#they need to be forced into a closet or some prison dimension or something for at least a day

[fluffypotatey]

I can't do this anymore Fluffy. Macky was always always watching Wukong but apparently he was always watching Macky too. He would smile and joke and laugh and act like he's the strongest, he wanted to be the stronged but he never voiced how sometimes he wished Macky would fight to protect him too, but he could NEVER say it. "There's so many things I've left unsaid." LITERALLY BOTH OF YOU. *takes notes* ok, so I need to put them in a contrived situation that makes them scream and sob their confessions to each other holding on for dear life with a tasteful fur sniffing on Macky's part like the loser he is.

[..]but he never voiced how sometimes he wished Macky would fight to protect him too, but he could NEVER say it.

no bud you’re right tho and i am so glad you said it because Wukong has always been the one who was placed as their ex machina or trump card and also being the character you place to get hit the lost since he can technically take. AND YET NO ONE HAS SHIELDED WUKONG THE MOST IN LMK EXCEPT MK (who, mind you, only entered Wukong’s life a millennia into his life like 🫠). and maybe Macalooney wanted to in the past but worried it might insult his friend who wanted to be the strongest and never appear as weak. but now come s5, and Matooney is shielding Wukong and saving him (and the others but this post ain’t about them) and wants to reach out and i just—

anon, please confine them in whatever chamber is needed for them to air out their issues because maybe that will break the fragile line they’ve drawn between themselves (and maybe that will fix me)

[realm-sweet-realm]

Prison Cell, chapter 2

This is a story taking place in an AU where the studio became the sketch dimension before most of the sacrifices were made.  While this AU will have an emphasis on horror, especially in the later chapters, I also want to show the resilience of some of these characters.

---

"Can I be the one to go down there?" Susie asked.

"No," Abby answered firmly. "First we need to decide what we're going down there for. And I'm sorry, but I don't think it's going to be a rescue mission. I don't trust you not to turn it into one. Beyond that, though, whoever it is, it has to be someone at least somewhat nondescript. So, not you- you're pretty well-known, and your size alone is pretty distinctive. And not me, either- there are no other black women in this studio, so there definitely aren't any who are loyalists. And not Henry- he's a wanted man. Any volunteers?"

In the end, Jack was chosen for the first mission. He was fairly forgettable in appearance, and the one of the two people down there who knew him well wouldn't be one to call him out. Of course, the other was Joey Drew, but he was nonetheless the best candidate.

After Jack had been assigned, there was a brief discussion about where to hide Henry, they found someone to replace Norman as the projectionist, and a circuit of people were chosen to keep watch of the elevator at night so that no one would be attacked.

---

The next day, Jack put on the loyalist robes, traded his hat for a mask, and headed down in the elevator. The first lower floor that the elevator stopped at was at the old breakroom. Two men were there, playing pool in uniforms but no masks. It was strange how normal it looked. Jack figured that the masks must have only been for specific uses, including any visits to the upper floors. Hopefully he didn't stick out like a sore thumb.

"Hey," he said to them, trying to disguise his voice somewhat, "I have to check on the prisoners. I'm covering for a buddy. But he forgot to tell me where they are. Can you help me?"

One of the men gave him a funny look. There were a thousand things that could have given him away. Maybe all loyalists already knew where the prisoners were kept. "Floor 3B. Take two lefts. You can't miss it."

Jack thanked them and left.

Floor 3B was the second-to-last one, and it opened in a nondescript hallway. Once he’d followed the directions, he got to what looked like an unremarkable row of office doors. They looked like that, but Jack could hear someone crying within them, and could smell human waste. This was, undeniably, the place. Jack tried a few doors and found them to be locked. So, after checking to make sure that there was no one else nearby, he tried talking to the people within them. There were six prisoners in total. One of them was Emma LaMonte. Four of them had been a part of a small insurrection early on. Their stories broke Jack’s heart. One of them, Lacie, had been left with a broken leg that they had done nothing to treat. It had set incorrectly and was now a permeant cause of pain and poor mobility. Another of them, Shawn, had been fed ink. The final prisoner was also a surprise.

“Allison? I thought you were a loyalist.”

“I was, but I wasn’t very good at following the rules. Tom caught me breaking a pretty big one. He doesn’t want me to end up dead. So, he dragged me in here, and told the others that I’d done something less severe. Something that would get me locked up a long time, but not killed. I get treated better than the other prisoners, and Tom comes to visit me and take me around most nights like I’m a free person, but he still doesn’t trust me not to get myself killed. I know it’s only temporary, though.”

“Temporary?”

“Well, Tom says that Joey is working on a way out for all of us. I hope that’s true. But I’ve been in the dark pretty much since the beginning.”

Jack nodded. “I’m real sorry this has happened to you. Can I ask what you were doing? Oh- and do you know where there might be more prisoners?”

“I don’t know about other prisoners. But as for what I was doing- I was visiting the outside without permission. I actually did it several times before I got caught. If you want to do it, the portal is on floor 2B.”

“Okay. Thanks again,” Jack said before leaving.

The portal was not hard to find. A door like any other on floor 2B was in fact marked with the word, “portal.” Someone had left their keys in the door. Jack pocketed the keys and went in.

The inside of the room had, in addition to many typical janitorial supplies, a rack of small vials of dark, nearly-black liquid, a set of post-it notes, and a set of instructions. The instructions read, 

Step 1: write where you want to go on a note and stick it to a door.

Step 2: pour a vial of blood at the base of the door.

Curious as to how specific one had to be and how far the door’s powers extended, Jack wrote “China” on a note and poured out a vial. He opened the door, and on the other side was wilderness. Perhaps this was the very center of China. After being stunned for a moment at being able to see greenery and smell fresh air for the first time in months, Jack realized that, since the portal worked, there was a much better way he could be using it. Giddy, he wrote down his old address and repeated the ritual. The door opened to a closet in his own house. He could hear his dog barking and the voice of one of his kids, and for a moment he considered abandoning the studio and everyone in it.

Then the door shut, and opened again. Jack was roughly pulled through it, back into the supply closet.

“What were you doing!?” a woman yelled at him. Then, her voice dropped to a whisper. “Okay, give me back my keys and don’t tell anyone I forgot them, and I won’t tell anyone that you snuck a trip through the portal. Got it?” she was clearly just as frightened as he was.

“I won’t tell anyone. But could you please just let me have this? Just for ten minutes. Please?”

The woman appeared to mull this over. “Sure. But seriously- you can’t go through there dressed like that. Here, I’ll hold your mask...” the woman reached for his mask. 

Jack backed up against the wall. “Actually, I changed my mind. But don’t worry, I still won’t tell anyone.”

“Wait... you seem familiar...”

Jack opened the door and scrambled to the elevator, not looking back to see if she followed. 

---

“Okay, so the good news is that we know that the insurrectionists are alive,” Abby began after Jack had returned back and composed himself enough to report his findings. “And now we know about the portal. That’s very interesting. The bad news is that the prisoners are being kept in awful conditions, and they’re probably going to suspect anyone who’s wearing the mask in public places from now on. I guess the best thing to do is use someone who looks specifically like someone from down there. So, try to remember how the people down there looked. And thank you, Jack. That was very brave of you.”

Jack nodded and left Abby to her work. Planning an insurrection was difficult, and especially so on top of directing the art department. Shortly after Jack left, there was a knock on her door. It was Susie.

“Susie! Hi! did you get that list I asked for?”

Susie smiled. “Yep. Went to every department. There’s a good dozen or so people who are ready to hit the demon with an ax!”

Abby smiled back. Susie had been a big help to her. “Great! I’ll assign them floors.” hopefully the gambit would pay off. Hopefully they weren’t just throwing good fighters away. The forced blood extraction might have been frightening and violating to the people who received it, of whom there were more than a couple, but who knew when the insurrectionists might need their best fighters? If the demon just dragged them away anyhow, then this wasn’t the best use for them. Of course, being a leader in these times meant making a thousand decisions like that with limited information and hoping that things turned out for the better.

---

Days wore on. The guard system on the elevators had lasted all of a single night. The demon, finding a guard on each floor, had taken to eviscerating one of them. By the time the other guards arrived, the demon was standing over a corpse that appeared nearly inside-out. The demon scurried back to the elevator, and left before anything could be done to him.

The missions went poorly as well. Security had increased after Jack had nearly been found out. While the insurrectionists had managed to map out the lower floors (save for the very basement, which was sealed off), and found out that a great many of the loyalists were sick of a mysterious disease that caused blackened, shiny skin, they were unable to steal keys, free the prisoners, or access the portal again. After two weeks of no progress and three deaths, two of which had been killed after having been found out, Abby called the rebellion off. She felt it was what was best for everyone’s welfare, and since the loyalists had banned wearing masks on the lower floors, going undercover had become immensely more dangerous..

Susie continued to bring people together for meetings. She was not organized and dominant as Abby had been, and her meetings tended to be chaotic. The people were angry and had been emboldened. One night, a man stole a uniform and snuck down to the lowest levels. He killed a man with a knife and injured another before being imprisoned. The next day, Sammy came to the music department and escorted Susie to the basement.

"Where are you taking me?” Susie asked as Sammy clicked the elevator button to bring her to the lower floors.

“Don’t worry. No harm is going to come to you yet. This is something that Joey Drew is explicitly allowing. He knows that he needs to stop this rebellion, so he’s going to use sticks and carrots. And, well, this is the carrot.” Sammy’s face was unreadable.

They went into the room labelled “portal.”

“The first thing that I’ve been asked to do is tell you why all of this is necessary. Susie, your blood can open the portals to the outside. There were only six people in the entire studio with the right blood properties to do that, and your rebellion killed one of them last night.”

Susie nodded. “What I’ve never understood is why you don’t just let everyone out. I mean, you have a portal.”

