#goal today is to get back on laptop for extended time without my back freaking out

[izzy-b-hands]

why couldn't the rain have waited until AFTER Housemate was at work to start pouring like this

[kauladoeswriting]

Life Will Change, Chapter 3

It’s late and who knows what it’ll look like editing half a sleep XD I tried. Summary: Because Enzan should have known he was asking for too much to be able to start school without any complications. Word Count: 3292 Fandoms: Persona 5/MMBN Fusion Previous Chapter | Next Chapter Ao3

April 18th, 2016 Morning

The night had remained blissfully calm. Right up until that calm was shattered to pieces by a blaring alarm. 6 AM wasn’t an unusal time for Enzan to wake up, but maybe a small, unreasonable part of him thought it’d be the one of the many changes from life as an executive. Enzan pushed himself up, letting the blanket he was using fall in a puddle around his waist. It took a moment to adjust to his new room. He wondered if he’d ever get used to it.

His sleep had been mostly uninterupted by talks of the velvet room. It was beginning to feel like that one time was a freak accident, a dream made up by a mind that was already way too stressed out. Maybe the fact he’s gotten to relax a little the last few days helped? (That doesn’t explain all the oddities he’s seen since he’s come to Tokyo.) It was unimportant. Today was Enzan’s first day of school, and with the train accidents, on top of this being his first time traveling there, he wanted to be prompt and professional. After all, he knew very well the deck was stacked against him, and there was no reason to give them reason to dislike him further. In a few minutes, he had himself dressed in his school uniform, and his backpack mostly packed already, with his phone shoved in the side pocket.

“Enzan-kun, are you awake?” Meijin’s voice called up the stairs.

“Yes, I am, Meijin!” He called back, looking into the mirror he had managed to uncover one last time. First impressions were everything. Looking clean and neat would make for a good one. “If you want some cereal, hurry down now!” “Yes, Meijin!” Enzan scooped his backpack off the floor, and hurried down to meet Meijin in the kitchen for a second morning in a row. He set the bag down neatly against the wall, and sat down at the table. He poured himself a bowl of cereal, and got to eating as fast as he could. He had enough time to spend maybe ten minutes, accounting for train schedules.. A newspaper was flopped on the table in front of him. “I’ve already looked through it today, you can flip through it if you want!” Meijin was hurrying back and forth, looking for his things. Was the scientist always this disorganized? The sight confused Enzan enough that he was distracted from eating once again. This was new, compared to the Meijin he had gotten to see the last few days.

“Did you oversleep?” Enzan asked finally. “No no, nothing like that.” Meijin disappeared briefly into the living room and came back with his laptop. “I just wanted to see you off on your first day of school.” And he just… hadn’t gotten ready yet. He didn’t lie, it was just a partial truth.

If Enzan noticed, he decided not to call Meijin on it. He just hurried through the rest of his cereal, careful not to spill any milk on his uniform. He finished on time, and avoided the horror of soggy cereal. A double win. By the time he had finished, Meijin was leaning in the doorway, looking perfectly put together, as if he hadn’t been running around the house like a madman trying to get all of his things shoved into his computer bag at the last second. “All ready to go, Enzan-kun?” “Yes, I am.” Enzan picked up his bag and slung it over his shoulders. He went to put his dish in the sink to wash it really quickly, but Meijin called him away. “We’re both in a hurry, let’s leave that for later. Let’s get out of here.” Meijin had already said he couldn’t take Enzan to school. But he cared enough to at least see him off.

Unfortunately, it seems as though Enzan should have checked the weather before he left. Maybe then he wouldn’t be stuck under an awning by his school’s train station, wondering how he was going to get the rest of the way to the school without ruining his uniform. There was shuffling beside him as the two students that crashed into him yesterday came out from the train station. “It’s raining?!” yelled the boy. Netto, was it? The girl, Meiru, sighed and tucked the folder underneath her school coat. “It seems so. Didn’t I warn you to bring an umbrella?” Enzan stuck his hands in his pockets, and turned away slightly, as if paying attention anything but his new companions. He didn’t want to eavesdrop on the other students. Or at least, he didn’t want to look like he was. Netto looked busy with the box in his arms, as if that’d save him from the judgement of his friend. Meiru sighed. “I have an umbrella if you need it.” Netto perked up slightly, his cheeks colored in embarrassment. “Thanks Meiru-chan.” He shifted the box in his arms, and took the umbrella from her. With a swift motion, he extended the umbrella out and held it over his head. “If I hurry, I should be able to get something to eat! See ya, Meiru-chan!” And off the brunette went. “Netto, you forgot your folders- And he’s gone…” Meiru sighed. “I’m sorry he didn’t stick around to introduce himself.” Enzan stiffened, but was able to force himself to keep his business face on. Was it that obvious he was listening in? Because if it was, he was slipping. “He seemed to be in a hurry.”

