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storm-and-starlight · 6 months

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Narrative Absence in Gravity Falls

Or, the reason why Ford's introduction DIDN'T go down like the Stan Balloon

(you know the one)

Lets talk about narrative absence, character introductions, and plot twists in Gravity Falls, because honestly? There's some really fascinating things to talk about. Spoiler warning for a show that's ten years old at this point, I guess? and essay below the cut

Ford's introduction is one of those plot twists that, mishandled, would have fallen flatter than the second dimension -- a new character introduced barely a handful of episodes before the massive finale, with massive backstory that changes everything we think we know about the setting, the backstory, and one of the lead characters? It sounds like a recipe for flubbing the landing and yet it's one of the best character reveals of, imo, all time. Like... the kind of reveal I want to write an essay about. Which I'm doing!

Part of the tricky thing with last-minute reveals is not only not having the time to let the audience get to know the new person the way they know the old cast, but also getting the character's place in the narrative to feel earned. A piece of writing advice I've heard is to never introduce a new character more than three-quarters of the way through a story, and two-thirds is better if you can manage it. Ford shows up at literally the last possible second, according to that (seriously, episode thirty out of forty total, and three of those are the finale), and yet he meshes so well it's like he was always there! And it's because he kind of always was. We never saw Ford, but we saw the holes he left behind, and in seeing those holes we could see what kind of person he would be, and so he's not really a new character at all -- he's Stan's version of what Dipper is to Mabel, and he was all along.

(A really quite obvious example of the whole "Stan's version of what Dipper is to Mabel". Just look at that sweater!) (Which, incidentally, is relevant to another point from later in the meta.)

Part of why it worked is, admittedly, the textual foreshadowing, but there are already enough discussions of that (right down to the DVD commentaries) that I don't really feel the need to go into it here, and also it's totally possible for a plot twist to be foreshadowed and STILL come off as stupid, like, the stupidity doesn't rely on the fact that the audience could have picked up on it beforehand. So we'll leave the foreshadowing out for now, and talk about the other major element why the Ford reveal works so well: the space in the narrative. We never saw Ford, but we saw the giant gaping hole he left behind, and we could see the shape of him in it. He's not really a new character -- his outline was there all along.

Okay, "giant gaping hole" might not be the best way to describe it. Narrative absence might be better -- there's a... gap in the story, a place where a character should be and yet isn't. In Gravity Falls, there are three of these -- the big honking WHO'S THE AUTHOR? that's the main mystery of the entire show, and two others that are... subtler. Because WHO'S THE AUTHOR is 1.) explicitly discussed in text and 2.) a driving element of story structure, rather than a negative space in story structure, and therefore something that doesn't need to be explained like the other one does, I'm not really gonna bring it up until much later.

The other major absences -- the ones that only come about because of the way Gravity Falls is built as a story -- are a lot more interesting.

Gravity Falls as a story is structured a lot around the idea of narrative foils and counterparts. There are a lot of these in the show -- pretty much every character who has a consistent speaking role in multiple episodes comes in a duo -- Wendy and Soos, Candy and Grenda, the tall teens vs the goth teens, Manly Dan and Tyler Cutebiker -- it's not something that was meant to be an explicit symbolic element (at least to my interpretation), but it is something that was on the writers and character designers minds.

The most prominent of these opposing pairs is Dipper and Mabel, who are outright narrative foils -- they are markedly different in every way, and their differences are complimentary, meant to help make the other character shine, or to fill narrative roles that the other one cannot. It's a very balanced way of making a pair of main characters, and it's really noticeable. Very neat, very symmetrical, very clean.

(Yeah, I know it's just a screenshot of the first episode, but it's a nice example of how their characters are opposites. First episodes are good at that.)

This is where the first absence comes in: Stan Pines has no opposite.

He's just straight up not given a foil in the show, and for someone so important to the entire narrative, that's... noticeable. Soos and Wendy aren't his direct opposites, and he and Dipper are very different people but are never arranged as opposing counterparts that fill in the holes of the other's narrative the way a proper foil does (this actually comes in later, like, Dipper is sort of set up to be opposite to Stan but it's a really weak sort of opposite -- the basics are there but the narrative never focuses on them the way it does on how Dipper and Mabel actively complement each other), and Stan and Mabel are set up not as a contrasting pair, but as a complementary pair. This goes beyond simply the fact that she's textually his favorite twin (though that is an element of it! That's a pretty darn big element of it!) -- she's shown to be basically a younger, nicer version of him. The clashes he has with her aren't about being different, they're about being too similar, or aimed at the same goals. Boss Mabel is the best example of this, with Mabel taking over Stan's job and having to become like him, but Land Before Swine also reinforces that connection with their fight being the main conflict of the episode and Dipper getting the B-plot with Soos.(Hence part of where the Dipper thing comes in -- Mabel is foil to Dipper, and Stan is similar to Mabel, and so Stan and Dipper have elements of foil-dom but aren't actually foils.)

Hell, from Not What She Seems she even gets the famous "Grunkle Stan, I trust you" line, while Dipper is placed as being the one to not trust Stan.

Stan Pines stands alone as the only character without a contrast in an entire cast full of pairs, and it leaves things unbalanced. Like, once again, the Dipper thing comes back in, because if they wanted to make a balanced set of relationships it would be set up like a triangle, with the similarities and differences between Stan and Dipper and Stan and Mabel focused on in the story itself, but instead it's just Mabel who gets the plotlines emphasizing her thematic connections with Stan, and Dipper just gets plotlines dealing with their relationship as people, which is a very different experience.

And this is the source of the second absence: Dipper Pines has no complement.

This one is less dramatic than the foil relationship, because "contrasting pairs" are just straight up a fundamental design aspect of the show as a whole, but it's still very much there. Mabel is shown as being strongly similar to Stan, but Dipper doesn't have anyone who shares his interests at the level they matter to him. There's no one with whom he clicks. It's a negative space in the story, and it makes the whole thing lopsided. Dipper should have a similar counterpart, and Stan should have a foil, and the way the rest of the relationships are structured and the characters are designed it's kind of glaringly obvious that they were designed and written with those roles in mind, and yet... there's nothing.

It leaves two very big holes in the story -- subtle ones, yes, that you probably aren't even going to pick up on at all your first time through the show (I certainly didn't, it took me a long time to pick out all the little story-structure-and-themes related stuff that generates this) -- but they're very, very much there. And, really, the place they intersect is... interesting. "Stan's foil, who is complement to Dipper, whose relationship with Stan is the same as Mabel's relationship to Dipper" (except different, because there's a whole nother essay I could write on how Stan&Ford and Dipper&Mabel are themselves a contrasting pair, in that one set of twins "got it right" when the other set "got it wrong", but that's only semi-relevant here and really requires Ford to be part of the analysis) ends up in really only one place -- "Stan's nerdy twin sibling who is connected and deeply involved in the mysteries of Gravity Falls".

And whaddaya know, that's exactly what we got. There's a big honking hole in the narrative, and Ford fits it perfectly, because he was the reason the hole was there in the first place.

It dovetails so nicely with WHO'S THE AUTHOR because that's also a big honking hole in the narrative, it's just one that's talked about in the text because, well, the characters can see it, so they can talk about it. (Gravity Fall is, alas, not meta enough to have the characters discuss the thematic implications of their own narrative arcs and character relationships.) It's the biggest absence in the story, and it gives Ford a textual place to fit in, and that gives him just that extra little bit of thematic consistency with the rest of the show, which makes his reveal that magic combination of unexpected (because holy shit Stan has a twin????) and expected the whole time (because holy shit of course Stan has a twin, it all makes sense now!), and that in turn leads to it being one of the best character reveals ever.

---

(There's one more thing I'd like to talk about here, and it's "how did Hirsch manage to write something so subtle into the story in the first place"? Because Gravity Falls, for how good and tight of a mystery it is, is surprisingly unplanned (seriously, watch the episode commentaries, it's honestly really cool how they managed to take random elements they tossed in for flavor and build up on it to enhance the mystery). I think the answer is "because he knew there was supposed to be a character there in the first place", which -- that'll do a LOT of surprising things to your ability to foreshadow and make room in a story. Knowing how it's going to end means even subconsciously, an author knows what needs to happen in that story to make room for that ending, and knowing that there was going to be a character who'd be Stan's foil and Dipper's thematic parallel, and that the most important thematic parallel in the entire show would be the one reflecting Dipper and Mabel's relationship in the older generation that didn't quite get it right. And Hirsch and the writers, obviously, have an incredibly strong grasp of the characters in the show, like I could write another entire essay on how well Gravity Falls manages to pull off "character as fate" and "character as plot driver".

Anyways, all of this really boils down to OH MY GOD LOOK HOW GOOD THE CHARACTER WRITING IS IN THIS SHOW IT FULLY FORESHADOWED FORD'S EXISTENCE EVEN WITHOUT ACTUAL PLOT SUPPORT and like. that's basically just my entire opinion on Gravity Falls anyways.)

#gravity falls #stan pines #ford pines #stan and ford #gravity falls meta #meta #why yes I AM writing meta for gravity falls #a show that is over ten years old and had one of the most active analytic fandoms ever #and I'm having a fucking amazing time doing it

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calmcoldevening · 10 months

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Pov: You knew slashers, when you was a child (Slashers x fem!reader)

I'm back! Well, it os a lazy post from my drafts, until I end my new idea <3

TW: no

Characters: Thomas Hewitt, Brahms Heelshire, brothers Sinclair

P.S.: English is not my native language, so lot of these words was translated by simple translator, sorry for misspells and e.t.c.

Enjoy this!

Thomas Hewitt

The transition to a new school has always been a great stress for a child, especially in the middle of the school year.

You and your parents often moved from city to city. Maybe it was their work, or maybe they just wanted to show you as many different places as possible so that your childhood would remain really memorable — you didn't know. But the constant moving was followed by a change of schools and kindergartens. On the one hand, you liked it — new acquaintances, interests and a lot of positive emotions, after all, you were a cheerful and active child — but it also brought its inconveniences — you didn't have "best" friends, you had no more than a couple of months to communicate with each of them, and multiple the change of the team has made you a real chameleon in society.

You were ten years old when you and your parents moved to Texas. The age when most classes have already been divided into peculiar interest groups, which are quite difficult for a new person to join. That's why your mom decided to bake cookies that you could distribute to new classmates. Who doesn't like homemade cakes? You actively participated in the cooking process. A little more practice, and you could learn these cookies on your own. As soon as the treat was ready — several pieces were successfully taken away by your father — your mother beautifully put it in a colored box, now tied with a ribbon. The inscription "Welcome" was painted on the lid in gold paint.

It was very hot in this area of Texas. Therefore, on your first day of school, you decided to limit yourself to a beautiful white T-shirt with some simple pattern and black shorts. The first impression is the most important, right? Your mom took you to school by car. At the reception desk, your mom introduced you and found out the number of the right office. After kissing you goodbye on the cheek, she left you to your own luck. Although you were already used to it, a nervous feeling of anticipation bubbled somewhere in your chest; your palms were sweating.

After a good seven minutes, you were standing in front of the right class, 212, clutching a box of cookies to your chest. Adjusting the strap of the gray backpack, you exhaled anyway.

Your homeroom teacher, Mrs. Sullivan, introduced you in the office. A lovely woman with curly locks hanging down on both sides of her face and freckled cheeks. Her soft figure, dressed in a white blouse and a black pencil skirt, caused a surge of strength and confidence in you. The woman lightly put her arm around your shoulders, so motherly, and asked you to tell about yourself.

"My name is Y/N Y/L," your voice trembled slightly while your gaze ran over the children sitting in the classroom, "I'm ten. I like animals and beading... Mm, my parents and I move around a lot, so I don't think I'll stay here for more than two months. I hope we'll become friends."

You ended your performance with a sincere warm smile. Mrs. Sullivan asked you to take an empty seat. Your choice fell on the farthest place by the window; a guy was sitting behind it, hunched over and staring at the street. Was he weird? No, rather unusual. He had long black hair, so unusual for a boy; his gaze was lowered somewhere on the dusty road near the school, so you couldn't see his eyes. Sitting down next to him, you quickly took out a notebook and pencil from your backpack.

"Hello?"

The boy seemed startled by your voice. He looked at you uncertainly, and you saw a face wrapped in bandages. Sad cornflower blue eyes peeked out from under the white cloth.

"I'm Y/N," you whisper, holding out your hand to the boy, "And what's your name?"

There was no response. Disappointed, you lowered your hand, now paying attention to the teacher's explanation. The woman was writing down her words on the blackboard, and you quickly began copying them into your notebook, clutching a pencil until it crackled.

There was something about this boy that attracted you. It doesn't matter if it was his shyness or isolation — you decided that you definitely want to make friends with him.

At recess, you approached a group of girls. They were dressed up like girls from fashion magazines that you often saw in kiosks by the road.

"Hi," — you said with a light smile.

"Well, hello," said one of the girls, popping a bubble of gum.

"I want to ask. M, that boy," you pointed to the long—haired boy, "What's his name? I asked, and he ignored me."

"Haha, he won't answer you. That's our little Tommy," another girl hissed sarcastically, giggling, "Thomas Hewitt is weird. Very strange. I heard that his father is his brother!"

"And he's also a terrible freak!"

You awkwardly put your hand in your hair. Thomas didn't look as disgusting as the girls described him. It's all rumors. And what to take from these children, they probably didn't even try to talk to Hewitt!

You didn't talk to this company anymore. After waiting for lunch, when all the children went out to the garden at the school, you again approached the boy. He didn't budge. It seems he hasn't even written anything since you sat down next to him.

"Hey, hello?" you waved your palm in front of the guy's face, "Thomas, right?"

This time the boy paid attention to you. There was no emotion visible under the thick layer of bandages, but you were sure that he arched an eyebrow questioningly. He's wondering how you know his name?

"You were sitting alone, so I came over. Your name is Thomas, right?" you repeated the question, finally the boy nodded, "That's wonderful! I'm Y/N, let's get acquainted."

Smiling happily, you hand the guy an open box of cookies. Golden crust with chocolate chips. You had no desire to share such a delicious thing with such terrible and tactless people. And Tommy. Tommy was different. He was timid and calm, unable to cause harm.

"Help yourself," you babble, sitting down next to Hewitt, "I made them myself! Not without my mommy's help, of course..."

You blush slightly and see Thomas's eyes narrow. He smiled! He seems to be starting to like your company.

"Can I call you Tommy?"

• Thomas has become noticeably happier since you met him. The boy began to spend more time outside the house, in your company (Luda was very surprised by this, because usually after school Tommy always came home and sat in his room).

• For your birthday, Thomas himself sewed a soft toy for you, a fox, as he found out later, this is one of your favorite animals. The toy was sewn from different, but matching pieces of fabric, a little sloppy, but quite skillfully. It made you smile. You threw your arms around Hewitt for joy.

• Once you praise him, Tommy immediately blushes a lot. It's good that it's not visible under the layer of bandages. From the moment you became friends, Thomas's self-esteem has risen a little.

• When you first offered to help Thomas change the bandages, he strongly refused. The boy just couldn't let you see his face. But when he finally gave up, Hewitt was pleasantly surprised that you didn't scream and run away. You didn't call Tommy a freak or a monster, but only sympathetically stroked his scarred cheeks.

• Over time, you began to understand Thomas without words, absolutely. You found the right answers in his movements, grunting, awkward head turning or excessive gesticulation. Even Luda was a little amazed at your nonverbal communication, but the woman was glad that her son finally found a real friend.

• Tommy often showed you his drawings. It was like the scribble of a five-year-old child, but you were always happy to accept the leaves and hang them over your bed. Basically, Thomas drew his family: angry Charlie in the corner of the paper, Monty sitting next to him in a chair, a little further away, Luda was cooking, and in the center of the drawing you and Thomas holding hands and smiling.

• It was the first time you begged your parents to stay in this city longer. Fortunately, they agreed after seeing your enthusiasm for the "strange boy".

Brahms Heelshire

• Your parents and the Healers kept in touch for a while, you can say your families were very close. You first met Brahms on his fifth birthday. He was a very well-mannered but private boy, so Mrs. Heelshire was only too happy to introduce you.

• At first, your communication did not work out. Brahms was a rude child in places, took away your toys and teased you.

• His true attitude towards you showed up when you didn't come to his house, although you were visiting the Heelshire family every Monday and Wednesday. He was seriously worried. All morning Brahms sat in his room by the window and looked at the road going through the forest, waiting for your little body in your favorite blue dress to appear from behind the trees. But you were never there. It turned out that you were just sick. That day Brahms went to your house and did not leave your bed, squeezing your hot palm.

• Your parents worked most of the time, so they were not against your games with Heelshire Jr. You stayed in their house more and more often, sometimes even overnight, and you and Brahms made noise all night, forcing his mother to swear. But still, the woman was glad that at least Brahms was behaving quite comfortably and boldly with someone.

• You were only a couple of months younger than Brahms, but you thought it was a good reason to tease you.

• The boy allowed you to enter his room without knocking, consider it a worthwhile privilege, because Heelshire does not let everyone into his personal space.

• When you were sad, Brahms brought you bouquets of flowers hastily made with his own hands. That's why his palms were green most of the time.

• Brahms makes wonderful sandwiches. He often makes them when the two of you are having a "picnic" in the garden. Although in fact he agrees to it only to admire you.

• Heelshire loves sweets very much. Very. His mom doesn't allow the boy a lot of sweets and cakes, so you secretly bring them to him from home. The boy is insanely happy.

• Brahms loves kissing. This habit, or rather the need, appeared in him because you praised the boy in this way. Has he finally cleaned the room? A kiss. Did he break his mom's precious vase during the catch-up today? A kiss! So now he can demand them for any reason. He especially likes it when you kiss him before going to bed, and Brahms falls asleep hugging you.

