#aside from that I quite enjoyed experimenting with colouring - so I included close ups of it

[rux363]

SURPRISE!!!

@tramyyumi, I'm your secret santa for this year's KaiShin Secret Santa! (hosted by @dcmkkaishinevents)

Thank you for the prompts - I latched onto the prompt "Beach", since it's cute and sweet! Or at least I hope I have delivered it hehe.

Happy holidays!

I also drew sketches of the boys of the boys being silly lmao

Under the cut: close up of the sketches and the drawing

[esamastation]

Shizuroth, part eighteen

Previous parts: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen

-

Why hasn't he ever gone shopping with Sephiroth before? Aside from the fact that Sephiroth was socially repressed and awkward and aloof and would've never lowered himself as to be seen in public with anyone. And the fact that Genesis didn't want to even think about sharing his few precious moments of downtime with Sephiroth, of all people. And also the fact that Genesis was pretty sure, at least up until this point, that it would be an excruciating experience for everyone involved….

But it turns out that Sephiroth makes for a hilarious shopping company. The man is unexpectedly prissy and demanding - and, really, quite fussy when it comes to his looks.

While waiting for his coat to be readjusted, Sephiroth is putting on a fashion show in the tailor's very cushy dressing room.

"No, the hue is too cold - can you please get me the darker green one? Same size," Sephiroth says, making faces at his reflection, after trying out about a dozen different, almost identical, button up shirts. 

"Right away, sir," the rather flustered tailor's assistant says and scurries off.

"I never thought you'd have a favourite colour," Genesis scoffs, lounging back on a fancy armchair while watching as Sephiroth accepts the shirt from the eager tailor's assistant. There's a pile of rejected and another of accepted articles of clothing nearby, and they're all in shades between dark forest green and the lightest shade of mint green. 

No matter how much mess Sephiroth caused, the store would be making a big sale today - so much so that they'd closed early, just for Sephiroth.

But then again, there probably isn't a store in Midgar that wouldn't close for Sephiroth.

"You've never worn green before," Genesis adds, leaning back on the comfy armchair lazily and enjoying the VIP treatment - which includes coffee service and everything.

Tch. He was a VIP patron too - but they'd never closed the store for him.

"Hm," Sephiroth answers, deftly buttoning up the shirt and adjusting the cuffs, before pulling on the jacket of the suit he'd been trying on. Because that's what he's doing, trying to colour match a suit. A very light green suit.

It doesn't suit him.

"A much better match, sir," the tailor's assistant says, a little too eagerly, all but fawning over him. "You have such a keen eye."

"Is that so," Sephiroth says noncommittally, making another hilarious stink face at himself while buttoning up the suit jacket. He still doesn't look satisfied.

"It washes you out," Genesis points out the obvious and swings to his feet. "My friend, you simply don't have the colouring for such pale hues."

Sephiroth sighs unhappily, giving his own reflection a disappointed look. It's almost a Goddess damned pout. "I don't, do I?" he says in defeat. "And the green really doesn't do my complexion any favours."

"It really doesn't," Genesis grins, clapping him on his shoulders. "I'm afraid black is still your colour." 

Sephiroth sighs again and then looks at him thoughtfully. "What is that shirt you're wearing?"

"Alas, it's not high fashion. A Shinra issue," Genesis explains with a sigh. "Mass produced and utterly commonplace."

"Huh," Sephiroth looks surprised. "It… looks good?"

"Oh, spare me, I know it doesn't, but when you go through so many it's simply easier to get them in bulk," Genesis says, shaking his head. "Bullet holes simply do not come off, after all. And the SOLDIER uniform turtlenecks are just about the only good article of clothing Shinra has ever produced."

Sephiroth hums, looking him up and down and turning back to the mirror. Then he sighs. "Please get me another version of this suit," he says to the tailor's assistant. "In black this time."

"Right away, sir," the mostly useless assistant says, doing a remarkably good job at not bouncing in excitement. "And for a shirt, sir?"

Sephiroth looks at himself for a long moment. He scrunches up his nose and then mutters, "... I suppose it should be in red."

"Stealing my style, now?" Genesis asks, leaning against his shoulder. "Also what is wrong with red?"

"It's not just red, rather the combination of black and red… ah, never mind. I suppose it will bring out my eyes," Sephiroth says, like he's admitting defeat.

It will bring out his eyes? Who is this guy and what has he done to Sephiroth? Genesis snorts and claps him on the shoulder again. "If you say so."

He's right, though. Red and black look much better on Sephiroth. As does the suit. Genesis has never even imagined Sephiroth in formal wear before, but…  it's not a bad look.

"You know, one fight in those delightful clothes, and they're in very expensive shreds," Genesis points out, while idly trying on some gloves, wondering if he should invest in some formal wear.

"Why would it be in shreds?" Sephiroth asks almost resentfully, turning to select a tie. He's actually a little mad about red and black suiting him so well!

Wow.

"You…" Genesis starts and then sighs. Of course Sephiroth doesn't remember. "Fancy and very fitting," he adds, just to dig it in, "though they are, clothing of this calibre can't stand the types of battles you and I get in. That's why we wear leather. Or mass produced uniforms we don't have to pay for."

Sephiroth just sort of blinks at him, easing the tie over his head. "You've worn a uniform?" he asks, dubious. "You?"

"Yes, I have worn a uniform - I had to go through the whole two ranks to get where I am now, didn't I?" Genesis asks, testing the gloves by spreading out his fingers. They're fingerless and quite nice. "Not a fan of trousers, I admit. I never had the ass for them."

Sephiroth coughs at that, smothering a laugh, and tucks the tie into his collar. "I see," he says, looking down at himself in order to adjust the tie.

Genesis leans back to watch him. "Neither do you. Or, rather, you have too much shoulder going on. Far too top-heavy, you'd look ridiculous."

"Thanks?" Sephiroth says, amused, and then turns around to face him, a black tie firmly in place. "How do I look?"

"Like a damn Turk," Genesis scoffs. A very good looking Turk, but one nonetheless. He turns to the starry-eyed tailor's assistant. "Get him one of those great coats from the back - a black one, obviously, with red lining if you have it."

"Ah, those aren't leather, sir - mainly cotton and wool," the assistant says apologetically.

"Then get us a fancy wool one, and then go check how your master is coming along with our order."

"Y-yes, sir, right away, sir!"

"Please and thank you," Sephiroth says to the assistant, who almost trips hurrying off. "There's no need to be rude, Genesis."

"Who's rude? It's their job," Genesis huffs and folds his arms. "You rock up at Shinra tower looking like this, and they'll start making you go to functions too."

"What do you mean, functions?" Sephiroth asks warily.

"Parties, galas, meet and greets, maybe even interviews," Genesis scoffs. He's usually the one who has to go - he was more presentable than Angeal, who didn't know how to swim those waters, or Sephiroth, who had the social graces of a poisonous wallflower. "Public events of the social kind."

"Ah," Sephiroth says, fiddling with his cuff. "That's fine then."

"... That's fine? You hate those things!"

"Do I?" Sephiroth asks, giving him a bitchy face like he knows something Genesis doesn't. "Hm."

Genesis eyes him dubiously. "Well, I suppose you'll learn why very soon," he mutters. "If they make you go."

The tailor's assistant brings in the great coat, and Genesis throws it over Sephiroth's broad shoulders before the man can try putting his arms into the sleeves. Hanging over him like a cape, it ties the outfit together perfectly.

"There, you look fit to take over the world," Genesis says, motioning to the mirror.

Sephiroth hums, stepping so that he faces the mirror at an angle. "I guess it's a popular colour scheme for a reason," he murmurs, begrudgingly impressed, and flicks the hem to make the red lining flash dramatically. "Fitting, I suppose."

"Silver Elite are going to lose their little minds," Genesis agrees. "You'll take it, then?"

Sephiroth takes a moment, adjusting his collar. "I'll take it," he says finally. Then he smiles and slightly bows at the tailor's assistant. "Thank you for your efforts."

"I-it wasn't any trouble, sir!" the poor assistant gulps, looking a little wobbly at the knees. "The master is finished with your leather coat, sir. If you're ready…"

"I am," Sephiroth agrees, running a satisfied hand down his front. "I am very ready."

The planet isn't, Genesis thinks with a sense of exhilarated doom. The planet isn't ready for this at all.

-

Shizun can no longer rock Qing Jing Peak colours ☹️ The Tragedy is immeasurable.

(aka I meant to put him in Qing Jing Peak colours but then I looked up Sephiroth in a suit and 👌 black and red is really the Aesthetic here.)

(This is all Very Important To The Plot. Which Totally Exists.)

[wildlyglittering]

The Journey Begins with a Smile

So ages ago (and I do mean ages) I asked people to give me some Nessian prompts and I had four requests. Not many so that’s completely doable I thought. 

Since my request, things didn’t go so well for my personal life and then, on a global scale, a pandemic hit. Both those things meant I wasn’t writing or even reading much. 

BUT I was determined to fill those requests - even if the requesters had forgotten or no longer cared! Luckily I have managed to get my groove back so am trying to ride the writing train for as long as it will carry me!

@ekaterinakostrova requested something where Cassian made Nesta smile for the first time. I’ve taken some liberties to fill the prompt but here it is. Finally. 

I hope you enjoy!

***

The multi-level gardens of the Day Court stretched outwards like a labyrinth.

Unlike the Night Court, whose gardens were sensibly flat, Day’s held winding staircases which lead to a plethora of mezzanines, stacked one after another. Each offered a new delight; pools of water swimming with gold and white fish, pagodas draped with ever blossoming honeysuckle or fountains carved with the curved forms of caressing lovers.

Some paths appeared to lead to dead ends, but the experienced visitor long learnt appearances were deceiving. As long as the explorer had the foresight to move thickets of ivy and trailing roses aside, they would find smaller paths twisting towards secret grottos.

Aside from the romantic allure of mystery, the garden’s contained an energy which reverberated through Cassian’s bones. Although the deep calm of the Night Court lands was his preference, Cassian found staying in Day was never an unpleasant experience.

Wandering the gardens would have been its usual satisfying activity if not for the frustration simmering in Cassian’s veins. Not an hour before he’d bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted the copper of his blood before storming from the bedroom suites, leaving the other occupant behind.

His anger, and hers, were twins to each other. When the subject matter at hand arose, rational discussion dissipated like smoke in a storm and, as they were both apt to lose their tempers, that’s exactly what they did. After those times, it was best they stayed apart.

Being away from the Night Court brought up the familiar argument.

Cassian scrubbed a hand over his face, they were in Day on Rhys’ orders otherwise they wouldn’t have been there at all.

The knowledge of who Lucien was to Helion, and who the Lady of Autumn had been, was now widely known. Now, the painful possibility of civil war loomed over the Courts, brought on by the betrayal of an unwritten code of conduct. Helion was thinking ahead, reaching out to all potential allies in the hopes if he gained enough, Autumn would be dissuaded to start conflict.

There was no question Rhys would pledge to Helion.

It didn’t hurt though, Rhys said, to pay Day a visit.

Rhys spoke about contingency planning and counter-measure tactics but Cassian had known Rhys long enough to understand the guise. Under everything lay the ripple of the question of Spring’s allegiance and the inevitable shift of power towards the next generation of High Lords, including those Rhys was unable to befriend.

Custom dictated High Lords, and now High Lady, were the only ones to be allowed in the sanctum to speak politics. However, Rhys requested the attendance of his Inner Circle - where Rhys went, his most trusted followed.

What was less clear was the rationale behind Rhys’ request that those connected to the Inner Circle also attend. It was, Cassian believed, Rhys’ attempt to keep his friends compliant and a way to curry favour from others - namely Lucien who always hungered for time with Elain.

This secondary request was the one which opened the festering wound close to the surface of Nesta’s skin.

In an effort to find some calm, Cassian took to walking the gardens, like he had many times before. Like those times before, his steps took him a familiar route. Maybe, in the depths of his subconscious mind, he sought out what would bring him solace no matter how measly a sliver.

He ventured down a staircase, overflowing with floating lilacs, and onto a terrace which was surprisingly spacious for such a narrow-arched entrance.

This particular mezzanine was paved with sand coloured stone and framed by apple trees, their branches reaching towards each other like fingers. The waist high balcony overlooked the next level down – the glass domed ceiling of the sunken library.

This terrace, tucked away in the constructed gardens, housed the collection of seven statues who all faced inwards, into their circle, for eternity.

Like all statues in Day, the figures had been carved from marble run through with thick veins of gold and silver. Unlike the other statues, Cassian held an interest for these and these alone.

Whichever sculptor Helion found, he found one with talent. Despite the fact they were rock the sculptures contained something so painfully real. They were motionless yet their bodies held motion, they were emotionless yet their faces held emotion. When Cassian reached out to touch them, he swore there was bone beneath their stone skin.

Day was never more glorious then how she was now, in the full swing of her namesake and the wide blue sky called to Cassian to dance. Though his muscles ached to obey and his wings quivered in anticipation, he wouldn’t fly. Day was filled with sharp, ornate spires and he’d navigated a similar path unsuccessfully before.

But being trapped on the ground did nothing to help his mood; his legs shook, his eyes stung. Cassian was tired of the burning sun, tired of being apart from his friends, tired of the endless political deliberations of the other High Lords.

When he was unable to fly, Cassian needed to find other ways to curb his energy. One of those ways often involved his willing mate.

Except, at this current time she was not quite so willing. The blush pink rooms they were guests in were uncomfortably close to the rooms of others so Nesta didn’t want to make love to him here. She was even less likely to be inclined towards Cassian’s persuasions following their argument.

This was a radical departure from how they were in the isolation of their mountain cabin, especially in those final days. Time had turned into hourglasses and the sand of their lives trickled through their fingers fast then they breathed.

They couldn’t move to each other quick enough then, couldn’t remove their clothes fast enough, couldn’t press their bodies close enough.

Since their return to Velaris it was as though Nesta was turning into stone as cold and hard as the material of the statues Cassian now stared at.

Cassian sighed, drawing a deep breath of the lilac scented air into his lungs and walked towards one statue in particular. The one he thought of as his twin.

The stone fae stood high on the ends of its toes, as if it couldn’t bear to have any part of itself touching the ground. The arms stretched over its head, fingers straining upwards, begging for the sky to claim it. The figure didn’t have wings but Cassian imagined them, stretched out behind, broad and strong.

Cassian’s own wings, tangible flesh and bone, twitched as a breeze drifted past.  

The circle existed for centuries but grew in number over the years. The first ones, the original ones, hadn’t changed but the way Cassian looked at them had. Once a carefree nature danced about them but, like all things weightless, that had floated away.

The invisible weight on them now was hard and heavy. Even the figure for the sky had something buried under the surface that hadn’t existed before.

Cassian was no fool – he recognised his own transference. What he saw; fatigue, anger, sorrow – these were his own burdens and in turn he projected them onto the poor stone creature in front of him willing it to absorb what he didn’t want.

Cassian ran his hand once more over his face. He wanted his effigy to take Nesta’s words which today were sharper than usual with insults flung towards his family with flippant ease. He reminded her that when she spoke with venom against them, she spoke venom against him.

Take your antidote then, she’d sneered, beg your friends to draw it all out if you think I’m such poison.

Nesta hadn’t been fully happy in the mountains but she’d been as close to peace as he’d ever seen. Finally, a part of Nesta was at rest, and the female Cassian loved was in a place he loved. All had been right for a time, their hearts in full growth, only to shrink into themselves when they were summoned back to Velaris.

Cassian would be misguided to think their arrival in Day was what agitated Nesta to begin the fight that morning. He could pretend she picked up on his restlessness or that she didn’t care much for the Court however the latter was a lie.

During her lengthy rehabilitation Nesta had visited Day on numerous occasions, sometimes with Cassian but often without. On the instances he visited her he was forced to choke down his jealousy at seeing Nesta and Hellion walking arm in arm, understanding that the High Lord of Day was playing a significant part in helping her heal.

Nesta would spend every minute in this place if Helion asked her to.

No, everything triggered from Rhys’ request that Nesta come to Day.

In Nesta’s eyes, Rhys’ request was a command; a command which served only to appease Rhys’ ego and prove he would always be able to demand the lives of those around him bend to his will.

Rhys wanted Cassian to be in Day and Rhys wanted Nesta to provide a pleasant distraction for Cassian’s restless nature. There was no other purpose.

The bitterness bled into Nesta at the fact Rhys demanded her attendance in a place she adored and would visit without complaint. Rhys had smirked it was the ‘without complaint’ he’d wanted from her for once.

She came only because Cassian had pleaded.

 The heavy honeysuckle cloyed at Cassian’s nose and he decided to leave the gardens before he drowned in the scent of flowers. He’d find Az, a permanently sympathetic ear, who would patiently listen to Cassian’s complaints about how suffocated he was in a place he longer wished to be.

As he turned, a flash of marble hidden in the trees caught his eye.

Cassian hadn’t noticed anything else on this mezzanine before but it was no surprise, the white figure among the deep green leaves was set apart from the circle and tucked out of sight.  

Drawing closer he saw the statue stood with its back to the rest, head titled downwards. The marble designed to be the hair splayed outwards as though caught in a tumultuous wind. Something about the statue, something about her, hollowed out Cassian’s chest.

“Why didn’t Helion put you with the others?”

“Because she doesn’t belong with the others.”

A voice, smoky and deep, carried across the space and Helion appeared from behind a wall of ivy onto the terrace next to him.

Cassian quirked an eyebrow. “I didn’t know about that secret passage.”

“That’s the whole point of it being a secret,” Helion said with a wistful sigh. “Now I’ll have to move it.”

“Don’t on my account.”

“And have you get here quicker to start your sulking? I don’t think so.”

Cassian opened his mouth to refute Helion’s words but the High Lord spoke over him.

“Beautiful, isn’t she?” he said with a nod to the statue. “Out of all them, this one’s my favourite.” Helion turned to Cassian, dark skin glowing from the light within, mischief in his eyes.

Cassian bit his teeth together.

She was beautiful though, curves and angles, and the strength of stone. But who were they speaking of? The statue or Nesta herself?

“Why is she over here and not with the rest?”

The smugness slid from Helion’s face, his dark eyes scanning Cassian’s face, categorising every imperfection and scar as though he searched for something. Perhaps he wasn’t able to find what he wanted and a sad smile crept onto his face. “I told you – she doesn’t belong with the others. If I put her in the circle where would she gaze? At the ground? I won’t have that for her.”

Cassian’s mouth twisted, “She’s already looking at the ground.”

Helion cocked his head to the side, like one of the curious dogs in the mortal realm who sensed an invisible Cassian without truly perceiving him.

“Interesting how we can view something so differently. Tell me,” Helion said, “what are you seeing?”

They stood, arm length apart, one a High Lord and one a General. One draped in white and gold silks and the other clad in black leather. Winged and grounded.

Centuries existed between them with decades of Helion’s decadent parties where his fingertips would trail across the skin of Cassian’s muscled forearm, his mouth curled into a sensual smile. They’d not gone to bed with each other but shared at least one female over the years.

Here they stood in the sun; no lustful invitations, no pulling of rank. They were two males, competing in a game with stakes Cassian didn’t care for.

Still, he described her. Head downward, eyes downcast, eyelids. No sculptor would ever be able to create something so fine but Cassian swore there were delicate, long eyelashes casting a shadow against the sharp sculptured cheekbones. The graceful neck curved into a collarbone and clavicle with strands of stone hair caught in a storm of her own making.

Head and eyes down. This is what Cassian relayed to Helion. “Are you satisfied?” he growled, “I’m tired of playing.”

Cassian had jested over the years that Helion had a way of undressing him with his eyes, of looking beyond the armour and siphons to the male underneath. Helion had roared with delight and asked Cassian if he wanted to put that feeling into action.

Now, with the High Lord’s dark eyes on him, Cassian believed Helion was witnessing something deeper, that he was now staring beyond bone and blood.

“I know when you’re upset,” Helion said, glancing away, “and where you go when you are. You’ve walked this pathway numerous times and besides, these are my gardens, they tell me everything.” Helion’s eyes flickered back to Cassian, “You’re not as prone to idiocy as Rhys would have you be. Look again and try and do it properly.”

I have, Cassian wanted to tell him but he hadn’t.

Her stone feet were planted on solid ground, the stone hands down by her sides with the palms facing upwards. Her head was still down as were her eyes.

The figure seemed to change the longer he looked, one expression melting into another, completely different from before; disinterest, anger, peace. Cassian followed the line of her eyes to the gold domes roof of the sunken library glinting in the sunlight on the mezzanine below.

The statues full lips were tilted upwards into a smile, small but there.

“You don’t love Day,” Helion said to him, his deep voice breaking through the storm of Cassian’s thoughts.

“I enjoy it.”

“But Day will never be home.” Helion raised a robed arm towards the sky, long dark fingers stretching out, the light greedily swimming around his skin. “You seek freedom and you can’t find that here. So, my question to you oh miserable one, where do you find freedom?”

Cassian shrugged; this was an easy question and though Helion already had the answer, Cassian would play a little longer. “Velaris. The mountains.”

“And who are you free with?”

Helion’s tone was sly and conspiratorial as though he was inviting Cassian into a darkened room and asking him to share all his secrets, whispering across velvet pillows or through draped curtains. It was like honey dripped from Helion’s mouth.

Cassian’s fists clenched, tendons sliding over bones as he flexed his fingers.

Helion was skilled at drawing out confidences that most fae wanted to keep hidden. He emitted some strange magic which made Cassian want to dash to the nearest scribe and spill everything he had. Names and faces swam into Cassian’s mind, seemingly at Helion’s bidding, the most prominent being the one who spent her morning scowling at him.

Her name took shape at the end of Cassian’s tongue.

“You know who,” Cassian choked the words out in lieu of the ones that was forming, “don’t play your games.”

Helion stepped closer to the statue with a sigh and trailed a graceful finger across the carved lifeline on her upturned left palm. The line cut off not long after it started before beginning again, half a nail width away. It matched the real version perfectly.

Helion pouted and peered over the ledge. “It’s no fun if you don’t want to play but let’s not then, let me share with you a truth which your own truth speaker doesn’t care to bring to you. Nesta isn’t free in Velaris, but then you do know this.” Helion’s eyes glanced from the sun glinted library roof to Cassian’s face.

“She’s free here though. My statues, my darling beauties, represent the hearts of my most welcomed guests and while you are quick to immediately assume that Nesta spends her time staring at the ground, I see she is simply seeking her own peace.” Helion shrugged, gold and white silk sliding over smooth dark skin. “Freedom looks different for everyone.”

“I know that,” Cassian snarled, teeth bared, “I don’t need some heavy-handed lecture.”

The air began to pulse as an energy reverberated around the stone of the terrace. The tree branches shook and the leaves rustled. One growl of power to a disobeying dog. A warning; never bear your canines at a High Lord in the very Court his blood runs through.

Cassian uncurled his fists, splaying his fingers in Helion’s eyeline. Acquiescence. Cassian was guilty of foolish behaviour but he was no fool.

Helion’s tone had bite. “I’ll forgive your misjudgement on account of your poorly developed emotional response mechanism but only this once. You get away with burying your head when in the Night Court but I won’t have it here. Let me speak plain - this statue is an everlasting part of my garden but it’s rock, expensive rock, but rock. I would happily welcome the originator of its visage to become a permanent member of my Court. I think she’d accept, don’t you?”

Although the power of Helion still sang its presence, Cassian restrained the urge to turn feral. He didn’t, wouldn’t, because despite what others thought, Cassian was no animal. Besides, some part of Helion’s words wormed their way through Cassian’s brain.

Perhaps Helion discerned the calm Cassian was desperately trying to maintain because his voice was soft when he next spoke. “You have two options my handsome friend; go together to a place where you are both equally as free or find your freedom apart. Sacrifices have to be made and they shouldn’t all be hers.”

The sweet scent of roses and lilacs drifted through the mezzanine and Cassian looked down at the statue’s open palm.

 “You can spend your time out here staring at an exquisitely carved piece of stone or you can reach for something real,” Helion said. “Your choice.”

Cassian thought of the circle of statues at his back, most especially the one on its toes spending centuries reaching for something that never came.