“Yeah, he is. His club supervisor wanted Netto there early so they could get work done early…” The early bird caught the worm after all. Enzan thought it was a perfectly reasonable sentiment, but it appeared that Meiru didn’t share his opinion. Although...

“They’re not going to have a whole lot of time before class begins, are they?” Enzan’s phone beeped, and he pulled it out, wondering if he just got a notification. “No. Netto slept in, because thanks to this, he’s gotten almost no sleep this last week.” Meiru’s hand was tightend around the strap of her shoulder bag.

Enzan located the cause of the vibration and frowned. The strange app he was sure he deleted had opened itself. Definitely malware. He really needed to be careful about using it for any sensitive purpose until he could get a part time job to replace it. “They must be working hard.” Phone issues aside, Enzan wasn’t unused to long nights working towards a goal. It came with the territory. “It seems quite rigorous.” With a flick of his finger, he had closed the app and attempted to uninstall it once again. Meiru sighed. “It… It’s not just the hours.” She admits. “The teacher supervising it, Yamitaro Higure... he acts like he’s a CEO of some large warehouse, or a factory... where all the students are his employees.” Enzan raised an eyebrow, distracted from his phone’s odd behavior. “CEO? Factory?” What an… interesting way of describing it. (He didn’t realize the strange app had once again reappeared, nor that it was listening to their conversation.)

“Yeah. You’re a transfer student, right? I saw you with your guardian yesterday.” Her eyes drifted towards the school. “So I guess you wouldn’t really know.” “Know what?” “He charges outrageous fees. Just… steer clear. It’s not worth it.” Perhaps being broke was a blessing. “We’re… going to be late. I’m sorry for burdening you with my thoughts. Let’s get going.” Meiru turned in the direction she was looking, beginning to walk that way, when a wave of nausea hit her. And Enzan too.

It felt like it lasted longer than it did. Enzan shook it off quickly. Perhaps his breakfast didn’t agree with him; there was nothing to be gained from just standing about, musing on smething that didn’t matter. (He was fine with the cereal yesterday ...)

He shoved his phone in his pocket, deciding he’d deal with it later. “I agree that we should go.” Meiru had bent over, resting her hands on her knees for a bit while she caught her breath, and then straightened up with a nod. “Y-yeah. I’ll show you. It’s your first day, right?” She lead him down the streets of Tokyo, though neither of them could shake the feeling that something was wrong. Very wrong.

“I couldn’t have walked the wrong way!” Meiru was panicking, and Enzan couldn’t blame her. The building they were in front of most certainly was not a school. Rather, a large warehouse with an elaborate store front would be a whole lot more accurate. 

Enzan would almost liken it to one of those big box stores that could be found in America. 

She poked at her phone, growing increasingly frustrated. “I’ve lost all signal.” She frowned. “Do you think you could…” Her voice drifted off. “Yeah. I can.” He pulled his phone out, but the strange app was still up. Swearing under his breath for letting himself get distracted, he swiped up to close it. And it wouldn’t close. It didn’t take long to realize that his phone wasn’t going to power down either, meaning he’d probably have to let it die. 

Wonderful. “My phone doesn’t seem to be working properly either.” It was strange that they were both having issues at the same time...

Putting her phone back into her side bag, Meiru looked over the building. “Maybe it’s just a weird prank or something. Though I wonder why Netto didn’t text me about this…” She didn’t seem sure of herself. This was a really weird prank, if it was one, wasn’t it? It wasn’t like Enzan ever went to public school before this. But surely, surely, if pranks involving cloaking the whole school was a thing that happened, there would be a news article about it.

As they pushed open the doors, it didn’t seem anything like a school that Enzan had ever heard of. Two desks flanked the door, each with a student behind it. One was girl with hair in blonde braided pigtails, and the other a boy with a sweater on underneath his school jacket. Both of them had one of those “Hi, my name is _” Tags stuck to their chest, each with a number on them. 