Sammy took off his shirt, revealing a black growth that had spread across his chest, stomach, and shoulders. “If I spend more than a day or two out there, I will get sick and die. The same is true of everyone who was in the room when the ink machine exploded. Some of us are too deformed to even be allowed through the portal anymore. Joey is looking for a way to cure us so that everyone can be free. And until then, he needs your blood.”

“That doesn’t explain why he’s keeping everyone else.”

Sammy cringed. “That’s probably his own selfishness- wanting to maintain his studio the best he can. He’s not exactly as sane as he used to be. But... you’ll find out about that soon enough. For now, Susie, I’m supposed to give you your carrot. We have some money to spend, and I’ve been given permission to take you anywhere in the world you want for the day and send you back with an offering of gifts.”

Susie thought on this. “What if I told you that I wanted my gift to be Norman?”

“You’ll find out about him tonight. He’s a part of the bargaining.”

Susie’s face lit up. “Okay, wonderful!”

The two of them spent a day in Paris together. Afterwards, Sammy sent her back with two first-aid kits. One of them was fully stocked and then some, as it contained much of the contents that had been in the other one. The other they had emptied. Anything from it they couldn’t pack into the first box had been abandoned on the street, and they had filled the box with knives.

“Please promise me that you won’t use these unless absolutely necessary. Joey doesn’t want it to come to war, but if it does, there is a lot he could use against you. The loyalists could poison you with ink, or they could refuse you access to any resources and starve you into compliance. And thankfully, we don’t have guns, but if things ever escalated, we could get them, and you couldn’t. So, please, for own safety, only use these for self-defense.”

“I won’t let anyone know about these. But I'm not sure I can control them. Angry people that feel like they have nothing to lose are... really hard to lead.”

Sammy went quiet.

“Something wrong, Sammy?”

“Well, I told you that we were planning on using sticks and carrots, right? Well, Joey- if I can still call that thing “Joey”- is about to give you your stick. He wants to crush the rebellion with shock and awe. And I’m scared that he’s just going to make everyone angrier.”

Susie didn’t know what to say to that. “It’ll be okay, Sammy.”

“I sure hope so,” he replied, starting to cry.

Finding the portal again was easy- it was right where it had been at the beginning of the day, in some supply closet in some department store. A loyalist checked over what Susie had brought back, but Sammy had made sure that the person to do so would be another sympathizer, so they were let go. They stepped onto the elevator again. “Alright. Time for the stick. I’m supposed to deliver you to the very basement. I’m sorry.”

[rrrawrf-writes]

happy late birthday @gingerly-writing ;*

tw cursing

part one || part two || part three 

--

Rembrandt gave him fifteen minutes to get there. Winn left a note for his upstairs neighbor to check on his animals if he wasn’t back by that night, then swung a leg over his motorcycle and took off.

It was just another normal part of town. The street started with some apartment buildings and then moved into a few fast food restaurants and a convenience store; on the opposite corner was a large lot under construction, though the building was mostly finished. Winn stashed his bike several blocks down, and then ran the rest of the way. For once in his life, Winn didn’t dare to be late.

“You’re late,” Rembrandt said anyway, meeting Winn at the back door of the unfinished building. Winn checked himself, fists clenched, and looked up at the higher floors as if he could see through the tarp-covered walls.

“I am not -”

“It’s 4:31,” Rembrandt said, glancing at his wrist.

“Your watch is fast,” Winn accused. She was up there; she was wearing her favorite jacket and her red trainers and he had her locked up -

“Focus, Mr. Yale,” Rembrandt said, and Winn dragged his gaze back to ground level. “I can hardly fault you for being distracted, but I think that you’ll benefit from listening to me instead of -”

“Let her go,” Winn interrupted, unable to stand listening to Rembrandt for another second. “Let her go now, or I’ll -”

“Or you’ll what?” Rembrandt asked suddenly. He took a single step forward; Winn had to steel himself not to take an equal step backwards.

He stared at Rembrandt, anger and fear and hatred seizing his chest, and then Winn bit out, “Or I’ll kill you.”

Rembrandt laughed. Winn’s face flushed with heat and he clenched his fists as Rembrandt said, grinning, “I’ve never heard an emptier threat.”

Winn glanced upwards again, his power feeling out the dimensions of the building. With it unfinished like this, it wouldn’t have been impossible for Winn to just start scaling the side of it - but that would take too long. “Move,” he snapped instead, and stepped forward.

Rembrandt didn’t move, his smile growing eager as Winn moved right up to him. “If you leave my sight, Winn, they will shoot her.”

Winn flinched. There were security cameras - did Rembrandt have someone watching them? Probably. Winn’s hands twitched; maybe he was fast enough. If he caught Rembrandt by surprise, he’d get past, and there was only one person upstairs with Rhiannon, maybe he could -

“No one has to get hurt this time, Winn.” Rembrandt tucked his hands into his pockets and looked down at Winn, for all that he only had two or three inches of height on him. “If you just do what I ask you to do, you can both go home in just a couple of days.”

“I’m not doing anything for you,” Winn spat without thinking. Rembrandt arched his eyebrows, then pulled a cell phone out of his pocket.

“Should I tell them to pull the trigger, then?” he asked mildly.

“Wait!” Winn grabbed Rembrandt’s wrist; the next thing he knew, the other man had him pinned against the wall, one arm pressing against his throat and the other twisting his arm off to the side. The phone clattered to the sidewalk.

“I thought I heard a yes.”

Winn choked, shoving back against Rembrandt. “Don’t -”

Rembrandt pressed harder and Winn cut off, pushing against his elbow and trying to drag in a breath. “I think I’ll be generous today,” Rembrandt said, leaning his weight against Winn’s windpipe. “I’ll give you one more chance to answer that.”

It was a long moment before Rembrandt shifted his weight back again, allowing Winn to take a breath. Glaring hatred at him, Winn finally bit out, “Don’t hurt her.”

“Use your manners, Winn.”

If it had been anyone else but Rhiannon, Winn would have yanked his pocketknife out and shanked Rembrandt then and there. But it was Rhiannon, so Winn closed his eyes so he didn’t have to see Rembrandt’s viciously smug expression, and forced himself to say, “Don’t hurt her, please.”

Rembrandt gave him a long look, but he didn’t move. Winn squirmed against the wall, until Rembrandt twisted his arm further. He winced and blurted, “Listen, please, I - I mean it, Remy - Rembrandt!”

Winn corrected himself in a yelp as Rembrandt twisted his wrist nearly to the breaking point. “Rembrandt! I’m sorry - I’ll get whatever you need! Just don’t hurt her, let her go -”

“I don’t need you to get anything.” Finally, finally, Rembrandt let go of his arm and stepped back, freeing Winn. He watched Winn narrowly for a second, before stooping to pick up the cell phone.

Sourly rubbing his wrist, Winn asked, “What do you need me to do, then?”

Rembrandt looked at him as he straightened, and grinned. “I need you to do absolutely nothing.”

--

Winn stared at the closet.

“You’re insane,” he said flatly. “No. Not a fucking chance.”

Rembrandt heaved an exaggerated sigh, and tapped his phone screen. “Fine, then -”

“No!”

Rembrandt paused and arched his eyebrows. Licking his lips, Winn nervously slicked his hands down the front of his jeans. “Look, Remy, there’s - there’s gotta be something else.”

“I need you out of my way for forty-eight hours.” Rembrandt crossed his arms over his chest. He watched Winn with dark eyes. “I know you’ve been snooping around my business again. I had rather hoped that prison time would have broken you of that habit.”

Winn scowled, stuffing his hands into the patch pocket on his hoodie so that Rembrandt couldn’t see them shake. “All you had t’do was ask, Remy.”

Scoffing, Rembrandt leaned against the wall. “Yes, I’m certain you would have been very accommodating.”

“I could - I could help.” Winn shot the closet another look. “With whatever you’re doing.”

“Winn.” Rembrandt stared at him, until Winn reluctantly met his gaze. “I do not trust you.”

“Listen -”

“I think it’s your turn to listen.” Rembrandt stepped forward, and this time, Winn did take a pace back. They were in the basement of the unfinished building; near the stairs was a middle-aged woman who was clearly being paid as Rembrandt’s muscle for the day. He dragged his attention back as Rembrandt said, “Eyes on me, Winn.

“Miss Griffith has volunteered to stay upstairs for a couple days. She signed up for a university-sponsored sleep experiments, and she will be compensated -”

“She told me she was going to see her friend -”

“You’re not listening, Winn.” Rembrandt reached out; Winn flinched back, and the other man’s fingers curled around thin air, mere centimeters from Winn’s shirt. Rembrandt just stared at him, until Winn dropped his gaze.

Rembrandt said, after a long moment, “Forty-eight hours.”

Winn said, “Fine.”

“Take off your sweater.”

“What?”

Rembrandt gave Winn a long, long look. “I’m getting pretty fucking tired of your recalcitrance, Yale.”

Winn bit his tongue. It wasn’t good when Rembrandt dropped his conversational airs like that. He pulled at the sleeve of his hoodie, and for the single second the sweater was over his head and he couldn’t see Rembrandt, his skin crawled. It didn’t matter that his power had wrapped around the other man, pinning down his every movement, every layer of clothing and item in his pockets, that would tell Winn if Rembrandt moved to attack him - or worse, tap the screen on his phone.

He tossed the sweater into Rembrandt’s chest. Arching an eyebrow, Rembrandt dropped it off to the side. “Socks and shoes.”

“Are you serious -”

“What did I say.”

Winn tasted blood. He scowled as he kicked off his shoes, and then hooked a finger into his sock and peeled it off as well, the second following soon after. “Should I get rid of my shirt?” he sneered, frustrated and angry and scared. “Drop my trousers?”

Rembrandt smiled slightly. “That sounds like an excellent idea. You do have a tendency to squirrel things away.”

“Fuck you.”

“You’re wasting time, Winn.”

