#we live in an old drippy building so we thought it had something to do with a new leak but the hand mixer was really confusing us

[rezcowgirl]

Ended up getting cheap drinks at The Old Spaghetti factory with my old roommate, her partner and one of my best friends because she has a hyperfixation on it. I think that's hilarious and adorable because she's 32 and a teacher and a bona fied Weirdo and I love that for her.

Afterwards we came back to our apartment to drink wine because, surprise surprise, OSF does not have great wine lmao. When we were making our way upstairs we came across a wet dish towel, an unplugged hand mixer laying on its side, and white powder all over the hallway. Aries and I were like "...so that's new". Our neighbour came rushing out of her unit apologizing profusely "MY DAUGHTER'S BIRTHDAY IS TOMORROW BUT SHE IS ASLEEP AND I NEED TO MAKE ICING I'M SO SORRY I WILL CLEAN IT UP". The image of her sitting in the hallway on the floor making icing for her daughter is just so very precious and loving, and it was good way to end the night with warm feelings about humanity and our rituals.

Anyway, back to work tomorrow, and back to temperance.

[demi-drawing]

in case you don’t live forever - ni no kuni

word count - 4846

tumblr sucks and won’t let me put a link so if you want to read this fic on ao3 my ni no kuni ao3 acc is @sweetpeasprite!!! it’s on there

so remember that older oliver design i made? haha yeah! so anyways what if that didn’t happen

DEATH WARNING there’s death in this fic. major characters die. it’s nothing gory and they all live long happy lives and die of old age but they still die so Be Warned

Oliver is thirteen.

When he arrives back in Motorville, the first thing he does is take a shower, and then he goes down to Miss Leila’s shop and talks to Myrtle about nothing in particular, until Miss Leila shoos him out not unkindly for “distracting her best employee”. On the way out, she says something odd.

“You seem different to usual, Oliver, dear.”

Oliver blinks. “Different how, Miss Leila?”

She stands in the doorway of the milk bar and shakes her head fondly. “I didn’t mean it in a bad way. More mature, I suppose.”

He laughs it off with a smile and a wave as he goes to see how much progress Phil has made on his car since he last saw him (was it when the Clarion was made? It feels like months ago), but it sticks in his head for the rest of the day.

---

Oliver is fifteen.

He hasn’t grown any taller. Phil and Myrtle were already taller than him to begin with, but now they tower over him; he supposes he must have a growth spurt someday soon. In the back of his mind, he worries over it, mind wandering along to the other world and its magic, but there’s no time for that when Denny’s made it into the track team, and Phil’s made a new car, and Myrtle’s taken up playing the flute (by Oliver’s recommendation).

He doesn’t think about it for a few months until all four of them are over at Phil’s garage, watching him work and chattering amongst themselves, occasionally handing him a tool when he asks for it. Somehow, the conversation takes a turn to two years ago.

“Man, do you remember when I hurt my ankle and just completely stopped running for a while?” Denny asks, leaning against a pile of old tires. Oliver looks up at him, then turns his gaze to the floor to avoid eye contact. Thankfully, he doesn't seem to notice. “That was weird. Honestly, I barely remember what even happened during that.”

“That was a few months before I got weird too, huh?” Phil says, his voice echoing from under the car. “Like, when I stopped working on any of my cars or… anything, really."

Myrtle frowns slightly. “Now that I think about it, Denny’s injury was only a few months after my sickness.” She leans back in the old garden chair Oliver had found buried under a tarp. “It is odd all of that happened in the same year.”

Oliver stays quiet, sitting cross-legged on the floor next to where Phil is halfway under his car, hoping to stay non-suspicious. Unfortunately, that doesn’t happen, as Phil rolls out from the motor and raises an eyebrow at him, streaks of motor oil on his cheeks. “Wasn’t that the year you disappeared for months at a time, Ollie?”

When Oliver doesn’t reply, only glancing away which in retrospect he thinks only makes him look suspicious, Denny hums in thought. “He came back to fix my ankle. And… whatever was stopping me from running, I guess.”

“Same with me,” Phil says, still staring at him, “but with my motivation, or whatever.”

“He cured my illness.” Myrtle pauses, scrunching her eyebrows together. “...And I think my parents’ marriage somehow?”

All three of them stop, glance at each other, and then stare at Oliver. He ducks his head and does a half-hearted shrug. Phil snorts.

“Take it from the guy who’s known him his whole life,” he says, ducking back under his car and making his voice start echoing again. “That’s just how Ollie is. He’s just such a nice person everyone naturally follows in his wake of good-hearted destruction.”

Denny laughs. “I can’t deny that. I swear I’ve seen flowers actually bloom in his presence. He’s, like, magic or something.”

“There’s also the fact he still looks eleven,” Myrtle says. “All us three are teens and Oliver’s still the age I met him.”

“I was thirteen when I met you!” Oliver says indignantly, speaking up for the first time since the conversation began.

“You looked eleven then, and you look eleven now,” Denny teases lightly. “But seriously, are you gonna get any taller or are you gonna be four foot something forever?”

Oliver splutters in offense as the rest of his so-called friends laugh.

---

Oliver is eighteen.

...He thinks. He still looks thirteen. Maybe he’s not been counting right.

Denny has left Motorville to try out for the state championships, and Phil’s now employed at Rusty’s garage; Oliver is proud of both of them. Though, with Myrtle still working for Miss Leila (she's getting paid for it now), Oliver’s the only one without a job. It’s kinda difficult to get one when you look thirteen. And he definitely only looks thirteen - he’s not actually still thirteen. That would be ridiculous, and impossible, and… magical, which is entirely possible. He steers his mind away from the topic whenever it happens to pop up.

With all the time he has now, what with everyone at their jobs, he visits the other world a lot more. Swaine’s co-running Hamelin with Marcassin, and Esther’s continuing to care for familiars. Swaine doesn’t look much different - other than occasionally he shaves now, which is a big shock - but Esther’s growing up at the same pace as Myrtle, which he supposes shouldn’t come as a surprise.

He wakes in a dream one night, and finds his mom standing in a field of flowers for the first time in five years.

“Oliver, sweetie,” she murmurs, and if Oliver is seeing and hearing her right, she seems on the verge of tears. He blinks. That's not right. It's usually the other way around. “I’m so sorry.”

“What…?” he whispers, and for once she comes up to him to sweep him in a hug, kneeling down to match his (unfortunate) height.

“We didn’t know,” she says, and her hug is exactly like how he remembers it. He presses his lips together as she murmurs, “Honey, we didn’t know. We’re both so sorry," into his ear.

Oliver swallows and wraps his arms around her middle. The dream doesn’t end as he remembers the rest of them doing - instead of her drifting away, into white space, his mom simply holds on tight, and the ending is so abrupt he wakes up startled, tears in his eyes.

There was definitely one thing about this dream that was the same as the others.

Great Sages can be so cryptic.

---

Oliver might be nineteen.

That’s what the calendar says. But he gets confused looks from his childhood best friends, and mistaken for another kid by actual thirteen year olds, who give him odd looks when he tells them (and himself) that he's not. At this point, he thinks Myrtle is convinced he’s magical. Which, he doesn’t particularly blame her for - after all, it’s the truth.

He visits Teeheeti one day, on a hunt for a certain lantern-nosed fairy. Of course, he’s so easily recognisable now that when he walks into the Fairyground, all the fairies with nothing better to do start calling for the Lord High Lord of the Fairies.

“Ollie-boy!” Drippy shouts, almost from the other side of the town. Oliver smiles and waves at him, and he comes racing over, lantern jingling furiously. “Haven’t seen you ‘round here in a bit! What’s going on, mun?”

“Not much!” Oliver says, smiling. “Just wanted to visit you, I guess.”

“There’s a change. Haven’t seen you in months, mun!" Drippy rolls his eyes, and Oliver winces apologetically. "Been lonely, I have. There’s been a new restaurant opened up here and everything! Come on, I’ll show you the way.”

Drippy leads him through the town, past the Cat’s Cradle and the giant octopus building that Oliver never really got the chance to learn the name of. As it turns out, the new restaurant is right near the Cavity Club. The seats are, of course, far too tiny for Oliver to sit on, so he just sits on the grass instead. They order and begin to wait.

“So, Ollie-boy,” Drippy starts, sipping a glass of water. “Wanna tell youer old friend what’s really bothering you?”

Oliver starts. “Wh- Mr. Drippy, there’s nothing bothering me! I-”

“Save youer breath, you’re a terrible liar.” Oliver stops talking, taking a drink from his own water quietly. He glances at Drippy, only to jump when he realises he’s leaning into his personal space and squinting at him in an almost threatening manner, if only he wasn��t so small.

“Okay, so maybe there’s something bothering me,” he mutters into his fairy-sized glass, built for fairy-sized hands.

Drippy continues to stare at him for a few moments before he says, “Well? Spit it out, mun, I don’t have all day.”

Oliver takes a deep breath, and lets it out slowly. “Mr. Drippy, can people without soulmates age?” he says heavily, looking down at the water in his glass and swirling it around as he waits for a response.

They’re both silent for a moment. Drippy looks Oliver up and down, and Oliver glances up to find his expression somber. “...At this point, there’s not much hope, is there?” he says softly, as though what he just said didn’t break Oliver’s heart, in the non-magical way.

Oliver blinks back tears, swallowing hard. Drippy pats his arm lightly, and they sit in silence for a minute before their food arrives, and Drippy starts attempting small talk. Oliver does his best to respond, trying to smile, but the mood has been brought down.

Oliver thanks Drippy, though he’s not sure what for, and the fairy watches as he casts Gateway home. There, he lies on his bed and stares at the ceiling for a while. At some point, tears start to fall. At some point, he starts to sob.

Oliver is thirteen.

---

Oliver is thirteen.

He’s accepted it now. It hasn’t sunk in quite yet, but he’s at least accepted it. That doesn’t mean everything else stops growing. At some point, all his friends turn twenty-five. He’s too busy accepting he will genuinely be four foot something for the rest of his life, if his life ever ends, which it doesn’t seem to be doing any time soon.

Marcassin, now in his early thirties, mentions Cassiopeia during one of Oliver’s trips to Hamelin. She’s apparently doing very well - only blowing up a toaster a month. She had made a public apology, back when Oliver was thirteen and meant to be thirteen, and twelve years later, most have forgiven her. Of course, some haven’t, which is reasonable, considering everything she did. Oliver hasn't seen her since before his whole immortality revelation, too busy with, uh… his immortality revelation. Which seems strange, but he already gets enough pitying looks from his friends - he didn't want to get more.

So, he casts Travel in the direction of the Ivory Tower in search of a certain green-haired queen.

As it so happens, he lands right in the main flight bay of the castle, where he first flew Tengri in to fight the White Witch all those years ago. Cassiopeia clearly hadn't been lying when she said her first step would be flowers - there are flowerpots and planters and vases filled with them on every pedestal Oliver remembers being empty before, and all the deactivated robots have their nooks and crannies filled with pastel pink and blue petals. He brushes his hand along a few of the taller plants. They look incredibly healthy, considering how many there are - he wonders if Cassiopeia has enchanted them, or maybe has someone else take care of them. It's most likely the former - he's not sure having this many of them here would be worth it otherwise.

He wanders through the halls, no longer filled with wild beasts, until he hears a familiar tune hummed by a familiar voice. He makes a right and heads straight for it, trying to remember where the path he's walking leads but ultimately failing. As he gets closer to the voice, he recognises the melody. It’s the Clarion’s song, the one Esther played to clear the Miasma Marshes of the cursed fog. Oliver smiles nostalgically. He hasn’t heard it in twelve years, after all.

He manages to find a circular room with a beautiful segmented glass domed roof, letting him see the bright blue sky. The room seems to have either been built specifically to be a garden, or been entirely repurposed to be one. The floor is made of red brick, and there are flower beds blooming with so many plants they overhang heavily onto the small paths leading through the growth. Oliver can only name a few of these flowers - he can see roses, violets, and a few... carnations? - but he’s stunned by their beauty nonetheless.

In the middle of the garden, barely distinguishable through the flowers, stands Queen Cassiopeia, former Nazcaan royalty. Her white headpiece is barely visible over the giant sunflowers she appears to be watering, and she seems to be so caught up in it that she doesn't notice Oliver come in. He winds his way through the path until he's standing near her, coughs quietly, and her head snaps to attention. She stares at him for a few seconds before smiling.

"Oliver!" she exclaims, putting down her watering can. "You haven't visited in a while! Would you care for some tea? I know you prefer coffee, but I believe Marcassin took my coffeemaker away from me after… some incident or another, I'm sure."

Oliver smiles. "I would love some, Queen Cassiopeia."

She exits the garden, gesturing for him to follow. "How many times must I tell you, please just call me Cassiopeia. Or even Pea! It was my name at one point, you know."