The girl’s was a lot higher than the boys. Meiru looked between the two worriedly.

“Tohru-kun, Yaito-chan, what’s going on?” She asks. They must have been in the right place, if Meiru knew the two kids. Still not any kind of set up for a school though. 

“Welcome to the Shuujin branch of Higureya!” The two echoed together. “Please pay the 5,000 yen for the enterance fee!” Enzan blinked. Shuujin. That was the name of the school, was it not? He was already enrolled, Why would there be any additional fee? This is definitely where the school had been the night before… Meiru looked confused too. “Guys, this isn’t funny. What’s going on here?” Meiru’s eyes flickered between her two friends. “Just… why do we need to pay?” “Because we’re an exclusive club. You must pay to join. Those who can’t pay should leave.” Enzan didn’t like this feeling. “Who are we paying, anyways? I think we should talk to them.” “President Higure-san is simply worth far too much to meet with those who can’t pay our generous enterance fee.” The blonde girl answered by herself this time. Meiru turned to her. “Yaito-chan, can you just explain-” “If you don’t leave soon, I’ll have to call security.” The boy said, voice quiet and flat. Meiru spun around to face him. “Tohru-kun, please, can you-” A siren cut her off, and a metal gate fell behind her. “Intruder! Intruder!”

None of these order of events were making any degree of sense to Enzan. He had lost it somewhere around their school being turned into a warehouse and Meiru’s friends apparently were turned into the kind of corporate drones Enzan might have expected to see underneath his father. Creatures that could only be described as formless blobs shoved into a suit slithered up behind the desks, each with a weird ornate mask shoved onto its face. “This isn’t necessary, we can be going.” Meiru assured, backing towards the gate, hoping that they’d accept her peace offering and let them go. Enzan followed her back towards the gate, keeping her behind him just in case. He didn’t like the look of those so called guards.

It didn’t open, and those blobs were getting closer. Enzan knew somewhere in the back of his mind it was fruitless, but he turned and tried to shield Meiru anyways.

----

They couldn’t really get more fucked than this, right? The wording was far more crude than Enzan usually preferred, but it seemed to fit their situation unfortunately well. He and Meiru were surrounded by these amorphous blobs that might have almost looked like a child’s robot in suits if he squinted, if they weren’t carrying actual weapons. And they were leading him and Meiru to… somewhere, well towards the back of the giant warehouse, that even Enzan’s internal map was having difficulties keeping up with.

Despite Enzan’s best attempt to keep Meiru safe, it was hard to find a position that could be considered so, surrounded as they were by these wanna be robots. Meiru kept her hands curled tightly around her book bag, holding it in front of her, eyes locked on the ground. Enzan looked back and forth, looking for a chance to escape. He had no idea what was going on here, but it was definitely disturbing and he had the sinking feeling that the two of them may not be walking out alive if they didn’t escape somehow from this warehouse that had taken over the school.

Maybe if he could find some sort of break in the robot’s formation, he could possibly fight one into letting them by and then maybe they could navigate out of here? That sounded farfetched, even to Enzan. He was just one guy, against robots.

The robots guided them to a door marked “Mister President Yamitaro Higure”. Higure, Higureya, someone was really full of them selves, weren’t they? Meiru’s hands tighened even more, digging her fingertips into her palms around her strap. One of the robot blobs knocked on the door. Higure, Higure, Higure, where had he seen that name before…

Right, on that poster from yesterday. He ran the club that Meiru had been complaining about just a little bit ago. Not that any high school teachers had any business having robots that seemed to be carrying actual weapons

The door swung open, and reminded Enzan of those cheesy B Action movies that he’d watch late at night in his office while working. And as the door opened, there was going to be a mob boss sitting at the desk. It should be noted that Enzan honestly did not expect to be as close to correct as he was.

“You…” Meiru probably couldn’t get more tense than she already was, but her shoulders noticably stiffened, and she made an attempt to straighten her back. Whatever happened here, Enzan was going to do his best to deflect any trouble off of her. 

He really hoped he was just being uncharacteristically dramatic, but really, everything around him suggested otherwise.

“So these are our intruders, huh?”