Winn pulled his shirt off, balled it up, and tossed it to the ground. “I’m not taking off my jeans.”

Rembrandt made a show of checking his watch. Winn stood his ground, every heartbeat reminding him that this could very well be the trigger that pulled the gun on Rhiannon - but then Rembrandt shrugged.

“Fine. Get inside, hands on the wall.”

Winn hesitated, shooting the closet another look. The dimensions were smaller even than solitary had been in the PCC, but - but Rhiannon was upstairs.

It was still a long, long moment before he moved. The cement floor was cold against his feet as Winn stepped in, gritting his teeth.

It was just two days.

Forty-eight hours.

He’d spent months in solitary. He could do this.

He couldn’t do this.

“Rembrandt -”

He slammed Winn into the wall, an elbow digging into his spine, and then shoved Winn’s face into the cement, hand digging into his hair. The rough texture scraped across Winn’s forehead, as Rembrandt stuck his hand in one of Winn’s pockets.

He checked the other one with the same brusqueness, and found Winn’s pocketknife. Growling, Winn jerked his elbow back, hitting Rembrandt - and then Winn froze, as the switchblade cut into the skin over his ribs.

“Hands on the wall,” Rembrandt repeated.

Winn should have stabbed him earlier. Gritting his teeth, he pressed his hands flat against the wall, screwing his eyes shut against memories of prison guards patting him down, of some other inmate he’d pissed off trying to shank him in the meal line. A thin drop of blood ran down his ribs, and Winn shivered as Rembrandt pulled the knife away. This time, though, Winn knew better than to move again. His hands curled into fists as Rembrandt idly traced the knife over the scars covering Winn’s back.

“You really do love her,” Rembrandt said quietly. “You know, that’s your problem, Winn.”

The knife left his skin, disappeared into Rembrandt’s pocket, opposite the phone. Winn thought, for about a second, of grabbing for one of those things. But Rembrandt had that woman just in the other room, and she was probably ready to call upstairs if anything happened.

His thoughts broke apart the second Rembrandt put his hands on Winn’s hips. Every muscle in his body tensed, as Rembrandt ran his hands down the back of his jeans, sticking his hands in the pockets again and looking for anything Winn might have hidden away.

There wasn’t anything. Winn pressed his forehead against the wall and breathed in and out through his teeth.

Forty-eight hours.

“You can’t afford to get attached to people, Winn,” Rembrandt continued softly. “Not with the enemies you’ve made.”

Winn didn’t dare move, even as Rembrandt’s touch lingered far longer than the impersonal strip-searches the prison guards had performed, dozens and dozens and dozens of times. If he moved, he’d get hit. Winn had learned that much. It had just taken him too long to heed the lesson.

“We never had to be enemies,” Winn bit out. “I told you what I wouldn’t do. I told you I wasn’t gonna stay working for you. Shoulda just let me go.”

He flinched as Rembrandt slipped his hands into his front pockets, pressing up against his back. Winn had to strangle his flight response, fight the urge to run. With Rembrandt this close, touching him, holding him, Winn wouldn’t make it past the first shift of weight.

“I was giving you an opportunity to grow.” Rembrandt’s words ghosted over the back of Winn’s neck. “You threw it back in my face, and burned every last bridge behind you. You’re selfish, Winn, and you’re putting the one you love in danger because of it.”

Just as Winn decided he couldn’t stand it anymore, Rembrandt stepped back, his hands slipping out of Winn’s pockets, empty. Winn whipped around, elbow-first, and hit nothing but air.

Rembrandt grinned. “I thought I was happy with letting Miss Katerina land you in prison,” he said, taking another step back. “She was ecstatic. I didn’t realize how satisfying locking you up personally would be.”

“You son of a -”

“Having you lock yourself away is infinitely better.” Rembrandt took two more steps, landing him exactly seventeen centimeters just beyond the threshold. Winn stormed towards him, intent on beating that smug look of his face, when Rembrandt held up his phone and said, “Your forty-eight hours start now.”

Winn stopped at the very edge of the closet, his vision blurred from rage and tears. “I’m going to kill you for this.”

“There you go again, tossing out those empty promises.” Rembrandt stuck his hands in his pockets, smiling as he rocked back on his heels. “Enjoy your stay.”

“Give me my shirt back,” Winn snapped.

“What shirt?” Rembrandt stepped right on top of the abandoned sweater on the floor.

“It’s freezing down here, Remy!”

“Is it?” Rembrandt made a show of looking around. “Hm. I’ll see if they can turn up the heat. But before that, I think I’ll pay Miss Griffith a visit.”

Winn’s breath caught in his chest, as Rembrandt finally turned his back on him and started up the stairs. “Rembrandt!” Winn snarled after him, not daring to leave the damned closet. “Michael! Stay away from her!”

“Good night, Winn,” Rembrandt drawled, bored. He shut the lights off as he left.

[dugankig1n-blog]

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[erlenmeyertrash]

storms and stardust

i’m totally not a day and a half late to the platonic analogical day or anything, it’s fine

dedicated to @virmillion , the sunshine to my stardust

words: 2684 | pairings: platonic analogical | warnings: mentions of storms(?), slight anxiety- if you need anything tagged please let me know

tag list: @zerogettie , @five-hour-anxiety , @lovelylogans , @shattered-raine, @lakesandquarries , @randomslasher , @pantasticpanini (if you want to be added just hmu and i’ll add you!)

The stucco ceiling looms overhead, each ripple and wave jumping into a vivid third dimension and constructing an intricate inverted topography. It is synesthesia of sound, each wiggle of the sprayed-on texture signifying a hiss and each smattering of longer ridges bringing forth a crackle and each solidified bubble of air fabricating a pop.

A storm rages outside, the window a weak defense against the onslaught of pure loud that is heavy precipitation. The rain is less a pitterpatterpitterpatter of the evening’s preceding showers and more an ambiguous yet steady roar of a billion soldiers diving into battle all at once. Thunder rumbles distantly in the background- the drummer boy keeping his infantry’s time.

It is during this storm that his eyes dance across the artificial skyscape, allowing the hissing, crackling, popping terrain to map out the steps as his gaze wanders and his mind wonders. The shadows of sleep have eluded him, crowding themselves into the corners as his eyes adjust to the lack of light and his brain whirls as though battered by the very winds assailing the exterior of the house.

His thoughts scamper over some new untrodden path, ever trailblazing, never pausing, rushing and stumbling over themselves, an onslaught, torrential, why can’t he s l e e p? His eyes hiss crackle pop pop p o p hiss crackle- wait no, backtrack- hiss crackle crackle crackle p o p their way around his ceiling, each tango, each waltz, each envisioned piece of choreography organic and new.

Oxygen fills his lungs near capacity as some responsible part of his subconscious prods him to remember to do so, the not-quite-hiss-not-quite-huff of a deep inhale adding to the cacophony of vibrations intercepted in his eardrums. The pillow settles microscopic distances as his head is subtly jostled by the movement opening his airway. The sheets do not rustle until he straightens a crooked leg, fabric sliding over skin as his muscles tighten.

There have been far too many consecutive nights where unconsciousness evades him; in this particular instance, the raging downpour is well-received as it quells the aching silence that is his simultaneous refuge and prison. When the only sound is no sound, his brain must play the part of composer and conductor but it is rather tone-deaf and so poorly keeps time. The rain is a welcome conversation on which to eavesdrop before the infamous concert begins.

Before he can realize their appearance, thoughts on the history of the universe are subversive, slipping into his mind and disrupting all other trains of thought like shells swirling underneath the tides currently crashing into his windowpane. The silica composing those shells and the sand and the glass was formed a mere 200 million years into the existence of the universe- the fusion of sixteen protons into one singular silicon unit. Stellar nucleogenesis: the formation of molten, shifting plasma inside starlight expanding across the silence of space, making 26 elements to eventually compose the most simple carbon-based life. 26 elements inside those stars. 26 letters in the modern English alphabet. 26.2 miles in a marathon, the likes of which his brain is currently undertaking in a full sprint.

Then those tides are turning, the melodic roar of water on the roof and walls forced to yield to the vibrant dissonance of sleepless night ramblings. The conductor’s baton is waving wildly but the instruments have a mind of their own. He just wants to sleep. He doesn’t know when his eyes stopped leaping and bounding over hiss crackle pop but he realizes he has been boring a hole into the spot directly above his right eyebrow for some time now. Maybe the roof will leak and he’ll have an excuse to get up, to move, to do something to occupy his thoughts.

The creeeeeaaaak of the floor outside his bedroom door, then, occupies his thoughts.

He bolts upright and shoves the swishing sheets down his body, squinting at the sliver of space under his door, suddenly transfixed and hoping there is another indication of a something that could battle his brain. That the creak wasn’t a sigh of the foundation, wasn’t a random blip on the radar. Please.

Pale yellow light seeps in from the hall and that is all the impetus he needs to throw his feet off the side of the bed, standing and clumsily swiping his hand across the bedside table. His glasses click clack clatter as his fingertips stumble into them and he hastily yanks the spectacles over his razor-sharp gaze before running the few short steps to his door.

He throws it open, the hinges letting out a sharp whine of protest, and suddenly the storm outside receives a burst of energy anew; more thunder echoes across the skies as the droplets assault any surface they can reach and he makes eye contact with the figure that was slowly creaking its way down the hall.

“...Logan? What are you doing awake?”

From his few short steps away, Virgil speaks first. His voice is gruff and gravelly, but there is a tremor there, a pitch far too high, too alert for such a time of night. His eyes betray his chronic lack of sleep but also show no symptoms of actual tiredness- they are wide and bright and Logan exhales with a whoosh.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he confesses, his own vocal cords vibrating at a frequency of fatigued frustration. Those too-wide eyes are covered by shaggy lilac locks as Virgil tilts his head.

“Why not?”