The squeeze on Cassian’s shoulder was gentle. “You’ll find her in the library,” Helion told him, “but then, you already knew that.”

Cassian sighed and closed his eyes and when he’d opened them, Helion had gone. Only the hanging ivy swaying by the wall was any indication of where he’d gone. Cassian looked back at the statue’s calm and serene face before trailing a fingertip onto the other open palm, half expecting her hand to curl around his, finding that he wanted it to.

“Yeah,” he murmured, “I knew.”

Cassian wanted everything; Nesta, the Inner Circle, Velaris. He wanted his freedom; long fought for and hard won. He could have all those things if he pushed hard enough - but only for a time. His desires co-existing side by side would have lasted as long as a breath in the span of his lifetime.

There will be cost and Cassian understood the price.

He left the mezzanine and its sculptured delights behind. They were just statues, fixed to stand forever. Living things were meant to move.

The library was cooler than outside, filled with white marble columns and an expansive white marble floor making the space larger and lighter. Ivy weaved its way up the columns while the golden domed roof provided a welcoming warmth, counterbalancing the coolness of the stone.

Nesta was exactly where Cassian knew to find her, tucked away in her favourite loveseat under an arch in the romance section.

In the mountains Nesta told him how she spent her days in the Day Court; meals with Helion, walks with Helion, talks with Helion.

They all made Cassian’s stomach twist.

Nesta also told him she learnt to be alone with her thoughts. In those moments she went to the library, one of the few places she found comforting. There hadn’t been many safe spaces on offer to her in Prythian.

Cassian stood a small distance away behind one of the larger columns, folding his wings in as tight as he was able.

Nesta would always be one of the most beautiful females he’d ever seen. As she was now, with her head bent to her pages, she matched the statue above their heads; watchful and waiting.

Her face, smooth and still, could have been carved from stone, a testament to how expressionless she could be. If Cassian hadn’t experienced the passion, the sadness and the rage which existed underneath he would have believed she felt nothing at all.

Her cool voice carried across to him.

“Are you going to spend all your time lurking in the shadows?”

“I don’t lurk.”

Nesta looked over briefly, a delicate eyebrow raised, her pink lips downturned. Those blue-grey bore into him. She wasn’t in the mood for playing.

Cassian sighed and walked toward her. At least, he thought, Nesta shifted on the loveseat to make room for him. After their argument he thought she would be more inclined to try and beat him with the book she’d turned back to read.

They sat in strained silence. Nesta’s soft breaths out of sync with Cassian’s. She inhaled on his exhale. Everything was out of sync with them, even down to the core.

Cassian let out another sigh. Maybe he could fix this, re-set where they were going wrong. He shifted, his leg brushing against hers, so he could see her while he spoke.

“I was speaking with Helion,” he said.

Nesta kept her face to her book but raised an eyebrow again, “Oh.”

“Yes, in the garden.”

“Hmm,” she murmured and turned a page.

“He found me through one of his secret passageways.”

Nesta’s lips quirked into a small smile, “Now he’ll have to change it, so you don’t find it.”

“Yes, that’s what he said.”

“He has many that he’s always changing. I wouldn’t worry.”

“I’m not.”

The silence fell over them again like a fog. They’d reduced themselves to small talk between strangers, Cassian at a loss for what to say and Nesta with no desire to help him find his words.

“He found me in the statue circle.”

She was about to turn another page, although she hadn’t really been reading since he sat down, but her fingers stumbled and she dropped the book which landed with a thud.

Cassian picked it up, the gold embossed words on a cover of rich green telling a story of love. Nesta reached out and as she did, Cassian used his other hand to grasp her wrist, “Nes...”

She wouldn’t meet his eyes, her throat bobbing as she swallowed. “Let me go.”

It was a weak command, her voice shaking as she spoke but Cassian would always obey her will and he released her wrist. Nesta snatched at her book.

She didn’t open the cover, abandoning her pretence of reading and instead placed the volume on her lap, staring upwards towards the ceiling.

“I hate those statues,” she said.

“I know.”

“You have to visit them every time you’re here.”

“Not every time,” he replied but she turned, looking him in the eye.

“Yes, every time. I’ve seen you and I’ve felt you through the bond.” She looked away and started to trail the lettering on the cover with a fingernail. “Besides, Helion tells me you visit them a lot.”

Well, Helion is a spy and a snitch, Cassian wanted to say but bit those words down. This was Helion’s court and those were his garden’s, his statue’s. He went where he pleased and talked to whomever he pleased, and that, unfortunately, included Nesta.

“After our argument this morning I knew you would go there instead of coming to see me,” Nesta continued, “you and that damned circle.” Her voice cracked and she bent forward, placing her face in her hands so Cassian couldn’t see. Strands of hair fell from her crown braid over her forehead.

“Nesta,” he said, and Cassian took her wrists in his hands, gently pulling them away from her face.

Her face had blanched a stark white and the rims of her eyes were tinged pink. Despite the sheen of tears in them, Cassian knew she wouldn’t allow herself to cry. Nesta always found a way of shoving everything into a box in her soul.

“You all get to spend eternity gawping at each other in every Court in every form, don’t you?” She snatched her hands away, smoothing down the frayed hairs away from her face, wiping at her eyes.

“They’re just statues,” he said.

“I know,” she hissed, “Don’t be belligerent Cassian, we both know you’re too smart for that.”

“I’m not being-” but he stopped speaking and sat back against the marble wall, his wings hitting them with a bang.

Cassian closed his eyes, trying to think of what to say to make any of this better. He thought back to their argument in the bedroom, mere hours ago which felt like days, surrounded by excessive amounts of silk in various shades of pink.

“There’s a statue of you,” he said, envisaging it like some lost old memory and not something he had been staring at less than hour ago. The image was clear in his mind; the windswept hair, the upturned palms, that lovely but sad face with its hopeful, delicate smile.

“I know.”

“Do you like it?”

“Yes, I think I do.”

“It’s set apart from the others.”

Cassian heard the rustling of her dress as Nesta shifted. “Helion told me he wanted it separate from the rest because it didn’t suit the others.”

Cassian’s heart picked up its pace, “What do you think about that?”

“I agreed. The statue should be away from the rest. It doesn’t fit with the others.” Nesta let out a gentle sigh. “I don’t fit with the others.”

Cassian opened his eyes and stared into the distance.

The gardens were a labyrinth and the sunken library even more so, rows of white bookcases lined with vibrant colours, pastels or even shimmering golds stretched outwards until they stopped short of the central atrium, right underneath the top of the dome. The light shone through in beams and specks of dust danced amongst them.

They both sat rigid and unmoving with muscles locked into place and stared ahead, not at the rows of books but at the future in front of them, at decisions that would take them away or bring towards.

“Would that suit you?” Cassian asked, his voice thick. “Being apart from us? Elain? Amren? Me?”

Nesta’s fingers twitched on her lap, digging deep into the material of her skirts. “I don’t need to consider Amren in my plans and she knows this. Elain will understand in time; besides she has her own life now and gets to live the way she wishes so I don’t understand why I cannot.”

She paused. “Feyre will be irritated but she’ll come around in time. She’ll have to.”

“And me?”

The seconds of silence lasted longer than Cassian liked. There was no definitive answer, no immediate outpouring of emotion. His breath rasped in his ears and now he could hear Nesta’s, finally in time with his own. Her voice was quiet, travelling from a universe away.

“You can’t seem to understand why I don’t love the Night Court as much as you do so I don’t know whether you’ll come around in time.” Nesta picked at a loose thread on her dress. The more she pulled, the more it seemed she unravelled the sinews in his heart. “I don’t know how much longer I can wait until you do, if you do. I don’t heal in the Night Court; I can’t heal among those who hate me.”

Cassian wanted to reassure her; to say he would understand why she couldn’t love the Night Court, that eventually she would heal amongst the copper roof tops of Velaris and she was never amongst those who hated her. The words stuck in his throat and burned.

His love for the place he called home was built in his bones, constructed as part of him as he had wings on his back. Without his home he wouldn’t be Cassian of the Night Court, he wouldn’t be anyone.

“Helion has offered me a home here,” she continued.

Cassian nodded, his head bobbing on a neck that now felt too thin. Cassian understood Helion wanted to offer Nesta a home in Day, he wasn’t aware he already had. “Would you be happy here?”

“I think so.” Nesta let out a mirthless laugh, “Day is the opposite of Night and so the Court would suit me just fine.”

Something burnt inside his chest. His overworked, overwrought centuries old heart was now in flames and this was the beginning of it turning to ash.

“I can’t live in Day,” he said. “The Court is fine enough but this place would become to me what Night is to you. It wouldn’t sustain me.”

“We’re at an impasse then. The road ahead of us is splitting.” Nesta spoke the words with cold, impassive authority, the kind of tone she used for others which led them to assume she was a heartless creature.

But Cassian could feel her as he always had. A crack across her heart ran deeper than anything before. She’d been through hell and come out the other side carrying what pieces of herself remained within her clenched fists. This couldn’t be the event which broke her, he couldn’t be the fae that broke her.

Sacrifices, Helion told him less than an hour ago, needed to be made. But not all sacrifices needed to be a bad thing. Sacrificing something didn’t mean you would always lose; it may mean winning something more valuable.

“Yes,” he said, voice soft, “if you think the road only has two paths to choose from.”

Nesta took in his words, and Cassian could sense the moment they landed in her mind, how she sounded out their meanings. A strand of wavering hope rose between them.

“Oh,” she said but her voice held a tremor, the edge of anticipation she was clinging to and the thread wound itself tighter round her finger until her flesh turned white.

“I believe this morning an angry female hissed at me about retreating back to the mountains and staying in the cabin forever.”

Nesta pursed her lips. “Well, I believe the female had a right to be angry as I believe said female was being abandoned by her mate.”

“He would never.”

“Hmm.”

Cassian ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the roots. “I don’t want to leave them,” he said.

Nesta’s shoulders sagged and her hope dissipated from her like smoke. “I know,” she said, “I just-”

“However,” he interrupted, “that doesn’t mean I won’t leave them. At least on a semi-permanent basis.”

Nesta took a deep breath in.

“I can’t live here,” he gestured outwards to the marble pillars and trailing ivy and streams of violently bright light. “Day isn’t for me but Night isn’t for you. My life is in Velaris and I have responsibilities that I can’t leave and friends I want to see, but as long as I’m somewhere near, somewhere I can fly to them I think that will be fine.”

Nesta released her breath and Cassian carried on. “I can’t lose them Nesta but I won’t lose you. I’ve waited a long time for you even before I understood what I was waiting for. If Velaris will destroy you then at some point the city will destroy me too.”

He continued to stare ahead but Nesta’s arm brushed against his as she moved, her slight frame against his broad one. From the corner of his eye, he saw her pale face gazing at him and if he turned to her, he would see her hope anew.

“The cabin needs more work to make it habitable all year round and the winters are hard and isolating. I’ll need to fly to Velaris more often than you would want and you’re still going to have to visit your sisters. Honestly, I’d hate to make Elain angry.”

There was a soft sob next to him. “I’d hate to make Elain angry too,” but she smiled through her tears.

“We’ll have to think of a way to transport all your books. I’m not flying them to the cabin, not if you’re bringing that twelve book saga you’re into with the-”

Nesta grasped his chin in her slender fingers and turned his face to hers. Shining in those blue-grey eyes through the misty layer of tears was pure delight.

“Thank you,” she whispered and brought her mouth to his. The kiss was sweet on his lips, soft and slow and filled with the promise she would always love him. Cassian deepened the kiss, sliding his hands over her waist before trailing upwards on her back to tangle in her hair.

They stayed like that for a while, his tongue seeking out and sliding against hers; wet, luxurious kiss after kiss. Cassian groaned and gripped Nesta’s hips, fingers digging into the flesh beneath her dress and he swung her up and over onto his lap.

She pulled her mouth away and gasped, “No! Not here, not in front of the books!”

“The gardens then?” he joked and received a flick to his chin for his trouble.

“Helion will be disappointed.”

“That’s perverse.”

“No,” Nesta crinkled her nose, “that I won’t be making my home here.”

Cassian trailed his hands up Nesta’s back to her hair, tangling the strands around his fingers, looking forward to when he could make it took as disordered as her glorious statue’s. “Make this place your holiday destination. I’m sure you’ll frequent Day every time I’m in Velaris.”

“I’m sure you’re right.”

“And when we’re done appeasing the world we’ll be together again, at home.”

Nesta’s eyes scanned his face, the way Helion’s had done earlier, but instead of an assessment that had left Cassian found wanting, her eyes were soft and the blue-grey was the colour of the sky in the Night Court just after a storm.

“Yes,” she said, “at home.” She leaned in to kiss him again and before Cassian closed his eyes he soaked in the image, letting it burn forever into his mind. A perfect picture of Nesta in the flesh; her fluttering eyelashes, freckled nose and the sweetest smile he’d ever seen.  

[thecat-isblogging-blog]

Introspective to Say the Least

Summary: Remus Lupin is late for class - his class actually. Matters don’t seem to become easier when the Potion Master, Severus Snape, hands him a riddle for him to decipher.

Author notes: I wrote this in January 2021 but I felt it needed one more look over. I absolutely love the in between moments that aren’t included in the books - but definitely hinted at.  Fic was inspired by this GIF set. Hope you enjoy :)

T&Cs: Header image is not my own but used from Pottermore.

---

Bugger

Lupin swore to himself as he turned the corner that led towards the Great Hall. He hastily sidestepped, avoiding a close collision with a group of Hufflepuff students.

‘Morning Professor.’

‘Morning, morning,’ He politely greeted back over his shoulder.

Lupin dared a glimpse down at the misty scratched surface of his wrist watch. Groaning to himself, he picked up the pace. Curse his greed for an extra hour of sleep this morning.

Entering the Great Hall at long last, Lupin pulled on his teaching cloak and adjusted his frayed collar over it. He approached the teacher's table and took his usual seat, nodding towards the last remaining professors who were sharing a quick word before class.

Lupin reached for a piece of toast that was still warm and placed it between his teeth before beginning to cut an apple into quarters. Glancing up at the nearly empty Great Hall, he turned his wrist to take another peek at the time. Breathing in sharply, and almost choking on the toast still lodged between his teeth, Lupin hurriedly tossed a liberal amount of marmalade on his half bitten slice.

As he did so, a looming figure had drawn beside him, blocking the beam of morning sun that had been pleasantly spilling onto him.

‘Lupin - late start to the week I see,’ Came the familiar slow drawl.

Lupin looked up smiling courteously. ‘Good morning Severus, yes afraid so.’

‘I trust you had a pleasant time off,’ Snape added, his tone offering no actual intention on wishing for it to have been pleasant at all.

‘As best I could, thank you. Did you need something from me?’ Lupin asked.

‘Yes, actually,’ Snape’s mouth curled into a sardonic smirk. ‘When I took over the extra work of teaching your class - I assigned some homework. But seeing as you are back, and looking refreshed,’ Lupin smiled at the effortless sarcasm, knowing full well what he looked like today. ‘Perhaps you could mark them yourself, it is your class after all Lupin.’

‘Yes of course Severus, I am very grateful,’ He nodded. ‘I can mark them today actually. I'm going to be giving the-’

'Wonderful,' Snape interrupted. ‘And dare I say Lupin, you might even find the essays… introspective.’

Snape strode off, leaving Lupin with one final glimpse of an ominous sneer. Transfixed, he watched as the black billowing cloak disappeared out the doors. The marmalade's sweetness turned tart on his tongue and the crunchy toast now sat unpleasantly soggy in his mouth. From his own experience, Snape never uttered the word 'wonderful' unless it meant the opposite for a foe.

Introspective

Nothing good could come of that.

A translucent veil came to stand between his view and Lupin slowly looked up at Nearly Headless Nick. Floating in the centre of a sausage tray, the Gryffindor ghost raised his eyebrows and tapped a ghostly finger to his wrist warningly.

Lupin turned his own wrist around.

Bugger it

Washing down what was left in his mouth with water - Lupin reached into his pocket and pulled out his cotton handkerchief. He folded the remains of toast and apple quarters into it before stuffing it back into his pocket.

As he ran up the stairs to where his class waited, his mind flew at possibilities waiting for him. A nasty image of howlers from disgusted parents made his stomach sink - and worse - Dumbledore, realising his mistake of hiring a werewolf, sacking him.

Lupin took in a breath and opened the door to his classroom.

‘Good morning everyone, I apologise for my tardiness,’ Lupin said quickly. He scanned over the many eyes that looked back at him, waiting for some sign of revulsion or fear. The lack of pitchforks were a good start, he figured.

‘Professor, you’re back!’

‘You’re alive!'

Lupin smiled meekly. 'Yes, Dean, quite alive.'

‘When we didn’t see you at breakfast, we were certain Snape would be back,’ Neville added placing his hand over his chest in clear relief.

‘Professor Snape, Neville,’ Lupin corrected and made his way towards his desk.

‘We thought he had snuffed you out,’ Ron added, a hint of warning in his voice that amused Lupin to no bounds. ‘He’s been after your job for years.’

‘Is that so?’ Lupin pulled off his teaching robes and draped them over his chair.

Hermione raised her hand. ‘Professor, I tried to tell him that we were still on chapter three - Barely Dangerous: Hexes and Curses - but he was quite adamant to skip ahead.’

‘Follows potion recipes for a living but can't follow a blimmin' syllabus, the git,’ Ron said under his breath.

Lupin opened his textbook. 'Wonderfully colourful, Ron, but I would prefer you save your creativity for lessons.'

‘Professor,' Hermione raised her hand again and was looking anxious. 'Does this mean the section on werewolves will be in this term’s tests - because I haven't added it to my studying schedule yet.’

Lupin tugged at his shirt collar, he suddenly felt as if a rather stubborn piece of toast had lodged itself in his throat.

The class had erupted into groans - some panicked that they hadn't even started a studying schedule yet.

‘I am sure professor Snape had his reasons everyone.’ He held up his hand to quieten the students down. He turned around setting the matter aside in his mind, there was a class to teach after all, and hitched up his sleeves. ‘Now, should we begin with the lesson?'

Waving his wand above him, Lupin covered his nose instinctively as the blackboard dropped down sending a great puff of chalk dust into the air.

He coughed, waving the dust away from him. 'For today's lesson, I thought we could discuss a recent story in the Daily Prophet.' He gently tapped the piece of chalk with the end of his wand. 'Anyone have any guesses?'

The chalk flew onto the blackboard waiting for Lupin to dictate.

‘Oh! Is it the Sphinx, Professor?’ Lavender asked excitedly. ‘I read a stray cat got into Gringotts and infected half the Sphinx guards with some kind of feline flu. The goblins were in an absolute panic.’

Lupin dragged his finger down the textbook. ‘I see you have been keeping track of the news Lavender, that is correct.' He looked up at her pleased. 'Now, before we get into the more enjoyable part of the lesson, please grant me your patience as we go through a brief history of the Sphinx on page 277.’

The reading of the chapter went by fairy quickly leaving plenty of time for what Lupin had in store for his class. He closed his textbook and tapped the blackboard which shot back up above him. He dusted off the chalk dust from his shoulders and turned around once more.

'With that, we have arrived to the practical side of the lesson - not to worry, I don't have one hiding in my desk,' He said seeing the nervous glances around. 'I shall be the Sphinx this time round, hypothetically of course. I will give you a riddle and the first person to come to me with the correct answer will receive the rest of the lesson to do as they please.'

The classroom erupted into instant excitement and chatter.

Lupin peered out the window. 'I myself would be quite partial to spending time enjoying the sunshine outside. As the Welsh say, to return to my trees. But-' He clasped his hands behind him. '-the choice will be yours.'

'Professor, what about those who can't figure it out?' Harry asked.

'I think it is punishment enough having a fellow student enjoy some free time while the rest continue work, is it not?' Lupin chuckled at the sounds of agreement from his class. ‘Now, as is custom with the Sphinx, you will only get one opportunity to hear the riddle. Please listen carefully:

He watched as his students rapidly wrote down the riddle, quills fluttering profusely.

You have me today,

Tomorrow you'll have more;

As your time passes,

I'm not easy to store;

I don't take up space,

But I'm only in one place;

I am what you saw,

But not what you see.

What am I?

‘Before you begin, please place professor Snape’s essays on your desk so I may collect them.’

Lupin walked up and down the rows of desks collecting parchment. Catching sight of the title, his stomach twisted unpleasantly: How to Recognise a Werewolf and Kill Them. It seemed subtilty wasn't a priority for Snape.

Holding the pile of parchments in his arms, Lupin felt weary as he walked back towards his desk. He sat down stretching out his legs, ignoring the click in his knee caps, and paged through his textbook. Lupin glanced over the werewolf skeleton diagram in front of him, the very same his own bones had broken into but three nights ago.

He dragged his fingers through his hair. How long until his students eventually placed the clues together? Because it really was a matter of when - not if. He glanced up and looked at Harry, he was muttering the riddle out to himself, brow furrowed.

Lupin looked away and reached for the first roll of parchment. He took in a deep breath as he read the first name.

Hermione Granger

If someone could follow breadcrumbs, this was the student.

Lupin read through the crammed handwriting and he had to admit, it was - as Snape had promised - introspective to say the least. Hermione had provided detailed visual aids, up to date information that would put any Ministry of Magic information pamphlet to shame. Turning over the page to a table titled 'pre and post-transfiguratio symptoms', Lupin felt cold wash through his veins. She might as well have been shadowing him the past week - it was all there.

Humans with the affliction may succumb to the skin condition eczema, often found on the hands, feet, knees and even neck. This is largely due to skin irritation caused by the rapid growth and contraction of fur during the transformation stages.

She had gone to this much research? Dragging his eyes from the words to his own hands, he saw the red and dry patches of irritated skin as clear as day, peeking out from under his sleeve. They were still raw and itched at the mere thought of them. He immediately pulled his hand away and placed it onto his lap out of sight.

This is what you get for forgetting your ointment you fool.

He had grown careless at his time back at Hogwarts, feeling self-assured under the safety of Dumbledore. Greedily, he had taken advantage and now had become negligent in hiding the evidence. With the clever minds and prying eyes around him, adding in his monthly absentness, he was at greater risk than he had ever been outside the school. Who was he kidding? As he played professor in front of his class, handing out riddles and dressing in teaching cloaks.

Clearly, Snape's ploy was not only cruel mockery, but also a necessary realisation.

Lupin took in a shaky breath as he felt his heart pick up pace. He circled Hermione’s full marks with another extra five points to Gryffindor for good measure.

Lupin knew his anxiety wasn't about to ease up as he reached for the next parchment.

Harry Potter

Feeling a quick ease in his shoulders at seeing that his, unlike Hermione’s, was single sided, double-spaced and had no tables. He could have kicked himself under the table, now wasn't the time to be celebrating Harry's lack of interest just because it suited him. If anything, he should tell Harry to put in a little more effort. Lupin was his teacher first and foremost, he had lost the privilege of being called anything other than that since he vanished from the boy's life.

Dangerous, uncontrollable, and deadly.

Lupin's mouth twisted - yes, those things is precisely what he was called.

It was then to Lupin's surprise, that the corners of his mouth began to tug in amusement. Harry, who must have eventually found the topic of werewolves quite tiresome, had drifted off from the textbook's description.

Werewolves have rather large teeth and could probably take a considerable chunk out of someone’s buttocks. They are known to howl at the moon, but I don’t think only werewolves do this, I once saw a Pomeranian howl. Come to think of it, that could have very much been a werewolf as it bit my aunt once on the nose and she got a nasty infection from it. Since then, she has become prone to chasing the neighbour’s cats. So, I would steer clear of Pomeranians as well.

Still smiling, Lupin felt a tingling of teacherly disappointment as Harry's solution on how to kill a werewolf was certainly not in the textbook.

I once saw a muggle movie where the guy killed a werewolf with silver bullets. I don’t know about most wizards, but I don’t normally walk around with a gun and silver bullets in my back pocket, so I guess if I ever met one I’ll just throw a couple of paperclips at the werewolf and hope that’s good enough.

Lupin let out a rather large and uncontrollable snort of laughter which he tried his best to cover up with a cough. Caught in the moment, he looked up and half expected to see James sitting there - it had to be. The impulse sent a wave of grief that settled in his chest where his heart beat miserably. It should be James here, reading his son's essays - not him.