Oliver giggles as he's led down marble hallways and past yet more flowers before they arrive in the kitchen. Cassiopeia immediately fills the kettle and puts it on the stove, while Oliver sits at the table in the middle of the room. She makes small talk as the kettle boils, asking Oliver about his day and whether anything interesting has happened recently, to which he answers to the best of his ability. The kettle whistles, and Cassiopeia pours water into two teacups and places teabags in both, setting one down in front of Oliver and sitting across from him with her own.

"Now, as much as I adore your visits," Cassiopeia says, which makes Oliver smile, "is there any reason you've come to me today? And with so little warning, as well."

Oliver swirls his tea around his cup. "Well, Queen Cassiopeia," he winces apologetically as she gives him a dry look when he says her title, "I haven't, uh… haven't been aging these past few years? And I, uh, thought you might… know something about that, in some way."

She stares at him, and he ducks his head to avoid her gaze. "You haven't been aging?" she says, tapping one of her fingers on the table. "How did that come about, I wonder? I, myself, am immortal only due to my use of the forbidden spell…" Her eyebrows scrunch together as she traces the wooden pattern in the table.

Oliver bites his lip, then hums in an attempt to break the quiet. "Has anyone ever told you my soulmate was Shadar?"

Cassiopeia chokes on air, glancing up with wide eyes. "Shadar? The Dark Djinn?"

"That's the one..." Oliver murmurs, looking away. It's not that he's… embarrassed his soulmate was Lucien, just… the reaction.

"But- you-" She struggles to get the words out, making Oliver wince. "You're… you! And Shadar was… so bitter. I don't remember much from my White Witch days, but he was such a big part, I don't know if I could forget…" Cassiopeia taste-tests her tea, wincing as she burns her tongue, before her eyes go wide as she seems to realise something. "Did you not defeat the Dark Djinn? Is he not… dead? I vaguely remember him dying…"

"He is!" Oliver says, quickly. "But he… severed the link between our souls. When he died, I mean. He turned out to be okay! He just, uh... wanted to protect the world. His… his actual name was Lucien." He taps his fingers on the table anxiously. "With the link gone, I haven't… aged at all."

"Wait… yes, you two being soulmates is coming back to me now." She leans back in her chair, putting one hand to her forehead and exhaling. "I apologise. My memories from my time as the White Witch are… faint." She huffs, shaking her head slightly. "So, you think because you don't have a soulmate to age alongside, you can't age at all?"

"That's… pretty much it, yeah." Oliver sighs, trying to take a sip from his teacup and wincing as he burns his tongue, trying to blow the steam out of his teacup.

They sit in an almost, but not quite, awkward silence for a few moments or so, carefully sipping at their drinks, trying not to burn themselves. "So… how old are you?" Cassiopeia pipes up, startling Oliver.

"Physically? Thirteen. But, if I were aging, I'd be… twenty-five or so now?"

She laughs to herself quietly. "I hardly know the difference between those numbers. In my many… many years sitting in this castle, I appear to have forgotten how humans age."

"Oh, well…" Oliver thinks to himself, trying to find a good comparison. "Have you seen Esther recently?"

Cassiopeia nods. "A year or so ago, I believe."

"I'd be the same age as her."

She blinks, shocked, as she presumably thinks back to her last encounter with Esther. “Wow. You really did stop aging." She smiles slightly, a quietly fond look in her eye. "You're awfully young to be immortal, you know."

He hides his nose in his cup. "Don't rub it in," he grumbles, more to himself than to Cassiopeia. She laughs, and he finds himself smiling along with her, until he's giggling into his cup.

Cassiopeia leans forward, resting her forearms on the table, as Oliver takes a sip from his tea to calm his laughter. "What are you going to do now?" she asks, and she seems genuinely curious.

Oliver blinks. "Hm?"

"Well, you just found out you're immortal - or, at least, can't age." She smiles at him, sitting back again. He doesn't tell her he didn't just figure it out, but then again, maybe twelve years isn't all that much to Cassiopeia, considering. "What are you going to do for the rest of your never-ending life?" she asks.

He thinks for a few moments. What is he going to do? He's literally going to be thirteen forever; there's not much he can do about that, and he's already bored of it after twelve years. He supposes he could go back to Motorville, but people are already suspicious there, and for good reason. No one stays the same age, after all - unless you're Oliver, that is. He did enough travelling for a lifetime when he went on his quest to defeat Shadar, and though he didn't know it for the bulk of the time, the White Witch as well.

He hums into his cup. "I don't really know," he admits, biting his lip as the sentence settles in his mind.

Cassiopeia looks uncharacteristically nervous as she stares down her teacup, before she quietly says, "You could… stay with me."

Oliver looks up, blinking a few times, staring at her as he processes her words. “Stay… here? At the Ivory Tower?”

She nods slowly, as though warming up to the idea. “It gets awfully lonely around here, you know. Though, perhaps I should think of a new name…" She stares to her left at nothing in particular, lips pursed in thought. ""Ivory Tower" sounds a bit sinister, don't you think?"

"I think it's fine," Oliver replies, staring down at his now almost empty cup. Ivory Tower sounds okay to him, but they're getting off track. "But, um, back to the, uh, "staying with you", thing…"

"Ah! Yes." Cassiopeia brings her attention back to Oliver, smiling. "Do you think it's a good idea? I have a spare room you could stay in. Many spare rooms, in fact. This palace is enormous."

"Trust me, I figured that out trying to find the throne room the first time," Oliver laughs into his cup, draining it of the last drops of tea. He sets it down with a small clink.

They sit in silence for a bit as Cassiopeia finishes her drink as well. Oliver traces the lines in the wooden table with his finger as he thinks over her proposition. The more he thinks about it, the more he warms up to the idea. After all, he has nowhere else to go. All his friends in Motorville have drifted apart from him; it's kind of hard to stay friends with a forever-thirteen year old when you're in your mid twenties, not to mention he hardly spends time there anymore. 

And all his friends here… and in Motorville, for that matter… he'll outlive all of them. He'll be thirteen when they're old and grey. When they're gone… where will he go, if he doesn't stay here? He'll be wandering alone forever. Like… Cassiopeia was, but less restricted by a kingdom. That… scares him a little. What would happen if he were to be alone? What would happen if he were alone as long as Cassiopeia was? Would he become something like the White Witch? Or maybe... Shadar? His mind whispers that Shadar was his soulmate, and Oliver frantically chases the thought away, refusing to think about it, in the same way he's been refusing to think about it for the past twelve years.

"Oliver?" Cassiopeia murmurs, and he looks up, startled. "Are you okay?"

He presses his lips together, electing to ignore the question in favour of answering hers. "I… guess I could stay here…" Oliver murmurs, and Cassiopeia visibly perks up. "Th- that is, if it's not too much trouble!" he adds on quickly, not particularly wanting to be a burden.

She blinks slowly. "Oliver, child," she starts, and Oliver wrinkles his nose, seeing as he's technically not a child, "I have been alone for so long, just having someone here who isn't that godforsaken Council is a blessing."

Oliver blinks, staring at her for a moment, before lighting up with a smile as he exclaims, "Thank you, Queen Cassiopeia!"

Cassiopeia sighs, though it's through a grin of her own. "What will it take for you to stop calling me that? Perhaps I shall start calling you Saviour Oliver."

"...Please don't."

"Very well, Saviour Oliver."

---

Swaine dies first.

It maybe shouldn't be a shock to Oliver, who's been living with Cassiopeia for the past fifty years and visiting his friends every week, watching their grey hairs slowly grow in as his stays the same red as always. But somehow, it is a shock, and it's another reminder of how he's still thirteen while his friends are literally dying around him. He attends the funerals: the public one and the private one. Both have a traditional Hamelin send off - that is, cremation. The actual body gets set on fire during the private ceremony.

In both ceremonies, Marcassin makes a speech. In both ceremonies, he cries. As does Esther, and Drippy. Oliver attends with Cassiopeia, and quietly sobs into a handkerchief adorned with Nazcaan symbols, as Cassiopeia lets him lean on her shoulder.

Marcassin is next. His son ascends the throne, thankfully much older than his father was when he did the same. He gets a similar set of ceremonies; being the emperor and all, though, they're bigger than Swaine's funerals were (Oliver's not sure Marcassin would have liked that), and the three kingdoms are swung into sadness for a week before things get back on track. Everything goes back to normal so quickly after even the emperor's death, Oliver thinks, watching the main street of Hamelin bustle from a palace balcony as he cries silent tears for his friend.

The next funeral is thankfully a good few years later - Esther's. Gogo dies with her, what with him being born out of Form Familiar. Her ceremony is much quieter, yet Al Mamoon keeps their heads bowed for her, the daughter of a Great Sage and one of the best familiar keepers around. Oliver realises Esther dying means Myrtle must be dead as well, and quietly mourns two friends instead of one. He swallows as he realises it also means his childhood friends from Motorville must either be already dead or close to it. During Esther's ceremony, Drippy clings to Oliver's shoulder as they both realise they're the only two of the original team left.

Drippy lives for much longer, thankfully - he looks the same as he did seventy years ago, bar maybe a few extra wrinkles surrounding his eyes. Oliver asks him about this, and at first he responds with offense, but then explains that fairies have a much longer lifespan than humans do. He lives for another fifty years before finally kicking the bucket. Oliver is the only human allowed at what would otherwise be a fairy-only ceremony. He watches Drippy's body vanish into a puff of golden magic, and tries not to burst out wailing, because he can hear Drippy calling him a Cry-Baby Bunting at even the first sign of tears. Only a few of the other fairies cry. Many of them who weren't alive a hundred and twenty years ago (has it really been that long? Oliver's heart squeezes as he realises it might have been) give Oliver almost offended looks during the ceremony, not knowing who he is, but the fairies that know him tell him to pay them no mind.

When he returns to the Ivory Tower after Drippy's funeral, he sits in the garden for a while, surrounded by plants and flowers, tugging on his black mourning cape (which Oliver wishes he didn't know was a thing) and gazing up at the steadily darkening sky through the glass. For some reason, it didn't hit him til now that everyone he once knew from when he was actually thirteen, on a dumb quest to save the world that really never should have worked but did, is gone. Everyone, from every town. Drippy was the last part of that time he had. The first tear falls, then the next, and he feels himself breaking down as he starts sobbing, sitting on the red brick below him and letting himself cry for a time that's long since passed. Somewhere between tears comes the realisation that he won't be able to see his mom in the afterlife, if there is one (and considering he's died before, he thinks there is) and he thought he was over her death, there are more recent deaths to be sad about, but all his grief hits him at once, and he wails and howls into his hands like the thirteen year old that he isn't.

Cassiopeia finds him curled up in a ball on the floor next to a bench, tear tracks still wet on his cheeks. The first thing she does is question why he's on the floor when there's a perfectly good bench right next to him, which makes him smile, even though it's fake. Then she scoops him up and carries him through to the living room, where he eventually falls asleep on her shoulder as she reads through a peace treaty from ten thousand years ago that she found in the back of the palace library and highlights the spelling mistakes.

The next day, Oliver returns to the garden and, following in Cassiopeia's footsteps, picks five flowers to fill with his memories. It doesn't mean he loses those memories himself, it just means if he ever forgets his adventures, he can always have a little reminder.

One is blue, like Drippy's fairy suit. One is pink, which was Esther's favourite colour. Another green, as Swaine's coat. The fourth purple, like Marcassin's cape. The last flower's petals are pure white, with a black center. Oliver stores in this flower his memories with his mother, and with Lucien, and how he saved Cassiopeia; it's the centrepiece of the bouquet. He keeps the five flowers in a vase in his room, enchanting them to never die.

---

Oliver is thirteen.

Sitting on a kitchen counter and watching-slash-guiding Cassiopeia on how to use an electric kettle (he's not entirely sure, himself - they've only been invented recently), he smiles.

"Why in the world are you smiling?" Cassiopeia says, trying to figure out where the on button is. "This damned machine still won't turn on!"

"I don't think there's any need to cuss out the kettle, Cassiopeia," Oliver says. "We have all the time in the world, after all." She glares at him, and he giggles.

"Read the instructions to me one more time, I think I got it."

It still hasn't quite sunk in that he'll be thirteen forever, but it will eventually.

He does have eternity, after all.

[softjeon]

Love Bite | Pt. 13

• Pairing: Vampire!Namjoon x Jimin • Genre: Angst / Smut | Vampire!AU ( → Gifset Trailer) • Words: 5,4k | Co-Writer: Cat @cassiavioletblue | AO3 • Disclaimer: blood, abuse, (sexual) violence, mindcontrol, mentioning of death

↳  “You’re right. I was lying. I didn’t want to scare you. But I guess there’s not much to do now, right? I’ll tell you the truth,” Namjoon spoke softly, the grip around Jimin’s wrists loosened a little but not enough to free himself, “…because you deserve it, because I pull you into a lot of shit right now just by being here. I am a vampire, Jimin.”

