around their current location. They had set up in the main foyer of the old mansion. Two grand staircases mirrored each other on either side of the room and a massive chandelier, dusty and neglected, hung above their heads. Roman Lovell had certainly had a flair for the dramatic.

“Where are we searching first?” Virgil looked up from checking the ghost-hunting equipment and thought for a moment.

“We’ll start with the less haunted areas of the house and work our way up so I’m thinking we go kitchen and dining hall, library, and the master bedroom first. Then we can check out the gardens and the ballroom, which are the most active parts of the estate.”

“Yes, because any part of a building that has been abandoned for over 100 years can be called ‘active’.” Logan quipped, earning him a withering glare from Virgil. The two laughed as they picked up the equipment and made their way to the dining hall.

---

“It is now...” Virgil checked his digital watch, which shone a dim light onto his face in the darkness, “1:27 AM and we are heading outside to visit the gardens. The gardens are supposedly one of the most spiritually active locations on the grounds. Multiple visitors and paranormal investigators have reported seeing the figure of an adult man wandering the rows of plants. He has been described as wearing clothing appropriate for the serving class in the mid-1800s. Could this be the lost spirit of Patton Woodward?”

Logan held the camera steadily as Virgil ‘hyped up’ the audience. (He truly didn’t understand the terms his husband used sometimes). The biting cold wind rushed through the duo’s hair as they exited the house and walked towards where the gardens once flourished. Something crunched under Virgil’s shoe as they arrived and he glanced down to see delicate frost coating the grass.

“Logan?”

“Yes?”

“Are you seeing the frost on the ground?” Logan raised an eyebrow but his eyes widened ever so slightly in surprise when he too saw the frost.

“Well...it is a rather chilly night.” He reasoned, placing a steady hand on Virgil’s arm to try and reassure him.

“In June?”

“It happens.”

“In California?” Virgil cried, exasperated. Before Logan could attempt to rationalize the situation further, another gust of wind slammed into them and the two men stumbled. Logan’s hand fell from Virgil’s arm and he closed his eyes to protect them from the sudden force. When he opened his eyes again, their surroundings seemed much darker somehow. Thankfully, he was able to make out Virgil’s shadowy silhouette about 10 feet in front of him.

“Virgil, are you alright?” An unsettling feeling gnawed at his gut when he received no response.

“Virgil?” He called again, stepping closer to his husband. Reaching out slowly, his fingers gently brushed the figure’s shoulder. He had expected to feel the familiar texture of Virgil’s well-worn hoodie and was chilled to his core when he realized that whoever this was, it was not Virgil.

The stranger before him slowly turned around and paralyzing, irrational fear gripped Logan’s chest when he saw his eyes, which were glowing an ethereal sky blue.

---

Shit shit shit shit shit shit. Virgil was practically vibrating with fear as he glanced around his new location. No longer was he outside in the gardens. A vaulted ceiling stretched into the darkness above him and muted moonlight shone through the towering windows set into the right wall. No doubt about it, he had somehow been magically fucking transported into the ballroom. The most haunted part of the entire house.

And Logan was nowhere to be seen.

Swivelling his head around, Virgil attempted to locate the door. Panic coursed through his veins when he realized it was on the other side of the ballroom.

“What are the chances that I walk across the room and nothing awful happens to me?” He muttered, checking to see if the Go-Pro attached to his chest was still filming. If he was gonna die, he was gonna do it catching some ghosts on tape damn it.

“I must say, the chances are remarkably slim.” A voice echoed through the cavernous space. Virgil tensed as a thick, red-tinged fog rolled into the room and began taking the shape of...something...in the center of the floor. The candles mounted on the walls flared to life and the fog suddenly fell away, revealing what appeared to be a man wearing a luxurious red dressing gown.

A scream became stuck in Virgil’s throat and he stumbled backwards when the figure’s eyes snapped open, both of them glowing a terrifying blood red.

---

“Please, don’t be afraid. It was not my intention to startle you.” The blue-eyed man held up his hands as if to prove to Logan that he was unarmed. Slowly, Logan nodded, his mind racing. Finding Virgil was his top priority, but first, he had to deal with whoever was now standing with him.

“It’s quite all right, no harm done.” The stranger grinned, evidently pleased with the response.