Turning over the parchment, he circled Harry's barely passing mark.

James, you’d be in tears mate.

Reading over his favourite lines one more time, Lupin wondered whether it was frowned upon for a teacher to keep their student's essay. He would have quite liked to frame it actually.

‘Excuse me, professor.’

Lupin looked up. ‘Yes Ron? You figured it out already did you?’ He turned over his wrist to look at the time.

‘I think so, is it "memories"? Is that the answer?’ Ron rubbed the back of his neck unsure of himself.

Lupin grinned and nodded. ‘Yes it is, you may have the rest of the lesson off.’

The class erupted into disappointed groans as Ron turned around and gave Harry a thumbs up - which was returned enthusiastically.

‘I had it written down,' Seamus cried out banging his head onto his desk. 'And I crossed it out!’

Lupin, feeling lighter than he did at the start of his lesson, pulled out his handkerchief with the remnants of his breakfast. He reached for the next roll of parchment, an even shorter essay than Harry's. He read the name at the top:

Ronald Weasley

Tutting to himself, Lupin decided that perhaps he needed to have a little talk about the effort these two were putting into their substitute teacher's homework.

He leaned back, smiling as he picked up a browning piece of apple and ate it.

Introspective indeed Severus - much obliged.

---

Read on A03

Fic was inspired by this GIF set

[piracytheorist]

Allen & Colin interview (pt. 2) summary and tidbits

Again, these are just the bits I found interesting and worth mentioning. I still tried to mention as much as possible, but the interview was one hour long, and I only did this on my own whim to share with the people who, for whatever reason, have no access to the interview. So it is what it is :P

Once again, I recommend supporting Allen on patreon if you can. Without him and the work he shares we wouldn’t have this in the first place. Plus he has lots of interesting podcasts too ;)

(starting off under the cut, I’m very tired right now and there will probably be a lot of mistakes here and stuff I forgot to mention, I’ll try to look it up better tomorrow but I wanted to share it as is now, knowing how not being part of that stuff can be a BIG itch. So y’know, if you want, check it up tomorrow too, lol, it may be better :P)

They started by talking about Colin's career after he graduated from drama school. Colin talked about how in drama school, compared to the "real world", it was like being in a bubble because of the limited number of actors in one’s specific school. So it was difficult getting out and realizing how much more competition there is out there, and how you'll audition for a part that you feel you're ideal for but still not take it a lot of the time. He talked about how early in an actor's career, if they don't get such a role, they may start wondering why the producers don't see what the actor has to offer, when later they realize it can be for any reason, including small ones like their eyes being the wrong colour.

(And I'm here like, how can anyone look at Colin's eyes and think they're "wrong" for anything???)

(joking aside, it was just an example he gave, but I found it fitting because THOSE DAMN EYES)

And he mentioned how, due to the tight schedule any production has, they don't have the time to tell to every single actor they rejected why they rejected them in the first place (he's so understanding about it too, despite how much such rejections could have cost him, I love him so much!), so they can either spend a lot of time wondering what they did wrong or just move on to the next project they can apply for.

"Yeah, you come out thinking that you're gonna be the next James Bond straightaway or whatever, do you know what I mean?" He talked about while school prepares actors a bit about the realities of the world, a lot of people still come out of drama school with very high expectations, and how often that happens. But sometimes it's just pure luck that very young actors get big roles in big productions.

A lot of understanding of the job comes with the experience, he says. Of course training is necessary, but it develops with practice. On that note, Allen asked him if he thought young Colin could handle working on a big production right after finishing college, and Colin said that he can't give a straight answer because while he had experience when working in The Rite, his first big film, he had lots of confidence when straight out of college... so it would also depend on how well the production did, like if it flopped, it would've been a hit to his confidence.

He talked about how his very first job after college was a theater play - also dark and heavy, it was centered around suicide - and they went on tour for it too. He then mentioned Home for Christmas, his first TV role. "It was a great role, it was a really dark, black comedy."

(baby actor Colin finding his place in the world <3)

One of his favourite memories from there was that the prop master had an oyster farm, so you know, instead of biscuits, he'd bring oysters to share with his coworkers. (XD)

He also talked about how different it was to learn to act for the camera instead of the theater, where with a camera you can be much more subtle, and you're not projecting to an immediate audience. He always wanted to do film and TV and he was watching films and such, so it wasn't hard for him to learn to "rein it in", as he referred to it.

The year after Home for Christmas was released, he won an IFTA award for Best New Talent - which wasn't just an acting category, it also included directing, screenwriting, etc. so it meant a lot to him, he hadn't expected to win that award.

He talks about how dark that film was and he sounds so excited about it. Never change, Colin <3

Allen remembers how when they all watched it together, Colin was very self-conscious about it being him on the TV, and Colin said (now) that it's still the same for him now. Like, it's still weird, from acting out emotions ("You don't look in the mirror when you're crying") to the most mundane things like walking ("You don't see the way that you walk"), so even now it makes him self-conscious to watch himself.

Then Allen said about how he couldn't attend the award ceremony, but was waiting on news about it all day and as soon as he learned Colin won he tried to get there as fast as he could. What a proud and supportive bro.

Colin talked how he was in such a high after college, but then due to not getting a job for a long time the toll it had on him and his confidence was very big, especially considering how much more confident he was before. During that time, he was playing with The Enemies as his day job, and he is very grateful to "the lads" for giving him the flexibility to not play for a couple of days if he needed to be elsewhere to have an audition or something. But still he felt fulfilled with playing in the band, making music with it meant a lot to him. He misses playing with them.

At the time the whole "sending out a video auditioning for a role" wasn't a thing yet, especially the way it is nowadays, so Colin had to go to Dublin and London a lot to audition for stuff.

His first agency, before even starting college, was a modelling agency. "We never modeled [laughs]." He clarified that it was mostly because that agency also did commercials and stuff, so it was a way for him to get into acting and make some money before starting college. Through that he auditioned for an anti-bullying video (if I got that right) and the casting directors connected him with an agent in Dublin. He continued with his acting course though, so he already had an agent when he finished college.

His work in theater after that allowed him to hone his craft and work with bigger and more experienced actors, so he kept contact until he worked in The Tudors, where a casting director in the US saw him in. She contacted Colin about connecting him to agents there, and though at the time most of his savings would be going for his wedding that summer, he and Helen decided that he could invest in going to the US and take the opportunity. Six months later, he was on the set for The Rite, opposite Anthony Hopkins. "It was a surreal thing." He talked about how nervous he was for the first read-through with Hopkins, but on that first meeting Hopkins told him "Hello Colin, nice to meet you. Let's just have fun" and it immediately helped him relax and focus.

They originally wanted a big name for Michael Kovak, saying that even though they wanted Colin, the studio might ask for a big name, but once they got Hopkins in for Father Lucas, Colin got it.

(And I just... you know, I find this quite important. Like, it wasn't a common-courtesy promise of the type "Leave your contact info and we'll let you know if you get the role", it was a legit "We want you but the studio makes the final decision", and once the studio had their big name, the casting directors went through with their word.)

He had faced a lot of rejection by that point, so he said that he was very close to giving up before he got cast for The Rite. He still remembers the day he got the call confirming to him that he got the role, and again, how Allen rushed to him to celebrate.

{Ahhh they're adorable, I love getting that glimpse into their relationship :)

Allen mentions how different it is for actors, when they have to deal with a lot of rejection, when that doesn't happen on a regular basis with a lot of other careers. Colin said how one of the most frustrating parts about that is not that you don't get the job, but that you get the feeling that people can't see what you have to offer. And again, they talked about how due to the tight schedule directors can't provide constructive criticism on what went wrong in the audition.

He doesn't consider one thing factoring to his persistence to acting; it felt right for him, but the support from his family had also a big impact.

So much about The Rite was a new thing for him, like even the fact that he had about 3 months to prepare for the role - he even boxed during that time because the description for the role talked about a guy who was boxing all his life - to going to Rome and being part of such a big production was so big but also inspirational for him. Also getting to see posters of the film in places like Times Square or Los Angeles, and having people send him pictures of posters of the film was so wild for him. "It's one of those things where you can't think about it too much, you just sort of hop on and enjoy the ride."

(WHAT A PURE BEAN T_T)

He talked about being introverted and how acting allowed him to put on a facade. When he first went to LA, it not only was a different cultural experience, but also with how it was the thing of going to the right parties and talking to the right people, and Colin said "That's not me." And being a true introvert, he said "I'd rather sit in the corner until I have to go home. I can't go up to some random stranger that I don't know and introduce myself and start telling him how great I am and why they should put me in their movie."

He talked about being considered for a series of big films but he eventually didn't get the role, and I now wonder which one it could be. He said how the directors were interested in changing the character up a bit to make him Irish, so I don't think he meant Superman, for whom he was a contestant at the time...

He then mentioned doing the Pilot for Identity, the show that ABC didn't pick up, then doing Storage 24, then getting hired on OUAT, and how big of a commitment that was, since he had to move to Vancouver, away from his friends and family aside from Helen, who went with him, and sign a contract for six years where it was basically a huge part of his life.

Even though he loved Vancouver, going there was like completely starting over, since he had no support system set before he went. But he was glad for the people who helped him during this change in his life, and even without factoring in what impact working on OUAT had on his career, it was still a very positive experience for him.

Working on OUAT was different especially since he entered a show that was already a hit. Due to his young age he'd never expected he'd play Captain Hook. It was unexpected, but it gave him the job security to have a family, and after working so long he bonded with the cast and crew and felt them as family too (no, he didn't mention any names), especially with people who, like him, had relocated and didn't have that support system set.

(And that gave me the feeling of how it was like when I was studying, when I made many friends who, like me, had left their parents' home to go to a brand new place where they didn't know anyone and made a new start. And that kinda feeling helps you bond deeper with them.)

He talked about how tough it was for him on the first conventions he attended, like, getting up on the stage and answering questions about himself. He became more comfortable, though, when he realized that the actors weren't the central theme of conventions, but rather the feeling of community among the fans. He loves seeing people who even now discover the show and love it.

He talked about how playing in Dolly Parton's Heartstrings helped him "shake off" Hook after having played him for so long, and then being able to jump to The Right Stuff, which was also a commitment (unlike Heartstrings, which was one standalone episode). He's very proud of his work there, he loved the cast and the story, how for those characters going to space was so brand new and unsure whether they'd survive. He's so excited for it to come out, and for people and him to see it.

He concludes by saying he feels good with his career, that the periods of uncertainty and not working prepared him for his future. He feels content, though still ambitious for roles he wants to play but he feels he's given his best self.

He feels so humbled and blessed for his fans that watch his stuff and hopes they'll enjoy his future works.

(We will! :D)

[hrhduchessoflancaster]

Chapter Ninety-Three: A Council from the Past

Disclaimer: see Prologue

A/N: I know it’s been months and a lot has happened to everyone and to the real life Harry but onwards with the history. No interferences from the real world shall come into this story. So I’ll continue with what I had already planned and finish this story in the coming months (finally!). Hope you’re all staying safe and healthy. Lots of love, Bea.

__________________________________________________________________

A few days after Owen’s birth, they released his full name to the press: Owen Charles Philip Augustus and their son would be known as HRH Prince Owen of Sussex, like his older brother. They had traveled to London by helicopter on the next morning to have the baby accessed properly at St. Mary’s Hospital. Once mom and baby where both cleared, they decided there’s no point in travelling again and decided to remain in London. So Elle’s parents and brother were the ones who made the trip to Kensington to meet the newest addition to the family. 

“ Oh, he’s so precious, sweetheart.”, said Victoria, holding her youngest grandson in her arms. Elle and Harry smiled at her, while Arthur snuggled on his father’s lap. 

“ I really the name you’ve chosen for him. Strong name, a family name no less.”, said her father smiling to the couple.

“ Yes, I quite agree”, said her brother. “ But maybe next name, could you make him an Edward?”, he continued and the room was filled with laughter.

And so the Sussexes spent their Christmas and New Year at home, relishing in the company of their sons and close family as much as they could for they knew that in the coming month they’d have many engagements to attend to with their renewed and fuller schedule, which included new charities and a much awaited christening to plan and execute. 

************

March 2020

Dressed in a white a floral dress with a matching fascinator, Elle walked beside Harry carrying Owen in her arms, as he held on to Arthur who had insisted on walking. The flashes of the cameras slightly blinding them as they made their way towards the Archbishop. Much like at Arthur’s christening, the service was a private one, with family and guests present, including the Queen, Prince Philip and the closest members of the royal couple at the Chapel Royal, in London. 

For Owen’s Godparents they chose Valerie & Edward, Catherine & Mr. Richard Collins. Harry and Elle walked in first towards the altar, as Elle carried Owen in her arms while the godparents followed behind them. Elle then passed the baby to Valerie, while Catherine held the towel to dry the baby's head.

" Your Majesty, Your Royals Highnesses, Your Graces, ladies and gentlemen... Parents and Godparents, the Church receives this child with much joy. Today we are trusting God for his growth in faith. Will you pray for him, draw him by your example into the community of faith and walk with him in the way of Christ?", asked the Archbishop.

" With the help of God, we will.", they replied in unison. The Archbishop lit a large candle and the service proceeded with prayers and blessings. 

" Owen Charles Philip Augustus, I baptise you in the name of Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.", he said. Elle and Harry smiled as Owen cooed and Arthur clapped, making the congregation chuckle. The day was filled with joy and love, a bit different from their previous christening experience. No big revelations or problems this time around. The bells rang as the people left the chapel and moved to the palace itself. Little by little they made their way inside. Elle was holding Owen in her arms as Harry held Arthur, gleaming as the press snapped picture after picture that would soon be all over the world. 

After the service, the couple, friends, family and guests enjoyed a luncheon at the grounds of St. James’s Palace. While the guests mingled, Mario Testino once again was asked by the couple to take their official portraits. Since it was a bit chilly for them to be outside, they took the photos in the Yellow Drawing Room, whose pale, pastel colour along with the sunlight coming from the window, made it seemed as if there was a halo surrounding the family. All in all, the pictures portrayed a very sweet and touching moment, that would be recorded on their minds and on paper forever.

Once the pictures were taken, they moved along to the grounds of the palace, with Valerie and Edward constantly bantering who’d be the best godparent as well as keeping the infant in their arms, switching every so often from one another. Owen, of course, loved the attention. On the other hand, Arthur was relishing on the undivided attention he was receiving from his parents. As per tradition, once again a piece of their wedding cake was defrosted and served to the guests, along with refreshments, sandwiches, canapés, confections and some stronger beverages such as brandy and whiskey. 

************

A week later…

Harry and Elle had travelled to Scotland for an engagement in Perth, which was their first visit to their Earldom of Atholl. They had been visiting distilleries, churches and schools. They were in the middle of a guided visit at the famous St John's Kirk church, all was going very well when suddenly Ingrid, Alfred and Leo rushed to their sides along with Daniel and Lisa.

“ Apologies, Your Royal Highnesses, may we talk in private for a moment?”, said Lisa. The couple excused themselves and joined their staff on a corner of the church.

“ We’ve just received news from Her Majesty’s office. You’re needed back in London as soon as possible.”, said Lisa. Elle and Harry looked at each other alarmed. 

“ Has something happened?”, asked Harry urgently.

“ We don’t know for sure, sir. But it’s the Duke of Edinburgh.”, said Daniel. Elle’s eyes widened and she reached for her husband’s hand, giving it a squeeze, which he returned.

“ We can’t simply rush outside. People will think it’s strange.”, whispered Elle to Harry. He hummed in agreement. 

“ What is the plan?”, she asked in a low tone their RPOs and secretaries. 

“ The helicopter is ready on the outskirts of the city to take you back to London. We’ll make an orderly exit to the car, as if nothing has happened.”, Lisa whispered back. 

“ We should thank them and excuse ourselves, darling.”, said Elle, making Harry nod his head. Together with trained smiles, they returned to their hosts and very politely thanked them for the wonderful tour, took a couple of pictures and exited the church with cameras flashing in their direction. Inside the car, they kept their smiles up until they were out of reach from the paparazzi and the public.

“ Dear God… what could have happened now?”, wondered Harry, running his hands on his face. Elle’s hands ran up and down his back, comfortingly but her eyes held the same worry as his. 

“ Sir, ma’am… we’ve got news. Apparently the Duke of Edinburgh and Her Majesty were in Sandringham for the weekend when His Royal Highness started feeling ill. They then travelled from Norfolk this morning to the King Edward VII Hospital in London for observation and treatment in relation to a pre-existing condition.”, said Daniel. 

“ So grandad is sick again…”, said Harry. “ But that’s not new. He’s been on and off the hospital for the past year or so. What’s wrong this time… what are you not telling us?”, he insisted.

“ I’m afraid we don’t know sir. They are making tests but we can assume that…”, began Lisa.

“ Assume what?”, said Elle. Lisa and Daniel looked at each other and sighed. 

“ …that it’s not looking good if they asked you to return to London with such urgency. They are saying… that Operation Forth Bridge is on high alert.”, continued Daniel. The couple looked at each other, eyes wide at the severity of what might have been waiting for them in London. They held their hands tighter as they got nearer to the helicopter. Soon, they’d know for sure how bad it really was.

************

Upon arriving in London and making sure their sons were okay with their grandparents, the couple was taken to King Edward VII Hospital, a place they knew well enough and brought back a few memories, specially to Elle. She pushed those aside and hand in hand with Harry, she was guided by their staff to a private ward where as soon as they arrived, they could see Charles & Camilla, Anne & Timothy, Andrew, Edward & Sophie and the Queen. 

“ Nobody said what’s happened. What’s going on?”, asked Harry, looking around the room. The Queen, visibly shook, was being held by Andrew and Edward. 

“ It seems his heart is in a bad shape. His coronary artery was clogged again but when they were making tests in order to operate him, they discover that… his heart is failing. They can’t operate. It would be too risky.”, said Charles, misty eyed. Elle and Harry breathed in deeply and looked at each other.

“ What can they do then?”, asked Elle, sympathetically.

“ They’ve given him some medication to help with the clog and he’s being monitored but there’s not much they can do. The doctor’s said that… due to the severity and his age…they are just trying to make him comfortable.”, replied Charles. Elle and Harry hearing his words then realised why they had been called to the hospital. They were not only there for moral support. They were there to say goodbye.

For the next few days they came and went to the hospital to stay with the family and talk to Philip as much as they could. The older royal was struggling a bit with the idea of departing against his own terms but was comforting to the fact that there was nothing he could do. Even thought he general mood was gloom, the Duke of Edinburgh tried to remain in good spirits, cracking a joke every once in a while and terrorising the doctors from time to time. Though there was no joke or funny comment that could make up for the look of utter loss and sadness that had taken over the Queen.

By the end of the week, the press and public had caught up with the news but they didn’t yet know the extent of Prince Philip’s condition. As soon as the news began to travel, messages were pilling up on social media, prayers and good wishes were sent from all over he Commonwealth, vigils were held from all over the UK and the press, for once, tried to keep their distance and remained alert but respectful. One afternoon as Harry and Elle were keeping him company by relieving the Queen, Prince Charles and Princess Anne so they could rest, the older prince asked to talk to Elle alone.

“ Now my dear… what I have to tell you is simple but extremely important.”, said Philip. She leaned closely to him, listening attentively.

“ Being a member of this family is not easy and you’ve had your fair share of tribulations along the way. I cannot guarantee they are over for in my experience, there’s always something or someone who’ll come along to test or threaten you.”, he continued.

“ I know Charles won’t be king for a long time. He’s already old as it is. And soon it will be Harry’s turn. And one day, your son’s. Being the spouse of a monarch is much harder than it looks. But what you need to know… or better yet, what you need to do… is stand by him. Stand by him, Eleanor. Talk to him, advise him, comfort him but also challenge him. We live in a position of privilege but they hold the real power. We cannot govern for them, but we can try to do it with them.”, finished Philip, closing his eyes momentarily. 

“ Promise me you’ll do that. I see so much of myself in that boy… I want him to accomplish all that we could not. And by God I wish you both to have a long life together.”, he continued. 

“ I promise.”, said Elle, teary-eyed.

“ Good… good. Now… I must rest. Call one of the nurses, will you?”, he said and she nodded her head, quickly calling one of the nurses with the buzzer. 

************

On the following week, per Philip’s and the Queen’s request, he was taken from the hospital back to Buckingham Palace where he’d have all the medical care and attention needed but would be at home and away from all the atmosphere of a hospital, which was what he wanted to have. His condition, unfortunately, did not improve and he weakened further throughout March. On the afternoon, March 14th, 2020 Prince Philip, the Duke of Edinburgh died, with Her Majesty and Princess Anne at his bedside. Queen Elizabeth was devastated. No one had never seen her so sad or distraught apart from her own mother’s death. 

His body was taken to the Chapel Royal at St. James’ Palace, which only a few weeks prior had been visited by the family at a much happier occasion. There he remained in the lying in state, with a guard os 20 British Grenadiers soldiers guarding his body. The Queen and all senior members of the Royal Family broadcasted tributes to him. William and Kate also paid tribute. His wishes had been for his funeral to be a private affair, unlike the state funeral he could have if he so wish it. But he had been a soldier his whole life and that’s how he wanted to depart it. As a soldier as well. 

And so, on March 28th the funeral was held at Windsor Chapel. His sons and grandsons walked behind the coffin from the short distance between Windsor Castle and St. George’s Chapel. All close members of the Royal Family attended the service, as well as friends, the military associations he spent years as patron of or colonel and the heads of the Commonwealth countries, past and present whom he had had a contact with. He was laid to rest opposite to the Queen Mother, his father-in-law and sister-in-law. A mourning period of thirty days was installed on the family and no one performed any duties for the duration of it. 

The Queen retired to Sandringham, away from the public eye, with her dogs and Princess Anne. William, Kate and their children often visited her from Amner Hall. In that period, Harry and Elle also moved away from London with their sons and took solace in their home in Sussex. Renovation had been made to make a new room for Arthur and adaptations into the nursery so it could better suit Owen. Sir Lancelot was delighted to have the free space and wild animals to chase about the property and the couple was happy to be away from all the fuss of the city. Elle took the time to put some of her writing in order and to dedicate some of her time to start a vegetable and spices garden at the property, with Harry’s help. Taken up much of what Charles advised them, they started sustainable farming the estate so it could produce the food they consumed and also created more jobs for the people in the village they lived in. 

“ Do you think we’ll be able to go back to normal after this?”, Elle asked him as they were planting some rosemary in a patch of their garden.

“ I don’t think we can go back to normal at all, my love. And honestly, I’m not sure granny ever will.”, said Harry sadly.

[princessparkerxo]

King Sized Dick

Starker Fic - Warning; Tony’s cheated and just a lot of angst with sad little Peter! Peter is of age, I’ve based it that he’d be a college at 19/20 so. Also it’s only a little short thing, I’ll write more similar if you guys like it? Anywho, please enjoy! Oh, and prompts are always welcome in my inbox!  

Peter hadn’t seen Tony in just over a week, every single day after the first he’s counted down. He’d gone out of town on a college trip to a bunch of museums, that at first sounded so exciting but then the idea of being away from his boyfriend… Well, not so exciting. It dawned on him a few days before where he curled up in Tony’s arms on their kind sized bed, whining about not wanting to go. Of course, Tony not wanting to hold him back from anything – including education – ushered the younger male along, said everything will be fine, it’ll be over before he knows it and they’ll be back curled up in that bed.

God, that king size held the most amazing memories for Peter. Their first time together, his first time ever. Every single night since has been amazing with Tony. How could it not be? Peter’s completely in love with the man. The slow, sensual moments shared between the couple, gentle, passionate kisses meant everything to Peter and they’ve been played on repeat through his brain the entire time he was away.

Tony was Peter’s first in everything, Peter hadn’t had a boyfriend before. They shared their first kiss one late night in Tony’s lab. Everything was just heaven with Tony, he was always so loving, even when he wasn’t, ever when they let things get a little too rough, Peter felt safe.

The coach journey home felt like the longest ride in Peter’s life, he had his headphones on, gazing out the window. How long has it been now?