• You're his best friend. That's why Brahms trusts you with all his secrets. You are the only one to whom he has told about the strange and frightening thoughts that sometimes sound in his head.

"Good night," Mrs. Heelshire said, turning off the light and closing the door behind her.

You smile and blow her a kiss, covering your mouth with your palm. When the woman's footsteps recede, you exhale with relief, plopping down on the pillow with force. Squinting your eyes, you wrinkle your nose, trying to blow away the stuck strands of hair from your face. Brahms giggles and gently tucks your hair behind your ear.

The room is cool. The window is slightly ajar, letting in a light autumn wind. The curtains are swaying from side to side, taking chaotic frightening shadows.

You get under the covers up to your nose. Brahms follows your example, pressing his whole body against you, and you stroke his head.

"If I ever do something very, very bad, will you stay with me?" Heelshire whispers, looking up at you.

You look into his sad emerald eyes and laugh. He likes to put pressure on your pity, because he knows that at such moments you see him as a tiny abandoned kitten.

"I don't think you'd do anything so bad, Brahms."

"But if I do. What if everyone turns away from me. Even mom and dad. Will you stay with me?"

You pressed your lips together, frowning. Brahms had never asked such strange questions before. And how can a child who is only eight years old think about something like that after a while. Looking down at the ceiling, you turned your head, looking into Brahms' eyes.

"Yes. I'll stay."

"Honestly?" Heelshire asks incredulously.

"Honestly."

"Promise?"

"Yes, I promise you, silly boy!" you abruptly cover his face with a blanket, holding the edges on both sides of his head.

The boy was kicking, trying to get out from under your weight, while you tried not to laugh. Taking pity on his futile attempts, you took off the blankets, admiring Brahms' flushed face. Heelshire was breathing heavily, and his cheeks and nose were burning like Chinese lanterns that your parents launched on your birthday.

"I won. Again," you grin.

Brahms is silent. You sigh and lie down again, turning your back to Heelshire. Your eyes are shining with joy, and your lips continue to curve in a smug grin. You know that Brahms will not dare to do something to you in return. He always let you get away with such antics. Absolutely always.

When you are ready to fall asleep, through the chatter in your head you hear a plaintive whisper. Having opened your leaden eyelids, you groan with displeasure.

"Kiss me," Brahms whines, and you get up on your elbows, chuckling softly.

"Okay," you kiss Heelshire on the lips, "Good night, Brahms."

• "Now I've won," Brahms croaks, pressing you against the wall and spreading his hands on both sides of your head. Just like a child. Except now he's not the victim here, but you. Although was he ever a victim in your games? Rather, he always played the role of a presenter, you just didn't notice it, as if you were looking through your fingers. And who would have thought that that innocent little boy would ever stand in front of you, towering over your body by a good two heads, and grinning with eyes shining in anticipation through the black slits of the mask.

Sinclairs

Christmas is the most mysterious and magical holiday of the year; the day when the whole family gathers at one big table to properly celebrate this moment together; the day when you receive a lot of gifts from all kinds of relatives, which you sometimes did not realize; the day when all wishes come true.

You clumsily shuffled along the road, shaking your back every now and then to adjust the heavy backpack. Things inside rattled a lot, and you tried to straighten your back faster to avoid crumpled packages.

Christmas was your favorite holiday. And although your parents have been working constantly lately, you were glad that you could spend this family holiday with your friends.

You met not so long ago, only about four months ago, when you first moved here. Ambrose turned out to be a very nice and cozy city with friendly and caring people. Mrs. Sinclair, Trudy, and your mom became friends right away— their interests converged on art. That's when I met her sons, the woman suggested that you make friends with them because of their similar age. And it turned out to be a very good idea. The boys quickly became addicted to you.

Once again adjusting the canvas straps of the backpack, you quickly climb the steps requested by the snow and knock on the sand-colored door several times. On the other side, there is a fussy shuffling and dissatisfied grumbling.

"Hello," you say, smiling, when the door swings open in front of you, revealing a view of the timid Vincent.

The guy nods to you and opens the door wider, motioning you to enter. You kiss Sinclair on the cheek of the mask. Brushing off your feet at the threshold, you quickly take off your shoes and leave your backpack at the shoe shelf. Music from an old radio is coming from the kitchen, some station unknown to you is playing old songs from the seventies. As soon as you entered the room, Vincent stood at the stove again, frying something in a frying pan. Whenever Trudy was busy making figures and arranging a museum that she someday wanted to open, it was Vincent who did the cooking and other household duties. Bo was stubborn and didn't want to do "women's" work, and Lester was still too young for such a large-scale activity. The latter was now sitting at the table and skillfully sliced an apple with a hunting knife into neat pieces.

"Morning, Lester," passing by the boy, you leave a small kiss on his forehead.

"Hi, Y/N!" Sinclair winces contentedly, flapping his big copper eyes.

You sit down next to the boy and imperceptibly take a piece of apple from under his nose, throwing it into his mouth contentedly. There were already several plates and cutlery on the table. Vincent loved order, so he prepared everything in advance.

"Where's Bo?" you ask, rocking slightly in your chair, for which you get a menacing look from Vincent.

"Mom asked him to help at the museum," Lester replied, "He should be back soon."

You notice how Vincent turns off the stove and turns his whole body in your direction. The guy takes a notebook lying on the table and quickly scribbles something.

"Have you had breakfast?"

"Yes," you say shortly, when Vincent closes the notebook and puts it back, "Honestly."

Sinclair puts the hot omelette on plates and pushes you a bowl of oatmeal cookies. You happily take one piece. Vincent sits down across from Lester and lifts the mask just enough to see his mouth. You frown, noticing the edge of his deep scar.

"Hey everyone," it was heard from the threshold, when the front door slammed shut with force, "Oh, honey, and you're here," Bo walks past you, lightly touching your shoulder in greeting, and sits down next to Vincent.

During brunch, you watch Lester and Bo actively negotiate. When their plates are empty, you decide to step in.

"Since everyone is here," you babble happily, clapping your hands to attract the attention of the guys, "I want to give you gifts a little earlier than planned, do you mind?"

"Of course not," Bo abruptly pushed away from the table, "I'm all for it, babe."

Bo winked at you playfully, to which you rolled your eyes. Vincent signed something, and you looked at Lester. Your sign language was not yet good enough to understand most of the phrases, you barely remembered the words of politeness. That's why you've always relied on little Lester at times like this.

"He said: "Why are you doing this so early?"", Lester explained, innocently blinking his eyes.

"What's the difference," Bo frowned, "Sooner or later — the main thing is that she gave."

You didn't comment on the elder Sinclair's words, but just got up from the table and went to your backpack resting in the hallway. When you came back, the brothers were already sitting in a kind of semicircle on the floor. Bo sprawled impressively closer to the sofa and grinned in anticipation; Lester, in his usual manner, sat cross-legged; while Vincent tucked his knees to his chest.

You sat down between the twins and put the backpack next to you, unzipping it. You said "Close your eyes" and, as soon as the boys fulfilled your request, you began to take out colorful boxes. All packages had the same color, different sizes. Alternately, you put the gifts in front of them and allowed them to watch. Lester giggled when he saw that his box was the biggest.

"Merry Christmas," you drawled, spreading your arms out to the sides.

The very first gift was opened by Lester. The boy happily tore open the package, scattering the paper around him, and screamed when he saw the cherished surprise. A big stuffed fawn. He had a soft beige body and neat brown horns sticking out in different directions. The muzzle was cheerful, with a big nose and shiny button eyes.

"I knitted it especially for you," you babble, smiling, when Lester looks up at you with an enthusiastic look.

"Thank you!" the boy throws himself on your neck with lightning speed, squeezing your body until the bones crunch; you stroke his back.

Bo was a little surprised when he saw a set of tools under the wrapper. He loved tinkering and was well versed in mechanics; the fact that you remembered about this hobby touched the guy a little; his lips curved in a slight smile.

"Well, thanks, babe," Bo grins, patting your hair.

You're pouting a little. All the time spent in the morning combing this tangled nest has gone to waste. You are dissatisfied with blowing off a few strands that caught your eye.

The last person to open his gift was Vincent. The boy very tenderly unwrapped the package, not trying to tear it, as if stretching and savoring this moment. You watched the deft but careful movements of his fingers with burning impatience. Finally, Sinclair took off all the paper, removing it from the side, and looked down at what he saw. A large set with colored pencils. Exactly the one that the boy looked at with undisguised envy in the window of an art store about a month ago. Did you remember that? With slightly trembling hands, Vincent takes the box and turns it in his hands. There were several more drawing pads under it.

Vincent looks at you, and you see the trembling gaze of his azure eyes in the slits of the mask. Such unbelievers, but at the same time grateful. You crawl up to the boy and hug him tightly, nuzzling his neck. Vincent lets out a ragged sigh.

"Merry Christmas to you, boys," you congratulate them once again, seeing the boys' satisfied smiles.

"So why did you decide to give it to us so early?" Lester asked, clutching the toy to his chest.

"Oh, that," you awkwardly fix your hair, "Well, my parents decided to leave. To another state. We'll leave tonight. So I thought I could have some fun with you now."

There was an oppressive silence in the room. You were afraid to look up, but you could feel the disappointment on the boys' faces. Your heart was painfully squeezed in your chest, from which you gritted your teeth with a creak.

"Will you come back?" Bo broke the silence.

"I don't know. Dad was offered a job in another state. Mom just said I wouldn't be able to see you."

You looked at each of the boys in turn. Vincent's head drooped, Bo's brows furrowed, and Lester's lips tightened into a crooked thread. The elder Sinclair sighed heavily.

"We'll be waiting. All together," he looked at you from under his brows, "Just try not to come back to us."

• Vincent loves sweets; but, often, Bo takes most of the goodies. That's why you put an envelope with several edible bracelets in one of the donated notebooks. Bo will probably consider them girly and will not take them away from his brother.

• You have been knitting a fawn for Lester for about five days; the boy is very happy with your gift. Your relationship is like a brother and a scary sister. He is always ready to rely on you; Sinclair is glad that he has such a caring person, unlike the same brothers (in particular Bo).

• Trudy adores you. You could say that in these few months she began to perceive you as her own daughter. You even know where the spare keys to the back door of the house are.

• Bo always tries to impress you as a self-sufficient high school student. He saw his father's old magazines with tackles, seduction and other materials not for children, so he decided to train on you. He didn't notice how he fell in love.

• Vincent is a good cook.

• Most of Vinnie's drawings in the new notebooks are you. He will paint your portraits for many years after your leaving.

#slashers x reader #thomas hewitt #thomas hewitt x reader #brahms heelshire #brahms heelsire x reader #lester sinclair #lester sinclair x reader #vincent sinclair #vincent sinclair x reader #bo sinclair x reader #bo sinclair

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harfanfare · 3 months

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If that's okay could i request it for Epel?

How to win the heart of Epel Felmier?

a/n: Thank you for requesting~~ Dear Readers, while I am not a native English speaker, I wrote this ff in the English-pronounciation (?) mindset that “Epel” and “Apple” sound very similar. If it’s not all that similar, may Reader be too obsessed with apples to have that selective hearing when it comes to Epel’s name or let’s blame it on the Harveston’s dialect, haha

Be a zealous apple lover.

You envy this boy’s name.

“Apple”? What a majestic word to be named after. The first time you’ve heard a woman calling someone like that, you remember stilling in place and whooping your head at a ten-year-old boy who yelled that he was coming.

And he… doesn’t look like an apple. Maybe you weren’t expecting a walking apple, nor a boy with red hair dressed in all browns, carrying a big basket of apples (and of course, eating one in the other hand) like a character created for a show whose audience is a tad younger than you, but none of the apples you know turn purple.

Never have you imagined someone with such a beautiful name would move so wobbly in snow, the sledge he dragged behind definitely too heavy.

The realization of how unfitting this name was makes you lose a grip on the basket of fabric you got from one of your new neighbours. Well, everyone here is “new” if you just came into this little village just three days ago.

That boy notices you. He must have heard the news because a flash of recognition paints itself on his face. You didn’t return a shy smile at the staring, even if you wanted to. You remember your cheeks prickling from the freezing wind when you bolted home as the apple boy looked like he wanted to say something.

“He doesn’t look like an apple,” you argue with your mother that night, as she kisses your temple goodnight.

“Maybe not. But I would have loved you two to be friends…” Your mother stops in her words as you roll your eyes at her and pout with all your might. She suppresses a laugh that you would take to your heart. “…But, maybe I should be glad he doesn’t resemble an apple at all? You would have fallen head over heels in love with him if he did.”

Yeah, your mother doesn’t need to look so happy as you grew agitated.

“I wouldn’t!” You protest loudly and bury yourself deeper into bed sheets even if your face grows hotter. Maybe of the embarrassment, maybe of the fury, but surely not because of the boy. “I would never fall in love with a boy like him. And I don’t want you to talk about this to anyone!”

You remember your mother’s eyes twinkling with utter amusement. “Yes, yes, all right.”

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

2. Challenge Apple to a sled race.

Maybe it’s the fault of far too many action films being aired on TV, yet the idea of being able to win anything a fight was stuck in your head.

Some limited part of your brain thought that, hm, Apple might just give up his name to you if you won in this town’s most famous activity: the Harveston’s Sled Race. It seemed only appropriate for you to pick something the boy must know, even if you had only got your first sledge barely two weeks ago.

“Ya… want my name?” Apple blinks as you grow irate when you repeat your offer once again. You remember rolling your eyes ostentatiously at him, and Apple huffing loudly at you. “What does it even mean, duh?”

He crosses his arms and glared at you. He has the advantage of being just a little bit taller than you, but thankfully, his The-Great-Seven-Better-Bless-Her grandmother never ceases to dress him in fluffy, puffy clothes, always in pastel colours; the cute pompom on top of his beanie and shawl in the adorable pink shade made him much less imposing.

“Whoever wins in this sledge race will be called Apple,” you repeat. Apple squints his eyes at you. “I like this name so much, you have no idea. Please give it up to me.”

“Oh.”

You have no idea why his face slowly turned red. If you knew better, you would have used this opportunity to tease him, but little you didn’t want to mock a newly met boy, even if you just threw down a gauntlet for his name.

“It’s a normal name….” He mutters, and before you can protest, he draws his eyes to you, somehow redeeming you speechless. “…But I’ll challenge you if that’s what you wanna do.”

Huh. You weren’t expecting him to agree so easily.

…Nor were you expecting him to glide on the snow with his sledge. He looked frail enough to not care about things like rides and thought that it would give you the advantage. It did not. Apple flew or used magic, or illusions because he rode so fast the snow beneath him barely left a trace.

That was some cool skill, even if you hated how awed you were.

It seems like you challenged the wrong boy because this one wins with ease.

“Sorry,” he says with flushed cheeks, and his deep breaths create little warm clouds in freezing air. He lays on the snow, and his fringe sticks to his forehead. He has won, and it was a tough victory yet a well-earned one. “I will still be the only Epel in this town.” He shifts his gaze on you. “So. What’s your name?”

Well, he is a (treacherous) winner. You give your name to him.

He smiles slightly, he repeats it slowly and goes quiet. You look over to see him open his eyes from reverie and bright lights dance in his eyes.

“It’s nice. I think it suits you well.”

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

3. Have some baking skills.

“Epel, dear. We’ll be having our little neighbour helping us this year’s festival, so please show how responsible can you be and teach [Name] how to prepare apples for the pies.”

Ugh. If only Grandma Marja wasn’t so kind, you would have been protesting more.

Apple looks at you and you frown slightly as he sighs at your sight.

“You again?”

And because Grandma Marja already left, you feel free to announce your displeasure with the situation as well. Sadly, there are no other kids your age in this village, so you are probably bound to accompany him for the rest of your whole life here as he’s your only peer.

“Unfortunately.”

Apple hands you an apron, before ordering you to wash your hands. Because the kitchen island is too occupied with other dishes and too high for any of you without a stool, you take a seat next to a coffee table that was impractically set between the salon and kitchen, leaving just enough space to create a narrow route from one room to another.

“Have you ever baked an apple pie before?” He asks and you shake your head. His brows furrow slightly as he thinks whether you will be a help here at all. “So, it will be a long day…”

He better not write you off before you can even start.

You cross your arms. “Test me first, complain later... if ever.”

“I’m not complaining. But we have a knife and a peeler. Oh, and it hurts if you get cut. You should take it slowly and be careful,” he adds and hops to the other room to grab a basket full of apples. He lays it between you two.

Apple doesn’t let you use a knife.

“I am older than you,” he says and takes an apple from you to cut it into even pieces. You don’t notice the skill he has to make careful cuts precise and clean, as you glare at him.

“Barely.”

The few-month gap in your age isn’t enough to stop you from insisting that you can do more complicated things than just peeling apples. That’s some arduous work, especially when the peeler doesn’t cooperate and the thin fruit’s skin gets stuck between the blades.

So, Apple, who couldn’t contain that last annoyed sigh, finally lends you a knife. He instructs you, but after several times that you tell him you know what are you doing, he hesitantly goes back to his work. You could feel a worried gaze at you nonetheless, and at one time you looked over your shoulder to see him staring at you.

And that’s when the knife slips from your hands.

You don’t scream, but a gasp and a sudden flinch gives you away.

“Aaaand that’s what I was saying,” he immediately drops the apple he was taking care of, and stands next to you, scrutinizing the cut. It’s not bigger than a paper cut, yet it’s a bit deeper and stings as much. You quickly hide your hands from him. “Go take your hand under the cold water. I will get some bandages.”