“My name is Patton Woodward, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Logan blinked, momentarily stunned, before near-hysterical laughter spilled from his lips. Immediately, he attempted to stifle the sound with his hand but to no avail. Between laughs, he began frantically apologizing.

“I’m sorry. This is incredibly rude of me. I don’t mean to be disrespectful. It’s just...you must be kidding? Patton Woodward has been dead for over 150 years.” The man smiled tightly and a glint of annoyance quite literally flashed in his blue eyes.

“You’re right, I have been dead for over 150 years. And I must say, it is quite rude to comment on an individual’s deceased state when they are standing directly in front of you.” Logan took a few steadying breaths and fear swirled in his gut. As inconceivable as the situation seemed, he could not disregard what he was seeing simply because he didn’t want to believe it. A man appears out of nowhere, has legitimately glowing eyes and possibly a quick temper? Ghost or not, Logan had to be cautious.

“My sincerest apologies. I really didn’t mean to offend you. I am just having trouble believing what I’m hearing. You must understand, I don’t-” His brow furrowed momentarily. “I didn’t believe in any of...this until this exact moment. I am, however, willing to admit to my mistakes. I hope you are able to forgive my disrespect?” Please oh please let this...ghost be benevolent. A moment of tense silence passed between the two before Patton’s smile softened.

“I suppose that is understandable. I too would be distressed if I had met a talking human spirit while I was alive. I accept your apology.” A breath Logan didn’t know he had been holding rushed out of his lungs.

“Thank you...may I call you Patton or would you prefer Mr. Woodward?” Patton laughed good-naturedly at the living man’s nervousness.

“You may call me Patton. May I ask what your name is?”

“My name is Logan Sanders. You can call me Logan if you’d like.”

“Wonderful! Well then Logan, as I said, it is a pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise.” Logan nodded in acknowledgement. Now that the situation had been effectively defused, he decided to dig a little further to try and determine what had happened to Virgil. “Patton, would you happen to know where the man accompanying me went?” A tendril of fear tightened in his chest when Patton glanced away guiltily.

“I...he...I don’t know where he could have gone.” Well clearly that was a lie, the...ghost had practically flinched while saying it. But pressing him would likely lead nowhere good. Logan had to change tactics.

“Well, that’s understandable. The property is so large, how could anyone be expected to guess where one person could possibly be? There are simply too many options. It is honestly very impressive that anyone is able to navigate the house at all. Oh, but what am I saying? Of course, you must be able to.” He chuckled.

“On the contrary, I spend most of my time outdoors. However, Rom-Mr. Lovell can traverse almost the entire house with his eyes covered. Which he has indeed attempted to do before.” Patton muttered the last part softly, a glint of nostalgia appearing in his eyes.

“You seem to be quite fond of this Mr. Lovell.” Logan commented lightly, determined to learn as much as possible about this man before he decided on a course of action. Unfortunately, this had evidently been the incorrect thing to say as Patton’s gentle expression tightened immediately and the easy smile he had been wearing dropped from his face.

“He is a remarkable man, and it was an honour to work for him.” He said stiffly. Logan raised an eyebrow at the change in tone.

“Forgive me for asking but, does that mean that it’s no longer an honour?” Patton tilted his chin upwards slightly and narrowed his eyes.

“I no longer work for Mr. Lovell.” He said coldly. “And forgive me for saying this, but the nature of my relationship with him now is not your business.”

“Of course, my apologies. I only mentioned it because I-”

Before Logan could finish, a sudden flash of brilliant light coming from the house caught their attention. A steady red glow began to emanate from a collection of large windows along one wall on the first floor.

“What room is that coming from?” Logan glanced at Patton and was shocked to see that the man’s face had paled considerably.

“The ballroom.”

“Patton. Where is the man who was with me?” He asked frantically, icy terror coiling in his stomach.

“...The ballroom. Roman wanted to...speak with him.” Regret and guilt were laced through Patton’s voice as his eyes fixed on the house. Immediately, Logan began sprinting towards the nearest door, leaving all of their equipment - including the camera he had been holding - behind, strewn across the grass in the gardens. Virgil was in there, and something was very, very wrong.

