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artficlly · 1 year

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face the music (chapter 9)

Music College Marvel AU - Chapter 9

!frat!musician!bucky x !frat!musician!steve x !musician!femreader

Warnings: angst, bit of fluff, violence, mentions of blood, lots of discussion of outing, mentions of alcohol, Natasha being a general menace to society, lmk if i missed anything

Word Count: 4k

A/N: wanted to pump this one out before i went to bed!! most of the party scene was NOT in my plan for this chapter, it just kinda happened so apologies for that. Next chapter we'll get some cute fluff of the boys taking care of drunk y/n so look forward to that! should i make up a playlist of songs used during this series? I was kinda basing the assignment song on All I Wanted by Paramore. also, once again forgive me for the music lingo, i don't know anything about music lmao. not proof read, sorry for typos

chapter masterlist | main masterlist

Bucky and Steve had picked up on your anxiety the moment you entered the classroom. After two weeks of practicing, it was finally time to perform and you didn’t feel entirely ready. If you were singing something familiar to you? Or if you were playing the piano? Maybe then you wouldn’t feel uneasiness clawing as your gut. You were making your debut as not only a lead vocalist but a lead vocalist for a punk rock piece. You could imagine your mother turning in her grave, she was always one of those snobs who believed in classical music superiority.

Another thing that didn’t help ease your anxiety was the tension in the room. With both John and Loki back on campus, there was an unspoken strain put across the class. Dirty glances and wary looks were thrown, almost like you were all expecting the room to explode at any moment.

Thankfully, most of your friends had read your body language and quickly realized you didn’t want to be bugged. You had spent most of the first hour of performances brooding in the corner. You had hoped to feel a little more cheerful before your performance. Maybe even come off as a little less of a bitch when congratulating others. You didn’t think anyone blamed you though, not with John lingering across the room, sneering at you.

The moment you stepped in front of the microphone though, it was like a switch was flipped in your brain. No more anxiety or worry, just a job to do. You silently thanked your performers brain for taking over. Fiddling with the microphone stand, you adjusted it to your height while the three boys set up behind you. All the performances were being live streamed to the college’s social media as usual. Ironically enough, you wondered if this was going to be a good practice for the revenge plan that was underway.

“You ready?” Steve asked from beside you, quiet enough so the mic wouldn’t pick up his voice.

“Yeah, tell Bucky to count when he’s ready,” You reply back quietly, turning away from the mic to face Steve. He smiles at you softly, much in contrast to your nervous frown. Leaning forward, he whispers in your ear.

“You’re going to do great, darling.” He says, somehow you hold back shuddering at the feeling of his breath against your ear and neck. Then, to your surprise, he kisses your forehead. You stare at him blankly for a moment, before cracking a small smile.

“You’re insufferable, Rogers.” You mutter, turning to your microphone. Steve chuckles to himself as you do so, you can only thank your nerves for stopping you from flushing pink in front of your entire class. Sharon and Scott are fucking losing their minds across the room, that would be a painful conversation later.

After being given a quick thumbs up from Steve and Sam, Bucky counts the four of you down with the smack of his drumsticks before Steve comes in on the guitar. You time the chords before you come in with the lyrics, silently praying for this to go as smoothly as all the practices from the past week.

The song starts out slow, perfect for you to warm up your voice a little further before having to hit some of the harder notes. You try to block out the rest of the people in the room, the mixture of grins and sneers staring up at you. Instead you focus on the camera, the sound of the music as you follow your queues.

As the music began to pick up, Bucky coming in on the drums loudly, your vocals followed the urgency. You started calmer, until eventually building up to harder notes that you had to belt out to achieve. You could see Steve grinning at you, hardly paying attention to playing his chords. You didn’t even want to imagine the smirk Bucky would have plastered all over his face.

You could imagine what they’d say. ‘See, we were right, Siren! You can sing anything, no reason to worry!’. It was probably a bit pathetic that your chest swelled with pride just thinking about how much they supported you.

The music slowly cut out as it was your queue to hit the small solo section. It was only a few words of you belting before they all came back in on their respective instruments, but you kept your voice steady and powered through the section without fault.

From there, the last of your lyrics was belted to match the tempo of the song. You could understand why so many rock singers had raspiness to their voices, having to hit such aggressive notes like these. It wasn’t the same as a high-pitched note in opera, no, there was a power, an emotion behind it you couldn’t describe. You had chosen to do this song, so the least you could do was fucking kill it.

Finally, your piece was over. The last of the notes from the guitar fizzled out and the class erupted into their usual applause and cheers. Instruments safely put back in place, the four of you descend the stage and rejoin Sharon, Scott and Clint in the back. Sharon lets out a little squeal, hugging you before you can protest.

“Oh my god! You did so well hitting those notes!” She says excitedly in your ear while you just let out a shy laugh and retreat to one of the couches. Maybe if the tension of the room wasn’t hanging over you, you would’ve celebrated more openly. You were rather desperate to get out of John’s presence. Bucky and Steve follow you after a quick conversation with Sam who heads over towards Wanda and Natasha. Natasha looks pissed off as usual, while Wanda offers you a kind smile. You could understand why Sam liked her, unlike Natasha she was always kind to everyone around her.

“See! You did amazing!” Steve says, patting your knee as he sits. You roll your eyes with a shy smile. John was watching your interaction like a fucking hawk from across the room. You couldn’t help but wonder if he would’ve tried to approach you again if you were guarded by Bucky and Steve all the time.

“Shush.” You say dismissively, despite the grin forming across your face.

“We’re gonna celebrate properly with drinks tonight, Siren. You can’t worm your way out of that one!” Bucky announces.

By the time you had arrived at the party, you were already tipsy. You, Steve, Bucky and Sam had all gone out to the student bar for a couple drinks, which then turned into a few more. The party was already in full-swing when the four of you arrived, Scott and Clint cheering as you stumbled through the door laughing.

The few drinks you had at the bar turned into more as you chatted with Sharon, Yelena and Kate. It felt nice to talk about random bits of gossip and joke around with them, it felt like you had been surrounded by the boys testerone a little too much recently. Though most of the gossip ended with Yelena and Kate trying to pry into your dynamic with the boys, much to your distress. You couldn’t understand why everyone was convinced something was going on, when your silly schoolgirl-crush feelings were definitely one sided in your opinion.

Though, it was only a matter of time before Scott came and dragged you away. He had loudly announced how Bucky and Steve were whining incessantly, asking where you were and wanting to talk to you. You had rolled your eyes with an embarrassed flush while the girls knowingly grinned at you.

“What did you do to get them so whipped, Y/N?” Yelena had teased, much to your further embarrassment. You had only managed to whine a low ‘I don’t know!’ before you hid your face behind your cup, draining the last of the contents before letting Scott drag you away.

Steve had wrapped his arms around you, giving you a kiss on the cheek. The two of them were tipsy, definitely not as drunk as you. No, you were seconds away from forgetting the night with the way the room was spinning. You leaned on Steve for support, trying to catch up with the conversation Bucky and Sam were having. Wanda was tucked into Sam’s side with a content smile, Natasha nearby scowling at you. You shuddered at that, sending Sharon a quick ‘help me’ text. Sharon, much to your surprise, was over to your side in an instant.

“I’m going to the bathroom, come with me?” She asked, helping pry you from Steve’s grip. You nodded, sending Steve an apologetic smile as he groaned in annoyance.

“Why do girls always pee together?” He asked, which was only met with a laugh from you and Sharon.

“That’s classified, Rogers.” Sharon snips, dragging you from the circle towards the downstairs bathroom. You were glad you opted for your docs tonight, heels would’ve been a mistake to even attempt to walk in.

“Thank you, I swear if Natasha could kill with a glare, I’d be like… so dead.” You giggle, though your smile quickly turns into a frown when you see the line for the bathroom. Clint had let a bunch of freshmen in for some reason, and it seemed the line was longer that you had the patience for.

“Come on, let’s use the upstairs one.” You grumble, dragging Sharon towards the stairs.

“I thought upstairs was off-limits tonight?” Sharon asked confused, staggering after you in her heels.

“Yeah, only ‘cause of the freshers. We’ll be fine.” You explain, pushing your way into the empty bathroom and locking the door behind the two of you.

“Okay, this was a great excuse to save you from Natasha but I actually need to pee.” Sharon laughs. You nod, turning your back so you’re looking at your reflection in the mirror. You silently fix your hair, reapplying your lipgloss and inspecting your eyeliner to make sure it wasn’t smudged.

“I’m so fucking drunk right now,” You whine, only turning around to look at Sharon after she is finished. You move out of the way as Sharon goes to wash her hands. She’s smirking to herself about something, you internally groan already knowing where this is going.

“Probably doesn’t help that Bucky and Steve are like… all over you tonight.” She says with a snicker, catching your eye in the mirror.

“Ugh. Don’t say that.” You grumble, smoothing down the fabric of your dress. You were glad you opted for something mid-thigh, anything shorter and you probably would’ve flashed someone in your drunken state.

“Seriously! They’re, like, in love with you!” Sharon cries with a laugh, washing the soap from her hands.

“No they’re not!” You protest, watching Sharon grin at you through the mirror as she dries her hands.

“They literally are though! They follow you around like a couple of lost puppies, you should see the little lovesick looks they give you all the time!” She continues.

“No! Shush!” You whine.

“They love you!” Sharon giggles, drawing out the ‘o’ while you make an upset face.

“Oh my god, they don't, they're gay.” You say, then slap your hand over your mouth when you realize what you’ve said. Sharon gapes at you in silence for a moment as both your drunken brains work overtime to process what you just announced.

“They’re what?” She asks in shock. You take a step back, tears forming in your eyes as you shake your head. No. Fuck. Why did you say that? How fucking stupid and drunk were you right now to just let massive information like that just slip out?

“Wait. No, fuck. You can’t tell anyone Sharon. Oh my god, I didn’t mean for that to slip out - fuck!” You stumble over your words, tears already beginning to pour down your cheeks. Great, now you’re drunk and emotional. Crying because you just fucking outed Bucky and Steve in some weird bathroom confession. You didn’t even know why you were crying, maybe it was just the stress of all the recent events, all the sleepless nights finally catching up to you.

“They’re gay? How do you even-?” Sharon starts, but you grab her by the shoulders.

“You can’t tell anyone Sharon, they’ll never forgive me, oh my god.” You blubber, Sharon frowns, pulling you into a hug.

“Are you sure they’re not bisexual? Or pansexual? They’re still both obviously into you-” Sharon starts but you cut her off with a half-sob half-screaming noise. You’d just outed them, just exposed their secret and Sharon was still continuing with this bit?

“No, for fucksake. They’re dating, they’re not into me.” You mumble through tears. Your eyeliner was definitely going to be messed up now. God, you were screwed.

“They’re… they’re dating?” Sharon questions, just as a loud knocking comes from the bathroom door as someone tries to get inside.

“It’s probably some fucking freshers,” The distinct voice of Natasha cuts through the door. “Hey! You’re not allowed up here, get the fuck out!” She shouts, continuing to rattle the doorknob and bang on the door.

“Fuck,” You hiss, wiping some of the tears from your cheeks. “Please don’t tell anyone, I’m serious.” You beg Sharon.

“Of course I won’t, what do you think I am, a monster?” She chuckles, going to unlock the door while you frown. Loki had threatened to out them, and Bucky and Steve hated him. How would they react to what you had done, you had actually outed them. The guilt is already eating away at you, stupid alcohol making you not think before talking. You’d have to tell Steve and Bucky what you had done when you were less emotional, damage control or whatever.

“We’re unlocking the door now, jesus!” Sharon shouts, tugging the door open. You’re faced with a pissed off looking Natasha and Wanda. Natasha gives you a filthy look, near sneering when she sees your tear stained cheeks.

“You’re not supposed to use this bathroom,” Natasha snarls, you flinch but Sharon holds strong.

“Yeah? And neither are you. We’re not fucking freshers, Natasha, grow up.” Sharon snaps back at her. Grabbing your wrist, Sharon pulls you past Natasha and Wanda, purposely shouldering Natasha on the way out.

“Why are you crying, Y/N? Barnes and Rogers not giving you enough attention?” Natasha says to you as you pass by. Any other day, any other time it wouldn’t have hurt. Any other time both you and Sharon would’ve walked away with a scoff. But you were both drunk and emotional. Sharon pauses her walking, you feel your stomach drop when you see the enraged look in her eyes. If Sharon was one thing, she was a protector.

“The fuck did you just say to her?” Sharon growls at Natasha. Natasha looks near delighted by Sharon’s sudden aggression, almost like she had been hunting for a good fight all night.

“Just asking why she’s crying like a little bitch?” Natasha says innocently, grin across her red lips. Wanda looks horrified, grasping Natasha’s arm to hold her back as Sharon moves to shout into Natasha’s face.

“Sharon don’t,” You warn. You followed Wanda’s action, grabbing her by the arm and trying to pull her back. You can already feel a fresh wave of tears beginning to surface as the tension in the hallway rises. You should’ve known this would happen. You thought it would be because of Loki or John, not Natasha.

“I’m gonna fucking kill you, Romanoff.” Sharon snarls, lunging forward. You grasp her tightly but only achieve being dragged forward with her. Wanda lets out a scream, everything moving faster than you can process. With a blur, Natasha punches Sharon right in the nose, blood spouting down Sharon’s face as you drag her away. Natasha and Sharon are screaming and cussing at each other, it takes all your strength to pull Sharon deeper into the hallway.