Glancing down at his phone, he flicked on his screen. No new texts. Tony’s probably in the lab, so maybe that’s why he hadn’t text him back. Peter just turned his music up a little louder and let his head slowly roll back onto the headrest.

The next time Peter’s eyes are fluttering open, the couch has come to a steady stop outside his college, so he pushed his headphones off his ears so they fell around his neck and grabbed his phone. Still no new texts. He’s sure Tony promised to pick him up – “I’ll see you at the gates, baby, go, you’ll be late” – he remembers him muttering between quick kisses.

“You doing okay, Pete?” MJ asked, grabbing her rucksack and shrugging it over her shoulder.

Her hair is falling messily over her face, another sign of how damn long this coach trip has felt. Everybody looked at tired as they felt.

“Yeah just—” God, stop checking your phone, you look insane. “Yeah, fine.”

With a bag over his shoulder, Peter hopped down the coach steps and glanced around. Hm, maybe he’s just running a little late.

“Wanna catch a taxi with us?” Ned gave Peter a soft clap on the shoulder when he saw his friend glancing around.

“Um, no, it’s okay. Tony’s coming to get me, I’ll see you guys later, yeah?” The sweet smile on Peter’s lips was enough to convince his friends as they head towards the big black gates.

Peter leant there for what felt like hours, a currently dying mobile phone in his hand. He’s already sent Tony three texts with no response, he can’t text him again, but the walk back to their home isn’t the nicest.

Clicking onto his boyfriends’ number, he lets it ring out for a few seconds. A few seconds more tick along, the phone ringing out before it cuts off. He tried again; he doesn’t quite know what he’s hoping for because the phone just rings out again then cuts straight to answer machine.

“Hey, sorry can’t get to the phone. Don’t leave a message unless it’s life or death.” Tony’s husky voice chuckled, making Peter smile sheepishly.

“Hey – um, it’s Pete, don’t come pick me up if you get this, I’m gonna start walking home. Haven’t heard from you in like, forever… Love you, won’t be long.” Peter mumbled before hanging up and tucking his phone into his back pocket.

Walking home it is. Peter pulled his sleeves down to cover his fingers when the wind started to pick up and picked up his pace too, it’ll only take him twenty minutes if he really got a pace on. He convinced himself that Tony’s busy, he’s a busy man. Constantly working so Peter wouldn’t blame him if he’s tucked away in the lab, time just gets away with him in there.

Peter’s woken up some nights to Tony still not being in their bed. He’s gone downstairs to find Tony half asleep with his head resting on a counter top, tools in hand. He works too hard, but there’s no telling him, he loves his work.

The sun started to set just as Peter was rustling around in his pockets for his house keys, checking just once more to see if he’d got a text from Tony, then slots the key into the door and twisted until heard a little click.

“I’m home!” Peter’s voice was all sing song and soft as he shut the door behind him, letting his bag slowly fall from his shoulder onto the floor with a soft thud.

No response.

Next to come off was his coat, letting it fall on top of his rucksack before making his way further into their empty looking home.

“Tony?” Peter asked, peeking his head around into the kitchen. The entire home seemed too quiet, too still.

He tried the door to the lab but it’s locked.

Pushing the living room door open, Peter reached up to knock on the light switch. No Tony. No, no boyfriend but there were two glasses of Tony’s best whiskey on the coffee table. Maybe Rhodey came around for a drink, that would explain why Tony wasn’t answering his phone for sure.

Peter was just about to ring Tony again, because the uneasy feeling was starting to tickle through his stomach, twisting uncomfortably and making him feel uneasy when he heard a floorboard creak above his head, the master bedroom. The phone was quickly tossed aside and Peter made his way straight towards the stairs, that horrible feeling in his stomach rising up his chest and into his throat, making it difficult to swallow.

There’s another noise just as he started up to the stairs, a movement in the bed, a soft creak and a breathy groan makes Peter’s heart twist.

His hand rested on the door handle when he gets to the top of the stairs and something makes him stop, something completely glued Peter’s feet to the floor. It doesn’t feel right, Tony wouldn’t just ignore him, he wouldn’t.

“Tone, I’m home from- “The words caught in Peter’s throat when he twisted the handle, pushing the door open and he instantly feels like all the air is punched from him, his entire world seems to come to a screeching halt.

A young red headed boy  – probably around Peter’s age – was sprawled on his bed, legs wrapped around his boyfriend’s hips with his fingers tangled in his bedsheets. They’re both completely naked, Tony’s back towards him with his hips snapping at a sinful pace, making the little redhead beneath him squirm and cry out.

The next couple of seconds seem to spin around him in slow motion, because Peter can’t find it in him to move. His ears started ringing, loud and fuzzy, making his whole body feel floaty. Tony must have noticed him because there’s a blur of movement through Peter’s tearful gaze of the two scrambling apart, both stumbling for clothes.

“Baby, Petey, sweetheart,” Tony pleaded, but Peter only flinched at each pet word that let his lips.

Now Peter barely flinched when the redhead pushed past him, quick to remove himself from the situation as he ran down the stairs with shoes and shirt in his arms.

“Pete-“

“You… You were supposed to pick me up.” Peter mumbled; voice numb as he bit back the bile that stirred up his throat.

“I…” Tony frowned, taking a small step closer.

He reached out, about to try and touch Peter’s shoulder, to pull him in closer and ramble a long list of apologises and reasons and anything to get him off the hook.

“Don’t!” Peter shrieked, jerking back. “Don’t… Don’t fucking touch me.”

Another silence.

“Who was he?” The boy questioned.

His voice doesn’t sound angry, in fact it’s choked through tears  and when he doesn’t get an answer he started to back away from Tony, straight out the bedroom and his legs finally manage to catch up as he jogged down the stairs.

“Where are you going? Please, I’m sorry!”

Peter can barely hear him through the pounding of his racing heart, stumbling just enough to the front door where he grabbed his rucksack with shaky hands.

“You can’t leave-“

“Was he good?”

“What?” Tony sighed. “Peter, don’t do that-“

“Don’t do what?” Peter bit down on his bottom lip to stop the sob but he still sniffled. “Was he? Am… Am I not enough anymore?”

Peter didn’t even want to hear the answer, he feels sick. His body is running hot then cold and he feels himself sob again when his eyes meet with his boyfriends.

“I… I loved you.” Peter whispered, tugging at the sleeves on his jumper before bringing the fabric to his lips, tugging nervously. “What did I do wrong?”

Of course, that’s where Peter’s poor mind goes first because maybe he’s not good enough. Maybe the lack of experience on his part was why Tony wanted to be with somebody else, somebody that really knew what they were doing. Somebody that didn’t need to be taught, or that could suck cock better than Peter had.

“You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m the one who fucked it up, I’m- fuck, Peter, I love you, I don’t know- I mean…” Strong, callous hands collect Peter’s hands up tight together, taking them from his lips where he’s nibbling his shirt and pulling them close to Tony’s chest.

Peter grimaces, the flashing images of Tony touching somebody else, the sickening feeling of all those glorious memories of laughter and giggles, moaning and everything in between is completely torn apart with this new memory.

“Please get off me.” Peter’s voice is barely audible and Tony had the audacity to look hurt, really hurt when he slowly let go of his lovers’ hands, dropping his gaze. “I-I… I think I need to leave.”

That really hit a nerve because Tony’s head snapped up and all the colour seemed to drain from his face. Peter did everything to not look at him, he couldn’t else he knows he’d crumble. He’d fall back into Tony’s arms and let him convince him that everything’s going to be okay.

“No, no no, please-“ Tony begged, stepping closer. “Baby, please.”

Peter doesn’t speak, he doesn’t think he can because he’s using everything he’s got in him not to scream and cry and fall to the ground. His entire life feels like it’s falling around him and he can’t do anything to stop it.

Peter swung his bag over his shoulder and headed to the front door, it’s only a strong grasp on his wrist which stopped him. When Peter finally looked, Tony was almost on his knees, clinging to the younger male’s wrist in pure desperation.

“I fucked up, I know, I don’t expect everything to be perfect… I won’t – ever, but don’t leave me, Peter. You’re everything to me, I can’t lose you.” Tony practically begged, keeping the boy still with his grasp but not holding tight enough to hurt. “Please.”

Peter feels all the energy drain from him in that moment, his eyes searching over Tony’s face as he exhaled a shaky breath. The moment their eyes lock together, Peter felt his bottom lip quiver and he can’t hold it anymore, his knees practically go from under him and he started to cry, really cry. Tony’s there to catch him, letting him cry, not even trying to shush him.

“I’m sorry.” Tony repeated, letting Peter cling to him as he sobbed.

The poor thing was broken. Tony was the only thing in his life that ever felt stable, that felt like it was really his and now he didn’t even feel that anymore.

Strong arms slowly scoop Peter up, easing him into his arms and carrying him straight back up the stairs. Tony would have been stupid to take him to their room so he carried him straight to their guest bedroom.

“I-I’m sorry I… I went away,” Peter cried hopelessly, the sobs making his breathing catch in his throat and splutter. “I’m sorry I’m not good at everything and that I’m still learning and I’m- I’m so-sorry-“

“Shh, doll.” Tony sighed, gently resting him down on the double bed.

Peter couldn’t find it in him to say anything, he’s hiccupping through tears as his body curled up into a tight little ball. Tony doesn’t try and get any closer because he knows he doesn’t deserve that. He doesn’t deserve to have Peter cling to him like he’s saved him, he hasn’t. He’s the one who’s broken the kid.

“I love you, Pete.”

No response. Maybe Tony’s lost him.

[fc5holidayexchange]

FAR CRY 5 HOLIDAY EXCHANGE 2019 [FIC]

‘come things only happy and whole’

Original Character/Sharky Boshaw -Pre Relationship. Deputy Rook, Sharky Boshaw, Earl Whitehorse, Original Characters

@ask-chibi-rook

This was a really fun experience with a really cool character concept! I think I scrapped like five ideas, which almost never happens. TYSM and I hope you enjoy! 

Notes: general warning for Jacob Seed who is Sir-Not-Appearing but still felt, brief non-graphic discussion of miscarriage, gentle flirting, as close as I get to fluff.

–

The circumstances are specific.

Eden’s Gate has a now unusually large population of pregnant women. The Resistance has few in the family way and explicitly no children in or around the compounds. So colour Pastor Jerome Jefferies and Father Joseph Seed surprised when they received identical messages asking them to parley a little north of Dutch in a zone they’d been habitually calling Bear Trap. Because of the bears. Twelve women who had been friends on Facebook before the Reaping started had kept to the agreement they’d made to meet up at Sally Sue’s old cabin and stay the days or weeks it took for all of them to give birth. This would have been a ridiculous thing to organise if a) every single woman involved hadn’t been previously part of a larger prepper group before making a smaller, more intimate one and b) that smaller group hadn’t been specifically for women who’d survived multiple miscarriages. 

“They’re ah, not coming down.” Some poor son of a gun has to tell Whitehorse at two am on a Thursday. They’re out in the chill, on the porch of a little house. “They’ve got four doula’s and a bunch of equipment they’d set up beforehand as well as a doctor. Marcie, that’s, uh, Walter Whit’s Marcie, says that we can shove it up out be-hinds if we want them to come down. It’s between them and God now.”

“She tell Seed that too?”

“She told Walt that.” The boy sighs. “She told Seed that he should have kept that prize winning show dog of his brother under better control as he stressed Wendy and Carlie something awful with their atonements. And that keeping any pregnant women near Faith, who she did have something unpleasant to say about as per her use of Bliss, was just about his greatest crime.”

Whitehorse snorts. “Has she seen the bodies?”

The boy holds up his fingers to make quotation marks. “That’s killing folk, not killing babies, and Seed was coming awful close to asking them to kill babies.”

“That explains the Peggies. When it came right down to it they picked their kids over the Father.” Whitehorse muses. “Would’ve been nice if they’d stood up for us. No, don’t relay that Jimmy, that’s me being an old grump. If those girls need things from us, you get it to them, alright?”

“Yessir.”

“And you,” he turns to point at Rook, tucked under a blanket on the front step with him, “go get some sleep.”

Rook points at herself, flips to the page in her small notebook that says me?

“Yeah, you. Relax Rook. Ain’t nobody around here going to need you to fix this.” 

She probably should have figured that Whitehorse would catch on. It’s been a week, maybe two, since Jess took an all terrain bike and an exhausted, largely non-responsive Rook back to the Henbane. She has marks she doesn’t remember and bigger, scarier blanks in her memory, left to white knuckle it through whatever recovery is possible. Rook spends a lot of her life kind of tired. When it’s hard to communicate you have to be quick and clear about what to say. She’s gotten it right down to essentials by now but that leaves out everything complex. There’s a lot of things sitting just behind her teeth, just behind her gums, that she’ll never have time to tell anyone. Certainly not if Joseph gets his way. 

From what she understands they are at a critical junction in Joseph’s plan. Months at most from his intended end of the world and he has been reacting with his expected fanaticism. A bunch of women trekking off into the woods should be a minor concern. All of this would be a minor concern, solved by Jacob, who had no one among the Prosperity Prepper Pregnancy Yarning Circle, but for one Miriam Lee, of John’s faithful, who led security. She’d changed the locks on any number of critical supplies and literally taken John’s secret stash of solar panels with her, leaving John to explain why he had solar panels in Joseph’s unreasonable and unlikely future, and why Miriam Lee was the only person who knew how to change all the passwords. This still wouldn’t have stopped Jacob but for Joseph, who had decided he’d had a vision and his eldest brother would be cast from paradise should he take arms against the innocent. The absurdity of that statement about that particular redhead aside it seemed the Father was dead serious. 

For all his numerous faults it seemed Joseph Seed was unwilling to harm a child. 

(Ha)

So the circumstances? Very specific.

Rook takes his advice and heads in to sleep. In her dreams places red and deadly pass and prosper, knives sharpen and music plays, a familiar voice sweet and betraying. It’s further away than usual, buffered in her dreams by smaller, stronger feelings currently unsaid. Her mind is dark, not quite unpleasant. When she wakes in the morning, just a few hours later, the Montana morning is fiercely pleasant. The weather is beginning to suggest it’s turning but it hasn’t done more than throw up some surprising afternoon wind changes. Enough that a light jacket and a scarf stashed somewhere is enough for almost any day. 

Someone knocks on the door of the small space she’s been allotted. Rook pulls on her clothes. Soft flannel, thick socks. Two shirts for those aforementioned wind changes. She makes sure she has a small notebook and pen on her. There’s a small box of blue ones under her bed here, liberated from John, so she never feels quite bad enough about how often they get snapped. The door knocks again and she rushes to open it.

On the other side Sharky Boshaw has a chipped mug of tea and a little bit of a nervous look.   

The soft feelings from her dreams return in daylight’s full glory. She waves hello, takes the mug and invites him in. Sharky takes in her messy nest of blankets, the pens scattered on the floor from her dash to answer the door and how, apart from her bed, there isn’t anywhere to sit. She can see him thinking, her own embarrassment flooding her face with colour, before Sharky kneels down and starts picking up her pens.  

“I heard from Isaiah -that prepper with all the grenades? The one the Peggies stopped going near because he set landmines attached to flamethrowers, well he’s been rehabbing a Judge. Found her ripping through Jacob’s territory baiting his people into traps. Clever as hell. He invited me up there ‘cause I brought him some beer a week or two ago and I made a bet against Hurk about it. Says she’s nearly ready to get the hell off his property on account of how she keeps activating his traps to scare the wildlife.” He pauses, glances at the ceiling while he scratches his chin. “Also I owe Hurk money.”

Rook hears all that and as usual has specific questions. She opens her book. Sharky hands her a pen. She writes: You brought a man surrounded by landmines beer?

Sharky looked faintly offended. “I ain’t afraid of fire.”

But the landmines? She asks with genuine concern.

“Landmines are fine if they’re attached to flamethrowers.” He waits a moment to see if she has anything to say to that, then adds, “Obviously I just figured out how those worked and went backwards. Easy.”

Easy, obviously.  

Sharky rubs the back of his neck. “So, wanna pet a dog?”

–

Whitehorse is a paternal combination of pleased and worried that Rook is leaving the relative safety of the Prison to pet a dog with a pyromaniac. On one hand, she’s been a mess since she came back from the Whitetails -the Whitetails that want her back pretty badly, not including Jacob- and a strong interest in doing things that involve walking outside in a relative state of peace is indicative of the good mental health she never exactly had. On the other hand Sharky Boshaw is taking her through woods not quite Resistance and not quite Peggie to pet a wolf that kills people. 

“Kills Peggies.” Sharky corrects when Whitehorse manages to stop grumbling long enough to state his problem. “And Boomer does that too.”

“Boomer is a good dog.” Someone Rook doesn’t know says from their left. “Let the girl pet a dog, Earl. It’s not the most dangerous thing she’s done for us.” 

Whitehorse makes a face she dimly recognises from her early days, when she stayed at the station all hours and didn’t so much as a glance at forming a relationship outside of work. At her one month review he’d said that he hoped that she’d one day find people here she could trust, that he hoped to be one of them, but until then he’d do his best to at least be a soft place to land. It’s months later, and there’s a war on, and his face still says that. Rook spends all her time trying to be what the Resistance needs, the person it needs. There’s not much room for being soft. 

Whitehorse relents, settles on take the shovel and gives Sharky back the rocket launcher and the nun-chucks that Whitehorse personally took out of his trailer about three months before all of this started. Sharky treats both of these gifts with a reverence that they have all learned to tolerate while living in close quarters. He also gifts Sharky with a ten minute long lecture while Rook goes and resupplies her day pack. There’s no explicit mention of her but she gets the feeling Whitehorse has been telling everyone to just be nicer, try to get her out of her shell.    

They take a car part of the way and leave it tucked in an overhang that the Peggies have yet to figure out. The way requires crossing the river and taking a circuitous route through some unallied areas. The trees are just sparse enough to let the sun bite her on the neck. The dirt is coming up off the ground at a rate that’s alarming covering them to their knees in grime and debris. The greenery sings with the sounds of small animals, cautious bird calls and absolutely no gunfire. Silence will fall all across the county for a few moments every now and then, as if the whole world is being as cautious as the birds.  

Sharky just talks and talks and talks. But he’s Sharky enough, whatever weird thing in the Drubman-Boshaw family makes them simultaneously caricatures and decent folk, to look back at her every so often and make sure she’s okay with him. Maybe it’s that he’s used to sound without answer, even if it’s from the opposite side. Maybe he’s just a guy who needs social skills and less access to nitroglycerine. 

“Whaddaya think?”

Rook hasn’t actually been listening. 

“Ah well, not important anyway.” He holds his hands out to her, baffling, before she realises he means to help her up into the knot of a tree. “Oh shit. Come look at this. Haven’t been back here in ages.” He plants himself and all but throws her up into a curvature of branches. “Man I got a twisted twunkle in this tree once.” 

Rook takes his hands. He guides her carefully among the brown bark and the sparing leaves.  

The tree itself is huge and old. It might once have been several different ones that melded together as trees sometimes do. Under her hands the bark feels warm and dry, aged away and tough. It feels alive but waiting, like it’s been here before and will be here again long after. She tries to take that feeling inside herself. Being steady and rooted instead of the constant swaying that digs deeper and deeper after every nightmare. Sharky helps, first by literally pulling her further in until they can sit on a thick branch together, and then by telling her all about the things he knows about this place. She’s not sure how much is true but it’s nice all the same. From the height, and the little raised hill the tree sits on, they can see a little bit of the space around them. The occasional smoke of a fire, or a plane flying in circles. She pulls out her radio, more habit than need, idly flicking it on and off, frequency to frequency, in case someone needs help.  

The radio speaks for a moment: -coming off the mountain-zzzt-no sign yet-zzzt-heads on a swivel A-Team, targets tricky and lean- Jacob hunting Whitetails, even in so-called peacetime.

Sharky turns it off, not soon enough to stop her sense of self crumbling at Jacob Seed��s voice, but soon enough that when he gives her a quick hug she clings to it. Sharky smells like a heavy mixture of adult male body odour, what was left of the laundry powder and wet ash. It’s pungent enough to clear her head. Sharky holds onto her for a moment or two past appropriate then slides away not quite smooth enough to be cool.   

“Hey, Rook, look at that.” He points straight out, and she assumes it’s just to change the subject, but soon enough a small dance of butterflies flies across the sky. They twirl in a circle and pass the tree close enough for Rook to see that they’re spotted with blue and bright green, creatures of the Bliss for certain. They dip down intending to take a pass right through the tree Rook and Sharky are sitting in. Sharky says oh shit just before they’re hit-

The butterflies fly around them, the whole world the colour of wings and white, before it’s the clear Montana sky again. One lands on Sharky’s nose and he pulls a face of intense disgust.

She can’t help it, she laughs at him.

He looks at her for a moment trying to figure out what the fuck she’s doing with her face. When she’s done she begins to climb down, the small bubble of mirth still sitting high, right behind her teeth. 

–

It’s just past dusk when they get there. All of the Resistance keeps odd hours. Isaiah’s house involves a hike that’s near vertical. They see signs of Peggie work as they circle closer -spray cans next to symbols on trees, a copy of Joseph’s Bible, the occasional item of clothing for some reason- but those signs thin as they get closer to the house. Instead scorch marks and gun holes pepper the land like confetti at a wedding. Rook pulls out her shovel. 

Eventually Sharky takes a sharp turn, ducks behind a thick crop of trees and leads her to a neatly kept front yard in front of a shabby barnhouse-cum-fortress. There’s even an American flag hanging from the roof of the added-on porch. Sharky whistles loud and clear across the space. After five minutes or so a man emerges.    

His thick beard and scarred hands tell a story all their own. He shuffles across the porch with a bag under his arm and a cane in his other hand. His leg acts like dead weight across the wood, scraping and scratching along. He makes an unhappy groan low in his throat. Acid burns. Isaiah never had a last name. Or if he did, he refused to give it.

“Hey, buddy.” Sharky hops over some line only he sees turns and holds out his huge hands for her small ones. Like before she hands him her trust and no small amount of affection and amusement and then they do the world’s silliest looking dance:

“Over here -that’s a trip wire, don’t hit that, good-”

“-now this’ll sound strange, two inches left with your bum or you’re gonna lose a bunch, and you’re small enough, ow, from your leg Po-Po-”

“-did you just trip? Dep, this is a real hotzone, come on-”

“-look, I know what it means when a woman makes that face at me, I’m sorry, I’m not trying to grope you, but they’re nice, so-”

“-Good, great, no, nope, that way goes Sharky’s testy festy and he needs ‘em for the Testy Festy seed swap, so come over here-

Finally they come up to the porch. Isaiah sits on his rocking chair under a blanket with ice tea next to him. His chest keeps expanding in little giggles.  Both Rook and Sharky are sweaty and breathing hard. Rook’s hair is stuck to her neck and she’s sure she’s never been this embarrassed before. No wonder the Peggies stopped trying. Sharky stops her with a solemn hand. “Okay now we’re gonna hop twice.”

She abruptly realises he’s fucking with her. Gently, with good humor, but still teasing her. She kicks a clod of dirt at him now that they’re close to the porch and reasonably unlikely to die in a fire. Isaiah makes this noise, like a cat yarking up a bird, his whole upper body moving. He’s laughing. Sharky laughs as well and proclaims he’s going to see if there’s any beer. With nothing else to do Rook climbs up onto the porch and takes a seat against the railing of his porch. Isaiah passes her a glass of the tea. He taps his own throat, the angle revealing its scars and warps, then pulls out a  pen and a board. With unpracticed fingers he writes on his own whiteboard: I heard you speak like this.

Rook nods. Isaiah nods back and returns his writing implements to their bag. Within reach but out of the way. The tea is blessedly cool against her forehead when she presses it in.   

“He-ey girl!” Sharky calls from inside the house. “Guess who found beer! You don’t have to guess, it’s me.” He sticks his head out, probably to ask if she needs something, so she holds up her half full glass. 

The Judge trots onto the porch. Her coat has been shaved down, patches still that bone terrifying white where the hair is longest, but all over are swathes of grey brindling. Her sharp blue eyes are clear as water in a face returned all the way from the Bliss. Around her foreleg a bandage is slowly turning pink from the injury beneath. She comes to rest her huge body near Isaiah but with her sightline out to the world. 