He gets some. He then orders you—” I am the older one here and I was right before, so I am in charge between us two,” as you were told—to sit on the sofa as he carefully wraps one bandage around your finger. The gesture it’s almost cute from him, but it doesn’t lift your foul mood at all.

“I made more trouble than I’ve helped,” you say quietly. Epel looks at you, a bit surprised.

“You sayin’ that this little cut is making you quit?” And now he has that stupid smile on his lips that makes your blood not boil, but warm up at least five degrees. “Awh, poor thing.”

You get up in a hurry.

“…I didn’t say that.”

“Then don’t give up like that,” he chastises you, but he can’t hide a (still very stupid) smile when you pass him to get to the kitchen counter. “But be more careful from now. No one wants to eat a bloody apple pie.”

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

4. Get into NRC and survive a shock.

Over the years, you’ve become friends, close enough to plan to go to college together, if the opportunity arises. It did.

“Cheers!”

The perfect way to celebrate getting into NRC is with a soft drink, sparkling soda and a big plate of snacks. Although you bought chips for the occasion, your and Apple’s parents prepared a pile of homemade goodies and they couldn’t compare to those store-bought.

Your can clinks against Apple’s and you take a sip.

“It’s not like I ever thought of Night Raven Collage rejecting the best candidates ever,” Apple says with a sigh. Only today you can notice how stiff he was before; although he’d been playing it cool, he was tense all the time. “But that’s one burden off your chest.”

You nod in agreement and look at the acceptance papers once again. When a time will come, carriages with Gates will come for you two… And that’s a thrilling thought.

“This document looks so official,” you say. “What a pretty paper. It looks so elegant.”

Apple empties his can and briefly glances at you.

“Nothin’ special about it…”

And because you want to see the comparison (maybe there are hidden hints where you might be allocated to by the Dark Mirror?), you take his document. The first thing that crosses your mind, is that there is something wrong with his name.

“Wait,” you shriek loudly, and Apple shudders from surprise. He would chastise you for screaming so loud if you didn’t look so worried. “They spelled your name wrong!”

“Huh?” Apple feels a pang of horror, the same you feel when you tap your pockets in search of your phone. As if he found it, once he reads the top of the document again, he relaxes. His lips form into a thin line: he thinks you are pranking him. “No way. Everything is correct.”

“No, look here. Your name, Apple!”

“It’s… Correct.”

“E- P- E- L. And your name is A- P- P- L- E, no?”

“…What?” Epel, not Apple, looks surprised but not as surprised as you. “You thought my name was ‘Apple’ for all those years?!”

You bite your lip to not question it. Is it not? Your cheeks burn from embarrassment, and your heart feels heavy as if you have just betrayed your best friend. It never crossed your mind to have him write down his name, and there wasn’t a reason for him to do so: in this small town there is no school, neither are there the tests you need to sign.

“…I’m sorry.” You stutter, and Epel brushes the crumbs off from his blouse and gets up.

“Goodbye,” he says, making his way towards the door. He doesn’t seem that upset over the whole thing, as much as confused. Tomorrow everything will return to normality, but Epel will have a top-tier teasing material for years. “That’s too many revelations for today.”

“Wait, Epel!”

“Go to ya Apple boy.”

“No!! I said I’m sorry!”

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎

5. Get sorted into any dorm but Pomefiore.

“Stop laughing.”

“I can’t…! Ha…”

You take a big breath to calm yourself down, but once you look up at Epel and his grimace, it’s impossible to not burst out laughing so loud and so breath-taking you drop to the floor. Epel nudges you. You might be in his room, yet he knows if he’ll be too loud, someone will come to shush you two.

And maybe they will punish him, but Epel isn’t familiar with Pomefiore’s customs, so he doesn’t know what to expect.

“How come you got sorted into another dorm, while we are practically the same?” Epel mumbles, lying down on his bed. The sheets are heavy yet comfortable, luxurious like the whole room. It feels like a museum here, where each item is more valuable than your life and you need permission to rearrange the interior.

To Epel, Pomefiore is the worst dorm. He remembers you teasing him about getting sorted to Pomefiore, but neither of you thought it would come true. It’s too stiff, too restrictive and cares too much about appearances. Epel’s heart feels heavy at the thought of the next four years here.

“Maybe Dark Mirror doesn’t sort the dorm judging by the alikeness of two last brain cells but the shape and colour of the soul,” you nudge him back, waking him up from his reverie.

“Or maybe it didn’t get any input of brain cells from you.”

“Well, your desire to be the prettiest boy in the town got to it, so I think it functions well.”

You chuckle at the dead glare he throws you.

Epel finally sighs.

“…I would like to change the dorms.”

“I don't know whether the Dark Mirror accepts complaints,” you tease him. The gloom is abruptly replaced by irritation, and that’s nice. An angry Epel is better than a devastated Epel. “But if you ever want to escape for a while, you are welcome in my room. We can have a sleepover whenever you want.”

“…Thank you.”

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

5.5. Sorted into Pomefiore exception.

“You ain’t elegant at all, though.”

“It seems like my elegance bleaks in comparison to yours, pretty boy.”

“You are blind.”

Epel tries to push you away, but you sidestep while giggling. He glares at you, and thankfully, his eyes don’t seem that sad. When he returned to his seat after getting sorted to Pomefiore, he looked bewildered, as if he suddenly wasn’t in the NRC he dreamed of but some other, less-dreamlike school.

You remember him blinking back tears, but maybe not from sadness—thankfully, Epel doesn’t pity himself—but melancholy, as if he just lost something he didn’t even have. Maybe also fury and confusion.

“It will be fun to stay here together,” you prompt, and Epel sighs but a trace of a smile appears on his lips. Thank Great Sevens for the little lights that brighten the azure tones in his eyes.

“Guess I’m stuck being your neighbour forever.”

“It can’t be that bad.”

“No?”

“Of course not. You already know how great friend I can be.”

“…I guess you’re right,” he sticks out his tongue. Vil will have a lot of work if he wants to make him a fine gentleman. Well. You will take any version of Epel, even the pettiest and most teasing one, so it’s Vil’s burden to bear. “Kind of.”

You pout at him, but a quiet smile breaks your coolness. “So petty.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

6. Listen to your manly man complain about Vil.

After several weeks in NRC, you could tell Epel still hasn’t gotten used to Pomefiore, and especially its leader.

“I can’t handle him pointing out each… well, everything!” He hides his face in his hands and sluggishly rubs his eyes; he looks tired enough even if Pomefiore must have those eight hours of sleep every night mandatory. “He would find wrongdoings in the way I breathe.”

“I would too. You don’t breathe as much through your nose as you think you do. That’s so very unhealthy, Epel. Your skin will be ruined in the next week of running.”

Epel throws you a warning look as if you had hit the nail with your talk. “Stop or I will strangle you with a pillow in your sleep. I already have Ace on my list.”

You chuckle at a threat, and Epel rolls his eyes. “How dramatic.”

“I have enough drama in my life,” he continues, and you can feel from his tone that he either suppresses the sigh. No apathy or fury anymore, though. Pomefiore must be slowly growing on him, and you take it as a good sign. “My two upperclassmen are going to be a death of me. I don’t know how could I end up in Pomefiore. This kind of lifestyle doesn’t suit me.”

“You complain about them a lot, but, in reality, you look up to him, no?” You tease. “Even you can say the beauty he possesses is influential and somewhat powerful.”

“He might look majestically but it doesn’t make him any less annoying. Now, let’s stop talking about him.”

“Why not? I might become Vil Schoenheit’s fan.”

He clasps his hands on your mouth, so you have to fully focus on his glaring.

“You can’t. You are my fan.”

You pout but after he takes his hands off you, a lopsided smile cracks your lips. “I guess you’re right.”

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

7. Argue, duh.

That’s a hobby of you two, although a risky one. It always leaves a weight on your heart, because you cannot not care for Epel. While jokes and sarcasm are never intended to hurt any of you, and you can almost always distance yourself from teasing comments, his every word is precious to you.

“Don’t be a killjoy,” would make you roll your eyes if Epel didn’t look so serious. Your smile falters, and something in your stomach twists. You know this conversation was going to end in an argument even before he glowered at you.

“Hey, don’t say it like that,” you stutter the words, placing a hand on his arm. It would come as a reassuring gesture, yet Epel made an effort to move a seat away, and your arm fell aimlessly, sadly. “I am just worried about our grades. That have. Uh. Dropped marginally.”

You stare at your shoes because listening to your best friend being displeased with you so greatly is heartbreaking.

“We have the whole weekend ahead of us to study,” he argued. “Be serious. You don’t want me to go, because you weren’t invited, isn’t that so?”

You sigh. You’ve never expected to be invited to each of their meetings: they are Epel’s friends, and you have yours.

While you knew Ace and Deuce were delightful company, you always thought Epel would choose you over them, even if you suggested something as unentertaining as studying because you would do the same.

You were wrong, after all. Maybe that’s the difference of willpower between a just-a-friends mindset and having a crush on him. Do you really have a crush on him, though? Or maybe you’ve expected too much from a childhood friendship.

“Well, no. I mean, I would love to be invited, but—”

“We don’t need to hang out together every time we have a spare afternoon,” he said, and while it was a true statement, it hurt. If you weren’t able to somehow steel your nerves, you would know you wouldn’t be able to bear the prickling in your eyes. Epel’s next suggestion comes as a whisper. “Sometimes… We should take a break from each other, ya know? And I need to figure, uh, something out.”

The news shocks you so much, that you don’t notice how he visibly abstains from lifting a hand to his chest.

Well. You always knew you were a hopeless romantic.

“Breaks from each other, huh…”

You take in the phrase in silence. Epel takes this chance as an opportunity to gather his things and pack them.

“…I’ll be leaving. Good luck studying or whatever.”

“…Alright. Have—” fun, you wanted to say, but the door shut and Epel left you alone.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

8. Go through the silent treatment phase.

After a week of awkward conversations, Epel has forgotten about that talk. The pain in your chest dulled and you were growing indifferent as if you were watching a show—your life—that started to bore you, not engaging you at all.

You stared blankly at the screen of your phone.

— today —

Epel: Hey

Epel: are u free todya?? you’ve been so absent last weeks >:((

Epel: Grim and prefect invited us for gaming night

Epel: dont ya DARE do skip it again

— seen: now —

…Yeah. You feel nothing, maybe only a little sad at the memory when you felt so vivid and happy when you got a message from Epel.

“No, sorry, I am busy with studying lol,” you type, and while you know that excuse will wear out in the next few days, for as much as you’ve been using it for the last week to avoid hanging out with Epel, your (ex-?) best friend starts to type something. He will protest and argue and try to convince you, but you don’t want to talk today. “Maybe next time.”

So you turn off your phone, sinking deeper into the pillows on your bed.

You don’t have the energy to confront Epel right now.

And that’s it.

…

You fell into a slumber deep enough to not hear the hesitant-turned-frantic knocking to your room.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

9. Let Epel hear the advice of unreliable gurus of love.

They are really unreliable, look messy, and they judge you. The worst kind of people to go for (love?) advice, but Epel assures himself that he needs honesty, not a pat on his back or a shoulder to cry on. He also is out of other options.

Moreover, he would like to cry nowhere near Ace, who would obviously mock him. Even now it’s hard to have a heart-to-heart conversation when he and Deuce chomp on some type of dessert and some awfully happy music from videogame plays in the back of the room. “So? What did you do?”

“Ace,” Deuce is kind enough to elbow Ace in the stomach when Epel’s stoic expression falters.

His shoulders drop. “No, he… He is kinda right.”

Ace throws a winning smile but moves too far away from Deuce to have him punch him for the cheekiness. “’ Kinda’?”

“…Totally right,” Epel finally admits. “[Name] has been avoiding me and I have no idea what should I do,” He throws his arms on the table, and almost hides his face in the palms of his hands. Instead, he moves away the strands of his unruly hair. “Ugh. Why I am even asking you guys to help me? You’re even worse at this kind of thing.”

“Speak for yourself. And Deuce,” Ace cuts him off. And before Deuce can do anything else than glare at him, Ace shifts closer to Epel and throws an arm over his shoulder so he has to hunch. “Epel, question: what is “this kind of thing”. You mean… as in friendships or dating?”

Deuce looks shocked, even so more than Epel. “Dating?!”

“Why are you even so shocked?” Ace asks him, furrowing his eyebrows. When Deuce starts to ponder over his words, he rolls his eyes. “[Name] probably have had a crush on this imbecile”— he points his fork at Epel—” for damn years now, if I had to guess”.

“Years?!”

“Thank you for the dramatic echo effect again, Deuce,” Ace snarls and finally focuses on Epel. Too distracted with a bickering between his friends, his spirits lift up a little. “And you, Epel. Pull yourself together. Do you want to sever the relationship? Do nothing. Do you want to be friends? Apologize to [Name] and try to patch the bond. Do you want to be in a relationship? …Welp, figure out that for yourself.”

…

“Amazing advice, Ace,” Deuce claps his hands theatrically.

He sticks out his tongue and winks. “You could never give a better one.”

Epel gets up from his seat.

“Thanks, you two. I… will do something.”

“Good luck,” Ace waves at him as Epel makes his way over to the door. “If it works out, you owe us a free drink. Especially me.”

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

10. Have Epel fight for your love!!

It’s hard to find someone when the person knows your schedule and actively tries to avoid you. Choosing more roundabout corridors and sacrificing your wallet to have most of your meals in Monstro Longue instead of the cafeteria are only some of the things you did to avoid encountering Epel.

But he didn’t give up, and maybe his tenacity is what makes you oblige Epel once he finds you.

You don’t question him when he grabs your hand and asks you to skip the last lesson with him that feels almost unimportant as his intertwined fingers warm yours. You don’t comment on how his grip is stronger than usual and how he doesn’t let it go when your hands begin to sweat.

But as you leave the main building of NRC, the curiosity gets the better of you.

“Where are we heading to?”

Epel looks over his shoulder to blink at you. “I…,” he stammers, as confused enough to leave you wondering what is your final destination. Or what was your final destination, Epel seems to have forgotten whatever plan he had in mind. “I guess it can be here.”

He ushers you into one of the side alleys, a bit distanced from the main street and sits you down on a bench. You eye him curiously as he slowly lifts his hands to your face—and that is the first time he let go of your hand—and cupped your cheeks.

“Let me be clear. I- really like you,” he said loudly, gazing into your eyes. “And I know I… overreacted earlier. I’m sorry. I don’t want you to avoid me.”

You breathe out slowly. The heat from the “I really like you” moment prickles and makes your face hotter. It doesn’t help that Epel doesn’t shift his gaze from you nor that he has his hands firmly on your cheekbones as he awaits your answer.

“I’m… sorry. I shouldn’t have been getting between you and your friends.”

Epel eyes you, bewildered. “Why are you focusing on that part?”

“Huh?”

“Ah. Maybe… I will phrase it differently,” He hesitates and his tone wavers, but he says the words without a stutter, as if he’s been practising them in front of the mirror, effectively. “I love you.”

“And I- I want to be friends even if you don’t feel the same.” He rushes with an explanation when you don’t answer as your mind goes blank. “Because. I don’t want you to… avoid me anymore. A-actually, you don’t have to rush with your answer. Just, decide, someday, in the near future, haha? I will wait.”

He glances at you and you know he won’t be able to bear long without hearing your answer. As he rushes past you, you think you heard a hushed whisper.

“Dear Sevens, I said it…!”

#twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #twst #twisted wonderland imagines #twst imagines #epel felmier x reader #epel felmier #epel twst #epel twisted wonderland #epel x reader

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stories-and-chaos · 2 months

Text

Shrike: Body Count

[Hazbin Hotel reader insert as Alastor’s “darling life and death partner” Ace x ace relationship, both parties are moderately sex favorable. I’ve been seeing some stories about Alastor not having understanding the slang for ‘body count,’ so here’s my take.]

[Word count: 1426 Cw: language]

—————

“Really Angel? That’s your bonding activity for the day?” Vaggie’s single eye glared at the lanky spider.

“Whaaaaaat? Charlie wants us to share intimate secrets!” Angel Dust’s voice was full of seductive mischief. “Body count is a very intimate secret. Tells you a lot about someone.”

“Angie’s right!” A cheerful voice called from across the parlor. Cherri Bomb, the hotel’s newest sort-of-resident, didn’t seem much interested in redemption for herself. She did however have a genuine desire to help Angel and to defend what Sir Pentious gave his life for. The busty cyclops was teaming up with Vaggie as part of the Hazbin Hotel’s basic security.

She also had a mischievous streak wider than her friend’s. “I’ll start, give ya a hand Angie.” Angel snorted a laugh saying, “I’ve already got six toots!” She threw an ice cube from her drink at him. “One thousand eight hundred and twenty…” she paused to count on her fingers, “six. Most o’ that’s from Hell. I got to thirty-one before I died.” She leaned back on her couch, looking very satisfied.

Charlie, Vaggie, and Lucifer could only stare for a moment. “Whoo, nice going Cherri! I knew you wouldn’t disappoint,” Angel crowed. “Lesse here, before I died it was six. After that…” he did some quick math on his phone, “about 90,000? I’m sure we can review my body…of work to confirm.” He grinned lavisciously.

Charlie waved her hands rapidly. “Nope! No no no no no thank you Angel, you’ve shown us plenty that of that during ‘show and tell’ day.” Lucifer looked vaguely disappointed at missing out so Angel resolved to sneak a copy of his favorite performances to the king of Hell.

Charlie continued, forgetting her dad was in the room. “Mine is six,” she said with a shy air, her pale complexion turning bright red.

“WHAT?” Lucifer spat out his tea.

“Oh shit! Dad!” Charlie was flustered but did her best to compose herself. “I mean, I’m over 200 years old now, I’ve been living on my own for decades!” She took her girlfriend’s hand and squeezed it. “Besides, Vaggie is the only one that matters now.” The long haired angel gave her a watery look.