You can’t even understand what they’re screaming, only that you need to get them far away from each other.

Clint rounds the top of the stairs, sending you a horrified look before placing himself between Natasha and Sharon. Blood is still flowing from Sharon’s nose, in the panic it has dripped all down her face onto both your outfits and arms.

Despite all the screaming, the world feels silent as you stare at the blood across your skin. Your grip slowly loosens on Sharon as you stagger away. You’re not sure if you’re shaking from the shock or from the sobs taking over your body. There is blood everywhere, you try to scrub it off but only succeed in smudging it deeper into your skin.

You outed Bucky and Steve and now Sharon was bleeding because of you. Another party, another fucking disaster. Trying to calm yourself, you turn back around to drink in the developing situation. Sam is holding back Natasha while Wanda is shouting at her to calm down, Clint is helping Sharon nurse her bloody nose. Scott had also appeared at some point, looking between the groups of hysterical women in shock.

As if on cue, Bucky and Steve round the corner into the hallway. They must’ve been summoned by the sounds of screaming. Bucky takes one look at you - sobbing and stained with blood - and pushes through the gathering crowd to get to you. You flinch away as he gets close, hugging yourself as tears continue flowing down your cheeks.

They were going to be so mad, so disappointed, so scared. You had betrayed them by accidentally outing them, they would never forgive you. You felt inconsolable, sobs racking your body as Bucky watched you with a mixture of concern and distress. He turns to Steve, muttering some instructions to the blond before grasping your shoulder despite your protests.

He pulls you into his room, immediately letting go and stepping away the moment you were safely inside. He stands in silence, watching as you gradually begin to calm yourself from your sobbing.

“Siren, darling. Are you hurt?” He eventually speaks up, voice low.

“No. No. It’s Sharon’s blood. Fuck, is she okay?” You say through gasps. Bucky hesitantly reaches forward, placing his hands on your shoulders and beginning to rub them comfortingly. You don’t flinch away, instead leaning into the touch.

“She’s okay. Clint and Scott are helping her.” He assures you, pulling you closer as you try to steady your gasping breaths.

“I was scared when I saw you crying like that, I thought Natasha hit you too.” He admits, rubbing slow circles into your back. You let out a shuddering breath, only pulling away as Steve ducks into the room with a cup of water.

“Here, drink this,” Steve murmurs quietly, handing you the cup. You take a few sips, the cool water calming you briefly. You observe the boys through red, puffy eyes. Why were they always so kind to you? You felt so much guilt having them looking after you like this when you had betrayed them.

A fresh wave of tears hit you again, you hear Bucky sigh through his nose. It’s almost like he can hear your overthinking brain ticking away, making the situation worse.

“Sharon’s okay, you’re okay. There is no need to worry.” He reassures you, reaching out. You shake your head, back away and sit down on the edge of his bed.

“I fucked up,” You mumble from behind the cup.

“No you didn’t. Natasha is just a psycho who gets into fights with everyone.” Steve says, sitting next to you. You just hand him the cup for him to place on the bedside table. You sit in silence, rubbing some of the tears from your cheeks as they continue to flow.

“Not that.” You sigh. “In the bathroom with Sharon - fuck. She wouldn’t shut up about you two, about how she’s convinced you’re in love with me or some shit. I was trying to tell her it wasn’t like that but she wouldn’t listen! I was just so drunk, I am so drunk. I didn’t think about it before I said it, it just kinda slipped out.” You stumble over your words. You can’t even look them in the eye. The guilt, it’s eating you alive, piece by piece.

“What slipped out?” Bucky asks, voice low and calm. You suppress a sob. Why was he so kind, so patient? Steve’s hand finds your knee, squeezing it gently to comfort you.

“She just wouldn’t shut up about it, so I told her it made no sense because you guys are gay. Fuck. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say it, I didn’t mean to. And now I’m the one crying like this is all about me when I’ve completely fucked you two over-” Bucky chuckling cuts your rambling off. You stare at him in shock for a moment, why was he laughing? Had he slipped into shock? Gone entirely mad?

“That’s why you’re crying? Shit, darling.” Bucky says between soft laughter, even Steve is smiling to himself.

“Wait. You’re not mad? I just outed you - how do you not hate me? You were mad when Loki threatened to out you and I actually did!” You cry. Bucky shakes his head, moving to kneel in front of where you sat on the bed. His hands smooth the fabric of your dress on your thighs, blue eyes staring up at you.

“Of course I don’t hate you, Siren. It was an honest mistake. We all say things we don’t mean when we’re drunk. Don’t we Steve?” He says, looking at the blond for backup. Steve just smiles, giving you a short hug.

“Of course we’re not mad! Shit happens, you didn’t do it maliciously. Loki was going to do that to hurt us, we know that you would never hurt us like that, darling. Do you know how many times we’ve accidentally outed ourselves while drunk? That’s how Sam found out - we literally forgot and made out in front of him.” Steve explains, you giggle a bit at that which makes Bucky smile, some of the worry for you leaving his expression.

“So you’re seriously not mad at me?” You ask. Steve tackles you to the bed with a hug while you make a small squealing noise.

“We aren’t mad. Plus it’s Sharon, she would never tell anyone! She knew Scott was queer before he even knew himself, and she didn’t do anything bad. She probably would’ve found out sooner or later anyway.” Steve explains, you visibly relax into his arms.

“I’m still sorry though-” You start, only to be met with Bucky groaning.

“It’s fine. You’re fine. You’re drunk, shit happens. We forgive and forget, it’s all okay, Siren.” Bucky says, patting your knee in reassurance. You can’t help but feel like a weight is lifted from your shoulders. Even if you still feel guilty and terrible for what you did, the fact that they forgave you without a fuss… Maybe it was your drunk brain talking, or the blushing schoolgirl. You wanted to just reach out and kiss the both of them.

“Fuck. I’m the drunk one that needs to be taken care of at this party, aren’t I?” You groan, Steve only laughs, letting go as you as he sits back up. You rub your face, still laying on your back on the bed. You needed to pull yourself together, god you were a mess.

“It’s okay,” Steve chuckles at you as you pout. He looked so handsome, his hair all ruffled and messy from the party.

“First I out you to Sharon, now you have to take care of me while I'm hysterical and drunk.” You grumble.

“You’re lucky you’re cute when you're drunk.” Bucky says with a grin, you roll your eyes and bite your tongue to stop yourself from saying something you’d regret in the morning. “And for the record, we’re bisexual, not gay.”

“Great,” You grumble, embarrassed. “Should we go update Sharon then?” You joke, the two of them snicker at that.

“Might want to wait a bit if you value your teeth being in your mouth, Natasha is still lurking out in the hallway looking for another fight.” Steve says, a cheeky smile spreading across his face.

“I think the question is, when isn’t Natasha looking for a fight?” Bucky mutters.

All you can do is let out a horrified laugh.

Chapter 10

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chromosome23hq · 2 years

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JUN. 12, 1998. Ramer Cemetery.

Out of the night that covers me, Black as the pit from pole to pole, I thank whatever gods may be For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance I have not winced nor cried aloud. Under the bludgeonings of chance My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears Looms but the Horror of the shade, And yet the menace of the years Finds and shall find me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate, How charged with punishments the scroll, I am the master of my fate, I am the captain of my soul.

Many were lost during the fight between the Brotherhood and X-Men and Omegas. Funerals and memorial services were held for many. Some were treated with just a night out, their alcohol either poured onto the ground or consumed, and a few nameless individuals didn't receive anything. Elliott Winslow, the former Essex Escapee, and Brotherhood member were loved and appreciated by many. If his ghost was still on Earth, he would see the large group gathered around his grave. The crowd was a mixture of Brotherhood members, Essex Escapees, and his coworkers, everyone dressed neatly in black, mourning in their ways. Even despite his explosive and venomous tongue, Elliott was a friend to many. He was always the type to fight for what he believed was right, and he truly did—too bad he was killed by some fucking cop. It wasn't a death he deserved but a death he got.

For the Essex Escapees, the group was hit with the realization that they'll never be safe. Just because they escaped death at the hands of Essex scientists, they'll never escape the death brought by others. It was a brutal reminder that hit all of them, but Monique Washington took it harder than others. Even after escaping Essex's clutches, Monique has lived within a fictional bubble where nothing could hurt them or their friends. It was perfectly constructed, a world that took them thirteen years to make. But within seconds, it was destroyed by witnessing the death of their friend.

The collapse of this world was the shove Monique needed to change themself and society. After waiting for the Brotherhood and Elliott's coworkers to leave, Monique brought up a solution to their problems before the other escapees. Unknown to the other escapees ( minus Seven ), their parents came to town. After learning what happened to their child, the couple offered to use their position as celebrities to publicly take down Essex House. For Monique, that meant exposing themself to the entire nation and reliving their trauma, and they weren't ready to do something like that, so they rejected the offer. Until now. With the death of Elliott, the fear of losing another friend, and the fear that Essex was seeing this as a win as one escapee dies, it was what they needed to share the plan with the other Essex Escapees and ask for their help.

Unlike Monique, the others all accepted within seconds. It was a once-in-a-lifetime chance to destroy Essex and their personal hell of many years. Their answer brought relief to Monique but also proved one thing to them: how much of a coward they were. The discussion was relatively short, Monique stepping back and avoiding all of their eyes. "I have to go back to Florida for a few weeks, but I'll be back with more details. I'll contact all of you when I get them."

They were the first ones to leave, not looking back at anyone as they disappeared from their eyes. One by one, each escapee left until it was just Elliott Winslow. Now cold and all alone for all of eternity.

JUN. 21, 1998

They all waited by their landlines and computers, waiting for their friend to get back to them with details. Nothing came from Monique; instead, they saw their friend on magazine stands everywhere. Their face was plastered on every cover, ranging from Tiger Beats, Sassy to Hollywood Gossip. There were candid pictures of Monique Lanchester with their parents, some at restaurants, others at Basketball games—the mystery child of the Lanchester couple that the public has been waiting for. Tiger Beats talked about Monique shooting hoops with their dad and his basketball players, Sassy had pictures of them with their mother, but Hollywood Gossip had the chance to speak with Monique.

It was a private interview with Monique and a Hollywood Gossip journalist. The questions were easy enough, "It's so great to finally see you! We've only seen baby pictures of you, and that's it", and "How did you feel after your father's team lost months ago?" simple things that Monique could easily laugh off and answer. Then came the big question everyone was asking: Why are you now appearing after twenty-three years of radio silence?

Monique shuffled nervously in their seat, fingers tapping on the table as they stalled answering. The journalist waited patiently but was on the edge of their seat. Finally, Monique responded to their question, "I think it's better to show you than to tell you." They then took off their hat, showing the journalist their ears that sat on top of their head. A mutant, of course! It was always a theory that the Lanchester child was a mutant, but no one delved more into it; it was just a theory, nothing more. But now, it was a reality and the perfect story that the journalist was looking for. "I'm a mutant, a wolf, to be specific. It happened so suddenly that my parents didn't know what to do except to hide me, afraid of what the public may do or say about me."

It was the partial truth; they kept to themself that their parents were also terrified of Monique and what they could do. That wasn't important, right? What was important was hooking the journalist in and using them to get the necessary attention for this plan. It was all set up by their father's agent: Monique needed to pique tabloids' interest nationwide to take down the Essex House. Tabloids were the bane of every celebrity's existence but were the backbone of this nation; without them, no one would know anything. And for this situation, the tabloids would help Monique and their friends expose the facility that had ruined their lives for so long.

"No one else in my family is a mutant, so there was no one who could help me with it; my parents didn't know what to do," they said. "Until news about the Essex House came on our television. It was perfect; we were told Essex would help young mutants like myself, so my parents sent me there immediately. And I truly thought that they would help me, but I was wrong… So, so wrong."

"Why? What was wrong with it?"

Their ears lowered, the journalist's watching those specifically. "The Essex House wasn't a safe haven for younger mutants. It was all a lie. They didn't care about us, much less help us with our abilities. No, to them, we were nothing but lab rats who they could torture and experiment on. Thank God I was able to get out there but… the scars… They're still there and will never fade, no matter what I do."

Monique gave the journalist enough information to get them by for the article. Two days later, the magazine article about Monique's interview could be found everywhere. It sparked the necessary attention from everyday people to other reporters and journalists who wanted to know if it was true. If the Essex House really tortured them and other young mutants, how could Monique get out there alive if Monique was telling the truth?

The attention made Monique nauseous, but this was what they wanted, no, needed. The plan that the agent created was falling into place. It wouldn't take long for the second part of the plan to be set into motion: garner enough attention for a talk show to allow Monique and the other Essex Escapees to talk about their experiences. Within a day, the agent was contacted by various talk show representatives who wanted to cover the story. While the number was amazing, it was narrowed down within hours. For all of this to work, it needed to happen right away. They couldn't partner with anyone who said it would take a month or two to cover the story, nor could they partner with someone who would handle the situation without grace.

It was a delicate topic that needed to be handled carefully and quickly, or else everything would end before anything could happen. When it felt like everything was no longer going their way, one representative told them they could meet their requirements. A talk show host who could handle a case like this, who was popular and willing to air this episode within two weeks. Monique didn't even care to see who it was as they ran to the nearest phone to call the other Essex Escapees. The plan was on, and it was all thanks to–

JUL. 2, 1998

Lights come onto a stage where Oprah Winfrey stood alone. There were seven chairs behind her and an audience that surrounded her. As soon as the cameras started rolling, the audience cheered, all excited for the woman and what was to be discussed. The woman tried to smile, but it was obvious that it was difficult to do so; even for a woman with years of experience, nothing could prepare her for this.