Sharky pats her cautiously then fits himself down next to Rook. “What’s her name?”

Isaiah considers. Then he opens his throat. “Boudica. Queen stayed free.” His voice isn’t clear. It’s pained and filled with the feel of disuse. He names the wolf anyway.

Boudica rolls on her back and shows her fluffy, scarred belly. 

Rook stands and shuffles closer. Her hand shakes as she brings it down, firm, on her upper chest. Boudica wriggles but stays still. Rook keeps patting. Her skin is scarred all the way up to a sharp cut right across her throat. She didn’t die. She can see it: Jacob’s knife, his music and his soldiers. Running as far and fast as you can because you can never be free but you can be away. Boudica defies that, though. Her fur is turning back from the Bliss and there’s not a hint of madness in her eyes. 

Rook returns to her seat. Isaiah gives her more tea. 

Boudica snuffles, rubs her nose with a huge paw. She picks herself up and trots through the front yard they had to dance through. Her path is noticeably straightforward. 

“What the fuck?” Sharky says.  

Isaiah laughs again. “Bad leg. Don’t have time.” He flings his hand towards Rook, the yard and possibly the entire concept of the war beyond it. 

“‘t’s not fair.” Sharky whines. “When I brought you stuff you made me strap it on my back and crawl!”

Isaiah slaps his knee, giggling again, points at Rook and then back at Sharky. “You danced.” Isaiah rubs his throat, as if it pains him. Then as if it would pain him more not to tease, “Fair.”

“I- Well-” Sharky chugs his beer instead of talking. Isaiah refills her glass to the top and bullies Sharky into pulling out Boudica’s bespoke sleeping pen, giving lie to the idea that she’d ever be coming back down with them. 

Night falls properly. They eat together. Isaiah has no room for them inside but Rook’s slept rougher and he brings out a little heater and a bottle of bourbon. Sharky unearths a pile of excellent quality sleeping bags in a shed hidden on the side. Rook watches him whine his way through the whole thing since they don’t actually know there aren’t landmines. The bourbon makes Sharky feel better, though.

He’s talking about…something, honestly she’s not sure how he transitions from topic to topic. She pulls out her notebook. She wrote it earlier in the day, never said it. Thank you, Sharky. 

He smiles, face lit by what little ambient light there is. “Ain’t no thing but a chicken wing, Rook.” 

Rook stays sober under a pile of blankets. Sharky has long since collapsed into snoring. The night is starry and silent. If she sleeps now she’ll have nightmares: falling through red rooms, black blood dripping down her mouth, her tongue returned but unable to make human noise, another layer between her and other people. Another place for someone to slide a knife. The night is starry and silent and in Hope County that will have to be enough. 

Boudica comes back in the early hours. Rook is still awake. Her muzzle is a little bloody but mostly she seems tired and pleased with herself. She comes over for a very quick pat but returns to the nest of hand sewn blankets and repurposed pillowing that she calls a bed. She tunnels in, turns and wiggles her body, huffs, sleeps.

Not his wolf, she thinks, and goes to sleep herself. She was right about the dreams. But between terror and noiseless pain is her own feet under her running like she thinks Boudica would.    

[athanasia-istolla]

Interview: Sindri Istolla

The following is done in a present state/day style: Oct 19th 2019/Unknown Hydaelyn date.

► Name ➔ “Sindri Rianorix Istolla be m’ full name, not dat anywon uses such.”

► Are you single ➔ “Mm if ye mean am I not see’n anywon, den yee. Tis long since dat’a been elsewise.”

► Are you happy ➔ “A’times, yee. Tis not always easy. I hath my health an me life. The Shroud itself be kind ta me even thou som folk be not.”

► Are you angry? ➔ “Angry? Non non.. Frustrated perhaps at current, but such wilt pass once dem false wanted posters be delt with.”

► Are your parents still married ➔ “When saw em last, yes.. I dun think much could’a shook dat bunch’s unionship even after all dis time.”

NINE FACTS

► Birth Place ➔ “mm such thing, is knowledge for the trusted only..”

► Hair Color ➔ “Most be silver with streaks o black.. Tis ma natural colour despite de questions o who I see ta get it done… all most non believe me thou.”

► Eye Color ➔ “Hmm ma eyes be bit complex.. Da outer lens is Dune-gemed Lilac, such be all dat most see at first glance, in part o how large they are. Yet past such lay a shifting teal-violet set o limbal rings o’ sorts. Tis not supar hard ta see, more easy at night thou. Last me sclera is dark, bu’ with how large de dune lens is, tis unnoticed by near all. If one was in ma life oft enough, eventually would see both o such thou.”

► Birthday ➔ “Thirteenth Moon of the Sixth Umbral Moon (13/12), T’was so early that day the sun had not risen yet”

► Mood ➔  “Perhaps a bit uneasy. Feels like some’n coming.. Yet tis hard ta discern when an if such be related ta thee fake posters.”

► Gender ➔ “Female.”

► Summer or winter ➔  “Winter. Aside de lovely delights of the season, cozy hearths, the quiet snow brings to de world.. The stars hang longer over head.. Tis peaceful to bundle near a soft fire an gaze upon the astronomic gems.”

► Morning or afternoon ➔ “If ye mean when to wake.. Just ‘fore dawn.. The stars still littering the sky.”

EIGHT THINGS ABOUT YOUR LOVE LIFE

► Are you in love ➔ “Love? Non.. perhaps hav’ a crush or three.” soft shy chuckle “But non, not love.. Not yet at least.”

► Do you believe in love at first sight ➔ Rumbles an amused chur as she smiles. “The fates work in many ways.. I have yet to personally experience such depth of sudden infatuation. I would personally be cautious of such. Yet I would not say such be impossible.”

► Who ended your last relationship ➔ “If by such yet again ye be speak’n o the intimate type… Circumstance.. Events beyond our control.. Despite the effort against such. I doth not know if she survived the raid.. An I was likely sold off too quick if they had mounted a rescue.. Twas a very long time ago now..”

► Have you ever broken someone’s heart ➔ “Am sure I likely hath broke a few in my home lands.. An perhaps some of these ones.. in the past at least. I can say such was not out o ill will nor intentional thou.”

► Are you afraid of commitments ➔ “Hmm non.. Tis not commitment I fear, tis abandonment, an what I can contribute being ‘enough.’ I know well I can’t provide all things, even the instances I wish to thee core I could. Tis hard ta find those who understands such.. While I am not opposed at all to Monogamy in the ‘right’ circumstances. Polyamory-esk dynamics feel more natural to me. T’was very common in my home lands. I’m.. still healing from things, I’ve made much road, yet still be more a head. ‘Someday’ I hope to share thine life with anothers again..” Chuckles “course such whimsy talk.. Who knows.. ‘Someday’ could start tomorrow if the fates align.”

► Have you hugged someone within the last week? ➔ “Doth this include Crypts an Elementals?”

► Have you ever had a secret admirer ➔ “Recently? Not any am aware of.. I mean, tis part o the name no? If they be do’n it right am not supposed ta be know’n ye?”

► Have you ever broken your own heart? ➔ “Oh ye.. T’was a very long time ago now though..”

SIX CHOICES

► Love or lust ➔ “Both.. Ye ye I know it says choices.. Yet both share a common base.. Passion.. An I rather adore passion.. In all things, not just the tango twix two or more.”

► Lemonade or iced tea ➔ “While can’t say I’ve tried iced-tea.. Lemonade is much too sour usually fer me. So tea.. With the promise ta try it iced come thee summer months again.”

► Cats or Dogs ➔ “I’m one who rather likes all nature.. If I must chose, Cats. They be far more self sufficient an tis quite lovely ta have a purring snuggle bug close while read’n.” 

► A few best friends or many regular friends ➔ “A few best/close companions.. Much as of course one would have other degrees of relations.. A core few dear faces is preferable..”

► Wild night out or romantic night in ➔ “Am a bit o a quiet one on de whole. Yet night outs can be quite delightful.. Hmm will go with night in, this time.” Softly chuckles.

► Day or night ➔ “Night, especially a clear night with a new moon.. Stars as far as you can see.”

FIVE HAVE YOU EVERS

► Been caught sneaking out ➔  “Of course, who hasn’t when young.. Even then I was.. Enamored with the astral.. Twas hard not to sneak out with ma scope on dem new moon nights.”

► Fallen down/up the stairs ➔ “Gehh.. course ye got’a ask som’n like dis.. Ye.. both.. more den am gonna be admit’n..” Her features bronzen with a lil pout.

► Wanted something/someone so badly it hurt? ➔ “Ye.. more den once..”

► Wanted to disappear ➔ “There were times.. In de past.. Am sure in some.. Most would have wanted the same..” Glances away, her tails coiling tighter around her hips as she hugs a length o one to her chest to suppress a tremor.

FOUR PREFERENCES

► Smile or eyes ➔ “Eyes, there is.. Much one can glean from a simple quick glance from the eyes..”

► Shorter or Taller ➔ “Oh dear.. Make’n me out ma self hm? Taller.. Am quite petite.. Four-Fulms an Three-Ilms tall at most, while I do enjoy huggling de even smaller den myself.. Tis hard not to be bit captivated by a taller lass.” Her features bronze again whilst she wiggles a little in her seat.

► Intelligence or Attraction ➔ “mm Am gonna cheat again an say both.. While I do lean towards a captivating mind.. Tis much said for there to also be de draw of the physical.. Perhaps tis a balance or one o em ratio kind’a things?” Grins a lil.

► Hook-up or Relationship ➔ “Mymy ye are a nosy bunch ne? Ye gonna ask for my diary next?” Chuckles through an amused rumble. “mn I’d say there be a place for both.. Yet I do lean more to relationships.. An such things have numerous degrees to them.. Yet something.. I guess that doesn’t leave one feeling.. Used o sorts.. Am sure some could argue there is “fun/good” ways of that feeling.. I’ve.. only experienced the darker side o such thus far.”

FAMILY

► Do you and your family get along ➔ “Yee, we did quite well on de whole.. Course we had our disagreements and such, what fam doesn’t.”

► Would you say you have a “messed up life” ➔ “hmm before these lands.. No.. it was a good life.. Even when we disagreed I was never treated ill or harmed.. An I could tell.. That they honestly thought they were doing the best for my sake.. ”

► Have you ever ran away from home ➔ Laughs softy “Guess you could say such in away.. Certainly wasn’t intentional.”

► Have you ever gotten kicked out ➔ “Non, not in de way yer asking at least.. There be an ‘o age’ passage with my kin.. Live off the lands on our own till our ink finish take’n root.. Mine took bout four full cycles.. Folks were very relieved when I returned ta em.”

FRIENDS

► Do you secretly hate one of your friends ➔ “Non non.. I’ve more aquatencies and trade contacts den friends currently.. I wouldn’t say hate but.. Thinking on it, perhaps a bit of wryness o one fellow.. Am doubtful they be give’n me the right return on some the crystals I sell em.”

► Do you consider all of your friends good friends ➔  “mn again I don’t really have at the moment.. Tis certainly a few acquaintances I’d like to get to know better.. Some.. much better.. I will admit to shyness an caution, despite my friendly demeanour.. Have been.. Betrayed more than few times.”

► Who is your best friend ➔ “Currently I don’t have someone I’d consider such.. Perhaps someday though.”

► Who knows everything about you ➔ Those lilac gemed eyes cast down a bit. “Saga did.. I know not if she lived through the raid on our village. Lady Lena as well, that was less willing of a conversation, despite my gratitude for being saved, in some sense, from de slave fight pits in Ul’Dah. I feared she’d sell me right back to the nearest auction if she knew it all.. or kill me herself. Yet she didn’t.. What more, made me da Head o house Attendant’s second & de attendant/body guard of her only heir, her daughter. Both Ladies of Bloodlion passed in the calamity.”

Tagged By: @kyrie-silverwings

Tagging folks mostly to share the info cuz I have barely anything for Sindri up lol Shy flail. No worries if you’ve already done it: @tsukikotanshi @lulu-ffxiv @az-ffxiv @under-the-blood-moonlight​ @fair-fae @purple-salt-mage @othard @alun-ura @cheche-dotharl​ @paleshadeofrose​ @clouded-vxle​ @trishelle

[vampwrrrmistresslist]

Riding the Red 2

A/N:  This is the second chapter for an in-progress series, the links for which are on my mistresslist.  This work is 18+

You were gently pulled from the depths of unconsciousness by the warm wet sensation of something licking your forehead. Opening your eyes in alarm, you saw that it was Chanyeol, who was not, in point of fact, licking you, but gently dabbing at your temple with a wet cloth that he periodically dipped into a bowl of warm water. You could smell witch hazel, and the sharp, herbaceous odour of tea-tree oil. You shrank back, and he stopped his ministrations, eyes flickering to yours.

Looking around, you took your bearings. You were gently sinking into a comfortable forest green corduroy couch, in front of a crisply roaring fire, in what looked like a well-appointed cabin. Under the pervasive odour of tea tree oil, you could scent the strong smell of pine, loam, and crushed leaves. Chanyeol had taken off his jacket, but was still dressed in his vest and shirt, the sleeves of which were rolled up to his elbows. He had undone the first two buttons of his shirt, and loosened his tie. His intoxicating, spicy scent wafted up from inside his shirt, swirling around your head.

“Welcome back,” he said. 

Looking back at him, you asked, “Where am I?”

“You’re in my home; you took quite a tumble. Nothing seemed broken, but how do you feel?”

You did a quick inventory of yourself. Everything felt fine, except for your head, which was throbbing. “My head hurts, but that’s it.”

“That’s to be expected, given how hard it hit that log.”

You closed your eyes and tried to recall a memory of what he was saying, but the last thing that you remembered was him offering to walk you home. “What happened?”

“You were walking away, tripped over something, fell, and hit your head,” Chanyeol said matter-of-factly.

“I don’t really remember…”

“That’s not surprising. You have a mild concussion, but nothing a few aspirin, some butterfly bandages, and plenty of rest won’t cure. You won’t even have a scar.”

“Are you a doctor?” you countered. Chanyeol just smiled mysteriously, and began to apply the bandages. “Seriously,” you said, “I want to know. I’m going to need a proper medical diagnosis from a real doctor.”

Chanyeol’s grin widened. “I’ve had extensive EMT training, as well as countless hours of field experience.”

“Oh. So…are you a medic? What is it that you do?”

“A tid of this, a bit of that,” he said, evasively. “All done. Have a look.” He handed you a mirror.

You looked with trepidation, but aside from some superficial, if colourful bruising, and a small gash held together by the butterfly bandages, your face was otherwise unharmed. You dimpled shyly as you looked at him. “I don’t mean to seem ungrateful. Thank you.”

“No thanks needed. I was happy to have been of service.”

“Well…I hate to run, but I really must get on to my grandmother’s house.” Chanyeol stared intensely at you.

“You can’t.”

“I…can’t?” you faltered.

“No. A freak snowstorm hit while I was carrying you here. We’re completely snowed in. Look outside.”

Disbelievingly, you stood up to open the curtains. The edges of your vision flickered and you swayed.

Chanyeol steadied you with a firm grip on your arm, then rose and pulled you to him. “Come with me,” he crooned in your ear, “I’ll show you.” Guiding you over to the windows, he pulled back the draperies to reveal a world dressed in white.

“What the devil is this?” You looked sharply at Chanyeol, who gave an elegant shrug of his shoulders.

“The temperature has dropped precipitously since the sun went down. Surely you felt it. Why else were you so bundled?”

“I…just dressed, I didn’t give it too much thought.” You paused. “It never snows this much here. It barely snows at all, not to mention at such an unseasonable time for it.”

“And yet, there you are,” Chanyeol said with finality, languidly waving a hand toward the window. With what you were coming to realize was his perpetual wolfish grin, he added rhetorically, “If you can’t trust your eyes, then just what can you trust?”

“Certainly not you,” you said softly, without thinking. Realizing your rudeness, you blushed scarlet and started to stammer an apology.

Chanyeol just grinned all the wider. “Smart girl.”

You searched his face, but despite its sharp planes, you found no malice. Unthinkingly, you reached up and placed your hand on his cheek. His pupils dilated until the iris was almost eclipsed by black, but other than that, there was no reaction. Dismayed by your own forwardness, you dropped your hand as if his face had burned you.

“I need to call someone to let them know where I am.”

Chanyeol started shaking his head before you even finished your sentence. “I’m afraid that I have no phone. I’m a rustic sort. No phone, no TV, no Internet.”

You felt your eye twitch; you were a daughter of the tech age. “No Internet?”

He laughed. “Teasing. I actually do have satellite service, but in storms like this, snow covers the dish and the end result is…no Internet.”

“Well, how long are we going to be here?”

“I haven’t the foggiest,” he said, comfortably. Your stomach took that moment to let out an ominous rumble. “Someone needs feeding. For better or for worse, you are my guest and as such, it is my distinct pleasure to see to all of your…physical needs.” You self-consciously wrapped your arms around yourself. “Follow me. I’m sure that I can scare up something.”

He led you to a dining room dominated by a long cherrywood table surrounded by high backed chairs. “Sit,” he commanded. You bristled slightly at his tone, but you were tired and hungry, as well as a guest in his home, so, after paying lip-service to your pride by giving him a look, you sat. “Good girl.” He reached into his pocket, and pulled out a small bottle of Tylenol PM. Reaching across the table for a carafe and glass, he poured you a glass of water, saying, “Take three of these. They should help with your head.” He left the room, but soon returned with a giant silver platter full of fruit, nuts, cured sausage, honey, bread, cheese, and two sharp little knives in one hand, and a bottle of grape juice in the other. “You must excuse me. I’m a bachelor. I have plenty of food, but none of it is particularly fancy.”

“My basket–”

“–Is in the living room.”

“I have some food in there. My mom had sent me a care package, and in it she included some things for my grandmother, which is why I was on my way to her house. I also brought most of my things to share with her, so that should supplement your stores.”

“We’ll dip into it, if necessary, but—”

“I have cookies.”

Chanyeol paused. “I’ll get it.” A moment later, he returned. Laying your basket on your lap, he looked at you. “Why don’t you make yourself comfortable? I can put your cape on the coat-rack. ”

“Oh…thank you.” You stood to untie your cape when he moved behind you.

Reaching around, he brushed away your hands. “Allow me.” He untied your cape, his fingers gently brushing against your throat. As he slid it from your shoulders, the backs of his hands brushed against your arms. The contact was minimal, but you felt your face grow hot. When he returned he looked at you. “You’re blushing.”

“I’m…quite hot. I’ll be fine.”

“Indeed. Shall we?” You both tore into the food.  You hadn’t realized how hungry you were until you started eating. You groaned as you bit into a piece of bread and cheese. You didn’t have time to be embarrassed, however, because Chanyeol was wolfing it down even faster. He wasn’t a rude eater, but an expeditious one. You grinned. You had always enjoyed watching men with good table matters enjoy their food and it was nice not to have to act like a lady while your stomach burned with hunger. Soon, however, the silver platter was clean, and you were halfway through your packet of Hob Nobs. You sighed, and sat back. Chanyeol nodded. “I second that.” You blinked your eyes in contentment.

Several moments later, you realized that your eyes were still closed. Before you could open them, Chanyeol swung you into his arms and started out of the dining room. You struggled against him until he said, “Relax, little one. I’m just carrying you to the guest room. My room is down the hall.” Realizing that your struggles were useless anyway, you relented. Deep within yourself, you sighed. His body was as hard as marble. A thrill ran through you as you enjoyed a luxury that you hadn’t experienced since you were a child. Of course, it was quite different, being carried by your beloved Papa, and being carried by a rugged, enticing man who was definitively not anything like your sweet, gentle, owlish Papa.

Chanyeol turned into a room, and sat you gently on the bed. The Tylenol were just beginning to work, and you blinked sleepily down at him as he undid your shoes. Looking up at you, he reached under your skirt, sliding his warm, callused hands along your calves and thighs, until he reached your garters. Drawing one hand back down your leg, he put it beneath your knee, lifting it as he unhooked the back of the garter. Gently placing your leg back against the mattress, he undid the front and side, and then tenderly, yet methodically folded the stocking down your leg.

You knew that you should be affronted at his effrontery, but you were tired, warm, and full of good food. Besides, what with the way that he was looking at you, and the warm scent of his hair teasing your nostrils, you were half tempted to let him do a lot more. He unhurriedly repeated the process with your other leg, looking into your eyes the entire time. Then, folding your stockings together, he placed them in your shoes.

He rose, towering over you as he looked down into your face. Starting with the bottom button, he slowly undid your vest, and peeled back the halves, then folded it into the drawer by the bed. As he turned back to you, you raised your arms. Reaching down, he began to pull up your shirt. Pausing, he ran his hands over your stomach. He swallowed, and looked at you. “Corset?” he asked hoarsely.

“I like them,” you shrugged.

Taking a shuddering breath, Chanyeol pulled up your shirt, and folded it away with your vest. He took a step back, and looked at you. Your golden-brown skin fairly glowed against the cream silk brocade. “My, my, my, Little Red. You almost make a man forget to be a gentleman.” You dimpled shyly.

“Turn around,” he softly commanded. You paused, unsure. Then you slowly turned around. “Pull your hair to the side.” Reaching behind you, you caught your heavy mass of hair with one arm, and pulled it over your shoulder. Chanyeol didn’t move for awhile. Just as you were about to turn back around, you felt his fingers begin to leisurely unlace the back of your corset. As each row came undone, you felt the hot backs of his fingers gently brush against your spine. Finally the work was done. An expectant heaviness hung in the air.

You slowly turned back around, holding the corset to your chest. Chanyeol looked at you, and then leaned close. You closed your eyes and tilted your head. You felt his hand brush back your hair from your temple, his breath gently fan over your face. He whispered, “That wound looks as if it’s beginning to heal already. I trust that a night’s rest will do you great good.” By the time his words registered and you opened your eyes, he was gone.

Follow me @vampwrrr, for the most up-to date posts.

[angrylizardjacket]

Holding Court In A Crown {Roger Taylor}

Sequel to And All The Queen’s Men {Roger Taylor}

A/N: 3630 words. Giselle is fun to write and I love her. Another article style, based off of many conversations between @ginghampearlsnsweettea and I. Let me know what you think.

[And All The Queen’s Men ‘verse masterpost]

HOLDING COURT IN A CROWN - GISELLE TAYLOR in conversation with Vogue UK about her fashion evolution through the decades. (Published June, 1991)

When stepping into the Taylor home, it becomes immediately apparent that this is a home in which public image has always been very important. Gold and Platinum albums alike line the front foyer, shining reminders of the achievements of both artists who reside here. It’s surprisingly modern, hardwood floors and large windows that allow light to stream in, though the house itself is smaller than one might expect. Giselle herself greets me in the front hall, looking carefully casual in a flattering, warm yellow summer dress, that hits just above her knees, and a pair of matching yellow slip on shoes.

I’m lead through the house, past closed doors, one of which I’m told is a personal recording studio, into a open-planned kitchen-dining area. It’s a strange marriage of two aesthetics, no pun intended, the German-inspired open planned living with the dark counters, appliances, and features that make the space feel a little smaller, though it comes together to make something modern and chic, and perfectly suited to both Giselle and her husband’s images.

“Roger’s with the girls,” she tells me, referring to her daughters, pouring us both a glass of water in some of the fanciest crystal glasses I’ve ever seen, “not that he wouldn’t jump at the chance to talk about his “fashion choices”,” her air quotes, not mine, “but I thought I’d spare you the half hour argument about the wine stain, and all the other, sundry fashion choices of mine that he likes to take credit for.”

Giselle herself admits that she’s always been very fortunate in terms of fashion, “I mean, I look good in everything,” though there’s an air of self deprecation about it, “Actually, I’ve had a certain liberty with my work attire that not a lot of people have, unless you’re in the entertainment industry.” What began with a rented cocktail dress bloomed into one of the most influential fashion timelines of the 70s and 80s.