---

“Why have you invaded my home?” The red-eyed man asked, tilting his chin upwards and glaring down his nose at Virgil, who was about 3 seconds away from losing his entire goddamn mind. A few seconds passed while his fight-or-flight instincts went haywire, trying to think of a way out of the situation. On one hand, he had no clue if he would even be able to touch the man so fighting would be risky. On the other, this spirit had somehow teleported him into the ballroom and was seemingly still strong enough to fully materialize so running seemed futile.

“Fuck.” Virgil hissed to himself, realizing that he would probably have to try and talk the ghost down if he had any chance of leaving alive. The ghost raised an eyebrow, his lips twisting into an irritated sneer.

“Am I truly addressing someone so faint-hearted that he cannot even bring himself to answer my questions? Speak, you impudent coward!” The man snapped. Taking a deep, steadying breath, Virgil spoke.

“Are you...Roman Lovell?” He was surprised at how steady his voice was, considering how badly he just wanted to curl up in a ball and hide.

“You really must be thick. Of course I am Roman Lovell, who else would be in this location?” Roman scoffed.

“Patton Woodward, for one. But I assumed tha-” Virgil cut himself off when Roman’s eyes flashed and the candles illuminating the room flared brighter.

“You have no right to speak his name. You trespass onto my property, disturb my home, seek Patton and I out, and for what? To learn the truth? To find out if we were as shameful as history paints us? I have met your kind before. Amateur investigators that traipse about and pretend to know us. You pretend to understand what we went through in the hopes that we will show ourselves to you and pour our hearts out just so you can go forth into the world and share what you’ve learned.” As Roman raved, he began floating above the ground and his form flickered with dangerous-looking red energy. Virgil stepped backwards, tears of pure terror forming in the corners of his eyes. Blinking them away, he attempted to explain himself.

“We don’t want to ruin your good name, we only want to try and let people know that you were treated super unfairly and open their eyes to the truth of the situation. You deserve better than what you got.”

“It is not your story to tell!” Roman roared, his voice thundering throughout the room. A blinding pulse of light flooded the room as the spirit lost his composure. Spots of light coated Virgil’s vision for a few moments before he was able to see again and he noticed with horror that the entire ballroom was filled with a bright blood-red glow. Whipping his head around frantically, the man tried to see where Roman had gone. Unfortunately, the spirit seemed to have abandoned the physical form he had been utilizing. He had not, however, left entirely.

“I will not allow history to repeat itself. Patton and I lost our lives because our story was told without our knowledge or permission. I vowed to never let anyone harm Patton ever again.”

Virgil decided to refrain from asking how they could possibly be hurt anymore if they were already dead.

“Hundreds of people have visited this place before, why did you decide to only appear to us? Why appear at all? Please, I just want to understand.” The living man asked aloud, unsure of where to direct his question. Clearly, Mr. Lovell had a penchant for monologuing and Virgil hoped that if he managed to distract the spirit, he could begin making his way towards the door. From there he could try to leave the room and hopefully, find Logan.

“I was observing you and your companion while you trespassed on my property. After so many years, I have learned a few things about the development of the world since I perished. Somehow, a type of instantaneous widespread communication has been created, as well as cameras that capture moving images. I saw that you have a few of those cameras and you continuously speak to them. Obviously, you intend to document anything you discover within these walls and share it. No longer would it only reach a small number of individuals. You have the ability to expose Patton and I again, and I will not stand for that.” While Roman explained himself, Virgil began inching closer and closer to the exit, not daring to make any sudden moves. “I knew that if I allowed you two to leave, your documentation would prompt more visitors. More spies, prying into things that they have no right knowing.”

“If you know there are two of us, why is my companion not here as well?” It was risky, bringing Roman’s attention back to him, but he had to know what happened to Logan.

“Patton is speaking to him right now, just as I am speaking to you. Don’t worry, you two will see each other again very soon.”

Virgil didn’t particularly appreciate the sinister tone in Lovell’s voice as he said that.

Silence filled the room, but the red glow didn’t fade. They had reached a stalemate. Virgil had no doubt that if he tried anything, Lovell would not hesitate to do...whatever he was planning to do to him. But he also had this strange feeling telling him that despite all of the spirit’s bluffing, he didn’t want to hurt anybody. Not really. He was just…

“Afraid.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You’re afraid. You were caught off guard all those years ago and something terrible happened. You lost someone you loved. You couldn’t protect him. And now you’re afraid that if you drop your guard for even a moment, he will get hurt again.” A moment of shocked silence followed that gem of a character analysis before Roman responded quietly.