"The knowledge of mutants has been made public since the eighties, though, they've been around since, what many believe, the beginning of time. Despite their differences, they still bleed the same color and bruise the same as us. Today's episode is a special one with a sensitive topic. The United States is the land of the free, a country that is founded on freedom and creating a home for our children to live a safe and free life. However, some lost the chance to live such a life. For many mutant children, they're born into a family of humans who don't know how to raise a child with powers. Some of them push through it and continue to love their child despite their differences. Others disown their children, looking at them with disgust in their eyes. And the few who try and seek help for their children.

"The Essex House is an institution that takes in mutant children, promising to help these children learn and hone their abilities. Parents send their children here or teenagers or barely eighteen-year-olds who arrive to get help, only this institution doesn't try to help them. It's all a façade as the institution cares for one thing: conducting experiments on these poor children.

"With us today are six former Essex House residents who are no longer children but adults, most nearing their thirties. They were tortured, abused, experimented on, and forced to fight for almost twelve years. Let me repeat that; they had to go through almost twelve years of that. Children turned into adults who escaped what they call a Hell Hole. These six have decided to come onto my show to share not only their trauma but to expose themselves to the entire world. Please welcome to my stage Milo Burke, Seven, Jessica Turner, Lachlan McLeod, Jack Torrence, and Monique Lanchester!"

Interview with Milo Burke

"— do you think you're comfortable showing us now, Milo?"

The interviewer's voice was kind and patient, but Milo had been disassociating so aggressively throughout the first part of the interview — it had been all "we" and "us" instead of "me" — that he seemed dully startled by his own name. He swallowed hard, throat painfully dry, and offered a stiff nod. "I- yeah. Um."

Milo stood and reached for the buttons on his shirt, his fingertips already buzzing with familiar panicked energy, panic only compounded by the way he could see the cameras all turn to him in his peripheral vision. It took some fumbling, but eventually, the one thing he'd struggled so much to hide the past year and a half was fully displayed: his scars, the most concrete proof he had to offer of the torture they'd all endured.

"These are, uh. From the fights I mentioned." Milo's fingertips grazed over thick, diagonal claw marks across his chest, but he moved on quickly because he knew Mo was watching — and the scars were from them. "And this was… the experiments." He wouldn't repeat himself, he couldn't, but his hands now framed the suspiciously regular, cross-hatched patchwork of lines across the rest of his torso. "They're… they're all over the rest of my body," Milo continued uncomfortably, a little distantly. "I was awake for most of this."

Interview with Seven

Seven walked into the frame, wearing shorts and little else. An uncomfortable beat as there was no slow reveal: Seven simply sat with every scar on show. They were a pale blue with faint streaks of pink through them. They still looked raw. He found that he spoke carefully under this pressure, practiced everything he wanted to say, and always bowed and obeyed when stressed. They were ignored at first. Seven simply talked about the routine, the experiments, and the fights. The collars. The casual sadism of the guards. Finally, he addresses the elephant in the room.

"A part of my mutation is my heart can heal itself," he carefully trailed a finger down his sternum, under his pec where the scar shows a chest opened like it were on a hinge, "They cut me open, without anesthesia. I feel the same level of pain as anyone else. They tested for that." Seven rolled his left shoulder, showing the mottled burn scar, "Essex employees forced us to fight each other." His hands shook as he opened them to show scars on his webbing. They remained the only sign of nerves throughout his interview.

Interview with Jessica Turner

Jess had come to the interview -- perhaps confessional -- stripped. Just enough to get past censors, all makeup removed, near paper white skin exposed. If she couldn't talk about the scars around her limbs, her wrists, on her head... she could, at the very least, show them. Then, withdrawing many, many, many pages of paper, Jack did what he had too often done for her, becoming her mouthpiece as he read the cards she flipped through:

"I would like to say what the worst part of Essex was, be it the fights in the ring or their' experiments.' But I couldn't. Not just because I physically can't when I'm not talking about Essex on the surface, but because I think that the worst part was being fitted with a ball gag and calling it a muzzle. I don't really know why they did it. I couldn't use my ability, deadliest with speech, with the nullification collar. Maybe they wanted to make camaraderie harder. Maybe they wanted to incentivize me to win those fights in the ring. Maybe it was just another experiment, long-term.

"Sometimes, they would take my only means of communication away if I lost there. It happened each time for the first few months, then it was a gamble after that, and I don't know which was worse. Twelve years, sometimes you get so desperate, you'd rather write in blood! I would've taken more lobotomies, more invasive brain surgeries, hacking off limbs, more temporarily sewn lips, more losses in the ring, more of it over twelve years of silence. Only able to speak when I was trying to maim or kill a friend. (The worst part, I might add, is that you aren't allowed to stay dead.)

"But at least my writing and their reading speed got quicker! Jack and I didn't even rehearse this!"

Interview with Lachlan McLeod

"I checked into Essex House willingly," Lachlan began as the spotlight fell on him. His first thought was why he imagined it was a good idea to show his face, "They fed me lies like they do to everyone else and told me they could help me control my abilities. That I could make sure my family felt safe with me." His family will know he's alive now. He wished that felt more like a silver lining, but he wondered how upset they'll be that he didn't come home. "I wasn't allowed contact with the outside world, and we were barely allowed contact with each other if it wasn't a cage match." There was also something he needed to prove. He wasn't sure if it was to Jess or himself, but he didn't want to be a coward in Knight's clothing anymore. He knew other members of their group looked to him as a leader, brave and steady, but this was his moment to prove it was true. Even if that meant Lachlan was putting a target on his own back in the process. He could only hope that putting his face to this story would appeal to people's sense of compassion.

"Their idea of teaching me control was literal torture." Tentatively, he rolled his sleeves to reveal the lightning bolt scars across his hands and arms. "They electrocuted me; there are more scars like this on my legs and feet. I was told they wanted to see how my skin would react because I can control water. They cut me open like a science project—my hands, chest, and even eyes. It's a miracle I can even still see or feel a thing. I was forced to fight like the others and have the scars to prove it. They forced me to develop parts of my abilities in ways I would give anything to forget. They were monsters who tried to make it seem like we were the problem. For twelve years, that was my everyday. And, not a single day in those twelve years was for my benefit. Not a single one." The nerves were gone, replaced with the outpouring of relief of telling his story for the first time in his life. He had let it fester all this time, building up to the moment when the world finally knew what had happened and that he had somehow survived it.

Interview with Jack Torrence

"—And the scar? That's from Essex, isn't it?"

Long fingers reached to trace along the raised tissue at the edge of his lip, his half-smile. "Yes." He can recall its creation like yesterday, in the same moment, it had happened a million years prior. Vivid but fragmented, memories haunted his days just as well as his nights. "My mouth wouldn't open wide enough for them, so they tore it apart." He remembered the cold bite of metal, of restraints. The sting of blood in his mouth. Them forcing wider, wider, wider until Jack, much like a serpent, could swallow his chosen prey whole.

"What was the purpose of that? Pure torture?"

He shifted in his seat, uncomfortable. Eyes continued to seek out the camera in the background, the millions of eyes upon him. Is it worth it? Is it worth baring the worst parts of his soul so that Essex's could be destroyed? It had to be. It had to be. "The things—" things, living and unliving. "What they wanted me to eat wouldn't fit. I think the torture was just a bonus."

"Could you elaborate on what things they wanted you to eat?"

He felt sick. Dizzy. Nauseous. He remembered the last time he felt nauseous. "They wanted..." he trailed off, out of breath. His heart hammered in his chest, alien to him. "They wanted..."

"It's alright. Take your time. Maybe a drink—?"

"No. No. I'm fine." The force of his rejection surprises even him. He needs to do this. He needs to do this. "They wanted me to..." His fingers locked against the arms of his seat, pure white. He couldn't look at the interviewer. He couldn't look at the camera. His long stare landed on the spot on the floor. "They wanted me to eat someone else."

"—You mean—?!"

"They made me eat another mutant."

Interview with Monique Lanchester

"Do you remember any of your fights with the other residents?"

Monique shook their head. "My situation is different from everyone else's," they said. "When I turn into a wolf, I can't remember anything. I black out, I guess. As the… the wolf takes full control of my body and does whatever it wants. When I come to… I'm back in my room. Even at the end of a fight, the wolf can't change back to normal. Rage fills my entire body, and the wolf runs on the rage because of Essex. They forced it—me, to be like this. Whenever I changed into a wolf, I was provoked because they pushed me to the limit. It was like they were trying to create a killing machine; I was their special project to commit murder."

"Have you ever murdered any of the other mutants?"

"No—I don't think so?" Everyone always kept their scars a secret from Monique; it wouldn't be a surprise if they kept someone's death from them. "I'm sure I've come close to killing someone, and the scientists would just watch… To test everyone's durability and to see if I can do it. If I can kill someone." They paused. "I hate it, really, what they turned the wolf into. I'm not a killer, but in a way I am, and it's because of Essex. I went to their institution to better understand the wolf within me, to have control over it. But instead, they molded me into this monster that attacks their friends and, one day, family."

Monique kept their head up high, but their ears dropped drastically. They wanted to leave right away. "I have wounds that healed or scared over the years; that's stuff I can hide from the public eye. But I can't hide or control this wolf, no matter how hard I try; Essex has fucked me up so much that I'm always terrified of the day that they'll attack someone that I love, and there won't be anyone to stop me."

JUL. 8, 1998

The interviews, newspaper articles, and gossip magazines didn't take long for the public to riot against the Essex House. Protests outside the facilities, parents who had sent their children there were calling and demanding their children to be freed, and reporters who waited for workers to leave and talk; it was a disaster for anyone working there. But it was the hope that all of the mutants needed. It took the Essex Escapees too long to do something, but it was better late than never. By the end of the week, NYPD was given permission to storm Essex House with all parents to get back their children and a timid Monique who hated that damn building.

All mutant children and young adults were freed, families hugging and apologizing to their children, while others without a family stood to the side awkwardly. Not all of them were lucky enough to have a loving family who felt bad for what they did wrong. Many of their families feared them and called them terrible names just because of their abilities; the outside world and the inside of Essex House were all the same.

That was why Monique was there, to offer them a home and a new family. For anyone who didn't have anywhere to go to, Monique had bought a home in Valtoria for the remaining mutants. It was only a temporary situation, just something to help them integrate into society until they were ready to live independently. Many of them accepted the offer, while others chose to leave the city entirely. The situation brought a smile to Monique's face, the Essex Escapee leading their new family out of the facility. For all of their sakes but mostly for Monique's.

It was a win for them, but the facility was still there, and there was nothing they could do to truly destroy it. Against all of their desires, the facility will remain standing as if it didn't fuck all of them over for years. That was a win for Nathaniel Essex, making them sick to their stomach.

JUL. 9, 1998

The Essex Escapees weren't the only enemies the Essex House had to worry about. While the Essex Escapees ruined the Essex House's public standing and released all of their residents, the facility still existed. It was still a reminder of the torture and abuse that many went through for over twelve years as if it was mocking all its former residents. Even after everything the Essex Escapees did to destroy it, it wasn't enough.

That was when the Brotherhood entered the scene. After a month of radio silence, the organization met up again within Club Nyx. Erik Lehnsherr said nothing about the battle a month ago or about the lost members; instead, he spoke of a group mission for the entire organization: to finally destroy the Essex House once and for all.

No one objected to the order, nor was anyone anxious about it. Not even the group tasked with destroying the facility in April objected. They had a score of their own that needed to be settled with the Essex House, and this was the perfect opportunity to do so. The plan was for everyone to meet outside Essex House at midnight Wednesday night. Come prepared in their suits, masks, and anger for those who tortured their kind without proper punishment.

And they all listened. Every single member surrounded the facility from different angles before they broke through the gates. There were still guards and scientists around, guards who put up a fight, and scientists doing whatever they could to protect themselves and their research. But none of it was used as they were stormed by all sorts of mutants. A trail of non-mutant bodies was left both outsides and inside, empty cells and labs were destroyed, and all data collected over the years was burned before the scientists who were soon murdered.

For many, this plan was probably in honor of Elliott, the only Essex Escapee in their organization. But as a unified organization, it was for all mutants for once for those younger mutants who lost their childhood, teenhood, and young adulthood to a facility that lied about helping them. A facility that tortured, abused and experimented on them relentlessly. This was for them and a message to Essex Corporation: try this shit again, and the Brotherhood will be there to destroy them again.

JUL. 10, 1998

There was something to be said about the organization of power, the heady mix of money and influence that drew people such as herself as metal did to magnets.

January St. James may rush, may come to illogical conclusions brought on by pride and arrogance, but at the end of the day, she played the long game. And by God, she knew how to play it well. Banks to lean on. Favors to take. Locations to put on her lease. The building of power is a slow thing, a careful thing, built upon years upon years of hard work and manipulation, and now, after the whole debacle with the Brotherhood and the Institute, she had enough social capital to play it.

Brandt and Goetsch was a good play, but while Maxine was as much of a viper as Jonas was, she was also a mutant and one that was as close to her personality—both of them could never have survived each other for long. So, with a farewell and nary a shed tear, she fixed everything she could in order.

Disappearing from the building, as if she hadn't even been there, several things happened, all at once. At his desk, Cas saw a handwritten letter apologizing for his current predicament. As Jack was her employee, she will be dealing with him personally and thus returned the money she'd been given for a job with a generous tip once over, and as she hardly reneges on a deal, this was a rare exception.