Beginning her career in an establishment modeled after American prohibition-era speakeasies, Giselle started off wearing cocktail dresses rented from the pub itself. “I actually did start off as a waitress, but for that you just had to provide your own black pants and white top, you know, wait-staff attire.” When the pub’s regular singer leaves, Giselle auditions to be her replacement, “they were just grateful I could fit into her dress, I could lipsync for all they cared.” Except, as well all know, Giselle can sing, and begun to make a name for herself in the community that frequented the pub.

Pulling out a polaroid of herself and music industry giant Ray Forrester, she shows me the only proof she has of the dress that started it all. It’s a rather ill-fitting, wine-coloured, sateen slip dress, it looks cheap, and according to Giselle, “it itched like crazy, it was cleaned once a week, and I was just glad that I was the only singer, some of the members of the jazz band had interchangeable costumes.” We both shudder at that, and she puts the photo on the counter.

As soon as she was given some modicum of control over her wardrobe, she took full advantage of it. Without a coherent aesthetic solidified by the release of her first album, Giselle admits she used the tour for Velvet Roses to experiment with both fabrics and styles. I personally have always favoured the midnight blue, velvet bouffant-style dress she wore during her stops in Belfast and Paris, but she goes on to praise the white, silk slip dress she had during her stop in West Berlin.

“Silk! Oh the silk, I dream about that dress sometimes,” she laughs a little, and now that we’ve begun to discuss her tour outfits, she leads me upstairs, “at the time it was the most comfortable thing I’d worn… ever; being able to work, to perform in something so luxury? It was a blessing.”

Her closet, at least the closet she stores her tour garments in, is separate from her bedroom, and locked. She’s got the key in her pocket, prepared, of course, for the interview, and as we step in I can hear the hum of a dehumidifier, and feel the chill of the air conditioning.

“It’s my one real extravagance.” As she turns on the lights, we’re greeted to the sight of a room, approximately four meters deep and half as wide, lined with railings that are practically stuffed with garment bags of varying sizes, and the end of the little room has a built in area for her jewel toned and bejewelled shoes alike. Three mannequins pose in the ample amount of space in the centre of the room, each wearing one of her most iconic outfits.

Each section of the racks around the side are carefully labelled by year, and it takes only a moment for Giselle to go through the section labelled 1971 before she’s pulling that same white dress from a garment bag. It still looks pristine, and when she offers for me to feel it, I understand what she’s saying.

“I’ve always tried to keep a very high standard in term of the materials I wear,” it was the first part of her aesthetic identity that was formed. “I’d never really had access to luxury on this scale before; I’d lived in sweaters and jeans for most of my [university] days; I was one of those girls in the little skirts and beaded tops at clubs- I lived my life in gogo boots every weekend of my first year.” Apparently she still has her favourite pair in the back of her personal closet, but seems hesitant to show me.

When asked what prompted her aesthetic shift, she reveals her passion for luxury stage-wear was only part of the decision. “I’d go on stage in silk pyjamas like Hugh Hefner if I could, but it’s not my brand.” Forrester was a big motivating force behind her solidification as the picture of elegance.

We get to the first of the mannequin dresses now, the fitted, black, off the shoulder cocktail dress, shining with sequins and beads, a perfect frozen reminder of her performance on Top of the Pops. To see it in person, still pristine, I get hit with just a hint of nostalgia, as does Giselle herself it seems. Marvelling at it with arms crossed over her chest, I’m granted a closer look at what was quite possibly the most iconic outfit of the 1972 lineup on the hit British musical program. The gloves themselves are more intricate than first imagined; what was assumed to just be red glitter is actually hand stitched, red sequins from the tips of the finger all the way to the wrist where it fades to chunky, red glitter, glued on and somehow width standing the test of time, to then dissolve into fine and sparsely scattered red glitter from the mid-forearm to the elbow. The beads and sequins on the dress itself are affixed with barely noticeable, shiny red thread, that gives the dress dimension up close. Giselle cites Gothic Romanticism as an inspiration to add depth to her jazz-bar persona, as well as the theatrics of musical theatre, going so far as to called the dress the ‘Merry Murderess’ despite the fact that the musical Chicago premiered almost three years after the dress’ initial debut.

Despite this look being regarded as one of her classics, and therefore setting the standard for her public image for the years to come, there’s no denying that Giselle didn’t enjoy experimenting with her outfits.

“I’ve never technically worn pants on stage,” as we move further into the room, she begins to pull various garment bags from the racks seemingly at random, “skirts, skorts, shorts - which some might argue are close enough - dresses, and even full jumpsuits, but never actual pants; I’ve always been worried that they were too masculinising for my act.” Moving on to the rack labeled 1975, she pulls out a particularly slim bag, and from it she pulls a pair of shorts made of what looks like liquid gold, but I know is made of velvet, with suspenders to match. It hangs over a sheer, flowing, cream crop-top with bell sleeves.

This outfit is cited as the first time she had deviated from her skirts and dresses, though the outfit itself is still exquisite and has an air of regality. “I was in Phoenix in ‘74 when I wore this; I’d had it included in my repertoire for the Hand Held Heart tour in case it became especially hot,  which, being Arizona in the summertime, it was.” It’s here we start to see the influence of other artists bleed into her work; the occasional feathery flamboyance borrowed from Elton John, the avant-garde pattern and makeup work popularised by David Bow, and of course, the extravagance and glitz of Queen’s Freddie Mercury.

“You always have to specify that it’s [Freddie Mercury],” she’s very serious on this point, holding up her iconic, short, incredibly sheer white, long-sleeved fitted dress, marbled with red sequins to protect her modesty. It’s reminiscent of the red and white shorts Mercury had been known to favour on tours. “The others, while, yes, they could be well dressed on occasion, [Roger Taylor]’s lime green jeans aside, they never had the flair or audacity that Freddie had to be truly influential.”

After recording a cover of Queen’s Jesus for her third album, Giselle entered into an unofficial partnership with the band, which she tells me included a collaboration with Mercury himself on their costumes.

“I’d spent a long time trying to merge my style and my musical origins with modern aesthetics; I worked very closely with a designer, since it’s not technically my strong suit.” She pauses for a moment, and we make our way to the mannequins again, this time to the second, a floor-length, evening-gown style dress in lilac, capped sleeves, looking as though it’s tie-dyed with blackcurrant glass beads instead of fabric dye. “Getting to collaborate with the band was easy enough; I did talk with [Jim Beach] regarding the use of the song, but he ultimately he ruled that it was up to them, and so once that connection was established, I actually asked Freddie to help me with some tour outfit designs.”

People often assume Giselle is referring to her team contacting Queen’s lawyer, but she goes on record now to explain that it’s not true. “I’m a lawyer, my own lawyer, and I also work for several big-name bands in the music industry today. EMI picked me up halfway through my final year, but I still continued to go to [university], and I did actually intern under (sic) [Beach] while writing my second album. “ I’m assured that she had just regular suits in her personal closet; three, in grey, black, and cream, well fitted, ‘but not why you’re here’ she adds with a self-deprecating smile.

The lavender and blackberry dress was one designed by Mercury himself, the pale lavender representative of elegance and femininity, while the darker blackcurrant is used to bring depth to the dress the same way Giselle’s unwavering, calculated persona brings depth to her performances. It was Mercury’s idea to interweave the two in the tie-dyed style, keeping Giselle’s traditional aesthetic through the glass beads and the cut of the dress.

As we continue along the timeline, it’s clear to see the effect Mercury had on Giselle’s stage wardrobe, the use of geometric patterns coupled with bold colours, and more glitter and sequins than you can shake a stick at becoming more prominent throughout the late 70s, somehow still managing to keep in line with her traditional aesthetic simultaneously.

“I refuse to wear print.” She’s adamant about it when the possibility of wearing a garment like Mercury’s vest with his cats painted on it comes up. “Geometric doesn’t count; the texture in my wardrobe is always going to be,” she pauses for a moment, searching for the right word, fingers brushing through the fur of the fur-cuffs of a long-sleeved purple velvet number, “diegetic.” She settles on, and it’s clear what she means; patterns on her clothes are always wrought through beads or diamonds or fur or other things attached. “It’s the reason I have it locked, [Lilith Taylor, 7] has left the ‘indiscriminately grabbing things that feel nice’ stage a few years ago, but Rosie [Rosemary Taylor, 4] is just at the tail end of it. They’ll have free reign of this place one day,” she looks around at the fashion legacy she has built for herself, she wears an expression of pride, though it’s more focused on her daughters than the clothes themselves, “but for now I want to keep choking hazards and expensive furs out of danger.”

Around the very end of the 70s to the beginning of the 80s we see a return to form, with the resurgence of her form-fitted cocktail dresses. “There was a lot of change happening in my life at that time, and as much as I enjoy experimenting with my looks, it helped me feel secure to know I was in what was objectively my strong suit, pun not intended.”  According to her, she’d just begun seeing Roger Taylor, and she used her fashion choices to exercise control in her life that she felt she was losing.

“My private life has always been very private, now here I am with the man who trashes drum kits and throws TVs out window; I was so afraid that every time people took a photo of me, or even looked at me, they’d think I was compromising my morals or integrity - which I’m not, and I wasn’t then.” She quickly clarifies. “Our personal history is not void because of where we are now, but Roger and I have also changed as people, and we’re allowed to have our feelings change. I’m honestly a little offended people think I we would have gone through all we did for mere publicity.”

Speaking of Roger, I’m a little surprised her wedding dress isn’t one of those on the mannequins, but I understand her choice, and we’ll certainly get to that soon. Her wedding dress sits at the back of one of the racks, carefully distant from any of the year labels. As she removes it from the garment bag, she gives it a softly nostalgic smile, brushing the fabric gently. “This should really go in my own closet.” It’s unlike most of her other outfits here, such a pale cream it’s almost white, floor-length and sleeveless with a Roman-inspired cinched waist topped with what I hesitate to even call ruffles, their drapings so loose it’s reminiscent of curled hair rather than a traditional ruffle. The material is so soft and light that even on a hanger it looks a little ethereal. It’s simple, elegant, and the very sight of it brings joy to her face.

“’81.” The year is surprising, as is the revelation she shares about how they celebrated their tenth anniversary a few months prior. Putting the dress away, we move to the early eighties, and it’s almost cyclical the way we’re brought back to the ‘Merry Murderess’ aesthetic with the lineup from her ‘The Bend Before The Break’ tour. 

“Everyone and their mother seems to have read the article [All The Queen’s Men, Rolling Stone, 1985] and figured out I was in a shaky place at the time; it’s again about having that modicum (sic) of control. Part of me reverted to portraying myself in the way when I felt like I was at the height of control in my relationships and career. It’s a pretty aesthetic,” she gently pulls a velvet, wine-coloured cocktail dress from the rack, giving it a gentle pat, “it made my stage presence feel good, honestly.” It doesn’t sound bitter, but she puts the dress back. 

Apologising for a moment, she explains the large gap between ‘82 and ‘84, with her Finally, Sunlight tour. “After coming home from the [The Bend Before The Break] tour, I took some time to myself; I was, of course, still writing, but I couldn’t really perform or make any big public appearances after like, July in ‘83, because I was quite pregnant, and, again, I’m a private person.” The Finally, Sunlight tour is known for two things, Giselle wearing gold, silver, and copper, in any and every way she could, and the Atlanta Breakdown.

“I wore metallics because Finally, Sunshine is about my baby girls, and they are so precious to me.” As was made clear in the Rolling Stone article, Giselle and Roger lost one of their twin daughters to illness in Autumn of 1984, though Lilith survived, it took a devastating toll on the couple. Moving past that, we’re finally brought to the crown jewel of the collection; her Live Aid dress.

It’s almost the antithesis to the ‘Merry Murderess’, though it shares a similar neckline and off-the-shoulder style. The Live Aid dress, which Giselle calls ‘Queen Midas’ for reasons I’ll get into later, has a white, crushed velvet bodice with an inbuilt corset, and basque waistline. Beneath the waist is a enough layers of thin and flowing georgette to become completely opaque, like a waterfall from the waistline, the colours fading from a bright, sunshine yellow at the hip, to a rich, sunset orange by the knee, and finally to a smokey, warm-toned charcoal where it brushes the ground, with gold jewels dotted around the bottom and creeping almost to the knee in some sporadic places, reminiscent of embers in a fire. Her gloves are white velvet, and just like with the first of her most iconic outfits, it’s gold sequinned fading to actual glitter and diamonds. 

“I took a hard look at where I was and what I had achieved, and... whether or not I can help it, I effect people, through my music, my actions, through what I wear, and can be a double edged sword. Sometimes it can hurt, or I can hurt others by saying or doing the wrong thing, but sometimes I find myself wanting for nothing; everything I’ve held close has turned to gold. I wanted to show that, to be able to be a part of something that gives back to the world where it’s given me so much.”

With all her most well-known outfits having been covered, there’s one more that comes to the top of my head; the jacket of 1980. The tabloids had a field day with her choice of wardrobe as she stepped out of a car with the rest of Queen wearing a salmon and green floral, double breasted suit jacket, with silver buttons and silver stilettos, with sheer, thigh high white socks held up by a garter belt, hair fashionably messy, but makeup pristine. The deviation from her usual pristine image had shocked both paparazzi and public alike, however the daring outfit had quickly been lauded as one of her best, many publications who ran photos even citing it as the entertainment industry’s hottest innovative look of the decade. Even since it has stood the test of time, and has been attributed to the rise of patterned and bold suit jacket purchases by men and women alike, with the outfit have been cited as inspiration for more than one celebrity’s red carpet look. 

Now, however, something, possibly amusement, possibly annoyance, crosses her face, and she tells me it’s not here. The jacket is Mercury’s. “We were on our way to a party being hosted by [Elton John], and I’d only been with Rog for a few months at this point; so we’re in the back of the limo with the other [members of Queen] and Roger’s spilled his wine on my nice, white cocktail dress.” It seems like a bittersweet memory, and she reminds me of her earlier comment about the ‘wine stain argument’. “In hindsight, everything worked out, but at the time I was absolutely livid; very nearly killed him in that backseat. Poor [John Deacon] literally had to drag me off of him. [It] took both him and Freddie to hold me back when Roger got out once we arrived, and they had the driver circle the block again so I could change into Freddie’s jacket, which he so kindly lent to me.”

From her tone, and her following comments about how her husband likes to bring it up, it seems as though it’s a well worn argument of how Roger Taylor enjoys taking credit for the look, though Giselle doesn’t seem like she enjoys giving him the satisfaction.

“My image has always been about how much I can control what people see of me, and to have that control taken away by a careless action, it really hurt. A man like Roger, in the entertainment industry, is never going to face the kind of scrutiny that I do, it’s the reason you’re here at all, talking to me about fashion rather than say, how difficult it is to be a practicing lawyer in the music industry while raising two beautiful daughters. And I still write music on occasion. But people remember what you show them, how you present yourself; my tour wardrobe is a reflection of the persona I let interact with the world, and it’s beautiful, and a legacy that will probably outlive me to some extent. 

“Do I regret any of my fashion choices? I don’t really have the liberty to, do I? And either way, they’re part of the reason I’m where I am today; I made a niche for myself that was built initially on my aesthetic, if I’m being generous, so I suppose I’ll always be grateful to it.”

[danganronpa-21]

Naegiri Week Prompt #4: Hallway

GUESS WHAT GUYS IM ON TO BEING TWO DAYS LATE NOW AYYYYYYYY... I’m sorry, this one was a bit longer than the others and I kind of had to give up at midnight last night because I got far too tired. Still, it’s a piece I’m fairly happy with so I hope you will be able to enjoy it. 

ALSO, LITTLE TW: Violence and graphic descriptions of gore, death, and nose injury. So if those things are upsetting for you in any way, please skip over this one. Thank you!!

Beyond the walls of his homeroom, Makoto Naegi could never have imagined that this was what remained of their world.

A deep, dark shadow had been cast over Hope’s Peak Academy… No, not just Hope’s Peak. The whole world had been eaten alive by this darkness, swallowed whole and never spat out. Despite all of the good Makoto had once seen in his world, on this day he could see nothing but dark, evil despair.

It had all started with “The Parade”, which was by no means an event that lived up to its cheery name. Somehow, word of the skeletons in the Steering Committee’s closet had created a domino effect. The story began with the anonymous email from a member of the student body, revealing that the use of the money from the Reserve Course’s high tuition fees. As it turned out, the money was used to fund an experiment meant to create artificial talent in human beings. In spite of the school’s high hopes for the project, anonymous claimed that the subject of the experiment went awry. The email went on to debunk the story about the missing Student Council members, confirming that they had not left to study abroad. The story was actually crafted to cover up the fact that the students had been slaughtered, taken down one by one until there was nothing left but the blood splattered subject known as Izuru Kamukura.

Once word got out about the committee’s crimes, the Reserve Course students were in an uproar. They were shouting and waving signs in the air and clambering through the school gates, trying their best to get through and “achieve justice” for the crimes committed against them. Whatever that meant. As far as Makoto was concerned, there was no use in fighting fire with fire — his mother had taught him well that that is the way in which everyone gets burned. It was almost funny, he thought, that this idea was coming to him now. For so many years he had followed it so blindly, but now he finally had some more use for it. Especially considering the whole damn school had begun to burn down around him.

What had once been a beacon of hope became a standing tragedy. It seemed with each and every new hall he turned, he was affronted by the gory sight of pooling blood around Main Course and Reserve Course bodies alike. The stench of smoke mixed with the fluids of rigor mortis assaulted his nose and made him gag. Every new hall held another increase in volume when it came to the tortured screams and the devilish laughter, and with every corpse he swore he could taste the bile that threatened to rise up his throat. Even the air itself sent shivers down his spine as he and six of his classmates wandered throughout the school hallways in search of a safe haven. If he had any other choice that allowed him and all of the others to survive, he was sure he would have taken it. Unfortunately, however, this was their only option.

Their homeroom teacher was long dead by this point. They had considered her to be down for the count long ago, having never turned up to class. Somewhere on the sixth floor, they had found her body. Based on Kyoko’s diagnosis, she had been bludgeoned repeatedly until she was beyond recognition. They had first taken a swing at the back of her head to knock her down, and then began to strike down upon her face as she rolled around in pain. By the detective’s estimate, she had been struck at least twelve times before finally falling limp. She had been coming to warn them, and had instead been taken as one of the dead. Her help was no longer an option.

As for the help of the others, well, at that point they were not sure that there were any others. They had barricaded themselves inside of their classroom fairly early on in the rampage, insisting they could just hold out for a little while. At the time they were sure that other classes were doing the same, but they failed to consider that most classes did not have the same muscle and student power that they had. Thanks to Sakura and Mondo, they had a better chance at keeping those barricades up. Thanks to Kiyotaka, nearly all of their classmates were in the room. The only ones who were not included in this were Junko and Mukuro, as the two sisters had not shown up for class at all that day. Nobody had seen them that morning when it all began, so they had no other choice but to count them among the lost. The group had yet to find their bodies.

The remaining fourteen students were alone in the world now, the group of them having split off in to two separate teams to attract less attention. The plan was to slip by the Reserve Course students undetected, and make their way out of the school swiftly and silently. Once they were outside, they would reconvene inside of the Ex-School Building. After all, the Reserve Course students were not likely to go there. What business could they possibly have with an unkempt brick building and its boarded up windows that all in all equated to it being a deserted area? They would want to be where all of the Main Course students were, so Kyoko had decided that going to the former school building would be the best course of action.

Kyoko…

The thought of her rang in the back of Makoto’s mind as he creeped around the building beside her, his ears tuned to hear even the slightest of sounds that could indicate an ambush. In all of this confusion and fear, Kyoko was the one aspect that he felt he had certainty in. She was his best friend, after all. He had always been able to trust her with anything that he needed, so he had no doubts about following the plan she constructed. He had been the first person to put his hand in when she’d suggested it, and he intended to be the first person to back her up should anyone choose to doubt her. He had confidence in her brilliance and resourcefulness that he had witnessed time and time again. He knew that no matter what was going on, he would be safe so long as he was with her. He even considered the idea that perhaps it was her presence that was keeping him going.

“It shouldn’t be much further now.” Chihiro reported in a low whisper, glancing back at Makoto and Kyoko with distinct uncertainty. Of the six of them, Chihiro was the most nervous. The present situation had turned him in to a puddle of fearful tears, right up until Sakura had taken him under her wing. She’d promised the meek boy that she would look out for him as long as they were out there. So far, she had managed to do that quite perfectly. Though by all means he could still be labelled as the most fragile of the group, at the very least he had a smidge of confidence that came from his trust in his friend. “A few more floors to go, right?”

“Four, to be precise.” Celestia answered with a nod of acknowledgement, her faux French accent laying on to the word ‘four’ heavily. If it had not been for the fact that she was not so skilled at rolling her r’s, Makoto might have been able to believe her facade. “After that, we should be able to exit through the building’s back doors and escape undetected.”

“A-A-A-Assuming we can k-keep this up, that is.” Toko chimed in completely unhelpfully, chewing on her thumbnail skittishly. “You never know when they might c-c-come to get us.”

“What a pleasant thought, Fukawa.” Kyoko sighed, the irritation clear in her voice as she folded her arms across her chest. How amazing it was, Makoto thought, that she could keep her composure even in this situation. Sure, he knew that there was certainly fear that lurked behind her mask; but he was stunned to see that she refused to let even a little bit of it show.

“I-I-I-I’m just being h-honest.”

“Well, perhaps consider keeping it to yourself.”

Yikes, talk about blunt. For a fleeting moment he might have felt bad for Toko, if he had not heard her snarky “ice cold bitch” comment that was murmured under her breath. Judging by the slight twitch of Kyoko’s eyebrow shortly after, it was fair to assume that she’d heard it too. For the benefit of the group, she had simply avoided saying a word about it. They could not afford to be arguing when they were so close to reaching safety. It was better to let Toko’s snotty comments drop. That kind of maturity was typical of Kyoko.

As the group approached a larger opening on the floor, Makoto felt a wave of momentary relief crash in to him. From this point in the hallway he could clearly see one of the school’s staircases, completely barren aside from a discarded bloody knife and a… oh. His relief gave away as quickly as it came, and instead he felt guilt pool in his chest as he stared at what lurked there. A Main Course student had been murdered in that stairway. Stabbed to death with a pair of scissors that were now soaked with the colour crimson, taking with them all of the life had once been in the student’s body. Now the two lay together, the scissors sitting almost innocently in the body’s lap. If it were not for the face, frozen in an expression of the final moments of agony, it could have seemed relatively peaceful. As if the person were merely sleeping.

“Please don’t tell me that’s another body I see down there,” whimpered Yasuhiro as they approached, clinging on to Sakura’s shoulders in an effort to hide himself. His voice seemed to shake as he spoke, sounding so distraught at the idea of having found yet another body. Everyone had grown so tired of all these damn bodies.

“I fear it is,” Celestia remarked, “I do not think we can be mistaken about it. That is a dead Main Course student. Young one, too.”

Makoto swallowed hard, his hands curling in to fists as his eyes squeezed shut. God, it had only been an hour or so and he already felt sick of this. Sick of the bodies and the screaming and the constant fear. If he hadn’t been running off an adrenaline high, he felt certain that he would have collapsed from exhaustion by now. There was no greater challenge to him than trying to overcome whatever feeling this was, this pitiful sitting in his stomach as he stared at the corpse of the dead student. Without noticing it he began to bear down on his bottom lip, so hard that within moments his tongue found the familiar taste of copper. He had been too hurt to care.

“Easy now, everyone.” Kyoko hushed, putting a supportive hand on Makoto’s shoulder as they stared forward at the body. “I understand that it’s difficult to look at, but we need to press forward. Otherwise we risk achieving the same fate.”

A deafening silence hung in the air as they all stared back at her, grief and frustration in their hearts that swam through the truth of her words. At a time like this, they would have no room to feel sorry or disgusted by what had been done. The only sensations they could experience revolved around the fear of repetition, and so as inhumane as it felt; they knew that they had to press forward. So even with the awful lump sitting in his throat, Makoto decided to move on. He trusted Kyoko’s judgement, and moved along. He continued to take step after step along the others, to the stairwell and down it; until they finally came to the fourth floor of the school.