“How dare you assume that you know me. How dare you assume that you know anything about how I feel.” Virgil suddenly felt an intense pressure around his neck and began silently choking. His body was lifted off the ground until he was suspended 6 feet in the air and he flailed frantically, quickly losing air. “How dare you assume to understand anything about what I have gone through!” Roman hissed from somewhere by Virgil’s ear. Just as the ghost hunter felt the last bit of air leave his lungs, the pressure was gone and he began plummeting towards the wooden floor.

---

Logan practically flew through the hallways, desperately trying to locate the ballroom and his husband. He heard a voice come from behind him as he ran.

“Logan, please, stop for one moment. Let me lead you to the ballroom!” Patton cried as he followed the panicked man. Rage bloomed in Logan’s chest at Patton’s pleas.

“You knew! You knew that your damned boyfriend had Virgil and you lied to me about it!”

“And that was a mistake! I never should have kept the truth from you, I was...afraid. I didn’t want you to become angry! Which I realize now did not work out as well as I had originally planned! Allow me to atone for the mistakes I made. I will show you where Roman has your companion.” Patton pleaded, and Logan slowed his running. Logically, the chances of him finding the way to the ballroom in a timely manner on his own were very slim. Letting Patton lead him there, even if he didn’t quite trust the spirit, would be much faster.

“Fine. Show me.” Patton caught up to him and with a timid smile, began leading the charge. The two hurried along the silent hallways, an intensity burning behind both their eyes as they got closer to their partners.

“Here, this is it.” Before Patton had even finished his sentence, Logan was shoving the doors open. A panicked cry burst out of him when he saw Virgil hovering in midair. His face was turning a dangerous shade of purple and as Logan stepped into the room, he began to fall. A booming thud echoed through the room as Virgil hit the ground.

“Virgil!” He screamed, rushing towards his husband’s shaking form.

“Roman, what are you doing?” Patton’s alarmed voice seemed far away as he pulled Virgil into his arms and cradled him close to his chest.

“Virgil, are you alright? Can you speak? I’m so sorry I tried to get here as fast as I could but I didn’t know where you were and I didn’t know where to go and oh god Virgil I’m sorry I’m sorry I should have-” He was cut off by Virgil pressing his fingers to his lips and smiling gently up at his babbling husband.

“I’m okay. Mostly. Actually, I think this proves that ghosts are definitely real so I guess I’m pretty great.” Logan laughed quietly, brushing strands of Virgil’s purple-stained bangs away from his stunning dark brown eyes.

“You’re ridiculous.” He said, cupping Virgil’s face with his hand.

“But you love me.”

“I do. God, I love you so much.” Logan leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to Virgil’s forehead, continuing to hold him close to his heart.

A flash of red light brought the two back to the situation at hand and rage filled Logan as he looked up and saw another man standing before them, presumably Roman Lovell.

“You! How fucking dare you! My husband almost died because of you, you piece of shit!” Normally, Logan prided himself on being able to express his emotions without expletives, but at that moment he was so livid he could not care less.

“Husband?” Patton asked incredulously, walking up to stand beside Roman.

“Yes! Husband! These days, that’s a thing I can have. Of course, I almost didn’t have one anymore thanks to-”

“Logan,” Virgil interrupted his partner’s tirade. “Calm down. I’m okay, you don’t need to throw hands with a ghost.”

“I...I believe we may need to have a talk.” Roman admitted, glancing sheepishly at Patton who looked as if he was torn between being furious at Roman and relieved that nobody was seriously injured.

“Yes. I believe we do.” Logan spat, helping Virgil to his feet after checking him once again for injuries, which the man insisted he didn’t have. As the two pairs stood to face each other, Logan dimly noted that they must make quite a spectacle, two men decked out in ghost-hunting equipment and two Victorian-era ghosts. It was almost comically ironic. However, it was hard to find anything particularly amusing when he was staring down the man that nearly suffocated his husband. That man, Lovell, cleared his throat and straightened his spine, attempting to regain some of the composure practically bred into him.