Logan taps his forehead, a cold fingertip thumping against the skin just above his right eyebrow. “Can’t stop thinking.”

“About?”

Logan couldn’t really explain that his brain turned the ceiling into a topographical map that was also stage directions for a dance and he thought about shells and the origin of the universe and it’s raining but his window is underwater and-

No. Too complicated. A shoulder shrug seems to work as Virgil’s face twists into one of sympathy.

“I, uh. I get that.”

The following utter silence is so jarring to Logan’s hoof-hammering racehorse of a mind that he is too shocked to notice how awkward it quickly becomes. He is, however, pulled out of the reverie a short moment later, when a loud CLAP of thunder shakes the house and Virgil flinches as though the bolt of lightning nearly singed his shoulder.

“Are you alright, Virgil?”

“What? Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.” Virgil squirms under Logan’s piercing gaze- even more so as the logical side doesn’t appear to have any desire to respond. His stare is somehow cold but not harsh- just a searing, soundless intensity of headlights that have Virgil frozen in the middle of the road.

“...It’s just-” Virgil runs a pale hand through his hair, rolling his shoulders forward to pull the hood of his jacket closer around his neck- “I’m a little… on edge. The storm is. Uhm. Loud? It’s stupid, I know,” he stumbles on, “but-”

“It isn’t stupid at all,” Logan interrupts, breaking his stare with a slow blink. “Storms do bring about a decrease in air pressure, which can affect a person’s normal breathing rate. The sudden loud noises and bright flashes, of course, can also heighten a person’s anxiety.”

Virgil rolls his shoulders again, ducking his head and staring at his sock-clad feet. Logan hears an audible click in his mind as the pieces fall into place.

“...However,” Logan continues, suddenly feeling a fidgety tingle skittering down his fingertips as he adjusts the corner of his glasses. “There are several measures one can take to alleviate adverse effects. Turning on dim lighting or ambient noises as well as blocking external sound and light sources through a multitude of methods may all serve to allow you to feel more at ease and potentially get some rest. The company of another may also help you relax.”

Da-dum. His heartbeat punctuates his last sentence. Virgil’s eyes widen infinitesimally (you’re never going to live that one down, are you?). Logan ducks his chin and readjusts his glasses that have not moved at all.

“...Would it be agreeable if I accompanied you back to your room? It may help ease your nervous state, and it is of no consequence to me, seeing as I am already awake.”

A low rumble of thunder rolls over the roof- not as sudden as before, but Virgil still seems to tremble ever so slightly. He swallows and nods curtly, overgrown fringe intermingling with his eyelashes.

“...I mean. If you don’t mind. That’s. Uh. That’d be... cool, I guess.”

After a pause- Logan blinks and the image of a quarter-rest is burned into the backs of his eyelids, now- Virgil leads the way down the hall towards his room, the soft swish swish swish of socked feet and cotton pajamas more distinct without windows to amplify the swirling storm outside. He pushes open the door and Logan’s ears are immediately filled with the snare-drum sound of water hitting windowpane, rattatatratatatratatat drilling its way through his skull. His eyes snap towards the uncovered glass spanning the wall across from Virgil’s bed.

“Goodness, that is loud. Why don’t you have any curtains?” Logan gestures to the empty rod above the window, finding he actually has to raise his voice to be heard over the assailing precipitation. At his inquiry, Virgil stuffs his hands in his pockets and shrugs. Logan clicks his tongue and turns to look back at the window.

Rattatatrattatatrattatatrattatat It’s so loud! Logan’s thoughts are on the defensive, struggling to tip the scales of sound in their favor as his mind whirls around possible solutions. He blinks hard at the window before- Oh.

Obviously.

“Virgil, you have extra blankets in your closet, correct?”

Virgil glances up from his feet. “...Yeah?”

“I suppose those will work. Let’s get them out and go about covering this window to muffle the noise, even if only a little.”

Virgil obediently shuffles to his squeeeak-ing closet door and begins tossing several blankets onto the floor of his room; Logan turns in a slow circle, surveying the rest of the dimly-lit surroundings. He grabs Virgil’s chair from the corner of the room and drags it in front of the window, taking one of the heavier blankets and tying two of the slightly-frayed corners around the empty curtain rod. Virgil backs out of his closet and stares at him, hands hugging his elbows and finger.

“While I am doing this-” Logan pauses as he shoves one end of the blanket down the rod, expanding its area before he starts on the other corners- “I would recommend you search for some ambient or white noise sounds on some audio application on your laptop. That or some calming music may help overpower the noise of the storm.”

Logan’s tongue peeks out from between his teeth as he busies himself with several knots, stepping down every few seconds to grab another blanket off the floor. He hears the shuffling of feet and the soft whuff of the bed mattress as Virgil sinks down, followed by the rhythmic clicking of keys.

Soon, soft piano music warbles through the laptop speakers. Logan finishes his last knot moments later, hopping down to the floor with a thump before adjusting a few of the blankets. To his pleasure, they did a more-than-adequate job of muffling some of the noise. Rather than the torrential tapping of droplets on the glass, the storm’s presence is reduced to a steady hissing. Logan adjusts his glasses and turns to Virgil, who has set his laptop on the bedside table, the soft gray glow filling the room alongside the calming piano chords.

“Is this better?” he asks, satisfaction evident his face as Virgil nods with a shy smile. Logan heads towards the other side of the bed, wasting no time in sliding under the extra soft blanket spread over the comforter and sidling up next to Virgil.

“Now.” Logan shimmies fractionally, causing the sheets to flutter as he eases his weight backward. His shoulder grazes against Virgil’s, and as he stills, they remain in contact, warmth slowly transferring back and forth, attempting to establish an equilibrium. “Would you like to talk about anything?”

Virgil is silent. Logan tilts his head to better see the anxious side, who is squinting across the room at the makeshift curtains.

“...Would it be too weird if I… um. If you talked, and I just listened?”

“Not at all. What would you like me to talk about?”

“Um. Anything? You pick. I don’t want to make you talk about something you don’t like.”

“Fair enough.” Logan shifts his gaze skyward, letting his pupils pick up the pace held what seems like forever ago in his room. Hisssss crackle crackle pop pop p o p crackle pop hiss pop crackle pop.

“...The universe, as most theorize, came into existence approximately 13.8 billion years ago. We know this, of course, by measuring the distance between different galaxies and their rates of change, as well as observing older stars. 13.8 billion years ago, every bit of mass and energy was condensed into a singular point- and then it exploded. Massive amounts of pressure and enormously high temperatures dominated as everything burst forth.

“For the first instant in time- ten to the negative thirty-second power of a second, to be exact- the radius of the universe expanded extensively as the sheer force of the explosion radiated outward. The first ‘particles’ to exist that we are aware of, such as quarks and leptons, composed- I suppose “matter” must be the correct term here- the matter of the universe at this point.

One microsecond into the existence of the universe, these basic particles formed protons; and there is a statement there, I suppose, about the universe’s first creation being something positive. One-hundredth of a second into the existence of the universe, nuclear fusion began of protons with one another due to the still-extremely-high pressures and temperatures- the conditions perfect for the strong nuclear force to become evident. From then, up until the universe was three minutes old, it is theorized that the universe created the first four elements of the periodic table: hydrogen, helium, lithium, and beryllium.

These are not, of course, sufficient for formation of the carbon-based lifeforms we know of today. Carbon is only fused into existence some 200 million years later, along with the other first 26 elements, which include phosphorus and sulfur- the bases for DNA and proteins, respectively. I suppose there is another statement there about how much time the universe put into crafting living organisms such as you and me.

Though I suppose we aren’t living, not technically, not really. We are Thomas’ personified personality aspects, and though we may often act alive, it is a-”

“Too meta, dude.”

Logan’s hand jerks- lost in the recesses of his own mind, he has completely forgotten another person is slumped next to him. He blinks, realizing the foreign object pressing on his side is actually Virgil, who has shifted so his head is leaning slightly on Logan’s shoulder. Logan makes no move to adjust him- the weight is warm and comfortable, and he leans his own head in slightly until his cheek is flush against Virgil’s mop of lavender-and-chocolate hair.

Lavender. That would help him sleep as well.

“My… apologies,” Logan mumbles, failing to stifle his yawn, before continuing. “The first 26 elements are made inside stars via this stellar nucleogenesis- a series of fusion reactions- but simply those 26 are not enough to comprise the complex life forms... of today. Our bodies, to give an example, also need heavier elements such as... iodine and copper. The heavier elements are brought into being through supernova nucleogenesis. When... much larger stars... expand and eventually explode, it is theorized that these heavier elements were formed through nuclear fusion reactions with… oxygen and silicon. Silicon has… a specific structure, deemed silica, that comprises a pseudo-skeleton of several… early life forms. And glass. And so then… all the elements for life are in… the dust emanating from star explosions… People are... made of stardust, isn’t that…”

[hoeseok]

The Journey to Freedom | 01

♡ Happy Ever After // BTS Disney AU Collab ♡

Word Count: 3.1k

Pairing: [ Jungkook | Flynn Rider ] x Reader

Genre: Disney AU, fluff

Warnings: None

Moodboard

Prologue | Jimin (Pt. 1) | Jungkook | Jin | Yoongi | Taehyung | Hoseok | Namjoon | Jimin (The Choice: Pt. 2) | Epilogue

(banner creds to @aichan11)

Looking around the office room puzzled, you feel as if a train hit you because of a massive headache throbbing at your temples. You glance down at your work clothes back on your body; the mermaid tail is not a part of you anymore. The sound of the waves crashing are replaced by the sounds of the air conditioner humming at a constant rate. Jimin’s lips, sweet and soft looking, resting millimeters from your own lips have been taken away from you abruptly, and you are left in dismay. The travel through different dimensions takes a toll on your body; you are not exactly like your younger self with crazy amounts of energy to keep up with this type of traveling because you are much older now and more mature. Running your hand through your hair to ruffle your tangled, slightly damp hair, you notice the deafening silence in the office. “It’s too quiet in here. Where is Bang Sihyuk?” You think it’s strange that Bang Sihyuk is not even around because you expect him to be waiting for you since he is the one who sent you on the adventure with Jimin.