The man in front of them was the oddest combination of sleazy salesman and well dressed man. He had a plaid brown vest on with an over exaggered fur coat and a black fedora, along with unruly messy hair. “Yes sir.” One of the robots informed him. “Intruders? This is our school!” Meiru said. She was glaring with all she had at the teacher. The teacher adjusted his ridiculous over exaggerated sunglasses. “Your school, huh…?” The man looked thoughtful, stroking his chin as if there was a goatee there. “You didn’t pay the price of admission though, huh?” Price of admission. The counters up front? “You can still make it up though, huh? You would make a great addition to the advertisement team.” “I want no part of that awful thing you call a club.” Meiru responded. “Why not? It’d be more useful than you harrassing my workers, huh?” Higure would be flicking the ash away from a cigarette if he had one. Maybe it was just paranoia that made Enzan step closer to Meiru.Was it just him or were those robotic blobs getting closer to them?

Undeterred by Meiru’s glaring, or Enzan’s increasing guard, Higure pressed on. “The advertisment team is lacking, anyways. It could use a little pizzaz, huh? Imagine the touch a woman’s hand could bring!” “Why would I do that?” She asked, looking like she was going to argue more. Not wanting to see what would happen if he blew up, Enzan made the executive decision that he was going to step in. She could yell at him later if it bothered her.

“Listen, I think she’s making it pretty clear she doesn’t want any part of this, so if you’ll let us go-” One of the shadow robot blobs grabbed Enzan by the back of his jacket and roughly pulled him away. It worked out in his favor somewhat, though. At least the man’s eyes were drawn to him instead of Meiru. Maybe he could create a cover for Meiru’s escape? But to his dismay, it didn’t last nearly as long as he hoped. After all, Enzan was a stranger. He was unimportant. His eyes quickly scanned the room, looking for some way to fight back. There was no way he was just going to stand down now. 

“Meiru-chan, you don’t hold the cards here, huh? You either help, or I’ll have to have you disposed of.” The blobs pushed closer to her, weapons raising up. She glared at them pulling her bag up to her chest, as if hoping swinging it at them would help her out of her situation.

You aren’t just going to let her be hurt, are you?

The voice, not one Enzan could place, caught him off guard. As well as the pulse of pain across his forehead

Of course not!

He tried to grab for the statue on the desk, but it felt like everything had suddenly become muted. Enzan heard bits and phrases between the pulsing headache.

‘increased sales’

‘you don’t matter if you don’t make money’

‘why not help - it’s for the greater good’

‘You don’t have a choice.’

Just standing there won’t change anything. 

You’d be risking yourself again, just to save her.

I don’t care!

I can’t just… stand by!

It wasn’t an accident, then. You won’t let her be a corporate tool.

I shall lend you my power, then, Enzan-sama.

Enzan-sama? Who are you?

Enzan didn’t notice that the conversation had died down. That everyone was looking at him, and somehow at some point he had fallen to his knees. Slowly, he climbed back to his feet, intending on correcting this issue. The voice, who ever it was, was right. He couldn’t step down.

“Leave her alone!”

“I was gonna let you live, huh, but if you want to ruin my business too…”

...There was weight on his face?

Who am I? I am thou….

On instinct, his fingers curled around the mask, pulling and pulling despite the pain blossoming across his face. 

With a spray of blood that would have startled him if he hadn’t been in a daze, the mask came off.

And thou art I. Let us step in, shall we?

And then for the briefest moments, the world exploded in blue flame. When the flames cleared, it was hard to believe it was the same person who had been standing there just moment’s before

“Hello, Blues.”

[spideycents]

B-Roll // Shawn Mendes - 2: quiet on set

---

TABLE OF CONTENTS

---

The first extras call for The Breakfast Club is posted almost a week after I apply to be a makeup assistant. It's the middle of the night on what is hopefully our second to last day of filming at this camp. The goal is to wrap second team shoots tomorrow night, then we'll be done, but we keep having to pause filming for stupid rain that won't seem to go away.

   During one of the rain breaks, we're at the top of the hill at the onset extras holding under a really large picnic pavilion. Everyone's on their phones or asleep or playing group games to try to stay awake. I'm spacing out and Michael's on twitter when Julie-Anne squeals loudly and shows us the casting call.

   "They're looking for high schoolers!" she says excitedly.

   "Sheet!" Michael sits up quickly and types fervidly on his phone.