“Yes, well, I feel as if I would be remiss to not begin with an apology. I lost my temper and acted rashly. There is no excuse for my actions and I am deeply sorry for treating you as if you alone were the cause of my personal troubles. That was indescribably unfair of me to do. All I can request of you is that neither of you condemn Patton for what I have done. He participated because I begged it of him, not because he desired to harm either of you.” Roman pressed his hand against his chest, sincerity practically radiating off him. “You were...right. About everything you accused me of. I was afraid of someone hurting Patton. Afraid of truly losing him this time. What you said was the truth and I simply refused to admit it. I am sorry for endangering you.”

“Uh...don’t worry about it. I shouldn’t have tried to get all in your business. We both messed up and I forgive you. But maybe next time, try and avoid the whole strangulation thing huh?” Virgil commented with a faint teasing smirk tugging at his lips. Roman nodded gratefully.

“I forgive you as well. And...I shall certainly try.” He chuckled. His face quickly sobered, however.

“I acted out because I was afraid of losing the one I love. But I...I nearly caused that same thing to happen to you.” He admitted sorrowfully, turning to face Logan. “Everything that I feared, I almost made a reality for you. For that, I am eternally sorry. I cannot imagine what I would do without Patton, just as I assume you could not imagine what you would do without…” The ghost trailed off, suddenly aware that he did not know the two living men’s names. Patton giggled, breaking the tension in the room a bit more. The teasing smirk grew on Virgil’s face as Roman floundered.

“Virgil.” He supplied.

“Without Virgil.” Roman finished emphatically, gesturing grandly at the aforementioned man. Logan remained in stony silence for a moment, allowing a feeling of apprehension to settle between him and Roman. Patton glanced nervously between them, his eyes meeting Virgil’s momentarily as he too awaited Logan’s response. Finally, he spoke.

“I suppose...you seem sincere. I will think about forgiving you.” He said coldly. Virgil elbowed him in the side. “I forgive you.” Logan corrected himself. The temperature in the room noticeably rose as Roman and Patton both grinned dazzlingly.

“Again, Logan, I am truly so-” Patton began before Logan held up a hand.

“Please, no more apologizing. I believe it would be best if we just moved on. No hard feelings.” Patton nodded, tension draining from his shoulders.

“This is super sweet and all, but I think we might need to figure out what happens next,” Virgil spoke up hesitantly. “There may be ‘no hard feelings’ but the fact is, we’re talking to ghosts right now. This has never...happened...before at any of the locations we’ve been so like...what do we do? Do we help you guys move on? How do we even do that? What are we gonna tell the fans? We can’t show this footage, the house would be swarmed! But if we don’t release anything they might think something is up and then what would we do?” The thoughts spilled from his lips as his overactive mind began picturing everything that could potentially go wrong. Surely they couldn’t just leave Roman and Patton without trying to help them somehow but he had no idea of where to start. Did they need to find whatever physical object was tethering them to this world and destroy it? Did they need to murder someone’s descendant to help them enact revenge? He really didn’t want to murder anyone. His spiralling train of thought was interrupted when Logan placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Slow down Virgil, one thing at a time. In regards to the fans, we’ll simply cut out the parts of the footage in which we mention the gardens and the ballroom and film the outro as if we found nothing of interest here.” Logan nodded towards Patton and Roman. “Unless of course, you two would prefer that we share nothing at all of our time here. We obviously don’t want to upset you.” He added. Roman glanced at Patton, who looked thoughtful for a moment before turning to face his lover.

“I will not make a decision for the both of us but I believe we should allow them to share what they captured. Not all of it, not the parts with you and I, but as Virgil said, if they release nothing at all surely that would raise some suspicion if there are people expecting the results of their investigation.” Fear flashed on Roman’s face before his expression settled into one of reluctant understanding, the corners of his lips tilted downwards ever so slightly.

“I trust your judgement, my love. If you trust them...so do I.” Patton smiled gratefully at the shorter man and raised the aristocrat’s hand to his lips to place a gentle kiss on the back of his knuckles. As Roman’s face flushed with colour, Logan glanced at Virgil out of the corner of his eye. He almost laughed when he saw the glint of resignation behind his husband’s eyes. He knew that the sight of the overly-affectionate couple was reminding him of their friends Remy and Emile, who were both very shameless when it came to PDA. Clearly, the two of them and the ghosts were kindred spirits. Internally groaning at the unintentional pun, he brought his attention back to the present.