Another courier arrived with a bouquet of roses and a card that chilled Cas to his core, sent by January herself, with a smile as sharp as her knives.

She knows. Good luck.

In the back of her mind, miles away, Maxine heard January's voice whisper the name of the mole. Castello Laurenti. This was the term of their deal, and with it, she got a clean break from Brandt and Goetsch, off to seemingly do whatever powerful ladies of society were able to do day in and day out.

And all they did was spend.

An old building, built of vintage and glamour, scraping the skies as if it were the Tower of Babel itself. Her old lover would tell January that it would have all the makings of a good tragedy, but he's dead, and what use are the qualms of a dead man to those who still live? So she built, laid out the organization to her friends, business partners, and the more powerful mutants in the vicinity, and put out the invitations.

Letters, sent by a touch of magic and antiquity, found themselves on the desk of the powerful, all for the taking. To only humans, they see invitations to parties, to luxury, to connection. The Hellfire Club was for the most powerful, the most cunning, and the most to dine on the lap of luxury and be seen by only the elite.

But the mutants?

Seats of power are offered to select people through auditions and secret gatherings, the thoughts of connections that reach the country and the other side of the globe. The Lord's Cardinal, the inner circle of the Hellfire Club, an old myth among the old money, using their wealth and influence to turn the world as it spins on its axis, and now she set the foundation on which they'll stand. January may be as hungry for power as the next socialite, but she knew how to use it in the service of the mutant race. At least, that's what she told herself.

In the old building, in the penthouse suite that felt as endless as catacombs, portaled only by her reality-warping, she sat on a chair, on a throne, with a dark figure next to her, only coming to light as the smile on her face grew as she saw all the work laid out before her.

Her friend, her employee, and recently appointed second-in-command, Jess Turner, was invited to join and help build the Hellfire Club, to which she eagerly agreed. Placing focus on the founding of the Hellfire Club was both a welcomed task and a distraction. As January dealt with finances, connections, locations, and all the things she was accustomed to, Jess handled the more minute details. She began running enforcement and completing the smaller errands necessary for its rise, herself rising along with it.

Intimidation and imposition came naturally to Jess. She was built on blood and commandment. Judge of character, on the other hand, had to be polished. The least trustworthy seemed the most, and the most trustworthy seemed the least. Thus, recruiting those on the lower scale was not a talent but rather a skill that January aided in honing. By the beginning, she no longer felt obligated to run all the recruits by the goddess. While those within the high-risk category, such as known Brotherhood members, were one thing, those who posed little to no risk were feely offered recruitment, however sparse.

Cracking heads. Intimidating, hostile bosses. Poaching people off bad contracts. Not unlike her old self, both of their old selves, something discarded. A necessary venture, but one that January's long since grown tired of. Now, she stood tall, along with those closest to her, ready for whatever horrors the world had in store for her—no, for them, for there is no more her.

There is no more I for January, nor any for Jess.

There is only we and they.

There is only Hellfire.

. . .

While the two sides focused and fought each other, there was a new mutant enemy who finally decided to make an appearance. The city's new mayor watched the woman across from him closely. He had been wary of letting her into his office, much less agree to this meeting. Until he learned that it was a meeting scheduled by the Pentagon, he absolutely could not reject it. But goodness, something about this woman did not sit well with him! Maybe it was how casual she acted while sipping the coffee offered her. As if she owned this place.

"So," he began, clearing his throat. "What brings you here, miss–"

"Linda McCall, but feel free to call me Linda," she answered, smiling.

"Yes, of course, Linda." He nodded his head, smile tight and fake. "What brings you here to my office?"

Linda took a long sip from her cup, and the mayor could only wait for her to stop. And when she did, she took forever to set down her cup. Five minutes in and she was already beginning to annoy him. "Well, it's rather simple." She placed her folded hands onto her lap, leaning back into her seat. "I've noticed that your city has dealt with a certain… population that has done nothing but disrupt the peace for the past year. From the fight last month to the riots and even the assassination of the former mayor—My! It's all so much. I'm sure many of your citizens are in an uproar!"

She would be right. He had to deal with the press every single day, protestors outside of his building, and even corporation’s bigwigs who all complained. Telling him that he needed to do something to fix all of this or if he had any solutions. The most he could think of was to get rid of all mutants that lived in their city and push them elsewhere so they could fight and do whatever they wanted. But he couldn't necessarily do that, not on his own at least. "And you'd be correct," he said, mimicking her body language. "But I'm working on fixing the problem."

"Really? Then what do you plan on doing?"

"There's no need for me–"

"Because if you don't have a plan, which I'm sure you don't… I can offer you some assistance."

He raised an eyebrow. "What kind of assistance?"

He wasn't sure, but it looked like her smile was becoming more and more sinister by the passing second. Linda stood up, heading over to his bookcase, messing with one of the old, worn-out covers on the first shelf. "What if I told you that I have a weapon that is much stronger and better than any lousy officer or gun you own?"

"What, do you have a nuclear missile that could eliminate all mutants?"

"Oh, even better!" She pushed the book back, attention completely on him. "I have mutants of my own but not just any. No, they were ordinary humans like us. Before I turned them–"

"You turned them?" That couldn't be possible! "There is no way for a human to become a mutant. It's impossible–"

"Oh, but it is possible, and I achieved it. Humans that are now mutants, and they're stronger than any naturally born mutant in the world. Not only that, they listen to us, to humans, to me specifically. And I'm willing to offer them to you for your little situation."

"You want me to fight mutants with… mutants?"

"Exactly that!"

"Now, Linda," he said, sighing deeply. "I think you need to understand something… that's what's been happening since we brought in those damn Omegas. And it hasn't made anything better for my citizens or me." Or for the former mayor.

"And that's why you need my mutants because they listen to me and now to you. Not only that, they’re loyal. They'll do whatever you tell them to do whenever you need it done." She walked back to where she was sitting; she picked up her bag and pulled out a manila folder, holding it out for the mayor. "Take the time to read over their files; these are seven mutants you can trust, I promise you."

He took it, though he was still watching her warily. "You have a lot of trust in these people."

Linda chuckled, closing her bag and throwing the strap over her shoulder. "Why wouldn't I? They are my children, after all. A mother must always love and trust her children."

OOC INFORMATION:

Welcome to Arc Two of C23! Again, we'd like to thank everyone for being here. You're all fantastic writers and we love you guys so much!

Also, a HUGE shoutout and thank you to the members who helped us with this plot drop: Kael, Gray, Alex, Cola, May, and Casey. WOO, WOO, YOU GUYS ROCK!!!

If you're wondering, yes, you can start roleplaying! IC, the date is July 10th, 1998 but feel free to do backdated threads that take place AFTER the previous event.

The Essex House facility has been officially destroyed by ALL Brotherhood members. Though, it's because of the Essex Escapees that the facility has lost all trust and public standing. HOWEVER, Essex Corporation is still alive and thriving.

We now have more affiliations for mutants: The Hellfire Club, The Seven Deadly Sins, and Former Essex House Residents. More about these affiliations will be posted later.

It's here, what everyone has been waiting for, our first-ever skeletons: The Seven Deadly Sins! Please click here to see the six open skeletons. To make it fair for everyone, you can reserve a skeleton on July 10th @ midnight C23 time (PHT). To reserve a skeleton, please open up a ticket on discord and send in your top two choices. This will be based on first come, first served basis.

Requirements to get a skeleton: Must be a member for 4+ months; active on ALL of your current muses for 2+ months; and you cannot drop this muse. The Seven Deadly Sins will be essential for the arc two plot, so please only take up one if you can handle it.

That’s all! Happy roleplaying everyone <3

#c23plotdrop #death mention tw #abuse mention tw #body image tw #cannibalism tw #BITCHES WE DID IT #shoutout to tin for the graphics #welcome to my chaos arc!#now let me make some damn starters bc a bitch is READY

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subtle-edge-of-rot · 2 years

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Ok, headcanon prompt: very curious what the early stages of a relationship with Michael would be like. First meeting, first kiss, things like that.

-🖤

I’ve gone over this a bit in the past but I’ll have to add it to my Michael master list.

Michael has been watching you for a long time. He’s had every chance to strike you down, as was the original plan, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it and god that made him angry. He felt weak. There’s just something about you that he couldn’t put his finger on.

So he watched you. He knew everything about you before you even knew about him. Your routine, your job—everything. He was your shadow and you were none the wiser. Something about you just called out to him. He almost felt a sense of peace from the constant voices and bloodlust that flood his head on a regular basis—which is why when he’s gravely injured, he found his way to your doorstep and collapsed, he hoped to maybe see you one last time before he finally met his end. But you save him (I hc reader is a medical professional of some kind).

You didn’t want to at first—this guy is a menace, a danger to society, it would be best if he were to perish. But something inside of you compels you to drag his giant ass into your house and nurse him back to health. It’s touch and go for a long time. His wounds get infected and it’s not clear if he’s going to live or not, but he pulls through and comes to, finding you passed out by his bedside, holding onto his clammy hand.

He doesn’t quite trust you at first, but then again he hasn’t ever trusted anyone. He does acknowledge that you’re taking care of him though, and he’s still too weak to really go back out into the world, so he stays. Eventually he gets better, but to his surprise, he doesn’t want to leave. It’s warm and comfortable in your home, and you’ve nursed him back to health and being around you makes him feel more human than apex predator. He doesn’t even realize that he’s not wearing his mask—he’s growing comfortable.

But he doesn’t really let you touch him at first. It overstimulates him and he will whack your hands away from him while his body shakes and recoils from you. So it takes a long, long time before he’ll so much as touch you. It’s a long slow road to romance but it gets there because it’s apparent there’s something between the two of you. It grows naturally.

When he does kiss you for the first time, it’s just a simple brush of lips, he’s unmoving and unsure of what he’s doing, and he’s so overstimulated—shaking like he’s afraid. But he learns the rhythm, still kind of sloppy and it frustrates him that he’s not good at it immediately, but it gets better over time. It progresses from here and eventually the two of you are an unspoken couple. You don’t need to define it because it is what it is.

He’s as close to loving you as he can get. It’s definitely a form of love, but it’s a bit twisted—overwhelming and possessive and a little obsessive at times, but that’s who he is. He does nothing in moderation. It’s all or nothing. You have his heart and his loyalty forever.

#payton’s asks #michael myers #🖤anon

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d1gitalgurl · 2 years

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Tales from the hood

In the film “Tales in the hood,” Director Rusty Cundieff touches on sociopolitical issues affecting the Black community using metaphor and the fantastic to illuminate the systemic racism and deep rooted racialized pillars of American society. Following themes of ancestral magic, ritual, and community, Cundieff critiques the American racial hierarchy and institutions of anti-black violence such as police, government and slavery. Conversely, Cundieff espouses controversial and outdated viewson crime and gang violence, arguing against “ black on black crime,” in the final chapter of his film leaving the viewer with a startling sense of dissonance at the films close. However, despite the contradiction in the second half, Cundieff remains firm in his depiction and criticism of marginalization the Black body. Following a group of young black men into an apparent funeral home to retrieve a batch of lost drugs, Cundieff sets the stage for the ensuing tales told by an eccentric and slightly off putting mortician by the name of Mr. Simms who is later revealed to be devil. As his guests arrive, Simms tells four spooky tales, “rouge cop revelation,” which follows the experience of a Black rookie cop haunted by the malevolent spirit of a fellow Black man murdered by his partners in a traffic stop gone horrifically wrong, “boys do get bruised,” which follows a young boy named Walter, who is being badly beaten by his step father, and his use of magic and ritual to defend himself and his mother, “KKK comeuppance” which shows the fate of a racist politician who moved into a former plantation house as a snub to his black critics only to be menaced by one of the former murdered slaves voodoo dolls, and finally “hardcore convert,” which focuses on the sociological myth of black on black crime and a gang member named Jerome or “crazy K” and a bout of conversion therapy type torture he faces while incarcerated. In “Rouge cop revelation,” Cundieff uses the idea zombies and the undead to exact revenge on corrupt cops, taking agency and control over the narrative not afforded to victims of police brutality, similarly to Walters use of unintentional voodoo to take back his power from his abusive step father in “boys do get bruised.” In both of these stories, historically maligned demographics reclaim their stories from the hands of their aggressors. The same can be said for the souls of the deceased slaves in “KKK comeuppance,” who exact their poignant revenge from beyond the grave through voodoo dolls. With the exception of the final tale, the stories in Cundieff’s “Tales from the hood,” use imagination to right the wrongs of the United States racialized past and present.

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thanksjro · 2 years

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More Than Meets the Eye #40 — Ratchet Runs Off After a Man

This is the issue where Ratchet gets Kaiju-ed and everyone has to adjust to their new normal of living with a giant doctor. Very touching story, love the part where he reenacts the King Kong Empire State scene with Cyclonus.

Also, I very much hope you all know that this is clearly a lie I’m telling, because lying is funny.

We get a quick montage of Ratchet’s life, as he had what was the last moment together with a few people who were very important to him, or at least as he knew them. Roller had come to his clinic before he and Orion Pax and the college kids left Rodion, to ask him to join them. Ratchet couldn’t, due to all the patients in the Dead End who depended on him. He looks as if he wants to say something, but instead just thanks Roller for dropping by. This would be the last time he saw Roller, as Roller disappeared during the events of that hot spot incident we saw during the ‘Elegant Chaos’ arc.