“Well…I guess you’re right sweetheart. So long as they all treated by little girl right?” Lucifer asked with an edge to his voice. At Charlie’s nod he said “Good.” He took a sip of tea before providing his number. “Seventeen.”

“Dad?! I thought…you and Mom…what?!”

Lucifer shrugged. “I don’t kiss and tell Charlie. But your mother knows about all of them. She was even there for some.” He grinned wickedly, looking completely like the king of Hell for once.

Charlie buried her face in her hands while Vaggie rubbed her back in sympathy. “Not too shabby short king. Okay Vags, you’re up!” Vaggie glared at him and flipped him off. “Just our fearless leader?” Angel teased. She huffed, glanced back and forth, and held up her index finger as she blushed. “Thank you for your honesty, Vagina. Huskiekins, how about you?” Angel turned around on the couch to face the bar as Vaggie bristled.

Husk sighed as he continued polishing glasses. “Three when I was alive. Nine since I died.” He was fully prepared for Angel to say something like “Wanna make it ten?” but he just received four thumbs up from the somewhat reformed demon.

“Apologies for our lateness,” your voice called from the elevator. “Alastor had to rewrap my wing this morning.” You and your husband walked arm in arm to the group, with Alastor making sure you were comfortable before taking his own seat. Once he was ensconced in the wingback chair, long legs crossed politely, Lucifer popped up to inspect your wing.

“Hm, not bad.” He had you stretched it gently and gave Alastor an approving nod. “Good work deer boy.”

“Oh ho, of course my good fellow!” The lack of static filter on his voice was the most display of annoyance he would give at the moment. He hated the idea of any man touching you, much less Lucifer Morningstar. But he knew he didn’t know how to help your wing injuries without the fallen angel’s help. “I am a quick study after all! Can’t let my darling rely on someone that might not be around, hm?” His smile widened as Lucifer’s growl showed his comment hit home. “So! What are we discussing today, chums?”

“Ooooh, this is gonna be good,” Cherri giggled as Angel replied. “Body count, Smiles. Before and after death for the Sinners in the group. So, what about you and the missus?”

“An odd topic, but alright. You’ve kept a better count than me, cher. If we count the one right before our death mine is seventy-four?” Jaws dropped at your statement.

“That sounds correct. I had eighteen before we met, and a few solo after our initial encounter. That makes ninety-seven for myself,” he said, looking up to calculate mentally. “I believe after my arrival here, my count is five thousand thirty-one. Give or take a dozen.”

You nodded as Cherri breathed “hooooly shiiiiiit,” with an impressed look. “Mine is still more modest, four thousand six hundred and two. Again, give or take a dozen. Of course, about half of those we did together.”

Alastor hummed in satisfaction. “Oh ho, yes that’s true. Would that increase or decrease our original counts? Or should we have a separate list for couples?”

“Fuck me, I didn’t think they were capable of that,” Cherri said in awe. Lucifer blinked one eye, then the other as his brain tried to catch up. Charlie had her hands over her ears and Vaggie was rubbing her temples. On the other hand, Angel and Husk were sharing a confused look.

“Doll face, Smiles, what kind of body count are ya talking about?” He remembered the discussion about your sexual preferences and the numbers didn’t add up. The simultaneous head tilts from you both confirmed his suspicions.

“Is there more than one kind of body count?” Alastor followed up your question with his own, “How can there be more than one kind of body count?”

“We’re talkin bout how many people we’ve slept with.” Angel paused, remembering your difficulty understanding innuendos. “I mean how many we’ve fucked. Boned. Had sex with.” At his clarification you looked somewhat less confused.

“Why would that be called a body count?” you wondered as Alastor looked surprised at Angel’s explanation. “I’m impressed Angel, I didn’t expect you to explain anything.” Audio of an audience applauding resounded in the room.

The spider shrugged. “I promised your gal I’d explain innuendos if she’d tell me what you two do when ya fuck. Ain’t gonna go back on my word, ‘specially with this cutie.” He winked and stuck his tongue out at the two of you.

“Okay, what's your sexy body count then?” Cherri, disappointed that the thousands you mentioned weren’t people you slept with, was even more curious now.

“One,” you and Alastor said in unison.

Cherri spluttered a bit at the difference between the two kinds of counts while Angel nodded sagely. “Yeah, that tracks, considering you’re both ace as spades and the weird shit you’ve done.”

Lucifer, unsurprised at the amount of death and destruction Overlords were capable of, did look intrigued by that. “What do you mean, ‘weird shit they’ve done?’” Vaggie clapped her hands over her ears as Charlie buried her face into the other girl’s hair in embarrassment. Cherri Bomb nodded encouragement to you.

“NO!” Husk and Angel yelled out together. Angel looked straight up panicked as Husk dashed over to block Alastor and you from view with his wings. “Trust me Luci, you don’t wanna know,” Angel stressed, grabbing the short man by the shoulders. “It broke my brain. Mine. The porn star. Don’t ask ‘em.”

“Is the fact that we’ve [redacted] really that upsetting?” Alastor asked from behind Husk’s feathers. “I think it’s more that we’ve done things like [oh no, not this again], cher,” came your cheerful reply.

Husk pressed his wings back, covering both your mouths. “Boss, Y/N, please stop.” Niffty choose that moment to scramble up Alastor’s shoulder and peek over Husk’s wing. “They’ve done [bleepitybleep] too!”

All heads whipped in her direction. The tiny maid looked proud of herself as she added, “My body count is five! Just one from life. That one counts for my murder count too!”

“Okay, new topic!” Charlie stood up abruptly, her face as red as her tuxedo jacket. “Umm, uhhhh, let’s talk about favorite foods!”

—————

Taglist: @whitewolfsoldat @edgyboi10000 @ch3sire-blu3 @clearly-awkward @badatpunz @bengewatch @chewbrry

#hazbin hotel #hazbin fanfic #alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin alastor #asexual #asexual alastor #asexual reader #hazbin angel dust #hazbin husk #hazbin charlie #hazbin lucifer #hazbin niffty #hazbin vaggie #hazbin cherri bomb

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phantoms-lair · 1 month

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"Okay, I can see why your astrology loving self likes it here," Tim elbowed Danny.

"It's astronomy and you know it." Danny said, fake offended.

"Yeah, I will admit I'm surprised by how good the internet is here. I wasn't expecting that out of rural Kansas."

"Well, think of who they have to keep in contact with, and how far away." Danny pointed out. "Honestly, pretty sure Bruce is responsible."

"Wouldn't be surprised."

"Hey Danny!" Elle hovered over the two of them. "Let's go flying!"

"We've got a guest you know." Danny gestured at Tim with his thumb. "Be kind of a jerk move to fly off without him."

"Can't he fly?" Elle asked. "His hero name is Robin, right?"

Elle looked like she was ten, but Tim had to remind himself she was less than half a year old and often surrounded by metahumans. "No flight. All my powers are up here." he said, tapping the side of his head.

"You're psychic?" she asked.

Danny laughed and Tim rolled his eyes. "No powers, just smart." he clarified. Then he looked back at the stars. "It would be interesting to see what it would be like to have powers, but like most of the family, I'm a normal human."

"No one who can lie to Batman with a straight face is normal." Danny pointed out.

"If he wants to know what it's like to have powers, why don't you show him?" Elle asked.

"It's rude." Danny said, sticking his tongue.

"Not with consent."

"Not with permission." Danny pleaded. "You are too young for me to want to hear you use the phrase 'consent'."

"Missing something." Tim pointed out.

"Overshadowing. If I take control of you I can channel my powers through your body. But like I said, it's kind of rude."

Tim wasn't sure 'rude' was the word for stealing someone's bodily autonomy. But Elle did have a point of her own. There was a world of difference between doing something with or without consent. "Okay, how would that work?"

"How would what work?" Danny asked.

"The overshadowing thing."

"Oh, it's er," Danny was fiddling with his fingers, suddenly nervous. "It's kinda creepy."

Tim gave him a flat look. They'd covered Danny referring to himself as 'creepy' enough in Gotham that he wasn't amused.

"It's basically possession. I would seize control of your body and channel my powers through it. Normally the person getting possessed is sort of put to sleep and only has vague impressions of the time they were controlled. But a person with strong enough willpower can resist and be aware." Unsaid was that pretty much everyone in Tim's family would be able to hold onto their awareness.

"Could you cede control once you had it though? Possess someone but not control them?"

"I honestly don't know. I've never tried it." Danny admitted.

"Then lets try it," Tim suggested.

Danny looked at him like he was crazy. "Why?"

"Two reason. The first is it will see how well I do if a ghost tries controlling me. The second," he shrugged, "I'm not a metahuman and will probably never be one. And I'm okay with that, but it's been interesting to see what it feels like to be one, you know?"

Danny pursed his lips and Tim wondered if he was crossing a line. Being a metahuman hadn't exactly been a fun experience for Danny, after all.

"Okay." Danny said reluctantly. "But you don't get to blame me if you don't like it."

Or he could just still have issues with the thought of people rejecting him for his powers. "Fair. We've got Elle as our witness that this was my idea. I could talk to the Kents beforehand too-"

"Not necessary!" Danny shuddered.

Tim felt his heart droop. Deep down Danny still didn't trust they'd keep caring for him. He hated what the Fentons had done to Danny's self esteem. "You don't have to if you don't want to." Tim softly reminded him. "I don't want you to be uncomfortable either. But I trust you, you know?"

Danny swallowed heavily. "Okay. If you're sure."

It felt cold, at first, like a chill up his spine. Then Tim felt his mouth move and vocal chords activate independently of of him. "Okay, so this is overshadowing." His own voice said. "So I guess, try to do something and I'll try not to stop it?"

"Do you have to talk out loud?" Tim asked. "It's going to look like I'm talking to myself."

"I guess that works. And yes, no psychic connection for this. Sorry."

"Weird," Elle observed. "I've seen some recordings of overshadowing and usually the person has the eyes glowing the ghosts color when control, but the glow fades when they resist control. But the eye glow didn't go away when Tim spoke."

"He's not resisting me, I'm letting him have control, it's different." Danny insisted.

"Maybe I should start resisting you. Just to see if I can." Tim suggested.

Elle giggled. It really did look funny with him talking to himself.

"Okay," Danny raised Tim's arm and clenched his fist. "You try to open your hand and I'll try to keep it shut."

Tim had to admit just feeling his arm move like that was mildly panic inducing. He'd managed not to be carded by Hatter but imagined this was what it felt like. He struggled to move his hand only to have it firmly stay in place. He struggled more, eventually sending his arm into erratic fits, punching himself in the face. "Owww" he moaned as

Elle doubled over in laughter.

"Healing factor should take care of it in a few minutes. Unless you want to stop now." Danny rubbed their injured nose.

"No, I mean, I think I want muscle control back, we can work on resisting stuff more later. But I want to see what having powers feels like!"

"Which one do you want to-"

"Flying!" Elle interrupted gleefully.

"I think you might have an ulterior motive." Danny said dryly. "You up for flying, Tim?"

"Yes please," Tim answered, trying to hide how excited he was to try.

He's seen others fly, several times, but it wasn't something he's ever thought he could do except on a hang glider or something.

"We're going for invisibility first." Danny warned. "Since we don't want to be seen."

If getting possessed had been a shiver up his spine, becoming invisible was like being dunked in cool water. Not frigid, but a definite chill ran across his skin as it vanished from sight. Then Tim felt gravity lose it's hold on him. Without any form of propulsion he lifted up about a foot in the air.

"We're going to start low and slow." Danny assured him. "So if anything goes wrong you aren't going to fall too far." Gently he leaned forward and glided effortlessly through the air.

"Do you think I could do this myself?" Tim asked.

"No clue, let's try!" Danny seemed to be warming up to the idea of testing with Tim's lack of a bad reaction to being overshadowed.

The floated in place and Tim tried to move their shared body. But while he could mover his limbs with ease, Danny's power couldn't be interacted with. "Doesn't look like it, sorry."

Elle looped back around. "This is low and slow is kiddy stuff." She groaned.

Danny gave her a mild glare. "You are three months old. You have no right to complain of kiddy stuff."

"If anything I can more." Elle countered. "Come on, can we at least do tag or something?" Tim shrugged. "Sure, tag sounds good."

"Does she normally smoke you this bad at tag?"

"No." Danny grumped.

Tim sighed. "Sorry. Having to plan out our strategies is letting her hear us. If you took full control-" "Then you wouldn't be in the game, I'd just be using you as a meat suit for no reason." Danny pointed out.

Tim thought for a moment. "Danny, can you put your shield in a bubble around us, so Elle can't hear us planning?"

"Sure, but it's going to be obvious."

"That's fine, we're just planning the planning." Tim assured. Danny raised the shield "We're planning to plan? Seems redundant."

"We're planning the things that will let us plan in plain sigh without your sister knowing." Tim corrected. "So our main issue here is we've got two minds that need to collaborate. Even if we split the division of labor of you powers me body, we each need to use both. You can take control of my body if an opportunity needs it, but I can't take control of your powers, so that what we need more communication for."

"Elle hasn't developed much beyond the standard, so we can keep to those. So, intangibility," Tim tapped the ring finger of his left hand twice. "If I make that motion, it means I'm asking you to use intangibility, if you do it it's warning me you're using it and I don't have to flinch away. Blinking twice will work the same for invisibility and..." Tim thought a moment more. "Tongue for flying." "Okay, I get eyes for invisibility and hands for intangibility, why tongue for flying?" Danny asked.

"Because it can't be seen. So tongue on the roof of my mouth acts as the taps or blinking, but can also be used to indicate direction in three dimensions." Tim demonstrated by holding his tongue to the roof of his mouth, then pressing it to the left side of his cheek."

Any more discussion was interrupted by Elle knocking on the shield. Danny dropped it to reveal his younger sister looking annoyed. "Are we playing or what?" Dany smirk and cracked their shared knuckles. "Round two begins now."

Alfred stood on the porch with the Kents while Martha rang the bell to call the children in. It had been a lovely visit catching up with them while Tim spent some time with Danny and Elle. It warmed his heart that despite moving to Smallville and possibly adding Kent to his name instead of Wayne, Danny and Tim were still very much brothers.

(One of the contingencies, if the Kents hadn't felt able to take in the boy, was for him to be officially adopted by Tim as a Drake, allowing him to still be a part of the family without feeling an unwanted connection to Master Bruce. But that plan was scrapped when Danny became publicly known during the Seige of Gotham. It was for the best, Danny truly needed more adults he trusted.)

It wasn't unexpected to see the children approach from the air. What was unexpected was there was only two of them and Master Tim seemed to be flying of his own volition. A raised eyebrow was all it took to remind the children that this wasn't an ordinary situation either.

Tim felt his shoulders hunch and his cheek flush as Danny's self-consciousness expressed itself in his body. Danny separated from him and opened his mouth, probably to apologize, but Tim wasn't going to let him. "I wanted to know what it was like to fly." he said, cutting off any apologies for his existence his brother might make.

"Indeed." Alfred said simply. "And how did that work out?"

"Quite well. I can better coordinate flying members of the team now, as well as Danny and I worked out a simple non-verbal code in order to plan around Elle while she could hear everything we said to each other. It was a productive endeavor."

"More importantly, Master Tim." Alfred's eyes crinkled into a smile. "Did you have fun?"

Tim felt himself becoming bashful now, ducking his head. "Yeah." He answered. "I did."

Good. Just as Danny needed the occasional reminder they were cared for, Tim needed the reminder that he was more than his use.

"That's something." Pa rubbed his chin. "Don't suppose you'd be willing too take me up there too. "I'd love to be able to go flying with Clark."

Danny's face turned red, and he half hid behind Tim's shoulder.

"It's okay if you're not comfortable with us for that yet." Ma said kindly. "We know you haven't know us as long as Tim."

"S'Okay." Danny muttered.

"You can take Pa and I'll take Ma. We can all go flying!" Elle cheered.

"When your brother's ready," Ma gently admonished.

"With that we must be off." Alfred apologized. "While I treasure these times, it's not fair to Miss Gordon to have to run herd on our family all evening without backup."

"Give Bruce our best." Ma patted Tim on the head while Pa and Alfred shook hands.

"I will. See you soon Danny."

"Yeah." Danny smiled at his brother. "See you soon."

It would be sooner than either of the two thought

#Ghost Writing #Taking Flight #DCxDP #Any guesses what they forgot to take into account?#That's going to lead to needing to share a body in the near future?

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louisupdates · 21 days

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By Marcelo Fernández Bitar [translated from Spanish]

In just over 24 hours, Louis Tomlinson passed through Buenos Aires and caused a commotion, with hundreds of fans crowding at the door of his hotel singing and shouting his name, and also occupying almost the entire block where there is a FM radio station where he went to give an interview.

The fanaticism generated with his solo career by the former singer of One Direction in Argentina is so great that in fact he will give a recital in the same stadium where he was in 2014 with the mega-boy band. It will be on May 18 in Vélez Sarsfield.

Louis Tomlinson already has two solo albums and is touring the world presenting the most recent, Faith in the Future. It came out in November 2022 and surprised with his most rocky sound, close to the Brit-pop of his beloved Oasis, and less pop. It was number one in England and three singles came out, Bigger Than Me, Out of My System and Silver Tongues.

Hurricane Louis

The visit was really fleeting with the purpose of promoting his show next month, the old-fashioned way, when the artists toured the countries to advertise albums or tours, something they currently do on Zoom or with posts on their official accounts.

Louis arrived on Friday night and spent Saturday fulfilling an intense schedule of activities, to leave early the next day.