“Well then it seems like the video will not be an issue. There is one of your concerns resolved Virgil.” He commented precisely, catching the distracted couple’s attention and causing Virgil to snicker. “Now, the other problem you brought up may not be so easily dealt with but I am confident we will figure something out. Firstly, do you two actually desire our assistance in moving on to the next life?” Shock and confusion painted Patton and Roman’s faces as they blinked for a long few moments.

“I...I suppose...yes? Yes, we do.” Patton said hesitantly, looking to Roman for input. Hope glimmered behind his eyes.

“Yes! Of course!” The actor cried excitedly, grasping Patton’s hands in his own. “We could finally leave this place, Patton! We could forget about these dark and miserable halls and be somewhere better!” Bright smiles grew on the pair’s faces as the prospect sunk in.

“Uh, great! Cool. So like, how do we actually go about helping you? Do you know why you guys are stuck here?” Virgil piped up, slightly calmer than before.

“I can’t say that we do. Even in the beginning when we were not quite aware of our spiritual state, we felt no desire to do anything in particular that could set us free or anything of the sort.” Roman muttered thoughtfully. Silence fell between the four men as each of them looked to each other for an idea.

“As loathe as I am to suggest this, perhaps this particular puzzle would be best approached at another time.” Virgil’s eyes widened as Logan continued. “It is past 2 AM and neither Virgil’s nor I’s reasoning skills are functioning at their highest right now. I suggest that the two of us go home and do any damage control necessary before we release this video. That will also provide us with an opportunity to conduct some research that may help us determine how best to move forward. We could be back one week from now with anything we have found.”

“You can’t be suggesting that we just leave them here!” Virgil exclaimed.

“Well, I-” Patton began.

“Only for a week, while we try to figure out what to do.”

“Why can’t we do that here? We have our phones to do the research.”

“Honestly I agree wi-” Patton tried again.

“We are in an abandoned manor with no electricity Virgil. Our phones will last no longer than a day.”

“So you think we should just abandon these two.”

“We’re not abandoning them. It’s only for a week.”

“Virgil!” Patton shouted, causing everyone to jump. “I think Logan is right. We have been here for many years already. We will not be upset with you for leaving us for one week longer in order to help us move on for eternity.” He reassured the worried man with a kind smile. Virgil sighed deeply.

“Fine.” He huffed. “We need to find all our stuff though. It’s too damn expensive to leave behind.” He grumbled before turning and leaving the room. The remaining three men glanced at each other and quickly followed after him.

---

After all the equipment had been gathered and packed away in the bags Logan and Virgil carried, all four men stood in the grand entrance hall, where the ghost hunters’ unbelievable night had begun.

“We will be back in 6 or 7 days, depending on flight availability.” Logan reiterated.

“Thank you so much you two. You cannot understand how much this means to us.” Patton beamed, practically giddy with joy. A smile tugged at the corner of Logan’s lips and he nodded.

“We shall eagerly await your return. Be safe and do try to avoid any other angry spirits. That is now my role to fulfill.” Roman joked, causing Virgil to laugh.

“We’ll do our best.” With that, the two ghost hunters waved goodbye and exited the manor, which loomed over them menacingly in the darkness. They walked quietly towards their vehicle, the silence sitting heavy between them.

“What the fuck happened tonight?” Virgil suddenly muttered.

“...What the fuck indeed. Clearly, I was incorrect about the existence of ghosts, which was somewhat shocking. I believe tomorrow when this all catches up to me, I may be a bit more concerned.” Logan mused.

“We are going to help them, right?” Logan was silent for a long time as he glanced back at the darkened manor. Virgil followed his gaze to the front windows where the faintest traces of red and blue light could be seen. Looking closer, they saw two small figures waltzing around the entrance hall. They could practically sense their joyous smiles from where they stood. Finally, Logan spoke.

“We are certainly going to try.”

---

OH MY GOD. This is officially the longest fic I’ve ever written (and there’s more to come) I had so much fun with this and I got way too into researching the mid-1800s in order to write it lol. And now, taglists

General (just ask to be added or removed!)