Later, he informed Pharma that he was leaving for Earth later that day, which I’ll go ahead and say, was a bit of a dick move to not say something sooner. Ratchet leaves in the middle of the conversation, not catching Pharma asking if he should take the assignment to Delphi that Prowl offered him. We, of course, know how that turned out for Pharma.

Later still, Ratchet drops off Hunter O’Nion off at his home, then quickly leaves, saying that he doesn’t want to keep him from settling in. Hunter is disappointed by the suddenness of his departure, but at least nothing bad will ever happen to this young man again.

Yep. Nothing bad happened to Hunter O’Nion.

He’s perfectly fine, and also alive.

Anyway, each of these scenes are labeled as being unsuccessful, though in what exactly we don’t know yet. In the present, we see the Lost Light parked on the planet of Scarvix, still recharging its quantum engines from that whole thing with Brainstorm’s time adventure. Inside, Tailgate is being a menace, having apparently stolen the Back to the Future hoverboard and riding it down the halls while also wielding a fishing pole. Swerve is busy inside Swerve’s, making a drinking glass tower while he abuses his employee. Ratchet watches this injustice happen and doesn’t say a goddamned thing.

Tailgate whips into the bar and hits the less obvious of the two targets in the room.

Ratchet was the only patron of the bar today, and it’s not just because of there being shore leave, or it being No-Fun-Allowed week. See, Swerve never planned for there to be any real competition to his bar, and now Mirage, who is likely much cooler and well-liked than Swerve, has opened his own establishment, and everybody loves it, especially after the whole “Brainstorm poisoned everyone” thing.

Swerve is extra touchy as a result, and threatens to ban Tailgate from the bar forever for the grave sin of thinking that Mirage’s “Visages” might be a good time. Tailgate ignores this, asking for a six-pack of space beer for his fishing date with Getaway. Tailgate then explains the game they’re going to be playing, which involves some inconsiderate handling of Legislator corpses, right in front of Ten.

Ten is banished to work the front door, for the grave sin of having sat down for a second. Walking to his post reveals that someone has graffitied his back.

Love how Tailgate still refuses to use Whirl’s name. And I don’t think pointing out how Dominus Ambus could have done more for Cybertronian society to make up for being such a nasty little creep to his own subordinates is a bad thing, Swerve.

Apparently Swerve isn’t the only bitch on this ship in a foul mood, as Ultra Magnus has apparently been interrogating folks about a missing datapad and demanding that Swerve treat Ten with basic decency. I would personally like for Union Magnus to put Swerve in the brig for his shitty boss crimes, but we don’t have time for that right now, because Ratchet just realized he’s late for something.

It’s the goddamned court case for Brainstorm’s time crimes.

Yes, for once we’re actually using due process, as the “Lost Light Internal Legal Affairs Committee”— L.L.I.L.A.C., like the room’s paint job— consists of Xaaron, who I’m sure is thrilled to finally be able to do something, Rodimus, Ultra Magnus, and Megatron, who has apparently decided he’s not going to attend. What he could possibly be doing instead is beyond me, it’s not like he’s got any sort of social life on this fucking ship. There’s also a public gallery, made up of folks who were involved in some way in the events of the time travel nonsense. Chromedome is acting as Brainstorm’s defense, I guess because no one else wanted to.

Brainstorm immediately makes things difficult for himself, asking why Rewind wasn’t also put in prison to await trial, seeing as he’s the one who actually shot Babytron. Ultra Magnus reminds him that Rewind had a whole thing with the DJD the day before all the time travel, and that the little man was traumatized to the point where they could excuse him shooting an infant, especially since Whirl fixed that oopsie pretty quick.

Rodimus cuts in here, bringing up Brainstorm’s face plate— that’s right, the man’s basically naked for his trial— and after a little futzing around, manages to get it to show off the hidden Decepticon badge on the inside. Brainstorm is pretty cavalier about it, which seems to piss Nautica the hell off, as she storms out, leaving the wrench she squeezed out of shape behind. I’m not sure why exactly she’s so upset about this, seeing as she wasn’t even around for the war. Brainstorm then goes on to explain why exactly he’s a Decepticon.

Of course, L.L.I.L.A.C. has their doubts, considering what happened on the quantum duplicate Lost Light was caused by that Brainstorm deciding he wanted them to come get Overlord. The current Brainstorm, however, has a theory on why exactly that happened, making a bad joke as he explains that he’s actually a horrendous double agent, and needed to show the DJD that he was on the up and up, by giving them one of their most elusive List members.

Ultar Mgsuna— Rodimus has been fidgeting with the name plates this whole time— asks for any final statements. Brainstorm, deciding that shutting up isn’t on his schedule for today, decides to let everyone know that he very much doesn’t appreciate being bullied into taking the blame for something that he didn’t even personally do, quantum duplication bullshit be damned. Plus, it’s not like the DJD were exactly faultless, considering they were the ones who did the actual murder.

Perceptor, this isn’t how courtrooms work, sit down.

Magnus, after taking a moment to marvel at how out of order this court is, informs Brainstorm that a committee decision has been reached; Brainstorm can’t be held responsible for the deaths on the alternate Lost Light, for reasons Brainstorm already stated, and the fact that he’s a Decepticon can’t really be charged, as merely being a part of the faction isn’t actually a crime, and it would also mean that Ravage would have to be put in jail, and also that Megatron’s deal would have to be opened back up, which nobody really wants to deal with. However, attempted murder is still a crime, and as punishment, Brainstorm’s time machine will be destroyed, and he’ll be chaperoned in his lab at all times, as well as be forced to cease all communication with his Decepticon handler.

Brainstorm is very surprised that his actions haven’t earned him a booting off the ship, but states that the Lost Light is his home, and he’s glad to be able to stay. This moment gives Ratchet pause, as he’s taken back to the last time something like this happened, and the results of that decision.

After the trial, Magnus goes a-banging on Megatron’s door, to question him about the datapad from earlier, and also the whole “not being at the trial” thing, but that feels like more of an afterthought. Megatron says that he’s been busy, but we don’t get any resolution on what exactly he’s been up to, because it’s time to go get shitfaced.

In “Visages”, we see Getaway and Tailgate having a drink, as Tailgate regales him with his time travel escapades. Getaway decides that now would be a good time to practice his negging, as he not-so-subtly implies that Cyclonus has been talking shit behind Tailgate’s back, even telling folks about Tailgate being a crybaby bitch while he was dying of cybercrosis. Tailgate is very hurt by this, having thought he could trust Cyclonus with that sort of vulnerability. So hurt, in fact, he forgets that Cyclonus just straight up doesn’t talk to people without provocation, unless it’s Tailgate himself. Why exactly Getaway is acting like such a shitbird will be better understood later, but for now, it looks like he’s doing this to have Tailgate all to himself.

Tailgate complains of a headache as Getaway pours him another drink and swears him to secrecy on what he’s told Tailgate about Cyclonus. Ratchet walks by, not having caught this conversation, asking to borrow Tailgate’s hoverboard.

Smash cut to said hoverboard having been put in a quarantine tube, as Ratchet goes down the list of all the folks he needs to check for the super-scraplets that have apparently infested it. Though it seems like there’s a hidden motive to these checkups, as he’s only invited his friends to them. He chews Rodimus out for being inconsistent with his punishments, saying he was too hard on Drift. He reminds Nautica that Brainstorm is an M.T.O., and would have been destroyed if his plan had worked, making it a selfless act to try to make the galaxy better. He tells Rung to do his fucking job and check on Hoist, after his fucking roommate got super-murdered by an office chair, and also tells him to talk to someone himself. He tells Skids to go check on Rung. He tells Swerve to invite Megatron out, in an attempt to get some business back at his bar. He checks in on Magnus, who reveals that he doesn’t feel respected, showing off the tiny figure of Minimus Ambus he found outside his office. He’s taken it as an insulting comment on his true self.

Later, First Aid calls Ratchet out on being a weirdo who can’t talk to people without having to build up an entire false scenario first. Ratchet doesn’t really acknowledge it, and even if he had, he wouldn’t have had time to do it before Tailgate comes flying in.

Tailgate apparently got himself a new board, courtesy of Ten, who even went so far as to put a sick decal on it, of Tailgate opening a Matrix. Ratchet recognizes the art style, and decides he’s got someone else to talk to before the day is done.

Ratchet finds himself down in the boiler rooms, knocking on a vent door labeled 10. Inside is— you guessed it— Ten, who invites him to come down the vent and enter his home, which he’s decorated all by himself.

Notice how Swerve is nowhere to be fucking found on this mural.

Ten also builds models from scratch— he’d have to, I doubt Flame Toys ships to outer space— and he’s made several members of the crew by this point.

Shane McCarthy slipped Roberts a twenty to set up this slowburn between his OC and Ratchet all the way back in MTMTE #4, I’m fucking telling you.

Ratchet stops thinking about his crush long enough to realize he completely missed the Magnus-centric display off to the side. It’s got Ultra Magnus, his office, his alt mode, Minimus Ambus and his alt, and the irreducible Minimus, though no alt counterpart is present for that one. That would be spoilers~ Ten’s model of himself is over there as well. When asked if Ten likes Ultra Magnus, he acts like a giddy schoolgirl.

Ratchet also notices the missing datapad that had Magnus so angry. Turns out Ten was trying to do a little trade, having left the figure of Minimus in exchange for the datapad. Ratchet violates Magnus’s privacy by reading the contents of the datapad, finding some personal writing. Ratchet, not wanting Magnus’s frustration over having his personal effects messed with to hurt Ten, writes a little note on the datapad before he has Ten hand it back over to the rightful owner.

Later on, it would seem that Minimus is feeling more at ease, having left his Magnus armor at home as he enters Swerve’s, with Ten by his side. In the background, Skids marvels at a model of the Lost Light Rung’s put together. When they go to sit at the bar, Swerve tries to make a scene, furious that Ten would try to act like a person. When Minimus threatens to move their hangout to “Visages”, Swerve reveals that he invited Megatron to “Visages” earlier, and the poetry reading he did there emptied it out real quick. Minimus says something that implies that his datapad contains his attempts at poetry, and in turn, self-understanding.

We get a full reading of Ratchet’s message to Magnus, as scenes of reconciliation, relationships built on lies, stagnation, destruction of a life’s work, and theft for unknown purposes play out.

Well that’s not ominous at all.

When First Aid enters Ratchet’s room, he finds only a phone, to be used if the new CMO should need him. Ratchet, having finally decided that he needs to be the one to finally right the wrongs of the past, has left the Lost Light, setting out with his custom model of Drift, to find the real deal and bring him home.

Shane McCarthy just keeps fucking winning.

#transformers #MTMTE #issue 40 #maccadam #Hannzreads #overthinking about robots #text post #long post #comic script writing

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astaroth1357 · 3 years

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Demigod MC Series: Hermes

Hey guys, still doing what I can to stay healthy (and entertained) in quarantine. Staying still, keeping calm, and trying not to exert myself too much because of the shortness of breath thing going on. My lungs just can't get enough air it seems… 😅 Anyway, I've gotten a lot of suggestions on this series and I'm excited to keep it going. Just going to be a tad slow until I'm feeling better. Thank you for the support, y'all!

Demigod MC Series: Intro, Aphrodite, Hermes

Lucifer

Oh no… it’s everyone’s worst nightmare… Another Mammon, but competent. Devil help us all…

Had he known who their father was, he'd have never assigned Mammon to watch over them. Hell, he would have made sure those two never even met. They became a new handful for him to manage from the day they first arrived…

When even more things started going missing around the House than normal, he knew he had made a grave mistake… They were clever, quick, and skilled. About the best WORST combination for a burglar to be…

Worse still, they were fast on their feet. He would pretty much have no way to nab them on foot and always had to resort to his wings or magic to have any hope of catching up to them… At least Mammon usually gets himself cornered!

But, paradoxically, he also came to notice that the mortal had an odd honesty streak to them... Like, they’d steal but they’d always admit to it, unlike Mammon who would try to deflect till he was blue in the face.

Were they proud of their work, maybe? Or just didn’t see the point in trying to get away with it...?

There would be several occasions where they’d take something, sell it with Mammon, and then steal the thing back later just to put it back where it belonged, seemingly never with Mammon’s permission to do so either…

Is it better that they returned the stolen item or worse because their actions went from just robbery to a full-on scam? Either way, it gives him headaches trying to deal with it…

He pretty much gives up getting the mortal to stop after 6 months, they are legitimately that good, but makes them swear to always put back whatever they take at some point. It seems to work out and he lets more things slide, but please someone get them out of here soon…

Mammon

Soulmatesoulmatesoulmatesoulmate, or maybe more accurately “Partner-in-Crime” but that means pretty much the same thing to him anyway. 🤷‍♀️

He’s never met a person better at thievery than they were. The day they met, they managed to pick his pockets without breaking a sweat (or a finger) and that was it. He was in love.

They could teleport! Actually teleport!! Suddenly, NOTHING was off limits to him any more! Lucifer’s rare records? Easy. Levi’s secret safe? Cakewalk. The Castle vault?? Child’s play!! It was like they could steal anything they put their mind to!!

He didn't even have to worry about them when they made getaways because they were fast too, the two actually have parkour races through the streets for the hell of it!

On top of all that, they were wicked creative. He’d come up with a money-making scheme then they’d offer him all sorts of little tricks to help get away with it...

HE’D have never realized that they could turn themselves into rats in order to frighten and sneak past Barbatos, but they thought of it the instant they heard of his fear of things. They're a mad genius!!