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Jimin was tipping his finger onto his chin, pursing his lips into a pout, before he finally grabbed a simple white t-shirt. One that was way too big for him, making it look like a dress for him. He raked his hands through his still damp hair, observing himself in the mirror, when his gaze fell onto Namjoon’s reflection behind him. Only a towel around his waist, while he was rubbing his hair dry. His eyes widened, glued onto Namjoon still standing there with his drippy wet hair. The vampire noticed Jimin’s stare on his body right away, a low growl coming from his chest. 

It was enough of a warning.

“Oh no,” Jimin mumbled to himself, not being able to hide the smirk or the rosy blush on his cheeks. In a matter of seconds, the human felt himself get roughly pulled in and pushed onto the bed. Jimin giggled, turning around and trying to crawl away from the vampire as fast as humanly possible. “You can’t Namjoon.” He said a little out of breath, but Namjoon was over him in a second anyways and it wasn’t like he didn’t want him to be locking him underneath his body. “Anywhere…but my neck. You know…Hoseok won’t…he said…that,” Feeling Namjoon’s lips on his body was stealing his breath right away.

Namjoon obeyed the ‘no marks above the neckline’ rule - but that didn’t mean he couldn’t mark Jimin up somewhere else. Determined he pushed the youngers thighs apart so that he could fit in between them and get comfortably to work. He needed to make up for all the nights he wouldn’t be seeing Jimin, all the kisses he was missing out on, the shared breakfasts, the lying-together-in-bed. And as he couldn’t do all that he was making sure that Jimin would keep him in mind, nonetheless. Preferably in a way that would haunt his memories for at least a few days after.

“Namjoon,” Jimin breathed out, grabbing the bed sheet tight when the vampire bit into his thighs, sucking, licking and devouring the younger deliciously. He reached out for him, his hands taking a full grip of his hair, moaning his name sweetly. When Namjoon came up again, blood smeared all over his lips and fangs on full display, Jimin smiled. He had come all over himself so easily, cum stains on his shirt and thighs. “It’s unfair,” He whined desperately, but kept his legs spread for Namjoon to hover over him. He easily pulled at the towel, his eyes big and cheeks blushed. “Oops,” He gasped in a fake manner, his hands easily wandering down the vampires back and to his bottom.

“Yeah, it’s definitely unfair.” Namjoon agreed, wiping his mouth and then stealing the towel so Jimin couldn’t use it any more. “Totally unfair that I can’t have you like this every night! That you’re so goddamn far away from me and have to pretend that you’re living your normal life when I can’t wait to have you back in my arms and finally show you to the world when we are finished with this. I can’t wait for us to see the most beautiful sunsets and the most gorgeous buildings together. I’ll show you grottos and beaches and islands and whatever else you want to see.”

Jimin had tears prickling in his eyes, pulling Namjoon closer, kissing him everywhere he could reach. “Make love to me, Namjoon,” Jimin answered, never breaking eye contact once, while his heart was aching for the things Namjoon told him.

A moan escaped his lips as their bodies intertwined, touching and exploring each other as if they were making love for the first time. Their last night together was filled with passion and at the end they laid in each other’s arms trying to catch their breath. Holding on to one another, not wanting to let go of the feeling that had surged through their bodies. “Promise me to get me out of there as soon as you can go in,” Jimin mumbled into Namjoon’s chest, “And then never let go off me again. Not once. Until we’re home.”

“Of course, my love. I’ll be there as soon as I can, and god help any rogue who would try to come between us. Just... just in case you know that you have to aim for the head if you want to kill a vampire? The head or the heart, the only ways to make sure the vampire is dead quickly enough to not rip you to pieces in his last minutes. Also, if they try to toy with you like they did with Taehyung, talking to you, teasing you - then please play along. It will buy us all some time.” He hugged Jimin tighter. “Though the plan says that we’re there before they can even reach you. So, don’t worry. It’ll be fine. Everything’s going to be fine.” He wasn’t really sure who of them he was reassuring right now. Probably both.

“Of course, I know. You’ve been telling me all this every day for the past week,” Jimin giggled, brushing mindlessly through Namjoon’s hair. “I will be alright,” He repeated the words like a mantra until the day came where he had to let go of him.

Yoongi leaned against the car, twirling the keys on his finger while Jimin was saying his goodbye. “It will be only a few days…you sure you have fed enough of me?” The human asked again, cupping Namjoon’s cheek to look at him and any signs of him not being well-fed. He didn’t want him to starve again. “In case you need something. Jin and I prepared a few blood bags. Not much, but it will get you through,” Jimin smiled at his boyfriend. He would do anything for him. Even if that meant facing the rogues all on his own.

“Make sure to get them from him or else Hoseok said he will give them to the others,” Jimin frowned a little at the thought of someone else drinking his cold blood.

Namjoon growled at that. “There’s no way I’m going to share your blood, that’s for sure!” He couldn’t really let go of Jimin even though he knew he should. Though now that the time has come that they were parting for who-knew-how-long it felt more real and way more stupid to give into this charade than before.

“Damn it!” With a final kiss he let go of the other, trying to push down his instincts and the urge to hold him close. “I hope you know that I’ll never forgive you if you die,” He joked, half serious and half downright desperate. “If you ever feel like you want out of this - or if you feel insecure or lonely or are just bored then don’t hesitate to give me a call. I’ll talk to you all night or recite poetry - or get you out of there. Whatever it is you need, I’ll make sure you’ll get it. This is just a rough episode before our honeymoon phase starts, okay? You’ll be fine. We’ll both be perfectly fine after this.”

Yoongi put a hand onto his shoulder, “You’re rambling Namjoon. I’m not sure if Jimin finds that reassuring.” He nodded towards Jimin and commented quietly while the other was sitting down in the car, “This one’s a tough cookie. If all of what happened before hasn’t broken him I’m sure a bunch of wild ones won’t get a chance to do that either. He’s got this.”

Yoongi brought Jimin all the way home, both not saying a thing on the ride. It was weird to be back in his old apartment. Almost everything was just as he had left it. Except for the fact that Hoseok had ordered someone to clean up after he had kidnapped Jimin. The broken lamp was exchanged for a new one. The books were neatly put back in place in the shelf.

It was almost too neat.

Jimin sat down on the bed, his hand caressing over the blanket mindlessly. He wasn't even gone for an hour and he missed Namjoon dearly. Jimin sighed deeply. He had to focus now. Do exactly how they had planned the attack. Starting with a simple long shower to get the vampires smell off him. Back at the mansion, Hoseok placed a hand on Namjoons shoulder. The king weirdly had learned to appreciate the human more than he had expected. He showed himself to be more than just his fears, ready to risk his own life for a vampire. Hoseok respected that. And he had to admit that he was starting to adore the love Namjoon and Jimin shared. It reminded him of Jin and himself.

“Let's prepare.“

It felt a little like back in the days when fights  weren’t fought with  brand new high-tech weapons but with tactics and the spirit of your men. There was a map involved and little pins of different colors so that everyone knew where they had to be and where possible danger awaited them. The plan itself was easy, really if you left out all the possible ‘but’ and ‘what ifs’: Jimin would wait for about five days to a week - or how long it would take for the marks to heal so that he could maybe cover up the last discoloration with makeup. Then he would visit Wonho’s club. He knew about vampires so he would take a look around, count them if possible, try to match them up to Tae’s description. Afterwards he would give them all the information’s and go there the next night again. And then again. See if anything changes, dance a little, try to draw Wonho’s attention, possibly flirt with one of the vampires that he knew were Wonho’s rogues. On one night, when Jimin was sure he got the other’s interest, he would decide to take the long way home, the one that lead through back side alleys and around dumpster corners. Of course, he was supposed to call Namjoon first so that they would know that they should be ready. As they had no idea where exactly the rogues would attack they would cover all the places on Jimin’s way home that they themselves would think of as good attacking points. If nothing happened Jimin would try the next night again. And then again. As he was beautiful, and his blood had a sweet smell (just what vampires liked) Wonho and his men would catch on sooner or later. And if not then Jimin could ‘accidentally’ cut himself on a glass - though Namjoon was absolutely against that idea because what if they attacked Jimin in the club then?

That was all. Perfectly simple.

Unless they attacked Jimin on the first night. Or the club was full of vampires and they were killing in there too. Or they would follow Jimin without them noticing and kill him in his sleep. Or they knew that they were being observed and wouldn’t come out. They couldn’t exactly just go there and murder them. And they couldn’t just follow them to see where they were living, if just one of them noticed something was off they might bail. Or attack them first, as they had no qualms with breaking the rules and killing one of their own.  So, the best thing was having them out in the open where no one would see, then shoot a bunch of tranquilizers at them and bring them to the mansion where they could be questioned.

And then face trial.

The Hoseok - way.

Cruel, merciless but it would get him what he needed.

…

It was the third time Jimin was in the club dancing with a few strangers, moving his body just like he knew that people went crazy over. It had become sort of a routine for him to get himself ready for the night, put on some make up to hide the shadows under his eyes (he didn’t sleep well without Namjoon by his side) and searching for the perfect outfit that would display all of his features. The one’s that made all vampires lust over him. Something that bared his neck, showed off his beautiful waist.

Tonight, he had spotted Wonho, the one who had attempted to murder Taehyung a while ago, glancing over to him a few times, making sure that he knew that Jimin was interested. It had been so easy to spot the vampires for him, now that he had been around them for so long. Turning around, Jimin was dancing beautifully, baring his neck on purpose. He let his hands wander over his own body, his heart beat syncing with the beat of the song. Jimin felt surprisingly calm tonight. Almost confident. It only faltered for a second when Jimin could feel two arms sneak around his waist, pulling him against a stranger’s crotch.

At first Wonho didn't talk, just feeling him up, nosing along his jaw to get his scent. He licked his lips when the smelled how delicious the others blood would be. It was always a shame to let such a beauty go to waste but attachment to humans were forbidden, that was their only rule. They were still wreaking havoc in their own way and as he had predicted the humans started to catch on that those kills couldn't be animal accidents happening over and over again. Most of them had wanted to reveal themselves right away but Wonho had been able to stop them, trying to explain that this wouldn't be the right way to show humanity that they existed. They would have either caused panic or revolt - and they were strong but not as strong as the entirety of humanity. They had always outnumbered the vampires.

So now they were starting to kill as media efficient as possible, people could get used to the thought of vampires and even though they would be scared they wouldn’t freak out as much as if there hadn't been any warning. They would know how dangerous they were, and they would think that they'd be safe as long as they followed the rules, because the killings only happened at night in shady districts. So, they might get used to it. And then they could push further and turn a few more people. Get their own district. Their own society. Their own little world. No more hiding or starving or feeling like less of a creature.

And this was why the little dancer he was feeling up right now would have to die if he wanted to drink from him. No human slaves. Humans were food and nothing else.

Jimin was giving it his all, moving against Wonho, making sure the vampire was hooked on him. Though he hated to know that he was dancing with someone else right now and wasn’t with Namjoon – it still was him, who made him keep going. If he got this done right, he would be back in his vampires arms soon. Turning around in Wonho’s embrace, Jimin let his hands wander up his neck and cheeks, tracing the lines of the rogue’s face with a smile. “I like you,” Jimin said a little breathless, the words slipping from his lips easier than he thought.

When the song came to an end, fading into a new one, Jimin walked back a few steps, biting his lip seductively. He winked at him, playing his part perfectly. When he got his jacket, Jimin turned around once more. Wonho was gazing right back at him and Jimin was sure that he was hooked.

Outside of the club, the cold wind hit him and Jimin shivered, closing his jacket. Unlike every other day, Jimin walked to the right side. The long way back home. Jimin was freezing, trying to keep himself warm with rubbing up and down his arms. Turning left, the human walked into an empty alley that would lead to the run-down part of town. Most of the apartments there weren’t inhabited. On the outside Jimin was calm, but on the inside, he was freaking out, trying to listen to any sounds if someone was following him. His heart beating fast and unrhythmically. He still needed to get a few blocks further to the run down alleys and Jimin wasn’t so sure if Wonho would come after him. It had seemed like he was hooked on him but there was nothing. Not a sound. No whisper. Only the wind howling around him.

Taking out his phone, Jimin speed dialed Namjoon nonetheless, but before he could say something or even see if it was connecting, a hand on his mouth made him unable to say a word. Someone jerked him away from the streets, the force making Jimin almost let go off the phone as he desperately tried to fight off the attacker.

“Sh, sht, calm down, beautiful!” Wonho laughed at how heavily Jimin reacted, taking the phone from him and putting it into his back pocket. “Come on, don’t act so surprised. You wanted me to follow you, didn’t you? I could see it in your eyes. Don’t act all coy now. There’s no one else but us, no one will see what we’ll be doing, we’re going to be all by ourselves. Doesn’t that sound like something you’d been up for five minutes ago?” Wonho got out of his jacket, baring his arms that were absolutely packed with muscles.

Jimin tried to laugh and relax his body, pretending that he had only now seen who his ���attacker’ was. He had to play his part perfectly. Just like they had rehearsed.