First he went to the Vélez football field for a television interview which will be televised later by TN, and then he went to the radio station Los 40 Principales, where his fans filled the entire Gorriti street, between Ravignani and Arévalo, to witness an interview where eight listeners joined to ask him a question each.

He finally arrived at 4 p.m. at the Four Seasons hotel, where hundreds of other fans were screaming for him. There he gave a series of reports and chatted with Clarín in a room equipped as a small television set, with lights and a set with his name and the cover of the disc.

"Never, not for a second, did I think I would be going through some of the same experiences," he said, "that I was lucky enough to live in the band. I thought that was something unique. So being able to come here and feel the level of love and the incredible reaction on today's radio station, means a lot to me. When I imagined what my solo career would be like, I really didn't know what to expect.

Re-filling stadiums

At 32-years-old, Louis Tomlinson has the experience of having been part of one of the greatest pop phenomena of the last 20 years, with sales records and sold-out shows in stadiums around the world. And now he is repeating the fury alone, just as it happened just a little earlier with his ex-bandmate Harry Styles.

In Louis’ case, he first sold out the closed Movistar Arena stadium in 2022 and now he goes through a huge soccer field like Vélez.

Q: Did you think that being a soloist you had to start from below and sing in smaller places?

Louis: Yes, exactly. But it turns out that I can still play in big places, so it's great.

Q: Can we really talk about a mania of a "louistomlinson-mania"? Does it happen everywhere or is it special in Latin America?

Louis: I think that in terms of the level of similar intensity, and seeing what happened a moment ago on the radio station, that certainly doesn't happen to me everywhere. Let me put it this way: it's incredible to be so far from home and feel that level of love. I'm very excited to think about what the show will be like here.

Q: It's incredible that almost exactly ten years have passed since the last time you filled Vélez. How do you feel when you return to the same stadium?

Louis: I feel very lucky to be able to play in those places again on my own. I also feel very, very proud of myself and my fans. I feel like we have created something that is quite special and we did it together. With them as listeners, but also as facilitators. That really helped my confidence and made me feel good on stage. It's a lovely relationship and I'm very proud of it.

Q: This tour started almost a year ago, how did it evolve with respect to the first shows?

Louis: I definitely feel in a good place right now with the show. Anyway, in advance I was excited about this tour because this album was designed for the live show. So I was excited to see how the songs would work. And the energy is great. I am very excited to show Faith in the Future to Latin America.

Q: How did the idea of making a live cover of Arctic Monkeys come about?

Louis: Arctic Monkeys grew up about 20 minutes from where I live. It was something very close, very fresh in the mind and obviously huge. I was growing up and I'm also a big fan. I usually do the song 505 because it's very pretty.

Often, with the versions, I probably think more about what I would like to sing than about what I imagine that everyone else would like to hear, which may be misjudged, but I'm enjoying it.

Q: When you were a teenager you sang Oasis songs and now you have a rock band that sounds very Brit-pop, almost closing a circle.

Louis: Thank you. I am very, very fortunate to have the band I have, but they also perform sonically and visually, everything that is really important to me. They sound absolutely incredible. I don't think I would be able to do this without my band.

Q: Live you also perform songs from One Direction. Did you feel that kind of shadow at the beginning of your solo career and now you are more comfortable looking back?

Louis: I think a bit about both things. I think that at the beginning of my career I would have been a little more worried about putting too many One Direction songs in the repertoire. What I wanted most was to spread my wings and show who I was. But I think that as time went by, the nostalgic moments are really charming. So it's like a beautiful mixture of nostalgia and it's very nice to do it.

Ping-pong

Q: This is the third time you have visited our country. If you had to describe your Argentine fans in three words, which one would you choose?

Louis: Passionate. Loyal. Affectionate. That’s okay, isn't it?

Q: The soccer player Kun Agüero said that there is a lot of talk to you through Instagram or Twitter. Have you ever met him in person?

Louis: Actually, we have never seen each other in person. Over the years we've talked a little here and there, but I never found time. I have a kind of crazy hope that he can come to the show.

Q: If you had to choose one of your songs, either from Walls or Faith in the Future, that reflects how you feel right now in your life, what would it be?

Louis: I would say that the name of the album (Faith in the future) represents where I am right now, but I think that in the future I would like to always be optimistic.

Q: And if all the One Direction discography was deleted and a song had to be saved. Which one would you save?

Louis: It's interesting... I would probably say Story Of My Life. That seemed like a real milestone. I would say it's a little more serious. And I also think it's a bit of a crazy song.

Q: You are a big soccer fan, do you have any preference for an Argentine club?

Louis: I'm very afraid to say something wrong... I'd better say that I love you all. (laughs)

Photos

Links

#louis press #louis tomlinson #fitfwt24: buenos aires #6.4.2024 #clarin

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athenswrites · 8 months

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Welcome Back to the Collection of Athens Writes

Hi! I'm Athens/Andy (they/them). I am a somewhat old yet somewhat new face on writeblr. I'm currently a second year student at a university in the deep south, studying history and anthropology in order to become a museum curator. Most of my free time is spent writing, which is the driving force behind this blog. Writing has become the love of my life over the past ten years.

AthensWrites has had two prior iterations. All I posted here in the previous iteration was privated, including Not Your Typical Fairytale. Don't fear, NYTF will make a glorious return ;)

With all that said, welcome back to the odd writings of Athens, and I hope you enjoy your stay. Below the cut, I've detailed some of my current projects, which range from Sci-Fi (my favorite) to thrillers to fantasy to realistic fiction. I've highlighted key content warnings and tags for each, just to keep you aware. If you'd like to hop on a tag list for any of these stories, please let me know! Some of them I post more frequently than others. I am also very tag list and tag game friendly so PLEASE tag me in stuff. If you need other people to tag in a writeblr tag game, look no further than this post!

The collection is constantly updating and evolving, so stay tuned!

Not Your Typical Fairytale (#nytf)

Although originally planned as a standalone novel, NYTF has now expanded into three separate books: Knight of Dawn, Queen of Noon, and King of Dusk. There's an additional collection of short stories/untold stories planned as well, tentatively titled Pawn of Midnight.

Content warning: gore, death, violence, graphic scientific experimentation, derealization, paranoia, drug use and abuse, alcohol use, child abuse (physical, verbal), relationship abuse (verbal, manipulation), sex (consensual) Related tags: nytf, Piers Hall, Grady Yensey, Rene Dubois, ATLZoS

Knight of Dawn

Piers Hall is the newly crowned monarch of the post-apocalyptic State of Georgia, after their mother, Queen Adele, was declared unfit to rule. Despite meaning well, they find themself unprepared for the role, especially as political rivals, like North Carolina’s President René Dubois and Councilmember Shanna Miles, close in on their tail, seemingly threatening to topple their rule. When various palace staff start to show where their real loyalties, it seems like Grady Yensey, Commander of the Royal Guard and their closest friend, is the only one they can trust. Piers and Grady must scramble to uncover the truth behind Queen Adele’s questionable associates, Piers’ missing past, and President Dubois’ shady activities

International Alliance of Superhumans (#iash)

Superhumans have existed as long as we have, normal people who suddenly develop seemingly magical powers overnight. That’s why the International Alliance of Superhumans was founded in 1945, to help control these superhumans to better humanity. Now, the Alliance's ideals and control is falling apart, as the Underground and the Union threaten its weakening rule over the superhuman community. Fireball is the golden hero of the Alliance , the face of the organization, the beloved apprentice of the Chief Administrator after the death of the one and only GoldenSon. He’s brave, courageous, kind, and always up to take a photo with the kiddos, accompanied by his partner, NightSong. He’s taken down villains from Quantum Rift (the killer of GoldenSon) to Árbol Terror, and now has his eyes set on taking down Hueso Blanco and Morpheus Nox before they can tear a hole in reality. Brigid Roberts is the face behind the mask of Fireball. They’re the only child of the now-deceased Nikki Roberts and find have found themself seeking revenge for Nikki’s death…while also trying to manage this superhero business and their senior year of high school. It doesn’t help that the administration of Wesmoreland keeps threatening to expel them for their aggressive behavior. Hueso Blanco is the epitome of an ex-Alliance villain, a well beloved hero fallen from grace, after Árbol Terror and Quantum Rift convinced him to join the Underground. Now with both of his former allies dead, he leads the Underground, and with the help of Morpheus Nox (an up and coming villain with a terrifying similarity to Quantum Rift) he plans to tear a hole in our reality, ripping out world apart. Martin Garcia-Flores is the sole caretaker of his younger brother, Elias, and would do anything to protect him. After the Alliance's violent threats, he left, in order to protect what was left. He lost friends and family and his love to the Alliance's corrupted side, and now works tirelessly to bring it to his knees…while also trying to work three separate jobs to keep himself and Elias afloat. When fate brings Brigid and Martin face to face, maskless and vulnerable, the two come to understand they may not be as different as they’d both previously thought. Content Warning: violence, gore, death, family abuse (physical, verbal), alcohol (use) Related Tags: IASH, superhumans, Brigid Roberts, Martin GF, Hueso Blanco, Fireball

Space Clue/The Murder of Fredrik Lexand (#tmfl)

In 2183, humans abandoned earth as her ecosystems collapsed and became uninhabitable. Now, the remnants of humanity live in the Lexand Starfleet, a group of 16 name-brand ships, sailing towards deep space. In control of it all is Fredrik Lexand, the 17th great grandson of the original founder of Lexand StarFleet. From his living pod at the head of StarSeeker Alpha, he controls everything and anything that happens to humanity, from their food to their spouses to where the remnants of humanity will travel to. The weight of the world on one man’s shoulders (who are we kidding, of course he has lackeys who do all the menial work), worshipped as a god. Until the morning he is found brutally dismembered, mangled parts of his body strewn all over his office. Humanity freezes, watching intently, as the Lexand Pod is locked down by Detective Scoud Tambry, swearing to uncover the killer, and avenge the Corporate god-king. Content Warning: Violence, gore Related Tags: tmfl, space clue, Triple A Siblings, Scoud Tambry

Something Queer is Afoot (#SQIA)

Something Queer is Afoot is a massive collection of stories, all centering around queer life and romance. The Queer Crew is the group which most of them are centered around. This collection is MASSIVE and has about 10 different novella-length stories within. The content warnings listed below covers ALL of SQIA. Content Warnings: su*cide, death, homophobia, transphobia, abuse (physical, verbal, and sexual), drug use and abuse, religious trauma, sex (consensual and noncon/r*pe) Related Tags: SQIA, tqc, nlth, frf, sunandgun, boc

Still to be added: All of SQIA's individual projects, Cryto Conspiracy, The Great Fantasy American Road Trip, World of Ateine, Neon Squad

MORE TO BE ADDED SOON, SO STAY TUNED!

Athens' Current Objectives....

Blog Tag Directory:

#athenswrites: Personal writing

#athens answers: ask games

#other writeblrs: exactly what it sounds like, other writers I've reblogged

#writers I love: reblogs of close friends or writing that just hits me different

#rblg: general reblog tag

I'm pretty good at tagging extensively, so if you need to find something or are looking for a specific wip in my blog, there's a high probability I've tagged it like crazy

#writeblr #writing #writeblr intro #writeblr community #boost #new writeblr boost #nytf #scifi #fantasy #iash #superheroes #creative writing #writerscommunity #writer #lgbtq

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thedisablednaturalist · 7 months

Text

Office disability culture is so fucked in environmental science and fieldwork. Like the mindset that to do the job you have to be in perfect physical health or you should just quit. Like I'm not talking about something that is 100% physical labor here, everything is mostly achievable with aids and you don't need to be able to do every single thing. But there's this weird like..pride..that my older coworkers have. They work out in the gym and brag about how many reps they did. They tease each other for having medical issues. They don't ask for accommodations because they fear that their legitimacy will be hurt. That it means that they can't do their job anymore. That they won't be TRUSTED to do their jobs anymore. That it will get taken away.

So they FURTHER hurt their bodies by not resting, not taking breaks, not using ergonomic equipment, not using safety equipment. Not drinking enough water. Not using mobility aids when they are so old that it's supposed to be acceptable. They don't use the scooters at the grocery store, they don't use their handicapped placard, they don't use knee pads or compression gloves.

And here I come in, 24 years old, looking perfectly healthy. And I use walking sticks, I sit down a lot, I have my care bag, I have a ton of gadgets for making fieldwork more comfortable, I have boundaries and limits, I wear braces and knee pads and compression gloves. I use my handicapped placard.

They react in one of two ways:

1. How DARE I. I'm so lucky to be young and no one sees THEM having to do all those things (literally nothing is stopping them but pride). Like old man if you need a break take a fucking break. I'm not going to hurt my health to make you feel better about hurting yours. I'm not risking a flare up to spare the 65 year olds feelings. Im gonna take my break and use my equipment cause my boss doesn't care as long as the work gets done. I'm tired of glares from 100 year olds making themselves struggle across the parking lot when they could also be using the fucking scooter. (I never take the last scooter, there's always another available. Also it's not my fault if walmart only provides 2 scooters for the whole store).

2. It shows them its okay. Its okay to need aids. When I first showed up at my job it was very...macho..everyone was afraid of seeming old (theres probably only 3 of us under 30 in the whole department, most people are at least 50, mainly 65 year olds). Then they saw me using my walking sticks, taking my medicine openly, bringing a chair with me when working away from my desk, using my TENS unit. I overheard one lady ask her granddaughter what fibromyalgia was (apparently she had spotted my pain tracking journal).

My older coworker with a bad knee got a walking stick like mine and beamed when she showed me. The grandmother uses a cane and a walker interchangeably and more often. I get asked where I get my little portable fan and pocket heaters and special clothing. Even abled coworkers are doing it. My coworker who's younger than me sets alarms to take breaks now just like I do. People seem more comfortable using things that help them now.

My boss has really struggled. He has a lot of internalized ableism and hates thinking of himself as crippled. He spent his whole life physically active and strong and all these health issues and overexertion are catching up with him. Like he did environmental testing in areas with fucking radon. He did work where they threw asbestos around like snow for fun. He's done a ton of really hard physical work. He grew up with the mentality that pain was just something everyone has to push through. But I think seeing a young person make the choice not to push through is helping him a bit. He wants to make his own walking stick, he goes to the doctor more. We bond over having constant medical issues and I even gave him the name of my surgeon. Yea he still says stuff like "shoot me if I have to use a wheelchair" (not as much anymore since he now knows I use one) but he's getting there.

Yeah so I've had this in my drafts for a bit and I wanted to update that my boss has been walking around with a fucking broken ankle for the past couple of weeks. He thought it was just arthritis pain and eventually couldn't take it anymore and went to the foot doctor. The doctor has no clue how the fuck he's been walking on it. Now he has to wear the boot and he's banned from fieldwork while he heals.

Older people and the elderly need to learn that it's okay to not push through the pain and ask for help. Everyone needs to learn this, and not be like my fucking boss. Go to the doctor, get that sore joint checked out. Get those tests done. Use that aid. Stop walking on a broken ankle just because you can.

#chronic disability #chronic pain #spoonie #disability #from the field #wrenfea.exe #literally fucking flabbergasted #he walked in after leaving for a bit to go to his appointment and came back like so yeah my ankles been broken #BUDDY #everyone needs help sometimes you dont deserve to be in pain #like thats some catholic guilt shit im pretty sure #this man has had 4 major back surgeries so i guess a broken ankle is nothing compared to that #but still...jesus fucking christ #not sprained..BROKEN #and thats along with all the rest of the pain hes in #like i get being used to pain but if i stub my toe during a flare up I can't handle it because it pushes my pain level over the edge #so it actually makes me less tolerable since im already in pain #but im used to a higher pain level than abled people are #ok im done rambling for now im gonna go play Minecraft

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souryogurt64 · 1 month

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Something that really irks me about livestream culture is that everyone is sitting here criticizing concert attendee behavior from behind their screen while actively encouraging people to livestream the show which imo is extremely annoying concert behavior both for the people around them in the audience and the artist (regardless of who’s playing)

I get that it’s expensive and hard to get to shows now but the biggest proponents of this behavior are people who talk about seeing them on every tour so… idk maybe I’m just, like, old… but I’m truly not a fan :/

Yes, I 100% agree, it is so rude.

I feel like it’s now seen as rude to sing/scream/dance at all (within reason). Yet I feel like I see people on bandom absolutely crapping themselves in rage over “concert etiquette” that doesn’t affect anyone at all like people sitting down between sets or “looking bored” during the opener.

And I DON’T understand the livestream things. Like yes. I support people taking a handful of videos during the show and posting about the show is normal. And of course everybody is going to talk about the show every night.

But I DON’T understand how I have been seeing these bands live for literally 10 years, everyone has had smartphones all 10 years, and suddenly only now livestreams are a ginormous deal. I don’t understand how seemingly everyone has time to watch a 2.5 hour shitty phone video of a concert 5 nights a week and the site becomes actually unusable whenever there’s a MCR or FOB concert, which is every night. I don’t understand why people get so worked up and upset if they have to miss a stream because of work or because there isn’t a streamer. Who fucking cares. People will post videos after the show if something cool happens. I don’t understand why this is the world now. I think it has to be because so many people can’t go due to the insane prices.

I also think artists (including FOB) are actively encouraging streaming culture and these insanely high “demand prices” by constantly needing people to be scared of missing out so they’re always trying to do new things every show and like. Some of it is cool but with FOB lately I feel like they’re running out of ideas and people are paying way more for an actively worse than “normal” FOB concert because they’re scared of missing out on these gimmicks. Like I don’t need 20 people nobody cares about performing their solo music onstage at a FOB show plus also 20 covers by Fall Out boy. Just fucking have FOB play FOB songs. Also I feel like the “demand pricing” is part of why MCR continue to taunt an album for 5 years because everyone paying 5 trillion dollars for a MCR show is banking that they will be the first to hear a new song or whatever.