The only real downside was they seemed to like stealing for the sport of it instead of for the money… so they always steal back whatever they took.

That kind of defeats the purpose of all that work in the first place, right? Ah well, at least that's more money for him.

These two pretty much became a walking menace to Devildom society- Sorry, not sorry.

Leviathan

Not another Mammon!!! WHY?! What did he do to deserve this?!?

When he started noticing that EVEN MORE of his stuff was going missing than usual, he straight-up flipped! Like, had the mortal not been pretty tough in their own right they would have been Lotan-chow. End of discussion.

… And then they started using their powers for good? Kind of?

Like, first off they would always give back what they stole, which was a nice change from Mammon. Annoying, but at least he didn't have to go buy replacement games or anything…

And then they started stealing him limited edition merch or tickets and stuff because they… liked him?? He guessed???

Why else would they go to all the trouble of swiping one of the five ultra-rare Kitsune Ruri-chan figurines from its original collector? He would have had to pay Mammon half his tail for something like that but the MC just brought it to him one morning because they could!

Is… is this love? Has he grown to love that which he hates?! What is even happening anymore!?! Who is he?!? 😫

Eventually he has to reconcile his conflicted feelings by dubbing them the real life Peony Phantom Thief, Jane and even making them a cosplay. Yes, they have to wear it when they bring him things. No, it's not weird, shut up.

Satan

He wants to be irritated, no - furious, that they keep taking his stuff… But he’ll be damned if they aren’t making Lucifer’s life a living hell right now. 😏

He's honestly not even sure how they managed to swipe half of the priceless portraits in the Castle (a considerable feat since there's one for Every. Room.) but they pulled it off in under a week. Barbs didn't even notice the replicas…

If that's not mildly terrifying, he doesn't know what is. Who knows what things he could be missing at any given moment...?

At least the mortal had the good sense to return his things, unlike Mammon, which gets them off his shit list for the most part. 🤷‍♀️

It helps that they’re also impressively well-traveled. They claim to have been across every human continent and sailed every ocean. Though he was skeptical at first, just hearing their stories eventually convinced him.

What sort of person has sailed the Amazon River, hiked through Arctic tundra, seen every major capital city, and still had time to explore the sights of the French Riviera?

One that has magical teleportation powers apparently.

Frankly, he could listen to their stories of the human world all day and still ask for another. He's told them that they may as well just write a book of their own for him at some point, it'd be beneficial to their poor vocal chords.

Asmodeus

Ugh! Really? Another thief in the House?? Wasn’t one hard enough to deal with?!

Honestly, stolen beauty products aren't exactly something you can just sell or give back, so unfortunately a lot of Asmo's clothes/accessories get targeted and he is NOT happy about it...

Around the time his favorite scarf was stolen for the third time, he was about to gut the mortal himself, but they struck a deal with him. They could nab his clothes SO LONG as they returned them with an extra little "gift."

Jewelry, perfume, creams, nail polish, etc. Asmo kept a running list and pretty much treated his thieving friend like a less moral version of Akuzon. Whatever he asked for, no matter how rare or expensive, they always got their hands on so who was he to complain?

He once decided to test them by asking for the Hope Diamond - which they got for him - but he made them return it after a week after the curse on it made him ruin a particularly intricate manicure so…

Like Satan, he's also pretty impressed with all the places they've seen. He's pretty traveled in the human world himself so they exchange travel stories all the time!

He may bother them to him out traveling from time to time. There are so many gorgeous and romantic places to visit in the human world after all, it's not like anybody could stop them from just… popping in to have a look. Right? 😏

Beelzebub

They learned very quickly that his food is absolutely off limits and after that, they were good.

Seriously. Beel caught them once trying to swipe a piece of pizza from his dinner and he nearly ripped their arm off for it…

But on the flipside, he also knows that he can go to them if he REALLY needs a snack and is short on cash.

It's pretty comical watching the fleet-foot mortal running from angry demon vendors with a basket of stolen apples for their buddy… But he appreciates their enthusiasm! 🙂

Beel actually likes to hear about their travels too, but mostly what they've eaten. They can keep him enraptured for hours by describing all the food they've come across in the human world…

Watch out for the drool, though.

Since they can teleport, they'll sometimes pop up with a human world treat for him and the man internally swears his undying love for them every time...

Outwardly, though, he just smiles. 'Cause he's a sweetie.

Belphegor

They… they opened the attic door on, like, the first day they met… They didn’t even make it look that hard, they had some kind of knack for breaking and entering…

Seriously, imagine the look on his face when they just walk into the attic to say hello… He had this whole, “Lure and Trick the Human” plan all thought out then they pulled out a magic lockpick or something and BOOM! Freedom!

He laughed, perhaps a little closer to the edge of sanity than he was intending, and he tried to attack them but they were so damn fast he couldn't land a single hit!

Damn was it embarrassing when the others came in…

MC: "LUCIFER! LUCIFER!! There's a monster in your attic!!!"

Lucifer: "That's not a monster that's my brother!!"

MC: *stops midway through kneeing Belphie in the stomach* …. Ooooooooh!

MC: Whoops.

It was a… rocky start.

After they settled their differences quelled Belphie's bloodlust he found that they kind of grew on him rather quickly… Something about that mischievous energy and how much they gave his brothers (minus Beel) grief with it.

He absolutely helps them with their plans if it will annoy Lucifer in any way. Occasionally, they'll even take Belphie out on raids instead of Mammon.

Turns out he's surprisingly good at distractions because all he has to do is pretend to fall then take a nap. People around him will legitimately believe that he needs medical attention so the MC can sneak through crowds undetected...

Of course, Mammon gets PISSED when they do this, though. How dare his baby brother try to steal away his perfect partner!! Get your own damn mortal, Belphie!!! 🤬

#obey me #obey me shall we date #shall-we-date-obey-me #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me headcanons #obey me scenarios #obey me demigods

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kurisus · 2 years

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Chapter 97-2 thoughts

Composed with the new post format so if anything looks weird, blame it, not me. Anyway I have a lot of Thoughts and none of them are particularly concrete, so, spoilers under the cut.

The whole island seems unstable, judging by the comments of an earthquake at the beginning. They later tell us that Father, as a child, was orphaned due to natural disaster. So does the island reflect his past, or his mood, in a way?

"It's not going to collapse on us, right?" Ah I love foreshadowing. Putting my money on that being a Chekhov's gun come back to haunt us in about a year or so.

Take carrying Ebisu under his arm is so cute I want 10 more

"I'm striving to make it to the end of the year" and it's New Year's Eve (or, early on New Year's Day). Are we gonna have a character death on our hands here? Add that to the list of Chekhov's guns.

Is it just me, or does Satou's family look like they could be Ikis? Like, they're a family that looks after the mask-maker's shrine out of a debt to him. There's been speculation that Hiyori's family line is comprised of priestesses.

I wouldn't put it past Adachitoka to make them distant relatives or something, but for now I'll operate on the assumption they're a different family line.

They've been watching over this shrine for generations, but how much do they really know about the mask-maker? It's been a thousand years at least; memories are bound to get distorted over time.

Satou says he was blind, deaf, and didn't care to communicate much, which doesn't sound like the Father we know. He also says the mask-maker saved his family from a young man the law failed to judge, and killed him.

The first thing that occurred to me is Father killed the original mask-maker (the monk) and assumed his role, and the family is none the wiser, keeping him alive with memories and prayers, thinking they're praying to the man who saved them. This fits with the part about him being "cursed" to be worshipped like a god.

My speculation, taken from all the (extremely nebulous) hints, is that this monk was the blind and deaf guy who was the original mask-maker. After learning his craft, Father descended with him into Yomi, and Father alone survived. When does the pockmarked woman figure into all this?

Prior to this chapter, I was under the impression that Father can't die and simply hops bodies whenever his time is up, and both this ability and the ability to wield shinki were side effects of his return from Yomi. So is it the worship by Satou's family keeping him alive and granting him accidental godly powers, or was it the Yomi trip that did it? Is it both?

How is Satou going to react to these two visitors busting up the grave he worships? It's not like he can take "this guy is a menace to society, actually" at face value and just let them have at it. But he's too old to fight, and there are kids present. There's something really fishy about all this; I suspect a trap.

In the flashback section of the chapter, the monk who rescued an orphaned baby Father (it is So weird to see him as a kid) pulled him out of the wreckage and took him under his wing.

The situation just rings odd to me. I can't shake the feeling that the relationship was unhealthy in some way (maybe because the idea of Father having a stable relationship with anyone is wack), but on the whole not much is said here, so I can't really put my finger on why I'm getting bad vibes. However, the monk's face wasn't shown, which I think is intentional.

There's an interesting visual parallel between Father being saved by someone who became a father figure to him, and Yukine's final moments of seeing his father figure closing the fridge door on him, leaving him to die.

I have to wonder if Father was surprised when he named Yukine, realizing how much they have in common, yet their stories ended in reverse--Father was saved, became immortal, and ascended to godhood (or some twisted version of it). Yukine was abandoned, died, and became a servant to the gods.

Father has dealt with Amaterasu directly before, judging by "Remember me?" at the end of the chapter. Has she caught him before, or did they perhaps meet before he became a murderous psychopath? Or is he referring to Kamuhakari, where he was sure to clear out before she arrived, and stayed out of sight while the proceedings went on?

All in all, there is a Whole lot we still don't know, and as is typical of Adachitoka, we get a couple questions answered and infinitely more spring up, lol. Never a dull moment with this manga.

Despite the new information given, we still can't properly separate fact from myth. That said, feel free to send an ask if you'd like me to elaborate more on something!

#Noragami #Noragami manga #Noragami spoilers #the only thing I will be retaining are the cat omakes ty for understanding #live update

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babu-haitani · 3 years

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BREATHE (Tokyo Revengers)

Genre: HEAVY ANGST

Pairings: Baji Keisuke x G/N Reader

TW: Mentions of character death.

A/N: Ya'll better listen to the OST of this fanfic while reading! It will give more meaning on why the title is 'BREATHE'.

youtube

"Baji-san! Baji-san!!!" Chifuyu called to his best friend's name as he knocks on his apartment's door.

"Kei...aren't you gonna answer the door?" You asked your boyfriend quietly, he has told you to stay quiet since he first saw Chifuyu walk up the stairs earlier when he was about to take the trash out.

"No...he'll leave don't worry..." Baji told you, quietness filled the room. After what feels like a very long time of hearing banging from the door it suddenly stopped, you and your boyfriend heard heavy footsteps walk away from the door. Chifuyu has given up and finally left.

Looking at Baji, you looked at him with a scrunched face.

"What?..." He asked, folding your arms you looked at him.

"What do you mean 'what?'...you didn't let Chifuyu in...what's wrong?..." You asked. Baji just sighed and told you that you wouldn't understand, this pisses you off---Is it about the gang? If it is then you're sure you would understand, you're his girlfriend afterall.

"Baji Keisuke, I'm not stupid...If it's about Toman, you can talk to me" You walked up to Baji as you hold his hands, rubbing cricles on them.

"Y/N, NO. If I told you, you will do something crazy or would even call me out so NO." Baji replied, you gave a frown and let's go of his hand.

"I'm just concerned, Kei...You never ignored Chifuyu nor you never keep secrets from me and yes I might do something crazy cau---" Baji let out a loud sigh as he hugs you tightly; nuzzling onto your neck and planting light kisses on them.

"I left Toman..." Baji spoke, your eyes widen and pushed him to make him look at you. You stared at his Gray orbs while stroking his Long silky hair.

"What happened? Is there something wrong?? You love Toman? why? Is it because of me??" You bombarded him with questions.

"No, It's not because of you...I know you hate that idea, so NO..." Baji answered.

"Then why did you leave Toman? Did you guys got into a serious fight?" You questioned him once more.

"No we didn't fight, well..kinda...but I did that because I know Mikey wouldn't let me leave"

"Of course he wouldn't! you two are childhood friends for god sake!" You whined, you hate the idea of your boyfriend being in a gang but that doesn't mean you don't support him. You hate it but supports him at the same time since it's what he loves doing and he enjoys being a menace to society.

"I left because I want to get rid of Kisaki..." He spoke once more.

You also happened to know about the issue with Kisaki, since you were the first person he spoke you with about what he heard between Kisaki and Mikey's conversation.

"I don't see the connection??--" Baji cuts you off as he led you towards the sofa and makes you sit on top of his lap, he cups your cheek as he snuggles close to you.

"The gang I joined is Valhalla, Hanma Shuji is the acting president...He also appeared during the mobeius fight and after the fight you know that Draken got sent to the hospital and about what I heard between Kisaki and Mikey, right?" He asked you, you slowly nodded your head.

"After that Hanma suddenly declared a war between Toman and Valhalla and in Valhalla the real leader is called the Headless Angel, Imay be stupid but I'm not that stupid to not know that there is a big connection" Baji continued once more as you listen.

"But didn't it ever occur to you that maybe it's just a coincidence?" You asked, Baji shook his head.

"No, The way Kisaki claimed towards Mikey that he will help Pah get out of jail just as long as he makes him the 3rd Division Captain tells something more about that guy and seriously? After Kisaki declared that Valhall would ask for war? I want Kisaki out of Toman and at the same time...I'll get KAzutora back to join Toman..." Your eyes widened once more due to what he said.

"Wait...Kazutora? Hanemiya? He is out of Juvie and is part of Valhalla??" Baji nodded as a reply.