@virgil-my-diamond

@ajdraws0430

Romantic Royality

@a-blog-just-for-sanders @ace-v-p-d @all-these-trees-stealing-mah-o2 @allthemetalsoftherainbow @angeliclogan @angered-turtle @anonymouseandkeyboard @aph-roma @artistictaurean @asalwayss @ashbash-the-trashcash @AskolotlQuestions @asterias-confused-writings @baileystarsketches @candiukas @captain-loki-xavier @cashmeredragon @catsandrandomness @cinderlunarcyborg @cinquefoilelove @clueingforblogs @confinesofpersonalknowledge @cripplingchips @deadinsidebutliving @deathbyvenusftw @dementeddracon @depressed-alone @do-rey-me @emovirgil @evilmuffin @faacethefacts @faithhopefelony @fandergecko @funsizedgremlin @grey-lysander @hamster-corn @hanramz-the-fander @heythereprincey @runyou-cleverboy-andremember @inkwasalwaysherere @ive-given-up-on-it @jade-dragon226-fan @johnnyboylaurens @jughead-is-canonically-aroace @justmyshitandmoreshit @k9cat @katatles-the-fish @katesattic @kentato-kenart @kurna-kovite @l-i-t-vocabcards @lana–22 @lo-brokeit @logan-exe @logically-sided @magicmapleleaf @maximum-fander @mercythemermaid @micha-like-you-find-in-rocks @migraine-marathon @milomeepit @minamishipsit @minshinxx @mollycassmith @multi-fandom-trash-x9000 @muontsy2 @musicphanpie-b @musicsavedmefromdeath @nightly-illustrator @notveryglittery @nymphaedoratonks @nyxwordsmith @ocotopushugs @on-lock-like-attica @ono-its-ryane @pandagirl0730 @pansexual-cat @pansexual-cat @patchworkofstars @paxtonlovestea @pearls-of-patton @pieces-of-annedrew @pinkeasteregg @planetsanders @potterlover394 @poundland-twoface @proudhufflepuff @prplzorua @purplepatton @purpleshipper @radioactivebread @reba-andthesides @redundant-statements-for-400 @robanilla @romanssippycup @rose-gold-roman @rptheturk @sanders-fam-ily @sanders-sides-things @sanders-trash-4ever @sanderssides-deathangel @saphirestrike @savingshae @shygirl4991 @silversunshine2012 @siriuswhiskers @smokeyrutilequartz @spacenerrrd @starlightlogan @starry-eyed-haiku-dreamer @storytellerofuntoldlegends @strangerthings-and-phan @strangerthings-and-phan @superintrovertfangirl @thats-so-crash @the-feels-are-coming @the-incedible-sulk @the-optimism-of-the-ostriches @the-prince-and-the-emo @theanxietyofbeinganxious @thecrimsoncodex @thegreyacefromspace @thepusheenqueen @theshipqueenarrives @thesilentbluesparrow @thestoryofme13 @theworldismysupernova @theworldismysupernova @thisisshien @thomas-must-get-to-sleep @thought-u-said-dragon-queen @too-precious-to-process @too-random-for-me @toujours-fidele @trashfireiplier @trashypansexual @treblesanders @tree4life25 @unknownsandersfan @urtrashhq @violetmcl @virgil-has-a-houseplant @voices-and-stardust @vulnerablevirgil @XxxxWitlee @yourhappypappypatton @l-i-t-vocabcards @houseplxnthoodie @ultimate-queen-of-fandoms2