Walking back over to your desk, you notice that your laptop has been repaired and no longer displays a “fatal system error” message on a blue screen. The numerous coffee stains on the pile of your work has disappeared, and the papers look as good as new and feel just as crisp as they did when you first bought the paper. Turning around to take a seat in your chair, you bend your legs to sit down, but out of nowhere Bang Sihyuk pops back in and scares the living daylights out of you. You flinch at his surprise return, and the chair rolls out from under you, causing you to create a loud crash as you try to spare yourself from embarrassment by using your arms to catch yourself, but nothing prevents gravity from pulling you down. You hit the floor with a loud thud, and you gasp so hard that you start choking on thin air. Feeling self-conscious, your body temperature increases, and your cheeks turn a nice shade of rosy pink. While getting up onto your feet, you avoid eye contact with him for as long as possible.

“Oh my God, Bang Sihyuk! Don’t scare me like that! If I wasn’t falling, I would have grabbed something to hit you with before I fell. You should be glad I didn’t do that,” you exclaim, meeting your gaze with his. You lift your arms out to gesture as you speak and then let them fall back down to your side.

“Oh, I’m sorry, y/n. I didn’t mean to scare you. Sometimes I forget that I just can’t pop back in like that,” Bang Sihyuk explains, an apologetic look on his face. “I’m here to remind you that your next adventure awaits through that door over there, so you may go ahead and enter,” he mentions, pointing his head towards the direction of the door.

You nod your head slowly to show that you understand his words, but your feet stay glued to the floor. You don’t want to go to another parallel universe again because there’s only so much your body can handle, but you have no other choice. All you want to do is go home for the night and get some rest, but it doesn’t look like you will sleep any time soon. Bang Sihyuk crosses his arms over his chest, implying that you need to pick up the pace and make your way over to the door where your next prince awaits for you. Once you walk to the door, he joins you at the entrance and puts his hand on the doorknob, a big grin resting on his face. “It seems like he’s more eager about my upcoming adventure than I am,” you think to yourself, while forcing a smile to Bang Sihyuk.

“Do you have any questions to ask before you go?” he inquires, interrupting your racing thoughts of who the prince will be.

“No, I don’t think so,” you reply, shaking your head.

“Okay, good. Now go have fun!” he yells out, swinging the door wide open and pushing you through the threshold into the parallel universe once more.

* * * * *

You don’t completely understand how you arrive here because one second you are with Bang Sihyuk and the next, you are isolated in captivity. Your ordinary work clothes have transformed into an elegant, long purple dress that hits right above your ankles. You stand in front of a full length mirror to examine the new dress on your body; your hands smooth over the creases on the skirt of your dress. The three quarter sleeves are puffy around the shoulders to add dimension but then fit exquisitely on your lean arms. The corset dress hugs at your figure, drawing emphasis towards the curves of your waist and creating a longer torso. The most different thing you notice about yourself is that you now have extremely long hair that has magical powers for healing.

Out of sheer curiosity, you walk around the room trying to find an exit somewhere, but there isn’t one anywhere to be found except for an entrance that leads to a balcony. Opening the doors, you step outside and immediately feel the warm air hit your body. Your bare feet adjust to the warmth of the balcony floor, and the pupils in your eyes shrink in attempt to see better in the sunlight. Peeking over the balcony ledge, you see that the balcony is too high up to attempt an escape without getting injured badly. “If my bedroom is so high up, then how did I get here?” you question while placing your hands on the ledge. Looking out into the distance, you see nothing but trees surrounding the tower on one side and a cave with a waterfall on the opposite side. “This place is definitely hidden. I doubt anyone can find me trapped in here, and I have no clue where I am,” you groan out, the slightest bit of hope you have left fading.

* * * * *

At the crack of dawn, the sun begins to slowly come up, coloring the sky with varying shades of orange, red, and yellow; all colors blending together into one like the paint on an artist’s palette. Not too long after the sun rises, the tossing and turning cause you to awaken from your slumber in a cold sweat from a reoccurring nightmare. Every night when you sleep, you dream of being trapped in a locked tower, only to wake up and remember that those nightmares are actually a chilling reality. Struggling to roll out of the cocoon of blankets you have tangled yourself in during the night, you finally rise from your bed. Walking towards the entrance, you open the doors and stare out into the distance at the clear blue sky and the freshly damp grass still wet from the morning dew.

As the day slowly drags on, you keep busy by a painting mural of yourself watching the lanterns float into the distance, a dream of yours you wish to see come true. One day you will discover the source of those lanterns no matter what it takes, and that is a fact. If you aren’t painting, then you’re hanging out with your best friend, Pascal, the chameleon. He is a very loyal and trustworthy friend, who has been pushing you to discover the beautiful yet unknown outside world that life has to offer.

“Well, hello Miss,” someone smirks, cocking his head to the side.

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!,” you shriek in response to the unfamiliar voice coming from the stranger, ducking down faster than the speed of light while your hands reach for your head. Grabbing for the closest thing near you, you grab a pan and stand up to defend yourself. “Who are you, and how did you get up here? What do you want?” you interrogate, the stern tone in your voice displays no signs of taking this situation lightly. Before he even utters a word, he’s already attempting to kiss you. Puckering his lips and slightly leaning in closer to you, he simply stops inches away from your face. Not wanting to deal with his shameless flirting, you smack him with the pan for attempting to flirt with you and hide him in the closet unconscious when you hear Mother Gothel’s voice nearby.

Mother Gothel comes into your room to bring your meal, and you muster up the courage to ask her of your request before she leaves. The answer will most likely be a “no”, but you have to at least give it a shot and hope for the best.

“Mother, can I leave the tower? I want to experience life outside of this prison I’m stuck in.”

“No, you cannot leave, my dear. The outside world is far too dangerous for you because it will destroy the smallest ray of sunshine it can find,” she strictly replies.

“But- but,” you stutter nervously.

“No, y/n! My decision is final; under my roof, you are not leaving this tower ever!” Mother Gothel screams, and you take a few steps away from her.

Too tired to deal with anymore questions, Mother Gothel turns around and walks off. “Wait, Mother!” you cry out, “For my birthday, I want some more of that paint you got me before.”

“Are you sure that’s what you want, darling? It’ll take me three days to get it.” You nod your head yes; your doe eyes warm and inviting, which makes it harder for Mother to say no to you. “Okay, y/n. I’ll get it for you. Are you sure you’ll be fine without me here?”

“Yes, Mother. I can take care of myself. Thank you,” you reply, giving her a big hug before she took off.

Before he regains his consciousness, you drag him out of the closet and fasten him to the chair with your long hair. His eyes flutter, and when they fully open, he panics and squirms around in the chair to make an effort at breaking free. Failing at his attempt, he gives up quickly without trying a second time. Furrowing his brows, he bewilderingly questions, “Why- why am I tied up?”

“My mother informed me about the world outside of this tower and how threatening it can be, and she warned me about people like you,” you explain to him.

“People like me? What do you mean by people like me?”

“Well,” you pause, unsure of how to explain in a way that makes sense. You continue, “I mainly mean people in general as a whole. For my whole life, I have been taught not to trust anyone because they may have malicious intent and would do anything to get what they want.” Staring intensely into his eyes with him staring right back at you, neither one of you flinches. “Anyways, can you tell me who you are?”

“I thought you would have never asked!” he begins, his egotistical attitude makes you roll your eyes so hard. You almost have the nerve to smack him again with the pan, but you refrain from doing so. “You can call me Jungkook, and do you have a name, pretty lady?”

“Oh my goodness, Jungkook. Stop with this cockiness!” you exclaim, as a sigh left your mouth. “My name is y/n. Oh and by the way, while you were out cold, I saw a crown sticking out of your satchel. I hid your bag from you,” you explain.

“Hey, I need that! Give it back!” Jungkook tries to leap forward to get out, but he can't move since he's still tied up. “Wha- what are you going to do with it?” The panic in his voice doesn't go unnoticed.

“I’ll give it back to you un-”

“Yes! Thank you!” Jungkook interrupts.

“Hold up, I wasn't finished with what I was saying. I'll give it back under one condition. You have to take me to see the lanterns.”

“What? Why? There's no way I'm doing that.”

“Fine then. The crown and satchel stay with me.” You cross your arms over your chest and look over into the direction of the balcony, slightly annoyed that he won't agree to your compromise.

“Y/n.” You turn to look at him, and when you meet his gaze, he continues, “Fine, I will take you to see the lanterns.”

As soon as you hear him mention the festival, your eyes light up, and you cry out tears of joy because you can't believe his answer.

The trust between you two slowly but surely commences to form the more you chat with him, and you release him from being tied up. Jungkook stands up slowly, stretching his legs out in the process. He proceeds to straighten his vest and then asks, “Are you ready?”

“Yeah, never been more ready.” you say, shuffling away from Jungkook towards the entrance to examine the ground below. After seeing how high up you are, you’re too frightened to leave the tower first, so Jungkook takes the lead and uses his arrows to make his way down the side. “It’s either now or never,” you think to yourself, taking in a deep breath. You casually place your hair in a hook on the balcony, and your hair falls down the side of the tower to the ground. Gripping your hands onto your strong, long hair, you cautiously wrap your body around it while holding on tightly as you steadily lower yourself down until you are inches away from the green grass under your bare feet.