"Yeah and he wants revenge towards Mikey..." Baji replied, you slightly clenched on your chest. You never knew this was has been bothering your boyfriend since the incident with Draken but regardless you wanted to support him.

"But...I still don't get why you left Toman..."

"I left because I want Kisaki to leave Toman, If I beat Kisaki during the war between Valhalla maybe I can convince Mikey to remove him during then and maybe I can make Mikey and Kazutora be friends again..." Baji spoke, you heard a slight shakiness in his voice. You wrapped your arms around his neck as you give kisses on his cheek.

"Okay...I will support your decision if that's what you want but make sure you will be safe..." Baji hummed a yes as he hugged you back and rubbed his large hands on your back, comforting you that he will surely come back to you safe. With injuries but he will still come back alive...

But that scenario happened last week...It was now the present.

You heard a loud knock earlier, you thought it was Baji but instead of your boyfriend; It was Chifuyu who was covered with injuries and a blood on his shirt.

"Y/N-san...I'm...I'm sorry..." Chifuyu cried as he fell to his knees, you were there confused.

"Huh..." He looked up at you and then avoided your gaze.

"Baji-san...He...he died...He stabbed himself...I'm sorry" Chifuyu explained, your tears started leaving your eyes but despite the tears you started laughing. Chifuyu looked at you confused.

"Come on, Fuyu...You and Baji are playing tricks on me again..." You spoke as you lightly tremble while you flash Chifuyu a small smile but it was indeed true...Your lover was dead...

Falling to the ground you started sobbing as you clench your chest, you felt you chest slowly tighten. It was getting harder to breath, your hands were shaking as the words that Chifuyu told you about your boyfriends keeps on playing in your mind like a record player.

"I'm sorry, Y/N-san...I really am...I tried...I tried" Chifuyu's words brought you back to reality, crawling towards Chifuyu, you hugged him and rubbed his hair as he started sobbing along with you.

"It wasn't your fault, Fuyu...don't worry..." You comforted Chifuyu, he was shaking under your touch.

After a while of you and Chifuyu talking about Baji while mourning for his death, he finally left. Leaving you alone in your apartment.

As Chifuyu walked out of your door, you slammed yourself on to the door and slowly slid down. You were letting out the cries you weren't able to release earlier while chifuyu was here.

The heavy feeling of breathing was coming back and you hate that feeling...

"You promised you will come back...You fucking promised...Damn you, Keisuke..." You spoke to yourself in between cries.

After a week you never left your house, you didn't come to school either. During those weeks, Toman members would come and visit you, trying to comfort you as well and would try to make you feel better but it never worked.

You were on your bed. It was Saturday morning, when you heard a knock; rushing towards the door you were greeted by Baji's Mother who was wearing a black suit. Ahh...It was Baji's Funeral today...

You didn't bother coming for the fear of having a mental break down and would stop the people from burrying your boyfriend. You were afraid of seeing his cold body.

"May I come in, Y/N..." His mother called out to you, you stepped out of the way as she walks in and sat on your sofa. Closing the door behind you, you followed her.

"Do you want some Tea, Mrs. Baji?..." You asked, she just shook her head and smiled s she pats the the sofa cuision---ushering for you to sit down. You accepted and sat beside her.

It was pure silence that lasted for like a whole minute...

"I came here because I wanted to give you something...I found it under Baji's bed..." She smiled as she handed you a small red box.

Opening the box, you saw a ring with paw prints in-graved around it and inside of the ring was your initials and his.

"I gave his part to the mortician, I made sure Baji wears the other half..." His mom continued, you looked at her with tears filling your eyes; making it hard to see straight. His mother pulled you close as she hugs you, You were crying loudly as you hugged his mother tight.

When you she lets go of you, you wore the ring and stared at it with a smile then a light chuckle left your lips.

"So this is why, he kept on declining our dates..." You spoke, his mother smiled at you.

"Keisuke love you very much, Y/N..." His mother spoke. You gave her a smile as tears still stroll down your cheeks.

"I loved him very much as well...He was unique..." You replied, his mother flashed a warm smile as she stood up and made her way to your door.

"I'll be leaving now, Y/N..." You nodded as Keisuke's mom wore her shoes and left.

Music starts playin' like the end of a sad movie, It's the kinda ending you don't really wanna see 'Cause it's tragedy and it'll only bring you down, Now I don't know what to be without you around.

With one last final look at the ring, you gave it a small long kiss.

"I hope to see you in our next life, Keisuke...I'll beat your ass if I saw you dating another girl"

And I can't Breathe Without you but I have to.

#tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers x reader #baji keisuke #baji x reader #anime #anime x reader #angst #babu #Youtube

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theparanormalperiodical · 3 years

Text

A Brief History Of Horror - From Ancient Texts To Like, Right Now

Most horror films certainly wouldn’t be labelled with the term “art”.

Forced plots, boring characters and CGI-monsters rarely make for enjoyable viewing. But the content spewed out by struggling production companies trying to make a quick buck is yet another chapter in horror’s long, winding history.

The filming techniques, the technology generating the monsters and the stories they tell have all evolved alongside society. After all, as history moves onwards, our fears do, as well. The genre is always finding new ways to freak us out, tapping into the events and concerns of each generation. From the humble ghost stories shared amongst common folk to the latest blockbuster films, how we frighten audiences has changed dramatically.

It’s time we talked about it.

Today, we’re taking a whistle-spot tour of the horror genre, from early AD to this year’s releases.

“The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear”

Edgar Allen Poe

The history of the horror genre starts in the 15th century. But since humans were first able to talk and communicate, spooky stories would’ve been shared.

Our folklore is rooted in ancient traditions and beliefs. Even our most significant religious texts like the Bible and Quran contain reference to evil supernatural beings and mysterious spirits. This folklore didn’t just have a religious element to keep worshippers in check, but also had the aim of warding children from going near dangerous areas such as dark woods and deep lakes.

Scary stories were probably told as a part of the mythology that tried to make sense of the world.

But modern horror can directly be traced back to the works of the Ancient Greeks and Romans.

One of Pliny the Younger’s most iconic works tells the story of a haunted house in Athens (a man buys a suspicious cheap new house only to be greeted by a strange figure in chains - they then dig up the garden and find an unmarked grave), and Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein was influenced by the story of Hippolytus (where a man is punished by being kept alive to ruminate on the fact he killed his son).

By the turn of the first millennium, the scene was set for the beginnings of horror literature.

Communities had developed their own unique affinity for certain supernatural beings and created their own custom backstories for them. For example, the French had a thing for werewolves which was set in stone by their literature around the 13th century.

15th century

In the 1400s, book production expanded and became cheaper. That meant it was not only the elites that were reading the latest literature. This is when the horror genre finally emerges from the shadows of shared folklore.

The most notable pieces of fiction included the Malleus Maleficarum (it explained that witches were causing a ruckus in society and therefore needed to be hunted down for their crimes) and a series of plays that weaved in disturbing and gruesome scenes.

For example, Shakespeare’s Hamlet and Macbeth both involved murder, death and existential crises.

Interestingly enough, however, during this same stretch of time, certain historical figures came to the fore and would go on to inspire the horror fiction of the future. Yes, even the earliest horror icons were based on all-too-true stories.

In the 15th century, Prince of Wallachia Vlad III - or Vlad the Impaler - was employing cruel tactics to scare off his enemies before impaling their corpses on stakes, and Elizabeth Bathory (considered the original inspiration for the Bloody Mary urban legend) was bathing in the blood of young women.

18th century

300 years later and cultural movements such as Romanticism swells. Drawing upon themes of the medieval era and the literature created during that period of time, the horror genre in its infancy took on a Gothic style (that is, it blended horror, death and romance).

One of the most notable themes was the role of women in writing and reading the horror fiction. Often the plots would follow a resourceful woman that was being menaced by all form of sombre beings in a dark, historic castle.

But before Buffy’s predecessors first hit the shelves, a large majority of literature was set in the medieval era. Often described as reactionary and anarchistic, it echoed criticisms not unlike those levelled today. Books like The Italian and The Monk were both set during the middle ages’ Inquisition, confirming that religious themes have been and will always be at the heart of horror.

Twisted religious figures and sinful actions inspire the plots and cast a spell over the audience. In a post-Inquisition Europe, horror focused on fear of irreligious actions and deviants to the status quo. If you fell into either of these categories, you would be ensnared and punished/put to death for your crimes.

19th century

This is when the Gothic tradition really took hold. Horror staples such as Frankenstein, The Hunchback of Notre Dame, Dracula and the Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde - to name just a few - entered the scene.

Classic horror introduced Gothic trends to modern literature and film, laying the foreground for both romance and terror to clash in later pieces of work.

Amongst these strong stirrings in the genre arose a new medium: cinema.

In the late 1890s, the supernatural took to the scene. French, American and Japanese film makers immediately came to the fore. With simple stories and even simpler special effects, it still had an immense effect on the audience.

For example, just years after x-rays were invented, one horror-comedy showed skeletons courting each other. This would have been rather frightful for the audiences who weren’t familiar seeing skeletons the way we do today.

The topics early cinema covered were not far from the topics covered today: paranormal investigations, haunted hotels and giant spiders all feature in the earliest cinematography of the era.

20th century

As we entered the 1900s, horror films began to serve an influence in the genre.

Let’s start with the literature:

Cheap periodicals playing upon horrifying themes spread the genre amongs the masses. This is even where The Phantom of the Opera earned his fame before the magazine was turned into a book. There were even magazines crammed full of different horror stories, such as the All-Story Magazine.

These magazines introduced a new concept in horror: madness.

Cosmic horror also took off with HP Lovecraft being credited with making the unknowable and the incomprehensible truly terrifying. Fear of science, religion and superstition converged in an era of innovation and took supernatural horror to a new level.

In the mid 20th century, the serial killer was also sensationalised, from Jack the Ripper to Ed Gein in a range of mediums. Books like the Silence of the Lambs went on to create the slasher sub-genre in cinema. Horror films in turn then went on to then inspire how horror literature would unfold. In a cyclical manner, the books The Exorcist and Rosemary’s Baby inspired other novels.

This paved the way for one of modern horror’s most essential authors in the 1970s: Stephen King.

The films really took off in the 1970s and assumed literature’s pole position.

In the early years of the 20th century, optical illusions and camera tricks entered the fore. At the same time, adaptations of literature, such as the Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde, broke tradition in the genre.

Georges Méliès can be credited with many innovations in this era. In one film, he attempted to take the viewer on a ‘tour of hell’, using pyrotechnics, splices, superimpositions and stage machinery to create a new viewing experience. This prompted a shift towards making films that were unsettling.

You’ll see that a lot of features of early horror films are still reflected in modern takes on the genre.

In the 1910s, more films based on literature adaptions emerged. And in 1916, the longest horror film was produced: Les Vampires was originally split into 10 parts but together is over 7 hours long.

Another theme was ‘trick films’ - films that used illusions and magic tricks to create innovative special effects without the help of today’s green screens or CGI. Many of these illusions were discovered by accident, such as when Méliès jammed his camera on a street in Paris and realised the scene he filmed suddenly cut to a later moment, creating the effect of people transforming into something else entirely.

The most profound innovation, however, has to be German Expressionism.

Distorted backdrops, misshapen walls and playful use of lights and shadow helped create an entirely different world for viewers. It even made The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari the first cult film.

This artistic style created film noir and innovated the concept of a ‘twist ending’.

Nosferatu used this expressionist style to great effect, such as the iconic creeping, shadow scene. The idea was it distorted reality and the human psyche to create the immersive horror experience we know and love today.

Universal Pictures then came onto the stage, releasing monster movies thick and fast. Based on gothic horror literature, it took iconic monsters, such the Phantom of the Opera, to much higher levels of cinematic fame.

The 1930s generated horror classics - images of which will have already been seared into your mind, such as Frankenstein and the subsequent movie, the Bride of Frankenstein - in alignment with cinema’s Golden Age.

By the 1950s, 3D technology had been developed and made frightening the viewers that much easier. The House of Wax was given this opportunity to use this new technology and used it tactically to get viewers back into the theatres. In the 1950s, TVs became commonplace and going to the cinema lost its novelty. They needed to step it up for the competition.

Another way of bringing audiences back into cinemas was with theatre gimmicks. Remember the urban legend that during screenings of The Human Centipede paramedics has to be in the cinema? During the Lost Missile, you had to wear ‘shock tags’ to monitor their vitals. If you got shocked into a coma, you’d get a free ride home in a limo!

Macabre also employed a similar idea with fake nurses standing outside cinemas before screenings.

During the 1950s, the Cold War began to infiltrate horror. Monster flicks rocketed in popularity, with threat of foreign invasion by a terrifying beast extremely common. Often the abnormally large beast would be as a result of radiation or an experiment gone wrong, both of which featured before and during the CW.

Humanity was also called into question with films such as The Fly and Attack of the 50 Foot Woman.

At the same time, horror also moved away from the cinema and onto the TV screens. Alfred Hitchcock Presents and The Twilight Zone were TV series that rivalled theatric spectacles.

The 1970s marked a transition from classic horror flicks to modern, psychological and artistic portrayals of dark themes. European filmmakers were usurped by Americans who introduced everyday settings to create more unsettling stories. Counterculture also played a role in creating films that recalled historic moments and challenged the establishment.

The Hills Have Eyes took on consumerism and nuclear weaponry. The Texas Chain Saw Massacre was a new take on the Vietnam War. And The Rocky Horror Picture Show was one of the many horror-comedy hits that stretched the genre’s narrow limits.