“I…I didn’t think you would sneak up on me,” Jimin’s voice was shaking a little, feeling breathless, “You could have simply asked me out for drinks.” He was looking around, trying to orientate himself quickly, making out spot that would be easy to find for the vampires. But to get the information to them, he needed to call Namjoon and his phone was now in Wonho’s back pocket. This wasn’t what was supposed to happen. Taking a deep breath, Jimin reached out his hand for the vampire, “If you give me my phone back…we can…exchange numbers?”

Wonho downright laughed at him. “Sweety, I wouldn't have run all the way just to get your phone number, would I?” He winked at him, stretching his neck a little. “Nah, I’m looking for something else. Bonus points if you can figure out what it is.” He got closer, slowly, obviously enjoying toying with his prey. “You are quite beautiful, aren’t you? I wonder why no one else has picked you up yet. Or did you go home with other people the last time you were here?”

Jimin stood frozen on the spot. To keep alive, he needed to play along for as long as possible. Rogue’s loved to hunt their meal and if he didn’t let himself be the easy prey, it would take him longer to kill him, giving Jimin more time. He gulped hard. What was he even thinking? It would be a miracle if he got out of this alive. He was alone. Utterly alone. Jimin hadn’t managed to get the information to Namjoon, who probably still thought he was dancing in the club. Worrying his bottom lip, Jimin tried to relax, breathe through his nose and keep his heartrate at normal. But he couldn’t keep the anxiety from kicking in slowly but surely.

“You want more?” Jimin asked, a playful smirk on his lips, “Hm, but what if I am not a guy for one night stands?” Wonho was so close that Jimin could feel his breath on his neck, but he didn’t give in without a fight. “Didn’t your mother teach you not to go home with strangers?” Jimin closed the distance between them, his hands wandering up Wonho’s strong arms and to his neck, before making them fall to his waist and to his back. Very carefully Jimin was caressing over his body, trying to somehow get to his phone in Wonho’s back pocket.

“Oh, don’t worry about me going home with strangers. I’m the dangerous one here. You don’t seem to be afraid though, aren’t you? Never thought about what could happen to someone as beautiful as you?” Wonho leaned in, giving Jimin’s neck a quick kiss. He chuckled when he could feel Jimin’s hands on his ass, thinking the younger was trying to grope him. “Uh, sorry to disappoint you but you got that wrong. It’s not my ass who’s going to get groped tonight.”

Jimin tried not to visibly show the shudder that went down his spine, when Wonho kissed him again where Namjoon had done it so many times before. He closed his eyes for a second, trying to focus on what his goal was. The phone. Only the phone. He needed to be quick. Jimin just wanted to say something, trying to distract from his movements a little more, when Wonho moved so fast that only the piercing pain in his wrist made him realize the situation he was in now.

Jimin screamed out in pain, writhing to keep Wonho from breaking his bones in his wrist or anything alike. To his own shock, Jimin had to watch how the vampire simply broke his phone with the other, with one crush of his hand. An evil smirk on his lips and a million pieces fell onto the asphalt and with it Jimin’s hope.

He was doomed.

It all had been just like they had planned. The rogue had never attacked so close to the core of the city. They always chose the more run-down alleys. It shouldn’t have happened like this. Just a few blocks further and everything would be fine. Another piercing pain shot through him, when Wonho pulled him along and Jimin had to obey, whimpering pathetically. “Please…you’re hurting me.”

“You lovely, innocent little thing. You don’t even know what pain is. But don’t worry. You will learn. We’ve got all night together.” Wonho didn’t loosen his grip at all, if anything he pulled Jimin along with him faster until they had reached the empty building behind them, if you could even call it a ‘building’. It was rather a half finished ground level of an unidentifiable complex that could have supposed to become an apartment building or a supermarket before unknown reasons had them leaving the constructions at that. Absolutely useless for everyone. Except drug dealer, homeless people looking for a roof over their head - or vampires who liked to chase their food a little and have them play hurdle chase with them.

A grin appeared on his lips.

Wonho pushed Jimin into the empty building, making him stumble a little, eyeing him dangerously. Jimin’s heartbeat was so loud and it was only urging him on, his scent wrapping around him, luring him in. For him it was a game, for Jimin it was hell.

Wonho’s hand soared up to his neck, pushing Jimin up the wall, making him choke on the sudden lack of air. Jimin was starting to panic, trying to escape the grip, scream for help – but it was no use. Wonho simply pushed him away, making him fall onto his knees and scrape the skin open. It wasn’t much, but the vampire smelled the blood nonetheless, his fangs showing with a loud growl.

Jimin was up in a heartbeat, starting to run wherever his feet where taking him. He wasn’t looking back. He had no choice but to flee or submit to capture – and possibly much worse. Tears were burning in his eyes, making it harder for him to see where he was going.

He didn’t even get a second of false freedom before Wonho was there again, wrapping his arms around Jimin and pulling him back against his body.

“Gotcha, princess,” He snarled, letting his teeth scrape Jimin’s neck just for fun, holding Jimin up so that his feet no longer reached the floor. “Hm, what am I going to do with you now that I caught you…any suggestions? Maybe we can make a deal? What would you do for me to spare your life?”

“Please…anything you want…I don’t care,” The tears were falling down his cheeks all on its own and Jimin had to bite down onto his lip from sobbing. He was lost, alone and he had failed miserably. It had been so good until now. Maybe he had gotten careless? Hoseok would probably laugh at him. It was his own mistake right? His own fault for not calling Namjoon earlier, for waiting a bit longer to be outside of the city?

Jimin whimpered when he could feel the fangs on his skin, feeling so human. So unable to help and defend himself. He would be shredded into a million pieces and there was no way Namjoon could save him. A sob finally broke through him and Jimin had to press his hand onto his mouth to keep from breaking apart. It could have been so good, they could have gotten a chance for a better life. One where he and Namjoon could be together. Just them. No one else coming in-between. Jimin had been so sure of it.

And that’s how he liked his humans, trembling and scared, the adrenalin sharpening their senses - and also the taste of their blood. Other vampires were claiming that adrenalin caused a bitter tasted and swore that seducing the victims was the way to go but not for Wonho. He had always enjoyed the challenge. And in the end they would give in to the vampire poison anyway, their limbs losing strength and the rush of ecstasy that entered them making it easy to kill them without a fuss. If that’s what he had been looking for. He had always embraced his inner darkness though, where other vampires thought they were better because they could act like humans and wore human emotions all over their faces like a mask Wonho was pure hunter. He pretended to fit in as well of course - but only to lure in his prey. Afterwards he could let the mask slip and enjoy the hunt.

He could have played longer with Jimin and if the others had been around then he would have surely done it, chased Jimin a little, nick his skin until he started to bleed, just a tiny lit bit but over and over again until the smell of his blood would be everywhere and the snarling and growling of the other vampires would have been the music to which he would have ripped into Jimin’s throat. Not tonight though. He didn’t expect them to come anyways. It had been kind of a last-minute-decision, because high-quality-prey got rarer with all those articles and warnings about the kills and he was also a little bit hungry. So, he would actually feed from Jimin not just kill him. Honestly it would be a waste to not use up such delicious blood. He flattened his tongue and licked all the way up over Jimin’s carotid artery, feeling the pulse on the tip of his tongue. “Everything, hm? What if I asked you to strip down so that I could bite you all over. Would you do that for me? Let me admire your beauty before I ruin it?”

Jimin whimpered as an answer. Enough for Wonho to simply rip his shirt open and tore his jacket away from the boy. He shivered in the cold, curling in on himself further, trying to somehow cover himself up. Jimin was doomed if Wonho decided to strip him down further. Most of the marks had faded but there was still one bite mark from Namjoon in between his thighs. It was visible enough for Wonho to know that he was aware of the existence of vampires and he hadn’t bothered to cover that one up thinking that everything would turn out just fine.

With another strong push, Jimin felt himself fall onto his knees, sobbing quietly as he tried to crawl away and towards the window as fast as he could - but Wonho caught his leg pulling him back and under him.

This is it, Jimin thought. There was no way Namjoon would find him, except for his dead body. The cold floor was cooling his body down fast and Jimin was shivering violently, trying to keep Wonho from coming closer to him with a hand on his chest, pushing him back with as much force as he could muster. He couldn’t let this happen.

“I want to play, too!” A voice behind Wonho said, as another vampire jumped in through the window. Kihyun.

“Since when are you hunting all alone? Don’t need our cheering anymore?” Shownu added and a few other vampires walked in, growling, hissing and licking their lips at the sight of Jimin. They knew they weren’t allowed to hunt. It was Wonho’s right first, since he caught him - but still. Jimin was smelling so deliciously. His fear evident in every corner of the room.

The human had flinched when there were more voices, his heart beat going into overdrive. Wonho had sat up a little, looking over his shoulder and Jimin took the chance. Honestly it was just a glimpse of hope. A little stroke of light. It jerked through him, making him jump and run.

As fast as he could, only to be caught seconds later.

Wonho grabbed him, yanking him back, so he was thrown against the wall, hitting his head on the concrete in the process. For a moment everything went dark. And Jimin was almost happy for it. This way he wouldn’t need to feel much. A faint smile appeared on his lips. Maybe he could have dreamed about Namjoon one last time. Imagine how it would be to be in his arms again. To be with him forever.

A scream tore its way from his lungs, when Wonho slapped him in the face, forcing him to look at the vampire with a harsh grip. He pulled him up, Jimin’s knees wobbly and giving up on him constantly. “I don’t think you need those anymore,” Wonho growled, ripping at Jimin’s pants, licking over his fangs at the sight. This time the cheers in the background of the vampires watching were only urging him on. “Take him apart,” Minhyuk hissed, all circling around the frightened boy, who was desperately trying to keep his thighs together. In his mind, Jimin was screaming for Namjoon. For help. For anyone to get him out of here. Sobbing quietly, he was begging now. Helplessly pleading for them to let him go.

Of course, Wonho spotted the marks on Jimin’s thighs immediately. He froze, but only for a second until the surprise expression turned into an evil one. Much more evil than Jimin had ever seen.

“Oh, what do we have here!” He moved Jimin around easily so that the bites where on full display. “You’re a vampire whore!” The others were hissing at that, snarling, growling like a pack of wild, hungry wolves.

“Which only bears the question why did you come here? You can’t be that stupid to not know what we are, can you? Did your former lover left you? Weren’t you interesting enough to him anymore? He must have an amazing better option if he left someone as sweet-smelling as you behind. Did you think you could get another vampire daddy here? Someone to satisfy your kinks and take you a little rougher and then call it a day. I’m sorry to disappoint, honey but we’re not like that. We’re no domesticated, crappy version of ourselves, we are what we’re supposed to be…reckless hunters and not afraid to act on it. We don’t play with humans - not like those other vamps do, those wimpy, spineless pushovers who let a weaker species bully them into hiding and feeding off of hypnotized humans again and again. Where’s the thrill in that? We do have heightened senses and inhuman strength for a reason, and it is not us to sit home and sip from a walking snack every now and then. We are wild! We are free! And we will show the world who we are!” The others howled, apparently behind every word Wonho said. His power exceeding. “Too bad you won’t live to see it, how we’ll be taking over. Cause it’ll go slow, step by step, a little push at a time, ease the humans into it until they look back and wonder when exactly the world turned our hunting ground. But you, my dear… I’m afraid you won’t survive this night. You enjoyed being bitten by vampire fangs, didn’t you? Filthy little human…let’s see how much you enjoy feeling them while you’re ripped apart.”

A/N: Oh no, did you really think we let Jimin go like that? We can only hope that someone hears him....oh no wait, their plan was just to come if Jimin calls right? Oh well...that doesn’t look good ;) Hihihihi We love you guys!!! Don’t forget to leave us a comment down below!

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[scrapbookofsketches-blog]

Roman's Adventure

A bit of angsty daycare au where Patton loses Roman 😓

Warnings for calling one's self stupid and crying, I think that's it.

~

You would not imagine the abundance of problems Roman got himself into. He was constantly wandering off to who knows where and he got himself in a lot of sticky situations.

Roman's parents had tried to inform Patton, the one who watches over the kids in his daycare, that Roman was a troublemaker. They had provided multiple instances to Patton about Roman ending up at the other side of town, claiming he had 'gotten in a scuffle' with a snarling beast whom he swore to protect his family from.

"He always comes from sweet sentiments," said his parents, "but he is much too adventurous for his own good."

Patton listened to the parents closely but he didn't grasp the full extent of the severity of Roman's wandering.

One day, a few weeks after Logan's arrival, Patton had busied himself with trying to convince Logan to 'play with the other kids for just a few minutes!' and Logan was having none of it. He wanted to sit scrunched on the grass with his book.

After a while, Logan said, "Who would you like me to play with?"

Patton, thinking he was finally persuading Logan to interact with the other children perked up and spun around to face the yard. "Well, you could always play with Valerie and Roman! They would love the company-"

Patton cut himself off quickly with a gasp. Valerie was sitting where he left her playing with toys trucks but Roman was nowhere in sight. "Roman?"