The first steps outside of the tower feel like you're on cloud nine. The coolness of the grass on the bottom of your feet juxtaposed to the sun’s rays beating down is nothing you’ve experienced before, so the feeling is indescribable and mind-blowing. You wish you had all the time in the world to run your hands over every tree or through every patch of flowers, but unfortunately you don’t have that leisure. Skipping merrily through the forest, your smile continues to grow, amazed by what the world has to offer. Even when your mouth hurts so much from grinning, you never stop showing your pearly whites. Jungkook takes a seat under the shade of a tree and watches you have your moment of new excitement and fascination.

“Y/n! If we want to make it to the lanterns on time, we should head that way,” Jungkook explains as he wipes the dirt from his pants and then waves to get your attention. He waits for you to catch up before he hikes deeper into the forest. Not too far off in the distance, faint sounds of a horse trotting are heard progressively getting louder and louder by the second. Hearing the noises of the horse prior to you, Jungkook becomes alarmed, and he grabs your hand as he hurriedly finds a hiding spot on the other side of a fallen tree.

“Jungkook, what’s happening?” you whisper nervously in his ear, eyes wide like a deer in the headlights. Jungkook shushes you, his breathing still heavy from running. You’re still confused on what’s happening, but then you see it. Maximus, a white horse, intensely sniffing the ground for something; you could definitely tell he is on a mission to find whatever or whoever he is looking for. Jungkook crouches down even lower with hopes of not being seen, and Maximus walks right past where both of you are hiding. Nevertheless, he picks up on Jungkook’s scent and makes his way back until he stops directly in front of him. Maximus looks prepared to fight Jungkook for stealing the crown, but you intervene before any damage is done. By befriending Maximus and showing him love and compassion, you’re able to get him to lessen his hate for Jungkook.

* * * * *

Eventually reaching the kingdom with time to spare before the lantern festival, you gather people around the community to dance, with Jungkook joining you by your side. The jolly music echoes through the busy streets as people sing along to the sweet melodies and move rhythmically to the beat.

“Y/n, come with me,” Jungkook says with a smile, holding his hand out for you to intertwine with his.

“Where are we going?” you ask, your curiosity getting the best of you.

“It’s a surprise, so you’ll have to find out yourself.”

Jungkook guides you to a small canoe and helps you carefully step in, so you don’t fall into the water before he takes a seat himself. The color of the sky and the water scream navy blue because the sun has disappeared into the depths of the night. There is just enough light from the moon to see Jungkook across from you, leisurely paddling away from the kingdom. As he turned his head to the other side of the canoe, you catch the smile on his face. He is grinning like an idiot who has fallen in love. You can’t help but smile back at him; your heart racing in your chest. Even though his original intent was to steal the crown and live happily ever after with his money, somewhere along the journey to the lantern festival, you have stolen his heart instead.

The king and queen release the first lantern into the night sky, and then the rest follow; unhurriedly one by one at first and then all at once. Dropping your jaw at the breathtaking moment, you’re in awe and left speechless. Your lifelong dream is finally a reality that is worth escaping the captivity you were once held in. It is everything you imagined it being and much more. The soft glow from the lanterns illuminates the dark sky, the blackness is decorated with lights that sparkle like stars. You stretch your arm out to touch the lantern close by, and when you look over your shoulder at Jungkook, he caught two lanterns for you both to release at the same time. After releasing them and watching them float away, Jungkook gently grabs your hand, and you turn your head towards him, searching for his dark brown eyes hidden behind his hair. His gaze finds yours and his hands, slightly rough to the touch, cups both sides of your face. Your breathing is unsteady as he stares deeply into your eyes, yet everything feels right with the world. He leans in closer to your lips with his eyes shut and his soft lips in a small pucker. The butterflies in your stomach flutter rapidly as you anxiously await your first kiss. You close your eyes and lean in closer to his lips, pausing to let him make the first move, but that move never happens. As a matter of fact, when you open your eyes, Jungkook is no longer an inch away from your lips, and you are no longer in a canoe by the kingdom.

Prologue | Jimin (Pt. 1) | Jungkook | Jin | Yoongi | Taehyung | Hoseok | Namjoon | Jimin (The Choice: Pt. 2) | Epilogue

[my-dear-hammy]

Basking in Firelight-Jamilton Sequel-Part Nine

Masterpost

Part One

Part Nine: Eye of the Hurricane

AN

I live for comments and the ones you have been sending are beautiful and give me new life. Just sayin’. 

—-

Warnings below

—-

Jefferson had no idea how all this happened. He supposed it started a long time ago, with the war. He certainly never expected to be sharing a hotel suite with none other than Alexander Hamilton, author of the Publius pamphlets, idiot to all things political, and straight up pain. But he guessed that’s just how life went sometimes.

It was kinda awkward, but also kinda natural. Neither of them knew what to do with themselves. Jefferson had no idea Hamilton had a cello because it was in Hamilton’s room, where Jefferson never ventured. Hamilton had no idea about Jefferson’s violin for the same exact reason. Neither of them could bring themselves to play, the music in their hearts seems to have died out. They were used to living with each other on a stone cold floor with one of them dangerously close to dying. They had no idea how to deal with each other in the comforts provided by a hotel suite. So they mostly kept to themselves.

Hamilton learned that Jefferson was a master cook, he hardly left the kitchen. Jefferson swore he was never eating a pile of mush again and every bite he would have would be fit for a five-star restaurant. Hamilton thought the whole thing was stupid, but he didn’t complain seeing as he got delicious meals out of it. He supposed it was a way Jefferson was coping.

They both were. With nothing to do but wait, they had to find a way to fill their time that didn’t involve too many outside adventures. They were too easily recognized.

One day, they were both sprawled out on a couch, flipping through t.v. channels, when Jefferson paused on a news station.

“-the case concerning the two missing rebel leaders, Thomas Jefferson and Alexander Hamilton, has finally come to a close. They have been found dead. The details surrounding their demise is still murky. The government promises to launch a full investigation on the-”

Jefferson turned the t.v. off. Dead. They were dead. Not just missing now.

“Well I’ll be damned,” Jefferson said. “They killed us.”

“There’s two ways this could go,” Hamilton said, thinking, “Either the rebel forces collapse completely, which is what the government is aiming for-”

“Or they retaliate with everything they’ve got in one last ditch effort,” Jefferson finished. They looked at each other. The time was fast approaching when they would reemerge into the outside world. They had to be prepared.

The room was silent for a moment. “Have you thought about disappearing, Hamilton?” Jefferson asked, his voice quiet. “I mean really disappearing? Getting out of this war?”

Hamilton stared blankly at the black t.v. screen. “Yeah…”

“We could…” Jefferson trailed off.

Hamilton sat there for a minute, “No, we can’t”

Jefferson sighed, Hamilton was right of course. It was just the wishful thinking of a tired soul. Jefferson stood and stretched, “Well come on then, we’ve got work to do.”

***

Jefferson and Hamilton pushed all the furniture against the wall and laid a sheet down on the floor. They both stood on top of it, hands guarding their faces, sneering taunts at the other, squaring off. Hamilton stepped forward and threw a punch aimed at Jefferson’s ribs, Jefferson easily dodged and retaliated by swinging his leg for Hamilton’s face. He ducked and brought his fist up inside Jefferson’s guard, slamming it into his chin. Jefferson’s head snapped back. Hamilton grinned and Jefferson growled. Hamilton landed a hit.

They’d been brawling for nearly half an hour, neither of them being to land a hit the entire time. Apparently, they were both skilled fighters and hard to pin down with seriously hurting each other.

Jefferson launched forward, jabbing Hamilton’s neck with an open hand and kicked out one of Hamilton’s legs, pushing him backward on the floor and pinning him. “Fuck,” Hamilton swore, trying to get out from under Jefferson. “For someone strictly into politics, you know how to fight,” Hamilton said, accepting the hand up Jefferson offered him.

“And for someone shorter than a fifth grader, you can certainly throw a punch.”

“I’ve been told I can really throw things too, I believe the exact words were, "Shit. Has anyone ever told you, you have an outrageously strong throwing arm, because Jesus-fucking-Christ.”“

"Oh really? And who told that?” Jefferson asked.

Hamilton’s brow furrowed. “I can’t remember…It seems like forever ago…a lifetime.”

Jefferson looked at Hamilton strangely before shrugging and walking down the hallway, “That’s enough practice for today I think. I’m going to take a shower.”

Hamilton stood there trying to remember who told him that so long ago. Someone important for sure.

***

Jefferson was hunched over his laptop when he looked up at Hamilton, who was reading in the corner, “Hey, Hamilton, what’re your dimensions?”

“My what?”

“Your dimensions, measurements. For clothes.”

“What the hell do you need those for?” Hamilton asked, snapping his book shut and walking over to see what Jefferson was doing.

“You need the proper I’m still alive! So Fuck all of You! clothes.”

“Why won’t what I have work?”

“One, they’re drab and hideous, meant for survival and not a statement. What we’re doing is a statement. Two, you have to make an impression, what you have won’t do that. Three, you’ll be standing next to yours truly, and I always look amazing. If you show up with what you’ve got, no one will see you standing next to such a fabulous specimen such as myself.”

“You’re full of shit.”

“Measurements?” Jefferson hummed. Hamilton listed them off. “And don’t worry,” Jefferson continued, “I’m having them custom made. They’ll be just a durable as anything else you’ve got and have plenty of places to stash your pathetic knives.”

“Hey, at least I was armed,” Hamilton retorted.

“What color?” Jefferson asked.

“Color? I don’t know.”

“Just pick your favorite color.”

“I don’t have a favorite color. I don’t care. Umm, blue. Yeah, that’ll work.”

Jefferson turned away from the computer and looked Hamilton up and down. Hamilton’s face heated. “Green,” Jefferson nodded to himself, turning back to the computer.

“Green?”

“Bright ass emerald green. Nice and shiny. Brings out your eyes and coloring.”

“What the fuck?”

“Enough to make a statement, fancy, has character, but not too much for your personality.”