The silence they found on that floor felt eerie and deeply, deeply wrong. When the expectation had been chaos, this near peacefulness seemed suffocating. The air was unnaturally still as they stepped in to the main hall, accompanied only by the scattered bodies of the Main Course and weapons of the Reserve Course. The only sound that seemed to echo through there was the crackling of a fire that no one had bothered to put out, and their shoes hitting the ground with each gentle step. Why was nobody here? Had the Reserve Course already given up on this floor, having killed all of the living students for their twisted sense of fun? The thought shot chills down Makoto’s spine as he glanced over at Kyoko desperately, hoping for some kind of answer. Instead, he saw a glimpse of her troubled face and a glint of something silver out of the corner of his eye.

Suddenly he became very aware that they were wrong about the populus of this hallway.

It was seven plus one.

“Kyoko, look out!” He screamed, the one behind her beginning to take their swing; drawing their weapon back to bludgeon her over the head with it. With newfound urgency Makoto slammed his body in to hers, sending the two of them crashing to the ground in a chorus of shrieking. They hit the ground together with a thud, with Kyoko laying on her stomach while he held his weight on her back. For a moment he did not dare look up at the assailant, too scared to even look in to the face of the attacker. But when he heard the yell of frustration, he knew he could no longer avert his eyes.

“Damn you!” The student shouted, swinging his crowbar as if he was going to hit the smaller boy’s back with it. Wincing, Makoto curled himself further against Kyoko’s body in hopes of protecting her. “Interfering with my kill. Even at your lowest moments, you vermin are still getting in the way of my glory! I’ll show you. I’ll make you regret that!”

Before he could even get the chance to flinch, the Reserve Course student wound up his foot and kicked him square in the nose. The force of impact was so hard that he released his grip on Kyoko and went tumbling to the wall next to her, nearly hitting his head on it on the way over. Blood gushed from his nose as he tried to process the pain spreading through his face, his hands flying up to assess the damage done.

“Naegi!” He heard Kyoko cry out, scooching over to grab on to his arm and check on him. It shocked him to see that she barely acknowledged their attacker anymore, putting her focus in to making sure he held up. “Naegi, are you okay?”

Blood continued to gush from his nose and coat his hands as he nodded his head frantically, urging her to get out of the way of the attacker. He would not be able to live with himself if she got seriously injured or killed making sure that he was okay. No matter what happened, he needed to know that she was going to be safe. She meant more to him than he had ever had the courage to admit.

“Both of you, stay down!” came Sakura’s sudden order, her powder blue eyes glinting with sudden rage. Without another word she flung herself towards the assailant, slamming the heel of her palm in to his nose. He stumbled backwards from the pain, sending a shameful sensation of satisfaction through Makoto’s chest. He knew it probably was not right of him to be wishing this pain on to others, but in his defence… his nose really, really hurt. So much so that he feared it may have been broken, especially on account of what appeared to be steel-toed boots worn by the assailant. So maybe he had a bit of a right to feel pleased by the boy getting what was coming to him.

“Ow!” The boy screeched, his free hand flying up to cover his nose as Sakura wrenched the crowbar out of the other. Within the blink of an eye it seemed that the Class 78 students had gained the upper hand against their unexpected enemy, as Sakura continued to fight against him with ease. Discarding the crowbar to the side, she hit him with move after move to get him against the ground. He was practically powerless to fight against her, collapsing to the ground within the first five minute with a final thud. What a pathetic opponent he seemed then, writhing around in the ground in pain.

Once she had officially knocked him down Sakura drew back, panting heavily as she turned back to Kyoko and Makoto. The two of them were still laying together on the floor in a pile of nerves and slightly tangled limbs, clutching each other with desperation as they watched Sakura finish her fight.

“We need to vacate this area immediately. Can you walk?”

Hectically, the two of them nodded.

________________________________________________________________

“Shit!”

The word slipped out before he could even think about saying it, much to his embarrassment. After nearly dying and being kicked in the face, one would think that Makoto would not care much about swearing in front of the school’s headmaster. However, one would be wrong if that was their train of thought. He was indeed quite embarrassed by the word, knowing that it would not have been his choice if he weren’t in so much pain.

“I apologize, I am trying to be as gentle as I can.” came the response from the older man, clearly not all that concerned about the style of language he was using. Makoto supposed that in some ways Kyoko’s father would be able to understand the pain he was in, although he was surprised that that might have been what let him off easy. “I’ve almost cleaned off all of the blood.”

“He certainly got quite the hit in, Naegi.” Kyoko commented from off to the side, trying to examine the condition of his nose from a distance. Ever since he had knocked her off her feet in that attempt at protection, she had refused to leave his side. For the rest of their venture to the new building’s exit, she had kept a watchful eye on him to ensure his safety. Even when the headmaster had urged her to leave so he could receive care, she had stubbornly refused it. In a way, it felt almost as if she thought that it was probably the least that she could do for him after what he had done for her.

“Definitely,” The headmaster agreed, wiping a little more gingerly with the wet cloth. Makoto tried not to remark on how much of it was now stained reddish brown from his dried blood, and instead put his focus in to looking up at the ceiling. It was easier to think when he wasn’t staring in to the headmaster’s face. “But he certainly took it like a champion.”

“It is broken though.”

“Yes, it is broken, Kyoko.” He sighed, continuing to scrub at the stains surrounding the skin around the luckster’s nose. “Thankfully I have the materials to repair it, but it will be sore for awhile.”

“Small price to pay, really.” Makoto laughed softly, still keeping his gaze fixed on the ceiling. Just sitting there he felt tears collect in the corners of his eyes from the pain. Yet really, he felt nothing when he thought about them. He meant what he said, this pain was a small price to say. He had saved the life of someone he loved, and that was enough to make all of this pain worth it. “Tis but a scratch.”

Soft giggles came from Kyoko’s side of the room as she watched him, a sincere smile on her face. “There is that optimism that I know so well.” She snickered, tucking away some of her hair. “I was beginning to worry that that Reserve Course student had kicked it out of you.”

“Nope!” Makoto responded cheerfully, completely oblivious to how talking made the headmaster’s task of wiping down his face more difficult. “The only thing I lost there was blood. Otherwise, I’m right as rain.”

“Of course,” She laughed, inching closer to him. “I would not expect anything less from you.”

“Indeed…” Jin sighed, getting his last few wipes in before withdrawing to examine his progress. Aside from a harsh cut across the bridge of the boy’s nose, there was no real remnants of blood still on his face. At the very least, that was good. Of course, that only meant that the hard part would be coming next. “It would seem as if you are all done being cleaned, Naegi.”

“It would appear that way to me.” Kyoko added matter-of-factly, being surprisingly tolerant of her father despite her distaste for him. She was probably playing nice for his sake, Makoto decided. “It is still crooked though. Are you going to put it back in to place, Headmaster?”

The headmaster’s eyebrow seemed to twitch slightly at being referred to that way by his own daughter. Something told Makoto that he and his daughter were not quite in the same realm of understanding when it came to names. Still, he hid it quite well and recovered quickly, nodding to the daughter who had forcibly disowned him.

“I am, but I would like to go and get some more supplies first. Perhaps check up on the status of the other students.” He paused for a minute, his gaze darting back and forth between the two of them. “Kyoko, would you be alright to stay here with Naegi while I do so?”

“Of course.”

The headmaster nodded once again. “Thank you, I appreciate that.” He murmured, and with a few swift movements, he was on his feet and out of the room — leaving Makoto and Kyoko in silence. The two sat there quietly without an uttered word, simply staring at each other for what felt like hours. They stayed this way until finally, Kyoko spoke up.

“Naegi, I…” She mumbled, staring down at her own lap. “I never got the opportunity to thank you for saving me while we were in the school building.”

He couldn’t help but notice how gentle her voice had become, so soft and sweet sounding to his tired ears. The sound had been enough to entice him in, leaning in a little bit more towards her without thinking. From this position he was able to remark that she still smelled kind of nice. Like lavender, that had been unfortunately mixed with smoke… But mostly the lavender, though.

“It’s okay, I-”

“No, really, Naegi.” She said, slowly moving her gaze up towards his, so their eyes could locked together. It was then that Makoto noticed the rouge tint to her cheeks, and realized that there was more to this interaction than she was saying outright. “Thank you. For saving my life. I always knew I could count on you.”

“It’s no big deal, really,” He chuckled awkwardly, feeling his own cheeks heat up in embarrassment. He had never had a moment quite so vulnerable with Kyoko before, so it had become rather difficult to get a hold on his emotions. The secret crush he had been harbouring for her certainly wasn’t helping him out too much either. “I know you would have done the same for me.”

“It is a big deal. Not everyone would have had the courage to do what you did, so I just wanted to say thank you. For that, and for… everything else that you do.” She finished, leaning forward and planting a gentle kiss against Makoto’s cheek. Instantly the luckster’s face flushed bright pink at the sensation, his whole body feeling absolute joy that he was going to have to try and hide. In this moment of pure delight, he found he only had one thought:

If getting kicked in the face was the price he’d have to pay for more cheek kisses, he’d let anyone kick him in the face a thousand times over.

[perfectisme-georgette]

Archetype — The Ruler Birthday — October 25th, 1993 Zodiac Sign — Scorpio Sun, Pisces Moon, Leo Rising  MBTI — ESTJ Enneagram — 8; The Challenger Temperament — Choleric Hogwarts House — Slytherin Moral Alignment — Chaotic Neutral Primary Vice — Wrath Primary Virtue — Diligence Element — Water

Overview:

Mother — Addison Midler nee Windham Father — William Midler  Mother’s Occupation — Stay at home wife. Ex ruler of all things pageantry. Hails from old money.   Father’s Occupation — Highly famous News Anchor in the east coast USA. Also, hails from old money Family Finances — Very rich. They upscale. They have a lot of money. Birth Order — Only child. Addison wasn’t going to go through the ordeal of pregnancy more than once. She had her kid for the ideal appearance sake of a family and that was that.  Brothers — None Sisters — None Other Close Family — None. Georgette never grew up knowing much about her extended family, except that they were spread about all rich too.   Best Friend —  Before she really didn’t have any best-friend, except Perdita. She then messed that up. Now, she considers Melody and Rory to be her best friends. Other Friends — She doesn’t really have any other friends. All of her past friends weren’t true friends. They were just friends with Georgette because of her wealth and status.  Enemies — Her ex-boyfriend, Ryan Warren. He was the one that planned her rape and got it all rolling. If he can, he would make her life a continual misery.  Pets — Peaches!!! She is a Maltese and Toy Poodle mix. Georgette is absolutely in love with her!!  Home Life During Childhood — Georgette was very spoiled!!! If anyone would look at her from the outside they would believe she had the golden childhood. Anything she asked for she was given. The thing was, Addison wasn’t the best of mothers. She was cold and only cared about what she was able to gain. That being said, Georgette grew up with many nannies so there really wasn’t much of intimacy in her childhood. She was placed into pageantry the minute she was able to compete and that was all Addison cared about. The older she grew the more intense and strict her training became. It was basically what her world turned into much without her choice.  What Did His or Her Bedroom Look Like — BEAUTIFUL!!! There was definitely a lot of pink!!!! Georgette enjoyed pink and white so her room was those colors. Very organized because Georgette is herself. Everything in her room was definitely named brand. She had an enormous walk-in closet, practically the size of a whole other room and she also had an en-suite bathroom. She really had the dream room. Any Sports or Clubs — SInce Addison was very adamant about her daughter’s pageant career (more for her sake than anyone else) Georgette really didn’t have time for extra-curricular in school anyways. She is, however, AHMAZING in Gymnastics. Addison placed in her such because it was perfect for the talent section of the pageantry competition, plus Georgette has been double jointed since young.   Favorite Toy or Game — When Georgette was very little, like toddler age, there was a unicorn plushie she absolutely ADORED, but once she grew older there was no time really for toys and games so that was it.  Schooling — Georgette graduated from Elementary, Middle and High school in NYC as well as college. She went to Columbia University in NYC and graduated with a bachelors in Business (again on her mother’s insistence) and a masters in Chemistry (this was the degree she actually loved).  Favorite Subject — Science more so Chemistry and that is because she loved learning about the components found in what she eats and what she puts on her skin xD Popular or Loner — Popular of course!!!! There wasn’t a soul who didn’t know who Georgette Midler was in school pfft  Important Experiences or Events — All of her graduations because she is educated!! All of her pageants wins because she has never really lost any so of course, she has to have them as important experiences. She was raped, not an experience she would want to be mentioned but an important one that has changed her life. She entered quite a tragic low after the rape turning to alcohol for her remedy to the pain. Thenn she has DIED and is now UNDEAD so she is navigating those waters.  Nationality — American Culture — British now but was born into American culture Religion and beliefs — Georgette’s family are practicing Catholics, so she has grown up knowing their religious rituals and the classic Bible stories. However, she sure as hell doesn’t practice any of it currently in her life.

Physical Appearance:

Face Claim —  Candice Accola/King Complexion — Georgette has clear and clean skin, currently without acne or any blemishes. She’s very into skin care and keeping on top of her own skin. Now though she really doesn’t have to do much with it because of the regenerative power of the Fountain Youth. It keeps her skin and complexion flawless.  Hair Colour — Blonde Eye Colour — A beautiful gorgeous oceanic blueeee <3 Ughh I LOVE her eyyess Height — 5ft. 7 inches Build — Slim to average build Tattoos — Georgette originally did have tattoos. She had three. She had a large beautiful dream catcher that basically covered her entire right torso. That one was done to cover a scar she had received from her rape. She then had a star on her left foot and cherry blossom on her right wrist. She doesn’t have any of them now though because the Fountain of Youth washed them all away, including her scar. We are still figuring out if she’ll get a new one again, but it’s complicated since the magic of the fountain changed her skin. Piercings — Yes, just the standard two ear piercings. Common Hairstyle — Georgette lovess doing her hair so it can normally be found in some sort of up-do, or an half-half do. She also though, leaves it down and loose frequently especially now since she’s still figuring out her newfound strength. Clothing Style — Good thing I did the closet task on Georgette so here you go this is her closet!!  Mannerisms — Georgette is very expressive with her hands and talks with them a lot especially when angry. She’s very horrible with having patience (we are working on that haha) and you can tell when she’s reaching her limits because she starts tapping her fingers on the nearest counter. If she’s very nervous, aside from the normal body tensing, Georgette tends to incessantly turn whatever bracelet or hair tie she has on her wrist.

Health:

Overall (do they get sick easily)? — Nope. Georgette has always been a health nut and always took care to pay attention to what was going in her body, which definitely helped. Now though, it’s even harder for her to get sick if at all because of the magic of the Fountain.  Physical Ailments — None.   Neurological Conditions — She has to have some undiagnosed PTSD from the rape. Her therapist needs to get on that!!  Allergies — None Grooming Habits — Georgette never steps out of her place without looking completely immaculate from head to toe. She is hugely into make-up. In fact, she does her own make-up, rarely did/does she like when make-up artist had/have to do it for her during photo shoots and/or commercials. There is never a hair out of place or a nail undone. Her clothes are pristine and Georgette showers a lot!!!! Ever since the trauma, she can’t find herself clean enough. Sometimes are worse than others like when she’s triggered it gets bad.  Sleeping Habits — Complicated lol!! Her body isn’t in need of sleep because of the regenerative magic of the Fountain. She can sleep but it will be more out of a force of habit than anything. Some night she just isn’t able to it all because her body says “screw it” and doesn’t let her sleep.  Eating Habits — Georgette was always a health freak. Can’t look amazing eating crappy!! She was very into organic and local sourcing. Gluten free too. Now, however, Georgette doesn’t have the need for eating and her body never really feels hunger so, she forgets that she should eat. She will always indulge in chocolate though!!!   Exercise Habits — It was on point!!!! Look she always had to look fabulous so she was a firm believer of working out!! She was faithful to hitting that gym!!! Now, you guessed it, not needed!!! At the same time, with her new strength, a gym probably wouldn’t even cut it.  Emotional Stability — Hahaha I don’t think Georgette has ever been emotionally stable xDD. Georgette is one that feels all of her emotions. She’s not that best at holding them in and when she has to it often times blows up in her face and flares out stronger than before.  Body Temperature — Warm. I know she’s undead, but she’s not a cold corpse!! Sociability — It swings. Normally, Georgette is a social butterfly. She LOVES talking to people, being the center of attention and having everyone devoted on her, but if she’s triggered that all dies. She will keep more to herself and not really speak with anyone. This happens at times when she’s in the company of men she knows nothing about. They make her uncomfortable because of her trauma.  Addictions — None. Drug Use — Nope. Alcohol Use — Literally none. She intentionally chooses not to drink because of the fact that she had once leaned on alcohol to help heal her trauma wounds and that left her with choices she completely regrets now. 

Your Character’s Character:

Bad Qualities — Tapping on surfaces when angry, she can definitely have an attitude, not very good at swallowing emotions, impatient, can have a temper problem lmao Good Qualities — Always determined, loyal, bold, intelligent, feisty, she can be nice but it’s not a like very strong quality of her lol  Best Characteristic — Her determination  Worst Characteristic — Probably her temper Worst Memory — When she was raped. She has also DIED and it was a pretty traumatic death too, so she can’t honestly tell you which one was worse lmao Best Memory — Her happiest memory was her very first pageant win because after that very first win Georgette practically took the pageant world by storm and even broke the record for the most wins to date. Her first kiss with Hercules. She won’t admit to that out loud though Proud of — The fact that she is somehow still relatively sane enough to live life after all of her previous trauma loool. Also, her very successful and continually rising make-up industry back in the states. The fact that she was able to face and go through the trial that placed her rapist away in jail.  Embarrassed by — Her past, more so at the fact that she leaned on alcohol so heavily as a healing mechanism. While drunk, Georgette made many, many, many regrettable mistakes. A lot of those mistakes have been videotaped and aired by social media and paparazzi, was even shown in her trial.  Driving Style — Georgette doesn’t really drive. No need for it in Swynlake and everywhere else she just gets driven to soo haha Weakness — I would say it’s her view of her herself. Georgette has a very low and sad view of herself. Even though she has a strong determination and on the outside, she exudes confidence, on the inside, it’s a totally different story.  Fears — That she could get raped again it’s her biggest fear.   Phobias — None Secrets — Georgette doesn’t really have a lot of secrets because social media and paparazzi have basically placed her entire life out for the world to see. However, she hasn’t publically released her current condition: that’s she’s undead and now has crazy super strength.  Regrets — Gawwwd a lot. They all stem from when she was depending on alcohol. She made stupid choices while drunk including hookups and one night stands. Wild acting and everything. She regrets all of that and how low she allowed herself to drop.  Feels Vulnerable When — Triggered. She’s still learning through therapy what are specific triggers for her, but they bring her back to the rape and then she’ll get serious flashbacks. She’ll legitimately forget that she has super strength, so getting harmed would be a very low possibility. She’s very fragile when triggered.  Pet Peeves — Gahhh I’m sure Georgette does have some pet peeves but I can’t think of them right now xD Conflicts — There is the situation with her ex-boyfriend Ryan. He’s out to make her life miserable and is like wealthy rich in both money and influence so like Georgette feels like he’s someone that can’t really be touched. Her undiagnosed PTSD. Then there is her gaining control of her new strength and living with the fact that she’s not technically alive but neither is she technically dead too.   Motivation — It’s kind of sad, but Georgette doesn’t really have anyone or anything that she can hold onto for motivation. Besides, like self-preservation and her own will, there is nothing tremendously great that she holds onto. I mean she does love her make-up industry but it’s not like that’s what keeps her waking up the next morning.  Short Term Goals and Hopes — To keep excelling in her make-up industry, and maybe have it go international although she’s very happy with where it is now.  Long Term Goals and Hopes — Georgette really wants to fix her reputation publically. It has gotten so tarnished after the rape and she had made it worse by fixating in alcohol. Right now, it has gotten better and people are aware of the true story, but still, she has shot a lot of her own creditability by her drinking. She hopes that one day she’ll be able to settle down to have a family, but like wayyy in the future. She knows she needs to fix herself first.  Sexuality — Heterosexual butt that’s more because she really hasn’t experienced a bi-wakening moment. I can see her being attracted to females too but with all the shit that has happened to her life, sexuality hasn’t really become a priority with her. Exercise Routine  — Georgette used to have a very rigorous exercise routine, even during the downward spiral she was still very faithful to her exercise routine. She used to work out daily and focus on a different aspect each day ie. cardio, abs, thighs, arms etc. Now she’s in the works of trying to figure that out with her strength haha Day or Night Person — Both Introvert or Extrovert — Primarily extrovert, but if she’s triggered then that switches drastically  Optimist or Pessimist — Neither. Georgette is more of a realist but if I have to choose she probably leans more toward the pessimist side

Likes and Styles:

Music — Georgette is very 80′s trash!!! She loves all the 80′s songs except for the heavy metal ones. Her absolute favorite is I Wanna Dance with Somebody by Whitney Houston  Books — She is a romance novel fan lol. The typical girl answer but for Georgette it’s more because she’s never had the love she would read about like she never even had love from her parents. She also loves reading about Myths. It’s a past time favorite of her, particularly about the Heroes of Greek Mythology.  Her favorite book though is on neither category it’s The Scarlet Letter by Nathaniel Hawthorne Magazines — She practically reads all the American ones to see what they have written about her, and she’ll also receive copies of the ones where she’s featured in the front cover and/or featured in a spread. She’s been in a lot more lately since the trial and the rising of her make-up industry Foods — Georgette doesn’t exactly each much at all nowadays but her absolute favorite is CHOCOLATE!!! No surprise there xD  Drinks — She was definitely into those healthy protein shakes and smoothies but her favorite drink has always been water!!! She still drinks water frequently. Alcohol though is Tequila.  Animals — Peaches!!! She loves dogs and absolutely hates cats. Georgette does have a thing now for horses too.  Sports — Gymnastics that’s it.  Social Issues — Now that things are heading on the upside for her publicity-wise, Georgette is getting more involved with Women’s rights and rights and protections for rape victims. She doesn’t want anyone to have to go through all that she did with her own.  Favorite Saying — “If you want something done perfectly, you have to do it yourself.” Color — Pink!!!! Jewelry — Yeaass! Georgette loves jewelry!!! But she isn’t gaudy about it. Her favorite piece of jewelry would be bracelets. She always needs something around her wrist and she never leaves her place without one, so they easily became her favorite.  Games — Georgette really isn’t much of a game person. Websites — Very social media savy. Before, while in her downward spiral, Georgette was avidly avoiding social media and had even de-activated almost all of hers. Now, she back in the world, not so full-fledged like before, but back to where she knows what’s going on and bringing back her Instagram.   TV Shows — Georgette doesn’t really watch a lot of TV. She does enjoy Gilmore Girls and Friends but that’s about it. Movies — Georgette’s favorite movie used to be Mean Girls, but she’s over that now. She’s currently in the process of rediscovering her favorite. She does like rom-coms.  A favorite right now has been The Time-Traveler’s Wife.  Greatest Want — For the trauma of her rape to finally be all left behind her and still not torment her present day. Greatest Need — To work on her mental health.

Where and How Does Your Character Live Now:

Home — Georgette currently lives in the Castle Suites. She’s only one person so she didn’t want anything huge. Plus, her revenue wasn’t the best when she was first dropped into Swynlake. Now it’s amazing, but even still she doesn’t want anything big.  Household furnishings — It’s constantly changing because Georgette needs to replace something every time it gets broken because of her strength, but know that she’s very organized and her furnishings are definitely up their price wise.   Neighborhood — The NorthEast side of Swynlake Town or City Name — Swynlake, England Details of Town or City — We all know how Swynlake issss Married Before — Nope. Significant Other Before — There was Ryan Warren and Hercules for a brief time lmao. Children — Nope. Relationship with Family — Shunned. When Georgette went to NYC for the rape trial, she had stopped by home before coming to Swynlake and literally told her mother OFF. I mean she cursed this woman out lmao, so yeah she’s shunned xD Car — Nope. Career — An American media personality, socialite, model and a businesswoman as she is currently running her make-up industry.  Dream Career — In a past-life, she would have loved remaining in the Pageant world, now not at all. She currently has her dream career with her make-up line. It was something she always wanted and why she majored in Chemistry. Her make-up industry is her BABY Dream Life — Oh gawwd, one where she hadn’t been raped, and like DIED. She would have been Miss America and more continuing through the pageant world. She would be married with kids, but now she needs to change that dream lmao Love Life — Complicated. Going to just leave it at that  Talents or Skills — Georgette is awesome at Gymnastics, she’s super flexible, she has a beautiful singing voice, very business savvy, AHMAZING with doing make-up!!!,  Intelligence Level — Quite intelligent. She did go through all the educational levels.   Finances — She has a wonderful flow of revenue that constantly runs her way lmao

Your Character’s Life Before Your Story:

Past Careers — Pagentry   Past Lovers — Some as above. Biggest Mistakes — Turning to alcohol to help heal her from her rape trauma as well as never initially reporting her rape Biggest Achievements — The fact that she’s still managing to keep her head up after everything that has happened to her.