"I do believe he has a tendency to travel into the forest," Logan unhelpfully provided. The forest was the only way Roman could have gone, save for going back into the daycare center. The trees lined the whole back of the building.

Patton could handle this. He could! He just had to ask Valerie where Roman went. He probably just went to the bathroom by himself or something.

"Hey Valerie?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you happen to know where Roman is?" Patton's voice was shaking slightly. Roman could be in danger! He should run into the forest screaming his name in an effort to find him. But that would leave Logan and Valerie alone and it really wasn't the best course of action anyway.

"Mmm, I fink he was gonna catch a dwagon!"

"Where, Valerie. Where is Roman."

Valerie recognized that they were in a bad situation by the tone of Patton's voice. She stuck her little hand out and pointed to the right side of the woods. "He went that way. It wasn' that long ago!"

"Thank you, Valerie. Next time Roman wants to go into the forest, tell him no. Okay?"

Logan walked to where Patton and Valerie were standing. He looked over to where Valerie had pointed and scrunched up his face in thought.

"He can't be more that five minutes away by an adult's leisurely stride. If you go out now, you could find him in under three if you're quick and he responded to your calls to point you in the right direction."

Patton had never been so grateful that Logan was a cute little math wiz. He gathered up the children and set off into the woods where Valerie had pointed to, calling for Roman all the way.

He guessed lunch time was going to have to be postponed for a little bit.

~

Roman had set out into the vast unknown with a plan. He would start in a straight line looking for a dragon, and when the threat ceased to exist, Roman would turn around and come back right to the way he came. But he had taken a few turns. He thought he could follow them, but he's forgotten exactly where he turned and now that he wanted to turn back, he didn't know the direction of the daycare.

Roman haven't even gotten to catch the dragon! It had slipped from his grasp just about the time that he got a hungry for lunch. He had not been in the forest that long, but he hadn't eaten since breakfast. 

His tummy was getting pretty noisy in it's requests for food. If he was back at the daycare, he would ask Patton for a snack, or lunch if it was around that time, but Patton wasn't around right now.

He was alone.

It was at this moment that the reality of his predicament had fully sunk in. He was in a forest with no people around. He had gotten lost before, but he always had someone to ask for help. Everyone in his town knew each other. It wasn't that hard to get back home.

But now he was stuck in a forest with nothing but his plastic sword to protect him. No one was around.

Maybe he was close enough for Patton to hear him. Yes! That was good. Good idea Roman. Yell for Patton. He will find you!

Roman looked around at the huge trees and picked a random direction to yell in. "Paaaaaton! Paaatooonnn!"

He listened for a second and, hearing nothing, picked another direction to aim his yells.

He did this for about thirty seconds. Roman was a big talker and singer, but he didn't yell a lot, so he was already out of breath.

Roman sat down on the damp grownd on dead grass and wet leaves. It was no use. He was going to have to live out here for the rest of his life. He would probably have to scavenge for berries and gross insects for food. Roman didn't want to eat bugs! Bugs were icky and crawly and sometimes they bit him!

His situation was looking worse and worse. What if no one found him until he was an old man? What if he missed his chances at making lots of friends in school and meeting that special someone? He would never get the chance to marry? No one would want to date a stincky old man with a beard!

Roman plunged his hands on to the ground and fisted his hands around the yucky leaves to his sides. He looked around one last time before losing hope. He curled his knees to his chest and pinched his eyes shut. Soon little tear drops were squeezing out the sides of his eyes and he sobbed. He wanted his family. He wanted Valerie and Patton and, you know what? He wanted Logan. He didn't know anything about Disney, which was a crime, but he was smart and nice and played with him sometimes.

Logan would probably know what to do right now. He would say something about the sun setting in the west and just know where to go. He wouldn't get lost in the first place, that smart Logan. Stupid Roman for running away into the stupid forest to fight a stupid dragon. He should have stayed with Valerie playing trucks.

He was positively balling after that. He was gasping for air in deep, shuttering sobs as tears guched out of his bright blue eyes and down his pink face.

His prince costume was soaked through by the wet forest floor now. He was uncomfortable and sticky and he was still hungry.

.

Just then he heard a faint call.

"Rooomaaan! Where are you?" It sounded like Patton.

Roman quickly wiped his drippy nose and his face with his sleeve. "Here! I'm here! I'm sorry, I'm over here!"

Patton called out again, "Roman? Is that you? Keep talking so we can come get you."

"Okay! I'm over here, over here by these trees that look exactly the same like all the other trees in this whole big wide place! I'm really sorry about getting lost! I didn't mean to! I'm really glad you found me..."

Patton came through the trees into Roman's line of sight at a dead sprint with Valerie holding on to his front for dear life like a koala. Logan was not far behind, but he had much sorted legs than Patton and he was more focused on not stepping in any super squichy parts of the forest  floor than making it to Roman in a great haste.

When Roman saw Patton and his friends, he kept up from his curled position and crashed into Patton's legs. Patton had to windmill his arms so he didn't fall over Roman as the two collided. He recovered quickly and scooped up Roman to be held right next to Valerie in a sort of three way bear hug.

When Logan caught up, he stood off to the side awkwardly. He didn't want to disturb the three's reunion.

When Roman noticed him standing there, he motioned to Patton to let him down and he jumped on to Logan. Logan started. He was not prepared for an impromptu hug nor did he get them very often. After he figured out what was going on, Logan let go of his stiff posture and relaxed into the hug. It was the most love filled thing that he had ever received by another person, besides maybe Patton at one point, (But in his suprise and joy by this act of affection, it was wonder he could remember his own name, much less a memory, at the moment.)

Logan slowly pulled his arms out from Roman's (he had pinned them to his sides) and rapped them around Roman.

Roman whispered to Logan, "I wish I was smart like you. I wouldn't have gotten lost prob'ly."

Logan whispered back, "I'm sure I would have gotten lost too, if I was placed in the center of an unknown area. I most likely would not have wandered off, but your nature is that of curiosity, so it is expected."

Like usual, Roman only caught about half of what Logan was trying to say with his big words, but he got the main idea. He hugged Logan even tighter before letting go. "Thanks."

~

Patton ushered the three kids back to the daycare and they all had lunch. Roman told his exaggerated story about his fearless trip through the forbidden land. ("Oh, it's forbidden all right. Let's not go into the forest again, all right?" Patton put in)

Roman did say that he was a little scared that he would be lost forever, but Patton quickly reasured him. "I never would have left you in the forest, Roman. I would have searched for the rest of my life to find you."

"An' I would'a helped!" Valerie added.

Logan looked down at the table and added something quietly.

"What did you say, Logan?" Patton prompted.

Logan elaborated. "I would have also would not have given up on you, Roman. You are an interesting and expected part of coming here and I think I would miss it if you were gone."

Patton squealed at the cuteness of it all. He knew that starting his own business would come with it's share of downs, but moments like this reminded him how much he loved his job. He didn't think he could give it up for the world.

~

And there you are. A little daycare for the soul.

Tag list: @bunny222 @jemthebookworm @neonb-fly @ccecode @thomasthesandersengine @fury-of-rome @world-class-izzy

Tell me if I missed you or you would like to be tagged in the future!

[duallygirl178]

Dearest O'Malley Chapter 3

Chapter 3

When Gladys got too old to drive, I began to get antsy for a workout. Gladys retired in 1980 and by 1992; Nathan was born in Farmington New Mexico. I was handed over to Joe Popplewell to be driven and just to be a back up guy. Joe sure couldn’t drive me because he had to look so far up and out passed the hood to see the road, which frustrated him to the max. When I got a good look at Nathan as a baby. I was filled with joy. I’ve never been a father but at least I got to see what a baby is and what it looked like. Jan and Randy sure went through some trouble and back just to save him. I had heard something was going on with his heart or something that he had to be rushed to the Albuquerque hospital. I distinctively remember that I sure was worried-to-parts about this baby needing to be put in the ER. I smoked so many Pyramid full flavor 100 cigarettes that it took at least 8 butts just to calm me down. I had my suspicions that if Nathan never made it alive, I would be beaten down by Erik who was soon to be a careless pain in my prat and I would never see my life happy again. I was nervous that I wanted to know how the baby was doing. I had became so determined to hear the news on Nathan that I made a nasty habit of smoking cigarettes every day. When the day that Nathan came home, I was so relieved to know he was okay. After Nathan’s recovery, I knew I could quit smoking but I craved a butt and the taste drew me into an unhealthy lifestyle. I tried leaning towards working out and other distractions that was healthy but I wanted a cigarette. Finally, Joe got me on a quitter’s cycle; gum, patches, and hemp seed oil. It worked! I didn’t crave nicotine. When Jan would drive and smoke butts inside me, I didn’t even want a cig. At this time, Jan was working and living at Acacia Street, I was the only transportation Jan and Randy borrowed just until Jan had the resources to get another car. One morning, on my good mood, I was cruising down the road whistling “King of the whole wide world” by Elvis Presley, when people started to stare at me. I would just smile and wink just because I was in a good mood. While Jan was cleaning a house for a couple just down the road, I was waiting on the curb minding my own business. I seemed to be interesting to the sight of a glossy blue 1968 blue Chevrolet Impala. She seemed to be really interested. I was somewhat interested in her because I could tell when a female is interested in me because when she’s looking my way, she finds faults and quirks endearing and she realized my attraction was something she could learn. She had that sweet smell of heated oil and exhaust fumes radiating off her tailpipe. She had serious eyes for me that summer of 1993. The fumes caressed around my tailpipe and it made me feel crazy. Her name was Emma-Sue as she was leaning into me while she came closer into my personal space. She put on quite a revving roaring mating call with her huge V8 motor rumbled as she circled me. I held still as she was looking me over while I was getting a drippy stiffy. I was enjoying this interesting female’s attention and when Jan was all done cleaning house, the moment disappeared. Emma-Sue stopped and went back to the driveway. Jan got in and started me up steadily. Emma-Sue watched me leave until I was far away. I knew she was going to sneak over to my driveway to make heat and romance raise up tonight. Still in joy, I listened to many songs about love on tapes that included Elvis.

Many years into the future, it was the 15th year of that summer, I still hadn’t heard from Gonzo nor have I seen him. I missed him. I remembered when was Nathan was 2 years old, I had began to read him children’s stories using my talented voice to role in the characters even though I knew well that they had their dark origins when they were told. Boy, I really could entertain him when I did the right voices, and I loved it when Nathan laughed. It brought the flow of delight in my weekend days. While the parents were at work and Nathan was a curious little creature. He and I were spending time together and like every other two year old, Nathan pulled off one of my do-haws on the dashboard. It hurt but innocence comes in small packages. It was aright, I had pulled a few whiskers from my old man’s face and that’s just because I was a baby and wondered if the hairs would come off. When I would spend time with Nathan and when, I felt like I was already a dad. Nathan had started talking and he had called me “Papa” once a few times. Those were the days that were good to me.

Randy would drive me with Nathan along and the three of us would scoot ourselves into town when the parents had an off day. It was rare that Randy would take me out to town but we always had fun. I’d get comments of “I like your car” and “Nice car” which was aright. Every other day, I would get a car wash on my birthday and get detailed in August. I got wool seat covers one year on my birthday. After those days, I didn’t really care about presents on my birthdays. While Nathan was first home schooled, I’d sit in the carport to protect me from the weather’s rain and storms. I would always be up here once or twice a month to keep Ozzy company. Back in 2000, Joe bought him from PESCO, a place where he used to work at. Ozzy was a 1991 Ford explorer just sitting in the parking lot. He basically was used for lifting Carol in and out because Carol couldn’t stand on her feet any longer. Ozzy was there for the job. I had no envy towards Ozzy and since he was a sweet little bugger, I got along better after a break from the hectic storm with the morons living outside. Before, I knew it Ozzy was my little roommate. When I asked Ozzy how much he was sold for, the results shocked me. He was 4 grand and like many old things, there has to be a second wheel to accompany the leader. Ozzy’s lift was very useful because every time, Carol had a doctor’s appointment, Ozzy just picked her up with his ramp and he was ready to scoot. I basically came up there to get away while Ol’ Reliable was giving me attitude. I’d be invited in and I’d park next to the fireplace. I watched a little bit of the news with Joe and Jimmy Swaggart with Carol for 30 minutes tops until I fall asleep. Every hour or so, I’d make myself at home on the couch. Sometimes Nathan would come up to visit and sit with me to check on things.

Some time that Fall, Randy couldn’t get me to start up because now that Jan had the resources to afford a secondary car. It was a Jeep Liberty that I didn’t like. Jan had a loan on it and that could lead to rough road later in the future. Randy had bought a Plymouth voyager van and that was all I could accept. But whenever Randy would visit Joe if I was giving him issues, Joe would come to the rescue. I liked Joe because he could fix anything. Often Joe would fuss at Randy because he smoked and asked him to quit. I knew Randy wanted to quit tobacco butts but he couldn’t give it up on how much he had to follow. Jan tried to get her husband to stop, but Randy was antsy to have a butt to smoke. At night, when I was ready to get back to Jan’s house, Nathan and Randy would watch TV together because he couldn’t sleep. I sure didn’t mind staying up late because I could sleep with noise. Even when Nathan had a school night. The couch I was just as comfy as a bed was.