Romantic Analogical

@a-blog-just-for-sanders @ace-v-p-d @acechirou @acrobaticcatfeline @ahoardofsides @aikogumi @alextheodd @aliferous-ly @all-these-trees-stealing-mah-o2 @allaboutme7 @allierox15 @allthemetalsoftherainbow @an-anxious-gay-mess @angeliclogan @angered-turtle @anonymouseandkeyboard @anxie-teaa @anxious-darkwolf @anxiousoddish @anyay666 @aph-roma @areyousirius-noheisdead @artistictaurean @asalwayss @ashbash-the-trashcash @AskolotlQuestions @asterias-confused-writings @blaikleethepanagender @blazeimagines101 @bluebellie01 @candiukas @captain-loki-xavier @catsandrandomness @cinderlunarcyborg @cinquefoilelove @clueingforblogs @confinesofpersonalknowledge @confinesofpersonalknowledge @countessmissyshort @crankywhenprovoked @datonerougecookeh @deadinsidebutliving @deathbyvenusftw @deep-ocean-blues @dementeddracon @depressed-alone @devastate-my-space @digitally-analog @do-rey-me @dreamerhowelll @dudlebuggs @emokittenlikesgore @emovirgil @erlenmeyertrashofsandersides @evilmuffin @faacethefacts @faithhopefelony @fanatic564 @fandergecko @ffsas-side-account @fricksonsticks @funsizedgremlin @galacticallynonbinary @grey-lysander @hamster-corn @hanramz-the-fander @happypappypatton @heythereprincey @hghrules @hissesssss @hoodie-bros @hottopicvirge @icbatocomeupwithausername @runyou-cleverboy-andremember @inkyroo @irwinscupoftea @ispeakhalflies @ive-given-up-on-it @jade-dragon226-fan @johnnyboylaurens @jughead-is-canonically-aroace @justmyshitandmoreshit @k9cat @katatles-the-fish @katesattic @kentato-kenart @kickthenavi @koalaaquabear @kurna-kovite @l-i-t-vocabcards @lacandra @lana–22 @lo-brokeit @logically-alone @logically-asexual @logically-sided @louisthewarlock @lynisnotamused @madelynna @magicmapleleaf @makemeaplant @maximum-fander @memesanddreamsinc @mercythemermaid @micha-like-you-find-in-rocks @migraine-marathon @milomeepit @minamishipsit @mollycassmith @multi-fandom-trash-x9000 @muontsy2 @musicphanpie-b @musicsavedmefromdeath @neko-ereri @nightlovechild @nightmarejasmine @nuttytheorizer @nymphaedoratonks @nyxwordsmith @on-lock-like-attica @osnapitzbc @out-of-existence @pal-im-not-clever @pandagirl0730 @pansexual-cat @pansexual-cat @Paxtonlovestea @pearls-of-patton @pieces-of-annedrew @pinkeasteregg @planetsanders @potterlover394 @poundland-twoface @prplzorua @purplesatankittycat @radioactivebread @rainbow-beaniegirl @raisin-oatmeal-cookie @reba-andthesides @redundant-statements-for-400 @robanilla @roman-is-a-gay @romanssippycup @rose-gold-roman @royallyanxious @rptheturk @ruuworld @sanders-fam-ily @sanders-sides-things @sanders-trash-4ever @sandersfanderscandoers @sanderssides-deathangel @saphirestrike @sarcastic-anxious @save-dirk @savingshae @sehtah @septifanderplier @shesavampirequeen @shygirl4991 @sides-of-a-sunset @silentwhistlingwind @silversunshine2012 @siriuswhiskers @smokeyrutilequartz @space-d0ubt @spacenerrrd @starlightlogan @starry-eyed-haiku-dreamer @storytellerofuntoldlegends @strangerthings-and-phan @strangerthings-and-phan @superintrovertfangirl @thats-so-crash @the-feels-are-coming @the-incedible-sulk @the-optimism-of-the-ostriches @the-prince-and-the-emo @theanxietyofbeinganxious @thecrimsoncodex @thenerdycube @thepusheenqueen @thesilentbluesparrow @thestoryofme13 @theworldismysupernova @thisisshien @thomas-must-get-to-sleep @thought-u-said-dragon-queen @too-random-for-me @toujours-fidele @trashfireiplier @trashypansexual @tree4life25 @trivia-goddess @unknownsandersfan @urtrashhq @vampyrsarah @violetmcl @virgil-is-verge @virgils-anxiety @vivimarius @voices-and-stardust @vulnerablevirgil @walking-encyclopedia @watch-me-introvert @XxxxWitlee @yourhappypappypatton @l-i-t-vocabcards @enderperson43 @heck-im-lost @ultimate-queen-of-fandoms2

#sanders sides spooky month #analogical #royality #logan sanders #virgil sanders #roman sanders #patton sanders #thomas sanders #sanders sides #sanders sides fic #murder tw #homophobia tw

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