I also think most people in bandom (not anyone specific) are all lying about how much they paid for concerts because concerts are so expensive it’s completely socially unacceptable to admit you can afford it, and in order to be popular on Tumblr you have to cosplay being as oppressed as possible. Like I’m not going to judge someone for saving up for something nice or making a dumb financial choice but it’s deeper and more cultural than that. I feel like so much of bandom is suburban white american teens making and reblogging posts about how FAKE PUNKS on TIKTOK wear $20 lipstick, unlike REAL PUNKS WHO are POOR LIKE THEM, and they could NEVER AFFORD $20 DESIGNER LIPSTICK and we need to EAT THE RICH, then they see MCR or FOB barricade ten times in a row or whatever.

Like one pit ticket to Fall Out Boy costs almost my monthly rent. I have now paid this much for FOB tickets 3 times. I always have to buy a friend’s ticket because nobody has this kind of money to go to a concert so I pay like $1300 every fucking time. I also have a credit card (which, by the way, requires “excellent” credit to have) that allegedly gets me these tickets at a discount. Yet every single person online says they got lucky and got front row tickets for $40 or whatever. What is going on.

Like I am able to afford to see FOB when they tour because I grew up privileged, have a well-paying office job, have never traveled in my adult life, and do not own a car, partially to afford concerts. I’m also in the top .001% of Fall Out Boy listeners and top 1% of Spotify listeners overall, so like, of course I will pay this because I’m not the average fan. But not every single fucking person at these shows is also in the top .001%, so they just like. Can afford this crap for random bands they like.

Anyway, I don’t really think I get “unlucky” when buying FOB tickets, I think this is just what concerts cost now and everyone is lying about it so they can continue fitting in with like all the social justice posturing and because it’s rude to admit in public but people need to talk about it because it’s crazy and it’s not okay for Livenation to be doing this and its not okay for artists to be participating!!!!!!!!

I also feel so bad for teenagers because when I was a kid going to concerts at all ever was a huge battle with my parents and they cost like $40-100 a ticket for like. Pit tickets to bands like All Time Low and Green Day. I never, ever would’ve been able to experience a concert as a teen if they cost back then what concerts do now, and it’s just really sad because those are important experiences.

Anyway I think the fact that people can’t afford to go to concerts anymore HAS to be driving the weird livestream obsession and the emotional dependency people develop on these shitty obnoxious 2 hour phone videos. I also feel like the financial shift in who is going to concerts is driving a lot of the weird meltdowns about “concert etiquette.”

Also as a final tangent, I feel like the livestream stuff is so immediate and impermanent too. Like everyone needs everything right that second and once its over it doesn’t matter? When I was younger it felt like people just blogged about the Tour and Tour Stuff as one big event for months/years, but now if videos are posted hours or days later its like they aren’t relevant and no one cares because everyone is panicking over finding a streamer for the next show. IDK i hate it

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freyanistics · 11 months

Text

Fiery flames 🔥 (part 1)

Wally (human) x dragon!reader

Part two here

Thousands of years ago dragons ruled the skies. With their terrible fiery breaths and intelligence they were seen as the biggest threat to mankind. But as the years pass and the world changed dragons started to disappear one by one from the war between them and humans. Nowadays they are simply deemed a fantasy in storybooks. But you are still alive. Sure you might have to stick to your human form and adapt to modern life but the large scaly beast was still active inside of you, waiting to break free.

You lived in an apartment complex in the lesser side of the city, where crime was a bit more prominent, your typical robbers and car jackers. No one dared to bother you so you were never worried of waking up with your stuff stolen or getting mugged off the street. The reason you moved here was because it was much more interesting than surrounding yourself around pompous idiots in the white collar district. You also had made a couple of friends in the complex including a young mother with two young children that you babysit every Friday night and an widow who always told nice stories.

It took awhile to adjust to your new mundane life. You missed the times when you were a large liege seizing havoc upon knights and hoarding your prized possessions but that didn’t mean you couldn’t entertain yourself. At night you would fly through the dark skies over the city looking down at the light up buildings just like the old times.

This particular morning you woke up around six am getting up and ready for work at your new job. You was a camera person for this live set children’s show called ‘Welcome Home’. If you had to pick it reminded you a bit of Mister Rogers and Sesame Street. There were live actors that would dress up as these characters and do your typical lessons like being kind to one another and how to count to ten. You didn’t have no opinion on it since you wasn’t the targeted audience. After getting dress and shoving a toast in your mouth you rush out of the building to the train station taking the D train to the uptown area. While riding the train you looked down at your phone scrolling through your feed not paying anyone no mind, even when someone was singing loudly drunk.

After getting to the studio and clocking in you immediately got to work setting up the cameras. The other workers rushed around preparing to record a few episodes while the actors got ready. You’ve met all of them finding them kinda quirky but friendly folks, but your least favorite of them all was Wally. He was a weirdo to say the least. The ‘star’ of the show most would say and for good reason; he was funny, charming, and pretty outgoing to everyone who met him. A lot of the people around here and his fanbase found him attractive as well with his cocoa brown skin and dark blue dyed hair that was always put up in a pompodor. You however didn’t see the hype but then again humans didn’t really get you going, you only dated a handful in the past. On top of all of this he just had a weird vibe that you couldn’t exactly place, maybe because he had a bit of a staring problem that people overlooked.

After thirty minutes everything was put in place as you started to record. You sat there with the other camera people as the actors performed on the set. This particular episode featured Wally, Barnaby, and Howdy teaching kids about counting and adding. Wally was explaining how adding works while looking straight at your camera, but it felt like he was staring at you. There goes that weird feeling again but you quickly shook it off. Afterwards the break bell rings and you all stepped away to eat lunch. You pick up your subway sandwich sitting down between Poppy and Frank diving in hungrily, scarfing it down in less than ten minutes.

“Geez Y/N, you sure can eat!” Barnaby says teasingly from across the table. “That wasn’t even five minutes!”

“What can I say? I’m a growing person.” You respond patting your stomach causing the others to laugh.

“How about about an eating contest?” He challenge raising an eyebrow.

“You’re on big guy.” You smirk as Julie jumps up clapping her hands. “Me and Frank can be the judge!” Frank cuts his eyes over at the rest of you while holding up a book. “Why me? They’re going to just get themselves sick.” He shakes his head.

“Come on Frank, it’ll be fun.” Julie pleads as he sighs putting a bookmark in his book before closing it.

“Can I also judge?” A voice calls as all of you turn to the star of the show himself, Wally. While everyone lights up you couldn’t help a frown appearing. Great. Mister big shot was here.

“Sure Wally!” Julie was saying excitedly as she starts listing stuff they would need. You could feel his eyes boring into the side of your face as you tried not to look over at the blue haired man. Don’t make eye contact to give him any ideas. The bell rings signaling that lunch was over. As everyone disperse to go back to their places you felt a hand on your shoulder looking over to see it was Wally. He was staring at you so intensely that it felt like he was looking into your soul.

“Hello Y/N, how have you been?” He asks in that sickly sweet voice you loathed.

“I’ve been alright Wally.” You said putting your hands on your pockets. You both stared at one another in some type of staring contest. He was shorter than you, probably just above 5’1, so he was looking up at you. You wasn’t intimidated by this kid, in fact you was more annoyed by him than ever. What did he want? You couldn’t help but feel like he was hiding something.

“So did you needed something or did you just wanted to stare at my pretty face?” You said chuckling trying to break the tension. At your comment Wally grins flashing all of his teeth and you could have sworn his pupils got larger.

“I don’t mind either.” He said in a flirtatious tone causing you to double take. Was he…flirting with you? Just as you was about to say something he turns and strolls off casually, hands behind his back as he hummed the Welcome Home theme song.

God he was weird.

(This is a test to see if I can write Wally well! I know it says part one but I’m not sure if I’ll continue, if y’all like it and want more let me know!)

#wally darling x y/n #welcome home wally #wally darling x reader #wally darling #welcome home #black reader #no proofreading for this chapter

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howlingday · 5 months

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hello~. I was watching some videos of destiny 2 when I came across one that compiles the farewell recordings of the mission "Ace under the sleeve" (sorry if the name of the mission is different in English but I only know what it's called in Spanish and I'm translating it as it is).

so my mind thought and if jaune did something similar let's say 50 years after salem's defeat, one of ruby's students doing a mission meets this dead hunter who left a series of coordinates with information, money, resources but why especially messages for his comrades.

He returns to New Beacon and either hands over the note with the ID of who he's supposed to be or after a little treasure hunting he hands over the recordings. and emotional blow haha. by the way my mind said that most rwby and nr would stop being hunters (full time) and would be mainly dedicated to something else, while jaune would be the guy who goes out on his own and stay active in the field for some reason.

Ark of Remnant

As you leave the bullhead, you wave off the pilot. Replying with only a nod, they take off and approach the horizon. You pull out your scroll and tap your applications, noting the time, date, and location you've been dropped in. With a touch, you hear the soft hum of ADA come online.

SCANNING...

With a satisfying click, your scroll is reset into its position on your belt. As ADA continued their scan, you quickly ran through the mission basics in your head. There are ten weapon caches in the area, each one containing a component for a "super weapon," Headmistress Rose's words not yours, that used to belong to her friend, Jaune Arc. The Ark of Remnant.

MISSION OBJECTIVE IDENTIFIED. MARKING RADAR WITH LOCATIONS. FIRST OBJECTIVE TWENTY YARDS AHEAD.

Going forward, you reach the lip of a crater. It's a couple yards deep, with Creepers crawling around a lightly rusted locker the size of a party cooler in the center. Tossing a dust grenade, it bounces off the footlocker and explodes in a fiery ball that catches the Grimm off guard, killing one of them. Weapon in hand, you fire the remaining few quickly. Area clear, you bring your scroll to the lock, the signal unlocking the chest and revealing the parts content.

As you place the signal beacon inside for your team to retrieve while following you, ADA chimes in with the next location. Or tries to as the voice is overridden by someone's voice. As it plays, you listen to the final words of Jaune Arc.

"This message is for Salem. Ahem."

You keep moving, being careful to not be ambushed by any Grimm. It's hard while a dead man chatters in your ears, but it wouldn't be the first time you multi-tasked, right? Following the voiceless visual indicator provided by ADA, you continued listening.

"I'm assuming you, uh, managed to come back and capture me and then fed me to your Grimm army." He audibly shuddered. "That, or you finally just got sick of me. But, if somehow, I'm not dead and you still manage to hear this, then I'm sorry for blowing up your whale thing. That, and pretty much every other interaction we ever had. But to be clear, if you DID kill me, I do NOT apologize and consider all of my actions 100% justified. Either way, feel free to keep trying to grow your army to my old outposts. I'm not gonna need, and it's not like you could actually do anything with them."

Following the directions up to a hanging spire, managing to avoid being jumped by any Grimm that may have been hiding out nearby. If there were any, that is. So far, none showed up. Bringing your scroll to the settled cache, another recording played in your ears.

"This one is for that one-eyed fiery hell-bitch, Cinder Fall. If you're listening to this, then you killed me. But I bet I made you a helluva lot uglier while it happened. Guess Pyrrha Nikos wasn't enough for you, huh? You wanted another Beacon student murdered to get more power. I've got my share of regrets, sure. But not gutting you has always been my top three. But it won't be long until a better Huntsman or Huntress than me puts you in your place. So that's another regret I have; not being there to see it myself."

A large cluster of Beowolves stood between you and your next cache. Looming over them was an Ursa Major, baring its fangs as it charged you. When you ran out of ammunition to reload, you shifted to your melee weapon, mixing your own personal blend of bludgeoning and slashing wounds to every last Grimm in your way. Climbing over a ridge, you found the next cache seated high above. There was a Nevermore circling too close, so you clipped it's wings and popped open the next chest.

"This one's for whoever Ozma is calling himself now. I remember you warning us that helping you would put a target on our backs. But that didn't last long, did it? Besides, where's the fun if there's no risk, right? This whole Relic fiasco you put together was definitely full of ups and downs, wasn't it? Of course, we only had ups because I was the one coming up with the plans. Not you. So, you're welcome. Of course, you of all people know that no plan survives first contact with the enemy, and our enemy knows how to find you if she comes back. Hope I get to be come back to see that showdown. Obviously, though, my lien's on the girl with the gun. But hey, what do I know? Unlike you, I stay dead."

More Grimm, more ammo, and more strain and pain on you. Thankfully, your semblance helps make the job easier. It used to be little more than a sideshow trick for people, something to gawk and point at with childish wonder. Not now, though. You've trained it into another weapon under your belt. And with ADA guiding you, you climb high into the air to the top of the spire where the next cache waits. And so does another message.

"Ruby... If you're hearing this, then... You killed me. Maybe the Brothers, in all their grand schemes and plans, finally decided they were done watching me bleed for them? If it was your team who told you to put me down, I'd understand. You guys always were good at thinking alike, so it would make sense if you agreed it was right. But if it was Ozma, I'm pissed. Just thinking about that guy gives me a headache. But more likely my death was just collateral damage for you again. You always were an easy target to get to. Seriously, I know you try to see the best in people, but nobody is perfect, and you can't trust everybody. No good deed goes unpunished, especially with you around. You're just... You've got a blast radius, Crater Face. But... It was fun while it lasted, right? Oh, and, uh, tell Professor Yang: If tears stray into noses, buy every able correctional officer nudes. You got that, Crater Face?"

Hearing your professor from the academy being referred to by her first name brought back a wash of warm memories, temporarily distracting you from the harsh words Jaune said to the headmistress in a full, honest tone. It didn't distract you from your mission, however, as another spire was climbed, albeit with less Grimm, and another cache was claimed. Unfortunately, the next one would not be easily claimed as Grimm swarmed the base of the spire. Taking a deep breath, you dove into the black sea, guns blazing.

"This one's for the all-knowing and all-powerful Brothers. You think because you made us, you can unmake us? I mean, it makes sense. If I were you, I wouldn't want to risk losing my place, either. So maybe you're hoping I didn't tell anyone about your weakness. Or about the, oh, what was it...? Oh, right. Relic. Of. Unity. Because if I did, that'd be really bad for you, wouldn't it? I might be dead, but I'm not done with you. Not yet."

Powering through the puddle of Grimm that awaited you below was no easy task, and it took out most of your aura. Thankfully, once you had a breather, you popped in restore pack and felt your aura bump back into the green. Still, there was an even bigger group below, so playing it smart would save you the future aches. Leaping across stretching arches led you to another cache. Five out of ten. Halfway.

"You know, when I told my team I'd be making one of these for you, they didn't know what to think. They thought I finally lost it! Of course, I didn't have to tell you that, but in my defense, you listening to this means you probably killed me. Of course, assuming we're fighting fair, I'd be able to hold you off and wear you down. But you're not about fighting fair. You're about winning, and winning to you means fighting dirty and winning however you can. Maybe I'm being paranoid, right? But it's not paranoia. It's called being a Huntsman. So, here's my last bit of Huntsman advice to you; look after your team. Speaking of, Congratulations! You are now responsible for the care of the beautiful Juniper! Now, she only eats fresh, watered greens with sweet sauce and drinks only the freshest spring water with just a sprig of olive leaves. Play nice, you two~!"

The sound of Jaune berating whoever the heck Sun was mostly drowned out by the roaring Grimm you've found yourself in the center of. Grimm or no, these things were becoming more varied and even worse of a pain. Thankfully, you got a little help from your resident sniper covering you from the distance. Looks like the team made it. Granted, they're a few caches behind. Still, it's the thought that counts, much like the cache ahead counts. Putting down the last Grimm, you readied for another sarcastic message from Jaune. You had some thoughts on the guy, hearing him, and some would say... He's a dick.

"This one's for any Huntsman or Huntress who manages to kill me. Off the top of my head, picking at random, I wanna say... Reese Chloris? You do realize you're getting my stuff, right? Like, ALL of my stuff! INCLUDING the Protector of Remnant job! Yeah, congrats on your big promotion, dumbass. It's called a Huntsman's Gamble. Sucks, doesn't it, creampuff? Alright, now here comes some real advice now. One, know who you're working with. Like, my publisher, Blake Belladonna-Xiao Long. I like to call her once a week so she doesn't get all ninja instead of love, y'know? Two, look out behind you!"

By sheer coincidence, there was a Grimm at your back. Caving in their skull-face came easy.

"Your job is to protect everyone on Remnant, which means no one's going to be there to save you when you decide to be an idiot and rush into a horde of Grimm. Nobody but you. And three, start thinking of what your Huntsman Gamble is going to be. Because contrary to popular belief, this job WILL kill you."

Surviving through that dilemma of both physical and mental strain, you follow ADA into a small cave. Getting down on your hands and knees, you crawl through what feels like ages worth of slime and muck. Looking down as you stand up, it's all over your top. Thankfully, there's some Grimm here to blow off some steam. Tossing in a grenade and picking off the survivors, you open the cache to find both laughter and a much easier entrance above the hole you crawled through. Yeah, Jaune Arc was a dick.

"Hahahaha! Ha! I'm... I'm sorry, but... I'm just imagining how gross you look right now, all covered in slime and stuff. Ha. Heh... Ahem. Okay. Winter. So, I'm dead. You killed me. My stuff is yours. No more having me do all your hard work. No more unnecessary games of mental chess or poker or whatever other stupid crap you had me play against you. But seriously, you already know that if it was for the greater good of all of Remnant, I'd understand you killing me. No hard feelings. None. So just put this thing away and go on with your life. Now, if you are feeling guilty or something, that... That's rough. Because we both know that if you had it your way, I'd be right next to you, going on and on about some stupid thing or another. Forever. It's just the way things are."