I remember when Nathan was a kid and every Easter, I dressed my best, in that horrid bowtie. I had thought I would never wear it again as long as I lived. But it wasn’t the last time I wore it. I had to wear it again for occasions later. I also remember when Nathan got candy but tucked it away never to be seen again. He didn’t used to eat a lot of candy. I had been in my wild 30s and I had a tradition of burning a little rubber off for the spring seasons to hype up my jive. Each Monday was fill the fridge and cupboard day and which I had to carry 23 bags of groceries from the store and it was my work out for the week. I could always tell when it was time to go shopping. So one Monday night, I had just zoomed in loaded with groceries, I noticed my shocks were getting sore and bad as much as my wheel bearings were creaky but at least it was nice to see Miss Gizmo who was always there to greet everyone. Now for Tuesdays, which were my resting days to take it easy and do what I want. A day to recover. I got to relax at Randy’s work and take the weight off my sores and pains. Even though he worked at a quality building between Aztec and Bloomfield, Randy had gotten on SSI to help pay for his health and that took more of the pain off my joints. It was a matter of time before he could stop working and rest.

[negativefate]

rambling stream of consciousness essay i wrote to myself dec 29, 2014

listening to harsh noise music while driving down the highway i had just taken off at 630 from my house and before that woken up at 5 to get ready and finish cleaning the last set of things and before that leaving a party at kevins house and not telling anyone that i wasn't going to be there for new years and causing disappointment and before that seeing a show at dead leaf with a great 8bit band at the end and before that walking back and forth to the liquor store to get some beer and before that awkwardly getting dinner after my cousin came to visit when we probably should have gotten dinner with them and then before that i am cleaning up the basement again, organizing stupid cables, making a couple old devices work which is fun, but is it worth the time spent even? if not, then is my time on this planet even fucking worth it or am i just making trash like i believe these actual physical well designed objects that come to my home are so jump to me landing in kansas city and here i put on a tape just to get in the mood again i get there only an hour after landing i clumsily look up directions to get to jacks house on my phone i find there’s a bus that gets me there for fuckin a dollar fifty and i give them 2 and they give me a ticket for 50 cents back i ride the bus and i'm pretty tired for lack of sleep, and we drive through some weird semi industrial areas that are sparsely developed yet there are people getting on and off the bus fairly consistently i almost don't even notice who is getting on and off and at one point i look back to the back of the bus and see that i don't remember hardly any of the people getting on one person is looking back at me with a mousey face i typify some of these midwest people's looks certain women especially have a certain look that just reminds me of various nondescript porn actresses or something i start reading a economics book and it talks about oil prices and how scarcity reflects prices and is a major signal to the economy it is an interesting point of view but i look for holes in the logic because it seems obviously presenting a plain vewpoint it is clear that the US for example doesn't give a fuck about scarcity or perhaps the signalling system is so degraded that there is a runaway development the roads are overbuilt the cars are overrunning the roads if i take the face value economic view that this is a supply and demand problem i see it as a very perverse value system that rewards wasting they clearly even mention that soviet economies have gross inefficiencies and if we reflect on our own inefficiency it's clear to see that we are not perfect i feel that the author should have made this more clear i notice that i passed a street that i saw on my map (wyanadote) and while i didn't think it was "already" time to get off, several people are standing for several city blocks instead of sitting waiting to get off therefore I realize perhaps we're at a central location and certainly we are I stumble a couple blocks from the "main transit center" to another crossing on wyanodote, and i pass several office buildings with retail space that is broken down on the first floors first an eye doctor shop, filled with eye product ads but being torn to pieces otherwise then a sandwich shop, with dark cloudy windows and closed signs and a vibe of a previous generations comfort food when i reach the bustop at the streets that i had spotted on my map i was pleased and the troost bus came almost instantly i didn't understand how to scan my transfer so the lady did it for me, and i was acting bashful she was wondering if i knew it was the troost bus and i said yes i was wondering if that question was loaded i rode the bus in the front and looked at all the people that got on and off as we went towards jacks house we passed a row of two story townhouses that were red and white and repetitive that just looked like a dead end life situation for successful people i remembered my talk with my dad about retirement plans and investing money and about how i was literally thinking of blowing my brains out rather than do that and how i was yet again thinking about suicide in the bus i didn't even take it seriously but the vividness of me blowing my fucking head off was really awful i finally started recognizing some troost landmarks and scrambled off the bus i gave my ticket to a guy that wanted a transfer and he lamented being late for the bus that i just got off i don't know how to respond to this very well but wished him luck i walked up to jacks house and there are birds and squirrels and life just running wild there it is bright and sunny though a bit chilly (maybe 40 deg) and all these animals just were simply flourishing i walk inside through a couple closed doors and find my keys in the decorative chicken ornament i was surprised to also find several condoms inside the chicken, which was really amusing (e.g. the rooster...cock...haha) then i sat for a minute and petted the cat i wondered why the cat wasn't outside killing all the abundant wildlife whatever i was wearing three jackets because i was convinced that frontier would charge me for stuffing my jacket in my backpack and making it oversized in reality they didn't appear to care but they charge 50 dollars for a goddamn carry on that wasn't declared so i didn't risk it so i take off several layers and start my car i find where i left several of the christmas presents that I had meant to bring back home in the trunk and sort of kick myself for it i consider taking my car to a dealership to get it fixed up but have no idea where i also consider getting some food somewhere but decide to just hit the road i'm fairly tired still so i decide the stop off at fast food a couple miles out of town during the ride i am listening to some shitty talk radio about some guys that are talking about their "online trading academy" for stock trading i pull over and get some mountain dew, burrito and gasoline. slurping reality blub sucker is all i am at that moment. i do a couple stretches but it doesn't really feel very good. i am still listening to the radio in the parking lot and i notice that they replay recorded segments of themselves suggesting it is not at all a live show. at that point i decide it's time to blast the "white eye of winter" cassette and just start driving. i decide intentionally to start making stream of consciousness analogies to the noises instead of just letting it wash over me in some nonverbal stupidity i realize music journalists are probably better than me at this but i take some interest in just naming the feelings that i get so I'll repeat that hear a full spectrum white wash starts and then quickly gets crushed into a rumbling full force debase attack that's totally intentional about getting a skull crushing sound "large numbers of priests that were administrating the gulags were arrested and presumed killed" "others were sent to the labor camps...and suffered more slowly...assumed to be part of stalins fringe" a demented drum sound with a short delay time and extremely high feedback pounds and is absorbed by a sea-worthy hiss that fuzzes out and pounds once again to a deep drum a wind swept saturation takes hold and kills everything around it dead leaves litter the ground like there was never life anyways a thin veneer on the surface of our planet oscillations that never even really meant anything the dark fades away...like a comet that is completely grey....without color next a dirty fucking liquid sounds like it's being squeezed through a rubber feeding tube and a vaguely operatic chorus sings in the background, lulliby for a screaming nightmare some full bodied drone hovers over the chorus and takes the 17th century in it's arms and lays it gently to rest, taking each of the sharp moments, the sick deaths, the negative atrocity culture, and bringing it up onto a safer place, one where the only thing that matters is th industrialization of our times the industrialization has replaced any notion that feelings matter, any notion that a fair working environment is something that people deserve we could give retards something to do but it's already done and if you go up the ladder you see more and more things have been automated away you don't think about the roads being built do you? you don't think about the farms that cover 80+ percent of arable land do you? even when you're flying from new york to LA you don't hardly notice that humans have claimed this land for themselves scintillation frequency evokes this convulsive thought control that rises into a nasty chemical haze that demands more resources it's silenced into yet another flailing drippy sound fade out

a electric whip takes the stand fucking whining about the deprivation of resources and stuggles to make some connection fiercely spitting out brief moments of feedback between any number of frequencies that it can communicate on with an aether with non-existant endpoint it takes on more and more endpoint arcing back on itself and driving the frequencies into logical conundrums that antirepel itself and howl into additional painful derivative maneuvers it makes no difference to the machine what the effects of it's energy is being expended on, but only that some noise is being made taken astray leading reclamation of a formerly _done wrong_ system that is now instantaneously trashed and thrown under to make way for something more unplanned more unrelenting in it's consumption of power and antisocial connectivity whining and crying you see tear droplets form in the wave spectrogram taking a full 90 seconds to develop from a mixture of waveforms into a coherent pattern at your notification level notification level that is aloof from what you are supposed to be paying attention to but is instead wired into the inverse avoidance pattern the end the beginning once more gain blasting the appearance of nothing into a oscillation that has wavelengths spanning over years in time \ the bright lightning shatters a dark blank sentimental moment between us vaccum heavy rain sucks the white light from the heavens turning your back onto the keloid frostbite fallow bulbous pulsing face  trancerotten yellow drainage trapnell decade trip fucker stumble block meaningless powernazi storm chaser populace chain reveals a mathematical rule. a pseudoconsistent logic to resolve fndamental curry's paradox from thin air what you thought was a clumsy blind behemoth is now an industrialized system that seemingly stands on it's own regardless of what yo even thought your very presence is nothing more than that like a dinosaur a placement that just gives you a central prominence as i start the other side the lull the powerful lull of harmonics drilled deep into the subcortex drilled deep into the somnambulist deity that rocks the beddy-bye to sleep that keeps the sharp reality away for at least some time for that reality of simple nature, the spikes of inedible plant matter, the vast nothingness that humans have somehow decided is rightfully theirs. homesteaded one small plot at a time until the federal government stepped in and purchased the large swaths of land a musical pattern that resembles a shaman opening and closing it's arms above it's head and taken drumming starts thathits something that's the vbrational equivalent of a untuned drum mode across an entire flood basin drumming starts that calls into question or owner ship of that land and the melodic butterfly that was once a welcome sight is now almost  gone a tick tock dog growl gargling on some infected bacteria sinus cavity occupies the entire space you can hardly remember what things that you thought reckless distasteful nonsense squanders what was left of your vague fact driven storyline a sigh of relief ahlzagailzeguh stomps something fierce onto the mixing floor and drives metallic shards of broken dreams into the woodwork you don't think about who built your house did you/ why do you think you are worth anything to the other people around you when i say you am i actually referring to myself? i'm just desperately trying to offload my stupidity onto someone else? what is vulnerable to critique? i sit almost braindead when i face some of the most important situations yet when something is inconsequential i can leap into action and hurl retarded insults atpeople who don't deserve it like this girl that played prince at a party for like 4 hours i walked up to her and nearly choked her lights out and when she closed the computer i said no! play something else! i proceed to chose a random song that i thought was good off of youtube and then i proceed to just stand there and drunkenly creep on some peoples conversation wishing i could have just chosen a song that was better it's not my fault right? no, it is... there's a huge societal expectation that can't handle you being this way there's a roaring electric god that isn't going to cradle you in your arms while your social environment sees you as if you were a crying baby on an airplane take just a couple things at a time put them "in their right place" maybe then you won't have a crushing retardation lingering over everything you touch repeat this ad nauseum don't think for a minute that you can "escape" this reality you're "personal experiences" (your vacation, your hanging out with friends) is so far deviated from your systematically disassociated life happenstance that your better off to just give the middle finger to everyone and everything until it's over until it's over and you drop a sharp process into the ground and levitate transgressional power you can physically and mentally fail during this tremble weirdly under the occipital signal tension  drab naked torbid flippant crater wield two basic components and when suddenly connected create a huge imbalance that sends flux reeling superintensely into the weak painless skinless meat proper happenstance flayed skinless animal carcass rotting spongiform encephalitis eschera coli sacchromyces schizophrenia pombe river blindness parasite trapped nderneat the helencaste psycholayer obligate individual disease question i never know what to say

[always-the-little-spoon]

Sterek A-Z: one word prompts

Week 22: V - Vulnerable 

Derek Hale did not trust easily. Trust, like respect, was a privilege to be earned rather than expected. Since the loss of his family to misplaced trust and teenage infatuation, he found that he couldn’t even trust himself. It was a work in progress.

Only one person had earned Derek’s unequivocal trust and respect, and consequently his heart. His name was Mieczyslaw Stilinski, though he was far more likely to answer to Stiles.

Derek curled his fingers around Stiles’ as they walked down a darkened path through Central Park late Thursday evening.  Normally, they’d never be out on a weekday, but Stiles didn’t have class the next day, or a shift at the restaurant until late afternoon, so predictably, he had dragged Derek out of their apartment for what he called fun and excitement.

“Basically Confucius’ idea of a good person is someone who shows respect to people, but only the right people, and follows the proper social ritual,” Stiles said between lazy licks of his ice cream cone. 