   "Are you gonna apply?" Julie-Anne nods at me while she works on her own application.

   I shrug. "Later."

   "Why not now?" Michael questions me like I'm crazy for not jumping to apply instantly. "We've got plenty of time."

   I purse my lips. "I know, but my phone's in my jacket and I don't feel like getting it out right now."

   They both laugh and Julie-Anne says: "Mood!"

   They're quiet for bit while they finish their applications and find other days to apply for. The irony that we only ever get hired as teenagers when we're all in our 20s now. Extra irony that Julie-Anne is the oldest, but she looks younger than both me and Michael. I don't know why, exactly. We assume it's her round cheeks or the freckles, but we're not entirely sure. She claims she found the fountain of youth. I wouldn't be surprised since her whole family looks pretty young. Especially her mom and she's practically the spitting image of her.

"And done," Michael exclaims loudly and drops his phone into his lap. He falls back in his chair, flails his legs out, and let's his head fall back so he's staring at the ceiling, then he lets out a rather obnoxiously loud Dying Puma.

At least 20 heads turn and look in our direction. Julie-Anne and I both giggle wildly, but Michael's head is still tilted back, and his eyes are closed, so he's oblivious to the audience he's gathered.

"I have three left," Julie-Anne grumbles.

   "Bitch." Michael lifts his head and looks at her with super squinty eyes. When his face is as pinched as possible, that's peak judgement. "Gotta get that Verizon."

   She glares at him. He smirks. She sticks her tongue out him. He bends his right arm and twirls his wrist, then opens his hand and juts his chin out slightly. She flips him off. He flips her off too. She looks away. He tilts his head back again.

   It's basically the silent equivalent of an argument that goes:

   "Fine."

   "Fine."

   "Good."

   "Good."

   "Fine!"

   "Fine!"

   Then they both humph loudly and storm off in opposite directions.

   The most Julie-Anne and Michael ever do is stop looking at each other. It's okay anyway, their arguments never mean anything. They can't even jokingly insult each other without feeling bad about it. Michael was just joking once when she was throwing away everyone's trash for them. He told her that while she's at it, she should climb in there too. She actually tilted the trash can and lifted her leg to get in, for the meme, but Michael was already freaking out and apologizing because he felt that that was the meanest thing he's ever said to her. That happened eight months ago and he still brings it up.

   "I really hope we all get booked," Julie-Anne mumbles, but she doesn't look up from her phone. "And I hope we get to work with Shawn."

   "SAME!" Michael super exaggerates the word, turning each letter into its own syllable.

   The switch in language when talking about celebrities after you've worked with them, is so apparent to me. Other fans might say they want to see someone, we talk about working with them and mingling like we're co-workers. When, in reality, the most I've ever said to a principle actor was when I told Alexandra Shipp that I liked her shoes and she told me that costumes picked them out, then she walked away.

***

We wrap second team the next day and as we're pulling off the lot as the sun is rising, Michael plays One Last Time from Hamilton and as happy as I am to see the park get smaller and smaller in the rear-view, it's a little bittersweet.

   Michael leaves to go back home later that evening, after first getting a well deserved, and extended nap on my couch.

   It's a struggle, saying goodbye to him. Even if we don't know when we'll see each other next, the universe somehow finds a way to always bring us together every couple weeks. The longest we've been apart since we met was 23 days, and that was within the first few months of our friendship. Sure, we text and call and facetime and Skype and DM on basically every social media platform possible, all day, every day, but the separation anxiety is still so real. I'd say I have a panic attack about losing him and Julie-Anne every other day or so. It's exhausting.

   I still don't know how to tell them about all this shit in my head. They've given me so many opportunities, so many windows, and I keep not taking them. Being open and vulnerable with anyone is terrifying. I still have to work myself up for a few days, sometimes weeks, before I can tell my mom something and I tell her everything.

   "Sorry Dad."

   He's sitting at the breakfast table, painting with watercolors in one of his sketchbooks. He doesn't look up from his work while he speaks. "What are you sorry for, Rosie?"

   I smile slightly at my dad's nickname for me. He's been calling me Rosie or Rosebud since I was little.

   I wring my hands in my lap. It's a nervous tick I picked up from my mom.

   I shrug and drop my head so my chin is tucked into my neck and I'm staring at my hands. "Everything, I guess."