Trouble seemed to get worse the closer you got. A Beringel stood between you and the next cache. Bludgeoning only worked so well, so you have to cut it down to size with your blades. And when that didn't do, you shoved a grenade in its damn mouth and backed away. The rest of the little guys were easy pickings compared to the big one you just blew up.

Getting further into the Grimmlands, you found the remains of the old command outpost. The final stand against the evil that was the Queen of the Grimm. Many fought and died here while you weren't even born yet. The looming weight of everything that happened that could have killed you before you had a chance at life was almost overwhelming. Almost. You get a message on your scroll from your team. They're caught up, and they'll cover you while you grab the last two at your position. Not far from the entrance was the penultimate cache. A sigh greeted you from beyond the grave.

"...Hey, Weiss. I already told you I'd be making these recordings, right? Coulda sworn I did. I always had to get your attention and I like to be ready for anything. And if we're being honest? This one's the easiest for me to make. And if we're being honest, I could never tell if you liked me or not. I mean, one day you're calling me a dolt or a dunce or some other form of the two, and the next, you... Well, you didn't. And, uh, if you really hated me that much, even after all these years, then I want you to know that the feeling was never mutual. In fact... Yeah, I'll even say it. I'd be glad if you were the one to kill me. I mean, looking back on it, you could easily beat me at whatever we did. And I know in my heart that you were absolutely doing the right thing. So... Thanks, I guess. You were a great friend. Better than a guy like me could ever deserve. So... Thank you, Weiss. For everything."

Sweet words reminded you of your friend waiting outside. You feel a heat come to your face as you imagine saying these same words to them. How would Ms. Schnee, the CEO of the NSDC react when she learned of this heartbreaking news? Did she kill him? These questions filled your mind as you delved deeper into the abandoned outpost and found the final cache, sitting right next to the ravaged console, aged by 50 years of uncaring. Jaune Arc spoke to you one last time.

"This one's for Mister Silent and Miss Strong. Congratulations, guys. Really, I mean it. I knew you guys would get past me some day. And if that means you had to... you know, well... You guys have saved my life in more ways than you could ever know, so I guess I do owe you that. Take care of the Ark of Remnant, okay? And I'm not talking about all the maintenance and whatnot; Yang and Ruby are with you 110% already. I mean TAKE CARE of it. Alright? Oh, and if you find any papers from our... You know? Burn 'em. Don't want people thinking there's another Arc out there, right, ruining my good name, right? So just... Forget about me, okay? Every story has an end. And this is mine."

MISSION ACCOMPLISHED. CONTACTING BULLHEAD. RENDEZVOUS AT THE LANDING ZONE.

Giving a sigh, you left the outpost and the final cache, hauling the last piece up the stairs. Headmistress Rose would want a full report on all of this, and she was sure so would everyone else who knew Jaune Arc. He was still kind of a jerk, but he did what he was felt was right. And that's a lot to ask for in this day and age, isn't it?

#rwby #destiny #jaune arc #destiny 2 #my answers #my answer

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nightghoul381 · 2 months

Text

Dark If ~ Jude Jazza

This a fan translation so it is definitely not 100% accurate. I do not own anything related to Ikemen Villains. Support Cybird by buying their amazing stories!

Victor: “Miss Kate. With your hands, create the happiest ending. —Come now, let’s go to the distorted fairy world.”

I woke up in a luxurious castle room.

(Oh…right, I’m the ‘princess’ of this country.)

(…huh? Why do I have such memories?)

Gradually memories of growing up as a princess of this country come back.

(It’s like I have two memories, one of being in this world all the time, and the other of coming from another world.)

However, it was strange feeling that I was sure that both were ‘me’.

King: “…Have you awoken, Kate?”

Kate: “Father, good morning.”

After knocking, Father comes into the room with a worried look on his face.

King: “When I think that there are only a few months left until that damn wizard’s prophecy… I feel like I have to make sure you’re okay every morning.”

I was born as a princess of this country, and I have lived my life as if I were locked up in a castle, in a box so to speak.

The reason is—because I’m cursed.

The wizard who placed the curse said, “Ten years from now, she will be pricked by the needle of a spinning wheel, and the curse will be activated.”

--it seems like he just explained that and went back to his castle deep in the mountains.

My father and mother collected spinning wheels from all over the country and threw most of them away.

The people who run the spinning industry gather in state-run factories to work, and aren’t allowed to come near me.

(But… my father and mother don’t know why I was cursed.)

Kate: “Why doesn’t anyone know why I was cursed…?”

King: “…You got into a fight with me that night, and you snuck out of the castle. Then, you lost consciousness and collapsed in a back alley.”

King: “By the time you were brought to the castle and show to the royal doctor, you had already been cursed.”

King: “The wizard who was with me at the time confessed. He had cursed you…!”

(Ah…that’s right. But I also don’t remember anything before I collapsed in the back alley.)

(At that time, I was supposed to be meeting that person…why?)

Maybe it’s because my memories of living in this world remain so vividly,

It’s hard to accept the logic that I wandered into this world from England.

(Well, there’s no point in thinking about it now.)

Kate: “If the curse was activated, I would fall into a 100-year sleep… right?”

I mumbled, relying on my memory, and my father nodded again with tears in his eyes.

(The cursed spinning wheel… The world I have wandered into is surly the story of ‘Thorn Princess’)

(If I had to follow the plot of the story, it might be better to follow the curse and fall asleep…)

The man who called himself Victor said that this was a distorted fairy world where there was something missing.

If I fall asleep before I find it, I won’t be able to search for what’s missing for another 100 years.

(First of all, I need to either break the curse or get the deadline extended!)

Kate: “I’m going to ask the wizard if he can lift the curse.”

King: “W-what?! I-I’m not going to allow that!!”

Kate: “I don’t mind if I go with an escort.”

King: “The guards are too afraid to go near him! We’ve sent several assassins, but they all came back in a miserable state…!”

Kate: “Then I’ll go alone. I’ll be okay, with my experience as a post man I can tell a dangerous place by its smell.”

King: “Postman? Oh, h-hey, wait--!”

Leaving my panicking father behind at the castle, I came to an old castle deep in the mountains.

(Come to think of it… I’ve never tried this method in this world.)

(Maybe my father was overprotective and wanted to keep me in a box.)

(The curse itself… for some reason, I didn’t think it was scary.)

Strangely enough, I didn’t think falling into a 100 year slumber was such a bad thing, and I didn’t feel the need to try very hard to solve it.

(I wonder why--)

(Here…right…?)

There were no gatekeepers in the thorn-covered castle. In fact, there was no one at all.

The atmosphere is very much like a villain’s lair, and I have to swallow back the fear that shows on my face.

Kate: “Excuse me, Post…no wait, I came to ask you to lift the curse.”

Tall young man: “…Good evening.”

Kate: “Whaaa!?”

Tall young man: “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you upset… are you okay?”

Thorn Ellis: “I’m Ellis. I’m the assistant of the owner of this mansion.”

Thorn Ellis: “Like a thorn, I’m basically supposed to drive away guests.”

(After coming this far, I can’t afford to be turned away…)

Kate: “My name is Kate. I came here because I really wanted to meet the owner of this mansion.”

Thorn Ellis: “Huh…Okay.”

Kate: “Uh!? Is that okay!?”

Thorn Ellis: “Yeah. If you’ve come this far and it makes you happy.”

(If it’s okay… I wonder if the security of the castle is okay…)

Thorn Ellis: “Yeah, but he’ll be in a bad mood without an appointment. Be careful.”

Ellis: “Jude, customer.”

Jude the Wizard: “Tch… I told you to turn away uninvited guests at the gate, how many times do I have to tell you?”

Jude the Wizard: “Drive them away by punishing them or hurting them—”

Jude the Wizard: “--…!”

Jude, as the man with the sinister eyes is called,

As soon as he looked up from the book he was reading and caught sight of me, his eyes widened.

Jude the Wizard: “You…”

(Do you know me…? Well, then)

Kate: “You’re the wizard who put the curse on me, aren’t you?”

Kate: “I’m sorry for barging in on you so suddenly. I came to ask if you could lift the curse.”

Jude the Wizard: “…Ah?”

Jude’s expression became severely distorted at my request.

The obvious discomfort almost makes me flinch, but I can’t back down now.

Kate: “I don’t mind if you just extend the deadline a little!”

Kate: “If I find what I’m looking for, you can curse me again.”

Jude: “…”

Kate: “If you could give me a reprieve, I’d do anything in return.”

Jude the Wizard: “…Huh, anything?”

Jude the Wizard: “If you do, you’ll have to work here as a slave.”

(S-slave…!?)

His cruel smile sent a shiver down my spine.

Jude got up from the couch and walked over to me, my body tense with nervousness.

Jude the Wizard: “Just as well, I was planning on pricking you with a spinning wheel on your birthday.”

Jude the Wizard: “Saves me the trouble of having to go all the way out there.”

Kate: “...gh”

I felt a sense of danger as his hand reached out to me, and I immediately stepped back, but…

I noticed that Ellis was standing right behind me and there was no way I was getting past him.

Kate: “Father won’t stay silent…!”

Jude the Wizard: “Hah, no matter how many incompetent soldiers an incompetent king sends in, it won’t change. Let’s just kill you and be done with it.”

Kate: “Uh…!?”

Long fingers wrap around my neck and tighten slightly. He pulls out a collar from somewhere and fastens it around my neck.

Jude the Wizard: “Now I can blow your head off whenever I want, right?”

Jude the Wizard: “By the time they get here it’ll be too late princess.”

Jude the Wizard: “I won’t let you go back to the castle. You will stay here and be cursed.”

(I--)

(I may have made the wrong choice.)

My regrets were in vain, and I remained under house arrest in the castle for several dozen days--.

Life in this castle has reluctantly become a daily routine.

--CRASH!

Kate: “Again….!?”

Thorn Ellis: “Yeah, sorry Miss Kate.”

Jude the Wizard: “There’s no need for a freeloading slave to complain.”

People with growing grudges came rushing in—this seemed to be the daily routine for Jude and his friends.

(However, with just one look from Jude, that man’s body was electrocuted and blown away,)

(Most of them will take revenge in an instant…)

Man falling down: “Ugh…”

Jude the Wizard: “Had enough already? What happened to all that bravado you came in with?”

There is not a day that goes by without blood spray flying around the castle.

And as a ‘slave’ I wasn’t asked to clean up the mess for some reason.

I was just told to stay in my room.

Kate: “I’ve been wondering for a long time… why is there so much resentment?”

Thorn Ellis: “Just because you say you’re a wizard, people will try to kill you.”

Jude the Wizard: “She may be the princess but she doesn’t know anything about this country. She’s been living in a box.”

I feel uncomfortable when people laugh at me.

Kate: “Isn’t it partly because of your personality? You hurt him so terribly.”

Jude the Wizard: “You’re a slave and you’re lecturing your master. You’ve got some nerve.”

Jude the Wizard: “If you want to be punished, I’ll do it whenever you want.”

He hooked his fingers in my collar and pulled me closer.

When those sadistic amethyst eyes stare at me from such a close distance—I feel strangely disturbed and unsettled.

Kate: “…That’s okay!”

I flicked away his hand and retreated to my room.

(I need to look back at that man and somehow get him to extend the curse’s deadline.)

Above all—being looked down upon was irritating.

This castle has a huge collection of books.

During the day, Jude, despite being stabbed and injured, makes deals with some shady merchants and collects books and materials.

At night, he often holed up in his study.

Kate: “Mr. Jude, what on earth are you doing in your study?”

Thorn Ellis: “I’m not allowed to enter, so I don’t know the details, but… he’s conducting an investigation to fulfill a promise he made a long time ago.”

Kate: “I see…The library isn’t off-limits though, right?”

Thorn Ellis: “Yeah, I haven’t been told anything, so I think you can do whatever you want.”

#ikemen villains #ikevil #ikemen villains translation #ikevil translation #jude jazza #ikevil jude #ikevil jude jazza #ikemen villains jude #ikemen villains jude jazza

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lily-drake · 2 years

Text

The Demon’s Queen

Chapter One:

First

Damian was a boy when Ra’s had been killed. He remembered when the ambush was over. He and his mother were safe in one of her personal safe houses when she bent down and looked him in the eyes.

“Damian, this will be your true test for whether or not you will be ready to take the title of the Demon’s Head.”

Damian stood tall, never breaking eye contact with his mother. Grandfather was gone, which meant for now Talia was in charge of The League of Assassins until he was rightfully crowned.

“Your mission is to help me take down the traitors Deathstroke and any of his followers. I will help you, but it must be you who destroys Deathstroke. Then and only then can you truly take over the title of my father, your grandfather, and then you can fully take the title of Son of the Bat. Do you understand?”

Talia asked, her voice firm and void of anything that could show her true feelings on any of this. Damian gave a curt nod,

“Yes, Mother.”

“Good. Honor your name Damian. Show them that al Ghuls’ show no mercy.”

And with that she vanished, leaving Damian to plan everything on his own.

It took only a month, Deathstroke never stood a chance. Talia only sent a few messages to Damian, giving him information from a few of her informants that Damian had little knowledge of, adding to the growing information he received from his own informats. It was amazing how much people would tell you when you found the correct ways to make them talk.

The fight against Deathstroke was tiring, and for many new scars to litter his body, but he wore them with pride. They were his trophies, as they helped him to take out the filthy creature that plagued the League. No mercy was shown, no mercy was ever allowed, especially for filth like Deathstroke. He remembered what it was like to sink his sword through Wilson’s heart, and the smooth precision as he pulled it out. He remembered turning to his mother, a ghost of a smile on her lips as she bowed to him and whispered,

“You are ready, My Demon.”

Instead of the “my prince” she had always used before. He watched as all of the shadows bowed at his feet, welcoming him as their Head, their Leader, their Ruler.

__________

Damian was only ten when that had happened, now he was 18, and in need of a partner. Mother had helped and guided him through his first few years as the new ruler. Helping him delegate tasks, showing him how he should deal with failures, she even took over some of his duties for him as he still needed to continue some parts of his education and training. But as he aged, he became more confident in his role asThe Demon’s Head. He took on more tasks, met with grandfather's old friends, formed new alliances with them that benefited both parties, carried out threats, and most importantly; he kept order in The League.

“There is a magical war in Paris.”

The head shadow from Paris, France reported. Most of the time Damian grew bored during these meetings and would let his mind wander while still retaining all of the information given to him, but this caught his attention.

“The Miraculous have been reactivated, though it appears that one of them is being used for unknown selfish purposes. Two others have been activated to try and stop the first.”

Damian remembered when Grandfather talked of these jewels, it was when he told him of the history of The Lazarus Pit when he was 4. He had been able to steal both the earrings of life and the ring of destruction to make a wish of eternal life. But they had been missing for over 100 years when the Temple of the Miraculous Guardians was mysteriously destroyed. But they were back now.

“When were they reactivated?”

“Over three year ago. I would have reported of it far sooner, but every time I tried to return or send a message I was halted in my attempts by an invisible force. I discovered it was a magical force that denied people the ability to spread this information to others for reasons I have not been able to discover. Thankfully I was able to find a strong magic user who was able to help me escape. I assure you, they have no idea of who I was or what I was trying to accomplish.”

Damian leaned back in his throne, processing the information he was given. Grandfather told him that as he had been exposed to Miraculous magic for so many years, he would be able to access any form of Miraculous magic he was exposed to in one way or another. He should study this for himself, figure out his next plan of attack or if it would be even worth it in the end. If there was a war he may need to intervene, or maybe he wouldn’t have to. HE could let things play out and strike once they let their guard down with thoughts of victory. First things first, he needed to go to Paris, France.

With that decided, he stood up and signaled for his informant to do the same. Grandfather would have killed them where they stood, but Damian was not his Grandfather.

“You did good work. Tell anyone about this and I will know. I need you to accompany me to Paris, I want to see for myself what is happening.”

“Yes, My Demon Head.”

__________

Damian was a shadow, he may be a king, but he was first and foremost a shadow just like the rest of his soldiers. He blended in with the darkness, knew it by heart, the dark felt almost like a second home. His goal here was simply a recon mission, he just needed to gather information. But as a loud alarm sounded through the streets and the atmosphere changed, Damian had a feeling that this might be worse than anything he had planned for.

He watched, cloaked in the roof’s shade, as the entire city was frozen over. People trapped in glaciers of ice, others fried from shocks of lightning that shot randomly from the sky, buildings destroyed by rain made of acid specific sectors. It wasn’t a blood bath, but it certainly felt like one.

If this was the normal level of attacks, then how was this city still standing?

Damian moved, not wanting to get stuck or caught up in the chaos. That’s when he came across them. A hero in a spotted leotard and a boy in a leather catsuit.

Damian scoffed, there was no way that these were the supposed heroes. It was clear that they were not trained, that the fact they had even made it this far was pure luck as the cat constantly paused to flirt with the girl in red and black, dodging attacks by the skin of teeth. He watched the spectacle with calculated eyes, studying their stances, what their weaknesses were, the best way to restrain them. The boy was easy to see. He obviously meant well, but he was young and from the look of it, he held himself in a way that showed he was used to power. He was probably from a wealthier family, one that gave him nearly everything. But no one did something like this without something to prove. But then there was the girl.

She held confidence, yes, but there was more to it. He couldn’t really see from the distance, but it was something in her eyes. Some sort of determination. Not one meant for or beaches of another person, but a form of determination in oneself. He didn’t see a lot of that in many of the warriors that were in The League, it was fascinating.