Derek snorted and dragged Stiles down to sit on a nearby bench before the human tripped over his own feet while trying to do too many things at once. “The five cardinal relationships are the basis of Confucian ideology,” he said. “Someone in a position of power does demand a certain level of respect.”

“Yeah, but just because someone is in a position higher than you doesn’t automatically mean that person deserves respect or loyalty, especially when one of the relationships is husband to wife, and trust me, the woman does not come out well in that mess,” Stiles argued. His hand narrowly missed a collision with Derek’s nose. “I mean, come on. By that logic, Scott should have automatically deferred to you and all your mighty alpha wisdom after you off’d your uncle.”

Derek leaned back and draped his arm over the back of the bench behind his boyfriend. “Stiles.”

Stiles hummed and lapped at his ice cream.

“Shut up,” Derek said, and Stiles snorted ice cream out of his nose.

As it turned out, fun and excitement in their world was sitting on a park bench with drippy ice cream cones and debating Confucian thought while the sun sank below the Manhattan skyline. Derek couldn’t complain, even as Stiles questioned his past alphahood while he aggressively cuddled him, complete with sticky, cold kisses that tasted like maple bacon. When it came to Stiles, Derek was a bit of a pushover. All he wanted was to take care of his boyfriend and be needed.

The development of their relationship all came down to a single phone call. Derek had been living in an old cabin upstate on the edge of a national preserve with occasional contact with the pack when a quiet, far too timid voice on the other end of the line asked for help.

At first, he hadn’t believed that the person on the other end of the line was  Stiles because the image of the broken and defeated boy the voice conjured had been difficult to reconcile with the Stiles Derek had left behind. Even more so when Stiles explained exactly what he needed. 

Stiles had wanted to leave Beacon Hills, needed an out, and he needed Derek’s help. Looking back, it was a little odd that Derek hadn’t hesitated, but he could never regret his choice. He’d packed his bags, and driven across the country where Stiles had hopped into the passenger seat of the Camaro the day of his high school graduation, and never looked back.

Stiles shivered beside Derek. The night was humid and comfortably warm, at least for Derek. 

Rolling his eyes, Derek finished his ice cream in two large bites and ignored Stiles’ indignant squawk when he wiped his sticky hands on Stiles’ jeans. He shrugged out of his leather jacket, and wrapped it around Stiles’ shoulders.

Stiles sighed contently and snuggled deeper into the jacket while he inhaled Derek’s scent in what he no doubt thought was a surreptitious manner. Sometimes Stiles had more of a scent kink than Derek with the growing frequency he stole Derek’s clothes that it made him question who the werewolf in the relationship really was.

“I told you it was too cold for ice cream,” Derek snorted.

“It’s never too cold for ice cream,” Stiles argued. His attention was still on the dark sky overhead, but he took an exaggerated lick of his ice cream that made Derek shift in his seat. “Shame we can’t see the stars.”

“Uh huh,” Derek grunted. He couldn’t avert his gaze from the wicked tongue lapping at the melted cream dripping down Stiles’ long, slender fingers.

“Light pollution and all. Makes me miss the cabin a bit,” Stiles sighed. “Not that I could live without internet, but you could be all wolfy, run on full moons, chase little Thumpers and Bambi’s. Hunt like the good provider you-”

Derek surged forward and captured Stiles’ lips with his own, effectively silencing the rambling human. Stiles’ ice cream cone plopped wetly against the pavement between his feet.

Sticky fingers tangled themselves in Derek’s hair as Stiles fumbled to climb into Derek’s lap without losing their connection. The quick clip-clop of hooves against the cement pathway and the nicker of a horse was not enough to dissuade him.

Someone conspicuously cleared their throat nearby, and reluctantly, Derek disentangled himself from Stiles, who was nearly level with the bench seat.

A mounted policewoman glared down at them. “Move it inside, Romeos,” she said.

“Yes, ma’am,” Stiles said with a mock salute and cheeky wink.

The horse whinnied and shied back several steps when Derek abruptly stood. Animals tended to be skittish around him because their instincts labelled him a predator, and right now, he needed to get his prey home.

Stiles barely had time to slip his arms through the sleeves of his borrowed jacket before Derek swept his boyfriend up and flung him over his shoulder, startling the poor horse and leaving the officer to wrestle for control over her mount as Derek sped off towards home.  He didn’t slow when he hit the city block.

Bouncing on Derek’s shoulder with each long stride, Stiles cackled gleefully and slapped Derek’s ass with an open palm. “Mush! Mush!”

When Derek first met Stiles in Beacon Hills, Stiles had been a scrawny sixteen-year-old and the most infuriating little shit Derek had ever had the displeasure of meeting. Not much had changed. The skinny, defenceless, spastic human had repeatedly thrown himself into danger heedless of his own mortality and fragility. Stiles had maddened Derek to the point of threatening Stiles’ life in order to save Stiles’ life. It had seemed like a good idea at the time. Still did, occasionally.

Despite his best efforts to keep the annoying teenager at a distance, Stiles had proved a worthy ally. He placed his own life on the line for not only Derek, but the pack without hesitation. Derek and Stiles had been tossed into a series of unfortunate heroic rescues with only each other for backup more often than Derek wanted to recall, and it hadn’t stopped when Derek walked away from Beacon Hills, the pack, and what had once been his home. Now, he had a new home, and one that did not conform to trivial laws of nature, time, or space.

A low growl vibrated in Derek’s chest when Stiles slid a calloused hand down the back of his jeans and daringly groped his asscheek. Too impatient to wait for the elevator, Derek took the stairs of their building three at a time. He barely paused long enough at the door to slam it closed behind them.

Derek flung Stiles onto their bed and ripped off his shirt, the fabric literally tearing away. The human bounced twice on the mattress and scrambled to his knees to meet Derek halfway. Their bodies collided, and the button of Derek’s jeans pinged against the hardwood floor when it popped off under Stiles hastily groping hands. Patience had never been a virtue either had taken much stock in.

Eager to taste Stiles’ skin, Derek shoved his leather jacket off Stiles’ shoulder. He barely detached no more than a few seconds to wrench Stiles’ shirt up over his head and blindly toss fling it across the room. Stiles would kill him if he destroyed another one of his graphic tees.

Something crashed to the ground. Stiles’ precariously piled textbooks by the sounds of it, but Derek was already shoving Stiles down into the mattress to suck his mark into his boyfriend’s neck.

“Oh, fuck, Der,” Stiles moaned. His hands fumbled with the zipper of Derek’s jeans, but he managed to shove a hand down the front of Derek’s boxers and wrap his fingers around Derek’s cock.

A low snarl erupted from Derek. He pulled back, dragging down the bed until the curve of Stiles butt was nestled against the straining bulge in his too tight jeans. Growling around his fangs, Derek dry humped Stiles like a horny teenager.

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s it, big guy,” Stiles groaned. His heartbeat fluttered as he ground against Derek’s cock. “Let go for me.”

Stiles was probably looking for a repeat performance of the full moon two months ago when Derek’s instincts demanded he flip the fragile human over, sink his fangs into the back of Stiles’ neck, pin him in place, and fuck Stiles until his extremely willing and needy boyfriend couldn’t remember his own name. It had been memorable, but not what Derek wanted right now.

Derek whined pitifully and nuzzled Stiles’ neck until his boyfriend stopped grinding against him and began to soothingly rub his back.

“Hey... hey, Derek, what’s wrong?” Stiles asked. The huskiness in his voice had been replaced by a quiver of concern. “Too much? We don’t have to do anything if that’s not what you want. I just thought, you know, that’s where all this was heading is all.”

After gaining enough control over himself to reign in his shift, Derek pulled back, but kept his eyes closed as he panted. His arms trembled under his own weight despite his supernatural strength. A warm hand cupped his cheek, and he leaned into the comforting touch.

“Der... you’re scaring me.” Stiles’ voice quivered as badly as his hand. It made Derek whimper.

“I trust you.” Derek opened his eyes to find Stiles’ swimming with unshed tears as if he had just told him he loved him. Which he did, and already confessed as much long ago, naked, in Central Park.

The corners of Stiles’ eyes crinkled as he smiled tentatively. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Derek repeated back, and Stiles’ legs tightened around his hips. “I want to try, tonight.”

“Try?” Stiles repeated dumbly. His brow furrowed, but a flash of comprehension crossed his expression, and his eyes widened. He scrambled to sit up, forcing Derek back to kneel between his legs. “You- you want to try?”

Not once in their nearly four-year relationship had Derek bottomed. They’d been having sex for years. Good sex. Hot sex. Loving sex. But Derek had never been able to reconcile with the idea of giving himself to anyone else after having his body used against him not once, not twice, but many times, by many different people. Even Stiles, once, long ago. Derek had slammed Stiles’ head into the steering wheel of the Jeep, and Stiles had since apologized for parading him around half naked for information.

Derek chuckled, but nodded. “You’ve been patient enough.”

“Dude, this isn’t about being patient,” Stiles said. He shoved lightly against Derek’s chest, rearranging them until they sat cross-legged across from each other on the bed, all animalistic heat and passion gone. “This is about you being ready, and trust me, if you’re never ready, that’s fine too. I don’t want you doing this out of some misguided need to make me happy, because-”

Derek silenced Stiles’ rambling with a finger against his lips and huffed a quiet laugh. “Stiles, I know.”

“You’re sure?”

Derek nodded.

“You’re sure you’re sure?” Stiles asked again, and Derek huffed a sigh, but nodded again.

“Well, alright then.” Stiles playfully slapped Derek on the knee and climbed off the bed. “Okay, we’re gonna need lots of lube. And I mean lots lube. Like copious amounts, gallons, and possibly a dildo. I mean, you’re all like, virginal down there and shit, right? Have you ever even fingered yourself? What am I talking about? Of course, you haven’t. I’m gonna need to stretch you out for my dick, and-”

Derek silently snuck up behind Stiles, wrapped an arm around his waist, and silenced his rambling boyfriend for the second time that night. This time with a kiss.

“How about I go get cleaned up while you get together whatever you think is necessary. I trust your judgement,” Derek said. He patted Stiles’ butt on his way to the bathroom, but he paused at the dividing curtain that separated their bedroom from the rest of the apartment, and turned back. His heart fluttered in nervous anticipation. “And Stiles...”

Stiles swallowed hard. “Yeah?”

“No condoms. I want you to mark me...” The curtain swished closed behind Derek. “On the inside.” 

Stiles’ breathy whimper of ‘oh fuck’ followed him to the bathroom.

[ka-star]

The Lesson (A Hell’s Studio AU fic)

Well, yeah; I wrote a BATIM fic, based on the adorable and funny AU by @doodledrawsthings

Disclaimer: This fic is set early in the AU, before Bendy gets his redesign.

Bendy was never one to follow the rules, at least when it means he can have some fun out of it. Being a demon doesn’t help either; well, a living cartoon born through the use of demonic magic, but a demon nonetheless. Regardless of his origins he just couldn’t help himself sometimes, so when Joey Drew told him to never leave the studio, at least not without someone to go with him, it was too good for the little devil to pass up.

It was easy to get away with it too; all it took was a simple disguise and he was gone. As he walked down the street he passed by other people, some of which gave some queer looks, but never stopped to question why there was a ‘child’ walking around wearing a long coat and hat in the middle of a warm day. Bendy couldn’t help but grin because of it.

'Guess most folk just ain’t that smart.’, he thought.

He continued on his way admiring the view of the different buildings and people he has only been told about and overheard other people talk about around the studio. The people were the most interesting to him; they came in all sorts of shapes and sizes, ages and colors. Seeing the same people everyday while stuck in that stuffy animation studio only made this little rule breaking adventure all the more worth it in the little devil’s mind. He felt pretty proud of him, so much so he didn’t noticed the big, furry shadow lurking closer to him in an alley he has just walked past.

A sound Bendy hasn’t heard before made him jump higher then he was tall. He spun around to see the source; a large, dirty looking beast just lingering outside the entrance of the alleyway. It stood on all fours, bearing it’s teeth and making what sounded, to Bendy, like grinding or gurgling. Then it barked.

The little cartoon stepped back and was about to hightail it, until he saw the chain that was keeping the monster from coming any closer to him. He settled down a little, his confidence returning.

“Ya ain’t so tough.”, he mocked. He stepped a little closer, not enough for the furry thing to touch him, and got a better look at it. “Heh, ya look a little like a wolf I know.”, he said. “Only not as handsome. Or smelly.” He chuckled at his own joke.

The beast tried to lunge at Bendy but the chain around its neck stopped it short. The demon was now laughing. “Ya seem a little tied up at ta moment, so I’m just gonna get going. Have a nice life, buddy!” He turned around, whistling as he walked down and turned the corner, all the while the beast was really making a racket; tugging and struggling. Bendy was halfway down the block, still feeling good about himself, until he heard something snap.

His little cartoon heart started pounding in his chest as he slowly turned around. The monster came around the corner; the chain now hanging loose around its neck, and it was sprinting down the sidewalk.