   Dad laughs lightly. "I'm going to need you to be more specific."

I'm not looking at him directly, but I can see him in my peripherals and he's watching me intently, but with kind eyes. Which is how he usually looks at me lately, unless he's mad, but that almost always fades within minutes. He started looking at me with those gentle eyes a few years ago. Whenever it happens, I feel like I'm six years old again, but not in a condescending way. I feel innocent. I feel cared for. I feel protected, safe. He looks at me like that and I feel like I'm home.

   I mean, I literally am home. I've been home for awhile, but that's beside the point.

   Today's different though. Today I don't deserve to feel warm and fuzzy. I deserve to feel small and weak right now, because that's where I am today. I'm 23 years old, I'm not in school, I'm broke, I'm unemployed, and I'm still living with my parents. I feel about as small as anyone could possibly ever feel.

   I scratch red lines into the back of my left hand. "I don't know." I shrug again. I shrug a lot. When you don't know things, shrugging's what you do, and I don't know anything.

   Dad rinses off his brush, then dries it and sets it down on a paper towel on the table beside his laptop. "Lyla," he sits up straighter and turns toward me. "Are you okay?"

   I don't look at him, but I nod. "I'm okay," I say a little louder than the whispers I've been at. "It's just a weird day."

   "Well, you know can talk to me about anything," he's quieter now too. Somehow our big kitchen now feels cramped. Like it's the middle of the night and we're talking softly so we don't disturb anyone.

   "Maybe later." I push my chair back and get up.

   "Can I give you hug?" Dad asks quietly.

I'm glad he doesn't stretch his arms out toward me cause then I feel like I have to hug him or than I look rude.

   "Not right now," I mumble and go up to my room.

   "I love you." His voice echoes up the stairs, filling the hallway. All our doors are closed so it feels like the sound just keeps bouncing back and forth. Even after silence has fallen, I can still hear his voice in my head and my ears ring with regret.

   I lock my door behind me and turn off the lights before climbing onto my bed. I pull my comforter around me and curl up into a ball in the back corner. I have a big bed so seeing all the empty space around me just makes me feel smaller.

   Nothing in particular happened to trigger this sudden onset bout of weirdness, but I guess that's how depression works. Some days are good and others are weird. I don't want to say bad, because they're not really. I just drift through them. I'm probably like this today because I've been non-stop for the past few weeks and now that Michael's gone, I've kind of hit a wall. I just need some introvert time to recharge so I can get all my energy back.

   It's funny to word it in that way.

   Recharging.

   It's like people are batteries and we spend our energy until we're drained so then we have to find a way to get all that energy back. I get my energy back from alone time or caffeine usually, but a good song or a good movie or book also helps, but that's mainly just to make me feel better. Spending time outside or eating a good meal or getting a good night's sleep is also extremely refreshing. But, so is a nice shower or a bath. Honestly, I find energy through lots of things. Even being around my friends or family when we're happy will help. It varies for everyone though, but whatever you have to do it's basically like plugging yourself into a wall until your angry red light turns into a bright, happy green one.

   Speaking of charged.

I unplug my phone and roll over so I'm facing the wall while I unlock it and scroll through my different feeds. I like some random Instagram posts from different celebrities and some wedding photos from someone I knew in college who invited a ton of our friends to their wedding, but didn't say a word about it to me. It's annoying to hear about your friend's engagement through a Facebook post, like everyone else they don't care about.

Yay.

I close Instagram and open Twitter.

My feed has been nothing, but angry political debates since 2016.

I've thrown my two cents into the void, but the only people who follow me are my friends and family and a few random One Direction fans from the good old days in 2012/ People rarely see my posts and I don't want to seek out people and start drama with them or respond to problematic tweets that I see from people I follow. A lot of people get really vicious and evil with their responses and I know I'm not the kind of person who can walk away from that kind of battle unscathed. There's definitely a war raging on the internet and I'll stick to serving as medic rather than a soldier.

I scroll a little farther down Twitter, but there's not a single happy or wholesome thing in sight.

I close Twitter and open Tumblr.

Thank God for memes.

As I'm scrolling, I catch a few South Park posts and DM them to my cousin, Esther, and I spot some Marvel things and share them with Michael, and then Shawn fucking Mendes appears on my dash.

Michael's right. I'm never going to be free of him.