“Fine, whatever. Just don’t get me one of those stupid ass long coats that you like to wear.”

“Bitch, you couldn’t pull that off if you tried.”

“What’re you wearing then?”

“A stupid ass long coat. Velvet. Bright magenta coupled with a dark purple. And my cane!”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“You won’t be saying that when I’m standing next to you. You’ll wish you could be as fabulous as me.”

“Asshole.”

“Bastard. There! All ordered. Should be here tomorrow.”

“That’s fast.”

“Perks of being rich, one-day shipping.”

***

Jefferson threw a coat at Hamilton, “Come on, we’re going somewhere.”

“Where are we going?” Hamilton asked, slipping the coat on.

“My house, gotta grab something.”

“And I have to come?”

“I can’t carry it alone.”

Hamilton rose his eyebrow quizzically. “And what exactly is it that you can’t lift by yourself?” The dude was basically pure muscle, Hamilton found it hard to believe there was something he couldn’t lift.

“I said carry, not lift you shit head, just come on." 

They walked out the door, hailed a taxi, and stood on Jefferson’s doorstep as he pushed open the door. Hamilton had only been inside Jefferson’s house once and that was right before they got kidnapped and thrown in prison. The events replayed in Hamilton’s mind as he stood frozen in the middle of the room. Jefferson stood there too, but he shook it off, grabbed Hamilton and guided him forward, no doubt knowing what Hamilton was reliving.

He led him up some stairs and into the bedroom. Hamilton curiosity was growing by the second. He didn’t see anything that could be deemed important enough for this trip. Jefferson strode up to the wall and opened a secret panel, revealing a safe door that he swung open and stepped through. There was a whole other room on the other side of the door. Jefferson poked his head back out, "Well come on, don’t just stand there.” Hamilton followed him inside as the lights clicked on.

Hamilton was standing in the middle of a small armory. “What the fuck dude? Where did you get all this? Why did you get all this?”

Jefferson started plucking things off the wall. “Situations where I have to equip a ragtag group of rebels to fight a professional military. Kinda like the one we’re in.”

“That makes no sense. How did you know that you’d have to?”

“I didn’t for sure, but usually when war threatens, weapons are always in demand. I prepared, okay?”

“You’re insane.”

“Darling, you know everyone is insane these days.”

“Yeah, but you’re more so.”

“If I’m insane, then so are you.” Hamilton couldn’t argue that. “Well, are you going to help or not?” Jefferson asked.

On their way out of the house, Jefferson stopped by his closet and grabbed his entire collection of canes.

“Seriously dude? I think you might have a bit of an obsession.”

“Don’t dis the canes, Hamilton.”

***

Hamilton’s and Jefferson’s outfit arrived the next day. Hamilton stood over Jefferson’s shoulder as he cut open the box, revealing the shiny green fabric. He pulled it out and unfolded it, holding it up for Hamilton to see. “What’d you think?” he asked.

“I think it’s ostentatious and from the 1700’s.”

“Well, I like it,” he said, throwing it over his shoulder and into Hamilton’s face. He cut open another box and pulled out his own.

“You know, I was wrong. Mine’s not that bad,” Hamilton started, looking at Jefferson’s coat. “Yours is ostentatious and gaudy.”

“And beautiful,” Jefferson added.

“I can’t believe you’re making me wear this.”

“You’ll love it when you’re wearing it in front of a crowd. You can thank me later.”

“In your dreams.”

“You know you love me,” Jefferson crooned

“No, I hate you with the deepest of passions.”

Jefferson hung up the clothes and decided to make some food, leaving Hamilton in the living room dreading the day he was born.

—-

Warnings: Bit of brawling, but mostly a nice happy chapter-with cussing. Always with the cussing.

[officialdipp]

OPEN GROUP VERSE ; DOLLS IN PSEUDO PARADISE

If you’re interested, feel free to reblog this to help spread the word ! 

      Where do things go when they are no longer needed ? If something is deemed as ‘ forgotten ’, ‘ worthless ’, ‘ not worth remembering ’ then surely it would be as if that thing had never truly existed in the first place wouldn’t it ? 

                                 Thrown away, abandoned, no better than mere FANTASY. 

    But what does any of this have to do with you ? You are not a forgotten thing to be thrown away, surely you aren’t. You are surely someone who goes about life in the best way one can. Perhaps you have friends, family, pets, surely you have something, someone, which binds you to this world. ( you are REAL. ) So what does any of this have to do with you ? 

    A forest with no exit ( how long have you been walking ? ) you don’t remember how long you have been here ( when did you even walk into this forest ? Had you not been SOMEWHERE ELSE ? Walking to school, to work, to somewhere surely… nothing seems to be missing on your person after all… ) Would you not have noticed walking into a forest ? ( But you didn't. You didn’t notice. How are you here ? ) 

                                                      WHY IS THIS FOREST SO QUIET ? 

    An unnerving atmosphere truly, tall trees with branches reaching up vainly to the rising sun ( when did it become morning ? ) tendrils of mist curling through lush leaf strewn ground, grasping, grabbing, searching to cling desperately onto anything which was foolish enough to walk through these unmarked paths. This forest is unfamiliar, this forest is perhaps just the slightest bit unsettling, but not as unsettling as the vague distinct tingle in the back of one's mind which is all too recognizable as the feeling of being WATCHED ( but from where ? By what ? ) you hear no birds in the trees, you hear no movement of life through the underbrush. ( that isn't normal surely ) but you can FEEL it, you know you can, EYES watching your every move ( like a lion watching a lamb which has strayed from its pen ) 

    Perhaps you walk faster, ( there has to be an exit ! ) perhaps you don’t care, ( you aren’t in any danger right ? So why should you ? ) perhaps you check your phone ( no service ) perhaps you cry out for help ( no response ) 

                                              Where do things go when they are forgotten ? 

    Eventually, a breakthrough, through the trees and mist you can make out the distinct outline of a small village ( you weren’t walking in circles after all it seems ) and the closer you get the more you can begin to make out; a school, an apartment complex, and what you are sure is something like a gas station ( signs of civilization ! ) and what's more, among it all you catch sight of other people. A crowd slowly gathering at the center of what you could only assume is some sort of town square, around something, ( around someone ) and surely you soon join the crowd too, no ? It would be better for you than simply standing around ( or risking becoming lost in the woods once more ) this has to be a chance for answers. Then you see her, a women standing upon little more than slightly elevated platform at the center of it all, yet still somehow COMMANDING the attention of every person gathered around her. 

                                                Where do things go when they are forgotten ? 

   SHE has been expecting you it seems. Her blonde hair done up in a tight bun, parasol neatly folded at her side, bright ( unnatural ) violet eyes which at once sweep through the murmuring voices of the forcibly gathered crowd. 

   ❝ My, my, so many things have WASHED UP on my shore it seems...  ❞ She speaks suddenly, her voice somehow demanding the attention of every single person gathered before her despite its perfectly carefree tone. ( She isn’t making the effort to raise her voice much higher than the clamoring of the crowd, and why should she RAISE her voice ? Surely you will listen, wont you ? To the only person ( ? ) here who seems to know what's going on. )  ❝ Please DO settle down, all your pointless chitchat is going to give me a headache. I’m sure you all must have SO many questions, no ?  ❞ A small chuckle escaped her lips, a small elegant curtsy given to the crowd in one completely fluid motion ( like a magician about to start a great show ) before continuing, ❝ --but as they say, patience is a virtue. All will be revealed with due time I promise you, but for now--  ❞

                              ❝ WELCOME TO MY WONDERLAND  ❞

   Spirited away to a land of fantasy, trapped in an abandoned mountain village lost to time and space, you find yourself with nothing but the clothes on your back and anything you happened to have on hand. You have been captured, trapped like rats, and your captor, ( a woman calling herself Yukari Yakumo ) claims you have been FORGOTTEN by the world you came from. 

   The monster in your closet, the shadows that lurk in the night, the supernatural, the paranormal, how shocked must you be to discover they are all VERY much real. Real, and CRAVING for the FEAST they have been denied for so long. 

    And that is where you come in, your captor has made THAT much PERFECTLY clear. Forgotten to your world and lost in shadow, you are to become food for the creatures of myth and legend that haunt this place. However, your captor has taken pity ( ? ) on you, ( or perhaps simply sending lambs off to the slaughter is much too BORING for her tastes... ) and offers up a DEAL ( how FOND this one is of her GAMES ). 

    End the current existence of one of your fellow prisoners, and she will set you free, as a bonus, she’ll even grant you your greatest desire --a wish. However, all games need stakes, all games need a challenge ( did you really believe it’d be so SIMPLE ? ). Kill someone and get away with it when put on trial against your equals. If you FAIL you get EATEN by the monsters which lurk within the outskirts of the village. Likewise, if your fellow prisoners do not guess correctly, while you will be freed ( as promised ) the remaining prisoners will make quite the BUFFET in return...  

          You have been forced into a murder game, though really the better words for this is                                                                  a game of survival. 

    Trapped in a land that does not care for you, populated by the creatures who gave humans a reason to FEAR the SHADOWS, trapped in a game of kill or be killed, live or die, escape or be eaten. In the end, lives WILL be lost. ( Your warden made THAT clear too ) Either way, Yukari is intent on getting exactly what she wants from her new PLAYGROUND.

There are NO real RULES here, though Yukari has been kind enough to place several ( actual ) customized street caution signs in the village square for you. Follow them, don’t follow them, she doesn’t really care, though if something goes WRONG don’t say she didn’t WARN YOU. 

They are all very simple, and each sign colored in a visible bright yellow, they are as follows:

CAUTION ! 

The forest holds many dangers, try not to visit after sunset. Steal from the shops at your own risk: punishment will be administered at the whim of the shopkeepers. Property damage should be avoided, unless one is handy enough to fix whatever they broke. Leave offerings at shrines for a little bit of good luck ( you’ll need it ). Attack the sukima youkai at your own risk. Mind the gap.