[pinpuku]

Partner + Team Request

hello !! i’d like to request a partner (and maybe a team? but don’t worry about this bit as much!), please! 

i’d like it if my partner was relatively small / not super large, as i’d like it to be something that can accompany me everywhere if that’s okay! (if there was a team done though, i don’t mind about the sizes of any other pokemon!)

my mbti is enfp-t, and my zodiac is cancer, both of which feel pretty accurate! idk if this is important, but my hogwarts house is gryffindor, which also really fits.

fave colours: yellow, red and blue! i also really like soft pinks and greens. i’m a big fan of colour in general, actually. ^-^

fave pokemon types: my all-time favourite type is electric! after that, my faves are probably fire and then fighting/psychic/dark, though i do love all types.

fave seasons: my favourite season is summer, followed quite closely by autumn! i’m not a very big fan of spring, though - it’s too rainy for me :c

fave places: i like places with a lot of art and history, and really love visiting cathedrals - aside from that, forests, big open grassy areas, and busy cities at night are probably my favourite places to be! i like scenery and activity ^-^

things i like: zoology, ancient history, exploring anywhere new, climbing trees, anything pretty-looking, religious art, psychology, writing, music - i’m a massive fan of eurovision!

things i don’t like: oh gosh, there isn’t really much! i’m not really a fan of loud noises and fast movements based on past experiences, and i’m absolutely terrified of big open heights (and yet i love rollercoasters? it’s hard to explain).

positive traits: people describe me as a good listener - over the years, i’ve become pretty empathetic! i pride myself mostly on my eclectic sense of humour, ability to find something good in everything and everyone, and my resilience! i don’t let things knock me down for too long. i’ve also got a really good memory & love to learn things, whether academically or just about people! i’m extroverted and pretty friendly, and often assume the role of “leader” in groups i’m in - but i’m just as content being a follower!

negative traits: i’m short-tempered when i feel like things could be done better, or if i see someone being needlessly rude or disrespectful. i’m also pretty trusting of people, but that can often blind my judgement for a while. i’m also physically quite weak, and despite my good memory, i can be weirdly forgetful about things if i don’t think they’re super important or interesting.

thank you in advance! ^-^

Hi! This one actually took me quite a while! I thought of too many candidates, but I finally narrowed it down to a team of 6! 

First, let’s meet your Partner, Victini! 

♡ Victini is very rare, hence its species title as a Mythical Pokemon. This pokemon is known to be pretty timid, despite its species being categorized as “The Victory Pokemon”. However, this might simply be because this species has a long history with abuse from those who wish to use its powers, with its naive tendencies being a weakness. It is very caring & empathetic. It will not hesitate to fight & defend those that it cares for, and it holds huge power within its small body. Victini can become invisible at will, so this Pokemon doesn’t often need to display its unwavering courage when it comes to itself. It would much rather just turn invisible & leave a dangerous or unpleasant situation if it has the choice to. This Pokemon is timid, but it can be pretty friendly & gregarious when comfortable! It has boundless energy & can even share this energy with others, and this can make your team very lucky & strong! It can be relentless when it’s “on”, and can be wonderful team leader! It most likely will not see itself this way, though it doesn’t care either way! (Just like you!)

♡ Victini is quite petite in stature & is capable of flight. This makes  Victini very easy to be with in any setting. Victini will not be particularly loud or chaotic in energy levels, either. They can live for a very long time & can also communicate with visions. This Pokemon could show you countless memories, and will also store & cherish the ones it will make with you. There is a lot to learn from Victini, even if they are not personally aware of how much they have absorbed over their many years! Victini is an optimistic, empathetic, brave Pokemon. It will enjoy meeting new people, traveling to new places, making new memories in a pace that seems very compatible with your ideal lifestyle! You two should get along very well! 

~The rest of your team ~

♡ Xatu is a Pokemon well known for inhabiting ancient ruins & surrounding areas, and scientists aren’t sure why. These Pokemon are colorful, odd & quite mysterious in nature. They can apparently see into both the future & past, and have the habit of staring directly at the sun all day, not moving. This Pokemon differs from you, as it is placid, aloof, extremely quiet, rigid & almost expressionless. Some people think this might be because since it is so wrapped up in its constant visions, it becomes crippled by stress. It could be very beneficial for Xatu to be trained by someone with your worldly, friendly & understanding nature. This Pokemon will never be a social butterfly, but even loosening & opening up a little bit could help this Pokemon quite a bit t in terms of happiness & comfort. Its prophet like abilities can also be useful in many ways, especially if you learn to decipher its unique wing-based language! That could definitely be a fun project to take on.

♡ Ampharos, The Light Pokemon! This pokemon can light up its orbs to intense brightness! Many cities & coastal regions have rich lore & history including Ampharos, which were very important to many cultures in the past for their strong light. This light can be seen from space, and ships are able to see it from many miles away off shore. For this reason, it usually doesn’t have its light on most of the time. Ampharos have docile, relaxed & sometimes silly personalities. Ampharos used to be a herd pokemon, so it will most likely be 2nd in command on your team! It will care for the others well, even though it comes off a bit dopey and awkward. They hold potential for great power. 

♡ Chimchar* (shiny) is a very playful & outgoing pokemon! They are pretty resilient in nature. They rarely let even the most unpleasant things ruin their mood. The flame on their bum only goes out while they sleep, and not even rain can extinguish it while awake! They will enjoy exploration, goofing off & pretty much any activity you’re interested in! They aren’t nearly as boisterous as some other pokemon famous for their playful ways. 

♡ Wigglytuff in the wild are rare, but wild ones are most often found in open, lush grassy plains, blowing in the wind & being lazy! Their entire evolutionary line has a strong natural inclination towards everything musical, mainly singing. They have the ability to hit & hold their notes longer than any human vocalist, and greatly appreciate an audience for this talent! They don’t always put everyone to sleep when they sing, only if they use the status move “sing” will this happen. Wigglytuff can share the same short-tempered tendencies you have for nearly the same reason, as well! They’re known to inflate when angry, and can snap pretty hard on those that truly offend them!  Luckily, if trained well, they won’t become too touchy or sensitive. This pokemon will never tolerate bullying! They have incredibly soft fur. They can inflate & deflate their body size, so they may appear quite small or quite large, although they are still not very physically sturdy when blown up to a large size. It could make for on of the best cuddle buddies! 

♡ Alolan Raichu is easygoing, social & intelligent! They are famous for having a sweet tooth, and they even smell sweet. They enjoy floating around on their tails, and simply enjoying the small things in life. When it needs to be, it can become pretty quick, despite its pudgy body. This pokemon just seems to match your personality pretty well without any deeper reasoning! 

I hope you like your partner & team! ^~^

[benjaminjamestaylor]

My Top 10 Albums of 2018

If you know me well, you know I do this every year. It’s not in the hope that people will read it; more a sort of time capsule that I can look back on in the future and fondly remember the music that soundtracked my year. Some years, there’s a clear and obvious number one (Kendrick Lamar’s To Pimp a Butterfly in 2015, for example). Others – such as this one – are more of a close-run thing, with the top spots changing sometimes as late as the writing process.

Before I get to my top ten, I would be remiss not to mention a few albums that missed out but have nonetheless been regulars in my rotation this year. Firstly, I should tip my cap to the experimentation shown by Beach House, Ben Howard, and Low, all of whom showed a refreshing intent to break from their norm and make some greatly interesting music. I’m also acutely aware of the lack of representation for R&B and hip-hop in my top ten – I didn’t ignore these genres, it just so happened that they weren’t among my ten favourites. Kids See Ghosts and Earl Sweatshirt in particular came close, and Janelle Monáe was another that I enjoyed greatly. Here’s my honourable mentions list in full:

Beach House – 7; Ben Howard – Noonday Dream; Low – Double Negative; Janelle Monáe – Dirty Computer; Brockhampton – Iridescence; Anderson .Paak – Oxnard; Villagers – The Art of Pretending to Swim; Jeff Tweedy – WARM; Matt Maltese – Bad Contestant; Kids See Ghosts – Kids See Ghosts; Pusha T – Daytona; Earl Sweatshirt – Some Rap Songs; Parquet Courts – Wide Awake; Kurt Vile – Bottle It In; The Beths – Future Me Hates Me; Jungle – For Ever; Courtney Barnett – Tell Me How You Really Feel; Mitski – Be The Cowboy; Hop Along – Bark Your Head Off Dog; Lucy Dacus – Historian.

Also, here’s a Spotify playlist of all my favourite tracks from the year.

Now on to the top ten…

10. Blood Orange – Negro Swan

I’ve got a soft spot for a true album – one that’s greater than the sum of its parts, and should be listened to as a whole. There are actually very few tracks on Negro Swan that hit home outside the context of the album. But there’s so much to like here: the way tracks flow into each other, punctuated by regular snippets of dialogue from the likes of transgender activist Janet Mock. The word that defines this album is ‘introspection’ – there are regular references to the desire to be loved and the fear of allowing oneself to be loved completely. At times the tracks feel frustratingly unfinished, and that’s all that keeps this at the back end of my top ten.

Highlights: ‘Saint’, ‘Charcoal Baby’, ‘Nappy Wonder’

9. Snail Mail – Lush

It’s been a hell of a year for young, female indie rockers (more on that later…), and Lindsey Jordan (A.K.A. Snail Mail) is perhaps the most prodigious of them all. The teenager’s debut, Lush, is a highly impressive record that showcases her signature sound: subtle, twinkly guitar melodies and foot-tapping drum beats. It tails off a little towards the back end of the album, as the novelty of her style begins to wear off. You wonder if this was a record she rushed into making, to capitalise on the considerable hype around her. If that’s the case, it’s a shame as a few more songs to the standard of ‘Pristine’ and ‘Heat Wave’ may have pushed this album up into my top five.

Highlights: ‘Pristine’, ‘Heat Wave’, ‘Stick’

8. The 1975 – A Brief Inquiry Into Online Relationships

This album is getting a lot of love, and I’ll admit that on first listen I didn’t get the hype. The 1975 are a somewhat controversial band – they face lavish praise and upturned noses in seemingly equal measure. There were moments of their absurdly-titled previous record that I liked, but their overly synthetic sound and Matty Healy’s unique vocal style are occasionally grating. ABIIOR has its flaws, but there’s also much to admire. They’ve incorporated a variety of styles, from stripped-back acoustic to arena pop and even jazz. The obvious themes of life and love in a digital age are well-explored and the production is, at times, gorgeous. Stick with it – it might just grow on you.

Highlights: ‘Love It If We Made It’, ‘Inside Your Mind’, ‘I Always Wanna Die (Sometimes)’

7. U.S. Girls – In A Poem Unlimited

In many ways, this record is a better executed version of the 1975’s. Meg Remy looks at similar themes of our problematic modern world, though in her case she explores them through a lens of feminine anger. Songs like ‘Rage of Plastics’ and ‘M.A.H.’ are direct, furious tirades towards American politics in the Obama era. The instrumentation and production is staggeringly brilliant throughout, with each track demonstrating a different string from Remy’s bow. On ‘Rosebud’, she channels her inner Madonna to produce one of the finest, most listenable indie pop tunes of the year.

Highlights: ‘M.A.H.’, ‘Rosebud’, ‘L-Over’

6. Maribou State – Kingdoms In Colour

My favourite electronic album of the year, Kingdoms In Colour improves on Maribou State’s encouraging debut, 2015’s Portraits. The improvements lie in their balance between the dance-pop hits, where they utilise long-time collaborator Holly Walker on vocals, and the more experimental, sample-based pieces that make up the rest of the album. It’s the latter that leave the most lasting impression, no better than on ‘Vale’, with the sample of Melanie de Baliso’s ‘I Feel You’ dovetailing beautifully with the group’s accompanying melody. If you’re looking for an album to put on as a backing track at your next party, look no further.

Highlights: ‘Beginner’s Luck’, ‘Nervous Tics’, ‘Vale’

5. Big Red Machine – Big Red Machine

A collaboration between Bon Iver and the National was never going to be bad, was it? Big Red Machine doesn’t quite hit the heights you might expect from such a high-profile meeting of minds, but there are enough moments of genius here to make it an album worth revisiting repeatedly. For the most part, Justin Vernon leaves his trademark complex song structures at the door in favour of simpler, more lineal compositions. This leads to some tracks feeling repetitive at times, although even these feature a central hook strong enough to keep you interested. And on 'Lyla', with its polyrhythms and meandering structure, there are hints of the exciting fruits this partnership could eventually produce.

Highlights: ‘Lyla’, ‘Hymnostic’, ‘I Won’t Run From It’

4. Arctic Monkeys – Tranquility Base Hotel & Casino

Perhaps Arctic Monkeys’ most divisive album since Humbug, TBHAC is also their bravest and most ambitious. It’s essentially a concept album – tales of a futuristic hotel on the moon brought to life by Alex Turner’s controversial switch from guitar to piano. It’s no surprise that the album has alienated some of the band’s more fundamentalist fans, as there’s a blatant lack of Turner’s usual indie dancefloor hits as well as a side-lining of outstanding drummer Matt Helders. Instead, we’re treated to songs without clear structures and, aside from ‘Four Out Of Five’, catchy choruses. Turner occasionally strays too far towards self-indulgence (‘Batphone’ is a difficult listen), but he’s still a remarkable lyricist and he’s produced an album that cements their status as the band of their era.

Highlights: ‘Star Treatment’, ‘American Sports’, ‘Four Out Of Five’

3. boygenius – boygenius EP

I may be cheating a tad here by including an EP, but given that there’s as much to enjoy here as on many fine albums released this year, you’ll excuse me. boygenius are a supergroup of sorts, featuring female up-and-comers Julien Baker, Phoebe Bridgers, and Lucy Dacus. Individually, all three are well worth a listen. But their collaborative EP propels them to new heights. Each has their own songwriting moments (two each from the six-track EP), and these intertwine through stunning vocal harmonies to form a completely cohesive collection of songs. The finest moments are Bridgers’, with her soft vocal timbre particularly captivating on ‘Me And My Dog’. We can only hope the success of this experiment results in a full-length album in 2019.

Highlights: ‘Me And My Dog’, ‘Souvenir’, ‘Ketchum, ID’

2. Kacey Musgraves – Golden Hour

No album surprised me more in 2018 than this one. After a slew of out-of-this-world reviews, I decided I had to give Golden Hour at least one listen – if only to be able to confirm it as what almost all country pop albums are: ‘not for me’. The thing is, this record transcends genre, and even those who like neither country nor pop will appreciate its beauty and the quality of its songs. Everything on Golden Hour is well-executed: Musgraves sings beautifully; the instrumentation feels minimal yet rounded; the production is absolutely on-point; and the melodies are to die for. There are even psychedelic elements throughout – nods to Musgraves’ use of acid during the album’s production. Give this album a chance, leave your prejudices at the door, and you’ll be treated to a simply perfect collection of pop songs.

Highlights: ‘Slow Burn’, ‘Wonder Woman’, ‘High Horse’

1. Soccer Mommy – Clean

As I mentioned, this wasn’t a runaway number one. But the more I re-listened to my shortlist, the more it became clear that Clean was the strongest candidate for top spot. Snail Mail and boygenius have already taken spots in my top ten, demonstrating what a strong year it has been for female indie vocalists. But Soccer Mommy’s (Sophie Allison’s) album just feels like the finished product that both Snail Mail and boygenius are aiming to eventually produce.

Clean doesn’t just contain great songs with deliciously spiky lyrics (the opening line of ‘Your Dog’ is a belter), it also feels so well balanced. Laid-back, melancholy tunes like ‘Still Clean’ and ‘Blossom’ are countered by catchy indie numbers like ‘Cool’ and ‘Skin’. Allison’s voice seems refined too – perfectly able to handle those two ends of the spectrum. Considering the album centres on a feeling of teenage angst, the sound feels remarkably mature. It’s a worthy album of the year.

Highlights: ‘Cool’, ‘Skin’, ‘Blossom (Wasting All My Time)’

[stimtoybox]

Hi!I'm 22 years old and have had my aspie diagnosis for 6 years now.I'm a university student,and always masking my autism related behaviors.Any tips and advice on how to stop doing that and start stimming proudly in public when I need to? Also when I blurt out stupid things because of autism my mom tells me to stop and think about what I'm saying.What to do when the thinking goes off in my head in the wrong direction or otherwise doesn't help?I want to stop masking my autism behaviors.

Unfortunately, I am so much less good on the art of thinking before speaking–oh, if it were only that easy. I can usually manage when not upset or distressed, simply because Not Saying What I Am Thinking is a survival tactic in my family, usually resulting in Not Saying Anything At All. (For obvious reasons, this isn’t something I’d encourage in anyone else, because it’s born of a toxic dynamic.) When upset, though, there is no filter between my mouth and my brain–and often limited ability to even get words out–and it’s something I’ve never been able to improve myself. Perhaps other autistics have some ideas, or posting in the #actuallyautistic tag?This is one subject where I really don’t have advice to give and I fear anything I’d say would be spectacularly less than helpful.

As someone who has had to relearn/reclaiming stimming as an adult after my diagnosis and who had fairly successfully lost the ability, though, this part of your ask is comfortable territory for me. So I will talk your ear off about this! For context, I went from being afraid to pace in a therapy session with an allistic psychologist who knew about my diagnosis and was supportive of it to being someone who can obviously stim in a department store without caring. It took me about three years, but it can be done!

Please recognise that you’ve spent so long suppressing your need to stim from the world and from yourself, so this relearning will take a while and that’s okay. I mean, you’ve spent more than a decade without a diagnosis or perhaps even context for how you behave and move, engaging in the suppression of what is natural to you. That’s so much training about allistic-appropriate movement and behaviour you have to undo and unravel, and it’s not going to happen overnight, as much as we wish it. It’ll take time.

The first step, if you haven’t already, is exploring and developing your stim kit and your bodily stims. Figure out the toys and stims you like and how you like to use them. Make sure your kit includes toys that are quiet, don’t contain flickering lights, are low-odor and won’t draw too much attention–toys, in other words, ideal for public stimming. Consider mermaid sequin bags/pencil cases, fidget jewellery pieces like necklace pendants and spinner rings, keychain fidgets that can be attached to your bag, etc. You might also wish to consider toys that have become popular, like squishies, as they’ll draw less negative attention through their normalised use. Have more standard toys too, like Fidget Cubes and spinners and Tangles, but make sure you have a selection of stealth toys ready to go for your first ventures into public stimming.

Beginning with toys where I less feared any kind of reaction from others helped a lot in reducing my anxiety that people would say something about my stimming. In all honesty, few people say anything if I fidget with a necklace pendant or a bracelet. Neurotypical people do this sort of thing all the time.

The next step is to work on being comfortable with stimming in private–really comfortable. If you’re in your room with the door closed, stim. If you’re in bed at night in the dark, stim (with toys safe for this purpose). First thing in the morning after waking up, before you’ve interacted with anyone–stim. Make stimming part of your private life, a daily habit, part of your routine. Stim in the shower or bath–plastic toys like Tangles or hedge balls are fine for bathroom use and nobody else will see you do it! Keep toys on your desk and in your pockets so they’re right there, and when you’re alone and you see them, use them, even if only for a moment or two. The more you stim generally, even when you don’t need it, the more unconscious it will become and the easier it will be to stim when you do.

More steps under the cut because long post is long:

This step is not easy. Even with my door closed, at times I felt so desperately uncomfortable (and afraid of people barging in, because that happens at my house). Start with the most subtle/unobtrusive toys even in private, if you’re anxious about this. Just spin a spinner ring while watching TV or stroke a textured pendant. Do these smaller stims until you’re comfortable with them. I will say that keeping other toys within reach made it easy for me to progress from more subtle toys to less subtle ones, so I’d recommend that–starting with a spinner ring but having a Tangle within sight and reach. You might find, as I did, that you reach for the toy before you recognise that you’re ready for it, so have it there, waiting.

Stimming in private is for experimenting--for trying toys out, for trying movements out, for letting yourself move and sway without caring about other people. The more you can do this, and the more you can gain confidence to further experiment with bodily stims and toys, the more you can grow the habit of stimming generally, so I do recommend looking at every opportunity you can find for even short stim sessions.

Third, once you’re starting to feel comfortable with private stimming, look at what situations relating to public stimming might cause more anxiety or discomfort. There’s stimming on a bus, where people look more at their phones than at other people, versus stimming in a shopping centre or on the street. There’s stimming in front of strangers versus stimming in front of friends and family. Stimming in the library might be easier for you than stimming in the classroom during a tutorial–and stimming inside a lecture theatre, with nobody paying attention to you, might be easier than both. Figure out what seems hardest and what seems easiest, even if only in theory, and then write out a list of those situations from easiest to hardest. Take the easiest five from the top, tear them off and throw away the rest of the list, because it’ll feel overwhelming now and you don’t need it. Just keep the five easiest ones and put it aside.

Fourth, make another list with circumstances, right now, in which you think you can easily and safely stim outside the house/bedroom. The cinema was one of mine, so dark nobody can see my hands move, and it’s easy to shove my toy in a bag or pocket when the lights come up. This is just to get you thinking about circumstances where you can, with no risk of anxiety or ableism, stim, to continue the habit-building of your private stimming. If you don’t think about it, you won’t know that you can try it, so I do recommend making this list. You won’t always remember to stim in these situations when you’re in them, and that’s fine and normal, but if you think of it once or twice, it’s worth the effort.

While doing all this, keep stimming in private! Keep cultivating an interest in stimming and stim toys! Add to your kit so you don’t get bored of one toy; get your favourite toy in a couple of different colours; talk to other stimmers; admire toy collection posts, enjoy bodily stimming GIFs--do whatever you can to connect to your stims so stimming has a positive association for you. You don’t have to stim all day long, just make it a habit to pick up a toy or perform a bodily stim once or twice a day, for a little a while, and over time you’ll unconsciously do this more often and for longer. Let your body point you towards where it wants to go and roll with it, because your body does know–you’ve just got to get used to understanding and allowing it again.

Once you are comfortable with both stimming in private and stimming in situations that are theoretically public but are safe (like said cinema), pull out your list of five. You may have written it months ago by now, but see if you still feel like you want to attempt these or if–now you are more used to thinking about stimming and places in which you can stim–you can think of easier ones. Pick the easiest one, with your most subtle toys, and start to make a habit of stimming there, too. When that space becomes comfortable, look at other locations. By this stage, stimming should be becoming more of a habit that it becomes natural to start unconsciously reaching for a fidget pendant. I know that you can’t imagine it now, and neither could I when I began, but it will happen.

In the meantime, in private, introduce less-subtle toys into your stimming, and begin to get comfortable with these where nobody can observe you.

Slowly, over time, you introduce subtle stims into more and more locations/situations, and then you start to introduce less-subtle stims into these locations. You’ll build up both the habit and the confidence over time--and then one day you’ll find yourself rocking on your feet in front of your aunt and don’t realise until later that you were being so damn autistic in front of your most ableist of relatives and you don’t even care. It took me three years to get there, but I did, and you will too.

(I will say, that for me, using stim toys gradually brought me more comfort with unconscious bodily stims, too. I do still stim more with toys, but I’ve regained a lot of natural movement in all sorts of ways through my toys.)

Just be patient and slowly, gradually work your way up from safe/private spaces with subtle toys wherever possible for you. Take your time, don’t push yourself into anything scary until you feel ready for it and just quietly build up the habit, and before you quite know it you will be stimming when you need to. You just have to get your body used to looking toward stimming as the answer.