It's a gifset of him lying half-naked on a couch.

It's a nice couch.

I scroll down to find another post about Shawn directly below it and reblogged by the same person too.

This is just one photo, a black and white still on him sitting on a bed. Subject matter aside, I have to admit that's a pretty good shot. The way the light's hitting him, the contrast of the shadows, the general composition...it's just really pleasing to look at.

I heart it and keep scrolling. A few memes and text posts and random quotes on nature photos later and I run into another Shawn post.

Another gifset and this work of art is a collection of moments of Shawn licking his lips.

Lovely.

Leave me alone, Mendes.

I close the app and lock my phone. I push it away and pull my blanket over my head. I lay there in the dark for a little, listening to my breathing and the faint murmur of my dad watching Seth Meyers downstairs.

My phone buzzes once.

An email.

It's probably spam, but I turn over and grab it.

It's from the movie.

I got the job.

I'm going to be working as a makeup assistant on The Breakfast Club remake.

I might have to put makeup on real actors.

I might have to work with Shawn Mendes.

I might have to put makeup on Shawn Mendes.

Oh my god.

—-

It’s cringey, but now it’s public so... *shrugs* Tell me your thoughts in the tags or message me.

[rebuildhq]

No one knew who they were. The costumed vigilante hanging from Times Square. Dead.

They were young, that much was obvious as The Strike Force took him down. It was far too late for the Panel to keep this body out of the press -- by the time their agents arrived on scene, the crowds of Time Square had all taken pictures, videos, snapshots of the gruesome scene. A young boy, clad in the shreds of his costume and cape, strung up like a macabre puppet. Every major news organization was on the scene, speculating as to what this could mean. The rumors were finally being addressed as they interviewed witnesses on the street.

“This ain’t the first, man!” one teen girl insisted to the cameras. “There’s been bodies like, everywhere. I haven’t seen them, but my cousin, she saw one in Manhattan the other day…”

“Just lyin’ in the alleyway, you know?” another man said, face serious. “It’s getting so like, curfew or not, people be afraid to walk out they doors. Everywhere you look --”

“There’s always something. Something awful,” a mother said, clutching her two young children close.

The official broadcast came that evening. The now-familiar face of Karl Orse, in his stark empty office, behind that desk, appeared without preamble on every news channel.

“My fellow citizens,” he began, as always. His pale eyes fixed straight at the camera. “The events in Time Square today, are a symbol of the dark times we face. The Accords and Accountability Panel deeply regrets the loss of that young man, though he was unregistered. We extend our deepest and sincere sympathies to his family and friends.”

He paused then, his thin lips pulled into a deep frown that only accentuated the wrinkles and age of his face. “It is also,” he said in a low grumble. “An unfortunate example of the dangers that being an unregistered vigilante. Now, more than ever, we encourage all unregistered heroes, mutants, Inhumans, metahumans, anyone with a ‘gift’ or a cape  -- come forward. You will be offered the protection of the Panel, and you will be given the opportunity to serve the community. The actions today, and the as yet unconfirmed rumors of other incidents, prove that there is a threat facing us all. Join us, and through unity, accountability, and organization -- we will put an end to this threat.”

Mr. Orse glanced down briefly at the papers on his desk, straightening them before looking back up at the camera. “Our information on this threat is highly-sensitive and classified. But rest assured, fellow citizens, we are doing all we can to catch the person or persons responsible for these heinous acts. Our search for them is currently this Panel’s top priority. If you or someone you know have any information, please contact the number at the bottom of your screen.” He paused, as the number flashed below. “Citizens are encouraged to respect the curfew, which we remind you, has been enacted for the safety of the community as a whole.” With that, the screen went blank, and the regularly scheduled news programs continued the story, speculating as to possible motivations behind these ‘unconfirmed’ attacks.

Meanwhile, in the ruins of Attilan, a group of people watched the report from a laptop. When Karl Orse disappeared from the screen, one member reached forward and closed the computer, then turned to the others.

“We have finally gotten their attention.” The voice that spoke was female, though it was impossible to discern any other features about her. Like the rest of the group before her, she wore long dark robes, the hood pulled up over her head, obscuring her face in shadow. The group turned to her reverently, kneeling before her as a congregation before a priest.

The woman took a moment, gazing around the vast, crumbling ruins around them. The entire city was empty except for their group -- they had seen to that first. Inhumans were, after all, relatively easy targets. Especially when you attacked from within.