His focus shifted from the boy almost solely to the girl. She was not trained, she could not even fall correctly! But she was smart, agile, a born tactician with every move and decision she made. He heard the whispers of her voice call something out as the villain sent a strong gust of wind their way; and watched as an extraordinarily small object fell into her palm. He observed her as she looked around, eyes widening as she seemed to piece parts of a plan together in her mind in mere seconds. She called out orders to the boy where he quickly followed everything she said to a T. After she was done it only took them three minutes to stop the super-powered villain. What made him even more confused was when she threw up whatever she had summoned, causing millions of ladybugs to surround the city and fix everything, even bringing the dead back to life, fear that not even the Lazarus Pits could accomplish. He quickly turned back to the small group and watched as the girl began to swing away. If nothing else, Damian knew that he needed to follow her. He needed to understand what went on in her head and why. He needed to make her part of The League. She would be an invaluable asset, someone that would take it to even higher peaks. Of course, before he made such a thing official, he would need to do a lot more studying on her. He would need to study her in her average life as well as her hero side. He couldn’t have anyone weak or unwilling to do what is necessary enter the League. He would not bring dishonor to his family’s name with a rushed, careless decision. And so, he watched her, studied her, the people around her, and how he could take her.

Taglist:

@sinoffalsejudgement @peachmuses @myazael @snnoww26 @dur55 @tip-tap-tired @ledalasombra @jennifer-rose123 @kylamai @plz-excuse-my-inner-gay @stella17luna @meduarts

#maribat #daminette #enemies to lovers #damian al ghul #marinette dupain cheng #dc x mlb #talia al ghul #damian is the demon’s head #damian x marinette #damian does not understand emotions #why things came to be #damian deserves a hug

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psycho-lizard9 · 6 months

Text

Late 2019 I tore my soul in half and gave each half to a man I had never even met. Those men were Sakurai Atsushi and Fujisaki Issay. For four years they have owned those pieces of me, and in return they have blessed me with beautiful music and performances. Their work quickly took over my life, and now almost everything I do is related to them. They had given me a reason to live, something to always look forward to, something to love. Never before had I loved somebody nor their work so deeply, and I don't think I will ever love like this again.

I would have never expected them to die at such young ages. Issay, 61. Atsushi, 57. Neither would I have ever guessed they would die the same year, let alone so closely after each other. August 5th and October 19th. My soul is still divided, they each took their half of my soul to their grave with them, just like I am left with their works, now no longer in their hands.

I would do everything to return them to our world, even if they would then decide to retire. It is not only their work that was of importance to me, it was their lifes, knowing that they were doing well, happy, and having fun. I know death is inevitable and that it would have come for them eventually no matter what, but the time is not right. In ten or twenty years, maybe... Maybe then I could have accepted it, but not now, not while they were still so young, despite officially having been old.

Issay and Atsushi, both such inspirations. Issay, an openly gay man who felt like he did not necessarily have a gender. And Atsushi, a man who was not afraid to show his feminine side and affection to other men. The both of them were not afraid to show their emotions and speak their minds. They were truly people to respect and look up to. In a strange way, they were like parental figures to me, despite me also looking at them very... "respectfully".

Two men both beautiful in every way imaginable. Beautiful voices, beautiful faces, beautiful personalities/souls and for as far as I have been able to see, even beautiful bodies. Atsushi also had the best thighs I had ever seen on a man. Age had never taken that beauty from them, and they were both so kind and caring. Despite having been 57 and 61 years old they were both unbelievably stunning, not only on the outside, but on the inside too. In fact, I believe that their inner beauty shined through, and with every passing day it turned them more and more beautiful.

They have left us with so much to remember them by. Both BUCK-TICK as well as Der Zibet have such great discographies. BUCK-TICK, 23 albums, 46 singles, over 60 recorded tours and over 80 music videos. How many bands can achieve this? And if only Atsushi had lived longer, I am sure they would have done so much more. Der Zibet, 19 albums. Maybe they did not have as many singles, music videos and recorded tours, but their discography of music was surely not small. Besides that, Issay had so many projects on the side. PhI, Hamlet Machine, his solo album, ISSAY meets DOLLY, KA.F.KA.

And it was not only music that had become Issay's career, his life, it was pantomime too. His love for pantomime was undeniable as he often used it for performances with his band as well. I will always remember those little mime acts he would put up as they played the song Der Rhein. He also often talked about his love for pantomime. We may have only been able to see one performance of it, yet even through just one show you could see his passion. His mime career had started even earlier than his music career, and he actively worked on both until the day he died.

Sakurai Atsushi too had more than just BUCK-TICK. He had a solo album, SCHWEIN and The Mortal, growing his discography even further. Besides that, his special skill, that not many singers possess, was his ability to sing most of his songs even better live. And not only was he an incredible live vocalist, he too possessed a mesmerizing stage performance, gifting us either very magical, elegant and gothic performances, or something that could only be described as purely sexual. His moans will never leave my mind, and this is not a complaint. I only have to think about it and I can already see him ride a stage in thigh high stockings as he moans to either Sapphire, Mudai, or any of his other songs.

Something else I will never forget, for both Atsushi and Issay, is their smiles, their laughs and even how beautiful their voices were if they simply talked. They were both so cute with everything they did, truly adorable. Atsushi with his cats, they were his biggest love, his babies. Issay too was so cute with pets. Besides that they were both also funny, always able to make me laugh. They were just everything that was good.

Sakurai Atsushi and Fujisaki Issay, two very unique personalities that will not easily be found again, especially not in combination with their beauty, voices and skills. With their deaths, I have lost most of myself, and I feel empty. I hope the work they have left us with will be enough for me to fill this void that has grown inside of me, despite the fact that I want more, especially from BUCK-TICK as no other band will ever reach such perfection. It may be selfish and unrealistic, but I wanted them both to live and create forever.

That could have never been reality, but I would still have appreciated it if death could have waited 20 more years before it took the two most important people to me. It still feels unreal, how could they both die so soon? One of them was already difficult, yet both? It is as if I am a side character in somebody's horror fiction that Atsushi and Issay were the main characters of. It is worse than a nightmare, as a nightmare I could have woken up from.

BUCK-TICK's last album was Izora, an album with a cover art that symbolizes infinity. Their last music video was Mugen Loop, a video that truly was a loop, something that just went on forever. Despite the fact that BUCK-TICK will now most likely end, their music will exist for eternity, Atsushi’s voice will never disappear. The same counts for Issay.

I wish I could just tell them one thing, cause I want them to know how much they have meant to me. I know they can't hear me, but I'll still say the words and hope the wind carries them to wherever they are. All I would tell them is "thank you for everything you have done, for everything you have created." And I would tell them that the world misses them, and that I personally promise to always love them, even if I were to grow out of their music... which I am pretty sure will never happen. They will forever be my favorites, and their work will for always be part of my everyday life.

Sakurai Atsushi and Fujisaki Issay, thank you. I hope you both rest peacefully and without regrets. You have been perfect. I hope you two will take care of each other, wherever you are.

#sakurai atsushi #issay #personal #thank you

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loopstagirl · 6 months

Text

Fight Club, Part 1

It didn’t matter how nice the cell was. It was still a cell.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, John dropped his head into his hands. It had been four days since he’d been shoved in here, the door firmly locked against him. Three times a day, a slot opened and a meal was pushed in. It certainly wasn’t up to his grandmother’s standard, but he couldn’t call it prison slop, either. A full pitcher of water was provided with each meal and his ten-by-ten room even had a toilet and a sink positioned behind a partition to provide privacy from the cameras.

But it was still a cell.

And John had no idea where his big brother was.

It would’ve been easier if they were taken while on a mission. Then, John could’ve started guessing what they wanted and opened negotiations. Being a communications expert meant he’d trained and practiced for every scenario he could think of. Of course, in his practices, he’d always been talking his brothers out of trouble, just like always. He’d never practiced being the one locked up.

But they’d been in New York. A routine trip to the offices to show their faces and pretend they had an active interest in the business to warrant being on the pay-roll, followed by some downtime that had taken a combination of bribery and blackmail to get Scott to agree to it.

Maybe his brother had a point?

Letting out a soft groan of frustration, John dropped his hands, stared at the floor for a few seconds before starting to pace. At this rate, he was going to wear a hole with the amount of pacing he’d been doing. Four days he’d been here, and he hadn’t seen his brother since they’d been bundled into the back of a van, the gun to John’s head ensuring Scott’s good behaviour.

John pounded his fist on the door. “Where is he?” he yelled. “Let me see my brother!”

He didn’t even know if Scott was still alive. No. He couldn’t think like that. Scott had to be. It was Scott, after all. The guy thought he was invincible and given the near misses he’d had over the years; his brothers were starting to believe it.

It was the same demand John had yelled multiple times a day since he’d been thrown in here. He figured it was more likely to get a reaction than asking to be released. Every time, there had just been silence. He’d glimpsed a long, concrete corridor when they’d ripped the bag from his head, but that’d been all he got the chance to see before this cell became his home. He had no idea where they were.

His watch, cell and even shoes were missing. If they’d been on a mission, they’d have their edible trackers. One of them would’ve had time to swallow it when they’d been taken. But… vacation. No tracker. No wonder Scott thought they were overrated.

Turning back from the door, not expecting an answer, John jumped when he heard a bolt being drawn back. It was ironic: give him the most up-to-date digital lock and he’d have been out of there on day one. Give him an old-fashioned bolt and he hadn’t stood a chance.

He quickly backed into the middle of the room, hands held out away from his sides, palms facing the door, trying to be as unthreatening as possible. It didn’t matter why they’d come for him; this was his chance to get answers.

A brute of a man walked through the door. He was taller than even Scott, broader than Virgil and his misshapen nose was just one of the signs of too many lost fights. He was a walking arsenal and John’s gaze flickered across the weapons before he could stop himself. He forced himself to meet the man’s eyes instead.

“I want to see my brother,” he said. His voice was calm, in control, but authoritative.

“We gathered as much.” The man had a nasally voice, a sneer on his face. “Thought you’d be more interested in why you’re here.”

“I assume you’ve made some kind of demand from our father?” John figured it would be the same old story.

“No.”

“No?”

“Nope. Don’t care about your old man. Don’t care about your brother. You, though…”

A cold trickle ran down John’s back. Scott was ex-military: it made sense for a kidnapper to want him, even if information would be outdated. But him?

“Why’d you want me?” He tried to keep his voice steady, disguise his pounding heart. He was supposed to be on the other side of a radio in a hostage situation, not the actual hostage!

“You’re a talented man, John Tracy. Real helpful of you to put such a detailed bio on the back of your books. Like you just sent us a resume.”

“What do you want from me?” John asked quietly. His publisher had thought it was a good idea to list his achievements: John knew he’d had a good reason for fighting it.

“We’ve got some stuff that needs building,” the man said, evasively. He didn’t need to say more.

“Weapons. You want me to build you weapons? Not my area of expertise.”

“You’ll find these ones are special.”

John didn’t care if it was a wooden club. “I won’t do it.”

��We haven’t asked you to, yet.”

“I-,” John paused. That was a good point. For four days, he’d been left in here. No demands; no visitors; no attempt to coerce him into doing what they wanted. But maybe they didn’t need to threaten him. Not when….

“Where’s Scott?” John asked, his voice finally betraying a tremor. “Where’s my brother?”

“Now we’re getting somewhere.” The man looked delighted that John had asked. “He’s protecting you.”

The confusion must have shown on his face. The man looked behind him.

“Billy!”

Another man came skulking out of the shadows. There was a set of magnetic cuffs dangling from his hand.

“You want us to take you to your brother?”

John nodded.

“I can’t hear you.”

The look on the man’s face told John what he wanted: for John to beg. But this was Scott – his pride meant nothing if the result was ensuring that his brother was okay.

“Please,” he said. He kept eye contact with his captor. “Take me to my brother. I beg you.”

There was a sickening grin on his face but he snapped his fingers at Billy. The man approached, and John offered no resistance as his wrists were locked into the cuffs behind his back. A sharp shove in his back had him stumbling forward and the men set a hard pace, clearly hoping he’d fall behind.

But despite being on the space station most of the time, John still had the fitness of a member of International Rescue. It took all his control not to leave them behind and follow meekly. The more they underestimated him, the better.

They walked for a few moments in silence, but then John became aware of a noise from somewhere up ahead. It sounded like a roar, and his mind instantly went to machinery and what other technology these criminals were harbouring. But after a few more steps, he heard it for what it was: the roar of a crowd fired up.

His pace unwillingly slowed. He didn’t do well in large groups of people and his heart-race was already picking up.

Scott.

He dug his nails into his palms, using the sharp pain to try and keep the panic at bay. A few deep breaths helped settle his racing heart and John tried not to think about what they were about to walk into. All that mattered was Scott. And given the men wanted him to build something, he doubted they’d let the crowd get too close and risk harm coming to him. Not yet, anyway.

Billy opened a door and John found himself on a small platform. There was a pit below him, surrounded by makeshift stands full of hollering men and women. When he looked down into the pit properly, a small gasp escaped him.

There was a large cage taking up most of the space.

But that wasn’t the issue.

Scott was in that cage. Even from John’s height, he could see his brother was covered in blood. He was favouring his left side, holding his arm stiffly and didn’t appear to be putting his weight properly on his right leg.

As the crowd roared again, John realised there was another man in the cage. A huge, muscular man, tattoos rippling over a broad chest as he stirred up the crowd. John could tell by Scott’s stance that he was watching carefully, waiting.

The brute took a step towards Scott, who let him come. When the man was closer, John’s brother sprang into action, a fast flurry of blows that left the giant reeling.

But John had seen Scott fight before. His hits were lacking power, his speed a fraction of what it normally was, and when his opponent got in a hit of his own, Scott went down hard. The crowd roared.

“Stop this!” John cried, turning to his captor. “He’s going to kill him!”

“No, he won’t.” The same sickening grin was back on his face. “Just watch.”

With Billy’s hand on his shoulder, holding him still, and his hands locked behind his back, there was nothing John could do but obey. Sickened, dread cursing through him, he watched the fight.

Scott was in a bad way. As he took another hit, John found himself praying that, for once, Scott would stay down.

But, of course, he didn’t. He let the brute approach, waited until he was in reach, and then delivered another few blows that John couldn’t follow, and his opponent collapsed.

The crowd hissed their displeasure as their champion lay groaning on the floor. Some jeered at him to get up, but the man didn’t. Scott straightened, turning slowly as he glared his hatred at the crowd. But as he turned to face the platform, the little amount of colour left in his face drained and he stumbled. Unable to support himself, he dropped to his knees as he stared up at John.

John tried to smile. Tried to tell his brother without words that he was okay, that nothing had happened to him.

Someone shoved a cup of water through the bars at Scott. He snatched it and downed it in one go, eyes closing in momentary relief.

“What is this?” John turned on his captor. “Let him go! Look at him – he’s hurt. He needs help.”

“He’s got five minutes until the next fight, then we’ll call it a day.”

“You’re making him fight again? Why are you doing this? What do you want from him?”

If they’d taken John because they wanted him to build a weapon, he wondered if Scott was supposed to be the person wielding it.

“Nothing.” The man was grinning again. “He wasn’t supposed to be with you. We have no use for him at all.”

The words sent a chill down John’s spine. If they planned to let Scott go, they would have already done it. Hell, they wouldn’t have taken him in the first place.

“Why’re you doing this?” he asked, his voice quiet. “What did you mean when you said Scott was protecting me?”

The man looked delighted that John had asked.

“As long as he keeps winning, we’ll leave you alone.”

“What?”

“As soon as he loses, we’ll come for you. We’re patient men – we’ve waited this long to get our hands on someone who can code for us. We can wait a few more days to have some fun. No one can keep winning.”

John stared down at his brother. Scott was never going to stay down when he knew that he was all that stood between John and the men that were doing this to them.

“I’ll do it,” John said quickly. “I’ll build whatever it is you need me to build, just let him go.”

The boss looked at him with an amused expression. “Did you miss the part about having some fun? You’ll build our weapons, sure. But when we say so.”

He turned back to the cage. “Next!”

Scott hadn’t taken his eyes off John for the entire exchange. John stepped forward, helpless, knowing he couldn’t reach his brother even if he didn’t have his hands tied behind his back as another person stepped into the cage and the shouts and jeers started up again.

Scott offered a small smile, visibly took a breath, and turned to face his new opponent.

“Don’t do it!” John yelled. “They won’t hurt me: they need me. Surrender, Scott, it’s okay!”

A hard kick to the back of his leg made John drop to his knees. He pulled fruitlessly against the cuffs, fighting to get free. He tried to rise, do anything that would prove a distraction and take their focus off Scott, but a hand fisted in his hair, holding him still and forcing him to look at the cage.

“That’s enough drama from you,” the boss snarled. He lifted his hand, giving a signal for the fight to start.

But something had changed. Even from the angle he was at, John could see that Scott had stood a little straighter, his limbs held looser and a fierce look on his face.

The boss saw it too. He didn’t drop his hand, but stood there, frowning. Then he glanced at John, struggling in Billy’s grip, and sighed.

“Take him back to his cell,” he ordered to the disappointment of the crowd.

John looked at him, not sure what was going on. The boss rolled his eyes.

“Any fool could see he just got flooded with adrenaline seeing you like this. He’d have won that fight in seconds; not my idea of fun. Take him back.”

Billy pulled him to his feet. John opened his mouth to demand to be taken to Scott, when another voice broke in.

“Kemp!”

The man was calling down from the cage, and the boss turned, irritated. John glanced that way as well, and realised three men were struggling to remove Scott.

“What?”

“He won’t go quiet like. Wants to see the kid.”

John rolled his eyes. Three degrees, a best-selling novel and a guest lecturer at numerous universities, not to mention a key member of International Rescue, and he’d been relegated to ‘kid’.

Kemp looked at him. Then he looked back at Scott.

“You were about to demand the same thing, weren’t you?”

Part 2

#thunderbirds fanfiction #thunderbirds #scott tracy #john tracy

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