Bendy took off like a bullet with the monster following close behind. The sound of the chain smacking on the concrete was the only indication of how close the thing was to him. The little demon could feel the ink dripping from his forehead as panic ensued. He left little droplets every step he took, covering block after block. He lost count of how many corners he took, and the beast was still hellbent on him.

Just when Bendy thought he couldn’t run any further me spotted a opened door coming up down the sidewalk. It was on the back of a tall, pointy looking building, but that didn’t matter to him. It was the only way to separate him from his pursuer. He rushed through the door and slammed it shut. He heard the beast pawing and jumping on the other side, but it wasn’t getting in. Bendy thought about locking it too, but after a moment it was clear the thing wasn’t smart enough to turn the handle or anything, so he just let it be.

His body was still trembling, and his face was half covered in dripping ink. He took a few deep breathes, trying to regain himself. He couldn’t continue to be making a mess on the floor of, well, wherever he was now. Bendy removed his hat to pull the ink back into place. With his version restored he could get a better look of wherever he was now.

It was dark; no lights were on, but he could make out the lining of another door across from the room, light from the other side of it. It sounded like there were some people there too. He pondered about going through it, but realized he didn’t have much of a choice. That monster was still outside; he could hear it pacing around, it’s chain dragging on the ground.

'I’d rather risk it with people then that thing.’, he reasoned to himself. He still felt shaken up as he made his way towards the dimly lit door.

He then stopped. Something didn’t feel right. He still felt scared. No; it wasn’t just that. Something felt off about where he was; like he shouldn’t be there. Well, he shouldn’t be outside the studio in the first place, but while he was walking down the street he wasn’t feeling…sick?

Weak; he was getting weaker by the minute. His whole body felt off. He opened his coat to get a better look. He gasped; his body looked like it was bubbling, like he was a pot of boiling water. He touched his face; that too was bubbling. His form was struggling to keep it’s shape.

'Why is this happening?!’, he thought.

He knew why he got all drippy when he was scared or upset. Joey explained it to him once; it was because his creator botched the ritual used to bring him to life, but only a little. It wasn’t enough to hinder the demon, and when Joey did it a second time to bring Boris to life he got it right. But this; this wasn’t brought on by stress or heighten emotions. Something else was at play.

Then he heard it, coming from the other side of the dimly lit door. Singing; a whole chorus of voices, high pitched and angelic. The words of the song they sung were not in English, but just hearing it was making Bendy feel even worst. Any strength he had moments before was quickly draining out of him. He fell to his knees; his strength as well as his inky form was fading.

He tried to crawl towards the door to the outside. He no longer feared that furry beast. Being inside this building was a whole lot worst. He was scared, confused, and now wishing he listened to Joey. He struggled to reach the door handle, but he couldn’t stand. His legs felt nonexistent. Maybe they were, but he didn’t dare look. For the first time in his existence he thought for sure he was done for.

“Somebody...help me…please.”

The door in front of him swung open. Bendy’s eyes burned with the sudden rush of light, but there was two shadows standing over him. His hearing was muffled at this point. He couldn’t make out what they were saying, but one was trying to speak to him while the other was keeping that furry monster away. The last thing the little toon remembered before passing out was one of the shadows carefully picking him up off the floor and quickly leaving the building.

“Bendy? Bendy, can you hear me?”

Joey’s voice was distant but sweet to the little devil’s ears. Bendy knew he was back at the studio; the smell of old wooden chairs and stale air was something he was used to. It took a moment to register that he was tucked into his 'bed’ in the bottom of the old dresser, located near Joey’s office; something he became accustomed to since he was created. His eyes slowly adjusted to the light. Joey, and Henry, were kneeling beside him; the slimmer of the two looking more worried than Bendy was used to seeing him.

His memory was a little fuzzy, but he could recall something about being chased, running into a building, and then something about feeling really scared and confused. Before the little devil could question what happened, Joey got closer and started asking a million and one question, most of which flew over the toon’s head.

"Are you okay?! Are you having an easy time keeping yourself together? Do you need more ink? I can run over to the ink machine if you need a drink. Are you feeling sick at all? Weak? Anything?” The panicked man then cupped Bendy’s face to get a better look at him, which only made Bendy feel even more confused and a bit overwhelmed. Little drops of ink began to form on his forehead, which just made Joey even more jumpy.

Henry finally decided to step in before it got too much for the toon. “Joey, I think he’s doing fine now. Maybe you should step back? Give him some air?” He said this with an awkward grin and a hand on Joey’s shoulder. It seemed to work; the slimmer man took his hands off Bendy’s face and took a few deep breathes. Henry then turned to the toon, who still looked just as baffled as before. “You gave us a real scare there, kid.”

“W-What happened?” Those were the only words Bendy could muster before Joey cut in again.

“What happened?!, repeated Joey, placing his hands on his head, trying to contain himself. “Bendy, we found you in church! A church! Of all the places, why would you go in one of thoses?!”

Bendy’s head snapped up. “A what now?” That sounded familiar to him.

“We found you in the backroom of the church off Center Street.”, Henry explained, in a far more calm manner then his co-worker. His face grew more serious. “And you were in bad shape. We thought you were a goner.”

“If it wasn’t for your ink trail we would have passed right by you.”, Joey added, still shaken up.

The tall, pointy building; now Bendy remembered. Joey once told him there were certain objects and areas he should never be near or at, and churches were on the top of that list; something about weakening the magic that holds him together or something. Bendy has seen photos of churches, but never in real life. He should have known not to-

“I was running from something.”, Bendy mused out loud.

“You mean that dog?, Joey asked.

“That was a dog?”, said Bendy. “It looked more like a bad drawing of Boris to me.” He grinned, thinking the joke would lighten the mood a little. Henry chuckled a little, but Joey still looked like he was on edge.

“Bendy, we almost lost you.” Those words coming out of Joey’s mouth was almost surreal to Bendy. His grin faded, finally realizing just how freaked out his creator was. “We...I feared the worst. When I saw you, I just…” The man looked like he was about to cry; something Bendy has never seen before until now. The little toon didn’t know what to say at that point. It took a moment for Joey to regain his composure. “I’m just glad you’re alright.”

Henry once again placed a hand on Joey’s shoulder. “Hey, why don’t we let him rest a little more, just to be on the safe side?”

Joey took another deep breath and nodded. He got to his feet and heading out the door, leaving Bendy and Henry alone. It was too quiet for a few moments before Henry spoke up again.

“Yeah, I know; I never saw Joey freak out that bad myself.”

Bendy looked up at the animator. He pretty much just read the little demon’s mind.

Henry continued, “I was scared too, but I knew I had to stay calm for Joey’s sake. I won’t lie though; when we did find you I was fearing the worst myself. I’m just glad we got to you in time.” Henry was always one to remain calm while everyone else was going nuts over something, whether it was serious or not, but something about how he was explaining his thoughts on what happened just made the whole event more clear to Bendy.

The man then looked over at the toon. “Just promise that you’ll be more careful if you sneak out again.” He paused. “Or better yet, if you ever do want to go out again-”

“I won’t!”, said Bendy. “I won’t anymore.”

Henry shook his head. “No, I mean, if you want to, I’ll be happy to go with you. I’m sure Joey would be okay with that. I’ll make sure you don’t get into trouble.”

Bendy was silent for a moment before answering. “Sure.” He’s voice was flat, making Henry wonder if the thought of going back out was too scary for the cartoon now. “Just…I don’t think I want ta be going out fer a while, is all.” He got back under his little covers and rested his head on his pillow.

“Alright; we can talk more about it another time.”, said Henry. He got to his feet and made his way to the door. “Just get some sleep.” He was just about to leave.

“I’m sorry.”

Henry stopped short of closing the door when he heard those words. Bendy never apologizes. Being a cartoon and a demon he’s always had a 'devil may care’ outlook on everything, pun intended. Hearing him apologizing for anything seemed impossible, or was impossible.

Henry turned back around. The little demon was wrapped in his covers with his back facing the human.

“It’s alright, Bendy.”, Henry whispered. “Just rest up, kid.”

He quietly closed the door.

[silverleafnightshade-blog]

Audrey Rose

Robert Wise’s 1977 psychological thriller about reincarnation is a bizarre little flick. Starring a young Anthony Hopkins and based on a novel by Frank De Felitta, Audrey Rose is a movie about the restless reincarnation of a soul, excoriated in an entertaining NYT review. The real action largely takes place in the tortured sleep of a young girl, Ivy (Susan Swift) who remembers her past life (well, traumatic past death) in her dreams. That said, there’s not much in the way of thrills and the psychology is pretty shallow, but merde! The architecture is superb.

The opening sequence is shot on location in Central Park. The Templetons, a happy nuclear family consisting of mom Janice (Marsha Mason), dad Bill (John Beck), and the aforementioned daughter Ivy, bicycle and cavort through Frederick Olmsted and Calvert Vaux’s 770 acre green masterpiece.

(“Take me down to Screen Shot Shitty, where the grass is green and designed by Freddy...”)

The park, which was established in 1857 and expanded to its current size in 1873, is presented as a hazy playscape of Kodachrome fun, complete with a fairly obvious product placement for Coca-Cola. 

Most of these shots are from the west side of Central Park, which I thought maybe didn’t see as much of a decline in the 1970s as the rest of the park, but I think that was just some artful cinematography. Due to rampant vandalism and other petty crime, the Central Park Conservancy was established in 1980, and this public-private enterprise assumed management of the park to this day.

The fantastic Hotel des Artistes features predominantly in the movie: the Templetons live there, and their friends provide the exposition for this sweet little score of a set: 

Templeton pal Russ comments, “The Hotel des Artistes, built for artistes by artistes. What the hell are we doing here?”

Speak for yourself, Russ! I’m sure you know that Janice is a photographer. I mean, sure, her body of work consists of photographs of her family:

…but hey, you ever heard of Sally Mann, man?

Of course, bland Bill chimes in.

“I don’t know about you, but I have hidden depths.”

Sure, Bill. Sure. Stashed in that ‘stache, I’m sure.

Anyway, the Hotel des Artistes is a Neo-gothic masterpiece completed in 1917. It was never a hotel, but designer George Mort Pollard certainly created the building with artists in mind. Each unit featured an atelier-style loft with 19 foot windows in the soaring 22 foot ceilings, although many of these great rooms faced south, instead of basking in the traditional northern exposure.

For a cool couple of million, you could own a penthouse in the building today!

Here’s some more shots of the apartment:

LEADED WINDOWS!

I like this mirror quite a bit. And this shot.

MORE LEADED WINDOWS! And under that very lovely assortment of plants, there is proof that the tiny-drawer library furniture trend has long legs.

Here’s Janice on the stairway:

That is some beautiful woodwork. A lot of assholes these days have painted over or removed it altogether. Sigh. I am so tired of blonde wood.

But more disturbing is maybe Janice’s necklace.

Damn it, Janice, is that an Iron Cross? Ferfuckssake! Upper West Side Nazis, sheesh.

Well, before these assholes, famous past residents of Hotel des Artistes include Isadora Duncan, Noel Coward, and Norman Rockwell, and another early resident, the painter Howard Chandler Christy, created the murals that grace the communal restaurant (formally the Cafe des Artistes, now known as the Leopard at des Artistes).

Check out those ceiling murals: 

The building also boasted a pool, exercise room, and uniformed staff in the lobby. By the 1970s, the residents tended to be on the drippy side, I think. Take Bill Templeton - he’s the kind to self-describe as a successful executive at Simmons Templeton advertising agency, located at 386 Madison Avenue…

which is now an AT&T store. (Courtesy of Google Maps, der)

After typing it a few times now, Templeton somehow feels like a made-up name, something the Land Shark would mumble on an old SNL skit. “Mrs. Temple(muffle)ton? Candy-gram?”

Another NYC landmark is the Park West School, where little Ivy Land Shark Templeton attends elementary school.

In the film, the school reads as a tony NYC day school for 1970s upper-middle class offspring. 

This brick and limestone structure at Central Park West was in fact the Ethical Culture School, and its peer high school, Ethical Culture Fieldston, is indeed an Ivy League prep school. Looks like the Templetons named their daughter well. A lot of media superstars attended this school, like Barbara Walters, Jill Abramson, and Jane Mayer. Not to namedrop, but I had to clear the Templeton out of my throat…

The rest of the movie’s highlights consist mostly of stock footage of Indian temples and the Ganges, which are played during the world’s most boring court scenes (save for the appearance of John Hillerman, a.k.a. Higgins from Magnum PI), so we’ll end here. A little aside about Susan Swift/Ivy Land Shark Templeton: she grows up to be a conservative nut job. Ugh. That’s what you get for believing in reincarnation, or second acts. 

I really hope to have two posted in May, as I’m sliding this piece up with just mere minutes of April left. There may be some east coast city love, and then a little fantasy, so check back in! 

#1970s architecture #1970s horror movies #Robert Wise #Audrey Rose