“Our goals remain unchanged,” she said, turning back to the group. “We will not rest until they are achieved. Until every so-called hero, every freak of nature, every danger has been taken care of. They call us a threat,” she said, gesturing to the laptop. “But the Panel knows better than most the hazards these ‘people’ pose to the rest of us. We have suffered, friends,” she said, her gaze flicking across the sea of shadowy faces. Their numbers had grown over the past year, swelling to an impressive and impossible amount. “We have all lost someone or something. Our families. Our homes. Because of them. Because of the heroes.” The word was venomous on her tongue, and several members of the crowd hissed. “Never again will a mother lose her children. A husband lose his wife. A family lose their beloved home. Not while we breathe. We will have our justice. And we will have our revenge!”

She raised a fist in the air, and every member of the crowd repeated the gesture. They took up the chant. “Never again! Never again! Never again!”

After a few moments, the woman raised her hands, calling for quiet. “Our work has only begun. We have stepped out of the shadows, but we will continue to strike from them. Secrecy is important, now more than ever. But we will not be unheard, my friends. We will not suffer in silence.”

She gazed out across the crowd. “You have your assignments. Carry them out with the diligence and reverence of a sacred cause. Because there is nothing more sacred than reclaiming your home, your world, from those who would destroy it. And these heroes,” she paused as there was more hissing. “Will destroy everything if we let them. The Panel has tried and failed to keep them in check. It is up to us now. Never again, my friends. Never again will this world tolerate heroes or the hell they bring upon us.” Unseen to anyone, her eyes flashed and her jaw clenched. “It is their turn to be afraid. It is their turn to be put through hell.”

With that, she strode from the chamber, once the royal hall of Attilan. But it belonged to them, and them alone now. It belonged to The Syndicate.

WHAT’S HAPPENED:

An (npc) hero has been found dead, hanging from Times Square. Too public a place for the Panel or the media to keep it a secret. His identity has not been released, and is known only to the Panel and the police force.

The Panel has publically declared to be searching for the persons responsible, but in reality, they are pleased. A few less heroes running amok in the city.

Behind this murder, and the bodies that are still being found in the streets, is a cult. A cult with one goal: eradicate all heroes. Anyone different. Anyone not quite-human. This cult calls themselves The Syndicate, a group of people who have all experienced some kind of loss due to the collateral damage of superheroes. While this group once placed faith in the Panel, they have decided it is not doing enough to stem the bloodshed, and have decided to take matters into their own hands. They are led by a mysterious woman, whose identity is unknown, not even to her fellow cultists. They are a highly-organized, extremely lethal, but utterly anonymous group. Each member carries a cyanide pill in the case of their capture, willing to die rather than reveal key information.

PROMPTS:

Person A and Person B have registered. As part of the infamous Strike Force, or simply tools for the Panel to use, they have been tasked with one simple objective: find the murderers and the heroes. As they struggle to fulfill this objective, focus on their thoughts/feelings. Are they hopeful? Arfraif? Filled with doubt about the Panel? Together, will they make a plan to leave? Or continue following orders?

Person A and Person B have not registered. The dangers that they face are becoming more and more real everyday. The Strike Force is closing in on them, the Syndicate has declared war on them, and they’ve been backed into a corner (perhaps literally). Will they continue to hide? Will they finally relent and sign together to receive protection? Will they investigate the body? Essentially, what I’d like to see here are two characters either in a dangerous situation, likely with the Task Force, or on the run, trying to decide what to do.

Person A is in a crowded bar, face concealed, as they watch the news report. Another fallen comrade, although this one could not be swept under the rug. They take this as a call to arms and contact Person B (can be a hero they know or one they get into contact with). Together, Person A and Person B formulate a plan and an alliance.

Person A and Person A grow restless with the continued violence and attempt to break into a government facility. They find nothing but a Strike Force waiting for them and make a narrow escape.

Person A finally gives up the fight and signs the Accords in the face of the grisly murders. This one we’d really like to see! There’s plenty of reasons for your character to sign. Despite how corrupt the Accords and Accountability Panel is, none of this is public knowledge. They believe they’ll be heroes, serving the government, and know nothing of what’s going on behind closed doors. It’s promised protection, a chance to be a hero legally, and they can finally stop running.