Most notably, the 70s ushered in the era of the slasher. Halloween sparked the shift and was cherished by cinema-goers through the 1980s. This later created a sub-genre of slasher b-movies, expanding the range of films to take ones fancy.

By the 1990s, TV was once again winning the war on cinema and horror movies were thrown out in favour of safer, less-traumatic content. The films were all still slashers, so a rather meta approach was taken by filmmakers: ‘twas the era of the parody. They were ironic and challenged horror, i.e. Scream and I Know What You Did Last Summer.

21st century

As we move closer to our current era, horror has remained reflective. With a number of remakes constantly spat out by production companies, horror in itself has become a trusted, expansive genre with different sub-genres clustering within it.

The most notable themes include psychology, plot twists and films based on true stories. Other genres such as documentaries, thrillers and arthouse films have begun to bleed into horror.

As YouTube opens up new opportunities for filmmakers, low-budget B-movies and - by sharp contrast - artist short films have created a varied, wide landscape for the future of horror.

But the essence of the genre stays true: make ‘em scared.

If you liked this blogpost, make sure you like and reblog it. And while you’re down there, hit follow to read something spooky every weekend!

#horror #horror movies #history #horror history #best horror movies #best horror films #based on a true story #based on real events #scary movies #scary stories #history of horror #slashers #german expressionism #romanticism #gothic #goth #real ghost stories #true ghost stories #zak bagans

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vaguely-concerned · 3 years

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TF x Graves, 2500 words, complete and utter fluff

Stifling another yawn against the back of my hand I glance over at the window, which shows only the flat dark of a moonless night outside, before turning my eyes back to the line of T.F.’s naked back.

I’m already undressed and perched on the side of the bed, watching as T.F. is still in the middle of his nightly ritual of hanging or folding his fine clothes up all properly and neatly, lest they, I don’t know, unduly crease somewhere they ain’t meant to or somethin’. Listen, I keep my clothes in a pile on the floor by the side of the bed, right next to the shotgun, both within easy reach in the case of a middle-of-the-night emergency skipping of town. Our priorities in these matters don’t really intersect much, but to each his own and so on.

I don’t know why I’m waiting for him to come to bed to lie down myself, exactly — my eyes are already making a spirited attempt at staying shut on me whenever I blink, I’m pretty sure I’d be out and snoring in about three seconds once I got settled — but my skin has that thin restless thrum all through it that I know from experience won’t be satisfied until he’s settled into place against me and besides, the view is nothin’ to sneeze at in the meantime. He stands there shirtless, belt unbuckled and hanging loose around his narrow hips, though the fastenings of his trousers are still done up. In the light of the oil lamp across the room he’s in a rare state of relaxed unselfconscious disarray, his hair grown out long enough again that it spills over his shoulders and down his back while he fastidiously fastens the cufflinks back into place on the empty shirt so they’ll be easy to find in the morning. As he finishes up with the cufflinks he sings to himself under his breath, a good-natured jaunty little tune I vaguely remember the Brick would sometimes break out once you got a couple of drinks in him.

The hum under my skin grows higher and keener.

Stretching an arm out I hook my fingers into one of his belt loops and gently pull him in by it towards the side of the bed, until he’s standing between my legs. It prompts a half-bemused noise from him, but he goes along easily — when I wrap my arms around his waist and rest my forehead against his belly he seems to catch on, though, a sound of amusement vibrating through his chest.

He slides his hand to the back of my neck, twining his fingers into the short hair there, thumb trailing back and forth along the hairline.

T.F.’s too damned scrawny to have much in the way of padding anywhere, but there’s the warm body softness to him here nevertheless, the sweet yield and shift of a living thing whose pliancy belies the supple strength beneath. I rest my cheek against the flat of his stomach and sigh, moving my hand at the small of his back in slow caressing circles.

“Come to bed already,” I murmur, too sleep-softened along the edges to worry overmuch about makin’ sense.

He chuckles, fingers stroking through my hair. “Well, I was on my way, but then I was waylaid by some deplorable fellow in the process. Hell of a thing.”

I grin and turn my face up to him, so that my chin is resting against his belly and my lips brush his skin when I talk. “Huh. Sounds like a real shady character. You want a trustworthy sorta guy to escort you safely the rest of the way?”

“With such dangerous reprobates skulking around in the area, that’s probably for the best,” T.F. nods somberly, fond amusement deepening his voice. He runs his thumb down the bridge of my nose. “Could I afford to hire the services of a strapping upstanding gentleman like yourself, though?”

I make a nonchalant sound in my nose, squeezing him closer against me for a moment. “Eh, don’t worry ‘bout it, this one’s on the house.”

His thumb drifts down to rest at the upturned corner of my mouth as he grins back at me. “Hey, looks like it’s my lucky day.”

I kiss his stomach and lean back enough so I can start in on the fastenings of his trousers — not with any sort of heat behind it, there’s no hint of sex in the air, but in a weird way this is equally satisfying, the everyday-textured contentment of being close without any particular purpose, being the one to slowly render him naked in front of me for no other reason than that he lets me, his hands still smoothing patiently through my hair while I work.

Once I’ve got all the buttons sorted I run my thumb along the sharp edge of his hip bone until I can tuck it into the waist of his trousers and use it to tug them down. We get them about half-way down his thighs like that before we have to pause for him to shimmy out of them the rest of the way on his own, his hand resting on my shoulder for balance as he does the traditional one-legged hop to extricate his foot. Serves him right for only ever wearing pants that might as well have been painted onto him. I mean, not that I’m complainin’, mind.

“Whoa!” he says, laughing as he almost overbalances at the last hurdle, but my hand shoots out to steady him by the hip before too much disaster can be wrought. “Well, not the smoothest strip tease I’ve ever pulled off, sorry about the inconvenience.”

I nose at the newly revealed crease of his hip over the edge of his underwear. “Eh, that’s okay, if I actually wanted a proper show I’d just suggest a round of strip poker again and sit back and watch while you lose.”

“Oh, that’s a strange yet beautiful dream world you’ve made up for yourself there, Malcolm. It’s touching, really, the things the mind will do to protect itself from the truth. Positively — aah!”

T.F. jumps as I draw some of the skin of his hip between my lips and use them to nip sharply at it. His startled yelp turns into a snigger as I let go, possibly ruining the castigating effects somewhat when I brush my lips soothingly over that spot right after.

“Let that be a lesson to ya,” I say sternly.

“A lesson on what, that your mom was apparently half turtle?”

I grunt, still trailing soft kisses over his skin. “That judge in Piltover was right back then, you are an incorrigible menace to all decent and right-thinking people everywhere.”

“First of all, that might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me, Malcolm, thank you. Two, including yourself among the ‘decent and right-thinking’ feels like the invention of some fresh new form of fraud by way of imposture unfolding before my eyes, and it’s an honour. And third, that seems to me to be some very selective memory you have there, considering His Honour Judge Highton had some even more colourful words for you after you blew up the entire north wall of the court building breakin’ me out.”

“He might’ve been given to wearing a damn silly mop on his head, but you couldn’t fault him on his vocabulary,” I concede. Before that whole incident I’d honestly thought the wigs were some sort of practical joke the Pilties would play on gullible outsiders, but as it turns out no, if you get sent to jail in the twin cities they add the indignity of makin’ someone wearing a dead badger on their head break the bad news to you. It’s a strange ol’ world out there, alright. In Bilgewater, where people are much more sensible, the justice system basically boils down to the bounty board, or — if you’ve really managed to make a nuisance of yourself — a bunch of captains may call a temporary ceasefire with each other and go get your ass together. I’ve found that the risk of getting on the bad end of an unfair trial is about the same in both places, though of course the Bilgewater one tends to be harder to come back from if carried out to its fullest. I consider myself a bit of an expert in these things.

T.F. makes a thoughtful sound. “To be fair I don’t think anyone had ever given him cause or inspiration for profanity like you did.”

“Aw. That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

He leans down and kisses the top of my head before he straightens for long enough to work his second foot free as well, standing there in just the sleek silky underpants he somehow seems to have an endless fresh supply of wherever we go. (My money’s on some sinister underground ring of lingerie-oriented tailors across south-eastern Valoran, for the record; when it comes to secret societies the Noxians just can’t help themselves.)

“I do my best. Hang on just one moment, I’ll be right back,” he says and ruffles my hair before he turns around, which I would complain about except that the view is, as previously mentioned, impeccable, and I’m sleepy enough to be magnanimous.

After meticulously folding his trousers and leaving them with the rest of his clothes, T.F. moves over to the table across the room and extinguishes the oil lamp, then whistles under his breath as he produces a card from somewhere — he does this, seemingly from thin air and no matter how little he’s wearing; I prefer not to speculate too much about how, exactly — and lets a little magic into it so it gives off a low glow, only enough to light his way the short walk back across the room, ‘cause in T.F.’s world the stubbing of toes and smacking of shins against unexpected furniture in the dark is somethin’ that happens to other people. That probably says some things about him I’m not ready to go puzzlin’ out at this time of night, and that he wouldn’t want to have anyone go puzzlin’ about too hard in the first place anyway.

When I hold out my hand for him in the dark he smiles and takes it, twining our fingers together, and I use the hold to tug him in and deposit him, in a neat controlled wrestler’s roll held close against me as I lay down, to his side of the bed. He laughs again at that, a surprised delighted sound that edges dangerously close to a giggle but hey, I ain’t no snitch, so who’s gonna testify against him, huh?

The card ends up on the far side of his pillow after the tumble, still giving off a glow, enough to illuminate the bed and lend the shadows around it some warmth. It makes the bed seem a small cozy island, the rest of the world rendered a not-unfriendly ocean of darkness around it.

T.F. looks at me like the world’s most contented castaway, bourgeoning crow’s feet punctuating his smile on either side and fingers still linked with mine. His hair is mussed from the meandering fall onto the bed. If I were only fractionally less about five seconds away from fallin’ asleep, my body might start to get ideas about it. Well, tomorrow is always another day.

With the back of my free hand I brush some of his hair away from his brow, and he cranes into it like a well-pleased cat. Even with the blankets tangled around our feet and the not-quite-right positions we’ve ended up in, having tumbled into place rather than settled ourselves with purpose, everything feels warm and loose and comfortable, like I could fall asleep like this even with the decidedly odd angle my arm is at.

As if sensing that the drowsiness is about to claim me for real, T.F. brings our linked hands up to his face so he can press his lips to my scarred knuckles before he lets go, then reaches to pull the covers over us, taking a moment to tuck the blanket around my shoulder properly before snuggling under it himself, hooking his leg over my thigh as he settles into place. I shift until we fit together, the familiarity of how to rest against each other just right comfortable like an old and well-loved piece of clothing. On a sigh he rests our foreheads together, craning forward the tiny amount needed to brush our mouths together and humming contentedly when I meet him there. It’s a slow kiss, but it lingers, a dry sweet press of lips like one last spark sending the day off down into the gently drifting murk of sleep that’s about to claim me for a few hours.

When it ends — I don’t think either of us was really the first to pull back, at some point the kiss simply, in the way of snowflakes on tongues, melted into something different and less defined with the warmth — there’s a moment when my eyes can still fight against slipping shut. It’s weird, the way you can look at someone every day for years and still not feel like you’ve had your fill. T.F.’s sharp narrow face, his high pointy little cheekbones and mouth still curved with a smile as he watches me back — there’s something to knowing I’m gonna see all that again tomorrow morning that all the damn money on Runeterra couldn’t get you. And take it from me, from what I’ve seen of the world there ain’t a lot of things in this life enough money won’t buy. Stumbling across one of them long before we even knew what we had, by a stroke of little more’n dumb fucking luck… sometimes it feels like the biggest heist we ever pulled.

“Hey, Tobias?” I say, brushing the tip of my nose against his as my eyelids finally give up both the battle and the war and slide closed.

“Hmmm?” he says, cheerfully drowsy as well.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I murmur, because I can’t think of any damn happier thing in the world to say to him.

He wraps his arms around me, his hand stroking meanderingly up and down the scar-crossed span of my back, fingers trailing over my skin with the perfect amount of firmness because he’s taken the time to learn exactly how much pressure it takes to make it comforting. As sleep starts pulling me under to calmer depths I tuck my head under his chin, so my face is pressed to the line of his throat and to his chest. He smells so nice, all warmly real and well-known like my own breathing.

“Tomorrow,” he agrees on a yawn, nuzzling at the top of my head and tightening his arms around me, just for a moment.

I've been trying to write stuff -- literally just anything, no matter how meandering and nonsensical -- to try to break out of a writer's block; it's not really working so far but at least I've got SOMETHING tangible to show for it at the end of the day, so, you know, uh... partial success I guess?? haha

The idea of T.F. having a judge somewhere out there who considers him the One True Nemesis of his career, J. Jonah Jameson style, even though T.F. barely even remembers his name, came from a wonderful conversation with @inversway, and the idea makes me laugh so hard every time I think about it.

ETA: Also put this on AO3, so I have somewhere to put these ficlets that isn't just tumblr! I'm grimly clinging on to this blue hellsite like a obstinate barnacle to the hull of the Titanic, but I do realize it's not the best place to archive uh anything lol

#tf x graves #twistedgraves #league of legends #my writing #been trying to live the philosophy 'it doesn't have to be good; it just has to be SOMETHING'#and from that I have at least learned that I don't necessarily think perfectionism was the main problem anyway lol #every little insight helps I suppose

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