VERSE INFO

✂—– This is an OPEN VERSE. ANYONE is free to join, canon, oc, multi-muse, etc. THE CUT-OFF POINT FOR CAST WILL BE SOMETIME AFTER THE SECOND CHAPTER BEGINS. Be sure to tag your verse posts with the tag ‘ v; dolls in pseudo paradise ’. Follow it to keep up with the verse’s events ! That is the official tag for the group, and where you will find open starters, group events, new applicants, etc. You’re more than welcome to make your own tag alongside that, though please tag your posts with the official tag so we can find your posts ! 

✂—– This verse is inspired by the setting of Touhou Project, the murder game mechanics of Dangan Ronpa, with a dash of Fatal Frame and other such horror games of its nature thrown in. as such, dark themes WILL be present. You do not have to be familiar with any of these things to participate, we got you covered on all fronts! 

✂—– Youkai muses are allowed and encouraged! There’s only one catch- in this setting, youkai are born from human fear. It’s hard coded into their schematics, they cannot resist their nature. How open they are about their inhuman status amongst their peers is up to you, but given the situation they’re in.... it’s safe to say a wolf among the sheep’s going to cause a little bit of panic, no?

✂—– Yukari has basically spirited away all your muses from their canon verse / your verse of choice and dumped them into a realm which exists as a sort of ‘ wonderland ’, a pocket dimension of sorts with seemingly no exit. They have been kidnapped, ripped right from their ‘ story ’ and dropped right smack dab into the village with only the clothes on their backs and everything they may have on hand at the time. 

✂—– As such, memories have been left INTACT ( probably ). Your muse remembers going about their daily life as normal before getting snatched up ( ‘ gapped away ’ literally walking through a rift in space-time which Yukari created ) and without their notice ending up a forest. 

✂—– The village at NIGHT TIME leads to many events at RANDOM. There is no set schedule for these. Youkai are roaming in this village after all, and they will do as they please WHEN they please. Occasionally there will be witnesses, some there may not be. Some events may be dangerous to your muse, some might be helpful. But all of them are certainly strange… even the ones among you just seem a little bizarre. 

✂—– It is preferable that you follow the ADMINS of this group as found in the admins page though it isn't required. 

✂—– For the murder events, the admins will pair off two people ( though volunteers are welcomed ) – one to play the part of ‘ murderer ’ and the other their ‘ victim ’. The max amount of people who can be killed by ONE PERSON is TWO. If no one is willing to take the role, one of the admins will handle it. 

✂—– Please. If you take part in this verse, treat each other kindly out of character and please be welcoming to those who join. See an open without notes ? Reply ! Want to plot with someone ? Feel free to ask ! We’re all just a big happy family stuck in a death village on a mountain. No big deal.

✂—– Threads of any length are welcome ! 

✂—– Trials, murders, and story events will be announced by Yukari. Trials are interactive and will be played out by interacting with other members in the group or by sending IC asks to this blog directed at Yukari. When it comes time to the voting, you’ll also cast your votes by sending them into the blog ! Yukari will also confirm or deny evidence in the trial and investigation if it’s needed or asked ( though whether she wants to or not is a different story-- ). 

✂—– The application for this verse is short and simple. Only a few key things will be needed to know about your muse, which will be kept PRIVATE for the sake of moderating this ‘ story ’ New people will be introduced in batches and the masterlist will be updated as the applications come in !

✂—– Doubles are not an issue.

                SEND ANY FURTHER QUESTIONS HERE                         PLEASE CHECK THE FAQ PAGE                        AND THE TAG AS IT'S UPDATED.        FOR MORE INFORMATION ON THE SETTING ITSELF                                  CHECK OUT THIS PAGE SUBMIT APP: HERE APP STATUS: OPEN

Name / Age: Species ( human / youkai / something else ? ): Weakness your character has ? ( physical / mental ): What would make them WANT to kill someone ? Strengths your character has ? ( physical / mental): What would KEEP them from killing ? Would you be willing to play the role of murderer ? Would you be willing to play the role of victim ? Triggers ? URL:

[analysis-by-vaylon]

Star and Marco will eventually become a couple, but it won’t be easy for them. A pair of scissors symbolizes why.

This updated analysis owes some appreciation to a few observant redditors in the comments of the original post. I’d like to thank /u/LilPotato911, /u/Malthus1, /u/Homunclus, and /u/Suthek in particular for making connections that I missed! I’ll weave your observations into this post, but I wanted to give credit to the four of you specifically.

The idea that scissors are symbolic of a married couple is not a new one; it's appeared in popular fiction:

Scissors are made from two blades. They carry out their tasks by being close and scrape against one another. Just like a married couple who get along well. That's what my mother used to say.

And it's appeared in ecclesiastical and family-life circles as well, as indicated by this quote from Sydney Smith:

Marriage resembles a pair of shears, so joined that they cannot be separated; often moving in opposite directions, yet always punishing anyone who comes between them.

In Star vs. the Forces of Evil, the most important pair of scissors is the pair of dimensional scissors that Star and Marco use to travel to other dimensions. Indeed, it's dimensional scissors that enable Star and Marco to be together at all -- since otherwise they would both be stuck in their respective dimensions.

But I'm not pulling this idea from thin air: in "Red Belt," the show itself connects romance and scissors as a single idea with an interesting line of dialogue from Marco:

Not the critically-acclaimed, award-winning, romantic comedy A Pair of Scissors -- an actual pair of scissors.

As others have pointed out, A Pair of Scissors could possibly work as the title for Star and Marco's adventures -- since, after all, they use the dimensional scissors to see one another and travel together to different worlds. And "romantic comedy" is the key phrase that conceptually links the pre-existing scissors-as-married-couple symbolism with Star and Marco.

Considering all this, it’s no surprise that the pair of dimensional scissors has a heart-shaped handle -- though with a zig-zag in the middle to give the appearance of a broken heart; that break could be evidence that it won’t be easy for Star and Marco.

If we accept the symbolic meaning behind the scissors, however, then "Red Belt" reinforces the idea that the road to becoming a couple won’t be easy for Star and Marco -- and it shows this with dialogue at the beginning of the episode immediately following Marco's nightmare (of which there's a good analysis here, by the way). Note that Star is holding the dimensional scissors:

Marco: What are you doing in here? Star: I'm hanging my first Love Sentence poster. You can be my "Prisoner of Love," Justin Towers. Marco: Uhhhh -- that's not what I meant. I was sleeping. Star: Oh, right. Do you have a hammer? I am putting this bad boy up Earth girl style. No majack. Marco: Yeah, all I'm saying is, you could have tried knocking on my door Earth girl style. Star: Why would I do that when I have dimensional... Ohh. How can I be so “duh”? Nothing's easy on Earth! I’m gonna find a hammer the hard way. Scavenger hunt!

There's so much irony in this scene that I kicked myself for not noticing it sooner. First of all, the scene sets up a dichotomy between the easy way and the hard way; where have we seen that dichotomy before? In “My New Wand!”.

Glossaryck: Why don’t you try the easy way and open the door with magic? Star: I can’t do magic. My wand’s in the closet. Glossaryck: (gasps) Do you wanna try the hard way?

Glossaryck explicitly refers to magic as “the easy way” -- which Star herself later repeats in “Red Belt” -- so what is “the hard way”? In “My New Wand!” we learn about “dipping down,” a way for Star to perform magic without her wand. Given the events of the episode, it’s likely that dipping down is motivated by her love for Marco. So there we have our first connections: the easy way is magic; the hard way is love.

“Red Belt” brings back the idea of Star’s dependence on magic: in fact, she’s so used to using magic to get what she wants that she uses the dimensional scissors to get into Marco’s bedroom while he’s sleeping. Not only does Marco see this as a violation of his privacy, but, because of the intimate setting (that is, while he’s sleeping in his bedroom) and the added metaphorical significance of the scissors (which “Red Belt” reinforces), the lines he says to Star take on ironic meaning -- that is, Marco says one thing but means another.

When Marco says, “You could have tried knocking on my door Earth girl style,” he is literally chastising her about his privacy; the ironic subtext, however, is that if Star wants to figuratively get into Marco’s bedroom -- that is, be with him romantically -- she’s going to have to go through the process of asking him out just like any other girl would: she can’t skip that process by using magic.

But, Star being Star, she doesn't at first understand why she can't use the scissors. The ironic subtext here is that Star doesn't realize that being a couple will take real effort on her part -- it's not something she can use magic to accomplish. Hence, her lines, "Nothing's easy on Earth! I’m gonna find a hammer the hard way!" takes on added irony: it most certainly won't be easy to romantically pursue Marco -- just as it’s not easy to “dip down,” even motivated by her love for Marco -- and the rest of season two, I believe, will be about Star painfully learning both of those lessons -- beginning with "Bon Bon the Birthday Clown," in which we finally see Star experience heartbreak at losing Marco.

Besides "Red Belt," there are other episodes that hint at the theme of two things being stuck together: the "binding together" speech in "Blood Moon Ball," Glossaryck's "cleaved" dialogue in "Storm the Castle," and pretty much everything in "By the Book" -- all of which are thematically connected to the symbolic idea of scissors-as-married-couple, since the two blades are bound or cleaved together.

I think the series has done more than enough to foreshadow that Star and Marco will be together, but I wonder just how far Star will have to go to make it happen. Sure, it's a Disney cartoon, but we've seen Star do some dark and obsessive things. Well -- who knows? Regardless, I am certain that their happy ending won't come easily.

That's all for this analysis; there are a few more ideas I have about the series, but I'll need to do some research before I can post about them. Like everyone else, I'm waiting eagerly in anticipation for the rest of season two in February. In the meantime, I'm taking suggestions for things you'd like to see analyzed. Feel free to send me an ask.